#It's fucking horrific how frequent school shootings are in the US

[bare1ythere]

I try to keep my blog mostly for fun and hobbies but jesus christ. Watching the UK + USA slowly become more and more anti trans over the past few years is genuinely scaring the shit out of me. It felt like things were getting better in the mid 2010s but now US conservatives are so loudly anti-trans that it's only a matter of time before it leaks up into Canada too. What the fuck are you even supposed to do?

[popculturebuffet]

New X-Men Xtrospective Part 2: Germ Free Generation (Annual, #117-120)

Hello all you happy mutants! And welcome back to my look one of my faviorite runs of one of my faviorite super teams by one of my faviorite comic book writers!

For those of you just joining us.. it’s been a while. I did the first instalment of this retrospective back in early January as a present to my friend for christmas, as he had never read E is for Extinctoin and what with this run being vital to the current, utterly brilliant Krakoa era of X-Men. But with both Black History Month and Valentine’s day, February had no real room for this one and march ended up being just as crammed with me doing essentially the entire della arc of ducktales in one month. I didn’t mean for this retrospective to get pushed so far back, but since I gave up doing weekly coverage of Final Space I had some room on the schedule so this retrospective is back with a vengance with two entries this month and hopefully at least one a month afterword to keep it at a decent clip. 

Last time I covered the background of this run and didn’t really find much for the issues after, so I won’t have to spend as much time on background. 

So since i’ts been a few months, a refresher is probably in order

PREVIOUSLY, ON X-MEN:  Our merry mutants enterted a marvelous new era. As Charles redidciated to the dream with new equipment and a new uniforms our hero encounter a new villian: The Mysterious Cassandra Nova, a powerful telepath who used an uwitting patsy from the trask family and a defucnt sentinel factory to slaughter the mutant nation of Genosha, killing 16 million mutants in the most horrific act of genocide against mutants ever known. And the fact there has been more than one genocide against mutant kind MIGHT, just MIGHT be the reason they blackmailed for peace with life saving drugs instead of helping willingly and freely in the current comics. Just maybe. 

Cassandra was captured by the X-Men soon after but escaped and nearly got a hold of Cerebra only to be stopped thanks to a combination of former enemy, genoshan resident at the time of the genocide, and that bitch Emma Frost who snapped her neck and Charles himself who uncharacteristically shot Cassandra in the head. That night Charles took a bold step over that would change the X-Men forever and told the world on live tv:

While all of this was going on we got caught up on the team’s personal struggles, currently consisting of Cyclops, Jean Grey, Beast and Wolverine with Emma joining as of the issue we’re about to cover. Beast is grappling with a secondary mutation that makes him look like Aslan, the jesus of narnia and all lions. Meanwhile Scott and Jean are grappling with their non existant sex life as Cyclops possesion by Apocalypse shortly before this story has severely rattled him and caused him to close himself off emotionally. 

So that’s where we pick up. Our heroes are now no longer hiden saftely in the shadows from a world that hates and fear them but are out front and center with the world watching. And we’ll see both how that helps their cause and how it puts them directly in the cross hairs under the cut.  Content Warning: This review discusses Transphobia and a scene involving a school shooting. If either of these are a trigger for you or something you do not want to read about  please skip this part of the retrospective for your own well being. Thank you and have a lovely day. 

The Man From Room X:

We have three stories today: an annual that introduces our final team member and the main villians of our next arc, a one off that moves the main plot for the first 12 issues along, and a three part arc about said villains.  Before we get into the Annual, I have to talk about it’s weird gimmick: The issue is entirely sideways. I don’t mean it’s bad though some parts are problematic I mean when bought it’d be on it’s side and in my trade I have to flip the whole thing over on it’s side to read it. It’s just a .. weird choice. Not the weirdest thing about this issue somehow but not unexpected from Grant as they like to play with the formula. 

We open in said Room X, a location in China where a mutant named Xorn is kept and showed off to a mysterious group of dickweeds in suits representing “Mr. Sublime”.  His jailer, General Aao Jun,, shows him off as most bad guys would : By undoing his helmet and thus disntegrating two innocent children just by looking at them. Sublime says they have a deal. 

Meanwhile also in China the X-Men are there for a funeral and Emma and Scott trade insulting questions back in forth: She mocks him about his lack of sex with Jean lately and he brings up her criminal past. As for why Emma’s still with the x-men.. it’s out of pragmatisim. WIth Genosha gone, the x-men are the saftest faction to throw in with. 

As for why the X-Men are in China, Charles has rapidly expanded his operations now he’s public by setting up X-Corps, a multinational humantarian aid organization dedicated to helping mutants in need wherever they sprout up. He’s set up offices in Hong Kong, Amsterdam, Mumbai and Melborne. 

He’s also half assed it, at least for the Hong Kong office and only gave them two employees: Domino, who those of you not as familiar with the comics may remember from deadpool and Risque.. who I honestly had never heard of before New X-Men and frequently forget existed. I just looked her up for the first time and she’s a minor mutant who was an associate of X-Force and Warpath’s love intrest. She could compress matter causing it to implode. My assumption here is that Morrison simply picked a minor mutant at random for the job. 

But yeah naturally with only two mutants charged with, according to domino “All of asia” went horribly and the x-men are there for Risque’s funeral and to find out what happened. Unsuprisingly it’s tied into our cold open: Risque had found evidence of a mutant trafficking operation and died fighting them off and Dom is naturally f eeling in over her head since said operation involves the chinese goverment, who according to her exccute most mutants at birth and John Sublime and his cult. 

We soon see a press confrence from this asshole and find out what his deal is: Sublime is the head of the U-Men, a group that belivies they are a “third species” of mutants trapped in human bodies that deserve to have the surgery to make them into mutants, and thus wear weird suits until the world is pure and allows them to have surgery for it. 

Yeahhhh this.. this is really fucking uncomfortable and is going to be present throughout today’s piece so let’s just go ahead and rip that band-aid off:  The U-Men come off as HIGHLY transphobic. They use terms similar to trans people call themselves trans species and are trapped inside a body they don’t belong in. It’s VERY uncomfortable to read as a result and something that hadn’t really sunk into till thsi reading but once it had.. oh god does this not age well. 

The one thing that keeps this from runing the run and Grant Morrison as a whole for me.. is that I do not think for one second it was intentional. Grant themself is genderqueer, nonbinary and a cross dresser. None of this means they CAN’T be prejudice, being Queer does not magically make you immune to being prejudiced. But before this Grant had the genderqueer sentient street Danny the Street over in doom patrol and a trans main character in his book the invisibles, Lord Fanny. And given New X-Men’s biggest flaw as a whole is clumsy early 2000′s unforutnate implications such as a good chunk of the things about Cyclops affair with Emma, we’ll get to that at the right time, Angel in the next arc and Dust, who was introduced as from afganastan wearing an outfit not seen in the country and speaking a language not spoken in the country. Grant didn’t make these mistakes TWICE, it’s why I still have respect for them, and this won’t be the first or last comic i’ve forgiven for being stupid for it’s time. But I will still call Grant out when I see it. Just because I respect an author just because they changed my life does not mean I won’t call them out when they fuck up. And if they prove to be truly vile, have harmed someone or what have you I will cut them the fuck out of my life. I’ve done it with JK Rowling, Warren Ellis, Brad Jones and Joss Whedon. I would do it with Grant if I truly belivied they were transphobic and instead didn’t just write something very stupid without thinking the metaphor through 20 years ago. 

So anyway back to the comic book bollocks as Wolvie and Dominio prepare for an infiltration and flirt a bunch. We also find out Jun is a mutant himself with a power only Grant could dream up: his skin, hair and what have you that falls off him turns into a naked golem for a bit before expiring. And if you hadn’t read this issue before reading this review, yes that actually happened. While the first arc had a BIT of Grant’s trademark batshit insanity, the series REALLY starts to pick it up from here: This issue has a mutant with functioning star for a head, a poorly thought out bucnh of sci fi new age organ theives, and a general whose power is “makes naked clones out of his dandruff”. Oh and his fondest wish?

I just... I don’t know how to respond to that. I don’t know how you respond to an old man’s weird murder fetish that he tells a somehow even creepier cult leader while said cult leader is paying him to buy a star man, and their both surronded by the creepy old guy’s skin golems that weirdly look like mudokons. Look i’ve  read Grant’s entire utterly bonkers run on doom patrol. I’ve seen a man who looks like a question mark use a bicycle that makes everyone high like their on LSD for president. And THIS is what breaks me. 

So while.. THIS is going on, Dom and Wolverine plan to do it all night long on the professor’s credit card, no really he gives all his professors carte blanch to use school fun, and inflitrate, Dom through the elvator this horrorshow just took place in and Wolvie james bond style. Also I gotta say I REALLY love how Morrison writes Domino. She’s wittiy, entertaining and her power is as awesome as always, super luck if you didn’t know. It’s a real shame he didn’t add her to the team: She wasn’t on any other x-teams, with X-Force having been rebranded into X-Statix by this point. She would’ve been a fun addition to the cast. 

Naturally wolverine is found out.. but that was the entire plan, for him to serve as a distraction then cut his way to domino while she steals something from the vault. As for the rest of the X-Men, Cyclops, Beast and Emma are all downstairs in the parking garage and find a secret entrance. Jean is not on this trip and that’s a major plot point for this run. This is where Risque died.. and it only get’s worse when Hank goes inside, finding a bug like child, basically htink a giant caterpillar but with tons of human arms inttead of legs with her wings cut off. 

Thankfully as Logan and Dom escape above, the U-Men are dumb enough to storm down bellow.. and while they incapacitate beast with some launched tiny knives, designed to incapcicate but leave them in tact for harvest, Emma beats the shit out of them and get the info out as only she can....

Granted she could’ve just turned back to normal and used her telepathy.. but what fun would that be? Plus they have blockers and you know CUT UP A FUCKING CHILD. SO yeah fuck them, let emma have her fun. 

Thanks to her they find out the U-Men are a front for illegal organ harvest, and while they can’t prove sublimes attached Emma suggests killing him.  Good idea but Scott suggests the lighter approach and we find out what Dom stole, a key, something Emma can psychcially scan. She warns it might take her a bit to get something.. only to be flooded instantly and we find out who the man in the box was. Shen Xorn... i’ll let emma tell you more herself. 

It’s stuff like this why, despite some serious flaws like the U-Men debacle and some stuff to come, some I mentioned above other that’s just with the plot that i love this run. Morrison just gets how to really tell an x-men story and the real tragedy of being a mutant. That just for being diffrent, you get shut out, or in this case thrown into a box when you could’ve and should’ve been something more. As emma turns herself to diamond to deal with the psychic backlash, Beast has some solemn words to share. 

That night Scott rests in his bedroom while presumibly hearing some truly horrific and sexy things next door while talking to jean before clocking out.. only for Emma to head in in a sexy dress with champagne. What happened? Well we won’t know for sure for most of the run. 

The next day the U-Men prepare to load and we get some scrap of what the idea was supposed to be: John talks to Ao Jun about his procedures. We see wings crudely sewen to his back and his throat implaants hurting “But one day I will fly”. THe IDEA is their supposed to be lunatics, people who envy mutantkind but don’t actually respect their culture or their sense of personhood. It’s not the worst idea and had Grant not used trans termnology for htis, it would’ve been a great one. I think he INTENDED for them to be coopting the idea of being trans and what not to maks their true intentions.. which is problematic due to debates like the ones on bathrooms where a lot of transphobic asshats make the bad faith argument a bunch of people are going to pretend to be trans to assault people. 

We’re.. we;’re not even to the main storyarc yet. 

But things soon go wrong as Xorn’s starhead starts to collapse into a black hole, with no solution as the x-men took the key to his helmet.. and assault the compound. Turns out the star collapse thing is Jun’s revenge on humanity for lockig him down here and he gets his neck snapped.  Scott has a solution though.. and it’s stuff like this why I fucking love Scott Summers and get annoyed when people call him “boring”: He realizes Xorn is comitting sucicide.. so he’s going to talk him out of it. Not just for everyone else but he deserves to live. And while Emma points out only logan among htem knows chinese and she can’t get through to Xorns’ head due to the way his brain works, Scott has a simple workaround: Use the nearest chineses speaker to teach Scott chinese. So.. with that he talks to Xorn. 

And that my friend is Scott Summers. A man who faced with powerful man whose given up, whose lost all hope... convinces him he can still go on. That living’s better than dying.. and that it does get better. The issue closes with Xorn basking in the sunlight for the first time in decades while Domino sweats having an extremley powerful unknown mutant out in the world. Scott’s already thought of that.. and signed him up with the x-men. Granted it won’t be until our next article that he actually fully joins the team, but w’ell get to that next time. 

This issue is great... while the U-Men stuff is pretty bad and isn’t going to get better, the tale of xorn is excitiong, Aao Jun is an intresting antagonist and the sideways gimmick suprisingly works. So now we’ve finshed our apitizer let’s get on to the main course. 

Danger Rooms:

We open in well.. the Danger Room with Beast training a new student. 

This is Beak. Beak is my faviorite character Morrison came up with and one of my faviorite X-Characters. Beak is a bird like boy who can fly, it’s just a struggle and due to looking diffrent and not having the most impressive power has very low self esteem. It’s also part of something Morrison took a concerted effort to do: introduce more mutants with genuinely odd apperances and drawbacks. Like we saw with Ugly John last time and Aao Jun in the previous issue, Morriosn really likes adding weird mutants but he also uses it to give a genuine downside to being one. While this isn’t NEW to x-men, Morriosn upped the scale and number of characters like this with weird powers and apperances. We see a bunch of human passing ones too but the backgrounds just jammed with all sorts of unique designs and students. It’s also the point where the school became far more crowded like the movies, a good call on my part both to help those coming in from the movies, and to help sell the mutant baby boom going on. After all it wouldn’t make sense if the school was just about 5-7 students and a bunch of grown adults doing superhero stuff like usual would it.

But we get to see that Hank is a good teacher, as he reminds the boy that he’s getting better and won’t be an x-man overnight, and worries about him to the professor, wanting the boy not to slip through the cracks, figuratively, and not to feel like an outcast.. especaily here. But Hank dosen’t feel blue for long, metaphorically he was blue long before he became the lion minus the witch and the wardrobe, as he has a date to night.. and so does Charles. 

Or rather he did.. his girlfriend trish, a long time love intrest of his and a reporter.. breaks up with him. Over voice mail. While in washington. And the reasons she gives are not great

Yes Hank’s transformation is radical.. but not only was it not his choice... she’s being a coward, sending the message it’s okay to dump someone because hteir a mutant or because they happen tobe diffrent and that efffects your career. Again it’s moments like this that make the run soar over the more awkward bits. 

Meanwhile Logan’s off doing logan stuff, i.e. gazing at a deer. Wow. Jean followed him. Both notice a space ship: Despite recently outing himself as a mutant, leading to an increased number of students and a bunch of rioting morons at the gates, Charles has decided NOW’S a good time to take a vacation to the Shiar empire. As for why Jean’s really out here, her marriage to Scott isn’t doing so good and while Logan encourages her to stay it’s just not that simple: Her telekenisis is coming back, stronger than ever. She feels the most alive she’s been while he’s shutting her out and feeling his deadest. She tries to turn to logan for comfort but he shuts her down. Just wait two decades jean... he’ll open up to a threesome. In all seriousness though having Jean try and come onto Logan .. will backfire slightly on later storylines. But we’ll get to that eventually. 

In the basement Hank is studying Cassandra or rather a virtual version of her since her body is naturally in storage. And he’s found out something disturbing: She’s Charles Genetic Twin.. oh and it gets way worse. The Professor’s weird behavior? Barely staffing the hong kong office, leaving suddenly with rioters t the gates, outing himself? About that...

Cassandra tourtures Hank with the possiblity he’s devovling and then tries to mind controlli him into cleaning himself with his diploma when Beak enters. The good news is this allows hank to shake off her control and tackle her, showing off why hank mccoy is fucking awesome in the process. 

That is the Hank McCoy I know, love.. and miss dearly. The one we’ll probably never get back sadly after what others did and what Percy’s had to do to reconclie with all they did. 

Unfortunately beak being around means cassandra can force him to beat beast into a coma with his bat. She plans to tear Charles dream down around him and make him watch.. and cryptically says he tried to kill her. She then cheerfully leaves Jean in charge.. and talks about just how much damage one could do with an entire interstellar empire in the wrong hands....

This issue is also excellent and sets up the next two arcs nicely while giving us a nice peak in hank’s head. Great stuff. The artist also hid the word sex in a lot of the images see if you can find them. 

Germ Free Generation Issue 1: 

So now we get into our main story for today. This story and the one before it were drawn by Ethan Van Sciver whose a talented artist.. but also highly contrversial for being a conservative. I myself.. don’t know what he’s said or did, though calling himself “Canceld Superstar’ on twitter really isn’t a good sign. So I really can’t comment on it but I also know someone would mention it if I didn’t bring it up and if you know what he did please enlighten me. 

So we open with a school shooter who also scooped out a guys eyes and is part of the U-Men. He get shot by the swat team while making his speech> it’s an effective opening but one that’s become more uncomfortable to read with each passing day due to school shootings going up and up in number. And mass shootings in general and I... I need a second. I need something to relax me

Thank you Stoopy. Your doing Odd’s Work. 

So the news reports on this and we soon see how Jean watches the news.. by using Cerebra to read the minds of every person on the planet. Neat. Everyone’s talking about them. We also get a hint for later as we hear on the suicide of one martha johanson who wrote the note in her own blood. She’ll be important later.... and I mean that both in the context of this retrospective and for the fact she’ll go on to be part of x-men in perpetuity. 

This is also where another great concept of Morrison’s pops up: Mutant culture. After all mutants are a minority, they should have their own culture. It’s something Hickman’s era has taken and ran with, but it’s a damn good idea and one that it shoudln’t of taken almost 20 years for someone else to use given Decimation was undone way back around 2012 in Avengers Vs X-Men, aka that event half hte articles on the mcu around the fox sale used as either their image for the article or asked about happneing. And yes that is a pet peeve of mine: while I do think like Civil War AVX could use a movie version to make it better, I don’t think it’s an event that could be done right away and would have to be almost entirely redone anyway given the context for AvX is entirely couched in decimation i.e. something NO ONE wants in any x-adaptation. 

So it turns out while watching the news in a next level way Jean is also talking to Logan. “Stay out of my personal fantasies”. Yeah I .. I don’t think your ready for a hairy canadian dry humping a transformer.. specifically killbison. And yes.. that is an actual transformer and why yes, I have been waiting to bring him up. 

And he is , and I am not making any of this up, part of a group of decpticons known as the breastforce. Your life is better for knowing that and you are welcome. 

Anyway as you’d imagine a genocidal old woman in her brothers’ body leaving the X-Men to fend for themselves after having a teenager bludgeon one into a coma after publicly outing them with a rabid bunch of bigoted morons at the gates has not gone great. Henry is still out and despite the short staffing Jean needs logan to stay where he is as he’s close to an emerging mutant and within range to go get her. 

Emma of course has never been so fucking irate in her whole life and is plotting various forms of psychic tourture with the help of her proteges the Stepford Cucokoo, 5 teenage mutants who functoin best as a unit and are easily some of MOrrison’s most prominent additions to the x-cast. Unlike a lot of the x-kids, they’ve been featured prominently in every era of x-men after this including the current one. 

Jean decides for a less “Make them hate us even more” approach, but no less pissed off, opening the gates and going out directly to chew out the assembled bigoted morons, pointing out the ones carrying “Mutants Go Home!” signs are especailly dumb as this IS her home. And while she dosen’t point this part out, it’ the same for all of them: most of the mutants are either adults who choose to live here, teenagers who along with their parents choose to live here, or in the majority teens who have no where else to go due to either being abandoned by their families or it being way to dangerous for said families for them to stay due to bigoted assholes like the ones holding mutants go home signs. 

A member of the press asks if she’s willing to talk to the media and she refutes most of his bullshit allegations: He asks if their building an army, she and Scott respond they are not and are simply educating mutants and protecting them. When he counters with the fact their living weapons and wearing uniforms... she counters with the fact she’s wearing them to protect herself, rightfully, from people like her, and the x-men are an aid orginzation going where needed to protect the world and while asshole points out no one apointed them.. jean shuts him down by pointing out there are no mutants in goverment and a genocide just happened, so someone has to do the job. Another random asshole tries to pipe up with “Genosha declared war on us” and Emma senses this is just going to go round and round and round and simply presses the assembled mob’s “bliss buttons” in their brains to knock them out. Non violent but honestly warranted: A dangerous part of bigoted assholes is they’l bring up racist bullshit to try and couch it like an actual conversation. None of these complaints really hold water if you looked at the x-men’s history for more than 5 minutes. Yes Charles is training them to fight and yes hte ingial class was an army but every class since has only been trained for self defense: they still got into adventures and what not, but it was usually by their own choice or because they were thrust into them by circumstance. Xaviers is exactly what jean said and endudgling these morons, while good on paper, only makes them seem legit. 

Jean retreats to the infirmary where she’s on the verge of breaking down from the sheer weight of everything. Cyclops proves that despite not being the best husband right now... he still loves his wife, offering to go look into Sublime with Emma and hoping Hank wakes up. Turns out his mind for now is a big blank room.

So she can’t get any info off his skull, and neither of the two think what happened with Beak adds up. Something is up here. Their also coming down with colds which will be important later. And just as important.. Magneto is becoming a symbol among people and merch sales with his image are on the rise.  We then get this. 

So Jean is trying to be a supportive, honest wife, and while the questions incredibly insulting.. his answer is equally so. Spoilers, as mentioned we do get an answer long after this.. and they did not. So Jean is wrong to be suspcious, at this point, but is at least trying to be polite about it and gave him the benifit of the doubt.. and Scott basically said he slept with her without actually saying it despite not having to. You could’ve said “no we did not have sex, we simply talked all night”. It’s not ENTIRELY better given the horrible state of their relationship right now, but it’s still better than HEAVILY implying he rocked her body to the break of dawn for no damn reason. 

So we meet our next major addition to the cast Angel Salvador, an abused teen who is a mutant.. and whose abusive and molesting step dad beats her and throws her out over this. The scene’s a bit overdone, coming off like an after school special.. but it’s what happens AFTER that’s truly heartwrenching. 

A poor scared teenager clutching herself, finding herself homeless alone and desperatly wishing she wasn’t what she was. It’s just a striking image and shows how well Grant uses the mutant metaphor. I could easily see myself in that position had my parents not been good peopl and had I come out far sooner as bi. The idea of desperatly hoping your not what you are simply becaus eof what hell it brings, despite all the joy it can bring too. . it’s heartbreaking to hear. 

Naturally though things don’t get much better as the next morning the U-Men have found her, calling her a freak and successfully kidnapping her.. if only because while she uses acid spit to escape, she flies into a power line. 

We then get Sublimes meeting with Emma and Scott and a BETTER use of teh u-men as while Grant made the horrible mistake of calling them “transpecies”, seriously what the fuck were you thinking, the way sublime frames it here is a MUCH better, much less accidently bigoted concept. 

The idea isn’t bad: A group of humans jealous of the mutants powers, blatantly ignoring the horrible downsides and mountain of persecution that comes with being one. Grant just made the mistake of couching in in Trans metaphors, clearly trying to have the U-Men steal from Trans People too as a way to make themselves seem legit. And I say if you want superpowers.. fine.. wanting to be a superhero or a mutant is fine, the issue with the U-Men is their copoting a culture, trying to be part of mutantkind without having any of the drawbacks and by actively butchering them. It’s why the concept HAS shown up elsewhere; it’s not TERRIBLE, Grant just made a bad creative choice that’s only gotten worse as Transphobia has ramped up further and further. 

Sublime denies it when our heroes bring up Hong Kong.. but naturally he’s simply just keeping them talking long enough to bring out his trump cards, an army of u-men and a brain in a jar he uses to incapacitate them.. and announces his plan to use the school as an organ farm for his third species. 

Meanwhile Logan finds the U-Men in their truck preparing to rip angel apart.. and given he snikit’s soon after.. i’ts very clear whose REALLY about to get ripped apart. 

Germ Free Generation Part 2: 

Part two begins wth Sublime monologoging about how Mutantkind are just cattle to them and reveals the brain is martha’s, her sucicide having been faked and her brain currently being controlled to use as a weapon. 

So while Johnny monlogues we find out what happened with Wolverine last issue he didn’t cut up the guys yet as they fired their little flichete guns at him... it was about as useful and effective as you’d expect and the massacre you were expecting occurs. Though in a nice bit of reality the fact wolverine’s soaked in blood and just killed a bunch of blood shockingly does not make the already frighttend teen feel he’s safe and she spits acid on him. Logan pours some stuff on the acid, figuring rightly a black ops murder farmacy would have something to counteract it and tells her she’s safe now .. and tells the guy behind him not to try it. He’s stupid and does anyway and likely gets a claw to the head off panel. 

They go to a diner to eat and find a local asshole who threatens them with a shot gun to leave once angel uses her power to digest and goes on a rant about how he snapped his own son’s neck to prevent him being born a freak. Just.. fucking hell this arc is not good for my depression. We get some more angst from Angel and whiel her dialouge is not the best, i’ts a too bit mark millar flavored edgelordy for my taste and if I wanted that i’d go read Ultimates or Ultimate X-Me, her pain is real and Logan helps her through it. 

Back at the Mansion the U-Men are on their way to strike, whlie Jean unaware continues to buckle under the weight of all the shit she’s had to deal with, feeling SOMETHING is making them weak with the colds and something worse is going on and thus tries going to Beak’s mind instead and gently helps talk him through it, showing her grace and empathy.. and in return finding out Charles was the one responsible. The alarms flair up and Jean tries calling the police now that’s an option.. but it goes exactly how you’d expect. 

Also a second artist took over for this issue and the next Igor Kordey. He’s fine, but not nearly as good as Quitely or Van Sciver and it shows. Meanwhile Beast awakens and heads for the body drawer with Cassandra’s body, and professor’s mind in it. 

However Jean’s finally had enough and got her second wind. She’s outgunned, outmanned and left to her own devices. And she’s fucking fed up with it. She steels herself and assembles the students. This is obviously a last resort.. but some of them can defend themselves and their going to need to. But today they won’t be learning.. they’ll be teaching and as the U-Men call them defensless Jeans simply asks “Are you sure about that?”

Germ Free Generation Part 3:

So we come to the finale of this arc. Angel is once again an ungreatful brat to logan and he opts to just leave her there if sh’es going to be like that pointing out being a mutant sucks, it’s going to keep sucking.. and she needs to deal with it instead of lashing out at him and herself over it. 

We get back to the U-Men, one of whom is utterly flabergasted they want to him to cut of Cyclops head... only for Emma to awaken.. and take back her regular form meaning she has her telepathy back. The only reason they were able to get her ealier is she was in diamond mode which is stronger but lacks that, a nice way to check and ballance her new powers. She quickly takes them out and disables Martha. 

Back at the school we get one of Jean’s definting moments for me and a true chance to show how badass she can be. Before this while Morrison wrote her well, and his version’s still my favoirite, she didn’t really get to do much and was motly in the background. This arc has been her time in the limelight, having trouble grappling with all the stress of running this place by herself.. and emerging from it stronger, more capable and ready to kick some racist weirdo ass. She tries a few diffrent tactics first, having a mutant with a voice power project it to make them think their san invisible army and having the cuckoos fuck with their heads but when both fail, Jean REALLY gets to show off. Thier blade ammo gets turned into a cool looking 3 dimensioinal shape with her telekneisis, and in a cool moment and a wise use of something gross makes the only one of them with useable powers throw up, before issuing a badass boast, wreathed in flames all while she crumples their guns into uselessness. and tears open their suits. 

Bad ass.. and logan and Angel arrive just in time for the cecendo as hte u-men flee in terror

The Phoenix has been Reborn. Jean Grey has risen from the ashes and returned to full power. 

Meanwhile Sublime is pankcing.. and it gets worse when Emma shows up, fully enraged after all of this and has some words for him. 

Iconic. Emma prepares to drop him out of a building but Scott rightly tries to get her to back off, pointing out the pr nightmare it’d create and the fact that they have enough evidence ot shut him down. Martha however has other ideas and gets him to let go of his own accord, falling to his death.. but given he’d aranged a stunt for the press apparently this gives our heroes deniability and Martha her revenge. 

So we end this three parter as Jean revels in her new power, and Beast returns with an announcment:

Final Thoughts for Germ Free Generation:  This arc is pretty good if forgetable. The struggle of Jean to run the school herself and her rising from the ashes of her own pain at the end with the power of the phoenix at the end is fantastic, finally both giving her a chance to shine.. and a worrying sign for her friends given what her phoenix force copy whose memories she has a copy of, long story, did is awesome. The other parts are okay and ehhhhhhhhh though. Scott and Emma’s investigation into the u-men while having a really good climax, is pretty standard x-men stuff, and Wolverin’es trek with angel is just okay with Angel being highly intolerable during this arc, with Morrison trying a bit TOO hard to make her a “realistic” teen instead coming off as horribly unplesant. She’s supposed to just be lashing out but comes off obnxious as a result. That said this arc does furhter a lot of Morrisons best idea and introduce more, and is a great setup for our next arc, which we’ll get to in two weeks. Soooo

Next Time On X-Men: We find out just what the hell Cassandra Nova is, what her plans are, and what happened with her and charles as our heroes come down with a cold as the might of the shiar empire bears down on them. It’s IMperial in two weeks. 

Next Time ON This BLog: Speaking of long Delayed Projects, I finally return to The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck as a young Scrooge starts his prospecting career, learning the ins and outs from a rich new mentor, and finding the price tag striking it rich comes with. Raid a copper hill with me tommorow. 

If you liked this review, subscirbe for more, join my patreon, and if there’s a comic you’d like me to cover suggest it in the comments or outright comission a review from me via ask. See you at the next rainbow

[nosferatyou]

If I Can Be So Bold: Chapter 1 (Jack White x OC)

Summary: Rosalie and her band “By Elliston” move from Nashville to Detroit to continue their music careers and move away from their demons. Rosalie notices an unhappy face in the crowd of their first show, and is instantly drawn to him. While she doesn't mind that hes easy on the eyes she does mind his less than stellar attitude about their music. 

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Drug use, language, and mentions of abuse.

Notes: Well this has been brewing for A WHILE. I’ve been everywhere deciding on a plot, but after tedious planning this is finally a reality. I hope the 5 Jack White fans on here enjoy this. This will be a series so strap in folks. We got young jack. we got old jack. we got everything in between. (also series names are hard) Enjoy! Appreciate all the research i did!

Chapter Two

“Do you want another?” 

He holds his hand above me, his dark eyes burning holes into me, he pulls back more as if ready to strike again. As if on command, I recoil from the movement, feeling smaller than I ever had.

My head shoots up, suddenly back in Zoot’s coffee house. I blink a couple of times, trying to wake myself up. I couldn’t remember what she asked.

“What?” I asked her, phasing back into reality again, and not what was a horrific nightmare.

Sat next to me was my best friend and singer in our band was Harry, or Harriet if you want to be technical. Her head was held high, and she was practically jumping out of her skin with excitement, she seemed more than ready for our first show in a new town.

 She moved one of her two shots in front of me and asked again. 

“Are you deaf, Lee? I asked if you wanted another shot before we go on.” 

I quickly sat up and grabbed it off the makeshift bar, anything to shake off what I was feeling. 

We clinked our drinks together, and she yelled out a toast over the crowd of people behind us. 

“To fresh starts and new stomping grounds!” 

We clinked our drinks and quickly downed them, both of us coughing from our burning throats, but as soon as we saw our red faces, we burst out into laughter. 

“We are horrible at shots, aren’t we?” I said in between wheezes of laughter.

“We truly are.” She paused and grabbed the bottle. “One more for good luck!.”

It seems like this is the night, if any, to drink. 

We’d just gotten to Detroit. Like just got here a week ago and are already booking shows. We all decided to move her for reasons I won’t mention, but I’ll just say that we needed to switch up our scene a bit. 

Our band “By Elliston” had grown pretty big in the Nashville scene, we played pretty frequently at the Exit/In. Which is not the biggest venue in the world, but it means something for the Nashville scene. I mean, we technically shared a stage with Muddy Waters and BB King, so that’s at least something to brag about.

 We were known in the Nashville punk scene and had made some significant headway, but thanks to shitty people and our big egos, we decided to move to Detroit. Known for its great music and cars.

 And here we are at Zoot’s Coffee shop, which is arguably a coffee shop honestly. Off a dark street, that no person with money would venture down, and the outside seems like nothing is out of the ordinary, it’s just a house on a street. But the inside. Its a home, its a coffee shop, and venue for anyone who has an instrument. 

Its packed wall to wall with people, barely any standing room, especially near the stage, which is just a raised corner of the living room. Its the perfect venue for any rock band. Small and loud.

We (being the band and me) all lived for music, and it is our life’s blood.

 I grew up in a very southern home and was always surrounded by music, thanks to my dad. Id never met a man who loves Johnny Cash more than him or country music for that matter. Cash would always play through the house, or Hank Williams, Waylon Jennings. That kind of thing. However, I can’t stand to listen to any of them now. Overplayed and over appreciated is what I always said.

 That did spark something in me. I started playing guitar, thanks to my dad… and then I picked up the bass and then drums. And so on and so on. The moral is that If you hand me any stringed instrument ill know how to play it.

The other girls. Jo, Harriet, and Ezra. All got into good music when they were in high school, which also when we all met. Thanks to the high school band or orchestra. I played violin, as did Jo and Harriet, Ezra played the stand-up bass and continues with the bass to this day.

 Now we’ve all moved on the from hot cross buns and into a world of rock and roll. We used to be terrible, covering a lot of Alice in Chains and Nirvana. 

Graduating class of ‘93 for all of us, and we lived in a world of grunge. Five years later and we’ve since moved on from our teenage ways. We’ve embraced the blues and everything around it. However, we get a bit heavier than our inspirations, with my heavy fuzz and Harriet’s raspy yelps. With the look of punk dads (a lot of fun button-ups, dark makeup, and Dr. Martens boot) and the sounds of 4 angry ladies, we tore up Nashville.

We played a lot of house shows, met many a band, lost many a group, met a dumb boy who won’t be named (its John), and had a lot of fun tearing up the Nashville scene. 

As we grew, we played bigger venues, the show of ‘96 at The End being the staple of our career. We’d never played as good as we did then, and none of us are convinced we’ll play as well as we did that night.

 Either way, we were thrust forward, and our movement grew, we were making money from our shows, plus we played bigger venues. The Exit/In and The East Room, to name a couple. Last month we felt we needed a change of scenery to grow. As incredible, the Nashville scene is, its also quite small. Few venues and fewer people. That’s the other girl’s excuse, at least. 

We scrounged up what we could, found an apartment here, and moved as soon as we could. Unlike the others, I had to burn some bridges to get here, but more will be made here. We scooped out the scene the moment we arrived and set up a show here, and we are all buzzing to perform again. 

“So, who are we opening for again?” I asked as we headed to our van to start and unload our gear. 

“The White somethings.” Jo absentmindedly answered, wrapping her jacket around herself for warmth.

Harriet quickly cut in, “The White Stripes, you mean.” Correcting her.

We all arrived at our shared van and started grabbing our mess of cables and cases.

Harriet continued, “I’ve been asking around all night about them, you know. To learn about the enemy and such.” 

Jo popped her head up from the front seat and asked, “When have you had the time to ask around? I was with you literally all night.” 

Harriet picked up her small load for the night and parked a seat on the car next to ours, lighting a cig while she sat.

“I have my ways.” She said, wiggling her eyebrows before taking a long drag.

“Anyways, here’s what I’ve learned. They’ve been around a year, the drummer learned when they got together, and guitarist leads the show.” She spoke with her ever-present dramatics, waving the cig around after every word. 

“They can’t be that good if the drummers new, and they’ve only been playing a year.” Said Ezra, who was effortlessly carrying what seemed to be the world’s most massive bass amp. 

“I don’t know, Z. It seems agreed that they know how to rock a room.” Harriet pipped up.

“What does it mean for us then?” Asked Jo who’s joint was lit and already in her mouth, and arms were full with various drums. Explains why she was digging around the front seat.

I quickly cut in, not about to let them get nervous over a baby band. “Absolutely nothing. We’ve got six years on them. These Detroit kids won’t know what hit them, we’re from music city for god’s sake.” 

“That’s the spirit, Lee!  Now get your asses inside so we can set up.” Harriet popped off the car and started walking towards the door, beckoning us towards her.

“Feel like helping us speed up the process, Harry?” Joked Jo.

“You’re big girls. I’m gonna go try and spot the enemy.” She yelled back to us.

“Oh, have fun, we will just be here carrying your band!” I yelled out.

“I knew I could count on you, darling!” She called out, throwing a wink and cigarette butt our way. 

When we had finally reached the stage, the already crowded room had doubled in bodies. While most bands would be shaking in their boots, it only spurred us on more. While we all have our fair share of disagreements, we have one thing in common. Our shared headspaces before a show. All ready to take on anything, and our confidence is unwavering. The bigger, the better. It’s honestly what’s kept us together this whole time. 

Now all eyes were on us, and it was a tough crowd, it was dead silent. The girls and I all exchanged a look and nodded. I always started us off. We had a set opener, it never changed and worked every time, but after that was a free for all. I usually took charge and just chose whatever I was feeling, but if not me, then Harriet. The other two just flowed with whatever we threw their way.

I always started first with the heavy riff, joined in by Ezra, then Jo, and finally Harriet. 

The riff is what pulled them in, and it was always quite the sight. I got fully into it every time. It was dark, straightforward, and full of fuzz and feedback. 

By the time Harriet joins in its mayhem, I speed up and play power chords. It’s not slow, but it’s not so fast that it’ll make your head spin. 

As the short show progressed, we felt like how we used to feel every night. Pure joy, which is what we all fucking needed. 

We improvised. I mashed up whatever songs I even threw in a little Stooges to thank the locals for letting us play. Though I did notice the gaze of one oddball in the back, who was just… watching.

 While that doesn’t sound weird, it was sure out of the ordinary. He sat in the back, arms crossed leaned against the wall. The whole mysterious boy schtick was down pact. He wasn’t scowling, but he didn’t seem happy. It was off-putting and kept my focus over towards that corner of the room, but didn’t hinder the performance. Maybe it fueled it. 

The show couldn’t have gone better, though. The crowd did not hide their whoops and hollers when we finished our last song of the set. I was already riding that performance high and will be for the rest of the night. 

“Thanks for a great first night, Detroit! We’re “By Elliston,” and we hope to see you next time!”

Screamed out Harriet for a final goodbye as we headed off the stage, their applause carrying us off the small stage. 

The moment we put down our instruments, we about took each other out, tacking one another to the ground.

 As tradition carries, after every show, we used to just aggressively group hug, but over time we’ve grown more and more… excited. At one of our last shows at The Exit/In, I accidentally knocked out Jo by slamming into her too hard. If that gives any frame of reference to what our dog piles look like now.

“Ladies. If every show goes somewhat like that here, I think we will rule this scene.” Ezra said from the bottom of the pile, her words garbled from the mass of bodies. 

“Alright, Lee, get your ass off the top, you’re gonna snuff me out down here.” 

Without much warning, she slid out from underneath us, and the rest of us went down to the ground, causing all of us to erupt in laughter. 

Once we all straightened ourselves out, we went to the van and had a celebratory cig, the first of many “celebratory” cigs of the night, 

To my right was Harriet leaning against the tail light, and Jo and Ezra were sitting in the van next to me. Harriet broke the silence.

“You know I missed this, Lee. I’m glad you’re back.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Har-” While talking I’d noticed three figures a few cars over walking to their own. My eyes widened in surprise. I grabbed Harriet’s arm suddenly and dragged her in with the rest of us.

“Shut up. It’s him.”

“What I wasn’t even talking-” she stopped and sat up to face, she wasn’t upset, but she sure looked confused. “Wait, who is “Him?” 

I looked around to check to see if he could hear. 

“I saw him when we were playing. He kept just… staring at me. It was weeeird.”

“Why’d you pull me in the car then??” 

“I panicked! It was just weird!” 

Ezra peaked her head out of the car in curiosity and asked. “Which one is it, the young blondie or the black-haired beauty?”

“Gah Jesus, not the child, Ezra! It’s the hot one.”

Harriet whipped her head out of the car to look at them, speaking a bit too loudly.

“Lee, you need to start off saying it was a HOT stranger! You have my interest now.”

“I’m going to kill both you. Get your dumbasses back in the car.”

We huddled back up, Harriet has a look in her eye that I don’t like.

“So, what’s the plan of action here, Lee?” Asked Harriet.

“Nothing. He’s a scowler. Sure a hot one at that, but if he can’t enjoy what we make, then what’s the point? When we played that stooges song, he looked like he was going to blow his top.”

“I think you’ve missed the point here, Lee. Point one,  You’re fresh out of a toxic sludge of a relationship. Point two, hot stranger. And finally. Point three, he’s a hot stranger in a band. I’m not passing up this opportunity.”

She gave us a wink, took a final drag of her cig, and hopped out of the car. She was going over to them.

“Harriet, you fucker don’t you dare,” I said with gritted teeth. “I’ve tackled you once today, and  I’ll do it again.”

She chuckled. “You’re all talk, kid. I’m off to make friends!”

“Bastard!” I yelled, leaping out of the car and towards her. I was too late, she just about ran over to them, and I was quickly in tow behind her. 

“Well, look at that, Lee! New people. Hi there, I'm Harriet, but you can call me Harry. and this is Rosalie.” She extended her hand towards the three strangers.

“Its Lee actually, she’s just an asshole.” 

All of them looked slightly taken aback. They were sure as hell wasn’t expecting her hand in their face, or two random ladies in their space. The newly named “hot stranger” was the first to speak up. He seemed rightly hesitant.

“I’m Jack, and this is my sister, Meg. This over here is my nephew, Ben. He’s our pinball wizard. Or Roadie in technical terms.” 

“Well, good to meet Y’all!” Once she shook ben’s hand, he spoke up. Man he was young. Was he maybe 16? Not over 18 is the point.

“You guys played a hell of a show. The Stooges? Blues? You’re going to give these two a run for their money.”

Jack shifted on his heels when ben mentioned this. Same face as before, and little less friendly than introductions.

“Well, its all that Tennessee blood in us. Now we arent from Memphis, but Nashville’s close enough, right?” Harriet winked at the kid. His cheeks flushed a deep red. 

Jack shifted his eyes back to me, but they wander somewhere else. 

I clear my throat, he snaps his head up and makes eye contact with me, a small smirk falls on his face. 

“Well, you all seem busy, so Harriet and I are going to go back over there. Have a good show.”

I grab her arm and try to drag her away casually.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She whisper yells to me. We find ourselves on the other side of our van, out of their sight.

“Lee, You have never been one to shy away from new people. Especially men. Remember us, fresh out of high school? You practically had a different man in your bed every night. That whole nervous persona is new. Go seduce a hot stranger!”

“Jesus, Harriet! Lower your goddamn voice! First off its Jack, And yes I know. Different times though. I’m not going to go over there in front of his sister and prepubescent nephew to try and get in his pants.”

“Aw, come on, Lee! It’d be fun! Plus, you need a fucking rebound, girl.”

“Okay, well, talk me into this when its not a family reunion.” 

“You got yourself a deal, Rosalie.”

We started to make our way back to the other girls.

“Alright, ladies, let’s go catch our headliner,” I said, opening the van doors. A plume of smoke rolled out of it the moment the doors opened. I grabbed the joint from Ezra, taking a hit before going inside. I handed it back to the faded bass player and headed back inside.

[artsybanchou]

I’m a big fan of 80s/90s anime and Ranma 1/2 played a big role in my childhood. The premise has sooooo much food for thought when it comes to looking at gender and specifically the performance of gender. I’m about to get INTO it, so, here’s your warning-- read more is a ramble. (LONG ramble)

Oh ho ho ho! WELCOME TO MY HELL!

Aight, so let me set the stage for you-->

Two people, who should not be parents, have a kid. The father, Genma, a fairly successful martial artist, takes their just-born son on a training journey without consulting the mother. By training journey, I mean that they travel all over the world with little to no money, either stealing from or scamming people in order to make sure they can eat, under the guise of training the son, Ranma, to become the greatest martial artist of the “Anything Goes” school of martial arts. One of the most frequent scams the father pulls is promising his son’s hand in marriage to various families in exchange for a dowry before running off with both his son and the dowry, never to be seen again. This-- inevitably-- comes back to bite them in the ass. But more on that later.

We don’t get to see a lot of Ranma’s childhood on the training journey, just the occasional incredibly horrific flashback to something that would become a national incident were it to happen in the real world. For example, at one point in time, his father finds a Chinese pamphlet of an ~ancient lost Chinese art~ that is INCREDIBLY POWERFUL!!!!! wow! It’s called Neko-ken. So he decides to teach his six-year-old this technique, although he can’t actually read Chinese so he does it based off the diagrams-- which detail a process of collecting a good number of cats, starving them for a few days straight, and then tossing his son, covered in fish sausages (possibly tied up, can’t remember), into the pit to fend for himself (and not be eaten alive) for hours on end. Surprise, surprise, Ranma comes out incredibly traumatized and with an intense fear of cats (something his father would’ve seen coming if he was able to read Chinese as the pamphlet says that someone would have to be crazy to try to teach someone this technique and that it causes severe psychological damage-- also could’ve been avoided if his father had any common sense or fatherly instincts, but hey that’s just asking too much of Genma). This is not the result his father wanted, so he tries to “fix” it by doing the exact same thing multiple times, just with different cat foods wrapped around his son because... I genuinely don’t know what his thought process was but yeah. So that’s just a tiny snapshot of what his childhood was like as well as how much of a massive idiot his father was. And since Ranma never interacted with his mother, guess who had the greatest influence in his development (yay........). (save him) (also this is based off my memory from watching the anime YEARS ago, so some small details might be wrong but the big, overarching “his dad is a terrible person” thing is still very much true even if some of these smaller details aren’t)

When Ranma is a teenager, his father brings him to a Chinese training ground full of cursed springs. The tour guide repeatedly tries to explain what exactly this place they’re visiting is, but the father and son pair are two hard-headed idiots and get right to sparring. Ranma knocks his father into a spring pretty quick only to be caught off guard when his father reemerges from said spring as a panda and grand slams our protagonist into another one of the cursed springs. Our manly man martial artist protagonist emerges from this spring as a dainty, busty teenage girl. /The horror./ The panic from both Ranma and his father’s deeply shaken fragile masculinities gives the tour guide enough time to reveal that they had fallen into the cursed springs of the drowned panda and the drowned girl (one guess who fell into which one) and that anyone who falls into a cursed spring will take on the form of the life form that drowned in it. They can return to their original bodies by being splashed with hot water but, from now on, every time they’re hit with cold (or even apparently lukewarm) water, they’ll change into these new cursed forms.

Now, I’m sure you all saw this coming from the type of man that Ranma’s father is based on everything I’ve said so far, but Genma is the worst(TM). So Genma is all, “no SON of MINE can be a GIRL! >:((((((” and Ranma, who has been raised for his entire conscious life by this man, and only this man, is also very much not Okay(TM) with this because he’s a man, a manly fighting man who was raised to be the manliest of fighting men who fight. He can’t be a GIRL. 

Except he totally can. Because these two start taking advantage of Ranma’s feminine body pretty much immediately in order to continue running scams so that they can eat and whatnot while traveling. Of course, Genma constantly shames Ranma by saying things like, “I can’t believe my son is such a failure of a martial artist, being a girl! I’m so ashamed!” and whatnot at every opportunity but especially when they are in an argument and Ranma is winning or if he needs Ranma to do something for him. He frequently manipulates his son by using this kind of guilt-tripping language as though it’s Ranma’s fault that his body is like this. Nevermind that they both frequently profit off of Ranma’s female body for scams, Genma still puts Ranma down for having it and Ranma internalizes that because he’s 15 and his father is the only person he’s ever known.

And I’m sure we all hate Genma now, as we should, because fuck Genma. What kind of woman would ever marry Genma? (And we assume a woman is married to Genma because how could a man this bigoted do anything other than marry a woman all traditional and whatnot). If only Ranma wasn’t taken from his mother so young. Maybe he would’ve turned out a better person~ Well, uh, bad news, lads :/  So, by the time we meet Ranma’s mom in the series, we’ve known most of these characters for a chunk of time. It’s already quite well established how terrible of a human being Genma is. Ranma may or may not have started the episode out admitting he doesn’t know much about his mom after being asked about her. A standard set-up. I don’t quite remember all the details of the episode, only the important things-- here’s the important thing: Genma’s wife, Nodoka, made Genma swear something to her before he took their toddler on a training journey all around the world. He had to raise Ranma to become “a Man among Men” (and we’ll talk about how she defines manliness) and, if he failed, then both he and Ranma must commit seppuku. 

Yeah, that's right. 

If her son isn’t enough of a man by her standards then he has to commit ritual suicide.

Her son who now transforms into a girl every time he is touched with at least a ladle’s worth water that isn’t steaming.

(hey have i mentioned save Ranma yet? save him seriously)

Her definition of manliness? All the shit the misandrists of tumblr swear is the inherent evils to all men. She thinks her son needs to be unapologetically forceful in /all/ he does. Especially in his romantic forays :///// (yeah this is going where you think it is)

When she does decide he isn’t manly enough (because Ranma was being sexually harassed by an old man who forcibly put him in a sailor outfit, no im not kidding, happosai, said old man, is a whole other element of the show that like holy shit) and tries to get him to commit seppuku, the solution the cast comes up with is to have Ranma “peek” at (his friend? girlfriend? fiance? frenemy? roommate? it’s weird-- technically they’re the two romantic leads but their chemistry is like -5 because she constantly physically hits him for things that really aren’t his fault and just ://) Akane while she is bathing and that will prove his manliness to his mother so that he doesn’t have to literally die. Will having Ranma be a fucking voyeur prove his manliness to his mother, you ask? Yep. This is Manly(TM) and so Ranma gets to live another day. Yay. Once again, molestation saves the day. (aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa) All of this is played off as a joke, for the record. No character is really acknowledged as being “a bad person” for any of this behavior-- not molester Happosai, not trying-to-kill-her-own-child Nodoka, etc. 

So these are the people who made Ranma. Who shaped this kid with the ability to spontaneously switch between male and female bodies (presuming he has water on hand). Also, obviously, Genma had more influence seeing as Ranma never saw his mother between the ages of two and (I think) 16(?), but. regardless, these are the people who shaped his understanding of gender. For all intents and purposes, our lad should be such a pressure cooker of toxic and fragile masculinity that he just about commits seppuku himself every time he ends up in his female body. 

But he doesn’t. In fact, Ranma is largely comfortable in his female body as long as his father isn’t trying to hold said body against him (wait did that come out wrong?). Ranma has no hesitations taking on his female form for something as little as a discount on ice cream. He makes the statement, “when it comes to eating out, being a girl is the only way to go”-- because he’s able to get an extra scoop for being “cute”

There’s a scene very early on in the series about exactly that which has always stuck with me. It opens with Ranma in his female body at a cafe with Akane and they both order fancy ice cream parfaits. Ranma is extremely excited and exclaims, “I’ve always wanted to try one of these!” 

Akane replies with, “don’t tell me you’ve never had ice cream before.”

And Ranma proceeds to explain that he’s never had ice cream like /this/ because it would be too embarrassing for a guy. When Akane asks if he isn’t embarrassed now, happily shoving huge spoonfuls of ice cream into his mouth, he responds with, “hey, I’m a girl now. It don’t count.” Akanes shoots back with a “REAL girls don’t eat like that” (because our lad is eating with such gusto-- he’s living, he’s thriving, he is demolishing that parfait and there is ice cream all over his face) 

He goes, “I’ll eat it however I want.” And then finishes the whole thing off and proclaims that he wants to order the chocolate one next.

Moments like that were the ones where I loved the show the most. We can see Ranma’s insecurities about his masculinity (thank you /soo/ much for that genma) in that he isn’t willing to perform an ‘unmanly’ action in public in his male body. He can’t be *seen* eating girly ice cream. But when he is admonished for not living up to feminine standards in his female body (eat more daintily), he just goes, ‘i’ll do what i want’. Young me really resonated with that, being born with a female assigned at birth body and growing up in Texas. 

It feels like there’s a trans narrative buried in the steaming hot mess that is this work by Takahashi Rumiko-- and it is abundantly clear that was never her intention so I wouldn’t exactly recommend trying to give her an award or anything. She said that she wanted to write a work with a male main character but was so worried about how many male readers she had, she made the decision to make (as she described) a half-male half-female main character (essentially so she could have her cake and eat it too if you will-- all the self aggrandizing fantasies of a male protagonist her male readers could imagine themselves as along with a copious amount of fan service-- the great majority of which was at Ranma’s unwilling expense in his female body which like ://////// (remember that old man I mentioned before??)--  with the female protagonist body). And, like, I’m not saying Takahashi Rumiko is a terrible person or anything-- I don’t know what her beliefs are, I only know her works which are quite old at this point. Takahashi Rumiko is a big deal in the mangaka world because she was one of the first big shonen mangakas who was openly a woman. Normally, men wrote shounen (which literally translates to boys) manga and women wrote shoujo (which literally translates to girls) manga-- the genres were literally divided along gender lines in terms of their intended audiences but also, to a certain extent, their creators. If a woman wanted to write/draw shounen, usually she had to use a pen name that sounded fairly masculine in order to not impact the perception of her work. Takahashi Rumiko was working in that environment so I would understand why she’d want to be careful but, at the same time, I still kind of hate a lot of the things that she normalizes in her works. Especially assault. Both physical and sexual assault she constantly used as a punchline. Not as much anymore. Her most recent work I’ve read was Rinne and the punchline with that one was that the male lead is super poor, literally penniless, and is constantly starving so hahahahha humor amirite? Pain being funny seems to be her through line now that assault is off the table. At least he isn’t constantly getting whole ass tables thrown at him by his love interest as though that’s supposed to be a cute relationship dynamic (Akaneeeeeeeee). I digress. Takahashi Rumiko’s works played a big fucking role in my childhood from Ranma to Inuyasha to Lum (which I encountered well into my teens and therefore didn’t jive with at all because I’d finally learned sexual assault =/= funny and this was one of her more dated works) and so on and just--  I don’t know if I can watch her older stuff the same way I used to. I’m scared to try, honestly. Because some of the ideas behind her works are so interesting-- like Ranma 1/2-- but then you have to sit through episode after episode of a teenage boy in a girl’s body being sexually assaulted by a remorseless old man only to try to fight back at which point he is physically assaulted but also he still has to grovel to and respect said old man because he’s his father’s master and therefore he has to learn martial arts from him but the old man is constantly wagering Ranma having to pose for him in incredibly skimpy outfits if Ranma wants to learn literally anything and alsso RANMA IS FUCKING FIFTEEN/SIXTEEN JESUS CHRIST IS THERE NO FUNCTIONING ADULT ANYWHERE IN THE VVICINITY SAVE HIM!

I NEED TO DIGRESS

It feels like there’s an unintentional trans narrative buried in this anime. It’s not a fun one (but most trans narratives aren’t either so). This is a boy who knows he’s a boy-- even when his body disagrees. He frequently asserts that “he’s a boy” even when in his female body because he is. He’s a boy. He’ll reference being a girl “in appearance” like with the ice cream parfait scene earlier, but when it comes to identity statements, he’s always a boy. This narrative is about him navigating gender presentation and societal assumptions in order to live however he wants. He’s constantly contending with his own forms of gender dysphoria, whether that be his own gripes about doing anything unmanly (eating ice cream) or the very real threat of his mother fucking killing him if he does anything unmanly (aaaaaaaaaaaa), and he navigates tons of threats by choosing how he presents himself.

There are characters that are in love with the male “version” of Ranma and want to kill the female “version” of Ranma (who, for the record, goes by the name Ranko) and vice versa. The Kuno siblings are a great example. Kodachi is in love with Ranma (and is not above literally fucking using date rape drugs on him to get to him) and wants to fucking kill Ranko whereas Tatewaki Kuno, her brother, is in love with Ranko (the lovely pigtailed girl, he calls her) and has literally sent assassins after Ranma. Ranma essentially has to choose between being sexually assaulted or physically assaulted every time he runs into either of them in terms of what body he is presenting. 

I feel like I should let you know, ye who have actually read this far, that Ranma is able to protect himself pretty well from the assault. Like, our boy ain’t dead. Later on he literally fucking kills a god because he’s really passionate about martial arts so he puts all of himself into it and god damnit does his effort show but, honestly, his ability to protect himself shouldn’t mean that it is okay to assault him. Assault is assault. And just because he can fight back doesn’t mean he always does. Akane, his main love interest, regularly sends him through roofs and across town with the force of her Up + B (aka magically appearing hammer), usually for things that aren’t his fault in any way. Akane actually came to the conclusion that Ranma was a pervert when she (fully dressed) walked in on him (naked because he was in the bath) even though the bathroom was obviously occupied. She constantly gets mad at him for things that are beyond his control and then takes her frustrations out on him by literally beating him up and he never fights back-- which is admirable of him but also made me never want to root for their relationship because that isn’t a red flag, my dude, that’s a red planet. the whole of mars is out here trying to warn everyone that this relationship is the most toxic thing since RoundUp.) 

Usually, when watching a show, you get really invested in the character’s aspirations. You want them to ‘get the girl’, ‘get the promotion’, ‘become the pokemon master’ and whatnot. All I ever wanted for Ranma was for him to fake his own death and run far, far away from everyone who ever knew him as “Ranma”. He’d have to fake his own death, obviously, because otherwise his father and Happosai would track him down because, for his father, Ranma is a walking meal ticket and, for Happosai, Ranma is a teenage girl he can sexually assault at any time. Those two would chase Ranma to the ends of the earth if they thought he was trying to get away from them so--

Ranma. Help him.

There’s so much more to dissect with this show. It’s kind of accidentally a great way to look at gender presentation, especially all the terrible negatives that come with constrained gender roles. I use He/Him pronouns when talking about Ranma because it is abundantly clear that he sees himself as a man and I respect that. Sometimes nonbinary-me is like, but think what a gender-fluid icon our boy would be-- literally switching perceived genders via fluids-- and I think that version of Ranma would be a lot happier than the canon one but, I think the canon Ranma is an important reflection of what a lot of people go through, cisgender, transgender, and beyond, when trying to parse what it means to present a gender and the roles you’re supposed to play. 

Maybe Ranma can go on a journey of self-discovery with his own gender after faking his death and escaping Nermina. 

I was all over the place writing this but this isn’t an essay and I’m not being graded so ha fuck you (excpet no not really fuck you because you either a) read this whole thing or b)scrolled down to the bottom to see if i’d get to the fucking point already-- which for the record, I don’t really-- and either way it means you were a little curious what I had to say so thanks I guess). None of this is exceptionally well-thought-out. I wouldn’t exactly stamp this with any kind of official gender discourse seal. It’s all just food for thought. 

[paradisecost]

hc. erik // main timeline 

ALRIGHT this bad boy is just over 1700 words long but I urge you to read it if you’re at all interested in interacting with my Erik. He is extremely canon-divergent in that DoFP, XMA and DP did not happen. I used to be fine with both DoFP and XMA but the more I think about them the more I’m like “wow, those plots are fucking ridiculous” and I’ve chosen to uh, throw them out the damn window. DP on the other hand was just unabashedly horrific fcKJNFKDNF.

TW: Non-graphic mentions of the following: the Holocaust, kidnapping, child abuse, child death, burning alive, imprisonment and isolation, and murder. Ya boy’s been through HELL but these are just mentions, as in ‘this thing happened- moving on’.

Early life // v: doomed from the start

December 31st, 1929

Erik Magnus Lehnsherr is born, presumably somewhere in Poland, to Jewish German parents. His mother nicknames him ‘Max’ when he is very young, and his father and friends soon pick up on it too.

He befriends Magda Eisenhardt at school as a young boy. The two become close, but are separated during the war, long before Erik is taken by Schmidt. Each assumes the other to be dead.

September 1st, 1939

Germany invades Poland; WWII begins.

Erik’s mutation manifests in short bursts throughout the next few years in moments of stress or anger, made worse by the overall traumatic and stressful living conditions associated with being Jewish at this time. His parents are the only ones to witness his mutation, and are desperate to keep it hidden for Erik’s own safety. Erik’s mother considers it a gift from G-d, and one he must use wisely.

Unknown date, 1944

Erik and his family are sent to Auschwitz. Erik’s mutation manifests fully when he is separated from his parents, distorting an iron gate in an attempt to reach them. He is subdued by the surrounding guards via a blow to the head and taken to Klaus Schmidt (later Sebastian Shaw), a German doctor and mutant. 

Schmidt instructs Erik to move a coin as proof of his mutation, shooting Erik’s mother in front of him when he fails. Erik destroys the surrounding room with his powers in a fit of rage, as well as killing the guards present. His rage quickly turns to grief, however, and he breaks down, allowing himself to be comforted by Schmidt, who claims they’re going to ‘unlock his gift with pain and anger’. Needless to say, the resulting years in Schmidt’s grasp are not pleasant.

 The Schmidt years // v: doctor’s orders

1944

Erik is held captive by Schmidt for the next six years, subjected to frequent physical and psychological abuse in order to ‘strengthen’ his powers and improve his control over them. By the time he is seventeen he is capable of harnessing his abilities to perform to Schmidt’s standards, but lacks fine control over his mutation when not in a heightened emotional state. Throughout 1944 he is forced to work as a Sonderkommando alongside this. At the end of the war Schmidt takes him to a private facility in Germany, where Erik remains captive for the next several years.

Despite severe conditioning and traumatic bonding towards Schmidt, he makes a number of escape attempts throughout these years, as well as at least two attempts on Schmidt’s life.

Late 1949

The facility is bombed for reasons unknown to Erik. Erik escapes during the chaos, using his mutation to destroy anything and everything that stands in his way. As he flees, he looks back to see Schmidt absorbing an explosion. This is how he knows Schmidt is still alive afterwards, as well as having his longstanding suspicions confirmed that Schmidt, too, is a mutant.

Recovery and family years // v: we will not suffer here

1950

Having been on the run lest Schmidt attempt to track and hunt him down, Erik finally stops running for one reason only: by sheer chance, he reunites with Magda Eisenhardt. Both are overjoyed to see the other alive, and they marry the same year. Erik begins using the name Max Eisenhardt instead of his birth name. The two are impoverished and starving half of the time, but they make it work: Max manages to find steady work here and there, and the two settle in Vinnytsa to build a home and a family together. 

Summer, 1951

Anya Eisenhardt is born. Max takes work from anyone that will have him as he struggles to keep the family afloat, but the sheer relief of being alive and in a position where people may help them if things take a downturn is more than worth the struggle. Later in life, Erik considers these years the happiest of his life.

Late 1956

Their home in Vinnytsa is set on fire after Max magnetically hurls a crowbar at his boss for refusing to pay him when he and Magda are desperate for the money. Max is not present when the fire is first lit: he runs home upon seeing the smoke, and discovers that Anya is still stuck inside the house. Max attempts to save her, using his powers to tear the house apart, but it’s too late. In his grief and rage, Max lashes out with his powers, murdering his boss, the people responsible for the fire, and numerous innocent villagers in the process. When he calms and tries to go to Magda, she flees in terror, calling him a monster. Unbeknownst to Max, Magda is pregnant with twins at this time.

The Nazi-killing years // v: red right hand

Early 1957

With nothing left for him in Vinnysta and at a loss for what to do with himself, Max opts for the thing that living with Magda and Anya had allowed him to set aside: revenge. He begins his hunt for Schmidt, reclaiming the name Erik Lehnsherr in an attempt to shed the ghost of his former life with his family. He resolves to find Schmidt or die trying, and becomes unable to visualise a future outside of that.

Unknown date, 1957

Somewhere far away, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff are born, without Erik’s knowledge. Magda Eisenhardt dies soon after giving birth to them, and they are taken in by an elderly couple who raises them as their own.

1957-1962

Erik tracks Schmidt by hunting down former Nazis associated with him. He leaves a bloody trail across Europe in his search, leaving no survivors, and never settles in one place for long.

 XMFC timeline // v: first class

Early 1962

Erik attempts to kill Schmidt, now known as Sebastian Shaw, nearly drowning in the process of trying to drag his submarine up from the depths of the ocean. He is saved by Charles Xavier, working with the CIA. He allows Charles to bring him on-board the CIA’s ship, practically refusing to speak to anyone other than Charles and questioning him endlessly on his mutation as well as other mutants.

1962

Events of X-Men: First Class. Erik and Charles work together to locate other mutants, and the first group of X-Men are formed. The mutants work to hone their abilities, primarily with Charles’ assistance; Charles teaches Erik that pain and anger are not the key to unlocking his gift, and to help him, accesses a memory of Erik’s mother - one that, along with most of Erik’s memories from before 1944, had been repressed. Erik also forms a bond with Raven/Mystique, claiming that mutants should not have to hide who they are in order to be accepted by society.

October 28th 1962

Erik kills Sebastian Shaw with the coin he was ordered to move as a child. Erik proceeds to form the first incarnation of the Brotherhood of Mutants, taking the name Magneto. 

 Brotherhood years // v: rise up!

November 20th 1962

Magneto and the Brotherhood free Emma Frost, who joins them.

Following the events of the Cuban Missile Crisis, Kennedy administration authorizes the Central Intelligence Agency to establish Project WideAwake, a covert task force to investigate other X-Gene cases and their prevalence across the United States. While its mission strictly revolves around identification and research of mutants, it exercises paramilitary autonomy from the President’s mandates.

Edwin Partridge, a former Major General in the U.S. Army and a far right-wing activist, gains (through his contacts in the military) proof of mutant involvement during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

July 1963

Azazel and Angel are killed by Project WideAwake agents. Emma Frost is later killed by Sentinel prototypes.

November 22nd 1963

JFK is assassinated. Magneto has nothing to do with this because frankly it’s a stupid plot point, but is wanted for various terrorist actions related to pro-mutant shenanigans.

January 22nd 1964

Project WideAwake operatives are tasked with locating and apprehending Magneto. He is captured soon after.

February 11th 1964

A private trial takes place, which Charles Xavier and Hank McCoy are present for. Magneto is sentenced to two consecutive life sentences in a federal correctional facility without the possibility of parole, sparking the ‘Free Magneto’ movement.

 Imprisonment // v: isolation

1964-1973 Erik is imprisoned with only brief escapes over the course of nine years.

Early 1971 Having destroyed several prisons during the 60s, Magneto is finally permanently subdued by Trask Industries. He is placed in a specialised prison in the Pentagon, 1,320 ft below the Earth’s surface. It is composed of industrial-grade polymers and concrete.

1971-1973 Erik is kept in solitary confinement in prison (though he has been more or less stuck in one prison or another since 1964). He begins to speak almost exclusively in Yiddish and German, conversing with what he believes are ghosts of his parents (for whom he speaks Yiddish), and Schmidt (for whom he speaks only German). These are, of course, hallucinations, which he has experienced throughout his life in times of intense stress.

 Post-prison recovery years // v: the quiet years

1973 to unknown/variable date

Magneto escapes, somehow. He goes into hiding for a long-ass time and attempts to live a quiet, ordinary life, whilst also recovering from the isolation/prison-induced trauma of the past nine years. Charles Xavier is aware of his escape but chooses not to reveal it to the world so long as Erik does not resume his previous occupation of, uh, global mutant terrorist. At some point, Erik secures a safe haven for mutants on the island of Genosha, where he helps to build a self-sustaining community there.

Default timeline, aka mainverse // v: mutants are the future

Unknown/variable dates (these can literally take place at any time period after 1980 or so; the default is the present day)

Erik acts alone. The Brotherhood no longer exists, and Erik no longer lives in Genosha, though he visits it frequently and assists with its upkeep and maintenance when needed - as well as being more than willing to defend it, if necessary. Erik deals with threats to mutantkind as he sees fit, but is generally not the uh… comic-book villain he was post-XMFC. He and Charles Xavier are in contact with one another, and in some instances, Erik visits the school for a multitude of reasons.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Fifteen

Chapter: 15/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: M

Author’s Notes/Warnings:  This is part nine of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

Previous

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Exhausted, Tom stumbled into the darkened room and let himself drop carelessly onto the large, unmade bed. He turned, burying his face into the rumpled pillows and groaned. God, he was tired. It had been a whirlwind of a day and all he wanted to do now was sleep for at least a year. More if at all possible. He’d been at this for nearly a week now; running interview to interview, answering the same handful of questions asked in slightly differing ways. Though the excitement of the first few stops on this, admittedly, chaotic promotional tour had slowly but surely began to fade, he was still excited to talk about the film. It had been a grueling shoot, long hours and frequent reshoots, but he was extremely proud of what he and his co-stars had created and could not wait to see the reaction it would receive.

 He rolled over onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes. He had the next seven hours completely free; a wonderful yet daunting prospect. He should sleep, god he wanted to sleep, but something told him that no matter how badly he wanted it, sleep would be more than a bit elusive. His mind though choked with exhaustion wouldn’t seem to keep quiet. It kept replaying; the feel of her lips on his, her soft yet firm body pressed against his, the feel of her silky hair between his fingers, the way her breath hitched as he pulled her closer to him. Every detail flashed through his mind, bright and clear.

 An involuntary shiver ran through him. It was both heaven and hell. They hadn’t talked properly since that night and it was eating him alive. Far too often he found himself checking his phone during any spare moment, hoping for a call or at least a text. Something, anything; but as it stood it had been over a week and nothing. He could call her, open that line of communication himself and he had been sorely tempted to, but with this he knew that if there was a move to be made, it should be on Rosemary’s part. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, push her into anything; not again. He’d learned that lesson far too well. If they were going to try for something more it would be on her insistence or not at all. It was a gamble, that he was well aware. And it was his heart on the line, but Tom knew that if he pushed there was a very real chance he could lose her completely. And that, that was not an option. So he would wait and he would hope. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes once again and praying sleep would claim him, if only for a little while.

 Several hours later he was brought crashing back into consciousness by a blaring noise. Heart pounding in his chest, it took him several moments to realize that the horrifically loud sound was in fact his phone. He laughed despite himself, shaking his head as he pushed off of the bed and stumbled through the darkness towards the dresser where he had emptied the contents of his pockets upon entering the room. His phone sat, face down on the dresser. Flipping it over revealed a waiting text message. From Luke. He groaned aloud before tapping the screen and opening the message.

 ‘Interview tomorrow moved up from 0900 to 0830. You’ll be paired with Donna. Car will be by at 0745. Coffee will be waiting J’

 Tom typed back a short thank you in response as he walked slowly back to the bed, tossing his phone onto the rumpled bedclothes. A quick glance at his watch told him it was that time of the night which was both stupidly late and stupidly early. He dropped his head into his hands and let out a low groan. He was very much awake now and at the moment any real chance of falling back asleep seemed utterly hopeless. He let his weight fall back onto the bed. His head was still foggy with sleep and the disappointment he’d felt at seeing Luke’s name and not Rosemary’s was difficult to ignore or dismiss.

 With a groan he pushed himself upright once again and fumbled at the bedside table for the television remote. He’d never been one for television but at this point any distraction would do. After three disappointing turns around the available channels he finally settled on a cooking show, some competition that looked far more intense than any cooking program ought to be. He couldn’t say what was happening on the show but the noise was distraction enough.

 Tom blinked rapidly as his phone chimed again and he groped blindly on the bed for it. Hitting the side button to unlock the screen, he stared at the waiting message. ‘Car’s here.’ He blinked in confusion before glancing at the top of the screen for the time. 0745. “What?” He breathed in disbelief. That couldn’t possibly be right. He rubbed his eyes and checked the screen again. Fuck, it was right. He must have dozed back off. Thank god he’d heard his phone.

 Cursing, Tom glanced down at his attire, rumbled from wear and sleep. Shit. Shit. Double shit. He didn’t have time for a shower but he had to change. Scrambling off the bed and onto his feet and tore through the outfits he’d hung in the closet. Taking the first one his fingers touched, Tom wasted little time stripping and redressing, not caring if the suit trousers and button up shirt matched perfectly with the shoes he’d slammed his feet into. Grey goes with everything, he told himself. He managed to wash his face and brush his hair and teeth and make it down to the waiting car by five after. He smiled briefly at the driver, apologizing profusely for his tardiness and slammed the door shut.

 Traffic was mercifully light and they pulled into the studio lot with fifteen minutes to spare. Luke stood at the side entrance with an intern from the television studio. His blue suit was impeccable as always, but the tie around his neck had been loosened; a sure fire sign that Luke was more than a little on edge. Tom climbed out of the car and waved off the driver before jogging up to the two waiting men. His publicist shook his head and chuckled. “Cutting it rather close there, Hiddleston.”

 “But I made it, Windsor,” Tom shot back. The small group made their way inside the building and through a hallway towards the elevators. He found himself tapping his foot to the beat of the song playing from the tinny speakers. A pop hit from sometime in the last decade; one that he recognized but couldn’t name. Once on the studio floor, Tom was rushed through hair and make-up and at twenty-five after he found himself sitting in front of a blue screen with Donna Jacobs waiting for their interviewer to arrive.

 Donna was incredibly bubbly for the early hour; more so than he’d seen her in quite some time. She was talking jovially about something that Tom, admittedly, had not been paying an ounce of attention to. She paused halfway through her story to ask him a question and he’d, much to his chagrin, had to ask her to repeat herself. Donna had laughed and repeated her question with good grace. It still hadn’t made any sense and he found himself staring blankly at her, feeling like a complete tit. Guilt coursed through him; he really hadn’t been paying Donna any mind at all as she spoke. It was exceedingly rude of him and not at all like him.

 He liked Donna; she had been a blast to talk with on long shoots, full of humor and a fair bit of biting sass. She was smart as a whip and hardworking, playing opposite her had been a delight. They’d gotten along well and it had been wonderful to catch up with her during the promotional work. She deserved his full attention, but between his exhaustion and worry he couldn’t seem to give it.

 “Jesus, Tom,” she laughed, nudging him affectionately with her shoulder. “You aren’t listening to a word I’ve been saying are you?”

 He shrugged, a sheepish smile spreading across his tired face. “Sorry. I’ve had an off night.”

 Donna laughed in earnest. “You? Off? Never.”

 Tom opened his mouth to retort but was cut short by the arrival of the woman conducting this particular round of interviews, “Cara Thomas,” she stated, hand held out for both to shake. She was a relatively tall, thin woman with dark brown hair and bright, lively blue eyes. Her skirt suit was a charcoal grey and well-tailored. She smiled brightly at them both before settling herself into the remaining chair. Cara made pleasant small talk with the two actors while the camera crew finished setting and checking their equipment; asking them how they found the city and if they’d had any chance to get out to see the sights. Donna fizzed with excitement as she talked with Cara about a small museum she’d found not too far from her hotel Tom nodded and smiled along. After the all clear was given, they settled in their respective seats as Cara began her introductions.

 “Hello, I’m Cara Thomas and this morning I’m sitting here with the stars of the new dramatic thriller, The School of Mist, Tom Hiddleston and Donna Jacobs. Welcome both of you.”

 “Thank you for having us, its lovely to be here,” Tom answered with warm smile.

 Donna smiled and nodded, “Yes, thanks so much.”

 Cara leaned forward, question cards resting on her lap. “So what can you tell us about this new film? What drew each of you to it?”

 Tom and Donna took turns discussing what they could of the film’s plot; a story centering on Tom’s character, Mark, a recent widower with a young son who discovers through a frightening twist of events that his late wife, Claire, was not all she seemed. He spoke of how he’d been drawn to the emotional journey the story took Mark on. How he’d been on the edge of his seat when reading the script and was absolutely thrilled when the part had been offered to him. Donna spoke of her character, Helen, who was a colleague of Mark’s who unwittingly became tangled in the dangerous web weaving around Claire’s past and how she’d pestered her agent for weeks to get her an audition.

 “Helen’s a smart, no nonsense woman who is thrown for a loop, along with Tom’s character, Mark, and finds herself caught up in something so much bigger than she is. I loved her from the moment the script crossed my path, I wanted to get in her head and solve the puzzle she found herself caught up in. Plus,” she added with a good natured laugh and nudge of her elbow, “working alongside this goof was a definite perk.”

 Tom touched his hand to his heart in a reflexive gesture and smiled, whispering as an aside, “She was an absolute nightmare.” He broke off with a quick laugh and continued, “But in all seriousness, Donna is a delight to work with. She is an absolute gem to play off of and a fantastic foil for my character’s confused floundering.”  

 He rambled on in his usual fashion and, despite it being far from the first time he talked about the film and his character, he enjoyed being able to share his thoughts and experiences. This film had been a frustrating but rewarding endeavor and he was thrilled to finally be able to share it.

 The rest of the day passed in very much the same manner; a fair deal of laughter and stories mixed amongst the same standard questions as the next round of interviewers paraded through. He fought against the impulse to check his phone at every conceivable break point, but it was a very near thing. Donna had quickly caught onto his twitchiness and after chuckling to herself over it called him out. “You are practically vibrating where you sit, what in the world is going on?”

 He scrubbed his face with his hand and groaned softly. “It’s a long story…” he started, laughing to himself. That sounded the worst sort of cliché, but he honestly wasn’t sure how else to put it. Not without making him sound like he was possibly going out of his mind. Maybe I am, he thought with a sigh.

 Donna cocked an eyebrow, “It’s always a long story.” She patted the chair beside her. “Now sit and spill. We’ve got another twenty minutes before they spring us for the day and I’m all ears.”

 Tom lowered himself onto the proffered chair and took a deep breath. “Just…worrying over something I have little control over.”

 “That’s a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one.” She shot him a knowing look. “So the way I see it, Hiddleston, you’re about as tense as I’ve ever seen you. I’m surprised you’ve not popped a lens with how often you’ve taken off your damned glasses to clean them. And let’s not get started on the wrinkled mess you’ve made of your shirt. Hell, looking at you is giving me an ulcer. So what’s got you tied up in knots? Girl trouble?” She paused, smiling, and when he didn’t respond continued on. “Boy trouble?” She waggled her eyebrows at him and he cracked a small smile.

 He sighed, “It’s…complicated.”

 Donna snorted. “Complicated, huh? Which if my male to English translation is up to scratch means you did something stupid and you are currently awaiting forgiveness.”

 Tom laughed despite himself. “Yes and no.” He paused, pulling of his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “There is…someone. We aren’t together but we used to be…I made a series of exceeding poor choices during the time and things…It didn’t end well. We reconnected a few months back and are friends…Or trying to be.” He knew he was rambling and couldn’t for the life of him stop. It was risky, opening up like this. That was something he knew all too well. But he trusted Donna. She wasn’t the sort to run straight out and share any and everything she heard. He didn’t think she would change now. But still…“Things have been complicated. We…There is something there still, I think…I hope…I don’t know. But before I left we…Lines were crossed and she…She asked for time and it’s been well over a week now and I’ve heard nothing. I want to give her that. I know I need to give her that. I’ve pushed before…And it’s never ended well. But I…I want to know where we stand, I want to know if this hope I’ve got is all in vain or if, just maybe, there is a chance.”

 Beside him Donna was uncharacteristically quiet and it unnerved him far more than he wanted to admit. Cautiously, he raised his head and turned to face her. She smiled warmly at him and let her hand fall briefly on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Well that is not the most…hopeful thing I’ve heard.”

 He felt his heart plummet at her words. At someone else’s voice echoing what his mind had been none too gently shouting at him for days now. “Oh.”

 “…But it’s not the least either,” she continued. “You’re doing the right thing, trying to be patient and letting her go at her own pace. Listening to her is ridiculously important and honestly will go a long way to making things right.” She squeezed his shoulder again. “But sometimes people need to be pushed, even if it’s just to get them to open up. So be patient but don’t be passive. If you wait too long for her to figure out what she wants and don’t try to at least talk with her, you might find one day it’s just a tad too late.”

 Tom nodded silently, letting her words sink in. She had a point, of course she did. Donna was nothing short of uncanny with her insight. She was young, yes, but by no means did that mean she wasn’t observant or insightful. She’d seen a lot and wasn’t afraid to call things as they were. It was one of the many things he’d sincerely liked about her.

 “Mr. Hiddleston? Ms. Jacobs? Your cars are here.” Tom looked up to see an intern standing in the doorway, clipboard in hand. The same young man from that morning, if he wasn’t mistaken. Josh. Nodding at him, Tom stood and grabbed his coat. He turned and waited for Donna to grab her things before both followed Josh down to the lobby and their waiting vehicles. He bid Donna good night and climbed into his waiting car, grateful to have made it through another day. Only a week and a half more of this and he would be home.

 Once settled in the car, Tom leaned back into the seat, enjoying the softness of the smooth leather, and closed his eyes. For someone who spent the day mainly sitting and talking, he was ridiculously exhausted. Not really sleeping the night before really didn’t do you any favors, his mind retorted. Maybe sleep won’t prove so elusive tonight. He sighed, hoping that would be the case. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, the car was pulling to a stop.

 He’d blinked in confusion as he heard a voice call.  “Mr. Hiddleston, we’ve arrived.”

 Tom shook his head in a vain effort to rouse himself enough to climb out of the car and make his way to his room. The lobby was relatively empty, a blessed gift, only a scattered handful of people milling about the sparsely decorated open room. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to interact with fans, he enjoyed talking with people and hearing their stories, he just wasn’t sure he had he energy for it. Not then. And the last thing he wanted was to be short with anyone; the fallout from such a thing would not be worth it in any way, shape, or form. He made his way quickly to the elevators and then up to the twentieth floor and his room.

 Once again, he emptied his pockets on the wooden surface of the dresser. His next stop was the bathroom where he made quick work of stripping down and jumped into the shower. He set the water as hot as he could stand it, wincing at the heat before allowing himself to simply relax. He relished in the warmth of the water, lingering under the spray far longer than he normally would after making sure his body and hair were clean. He could feel the tension of the day slowly start to fall away. He finally managed to drag himself out of the shower nearly twenty minutes later, clean of body and renewed of spirit.

 Towel around his waist, Tom wandered back into the main room and fumbled through his suitcase for a clean pair of pajama bottoms; a blue checked pair that he’d long since lost the matching top for. He finished drying himself and pulled them on, stumbling from one foot to the other to keep his balance. He rubbed his hair vigorously with the towel before tossing it back into the bathroom, he really should hang it up to dry but couldn’t seem to find it in himself to do so.

 The beep of his phone caught his attention as he lumbered his way back to the bed. He stopped and flipped it over, turning on the screen. A text from Luke greeted him, a quick reminder that his flight was scheduled to depart at noon the following day and that a car was arranged to pick him up at nine. Tom typed a quick thank you and dropped both himself and his phone onto the bed.

 As he lay on the bed, his mind replayed the conversation with Donna over and over again. He was doing the right thing in waiting, wasn’t he? It was what Rosemary had asked for and it had only been a week, he could wait; she was worth it…But still there was a niggling part in the back of his brain that would not keep quiet. He groaned, rubbing his face with his hand.

 “Fuck it,” he hissed rolling over onto his side and grabbing his phone. A few quick swipes of his finger pulled up the dial screen of his phone and with a practiced ease he dialed in her number hesitating only moments before hitting send.

 The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Shit, what time was it there? He wracked his brain trying to do the math in his head. God, it was probably stupidly late there. A groan escaped his lips. Maybe he should just hang up and try later. Shit, he didn’t know.

 “Tom?” Rosemary’s voice cut through his panicking. It took him several seconds to realize what was going on.

 He felt his heart leap into his throat. He took a quick, calming breath before responding. “Rosie, hi…Am I interrupting anything? I didn’t even think about the time difference. God, what time is it there?”

 She laughed and the sound warmed him. “It’s fine. I was just getting ready to get dinner,” Rosemary paused and he heard a soft shuffling in the background. “It’s going on eight here.”

 “Oh, good.” He laughed softly, feeling his heart start to slow in his chest. Dear lord, he was an absolute mess. “I was terrified it was like two in the morning or some other horrendously late hour and you’d be dead asleep and cursing me out for waking you.” She laughed at this and it was a truly beautiful sound. He paused a moment before asking, “How have you been?”

 There was a slight hesitation in her voice as she answered and it sent tiny alarm bells blaring in his mind. “I’ve…I’ve been alright…Busy…But I’m glad you called. I’ve been meaning to but with one thing and another…” her voice trailed off.

 “I know a thing or two about busy, Rosie,” he chuckled. “It’s completely fine. I’m just…It’s really nice to hear your voice,” he confessed, knowing he was likely pushing the tenuous boundary between them but needing to say it nonetheless.

 “It’s nice to hear yours too,” Rosemary answered, her voice soft. “How has the tour been going? Where are you now, anyway?”

 Tom had opened his mouth to reply when a male voice echoed in the background. “Rose, they’ve managed to find us a table. Come on before they give it away.” Confusion flooded through him. She was at dinner with a man; another man, his mind hissed unhelpfully. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Stop it, he told himself, trying to quell the unease roiling inside him. Don’t jump to conclusions. She has plenty of male friends that she has every right to go to dinner with. Don’t you dare let yourself freak out over this.

 A muffled sound came over the line and through it he heard Rosemary yell, “Go in, Adam. I’ll be right there.”

 Adam? He felt the blood freeze in his veins. Surely not.

 “Tom? Tom, I’m so, so sorry but I have to dash. Thank you for calling…” her voice trailed off for a moment before hesitantly coming back. “You’re home late next week, right?”

 Startled by her question he nodded in response before shaking his head and answering verbally. “Yes. Late Friday afternoon if all goes according to plan.”

 “Good. Good. Listen, after you get back can we meet up…I…There’s something I want to talk with you about.” Her voice was hesitant, uncertain, and he felt his heart drop in his chest.

 “Oh…Alright. I’ll call you after I’ve settled and we can maybe meet up for a coffee.” He tried to keep his voice even and light, which was quite the feat considering he felt as though he were going to be violently ill.

 “That sounds like a plan…I’ll see you soon,” she whispered and the line went dead.

 Tom sat motionless on the bed, staring blankly at the phone still in his hand. He felt as if all the air had been knocked forcefully from his lungs as her words echoed in his head. ‘There’s something I want to talk with you about.’ He took a shuddering breath feeling as though sleep would be the very last thing he would get that night.

 Next

[winterisakiller]

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Fifteen

Chapter: 15/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: T

Author’s Notes/Warnings: This is part nine of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

This story and its preceding one-shots can be also be found on AO3 under the username winterisakiller (sparkinside)

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Exhausted, Tom stumbled into the darkened room and let himself drop carelessly onto the large, unmade bed. He turned, burying his face into the rumpled pillows and groaned. God, he was tired. It had been a whirlwind of a day and all he wanted to do now was sleep for at least a year. More if at all possible. He’d been at this for nearly a week now; running interview to interview, answering the same handful of questions asked in slightly differing ways. Though the excitement of the first few stops on this, admittedly, chaotic promotional tour had slowly but surely began to fade, he was still excited to talk about the film. It had been a grueling shoot, long hours and frequent reshoots, but he was extremely proud of what he and his co-stars had created and could not wait to see the reaction it would receive.

 He rolled over onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes. He had the next seven hours completely free; a wonderful yet daunting prospect. He should sleep, god he wanted to sleep, but something told him that no matter how badly he wanted it, sleep would be more than a bit elusive. His mind though choked with exhaustion wouldn’t seem to keep quiet. It kept replaying; the feel of her lips on his, her soft yet firm body pressed against his, the feel of her silky hair between his fingers, the way her breath hitched as he pulled her closer to him. Every detail flashed through his mind, bright and clear.

 An involuntary shiver ran through him. It was both heaven and hell. They hadn’t talked properly since that night and it was eating him alive. Far too often he found himself checking his phone during any spare moment, hoping for a call or at least a text. Something, anything; but as it stood it had been over a week and nothing. He could call her, open that line of communication himself and he had been sorely tempted to, but with this he knew that if there was a move to be made, it should be on Rosemary’s part. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, push her into anything; not again. He’d learned that lesson far too well. If they were going to try for something more it would be on her insistence or not at all. It was a gamble, that he was well aware. And it was his heart on the line, but Tom knew that if he pushed there was a very real chance he could lose her completely. And that, that was not an option. So he would wait and he would hope. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes once again and praying sleep would claim him, if only for a little while.

 Several hours later he was brought crashing back into consciousness by a blaring noise. Heart pounding in his chest, it took him several moments to realize that the horrifically loud sound was in fact his phone. He laughed despite himself, shaking his head as he pushed off of the bed and stumbled through the darkness towards the dresser where he had emptied the contents of his pockets upon entering the room. His phone sat, face down on the dresser. Flipping it over revealed a waiting text message. From Luke. He groaned aloud before tapping the screen and opening the message.

 ‘Interview tomorrow moved up from 0900 to 0830. You’ll be paired with Donna. Car will be by at 0745. Coffee will be waiting J’

 Tom typed back a short thank you in response as he walked slowly back to the bed, tossing his phone onto the rumpled bedclothes. A quick glance at his watch told him it was that time of the night which was both stupidly late and stupidly early. He dropped his head into his hands and let out a low groan. He was very much awake now and at the moment any real chance of falling back asleep seemed utterly hopeless. He let his weight fall back onto the bed. His head was still foggy with sleep and the disappointment he’d felt at seeing Luke’s name and not Rosemary’s was difficult to ignore or dismiss.

 With a groan he pushed himself upright once again and fumbled at the bedside table for the television remote. He’d never been one for television but at this point any distraction would do. After three disappointing turns around the available channels he finally settled on a cooking show, some competition that looked far more intense than any cooking program ought to be. He couldn’t say what was happening on the show but the noise was distraction enough.

 Tom blinked rapidly as his phone chimed again and he groped blindly on the bed for it. Hitting the side button to unlock the screen, he stared at the waiting message. ‘Car’s here.’ He blinked in confusion before glancing at the top of the screen for the time. 0745. “What?” He breathed in disbelief. That couldn’t possibly be right. He rubbed his eyes and checked the screen again. Fuck, it was right. He must have dozed back off. Thank god he’d heard his phone.

 Cursing, Tom glanced down at his attire, rumbled from wear and sleep. Shit. Shit. Double shit. He didn’t have time for a shower but he had to change. Scrambling off the bed and onto his feet and tore through the outfits he’d hung in the closet. Taking the first one his fingers touched, Tom wasted little time stripping and redressing, not caring if the suit trousers and button up shirt matched perfectly with the shoes he’d slammed his feet into. Grey goes with everything, he told himself. He managed to wash his face and brush his hair and teeth and make it down to the waiting car by five after. He smiled briefly at the driver, apologizing profusely for his tardiness and slammed the door shut.

 Traffic was mercifully light and they pulled into the studio lot with fifteen minutes to spare. Luke stood at the side entrance with an intern from the television studio. His blue suit was impeccable as always, but the tie around his neck had been loosened; a sure fire sign that Luke was more than a little on edge. Tom climbed out of the car and waved off the driver before jogging up to the two waiting men. His publicist shook his head and chuckled. “Cutting it rather close there, Hiddleston.”

 “But I made it, Windsor,” Tom shot back. The small group made their way inside the building and through a hallway towards the elevators. He found himself tapping his foot to the beat of the song playing from the tinny speakers. A pop hit from sometime in the last decade; one that he recognized but couldn’t name. Once on the studio floor, Tom was rushed through hair and make-up and at twenty-five after he found himself sitting in front of a blue screen with Donna Jacobs waiting for their interviewer to arrive.

 Donna was incredibly bubbly for the early hour; more so than he’d seen her in quite some time. She was talking jovially about something that Tom, admittedly, had not been paying an ounce of attention to. She paused halfway through her story to ask him a question and he’d, much to his chagrin, had to ask her to repeat herself. Donna had laughed and repeated her question with good grace. It still hadn’t made any sense and he found himself staring blankly at her, feeling like a complete tit. Guilt coursed through him; he really hadn’t been paying Donna any mind at all as she spoke. It was exceedingly rude of him and not at all like him.

 He liked Donna; she had been a blast to talk with on long shoots, full of humor and a fair bit of biting sass. She was smart as a whip and hardworking, playing opposite her had been a delight. They’d gotten along well and it had been wonderful to catch up with her during the promotional work. She deserved his full attention, but between his exhaustion and worry he couldn’t seem to give it.

 “Jesus, Tom,” she laughed, nudging him affectionately with her shoulder. “You aren’t listening to a word I’ve been saying are you?”

 He shrugged, a sheepish smile spreading across his tired face. “Sorry. I’ve had an off night.”

 Donna laughed in earnest. “You? Off? Never.”

 Tom opened his mouth to retort but was cut short by the arrival of the woman conducting this particular round of interviews, “Cara Thomas,” she stated, hand held out for both to shake. She was a relatively tall, thin woman with dark brown hair and bright, lively blue eyes. Her skirt suit was a charcoal grey and well-tailored. She smiled brightly at them both before settling herself into the remaining chair. Cara made pleasant small talk with the two actors while the camera crew finished setting and checking their equipment; asking them how they found the city and if they’d had any chance to get out to see the sights. Donna fizzed with excitement as she talked with Cara about a small museum she’d found not too far from her hotel Tom nodded and smiled along. After the all clear was given, they settled in their respective seats as Cara began her introductions.

 “Hello, I’m Cara Thomas and this morning I’m sitting here with the stars of the new dramatic thriller, The School of Mist, Tom Hiddleston and Donna Jacobs. Welcome both of you.”

 “Thank you for having us, its lovely to be here,” Tom answered with warm smile.

 Donna smiled and nodded, “Yes, thanks so much.”

 Cara leaned forward, question cards resting on her lap. “So what can you tell us about this new film? What drew each of you to it?”

 Tom and Donna took turns discussing what they could of the film’s plot; a story centering on Tom’s character, Mark, a recent widower with a young son who discovers through a frightening twist of events that his late wife, Claire, was not all she seemed. He spoke of how he’d been drawn to the emotional journey the story took Mark on. How he’d been on the edge of his seat when reading the script and was absolutely thrilled when the part had been offered to him. Donna spoke of her character, Helen, who was a colleague of Mark’s who unwittingly became tangled in the dangerous web weaving around Claire’s past and how she’d pestered her agent for weeks to get her an audition.

 “Helen’s a smart, no nonsense woman who is thrown for a loop, along with Tom’s character, Mark, and finds herself caught up in something so much bigger than she is. I loved her from the moment the script crossed my path, I wanted to get in her head and solve the puzzle she found herself caught up in. Plus,” she added with a good natured laugh and nudge of her elbow, “working alongside this goof was a definite perk.”

 Tom touched his hand to his heart in a reflexive gesture and smiled, whispering as an aside, “She was an absolute nightmare.” He broke off with a quick laugh and continued, “But in all seriousness, Donna is a delight to work with. She is an absolute gem to play off of and a fantastic foil for my character’s confused floundering.”  

 He rambled on in his usual fashion and, despite it being far from the first time he talked about the film and his character, he enjoyed being able to share his thoughts and experiences. This film had been a frustrating but rewarding endeavor and he was thrilled to finally be able to share it.

 The rest of the day passed in very much the same manner; a fair deal of laughter and stories mixed amongst the same standard questions as the next round of interviewers paraded through. He fought against the impulse to check his phone at every conceivable break point, but it was a very near thing. Donna had quickly caught onto his twitchiness and after chuckling to herself over it called him out. “You are practically vibrating where you sit, what in the world is going on?”

 He scrubbed his face with his hand and groaned softly. “It’s a long story…” he started, laughing to himself. That sounded the worst sort of cliché, but he honestly wasn’t sure how else to put it. Not without making him sound like he was possibly going out of his mind. Maybe I am, he thought with a sigh.

 Donna cocked an eyebrow, “It’s always a long story.” She patted the chair beside her. “Now sit and spill. We’ve got another twenty minutes before they spring us for the day and I’m all ears.”

 Tom lowered himself onto the proffered chair and took a deep breath. “Just…worrying over something I have little control over.”

 “That’s a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one.” She shot him a knowing look. “So the way I see it, Hiddleston, you’re about as tense as I’ve ever seen you. I’m surprised you’ve not popped a lens with how often you’ve taken off your damned glasses to clean them. And let’s not get started on the wrinkled mess you’ve made of your shirt. Hell, looking at you is giving me an ulcer. So what’s got you tied up in knots? Girl trouble?” She paused, smiling, and when he didn’t respond continued on. “Boy trouble?” She waggled her eyebrows at him and he cracked a small smile.

 He sighed, “It’s…complicated.”

 Donna snorted. “Complicated, huh? Which if my male to English translation is up to scratch means you did something stupid and you are currently awaiting forgiveness.”

 Tom laughed despite himself. “Yes and no.” He paused, pulling of his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “There is…someone. We aren’t together but we used to be…I made a series of exceeding poor choices during the time and things…It didn’t end well. We reconnected a few months back and are friends…Or trying to be.” He knew he was rambling and couldn’t for the life of him stop. It was risky, opening up like this. That was something he knew all too well. But he trusted Donna. She wasn’t the sort to run straight out and share any and everything she heard. He didn’t think she would change now. But still…“Things have been complicated. We…There is something there still, I think…I hope…I don’t know. But before I left we…Lines were crossed and she…She asked for time and it’s been well over a week now and I’ve heard nothing. I want to give her that. I know I need to give her that. I’ve pushed before…And it’s never ended well. But I…I want to know where we stand, I want to know if this hope I’ve got is all in vain or if, just maybe, there is a chance.”

 Beside him Donna was uncharacteristically quiet and it unnerved him far more than he wanted to admit. Cautiously, he raised his head and turned to face her. She smiled warmly at him and let her hand fall briefly on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Well that is not the most…hopeful thing I’ve heard.”

 He felt his heart plummet at her words. At someone else’s voice echoing what his mind had been none too gently shouting at him for days now. “Oh.”

 “…But it’s not the least either,” she continued. “You’re doing the right thing, trying to be patient and letting her go at her own pace. Listening to her is ridiculously important and honestly will go a long way to making things right.” She squeezed his shoulder again. “But sometimes people need to be pushed, even if it’s just to get them to open up. So be patient but don’t be passive. If you wait too long for her to figure out what she wants and don’t try to at least talk with her, you might find one day it’s just a tad too late.”

 Tom nodded silently, letting her words sink in. She had a point, of course she did. Donna was nothing short of uncanny with her insight. She was young, yes, but by no means did that mean she wasn’t observant or insightful. She’d seen a lot and wasn’t afraid to call things as they were. It was one of the many things he’d sincerely liked about her.

 “Mr. Hiddleston? Ms. Jacobs? Your cars are here.” Tom looked up to see an intern standing in the doorway, clipboard in hand. The same young man from that morning, if he wasn’t mistaken. Josh. Nodding at him, Tom stood and grabbed his coat. He turned and waited for Donna to grab her things before both followed Josh down to the lobby and their waiting vehicles. He bid Donna good night and climbed into his waiting car, grateful to have made it through another day. Only a week and a half more of this and he would be home.

 Once settled in the car, Tom leaned back into the seat, enjoying the softness of the smooth leather, and closed his eyes. For someone who spent the day mainly sitting and talking, he was ridiculously exhausted. Not really sleeping the night before really didn’t do you any favors, his mind retorted. Maybe sleep won’t prove so elusive tonight. He sighed, hoping that would be the case. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, the car was pulling to a stop.

 He’d blinked in confusion as he heard a voice call.  “Mr. Hiddleston, we’ve arrived.”

 Tom shook his head in a vain effort to rouse himself enough to climb out of the car and make his way to his room. The lobby was relatively empty, a blessed gift, only a scattered handful of people milling about the sparsely decorated open room. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to interact with fans, he enjoyed talking with people and hearing their stories, he just wasn’t sure he had he energy for it. Not then. And the last thing he wanted was to be short with anyone; the fallout from such a thing would not be worth it in any way, shape, or form. He made his way quickly to the elevators and then up to the twentieth floor and his room.

 Once again, he emptied his pockets on the wooden surface of the dresser. His next stop was the bathroom where he made quick work of stripping down and jumped into the shower. He set the water as hot as he could stand it, wincing at the heat before allowing himself to simply relax. He relished in the warmth of the water, lingering under the spray far longer than he normally would after making sure his body and hair were clean. He could feel the tension of the day slowly start to fall away. He finally managed to drag himself out of the shower nearly twenty minutes later, clean of body and renewed of spirit.

 Towel around his waist, Tom wandered back into the main room and fumbled through his suitcase for a clean pair of pajama bottoms; a blue checked pair that he’d long since lost the matching top for. He finished drying himself and pulled them on, stumbling from one foot to the other to keep his balance. He rubbed his hair vigorously with the towel before tossing it back into the bathroom, he really should hang it up to dry but couldn’t seem to find it in himself to do so.

 The beep of his phone caught his attention as he lumbered his way back to the bed. He stopped and flipped it over, turning on the screen. A text from Luke greeted him, a quick reminder that his flight was scheduled to depart at noon the following day and that a car was arranged to pick him up at nine. Tom typed a quick thank you and dropped both himself and his phone onto the bed.

 As he lay on the bed, his mind replayed the conversation with Donna over and over again. He was doing the right thing in waiting, wasn’t he? It was what Rosemary had asked for and it had only been a week, he could wait; she was worth it…But still there was a niggling part in the back of his brain that would not keep quiet. He groaned, rubbing his face with his hand.

 “Fuck it,” he hissed rolling over onto his side and grabbing his phone. A few quick swipes of his finger pulled up the dial screen of his phone and with a practiced ease he dialed in her number hesitating only moments before hitting send.

 The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Shit, what time was it there? He wracked his brain trying to do the math in his head. God, it was probably stupidly late there. A groan escaped his lips. Maybe he should just hang up and try later. Shit, he didn’t know.

 “Tom?” Rosemary’s voice cut through his panicking. It took him several seconds to realize what was going on.

 He felt his heart leap into his throat. He took a quick, calming breath before responding. “Rosie, hi…Am I interrupting anything? I didn’t even think about the time difference. God, what time is it there?”

 She laughed and the sound warmed him. “It’s fine. I was just getting ready to get dinner,” Rosemary paused and he heard a soft shuffling in the background. “It’s going on eight here.”

 “Oh, good.” He laughed softly, feeling his heart start to slow in his chest. Dear lord, he was an absolute mess. “I was terrified it was like two in the morning or some other horrendously late hour and you’d be dead asleep and cursing me out for waking you.” She laughed at this and it was a truly beautiful sound. He paused a moment before asking, “How have you been?”

 There was a slight hesitation in her voice as she answered and it sent tiny alarm bells blaring in his mind. “I’ve…I’ve been alright…Busy…But I’m glad you called. I’ve been meaning to but with one thing and another…” her voice trailed off.

 “I know a thing or two about busy, Rosie,” he chuckled. “It’s completely fine. I’m just…It’s really nice to hear your voice,” he confessed, knowing he was likely pushing the tenuous boundary between them but needing to say it nonetheless.

 “It’s nice to hear yours too,” Rosemary answered, her voice soft. “How has the tour been going? Where are you now, anyway?”

 Tom had opened his mouth to reply when a male voice echoed in the background. “Rose, they’ve managed to find us a table. Come on before they give it away.” Confusion flooded through him. She was at dinner with a man; another man, his mind hissed unhelpfully. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Stop it, he told himself, trying to quell the unease roiling inside him. Don’t jump to conclusions. She has plenty of male friends that she has every right to go to dinner with. Don’t you dare let yourself freak out over this.

 A muffled sound came over the line and through it he heard Rosemary yell, “Go in, Adam. I’ll be right there.”

 Adam? He felt the blood freeze in his veins. Surely not.

 “Tom? Tom, I’m so, so sorry but I have to dash. Thank you for calling…” her voice trailed off for a moment before hesitantly coming back. “You’re home late next week, right?”

 Startled by her question he nodded in response before shaking his head and answering verbally. “Yes. Late Friday afternoon if all goes according to plan.”

 “Good. Good. Listen, after you get back can we meet up…I…There’s something I want to talk with you about.” Her voice was hesitant, uncertain, and he felt his heart drop in his chest.

 “Oh…Alright. I’ll call you after I’ve settled and we can maybe meet up for a coffee.” He tried to keep his voice even and light, which was quite the feat considering he felt as though he were going to be violently ill.

 “That sounds like a plan…I’ll see you soon,” she whispered and the line went dead.

 Tom sat motionless on the bed, staring blankly at the phone still in his hand. He felt as if all the air had been knocked forcefully from his lungs as her words echoed in his head. ‘There’s something I want to talk with you about.’ He took a shuddering breath feeling as though sleep would be the very last thing he would get that night.

Next Chapter

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Wan High Weeping (Part 11)

Azula’s concern was somehow more aggravating than her mockery. He hated her pity and he hated her. If she couldn’t play nice before her accident, why should he accept her kindness after? He told himself that she just wanted some support, that she would use him until she lost some weight and gained some friends. But deep down he knew that he was wrong, he has learned how to sort out her lies and truths decently well. He could see genuine concern as she continued to scold him for using drugs and warn him to go to school. He didn’t like to acknowledge her concern because doing so would mean recognizing just how deep he was in.

 She fixed him with one final offer, “come with me, Zuzu.” He knew that if he didn’t take it, he would be on his own and left at Ozai’s mercy. He ought to go, but his heroin was calling pretty loudly. It was a conundrum in itself because Ozai was practically guarding his door. He couldn’t get to his room without passing his father first.

 He had to stay home and find a way to get to it. So he bursted out a quick and harsh, “take care of yourself!” It was just so much easier to pretend that she was just using him. That way he wouldn’t have to worry about being a good brother to her. Wouldn’t have to worry about building another relationship for the heroin to ruin. He abruptly got to his feet and slammed his chair against the table. Azula didn’t flinch.

Thanks to Ozai, she was used to that kind of thing.

Sparing her a final look, it occurred to him that she shouldn’t be used to it.

 He stormed up the stairs, momentarily forgetting that he needed to be sneaky. Mercifully he could hear his father on the phone—a conference call, probably—prattling on and on about smart business partnerships and marketing strategies. Occasional he would hear a boast about how they were crushing BeiFong Electronics.

 His father seemed rather invested in that call, which meant that he had a chance. He took a deep breath and headed back in the direction he had left.

Azula was already gone.

He wanted to be angry, but he had made it pretty clear that he had no intention of going with her.

 So he ventured back upstairs once more. Ozai was still deep into the call. This time the heroin could wait just a little longer. He was growing twitchy and agitated, he was short of breath and his mouth was so dry. He ought to get a drink, but he hadn’t the time to spare. He just had to power though this. As soon as he got to a safer place, he could shoot up all he wanted. Hell, he might even take an extra dose.

He heard his phone buzz and paid it no mind. He grabbed his backpack, emptied it of its textbooks and notebooks and began stuffing in clothes and electronics. He took his heroin first and put it in the backpack. His iPod was next, he slipped that into one of the side pockets and a charger with it. That reminded him to stick his phone in his pocket. But those were already stuffed with cash so he hid it away in a less noticeable pocket. The clothes went haphazardly into the main opening. He found the heroin and concealed it between layers of clothing. He tore a few pillows and the warmest looking blanket from his bed. He thought of taking a few books for entertainment’s sake, but he no longer had the attention span for reading. He did snatch up his journal—though untouched for months—and slipped it in with the clothes. Amid the disorganization of his room, he found a lighter and a half used packet of cigarettes and arranged those into the remaining side pocket. From his closet he withdrew a spare pair of shoes. And then he wandered down the hall and stole some of his father’s travel sized soaps and shampoos as well as a razor or two. He hastily shoved those in with the rest of the mess. He could sense that he was running out of time and it brought a film of sweat to his head.

 He heard his father muttering an, “our next conference will be at the same time, on the same day, next week.”

 “Fuck.” He hissed to himself. He charged down the hall without a second thought and didn’t stop running until the estate was no longer in sight.

 .oOo.

 He had walked for hours, morning had bled into afternoon and then from there, into the early stages of sunset.  What else was there to do? He’d never done something like this before, it felt both wrong and liberating all at once. He knew, in some sense where he needed to go. It was the only place to go, if he really put some thought into it. A place where doors and windows were barred at night and graffiti covered nearly every nook and crevice of the place. Buildings in worse condition showed signs of robbery and violence; windows that ranged from cracked to broken, the worst of them had a bullet hole or two.

 He kept his eyes peeled for the insignia of the White Lotus. Back in the day, perhaps the 60’s and early 70’s the group was composed of a, more or less, innocent group of people. They were folks who condoned the use of LSD and other hallucinogenics for the sake of creativity and inspiration. His uncle had been a part of that movement until it corrupted itself into a decently famed drug cartel.

 He heard a bottle break and an angry howl.

He drew his hood over his head and kept his gaze low, the less he saw the better. It was best not to make eye contact with the types who lived around these parts. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and made his way past taking the care not to be too fast nor too slow.

 He heard another shout from behind and the sound of knuckles on cheekbone. He couldn’t help but hasten his pace. He would find the White Lotus and get his ass back to a safer part of town and then decide what to do next. Ideally, that was what he would do. More plausibly, he was going to steal away and finish off the last of his old stash.

 He was nearing the center of the slum. If he had heard Chan right, the White Lotus was very close. Apparently, they were fantastic for roofies and ecstasy. He hoped that they weren’t lacking as far as tar went. He observed the graffiti around a broken and dry fountain that teemed with mold and creepy ivy. Amid it, he spotted the insignia. He wandered down the sidewalk closest to it until he noticed a second insignia sprayed on the wall of an alley.

He strayed from the sidewalk.

 His eyes were feeling heavy and his movements, sluggish. It was a wonder he had even made it this far. He thought that it was the product of adrenaline alone. Now that he was out of Ozai’s reach, the kick was wearing away faster than his highs. The drowsiness was settling in. Or maybe his spike in energy and then the drop was just another side effect of his addiction. Just another thing to toss in with his waves of disorientation and his dry mouth.

 His dry mouth…

 He dug around in his backpack, noting with dread that in his hustle to flee Ozai he hadn’t packed himself any food or water.

He wanted to scream. Maybe to cry even. But more than ever he needed his heroin.

 He came to a door and he pounded on it. He was rash, he wasn’t thinking. He pulled out his wallet and practically shoved a fat wad of cash into the palm of the man at the door. “Hard stuff. I need the hard stuff.”

 “Not from around here are ya, kid?”

 “I’m not a kid!” He snapped.

 “Ya sure ain’t an adult either.”

 “I need the hard stuff. I have money, give me…”

 The man beckoned him inside. His brain begged him not to enter, but he did. He had to. The place was a complete shithole. Dirty dishes stacked on tables and discarded on the floor amid cigarette butts and empty bottles. Bullet shells littered other parts of the floor, the size of the bugs that scuttled about. He couldn’t identify the types of stains on the walls and carpets.

That was only the entry room, the kitchen was even more horrific and the bedroom, that was expectedly occupied. The woman was topless, still clad in high heels and fishnets. She was as disheveled as he felt within. He didn’t know how she could sleep with discarded lingerie and boxers everywhere. It smelled foul, like drugs and booze and sweat.

 “Stop starein’.” The man grumbled gruffly and roughly dragged him away from that and to another scene. One that was more dizzying than the one before it. A woman sat fully, but scantly, dressed in a bathtub. Her stare was fierce as she exhaled a puff of smoke. There was another person in the room, she was getting more ink done. She looked at least a little tipsy, her lip curved up. “Haven’t seen you in class lately, Zuko.”

 He looked at the time, noting that school had let out an hour ago. He shuddered and rushed passed on his own accord.  He wondered just how often she came to this place, it didn’t look like she frequented it. At last, Zuko is hustled into a room at the far end. The man counts the cash Zuko had handed him and tossed him a roll of needles. “I paid for more than…”

 “Ya get what I give ya.”

 “I paid for…”

 The man’s hand went for his pocket.

 “I paid for this much.” Zuko conceded. He hid his new goods under the folds and in the pockets of clothes in his backpack.

 The man flashed him a shark’s grin and directed him towards the door. “Pleasure doing business.”

 Just like that it dawned on him that he hadn’t the street smarts he needed to survive. It was becoming more and more obvious as he continued meandering about the place. He tried to find himself an isolated space to pump his poison, but the better of them have already been occupied.

 As inconspicuous as he was trying to make himself, he could see people staring. Could hear them chattering amid themselves. And, with a sense of dread, he realized that he was overdressed for a place like this. 

 Overdressed and surrounded.

He kicked himself again for being fool enough to forget to bring a knife.

 His stomach took the first blow. An unexpected deliverance that stole his breath as a second assailant snatched his backpack. He scrambled to his feet with an angry yowl and shoved the thief. A mistake, the thief’s companion had a bat and it collided with his shin. He toppled again, watching the first boy pick out his iPod. He pocked it as the other brought the bat down again. That time it met his ribcage and he feared that he would find a new thing to bond with Azula over.

 Quickly, the thief patted the easily spotted pockets of his pants. Unsatisfied, the boy picked up Zuko’s sleeping supply.

 He winced as the boy shook out his pillow, finding one of his syringes. Zuko decided to make a scene over that and over his clothes, for it he was earned a blow to the forehead. Still, it was the only smart thing he had done himself. The boy smirked and stole one more shirt, the cigarettes, and the single syringe. Thinking that he had found the best of the loot, he tossed the backpack back at Zuko.

It nailed him on the head.

 It nailed him on the head, but at least he had the rest of his stash and the goods he had just acquired.

 .oOo.

 Zuko shivered to himself feeling wholly alone. The night was growing cold and he still hadn’t a place to sleep nor a pillow to sleep on. He felt lost. He ought to go home but he knew that Ozai would be waiting. Waiting to worsen the wounds he’d achieved on his own.

 A good distance away from the shady parts of town, he found himself an underpass and slumped to the dirty ground. He only had the light of a flickering streetlamp.

He couldn’t help but wonder what his sister was doing. It was probably dinner time. He genuinely hoped that Ozai wasn’t taking his hasty departure out on her. He couldn’t see Ozai doing something like that; no, as always, Azula was probably costing at least moderately comfortably by as he suffered terribly.

 He thought of Mai.

No doubt she was doing better now that he was gone.

Gone, hunched over, and poising his needle.

 His bloodied head left him all the more relieved when the needle bit his arm. Soon the throbbing would be gone. Soon, the lashes Ozai left on his back would sting. Soon the bruises would pound. Soon he was feeling the first tingles of his rush coming on.  

 He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.  It was almost dead and he had nowhere to charge it and nothing to charge it with. He looked at the caller ID, and his eyes brimmed with tears. He answered the call.

 “Zuko, where are you?”

  Through the rush he was weeping. He was so scared, but now he had a way out.

[jimlingss]

Brass & Strings [8]

Episode 7 - Episode 8 - Episode 8.5 OR Episode 9 Words: 4.8k Genre: Fluff, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that's always too nervous to answer 'no'? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as 'bat-shit insane' and you're not ashamed. 

Cr.

Miss. Song is a person who’s had many career changes, from being a ballerina to a musician and now into a teacher. She’s the type of professor that college boys thirst after and girls admire. The lady exudes a sexy pureness, a mix between cute and sensual, that even you cannot rival with. Each movement she makes is with grace and her smile is always gentle, making it hard for others to decline her. “Jennie, Rose and Jihoon. Could I speak to you for a moment?”

The concertmistress immediately carries her belongings to the front podium, joined with the flutist and viola player. “Is there something wrong, miss?”

She smiles. “Well, I was wondering if you three were interested in attending a business party in the next two weeks and play as a quartet. It’s a charity event, created by a close friend of mine and they’re looking for some performers for the evening. Of course, you’ll be compensated for it.”

The three of them exchange a variety of looks from surprise to joy. “W-we’d love to!” Rose almost bounces up and her grin spreads into her cheeks.

You scoff, picking up the pace with shoving your belongings into your bag. “Are you okay?” Namjoon tips his head to the side, observing your scowl. He’s standing by your desk, waiting for you to finish. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m dandy.”

It was always the same.

String and woodwind players receive opportunities most frequently. They’re fought for and provided numerous scholarships, recognized in the industry. It does cause the section to become more competitive but it was still better than the treatment brass and percussionists receive. The entire backbone of the orchestra is often disregarded.

The pretty instruments are the flutes, the violins, the piano. Those are the things children want to play and adults want to listen to. No one cares about french horns or the timpani, god forbid the tuba.

“Oh, you too, Y/N!”

“What?”

Miss. Song waves you over and you’re paralyzed, mid step out of the door. “I did say a quartet after all.”

Namjoon smiles and nudges you forward. You go stumbling towards the group.

Your expectations have shattered right in front of your eyes.

“You did hear, right? Would you be interested in participating in this event? I understand if there are other responsibilities you have to meet. I won’t hold it against you if you refuse.”

“I-”

“But a tuba?!” Rose whips her head back to the professor. “That-...that’s not even supposed to be in a quartet!”

Jennie frowns and shakes her head. “Rose.”

Miss. Song simply giggles behind her hand and her cheeks naturally flush. “In a proper string quartet, there isn’t supposed to be a flutist either.” The flute player promptly quiets down and focuses on the floor in embarrassment. The music professor looks over to you. “I’d love it if you could join us. These three need a bass instrument. I know violin, viola, flute and tuba is a very unconventional combination but I’d think it would be very interesting, wouldn’t it?”

Jihoon stares at you, the male waiting for an answer with the teacher. Rose doesn’t make eye contact and Jennie tries to smile in politeness. You turn your head slightly to the only other person in the room, Namjoon, who is waiting by the door.

The harpist is staring at his phone, scratching his head innocently. When he realizes you’re gazing at him, his irises flicker upwards and the corners of his lips upturn, dimples creasing into each side of his cheek. He stiffly waves his hand and then blinks, motioning to the people behind you who are waiting.

You inhale a huge breath, trying to fight down the excitement. “Yes.”

“Good.” Miss. Song scrunches her shoulders in a chipper manner. “Try to get along ladies. Jihoon, you too. The performance will be in two weeks.”

//

“It’s happening!” Your arms are in the air and you scream towards the sky, up to the azure shade that is not covered with one single wispy cloud. “I’m so fucking happy!”

Namjoon would usually tell you to quiet down, that you’re drawing too much attention but this time, he allows for a moment of glory, not caring about how you’re leaning close to him.

“Congratulations.”

“I thought this day would never come...for tuba to see the light of day…” It’s a tad bit dramatic but it’s been a long time since you’ve felt this adrenaline coursing through your veins.

You knew beauty was fleeting. After a few years, the suitors and dates you have will disappear, no longer chasing after you but someone younger with more energy. The money and shopping is only temporary satisfaction, an escape from your real problems. It was music that would last, your instrument that would stick by you, the passion that you would always have.

But for countless nights, you asked yourself if anyone would even want you. If anyone would want your instrument. Would they even desire to hear you play a note?

“I’m so happy, I could kiss you, Namjoon!”

He scrunches up his nose, looking away from your cheesy grin. “Good luck.” He feels genuinely thrilled. There was always something about the way you loved music, talked about it and how your eyes glittered that made his own chest squeeze. You weren’t just a conceited part-time sugar baby with shopaholic tendencies. There’s so much more.

Namjoon feels privileged to see this side of you.

“I wish I could be with you.” He confesses and then backtracks when the implication of his words hits him. “I mean...play with you, like in the quartet.”

“Maybe someday.” You wistfully breathe out. “A duet?”

The boy pushes up his glasses and nods, hoping for such a day to arrive.

//

Unfortunately, things don’t go as smoothly as you imagined them to be.

“I’m not playing with her. No. I can’t.”

“Pft. Then I’m not playing with you either.”

Jennie sighs in exasperation, standing between you and Rose. “Come on, guys! We have to work together! Let’s just put aside the past and build the path towards the future-”

“How could you even say that?!” Rose sobs out, holding her flute away from you. “She’s the one who scratched me all up, remember? I was assaulted!”

You roll your eyes, preparing to put your brass instrument back in your case. “You’re the one who started that fight. Who are you to talk about assault?! Don’t you dare make up lies!”

“You’re the-”

“I fucking-”

Jihoon who’s holding the neck of his viola slowly steps away, considering the prospects of bolting out the door and never returning. Jennie looks back and forth throughout the argument and she tries her best to resolve the issue but it escalates and she screams- “STOP IT!”

“This is a professional setting! We are working towards becoming professionals and there is an event coming up really soon. We haven’t even practiced for a full minute yet. Please, stop being childish. If you two won’t work together then you both should leave and stop disrupting!”

There’s a full minute of silence.

Jennie exhales, having used all her courage to interfere.

After an exchange of looks…

“I’m not leaving.” “Neither am I.”

The concertmistress props her violin to her shoulder and chin, holding up her bow. “Good.”

Practice doesn’t go by too horrifically. Ten pieces are chosen, some that are relatively easy and others that you’ve played together in the orchestra before, merely rearranged for four instruments. The flute and violin intermingle with the main melody while the viola dances in the background, adding a deeper layer. But your music professor was right. Without the tuba, it wouldn’t be balanced. There would be no one there as the backbone, to support the rhythm and let the vibrations boom across the walls and against the floor, to truly let the music sing.

“That was great.” Jennie compliments and you would have to notably agree. It’s an unusual combination but one that works. “But I think we could fix up this part. Y/N, you should play that in a higher octave, maybe with an accent?”

“I disagree.” The others look at you with raised eyebrows, a baffled expression for immediately rejecting the idea. “I think we should keep it and just try it in molto vivace.”

“O-okay.”

Rose pipes up, “I think that’s a bad idea. You should just listen to-”

“Let’s just give it a try.” Jennie interjects before another argument can occur. “Very lively and faster….”

Everyone picks up their instruments, correcting their posture. Rose lifts the flute to her lips and shoots you a glare while you ignore her, focused on the black and white score. Jihoon and Jennie place theirs on the juncture of their shoulder and chin, lifting up the bow.

Claude Debussy’s String Quartet in G Minor rearranged version begins again.

The violin strings are pulled in harsh but powerful motions, tuba booming next to the fluttering flute that spirals notes through the air. It grows intense with each rise of crescendo, each sharp breath inhaled to support the melody, fingers dancing across keys and fingerboards until-

Snap.

Everyone freezes.

The music dies out, the note that was supposed to be played isn’t and you crane your neck around. Jihoon’s eyes double, Rose gasps and Jennie has become pale. “Your violin!”

“This was all your fault!” Rose screams at you, whipping her head back to Jennie. “Are you okay?! Is your hand hurt?!”

“I-I’m fine.”

“How is this my fault?” You put down your tuba, shuffling your music sheets. “It’s just your E string that snapped. Doesn’t it happen all the time? If your hand isn’t hurt then there’s nothing wrong.”

The flutist screeches horrifically in your ear, making you wince. “How could you be so heartless?!”

It’s exhausting. As much as you wanted to showcase your playing, grab onto the opportunity, the people that you’re working with makes you feel like you’ve never left high school.

You glance back at the violinist that you despise and she is still staring at her precious instrument. Jihoon gulps and Rose is confused on what to do. You exhale a long breath, concluding that your fellow classmates are idiots and useless.

Why do you have to do everything around here? Goddamn.

“Fine.” You can already imagine what Kim Namjoon would say and do in a situation like this.

“What are you doing?” Jennie sniffs as you tug her upwards.

“We can’t practice if your string’s broken. I know a place where we can get it fixed...for free.”

//

Jennie has done nothing wrong to you. It’s fairly irrational of you to hate her so much but there’s something in the way she presents herself towards the world, like a perfect angel who has no flaws. She is never angry, never displays sadness or heartache, an ounce of jealousy or envy. The violinist is a robot who only smiles. She’s practically the Mary Sue in the flesh.

It rubs you the wrong way. She’s kind, generous but not genuine.

“Thank you for helping me, Y/N. I really appreciate it.” She carries her case in both hands, humming with the corners of her mouth lifted. You don’t respond, pushing your Gucci sunglasses closer to the bridge of your nose. “I’ve been playing since I was ten years old, which is a decade now. Any string snapping has only happened a few times, so, I was really startled.”

You brush her off coldly, “cool.”

“How long have you been playing for?”

“Long.”

“Oh.” Jennie nods her head and her modest skirt swishes with every stride. “You’re very good, Y/N. I admire your abilities and technique. Was there any reasons as to why you chose tuba?”

“No.”

“I see. I think tuba’s a really nice instrument, a pleasant brass sound. It looks heavy though. Is it?”

“Yes.”

There’s a minute of quietness, where the bustle of the streets and cars driving past screech louder than the concertmistress’ mumbles. You thank Heaven and Earth that she’s stopped trying to make conversations and her yapping mouth has shut tight. Every second of being in her presence is torture in itself. But then-

“If it’s not too rude, Y/N...Can I ask where are we going?”

You don’t answer her, turning the sharp corner before you’re abruptly pulling open the glass door. “Get in.”

She ducks her head. “Thank you.”

With the built up rage, you unleash it on the desk bell, spamming down the muscle in your finger as rapidly as physically possible. The obnoxiously silvery sound hurts your ears but you ignore the pain. “Will you shut up already?!”

Yoongi growls out at you, swiping at the counter and stealing the bell away. “I’m standing right here! God, Y/N! What is wrong with you?!”

“If you were faster at customer service then maybe I wouldn’t have to press the bell.”

“Are you fucking serious? What do you even want from me?! I’m not here to give you any cash and you’re a disturbance to my workplace.” His frown doesn’t deter you and when he leans in close, you don’t flinch away. “The boss will fire me because of you.”

You scoff, crossing your arms with indignation. “I’m here today as a customer, dumbass.”

“What?”

The pretty girl in the frilly skirt that pools past her knees and coral smock top is revealed when you step aside. Her brunette hair, tucked behind her hair, shines in the light and she politely smiles. “Hello.”

“Uh….” Your cousin blinks for a mere moment before he clears his voice, lowering it from the yelling pitch to a deep timbre. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

Jennie sets the case in front of him. “My string accidentally snapped. I was wondering if you could repair it for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” He takes it and opens it up. “I’ll see what I can do. It probably won’t take long.” As she begins to pull out her wallet, Yoongi stops her. “It’s on the house.”

The violinist blinks twice. “Are you sure?”

“It’s no big deal.” He shrugs, “should take less than ten minutes... I don’t see why not.”

“T-thank you.”

The two of them stare at each other. You only realize that no one’s moving after browsing the valve oil on the shelf for a minute. “Are you going to get going or what, Yoongi?!”

//

The weeks of practicing pass by quickly. In between your classes and the fun outings, you’re honing your skills and rehearsing the parts. The four of you work decently together if Rose isn’t shooting you glares and Jennie doesn’t piss you off. Your professor also passes by a few times, expressing her excitement and enthusiasm for the upcoming event.

“What are you doing here?”

Namjoon rubs his eyes and he melts into a sheepish smile. “Oh, I was just working on some stuff..composition homework...your science project...are you done?”

“Yeah..” You slowly hitch your thumb to the door. “I was about to head back.”

The harpist throws his backpack around his shoulders and he nods. “We should go together then.”

In the chilly night, the taller man walks in time with you, matching footsteps. You tilt your head up to him, staring at his profile. “Hey, Namjoon.”

“Yes?”

“It’s really late out. Didn’t your classes end hours ago?”

He coughs. “Yes.”

You hum, lolling your head to one side as your brain begins to crank. “If you were doing homework, then why did you go into the practice room? And what were you doing standing out in the hall?”

The college boy scratches the back of his neck and his cheeks bloom in a hue of rose but you suspect it’s from the frigid air nipping at his skin. “T-the library is too crowded. I thought it would be better for me to concentrate somewhere quieter. I was about to leave too when you left...so yeah.”

“Oh.”

“How’s practice? Is it going well?” He asks you in curiosity, “are you ready to perform?”

“It’s going okay. I think we’re ready. It’s not as horribly as I thought it would be.” At the same time as he answers ‘that’s good’, a strong gust of wind smacks your figure. Your grip accidentally loosens and the binder of sheet music drops to the concrete. “Dammit.”

You reach down to grab it and Namjoon does too, making you both bonk heads. He lets out an ‘ow’ and you hiss at him, capturing the object again. The only reason you don’t yell at him to watch where he’s going is because he’s Kim Namjoon. If it were anyone else, you’d lash out.

“Here.” He clutches onto your other hand that’s curled around the handle of your tuba music case. “Let me carry it for you.”

“It’s fine! I can carry it myself-”

The words die in your throat when you realize how serious he is, without the usual smile or bright eyes. He stares at you in complete earnestness - expressionless - and you’re baffled he could make such a transformation. You blink twice to make sure you’re looking at the same clumsy and innocent college boy. “Let me help you. Rely on me.”

There’s a bit of silence before you give in. “It’s really heavy.”

The corner of his lip tugs into a smirk. “I can handle it.” He takes the case and suddenly the immense weight is lifted away. The soreness in your shoulder is alleviated, the aches in your arm is soothed. Namjoon smiles and he fakes a gasp, lighting up the mood again. “Woah! It is really heavy. Twenty pounds, right?”

You scoff, feeling thankful that he’s back to the person you know - silly and awkward, pure and naive. “You want me to take it again?” Your arms curl around your binder.

“No. It’s fine.”

“Pft. At this rate, people will think I’m making you carry my things around like a slave.”

The harpist shrugs and he lightly but purposely bumps into you. “They can think whatever they want. I don’t care.”

For a second, your heart flutters.

And you put a hand to your chest, shocked that your soul’s able to be moved. For one, you thought your heart had been turned into concrete. You’re also amazed that it’s Namjoon. It’s not a wealthy, lonely woman who would whisk you away on rendezvous, or the hundreds of attractive people on your contact list that you know who would drop to their knees for you.

Nope. Out of everyone, it’s Kim Namjoon, resident nerd and harp player.

“You’re such a sweet and nice boy, Nams.” You throw your arm over his shoulder, leaning on the man and standing on the tips of your toes to accommodate for the height difference. Your finger casually pinches his cheek. “I could eat you right up! Your future girlfriend is going to be so lucky!”

He giggles and shakes his head. “I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“I’m so clumsy, if I don’t break their belongings, I’d probably accidentally break him or her.”

“Nah.” You ruffle his head of messy locks. “They’ll look past it and see your kindness. Either they’ll be lucky or they’ll use you. But fear not! I’m here. L/N Y/N will be here to protect you from any witches, foxes or douchebags!”

Namjoon grins. “Did you just refer to yourself in third person?”

“Yes.”

The university grounds are connected to a popular hangout avenue, rather convenient for college students to find study spaces and places to eat. At this time of night, however, all of the stores are closing and there are only a few lingering people around.

You stifle a yawn behind your hand and he notices. “If you want, you can stay at my place tonight. Uh- but o-only if you want of course. I won’t force you!”

“I know you won’t.” You laugh into the cold air. “But won’t your back hurt? That couch of yours isn’t comfortable.”

“I’ll be okay.”

You smirk at him, eyes going half-lidded. “We could share the bed, you know. Get a little close and...personal? What do you say, Nams? Up to play some games with me?”

Namjoon nearly combusts right then and there at your suggestive tone. His entire face becomes a tomato shade and he’s flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Uhh….”

“I’m joking! Calm down.” A huge smile appears as you smack him, stopping in your steps at the bus stop. “I’ll just catch the bus. It’s coming in a minute anyways and it’ll take me right back.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Are you my father?” You put your hands on your hips, grabbing your case back from him. “You really think I’ll be kidnapped or something? If I punch them once, they’ll die. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Namjoon smiles and he begins to back away. “Call me if something happens?”

You wave at him, chest feeling warm. “Alright.”

//

There’s something not right.

Jimin knows it. It’s under his nose as well, like an itch he can’t scratch. He doesn’t know what it is but he knows there’s something there. These days, he feels like a father, waiting for his teenage son at home with crossed arms, knowing the other man is up to no good.

“What time is it, young man?” Jimin pouts, feet apart with his shoulders. “Where have you been going these days? You don’t even call home or text me?”

Namjoon downcasts his head, quickly slipping off his shoes. Jimin keeps going on his rampage, “you just bailed out on our movie night! I got popcorn too! Now guess who had to eat three bags of popped popcorn?! Me! I feel like butter is leaking out of my pores!”

“Sorry-”

The man’s eyes widen and he drops his arms. “Did you have a date? No..that can’t be it. Are you sick?”

“W-Why?”

Jimin points right at him. “Your face is really red.”

“Uh…” Namjoon begins retreating down the hall. “Nothing happened!”

The door slams a second later.

Jimin groans, truly feeling like a parent. Except, the last time he checked, he didn’t birth out such a big son.

//

The black dress hugs against your curves, modest and business professional, excluding the slit on the side that adds a bit more character. Rose and Jennie stand beside you, Jihoon next to the concertmistress as all of you look out. It’s a charity event with middle aged individuals conversing, hands holding onto champagne glasses. The children giggle, playing hide and seek as a group behind the room’s magnificent white columns.

Surprisingly enough, of all the affluent people around, you don’t recognize any of them. If you did, you’d have to ignore them anyways. No one of status ever wants to be known for having a younger entourage on the side as a stress reliever.

The evening has settled in with all the guests present. “Are you ready?”

You glance over at Jennie who’s holding her violin, wearing her own white gown. Jihoon in a bulky suit, borrowed from his father and Rose is in a teacup dress that’s a darker shade of grey.

“Ready.”

All four of you take your seats, turning the page to the first score of the night. The violin and viola are propped on their shoulders, flute held up high into the air and you put your lips against your brass instrument, kissing the music notes as it leaves the bell. A joyous emotion is conveyed through the melody, the whistle of the violin, the sonorous sound of the viola, the graceful humming of the silver flute and the hearty buzz of your own brass tuba bleeds together.

Some people whirl around with smiles, listening while sipping on their drinks. Other couples begin to dance and children marvel at the golden and silver keys, joining in steps with their parents. The strings, resounding woodwind and the low timbre of your own instrument intertwine together for harmonious melodies to bouncing jingles.

It goes even better than practice. You become focused on the quartet, your partners and the audience is forgotten in the background. The little trance you’re in is interrupted by the standing ovation and Miss. Song’s humongous grin. But as you look up amongst the crowd, you swear you find a broad back and dark strands of hair poking up...a dimple marring their cheeks.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry. What?” You peel your irises away to Rose and she coughs awkwardly.

“I was just saying how..you’re not so bad, Y/N. A lot more bearable when you aren’t trying to be a bitch.”

“Uh-huh.” You roll your eyes. “You’re still just as bad.”

The flutist’s jaw drops and you laugh. Jennie tries to appease her friend and Jihoon giggles to himself. The quartet has a few photos that are snapped from the photographer and after another hour of playing, each of you head off on your own, networking or nibbling on some refreshments at the table.

You try to find the dimpled stranger again but the person has disappeared in front of your eyes.

//

It’s cold and the lampposts barely light up the sidewalk. You wonder if you’re going crazy, rejecting an offer to be driven back with the others, leaving your instrument with theirs to be shipped to the school. You don’t even know where you’re going or what bus to take but-

“I knew it!”

He visibly jumps from your voice and cranes his neck around. “Y/N?” Namjoon laughs nervously, “what a coincidence.”

The pair of you both are fully aware this was no coincidence. Especially since the venue is essentially in the middle of nowhere and in complete isolation.

The muscle in your cheek jerks when you try to repress your grin. You saunter up to him with arms behind your back, a slight skip in your stride before you gleam up at him. “What are you doing here then?”

“Nothing. I was...taking a walk! Yes, taking a walk!”

“You walked...an hour away from campus?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a bad liar, Nams. Did you come to see me?” You put your hand over your chest, gasping dramatically. “How did you even sneak into the event? Wasn’t there only exclusive invitations? Did you climb over the fence?”

“I-....”

The last bus of the night pulls up at the stop and the harpist doesn’t waste a chance to get on, making you scan your pass and follow right behind him. He plops down to the second last seat at the back and you slide beside him. There are two other people around, each with earbuds in, listening to their music and not paying any attention.

Namjoon doesn’t speak a single word, obviously embarrassed with the way he tugs on his stiff suit and forcing his eyes not to wander to the slit in your dress that reveals more thigh than he’s ever witnessed before in real life. He attempts to focus on the sceneries out the window but it’s pitch dark. He can’t see anything for shit.

You scoff when you realize Namjoon won’t say anything and you shift closer.

The harpist shifts away. You lean closer to him. He moves again.

“Will you stop that?!” You bark out before roughly taking his arm, lolling your head onto his shoulder. You use his shoulder as a pillow to rest on. Your eyes flutter shut and the frown slowly fades away. “Stay still.”

Namjoon’s irises flicker to your drowsy face and he relaxes his limbs, allowing you to lean on him. “It’s comfortable.” You murmur past the seams of your lips, exhaustion washing over you. Rehearsal, playing for three hours and socializing with other professionals has left you drained.

The harpist inclines back into the seat, letting the nervousness and tension leave his body. He stares down at your open hand in your lap, the palm that faces upwards. His own fingers twitch, as if an instinct overtakes him to twine his fingers through yours. But he resists.

“No one’s ever really come to a performance...just to see me.”

It’s softly spoken to the point that Namjoon would miss it had you not been beside his ear. It’s been three stops and five blocks since you’ve last spoken. He thought you were asleep already.

“I wished my parents would but when I saw you….Namjoon, it made me happy.”

He gently brushes away a hair that’s tickling your nose. His pupils center around the pink petals of your plush lips and he swallows hard. “How is it possible that you can make me feel so happy?”

It’s a mindless ramble, one where you don’t even realize you’re saying. It feels like you’re balancing between the dreamworld and reality, letting your tongue tumble. Except, it’s not a dream.

Namjoon hears all of it.

“What are you doing to me?”

[halorocks1214]

Alright. 

So I’ve been thinking.

For around maybe 5-6 years, I’ve been into first-person shooters (as well as an assortment of other dark games.)

I remember my huge Halo phase, the one that gave me my online name that I still use even though I don’t really play it anymore. I remember getting Call of Duty: Black Ops 2 and playing Transit practically 24/7 with my brother and friends. I remember getting my own computer, getting Steam and playing TF2. Certain game modes of Garry’s Mod. I remember how gory these games could get, and how they still get.

I remembered I played Grand Theft Auto 4 nightly. I got Grand Theft Auto 5 practically the year it came out. I’ve been there for every single update, from the Beach Bum one to the recent Smuggler’s Run.

(I also played Don’t Starve quite frequently. The nights where I had to panic to make fire freaked me the fuck out since I didn’t want to experience whatever had been in the darkness that night brought. The monsters that came when you became insane made me nearly never turn it on again.)

(On a smaller note, I’m a huge fan of The Walking Dead by Telltale Games. I remember crying like a bitch at the ends of both games.)

Around the same time, I got into Youtube. I remember watching the "adult” channels. Pewdiepie, Rooster Teeth/Let’s Play, SkyDoesMinecraft, etc. I remember all the swearing that could be in one video, all the jump scares and all dark games they would play (minus Sky for the last point).

Jump back to about 3 years, I get into anime and other Japanese related things. I can’t remember exactly what started it, but I know the game called Corpse Party had a huge impact. The game where it describes in great detail and picture how the main characters died. I remember how fucking depressing the bad endings could get. How sad I felt when the ending music/credit played in the true end.

I remember staying up until one in the morning to try and finish an Attack on Titan episode that didn’t have a cliffhanger. I remember watching Another, an anime where the plot was literally the characters dying the worst, most gory deaths for some unknown curse. 

I remember watching Panty and Stocking With Garterbelt and how it had dick/dildo jokes on the screen every five minutes. Black Butler’s main character was literally a 13 boy who lost his parents to a horrific fire, was nearly put into sexual slavery, only to escape by making a deal with a literal fucking demon.

Looking back at all the games I played, stories I’ve heard, videos I’ve watched, friends I’ve made and lost, hobbies I’ve gained, all the toxic fandoms I’ve seen and had to deal with, you wanna know what stands out to me the most?

I’m only 15 years old.

15. I’m still in high school, I’m still learning to drive, I still need to experience many new things, still have lessons that need to be learned.

But I still get straight A’s. I have many friends (at least compared to other people who do the same things I do). I go to band and choir. I’m in honors math and I’m constantly told by my friends, family and other adults that I’m kind, helpful, generous and one of the nicer students in the school.

But at the same time, I’m at home shooting and exploding cops while robbing banks. Fighting off zombies and monsters mostly seen in little kid’s nightmares. Reading some of the dirtiest smut/fanfiction and looking at art to go with it, swearing every other word, making dick jokes and horrible dark humor with my friends in the form of shitpost memes at 12 am.

I’ve doing this since I was 9 -10 years old.

And I turned out better than most of the kids at my school.

So I see these antis go on and on about “protect the children”, “I’m only a minor uwu”, “they don’t know what’s wrong with this!!!!” and I can’t help but think...

What drove them to this idea?

Why did they take the soccer mom conservative side? The main argument they use was and is the same one religious fundamentalists use as an excuse for not having LGBTQIA representation in tv shows and stories.

“The kids won’t know why a man is with a man this is wrong!”

“I can’t explain why it’s sinful harmful to them, they won’t understand!”

It hurts to see this. It hurts to see everything that people have fought for getting thrown out the window because “muh representation.”

What did they fight for? They fought for the fact that it was fiction and reading dark comics and playing bloody games won’t actually make you like that.

Also, have any of you realized “fiction affects reality” is another argument really similar to one radical conservatives use?

“I don’t want them to see that/hang around them, it’ll rub off on them and I don’t want my child to become one of them”

I know that I probably shouldn’t and don’t have a say on the topic. I probably should leave this to professional discourse blogs. The ones with 2000 followers and a more mature understanding of the world.

But I’m just tired. I don’t care if this gets even 50 notes, I just want fandoms to go back to a time where your own life didn’t get threatened for accidentally using certain lightings and headcanons in your drawings.

[thisdaynews]

F-Bombs Away!

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/f-bombs-away/

F-Bombs Away!

The surprise attack on Hawaii came on a quiet Sunday morning, and it fell to the president of the United States to rally a confused and stricken nation one day later in a momentous address to Congress:

“Yesterday, Dec. 7, 1941—a date which will live as totally fucked up—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of Japan.”

Story Continued Below

That’s the power of language at work. And who can forget the image of an American commander in chief in Berlin on the front lines of the Cold War: “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this fucking wall.”

Let’s be mature about this. Franklin D. Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan both surely dropped a choice word or two in private, even on solemn subjects like Pearl Harbor and Soviet tyranny. Democrat Beto O’Rourke, meanwhile, has not actually signaled that he will make the F-bomb a central part of his rhetorical arsenal in the unlikely event he becomes the next president.

He is, however, apparently hoping that vulgarity will be an engine of his political revival in the Democratic presidential contest. In doing so, he is part of a confluence of factors serving to mainstream what once counted as the most forbidden entry in the roster of four-letter words.

Notice to reader: The examples above are just two of 14 profanities in this story. Editors decided to skip the coy dashes and asterisks and more straightforward [expletive deleteds]. How else to handle it when a candidate for president infuses a policy statement after a horrific mass shooting with the phrase, “This is fucked up”?

On social media and in interviews, O’Rourke’s profanity has proved to be something of a political Rorschach test.

Pro: He has found a searing and even eloquent way of cutting through the madness and violence of the age. The real obscenity, by these lights, is routine mass shootings and the paralytic response they engender from the governing class, to which O’Rourke’s incredulity is a powerfully authentic rejoinder.

Con: O’Rourke’s profanity is risible, a perfect summary of a campaign that even before was mocked for its alleged preening and Wayne’s World affect. Even if the first time he dropped the F-bomb came as a genuine outburst, his repetition on Twitter and now official campaign T-shirts reveals calculation and contrivance—making his vulgarities the opposite of the authenticity they supposedly convey.

Either way, the Texan’s coarse language is a frivolous dimension of a serious question for Democrats: Should progressive leaders confront the rawness and norm-shattering nature of President Donald Trump’s political style with something similar? Or should they stand for a return to standards that used to be assumed for any presidential contender—including language reflecting the gravity of the office, or at a minimum was G-rated?

Before O’Rourke, the public figure who arguably was most notorious for his prolific use of the F-word was Rahm Emanuel, who kept the salty parlance of a political operative even as he became a member of Congress, White House chief of staff, and mayor of Chicago.

Emanuel, who calls himself “a reformed swearer,” acknowledged in an interview, “I’ve got this notorious reputation and I’m not saying that I don’t swear but you’ve never heard me publicly swear. … I actually don’t think it’s the right thing to do.”

“I think people are being exhausted by vulgarity and I think [the candidates] should be engaging people on the future” through the power of ideas, Emanuel explained.

But some other Obama White House veterans were more tolerant of O’Rourke’s rhetorical excesses.

“It’s good for him to show a little emotion and get angry so that people can see exactly where he stands and that he will fight for what he believes in,” said Stephanie Cutter, Obama’s former 2012 deputy campaign manager and cofounder of Precision Strategies.

“Most candidates do talk like this and they talk like this to their teams and at the bar with reporters, and they get credit for being real people and not engaged in some veneer,” said former Obama press operative Ben LaBolt. “Beto has used it to demonstrate outrage about some really outrageous issues that the United States should have been able to solve many years ago, and so his approach would distinguish himself from somebody who would serve in the Senate and say ‘my dear friend’ and ‘my dear colleague.’”

By so frequently crossing a line that once might have been career-ending, O’Rourke is partly changing the political culture, and partly reflecting changes that are already underway.

As far back as September 2014, Trump tweeted: “Every time I speak of the haters and losers I do so with great love and affection. They can not help the fact that they were born fucked up!” More recently, in late March of this year, Trump told a campaign rally that Democrats should stop “defrauding the public with ridiculous bullshit.”

In June 2017, Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand, who recently ended her presidential campaign, tried to stir a conference on technology and democracy by imploring, “If we are not helping people, we should go the fuck home.”

At the start of the year, newly elected Democratic Rep. Rashida Tlaib made a splash by saying of Trump, “We’re gonna impeach the motherfucker.”

Another newly elected member of Congress, Abigail Spanberger of Virginia, was recently quoted by The Cut noting the annoyance of being asked as a female candidate about her “self-care” on the campaign trail: “I’m like, ‘I don’t have fucking self-care! I’m running for Congress.’”

But O’Rourke is the one who has made the word his signature. After making his Texas Senate race surprisingly competitive, before narrowly losing, in 2018, O’Rourke went viral with his concession speech in which he praised supporters, “I’m so fucking proud of you guys.”

When he began his bid for president, O’Rourke was scolded at a campaign stop by a voter who urged him to “clean up his act” and not use profanity in ways were children will hear it. “Point taken, and very strongly made,” O’Rourke replied, promising to “keep it clean.”

But last month, meeting with reporters after the mass shooting in his hometown of El Paso, O’Rourke seemed impatient with what he regarded as the naivete of some questions about Trump’s role in inciting violence. “Members of the press, what the fuck?!” he exclaimed.

There are two facts about the F-word that most people learn early in their teenage years: The reaction it gets depends on context, and its shock value tends to diminish rapidly. O’Rourke’s initial uses of the word did seem a little like a young person at a family dinner:Wonder how the table will respond?

On balance, O’Rourke seems pleased with the reaction, at least among the people he cares most about. After new shootings in Texas, he went on CNN last Sunday morning to say: “We’re averaging about 300 mass shootings a year. No other country comes close. So, yes, this is fucked up.” He also defended his swearing by saying that it was “just honest” and important “to shock the conscience of this country.”

O’Rourke’s campaign also noted that all of the proceeds for his profane T-shirt go to March for Our Lives and Moms Demand.

Brit Hume, the prominent Fox News journalist, commented on Twitter, “As if his sewermouth will somehow give his argument more power.”

But Matt Bennett, a Democratic strategist unaffiliated with any presidential campaign and long-time gun control advocate, believes O’Rourke was rightly trying to shake people and signal that conventional politics isn’t adequate in the context of recurring mass murders.

“I think he’s decided that profanity can help him add emphasis where other language fails,” said Bennett. “Indeed, how else does one underscore their anger with, frustration at, and contempt for public officials who fail to act in the face of such horror? We all have been railing about this for years (decades in my case). How else do we signal that this situation is singularly obscene?”

George Lakoff, a retired Berkeley linguist who has written extensively on how Democrats sometimes lose political arguments by not effectively employing the power of language, was uncertain on the wisdom of O’Rourke’s shattering of old proprieties. “It’s basically saying: This is really important. Pay attention.”

O’Rourke may have grabbed attention, but it’s not clear how long he will keep it, at least based on the power of profanity. Forty-five years ago, the country was shocked by the prodigious use of Oval Office profanity—often as part of contemptuous and vindictive rants against opponents—by Richard Nixon and his aides when the White House tapes were released. The news media, reflecting the standards of the time, didn’t print the words but replaced them with “[expletive deleted].” Anticipating Tlaib by several decades, protesters outside the White House gates carried placards saying “Impeach the expletive deleted!”

But a generation that currently has made a star of Lana Del Ray and her album “Norman Fucking Rockwell” with its hit song “Fuck It, I Love you” isn’t likely to stay shocked, or perhaps even interested, for very long by O’Rourke’s language.

Back in 2004, when then-Vice President Dick Cheney told Democratic Sen. Patrick Leahy to “Go fuck yourself” on the floor of the Senate, many news organizations debated internally about how to report the obviously newsworthy exchange—since it involved words that were forbidden by their editorial standards.

Those qualms seem irrelevant in the current climate.

Veteran reporter Nicholas Lemann, a former dean of Columbia University’s school of journalism, said these days, as politics grows more openly coarse, the news media should have no compunction about just reporting exactly what public figures say. The old notion of news organizations as a kind of unifying public square, in which editors had to primly enforce rules to ensure that the most sensitive people in the audience weren’t offended, has gone by the wayside now that every online reader is essentially his or her own editor.

“If they said it, you should quote it,” Lemann advises.

Another journalist, James Fallows, also served as a stint as a speechwriter for Jimmy Carter, who he recalled sometimes swore in private but very rarely.

He sees O’Rourke’s language as a sign of the times.

“As an old guy,” said Fallows, who last month turned 70, “I’ll avoid any decline in civilization, but I guess until recently public figures felt that they had to observe a public-private barrier. … Politicians have always been earthy people, but we are seeing the time, at least for the moment, the earthiness membrane is being pierced or is permeable.”

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