#long before there was a mainstream conversation about it

[luv-lock]

Thinking about what the invincible variants were thinking when they see the mainstream alien!reader... Now think about what the variants talking about their respective alien!reader when they were stuck in the wasteland dimension (⁠◡⁠ ⁠ω⁠ ⁠◡⁠)

Oh, this is good. Imagine all the different Invincible variants stuck in that wasteland dimension, looking at each other, realizing just how different their relationships with their respective alien readers are. Some of them probably think they got the best version. Others? Yeah… not so much. For the sake of it let's pretend main Mark is there too.

When They See the Mainstream Alien Reader

The first thing they all notice? She’s normal. Well, as normal as a Qu can be. She’s protective, strong, and yeah, a little terrifying when it comes to keeping Mark safe, but she’s not trying to conquer planets, not committing genocide, and definitely not treating Mark like a glorified blood bag or a means to an end. She actually cares about him.

Sinister Mark? He’s looking at her like she’s an alien in a way he’s never seen before. “Wait, she doesn’t eat people?” He doesn’t get it. How is she not constantly dripping in blood? How does she not rule over something? More importantly, how does this Mark have all his limbs intact?

Viltrumite Mark? He just stares because, honestly, he can’t even imagine a version of his wife who isn’t sick and frail. His version can barely keep her eyes open half the time, and here’s this one, standing beside her Mark, fully awake and looking healthy. He hates how much that pisses him off.

Mohawk Mark? He just laughs. “Oh, so you actually like her? That’s cute.” His Y/n only cares about herself, so the idea of one actually prioritizing Mark is just hilarious to him. He calls it pathetic, but deep down, he wonders what it’s like to have a partner who gives a shit.

When They Talk About Their Own Alien Readers

Eventually, when they’re stuck in the wasteland long enough, they start talking. And the more they talk, the more they realize… some of them are in absolute hell.

Normal Mark (Mainstream)

"So, uh… you guys don’t have this? Y’know, a wife who actually cares about you?"

He’s confused. How did he get the best version of her? Why are all their relationships so weird? His Y/n follows him everywhere, sure, but she doesn’t treat him like shit, doesn’t use him, and she’s a great mom.

The more he listens to them, the more he realizes just how insane their versions are.

He starts feeling lucky. Really lucky.

Sinister Mark

"Yeah, no, I don’t want yours. I like mine just the way she is."

He adores his version. Is it toxic? Absolutely. Do they kill together? Yes. Do they sometimes eat people together? Also yes.

He doesn’t understand how anyone could be satisfied with a Qu who isn’t a complete monster.

He’s also lowkey judging Viltrumite Mark. “Dude, you have her locked up? She’s your prisoner? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Viltrumite Mark

"You wouldn’t understand. She’s fragile. She needs me."

He acts like he’s got everything under control, but the more he listens to how alive everyone else’s versions are, the more he starts questioning things.

He convinces himself that his Y/n being weak is a good thing. That it makes her special.

But there’s a part of him that wonders what it would be like to have a version of her that wasn’t always sick, that didn’t need to be locked away.

Mohawk Mark

"Bro, mine’s just in it for the sex. She doesn’t even remember my name half the time."

He thinks it’s hilarious. Everyone else is talking about how they have some kind of relationship with their Y/n, meanwhile, he’s just out here dealing with the most selfish version possible.

He doesn’t care, though. He enjoys himself. He gets what he wants, and so does she.

But after hearing everyone else talk, a small part of him wonders what it would be like to actually have a real connection. Not just physical, but actual affection. He’d never admit it, though.

How the Conversation Ends

By the end of it, Normal Mark is sitting there like, "Damn. I really won, huh?" Meanwhile, Viltrumite Mark is trying to convince himself he’s happy, Sinister Mark is fully convinced he has the best version of all time, and Mohawk Mark is just vibing, pretending he’s fine.

Honestly, if they ever got out of that wasteland, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them started questioning their entire existence.

[edge-oftheworld]

real talk though how much of their success was facilitated by the fact liz hemmings sees 'child with adhd' and thinks 'future world renowned musician' and just invested so much love and time and money into nurturing not only her own child's ambitions but also these two kids he brought home from school and the table drummer from her year 9 math class of 2009

[neonacidtrip]

Does anyone else occasionally see a news update from someone and just turn into a feral animal over it? Asking for a friend

[pandoraspurgatory]

seeing your hc of katsuki being into vanilla homemade porn has me dazy eyed 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫….. i’m so curious now if there were any specific porn creators you thought of when envisioning what he liked? or any who you think would fuck like katsuki? goodness… 😵‍💫

Turbulent

Truthfully I am not a porn watcher as I am a porn reader, so that question is far beyond my knowledge lol. Though I’ve written an in depth version of Katsuki watching porn, hope you enjoy<3

Katsuki Bakugo can’t get off on mainstream porn, though something changes when he finds a couples homemade video

Katsuki Bakugo likes vanilla porn, masturbation, cum, pretty vanilla here, mentions of facefucking + cuckholding, Denki and Mineta are bitchless

Katsuki never cared enough nor paid much attention to porn, stroking himself in his bedroom wasn’t worth the effort when he could spend his time training and honing his skills as a 3rd year student close to graduating.

Either it was that, or the fact that he just couldn’t cum from it.

He first gave it watching porn a go when Denki and Mineta spent the afternoon yapping about different genres of porn. He wasn’t an eavesdropper, though he listened in on the conversation, taking notes for a later date.

Bakugo only ever found himself rubbing one out when he woke up with a painful hard on, or got so worked up over some fantasy that he couldn’t get his dick back down.

That same night Katsuki sat infront of his laptop, legs open and pants discarded on the carpeted floor, a bottle of lotion splayed out on the bed next to him. He opened up the first website that appeared after typing ‘porn’ in his browser, incognito mode on of course, he had double checked. Hastily typing what he had overheard in the orange and black search bar.

‘Face fucking’

He grimaced as he clicked on the first video of some Internet whore with a fat cock stuffed down her throat. Mascara running down her face as she started her assault of sucking on the comically large dick. He could somewhat imagine himself doing it, though the drool and mess was a massive turnoff that made him feel sticky just watching it. Next

‘Cuckholding’

The moment it appeared on his screen after searching a lot made sense regarding Denki and Mineta. Of course they were into this shit, why the fuck did he even decide to listen on to those morons conversation. He was confident he could never be into this. Next

The next hour was filled off him stroking his half erect cock to mediocre videos with no luck. He’d even watched the top most recommended on the site, the drum beat before each video posing as a reminder that this wasn’t working. At this point it wasn’t even to get himself off, but rather to prove to himself he could find a video to do it for him.

None of this shit on his laptop could even remotely turn him on, there was no love or intimacy, just videos of devoid eyes and lacklustre movements that screamed ‘I want to get home and get my paycheck!’.

He hated to admit it, though he couldn’t ever imagine himself having a one night stand or watching these emotionless videos again. Despite his rough and calloused nature, he craved intimacy just as much as he craved to be the best in his class. Katsukis cock lay limp in his hand as he scrolls through the videos, more and more loading after each roll of the laptop mouse.

That was until a certain video caught his eye.

‘Our first video - couple homemade’ 12 views, posted 2 hours ago

He clicked on it, something felt different about this one. The thumbnail displaying what seemed to be a couple in their mid twenties, kissing in the frame of the video. The women had long black hair and sexy curves that made Katsukis dick twitch. The man she was with cupping her face gently with deep admiration for her in his eyes.

As the video slowly played out on his screen, he paid no mind to the humming background noise of their bedroom fan and the shitty resolution. What struck him was the way they kindly talked to each other, pressing small yet passionate kisses on each others faces, how their soft hands rubbed and stroked at one another with care and love.

Katsukis hand roughly gripped around his dick before he could even think to do it. Feeling himself desperately stroke faster each time the couple said sentences of care and sweet nothings to each other. Low moans he didn’t anticipate escaping his mouth as the man slowly inserted himself into the curvy brunette. He wasn’t even attracted to the couple in the video, though he couldn’t help but feel the coil in his stomach build as the intimacy of their love making displayed itself before him.

He wanted to be the one to do it, to bury his cock into his hypothetical girlfriend and dick her down with all the love in his heart. Apart of him felt weird for not being turned on by the professionally made studio porn instead of the homemade couple video with a total of 500 pixels. He tried not to think about it too hard, and focus on how hard his shaft throbbed in his hands.

He felt blissed out as he slowly edged himself, determined to cum at the same time as the couple, a desperately attempt at feeling included. Squeezing his tip harder every time pretty moans escaped their mouths, fuck he wanted to be in their position so badly.

“F-fuck babe… mmmnggg… gonna cum”

“That’s it, come for me pretty girl”

“Cum with me! I wanna feel you cum inside me”

Katsukis stomach felt hot, he was so turned on by the way they spoke to each other, the way they both quickened their movements desperate to make each other cum.

The moment the couple on the screen cried out in pleasure, Katsuki gave a few quick tugs, finishing himself off.

He gave out an embarrassingly loud groan as he released himself, ropes of his cum shooting onto his laptop screen. Panting as he laid back on his bed, he needs someone to do this with as soon as fucking possible

[veganineden]

On the Evolution of “Happily Ever After” and Why “Nothing Lasts Forever”

A reflection inspired by Good Omens 2

One of my favorite Tumblr posts on the second season of Good Omens 2 was actually not about the series at all, but our reaction to it, primarily the ending. @zehwulf wrote, “I think a lot of us—myself included—got a little too comfortable with assuming [Aziraphale and Crowley would] work on their issues right away post-Armageddon.” We did the work for them through meta, fanfiction, fanart, and building a plethora of headcanons. Who among us AO3-surfing fans didn’t read and love Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm?

In the 4 long years since season one was released, we did more than seek to understand and repair rifts between two fictional beings: we were forced to reckon with ourselves too. We faced a global pandemic, suffered traumatizing losses and isolation, and were forced to really and truly look into the face of our atrocities-ridden and capitalistic world. The mainstream rise of Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Justice work, and our participation in this work, showed us that the systems in place were built to oppress and harm most of us, and they are. 

So, what does this have to do with the evolution of “happily ever after”? 

My friend put it best in a conversation we had following the season finale, when she pointed out a shift in media focus. The “happy end” in old stories about wars and kingdoms used to be “we killed the evil old king and put a noble young king in his place and now citizens can live in peace” and we’re transitioning into a period of “we tore down the whole fucking monarchy.” 

If we look at season one, written to follow the beats of a love story, it comforted us by offering a pretty traditional happy ending pattern: you get your fancy dinner with your special someone, the romantic music plays, and you have a place to call your own. Season one’s finale provided a temporary freedom for Aziraphale and Crowley, the “breathing room,” but it didn't solve the problem that was Heaven and Hell, or the agendas belonging to those systems of oppression. 

Is it good enough to keep our heads down, pretend the bad stuff isn’t happening, and live our own personal happy endings until we die? Moral quandaries aside, if you don't die (or if you care about the generations after you), then, like Aziraphale said, it “can’t last forever.” There’s a clear unpleasant end to the “happily ever after” that’s based on ignoring our problems– it’s the destruction of our relationships, and humanity. 

Ineffable Bureaucracy can go off into the stars because they do not care about humanity. 

You know who does?

Aziraphale. 

And Aziraphale knows that Crowley cares about humanity too. (He knows because Crowley was the one who proposed sabotaging Armageddon in the first place, who only invited him to the stars when he thought all was lost, because Crowley would save humanity if he thought it was possible, and Aziraphale knows Crowley has survived losing Everything before, and he will do all in his power so that Crowley does not need to experience that again.) 

In season one and two, we see how much they care about humanity, beyond their orders, to the point The Systems begin to frown at them. Aziraphale hears Crowley’s offer to run away together in the final episode of season two, to leave Earth behind, and just like the first time that offer was made in season one, he declines. He knows choosing only “us” is not a choice either of them can live with for the rest of eternity.

I believe season 3 will provide an opportunity to “dismantle the system,” but I don’t know how it will play out. I worry that Aziraphale has put himself in the now-dead trope of the “young noble king.” (I wish Crowley had told him why Gabriel was dismissed from his duties.) I worry that he would martyr himself as a sole agent for change. I worry that he doesn’t actually know how to dismantle anything by himself: because you can’t. He needs Crowley. He DOES. He needs Crowley, and Muriel, and other angels and demons and humans without fixed mindsets to help him. Only by learning to listen and making room at the table for all can they (and we) move past personal satisfaction to collective liberation. 

Crowley was right when he said that Aziraphale had discovered his “civic obligations.”

So, I think we will get our modern-day happy ending– and it’s going to involve a lot of pain and discomfort, communication, healing and teamwork– and in the end, it’ll all be okay. There will be a time for rest and a time for “us.” 

And most likely a cottage. 

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

 - Maya Angelou

[blackkatmagic]

Can I ask why you're so strongly against emojis as comments?

So there are...two parts to this answer. One is in the frame of like...my brain interprets someone dropping an emoji as basically the equivalent of a like. "I was here, but I didn't like what you created enough to say anything about it." And I get that, truly. But due to physical and mental health things in my recent life, writing has been hard. Getting that kind of response is super disheartening, even if I know logically that most people don't see emoji comments the same way I do.

The other part is that I'm old. I've been in fandom for a long time - I was on email lists writing ST fanfic, and then in weird subgroup forums where you were only allowed to write certain things the mods felt were "canon-supported", and then finally on more mainstream sites like ffnet and AO3. Fandom's always been a community for me, right from the first. I would not still be writing if it hadn't been for the handful of fans who were exceptionally kind and encouraging to a nerdy German girl who wrote in bad English and had weird ideas for plotlines and talked too much. They were the people who kept me going, having conversations with me and leaving kind comments on objectively bad fics and getting jazzed about the same things as me.

In fandom as a whole, emoji comments are a very new phenomenon. I've gone back to look, and they only started becoming common about two years ago. And now, before I asked people not to leave them, they were rapidly becoming the majority of the comments I received.

Again, I get why. It's an easy way to show appreciation. But it's also a complete lack of engagement. It means someone liked something! But as the writer you have no idea what. There's no community to it, just bland consumption of the content you're rolling out. No one is talking about fandom, they're just taking. And I see my hit counts. I know that's always happened, but it's getting to be more and more of a thing. Emoji spamming on every single chapter of a 70-chapter fic might feel, to the commenter, like they're being super supportive, but it's also less impactful for a writer and a fellow fan than a person who leaves one comment that says something they liked about the plot or the writing style or some neat flip on a canon trope.

So yeah. Basically it's a "get off my lawn" thing about how the youngsters in fandom have no appreciation for the effort artists and writers and the like put in, but. I don't think I'm wrong, given the way things are trending.

Anyway. Reblog things, comment on things, send people asks, interact with things if you want fandom to keep going, my dudes. Otherwise it's going to die out. And people dropping emojis instead of words 99 times out of 100 is a symptom of that.

[ceratedfish24]

I think the first time Scott did something kind to Etho he didn't even realize it was a big deal, just reflexivly did it and immediately thought nothing/forgot about it, and Etho is left standing frozen eyes wide like oh snap I'm interested in this guy now. So Etho starts watching Scott from a distance now and notices how Scott keeps doing these kind things for other people and that's how he falls in love.

YES!!! YES! YES! YES! Scott is so kind to everybody he meets, and Etho is so used to fighting for his life and becoming a product of by his circumstances, whereas Scott is so stubbornly kind, refusing to let his hardships corrupt his loving nature. It happens when Etho is scoping out the competition right before 3rd Life, and Scott is going around introducing himself to everyone. Right after Etho finishes a playful stare down with Bdubs, this pretty boy comes right up to him, an enemy to be, offers him a smile, and wishes him luck in a game they’re both about to compete in. Immediately after, Grian calls Scott over to make fun of him, which means Scott didn’t really get any time to think about Etho’s reaction. “You can’t be nice to the competition, Scott! We’re going to war! Stop making my game friendly!” Etho just watches him go… He can’t actually be that friendly, right? Well, he really was, and he continued to be.

Scott excitedly congratulates Grian on his win. He defies the Boogeyman Curse instead of going after his teammate. He sacrifices himself for Pearl. He has no resentment towards Martyn after Limited Life. He teams with Gem, a new player who may be in need of guidance. He treats Cleo’s win with all the seriousness and excitement of a full-length season’s win. He negotiates and reaches out to Etho, who has never done anything for Scott or grown close to him or proved himself to be a good teammate for other people.

And, on top of all of that, Scott does really well.

At first, Etho assumes that Scott is just really kind to people he’s close to, such as Jimmy, Cleo, and Pearl, but then Scott extends his kindness to Etho in Limited Life, making polite conversation with him despite them being on different teams and having so much more time than anyone on Etho’s team. Then, in Secret Life, Scott humors him even though he knows that Etho’s trying to distract Scott from pursuing Bdubs during the infamous game of tag. At the time, Etho couldn’t explain why he found himself stumbling over his words, as he found himself so distracted by how the light reflected in Scott’s eyes. Finally, Wild Life is what tears Etho open like a gash in a place he already knew was tender. Etho isn’t oblivious, at least not to his own feelings. He’s known that he’s felt something for Scott for a long time, but a crush isn’t exactly an optimal in a death game.

Scott, so willing to grant Etho a place on the Gs, smiles and shrugs and tells Etho that he doesn’t care if Etho’s “not a good teammate”, and Etho’s heart bursts in his chest. He’s been given a chance that he doesn’t feel as though he’s earned from someone who doesn’t know him all that well. Everything that’s been buried deep in his chest finally erupts to the surface and he wants to grab Scott and get him somewhere safe and warm. He wants to hold this man’s hand and be as close to him as physically possible, but he can’t. They’re in the middle of a death game. Etho isn’t about to dump all of his years of internalized yearning onto Scott in the middle of a death game. They can talk afterwards.

Except, of course, Etho manages to create a more urgent matter to talk to Scott about after Wild Life. If they were a mainstream pairing, there would be two hundred fics about that kill by now.

[lurkingshan]

I don't know if you heard about this, but apparently one of the producers of I Hear the Sunspot said on twitter today that the show was a bromance, not a BL. Of course, that tweet is deleted now because Japanese fans read him the riot act. It reminded me of what the writers of Spare Me Your Mercy said about BL and their show and some points you and others made in response to it. I think it also clarified for me at least why that show went down hill in the second half. Anyway, just thought you'd be interested to know about it as another instance of a trend you've talked about.

I did indeed see the tweets and subsequent dragging, thank you for dropping by to check! And yes, it unfortunately does fit with a pattern lately of creators who want to leverage the popularity and fan engagement of bl while stripping a lot of the actual queer romance out of these shows. I don't like it, and as a fan of the genre I will not excuse it. [Embedding screenshots of the instigating tweet here for those who did not catch it before he deleted.]

It also just reinforces for me why we can and should call this out in real time when we see it. There was a lot of discourse about I Hear the Sunspot while it was airing, with many of us pointing out that the way the show was messing with the romance was strange and others defending the show's intentions. But here we have confirmation after the fact that this wasn't an accident; the creators wanted to frame this as a "bromance" and de-emphasize and water down the romance, despite using it as a hook at the beginning of the show.

We talked recently on @the-conversation-pod about this self-censorship trend in bl, and @bengiyo pointed out that this is a pattern we see play out over and over again. Corporations draw in queer people to get attention and legitimacy for their products, and then as soon as they have secured that audience and the cachet that comes with it, they start undermining the very things that drew them in to appeal to a broader and more mainstream audience. It will continue to happen in the BL space as long as audiences let these creators get away with it.

So yes, I'm very glad fans called this man out when he showed his ass so thoroughly this week. But long before he said the quiet part out loud, the show had already demonstrated where its creators were coming from. We have to be willing to name that while it's happening. I will continue to raise a flag when I see this kind of stuff in QL.

[fob4ever]

i was at a bookstore yesterday that had a copy of the kerrang: living loud book that featured the FOB watergun fight article i've never seen transcribed anywhere so i made a transcript of it for archival purposes. enjoy! from kerrang, may 2005.

For a man staring down the barrel of a loaded gun while wearing just underpants, Fall Out Boy bassist Peter Wentz looks remarkably chipper. Especially when you consider the person about to unload in his face is guitarist and vocalist Patrick Stump, grinning madly despite the fact that fellow six-stringer Joe Trohman has a pistol to his temple. He in turn is firmly in the firing line of drummer Andy Hurley, cackling loudly with his finger hovering over the trigger.

Passers-by stop and stare, waiting for the inevitable, messy climax of this "Reservoir Dogs" scenario. The tension mounts, onlookers brace themselves, the band get ready to open fire. Suddenly it happens.

"Argh!" screams Wentz as several litres of icy water soak him. "That's fucking cold!"

No, Fall Out Boy aren't about to blow each other away, They're having a water fight for K!'s benefit in a car park at the Chicago stop on travelling punk circus Warped Tour, where they're knocking out their "softcore" wares ("We're basically a hardcore band that couldn't cut it as a hardcore band," laughs Wentz) on the main stage alongside big hitters like The Offspring, Avenged Sevenfold and My Chemical Romance. The Windy City is more than just another stop for them; Chicago is Fall Out Boy's hometown, the place where they formed out of the ashes of their old hardcore bands, and where they still live with their parents- who are here for today's show - during the few weeks of the year they're not on tour.

It all started for Fall Out Boy here in 2001 when the members wanted a break from playing in their various bands. Long time friends Wentz and Hurley got together with hardcore associate Joe Trohman to do something a bit less heavy. Following a conversation about avant-metallers Neurosis in a bookstore, Trohman introduced Stump to the rest of the band. When their other bands folded, they took on Fall Out Boy full time.

"We wanted to do things before we were ready," chuckles Peter Wentz fondly of the early days of DIY tours for the benefit of the one or two people who would show up. "We'd plan two-week tours, just to see the world. Nobody would book us, so we had to do it all on our own."

"A lot of bands have scenes to go into and surround themselves with those people," says Stump. "We had no scene, so we would just play anywhere, with whoever."

FOB have come a long way from their humble roots. Right now they're America's fastest rising band. Radio smash 'Sugar, We're Goin' Down' has placed them squarely in the mainstream, having spent three weeks as the Number One song on MTV's 'TRL', a prime-time show usually devoted to pop acts like Maroon 5 and Ashlee Simpson. So dizzying their Stateside assent has been, they had to cancel their recent European tour in order to play the MTV Music Video Awards, where they are also nominated for 'Sugar...'. Thankfully, FOB haven't let the screaming adoration turn them into big-headed twats.

"A piece of shit with legs on it could walk onto 'TRL' and people would still go crazy," laughs Wentz. "That stuff just goes straight by me. With the fast turnover in the music industry, how can anyone have an ego"

Andy Hurley chips in. "You can be today's main stage and tomorrow's trash."

That's to find out tomorrow, though. Today among the madness of trying to plan anything on the Warped Tour - stage times are decided daily by lottery - Fall Out Boy have to try and find time for hanging out with family and friends.

"Three weeks on Warped is like three months on a normal tour," says Peter Wentz.

"Home becomes like Atlantis on tour, you wonder if it actually exists after a while," adds Patrick Stump.

Now FOB are big stars, a lot of old 'friends' have been coming out of the woodwork. Joe Trohman and Peter Wentz have polarised views on those who didn't give a toss back in the day suddenly becoming your pal once you've made it.

"The way I look at it is if someone's a dick to you and you don't know them, so what?" says Trohman. "Just care about who did support you, keep those important people close, not the people who five years ago called you a loser."

"I work the opposite way!" Wentz counters, before adding darkly, "The people I think about most are enemies. My brain works on revenge!"

Though a tight knit group of close friends, Peter Wentz is clearly Fall Out Boy's spokesman. He does most of the talking during the interview and writes the lyrics, and seems like the most driven one of the lot. As well as doing Fall Out Boy, Wentz has also written a book with tattoo artist Joe Tesaure, 'The Boy With The Thorn In His Side'. It's a dark, twisted tale that could have come straight from the brain of Tim Burton.

"I've always been into Roahl Dahl and people like that, and I was friends with a tattoo artist at the time and we came up with this idea to do a book together," he explains. "It wasn't something I felt fitted in with what Fall Out Boy is, I hate when bands do something that's not 'them'. The book is what it is, and Fall Out Boy is what we are."

Despite all thise talk of nightmares and revenge, FOB are upbeat individuals, enjoying their newfound success, while refusing to allow success to go to their heads. They'll tell you they don't like the shallowness of groupies or industry parties, and that the trappings of rock stardom hold no appeal.

"I don't feel like I deserve it," says Wentz in closing. "It's not like, 'this amount of time and this amount of shows = this kind of bus'. I appreciate what we've got. We've toured in a tiny van and it was cool, but now we're having new adventures living like this. I don't feel we deserve it more than any other bands do."

He surveys the sumptuosly appointed tour bus for a moment before chuckling heartily.

"Actually, that's a lie, we totally deserve it more than anyone else! Ha ha!"

[akookminsupporter]

I'm from a country where mainstream media speaks basically nothing of Kpop. And the only two groups I've ever seen mentioned are BTS, multiple times over the years, and Blackpink a couple of times. That is all. Every single other group out there is viewed by our mainstream media as part of the niche that kpop is for people around here. And as such, every group other than the two above are nameless and faceless to regular people. That said, before BTS, there was only ONE specialized magazine, which was talking about all types of Asian originated music (Jpop, Kpop, Jrock...), but now you have way more. So mainstream is basically ignoring the very existence of Kpop except for BTS, but specialized magazines for young people have never talked about it more than they do now and have never been as big in numbers.

I don't know if that answers your question perfectly, but for me we're a state of "BTS has "made it" in terms of international popularity and outside of the niche they were from, but from 99% of the rest of the Kpop groups, I'd say : wait and see. Give it 10 more years and let's see where we stand, notably in terms of longevity. Multis used to tell us we were stupid for even thinking BTS would still exist as a group after they were over 25, then they used to tell us that each members would go do their own thing and that would break the group (actors, solo career, TV host...), then they used to tell us that military service would 100% bring the end of the group's success, and then they've been telling us that once the members get families, then it'll be all over (so I'm assuming that these things used to kill a group before... which yeah, no comment). But all I'm seeing is that it's still going to be near impossible to get a ticket to any BTS concert when they decide to tour again. So yeah, since BTS is *still* breaking the mold, I'm not sure we can ever say that any group issued from Kpop can even dream of ever achieving anything close to their success, but I'm sure that a few groups will still manage to achieve some relative "high" success in comparison to the rest of Kpop before BTS though.

Hi, Anon. How’ve you been?

 Yeah, I agree with you. In my country, some K-pop groups have performed, and the press hasn’t reported on it—I only found out through social media, which I think says a lot.

I’ve noticed how BTS has become almost interchangeable with the term “K-pop.” Many people immediately think of BTS when K-pop is mentioned. You see it everywhere: in the press, across social media, and even in casual conversations. It’s not something I’ve noticed with other groups—not even with BP.

BTS stands out in so many ways, both within the K-pop industry and beyond. But if we’re talking specifically about the KPOP industry, I think they’ve shattered a lot of the norms and expectations around how long a group can stay relevant and successful. From what I’ve read, they’ve redefined what longevity looks like in K-pop. Most groups tend to peak early and fade out over time, but BTS is still at the top after more than a decade. They’ve not only maintained their influence but expanded it, which is almost unheard of.

Another thing that sets them apart is their solo careers. It’s rare for every single member of a group—especially a group as large as BTS—to have such incredible success individually. With BTS, all seven of them have proven themselves as solo artists and their debuts have been successful and I think this isn’t just unusual in K-pop; it’s rare in the music industry as a whole.

Something that definitely sets BTS apart is ARMY. Sure, other groups have big fandoms, but none are on the same level as ARMY. It’s not just about the numbers, though those are undeniably huge—it’s about how organised and strategic they are. Beyond the usual streaming and voting campaigns, ARMY knows how to play the game and adapt when the rules change. I don’t see that same level of adaptability or cohesiveness in other fandoms.

What’s even more interesting is that ARMY isn’t just about supporting the group—they’ve created a community that operates almost like its own ecosystem. Whether it’s charity projects, trending hashtags, or defending BTS online, they’re always active, always mobilised. It’s one of the reasons BTS has been able to achieve what they have. Their fandom isn’t just along for the ride; they’re actively shaping the journey. And thanks to that, the fandom has become just as famous as BTS.

Tickets for their future concerts will definitely be hard to get, especially for the first one they hold. The fandom keeps growing every day, even though the group has been on pause for a while. That’s impressive as well.

I think we can conclude that no other K-pop group is on BTS's level. Many of them have been successful to a certain extent, and surely many will manage to break barriers outside of South Korea, but I don’t think they’ll reach the level BTS is at.

What will also be interesting to see is what BTS will do when they return. What kind of music will they create? Will it reflect their personal growth and experiences during their time apart, or will it stay closer to the sound and themes that first brought them worldwide recognition? It’ll also be fascinating to observe how their solo projects influence—or perhaps don’t influence—their group dynamics and future releases.

Another intriguing aspect will be how the K-pop industry and the global music scene react to their comeback. Most importantly, it’ll be worth watching how their fandom, embraces them after this pause.

BTS’s return has the potential to be a pivotal moment—not just for the group, but for the industry and their fans—and it’s exciting to imagine how it will all unfold.

The least I expect is that the new songs they’ll surely release will be longer than three and a half minutes.

[heartmaddie]

parfum d'étoiles | k.akaashi

introductions; the miseducation of bokuakakurotsukkiken

⋆｡°✩ keiji akaashi

he loves 'all about lily chou chou' and 'neon genesis evangelion' , a bit of a loser but it's commonly understood across the campus that he's quite attractive. keiji wears thrifted, archival fashion, but also buys modern clothing - doesn't indulge in fast fashion. he wears women's pants that he thrifts and he shares clothes with tsukishima a lot but they're sometimes baggy on him. he used to drink a lot of coffee, but switched to genmaicha right before university started. has a dog named pochi , breed is undecided (akaashi likes cats too but his mom likes dogs). he really likes kiyoko's sense of style and buys from her depop often - also is a deep reader and helps tsukishima with his booktok account.

⋆｡°✩ kei tsukishima

he made a booktok account as a joke to clown on colleen hoover but then blew up (i think of daniel yeo when i think of tsuki as a creator), he's just been posting occasionally since then but has a nice following he enjoys interacting with. tsukishima is a big fan of cable knit sweaters and corduroy pants, he dresses quite casually but owns a couple of more expensive pieces, all thrifted not made to wear. even though he doesn't care about his own fashion, he loves buying the photography archives of fashion designers and looks through them often. he likes chai lattes or oolong tea. he likes a range of music, but focuses on radiohead the most. he hates a lot of mainstream booktok books , colleen hoover, icebreaker etc, but also hates murakami , dazai and bukowski.

⋆｡°✩ tetsuro kuroo

he's kind of cool if you try to forget the fact that he actively tries so seem cooler. suffers from soo much fomo it's actual insanity (based off of one of my irls). he loves r&b , the REALEST ms lauryn hill fan, but has a wide range of music taste as well. he's the glue in this group chat and it would be dead if it wasn't him and bokuto spamming it all the time. he loves croissants and old libraries even if he doesn't read, he likes the ambience while he's catching up on his university lectures. he skips all of them (self indulgent). he changes his bio on twitter every 25 minutes and it's just the captions of tiktoks he giggled from - it's abhorred. i think a lot of people look at him from afar because he's quite attractive but his aura is so intimidating that no one goes up to him..

⋆｡°✩ kotaro bokuto

bokuto is a very rowdy and energetic person, which is why he's perfect to be akaashi's best friend! he struggles a bit with being too pushy. especially with akaashi who he sometimes forces to do things he doesn't want to do. he's sort of slow and unaware, but he means the best for everybody. he has no opps. he unironically plays roblox (uses his younger cousins as an excuse but actually loves it) and his favourite games are dress to impress and gym simulator. unlike akaashi, bokuto stayed friends with yn after high school ended but just doesn't talk to her as often - him and yn were never as close as akaashi and yn. bokuto really likes cheese, especially gouda, but also flightless birds.

⋆｡°✩ kenma kozume

kenma is winning every single idgaf war on the entire planet, i'm not even kidding. (but on a more serious note, he does look out for his friends in his own special way). he loves any sort of energy drink, and his favourite food is tiramisu because it wakes him right up and he likes mascarpone. he strictly wears uniqlo airism shirts and rotates through 4 different pairs of pants (jeans, gray sweatpants, black sweatpants and jorts). he likes to stay home and watch films with akaashi, play different games with bokuto and have long conversations with tsukishima. they all used to live separately (bokuaka , kuroken and then tsukki by himself before moving in all together)

please consider liking , reblogging or following if you enjoyed send an ask or reply to the masterlist if you'd like to be on the taglist :p

taglist : @akaashislovee

©heartmaddie all rights reserved. please do not repost my work.

[rogueddie]

On and On / Figure You Out

Corroded Coffin are at the peak of their popularity. They're not mainstream, or in any way big, but they're known enough that they're kept busy. Touring as an opening act, special appearences in little underground places...

Eddie hasn't been home for months. He'd known that he'd most likely be kept away when their manager started talking to them excitedly about all the opportunities.

He hadn't expected it to take such a toll on his and Steves relationship.

It had taken him a while to notice the problems too. He's always so tired after gigs... it takes him two weeks to notice how tired Steve sounds.

"Are you ok?" He blurts, as soon as he notices.

"I'm fine," Steve says.

Eddie can hear the lie.

"Are you tired?" He pushes. "Long day?"

"No. You don't need to worry about me. What were you saying about Jeff? Something about a solo, right?"

No, Eddie wants to scream. I was talking about us!

He doesn't say that though. He rattles off the things that happened in their last show- the things that are interesting, anyway. He doesn't mention how hard it had hit him, after the show, how lonely he is.

It's the same sort of conversation they always have. There isn't really anything different.

It feels different.

After saying their goodbyes, hanging up, Eddie hovers by the phone for a few minutes. Long enough for the others, who had been waiting nearby, to worry.

"Eddie?" Jeff is the one to walk over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You ok, man?"

"Yeah," Eddie replies, automatically. But, frowning, he starts shaking his head. "No. I don't know. It's..."

"Hey, stay calm, it's ok. Did something happen? Is Steve ok?"

"Yeah, it... no. No. Nothing happened, but... I just have this feeling, man, like something really bad is happened and I'm seeing it too late and now-"

"Hey, hey, Eddie, breathe. Whatever it is, we'll help you out, ok? We can fix this, right?"

"Right," Eddie says. He looks to Gareth and Grant, then back to Jeff. "I need to go home. I need..."

"It's that big? Are you sure you're not overreacitng?"

"I don't know. I don't want to risk it. Like, it feels like something is about to break. I can't fix it from here- if I wait, it'll be too late, and-"

"Ok," Jeff cuts in, turning to gesture the other two over. "You go home, we'll find someone to cover for a few dates."

"I know someone who could cover for Chicago," Gareth offers.

"Thank you," Eddie manages to choke out. He knows it's not enough but, by their expressions, they at least understand some of what he can't bring himself to say.

"Go get your man," Grant encourages. "We'll be fine."

"Thank you," Eddie repeats. "So much, it-"

"Jesus, man!" Gareth cuts in, nudging him. "We know. We love you too. Now, go!"

"Go," Jeff says, nodding, when Eddie looks to him. "He won't wait forever, right?"

It takes too long to get a flight back to Indiana, and even longer to find a taxi willing to take him all the way to Hawkins. It ends up taking him 36 hours to get home, to get to Steve, after the phone call.

Steve is sleeping on the couch when he gets in, curled up in one of Eddies old sweaters.

"Sweetheart," Eddie whispers, brushing his hair back, gentle and soft.

Steve mumbles, nose scrunching in annoyance as he wakes up. He blinks at Eddie a few times, confused. "Eds? What- how are you here?"

"I missed you." Eddie isn't sure why he's whispering. The moment feels so fragile. "I needed to see you."

"But your tour-"

"Can wait. You're more important."

"What about that, uh... upward swing?" Steve pulls his hand off his hair, holding in both his own. "Once in a lifetime opportunity, right?"

"I don't care about that. On the phone, you... I had to come home, Stevie. You sounded so... I don't know. Tired?"

Steve is quiet for a moment, before admitting; "I missed you. Doesn't feel like home when you're gone."

"Good job I'm back then, huh?"

"For how long? One night and then you're gone again?"

"Forever, if you want. Or I can drag you out with us. Whatever it takes. Whatever you need."

"Just... don't leave me for so long."

"I won't. I promise."

"Ok," Steve finally smiles. It's a small, frail thing, but it's a smile. "Thank you, Eds. For coming here."

"Anytime." Eddie kisses the back of his hand. "Seriously, anytime. Call me and I'll come running. Whenever and whatever. I love you, so much. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I love you, too."

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dave Jamieson at HuffPost:

The co-chair of Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump’s transition team promoted the debunked theory that vaccines cause autism in a CNN interview Wednesday. He also said Trump ally Robert F. Kennedy Jr., hopes to get “data” through a Trump administration to have vaccines pulled “off the market.” Howard Lutnick, the billionaire CEO of investment bank Cantor Fitzgerald and a longtime friend of Trump’s, told the network’s Kaitlan Collins that vaccines are “not proven” to be safe. Lutnick said he’d recently been schooled on vaccines by Kennedy, the failed independent presidential candidate and anti-vaxxer who has endorsed Trump. Kennedy has said he would have significant influence over public health policy if Trump wins the White House. “So, I spent two-and-a-half hours this week with Bobby Kennedy Jr., and it was the most extraordinary thing. Because, let’s face it, we’ve all heard on the news all sorts of sort of snarky comments about him,” Lutnick told Collins. Recounting his conversation with Kennedy, Lutnick went on to link autism to the growth of vaccines — a discredited idea that dates back to a retracted study from 1998 — before Collins interrupted to remind viewers Lutnick is not a scientist. “Hang on,” the anchor said. “OK, neither of us are doctors. Vaccines are safe.” “Why do you think vaccines are safe? There’s no product liability anymore. They’re not proven,” Lutnick said.

“Because they’re proven. Kids get them and they’re fine,” Collins said. “Why do you think they’re fine?” Lutnick responded. A Trump spokesperson did not immediately respond Thursday morning when asked if the campaign stood by Lutnick’s comments. Lutnick went on to say that Kennedy wants vaccines pulled off the market ― and that Kennedy hopes a Trump administration could get him the data to accomplish that. “He wants the data so he can say, ‘These things are unsafe,’” Lutnick said. “He says, ‘If you give me the data, all I want is the data, and I’ll take on the data and show that it’s not safe. And if you pull the product liability, the companies will yank these vaccines right off ― off of the market.’ So that’s his point.”

The former president himself has long voiced skepticism of vaccines and has promised to cut funding for schools that require them, playing into anti-vax conspiracy theories that have gone mainstream in the Republican Party. (All states have variations of laws requiring certain vaccines.)

Appearing on CNN’s The Source Wednesday night, Trump transition team co-chair Howard Lutnick made the anti-vaxxer extremists happy by endorsing a plan to yank vaccines off the market. Host Kaitlan Collins defended the safety of vaccines, rebutting Lutnick’s logic-free nonsense.

A vote for Donald Trump is a vote to legitimize anti-vaxxer nonsense like this. Vote Kamala Harris for sound vaccine science!

From the 10.30.2024 edition of CNN's The Source:

See Also:

Daily Kos: Make Diseases Great Again: Trump team says they're coming for vaccines

[twopoppies]

Gina, can we talk about how strange Louis' last Larry denial was?

See, he wasn’t supposed to come to Brazil. Everyone found out he was coming about a week before, so everything happened suddenly — the interviews, the meet-and-greet with the fans, everything. Louis gave around six interviews (I don’t remember exactly), and absolutely no one talked about his personal life — relationships, family —; the first interview was in the morning for a famous radio station. At one point, one of the interviewers said "they are asking about F" in portuguese, and immediately another interviewer cut her off. Louis seemed to react when F's name came up in the conversation and made a face like "speak, I want to hear," but things just continued. All the interviews went well. All of them. Until a week after Louis left the country, G1 released an article — G1 is the largest news portal in the country. Some people don’t seem to grasp the size of Brazil and how Brazilians are fierce consumers of the internet — with Louis' big monologue about Larry. Obviously, Harry's name was linked in the headline, and it only took a few seconds for "Louis Tomlinson denies relationship with Harry Styles" to appear on all the news and gossip sites in the country.

It was very strange because all the questions had been about his work, his songs, and suddenly the journalist just says, “… and Larry?" It wasn’t even a properly formed question! After years, Louis decided to deny the relationship again with a single poorly phrased question in the largest news portal of the largest country in LATAM, where, curiously, there are the most online users from around the world. Plus, the interview was released after Louis had finished his mini-interview tour in LATAM, and after that, he never spoke about it again. Anyway, this was the time when a large mass of people stopped believing in Larry after years.

Sorry if I wrote something wrong, my english is rusty

No, your English is perfect. Thank you for this. I remember how weird it was when he did that. I think a lot of his newer fans (or even the ones returning after Liam passed) don’t believe he and Harry are together, and many believe they never were.

I find it completely bizarre. But I also recognize how, in the long run, having people think there’s nothing to the rumors would probably help Harry and Louis’ careers. However, every time he does it, he loses swaths of fans. Not because they only like him because of Larry, but because they’re pissed at the constant denial of something so obviously true (in addition to the way he does his denials lately).

And, while it does turn a lot of people off, it also creates more larries because plenty of people recognize how fucking weird it is that he KEEPS talking about it. And, sadly, Louis gets more mainstream press by denying Larry than he does for things related to his career. So that, too, makes it all so strange that he keeps doing it.

As I keep saying, if they wanted us to forget about it, they’d stop trying so hard.

[dertaglichedan]

Trump Fires Karen Rochlin, US Prosecutor Who Begged Judge to Send Jenna Ryan to Prison for Peacefully Protesting on Jan 6th

Karen Rochlin was the US Prosecutor who was switched to my case at the last minute, after I signed the plea deal, and before I was sentenced to 60 days in prison in Washington DC on Constitution Avenue. Last night, on President Trump’s 12 day in office, it was announced that the interim leaders in the DOJ have purged the agency of prosecutors involved in the January 6th Capitol fiasco. Rochlin was among dozens of prosecutors fired, and she prosecuted many of the Jan. 6th politically persecuted victims.

I must say, this is an emotional time for me, in that this woman was so heinous towards me, treated me so inhumanely and with such disdain, Her lack of a soul, of integrity or ethics in her handling of my case was striking and abusive. It is a time of reflection, and a feeling of relief that someone who was so callous, cruel and dishonest will no longer be working in our government and attacking hardworking citizens.

I could write 10,000 pages about the details of the harm this woman bestowed upon my life, but I will spare you all the details and just share with you in bulleted form the highlights of what I consider to be a ghoulish replica of human flesh; and the direct harm she inflicted upon me.

(...)

I was attacked relentlessly online by trolls, bots and God knows who else, and was searching with everything I could muster to find some humanity in the madness. I responded to one of the hurtful trolls telling me that I would be going to prison. I said, “No, I’m not going to prison…” That tweet became world news the next day, much to my mortification.

The next day I receive a call from my attorney. It seems the Judge saw my tweet and he was pissed because I said I was not going to prison and only the Judge could decide that. Also, my attorney found out that I would be getting a new prosecutor. I was shocked that the Judge was watching my tweets, and was even more beside myself than I had been all year, if that is even possible.

A week or so later, my attorney had the opportunity to speak to Karen Rochlin to find out what her recommendations would be; after their conversation my attorney called me and said, “She doesn’t like you. She thinks you’re a liar.” I was baffled. The woman never met me, never spoke to me, and I’d been nothing but honest with the DOJ, giving vast amounts of documentation and information to the government about every aspect imaginable about my personal life. I was desparately trying to avoid prison.

Karen Rochlin told my attorney that she would be recommending prison, despite the PSI officer who did the report recommending probation, and the previous prosecutor recommending probation, I would be recommended prison. My heart hit the pavement. After all they’d done to me all year, after everything—the millions of emails, death threats, attempts to take my business, making me change my name and hide, they were going to finish me off with a prison sentence. In my mind, they wanted me dead.

It then became a matter of how long I would go to prison. One day, the number came. Rochlin would be recommending 60 days in prison. She hated me. She joined the chorus of millions of people in the media, online and off of canceling me and throwing me in prison.

Right before the sentencing date, I received it. A 21 page sentencing memorandum that is so acerbic the thought of it crushes my soul. I pled guilty to parading, picketing and protesting in a restricted area, and she piled on 21 page of reasons why I deserved 60 days of prison. The sentencing memorandum was filled with conjecture, falsehoods and salacious headlines written about me in mainstream media. I asked my attorney if this was normal, and he said. No.

[weemsfreak]

Desire ♱

⋆Reader's pov and main story (recommend read first)⋆

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

♱ Jane's pov here

Summary: When the lady of the village returns after many years and ends up in your place of work, you fabricate a dress for her; and then you follow her. ~5k words

Warnings: obsession, stocking, mention of child abuse, family trauma and father issues (as in Jane/Edward Murdstone 'David Copperfield')

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The bakery, the factory, the church, and the bank.

Places which she ventured on a normal day,

Places which you ventured on a normal day.

Things that she did,

Things that you did.

The gallery, the haberdashery, the manor house gardens.

She was busy,

You were busy.

Wherever she went, you followed.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The ball rang out, signifying that someone had entered. You ignored it from the next room, not wanting to drop your task at hand.

"Well, I'll be. It has been a long while Miss Murdstone."

You rolled your eyes and mouthed Gladys' words, mocking the dressmaker as you continued to cut out fabric.

"Indeed, it has."

Your hands stopped working at the sound of a voice, gaze slowly raising to the wall as you listened. You heard shuffling to Gladys' workspace, a coat hit the settee.

"How has Blunderstone treated you? Glad to be back at the factory?"

A hum. "It has been a good many years, although a dreadful end I'm afraid. I am glad to be back."

Your eyes flit around the room; the factory? Miss Murdstone?

Oh. OH. The Miss Murdstone of Murdstone village. The sister of factory owner Mr. Murdstone.

You had never met the Murdstone's, but you had heard of them and their reputation in their own village. They had been gone for some ten years; a marriage, you had heard. And it seemed that now, they were back.

You prayed that Gladys wouldn't call you in for help as you were not very confrontational, and you had heard that the lady could be, well, cruel.  

Slowly you continued to cut out fabric, listening in on their conversation as you did.

The contrast of murmuring and sureness calmed you, the new voice in particular was melody to your ears. It was strong yet weak, cold yet warm, confident yet weary, cruel yet sweet; you longed to know what body housed a voice like that.

Inevitably, Gladys called your name from the next room.

You screwed your eyes closed and took a deep breath before dropping everything and heading through the doorway.

"Yes, how can I help-"

Your eyes flit from Gladys to a tall dark figure. One which caught you off guard, before it consumed you.

Ghost white skin sandwiched between midnight hair and a dress to match, the length of which you've never seen the likes of before.

Her gaze was locked onto the wall, until she noticed you staring.

Expectant eyes shot to you and made your heart flutter nervously, you averted your gaze back to Gladys.

It seemed that the only colour this woman possessed was that of her iris', which made them stand out even more.

"Y/n, this is Miss Murdstone."

You moved closer and gave a small bow, eyes on the floor. "How do you do Miss Murdstone."

"Well, thank you."

You nodded with a small smile.

"Help me with this, will you?" Gladys passed you a measure and gestured to her skirts, to which you lifted and got to work.

Black fabric, not something you worked with often, although it was certainly growing on you. You looked between dark and the light of her petticoat, and you wished for the chance to see long legs hidden underneath. Alas, petticoats were not see through.

Miss Murdstone was not a very social woman, though you were not surprised at her lack of emotion or chatter, as there was not much about her that was mainstream.

You stood and helped Gladys with small things, measuring around her bodice, shoulders, and arm length, the lady stiff as a board. Your hands trembled as you worked, which neither woman failed to notice.

You couldn't help but steal glances at the lines in the woman's skin, dark hair tied up neatly, scars and light freckles placed perfectly, as if they were intentional.

You couldn't help but think that she looked as if she was made of wax.

Cold fingers brushed against the pale skin of her neck and she flinched, a string of apologies flowing from your mouth. You stepped away and let Gladys finish the job, the only thing going through your head was how warm the woman was to the touch.

Being sent on your way with the measurements, you began to cut out black fabric. More length added to the sleeves and skirt, waist cinched just a bit.

You worked in the corner of the room, stealing glances at the dark woman though the doorway now and then. When you had left, the women began to make small conversation again; you closed your eyes and listened to her voice.

You hadn't noticed when the bell had rung and she had left, until Gladys walked in.

"A pretty young thing like you shant be intimidated by Miss Murdstone."

Your eyes shot to Gladys as a light blush overtook your cheeks. You were intimidated alright, but not in the way she thought.

You hummed, "Maybe not intimidated, but overtaken."

"Get to work silly girl" she chuckled, pointing down at the barely touched black fabric in your hands.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You could tell by the way she carried herself through life, by the way that she spoke to people (or didn't acknowledge them at all), that she was cold, iron, wrought, metallic.

Yes, that was it, she was metallic, and she possessed some type of pull. You failed to fight it off with bated breath when dark yet enchanting eyes met yours.

What really pulled you in, however, was her mysterious nature. Her front was menacing, her cruelty was obvious, her exterior freezing anyone who dared cross her path.

She was a delight, far more true than you could ever be.

Being a dressmaker's apprentice, you didn't have every day to venture around Murdstone village. But when you did, you made it worthwhile.

You had been intrigued by her since the day she stepped into the shop, and soon enough, you became attached.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

It was easy to spot her through the crowd of people, being one of the tallest, darkest, and notable around.

You wouldn't say that you stalked her, no, for you ran your errands in the same way as she, and your interests matched hers well.

That became clear when one day you took a stroll through the manor house gardens and found her, admiring the Nettles from afar.

Nettles were not much to the naked eye, and they stung like a bitch when one got close. Alas, their being was important, indispensable, beautiful; like her.

Cold on the outside and warm on the inside.

You sat on a bench next to some Black Calla Lily's, and couldn't help but think about how the flowers reflected the both of you. These particular Lily's caught your eye and drew you in, but get too involved and their toxins could harm you.

Warm on the outside and cold on the inside.

Perhaps you were both deceiving.

Her back faced you tauntingly as you longed to admire her features. You hadn't gotten a satisfying look at her, although you assumed nobody had ever gotten very close.

Holding your breath, she turned to continue down the path, head held high as she gazed straight ahead.

She didn't look your way, she didn't acknowledge you, no, she didn't say a word.

Yet you knew her, you knew she was perceptive, she noticed every detail.

And deep down you knew that she knew you were there.

She always did.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You were suffering throughout your days and nights, physically unable to get the metallic lady out of your head. You hadn't been this obsessed, this buried, this crazy for a woman.

You knew it was wrong, to want her, to want to know her, to want to feel her dark locks run through your fingers.

You knew it was wrong to watch from afar, even worse to get close; but you couldn't help it.

She was enchanting, she was brooding, she was maddening.

One bright morning you arrived to church early, and placed yourself in the very pew where the Murdstone's always sat. You took the hymnal and prayer books and moved them to another pew, leaving only one set of books available.

After some time, Mr. Murdstone passed the pew, giving you a look of disdain before continuing on.

Your gaze dropped to your lap nervously, unsure as to where she was.

Another moment passed, and you noticed a shadow beside you, then felt a soft brush against your leg.

It was so soft you believed it was imagined.

"Apologies."

Looking over in disbelief, you found the metallic woman beside you, her attention set on the priest.

As the service progressed, you couldn't help but wrack your brain around her being. For as much as you knew her, or at least thought that you did, as much as you saw her, you couldn't tell.

After eyeing her at church a couple days a week, you realized she was a devoted congregant. She gave the impression that she was one who would reprimand for breaking the rules, for not adhering to the faith's principles.

But all the same, she seemed as though she'd like to bend them, challenge society's expectations, and oppose normalcy, as it was obvious she didn't follow every mainstream convention.

You had confirmed recently, after some research, that 'Miss' Murdstone was not married; but for which reason, you wondered often.

Long fingers opened the prayer book and held it still as a stone on her lap, eyes scanning the words slowly.

Silently, you leaned closer, setting your gaze on her as she peered down at you. You smiled, watching her lips twitch and eyes bore into your own in question; then the prayer book was angled so you both could recite together.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

One day, you set out determined for your destination: the gallery.

See, there was not much that you knew, but there were a few things. One being that the gallery bustled with activity on a certain day of the week, and another being that Jane Murdstone was a sucker for all things nice.

The Cultural and Historical collections always inspired you, and allowed you to indulge in the fantasy of a better world, a more interesting world, a world in which you were yourself, truly.

And well, as did she.

As expected, Miss Murdstone made her way around a glass case following the male version of herself. You recognized him immediately, the man of the village.

Watching from the other side of the room, you took note of their differences and similarities. Physical was obvious, they were tall, they were dark, and they were chilling.

Your heart couldn't help but feel heavy, as although she was striking, easily catching your eye even next to her brother, she was the lesser.

It was obvious that she was more brazen, more intelligent, and more capable; alas, he was the man, and she was the woman.

You ran your hand over an artifact, pressing your skin hard into the rough texture.

Glass should cover something so fragile, so special, so significant, you thought, for someone could steal it with the snap of a finger.

You could steal it with the snap of a finger. You wouldn't, however, not now. For you had something far more important to tend to.

A dark figure caught your peripheral, your eyes discreetly landing on the woman as your head stayed focused in the direction of the artifact.

You watched as long fingers ran over a piece opposite, feeling the atoms that made up the world, perhaps a world in which you had yet to know.

You took a deep breath, gaze lifting when her pale hand paused in its track.

You were expecting it, her eyes on her pray, on her goal, on you.

Touché. You respected the effort, the care, the menacing stare, but it was of no use.

You stared back, taking in the elements of her skin, the light in her eyes, and the hate in her heart.

It was incredible, really, how energy made up the universe, how matter was formed, how it could be neither created nor destroyed.

She saw you and you saw her, but nobody spoke a word.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Miss Murdstone spoke few words to you the couple times that she entered the shop; for her measurements, her dress, and then again when a colleague had tailored a suit for her brother.

You understood that you knew her better than she knew you, for you were just a dressmaker whose name had most likely slipped her mind.

Alas when you watched her on the streets, back and forth with long strides, elegance never faltering, haughtiness never letting up, she never failed to deepen your infatuation.

You admired the way she gave no thought nor care about others' opinions, the way she could allow- feed into the absolute cruelty, perhaps hate that came out of her mouth.

The way she let it happen, the way she lived for it.

You were high as the heavens the one time she had spat at you. It was short, nothing that she thought twice about, but you were truly and utterly drunk on her.

Others you knew, didn't appreciate being spoken down to that way, looked at with a bitter glance, nor dealt with in that sneering tone.

And well, most of the time you wouldn't either.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The factory, a place of your dreams and nightmares.

In your favour, it wasn't difficult to sneak into at night, the bottles and barrels and wine and corks the only witnesses of your doing.

Their livelihood, their significance, the thing that gave the Murdstone's the justification to be poison; possibility to be ruined within hours.

You ran a finger along a trail of dust as a smirk crept over your face. Mr. Murdstone was too pretentious for his own good, careless perhaps, not too smart it seemed; but you were.

For his sake, and his sake only, it was a damn good thing that his sister had consumed your every thought.

By morning you had tucked yourself deep behind the shelves.

People of every age, those of every kind made their way into the factory, cleaning, filling, corking, labelling, and packaging.

You were caught off guard when you eyed Mr. and Miss Murdstone make their way around the factory, inspecting the work and the workers. They passed by the shelves with a step that felt far too long. You froze at their proximity, for you had no escape.

Letting out a breath, you watched as they halted near a small boy, a boy far too short to reach the corking lever.

"Jump, boy" Mr. Murdstone instructed.

The boy tried, pathetically.

"You should sooner teach the furniture" the lady said to her brother.

You held in a snicker.

"Jane" Mr. Murdstone warned.

You watched as he attempted to jump, Mr. Murdstone frustrated with his lack of effort.

"You will not be switched to another job, boy."

He jumped higher and had yet to reach.

Miss Murdstone turned to her brother with the raise of a brow, "We should switch to a less enjoyable activity."

"JANE."

Mr. Murdstone grabbed the child by his shirt, dragging him to a secluded room and slamming the door with no hesitation.

Miss Murdstone followed with hands clasped in front of her, then you heard grunting and lashing sounds. Your eyes shut and you flinched at the suddenness, whacking your head off a board.

Blue eyes travelled your way, somehow hearing your skull make contact with the wood over the loudness of everything else. The metallic woman looked in your direction, around you, above you, and you could swear it, straight at you. But she couldn't see you through the willful blindness of the bottles and barrels.

Her gaze was averted, however, when a tall boy made his way toward her with intent.

Your eyes widened as you watched him pick up a glass bottle, your brain registering that he most likely wished to protect the child; but harming Miss Murdstone wasn't the way.

With a deepening heart beat you contemplated the fact that you may have to reveal yourself, jump in front of hard glass in shame and remorse before ghostly pale skin turned crimson.

But, as you watched the metallic woman, you noticed her smirk; joy, thrill, and humour behind her eyes.

She faltered for a moment when she noticed the bottle, lips twitching; a moment of hurt. Still, she stood her ground, eyes unblinking.

He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, and she knew.

For they were cruel, they were cold, and they were abusive, perhaps.

But she now had no fear, for she was used to it.

When the boy turned away and you watched her smirk return, chest falling slightly in relief, it made sense.

You realized why she was the way that she was; beaten, bruised, petrifying, and cruel. It wasn't anything new, it wasn't unfamiliar or forced. It was all that she knew.

It was what she knew, it was who she was brought up to be; the little girl, the woman, the one who took care of the men.

The one who listened to their commands but rose to control when they were too coward.

The one who was reprimanded when she spoke her mind but was brought up to be superior all the same.

The girl who said nothing and was harmed for her warmth, now a cold shell of defensive whips and comments; in a woman's body tall enough to make the men resentful.

She was born to love and taught to hate, for she had no choice.

She had no choice.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The lady had returned to the shop days later with Mr. Murdstone's suit, shoving it into your coworkers' arms.

"You measured incorrectly" she grumbled.

His jaw fell open as he looked it over, scratching at his head, "Where is it incorrect, my lady?"

You held in a laugh as she flung the trousers over his arm and pointed to the hem. "They need to be taken out. He's not lacking in stature like yourself."

Nodding, he made his way to the next room. "I need it finished for tonight" you heard her holler.

"Of course, Miss Murdstone."

You were sat on the settee, sewing a piece and trying your hardest to pretend she wasn't there, hoping you wouldn't have to entertain her.

Alas, as it was, you longed to converse with her, you longed to entertain her.

You longed to run your eyes over her frame, yearned to move closer and take in her deathly smell, her serene eyes and ghostly skin.

You longed to run your hands along the warmth of her neck once again and know that she was real.

Heeled steps approached as your mind went blank and heart began to race. She sat down next to you.

"Men, incompetent" was all that she said.

You felt bad for him, of course you did, but you couldn’t help but snicker at her comment.

"Indeed."

You admired very much that she spoke her mind and wished to give her the ability to feel freely, without reprimand and without judgment.

Attempting to focus back on your work, you were distracted when she withdrew her pocket watch. Busy fingers wrapped around the intricate watch and chain before moving to toy with the money bag and beads hanging off her chatelaine.

A sigh, "I have somewhere to be."

You ignored the burning question in your mind, 'where?'

The woman turned to you suddenly, your gaze shot to hers.

Her dark blues narrowed as if she knew what you were doing: following, admiring, chasing, craving her.

Your heart almost jumped out of your throat as you thought of her knowing, knowing of your attachment, knowing of your enamour, knowing of your desire.

You calmed however, when you realized that you didn't see rage in her eyes, but intrigue; for she had an idea.

"Would you be so kind as to deliver the suit when it is finished?"

You tilted your head at her sickly sweet tone, figuring that it was the only way she knew to get people to bend for her, to get you to bend for her.

But you would bend for her coldness, you would bend for her cruelness, you would bend for her warmth, you would bend for her anyway she'd ask, fake or sincere.

You would bend for her.

Yes you knew of many places, the factory that you should not enter, the bakery, the grocer, the bank, the haberdashery, and her leisurely activities, but you didn't know of her home.

You didn't know her that well.

You stuttered in surprise, "Of- of course."

A smile played at her lips, but you knew you weren't special.

When her dark blue eyes bore into your own and you saw the hate, you knew that her thoughts were nothing but careless, nothing but mean, nothing but questioning.

You wondered how someone could be so…brave? Sadistic? So content with being unliked by others, even intentionally resented.

Lonely? You could say. Perhaps you both had something in common.

She grasped others by the throats and shook them until they gave in for a breath, until they feared her, until they bent.

You wouldn't mind that, not from her, not at all.

You saw it run through her mind with a slight widening of eyes, as if she was attempting to convince herself that her maliciousness was justified.

For you, well you were just a young girl, a little lamb. You were the innocence that she once had and lost, the total opposite of her.

But you, you weren't so convinced.

"Lovely. Gladys will provide my address. I expect it by 5pm."

She stood abruptly and exited the shop, leaving you alone.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The suit was done by 4pm, you prayed that it would fit perfectly. Not that you were opposed to being rebuked by Miss Murdstone, but you truly wanted nothing but to please her.

Wearing one of your favorite dresses, you set out to the Murdstone's estate, walking through the surprisingly busy streets with curiosity.

The door was open when you arrived, and you were greeted by a maid who was bustling around. They informed you where to take the suit due to their current occupation.

You found yourself nervously knocking on a door in a dark hallway, sure that this was a ruse.

The door swung open quickly at the hand of Miss Murdstone, making you flinch in surprise.

You took in the sight of her in her new black dress, one which you had the pleasure of aiding in the fabrication of. It clung to her figure perfectly, defining strong shoulders and a cinched waist.

Smoothing out the fabric of your dress, you attempted not to drool as you extended the suit out to her.

"Here you are, Miss Murdstone. I hope it meets your satisfaction."

She took the suit from you gently, giving you an expectant look as she stayed silent.

"We're hosting a ball tonight."

You averted your gaze to the window at the end of the hall, nodding in understanding and jealousy.

"I trust that it will be enjoyable."

You watched as she looked you up and down, you felt that this was the most attention she had ever given you.

"I do hope."

Silence. You had much to say, but no will to say it.

Whether it was your imagination or a mutual understanding, your relationship seemed to be based on physicality, lacking verbal connection.

A maid then came barreling up the stairs, carrying many things in preparation of the night. "Miss Murdstone, let's prepare you for the ball."

You watched as she entered Miss Murdstone's chambers and disappeared from your sight, the lady allowing her access. Your eyes flit from the maid to hers, screaming with want for a job which you did not have, did not desire; until now.

She spoke with a tone of genuine disinterest, yet the invitation in itself told you something.

"It will commence at 8pm. You are welcome to join."

⋆♱✮♱⋆  

You had been welcomed into their home, but it felt unsettling all the same. Her unknowing of your presence, or at least not expecting it, gave you the ability to be discreet.

But here, you felt as if something was expected of you, as if she had invited you just to watch you. Ironic.

Few eyes glanced your way as you took your time admiring the Murdstone's estate. Upper class fascinated you, elaborate décor and offerings made you feel envious, yet insignificant at the same time.

You weaved through the crowd of people, introducing yourself as you picked up a glass. Most likely you looked out of place, you knew, despite the fact that you were dressed appropriately.

You were intrigued, however, as you desired to learn more about their lives; desired to learn more about her life.

Not to your surprise, as the night progressed you caught her moving throughout the ball room.

She was on a mission as always, it seemed, tending to others needs and wants in hopes of a pleasant ball; in her role of pleasing her brother. Your eyes followed her tall form as you sipped your drink in a corner, absolutely content.

For a while.

Enjoyment flowed through you as you watched others dance, resisting the urge to join in. You hesitated as your heart panged, knowing that the only person you desired to dance with was not within possibility.

Eventually you had lost sight of her, only Mr. Murdstone in the centre of the room dancing with a woman, so you left.

You quietly snuck to the main room of the house, debating on departing until you realized that nobody was around.

Sneaking up the stairs, you ran your hand along the balustrade, stopping at the top to utilize the light of some candles. If anyone caught you, you were searching for the loo.

A large family portrait on the wall greeted you, an eerie feeling overwhelming you at the sight of the Murdstone family.

The mother, a force to be reckoned with. The father, a tyrannical aristocrat. And the son, vindictive.

As your eyes raked over the young girl, however, you realized she was just that, a young girl.

A young girl born into upper class, born into cruelty, born into a life that was not chosen but wholly hers.

You supposed nobody really had a choice.

The candles guided your attention to an open door, the floor creaking when you stepped closer.

You longed to enter, but a deep dreadful feeling in your chest told you not to.

Shaking your head, you stepped away; but your curiosity got the best of you, as always.

The dimly lit room was lined with books and filled with décor, artifacts, and art. It was the most interesting room you had ever known.

You ran your fingers along an open book on the table, the intricate writing making you guess it was that of a woman.

'My father has gotten…better.

I cannot help but wonder if it is too late.

He now asks me why I am so angry, why I raise my voice.

He does not understand that

I learned it all from him.'

You sucked in a breath as your hand traced the ink. Being lost in her deepest written thoughts was…intense.

You turned pages upon pages for more, stopping at the most recent.

'I question my ability to experience the tender emotions of humanity.

To harbor affection in the manner of mortals.

The question for this issue is

Do I have a human soul,

And can I prove it?

And, of course,

There is no definitive answer.'

Your lip began to tremble at the tug of her words, of her thoughts, of her feelings.

She was no ghost, she was no wax figure, she was as real as you, maybe even more so.

As a small tear escaped your eye, a hand landed harshly on your shoulder.

"I knew I would find you here."

An amused but mocking voice.

She spun you around and grasped your neck, fingers reaching until they squeezed and pulled you close.

It felt pleasant, it felt warm, it felt real.

"You fancy yourself sly, following me around, do you not?"

Your eyes widened, hands trembling at her touch, clenching them at your sides.

"Do not presume I failed to notice your presence."

She saw you.

"At first, I thought perhaps you wished me dead, the way you stock me."

She chuckled.

"Then I realized that you made no attempt to be stealthy."

You were at first, but then you got sloppy. You swallowed thickly.

"We share the same interests, do we not?"

You nodded your head the best that you could, you truly did.

A smirk grazed her lips as she brought them to your ear, making you shiver at the proximity.

You closed your eyes.

"Do not think I miss the way you look at me."

She knew, she knew of your attachment.

"Do not think I miss the way you tremble when I'm close."

She knew of the way you craved her.

"Do not think I miss your desire."

 It was incredible, really, how energy made up the universe, how matter was eternal, how it could be neither created nor destroyed.

Both of you, electron orbitals overlap, not separate, but existing as one with her hand around your neck, around your lifeline.

She shook you until you gave in for a breath, until you feared her, until you bent.

But you knew her now, unlike you did before.

You knew she wanted to toy with you, and well, you with her.

You wouldn't say that you were cold, cruel, or that you had ever harmed another; for you were just a little lamb.

But, when she looked at you with disdain, you wished to give her a taste of her own medicine.

You wished to slap the sly look off her face, tell her that she wasn't as cruel or deathly as she thought she was, put her down until she lost her sense of fabricated self and cold exterior- until she found her real self again, warmth staring back at you as her clothing and shell were shed.

See, she was smart, witty, and perceptive, but she wore her heart on her sleeve, intentions written plain as day.

An open book, placed for all to see; but only some to analyze, only some to admire.

You, on the other hand, were sly, smart, and deceiving.

Perhaps she saw you as a dumb, innocent, oblivious young woman; but perhaps that's what you wanted her to think.

Gently, you placed your hands onto her waist, pressing yourself further into her grip.

Your lips met her jawline softly, watching as her mouth opened slightly in a gasp, warm breath fanning across your temple.

You bit your lip in pleasure as a smile spread across your face, you breathed low:

"I suffer, I attach, I crave, and I desire. And I always get what I desire."