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otomes-world · 9 days ago

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Lucid dreaming

I haven't been the most productive writer this year. I'm also late with the congratulatory gift, but I'll continue anyway. This isn't exactly a New Year's themed work. I wrote it as unexpectedly as I posted it today. Thanks to everyone who's been with me this year! P.S. You can put here any of your favorite characters. Happy holiday my dear 0/

The sky was light purple with clouds running past, always hurrying somewhere. There was silence all around, broken only by the sound of footsteps on the stone-paved road. On the sides there were statues of various villains from different fairy tales. Why your consciousness decided to choose them was a question you would like to know the answer to.

This was not the first time you have found yourself in this place. Sometimes the locations were cut out illustrations from a fantasy book, and sometimes they seemed so real that sometimes you were surprised to wake up.

You remembered the very first one from the dream best. It was dark, the source of light was only the lanterns glowing green. Except for the full moon - because, of course, it had to be full - which was burning, a bright noticeable spot, already at this stage not boding anyting well. The road led you through a landscaped park and, it seemed, there was nothing unexpected in this. Until it turned and before your eyes appeared an ornate metal gate, the wicket door standing open. As if inviting you to enter.

In the distance, a castle stood proudly, its sharp towers piercing the sky.

Hearing a horse neighing behind you, you turned around abruptly and woke up. Blinking and trying to catch your breath after the sudden awakening, you replayed such a real scene in your head. As if you had already been there, which was a stupid statement. You were not the type of person running around abandoned buildings and shouting into the void with a flashlight: "Give me a sign!" However, dreams are dreams, and work and getting ready in the mornings were still necessary.

The cold water finally drove away the remnants of sleep, and the amazing dream would have been forgotten in the routine, if it had not been repeated the next night.

And the next.

And the one after that.

Throughout the year.

The bell caught your attention, and you looked up to greet the new customer. It was raining outside, and many people were rushing to hide under the shelter of the roofs of small coffee shops and stores. Yours was no exception.

Well, the cafe wasn't exactly yours. You just worked there as a barista, because, firstly, it wasn't difficult. Secondly, the pay was pretty good. Thirdly… you started working there as a teenager, and now the small establishment had become an integral part of your life. A second home, no matter how saccharine it may sound. You loved this place, and that was only thing that matters.

Usually, the hustle and bustle took up all possible free time and there were no thoughts for unnecessary reflections, but on such a melancholic day with an equally thoughtful accompaniment, it became an exception.

Despite the fact that dreams, against your will, also tightly merged with your everyday life, you could not deny how real they felt from time to time. The texture of objects, the wind on your skin, and even the banal emotions of what was happening. The only thing that kept you afloat was the next awakening after the invisible timer ended. Whatever you saw, whatever place you visited this time, in the end you opened your eyes in your apartment. You walked to your favorite job along familiar streets. You saw the same faces of passersby running through the shop windows to their business.

Everything was as it should have been.

However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was slowly starting to change. You no longer felt lonely and restless in the world of dreams. As if you were being thrown into moments when someone was nearby. Even though you couldn’t see each other, the suspicion in the subcortex of your consciousness made itself known.

You first noticed this while sitting in the library, whose shelves with books stretched as far as the view could reach. It was quiet and, taking the first manual on flying on broomsticks that came to hand, you opened it to a random page and dozed off, propping your chin up with your hand. Sleeping in a dream was ironical but the sun shining through the window made you sleepy.

The chair next to you creaked, and you instantly opened your eyes. There was no one nearby. Frowning, you left the book, stood up and walked around the seats, peering around the corners. It was definitely a chair. As if someone had moved it to sit at the table. When you returned to your place, you discovered that the book was closed and put on the edge of the table.

Ghosts didn't exist, you repeated to yourself. Although you were actually asleep, so in the world of your consciousness they could be as real as, for example, you. The realization made you shudder unpleasantly, but not from the cold. The desire to return to the previous place disappeared and, casting another wary glance at the book, you turned to hide in the depths of the library. While away the time until you woke up.

From that moment on, you constantly began to notice someone's invisible presence. Moreover, you could swear that this someone noticed you. You simply did not have direct evidence of each other's existence.

Doubts gnawing from within deprived you of peace during the period intended for rest. Until, finding yourself in the library, you walked to the nearest table to grab a piece of paper and a pen. It looked and sounded stupid. Trying to find an explanation for the oddities in a dream was like asking unnecessary questions in a computer game.

"Are you here?"

Leaving a piece of paper and a pen nearby, you stepped away, turned on your heels and left. If the pen suddenly flew in and started scratching something, you couldn't promise that you wouldn't fall over on the spot. The anticipation was driving you crazy, but it was a necessary decision to try to calm yourself down.

After making a few circles, forcing yourself to read the spines of the books, trying to distract yourself, you walked back slowly. The items were where you left them, only next to your inscription there was another one.

"I'm here"

You dropped into a chair and not taking your eyes off the paper, afraid to touch it. You sat there until you woke up again.

A sigh escaped against your will, forcing your eyes shut and open a couple of times, you tried to straighten up. You probably weren't the best employee today, but the work shift flew by unnoticed. It was time to close. Stepping out into the hall and sitting down on one of the soft chairs, you rubbed the bridge of your nose. That incident wouldn't leave your head and although you never repeated such experiments, it was enough to turn your whole understanding of the dream world upside down. It was one thing to travel to an unknown place and quite another to realize that you were not alone.

The bell on the door rang - someone had arrived. Damn it, you forgot to close the door and turn the sign over. Pulling yourself together, you raised your head to meet an unknown man. Although he was outwardly calm, you noticed how interestedly he was looking around.

"Excuse me, sir, we are closed," you addressed him, drawing his attention to you. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but you definitely hadn't met before. You remembered most of the cafe's customers. "You can come in tomorrow, we are open from 8 am."

You looked at each other for a while. This gave you another chance to look him over. He was dressed in some sort of uniform: a black jacket and pants, a colorful vest, a white shirt and a striped tie. Then he closed his eyes and answered more cheerfully than you expected.

"Oh, that's too bad," his expression didn't match the bad - for him - news. "I was hoping to get out of the rain."

You glanced at the door behind him, and sure enough, the rain didn't seem to be letting up. A sentence you would never have uttered to anyone in your right mind was out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

The stranger's eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a happy glint in his eyes. For some reason, the unexpected remark rang in your head like a bell, even though no one was coming in. Without waiting for his answer - your intuition told you that he would not refuse - you went to the door and turned the sign over to "Closed".

"I need to close and clean up, it'll take me," you glanced quickly at the clock by the counter. "Half an hour or so. You can wait there until I'd finish but after you'll have to leave."

You did not believe in fateful meetings, but perhaps this was one of them? It sounded cheesy even to you, so you ignored the man who had settled down on a chair near the display case. Of all the places, he decided to choose this one.

With sheer willpower, you forced yourself to get down to work, already regretting your words. It was too late to take them back and throw him out into the street.

Surprisingly, he did not try to start a conversation with you, limiting himself to rare glances, for which you were grateful. If he suddenly decided to continue the dialogue, you would have caught a nervous overstrain. Enough impressions from this day.

You walked over to where he had been sitting, seemingly a moment ago, to wipe down the surface. Then you froze. There was a white paper napkin with just three words on it,

You finished wiping the tables and looked around the hall. As you got to work, you completely forgot about the man's presence. Turning to the counter, you found that he was no longer there. When did he leave and why didn't you hear? It saved you from unnecessary interaction, though.

"I'm here."

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anxresi · 3 months ago

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Check out Chloe's 'new design'...

... According to a post on X by Thomas 'born liar' Asruc.

His idea of a joke, I guess... are all French people this funny?

Personally, I think it looks more like Zoe...

The same way Soquerline was the spitting image of Marinette.

Do these character designers have ANY imagination? AT ALL?

Seriously. I want to know. This is not a rhetorical question.

And allegedly, she has prosphetic legs! So of course, she's a track star. Normally, I'd applaud the oft-neglected representation...

But this is Miraculous Ladybug we're talking about here.

I guarantee it'll be badly-written, self-congratulatory pandering to those undemanding types for whom just SEEING a character with them is enough.

I have a simple statement to throw to these tragically easily-impressed individuals...

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET SOME STANDARDS!!

Remember when they made Zoe and Miss Bustier gay out of nowhere? (for no reason than to make these unpopular character likeable to certain communities) .

Remember when they made an entire episode about 'racism'? (where no-one faced any consequences at the end, and no-one could even say the word).

Remember when they finished the last season with an unbelievably clunky message about recycling? (like they recycle the worst parts from other formulaic superhero shows, I guess).

It's all about the optics, nothing else... and you don't have to be a born cynic to see it that way.

They could care less about the underlying issues, they just want to tick as many 'fashionable cause' boxes as they can in lieu of making a good show.

Don't believe me? Here's a few predictions for you.

Feel free to come back after it's aired to tell me how correct I was.

*After this girl's introduction, we will NEVER see her again.

*Her ENTIRE persona will be based around her 'disability', and her personality and popularity will put Zoe's to shame to 'compensate' for it.

*She'll get akumatised, and it'll stem from a lack of confidence due to you-know-what. Afterwards, she'll learn to accept herself more, and...

Look, does anyone else feel somewhat insulted, looking at the patronising tripe the writers look like they're going to be serving us up with in the future?

S5 was bad enough, but the next one looks like they're REALLY doubling down on giving us superficial 'life lessons' instead of a half decent story.

Believe it or not (and you wouldn't by watching this shallow load of condescending trash) there IS a way to squeeze a satisfying plot and well-drawn characters around a healthy message that DOESN'T bash you over the head with it's self-worthiness repeatedly in every painful scene.

In case you hadn't noticed, Miraculous Ladybug isn't that show (CHLOE BAD, anyone?).

And, if you think I'm a heartless bigot for pointing out the highly obvious agenda of the shameless charlatans behind Miraculous Ladybug, then you're an idiot.

And you really need to reread my post again, more carefully this time.

Here, I'll even start you off from the right spot. 'Check Out Chloe's New...'

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ladybug #ml salt #ml #disney #chloe bourgeois #season 6 spoilers of course

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kaiijo · 2 years ago

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CERTAINTIES — SHIDOU RYUSEI

pairing: shidou ryusei x gn! reader content: pro soccer player! shidou, pr manager! reader, shidou and kaiser’s behavior is a warning and of itself, shidou calls reader “sweetheart” and “sweets,” one suggestive joke notes: i <3 unhinged men

You’ve learned that there are very few certainties in this world. The trains are not always on time, your hair is not always how you want it to look, your coffee order is not always what you want it to be.

But if you can be certain of one thing, it’s that Shidou Ryusei is a walking PR nightmare.

Your colleagues all warned you about taking him on as a client. His reputation precedes him: he’s loud, generally pretty rude, and absolutely unpredictable; he had cycled through no less than five PR agents in just a month. One of his previous agents, who sits in the office besides yours, came back in tears one day, huffing and sniffling that she “can’t work with him anymore!” because “he’s an absolute maniac! A total psycho!”

But if the various first place trophies and medals that were displayed in your childhood home for spelling bees and baking contests and even a few sport competitions mean anything, it’s that you never back down from a challenge. And, not to be too self-congratulatory, but you’ve been in the job for three months now — the longest of any PR agent — and you’re fairly sure you’re not anywhere close to being fired or run off by Shidou.

You sit on the sidelines of the field, watching the practice match between PXG and Bastard München with heavy eyelids. You got very little sleep the past few days after having to mitigate a “Shidou Ryusei Disaster,” as your team has taken to calling whatever scandal Shidou stirred up. Your eyes slid shut for a few seconds before the shrill of the whistle indicating halftime break made you jump, pitching forward. You would have definitely eaten grass if the man sitting beside you, Harada Kaito, hadn’t grabbed your shoulder and pulled you back.

You and Kaito work at the same agency with Kaito representing the actual PR angel, Yukimiya Kenyu. You can’t say you’re close friends but you get along well and enjoy chatting with him when PXG played against Bastard. “You okay there?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern.

You sigh heavily, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms. “Yeah, I’m fine. Had to put out some fires in the last few days so it’s been kind of hectic.”

“Right,” he says with a nod. “You spun it well. Saying that Shidou’s outbursts are products of overwhelming passion for soccer that’s just a little misplaced sometimes is honestly genius. Might have to steal that from you one day.”

You snort, “Yeah, right, Yukimiya’s a saint. I’m sure you’ll never have to put out a statement like that.”

He chuckles, leaning back. “Probably.”

“You wanna go, Rat Tail?” Both you and Kaito whip your heads over to see Shidou toe to toe with Michael Kaiser of all people. Of all people, he has to choose Michael Kaiser to fuck with today. Kaito gives you a pitying look as you run a hand down your face, standing up and heading over to douse this blaze before it can turn into another Shidou Ryusei Disaster.

“I’ll squish you like the insect you are,” Kaiser bites back, mouth pulling into a vicious smile.

“How about I exterminate you like the rat you are?” And you already see the way Shidou shifts his weight, the way his eyes grow sharper and his gaze more wild, and you know you’re a millisecond away from pandemonium, broken bones, and a potential lawsuit.

“Shidou Ryusei, if you even think about it, I’m never making you yukhoe ever again!”

Kaiser and the small crowd of soccer players that had formed around him and Shidou look a little surprised to see you a few feet away, clearly unaware that you had been practically sprinting across the field to get to them. Shidou, on the other hand, looks like he expected it and there is something smug about his expression that makes your eyes narrow. “Ah!” he croons, only needing two strides of his long legs to reach you. “So you were paying attention to me!”

“What are you on about?” you huff, crossing your arms.

“Well, you were falling asleep on the job. And then you seemed a little preoccupied with your little boytoy over there.” His eyes slide over to Kaito, who’s checking something on his phone.

You roll your eyes. “We’re colleagues, Shidou, you’ve met Kaito before.”

“First name basis? Are you sure you’re just colleagues?” He throws a nasty grin at you but there’s a look in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the simper.

“Yes.”

“You don’t sneak into the conference room together for a little rendezvous?”

“No.”

Shidou tilts his head and rocks on his feet, balancing on his toes and leaning in close. His nose almost brushed yours and your face heats up to an unhealthy temperature. Then, he smirks and pokes your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You swat his hand away. “Shut up.”

“Aww, that’s not a very nice way to talk to your client.”

“It’s not very nice to go around physically assaulting people.”

“I beg to differ, sweetheart,” Shidou says with a wink. Your face burns more.

You massage your temples and instead turn to Michael Kaiser, suddenly acutely aware that the first strings of PXG and Bastard München are all witnessing your interaction. “I’m sorry about his behavior.”

Kaiser raises an eyebrow and you think he’s going to give you a hard time but he only walks over to you, brushing past Shidou, and offers you a charming smile. “I don’t blame you,” he says, placing a placating hand on your shoulder and glancing at Shidou derisively over his shoulder. He looks back at you. “Feral animals are hard to train. My suggestion is to get them a leash and muzzle.”

You frown at Kaiser and peer over his shoulder to look at Shidou, but his eyes are glued to the hand on your shoulder. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Shidou chuckles but there’s something flat and unsettling about his tone. It shifts into something colder. “And get your hand off them.”

“Oh?” Kaiser smirks. “I don’t see them asking me to.”

“They’re too nice to say it. I, on the other hand, have no qualms ripping it off.”

“‘Qualms,’ that’s a big word for a little insect.”

“That’s enough,” you say, finally stepping out of Kaiser’s grip. You check your watch; there’s still a little time in the halftime break. Your eyes zero in on Shidou and you give him a stern glare. “We’re going to have a talk. Come with me.”

You turn on your heel and you don’t need to look back to know that Shidou’s following. Kaiser calls after the two of you, “Aww, finally decide to obey like a good dog!”

And much to your chagrin and great embarrassment, Shidou fucking barks back.

You lead him into the hallway that lead from the locker room and you say, “You can’t just go around kicking your teammates, you’re going to get into real trouble one day!”

“Aww, you care that much about me?”

“It’s literally my job to care about your public image.”

“Don’t got breaking my heart like that.”

You roll your eyes and scowl. “I literally just cleaned up one of your messes, Shidou. I need you to take it down.”

Shidou studies you for a few moments, eyes roaming your face. You squirm a little under his scrutiny and then Shidou takes a step towards you. You instinctively move back a step. One step forward, one back. Forward, back.

You grunt a little when you hit the opposite wall, Shidou crowding you against the wall. He leans in close, mouth right next to your ear. “I’ll tone it down on one condition.”

Your heart is about to beat out of its chest. “What is it?”

He smiles slyly and purrs, “Let me take you out.”

You dare to meet his gaze, shocked by its intensity. Your reply is so quiet, like it’s meant just for Shidou to hear. “Okay.”

His eyebrows raise and he asks, “Really?”

Your traitorous mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Yeah.” And Shidou beams.

You’ve learned that there are very few certainties in this world. But if there’s one thing you’re very certain of, it’s that (for better or worse) Shidou Ryusei can make your heart race.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #shidou x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock imagines #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes

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roo-bastmoon · 2 years ago

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IN-DEPTH ANALYSIS OF THE CULT'S DYNAMICS

Disclaimers: Sensitive topics are discussed below the cut; please do not incite drama, speak hate, or engage in bullying. I am not a mental health professional; I make no claims of expertise (in anything). This is a collection of my thoughts about what is currently happening on the Taekook side of ARMY, in the hopes that it may help us as a community respond more effectively to the toxic parts of our fandom. If you click below this cut, you are assuming responsibility for your own behavior and agreeing to engage with my blog respectfully, or you will be blocked.

THE NARRATIVES AT WORK

I submit that shipping Taekook is both an evolving conspiracy theory and a living cult.

There are various narratives within this subgroup, but in general, to ship Taekook, one must believe Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook are in a closeted gay romantic relationship.

One also likely believes that their company (both BigHit and Hybe) and everyone around them have always actively hid their gay relationship.

Initially, Taekook (the “real” gay couple) was being hidden by Jikook (the “fake” gay couple) because Jikook was somehow more popular in Korea and therefore considered to be more profitable.

And this was the main narrative for years. It got Jimin dragged and hated online and in real life, to the point there was even a credible shooting threat at a concert.

Now, the narrative is being modified in light of the video footage revealed this week involving Taehyung and Jennie.

If Taekookers accept at all that Jennie and Tae were indeed photographed holding hands in Paris this week, then they likely believe both their companies are using this as a PR Relationship stunt to hide their real gay relationships before military service and comeback projects.

This belief includes:

1) assuming Taehyung and Jennie are not being honest;

2) believing Taehyung and Jungkook have no agency or power within their own companies; and,

3) all of their members and managers are also in on this nefarious plot.

Whether they believe Taennie is just cosplayers in an orchestrated smear campaign, or two actual idols in a PR Relationship, regardless, a large segment of this subgroup still believe that Jimin is the company favorite who gets special treatment.

Therefore, things that should be Taekook’s (such as songs and subunits and couple-like interactions) are instead given to the company’s king of fan service, to the point where Jimin “assaults” Jungkook with “unwanted” attention and physical contact.

THE LOGICAL FALLACIES

As amazingly popular as our Korean It Boy is, I have serious doubts about Jimin being the “company favorite” ever since Hybe took over two years ago.

As the “company favorite,” I’d love it if he got more lines in group songs, or was allowed to film as many music videos as he wanted, or could be given more than 10 days of promotion time for a project he spent a year working on. It would be stellar if the “company favorite” had in-ears that worked correctly during live broadcasts, or was invited onto IU’s show, or could host streaming parties or sell exclusive merch. To say nothing of the “company favorite” getting far more reality show appearances and magazine interviews and a Disney documentary with behind the scenes footage! Heck, I’d settle for his songs not being split on Spotify, his views not being culled on YouTube, and maybe just one congratulatory statement to the press or even just a CAKE celebrating his historic Hot 100 #1.

At least Jimin was “allowed” to include a hidden track with Jungkook (that wasn’t advertised or available to stream, so not fan service) and he was allowed to queer code his Like Crazy music video. So I believe he has some agency and say over his projects. I’m not sure he’s entirely understood or appreciated by his company—frankly, I think his potential was underestimated—but I don’t claim he’s a victim. Victim narratives play into cult dynamics.

But I digressed. I was talking about logical fallacies.

Let’s entertain the idea that for more YEARS, Jungkook and Taehyung have been horribly abused by their management and forced to hide their relationship.

They never thought to address this issue when they were renewing their contracts?

Also, what’s up with all the footage during RUN episodes when they are standing together, or on the same team, or hugging and cuddling, or leaning their heads on each other’s shoulders and legs?

Why were they allowed to flirt and dance and do skinship on stage—and all that stuff even made it into official footage?

Now let’s entertain the idea that Taennie is a PR Relationship.

So… two rival companies, just coming out of a bitter failed deal around a music industry monopoly, are now working together to make people believe Jennie and Tae are dating?

Even though idols LOSE popularity and company stocks take a DIVE when couples are revealed?

So Taennie is the strategy to promote solo albums and upcoming projects?? And both companies’ PR teams say “We can’t confirm it as it is their personal lives.” So no PR statement is the PR strategy??

We know it’s bullshit. It makes about as much sense as Hillary Clinton running a child sex trafficking ring out of the basement of a pizza parlor that doesn't have a basement.

But many in the cult believe it’s Absolute Truth.

The question is why?

The answer is in the dynamics at play here.

CULT DYNAMICS

It starts with a MISINFORMATION CAMPAIGN.

Baby ARMY get curious about BTS, hop on YouTube or TikTok, and are bombarded by the algorithm that claims Taekook is real.

Unless they go searching for original content (which takes up dozens and dozens of hours to sift through and much of which sits behind a paywall), they will not have much to contradict these claims.

Most older ARMY are understandably so sick and tired of the ship discourse that they don’t go into Taekook spaces and duke it out in the comments. Plus, content creators know that Taekook content gets hits and likes, which translates into passive income, so they keep making it.

See this video where a cult leader shows you she made over $109,000 in a year just from her Taekook edits:

So in the din of all this nonsense and noise, it’s up to Baby ARMY to seek out other voices, other input, to form an opinion. They have to be proactive. And sadly, a large segment of the population lacks critical thinking skills and do not WANT to seek facts.

We live in a very busy, post-fact world, where “credible messengers” (i.e., someone you know and trust) tell you their opinions. Then you try those opinions on for size, and they eventually become your opinions. It’s faster, it’s easier, and…

It lets you be part of the IN-GROUP. Next thing you know, you're part of a group chat with 400 indoctrinated members, spitting conspiracies like gospel truths.

In today’s globalized, fast-paced, hyper digital world, most people cannot tell you the names of their neighbors or local butcher or even their state’s politicians, let alone what all they stand for. But they can tell you how the Kardashians feel about organic salad in a plastic bowl, or what Trump believes about election results.

There’s a lack of real-world relationships that tether people to a shared reality.

And yet, there is a human need for Tribe.

A cult uses that instinct for TRIBE by constantly re-enforcing the notion that People Out There don’t understand, aren’t very nice, will even persecute you for knowing the truth.

But People In Here, the IN-GROUP, they appreciate you, they are reasonable and open-minded, they will be there for you when everyone else turns their backs on you and puts you down.

All you have to do to belong to the IN-GROUP is subscribe to these CONSPIRACY THEORIES.

First, you should think about becoming Anti-Establishment.

You cannot trust the Authority (company, government, scientists, whatever). The Authority is corrupt and will lie to you because it wants something from you (money, votes, microchips in the vaccines, whatever).

Do not trust what your eyes show you and what your ears hear. Believe your in-group. Be loyal to your found family. Your found family is SPECIAL.

Second, you need to begin to wake up to the Signs and Wonders.

Once you’re willing to see the truth, suddenly there are all these hints. All these little “Q-drops” of information. Like Taekook touching face moles during a song. Or seeing slowed-down, edited videos of facial expressions that look like evidence of jealousy. Or maybe hidden meanings behind tattoos of tigers and green mics. Or making a secret handshake or symbol with their fingers. These Signs and Wonders are FOR YOU.

*Now, I’m inclined to give Taekookers a bit of a break on queer couple coding because, culturally speaking, similar clothing and jewelry are couple-coded in Korea. And there are just as many if not MORE theories about Jikook using similar black and white clothing, matching jewelry, related tattoos, using special numbers in songs and timestamps, and even changing up lyrics as secret messages.

The issue here is that Jikook ACTUALLY DOES SOME OF THOSE THINGS. They actually deliberately type out specific numbers on some of their social media messages. They actually have dressed in the exact same outfits or worn each other’s clothes. They actually have changed up lyrics and sung them to each other.

Even so, any reasonable Jikooker will say “all of this is suspicious as hell, but not proof.” Like when Jungkook says his J tattoo stands for Jungkook—the placement over the M is suspicious, yes—but all sane Jikookers accept that Jungkook has spoken about that tattoo and he did not say it was for Jimin. We don't sit around calling Jungkook a liar just because we preferred our theory.

Taekookers, however, want what Jikook have so badly, even as they scorn it for merely being fan service.

Half the time the hints they claim are completely made up.

They see sandal footprints in the sand, and their leaders say it’s proof that Jungkook went on a secret beach date with Taehyung. Even though Taehyung went out with a friend and his parents that night.

Taekookers will see a photo of shoes all neatly lined up and say it’s a secret ski date with Hobi. Even though Jimin owns the exact same pair of shoes and there were no photos or accounts of them ever being at a ski lodge the day after Jin went into service.

Taekookers will swear they hear Jungkook’s voice off camera during Taehyung’s vlog and insist he was hiding in the trunk of the car during the drive to film. As if JK would hide in the trunk for hours instead of just… go in a different car that didn't have a camera??

All of these Signs and Wonders require a huge leap to arrive at the conclusion that Taekook is a romantic couple.

Meanwhile, evidence of Jikook spending birthdays together and couple holidays together and going on trips alone together and having integrated families and inner circles (stylists, tattoo artist, boxing coach) are ALL fan service. Every single person is in on the conspiracy.

Yes, even when JK’s mom screams “I love you!” to Jimin and makes her son eat seaweed soup on Jimin’s birthday, (JK was clearly FORCED to make up that story) it has to be fan service.

And when Jimin’s dad posts a photo of JK’s old dog on JK’s birthday (a birthday where Jimin visited him in the middle of working on his album, but Taehyung did not even though he wasn't working on anything), it's fan service. And when Mr. Park hosts a give-away event at his caf�� where JK’s music is playing and cap and photo are proudly displayed next to JImin? Absolute fan service; he’s a money-hungry, attention-hungry cad, don’t you know? Even the charity he and his son do are fan service!

But JK went bowling with Wooga, so, Taekook are married. (Legally married. Not in Korea. But you know. They ARE married. Coming up on their third anniversary already!)

It’s all there, if you’re just willing to see the Signs and Wonders. And believe your cult leaders when there's nothing to see or wonder about at all.

Third and perhaps most important, is the Star-Crossed Lovers angle. The VICTIM CARD.

You see, it’s not bad enough that openly gay couples face pure hell in conservative countries anyway—losing their jobs, their families, sometimes their will to live because the stigma can be so bad. But on top of all that, for years and years, Taekook have been forced apart.

They’ve been just tortured by Jimin’s attention-whoring greedy nature, and made to endure fabricated fan service skinship!

(When Tae and JK look happy to be around Jimin, it’s just because they are professionals and such good actors!). Darn that Park Jimin, the abuser and sexual predator!!

And after so long being forced to hide, now in solo era, poor abused victimized Taekook can be loud. So loud. So very loud and wild and free!!

After all, during the Vegas concert, Jungkook sat on Taehyung’s lap!! He's NEVER sat on any other BTS members' lap (except for all of them).

And when Jungkook came online and said “Keep being jealous, I’ll keep holding Jiminie!” and that Jimin was HIS! Then fans kept asking him about Taehyung, so he also said Taehyung was his. It was totally his own organic idea (except for how it wasn't).

When fans kept pestering Jungkook during his camping VLive about Taehyung, he said he was forced to admit that Taehyung was attractive, he’d never seen a man so attractive! (FORCED to admit it! So romantic!)

Meanwhile, as all this shakes down, there’s this scandal in the press that Jimin didn’t pay his insurance premiums because his mail was omitted by the company. News of this dropped EXACTLY the moment his first OST With You came out, and he went totally quiet.

And then, Jungkook also went quiet for a while too. He deleted all his previous Insta photos that were personal and changed the layout to be totally professional. He went to the White House. He did a collab. He partied for JitB. He went on a Meat Tour of Korea. He did a concert with his members. He headlined World Cup. But mostly he was getting quieter and quieter.

Eventually Jungkook deleted the app entirely. Sometimes he stayed in his home for six days at a time. He stopped working out or going into Hybe; he started drinking whiskey. And nowadays he doesn’t even want to look at the comments on lives. Not because he was sick of the Taekookers or anything, but because “the company is forcing them to hide!”

Of course.

And all throughout 2022, Taehyung and Jungkook are paired up for things, and Tae's talking about a fortune teller saying he and Jungkook were “fire and water.” And rather than be taken as cute moments between friends, these are just VERY LOUD SIGNS AND WONDERS.

Then there are leaks online of all these photos that involved Tae and Jennie.

And thus begins tons of lives where he mentions Jungkook.

I'm not saying Kim Taehyung had an agenda to throw fans off the scent of his actual relationship, but I'm also not NOT saying that.

Whatever his motivations, the cult interpreted this as a direct message for Taekookers to keep the faith!

And indeed, Taekook do hang out—sometimes openly. (Sometimes where there’s press that make them hold up signs while cameras are going off—but that’s not for work, that’s a date, because the security team there wasn’t Hybe’s, and it was a friend’s premiere.) Sometimes quietly, where they share photos of hanging out afterwards.

But it cannot be just two friends hanging out. It’s Signs and Wonders!! SO LOUD!! SO FREE!!

So many reveals—mostly coming from Taehyung, but Jungkook doesn’t often deny them. And it’s mostly Taehyung stroking Jungkook’s hair or laying his head on Jungkook’s thigh or whatever—but Jungkook doesn’t stop him. And Jimin seems totally unbothered by all of it, which is strange because it sort of debunks years of his efforts at fan service.

Yet, clearly THIS cannot be fan service or misdirection.

It can’t just be friends playing games, or a TikTok made for work. It can’t be recording someone without their informed consent for attention. It can’t be going to a concert with other members and sitting in separate rows as friends. Or going to a musical or movie to support friends. Unlike all the things Jungkook has done with Jimin, this has to be Real Love!!

So just to recap:

When the cult had no evidence of Taekook hanging out, they were a private couple.

When the cult had ever-increasing evidence of Taekook hanging out, they were being loud.

When the cult had evidence that Jikook hang out outside of work, that was just fan service.

When the cult had no evidence that Jikook hang out outside of work, that was just fan service getting exposed.

When the cult has evidence that Taehyung has a girlfriend, that’s a punishment.

MARTYRDOM

You see, Jungkook and Taehyung would go on WeLives without permission, remember? And Taehyung set up a dual live chat on Insta and JK didn't seem that into it but he was persuaded. Then they giggled and couldn’t find much to talk about for ten minutes. And Taehyung said he would take full responsibility for it.

And the cult now believes that “taking responsibility” means pretending to be in a heterosexual relationship. Even their insider sasaeng accounts predicted it!

Never mind how mad all of this seems. And it would be one thing if just one or two ideas were far-fetched, like looking at a pair of shoes and making assumptions. But all of it is far-fetched.

Facts do not matter. Because you cannot trust the Authority. You can only trust the In-Group.

And the In-Group sees Signs and Wonders. So the In-Group knows the Real Truth.

The In-Group DECIDES TOGETHER what is real.

They can make entirely fake edits; cosplay; post false witness statements; harass models, coworkers, brands, businesses… they can hire trucks to circle the building with loud speakers, protesting and shouting their truth!!

And anyone who doesn’t believe the Real Truth is a Fake Taekooker.

No disbelievers allowed. Get out of the tribe. Only the faithful can stay in the Tribe.

Right now, you might be asking yourself: Why would you stay in a tribe like this??

Because the dynamic is ever-evolving, which is titillating, and participants get a sense of power, because they are able to help craft the narratives—by being so smart as to see the truth where others are blind sheep—so they can bond over how unique they are.

Plus… TAEKOOK NEEDS THEM.

The boys absolutely depend on their support. You see, Taekookers are the real HEROES here.

They understand the boys like normal people never could. If you know you know, and they are steadfast against any and all lies presented as evidence. They are loyal.

The whole world is against their baby bear and baby bunny!! They are the boys Only Defense. Just take a look at this video of their rallying cry:

If you've got martyrs, you've also got... CRUSADERS.

Yikes, right?

So, here are millions of fans who were lied to, misled, misinformed… They developed relationships over time with people who also believe this misinformation… They get a sense of power in crafting their own reality, in which the objects of their affection are victims and they are the heroes… And the only way to prove themselves worthy of the group is to stalwartly ignore anything that contradicts these narratives.

This is a literal, textbook cult.

Cults use deception, isolation, peer pressure, group-think, and suppression of critical thought. To varying degrees, all Taekook spaces do this too. (And yes, other ships and solos and mantis ALSO rely on these tactics. But I've never seen anything quite so open or pervasive in ARMY like the Taekook cult tactics.)

I feel I should make one thing should be made clear: a LOT of people sincerely believe in Taekook.

But there are also a lot of Taekook content creators who sincerely believe in the money they make off people believing in Taekook.

Like all cults, at the end of the day, it's a scam.

Now there’s evidence of a real relationship, and of course anyone who has invested time and money in Taekook is going to be pushing back—hard.

So how do we navigate this chaos?

Well, most cults end in one of two ways: an FBI raid, or everyone drinks the Kool-Aid and dies.

But more often than not, cults don’t really end so much as fizzle out over years.

Plenty of cults are still alive and well despite amble debunking (Scientology, Q-Anon, Illuminati, flat-Earthers, Larries—what they believe doesn’t really matter; it’s how they believe that makes them a cult.)

Cults are a bit like hydras—you cut off one head, three stronger ones pop back up.

They won't stop. They have to BE STOPPED.

HOW TO DEPROGRAM A CULT

Well, back in the 70s, in the early days of deprogramming, the only thing that was effective was to separate the individual from access to the cult (by kidnapping if you had to), then bombard them non-stop with facts (using imprisonment or restraints if you had to) and eventually they are coerced into re-integration. But none of that is humane or legal by today’s standards.

It also leads to relapses.

Really the only way to deprogram cult conditioning is for a mental health professional to slowly and methodically discredit the cult leader(s) and gently present contradictions.

(How can Jungkook really be in a relationship with Taehyung if he’s always mentioning Jimin? How can Jimin be hurting Taehyung and yet they are on FaceTime for hours, trading fan art and watching tv shows? Why would the two most rich and famous pop stars in the world need a publicity stunt?)

And even then, the cult member has to be sort of able to question things for themselves, and it just helps to have other supportive people echoing their own questioning sentiments back to them.

It can take YEARS until a cult member reaches the breaking point and begins to listen to Out-Group ideas. (On average, five years, to be exact.)

And then they may begin a journey of self-expression, where they openly voice doubts or complaints against cult narratives. They may even engage in transference, jumping off the Taekook ship and onto another (the need for tribe is very real). This is an extremely vulnerable stage and should not be taken advantage of.

At this critical moment when someone is tittering on the fence, trying to figure out what reality is, you need to REWARD THE BEHAVIOR YOU WANT.

You want them to question. You want them to express their grief and doubts. You want them to look for real sources of information.

This is NOT the time to kick someone when they are down, or look for “gotcha” moments to shame them publicly.

If you see a Taekooker wondering if they’ve been lied to this whole time—they HAVE. And that is abuse. And abuse victims need to be handled with care.

I know that Taekookers have dragged Jimin to hell and back for years so I’m not about to preach love and acceptance.

But it’s also fair to say that Taekookers have been gas-lit and realizing that can be traumatic.

Wounded animals are dangerous. A traumatized human lashes out. And you know who the prime target always is. They are already starting to take it to Jimin directly.

I strongly recommend you take a very cautious approach if you engage with them right now. Especially if you’re thinking about arguing with them.

People who defend Jimin or Jikook end up doxxed, suspended, harassed--and someday, I fear a wounded cult member will get physically violent.

Be especially careful because plenty of big accounts are closeted Taekookers. Here's a thread exposing some "mystery cult" members:

THE MOST EFFECTIVE RESPONSE

I normally don’t try to police people or preach too much, but I’m going to give you some unsolicited advice if you managed to read all this:

Don’t go into Taekook tags or spaces. Don’t debate them. Don’t talk trash about them or the members. Don’t slam-dunk or spike the ball with snarky words or memes. Don’t give them a taste of their own medicine. Don’t be cruel.

First of all, don’t do any of that because Jimin and Jungkook would be mortified by it.

But second of all, don’t do it because it just makes them dig in harder; it adds weeks or months to the deprogramming timeline.

The goal is to get the cult out of ARMY fandom. Because they thrive on a victim/hero complex, attacking them reinforces cult dynamics.

I believe there is a better approach.

First, you can and should go Gray Rock whenever possible.

Starve them of oxygen. Don’t acknowledge them. If you do, be generic in your responses—boringly bland, detachedly polite. Ignore them completely; their hot takes do not matter.

Block and report if warranted, but never engage. On some level, they really want to be persecuted for their beliefs. It's why they keep coming into Jikook spaces looking for a fight.

But their beliefs are so ridiculous that they aren’t worth our time. Instead, direct your focus on what you want, which is to promote and celebrate Bangtan.

Second, you can provide what’s called a Graceful Exit.

It doesn’t always work if they know that’s what you’re doing, but it is perhaps the most effective technique, especially if they are already questioning the cult narrative.

You see, a shamed human being gets defensive, doubles down, won’t listen. But a human being offered a Graceful Exit Out of a Bad Place gets to reinvent themselves in a way that allows them some dignity while they change direction.

A Graceful Exit has a few components to it:

“Hello, Taekooker. I also saw a lot of misleading content when I was a baby ARMY. The algorithm feeds you Taekook content almost immediately. Then you make online friends, and they all believe in Taekook. Suddenly everyone is telling you really complicated theories about how Taekook is being hidden. Once you believe that, you have to also believe that Taekook are lying by omission, that Jimin and the members are also lying, that the company executives and translators and managers and staff are all lying, that Korean ARMY is lying, that fellow I-ARMY is lying… and that’s a lot of people spreading a lie for no real gain. Now that you have some evidence that Tae is happily in a relationship with someone else, it’s only natural to question your beliefs, because YES, Taehyung and Jungkook absolutely love each other. But are they IN love? NO. For my part, I trust Taehyung. I love and support Taehyung. I don’t spread the idea that he or Jungkook engage in fake relationships. If you support them, then you’ll accept what they are showing you. When you’re ready to stop shipping Taekook, ARMY will be ready to welcome you back. We can stream together and vote together and help our boys achieve their dreams. We can watch their content and go to concerts together and enjoy fan-works. But what we can’t do is make up really complex stories around BTS’ reality. Our place as fans is to appreciate their music, and let them live their own lives in their own way. It’s time to let go of old ideas, and embrace the new things they share with us.”

This tactic allows the cult member to feel sympathy for being human. It provides understanding that they’ve been deceived. It appeals to their higher nature and love for the objects of their affection. And reassures them they could have a place in a bigger tribe if they let go of the in-group.

It invites them in, instead of calls them out.

Now, you guys might not be willing to do that. Especially considering the hate trains and rape jokes and death threats they gave Jimin for years. Believe me, I get it. I GET IT.

So if you see someone spewing vitriol, now is not the time to call them in. Now is the time to block and report.

However, if I take out my anger on them, it’s serving my own feelings.

And I’m here to serve Jimin, Jungkook, and BTS, not my own need to be right.

So I believe the best way to do that is to Gray Rock the Die-hards and provide a Graceful Exit for the Questioners.

Many cult members are not going to believe in Taennie unless Kim Taehyung makes an announcement directly--and even then, he’ll have to do it in such an emphatic way that they buy what he sells.

So we should accept that the cult is going to be around for a long, long time. Conserve your energy, my dears.

But for the ones who just got fooled but don't intend any harm, we can either hope they let go of their own volition, or we can try to make room for them as part of true ARMY.

What we shouldn’t do is get down in the mud and start slinging. Everyone loses ground that way.

THIS WAS THE LONGEST EVER POST; I AM SORRY!

But these have been my thoughts over the last few days. I’m okay if you want to comment, but I would like to ask that you DO NOT reblog to tag Taekook and that you don’t weaponize this post by spreading it around specifically where it could cause drama.

Drama is the exact opposite of my intention.

My desire is to provide some better understanding around how cults work and how to disband them.

In conclusion: Keep it classy. Ignore assholes. Be gentle with people recovering from gas-lighting. Stay true to the principles of BTS and ARMY. Apobangpo.

Love, Roo

#jimin #jungkook #jikook

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regainingparadise · 3 months ago

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Because I'm desperately waiting for the new episode of Great British Bake Off on Netflix, have my Magnus Archives/Bake Off Headcanon:

Martin goes on the Great British Bake-Off

Probably S1 Martin, because I want S1 Sasha & Tim dynamics, but it would also be delightful to have Mr. "I have personal experience with the supernatural" Blackwood be in the tent trying to act like he didn't almost get eaten by a worm lady.

Martin isn't much for cooking (per his abundance of ready meals and canned peaches) but in this headcanon he does love to bake

I want this to be the older version of Bake Off with Mel & Sue, because I think they'd be so good with him. But Noel would absolutely have a field day with the fact that Martin is doing supernatural research.

About his bakes:

There as at least one Showstopper display that is modeled after a statement

In fact, I think he definitely creates a biscuit version of Naomi Herne's statement in two scenes: A vanilla biscuit-Naomi in a gingerbread cemetery complete with fog made of sugar, and Naomi outside Moorland House

This causes a minor crisis for Elias because the Lukas's are Not Pleased and demand to know why Elias didn't put a stop to this. (The reason is, Elias knew that Martin was on the show, but didn't bother to pay attention to what he was doing)

Several of his bakes are flavors that he particularly knows people in his life are fond of--pastry week he dedicates his signature bake to Jon with Jon's favorite curry blend; chocolate week he dedicates to Sasha who is an absolute chocolate fiend; cake week he makes Tim's absolute favorite cake. He even makes his mother's favorite baked goods for patisserie week, the kind she loved but could never afford.

Bread week is his worst week

Chocolate week is his second worst week--his chocolate just will not set properly in his showstopper

The "about Martin" footage

The producers try to film a bit of background with Martin's mum; Martin asks them not to, but they insist that it'll be fine! She won't be mean in front of cameras! She'll be so proud of him! It can't be that bad! Spoiler alert: It is, and Martin slinks off to cry away from the cameras. They don't use that footage

So instead they film him at work. Tim and Sasha bully Jon into being polite, which means that Martin is extra blushing and awkward around him

They ultimately show a clip of Martin carrying a cup of tea and a home-baked biscuit in to Jon's office, and then bantering with Tim and Sasha over slices of cake in the break room

The hosts definitely tease him about where he works

Martin is definitely at least a finalist, so Tim and Sasha drag Jon to the final picnic; Jon is very awkward but genuinely congratulatory (after all, he has been bribed with increasingly elaborate baked goods for the past 10 weeks, who wouldn't warm up to Martin after that).

#the magnus archives #Great British Bake Off #tma #tma podcast #Great British Baking Show #Martin Blackwood #Martin K Blackwood #Sasha James #Tim Stoker #Jonathan Sims #Marfisa Thinks Things #Martin Blackwood British Bake Off AU Tag

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 months ago

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And a bonus Halloween fic especially for @vadutton21.

Almost 7000 words, featuring Nesta Archeron as Mina Harker, Cassian as Count Dracula, and Jurian as the vampire hunting Doctor Van Helsing.

It had been a long time since a letter had come. Nesta Harker tracked her sister’s journey upon the large map in the drawing room. On the first of October, Feyre had penned a letter in Munich detailing her journey from London to the Bavarian capital. The following day, her train had been delayed so she arrived in Vienna later than expected. The letters had arrived together, despite the dates on them. Feyre’s journey had then taken her to Budapest where she had written that she felt the divide between the west and the east.

Nesta had not wanted her sister to go. It was not for a woman to take on their father’s business upon his death, but Feyre – headstrong to her core – had insisted upon becoming a lawyer like him. It was at the request of Count Cassian of Transylvania that Feyre was travelling to Romania, so that she could assist him in purchasing a home in London, along with all of the bureaucracy that it entailed. There had always been a restless spirit to her sister. Her excitement was clear in her words as she wrote of the Carpathian Mountains. At the bottom of the paper, Feyre had sketched the view, only in black ink, but it was detailed and beautiful.

Then her letters had all but ceased. A final one had arrived eight days ago, dated three weeks earlier, detailing her arrival to Castle Cassian, nestled in the Carpathian Mountains. No more had come. Feyre had promised to write every three days once she arrived to Transylvania. Her business with the count was only to take a fortnight at a maximum then she’d travel back to London by train along the same route. There should have been at least two letters detailing her return.

‘It shall be Lucien.’

Nesta’s eyes snapped to her younger sister who stood beside the window, her brown hair bound in a loose braid as they did not expect to leave the house that day.

‘You have decided then?’

Elain gave a nod then turned on the spot. ‘It is bad business to choose, but I believe Lucien will offer me a stable future and a happy life, more so than the other two.’

She concurred with her sister’s statement. The three men were companions, so she hoped there would be no fall out from Elain choosing Lucien Vanserra to marry. Such was life when one sister was gallivanting across Europe and the other had three men vying for her hand in marriage.

‘Dr Balthazar Seward will be most upset that you will not join him in his asylum.’

Elain shuddered. ‘I cannot see myself as mistress of the asylum.’

‘And Graysen Morris would spirit you away to America if he had his way. He is rough of tongue, but strong of heart though,’ said Nesta. She tidied away Feyre’s letters into a neat pile. ‘Still, when Lord Vanserra dies, Lucien shall inherit the title. We may find that you become Lady Elain.’

***

The three men accepted Elain’s choice well enough. A small, congratulatory party was held where Nesta ducked and dived from her own potential suitors who were keen to sink their claws into her family’s fortune.

‘I should like to escape the city a while,’ she announced to Elain the following morning, shortly after Tomas Mandray had been turned away by the household staff once again. ‘There is too much here clouding my thoughts. I’d like to head north for a while.’

‘Whitby is always perfect at this time of year,’ agreed Elain. ‘What of Feyre, have you heard from her?’

Another few days had trickled by with no letter. That morning, Nesta had sent one of the servants to the post office to have letters sent to the train stations in Paris, Munich, Vienna, and Budapest should Feyre call in there. A few of her father’s acquaintances had businesses across Europe so letters were also sent to them to enquire after Feyre using their contacts. A further letter was sent all the way to Cassian’s castle. If there was no word in another week, Nesta would journey there herself. Her sister could be unwell or mislaid her purse so had no finances to rely upon. It could simply have been that she was having a grand time in Transylvania or had mislaid her ink or parchment.

Together, Elain and Nesta journeyed to the north east coast of England to Whitby where they had a home upon a hill overlooking the sea. In Whitby, they could talk together freely and build their castles in the air. It was dark when they arrived, the sea breeze turning the air colder. But, by the morning, it was calm enough to take a walk along the beach and breathe in the fresh sea air. A commotion was afoot upon the shore for a boat had wrecked in the night. Pieces of splintering wood washed up with each roll of the waves upon the sand.

‘It is the strangest thing,’ one man said, scratching at his bald head. ‘The captain was found bound to the helm, as if to keep the boat on course to the rocks. Not a single body has washed up besides his. Clothing, yes. But not a single member of the crew.’

‘Is that possible?’ Nesta asked.

‘Possible? Not probable. A ship this size would have had a crew of at least fifteen. They should have washed up on the shore by now.’

Nesta hooked her arm with her sister’s, leading her away from the grizzly sight unfolding.

The days in Whitby were far more enjoyable than London. Nesta could take a walk along the high street without needing to avoid suitors. There was a respite from managing her late father’s accounts – although she had brought a few volumes with her to go through with a fine-toothed comb when she had the desire too. Mostly, she whiled away the time at her leisure by either reading or merely sitting in the large window, watching the passers-by. The folk were less refined in the north where labourers were more common. They were friendlier than Londoners too.

With a blush upon her face, Elain entered the lounge. She clutched a letter to her chest.

‘Is it Feyre?’

‘Feyre? Oh, heavens no. Lucien will come tomorrow with Balthazar and Graysen. The servants are preparing rooms for them.’

She cocked a brow. ‘Is that why your cheeks are so aflame?’

‘Not entirely. I have met a most curious man upon the high street. I knew at once from his clothing that he was not from Whitby, nor indeed did I think him from England at all,’ Elain said in such a hurry that she had to suck in a breath. ‘Like that count our sister is assisting, he is also from Transylvania. A most polite and charming man with dark, waves of hair and hazel eyes set against his warm brown skin.’

Nesta folded her arms across her chest in distaste. ‘You have agreed to a marriage with Lucien, if I must remind you. I hope, at least, you received the name of this stranger.’

‘He did not give me his name. He promised to next time we met.’

‘Elain,’ she scolded. ‘You risk a scandal.’

Her sister’s blush deepened. ‘I did not agree to meet him, Nesta. I laughed away his words and returned to the home.’

The news of the stranger unsettled Nesta for a reason that she could not name. She felt as though pieces of a puzzle were coming to her although she could not say if they were all from the same puzzle – or indeed pieces at all. Her sister’s prolonged silence abroad. A strange shipwreck. A man from the same place as Count Cassian here in Whitby too.

Her dreams that night were ill. She dreamt of Feyre lost and wandering in an endless castle. Her dreams had only ended when she heard a window slam. Nesta had hurried at once to Elain’s bedroom where the source of the sound had come from. One of the panes of glass in the window had cracked from the force of it hitting the frame, but her sister slept through it all.

‘The night is too cold to have this window open,’ muttered Nesta, closing it.

It was most unlike Elain to sleep so deeply. For a moment, Nesta remained rooted to the spot to watch her sister’s chest rise and fall then she noticed two raised lumps upon her neck. Her sister’s skin was cold, almost like ice, beneath her palm. The marks on her neck were as if she’d been pricked with a pin and they had bruised around it.

Nesta sent a servant out for a doctor, knowing instantly that her sister was deeply unwell. Elain would not wake, but how she shivered within the sheets. A deathly pallor crawled upon her skin. Even with a stoneware hot water bottle tucked beneath her in the sheets, Elain remained cold and pale.

‘It looks like an animal bite,’ the doctor announced. ‘But of what sort, I cannot name.’

‘Then what use are you?’ The snap in her voice was brittle.

The sun was beginning to bleed into the morning sky, but Elain only grew worse. She writhed in agony until Nesta closed the curtain to block out the light. When Lucien arrived with Balthazar and Graysen, Nesta took a moment to dress herself although she felt tired and adrift with no enthusiasm to face the day.

‘She was well yesterday?’ Lucien asked as he clutched Elain’s limp hand. ‘How can she deteriorate so quickly?’

‘The doctor had no answer for us,’ she admitted.

The three men kept a vigil beside Elain’s beside while Nesta saw to the skeleton staff in their holiday cottage. Breakfast was being prepared as she entered the kitchen. One stopped abruptly at her arrival then pulled a letter from her apron.

‘Ever so sorry, Miss Harker. What with Miss Elain unwell and the arrival of the gentlemen-’

‘It is quite alright,’ Nesta cut in. She took a knife from the counter to slice the envelope across the top.

The cursive was different to their own style. The English was not wholly accurate and there were spelling errors throughout. The news was ill. Feyre had been taken unwell in Transylvania. Following delusions and fever, she was being held in a hospital in Budapest. If Elain had not been so poorly, Nesta would have taken the first ferry from Newcastle to Amsterdam to seek out Feyre. She was trapped here between a rock and a hard place; forced to choose between two sisters.

Lucien arrived downstairs, a frown pulling his brows together. ‘This illness is most unusual. If I may, a friend of mine is a doctor. He lives only in Scarborough. He can be here within the hour.’ At her nod, Lucien continued. ‘Are you well yourself, Nesta?’

‘Yes. I have my health although it seems both of my sisters do not.’

She handed him the letter to read.

‘What will you do?’

‘What can I do? One sister is safe in hospital thousands of miles away, the other is in touching distance, ailing from a sudden illness that has no cause.’

‘We will find the cause – and the resolution,’ Lucien said gently, before departing to call upon his friend in Scarborough.

Elain grew worse as the minutes ticked by. There was a blueish hue to the skin beneath her eyes and the tips of her fingers remained cold even as Nesta rubbed them between her warm hands. The bedroom grew stiflingly warm with the window closed and fire burning. Elain’s rejected suitors, both Graysen and Balthazar, remained holding their vigil in the bedroom.

When Lucien returned, a sweat upon his brow as though he had run to them, the doctor was not at all what Nesta was expecting. In fact, she had half a mind to ask if he truly was a doctor. He came without the usual clean, leather bag but a well-worn brown satchel instead. His hair was not combed neatly – if combed at all – and fell to his chin in loose waves. He was young, perhaps newly qualified, so Lucien’s love for his friend was likely clouding his judgement of the doctor’s abilities.

‘This is Doctor Jurian Van Helsing, a trusted friend and experienced doctor.’

Jurian did not bother greeting them, but strode forwards to Elain’s bedside. His fingers went to her chin and Nesta had been about to complain because there was dirt beneath his short nails when he turned her head to inspect the marks there. His hand stole away to his satchel as if to reach for something then he stopped.

‘Last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Lucien, glancing to Nesta. ‘We arrived this morning but Miss Harker found Elain unwell in the night.’

Jurian’s dark eyes roved over Nesta. ‘What did you see?’

‘What on earth does this have to do with my sister’s illness?’

‘Everything.’

Nesta recounted hearing the window slam after her strange dreams. Jurian pressed her on any sounds she might have heard and if she didn’t peer out of the glass to investigate.

‘She is dying from acute blood loss.’

‘Dying?’

‘Blood loss?’

Lucien, Graysen, and Balthazar offered themselves up at once for a transfusion, their forearms bared towards the doctor. He claimed it would be pointless although Lucien insisted that they try. He asked for a servant to be sent into the market to bring back as much garlic as possible, including the flowers. When the second man – Doctor Balthazar Seward – had almost finished transfusing his blood to Elain, the servant returned. Jurian, in a most severe manner began tying bulbs of garlic together using thread from Nesta and draping it in front of the window. He tied bunches of garlic flowers into the four corners of the room, more above the door, and even knotted it into a necklace for Elain.

‘Keep the doors and windows locked tonight, Miss Harker,’ he said, voice rough and accented. He spared one look to Elain who remained wasting away in the bed. ‘Sleep apart from your sister. I insist upon it.’

Only the doctor’s warning pried Nesta and the others from Elain’s bedside.

Upon the dawn, Elain had died.

It was in a numb horror that Nesta returned to the lounge where Graysen sat beside her in a chair, forcing a tea into her hands while Lucien put aside his grief to call for the undertaker. Balthazar wrote the letter to Feyre, informing her of Elain’s death where Nesta could not then departed to have the letter sent to the hospital in Budapest.

The doctor called in soon after. Jurian did not appear shocked by the news of Elain’s death nor did it seem she was the reason for his visit. He inspected the men’s necks then came to Nesta. A scowl was upon his face although it seemed to be his regular expression. His hands remained grubby, but they were warm as he tilted her face this way and that, feeling and inspecting the soft skin of her neck.

‘I am sorry for your loss. Such evil must be eradicated.’

‘Evil?’ Nesta leaned forwards in her chair. ‘You know what ailed my sister.’

‘I will not speak of it – but I will see it finished.’

***

For three days after the funeral, Nesta did not leave the home. She wore black and haunted the lounge while servants stepped around her in silence. The foods they offered her remained untouched. Both Balthazar and Graysen returned to London with Lucien following them on the second day after Nesta asked him to leave too.

When twilight began to creep in and mist rolled across the town from the moors, a brisk knock sounded at the door.

The servants did their usual routine and tried to shoo away visitors, but this one was more insistent. Jurian bypassed the footman and sought Nesta out.

‘We must speak at once.’

She blinked at him in shock. The man was put together sloppily; his shirt was open at the collar, exposing a glimpse of bronzed skin and his dark coat billowed out behind him.

‘Doctor Van Helsing, I am in mourning. I will take no visitors.’

‘This is a matter of life and death,’ the doctor replied, bending to a knee before her and gripping her hand. ‘For all that is right in this world.’

When he rose, Jurian took Nesta with him and led her to the window. Lights were scattered upon the horizon as the sun waned.

‘I want you to believe...to believe in things that you cannot. I ask this of you as a sister to the deceased. We must go to Elain’s tomb with haste.’

The man would not take her refusals. He forced her by the hand from the house and marched her towards the graveyard. Nesta had not wanted her sister buried beneath the ground or returned to London which had never felt like home. Her mother’s family had a marble mausoleum which could be considered beautiful if it were not so macabre. That was where Elain had been laid to rest.

It was only when they reached the iron gates of the graveyard that Jurian lurched out of his coat and draped it around Nesta’s shoulders.

‘There have been stories in Whitby of a Bloofer Lady.’

‘I have not heard of such a thing,’ she replied.

Jurian gave a grim nod. ‘Then I wish I could spare you from the pain, but I cannot. Your sister is one of the undead. A vampire.’

‘A what?’

‘A creature so monstrous that hell does not want it,’ said Jurian Van Helsing in a low, rough voice. ‘Three children have died on three consecutive nights. Each one drained of blood. Each one bearing the same marks as your sister.’

‘You cannot accuse my sister of such a crime, Doctor Van Helsing. Elain is dead.’

The final word choked her. Nesta had not wanted to admit such a thing.

‘Your sister is hungry, Miss Harker. She will drink and drink blood until she is satiated or until her master calls her home.’

‘Her master?’

‘The one who passed the curse to her.’

It was all a lie. Nesta had to believe that it was all make believe. And yet, when Jurian led her to her family’s crypt, they found Elain’s tomb empty. How could it be? Nesta had witnessed the undertaker and his men put her sister’s lifeless body into the mausoleum.

‘This cannot be real.’

‘I assure you, it is. I make it my business to track vampires and kill them.’

Nesta frowned. ‘You are not a doctor at all, are you?’

‘I am a doctor of medicine,’ he confirmed. ‘But when a patient of mine rose from the dead and tried to bury her fangs into my neck, I staked her and her sister through the heart. The supernatural is my calling, Miss Harker, for there is nothing I detest more in this world than the vampire.’

They searched across Whitby for Elain, as farcical as it sounded. For hours, Jurian had her hunt alongside him through every cobbled alley and dingily-lit underpass.

When her feet throbbed, Nesta had half a mind to call it all off, hoping that she’d imagined her sister’s empty tomb. Then, they saw her. Elain, still wearing the pink silk dress that they’d buried her in, had her teeth buried into the neck of a small boy with fair hair.

Jurian’s hand clamped across her mouth to keep from crying out. In his other, he brandished a crucifix at Elain.

Elain Harker, but yet how changed. The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty, and the purity to voluptuous wantonness.

Blood streaked her chin as she prised herself away from the child’s neck. He fell limply onto the cobbles, his life spent.

She hissed at the crucifix then fled.

They chased her towards the hallowed ground as the dawn leaked into the sky. Nesta could only watch on in horror as Doctor Van Helsing cornered her sister and drove a wooden stake into her heart. Instead of collapsing to the ground or shrieking in pain, Elain turned to ash.

‘To London we must return, Miss Harker,’ said Jurian, wiping the point of the stake upon his trousers. ‘We must discover her creator and destroy him once and for all.’

***

If her sister’s suitors had any knowledge of the supernatural in the way that Doctor Van Helsing did, they remained quiet as the four of them gathered at Doctor Balthazar Seward’s asylum. The cries and shrieks of patients echoed through the walls as they sat around a large table in Balthazar’s office.

‘Is this a place for a lady,’ asked Graysen, the drawl of his accent making his words sound slow.

‘She has a man's brain - a brain that a man should have were he much gifted - and a woman's heart,’ Jurian replied, offering her a heated look. ‘The good God fashioned her for a purpose.’

‘Well, Jurian, you know how to hunt these creatures best,’ said Lucien. ‘How will we find the devil that robbed us of our sweet Elain?’

Nesta tried not to flinch from the violence that came from the man’s lips. He spoke of stuffing garlic in a vampire’s mouth, beheading, dousing them in holy water, or staking them through the heart as they had done to her sister. It had hardly been her sister. Elain had died. Whatever creature had returned to this earth had not been her sister.

‘Careful, Jurian,’ warned Balthazar. ‘You will give Amren an idea.’

‘Amren?’

‘A patient of mine. One who believes by ingesting creatures whilst they are still alive, she can harvest their life force,’ explained Balthazar, shaking his head in dismay. ‘It started with flies and other insects. If rats come to her cell, she eats those raw and wriggling.’

Nesta recoiled at that.

‘No matter what we put in place, birds, spiders, and rats continue to seek her out to be devoured. And just last week, a knife was in her cell although all staff deny supplying it to her.’ Balthazar rolled up his sleeve where a fresh cut was healing, the stitches spitting.

‘Curious,’ murmured Jurian from the seat opposite Nesta. ‘For many years, I have made it my duty to discover the lore of vampires. To be knowledgeable of the enemy is a weapon in itself. It is said some of the strongest vampires have a thrall over creatures like the rat or the bat.’

A knock at the door had them all startling. A worker of the asylum slipped in. ‘Apologies for the disturbance. A member of the Harker staff delivered this letter with utmost urgency for Miss Nesta Harker. It is from her sister.’

For a moment, Nesta’s heart went to Elain – as if she had found a way to communicate from beyond the grave. But she had a second sister who was being nursed to health all the way in Budapest.

Dear Nesta,

I write to you with haste although I fear my words are too late. I was held captive in the home of Count Cassian by three monstrous creatures. Rhysand, Azriel, and Morrigan had acted as friends if not overzealous with their attentions. I was left to them wherein they descended upon me with fangs and claws while he departed for England, my purpose served. Only leaping from the window and running towards the dawn has stopped me from becoming one of them. Rumours of such creatures – vampires – run rife in Transylvania. They are creatures of the dark who drink blood. All of them answer to him.

I write to warn you. Beware of Count Cassian. I fear I shared too much of our family with my host. He was most taken by your portrait. Alert the authorities that he resides at 347 on Piccadilly Street, if they will believe this tale. Do not seek him out. For all that is good in this world, do not seek out Cassian.

Yours,

Feyre.

When Nesta had finished reading, a silence descended upon them, broken only by the faraway cries of Balthazar’s patients of the asylum.

‘Then they are the same,’ Jurian announced. ‘The one that killed Elain is the very same Count Cassian. And I will make it my duty to see him dead once more.’

‘How will it be done?’

‘A vampire can only rest with soil from his home country. Somewhere within his home will be earth from Transylvania. If we destroy it, he will not be able to rest again in England. It will force him to flee to his country.’

‘And then,’ Nesta pressed. ‘What will we do?’

‘I will travel to Romania. I will kill him.’

‘Not alone,’ added Lucien. ‘For Elain, I will go with you.’

‘And I,’ said Graysen and Balthazar in unison.

Nesta sucked in a long breath. ‘As will I.’

The following day and night was spent busy planning how to enter the home of Count Cassian. Graysen and Lucien had scoped out the home then provided Jurian with a plan of the exterior. The doctor believed Cassian would take to the cellar in the daytimes where a coffin would provide him with respite from the light. It was better for them to attack during the day when the vampire was at his most vulnerable.

‘We shall go this evening, before dark,’ said Jurian. ‘We waste time plotting. Cassian could infect or kill another dozen victims if we continue to allow him to roam the streets of London.’

The men loaded themselves with holy water from the church and sacramental bread. Crucifixes were strapped to them along with bulbs of garlic so they made a strange sight. When it came to the time to depart, Jurian placed a hand upon Nesta’s shoulder. The warmth of his touch seeped through her dark gown.

‘I will not say this is no place for a woman for you have proved to have a mighty heart already, but if Count Cassian is taken by your image, I cannot in good conscience lead you to him.’ Jurian’s fingers squeezed her shoulder. ‘Here, where it is safe, is where you must remain, Nesta Harker.’

Worry knotted in her chest as Nesta bid the men farewell. Balthazar, stoic and serious; Graysen, loud and excited for the action; Lucien, as warm as the sun; and Jurian, rough and determined.

The asylum did not feel safer, not with the haunting sounds leaking from every corridor. She could not remain in the office with her heart so troubled. Would it be Lucien that she would have to run through with a stake next or another?

Nesta wandered the darkened corridors, keeping close to the wall to avoid the outstretched hands of Balthazar’s patients. The walk only made her more unsettled. She had to be mad too if she thought walking the halls of an asylum would soothe her.

The room at the end had a chink of light seeping from it. Nesta took one step closer then froze. It was Amren’s cell; the patient they had spoken of earlier that evening. It was open. The prisoner was released somewhere.

Biting back on her fear, Nesta sprinted back towards Balthazar’s office, her feet hitting the ground hard.

Strong arms gripped her, stopping her from running.

A man, tall and broad, with dark hair slicked back examined her. There was an instinct in Nesta to flee from his grasp although she doubted that she could. His clothes were not that of an inmate, nor were they the fine cut of a gentleman like Lucien. They were leathers for an ancient battle.

‘I have crossed oceans of time to find you.’

Nesta knew at once who this man was: Count Cassian.

'You are mine forever.'

Before she could scream, two large fangs were bared to her then he sank them into her neck.

Pain shot through her veins. There was no ecstasy, no allure to it. Count Cassian gripped her by the hair, holding her still as he drank his fill while Nesta went limp in his arms.

‘And now you must drink from me.’

There was a wound on his chest. The sight of blood streaming from it should have made her recoil. There was a deliberate voluptuousness that was both thrilling and repulsive. His voice was in her mind, echoing through its chambers encouraging her to drink. To drink and to drink deep. And as Nesta arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal. What spell had been cast upon her?

‘Be gone, foul beast from the abyss,’ came a shout.

The vampire holding her hissed. Jurian shot an arrow towards them, the bolt embedding into Cassian’s shoulder. Something showered Nesta. For a moment, she’d believed it was blood then realised it was water. Holy water.

The vampire fled into the night.

*** It had been an uncomfortable discussion with the men. Her neck had been thoroughly examined. Jurian had forced her to step into the direct sunlight, convinced she would burn to ash. She could ingest holy water and hold a crucifix as usual. Doctor Van Helsing theorised that upon Nesta’s death, she would turn into one of the undead. Had he been a minute later, perhaps Nesta would have met the same fate as Elain.

The patient, Amren, was discovered dead. The bars on her windows had been bent wide to allow Cassian entry to the asylum. She must have invited him in. Then, he’d drained her of blood, her purpose served.

‘We were successful in destroying the earth from his land. Cassian will have fled to Transylvania – and it is to there that I must travel.’

Lucien laid a hand on Jurian’s shoulder. ‘You cannot mean to go alone, friend. We will see this through to the end.’

When Graysen and Balthazar echoed his sentiment, Nesta added, ‘The world seems full of good men - even if there are monsters in it. I will follow you, Doctor Van Helsing, as far as you will lead me.’

They took the first train out of London to Dover then a ferry across to France. It was growing dark when their train ventured out of Paris. With many hours still to travel, and change required in Munich, three of the men opted to sleep in their carriage. Nesta remained with Jurian in her own one. He was the most equipped to handle her if she turned at any moment into a vampire. Indeed, Jurian kept a crossbow beside him on the long, green seat and a crucifix was around his neck. The countryside sped past in a blur of indigo skies and darkened trees.

‘You ought to sleep, Miss Harker.’ Jurian’s pupils were blown wide by the dim carriage so his brown irises were swallowed by the darkness. ‘I will protect you,’ he vowed. ‘I will not see you become a monster.’

‘I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.’

His fingers flexed. ‘Should you like to marry me, Nesta?’

There was no response she could give that didn’t sound like a lie. Doctor Van Helsing had all the trappings of a distinguished gentleman by name, however he was rough and unkempt the eye. He did not speak with the same level of politeness as Lucien, nor could his casual tongue be explained away as being from across the ocean as Graysen could. Jurian, for lack of a better word, was rugged. Her mother would roll in her grave if she knew that Nesta even entertained a thought of marrying Jurian. He certainly was not a man who could provide her a stable home or the future her parents wished for her – but what was a future without Elain, or with the knowledge that these blood-drinking creatures roamed freely? Couldn’t Jurian provide safety and stability in his own way?

‘Is that a proposal, Doctor Van Helsing?’

Jurian just gave her a sly grin in response.

The train continued on his journey then, he added, ‘I shall not ask for I hate to be disappointed.’

When the night grew long, Nesta remained unchanged. Jurian postulated that Cassian had not managed to drink too deeply or infect her. Only her death would alter her. It gave her a small kernel of hope that perhaps there would be a future for her. A future as a human. She’d stake herself through the chest if she became like Cassian.

‘Try to sleep,’ Jurian said as softly as a rough-tongued man like him could manage.

‘I find myself not only plagued by worries but chilled by them too.’

In response, Jurian crossed the narrow trench of the carriage and lay beside her on the cushioned bench. His arm looped around her middle, holding her in a way that ought to have caused a commotion. If anybody witnessed this… But what was propriety when faced with the undead?

Nesta eased closer to him, her face nuzzling against Jurian’s chest. His heart was slow, calm. There was a faint scent of the wild upon him like Jurian had been made from it. He was different to the gentleman of high society that Nesta had traded barbed words with; the sorts of men who’d force her to be a subservient wife and broodmare.

‘What if this is our last night?’

Jurian touched her cheek. ‘Then I will greet death with the knowledge that a beautiful woman has slumbered in my arms.’

‘And if I say that I do not want to sleep,’ murmured Nesta, the words bolder than she felt.

Such a rough-hewn man surprised her with his gentleness. Jurian rolled her beneath him on the narrow stretch of bench. One hand cradled beneath her head, the other lifted her skirts. His lips pressed to her own, urgent yet careful. She met his tongue with her own, the kiss deepening. Without a care for who could see through the steamed-up glass of their carriage, Jurian freed himself of his breeches then settled himself between her legs.

Nesta held onto Jurian in ecstasy as he thrust in and out in a quick rhythm. There was a frantic energy to their coupling – a knowledge that their time on this earth was dwindling like sand running through their fingers.

Jurian pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing rapid when he was spent. Nesta held him. Held him and wished that the future would be kind to them.

***

‘I do not believe all of us will live to see another dawn,’ said Jurian, as they looked upon the famed castle of Count Cassian. ‘We will step into death with the knowledge that we tried to eradicate evil.’

‘Always so positive, my friend.’

‘When it comes to vampires, they’re faster, stronger, and lack a conscience. I am realistic, Lucien.’

Jurian’s gravity reminded Nesta of herself. So often, she’d been told what a serious child she was then what an equally grave adult she had become.

The castle was on the very edge of a terrific precipice where there was a great chasm beneath where the rivers wound in deep gorges through the forests. It was a beautiful place to die, Nesta thought grimly.

Feyre, who they had collected from Budapest, accompanied them. She had knowledge of the castle’s layout and its inhabitants. It took courage to return to this place so Nesta was grateful to her sister for having such a mighty heart.

‘Morrigan and Azriel are strong,’ she explained, ‘but Rhysand… I’ve never seen such speed. He’s fast and powerful.’

‘We will split. Miss Harker – the younger – you will go with Lucien to the top floors. Balthazar and Graysen, take the middle.’ Jurian turned his dark gaze upon Nesta. ‘There is nobody else I would trust to guard you, Miss Harker. You are the one Count Cassian wants. If my hands cannot keep you safe then nobody can. We will take the ground floor and the cellar for that is surely where the vampire will reside.’

Nesta stared up at the imposing castle as the light breached from behind it. They had chosen the first light to mount their attack in the hope that it gave them the advantage.

The castle was macabre within. Cobwebs hung in the corners of the vaulted ceiling and spiralling pillars ran through a great ballroom that spoke of a faded opulence. Nesta kept close to Jurian Van Helsing who moved with the swiftness of a hunter. There was no hesitation in his movements. The doctor stalked his prey, prepared for any eventuality. Nesta clutched the crucifix in her sweaty hand, heart hammering with its fear. It was not solely fear for her life, but for that of the ones she loved who also moved through the castle.

When they descended upon the cellar, they found it empty. It had once, perhaps, been a chapel but no God would allow Cassian entry now. They found the graves of the three vampires under Cassian’s command. Jurian sanctified the graves of Rhysand, Morrigan, and Azriel to put an end to them. From the dust, however, something had been moved. Jurian touched the outline upon the stone floor.

‘A coffin.’ He gave Nesta a grim look. ‘Count Cassian is on the move.’

Just then a commotion sounded outside.

They rushed towards the source, Jurian smashing a window on the ground floor to give them a quicker route to it.

Feyre, Lucien, and Balthazar were engaged in a fight with local men. Many of them had formed a ring around a stationary carriage where surely the vampire must have been. The men were in a strange trance, their eyes glazed and red around the irises. They fought without recognition of their pain for one was shot in the flesh of his shoulder by Jurian’s crossbow and he continued without flinching.

‘The carriage! We must get to the carriage.’

Holy water and crucifixes did not work for these were living men enthralled by the vampire. The only way to put an end to the horror was to kill Cassian.

They acted like a battering ram as they forced their way towards the carriage, felling living men as they went. Lucien and Balthazar used their pistols to shoot, the sound of their bullets ringing in Nesta’s ears.

With an almost superhuman effort, Jurian eluded the men and leapt upon the cart where he forced the coffin upon the ground with a show of his strength. Lucien slashed his way through the men towards the doctor.

Inside the coffin, Count Cassian was covered in earth from his homeland which allowed him to travel. His eyes opened and fixed upon the setting sun. The look of hate in them turned to triumph.

At the last moment of sunlight, Jurian who wielded a great, silver knife chopped off the vampire’s head while Lucien’s knife plunged into Cassian’s heart. Almost as though he was drawing in a breath, Cassian’s whole body crumbled into dust and passed from sight. Even in that moment of death, within such a horrid face, she was sure a look of peace passed over the vampire, his soul finally at rest. The local men were released from the spell, confusion washing upon them.

‘We will sweep the castle,’ said Jurian, wiping his dirtied blade upon his leg. ‘What of Graysen?’

‘Rhysand,’ supplied Feyre. ‘He died a gallant gentleman.’

‘I am sorry to lose him.’

***

Such wounds were difficult to heal from. As Nesta stood upon the Whitby shore once more, she thought of her sweet sister whose life had ended because of Count Cassian. She thought of the others, the other victims, whose time was stolen from them.

Jurian rested a hand upon her waist.

‘It has been three years yet the wound feels just as keen,’ she said.

‘Time is a slow healer. But it will heal. It will.’

In an unexpected turn of events, Feyre found solace in Lucien’s arms after the horrors they had seen. Their first child had been born in the spring and they had chosen to escape the busyness of London to live permanently in the quiet corner of the world that was Whitby. Balthazar’s brush with the supernatural had repulsed him from the asylum. He had chosen to explore the world. He wrote often of his adventures all the way from the arctic to Australia. Jurian remained militant in his search to eradicate vampires. Often, he was called away to investigate mysterious murders or to lecture on the supernatural. Nesta was the hand that wrote his words. Together, they had published two books on their tale, vampires, and their origins.

‘Come, Mrs Van Helsing, we have a long journey back to London and I fear your cold hands will try to touch me in the carriage.’

Nesta pressed her wind-chilled fingers to his chest, making him jolt backwards and hiss between his teeth.

‘You wicked woman.’

‘Your woman,’ she reminded him.

#jurian #nesta archeron #acotar #nesta x jurian

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world-of-wales · 8 months ago

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❥ 25 MAY 2024 | Kensington Palace sent a congratulatory message to the RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2024 on behalf of the Prince and Princess of Wales.

This year, RHS is continuing the tradition of hosting a Children's Picnic, which was first hosted by The Princess of Wales last year. In a statement, they said,

“Following the success of the inaugural RHS Chelsea Children's Picnic hosted by HRH The Princess of Wales in 2023, this year we were pleased to welcome 72 pupils from schools taking part in the RHS Campaign for School Gardening.”

#princess of wales #the princess of wales #princess catherine #princess kate #RHSChelseaFlowerShow24 #british royal family #british royals #royalty #royals #brf #royal #british royalty #statements #kp insta #25052024 #news

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joaoista · 10 months ago

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《More than colleagues, they are my family》

❤️Charlos + mention of Arthur/Ollie 💛One-shot (+1.4k words) 🤍Fluff + family bonding time (sort of)

Oliver waited patiently inside the Ferrari motorhome. He had already gone through multiple interviews making statements here and there. He received congratulations from many important people in the world of motorsport, feeling fortunate to have so much support from those he admires. Even his father was there to celebrate with him this first great milestone in his career in the highest category of motorsport. The only thing missing was to celebrate with a well-known duo from the paddock that he considered equally important as another member of his family.

And it was with them in mind that the first figure crossed the entrance, giving him a friendly smile before approaching him.

“You did very well, mate”, Charles' words were imbued with genuine affability, as he watched the youngest in depth.

He already knew that look. Eyes narrowed, bright with emotion. It was undoubtedly...

Pride. Pride for him.

Ollie felt himself reverberating in his seat with ill-contained emotion. It was because of it that he couldn't help but jump out of his chair and rush over to Charles, wrapping his lanky arms around him in a tight hug.

“Yes, we were a great team today! One of the best!”, he exclaimed. Enthusiasm pouring through his pores.

However, his mind clicked. He quickly pulled away from Charles. A thin layer of blush sprinkled over his cheeks, embarrassed, mentally scolding himself for getting caught up in the emotion of the moment and acting impulsively accordingly.

He was just about to shout an apology when the Monegasque took him in his arms again, reciprocating the congratulatory embrace.

“Oh, come here Ollie”, the older man murmured. Oliver felt his eyes slowly blurring, feeling himself almost completely overcome by the accomplishment of the feat he had achieved tonight.

He was going to allow himself to collapse in the midst of Charles' comforting embrace, but an intrusion awaited deep down by him made an appearance, startling him and watching as he stole the second of the Leclerc brothers' breath away.

‘They're so obvious’, Bearman thought with amusement and affection.

“Carlos”, he's pretty sure he could hear the smitten sigh leave Charles' lips.

“P3, not bad, my Lord Perceval”, the Spaniard walked in their direction with a slow step. Appreciation painted all over the eldest's eyes as he focused on his mate from Monaco.

“I would be offended if you thought otherwise. The fight to see who can cut the Red Bulls' streak started last week.”

“As well as the other inside bet we have”, Leclerc was the one who ended up closing the distance between them, lightly tapping the other's shoulder for the joke. He then went on to take Sainz's hands in his own.

Well, maybe he was interrupting a scene that did not concern him.

“And look who's here, the golden boy from Maranello. Congratulations on your big debut, Ollie”, although, he dismissed that thought quickly. Of course, they would not turn his presence away no matter how enclosed they were in their bubble.

Eagerly he ran to the Spaniard. “Carlos!”

He was about to hug him. However, he remembered the problem the pilot was bringing with him, so he abruptly stopped his action. Nevertheless, Carlos gave him a nod, indicating that such a hug was welcome.

“Go ahead, Ollie. Just don't push too hard.”

Oliver hugged him with a little less intensity than he hugged Charles, but with the same enthusiasm and appreciation he showed for him. He was still grateful for the advice he provided before the race, even in a state of recovery he made sure to instruct him as best he could to get the most out of the car.

How can you not love Charles and Carlos?

“I'm still sorry to hear about your operation. Also, I'm so glad you're doing well.”

‘And that you're here with us.’

Sainz just denied. “Nothing to be sorry about, Ollie. You did amazing out there and you were able to get the most out of the car. I'm very proud of you.”

Proud of you.

Something throbbed inside Bearman's chest. His eyes misted over again.

“Of both of you. You did a great job.”

“Thank you, Carlos”, he murmured, trying to hold back tears. He gave them both his big smile that exposed his pearly teeth, typical of when he was very happy.

They accompanied the Spaniard to take a seat on the couch in the motorhome, settling in to have their own post-race chat without interruption from third parties and in the intimacy of their circle.

“You know, I would have really liked him to be here.”

Both pairs of eyes stared at him, instantly picking up on who he was referring to.

“You haven't talked to him?” Carlos asked, surprised.

“Curiously, from him was the first message I received on my cell phone congratulating me on my performance. He beat my whole family, even”, mention to them incredulously, but bubbling inside with raw emotion at the gesture.

“Well, I think it's time to give this to you...”, Charles mentioned, as he stood up to get a marbled gift bag. He handed it to him without further thought.

“What?”, Oliver's astonished intonation echoed through the room, still taking the gift in bewilderment. A maroon sweater, a box of biscuits, and a pink rose lay inside.

“Arthur sent it to you. He strictly told me to give it to you as soon as we finished our routine post-race activities. Oh, and he also said there's a surprise waiting for you at Maranello. Apparently, he stayed up late into the night working on this”, he held out his cell phone, showing him his gallery.

A picture of a Ferrari cap with the number ‘38’ stitched on the side of the visor, revealing the face of a small teddy bear woven with brown threads on the inside, was all over the screen. The sender? None other than Arthur Leclerc.

Ollie's eyes opened wide, intensifying that characteristic gleam in them. With trembling hands, he picked up Charles' phone, trying to process the situation. He swallowed in a vain attempt to undo the lump in his throat.

‘Oh, Arthur...’, he mumbled in his head, being a teary mess inside.

“Charles, I think that was only for you to see, not the boy”, Sainz catches his eye, pointing out the obvious detail. The Monegasque froze in place.

“Aïe... I'm sorry? Please pretend I didn't show you anything and act surprised when he gives you the cap”, a nervous laugh bursts from his lips, apologizing for the oversight over and over again.

But, for Oliver, it is more than clear that he will not be able to forget that fact so easily. If he felt his heart was already filled with so much affection for the people around him, it undoubtedly overflowed with love when he learned of the gift Arthur had painstakingly prepared for him, in addition to what he had made him get with his brother.

How to stop the growing infatuation for his former academy classmate if he took great pains every day to surprise and entertain him, even when he did not know the effect it has on him? An impossible mission that he has no intention of stopping.

“And I want to hug Arthur so much because of that...”, He added in a dreamy tone, forgetting for an instant that he was still in company. “No, I...! I...! Now you pretend I didn't say that about your brother, please”, he pleaded with a wail, the color of his cheeks matching the color of the Cavallino Rampante car.

“Now I'm supposed to call him ‘brother-in-law’?”, Carlos annoyed him with a clearly amused tone.

“Carlos!”

“Mmm... I think the four of us should have a dinner party, don't you, Ollie?”, his partner followed his lead, laughing softly.

“Charles!”, implored the Englishman, flushed with embarrassment.

Leclerc only let out another small laugh at Oliver's embarrassed expression. He wasn't going to lie; he was enjoying the somewhat familiar atmosphere that spread between the three of them. It was almost the same feeling witnessed being with his own family and he didn't dislike it at all. He liked it.

Now recomposed from his sultry moment of the day, he approached the red-clad couple and enclosed them both in a final embrace, feeling that last thread that held him fastened to the illusion that this race was a mere fantasy finally break and the bucket full of reality spilling over him.

He felt warm and very happy.

“It's good to have you on the team, Ollie”, Charles whispered, returning the hug. Carlos nodded at his words.

‘It's good to have you two with me.’

[First time posting a fic here jaja! Spreading the Arthur/Ollie propaganda, tho -gets hit-. I really enjoyed writing a fluffy moment between these three, so, I hope you like it! ^^💖]

#joaoista can write #f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #charlos #c square #5516 #carlos sainz x charles leclerc #arthur leclerc x ollie bearman #(what's the name ship?)#arthollie #bearclerc #i like the first one tho #help

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rex-meshla · 2 months ago

Text

Steel Meets Silk

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Chapter 4: Crown of Expectations

The morning light spilled through the windows of the studio as I completed my first public statement, my voice ringing with carefully rehearsed confidence. The reporters nodded approvingly, cameras capturing every word.

"The Husk Corporation remains steadfast in its commitment to the community. We are working tirelessly to stabilize local markets and support both the Republic's efforts and our industries during this uncertain time. The Husk family has always believed in progress and innovation. Now, we must guide our people through the challenges ahead."

As the final words left my lips, I forced myself to breathe gently, hoping to get rid of the tightness that had built up in my chest. It did not. The congratulatory nods from reporters and the faint noise of cameras clicking felt distant and hollow. I knew I had hit every mark Kalden and his team had set for me. But the words didn't feel like mine. They never had.

I pushed away the uncomfortable feeling that had taken place in my chest and forced myself to stand a little taller.

"Good work, Anastasia," Father said as he walked next to me. "Everything went according to plan. Of course, you'll do more of these, but this was a great beginning.

I reflected in what Father's words: Of course, you'll do more of these. No appreciation. No solace. Only the relentless expectation that this was only beginning.

"We'll join you for dinner tonight," he added, his tone casual but expectant. "We'll go over the key takeaways from today's appearance, and your mother will want to see you as well."

I offered a small, polite smile. "Of course, Father."

Before I could add anything else, Kalden was up at my side. “The next step is a one-on-one interview. Prime coverage. Keeping up the momentum is crucial,” he stressed as he swept me away.

My head buzzed with residual tension, still tangled in the effort of maintaining my composure. Straighten your posture. Smile. Look confident.

The private set was smaller, more intimate. A single chair under a harsh spotlight. Across from it sat the interviewer, a man whose sharp eyes seemed to pick apart every detail of my presence. His smile was thin, practiced, and entirely devoid of warmth.

"Miss Husk," he greeted as I took my seat. "Thank you for joining us today. I'm sure your schedule is very... demanding."

"Of course," I replied, my voice measured, my tone polite.

The first few questions were straightforward. He asked about the Husk Corporation's recent initiatives, our alignment with the Republic, and how we were contributing to local economic stability. I delivered my answers with precision, each one crafted to reinforce the image we had so meticulously constructed. But then, his tone shifted.

"I'm sure the public is curious," he began, leaning forward slightly, his gaze narrowing. "What qualifies you, specifically, to speak on behalf of the Husk Corporation? Your background doesn't exactly scream 'business expert,' does it?"

The question felt like a slap, but I kept my expression neutral, willing the flush of anger to stay beneath the surface. "I've been immersed in the workings of the Husk Corporation my entire life. I've seen firsthand the values and principles that guide us, and—"

"Seen firsthand," he interrupted with a tight smile. "That's different from actually doing the work, isn't it? Many might argue that your presence here is purely symbolic—more about image than substance."

The word symbolic landed like a punch. It was an accusation I'd heard whispered behind closed doors, one I had worked tirelessly to rise above. My jaw tightened, but I refused to let him see it.

"I believe actions speak louder than assumptions," I replied evenly. "The Husk Corporation's actions, under my guidance, will speak for themselves."

His grin widened slightly, as though he were enjoying this. "And what about the critics who say the Husk Corporation profits more from the war than it gives back? Some might call it exploitation, Miss Husk. How would you respond to that?"

I felt a spark of anger flicker to life. He wasn't just asking questions—he was throwing jabs, testing me, waiting for me to crack. My pulse quickened, but I kept my voice calm.

"I would say that those critics fail to see the bigger picture. The Husk Corporation is committed to supporting the Republic and the local economy during this difficult time. Our initiatives are designed to ensure stability for everyone."

"Yet, one could argue that your family benefits significantly more than everyone. How would you address that?"

I could feel the tension in my shoulders, the pressure to maintain composure pressing down on me like a weight. "As I said," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady, "our actions will speak for themselves. The Husk Corporation is focused on long-term progress, not just short-term gain."

His smile faltered, just slightly, the calculated jabs having less impact than he'd hoped. The questions kept coming, each one more pointed than the last, but I refused to let him rattle me. By the time the interview ended, I felt like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap. But the mask I wore—the serene, confident exterior—hadn't cracked.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Husk," he said, his tone dripping with false civility as the cameras powered down. "Quite enlightening."

I forced a polite smile and rose from my seat, resisting the urge to fire back with something equally cutting.

Kalden was waiting for me just outside the set, his expression a mixture of admiration and concern.

"You handled that well," he said quietly. "He was tougher than we expected."

"I'm fine," I replied, though the tightness in my chest told a different story. "Is there anything else scheduled for today?"

Kalden shook his head. "That's all for now."

I stepped into the corridor, the air outside the studio felt heavier than it should have. Colt stood waiting, his expression unreadable.

"Your father sent me," he said simply. "He wanted to make sure you were all right."

I sighed, glancing away. "I'm fine. Just another part of the job."

"You didn't look fine back there," he said bluntly.

His words caught me off guard, cutting through the practiced calm I'd spent the morning perfecting.

I turned to face him fully, my gaze locking onto his. "You watched?"

"I'm your security detail," he replied, his tone even. "I'm always watching."

I let out a bitter laugh.

"I suppose it's easy for you, isn't it? Everything so straightforward. Orders, duty, purpose."

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his otherwise stoic face. "It's not always easy. But it's clear."

"Clear." The word tasted bitter on my tongue. "Must be nice, living in a world where nothing weighs you down."

He paused, his gaze steady. "Things weigh me down, Miss Husk. I've just learned not to let them show."

The honesty in his words silenced me. I turned away, looking out at the city skyline beyond the window. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing."

Colt didn't answer immediately, but his presence beside me was grounding in its own way. Finally, he said, "You handled that interview better than most would. They'll respect you for it. Even if they don't say it."

His words were unexpected, and for a moment, the mask I wore cracked. I looked at him, a small, genuine smile tugging at my lips.

"Thank you," I said softly.

He nodded, his expression softening ever so slightly, and extended an arm toward the exit.

The ride home was quiet, but my thoughts were anything but. The interviewer’s pointed questions replayed in my mind like a bad holo-reel. His smirk. His insinuations. The way he’d dissected me piece by piece, as though I were just another headline to manipulate.

By the time we arrived at the estate, I felt like I was running on autopilot. The head housekeeper, met me at the door, her ever-present warmth trying to pierce through my exhausted haze.

“Miss Anastasia,” she said with a small bow. “Your parents are waiting in the drawing room. Your father mentioned a debrief.”

The debrief. Because it wasn’t enough to live through it once. I’d have to relive it again. “Thank you,” I murmured, my voice mechanical. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Before heading to the drawing room, I made a detour to the library. The smell of old books grounded me in a way that few other things could, and the peaceful, dimly lit room provided a little escape. I closed my eyes and slipped into a chair beside the window, allowing the stillness wrap around me.

But my solitude didn’t last long.

“Miss Husk?” Colt’s voice was quiet but firm, pulling me from my thoughts. I opened my eyes to find him standing just inside the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against the warm light spilling from the corridor.

“Yes?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.

“Your father asked me to check on you,” he simply answered.

“Of course he did.” The bitterness in my voice surprised even me. “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

Colt didn’t move. “You’ve had a long day.”

The observation was so straightforward, so painfully obvious, that it pulled a laugh from me, dry and humorless. “And here I thought you didn’t deal in subtleties.”

“I don’t,” he replied. “But I can tell when someone’s had enough.”

I met his gaze, something unspoken passing between us. For all his stoic detachment, there was a sincerity in his words that I couldn’t ignore.

I shook my head, trying to push past the lump forming in my throat. “It doesn’t matter. There’s always more to do. Another meeting, another appearance. That’s the life I’ve been given.”

Colt stepped further into the room. “Do you ever tell them no?”

The question caught me off guard, and I stared at him, unsure how to respond. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” he pressed, his voice calm but firm. “You’re their daughter, not just another employee.”

I looked away, my gaze falling to the floor. “Because it’s what’s expected of me. And if I don’t meet those expectations, who else will?”

For a moment, Colt said nothing. Then he took a step closer, his presence steady and grounding. “Sometimes, people expect too much.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. And I just sat there, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me.

Finally, Colt broke the silence. “I’ll let your father know you’ll be along soon.”

As he turned to leave, I found myself speaking before I could stop. “Colt.”

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, the words barely above a whisper.

He nodded once, his expression softening ever so slightly, before disappearing down the corridor.

I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply in an attempt to shake the exhaustion that had seeped into my bones. You can do this, I told myself. One more conversation. Just one more thing. I took a deep breath and made my way to the drawing room.

Father sat at the head of the table, a datapad in hand. Mother sat next to him, her grace exuding a sense of subdued authority. As I walked in, their gazes shifted to me, and Father's face instantly softened into a proud expression.

“Ah, Anastasia,” he said, gesturing for me to take the seat across from them. “Good timing. Sit. Let’s discuss today’s success.”

I slid into the chair, folding my hands neatly in my lap as I met his expectant gaze. He went on before I could say anything, his tone measured but full of contentment.

“You handled yourself well today,” he said, tapping at his datapad. “I’ve already received commendations from several key contacts. This is exactly what the Husk Corporation needs right now.”

The beginnings of a protest stirred in my chest, but I pushed it down as a server entered with dinner. Father barely paused to acknowledge it before diving into his plans for the future.

“We’ll need to keep up the momentum,” he said, glancing at me. “Upcoming interviews, speaking engagements, public appearances. All critical to maintaining our image as the pillar of strength the market needs right now.”

I took a small bite of my appetizer, though my appetite had disappeared.

“Of course,” I murmured, the words felt automatic, detached. My gaze flickered toward Mother, who watched me closely.

“Sweetheart,” she began, her voice soft but insistent, “you understand, this isn’t only about the business.” Her eyes met mine, steady and unyielding, as though she could see the questions bubbling beneath my carefully composed surface. “People see us as symbols. It’s important they continue to do so. Your image, our family’s name, it’s more than just a contribution to the war effort. It’s about legacy. It’s about maintaining trust and honor.”

Legacy. Image. Trust. Her words pulled me farther into a life I hadn't chosen, wrapping around me like invisible chains. à

More than ever, the weight of their expectations fell firmly on me, serving as a reminder that carrying the Husk name wasn't just a privilege but also a duty and a relentless burden.

I set my fork down carefully, willing my voice to remain steady. “I understand,” I said, though the tightness in my chest betrayed the calm exterior I presented. “I’ll do what’s needed.”

With a contented nod, Father started discussing the agenda for tomorrow.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of plans and expectations. My responses became automatic, my voice distant, as I let Father outline my future in painstaking detail. I knew better than to interrupt. To him, every engagement, every appearance was another brick in the fortress of the Husk Corporation’s reputation. And to Mother, every word spoken was another thread weaving the tapestry of our legacy.

By the time the plates were cleared, I felt like I could barely breathe. As we rose from the table, Father placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

“You’re doing well, Anastasia,” he said, his tone almost fond. “You’ll see—this is the role you were meant for.”

I forced a smile. “Thank you, Father.”

Mother stepped forward, smoothing her hand down my arm in a small gesture of reassurance. “We’re proud of you,” she said softly.

I murmured my thanks, retreating as soon as decorum allowed. My steps carried me back toward the sanctuary of the library, the voices of my parents still echoing in my mind.

When I reached the room, I didn’t bother turning on the lights. Instead, I sank back into the chair by the window, staring out at the moonlit gardens. For a moment, I allowed myself to feel the weight of everything I’d been holding back.

The expectations. The pressure. The endless demands.

What if this isn’t the life I’m meant to lead?

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You can read the next chapter here and find my masterlist here x

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osarina · 6 months ago

Note

In I LAUGH LIKE ME AGAIN (SHE LAUGHS LIKE YOU) Dazai mentions that he bought the reader flowers and that they fucked exclusively, which in my opinion, is such a interesting statement, because when compared to sex (exceptionally when we’re talking about two individuals that would benefit from sleeping with other people for information but decide to dedicate that part of their life only for each other) buying someone flowers is such a simple act, that can even be used as a congratulatory gesture that it even seems silly to be brought into such a deep conversation, so I was wondering, if the whole flower thing had a more “statement” feeling to it like the act happening in Valentine’s Day for exemple when it’s common to gift flowers to your lover, and that’s why Dazai took it so seriously since it would send across the message that they were in a serious commitment hence the “we were so dating, everyone knew it” speech.

I apologise if this seems messy TvT English is my 3rd language and it’s hard for me to come across when it comes to emotion.

I hope this doesn’t offend you or sound rude in any way, I wish I didn’t have to translate my soul all the time. Keep up the good work!! <3

HELLO NONNIE!!!! it's not rude or offensive in anyway and you don't have to apologize at all!! <3

the flowers comment was mostly based on the fact that dazai literally never went out of his way to do anything nice for ANYONE while he was in the pm, so he thought that him going out of his way to buy her flowers was a statement of his commitment to her in itself - something intimate beyond just sex because, like you said, sex was never really anything important for any of them. they used it as a tool to get things done for the mafia so it doesn't really hold that same level of intimacy that it usually would for people to them. well, i won't say "them" because dazai's mentality about sex is something that's going to be explored in their first time fic, but for reader at least it's not something that really means much to her. so dazai uses the fact that he would go out of his way to do things with her and buy things like flowers for her as a way to further double down on the fact that they were dating because he never did anything like that for anyone.

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s love letters #ᡣ𐭩 from user: secret admirer

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thebroccolination · 3 days ago

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SCANDALS BY CULTURE

I was talking to a friend the other day about the different cultural perspectives on what constitutes a scandal in fandom. As a western fan, I’ve learned over the years that a lot of what rolls off my back can be taken quite seriously in fandoms based in countries like Thailand and Japan.

[above: former member of Japanese pop group KAT-TUN Taguchi Junnosuke following his arrest for cannabis]

As an example, take dating. In East Asia (and spreading elsewhere), the traditional arrangement between idols and their fans is that, in exchange for monetary support from fans, idols will create and uphold a Fantasy of availability and moral uprightness. Thus, dating breaks part of that illusion, which means an idol has reneged on their side of the bargain. An idol gets fame and money in exchange for the sacrifice of their private identity, in a sense. In practice, this means you can date, but you can’t get caught.

I spent eleven years in Japan and saw dating scandal after dating scandal with various degrees of backlash from fans. Naturally, female idols got the brunt of the hate and judgment.

[above: former AKB member Minami Minegeshi begging for forgiveness after breaking her company’s no-dating policy]

Minami Minegeshi is probably the most internationally well-known idol affected by a company’s no-dating policy. In her video posted over ten years ago, she told the public of her shaved head, “I don't believe just doing this means I can be forgiven for what I did, but the first thing I thought was that I don't want to quit AKB48.” As far as I know, the reaction to the video was mixed, with many even in Japan saying she didn’t need to feel that guilty about it.

In 2022, however, she announced her marriage and seems to have received a much warmer reception.

Most idols—even if they’re contractually free to Date—tend to keep things simple by hiding their relationships from the public unless they intended to marry, and even then, most of them seem to wait until their thirties or later to announce it.

Nagano Hiroshi of the Japanese pop group V6 announced to his fans through the group’s official newsletter that he intended to marry almost a decade ago. From what I saw and what was reported, the fan reaction was overwhelmingly positive and congratulatory.

Personally, I think it helped that Nagano is an enthusiastic foodie and designed his announcement to look like a menu.

Like, please look at this adorable bullshit we all got in the mail:

But it’s more likely that Nagano was a grown man in his forties by then, his fanbase was also on the older side, and his future wife, actress Shiraishi Miho, was also well-liked and close in age to him.

(Speaking of V6, fellow member Morita Go later married actress Miyazawa Rie and received equally positive reception from fans. This was even lovelier to see because Miyazawa was older and divorced with a child, and Morita’s statement included something incredibly sweet about wanting to be a stepfather just as much as he wanted to be Miyazawa’s husband. Like, goddamn! By all appearances, V6 are lovely dudes and I wish them all well. Miyake Ken even learned and taught sign language all because a deaf fan tried signing with him once and he felt bad that he couldn’t understand her! Okay, I’m done talking about V6. For now.)

As a western fan, I don’t feel any kind of way at all about anyone’s dating life unless there’s something unusual about the relationship or, y’know, allegations of abuse or bigotry. But even then, I don’t feel entitled to know anything about or have an opinion on a stranger’s personal life. I didn’t grow up with idol culture, and while I saw plenty of U.S.-based fans complain and spew hate whenever the Backstreet Boys had girlfriends, U.S. American society at large saw that as obsessive behavior, and I remember older fans encouraging distance if your personal attachment was getting too intense.

In the conversation of Should Idols Be Allowed to Date without Sneaking Around About It and Not Get Socially Executed if Caught, though, I’ve seen the general opinion growing more and more nuanced across all cultures. For many, it’s not that the old system is outdated, it’s just unfair. Why should fantasy take priority over someone’s personal life? Especially when upholding that fantasy effectively means someone is “on the clock” permanently? Isn’t that basically indentured servitude and, y’know, not a thing society as a whole should encourage?

Also, hey, what about drugs and alcohol?

I mentioned above that part of the pact idols make is maintaining an image of moral uprightness. This includes, y’know, not breaking the law.

When I was a fan of the Japanese pop groups NEWS and Kanjani8 in university, I learned about one member of both who got ejected for getting drunk underage and, infamously, kicking a cop car. I heard this and thought, “Awesome,” mostly because he kicked a cop car (based) but he was demoted hard. Even though it had arguably been the responsibility of the industry adults who were out with him and allowed/encouraged him to drink, he was dropped from debuted artist to trainee, even lower than Junior. No capital letter for him. Despite years of working to recover his reputation and rise back to debuted artist, he never did.

Over in Thailand, vaping is illegal and therefore understandably a Big Deal for many fans domestically and in surrounding countries. I can’t speak from a Thai perspective, but I once watched a documentary about the Thai prison system in which a monk solemnly told the filmmakers that he believes marijuana dealers deserve the death penalty. This led to me assuming that there’s probably a bit of a religious bias underscoring the issue.

youtube

Meanwhile, you couldn’t pay me to care if a Thai actor was caught vaping. I just saw someone vaping on the sidewalk ten minutes ago. Societally, I’ve been desensitized to most drug use, and I’ve done enough independent research on my own to see drugs and even addiction through a lens of compassion rather than judgment. At most, I’d feel mildly concerned about their lung health if it was an actor I like, but that’s their body and their choice, so I wouldn’t think badly of them in the sense of who they are as a person. Just, y’know. “Oh, they vape. Eh. I’d go for edibles. Do I have any couscous left for dinner?”

If you’ve been in Thai QL fandom for a while, though, odds are you’ve seen or heard of a case like this: I once saw an actor’s friends accidentally film him vaping on an Instagram live, and because the footage cut away so fast, interfans shared the clip on Twitter thinking it was silly that his friends were acting like they’d caught him cheerfully murdering a small animal. But of course in Thailand it’s illegal, and these actors’ reputations decide things like 1) sponsorships, 2) job opportunities, 3) fan support, and more. Thus, Thai fans quickly assembled and told interfans to delete the clips and stop talking about it. Vaping may be quietly common in Thailand, and I’m sure plenty of actors do it, but it’s best for them if we, y’know, pretend otherwise.

In a similar vein, years ago, Japanese idol and former KAT-TUN member Taguchi Junnosuke and his girlfriend were busted for marijuana, and I was on Twitter watching the fallout.

It was on the news.

After posting bail, Taguchi bowed with his forehead on the pavement for twenty seconds. For marijuana. Meanwhile, I just had a holiday in Denver where a friend offered me a range of colorful weed gummies to help me fall asleep. Whee!

But the reaction I remember seeing on the Japanese fan side of Twitter was pure anguish. Tweets like, “I had no idea he was like this,” or, “I feel betrayed,” and, “I’ll never look at him the same way.”

Because that false image they had of him was part of the facade he implicitly (and likely contractually) agreed to uphold when he took the job. Of course most fans knew he was just a regular dude, but that’s not who they loved. They loved the idol, the fantasy, and he’d betrayed them by burning the facade.

Is that system exploitative? Absolutely, if you believe it’s wrong to expect a performer to be permanently “on” without rest or the right to authenticity. But whenever I see western fans rolling their eyes and asking, “Why do they care?” and saying, “[Asian country]’s fans are insane,” then I always want to make wide gestures with my arms at the words: “CULTURAL DIVIDE.” They’re not insane, they’re just accustomed to a system we don’t have, and even within any given country you’ll find nuance in the conversations surrounding these systems. Never paint with too wide a brush. You know yourself how diverse the opinions are in your culture and country, after all.

These issues benefit so much from (respectful) discussion. Is it fair to expect a human being to hide their relationship in exchange for money? And if they choose to hide, is it truly a choice if it’s under duress? What if they choose to hide out of a desire to protect their partner from the public eye? If the system stops demanding the Fantasy, will fans still uphold the expectation?

And are drugs a moral failing? Or only certain drugs? Is morality tied to legality, and if so, does the decriminalization of a drug mean society should also adopt an attitude of leniency to the people using that drug? Where does the connection between drug use and morality come from, and should there be one at all?

I think one of the benefits of joining a fandom whose base is in a culture outside your own is that you have the opportunity to look at the world with different eyes. You meet fans of different ages with different life experiences. And you may not change your own beliefs as part of being a foreign fan, but it’s such a rare opportunity to learn why people believe what they do in such a casual setting. We’re a cooperative, adaptable species at heart, and I think we’re at our best when we find ways to connect and thrive despite or thanks to our differences.

What’s culturally scandalous to one person may not be to another, and sometimes having the opportunity to break down your kneejerk cultural judgments in very simple terms can actually lead you to questioning them yourself. Or maybe you’ll bring someone to a conclusion they’d never made before.

All because an idol got caught with a boyfriend while smoking a vape.

/long post dismount

#cultural commentary #cultural differences #discourse #fandom talk #tw drugs #tw alcohol

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