#he can still be a opportunist of course

[thegetdownrebooter]

Mmm I see what you mean, but it's just that I see cis girl Kendall as having a very different relationship with Logan from canon Kendall, where she doesn't really need saving from her dad so much because he doesn't give a shit about her compared to Roman and Shiv. So her motivation would be more the ache coming from that lack, and I don't think she'd be able to convince herself that she's fine without his love or approval like Connor.

That said, she would still try to be outwardly rebellious and independent and that's probably what a lot of her relationship with Stewy would involve, but it just wouldn't work out because she needs to feel valued by her family and he isn't willing enough to play those games and let them take over his life. And yeah, I think she'd be put off by Tom being a suckup, kinda hating him for the same reason she's with him. It's just a push and pull of conflicting interests and emotions.

intresting.... i agree her relationship with stewy would be doomed because he isn't willing to play those games and would want her to tell her old man who doesn't even like her that much to fuck off, but still i feel like she simply wouldn't be attracted to someone like tom?? like, in my gut i feel like cis girl ken would have doomed relationships with headstrong men who come from their own money and don't need logan's approval because it's something she isn't familiar with and probably finds appealing in them. The downside is that those guys will eventually try to convince her to leave her abusive father behind fr both for her own sake and because they want to start a life with her but that quickly is the the beginning of the end in those relationships because ken isn't able to do that.

The thing is i personally feel like she would be miserable in a peter/caroline and tomshiv situation like, she would simply send tom packing like with jennifer in canon after tom meets logan for the first time.

[malkaviian]

on the topic of finnley, he absolutely laughed his ass off when he realized blade blocked him

[weskie]

O Captain, My Captain! (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

18+ | 2100 words, dubcon, gunpoint blow job, sex fantasies, gender neutral reader, wesker being a little shit but somehow still a lil soft | Fic Directory

original request

You always were his favorite.  So smart and perceptive, sharp and witty.  Of course you would be the one to find him first.  It almost pained him to devastate you in such a way.  To see the way your face fell when those words left his mouth.

“I’ve always been with Umbrella.”

The way you whispered his title in disbelief when he pointed his gun at you was… perplexing.  He figured you’d have one of your usual wise-cracks to chuck at him.  Instead you–

“I trusted you, I–” You quiver, staring down the barrel that could spell your undoing in a mere flash. Your eyes dart back and forth between him and the tank containing the Tyrant.  “Please don’t kill me…” 

Beautiful, isn’t it?  Wesker thinks to himself.  He wonders what you must think of his good work.  What you must think of everything.  

Deep down, he doesn’t want to do this. In fact, it had been his plan to grab you before death could take you in some twisted form or another.  You were the only one he wasn’t keen to place in this experiment.  He fully intended to run off with you in his arms, play the hero, whisk you away to safety and maybe finally allow some of his affections free to make an attempt at something more.  You weren’t supposed to find him.

You’ve certainly dashed his plans.  So what now?  

“I’ll do anything!”

Of that, he’s certain.  Most people staring down the barrel of a gun would say the same.  Perhaps…

Now that’s a thought.

“Anything?”  He asks with a cock of his head.  “And just what could you do for me, my dear?”  The corner of his mouth twitches in a small smirk as the term of endearment hits you.  He saunters forward, handgun still trained on you.  Little do you know he’d clicked the safety on before raising it toward you to begin with.

It’s precious how you shiver under his gaze.  Like you know exactly what he’s thinking, or you’re at least partly aware of it.  

This situation has obviously ruined his plans to pursue you once the dust had settled.  Perhaps he should take what he can get now while he’s got the opportunity.  Sure there’s terror in your eyes, but he’s seen the way you looked at him before.  The glint in your gaze, the pining glances and shy smiles.  Wesker was no fool.

But he is an opportunist.

“I don’t kno–”

“Oh, but I think you do.” He purrs, pressing the muzzle under your chin to force you to look right into his eyes.  He glides his thumb across your lower lip, tongue peaking out to wet his own.  “Ah, ah… Don’t squirm.  You wouldn’t want my finger to slip, would you?”  It isn’t even on the trigger.  He smiles sweetly as you take a breath to still yourself.  “That’s it, sweetheart.  Very good.”

You’re adorable like this.  Eyes wide, lower lip quivering beneath the pad of his thumb.  Wesker leans forward until his lips are next to your ear.

“I want you on your knees, my dear.  Think of it like a new training exercise– just you and me.”  His breaths fan against the shell of your ear, words shocking your eyes even wider.  He can hear you gulp in anticipation before you start to descend.  “Show your Captain what you can do, hm?” The sight alone has him twitching in his pants.  He’d never admit to the overflowing excitement in watching you kneel before him, knowing full well he was about to have you in a way he’s only dreamt of.  God, the thoughts he’s had of you– the way he’s come apart at mere fantasies all because of you…

His breath stutters as you work him free from his pants, halting entirely when you grasp his cock and stroke.  He can feel the tremble in your grip, so he smooths his free hand through your hair to coax you to relax.  He nudges you forward gently. 

He knows you can’t see his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses, but he almost wishes you could.  If you could only see the exhilaration in his eyes coupled with the lack of genuine hostility, maybe you wouldn’t be so afraid of the gun in his right hand.  Maybe you’d know it was all for show to keep you from getting any bright ideas.  And fuck, he could’ve dropped the damned thing the second your tongue grazed the underside of his tip.  It’s been so long since he’s been touched by another; he never has the time to even consider it with his double-triple-agent life. It’s almost embarrassing how sensitive he is to the warm wetness of your tongue.

But he needs more.

His fingers curl in your hair to pull you nearer– his signal for you to open wide and take him. He releases a shuddering breath when your lips wrap around him, descending nice and slow.  The sensation of you sucking him is simply beyond words, completely and utterly tantalizing in the way it combines with the hot drag of your tongue.

A soft moan works past his lips when that pesky gag reflex of yours makes your throat clamp deliciously around him.  He doesn’t let you pull off.  He can’t drop the facade quite yet– can’t be too gentle lest you get any stupid ideas.

“Ah, ah… Hold it.”  He breathes, fingers gripping tighter in your hair, pushing your head down.  “That’s it, dear…”  For all of your sputtering below, you manage to resist the need to release him by the time he finally jerks you back.  

He gives you a minute to gasp desperately before pressing the gun to your temple. Your eyes flutter open as if you'd forgotten the lingering threat.  Your pupils are blown and the way you squirm is all too obvious.

He knew you'd like this. 

Somewhere, deep past that layer of fear, there was a part of you so aroused by this that you couldn’t help but let it affect you.  Maybe, with his cock down your throat, you realized that this was what you’d always wanted too.  That all those sweet little looks you’d hide when he’d turn your way weren’t for nothing.  That your lust for your Captain was coming to fruition in an unorthodox way that was still just as delicious as whatever sinful thoughts you’ve kept of him all this time.

“I'm impressed. But you can do better for me, can’t you?”  Wesker’s eyes roll when you dive back in of your own accord, suckling and swirling the tip in a way that screams more than mere survival instinct.  It takes no time at all for him to give in and start with slow thrusts into your mouth.  Paired with the way he controls the bobbing of your head makes it truly like heaven itself.  Wesker could damn well forget everything– where he was, all that had happened, even the Tyrant mere feet away meant nothing right now.  Your little gags and chokes around his shaft ring like music to his ears, drowning out the hum of machinery preserving his subject, echoing in his mind to wash away every scream he’s heard since this mission began.

There’s just this.

Just you and him.

“That’s– mmh, that’s it!”  Wesker’s breaths grow heavier by the second and he presses the muzzle harder to your temple, wordlessly demanding that you keep up with those wicked glides of your tongue, keep swallowing his cock, keep fucking taking him.

His mask begins to slip with every weakening moan that was never meant to make it past his lips until finally– fucking finally– he holsters that damned gun and grips your head with his other hand, hips rolling until that familiar tightening sensation grows and grows and your name chokes breathlessly from his lips.  With one last sharp thrust, Wesker buries himself to the base, hands pulling your face flush to his groin as he paints your throat with his release.  His thighs quake and he can just barely register your hands grasping to still him.

He tries so hard to be quiet and maintain that perfect decorum of his, but it’s useless to try.  Not when he’s balls deep in your mouth, not when he knows he’s claimed you from the inside out.  He’s thought of this too many times.  Of how he’d have loved to have you on your knees under his desk back in his office.  You’d suck him just as sweetly as you’ve done now, one hand stroking the base of his cock while the other smooths up and down his leg.  He’d let you get him close– so fucking close. He’d let you get him right on the brink of losing himself and then kick away in his swivel chair and fuck you senseless on the desk.  He wouldn’t even care if the rest of the team could hear the sweet sounds you sing for him.  He’d fill you over and over again until his come leaks from you.  He’d kneel down and eat you clean just so he could fill you all over again.

Every fantasy flashes in his mind as the throbbing bliss tapers away.  This absolutely cannot be the last time he has you.  

It won’t be.

Wesker pulls out slowly, staring down intently to watch every inch slip free.  His thumbs wipe away at your tear tracks before kneeling to your level.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  He asks as if he hadn’t just put you in an impossible situation and made you think your only way out was to let him fuck your mouth.  He smiles at you, though, try as he might, he can’t quite manage that same wicked smirk he’d given you earlier.  The facade has faded, and he’s back to the same old Captain Wesker who used to hide his smiles at your quips.  The same one who now feels the tiniest pang of guilt at how spooked and used you look.

There's one last thing he needs from this moment. He couldn't possibly let it pass him by knowing he may never have the chance again. And, if he's lucky, you'll understand every unspoken word. 

Wesker leans forward, hands cupping your face to bring you into a kiss that was far from the depravity he'd shown you mere moments ago. Your squeak of shock is swallowed by him, and it's the perfect opportunity to wiggle his tongue into your mouth and explore to his heart's content– pleased to no end when you reciprocate.

“You've always been,” he pants between wet pecks to your lips, “my favorite of the bunch.”  One of your arms loops around his neck, and that’s when it hits him.

Cold steel presses beneath his jaw and he smiles against you, proud beyond measure that you'd pulled one over on him so easily. 

“Still trust me?”  He asks.

“Should I?”  You counter, panting softly against him.  He can see the way doubt blends with belief.  You’re the picture perfect specimen of indecision and he would just love to see your reaction to this…

“Go on.  Pull.”  Wesker murmurs. “Trust your Captain.”

When you make not even so much as a twitch to flinch from what you’d expect to be an exceptionally loud mess, he grasps your hand, finger creeping over yours to direct it onto the trigger.

How peculiar that, much like he’d done, you hadn’t even put it on there.

You look at him with wide eyes for the hundredth time since you found him, suddenly looking much more terrified than when he’d first aimed it at you.

“Wesker, I–”

Click.

You flinch for nothing, and Wesker simply gives you a smug grin as he watches you realize you were never truly in danger.  You run through a variety of emotions.  Anger, betrayal, disbelief, acceptance… 

“What's wrong, my dear?”  Wesker purrs, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger.  “You didn’t think I’d actually kill you, did you?”

The look on your face elicits a deep, amused chuckle. 

“Foolish.  I suppose you’ll need to be made to understand just how deep my appreciation for you goes, hm?”  With his free hand, he removes his gun from your grasp before pushing you slowly onto your back.  Your chest heaves in anticipation, though you lack that deer-in-the-headlights look from earlier.

Good.

Wesker removes his glasses, placing them on your head to rest against your hair.

“Remember,” he whispers, leaning down to nibble at the side of your neck. “Trust your Captain.”

[ddarker-dreams]

missing scarlet ribbons so bad… brain food for SR: confined space stand that lowkey locks SR reader in a really small alternate dimension space with the bucci gang. like… chest to chest on top like “aughh sorry!! its so cramped in here :((“ and the guys r j internally screaming over it

RETURNING WITH SOME SCARLET RIBBONS !!!!!!!!!!!! i love them your honor <33333333

[Scarlet Ribbons index]

Although Giorno recognizes this predicament's unique benefits, he still prioritizes your well-being. He will check you over, ensuring no harm has been inflicted. Once that’s settled, admittedly, a few mischievous thoughts flit through his mind… none that he’ll act on, however. He accommodates you to the best of his ability. Ever the opportunist, he’ll gratefully accept any physical contact your shuffling around results in. Should you find yourself bored while waiting out the Stand’s effects, he’ll humor (most) requests you make of Gold Experience. And no, he won’t agree to create an elephant, no matter how passionately you plead your case. You’ll have to settle for a duckling or something similarly small. Capybaras aren’t off the table. 

Your level-headed leader, Bruno, finds himself unusually flustered. He recoils a bit too fast from any contact and dedicates a lengthy chunk of time to clearing his throat. He steels his nerves by asking if you’re alright, feeling any adverse side effects, etc. Sticky Fingers is summoned to check for a way out of this pocket dimension, an idea that’s proven implausible. You’ll both have to wait it out. Bruno gives you as much space as he can, to the point his contortions are stressing you out from how uncomfortable they must be. He almost chokes when you offhandedly suggest sitting on his lap to ‘free up space.’ Poor man. 

Fugo’s irritated over the fight’s outcome. He feels useless, since your presence prevents him from utilizing Purple Haze, lest you fall victim to the Stand’s abilities. He critiques your strategies and lists what you should’ve done differently. Don’t take it personally — internally, he’s berating himself for being unable to do more. The self-loathing steadily fades away as he recognizes how close these accommodations have you. Fugo cuts himself off mid rant, sputtering incoherent gibberish. His heart starts beating so hard, he wonders if he might be going into cardiac arrest. Your knees are brushing against each other. Why aren’t you panicking? Why is he panicking? … And why does he feel some gratitude toward the Stand User responsibles for this? 

Narancia considers this a golden opportunity to prove how reliable (and cool!) he is. Will most likely quote an action hero for maximum effect. He reassures you that he’s ‘totally got this’ and suggests shooting the walls with Aerosmith to bust out. You have to talk him out of this brilliant plan, reminding him that ricochet is a thing. Sitting still and waiting for the Stand’s ability to run its course hits him the hardest. He wants to be proactive, primed to pummel the asshole that got you both in this situation. However, your presence greatly decreases the likelihood he’ll do anything rash. At a certain point, he finds the whole thing kinda cool, like a secret base only you two know about. 

Mista used to pray for days like these. He’s thanking all the saints (that he can remember) for this gracious opportunity. Still, he’s mindful of your boundaries, doing his best not to intrude on your space. He will be inhaling your perfume, though. In copious amounts. While escape should be a high priority, seeing as neither of you are dying, he’s rather chill about the entire ordeal. You’re his favorite person to goof around with. He jokes about offering himself up if you’re stuck here long enough for starvation to kick in. You don’t get why his mind always ends up in a Hannibal-Lecter-esque place, but it’s a nice (?) sentiment. The Stand’s ability ends far too fast for his liking. 

Abbacchio is secretly grateful it’s you he’s stuck with and not some other schmuck. He might give you a hard time, but your presence is tolerable, even if you have a proclivity for yapping. The fact that you’re nice on the eyes is an added bonus. Considering his height, it’s impossible for you to have absolutely zero contact. Abbacchio’s always been tough on himself — he wouldn’t blame you if you were repulsed by him. So for you not to shrink away when your hands touch… it warms his heart in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He’ll humor your musings, adding his own dry wit on the occasion until you’re both freed. 

[strixcattus]

I really enjoy looking at this still from Slay the Princess:

In the midst of all the weird imagery from the first part of the Stranger route, you see for a moment—and it is cut off at the end, so I had to be quick with my screenshot—every route laid out in front of you, paired up as the game does elsewhere, and described, interestingly enough, from what I can only believe is the Voices' perspectives, or perhaps the relationship between the Princess and the Voice of a given route.

Consumption: The Beast (Hunted), the ribcages in the bottom right. Being eaten, alive or half so, is one way or another the outcome you face in the Beast. This one seems to be the least connected to its route's Voice, though I can still see it in a relational sort of way. Betrayal: The Witch (Opportunist), the nail-studded... I can't tell what it is, but it's at the top left. Betrayal on your part is the cause of the Witch's route, and it too is inevitable in some form once you're on that route—the Opportunist is very vocal about it.

Skepticism: The Prisoner (Skeptic), the chains at the bottom. Pretty clear analogue given the name of the Voice, but not to neglect—you reach the Prisoner by taking the blade (distrust of the Princess) but ultimately using it to free the Princess (you take the time to think critically about what you're being asked to do, and decide the Narrator is less trustworthy). Blind devotion: The Damsel (Smitten), the... I can only imagine locks of hair at the top. You reach the Damsel by immediately and wholly assuming she has no ill intentions, an attitude made manifest in the Smitten.

Rivalry: The Adversary (Stubborn), the spikes to the left. The Adversary route is, so long as you embrace it, about your probably-a-metaphor-for-sex-I-mean-the-Eye of the Needle-isn't-even-trying-to-veil-it eternal fight with the Adversary, with the Stubborn in strong support. Submission: The Tower (Broken), the stone columns to the right. One of the most clear-cut "this is about the Voice" examples—the Broken has completely submitted to the Tower's will, even though the player still has a few chances to resist her.

Terror: The Nightmare (Paranoid), the eyes in the upper right. Of course, the Nightmare is all about fear, and the Paranoid is the embodiment of your fear of the Princess—the fear that made you lock her in the basement and the fear that stopped your heart when she broke free. Longing: The Spectre (Cold), the wisps in the bottom left. This one is interesting, and almost made me second-guess my "Voices" reading, as the Spectre herself is clearly a creature of longing—but then what about "Submission?" The Tower is not "submitting" to anything. That's her whole deal. Perhaps this one is connected to your desire for something other than what the Narrator calls the "Good Ending..." or perhaps it has something to do with the Cold's interest in feeling something, which he expresses in a few routes (the Greys being the most obvious).

Pain: The Razor (Cheated,) the spikes at the top. She skewers you, and you die. Over and over again she skewers you, and you die, and it is painful over and over again. I'm not sure I have much to add to this one. Unfamiliarity: The Stranger (Contrarian), the abstract DNA-like strand at the bottom. You reach the Stranger by refusing to interact with the Princess, leaving her an unfamiliar blank slate whose actions you cannot predict and thus fracture into every possible image of her.

And at the heart of it all, an emotion that can only be described as—what? The Narrator doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence before you wake up in the Prisoner's basement, but I'd think the answer is obvious once you've finished the game.

After all, this is a love story.

[bubblybloob]

I dare you to draw smitten with either cold or the beast, you pick.

This is because I said I hadn’t gotten many asks for the Smitten, huh?

This might actually be a bit more Cold focused, long thing I wrote below.

There were fights, a lot of fights, actually. How could there not be? Eleven voices given form, only to be cramped back into one space. At least this time it was a house, not a body.

It wasn’t a bad thing, far from it; Hero wagers most were thankful for the permanent, familiar company, while the rest indifferent. Hero himself quite enjoys chatting or playing games with the others, it isn’t uncommon for him to seek out one of the voices simply so his stirring thoughts can have an outlet.

However, sometimes the others don’t click. Usually it was fine- Broken, Hunted and Contrarian seldom got physical. Opportunist and Paranoid might if they felt strongly enough about something to throw away their pretenses or fear, but they weren’t often the issue.

The rest tended to jump to bold accusations and wild conclusions, looked forward to it even. Skeptic occasionally found himself going from relatively mundane quarrels to all out brawls from causing accidental offense. Stubborn and Cheated had a tendency to get too excited about coming out on top in one way or another, and the other two…

Sometimes it felt like they only ever fought each other.

Okay, that was lie, Cold purposely ruffled the other’s feathers out of pure boredom. Hero wondered if he had made up some sort of challenge to see if he could get the non confrontational voices riled up for a fight, given how often he pushed their buttons. Once he flat out punched Contrarian in the face just to see if he’d retaliate.

If Cold couldn’t get them to crack he’d sigh with something akin to dejection and approach someone like Cheated, maybe Stubborn if he was feeling risky- pretty much anyone with a shorter fuse so he could get some form of thrill.

But they weren’t his go to, that would be- of course- Smitten.

“You vile, wretched thing! I won’t hear another word of nonsense out of you. Begone! Foul creature!”

“Call me all the names you like, you won’t get the response you’re looking for.”

It happened just about every other day: Cold would say something off putting, Smitten would respond with something that would offend anybody else, a bit of snarky back and forth later, and suddenly hands were being thrown.

“What are they arguing about this time?” Cheated grumbled, coming up to stand beside Hero, whose eyes were encircled by dark shadows.

“I ‘dunno, woke up to them yapping at each other, or at least Smitten’s yapping, I don’t think Cold has ever raised his voice.” Hero yawned out, scratching at his horn tuft.

“With how often those two are at each others throats, I think we should count ourselves lucky one is so soft spoken.” Cheated stretched his arms and body upwards, his wings instinctively snapping outwards and flapping as he tried to relieve his muscles. The large wings smacked Hero’s side as he did, which had the heroic voice stumbling backwards as Cheated mumbled a small “sorry” out.

“It’s fine. I think it’s less that he’s soft spoken and more that he’s sharp spoken. He talks like he knows where all your vitals are.” Hero responds, shivering at his own words.

Cheated shrugs. “Probably does, he’s our resident freak after all.”

“How is it then that you feel nothing? Without feeling one will rot away, yet you’re still here.” Seems Hero had missed part of drama during his and Cheated’s little chat. Smitten had now grabbed Cold by the chest feathers and was looking ready to tear into him.

“Who knows, really? Maybe I’m like a ghost, haunting the remains that our godly self expelled. Or maybe we simply can’t die, I haven’t eaten in a while.” Cold replies with a sharp whistle.

“Ooo, he shouldn’t be so candid about saying that out loud, never know when Hunted’s listening.” Cheated says behind a wicked smile. No doubt the avian had tucked the information away for blackmail, or to get a favor from Opportunist, who also found a new joy in digging up dirt on the others for his own benefit.

Hero was about to step in at this point. Smitten looked ready to let loose, and Cold seemed to be passively soaking in the drama of it all. But before Hero could open his mouth, Smitten’s hold relaxed, and his head hung low.

“No, I see through your tricks, scum. I will not loose myself to anger over frivolous things such as this. Leave, now, I must prepare myself for the morning time.” Smitten let’s go of Cold’s feathers, which were not bunched together and frayed. Cold hums something tired.

“Weak willed of you, can’t approach her killer?” Cold tilts his head.

A flinch. “I know what you’re doing, I won’t fall for it this time, villain!” Smitten whips around, and goes to walk from the conflict.

Cold’s wry smile falls flat on his face, he turns his head toward Cheated.

“Not today pal, Paranoid seemed extra twitchy though, probably didn’t get much sleep. It’s still early and he isn’t fully alert in his head, might be able to start something up with him if you push hard enough.” Cheated suggests. Hero punches him in the arm, just when he thought there would be no morning fight to put down.

Cold’s brow raises, evidently interested in a fight with someone who rarely raised his hands. He moves past the two, already on the prowl for their jumpiest member.

“Troop on, you emotionless fuck- ow, stop that!” Cheated yelps when Hero punches him again, this time a little harder.

Cheated’s words seemed to have stopped Smitten in his tracks however, he mutters something to himself, and whips back around. “You can’t be as dispassionate as you claim! You’re merely afraid of your own feelings!”

The accusation makes the Cold stop dead. His expression is hidden, but Hero swears he sees his feathers puff out. He expects them to quickly flatten back down.

But they don’t.

Cold slowly turns the upper half of his body, his face looks… almost strained. His composure had finally cracked.

“Hmm?” He darkly hums. It’s an oddly moderate response, given how Cold takes any and all opportunities to tease whomever he talks to, especially for outlandish claims such as this.

They were outlandish… weren’t they?

Hero had a bad feeling in his gut, one he couldn’t explain.

“I’m right.” Smitten looks a little surprised, before a damn near elated expression creeps onto his face. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Cold doesn’t respond, still half turned to leave. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t swayed in the past ten seconds. Hero wonders if he was still breathing.

“You aren’t unfeeling at all, are you? You’re full of emotion! What’s is it then that makes you push them under the deep, dark waves of the heart? Fear? Want? …Guilt? I can guess what it’s for.” Smitten continues with his theory, the Cold still hasn’t retaliated.

“Ooo, might be onto something there, Smitty.” Chester looks almost excited as he says this. His words seem to encourage Smitten further, who puffs up under the praise.

Cold stands there.

“Go on then, tell us the harsh truth, fiend. You’re no emotionless husk.” Smitten moves closer and closer to Cold’s position. Hero wonders if he should put himself between the two, but he can’t say he isn’t interested to where this is going.

Smitten stands face to face with his Cold counterpart. Hero swears Cold shrinks back under the close attention.

“You’re afraid.”

For a moment, they stand there, a stare down. Hero briefly hears the faint phantom sounds of glass breaking under the weight of godhood.

In a blink Cold draws his arm back, and his fist connects to Smitten cheek.

—

WoooOooO cliffhanger that might never keep going.

I’m unsure if this is common theory or whatnot, but I’ve not for a moment believed Cold was emotionless. I think he’s hurt by what’s happened to him, so much so that he thinks being emotionless, acting only to entertain will bring him some form of twisted comfort.

I think he’s too afraid to let himself feel, so he pushes his feelings far, far down, and pretends he feels nothing. He’s so good at it that he believes it to be true.

He’s so good at ignoring both physical and mental feeling that he himself believes he is nothing but a thrill seeker. In reality, his emotions, his physical needs, it all hurt him, so he squashes both.

Think about it, you usually get him by killing the princess in cold blood, and then subsequently stabbing yourself. Both hurt him. He only knows hurt from both, so he throws them aside.

[birdmitosis]

You know how you can get the "you're special" conversation with the Narrator in the various Chapter IIs? Well, I got very curious about everyone's responses to that, and some of these are very interesting...

At its base, the conversation goes like this:

And then whatever other voice you have with you chimes in after that. There are a few exceptions that I'll cover because I find them interesting, but the ones that follow this pattern are:

Broken

Cheated

Hunted

Opportunist

Skeptic

Smitten

(Some of the above have further back-and-forth with the Narrator, but that's a bit outside the point of this post!)

There are a few variations that really intrigue me, though...

One just changes up the order slightly, nothing else, but I think even this simple change still has some character implication to it:

Stubborn

Which makes Stubborn, interestingly, one of the only ones who buys into that as easily as Hero, possibly the only one (but, funnily enough, possibly not...).

On the other hand, changing up the formula drastically:

Paranoid

Paranoid doesn't even let Hero respond before responding himself, and I only showed the rest of the conversation to show that the Narrator has no chance at all to deliver his "Of course you're special. Why else would you be here?" lines -- he's put on the back foot by Paranoid's suspicions, and even when he tries to be soothing and encouraging again, Paranoid shuts that down too. If Stubborn is the most receptive, Paranoid may very well be the least.

Another major variation, which I find very interesting and can't even quite put my finger on why I find it so interesting (except that I like Cold so much):

Cold

Like Stubborn, Cold speaks up right after Hero's response before the Narrator can get into his own "Of course you're special" lines, and like Stubborn, it's in a way that seems surprisingly receptive. He actually takes the place of the Narrator responding with that, actually -- the Narrator doesn't say those lines at all, making this the only other time other than with Paranoid that he doesn't.

And the final variation...

Contrarian

There are no screencaps for this. Because interestingly, I don't think you even can get this sequence with Contrarian. Or if you can, I wasn't able to figure out how. You can't get to any of that questioning at all from what I'm able to tell.

And I think Contrarian would enjoy knowing that he's the most uniquely disruptive out of all of them.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

Do you think Rhaenyra would have killed her siblings or it was mere paranoia on Alicent's side? The book doesn't provide a solid answer for this, and in the show it's clear that Rhaenyra would never harm her siblings.

Hi anon, I kind of went into it in this post, and although that ask was about Jace vs. Aegon III, I think the principle remains the same. In short, no, I don't think it was paranoia, but to understand why, we have to understand why Rhaenyra's brothers pose a particular threat to the stability of Rhaenyra (of Jace's) rule. Keep in mind, this isn't a moral failing specific to Rhaenyra, but simply a byproduct of the conditions of her inheritance.

I don't think Rhaenyra would have wanted to kill her siblings (or their kids), or even have planned to kill her siblings, but I also think that ultimately what she wanted wouldn't matter very much. All it would take would be someone wishing to rise in her esteem claiming that Aegon was fermenting rebellion, perhaps producing a forged letter as evidence, or an eyewitness who would swear that he had been secretly meeting with former greens. Could she risk it? Her brothers are weapons that can always be used against her. And at some point, it would be out of her control. Rhaenyra won't live forever, nor will Daemon, and when Jace attempts to take the throne, with no less than 7 legitimate male claimants alive who would have a claim ahead of him, there are bound to be challengers. The Blackfyre rebellion began with much flimsier pretexts.

We have real life examples of this. Henry VII intended to keep the remaining Plantagenets alive when he took the throne, as long as they stayed loyal. After all, they were his wife's family members, and killing them off would not be a good look. But the remaining Plantagenets would always be a threat to the Tudors. Ten year old Edward Plantagenet, the son of George of Clarence, was imprisoned in the Tower of London for 14 years before he was executed in 1499 for a supposed connection to Perkin Warbeck's scheme. Henry VII finally took action at least in part because he was negotiating a betrothal between his heir and the daughter of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. The Spanish monarchs did not want their daughter marrying a man whose succession could be challenged, and so Edward, the strongest claimant at that point, had to go. Henry VII's son, Henry VIII, increasingly worried about the stability of his own succession, became vulnerable to the whisperings of opportunists looking to rise in the king's esteem and eliminate their own political enemies. At this point, the remaining Plantagenet claimants became a source of paranoia, justified or not. The arrest and execution of Margaret Pole, the niece of Edward IV and Richard III, was based upon a tunic found in her home that supposedly represented her support for her son's claim to the throne and the restoration of the Catholic church in England. The tunic was almost certainly planted by Henry VIII's chief minister, the protestant Thomas Cromwell, the same man who orchestrated Henry's divorce from Catherine of Aragon (yes, the same princess whose hand Edward Plantagenet had died to secure). And Henry VIII liked Margaret, she'd been the governess to his daughter, and though they had their ups and downs, he certainly didn't hate her. Still, when her son was put forward as a rival claimant and she was accused of supporting him, she had to go too. And of course, going backwards a bit, there are famously the princes in the tower, Edward and Richard, sons of King Edward IV, who despite having been officially declared bastards (a law, you see, was not enough), were still enough of a threat to the throne that they were (most likely) murdered, whether by Richard III or one of his associates. Mere rumors that those boys still lived sparked rebellions during the reign of Henry VII.

And you can say well, there's a difference, surely, in that Rhaenyra is the rightful queen, and these other people were not? But "rightful" is not some inherent state of being, it's dependent upon who is in power. Every person who sits the throne believes themself to be the rightful king or queen. But Rhaenyra in particular gained her position because her father exercised his power and declared her heir in defiance of the expected order of inheritance, contradicting the very decision that made him king in the first place. After Viserys dies though, for all intents and purposes his wishes cease to matter. He is no longer king, and lacks any mechanism by which to enforce his wishes from beyond the grave. At that point, people will choose to support one claimant or another, based upon their own concerns (dragon math, precedent, oaths, promises made by one or the other, existing family bond) and to consider Rhaenyra or Aegon (or any other claimant down the road) the rightful king/queen. Rhaenyra's security upon the throne, like the position of Henry VII or Richard III, is inherently weaker because she comes to the throne through unconventional means. All it takes is a plague year, a famine, or a foreign invasion for any random group of lords to decide that the true king Aegon/Aemond/Jaehaerys/Maelor should be on the throne and that they should start a rebellion in his name. If Rhaenyra feels insecure in her rule, or in Jace's ability to peacefully inherit after her, it only makes sense to eliminate any potential rivals, and her brothers and their children will always be a threat, no matter her original intentions. Even if Rhaenyra keeps her word and does not harm her family, her brothers and their line pose a threat to Jace and his line as long as both lines exist.

So Alicent is not being paranoid at all, she's being realistic. If Viserys were to disinherit Rhaenyra, or were Rhaenyra to accept the peace terms and give up her claim, she would become simply another sister, but Aegon can never be just another brother to Queen Rhaenyra because in the eyes of some, he will always be a potential rallying point for dissenters, and if not him then his brothers, or his children, whether they want to be or not. That's the point Alicent is making. It's not a reflection on Rhaenyra's character, it's just that if it came down to a choice between securing her reign/Jace's succession, and the lives of her potential political rivals, it's not difficult to guess what Rhaenyra would choose.

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 11 . Nothing More, Nothing Less (4)

a/n: double update this week because i got a perfect score on my all-or-nothing oral quiz last night hehe. also, this was supposed to be 2 installments only but I keep making things longer than when I first storyboarded lol

tags: feelings in progress, trying to break out from an abusive mentality, crying, fluff, remember that healing is not instant and takes time

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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Everyone dispersed to do their own thing when they got back home. Of course, they did this after they made sure that _____ was inside their room and properly resting.

The healer complied with everyone’s wishes, how could they not when Choi Han was practically guarding the door? However, they were starting to feel restless and bored. Back at their old home, they were never told to rest for this long.

It was the opposite actually.

Everyone back there wanted them to get back in action as soon as possible. It doesn’t matter how bad they feel, _____ is expected to get back to work after 5 hours max.

Knock

Knock 

“Cale-nim asked if you feel well enough to join him for dinner.”

Good thing Choi Han gave _____ an agenda before they die of restlessness.

“Please tell the young master I’ll join him.”

The swordmaster inspected the healer first before nodding. Looks like _____ passed Choi Han’s detector and is deemed well enough to have dinner in Cale’s room.

It was an invitation for dinner but the Medicus knows that its real purpose is so that Cale can have a serious chat with them.

_____ already knows their fault.

In Cale and everyone else’s eyes, they acted recklessly. It’s _____’s mistake that they didn’t inform Cale that could handle that much. Then in turn because of that miscommunication, some things were hindered and they lost manpower for a short while.

To put it another way, _____ hindered everyone’s work.

For that, they were sorry. They didn’t mean to be deadweight that had to be carried around.

_____ told themself that they’ll tell Cale they won’t repeat the same mistake when they have dinner.

…things didn’t go as planned.

When the healer tried to explain that they certainly could handle more than what they did in the Whipper Kingdom Cale only sighed. Then when they tried to say sorry Cale frowned.

That’s never a good sign.

But _____ can’t think of what else they did wrong.

It didn’t help that the children averaging 8 years old also have the same expression.

“You know that I’m trash right?”

“Huh? Uhm yes, I do.”

_____ knew the rumours that labelled Cale as trash, but they didn’t know why it mattered right now.

“Right and as you know someone trash is selfish.”

The healer has no idea where this is going. In the first place, Cale was far from selfish. He may be opportunistic and a little manipulative but everything he did was for the betterment of others.

“Because I’m selfish I don’t care whatever happens to other people. My priority will always be me and my people first.”

_____ still has no idea where this is going.

“That means you, you rascal.”

Cale poked _____’s forehead, straightening the lines of confusion that had formed.

“You’re one of my people. You have been since that day you agreed to leave the City of Life with me.

Meaning, you are my priority. Meaning, I will not tolerate such dangerous and self-sacrificial actions from you.”

On looked at Cale as if he had no right to talk but the redhead didn’t notice it.

“And so in the future, I hope you can promise to never do anything that will harm you again. I don’t need promises of you doing better, I just want to know that you won’t get hurt this severely from healing other people...”

Plop

Plop

Cale who had more to say stopped speaking.

How could he not when he saw _____’s tears?

The same _____ who had a neutral expression after almost dying.

The same _____ who just nodded and moved on after realizing their family had abandoned them.

The same _____ who still had a poker face despite shaking from their nightmares.

That same _____ is now crying.

And it looks like they didn’t even notice they were crying.

_____ only noticed their tears when they picked up the two kittens that had been pawing their arm. After they did, the two took it upon themself to paw away the tears streaming down their face.

It seemed to have the opposite effect though.

Not only did it not stop the healer’s tears it actually made them cry more.

_____ couldn't stop the tears from flowing no matter how hard they tried. After a few seconds of trying they gave up and asked Cale a question instead.

"Cale-sunbae are you never mad at me? You never yell or punish me even though I keep messing up and is essentially useless to your group of experts..." 

Cale feels as though he is gonna have a heart attack from all the surprises because of _____. 

Are they being serious? 

How could Cale get mad at them or think of them as useless when their abilities are so useful? 

Just the amount of money they've saved from using fewer potions because they have a great healer was already amazing. Then there's the ancient power that makes them a living detector. Because of that ability, everyone found it easier to navigate the plants and monsters inside the Forest of Darkness.

How could someone amazing be deemed useless?

This was certainly because of the trash that adopted them.

Cale is going to make sure he fucks them up sooner or later.

But for now, the young master is going to make sure _____ understands their worth.

“I don’t take in useless people. I only take in people that can pay for their meals.”

The redhead used his personal handkerchief to dry the healer's tears.

As he did _____ could feel that warm and fuzzy feeling they felt back at the Whipper Kingdom come back. However, they ignored it in favour of listening to Cale’s words.

“Remember, I personally asked you to join me, to join us. Have you ever seen me make the wrong judgement?”

Cale is definitely tooting his own horn.

But hey if it makes _____ understand.

And it looks like it did because _____ shook their head no. Then they stayed silent as they stared at Cale’s handkerchief. As if they were absorbing the weight of his words.

Cale deemed it enough for now. He knows that _____ will have a hard time reversing everything they’ve learned. It won't be easy, but Cale is willing to go at _____’s pace.

Later that night Choi Han knocked on Cale’s door to report something.

When the swordmaster entered the room the first thing he noticed was how none of the children were with Cale.

“They’re in _____’s room. They said something about making sure that _____ doesn’t cry again.”

Was Cale’s short answer when asked.

“_____-nim cried?”

Choi Han couldn’t believe it. Just what did his Cale-nim say to someone as expressionless as _____ that it made them cry…

“Check on them yourself if you don’t believe me.”

That’s exactly what Choi Han did after he finished his report.

Don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t because he didn’t trust Cale’s words. It’s more because he wanted to see if the healer was doing better now.

The black-haired man knocked on the door and Raon answered by opening it using mana.

It’s dark in the room but Choi Han has no problems seeing everything. As he scans the room he sees the children averaging 8 years old lying down on _____’s bed. The two kittens are already asleep just like the healer, leaving the black dragon to be the only one awake.

Choi Han smiled at the sight. The children didn’t look any different aside from the fact they were sleeping on _____’s bed instead of Cale’s. At the same time, it looks like _____ themself is sleeping peacefully.

The swordmaster checked everything one more time to make sure he didn’t miss anything before closing the door to let the four get their well-deserved rest.

[unsoundedcomic]

"Bastion knows the Twin Gods and Ssael the Godslayer come from stories"?! But Lady I herself was talking about "remembering the makers". And you had said that Ssael's book was written on a book made from a substance unknown to man. And the whole weird thing about twins always being of the same gender but never any triplets etc. Those are hints of the existence of an intelligent creator. And Lady I was talking to Ssael. Bastion doesn't *know* the stories are fake, he just assumes.

Oh, without a doubt the world was made. The evidence is clear that life was engineered and is being engineered towards some purpose. The khert is nakedly designed to favour humans and behave in a way they find intuitive and useful.

However there is no reason at all to imagine those makers were the Gefendur twin gods. They could have been humans from another world - or some species grown beyond humanity - operating with highly advanced technology, eager to replicate their kind in another land. They could have been some First Senet.

(Twin births themselves are no evidence because Kasslynians don't know that triplets or beyond are even possible in humans, nor that gender mixed twins can exist. Even if they discovered that they were, and Kasslynians had been engineered to only be able to produce single babies or same gendered twins, that's still no useful evidence that the Gefendur claims are true because...) Bastion says Gefendur dogma focuses on twins because twins existed in the world when that dogma was devised. That brute fact inspired the characters; not the other way around.

Perhaps the scriptures of Ssael were written on unknown materials. Bastion has no idea, he's never examined them. But is it more likely that some self-important undead Tain obsessed with pubic hair and shrimp overthrew cosmic tyrants, or that an opportunistic group of cultists mourning their murdered leader found some rare materials and wrote a bit of aspirational fanfiction on them, then passed them off as divine?

Of course Ssael existed! He was a figure in history! And Lady Ilganyag says he had a marvellous singing voice. But Bastion says if you think that means he walked the khert whole and cut Yerta's head off, then he has a coastal cottage in Ulestry to sell you. And you should stay out of Sharteshane, lol. They'll eat you alive!

...this is where Duane calls in the Lions of Mercy and Bastion has to flee to the tune of Yakety Sax.

[lafiametta]

Like the way the theme of myth and story wove itself through the previous episode, this week's episode features the idea of loyalty, what it means, and what it costs.

John Blackthorne's loyalty is split between the men of the Erasmus, long held in Edo, and Toranaga, the lord who has made him his vassal and bannerman. Both still bind him at the beginning of the episode — he accompanies Toranaga's limping army to Edo, despite his bitter proclamation at the end of the previous episode that they're "all dead" — but by the mid-point those ties have begun to fray. Toranaga keeps him at arm's length, not offering him residence inside the castle, and his men, so long sought-after, have spent the past months drinking and whoring, and despise him for his ambition in sailing them to Japan. (Here Blackthorne claims loyalty once more; "we had orders" to cross the ocean, he tells his crewmate, although with less conviction than he normally offers.) With both recipients of his loyalty indicating that they care little for it, his sense of duty turns inward, as he thinks about how he might best serve himself.

That attempt leads him to Yabushige, who at times during their audience seems tempted by Blackthorne's offer of alliance. But the presence of Omi and Mariko are sufficient to remind him that to agree would be a betrayal of his oath to Toranaga. Mariko is offended enough to censure Blackthorne. "You see, once loyalty begins, it does not have an end. Otherwise it would not be loyalty," she tells him. "But loyal turns senseless very quickly when the order is suicide," he replies, which she takes as a personal rebuke.

In a way, he's right. Mariko's loyalty is blind; she will follow Toranaga's will, even if it means her own death. Perhaps maintaining that loyalty is easier for her, given that she already wants to die. (That desire, of course, comes from a sense of loyalty to her own father, a self-sacrificial duty she has carried for nearly fourteen years.) But her uncompromising loyalty does not extend universally: she is dutiful to Buntaro as a husband, keeping away from Blackthorne's bed and remaining silent when he asks if she is "still under the Anjin's spell," but disdainful of him as a man, rejecting his plan for the two of them to die together. Once broken, some ties can never be remade.

Other examples of loyalty appear throughout the episode. Ishido asks for Lady Ochiba's hand in marriage, but she hesitates, knowing that loyalty to him as a husband would mean something far weightier than loyalty to him as a political ally. Out of lordly duty, Toranaga keeps his promises to Gin and Father Alvito, granting them both land in his city of Edo. (Although, with a dash of brilliant irony, the plots are adjoining, putting the brothel next door to the church.)

But undoubtedly the greatest act of loyalty — one that is neither blind nor opportunistic — belongs to Hiromatsu. The only one who Toranaga trusts with the outline of his plan, Hiromatsu must playact at protest in front of the assembled retainers, but the sacrifice he makes to convince them of Toranaga's determination to surrender is viscerally real. The words they volley back and forth speak of loyalty and duty ("Lord! Your vassal dies in vain!"), but it is the last thing Hiromatsu says to his friend — "Then this is farewell" — that is spoken without a hint of artifice. The retainers' initial frustration — how do you remain loyal to someone who has seemingly abandoned their responsibility to you and to themselves? — soon turns to horror in the face of what is being acted out in front of them, all part of Toranaga's larger plan. And Toranaga can only watch as Hiromatsu disembowels himself, even as he understands the necessity of the act. As he tells Mariko later, "Hiromatsu, my old friend, knew his duty well."

As for Toranaga, his true loyalties — like his secret, third heart — have not always been easy to discern. But by the end of this episode, it is clear that he remains loyal to the memories of his son and his friend. Their sacrifices, like their continued belief in him, will not have been in vain.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

Samael (Raphael x F!Tav)

Dad Raphael fic, a little bit fluffy and a little bit dark

Read on AO3

-

Tav’s body woke her. Her breasts ached, her biological clock wired and telling her that her baby would probably be getting hungry right now, even if he hadn’t yet made a sound. She expected to hear his cries shortly, but her son wasn’t in his cradle, and her husband wasn’t in their bed. The space where he’d been sleeping was still warm. For a moment, Tav simply lay there, soaking in the peace.

Her baby was not a tiefling, but a cambion, meaning he slept in odd fits, and his behaviour was often unpredictable and so unlike a regular infant his age. He’d been born with tiny fangs – something Tav’s nipples did not appreciate – tiny wings, tiny claws, and a tiny ropey tail. Bumps on his forehead indicated where his horns would eventually grow. Tav loved him desperately. He’d also almost killed her on his way into the world, but Tav would give her life a thousand times over for him.

Eventually she dragged herself out of bed, deciding to look for her boys. The House of Hope’s halls were quiet and empty, most of the wandering debtors being banished after the birth of the little prince. His father deemed their ilk unworthy to look upon his offspring; Tav was just glad the creepy bastards were finally gone. It made hearing baby babble and the low, dulcet tones of her husband much easier, and from there Tav simply followed the music.

Raphael was in the archives, their son on his hip. He was wearing his soft red velvet dress robe – Tav’s favourite – and his feet were bare. She noticed with amusement his big wings were held further out from his shoulders than usual. They fascinated their son, and he had a habit of pulling and chewing on them. It didn’t hurt, but Raphael was sick of being covered in baby slobber.

“So you see, Samael, when drafting a contract, one must always ensure the clause has enough wiggle room for the recipient to believe they can hold the upper hand against you,” said Raphael, matter-of-fact. “That way, when the curtain falls, they fail to notice just how tight your grip has become. It’s something of an art form, I believe.”

“Abababa!” Samael gurgled, waving his pudgy red fists at his father.

“Precisely,” Raphael nodded. It appeared they were having a serious discussion. Heart warmed, Tav just stood there and watched them. Samael got stronger every day. He could already spread and flex his wings, and his control over his tail muscles constantly improved. A few months old and he was able to delicately curl it around the arms and wrists of his parents – something he was attempting to do right then, but Raphael made a game out of evasion. He’d wait until the last moment before gently snatching Samael’s tail, commanding the boy to try again. Samael giggled every time; Tav wasn’t blind to the fondness softening her husband’s gold eyes at the sound.

He was every bit the scheming, opportunistic, terrible devil she’d met so long ago, but there was so much more to him than that. He’d spent countless nights reading novels, plays, and poetry to Samael while he was still in her womb; he’d rubbed her swollen feet whenever she asked and weathered her terrible mood swings with grace; he’d shed tears, silent and stoic, when his wailing and bloody newborn was placed in his arms for the first time. Looking at him now, Archdevil Supreme Raphael, holding and teasing their son, Tav wondered not for the first time if concepts such as good and evil were too broad to truly exist.

Samael turned his head and spotted her watching them. A fanged smile lit up his face and he wriggled with excitement, reaching for her. He cooed unintelligibly, noises far too sweet to come from hellspawn, surely. The jig was up, though of course, Tav had no illusions that her husband was unaware of her presence. She approached them. Raphael offered the boy with little resistance, and Tav sighed at the feeling of completeness when he was snuggled against her chest.

“Hello, Sammy,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his soft chestnut-coloured hair.

“What woke you?” Raphael asked, his voice rich and quiet. “I thought to let you rest.”

“My body,” Tav huffed, amused. “Telling me to feed my baby.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, alright, I know,” Tav said when Samael began fussily pawing at her breast. “Give me a moment.”

She let her loose sleeping shirt slip enough to free one breast. Samael immediately latched on and began suckling, his miniature claws finding purchase. Raphael’s expression was like simmering magma: dark and primal satisfaction, possessiveness, desire, hellish adoration. He always took in particular delight when she nursed Samael. Fed their little cambion. For him, Tav knew, it was the truest acceptance of his nature – the same undeniable nature of their son. She knew she had bonded herself to Raphael far beyond the promises between husband and wife, mother of his child; he would never let her, or Samael, leave him.

Sometimes, the depth of love and obsession she saw in Raphael’s eyes scared her. He would do unspeakable things to keep them safe. To keep them. Sometimes, when Samael would deliberately bite her nipple to sample her blood as well as milk, she wondered what kind of monster she had brought into the world. If he would grow into a fiend more than a man. Sometimes, she wondered when her old friends would finally act upon their threat to destroy her and her Archdevil lover. If Raphael would make their deaths swift or slow. But never did she wonder if she’d made the wrong choice. Raphael tugged her close, shutting his wings around them. He purred when she leaned into him. Samael’s tail encircled her arm. Tav was content.

[eyeodyssey]

The Post-Futurist Fossils of LITCHI HIKARI CLUB In a somewhat recent research tangent, while considering the possible “genealogy” of the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s themes and aesthetics, I made an interesting personal discovery regarding Litchi Hikari Club. Specifically some distinct thematic parallels that the play shares with the Italian futurist movement, less in relation to the art of the movement itself, but rather the ideologies of the movement’s controversial founder, Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, and his relation to the Italian fascist party. This is all of course in the context of understanding Litchi as a transgressive/dystopian horror story. This is less of an absolute statement than it is a sort of open train of thought, so take things with a fair grain of salt. This is more or less just my own personal analysis of all the materials I could gather of the original play. Beyond inspecting the play as a possible allegory for futurism, there's also just a lot of general analysis of the play in relation to Ameya's overall body of work, both with the Tokyo Grand Guignol and also as a performance artist. I rarely put a 'keep reading' tag on these things since I'm an openly shameless product of the early days of blogging, but this one's a doozy (both in the information but also just the gargantuan length). Hopefully others will find it just as interesting. The full essay is below...

The futurist movement itself was nothing short of an oddity. In their time, the futurists were pioneers of avant-garde modernist aesthetics, with their works ranging from deconstructive paintings to reality-bending sculptures and even early pathways to noise music with the creation of the non-conventional Intonarumori instruments of Luigi Russolo. Russolo’s own futurist-adjacent manifesto, The Art of Noises, would go on to influence such artists as John Cage, Pierre Henry, Einstürzende Neubauten and the openly left-wing industrial collective Test Department. When visiting the MOMA in New York City as a child, I was fascinated by Boccioni’s Unique Forms of Continuity in Space, a sculpture that appeared to be a spacetime malformation of the human figure encapsulated in a continual state of forward motion while in total stillness. Despite this, the futurists were also a social movement of warmongering misogynists, with their own founding manifesto by Marinetti describing the bloodshed and cruelty of war as being “… the only cure for the world”. Their manifesto would also feature quotes such as “We want to demolish museums and libraries, fight morality, feminism and all opportunist and utilitarian cowardice”. They would originally pin anarchism as being their ideological ground in the manifesto, but shortly thereafter Marinetti would pick up an interest in fascism along with the politics of Benito Mussolini, going on to be a coauthor for the Italian fascist manifesto alongside the futurist manifesto. In consideration of how throughout most of World War II, modernist and post-modern works were considered “degenerate” forms of art in contrast with traditionalism, a whole avant-garde movement founded from fascist ideals is paradoxical. But for a period of time, that parallel wasn’t only in existence, but backed by Mussolini himself with there being a brief effort by Marinetti to make futurism the official aesthetic of fascist Italy. One of the draws of futurism for Marinetti was an underlying sense of violence and extremity. According to Marinetti, his initial inspiration for the movement was the sensations he felt in the aftermath of a car accident where he drove into a ditch after nearly running over a band of tricyclists. He conceived his works to be acts of social disruption, intending to put people in states of unrest to cause riots and similar bouts of violence. “Art, in fact, can be nothing but violence, cruelty, and injustice”. He sought to destroy history to pave the way for a rapid acceleration to futuristic technological revelation.

“As shown in Edogawa Rampo’s Boy Detectives Club, young men like to hide from a world of girls and adulthood to form their own secret societies.” - June Vol. 27 In Litchi Hikari Club, a group of middle school-aged boys are faced with a crisis on the brink of puberty. At the twilight of their childhoods, they form a secret society known as the Hikari Club (or Light Club), a collective that’s devoted to the active preservation of their shared youth and virginity. The boys naively mimic an authoritarian organization and its hierarchy as they seek a means to preserve their boyhood, which they see as being idyllic in contrast to adulthood, a dreary state of existence that they call old and tired in the Usamaru Furuya manga version of the story. Similarly, in the Litchi Hikari Club-inspired short manga Moon Age 15: Damnation, the boys go on to liken their hideout with the paradisiacal garden of Eden. In said story, Zera would directly name the poem Paradise Lost in reference to the discovery of their hideout by adults (arriving in the form of ground surveyors) and the wide-eyed daughter of a land broker, with their contact to the virgin industrialized land being an ideological tainting of the sacred lair. In their mission, they seek refuge in technological inhumanity by having their penises replaced with mechanized iron penises, symbolic devices of power and violence that can only procreate with other items of technology. Working in absolute secrecy, they collectively manufacture a robot known as Lychee. The purpose of Lychee, previously only known to Zera, isn’t revealed to the other club members until its completion. It’s when they unveil their “cute” robot in a scene that parallels the 1920 German expressionist film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari that Zera tells the other members of Lychee’s purpose as a machine that would kidnap women for them. The robot's efforts are assisted by the girl capturing device, a strange rice cooker-shaped mask that’s laced with a sleeping drug. When questioned about the fuel source for the robot, Zera explains how it will run off the clean fuel of lychee fruits rather than an unsavory yet plentiful substance like electricity or gasoline as a means to further match the robot’s perceived beauty.

While the club share a general disdain for adulthood, they hold a special hatred to girls and women. Going off the dogmatic repulsion to sexuality that Kyusaku Shimada shows as the teacher in the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s prior play, Mercuro (1984), it could be assumed that the Hikari Club hold a similar dogmatic viewpoint about the vices of sex. In this context, it’s likely that they would’ve perceived women as being parasitic by nature as spreaders of the “old” and “tired” adult human condition through pubescent fixation and procreation. Sexual thoughts are inherent to aging for most people, given the process of discovering and exploring your identity throughout puberty. It’s that exact pubescent experience the club seek to eradicate. Further insight is given to the Hikari Club’s dystopian psyche through their open allusions to nazi ideology. While Zera travels out to gather lychees from a tree he planted, the club get a special visit from a depraved elderly showman known as the Marquis De Maruo, performed by none other than Suehiro Maruo himself in the 1985 Christmas performance. Despite the club’s disposition to adults, they hold an exception for the Marquis for his old-timey showmanship and open pandering to the children’s whims. He always comes with autopsy films to show the young boys, and as they watch the gory videos he hands out candies that he describes as being a personal favorite of the late Adolf Hitler. He was said to also be the one to convince the boys to name their robot after the lychee fruit. It isn’t until Zera returns that the Marquis is removed from the hideout on Zera’s orders. Just before his exiling, he foretells to Zera the prophecy of the black star as both a promise and a warning to the aspiring dictator. It should be noted that there is a fascist occult symbol known as the black sun.

Suehiro Maruo as the Marquis De Maruo. On the right side is a caricature of Maruo as drawn by a contributor to June magazine, excerpted from an editorial cartoon in June Vol. 27 covering Litchi's 1985 Christmas performance. In addition, the Marquis’ role alongside Jaibo’s appearances in the play (which I’ll get to later) show distinct parallels with the presence of the hobo in the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s first play, Mercuro. In Mercuro’s case, the hobo (performed by Norimizu Ameya, who would go on to also act as Jaibo) visits the classroom in secrecy to lecture the students his depraved ideologies. Whilst the hobo in Mercuro was a figure of perversion that existed in contrast to the teacher’s paranoid conservatism, in Litchi both Jaibo and the Marquis are enablers of the club’s fascistic leanings, with the Marquis being a promoter whereas Jaibo is a direct representation of the underlining perversions of fascist violence. Though completely omitted from the Furuya manga, the element of the autopsy films shines a unique light on Zera’s death at the end of the story. In both the play and the manga, Zera is gutted alive by Lychee when the robot undergoes a meltdown after being forced to drown Kanon (Marin in the original play) in a coffin lined with roses. In the manga, Zera appears deeply unsettled when realizing his intestines resemble the internals of an adult. It’s unknown if this aspect is present in the theater version, as the full script remains unreleased to this day. It would fit however knowing not just the club’s repulsion to adulthood, but also how they retreat to technological modification to eradicate the human aspects they associate with adulthood. What is described of Zera’s death in the theater version has its own disquieting qualities as, from what’s mentioned, when confronted with his own mortality he appears to regress to a state of childlike delirium, a demeanor that’s drastically different from his usual calm and orderly presentation. Upon seeing his intestines, one of the responses he is able to muster is “I’m in trouble”. He says this as he questions whether or not he can fit his organs back inside the cavity before eventually telling himself that he’s just tired, that he “need(s) to sleep for a while”.

While never directly stated, it’s heavily implied that the club’s ideologies and technological fetishism ultimately root back to Jaibo, an ambiguously European transfer student who secretly manipulates the club’s actions from behind the scenes. Referred to by Hiroyuki Tsunekawa (Zera’s actor) as the “true dark emperor” of the Hikari Club, he was said to haunt the stage from the sides, closely inspecting the Hikari Club’s activities while keeping a distance. The iron phallus was first introduced by Jaibo through a monologue where he reveals how he fixed one to his own person, carefully describing its inner mechanisms and functionality before demonstrating its inhuman reproductive qualities by using the phallus to have sex with a TV. A television that he affectionately refers to as Psychic TV Chan, in reference to the post-industrial band fronted by Genesis P’Orridge. In the same scene, he promises the other members that they would all eventually get their own iron penises just like his own. In a subsequent scene, he reveals the iron phallus’ use as a weapon when, arriving to the club’s base with a chained-up female schoolteacher who accidentally discovered the sanctuary, he uses the device to brutally kill the teacher through a mocking simulation of sexual intercourse. Just before raping her, he likens her to a landrace, bred for the sole purpose of reproducing and being processed into meat for consumption. He menacingly tells her that he will make her as “cut and dry” as her role in society before carrying out her execution. While there was some confusion on whether or not the iron phallus was a machine or solely a chastity device, it was found in bits of dialogue that the iron phallus at least shares the qualities of a pump with a described set of rubber hinges. The teacher’s death gruesomely reflects the death of Kei Fujiwara’s character in the later film Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989), with the iron phallus mangling her insides as blood splatters across the stage. While the club treats adult sexuality as a plague, they manage to find through the iron phallus a way to convert their own states of chastity into a form of violence, stripping all humanity away from the penis and rendering it to a weapon of absolute power through desolate mechanized cruelty.

JAIBO: “Length, 250 mm, with a weight of 2.4 kilograms. Arm diameter, 30mm. Cylindrical thrust, 170mm… With pins, plates and rods of die-cast alloy. And hinges of rubber… the rest is pure iron. It is the iron phallus.” - June Vol. 27 In the same interview, Tsunekawa would go on to recall how the members of the Hikari Club were effectively Jaibo’s guinea pigs. In both the play and the manga, an after-school night of the long knives ensues with the slow collapse of the Hikari Club as Jaibo influences the exiling of certain club members, with Zera left ignorant to the social engineering as a mere extension of Jaibo’s elaborate puppeteering. Left embittered by a chess match where he lost to Zera, Tamiya is easily tricked by Jaibo into burning the lychee field as a way to get vengeance. Upon being caught, Tamiya is castrated of his iron phallus, resulting in his exiling from the club as a traitor while also being mockingly likened to a woman in the process. In another scene, it’s recalled that Jaibo and Zera exchange a conversation about the Hikari Club’s loyalty to Zera as they observe the outside world through their periscopes. By all contemporary recollections, Jaibo was the club’s puppet master. He would’ve been the likely source of the club’s ideologies, the underlining hatred to women and fixation on technological violence, replacing mankind with a race of humanoid weapons. Zera would be a shell without his influence. The presence of futurism could arguably even be rounded down to Lychee’s presence in the story. Beyond his theoretic work, Marinetti was also a playwright. He would be most well known for his futurist drama La donna è mobile, a story riddled with similarly perverse renditions of sexual violence. The play notably featured the presence of humanoid automatons a full decade before the term “robot” would be coined by Czechoslovakian author Karel Čapek in the play R.U.R., with the French version of Marinetti’s script referring to the machines as “puppets” for their visual similarity to humans.

All of this plays out over a soundscape that’s dominated by unnatural electronic frequencies and synthesized percussion. The sound design was arguably one of the most important aspects of Ameya’s plays, with Ameya at one point describing the Tokyo Grand Guignol productions as being an ensemble of his favorite sounds. The setting further compliments the atmosphere, made to resemble the internal of a junkyard or factory warehouse where heaps of technical jump decorate the stage around the monochrome cabinet that would eventually birth Lychee. Some of the featured artists in the play’s first act include Test Department, The Residents, 23 Skidoo and Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft. The play’s opening, which depicts the capturing and subsequent torture of a student named Toba through a so-called “baptism of light”, is underscored by the S.P.K. song Culturcide, a grim primordial industrial dirge that paints the image of a dystopia where the genocide of ethnic cultures is likened to the infection of human cells by parasitic pathogens. Instead of being hung with a noose, Toba is suspended by a meathook, left as a decoration amidst the heaps of mechanized excrement. He would eventually be joined by the lifeless bodies of various women the Hikari Club abduct as they’re steadily gathered in a small box at the back of the stage. “Membrane torn apart, scavenging with the nomads. Requiem for the vestiges. Dissected, reproduced. The nucleus is infected with hybrid’s seed. Needles soak up, the weak must destroy. Cells cry out, cells scream out. Culturcide! Culturcide! Culturcide! Culturcide!” - Culturcide (from S.P.K.'s Dekompositiones EP)

“We are now entering an era which history will come to call ANOTHER DARK AGE. But, in kontrast to the original Dark Age, defined by a lack of information, we suffer from an excess of information, which has been reduced to the repetition of media-generated signs. Through this specialization, it is no longer possible for an individual to attain a total view of society. Edukation is struktured to the performance of a limited number of funktions rather than for kreativity.” “Kommunications systems are designed for the passive entertainment of the konsumer rather than the aktive stimulation of the user’s imagination. Through the spread of the western media, all kultures come to stimulate one another. By the end of the millennium, this biological infektion will have penetrated the heart of the most isolated traditions - a total CULTURCIDE.” “Yet in every era, a small number of visionaries rise above the general malaise. Those who will succeed, will resist the pressure to become kommercialized “images”, demanding identifikation and imitation. They will uphold their principles in the face of impossible odds. By remaining anonymous, they will be free to develop their imagination with maximum diversity. For this is the TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS, - the end of the proliferation of the ikons and the advent of a new symbolism.” - From the back cover of S.P.K.’s Dekompositiones EP (released under the moniker SepPuKu) Over the course of the play, the story undergoes a drastic tonal shift as the focus moves from the Hikari Club’s hierarchical order and internal conflicts to the relationship between Lychee and Marin. Marin (performed by synthpop musician Miharu Koshi) was the first girl the Hikari Club successfully kidnap through Lychee after implementing the phrase “I am a human” in Lychee’s coding so it can understand the concept of human beauty. This small implementation causes a full unraveling in Lychee’s personality as it quickly forms a close bond with Marin, convinced that it is also a human like Marin. The soundscape changes alongside the overarching atmosphere, going from cold industrial drones and percussive electronica to ambient tracks. Some of the major scenes play out over moving piano-focused pieces and music box tunes from Haruomi Hosono’s soundtrack for Night on the Galactic Railroad. Originally created a weapon like the iron phalluses and the girl capturing device, Lychee is eventually defined in how he transcends from being a weapon to a conscious being with feelings. In this context, the play can be read as a juxtaposition of human emotion against inhuman futurist brutality.

This split was likely the product of the radically different creative ideologies of Norimizu Ameya (the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s founder and lead director) and pseudonymous author K. Tagane (the playwright for the group from Mercuro to Litchi). Ameya had come into the group with radical intentions, holding Artaudesque aspirations to transgress the literary limits of modern theater to achieve something deeply subconscious. Meanwhile, Tagane was a romantic who was known for their poetic and lyrical screenplays. Ameya purportedly sought out Tagane’s screenplays specifically to find a literary base he would “destroy” in his direction, deconstructing the poeticisms in his own unique style. He describes it briefly in an interview regarding the stage directions of Mercuro, stating how he took elaborate descriptions of a lingering moon and ultimately deconstructed them to the moon solely being an illusion set by a screen projector, mapping out the exact dimensions of the projection to being a 3-meter photograph of the moon rather than a “fantastic moon”. It’s believed by some that the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s formation and ultimately short run were the product of a miraculous balance between Ameya and Tagane’s ideologies. It’s possible that Litchi could’ve been a last straw between the two artists. After Litchi, Tagane left the group, with Ameya having to write the troupe’s final screenplay on his own. LYCHEE: “Marin is always sleeping… all she does is sleep. She doesn’t eat anything. Why does Marin sleep all day?” MARIN: “When you’re asleep, all the sadness of the world passes over you.”

"The second half of Litchi was predominantly driven by the sounds of Ryuichi Sakamoto and Haruomi Hosono. During a scene that featured a piece from the Galactic Railroad soundtrack, Miharu Koshi sang to Kyusaku Shimada while dancing like a clockwork doll to the sounds of a twisting music box. The scene lasted for a while and was very romantic, the interactions between Lychee and Marin were all very sweet and cute. The second act of Litchi was all a product of Tagane’s making. By the time of the following play, Walpurgis, I was told by a staff member that Ameya had written the screenplay by himself because Tagane had left.” “… While the first half was filled with repeated mantras and the unfolding aesthetics of an aspiring militia, the second half was immersed in the world of shoujo manga. It did appear that through the intermission, much of the junk and rubble around the podium was sorted out.” “… The Tokyo Grand Guignol’s plays were always defined by a strong nocturnal atmosphere. But in Litchi’s second half, it wasn’t a dark night, but a brightly lit one under the moonlight and plentiful stars in the sky shining through an invisible skylight. Marin doesn’t forgive Lychee immediately for his actions, responding to him harshly in a way that would confuse him and make him sulk. It came across as a somewhat bitter reimagining of a French comedy like Louis Malle’s Zazie dans le Métro or Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amélie, it was different that way in how it wasn’t only Maruo’s inferno.” - From a Twitter thread by user Shoru Toji regarding the 1986 rerun of Litchi Hikari Club Some questionable qualities do exist in the relationship between Lychee and Marin. What should be a peaceful retreat from the dystopian corruption still has a sinister undertone in the disparities between Lychee’s cold masculine features in contrast with Marin’s childlike girly innocence. It doesn’t help that Zazie dans le Métro (one of the mentioned films in the recollection) was directed by Louis Malle, who while known for such films as My Dinner With Andre and Black Moon was also responsible for the infamously discomforting Pretty Baby. Then again, Litchi was the product of a confrontational transgressive subculture, so the sinister undertones could be intentional. Keep in mind the contents of Suehiro Maruo’s prolific adaption of Shōjo Tsubaki and how it unflinchingly depicts abuse and manipulation through the eyes of a confused child. It could be possible that Lychee himself was intended to be childlike in its mannerisms. Throughout the existing descriptions, Lychee was shown as speaking in fragmented sentences while struggling to understand basic concepts. Zera was mentioned to also use certain phrases like “cute” when referring to the robot when it was unveiled. And it’s through Marin that Lychee learns morality like a child. The robot’s masculinity could be passed off as the cast all being adults. Hiroyuki Tsunekawa for instance shows distinctly sculpted features from certain angles when performing Zera.

In his aspirations to become a human, Lychee eventually “dies” like a human. With the burning of Zera’s lychee tree, the robot is left with a finite limit on its remaining energy before it totally loses consciousness. After his rampage, Lychee attempts to reunite with Marin, but he runs out of fuel. Before what should be a moment of resolution, things are cut short as the stage goes black, eventually illuminated to show an unpowered Lychee cradling Marin’s corpse in his arms. Zera reemerges to observe the remnants of Lychee and Marin. He speaks of how Lychee will crumble into nothingness alongside Marin for foolishly giving into human emotion, further implying the club’s views on humanity. After this, recollections of the play’s final lines differentiate somewhat. It was said that in the original Christmas performance, Zera calls out to Jaibo, posing the corpses of Lychee and Marin as being his seasonal gifts to Jaibo. Whereas in most popular recollections, it’s described that after his monologue, Zera shouts “Wohlan! Beginnen!” (German for “Now! Begin!”) before prompting the decorations across the stage to collapse, revealing a set of stepladders from behind that the remaining previously deceased club members stand, all drenched in blood with spotlights illuminating their faces from below. ZERA: “And with that, our tale of a foolish romance between woman and machine reaches its conclusion. It ends before me as I stand here, watching. Lychee, the machine, will rust away into dust. And Marin, a young girl, will rot away leaving behind only her bones, which too will crumble…”

Multiple readings can be deciphered from this conclusion. The most established theory is in relation to the Hikari Club’s aspirations for eternal youth, with the members technically achieving their goal through the stagnation of death. They will remain eternal children since they died as children, unable to ever grow into adulthood. In the context of futurism and mechanized fascism however, it could be read as a bitter observation of a lasting dictatorship. With how the Hikari Club members had rendered themselves less human than their own robot, they survive death to continue their work, seeking to one day eradicate humanity in favor of a race of sentient childlike weapons. “To admire an old picture is to pour our sensibility into a funeral urn instead of casting it forward with violent spurts of creation and action. Do you want to waste the best part of your strength in a useless admiration of the past, from which you will emerge exhausted, diminished, trampled on?” “… For the dying, for invalids and for prisoners it may be all right. It is, perhaps, some sort of balm for their wounds, the admirable past, at a moment when the future is denied them. But we will have none of it, we, the young, strong and living Futurists! Let the good incendiaries with charred fingers come! Here they are! Heap up the fire to the shelves of the libraries! Divert the canals to flood the cellars of the museums! Let the glorious canvases swim ashore! Take the picks and hammers! Undermine the foundation of venerable towns! The oldest among us are not yet thirty years old: we have therefore at least ten years to accomplish our task. When we are forty let younger and stronger men than we throw us in the waste paper basket like useless manuscripts! They will come against us from afar, leaping on the light cadence of their first poems, clutching the air with their predatory fingers and sniffing at the gates of the academies the good scent of our decaying spirits, already promised to the catacombs of the libraries.” - from the 1909 Futurist Manifesto by Filippo Tommaso Marinetti

I forgot what exactly first caused the parallel to cross my mind. I do recall it being reignited when having a closer look over the poster and flyer for Litchi’s Christmas performance in December 1985. The flyer in particular is really a wonderful thing to look at. Predominantly featuring an art spread by Suehiro Maruo, a suited man with Kyusaku Shimada’s likeness is shown caressing a girl in front of a modernist cityscape with spotlights shining up to a night sky. Other suited men in goggles fly in the air with Da Vinci-reminiscent flying apparatuses between the beams of the metropolis’ spotlights. A student in full gakuran uniform flings himself into the scene from the far left side of the image with a dagger in hand, and a larger hand comes from the viewer’s perspective holding a partially peeled lychee fruit. While not based on any direct scene from the play, it perfectly instills the play’s atmosphere with an air of antiquated modernity, like the numerous illustrations of the early 1900s that show aspirational visions of what a futuristic cityscape might resemble. The bizarre neo-Victorian fashions of the future and its post-modernist formalities. The term futurism came to mind somewhat naively from this train of thought. It was a movement I recalled hearing about, but my memory of it was hazy. It wasn’t until I went in for a basic refresher that I felt the figurative lightbulb go off in my head. That was when the pieces started to come together, but then also strain apart from each other into tangents. Granted, many of these parallels could be read as coincidental. Many of them can even be passed off the play being a work of proto-cyberpunk, knowing how Tetsuo: The Iron Man would subsequently explore similar themes of cybernetics and human sexuality. It should still be noted however that in contrast with many of the Japanese cyberpunk films, Litchi was explicit in its connotations between technological inhumanity and fascism, with the machinery itself being the iconography of a dictatorship rather than a product of it. In addition, with Tetsuo the film has strong gay overtones, with the technology being an extension of the sexual tensions between the salaryman and the metal fetishist. For a period of time, efforts were made to make futurism the official aesthetic of fascist Italy, and modern fascism as we know it is in the same family tree of Italian philosophy as futurism. The Hikari Club are explicit in drawing from German aesthetics rather than Italian however, speaking in intermittent German and predominantly using German technology. The spotlight that they used when torturing Toba in the first act, for example, was a Hustadt Leuchten branded spotlight. And if that isn’t a German name I don’t know what is. It was also said that Jaibo’s outfit in the play was modeled after German school uniforms. Though then again, the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s works were a bit of a cultural slurry. Jaibo’s name for example is Spanish (derived from Luis Buñuel’s Los Olvidados), while the character is implied to be German.

Similar to the cited origins of futurism, Ameya stated in a 2019 tweet regarding the June 9th, 1985 abridged Mercuro performance on Tokumitsu Kazuo’s TV Forum that in the following August of that year, an airplane accident occurred that led to the conception of Litchi’s screenplay. The exact nature of the accident was never specified, but the affiliates he was communicating with all appeared to be familiar with it and expressed concern when it was brought up. This was however one of an assortment of influences that were cited behind Litchi’s production, with the two more established theories regarding the then-contemporary mystique around lychee fruit in Chinese cuisine along with the play being a loose adaption of Kazuo Umezu’s My Name is Shingo. For what it’s worth, the themes of Litchi, along with the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s other works, were closely tied with certain concepts that Ameya personally cultivated throughout his career. A frequent recurring topic Ameya would bring up in relation to his works was the nature of the human body in relation to foreign matter, need it be biological or unnatural. With Mercuro the students taught by Shimada are made into so-called Mercuroids by having their blood supplies replaced with mercurochrome, a substance that is referred to as the “antithesis of blood” by Shimada while in character. In an interview for the book About Artaud?, Ameya cites an interest in Osamu Tezuka’s manga in how certain stories of Tezuka’s paralleled Ameya’s observations of the body. He directly names Dororo and Black Jack, observing how both Hyakkimaru and Black Jack reconstructed their bodies from pieces of other people, going on to bluntly describe Pinoko as a “mass of organs covered in plastic skin”.

A section from June Vol. 27 highlighting some of the more established performers from Litchi's 1985 Christmas performance. The actors from left to right are Norimizu Ameya as Jaibo, Naomi Hagio as the female school teacher (best known in cult circles for her role as Kazuyo in the 1986 horror film Entrails of a Virgin), Suehiro Maruo out of costume and Miharu Koshi as Marin. During his temporary retirement from theater, Ameya would take up performance art, with some of his performances revolving around acts with his own blood. While my memories of these works are a bit hazy, I remember one action he performed that involved a blood transfusion, with the focus being on the experience of having another person’s blood coursing through your veins. While I didn't have much luck relocating this piece (probably from it not being covered in English), I did find on the Japan Foundation’s page for performing arts an interview where Ameya discusses being in a band with Shimada where Ameya had blood drawn from his body while he played drums. He would also describe an art exhibition where he displayed samples of the blood of a person infected with HIV. “After 1990 he left the field of theatre and began to engage himself with visual arts - still proceeding to work on his major topic - the human body - taking up themes like blood transfusion, artificial fertilization, infectious diseases, selective breeding, chemical food, and sex discrimination, creating works as a member of the collaboration unit Technocrat.” - Performing Arts Network Japan (The Japan Foundation) There are still an assortment of open questions I’m left with in regards to the contents of the original Litchi play. One of the most glaring ones is Niko’s eye. In consideration of Ameya’s interest in the body, the detail would fit perfectly with his ideologies. A club member who, to show his absolute loyalty to the Hikari Club, has his own eyeball procedurally gouged out to be made a part of the Lychee robot. Despite this perfect alignment, none of the contemporary recollections mention this element. While Niko does have an eyepatch in certain production photos, it never seems to come up as a plot point. He isn’t the only one to bear an eyepatch either, with Jacob also being shown with an eyepatch in flyers. More questions range from Jaibo’s motives in causing the dissolution of the Hikari Club to the true nature of Zera’s affiliation to Jaibo. While Tsunekawa has stood his ground in the relationship between Zera and Jaibo being totally sexless, in the cited volume of June the editor playfully refers to Jaibo as being Zera’s “best friend” in quotes.

A side-by-side comparison of the cast listings on the back of the flyers for the December 1985 performance of Litchi Hikari Club alongside its 1986 rerun. The 1985 run's lineup is at the top while the 1986 run is at the bottom. Much speculation is naturally involved when looking into the original Litchi Hikari Club since it is in essence a cultural phantom. There’s a reason I used the term genealogy in relation to my research of the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s works. It is an artistic enigma as while its presence lingers in subculture, the original works are now practically unattainable due to the inherent nature of theater. As Ameya himself would acknowledge in another interview, theater is an immediate medium that can only be perceived in its truest form for a very short span of time before eventually disintegrating. So with the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s plays, you are left to scour through the scattered remnants and contemporary recollections alongside the figurative creative descendants of the plays. You analyze the statements of both the original participants and the people they openly dismiss, as even those people were original audience members before reinterpreting the plays to their own unique visions. Despite the apparent differences, I still feel that Furuya’s manga gives a unique perspective to the story when viewed under dissection. That is if you want to see it in strict relation to the play. Outside that, I feel it firmly stands on its own merits. I like the manga no matter what Tsunekawa says, that’s what I’m trying to say. Ameya approved it anyway. It took me a full day to write all this out, and like the first time I went down this train of thought, I’m pooped. During that first excursion, after excitedly spiraling through these potential connections, I noticed in passing mention something about Marinetti’s cooking. You see, later in his life Marinetti aimed to apply futurism not just to art and theater, but cuisine also. As an Italian, Marinetti openly despised pasta, seeing it as being an edible slog that weighs down the spirits of the Italian people. Just further evidence that I would never get along with the man, no matter my liking of the Boccioni sculpture I saw at MOMA all those years ago. Well, outside of him being a fascist and all obviously. I like pasta. Either way, he was on a mission to conceive all-new all-Italian cuisines that would match the vision he had of a new fascist Italy. Nothing could prepare me though for when I saw an image of what would best be described as a towering cock and ball torture meat totem. It is exactly as it sounds, a big phallic tower of cooked meat with a set of gigantic dough-covered balls of chicken flesh on the front and back where you have to stick needles through the thing to hold it together. Words cannot express just how big it is. The thing was damn well near falling apart from how unnatural its shape was, and you’re expected to eat it while it has honey pouring from the tip of the tower. I genuinely winced watching its assembly, I instinctively crossed my legs somewhat when it was pierced by wooden sticks and then cut into sections to reveal the plant-stuffed interiors. As a person with no interest whatsoever in cooking shows, I was on the edge of my seat watching a PBS-funded webisode of someone preparing futurist dishes. Seek it out for yourself, it’s an excessively batshit culinary freakshow. That is more than enough talk about penises for the rest of the week. I’m going to spend the next few days looking at artistic yet selectively vaginal flowers to balance things out, equal opportunity symbology.

[merbear25]

Love your writing!!

Can I request Doflamingo for prompt 19 : "Rules are made to be broken." For a F!reader and NSFW is fine for me if you feel like it (I love NSFW but whatever you'll want will be fine!)

Thank you for sharing your work with us!

Hello, hello! Thank you for your kind words, lovely! I had a lot of fun writing this for you, so I hope you enjoy it 💜💜

A taste of what you've been missing

CW: NSFW!!!! MDNI!!! fem!reader, slightly rough sex, public sex, vaginal penetration, cream pie

Forming alliances had never been your style; they eventually crumbled from your "partners" getting too arrogant and making a sad attempt at stabbing you in the back. With that being said, the Strawhats earned your trust and you theirs. You'd been tagging along with them for a few months and over that time developed mutual respect. There were, however, significant differences that they'd yet to discover.

Despite your loyalty, your moral compass was in need of some fine tuning: drawn in by promises that were seldom kept being the most common to spin the needle. Was it the mystery of what they had in mind that seemed to do the trick? You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason.

Seeing hell freeze over in Punk Hazard together, it was a given that you'd work with them to free Dressrosa from the iron grip of the tyrannical King. However, even with discussing the groups and the overall plan, the overlap in ideas made the whole thing convoluded: the spats between Law and Luffy only continued, leaving threads of ideas unwoven.

Even if a plan had been agreed upon, you'd been with them long enough to realize that relying on such was all too wishful. With that in mind, getting separated from them was inevitable. No matter―you were well aware of the end game, so there was no use in worrying. There was a clear vision to accomplish, and you were eager to make it a reality.

Going off on your own was its own challenge―a true test to your agility, your keen eye, and power that you yielded. However, such excitement for what was to come gave you tunnel vision, which subjected you to negligence. Hurtling towards the palace, being under a watchful eye flew under the radar.

Upon finding a sure way to sneak in, you were abruptly cut off by a large figure plummeting inches infront of you. The crazed mass of pink feathers swayed as a guttural laugh seeped from under it. You backed away to distance yourself between whatever had just crashed landed infront of you. The staggering motions ignited a spark of fear in you, as you came face-to-face with the King of this ill-fated country himself―Doflamingo.

Refusing to die like a coward, you were well-equiped with a warrior spirit. Chuckling at your brave face, he made his observations known, "You don't quite fit in with the Strawhats, do you?"

Taken aback by this, you immediately denied it and add a spiteful, "And what would you know?"

"It's written all over your face," he took a step closer, "it's screamed through your movements." With him gaining ground on you, you made a meek attempt at keeping him away.

Your true desires being apparent in you eyes, you realized you had to justify why you were still hanging around the Strawhats. But, nothing came out. It was as if your soul was being torn between following the safe path and taking the one less known.

He sensed your heart swaying towards the former, and being the opportunist that he was, he wasn't going to allow you to slip through his fingers. Leaning in, he informed you, "Rules are made to be broken. Follow me and I'll show you a world beyond your wildest dreams."

The slick, venomous words coiled around your heart before sinking their fangs in, when it dawned on you―perhaps this was the thing to quench your thirst.

The needle on your, now abandoned, compass spun uncontrollably as you took him up on his offer. "Show me what I'm missing," you say in a hushed voice.

A devilish grin crept on his expression, as he took you by the hand and pulled you close to him, "Of course, my dear." With his fingers gathering the fabric at the bottom of your dress, they clenched into a fist, sending butterflies which could be felt fluttering throughout your person.

Slightly fearing the man who was branded a devil, you couldn't ignore the fire building within you: a dangerous move such as giving into his lust, wouldn't be for the faint-hearted. And you were feeling especially daring today.

The sultry flutter of your lashes was the only lead he needed. Yanking you further into cool opening of the underpass, he shoved your front against the stone wall, leaving a chilled touch to your cleavage.

You felt him pressing himself against you, his breath hot on your ear, "Then let me give you a taste."

Feeling his long tongue trail up the side of your face sent shivers down your spine. Your fingers made a desperate attempt at clinging to the stone as you felt his hands glide under your delicates and promptly tug them down.

Your body tensed as soon as you felt him tease the tip of his cock against your pursed lips. Not even bothering to wait till you relaxed, he pushed in, greedily claiming as much of you as he could. Unable to contain the pained moans, they echoed around you.

Smirking down at you, he was generous enough to allow your body to adjust to his girth, but as his hunger for you increased so did his speed. Quickening his pace, each assult to your g-spot further sent you into a downward spiral of insanity.

Having you unravel on him was one of the greatest pleasures that day had to offer. The delectable sounds of your wet folds slapping aginst his pelvis were too perfect of an opportunity to pass up spanking your ass. Those mewls and yelps seeping out of your lovely mouth were hitting all the right spots.

As your walls clenched around his length in preperation of your approaching climax, his appetite had been satiated enough to give into tempation in unison. With one final buck and growl, you were roughly forced against the unforgiving cold, branding you with a scratch against your chin.

Trembling from the lingering trauma biting at your lower half, the dribble of his lust trickled between your thighs. The flush on your face was prominent while you shakily fastened your panties back around your hips. The reality of what you'd just done was setting in and the dread of not being able to take it back was casting itself over you.

When you turned to look at the man you'd signed your soul over to, doubt as to whether or not this was the thrill you'd been searching for was becoming more and more gnawing.

[wondernus]

˗ˋˏ Briefly Orange ˎˊ˗ | PREVIEW

SUMMARY: Fragmentary source of healing and like an oasis away from the city, for his group of friends, Boo Seungkwan’s family farm is a regular vacation destination away from the city. Yet Seungkwan wishes for anything but a future filled with mountains of oranges, his dream of living in the city still ineffaceable in his head. When he receives a request from a friend he fell out of touch with asking if they could stay on his farm for the Summer, Seungkwan finally finds himself in an opportunistic place in which his dream can finally become a reality. Why? Because you’re cursed to have everything you love disappear.

Sweltering heat and an eventful Summer, magic touches lives in ways that we can never imagine. But in this transition between seasons, we find ourselves asking: When loss is as transient as the lives we live, what does it mean to love with every fiber of our being?

PAIRING: bsk x reader

FIC GENRE: angst, romance, slice of life, magical realism

FIC TAGS: food/drinks, time jump, summer fic, exes to lovers, friends to lovers, slow burn, cooking processes (including mentions of knives), character gets physically hurt

PREVIEW WC: 3.1k

FIC WC: 30k

MESSAGE FROM NU: this is merely a preview for the longest fic i've written so far. i've been working on this for months now so i'm so incredibly excited to share the preview with you all this product of so much love and care for seungkwan <3 there are 23 chapters in total, and here are some excerpts from the first few chapters. if you would like to be tagged in the final fic a few days from now, please let me know! - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist

It starts with the peel. Hold the orange in both hands and press your thumbs against the hollow bottom where there’s an open dip between the peel and the fleshy meat of the orange. Press into the peel with the tips of your fingernails, hard, penetrating the peel and creating a perfect opening to peel the fruit. Then, start peeling the bright and smooth outer shell away until you’re left with that orange and fleshy ball of juice. When you halve the fruit between your fingers, it sizzles and cracks crisply as you rip it apart — sometimes the juice escapes the membrane in a transparent drop of liquid, collecting on your finger, and rolling down your hand toward your arm. Sweet or sour, the rest comes after.

The large rolling suitcase leaves behind two long indents in the dry dirt path as it drags along the road. Each pull and tug towards a new temporary familiar coats the once black and glossy wheels in a matte tan color disrupted by speckled imprints of tiny gravel in every new layer of dirt rolled onto the wheels. Once in a while, the wheels break through a pair of footprints that belong to the person pulling the suitcase like the long lines used to omit phrases from a written sentence. Still, the traces along the dirt path are never straight, nor are they as continuous as one would like them to be. As an arborist would study the rings of a tree to determine periods of sickness and health, anybody could see how the lines left by the suitcase indicate periods of pause in transit, a person struggling along the road, and moments of pure and undisrupted conversation.

Under the warm morning sunlight, Boo Seungkwan has a new kind of warmth lingering by his side — someone so familiar yet so new, neither déjà vu nor jamais vu but nostalgia in person. He hasn’t seen you in years, yet he can’t find himself to say he expected the person to step out of the taxi to be someone drastically different. But you’ve changed since he last saw you, albeit it’s a more mature version of you who walks alongside him toward his family farm.

Seungkwan knows everything about you, for instance, as long as he asked you about family, close friends, past relationships, the summary of the last chapter you read: you would always answer, bluntly of course. In the past, he would often find himself wondering about whether or not you never made the effort to ask him any questions about himself because you were simply not interested or if you were afraid of your inevitable. He knows the amount of hair that collects on your drain every time you shampoo your hair. He knows you never order the same drink from a coffee shop twice. He knows the answer to every single question he has ever asked you to the point where he’s afraid that one day he would run out of questions to ask you. So when he received a message from you asking if you could work at his farm for the Summer in exchange for room and board, he knew both your lives are about to undergo a new form of change and momentum. Change or no change, he agreed to your request if and only if you would be willing to fulfill his additional term: you must help him get rid of his oranges.

What presents itself as the Summer getaway is a 3-acre piece of land that hosts a small orange grove behind the cream-colored family farmhouse and guest house-turned-seasonal café that Seungkwan is left in charge of for the Summer while his family vacations in the Maldives. Even sitting in the car with the windows down and turning onto the street in which the property sits wafts of honeyed and tangy citrus can energize those on a long journey away from the city. Beside the dirt road that leads towards the farmhouse are large patches of clover in place of grass and the beautiful array of flowers and bushes that are planted between dirt and clover. What is most magnificent, Seungkwan points out while walking up to the farmhouse where you would be staying for the rest of the Summer, is not the fact that his grandparents built this place from the ground up or the thousands of oranges they produce each year, but the fact that he drew the long end of the stick for you so you have the first floor study to yourself instead of having to share a room with the rest of his friends.

When his introductory gist is returned with silence, Seungkwan finds himself too embarrassed to see whether or not you’ve reacted in response. But if he took the time to look, he would’ve seen you looking around your surroundings in awe, wondering about how much of the landscape could change just by being thirty minutes away from the city.

“Let’s see,” Seungkwan mumbles while opens the front door and leads you to the interior of the house in an attempt to free himself from his embarrassment. “The study is the first door on the left down the left hallway. It’s a sofa bed, and I already set it up for you. Laundry room is one door down. I’m in my grandparents’ bedroom down the right hallway. There’s also a bathroom and a guest room on our side. Everybody else should be upstairs…if you think it’s awkward to have pictures of my family stare at you while you sleep, I won’t be offended if you turn them around.” He scratches his hair, still trying to figure out whether or not he conjured an air of awkwardness between the two of you.

He hovers behind you as you quietly make your way to your room, looking at you crane your head to look around the foreign farmhouse interior from the living room to the wooden beams that support the ceiling. It’s quiet between the two of you, as if you’ve both run out of topics to discuss after the brief moment the two of you trekked from taxi to house. He doesn’t know why he hesitates when you reach for the doorknob as if he were imagining you to be some interior design critic for a magazine. But his breath hitches for a second when you open the door and step into the modest office. Distracting himself from nothing, he looks at anything but you and settles for the tiny streaks of dirt your suitcase wheels brought indoors. And he wipes away the dirt with his foot, making a mental note to mop when he has time.

“Seungkwan?” Your voice calls for his attention not too long after you entered the office.

Seungkwan steps into the open doorframe, careful to not cross the threshold of the room in order to give you some privacy. He notices you’re sitting on the edge of the sofa bed, your suitcase temporarily tucked against the wall and underneath the light switch. There are pictures of his family on the shelves, most of them with him in large puffer jackets holding large oranges in his tiny hands. What is more is that he notices your hand which clutched the blanket in which you are sitting on loosen with his presence and leave a mountainous crease in its absence.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

The response sounds like a squeak which Seungkwan finds both amusing and reassuring. The fact is there is an air of awkwardness present, not from his creation but from the years the two of you spent apart, that causes you to squeak. Gratitude phrased simply, yet your simplicity is more than enough to let him know you’re feeling the same way he feels.

Truthfully, Seungkwan is still trying to fathom and process the fact that you are here with him. It hits him in this moment that maybe the you who sits in comfortable silence while staring out the window isn’t exactly the same you he once knew like the back of his hand. Finally taking time to look at his friend closely, Seungkwan still recognizes you in the same way that we recognize ourselves as ourselves even when all of our cells have exchanged themselves for new cells. He recognizes the way your hands clutch into balls with your thumbs placed between your pointer and middle finger when you fidget. He recognizes the backpack you brought as the same one you used in college. But he fails to recognize and understand why or how you have become the person to reach out to him for any reason. Why is it that he was chosen to be one of your protagonists in your journey in finding the meaning to your life? How is it that a nobody who dreams of a life unattached to the farm could possibly offer something of such value to someone who constantly lives life in fear of loss?

Truth is, there is always something about being next to you that always makes Boo Seungkwan want to cry. Pity doesn’t even begin to describe the feeling that wells and burns in his chest. Is it rage? Sadness? Regret? Empathetic and sympathetic as he is, he is prone to wearing his emotions before he can even realize what he is feeling. Being next to you causes his chest to concave and collapse in on itself, but he knows better than to feel bad for you. Or maybe he thinks it’s so fucked that you’re in a position in which you’re so desensitized to loss that you can’t even recognize in any moment that you lost what you loved. Always by your side, or at least until a few years ago, Seungkwan was there to reintroduce you to the things and concepts you’ve once loved because he cared and notices. Now, a savior isn’t who he’s trying to be nor was that role ever his intention. Maybe a constant without caution is what he strives to be in your life even if his own selfishness causes him to believe that in case you ever allow yourself to fall in love with him he would be able to disappear and thus never take on the responsibilities of a third-generation farm owner.

Yet a curse regarding loss upon a regular human being in love shouldn’t be the wake-up call that shows the world that loss is a daily occurrence. Loss is as banal and unremarkable as its spelling. And Seungkwan knows this. He’s lost torn snack foil wrapper corners from his pockets. He’s lost time during transit. He’s lost those who he once loved dearly. So why is someone else’s loss so much more important to him when he knows that love is involved?

And why is it that he chooses to show everybody unconditional love and care even when he knows transactional relationships would statistically yield more return?

Seungkwan isn’t a bad person. There isn’t a single bad bone in his body. He’s known you long enough to not tiptoe around you because, despite your curse, you’re just a regular person. And you would prefer it if other people treated you as a regular person. But why is it that he feels the way he feels whenever he’s alone with you?

Orange peel sliced away to form a hexagonal-shaped fruit, lean the fruit on its long side against the cutting board to slice thin hexagons. If what you hold in your hand is too dull, then you risk losing more than what there is to the recipe. Dullness slices the fruit just as sharpness does, but you risk bruising the delicate meat and creating soft pockets of mush while the juice escapes and drips onto the cutting board. There are times when it’s better to do things quickly and all at once or you will risk losing the beauty in your creation. Simple orange slices in a refreshing salad, sometimes it’s better to not try too hard. You did your best. And that’s enough for me.

Dropping the ATV off near the entrance to the orchard, Seungkwan jingles and twirls the keys in his left hand while directing to his seasonal workers where the crates should be stored for the night shipment to local grocers. Without noticing how hard he twirls the keys around his pointer finger, the small chain of keys flies off his finger and onto the ground a few feet ahead of him. It lands on a soft patch of dirt, light colored dust covering surfaces that gleamed with a metallic sheen just a few seconds ago. Someone picks up the pair of keys before Seungkwan has the change to chance to react and lightly tosses the keys back to its owner.

Yoon Jeonghan, with his jet-black hair he spent months growing out that finally touches his shoulders, takes long strides towards his friend while reaching into his pant pocket for his phone, a long stream of complaints already trailing out of his mouth.

“I looked everywhere for you,” Jeonghan complains to Seungkwan while Seungkwan finds himself rolling his eyes. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone? We’ve been calling and texting you, but you wouldn’t reply.”

“I left it somewhere. Can’t remember where I put it,” Seungkwan sighs while wiping the dust off  his keys with the hem of his shirt. “When did you arrive?”

“Like half an hour ago.” Jeonghan adjusts his light blue baseball cap to better shield his eyes from the Sun. He clicks open his lock-screen to double-check the text he received from his driver. “Seokmin’s napping in our room. He’ll come out later.”

“Oh no, was the drive bad? When did you guys leave?”

“Nah, the drive wasn’t bad. He’s just hungover,” he replies nonchalantly while shoving his phone back into his pocket. The dark-haired man quickly looks around the familiar farm and rocks on the heels of his feet. “Busy, huh?” He observes.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees. There is a glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes when he cocks his head toward the ATV he parked not so long ago. “But the new investments help.”

“Bro I can’t imagine how cool your grandparents must look while riding the ATVs.”

“5 miles an hour.” Seungkwan gestures the number five with his hand and drops it after. “Speed demons.”

It’s clear to Seungkwan that Jeonghan, who had spent a remarkable amount of time on this farm over the past few years, isn’t looking around to people-watch or check out the new additions to the farm. He’s been around long enough that Seungkwan’s grandparents consider him as one of their grandsons. No, Seungkwan knows that while Jeonghan is trying to play it off as if he’s simply checking out and reminisce in his surroundings, what he is looking for is not an it, rather, a who.

When Yoon Jeonghan, who is usually not the type of person to be silent or stay still for long periods of time, freezes in his spot like a deer in the headlights, Seungkwan knows better than to follow his friend’s line of vision to see who exactly it was who caught his eye. Instead, Seungkwan looks toward the blue canopy near the entrance and notices that two people are missing from their posts.

Out of nowhere, Seungkwan feels someone from behind him throw their entire weight onto his shoulders. The force of the sudden weight on top of Seungkwan knocks Seungkwan’s sunhat from his head forward and onto the ground and causes him to lose his balance, but he grabs onto the unwavering Jeonghan’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Seungkwan,” Yunling sings in a sing-song voice. Her bleached blonde hair falls and covers half of Seungkwan’s face as she reaches her arm over his shoulder to wave a familiar object in front of him. “You forgot your phone.”

“Get off me. It’s hot,” Seungkwan groans while bending his knees so she can safely hop off his back. She hands him his phone to which he thanks her for. In the meantime, another person picks the sunhat from the floor and tucks a thick booklet underneath their aim pit to brush the dust off the hat before handing it back to its owner. And Seungkwan finds himself, yet again, thanking another person for handing him an item he dropped.

Seungkwan sees you bring the accounting booklet to the front of your chest while Yunling leans her elbow on your shoulder. It looks like you’re about to say something to him, but someone interrupts your question.

“Yn.” Jeonghan manages to push through his state of shock, yet your name rolls off the tip of his tongue as if he spent his entire life dedicated to saying the name.

It feels familiar because it was.

Gladly handing his daughter over to his friend, Choi Seungcheol mumbles a quiet note of gratitude before he sits up straight and rolls his shoulder backwards to stretch his back. He leans forward in his seat and comfortably rests his elbows on his knees before grabbing the untouched fork next to his salmon salad. And Seungkwan watches him dig his fork into the roasted salmon and take a hearty bite to enjoy the marinated citrus flavor of the salmon by itself before raking the metal prongs through the meat to shred it to pieces just as Seungkwan’s grandparents had taught Seungcheol to do so before they went on vacation.  

June is when Seungkwan’s friends all arrived at the farm for a Summer away from the city; January is when Seungcheol arrived at the farm, two people’s lives packed up in a couple of suitcases and cardboard boxes for time away from the city to heal and escape. The café, originally a guesthouse, returned to serve its original purpose by housing Seungcheol and his daughter for a little over half a year, and Seungkwan knows very well that he doesn’t have the heart to tell his friend that he should’ve moved out months ago. So he sits in the once sought-after spot in the café with a sleeping baby in his arms, watching the newly single father scarf down his salad like it’s his last meal. Looking at the infant, her dark-colored eyebrows and the pout that resembles her father’s all too well, stress stores itself in the pit of his stomach, finding company with the sympathetic grief he shared with the heartbroken Seungcheol who once couldn’t so much bring himself to pick up the pen to sign his divorce papers.

Falling in love is easy, but falling out of love and learning how to become whole again is a process that can shatter one’s soul and make one doubt whether or not love in any shape and form is an achievable future feat. A lifetime is not long enough to contain and overcome love’s defeat for some. And for those devastated by love, the process of falling in love would never be the same as it once was. 

Copyright © 2023 Wondernus. All rights reserved.

[kxizoku-ou]

Have you had any thoughts on hybrid versions of the one piece characters? I love seeing what animals people associate with the characters 😅. Also ears and tails are cute

Hybrid Au, my beloved!!! owo I tend to go heavier with the animal research/xeno than just "ears and tails", but yes, I absolutely have thoughts— here's a handful of my favorites/who comes to mind!

. . .

Kaidou — Auroch bull: The now-extinct relative of modern cattle, closely related to Spanish fighting bulls. Bull feels fitting for Kaidou, I think— they're huge, potentially dangerous animals that get screwed over in blood sports or as slaughterhouse bait, and near-universally seen as aggressive because of instincts that are based in self-preservation or protecting a herd. And of course, ending up as a bull hybrid is just what happens to my favs, by now... (@senjuushi)

Judge — Tawny eagle: His "Garuda" theme implies a bird of prey from the start, so it's an easy pick! Described as "opportunistic", with a habit of feeding on carrion (and stealing other animals' prey), yet still "a bold and active predator", tawny eagles fit well with Judge's vibe of regal, pompous, and trying way too hard. They also tend to mate for life... and male birds are known for flashy courtship habits. Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji would be the same species for this Au.

Sanji — Mourning dove: Keeping with the bird theme of his family, but a far less bloodthirsty species. Mourning doves are fluffy, vocal birds that are known for being "prolific breeders". They can be territorial between males, but are also social pair-bonders. Sora would have been a dove too, and Sanji sharing her species is just one more sign that the modifications failed. There's also something very fitting about a "caged bird" theme for his experiences with Germa.

Spandam — Giant panda: Useless animal that would be extinct by now without human intervention. Clumsy, pathetic, and admittedly pretty cute, but not good for much other than existing under careful supervision in a zoo. Of course, Spandam's terrible personality ruins most of the cuteness effect his hybrid species might have— ultimately, he's a needy, spoiled idiot who's eternally dependent on the care of others. And personally, I think he should have a cute, sensitive little stubby tail, perfect to yank on when he's being a brat.

Katakuri — Grizzly bear: Linlin is a grizzly hybrid as well, and the shared species adds to Katakuri's reputation as her "perfect" son. He's huge, powerful, and highly threatening... but would be just as content to gorge himself on snacks and all but hibernate afterward. If it wasn't for his self-imposed standard of perfection, that is. His fucked-up mouth seems even worse on a large predator species, too, which definitely adds to his complex/self-consciousness over it.

Perospero — Red fox: I saw a fanart of him as a fox hybrid on Pixiv, and it convinced me. A smug, sneaky bastard who takes after his mother's carnivore tendencies, but with far less of an intimidation factor to back it up. Annoyingly talkative and far more socially oriented than he wants to admit, as well as capable of being an absolute nuisance when he wants to— all of that sounds very fitting for Peros, I think. And fox whining noises fit his crybaby side.

Cracker — Bushy-tailed woodrat: Prey animals that are described as "vocal and boisterous", and nuisances for "creating general noisy havoc"— seems appropriate for Cracker, an overconfident brat who's far less tough than he acts. Packrats (the overall category) are nest-builders, too, which fits with how he spends so much time hiding in his biscuit soldiers to avoid direct combat. Woodrats also apparently have a foot-thumping tendency; a good match for his clapping!

Pudding — British longhair cat: Babygirl-looking murder machine seems highly appropriate. British longhairs have the sweetest little faces and soft coats, but cats are nature's finest serial killers at their core. Pudding would be perfect as a needy, jealousy-prone kitty who's way too good at playing up the cutesy kitten act to get on people's good sides— right up until a tsundere moment kicks in. Then, she's all puffed-up, twitching tail and poorly stifled purring.

Caesar — Axolotl: Like his pet poison slime thing! Axolotls are apparently "used extensively in scientific research due to their ability to regenerate limbs, gills, and parts of their eyes and brains", which feels fitting for Caesar, as does the fact that they're tricky to take care of as pets (and keep getting put in cages by people who don't treat them well, at that). Also, those feathery external gills are cute!!

Queen — American alligator: Lethal fat fuck of a reptile, exactly how Queen should be! Alligators can be lazy and kind of goofy-looking, but they're still dangerous and very strong. The huge, thick tail is also an obvious plus (the "Brachio-Snakeus" trick haunts me). And really, can't you see him sprawled out all lazy, for gator-style sunbathing?

Drake — Rottweiler/Border Collie mix: A strong, intelligent, capable, and work-oriented animal, that would (as a dog-experienced friend put it), "tear a house down to the foundation" if left without enough to occupy it. Drake gives me "beaten dog" vibes, in general, and it feels fitting that his hybrid species could easily have been sweet, if not for the trauma and DEEP psychological issues.

Law — Shorthaired silver tabby: Law is so very catboy-coded. He's a grumpy, fussy kitty who will both claw your arm open if you try to touch him, and could just as easily be reduced to a purring puddle if his guard gets torn down enough to allow it. Cats are highly effective agents of violence (and can be total bastards, when they want to), but also absolute babies. And imagine tiny, angry catboy Law getting scruffed by Rocinante to prevent the aforementioned clawing.