#shall i languish for want of them???

[theinfinitedivides]

ok hold on holy f*ck we are getting a Beethoven musical and it is having its world premiere in Korea January of next year everyone stay calm—

[critterbitter]

I'm wheezing over Ingo and Litwick's dynamic jgjbjjxjsjwkfiisiq and TYNAMO FITTING INTO EMMET'S SCARF IS SOOO CUTE!! Love how you draw the little sbubby bois, their conductor themed outfits are soo freaking cute!!!

I have so many thoughts when it comes to them it’s insane. Glad you like the characterizations!

Here’s a quick one shot under the cut, as a treat for making it this far.

Emmet finds Tynamo three months before Ingo meets Litwick. Ingo has some thoughts.

Ingo and Emmet are part of a pair.

If Emmet is the fuck around and find out, then Ingo’s been relegated amused damage control. This has always been the case, right up until Emmet found tynamo. Then suddenly, it’s “wow emmet, you’re so responsible!” “Golly gee Emmet, what do you mean you don’t want to go exploring the cave systems after dark?” “Gee whizz, what do you mean curfew for your eel puppy?” “Why in Reshiram do you get to have a whole pokemon three months before we agreed to get starters, and i don’t?”

Ingo doesn’t say the last part. He’s a bitter world-weary twelve year old languishing about the unfairness of the pokestray distribution system, but he also loves his brother. Emmet found an injured tynamo in chargestone cave and decided to help— tynamo decided to stay. It’s every child’s film plot. Ingo being a grouchy gengar makes him objectively a terrible friend.

Oh dragons, is Ingo a bad brother?

“Ingo!”

Speak of the cold, and he shall enter. Ingo swings his whole body around to better brace for the flying tackle.

“Emmet!”

“I am emmet! You are sulking.”

Ingo clicks his mouth closed and tries not to sulk harder. He fails.

“You are not being verrrry convincing, brother dearest.”

“I do not have any idea what you are going on about,” Ingo’s traitorous mouth blurts. “Be convinced I love you and am not planning dastardly plots.”

Do not think about getting a ground typed starter. Do not think about getting a ground typed starter.

Emmet shoots him a judgemental look from under the brim of his hat. Ingo glowers back, and slowly starts leaning forward, smooshing Emmet under his weight.

“Ttttell me why you look like a crushed joltik.”

“Keep this up and you are going to be the crushed joltik.”

Anyways, Emmet is becoming more bold by the day and even actively discussing electric types with the new girl in elementary prep, Elesa. Ingo thinks she’s cool, but she flinched when he blurted a once again too loud greeting so he’s… letting that cool off. They definitely don’t have anything to talk about beyond pokemon, and Emmet and her already have pokemon. Ingo feels a bit left out.

Caught in the ennui of not having a blitzle or tynamo, Ingo slips as Emmet rolls out from under him. The two go down in an ungraceful tangle of limbs.

“Tell. Me. What’s. Wrong.” Emmet gently slaps Ingo’s face like a ripe oran berry. “You want to tell me sooo badly. Ooh.”

“Emmet- aurgh. Gerroff’”

“I don’t speak denial.”

Ingo gives up. His entire body deflates. Emmet, not expecting the sudden loss of spinal infrastructure, slides sideways and knees Ingo’s lungs.

Ingo wheezes. “I’m sulking because you were crushing my spine.”

“Tell me the truth.”

Uh oh. Ingo studies Emmet’s face. It’s the same one he looks into the mirror with, but marred with concern and self consciousness. Ingo made Emmet worry. He’s not just a bad twin. He’s the worst.

“You are Emmet.”

“I am Emmet.”

“You have Tynamo.”

“Tynamo’s charging at home.”

Smart ass! Emmet knows what Ingo means. And by Emmet’s smug grin, Emmet knows too.

Ingo struggles to explain that Emmet has Tynamo, and Elesa, and… that’s only two other individuals. He is truly the worst twin in all the land. Emmet gets two new friends and Ingo’s being an infant about it.

One day, Ingo will have his own pokemon partner and team— but right now, Ingo only gets to have Emmet.

Ingo feels this is an unfair trade equivalent, but he does not want to say it in a way that sounds rude, so he stalls.

Emmet has no such prefunctures. He squints at Ingo, who avoids eye contact and squirms. “You are… jealous?” He tilts his head in visible confusion. “What?”

Ingo covers his face with his hands, defeated.

“You arrrre jealous!” Emmet cries, bewildered. “Why??”

Ingo lets out an unintelligible wheeze. Emmet remembers he still has a knee on Ingo’s chest, and hastily sits back.

“I don’t want to be jealous,” Ingo finally bursts. “I am very happy for you Emmet! You and Tynamo are a winning combination!” His voice cracks embarrassingly. Emmet doesn’t flinch at the volume, even muffled under Ingo’s palms. “I don’t want to be a bad brother being jealous.”

“You aren’t a bad brother, Ingo.”

“I am. I am angry that you found your starter and I haven’t. I’m sad I interrupted your schedule with my inane demands. I have made you feel like you did something wrong. I apologize.”

Peeking between Ingo’s fingers, Emmet’s face falls. Ingo wants to be struck by a giga impact rather than face this. He would rather be a dusty imprint. Where is Uncle Drayden’s Haxorous when you need her?

“Ingo, Ingo listen to me.” Emmet’s hands dart forward to settle Ingo’s shoulders. The pressure is grounding. Real. This is where Emmet tells Ingo he’s being stupid.

He hears Emmet exhale.

“I’m sorry.”

Wait, that doesn’t sound right. “Pardon?”

“I wanted to train Tynamo as my conductor, and I left our two-car train unmaintained.”

“Pardon??”

Emmet looks uncomfortable and sad. It makes Ingo uncomfortable and sad. “Yesterday night. When you wanted to go to the caves. For our weekly charting. I said I’d rather help Tynamo.”

Oh. Yeah, Ingo remembers that. It had stung. “You are not obligated to say yes,” he protests. “In fact, you should say no more. You always say yes.”

“Yes.”

“What did I just say.”

“No. You’re my brother. I left you out.”

Ingo slowly puts down his hands. His face still feels warm, but he feels less scared. Now he just feels embarrassed. He can’t help but let out a meek plea slip. “Don’t go where I can’t follow, Emmet. Please.”

“I would never! We are going on our pokemon journey together, yep yep. You, me, tynamo, and whoever your starter will be!”

The two sit there on the side of the dirt road. Emmet’s declaration sounds like a dangerous promise. Ingo realizes at that moment he would do anything for his brother, who’s his best friend and confidant and world, starter or no starter. He opens his mouth to tell Emmet that.

“Wwwwwait. You are trying to go back to the caves. Ingo! Are you trying to find a starter by yourself!?”

Never mind. Emmet’s gone for his soft underbelly, and Ingo’s in pain. “Emphasis on trying,” he mutters instead. The joltik are not interested in him. The local tynamo swarm fled. A curious drilbur had sniffed him once, turned up its nose, and then trundled into the wall.

“…ah.”

Nothing had felt right for Ingo— too scared, too judgemental, or too uninterested. He’s starting to accept that maybe none of the pokemon in this town area match his truth or ideals.

Emmet was quiet for a long time. He had his thinking face on, so Ingo did not interrupt. He took the time instead to look up at the sky, watching the giant puff of clouds drift by. A plume of swabloo lazily inches their way across the horizon.

A shadow falls over Ingo. Emmet dusts himself off, and helps drag his twin to his feet. The two sway, clasping hands.

“We’ll ask Uncle Drayden,” Emmet decides, and Ingo is enthralled by the sheer truth of that statement. “He’ll let us use the subway! And you can look elsewhere, for a starter who is ideal for you. Wwwwith me and Tynamo, instead of by yourself.”

“Truly?” Uncle Drayden is a scary man.

Emmet nods. It’s easy to talk to Emmet— he just says words that Ingo would spend hours ruminating on. “I am verrrry persuasive.”

“You mean staring at him from the corner until he cracks?”

“Brother, you know me so well!”

Ingo cant help but laugh. He still feels guilty and bad for feeling envious, but a world with emmet by his side is significantly less hostile. Emmet’s hand is warm in his.“Thank you!” He cheers, startling himself with his volume. “Bravo,” he tried in a quieter tone.

“Bravo!!” Emmet replies, pointedly louder. Ingo squawks as Emmet pulls him off balance. “You are my brother! We’re going to find you a starter!”

Ingo tugs back just as fiercely. “Bravo!! We are going to harass Uncle Drayden into letting us board the train!”

Emmet leans with his whole body, dragging Ingo into the fulcrum of his centrifuge. “BRAVO! YOU ARE GOING TO HELP ME WITH TYNAMO’S TRAINING!”

Ingo digs his heels in, and then stumbles. “BRAVO, I, what?”

Emmet looked distinctly patrat-esque. “We’re in this together, Ingo. No backing out now.”

Ingo thought about it long and hard. He gets to see his brother get electrocuted. But he will, also, most likely, get electrocuted.

(Tynamo is Emmet’s starter. But maybe, it can also be Ingo’s friend.)

But brother say brother do, and Ingo’s probably obligated to run damage control if Emmet decides to, say, shove a fork into an outlet for Tynamo to snack on.

(Emmet fucks around. Ingo finds out. Even two steps apart with new people between, this is the way of their world.)

“Alright,” he crumbles. When they step this time, they step in sync. “We do this. Together.” (Enjoy this? Here's the link to the rest of my rat crimes.)

[pseudowho]

Daddy

Dating apps are a hazard for men like Higuruma Hiromi...

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Higuruma Hiromi has a dating app on his phone.

It's not that he wanted it-- he really didnt. Two silly-drunk colleagues on a night out pushed him incessantly. The cool night air on the balcony made Hiromi shiver and seek out red wine for its warmth; it stripped Hiromi clean...or, it would have done, if not for his Junior Associates and their dirty talk.

"What do you mean you don't have a girlfriend, Higuruma?" The girl chirped, looking so appallingly young to Hiromi, with her mascara and lipstick all drunk-smudged.

"It's because he's working all the time, look at him, probably hasn't had a good fuck in years--" The boy bullied, really barely a man, sharing a cackle with his tipsy, sloppy friend.

"Alright, alright, that's enough!" Hiromi groaned, both hands sliding down his face as he leant back in his chair, "I'm after more than just 'a good fuck' as you so eloquently put it--" his colleagues laughed a dirty laugh, "--and I can get by without one, just because you two saplings have to wank furiously twice a day or you'd spontaneously combust--"

Hiromi was being ignored now, his two juniors chattering between themselves, deciding on a plan.

"Give us your phone, Higuruma," the girl wheedled, two hands clasped to Hiromi's forearm, "just for a minute."

Hiromi groaned again, running a hand through his hair, just wanting some peace and quiet; "sod off, I'm not giving you my phone--" and instantly the two voices were on him, rabbling, cajoling, bullying, until Hiromi waved his splayed long fingers at them.

Hiromi unlocked his phone, flipping it carelessly into the lap of the girl who clapped and squealed in excitement. Instantly, the two young drunks put their heads together, working on their dubious little project.

"Okay, all done, Mr.Higurumaaaa!" The girl sang, presenting his phone to him with a flourish, looking proud of herself. The boy sat, smug, looking at Hiromi like he'd done him a favour. Hiromi felt nervous already.

"What did you--" Hiromi looked down, and groaned for a third time to see a dating profile in his name. But, even he couldn't deny that the candid photo of him in the city skyline bar, loose-tied with a hand running through his black hair, wine-drunk and sultry, was good.

"I certainly won't be using that, thank you," Hiromi berated, to two raucous laughs. Hiromi snorted into his wine, shaking his head fondly at his juniors, and promptly forgot all about his new dating profile.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Some weeks later, in a fit of loneliness, Hiromi remembered it. Legs up on his sofa in the dark, really just wanting someone to talk to, and if they managed to talk him into bed, well, then that was just a bonus--

Hiromi felt a thrilled little leap in his belly-- his inbox was bursting. It didn't take long for the thrill to be replaced promptly by a little rancid coil of disgust.

"Why is she-- why is she calling me Daddy, she doesn't even know-- jesus wept..." Hiromi sifted through 24 year olds, 21 year olds, and even 18 year olds, in his inbox, with an immediately dismissive shudder, feeling like a lecherous old man even just for having been approached by them.

Even the tiny handful of 25-29s made him uncertain, wondering what they wanted from a man with a not inconsiderable amount of grey in his hair.

Feeling dirty and disappointed, Hiromi dropped the phone on his coffee table.

"I shall die a nun, I think," he said aloud to nobody in particular, resigned, lonely.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Darling-- darling-- put on some music for me will you? My hands, uh..." Hiromi waggled his hands, stood at the kitchen counter, chopping raw chicken.

You hummed in affirmation, wandering over to Hiromi, unlocking his phone for him. Hunting through his phone for his music, your other hand teasing his aproned waist, your jaw dropped to find an app languishing, overflowing with notifications.

"Hiromi! You've got a dating app?!" Hiromi spun, his mouth gaping, eyes wide with panic.

"Not-- no no no, it's not what you think--I just completely forgot I had it--"

"Oh shush, I don't think that, silly, I know you'd never do that--" you laughed, opening the app, raising your eyebrows with an appreciative whistle at the artistically languid photograph of Hiromi sprawled in a roof garden chair, long fingers curled around his red wine, looking to all the world as though he were the devil made flesh.

"I'll be having that, thank you," you pipped, saving the photo and sending it to yourself, "and what have we here?" You began to scroll through Hiromi's messages, interested, beginning to laugh.

"Wow, you uh...really attract the daddy-issues ones, huh?" Hiromi hung his head in shame, as you laughed at him, and begun to read some of the messages.

"Daddy looks like that lap needs a baby on it," your voice coy and 'innocent' in a way that made Hiromi audibly "UGH" at you, rushing to wash his hands, grabbing a dish cloth to whip you with as he chased you around the kitchen, laughing.

"Fine AF," you chirped, dodging Hiromi, falling back onto the sofa, still reading aloud in a nasal whine, "Daddyyyyyy."

"Enough of that, you sick little demon," Hiromi snapped, snatching his phone away, pressing you to the sofa, his hips pressed between your legs, nose and lips working with punishing insistence against your throat. You giggled again.

"Dadd--" Hiromi bit into your neck, his water-cooled fingers pinching your pebbling nipple through your top without warning, and you shivered in delight.

"You want a grown woman instead of a girl, these days, and you're the freak--" Hiromi complained, huffing, blushing and smirking down at you. You coiled your hair around a finger, looking up at him, biting your lip in a way that made Hiromi's cock twitch.

"You're saying I'm too old for all that?" You teased, sighing in faux-despair. You gasped as you felt Hiromi hum against your belly, kissing and nipping his way downwards.

"Shut up," Hiromi dismissed, "and let me taste you."

[khwxbeeda]

At the age of eight, I first learnt jealousy. I learnt it by feeling it, by grabbing it with both hands and tugging it close to my heart; my mother kissed my baby sister's forehead, but not mine. Never mine.

At ten, I learnt betrayal. Someone I though would be a true friend turned her back on me in the blink of an eye, and I spent the days alone, no one to hold hands and laugh with. She walked with the popular crowd, and I walked between the shelves of the library; maybe the books would be better friends.

By the time I turned twelve, I had learnt loneliness. I sat alone at lunch tables in school, I sat alone at the dinner table in my home. My sister was six and a monster for taking away all my parents' love, and my classmates were thirteen or fourteen and monsters for trying to take away my books. It was better to be away than suffer, I decided, and I didn't mind the loneliness much.

Thirteen was the age that taught me sadness. I went to school, studied, came back home, studied, ate, and went to bed. I buried tears and suffocated my crying with my pillows, and woke up with red-rimmed eyes that I ran to hide from my mother, as if she would care enough to ask if she did see them. I cried in the bathroom, my head bent over the sink so I didn't have to look in the mirror and my teeth digging into my bottom lip to stop the sounds from coming out. I learnt to cry silently that year.

Fourteen... was an empty year. There were no more tears left. No more crying. No more sadness or jealousy or anything. I did what I was told to do with a book in one hand and my schoolbag in the other, lips sealed shut and face cast in marble. No one wanted to know what I had to say, I did not want to say anything to anyone. (A few years later, I came across an article describing dissociation.)

Fifteen was anger. So much anger. I was angry at everything and everyone; at the world, at my classmates, at my teachers, my parents, my sister. At myself. An eternal fire burned in the back of my throat and in the pits of my heart and it refused to be extinguished: I wanted to scream, wanted to rage, wanted to throw things and destroy everything in my path. I was so so angry, all the time. I read, somewhere, that fifteen was the worst age to be. I pushed the fireball of anger deeper down, and agreed.

At sixteen, I was good at ignoring my thoughts. I looked at the ledge of the roof and turned away; I refused to step within twenty feet of it. I looked at the shine of the knife blade and put it down; I refused to cut fruit and vegetable. I looked at the rope in the corner of the balcony and stepped back into the house; I would not set the laundry out to dry. I buried myself in my textbooks— Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Mathematics, English, Hindi. I got higher marks than I'd ever gotten. My mother ran a hand over my head and smiled at me in a way she hadn't in the last ten years. I flinched away from her touch.

Seventeen... I was in bed. Surgery was nasty business, and throughout the seventeeth year of my life I went through seven of them. I laid in bed, a bandage over my left eye and tears rolling down my right cheek. I'd studied. I'd studied till I collapsed when I was sixteen, but I didn't get to sit for my 12th boards. All my efforts were in vain. At seventeen, I was in bed, and I languished.

Eighteen. Eighteen was the whirlwind year. I sat for my 12th boards but didn't get the marks I hoped for. I forgot that I'd registered for PCM and PCB CET until I got the emails, and then gave up on studying. The results were 95% for both exams. I changed my trajectory, and was granted admission in Fergusson. I yelled at my parents with tears in my eyes and kissed my sister on her forehead with a smile on my face. I made friends. I smiled, I laughed, I talked more and more with each passing month. Eighteen was a whirlwind. Eighteen was good to me.

Now, I am nineteen. Let's see how this year goes, shall we?

Tag list: @orgasming-caterpillar @musaafir-hun-yaaron @hum-suffer @h0bg0blin-meat @yehsahihai @blushlilyyy @budugu

[twig-tea]

TWIG! Friend! I couldn't help but notice your tags in my excitement post about getting to La Pluie -- I see that you and I are YYY mutuals. :) Let's call YYY... say... zany or offbeat -- off the beaten path of the usual romance-dominated field of Thai BLs. What are some other "zanier" BLs (not just Thailand, but everywhere in Asia) that you love and would recommend for an off-the-wall experience? And, why?

@waitmyturtles I'm so sorry you sent this a million years ago and then I kept letting it languish. And it's extra rude because I love this question! It's so hard to add something like YYY to a rec list without a billion caveats, so this is a great chance to shout out some of the series & shorts that don't get as much attention. A few of these I know you've seen but I have to include them for completeness.

First, for the sake of other people reading this, as Turtles has written about, Cheewin brings his own kind of zaniness to almost everything he works on; my faves of his other than YYY are Make It Right and Secret Crush on You (the exception is Bed Friend, which is not in any way zany but I still liked it).

Also going to mention that since Turtles asked for off the beaten path zany, I won't be mentioning any of the popular comedies (in case you're wondering why I Became the Lead in A BL Drama or Man Who Defies the World of BL aren't on this list).

Alright now that's out of the way, let's get into the other recs!

Zany lesser-known BLs other than YYY

Ossan's Love Franchise (Japanese, 2016-2024, GagaOOLala)

It is... less true now that this series is lesser-known than it was when I started writing this draft (in uh... August 2023) but I shall persist! The franchise details alone for this series are complete crack:

A 2016 45-minute short [skippable imo];

The 2018 original series which builds the short into a zany 7-episode comedy series about a man in his late 20s who suddenly finds himself the love interest of his older boss (in his ~50s) and his coworker/roommate (in his mid-20s);

The sequel film Ossan's Love: Love or Dead (2019)which turns into an action film halfway through for no clear reason but also remains a romantic comedy in which the mains from the original season decide if they want to stay together

The AU season Ossan's Love: In the Sky (2019) which has the same characters of the lead and his boss from S1 and the short, but this time they work in an airport and all of the surrounding cast is different and leads to a very confusing love rhombus. Incredible 10/10 no notes [people hate this because they like the mains from S1 & the film but I loved the mess]

The sequel season to S1 and the film, Ossan's Love Returns (2024) which you can absolutely watch in isolation and is about the main couple re-establishing their relationship and their found family friend group after being long distance for a few years.

It's truly excellent comedy, and gets better every outing; there are some barriers that might prevent some enjoying the earlier seasons but the most recent one is really delightful. You can hear me talk more about this series with @bengiyo and @shortpplfedup on The Conversation podcast!

Diary of Tootsies (Thai, 2017, grey/Netflix (for the movie))

I love Diary of Tootsies and the follow-ups so much. SO much. One of the best laughs of my life was the opening to the movie, and I cannot be in a long car ride without thinking about the purse incident in s1. This show doesn't get a lot of BL fandom attention because the romance arcs are not typical for BL (but that's one of the things I love about them). And the friendship in this series is truly what sells it. Season 1 is self-contained, a lot of people dislike the romance plot of S2; I really like the arc across s2 to the movie (as established above, I tend to be less invested in a particular ship across a franchise or multiple franchises). The movie plot is all about reconciling who you thought you wanted and who you are with (amongst all kinds of shenanigans).

HeHe and He (Hong Kong, 2018-ongoing, YouTube)

This mockumentary sitcom-style series does tackle some serious topics and is also absolutely hilarious nonsense across its 3 seasons. The very simple premise is that a gay guy ("hehe" is slang for gay) and a straight guy who are old friends become roommates when the gay friend breaks up with his longterm boyfriend and needs a place to stay, and hijinks ensue. They do direct-to-camera confessionals spliced in with scenes from their lives. I love this show so much, and it would actually be high up in my indie BL rankings if it were completed. I lose it at least once an episode. It's very queer (if you want a show that tackles everything from hookups to turning everything into a joke to being so, so mean to each other while also loving each other dearly to even chemsex, look no further), and I am in love with all of the wacky characters that have formed a love-hate found family that is deeply relatable. The creators posted a video a few months ago saying they're struggling to end it in a way that they're happy with so I'm not sure we'll ever get an ending for the show. But if you like comedy and queer content it's worth a watch even incomplete! I've been very patiently following this project since 2018 and it's legitimately one of my favourite shows.

Rainbow Prince the Series (Filippino, 2022, YouTube)

This is a musical; it is a lot of campy nonsense. There is royalty, political intrigue, a dog, kidnappings, and so. much. singing. The songs are surprisingly catchy and it's all extremely good fun. Also a lot of the dialogue is very clearly improvised.

Hey! First Love (Vietnamese, 2019, YouTube)

This series of shorts are mostly just silly fluff. The very tenuous plot is that these shorts are slice-of-life moments from a young established couple, but it's all really just excuses for Vietnamese comedy and BL romance tropes. If you haven't watched anything from Vietnam, this is a very low-stakes commitment (I think it's under 30 minutes of content all told; there are 4 "episodes" which are spliced together shorts, each of which has a tiny plot but there is not much of an overarching narrative, and then a Q&A with the actors at the end) and gives you a sense of the Vietnamese sense of humour. Both of these actors have gone on to continue to be in other Vietnamese BLs, so if you have watched Vietnamese BL you may recognize them! The production quality on this is charmingly low.

Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (India, 2019, Amazon Prime)

This film was such a joy to experience in a live theatre. Billed "the first Gay Bollywood RomCom", this movie was a riot of chaos, dance numbers, shenanigans, hilarity, and cuteness. I loved the way this film incorporated the very real legal change to decriminalize homosexuality in its story. Arguably not "BL" as it very much fits in the bollywood tradition not the BL tradition, but OP did ask for all of Asia!

Like Love (China, 2014-15, grey)

And no I don't mean censored--this is from before China started censoring its BLs. This show has kisses as shown in the gif, and even (poorly cropped) sex scenes. It also is super bizarre. I was so confused by this show, the characterization, the fourth wall breaks, and how disjointed it was so I went to read the source material and...it turns out it's one of the most perfect adaptations I've ever seen, the book is in fact exactly like this. The characters are caricatures, there is no bridging between scenes, and the plot is the most absurd take on 'loserfail no-thoughts-head-empty character who doesn't admit he's gay but still ends up in a dedicated and loving relationship with a rich handsome domineering man ' I've ever seen. It's a bewildering experience. Note the sound quality on this one is suuuper miserable. I like s2 way more than s1 (s1 is getting together and includes a lot of the bullying-teasing and I'm-not-gay-I-just-need-him-to-pay-attention-to-me stuff, s2 is the honeymoon phase + getting the homophobic parents on board) but S1 is definitely the zanier of the two. That being said, if you wanted, I think you can dive right in to s2 (there's a direct-to-camera explanation of what happened in s1 at the start of it). Note that they set up a cliffhanger at the end of 2 in anticipation of s3 which was going to be made in 2016 but was cancelled because of the political changes in China in 2016 (this is one of the reasons I went to read the source material; they do get a happy ending in the books).

This is an extremely silly but also touching franchise with a lot of tropes I don't love, but also a lot of things I do (and just neat to see some stuff so early in BL: Underwater kiss? Helicopter ride? Femme fatale becomes friend of the faen? Supportive grandparent? It's all here). There are some fantastic speeches in s2 about supporting your gay children; I liked how in this the kids didn't give up on their parents but try to reconcile their filial piety with their dedication to each other. If you do watch S1, highly recommended you watch the series version rather than the film. For "S2"/the follow-up film, make sure you look for the uncensored film version.

The Lover Room 709 Cut (Korean/Japanese, 2016, grey)

This starts extremely silly, plays with BL tropes, and gets a little bit serious at the end but is mostly just full of puns and innuendos. Includes one of the most hilarious takes on kabedon, and egregious use of the soundtrack from Brokeback Mountain. Also: fart jokes. Folks worried it was going to stay teasing the audience but it does commit and we do get an actual resolution that is satisfying. I admit I've never seen the whole series (which includes stories of 3 other couples in the apartment building) but the BL cut is readily available if you search. Make sure you look for the deleted scene with the lotion application--this scene walked so IFYLITA could run (I'm kidding, but it's very funny seeing this scene now and thinking about that one).

The Boy Next Door (Korean, 2018, YouTube)

This is another older series playing with censorship (similar to The Lover) in which the two characters end up in BL romance tropes but are not actually in love...or are they? The shenanigans are very fun. This one is left more ambiguous than The Lover, which is one of the reasons it's further down the list.

Go! Go! G-Boys (Taiwan, 2006, grey)

I debated between this and another quirky comedy from Taiwan in the early 2000s, Formula 17, but while that's unequivocally a better movie, this one is lesser known and more zany, so it technically better fits the bill for this ask (but if you haven't, go watch Formula 17!). The plot is a bit cringe--straight boy signs up to gay beauty contest to pay off his girlfriend's debts (accompanied by his gay childhood friend who is in love with him) and finds his truth. Meanwhile a homophobic police officer has also infiltrated the contest for investigative purposes. Amongst all that admittedly not great setup, however, are several bizarre sequences including the incredible Lord of the Rings recreation scene (complete with Gatchaman of course), a killer soundtrack, a random delivery of poultry, someone slapping a cake, and, most absurdly unbelievable at all: police taking harassing death threats to the gay contest seriously. It does a great job of setting up what should be a dramatic scene and then immediately undercutting the tension with something absurd. It's not narratively good, but it is a fun ride! And yes, there is a happy ending. Stick around for a fourth wall break (literally) after the credits.

Something Crunchy Crunchy (Korean, 2018, GagaOOLala)

Extremely bizarre little musical short in which snacks are anthropomorphized as hot guys and they sing songs about being eaten and wanting to be eaten. Played entirely sincerely, but the concept is screamingly funny. Fascinating. Also, kind of poly?

Dom (Korean, 2016, GagaOOLala)

Another hilarious and weird Korean short, this time in which we see the protagonist's sex life from the perspective of the condom boxes that are anthropomorphized and given personalities based on their brands.

And since we can't leave out the ladies,

A few zany GLs:

Lily Fever (Korean, 2015, YouTube)

I wrote about this one a little in my GL rec list; it is absolutely bonkers nonsense. There is not really a plot, it's a fever dream of a show. Chaos! Not so much a romance as an excuse to see cute girls flirt and make out.

Legend of Yunqian (China, 2020, grey)

I debated including this one because only the middle is really the zany part, it's sandwiched with more serious xianxia drama. But in the middle of this miniseries is an extremely cute interlude in which xianxia characters time travel to present day for ~reasons. It's censored but there is very little uncertainty about feelings, and manages to be absolutely charming. Worth the short runtime for this kitten quickcut (subbed "Whomst?!" in the show for ultimate comedy). Warning for character death (but it's ok because time travel to reincarnated character!) Subtitled by the indispensable @douqi7s [see their pinned post for links].

BetCin (Filippino, 2022, WeTV)

A lesbian couple with a YouTube following decide to break up but then find out there's a contest for couples, and they decide to pretend to still be together to try and win the contest rather than tell their fans they've broken up. This series does some really interesting things by starting with a breakup and then looking at how two people who are no longer dating manage BGP while also managing their feelings. There's a lot going on in this show, and the hijinks definitely ensue!

Perfect One Night Stand (Korean, 2020, GagaOOLala)

This is a cute Strongberry GL short in which a friend agrees to help her other friend find a girl to have sex with before the day is over; they go through several quirky candidates looking for the titular perfect one night stand.

[ruumirmir]

𝘈 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦'𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘛𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴

Part I Part II

ੈ♡˳ Author's◇ note - Haha what if I pretended my shamelessly OCfied male reader was a character :))) Here's to me doing everything possible to build up my "reader" lore. Everything except actually drawing and naming him 😭 If you're curious about previous posts regarding my mans, you could skim over These!! Me when writing this: im gonna make up SO MUCH BULLSHIT about snezhnaya and the other harbingers.

𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 : ENG - Stephen Fu (Noe Archiviste from Vanitas no Carte) JP - Kento Ito (Dan Heng from Honkai Star Rail)

𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 : October 19 (Libra)

𝘈𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Northland Bank of the Fatui

𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Hydro

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 : Cygnus Venatici (The Hunting Swan)

A senior branch manager of Snezhnaya’s Northland bank. As a fatuus, he is formally well-known as the Venator Dux, who mans the Snezhnayan Order of Gold and Exchange founded by the Ninth Harbinger. He hunts in pursuit of the Tsar's vision, but his loyalties are far removed from her.

𝘝𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦-𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴

𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰 Ah, the renowned traveller, in the flesh. A visitor to each of the seven nations, while your reputation has run across the continent twice over. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you've heard of the Snezhnayan Order of Gold and Exchange, that'd be me who's in charge of it. I am one of the agents within Lord Regrator's primary circle of officials, so you may address me as Venator dux.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 I've been in my respective position for over a decade now, and for the last four years, have come across choice tales surrounding your name. A big fan of your work, really! Lord Regrator has had his interest piqued for a while now... so for the sake of civilized peace and alliance, let's get along... shall we? Try not to cause any trouble and I might consider putting in a good word for you.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘋𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘬𝘴 A large bulk of my work is centered around days of scrawling pen over paper... but really, one can only digest hefty documents for so long. I've had my fill for many years on end-... now, I'd prefer to partake in more physical tasks.

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘵: 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 I fear the new batch of rookies are growing too lax in their combat training… perhaps it was my uninspiring teaching method today. As a Venator, it simply won’t do to disappoint them. Traveller, would you help a man out and join the session today? The trainees could do with a fresh perspective on things.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴

No shelter to be seen... here's to praying that you don't catch a cold. Oh don't worry about me, I seldom get sick.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 I've always wondered how the real clap of thunder would feel in comparison to a shock of electro. Unless you want to volunteer for that, watch your step.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐𝘵 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 Eh... I've seen it once, I've seen it a thousand times. That being said, the nights that are covered in an impossibly slow curtain of snowfall are some of the rarer times I stop to admire it.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘯 𝘐𝘴 𝘖𝘶𝘵 Finally. Some real warmth to my face. I am but a simple man, languishing like a wilted flower in the absence of our sun's blazing gaze.

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵 Actually... I think I might just prefer the miserable winter cold over this.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘐𝘴 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 What's with the aggressive breeze today? Does the Anemo archon have bills to pay?

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 Good morning. I was about to stop by the city lake on my way to the bank and feed the local geese. You can come along if you'd like. Keep your distance from Tatiana though. She bites.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯 On a slow lazy day, I'd be waking up around noon. Fortunately, the weekend is right around the corner, so I can do just that.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 Although the Northland "bank" closes to the public by evening, the building itself stays open till midnight for other classified affairs. So I may as well make the most of my break time before I'm needed again.

𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 Oh, I must've lost track of time. It's quite late into the night, so before I go, let me walk you back to whatever establishment you're staying at... Oh, uh- I'm... not sure I heard you correctly. You said you live... inside... a teapot...?

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘚𝘯𝘦𝘻𝘩𝘯𝘢𝘺𝘢𝘯 𝘖𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 It was the very first decree of order at the hands of Lord Regrator when he came into power as a Harbinger many years ago; to inaugurate a faction dedicated to rearing the potential he painstakingly carved into the foundations of the Northland bank. It is just as the name implies. An executive body responsible for developing economic policies and providing regulation, consulting, and forecasting of socioeconomic and business development, ranging from simple roadside shops to production factories-Oh, have I lost you? Haha... don't apologize, I've seen that expression a couple times before. In simple terms: we help run the nation's cycle of mora, trade system, and citizen’s businesses.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘶𝘯𝘵 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4] The title bestowed upon me, Venator Dux, signifies not just leadership but mastery over a successful hunt- or in some cases, a successful business strategy. The master hunter requires a discerning eye, a mind that can decipher the intricate patterns woven by our adversaries. Information is our ammunition, and knowledge is the silent arrow that strikes before the prey even realizes the hunt has begun.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘜𝘴: 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘈𝘳𝘵𝘴 Various forms of dance and song are the lifeblood of Snezhnaya’s festivals. During fall, you’ll find multiple dance troupes and clowns passing each village, town, and city to perform. I personally look forward to the dancers.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘜𝘴: 𝘓𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] Your little companion has stuck with you since day one? Truly? That is… a highly admirable trait, one that I will always stand by. Loyalty is not a mere pledge, it anticipates the unspoken desires of another; a commitment that transcends the superficial bonds of allegiance. I keep this ideal close to my heart... for only a single person.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 I was hesitant to use a delusion in the first place, so frankly, I’m glad to have been gifted this for whatever reason I was found worthy of. However… Lord Regrator harbours an uncanny dislike for my vision. It’s not something that has been brought up, but I can read between the lines.

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 You didn’t hear it from me, but I encourage the employees at the bank to keep a list of all the infuriating and rude customers. It’s to spice up all the sparring and combat practice sessions by naming and dressing up the dummies as people they’d like to kick- Ha!

𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 This wintry climate is harsh and unsustainable for various flora and fauna. The Charmomila flower doesn’t care about any of that. They’ll grow in obnoxious places if they want to. The real deal comes from the summer butterflies that feast on its nectar. After a while their wings turn a beautiful honey-yellow, which are harvested and brewed into the sweetest and most expensive nonalcoholic beverage you’ll find around here. I enjoy a glass of one semi-regularly on work mornings.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘈𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] He will have my sincere respect, always. Lord Regrator has built his empire up from a scratch in the dirt, something impossible to do were he a lesser man. His sacrifices of blood, sweat, and tears has bled into the policies that the bank stands on today. Money breeds imbalance and power, which in turn grants freedom and recognition if you are on the right side of the coin. Regrator is a utilizing man and he guards what’s his, zealously. He will take and take until his arms sag with the weight, and uphold his promise to give out the correct equivalents because he lets his value of fair exchange lead him like a vice. For as long as he stays true to his greed, I will be the hand that reaches forward to grasp what he desires.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘋𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘶𝘮 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] Lord Regrator expects a strict level of decorousness from everyone working under his name- from me to even the most forgotten grunts. It's nothing outrageous of course. You would only ever see the metaphorical boot-licking than a literal one. I find it a bit much sometimes but the public eye is nothing to scoff at. Especially to a man of his status. The Snezhnayan dvoryane make up more than a third of the Northland Bank's clientele- not to mention the stakes a couple of them have invested. And if there is anything that those feather-headed fools care about, it's posh theatrics. *Sigh* Still... I quite enjoy falling in step with Pantalone's politesse. He has a beautiful manner of speech that I've never been able to measure up to.

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳: 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 [Unlocked at Friendship Lv. 6] …Why do I feel like you’re trying to fish for critical information...? Fine- I'll concede. It's your head on the line anyways. Lord Regrator is a big player in the system of underground businesses that connect Nathan and Snezhnaya. Technically it could be called a black market, but it’s mainly run by a small council of social elites from both nations. There are occasional hosted auctions, that my lord targets to buy out priceless artifacts from. I’m talking about lost pieces of history and endangered caged beasts over items with resell value. Now… with that being said, as long as this secret remains safe… so do you. It’s always me who’s dispatched to make sure it stays that way.

[see-arcane]

I cry about these two too they are so doomed by the narrative regardless if they live or undie I want them to have a good day after the Will writing night

You know they're in full languishing 'I love you too much to let me live as a monster that could hurt you' and 'I love you too much to let you martyr yourself, I shall be a monster with and for you' Maximum Gothic Romancing mode right now. Incredibly, devastatingly bittersweet, but also reveling in each other's love expressed to its fullest.

[rebelliousstories]

Something Blue

Relationship: Sean Renard x Reader, Eric Renard x Reader

Fandom: Grimm

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Mentions of Pregnancy, Based off of Something Blue by VOILÀ

Word Count: 2,829

Main Masterlist: Here

Grimm Masterlist: Here

Summary: Relationship of old, relationship of new, a dress that is borrowed, and someone is blue.

“If anyone can find just cause as to why these to should not be joined together in holy matrimony, may you speak now, or forever hold your peace.” Her eyes scanned the crowd, before landing on a man who sat in the back of the cathedral. He shifted in his set, and sat up straighter as he caught her gaze. Green eyes met hers, and her brow furrowed ever so slightly as to not draw the attention of her groom, who was holding her hands tightly in his. The man at the back let his mouth open and close several times before standing , and shouting into the silence.

“I object.”

Three Months Earlier…

“Dearest, we need to finish these wedding invitations and get them out today.” A feminine accented voice rang through the study. Every book in here was as old as she, if not older. The man at the desk raised his head from his papers to where she sat surrounded by papers of her own, wax seals and envelopes. He stood, and rounded the desk to come stand near his fiancé.

“My dear, how do you feel about a quick little trip across the pond?” Eric asked his fiancé that sat there.

“What do you mean? We don’t have much time to get ready for the wedding. What business do you have in America?” She questioned, setting down the wedding invitation in her hands.

“I wish to deliver a special invitation in person to someone there. As a matter of fact, I wish for you to do it.” This had her attention; Eric Renard did not care to be anywhere near that country.

“Whatever you would like, dearest. Who is this person?” She inquired, turning back to her invitations.

“My brother. Sean.” Her hands stopped. It had been years since she had heard that name. She did not even know that her fiancé was talking to the man. turning towards the prince, the woman could not help the feeling and look of confusion that washed over her.

“Sean? You want to invite him to the wedding?” Her tone was full of ridiculous intention. But Eric simply sat on the space of couch next to her and cradled her face in his hands.

“No, my dear. I want you to invite him to the wedding,” he held her in place as he spoke, “when we were children, I dreamed of having you at my side at the alter. I wanted to show my dearest brother that I had won.” It was then she was reminded that she was not the love of Eric’s life, but yet, a trophy. She would become a trophy for him to parade around, and languish in a loveless marriage for the rest of her days.

“Of course,” she agreed without enthusiasm, “when shall we leave for America?” Her fiancé patted her cheeks gently and disengaged himself from her. Eric went back to his desk and pulled out some documents.

“Tonight. Pack enough for a few days. We won’t be staying long.” And with that, he was out of the room. Finally, having a chance to be away from him, she breathed a sigh of relief. Being near the royal was suffocating, to say the least. He was paranoid to put it mildly. But, he abandoned her task in favor of going to pack her bags for their weekend getaway to America.

The flight there was completely uneventful. Smooth skies,and an equally smooth landing, with a red carpet being rolled out leading to their car that was awaiting them. After he helped her down the stairs, Eric slipped her hand to his elbow and pulled his phone from his pocket. It was not but a moment longer, as they walked down the carpet, that he began speaking.

“Sean,” she heard and tried not to show that she was eagerly listening to the conversation, “well I decided that I would invite you out for dinner while we’re here. Yes, here. I’m in Portland. Well, I think a certain lady would love for you to join us for dinner. She has something to ask you. Tonight, my suite at the Gregory. See you then, brother.” Eric ended the phone call right as they got to the car, and he helped his fiancé into the vehicle first, before joining her. Driving out of the airway, and towards the city, her thoughts wandered.

Last time she had seen the younger of the two brothers, she was still in school. Never did she think that her life would turn out the way that it had. She never thought that her life would be stuck in the position that she was. The further they went, the longer her thoughts droned on. Soon, they shifted to Sean. What did he look like? Did he still have the same gorgeous sage eyes that he once captivated her with as children or did they change over the years? Her fingers fiddled with a locket in her pocket, worried that she would lose it before they arrived at their destination.

The hotel was grand and stunning, definitely something she would expect out of her lover. Brilliant white marble floors and beams. Striking red carpets and drapes to clash beautifully with the white. And small golden accents to highlight both colors. Their suite over looked the Willamette river, which provided her some comfort. There was something unexplainable about the serenity of water. She passed her time with putting away her things, while Eric ordered enough food for the three of them, and made the final preparations. But nothing could prepare her for the sound of a door opening and closing while an unknown voice drifted through the air.

“Eric.” It clipped, and it made her breath stop in her chest.

“Sean. Come on, bro. Let’s eat.” He called, clapping the younger man on the shoulder.

“Darling!” Eric barked, waiting for his fiancé to make her entrance. She shook ever so slightly but followed his command, and made her appearance. If Sean was shocked to see her after all these years, he made no show of it. She, on the other hand, was not as disciplined as him. Her shock caused her mouth to gape open slightly and her eyes to go wide. She could hear him say her name, and it barely cut in over the sound of blood rushing through her ears.

“Sean. It’s good to see you.” She called, fearing that if she stood any closer to the man, she would lose all sense of propriety.

“It’s good to see you.” He answered, making her astutely aware of the accent less voice he used.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way way, I’m starving.” Ever the one to find some way to make it about him, Eric pulled their attention back to him and what they were supposed to be doing. The older prince held out the chair for his fiancé, and sat down across from his brother. Everyone began to eat tentatively, until Sean broke the awkward silence.

“What is it you asked me here for?” He cut right to the chase. Her hand paused in its place of bringing food to her mouth, while Eric simply dropped his fork, and took another drink of wine.

“I’m sure by now you have heard of our engagement.” Eric boasted, placing his hand on his fiancé’s thigh.

“I have. Congratulations.” Sean answered politely, noting how tense she seemed next to his older brother.

“Darling,” Eric drawled out, “don’t you have something for Sean?” It was phrased like a question, but everyone could hear that it was not. She nodded obediently, and held out a small rectangular piece of paper.

“An invitation for the wedding. We do hope that you’ll come.” Sean accepted it from her, and it took everything in him to not allow his facade to fail as their fingers brushed.

“Your highness?” Someone interrupted. Eric groaned and stood, buttoning his coat.

“I’ll be right back.” He placed a kiss to the hairline of his fiancé. Soon, it was just the forgotten prince and his brother’s fiancé in the area. Sean watched her for a moment, before reaching a hand out for her to hold.

“I can’t believe you two are getting married.” He admitted, his eyes downcast.

“Believe me, I can’t either. And not for the reason you probably think.” She, too, admitted.

“What do you mean?” Sean inquired, setting the invitation down on the table with their dinners.

“Eric wants me for a trophy. He’s not doing this for love. Then again, very few royal marriages are out of love.” Her mood turned sour.

“I remember how we used to compete as children for your hand. Guess we found out who won in the end.” There was nothing joyful about this conversation, but it needed to be said.

“Sean, I waited.” Her statement made the prince perk up.

“I waited for so long for you to return. But you never did. I could never find out where you had gone to. No one would tell me anything. Then last year, my father had to repay a debt to the family. So Eric took me as payment. He wanted to come here to rub it in your face, as juvenile as that is.” Her words just kept coming as she gripped Sean’s hand tighter and tighter.

“How your father made someone as pure as you, I’ll never understand.” This sent a fierce blush to her cheeks, and her hand dug around in her bag that was right next to her chair.

“Here, take this. Eric doesn’t know that I kept it, so don’t let him catch you with it. I fear what he will do if he ever knows how long I have had that on my person.” In Sean’s hands now, instead of hers, was a locket. He smiled as he opened the piece of jewelry to find a picture of the two of them from their childhood days.

“Our first formal dance. You looked gorgeous in that green dress.” Renard was lost to nostalgia now.

“I wore it to match your eyes. They’ve always been my favorite shade of green.” She admitted, before clasping his forearm in her grip.

“Please, come to the wedding.” Before Sean could find a protest, she continued. “It’s selfish, but I want to see your face one last time before I am trapped as your brother’s trophy forever.” The man turned over his response for a minute, and in that time Eric came back into the room. Hearing footsteps, the pair jumped apart as if burned. Sean placed the locket in his jacket pocket, and turned to face his brother.

“Where were we?” Oblivious, intentionally or not, to the tension in the room, the elder prince Renard sat back down at the table.

“I’ll come to the wedding. I appreciate the invitation.” Sean’s eyes stayed on hers just long enough to send the message across, before returning to his brother.

“Wonderful! A family reunion. What splendid adventures.” Eric returned to his meal, and the other two followed suit. The tension stayed as they continued their evening, but no one was talking about it.

Three Hours Ago…

Pacing around the room, her hands were ringing together so much, she was surprised she did not hear bells coming from them. In a gorgeous white dress, complete with a veil, she felt like a princess. However, this princess was getting married to the beast, not the prince of her dreams. Ever since that fateful meeting with Sean all those months ago, her thoughts were plagued by green eyes and a kind smile.

“Mademoiselle, it is almost time.” A maid called out as she ducked her head in the room.

“Thank you, Marie. Is it cold in here to you? It feels like it is twenty below.” Marie shook her head and looked towards the fireplace. It held a roaring fire, but she said nothing about the chill the bride was feeling.

“Non, mademoiselle. Perhaps you need to stand near the fire to warm you before your walk.” She offered, and the bride nodded as she went to the warming fire. As Marie left, she noticed that while her hands, and bones were warming, her feet remained ice cold.

This was not how she wanted her wedding day to play out. But there was no corner of the globe that her fiancé would not overturn to find her again. There might be no love in their marriage, but she knew just how possessive he was.

Three Minutes Ago…

As she stood at the entrance of her walkway, she could only hope and pray that Sean was out in the audience. As selfish as it was, she needed him there. She needed to see his face as she said “I do” to keep her going. Her mind would forever morph Eric’s face into Sean’s, and she was just hoping that she was able to remain under the radar.

“Mademoiselle, it’s time.” Marie spoke gently, and flitted around her bride. Making sure the train was fluffed out, and the veil was placed over her face. She accepted her fate as the organ played the wedding march. Taking a deep breath, she imagined Sean waiting for her at the end of the isle instead of his brother, and it made her feel better. She no longer dreaded walking down the aisle if it meant Sean was waiting for her. But the second she saw Eric at the end, the illusion was broken.

She was a trophy wife. Nothing more, nothing less. Her steps were calculated, and slow as she floated down the aisle. Scanning the crowd, she could see Sean near the back as he stood. She smiled underneath the veil and tried to calm her breathing. Her hands felt sweaty and clammy, while her feet felt heavy and cold.

Joining her hands with Eric, she wished for something, or rather someone,to save her.

Present…

The gasps heard as Sean objected were loud and plentiful. Her veil had been moved which allowed everyone to see her reaction. Shock and wonder filled her expression, while Eric tightened his grip.

“Come now, little brother. Don’t don’t do this now.” The elder prince drawled out. He let out a groan as his brother made his way towards the isle.

“You’re welcome to marry her, but I feel as if I should tell you that she is pregnant with my child.” Now, confusion marred her features. Eric looked between his bride and brother in astonishment.

“Is that true?” He growled, yanking her closer and causing her to yelp.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about.” She admitted, confused and worried about what was going to happen.

“If you need any proof, brother, here it is.” Sean produced a series of black and white ultrasound images that were dated. Eric took them from his brother, and looked back towards the woman at the alter.

“You told me that you were in Italy on this date!” Eric roared; he was furious. Standing there like a fish out of water, she looked between her betrothed and his brother, who held out a hand.

Without thinking, she made her way down to the man and took his hand. She paid no attention to her fiancé who was screaming her name as they left the cathedral. Making their way to a vintage Benz, she laughed as she sat in the passenger seat.

“I’m not pregnant. How did you?” She questioned, as Sean drove off from the wedding.

“One of my associates. His wife is pregnant and I asked for his help.” He explained as he continued to drive closer to town.

“You know, I don’t even own this dress.” She admitted while laughing lightly, taking the veil off and placing it in the backseats.

“Oh yeah? Is that your something borrowed?” Sean chuckled out.

“Yeah, I guess so. You were my old, he was my new. This was borrowed, and my heart was blue.” She spoke so softly, that Renard looked towards her before placing his hand at her ready to hold.

“Well, why don’t we go back to the castle and get you away from my brother. Yes?” Nodding, her heart stopped racing. Her hands dried up and her feet warmed.

“I know for a fact that I’m not growing old with him.” They continued their drive, with no more repressed feelings and the feeling that they were no longer bound to something destructive.

Some Time Later…

Turning on the television from her couch in the condo she shared with Sean, her gasp rang out through the area.

“Eric Renard, crown prince of the Kronenberg family, was killed as his car exploded not far from Vienna airport. All of Vienna is in mourning.”

As horrible as she felt, the smile she gained was needed. He could no longer haunt her in her new life with her prince.

[vivemonroi]

Ok, it’s just a draft of a translation of the first part of my Charlastor fic (English is my second language). But I think to post it in English, I wrote it like 4 years ago, when the pilot came out. If you notice any mistakes dm me please :3

“The suburb of 'Pentagram-City' could hardly be called serene, rather sparsely inhabited, as most of its denizens preferred to spend their days of indefinite punishment in the city where they could hire a prostitute, grab a drink, or die a gruesome death—anything seemed better than watching the pitiful imitation of local stars. Yet, by a strange twist of fate, right here and now, one could find the daughter of the ruler of the Underworld and one of the most powerful beings of Hell engaged in precisely this mundane activity.

— How did you die?

The question came out awkwardly, unpleasantly slicing through the tranquility of the quiet evening. Charlie shivered, instantly regretting daring to open her mouth and voice it aloud. But Alastor did not flinch, still gazing into the bloody sky of Hell, his lips stretched in a serene smile. Perhaps the demon hadn't heard her? No, considering how meticulously he listened to every word she spoke, that seemed very unlikely.

— You don't have to answer; I understand it's personal…

— I was shot.

His response was brief and to the point, a sharpness uncharacteristic of Alastor that puzzled Charlie even more, but curiosity quickly overcame tact.

— Was it police or…

— Hunters.

— Oh, I see. Sorry.

Coming out of his trance, Alastor looked at her in surprise.

— Why apologize, ma chérie? My demise isn't your fault, and let's be honest, it's not as if I didn't deserve it, though I must admit, I never thought I would die like this. The electric chair, yes, but a bullet? Pathétique! Such a banal method, I would even say barbaric, one shot and that’s it, what about the feelings? Personally, I preferred knives, ah, those emotions: fear, pain, the realization of the end of one's pathetic life…

Toward the end of his sentence, the pleasant French jazz from his inner radio was replaced by crackling and static. Noticing the princess’s slightly frightened look, the demon made a gesture very much like tuning into a radio station, and the melody returned.

— As much as I enjoy discussing my favorite pastime, I see you're uncomfortable. So, let me propose a counter-question, shall we engage in a little ‘quid pro quo’, ma chérie? Why did you ask?'

Charlie hesitated.

— No reason.

Alastor theatrically, almost paternally shook his head in disappointment.

— And this demoness dares teach us redemption! Yet she's not averse to the sin of deceit herself. And after so many sermons! I expected better from you, dear, you wound me deeply.

— It's silly, Al, I don't think you'd understand.

— Ah, but it's up to me to understand you or not, you know. I could have chosen not to answer your question. Asking a sinner how he died? Quelle vulgarité! And coming from the Princess of Hell herself, I think I'll broadcast this; my listeners will be shocked to learn that…

— Alright, alright! I'll tell you, but.. just don't laugh, okay?

— Can’t promise anything.

Charlie sighed; expecting such from him was indeed too much.

— Okay.

She paused for almost a dramatic effect and timidly began:

— You see, I was born here, in Hell, but you... you were born there, in the mortal world. Your main life was there, but... I know nothing but Hell.

She fell silent again for a few seconds, as if bracing herself to utter the next phrase.

She continued:

— I want to see trees, Al, the Sun, the Earth's Sun, animals, the sea with its beaches. I want to dance in the rain, shiver from the cold, languish in the heat! I wish to care for flowers, walk through the city for groceries, help the homeless. Smile at passersby and have them smile back! Greet neighbors, ask for some salt, and share pie recipes. But most of all... most of all, I want to see a rainbow. A real one, after a strong summer storm, when animals and people emerge from their shelters just happy to be alive. I.. I want to live!

On her last words, Charlie's uncertain whisper turned into a shout, and realizing this, she quickly covered her mouth with her hands, blushing with embarrassment. From the city, the drunken songs of bar regulars carried over, occasionally interrupted by the agonized scream of some unfortunate soul, but it seemed no one heard her, or if they did, they frankly didn't care. The audience from the receiver applauded approvingly, Alastor's eyes narrowed slyly.

— Sorry, as I said, it's very silly…

— Not at all, mon trésor, the desire to explore the unknown is perfectly natural for such a curious creature as you. But you're overlooking the fine print: diseases, poverty, wars, miseries, murders, hunger, and I'm not just talking about the physical sensation, lust, debauchery... shall I go on?

Charlie sighed.

— I know, Al, damn it, I grew up in a literal Hell, my whole life is that fine print.

She turned onto her stomach and shyly bit her lip.

— Just... sometimes I feel like I don't belong here...

Alastor laughed, Charlie thought his laughter sounded like radio interference mixed with distorted off-air laughter, but Husk and the other residents of the Hotel disagreed with such a comparison. "It's like dragging a rusty saw across your balls," he would say. Angel, and surprisingly, Vaggie, nodded significantly in agreement. Niffty usually kept quiet, though she admitted her boss's laughter gave her chills.

— Ding-ding-ding, bingo! We have a winner: the charming Princess of Hell who has finally realized the obvious. Honestly, dear, I'm surprised you only realized this now!

— Laugh all you want, Alastor. I shouldn't have started talking about it...

She began to rise from the ground, but Alastor easily grabbed her hand, stopping her.

— Wait, I didn't mean to offend you, at least not this time, really, hold on, no need to create drama out of nothing, please, go on.

Charlie looked at him skeptically, sighed in resignation, and lay back down.

— Don't get me wrong, I know my home is here, my family, my friends... but sometimes, just for a moment, I imagine what it would be like if I were born into a regular family, there. We would live on a farm, raise cows, shear sheep, sow wheat, pick apples. Dad would teach me how to ride a horse, and mom how to sew clothes. I would have a little brother or sister, and a dog! In the evenings, we'd all gather together and listen to music, and on Sundays, go to church...

— Church? I doubt your father would be let in, unless you're talking about the church, ha-ha! Si tu vois ce que je veux dire!

The radio listeners obediently laughed, Charlie shot him a warning glance.

— Oh, you should understand me, my dear, I'm a radio demon, notice 'radio' comes first. It's hard for me not to comment on such a wonderful monologue, especially when you speak with such passion.

A treacherous blush spread over her already red cheeks. She averted her gaze, embarrassed.

— Anyway... you get the idea, but it's just dreams, all I can do is help others reform, to leave this place, even if I never will.

Charlie felt uncomfortable; she hadn't even told Vaggie about this, why did she suddenly decide he would understand? When her heartfelt confessions were not met with an explosion of applause or the demon's own laughter, Charlie finally dared to look his way. To her shock, his face was frighteningly serious, though his eternal smile still lingered on his lips.

— I don't often say this, and it means a lot, but you, Charlie, more than anyone else, deserve a chance to get out of here.

The radio static that usually accompanied Alastor's voice quieted to such an extent that she could hear his soft baritone almost without interference.

Charlie still didn't dare look him in the eyes, the darn blush spreading to her neck, but an uncertain smile appeared on her lips.

— Do you really think so?

Alastor propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her with feigned bewilderment:

— Well, of course! After all, the essence of Hell is to punish sinners. First, you need to have at least a chance to wreak some havoc. If you had ended up here on your own, it would be a different story, but as it is, it's just bo-o-oring.

Even though his words touched that string of her heart, her feelings, which she dared not speak of, even to herself, seeing him almost shyly look away, she decided to leave that topic alone.

They simply lay there for a while, listening to the sensual performance of some early 20th-century French song whose name Charlie didn't know. Each was lost in their thoughts until Alastor sprang to his feet as if scalded.

— Well, I can't promise a rainbow... Get up, Your Majesty!

— Alastor, what are you...

He impatiently extended his hand.

— Hurry up, I might change my mind.

"Here goes nothing," Charlie thought, taking Alastor by the glove. In an instant, they were somewhere else.”

Hate it? Love it? Tell me!

[iced-blood]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Ice.

I’ve been quiet this year.

This isn’t to say I haven’t been doing anything, as folks may have noticed. I’ve put up a whole mess of links to the work I’ve been doing in 2023—a grand total of 105 chapters—and that’s what I want to touch base on, at this tail-end of the year.

I found out early on in January that a dear friend of mine, my creative partner and the reason for my Paved with Good Intentions series, passed away in 2021. I’m not sure what it was, but that news hit me in a particular way. I realized that two of the projects in that aforementioned series, Blue Eyes, Violet Eyes and Lightbringer, were unfinished.

That didn’t sit right with me.

I set out to fix that.

There are many projects I’ve started that I never finished, and have been left languishing for . . . ten years? Yeah. Ten years.

That’s just ridiculous.

I decided that 2023 was going to cooperate with me whether it wanted to or not.

So, I bought a day-planner and set to work. Let’s go over the list, shall we?

Coronam Crepusculum

This was first on my list because it was a work that I owed a good friend of mine, who is no longer a regular user of Tumblr. It’s a take on the Soulsborne universe, built around a series of personal interviews with relevant characters conducted by an OC I created specifically for this purpose, Wandulfin of Vinheim.

(the latin title translates, hopefully, to “crown of twilight”)

                                51,377 words.

Paved with Good Intentions: Blue Eyes, Violet Eyes

The first of the two stories I knew I needed to finish in memory of my departed friend, I resolved to write the 19 chapters required to reach a clean finish line for this one-shot collection of 100 installments. It felt like the right way to go about things, and I think I worked out a lot of important elements of the Kaiba brothers through those 19 chapters.

                                165,386 words.

Paved with Good Intentions: Lightbringer

The second of the two stories written in my friend’s memory, this is still being published every Saturday. I wrote what amounted to the second half of this story, 55 chapters to be exact, for a grand total of 110 (of which 98 are published as of this post). I think it’s some of my best work to date, and I can only hope my partner would have appreciated what became of it. Have you ever wondered how Seto and Mokuba would react to meeting their parents again? If so, this is the story for you.

                                Published + Rough Draft: 159,930 words.

The City That Wouldn’t Die

The first full storyline of my personal take on World of Warcraft and my main character’s place in it, this story has undergone a lot of changes since I last touched it. This year, I resolved to end it at a part that made at least some amount of sense, but I won’t pretend that it’s entirely satisfactory. All I can say at this point is that I do intend to come back to Azeroth eventually. And this time, I hope to give my characters the story they deserve.

                                41,890 words.

Cult of the Dragon King

I’m pretty sure this is the one that’s been left alone the longest; if it isn’t, it’s close. The basic thrust of this story is that Atem failed in his quest to gather the Millennium Items and put them to rest properly, and so it falls to Seto Kaiba to try this time. I could go into detail why I picked Seto to be Atem’s successor, but I think y’all know what to expect here. I picked Seto because he’s my favorite. Anyway, this one isn’t ready to resume publishing, but it has been drafted. Anyone who’s been waiting for this one to continue will want to pay attention to this blog in 2024.

                                Published + Rough Draft: 175,246 words.

The Lost Dragon's Lullaby

Another AU centered around the Kaiba family (what can I say? I'm a creature of habit), this story wonders what it would have been like if Noa had lived. What if Seto and Mokuba had another brother when they were adopted? What if they had a mother? What would the Kaiba family look like if it were whole?

Approx. 62,609 words.

Watching the Lights Go Down

One of two stories I revived this year, and will resume publication in the new year. Do you Blueship? Do you wonder how Seto and Kisara might interact in the modern world, regardless of romantic intentions? This is the story for you. I took a set of 100 words to use as prompts to build this story, and through these 100 snapshots I think you’ll get a pretty clear picture of how I imagine Seto’s relationship with his favorite dragon would unfold if said dragon was a woman. And his bodyguard.

                                Approx. 52,789 words.

Letting the Cables Sleep

This is a sister story to the one I just outlined. Taking place concurrently with Lights, this story explores the relationship between Noa Kaiba and Ryo Bakura. Why these two? Why not? I don’t really have an answer, except to say that I found their dynamic interesting. Unlike its other half, Cables is explicitly romantic. So if you’re interested in Domino City’s resident white-haired cryptid hooking up with an android, well, here’s where you wanna go. I used the same list of 100 words, but in reverse order, to build this story.

                                Approx. 52,708 words.

Butterflies and Hurricanes

The other contender for “story Ice left to languish for the longest time,” I’m not sure I have to explain to anyone reading this why I might have stopped working on a Harry Potter story. Put basically, this story is an exploration into what would happen if a fae prince took an interest in taking down Lord Voldemort, and then settled on Sirius Black as his instrument. It’s a time travel story at its core, with all the nonsense you might expect from such a thing.

Regardless of anything this series’ author might have to say on the matter, my writing this story does not in any way endorse or condone transphobia or any of her other myriad bigotries. I have not given this woman money in 20 years. I do not support her in any way, shape, or form. This story’s completion is for my own satisfaction, and for the interest of anyone who might want to read it. That is all.

                Published + Rough Draft: 80,506 words.

The Whitest Lace of Light

A continuation of my pet take on the Bleach setting, focused again on Toshiro Hitsugaya and Rangiku Matsumoto and their Tenth Division. Throughout the 50 chapters of this story, they face off with a new threat to Soul Society as they try their hardest to rebuild after the Thousand-Year Blood War. Throughout this . . . suspense? Thriller? Thing. They come across new faces and old, and might just learn some things along the way. Or something. Look, I just wanted to write one of my favorite ships again.

                                Rough Draft: 30,033 words.

At Sixes and Sevens: A Prince for His Kingdom

The shortest work I completed this year, but certainly not the least important. This is a continuation of my pet take on the “Kaiba Bros Age Swap AU” as first shown to me by my dear friend @kintatsujo. How might Seto have handled an invitation to Duelist Kingdom if he’d been 9 years old when it took place? What about Mokuba, if he was 15? Shenanigans abound. I hope you like where I took this one, Kinta.

                                5,000 words.

Last but not least, I resolved to break my record for my longest NaNoWriMo project this year, because I’m ridiculous and don’t know when to quit.

Much like I approached World of Warcraft,I take every MMORPG I play as an excuse to build a story. Nowhere is this more obvious than Final Fantasy XIV. My take on Eorzea and its various magical idiosyncrasies—which I call The Song That God Forgot—set me on a road to 125,000 words this past November.

These projects, alongside various redrafts of my older stories in preparation for what I hope to be 2024’s migration from Fanfiction.Net to AO3, netted me a grand total of 902,580 words written in 2023.

I don’t say this to brag or to pat myself on the back (okay, maybe a bit), but to say . . . just hold on. Keep going. You’ll hit your stride eventually, even if it doesn’t seem like it. I’ve struggled to write regularly and with consistency for a decade now, and here I’ve got nearly a million words in a single year.

I believed in me this year, and I believe in you too.

Keep on truckin’. You’ll get there.

Happy New Year, y’all. I love you.

[random-of-random]

Can I Save You?

Chapter 2: I’m Going to Get You Out of This

The airport was quiet, Patricia had never seen an airport that quiet when it wasn’t after midnight. Still filled with people, they were huddled around televisions watching Bane's latest statement. Patricia and Wilson stopped to watch with them.

"Behind you stands a symbol of oppression; Blackgate Prison, where a thousand men have languished under the name of this man..." He was holding up a picture. The man had blonde hair and a kind smile. "Harvey Dent, who has been held up to you as the shining example of justice."

"Who is Harvey Dent sir?" Patricia asked.

"The old DA. He was said to have been killed by Batman." Wilson replied.

"You have been supplied with a false idol to stop you from tearing down this corrupt city. Let me tell you the truth about Harvey Dent from the words of Gotham's police commissioner, James Gordon." Bane continued. Patricia saw a woman in the airport crying. Her dirty blonde hair was hanging at her face and two teenagers were sitting on either side of her. The girl had her head in her mothers shoulder, but the boy, however, the same blonde hair as his mom's was staring intently at the television. His eyes were dark but Patricia saw something he was clearly trying to hide. Fear, but not fear for him, fear for someone else. The mention of Commissioner Gordon's name had caught attention. "'The Batman didn't murder Harvey Dent, he saved my boy then took the blame for Harvey's appalling crimes so that I could, to my shame, build a lie around this fallen idol. I praised the mad man who tried to murder my own child but I can no longer live with my lie. It is time to trust the people of Gotham with the truth and it is time for me to resign.' " The woman cried harder.

"Well, this is certainly going to make things a lot worse." Wilson said, his hand was tapping his belt. A nervous twitch he had adopted when he was promoted to director.

"And do you accept this man's resignation? Do you accept the resignation of all these liars? Of all the corrupt?"

"What's he getting at?" Wilson asked. Patricia felt her heart racing.

"What ever it is, sir. It's nothing good."

"We take Gotham from the corrupt! The rich! The oppressors of generations who have kept you down with myths of opportunity, and we give it back to you... the people. Gotham is yours. None shall interfere. Do as you please. Start by storming Blackgate, and freeing the oppressed!" Bane continued. "Step forward those who would serve. For and army will be raised. The powerful will be ripped from their decadent nests, and cast out into the cold world that we know and endure. Courts will be convened. Spoils will be enjoyed. Blood will be shed. The police will survive, as they learn to serve true justice. This great city... it will endure. Gotham will survive!" As he finished his speech, the cameras quickly moved. A tank had a gun pointed at them. The camera dropped and there was a moment of static as a loud bang sounded through it's microphones.

"My God!" The cameraman must have been the one talking. The camera pointed at a now gaping hole in the side of a wall. For a moment there was just dust settling, but then men, by the dozens, wearing orange jumpsuits and carrying guns of every kind came storming through. The camera cut off and a reporter came quickly into view. Sitting in a studio, she was claiming technical difficulties.

"At least we know the police are safe for right now." Patricia commented. "Down in those sewers, they might not be able to help, but the prisoners can't get to them either."

“You called it, about going after the rich.”

“I think he wants chaos.” Patricia said with a sigh. “This just helps get there quicker.”

"We should be going." Wilson stated and Patricia followed them to get their luggage.

The sunlight was almost painful after being in the artificial light of the airport. A young man walked up to them, he couldn't have been more than twenty-one. He looked like how television and movies think FBI agents should look. He was dressed in a black suit, black tie, and dark sunglasses. His light blonde hair almost looked out of place.

"Mr. Wilson? Miss. Robertson?" He asked.

"Mr. Tiller?" Wilson replied and the kid nodded before smiling. Patricia could tell he was wearing a gun on his hip and another on his ankle. He graciously picked up Patricia's bag and lead them to a black SUV. Patricia climbed in the back and leaned her head back against the headrest. She studied the outside world once the vehicle started moving through the city. DC looked normal, despite the crisis in Gotham. People went in and out of grocery shops, moms took their children into daycare, and college kids went into bars for an early drunk. She couldn't imagine what the people of Gotham were experiencing. As far as she knew no one had left the city, the military wasn't letting anyone across the only bridge left and the tunnels out of the city had been blocked. The SUV they were in came to a standstill and Patricia sat up.

"I'm sorry." Tiller said quickly. "It's about that time. Traffic can come to a crawl or worse sometimes. I'll have us there as soon as I can." Patricia let her body fall against the comfortable seat.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Bane. The current Bane, cold, heartless. She closed her eyes anyway. Nightmares had stopped her normal sleep pattern. Well, what she called a normal sleep pattern. Going from 4 hours a night to 1 was just unhealthy. A thought popped into her head as she felt the seat behind her, a memory.

————-——————-

"How long have we been running for?" Patricia asked. She was sitting in a chair in a very small hotel room in Berlin, Germany.

"2 years?" Dominic replied. "You were 14 when we left."

"Then two years." Patricia commented.

"You should have stayed to finish school." Dominic's voice sounded sad.

“You’re less than two years older than me. You should have finished school.” The lines around his eyes increased and she could tell that he was smile. Dominic was laying on the hotel room bed. His body was tired, they had been in China the previous morning, and his belt had been taken off. As long as he didn't move the pain would stay at bay.

“I… I’m ready to tell you.” Dominic said barely above a whisper.

"About what happened to you?" Patricia asked her voice turning serious. She could see a flash of pain cloud his eyes. Not physical pain, mental. "I told you that you don’t have to tell me-“

"I didn't want to scare you." He said quietly. Patricia stood up and moved to the opposite side of the bed, trying her best not to move the bed very much she laid down beside him. She heard him sigh.

“You’re not going to scare me.” She pushed some hair off of his forehead.

"I was three or four. My mom woke me up late one night.” He started, his eyes closed. “I remember my room was so dark. She told me to hide under the bed. Men had broken into our home. I could hear stomping, a-and shouting. The men burst into my room and they found me, quickly. When they pulled me out from under the bed my mom began fighting them."

He took a ragged breath and Patricia felt his hand softly grasp hers. "It’s okay. I’m right here.” She assured him.

“She was so strong. She attacked the guy who was holding me. I think she stabbed him with something, but he was strong. He pulled me to the window. My room was on the second floor. He shouted something down, in a language I didn't understand. Then he dropped me."

Patricia inhaled sharply. Her eyes were wide and she squeezed his hand, urging him to continue.

"I felt an excruciating pain shoot down my back and I cried out, but as soon as I screamed a boot was put on my face. Someone trying to keep me quiet. I felt like I was suffocating and I tried kicking and pushing, but whenever I moved the pain was horrible. I saw my mom sneaking around the side of the house. The man holding me didn't." His eyes looked as if he was in a far off place. "I could feel warm blood running down my face mixing with tears. My mom jumped on the man. They fell into the darkness of the back yard and I tried to get up, call after her but all that came out was a scream. It hurt so bad that I passed out.”

He didn’t even realize he had been crying until Patricia wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“When I woke up I was in a hospital room and my mom was sitting a chair next to me. I felt so weak that I couldn't move. Mom told me not to."

"Do you know what hospital?" Patricia asked.

Dominic nodded. “Where your dad worked.” Patricia’s dad was a surgeon. “I guess I had just come out of an operation. Your dad was talking to my mom. He told her my back was severely broken and would never be the same. He wanted to do a lot of surgeries and my mom told him that we needed to run. That they would still come looking got me. So, he told her the only thing they could do is keep giving me pain killers. I think he performed, at least, one more surgery. I was in and out for what felt like weeks. The anesthetic and pain meds they were using just made me tired. It was the only time I wasn't in pain. We stayed there until I was healed enough to move then we were on the run.”

"Why?" Patricia asked. "Why are these men after you?"

"My father owes a debt." Dominic said with a sarcastic smile. "He offered me. That I be put in a prison instead of him."

"He can't do that!"

"Where he's from, he can. I am suppose to rot in prison for him." Patricia moved closer to him and rested her forehead against his shoulder. "They started catching up to us when I was eight. My mom knew we couldn't keep running."

"That's when you guys came to us." Patricia remembered. "You were about 8 then."

"My mom knew we could trust your dad after all the help he gave us before. Plus, your parents and my mom go way back.”

“I remember my mom saying they were friends as kids.” Patricia offered.

“When my mom left me there I was barely coherent. I remember the news story your dad brought into me saying she was found dead."

"I'm sorry Dominic." Patricia said softly.

"You saved me." He was looking at her.

"Not yet." She replied seriously. I am going to get you out of this. In one way or another." She felt his hand squeeze hers as he closed his eyes.

———————————

Patricia's door opened and the bright light was almost blinding.

"Sorry if I woke you." Tiller said shyly.

"I wasn't sleeping." Patricia replied stepping out of the car. She fixed her blazer and followed Wilson into a back entrance to the white house. She was immediately searched, and then they were led into the heart of the white house and down toward a basement. The situation room there was white and very well lit, a stark contrast MI6. FBI director Parsons was there to greet them and they took two seats around a large table. The secretary of defense as well as the president were among the people chosen to decide what to do about Bane.

"Wilson, you seemed to have an idea over the phone. What was it?" Parsons asked.

"I think we should send men in with the food. Workers will have to drive the food in to the city. It should be special forces, a chosen few. We take their badges, give them different ID's, and send them in."

"The first rations will go in within a few days. We can have fake IDs for all the forces made by then" Parsons commented.

"With all do respect sir." Patricia started. "We should not make a move that quickly."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"I mean that Bane's men will be weary of any workers coming into the city. They'll expect cops. They need to be the same rotations of workers. The special forces and myself-"

"You think you're going in there?" Parsons asked.

"I know I'm going in there." Patricia answered. "I know Bane better than any of you. I've studied him. I'm also trained in the field." No one said anything. "Now, the special forces soldiers and myself should go every time. We need the men checking out the trucks to recognize us. Think that we're normal civilians who won't do anything."

"Alright, Robertson." The President said carefully. "Then you start as soon as the first shipment goes in."

"Yes, sir." Patricia replied.

“How long are we thinking this could last?” The President asked.

“As of now, sir.” Parsons started with a sigh. “We really have no idea how long it will take.”

The days and planning ticked away slowly. Patricia's ID read 'Megan Reilly' and their first trip into Gotham was rapidly approaching. They had picked several special forces officers that would rotate in and out. Communications with the saved commissioner Gordon as well as his detective had been made. They grocery shop they were going to had a back room where they would meet.

The ride across the bridge was slow and nerve racking. Patricia's driver was nervous and they were stopped before crossing completely. Men dressed for gorilla warfare checked their ID's. One eyed Patricia suspiciously.

"England?" He asked, looking at her ID.

"Yes." she answered quickly.

"Why are you here?" He asked. She took notice of the machine gun hanging off of his shoulder.

"I came for the American dream. Didn't turn out as I expected." He laughed and Patricia felt her body slightly relax as he handed her ID back and let them pass. The shop was half stocked when they arrived. As the truck began unloading the man at the counter signaled Patricia to head to the back. She was unnaturally nervous and could hear her heart beating. He was somewhere in this city. Somewhere closer than they'd been in a long time. The first person she saw had dark hair and matching eyes. He was younger but his eyes looked hardened. Immediately he walked up to her.

"John Blake." He said while shaking her hand.

"Gordon's detective." Patricia said returning the handshake. "Patricia Robertson, MI6."

"Good to meet you." He said hurried.

"You'll see me every time a delivery is made. We're trying to get the guards used to us, to trust us. Eventually we'll come in with more power and some of us will start to stay, build up as many men as possible."

"We need all the help we can get."

"Try to keep people calm." Patricia said softly. "Hopefully people won't fall for Bane's ploy. Stay hidden and get as many high standing members of Gotham society to hide as well. You'll see me soon."

"Thank you."

"Good luck, Blake. Be safe out there."

[glsneeg-enthusiast]

there is something inherently human about being hated. the first death was a murder after all. wasnt it? sprouted from a glowing seed of jealously and was reaped with the help of scalding water that said your offering is as worthy as you are. festered into an ugly ravenous beast a wavering fist that never stilled. cain stood over abel and said look where glory gets you. then he stood under the lord and said i am a sower not a saint. for you dear sower who slew the saint the lord answered plaguing a permanent mark of punishment upon cains mind life shall be worse than death. maybe hatred is a two way street of suffering a dead end road an inevitable curse. maybe hatred is human. (even what animals fear they dont necessarily hate. not like this. never deep enough to take root.) it is flesh and bone and conscious. it is a fallen countenance felt for the first time and never lifted. thats what takes work the lifting not the hating. maybe hatred just is. i wonder what abel thought when he caught sight of his brothers raised fist. if he hated. the voice of his blood cried from the ground but what did it whisper? i am not the lord. i am your little brother. and i looked up to you. you were worthy in my eyes before you closed them. remember when you showed me your field? your crops and greens all lush and living. remember when i told you it was beautiful? remember when i told you instead of biting the words back and letting them fester. then the fruits were all grown up and so were we. i could never keep the plants they stemmed from alive the way you did. you taught me but i never learned. your touch was gentle. mine was rough. you worked with dirt and water. i worked with breath and blood. ripe fruits rotted in my rugged palms and thriving trees languished at the brush of my fingertips. both of our hands were calloused. but only mine were red. you never liked the sheep. youd rather deal with wheat than wool. didnt like cleaning up the mess and i never blamed you. it wasnt pretty. gore never is. how can you do that? you asked with a grimace wiping the sweat and soil from your crown under a lowering orange sun in a blushing sky. like its natural. its like loving i said scrubbing the scarlet from my weary arms and splashing cool water into my burning skin. there are only three people i have ever loved but no one understood me as good as you did. not always easy not always perfect. a little vicious a little brutal. i dont always enjoy having to do it but thats just how it is. thats how its always been. and washing away the remnants is always the toughest part. you looked at my face but not at me. something ailed you and i wish you wouldve told me what it was. i wouldve listened. i wouldve followed you anywhere and i did. straight into your flourishing field straight into the desolate bed you made for me beneath it. you are finally above me brother. does glory taste different to you than it did to me? its your sacrifice you said but it sounded as if you were asking. its my sacrifice i agreed. were brothers right? its like that. i always thought keeping sheep was simpler than tilling land. you didnt its why you never wanted to learn more than what was required but i wouldve taught you. (i could never as good as you abel.) the sheep talked to me in their own ways. told me if they were in pain with relentless strident bleating. if they needed feeding i fed them. if they needed bathing i bathed them. if they needed slaughtering i slaughtered them. if they needed burying i buried them. brother you wouldve taken care of my sheep perfectly. look at how well you took care of me.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Original poem- Willow's Wrath

The lake was glistening with moon-milk,

Lilies floated on water-glass,

Their elegant roots a-swaying

As green and as placid as glass.

It was there where she met Mr. Tripthorne,

Sweet Annemarie, with rose-budded cheeks-

She glanced him once, and from then on,

He was all she could think of for weeks.

And when he returned to the moon-lake,

The lilies she wove in her hair-

He thought he glimpsed a nymph of old

Long-limbed, golden, and fair.

Tripthorne stood, enchanted by moonlight,

Dazzled, bewitched by this dryad,

Annemarie in turn gazed his way, flustered,

Her blue eyes rivaled those of a naiad.

He asked her, “Miss, what shall I call you?”

She replied, “Sir, my name’s Annemarie-

If you desire to meet me once more,

Come at twilight to yon willow tree.”

And so Tripthorne made her a promise,

Clasping her hand to his breast,

And dutifully, he waited til the following night,

Faithful, by love, to her request. 

Indeed, she was there, framed by branches,

Lily-woven locks flowing past limber limbs,

He’d never felt his heart so impassioned,

As she smiled and beckoned to him.

After sunset, his lips brushed her cheekbone,

Under moonlight, her lips locked against his,

Under starlight, his arms clutched her waistline,

Under sunlight, she said to him this-

“Good day to you, Mr. Tripthorne,” 

And turned to leave, but twas he who said,

“Annemarie, it is I who love you,

And by next week, we shall be wed.”

The following week there were church bells,

And vows and ceremony and lace,

Annemarie, all the while, apprehensive-

Only thrice before had she seen this man’s face.

At first, there was bliss, and nothing but bliss

Of the pomegranate nights they shared,

She didn’t know his first name and he didn’t know her last,

But in those days, neither one of them cared.

But alas, time would pass as it always does,

She saw him as frigid and cold,

And viewed through his eyes, she was never satisfied

By him, though he bought her jewels and gold.

Yes indeed, their union was torture,

When they dined, they had nothing to say,

Oft hadn’t they bed since right after they wed,

So it was, night by night, day by day.

She languished and sighed, and he wanted to die

Woe be upon that night at the lake!

The lilies, the lovers, the light of the moon-

Not a blessing, but a cruel curse of fate!

One day, Tripthorne went to the market,

A fair sight did his eyes behold-

Not a willow-nymph maiden, but a society lass,

Her hands adorned with rings of gold.

He knew that he should walk away,

That what he felt wasn’t right nor fair,

But fate must have brought them together, he thought,

And how enchanting was her golden hair!

He asked her, “Miss, have you been married?”

She said, “I have not, sir, why?”

With the last dying light of regret in his heart,

He smiled and said, “neither have I.”

Said he, “madam, my name is Tripthorne,”

Said she, “sir, my name’s Josephine.”

Her eyes, how they sparkled, like diamonds

Set in raiment worn by the Queen.

Josephine, in his thoughts as he walked home,

Josephine, not the old willow-tree,

Josephine, with her jewels and her golden hair,

Not a single inkling spared for Annemarie.

And so oft he returned to the market;

Their meetings transformed to a tryst,

They fled every night to the churchyard,

Their passions obscured by moon-mist.

How supple her hands were, how graceful!

How deep were her sighs, how serene!

How more precious than diamonds were the pleasures

Bestowed by the fair Josephine!

One fateful day, Annemarie told him,

“I’ve received word my mother is ill,

I’m visiting her in the country,

To relieve her of sickness and chills.”

Alas, Tripthorne was quite unaware

No truth resided in what she’d said

For Annemarie had no such mother-

The fact was, for years, she’d been dead.

So he sent her off to the country,

Where all was yet tranquil and green,

And the moment she’d left, he took out a pen,

And wrote to his dear Josephine.

“Dearest love, I declare in earnest,

That I cannot tell when we shall wed,

But let’s not lie in the gloom of the churchyard-

Let us trade it for the comforts of my bed.”

Josephine arrived soon, in a day’s time-

Rosy-red, and unshrouded by mist

Tripthorne welcomed her, heart beating madly

And greeted her with a deep kiss.

Said he, “love, you are radiant this evening,

The sun has set, and the night has begun-

How I will treasure our delight

Once you and I become one.”

Said she, “so at last, you speak of marriage!”

For tonight, I shall answer your plea-

At last, we bring an end to this lovers’ game-

As I stand before your bended knee!”

Said he, “I’ve said soon, and again I say soon-

For my darling, you must understand,

I hardly have but a cent to my name,

So I cannot yet ask for your hand.”

Josephine answered, “why, my beloved,

Your wealth does not matter to me-

Let us run far away, to some distant shore

To a small, lonely cottage on the sea.”

Yet that night, they made love on the mattress,

Awash in the light of the stars,

And yet, so sunk in their intimate bliss,

Neither noticed the door was ajar.

It was late at night when the wind whistled,

The sheets over their bodies began to billow,

From the window-frame came the dreadful scratching

Of ten thousand claw-branches of willow.

Vines snaked around the bedposts,

Roots erupted from under the floors,

The lovers watched in horrified silence,

At the creaking, opening door-

And then She was there in the doorway!

Towering, glowering, green!

Her white-flame eyes burned like scorned moonlight,

As she surveyed Tripthorne and Josephine-

“Shame on ye, the wretched unfaithful!”

Came the voice of the verdant deity-

Tripthorne paled, for he knew at once

That this could be none but sweet Annemarie!

“My darling, have pity! Forgive us!”

He, stammering and stuttering, said,

“Nay!” she commanded, “for you are dishonest,

And defile our marriage bed!”

And with that, Annemarie raised her right hand

As she piercingly wailed in the dark,

The lovers each looked on in horror

As their skin turned to cold willow-bark.

“I beg you,” Josephine cried in horror,

“Please, set your just curse aside!

For he told me that he was unmarried-

It was unknown to me you were his bride!”

“Leave this place,” Annemarie thus commanded,

“And nevermore shall you return,

Only once will I grant you my mercy;

Woe betide you if you fail to learn.”

Josephine fled the bed, out the doorway,

As Tripthorne intended pursuit-

But he found that he could not so much as stand

For his feet had become willow roots.

Screams escaped his mouth as his blood turned to sap;

It filled his throat, drowning his pleas,

But they would have mattered little, as they would have fallen deaf

On the ears of Annemarie.

His arms and his fingers extended to branches,

That twitched, then stopped moving for good,

As his wife looked on, her expression was blank

As she watched flesh turn to wood.

As for his soul, it still burned alive,

But never again would he sleep;

For in his place stood the willow-

The tree that eternally weeps.

A hundred years passed, and the house is long gone,

No one hears of Tripthorne and Annemarie,

But on moonlit nights, when the wind blows just right,

One can hear the cries of the willow tree.

And still lovers meet under its branches,

Blessed by moon and stars above,

And yet cursed to endure them forever

Is the soul of the man who scorned love.

[shoko-komi]

The Komi Report - 30/08/23

Whoops! I missed... a bunch of chapters. I read them all but I was in a period of languish and missed my reports. Pobody's nerfect. Rumiko recorded her application for Uni and had a conversation with Wakai about their relationship (extremely good). Then there was a roundup of all the friends Komi's made so far as they enter into the second half of their final year (extremely good). All caught up, now on with the report!

You can read Komi Can't Communicate Here - Viz Media (Only in North America) Here - Mangadex (Thanks to the hard work of Mylene Scans!)

Tadano is introducing his girlfriend to one of his best friends - a baby man. It's stressful bringing people you love together. You want them to get along so bad! I love that they' apparently have a relationship outside of what we've seen've been bonding off camera (so to speak). Makes the world so full of life!

One sentence summary of the series

omg the stress when you're with people who know each other really well and you don't know how to fit in... Tadano is so sweet with everyone.

another determined Komi face for the collection. Look at her!! She doesn't want to depend Tadano translating for her, so she finds a way for her and the baby man to communicate directly... she's breaking down barriers. That's a future diplomat right there. Not to mention the inversion!! Someone else using Komi's iconic notebook to speak with her... omg

He's not wrong. No false modesty gang

The backstory jdnakjwndkj so he could? Speak?? He chooses to make baby noises??? I knew I'd love this guy the moment I saw him.

Ogiya only deals in straight facts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

:'(

akljsndjasnd just walks away. Omg!! Where is she going? What will she do??? We shall to wait................. until next week!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[clarenecessities]

✨🍀 re: wow toons (idk what that is so pls enlighten me!)

AHAHAHA YES!!!! <-sicko voice

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

these go hand in hand so i'm doin' 'em together >:3c so wow toons are what you call your different world of warcraft characters, of which i have... 12? 15? some multiple of three. i shall describe each of them in turn bc you've inadvertently activated my trap card.

Sétanta - my very first wow character. he's a worgen bc obviously i'm going to pick the werewolf race, come on. i made him a druid bc i heard you could turn into even more animals and this pleased me. He's named for Cú Chulainn (Hound of Culann), who renamed himself that as a kid. I pronounce it 100% wrong, with an /s/ at the start and a /t/ in the middle, but that's what happens when you learn all your words by reading as a small child. i pronounced seamus See-Miss until i was like 16. it could be worse.

Seidrin - As I was fleshing him out i accidentally went way too hard on his mom's backstory, so when I wanted to make a tank she was the natural choice. her dad is the wolf god Goldrinn, who I decided (fancifully) to pretend was named for galdra, one of the kinds of norse magic. -inn being the masculine name suffix, i changed it tothe feminine -in and named her for seiðr magic instead. went with a d instead of a th bc logan very wisely pointed out the "-drin-" mirrors Goldrinn.

Crimthann - Sétanta's dad. I wanted to make a healer and I was like you know what would be really funny? If I named his dad after another guy who renamed himself for an animal. And Crimthann (an old irish name meaning 'fox') is often alleged to be the birth name of St. Colmcille, 'church dove'. so i made him a priest but unfortunately priests are very boring to play so he's... languishing.

Donn - I wanted to make a Horde character but I didn't know how to play anything but a druid so I was like... surely, this will work. I was gonna name him Donn Cúailnge after the Brown Bull of Cooley but it turns out you can't put spaces in the names. But Donn (shockingly) wasn't taken so... here he is! Tauren druid!

Jettion - I was bullied into making a dracthyr, the newest race, bc they have a fun starting quest. Dragons in wow have name suffixes according to their 'flight' (color) and he's a male black dracthyr (who are like anthro dragons) so his name had to end in -ion, and often the black flight's names start with shades of blade, so... it was either Jetion or Jettion, and I liked Jettion better bc it looks like Jettison.

Shannock - We all made vulpera, the little fox people together. but i'd already used the name Crimthann. so I was like 'maybe sionnach'? but if you can believeit some bastard already snagged it. so i went with a rough anglicization. i should play him more.

Lokworg - I've twice been bullied into making a monk bc supposedly they get fun later on & i just need to keep doing quests with my pals, but my pals are much faster than i am and outstrip me quickly. The first monk i deleted bc i don't care about him and honestly lokworg's not doin' much for me either. His name's orcish, lok is song/cry (noun) and worgs are the large, extra smart wolves orcs ride as mounts. More or less 'direwolf song'.

Rumpelteazer - Peer pressured into doing the worgen starting quest & I wanted someone who could learn to pick locks one day, so rogue it was! Originally named Scátha (irish for shade but also kind of an oblique reference to scáthach, the scottish warrior woman who trained Cú Chulainn (and my own pseudohistorical ancestor)), but I kept pronouncing it wrong and was listening to Cats 1998 soundtrack and... well... he's a rogue! and Mungojerrie was taken!

Ulfhedrinn - in keeping with the norse theme, he's named after the Ulfheðnar (singular Ulfheðinn, wolf+what's basically a hooded vest made of fur) that were an appropriately lupine variety of berserkers. I wanted to make a Horde healer and i was like you know... i haven't made this insane little family big enough yet.

Galdrulf - Okay, honestly? He was supposed to be Ulfhedrinn. We were starting with new Horde characters and we were gonna level together, but I got so lost in the customization sauce that I forgot Ulf's particular flavor of orc starts at level 10 instead of 1. So I panicked and made a warrior, and I named him galdr+ulf bc I'm not very creative under pressure.

Fuil - Bullied into making a dark iron dwarf but i'm not clear on why bc we never got farther than unlocking them? guys? are we doing anything with these? irish for blood bc he's going to be a Blood Death Knight. one day. probably.

Tigernmas - I was peer pressured into making a Demon Hunter, whom I wanted to name Crom but noooo, that was 'taken', so I named him after a pseudohistorical king that got himself and 75% of the men in Ireland killed worshipping Crom Cruach.

you know i'm sensing some themes here. a lot of irish. a lot of peer pressuring. jesus christ is seidrin my only woman? she doesn't even use the fpose model no wonder they keep he/himming me

[hunters-hobby-log]

Day 2: game day

I played a game today, so I didn't have much time to hobby. I also forgot to take photos, so you'll have to take my word for it. I built up part of a mortar team. Im still waiting on traitor bits, so they shall languish in unfinished until then. I also replaced the arm on my nurgle icon bearer. Now he mroe closely represents iron hand stracken.

I think he looks good with those "catachan" I wrote about yesterday.

I also bought a leman russ!

Since the photos are minimal, I guess I'll write an after action report.

The opponents list was centered around 3 fully loaded blocks of kataphron breachers. Each had a skitarii screen, and a manipulus. Mine was a mixed guard regiment: 2 fully loaded krieg squads with marshals, the "catachan" squad shown above, a cadian command blob with leontus and two psion teams. The infantry was supported 2 basilisks a mortar team, two russes and a tank commander.

My traitors did not fair well today. I played against new rad bombardment detachment for admech. They drop mortals in your deployment every turn, and if you want to minimize mortals each unit can hit the dirt, but they're battleshocked for the turn. Its super flavorful, but man I both overestimated how lethal those mortals would be and hit the dirt with every one of my units in the first turn. That was a mistake. I shoulda just eaten the mortals and the admech shooting turn one. Everyone was hidden behind buildings. I woulda been fine.

Due to the battleshock my first turn was a dud. Battleshock means no orders, and secondary actions. Shooting did nothing. My opponent was able to setup on points and start scoring.

Turn two was a bit better, but my infantry wasnt able to push onto primary points, and my target priority was all over the place. I, at best, killed a couple of individual kataphrons and some infantry. I was then slapped incredibly hard by admech shooting.

Turn three was the death knell for me. I reinforced my now vaporized catachan squad, and now was able to set them up again in my opponents deployment zone. I set up a krieg squad in position to charge where my catachan were initially vaporized, and I set up my command blob with leontus in position to take the center and right objectives. Then I rolled snake eyes on literally all 3 charges. There my guard stood as they were gunned down mercilessly by the forces of the mechanicus on my opponents turn.

I conceded there, between a misguided call to take first turn letting my entire army get battleshocked, and the scramble causing a lack of focus on targets lead to a complete shutout.

I wish I got photos, but I was too caught up in socializing and generally hanging out with my buddy to reliable photograph.