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romanoffsbish · 1 year

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A PR Nightmare

Scarlett Johansson x F!R

Warnings: Drugs(the happy gas), Gaslighting(ex).

"Scarlett Johansson is my wife!” you groaned, slamming your laptop shut in the hopes of forgetting, but the embarrassing clip is now engrained in your mind. Your now ex was so jealous of your crush on your celebrity boss that she thought it best to post your drugged up form announcing it to the world.

So high on the laughing gas from your wisdom teeth procedure you'd failed to notice the camera in your face as you rambled on about the blonde starlet, not that you'd have done much of anything in the state you were in. Martha betrayed you, and all the trust you once held for her flew out the window with your relationship. She pleaded with you to let it go, that it was just a harmless joke, but the email you got requesting for you to meet up with Scarlett, Kate and HR told you it likely wasn't.

——

Now, all you wanted to do was to curl up in your bed and sob for days. Snuggling your tuxedo kitten impossibly close, while eating every unhealthy snack known to man. Your associated leave only lasted a few days, and the looming meeting was scheduled for tomorrow.

Quitting wasn't sounding so bad to you, but then you felt a cool breeze, remembering that living in the city wasn't cheap, and if you were to have no income lined up to replace hers you and Toby would be foraging on the streets.

"Wish me luck Tobes.," the cat lazily meowed from atop your chest, and you thanked him with a few head pats before letting a restless sleep win you over.

—

Scarlett was in her office tapping away on the computer, in an hours time she'll be on a zoom interview to address the silly issue at hand. Then a few hours later she'd be meeting you in person for the very first time, you were one of the many social media consultants on her team, and it wasn't a shock she never met you.

Doesn't mean she hadn't seen you before, her interested gaze always lingered on your form too, finding it humorous that you were so focused on getting the products lined up with the rooms natural lighting. When you were focused on that, she was focused on how that same light gave you the glow of an angel.

This video of yours might've cause a subtle uproar on the internet, but she couldn't be bothered by such a thing when it got her that much closer to you. Especially with the clear knowledge that the attraction here is mutual; The Outset sales booming is just a bonus.

While Scarlett typed away in a state of glee it was very much a polarizing experience for you. Clammy hands reached for the main entrance door, and after a few tries you'd managed to get in the building just to trip over an obvious box.

"Get it together Y/L/N," you grumbled as you wiped the dirt off your now wrinkled clothes, "Perfect, now she can think I'm a slob too."

You trudged up to your locker to put your bag away, and hopefully fix yourself up a bit. There was a group of your coworkers there, almost as if they were in wait, because instantaneous snickering occurred as you filled their view.

Ignoring them was easy enough, you'd never cared much for them anyways, so you just glared their way before making the dreadful trip up the elevator where ignoring the urge to vomit up your iced coffee was harder to ignore.

Especially when the metal doors slid open, showing you in a state of obvious duress, your fingers were aggressive as they massaged at your aching temple, and you were muttering words under you breath, you honestly looked insane. Which is why when the soft clearing of a throat was heard you froze up like a statue.

Stood before you was Scarlett Johansson, her hand on the shoulder of her co creator, and the CEO of The Outset—Kate, whom of which you were familiar with as she loved to be on the inside of a lot of the company's media promo. The older woman was smiling at you softly, her eyes dripping with sympathy, and you weren't sure how you were still standing on your feet.

"Miss Y/L/N, I wasn't expecting you for another thirty minutes, but lucky for you I'm free now," Scarlett spoke, tone even, but you could see amusement flickering in her eyes.

"I however have to go handle an emergency, something to do with legal, so it'll just be the two of you as HR only gave a form for you," Kate continued as she brushed passed, and suavely swapped places with you in the lift.

Kate's smiling face was like a lifeline in the moment, so when the doors shut you nearly collapsed to your knees. A meeting with the woman alone, the same one you embarrassed online, and who sometimes signs your checks.

You weren't sure it could get much worse, but boy were you wrong because as soon as you sat down the blonde had your video queued up, "Shall we watch this together? Or are you equally as aware of the contents as I am?"

"I-I know what was said,” you hung your head in shame, completely missing her sly smirk.

"I'm apparently the 'hottest thing since baked lasagna,” Scarlett read off a quote pulled from the unbearably long video, though she kept her voice level you could see the amusement in her eyes, and via the small side smirk she obviously tried to suppress. "But wait, at one point you mentioned that if given the chance you'd gaze into my brilliant green eyes for hours on end, but you've yet to even look me in the eyes."

"Am I being fired?" you managed to ask her the looming question. "Should you be Y/N?"

A heavy sigh left your lips as you clambered to your feet, "I'm sorry for the all the trouble I've caused you Miss Johansson, and I'd just like to thank you for the opportunity to work under you." The blonde's brows furrowed, she was genuinely shocked at your outburst, "Wait!"

Your hand paused on the handle, and you twisted your upper body to face her. "You're not being fired, as I've been told, and quite frankly as I've seen you're one of our better employees, and it would be a disservice to let you go over something so silly," she slowly moved from behind her desk as a means to approach you, her hand settled atop your arm and your breath hitched in your throat.

"That being said." You felt uneasy when she spun you the rest of the way to face her, it felt like your stomach was doing somersaults with the way she was smirking at you—at you, not near you, no, it was designated for your eyes. "You've caused quite the stir around the world, so my team and I think it'd be best if you were my next red carpet date, for the public appeal."

Scarlett watched as you swallowed thickly, so she softened her smirk, and squeezed your shoulder in a comforting way. "It would be good for The Outsets image, we'd basically be in on the joke, or more so getting ahead of it." You found yourself even more confused by her phrasing, and maybe even a bit hurt. "Joke?"

Scarlett internally smacked herself, she'd been nervous when she spoke, even if her confident smirk said otherwise, and now she has to find a way to make sense of her likely hurtful words. "You said I was your wife, is that not a joke?" Your eyes immediately looked away from hers at the pointed call out, "No, yeah, it was..."

"Exactly, but maybe if you play your cards right it could be your eventual reality," she winked, short circuiting your brain with the words and flirty gesture to the point of stunned silence.

"Just think about it Y/N, no pressure, but I'd be doing a disservice to myself if I didn't say I'd be the luckiest person on that carpet if I had a pretty thing like you hanging off of my arm."

At the sight of your soft, nervous smile the starlet felt her nerves settling. "Ok, I'll do it." Blinded by her excitement she pulled you into a hug, and fortunately for her you melted into it. "Perfect, my team will be in contact then, and I'll be seeing you around the office pretty girl."

—

True to her word, Scarlett sought you out the very next day after reading through your file. Kate and her had decided awhile back to do there best to connect with the staff on a more personal level, and in doing so they'd asked you all some really random questions. Nothing too personal, it was very surface level, like: what's your go to take out meal, or favorite game?

After reading how much you loved to play Uno, and eat at that small Italian restaurant up the street she immediately sent her assistant out to collect all that she'd need, and now she was in the elevator on her way down to your floor.

"Good afternoon Miss Johansson."

When your manager announced the arrival of your starlet boss you tried to shrink into the void, but it was to no avail as she was here for you. The toned legs slipped into cherry red high heels before your face said as much, "Hi."

Scarlett chuckled as you greeted her knee, her unbelievably soft hand reached down to help you to your feet, and with the force she used it made you stumble into her awaiting embrace.

"Oh, you're falling for me all over again?" she teased quietly with a whisper against your ear before she straightened the both of your bodies then began to walk away, heels clicking as she spoke, "We have things to discuss, come on."

After a moment of bewildering, you looked up to John who looked to you concerned, "Go."

Scarlett bit back her chuckle at the sight of you haphazardly rushing to catch the elevator, as if she wasn't patiently holding it open for you, and admiring how pretty your soft pout was.

"I'm sorry Miss Johansson," you rushed out, but she quickly stopped you with a hand on your lower back, causing you to freeze as a shiver ran through you, "Call me Scarlett."

As the both of you exited the elevator onto her floor you walked in tandem, her hand never left your back until it was pulling the chair out for you to sit down. Scarlett Johansson was proving to be quite the gentlewoman.

"So, you're probably wondering why you're here," she playfully quirked a brow your way, and watched as you nodded meekly, "Mhm."

"Well honey, I don't think it's proper me taking you out as my date without a proper sit down," she started while dolling out the take outs full of pasta before you, serving you a piping hot plate of fettuccine, while she had spaghetti. "There's also the discussion of whether we'll want to match, so we'll have some clothes for you to try on delivered in the next hour or so."

“Thank you,” you gestured to the pasta when she looked to you curiously, “No problem love.”

Scarlett was enjoying her time with you, she was getting to know you like she’d always been tempted to. Learning silly things like your favorite color, animal, or dessert, she even knows your go to comfort movie and snacks.

It was a serene moment until the team she hired to pick your outfits showed up to break it. There was a rolling bar full of various items, a mix of suits and dresses so you could choose whatever made you the most comfortable.

“So, tell me darling, shall we match? Because I have a dress to match any outfit you choose.”

It wasn’t hard to pick after she said that, you went with the deep red option, because you had always adored Scarlett when she wore red. Scarlett beamed at your choice to match, then she was working hard not to drool, because you looked rather delectable in the red yourself.

Neither of you realized how long you’d been together until you were leaving her office with your belongings in hand as the sun had nearly sunk below the New York skyline. You entered the elevator and pressed for the ground floor.

“So, Y/N, what made you apply to The Outset?”

You smiled softly, “I have always enjoyed the art of advertising, and I needed money so when I saw the attached salary I was sold.”

“It’s okay, you can say it was because of me,” she teased, stepping closer, only causing you to stumble backwards, “Not everything I do is because of my silly crush on you Miss Joh—.”

“Y/N, for the love of God, call me Scarlett,” she whined as the doors opened, thankful to be in a empty building as the work day already ended.

The rest of the walk to the street was in silence, you too busy overthinking audibly mentioning your obvious crush, and the blonde was in the opposite state, internally beaming at the words.

“I’ll get you Friday at six darling,” she placed a hand on your lower back, and shifted you into an embrace you couldn’t avoid, “Be ready,” she smiled at you, then ushered you into your car and waited until you were buckled to leave.

——

It was quite shocking to you when a car pulled up and had Scarlett in the drivers seat. You’d been expecting her to arrive with a driver, but you didn’t question her outwardly, instead you settled into the passenger seat, and in for a long ride since she made sure to make it hard with that innocent hand placed on your thigh.

Scarlett’s driver was at the edge of the event, and so as soon as she assisted you out of the car she was passing off the keys to Ricardo.

“If you get nervous, don’t hesitate to tell me,” she squeezed your hand for emphasis, then once you nodded she pulled you onto the red carpet where you’re met with blinding flashes.

Scarlett saw the way others at the venue looked at you, as if you were fresh meat for them to pick off of. It infuriated her beyond belief that anyone would so much as look at you while you were on her arm, but to try and speak to you?

It was ludicrous, and she wasn't having it.

Scarlett pulled you closer by the hand on your waist, then when a new wave of paparazzi came up to photograph the two of you she knew she needed to send a clear message. "Hey, Y/N?"

You hummed nervously, far too thrown by the hustle and bustle of a red carpet to speak, but you also turned to her with a nervous smile. The way she was staring at you, as if you were a glass of Chardonnay she intended to devour in one gulp, only served to intensify the nerves that were coursing throughout your body.

"Fuck it," Scarlett didn't exactly plan for this, but she was desperate, so she cupped your left cheek and pulled you in for a kiss, and to her luck and honestly, surprise, you instantly were reciprocating the gesture, eagerly if she may.

The crowd woo'd, and beyond the flashes they began to shout at her for answers, and this was when you pulled away with a terrified gaze. Scarlett ignored her responsibility as a star, and pulled you to a secluded corner so that she could make sure you understood that was a real kiss, and not a devious little PR stunt.

As soon as you were out of sight you ripped your hands from hers, it broke her to see you look so hurt, watching as you hastily retreated, wrapping your arms around yourself for the much needed comfort, "That was mean..."

"Y/N—"

"No, I-I get it, okay? I embarrassed you with the video, and now you're just returning the favor. It doesn't make it any less cruel."

"No Y/N, please," Scarlett had never been so desperate before, she's dated her fair share of people, but none ever as enticing as you, and she hadn't even properly asked you out yet, "This, everything up until now, was real."

"Scarlett, you're an amazing actress..."

"No!" she stepped forward, trapping you against the wall, "I wasn't being malicious Y/N, I kissed you because that's what I wanted to do, it's what I've wanted to do for months on end."

“Months? But my video is only two weeks old.”

Scarlett snorted, “I noticed you before that.”

For a brief moment the space was silent, the dirty blonde watched the way you processed her words with relative amusement. The way you smiled bashfully, with your eyes cast down had her falling even deeper into this crush.

“So you like me? The kiss was real?”

Scarlett reached out with a soft hand to cup your left cheek while her other hand wrapped around your neck. She caressed your cheek, offering you a sweet smile before she used her hold on you to pull you into a deep kiss.

The kiss was building up fast, her hands were roaming your body in sinful ways, and you were reacting with breathless mewling. It was only when a frantic young man rushed in to the once private space to look utterly relieved at your compromising bodies that the kiss ended.

“Miss. Johansson, and guest, you really need to be getting to your seats, the shows starts soon.”

Scarlett’s face tinged pink once she noticed the hustle and bustle on the red carpet had indeed dissipated, “Thank you, we’ll be right there.”

The blonde then grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the entrance with familiar ease. She seemed tense, so you tried to lighten the mood, “If you want to give this a PR twist we can get married for real, we can go to Vegas,” you teased your new lover who softly snorted in response, “Y/N, that sounds like a nightmare.”

“All publicity is good publicity Scarlett.”

Once you crossed the threshold into the dark entryway she spun you around and into her hold so she could whisper, “There’s no need to rush this Y/N, I’ll make you mine, I promise.”

Then with a swift kiss to your cheek, and a firm grip on your hand you believed her completely.

You will become Scarlett Johansson’s wife.

——

3,126 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 🥰

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heartmachinez · 8 months

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CELEBRATING 10 YEARS OF HEART MACHINE

A Decade of Creativity and Community

A decade ago, we began a journey that would lead to the birth of Heart Machine - a game studio committed to crafting immersive, vibrant experiences that resonate with players on a profound level. As we celebrate our 10-year anniversary, we reflect on our history, achievements, community, and the exciting future that lies ahead.

THINKING BACK

Glitch City, Kickstarter, and Hyper Light Drifter

In 2013, we took a leap of faith and launched a Kickstarter campaign for our debut project, Hyper Light Drifter. Little did we know that this campaign would not only secure the funds needed to bring our project to life, but also ignite a beautiful connection with supporters, players, and community members who believed in us from the outset.

Fueled by a need for camaraderie and knowledge, we spent those early days of Drifter’s development as a part of Glitch City, a then-small collective of independent game developers, artists, and creators all working together out of Alx’s basement. Those early days and (often) sleepless nights vision were critical in defining our design philosophies, studio culture, and grassroots community connections - setting the stage for what was to come.

Our Heartfelt Gratitude to Our Early Contributors

To date, thanks to the incredible support of our community, the Kickstarter for Hyper Light Drifter remains one of the most successful game projects on the platform. It smashed through the initial funding goal of $27,000 and ultimately raised over $600,000.

To our early backers who believed in us and our vision, and those fellow devs who helped us through endless rounds of playtesting and feedback, we extend our deepest gratitude. Your unwavering support enabled us to bring our dreams to life and emboldened us to continually push the boundaries of game design.

Special shout out to core Drifter team members: Alx Preston, Beau Blyth, Teddy Dief, Casey Hunt, Rich Vreeland, Akash Thakkar, Sean Ward, Lisa Brown, and Cosimo Galluzzi.

The critical reception following the release of Hyper Light Drifter was incredible - beyond our wildest expectations. We never could have anticipated the accolades and recognition it received, or the impact it made on players far and wide. It was humbling, and affirmed our dedication to continue to make great games to share with the world.

Moving Into a New Dimension

We started development on Solar Ash about a year before the multi-platform release of Hyper Light Drifter. Early on, we joined forces with Annapurna Interactive, whose expertise and resources facilitated our exploration of 3D game development. Over the next five years, Annapurna's support played a pivotal role in bringing this ambitious project to fruition. The vastness of the game's ethereal landscapes and fluid movement mechanics opened new avenues for worldbuilding and storytelling.

To date, Solar Ash continues to engage new players and inspire returning ones to create beautiful works inspired by the game. It is following in the footsteps of its predecessor and is now available on a a wide array of game platforms for a worldwide audience.

All of the positive reception that followed Solar Ash’s release proved that our community was ready to continue along this new aesthetic path with us. Just as Drifter smashed through its initial Kickstarter goals, we are poised to once again smash the boundaries of possibility with our upcoming projects.

HEART MACHINE TODAY

Reimagining a Familiar World

As we celebrate our 10-year milestone, we're thrilled to now be well underway with our newest title set in the familiar Hyper Light Universe. This new project, Hyper Light Breaker, builds upon the foundations we've laid, evolving our creative vision in unexpected ways.

A Shared Journey

Our journey would not be complete without acknowledging the invaluable contributions of our community. From community leaders who pave the way forward with creativity and kindness, to creators who challenge us with incredible skill and passion, to modders who continuously breathe new life into our games, to wiki writers who meticulously document every detail, to speedrunners who push the boundaries of possibility – you are the heartbeats that keep our worlds alive.

Over the years, we've had the privilege of connecting with our wonderful community at conventions and events across the digital and physical world. These gatherings allowed us to share our passion, hear your stories, and learn from your insights. Your presence and enthusiasm continue to inspire us.

We’re so grateful to: Polare, Lukas, Durtle, Clark, Yrrzy, CornMayor, Aza, Andreas, Conscy, Perfectly Mediocre, Thunderbrave, Bryonato, Utsu, NicowithaC, Covert Muffin, Sylvi, among many many others who make our work worth doing.

Our Company Vision

At Heart Machine, we've built more than games. We've cultivated a company culture that values kindness, inclusivity, and pushing the envelope. Our mission has always been not only to entertain but also leave a lasting impact. This dedication has enabled us to support and grow a thriving studio of some of the most talented, thoughtful, and fun people in the entire industry.

Our ethos revolves around fostering a work environment that prioritizes professional advancement, mental and physical health, and employee happiness. This commitment takes shape in various dimensions of our culture. We proudly offer Heart Machine University (HMU), a collaborative peer-teaching initiative where we cover everything from how to LARP or make sculptures out of driftwood to environment, concept, and tech art techniques. We also organize activities like group gaming and anime sessions, provide access to networking and learning resources, and support social and charitable initiatives to reinforce our team’s sense of purpose. As a studio, we strive to hang our culture on a framework where each individual can flourish and achieve their own growth and learning goals.

It’s no accident that the trajectory of these past 10 years has led us to forming the team we have now. We have always and will continue to adhere to our culture of high quality standards, emphasis on creative innovation, and heart-first leadership practices.

LOOKING AHEAD

As we stand at the threshold of the next chapter, we're excited to announce that Hyper Light Breaker will be arriving in Early Access in 2024. This project represents our ongoing commitment to pushing boundaries, taking risks, and creating experiences that captivate and challenge players in our specifically unique ways.

Beyond Hyper Light Breaker, we have other projects currently under wraps that will continue to define us as a studio. We can't wait to share these journeys with you as we forge into this next decade.

Thank you thank you thank you for joining us on this incredible ride. Heart Machine wouldn't be the same without each and every one of you. Here's to the many more adventures that lie ahead!

With love and gratitude,

The Heart Machine Team

#hyper light drifter #solar ash #solarash #annapurna #gearbox #kickstarter #hyper light breaker #game development #gamedev #indiegamedev #indiegames

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brucebocchi · 1 month

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Winter 2024 anime, Pt. 2: Mixed reactions, the bench, and the gems

hey y'all, this is also up on my ko-fi! it's free to read both here and there, but i'm struggling financially rn so i could appreciate if you'd throw a few bucks my way if you liked it! part 1 can be found here.

And we're back for part 2! Here's all the new stuff I finished this season, and one more I'll get back to later. As with before, these are sorted alphabetically within each category and are not ranked as of yet.

Also as before, the OP for each series is linked in the title. Check them all out if the header images aren't giving you the right feel for each show, but also check them out because most of them were actually pretty damn good this season.

[Solo Leveling OP voice] LET'S GET IT!

Mixed Bags:

Hokkaido Gals Are Super Adorable!

Your standard, quasi-harem “easily flustered Regular Guy wins over hot girls just by being really nice” shonen romcom. I really don’t have much to say about this one other than if you’ve seen My Dress-Up Darling, you’ve basically seen this already. The only thing that really sets it apart is the setting.

Tsubasa (voiced by Nobunaga Shimazaki, in a FAR cry from his turn as Mahito in Jujutsu Kaisen) is a straight-laced Tokyoite whose family situation lands him in a small city in the frozen boonies of Hokkaido. While looking for the bus to his new house, he runs into a gyaru in the snowy wild, the underdressed, hilariously-proportioned Minami, and they hit it off. It turns out they go to the same school, there are other cute girls there who take a shine to him as well, it’s nothing new.

I ultimately don’t have much to say about Hokkaido Gals, but I do have a soft spot for series like this, and after reading ahead in the manga I felt obligated to see it through. This is all junk food, but it’s all stuff you’ve seen done better in other series. I also have a soft spot for gyaru in anime and manga, and while I do like Minami just fine, she isn’t Marin Kitagawa or Rumiko Manbagi. I don’t really have it in me to recommend this show to many, though, at least not until another season rolls around, if that ever happens. The manga genuinely does get a lot better as it goes on, but the really worthwhile stuff may not happen until a third season, and I just don’t see that happening.

The manga has issues that the anime isn’t willing or able to solve, chief of which being the visuals. The art style of the manga is wildly inconsistent, and getting a mediocre animation team on this didn’t help matters at all. While the colors often pop nicely against the pretty, snowy backdrops, nobody looks all that great overall. The characters are recognizable, but they just plain don’t look great a lot of the time, nor do they look consistent from one cut to the next; I said that Minami’s proportions are hilarious, but just as hilarious is how wildly they vacillate from one scene to the next for the sake of trying to titillate the viewer.

My biggest takeaway from both the manga and anime was everything I learned about Hokkaido in the process, and if the series is taking subsidies from the island’s tourism bureau, then it’s a job well done. I want some goddamn jingisukan now. The OP is a great time, though. I’m shocked it took over a decade for us to get a proper “Uptown Funk” knockoff in an anime.

Metallic Rouge

I’ll be upfront in saying that this was my biggest disappointment of the season by far. This show had so much going for it, and what we got was… ugh.

There was an unbelievable amount of promise from the outset: This was Studio Bones’ commemorative 25th anniversary production, and coming from the studio that gave us all-timer adaptations like Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood and Mob Psycho 100, not to mention later works from Cowboy Bebop creator Shinichiro Watanabe (including the Cowboy Bebop movie), you can’t fault anyone for having high expectations. It looked to be a fitting production as well: Watanabe’s influence shines through immediately in the gorgeous, lived-in cyberpunk off-world locales and racially diverse cast. Action takes the form of dope robo-tokusatsu transformation fisticuffs, and it’s entirely in 2D animation to boot. The first couple of episodes were killer, too; everything looked and sounded amazing, and there were just enough plot threads teased out that I just had to see how they’d unravel.

It brings me no joy, then, to say that Metallic Rouge collapses into a jumbled mess. I don’t even want to bother talking about what happens in the show because I don’t fucking care anymore. There are few media experiences more sobering than to have it dawn on you over a span of several weeks that “oh… this isn’t actually all that good, is it?” Episode after episode piles on with sloppy lore, weak worldbuilding, warring factions whose names you immediately forget, pointless double-crosses, and the most predictable twist you’ve ever seen. For a while I was willing to accept the fact that I didn’t know what was going on half the time and expected things to become clearer, but now I’m not entirely sure the writers knew either. The stakes apparently kept rising and everything just kept getting more claustrophobic. I’m glad it’s over, if only because if I had to hear “Clair de Lune” one more fucking time, I was going to go ballistic.

There are several attempts at emotional beats, as the story is rife with tragedy and sacrifice, and every single one lands with a wet thud. Nobody gets enough time, motivation, or characterization for any of these things to feel like they actually matter, and that’s especially a shame because the finale might have been able to stick the landing if the previous episodes were less dense and better paced. Emphasis on “almost,” though, because just before the season ends, we get the absolute most pointless fakeout I’ve seen since The Rise of Skywalker, which is the lowest point of comparison you can make for any work of sci-fi.

This is especially frustrating because on paper, there is so much to like here. Rouge and Naomi are likable-enough deuteragonists with a fun dynamic, and they’d make easy yuri bait in a better show. The characters are all pretty and uniquely designed across the board, and the overall aesthetic, almost a pastiche of late-90’s anime futurism, is undeniable. The toku suit designs are neat and several of the action scenes are gorgeous. The score and soundtrack are outstanding (except for the aforementioned Debussy indulgence). I have few complaints about how the show looks and sounds; the style is great! All of my issues lie with the substance.

Metallic Rouge may have had all the ingredients, but it just needed more time to cook; whether that would have been by doubling the episode count or by more carefully planning the pacing and trimming some of the fat from the lore, I’m still not sure. Probably both. It probably needed better writers, too. Maybe it just isn’t as smart as it acts and there was no way to satisfyingly resolve the clumsy civil rights allegories that bring it uncomfortably close to the likes of Detroit: Become Human. So all of the above, I guess. I tend to adore stories that involve artificially-intelligent beings developing their own wills and emotions and learning to cut their own strings (the likes of Blade Runner, Nier Automata, even a couple of character arcs in the Persona series), but this ain’t it. I’m not even mad anymore. I’m just disappointed.

If there are two positives that will stick with me, though, they would be the absolute banger of an OP and, of course, Naomi Orthmann herself (pictured above, left). Outstanding character design. I’m mildly obsessed. She deserved a better show.

The Unwanted Undead Adventurer

This one isn’t even worth talking about, so here’s a brief synopsis, then I’ll add some commentary, and then we’ll all move on with our lives.

Rentt, a beloved but mediocre adventurer in a fantasy town, gets lost in the mysterious labyrinth that all adventurers explore for personal gain, gets waxed by a dragon, and awakens as a shitty-looking CGI skeleton. He notices, though, that he’s able to level up better as a skeleton than he did as a human, and with the more monsters he defeats, the more he evolves into something closer to human. The rest isn’t really worth discussing.

If I’m being honest, I should’ve dropped this show much sooner. It looks kinda lousy most of the time, the plot (inasmuch as there even is one) is boring, character designs are forgettable (except for Rentt’s closest ally, Lorraine, holy hell) and it seems wholly uninterested in actually building its own setting. If it returns for a second season, I won’t be there, nor will I feel like I’m missing anything. Each episode felt like a chore to watch. I probably only saw it through because 1) I liked looking at Lorraine, I know what I’m about, and 2) I didn’t want to lump it in with the shows I did drop. The Unwanted Undead Adventurer isn’t as patently upsetting or frustrating as those three, but it just plain isn’t a very good show.

The Witch and the Beast

This show could have been so much more. I was drawn in by the gorgeous character designs and intriguing blend of Victorian gothic aesthetics and architecture with modern infrastructure, and very quickly disappointed by just about everything else. The first episode is an exceptional proof of concept, and almost everything that follows is an upsetting showcase of what could have been.

The story centers around Ashaf, a languid, chain-smoking agent of the governing church with a big-ass coffin strapped to his back, and his partner Guideau, a snarling hyena in a young woman’s body, as they investigate abuses of magic across the continent in search of nefarious witches. Guideau in particular has a bone to pick with witches, as the body they presently inhabit is the result of a witch’s curse, and they remain in furious pursuit of the one who cursed them. The curse can be temporarily undone by a kiss with a witch, allowing Guideau’s true body, a hulking brute confined to the coffin, to escape and wreak havoc. Meaning that on a few occasions we get a girl-on-girl kiss followed by a big dude wrecking shit. There’s also other investigations of serial killings, necromancy, and a cursed sword, and here’s hoping you like those, because the coffin breaks are few and far between.

This wasn’t great! By the third episode I had the sneaking suspicion that the animation talent on hand just wasn’t enough to support the aesthetic. While the character designs are exceptional, almost everyone looks awful in any shot that isn’t completely focused on them. This is especially true of Guideau, who looks so inconsistently off-model from one shot to the next that I’m still not entirely sure what they’re supposed to look like, and that’s kind of unforgivable when we’re talking about a main character. Everything looks too dim and too shiny at the same time, and action scenes look like shit more often than they look interesting. I can see so many flickers of something excellent (or at least really good-looking) in Witch and the Beast, and everything else that keeps those flickers from actually igniting makes it so much more frustrating to watch. Maybe just read the manga instead; the panels I've seen from it were uniformly gorgeous.

Actually, yeah, you should probably just read the manga, because for a season of anime, the pacing is atrocious too. It’s clearly trying to angle for a monster-of-the-week format, but each of these mini-arcs is a little too dense for a single episode, so multiple episodes are dedicated to these one-off curiosities, most of which do nothing to advance the plot or show off what the show does best. And if one of them isn’t particularly interesting, you’re saddled with it for the next two weeks like you've been stuck munching on a mealy apple. And I know you can only adapt so much in a 12-episode season, but the decision to end the season on a flashback arc and a lore dump was baffling. That’s not world-building, that’s lazy, and it made the show’s existing pacing issues feel that much more inane.

I feel like I was sold a false bill of goods. I can only imagine how the mangaka feels about this. Dull and uninspiring all around. What a waste.

The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic

Isekai, unassuming high school boy gains a unique power, impending war with the Demon Lord, yadda yadda yadda. The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic isn’t anything new or special by any means, nor is it particularly well-animated or -paced, but at its best it’s silly and charming enough that it made a nice, brainless palate cleanser on Fridays.

Usato, your standard quiet high schooler, ends up walking home on a rainy evening with the popular, attractive student council president and VP, when an isekai portal happens. It turns out that it was just the seito-kai that was invited along for the ride (and President Suzune, as it turns out, is fucking psyched to get to be in an isekai), and Usato got caught along with them. When tested for magical aptitude, Suzune and VP Kazuki hit the jackpot with electric and light affinities, respectively, but things go awry when Usato’s reading turns up with healing magic. Terror strikes the palace as the intimidating dommy-mommy Captain Rose barges in to spirit Usato away from his new friends and into her squadron of goons to train him as a combat medic.

As character comedy goes, this one is actually pretty solid at times. Shogo Sakata is plenty of fun as the put-upon, lippy Usato (a much louder role than Chainsaw Man’s Aki Hayakawa), and Atsuko Tanaka (Major Kusanagi herself!) is a blast as the terrifying Rose, an uncompromising slave driver of a drill sergeant with a secret soft side. The dynamic between them is great, too; Usato is over Rose’s shit from the beginning and isn’t afraid to talk back to her, but before you know it, this transforms into friendly banter as Rose clearly takes a shine to Usato and knows he can handle any punishment she doles out. Suzune’s also a bunch of fun now that she’s broken away from having to be the competent, popular girl at school and gets to fully lean into being a complete dork.

Wrong Way also works decently as an isekai, because it makes an effort to stay rooted in high fantasy rather than fall back on JRPG mechanics, meaning there are no stat screens! It also avoids the trappings of wish-fulfillment isekai series by having Usato start out as a regular-ass guy; he’s not a Kirito type, just someone Rose sees as a rough gem in need of cutting. There are no cheat skills or OP weapons or anything, just a kid training every day to get stronger so he can protect the people close to him, and that’s the kind of anime protagonist you should want to be.

For better and for worse, I get serious mid-00s vibes from this one; watch the OP if you don’t believe me. Some of the colors pop uncannily in that early-digipaint-era way, and the animation is pretty middling; the most fluid animation we see is whenever Suzune is acting like a creep. Much like those mid-00s anime, though, Wrong Way may have benefited from being weekly (or twice as long) rather than seasonal. There’s a ton of planting with very little payoff, and it doesn’t feel like the actual scope of the story has even been addressed yet. We don’t even learn why the series has the name it does until someone literally says it aloud in the 11th episode. I may have to reevaluate this season after a possible second, if we ever get one, because this doesn’t stand too well on its own.

Of the anime in this “mixed bags” segment, I’d say I enjoyed Wrong Way the most, but it still had enough problems for me to keep it here. It’s not a particularly bad anime, but it’s not especially good either. I guess we can slot it into what Hazel refers to as “good mid.”

On Hold:

Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?! (three episodes watched)

Man, what a title. That was the main draw for this BL series, which on paper is basically a gay version of the Mel Gibson vehicle What Women Want.

Adachi (a surname that will always make me laugh thanks to Persona 4), a gloomy salaryman, has hit the big 3-0 without getting any, and now he can somehow read anyone’s thoughts just by making physical contact with them. Just as he laments that this is his life now, he accidentally bumps into his handsome, popular coworker, Kurosawa, whom he learns has been harboring a massive crush on Adachi this whole time. Well dang, what now? Kurosawa’s a really nice, thoughtful dude, but Adachi’s never even thought about being with a man before! And isn’t there something wrong with already knowing this secret? How can he even go into the office and look Kurosawa in those big, handsome eyes… every single day…

What I’ve seen so far has been pretty solid, if not particularly well animated. The visuals are really my only gripe here; I just put it off for way too long and didn’t have it in me to finish it on time to actually get this thing written and published. Yaoi isn’t my forte, which feels like a shortcoming on my end as a fledgling bisexual, and I’ve already remarked on the solid LGBT representation this past season, so I do plan on hopping back on this one.

I gotta say, the co-leading voice actors put in serious work this season. Adachi is voiced by Chiaki Kobayashi, who continued his role as Stark in Frieren, returned to Mashle as Mash Burnedead, and contributed to Metallic Rouge’s cluttered cast as Noid. Kurosawa’s seiyuu, Ryota Suzuki (of whom I’ll always be a fan for his masterful turn as Yu Ishigami in Kaguya-sama), also held down leading roles in Bang Brave Bang Bravern and The Unwanted Undead Adventurer. They’ve been great in the few episodes of Cherry Magic! that I’ve seen so far, and they’ll be a huge part of what brings me back.

The Gems:

Bang Brave Bang Bravern

I feel like the mark of a perfectly audacious piece of media is in the moments where I find myself incredulously shouting “WHAT THE FUCK AM I WATCHING” at the screen, and Bravern made me do that at least once per episode. I have so many things to say about what makes this show great but all of it can be summed up as “it fucks so goddamn hard.”

A joint military exercise in Hawaii between Japanese and American mech pilots goes south as a sudden invasion by metalloid aliens portends certain doom for humanity. Just in the nick of time, though, a bombastic, autonomous mech named Bravern arrives from space and insists that ace pilot Isami Ao take his reins. Isami reluctantly agrees, and to his consternation, Bravern goes full tokusatsu on everyone’s asses, complete with fully-diegetic theme music, and keeps the threat at bay. With Bravern continuing to pester him to act as a pilot, Isami is forced to take up the mantle of a reluctant hero as everyone rallies around Bravern to save Earth. Tagging along is blond-haired, blue-eyed American pilot Lewis Smith, who gets to live out all of his Top Gun fantasies, right down to the latent homosexuality.

That last point isn’t a projection or anything: This show is legitimately gay as hell, and it rules. Bravern’s feelings towards Isami feel far more romantic than what you’d expect from a literal robot, and his description of how it felt to have Isami pilot him for the first time, as relayed to a grim-faced military council, is riddled with hilarious innuendo. Isami struggles not only with shouldering the burden of needing to be a hero to all of humanity, but also being beset on both sides by a loud, insistent mecha and a dewy-eyed gaijin, both of whom very well seem to want to get in his pants. Intricate rituals punctuate Isami and Lewis’ angsty relationship as these broad-shouldered, muscular men grow ever closer. It’s also worth reiterating that Isami is voiced by Ryota Suzuki, who also voiced Kurosawa in Cherry Magic!, and that may not have even been his gayest role this season. I’m not super well-versed in mecha as a genre, but I do know that there’s a lot of Warrior’s Bond-type stuff in these series, and Bravern lays it on thick. And hard.

This show looks killer, by the way. CGI implementation in 2D anime is still a touchy subject, but Bravern features some of the best I’ve ever seen. Simple cel-shading goes a long way to the point where, outside of some uncanny motion, Bravern himself feels perfectly blended into the hand-drawn animation. Mecha designs range from realistic military-style tech to otherworldly sentient robots, and battle sequences run the same gamut as the stakes rise. As goofy as all of the above may sound, it’s committed to being a grandiose, big-time mecha showcase.

This is as good as camp gets in anime; Bravern does for the mecha genre what Akiba Maid War did for yakuza film pastiche (I have also heard positive comparisons to Samurai Flamenco, which I’ll have to get on ASAP). It’s an excellent mecha show in its own right, and wildly hilarious to boot. Bravern himself is very genre-savvy and seemingly a bit of an otaku himself; he loves acting like a mecha hero, to everyone else’s chagrin. Several of the villains (also mechanical beings, voiced by an all-star seiyuu roster that includes Kenjiro Tsuda, the aforementioned Atsuko Tanaka, and Rie Kugimiya) are total dorks themselves. A CIA interrogator tries to waterboard a mecha at one point. Bravern is a deeply silly show, but its heart is planted as firmly on its sleeve as its tongue is in its cheek: For as wacky as it can get, the story still unfolds with a straight face and excellent emotional beats.

This show also has the most unskippable ED of any anime since Chainsaw Man dropped a new one every week. I will not say what happens. You cannot predict what it is. Just watch it. One of the top YouTube comments on that video says “When I saw this ending after episode 2, I thought I was going crazy.” That’s a ringing endorsement.

Chained Soldier

On the heels of 100 Girlfriends completely rewiring my brain, I was raring for some more good old-fashioned anime trash. I was told that there would be plenty this season, but you can consult the “dropped” section to see how well that worked out for me. Chained Soldier came with some significant hype, and soon enough into the first episode I realized that I’d actually skimmed through this manga before (don’t ask why), so I was on board immediately. Now here’s some nice trashy fun.

The world is in peril thanks to creatures called Shuuki that can advance on our world via portals from another dimension. Women primarily lead the charge against these monsters, as this dimension produces a special fruit that can lend them (and not men) otherworldly powers to help them in the fight. Yuuki, a perfectly normal young man, ends up in grave danger as he stumbles into a portal, where he is saved by the beautiful Kyouka, a commander who is able to subjugate Shuuki at will and use them to fight others. In a bind, she asks Yuuki if she can subjugate him, which he agrees to by licking her finger and transforming into a monster himself, at her beck and call. Because of his utility in battle, Yuuki is enlisted into her squad of baddies (and also an 11-year-old), living in their home as a caretaker and answering directly to Kyouka as her “slave.”

I know. Hear me out.

I put “slave” in scare quotes because Chained Soldier fortunately isn’t going full Shield Hero on us; this arrangement has a give-and-take baked in. See, every time Yuuki completes his service, Kyouka (or whomever else takes advantage of this anomaly) is compelled to carry out whatever suitable “reward” springs from his unconscious, and this is where the ecchi kicks in. Sometimes it’s a kiss, and sometimes it’s something a little more; the reward corresponds to the length and intensity of Yuuki’s contributions to battle, so the heat can turn up in the form of, say, clothed face-sitting, a good scrubbing in the bath, or some nice, casual CBT. All of this is to say that “slave” is a bit of a buzzword here: It’s more of a dom/sub situationship with a lot of extra steps.

Yes, just about everything that isn’t an action setup is full-on harem trash, and Chained Soldier lays it on thick, right down to full-on nudity. Nothing about this show resembles high art, but I can’t help but admire such a high level of commitment to its aesthetic, including the sleaze. It fully commits to the bit and doesn’t even bother lampshading its own trashiness. Chained Soldier knows what it’s about, and I respect that. It also has the good sense not to sexualize the youngest girl, which is a point in its favor that I can’t award a couple other shows previously discussed.

And while this show is plenty fun, the action sequences often excellent, and the character designs usually delightful, there’s not actually a whole lot going on here. As I said with Mashle, I know that battle manga like this can take a minute to really get cooking, and as I said with Witch and the Beast, 12 episodes may not always be a sufficient runtime to adapt enough to break ground, but the debut season feels more like a proof of concept than anything else. That being said, Chained Soldier’s manga has a very effusive audience, and its praises don’t seem to entirely be about the boobs and butts, so I’ll wait patiently for the second season. I think it’s earned that much.

Delicious in Dungeon

This is the one I’m having the hardest time writing about because it so confidently and so completely speaks for itself that anything I could add would feel like scattering sawdust at the beach. Dungeon Meshi (I refuse to call it by its official English title) is a widely beloved manga among those who’ve read it, and for Studio Trigger to do an honest-to-goodness manga adaptation for the first time might as well be front page news among anime fans.

The story follows Laios, the deeply weird human hero, as he delves back into a bizarre and mysterious dungeon to rescue his sister Falin from the belly of a dragon, along with his misfit party: The neurotic half-elven mage Marcille, the temperamental halfling rogue Chilchuck, and the dwarven warrior-slash-chef Senshi. The party is frequently low on supplies, so to survive the trip they’ll need to subsist on the most abundant resource in the dungeon: Monsters. Senshi’s aptitude in the kitchen helps ensure that everything is edible and sufficiently tasty, regardless of how nasty the monster it came from may have been. With monster obstructions out of the way and their bellies filled, our party delves deeper into the dungeon as the mysteries deepen in kind.

I love the character dynamics in this so goddamn much. Marcille and Chilchuck are frequently put off by the dubious monster food presented to them, but their consternation is worsened by the fact that Laios’ fascination with the monsters it came from annoys the shit out of them. I referred to him as “deeply weird,” but that doesn’t begin to describe his absolute galaxy brain, and I mean it as a term of endearment. Laios is deeply knowledgeable and curious about the fauna in the dungeon, and not just how they taste: He is vocally curious about how certain monster attacks may feel, sings along with siren songs, and even keeps a hardcover bestiary inside his breastplate. He’s one of those people you turn to if you have a question on a hyperspecific subject, but you have to be careful how you ask it or else you’re trapped for the next two hours. And I love him for it.

Even putting the comedy aside, there is a fascinating human element at play in Dungeon Meshi, and I can tell that that surface has barely even been scratched yet. Marcille is just as dogged in her pursuit of saving Falin as Laios is, maybe even moreso (remember what I keep saying about LGBT representation this season?). Chilchuck continues to convince himself that he’s only in the job for his own personal gain, but you can see that mask slipping. And I still wanna know what Senshi’s deal is. Even with the five major players I listed, there’s an increasingly deep roster surrounding them—showcasing a broad spectrum of races and ethnicities, both real and fantastical—each with their own histories and motivations, and I cannot wait to see how they play out and interact with one another. There seem to be much deeper themes at play here as well as we learn more about perceptions and grudges between differing races, oppositional magics, clashing ideologies, and the monetary incentives that drive both the dungeon’s exploration and its very existence. I’m here for it.

I’ve been holding off on reading the manga until the season is up in June (though I could crack any day), but I know a loving adaptation when I see one. Not that Trigger ever slacks off in the animation department, but they absolutely brought their A-game here. Everyone looks bouncy and cartoony in the way only Trigger can pull off while still looking as close as possible to Ryoko Kui’s source material (as far as I can tell). As with Frieren, the action sequences aren’t frequent, nor are they entirely what the show is about, but they look incredible every single time. And the food, of course, looks incredible, no matter how weird. This is practically a cooking anime and a fantasy dungeon anime at the same time, and both aspects are visually on point at all times.

I’m obviously speaking from my own bubble as one of the six people who still use Tumblr in 2024, but I rarely see new anime make a splash like this on social media every single week, and the ones that I do are usually the monster shonen hits like Chainsaw Man or Jujutsu Kaisen. Dungeon Meshi deserves the exposure and success it’s attained, and I’m excited to see it continue. I’d easily slot this right up there with Bravern as one of the best new anime of the season.

A Sign of Affection

I’ve seen a hell of a lot of shonen slice-of-life romances in the past year and change, so a nice fluffy shoujo like this was an excellent palate cleanser. There were a hell of a lot of Big Action Setpieces and panicky teens and grim dungeon crawlers this season, and at the end of the week I wanted to unwind with a bunch of pretty twenty-somethings falling in love with each other.

The show centers on Yuki, a young woman living with congenital hearing loss, making do at a public college after growing up at a school for the deaf. Though she’s able to get by with LINE messages and lip reading, she’s unprepared when a foreigner asks for help, but she’s saved by a handsome and mysterious young man named Itsuomi. He’s able to help out, and takes an interest in her when he realizes his fellow undergrad is deaf, and Yuki takes an interest in kind because he’s really goddamn hot. It turns out that he’s a polyglot and an avid world-traveler, but sign language is not in his purview. This mutual interest sparks the concern of her childhood friend, Oushi, one of the few people in her life who already use sign language, who wants to be sure that nothing untoward is happening. And it isn’t, because this is just a really lovely, low-stakes romance story.

This is pure, unfiltered shoujo at its best. Yuki’s internal monologue is peppered with flowery prose, and everything and everyone looks soft and beautiful. Fashionable, doe-eyed women and pillowy-lipped ikemen abound (seriously, holy shit, the lips on these boys) as the scope widens and the main love interests’ friends explore their own possible love stories. Itsuomi is very much of the “mysterious boy” archetype you’ll find in romance stories in this demographic, but he’s not hiding any sort of dark past like you’d typically expect; he’s just an interesting guy who keeps his personal life close to the vest. He’s a self-appointed world citizen who loves learning about how people of all cultures live their lives, and in Yuki he sees someone within his home turf who happens to live in her own world entirely. And it’s easy to see his forward behavior with Yuki as infantilizing at first (Oushi sure does, and I’ll get back to him in a second), but as they grow closer Itsuomi quickly becomes much more considerate of her boundaries and learns to accommodate her as he studies sign language and gestures that help ensure her comfort. This is a story about Yuki’s horizons broadening just as much as it is about Itsuomi wanting to be let into Yuki’s narrow world, and that sort of synergy makes for some exceptional romance.

A Sign of Affection deserves some credit for refusing to shy away from Yuki’s disability and making a point of depicting her world as one that does little to accommodate her. Very few people in her daily life ever bothered to learn sign language, she relies on a friend to take notes during lectures, and work is hard to come by. It’s an honest depiction that makes an effort not to be exploitative, which is a breath of fresh air. Not only that, but there’s some interesting meta-commentary in there: The only major conflict in the story stems from Oushi’s jealousy, and his reservations about Itsuomi possibly “taking advantage of” Yuki almost feel like he believes that he’s the only one who knows what’s best for her just because he’s done the bare minimum to accommodate her. He thinks he’s coming from a good place, but he winds up accidentally infantilizing her in exactly the way he thinks Itsuomi might. That’s a particularly interesting bit of irony!

I’ve seen enough shonen-oriented romcoms where an unassuming Regular Guy gets flustered as a way-too-casual girl pushes his buttons (hell, I’ve already reviewed two of those this season), so it’s nice to see the formula flipped for a shoujo as Yuki and her best friend Rin blush and squee over Itsuomi and his coworker Kyouya, respectively. A Sign of Affection isn’t afraid to get a little silly with it, either; plenty of these moments are punctuated by characters’ faces going low-detail or full chibi, and they are cute as shit every single time.

This one was just cozy as hell. If you’re into this sort of thing, swaddle yourself in it and bask.

Solo Leveling

I let this one collect dust after the third episode and didn’t pick it back up until the season was almost up, and honestly, I was kinda dreading it: The trailers didn’t look too promising, the show was slow to start, and it looked like yet another derivative JRPG-style dungeon crawler that managed to get popular. Turns out, nah, this show actually kinda fucks and the web novel series and webtoon it’s based on are popular for a reason. The story is nothing special, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a perfectly serviceable turn-your-brain-off action spectacle with a bit more lying beneath the surface.

In a modern-day South Korea where portals to mysterious dungeons open up and threaten the populace, those who can brave the dungeons, known as hunters, are an invaluable human resource. Once someone is assigned a grade as a hunter, they have that grade for life, barring some rare occurrences. Sung Jinwoo is at the lowest rung on that ladder as an E-rank, incapable of improvement, assigned the epithet “the weakest hunter of all mankind.” He mostly shows up to portal raids as a warm body to fill a quota, and one such job goes haywire as most of the raid party, Jinwoo included, is brutally slaughtered in an arcane secondary dungeon within a portal. He somehow wakes up in a hospital, unharmed, and able to access a digital menu before his eyes that exhorts him to do the One Punch Man workout every day, lest he incur punishment. He gets hilariously chadly in the span of a few days in the hospital, including an inexplicable haircut, and finds access to dungeons only he can enter and levels up within this new system.

This one gets off to a slow start and may have benefited from a longer premiere like Oshi no Ko or Frieren, but once the table is fully set, Solo Leveling really starts to cook. Jinwoo’s titular leveling process is a blast from one fight to the next, and as he moves to work in the dungeons that other hunters can access, it turns out he’s been training with the weights on. He’s suddenly fighting way above his pay grade, and after staving off attacks from hunters taking advantage of portals for nefarious ends, he is recruited by an ambitious corporate scion to make some real coin and establish an independent association of hunters.

While it can feel like there’s a whole bunch of table-setting between portal sequences, it’s some smart worldbuilding on Solo Leveling’s end to establish how portal hunting became a central pillar of this society, and doubly so how political and capitalist interests can leave a wide berth for corruption and bad actors. If there’s money to be made in hunting, of course people will find ways to make even more at the expense of others, both at the corporate and individual levels. There’s a lot of talk in there about “survival of the fittest” and “natural selection” and that… makes me nervous.

Those are terms that can be used to justify immoral actions in the name of money, sure, but Jinwoo also uses them to justify his own process. To what end is he constantly improving himself? Sure, he's doing what he can to provide for his younger sister and their ailing mother, but I see less and less humanity in him as this goes on. There are constant hints at something far more sinister at play than just a dude getting stronger for himself, not the least of which being “the system,” the UI that implores him to keep taking on these “quests.” Something, or someone, seems to be guiding him. Whenever another hunter turns on Jinwoo, of course his self-defense instincts kick in, but system pop-ups instruct him to defeat X number of hostiles like it’s a normal video game scenario. There’s something eerily depersonalized about these encounters, despite them being full-on mortal combat, that gives me serious Ender’s Game vibes. Consider me intrigued.

I’d heard that the Solo Leveling manhwa’s main draw was its visuals, and though I had my doubts early on, I'm sold now. This is a pretty solid presentation! Hiroyuki Sawano turned in yet another banger soundtrack to punctuate all the action setpieces, helping to stitch together a fairly complete tapestry. Said setpieces are exhilarating and almost impressively bloody, and while the animation is nothing impressive in the day-to-day, it goes absolutely batshit when the gloves come off. Movement is inhumanly fluid and the visuals can go into the same loose, psychedelic territories we’ve seen in the likes of Mob Psycho and the second season of Jujutsu Kaisen. If this is the new meta for shonen action, I’m not complaining.

By all rights, this is a pretty decent show, but if I’m being honest, this one just hasn’t stuck with me much. And that’s fine! Sometimes I just wanna see some nutty action stuff and move on with my day. Solo Leveling hits that spot perfectly, and I'll be right back there when it returns for its next season.

‘Tis Time for “Torture,” Princess

I was surprised to learn that the gag manga this is based on, with such a seemingly simple premise, has been running for well over 200 chapters and counting. As the anime progressed, I was far more pleasantly surprised to learn that it actually works.

In a standard anime fantasy world where the forces of good are fighting the demonic Hellhorde, an unnamed warrior princess and her talking enchanted sword are taken prisoner and subjected to torture as they’re squeezed for intel. Said “torture,” as the title’s scare quotes would suggest, is mildly unconventional, as the demon baddie inquisitor, aptly named Torture Tortura, attempts to ply the princess by presenting her with tantalizingly delicious-looking food that she can only partake in if she coughs up some info. Naturally, the princess caves every single time, but her intel is often inane and useless, so the “torture” continues. It’s not all food, though: The princess is soon held out of arm’s reach of adorable baby animals by a gyaru beastgirl, pampered into submission by a spa-loving giantess, and is faced with a tsundere vampire faildaughter, who… tries.

And you’d think that would be it; the joke wears thin and you move onto something else. Before you realize it, though, something’s changed: The princess and her captors are quickly becoming friends. The premise almost feels perfunctory: These inquisitors are actual people just doing their jobs, and whatever happens after the princess’ myriad confessions is fair game. There’s no malice or animosity, even during the “torture” sessions themselves: Everyone will have a blast and grow closer as friends, and then the princess will voluntarily go back to her bedless cell. It’s like Sam and Ralph after they clock out, except they’re almost always off the clock. Everyone is genuinely looking out for each other in all directions, and the only thing that keeps the torture going is the need for a status quo to return to, even as it grows more elastic. If anything, Time for "Torture" is a good example of committing to the bit without having to necessarily rely on it.

The real irony in all of this is that it becomes increasingly apparent that the princess is having her needs met in captivity far better than she ever did back home. In her proud proclamations about how she’ll never cave to the temptations before her (shortly before she does just that), the princess often talks about her upbringing and her time as the head of an imperial legion, but these stories often betray her lack of friendship or any of the little things that make life worth living. Her life as royalty was one of isolation and deprivation, to the point where she finds more freedom and fulfillment as a prisoner. She truly lives in a society.

Hellholm, on the other hand, has a surprisingly healthy approach to things like work-life balance, food, and leisure, and its most valuable prisoner is no exception. The Hell-Lord himself is a surprising exemplar of this; for as much as he looks and talks like your standard terrifying JRPG demon king, he’s a surprisingly good dude! He looks after his family, employees, and even the captive princess as if they are all one and the same; he exhibits strong principles and an aversion to conflict, sees to his employees' needs and wants alike, and is a supportive, loving father to his unbelievably precious little daughter (who also serves as a “torturer,” to the princess’ delight). He’s also a big time anime dork, and even bonds with a knight attempting to rescue the princess over their shared otakudom before sending him off peacefully. As “villains” go, he’s top tier.

Time for "Torture" is nothing groundbreaking by any stretch, but it’s a cute, silly time and it plays with anime fantasy tropes in the same way a six-month-old German shepherd “plays” with a cheap stuffed toy. How long the premise holds up is entirely up to you, but I had a lot of fun with it. I have no idea how this ended up being one of the better shows this season, but I guess it just scratched the right itch for me.

#anime reviews

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marvelsswansong · 2 years

Text

I could be your new spring

summary: you spend an entire year doting after Billy Hargrove, who toys with and eventually breaks your heart. You're sobbing by yourself on a cold spring day when someone coughs and awkwardly offers you his jean jacket - it's Eddie Munson, staring at you with such foreign yet genuine warmth.

"I wasted an entire year on him, Eddie. One whole year I'll never get back." "I could be your new spring, if you'd like."

tags: Eddie x fem!reader, toxic and complete asshole Billy x fem!reader, best friends Robin/Nancy/Steve, hurt to comfort, heavy angst, fluff towards the end, happy ending dw, oneshot

☆ word count: 5.3K+ (whew) ☆

-> a/n: read this as a submitted ask on another writer's account and I knew I had to write it! I hope you angels enjoy <;3 Reader's discretion is advised that Billy is really mean in this and treats reader very poorly.

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Spring in Hawkins was cold, but nothing was colder than Billy Hargrove.

He'd strolled into Hawkins High with his slicked back hair and ocean scented cologne on the first week of August, and the moment he'd picked up a book you'd dropped and winked at you - you were never the same again.

Steve didn't like him from the outset. Your best friend was quick to pull you backwards from Billy the moment the blonde boy winked at you, shooting you a worried glance and warning you that he didn't like "the look of the new guy." Nancy had muttered agreements behind him, and normally, you would've listened to your friends in a heartbeat.

But you were instantly entranced. Billy was awfully charming. Cocky, the type to know that he was handsome and to exploit it. He walked with a certain city swagger, one which only a surfer boy from California could carry, the musk of sandalwood and salty sea water emanating from his copious jackets. You were far too shy to speak to him properly - particularly when crowds of popular girls and boys followed his every move - so you got accustomed to admiring his features from afar.

Steve pretended to hurl a few weeks later into the first semester when you'd confessed on a late night drive that the new kid from California had caught your eye. Your best friend's eyes widened in shock, irises burning with disgust as he looked over from the steering wheel.

"You know as your best friend I support all your decisions but Hargrove?" he spat out, his face scrunched up. "That asshole has two brain cells, max."

You rolled your eyes playfully, kicking your legs up on the dashboard.

"Of course you wouldn't like him, Steve. People are saying he might be coming for your 'crown' as the King of Hawkins High." you teased, poking him in the shoulder. That made his lips twist into a scowl, though his sour expression quickly melted into a soft grin when looking back over at you.

"Well, whatever the case, he's bad news. Just stay away, okay?"

He muttered it so tenderly as he pulled over in front of your house, speaking to you the same way he spoke to the kids when trying to protect them. Smiling, you waved his concerns off, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

"Relax, Steve, it's just a puppy crush. I'll be fine."

And it probably would've been, had the seating chart for your biology class not been shifted the Monday after. On top of that, a new group assignment was on the agenda. You were jittery with pure anxiety when you'd walked into the classroom that day to see Billy sitting next to the spot you usually sat, his name written in cursive next to yours on the blackboard.

"Joanne, right?" he'd asked you, casting you the briefest glance out of the corner of his eyes.

"No, uh... my name's (Y/n)." you'd meekly corrected, bag slowly dropping to the floor as you refused to even match his gaze.

Billy paused then, eyes shifting to look you up and down before a smirk slowly appeared on his face.

You didn't know it at the time, but he'd been subtledly watching you. Sure, he'd already slept with a good amount of girls - girls more popular than you, girls who were outgoing and loud... Cheerleaders, class presidents, varsity athletes of the sort. It was good for status and for one night stands, but they reminded him too much of the girls in California.

A bit ditzy. Vapid. Superficial. Annoying as soon as the sex was over and the type to want him to 'hang' around afterwards and be domestic. It disgusted him - Billy Hargrove did not do domestic.

But you...

At first, he'd written you off as Steve's little friend. The quiet loser who was gifted the seat at the popular table because you and Steve had grown up with houses right next to each other's. He couldn't lie, a part of your appeal was how much Steve kept you close, eager to keep you away from Billy's reach.

But a bigger part of your appeal, Billy thought, was how different you were from the other girls who fawned over him. Whilst they would dress up and scream loudly for his attention during basketball games, you'd sit by yourself to the side with another girl - Billy believed her name was Robin - with a book and a shy smile on your face.

And whilst other girls tried to seduce and sweet talk him at every party, you stood by your friends, conservatively taking sips from your red solo cup and avoiding Billy like the plague.

You didn't seek attention. You were a good girl, Billy noticed, the type that his father would scream at for him to find: quiet, dutiful, submissive. Gets all the homework done on time, volunteers at an animal shelter every weekend, plays the 'sober driver' for your friends on most night outs.

You're different, and to Billy, it feels like a challenge. A conquest to be won. Getting to piss off 'the hair' is just the cherry on top.

"...Is everything alright?" you meekly asked, noticing that he was just staring at you absentmindedly, not uttering a single word. Billy shook his thoughts away, a devious idea popping into his mind. He was going to toy with you - his little lamb - and you would be none the wiser.

"Everything's perfect. Just peachy, doll."

Becoming Billy's biology partner meant seeing him every two days. He reeled you in slowly during those boring lectures. He'd ask you nonsensical questions, just to get you talking and to have you move closer towards him when he'd complain not being able to read your notes. He'd purposefully mess up the experiments so you two would have to stay after class, your hands shaking as they guided his towards the correct vial.

The regular classes also gave him an excuse to pry into your life. Your hobbies, your friends, your likes and dislikes... The faux interest and 'small talk' stage of love, laid out one by one. He was toying with you and you were oblivious to it all, following dutifully behind him like a puppy.

"You're so different from most other girls here." Billy once said, running a hand through his hair. "You're so... Hawkins-esque."

Your pen paused mid-scrawl, eyes hesitantly peering up at the blonde boy with trepidation.

"Is that a... good thing? Or not?"

You were staring at him with so much hope, doe eyes overwhelming with unadulterated innocence that it made his gut churn with nausea.

"It's a good thing." he'd responded. And the moment you flashed him a brilliant smile in response, giggling softly under your breath, he knew you were hooked.

Hook, slink, reel.

-----------------------------------------

The end of summer came soon enough, also marking the end of the biology project. And as soon as the project was turned in, Billy went back to ignoring you. He dodged your friendly waves and greetings in the hallways, made it a point to sit as far away from you in class. You didn't think too much of it, wholly convinced that he was just busy preparing for the upcoming basketball championships.

Your friends weren't as convinced, with Nancy tapping your shoulder impatiently as you moped around your locker one chilly autumn day whilst hoping to catch a glimpse of Billy before third period.

"I don't think you should be hanging around Billy so much." she'd gently pleaded, lightly pulling at your lower arm.

"Hm?" you weren't really paying attention to her, head far too preoccupied with thoughts of Billy and his gorgeous head of curls.

"Billy Hargrove. He's an awful person, he's been taking advantage of you." she muttered quietly, gently smoothing over your hair.

Suppressing a sigh, you closed your locker shut and forced on a smile.

"I get why you and Steve think that Billy's an awful person but he's different around me, okay? Like when we're together, he's actually kind of nice to me." you breathed out, unsure if you were trying to convince your friend or yourself. "And yeah, maybe we're not talking all the time anymore, but... sometimes people are busy, okay, Nance?"

A look of pity spread across her face and you could feel the impending speech rolling in, making you throw your hands up to stop her.

"It's fine, okay? Just drop it."

She opened her mouth to argue but you were already walking away from her, heels frantically clicking against the floor.

And just as you were giving up hope, you were leaning against your car - red orange leaves scattered across the driveway, the smell of rain soaked grass tinting the autumn air - and Billy was back to winking at you in the hallways and asking you to tutor him after school.

He always arrived late and sometimes never even showed up (giving you vague apologies the next session), but you never minded. Especially not when he'd slouch in his seat, roll up the cuffs of his sleeves to expose his biceps and shoot you that charismatic wink.

"You're real smart, you know that? I could never get my fucking head around math." he'd once said, speaking up to the ceiling. Heat crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, butterflies fluttering in your abdomen.

"Thanks, Billy. I don't know, it's just... I work hard, I think that's it."

He hummed quietly, left hand reaching into his back pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, the sight of which immediately made you tense.

"Uh, I don't think we're allowed to smoke in here-"

Holding up his pointer finger to shush you, he lit the cigarette quickly before inhaling deeply, a slow exhale of toxic smoke being released from his wet lips.

"Relax, babygirl. We won't get caught."

All arguments died in your mouth when the word 'babygirl' reached your ears, a fuzzy haze settling over your confused mind. Billy noticed with an internal smirk that the nickname clearly got you flustered as you quickly uncrossed your legs under your skirt and began to stutter awkwardly, attempting to get back to the lesson at hand.

You were just too easy to control, he thought. Shy, goody two shoes, innocent disposition - on top of fierce loyalty that meant you'd never question him.

The perfect toy.

-----------------------------------------

By the time winter had begun to descend onto the town - blankets of white snow covering the grey pavement and barren trees lining the roads - it was undeniable. You were utterly, totally infatuated with Billy Hargrove.

It was the week before winter break when you were flicking snowflakes off from your jacket, shuddering in the cold before a familiar car rolled to a stop before you. It was Billy, lowering his window and asking you if you wanted a ride back home.

"I'm on my way to the mall, so as long as your house is that way-"

"Oh actually it isn't-"

"Great, then you can just walk from the mall. Now get in."

You shrugged, figuring that it would beat walking the extra fifteen minutes on foot in this freezing cold. Strapping yourself into the front seat, there was an awkward silence that hung in the air before you worked up the nerves to ask him the question that'd been plaguging your mind.

"Are you staying in Hawkins for the winter break?"

The truth was that the thought of not being able to see him for weeks on end over the winter break made your stomach twist with discomfort and sadness, even if the company Billy currently gave you was questionable. Weeks alternated between him doting over you, following you around and calling you sweet names, and then weeks of him ignoring or slyly insulting you in front of his friends.

It was incredibly confusing and frustrating. But there had to be something behind it all, you reasoned. Why you were the only girl that Billy kept around for the entirety of the school year.

At your sudden question, Billy pulled over his car, an unreadable expression on his face as he gave you an unceremonious shrug.

"Not sure. Why'd you ask?"

The seatbelt around your body suddenly felt too tight, the winter coldness seeping in through the heat being blasted in the car.

"I was just wondering if... you know, you're going to be around here in town we can like... hang out? I'll be working part-time at a cafe but other than that I'm quite fr-"

"Yeah, yeah, sounds great, babe." he dismissed you with a quick wave, but you were content so long as he called you babe.

His heart twisted with erotic satisfaction with the way you flashed him that hopeful smile, so kind and trusting, before you kissed his cheek and hopped out of the car.

You ended only seeing him once during the break: it was a complete accident too, not that you noticed. Him and his friends just happened to stroll into the cafe you worked at and you perked up immediately, all gloomy thoughts being washed away in an instant. He'd flashed you that charming smile, apologized for not calling - "things are crazy busy back home, you know?" - and you accepted it.

"Anyways, can I get these for free?" he'd asked, holding up a few bags of pastries up in the air.

"Sure."

Robin had watched the entire interaction play out from the back of the store and was quick to approach you as soon as they left.

"What did that asshole want?" she growled, side eyeing the direction where Billy had just left. You frowned at that as you re-adjusted your apron.

"You really have to stop calling him that, Robin."

"Why? He's the biggest asshole this town's ever fucking seen. (Y/n), he's been doing nothing but toying with you - treating you hot and cold, all over the place." she pleaded, following you around the store as you attempted to dodge the conversation. Noticing your silence and stern straightforward gaze, she sighed, cutting your footsteps off by standing in front of you. "I'm - Nancy and Steve too - worried about you. Billy's been nothing but horrible to you for almost two semesters straight and you still haven't cut him off-"

Robin jumped at the sudden loud sound you made when you slammed your serving tray down onto a nearby table, a shaky breath leaving your lips before you slowly re-composed yourself. You didn't even bother to look up at your best friend as you gathered up the stack of dirty plates.

"None of you have any idea what's actually going on. I get that you all worry, and I'm grateful that you all care, but this is between me and Billy, okay? There are just some things you three can't understand because you're just looking in from the outside." you hurriedly explained, anger bubbling to the top. "I just, I need-"

An uneasy sigh escaped your lips.

"I need you all to support me instead of fighting me all the time on things like this. Please."

Robin looked like she wanted to say more, hands clenched by her sides. But one hopeless look from you and she caved, shutting her mouth.

"Alright, fine. Just... be careful, okay?"

-----------------------------------------

It takes until spring time for you to finally see the truth.

All the memories of your friends warning you about Billy throughout the year now play like a broken record in your head. You're leaning against the chipped wooden wall of a huge surburban house, your frantic breaths coming out in white whisps of air.

It was a house party. You'd come along at the request of Steve and Robin but quickly lost sight of them when you saw Billy smoking with a few of his basketball friends by the balcony. All thoughts of having a great night by your best friends dissipated at the glorious sight of him sitting there, legs spread, his lips toying with the lit cigarette.

"I'll catch you guys around, okay?" you'd yelled over the music, pushing through the crowd before either of them could protest. Wiping your palms on your jeans, you carefully trodded towards the group of boys, feeling Billy's friends all turn their judgmental gazes at you.

"Hi Billy." you managed to whisper. He shot you half a glance, an amused smirk on his face which you mistook for genuine interest.

"Hey."

He turned around to continue his conversation with his friends, making your shoulders deflate in disappointment. You'd been after him for almost a year now and he couldn't even spare you more than one word? Suddenly feeling brave, you tapped on his shoulder again, to which he audibly groaned.

"Why the fuck are you still bothering me?" he spat out, eyes blazing with anger. It hit you then all at once, how you were never anything but gentle and kind with him, but he was at times so... unnecessarily cruel and mean.

"Why... why are you being so mean to me?"

The question slipped out of your mouth instinctively, unconsciously. The loud chatter amongst the basketball players stopped and Billy's posture shifted, his expression morphing from one of boredom and annoyance to... pure evil. He let out a long chuckle, blonde trussels of hair covering his eyes as his head shook with laughter.

"God, are you that fucking dense?" he growled, stubbing his lit cigarette against an ashtray.

He sounded angry. No, furious. His entire body was tense and your first instinct was to comfort him, one hand reaching out to him. But he was quick to grab you by the forearm and back you up against the wall, the loud house music now muted in your ears.

"You still don't get it, do you? What, I call you 'babygirl' and 'babe' a few times and hang out with you after school and you think I'm gonna get on one knee and propose? Huh? Think I’d go home with you to meet mommy and daddy?"

His friends bursted out into a chorus of obnoxious laughter at that comment, Billy's ego on fire as he leaned in even closer. At this proximity, you could count the freckles dotting his cheeks and smell the stench of cigarattes on his lips.

"Listen. You’re just a brainless slut who needs to learn her place. Maybe when you learn to shut up-" he growled, pausing ever so slightly to look down at your top. "Then I’ll fuck you, like the charity case you are."

He shoved off of you after that, hands already turning to his back pocket to light another cigarette.

"Now piss off."

And here you are now.

You don't really know how you managed to get out of that room - feet stumbling, chest heavy, heart crumbling in between pained gasps. What you do know is that the freezing winds clawing at your exposed skin feel like nothing compared to the crushing weight you feel on your chest.

Your legs practically give out from pure exhaustion and you fall down onto the front steps of the porch, head immediately falling to your knees.

You feel pathetic. You feel embarrassed. You feel angry.

And yet, above all, you feel heartbroken.

You can practically hear your best friends' responses in the back of your mind - "see, we told you!""you should've listened to us!". They're right, of course. They were right all along.

But the last thing you want right now is a lecture.

So even if walking back inside and finding Robin and Steve is the smart thing to do, you decide against it, gritting your teeth. It's freezing out here, sure, but you much prefer it to the sweltering, body to body heat of the house party raging inside.

You're not even sure how much time passes before you feel someone else's presence behind you. Your head is still in your lap, tears falling faster than rain, shaky hands grasping and ungrasping your knees in discomfort.

The figure awkwardly clears their throat, making you flinch and pick your head up. Your first immediate thought is that it's Billy, coming to take a victory lap and make you feel worse.

But it's not.

It's Eddie Munson. Infamous repeat senior and D&D enthusiast. You've shared, at most, two classes with him: but you always sat in the front and he always sat in the back, loitering and doodling into his notebooks. You know of him, but you've never really spoken to him.

Nonetheless, right now, he's standing in front of you, holding his hands up in a mock surrender.

"Relax, it's just me." He then lowers his hands ever so slightly, before moving to take off his jacket. "It's super cold out here, could I, uh-"

He gestures with his hands, indicating that he wants to know if it's okay to drape the fabric over your exposed shoulders. You nod slowly, the warmth in his eyes too fierce to decline. It feels foreign, you think, having someone look at you like that when Billy's never looked at you with any warmth.

Eddie grins at your response, moving to sit down next to you on the steps before carefully wrapping the jacket over your figure.

Warmth floods your body - much needed warmth - and you subconsciously find yourself burrowing further into the fabric. It carries a comforting, earthy smell: a mix of rain soaked dirt, fresh wood and a bit of weed. The weight's also nice against your shoulders, grounding you back towards reality.

"Thank you." you quietly mutter, cautiously peering up at his face. You don't really know what he's feeling - is it pity? Is it another prank? Is he out here to smoke and you just happened to be in the way? But he simply leans back, ring clad hands waving away your concerns.

"Nah, it's nothing. Least I can do, when this shithole town plunges into fucking Siberian winter every spring."

His joke makes you laugh a bit, tension loosening from your chest. He's practically a stranger to you but there's an inviting aura around him, a calm energy bubbling under the surface that makes you lower all your inhibitions.

It also helps, you suppose, that he's actually really attractive. Up close, you can survey his features much better under the dim house light hanging above. His well sculpted jawline, doe brown eyes, his slender fingers clanking with metal accessories as he runs a hand through his curly dark hair.

"So, uh... I know this is a dumb question but are you okay? I mean, relatively." he lamely adds, wincing at how he ends his question. Your eyes widen in alarm.

"D-did you see-"

"Billy fucking Hargrove being his usual douchebag self? Yeah." he counters, venom dripping from his voice. You bite your tongue, anxious at the prospect of having so many people witnessed that humiliating scene, which the metalhead seems to pick up on immediately. "But don't worry, not many people were looking. I just happened to be passing by. Promise."

He holds out a pinkie finger towards you, a boyish smile on his face. The gesture is kind of silly and immature, but his childlike joy is so contagious that you can't fault him for it, carefully wrapping your finger around his.

"I just... god, I feeling really fucking stupid right now." you confess, groaning into your hands. He clicks his tongue at that, raising his eyebrows.

"Miss straight A's, stupid? I hardly think so."

Lifting your head from your palms, you pause. Maybe it's the way he's handling you tonight - fragile, delicate, wrapping you in his jacket as if you're the most precious antique at a museum. Or maybe it's the way he looks at you so intently as you speak: nodding along to every word, smiling in between breaths, brushing his knees closer to you with every sentence exchanged.

But you feel safe. And as if you can tell him anything.

"If I tell you something, can you promise it stays between us?" you shakily ask, this time offering your pinkie finger towards him. His eyes switch between staring at your finger and your face, before he nods enthusiastically and wraps his finger around yours.

"Absolutely. I love secrets." he teases, making you roll your eyes.

"Okay, well... I know it's dumb but I... I really thought Billy liked me. I thought it all meant something, you know? All the time we spent together. Him calling me all those pet names. Him driving me back home that one time and promising to hang out with me over winter break..." you swallow nervously, toying with the zipper of Eddie's jacket. "The worst part is I really liked him. Even when he showed up late. Even when he ignored me."

You let out a shaky breath, sucking in cold air.

"And even right now, I can't find it in myself to totally hate him. I know that's pathetic." you curse, wiping away a stray tear angrily. Eddie shifts closer towards you at that.

"Hey, no, it's not pathetic at all. Stop being so mean to yourself. The only person at fault is Billy." he reassures you, his knees now brushing directly up against yours. His presence is quiet but comforting, a steady hand placed alongside your shaky ones.

"I wasted an entire year on him, Eddie. One whole year I'll never get back."

The statement hangs heavy in the air, your voice filled with pure grief and rage. You don't even realize you're crying again until his cool fingers brush against your cheeks, wiping away your tears tenderly as his eyes survey your face - hazel orbs burning with care and compassion.

"So fuck him. You start this year brand new, that's the whole point of spring, right? Cut Billy out completely and focus on spending time with people who love and care about you, people who actually know you. Whether that's King Harrington or Wheeler or a repeat senior/devil-worshipper with a jean jacket."

A giggle escapes your lips at his joke.

"And what could you possibly know about me, Eddie Munson?" you tease, sniffling. Eddie looks offended, placing a hand on his hcest.

"Hey, we might not have ever officially talked, but I'm more perceptive than I look!" he argues. "For example, I know that you like sunflowers and dogs. I know that you volunteer at an animal shelter every weekend and you prefer rainy days over sunny days. I also know that you're really sweet, smart and hardworking. But above all... I know that you're an incredible, super beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime girl who doesn't deserve to be wasting tears on a dickhead like Hargrove."

You blink slowly at the metalhead, not having expected such a heartfelt and detailed response. His final sentence lingers in the air as Eddie then awkwardly laughs, scratching his neck. He's staring at you, trying to gauge your reaction, internally panicking that he's just crossed the line.

"That's... the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." is all you can manage to say. Eddie blushes lightly at that, shooting you a small wink.

"Well, you deserve it."

Wiping at your wet eyes, you chuckle, hands gripping the wooden beams on the side as you shakily stand up.

"You wanna go back inside?" Eddie questions instantly, straightening up in a protective stance.

"Not really, to be honest. I'd rather be anywhere but the party right now." you confess, licking your lips to wet them. Eddie's eyes lights up at that, a mischevious smirk spreading on his lips.

"Then come with me. I drove here in my van, so I can drive you to your place. Or, even better, but only if you want, I can drive you to my hideout spot."

He's wiggling his eyebrows and teasing you, enticing you to join him in ditching this party. He extends one of his hands, waiting for you to take it, and you do instantly.

"That sounds great, Eddie."

The two of you shove through the crowds of drunk people relatively easily, the loud house music combined with your carefree laughter a heavenly sound to Eddie's ears. He can't believe you've just said yes, he can't believe the girl he's been silently crushing on for the past year has just agreed to sit in his van and go to his hideout spot with him-

Spotting Billy by the keg stand, a murderous rage fills Eddie's veins before he stops.

"What is it?" you question, confused. Eddie lets go of your hand, but not before giving your hand a comforting squeeze.

"Wait here for me for a bit, will you?"

Before you can even question what Eddie's going to do, he's walking away from you and making a bee-line towards Billy and his friends. You can't even make out what Eddie's saying over the music - all you see is Eddie saying something, Billy rolling his eyes and retorting something with an obnoxious smirk, before Eddie chuckles and throws a hard right punch at Billy's face.

The crowd around the two disperse, a chorus of "ooh" and "holy shit" erupting as Billy tumbles to the floor with a nasty thud. Eddie doesn't even look phased, a satisfied smile on his face as he turns around and walks up to you once more.

"Ready?" he asks you, holding your left hand again. You look back and see that Billy's been knocked out cold - which was surely going to bruise his ego for weeks to come. Shocked, you're speechless as you nod, not uttering a single word until Eddie's van door shuts behind you and the car pulls into the road.

"I'm sorry." Eddie then blurts out mid-drive. "If you're mad about me punching Billy, I totally understand, but I-I just had to do it, he hurt you and-"

You place a gentle hand on his leg, stopping him mid-rant.

"Eddie. I'm not mad at all. I was just silent because I was shocked that you'd punch THE Billy Hargrove for me."

Eddie chuckles at that, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, yeah. To be honest, I don't think there's much I wouldn't do for you, pretty girl."

Pretty girl.

You like that, you realize. It's wholly different from Billy's infamous 'babygirl'. Even better, it's genuine and believable coming from Eddie.

When the van eventually lulls to a stop, you stop him from getting out, hands desperately flying on top of his on the steering wheel. He glances at you, confused, before you swallow nervously.

"Did you, uh... mean what you said back there? About me being able to start over this year? A new spring and everything, without Billy?"

You're so close to him that you can individually count the droplets of water adorning his hairline from the spring rain, his lips suddenly mere inches from yours. Your eyes subconsciously flicker down to stare at his lips before quickly snapping back up to look into his eyes, a movement which doesn't go unnoticed by Eddie. He hides the revelation with a slow smile.

"I meant it wholeheartedly. You deserve a life without Billy. New year, new spring."

Eddie then slowly leans in, giving you ample time to back out. But your lashes flutter shut and he takes it as the sign to close the gap completely. His lips are slightly bitter and cold against yours, one of his hands flying up to cup your cheeks as you lean in even closer. He tastes like a mix of lukewarm beer and your peach chapstick, a tangy sweetness lingering in your mouth once you pull away.

"I could be your new spring, if you'd like." he teases lowly, brushing away strands of hair from your eyes. The affectionate gesture sends a chill down your spine, head fuzzy with adoration.

"I'd like that."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #billy hargrover oneshot #billy hargrove imagine #1k #2k

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cadwhatalad · 2 years

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alright I’ve been thinking about it all weekend and I’ve figured out that what I find so compelling about exu: calamity is how, for the first time in a critical role campaign, we’re working from the point of view of The Establishment.

It’s weird because the thing that really set cr apart for me in the grand scheme of high fantasy media is that in the mainstream campaigns so far, they’ve been incredibly dedicated to playing the underdog. One of the things I really like about Matt and the cast is that they don’t generally go in for the Star Wars/Harry Potter bullshit of “oh it seems like this character comes from nothing but they’re actually secretly special because [insert weird theme of genealogy as an indicator of good character]”. In a wide sprawling world of Lost Princesses and One True Kings, critical role gives us genuine, bona fide nobodies. I’m so in love with the fact that Orym was only ever supposed to be a random bodyguard standing in the corner, that Nott’s big backstory reveal was that she used to be a housewife, that Launda’s character is literally meant to embody the idea of collateral damage.

Even Vox Machina, to date our most respectable party with connections/claims to power from the outset of their arcs (as opposed to clawing their way to legitimacy through adversity Mighty Nein style), only have that to a very limited extent. Percy is an aristocrat, yes, but in a place so small and isolated that it could be seized and ruled by necromancers for a solid half-decade without the neighbouring royal power noticing. Vax and Vex are the children of a high-level ambassador but they’re outcast, bastards, literally illegitimate. Pike is a respected cleric of a god nobody follows. Grog would have led his herd, but was first ousted by his uncle and then willingly ceded the position of power to his cousin. Keyleth was in the same position as Percy, royalty in a way that didn’t matter to anyone outside her civilisation before the conclave arc dragged them into relevance. As a party they spent a pretty big chunk of their early arc half-fighting with Sovereign Uriel in their quest for respect. Compared to our new exu folks they’re still very definitely underdogs. And, y’know, there’s a reason for that – underdogs make for some of the most compelling stories. It’s immensely satisfying watching maligned people gain respect, unloved people become loved, weak people become strong, disempowered people become powerful, etc.

So then I was thinking about all that and wondering why I find these new six so interesting, especially because. It really cannot be overstated how much power they have. We’re shown up front how competent and respected they all are, but more than that, we get all these hints in the build-up to the gala – Nydus being confronted with an NPC whose concerns are “too low” for him as if that’s ever been a thing at the cr table before now; that comment about Laerryn being so fundamental to the workings of the city that most people don’t recognise her on sight because they straight up don’t understand what it is she does; Patia’s exchange with Eldemir the wise – this guy is supposed to be one of the city’s seven highest government officials, and he’s senile. The way as we meet them we bounce from public to secret, statesman to merchant, the very guts of the city to its absolute peak. By the time they all converge at the party and Brennan says that thing about these being the six people who actually get shit done, it’s like. Oh. These are the people who are physically keeping the city afloat. They control infrastructure, information, public opinion. In a room full of the most powerful people in the most powerful city on Exandria, these are the ones who direct it all.

And then it’s hammered home by Purvan’s entrance, because in any other story, he’d be the audience-surrogate character. He walks into this glittering party with his muddy boots and his wolf pal, brings a message from the gods into this monument to arcane hubris, gets laughed at for his trouble by a roomful of wizards in fancy robes. The contrast between this young low-ish level ranger and the ring of brass is so fucking strong. And then even more, by the time he gets done asking to meet with the septarium, we already know that wouldn’t do him any good. We’ve seen what those guys are like already, we know that if he wants to get anywhere he’ll have to speak to our six. They’re the ones who are gonna be able to fix it.

And then I was like, oh. Wait. Calamity.

The reason we like underdogs is because we like watching them rise up, but these folks have already risen as high as it’s possible to go. And we already know how this story ends.

We’re not just gonna see them fall. We’re gonna see them fall further and harder and faster than any other group of people possibly could.

Not to be too dark about it, but. I’m quite excited.

#cr spoilers #exu: calamity

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txttletale · 1 year

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So because I've played Minecraft and want to not spend hours doing a menial task I'm an awful colonialist capitalist who feels that murder is good for material gain?

I'm asking this in total good faith because if that's not the case I think I need to start questioning my level of reading comprehension because this is the only meaning I can extrapolate from that post.

And because (to me) such a statement seems so otherworldly that it's almost incomprehensible, could you please explain

that is indeed not the case! to be quite blunt, i think you are reading a moral judgement on forms of engagement in my post that isn't present. obviously, minecraft isn't real life--killing things for resources in minecraft is not morally equivalent to killing things for resources in reality.

when i say 'the systemic incentives of minecraft encourage the players to recreate colonial extraction', the implicit critique there isn't 'minecraft is an agent of moral corruption turning its players into colonialists', but rather 'the underlying normative assumptions that minecraft is built on from the ground up are extractionist ones'--which once again, i don't think is particularly interesting to look at as a moral condemnation of mojang--rather, i think it's interesting to look at as illustrative of the larger societal context that produced minecraft.

this is because all media texts have ideological content baked into them from the outset, in the assumptions they make about the world. here's a very obvious one: in sim city games and their imitators, building police stations reduces the 'crime rate'. now this is, uh, not very realistic--but that doesn't mean it happens because EA/Paradox devs sit down at their big evil legion of doom table to say 'and now, how can we propagandize for the police?'--it happens because 'police stop crime' is a fundamental assumption about our society that most people don't think to question. they didn't decide they wanted to portray the police in a favourable light--they just thought this was an obvious and common-sense way to portray why cities have police departments.

and again, this doesn't say anything about the opinions that players of these games have about the police--it does imply something about what the developers think about the police, but that's not a particularly interesting thing to analyze--what it does, much more interestingly, is imply something about what the widespread societal assumptions about the police are that lead to this kind of mechanic being uncritically included.

so when i say that minecraft's systems (even, like in the case of mob farms--which, by the way, i know are not in fact intended by the devs or a core element of the game experience, part of why i made the post is that i found it interesting that this was an entirely emergent player-driven advancement of the game's extractionist logics)--incentivize extractionist behaviour in the game, i'm not interested in saying anything about the game's players or developers, but rather at examining how the core ideological assumptions of colonialism & extractionism are normalised to a saturation level in general culture such that they are reflected even in fairly inconsequential forms such as the structures that games take.

#ask #deedianne

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lovelyy-moonlight · 11 months

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#scarlett johansson #asteroid city #asteroid city movie #2023 #the outset #cbs mornings

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literary-illuminati · 2 months

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2024 Book Review #13 – Victory City by Salman Rushdie

One of my goals for the year is to read more proper literature (here defined as fiction I can mention reading to my mother without getting judged for it). I’ve never read anything of Rushdie’s before, but I did remember his name in the news recently due to the whole attempted-murder thing and, happily, my library actually had a copy of his newest work. So, picked this up and read it sight unseen!

The book follows one Pampa Kampana – a nine-year-old girl who, in the 14th century, witnesses her city destroyed, and her mother burning herself alive. She is then inhabited and blessed by a goddess, blessed/cursed with a lifespan measured in centuries and the destiny of raising an empire up and seeing it fall before she dies.

The narrative is framed as a modern adaptation/summary of the epic poem recounting her life Pampa completes before finally dying, finally discovered and translated after being forgotten in the ruins of te imperial capital for centuries. The story is largely a story of this miraculous, semi-utopian empire, as told Pampa’s eyes (and with a lengthy digression during the years she spends in exile).

This is a story that exists somewhere in the muddy middle ground between historical low fantasy and magical realism – it’s in some sense an alternate history of the Vijayanagara Empire, and replete with historical trivia and references, but is quite clear from the outset that accuracy is not really something the book cares about. Instead, the book’s Vijayanagara – always written as Bisnaga, as it was translated by a historical Portuguese chronicler whose also a minor character in the story, to prevent confusion – is basically allegory and morality tale with a light coating of history for flavour.

Not that I can really begrudge Rushdie for his strident politics (as far as I can tell I basically agree with him on all of it), but this really does feel like one of those old fantastical utopias, or a political treatise that gets past the censors by pretending to be the history of a foreign country, more than it does a novel. Which could definitely work! But in this case really didn’t, at least for me. There’s enough time spent on characterization and character drama to eat up pages, but not enough for it to ever feel like they’re people and not just marionettes acting out a show. I suppose the best way to get across the reading experience is that I was reading a proper 500 page history book at the same time as I read this, and this felt like the bigger slog by far.

Though part of that might just be disappointed expectations that I really had no right to have in the first place? As I said, I had Rushdie slotted in my head as a literary author, but really I don’t know nearly enough about him or his work to justify that. So I came to this expecting to be at least a bit wowed and bedazzled by the artistry and beautiful prose on display – and like, eh? Not bad, to be sure, the narrative voice and the framing device are both fun and fairly well done. But having read it there’s really not a single passage or sequence I can say has stuck with me.

The comparison that comes to mind is Kalpa Imperial by Angélica Gorodischer, which is also a book-length epic history of a fantastical empire that never was which laughs at all conventional wisdom about pacing, characterization and plot (and which also has been shelved as magical realism for what are basically reasons genre snobbery imo). It’s been a few years since I read it, but from what I recall that agreed with me far more. Maybe just because it abandoned the conceit of a single protagonist and family melodrama entirely, or maybe because it had a bit more subtle in its social commentary (or maybe it was just better written on a sentence-to-sentence level).

Though I should say, there’s every possibility I’m being a bit harsher on this than it entirely deserves – it’s an entirely competent book! The politics are blatant but like a) they’re politics I agree with and b) they’re nowhere near the most blatant or forced-feeling inclusion of progressive politics in fiction I’ve seen recently. However, this is also a piece of writing that’s among other things very clearly and directly about how important and sublime and world-changing the art of writing is. Which is like a movie about making it in showbuisness, or a musical about how great singing is. Automatic deduction of a full letter grade.

#book review #victory city #salman rushdie #literature

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lullabyes22-blog · 6 months

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Mel x Silco - Something Blue AU - A Drabble Thing

Based on this ask by anonymous <3

Part of an AU meta of the Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO universe.

"You are my daughter! Your future, and your legacy, are mine to protect."

"Is that why you cast me out? Protection?" Mel lifts the blue-tipped brush. The bristles sigh across the canvas. With methodic strokes, she begins to paint. "Or was it because I stood in the way of your ambitions?"

"What I did, I did to keep you safe!"

cw: sex, angst, dysfunctional relationships, abandonment issues

Based on this ask on Tumblr:

In the married AU, how would Mel and Silco reveal their relationship to the public and possibly their inner circles (the biggest of elephant in the room being Ambessa). Perhaps a discreet kiss at a public event or just say yep we're an item.

At the outset, Silco and Mel in the FnF-verse absolutely opted for secrecy during their, er, courtship. Given their alliance is literally struck due to backroom deals and intercity espionage, they keep their meetings discreet and their trysts tightly under wraps, in the guise of visiting each others' cities in the interests of diplomatic galas, festivals, and trade expos.

In these neutral settings, they are the most likely to interact and thus their illicit dealings can be easily masked.

By the time their closeness transitions from alliance to affair, they've actually hit a conundrum. Silco, a born provocateur, delights in stirring the pot to get the upper hand. Meanwhile, Mel, having been trained from childhood to be a savvy statesperson, is more restrained, particularly with a subject as controversial as her private affairs. And yet their reactions are paradoxical: while she wants to maintain her privacy, she enjoys seeing him lose control; while he enjoys the thrill of their secret trysts, he'd also relish the look on the Council's faces once they realize his fingerprints are all over the Crown Jewel of Topside.

And yet, when they finally formalize their agreement, the dichotomy culminates in remarkably different reactions.

Silco, who's always had a subversive flair for dramatics, suddenly loses all his trademark chutzpah. His first instinct is to keep the announcement under strict lock and key, a reaction Mel finds absolutely baffling. Bashfulness, now? Here is a man who's always in control of every narrative, and who is finally in a position to dictate the terms of his relationship.

And yet...

Even among his close circle, he's cagey and close-mouthed. He shares the bare bones with Sevika (to her glowering displeasure). She is not happy with how his fraternization has rapidly crossed the line from business to home. She is also, in her foresight, not the least bit surprised. She warns him bluntly about the future political repercussions, and their impact on Zaun.

Jinx, meanwhile, has already put two and two together. Her reaction is as expected:

Boom.

"No! No no no!"

They square off in his office, where she's burst in, a fitful cannonball. Silco is sitting at his desk, his expression deliberately neutral. Jinx's face is contorted, her blue hair an alarum of distress. Her cheeks are streaked with tears.

"Jinx," Silco begins reasonably. "Please listen..."

"You're leaving me! Just like Vi!"

"I'm not leaving you. I would never—"

"No, no, NO! You're leaving because I'm a monster and I ruin everything and everyone hates me!"

"Jinx, please."

"I knew it." She grabs fistfuls of her own hair. "I knew I wasn't worth saving, or keeping, or—"

"Stop that." Rising, he rounds the desk to encompass her in his arms. "Don't you dare speak that way again."

Jinx wrenches herself loose. "Why should I listen to you? You're a liar! You're gonna marry that Piltie and leave me behind, and I'll have nobody, nothing, ever again, just like before." She's sobbing openly, her voice ragged with rage. "Just like always."

"I am not lying, Jinx." Silco's voice is strained. His is trying hard to hold it together. "I will marry, yes. But you have my word: I will not abandon you."

She laughs wildly. "You already have!"

"Jinx—"

"If you really loved me, you wouldn't do this. You wouldn't leave me all alone, again, with nothing!"

"Jinx, please. Listen to me."

"No! I won't sit by and be left with nothing! I won't! I won't!"

"My lovely—"

"No! Don't touch me!"

She bolts, a blue comet shooting up the rafters. Silco is left, hands dangling, alone.

For the next few weeks, Jinx will remain sequestered in her workshop, either in a manic burst of tinkering, or staring vacantly at the wall. Silco will try to coax her to talk to him. But she'll either ignore him or scream at him to go away. He'll have no choice but to give her space, and hope the bombshell doesn't destroy their bond. In the meantime, he'll try to keep his meetings with Mel discreet, for the sake of easing Jinx's mind. And salving her hurts.

Eventually, she will thaw.

Eventually.

Mel, on her part, is disappointed, but understanding of Silco's need to proceed at a cautious pace. She's seen his girl in the flesh, and can empathize with her fragility. She'll encourage him to do what he can to repair his relationship. But she will also gently remind him of the precariousness of their alliance, and how they must secure the groundwork they've laid. Publicly formalizing their union will do just that. In time, the shock of it will settle, and their families will have no choice but to accept it, no matter the fallout.

As for Mel's family?

She has already informed Ambessa. And, she's done so with a brazen aplomb. Despite being groomed to be discretion itself, she has absolutely no qualms about her affair becoming public knowledge. She's been banished by her clan; in the eyes of her compatriots, she is nothing. Therefore she has nothing left to lose.

Finally free of the chains of her own making, Mel is now ready to stake her claim, and no one else's. She'll take Silco out on the town and proudly declare herself his, even though the news will be met with shock, and its downside, snobbery. The Council will be livid; the public will be baffled; the press will go wild.

And Mel will just smile.

Ambessa, predictably, is apoplectic. Mel, whatever their differences, was always destined for greatness. How dare she throw it all away on a street-rat from the Lanes?

She'll confront Mel at her apartments.

"I don't believe it. Of all the men at your disposal, you'd pick a wretched, half-rancid thing?"

Mel, her back to Ambessa, slowly mixes her paint: a deep, iridescent blue. Her bare canvas sits on the easel. A possibility, beckoning.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Ambessa goes on. "Some last-ditch rebellion? To spit in my face, and that of our entire house?"

"I stopped belonging to our house the moment you banished me."

"I sent you here to carry on the torch! To solidify our foothold on Piltover's shores!"

"Perhaps my idea of a torch differs from yours."

Ambessa's hands ball into fists: ferocious, and yet imploring.

"Don't be a fool, Mel. Idealism blinds the brightest minds. And that man? He only has his eye on the prize—and your heart on a platter."

"My heart, Mother, is made up. As is my mind." Mel, her wrist steady, dips her brush. "Neither are for you to judge."

"You are my daughter! Your future, and your legacy, are mine to protect."

"What I did, I did to keep you safe!"

"Safe?" Mel echoes. The paint spreads, a cobalt teardrop. "You sent me here, alone, without the slightest consideration of how I might navigate an unknown city. You left me to fend for myself. Practically left me for dead."

"Mel—"

"I've made a home for myself. Here. In Piltover. I've built a life, on my own terms. And I am no longer beholden to you, or your schemes. So no, Mother. You will not interfere. And you will not come within five hundred yards of my future husband."

"That snake will never give you what you deserve!"

"What, wealth? Prestige? Respect? I have all that."

"Until he drains it dry—and takes your city for himself."

Mel lets off a mirthless laugh. "Oh, Mother. As if that wasn't your goal all along."

"Mel—"

"You'll not threaten him. Nor our future."

"And if I do?"

Mel stops mid-stroke. Turning, she faces her mother full-on, and there is fire in her eyes.

"Do that," she says softly, "and see what it will cost you. See what it already has." She gestures, all the paintings lining the walls. No scenes of Noxus. No memories of home. Only a thousand different vistas, of a foreign shore. A foreign shore that she will not forsake. "All this time, you've never known me. And now, you pay the price. So go on and call me a fool. Go on and pretend you're the better strategist. But the truth is, our cities are safest when Silco and I work together. Because then we are better equipped to defend ourselves against people like you."

Ambessa's scowl is a blackened storm. She stands, arms folded. "So that's how it is, then."

"Yes."

"It'll come to no good. Mark my words. Your little romance is doomed."

Mel turns away. "We'll see."

"It's a waste." Ambessa turns on her own heel. "A waste and a mistake." Then, a parting shot: "If you'd been half as ruthless as you were cunning, you'd still be standing at my side."

Mel's fingers falter, a fraction. Her spine stays ramrod straight.

"Perhaps," she says, "your side is where the mistake lies."

Ambessa's footsteps echo, fading. Then door slams shut, and Mel is alone. Her paintbrush, poised. It trembles, barely.

Then the teardrop falls, and blooms.

Blue as the sky.

A possibility, unfolding.

In the following weeks, Silco and Mel's plans gain traction. Having shared the news with their close circle, they begin to lay the groundwork for breaking the story to the broader public. Silco is a savvy businessman; Mel, a shrewd politician. Their collaboration is a well-oiled machine. Instead of subjecting themselves to the arduous process of navigating the media storm, they'll let a third party do the legwork. An independent media outlet will build up to the reveal, starting with small, local publications. As the story gains momentum, they'll transition to more prominent outlets and heavy-hitting powerbrokers.

The idea is to slowly begin seeding their relationship into the public consciousness. Two cities arm-in-arm. Two leaders, intimately aligned.

The narrative is the hook; the angle is the bait. And the truth, a bottle waiting to be uncorked.

A bold blend, filling everyone's cup with the scintillating spoils of their union.

By the solstice, the announcement hits the newsreel. The two cities are aflame with shock and a healthy dose of scandal. From the conservative quarters, there is a barrage of criticism and downright hostility. In Piltover's upper echelons, the objections are rooted in classism, with some claiming Mel's union with a Trencher will only degrade her standing, setting a dangerous precedent for future 'downscaling' of the elite, and their social stature.

In Zaun, meanwhile, there are rumblings of discord, particularly from the chem-barons. Many question whether Mel, a Topsider and a Councilor, will throw a wrench in the black market's spokes. There is also an undercurrent of anti-Piltie sentiment, which some leverage to cast aspersions on Silco's leadership. How can a man who's built up his brand on defying Topside now choose to cavort with one of the ruling elite?

And then there are those who question whether this is a ploy. Is the Council using a honeypot tactic to infiltrate and sabotage the Fissures' economy? Has Zaun's Chancellor been taken in by a pretty face and a clever tongue?

Conversely, Zaunites speculate that Mel is merely a stand-in, and that the real love affair is between Silco and the city of Piltover itself. Is his heart really set on the woman, or on the power she represents? The access she grants him to Piltover's wealth, and the influence she has in the city's halls? Is the Eye of Zaun staging a coup to overthrow Piltover, and seize control?

Mel and Silco's betrothal has opened a Pandora's Box. With every question comes a thousand more.

But they know what they're doing. The seeds have been planted. And their narrative is taking root.

Soon, their respective cities are a frenzy of whispers, rumors, and outright slander. Their names are on the tips of everyone's tongues, from the Black Lanes to Bluewind Court.

The press is ravenous, and the public is starved.

Behind closed doors, each respective city's bureaucracy and security agencies begin to dig deeper into the other. They scrutinize Mel and Silco's histories, searching for a chink in the armor. They scour their dealings for the faintest whiff of a trail, for the slightest sign of betrayal.

And yet, as the days turn to weeks, nothing seems amiss.

No backdoor deals. No subterfuge. No secret threats.

Mel and Silco appear to be two trailblazers, united by a common vision. They've been allies for years. They have a solid working relationship, and the fruits of their combined efforts are starting to manifest. Their joint-venture has generated an unprecedented surge in trade and tourism between Piltover and Zaun, as well as a slew of new scientific innovations.

With each passing day, the news cycles begin to shift. The stories change. So do the angles. The whispers have become questions. Questions, answers.

The doubts start to melt into admiration.

Among the younger generation, a sense of glamorous taboo emerges. For the Topsiders, the Eye is a folk myth, an urban legend, a veritable bad boy. Now, his mystique is amplified tenfold, and his relationship with Mel only serves to fan the flames. On her part, Mel becomes an overnight sensation, a risktaker who's not afraid to break the mold, and whose charm has captured the imagination of a dangerous outlaw.

To the Fissure-dwellers, the interest holds a different flavor: speculation, scandal and self-congratulatory schadenfreude. Zaun, after all, was once a backwater slum. Now, their star is on the rise. Their Chancellor—a black-hearted scoundrel through and through—has bagged the Crown Jewel of Topside. What was once unobtainable is now theirs for the taking. Their victory over the Pilties is twofold: their haughtiest is now Zaun's hausfrau. They've managed to seduce, and subjugate, the Council's most formidable.

Marriage, eh? Who knew that the old ball and chain would prove so positive?

Now that the barometer of public adulation has spiked, Silco and Mel deploy a different approach. Rather than keeping their distance, they begin to take calculated risks: public outings, shared dinners, even a gala or two. Their appearances are met with a fervor bordering on hysteria. The press is abuzz. Everywhere they go, they are greeted with the dazzle of cameras and avid calls.

This is, after all, a historic first.

"Silco, Silco! What do you have to say about the rumors that Mel's engagement ring is from the Fissure mines? The same ones where you worked as a child?"

"Mel, Mel! How do you respond to the critics who say your engagement is an act of nepotism, and that it violates the principles of democracy?"

"Chancellor! Is it true that you're secretly building a palace underneath the canals, and that it will be a wedding present for Mel?"

"Councilor! Are you planning on changing your last name as a Medarda? If so, what will it be?"

Mel and Silco answer the barrage with enigmatic smiles, and an equally opaque, "No comment."

Except the wall of reticence won't stave off the tide forever. The pressure is mounting. Emotions are boiling.

It's time to launch Phase Three.

By the solstice, Silco and Mel agree to do a joint interview. This way, they can put the most outlandish rumors to bed, while satiating the public's appetite for their personal lives. The interview is to be conducted in neutral territory, outside Piltover's and beyond Zaun's borders, to avoid accusations of journalistic bias. A balcony in a small seaside town in Tereshni serves as their backdrop, and the interview is a two-part special, aired live on prominent radio stations.

Mel and Silco have agreed on their talking points. They've also laid ground rules: no questions about their sex life, their finances, or their families. The interview is about their partnership, their cities, and their plans for the future. They are there to dispel the rumors, not perpetuate them.

The sit-down is a sensation. Millions tune in to listen to their story, and to marvel at the fairytale of it all. For many, it's as if the couple are speaking directly to them. The audience is starved for content, and the airwaves throb with excitement. Some are captivated by the way the couple engage each other: the chemistry is undeniable, and Silco's sardonic, acerbic wit is perfectly complemented by Mel's elegant, cutting humor. Their affair has a certain dark-and-light aesthetic: shadow and sun.

The questions and answers fly fast. The duo are a masterclass of media savvy. They detail the timeline of their relationship: their first meeting, their alliance, and its transition from diplomatic to intimate. They discuss their respective roles as heads of their respective cities, and how they will each be transitioning to more ceremonial titles to avoid a conflict of interest. Silco will remain the Chancellor, while Mel will become an 'honorary' member of the Council. They'll have less to do with the bureaucracy, and more to do with public affairs and their philanthropic endeavors.

They are, essentially, becoming statespeople. Their primary goal is to ensure a seamless, amicable transfer of power, from their current governments to their respective successors. Silco will groom Sevika; Mel, Jayce. This way, the transition is guaranteed. It is, as they say, a win-win for all parties.

As for their plans?

A wedding, for starters. In a year's time, they will tie the knot.

After that?

Well. Who knows. The future, as they say, is up in the air.

Any children?

That is where the interview stalls. Family is a no-go subject. Now the interviewer is pushing boundaries. Attempting to address the elephant in the room:

Jinx.

"You are aware, Councilor Medarda, that your fiancé has an adopted daughter. A rather volatile one. Correct?"

The mood changes in the venue. Silco's expression is darkly-inscrutable. Mel's is a mask of pleasant ice.

"I am aware, yes," she says.

"And do you plan to accept her into the fold?"

"The fold?"

"As your step-daughter. As a potential Medarda."

Silco's expression is granite. Mel's, steel. He opens his mouth to impart a succinct response. Mel lays a hand on his arm. Then, with a serene smile, she says:

"I do. If she'll have me."

Silco narrowly hides his shock. There's a silence. Then, a susurrus of whispers, as the crew react to the news.

The interviewer blinks.

"Do you mean that, Councilor Medarda?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Jinx is not a child, but one of Zaun's most innovative minds. One that has been linked to multiple attacks, and countless counts of homicide. To say nothing of her role in Zaun's independence." The interviewer is careful not to be confrontational. "Many still consider her a terrorist. And yet you would take her into your family, as a future Medarda?"

"One's past needn't define one's future. Especially one so young, and full of promise."

"But aren't you concerned? About your safety? About the safety of your city?"

"My city is her home. As hers, I hope, will be mine." Mel holds the interviewer's shocked stare. "The Chancellor's and my union is meant to herald a new age of cooperation. I see no reason why it should be confined to the political arena. As far as I'm concerned, we are family."

Silence.

Then, a flurry of flashbulbs, as the camera shutters whirr. Mel's smile is sweetness itself. But her gaze is steady.

Silco, meanwhile, is eyeing her with hooded eyes.

The interviewer is floored, but scrambles to move the conversation forward.

"Thank you, Councilor Medarda. Your statement is... intriguing."

"I expect we'll be hearing much more about it," Mel says, and shoots her fiancé a glance.

Silco gives a single nod.

"Indeed."

"Then, before we end, is there anything you'd like to add, Chancellor?"

Silco is silent for a moment. Finally:

"Yes. You asked me at the outset, why I agreed to this union. At the time, I said the reason was obvious. Now, given Councilor Medarda's answer, I'd like to make an amendment."

He turns to Mel.

"Councilor Medarda and I made a choice to enter into this union. It was not the most prudent course of action. But it was the right one. It was not borne of convenience, or obligation. It was not based on any form of calculation, or expectation. It was founded upon one simple premise: two cities, one family. And, perhaps, a chance at something more. I know this won't be the last criticism. I'm aware of the risks involved. And yet, as of now, I'm certain of only one thing."

He takes Mel's hand.

"There can be no progress without sacrifice. No victory without adversity. But most importantly, no family without trust. So if we are to build a bridge between our cities, it must start from within. Ours will be our family. Our foundation. And Jinx...will be its heart."

He smiles a crooked little smile.

"And anyone who takes issue...had best watch their step."

His tone is mild. His meaning is not.

The interview ends on a high note.

Hours later, hot off the press, the cities are abuzz. The story dominates the newsreel for the next several days. In Piltover, everything is dissected ad nauseum: from the Council's official stance on the union, to the general consensus on whether the Medardas are abetting a terrorist, to discourse around historic reparations. In Zaun, meanwhile, the conversation is more nuanced. Some are ecstatic, believing Medarda's acceptance is proof that Zaunites are finally gaining social clout. Others are wary, wondering what the lineage of known conquest will bode for a city that prides itself on working-class roots.

The only certainty: the union is now, irrevocably, a fact.

Jinx, meanwhile, stays holed up in her workshop.

She'd flung her radio against the wall because she couldn't bear the newsreel: Zaun Chancellor (that lying snake), and Councilor Medarda (that gilded bitchqueen) have been spotted at the opera-gallery-theater-exhibition-club-restaurant, and were they holding hands, or kissing, or dancing? What does this mean for Zaun’s future? Is Topside being sold off to the Undercity? Is Piltover getting the keys back to the Fissures? Or is it a trick, a ruse, a scam, a lie, a betrayal, a—

From her shoddily-assembled radio:

"I expect we'll be hearing much more about it," the dulcet female voice says.

"Indeed," replies the low sardonic rumble.

Jinx, in a blind fit of fury, nearly blasts the damn radio to shreds.

But the broadcast continues, and Jinx falls still. Her ears are like little gravity-wells, and the voices are a pair of comets: hurtling straight for the core.

"You asked me at the outset, why I agreed to this union. At the time, I said the reason was obvious. Now, given Councilor Medarda's answer, I'd like to make an amendment."

She creeps closer. Despite herself, she leans into the crackling speaker.

"Councilor Medarda and I made a choice to enter into this union. It was not the most prudent course of action..."

Got that right, buster.

"But it was the right one."

Suuuure.

"It was not borne of convenience, or obligation."

What a crock.

"It was not based on any form of calculation, or expectation."

This man is a pathological liar.

"It was founded upon one simple premise: two cities, one family. And, perhaps, a chance at something more. I know this won't be the last criticism..."

Jinx rolls her eyes. The rest is a blur. The spiel, the spin, the sales pitch. It's a load of horse manure packaged smartly into soundbites. Silco's expertise is selling stories, and he's good at it. He knows how to make a sucker look like a genius.

Too bad it won't work on her. She's his daughter, after all. She knows the game for what it is. She's heard enough, she's seen enough, and she'll hear and see no more. It's a trap, and she refuses to fall into it. She'll have nothing to do with him, or his Topside trophy wife, and she'll certainly have nothing to do with—

"Ours will be our family. Our foundation. And Jinx...will be its heart."

Jinx stops. Transfixed. The radio is crackling in her lap. Her fingers are locked around the dial. But her mind has gone blank.

Jinx.

Her name is a throbbing echo. A hammer striking a chord. A lifeforce.

"And anyone who takes issue...had best watch their step."

Jinx stares down at her radio. It's an ungodly piece of junk. One of the antennae is bent and the dial is loose. The batteries are corroded, the knob is a tangle of exposed wire, and the paint is peeling. The damn thing should have been thrown out a long time ago.

Except Jinx can't bring herself to let go.

Not when it's her only connection to Silco.

His face has gone blurry over the past weeks. She can't recall with exactitude the shape of his mouth or the seams of his scars. Sometimes, the memories feel like a dream: the way he'd stroke her hair and hum her a lullaby; the way his hands would enfold hers when she struggled to aim the rifle, or steady the drill; the way he'd sit at her bedside, reading a storybook, when she was scared or feverish. Those memories are a salve, soothing the hurt.

Then the fever breaks and it returns. The guilt. The anger. The hurt.

He's found someone else.

He doesn't love me anymore.

I'm not worth saving, or keeping, or—

Jinx's thoughts are a vortex. But Silco's voice is a hook. It drags her back. Back to the moment she saw him in the rainfall, the flames eating closer and closer, Vi gone and Vander fallen. She'd been sobbing, begging, absolutely alone, and he'd stood there. His face was a Jack-o-lantern: glowing eye and jagged teeth and a knife tucked behind his sleeve.

And Jinx had wondered, in a delirious haze: Is this how I die?

And the answer had come.

Not from her. From him.

"It's okay."

His arms enfolding her, a shield against the rain. His breath, soft and smoky in her ear. The shape of his palm, gentle against her spine. The smell of cigarettes and gunmetal and blood in the weave of his coat. His heartbeat, a counterpoint to hers. The words he'd said. The realest thing in the world.

"We'll show them."

"You're safe."

"You're home."

And, cradled in his embrace, Jinx had closed her eyes and believed.

Now, with her head in her hands, Jinx lets out a shuddering breath. Then another. Then another. Until she's no longer trembling. Until the tears have stopped.

Until her choice is made.

She's had enough.

Enough of hiding, and running, and losing. Enough of the pain and the nightmares and the ghosts. Enough of feeling alone, and scared, and forgotten. Enough of the grief and the fear and the hate.

She wants it gone.

And she knows how to get it done.

****

Dear Jinx—

If I may be so bold as to call you that,

I know we've had our share of misunderstandings. Truthfully, I cannot blame you. I understand you were hurt in the past. And I understand your suspicion, as I'm sure it has been warranted. Like your father, you have a reputation for a long memory. And yet I also know your father is a man of his word. That he has a sense of honor, and humor, and loyalty. That, above all else, he is a man who will do anything for his family.

Perhaps that is why I agreed to our union. For, although the idea was mine, the decision was his. When I told him of my desire to see both our cities prosper, he did not hesitate. He accepted my proposal the same night. I think, deep down, he has always wanted this: two cities that share a common cause, and a shared legacy. And I am glad he chose to accept my offer, as it is a chance to make it so.

Not just for our cities. But for us.

Family means different things to different people. For some, it is a blood tie. For others, a bond. And for still others, a choice. To me, the definition is rather simple: family is the place where you belong. The people who care about you, and who are willing to protect you, no matter the cost. To whom you owe a debt of gratitude. And whose debt, in turn, you are honor-bound to repay.

As your father's bride-to-be, and as your future stepmother, I want to make a vow to you.

I promise to never leave you. I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. I promise to care for you, and hear you, and see you.

In short, I promise to be your family. If you'll have me.

With sincere hopes of seeing you soon,

Mel Medarda

P.S.

I've included a painting, which I hope will serve as a gift. I've titled it: "Something Blue."

Please let me know what you think.

P.P.S.

I hope the wrapping paper suits your taste.

It's not easy to find a pattern with pink explosions.

****

The wedding is a spectacular affair.

The logistics are a nightmare, and it has taken weeks of coordination between Piltover and Zaun to streamline the process. Everything from security checks to seating arrangements to catering is meticulously planned. The event is meant to symbolize the future: two cities united by a common goal. In the spirit of this partnership, the nuptials are hugely publicized.

They are also split between both cities.

In Piltover, it's a regal, understated affair. The time is late-morning, under the blue curve of a cloudless sky. The venue is the grandest hall in the city, an ancient estate whose history dates back to the mercantile era. Beneath a classical pavilion of limestone and marble, a close-knit collection of guests are present: Councilors, nobles, diplomats. In a testament to the changing times, they rub shoulders with Zaunite dignitaries: chem-barons and clan leaders, who've traded their usual flamboyant finery for sober suits and demure dresses.

A few steps away, Sevika and her blackguards stand at attention.

Jinx, as predicted, is absent.

Silco's eyes scan the scenery. Behind his ribs: a pang.

He can't help it.

Today's ceremony, pure spectacle, is still a step forward. For Piltover, and Zaun. A step he'd planned to take, but not alone.

Not alone, but with his little blue urchin hanging off his arm—

"Ready, sir?"

Silco turns. Sevika, in a smart deep-viridian suit, regards him inquisitively.

Silco squares his shoulders, and nods.

"Let's get this over with."

Sevika gestures, and the doors swing open. Silco steps out. The sun is a brilliant glare. The flashbulbs are a barrage of gunfire. He and his entourage are instantly besieged by the press. Everyone wants a close-up of his nuptial finery: a black double-breasted charcoal, sleek and slim-cut, with a burgundy silk waistcoat and matching gold accents. His slicked-back hair is neatly-styled, and his eyepatch boasts a glinting blue stud.

An accessory—or a tribute.

Depends on who's asking.

"Chancellor Silco! Any final words before the big event?"

"Any last-minute jitters?"

"Is it true your bride-to-be is pregnant?"

"Will Jinx not be attending?"

Silco's good eye cuts like a blade. The questions taper off. The reporters fall back.

Satisfied, Silco walks on.

At the altar, the officiant is waiting. A string quartet plays a lusterless traditional hymn. The guests have taken their designated spots. The air is a shimmer of sunlight and a buzz of whispers.

Silco keeps his posture straight and his expression bland. But his eyes stay alert, scanning the crowd, searching for a flash of blue, a peek, a hint—

A hush descends.

The quartet strikes up the familiar strains of a marching waltz. The bridesmaids, a trio of gilded cream-clad swans, are gliding down the aisle. Silco keeps his gaze straight ahead, on the ornate mirrored archway at the end of the aisle. It shows, between its curlicued filigree, a view of the courtyard behind him. Its stone pathways and leafy hedges are a lush green maze. Beyond it is the Topside cityscape: a dazzling vista of rooftops, spires, and the glittering sea beyond.

Silco's gaze shifts, and settles.

His lip curls at the corner.

Mel is here.

As ever, she is radiant. Her dress is a masterpiece. A sumptuous ivory gown, cut in a classic bias-cut silhouette and embellished with an intricate golden overlay and delicate floral detailing. Her features are dusted as if with stardust. A golden band affixes the diaphanous veil to her richly-coiffed updo. She holds no bouquet. Instead, she is the sprig of flowers in motion, the enticing waft of jasmine and hyacinths suffusing the air with every step. As she approaches, she looks every inch the Noxian noble: chin up, gaze direct, each motion unerringly graceful.

At the altar, she takes her place.

Her fingers, fleeting, skim Silco's knuckles.

"Hello, Chancellor," she says, a coy purr.

Wryly, Silco tips his head. "Councilor."

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Just passing through."

The officiant clears his throat. The crowd hushes.

The ceremony begins.

The vows are conducted with somber dignity, and conclude with a chaste kiss. Afterward, the bride and groom lead the procession down the aisle, arm-in-arm, amidst a storm of confetti and camera flashes. Outside, a motorcade surrounds a lone limo, the black lacquer gleaming under the sunlight.

The newlyweds slip, soundlessly, into the backseat. The doors slam shut.

And they're off.

They travel along the coastal road, parallel to the scenic blue seaside. The motorcade keeps a discreet distance. In the limo, the couple sit side-by-side. Their smiles are stiff. Their muscles, frozen into pleasantly neutral masks, need time to thaw. Then their eyes meet, and formality gives way to something else.

Their lips twitch. Their expressions quaver. They both turn away. They can't help it.

Silco bites the inside of his cheek.

Mel struggles to maintain her composure.

But the visage is cracked. And the flood is inevitable.

The laughter escapes in a rush. Mel's hand flies to her mouth, her shoulders quaking. Silco lets his head loll back against the headrest. The pale curve of his Adam's apple thrums with a chuckle. The car continues, a sleek black bullet, slicing through the cityscape.

Their gazes meet sidelong.

Mel twines her fingers with Silco's. He squeezes, once.

The partition between them and the driver's seat rolls down.

"Where to, Mister S?" Dustin asks.

Silco smiles.

"Home," he says.

In Zaun, twilight slips like a silk stocking down bare skin. The Undercity, in a display of festive splendor, is decked out in fairy lights. Zaunites relish a good spectacle. A wedding is always a riot. And this one's rare as black diamonds. The bride is a Topsider. The groom is a Zaunite. The most unlikely pair in the most unlikely story.

There's already a betting pool.

Odds 3: 1 for a marriage of convenience.

Odds 2: 1 for love match.

Odds 1: 1 for a marriage borne of a single night's indiscretion.

But everyone agrees on one thing. It'll be a miracle if this doesn't end in disaster.

Meantime, hope springs eternal. So does booze.

The wedding party is held at the Last Drop. The club, decadently decked in red and black, is packed to the rafters. A livewire band plays the Sumpside Waltz. Dancers sway exuberantly to the beat. There is laughter and ribaldry; parlor games and prize fights; bed-hopping and burlesque. It's a celebration the likes of which hasn't been seen in years.

Not since Zaun's ascension.

In a private lounge upstairs, a handful of guests have gathered. They are an eclectic mix: clan leaders, business tycoons, merchants, all with a stake in Zaun’s finances. A toast, a bit of networking, and the party will resume. Meanwhile, a line of bodies—admiring, avaricious, or just plain curious—are queuing up to pay tribute to the bride.

Mel sits, a picture of poised elegance, receiving their well-wishes. At the outset, she was dressed in a sequined black-and-gold gown. The bodice was intricately embroidered with pearls, and her train was a glittering, trailing cascade of crystals. Then, as the hours waxed, the costume was peeled away, strip by tantalizing strip, until the gown lay in a shimmering pool at her feet. Her true garb, emerging from the translucent carapace, is a dramatic jet-black number, exquisitely-tailored, with a sheer panel cutting a daring swathe from décolletage to belly, and a deep slit riding each thigh. The back is a dramatic, plunging swoop. At her brow is a gold diadem with a single black diamond. Her lips are red, her eyes are lined with kohl, and her feet are encased in a pair of heels so sharp they could cut a man's neck.

It's a far cry from the pristine Piltovan bride she'd played above. Here, in Zaun, she is a siren of sinful splendor. The sight of her elicits lingering stares.

For a Topsider, the Eye's new missus is packing serious heat.

Silco, idling by the mantelpiece, is a picture of louche elegance in a smoky bespoke suit. The lapels and button-holes are edged with gold brocade. His cravat is pinned by a single blue gemstone. His hands are encased in sleek leather gloves, the hems studded with matching blue buttons. A cut-glass of bourbon rests loosely in his grip.

He and Mel have spent the evening tag-teaming. She is the center of attention, the shining lure. He is her shadow, the sharp-eyed hook. They'd prearranged the dance beforehand. A flirtatious smile from Mel, a wry aside from Silco, and their targets are snared. Soon, conversation transitions from platitude to business. By the time the Old Hungry strikes nine, Silco and Mel have secured a slew of new investments. And the party is just getting started.

Two cities: one agenda.

In between, they trade veiled glance. There's no missing the glow in Mel's eyes. The fire, simmering low. The promise, implicit and enticing. It's a look he knows all too well. One he's yet to tire of. And yet, with the nuptials still fresh, he finds his mind drawn elsewhere.

The party is in full swing. The hour is late.

Jinx is nowhere.

He'd known it would be a long shot. The chances of her showing up had been slim. The chances of her appearing as a happy-go-lucky bridesmaid had been infinitesimal. Still, the fact that she'd stayed away—

Silco's grip tightens around the glass.

"Silco?"

He turns. Mel regards him from beneath her lashes.

"For a bridegroom," she says, "yours is a singular scowl."

Silco's mouth curves, wry.

"I thought we'd agreed," he says. "Tonight, you'll smile for the both of us."

"If I smile any more, I'll split a seam."

"On your dress? I'd pay good money to see that."

"That's why I had it tailored with your tastes in mind."

Mel runs an idle finger along the sheer neckline. Silco's eye follows the movement, then flickers up. Their stares lock. Mel's expression softens.

"Dance with me."

"Now?"

"Of course, now."

The band is playing a languid waltz. The dance floor is dotted with a handful of guests. It's the perfect opportunity to make a discreet exit. And yet—

Silco hesitates.

Mel, seeing the conflict, modulates her tone.

"Please?"

Silco sets his drink down. He offers his hand. She rises and slips her fingers though his.

On the dance floor, she lays her cheek against his shoulder. They sway in a graceful circle. They've spent the day trading pleasantries and playing the game. It's tiresome, but they're both old hands. Thankfully, the night is drawing to a close. Soon, their guests will depart. And they can finally rest.

And, finally, have a moment alone.

"She'll come around," Mel murmurs.

"Hm?"

"Jinx. She'll come around. Later, if not sooner."

Silco's lips twitch, a bitter reflex.

"Your optimism is a wonder to behold."

"I can hardly let your pessimism have a monopoly on the market." She smooths his lapel, and sobers. "I understand. Neither of us is much for ceremony. But having family at one’s back. It makes a difference. Part me wishes my mother could see this."

"See what, exactly? You, in a hellpit."

"Me, brokering a historic truce. The start of something greater. Better."

"Truce is not a word the Medardas esteem."

"That doesn't make it less valuable." Her eyes dip. "Times like this, I wish she could see me. Not the heir she wanted. The person I've become."

Silco's palm settles on the small of her back.

"She sees you," he says.

"Just not the way she would've liked."

"Her loss."

Mel lifts her gaze to his.

"I see you," he says softly.

A flicker, there and gone. Then, Mel melts into his embrace. They glide together in the glow of the neon lights.

By midnight, the festivities are ebbing. The guests, trailing congratulations and well-wishes, trickle out. Sevika, who's been keeping guard by the entrance, comes up and makes a discreet report.

"No sign of her, sir."

Silco nods, once.

"Should I alert the crew?"

Silco shakes his head. "That won't be necessary."

"You're sure?"

Again, a single nod. He knows Jinx. Tonight's vanishing act isn't a warning, but a rebuke. He has no idea where she is. And if he did, he'd still keep his distance. If he's going to reach her, it won't be by coercion or cajolery. The choice must be hers.

In the meantime, he will wait.

Sevika's eyes are on him, a knowing appraisal.

"I'll have the crew check in on her tomorrow," she says, preempting his order.

"Do," Silco says.

Sevika nods. "Enjoy the rest of your night, sir."

She turns on her heel.

"Sevika."

Sevika glances over her shoulder, irreproachably aloof.

"Thank you," Silco says, quietly.

Her gaze, level, softens a fraction.

"You're welcome, sir."

Silco watches her leave. Then, a light touch on his elbow.

"Are you finished?"

Silco turns.

Mel's eyes are bright circlets of green and gold beneath heavy lids. Her updo is unraveling into sultry corkscrews. Her dewy make-up has begun to fade. Her costume—because that's what her risqué little get-up was: a costume to match the theme of tonight's theatrics—is a study in artful disarray: the bodice unlaced, the straps slipping, the buttons undone. She's practically an avatar of Undercity debauchery. And, Silco knows, she is reveling in it. Shedding the trappings of decorum, and coming alive. It's the side of her she typically keeps under wraps: the sybarite. A side he's always known was there.

In baring it now, she's not only privileging him with her trust. She's inviting him to join her. To play. To lose himself, a little. Forget, for a night, his worries.

And, perhaps, a little, the hurt.

"Your ride is ready," Mel says, a breath against his ear.

"Ride? Well, well. You're already picking up our vernacular."

"I wasn't referring to the limo."

"What then?"

Mel's lashes lift, a slow, inviting sweep.

"Three guesses," she whispers. "And the first two don't count."

Silco says nothing.

He only encircles her, and guides her deep into the shadows.

The limo drive to his private quarters is a torturous tease. The doors are barely shut before Mel's mouth is on his, hot and seeking. Silco's palms are gliding up her thighs. Their journey back is a breathless blur of lips and teeth and tongue, and Mel, in her lapse, letting loose a throaty little wail.

Silco smiles and drags his teeth down the arc of her throat.

Dustin, beet-red, has long rolled up the partition.

Upstairs, they slip arm-in-arm through the doors. The apartment is a sprawling maze, a sumptuous affair of black, mahogany and gold. The Art Noveau furnishings are elegant, the artwork striking. Mel spares a cursory glance, then sheds her heels. Silco shrugs off his jacket and begins to undo his waistcoat. She beats him to it, her palms, a whisper of satin, coasting down his torso. Fingers, deft, undoing the buttons on his trouserfront. Her mouth against his, a slow burn of need. The kind that goes on and on, steeping and simmering. The kind that's been under the skin all night, waiting to be let loose.

Silco's hands, encased in leather, skate down her spine.

He knows the feeling.

Without warning, he traps her wrists behind her back. Mel's breath catches. He takes her mouth, sliding his tongue inside and sucking out all the heat he can find. She cries out, a delicious contralto, and his teeth close around her lower lip. Her scent is a cloud of sweet heady motes—hyacinths, smoke, champagne, sweat—and he breathes her in.

"What do you want?" he whispers.

"You," she gasps.

"How?"

"Any way you like."

Silco drags his mouth away only to bite the hollow of her throat.

Then he backs her, dark-eyed, toward the bedroom.

Afterward—a languorous stretch of bodies, tangled sheets, and ragged sighs—Mel lays her cheek against his shoulder. Her body is a sated spill of sweat-sheened silk. Her hair is spread in a dark cloud across his chest. Idly, Silco loops a finger into one of the curls. She sighs, a spent little hum.

"Extraordinary night," she says.

"Hmm."

"The media likely took enough photographs to fill an album."

"Likely."

"And my mother will burn every single one."

"Doubtless."

"And between Piltover and Zaun, we've amassed enough enemies to start a civil war."

"Mm-hmm."

Mel nudges his jaw with her temple. "So. Overall, would you call it a success?"

Silco's smile is a ghostly twist.

"I'd call it a marriage." The twist deepens. "Shame, though, about your dress."

"I'm sure I'll find its shreds between your teeth."

"The wrapping never tastes as sweet as what's inside."

"Mm, flatterer."

She nestles closer. Silco, his good eye sliding shut, enfolds an arm around her.

It's a moment of strange incongruity. An entire day spent conducting themselves according to the strictest rules of decorum and shrewdest stratagems. The next, nakedly twined in bed, exchanging lazy barbs and banter. In a few hours, they'll wake, and enclose themselves back into their respective armors. Silco will slither into his tailored suits, Mel will pour herself into her sumptuous gowns, and together, they'll don the mantles of rulership. They will play their parts. They will conduct themselves without fault. They will carry on.

Until the next time, they can be alone.

The dynamics of their old affair, he thinks, remain intact. It's only the intimacy that's inverted

Something new. Something stronger. And the thought—of being known, and strong, and seen—makes him...

Mel's lips nuzzle his collarbone.

"Where are you, husband?"

Silco opens his good eye. The window, half-open, throws a pale rhombus across the bedspread. Outside, the cityscape is a mapwork of neon, as familiar as the lines on his palm.

"Here," he says. A wry aside: "Wife."

"I've always preferred the term 'Ball & Chain.'"

"Sounds like one of Jinx's pejoratives."

"Does it now." Mel's lips are a petaled curl against his shoulderblade. "Have I told you what the media are calling Mother?"

"This ought to be good."

"Zaun's Monster-in-Law."

Silco blinks. A beat, and a scoff breaks loose. Mel's smile blooms full, and she buries her laughter against his skin. It's been a long day, and a longer night. Now, passions spent and tension drained, there's only this: a rare, tactile, transitory joy. Hell, Silco thinks, if this is his wedding night, it hasn't been such a bad one. Not if he can still smile. And, for a moment, forget the ache.

For himself. For Mel. And for—

A burst of blue is framed by the windowpane. The crackling boom holds an eerie echo.

Silco goes still.

Mel stirs. "Was that a rocket?"

Adrenaline sluices. Silco disentangles himself.

"Stay inside," he says, and slips from the bed.

Mel sits up, watching as he drags on his trousers. Barefoot, he creeps out into the balcony. The night holds a biting chill. The sprawl of rooftops is silvered by the moonlight. A surreal haze of blue flecks floats in the air.

Bemused, Silco sniffs. There is the unmistakable whiff of gunpowder.

A premonition coils down his spine.

"Silco?" Mel, draped in one of his shirts, is standing by the threshold. "What's going on?"

Instinctively, Silco pivots to drag her back inside. His ears have already caught the low whump of a second rocket being launched, followed by the whistling shweeee as it arcs through the air.

"Down!" he snaps. "Get down!"

Encircling Mel, he dives for the floor. The round passes almost directly overhead, erupting fifty feet beyond them. The atoms in the airwaves jostle. The explosion echoes across the rooftops. In the ringing silence that follows, Silco's mind races. Two rockets in rapid succession. His place of residence targeted. Either it's a coup, or a terrorist attack, or—

Beneath him, Mel gasps, "Look."

Silco follows her gaze. Tiny pink lights, like fireflies, float through the air. They suffuse the cityscape with a kaleidoscopic glaze. Then, with a series of pops and hisses, the lights erupt into fireworks. A spray of corkscrewing sparks. A dazzling, dizzying, disorienting dreamscape.

Silco drags himself to his feet. Slowly, he approaches the balcony's railing. Mel, finding her feet, follows. Her shock is palpable.

Then it happens again.

A third rocket blasted skyward on a straight trajectory. The velocity peels it to nothing but a needle of smoke. At the top of the arc, the missile detonates. A bloom of cobalt explodes, a starburst of light.

Then, a cascade of blue teardrops.

Each one blooms in different patterns. Some spread with the slow-motion tendrils of a breath of frost on glass. Some erupt into a spray of butterflied shards. Others plume into a cloud of shimmering spangles.

The effect is hypnotic.

Each missile, when it is fired, has an intense familiarity. A single shot, a precise aim. Silco recognizes it in an instant.

Then he sees her.

Jinx.

She crouches, elfin, on an adjacent rooftop. Fishbones is slung over her shoulder, a sharklike silhouette. Her braids, wind-tossed, dance to separate tangents. Her face, tilted skyward, is a picture of glee. She watches the fireworks with a rapture so total, so triumphant, that Silco is struck still. His heart, in his throat, beats a drumroll. But what's most overwhelming is the sense of relief, because—

Jinx fires the last rocket. It arcs and detonates into a pyrotechnic delirium, umbrellas of brilliants color blooming open against the dark. The haze drifts back and forth. Jinx, her handiwork done, stands. A small, solitary silhouette, the moon washing over her like a baptismal tide.

Her head swivels. Her eyes lock with Silco's.

Her smile takes a shot and scores a direct hit.

In a blur, she is gone.

"Jinx," Silco breathes.

Mel, enfolding her arm through his, whispers, "Something Blue."

He stirs. "What?"

Mel's features, glossed in the radiant blue remnants, are soft. "It's the painting I sent Jinx. 'Something Blue.' It featured a panoramic view of Zaun. Bathed in blue, like the aftermath of a fireworks display. I chose the color with care. I wanted it to be the same hue as the Hex-Gates. But also to capture the shifting shades of Jinx's hair. I think I was hoping to convey a sense of homecoming." Mel's eyes lift to his. She smiles wistfully. "Now I realize that I was looking for the wrong hue. Jinx did a better job than I could've imagined."

"You—sent her a painting?"

"I did." Mel squeezes his arm. "I told her I'd like us to be a family. That I was hoping we could all belong. Together."

"I see." Silco's jaw flexes. "Did she reply?"

"She didn't have to."

Mel's stare returns to the sky, a dappled mosaic of lights. "I find booms to be a popular Zaunite mode of discourse."

Silco stays silent for a moment. Then, he dares a smile.

"You might," he says, "be on to something."

The fireworks fade, the glitter dissipating on the wind. Soon, all that's left is the lingering waft of gunpowder. And a city, brighter, somehow, in its glow.

Silco and Mel, side-by-side, contemplate the vista.

Jinx's gift, for the world to see. And, in its own way, a sign.

Blue means forgiveness.

Blue means family.

Blue means home.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane sevika #sevika #arcane mel #mel medarda #silco x mel #melco

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