#FOR CLARIFICATION SHES GREAT

[ducktr0ducin]

Fuck my coworker. I’m going to Wheezer her.

[jrueships]

guess whos not going in at all this week, actually

[sabraeal]

The Man of Progress, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

Written for @infinitelystrangemachinex, who is the whole reason this fic exists in the first place, since if she had not introduced to me the potential of Mel and Viktor to begin with I never would have watched Arcane, and then if she had not made this fic her birthday wish last year, the idea for it would have definitely moldered in my Potential WIPs files, neevr to be seen. This was ALSO for her birthday, but the draft did not stop at 6K, and so I decided to take my time with it 🤣

The glacial pace of progress might exasperate those more used to the churning cogs of commerce, ever ready to break the unwary between their teeth, but this is hardly the first time Mel has patronized one of these academy engineers. Oh, they might bow and scrape and extend their gratitude on bended knee before money has changed hands, but once that investment sits heavy in their accounts, well— there is a fine line between patron and employer. These engineers might tolerate the first, but under the latter, well…there are statues around the Academy of men throwing off their chains, as much warning to potential investors as it is a celebration of their achievements.

Innovation Does Not Suffer Tyrants. Neither, it seems, do their students suffer direction.

So Mel opens her purse when Talis shuffles up to her doorstep, wearing a smile that’s sure to have opened doors for him before, if not a couple of windows. For all his fresh-faced, boyish charm, he is a skilled negotiator— or rather, a skilled beggar; a talent he must have acquired from years of being under Councilor Kiramman's well-manicured thumb. In all his blustering talk of progress, he only obliquely brushes the angles of their meeting that fateful night, flattering her broad-mindedness and forward-thinking while also thanking her for her continuing interest. A neat little way to put her in a corner, provided a promise was made.

Which it was not. She’d been careful to hedge her bets with this boy wonder, no matter how prettily he performed that impassioned plea.

But there’s little harm in letting him believe that there’s an understanding between them, that her actions in that darkened corridor confer a loyalty that transcends simple business. On the contrary, that’s the currency in which these Academy engineers set their stock. Money may move mountains, may turn a floundering lab into foundry of progress, but these academics sank or swam on the height of their reputations, rose or fell on the strength of the hands helping them up— or shoving them down. A nice bit of seed money would see her a cut of the profits, but letting Talis think that a bond was forged in Hextech’s glow, well…

She couldn’t outbid Heimerdinger— not that he’d ever be gauche enough to put his own money down; he’d call it an Academy Grant and let himself be seen as a benevolent mentor rather than vile investor— but she could at least ensure that they played on the same field. A thing that mattered now, when all the other councilors raced to put their hats— and their wallets— into the ring.

Kiramman was already of the opinion that she owned him down to his hammers, eager to play mother and master in equal measure. And Hoskel, well— for a man whose fortune was made on sail ships and long-haul voyages across the Conqueror’s Sea, from Damacia to Lokfar and beyond, he’s strangely insistent on babysitting his investments on land, arriving for an hour every other day or so to wave his hands around and be seen, as if simply standing on the site made it his. Salo must be much the same, even if she hears less about it; slinking and sneering makes so much less of an impression than Hoskel’s huffs and haws. Why, he must be half covered in hives by now, surrounded by so much grease and dirt and work.

So Mel gives them their space. They have a lab to construct and wonders to build; they hardly need councilors swanning in day in and day out, demanding to be shown how every last bit of their investment was spent, down to the last Washer. She had to stand apart, to be the one that didn’t press. A councilor who understood the process. An investor they could trust with their vision.

To the assistant, at least. Viktor. No last name. Typical of the Undercity. Talis might glad-hand and rub elbows and kiss babies, but it’s Heimerdinger’s shadow who ensures that every Silver Cog received goes where it should instead of passing through that strange field of theirs, never to return.

“Not that one,” she hums, waving away silk and lace, as cunningly draped as it is. “What on earth was that man thinking? Really.”

Elora blinks, first at her, then at the dress, confusion weighing heavily on the corners of her mouth. “The designer had been sure you would like it. He said it fit your…aesthetic sensibilities.”

She trails a finger down the back line, lower and lower until she reaches its nadir, right where her low back would have turned to something lower still. Pity. “It’s white.”

“Well, yes,” Elora allows. “That is the primary color in your wardrobe. He must have taken your preferences into consideration when he made it.”

Mel arches a brow, a corner of her mouth following suit. “Yes, but what he should have considered is why.”

Where some might knit their brow, Elora’s only lift, a question even as she answers, “Because you like it?”

“Because I want to stand out,” Mel corrects her, amused. Only two steps takes her to the window, where Piltover spills out beneath her outstretched hand. “In a city of blue and brick and beige, white shines.”

“Ah. Right, I see.” Her head bobs, officious and efficient, as Medarda expects from their domestics. “Dressing to impress.”

“No, dear.” The phantom of her reflection smiles in the glass . “I dress to awe. Especially reclusive little inventors who don’t make a habit of going to these little soirées.”

Elora glances down at the gown, mouth furrowing at the corners. “I think Talis is already impressed.”

A snort spills out of her, quickly stifled. “No, no, not him. The other one”—her hand waves; elegant, simple, and completely dismissive— “Heimerdinger’s assistant. Former assistant now, I suppose. Of the two of them, he’s the one I need to convince into my corner.”

Too bad her own assistant hardly is. “That one? He doesn’t seem very…?”

“Personable? Sociable?” she offers, amusement dripping from every word. “Human?”

“Important,” Elora decides. “Talis is the one that has been meeting with their investors. He’s practically the face of Hextech. But his partner…”

Is no more than a blur in the papers, a face turned away when the shutters closes, a smear in the background of Talis’s singular achievement. If Jayce Talis has made himself the face of Hextech, then Viktor is the ghost that haunts it. The phantom that is churning out their prototype even now.

“All the more reason to catch his attention,” Mel hums, thumbing through the rack of gowns rolled against one wall of her office. “Talis is a known quantity. Academy engineer, scion of a minor house, has a jawline you could forge a hammer on. Handsome, clever, and sure to wave whichever way the wind blows. But the assistant…he can be managed.”

A corner of her mouth curls. “Who knows, I might even come as a relief, after being bullied around by the good professor all these years. I just have to…impress him first.”

Elora glances at the gown slung across her fingers, skepticism marring the smooth line of her brow. “And you think a dress will do it?”

“Not that one, certainly,” she snorts. “But another…that might put him off his guard. Let me insinuate myself a little more firmly into his good graces. A little novelty never hurts on that front.”

Neither does a little attraction, but, well, a woman must always leave a little mystery in reserve. Even with her most trusted assistant. “That’s quite a bit to put on a dress, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps.” Black and leather and silk slithers over Elora’s arms as she lays another across them. “But I think this one can handle it.”

*

On the hanger, the dress intrigued, a study of soft and hard, of supple and stiff, of structure and drape. A winner, the Revered Professor might say, so long as it was about gears and cogs, and not fashion and fabric.

But on a body— her body— the dress is less a work of art and more a marvel of modern engineering, a bulwark of leather and boning that somehow gives off the same gravitas as marble or granite, while yet still possessing the same ease of movement as water down a fall. It eddies around her legs, baring and concealing with each step, a come-hither wrapped in a stand back. Councilor Kiramman corners her not three strides across the floor, stemming the opportunity for compliments— on purpose, she’s sure— but by the palpable press of the stares on her back, it seems that it has achieved its purpose.

“Is that your plan then?” Elora murmurs at her shoulder as Kiramman holds court, words straining to bear her disbelief. “Shock and awe?”

Mel allows her head the barest tilt. “Are you worried?”

“Not so much worried as” —she hesitates, casting her eyes about the room, as if it might give some hint as to how to smooth the edge of this blow— “it’s putting quite a bit of cargo on one ship, isn’t it?”

Her mouth curls. “You’re not much of a gambler, are you?”

Elora’s brows raise, not impertinent enough to be reproach, but it was certainly a cousin. “I hadn’t thought you were either.”

“I’m not,” she hums, rolling the stem of the flute between her fingers. “But even I know that roulette can’t be won by going all-in on a single bet.”

Her mouth puckers, unease drawing heavy brows together. “Then how—?”

“There he is!” Councilor Kiramman tears herself from her sermon with a smile, arms falling wide as she calls out across the floor, “The man of the hour!”

“The trick,” Mel murmurs, only loud enough for Elora’s ears. “Is to know the man at the wheel.”

She prepares her own smile as she rolls her weight off the pillar she's attached herself to, one that’s both gracious and dazzling, designed to set the gold spattered across her cheeks shimmering and throw weary engineer eyes wide—

But when she turns, her night sky is occluded by an unexpected front of broad chest, barely contained by its waistcoat. “Mister Talis,” she hums, her dulcet tones hardly disguising the spines of her disappointment. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

“Of course it is,” Kiramman laughs, patting him right below the silken knot of his tie. “We can’t have a gala without its guest of honor.”

His grin tugs to a grimace, but with a face as fine as his, Kiramman hardly notices. He pats her hands absently, as an indulgent son might his doting mother— fitting, since the councilor has already turned her attention away, humbling boasting about his achievements, as if she were his.

But it’s Mel that his amber gaze fixes to when he rumbles, “I’m glad to hear that, Councilor.” He adjusts his tie, bashful, the way men who are certain of their welcome can afford to show. “I have to admit, it’s nice to see a friendly face here. I’m not used to fancy shindigs like this.”

That’s hardly what his suit suggests. Oh, it’s certainly a few years out of fashion, the cut not as close as the young men like to wear it now and the colors not as bold, but menswear changes by degrees, not entire angles. It’s still well within the bounds of modernity, hems and cuffs worn but well-repaired, every seam neatly tailored from the start.

“I would have never known.” She can spare him this little earnest comfort; he certainly won’t be seeing much more of it tonight. “You look like you could have been born with a champagne flute in your hand.”

“Ah…” To think that a boy his age could blush so completely, red from collar to hairline. “That’s kind of you to say. I feel like everyone in this room looks at me and sees hammers.”

Perhaps, but only the ones measuring the breadth of his shoulders and comparing it to the tuck of his waist. “How is your partner doing? I suppose he must be even more left-footed among this crowd.”

Talis blinks, bashfulness breaking under a boisterous laugh. “Oh, Viktor? He isn’t here tonight.”

“He” —her gaze falls to his elbow, lingering on the empty space where a scowl is conspicuously missing— “isn’t.”

“You know how it is.” He leans in, one side of his mouth hooked into a boyish smirk. “This isn’t really Viktor’s crowd.”

Only moments ago he had claimed it wasn’t his either. “I was under the impression that a guest of honor typically attends their own party. Especially one thrown by the patrons funding their research.”

“Ah���” Talis has the grace to look sheepish now, scratching at the back of his closely clipped scalp. “Well…when you put it that way…”

Kiramman laughs, a haughty little giggle that would fit better in her daughter’s mouth than her own. “Oh, come now, Councilor Medarda, I can hardly take offense. Jayce came, after all.”

“He did,” Mel allows with a smile so gracious her teeth ache. “I simply expected that at a gala to celebrate the future of Hextech, we would be able to see both men helming the project.”

“Oh, really. It’s not as if we don’t know who came up with the idea.” Kiramman hooks her hand around Talis’s elbow, giving him a pointed jostle. “When we honor Heimerdinger, you hardly invite his whole laboratory to celebrate.”

“Ah, but you see, Councilor…” Talis clears his throat, hesitant. “Viktor’s not some technician. He’s my full partner. There wouldn’t be Hextech, if he hadn’t—”

“Of course, of course,” Kiramman soothes with a motherly pat on his sleeve. “We all have our assistants, don’t we? I don’t know where I would be without Alannah keeping me on point.”

Those healthy cheeks take an ashen cast now, his gaze darting to her as if she might spare him some quarter. But Mel simply takes a sip of her champagne, making a mental note to compliment Hoskel on the vintage. “Yes, I’m sure that’s very useful, Councilor. It’s only…Viktor—”

“’Great minds must be free for greater ventures,’” Kiramman quotes, though Mel could hardly say from where. Perhaps one of Revered Professor’s contemporaries, by the way Talis jolts at her side. “Don’t you agree, Jayce?”

He laughs, one hand tugging at his collar. “Ah…of course. Great minds.”

“Is that so?” Mel raises her brows, utterly unimpressed. “And here I was, under the impression that it was action, not ideas that saved Hextech from the incinerator.”

“Councilor!” Talis practically chokes on the word. “I—”

“Oh goodness, is that Lord Albus?” It’s Lady Kiramman that tugs on Talis’s arm now, all gracious smiles as she peels him away from the councilors jockeying to get a word in edgewise. “Clan Ferros has been quite interested in your progress. If you talk to Albus now, I’m sure he would be quite amenable to working out a generous understanding…”

“But Councilor Medarda—”

Kiramman’s smile sharpens, carving a line in the parquet between them. “I’m sure she will excuse us. Won’t you, dear?”

“Of course.” She lifts a hand, the barest shrug. “Far be it from me to keep you from Lord Albus and his generous mind.”

And wallet, she doesn’t add, but by the desperate look Talis spares her over his shoulder, she hardly needed to.

*

Elora might marvel at her endurance when it came to wearing heels the length of her arch, or gowns with the sort of architecture that left marks as dark as a lover’s in the morning, but it’s always been the mask that has wearied her most, the unending strain of smiling where there was not a granule of good humor left in her hourglass. An actress might don a role for three acts, but a politician lived it for every waking hour of their day— and sometimes, well into the night.

There are moments, however, where she might let her cheeks rest, where her face might fall into its natural lines instead of to the ones her act demands. She locates one well into the night; a balcony left abandoned now that night had fallen and there was no sun to set Piltover glittering. This one would have been on the wrong side of the estate anyway; there’s only the suggestion of trees when she squints into the night, a handful of the hundred that flood the landscape this far from the city proper. Nothing that would interest any of the pillars of Piltoverian progress milling about the Kiramman ballroom.

So to find Talis there, tucked away in the shadows, is a surprise as well as a disappointment. Not much of one— she had expected him to find her later; there is nothing men love to do more than explain away their foolishness, especially in front of a woman— but she must admit, she thought he might be alone when he made the attempt.

“Councilor!” He straightens from his hunch, the bulk of his body no longer blocking the slim one curled beside him. “I, er…”

“I’m sorry,” she says, annoyance leeching sincerity from her tone. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t! It’s just…” He sends one of those helpless looks to his companion, and she huffs, unfurling all her coltish limbs until only Kiramman’s daughter remains. There’s none of her mother’s elegance in her— there rarely is, in fourteen year old girls— but there is her sheen of shrewdness, and the promise of her father’s height.

“It’s fine.” The girl’s chin tilts proudly, the familiar curl of her lip breeding true. “I don’t mind. I was done talking anyway.”

She wasn’t, and she does— at least, so the pouty pitch of her voice implies— but she’d die rather than admit it. Especially in front of her. Better just to pretend it was and sulk in private.

Mel’s mouth twitches. That girl would make a good councilor herself, in time. Or at least a very convincing cat.

“Caitlyn…” Talis may call out, but he doesn’t do much else to stop her, watching her walk out with little more than a wince. “Ah, sorry about all that. She’s just a kid.”

He shrugs, as if that should mean something to her. Perhaps it would, if she were used to children. Maybe more, if she had ever been a child herself. “I think my forgiveness is the last of your concerns tonight.”

Mel settles a hip against the balustrade, for once looking down on Piltover’s most popular lantern jaw. It brings her close enough to see the flex of his cheek, nerve jumping right beneath the skin. “Ah, don’t worry. Caitlyn’s a good kid. She’ll just be glad I didn’t talk over her head like everyone else.”

Her eyebrows arch. “I wasn’t talking about her.”

His head snaps up, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, reminding her of nothing more than one of Kiramman’s hounds caught stalking tonight’s entrée. “Ah…?”

“You let Cassandra Kiramman call him your assistant.” She snorts, one arm folding over her waist. “You better hope it doesn’t reach your business partner’s ears. At least before you can explain yourself.”

“Ah.” His teeth clack down in a grimace. “Yeah, Viktor won’t take that very well.”

“Great minds rarely do.” She hums around the rim of her glass, obscuring her smirk. “I hope you have a good excuse ready. I’d hate for your project to fall behind due to some…creative differences.”

“That won’t happen.”

He snaps upright, and she expects that stiff spine to radiate with earnesty, for those honeyed eyes of his to gleam with academic fervor, but instead there’s a sort of desperate calculation in them, the flywheels of his mind running an entirely different set of numbers.

“Listen…” Talis scratches at the back of his head, the line of his shoulders tense. “I know this party, well…it wasn’t really your idea.”

To put it mildly. A fund-raising gala might have been in her plans eventually, but was supposed to come after a working prototype, something she could arrange to show to its best advantage after a few drinks and canapés. But Kiramman had needed to flex her talons, showing just how deep she could sink them in Talis, if she had the interest.

“I’d like to make it up to you.” Talis favors her with his most charming smile, the kind that opened wallets as easily as hearts. “You were our first investor after all.”

She lifts a brow. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

“A personal tour. Tomorrow. All access.” She’s half tempted to shield her eyes from the way he beams, eager to please. “It’s the least we can do, considering how much you’ve helped us out.”

That’s certainly one way to refer to the small, personal fortune she’s put in their accounts. But she’s hardly going to quibble over verbiage when he’s offering what she’d been planning to charm out of him. “And you’ll be there? Both of you?”

“Sure.” His mouth tightens around the word. “Why not?”

*

For men who have walked the hallowed halls of the Academy, who are used to the great vault of its atria, filigreed columns stretching their ribbed arms toward the heavens, the warehouse is just as starkly humble as the day they bought it. At least it isn’t just as empty. When Talis comes to meet her, he emerges from one of the newly erected partitions, hurrying across the floor to clasp her hand.

“Councilor!” His greeting echoes from all directions, all-encompassing, with a smile just as overwhelming. “You made it.”

“How could I not when you promised to show me around personally?” She lets her mouth slant, teasing. “After all, everyone notices when the guest of honor doesn’t arrive to their own party, don’t they?”

“Right. Of course.” Talis’s smile wavers, just for a moment. “I’m just glad to see you were serious about this.”

“I’m not in the habit of making light of my investments, Mr Talis,” she assures him. Unlike some of my colleagues, she doesn’t say, but by the way his eyes tighten, she doesn’t have to.

“Ah, of course, councilor.” He claps his hands together, dispelling the awkward air that’s settled between them. “Well, I hope you’re ready for your tour! Everything’s still in development, but I think there’s some real exciting things I can show you if—”

“Just you?”

Talis blinks down at her, confusion knotting the space between his heavy brows. She peers pointedly at the empty space beside him.

“Ha, ah, yes, well, Viktor’s busy.” His tongue trips over the polite lies trying to rush off it. “We’re still trying to stabilize the spheres, you know, or well— their output at least. See what we can actually do with Hextech, once we can get it up and running on demand. I know that’s probably too technical for an excuse, but, er— lots of places we can improve. Lots of places we have to improve, to make our deadlines. You know how it is.”

Mel stares up at that simpering smile and bites back a sigh. “Well, then,” she manages, perfectly cordial as she winds her fingers around his elbow. “I’m glad that you could be spared, then.”

Pink tingles the highest arc of his cheeks. “Well, councilor, you’re a top priority to us.”

“Some people in this warehouse have a strange way of showing it.” She hums, letting her smile widen.

There it is, that grimace. That barest flash of apology in his eyes before he looks away. “Ah…I’m sure…er…”

“Don’t worry, Mr Talis.” She pats his arm, radiating confidence. “This will hardly be my only visit. I’ll have plenty of time to get to know your partner.”

“Right.” The word see-saws in his mouth, uncertain. “Next time, maybe.”

“Next time,” she agrees. “Definitely.”

*

Councilor Hoskel is the sort of man who prefers to attend parties, rather than host them; despite the decadent vintages he imports, he would rather sell them rather than serve them, mainly at exorbitant prices that make even the highest lords hesitate. And yet, he cannot squirm out of the duty entirely, not without earning himself a reputation as an unrepentant miser, a skinflint whose clan others should be wary of associating with.

And so when he must unbend, it is to this: not some gleaming gala or intellectually stimulating social, but gambling.

“Did you know that in Demacia, they race actual horses?” Hoskel’s laugh wheezes across his lap, spindly fingers sketching out the thinnest suggestion of a thoroughbred. “Barbaric, really. All down to the animal at that point. Nothing at all to do with the skill of the jockey.”

It’s a smaller track than the ones she’d chased Kino around as a child, his gold-banded coils whipping against the gleaming scale of his armor, smile made all the broader by memory. A place like this couldn’t fit the mounts they rode, prancing and proud, roan coats gleaming under a Noxian sun. Or Demacian, for one summer. Shuriman, for two years, as Mother painstakingly carved a red river between the dunes. It hadn’t mattered, just so long as there was space enough— and time enough, without Mother breathing down their necks— to have hooves wear down a track.

Mel’s read poets from Lokfar to the Shadowed Isles— required reading for the daughter of Noxus’s premier warlord— but there has never been a one who could do justice to the way the wind felt as it whipped at her cheeks, sand churning beneath her mare’s hooves, the taste of freedom clenched between her teeth. And so there is no hope for her, not here in this city that does not expand out but up, an endless stretch of stone and metal and miracles of engineering, ever reaching toward the sky.

Especially not to a man like Hoskel, whose eyes gleam not at the sight of a fine bit of horseflesh but at the delicate gearworks that replace it. Already it spins and sparks, a poor substitute for the prancing of a high-spirited mare, but its jockey gives its slender steel neck a pat anyway, form preserved if not function. There’s a team of engineers behind him— students, she understands, responsible for the maintenance of the track’s mounts for credit— running through the last few checks, but there is no shield science can provide these men, not when wheels might miss tracks, or sparks may catch cloth. Even if these horses have no legs, there’s still a half dozen ways to be trampled.

That’s part of the appeal, she knows. Not that any of the councilors here will admit it. But Mel has eyes enough to see how they lean forward, breaths caught as they wait for the starting shot. Oh, they might scoff at the Noxian compulsion for conquest, call them warmongers and barbarians and worse, but there’s hunger in there, a desire for blood beneath the thin veneer of civility.

But it would be rude to speak of it, beyond the pale for the squeamish Piltoverians. So instead Mel smirks, adopting a casual lean against the curved arm of her seat. “And not a poor way to pick out talent from the Academy’s pool either, I suppose. A pity I paid so little attention to it last year.”

Hoskel might find challenge in a children’s toy, but he divines her meaning easily enough. “Ah, yes, I’m sure Talis must have made a good go of it more than once. Can’t remember it, of course, but— must have been a winner, whichever one it was. Really shown these boys how to put one of these fillies through their paces!”

A cackle wheezes out from that too-wide mouth, punctuated by a chummy slap of his thigh. “He’s a good chap, that one. Took me around the whole lab just last week! Showed me all the new fangled doodads they’ve been cooking up in there. All highly secret, of course,” he confesses humbly. “But if there’s anyone who can keep his mouth shut, why—”

“The whole lab?” Mel asks, alarm sharpening her question to a point. “Even the workshop?”

Hoskel scoffs, wrist swiveling dismissively. “As if I’d go in there! There’s smoke and grease and who knows what else in a place like that! Do you know how much these trousers cost?”

She’s quite tempted to ask if he does, but instead she simply smiles, enjoying the way he squirms underneath it. “A small price to pay to be at the forefront of progress.”

“Ha! Progress, you say?” That narrow neck shakes. “It’s work that’s done in those laboratories, my dear! Grimy, filthy work, done by bodies made for the business! If you’re looking for progress, well, that’s what comes afterward, when the men with great minds decide what to do with it!”

Her brow twitches. “Is that so?”

“I even told Talis to get a few more people manning the place.” He huffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Boy like him shouldn’t be getting his hands dirty.”

“Really.” It’s a struggle to keep her mouth from curling. “I thought his family made hammers?”

“They hire people to make the hammers.” Hoskel’s bulging eyes roll. “Clan Talis simply decides what to do with them. I understand he’s an engineer” —how quickly a vaunted profession can sound like a disease caught from Midtown whores in his mouth— “but really, there’s no reason for him to bother with all that labor. Beneath him, really.”

“Of course.” Mel hums, too amused. “Not like Viktor.”

Hoskel squints at her over his glass. “Who?”

*

The first time is excusable; there are deadlines to make, more than a few she’s had a hand in setting herself. An abbreviated tour is only to be expected, to be later expounded upon in reports. If she is not allowed access to the workshop, it is a small price to pay for steady progress. One she’s happy to pay, since it seems few of their other investors make it past the showroom floor.

But when it becomes a second, a third, a fourth— well, let it never be said a Medarda can’t pick up a hint.

However, that doesn’t mean she’ll take it. Not quietly, at least.

“Councilor.” Talis is at his most ingratiating this morning, anxiety palpable as her mouth settles into something just short of a scowl. “You’re here! Perfect timing. We just just put a little something in the showroom that might interest—”

“Ah.” Mel cocks a hip, impatient. “So you’ve been sent to get rid of me, I see.”

His smile stutters to a stop, just like his steps. “Ha ha, get—get rid of you? No, no, of course not. It’s just…”

She knows what ‘it’s just’ all too well, but she only folds her arm, waiting. If he’s been sent out here to be bait, then he can squirm on the hook like one too.

“Well, you know how Viktor is.” His arms spread, half apology, half shrug. A gesture that’s so familiar fatigue rolls over her in anticipation. “Doesn’t like distractions.”

“It’s impossible for me to know how Viktor is,” she informs him with no little venom, “because he won’t ever speak with me.”

“Ah, ha ha.” Talis rubs a broad hand over the back of his even broader head. “Now, that’s a good—”

“I am not being funny, Mr Talis.” If only he were smaller, more engineer and less blacksmith, he might find out just how far past humor Mel has traveled. Even still she has to clasp her hands to her elbows just to keep from shouldering past to get her glimpse behind the curtain.

With a steadying breath, she forces her fingers to relax, to let the line of her shoulders ease to a sultrier slope.

“Jayce,” she sighs, letting one of those fingers raise to her cheek. “I am one of the main investors in this little venture of yours. If you are going to insist that this is a joint project, one in which this…Viktor is an equal partner…”

“He is.” His jaw sets with all the implacability for which his clan is known. “There wouldn’t be Hextech without Viktor.”

She allows her face to soften, to imply that she’s dropped her guard, just for him. “Then I would like to meet him one day.”

“Ah…” Guilt hikes his shoulders, but the gaze he gives her is soft— no, fond. Perhaps more than she would like. But she’d have to be a fool not to be grateful for the advantage. “Understood, Councilor. I’ll, ah, try to talk to him about it. Maybe for today we could—?”

“I’ll call ahead next time,” she promises, turning her back on him. “Then maybe Viktor can pencil me in properly.”

“Right.” He deflates. “Of course. Have a, er, nice day, Councilor.”

*

It’s at another one of Kiramman’s interminable teas where the woman corners her, smile all edges, and says, “It seems like those boys are coming along now, aren’t they?”

It’s a surprise, an ambush, and for once Mel is happy she’s been caught with her mouth full, if only to give her a moment to push past the shock to a smirk.

“They are, aren’t they?” Mel tilts her head, the very picture of graciousness. “Jayce was just giving me a tour the other week to show me what they’ve been working on. Those little— what does he call them? Beads. They’re quite impressive, aren’t they?”

“Jayce?” Kiramman’s mouth purses sourly, gaze scouring her from head to toe. Mel only smiles. Let the woman think what she likes. Talis would certainly love for her worst imaginings to be a reality. “I believe he calls them…spheres.”

“Ah, yes, spheres.” Though with all those rough edges, they hardly resemble one. “Clever little things, even if they are still wickedly dangerous. Hate to see what one of them might do to the neighborhood now, if they got out.”

“I must admit, I haven’t gotten to see their latest prototype. Jayce told me that they weren’t quite ready to take out of a lead lined box.” The councilor may throw her head back, may laugh like a little lark, but her eyes narrow above it, skeptical. “I suppose you must have been in the workshop…?”

If only. Then Kiramman’s guests could have seen some real entertainment.

“Hardly. Jayce brought out the case from the lab so I could see it in better light.” For your eyes only, he’d said with a wink, but she knew better to trust a face as handsome as his. And one so well-connected. “But you, surely…?”

It’s a gamble— for all that Viktor has seemed to have forbidden her from the lab without so much as a word, Mel cannot assume he could manage the same stolidness with Cassandra Kiramman. She’s Talis’s long-term patron for one, with far more cause— and inclination— to bustle her way in, so long as Talis didn’t put up a fuss.

But she only huffs, waving a hand. “Only a peek,” she admits, annoyed. “But that’s fine enough for me. I’ve never been much interested in that sort of thing— machinery. Dreadfully dirty. I much prefer to see what’s been polished.”

“Of course,” Mel hums, suppressing a smile. “And Jayce is so good at showing it off to its best angle.”

“Isn’t he though?” She puffs up, like a proud mother hen. “I’ve always thought he was quite charming, just the way a peer should be. And so obliging…”

That, Mel thinks, is exactly the problem.

*

It’s not Talis who meets her when she sweeps into the laboratory. No, it’s some gawky girl, half-hidden behind a set of squared-off spectacles, shrinking smaller behind her clipboard by the second.

“Councilor Medarda,” she gasps, knuckles white around the hardboard. “We, uh, didn’t know you would be coming by today.”

Mel stares down at her, mouth pursed. Talis had mentioned they would be taking on new staff, but she hadn’t heard of any new hires. “And just who are you?”

“Ah…I’m the n-new assistant, councilor. Sky,” the girl murmurs, feet shuffling beneath the white of her coat. “I-I’m afraid Mr Talis isn’t here at the moment, but if you’d like—?”

“I’m not here for Mr Talis.” He’s charming, of course, handsome. A clansman in his own right, however small the line— and entirely too eager to please. Enough that even the likes of Salo or— heaven forbid— Hoskel has sniffed it out. However finely chiseled that jaw is, and however easy— or pleasurable— it would be to turn it, Mel knows: a pawn liable to switch sides makes for a poor playing piece.

Let all the other councilors waste their time wooing the boy wonder, hoping to catch an edge over their peers. She, however, has options.

Or at least she will, if she can get past this girl.

She’s a shivering little thing, quailing beneath her bite. A thing Mel might feel bad about, if Talis hadn’t hired her for the sheer purpose of having an assistant to put her off, instead of doing it himself. “I-if you need any help, I-I’d be glad to, um, help you. The showroom has several of our—”

“No, thank you.” Mel is in no mood to be managed. Not by Talis, and certainly not by this child. “Is Viktor here?”

The girl blinks, eyes giant behind her frames. “Well, yes. He’s in the workshop—”

Her smile hones to a point. “Perfect.”

It’s nothing to sidestep the girl, striding with the purpose to where the workshop door looms, a heavy, leaden thing only Talis could possibly open with ease. When her hand clenches around the handle, she’s half-convinced it won’t budge, preemptively locked against unwanted distraction. But it opens easily beneath her touch, swinging wide on well-oiled hinges as Talis’s new assistant stammers after her.

It’s cavernous, walls stretching high above them, catching echoes in its vaults. There’s windows too, placed so high only the sparest light illuminates the dusty floors, but where they do sits a strange stand of arches, almost organic in the way they fold together— and the bent man working on them.

Viktor isn’t dressed for company, that’s to be sure. Jacket and tie have long ago been discarded, decorating a chair half-tipped against the wall, leaving only shirtsleeves and vest. Which are hardly more modest when he’s got the first buttons of his collar popped, sleeves rolled nigh up to his elbows.

“I see we’ve relaxed the uniform,” Mel observes, heels echoing in the empty space.

To his credit he doesn’t even stiffen, doesn’t even pause when he tells her, “Progress doesn’t have a dress code. Only results.”

Mel smothers her smile to a smirk as he stands, wearily submitting himself to her attention. She's won their little contest of wills, after all, and an audience with him her prize. With a sinuous movement, she slips between man and machine and takes it. “The results could be wearing their shirt properly.”

He hesitates now, mouth pursed, sparing her only the sourest of glares. “I wasn’t aware we’d be having a garden party amidst the gears and soot.”

But even still, a palm runs down his front, subtly adjusting the set of his shirt, fixing the skew of his vest. Mel’s lips twitch. Not so shameless as he would like to pretend, then. “Hardly.”

He flinches when her hand lifts, but it’s not him her fingers wrap around— she’s pushed far enough on that front for a first meeting— but the arch of his strange machine. If anything, his discomfort deepens, the smooth space between those heavy brows furrowing more profoundly with every minute she weaves through his portals, strolling casually as if it were just another turn about the room.

“But your investor has come calling,” she reminds him, peering at him through one of them. “You might try to look presentable.”

He frowns, pulling his already gaunt face tighter still. “I have more important things to worry about.”

“Like this?” She runs a finger down the arch, biting back a grin at his twitch. “What is this anyway?”

He heaves a sigh, setting aside his spanner, or, well, whatever it is he’s been working with. Mel knows quite a few things, but tools are hardly one of them. “An attempt to stabilize the hex field.”

She arches a brow, and with an even more aggrieved huff, he explains, “I’m trying to remove the boom.”

“Ah, yes.” Her finger flits away on reflex. “I have noticed there aren’t many windows here.”

One spiny shoulder lifts. “They’d be a pain to replace.”

“And expensive,” she huffs, thinking of the bill the council had dickered over for the ones in the library.

Viktor grunts. “That was included in the aforementioned pain.”

She steps out from the frame, taking a wider look at the wrought metal monstrosity before her. It’s familiar, in a way; she’d hardly had time to look closely at their initial prototype, not when security had herded all of them out from the glass and shrapnel made by it, but if she tilts her head, letting the vague film of memory fall over her…

“So.” Her heels clack as she paces, coming to stand behind where he’s crouched, already back at work. “You went…bigger?”

“Scale matters,” he explains, impatience underpinning his words. “Smaller is easier to power, but bigger makes more visible mistakes.”

She leans down over his shoulder. “Or makes a bigger boom.”

This time, he does flinch, rubbing at his neck as he mutters, “I don’t make things go…boom.”

“More’s the pity,” she says, stepping away. “But the question stands. You think that increasing scale will solve issues, rather than create more dangerous ones?”

“Small requires attention to detail. It requires fussing.” He sits back on his heels, scratching behind his ear. “We are still dealing with functional issues. It’s better to see them writ large than to miss them in the fine print. Missing the forest for the trees, as they say.”

Not here. It would probably be something about…cogs and gears, if she were to take her guess. “Then why was Jayce’s prototype so small?”

A breath hisses through his nose. “Because no one wants a tool the size of a room.”

“Oh.” She frowns, remembering the glass that had littered the library floor. She’d had to throw out that dress; it cut her every time she wore it after. “Are we putting these in houses?”

That shoulder lifts again, wearier this time. “To the man who makes hammers, everything fits inside a toolbox.”

Mel steps into the barest edge of his vision; he turns, just slightly, to keep her in his periphery. “And what about the man who makes progress?”

Silence stretched between them, too long. “That’s yet to be seen.”

She takes the arches in again, slowly pacing around their perimeter, thinking of hammers and boxes. Of what might not fit in them, and whether they should. Of whether there was profit to be had in moving things from room to room.

"I have to admit, I can't quite see the purpose of it." His hands suddenly still over his tools, as if so long as he didn't move, she couldn't take their funding away. "What I saw...that doesn't seem like something that will want to fit in a box."

"That was proof of concept," Viktor assures her, flitting back to fuss with a set of cogs. Clever as those hands of his are, he can't quite get them to mesh. "What happened that night-- that's not all Hextech can do. Floating and explosions and pretty lights."

"And things moving from one place to another." Mel can no longer remember which hand reached out to the coin, but she knows at one moment it was there, and with a shiver, it was somewhere else.

He snorts, shaking his head. "Teleportation is not an avenue we're moving forward with."

She blinks. "Why not?"

"Hextech is supposed to put power in the hands of the everyman, whether they're born it the highest penthouse in Piltover, or the dirtiest gutter of the Lanes." His mouth hooks into a rueful smirk. "Now imagine every one of them with the ability to be anywhere they want, whenever they want."

It's a struggle not to let her mouth thin, to let the grimace grit behind her lips show. "But surely there's useful applications of that power. Ones that might better more lives than simply...lifting boxes."

There's a twitch at the corner of his jaw; subtle, lost in the angles of his chin and cheeks, but there. A purse to his lips, a faint furrow to his brow-- the marks of an argument long lost, but not forgotten. Or perhaps, she thinks, watching how his face smooths to glass, never had.

"That may be," he allows, the tone all but removed from his voice. "But Jayce would prefer to focus on something that would be useful at a personal level. Handy. We aren't trying to cause chaos, after all."

"No," she agrees, letting her mouth linger around the word. "Just a revolution."

That gets him to look at her now, lips slightly parted. Surprised, maybe. Seduced. Looks like she didn't need the dress after all.

“Pity your partner is so limited in scope,” she muses, once more tracing the edge of an arch. “I wonder how far this could go if you weren’t limited to a box.”

*

For all the girl's protestations that Mr Talis was unavailable, he's waiting for her when she steps out of the workshop, hands wrung so tight they've gone white in his grip.

"Councilor Medarda," he gasps, falling breathlessly into step beside her. "How was...? Did Viktor...?"

He puts a hand on the door to open it for her, the sounds of the street rushing in. His throat clears, and his mind must as well, since he manages, "I hope you're happy with our progress."

“Me?” Mel turns he head, obscuring her smile. “Yes, I think my investment is coming along quite nicely.”

[waywardsalt]

the phantom hourglass manga is the one i care about the most out of all of the loz manga and therefore the one i am most willing to rip apart because of its relation to the game, its own problems, and the potential that was lost or thrown away for any reason at all

making this separate than the list of things i liked about the phantom hourglass manga

im not going to be too organized about this; ill go by topic and in each topic go in chronological order through the manga and everything else will probably be all over the place

im not even going to touch the story yet and just go after the art off the bat because i really believe that this manga has the weakest art of all of them. i dont know if its due to some kind of time crunch or a lack of care but its really… im not expecting any of these books to have killer art, but in ph it just feels like there was less effort with inconsistencies in some designs and either very low detail or just absent backgrounds. this feels like a mean-spirited critique since i understand that manga is difficult to create and requires a lot of effort but its just visually… worse than the loz manga that came before or after it.

some specific grievances i have with the art are things like inconsistent designs of some characters (linebeck is hard to draw and i get that but hes just… never totally consistent) and some items like weapons (the shape of bellumbeck’s sword changes during the fight for some reason) and stuff is… left out. the fire temple has basically no layout since link’s just in some flavor of void for the entire blaaz fight. one of the panels with linebeck’s ship shows it from the behind at an angle where you should see the deck but its just not there

his ship is also missing its chimney on the cover art

this is also more of an opinion thing but the way astrid looks almost nothing like her game counterpart is just… it’s a nickpick based on opinion but that is Not The Same Character.

you can absolutely tell a fantastic story with lacking art, but the reason why im criticizing this manga’s art is because its the tenth in a series of manga who, up until this point, has had consistently good art, and then it drops off with weak backgrounds and character inconsistencies.

plus, i really care about how this story is visually portrayed.

the pacing, even with half of the story cut, is also a bit of a problem. as far as i'm aware, this is the only loz manga to have significant chunks of the story cut out, and while it admittedly works well with only half of the story, it fucks with the pacing a bit. specifically, it screws over linebeck's arc, which i'll talk about more in a different section, but it also kind of glosses over the phantom sword and (obviously) loses some possible time for further character exploration and whatever. the cut from the ghost ship right to jolene right to the final boss is, while handled well, kind of abrupt.

obviously, cutting half of the damn story will make what's kept feel a little too fast, but even some of the stuff more original to the manga is paced weirdly or is just... eh.

there's a bit after neri is found where linebeck decides to stop working with link and basically ditches him and this whole thing lasts one to two goddamn pages before everything is patched up and good and... why even include it if you turn the page and oh problem fucking solved. it's even a little out of character for linebeck at that point since a few pages before he's seen getting the sands of time for link and it's... it make sense but it's a really extreme character choice and while it serves its purpose (introducing the idea of linebeck not valuing other people very much and realizing that) it's still extremely brief.

the added stuff with linebeck being a past member of the ghost ship, while fine and interesting at first glance is also a strange choice that doesn't work all that well? it works for characterization and all of that but it makes for a weird situation with linebeck's character motivation where he's a coward and after the ghost ship for the treasure on it, but if he was present on the ghost ship literally as it was fucking gutted then he would know exactly what the danger of the ship is and want to avoid it no matter what. in the game his motivation for going after the ghost ship works because he doesn't know for certain whats on that ship and has never been on it. plus, aside from character backstory and whatever, it doesnt serve much of a purpose. linebeck even makes some comments about the ship's interior and the like but it all amounts to nothing because link never actually goes into the ship anyways. it's just a weird backstory to give linebeck.

the shuffling around (and cutting of one of) the three final bosses is also weird. it makes sense for the story order the manga goes with, but it actually lowers the stakes for the bellumbeck fight (in the game literally everything is on the line but in the manga its just linebeck and they absolutely use that to their advantage but still) and mixing the ghost ship fight and bellum fights make the final encounter really brief and kind of anticlimactic in some way. it's difficult to express, but the order of the final bosses in the game makes bellum a more interesting villain and melds with linebeck's arc in a much more interesting way. it feels like there was a specific reason for that given order and for the manga to just toss that aside means it loses something.

also reserving pretty much an entire chapter for jolene is A Choice to make. there's nothing wrong with using an adaptation to flesh out a character but here you don't learn anything new about jolene she just kind of makes very little sense in her motivations when you give her more screen time but dont change her from wanting to kill linebeck for fucking off but also still liking him maybe. good for you if you like jolene since she got more time here but they did pretty much nothing interesting with her

this is something i figured out while writing this, but the manga actually does Fuck All with the actual hourglass. you could've cut the fucking thing out and it wouldn't have effected the story too much. link never goes into the temple every again and the phantom sword is just. made on request with link having no interaction with it before using it to kill bellum. the only time the phantom hourglass is actually plot relevant aside from link first getting it and then using it to gather sand is when bellum tells link to bring it to the temple and then it's used exactly once to stop time and then it's used as proof that everything happened. oshus says link needs to use it and the sand to break the curse over the temple of the ocean king and then that never actually happens the sand and the hourglass is just used once to stop time once and otherwise it might as well not be in the story it's so weird. it's also implied that oshus needs the sand to restore tetra after he returns to his own true form but they dont say anything about that after he initially mentions it so who cares. oshus also tells link that zuaz will teach him how to defeat bellum. link never meets zuaz and still beats bellum anyways.

it feels like they cut the latter half of the story but forgot that the fucking majority of linebeck's entire goddamn character arc happens in that part of the story. sure, most of the cutscenes and whatever happens in the first part and linebeck does develop a bit in the first part but he doesn't really start to change until after the ghost ship, when you get his letter and his dialogue starts to change slightly to suggest that he's starting to like link more and care about something other than the possibility of treasure. the manga cutting out the latter half of the story but still making linebeck's arc end in similar places makes his arc feel really fast and even abrupt in the manga. he goes from being fully motivated to get treasure and still kind of selfish to caring a lot for link and deciding not to wish for treasure and the time was just NOT put in to make that a smooth transition.

honestly linebeck overall got fucked in the manga more than any other character. his arc was shafted, his characterization is strange and even kind of changed from the game, he's never drawn consistently and doesn't even look great since he seems to be stuck between two styles when he's drawn, he's more shallow and generally a less interesting character, and while most of that is probably a product of having one book to cover ph, it's still a problem.

like with all of the loz manga, the extremely limited amount of space and time the story is given absolutely fucks it over so you really are stuck with telling nothing more than an abridged and seriously inferior version of the story. i dont care how good the original stuff is if it barely qualifies as a good adaptation. the story wasn't told all of the way and none of the game's strengths are kept or expanded upon. you lose the majority of the best character's arc and depth. half of the story was cut. the title item is barely used. it feels like they didn't really care about adapting phantom hourglass and just hashed out a trimmed-down version of the story to fit into 188 pages and while there was some effort put in with a bit of a unique take on linebeck but it just falls flat when everything around it feels like it wasn't given a second thought.

i'm not suggesting that the author's didn't fucking care, i don't know what the process was with this, but it just... it doesnt feel like they actually wanted to earnestly create a good adaptation of this game. i have an altered perspective on all of this because this game is my special interest and something i deeply care about and inspect the little details of and it kinda just sucks that phantom hourglass never got a good adaptation because... this game has some serious potential for a really good extended adaptation.

Unlike the other Zelda games that the other manga cover, the structure of the journey in Phantom Hourglass has an insane amount of space for fleshing out of character, exploration of new concepts or character relationships, or just.. whatever you want. Providing you cover the original story, of course. Off the bat, there's a nebulous amount of travel time between islands, which can be used by authors for character moments and interactions and just little moments that can be used to further themes or concepts. You can use the implied time overseas between islands to have some interactions between Link and Linebeck. Show the three fairies hanging out with each other. Show the whole crew becoming closer to each other as time drags on.

Linebeck's existence and function within Phantom Hourglass alone is so fucking unique and amazingly good for an extended adaptation. In most other Zelda games, the companions are pretty much glued to Link's side and follows him through dungeons, or they're characters locked in a specific place, more or less divorced from Link's quest, but Linebeck is an integral part of the plot, present for every part of it as it advances, and yet he's out doing fuck-all while Link is in dungeons. He's a great excuse for authors to add detail to islands, write new characterization for background characters, or even just give Linebeck his own b-plot running concurrently with the game's normal plot. He's important to the plot and yet doesn't touch the gameplay; he's free to do whatever you want while Link does dungeon stuff. One possible idea I've mentioned before is the idea of, while Link is in the temple of the Ocean King, is to create and explore a possible relationship between Oshus and Linebeck. Scenes of them talking can be used to flesh out Oshus as a character and to add some extra depth to Linebeck and make his arc more interesting to follow.

There is... SO MUCH you can do with Phantom Hourglass if you care enough to do it, and I'm just so frustrated that we got this solid 4/10 of a manga.

[crimeronan]

re: the homestuck post. as someone who's never read any of homestuck and knows v little abt it (its an internet comic that plays massivley w form? smth abt a bunch of children? and they have like an internet chat group with each other? and space trolls are involved? one of the kids turns into a space troll? or maybe they're all space trolls at some point? and there are space troll politics? and it all gets very bad and horrible for them? maybe? and there was an elaborate zodiac that got made up a handful of years ago that im 95% sure is official homestuck stuff)

vriska sounds like the username of a fanartist so they're either a fanartist who influenced the homestuck writer somehow (some fanart? that the writer saw?) OR maybe a space troll? and if they're a space troll they influenced one of the kid characters in the chatgroup to do smth. and it created an alternate timeline (does homestuck explore multiple timelines?) where shit goes bad (grimdark). i dunno what the fuck anything else means. i dont think recton is a typo of retcon. i always assumed vriska was some type of irl person who made fanart or was influential in the fanspace somehow and only now think maybe this vriska might be a homestuck character?

all i know is i see regular posts and the final addition is that 'omg cant believe ppl didnt realise this is a homestuck reference' that i just assumed was a meme but always take half-genuinely and it renders the post incomprehensible coz i thought it was just a regular post what do you MEAN everything ever is a homestuck thing

(c) oh also im gonna take a crack at beta kids being the chatgroup kids in an alternate timeline before shit goes bad but NOT the original chatgroup kids the reader follows from the start. no idea abt davesprite (is one of the kids called dave? does he control shit through the chat w fucked up computer voodoo dolls? like little character sprites of whoever else is involved at this point?) and still no idea abt recton

-

i'd like to reply to all of this but i'm stuck on you thinking all this time that vriska is a real human person. i swear to god i'm not making fun OF you because How Would You Know but if you read homestuck that becomes..... one of the funniest things i've ever heard in my LIFE

[rowanhoney]

actually. I’m getting a bit sad about it again. About how none of my friends feature in my happy memories and my friends don’t like the things I like and I’ve become so independent I’m starting to feel utterly starved of connection

[this-doesnt-endd]

All these university people are acting like im the dumbest motherfucker in the world for applying to college this late in the game and like yeah sure but like ive prepared everything on my end its just about submitting stuff and its like wtf happened to taking action to decide to change ur life like isnt that what college is about you miserable people

[reasonsforhope]

It’s an open secret in fashion. Unsold inventory goes to the incinerator; excess handbags are slashed so they can’t be resold; perfectly usable products are sent to the landfill to avoid discounts and flash sales. The European Union wants to put an end to these unsustainable practices. On Monday, [December 4, 2023], it banned the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear.

“It is time to end the model of ‘take, make, dispose’ that is so harmful to our planet, our health and our economy,” MEP Alessandra Moretti said in a statement. “Banning the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear will contribute to a shift in the way fast fashion manufacturers produce their goods.”

This comes as part of a broader push to tighten sustainable fashion legislation, with new policies around ecodesign, greenwashing and textile waste phasing in over the next few years. The ban on destroying unsold goods will be among the longer lead times: large businesses have two years to comply, and SMEs have been granted up to six years. It’s not yet clear on whether the ban applies to companies headquartered in the EU, or any that operate there, as well as how this ban might impact regions outside of Europe.

For many, this is a welcome decision that indirectly tackles the controversial topics of overproduction and degrowth. Policymakers may not be directly telling brands to produce less, or placing limits on how many units they can make each year, but they are penalising those overproducing, which is a step in the right direction, says Eco-Age sustainability consultant Philippa Grogan. “This has been a dirty secret of the fashion industry for so long. The ban won’t end overproduction on its own, but hopefully it will compel brands to be better organised, more responsible and less greedy.”

Clarifications to come

There are some kinks to iron out, says Scott Lipinski, CEO of Fashion Council Germany and the European Fashion Alliance (EFA). The EFA is calling on the EU to clarify what it means by both “unsold goods” and “destruction”. Unsold goods, to the EFA, mean they are fit for consumption or sale (excluding counterfeits, samples or prototypes)...

The question of what happens to these unsold goods if they are not destroyed is yet to be answered. “Will they be shipped around the world? Will they be reused as deadstock or shredded and downcycled? Will outlet stores have an abundance of stock to sell?” asks Grogan.

Large companies will also have to disclose how many unsold consumer products they discard each year and why, a rule the EU is hoping will curb overproduction and destruction...

Could this shift supply chains?

For Dio Kurazawa, founder of sustainable fashion consultancy The Bear Scouts, this is an opportunity for brands to increase supply chain agility and wean themselves off the wholesale model so many rely on. “This is the time to get behind innovations like pre-order and on-demand manufacturing,” he says. “It’s a chance for brands to play with AI to understand the future of forecasting. Technology can help brands be more intentional with what they make, so they have less unsold goods in the first place.”

Grogan is equally optimistic about what this could mean for sustainable fashion in general. “It’s great to see that this is more ambitious than the EU’s original proposal and that it specifically calls out textiles. It demonstrates a willingness from policymakers to create a more robust system,” she says. “Banning the destruction of unsold goods might make brands rethink their production models and possibly better forecast their collections.”

One of the outstanding questions is over enforcement. Time and again, brands have used the lack of supply chain transparency in fashion as an excuse for bad behaviour. Part of the challenge with the EU’s new ban will be proving that brands are destroying unsold goods, not to mention how they’re doing it and to what extent, says Kurazawa. “Someone obviously knows what is happening and where, but will the EU?”"

-via British Vogue, December 7, 2023

[warmpants]

Fucckkk I forgot j cameron smith is in search party

[nightingale2004]

Gravity falls Hcs: Throughout the years, pt. 1

The town of gravity falls continues to remain normal, but still has its weird strange flair

More and more tourists come and go from Gravity Falls Oregon, especially after Weirdmageddon

Tyler is still mayor and going on strong

Dipper and Mabel still visit Gravity Falls every summer, and they remain close with their friends from Gravity Falls

Mabel, Grenda, and Candy's friendship still remain strong as they all grow up (since they got phones and computers, they text and videochat 24/7)

Dipper and Mabel have their troubles in school, especially after what they've been through, but no matter what, the pines twins stick together through thick and thin

Dipper is still not so popular, but he found his people, and he managed to create a "Dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons" club in school

Mabel is still to this day an arts and crafts master and also a master of knitting and clothing designs.

When Mabel was granted access to the world of the internet. She made her own business website showing the clothes she made, along with making video tutorials on knitting, art, and making wax figures

On one of twins' birthdays, great uncle Ford and Mabel gave Dipper three journals so he could find his own discoveries and adventures and write them in the journals (Dipper loved the gift and takes great care of them.)

Mabel still never misses a scrapbook-ortunity

Wendy and her gang of friends are still hanging out and still close (they've slowly started to treat Thompson nicer)

Robbie and Tambry are still together and are getting married (Wendy is Robbie's best woman and Tambry's bridesmaid)

When Soos got married, everyone was there, and it was all very emotional. Especially for Soos who cried at his own wedding more than anyone

When the pines twins come to gravity falls over the summer or the holidays, the townspeople all know their name, give them endless hugs and high fives, and it's pretty much the happiest moment for the townspeople

Old man Mckgucket still invents, but this time, it's for the benefit of town.

As time went by, Fiddleford started fixing his mind little by little with his son's help. He is also slowly rebuilding his relationship with his son and Stanford

When Mabel and Dipper's parents met with the Stan brothers, they demanded an explanation. Stanley and Stanford came up with a very believable lie involving Stanley owing a bunch of debt to dangerous men, and then he faked his death to get them off his back with Stanfords help.

Bill Cipher's statue is still in the woods of Gravity Falls, and everyone makes sure that people, including tourists, go nowhere near the statue out of fear

Stanley slowly starts remembering everything, but he asks his family and Stanford for clarification on memories that are a bit of a blur

Every time the Pines twins come to gravity falls, it's always a new adventure, and Candy, Grenda, Wendy, and even Pacifica started joining them on their adventures

Soos named Stanley the grandfather and the pines twins as the godparents. Melody wanted to protest, but she could never say no to Soos

Wendy found a girlfriend and still helps out at the shack, but now she is working as either a lumberjack or working on construction

Since money was tight for the Northwest family, Pacifica took a job at the diner thanks to lazy Susan, and now she earns her own money to help out, and she FaceTimes Mabel and the girls a lot

Pacifica gives Mabel fashion and design tips

Sev'ral Timez still lives in the woods and somehow managed to mate and multiply with nature. Now there are mutant hybrid Sev'ral Timez children running around Gravity Falls

Ivan or Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle is traveling around the world to find his song that is in his heart, and so far, he has released a few Banjo songs but not many

While living in California was nice, Waddles, after some time, was no longer aloud to live with the Pines twins family, which broke Mabel's heart but Soos luckily volunteered to take in Waddles after he convinced Melody to be on board which Mabel immediately was happy about

Sheriff Daryl Blubs and Deputy Durland are married and have adopted a boy together

After the weirdmaggedon, everyone has their trauma, and everyone deals with it in their own way, but the town who went through it all go through the healing together or with those that they trust

[beiasluv]

the lives of yn | f1 drivers

a/n: I have so many wips but never managed to finish them so…you’re welcome 😉

—

mclaren

liked by landonorris, yourinsta and 896,156 others

mclaren rookie of the year by autosport ! cheers to many more! 🧡👊 oscarpiastri

view all 175,526 comments

oscarpiastri 🧡

username EXCUSE ME??

username GIRLFRIEND????

username yn???

username she’s pulling his wisdom teeth for free or what?

username are we missing something??

username yourinsta CLARIFICATION NOW!!!

username I mean. If she’s not a professional she had done a pretty good job 💀

mclaren

reply

yourinsta

liked by lilymhe, logansargeant and 341,526 others

yourinsta surprise…😬 (yes, I gave him naps and water during the operation 😔)

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username a woman in STEMMM

username where is her clinic 🤭🤭

username she can pull my teeth out any day if wants SLAYYY

—

mclaren

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 686,176 others

mclaren welcome yourinsta to the papaya fam! 🧡

yn ln on joins our family as the new racing engineer for oscarpiastri, looking forward to the exciting season!

view all 375,527 comments

landonorris welcome to papaya! 👊

yourinsta 🫡 yessir

username she’s a rookie engineer or what?

username she pulled the right strings to end up in f1, girlie.

username if you have nothing good to say, say nothing

username gurl we ain’t said NOTHING

username miss gurly here was the one behind many of the f2 championships, get yo facts straight

username she’s literally oscar’s engineer and only lando is welcoming her

username leave my introvert pookie alone

username Ngl the chemrizzy between lando and yn tho

username she’s friends with lando no?

paddockgossips

liked by username, username and 95,628 others

paddockgossips oscar piastri was seen arriving at the paddock this morning with his new racing engineer yn ln.

view all 21,601 comments

username so we’re not going to talk abt the eyes??

username Nah he’s married to me he just doesn’t know 🤷‍♀️

username Gurlll stop being delusional

logansargeant *comment has been deleted*

username LOGAN WHAT DO YOU KNOW

username GURLL WHAT DID HE SAY

username he said ‘happy wife happy life’

username not logan launching for oscar 😭

username I swear they all have private accounts spying on us

username girly stop being delusional they have busy lives

username *lewis spam account here* I hAVE it PRINTED OUT

—

yourinsta

liked by danielricciardo, lewishamilton and 586,927 others

yourinsta well...surprise 😬

view all 6,827 comments

username should’ve known since he moved to Ferrari with her 😔✊

username MRS VETTEL???

scuderiaferrari red never looked better ❤

username I gyatt to see myself out.

username fr 😔

sebastianvettel

liked by jensonbutton, yourinsta and 776,727 others

sebastianvettel sorry guys

view all 5,267 comments

username heartbeenbrokesomanytimesdonnowhattobelieve

username mamasaiditsmyfaultitsmyfault

username Iwearmyheartonmyslevees

username NOOOOO he bagged a baddieeee my wifee

—

yourinsta

liked by logansargeant, username and 123,167 others

yourinsta hi texass

view all 1,266 comments

username NOBIDY TALK TO ME 😭

username did my babies broke up 😔

yourinsta 24m

reply

—

redbullnews

liked by username, username and 23,424 others

redbullnews The racing engineer, yn ln, was spotted arriving at the paddock, following the drivers sebastian vettel and mark webber for the seasonal testing in Sliverstone today.

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yourinsta

liked by redbullracing, fernandoalo_official and 129,123 others

yourinsta thank you for tonight :)

view all 4,231 comments

username queen behaviorr

username mother is MOTHERing

username she's everything and they're just her bodyguards.

username got the two redbull drivers as her bodyguard. Goals.💀

— @jsjcue @namgification

today's a great day to take care of yourself 😘😘

[officialaemondtargaryen]

is it casual now?

Prompt: You and Eddie totally aren't dating, right?

Characters: Eddie Munson x Reader, brief mentions of Steve Harrington x Reader.

Word Count: ~5.5k

Author’s Note: Happy birthday @felteppsters

Playlist: Casual by Chappell Roan

Warnings: Smut & fluff.

If you had a dollar for every time someone asked if you and The Freak were dating, you'd have made four dollars this week alone.

And it's only Tuesday.

You didn't go out of your way to spend time with Eddie Munson, and he never once asked if you wanted to hang out outside of school, but somehow you always managed to find yourself getting fingered in the back of his van in the parking lot during study hall. And he was known to drop a note in your locker on occasion asking you to meet him in that one bathroom that no one ever used for a quickie during lunch.

But that was neither here nor there.

The point was that people were beginning to notice.

It wasn't a bad thing. It's not like dating Eddie would ruin your reputation- despite what some people would say. It was just that when people asked if you and Eddie were dating, you didn't know how to answer because you, yourself, were not exactly sure what that answer was.

So you just said no, and you probably said it a little too defensively.

Does hooking up occasionally count as dating? No. In order to be dating someone you had to at least go out on an actual date, right? The night he took you to his trailer to 'fuck you in a real bed' and ordered pizza delivery didn't count, either, no matter how long you cuddled with him afterwards.

"I heard a rumor," it was Robin. She fell in step with you as you both exited fourth-period Algebra and headed toward the cafeteria. "And I just need a little bit of clarification, so forgive me if what I'm about to ask is-"

"I swear to God, Robin, if you're about to ask me if I'm dating Eddie Munson," you held up your hand and cut her off, stopping short in the middle of the hallway; your boots scuffing the speckled white tile floor, causing a slight traffic jam of bodies.

"What!?" She gasped. Either she was a really great actress or she genuinely hadn't heard. "There's a rumor going around that you're dating Eddie Munson?"

"No?" you deflected and picked up the pace. "What did you hear?"

"That you're dating Eddie Munson." With that, your face fell and she pulled her lips between her teeth to keep herself from laughing. "Well, is it true? Because Maria Fuentes heard from Charlie Dawson that Tina saw you guys in the parking lot last Friday and she did not hold back on the details."

"First of all," you said stopping at your locker. "I feel violated."

"Well, you were, you know-" Robin held up her fingers and made a lewd gesture causing you to cringe.

"Second of all-" You began again, only to be cut off by a folded piece of paper falling from your locker to the floor as you opened the flimsy, metal door. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as Robin quickly bent down and snatched the note from under you before you had the chance.

"You were saying?" She asked, a playful smirk pulling at her lips as she dodged every one of your attempts to take the note back from her. "Meet me. You know where. Signed, E.M." She read aloud. "Oh, look, there's even a little heart. That is so cute!"

"Second of all," you repeated after you had snatched the crumpled paper from her hands. "We are not dating."

Eddie's lips were on yours the moment the bathroom door closed behind you; before you were even able to flip the lock. You hadn't seen him since last Friday, and you could easily tell that he had gotten needy over the weekend. You wanted to enjoy the moment, but all that you could think about was this rumor.

He took a few steps forwards, pushing you back to the double sink until you were sitting on the counter; pushing himself between your legs, his hands falling to your sides, fingertips digging into your flesh. His lips were everywhere, biting and sucking hungrily as he squeezed every inch of your body he could get his hands on.

You placed your palm firmly on his chest and lightly pushed him away from you. He took a step back and you took in his appearance; tight denim jeans, a flannel wrapped around his hips, t-shirt just slightly messy enough to reveal a scruffy happy trail below his navel. His jeans were especially tight in the crotch, and his eyes were dark with desperation as he returned your gaze. He ducked his head to meet your lips once again, but you turned your head and ensured his lips fell to your cheek instead.

"Something's definitely up with you," he said softly as he placed another kiss on your temple.

He looked so good and made you feel so good, you just wanted to pull him back down to you and fuck him in this bathroom for the umpteenth time, but you couldn't. He stepped back and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket; looking so cool as he placed one between his lips and took a long drag, sending smoke billowing around the tiny room.

"You haven't heard?" You asked. He shrugged. "Someone saw us Friday in your van and now the entire school thinks we're dating."

"Oh," he let our a sarcastic chuckle. "And that's a problem for you, I guess? Can't be seen with the freak, right?"

"No," you rolled your eyes at the fact that he would even suggest that. "I just didn't know if- are we?"

He shrugs again, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I thought it was just casual."

"Casual?" You ask, and he nods. "Okay, well, I have to go. My next class is all the way on the other side of the building and I don't want to be late."

He can tell by your tone that you're upset.

"What do you want me to say?" He asks, making one last attempt to make you stay as you pick up your book bag from the floor.

"Nothing."

"You're pissed," he actually reached for you this time, but you shrugged him off.

"No," you replied. "I'm just-" you paused for a moment looking for the right words. "I'm casual." He winced. "Have a good day, Eddie."

You wanted to slam the door in his face, but it wasn't that type of door, so you opted for storming off loudly. As you rounded the corner you knocked shoulders with some girl from the Cheerleading squad who yelled at you to watch where you were going, but you didn't care to respond. Your legs were carrying you as quickly as they could without breaking into a full sprint down the halls of Hawkins High.

It wasn't a lie when you stated that your next class was on the other side of the school. You were sweating by the time you reached your desk. Robin had gotten there first, slumped back in her assigned seat with a smirk on her face as you sat down, trying to catch your breath.

"Long commute?" She asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Shut the hell up, Buckley." You snapped.

"Uh oh," she held her hands up in defense. "Must be some trouble in paradise."

"I told you earlier, Eddie and I are not dating."

"Roger that."

The last bell couldn't come soon enough. All that you wanted to do was get home and get into bed- and preferably cry into a bowl of ice cream. You'd have never imagined yourself crying over the likes of Eddie Munson, but the thought of losing whatever it was that you had with him was upsetting.

He was your friend, after all. You had a lot in common with him. He could make you laugh and there was no shortage of conversation when you were around him. He was always getting shit from his friends, but you loved the fact that he never shut the hell up. And when there wasn't a conversation to be had, there was always music; whether it was his long list of cassette tapes or him strumming away on his guitar, there was never a dull moment.

And here you were ruining it over a label.

Robin held the door open for you as you both stepped out into the warm summer weather. Waves of students began lining up in the parking lot for their respective busses, but you typically walked home when the weather was nice.

"So since you're not dating Eddie Munson," Robin began and you couldn't help but roll your eyes so hard that it almost gave you a headache. "I was wondering if you might want to go on a double date with Vickie and myself?"

"A double date typically involves two couples."

"Right, you're absolutely right." Robin was stuttering. "I have this friend and he is also single. Problem solved."

"Steve?"

"Yeah."

"No."

"Wh- Why?"

"Because I have nothing in common with Steve and Steve is a prick," you replied bluntly.

Robin rolled her eyes. "He's actually not, like, at all. Besides, I talk about you all the time to him and he said that he would really like to meet you."

"He must have forgotten that he spent the majority of my freshman and sophomore year bullying me with Tommy H and Carole," you muttered under your breath.

Your friend reached out and grabbed you by the shoulder, stopping you in place and spinning you around to face her. A sigh escaped your lips as you looked her in the eye.

"That was a long time ago. I wasn't a huge fan of him when I first met him, either." She gave you a lopsided smile and you found her attempts to win her friend a date with you amusing. "I promise you that it's worth a shot. So, if you change your mind, we're going roller skating on Saturday night."

"You rollerskating?" You laughed and heard a car honk a few times as it pulled up.

"You're so funny!" She stated sarcastically.

Steve gave you a derpy smile as he rolled the passenger side window down. He was wearing his Family Video vest. "Good afternoon, ladies." He called out smoothly, you returned with a small wave.

"Sleep on it?" Robin asked as she opened the door to Steve's car.

"Fine," you rolled your eyes. "I'll think about it."

Robin smiled as she ducked into the passenger seat and closed the door behind her. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Saturday came sooner than expected, and you had to admit that you were nervous. If someone had told you a year ago that you'd be going on a date with Steve Harrington, you'd probably punch them in the throat. Hell, if someone told you that a week ago, you'd still be swinging.

You had avoided Eddie at all costs throughout the rest of the week. Though, you'd be lying if you said that you weren't a little disappointed there were no notes left in your locker, or that he didn't find some way to talk to you after you left him standing in that bathroom Tuesday afternoon. You even waited up some nights hoping for a phone call or a pebble on the window, but none came.

It took over an hour and half to pick an outfit. Almost every article of clothing you owned was crumpled on the floor or tossed on the bed as you tried on a dozen different outfit combinations. It was the roller rink, so you wanted to be comfortable, but it was technically a date, so you also wanted to at least seem like you tried. Finally, as the clock ticked closer to seven, you decided on jeans, an off-shoulder top, and your Converse. You really didn't care to impress Steve Harrington; you didn't care in freshman and sophomore year and you certainly didn't now.

"I thought you said you had a date," your mother mentioned as you stepped into the living room. She was on the couch watching Who's The Boss, a jar of mixed nuts in her lap.

"I am," you replied as you shrugged into your denim jacket. She looked you up and down and you rolled your eyes. "We're going rollerskating; comfort was the priority!"

The distant sound of a car horn honking interrupted the conversation, prompting you to glance out the front door. Steve, acting as the evening's chauffeur, awaited with Robin and Vickie in the backseat.

"Don't be out too late," your mother muttered between mouthfuls of peanuts. "But enjoy yourself."

As the heavy glass door swung open, a wave of familiar sounds and vibrant colors enveloped your senses. The Rollerdome was typically busy on a Saturday night, but tonight it seemed everyone in Hawkins had the same idea to go skating. The neon lights that adorned the rink's interior created a kaleidoscope of vivid hues; fluorescent pinks, electric blues, and neon greens adorned the walls, blending with the glow of disco balls suspended from the ceiling. Upbeat pop music and the thud of roller skates on the smooth, wooden floors flooded your ears as Robin and Steve bickered over which table to claim for the evening.

"I vote this one," Robin declared with unwavering confidence, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "That way, we've got front-row seats to all the wipeouts!"

"That is the exact reason why no one sits at this table, Robin," Steve countered with exasperation. "Everyone knows that the floor is slick there and when someone takes a spill, it's usually right into the table." He pauses before looking at you. "Bye-bye chili dogs."

You can't help but suppress a small smile, "I think it's perfect. If there's a chance one of those uppity assholes comes flying face first into our table, it'll be the highlight of my entire year."

"Can't argue with that logic," Steve added quickly. "Good choice, Robin."

She rolled her eyes and dragged Vickie off towards the rental counter. You casually tossed your bag on the top of the table; a clear marker that it was claimed. Steve removed his jacket and placed it next to your bag before running a hand through his thick, dark hair. It was clear that he was nervous as his eyes darted around the roller rink. He definitely didn't give off the same 'King Steve' aura that you remembered so well.

Maybe you'd give him a chance.

Just kidding.

You turned on your heel and walked off towards the snack bar, drawn in by the delicious aroma of extra cheese pizza and buttered popcorn, leaving Steve scrambling to catch up with your determined stride. Robin wanted a pretzel and a Coke slushy while Vickie had asked for cheese fries and an orange soda. You wanted nachos but agreed when Steve ordered to split a pizza, doing his best to impress you as he paid for everyone, but instead, all he got out of you was a slight eye roll. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Vickie lead a wobbly Robin out onto the rink. A chuckle escaped your lips as you witnessed their valiant attempts to navigate the rink without falling prey to the more seasoned skaters.

"So what are you into?" Steve asked as he filled up his drink at the fountain machine. "What do you like?"

"Uh," you weren't really sure what to say. You still couldn't really get past the fact that Steve Harrington was trying to have a conversation with you. "I like music."

"Yeah?" He asked. "I like music."

"Cool."

"This is a good song," he replied and pointed awkwardly to the overhead speakers while Another One Bites The Dust by Queen played loudly.

You couldn't help but think of the irony and did your best to suppress a laugh before Steve got the impression that you thought he was funny. Oh, how this date was failing epically; which you were already anticipating, so at least you hadn't gotten your hopes up about it. Steve was almost trying too hard to force a spark between the two of you, but without Robin around- which was often because she was too busy flailing about on her skates while Vickie tried her hardest to keep her from falling- it was absolutely boring.

At least the two of them seemed to be having a good time.

As the night continued on, you found yourself gradually shedding the initial reserve that had clung to you like a second skin. The pulsating rhythm of the music, the laughter of your friends, and the infectious joy of gliding across the smooth floor started to work its magic. A genuine smile tugged at the corners of your lips as Steve, Vickie, and Robin circled the rink alongside you, sharing jokes and banter.

"I need something to drink!" You yelled over the music at your friends before carefully exiting the floor onto the carpet.

Steve exited with you, gliding up to the table with ease; moving around you to the music, dancing on his skates. The hesitant glances you'd given him earlier transformed into playful exchanges, and you couldn't help but admit that his efforts to charm you had slowly but surely begun to work.

As Robin and Vickie continued to skate around the rink, something caught your eyes in the corner; a familiar, curly head of brown hair in the back towards the arcade. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his brown eyes pinned to you as his friends huddled around one of the pinball machines.

You smirked softly as the music changed. In the background you could hear Steve talking, but you were too busy having a staring contest with Eddie from across the room.

"So what d'ya say?" Steve asked.

"What?" You asked, reluctantly tearing your eyes away from Eddie.

"It's a slow song," he mentioned. You could see a blush creeping to his cheeks. "Did you want to couple's skate?"

You agreed, allowing Steve to take your hand and lead you out onto the rink. It was wrong of you to use Steve in the way that you were, especially since you were just starting to like him. But the satisfaction that you felt seeing Eddie roll his eyes as you and your date skated by was too good to pass up. And yes, you faked the giggles and latched on to Steve's arm a little more with each time you passed Eddie, really twisting that knife as much as you could.

But hey, it was just "casual" right?

As the song came to a close and Steve led you by the hand back to your table. You couldn't help yourself but to glance back to the corner of the rink towards the arcade, only to see Eddie push himself off of the wall and stomp off towards the exit.

"I'll be right back," you called over to Steve as the song ended. "I need to get some fresh air."

"I'll come with!" Steve offered but you placed a hand on his arm to stop him before he could unlace his skates.

"I'll be okay," you assured him with a sweet smile. "I'll be right back."

Hurriedly, you unlaced your skates and shoved your feet into your worn-down tennis shoes before chasing after Eddie. The summer air was still very humid as you stepped out of the cool air conditioning and into the parking lot. The sunset was barely lingering on the horizon and the sky was a mixture of periwinkle and orange. To your right, you could see Eddie walking away from you and towards his van.

"Hey!" You called to him. He turned around to see it was you and threw his head back dramatically before turning back to his van. "What is your problem?"

"Steve Harrington, really?" He spat, turning to you once again.

"Oh, come off it!" You replied, closing the gap between you. "Jealousy does not suit you, babe."

"Steve fucking Harrington?" He asked again. "I mean what do you even talk about with that guy? Different variations of the color beige?"

"At least he can stand to be seen with me in public!"

You were standing toe-to-toe with him now, chests heaving. His eyes squinted as he stared down at you.

"You want to be seen in public?" He asked. "Careful what you ask for, princess."

Before you could protest, his hands were on your shoulders, maneuvering you to his van; walking you backward until your back was pressed up against the side door. "Hopefully Harrington will wander out here looking for you." He reached a hand behind you, swinging the door open, and pushed you in. "He gives me the impression of someone who likes to watch."

Eddie crawled into the van after you, leaving the door open, not caring who saw or heard. His lips were on yours in an instant. You moaned as he ducked his head into your neck, working your nerves as he popped the button on your jeans. He didn't even care to pull them all the way off, or your shoes for that matter. As soon as he had pulled your pants down far enough to expose your pussy to him, he held your legs over his head and began thumbing your clit; spreading a slick coat of wetness along your swollen lips. He lifted you up, throwing your legs over his shoulder as his tongue hungrily delved into your core.

You gasped in surprise, hands flying to his hair, wrapping around the thick of his roots. You could hear him fumbling with his belt buckle as his tongue worked your dripping folds. Once he had freed his girthy cock, he lowered you down, still holding your legs over his shoulders with his arms now snaked around your thighs as he lined himself up with your core.

Without warning, he shoved his cock into the deepest part of you, feeling you tighten and loosen around his length. You moaned loudly, forgetting that the side door to his van was still wide open.

"Should I send you back to King Steve filled with my cum?" He grunted as he thrusted against you. "Let him hold your hand as you feel me dripping into those cute, little panties?"

Your eyes rolled back as he continued to pump into you.

"Look at you," he whimpered, so close already to finding his own release. He dragged his thumb across your bottom lip and you took his digit into you mouth. "Fuck!"

You could feel his cock pulsing against your walls as he filled you with warm ribbons of his cum. Eddie crashed on top of you, his face buried in your neck as he tried to catch his breath. Your hands moved to his shoulders, pushing him off of you with a sigh. You were already pulling your jeans up over your hips and fixing your shirt.

"What is it now?" He asked.

"It's nothing, Eddie." You replied.

"Oh, it's something."

You said nothing and stood up out of his van. Half of you wanted to just walk away and leave him there, like you had on Tuesday, but you couldn't do that again. You were miserable after the first time you did that- so miserable that you agreed to go on a date with Steve Harrington, of all people. This time you turned to him, looking him dead in the eye as you tried to find the right words.

"I'm not just some easy girl, Eddie." You spat at him. "I allowed you to fuck me in the parking lot, and in the bathroom, and in the auditorium that one time because I like you. I guess- I just thought that you liked me, too. I thought I was more than just some girl that you go down on in the passenger seat of your van, but I was wrong."

He opened his mouth to say something, but you held your hand up to stop him, wanting to get it all out.

"You just want sex," you continued. "You don't want to date me, you don't want me to be your girlfriend, you just want something casual, and I'm not that."

"What are you, then?" He asked.

"Leaving."

He said nothing as he watched you turn away, leaving him completely dumbfounded. For once, you felt like you had the upper-hand in this game the two of you had been playing for months now.

The walk from Eddie's van to the front doors of the Rollerdome felt like miles as the gravel of the pavement crackled beneath your feet with each step. You half expected him to run after you, take you in his arms, and confess his love for you, but you were met with nothing but silence. With a final glance over your shoulder, you reentered the roller rink, leaving Eddie to grapple with the unspoken complexities that lingered in the warm, Summer air.

The electric energy of the rink greeted you, once again; a stark contrast to the mood you had created in the parking lot. You didn't want to be here any longer and decided upon re-entry that you were just going to go home. Robin, Vickie, and Steve were all huddled around the table as another slow ballad played loudly through the speakers.

"There you are!" Robin greeted with a lukewarm slice of pizza in her hand. She took immediate notice of your changed demeanor and asked, "is everything okay?"

"No," you replied quickly as you grabbed your jacket. "I think I am just going to go home."

"Home?" Robin asked. "Now?" She stood up and pulled you over to the side away from Steve and Vickie. "Does this have anything to do with Eddie? I saw you running out after him earlier."

"Just forget it, Robin, okay?" You sighed as you turned towards her. You looked over her shoulder to see Steve and Vickie watching you. You lowered your voice, "It's over, okay? Yes, I'm upset about it and I hate that I'm upset about it. I wasn't expecting to actually like him."

Robin sighed, "I didn't realize it was like that, I'm sorry."

You shrug your shoulders and shove your hands in your jacket pockets. "It's fine, I'll get over it."

She gave you a half smile, "can we at least give you a ride. I'm sure Steve won't mind driving."

"I'm just going to walk," you muttered. "It's not far."

"Alright, catch you on Monday! Last week of senior year!" She exclaimed and raised her hands, mimicking pompoms for added flair. She outstretched her arms and wrapped them around you and provided a tight squeeze.

"Can't wait," you groaned unenthusiastically.

Monday came and went and before you knew it, the final bell of Friday rang throughout those hideous green and gold hallways as a sea of graduates congregated in the gym; tossing their shimmering green caps into the air, signaling the beginning of the rest of your lives. In one hand, your diploma and in the other, your yearbook filled with well-wishes and promises to keep in touch-- most of which you hoped would forever be unkept.

Robin found you outside in the courtyard after she had managed to escape her parents.

"Here's to the first summer of the rest of our lives," she said breathlessly. "Steve and I are going to the mall if you want to come, spend some of this graduation cash from my grandparents."

"I'm okay," you smiled at her. "Raincheck?"

"If you say so," she rolled her eyes. "Where are your folks?"

"My dad had a little too many of those little sandwiches they were giving out," you made a face. "Mom had to take him home early."

"I'm sure my parents could give you a ride home, if you wanted," she said with a soft smile.

Over her shoulder you watched as Eddie, still draped in his cap and gown, rushed off towards the back of the parking lot. "That's okay, I have a ride," you replied with a smirk.

You gave her a hug and slipped away; turning on your heel and escaping the crowd through the parking lot. As the cars grew thin, you noticed a familiar white van in the back, parked in its usual spot. The side door was open and Eddie was sitting in the back; a cigarette in between his lips and his guitar in his lap. His diploma was tossed up on the dashboard, and his cap and gown were tossed in the passenger seat.

He strummed skillfully as you walked up the side of his van. His eyes were lulled shut and his head was titled back on the headrest. He hummed softly and your lips couldn't help turning into a smile. He was so undeniably perfect and he didn't even know it.

"Is that new?" You had been hanging out with Eddie long enough now to know his songs by heart. He always asked your opinion on his songwriting.

His eyes fluttered open, but his fingers continued strumming. You could see his gaze taking you in as you effortlessly leaned against the passenger door. He shrugged lazily and tilted his head back once again, staring up at the scuffed metal ceiling of his van.

"I was feeling inspired," he finally replied as he exhaled smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "It's about a terrible, evil temptress who collects the souls of the men of the realm." You quirked an eyebrow at him. "Until one day, she meets a kind and handsome young man who doesn't have a soul to give. So instead, he gives her his heart."

"Sounds a bit dramatic," you replied as you tried to hide the smile creeping to your lips, once more.

"I was thinking about the other night," his fingers stopped strumming as he reached up to pull the cigarette from his lips. He exhaled another cloud of smoke.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, see," he took another drag from his smoke. "I do like you and I do want you to be my girlfriend, always have."

You threw up your hands, "It's hard for me to believe that, Eddie! We fuck nearly every day but you can't take me out on one date? How am I supposed to believe that you want me to be your girlfriend if you can't even respect me enough to take me out!?"

"We have too gone on dates! I bought you pizza that one time!" He exclaimed as he set his guitar back down in the case and snapped it shut. "And we watched your favorite movie!"

"We watched Troll," you deadpanned.

"Yeah, we did," he replied as he stood up out of the van. He towered over you as he stood up straight. "And after it was over you said that it was your new favorite movie."

"I was being SARCASTIC!"

"God damnit!" He spat right back.

"You took me back to your trailer because you were tired of fucking me in this van!" His jaw dropped at the accusation. "And the only reason you ordered pizza was because there was nothing else to eat and you struggle to even microwave a frozen TV dinner!"

His hand flew over his chest as he gasped. "You really are an evil and terrible temptress! Your words are venomous!"

You sighed, "Tell me honestly... is there something wrong with me?"

"You think there's something wrong with you?" Eddie asks, a small laugh escaping his perfect lips. He shakes his head and moves his hands up your arms to your shoulders, looking at your straight on. "Sweetheart, you're perfect."

A blush creeps to your cheeks and you can practically feel yourself melting in his hands.

"You're perfect, like, way too good for me," he continued, a bashful grin playing on his lips. "I should've said it before, a million times."

"You think?" You asked.

"Let's just start over, okay?" He pleaded and jutted his hand out to you as if he was asking for a handshake. "Hi, I'm Eddie. Will you be my girlfriend?"

You narrowed your eyes as you glanced down at his hand, pursing your lips in a futile attempt to suppress a smile. Fuck, you hated how goddamn charming he was. Giving up fully to him, you accepted his hand. Though, before you could utter a single word, he pulled you in for a lingering kiss that left you breathless.

"Say yes," he whispered as he pulled away, his lips hovering just above yours.

"Yes," you whispered as you look up into his dark brown eyes.

[sushiyuzu]

a fake relationship

nanami kento x reader

a/n: interested to read more? click here to read the book!

the school bell rings, echoing through the hallways as students spill out of classrooms, chatting, laughing, and groaning over the latest assignments. you're in no particular rush, meandering through the crowded corridor on your way to your locker. most of your friends have already left, probably heading to the café nearby or the library. but you? you have a different kind of problem to face—one that's been plaguing you all semester: math.

you open your locker with a sigh, tossing in a textbook and pulling out your crumpled math test results. a large, angry red 48/100 glares back at you from the paper, and you wince. it's the third failed math test this month. no matter how hard you try, no matter how many formulas you attempt to memorize, numbers just don't seem to click in your brain. you stuff the paper into your bag, muttering under your breath.

"great. just great."

you're not dumb—far from it. you're a pretty solid student in most subjects, but math? math is your achilles' heel. and you can already picture the conversation with your parents at dinner tonight. they've been on your case about your grades, and if they find out about another flunked exam, well... that's a disaster you're not ready to deal with.

as you slam your locker shut with more force than necessary, you catch a glimpse of nanami kento. he's standing at his locker not far from yours, his face set in that calm, unreadable expression he always wears. neat, composed, a little too perfect, really. you've never spoken more than a few words to him in class, but he's hard not to notice. he's the kind of guy who seems like he has everything figured out—top of the class, disciplined, never flustered by anything.

you're about to turn away when a shrill voice rings through the hallway.

"nanami-kun!"

a group of girls is lingering nearby, one of them stepping forward with a bright, flirtatious smile. "are you free after school? maybe we could study together?"

the girl's voice is sweet, her smile almost rehearsed, like she's done this a hundred times before. it's no secret that nanami is one of the most sought-after guys in school, and girls are always trying to get his attention.

you pause, pretending to fix your bag as you watch out of the corner of your eye, already knowing how this will go.

without even looking up from his locker, nanami replies, "i'm busy."

his voice is polite but detached, and the girl's smile falters. she quickly tries to recover. "oh, well... maybe another time?"

nanami doesn't respond, continuing to organize his books like she's not even there.

the girl fidgets awkwardly before giving up, walking back to her friends with a disappointed shrug. you can hear them whispering and giggling as they retreat down the hall. you almost feel bad for her—but at the same time, it's no surprise. nanami has this way of effortlessly deflecting attention, and yet, that only seems to make people more interested in him.

you snap out of your thoughts, turning to leave, but as you sling your bag over your shoulder, you feel a presence beside you.

"hey."

the deep, calm voice startles you, and you turn to find nanami kento standing right next to you. your heart skips a beat. you're not used to him being this close, let alone speaking to you directly.

"uh, hey?" you reply, trying not to sound as confused as you feel. why is nanami kento talking to you of all people?

he glances around briefly, then lowers his voice, his expression serious. "i need to ask you for a favor."

your eyebrows shoot up. a favor? from nanami? you're intrigued, to say the least. "what kind of favor?"

he hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking back to the group of girls still lingering at the end of the hallway. then, with that same calm composure, he says, "i need you to pretend to be my girlfriend."

what?

for a second, you're sure you misheard him. "excuse me?"

"a fake relationship," he clarifies. "it'll be temporary."

you blink at him, completely thrown off. this was not the kind of favor you were expecting.

"okay..." you say slowly. "why would you need a fake girlfriend?"

nanami's eyes shift toward the group of girls again, the faintest hint of annoyance crossing his features. "lately, i've been getting a lot of unwanted attention," he explains, his voice low but steady. "it's distracting, and i don't have the time or interest to deal with it."

you take a second to process his words, your mind still trying to catch up. the most composed, serious guy in school needs a fake girlfriend to fend off admirers? it almost sounds ridiculous. but then again... you look at him—stoic, serious, perfectly put-together. you can see why people would constantly try to break down his walls.

"and you think this'll work?" you ask, crossing your arms skeptically.

nanami's expression doesn't change. "yes. people will lose interest once they see i'm already in a relationship."

you chew your lip, still unsure. "okay, but... why me?"

he turns his gaze to you, his eyes steady. "because you're not caught up in that drama. you're not the type to spread rumors, and you're not interested in unnecessary attention."

he has a point. you've always kept a low profile, and you don't really involve yourself in school gossip. but still...

"and what's in it for me?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

nanami doesn't hesitate. "i'll help you with whatever you need—homework, projects. you need help with math, don't you?"

your stomach flips at the mention of math. of course, nanami would know that. he's in your class, after all, and you've failed more than enough tests for it to be common knowledge by now. but still, hearing it from him—someone who probably never struggles with any subject—stings a little.

"how do you know that?" you mutter, crossing your arms defensively.

nanami raises an eyebrow, unfazed. "i've seen your test results. you're not bad in other subjects, but math is holding you back."

you're about to snap something back, but you stop yourself. he's right. you've been struggling in math all semester, and it's been dragging your grades down. if you fail one more test, your parents will lose it.

"and you're offering to tutor me?" you ask, the skepticism still clear in your voice.

nanami nods. "in exchange for this arrangement."

the offer is tempting—really tempting. it's not like you have any better ideas for improving your math grades, and having nanami, the top student, help you? that could actually save your skin. but at the same time, agreeing to a fake relationship with him? it's crazy.

you glance at nanami again. his expression is calm, composed, but there's something else in his eyes—something genuine. he's not asking for this because he wants attention or drama. he just wants peace.

after a long pause, you sigh. "fine. i'll do it."

for the first time, nanami's expression softens just a little—a flicker of relief, maybe. "thank you."

you smirk, a little more at ease now. "but if you flunk me in math, this deal is off."

nanami chuckles lightly—something you've never heard from him before. "you won't."

as you walk down the hallway together, the weight of the deal you've just made starts to sink in. you're about to dive into something completely unexpected, and who knows how this will all play out?

but one thing's for sure: your school year just got a whole lot more interesting.

[lgbtlunaverse]

Considering wwx's canonical breeding kink and his general fondness for dubiously safe scientific experiments it is technically within the realm of possibility that a few years post-canon he just invents cultivation hrt and transition surgery by accident.

He just rocks up to a cultivation conference one day 5 months pregnant like "I turned my body into that of a woman! Yeah the boobs too we travel a lot and don't want a wetnurse. I'll reverse it in two years or so." And every single trans person and egg in the culivation world simultaneously sits up and goes "wait what?"

Imperical to understand that wwx still fully identifies as a cis man and does not know trans people exist. He did not know he was gay while actively being in gay love, this man is very smart but he doesn't know shit. Just a few weeks after the conference people start coming over like "hey... that thing you did... can you do that to me?" and he's like damn sure are a lot of dudes who wanna get pregnant. One day a "female" cultivator comes and is like "so you said you're going to reverse it... you think you can do that on a body that's already female? Turn my body into a man's body?" And he just goes well probably, let's find out!! It's so great all these people wanna help him perfect his techniques, isn't it lan zhan?

Years later they run into one of the trans women he first helped and doesn't even recognise her as she's thanking him and after the clarification just goes "wow! haha damn you're even wearing women's clothes! Should I start calling you guniang?" sort of as a joke but she's like yes please and he just says alright nice to see you again ma'am (still doesn't get it)

[evilminji]

You know what's my JAM?

Extremes being treated as the Serious Dangers they ARE, even when they aren't "oooh its a spooky Grey morality and BADness!" Extreme.

Like? No, people. ALL of them are bad. They are ALL face melting dangerous. The void may crush your soul, but look upon the Face Of GOD? Not gonna be having a fun time! Doesn't MATTER if he's a cool dude! Face melting!

We are creatures of BALANCE. Tiny, fragile, little motes of dust. That can only exsist in the careful, blended, dances of territories and powers that be. We squishy.

Ghosts? Less squishy.

Poor impulse control, too. Especially ones with Fenton genetics. ABSOLUTELY ones with Fenton genetics and a trauma based aversion to therapy. That one? Pretty hardy. Made pretty tough, what with being Fates third favorite chew toy. But? Still gets the Sads, you know? The slightly longer then just seasonal depression.

Would medicine and some therapy help? Oh like a dream!

If medicine WORKED on his Ectoplasmicly contaminated ass. And he TRUSTED therapists.

But... surely, Danny thinks, as he sits grossly in his Depression sweatpants and eats suspect pizza on the floor of his moldering shoebox of an apartment, there must be SOME way to address his Depression? He should... he should DO something about it. Take a break maybe. Look up some ghost doctors or something.

.....

Oooooooooor..... >.>

He could break out that OMENIOUS af, bound in suspect leather, Big Book Of Forbidden Knowledge(TM) that he got from Pariah's.... what, fourth? Fifth? Library? Fuck that Lair is huge. He's STILL cleaning it out and it's been over half a decade. He swears it spawns more floors just to mock him. Bastard. Don't know HOW a building can be a Bastard, but it sure found A WAY.

Anyway!

Book it is! *horrifying Eldritch light as he opens it* huh. Neat. Comes with its own visual effects. *another bite of suspect pizza* Funky.

And so! Danny, the depressed King Of The Zone... fucks of to go cheer himself up in the Fields Of Bliss(TM), an area of Absolute Bliss. Which! Sounds GREAT in theory, now don't it? Lovely even.

Remember that little comment about extremes?

You can ENTER those fields. But no one leaves. No one CAN. The deeper you go? The more doomed you become. Less will to do anything at all. Eat, talk, move. So much as think. Like ALL extreme "Goods", it sounds lovely, but the reality is no gentle little thing.

It's a glue trap.

But how could Danny have known? Honestly, who would have TAUGHT him? Textbooks can only go so far, after all. And placing blame will not rescue the young monarch.

I imagine it's one of his helpers that pieces together what's happened. Come for further clarification on WHERE exactly he wants certain statues moved. Only? Your Majesty? Your Majesty...? Where ever could he BE? Oh? He's left out some of his books. Well, I'll just assist by putting them away for-.....

Oh.

OH ANCIENTS, NO.

But! What can the poor man DO? Ghosts are Beings of Will, Emotion, and Obsession. Were it some sort of Holy Blade or Sentient Tree, you know, something INDIVIDUAL with a will they could FIGHT? Oh no problem. But an area of effect? Especially an EMOTIONAL area of effect!? Ooooooh, this is bad. The Zone can't AFFORD to lose ANOTHER King!

We JUST GOT THIS ONE!!!

Wait. He's heard that there's an organization for this! That loudly cursing fellow who got violently thrown back into the Zone. "Ruined his fun" and all that! Perfect! He'll just hire THEM!

Smashcut? To a nice, peaceful, everybody's screaming Justice League Meeting. John's cursing life, extremely hungover. Zatana still has three cracked ribs. Wonder Woman is enjoying the new sword she... liberated... mid battle. Truely stunning craftsmanship. When?

Knock Knock!

Heads swivel. There... is a glowing green... accountant? Dandy? Dandy accountant. With an equally radioactive day glow green Actual Pirate's Chest Of Treasures, floating next to him. In the void of space; Just beyond the glass. What, the, fuuuuuu-

He seems to be under the impression they are some sort of Heroic mercenaries. And has come to request the retrieve-

"NNNNNOPE! Pariah can SHOVE it!" Snarls a suddenly very awake John Constantine, sitting up straight for the first time in hours. The rest of Dark grimly nod in agreement. Let the fucker rot. It's a kinder fate then he deserves.

No, no, NO! King PHANTOM! Pariah's SUCCESSOR by right of combat! They are not, and were never, allied in any way!

Well, all right then. Road trip to save a young idiot then.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe