#back in lockdown times this even applied to frank but he's too active to get this much hype currently

[raytorosaurus]

ngl i lowkey missed this type of economy in recession where one of them breathes and everyone flocks to tumblr, summoned by various gcs or dms or changes in atmospheric pressure, to flood ur entire dash with a million slightly differently formatted screenshots of the same thing

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 6/7 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Poisoning, blaster shot,... Summary:

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev make a good team. But when a bank job goes horribly wrong, the injured pair are forced to lay low and hope the Carte Blanche can make it back to them in time.

Note: Bold Italic Writing signifies Nureyev speaking Brhamese 

Chapter 6: 

The dim light of the safe house shined supernaturally bright after the darkness outside.  The planetoid revolved slowly, so it would be another day or so before they found themselves back in the sun’s rays.  

Hopefully they would be gone by that time.

Nureyev blinked against the brightness, realizing he cracked a lens during the excursion.  At the moment he was too tired to care.  The Carte Blanch held a spare set or two dozen for just such an occasion.  

No, the only thing he had room to think about was Juno.

Juno, his goddess, was still sleeping on the couch.  Still in the same recovery position that Nureyev had left him in.  

"It's been a- a while - Juno-" he said to the still form.  Juno didn’t stir.  Nureyev hadn’t expected him to.  

All the same, the Thief stumbled over to the Detective and plopped down on the makeshift coffee table.  If he was being honest with himself, and he rarely was, there was something comforting about being this close to his partner again.  

Juno's chest rose and fell with a frantic rhythm and his eye danced under the lid.  Nureyev frowned.  Whatever dream he seemed to be having, it didn’t look to be a good one.  

Nureyev contemplated the wisdom of waking Juno.  If this was their room on the Carte Blanche, he’d have done it already, chasing away the nightmares that plagued him.  He paused, halfway to the pulse point at the lady’s throat.  

The pepper bomb residue still tingled on his skin, it probably wouldn't hurt Juno, goodness knows he was a tough lady- but all the same it would be best to wash up beforehand.

Rita had agreed to message him if she noticed guards near the safe house.  Judging by the live feed she’d sent, the security was still in a frenzy over Nureyev’s earlier theatrics.  That was something, at least.  

He sighed, wilting over his knees.  He should call Vespa.  He should report to the Captain.  He should be securing the safe house.  He should be doing anything other than watching the little dots on the comms screen buzz about his last known location.  

It was some time before Nureyev felt ready to stand again.

The smoke had worked its way into everything.  His hair, skin, clothes, makeup, everything.  This was promising to be a production.

Carefully he shrugged off his coat and set to work in the sink.  A quick glance at the mirror told him what he already knew.  Gone were the knife sharp cat eyes and the carefully contoured cheeks.  Now the coverage was patchy at best and gore splattered at worst.  Nureyev scoured down the grime on his hands and aggressively attacked the makeup streaks.  The water wasn’t working fast enough, each plunge setting him to ache afresh.  Under him, his leg was trembling, threatening to give out at any moment.  

There was nothing for it, he’d just have to shower the stuff off.   It wasn’t like he ever dried off from the earlier river dip anyways.  With an impatient puff of air, he sat himself on the toilet and stripped off boots, socks, corset and shirt.  All of these items have been protected from the worst of the fumes by the long coat.  Not so his trousers.  

At first the icy water activated the chemical residue afresh.  He scrubbed his skin raw with a bar of upscale hotel soap.  Well, the hotel it came from may have been upscale, but the soap itself was as mediocre as any other hotel soap.  He glared at it as though it was it’s fault he was in this mess.  Fresh scrapes and bruises blossomed across his chest and arms.  

The water ran off in muddy brown and rusted red, gradually fading sudsy clear as blood stains and dirt alike were rinsed away.  

Shaking with effort, Nureyev slid down onto the shower stool.  In his impatience, he’d forgotten about the bandage.  

First rule of thieving, Nureyev chastised himself, if you want to stay alive, keep a level head.

Numb fingers struggled with the bandage fastenings.  It was harder to remove the wrappings than it had been to apply them.  He expanded the tear in the leg seam to gain better access, exposing the burn beneath.  The sight churned his stomach, which was something.  He’d never considered himself squeamish.  There was something unsettling about seeing your own flesh distorted in such a fashion….

The angry red of the burn was expected, unpleasant, but expected.  But wasn’t prepared for the purple tinged veins webbing out from the injury or how tight the skin was stretched about it.  

File it away- just file it away.

As soon  as he was out of the shower and re-clothed; Nureyev decided to take Vespa’s advice and down a glass of water.  It repeated on him just as quick and he was left bowed over the sink, coughing and sputtering while his stomach roiled.  His knuckles turned to white over the porcelain as he waited for the nausea to die down.  

Face bare and hair free of product, he could plainly see the high flush on his cheeks and bruised circles under his eyes.  “Oh what are you looking at?” he rasped at his haggard reflection.   He should have known better, did know better.  He’d had enough experience to know when he could and couldn’t keep something down.  

That horrid chill bit deeper into his bones, conspiring with the fire of the injury to make him thoroughly miserable.  

This wasn’t right, he knew.  This wasn’t supposed to be how a blaster shot felt- fresh or no.  Goodness knows he’s had enough of them.  And the purpling veins were down right... unpleasant.

Nureyev sighed, bringing out two glasses of water and a clean cloth ripped in two.

“Juno, love.” Nureyev coaxed, all but collapsing on the tiny coffee table.  He could do this while he slept, but much rather the lady be awake to take his fluids.  “Love-” he coaxed, running his fingers through his curls like he'd wanted to ever since his return.  He was rewarded with a gentle moan and Juno pressing into his hand.  

“Love- You have to drink for me-”

“Don’ feel good.” his voice was so weak, Nureyev tried not to think about what that could mean.  

“I know-” he said, dipping the cloth in the water and bringing it to Juno’s lips, “J-Just take the water from that.”  

Juno pulled away from the cold, hand wrapping around Nureyev’s wrist.  “Naugh’ a child-”

Nureyev chuckled fondly “Drink, or Vespa will have both our heads.”

“Vespa?”

“I d-dare say she isn't too…. pleased at the moment.”

“Wha else ‘s new?” Juno commented, but took the cloth from Nureyev.  He was tentative at first but really started to pull on it, dipping messily back in the cup for more.  

“Slow, if you d-don’t want it repeating on you.” Juno hummed in affirmation.  That would have to do.  

Nureyev took a hit off his own cloth and turned his attention to the injury.  Though the surrounding skin had dried by now, the burn itself was swollen and oozing a clear fluid.  This close and the discoloration to the veins was easy to see.  He didn’t need Vespa to tell him that it had been contaminated.  Didn’t need her to explain that the speed at which the inflammation was spreading was concerning.  Didn’t need her to tell him there was nothing that could be done about it till he returned to the ship.  

File it away.

“Hh-hell, ‘Reyev-” He jumped, twisting to see Juno staring.  His eye was wide, glassy and his parlor was more ashen than before.  

“Lay back love.” Nureyev soothed, gently pushing Juno back.  The Detective collapsed under his gentle touch with a little strangled sound.  “D-don’t look.”  He hadn’t meant for him to see.  The thought of moving to another room, of having to stand another minute, made him sick.  Still, he should have tried harder to spare Juno.  

“It’s- bad-” as distorted as his words were, Nureyev could tell it was a statement, not a question.  

“Nothing that c-can’t be managed.” he shivered.  He almost believed it.  “Have some more water- i-if you can.”  

Nureyev tried to work quickly, using what little remained of the smuggler’s first aid kit to clean the wound and apply burn ointment.  The task was made difficult by clumsy cold hands.  The exercise may prove pointless, but at least nothing else was likely to add to the contamination.  

He should make a report to Buddy, maybe even get some answers as to what was going on with the Carte Blanche.  

Nureyev pursed his lips looking at the comms.  His mind was fuzzy at the edges, from fatigue and stress.  A call with someone who could see through so much of his cover on a good day, was daunting.  

And yet….

“Captain Auranko.” his usual smooth voice was rough and unwieldy.  "I believe it is t-time for a r-report."

"Pete, darling you sound dreadful." Nureyev couldn't tell if she was disappointed or concerned.  Perhaps both.  

"Yes well, a l-lot has... transported."

"Transpired?"

"Quite." He coughed.  "We have e-encountered several….troubles.  The b-box is fine but they are a-aware we are still within the c-city."

"Yes, I've heard something of your predicament Pete.  I assure you we are doing everything we can to collect you."

"When , Captain." He coughed harder, "we are r-running out of the…" he couldn't remember the right word " time- "

There was a pause, voices in the back, urgent and cutting.  He'd lose her- he’d lose her before he’d a chance to get answers, to get help.

"P-please, Captain-"

She sighed, "I'll be frank with you Pete.   Listen closely because we don't have time for questions."

The thief cleared his throat "Of course-"

"Planetoid Xnon is owned by Galactic Stars First Bank.  The entire place is on lockdown after our stunt." There was a strange sound like crunching metal  and Buddy gave a sharp intake of breath.  Shouting something to the Carte Blanche team.  

"They know t-the Carte Blanche is there."  Nureyev commented.  He didn't have to be a detective to put that together.

"Quite."

"Ah." The complicated note of emotion welled up within, there wouldn't be a rescue, they wouldn't be able to get close.  The bank would get them in the end and there would be nothing he could do about it.  Nureyev felt the knot in his throat before he had a chance to file it away.  "S-so we are to be… left b-behind."  Made to follow their pirates deal.  

"And leave two injured crew to fend for themselves against an overgrown bully?  I think not, dear.  Jet and Rita have been coordinating their efforts, we will beat them yet."

"Captain-"

"There is no need to be such a negative man Pete.  We will get back to you.  These bank executives made the mistake of coveting two things that are mine, my crew and my information.  I'm not in the mood for sharing."

Nureyev let out a strangled sort of laugh that was far from his usual chuckle.

"I will transfer you to Vespa, keep us in the loop darling."

"No need f-for the transfer.  T-tell her things are much the s-same on our end.  We will await the next contact."

"Very well, I'll defer to your judgement then Pete.  Buddy out."

Nureyev sagged at the call end.  He'd the distinct feeling like Buddy was withholding something from them.  He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad that ng, so he filed that away for future consideration.

"They kknow 'bout tha ship?"  Juno inquired in the lull.

"It would seem s-so." Nureyev said.  He had no intention of lying to Juno, even in a state like this.

"J-Jet and Rita are on it though."

"Rita-" Juno gave a snort, "almos' feel bad- for-” he gasped “'em- ah-"  His face twisted and he curled tighter on himself.  

“L-love, you should- reset.” he said, scooting himself over so that he was within reach of Juno.  

“You’re ss-switchin’ words- Reyev-” he was looking up at him with that glassy eye.  

“What?”  

“Switching- words-” Juno tried again.  “You’ve been- doin’ it a lot-”

Then it clicked.

“I-" he floundered, " Oh my.  I hadn’t realized-” and he hadn’t.  But now that he was actually thinking about it, he’d been doing it for a while.  His hand drifted up to his traitorous lips.  That was definitely a hit to his professional pride.  It had been a long time since he'd slipped like this; would that only get more common as he got older?  Or....

File it away-

"You're- tired- too-" Juno added, reaching out to put his hand on Nureyev's knee.  It seemed to be meant as a squeeze, but his fingers couldn't quite manage.  He'd likely be unable to work a blaster in this state.

He was defenseless.

Just file it all away-

"It's- alright." Nureyev shrugged delicately.

"No- it's s'not."

Nureyev hummed, wrapping his fingers about Juno's wrist, feeling the pulse point fast and light.  In truth, he would be alright as long as Juno's heart kept beating.

After Juno drifted off once more, Nureyev took to securing the safe house again.  Moving around more than was wise judging by the dizzy spells.  

One eye was on the guard locator Rita sent, another kept on his love.  

Two hours passed, Vespa called, Juno was examined again.  His heart rate was inching up but otherwise, he was much the same.  She didn't know when they'd return.  Nureyev's eyelids itched to close.  He could not rest yet.

He refused.  

To keep awake, he attempted a few mobility exercises.  A near collapse on the second set led him to abandon the attempt.  The movements weren’t hard, per say, but they were deceptively taxing.  One that left him shaking and gasping on the ground.  Forgetting that was a stupid, foolish mistake.  Nureyev was slipping.

The buzzing of an incoming call forced him back to reality.  He’d been dangerously close to nodding off again, lulled into stillness by the mirriorid aches and pains that plagued him.  It was Vespa, goodness, had it really been two hours?  

Her tone held none of it’s usual bite.  If Nureyev didn’t know better, he’d call it concern.   Juno was much the same, fast asleep, curled on his side, face pinched in pain.  Nureyev longed to kiss it away.  As if he was of any use to the Detective now.  

________________________

He patrolled the safehouse again, pausing in front of the crates. They easily outnumbered the pair.  The more Nureyev considered them, the more ominous he found their hidden insides to be.  What if they had listening devices inside?  Cameras?  Drones?  It could also be completely innocuous-

It was reminding him of the old earth thought experiment.  There was a cat in a box, and you didn’t know if the cat was alive or dead until you opened that box.  Until you did, both possibilities remained true at once.  He thought that old earthlings must have been very cruel or cowardly to trap such a creature in the first place and not check on it’s welfare.  In his current state, he related very much to the cat.  

Were the contents of the crate dangerous?  Or harmless?  There was only one way to find out.  

Nureyev pulled up a smaller box for a seat and set a plasma cutter to the side.  Slicing through the synth wood till it hung loose from the hinge left against the floor.  He glanced over at Juno and pulled.  

Tiny vials cascaded from the packing fungus.  Nureyev jumped, jarring his leg and hissing.  It was a far cry from what he’d been expecting.  Cautiously, he reached in and scooped up a tiny glass bottle bearing the legend ‘ Saffron Pharmaceuticals, Venucian SARS-97 Vaccine ’  

He grabbed another squinting at the label ‘ Saffron Pharmaceuticals, Venucian SARS-97 Vaccine ’

A brief investigation revealed the entire crate contained the long expired vaccines.  Nureyev stood, dizzied by the sudden motion and moved to the next crate.  This too contained medical devices, two ventilators and their accompanied equipment.  Another crate contained bandages and antiseptic.  Another filled with tiny computerized vital monitors.  Still another was cramped with some sort of scanning tech.  Crate after crate contained specialized medical supplies.  

Nureyev’s chest constricted, wherever these had intended to go, they were meant to save people on the Outer Rim.  Not be left to rot in a forgotten smuggler den.  

Out of morbid curiosity, he snagged a few of the vials for future consideration.  Then sent a picture of the medical equipment to Vespa with a caption “Would these items still be of use?”

There would have been many people on Brahma alone that would have benefited from such equipment.  It was near impossible to get on the war torn Outer Rim.  Frustration bubbled out from some locked file.  In his fatigued state, it was near impossible to hold it back.  

Just then, the Detective stirred.  The file snapped shut and Nureyev hobbled back to his love.  

Something seemed to have changed, even through the brain fog, it was plain to see.

“J-Juno?” Nureyev asked.  

Juno let out a low pained groan, fingers twisting into his stomach. “ ‘Reyev- ” he gasped, his chest stuttering.  “ Nu-reyev- ” he was struggling as if trying to force himself upright.  

“What’s ha-happening love-”

“Hu- hur’s -” he keened.  Nureyev’s blood ran cold, his hands fluttering over the lady.  Unsure whether he should push him back down or help him up.  

“Hurts?  Juno- w-what hurts?”

Juno swayed on his elbow, eye screwed shut.  

“ Love ?”

He looked as though he was going to be sick.  Nureyev pushed a bin under him just in time for him to wretch.  His whole body shook from the force of it, he was left gasping from the strain before it hit him again.  A curdled mass of red splattered against the bottom of the bin.  

Blood

Juno was bleeding on the inside.

Nureyev didn’t wait for him to finish, he called Vespa barely able to keep the panic down.  

“I’m kind of busy thief, if this is about the equi-”

“Juno’s Bleeding !” Nureyev choked out.  

“Whut?”

“Please Vespa- Juno- Juno is-” he groped for the right phrase, “How do you say- internal bleeding-'' the Brahmese slipped out of his mouth before he could think to stop it.  Juno heaved again, dissolving into dry heaves.  Nureyev wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.  “Sick on blood.” he managed at long last.  

“Wait, you're telling me he’s vomiting blood?”

“Yes.”

She swore.

“How d-do I stop it?”

“Ransom-” she sounded tired.  Almost defeated.  He couldn't understand.  There had to be something he could do, anything that he could do.

“Please- I-” he was hyperventilating now, getting dizzy from it.  Juno was shaking in his spare arm, just keeping himself from toppling over.  He couldn't lose him, not like this. “Please-” his voice broke.  

“Whoa, hey!  First Ransom, I’m going to need you to breathe for me!  Sheish!”  He tried, grounding himself with the heat radiating from Juno.  “Okay look, I can’t promise anything right now, but gonna need you to turn on the video feed, I need to see what’s going on.” He did.  

As before he followed her instructions.  Juno seemed to collapse in on himself, curling around his core.  

“Here’s the story Ransom.” Nureyev perked up, trying with all his might to focus on Vespa’s voice.  “He’s in bad shape.” he snorted, he knew that.  “But judging by the color and texture of the blood, it's a slow bleed.  We have the time to get to you.”

“S-so, I am to w-sit in idle the entire time?”

“Your Job, Thief, is the same as before!” she snapped, sounding more like her usual self.  “His heart and brain need blood circulation to elevate his feet.” Nureyev got a box to prop Juno’s feet on and carefully turned him onto his back.  Juno whined at the motion and Vespa swore loudly “Not on his back Thief!  Damn it!  Want him to choke if he ralfs again?!  Keep him on his side, the recovery position.”  Nureyev could kick himself as he hurried to comply, Juno made another piteous sound that tugged at his heart.  “No, it’s not comfortable, but it will improve his chances of survival.”

It was harder than it should have been to move Juno, he was panting by the end, the world swirling “What n-now?”

“If he can keep it down, get water into him.  Mostly just keep him alive until we get there.”

“When will that be- ” he was frustrated, tired.  He wanted answers.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to massage out the headache that had taken residence in his temples.  

“I don’t know what you are playing at Ransom, but I don’t speak Brahmese!”

“Wha- I-” he swallowed, he’d done it again.  Maybe if he just ignored it- “W-when are you coming?”

“Look, we’ll keep you apprised.  And goddamnit, do something about that chill.  I can’t deal with you keeling over on us.  Talk to you next check in.” and she hung up.

He just had to wait it out.

He could do that.  A shiver passed down his spine, clothes scraping over hypersensitive skin.  

He could wait.

________________

It was getting- hard- to concentrate.  Nureyev couldn't patrol the safe house anymore, could scarcely move.  So instead, he was saving what was left of his strength for what was to come.  Whatever that may be.  

The fatigue was crushing and still he kept his eyes open.  He would not leave Juno, not if there was anything he could do about it.  

He squeezed the handle of the blade, the sharp edges of the bare handle digging into his palm.  Over and over he squeezed until it hurt, and backed off, lulling himself into a half hypnotic state.  So long as he could squeeze, he could feel the pain, so long as he felt the pain, he could stay awake.  

It was different from the consuming burn in his leg, the unruly, hungry sort of agony that was far beyond his control.  Far beyond anything he could file away.

The squeezing distracted from it, in a small way.  Any relief was welcome.  

Nureyev bowed over his knees, eyes trained on the comms screen and the blurry dots migrating over the surface of the map.  Squeezing the handle.  Paying no attention to the moisture working it’s way down his wrist.  

It had been- hours- since they last heard from the Carte Blanche.  Hours since he heard a peep out of Juno-  The only way the thief could be sure Juno was alive was the heat rolling off his skin.  

They’ve been abandoned.  

He was sure.

Buddy Auranko had promised that the Carte Blanche would be more than a team, that it would be a family.  He snorted derisively.  He should have taken Juno and run right then and there.  Family’s only ever brought suffering.  

The burn gave a particularly nasty throb, Nureyev jumped, hissing against the onslaught, clutching high over the wound.  How long would they last like this?  

The comms started to beep.  Nureyev glanced down and saw activity on the screen.  The details were lost to him, but what was known was that the guards of Galactic Stars First Bank were on the move.

He wasn’t sure what that could mean, but it couldn’t be good.  

There was a rattling at the door.  Nureyev’s heart plummeted.   Now?  Of all times.  Why couldn't they just leave them alone?  

Someone, or something pounded on the door, a large someone judging by the racket it made, setting Nureyev’s head to pound.  There were voices from the other end.  Nureyev’s mind stretched them into something sinister and ominous.  He straightened his leaden limbs.  Preparing himself.

If they expected him to go out without a fight, then they were sorely mistaken.  

The door was flung open and Nureyev used the last of his strength to launch himself at the intruders.  The blade sung through the air, making contact judging by the grunt.  A large blurry person shouted, staggering away from the knife.  

They weren’t fighting back.  

That was strange.  Not only weren’t they fighting back, but they seemed to be calling out to him-  As though they- recognized him.

It did nothing to soothe his fears.

Nureyev collided painfully with the door jam wheeling around and-

“‘ansom!  Ransom!  We are not a threat!  Ransom!”

He staggered, a familiar figure in a tan overcoat swam before his eyes.  

Nureyev- knew that coat.

“J-Jet?” he asked, bewildered.  How was it possible that they were there?  They’d left them?  Hadn’t they?  Blackness encroached on what was left of his vision.  

“Yes.  We have come to collect you.”

“Oh- Thank the stars- ” and Nureyev knew no more.  

[recentanimenews]

Elevating Shonen Action: Hunter x Hunter's Genre-Blending Approach

Hello everyone, and welcome back to Why It Works! With the world still stuck in perpetual lockdown, I’ve been continuing my recent rewatch of Hunter x Hunter and finding new elements of interest all throughout its winding adventures. Recently, I watched through the arc that essentially serves as the series’ current midpoint, Yorknew City. There, Kurapika works to hunt down the assassins who murdered his tribe, while Gon and Killua attempt to secure a copy of the rare game Greed Island, all in the context of a massive mafia auction involving hundreds of armed guards and dangerous Nen users. It’s a thrilling arc by all counts, and it’s also the first arc to exemplify one of Hunter x Hunter’s greatest strengths: its ability to rise above the expectations of shonen action and embrace the narrative tricks and stylistic appeal of a wide variety of genres.

Hunter x Hunter is far from alone in its genre-blending appeal, even among major shonen properties. To be frank, the base structure of “we wander around fighting progressively harder enemies, perhaps in the service of some larger enemy-fighting organization” gets stale after the first few times you experience it. Stories that lack a sense of larger structure and purpose have a tendency to feel dramatically unsatisfying or lacking in momentum — and while shonen action provides a natural template for things like gaining powers or making new friends, it doesn’t inherently lend itself to a clean, self-contained narrative structure.

Because of this, many of the best shonen properties draw heavily from other genres, supplementing their inherent action appeal with stylistic flair, structural cohesion, and dramatic hooks imported from other fields. JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure draws heavily on horror films from throughout history, building episodes and full arcs out of concepts like “what if Child’s Play was a Stand battle” or “what if The Night of the Hunter was a Stand battle.” Meanwhile, One Piece consistently captures the unique thrill of swashbuckling adventure films, embracing both their irreverent comedy and a sense of excitement borne from pure travel and discovery, even in the absence of any outright battles. Through combining genres, these properties arrive at styles that feel exciting and unique, as the base appeal of high-stakes battles is multiplied by the layered tension of a great thriller or the disorientation of an effective horror film.

  In Yorknew City’s case, Yoshihiro Togashi draws heavily on noir and crime dramas, crafting an arc that is full of “shonen characters,” but is structurally much closer to a book-length thriller. Kurapika, who has been defined by his calculating nature and slow-burning anger from the start, here adopts the role of a classic noir detective: a cold man haunted by old demons, hungry for vengeance, and likely to destroy himself along the way. Meanwhile, the assassins he faces, known as the Spiders, form a perfect crime syndicate counterpoint: a loose alliance of dangerous and unstable warriors, plagued by their own suspicions of sabotage and mistrust.

Between Kurapika and his friends, the encroaching Spiders, and the actual mafia families conducting the formal auction, Yorknew City feels ambitious and sprawling, yet also urgent and propulsive. The inherent focus offered by central characters like Kurapika and Gon actually helps clarify the potential disorientation of a story with so many factions, and the active flow of information across the various groups gives the story a clear sense of cause and effect. In fact, that flow of information — of both knowledge and trust — is crucial to Yorknew City, and a big part of what makes it “feel” like a crime drama.

  Every major faction in Yorknew City is essentially doing their own detective work and hoping to identify their enemies before they are identified in turn. Kurapika wants to know where and who the Spiders are, as well as any of their powers or weaknesses. In keeping with this focus, Kurapika’s powers are centered around being a detective, as he has developed the ability to tell truth from lies and interrogate opponents while keeping them physically detained. Meanwhile, the Spiders want to know if they have a mole, if they’re being followed, and ultimately, Kurapika’s own identity. And even the mafia’s greatest power is defined as information gathering, through the mafia princess Neon’s ability to write cryptic but accurate fortunes for anyone she chooses.

The whole scenario works because the Spiders are essentially an unbeatable foe. Even if all the main characters got together and teamed up, they couldn’t possibly overcome the Spiders' physical advantages. Because of this hanging threat of unquestionable death, concealing information becomes key, and protecting your identity most crucial of all. Attempting to overcome an unbeatable foe through misdirection and cleverness is something Hunter x Hunter has embraced throughout all of its arcs — but here, that technique is applied to a city-crossing, multifactional game of cat and mouse, rather than just one individual battle.

  The end result is an arc that is able to elevate its inherently exciting fights with an incredible degree of tension and larger narrative consequence, creating a story that feels like a white-knuckle standoff from start to finish. Rather than drawing focus from the action scenes and central characters, Yorknew’s mafia drama pretensions actually let the story expand its dramatic reach and appeal to us in new ways, offering an arc with the snappy, interlocking pieces and consistent tension of a great crime film, as well as the creative fights and rich characters it’s been offering all along. Combining these genres doesn’t diminish any of them — it simply compliments the strengths of one with the strengths of another, replacing the structural simplicity of a shonen tournament with the narrative intricacy and exciting twists of a crime drama, but keeping all the fun of the actual shonen fights.

Ultimately, Yorknew City is great because Togashi himself clearly reads and watches a broad array of media, and draws ideas from a variety of places in order to enrich his own work. If you only read or watch one kind of story, the stories you yourself imagine are probably going to take roughly that same shape, and likely not offer much to people who’ve already read plenty of that kind of story. It is by drawing broadly that storytellers expand their horizons and artistic potential, allowing them to craft works that fuse genres in compelling new ways, letting the strengths of one structure compliment the strengths of another, and drawing unique ideas from wherever you find them.

Togashi is a master of drawing broadly, and the effectiveness of the Yorknew City arc is a testament to its importance as an artistic tool. I hope you’ve enjoyed this exploration of genre-splicing in storytelling, and please let me know your own favorite examples of times when anime have explored beyond their own genres and triumphed as a result in the comments!

  Nick Creamer has been writing about cartoons for too many years now and is always ready to cry about Madoka. You can find more of his work at his blog Wrong Every Time, or follow him on Twitter.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

  By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com