Therapist notes, session 4. Patient J. Fixation on blue hair. Not just any blue, that electric shock blue, the kind that makes your teeth ache. Vi’s hair. Patient keeps returning to the scene where she’s pinned, that ridiculous gauntlet half off, the way the game renders sweat on her t***. It’s not about the fight. It never is.

The summoner’s quest thing is a flimsy excuse, a parody of that other game we don’t name. You pick a route. Caitlyn’s route is all stiff upper lip and repressed sighs, the dialogue like a bad police procedural where everyone’s about to tear their uniform off. Vi’s route is just grunts and that smirk. The writing is deliberately unpolished, like a sketch on a napkin. Some lines are so clunky they loop back around to being perfect. “You want this?” she asks, and the text box just sits there, three dots. No, wait, that was Caitlyn. I’m mixing them up. The game does that. The faces are a bit off model, Jinx in the background is just a blur of pink and crazy, a distraction. A promise of chaos that never pays off. They forgot to include her properly, just a tease.

The sex scene at the end of each route. You get it no matter what, which is honest, I guess. No stupid puzzle to unlock the pussy. Just click through the walls of text. The anatomy is... enthusiastic. A breast moves in a way that defies physics, a wet sound effect plays that sounds like someone stepping in mud. I complained about the sound design for ten minutes yesterday. The squelching. It haunts me. But Vi’s abs. The way the artist drew the light hitting the curve of her stomach, that specific tension in the iliac furrow, that’s not just good for a parody porn game. That’s someone who understands desire is in the specific, the imperfect. The way a muscle twitches. The game is a mess. A beautiful, horny, broken little mess that understands its characters better than the show they came from. I should probably stop analyzing it and just... observe the clinical data. The patient is me. The blue hair. God.

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