#it’s in the original packaging and I’m kinda conflicted about opening it

[disneyprincessdxminatrix]

rereading one of my favourite book series of all time after my mum went on an odyssey to get the second book that is somehow a rarity to find these days and I want you to know that I think no one captures that eerie, raw, and melancholic feeling of winter and darkness in a warmer and more beautiful way than Henning Mankell.

[frogtanii]

embarrassed ft. matsukawa issei

wc. 2.7k (???)

warnings. SMUT, not proofread lol, mutual pining (??), friends to lovers (???), cunnilingus lmao, no dom/sub dynamics, well actually dom&sub issei if you squint rlly hard hehe, kinda cute, embarrassed issei <3, also one (1) WAP reference

an. it’s 2:30 am and i have no idea why i wrote this and who for???? i got the idea from a 🦋😳🙈✨ audio and was immediately inspired idk, sorry if it’s bad i lichrally have no idea since i didn’t read it after it was done :p

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

it wasn’t like matsukawa issei to be embarrassed.

he was handsome, intelligent, and funny, not to mention he never left women wanting after a night with him.

issei was the entire package and he knew it.

beyond superficiality though, he was happy with his life. he had a great group of friends, a nice apartment all to himself and a completely normal job.

yes, being a funeral home employee wasn’t the most glamorous career a person could have but he was happy. besides, it never deterred him from getting a warm body to sleep with which was a win in his book.

all in all? his life was great!

so why did he have to go and screw it all up?

issei blames makki and the dumb flyer for the reason his life went to shit. (maybe he’s being a little dramatic, but let him have his oikawa moment.)

he was minding his own business when his best friend (recently turned enemy) burst through his apartment door with a piece of paper in his hand and a fire in his eyes.

“dude, look at this!” issei rolled his eyes, putting down his casket catalogue and turning to meet takahiro’s gaze.

“why hello to you too. remind me why i gave you a key again?”

“because you love me and because i bring shit like this to you. look!” with another long and suspiciously tooru-like sigh, issei took the crumpled paper from makki and immediately stopped in his tracks.

“makki... what the fuck is this?”

written in large pink letters and a flowery, borderline illegible font was the name, coffee and cunnilingus. upon further inspection and careful reading, it revealed itself to be a little cafe opening up about 10 minutes from issei’s apartment complex who were looking to hire “young, attractive men who are proficient at eating pussy.”

issei could feel his eyes narrow and his mouth drop open in shock as he repeated his question. “the fuck is this?”

makki shook his head excitedly, tapping to another portion of the flyer that matsukawa had not yet read. “no, no dude, just look at how much they’re paying per hour.” issei begrudgingly obliged but the minute his eyes touched the (Massive™) number, he felt a little faint.

it was a lot of money. more than the funeral home was paying, that’s for sure. with that kind of money he could move out of this suddenly dingy seeming apartment and into a nice flat in the city were he’d always wanted to live. maybe he could buy himself a nice watch or even a high-end suit to replace the one from his highschool graduation (aka the only suit he owns). with that kind of money, he could erase his student debt 3 years ahead of schedule and get his mom into a nicer place.

it was these thoughts that clouded issei’s head as he found himself standing in front of a cute looking building, matching the address on the flyer. i’ll only be working part time, he thought as he pushed the door open to reveal an equally impressing interior with curtained booths and a wide variety of coffee on the menu. i’m only doing it for extra money, he thought as he shook the owner’s hand after he finished his successful interview. no one can ever know, he thought as he dressed himself in the uniform on his first day.

thus began issei’s super secret side hustle where he ate women out for cash.

sounds worse when you say it outright but it was just working. he was good at it, the women liked him, and he was making BANK. still, there were challenges. some women refused to bathe before coming and he would have to send them to the restroom to freshen up which absolutely ruined his chances for a good tip. some women would become heavily infatuated with him, believing that they were in some sort of forbidden romance. he learned to turn them down quick and easy to avoid conflict in the workplace which furthered his space as a boss favorite. but his hardest challenge by far was meeting you.

you were one of hanamaki’s friends, having met him at one of his brief stints in retail on his search for a job. he had gotten fired but you both stayed in touch after he left, becoming really close, really fast.

issei had met you first when takahiro had invited you to the biweekly seijoh third-years movie night. at first, he had been pissed as an “outsider” had never been invited before and he was worried you’d ruin the vibe, especially since it was the first time in months that oikawa would be able to join them. makki vouched for you through and through and the other boys were okay with it so you were in. the second he met you, all his fears of awkwardness and discomfort faded away.

you were great.

you were hilarious, pretty, and could keep up with makki’s harsh jokes, tooru’s diva attitude, iwa’s tendency to hit (hard), and issei’s original disdain. by the end of the night, he had completely forgotten why he didn’t want you there in the first place.

from then on, you were a staple in their little friend group. you were added to the groupchat where you balanced memes with spouts of deep wisdom and you were ever so reliable, always there if any of them needed it.

yeah, you were great. that’s where the problems started.

issei’s feelings for you quickly went from platonic to romantic, faster than you can say godzilla. he hadn’t even recognized that he was falling for you until it was way too late. normally, he wouldn’t have a problem confessing to you but because of his newly found ...occupation, he was too nervous. how would you take it that he was basically a glorified prostitute? ok, that wasn’t exactly what he did but still! you’d probably find him disgusting and horrible and leave the friend group forever. then he’d have to deal with oikawa’s senseless whining and makki’s subtle digs, blaming him for your departure. yeah, he wasn’t going to put himself through that so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

too bad he didn’t have any control over makki’s.

you and takahiro had been on a little friend-date at mcdonald’s after you’d had a long and frustrating shift. you just wanted to vent, expressing your general hate for your job and desperate need for stress relief.

that’s when makki opened his (big, stupid) mouth and suggested that you visit a little place called coffee and cunnilingus. you nearly choked on your fries at the title before quickly pressing him for details. thankfully, he had the decency not to expose that issei worked there but he had not done a good enough job convincing you not to go there. not that it would’ve mattered. your curiosity was peaked and your libido was high so why not try out the weird cafe where you let a complete stranger stick his tongue inside you?

it was settled. you were going to go and you were going to get eaten out and you were going to like it!

or at least that is what you repeated in your head as you walked to the address on your phone before taking a deep breath and walking inside.

“hello, welcome to coffee and cunnilingus, how might i pleasure you this afterno— yn?” issei’s eyes widened as they met your equally bewildered ones, the both of you staring at each other in shock.

“matsukawa-san, is everything alright?” a large hand rested on issei’s shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts and forcing him to break (horrified) eye contact with you and move it onto his boss who was now looking down on him menacingly.

“y-yes sir, everything is fine!” he squeaked out, hating the way his voice cracked on his first syllable. his boss looked at him suspiciously but thankfully didn’t press.

“well, since nothing is wrong, take this beautiful young woman to a booth where you will assist her!” the hand resting on issei’s shoulder slowly squeezed, making him wince in pain. the pain was only an afterthought though to the larger implication of his boss’ words. he’s going to assist you. assist as in pleasure. pleasure as in eat you out.

holy shit, you were going to pass out.

apparently, issei had the same thought process as you, his face whitening like a sheet. “m-me? but sir i-“

“do your job matsukawa-san!” his boss cut him off with a forced smile. all issei could do was nod and silently lead you off to a closed booth near the back or lose his job. you stayed close behind him but remained quiet, absolutely terrified of breaking the silence and ruining the bubble you had created.

you finally reached the booth in question. issei gently opened the curtain and motioned for you to get it, to which you obliged and he followed just behind.

the moment the curtain closed, you were enveloped in an awkward silence and tense atmosphere, neither of you speaking or looking at one another for fear of one of you running out. after what felt like hours, you opened your mouth to speak, not realizing issei had thought the same thing.

“so-“

“i-“

you finally made eye contact with him and burst into the laughter, the tension quickly broken. it took a full minute or two for the both of you to calm down, the absurdity of the entire situation finally catching up with you.

“you first,” issei said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes while fixing you with an intense gaze swirled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but it made butterflies bubble up in your stomach. you quickly turned your gaze to the comfortable seat beneath you, your fingers playing with the red stitching while you thought of what you had wanted to say.

“are you any good?” your hand flew up to cover your mouth as your cheeks filled with heat, the embarrassment of your words catching up to you. you hadn’t meant to say that but when you opened your mouth to apologize, you were stopped in your tracks by the lovely sound of issei’s full-bodied laughter filling the tiny booth.

you had heard it just moments earlier but without the sound of your own giggles drowning it out, you couldn’t help but think that he sounded beautiful. you basked in the sound as it slowly trailed off back into silence. now it was you doing the staring making issei look off with a red face and a heart threatening to pound out of his chest.

“y-yeah i’m pretty good. you want to try? me, i mean?” his words nearly leave you gasping, your brain working overtime to try and comprehend what he was saying to you.

“only if y-you want to? what do you want issei?” you whispered, suddenly unable to find your voice. you wanted this to be okay for him too; you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable even though you wanted him more than you could verbally express. despite the embarrassment and fear of rejection lingering under your skin, you stared at him, awaiting his answer. a tiny minuscule nod came from him and you internally shook your head. you needed to hear him.

“i need you to say it, issei.” your words, while quiet, were firm and issei felt himself hardening in his uniform slacks. he swallowed in his increasingly drying mouth before opening his mouth to respond.

“i want to eat your pussy. can i?”

shit.

your own voice was stolen by his words and all you could give him was a nod before he was on you.

issei didn’t waste any time falling to his knees, pulling your panties down, and hiking your skirt up to your stomach, revealing your glistening folds to his hungering eyes.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” is all the warning you get before he’s licking a long stripe up you from entrance to clit before he’s sucking the hard, sensitive nub into his mouth. your eyes immediately rolled back into your head, your hips instinctively bucking up into his mouth while a gasped moan of issei left your lips.

if he could bottle your moans and use them whenever he pleased, he would, the sound sending another pulse of arousal to his already hard cock. he was tempted to reach down and pull himself out of his trousers but he denied himself. this was about you; you and your wet ass pussy.

issei continued his ministrations on your clit, circling it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth while his hand was ready to get busy. it crept up your thigh, sending shivers down your spine until it reached your sopping entrance, two of his fingers teasing the slit before delving in to the third knuckle.

the moan you let out is borderline animalistic as your body sends another wave of slick pulsing out over his hand. he groaned into your cunt at your tightness, his mind only imagining him deep within you while you squeeze him for all he’s got.

the amount of slick you produced made it easy for him to add a third finger, thrusting them in and out while also crooking them upwards in search for your special spot that would have you seeing stars. it took him a little prodding but he knew he found it when your back arched, your hand came down into his hair, and you whimpered out a string of curses.

“that’s it baby, cmon, you’re doing so well, wanna see you come apart for me,” he all but growled against your clit before delving back in with a higher intensity, his desperation for you to come winning out his desire to tease you and drag this out as long as possible.

with his incessant pressure on your g-spot and his lips suctioned around your clit, it wasn’t long before he got what he wanted.

“isseiisseiisseiissei, i’m coming, i’m coming-oh fuck!” you screamed as you clenched and gushed all over his fingers, your entire body caving in with the intensity of your orgasm. his fingers were practically forced from your spasming cunt but they quickly found a place rubbing your nub side to side as fast as possible. the overwhelming urge to pee came over you and you shook your head, trying to push his hand away.

“no, no, give it to me, i know you can,” issei groaned, his eyes locked on your dripping pussy. the pleasure he was giving came to a head at his words and you felt a clear liquid escape from your tired, overstimulated cunt, your mouth opening in a silent moan before collapsing back on the seat.

the sight proved to be too much for issei as he felt his body tense, his own orgasm washing over him as he emptied himself into his boxers. he fell back onto the ground, in shock of himself coming entirely untouched. he’d never done it before but of course it was you that would bring it out of him. a smile spread across his face at the thought, his head tilting back as he laughed, catching the attention of your worn body.

“what’re y’laughing at?” you slurred, cringing a little at how fucked out you sounded but issei didn’t seem to mind, his face glowing while covered in your slick and cum.

“nothing, nothing, but uh, i have a question.” you felt your heart leap to your chest, your mind already racing with the possibilities. he’s going to say this was a mistake, that we’re just better off as friends. oh god, what if he says i stunk? or the worst pussy he’s ever had? or what if—

“want to go and get a coffee?” he asked, the smile still plastered on his face but with an uncharacteristic hint of shyness. the butterflies were back in your stomach as you shyly nodded before allowing him to help clean you up and standing, not missing how he slipped your lacy underwear deep into one of his pockets.

issei’s hand found its way into yours as he said goodbye to his coworkers and boss before leading you out of the cafe, watching you tell an animated retelling of the bullshit that occurred at your job with a warm grin on his face and pink cheeks.

it might not be like matsukawa issei to be embarrassed but if it resulted in getting you by his side? he would do it again and again.

[felassan]

Mass Effect development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

This is the Mass Effect version of this post.

[In case you can’t read it the subtitle in the bottom left logo above is “Guardians of the Citadel”]

Note: Drug use is mentioned.

Cut for length.

Mass Effect 1

ME began its life in a vision document in fall 2003

Codenamed “SFX”

Conceived of by Casey Hudson and a core team from KotOR. Its genesis was the intention to create an epic sci-fi RPG in an original setting that BioWare owned (so they could have full creative control), and in a setting that was conceived of first and foremost as a video game

Initially players could control any squadmate, but they wanted it to be about Shep and for players to be focused on Shep being a battlefield commander, rather than on switching bodies

By the start of 2004 its story was shaping up. Initially humans landed on Mars in 2250 and discovered evidence of an ancient alien race and a powerful substance, Black Sand, which rapidly advanced tech to the point that FTL travel was possible. (My note: obviously now the Prothean artifacts on Mars & associated mass effect force tech enabled this in the final canon, but I wonder if aspects of the ‘Black Sand’ naming-type & powerful substance stuff was rolled into red sand from final canon) Humans were suddenly capable of travel to multiple star systems and made contact with a multitude of other species. At the start of the first game, these species together with humans had a fragile peace, with focus placed on the political center of the galaxy, a hub known as Star City, later renamed the Citadel

Multiplayer was a vision for the series as far back as 2003. The plan was for ME1, an Xbox exclusive at launch, to take advantage of the platform’s online components. Early designs saw players meeting in one of the central hubs to interact and trade items in their otherwise SP adventures

By 2006 it had the name ME and the story was more specific, with the theme of conflict between organic and synthetic lifeforms. The story’s scope now stretched across 3 games and included scope for full co-op MP

They tried to do MP in every game, discussing it from the get-go, but it always just fell by the wayside. “When you’re trying to build something that is a new IP, on a new platform, with a new engine, you’ve got to really focus on the core elements of the game.” 

The conversation system prototype was made in Jade Empire, and some of ME’s earliest writing was done in an old JE build. At first there was no conversation wheel. Paragon was “Friendly” and Renegade “Hostile”. In the prototype Shep was a silent unnamed Spectre. Many conversations in the prototype about the player’s choice in smuggling a weapon through Noveria made it into the game

In said prototype a merchant referred to themselves as “this one”, though the word hanar never appeared. The PC in it also had the option to end a conversation with “I should go”. In the prototype also, Harkin was voiced by Mark Meer

An early version of the Mako got used as the krogan truck in ME2

Early concepts of the Citadel were drawn in pencil by CH. A piece of concept art of its final design was painted based on a photo of a sculpture near Aswan, Egypt

As with any new IP naming it was a struggle. They put out a call to all staff for ideas, did polls, made a name generator that combined words that they liked in random ways and made pretend logos of ones they liked in Photoshop to see if they could make themselves love the name or find visual potential in it. (Some of these names are in the pic at the top of this post.) CH liked “Unearthed” as it was a reference to Prothean ruins dug up on Mars and humanity’s ascendance going away from Earth. They knew the game would have a central space station featuring prominently so some of the ideas were based on that - “The Citadel”, “The Optigon”, “The Oculon”. “Element” was another one they had in mind due to the rare substance in the game 

CH: “I was a big fan of John Harris’ book Mass, which had epic-scaled sci-fi ideas, so that was a word that came up often. Many of the names came from the idea that the IP featured a fifth fundamental physical force (in addition to the known four of gravitational, electromagnetic, strong nuclear and weak nuclear) so the word ‘effect’ came up pretty often.” Ultimately none of the ideas really felt right. One Monday morning they were going over the names and Greg Zeschuk said he had an idea on the weekend: “Mass Effect!” CH: “I said, ‘I don’t hate it’, which in the naming process is a high compliment. And it stuck!”

CH on Shep’s Prothean vision from the beacon: “It was hard to imagine how we would do this. CG was - and is - really expensive. Instead I wanted to try doing it through photography and video editing. So I went to a local grocery store and bought a few packages of the weirdest looking meat that I could find. Then I set up a little photoshoot in my basement, complete with some electronics parts and some red wine for juicyness.” He used these props to create a video sequence where the photos were rapidly cycled and blurred, along with production paintings, to create the scary vision an organic/machine experiment on the Protheans. These mashups were also used as inspiration for concept artists and level designers who were working on these themes

Tali used to be called Talsi

On the licensing side they often joke that they’re licensing N7 not “Mass Effect” due to N7′s popularity

There was a confidential internal guide to the IP in 2007 to help devs along and summarize/synthesize the vision etc. Some excerpts from it are shown in the book and this is the first time the public have ever seen them

Early versions of Asari had hair

Asari were designed as a nod to classic TV sci-fi (with human actors wearing obvious makeup and prosthetics to play aliens)

The turian design guideline was “we want them to be birds of prey”. They also wanted a range of alien types, some close to human like Asari, while others were to be a lot further away, like turians

BioWare patented the conversation wheel, which was a first for them. CH had been frustrated with reviews of Jade Empire that said that the actioncentric game was too wordy [with its list dialogue]. “I’m like, story is words. [...] What is it about our games that is making people feel like they’re wordy?” Then he thought “In a game you kind of need to feel like you’re continuing to play it. Maybe you should continue feeling like you’re playing it actively into the dialogue.” “[The wheel] kind of gave a new experience with dialogue when you did start to react based on emotion, and that’s ultimately what we’re trying to bring out in our games”

The original krogan concept was based on a bat “with a really wide squidgy face. We just used its face on top of this weird body and it kinda worked”

Geth musculature was based on fiber-optic cables, with flexible plates of armor attached

The vision for the IP was 80s sci-fi inspired space opera

The concept art of Saren lifting Shep by the throat inspired a similar scene in-game. The staging wasn’t planned til designers saw that art

A squadmate with Shepard on the way to meet Ash in an old storyboard was called Carter. Early name of Kaidan or Jenkins?

Bono from U2 was kinda instrumental in bringing us ME lol

Finding the right cover art for ME1 was notably tricky

Matt Rhodes got his start drawing helmets for ME1, including one which would become Shep’s “second face”. He estimates he drew between 250-270 different ones

Some of the sounds in-game were people smashing watermelons with sledgehammers and sticking fists into various goos

The audio team had fun trying to slip the iconic main theme into unexpected places throughout the MET. “We were very aware of how powerful that track was for the fans and it was tempting to overuse it for any moment we wanted to make really emotional”.

The theme was creatively repurposed in ME3: slowed down and reworked as the ambient sound for the SR-2. “If you listen to it for a really long time, just stand in the Normandy and listen, you’ll actually hear the notes change slowly. It doesn’t sound like music, it sounds like a background ambiance, but it’s there.” (My note: Well no wonder the Normandy feels so much like home?? 😭 sneaky..)

Bug report: “Mako Tornado”. There wasn’t enough friction between the tires and the ground, causing testers to lose control of the vehicle and send it spinning into the air like a tornado. “As it turns, the front end comes up, and then it starts spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning faster and faster and faster until it just flies up in the sky” (My note: Sounds like a regular day in the Mako to me)

Cerberus originally had a bigger role in this game. It was cut but they had a whole explorable outpost. “I called it Misery,” says Mac Walters, “It was this planet with a little outpost that said ‘Welcome to Misery’”. Everything on the outpost was shit - dirty worn stuff, no windows, no kitchen, the vehicle bay was open to the elements etc

The Reaper sound is literal garbage. Some audio designers went on a recording trip to a national park. One of them got fixated on a garbage can, “a metal bear-proof receptacle with a heavy lid that creaked horribly when opened”. “It was like, ominous, spooky, tonal and almost musical. I decided to throw a mic into the garbage and record it moving. I didn’t know what it was going to be until later”

They were making lots of noises to record like throwing logs and rocks around. An old couple peered at them through the window of their camper van in the woods and must have called the cops because then the cops showed up, pulled them over and told them to stop. The cops towed their car (the driver’s plates were Cali plates and expired), drove them to Edmonton outskirts and then the audio producer Shauna got a call and had to go pick them up “like three little boys”. “We got a stern talking to”. Once back they were playing around with the garbage sound, editing it etc. Casey heard it and proclaimed “That’s the sound of the Reapers”

Preston Watamaniuk: “There are things I could have done to Mass 1 to make it an infinitely better game with better UIs” and some simple cuts and changes. “But when you’re living with it, it’s very hard to see those things”

BioWare Labs

As social media and smartphone games exploded, BioWare dedicated a small team dedicated to exploring opportunities here - BioWare Labs

Mass Effect: Galaxy used a unique graphic art style and static visual presentation common in visual novels. It has the distinction of being the only iOS game BW have made during their first 25 years

Scrapped ideas were a 3rd person space shooter called Mass Effect: Corsair and 2 DA titles - a strategy game and a top-down dungeon crawler starring young Wynne. (My note: Maybe the corsairs stuff was rolled into Jacob’s backstory in 2, the Alliance Corsairs)

Corsair was a very short-lived project that never got its feet under it. It was a spin-off on Nintendo DS featuring a behind-the-ship perspective and branching dialogue. At one point it had MP. The idea behind it was basically “ME: Freelancer” - fly your ship around, do missions, get credits. It had a limited branching story but was a gameplay-centered experience intended to fill the gap between ME1 and 2. That gap ended up being filled by Galaxy

Galaxy and Corsair’s smaller screen allowed concept artists to use bold colors and a simplistic character design style to help those games stand out from Shep’s story

Nick Thornborrow did some art for Corsair but was worried his art style didn’t fit ME. He moved to DA where he feels his art style fits better

Lots of BioWare VAs and even a lead writer and the VO director are drawn from Edmonton’s local community theater scene, which is vibrant. Think this is how Mark Meer got involved

Mass Effect 2

Player choices carrying over was a first for BW

Dirty Dozen-inspired plot

Its plot is a web of conditionals (see Suicide Mission)

Was more of a shooter than anything BW had made since Shattered Steel

There was 2 camps on the team, those who wanted to push combat and systems forward and redefine the ME experience and those who wanted to make a true sequel, with the same gameplay and systems but a new story. Karin Weekes: “I think it ended up being a good push-pull. It felt like a pretty healthy creative conflict”

“ME2 was a game you could hold up to someone who argues that games aren’t a serious medium and go ‘Oh yeah, then why is Martin Sheen in this?’” Sheen was their first pick for TIM

The idea for TIM came from a mash-up of concepts CH had collected over the years. The name “Illusive” originally came from his pitch for naming DAO’s Eclipse engine, a word inspired by Obi-Wan’s line “It’s not about the mission, Master. It’s something... elsewhere. Elusive”. “I thought, what if we called our next engine 'Elusive', but used an ‘I’, and then it’s like ‘Illusion’. [...] I still really like the word with an ‘I’ and what it conjures”

When ME1 DLC was in production, CH had been watching a lot of CNN, specifically Anderson Cooper. “How is one guy travelling to all these places and never looking tired and always being able to speak with clarity?” CH says it seemed almost superhuman. “What if there was someone who is the absolute maximum of the things you would aspire to be, but also the worst of humanity?” Cooper, though not evil, became an inspiration for TIM down to the gray hair and piercing blue eyes

Inspiration for TIM’s behind-the-scenes role pulling political strings came from Jack Bauer’s brother Graem in 24. Graem “can call up the president and tell him what to do and hang up, because he’s so connected and so influential”. Sheen had played a president and his performance brought gravitas and wisdom to the role. He had quit smoking, but the character smokes. He didn’t want to fake it, but he also didn’t want to smoke, “so he actually asked for a cigarette” to hold so he could stop his words to take drags with natural cadence

Writing was still pushing to write and revise lines hours before VO started. A series of problems like injury and some writers leaving for other opportunities left it so that Karin, Lukas Kristjanson and editor Cookie Everman hand to land the story safely, with PW helping where they could. Lukas: “We took over the writing bug and task list, and I can’t stress enough how much [Karin and Cookie] did to get ME2 out the door. There’s no part of that thing we didn’t touch”. Karin: “That was the most dramatic 2 weeks of my life”

Initial fan reaction when they started promo-ing ME2 was very negative because people didn’t want to know about new chars like Jack and Mordin. “[fans were like] ‘Get them out of here. We want our characters from the first game’. But then when they played them, those became some of the most popular chars [of the series]”

Concept art of Thane has an idea annotation saying “Face can shapeshift?”

At one point when designing Thane concept artists sent multiple variations of him to the team asking them to vote on which was the most attractive

Most of the Normandy crew was written by lead level designer Dusty Everman. Lukas gave him advice in the evenings between bugs

BioWare Montreal made ME2 and 3 cinematics

CC for Shep was based on tools used by char designers to create in-game chars. Under the hood similar tools existed to create aliens

Aliens were much easier to animate than humans. When something is human it’s very difficult to make it look realistic and you can see all the mistakes and everything

Over the holiday period in 2007 CH worked out a diagram on a single piece of paper that would define the entire scope and structure of the game. The diagram is included in the book

Bug report: “I shot a krogan so hard that his textures fell off”. At one point shotgun blast damage was applied to each of the pellets fired, and shot enemies ended up with just the default checkerboard Unreal texture on them after their textures got blown off

Blasto was meant to be 1 step above an Easter egg but his fan popularity prompted them to bring him back in ME3

They rewrote chunks of Jack 2 days before she went to VO. She was the only one they could change because all the other NPCs were recorded. They redesigned her mission by juggling locked NPC lines and changing Shep’s reactions by rewriting text paraphrases to change the context of the already-recorded VO

Lukas snuck obscure nods ito ME2′s distress calls. In the general distress call for the Hugo Gernsback, there’s BW’s initial’s and Edmonton’s phone number backwards. In a fault in a beacon protocol there’s the initials and backward phone number from Tommy Tutone’s “Jenny”. In 2 other general distress calls there’s initials and numbers from Glenn Miller Orchestra’s “Pennsylvania 6-5000″ and initials and numbers from Geddy Lee and Rush’s “2112″ respectively 

Mass Effect 3

“The end of an era marks the beginning of another”

ME3 “marked the end of Shep’s story”

Saying bye to Shep was as difficult for devs as it was for players

JHale’s final VO session included Anderson’s death and romanced Garrus’ goodbye. “We were in the session and we both just started crying”, Caroline says. “I couldn’t come on the line to give her notes because I was crying, and she was crying. And so there was just this minute-long pause of like, nothing, nothing, nothing - just silence through the airwaves. And then I came on and just told her that I was crying and she said ‘I’m crying!’” They talked about these anecdotes also here on the N7 Day reunion panel

The Microsoft Kinect voice support required devs to teach Kinect hundreds of commands in a variety of accents across multiple languages. The result was useful but made for some awkward moments. Numerous players accidentally said “geth” or “quarian” while making a particular decision and accidentally killed Tali

MP chars were voiced by cops and military people

The helmet on one of the MP chars was originally designed for cancelled project Revolver

The payload device at the end needed to attach to the Citadel while essentially serving as a giant trigger. “It ended up becoming quite the engineering feet just to visualize how this thing would move and connect to the Citadel”

Concept artists explored creating an anti-team, where Kai Leng was almost an anti-Shepard essentially, with an elite squad to counteract your team. This idea never went beyond concept phase

ME3 Special Edition was released on Nintendo Wii U exclusively. This exclusive version of the game includes Genesis 2 (a sequel to the original Genesis comic) and unique gameplay features that took advantage of the touchscreen GamePad. For years Sonic Chronicles: Dark Brotherhood had had the honor of being BW’s only game made for a Nintendo console

FemShep regrettably didn’t feature in major ME marketing til ME3. Later releases like DAI, MEA and Anthem have taken increasing care not to gender their protagonists in cover art

To capture combat sounds they took a trip to CFB Wainwright, a military base southeast of Edmonton. They got a big tour of it and were allowed to record anything they could find. The tour ended with them getting to drive and shoot tanks (real shells). The force of doing that sent waves through Joel Green, he felt his whole chest compress when it went off; the perfect sound for the Black Widow! After the trip the soldiers let him keep the shell he fired and it’s been passed on like a torch to various devs since

Kakliosaurs began life as a joke in the writers’ room after John Dombrow placed a Grunt figure on a t-rex toy he had on his desk. Lore was brainstormed to justify the mash-up before someone asked, “Why don’t we put this in the game?” They loved it so much Karin had custom coffee mugs made

Bug report: For a while Tali’s final romance scene would fire when she was supposed to be dead

“Balancing combat: how designers in ME3 entered an ‘arms race’” - the solution to players feeling OP vs players feeling frustrated by really strong enemies is to find a good middle ground, but for designers Corey Gaspur and Brenon Holmes, it was war. Brenon designed enemies, Corey designed guns. Corey “was obsessed with bigger, heavier guns. We had this sort of informal competition where he’d make this crazy overturned gun that would just murder all the enemies, and then I tuned some stuff up to compensate”

Brenon had to invent new ways to “stop Corey” and this led to the Phantoms. Corey had in turn designed consumable rockets that could wipe out entire waves of enemies. He must’ve figured this would make short work of Brenon’s space ninjas, but Brenon had other plans: “I had just added the ability for her to cut rockets [when Corey was playing MP and he was watching]. She cut the rocket in half... Corey just turns and looks at me and is like: ‘Really dude? I just shot a rocket at this Phantom and she’s fine? Not even damaged? Zero damage?’” 

This friendly rivalry helped elevate ME3′s gameplay. Corey had a knack for making a gun feel so good to fire it had his fellow designers scrambling to keep up. It was his version of balancing. Before Corey sadly passed away he mentored Boldwin Li in all things weapon design and the arms race continued

Corey designed the Arc Pistol. It was causing problems for enemies because it was too powerful. It seemed hell bent on staying that way, Boldwin would tune down all its stats and it was still doing 3x the damage it should have been doing. “I was like ‘What the hell?’, and then I looked closer. It secretly fired 3 bullets for every pull of the trigger! Corey, you sneaky jerk”

The day it launched there were midnight launch parties across North America including one near the BW building. Numerous devs sat at long tables greeting fans and signing autographs as the fans picked up preorders. When midnight struck the line was long enough that it took several hours for some fans to get their game. One particular fan is remembered: “It was 3am. Some guy drove up from Calgary with his friends. He was like one of the last people in line. I think he was sort of tired-drunk. He threw himself across the tables, pulled up his shirt and shouted ‘Guys, sign my abs!’ And like I did, because he waited so long. It felt impolite not to. So I hope he enjoyed his copy of ME3″

For designing Protheans concept artists had free reign to design something that read as ancient

Before the concept art team had the story of the game to work toward, they explored wild ideas of their own including an image of the crew stealing back the Normandy to go after the Reapers

Jen Cheverie was testing scenes and was initially excited to be testing Mordin scenes, til she saw she was testing the Renegade version of his death. “This is even before like all of the audio and everything was in, so you didn’t even have the sad music. I remember sitting at my desk and my hands just went to my face when I saw that the gun Shep pulls on Mordin is the gun he gives Shep in ME2. I burst into tears and was crying for the rest of the day. People are waving to me as they walk by and I’m like, ‘It’s ok, I’m just killing my best friend’” 

There’s a segment called “Shepard’s story ends”. Casey on the ending: “There’s a whole bunch of things that come together to make it incredibly tense and emotional for players. I think the biggest one was the sense of finality, that whatever it was that happened in that very last moment... was it.” 

Wrapping up the story was a massive feat. In a way all of ME3 is an ending. Its final moments were the players’ last with a char they’d been with all the way from Eden Prime

“And while the critical reception of the game was extremely positive, many fans were unsatisfied with the ending, which became one of the most controversial in the history of games.” CH: “We were, on one hand, at the end of a marathon trying to finish the game and the series. But as devs we also knew that there would be more. We knew that we would continue to tell the story. In retrospect, we didn’t fully appreciate the tremendous sense of finality that it would have for people”. He envisioned an ending that posed new questions, something in the tradition of high sci-fi that left players dreaming about what that particular galaxy’s future could hold. “Frankly, there’s a lot more that we could have and should have done to honor the work players put in, to give them a stronger sense of reward and closure”

AAA games are massive undertakings with a million moving parts. Somehow they come together but even the best-planned projects don’t turn out quite like devs hope. From start to end video game production is a series of compromises. It’s rare if not impossible for devs to ship a game they’re entirely happy with. “I think that people imagine that when you finish a game, it’s exactly the way you wanted it to be. But whether people end up loving or hating the final result, we work hard to finish it the best we can, knowing that there’s a lot we would have wanted to do better. I think that’s true of any creative work”

As the dust settled after the initial reaction to the ending and later its epilogue, meant to show the wide-reaching ripple effects of Shep’s final choice, “players emerged mostly asking for one thing”. CH: “Now, most of what we hear, after both ME3 and MEA, is ‘Hey, just go make more Mass Effect’. And that to me is the most important thing. Knowing that players want to return to the ME universe is what inspires us to press on and imagine what comes next”

Mass Effect: Andromeda

By creating a new ME in a new galaxy the team was challenged to put their own visual stamp on the game while keeping it true to the franchise

Being the first ME game on a new gen of consoles meant for more detail

“Massive transport ships called arks populated with salarians, turians, humans, asari and quarians” made the risky jump to the Cluster

MEA was the first time BW had truly codeveloped across 3 studios: Edmonton, Montreal and Austin. The bulk of the work especially early on was done in Montreal, which was composed of a handful of Edmonton expats and heaps of experienced devs who joined from elsewhere specifically to bring a new ME experience to life. Series vets in Edmonton then came on to contribute writing, cinematics, design and QA, along with leadership from creative director Mac Walters and the core Production team. Austin writers and level designers also joined the fray

“It took a new team to take ME beyond the Milky Way”

Mac: “A lot of people in Montreal joined BW as fans of the franchise, so they just had this passion, and it felt like it was more like the days of Jade Empire, where a smaller younger team gets to do something for the first time. Even though it wasn’t necessarily a new IP for me, it felt fresh and new because of that. The team was just super excited to be working on it”

Early plans had the player exploring hundreds of worlds, procedurally generated, allowing for a nearly infinite variety of experiences. But as development wore on, it became clear that the game narrative required more specific, hand-touched level design on each world to keep the story focused and the experience engaging. “The plan was to give players numerous uncharted worlds to explore. Designers worked hard to come up with procedural elements that would make such planets special. Eventually the team made the difficult decision to abandon procedural planets in favor of more memorable hand-touched alien worlds, each with a specific story to tell”

One challenge was defining what ME meant without Shep. Care was given to include many of the MET’s key species. “Ryder recruited turian, asari, krogan and salarian followers”. Like Shep Ryder represents humanity’s hope for a peaceful coexistence among aliens who had long operated without human contact

Beginning with MEA the team decided that with few exceptions vehicles in ME have 6 wheels. Early Nomad concepts were bulkier. Later ones focused on its ability to move over its ability to protect itself from hostile fire, underlining the themes of exploration

German concept designer and auto-motive futurist Daniel Simon was contracted to create the Nomad and Tempest. The Tempest’s final design took inspo from the Concorde 

Concepts for angaran fighter ships have the following notes: “Two doors swing open, wings rotate down to function as landing struts, the landing struts split open. It has a spinning turbine engine 

Despite being set a galaxy away and some 600 years after Mordin’s death, there was a time when he had a cameo. It wasn’t cut due to running out of time however, it was cut due to drug references. John Dombrow explains: “One day I had to write a small quest for Kadara. I thought it’d be amusing if these 2 guys living way out on the fringes in a shack were growing plants for uh, medicinal purposes, and needed Ryder’s help with it. It occurred to me, wouldn’t it be amusing if Ryder had the option of actually trying ‘the medicine’ to see what would happen? And I thought, what if it turned into some hallucination that somehow involved SAM - like maybe SAM would sing? But why? How could I motivate that? Then it hit me. Who else in the ME game sings unexpectedly? MORDIN. As a nod to him I wrote SAM singing Modern Major-General. It got even better when our cine designer John Ebenger wanted to take it even further. Bless him, he came in on a Saturday to do a special hallucination showing Mordin himself. It was great. Til the fateful day we were told MEA had already been submitted to the ratings board. That’s when you declare things like drug references in your game. Mordin fell under that category which meant it was a no-go. We were too late”

Ryder’s white AI armor contrasts Shep’s iconic dark armor (intentional design)

Concept art for Ryder involved experiments with cloth (cloaks, ponchos, capes - “Pull here to release cloak”) and asymmetrical design elements

For alien design, there’s a few exceptions but humanoid figures are the ME standard and this persisted into MEA

Kett and angara concepts explored striking lines and textures 

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

[gdwessel]

Rumors About Ospreay + Unrest In The NJPW Locker Room; Government Adds Okinawa to State Of Emergency, Another Extension Possible; Quick Review of DSOTR Collision In Korea; Shota Umino News!; Ren Narita on Dark Elevation; Satoshi Kojima In Impact Next Week

Strap in because this is going to be a long one.

There are rumors and reports coming out now (mostly from one source, the Voices of Wrestling website, from behind a Patreon paywall) that Will Ospreay's injury may not be what it seems, and there is growing discontent to the point of "mutiny" among the non-Japanese wrestlers regarding the state of emergency, the last-minute decision to resume touring when some were already travelling out of Japan, and the constant need for quarantining when coming back into Japan. Unfortunately this is as much as I can say, because this is behind a paywall, so until it gets made for public consumption I’m kinda limited in what I can say.

I can totally buy that all is not well within NJPW, especially after the COVID-19 bubble has burst. I've already discussed the creative malaise happening in the company right now. That there seems to be backstage dissent shows possible signs of trouble ahead for the promotion, and this golden period that we've been accustomed to is well and truly over. (I mean, it already was once lockdown happened, but they did the best they could, in my honest opinion, including a Pretty Good if not great WK15. Right now, creatively, we are below 2nd-half 2018 levels of poor.) But NJPW has weathered these storms before, although not with a global pandemic looming over everything. I am willing to give them the benefit of the doubt that Ospreay is indeed injured, because a) they haven't exactly been shy about wrestlers being injured and needing to vacate titles before b) if Ospreay is legit injured, he is far more likely to receive treatment as a citizen of the UK from the (somehow still alive if not totally hobbled by Brexit) NHS, as opposed to Japan's healthcare system which is far more like the US model. Some wrestlers are swearing up and down he is injured, from the rumors. Ospreay certainly hasn’t said anything in his own words, beyond RTing NJPW’s announcement of his injury and vacating the title, and posting a pic of himself kissing the belt. RevPro kinda sorta said something but were also pretty vague. But for an injury suffered on 5/4/2021, this pic posted on 5/18 does not look like someone who just had such a severe neck injury they need to fly back to the UK (mind you, it COULD have been taken much earlier than that). Indeed, Ospreay’s still-active Twitter is more focused on Hana Kimura at the moment*. All this said, professional wrestling by it’s very nature has a baked-in amount of bullshit as part of it, so that this injury might be phony is always a distinct possibility.

It is utterly believable there is conflict between wrestlers and management, and communication is piss-poor at best. It is also believable that NJPW and Bushiroad are only taking their cues from a government Hell-bent on holding an Olympics an overwhelming majority of those polled are against, and who are treating the extended state of emergency as a vague suggestion rather than as a, you know, state of emergency. Pretending everything is hunky dory hasn't worked so far, so not sure why NJPW, nor the Japanese government, think eventually it will. (And NOAH is on my shit list right now too.) On that note, the government has now officially added Okinawa to the state of emergency. There is also talk that it will be extended further, as a government subcommittee member is quoted in the article as saying “it is difficult to think” that it will be lifted on 5/31/2021. Among that talk is word that Tokyo particularly will be under a stricter lockdown if this goes on. On a piece of actual GOOD news, it has been announced that the government has approved both the Moderna and AstraZeneca versions of the vaccine, so perhaps the vaccination rates will start to go up at last.

* - The anniversary of Hana Kimura’s tragic death is tomorrow (5/23/2021). I still sometimes struggle with the idea she is gone. Tonight at 10:30pm EDT (which is 5/23/2021 12:30pm in JST), FITE TV will be showing a live Hana Kimura tribute show put on by her mother, Kiyoko Kimura. Have a look in if you can

I was able to watch the Vice Dark Side Of The Ring episode on Collision in Korea, the two-night joint NJPW & WCW show from May Day Stadium in Pyongyang, North Korea, on 4/28 & 4/29/1995, as it aired Thursday. It will hit YouTube here pretty soon. I am working on a podcast project about this documentary, and the (WCW version of the**) show itself, with the good lads at the Days Of Thunder podcast, so I won't talk too much here, but I will say a few things about it:

I did appreciate the detail here, as well as being able to get an interview with Antonio Inoki for this, especially as he was the principal driver of this show happening. I did also like that they took time to detail Inoki's mentor, and the "father of puroresu," Rikidozan, who himself was a North Korean national by birth. I did not appreciate the mythical pathos they added to the death of Rikidozan, which by all accounts was a random street fight with yakuza over a perceived insult (stepping on Rikidozan's shoe). I also felt they could have done a better job explaining the situation between Japan and North Korea at the time. When the event was first proposed to the NJPW roster, Scott Norton recounts Masahiro Chono telling Norton that "they want us dead," but it took until introducing former CNN foreign correspondent Mike Chinoy nearly halfway through the documentary to (briefly) explain the brutal colonialism that Japan wreaked on North Korea in the first part of the 20th century.

Also, as salacious as DSOTR can get, I am very surprised one of the most famous rumors/stories about this show did not get discussed, the internet wrestling legend that Kensuke Sasaki and Akira Hokuto were, erm, Quite Vocal when they were together, which of course did eventually lead to their marriage four months later which continues to this very day. But that was also part of another critique I had, which is, they mainly focused on the WCW part of the events, when this was an NJPW promoted show. The way it was told on DSOTR, the only Japanese wrestlers there were Antonio Inoki, Shinya Hashimoto, Akira Hokuto and Bull Nakano. I'd love to hear more from the NJPW side of things, besides how proud Inoki was of this political stunt that did not get him re-elected to the Diet anyway.

Overall, I do recommend watching this when and how you can, because it is absolutely bonkers. I will definitely keep you posted on when the podcast project for this drops. ** - I've tried looking for the NJPW version and have failed so far. NJPWWorld only has two matches from this, Antonio Inoki v. Ric Flair, and Akira Hokuto v. Bull Nakano. The WCW version is not officially released, even on WWE Network, so yeah search the internet to see it.

We finally have an update on Shooter! That is, Shota Umino. Earlier in the week, RevPro's official Twitter had a tweet saying This Summer, showing Umino in not only his white/pink Tanahashi-esque tights, but holding his Death Riders jacket from Jon Moxley, that Shota retweeted, making this his first tweet since September 2019. Two days later, a hype video appeared with footage of Shooter, including performing Death Rider. Now a Sports Illustrated article is claiming that Shooter was supposed to have reunited with Mox on the NJPW Strong episode that had Mox & Chris Dickinson face Yuji Nagata & Ren Narita, but Umino had an unspecified injury preventing that. (They further say that Mox v. Nagata’s IWGP US title match was originally set for Strong but Tony Khan convinced NJPW to hold it on AEW Dynamite.) Umino's last match listed on Cagematch was on 3/14/2020 in ATTACK! Wrestling in Cardiff, Wales, on the winning side of a 6-man tag match with Kyle Fletcher & Kid Lykos II defeating Shigehiro Irie, Chief Deupty Dunne & Los Federales Santos, Jr. It's great to have him back wrestling again, and I hope we get that reunion with Moxley soon enough too.

As an update to an item from an earlier post, it appears that the Ren Narita v. Royce Isaacs match that was teased but then not aired on AEW Dark this past Tuesday will actually be on AEW Dark: Elevation this coming Monday instead. Also part of that will be approximately 35 other matches (I only slightly kid), one of those being Rocky Romero v. JD Drake. This usually drops on YouTube at 7pm EDT / 6pm CDT Mondays.

This past Thursday on Impact, a video package showed that Satoshi Kojima would be appearing on next week's episode. This will be Kojima's first time ever wrestling in Impact under any name, as the last time NJPW and TNA were working together, Kojima was still away in All Japan Pro Wrestling. No word as to what he will be doing or whom he will be wrestling.

Also on Impact, Juice Robinson & David Finlay Jr. successfully defended the Impact World Tag Team titles against Ace Austin & Madman Fulton... before getting blindsided by two members of the Violent By Design unit (in this case, ECW veteran Rhino and former AJPW Triple Crown champion + cancer beater Joe Doering) with whatever Impact's version of a Anytime Anywhere Challenge is, and took the belts from FinJuice. They claimed FinJuice were going back to Japan, but, erm, who knows if that's the case or if it was for a time period when Wrestle Grand Slam was still a thing that was happening.

Also also, it seems Don Callis is no longer in any executive capacity at Impact. This is a little significant as it seems it was Callis who opened the negotiations back up for Impact to work with NJPW. Of course, lately he's spent more time as an on-screen heel manager for Kenny Omega, the Good Brothers and now the Young Bucks on both AEW and Impact programming. We'll see how much longer Kenny Omega's belt collector shtick goes on for with Callis no longer part of creative or management.

And that is actually it for now! Yipes!

[chemicalmagecraft]

A Black Wind Howls Chapter 3: The Fight

A/N: I hate finals and am glad that I'm done with them. Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone!

By the way, if you haven't noticed by now I decided to give all the chapters titles. A chapter that follows the events of an original ATLA name will share its title, but original chapters will have original names.

Also, in case anyone was curious, my mental image of Lhamo is that she looks and sounds like Scorpia from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, except not a scorpion and with black hair. Meanwhile, I may or may not have thought of Old Toph from TLoK a little when writing Tsering. To be honest, though, I don't really have any one character to point to for Dorji, aside from the in-universe comparison between her and Aang (though it might be more accurate to say she looks like a mix between Toph and Aang, just nobody's seen Toph yet and therefore cannot make that comparison). As for personality, according to TVTropes she might be described as a Rei Ayanami Expy, though I haven't seen Neon Genesis Evangelion so I can't say for sure if that's the best comparison. And just a little fun fact, despite being currently the shortest member of the Gaang (roughly 3'11, and I found a thing that says that Aang is 4'6, Katara is 4'9, and Sokka is 4'11, though it wasn't exactly official so it might be slightly off) she is the second oldest, being a few months older than Katara. Assuming you count Aang as 12 and not 112.

oOoOo

Previously on Avatar...

The firebender that the girl had hit shakily got back up and punched at the airbender's back. Only a puff of smoke came from his fist.

"My name is Dorji. I'm an airbender."

"The power of airbending may have survived through my family line, but unfortunately the spirit of the Air Nomads lives on only through you." Aang winced at that comment.

"Should you really be stealing moon peaches?" Aang asked her in a slightly accusatory tone.

Dorji shrugged. "Not stealing."

Lhamo gasped and hugged the three. "Dorji has friends her age!"

"Is that you, Tsering?" Aang asked.

Tsering grimaced. "I survived."

At some point Katara had shifted in her sleep, ending up with her arm hooked around Dorji's waist. Judging from the red glow dusting her cheeks and ears Dorji had some very conflicting feelings about this. "Shiiiiit..." she muttered softly.

Aang simply couldn't sleep.

oOoOo

Aang and Dorji, both very tired, grunted at each other sleepily when they met in the hall, both rubbing their eyes. "Couldn't sleep?" Aang asked.

"Couldn't sleep..." Dorji nodded after a few moments, like she hadn't heard Aang at first. While Aang had fully opened his eyes, Dorji's were still half-closed drowsily.

"I kinda stayed up all night thinking. You?"

Dorji's cheeks turned a nice shade of pink. "...Also thinking." After a silence that could have been either her insomnia-addled brain trying to think or just her having dozed off for a bit she said, "Actually could you please put your hand on my stomach?"

"What? Why?" Aang asked.

Dorji's blush returned. "I'm... curious about something."

"Oookay..." Aang looked at her weird, but carefully placed his hand on her stomach. "Why?"

Dorji grabbed Aang's arm and twirled around so that his arm ended up hooked around her waist. "Hmm... Nothing..." she muttered as she leaned on Aang's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Aang asked.

Dorji released his arm and started walking away. "Checking something." She sniffed the air. "Smells like Lhamo made breakfast. Let's go." She walked away before Aang could ask her more questions. Aang sighed and followed her down the hall.

"Hey, Lhamo," Dorji muttered when she walked into the dining room, turning her head slightly to face her cousin who was currently placing food on the table. Katara and Sokka were seated at the table, eating.

"Hey, what'sh up!" Sokka said in between chewing. "You two are up late!"

"Sokka, please don't talk with food in your mouth," Katara scolded.

"Itsh sho good, though!"

Lhamo smiled. "Thank you! I made it myself!"

Dorji stared at Sokka, seemingly deep in thought. Sokka swallowed. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Dorji jumped, sailing through the air to land gently on Sokka's lap, causing him to squawk in alarm. She forced his free arm around her waist. "Ew. Weird," she muttered.

"One of us is weird here and it isn't me," Sokka objected. He put down his food and picked Dorji up, placing her in the seat next to him. Dorji started snoring despite sitting up. "She is weirdly light. Is that an airbender thing?"

Lhamo rushed over to Dorji. She placed one hand on her shoulder and the other over her forehead. "Dorji are you okay? Have you been eating well?"

Dorji grunted lazily and touched the thumb of her open hand to her chest and then her chin, then started snoring again.

Lhamo put some food in front of her. "Still, you need to eat."

Dorji made a small noise, but started eating. She made another sign after a few bites of food, then stopped eating.

"Ya gotta eat more, kid," Tsering said as she entered the room. "You're worried about your dad, right?"

Dorji sniffed and nodded after a few moments.

Tsering sighed and sat down next to her, facing her despite the fact that her eyes were closed. "I am too, kid. You have to eat, though. I remember, back when I'd just escaped the massacre, I couldn't bring myself to eat at all. It... wasn't good for my health. Felt like I was floating all the time, nearly passed out a lot. Think I did pass out a few times. Remember dreaming about everything being upside-down or something... Where was I?" Dorji touched her thumb to her forehead. "Right, your father. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he busted out of prison and assassinated the Fire Lord or some of his generals, or simply razed their capitol to the ground. He can take care of himself. Now eat."

Dorji nodded and started eating again, ignoring Aang, Katara's bewildered stares from what Tsering had said about her son.

oOoOo

"Goodbye, everyone!" Lhamo said with a wave as Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Dorji boarded Appa. "It was nice meeting you all! Take care of Dorji!"

"Goodbye, Lhamo," Dorji said.

"Thanks for the pie!" Sokka shouted.

"Speaking of pie," Tsering said as she walked into the clearing, followed by a few workers bearing a box, a few sacks, and a few tubes. "I have a few gifts for you all." Despite not moving her hands from where they were clasped behind her back, the packages started floating in bubbles of air and were loaded onto Appa. "One of those is the rest of the pie from last night. Eat it before it goes bad. Those bags contain some of our produce, freshly picked." She smiled and stroked Appa's fur. "I'm sure between the sky bison and the three growing teenagers, you'll need them."

"Thanks!" Aang said. "We'll be sure to use them."

Tsering chuckled. "That's not even the thing I figured you'd like the most. The scroll tubes contain, among other things, copies of genuine Air Nomad scrolls."

Aang's eyes widened. He grabbed one of the tubes, one with the Air Nomad sigil on it, and with shaking hands carefully opened it. He reverentially pulled out a pristine scroll that also had the Air Nomad sigil on it. He unfurled it, revealing instructions for advanced airbending techniques. His eyes welled with tears and he quickly rolled the scroll up and put it back before wiping his eyes. "Y-you..."

The old woman smirked at him. "Figured you'd like that. I may not have been too cut out for the whole monk life, but I'm still an Air Nomad. I decided a while back to preserve as much of Air Nomad culture as I could, hopefully for future generations but at the very least to preserve records of my people." She chuckled. "Made a bit of name for myself in the field of anthropology as a result."

"And you're just giving these to me?" Aang asked.

She shrugged. "As I said, they're copies. I made sure to put the originals in safe hands, so don't worry too much if you lose them."

"What are the other scrolls?" Katara asked.

"I also wrote down some techniques Wangchuck and I made that Dorji might want to refresh herself on. And you might want to learn some of those, Aang." Aang looked a little uncomfortable when she said that. "Just a suggestion, kid. There's also some stuff on Air Nomad culture in there that I thought you might like, plus some recipes in case you want something from home. Aside from that, there are a few scrolls on bending the other elements that I've managed to obtain. Figured that as the Avatar you might have more use for those than me. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get much more than theory for fire and water, especially because Wangchuck never fucking told me where he put his scrolls, but it's better than nothing, huh?" She smiled at Katara. "Plus I figure you might appreciate it too, Katara. You are a waterbender, are you not?"

Katara nodded. "Thank you."

"I also managed to find a scroll on healing with waterbending. It's not anything you can use in a fight but, well..." Tsering rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faded but still slightly visible burn scar. "Let's just say I speak from experience when I say that healers are the kind of thing that are always great to have around. I'll try to find practical waterbending scrolls to get to you."

Katara bowed. "You've already given us a lot. I'll try to work with what you've given me already."

Tsering shrugged. "Don't worry about it, I've got enough connections that I should be able to get you a few scrolls eventually."

"That stuff's cool and all, I guess, but I don't suppose you have anything I can use?" Sokka asked.

She nodded. "Fair enough. It might not be quite your fighting style, but there are also a few scrolls on chi blocking in there. The art was originally developed by nonbenders to give them an edge against benders. Dorji can teach the basics to you, if you want. And finally, I added in a few scrolls on Earth Kingdom Sign Language."

"Is that that weird hand thing Dorji was doing earlier?" Sokka asked.

Dorji winced and Katara glared at Sokka.

Tsering stared at him flatly. "Little rude to phrase it like that, but yeah. It's good for sneaking around because you have to be pretty fucking bad at it to make noise while doing it. And while it's not my place to tell you why, Dorji sometimes prefers talking in it so it'd be for the best if at least one of you learned enough of it to hold a conversation."

"Thank you, Grandmother," Dorji muttered shyly.

"Right, you all should leave now. Goodbye, Dorji and Aang." She waved them off with a smile.

"What about us?" Sokka asked as Appa started to rise.

She shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose you too." Despite being far away from them at this point and not speaking up at all, her voice traveled perfectly to them.

oOoOo

Aang touched Appa down in a large forest clearing so they could rest for the night. He patted Appa on the head before jumping back onto the saddle. "All right, buddy. Let's see what Tsering got you." He was a little woozy from lack of sleep, but hopefully they'd be sleeping soon so he didn't say anything about it.

Dorji jumped off of Appa and pointed at the ground by his side, making a small circle with her pointing finger. A small cloud of dust kicked up where she pointed. "I'll cushion your fall," she offered.

"Thanks!" Sokka said, then jumped down. When he hit the dust cloud his fall slowed and he fell on his ass with a yelp.

"Sorry," Dorji muttered. She moved her hand to the right slightly, and the dust cloud moved to where she was pointing. She widened her circles, causing the dust cloud to grow larger and wider. "This one should be better, hopefully."

Katara jumped. She also lost her balance when she hit the cloud, but Dorji quickly stepped forward and caught her.

"Thank you," Katara said.

"Y-you're welcome," Dorji said, blushing slightly. She immediately let go of her and stepped back a bit.

"Thanks for catching me, too," Sokka deadpanned as he got up.

"You're welcome," Dorji said.

He looked at her flatly.

Dorji tilted her head and blinked. "Was that sarcasm?" she asked.

Sokka sighed. "Yes, that was sarcasm," he said exasperatedly.

"Ah," she said. She looked a little nervous for some reason. "I'm sorry, I... have trouble with detecting tone, sometimes."

Katara glared at Sokka yet again. "How was I supposed to know that!?" Sokka snapped at Katara.

Katara sighed. "Sorry, you do have a point there. Is there anything else we should be aware of, Dorji?"

Dorji eyes widened. She blushed and gave Katara a very appreciative smile. "I... Sometimes I have... problems processing sounds. It's not too bad anymore, I hope anyway, but please be patient if I need you to repeat things," she muttered.

Katara nodded. "Okay. Is that why your grandmother said you sometimes prefer to use sign language?"

She bit her lip. "It's... part of it. I would also prefer if you faced me while speaking to me, for similar reasons. I can read lips, in case I'm having trouble with hearing."

"How do you read lips?" Sokka asked.

"Lots of practice. Start by looking at lips."

Sokka shrugged. "Fair enough."

Aang jumped off of Appa's saddle after putting the bag of apples he was feeding Appa back. "What're you guys talking about?" he asked.

Katara gave Dorji a look, as if asking her if it was okay to tell him. Dorji nodded to her. "Dorji was telling us about how she has a few... issues with hearing."

"Oh, is that what the sign language was for?" he asked.

Dorji nodded. "I can hear, but I have trouble processing sounds sometimes, if that makes sense," she clarified.

Aang nodded. "I remember one of the boys I grew up with, Dema, had an issue like that too." His face fell. "Dema..."

"I apologize," Dorji said.

"For what?"

Dorji fidgeted. "I... brought up a memory. One that must be painful for you."

Aang shook his head. "No, you didn't even know that'd remind me of Dema."

"Would... would you like something to take your mind off of it?" she offered.

"Thanks!" He smiled at her. "What do you have in mind?"

"If you're going to be fighting the Fire Nation, you need combat skills. Traditional airbending may have had martial arts, but they were mostly restricted to evasion, disengaging, and defense," she explained. She unsheathed one of her daggers and swiped it at a tree off to her side, not even breaking her gaze with Aang. A blade of wind rushed from her blade, slicing a deep gash in the ground as it kicked up a large cloud of dust and slicing the tree almost in half vertically when it hit it. "All of that is good, but you might be a bit lacking in your offensive capabilities, decisively ending a fight." She spun her dagger, then sheathed it. "Shall we begin?"

"I don't feel comfortable with that," Aang said nervously.

"Why not?"

Aang clenched his hands, a sour expression on his face. "That's... That's not airbending."

"Um... Aang?" Sokka put his hand on his shoulder. "Maybe..."

Aang forced his hand off. "No. That's not airbending."

"It is, though," Dorji rebutted. "Well, some of the moves I intend to teach you don't need airbending, but for the one I just showed you? Doing it requires you to stream air along a thin surface, like my daggers or your staff. It might be a little hard at first if you haven't done anything like that, but-"

"That's not what I mean!" Aang shouted. "You're doing it all wrong!"

Dorji sighed. "It's not wrong. Just... different. I understand that it might be upsetting to see such a different style from what you're used to, but... it's not wrong."

"It goes against all of airbending culture!" Aang shouted.

"Aang..." Katara said.

Dorji frowned slightly. "I see. You know, I had always been fascinated with grandmother's scrolls and books about the Air Nomads. Part of it was just that reading was... nice... for me, I will admit, but..." She turned away from Aang and walked a few steps away from him. She stood there for a few seconds, then sniffled and wiped her face. When she turned back around her eyes were a little red. "For a while, I wanted to be like them. They were my people, my ancestors. But at the same time, I was always worried a true Air Nomad would despise me, as I am still my father's daughter, and my father was not a traditional Air Nomad. Thank you for confirming it for me. I told you before, the pacifistic monks of the past died out a century ago. I'm not an Air Nomad. I was never an Air Nomad." She touched one of the green highlights of her clothing. "I was born of the Earth Kingdom. I was raised by the Earth Kingdom. Why should I call myself an Air Nomad?"

Aang's face contorted in anger, then softened slightly. "Fine." He turned around and walked away.

"Fine," Dorji echoed. She pulled the two halves of her father's staff from her belt and started walking towards a large rock.

Sokka and Katara sighed at the same time. "I'll talk to Aang, do you want to talk to Dorji?" Sokka asked.

"That sounds good," Katara agreed.

"Cool." Sokka started climbing back onto Appa, struggling a bit. "Let me just... get something... real quick."

While Sokka was doing that, Katara walked over to Dorji. Wielding the two halves of her father's staff like dual swords due to how long they were compared to her, Dorji swung at the rock with one segment. A wide gash appeared in it despite the fact that the staff never made contact with it. She swung with the other segment, creating a second gash. Next she slashed both, deepening and widening both of the gouges she'd made. She quickly put the two halves of the staff together and started twirling it with insane speed. The wind in the area picked up, and dust clouds flowed towards her staff. She jumped back and threw the staff at the boulder. The spinning staff cut cleanly through the boulder, grinding it in half with little resistance. After it was on the other side Dorji held her hand out to it. The staff shot back, pulverizing the upper half to smaller rocks with pure windy force. Dorji caught the staff and swung it, blowing all the rocks and dust away. She used the momentum of the swing to turn around, jabbing the end of the staff a few inches away from Katara's throat. Tears streamed down the shorter girl's face, and her hands were trembling. The air stilled again.

Katara slowly put her hand on Dorji's shoulder. The airbender stiffened a little, but didn't resist. Katara smiled at her and slowly lowered Dorji's staff with her other hand before pulling her in for a hug. Dorji dropped the staff and started sobbing. "W-why?" she asked. Katara let her go, and she rubbed her eyes. "Why can't I go a day without crying?"

Katara sat down on the remaining part of the boulder, which had conveniently been cut and smoothed into a serviceable, if a little tall, bench by Dorji's practice. She patted a spot next to her and smiled at Dorji, inviting her to sit next to her. Dorji hesitated, but slowly sat down. She tilted her head slightly to Katara, staring at her.

"When my mother died... It was hard on all of us. And the first few days were the hardest. But... it does get easier. And I'm sure I speak for Sokka as well as myself when I say that we will both be here for you when you need a shoulder to cry on." She sighed. "And I'd have hoped that I could say the same of Aang, but now I'm not sure..."

Dorji whimpered.

Katara scowled. "To be honest, I didn't think Aang would blow up like that. I mean, he was a little touchy when he saw what happened to his old temple, but I thought that that was just from seeing the remains of someone he knew..."

Dorji winced. "Did I... some of the things I told Aang must have hurt him. I should apologize." She tried to get up, but Katara put her hand on her shoulder.

"Don't. I think he should apologize first. He's hurting, yes, but he has no right to take that out on you."

Dorji leaned on Katara. She didn't say anything else, but Katara hugged her.

oOoOo

Aang sighed. He sat at the edge of a small lake near where they had landed, prodding at the water with some attempts at waterbending. "Maybe I shouldn't have..."

Sokka slapped him on the back of his head, then sat down next to him. "Yeah, you really shouldn't have." His tone was annoyed.

"I'm so-"

Sokka slung his arm around Aang's back, clamping his hand on his shoulder. "No. You're gonna listen. You lost your people and found out the world crumbled after you left. I can't even imagine how horrible that feels. But." He tightened his grip. "If you even begin to think that gives you a right to dump all that out on a girl you just met, who recently lost her father, that's unforgiveable. Imagine if some old friend of that one monk guy you were fond of... Gyatso, I think, came out of nowhere and told you that you weren't fit to be the Avatar, or even an Air Nomad. That's what you just did to Dorji."

Aang sighed. "You're right. I should never have said that. I... I'm sorry."

Sokka patted his shoulder. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, buddy. And first... maybe we should talk a bit. You've got a few issues to work out, clearly."

Aang looked down. "I... I miss them."

"Yeah, that's pretty natural. But what made you lash out at Dorji like that?"

He sighed. "I guess... I'm sure she's not trying to, but she always seems to... remind me they're gone. That I was gone for a hundred years, and my people are long gone." He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "But... I should never have taken it out on her."

Sokka patted his back. "You know, I know I always complained about the lack of meat and everything, but... If you want to make a traditional Air Nomad dish or something, I'd totally be willing to help." He grinned. "And I'm sure Dorji would, too. But first you gotta apologize to her." He pulled out a scroll. "And I have an idea of something you can do for that."

oOoOo

Dorji had fallen asleep, resting with her head on Katara's shoulder. Katara smiled and stroked her hair gently, as not to wake her. Sokka walked up to her, Aang trailing sheepishly behind.

"I hope you're here to apologize," Katara glared at Aang.

Aang shrank back slightly. "Yeah, I... Shouldn't have taken my feelings out on Dorji." He got out from behind Sokka and faced Dorji. "Dorji, I want to apologize to you," he said, raising his voice to try to wake her up. "My suffering was no excuse for what I said to you. And I was wrong, you may be other things, but you are an Air Nomad, too!"

Dorji, perhaps due to her hearing impairment that she had yet to fully explain to the others, did not react at all to this.

"Maybe you should wait until she wakes up, Aang?" Sokka said.

He nodded. "Right, sorry. Should... should we wake her up or..."

Dorji stirred, then sat up and started rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, did someone try to wake me? You'll need to shake me awake, shouting won't work..." She noticed Aang and stiffened slightly. "R-right. Y-you..." She bit her lip.

Aang placed his hand, a loose fist, on his chest and made a small circular motion with it. The sign, as best he understood the EKSL scroll, for 'sorry.' "I'm sorry," he said, as sincere and contrite as possible. "You reminded me of what I've lost, and I couldn't take that and lashed out at you. But that's not an excuse for how I acted towards you. I understand if you don't forgive me. For what it's worth, you are a real airbender." He smiled. "You are airbending culture, as much as I am. And you have every right to call yourself an Air Nomad."

Dorji sniffed. She rubbed her face, but a few tears fell onto her shirt still. "Th-thank you. And... f-for what it's worth... I'm sorry for hurting you, even if it was unintentional. I'll... I'll try to be more mindful of what I say in the future."

Aang smiled at her. "Thanks. If you want, you could show me that one airbending move. I don't think I'll ever use it on a person, but if I need to cut down a lot of trees really fast I could use it for that?"

She smiled slightly. "Actually... I think I know another move that my grandmother made that might... suit your tastes slightly better. When used on a trained warrior, especially a firebender due to how firebenders train their lungs, it will never cause any lasting damage. And at the same time, it will temporarily disable the person you use it on, especially if they are a firebender."

Aang hugged her. "That sounds great! And later, I can show you some airbending moves of my own!"

Dorji backed up nodded when Aang released her. "I'd like that. But first..." She got into a fighting stance and took a deep breath. "The best way to explain this is with a demonstration. And the best way for you to learn how to do it is to experience it yourself. But I will not do it without your permission, as it can feel... unpleasant."

"Um, is this a good idea?" Sokka asked.

Aang nodded. "Do it. Is there anything I should be paying attention to?"

"Your breath." In a blur, Dorji was suddenly standing inches away from Aang. She paused for just long enough for Aang to focus on her, a rush of wind punctuating her stop, then jabbed him in the solar plexus with two fingers. The amount of force she put into the physical movement was negligible, but Aang still toppled backwards as he felt his lungs empty against his will. He struggled on the ground for a few seconds, finding it hard to regain his stolen breath. Eventually he coughed and shakily took the hand that Dorji had offered him at some point.

"Are you okay, Aang?" Katara asked.

"Gimme... a minute..." he said between pants, a pained grimace on his face as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

"Sorry, I should've mentioned it can be... unpleasant." Dorji said, taking a few steps away from Aang and the others. She looked nervous again.

"No, it's fine," Aang assured her. He chuckled. "I probably should've guessed it wouldn't feel too good, anyway. Still, I can see what you were getting at. And you're sure it doesn't hurt people you use it on?"

She nodded. "Unless you use it on the same person multiple times in a row without letting them breathe, or use it on someone with weak lungs. But a trained soldier should be fine, and the technique will let you take them out of a fight for a few seconds at least, as well as open them up to a finishing move. And most notably, it temporarily disables firebending."

"It disables firebending!?" Sokka parroted, incredulous.

Dorji nodded. "Grandmother made the technique with some principals involved in chi blocking, after performing some... research on firebending." She breathed deeply, in and out, and when she exhaled her breath was very warm. "In fact, she learned that the breathing techniques the Air Nomads used to keep themselves warm in even the coldest of weather were originally based on knowledge given to them by firebenders. Firebending does not come from muscles, but rather the breath. So a technique that disrupts a firebender's ability to breathe..."

"Also disrupts firebending," Sokka finished. "That's... that's amazing!"

"It only lasts a minute or so at best, but it will still throw a firebender off," Dorji continued explaining. "And a master of it can do it from a distance, or even without moving at all, or at least my father and grandmother can. If you need more guidance to learn it, Aang, ask me. But..." Dorji turned to Sokka. "Perhaps you would like to learn chi blocking? You seemed pleased with the concept of disrupting firebending. And it can do more than just disable bending for a few seconds."

He grinned. "That sounds awesome!"

She nodded. "Then let us begin." She collapsed, but still somehow managed to hit the ground lightly. "Tomorrow. I'm tired." She closed her eyes, already asleep.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 12: The Painting

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Awakening Ball is in full swing and the party mood is infectious. But Nadya's natural curiosity isn't always a good thing.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Luckily the orchestra waits to start playing dancing music until she’s two glasses of champagne in and suitably bubbly enough to join.

Adrian offers his hand and promises not to resent her for her two left feet. It’s pretty much the same sweeping classical waltz in every period drama ever but when she starts to lose what little grace she has Adrian picks up the slack — literally. He picks her up off her feet and carries the weight of them both. Lucky for Nadya the skirts on her dress make it impossible for anyone to notice.

Not like anyone would notice her hovering off the floor, anyway. Not when her pining eyes catch sight of Kamilah dancing with a Duchess of some sort in the middle of the crowd.

“I’m sorry.” Adrian whispers in her ear. It only helps because he means it. Because he squeezes her waist a little tighter and does a flashy thing that raises her up in the air with a whoop of joy.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she’s not lying to Adrian but rather to herself and he knows it, “I’m used to the whole ‘one-sided affection’ thing.”

They part with a bow and curtsy, have to weave together with held hands as guests switch partners and move into a new beat and tempo.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“All part of the finite package.” Because yes, being surrounded by vampires both new and old (and the humans too, but she doesn’t know many of them now does she?) has her thinking about things like that. Who wouldn’t?

Before he can counter with his usual Adrian-brand of optimism Nadya catches sight of familiar faces by a fountain of red wine — or she hopes it’s red wine. God she hopes it’s red wine. She waves eagerly and drags Adrian over to socialize.

Brandon chokes on his sip as he takes in her dress. “Well well! Look what the cat dragged in — and this time sans yoga pants. Bless, I’m so proud.”

In the middle of shaking Greer’s hand Adrian falters. Frowns slightly and already has his arm up to push Nadya back. Like there’s nothing more threatening around them than a gay man with an opinion. “I — what are you implying?”

“Relax Adrian. He’s making a joke about last night.”

“Down, boy-o,” Greer joins in on the teasing, “not that the guard dog routine isn’t mad sexy. We’re just glad to see our girl made it to the actual event.”

Nadya huffs. “I wasn’t that drunk.” The couple exchange an eye roll and even she has a hard time resisting the sass of their combined stare. “Okay, okay! So I was… kinda hammered.”

“Well I’ll give them that one. You originally passed out in Kamilah’s bed.”

It’s something everyone but Nadya seems to find extremely funny. Namely because she doesn’t remember that but she can still hear the voice she’d hallucinated clear as day. It makes her hesitate and think twice about taking a glassful of the fountain’s spoils.

At least her friends are getting along. At least she has friends.

Not long after Brandon waves over a younger woman and introduces her as his twin sister and their vampire connection, Megan. Age difference aside Nadya can definitely see the resemblance but can’t help herself when she feels a little sorry for Brandon’s fate. For the faded freckles on his cheeks and the lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

Megan and Adrian trade comments on vampire life over the last two decades — he offers her and Brandon and Greer a place to stay in New York should they ever need it. There’s a strangely somber air in how the trio thanks him — like a sigh of relief connects them all body and mind.

Greer manages to coax one more drink into her the same way he coaxes her out onto the dance floor. Everything shines with flickering candlelight and the collected jewels and precious metals from all of human history. It’s wonderful, it’s beautiful, it’s magical.

And everyone — every single person — is filled with the same kind of joy and carefree abandon. For a little bit there’s no Feral outbreak in the heart of the city, there’s no fearing for her life or missing her old apartment and missing best friend.

There’s nothing else in the entire world but this Ball, the people attending it, and the memories made.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this!” Nadya announces; uses the spins she’s getting in the head to carry her momentum away from Greer to where Megan is ready to trade partners as well. The music has taken a turn for the boisterous — some Celtic ballad accompanied by an impromptu song from a group of rugged-dressed Highlander attendees.

She reaches out — her fingertips brush the other vampire’s — then the dizziness overtakes her and Nadya feels like she’s hurtling through the sky in freefall.

Comes back to herself to find the decor that was on the other side of the room now much closer. And Kamilah’s hands hold her against the rushing wave in her head.

She wants to laugh — wants to share in the joy of the moment with the one person she wants to make smile more than anything else in the world — but like always Kamilah just leaves her breathless, gasping as they move through the weaving dancers effortlessly.

“Perhaps you’ve had a tad too much wine.” Kamilah admonishes without heat behind her words.

“I’m perfectly sobe — ack!” The word morphs into a desperate cry as Kamilah’s grip slackens. Feigns like she’s going to let Nadya go when she definitely doesn’t have the ability to stand on her own two feet right now. She clings on so hard she can feel every woven fiber of her red dress.

“You were saying?”

“Humans get dizzy, Kamilah. It’s a real thing.”

“Ah, yes. How forgetful of me.”

If you ruin this moment I’ll never forgive you, Nadya thinks to herself — actually takes her own advice for once and just loses all thought and worry in the way Kamilah sweeps her along the floor to the beat. Where their skirts clash like fire and ice but never so much that she can’t feel the solid presence of the woman holding her steady.

When the dance ends a gathering in the middle of the floor all comes together to take hands. Kamilah pulls them away; out into the conversational talkers and wallflowers. It’s eerie how the vampire simply watches Nadya catch her breath — a beauty she’s still foreign to.

“Drink.”

Nadya looks up to see Kamilah holding a glass out to her. She can feel the coolness of the water sliding down her throat, serving as a reminder of just how flustered she actually is.

She remembers at the last second to not wipe her mouth with the back of her arm. Manages a fluttering smile. “T-Thanks.”

Electricity zips through her body then — Kamilah’s touch lifting her chin towards the crystal chandeliers overhead. It reminds her of only a few hours ago in a way her body never got to recover from. A thousand candles lit in her belly all at the same time. Luckily she has the dance to mask her reaction.

All just so the woman can wipe a stray drop of water from the corner of her mouth.

Conversation, girl, come on! She could ask Kamilah any number of things. Familiar faces, balls gone by, even the last time she danced to something so jovial. But there’s a big stone wall between her thoughts and her mouth and it makes Nadya’s heart sink.

“I…”

It takes her a moment to realize — when she no longer feels Kamilah’s touch — that she was the one who pulled away.

“Yes, Nadya? Something to say?”

Shallow, almost panicked breaths… all it would take is a simple step forward…

“I need some air.”

With her skirts gathered in both hands Nadya turns and practically runs in the other direction.

Distantly the clock strikes midnight.

The Ball had opened up to the rest of the castle and surrounding grounds sometime in the middle of her dancing. It was like there was nowhere she could be alone — no place she could feel safe. Surrounded by strangers and knowing that there were enemies among them paired with the churning emotions that couldn’t make sense of her body has Nadya on the brink of breaking down.

The night air does more than beckon her forward. It screams at her, demands she find peace out there where it could be most dangerous. It’s not rational but still she follows — away from the crowds and their pleasant evenings in directions only her feet can understand.

When she comes to it’s in a haze of muddled thoughts in a varietal English she can’t quite catch. Finds her hands grasping onto the metal rungs of a bridge overlooking a dim pond. Through the barest moonlight hiding behind clouds overhead she can see koi flit this way and that; too deep down to stir the surface where fallen flower petals hang abandoned.

A hand rubs soft circles along her exposed back — voice crooning in her ear deep and dark like a cello.

“There there… are you coming back now?”

Nadya snaps back to herself all at once, feels her heart lurch in her chest. The voice chuckles and the hand pulls back.

“Indeed you are. This is where you are told to breathe, yes? In through the mouth, out through the nose… no, that isn’t right.”

Isseya leans back against the same railing; the trails of her dress trying desperately to catch on the faint night breeze.

Or — maybe it isn’t Isseya. Not with the strange kindness in her eyes and the way her lips hold no withheld scorn. It’s definitely like she’s looking at a twin — or a mirror image reflected back in every way. Definitely not the viper from the ballroom… right?

The vampire taps her olive nose; reminds Nadya to breathe in so deep it burns and only when she feels like her lungs are going to burst through her corset does she let it all out.

“Very good,” praises her companion.

She expects Isseya to try and begin a conversation, but instead the woman just… watches her breathe. She seems almost fixated, fascinated by it. Eyes raking down to see her compressed midriff rise and fall. She mimics Nadya twice before seemingly becoming bored with the act. Watches passively instead with an unblinking stillness.

When she has to take in less and less to ground herself is when Isseya speaks again.

“May I ask what that was?”

“What —” Nadya takes in one last gulp of air, “— what was what?”

She’s not trying to deny it; not like it’s the first time she’s ever had a panic attack so strong she blacked out a bit. But the look on Isseya’s face surprises her.

“You’re… I mean — you’re immortal and you’ve never had a panic attack?”

The vampire gives a “ha” of surprise.

“From what would I panic?”

“Uh… stakes, garlic, the sun?”

“No.”

Nothing like staring eternal life in the face and feeling immensely inadequate. But the woman contradicts even her thoughts — still looking at her with what almost feels like awe.

“Such violent reactions to fear I’m not unaccustomed to. But you caused your own fear, did you not? Beautiful…”

Only Nadya doesn’t find it very beautiful at all. When Isseya reaches out as if to touch her again she steps back — manages to keep her footing despite the curve of the bridge. She doesn’t even want to think about the holy hellfire that would rain down on her for ruining a Lacroix dress with pond water.

“Please don’t touch me.”

“Forgive me, mortal child.”

“Nadya,” she corrects, “my name is Nadya.”

“Nadya, then. A beautiful name for a beautiful creature. I told Valdas, you know, that you must be a sign sent for us.”

She says it so calmly. Maybe it’s meant to be that way — meant to entice her to know more. It works.

“I don’t understand.”

Hands braced on the railing and face turned away; Nadya doesn’t have to see her to hear the way her voice wavers.

“‘Nadya’ is a name which means hope. Something which my partner and I have lost more and more of with each passing year. You expect the continual passing of years when you Turn, you know. You accept the hunger. Say farewell to the warmth of a sunrise. I even reconciled the knowledge that everyone I would ever know would rot in the ground beneath my feet. But… no one tells you the little things you lose along the way.”

It’s more emotion than she’s ever seen from a vampire — a thought she’s almost angry at herself for having if it didn’t feel so true. Every word Isseya says is heavy with time. They weigh her down and down, deeper and deeper until she wonders how she’s not looking down at the woman from the center of the planet.

She doesn’t know what to say — there’s nothing to say. She’s mortal—finite, dreadfully finite—and doesn’t even have the ability to comprehend what Isseya must be feeling.

And as an extremely empathetic person that’s not something she’s used to. It makes her fumble half-words; noises that definitely aren’t language.

Yet when she finally isn’t burning with shame enough to look at Isseya again she finds the vampire offering her a smile. A weary, dreary thing… but sometimes the thought behind a gesture is more important than the gesture itself.

“Take your time.”

So she does. Actually thinks about what she wants to say before she says it. Makes her wonder briefly what life would be like if she did that more often.

Finally, “Whatever you lost doesn’t sound little at all.”

“No, I suppose he wasn’t.” replies Isseya; makes Nadya go flush with surprise.

“Can I ask who…?”

“His name was Cynbel.”

“Oh. And he was…?”

“My lover, but that is not unlike saying the night sky is only what we see with our eyes.”

Nadya isn’t there to judge anyone. Still, she’s surprised. Hadn’t the other man — Valdas, that was his name — called her his ‘Priestess?’

“Did you, uhm,” she bites her lip, “I mean did you meet Valdas pretty soon after losing him?”

Not a second passes; Nadya almost misses Isseya’s expression change — darken, deepen.

“I forget not everyone is aware of our story, sometimes. Most hear us, our title — Trinity — and simply know. There was a time the word was banned in polite conversation lest it bring down the mood of a party or cause wistful waifs to wilt.

“I’ve forgotten now who coined the name. Cynbel might know… he was quite proud of it. He always cared about titles, you see. Not that it wasn’t apt. The three of us were always together; see one and the other two were not far behind. You know the saying ‘bad things come in threes?’ Probably derived from us.”

That’s when Nadya catches on, gives an “ooooh” of understanding.

“You, Valdas, and Cynbel. You were —”

“We three have a love that may very well burn longer than the stars above us. He used to say that. Loved us hard enough to make us believe it. When he passed it truly felt like the heavens would crumble down without all three of us to hold them up.”

She doesn’t ask what happened though the question burns through her against the cold night air. Maybe it’s something Kamilah can answer — she seems to know them enough. Though that reminds Nadya of their meeting and Adrian — and whatever happened last night.

“I’m sorry for your loss. For both of your losses.”

“Keep your grief. It’s all hollow in the end. We will always be in mourning; every second of every night we must live without him. Because indeed; we must live even if he is no longer with us.

That is the blood oath to which my god and I are bound.”

And doesn’t that make things take a turn for the weird. Makes Nadya have to school herself carefully even if Isseya can hear the change in her heartbeat. Who wouldn’t hear something like that and find it ominous, though? Like a seer’s omen.

Before she can make up some kind sympathy to offer Isseya reaches out — strokes the tip of her nail along the curve of Nadya’s jawline. Yes, it’s totally the night and my bare shoulders making me shiver, she tells herself, totally not whatever weird, semi-erotica is going on here…

“Apologize.”

Nadya blinks out of her stupor. “What?”

“Apologize, I said,” there’s a brief sting, she hardly even notices, but when Isseya pulls back her hand there’s a bead of blood on her fingertip, “for failing to placate me with your undesired grief.”

That’s more than enough. Only when she tries to move away there’s a hand wrapped around her throat that squeezes; takes the words right out of her mouth quite literally.

She didn’t even see the vampiress move. Not a blur or a flash of fang. She simply wasn’t and then she was. And everything in her eyes says Nadya is right to be terrified.

“Go on,” squeezing harder, bringing them so close she can smell Isseya’s honeysuckle breath, “apologize.”

Nadya fumbles around the words; moves her mouth with increasing frantic desperation when no sound, no air, not even a fleck of spittle wants to come out. I’m sorry — I’m sorry!

A tear rolls down her cheek, tickles the edge of her chin and makes her keen in a whimper as Isseya leans forward and flicks the tip of her tongue to catch it. When she pulls back that familiar red stare lurks in the woman’s eyes.

She lets go. Nadya fumbles, falls hard on her backside on the bridge with both hands around her neck like she’s trying to make sure all her skin is still there. She watches up in horror as Isseya licks her lips in satisfaction.

“Your apology is accepted… even if it was pitiful. I expect better from you next time.”

Next time isn’t so much spoken as felt like a breeze; the vampire gone between rapid and pounding beats of her heart. With all her dress it takes Nadya several attempts to collect herself, to scramble up and wipe away her tears and dash in a mad rush towards the castle.

Adrian, she needs to find Adrian.

Marcel’s a generous host — happy not only to help her find Adrian but to escort her around the castle himself. He’s a sweet boy, really, even if he’s old enough to be her great-great-great-many-greats grandfather. Somehow he’s managed to keep his childish sensibilities about him all these centuries.

It dissolves her fear a little. Makes it easier for Nadya to brush off his concern when he points out she keeps rubbing her neck. “I think I made a few mosquitoes pretty happy,” she jokes and all is well again.

He’s not upstairs in the apartment — “He mentioned he lost his key, I think?” — and they might be getting a little off-track when Marcel stops them in the conservatory to show her his collection of night-blooming flowers among what appears to be a cigar-and-whiskey party.

Then he snaps and there’s an invisible lightbulb over his head. Marcel grabs Nadya’s hand and takes off at full youthful speed down a staircase.

“Where are we going?!”

“I know where he is!”

Adrian’s favorite room in the castle is, apparently, the library. Only Marcel doesn’t give Nadya a chance to process her fear of the place before dragging her along inside.

The doors are open, velvet rope cast aside, and they aren’t the only ones milling about. It’s not just a library but an entire museum inside; she barely has time to glance at various glass cases and pedestals while Marcel’s hunt comes to a close.

She doesn’t mean to upset them both in the way she hurtles herself at Adrian, knocking him off balance for a brief moment before his arms come around her. Nadya’s grown used to not caring about the lack of body heat — the solid presence of Adrian is enough to calm her racing heart.

Marcel, however, notices.

“Mademoiselle Nadya… comment ça va?”

Even as her lingering fear subsides the look Nadya flashes up to Adrian tells him all he needs to know.

“I think she just got overwhelmed,” he tells Marcel, whose distress grows. He grabs Nadya’s hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles.

“I hate to know someone was unhappy at one of my parties…” He laments. It’s enough for the part of her so used to pleasing others to force on a smile and extricate herself from her friend to offer the little lord a tight hug.

“I’m having a wonderful time,” she says truthfully, “but Adrian’s right. Not knowing anyone just sort of got to me.”

“How can I ever make it up to you?”

“There’s nothing to make up!”

She holds him at arms’ length and together they smile. Like a miracle she watches his cheeriness return.

“Promettez-vous?”

Hopefully she’s understanding him from context. “I promise.”

She hates lying, even if it was necessary. When Marcel scampers off at the voice of someone he recognizes her smile falls away. Turns to Adrian with tears welling up in her eyes again.

He reaches and pulls Nadya into a tight hug. Kisses the top of her head and rubs his solid hands over her shivering shoulders. “What happened?”

The cliffnotes version makes her sound a little batty. When she struggles to continue, shuffling from foot to foot, Adrian silently coaxes them to continue his stroll through the library’s many objects on display. He’s gotten to know her habits really well, hasn’t he.

“So one minute she’s comforting me — and I guess vice versa — and then the next…” Nadya finishes by showing him the soft bruises on her neck; each in the perfect indent of Isseya’s fingertips. She’s just lucky the other woman hadn’t drawn blood, maybe.

Adrian’s scowl slackens; he pulls them into an alcove away from the immediate sight of others. Before Nadya can even ask what he’s doing Adrian’s fangs flash through his teeth and he pricks the pad of his right thumb.

“Who—wha—oi!” His arm around her keeps Nadya from moving away; he reaches out and smears the welling droplets of blood on her neck like that’s just something that totally happens every day for them. “Gross. Adrian — this is definitely not in my contract.”

Yes it makes him grin, and when he lets her go Nadya catches her reflection in a nearby silver shield. The dark smear of blood remains but the purpling bruises fade right before her eyes. “Oh.”

“Not only is it the least I can offer,” and the handkerchief he offers from his tailcoat breast pocket isn’t something she turns down, “but if Kamilah were to see that —”

She should have expected this. “Better to keep the peace.”

Adrian doesn’t say yes or no to it, but essentially — yes.

“I just don’t get why she changed so suddenly.” She also doesn’t get why Adrian apparently slept with her and Valdas, but that part she leaves out.

They resume walking together while Adrian thinks of a suitable answer.

“She told you about the Trinity, right?”

“That there’s supposed to be three but now it’s just her and the other guy?”

“Well, yes — that. But also why they are named — why they’re important enough to have a title like that.”

Together they leave the library stacks behind and venture through a smaller door into what appears to be a portrait hall. None of the paintings contain solo figures — but they all contain the same sort of classical beauty one would expect to find in world-renowned museums. She tries to place some of the faces — either to the guests she’s seen or what she remembers from her History gen-ed — but doesn’t linger on it.

“The Trinity are an incredibly old trio of vampires. Some would say the oldest around… but that’s not entirely the case.” Nadya wants to ask why he felt the need to play his own Devil’s advocate; instead chooses to let him continue as her eyes sweep over every frozen expression staring down at them.

“No one really knows when they were Turned. Kamilah told me once that they had centuries under their belts while she was still mortal.”

“Scary old vampires, got it. What’s the point?”

“Their age is the point, Nadya. Age is extremely important in what little universal culture we all share. It’s something deeper than just giving your elders respect. It proves an incredible strength, knowledge, in some cases a vast accumulation of wealth… and the cunning to have survived this long without getting killed. And trust me — there were plenty of chances for that to happen.

“The Trinity have always been. Like… how humans look at the pyramids or the Colosseum. And sure they’ve been under the radar for a while but even I remember a time when the very mention of them as a unit meant there was something awful coming on the horizon.”

Nadya stops them in front of a portrait of three. These faces she recognizes — two of them, anyway. The clothing is stiff; the subjects stiffer.

Isseya’s hair is longer but the way tendrils of black hang in her face makes Nadya remember the events of the garden with a shiver. She sits with grace, one hand resting on the lap of her ivory dress and the other lazily reaching upwards to clasp that of Valdas’ where he stands behind her. What the toga was hiding the pressed Victorian suit he’s immortalized in reveals. Somehow the artist managed to capture the almost predatory potential of power hidden in his cut figure.

The face she doesn’t know has taken a knee on the opposite side of Isseya’s chair. His fingers rest over hers just barely entwined. His face is young, strong. Blond hair pulled back in a tie that hangs over his shoulder is an almost feminine way.

Underneath the polished golden frame sits a plaque: ‘The Montes Estate,’ it reads, and below it the date 1876.

“Valdas, Isseya, and…”

“Cynbel.” Nadya finishes for him; draws a look of surprise from Adrian.

“Is that his name? I never knew.”

“Isseya told me. She really misses him.” Even if she’s missing a few screws.

“They both do. And I guess I get it. To be with the same person — the same people — for thousands of years. Only to lose one…”

As his voice trails off Nadya looks up. He, too, looks like the painting in his own way. He’ll look like this forever. Hopefully not as sad; not as weighed down by the way he tries to carry the world on his shoulders… but the same Adrian that stands at her side will probably stand over her grave.

Yikes. Morbid, much?

“I’m sorry.” He takes her hand and squeezes. “Because there’s nothing I can do.”

Nadya’s heart sinks. “About how she attacked me, you mean.”

“Yes. The Ball is a time of peace and, generally, everyone upholds to the rules. Except —”

“The rules don’t apply to the Trinity.” She guesses, but doesn’t get a gold star for being right. She’s not mad at him — not even disappointed. To be honest she hadn’t needed him to do something about it so much as just… be there.

And that is something Nadya knows he will always do. He’ll always be there.

They continue down the line of paintings. Nadya helps Adrian keep his mind off of what he considers his failure by asking him about the people, places, the moment in time that helps bring life to the canvas.

“Marcel’s in this one!” She gestures to one behind them where Marcel — younger of course but he doesn’t look it — in decorative and splendid golden armor. “He didn’t actually go to battle, right?”

“No, it was made for the portrait.” There’s a distant, misty look in Adrian’s eyes as he fixates on the taller figure behind their friend.

Nadya peers to read the plaque. “‘Monsieur Marcellus Claude Philippe Lafayette’ — what a mouthful — ‘and General Banner Westbrook VI.’ Banner… I’ve heard that name before.”

“The library was named in his honor. Marcel took his death hard. They… never really saw eye-to-eye, but it’s that same concept of spending lifetimes with the same person.”

But when she looks up to comfort him Nadya’s surprised to find him staring at the end of the room; at something mounted on the wall but hidden by shadow.

Adrian’s hand closes tighter on hers — takes Nadya a moment to realize he might not be aware of it. Tighter, tighter, until it’s pretty much impossible for her not to wince.

“Adrian. A—Adrian, you’re hurting me. Hey!”

A snap in his face pulls him out of whatever memory he’s trapped in. Makes him pliant as she pulls their hands apart. The redness fades quickly but there’s a lingering ache in her wrist that Nadya rubs slowly.

“I — I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. What about you?”

Before he can say anything Nadya steps around; makes her way to the last frame with her skirts in her hands. “Nadya — wait —” Adrian calls behind her. It doesn’t make her stop.

Only one painting hangs on the back wall. It’s also the only piece with one subject.

The man stands in grace, one foot forward; everything about his stance exuding not only confidence but command. Dark brown hair falls over his face and shoulders in perfect waves — the kind that would take hours to get these days. The artist captured details Nadya didn’t even consider possible; hairs at the crown of his forehead and pores in his perfect skin. Each individual chain link upon his conqueror’s armor.

She’s beholden with wonderment at the beauty of the man until the background comes to her attention. Feels her stomach churn when she sees the full moon behind his head actually appearing to pour moonlight down the canvas. Finds her trembling fingers covering a strangled sound she doesn’t immediately recognize as hers at the sight of faceless, naked corpses in a pile beneath the dais he prostrates upon.

Adrian’s hands come to weigh on her shoulders solemnly. Nadya tries to make the image go away; closes her eyes but it’s burned into the back of her eyelids like a brand. She wants to tear it to pieces, wants to shred the fibers strand by strand…

But somehow she just knows that even if the entire castle went up in flames this painting would remain untouched. Perfectly sanguine until the end of time.

“You know what’s really stupid?” asks Nadya wetly; takes Adrian’s handkerchief to dab at the tears at the corners of her eyes.

The painting’s presence draws Adrian to a whisper. “What’s that?”

She turns and tucks the cloth back into Adrian’s breast pocket. Brushes her hair out of her eyes with a sigh.

“I spent so much time on this stupid makeup and I keep crying.”

Adrian’s first reaction is poising himself to strike; ready to do what he can to make her feel better. It’s so wonderful and the image behind her is so awful that Nadya’s clashing emotions manage the only thing that makes sense: laughter.

Adrian first witnesses her, confused, before he offers his own little chuckle. It’s hollow and forced; when he thinks she isn’t looking she sees his gaze flicker to the monstrosity behind her and grow cold.

Wordlessly they leave the portrait room, then the library. Adrian offers a few polite waves to people unknown to Nadya; mentions something about getting back to the ballroom in enough time to see some performance.

She’s not really paying attention — no matter how hard she tries his words just grow fuzzy like television static. But that’s preferable to the voices echoing between her ears she tries desperately to pretend don’t exist.

“Rise, my Beloved Soldier. Rise and know your King has witnessed your loyalty to Him.”

“Thank you, my King. I am humbled.”

“My Beloved Soldier… my Beloved Adrian.”

Nadya’s at least mostly-percent sure that Kamilah has better things to think about than her tiny mortal self. Tells herself that when they find her back in the ballroom and Kamilah seems to be actively choosing to look everywhere but at her.

Until she notices the smallest smudge in Nadya’s makeup. Then Kamilah is on her, chilly hands cupping her cheeks and turning her head this way and that to examine her state.

“What. happened.” It takes Nadya a second to realize the growl is directed not at her but at Adrian. He silently shakes his head and offers a gentle touch to pry his companion off of her.

Still Kamilah persists; locks her eyes onto Nadya’s and when she speaks it’s soft yet somehow powerful enough to chase the unwanted voices from her mind.

“Are you unharmed?”

Nadya gives a shuddering exhale and nods. “Yeah, Kamilah. I’m fine. I — listen, about earlier —”

“Later.” Kamilah cuts her off curtly. Like she’s been replaced by a doppelgänger. It leaves Nadya feeling like an accessory as the vampires turn to confide in one another.

“Where have you been? You were the one who arranged this during the Ball — you couldn’t even bother to show up on time?”

Before Adrian can defend himself a figure starts towards them from the middle of a crowd. He may be dressed like every picture Nadya’s ever seen of Henry VIII but there’s no mistaking that greasy grin.

Lester claps a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. Squeezes until his knuckles are white and Nadya flinches out of sympathy.

“There you are, Raines my boy,” he practically sneers, “and here we were worried you had better things to do.”

Kamilah says nothing. Adrian pries Lester’s hand from his person.

“I was occupied elsewhere.”

None of them miss how Lester’s eyes travel to Nadya; look her up and down and linger on her chest. She’s starting to consider that his typical form of greeting.

The other vampire snorts. “I bet you were. But you were the one who wanted to ruin a good party with Council business, so let’s get it over with shall we?”

Lester waves two fingers — draws their attention to the others approaching.

Vega’s black suit and red tie somehow don’t do anything for his charming smile but it’s the sight of the Baron’s curled upper lip that sends a whip of panic through Nadya. Make her take a step closer to Kamilah out of some subconscious need to hide behind her dress.

Beside them strides sex on legs; thick waves of hair cascading down her shoulders and the sheer material of her dress catching the lights just enough to see the lingerie beneath.

If anyone’s wing-tip eyeliner could actually stab a man it would be hers: Priya Lacroix.

“I had to turn down a Bulge Magazine sandwich for this shit,” the designer snaps, “so let’s get it the fuck over with before I lose my appetite.”

The Baron fixates on Nadya with a growl.

“Funny. You look just like a cunt I locked up.”

She is so over crying tonight.

“Yeah, well, go screw yourself.”

“Me~ow!” Priya pushes the Baron aside carelessly, ignores the glare he shoots her way, and pulls Nadya out from behind Kamilah to appraise her properly.

“I know I complained about having to make you something at the last minute Adrian… but I take it back. She looks positively yummy.”

Before Priya can even show her fangs she’s moved aside. Kamilah takes the initiative this time to protect Nadya on her own. If she plans on arguing the thought is dashed the moment Priya looks into the older vampire’s eyes. Doesn’t stop her from giving a petulant huff.

“Whatever…”

Vega, however, ignores Nadya’s presence entirely.

“The point stands. We ought to take advantage of this opportunity to discuss certain Council matters.”

“Must it be now?” Adrian asks tersely. The look on Vega’s face says it all. “Fine. But not here.”

Vega agrees. “I’ve already cleared out a parlor for us. Come along.”

Just as Adrian shakes off his fellow Council member’s grasp there’s a scream somewhere at the far end of the ballroom. Loud enough to cause a distraction and awful enough that the Council gathered actually looks towards the commotion.

The orchestra stops mid-chord as a chorus of cries and noises of distress begin to sound. The dance floor empties in the blink of an eye as the dancing vampires rush away from something.

“Stay here.” Kamilah hisses. She and Adrian push the others aside in an attempt to help. Against her wishes Nadya slips out of the uncomfortable presence of the other vampires and around the crowd to edge closer.

A young woman lies, collapsed and prone, in the middle of the floor. She’s seizing; convulses on her stomach. The foul smell of rot fills the fragrant air.

Then the face twitches around and Nadya recognizes her in horror.

“Megan!”

At the same time that Nadya pushes her way forward two familiar faces break away from the crowd opposite. Brandon fumbles and skids on his knees to his twin’s side while Greer kneels behind him, mortified.

Nadya’s skirts billow around her as she ignores Adrian’s distant cry of “Nadya, no!” and brushes Megan’s hair away from her clammy features.

Her skin is greying; veins growing black under Brandon’s touch.

“Meg—Meggie what’s wrong? What’s happening?” He hauls his sister’s head into his lap. That’s when Nadya catches sight of a violent bite mark on her shoulder. It oozes puss and black ichor. Megan tries and fails to respond when she starts foaming at the mouth.

Greer looks around with wild eyes.

“Help! Is someone gonna fuckin’ help her?! What the fuck!”

Nadya fumbles in a panic. Doesn’t know what to do, ends up looking to where Adrian and Kamilah are keeping a very purposeful distance.

“Help her!” She surprises herself by screaming. Adrian moves to step forward but Kamilah jerks him back almost violently.

“Don’t you dare.” The woman seethes — and Nadya grows feverish with panic when she watches Kamilah look upon Megan and Brandon with an expression foreign to her face.

“Kamilah —”

“Adrian Raines, I forbid it.”

“What?!” Brandon tries to hold Megan’s head still, tries to hold her jaw open as her fangs grow and warp before his eyes, “Why won’t you help?!”

Adrian stays put but reaches out; beckons Nadya away.

“Nadya, please. Please get over here.”

“No! Not until you help her!” I can’t believe I’m seeing this.

“She’s beyond help now!” shouts Kamilah. She draws the attention of the entire Ball — takes a deep breath and steels herself to push down an emotion Nadya didn’t think she was capable of.

Fear.

“Nadya — for Christ’s sakes.” He grabs her in a blur and Nadya finds herself wrapped in his arms.

All around vampires and mortals stand and resign themselves to witness as Megan’s seizures increase. As her skin grows dark and chalky and Greer yanks back Brandon when he fails to hold her down.

“What’s happening?” Nadya gasps. Adrian clutches her tighter and his words flood ice through her veins.

“She’s Turning Feral.”

[haruki-ya]

A Place to Crash (And Burn)

Summary:  Kai and Kaneda yell at each other a little bit and cry over cry baby Tetsuo. There’s lots more to it than that, but like kinda a lot....so read on if you truly dare.

A/N: REPOSTING this cause fuck it y not I ain’t ever gonna be fully happy with anything I write and I must come to terms with that by EMBRACING the ART of IMPERFECTION. She a thicc one tbh, close to 7,000 words wow (do u see why i said read on if u dare), but from a new character perspective that I was hesitant to try writing in and have @fridge-04 and @totallylegitakirafic to thank for so hey! thank you ! I think my attempt turned out all right! also totallylegit, can you spy with your little eye the Makiko reference? lol enjoy my LOVES <3

Kai couldn’t really say the loud knocking on his door at one in the morning woke him up because he had already been awake, lying in bed in the dark thinking about things of the past.

It had been a rough week, a sleepless week. One spent mourning a death that others celebrated. One spent missing a friend who others considered an enemy. Kai doesn't think there will be any closure for the surviving townspeople any time soon, even three years after the great fall of Neo Tokyo.

Most of their homes are still in shambles and they like to be angry anyway. Kai will admit it’s a more fulfilling emotion than hopelessness.

Kai waits a minute before rolling out of bed. There are only a handful of people who would come knocking on his door at this hour, but that means they’re familiar enough to know he likes to end his night early to start his day earlier. So whoever this is must not care or must know that he’s not sleeping. Or it’s an important matter, but that’s pretty unlikely.

As Kai stumbles through the dark of his loft towards the door, tripping over stray clothes and a stack of old newspapers, he hears voices from the outside. Kei’s annoyed tone rings out strong.

“...come on, I can’t entertain this behavior tonight. I’ve got to meet up with Chiyoko soon, you know that Kaneda.” There’s a mumbled response that Kai doesn’t catch, probably from Kaneda, as he opens the door to a sight that he isn’t really surprised to see.

Kei is dressed in cool, neutral tones and struggling to hold up the swaying form of Kaneda, who reeks of booze and cigarette smoke under her arm, obviously more fucked up than he’s been in a while. Her face is steely with annoyance under the brim of her cap, but when her eyes meet his there is a poorly concealed concern that makes Kai sigh suddenly and drop his shoulders. There’s also a badly hidden plea for help.

“Hello Kai. I really hate to ask this, but can you look after him for a while?”

“Uh…what?” Is the most eloquent response Kai can manage. Kaneda’s stilted voice cuts in before Kai can properly respond, but to be fair he doesn't even really know what to say.

“M’fine Kei, I don’t needa be babysat by a kid.” And that kinda stings, cause hello to you too asshole, and he’s younger than Kaneda sure, but he usually acts more mature than his childish ass and the digs at his age have been few and far in between since Yamagata passed...since the Capsules fell apart. Kai only manages to be annoyed by the comment.

Kei swats Kaneda over the head and pushes him against the wall next to Kai’s door, anger bursting across her face. Kaneda rubs at his head and tries to straighten to his full height and glare at Kei, but his gaze is unfocused and more squinted in what Kai would assume is pain than anger. Kai narrows his eyes at them and stifles a yawn suddenly behind his hand, unimpressed with their familiar antics. If they came all the way here to bother him, they're off to a good start.

“Cut it out Kaneda! I’ve had it with your bullshit attitude this week. I know things are tough for you right now, but that’s no excuse to treat your friends like garbage just to make yourself feel better!” Kei turns on Kai before Kaneda gears up to answer and ignores whatever he mumbles under his breath. It sounds suspiciously like “bitch” to Kai and now he kinda understands Kei's anger. He’s never stooped so low as to glare so fiercely at her while saying that. Kai is becoming more and more confused.

“I need to meet Chiyoko and the others, an emergency meetings been called. Some cultists have been gathering around the old stadium and rumor has it they’re planning something there during daylight. I can’t be dragging his drunk weight with me, he’ll only slow me down and annoy me to death before we’d arrive.” Kaneda snorts and pushes up from the wall and brushes past Kai into his dark apartment, cursing when he trips over something that clatters loudly. Kei’s eyes don’t leave his face, but the sharpness of her gaze wavers.

This is gonna be fun.

“Uh… so your first thought was to dump him on me? ” Kai's response is more of a statement than a question really. He's still kind of lost to this whole situation. It’s been a while since he’s seen Kaneda or Kei, though they’re practically a package deal now a days, and while he is glad to see them, always, part of him also feels bitter for being left out of their orbit for this long and suddenly be expected to so easily be pulled right back into it.

Ever since the distance started growing between Kai and Kaneda, and subsequently Kei too, he's dedicated more and more of his time to volunteering around the city doing odd jobs for people: moving rubble, cleaning up trash, helping deliver food. He does it in the hopes that maybe his dedicated efforts as one will equal out to the prior three. Kai hangs out at a friend of Joker’s shop in his spare time too and does his best to learn from the mechanic, but much of the slang Joker and his pals use still goes over his head. His habit of journaling and note taking has helped greatly though, a by product of an overactive brain and an inability to keep details oriented. Kaneda could probably benefit from that too.

Kaneda and Kei used to volunteer with him, used to stay over all the time and help at the local shelter down the block from Kai’s apartment, but when the power was restored to all the remaining blacked out city blocks and a semblance of order returned to the city, Kei’s Rebel group was quick to get in touch and reignite their cause. Kei didn’t really ask Kaneda to join her, or become what many call her right hand man, but he rose to the occasion better than anyone could have expected. Kai never got a formal invitation to join their ragtag team of rebels either, but he would have politely declined any how. He’s had enough action for a lifetime thank you very much, and he knows he wouldn't have filled any shoes as well as Kaneda could. No surprise there. He's not really bitter about it.

Kaneda is hard to pin down these days, becoming more of a myth than a real man, but where Kei is he’s not far off. She got him involved with many of the old resistance outposts that double as relief shelters, not quite done with their original purpose. As Kei said, there are still people praying to the dead and gone “Lord Akira”. They’re desperate enough to believe that someone with the power to take so much away, to cause so much devastation, can just as easily bring it all back.

If only it were that easy.

They’re relatively harmless, just a scattered group of vagabonds looking for some kind of purpose in this fucked up place, but sometimes they get a little too close to things they shouldn't. Sometimes they wind up in possession of objects that three years ago were dangerous in the wrong hands, fatal in the right ones. The remaining resistance members, as well as the spirited youth who join the cause daily, have taken it upon themselves to squash any and all attempts to get too close to something that can’t simply be reburied in rubble. The emergency meeting must be important.

Today is the third anniversary of Tetsuo’s death after all and cults tend to believe in the religious power of symbolic resurgence.  

Kei’s face softens as a light pours out suddenly from somewhere behind him, and her eyes follows suit as they both listen to Kaneda rifle around his fridge, probably looking for more booze. His attitude makes sense now that he's put two and two together, and Kai sighs again, sadly this time. He feels bad all of a sudden for being difficult.

“I’m sorry to come here like this Kai, with him, after we haven’t properly visited in a while...but I think it would be good for him to spend some time with an old friend. Maybe talk about whatever is making him want to drink himself unconscious with someone who can...better understand.”

Kai tries for a smile and it sort of works, despite feeling a little stiff on his face. He feel’s like there’s something else Kei isn’t telling him, another shoe that’s waiting to be dropped. There always is with these two.

Kei’s eyes narrow as the light from the fridge slowly shrinks and Kaneda moves onto his cupboards, opening and closing them a little too loudly for the time of night. Good think this floor of the building is mostly abandoned.  

“I don’t trust him alone right now.” She says lowly, and there it is. Kai can’t really blame her and also can't turn either of them away even if he wanted to so he sighs, again, and braces himself against the doorway.

“Yeah, I understand Kei, last year was pretty rough too. We got him through it though, and we, eh...I'll do it again. We always look out for each other after all.” Kei looks relieved by his words but far from consoled. Kaneda trips again in his apartment but looks to have stumbled into a lamp as a minute later light spills out behind him once again. It highlights the conflict on Kei’s face.

“Thank you. I’ll be back sometime in the early afternoon. I owe you one Kai.” He shakes his head at that and sends her a smile.

“No you don’t. He’d do the same for me if he had to. Be safe out there Kei and kick some Akiraist ass for us. ” Kei smiles softly and puts a hand on his shoulder for a moment before turning and walking briskly down the hallway, gone from his sight in just four paces. Leaving him alone with a moody drunk in his apartment.

Right, he should check in on that.

Kai closes the door and takes a moment to brace himself before he turns around into the living room, finds Kaneda sprawled on the futon, one leg hanging off the back, an arm over his eyes. His boots are kicked off haphazardly by the lamp and his jacket a makeshift pillow under his head. His other hand holds a bottle of liquor Kai didn’t even know he had. Leave it to Kaneda to sniff out any hidden spirits.

“Hey. Welcome. Make yourself at home, please I insist.” Kai intones dryly and settles into a sitting position on the floor, back against his makeshift coffee table. Kaneda grunts in reply.

“Long time no see Kaneda. I thought you said you weren’t gonna be a stranger?” Kaneda makes another noncommittal sound before throwing his arm from his face to take a swig of, what is that, aged whiskey? Why does Kai even have that?

“That’s gross, dude. How much have you had to drink today?” Kaneda’s reply is wet and rough.

“Not enough.” And Kai sighs. It had been pretty much the same last year.

The previous anniversary, Kai had met up with Kaneda by chance at some back alley bar downtown. They shared a drink or two (or three) before Kai had managed to coax Kaneda outside for a walk, after letting the numbing buzz of booze kick in of course. While Kai counted that as a win, Kaneda had been plastered at two in the afternoon and adamant against parting with the bottle of brandy he snatched from behind the counter when the barkeep turned his back. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t so successful in coaxing Kaneda to leave the bottle behind.

Any other day, he wouldn't have minded indulging in their old ways of competitive drinking, but something about the idea left a bad taste in his mouth that day. Whether from the memory of vomit or just the thought of who would always be seated by his side for drinking competitions, Kai can't say.

They exchanged laughs and jokes for a while, aimlessly walked through the poorly reconstructed streets before they wandered along the memorial wall of pictures pinned up in the wake of so many deaths.

An unprecedented amount.

Kai had felt nostalgic all day, a heavy feeling that sat in his gut and curbed his smiles a little, and wasn't really bothered to wind up there. His mother had always taught him to pay his respects to the dead anyhow so Kai once again talked Kaneda into a walk, this time along the memorial wall where there was nothing to look at but smiling faces frozen in happiness, endless notes displaying declarations of love and everlasting peace. Vases of flowers, new and old, lined the base of the wall along with a few stuffed animals and makeshift shrines. He had idly thought about how nice it would be to stumble upon the picture he left of him, Kaneda and Yamagata a year prior. That would be something nice to smile about.

The memorial stretched on for what felt like miles, but Kai walked the whole length of it regardless, nodding respectfully to those who passed him by, not noticing Kaneda’s growing silence or the way he had started to slow down in front of Kai. It was easy to get lost in the sea of faces. He had figured Kaneda was simply being contemplative, and well, Kai wasn't wholly wrong.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when he ran into Kaneda’s back and almost knocked over a vase full of wilted flowers trying to stay balanced.

“Let’s make a toast. To those who aren’t here today to drink with us.” 

Kaneda’s voice had been rough, almost choked, but Kai couldn’t see his face when he laughed a sour note, when he overturned his bottle of brandy carelessly onto the vase Kai almost broke with it’s sad, dying flowers. They still had meaning, a purpose though, something more grand than being doused in shitty booze. 

A significance in their decay.

“A toast to all those sorry bastards who died for nothin’.”

A meaning still in death.

Kai had stood frozen for a moment, not really comprehending what he was seeing, what he was hearing. Looked from the growing puddle of liquor at their feet, to the back of Kaneda’s loud jacket as he suddenly jolted into movement and tucked into an alley off to their left.  Kai didn’t move until the now empty bottle Kaneda had been holding smashed into the alley wall, breaking into shards of glimmering glass that crunched loudly under his feet. Kai startled and felt something unpleasant bubble hot under his skin, coil tight in his gut.

It was rage.

“What the fuck!” Kai had run after Kaneda when the cold disbelief drained from his body and the hot fury replaced it. He noticed, a little too late, the stagger to Kaneda’s step, the sluggishness in his pace. The tell tale signs of someone too far gone to care about their actions.

When Kai reached Kaneda, he had damn near tackled him in the back alley, furious and emboldened by his blatant disrespect, at being ignored, at the pain and anger that had been stewing within Kai for a little bit too long, released by the stupidity of Kaneda’s actions. He had thought that childishness was behind them.

“Kaneda! What the fuck was that? How could you be so disrespectful?” His voice had felt shrill in his ears, anger fueling the boldness in his words. Kaneda staggered under the weight of Kai’s body, but did not tip over. Only turned to glance at Kai over his shoulder before attempting to shrug off his hold and continue on but Kai held tight.

“Hey asshole! Stop ignoring me. What's your problem?” Kaneda’s shoulders had tensed at that and he spun suddenly on his feet, almost making himself and Kai topple over. His face was a mess of emotions and his breath reeked of brandy. Kaneda had always been taller than him, but now he absolutely towered over Kai, who recoiled slightly in disgust, slightly in discomfort.  

“My problem? All those dead people. My problem? Knowing who killed em. My problem? Playin a part in it!” Kai hadn’t seen Kaneda like that in a while, that angry and upset, that ready to pick a fight instead of end one. The snarl on his face was pure malice and his eyes burned with regret, glassy and shining with unshed tears that Kaneda wouldn't let himself cry. Kai was suddenly at a loss for words as Kaneda continued, looking right through him.

“Fuck! All those dead people. All the destruction. All by the hands of a fuckin power crazy kid, God...what’s my problem? Hah, what isn't my problem.” Kaneda’s voice dropped in volume, trailed off into a mumble as he turned and started walking away from Kai, who stood frozen in the middle of the alley. What had that been? Where the hell had that outburst come from?

“Kaneda…” Kai didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to start dissecting that obvious cry for help. Not even in their first few weeks after the explosion had Kaneda been so volatile and bothered. Not noticeably.

“Kai."

Kaneda’s voice rung out loudly in response a moment later, fell hollow on his ears. Kaneda shoved his hands in his pockets, and paused for one moment longer, before continuing on. “Sorry for scaring ya. Don’t follow me. And don’t worry either. M’gonna be just fine.”

And Kai really didn’t know what else to do but listen and believe as Kaneda disappeared out the mouth of the alley. He wasn’t sure he would want to follow him anyway with the unpredictability of liquor fueled sadness up his sleeve. Kai went back to the memorial after a long moment of consideration and did his best to clean up the puddle of alcohol Kaneda left behind.

It was the least he could do.

The next day, Kaneda hadn’t really acted any differently than normal. Aside from complaining about a headache and sporting some new bruises on his knuckles that Kai didn’t dare to question him about, he was relatively the same happy go lucky, good natured guy he had always been. Kai was relieved, but couldn’t help but think that wouldn’t be the last time he saw that side of Kaneda.

He’s sad to know that he was right.

“I heard from Tanaka that you’ve started your own kiddy care center at the Old Town base camp.” Kai does his best to try and lighten the mood, both for his sake and Kaneda’s. Get their minds off the pressing matter, the elephant in the room. Small talk, he’s relatively good at that.

“I gotta say, I’m not surprised. You always have been the big brother type.” Kaneda snorts a little at that, and glances at him out of the corner of his eye. There’s a faint smile on his dry lips.

“Yeah...m’not always so good at the ‘let’s-get-down-to-business’ and stay on the topic of business thing. Annoys the hell outta Kei as you know, but I help where I can and they’re good kids.” Kai smiles and opens his mouth to make a dig about Kaneda goin' soft on him when he’s cut off as Kaneda keeps talking.

“There’s a kid there that reminds me of Tets...when he was younger. Real shy, real sweet. Got lots of hidden anger. Her mom died in a building collapse a few weeks back and I was the one who found her afterwards...she’s got no one else. She’s all alone now.”

Kai’s words get stuck in his throat, and he swallows hard around the lump they’ve formed there. Kaneda takes another swig of alcohol, and Kai watches as a drop slips out his mouth and through the stubble on his chin, along the column of his throat. It glimmers in the light and catches on his adams apple that bobs with long gulps. Kai's throat burns just watching.

“How long are you going to blame yourself?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, but he doesn’t regret saying them. It’s a question that’s been on Kai’s mind for a while now, one that’s probably lingering somewhere in the back of Kaneda’s own. His mouth barrels on before his mind can stop him.

“It wasn’t your fault. We did all we could for him Kaneda. You know that right?” Kai isn’t really expecting an answer, or if anything a response in the quiet, subdued tone Kaneda uses. His arm is back to shielding his eyes.

“No, I don’t think we did.”

“Well, I think you’re stupid for believing that. And I think it's disrespectful to Tetsuo to say that too.” And maybe he regrets saying that a little bit, but Kai has recently become less and less afraid to say what’s on his mind. Less and less afraid to express himself and assert his opinion. Kaneda doesn’t look impressed though, by the piercing glare he suddenly sends Kai’s way, arm resting on his forehead now.

“And I think you don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin bout Kai. Now shaddup, I came here to crash not to do couch therapy.” Kai usually isn’t so quick to rile, so quick to rise to the bait, but he’s played this game of intimidation one too many times to simply back down. To simply let Kaneda have the last word here. The topic is too important to brush under the rug any longer.

“You didn’t come here to crash, you were brought here before you crashed. Which is what you’re doing! Crashing! And burning too by the looks of it! Kei didn’t trust you enough to leave you alone, and I don’t blame her. You’re acting like a dumb reckless baby.” And that really ruffles Kaneda’s feathers the wrong way. He shoots up like a jackknife, eyes furious and focused.

“What the fuck do you know about anything, huh? What do you know about Tetsuo? You never really liked him anyway, you and Yama always thought he was a lost cause or some shit. Who are you to suddenly tell me what I did and didn’t do for ‘im? Fuck that! Fuck you!” But Kai’s still not backing down. In fact, he stands up so he’s looking down on Kaneda, a position he’s rarely been in even after growing a few inches over the years.

It doesn’t feel as good as he thought it would.

“No Kaneda, fuck you! You can’t keep acting like what happened is your problem and yours alone. Like you’re the only one who has a right to be sad, to mourn. I miss him. I feel bad for him. I feel bad for what happened because of him. And I feel bad about what happened to him, but Kaneda, we did our damn best to help him! To help the whole town! What point is there in wallowing in the past when it’s behind us? You know? What point is there in blaming yourself for his death when it wasn’t your fault!”

Kai pauses for a minute and his chest is heaving. Kaneda is looking at him with wide eyes, clouded with an emotion Kai can’t really decipher. He pushes on and hopes Kaneda will hear him.

“Everything that happened three years ago to the day, Kaneda, it was out of your control. Not your fault. There were bigger forces at work the whole time, strings being pulled and moves being made that we couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Not your fault!  What is your fault is letting your sad, self deprecating emotions turn you bitter and unapproachable to your friends. It’s your fault for letting that anger and pain tear you apart and for letting it tear apart your friends too. I love you Kaneda, you’re my brother, you’re family and it sucks to see you so down right now but look around you man….you’re not the only one in pain. You’re living in a town trapped in anger and sadness, how much more do you want to keep contributing to that?”

After a long moment of silence between them, of intense unbroken eye contact, Kai turns away from Kaneda and heads towards the kitchen. He said his two cents, and if Kaneda is going to stonewall him and ignore what he has to say again, fine. So be it. He's dealt with that before. But Kai, unlike Kaneda, isn’t okay with holding onto those negative emotions until they tear him apart. He learned the consequences of that lesson a long time ago with his mother.

He fills up a cup with tap water and hears Kaneda clear his throat once, twice. “Kai…” Kaneda’s voice calls weakly to him from the living room, sounding worn and older than it is. “Did I ever tell you how I met Tetsuo?” He hasn’t .

“You haven’t.” He takes a big drink and waits a beat before making his way back towards the living room. Kaneda is still sitting up, but his head is cradled in his hands, shoulders slumped in defeat. Kai sits this time with his back against the futon, shoulder flush with Kaneda’s leg. Kai can feel a tremor run under Kaneda’s skin.

“We were kids when we met in some shitty school orphanage. He came a week or so after I did and I guess I didn’t really notice him at first, or care bout him. But one day...I saw some kids giving him a hard time. Pushing him around, laughing at him, calling him names. They stole his only toy and laughed when he cried. Real jerks those kids. The worst part though was how he didn’t even fight back. Just let em knock him around and push his buttons.” Kai listens in silence, gaze fixed on the glass in his hands.

Is it half empty or half full?

“I didn’t understand why he just let it happen until I saw his face, cause I sure as hell wouldn’t have let those jerks have their fun with me when I first showed up but...He looked so hopeless. He was such a sad kid, Kai, like...all his anger and all his pride, swap that with sadness and insecurity. I’m sure you saw it, he was shit at hiding his true feelings despite how tough he always acted...so childish.

“And I don’t know, I just...got so angry, seeing how little he cared to stand up for himself and how the kids just jumped on that weakness like a pack a wild dogs. I kicked their collective asses and got Tetsuo’s toy back for him. Took him under my wing after that and then we were Kaneda and Tetsuo, rulers of the playground…Kaneda and Tetsuo, founders of the Capsules. Kaneda and Tetsuo, brothers till the end...somethin in me just always wanted to protect him, cause he was so bad at doin it himself. I told him as much and he was glad for it at first, started to resent my help as we grew up though. I think he felt I was looking down on him or somethin', but I just...couldn’t help but want to protect that stupid, sad, reckless kid I always saw in him, crying all alone on the playground. Lookin like he needed help but not knowing how to ask.”

Kai still keeps quiet. Some part of him had always thought Kaneda and Tetsuo were actually brothers, or maybe cousins at the least despite not really looking alike. Their kinship and familiarity stemmed into something deeper than just friends, a fierce affection that Kaneda expressed in overzealous jokes and jibes, that Tetsuo showed in tolerant indignation and annoyance. Kai only understands it now, having a similar relationship himself with Kaneda. And he can kind of understand too where Tetsuo’s anger came from.

Kaneda is a great guy. Goofy, sure, carefree, considerably, but he is fiercely loyal and more clever than anyone gives him credit for. A natural born leader with his charisma, he’s always been destined for great things despite preferring to pop pills and joke around.

That’s where some of the anger comes into play.

Someone like Kaneda, someone who naturally exudes confidence and a strong presence, who makes standing up for himself look natural and effortless, he’s the kinda person Kai would be jealous of if he didn’t admire him so much, if he wasn’t lucky enough to call him family. Tetsuo always had a hard time being open, holding connections. Trusting that kindness wasn’t fueled by pity, and jokes weren’t sincere. Kai can imagine very well how hard it might have been feeling perpetually trapped in someone's else’s shadow, especially one as large as Kaneda's.

Kaneda sniffs suddenly and shakes his head within the cradle of his hands, rakes his fingers through his hair a few times before laughing wetly.

“Stupid Tetsuo, always causing me problems. Always leaving me to clean up after him even beyond the grave.” And Kai kinda cracks a smile at that one, glances up at Kaneda and blanches at what he sees. From his spot on the floor, he has a perfect view of Kaneda’s wrecked face.

There’s an impression of a smile on his lips, twisted into more of a grimace than anything. His eyes shine with tears that drip onto the floor like a waterfall, like rain in the desert after years of a brutal drought. He laughs again, or tries to, but it turns into a bitter sob that knocks him back into the futon with a sound of defeat.

Kai would normally jump up to offer comfort and words of reassurance at the sight of a friend in pain, but he’s sensed this coming for a long time now. Kei must have too. While surprising, it’s also completely expected and Kai knows that Kaneda is the type who needs to ride it out, needs to get to the bottom of his well of untapped emotions to move on from them. So he politely looks away as Kaneda proceeds to lose his usually cool composure and sits in silence as his heart aches for his friend.

For his friends.

“Fuck, I hate him Kai. I fuckin hate him. What a piece of work, a dumb fuckin asshole! I hope he’s rolling over in his grave right now, hope he hears me talking shit bout him from the great beyond. Because he's the worst ! A dumb, selfish, egotistical maniac! God, I’ll be living with his reckless messes for the rest of my life and he just got a free pass. Got a goddamn one way ticket far away from this shit circus of a town that he fucked halfway to hell. Left it all behind like it was the easiest thing, like it all meant nothing. What a jerk!” Kaneda is in near hysterics thanks to the combined liquor and outpouring of repressed emotions, caught between a mix of yelling, laughing, and crying. A truly impressive feat, if Kai says so himself.

“All those night we stayed up late talkin’ about how we were gonna change the world, how we were gonna, fuck, fix this broken town not-not break it beyond repair! In the end there wasn’t even a we anymore, not even an us. Just a -just him. Just Tetsuo. All that mattered to him in the end was his stupid, dumb self. Pathetic, he never even liked himself, that’s why I was there!”

Kai hands him his glass of water silently after Kaneda’s rant reaches an intermission and he downs it in three gulps. Takes a minute, thankfully, to dry his eyes and get control over his breathing. Kai just sits next to Kaneda and leans a little more heavily against his leg. Thinks about how weird it is to hear Kaneda sound so torn over someone leaving him behind for once. Kaneda’s scratchy voice speaks softly by his head.

“Fuck that... fuck him. Stupid cry baby bastard, can’t believe I had an ungrateful brat like that as my friend…but fuck, I still miss him sometimes Kai. Sometimes...sometimes I wan’t him back.” Kai sighs for what feels like the millionth time that night, but it’s equal parts sadness and equal parts relief. The air around them feels different suddenly, somber now instead of stifled.

Kai get’s where Kaneda is coming from, maybe not fully but well enough. He didn’t know a lot about Tetsuo before he became a wrecking ball to the town, didn't know much beyond what Kaneda would tell him or what Tetsuo himself would let slip when he was too drunk to know any better. He knows that Tetsuo was never all bad though, never quite the type Yamagata pegged him as either despite the shit he did, even to Yamagata himself.

Tetsuo too was a victim to something greater than himself, to a power larger than the confines of his earthly body. It’s taken a while to forgive his friends indiscretions and while Kai will never forget them, he thinks it’s past time to really start healing from them.

“So do I Kaneda.” Kai whispers the admission softly, almost hesitant to feel the things he does for a friend he too sometimes thinks he failed. “I know we never got along as well as the two of you, but I cared about him all the same and sometimes I wish things had gone differently. But what happened, happened, and I think he’s in a better place now, and us, we’re making the best out of what we’ve got...which, might I remind your stubborn ass, is each other.”

Kai picks himself up off the ground and plops down on the futon next to Kaneda, feeling a fatigue wash over him and settle bone deep. Kaneda radiates heat like a furnace and kinda smells bad, but his eyes are dry now, albeit puffy and red. His gaze is far away, stuck somewhere in the past, but he nods his head idly in response to Kai’s statement because they both know it's true. That sentiment has been the core of the Capsules since day one, ‘look out for our own, take care of our own: we’re all we’ve got’.

Always. No doubt about it.

“You look like you’ve got pink eye.” He says instead of just about anything else he probably should say, once again to lighten the mood, and Kaneda’s lips twitch before blooming into a wry smile.

“Well yea, I did just cry my heart out to you.” Kai can’t fight a smile either.

“Yup, just like a dumb reckless baby. No wonder the two of you got along so well, you weren’t so different after all. ” And Kaneda finally laughs something that doesn’t sound horribly bitter and sad.

They spend most of the night catching up and retelling stories about their childhood days, reveling in the golden light of the past. The usual hesitance to mention Tetsuo’s name is gone from their mouths, and they freely talk about all the stupid shit they did together, all the drunken times they had, all the recklessly childish things they honestly don’t know how they got away with. Kaneda maybe cries again once or twice, but Kai joins in and it’s a free for all of feelings, a cathartic visit for the both of them.

They collapse the futon and fall asleep right around the time the sun rises, and Kai doesn’t wake up on his own for once. The weight of another body settling on the futon jolts him into consciousness and he’s only slightly confused at the shy smile Kei sends him as she slips off her shoes and sets her coat on the floor. It’s a sight that’s very familiar to him despite having spent months alone in this apartment and he automatically scoots over some to make more room for Kei.

“You didn’t answer when I knocked, so I decided to let myself in.” Kai nods at her answer because it sounds plausible enough and he’s had worse people break into his apartment before. She stretches before lying down next to Kai, making him feel like a sardine squeezed in tightly between Kaneda’s back and Kei’s side. Kaneda snores suddenly and mumbles something in his sleep that sounds like “udon” to him and Kei rolls her eyes as Kai stifles a yawn, still closer to being asleep than awake.

“How did the meetin' go?” Kei hums to acknowledge she heard him before closing her eyes and sighing out her nose. She doesn’t respond for a long moment, but he doesn’t press it.

“Let’s talk about it later. Maybe over dinner?” Kai nods slowly. It must be the afternoon already if the light peeking in from the still closed curtains is any indication. Kei did say she would return around mid day. With the way she’s melting into the futon aside him, and Kaneda is snoring lightly on the other side of him, Kai imagines they won’t be moving until dinner time anyway.

“Sounds good....I can make udon ramen.” Kei hums again, and out of his peripheral he can see a slow smile spread on her face.

“Kaneda’s been talking about your ramen for months...I really am sorry we haven't been around lately.” If Kai weren’t so tired he would shrug, but his eyelids are getting heavier by the minute. If Kaneda is like a furnace, Kei is like a burning star, hotter than the sun. He’s starting to feel okay with being a sardine between these two.

“No worries. It was nice to catch up. Think we both needed to get some things off our chests anyway.”  

Kai can hear the smile in Kei’s voice as she says softly, “Thank you, Kai. You’re really an amazing friend.”

Kai smiles back even though she’s probably not looking and responds, “Yeah, I am pretty great aren’t I?”

Kei’s pealing laughter (and Kaneda’s quiet snore of agreement) is the last thing he remembers hearing before falling back asleep.

[bringbackwendellvaughn]

How would you relaunch Quasar

Okay, i’ll finally answer one of these ones.

I think Quasar is a character who doesn’t really need his own series. 

But if he does I think there’s a few things that need to be taken into consideration.

Firstly, more than anyone else, we have Quasar and he is very much a character defined by one creator - Mark Gruenwald. To do a Quasar series and not in some way have it reverential to Gruenwald would be absolutely the wrong idea. There should always be at least some element of a love letter to Gruenwald in the book, be it continuity, his characters, running with his ideas or so on. It shouldn’t be weighed down with that stuff, that shouldn’t be it’s be all, but just the book should maintain elements people recognise as being in-line with Gruenwald. I think i’d want a Quasar series that i could see Mark Gruenwald picking up and being happy with - and that obviously doesn’t mean just copying him or rehashing - just something where he could go “it’s nice to see these creators appreciated my run so much and are continuing Wendell’s adventures”.

Secondly, this is all my ideas and yes i’d kinda love to write a Quasar book (or rather co-write/co-plot one with someone talented)… but a lot of the points i think should be applied to a Quasar book in general.

The start off with, I think Quasar needs to be re-introduced… we’ve already got him de-powered and stuff… i’d be slightly tempted to do an upbeat take on Dark Knight Returns (Quantum Knight Returns?) but that seems like it will have been done, not quite work or just be uninspired. The first issue is probably the hardest, because it’d have to get Quasar back as Quasar but in a manner that can grab new readers and tell a story. I think maybe something with the Quantum Bands being at Project PEGASUS and Wendell being the only one who can use them or a bad guy stealing them and Quasar taking them back before they burn themselves out. But both these seem too reminscent of past stories. I don’t want to just have Epoch show up and say “be Quasar again” coz that is lazy

But once we get passed that, I do think there is a very good unique model for a Quasar series. Quasar was a book always concerned with continuity or using continuity to tell new stories. Gruenwald’s series obviously dipped into this with stuff like the Ultimate Nullifier, the M-Bodies or just resolving loose ends like the Questprobe series or Iron Man’s Secret War armor. In my mind, a Quasar book could be the book that tells the story or stories about the MU. Think “Untold Tales of the Marvel Universe” meets … well, Quasar. It can be a bit like a illustrated Handbook but with a relevant narrative and stories spining out of it. For example, Quasar can learn about how the Celestials came to be or how the Uranians depicted in Quasar #2 and Untold Tales of the Marvel Unvierse work in conjunction with the Uranians depicts in Agents of Atlas or even resolve old loose ends from other books. Quasar is the perfect P.O.V. character for these sorts of things as he has a personality that would process these things the same way the reader would. It of course though is a Quasar series and these sort of continuity porn stories are small ideas or themes that could give the series a more unique approach - one of exploration and slightly different Cosmic adventure. There’s still plenty of other things a Quasar series needs…

There’d be much of the same sort of expected stuff - Quasar going into Space, Quasar fighting one of his rogues gallery, Quasar having down-time moments with his supporting cast, Quasar getting involved in crossover events, huge sprawling arcs and sub-plots, some stand-alone issues.

Plenty of stuff to focus on in Quasar.

For example; baddies.

I’ve got a “rule” that i think is better than anyone gives it credit. I think any property that doesn’t have 12 unique villains will eventually fail as a book. The idea is that they have 12 villains who are unique to them (or would/could be considered “a Quasar villain” above “a Fantastic Four villain”) so that feasibly there is straight off the bat at least a year’s worth of stories to tell. I don’t mean that it should just be a cycle of those 12, ever, but that if - say - the book ran into trouble, there’s at least a year’s worth of potential safe stories to fall back on.

Quasar is rare in that, I do think he easily has 12 unique villains. I was gonna name them all but it became long. Suffice to say, Maelstrom, Ereshkigal, Deathurge, Quagmire, Presence, Marvel Boy/Crusader/Blue Marvel/Thelius, Soul-Eater, Chief Examiner and Overmind are the “big ones”. There is honestly loads more and I think Quasar, combined with the above purvey of incorporating continuity, has potential for a really robust list of cool underrated Cosmic villains and obscure villains who can be redefined.

I think there’d be no contest to the decision to go with Maelstrom as the arch-enemy (with Oblivion as the obvious big big bad). Though i think Ereshkigal and Presence are both worthy arch-enemies if Maelstrom was unfortunately unavailable (though if I wasn’t allowed Maelstrom, I’d begin doubting whether or not a Quasar book would be as open to me as it should be - if you’re told you can’t use the book’s obvious arch-nemesis, what chance do you have of ever getting to do something with, say, The Stranger?).

Supporting cast is a lot more clear to me but i do have a few things i would …. i don’t want to say “improve” upon…..

I think Lisa and Gayle Vaughn should be mainstays (Quasar’s mother and sister). I think nothing exemplifies Quasar’s character and personality more than his still being close to his family. They should definitely form a backbone to who Wendell Vaughn is i feel.

Epoch is another obvious one, although maybe keep at a distance. Quasar shouldn’t be too dependent on Epoch for help but Epoch should definitely be available to provide both narrative and exposition when necessary. Epoch also allows to explore Quasar’s “daddy issues” through the means of him being a father figure to Epoch.

Kayla, unfortunately, i would keep away. Leave her in the New Universe. It’s a shame as she certainly belongs in a Quasar book but Mark Gruenwald wrote her out and they’ve been apart so long, it feels more like rehashing for the sake of it.. we were left to think she and Metallurgist would get together. Having them never meet again adds some more angst to Quasar, so i think it kind of makes more sense narratively to not get them back together. I’m sure Gail Simone would scream that i’m using a female character to benefit a male character’s story but she’s a hypocritical idiot.

Ken Tanaka would definitely keep around.. i actually do have an idea, that’s in my fanon too, that would explain what became of Vaughn Security Systems…

Makkari, Kismet and Moondragon i’d definitely have show up every now and then. Less so than they did in the original series, but, particularly Makkari and Kismet would make as many guest appearances as they could. I do however feel having any of them as a main fixture of the book is a bad move. It’s a Quasar book not Quasar Corps or Quasar and His Amazing Friends. If there’s a story to tell with Makkari or Kismet, it’d get told, but I probably wouldn’t have them go on almost every adventure with Quasar. Moondragon is slightly different, i anticipate - much like Gruenwald - having the character unavailable. If i was offered Quasar with Moondragon as part of the package, i’d be ecstatic, i would absolutely love to write Moondragon but, much like Kismet and Makkari, i wouldn’t want to detract from Quasar. If Phyla is alive or dead, i wouldn’t mind doing some stuff with her if i was able to.

Blue Shield and Jack of Hearts i’d probably drop in on once or twice. Wundarr too. I’d also like to have Tom Foster show up at least once. Project PEGASUS i’d like to have show up regularly, similar to how it did in DnA’s Nova, and I have more than a few ideas for which character i’d want working there. Speaking of Nova, same as Moondragon really, i’d be at the whims of what I’m allowed to do but I would love if i could include Nova. 

Love interests is probably the hardest and most conflicting for me. You all know I 200% would love to pursue Wendell and Moondragon but I 300% know that that ship has sailed. I would never want to pursue that in an actual comic because I know it is grossly unprofessional and would enrage a huge fanbase - a huge fanbase that i would like to have on board, especially if i was allowed to write Moondragon, so i absolutely wouldn’t break-up Moondragon and Phyla for my Moondragon and Wendell (of whom, i still think i am the only shipper). But at the same time, i definitely would not make no reference to that, maybe have a bit of flirting or a stray thought here or there, but never commit to that.

Kayla is already off the board as i said and Kismet is part of another problem i have… it’s linked to the same thing as Makkari and co. - i think a solo star having a love interest who is featured prominently and is equally as powerful or more powerful than them creates story-telling problems. And no this isn’t me being sexist or misogynist screaming “boys should be stronger”, if I was writing Carol Danvers i’d never have her in a relationship with Silver Surfer.

With that said, i did really like how Brian Reed told Ms. Marvel and Spider-Man’s brief relationship in Ms. Marvel, so that has opened my eyes more to the possibility that Quasar can have a “super-girlfriend” and not have it intrude too much on his own book. Kismet is the obvious contender but I also quite like the idea of Quasar and Monica Rambeau or Quasar or maybe a female Nova Corps member. Jennifer Kale might be worth pursuing something with but i don’t see it as a long-term thing.

But my heart lies in making it a “civilian” love interest. I absolutely don’t want it to be a new character, it seems such a trope and part of my feelings (less so with absolute civilians but with say SHIELD agents or Daily Bugle reporters) is that the MU is too populated. My first thoughts for a civilian love interest were: Evelyn Necker (depending on her current status) from Project PEGASUS or Talia Kruma from Starcore as they both can be implemented into the stories well as well as providing a chance for Quasar to do stuff during down-time. But my problem with them is one doesn’t quite match with Quasar and the other is a real non-entity… so then I thought of two very good ideas and one mediocre one. The SHIELD agent girlfriend is another annoying trope imo but i thought Gail Runciter would be a good choice. There’s some backstory there with them having both gone to SHIELD academy together, so bringing them back together isn’t absurd and having them have some affection isn’t entirely out of the blue. The other would be Cap’s ex Bernie Rosenthal. I think they would absolutely get along and have a nice chemistry and shared belief systems and Bernie’s not been around much at all since Gruenwald. Both of these ones being characters I link to Gruenwald also feels right. Joy Mercado would be the 3rd choice, a non-starter of a Spider-Mna love interest, she is about as random as they come but she hasn’t been in a comic since 1994 and i thought she was quite cool (plus Daily Bugle reporter is the other trope). While i’m at it, for all 2 people interested, i would definitely fill in the backstory with Jeannine o’Connell…

Artwise, i think art is very important for a Quasar book. This is probably not the priority most people would lead with but I’d want an artist who could draw a monthly book. When it comes to style, i think something a bit classic-y or old school would work or maybe something that combines those elements with a slight anime/manga feel (i.e. something like Greg Capullo…). So my idea for artists range greatly. One of my recent thoughts was Gang Hyuk Lim from Darkhawk as he definitely captures something I can see working but i don’t really know his capabilities. Juan Jose Ryp is another top candidate. There’s loads of great artists like Aaron Lopresti, Sean Chen, Andrea Divito, Tom Grummett… I’d happily have on board but not entirely convinced if they would strike quite what i envision or if they can all meet that monthly schedule. Maybe some veterans still in the industry like Ron Lim or Keith Pollard or, this would be great, Walt Simonson. But to be honest, i think the best choice would be to get a 90s artist who mostly works commissions now… most of them have improved fantastically. MC Wyman, Michael Bair or even past Quasar artist Andy Smith I would be happy to have - they’ve all become fantastic artists since their 90s heyday and would strike the right look. My random outsider choice would be CP Smith from New Invaders, in fact, he’d probably be quite up there on my list, maybe even first choice (if he could meet a monthly deadline). If Greg Capullo could do covers, that’d be amazing…

i would love to write a Quasar series but as i said i don’t think Quasar needs a series. i think it’s a prospect that should only be pursued if there is direction and a real drive and commitment to Quasar and his stories. if there’s absolute confidence in what is going on in it. I don’t think Quasar can ever be anything above a niche book but it could play the strengths of being a niche book. on the flipside, i would hate if they did a Quasar series that completely took the character in a bad direction or really revamped him badly (like someone like Warren Ellis would do) with having him be a chain-smoking cynic or having him become a “Cosmic shaman”. I think my idea for a Quasar book would be cool and some people would love it but i don’t think the audience for it is necessarily still around and even if they were that it’d be sufficient enough to justify a series.

[holytheoristtastemaker]

[Holy War Disclaimer: I'm not "pro-JavaScript" or "anti-TypeScript". And the questions I pose in this post are not designed to trash one or herald the other. And these questions aren't rhetorical - meaning that I'm honestly searching for the answer myself.]

Another post here on Dev.to got me to thinking about this subject. I'll freely admit that I haven't really done any coding in TypeScript and I've done a ton of coding in JavaScript. I have some... "reservations" about TypeScript. But a lot of those reservations come down to my own internal definitions of a programming language versus a library or a framework. So maybe those "reservations" are just my own internal mental block??

What The Documentation Says

Wikipedia defines TypeScript as "an open-source programming language developed and maintained by Microsoft". Wikipedia's not perfect. But it's fairly good on these kindsa "basic facts".

typescriptlang.org also defines TypeScript as "an open-source language which builds on JavaScript".

Every year, Stack Overflow publishes a list of the Most Loved/Dreaded/Wanted Languages. Very near the top, we see TypeScript. It also shows JavaScript. But it doesn't show React or Angular as a language option. So apparently their survey endorses the idea that TypeScript is, in fact, a separate language, while frameworks like React or Angular are just rolled up under JavaScript.

And Microsoft's github repo also lists TypeScript as a language.

So, I guess that settles it??

But the github repo also defines it as "a superset of JavaScript that compiles to clean JavaScript output."

Hmm...

In some ways, React "feels" like it meets the same definition. After all, React has its own language constructs (i.e., JSX) that won't run in plain-ol' JavaScript. But when you run that magic npm start command, everything gets transpiled down to "clean JavaScript output".

[NOTE: I fully realize that JSX is not inherently tied to React. You can use JSX outside of React. For the purposes of this article, I'll be somewhat haphazardly transposing React & JSX. Technically speaking, it's more accurate to say that React is a framework while JSX is a bundle of additional language constructs that often run in tandem with React. I understand the distinction. But it would be needlessly verbose to try to suss out the differences every time I type "React".]

Interchangeability

If you're not using TypeScript, but you're using React, you've no doubt imported a bunch of packages from NPM. If you look "under the covers" at what's happening in those packages, you'll find that a good number of them are written in TypeScript.

As a React developer, does this really matter much to you? Probably not. There's really no conflict in running TS-based packages inside your non-TS-based React app - because, at the end of the day, it all just gets transpiled down to JavaScript anyway.

Maybe this is a trivial distinction, but I've never peered under the covers of an NPM package to find that it was written... in C#, or Java, or Python, or any other language. That's because those languages don't natively transpile down to JavaScript. But TypeScript does. (There are some additional packages that transpile these languages down to JavaScript - but they're relatively rare.)

To be clear, I'm not trying to claim that, if your "language" transpiles down to another language, that you're not actually writing in a full-fledged language. PHP transpiles down to C. And I haven't heard anyone argue that PHP isn't a "language". There are numerous other examples of this where one language is built right on top of another.

And if we want to get really anal retentive about it, none of us are writing in an "original" language unless we're crafting our code in machine-level byte-code. But it still feels kinda strange to me that we call TypeScript a "language".

Why Does This Matter??

First of all, I'll freely admit that it probably doesn't matter. At least not to most people. And it certainly doesn't have much impact on your project if you've already chosen TypeScript or plain-ol' JavaScript as your platform.

When I'm writing React code, you can call React a "language" or a "framework" or a "banana cream pie". Whatever. Makes no difference to me. The only time that it even (sorta) plays in my mind is when I hear the TypeScript Acolytes talking about the Magical Awesomeness of type-certainty.

Don't get me wrong. Type-certainty can be powerful. I even wrote an entire article about how I "ensure" type-certainty in plain-ol' JavaScript without TypeScript. (If you care, you can read it here: https://dev.to/bytebodger/javascript-type-checking-without-typescript-21aa) I've also spent years working in Java (not really a fan) and C# (I really enjoy C#).

So imagine this scenario: Let's say that you're cranking out C# code in your awesome C# job and some guy comes over to you and says, "Yeah, you know... All this static typing is really tough for me to deal with. So you know what I did? I created a new library that we can import right into the middle of our C# projects that will somehow make everything dynamically typed."

First, anyone who says that on a C# dev team might be in immediate danger of being terminated. Second, even if this hack isn't run out of the company, I can imagine every C# developer saying, "Why would you possibly want to do that???"

You see, when you're working in a statically-typed language like Java or C#, the static typing isn't a bug. It's not something to be washed out of your code. It's a feature. There are some times when static typing can feel like a hurdle to be cleared. Occasionally, it's oh-so-tempting to think, "Mann... I really wish that I could just change the type of this variable right here on the fly." But any C# developer worth his salt will tell you that such minor inconveniences aren't a flaw in the language - they're a strength.

To this imaginary revolutionary, I'd most likely say, "It sounds like you need to get a different job where you'll be allowed to write code in a dynamically-typed language." I wouldn't say it in a mean or snarky way. I'd just say it as a matter-of-fact observation. Because if you're working in a language that's built on Core Principle X, and you don't like Core Principle X, the answer is not to rework the entire language so that it no longer uses Core Principle X.

The Distinction Between Languages and Frameworks/Packages/Libraries

Here's why I sometimes obsess about the question of: Is TypeScript really a language? Because, if TypeScript is truly its own language, and one of the Core Principles of that language is that it uses strong typing (not static typing), then I'd say, "OK, sure. Whatever. If you desire strong typing, and you've chosen a language built upon a Core Principle of strong typing, then... sure. I get that."

But if TypeScript is really just... JavaScript. And if you decided that JavaScript's dynamic typing is some kind of "bug" that needs to be washed out of the language. Well then, I'd look at you just like the supposed C# developer who's spending his nights and weekends trying to develop a library that would make C# dynamically typed.

As stated at the top of this article, this isn't some kind of Holy War. (At least not, in my mind.) I'm not mad at TypeScript developers. In fact, I'd sincerely like to get some experience on a TypeScript project. But sometimes I get just a little bit annoyed by the TS crowd that talks about their strong typing as though it magically washes away all their bugs. They talk about dynamic typing like it's a curse. But I firmly believe that JavaScript's dynamic typing isn't a bug. It's a feature.

But I suppose the dichotomy makes sense if we all accept that TypeScript is a full-fledged language in its own right. Because every language will have its own set of Core Principles. And if strong typing is a Core Principle of the TypeScript language, then... so be it.

I don't know. It's probably a pointless distinction...

[myhahnestopinion]

The Night A CANDID SEXUALLY-LIBERATING CLOCK Came Home: AMITYVILLE 1992 - IT’S ABOUT TIME (1992)

Happy Halloween, everybody! As we reach the end of another October, we also reach the end of this second installment of The Night X Came Home. This year, to celebrate the big day, I want to introduce a film that is truly special. I think I’ve done it, guys. I hereby present my nominee for the dumbest movie title in all of film history. Yes, you can forget your Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo’s and your 2 Fast 2 Furious’s. There is no movie title more groan-worthy, more baffling, more laughably bizarre, more beautifully blunt than this one. I present to you: Amityville 1992: It’s About Time.

Amityville 1992: It’s About Time is, indeed, about time. It revolves around a family being haunted by an ancient clock. There’s something charming about how upfront this movie is about this premise. Not since 1977’s Death Bed: The Bed That Eats, another delightfully inept horror gem, has a movie title felt so compelled to just lay out its central conflict for its audience. Just imagine, if you will, the producers’ meeting surrounding the naming of this film:

“Gentlemen, it’s about time for another entry in the profitable Amityville Horror series,” says the chairman. “Now, how do we convey to our audience that this film has something new to offer compared to the prior entries?”

As the rest of the board members mumble among themselves, one fresh-faced executive sits in the back of the room, his mind overcome by a single thought. He stands up suddenly, startling the rest of the board. “Say that again,” he says to the chairman.

“Say what again?” the chairman responds, confused.

“What you just said.”

“How do we convey…”

“No! The other part!”

“Gentlemen, it’s about time for…”

“Guys, I’ve got the perfect idea,” the young executive says, as a smug smile creeps onto his face.

And so, Amityville 1992: It’s About Time was born. And yes, this was definitely a case in which the title was designed first, and the plot crafted to fit into its absolute marketing genius. Now, of course, the true genius of this title stems from the fact that it can be read in multiple ways. One can of course read it as a blunt declaration of the film’s subject matter, but it also works as an exclamation that “It’s about time!”, as in something is finally happening that should have happened a long time ago. See, it works because it’s about time… for another Amityville movie…?

Wait, no, that doesn’t work on two levels. It had only been 2 years since the franchise’s last installment, and no one was really clamoring for a fifth entry. And by throwing the year of release in the title, for unknown reasons, it actually makes it look like you’ve already made one thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-one of these Amityville movies, in which case it would most definitely not be about time for another one! To top it all off, the film doesn’t even take place in Amityville.  Not a single element of this perplexing title works, outside of the embarrassingly proud declaration that this movie is, in the most general sense, about time. But even then, just barely.

The film opens on a house. No, not the iconic 112 Ocean Avenue Amityville house, with the gambrel roof and the quarter-round windows that almost look like eyes. No, we are left with that house’s stouter, blockier cousin, with two small square windows and an arched doorway. In a bewilderingly miraculous bit of incompetent production design, the attempts to make the construction of this house resemble a face, mirroring the original’s structure, is both extremely obvious and entirely unconvincing. But, hey, the “face” of this house is still more expressive than half of the actors in this crap.

Jacob Sterling, an architect, returns to this half-faced house, a package in his arms. He is greeted by his teenage children, Lisa, an agreeable teen dressed in overalls, and Rusty, whose attempt at edgy attire is as flagrant as the title of this movie. Also there is Jacob’s ex-girlfriend, Andrea, an art student who was looking after these children while he was away on a business trip. Jacob enters the house and opens the package to reveal an antique clock. “It’s what our house has been missing,” he says as he places it on the fireplace mantel. Yes, Jacob, some would say… IT’S ABOUT TIME this house had a clock on its mantelpiece! Ha ha ha ha!

Guys, these aren’t going to stop, so if you can’t handle it, better stop reading now.

Anyway, Jacob talks with Andrea about their past romantic relationship. Despite having broken up and Andrea dating another man, Jacob invites her to spend the night. “I don’t know,” she replies. “I hate having regret for breakfast.” Well, hey now, regret ain’t so bad! Just add a little sugar, pair that with your toast and orange juice, you got yourself a well-rounded breakfast! Pack up the leftovers, send it with your kids to school!

“What did your mom have for you today?”

“Oh, just regret.”

“Yeah, same. Wanna trade anyway?”

Well, turns out Andrea doesn’t mind the taste of regret after all, because she ends up sleeping with Jacob. During the night, the clock drills into the mantelpiece, firmly cementing itself. This is both an relevant and irrelevant plot point.

The next morning, Jacob goes for a run around the suburban neighborhood. While passing an undeveloped section, his watch breaks, because remember people, it’s about time. Suddenly, he spots an old woman and a dog. The dog lunges at him, tearing into his flesh with his sharp teeth and ripping his legs to shred. Cut to the hospital. The doctor comes up to Andrea and says, “He’ll be okay. He’s just suffered some discomfort.” Some discomfort? That dog completely eviscerated him! Well, I suppose that given the state of health care in this country, probably is best to downplay a dog shredding your legs apart to some mild discomfort.

So, Jacob becomes confined to house rest, and begins obsessing over his new architecture project. He starts building a model of a suburban neighborhood, with tiny model houses that resemble the Sterling home. “I’m thinking too small,” he mutters to himself when evaluating his model work. He violently pushes all the model homes off onto the floor, shouting, “It’s too small!” Yes, the suburb needs to be at least… three times bigger than this!

While Jacob works on his neighborhood, his edgy son Rusty is just too cool for school, so he skips to go… hang out with an old woman…? Huh, didn’t expect that. I guess he is kinda edgy!

Rusty tells this woman, Iris, about a weird event he experienced in the house last night. He flipped a lightswitch, and the room with the clock in it was transformed into a torture chamber from the 1800s. Both Iris and Rusty obviously conclude that there is something evil going on in the house. “It’s like that Skull Crusher song,” Rusty says, quite edgily. “Evil rules, it has it rules, and the world’s your oyster, grab her and hoist her.” Um, sure, yeah, the situation is exactly like those lyrics. There’s evil… and oysters… and hoisting…

Unfortunately, before Rusty is able to hoist his oyster, he is questioned by the police after a swastika is painting on a neighbor’s house. Amityville 1992: It’s About Hate Crimes!

Andrea begins staying at the house in order to care for Jacob as he recovers, but, while there, strange things start happening. Black sludge starts forming on the floors. Hours to some are minutes to others. Her boyfriend starts hanging out around the house, taking baths, and wearing a bathrobe about. …Okay, the strange element of that boyfriend subplot is supposed to be a scene where the boyfriend hallucinates Jacob confronting him at gunpoint, but, let’s be honest, this man wandering around his lover’s ex-boyfriend’s house all alone in his bathrobe is weirder than an evil clock hallucination. Amityville 1992: It’s About Taking Baths In A Stranger’s Home!

The most dangerous aspect of this haunted clock has yet to be revealed though! Because Andrea is now using her bedroom, wholesome daughter Lisa is sleeping in the living room with the clock. The clock ticks too loud for her to sleep, so she gets up and walks over to examine herself in the mirror. She blows her reflection a kiss, but suddenly the reflection begins to run its hands over its body in ways that Lisa never did and never would dare dream of, being the well-behaved daughter that she is! Reflection Lisa reaches its hands out, through the mirror, and begins caressing regular Lisa’s breasts, before sliding its hand down lower on her body. Amityville 1992: It’s About… well, you know. Lisa is seduced by this reflection’s power, but, come on, let’s be honest, who among us would go for a little mirror reflection action if given the chance? I mean, let’s be honest!

So, having been awaken to the wonders of the clock’s powers, Lisa becomes a full-blown sexual deviant, replacing her wholesome overalls with a short dress and suit jacket combo. Wow, this clock truly is an evil foe! Like Hello Mary Lou! Prom Night II before it, Amityville 1992: It’s About Time shows a profound understanding of the most terrifying thing that can ever exist. Say it with me now, everybody! Women… in… control… of… their… sexuality!  Quickly, we must stop this clock before it gives autonomy to more of our daughters! Won’t somebody think of the children?!!

Having now seen the true extent of the powers infecting his house, Rusty returns to Iris to pinpoint the source of the evil. Recalling the details of the red torture room he saw to Iris, they are able to discover that the clock once belonged to a schoolteacher who wished to become immortal. “He had a habit of choosing the best and brightest of his students and eating them,” Iris reveals. Eating the best and brightest of the class? Now, I don’t know much about rituals to become immortal, but based on all the schoolteachers I’ve known in my life, I feel like they would be much more prone to eating the unruly troublemakers of the class instead.

While Rusty learns of the clock’s origins, Lisa is putting her newfound sexual liberation to evil use, seducing her boyfriend Andy. Following a trail of removed articles of clothing back to her garage, Andy discovers Lisa dressed only in his varsity jacket, lying in the middle of a train set. Yes, she’s seductively laying in the middle of a model trainset. “Choo, choo. All aboard,” she says in a suggestive tone. Hey, give her a break! It is her first attempt at seducing someone ever!

And, as it turns out, this horrible punny line works on Andy, who walks over to her, only to find his food stuck on some black sludge on the floor. The sludge melts his body into goo, and he goes down the drain, in what is a perfect metaphor for the quality of the Amityville franchise.

Lisa and Jacob are completely under the control of the clock’s dastardly influence, and so now it is up to Rusty and Andrea to stop them. Rusty heads up to his bedroom and finds Lisa on the floor, covered in blood. “It’s so horrible,” she stutters.

“What is?” inquires Rusty, as he picks her up off the floor.

“That your my brother,” she responds, as she licks the side of his face.

Amityville 1992: It’s About Incest!

The bedroom door slams shut behind him. “Open it!” he shouts angrily, and Lisa begins to slowly take off the varsity jacket she’s wearing. “No, I mean the door!” Rusty responds.

I don’t even have words for that moment. I’m just going to present it to you, make of it what you will.

As his sister pins him down and attempts to kiss him, Rusty grabs the plug for his electric guitar amp and jams it into Lisa’s nose, electrocuting and killing her. Sure, whatever. That’s not how electricity works, but this film isn’t about electricity, it’s about time, dagnabbit! Plus, there’s some phallic/penetration symbolism that could be gleened from this amp-plug-into-nose bit, but analyzing this movie in depth for symbolism wouldn’t really be worth my… time… Man, this film really is all about time! I’m wasting my time on it! Argh! You got me, evil clock!

While this incest thing is going on, Andrea confronts Jacob downstairs. Fully under the influence of the clock, he pins her to the wall. “This is about power!” he tells her. Wait, this is about power? I thought it was about time? Amityville 1992: It’s About Power, I Guess! Grabbing Jacob’s large architecture compass, Andrea stabs him through the legs, immobilizing him. “Time!” he shouts, while withering on the ground. “I need more time!” No, fairly certain you need new legs, dude.

So, with Lisa  and Jacob taken care of, attention turns to the clock. “It’s time!” Andrea cries, as she grabs a T-square and charges at the clock! Oh, wow! How riveting! The whole movie has been building towards this conflict! How will our dashing heroes defeat this… inanimate object… Huh. Yeah, why was a clock the villain in this again? Something, something, about time…?

Yes, the climax has all of the riveting action you would expect from a battle against a clock. They can’t just throw the clock on the floor, because it has drilled itself into the mantelpiece. Told you that was a somewhat relevant plot point. So, the clock starts fighting back. It spins its hands, and turns Rusty into a baby. It spins them again, and pushes Andrea away. Andrea swings at the clock with the T-square, hitting a gas pipe instead. She then lights a match, engulfing the clock, and the screen, in flames.

We’ve travelled back in time to the beginning of the movie. Rusty is back to normal age. Jacob is well again. Lisa no longer has any independence as a woman. Everything is back the way things are supposed to be for the Sterling family! Andrea retains all her memories though. Just like in the film’s first scene, Jacob comes in with a package, and opens it to reveal the clock. Andrea instantly picks it up, and smashes it to pieces, storming out of the house. “What the hell was that all about?” Jacob asks, puzzled.

“It’s about time,” Andrea responds.

Just… slow clap, everybody. Slow clap for this movie. Slow. Clap.

This has been Amityville 1992: It’s About Time. I don’t know what more can be said about this film that wasn’t already there in the title. That’s all you need. True, the title doesn’t convey everything. Only by watching this masterpiece can one understand the dangers of unmovable clocks, of taking a bath in a stranger’s home, and of sexually liberated women. This are the things that will forever haunt my dreams now. For those not capable of stomaching the terrifying horrors that await within this movie though, do not despair! For this film has so wisely given us a title that is so candid, so beautifully blunt, that one only needs to read it to feel as though they have had a satisfying experience.

Amityville 1992: It’s About Time. It truly was about time.

And, so, it is also time for this volume to come to an end. I hope you’ve all enjoyed joining me on this strange and often painful journey into the weird world of horrible horror. Despite being exposed to far more incompetent plotting, illiterate scripting, and incest than any person should ever be exposed to, I believe it has been another successful year. Can’t say I’m not ready to take a break though, for the sake of my sanity. But, worry not, for it won’t be long before it’s time for The Night X Came Home to come back yet again.

Amityville 1992: It’s About Time is available on DVD.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE!!