#The tough guy who nearly killed Johnny deserves all the love

[msfbgraves]

Season 6 is dead to me. Johnny Lawrence is absolute trash, and once again the show tries to make Daniel look lesser somehow. Fuck the CK writers.

S1 Johnny Lawrence was an asshole. And we saw where that got him. Poor, drunk, jobless, facedown on the floor. His kid hates him. And they said, come on, hear him out. He may be completely out of touch but there's potential yet. And just occassionally, he may have a point. Let's see him crawl back to some meaning in his life. That's fine, actually. Gosh darn it don't we hope some people in our lives would! Or maybe we ourselves have had to pick ourselves back up!

But now it's trying to sell us this attitude is fine. You'll get the girl! Your son will forgive you! Your high school crush is still into you! Consequences? You're above that. Caring for others? You don't have to. You're a white middle aged male, so violence, emotional unavailability, insensitivity, an unwillingness to get with the times, selfishness, belligerence, are A-OK! Because men who cook, are kind, considerate, responsible, well groomed, and financially stable are inferior! We'll show you how inferior, by God! Why should you try to repair what you broke? Move on, move up! Your son whom you've neglected again and again and again and again will forgive you because you are a MAN, you fucked a woman to make him and therefore he owes you. Doesn't matter what you do. Now, your surrogate son who has never criticised you, that's your emotional connection. You don't have to take care of him, he has women to do that. Men don't take care of anyone. And yes, if you treat your girlfriend badly she will cut you off and hurt your child but that's OK! You don't owe anyone anything and deserve to fail upward. What the fuck kind of message is that? It's wish fulfillment for men who don't want to take responsibility. Because they couldn't stomach the opposite message. It has to be destroyed. And the writers are not even ironic about it. None of those real world consequences. Carmen would have dropped Johnny like a hot potato. Miguel would have been in a wheelchair. Robby would have stopped trying with Johnny. Daniel would have probably thought the better of teaching karate. People would have been sued left right and centre. But what we get is how these writers want men to be: behind the times, mean, underachieving misogynistic bigoted bullies. These writers think men should rule the world by virtue of having and being a dick. And the one shred of compassion I feel is that they seem to think that being an asshole is part of being an adult. They cannot imagine adult men being sincerely kind. Daniel is an adult and a father, so he must be mean. Mr Miyagi is an adult and a father, so he must be mean! There's no other way for an adult man to be! If an adult man is not mean, he must be hiding something. Because there is no other way. Men are cruel. This may hurt boys for the rest of their lives but they'll learn. It's the way of the world [It's not]. Any other message must be corrected. They can't fathom anything else! And I can pity that but I mostly want it tf out of my face. Because there are men who can imagine better for themselves and for young boys. Because who would you rather be around: an aggressive drunk who treats everyone terribly or a kind man who has had his fill of the violence of the world and rather spends time fixing things? Sure that's not as exciting, but if you want excitement, go do sports, get on stage, try to travel, and yes, live vicariously through a villain sometimes. But don't pretend he's right...!

[whatifxwereyou]

Ashes Chapter 15: Same Old Story

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

Summary: Some history for Y/N and some brotherly love from Cole.

A/N: when you so busy writing smut that you forget to update the story so you can get to the smut lmao. enjoy, fellow nerds.

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You were uncomfortable talking about personal things, particularly your history, but Cole deserved answers and he was a patient listener. Being a father, you weren’t really surprised by that. “When I was a kid, like… nine I want to say? Honestly my childhood is pretty blurry. Feels like another life.” You cleared your throat. “Anyway, yeah, around then I fell ill. I had these… fits, for lack of a better word. I didn’t understand what they meant at the time because I was well, nine. No one else understood them either. As an adult I know that I was experiencing prophetic visions. Honestly, they weren’t really prophetic then, I guess. That’s a word Raiden uses a lot for them. Back then they were rarely of future events. It was more like gaining deep insight into the lives of others. I could touch someone or something that someone else had touched and I would disappear. I’d see a glimpse of their history or their present. I was too young to interpret it.”

“Like touch telepathy? I’ve seen television shows about that concept. This stuff is hard for me to wrap my mind around. Too much like fiction.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing to call it. When I saw things, I would also black out. And have a fit. Like a seizure, I suppose. And when that was happening, I would often say things about what I was seeing or hurt myself. It frightened people. My parents took me out of town and I stayed with my grandmother. I was homeschooled after that. My parents saw it as an embarrassment if I recall.” You laughed at the idea of that now. That life was so far behind you that it didn’t matter how stressful it had been. Back then it had felt like the end of the world but as an adult, it was a distant memory. Those experiences had made you different and strange but they had also made you unique and special. You had embraced the things that had separated you from normality since then.

“Well, that’s awful.”

“Oh, no, no pity. It’s fine, really. That was world’s ago.” You waved off his disapproval of a parent being embarrassed by their child for things they couldn’t control. Cole really was a good guy. “I stopped having the visions at around twelve and while I was weak from being so sick, I fought to be normal afterward. My dad ran a dojo and so I grew strong again. I focused on martial arts. It was something that helped me find strength and determination back then.” You smiled at the memory. You’d always had a fondness for it in your heart. That was one of the first things you and Kung Lao had bonded over. Your father had taught Wing Chun and that was what Kung Lao specialized in. “With time my father could no longer teach at the dojo so he moved in with my older sister. I took over the dojo and then opened a shop in the old storage space to make extra money. I had every intention of moving away. I would never be more than a weirdo or a witch there. It was too small a town.”

“Did you ever get to?”

“I mean, I’m here now. That’s a long story though. I’m trying to keep this brief.” You chuckled. “We can talk about that stuff another day.” That was a more casual and personal conversation. This was personal but definitely not casual. If you didn’t have to share these parts of your life then you never would have. Much of it was still too raw. But Cole Young was curious about your past and you were curious about his. It was nice having another friend who wasn’t Liu Kang. You really did get along with him and his family.

“Fair enough.”

“About five years ago I was still doing the same. There had been a robbery across the street and the thugs came into my shop afterward. And, well, I’m not the type to roll over and be robbed.”

“I’d say not.”

“It escalated. There was a man who came in to pick up herbs I had imported for him every month who came in after. He ended up helping me out. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, I killed one of those would-be robbers. He’d been trying to kill me so… I have come to terms with that. That’s how I got the dragon mark.” You pointed to your back. Yours was on your lower back on your left side. “The man who helped me was Liu Kang. I knew him then and he was kind enough to help me deal with the fallout at the time. It took ages for him to convince me to that there was any truth to any of this… Mortal Kombat and arcana nonsense. It’s kind of embarrassing looking back at it.” And the story was far more complicated too. You’d been attracted to Liu Kang from very early on. “I guess that’s why I’m so patient with Johnny. It’s easy for us to know what’s the truth but when you spend your whole life believing that fairytales are made with computers and science? It’s difficult to believe anything else.”

“Yeah, I get that. Not everyone had Sub Zero rushing them into the truth.” He joked. That was true enough. But Johnny Cage had had his come-to-jesus moment that afternoon you were pretty sure. You hadn’t had a moment like that in the beginning. Just Liu Kang’s word and his arcana.

“Liu showed me his arcana but I thought it was a trick. He was very persistent at the time. Tried to talk me into leaving everything I had ever known for what I thought was a trick. I was scared, I’m not too proud to admit that. The part of me that wanted to leave home and never look back had grown smaller over the years. I’d become complacent. I’d grown comfortable being known as a witch and honestly, the next generation of people in town hadn’t treated me so terribly. The kids even thought it was funny that everyone thought I was a witch. But then… I found my arcana.”

“The ink?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty and under control now but in the beginning, it was a nightmare. The first time I used it had been on accident. I nearly destroyed my store. Then I fell and had a fit and I was suddenly seeing things again. Those things I saw didn’t make any sense. None of it. I saw flashes of people and places I didn’t recognize. The best way that I can describe it is… nonsense. It didn’t mean anything.” You sighed heavily. Those moments had been terrifying. “The second time had been even worse. If Liu hadn’t been basically stalking me then someone would have gotten seriously hurt. I’d hurt him but he’d been tough enough to handle it. I felt terrible about it. By then I’d more than grown fond of him.” You didn’t want to get into the details but it hadn’t exactly been difficult to fall into Liu Kang’s arms and it hadn’t taken very long either.

“There’s a lot of history there, huh?”

“Yes. Focus.” You wanted to get this story over as quickly as you could. “After that I decided to go with him. It wasn’t worth the risk of hurting people in town with something I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to leave but I was glad that I did afterward. Raiden’s Temple was where I had needed to be for what came next. It was awful at first. The ink and the visions made me sick. I had little to no control over any of it. Raiden helped me. He could unravel what I saw even if it was just spaghetti to me. My visions helped him. At least he said that they did. Liu helped me get control over my arcana. There I met Kung Lao and I was happy. About a year later the visions stopped altogether and I was stronger than I’d ever been.”

“And now you’re having them again? Out of nowhere?” Cole didn’t sound terribly concerned. He had handled all of this very well. It was nice not to be taken too seriously or looked at like you were about to fracture. You didn’t think the visions were out of nowhere. In fact, you thought that the visions were likely triggered by Kung Lao’s death. Trauma did funny things to people. The things that happened to you were a little funnier than most.

“I confess that I didn’t realize I was having them at first.” You shrugged. It was difficult to explain but it seemed as though, at some point, Cole had abandoned his disbelief and had embraced chaos. “They were more like nightmares. It was difficult to decipher what was guilt and grief and what wasn’t. It wasn’t until the other night on the roof that I even considered they were visions. Well, that and I feel terrible. I haven’t felt this terrible since the last time I had them.” You were a little embarrassed to admit that. If you’d been honest about what you were feeling from the beginning then maybe you could have done things differently. You just hated being weak. It was a hot button for you.

“And that was when you saw what happened this afternoon?”

“Kind of? I saw the beach and a wave of corpses coming for us. Does that count?” You tried to joke. Cole tilted his head as if to consider if it counted or not.

“It does at least explain why you were extra creepy this morning.”

“Implying that I’m always a little creepy.”

“The ink is a little creepy, I decided.”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“But you’re okay? This morning was wild.”

Did you not seem okay? You supposed that you were feeling out of it after seeing Kung Lao’s death. You definitely weren’t feeling yourself but you thought that you’d hidden it pretty well. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sound a little morose.” Cole looked to the door like he had somewhere else to be. He probably did. He had a family and all that. “I can’t say we know each other very well but whatever happened back there must have hit hard… and I mean… you were so different at the end of it.”

“I’m fine, Cole.” You reassured him with a forced smile. You were a little morose. That was a good word for what you were feeling. You wanted to sleep for the rest of the week until you had to go back to China.

“Ally, Emily, and I are going to go grab dinner. You’re welcome to join us. You could probably use some food.”

“No, no. Thank you but I think that I have encroached upon your family time enough this week.”

“We really don’t mind. You’re good company. Allison asked if you were joining us, even.”

“Really, Cole. I appreciate the offer but I’m not up to it. My social battery is completely drained.” You offered a weary smile. It was nice to be wanted. “I’m going to rest.”

“You’re just… so off. I feel bad leaving you alone.” Cole pulled his phone from his coat pocket. “I’m considering asking if Ally wants to grab food and then bring Emily here to watch a movie with you.”

“It’s okay, Cole. I need the time alone, I think. Besides, I’m allowed to be a little under the weather after that.” You smiled even so. You didn’t want him to pity you. You didn’t need that. You really would be okay. That morning had been difficult but you weren’t prepared to say the real reasons why. You were a mixture of angry and hurt but you’d trudge through it.

“Yeah…”

“Hey, look, you don’t need to feel responsible for me just because of what happened with Kung Lao.” You would happily absolve him of any guilt he felt in that regards. He was guilty of nothing but being a good man.

“What?” Cole was genuinely surprised and you internally winced at how you’d miscalculated. You’d read the whole situation wrong and instantly regretted your words.

“I thought you might be feeling some misplaced guilt about it. I don’t want that for you.”

“Oh. Maybe that was why I approached you on the street that day but I think we’re past that. We’re friends now. Am I wrong about that?”

“Not at all. It’s been lovely getting to know you and your family. I really mean that, I’m not just saying it. You’ve managed to get me a little out of my head which is nice. And you like my jokes which I appreciate. I’m sorry about the way that came off. I wasn’t trying to diminish our friendship. I just didn’t want you to carry around that guilt, either.”

“That goes for you too.”

“It’s been a hard day. I’m not coming across the way that I mean to. Let’s say lost in translation.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. Your English is pretty good so I’m not sure that excuse works, but I’ll let it slide.”

“I know, I know… I’m being cold without meaning to. Like you said, I’m a little morose right now. I do this thing when my feelings are difficult to process where I kind of shut off and… I can come off as cruel without meaning to. Honestly, even in Chinese it doesn’t sound much better.” You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“No need. Today was a reality check. It scared me too. And you’re clearly going through something. I wanted to help, is all. Sometimes when I get too far into my head things snowball and become an avalanche.”

“I appreciate that.” You kicked your shoes off next to the bed and laughed. You had no plans of going anywhere else for the rest of the day. “I used to have Kung Lao to keep that from happening. I appreciate you trying to help but you can go get food with your family and enjoy your afternoon. I’m exhausted. I’ll probably nap or meditate on what happened today.” What you really meant was that you would do whatever it took to get it out of your head. You were going to try and forget the awful things you’d seen today. You weren’t sure you could forget it. His death was burned into your mind’s eye. It would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“I will but before I go, I wanted to talk to you quickly about Liu.”

“I would very much prefer if you didn’t.” You scrunched up your face in distaste.

“I know that I’ve been teasing you about it.” He laughed and you rolled your eyes. “But is everything okay with that? I know, I know… it’s not my business, you’ve said it a dozen times now. It’s clearly complicated. You don’t owe me any details but if you need help with it then say the word. I’m happy to help.” Was Cole Young offering to be your wingman? Or was he offering to beat up Liu Kang? Either scenario was kind of hilarious.

“I’m obviously defensive about it. I’m sure that it’s hilarious from the outside looking in but Liu and I have more history than I care to explain. I’m not ready to get into it with anyone. Not you and definitely not with Liu, either.”

“But that’s okay?”

“Yeah, it will be. I’m a pretty tough lady.”

“On a scale of one to ten just how supportive do you need me to be?”

“No scale. Just be yourself, Cole. You’re doing fine.”

“Even teasing you?”

“I’ve had worse teasing, trust me. I dated Kung Lao for years. Besides, it kind of lessens the frustration of it. Sometimes I get too serious and scary in my head. The joking grounds me a little.”

“Good to know.” Cole patted you on the back. It was nice having a friend to talk to. A friend that wasn’t Liu Kang. Not that you didn’t enjoy Liu Kang, things were just too complex between you right now. There was so much hurt and grief that you weren’t sure how things would pan out or if they would ever be fixable. And Cole was a good man. You enjoyed talking to Allison too and Emily had taken a shine to you. You hadn’t had the opportunity to be around kids in years and you were good with them at most ages. That was part of why you’d enjoyed running the dojo.

There was a knock at your door. You made to get up to answer it.

“I’ll get it. I’m on my way out anyway.” Cole stood and so you sat back down. You wouldn’t argue with him. Cole opened the door and there was Liu Kang, which was no surprise to you. You’d been expecting him to show up at some point. Who else would it have been, anyway? You were pretty sure that you’d rubbed Sonya and Jax the wrong way with all your talk of kidnapping. Cole stared Liu Kang down instead of greeting him and you tried not to laugh.

“Hello Cole.” Liu bowed his head politely in greeting. “I was hoping that I could speak with Y/N for a few minutes. Is she here? Did I come to the wrong room?” Liu peered around him and made eye contact with you. You offered him a curt wave.

“That’s up to her.”

You tried very hard not to laugh at the look of confusion on Liu’s face. He was bewildered.

“Of course it is.”

“You can come in, Liu.” You stopped that conversation before it got any weirder. Cole meant well, but wow.

“I was just leaving.” Cole clasped Liu on the shoulder as if to wish him good luck and then left, closing the door behind him after Liu had stepped past him. Liu watched the door close and then turned back to you. His expression was priceless. You’d have to thank Cole for that later.

Next Chapter >>

[coeursetcolores]

What I Would Add To/ Change About: Devil May Cry 5

Hello again! Today is March 8th! Two years ago, Devil May Cry 5 was released, over ten years after Devil May Cry 4. Such a long gap caused many to believe that Capcom abandoned the franchise, but to our surprise at the 2018 E3 conference, after years of silence and tentative hope brought by a picture of Reuben Langdon and Johnny Yong Bosch in mocap gear, the day we dreamed of happened: DMC was back!

Now here’s the million dollar question: Did Devil May Cry 5 live up to it’s fans’ expectations after all those years?

I’m pleased to say, YES!

To the whole collective fandom, this game was totally Smokin’ Sexy Stylish!

To me individually...

Well...

It wasn’t really what I’d thought it’d be.

This is all just my own personal opinion and if you disagree with me, that’s perfectly okay! If you’d like to talk about a point I made, please let me know, but please try to respect my opinion as I respect yours.

Fair warning, I won’t talk about online stuff. I’m not an online gamer, that’s just not me.

Well, with out further ado, let’s get started!

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Like the last time, I’d like to start with the positives before getting to the things I wasn’t 100% on board with.

Combat. It’s DMC, and it’s styling way past any other game that dare challenge it.

The music: Frustration is getting bigger! BANG, BANG, BANG! Pull my Devil Trigger!

NICO. I jut love that crazy chick. And yay! Nero has a friend!

The death screen changes were SO helpful. Giving an option to come back in the middle of a fight saved me so much time! As long as it stuck to in-game currency...

The backgrounds are so detailed, Redgrave City looks amazing! And I was really happy when they brought back that gorgeous gothic architecture for Sparda’s mansion!

Bosses are tough, but not to unfair levels. It really makes you feel awesome when you finally knock that last bit of health out.

I’ll never miss an opportunity to fight Vergil. One for having an opponent that doesn’t tower over you, two for his fights just being great as usual. And after everything he’s done, yeah, it feels good to beat the ever loving crap out of him.

Dante dance. I cannot do it justice.

Lady’s new outfit is so cool!

Patty! Call her back Dante!

MOTORCYCLE! BUZZSAWS!

Dante has officially embraced being a silver fox. I salute him.

LORE!!!!!!

NERO! NERO! NERO! BEST BOY, SPICY SON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU PRECIOUS BLOODTHIRSTY SWEETHEART!

You can see just how much detail went into the game. From the blood tubes staining you to V decomposing, it’s astounding.

Nero got a Devil Trigger! And it’s GORGEOUS! ...I do miss his persona, though...

Seeing all our favorite demon hunters again! I missed these guys!

Okay, but before we get to what I wish they added, I want to say something.

I have a lot of issues with this game, but while I can blame some of that on the writing and design teams, a lot of it is also on me having spent years basically imagining the story that would be perfect for me and probably me only. So a lot of my problems may boil down to the game not matching my imaginary scenario, so take my suggestions with a grain of salt.

Now here are some things that could have possibly made me like the game more.

ADD:

MORE LADY AND TRISH. These women were screwed when it came to the plot and they could have done more, what the heck?! Maybe some scenes where they try to process what happened to them, have them distraught at having been used by Urizen to help him destroy the city and blame themselves. Have Lady blow up at Dante for not warning them about what was really going on, for letting them go in unprepared, let her tell him that the blood of the city is on their hands because he kept his mouth shut. Lady is a huge influence in his life, and I feel like this would really open his eyes to how much he messed up.

As for Trish, she knows better than anyone else that you can really screw up and hurt someone that cares about you. Maybe after everything goes down, she could be the one to encourage everyone that, “Yeah, we messed up big time. But sitting around here hating ourselves isn’t getting anything done. So get up, we’ve got a city to fix.” I feel like this could really show how human she’s gotten from being with Dante and the others. I think it’d make her look more multi-dimensional.

And how come Vergil can get a DLC when he was in the game even less than they were?! The women in these games deserve equal representation, Capcom’s DMC developers!

And as for Vergil, maybe make his deal less ambiguous? I mean, the whole “Is Vergil really redeemed?” debate is really bringing out the worst in people. Like yeah, keep it ambiguous to the characters, it makes sense for Vergil to not show something “weak” like remorse to others, but show it in a way that the player can easily interpret.

Give Vergil some missions to himself where he takes in exactly what he’s done. Have him see Redgrave City, where he was born, devastated, people he may have once known reduced to ashes and know this is all because of him. That just because he wanted to be stronger, he’s destroyed lives, because even if he had no intentions of doing so, the split went against his wishes and left him weak to see a tyrant slaughter countless people without any goal. Have him realize that even if that was unintentional, he still nearly almost ended humanity once before with a sound mind (Temen-ni-gru) so he can’t pretend he’s in the right and that he’s actually probably a disgrace to Sparda’s legacy. Have him run into a sobbing little boy crying that his mother was killed and he lost his brother, maybe in the ruins of the family home. Have Vergil look into a mirror and see Mundus, have him realize that he’s no better than the demon that killed his mother and imprisoned him for years. Have him hallucinate Sparda disowning him for going against everything Sparda believed in. Have him see Eva sadly tell him that she wanted to save him, but seeing what he’s become lament that she lost her life trying to save a monster. And when Dante tells him Nero’s his son, he freezes. He abandoned and maimed his own child, left him for his brother to care for. Dante sees this and doesn’t know what to do? Is Vergil...sorry? Can he take a chance on him this time?

Or leave him an unrepentant jerk that’s just upset he still can’t win and expressly tells Nero he’s only going to cut down the Qliphoth down so he can fight Nero again and because he doesn’t want to give up Yamato.

And for that matter, make V’s goal clearer to the player. Have him expressly state, when he’s by himself with his familiars with no one that he can manipulate around that:

A. He wants to stop Urizen and prevent anymore devastation as atonement for his crimes as Vergil and part of the reason he wants to merge again is that while he does want to fight Dante again, he deserves to die as Vergil or defeat Dante and fix his mistakes by himself, realizing that Dante’s been cleaning up his messes for years. 

B: He wants his power back, his mind got stuck in the human half and he can’t stand how weak it is. Everyone is just a stepping stone for him to be stronger.

Actually have the characters react to the Qliphoth. Seriously, everyone is crazy apathetic to all the death and destruction that they failed to stop. Aren’t they supposed to be the “heroes?” The only character this would make sense for, ironically, the one who actually seems to remember it exists at the end, Nero. Yeah. Remember how he didn’t care about anything but Kyrie in 4? Remember how the developers said he would just walk away after Dante shot the pope if Kyrie wasn’t there? I’m not say he needed to stay apathetic, I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense for him to be the righteous character. 

Have Dante at some point just look out at Redgrave and see that if he had told the others what was going on, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. “...This didn’t have to happen.” Have this weigh on him. He’ll still act goofy, but he realizes that his selfishness can have real consequences. 

Have him realize that he really hurt Nero with what he said and that he used Nero’s trauma and insecurity against him in the heat of the moment and it’s causing a rift between him. When he’s alone, make him privately promise to make it up to him later and actually apologize at some point near the end. Dante should know from his experiences with Vergil that insecurity can lead someone down the wrong path and that if he doesn’t do something he could lose one of the few positive relationships he has.

Have Nico have at least one freak out at everything around her and realize that she might not be as ready for this as she thought. She hasn’t experienced something like this before like the others. Nero comforts her and it makes their friendship grow stronger.

When Nero starts talking about family, he should acknowledge that while he is related to Vergil, they’re not really a family yet until they actually work for it, and that he knows what a real family is like, the ones who adopted him and were there for him (Kyrie’s parents, Credo, Kyrie, Nico, Dante, Lady, Trish, etc.).

Make it clearer that Vergil isn’t forgiven for his crimes, but that they’re willing to give him a chance. His last one.

Alright, now for the overall changes.

CHANGE:

The entire ending. Instead of Dante going down with Vergil, Vergil stops him and tells him that his life is here, with people that haven’t hurt him like he has. Dante tries to protest, says he can’t leave Vergil free to do whatever, but Vergil gives a bittersweet smile and tells him he can’t stop him, but it’s obvious Vergil’s not going to do anything again. When Dante gets desperate and tells Vergil he can’t leave him again, Vergil tells Dante he’ll be back, once he’s cleaned up his own mess for once; he’s the older brother after all. With that, Vergil goes to fix his mistake.

Dante’s left behind by his brother again. Instead of brushing things under the table, Nero is furious with Dante for never telling him the truth about his family. Especially after he was left uncertain about the future and looked to Dante for guidance, Nero feels betrayed. Dante understands and apologizes. Nero’s too upset to accept and tells Dante he needs time to think before he’s ready to talk to him again. Instead of begging Nero to stay and keep a connection he desperately needs, Dante lets him go, realizing that if he wants to fix things, he needs to start learning how to talk about how he actually feels instead of covering things up and unintentionally hurting those he loves.

Vergil destroys the Qliphoth, but doesn’t leave the Underworld. Realizing just how much he’s sinned, starting all the way back to Temen-ni-gru, he resolves to not go back to the human world until he’s made himself one worthy of being a Son of Sparda, finally understanding what that really means. Descending into the Underworld, he won’t leave until he’s eliminated those that would harm the world his brother, father and son protect so hard. This could be the start of his own spin-off series that would focus more on the demon lore in the games and take place entirely in the Underworld with Vergil struggling to be a better person and take responsibility for his own actions. Devil May Cry: Atonement, maybe.

Nero heads back home with Nico but doesn’t read V’s book. Hurt from his betrayal, he puts it in a box and seals it up for Vergil’s maybe return. When Nico starts talking about how Agnus is the reason she’s alive, she also acknowledges that she already has a real father and family that love her and subtly (and stutteringly) implies Nero’s a part of that, cementing that Nero has a family that loves him and is there for him. Nero thanks her  and the two descend into silence for a bit before they start mocking each other and end up laughing before Nico realizes Nero’s crying. When she starts freaking out, he explains that he’s scared he’s still not strong enough to protect them, but before Nico can say anything, the phone rings. Answering it, a voice says, “You don’t have to be.” Looking out front the two see Kyrie and Patty, decked out in hunting gear, a phone in Kyrie’s hand. Smiling at them, she says into it, “We’ll protect each other.” Running out of the van, Nero scoops Kyrie up in a hug. When Patty starts complaining about them ignoring her, Nico pulls her away and tells her not to interrupt. After a bit, the group looks out at the horizon and vow to fight together, not letting themselves fall to the bitterness that led to this mess. Seeing some demons approach and watching his crew get ready, Nero smiles before smirking and gets ready to throw down. “Let’s rock!” Devil May Cry: Forsaken.

Dante looks out over Redgrave from his childhood home, silently miserable. After a while, Lady and Trish come over and try to talk, but he cuts them off with an apology. Fully realizing how his inability to let other people in nearly got them all killed, he encourages them to leave so they don’t end up like that again. Stunned from Dante apologizing, the two are silent. Then Lady angrily asks, “What the hell?! Just how dumb are you?!” She tells him that yeah he really screwed up this time, but they’re not going anywhere! He’s an idiot, but he’s THEIR idiot, and they’re not leaving him alone. They need him and he needs them. Trish tells him that if he has time to mope, he has time to clean up the city. The girls begin to walk back to the city and tell him to hurry up. A genuine smile on his face, Dante looks to his family’s home one more time, sheds some tears and walks away, from his past to his new family. Devil May Cry 6 will pick up on what happens next.

If Resident Evil can have like 50 spin-offs, why can’t DMC?

Alternatively, I’m also open to the suggestion of Vergil being stuck as V for the rest of his life. Karmic punishment at it’s finest.

In all honestly, Vergil was really unnecessary to bring back. Like, just make him DLCs, his whole story is done. It just feels like fanservice and the writers banking on a popular character to bring in sales. I also feel like the game bends itself over backwards to please him (back to life, cheat coded to power, no more nightmares, gets to fight Dante whenever he wants, gets a son who wants his acknowledgement he didn’t have to raise, crimes are basically swept under the rug) while everyone else gets kind of screwed over (Dante has to leave his friends behind, Nero’s abandoned again, Lady and Trish are captured and get no screen time, V’s familiars are gone, millions are dead).

I think Urizen and V should have been their own things: I liked the idea of Urizen being the general of Mundus that attacked Dante’s house (his ACTUAL reason for fighting) and V being Mundus’ son who was abused and bonded with his henchmen who decided to become a devil hunter in vengeance for his mistreatment. I dunno, I feel bad V (who legitimately creeped me out) was just made into a convenient little redemption arc.

Nero’s character arc really should have been something else. I think he should have learned throughout the story to stop caring what others thought about him (a trait that should have been visible in 4 if it was going to be such a big deal in 5) and learn to trust his own strength. He should’ve realized that he doesn’t need to prove anything to Dante, he’s never going to be the same and he should be happy with who he is. Also, wanting Vergil’s acknowledgement doesn’t make sense. He may be his biological father, but literally the only things Nero knows about him is that he ripped his arm off, started the apocalypse, got millions killed, manipulated him and wants to kill the guy who was actually like a dad to him. Biological ties can only count for so much.

Alternatively, his arc could have been about becoming a more compassionate person. Like I said earlier, it’d make sense if he didn’t care about anyone other than Kyrie being in trouble. And remember when he tried to kill an armor he thought had a human in it in 4? Along with the seemingly human Agnus? Have Dante worried Nero might go down the wrong path. Have him tell Nero about Vergil WAY earlier (months after 4) and have Nero worried if he’ll turn out like that. Nero actually had more potential to be dark than Dante, and I feel like that in trying to make him look like a perfect hero in 5, they had to make Dante look worse (keeping secrets, ignoring suffering, etc.).

And instead of “deadweight,” Nero’s berserk button should have been Dante not telling him things. You know, like the Order? The group he worked for that tried to start the apocalypse in secret and nearly got him and his girlfriend killed along with actually killing his older bother? Yeah.

I do not like the hyperrealism. This is purely on me preferring more animesque art styles, but I always felt that not looking like actual humans helped the series’ fantastic elements shine.

Dante’s new outfit is just so...muted. It’s just boring. Dante’s supposed to be flashy, dang it! Give me back the chaps!

Nero’s hair is awful. It just looks terrible on him, I wanted him to have long, pretty hair. They should have just kept his trigger hair all throughout the game.

Also, Dante’s the hunk, give Nero back his soft, pretty boy face!

DON’T GET RID OF DEVIL BRINGER! I hated using the Devil Breakers, who wants breakable weapons in Devil May Cry?! What’s next, reloading ammo?! And if you can come back from being stabbed, shot, electrocuted, impaled, would it kill you to let Nero grow his demon arm back to keep his playstyle easier?! And if you needed a challenge, congratulations! Nero lost his Devil Trigger! WORK WITH THAT! 

Please don’t get rid of Dante. I love Nero, but he can’t do the main protagonist role. This is Dante’s series and he needs to finish it. Sure, give Nero a spin-off or two, but let Dante finish the story; the “Sons of Sparda” storyline was just 3. Not the whole series. Vergil is an important figure in Dante’s story, but he’s not where it ends. Dante. And. Vergil’s. Lives. Do. Not. Revolve. Around. Each. Other. They just liked to fight each other and developed opposing ideals, but their overall goals ultimately didn’t really factor in the other.

The whole Vergil abandonment thing shouldn’t have happened along with his beating Dante obsession, it seriously weakened Vergil’s character. He started out as someone who wanted the power to defend himself and became so deluded that he was ready to disregard any moral limitation to get it and simply fought Dante to amuse himself while never letting it get in the way of his goals. And him blaming Dante and Eva and insisting that Dante had an easier life, while I can understand it, just makes him come across as a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum.

Let V’s familiars kill demons without him. That was just really annoying.

And that’s it. My dreams for Devil May Cry 5 and the reality were two very different things and honestly...I’m afraid I’m growing out of this series. 

I’ll still post some content I want to get out, but I’m not sure I’ll be picking up the next one.

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (5/18)

Chapter 5: Do It Simply

Nick and Madelyn have a heart-to-heart while on a stakeout in Quincy. After some time apart, Deacon shows up at Madelyn’s apartment encouraging her to give the Railroad another chance. When she agrees, Desdemona sends them to a Bunker Hill contact who needs assistance in smuggling somebody out of the Commonwealth—somebody who may have been witness to Eddie Winter’s crimes. Outside of the Ticonderoga safehouse, a suspicious man catches Deacon’s eye and the entire operation goes up in flames.

“If you're going to kill someone, do it simply.” - Johnnie Aysgarth as played by Cary Grant (Suspicion, 1941)

x - x

[read on Ao3] ~  [chapter masterpost]

February 11th, 1958

“I should’ve warned you this would turn into a stakeout.”

Madelyn shivered as she glanced over to Nick from the passenger seat of his Cadillac, tugging the collar of her coat around her shoulders a little tighter. Of all the times they had decided to follow Eddie Winter across town, it had to be the night when a flurry had delivered nearly three inches of snow. Needless to say, she was freezing, half tempted to bum one of Nick’s cigarettes if only to heat up her body in some way. The smoke from his own wafted in the air above his head as he mumbled incoherently, binoculars glued toward the building a few hundred feet away. They’d been sitting like that for a few hours with no movement.

“Damn Winter, thinking we have all night to sit on him,” he muttered, cigarette bobbing between his lips.

“It’s not like we have much else going for us,” Madelyn replied, sifting through the small stack of case files across her lap, ones she had brought with them in their mad dash to Quincy. Ever since the Earl Sterling case, their primary focus had been on Eddie Winter’s activities, mostly because the agency hadn’t received a new job in weeks. There had been dry spells before, but this time it was obvious they were being punished by the Boston Police Department for their involvement in capturing Doctor Crocker. It wasn’t fair, it never was, but there was little they could do but keep investigating.

“Don’t remind me,” Nick grumbled, lowering the binoculars to look at her. “Are we sure this is the right place?”

She hummed, flicking through the various files. They were all labeled in her neat handwriting—WINTER—filled with various leads and rumors from the street, one of which had led them to the Quincy police department. With a nod, Madelyn flashed a sideways smile. “Maybe they’ve got a secret underground bunker.”

Nick wasn’t about to dismiss anything, eyebrow quirking up. “You might be onto something there.”

She softly chuckled, scribbling the words down, even if she felt foolish—not every organization in town had an underground tunnel system, right? As Nick continued to scope out the building, she flicked through her notebook absentmindedly until a loose-leaf of paper fluttered down to her feet. She had nearly forgotten about it, the instructions Drummer Boy had dropped off nearly two weeks ago, directing her to another meeting with the Railroad. Her conscious reprimanded her for making up an excuse for not attending, but at the time, she wasn’t ready to face the group again.

She hadn’t seen Desdemona—or Deacon—since their little adventure beneath Slocum’s Joe. Foolishly, she believed that space would set her mind straight, that her emotions would level out after introspection and some time alone. What she hadn’t realized was that her life had already been drastically altered: Nick believed the Railroad to be a valuable ally, she had an agent for a neighbor, and despite everything, she couldn’t get that stupid, silly, enigmatic man named Deacon out of her mind.

“Another mysterious note?”

“What?” Madelyn snapped her eyes up and over to where Nick was looking back to her with all the curiosity in the world. She couldn’t lie to him, not when it was his job to find the truth. “More or less of the same, requesting me to visit their headquarters beneath the church again. It’s…outdated though. I didn’t go.”

“You have been spending a lot more time at the agency,” he mentioned, stubbing out his smoke in the tiny metal tray of the Cadillac’s center console. “You ready to tell me what’s going on in that pretty head?”

“Don’t flatter me, Nick,” she playfully chastised, before shifting as her legs became restless. “We don’t have to cut the Railroad out as a point of contact, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He didn’t say anything, but the detective always had a certain look about him, a glimmer to his eyes when he knew there was more to the story being told. She sighed, staring back down at the typewritten note and continued. “I just…needed some time.”

Nick took a moment, glancing out the window to confirm that there had yet to be any movement on the building they were watching. Only then did he divert his full attention to her.

“I’ve been meaning to apologize,” he paused, waving his hand in protest when she went to interject. What did he have to say sorry for? “I overstepped some boundaries a few weeks ago, insinuated something I shouldn’t’ve between you and that Deacon fellow.”

Madelyn wasn’t upset with Nick, but hearing his words was somewhat comforting. Though, she was sure she would’ve been in her head about the situation regardless of the lighthearted teasing from her partner and his fiancé. She should be the one apologizing—for dragging her feet, for being distracted, for being stuck in the past. Nick wasn’t the only one she owed that to, but she didn’t dwell on that thought.

“My only hope is that one day, not tomorrow or even this year,” Nick said, treading lightly. “Is that you will be able to move on. It doesn’t have to be with the first handsome guy you meet that makes you smile, but you don’t deserve to live out the rest of your days alone. I don’t want to pretend to know what Nate would’ve wanted for you,” he hesitated, reaching over to place his hand over hers. The cold material of the prosthetic sent a shiver up her arm, but otherwise, his touch was comforting as always. “But this isn’t it.”

Madelyn knew that Nick was right—almost hated that he was. But she couldn’t be mad at his advice, or the mild-mannered way he delivered it. If she had been paying attention, he’d been gently nudging her towards this for months—the grieving counseling sessions, dinner parties, case work that had her interacting with all sorts of people. Her friend was doing the best he could to ensure she had all the opportunities to break out of the shell she had buried herself in for the past year, and for that she was grateful.

“I know,” she finally admitted, a truth that made her stomach uneasy. It was freeing, but the remorse still lingered. “Its tough Nick, to let people in. Not like before when I could trust everyone and anyone despite years of law school telling me otherwise,” she softly laughed, more to herself. “But now? I have my support group. I have my friends. To let anyone else in is dangerous, and to let anyone too close is foolish.”

She didn’t necessarily mean to think about a specific person—certainly not a certain Railroad agent who had stirred up these emotions within her in the first place—she tried to focus on the broader aspect of what Nick was stating.

“You’re right, but it’s so hard,” she steadied her breath so she wouldn’t break down in a fit of sobs like she had been doing so often in the last few weeks when she thought about her departed husband. Codsworth, her newly activated Mister Handy butler, wasn’t sure what to make of her outbursts. “I think of Nate, and the guilt is overbearing. It isn’t right—not when he’s dead, his killer still out there somewhere. I don’t get to move on like nothing happened.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Nick contended, calmly. He fidgeted, lighting up a new cigarette to calm his nerves, or perhaps get rid of the chill surrounding them from the snow outside the vehicle. “What I’m saying is that you should take one day at a time, just as you’ve been doing. Just—” he paused to exhale a small cloud of smoke, waving it away from her. “Be less afraid, especially when somebody dares to breach the walls around your heart.”

Madelyn let his words resonate with her and really settle in her mind. Ever since Nate’s death she had been taking life slowly, but at the cost of living a half-life. She wasn’t herself—hadn’t been for a long while—and even she knew it was well past a reasonable time to be wallowing in self-pity. Perhaps it would be okay to let her guard down, allow her personality to shine after months of fading to the background. She needed to do right by her husband’s memory and live—she couldn’t do that if she was constantly torturing herself. Finally, she nodded, signaling to her partner that she understood. More than that, she agreed.

“Speaking of the heart,” she deftly changed the subject, flashing a teasing grin. “Valentine’s Day is this Friday. Have any plans with Jenny?”

Nick smirked, anticipating nothing less from her. “If I didn’t have plans, it would be a disservice to the family name, don’t you think? Jenny would have me take her name at the registrar’s office.”

“Mr. Lands,” Madelyn snickered. “Lands’ Detective Agency,” she tested, imagining the flashing neon light that hung above the office door. “God Nick, we’re already suffering enough. We don’t need a name change to put a nail in the coffin.”

“Good thing I’ve got Friday in the bag then,” he smiled, without any indication he planned to indulge any details. “The future Mrs. Valentine won’t be disappointed.”

Rather than be jealous, she could only be happy for Nick and Jenny—two people that were so in love and so impeccably made for each other it was surprising they had waited so long to tie the knot. Madelyn was too close of a friend with both of them to feel anything but joy for their relationship, even when she had nobody to go home to after long nights on the job. Well, nobody except Dogmeat and Codsworth.

Maybe her time for happiness would come sooner, rather than later, if she allowed it.

“It’s late,” Nick spoke, interrupting her thoughts. He lifted the binoculars to take one last glance towards the Quincy police station, confirming there had been no further movement. “Time to call this a bust?”

Madelyn agreed. “Bust.” 

February 14th, 1958

Madelyn could hear Bobby Darin playing on the radio from the kitchen as she sat at her vanity that morning, smiling to herself as she listened to Codsworth rummaging around and yammering on while he conversed with Dogmeat in the kitchen. A year ago, she would’ve never assumed she would one day find this aspect of her life normal or comforting, but now, she couldn’t imagine her apartment without the robot butler or German Shepard.

After three weeks, she had finally adjusted to having Codsworth activated, the Mister Handy robot proving to be convenient in more ways than one. At first, it was alarming at how devoted he was to serve her—anticipating her every need and hovering over her every action. Madelyn was appreciative, but being the independent woman that she was, set some ground-rules for the robot to follow so she wouldn’t feel so crowded or coddled in her own home. With some semblance of a routine, she felt her life taking shape once again—even if it seemed more suited for a television sitcom starring Betty White.

She had just finished adjusting her curls when there was a knock at the door, the sound echoing through the hall to her bedroom. Codsworth’s chipper voice resonated from the front room after a few mysterious clanks of her pots and pans. “I shall see who is at the door, mum!”

For a fleeting moment, she figured it must be Nick, there for an early morning visit on his way to the agency. They would typically car-pool to the Fens district throughout the week but as she glanced to her flip calendar on the table, she realized her partner had more important obligations—Valentine’s Day. That’s when her mind switched over and began running through the rather short list of possible visitors who would be at her door before eight on a Friday morning. Piper would’ve called first. Jenny was with Nick. MacCready didn’t know where she lived, neither did Hancock—at least she hoped that was true. Drummer Boy would’ve slipped a note under the door. Madelyn groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose at the possibility it was Deacon.

“Miss Madelyn!” Codsworth sounded confused as he called for her and she was already standing, tightly securing the tie of her silken robe around her body for decency’s sake before striding down the hall towards the living room. The robot was hovering before her open front door. “This man claims to be the milkman, but I do believe we’ve already received our delivery for the week. Is this another alteration to the schedule?”

It was definitely Deacon.

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she approached to stand next to Codsworth, if only to confirm what she already suspected. Bright smile, black hair styled up and of course—it wouldn’t be Deacon without his darkened shades. At least the milkman costume was a nice touch. She had to admit that the effort the man went through for an act was impressive, if not amusing.

“I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me, Charmer,” he frowned, though she could tell he was bluffing.

Madelyn glanced to her Mister Handy unit, who—if she had gotten any better at reading the machine—appeared bewildered. “Codsworth, honey, what did I say about opening the door to strange men?”

“Oh! Right!” he exclaimed, raising his arms in defense. He moved so the bulk of his frame blocked her from Deacon’s view. “Shall I stick ‘em mum?”

She couldn’t contain her laughter, snapping a hand to cover her mouth at the sight of Codsworth hovering threateningly before Deacon, dressed in all-white with an equally entertained expression. She stepped closer, resting a hand against the robot’s cold metal frame. “That won’t be necessary, dear. I was only joking.”

“Are you to say you know this…milkman?” Codsworth questioned, before spinning his arms frantically as he moved back into the apartment on his way towards the kitchen. “Will he be joining us for breakfast? I will need to prepare another plate!”

Before she could interject or protest, Deacon was crossing the threshold with a beaming grin. He was carrying a metal basket just as a real milk deliveryman would and she wondered where he had managed to find such a convincing getup. Instead of white bottles rattling inside there was a brown packaged box and a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in parchment. Madelyn sidestepped around him to the door and contemplated asking him politely to leave but decided against being rude. She owed him a face-to-face conversation after so many weeks of silence.

“A Mister Handy unit?” Deacon spoke before she could, turning to face her. “I guess everybody needs a three-eyed metal husband.”

Madelyn snickered, glancing over to where Codsworth was balancing several tasks at once—eggs over the stove, coffee on the pot and bread in the toaster—all the while humming along to whatever song was filtering through the nearby radio. “Remind me to look into the legalities of marrying artificial intelligence. He may be flighty, but he knows his way around the kitchen.”  

“You just haven’t had me cook you breakfast yet,” Deacon replied matter-of fact. He lifted the basket he carried, changing the subject before she could respond to his remark. “I come bearing gifts.”

She nodded towards the kitchen island, motioning for him to sit on one of the barstools while she circled to the other side. It was a calculated move, wanting to put as much space between them as possible for now. Deacon placed the box on the counter and nudged it towards her. “This is from Irma. Said she couldn’t believe you walked out last time without one.”

Madelyn opened the package to discover a freshly baked blueberry pie, the smell an instant trigger for her mind, sending her back to the brief visit within the Memory Den. At least that all but confirmed what she already suspected—that Irma worked for the Railroad in some capacity. Deacon tapped a few fingers against the empty plate set before him and she sighed before turning to rummage through a drawer for a pie-cutter. Facing away from him, she heard his small chuckle.

“That’s a delicate little number you’ve got on,” he commented. She wasn’t alarmed by his statement, almost expecting it—if anything, she was glad to hear the mirth in his tone as if their quickly formed dynamic hadn’t changed.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, watching as he poured two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice from the pitcher Codsworth had placed. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”

Deacon let out a low whistle. “Silk and lace says otherwise, Charmer.”

“Had to look nice for my metal husband on Valentine’s Day,” she joked, sliding up to Codsworth who was none-the-wiser. It was a shame the robot had a difficult time processing sarcasm. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

“Mum, I do hope you aren’t planning on spoiling breakfast by eating that pie,” he responded, ruining her act. The Handy unit returned to preparing their morning meal, crisping the bacon on the griddle pan. Dogmeat whined as he circled around the kitchen island, stopping to sniff at Deacon’s feet. He regarded the dog with a smile before lifting the second item from the metal basket, handing the flowers to her and swapping for the pie cutter.

Madelyn examined the bunch of white daisies mixed with blue forget-me-nots, inhaling their sweet scent as she looked over at him. He was cutting slices, ignoring the way Codsworth was peering at him with one, zoomed in eye. The significance of the flowers wasn’t lost on her—forget-me-nots—it wasn’t entirely subtle, even for Deacon. She searched through her cabinets for a vase, delicately arranging the stems and petals as she poured some water inside.

“Irma insisted I couldn’t show up to your place empty handed, given the holiday,” he explained. “As you can imagine, all the flower shops from North End to Cambridge were out of roses.”

She had a difficult time determining if he was being sincere, or if he had really gone through the effort. For all she knew, he could’ve bummed the bouquet off some unsuspecting fella on the street corner. Madelyn decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that he had scoured all the floral shops along the Charles River just for her sake.

“I prefer these,” she replied with a soft smile. He regarded her with a softer expression, though she would’ve liked to know what his eyes looked like behind the sunglasses. Madelyn had resigned herself to the simple fact that she likely never would and would have to guess that they were trained on her—it certainly felt that way, with how her skin tickled with goosebumps.

“Good,” he replied, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. Deacon poked at the slice of blueberry pie he had set on the plate before him with a fork, scooping up a generous bite. “One bite won’t hurt.”

It wasn’t until his arm started moving across the counter space that she realized what his intentions were, and she reflexively stepped back, bumping into Codsworth who was ready to serve their food. She scrambled to move out of the way, realizing the only place for her was the empty barstool next to Deacon. Reluctantly, she joined him on the other side, unable to ignore the way he was still holding the utensil out in offering with a ridiculous, expectant smile. Madelyn braced her nerves and reminded herself it could be another exercise in trust—a rather bizarre exercise—and leaned over the short distance, wrapping her lips around the fork to take the bite. To his credit, the blueberry pie was delicious and so was his momentarily shocked appearance—he hadn’t expected her to comply.

“Breakfast is served!” Codsworth interrupted their strange encounter with his announcement, metal arms whizzing around as he placed the steaming piles of food on the center counter.

The two served themselves, eating in a comfortable silence with the occasional sideways glance and shared smile. The robot continued to whirr as he floated around looking for a new task to attend to while Dogmeat successfully begged for bacon scraps at their feet. Madelyn quickly noticed how domestic the scene looked and felt, even with Deacon dressed up as some imposter milkman. Just like having the dog and the Mister Handy unit was abnormally normal, she felt a strange sense of calm with having the Railroad spy next to her. She wasn’t ready to confront what deeper emotions she possibly had whispering beneath the surface, but intuition told her it was time to stop running and let fate do its job.

“I’ll be honest,” she started, clearing her throat as she set her napkin down. “I may have been avoiding the Railroad.”

“So, it wasn’t just me?” Deacon teasingly asked. “Listen, I know our organization can be a handful, intimidating even. You haven’t even met the rest of the gang yet. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted out,” he paused, head turned towards her. “It’d be a damn shame though.”

“I participated in one job,” she replied. “If you could call me following you around underground in a sewer participation. How is that impressive in any way?”

“I’m easy that way,” he shrugged. “Dez calls the shots, not me. Even if I told her you were dead weight, which I wouldn’t dream of describing you as, she doesn’t seem ready to let you go so soon.”

Madelyn had to wonder just what Deacon had described her as to the Railroad leader. Probably something with too many adjectives while being overzealous and dramatic with hand-movements, if she had to guess. She focused on the important part—despite her radio silence, Desdemona wanted her to stay aboard.

“Is that why you’re here now?” she asked. “To check up on Agent Charmer? Bring me back into the fold?”

He waved a piece of crispy bacon at her, frowning. “Don’t sell my social calls so short. You won’t see me buying flowers for Drummer Boy.”

“Maybe he should invest in silk nightgowns,” she joked, snatching half the piece of meat from his hand.

He let out an airy chuckle while she chewed, eating the rest that he had before shaking his head. “Dez doesn’t know I’m here. She thinks I’m at Bunker Hill, working on setting up a meeting with one of our old contacts. I thought I’d see if my partner wanted to join in on the fun before I go.”

The fact he still considered her his partner after one Railroad outing was endearing. Madelyn still had her reservations, but she knew the organization deserved more than to be written off after one excursion. She softly laughed to herself. “What is with you guys and tourist traps?”

Deacon’s smile gradually increased. “What can I say? We’re a quirky, history loving bunch.”

“What’s the job this time?” she asked, curiously.

“Carrington asked me to find out if one our old Bunker Hill contacts, Old Man Stockton, was still in operation,” he began. “He was a big player back when we were moving people regularly in and out of the city. Now that we’re down on our luck, he’s gone back to his old line of work.”

“Under our current circumstances, we wouldn’t accept an escort job, but the Doc made it sound imperative the subject be moved as soon as possible,” Deacon explained further. “If Dez cleared it, then we’re in the green to proceed.”

Madelyn was astounded by the notion that they could and would help a person willingly disappear but figured an individual must be desperate to turn to an underground organization instead of vanishing on their own. She wanted to know more and the only way to do that was to go along with Deacon again.

“What do you say, Charmer?” he asked, one eyebrow arced high above his shades.

She nodded, flashing a tiny grin. “You’ve got yourself a partner, Deacon.”

He laughed, reaching over to clasp his hand on her shoulder as he brought her in for a quick, sideways hug. Madelyn was startled by the show of friendliness but didn’t express it, swiftly channeling her alarm into ease—she didn’t mind the warmth and feel of his hand on her at all—she actually liked it. He leaned away, fingers trailing across her back before withdrawing fully.

“You know,” he said in a sing-song way. “I noticed you don’t flinch away from physical contact. You aren’t shy. Unlike most people.”

“Most people are uncomfortable with the notion of physical touch, sure,” Madelyn agreed. It figured he had been studying her behavior. “I—I find it comforting.”

Deacon turned to her and she could feel his stare through the reflective shades. Heat spread through her chest the longer the silence stretched between them until his lips pulled up into a sideways smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

February 16th, 1958

On Sunday, Deacon returned to Madelyn’s apartment with a dead drop from Old Man Stockton, confirming the rendezvous point in which a face-to-face meeting would occur. They were to meet the Bunker Hill contact at the Cambridge Catholic Assembly church after dark, long after the parishioners had gone home for the day. The two had been sitting in the empty church for what felt like hours, occupying one of the last few pews while they waited for Stockton to arrive. Madelyn found herself distracted by the moonlight pouring in through the picture frame windows of the towering steeple, dumbfounded that once again she found herself in a place of worship. Just as she began reminiscing about Nate’s funeral service and the hymns the priest sung, she shut her eyes tight, blocking the memory from overpowering her thoughts.

Deacon’s gloved hand bumped against hers. “Charmer?”

“Tourist traps, churches,” she mused. “Why can’t it be amusement parks?”

“You don’t want to know who runs Nuka World,” he mumbled, fingers idly trailing along her wrist where her watch rested until she opened her eyes. “I didn’t expect it to take this long. If we’ve been had…”

“I hope not,” she replied, glancing down to confirm it was midnight. “At this rate, you’ll owe me breakfast.”

He grinned and nudged his shoulder against hers. “I did promise you I, didn’t I?”

The church’s front door squeaked open, interrupting the two from their banter and they stood to meet the approaching visitors. Two men, an older one dressed in a business suit and coat, the younger one dressed in shabbier denim with a winter jacket and cap. The older gentleman approached as the other stood back, looking anxious.

“Do you have a Geiger counter?” he asked, signaling the Railroad key phrase.

“Mine is in the shop,” Deacon replied in kind. “Stockton, good to see you. Carrington sends his regards.”

Stockton nodded, though he didn’t seem concerned with pleasantries as he observed their surroundings before gesturing to the younger man. “I won’t be long. This is Henry. Henry, these are the people I talked to you about,” he shifted towards the back window where a lantern was. “I’ll fire up the signal.”

Madelyn extended her arm to Henry. “Nice to meet you,” she offered politely. “You can call me…Charmer.”

The man nervously gripped her hand and shook it meekly. “Thank you.”

“Time for me to go,” Stockton stated, still scanning the church as if he was waiting for someone or something to jump out and discover them. “Keep Henry safe. Someone will be here shortly.”

He regarded Deacon with one last steely look before making a swift exit. Madelyn glanced to her partner in confusion, wondering if the Old Man’s departure was all part of the plan. He shrugged but didn’t appear nervous about the change—she’d never seen Deacon anything but calm and collected, anything to the contrary would be alarming. The three stood quietly, Henry continuing to keep his distance as the lantern burned in the window. At twelve-thirty, footsteps echoed outside the church, but the doors didn’t open right away. Madelyn and Deacon exchanged a quick glance and at the sound of more rustling, she withdrew her pistol from her handbag—she figured he might be carrying as well but insisted if either of them was going to brandish a weapon it was going to be the one with connections to the District Attorney’s office.

The two blocked Henry from sight as the large oak door finally creaked open and a figure shadowed by the night creeped in. Unable to determine if they were friend or foe, Madelyn trained her weapon, even if she wasn’t entirely convinced that she would be able to shoot. Upon noticing the group standing near the pews the intruder stopped dead in his tracks, raising his hands defensively.

“Don’t shoot!” he exclaimed before hesitantly taking a few steps closer. Under the dim lighting, she observed the man’s appearance closely—dark skin, warm brown eyes and a black hair shaved down to the stubble. Even though it was still blistering cold out, he seemed unbothered, wearing only jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket with some laced-up Chucks. Even with a gun pointed at him, the man smiled. “Charmer, right?”

He flicked his gaze to her side but didn’t dare to move his arms. “And my man, Deacon. Still wearing sunglasses at night?”

Before her partner could react, she intervened. “Do you have a Geiger counter?”

“Right you are,” he responded, impressed. “Mine is in the shop. All good?”

Madelyn looked to Deacon who nodded, flashing a grin. “High Rise, it’s been a while.”

“Three months since I’ve seen your ugly mug,” High Rise laughed as they exchanged a firm but friendly handshake. He glanced over to Madelyn with cheeky smile as she made to place her pistol back into her purse. “So, this is Charmer? The one who helped with the Switchboard, while you sat on the sidelines.”

She shot a raised eyebrow in Deacon’s direction, but he only offered a sheepish shrug in return. She could only imagine the kind of fanatical stories he had been spreading about her while she had been away. High Rise continued, reaching his hand out to her. “Glad you joined the team.”

Madelyn reciprocated his handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Honor’s all mine,” he replied before tilting his head to get a better look at Henry who had hunkered down in one of the pews. “How’s our friend doing?”

With all the attention suddenly focused on him, Henry slouched further back into the wooden seat. Madelyn took a few cautious steps closer, not wanting to startle him any further. “Are you alright?”

“Mister Stockton…he said I shouldn’t talk too much,” he replied in a shaky voice, eyes darting between the group of people standing. She sat down next to him, deciding to take a softer approach.

“Would you like to tell me what brought you here?” she asked, carefully. At his silence, she nodded, encouraging him. “You can trust us, Henry. We’ll protect you.”

He still seemed skeptical—lips twisted to the side as he avoided looking at any of them. “I—I need to get as far away from Boston as possible,” he said, voice trembling. “I’m afraid for my life.”

“What’s got you so spooked?” Deacon questioned.

Henry shook his head, remaining tightlipped. “If I say, you’d be in danger too.”

“We’re already helping you get out of the city,” High Rise pointed out the flaw in Henry’s resistance. “Might as well double down and let us know of any potential threats coming our way.”

Another moment of silence passed as Henry contemplated answering, fidgeting in the church pew. Finally, he breathed out, looking to Madelyn like a safe haven. “I witnessed a murder. Not just any murder. Last month, I was working as a dockhand on the Harbor when I saw the car pull up—”

Madelyn started adding up the details in her head and interrupted, nearly blurting out the words. “Johnny Montrano Junior?”

Henry’s eyes widened in shock and realization. “Y—yes, how do you know?”

“Some of us have day jobs,” Deacon assured, raising his eyebrows at Madelyn, silently reminding her to reel it in. “Nothing to worry about, we’re still the good guys.”

She nodded in agreement, desperately hoping he would believe them and continue. Henry took a deep breath before resuming his story. “It was late, and I was the last to leave the warehouse but when I saw the men and the guns I ran and hid behind some crates.”

“What did you see?” Madelyn asked.

What she wouldn’t give to have a tape deck to record his statements—she wondered if she’d ever be able to compel him to speak again, if she could ever track him down after he disappeared. Even with Deacon and High Rise as bystanders, a court would likely dismiss it as hearsay unless they heard it directly from the witness himself—probably why Henry wanted to leave Boston in the first place.  

Henry shivered, eyes glossed over in memory. “Everything.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” High Rise spoke, signaling to the dwindling flame in the lantern. “But we shouldn’t hang around here. We can talk more once we get Henry to the safehouse.”

Madelyn’s wanted to argue but she instinctively knew that staying in the church wasn’t the safest choice. She stood, straightening the lines of her dark coat—Deacon had insisted she wear it so they could not only blend into the shadows but coordinate.

“Safe to assume Ticonderoga has been moved, right?” he asked, looking towards High Rise for the answer.

He nodded in answer. “If you drive, I can show you the way. It’s not far.”

Madelyn chose to sit in the backseat of Deacon’s Volkswagen with Henry, wanting to gleam more information about the night he witnessed Johnny Montrano’s murder. Deacon held the door open for her, closing it even though High Rise had yet to climb into the passenger seat and the two exchanged a laugh about it while she retrieved a notebook from her purse. The engine roared to life and slowly they drove away from the Cambridge church.  

“So, you having fun yet, Charmer?” High Rise’s lighthearted tone caught her off guard. Beside her, Henry shifted uncomfortably. “With Deacon, I mean. Of all the people Dez could’ve paired a rookie with, you got stuck with—”

“Excuse me,” Deacon interrupted, turning down a street when High Rise directed him to. “We already have a group codename. The Big Sleep.”

High Rise chuckled. “You’re no Bogart.”

“That’s what I thought,” Madelyn announced, suppressing her laughter at Deacon’s offended gasp. At the next stop sign, he took a moment to glance over his shoulder at her, eyebrows raised. To her surprise, even Henry seemed momentarily amused by the group’s antics.

“Maybe James Dean,” High Rise offered with a hum. “I’m being generous with your age. And if you take the fake pompadour wig into play.”

Deacon grumbled, turning towards the other man with his lips in a straight line. Madelyn thought she would’ve been more surprised, but considering who High Rise was talking about, the revelation wasn’t all the shocking. It also explained why curiously, his eyebrows appeared too fair in color and why his hats never sat straight upon his head. A spy had his secrets, she supposed. Noting the stretch of silence, High Rise shifted, turning as much as possible to face Madelyn.

“Deacon may be a terrible liar, but it pays to have him on your side,” he stated.

Madelyn wondered about that, glancing up at the rearview mirror to catch a glance of Deacon’s reflection. Her own face was mirrored back in the flicker of his shades as he offered a tiny smirk. In the short time she had known him, he had offered up plenty of little white lies—nothing extravagant or harmful—and was evasive enough that she still considered him one giant mystery. Nonetheless, she trusted him, and the stunning realization sent a shockwave through her system.

“Another right up here,” High Rise announced.

Before she had a chance to collect her thoughts, Deacon had pulled the car along the curbside outside a tall, unlit building. She looked to Henry and the notepad in her lap, sighing in resignation—she’d have to ask her questions inside just as it was recommended earlier—there would be time, even if it took all night. High Rise exited the vehicle first, delight in his voice as he pointed up at the skyscraper.

“Home sweet home,” he announced before turning back to lean against the roof, looking in at Deacon and Madelyn. “All in a night’s work for you agent types, huh?”

She smiled. “Just part of the service.”

“I think I’m going to like you even more than Glory,” High Rise responded, cheekily.

Deacon twisted his body, arm slung over the seat to face her and Henry and seemed poised to say something when the car was flooded with light from an advancing vehicle. It parked on the curb behind them and a few moments later, the headlamps went dark as the engine died. Immediately, Madelyn was on edge.

“We were followed,” Henry was quick to assume, scrambling to try and remove himself from the car.

Even though she had difficulty seeing through his glasses, she could tell Deacon had his eyes trained on the other vehicle and the person behind the wheel. From her angle, she couldn’t tell what the immediate danger was. In the quiet, they heard a car door open and close. Minutes passed before the echo of footsteps followed in the opposite direction of where they were. Instead of relief, Deacon tensed, his arm reaching out for her before waving towards High Rise.

“Get Charmer out of here.”

Madelyn didn’t have time to be afraid as High Rise hauled her out of the backseat with little decorum, encouraging her to run in the other direction as he rushed to help Henry. She ran as fast as her heels would allow through the soft blanket of snow, panic building in her chest at the fear of the unknown. For a split second she hesitated, looking back over her shoulder to see how much distance she had made when a faint click echoed across the quiet plaza. At the same time, Deacon was in front of her, his body meeting hers in a swift collision as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, toppling them both to the ground. They were propelled forward by a large explosion—though Madelyn wasn’t sure what had happened until she was flat on the icy gravel, her head pounding and ears ringing from the lingering sound.

Deacon was still perched over her, resting half his body weight atop her as he shielded her from the distant smoke and flames. Madelyn blinked hard, adjusting her vision before realizing that his sunglasses were askew. Even in the dark of night she could see the faintest hint of what was underneath, and her heart skipped a beat. Blue. With trembling hands, she reached up, pushing them back into place.

His lips twisted into a small, sideways smirk. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Reality sunk in as he rolled away, the two slowly leaning up to survey the damage. It was clear that the second vehicle had been planted with a bomb, set with a remote trigger and detonated by the mysterious driver. Deacon’s car was practically destroyed, and from where Madelyn was, she couldn’t see Henry or High Rise. But the devastation and intent was evident—they had been followed. The Railroad had been targeted again.

Ticonderoga Safehouse had just gone up in flames.

[lit-works]

Heroes For Hire: The Gang Wars Trilogy

Book 1: After Midnight

Chapter 4: trouble at Hank’s

Jessica Jones and Misty Knight stood outside of Hank’s tavern. The full moon sat high above the city, spinning and watching impassively. Late at night, Times square is a busy place. Con men and prostitutes filled the streets, along with the junkies, and their pushers. Panhandlers beg for loose change while the street artists do flips and play old instruments for the same. The two women draw few stares. Jessica talked with her phone to one side of her head and Misty stood patiently by. “I know, Luke, but i don't get any breaks. Raising Danielle has been a full time job for me and i could really use the night off.” Jessica rolls her eyes at the phone. “Fine, eat my egg rolls, i don't care. Danielle’s already in bed, right? Good. So then, I'll see you in the morning? I love you, Luke. Goodnight.”

With that Jessica hung up her phone.

With the most recent development in the Met case Jessica had decided to follow Misty along to Hank’s to find Felicia’s brother Johnny and the missing book.

“Any sight of this Johnny guy?” Jessica asked Misty.

“If they are twins, i haven't seen a single soul that looks similar to Felicia yet.” Misty replied.

“Maybe he's inside?” Jessica suggested.

“Maybe.” Misty dismissed as she lit up a cigarette and looked up and down the street.

“Well, let's go order some drinks.”

Hours dragged by. Misty scanning the face of every patron in the bar as they came and went, and Jessica imbibing more and more. After the clock struck midnight and no perceivable meeting was taking place, the two women began to believe that perhaps Felicia had misled them or was perhaps not as informed as she led them to believe. There were clearly members of the Flashing Blades present, identifiable by their white and red bandanas and readily apparent sheathed blades. None of them seemed to be related to Felicia, and even fewer of them seemed to be there for anything other than libation. “I'm gonna go out for a cigarette, okay, Jess?”

Jessica looked up from her near-empty glass, her glazed eyes revealing she was lost in the sauce. “Ok. I'll be right here waiting for you when you get back.” she slurred.

-

Jessica drunkenly bobbed to the Motorhead song playing on the jukebox, and looked from person to person. There at the corner of the bar, she thought she saw someone who could've been the Johnny they were looking for. Tho trimmed very short, this kid had blonde hair and even a similar physique to that of Felicia. He hadn't gotten a clear look at his face, but swore she saw the lines of the same angular jaw-line. Swigging down the last of her glass, Misty catches a disgusting smell on the air. Worse than the typical aroma of a dive bar. More than the sweat, booze, and regret that usually hung in the air at Hank’s. She smelt wet dog. Wet dog and sulphur.

-

A woman’s scream and the squeal of tires grabbed Misty’s attention as she stood outside the building. A large black Sedan tore down the street, scattering pedestrians in its path. Out of the windows, the smoking barrels of vintage tommy-guns pointed menacingly. They were coming right at her!

-

Inside, Jessica lifts her head off the table at the sound of panic. The smell of wet dog is filling the room now, suffusing the air with its thick stench. All around her was chaos. Men were running out the front door and leaping out of windows. Those who weren't seemed to be trying to take cover behind upturned furniture. The screams carried to her ears through her drunken stupor along with the sounds of shattering glass and breaking wood. Extremely confused as to what she had been missing since falling asleep, thats when Jessica saw it.

A massive wolf-like creature destroying the bar in its fury. Thick wintry hued fur tufted over the beasts body, from its grisly short snout to the humanoid hands and feet. Snarling fangs and rabid eyes glinted in the neon of the bar's interior. With animal strength, it flung tables and chairs and struck the nearest patrons. Their screams agonized as their skin was rent from their flesh by hideous claws. Either Jessica had consumed entirely too much, or there was none other than a werewolf before her.

Her instincts shined through the vapor of repose and alcohol, springing Jessica into action. She jumped up from her chair and stumbled over to the monster, and brought her recently emptied bottle of Bourbon shattering down onto the beast’s furred dome. With blood coursing down its face, it turned its angry and growling maw towards her. “Oh shit.” Jessica groaned

-

Stepping out onto the street, Misty hastily ripped the right sleeve from her red zip-up coat. As the cloth fell to the ground, the streetlights reflected from the brilliant adamantium underneath. The entirety of Misty’s right arm machinery, and a very high-tech prosthesis.

A long time ago Misty Knight had lost the limb in a terrorist attack. When she survived the explosion and even went on to stop those responsible for the detonation, the affluent Tony Stark thought she deserved to be rewarded for her bravery and spent thousands of dollars and materials to craft the new-and-improved appendage. Forged from Adamantium, one of the strongest minerals in existence and equipped with numerous gadgets and tools, Misty now had the leverage against the shooters.

Levelling her bionic arm at the front of the vehicle, a thought triggered the arms mechanics. Gears grinded in its internal workings and a barrell running down her forearm shot a 9-millimeter bullet into the front passenger side wheel, exploding in a pop of air and plastic. Immediately, the sedan swerved as the driver fought for control of the wheel. With their speed and the sudden loss of a wheel, the driver tried to make for the street corner but turned much too tight and slammed into the Streetlamp on the corner.

Black smoke billowed from beneath the hood. Misty slowly approached the wreck, keeping her arm aimed at the vehicle. She could see now there had been 5 of them. Three in the back, and the passenger with sub-machine guns. The 3 in the back kicked open their doors and jumped out onto the streets, one of the rear passengers wildly fired shots into the air to cover his escape as he started running from the accident. The other 2 decided to stand their ground against Misty would be their only way. It appeared both the front passenger and the driver had been rendered unconscious in the crash.

Misty swiftly ran towards the two gangsters, dressed in pin-suits and wearing fedoras. The full frontal charge balked the two men and stalled them from firing their weapons. With her momentum, and the full weight of her body and the metal in her arm she threw a devastating right hook into one of the gunman’s chest. His air expelled from his lungs in a whoosh as he dropped to the ground, with multiple ribs likely broken if not fractured.

In a flurry, the second gunman popped off a shot but it went wide of Misty and embedded itself into the red-brick exterior of a nearby building. As Misty then closed on him he swung his gun to strike Misty with the butt. Grabbing his arm by the wrist Misty turned at the hips and flipped the man over her and onto his back on the ground. Then, with a flick of her metal wrist bones within the man's forearm shattered. She delivered a swift kick to his temple, just make sure he was out if the shock from his arm had not done so already.

It was then that she glanced back at the car and spied the passenger was gone. He was now on the sidewalk, blood streaming from a break in the bridge of his nose. He held a hapless woman in a headlock with the hot barrel of his machine gun compressed against her cheek. Misty stopped cold.

“That's right, bitch! Don't fucking move! Ill fucking kill her!” the gangster shouted angrily and his hostage let out a sob.

-

Jessica had heard of seeing little pink elephants before, but never werewolves. If anything, she was taking it as a lesson as to why she didn't drink as often anymore. ‘And where did Misty go?’ Jessica wondered. In the bedlam before Jessica regained coherence the beast had already murdered a young man. His partially eviscerated corpse laid their on the floor. Grisly wounds seeping blood. Jessica bashed and struck at the monster, but it's savage and ferocity was unlike anything she had seen. It bit, and slashed, and raked. Aiming for her eyes and neck. Jessica’s leather jacket was nearly torn to shreds from her defending herself.

The two stood squaring off. The werewolf lunged at Jessica and though she tried to catch it, the beast was upon her. Its tough jaw clenching vice-like onto her clavicle, the teeth drawing blood. She screamed in pain and began throwing wild blows into the abdomen of the werewolf. With each blow the wolf yelped around the bit of Jessica it held in its mouth. Finally, thinking of how to remove the creature she reared her leg and brought her knee straight into the werewolves groin.

With a series of high-pitched yelps it released Jessica and loped out the entrance of the bar and Jessica gave chase.

-

The doors to Hank’s tavern swung open, and instead of seeing Jessica like she hoped she would, Misty was horrified by the beast she saw. The werewolf, grotesque in the moonlight and bathed in blood, stormed out into the night. The gunman with his hostage also saw the werewolf and became overwhelmed with abject fear. “What the fuck is that thing??!!”

He screamed as his hostage slipped free.

All focus on the nightmarish beast before him, the gangster let his hostage free and assumed a defensive posture at the werewolf. Waving his gun wildly.

The werewolf reared back, its dark gray and black coat bristling as it emanated a deep rumbling growl. Its bares fangs shining in the moonlight. Suddenly, the gunman opens fire but wasnt aiming. The bullets miss and the werewolf pounced. Jessica Jones followed shortly thereafter out onto the street. Misty and Jessica stood in horror as the werewolf claimed another victim, but in this attack something very odd occurred. Streaks of visible electricity crackled over the werewolves body and then, within the blink of an eye, it vanished. Leaving the body of its fresh kill littering the street.

-

In the aftermath of the fight the remaining patrons of Hank’s expressed their gratitude for Jessica and Misty’s presence. The NYPD arrived in a timely manner to question the witnesses with coroners and paramedics to clean up, When a particularly feminin young man, bearing a resemblance to a certain museum attendant, thanked them Misty began asking him the questions. “You wouldn't happen to be Johnny Bifrost, would you?”

“Why? I got a warrant or something?” The kid asked, looking skeptical of his heroes now. Also recognizing Misty Knight from her time as a police officer, one who had put a few of his friends behind bars.

“Not that i know of. It's just that this kid Johnny’s sister, Felicia. She's really worried about him and the kind of trouble he might be getting himself into. If you are Johnny, id say tonight proves she has reason for concern.” Misty alluded.

“Damn, Felicia sent you here?” his countenance changed to sullen. “I’m just trying to keep food in her fridge.”

“Where's the book, Johnny?” Jessica asked bluntly, looking she had clearly had much better nights.

“Whoah! I swear i didn't take the book from the Met!” Johnny defended.

“You knew we were talking about the Met heist?” Misty noted.

“What other book would you be asking about?” Johnny shrugged. “You think i’d swipe the book. Why would i sick monsters after my own friends?”

“You think that wolf thing had something to do with the book?” Jessica gave a quizzical look.

“Either way, i'm pretty sure it was Hammerhead who stole it. And those are his goons too.” Johnny pointed at the corpse in the pinstripe suit and wing-tip shoes being loaded into the coroner’s van.

“Why did Hammerhead want this book?” Misty Knight asked no one in particular, as much to herself as anyone listening.

“Well…” Johnny stuttered slightly and continued. “rumors say that Hammerhead’s branch of the Maggia stole the book. Now they're using monsters to wipe out the rival gangs.”

“Thats ridiculous!” Misty spouted.

“monday night the Crimson smiles were thrashed in their own pad, and tonight my bro gets clobbered by a goddamn werewolf!” Johnny iterated.

“Well, then who would be next?” Jessica thought to ask, humoring the kid.

“Tommy Kent. He's the leader of the guys from the Lower East side, they kick it in a pool hall down there called Starky’s. Tommy used to work real close with Hammerhead until they had some kind of falling out, and Hammerhead started going around telling people he was gonna have Tommy killed. Tommy also knows where you could find Hammerhead on a given sunday, so i think Tommy’s gotta be next.”

“You know, you should be home with your sister instead of in places like this.” Misty advised. “There's no reason a kid like you should be packing a knife like that, and running these streets.”

“I have to make  money, you don't understand. I've been in trouble, nowhere will hire me.” Johnny hung his head.

“Bullshit, kid, my husband’s been to prison. Multiple times. And he's never had a hard time finding work.” Jessica threw in.

“she says you're a good kid, prove her right.” Misty stated. “Felicia loves you alot.”

“The Blades wouldnt ever let me leave. It's bleed in and bleed out with these guys.” Johnny quickly looked around to assure himself none of his fellow blades were within hearing distance.

“We could protect you.” Misty offered.

“I'll go to Felicia tonight. I owe her at least that.” Johnny said as a police officer approached them. As the officer got close Johnny exited.

“Mrs. Knight.” the officer greeted as he tipped his hat.

“Officer Spinoza. Thank you again.” Misty smiled.

“No thank you guys for being here at the right time.” Officer Spinoza chuckled. “We were able to ID the guys in the black car too. All 5 of them have pretty long rap sheets, so the 2 surviving guys we arrested are gonna end up doing at least a nickel.”

“Did they have any major criminal associates?” Misty asked. “Maybe to Hammerhead or the Maggia?”

“I thought that too on count of the way they're dressed,” Officer Spinoza said in his thick southie accent. “But turned out they were all in some set gang on Yancy street back in the day. Used to rob people on the streets with baseball bats. Didn't know whatever happened to that little gang and was glad they had disappeared.”

[justball4ever]

Hosted by: http://ift.tt/2n2FIHv

A couple of weeks ago I attended one of the most horrifying youth basketball games I’ve ever watched since the time I began coaching.

I won’t specify where it was or which teams participated, but I will give you the details so that hopefully others can learn from them.

I entered the gym as a U12 girls game was about to commence. I’m assuming it was a grand final since the stands were near completely filled.

There were numerous banners being held up and many of the spectators were dressed up in the colors of the teams warming up on the court.

A little over the top for a U12 basketball game, but at the time I didn’t give it too much thought.

It wasn’t until the game had started that the true horrors of what youth sports can turn into became clear.

Every time a team would score (or do anything positive), the parents and fans would go crazy. Cheering. Stomping their feet. You name it, they did it.

At the same time, the opposing team would be just as quick (and loud) to boo the success of the U12 female athletes on the opposition team.

The parents and spectators of both teams were constantly shouting out to the players on the court…

“Shoot the basketball!” “Get the rebound!” “Stop the basketball!” “Get up and play defense!”

This continued for nearly the entire first half.

With approximately a minute left, the referee made an obvious bad call that resulted in one team being rewarded with two free-throws.

As many in the stands loudly voiced their opinion on this call, one of the opposition parents sitting behind the bench was so unhappy that he decided to throw one of their team’s banners onto the court out of anger.

Some of the people around him were quick to calm him down and retrieve the banner, but that was enough for me.

I walked out.

As far as I’m aware, there were no fights between the spectators, no tears were shed by any of the players, and no one was thrown out of the game.

Was the game I witnessed as bad as youth sports parents get? Definitely not.

Was it uncommon behavior for youth sports parents? Definitely not.

These displays of poor parental behavior are common at youth sporting events. Year after year we’re presented with examples such as the following…

• Parents brawl at a 4th-grade basketball game

• Two people punched and then 6-man fight at a 7-year-old basketball game

• A parent asked to leave for belligerent behavior fires a gun outside the gym and chases a referee

Witnessing these scenes encouraged me to elaborate on my thoughts regarding parents involved with youth sports and what changes they can make to improve the youth sporting experience for the players.

So from a youth basketball coach who truly loves the game and cares about the players who participate in it, here’s how you can help…

  1. Please Remember Your Role During Games

It’s incredibly important that everyone who attends youth sport remembers what their roles are during a game.

• We have coaches to coach the game. • We have referees to referee the game. • We have players to play the game. • And we have spectators to spectate the game.

A parent’s role consists of watching the game and providing support for your child and the other players on the court.

‘Providing support’ does not mean screaming out to the players, throwing your hands in the air when a player makes a mistake, or displaying terrible body language.

I know it can be a rollercoaster of thoughts and feelings watching your kids competing against other kids, but parents must be able to control their emotions.

Sit back, enjoy the game, smile, and support the players with a clap or cheer after they make a good play.

Which leads to my next important point…

  2. Please Stop Coaching From the Sidelines

Reiterating my point above, your role at the game is to watch and enjoy the game; not to coach.

By all means, if coaching is something that you want to pursue there are many clubs all over the world who are constantly looking for coaches of all levels. I encourage you to sign up.

But if you’re attending a game as a spectator, do not coach your child or any other players from the sidelines.

For example: • “Get on #10. He’s killing you guys!” • “Shoot it!” • “Get up the court and pressure them!”

The reason this is detrimental to your child and the rest of the team is because they’ll be receiving conflicting messages from you and the coach.

Conflicting messages = confusion = stress = poor performance.

It’s much better for the entire team if you sit back and allow the coach to do their job.

  3. Please Stop Creating Entitled Children

“We are in the trophy generation. Give them a trophy for 23rd place. That makes the parents happy” – Tom Izzo

Youth sports is a fantastic opportunity for players to learn how to deal with their emotions and experience failure in a safe environment.

Yet despite their good intentions, too many parents are unknowingly robbing their children of experiencing and learning these incredibly important life lessons.

Adults need to stop springing to the rescue and ‘saving’ their child every time something negative happens or the child feels a little upset.

Kid: “I hate my basketball team. I want to play in another team” Adult: “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll get you moved ASAP!”

Kid: ”Johnny got a trophy. Why didn’t I get one? That’s unfair” Adult: “You’re right. You deserve one. I’ll make sure you get one next year”

And to make matters worse, after all of this ‘babying’ of children throughout their youth, us adults have the nerve to say…

“Why are today’s kids so entitled! I was never like that when I was young!”

The children participating in youth sports today are a product of the environment we’ve created and raised them in.

That’s on us.

Youth players are fully aware that if they’re upset about something, their parents will save them from it. And most take full advantage of this fact.

We must change our ways and allow players to experience and learn how to deal with emotions and how to handle failure.

It won’t kill them, I promise.

  4. Please Stop Undermining Coaching Decisions

There’s nothing that will kill the respect and trust a child has for their coach quicker than a parent undermining the coach’s decisions.

This usually happens in two ways:

1. Validating that the coach is wrong.

Kid: “Why don’t I get to dribble the basketball up the court like Jimmy?” Dad: “Because your coach is an idiot.”

2. Putting negative opinions in the player’s head.

Dad: “I can’t believe your coach doesn’t start you on the court! He has no idea how to coach a basketball team!”

By having conversations like these with your son or daughter, you’re increasing the chances that the player will stop listening to the coach.

And these words won’t only stick with your child…

You can be sure that these words will be passed out to the other players, too.

The reason that many parents have these conversations with their children is in an attempt to shift the blame that players are putting on themselves.

If the child is upset, parents believe they’re helping their child by blaming the coach and taking the burden off the player.

While this might help them in the short-term, it definitely won’t help the team or the individual player long-term.

All of this is not to say that the coach is always right…

But if you have concerns or disagree with something the coach is doing, you should be discussing that with the coach.

Not your child.

  5. Please Allow Your Child to be Coached

One of the most retweeted images I’ve ever shared on my Twitter profile (link) is the following image and quote…

“Uncoachable kids become unemployable adults. Let your kids get used to somebody being tough on them. That’s life, get over it!”

I’ll start this section of the article by making it clear that this is assuming your child’s coach is coaching them from a place of love and a desire for them and the team to improve.

There are many coaches in the youth sports world that simply don’t know how to teach or connect with their team. Some can go so far as to bully their players.

Screaming in a 6-year-olds face about a mistake they made is not good coaching no matter how many times some coaches will try to convince you it’s ‘tough love’.

Therefore, this section may not apply to all situations.

With that said, there are also far too many parents who ‘baby’ their children and jump to their defense whenever a coach attempts to hold them to high standards.

You must allow your players to be coached.

If a player isn’t living up to the standards of the team (lack of effort, not listening to the coach, going against the game-plan, bullying teammates, etc), it’s part of a youth coach’s role to demand better from the player.

A coach must be able to address the player on these issues in a kind way that doesn’t make the player feel threatened, but also demands respect and shows that the coach is the authority.

This is where we’re starting to run into an obstacle…

Kids aren’t used to adults holding them to a high standard.

“Kids today don’t know the difference between instruction and criticism” – Larry Brown

When a coach does attempt to hold them to a high standard, players can sometimes react negatively and feel like they’re being treated unfairly by the coach.

After telling their parents, the parents are quick to label the adult holding their kid to a high standard a ‘terrible coach who has no idea what they’re doing’ instead of finding out what actually happened.

This is often followed by a heated exchange between the parent and the coach or an immediate appeal for their child to be transferred to another team.

As long as the coach is doing it the right way, a coach must be able to hold the players to the high standards set by the team.

If they can’t, it’s incredibly hard to teach players the life lessons taught through youth sports like…

• Success requires hard work. • The importance of body language. • Respect everyone. • Know your strengths and weaknesses. • How to win/succeed with class. • etc.

How can a coach help teach players that success requires hard work if they can’t tell the player then need to be giving more effort?

How can a coach help improve a player’s body language if they can’t correct the player when they display poor body language?

You get my point.

  6. Please Encourage Your Child to Play Multiple Sports

“If someone encourages your child to specialize in a single sport, that person generally does not have your child’s best interests in mind.” – JJ Watt

Each year, more and more parents are being persuaded to have their son or daughter specialize in a single sport for the entire year.

The main argument that many coaches use to convince parents and players to commit is by telling them that if they don’t, they’ll get left behind by those who do specialize.

This isn’t only a blatant lie, it’s also potentially dangerous.

I don’t blame parents for believing that specializing in one sport is the best thing to do for their child at the time without having looked at the research. Especially after the child has shown some natural ability in the sport.

In fact, on the surface, it sounds like a wise decision!

By specializing, more time practicing, playing, and improving their abilities can only lead to positives for their basketball future, right?

Many people even cite the 10,000-hour rule from Malcolm Gladwell as a reason why their child doesn’t have time for other sports.

But in reality, it’s been proven time and time again that specializing at an early age will inevitably lead to…

• Mental burnout and stress. • Increased chance of injury. • Shortened sporting careers. • Lack of motivation. • And more…

To add to that, there are the obvious negatives that players will have fewer opportunities to:

• Build relationships with peers. • Experience different coaches and coaching styles. • Experience different sports.

Doesn’t sound so great anymore, does it?

It’s up to parents and coaches to encourage multi-sport participation because players aren’t aware of the negatives that will inevitably become more and more clear over time.

Here are just a few superstar athletes who were multi-sport athletes before going on to flourish professionally in basketball…

• Tim Duncan, arguably one of the top 10 players to ever play in the NBA, was an incredibly talented swimmer and had aspirations to compete in the 1992 Olympic Games.

• Hakeem Olajuwon didn’t play a single game of basketball until he was 15 years old choosing to play soccer.

• LeBron James was an all-state wide receiver during his sophomore and junior years of high school.

• Elena Delle Donne went so far as to quit playing basketball due to burnout for the first year of college before returning and going on to be the WNBA Rookie of the Year in 2013.

Even as we move away from basketball multi-sport athletes come out on top…

The image below shows that of the 47 football players Urban Meyer recruited to Ohio State, 42 of them were multi-sport athletes during their time at high school.

But what if my child tells me that they don’t want to play a single sport? Read this fantastic article from John O’Sullivan

  7. Please Don’t Focus on Scholarships

It happens every single day…

A parent signs their child up for a sport and quickly notices that they seem to have a fair amount of natural talent.

Others quickly notice, too.

Coaches start approaching and praising their son or daughter’s abilities and encouraging you to sign them up to travel teams, elite basketball camps, and enroll them in personal training.

Next thing you know, parents are thinking about the financial possibilities of the future…

• Securing a scholarship. • Playing division 1 basketball. • Potentially playing professional basketball. • Money, money, money.

I don’t mean to burst anyone’s bubble, but only 3% percent of players go on to receive a scholarship and 0.02 – 0.03% of players will end up in the NBA or WNBA.

That’s 2 – 3 out of 10,000 high school basketball players.

It’s far better at the youth sports level to simply allow the child to enjoy the process, encourage them to play multiple sports, and support them in what they choose to do instead of putting the pressure on them to score themselves a free education.

It will save you and the player a lot of stress.

  8. Please Consider Your Finances

Finances are a topic I hesitated to touch on, but in the end thought it was far too important to leave out.

As we are all well aware, youth sports can be incredibly expensive.

In fact, in this article from FlipGive, studies have shown that parents can end up paying as much as $5,500 a year when participating on a travel team.

And I’m sure there are a lot of parents who spend much more each year. New equipment, fees, travel costs, accommodation, etc. These all add up very quickly!

Naturally, this puts a lot of stress on the parents who are digging deep into their pockets to pay for the experience.

The bigger problem occurs when this stress is transferred to the players.

Numerous times I’ve witnessed parents directly telling their kids that they had better perform well or everything the parents have spent on the sport will be a ‘waste of money’.

Take a second to think about the pressure that this puts on a player! No wonder players burn out and quit at such a young age.

Many parents spend far too much money on youth sports believing that the money spent will pay off when their son or daughter receives a scholarship…

Please remember: Your kid’s youth sporting participation is not a financial investment!

You should never expect a single dollar back from the money you put into the youth sports experience.

Are travel teams 100% necessary? No. Are personal trainers 100% necessary? No. Is having the latest equipment 100% necessary? No.

Don’t add these unnecessary costs to your finances unless you can comfortably afford them.

  Conclusion

First off, I want to acknowledge that 99% of parents have their heart in the right place.

They push their children to train and perform because they want them to have the highest possible chance of succeeding.

They encourage or allow them to specialize because they believe it will give them an edge over their competition.

They protect their children by shifting blame to the coaches, referees, or even quality of the facilities.

Unfortunately, most parents aren’t aware that many of their actions aren’t in the best interests of the players and can even negatively affect their chances of future success.

Going forward, we all need to put a bigger focus on putting the needs of the players first.

The post Parents: Please Stop Ruining Youth Sports appeared first on Basketball For Coaches.

 Source: Ball4ever.com