#there is no redemption in a story where the devil wins!

[shadowshrike]

Ascended Astarion Appreciation Post

I'm not going to do a true analysis here because I feel like all the individual lines of spawn/ascended/neutral Astartion and how broad the interpretations of them can be depending on the context of your playthrough have already been discussed ad nauseam by the fandom. The stellar voice work only adds to the ability for a player to feel a connection with whatever narrative they like best. However, I want to throw my personal experience with his storyline into the ring because I feel it's rather unusual.

For my style of play, I initially only brought Astarion along on my 'clever evil' run. I had no knowledge of his storyline before I started and didn't do any metagaming to win his approval; I just brought him along because the 2 minutes I saw of him in my main run made him seem like a good fit for a Tav with selfish choices. This was a custom bard playthrough where I made everyone love me by being a great con artist, killed the few who might make my rise to power more difficult (like the Nightsong), and lightly manipulated our companions into giving me their protection while I only took on minor risk. Naturally, Astarion played well with this character. He was entertained by having a partner to 'play' with, one who didn't get put off by cruel comments or his lust for power and was good at pretending to be manipulated by the questionably charismatic vampire.

I expected the power lust and loss of humanity toward the end of his story. What I did not expect was that by doing an Ascended playthrough first, I would ruin my desire to reload for the Spawn ending later. After all, aren't you supposed to want to do the "Good" thing when your default gameplay style is Good-aligned?

What solidified it for me were two things. First, his response to the Gur. His reaction suggested to me that he was probably a power-hungry noble before he was turned, one who paid the consequences for his cruelty, jumped at the chance for an escape through Cazador when faced with the consequences of that cruelty, and then spent the next 200 years being tortured horrifically for it. From everything I gleaned through his half-retelling, his story was much like the victims of hags or devils. I felt bad for the disproportionate horror of his fate, but there was an odd sort of justice in it as well, one that had long descended into pure evil thanks to the creature he fell victim to.

The second thing that turned me from doing a full playthrough just to see the Spawn ending was, oddly enough, the confession where he explains he's been manipulating you and has accidentally developed feelings. Now, this is partly because I may have accidentally skipped part of the animation, but when I decided to reciprocate the 'heartfelt feelings' as part of my character's manipulation, his answering smirk seemed to say, "Gotcha. So all I have to do is act vulnerable, weak, and like I would be nicer if someone just loved me for once in my life, and they'll protect me forever. I can do that."

After that point, I could never take any statement he made about redemption seriously, especially not if he was particularly blunt about it. The nail-on-the-head speeches I'd seen from him on the spawn path seemed exactly that - too perfect. Like it was exactly what a good character would want to hear, and something a rather poor manipulator but one who specializes in making people feel loved (which Astarion is) would fall back on. That's not to say the words don't ring with truth - they really do thanks to the beautiful voice work - but in the context of his relationship with power and dependence, every word felt like falling back on old habits to manage his fears. Ones he may not even be aware of, truthfully.

Do I think that was the intent by the writers? Absolutely not. But the more I pressed on in the story and he never reverted to that overly sweet act after he realized my character was actually more interested in giggling with him over how to obtain absolute power, the more it felt like the whole 'poor victim' act, although absolutely rooted in some truth, was truly an act to him.

He was terrified, would always be terrified, and had no problem doing whatever he needed to do in order to keep that terror at bay. His desperation made him easy to manipulate. He begged for both the tadpole's powers and Raphael's deal, staying true to a character that would always take the risk as long as it didn't threaten his vanity like the astral tadpole did. He was clearly incapable of forming a healthy relationship with anyone and had no interest in actually working on himself. Still, he was a master at adjusting his behaviors just enough to make himself safer in his new 'goodish' environment by acting like he had come to appreciate goodness. Not that he was ever completely heartless, even on a selfish/evil run, but it became clear that he mostly wanted goodness for himself. He didn't want a lack of chains in the world. He wanted to be the one holding them.

Ascending him was the obvious choice in an evil run. I would both be giving him the one thing he truly wanted and putting him forever in my debt...at least until his annoyance at having a debt outweighed his fear of being alone.

Becoming his spawn, on the other hand, was a hard choice. And probably the most satisfying narrative choice I made in all my playthroughs, good or evil.

For context, I had refused to use any tadpole powers in this run, giving it to him instead, so he could deal with the risk while being pleased by being handed more power. I didn't want to sacrifice anything personally while I was busy putting everyone in my debt. But here I was faced with a dilemma - did I have confidence that my character could still manipulate this vampire driven by fear enough to take the world if I let him turn me into a spawn so I could be immortal? Would the good and evil armies I'd raised to my name be enough to stop Astarion if he started to lose his utter devotion to me and made me a mindless thrall? If I said no or suddenly cast doubt on him, he'd certainly be enraged, given my prior support of him and his fear of rejection. Was the danger of angering him on top of losing that ascended vampire power worth my mortal freedoms? How long would that freedom even last if I said no, assuming he truly did end up exactly like Cazador, who would likely have just taken it from me in a rage?

Interestingly, this choice was made for me by the insight check that some people hate so much. When I saw he thought my character was still above him, that I had to degrade myself to be with him, I realized the man's leash hadn't gone anywhere. I could use him to get me the world. Yes, he would continue trying to manipulate me with empty promises, but I would continue manipulating him in turn by appealing to his petty vanity and insecurities. And together, we could have everything he ever lusted after with the only cost being a soul he was more than willing to lose.

I think the perfect cap to this was the ending. A romanced Ascended Astarion's ending was easily the most satisfying ending part of all the little character moments of all my playthroughs. The evil power fantasy was perfect. With the choices I made, it implied he was 100% as much my thrall as I was his (less literally in his case), leaving the corruption of his character beyond pure power lust open to interpretation. Add to that the satisfaction of his new unique dialogs near that end, and I was blown away. His confidence, for once, did not seem fake, though it was still informed by the fears that had driven him from the beginning. It was not his most healed or kind self (and how could he be either of those in any ending after 200 years of torture unless he was lying?), but his most free self, enjoying everything he ever wanted in a blaze of glory, relishing in his control, and fully giving himself to the newfound passions given by his second life.

Is he evil, selfish, and controlling? Absolutely. Will some hero inevitably take him out down the line when he gets a little too crazy with his powers? Probably. But such is the beauty and fun of the evil power fantasy.

It's unfortunate that playing this route, I can't enjoy how he is chained by the spawn route. I can understand what it is trying to do. Promoting the power of forgiveness, love, and support to allow someone to be their best self. It aims to apply human healing patterns to a supernatural creature in a cathartic way, one that has been successful for a great many people. But for me, it just doesn't land.

On runs where I care about his fate on a personal level, I hate to see him forced into a life where he loses all the things that have brought him joy, either now or when his lover dies. I don't want my choices 'for his own good' to mandate he forever sacrifices his own wants and needs. I hate how he tells you that you made the right choice after things have calmed down if you refuse to help him because what other option does he have? You've stripped him of hope outside of your protection. Without a cure, he's helpless at the feet of the Good heroes surrounding him who could end him in an instant if he's anything other than grateful and fawning for how much you've saved him. After the other route, that fate feels like dying a second slow death for a character so desperate for freedom and power, no matter how self-destructive it is. And since he basically says you did the 'right thing' when you have a high relationship no matter what end you choose with him, Good or Evil or in-between, it loses its power to me as a narrative anchor to any feel-good moments.

Personally, I like Astarion most as a character who is able to fulfill his base desires, ugliness and all. I think he's written in a way where he's well-suited to be both a victim and an awful person. I like the unique narrative of him being someone who is a bit of a monster and most fulfilled by being his worst self rather than seeking redemption, but appreciate that most people feel more fulfilled by a route where he's humanized and gets to heal through romance or a supportive friend.

I encourage everyone to find their own favorite variation of him. To me, he is one of the messiest characters who can have wildly different 'truths' depending on the context of your playthrough and your interpretations of his lines. Since he's a known liar and manipulator (and an unfathomably old one at that by human standards), there are a million and one different headcanons you can use to fill in the blanks on what he really means, who he really is, and what he really wants or needs.

I hope everyone out there enjoys whatever version of Astarion they like best. For me, I think I just might have to try a different variation on an evil playthrough. I want to see what other contexts I can get for his Ascension story and whether any of them hit as many satisfying narrative notes as my first.

[beevean]

Rewriting Castlevania

To be more specific, Castlevania post-Season 2. The first few seasons shall serve as the launchpads from which to build upon and iron out the kinks for later stories.

I don’t have an exact vision of how rewritten versions of Season 3 and 4 (or Nocturne, but that isn’t the focus here), but I know, for starters, they could’ve used a more compact cast.

First: remove Trevor and Sypha. They may have been major protagonists in Seasons 1 and 2, but their story was over. Alucard, as well. His story was also done… for now (because he’s too iconic in the franchise as a whole not to bring back in a sequel series).

Next: they could’ve easily cut out Morana and Striga (whose names escaped my memory until I just looked them up) without substantially affecting anything in Carmilla’s whole story. Lenore can stay (maybe as the show’s equivalent to Laura), but she should not get a “redemption”. Instead, develop the idea of how weak others see her and how her devious intellect helps her overcome her perceived weakness. Write the woman a Starscream arc, even (“I am Lenore of Styria, and fuq you, Carmilla! I win!”), with mistress Carmilla as her Megatron! Give her lots of ambition!

For Isaac, I would love for his chat with that Captain to be preserved (I rewatched it recently and loved the vibe of it), but a couple other events in his journey need adjustments so that he doesn’t go through the “I had an nice talk with a human, so my mind about humanity is changing, but these guys are blocking me and I can’t reason with them, therefore I’m stupid for trying to be civil and hate humans again, now they die!” bit twice. With a little streamlining, his screentime in Season 3 could be devoted to building him up as a threat, and then set up Season 4 with his role as a co-antagonist (with Carmilla) to Hector fully set up when they reunite. No sanitizing “I’m going to live!” revelations here.

Then there’s Hector. I still think we didn’t need to see the immediate aftermath of his imprisonment. In this hypothetical rewritten story, I would suggest having a 1 or 2 year timeskip, so he’s been slaving away in Carmilla’s dungeon for quite a while, forced to build her an army with his Devil Forgemaster powers, and Lenore’s been keeping watch and giving him plenty of incentives not to betray the sisters. Maybe for his first appearance in this version of Season 3, he could have this intimidating reveal where it dramatically shows the scrawny boy from Season 2 has become a buff, scarred son of a gun, clearly having worked out a lot during his year(s)-long stay.

The story following the Castlevania 3 adaptation would not have to be a Curse of Darkness adaptation, but the pieces were in place to pass the main protagonist torch over to Hector anyway. By making Season 3 all about his eventual escape, and having Season 4 follow him on the run, eventually overcoming his oppressor (Carmilla) and former partner (Isaac), we have ourselves a cohesive story that blends everything it establishes into one, airtight package, rather than feeling like a convoluted animation anthology.

Also, maybe Saint Germain’s Infinite Corridor quest can be worked into Hector’s adventure to freedom in some kind of creative way, without Saint Germain having to sacrifice his morals or gain info from a shady 3rd (or 4th) party.

Reply: I like your ideas!

Hard agree on removing Trevor and Sypha because they are effectively done, and Morana and Striga because they add absolutely nothing of importance. Ellis said that he created the council to explain who ran the kingdom while Carmilla was in Wallachia, but Lenore could do the job herself.  I’m not sure about Alucard because his story is also over, but I do see the potential of him grappling with his grief, and fearing he might become like Dracula. It’s just, the way it was done was skull-crushingly boring, and for now I have no better ideas.

(btw yes, Carmilla and Lenore could be wives at this point lmao, their personalities are strong enough that it wouldn’t come off as The Lesbians For Brownie Points. Maybe Carmilla turned Lenore so she’s her dame and superior, and this would cause frustration in Lenore who feels like Carmilla sees her more as her pet than a lover... frustration that she channels on Hector, in some sort of cycle of abuse way :) I still like the idea of her falling in love with Hector, but it’s an unhealthy, possessive love typical of a vampire, that Hector doesn’t reciprocate or grows out of.)

For Isaac, I mentioned the other day that he could use as a springboard the realization that Dracula cast him away like a broken tool, and from there, his affirmation that he’s worth more than what Dracula told him. ... yes, this is still Hector’s arc, but whatever at this point. Absolutely, S3 should avoid that stupid pattern of “oh maybe humans aren’t so bad-- nvm y’all rude, die”. Maybe he avoids people instead of barging through cities, and makes his army from the corpses he finds in abandoned towns? But he still can’t avoid everyone, hence, the scene with the captain.

Mhh. Hector’s story spanning so long would also influence Isaac’s, and it feels like too much? If Isaac had one year of time to build an army, dude would lead a small country basically. He’s already OP af, even if we nerf him by making him weak in physical combat. Same with Carmilla, she would definitely do some damage in one year.

I’m torn. Hector’s story in S3 could be tweaked a bit by making it less fetishistic and still treating Hector like a person: as in, someone with goals and principles and was not hired as General only because he’s pretty, that Lenore has to whittle down to convince him to work for him (the idea that Hector cannot be physically forced to work and his master needs to earn his trust is actually really good for a conflict). The two should butt heads and have more intriguing conversations, make the job harder for Lenore, let’s see if she keeps with the diplomacy or gets frustrated and needs to resort to the ring (which only makes sense in the scenario where Hector is deemed too dangerous to be allowed to work freely, since its only shown function is to bequeath control of the Creatures). I actually jotted some ideas down, if you’re interested :P

(oh, and no rape. obviously. she really didn’t need to do that.)

And S4 can kind of stay the same, but with the difference that Hector trapping Lenore is a form of cruel mercy, he does not crawl back to her because he too realized he does not need to cling to people to earn love, and he actually leaves the castle, ready to explore the world (with the implication that he might meet the equivalent of Rosaly, but it’s not necessary)

To clarify, what is your idea of Hector’s story in S4? Does he flee from Isaac on the chase? Will he eventually fight him and Carmilla? Will he meet Rosaly in the finale, and in this timeline they stay together without Isaac interfering? (please say yes 🥺)

But yeah. I still think the prequels could have been adapted, but if we need Carmilla as a spanner in the works tweaking the timeline, this feels much better. Trevor and Sypha alone not bogging down screentime would solve so many issues with the rushed pace.

[semi-imaginary-place]

playing the unicorn overlord demo. I didnt check and locked the difficulty tactical... Hope i survive. ... This is real time fire emblem. supports? return of the rightful king plot?movement type effectiveness. Is there a weapons triangle too?

Huh so there's no actual combat all the gameplay is in the setup and movement the little animated sequence is just the result playing out. This really does feel like a board game.

How ironic that the ring the queen gave to Alain would have been the thing to win her counteroffensive. Too bad no one knew about the mind control.

Alain should honor his mother and go bare thighed

Oh the gammel choice is much more important than the fame lets on. Personally i'd hand him over to the watch especially since i think he's lying about the conveniently sick sister. But apparently he's recruitable. Maybe he should have found redemption in serving time for the town he terrorized instead of going scot free.

Woops didn't realize evil dude was there so i wasted all my valor on the stronghold. Rescued scarlett and that's the end of the demo. At level 9 and just unlocked rapports.

i liked the gameplay took me a bit to figure out how battle works and i still don't get all of it. But it uses a ai system similar to ffxii's gambit system aka programming for idiots. Much like 13 sentinels i tolerate the rts because most if the time is in the pause menu but combat is clunkier than 13 sentinels like canceling movement is a little annoying i wish there was a do not engage command i killed a lot of characters accidentally entering the enemy hit box at least there isnt permadeath. Then there's a support system like fire emblem but it's location tied like xenoblade chronicles. I did like running around exploring which is why it took me so long to progress the main plot. The story and characters haven't stood out to me in the demo which isnt to say they're bad just that the narrative payoff isn't in the first chapter it could build to something but with what 70 characters I fear it'll end up like the diofield chronicles where they're mostly underdeveloped. In general I'm a pretty hard sell on return of the king stories. Ffxii is the only one i like and that's because ashe keeps making bad decisions and making things worse and xii really delves into the ramifications if politics and what reclaiming a throne really means. I dont buy without reading full game reviews and usually watching a good chunk of the game, the demo was mostly to see if i liked the gameplay which gets a pass from me (still wish it was turned based though like can you imagine a smt devil survivor type battle system or an octopath fire emblem fusion? Would have loved that). So we'll see if i buy the full game.

Speaking of orges battle i did buy tactics orge reborn on black friday and have been waiting to play it i might play that instead

[boricuacherry-blog]

The arrest was ordered by Reinaldo Leal, an investigator for the Niteroi police homicide department. Leal is a career detective, as well as the lead singer of a heavy-metal band and has dabbled in acting, with a cameo in a 2017 telenovela based on his team's pursuit of a Rio drug boss.

After attempting to poison her husband with cyanide didn't work, she allegedly put her kids up to the murder plan.

Jacarezinho - Little Crocodile - is a favela on the Guanabara shoreline with a fearsome reputation.

On how she met her husband, she said, "He came to know me because of the evangelism I did in the favelas." He was one of the first kids she took in - an efficient, ambitious boy of about sixteen, who left his family to join hers. It remains unclear when their intimate relationship began, but Flordelis insists it wasn't until he was eighteen. She would have been thirty-four at the time. An interesting thing to note - he was also her daughter's ex boyfriend.

The couple went on to found a church together - the Ministry of Flordelis - and became famous. Thousands of people frequented the empire of nine churches where Flordelis sang, and she appeared on television as an example of a devoted mother.

But behind closed doors, her adopted children said she practiced the occult. Flordelis's mother was said to have been herself a witch.

One of Flordelis's adopted sons recalled that prayer sessions began with a lit candle, and them praying together for seven days. He added, "If you wanted to have control over someone, we put melon, honey, and crystal sugar in a pot, then left your name in the honey with the name of the person, with an engagement ring. If anyone asked why those rituals weren't in the Bible, she would say that they had been professed by Christ in the past but been lost to history."

She parlayed that fame into a congressional seat in 2018, winning more votes than any other candidate in Rio and joining the new government of the then far-right president, Jair Bolsonaro.

But investigators said that soon after taking her seat she began plotting Do Carmo's removal.

But for the time being, Flordelis couldn't be prosecuted; Brazilian lawmakers are granted immunity to criminal charges. She was stripped of her parliamentary immunity in June 2021, paving the way for her trial.

Her life story had been an archetypal Brazilian redemption tale, and had even been made into a movie, with some of the biggest actors in Brazil. The movie didn't make much money, but it changed her life. Brazil's biggest gospel label, MK, signed her to a recording contract.

Carly Machado, an anthropologist, weighed in on Flordelis's fall from grace.

"Evangelicals don't expect their leaders to be saints," she said. The Bible, she noted, is filled with stories of God's followers falling prey to the Devil's work. "God is there, waiting for the return of the lost sheep," she said. "It doesn't mean that each person will follow and believe the pastor, specifically Flordelis, again. But the final judgment is in God's hands."

Many had abandoned Flordelis, but few had abandoned Pentecostalism altogether.

Machado had followed along as prominent evangelicals endured a succession of scandals. In 2013, Marcos Pereira, the head of the Assembly of God of the Latter-Day, was convicted of serially raping women in his congregation in Rio. Pereira's method was to tell his victims, some as young as fourteen, that they were possessed by Satan and could only be exorcised through sex with a holy man.

To Machado, Pereira represented "the masculine face" of Pentecostalism in Brazil. Flordelis had attracted her "because she was a woman, and because her emphasis was on family and the youth. Machado said that Flordelis's ministry appealed to Brazilians who didn't feel represented by the traditionally rural Assembly of God or by the increasingly middle-class Universal Life Church. Something else seemed to be happening, too. At Flordelis's events, Machado noticed the presence of Marcos Feliciano, a Sao Paulo pastor who had become an influential congressman. She also saw Arolde de Oliveira, the czar of Brazil's gospel-music business - an evangelical money machine. She realized that she was witnessing a fusion of politics, religion, and entertainment that was reshaping Brazil.

[honourablejester]

Okay. I’m. I’m there. I’m at the end. I have … sort of some words. And I just …

Brennan gave them every chance. Every single chance. Anywhere he could reasonably or even unreasonably give them just that little bit extra. Cerrit’s extra reaction. One more bardic inspiration on Laerryn’s last arcana check. He gave them every extra bit he could.

And it doesn’t feel cheap. It doesn’t feel like cheating. Because it fits the theme. It fits the whole fucking theme.

Because the theme of this show is redemption, is hope. Not necessarily through victory, not through saving yourselves, not through winning. But by giving someone, somewhere, one more chance. One more second. One more option.

So many people gave so many chances.

Cerrit’s dying colleague, Orwyn, giving his children a way out of the city.

Zerxus taking that one extra chance on Vespin, granting him that one second of freedom to tell them where to go and to buy Zerxus one more hour.

Patia flinging a light into the future and guaranteeing that at least something of Avalir and the Age of Arcanum would survive.

Nydas buying time and an army to get the civilians out.

The Sphinx saving him in return.

Alessander thinking to save the school.

Aria showing up to get the broadcast out.

Loquatius making sure that no one would stop the evacuation for their own selfish reasons.

Eaedalus trusting Zerxus even when he’s wearing the face of a devil, getting Elias out.

Zerxus buying the druids of Cathmoira enough to time start mass continental evacuation.

(Even fucking Asmodeus choosing to abide by the deal)

Tempus taking a Taxman off the board as Zerxus falls.

Cerrit buying Laerryn one more round by killing Vespin and saving her life.

Nydas saving his last fucking action, his last breath, to try and give Zerxus a way out of damnation.

Patia giving her last breath and everything she gained and lost to the Tree of Names to fill Laerryn’s Leywright at the end.

Laerryn trying, uselessly, to save her back even as she falls.

Loquatius saving his action to give that one last heal at the crucial moment.

Laerryn sacrificing Avalir and Cathmoira, everything she is and was and loved, to save the world.

Calum fucking Staffwright dying to get that one last battery online.

Everyone, alive or dead, giving Cerrit every last chance to make it out, to keep even one promise.

Everything, everything, everything, in this last episode, in this story, has been about giving someone somewhere some last chance against the inevitable night. One second of redemption, no matter what mistakes have damned them. One moment to make a difference.

And it doesn’t always work, not everyone will accept or deserve the chance, and sometimes it fails catastrophically, but even if you fail, even if you die, keep trying to give someone somewhere one last something anyway.

And they did. All of them. All the way to the last.

Even, and especially, the DM.

This story started with Zerxus, the Redemption Paladin, and it did that for a reason. That was the theme. All the way along. Redemption. One more chance, no matter what you’ve done. One more chance. One more try. One second of hope. Even at the last.

To quote Brennan: At the end of it all, hope will return, as many times as it needs to.

This was a story of the Calamity, and they could have chosen to tell a story of hubris and despair, but they all, every single one, every single chance, chose to tell a story of hope instead.

And I am in fucking floods because of it. Fuck.

[brazenautomaton]

My Fiction

All of these are fanworks of one sort or another, but they’re all fandom-blind friendly. You should check them out!

Silent Partner, Unfinished Business

They told Naomi Misora she was dead for three minutes when paramedics revived her. She sure didn't feel alive. She couldn't even remember coming back to Japan, much less Kira taking her fiance, much less Kira sending her to suicide, maiming her and robbing her brain of speech. She had almost given up hope of recovery until a mysterious figure gave the promise of revenge: the chance to kill those who wronged her, if only she can find them.

Aphasic and adrift, Naomi's going to join the Kira investigation to win her life back. She's going to help Misa Amane discover who she is, and discover a connection with her. She's going to make Light Yagami have to think on his feet, and present him with a new opportunity. She's going to solve some serious problems for L, and then make some serious problems for L. And she's going to make a hell of a lot of things get a lot more complicated.

A tense, twisty, action-packed psychological thriller mystery about romance, revenge, redemption, and the Kuleshov effect. Recommended for anyone who liked Death Note, didn’t like Death Note, or didn’t see Death Note. 

Has a romance-focused sequel (that may or may not be an AU) called Misa Amasora’s Pure Love Memorial.

Duet in SSS-Major

Kyrie awakens with strange demonic familiars inside a phantasmagoria of battles past, with no idea of how she got there. A single lock of white hair displays the trace of demon blood that resides within her now, an old project the Order called "Soprano Angelo". Great demon lords amass power inside a land of regrets, trying to earn the ability to return to life -- and with Dante and Vergil in the Underworld and Nero captive, it's going to be up to Lady, Trish, Lucia, Nico, and yes, even Kyrie, to save Nero and defend the human world once again.

But does she have the strength to fight demons just like her beloved? Did she willingly accept demonic power in order to bring back the Order of the Sword? Will her faith in Sparda carry her through the fires of perdition? Can the wholesome, motherly church girl also be a stylish Devil Hunter?

Can Kyrie attain true power?

A Devil May Cry fic that can serve as your introduction to the Devil May Cry  game series or the stylish action genre in general -- a story where everything happens for in-character reasons yet also clearly is an expression of a video game. Kyrie is going to feel what you feel when you flub an input, get your ass kicked by a boss and run around the arena breaking objects for health refills, overuse that new move you unlocked when you really shouldn’t, feel awed by a much better co-op partner, figure out the extent of her moveset, learn from her mistakes, learn to apply tricks she heard about, and learn to finally git gud and master the game.

She’s also going to be tagged along by two adorably boneheaded artificial demon familiars, co-op with the whole cast, solve mysteries that didn’t need solving, and engage in musical theater duels. She sings a lot. So much so that I composed her own DMC-style battle theme.

Princess: the Hopeful - Crystal Edition

You know the premise, don't you? Corruption. There's a force of evil corrupting everyone, poisoning their minds, spreading like an infection. Turning people against their friends, against themselves, until all they do is spread the evil.

The enemy is everywhere. The enemy infects everyone. And its name is "fear."

Fear controls the world. Fear twists and imprisons us, turns us on each other and against ourselves. Fear hollows you out and turns you into a vessel to spread more fear, demanding more and more of yourself, demanding you spread it to others just to alleviate the pain on yourself.

We've lived under the tyranny of fear for so long we don't realize it any more. But now, we have the chance to be free. You're that chance. 

Welcome to the War for Hope. 

Become a magical girl in the Chronicles of Darkness and fight the forces of Fear Itself! Express who you are in every action, put your lives and ideals on the line, and face glorious triumph or ruinous, soul-crushing defeat! Cast dynamic Charms made of multiple modular Upgrades to create your very own anime word salad spell names! Face Nightscapes crafted from fear and trauma to resolve and free the people who imprison themselves inside! The fate of the world is on your shoulders -- no matter if you're ready for it or not.

[gentrychild]

For the madeup fic title-

1. What we lost in the fire

2. Through my mother's eyes

3. One spoon full of hope

4. Ignore the Tarot card

5. Catscradle

6. Devil hides behind redemption

7. First Burn

8. Dead dove

I am sorry I have so many of these titles uselessly lying around but no fic contents for them, thought - might as well use these.

Do any of these pick ur fancy?

1. What we lost in the fire

Endeavor manages to somehwat save Touya after the fire on Sekkoto hill but he is in a coma for three years. All the Todoroki family rearranges itself around the sleeping Touya.

2. Through my mother's eyes

A short fic about Himiko being aware since she is very young that her mother considers her a monster despite the fact they share the same bloodlust.

3. One spoon full of hope

5 times where All Might gives Izuku food and one time where Izuku gives food to All Might.

4. Ignore the Tarot card

Izuku tells 1-A that Izuku always had the worst luck when it comes to prediction. They think he just never wins anything. They soon realize that every time something vaguely akin to future prediction happens to Izuku, it always predicts that he is going to be the next Demon Lord of this era.

5. Catscradle

It's a fic where an adult teaches Izuku how to play the game with strings. Everything is from Izuku's POV but the reader reader that the adult is trying to distract Izuku so he doesn't realize that something awful has happened in the room next door.

6. Devil hides behind redemption

Iida manages to kill Stain but manages to hide it (though Izuku knows he is the one who did). The murder weighs on him and he tries to seek redemption by making sure he never breaks the rules again, with dramatic consequences.

7. First Burn

During the Sport Festival, Izuku (with OFA) gets a little too close to Shouto during the Cavalry game. Izuku manages to grab the ribbon but Shouto is startles and uses too much of his flames, injuring Izuku. Shouto freaks out.

8. Dead dove

The story of how a young AFO decides to kill his parents.

[whifferdills]

GALLIFREY: TIME WAR: UNITY: The main victim of Time War's pacing issues: you don't really get that it's been 15 years and two lifetimes since "The Devil You Know". Or like. I didn’t on first listen, at least, idk maybe it works for other people? Anyway. Drop this one into the ‘flawed but somehow more interesting precisely because it’s flawed’ category...

This is a Leela who is tired, who is no longer interested in fighting for someone else's cause, who is defensive and insular and surrounded by mines and the graves of people who tried walking over them. And Romana doesn't get it, certainly: her friendship has always been transactional (it has to be...this is not a woman who can easily conceive of herself outside of the roles she plays and the jobs she performs). Leela has always ultimately agreed to fight alongside her, or if not then for a predictable cause. And she...won't.

Leela's exhaustion is familiar. Of course the city runs on slave labor. Of course Daleks and Time Lords are vying for control over the planet's oil so they can eke out an advantage in this war no one will win. Of course Romana and Narvin are trying to leverage her emotions to their advantage. & like...her wife is dying and her son is growing up into a fight she can't help but push him into.

Understand I am not doing the fandom-brained ‘hurr durr there is no platonic explanation for [experience common in platonic relationships]’ thing here, this is Cat On A Hot Tin Roof (1958) dir. Richard Brooks levels of like, the space in the narrative where the queerness isn't anymore. It doesn't Not work as an intense platonic relationship (this series - and the franchise in general - beyond all the guff mostly turns on the complexities and complications of deeply-felt, transformative friendship) but also....you can see where they were going for a lived-in marriage and replaced it with ? at the last minute and every beat plays exactly the same but now the context is a ghost. It's a negative space drawing.

So we're left with a Leela who lost her son, who wasn't really her son; and her wife, who was only subtextually her wife; and her friend, who she now believes is an echo detached from the source. A harbinger or carrier of the war, not even allowed the full text of her grief, cast adrift again but this time with the personification of Gallifrey-as-grand-illusion. There's an interesting thread where Leela is as contemptuous of Narvin as she's ever been, but also trusts him enough to leave him with Vega and Rayo, and is delighted to find his box of scavenged weapons. & then from the other direction, Romana taking Vega's name...like it's such a weird and chunky shuffling-around of traditional family dynamics that relies on three pointedly-undefined relationships both being and not being romantic. What the fuck is actually textually happening in this story. This is making cartoon steam come out of my ears ~

DEPARTMENT OF OOO BABYGIRL YOU NEED THERAPY: "I deserve much worse...this is a clean slate I haven't earned. This is the opposite of a redemption. This is cheating."

DEPARTMENT OF THINGS ROMANA ONLY SAYS IN FRONT OF DALEKS: "I will never betray those I love" I'm scromiting

[mana-sputachu]

A lot of people keep saying that T9 will have a large time skip similar to T3 and will focus on Jin and Xiaoyu's kid/s (imagine where a thirty-something Xiaoyu gonna be) but… it doesn't make much sense. Yes, I see it in the future maybe but not so early on? Jin's storyline is nowhere near finished and it would be sad to see him rendered to nothing more than the new protagonist's dad after so many years of struggle. He's always been an iconic character but I feel like we never truly saw him shine, if you get what I mean? When he's the sole focus of the story, he's either the cool Kazuya replacement with too much package (so just Kazuya replacement), or he was basically the villain. I want to see him heal. I know Tekken is a story not about good vs evil but evil vs another, maybe lesser evil, but damn it I want to see him a little happy. And it isn't about what I want to see, it also doesn't make sense to move so fast when so much of the story is still unraveled or needs to be told, and I doubt everything will be resolved in T8. They had the ability to do large time skip back in T3 days because people weren't as attached to the characters as we are now. A time-skip will change most of the roster (again, no older females in Tekken hah ha h a :/). And the fact that the last 57 Tekkens all happened in the same year? They are clearly drawing this out. Am I talking nonsense?? I've seen this theory way too much now i just… argh sorry for talking so much about this

Okay, first of all do not apologize for your message! It's been ages since I've got so many nice and interesting messages here on tumblr, and I'm having a blast responding and brainstorming (or just fangirling) with ya all! And Tekken is one of my fave things ever that is now taking over my brain (together with KoF) again, so it's all good here! If ya all want to keep message me, please feel free to do so!❤️

And I agree with your point of view, such a sudden time skip wouldn't make sense. Jin stated multiple times ingame that he wants to eradicate his remaining family members before killing himself (JIN NO), so having such a big time skip with a new Mishima, possibly his son/daughter seems... nonsensical. Jin wants to end his bloodline as of now, so I'd put that idea aside. And we're not even sure he'll be able to really kill/beat Kazuya this time.... hell, since it's Harada we're talking about, we're not even sure Heihachi is really dead. You know he's more than capable to revive him just because the old fart has tons of fans (especially among professional/semi professional players). When the trailer dropped, me and @askkrisachan were speculating about it, thinking Harada would be more than capable to revive him a la Jinpachi. ANYWAY. You're right in saying Jin's story is yet to be done. Even if he manages to win against his clan, there's still the Devil Gene. He seems to be somewhat in control of it in that trailer but... is that true? He seemed vaguely in control even in his T4 ending, managing to summon his wings only, but we know he wasn't thanks to his T5 prologue. He also seemed somewhat able to control it at the end of T7 (after that long ass beauty sleep) but again... how much of that is true? It's something worth exploring imho... and Claudio could be used for that. Something along the line of: with Kazuya and Heihachi gone for good, Jin is trying to do something good and restoring peace helped by Lee (and Lars, reclutantly), but Claudio helds a new tournament cause he's still interested in the Devil gene. Not the most brilliant plot BUT a step away from the whole Mishima saga and villain!Jin, and towards Jin's redemption arc, fighting once again for the good reasons... and still struggling with his inner demon, because we love angst and makes sense with his character and growth. And yeah, given how they're spreading 989882332 tournaments in the span of a few months, I doubt there will be a big time skip with T9. Maybe 2-3 years, but nothing like T2/3- As you said, at the time people weren't so attached to the characters yet, they weren't fully developed yet, ending were very short and the story felt more like a puzzle to put together. Probably it was like that for the team too, testing waters while deciding in what direction they wanted to go.

Granted, it's also Harada we're talking about, the man who once in a video intervew told that the creation of Alisa and Lars was basically "here's some random words, create two new characters based on those", so he might pull something like that if he's drunk enough... but I sincerely hope not.

[hughiecampbelle]

Instinct (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

((TFATWS SPOILERS))

Character/s: Bucky

Word Count: 1,110

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: I haven't written in over a month and I'm scared it shows 💔 I'm really unsure with writing lately, I thought about not posting this, but I feel like I owe it big time. This was supposed to be something different, but I can't say I hate the direction it took. There aren't any major spoilers, it just follows the general plot, but I figured better to be safe than sorry. I hope you like it, and that I'm not too "out of the game" or bad at this lol. Feedback is always appreciated.Thank you for being so patient with my break my loves, it means the world 💜💖💜

Summary: He wants to move on, you don't 💕

Gif Credit: @captain-james / link :)

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

There is a static between you. One that is ruthless, hostile, sharp. It makes your gums bleed to describe it, tasting nothing but iron, bitterness, a resentment that is otherwise untouchable by any other creature. A hatred towards the mirror, towards your own skin and bone, your entire fucking existence. Catching his eyes, even for a second, is staring into the sun. Blinding. Aggressive. Burning, until every inch of you is set aflame, itching to turn and run, to tear apart, to scream. Scream until there is nothing of you left. A reminder of what was, what is, and what will never be. What neither of you can go back to, as fitting as the mold may seem, as secure as that title may be, as comforting as that role used to be, he refuses, and you follow along. Bury the body, he thinks that will make him someone new, someone worth everyone else's time. Do not flinch when they say your name, when they whisper every awful thing you did, when they tease you, leaving the door open, enough so for the light to peak through. An escape plan, you think. You hope. A way back to the life before, where your mind was someone else's, when the world was cruel and you were allowed to be cruel back. He does not see it that way, slamming that door shut, locking it from the outside, and swallowing the key.

One word, an invitation, that's all you need. The risk is great, but the urge is greater. Split yourself open. Self destruct. Skip the steps, skip what they insist is healing when all they do is rip open old wounds. Skip the apologies, the sob story, the introduction. The look in their eyes never flinches, no matter how many times you beg. Why bother? Return to what they wanted, needed, feel a certain belonging you could never get back walking into the civilian world.

Your footprints made of blood, a sticky red trail left wherever you go. That's what they see, and they don't bother hiding it. The disgust. The references you don't understand, too old to laugh, to sigh, to roll your eyes. The world moved on without you, spinning faster than you remember, and you are left to catch up. They have their lists, their paper and pencil, all the recommendations one could offer. It would be endearing, maybe, but you have nothing to offer. None of the energy to play catch up. None of the want. Time slips through your fingers, wasted, growing spoiled, mocking you. You have better things to do than watch a movie, more important things, things that filled you with purpose, no matter how sick.

You would have been disgusted. Horrified. Speechless. You would have hated yourself more than you already do. But you are older now, far more experienced, hardened by a life you never could have expected. Learned to want it, though. An animal secured by captivity does not know how to survive in the wild. You were never equipped to live like this: free. The knives, the guns, the special ways in which you read even the smallest of actions, turning people into pages, an open book for you to skim, before placing back on the shelf.

You adapted, grew to fit what they wanted, who they wanted, until you too loved what you were. Dangerous, powerful, unfeeling. The numb became a high to chase, unsatisfied by anything else. Where he mirrored a version of yourself you left in the past, you embraced this role. The damage was done. The bodies put to rest. None of which you could take back, nor make up for. He sought redemption. You wouldn't dare. It wasn't by your choice, that much you could admit, but you could feel it, from the fits bullet to the last, you were never meant to be anything else. As gruesome as you had been, uncaring, quick, but painful, you would be nothing else. Assassin. Killer. Murderer.

They say it like it's a bad thing.

The guilt eats you alive, chews you up and spits you out, shattering your very being as you wake, each night, from another nightmare. The aggression, the shame, all of it you share as fairly as you can, and yet, you wear it so differently, making you more distinct than you could ever explain. The only other person in the world who has seen you at your lowest, your highest, faced what you have, seen what you've seen, and you can't stand to look at him. Not for the wounds he sewed up, his eyes falling on your broken body, nor is the sobs, the pleas, the prayers he heard escape you in moments of desperation. Not because he knows the way you scream, your body used for their own gain, enveloped in a pain only the Devil can inflict, or because he has seen you shoot without a second of hesitation, moving forward before their body hits the ground. None of it, not even the things you care not to mention, to think about, nit even now. It's that he has become resistant, soft even.

He fights a fight he knows he cannot win. He draws the line between good and bad, hero and villain, as if there even is one, as if they are not the same in moments of desperation, of selfishness, or of great selflessness. That he thinks he can stop being what they made him, resisting the instincts they worked so hard to ingrain. You feel it, too. Turning off everything around you, picking apart the situation before it plays out. Footsteps, whispers, how many there are, where, how quickly they can get to you. A dance you know each step to, the two of you in sync. This time, no leader, no follower, but two soldiers taking orders. Without them, he thinks himself above who he used to be, who you used to be, what you were, but you know better.

You want nothing more than to slip back into old habits. That look, that stare, the wince he hides when they bring up his crimes, he wants the same. Step back, fall into old ways, let go until there is no one left to scorn you for what they put into your head.

Where they see Bucky, a man escaped, in remorse, righting his wrongs, you see The Winter Soldier, a friend, a weapon, an old accomplice. One of them, you respect, trusting with your life. The other, nothing more than a facade, a mask, a weakness, an act even he has tricked himself into believing.

[simonrriley]

LAST GOODBYES.

tags: @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit, @ryanseamans, @love-pyramus, @tommyinnitt, @babymushroomboy, @panicky-pancakes, @a-devil-searching-for-redemption​, @awstenknyght​​ warnings: this story came from a dsmp inspired thing but none of that makes an appearance in the story, death, war, blood, like one or two nsfw jokes i don’t remember author’s note: i wrote this one at 1 am because i read passerine in one go how we doin xander nation- if something isn’t done correctly or shit is wrong just pretend it’s not okay- and also it’s heavily based off of passerine but i changed some things so

Place a golden flower Glory in the summer

In the beginning, it was only Spot and Bruiser. Well, at first it was just Bruiser. Bruiser. The God of Blood. The God who demanded blood no matter where he went. 

Bruiser travelled across the world, fighting for armies no matter who he truly agreed with, it was all just for fun anyway. He would remain while the world moved on, and he would maybe be remembered, and that was okay with him. He was just there for the bloodshed. He moved across the realm, just him, his limited armor and sword. His stormy gray eyes turned red in the heat of any battle, he was a force to be reckoned with. He flattened forests and levelled mountains in that state, nature itself feared him.

It was like he commanded the rage of a thousand storms when he heard the drums of war, the drums like thunder, they pounded in his ears and his chest. Where a heart should’ve been, resided a ruthless storm. And that was how he liked it.

He liked feeling the lightning crackle through his veins when he raised his blade and slashed through battle. It gave him something to live for, something to keep going for, all he wanted was that perfect rush. It was all he needed.

Memories in flashes A heart of loss and light

And then he met Spot. A short, stubborn god who’s internal storm and spirit rivaled his. They got along like a house on fire. They would spend their days in between year long wars sparring. Spot’s sword slammed into Bruiser’s, Spot’s boots sliding back on the concrete, his obsidian black wings unfurling as he tried to keep himself from moving back any further. He turned, looking back up at Bruiser with a devious smirk. Bruiser stared back at him, pushing against his blade, trying to shove him away or unbalance him as he tried to figure out what he was planning. Bruiser’s thinking lost him time on his feet though as Spot advanced forwards and Bruiser went to swing, however he swung too quickly and Spot surged forward again, quickly knocking his legs out from under him and causing him to land beneath him on his knees. The Angel of Death laughed, rapier pointed at Bruiser’s throat as he looked up at him, blinking quickly as he realized he must’ve been caught off guard. B knew that even with the dull blade Spot had, Bruiser was still vulnerable, on his knees before him like that. He knew that with one strong movement, Spot could just kill him then and there. Of course the angel would never do that, that was another thing Bruiser knew. But the fact it was possible for either of them to just do that was still chilling, even if they were both immortal. They seemed to be mortal for each other however. Spot did not live up to Bruiser’s worrisome thoughts though and only extended a rough hand to Bruiser, easily pulling him up once he had grabbed on. Patting Bruiser on the back, Spot chuckled tiredly. “Want to call that a wrap?” He asked, tilting his head when he noticed the few beads of sweat dripping down Bruiser's head. Bruiser scoffed, shaking his head at Spot, running a hand through his messy dark hair. “No. I just let you win that time.”

“Sure. The God of Having His Head In The Clouds has a great ring to it,” Spot taunted, turning his hilt over in his hands, smirking back at Bruiser as he took a few paces back, sizing him up again, readying for another round. “It does, actually. You’re just mean,” Bruiser teased back, taking a few steps back as well, mirroring Spot’s movement. Then, they both surged forward and collided in the center of the arena once more.

Heed your kingdom's calling A brother's cry befalling

Days went on like that, and then those days turned to weeks, weeks to months and months to years. Years turned to centuries and it went far past that. They watched empires rise and fall, wars begin and end. They saw it all through together, travelling and fighting wherever they were enlisted. There were whispers around countless campfires about them. The god of blood and the angel of death. The closest of friends. Perhaps even more. Nobody had gotten close enough to truly know. But there were tales of longing looks between the two, hushed conversations and fond smiles and a deep bond that nobody else could quite understand but them, mostly because nobody else was around for it. And that way nobody was going to be able to tell anyone that those tales were in fact true. At first it started out as just helping each other out, nothing more. Spending centuries together, in and out of wars and no time for dating, what did anyone think was going to happen? Slowly though, something more blossomed, sure, it took decades, but sometimes the prettiest flowers take the longest to bloom.

Huddled around their own small fire, was Spot and Bruiser, curled up close enough that they really didn’t need the fire for warmth anymore, but it was still a nice touch.

Spot’s wings opened and wrapped around Bruiser, pulling him closer, almost into his lap. Bruiser chuckled, turning and hiding in Spot’s neck, wishing to just relax and stay there forever.

But nothing like that lasted forever. Even if they did, nothing good ever remained. Months later, Bruiser and Spot found themselves leading the head of a war. Bruiser stood over the table, eyes scanning the map as he rushed out half-thought through battle plans and moving his pawns along the board. They were risky moves, but they could handle them, they were immortal gods of destruction. If they just led the attack they’d be fine. Bruiser stepped back, placing a hand under his chin as he studied the table, thinking to himself. Maybe Spot had some pointers. “We’d be fine, honestly. And if we had the northern squadron come in from the towers then we could cover the valley and we’d be pretty much secure as long as you can fly over the perimeter. What do you say to that Spottie?” Silence greeted him. “Spottie?” Bruiser finally looked up, the heart he had forgotten he had dropped through his chest when he saw Spot’s chair empty, the cocoa he had looked untouched. It all had been, dust gathering alone in the empty library. How long had Spot been gone? He hadn’t even heard the ruffling of feathers or the flap of wings. Spot was gone. And Bruiser had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t be returning. 

A crown of grief rules nothing left but ashes Lost within the night

Bruiser travelled solo after that and promptly abandoned the war they’d been fighting in. He only wanted to be there if Spot was there. He still carried on fighting when he needed to, when he was called to. There was no way he couldn’t, it was what he was put there to do, ignoring it was ignoring fate, destiny. If he even still believed in that sort of thing. The only proof Bruiser had of anything truly divine was Spot, and he already saw how that turned out, so he wasn’t too thrilled to try anything else. Boots crunching the gravel beneath him, Bruiser made his way towards what appeared to be a kingdom before him. The gate was high and wide, decorated with the smoothest stone, it clearly hadn’t been up for long and the kingdom hadn’t seen any battles, the most damage was near the bottom anyway, where he figured the most accidents would happen, whatever they may be. A hand wrapped around the metal gate and it easily swung open, the guard on the other side nodded to him, allowing him through. He nearly laughed. This was their security? Oh, how he could not wait to see who was the ruler of this ramshackle lot that was somehow classified as a kingdom. Maybe ramshackle wasn’t the right word, the kingdom wasn’t falling apart, it was quite the opposite, with all of it’s fancy buildings ahead and finely polished roads. They had the funds, just not the protection, obviously. Bruiser practically strode right up the castle, ignoring those who casted him confused or disgusted glances from their shops or horses. He occasionally caught their eyes as he walked, those untying their horses or making a purchase at one of the carts.  He also caught their quiet, hurried, whispers. ”It’s the blood god.” ”Don’t be a fool, that’s nothing but a myth.” “But… his eyes. I saw it.” He shrugged off all of the comments though, not too worried, not even by the burly men he saw hiding in the shadows with their glares and dark hoods. They were the least of his worries if anything, he knew they were truly all bark and no bite. If they had any bite, they wouldn’t be tucked away in tavern allies with the stray dogs. Finally, he came face to face with another metal gate, this one painted white and gold and beyond it, stood the tall and elegant castle. He could almost taste the snobbery from here. He remembered how much fun it was to fight against the royals. He hoped he had another chance for that. Or maybe not, maybe they were nice. He scoffed at the idea. That was the least likely thing to ever happen, and he had seen a lot of unlikely things happen. A boy dressed in what might’ve been a guard uniform, although it looked a tad bit too fancy to be one, with his blue, reds and gold accent pieces. As well as the bright white hair. He wasn’t sure the last time he saw a guard with hair like that was. The boy - who Bruiser decided to name Snowflake Hair until he knew of his name, if he even wanted to know - turned, brightening up when he saw someone at the gate and trotting over. He paused at the edge, dark eyes scanning over Bruiser as he leaned against one of the pillars of the gate. “Let me guess, you want in?” He asked, squinting up at Bruiser. Something looked familiar about him. He just wasn’t too sure about what. Maybe it was the eyes. Although they weren’t familiar either, he realized, but they did draw him in. They were magnificent, if you stared for too long he found that they moved and surged like a storm on the sea. He’d have to include that in his poetry next time. Bruiser’s words drew him out of his thoughts. “Yes, actually. Just looking for a visit,” he answered, deciding to be nice to the boy. He was probably a young guard anyway, looking like he was just about twenty, maybe younger, maybe older, Bruiser was never good at telling. He could never tell if he looked too old or too young, being immortal and all. Age never was something he understood well. Snowflake Hair thought it through before shrugging, grabbing hold of the gate and pulling it open without another thought. “That sounds like a good reason to me, mostly on the account that you’re cute,” he quipped, taking a step back and letting the gate swing open for Bruiser. “Welcome to the Marked Kingdom,” he said, giving him a small fake bow, laughing rising from both men. Bruiser nodded as he laughed, although he was still more hung up on the fact that this boy, who he had never met before, had called him cute. He had never been called cute before. Handsome? Pretty? Hot? Sure, he’d heard them all before, from one person or another. But never cute. He had never shown traits he thought could be cute. He was a god of blood and death and destruction, what about him was cute to this boy? Was he actually cute? The thought almost brought blush to his pale cheeks. Was he more than just the harbinger of death? Maybe he would like to be. Bruiser shook his head. Spot had promised that for them some day. It never happened. It never would happen. He should’ve remembered that. He shook the feeling from his body as he followed after Snowflake Hair, trotting to keep up as he began rambling quickly about the castle, when it was built, the paintings that covered the hallways and the many, many stories he had about the servants. For a new guard, he seemed to know quite a lot about the castle. Then, a shorter, possibly younger, girl rounded the corner, with a small silver crown resting upon her dark brown hair that hung down in her face slightly. She brightened up upon seeing Snowflake Hair and grinned. “There you are!” She chirped, engulfing him a quick hug. She was more nicely dressed than Snowflake Hair, that was clear. “I told you, I’m doing guard duties for now, it’s better than having to read about trade routes,” The taller boy said, groaning at the mere memory of having to do so. So many sleepless nights spent memorizing things for the kingdom that he’d never need. Now that Bruiser studied the two closer, he realized that in Snowflake Hair’s hair, rested a similar silver crown like object, it had just blended into his hair more. He had been dealing with a royal this entire time. How had he not noticed? He forced on his quickest polite face and gave a small bow. “Sorry for intruding, your Highnesses,” he said, holding in a snicker what he just had to do. Snowflake Hair rolled his eyes. “That’s not really necessary, you’re really only making a fool of yourself.” “As if he wasn’t one already,” the girl added, causing them both to laugh. “King!” Came a scolding voice from around the corner. “That is no way to treat our--” The owner of the voice came around the corner. And there, before Bruiser, stood the man he thought he had lost, looking as beautiful as ever, draped in red and black clothes, wings curled behind him. Spot. “--guest….” His voice faltered as the two locked eyes. Gray meeting black. The blood god and the angel of death meet once more. “Spot…?” 

“Bruiser?” Bruiser’s gaze hardened as he remembered what exactly Spot had done. He took a step back, glare quickly forming down at the shorter man. “I really should be leaving, I truly didn’t mean to intrude,” he muttered, trying to seem polite although his voice was coated in venom and bitterness, of nights spent crying alone, wondering what he had done wrong to make Spot leave. And the blood god did not cry. Bruiser did though. Bruiser cried. He begged and pleaded for nights with no end, wishing in the dark sky for his partner to return, to see those wings block out the sky before descending on him. But that day never came. He turned, beginning his trek back out of the kingdom. ‘It was a complete waste of time anyway’, he thought, jaw tightening as he gritted his teeth, focusing on the floor in front of him and trying to think of something other than the frog in his throat and the way warmth found its way to his eyes. “Bruiser!” Spot called, grabbing his wrist and causing Bruiser to whip around quickly, still glaring down at Spot. “Wait, please,” he began, voice quiet. “Just… walk with me? I’ll explain everything.” Bruiser gave a sigh, the breath shaking as it came out and he dipped his head, defeated. ’Oh how could I ever say no to you?’. “Fine.” Spot kept a hold of his wrist as he led him down the hallway, past the confused two royals from before, beyond them and away from all of the servants and guards who really couldn’t care less, too focused on their own world and tasks. How he wished he could just slip away, into one of those meaningless moments and forget about the whole thing. Forget Spot and forget war and forget it all. Eventually, Spot stopped at a balcony, far away from the others. “So?” Bruiser said, raising a brow as he pulled his hand away from Spot and took a few steps back, wary of his surroundings, planning mentally in case he needed to find the quickest escape route. Spot probably wouldn’t hurt him, but it never hurt to have a plan. “Tell me all about it, huh. Tell me why you left, Spot. Go on,” he growled, eyes narrowed at Spot, the anger rushing through him strong enough to elicit a flash of red from his eyes. Spot sighed, leaning against the door to the balcony tiredly. “Fine,” he mumbled, gaze drifting off to the side. “Years and years ago, before I knew you, I found this small town. And I decided to try and raise it up from the ground, seeing as nobody was doing it for them. It went well, surprisingly well and I told myself that after a year, I’d leave. That turned into two years, that turned into three and so on and so forth,” he explained, waving his hand to progress the story. “And then, when I finally got the courage to leave and had left and started my life with you? Well, word eventually got to me that the second I left, the entire town had been destroyed, all because I was gone, because I let my guard down,” Spot said, shaking his head. “Is- is this why you left me behind?” Bruiser asked, gesturing to the wide city around them, hurt and confusion falling across his features. Was this really it? “Bruiser-” “No, I get it. The place you cared about was in danger. Just… Why didn’t you take me with you? I could’ve helped, I would’ve hunted them down for you, you know that.” “I didn’t hunt them down though.” “What?” “They were already long gone by the time I arrived and the people, they needed a leader, not a hunter and I didn’t bring you because--” “Because I don’t know when to be either,” Bruiser finished quietly, shaking his head. They shared a look for a moment, Spot’s full of sadness but strength still, and Bruiser’s full of hurt and betrayal. “Look… I didn’t want to leave you. I just… they needed me.” “That includes your kids too, hm? Were you ever gonna tell me about them?” Spot threw his head back in a laugh. “Kids? Gods no, Bruiser are you insane? King and Mouse are my closest friends,” he said, shaking his head, muttering under his breath “King’s closer than most friends get but still…” he then straightened up and said, louder this time.  “I don’t think I’d ever have kids, Bruiser. Bringing them into this world? With the possibility of being like you or me? Never.” Bruiser nodded solemnly, understanding now. That made sense. They seemed just a bit too old to be his kids, especially if he had returned to the kingdom just recently. “So is that just it then? You show up and build this kingdom, get a new boytoy and what, live your life until they realize you haven’t aged? Is that your plan?” B asked. Spot shook his head once more, unfurling his wings and Bruiser realized nothing had been covering them. “They’re aware. They enjoy my rule and know I probably won’t be going anywhere for a while. And that’s probably for the best.” “Yeah, unless you scurry off again for another random village,” Bruiser muttered, rolling his eyes. “Listen… Could you just stay, please? We could be what we used to be. And… King does need to learn how to fight, just in case.” Bruiser sighed, a smile etching it’s way onto his face. “I could never say no to you.”

I'll see you soon my dear

And that was how Bruiser found himself quickly in a new morning routine. After getting used to the castle, and their extremely comfortable beds, he decided he would start training King at dawn the next week.

He met him out in the arena as the sun just began to rise over the kingdom, burning off the small dew drops on the grass and casting a slight golden glow over the city. Bruiser stood in the center, a rapier resting on his hip as he watched King sleepily cross over the grass, barely dressed and somehow awake. The longer he looked at the boy, the more he realized how deep the dark circles ran. King blinked sleep from his eyes and grabbed a similar sword off of the wall, steadying himself as he tried to focus. How Spot thought this was a good idea, he’d never know. “Ready?” Bruiser asked, raising his blade with a grin. He’d missed this. It wasn’t Spot, no, but King had spent time with Spot, surely he’d picked something up from the angel. “Wait wait wait- Aren’t you gonna teach me how to fight first?” King asked, looking around wildly as he realized they were just going to jump into it. He took a step back, nerves taking hold of him. “I believe in learning on the job,” Bruiser answered smoothly, before advancing towards him, slashing out with his sword and laughing when King did nothing more than occasionally block and dodge. At least he was good at avoiding things. That would keep him out of harm's way. But not forever. It didn’t take long for Bruiser to pinpoint his weak spots and for him to use them to get an advantage, not that he didn’t have one already. He always did. He kept moving towards King, their swords colliding in air as he began to back him up. Bruiser quickly switched up the angles and frequencies of his attacks and soon enough, King was scrambling to block them or deliver his own attack as a defense and all it took was one misstep and King found himself knocked back down onto the floor, Bruiser’s blade pointed at his throat. Bruiser grinned down at him for a moment. Either proud of him or proud of his own work. He couldn’t quite tell and he had a feeling he might never be able to with him. He pulled his sword away, offering his hand to King and pulling him up. He gave him a moment to dust himself off and gather himself and his blade, then, Bruiser dropped the smile. “Again.”

Don't you shed a single tear

Their training continued on like that for weeks and Bruiser was proud to say King was finally getting the hang of it and it did not take long for him to start advancing, he was starting to surprise Bruiser himself with some of the moves he had pulled. “I almost knocked you over!” He had said one time, gloating in the middle of practice . Bruiser had only laughed though as he got him pinned to the wall, blade to his throat. “Almost won’t save you though. Try again.” Some days, Mouse came out on the grass to watch her brother, yelling useless comments and joking jabs at either of them. Which Bruiser did find endearing. He had only been hanging around them for a few weeks and he swore he had started to go soft and honestly? He kind of liked it. He wasn’t too sure of what to make of it, but he liked it. He had decided that. Most mornings, the two got straight to work, no chatting or any playful banter, not like they usually had the extra energy for that anyway. But one morning, King found himself sitting in the grass, up earlier than Bruiser and alone, pulling wet strands of grass from the Earth and flinging them away. It was better than doing nothing, and this was still practically nothing. His eyes were almost mistier than the morning but he blinked and tried to clear it, trying to focus on anything but the noises and images that haunted him from the night’s terrors. He was too caught up in his mind to notice Bruiser sitting down beside him, resting back on his palms and looking up at King. “What are you doing up, especially earlier than me?” He asked, a faint grin on his lips. “I’m always up earlier than you. Just don’t show it. I don’t sleep,” King muttered, voice cold like the air around them. Bruiser sat up a bit more, sympathy falling over him. “Why not?” “Just can’t. Insomnia and shit,” he murmured, still focusing on the grass, pulling up more clumps, dirt getting stuck under his freshly painted and now chipping nails. Not that it mattered. They’d only get more dirty after that morning’s training session with Bruiser. King was now accustomed to taking a few showers after those, he didn’t mind anymore. Bruiser nodded, humming in acknowledgement. “Y’know we don’t have to train today if you don’t want to,” he said, voice soft, trying to melt King’s shell and break him out of it. King scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re lying. You just want me to act soft so you can use it against me later.” Bruiser shook his head, shuffling closer to King. “I’m not. Your physical and mental health matters more than this training,” he said, urging him to listen. The white haired boy sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “How about this, you can braid my hair?” Bruiser offered. It had been growing for a few months and was nearly shoulder length, it was enough to be braided. Not super long, but enough to have some sort of activity for a while. It was a good opportunity. King gave it some thought for a moment, before caving and nodding. “Okay,” he agreed, shuffling around quickly so he sat behind Bruiser. King combed through the strands with his fingers, trying to get it somewhat detangled before he braided it; that was probably a good step, he decided. “Where’d you get the name Bruiser?” King asked, knowing it was a dumb question, but a question he wanted to ask anyway. “Fights. Wars. Violence,” B answered simply, gazing up at the sky and how the sun was slowly rising above them, the sky above them being painted a number of pink, blue and red shades. “It’s pretty self explanatory.” King nodded, shrugging. “Fair, I just thought maybe yours was special,” he muttered, humming to himself. “How about you? Your name obviously isn’t King,” Bruiser retorted, sighing as King began weaving the strands of hair he’d separated into braids. “Ah. Started as a joke really. Kid in town doesn’t like me and when I bossed him around, asked me if I thought I was a king. And then it stuck. It stuck like a mean nickname at first but… I like it now. I really do,” he admitted, laughing to himself. It sounded stupid, he sounded stupid. Bruiser nodded, trying not to pull away from King’s hands too much. “That makes sense. I’m glad you like it now though. Being stuck with a nickname that hurts must not be fun.” “So you like yours then?” “Yeah. I do. Although I just prefer if you just called me B. Since you want to be friends... This is how you make friends right?” B asked, slightly confused and embarrassed by his lack of knowledge. A chuckle escaped from King and he nodded behind Bruiser. “Yes. I’d say this is how you make friends, B,” he said, slotting a few flowers into Bruiser’s hair. “Good. I’d like to be friends then.” “Me too.” Once King was done, Bruiser turned to face King, and for a moment, they were nearly nose to nose and nobody had moved. Bruiser realized then, that he never took the time to appreciate King’s face enough. And now, the freckles along his face, Bruiser realized, nearly painted the constellations he spent nights memorizing with Spot, and how the scar running from his chin to his upper lip told a story he hadn’t learned yet and made him look just even more badass when they were sparring. He’d never tell him that. He’d also never tell him about how badly he wanted to thumb along the thin, pale line, replacing the pain that had come from it with comfort. No, that was just a confession for another day.

Close your eyes my dear

As the clock struck two, Bruiser had decided. Bag slung over his shoulder full of the castle’s most recent warm, filling meals along with whatever supplies he could snatch without seeming too suspicious. He was leaving. He was going against everything he had felt and thought before. But it just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. They way King’s hair framed his face perfectly when it fell in sparring, how his quick, out of breath retorts could be the thing that actually distracted him or how when he remembered what he sounded like, singing the songs he had written late at night would be what took his breath away, and not the endless training. It wasn’t fair. The way Bruiser’s heart ached when he passed by Spot’s empty room, it wasn’t fair, the way he would miss when Spot held him in his wings and it wasn’t fair, the way he needed to feel Spot’s lips on his just to get by. None of that was fair. So, he was going to leave. It wasn’t the best solution, but he was never the best with love anyway. Not like this. Not when he had to choose or explain himself. It just hurt him too much. ‘This’ll hurt them too,’ he reminded himself, however he only shook his head at the thought. That wasn’t important. They were important, yes. But they’d manage, they have for this long without him anyway. It’d be fine. Sucking in a deep breath, he slid a note under King’s door, making sure it made it all the way through. Then, as King rose from his bed to inspect and open the note, Bruiser began creeping away. By the time King was done and had rushed to open his door and chase after him, Bruiser was long gone. Whisked away into the night.

You have nothing left to fear

King kept the note clutched tight to chest that night, tears streaming down his face.

Bruiser had left them?

How?

How could he do such a thing?

King didn’t know why he was so upset anyway, Bruiser didn’t want to be there in the first place, that was evident. Spot had to convince him to be there in the first place. But King had hoped, wished even, that Bruiser had stayed for longer, had stayed for more.

He wanted Bruiser with them. He couldn’t explain why, but without him, everything felt hollow. It had only been hours but King could feel it in his bones. It wasn’t going to be good without him.

That point was solidified five years later when a scout had brought back information regarding the growing army at the northern border. They had slaughtered the town there.

They had meant war. 

And now, without Bruiser, did they even stand a chance? They had Spot, yes, and King would forever be grateful for him, but it looked like fighting was the last thing Spot ever wanted to do.

Mouse had to step in.

King exhaled shakily, standing beside Spot as Mouse, looking smaller than ever, stood upon that podium in front of the kingdom, declaring that every able bodied citizen must join them to fight. 

At eighteen? 

Why did she have to bear that burden?

He knew he wasn’t chosen as heir for a reason, so he knew he’d always be off the table.

So why couldn’t Spot just step up and do his job this once?

It made King’s blood boil and head spin.

He just wanted Bruiser back.

Why couldn’t they have Bruiser back?

King found himself wondering the same things as the next day, he stood with Mouse, watching as their general took care of the miles long line of people having to sign up for their military.

He saw many familiar faces among the line, a few he swore weren't ready for the draft, not for a few years. Why were they here now? Some he could tell were just Mouse’s age. 

“They shouldn’t be here,” King growled to Mouse, who just shook her head, shrugging it off. 

It wasn’t their job right now.

Apparently.

King groaned to himself, storming back inside the castle, brushing past the guards as tears filled his eyes.

This shouldn’t be happening.

‘It wouldn’t be happening if Bruiser were still here,’ he thought to himself, tears slipping down his cheeks as he collapsed in an empty corridor.

“Please…. Just come back.”

Gods among the living A son becomes forgiving

The trip out to the Blue Valley was not a forgiving one. 

They had started the trip two days earlier and were still on the way, however King could see the dip of the valley before him on his horse.

He nodded to the others and quickly led them down towards it, eager to set up camp and finally rest. It had been a while since they’d done that. And it would be a while after that before they could properly do it again.

After they reached the location, King got the others to begin setting up the tents while he worked on unpacking other resources. And for nearly two weeks, they all worked peacefully together, learning about each other and learning more about their enemy that would soon lay ahead of them.

 It was only a matter of time.

King reminded himself of that every night as he stared up at the sky above him, waiting for Bruiser to return. And he knew he wouldn’t do that. But hope was one of the things that kept humanity alive. Bruiser wouldn’t know anything about that, would he?

Did he even know anything about humanity?

Humanity.

What a small word for something so big.

Barely the next day, the drums sounded, waking everyone from their sleep immediately. King stirred quickly, rushing from his tent and quickly helping his friends and fellow soldiers into the armor and to their weapons. 

“Go go go!” One hissed to another as they passed things around, trying to move their hill as quickly as possible.

King knew he would remain on the ground with Spot and Mouse.

They’d face the Green Army head on together, everyone else would fall back to see what would happen, it had been decided on the previous night.

As King saw the nearby army approaching, his stomach churned, eyes narrowed.

This didn’t feel right.

Finally, when they drew close enough to strike, a friend of his, Switch, up in a tree, sent a flaming arrow down towards them. It struck the grass and the area around the other soldiers immediately went up in flames, a tall wall of flames forming.

‘Let’s see if this holds up,’ King thought to himself, taking a step back, grabbing his sword in case it didn’t hold up as planned.

And he was right to do that, as minutes later, a cloaked figure stepped forward.

“Shit…” he muttered, shuddering as he realized that the figure seemed completely unaffected by the flames, maybe even strengthened by it.

Spot lifted off the ground, taking to the skies and immediately beginning to swoop down over the flames, attacking whoever he saw first, slicing like mad, there wasn’t much method to it, but it seemed to be getting the job done.

King and Mouse however, charged when the other army did, their blades meeting them head on while archers and other soldiers took them on from above.

King collided with a green soldier and they brawled, King scrambling for his sword in the mud as he tried to avoid their stomping boots. He was convinced that if it hit anything important, he would not be able to fight nearly as well. Thankfully, he grabbed his sword in time and thrust it upwards, stabbing them swiftly through the abdomen and then pushing them away with his legs.

King pulled his sword out and shook his head.

War had just begun and it already seemed like too much work.

How were they going to survive this?

The fight raged on, King and Mouse finding themselves back to back as they slashed and ducked, the duo had always been powerful on their own but together? Maybe they could even rival Spot and Bruiser, although that was a long shot.

Above them, Spot circled, taking out those he could with his bow, any who he missed, someone else below would take care of them themselves.

But, as day turned to night and night was beginning to turn to day once more, Mouse stopped, looking up. Even though that had made a sizeable dent in the Green Army’s forces, she could hear over a thousand coming their way.

Reinforcements.

They were outnumbered, ten to one.

Mouse looked up at Spot, giving him a nod and he began to fly back towards their camp, wings flapping heavily as he tried to get there before the reinforcements reached his people.

Mouse grabbed King’s arm, preparing him for whatever came next. They had to be ready.

However Mouse never prepared him for what came next.

As a horn blew over the valley, many soldiers heads turned and they immediately began sprinting, abandoning their weapons and fights and even some, their comrades, as they ran.

Mouse kept hold of King’s arm as they began sprinting back towards camp, a thousand Green Army soldiers giving chase. But they could be faster.

King looked between Mouse and everyone else confusedly, panic lacing his features.

“What’s going on?” He yelled, eyes wide as he stumbled, trying to keep up with Mouse’s hurried pace even as she dragged him along.

She gave no answer. Nobody did.

That was part of the discussion they had the previous night, while they had sent King out to scout briefly. 

The soldiers were made aware of the plan.

“If you wish to leave, then leave. Nobody will stop you. But do not tell Prince Levi.”

Nobody left, however everyone nodded.

The plan was in place.

But happy ever after Comes with a price to pay

“What are we doing?!” King screamed again as they began to near the camp, he could see the tents now and the long dead campfire. 

Were they retreating? 

Why didn’t anybody just say so?

Switch Eye scampered across the valley, ducking out of the way of soldiers and slipping by panicked brothers who hadn’t remembered the plan. The flint and steel in his pocket felt heavy as it reminded him of his job. He steeled himself.

Anything for his city.

The cave was just up ahead, he could make it. And then he stopped, a few feet in front of him was Fennel, trapped against a tree, a soldier’s blade against his neck.

Switch drew his own sword and charged forward, plunging it into the chest of the soldier, who barely even had time to react before they fell to the ground and Fennel was freed.

Fennel looked up at Switch, eyes wide. Switch took hold of his shaking shoulders gently and leaned down.

“You have to go, you understand me? You need to run baby please. Get as far away from here as possible,” he urged him, watching as his panic only grew.

“Why?” 

“It’ll be alright, I promise, just go.”

Fennel nodded shakily, taking off across the valley towards where he could distantly see camp.

“I love you…” Switch muttered as we watched him go. Then he turned and ducked into the cave.

Across the valley, Half-Hitch was heading to do the same, she dodged swinging blades and axes easily, taking a few men down as she crossed, her own axe a force few people should’ve messed with.

She shoved her way through soldiers. She was on a mission, goddamnit. One she had signed up for.

The cave was just up ahead.

The two entered at nearly the same time and dropped to a knee at the same time.

Switch pulled the flint and steel from his pocket, flicking it on easily in the dark of the cave, illuminating what he couldn’t make out in the dark.

Hitch huffed, guess they were right, the smell of sulfur only got worse the closer you were to it. She shrugged, just another casualty of war.

“For Fennel.”

“For the city.”

The rocks along the walls of the valley shook as thunderous crashes echoed along the inside. Rocks began to slide and fall, rushing towards the oncoming army and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be stuck with their side.

The plan had worked, as thousands of soldiers became covered by the rocks, crushing them instantly. Any who managed to escape, would be picked off easily.

King watched in horror as screams filled the air and dust rose while the rocks slid forward and down.

He whirled back around the Mouse, who let out a relieved sigh.

“What the fuck did you just do?!” He demanded.

“What I had to.”

“That was not what you had to do! We could’ve handled them!”

“We couldn’t have King, we were outnumbered,” Mouse argued, shaking her head.

“No!” King yelled. “No! How many of our people had to die for that?” 

“King-“

“How many?!”

“I… I don’t know.”

“All of those people, our people, who were just caught on the wrong side of that, they’re gone. And you’ll never know how many, and you’ll never know them. And you don’t even want to, do you?” King asked, fire blazing in his eyes ever since the war had started.

“What? King, listen I just-“

“All you wanted was to take over for Spot once he disappeared, you were probably hoping he disappeared instead of… of… him! You just want to lead and you know where your leading got your people? Dead! And- and you had this whole fucking plan, and everyone knew about me, why is that? Huh?”

“Because! You’re a fucking child, King. You’ve always acted like one. You might be older than me but maturity wise? You never have been. There’s a reason Spot chose me and not you,” Mouse snarled back, glaring up at King. “You do not get to police my ruling.”

King laughed, taking a step back. “You’re a fucking monster, shortie.”

Mouse reached out towards King.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Spot had been fighting the first man to walk through the fire wall they had set up.

What a hotshot.

Spot growled as he kicked Hotshot away, wings flapping angrily behind him as he charged again.

His silver sword met an obsidian black one in the air, and while Hotshot was certainly straining to keep him at bay, with all of the wounds he had acquired, he was capable of doing so.

He was capable of doing much more.

Spot’s dark eyes met the god of war’s fire red ones. And now it made sense, why the fire nor the explosions had killed him.

They had to just make everything harder didn’t they? 

Spot then turned at the sound of a distant scram, King’s. He turned just in time to see King draw back from Mouse’s hands. Mouse looked hurt by the action, but they were both safe.

A shadow came over Spot and that was when he remembered where he was, only a little too late.

He turned to face the bloodied tip of a sword, just in front of his face, his breath fanning the edge, he could almost taste metal in his mouth from it. However it was not the obsidian sword he had been facing off against before. Instead it was a familiar silver sword, pierced right through the chest of the war god.

Only gods could kill gods.

Spot looked up as Hotshot collapsed to his knees, sword dropping from his hand as he coughed and sputtered.

Black eyes meeting red ones.

Spot’s jaw dropped and he scrambled towards him pulling the taller boy into a hug. He didn’t have the energy to be mad. He was of course, for leaving for so long after they finally found each other, but he could be mad when they got home.

Bid your last goodbyes As the light fades from his eyes

Mouse saw him first.

She figured, she might’ve been destined to do that. She was searching for him usually, late at night, wandering the castle in hopes that maybe in the dark she’d spot those red eyes that had brought her brother so much joy.

She only wanted for him to be happy again.

She’d always be looking for him.

King followed Mouse’s gaze and he stopped, panic leaving his face as his shoulders went slack.

“Bruiser…?”

Before Mouse could speak, King had already taken off across the field towards them.

One move.

That was all it would take.

On the ground beside Hotshot was one of Spot’s knives, it had been discarded during their battle, fallen out of Spot’s belt or something. He inched forward, cursing mentally as the dirt scraped against his wound. His rough hand wrapped around the edge of the knife and with all that he had left, he aimed.

Then it flew from his hands.

Bruiser was there.

His Bruiser.

King couldn’t help but smile as he raced across the field, joy overcoming him. He barreled into Bruiser so hard he almost knocked him over. The two laughed, even though tears still cling to his cheeks.

He enveloped Bruiser in a quick kiss, one that he had meant to do a long time ago, one that had told him everything he had missed. There was everything there, the grief, the confusion, the relief and disbelief, the joy—

“Bruiser,” King choked out again, shaking his head as he looked up at him as he held his cheek with one bloody hand.

“King…” Bruiser echoed, his smile telling King everything he needed to know. ‘I missed you too.’

—and the pain, there was pain as the knife found it’s place in the prince’s heart.

Bruiser watched King begin to fall in his arms, face falling with him.

He let out a pained gasp as he began to sink towards the ground, Bruiser’s arms still wrapped around him.

“No no no no no, King,” Bruiser chanted, hitting the ground with King, pulling him into his arms. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“King!” Mouse’s scream echoed across the valley as she took off running towards them, abandoning everything at the sight of her brother sinking to the floor.

Spot whirled around towards the culprit, eyes blazing. However when his gaze fell on Hotshot, it died as he realized the murderer was already gone.

“Fuck,” he cursed, putting his head in his hands momentarily.

“King it’s gonna be okay,” Mouse tried to assure him, although Bruiser wasn’t sure if she was convincing herself or her brother. “I promise you, okay? Just keep your eyes open, alright?”

King gave a nod, gaze still focused on Bruiser.

Although his eyelids were already beginning to fall.

“Hey, no no no. Keep your eyes open, alright?” Bruiser said, voice shaking as he tried to command him like he used to in training, maybe that would work. It always did.

A pained whimper slipped past King’s lips as he nodded again, forcing his eyes open a little bit more, but it didn’t do much. 

He wanted to sleep. Sleep was nice. Sleep was good. 

“No, please, please baby stay awake. Please. Want me to talk? I’ll talk,” Bruiser begged.

“I want to sleep…”

“You can sleep when we get back to the kingdom,” Mouse said, shaking her head. “Just stay with us and then you can sleep all you want, promise.”

“Sleep sounds good.”

“No. Sleep is bad, King, c’mon, please,” Spot said, joining them on the ground beside the others, having been standing for a while.

“I-I got this,” Mouse tried, beginning to hum a small tune. One King didn’t recognize at first, but it slowly came to him.

The song he had used to sing to her to help her sleep, on those nights when she showed up at his door, shaking and scared.

It was a calming tune, one he had come up with on his own. One that felt like the early morning he spent braiding Bruiser’s hair, one that felt like curling up beside Spot in his bed after one particularly bad night, one that felt like a good, strong hug from Mouse. 

One that felt like home.

He wanted to go home.

Home was where they were going to go, they had promised.

King’s eyes fell closed, he could still hear his own slow but steady rhythmic heartbeat.

He wanted to go home.

“I love you…” he murmured, a shaking hand reaching up to gently touch Bruiser’s cheek.

He felt the taller boy lean into it and he smiled.

“I love you too. I left because I love you. I love you and it used to scare me. It scared me too much. I’m sorry I left, I won’t leave your side again just don’t go, please. I love you,” Bruiser begged.

His hand slipped from Bruiser’s cheek.

“I love you…”

For once, the king slept in Blue Valley.

An echoing of once familiar laughter From the boy as bright as day.

[thebestbookrecommendations]

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams - Stephen King

Since his first collection, Nightshift, published thirty-five years ago, Stephen King has dazzled readers with his genius as a writer of short fiction. In this new collection he assembles, for the first time, recent stories that have never been published in a book. He introduces each with a passage about its origins or his motivations for writing it. There are thrilling connections between stories; themes of morality, the afterlife, guilt, what we would do differently if we could see into the future or correct the mistakes of the past. “Afterlife” is about a man who died of colon cancer and keeps reliving the same life, repeating his mistakes over and over again. Several stories feature characters at the end of life, revisiting their crimes and misdemeanors. Other stories address what happens when someone discovers that he has supernatural powers—the columnist who kills people by writing their obituaries in “Obits;” the old judge in “The Dune” who, as a boy, canoed to a deserted island and saw names written in the sand, the names of people who then died in freak accidents. In “Morality,” King looks at how a marriage and two lives fall apart after the wife and husband enter into what seems, at first, a devil’s pact they can win. Magnificent, eerie, utterly compelling, these stories comprise one of King’s finest gifts to his constant reader—“I made them especially for you,” says King. “Feel free to examine them, but please be careful. The best of them have teeth.”

Read if You Like:

Horror

Short Stories/Short Story Collections

Fantasy

Thrillers

Mysteries

Recommended if You Enjoy:

Stephen King (Night Shift, Full Dark No Stars, Different Seasons, If It Bleeds)

3/5

[yusuke96universe]

In need of more Turles content

Why I want more 'Turles' Dragon Ball content.

Background: TURLES' RETURN | ZtoS | Off-The-Cuff and MasakoX's "What If Turles Turned Good" series are both great

Both provide interesting avenues to reboot ideas that a modernized Turles could have.

One links Turles to both retconned Bardock as his estranged brother that unlocked the False SSJ form missed out on a chance at redemption when Planet Vegeta was destroyed. So this can provide Goku a direct connection to his family lineage again.

The other links Turles up with the Heaters organization that competes with the Frieza Empire. This actually provides a method to connect a lot of the contradictory backstories within supplemental materials.

I am a fan of MasakoX's DBZ 'What If' series. I don't always agree with his takes on certain concepts, but through a lot of the community, I can cherry-pick what I like and make my own take on certain subjects like I did with his What If Nappa or Cell turned Good series for example. I often make super long, well-crafted comments that hardly ever get attention, and here is one I made

The comment was about how interesting a character is in the Dragon World

I think Turles should best be used as a means to complicate a plot or storyline. He can fit in many types of stories. He easily can fall under the Magnificient Bastard trope (a.k.a. the Charismaniac), a potential ally, antagonist or something else entirely that makes things difficult for all involved. He can best be used like how Law was introduced in Sabaody Archipelago, a seductive danger that pulls you in. You know he is probably going to stab you in the back or you're being played, but you just can't say "No" to his offers for one reason or another. Either he is charismatic enough to win you over or he's got something you want, bad.

Any character from any alignment good, evil, divine, or even Demonic should have something interesting to say about Turles because he is such an outlier to the rest of the characters. He just offers so much potential fun dynamics and storytelling.

A smart and methodical Saiyan, who still loves to fight and isn't a coward? In fact, he is willing to take on just about anyone, he was introduced while he was preparing to take on Frieza of all people. As smart as he is, he has to know how outmatched he is compared to Frieza's Empire, but he was going to do it. In their interactions within games and such, Turles isn't even nervous, on the contrary. He's pumped!

A fighter who prides himself on his strength, but isn't totally blinded by it to overlook the forest for the trees. He has been shown to have foresight determine his actions. He does get arrogant and that makes him vulnerable, but he can quickly recover by allowing his pragmatism to take over.

A Dragon Ball villain that can respect his enemies? He is open to potential partnerships and underlings joining his side, in fact that is how he recruited his Crusher Corps. (so he could potentially be written to have his own Power of Friendship moments) And he may be willing to ally with the good guys if their goals ever align. He also knows how to be a team player as shown in Xenoverse 2, where he is quick to play mediator with the villains.

A deserter that still has pride in his race, but felt wronged by the caste system that discredited him which acts as a motive for his current actions. So a political plot can be on the table. (he fits a usurper plot to a T)

A drifter whose experiences have led him to blaspheme against the established Divine hierarchy because his Tree of Might that he is known for, is the property of the Gods.

He's pure evil so other pure evil creatures like Devils and Demons who directly oppose the Angels and the Gods could recruit him to be direct counters that contrast the good Saiyans.

While Turles is known for being an 'Evil Goku clone' meant to contrast his characteristics, in doing so, he has contrasted a lot of his own Saiyan race's characteristics as well which puts him in the same boat as Goku who he is meant to contrast. They are both outliers of their race in one way or another.

Anime Goku Black is a sophisticated and elegant Kai on a Multiverse level Crusade compared to Goku's outdoorsman simplicity.

Manga Goku Black contrasted Goku's gentleness and innate goodness by being one of the most vicious villains the series ever had. Zamasu was being taken over by the Saiyan body's base instincts for destruction and violence transforming him in to a ferocious monster.

Turles on the other hand can display traits of both the smart and elegant Zamasu and the Saiyan's natural savageness and societal cruelty while being similar to Goku in that he is an outlier of their race because he reels those traits in opening himself to many more options and avenues to potentially walk down.

I am not even getting into the fact that Turles looks just like the main character so he could be a surviving relative. A cousin, an uncle, half-brother, even a Grandfather with how Saiyans age. Heck a straight up counterpart isn’t even out of the question. 

Personally, I am a bigger fan of him being his own person, and his shared looks are only used to highlight how he contrasts with Goku, but also how they gain similar things like leading a group of strong loyal misfits who admire his power. It’s like the two take their own paths, but arrive at practically the same destination and that is what fascinates me about Turles the most when compared to Goku.

My point is that Turles has a lot of storytelling potential for involvement within What Ifs and even the future of the Dragon Ball Super, but what do you guys think? Do you want to hear my thoughts on how I would reboot Lord Slug as well because I can do that next?My take is a bit different from others but I think it's really interesting. Also, wouldn’t a False Super Saiyan line of forms for Turles be really interesting?

[extasiswings]

@nonbinarydiaz asked for a rec list of my romance reads from this week and I could just list all of them tbh because they were all good but!

Contemporary: (this would have more on it but my reading selections have been curtailed by what ebooks the library has available so 99% of my contemporary browsing ended up on hold)

1) The Hating Game by Sally Thorne. The sheer [we weren’t really] enemies-to-lovers of it all! The banter was so good, I definitely laughed out loud, overall just very sweet and fun. Her second novel, 99 Percent Mine was also very good, as well as her latest, Second First Impressions. But of the three I still think THG is the strongest.

Historical: (Rogues and scoundrels and rakes, oh my! Not to mention very cheesy titles)

I’ve been primarily reading Sarah MacLean and Lisa Kleypas. I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve read ESPECIALLY from Sarah MacLean. So, by author and in no particular order…

Sarah MacLean:

1) Eleven Scandals to Start to Win a Duke’s Heart: look, Juliana is wonderful and fun and I adored her. Simon is a whole idiot who really probably should have gotten his head out of his ass way sooner than he does but ultimately I think he’s trying his best. Also the underlying theme of struggling with self-discovery and other people’s expectations of you…hashtag relatable and also *chef’s kiss*.

2) The “Rules of Scoundrels” quartet which focuses on 4 fallen aristocrats who own an exclusive gambling club. Disclaimer, I haven’t actually read the first one because see above re: the library, but the other three, especially #2 and #4, were great. #2 aka One Good Earl Deserves a Lover made me Jenny Slate NASA scream on multiple occasions. Pippa is an absolute delight and I was 100% not even finished with the first chapter before I was at “I’ve only had her for five minutes but if anything happens to her I’ll kill everyone in this room” levels (which, conveniently, is also a point that Cross gets to pretty quickly as well). And then #4 aka Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover was frankly an A+ return to a character who was introduced in Eleven Scandals. Duncan West, like many of MacLean’s heroes, is a bit of a well-meaning idiot in love, but given the number of secret identities abounding I can’t blame him too much for not putting the pieces together sooner.

3) Wicked and the Wallflower (Bareknuckle Bastards Book #1). This is the first in a trilogy—I haven’t read the other two yet but this one was…yes. I have a weakness for stories where so-called “innocent” heroines are exposed to dark/messy/grey worlds/men/morality and instead of going “oh, I can change him/save him with my goodness” decide that they quite like the dark actually and commit to demanding their own power and agency. It’s a very sexy trope and very well-executed here. Also, I have never in my life gotten emotional over lockpicks before, but I did reading this book for Reasons.

Lisa Kleypas:

1) The Devil in Winter. Once again, this is part of a series that I have not read the rest of, but it is a very hot and entertaining read. We love a marriage of convenience that leads to accidentally catching feelings + a redemption arc, yes we do.

2) The Bow Street Runners Trilogy. I haven’t read the first one and might not because from the description it might not be up my alley, but the other two, especially the second one, were really great.

[captcas]

hoax

exile by capthamm

your faithless love’s the only hoax i believe in

part five of capthamm’s captain swan’s folklore read on ao3 / read the ao3 series

Grounding herself, Emma fists her hands until her fingers irritate the road burn coating her palms. Regina just got off the phone with Cruella DeVil and Ursula. Cruella and Ursula.

What the fuck?  

Killian arrives and she immediately feels the cool touch of his hook rest on her slightly exposed hip. She’s not sure when this became second nature but she’s glad it has— the consistency grounding her further.

Storybrooke. Chernabog. Town line. Cruella. Ursula. Killian. Hook.

Captain Hook.

She’s dating Captain Hook while co-parenting with the Evil Queen who's trying to decide if she should give Cruella DeVil and Ursula a chance at redemption.

What. the. fuck.

She doesn’t have to deal with these looming realizations as often as she did when the curse broke (the first time), but every once in a while something throws her into a tailspin and she has a hard time finding her way out.

If it weren’t for Killian she’d bet her life savings that Storybrooke was all a delusion and she was sitting in a hospital somewhere compensating for years of home hopping and abandonment.

But then there’s Killian.

There’s been three moments in which Emma knew she wasn’t living a lie.

The first was when Henry came back to her after biting the poisoned turnover. The moment he hugged her… that moment was so visceral, she knew it had to be real.

The second was when Neal died, when she felt a wave of feeling wash over her too great to comprehend. More sobering than any event in her life before, it was a direct reminder nothing is permanent.

The third is every moment she’s spent with Killian since the moment she’s met him. Maybe that’s cheating, shoving hundreds of moments into one, but since she’s met Killian everything has changed.

She was standing in the middle of Cora’s attack, heartless corpses scattered at her feet and she felt another loop setting in, then there was Killian. And so their story goes. Every moment of what the fuck and you’ve got to be kidding me, Killian’s been there— whether on the right side or not is here nor there.

She grasps his hand tightly, drawing a small “x” with her thumb near his wrist and she notices him nod slightly before addressing their ragtag fairytale army, “Emma and I are going to head to Granny’s for some food and then we’ll meet Belle at the library to research our new winged friend.” Everyone nods enthusiastically and leaps into action, David delegating the rest of the group out as Killian squeezes Emma’s hand and leads her away from the chaos.

Once they’re out of ear shot, Killian speaks, “Are you alright, love?”

She loves him. It’s weird, the moment you realize something so profound, but she guesses the small moments are as good as any. “I will be. It’s just… a lot.”

“Aye, Swan. I’m sure it would be for anyone not of our land, but you’ve made great strides in making your own place in this world.” He pulls her in tighter and Emma breathes in his welcoming scent. She always envisioned pirates smelling awful, but Killian is probably the cleanest person she knows. Pirates. She takes a deep breath before diving too deep into that thought.

“Thanks.” She smiles up at him, and she can tell Killian knows how much she means it despite her lack of flowery sentiments he is so versed in. He kisses her temple and she welcomes the silence.

She could handle Elsa making her way into town. Emma was on a level playing field with everyone else, backstories practically nonexistent until Anna entered the picture, but with the arrival of Cruella and Ursula, something shifted in everyone.

There’s history there Emma isn’t a part of and no one is being very forward when it comes to clueing her in. Killian’s holding something back, but she assumes it’s out of shame and knows he’ll tell her on his own time– she didn’t fall in love with a man unscathed; dismal pasts are just part of the package. What’s killing her are her parents, both clearly hiding some dark past with these villains. It’s resurfacing all the anxiety she felt the day the first curse broke. Everyone was so elated, families reunited and memories restored, but Emma felt exactly the same– her relief Henry was going to be alright aside. Snow White hugged her daughter for the first time while Emma hugged her friend Mary Margaret for what felt like the hundredth time.

The playing field was anything but level.

The Enchanted Forest was only a further extension of that, Emma constantly on edge yet feeling 6 steps behind. When she got back to Storybrooke, she felt herself level out— at least she knew how to use the restroom here.

Emma hates to say it, but besides the fact Henry was kidnapped, Neverland was a welcome challenge. Killian warned them the island was greatly unknown even to those who reside there permanently. The playing field leveled itself out completely as everyone seemed just as clueless as she was.

Don’t even get her started on her magic.

Henry has had that book memorized since she met him, the stories practically his now despite him not being alive for the majority of them. He’s always on pace with the rest of the group, knowing references to past dalliances and squabbles without so much as turning a page. She’s glad he’s not feeling this level of anxiousness, but wishes beyond all belief that she could take some of that photographic fairytale memory for herself.

It’s the squeeze of Killian’s hand that brings her back to the present and allows her to walk up the steps to Granny’s without tripping and making an ass of herself. Killian places their order and leans in close to tell Ruby something privately. Before Emma can wonder what he’s said, Killian is leading her up the back steps towards his room and unlocking the door.

“I thought you could use some familiar territory to decompress, love.”

Emma loves him. It’s the only thing that’s convinced her this isn’t some dream that is only minutes from being over. It’s what keeps her fighting tooth and nail for some semblance of normal in her new life which is decidedly anything but. It’s what grounds her when there are literal flying demons from hell trying to take her into the sky.

It’s the only thing that’s made perfect sense.

“Thank you, Killian.” He smiles and begins to turn away, not picking up the true gravity of her appreciation. Emma grabs his wrist and he turns back towards her, worry etched into his brow.

“Are you sure you’re alright, love?” She should answer, but finds herself too busy searching his eyes for any hint that this is a dream.

Emma’s known she loves him for a while now, since the moment they returned from the past– the monumental nature of his trade for her family’s safety winning her heart completely. She doesn’t dare tell him that though– she fears the moment she does is the moment she wakes up back in Boston… alone. Emma hasn’t been alone since the moment Henry found her, and while there are moments she wishes for time to sort out her thoughts, she relishes every moment with her family. At this point, she’s not sure she’d know how to be alone anymore and the thought of leaving this reality for the truth scares her everyday.

Killian’s the only one who seems to remind her this is as real as it gets.

His thumb brushes softly across her wrist where he’s slowly taken control. As though he could read her mind, Killian nods ever-so-slightly, a comforting smile breaking across his face. She squeezes his hand, purposely placing one of his rings in an uncomfortable position on her hand in a futile attempt to wake herself up before she jumps to the point of no return.

Emma finds his eyes again– somehow her anchor even though they’re as blue as the sea. She used to drown in them, the emotions she felt overtaking her as they acted as x-rays into her soul, but as time moved on all she found was comfort. Taking a deep breath, she decides she doesn’t want to live on this edge anymore. If this is all a hoax, she wants to know now before the pain of waking would be more excruciating than she already imagines it would be, but also before he tells her first, and the fear of the unknown stops her from returning the sentiment. Emma aches to tell him, so that she can finally know if the fairytale (literally) she’s been living is truly her life.

So she does.

“I love you.”

As Emma expected, he surges in for a kiss, his actions speaking louder than her three words -even long ago. He comes up for air, and for a moment, Emma refuses to open her eyes, sure the dream will have changed, or worse she’ll have woken up all together, but then that moment passes. Killian’s forehead is hot against hers as she feels the smiles lines grow across it. He breathes out and his breath graces her lips softly. In a seemingly impossible task, Killian closes what little distance remains between them. Emma moves in to kiss him once more, but he leans back slightly to stop her. It’s then, on instinct alone, that Emma finally opens her eyes. As she gazes into an endless expanse of blue, a weight lifts from her chest– a weight left long ago when she turned to find cops in that alleyway instead of Neal. She never realized how heavy it was, not until the moment it was gone– or if not gone, shared.

“I love you too, Swan.”

He brings her back to the here and now in an instant and she’s home.

His voice– light and full of the kind of happiness she truly thought was reserved for the best of dreams– buries itself deep into her mind, creating a sort of tattoo on the memories that lived there. Sure, she’d been told I love you many times, by many people, but the words that leave Killian’s mouth feel permanent.

They feel real.

She rushes forward to kiss him, once again. The electricity radiating through her body, the feel of his hands laced along her lower back, and the smile forming  against her lips finally convince her that, while her life may be part fairytale, it’s undoubtedly as real as any of the others in Henry’s ancient book.

. . . 

@mariakov81​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kmomof4​ @superchocovian​ @pirateherokillian​ @teamhook​ @nikkiemms​

[mst3kproject]

Teenage Wolfpack

This is, unfortunately, not a werewolf movie.

That’s it.  That’s why I’m reviewing it.  The title suggested a werewolf movie, the film itself would have been way more fun if it were a werewolf movie, it wasn’t, and now I’m annoyed.  I felt the same way about The Wolf of Wall Street but that one is way too upscale for this blog.

After opening credits set to some very catchy and extremely inappropriate swing music, we meet brothers Freddie and John Morgan.  Freddie, in his early twenties, was driven out of the house by their asshole father and now commits crime and dates underage girls.  John, age eighteen, still lives at home but is getting increasingly frustrated, especially when Mr. Morgan mistreats his wife.  In search of money to help his mother, Johnny gets drawn into Freddie’s web of crime.  Things start going south when the gang rob the wrong postal truck, ending up with mail instead of money, but Freddie’s girlfriend finds something in one of the stolen letters that makes him think maybe, just maybe, he can make crime pay after all.

On the surface at least, Teenage Wolfpack is a pretty serviceable movie.  The dialogue mostly makes sense and you can usually tell what’s going on.  There are times when it sets things up and pays them off pretty efficiently, but at nearly eighty minutes long, there is also a lot of time spent dithering around accomplishing nothing.  The opening, for example, where we are introduced to Freddie and his buddies as they show off their pasty German bellies at a swimming pool. They sexually harass random women, beat up the staff, and annoy their girlfriends.  This bit is far too long and ultimately does very little for the story.  Later we’re treated to a lengthy dance number, a weird sequence with a boy who admires Freddie throwing away his jacket, and a kidnapped dog, which are similarly useless.

The dog especially.  It’s a little wiener dog and it’s very cute, but it never does anything except hang out and be cuddled.  I kept expecting it to either get killed or for it to somehow be instrumental in the plot but it’s just a random dog and when things are supposed to be getting intense it vanishes from the story.  It also never barks once, which makes me wonder if the movie crew sedated it before filming.  My neighbours have two dachshunds and those little bastards never shut up, ever.

Outside of that, the story makes a reasonable amount of sense.  There are bits in which you’re not sure what people are actually talking about, but most of those end up not really mattering.  The final plot point, about the money at the bar, is not very clear at all – characters talk about what they found in the letter but we never get any details, or even see the text they’re reading (possibly this was simply cut from the English dub), so we only have the vaguest idea what they’re looking for.  Worse for this ending, and the thing that pretty much kills the whole film, is that it is entirely lacking in tension.  The guys are sneaking into the bar owner’s house to rob him while John, who has had enough of this, races to try to stop them. There’s a four-way standoff between Freddie, John, Freddie’s girlfriend Cissy, and the bar owner, in which the latter two are shot, but somehow the movie manages to make this downright boring.

I think a part of the problem may be that the stakes here are much lower than the earlier robbery of the postal truck, which involved fistfights and sneaking by the police (does anybody happen to know when ambulances were invented?  Because there’s a scene in this movie where a policeman flags down a random passer-by to ask them to take an accident victim to the hospital).  Here they’re just sneaking around a house and their only foe, besides each other, is a man with a heart condition.  I guess we’re supposed to be worried for the bar owner, but he’s not really a character, just an Italian stereotype even broader and more offensive than that skit from Devil Fish.

The other issue is that we’re not really sure what this movie wants to be.  Of course it’s a morality play, teaching us that criminals can never win, but it kind of wanders around that point in circles rather than attacking it from any particular angle that might unify the story.  There are repeated hints that John is going to end up taking the blame for Freddie’s shenanigans, but the story never follows through on that. Cissy plays it sweet for most of the movie but turns out to be the very worst of this nasty lot, lying and trying to turn the brothers against each other… that was kind of a fun twist, but it’s not at all necessary to the plot.  At the end, Freddie and John’s father turns up to identify these two criminals as his sons, but then the movie’s over, without any attempt at exploring what this means for the family.  Mr. Morgan is clearly upset to see them getting arrested, but whether he will reconcile with Freddie or just disown John along with him, we never find out.

Cissy, by the way, is supposed to be fifteen. We never find out how old Freddie is exactly, but he’s at least a couple of years older than eighteen-year-old John. That’s a little questionable, but what’s even more questionable is the camera’s loving attention to her ass, especially when actress Karin Baal was only sixteen when she was in this movie.

The thing MST3K would have surely had the most fun with is the characters, which are very flat.  John is a Wholesome Young Man who does things like remind his brother, who has just stolen a car right in front of him, to obey the speed limit. Mike, Tom, and Crow would have added their own dialogue to characterize him as a hopeless sniveling Mama’s Boy and it wouldn’t be much of an exaggeration.  He’s supposed to be conflicted once the actual crime begins but instead he just comes across as a fool, willfully ignoring what Freddie’s really up to in the attempt to feel better about his own part in it.

Like a number of characters in MST3K movies about young criminals, the movie balks at actually allowing John to commit a crime. He does hit a guy over the head with a gun, but the guy volunteered for it in exchange for some money from Freddie! While Freddie’s gang beat people up and rob the mail truck, John is merely distracting a night watchman by giving him a letter to mail.  It’s never very clear how much John knows about the whole plan.  He went to Freddie because he knows he needs more money than he can get through legitimate means.  He has seen them steal a car and when he’s sent to ‘borrow’ one he must know that the original owner probably isn’t getting it back, even if he’s able to secure it without any violence.  Yet in the face of all this, he does his level best to remain oblivious.

Freddie seems at once eager to have John as a partner and yet reluctant to actually bring him into the fold.  In T-Bird Gang the bad guys had Frank commit an actual crime as a test, to make sure he was up to it and to secure his loyalty.  Maybe it’s because John is family that Freddie doesn’t seem to feel a need to do this… maybe the ‘hit a guy’ thing was the test, but it didn’t feel like that.  Freddie can’t seem to decide whether he wants to trust John or protect him, which is another thing that movie could have used as a focus for this story, but doesn’t. It never really tries to get into Freddie’s head at all, which is a shame.

I guess the reason these movies don’t want their ‘hero’ characters to commit crimes is because they want them to seem redeemable.  The problem with this is that for a character to be redeemed, you need something to redeem them from.  A person can’t pick themselves up if they’ve never actually fallen.  Then again, I’m not sure this movie is about redemption.  Freddie certainly never redeems himself.  Cissy looks for a while like maybe she wants to get together with John and try a life of things other than crime, but doesn’t.  And John is only barely a criminal – we don’t even hang around long enough to find out whether his father’s going to think he is, or whether he’s going to take the blame for the stolen car.

Like so many other of these movies, the only goal Teenage Wolfpack seems to have is to make the audience feel crummy.  The moral lessons are barely a sketch and deeply unsatisfying.  The title seems to suggest an exploitation film but the bad behaviour it showcases isn’t any fun to watch.  The most interesting conflict the story sets up is between John, Freddie, and their father, but that is barely explored and certainly isn’t done justice.  The film-makers seem to have been competent but the script gave them nothing to work with.

This really should have been a werewolf movie.  Freddie’s been thrown out of the family for being a criminal, but when John goes to him looking for money, he discovers instead the terrible truth about the recent slew of animal attacks!  John still loves his brother but Freddie’s pack of slavering werewolves are a danger to everybody in town… can he bring himself to break out the silver bullets, knowing that he’ll be labeled a fratricide?  Can he protect the Italian bar owner, or even his own parents from werewolfish bloodlust?  That would have been an amazing movie.