I didn’t have anyone to live react with so I went ham on my discord friends in our server while no one was there to react.
That being said, i’ll try to sum up, for those who either didn’t get to see it, or just want the Summary. I’m going to go a little out of order from the Direct for consistency sake.
New Characters: Simon, Richter (echo of Simon), King K Rool, Chrom (Echo of Marth), Dark Samus (echo of Samus). More to come, all planned to be revealed prior to release
Castlevania stage is Dracula’s Castle and has a stage hazard of random Castlevania series bosses appearing, including Wolfman, Medusa, Death, and the big guy himself, Dracula. (One of the bosses was labled with question marks but I swear it was the Kid Dracula silouette)
Alucard is also appearing as an assist trophy
Echo Fighters are handled...pretty well I’d say. There’s a setting that controls how your menu manages them. Either it shows them all like past games, or it condenses them all and hides them behind who they are an Echo of. I find this hilarious because that means Marth is going to have a very crowded box having 3 Echo characters now.
The stage count for this game is over 100, and includes many classics including Brinstar Depths, the 64 Hyrule Castle, Saffron Tower, etc.
You can also set it up so that you select two stages and based on designated parameters, the stages will tag out underneath your feet.
8 Player battles are returning
You can create bookmarked rule sets for ease of setting
Many game modes, Tourney presets matches, Squad mode has rotating door of characters, Smashdown eliminates previously used character, Classic is our traditional single player mode we’ve had since 64. There is also an unshown mode to be shown at a later date
New items include a Banana Gun which is a strong one shot pistol which then turns into a banana peel, Death’s Scythe which insta gibs high damage enemies, the mushroom enemy from Earthbound reverses smacked enemies controls, a ray gun that does more damage the higher your damage
New Pokemon include Eggxecutor who acts as an impassable wall, Abra teleports people around the stage, Solgaleo and Lunala use their signature moves (Solgaleo does so from on the stage and rushing off, Lunala flys behind the stage and blasts a zone), Mimikyu uses it’s personal Z move, Pyukumuku just kinda sits there, and retaliates if it gets hit, Vulpix now has it’s Alolan version as well, Marshadow...I can’t really describe, but he kicks ass. Ditto creates a clone fighter.
Assist trophies include Zero (from X series), Knuckles, Krystal Fox, Klaptrap (the kremling), Kapp’n from Animal Crossing, Chef Kawasaki, Gray Fox, Nikki from One Note, Shovel Knight, THE MOON FROM MAJORA’S MASK, AND A GODDAMNED RATHLOS
The Rathlos is not only a potential Assist Trophy, it is also apparently a stage hazard on a stage...which means Monster Hunter Stage...which means...monster hunter characters?
The main menu has a dashboard which appears to have things like messaging and other such things accessed by the ZR (right trigger) button.
Summary: Layla runs into Tommy at a bar and is concerned by what he looks like. Bad decisions follow.
Layla
She knew he was partying too much and getting into trouble and that shit wasn't right, but the full-on bender mode definitely worries herAnd she might sort of come over to him while Joe's out back and then forget what she was going to do when she gets there, because she was going to tell him she was taking him home and putting him to bed but now it sounds like she's trying to fuck him and so she'd just sort of stare at him for a moment and then mutter nevermind and turn to flee
Tommy
He'd kind of just stare at her, because he's not completely fucked at that moment, he's exhausted and drunk and Joe's holding back on the good stuff until he does some stupid thing he can't even remember what it was. But she's right there, and beautiful and there and the only person honestly, that's looked at him properly or even seen him in what feels like forever.
Layla
She'd just turn to start walking away, tears stinging her eyes and missing him so much she can barely stand it, knowing that he's right there -- right there -- and he's not hers to hold anymore, and she wishes that she'd not come over because now she doesn't know what to do, not even a little, and she'll just sort of mumble something about needing to go somewhere to do a thing, and she's not going to cry in the fucking bar she is not by all that's holy, and she'll hope her roommates are still outside smoking or they might come in and tear into Tommy on principle
Tommy
He'd follow her, because she's sad, he knows she's sad. And it's his fault, but he still can't help but want to make her feel better when she's crying. Like he always did, by making her laugh, or holding her, or just being there until he wasn't anymore. And he'd follow her because he misses her, more than anything else, so much that he's honestly forgotten what actually feeling happy and not just pretending even feels like. So he'd just say her name, and ask her to wait, his own voice cracking because he knows it's unfixable, but it's so fucking impossible to live without her.
Layla
She'd stop, biting her lip for a moment before she turns toward him, tears still bright in her eyes as she looks at him, and she'll try to smile but she won't quite make it, not really. She'll try to say something, find herself unable to choose the right words, and she'll just stand there, awkwardly and feeling that hurt and longing sharpen inside her. It hurts, and she's miserable, and she still fucking loves him and wants him and misses him and it's all such an awful, awful mess.
Tommy
It kills him. Kills him to see her like this, to see her upset and know that he's caused it. To want to comfort her and know that he's the one person she doesn't want to be comforted by, who she can't be comforted by. But he'd step towards her anyway, almost on instinct and wipe a tear with his thumb before he even realises what he's doing. Because he can't do it, he can't see her cry and not comfort her. He can't just stand by and watch her hurt and sad and not be there like he's always been.
Layla
Her eyes widen a bit as he moves toward her, heart pounding faster and she loved him so much, before -- loves him so much still, but it feels different now, like there's something in the way of it, like it's a wound that's scabbing over but not healing from the inside out. And that touch, so soft and tender and mercilessly familiar, rips that wound open and sets it bleeding again. She can't pull away, though she wants to. Knows she needs to. It was too much of a shock to see him -- too much of a shock to see him looking so tired and pale, like he'd not stopped running full-speed since she'd seen him last nearly two months ago now. "Don't," she breathes softly instead, hardly more than a whisper, even as she leans her cheek instinctively into his touch. "I . . . I can't . . . "
Tommy
"I know..." he doesn't know what else to say even as he steps closer still, tucking a stray hair behind her ear like he always did when she was focused on something and it got in her way. Making her sculptures or the stupid mugs they made for Robert. When she'd let him take half the credit just for distracting her and insisting on sex breaks because there was something so fucking lovely about her focused and creative like that. He's not even sure if this is real, her skin warm to the touch and he can't stop looking at her, taking in her face like a man starved. If it's a hallucination, it's the best fucking one he's had in a while. "Layla..."
Layla
She wants to kiss him. Wants to wrap herself around him and never let go of him again; wants to drag him out the door and into the night and out of town and keep on going until they're somewhere no one will ever find them and she wants to stay there, holding him and kissing him and loving him, and every time he started to speak, to explain, to make excuses she'd kiss him again, again and again until there weren't any words left between them and she didn't have to ask about it and he didn't have to answer. "Don't," she whispers again, caught up in the way he's looking at her, and it's been so long since he's looked at her that way, with an intensity and a focus and an immediacy, a sense of being there -- right there -- right in the moment with her, looking at her and seeing her and not reaching for whatever Joe or one of the others who hung around Joe was handing him, right fucking there looking at her and it's been so long since she felt like he looked at her and saw her right in front of him and she thinks she might die right there. He tucks her hair behind her ear and she can feel her tears hot on her cheeks and she doesn't understand anything at all anymore. How could he finally look at her like that again after -- after everything? How could she still need him to so badly? "I'm -- I'm sorry, I shouldn't -- I didn't --" She takes a step back, heart hammering in her chest, adrenaline flooding her as she realizes how close she came to kissing him. "I didn't expect to see you, I wasn't . . . I need to go."
Tommy
"Let me walk you home." The words are bursting out of his mouth before he can stop them, or think about them or even consider what it means to be saying them. In desperation and an immediate sense of urgency for her not to leave right now. Not to leave him here, in this mess of his life, feeling lost and honestly unsure if tomorrow or the next day, or the next week is going to be the day it finally catches up to him. She's here, right now, after months. She's right here in front of him and he's desperate for her to stay there even for a little while, to feel normal for a little while. To just be with her, to laugh with her, to wipe her tears and tell her it's going to be okay. To take care of her in all the ways he failed to, and in the ways he doesn't know how to take care of himself anymore. All the ways he doesn't care about himself anymore. Doesn't care what happens, doesn't care when it happens, living in a state of waiting for the inevitable if he's honest...which he hasn't done a lot of lately. "Please...Layla...it's late, let me walk you home."
Layla
She should say no. Has to say no. She needs to -- to set boundaries, ground rules. Barriers around herself, around her heart, to keep it as safe as it's ever going to be again. She can't avoid him, not forever; she works for his family, for fuck's sake, they share friends and have shared their lives for so long the very idea of picking them apart thread by thread to figure out what belongs to her and what belong to him exhausts her and leaves her wanting to give up and leave, start over clean somewhere else. She needs to tell him no, needs to start as she means to go on, but she feels herself nodding, knowing it's a mistake even as she's saying yes. Knowing she'll surely regret but she still can't seem to say no, not when she'd missed him so much and still needs him, even though the needing hurts now. "Yeah . . . yeah, okay. Yeah."
Tommy
"Okay..." he nods too, hadn't been expecting her to say yes. He's not sure what he'd been expecting at all honestly. It feels like he hasn't expected anything in a long time that even hoping seems foreign. He doesn't speak as they start to walk, doesn't say anything. He's too scared to break the silence, to break whatever this fragile thing is between them and it's enough just to be there, enough to stand next to her, to feel like he can breathe again for the first time in months. It's enough for now. It's enough when anything more isn't possible. Enough when he can't turn back time and undo the things he did, even though he wants to, even though he hates his life without her, hates what they've become and hates himself even more for getting them there. "Here...it's cold." he's taking his jacket off before he's even thought about it, draping it round her shoulders like he's done so many times before it's natural, instinctive. Just something they do, because she never brings a jacket, because she loves nature but isn't immune to the cold. Because she's her and he fucking loves her.
Layla
Her house is only a ten minute walk from the bar but it feels like ten years away and like they'll never get there, and she doesn't want the walk to be over all at the same time, because on the other side of it there's -- there's choices, choices she needs to figure out now because he's walking close by her side and she has to tell herself over and over again not to reach for his hand, not to touch him at all, and each reminder cuts a little deeper and she's not crying now, not really, but at the same time she's not sure she's stopped crying either, and she's not that drunk she's sure, tipsy yeah but not drunk enough to not even know if she's crying or not and she has to choose, doesn't she?
Because the walk ends at the door of her house and doorways and thresholds are choices. Tommy's always been invited in before; she's lived in that house for almost three years now and there's never once been a time she can think of that he wasn't invited inside but she knows he shouldn't be invited in tonight but he drapes his jacket around her shoulders and it smells right, smells like Tommy and a thousand other nights where she'd never brought a jacket and just worn his instead and she can't -- can't give that up again, not yet, even though she has to. She wants to pretend that nothing happened and that she hasn't been sleeping along for two months and that he had always been sleeping alone before that if she wasn't with him. "Thanks," she says softly, shrugging into the jacket, like she has a thousand times, and she starts to say something but doesn't. Starts to tell him he can't stay, that she won't let him in, but she's not ready yet. Just a few more minutes, please, before she has to turn him away because she can't, but her house looms ahead of them -- looms, her lovely, charming old house she shares with her two roommates has never loomed a day before in its over hundred years of life but it's looming now, and she slows until she's standing at the steps of the front porch, closer to Tommy than she should but she doesn't want to give his jacket back and she can't let him in, she knows that, and she bites her lip, trying desperately to figure out what to do.
Tommy
She looks great in his jacket, she always does. He loves seeing her in his clothes, loves taking care of her just as she takes care of him, although he knows he failed on that towards the end. Knows that he let her down, he let them down in the worst of ways and it's a fact he can't live with. What happened between them, what he did, and the person he's become, it's not something he knows how to live with anymore and not something he wants to. He misses her. He misses them. He misses himself and tonight is desperate he knows that. It's desperate to step closer to her, for his eyes to study her face, committing it to memory as though it hasn't always been. It's desperate, wrong and unfair and he should leave. He should turn around and let her go inside. But something feels off, as though he's going to lose her forever once that door closes. That's going to be it. She's going to find someone else and he's going to exist in the ruins of his life and that thought makes him feel sick. That thought isn't something he can live with, even though he has to. He's supposed to. It's the right thing to do.
"Layla...." he breathes her name, unable to utter anything else because to do so would be to acknowledge the realities of where they are now. Doing so would acknowledge that this game of pretend they're playing right now, is just that -- pretend -- and going to lead to more heartbreak. But he steps even closer anyway, wraps his arms around her waist, sliding under the loose material of his own jacket. He doesn't think, refuses to think about the consequences or what this is going to mean. Wants just for a second to be with Layla again, to feel less alone, to have her feel it again too. He lowers his head, pressing his lips to hers, heart pounding in his chest at the familiarity of it.
Layla
She knows better; she knew better from before she let him walk her home, knew better from the moment she saw him across the bar, looking so worn-through and tired and yet every bit as beautiful and perfect to her as he always had, like the heart of what still made him her Tommy was still there underneath all the rest of it She'd known better from the moment she saw him and she knew she'd regret it, even then -- was regretting it even as it was happening, in a sort of anticipatory way, knowing it was a mistake, that it would only make things hurt more, knowing that she could love him and want him and need him, desire him, even crave him, and still it wasn't enough to erase everything that had happened. Everything that he'd done. The other girls --
Not just the other girls, she thought sadly as she stands there for a moment, heart braking all over again and how strange it felt to even pause on her doorstep instead of walking straight in with Tommy following behind her. Being fucked up all the time, forgetting plans or even forgetting they'd made any in the first place, always wanting to be with Joe and his booze and his coke, not wanting to hear anything about blowing her off to hang out with Joe or not calling to say he wasn't coming home over the weekend after all because he was too hungover from the night before for the drive -- all of that was there, simmering beneath everything else, even before he'd -- before she'd known. About the rest of it.
It's not gone, and it lays there in her heart like a sick, hot fire and she knows better but when he says her name, so soft and yearning, she can't help but look up at him, and she doesn't pull away when he slides his arms around her waist, his hands warm even through her shirt and she wants to die it hurts so much and she'd give anything in the world to be able to know, deep down, that this wasn't a mistake. Because when he kisses her she kisses him back. Softly at first, hesitantly, almost scared at how much she still wanted him and how much she'd missed him; the anger was still there, but simmering now, almost sleepily coiled up inside her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him harder, needy and wild and desperate, moaning against his mouth and she can taste her own tears, and it seems she'd never stopped crying after all, the sweet taste of Tommy's kisses and the bourbon from her drink at the bar mixing with the salt of her tears and maybe that's what it was always supposed to taste like -- maybe loving Tommy was only ever going to taste like bourbon and tears, maybe that's just how it was fated to be, and if so how fucking cruel of the world to give her something so sweet and take it away like that.
Tommy
It’s soft at first. Hesitant. Almost fucking reverent. He worships her, he always has and kissing her again, feeling the heat of her skin through her shirt – it’s like coming home. Just now, in this moment, he feels as though he’s home. He feels something and he’d forgotten what it felt to feel anything at all. He’s been avoiding for so long, avoiding his feelings, his confusion, his fucking grief at the loss of what feels like his whole life. He hasn’t addressed it and he knows that, he hasn’t let himself feel the loss of her. The loss of them. People break up and he knows that. Knows that even as Joe is passing him another shot, or setting him up for another line. He knows that’s what his friends want him to do. Get over it. Just like any other break up. To take an upper and avoid the come down. To find another girl to pass the time. He knows people break up. But they weren’t supposed to. Not them.
He kisses back with just as much heat and desperation when she does, hands tightening around her waist as he pulls her closer, flush against his own body. He can’t get her close enough, can’t kiss deep enough, never enough. None of it enough when it’s never going to be more than a drunken mistake but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about how there’s no upper in the world going to avoid this crash. He doesn’t care that he can feel his own tears stinging in his eyes, can feel the weight on his chest and the repressed sobs burning the back of his throat. He doesn’t fucking care because right now she’s here. Right now they’re here and if he closes his eyes he can pretend for just a second that they’re still them.
He can pretend that they’re going to fall through her door laughing as he bumps into the same table he always does. He can pretend that she’ll shush him and he’ll push her up against the wall and kiss her, tell her with overdramatic silliness that she’s supposed to be appreciated loudly. He can pretend they’d kiss and fuck and he’d whisper in awe how much he loved her in the dark of her bedroom. He can pretend that she’d say it back, that they’d whisper their plans for the future, that he’d tease her about wanting as many kids as his parents did. He can pretend right now, with his eyes closed and her body pressed against his own that those things are real, that they aren’t gone. He can pretend that there’s still someone who loves him and someone who trusts that he’d never hurt them.
“Layla…” he whispers it brokenly, pulling back just enough to study her face, blurred through the tears shining in his eyes. There’s nothing he can say, nothing he can do, because there’s nothing he can defend or even apologise for. He doesn’t remember the thing that’s lost him everything. He doesn’t remember the act that’s cost them both their chance at happiness. He doesn’t remember how he hurt her and it’s unforgivable. He can’t forgive himself and he’d never ask her to.
So he doesn’t. He shakes his head, he presses her back against the door, trailing his mouth along her jawline, breathing in the scent of her as his teeth graze lightly over her neck. Over the places his marks used to lie, where he can only now leave a ghost of an imprint as he tries to memorise everything he’s dreamed about for two months. Everything inherently her that he’s not sure he can live without. He closes his eyes and just feels, slowly pushes his jacket off her shoulders, warm hands trailing down her bare arms until he can lace their fingers together. Just for a second. Just to pretend.
Nora and Bree will eventually make it to the party and over to whatever corner the boys have all holed themselves up in -- whether it be at the end of one of the alleys or around a pool table.
For now, they've claimed a pool table and there's beers on the table closest to them. Logan's busy lining up his shot when they come over.
With a wave to her other siblings and a promise to join them by the lanes in a few, Nora slips over to Colt while Bree finds Brett, swiping his beer right out of his hands. "So who's winning?"
Colt's arm automatically goes around his wife's waist. "Logan's cheating." The comment distracts Logan long enough for him to miss his shot; Brett kisses Bree on the cheek before he moves for his turn.
"Funny. He usually says the same about you." She'll lean into him, giving herself a moment to just...settle into being here. It would be rude to drag him away immediately, right? "I saw the kids with the others. I'm surprised you were able to detach Brady from Logan's leg."
As Brett moves to take his turn, Bree will take another sip of his beer, hopping up to sit on the unused table with the bottles.
"That's because he usually is the cheater," Logan gestures to Colt with his beer bottle, getting a roll of Colt's eyes in returned.
"Because I learned from the cheater." Colt turned his attention away from the game going on. "They bribed him with pizza and gave the kids their own lane."
Oh boy. So it was gonna be one of those kind of nights, huh? "Well at least now we know that in the hierarchy of Brady's mind, pizza trumps Uncle Logan."
"He was hungry and it was close to dinner time. Someone reminded him it was almost dinner time and he didn't want to break schedule."
"Did he bring his clipboard?"
"It's in his backpack now."
"Hey...you never know when an emergency checklist might come in handy."
Colt grinned. "When has that ever come in handy?"
"First time for everything. But speaking of the kids...can we..." She motioned away from the group.
Figuring it has something to do with Lucas or Brady's class, he nodded and motions for her to lead the way.
She'll wait til they're a few steps off -- both from the group playing pool and the rest of her family to speak. "So Bree and I were running errands earlier and before I knew it, I was sitting in the car bawling over some song."
That's strange; she's done it before, he's seen her. But the last time it happened, Brady hadn't been born yet. "What?"
"We had gone to the florist and were stopping for coffee when all of a sudden Bryan White comes on and I just lose it. Bree starts joking about how if it was anyone else she would think they were pregnant and well...I am."
"Wait, back it up. What?" This didn't seem like something she would ever joke about but their boys...they had talked about it first, they had been planned, and he was sure they were safe again after Brady. "You're pregnant?"
"According to the three tests I took this afternoon. I made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon just to be safe, but yeah...we're gonna have another baby."
It was still a bit hard to wrap his mind around; they were always so careful and they're barely touched the subject of another baby yet he still grabbed her in his arms, lifting her up off her feet, a grin on his face.
She should have known this was coming -- the whole lifitng her up. It happened a lot. And yet she still squealed a bit every time he did it. Squealed and laughed and clung to him nice and tight. And tonight was no exception. "I know we haven't...that number three was supposed to still be a bit off...but it looks like our plans have changed. You're okay with that, right?"
It was nice to know he could still make her squeal and laugh when he lifted her up after all these years and when he set her back down, he was still grinning from ear to ear. "Of course, darlin'. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Cause we haven't had a chance to talk about this. Cause I thought my birth control was working. Cause getting pregnant right before wedding season starts is not exactly how I would have planned this."
"Some of the best things can't be planned. And this? this is one of those sorta things."
"Lucas and Brady were both planned."
"Maybe this one's just in a hurry to be with his brothers and doesn't wanna wait for us?"
"His?" She couldn't keep the amused look off her face at that. "So you think it's gonna be a boy then..."
He gave her another grin. "We're two for two."
He did have a point there. Their track record did strongly favor it being a boy. "I should know more after my appointment tomorrow...or at least get some idea of a due date..what do you want to do about telling the others? And the boys?"
"It's the twin's coming home party. Let's hold off on lettin' 'em know for now.'"
"Good call. We should probably tell the boys first anyway. And Logan. Cause I know you're dying to tell Logan and Trace."
"We can tell 'em when we get back to the house." Though it may slip to Logan and Brett at the pool table.
She'd be shocked if it didn't. Or if Bree hadn't already told Brett. Though in this instance, Bree was most likely waiting until Nora told Colt. Cause best to keep the surprise a surprise. "Either tonight or tomorrow over breakfast. Depending on whether or not Brady makes it the whole night." She had a strong suspicion their littlest one would be out long before they headed home.
It seemed to be the way it went though as long as it didn't make it to the siblings, it'd be easier to keep it a secret. Colt glanced over towards the kids; even with the pizza and the few sips of soda he'd seen him take, he had a feeling it wouldn't be long before their littlest was out on his shoulder. "Breakfast might be better."
Nora's glance followed Colt and oh look...was that a clipboard she saw. No doubt he was keeping everyone to their turn. "Probably." She leaned into him again. They did okay with the first two. And they'd do just as well with this one. "Should we go say hi?"
