#Was meant to add Blade but he would probably leave reader's letter sit in the mailbox for like 3 months 💀

[imaprettygirl]

A drop of ink, a blot spread across time

(Vintage au)

Plot summary: It was 1950s when pen pals were popular and almost everyone had one! You used to have a handful of them but the camaraderie between you and them faded as you got older. One day, you found a newspaper on your late great-grandpa's shelves in his bedroom. Excitedly, you flipped the papers to get to a specific page and bingo! There was a section for the addresses of people who are looking for a pen-friend much like yourself. After randomly choosing, you sent out your first letter and he replied back! However, you noticed something weird in the photo he sent...

Crds to @drinkthesky for the divider!

Men I deem fit: Alhaitham, Albedo, Imbibitor Lunae/Dan Heng, Dr Ratio, Diluc, Zhongli, Venti, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Sunday.

(Fck alphabetical order, I can't do that sh*t)

The amber glow of the afternoon sun bathed the room as the open windows situated at the opposite of the door allowed sunlight streams to enter the room as its panes quivered in hushed symphony due to the beckoning of the hot air. If you moved closer to the windows, you could see dust particles illuminated by the natural light. Even after the passing of your great-grandfather, the bookish scent of his cologne still lingers in his bedroom along with his possessions which were either coated with a thin layer of dust or covered with a big white cloth.

The wooden floor creaked beneath you as you walked towards his bookshelves in hopes of finding pieces of classical literature and maybe learn a thing or two from it. You delicately traced your index finger through the long vertical rows of books, leaving a trail of dust on the pads of your digit. As you peruse through countless novels only to be unsatisfied until you saw a newspaper at the edge of the shelf, untouched by the dust that plagues the rest.

'How strange...' you thought to yourself as you rubbed your thumb and index finger against the surface of the paper to determine its texture: it was sandy and rough, definitely ancient but the format was similar to the ones your dad reads in the morning so it must be a freshly produced newspaper, albeit printed in a different quality of paper.

Or so you thought...

The newspapers in your hands gave you a glimmer of hope; it was an opportunity to find a pen friend! You used to have a few ones but stopped writing to them either because they used too much colloquial words or they had at least twenty spelling mistakes in each sentence which gave you a migraine whilst trying to make out if your correspondent was writing in a foreign language or not. But this time, maybe you could hit the jackpot and find an actually nice pen-pal. Excitedly, you flipped through the papers and stopped at the specific page which had a list of names along with their addresses under the bold heading:

'Pen-friends! Make new friends around the world!'

Your eyes scanned across the list of names, allowing your intuition to guess the personality of that stranger based on their names alone. But then, a specific name caught your eye- it was uncommon which was the main reason it stood out from the rest of the names which probably were taken from 'Top 10 best names for children of this year'. You took a closer look of the address below that person's name and turned out, both of you lived in the same area! A surge of enthusiasm rippled throughout your body and immediately tucked the newspaper into the inside pocket of your coat.

~~~~~♡~~~~~♡~~~~~♡~~~~~

The curtains of your living room slowly opened as you peeked your head out and pressed your face against the glass. A day had passed after you had sent your very first letter and heck, you even went a mile far by sending a photograph of your two cats to make a memorable first impression. Then- just like you had anticipated- the postman on his bike suddenly came into view and halted his vehicle by your mail-box and placed a letter inside. You clutched the folds of the curtains unable to contain the happiness blossoming inside you. As soon as the postman disappeared out of your eyesight, you rushed outside to take the letter out of the mailbox. The first thing that greeted your eyes was the immaculate handwriting and the scent emitted from the paper.

'How sweet of him...' you thought as you continued reading the letter in your mind. The paragraphs were neatly organized and made of outdated vocabulary that you wouldn't understand had you not taken an interest in classic literature. You could tell this man practiced utmost eloquence just by his letter alone. Overall, he wrote a few things about himself and asked you about your hobbies, what you like and blablabla.

But then, something struck within you concerning with the photograph he sent and notes written behind it:

"The construction of the mall is making my ears bleed. I cannot stand the constant sounds of the drills and other sounds coming from it. I daresay, you must be experiencing the same disturbance as we are only one street apart from each other. Perhaps we should plan to meet up after the mall opens. What do you think of it?"

The more you stared at the photograph and the note, the more confused you became. The picture showed the mall with the same as the one down the street but it was still in construction according to the photo. 'Huh?' A frown stretched across your face. That specific mall had been going on more nearly a century now to the point that the community had been urging the government to shut it down in order to build a more innovative one. Didn't it finish construction like a hundred years ago? But his photo told a whole new different story.

Suspicions rose inside of you as a spiral of questions revolved around your head- you found it difficult to process it. Not missing a beat, you hurried to your room to find that newspaper you took from your late great-grandfather's shelf. You mumbled in frustration when you couldn't find it; you swore you left it either on the desk or on the bed. Finally, you found it under the bed and oh my...

The letter was published a century back in time which meant that...

"T-The man I just sent a letter...was from the past...." The newspaper dropped from your hands. Your letter had ripped its way out of the fabric of time and went into the mailbox of a man who lived in the same area as you but different time period. He was in the past, you were in the future.

Still, a part of you felt curious about the interaction between two people of different dimensions. So you decided to reply back to his letter. What could go wrong...right?

To people who are more knowledgeable in time travel or parallel universes, pls don't attack me, I know what I wrote may or may not make sense for some of you but pls don't mind me 😭😭😭

And also, not proofread because I wrote this around midnight and I'm literally on the verge of dozing off- (Ik I have such healthy sleep cycles and I have to wake up at 6 am yayyy!! Sleep-deprived-students-core😘🙆🤗)

[akimmito]

I’ll still be with you

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Master List

Chapter 4: My Way

If it were any other day of any other month in any other year before that, he would have refused, but it's not any other day, it's the day that Damian Wayne has accepted that he's fed up with being, precisely, Damian Wayne.

His world was shaken a lot since he was ten years old and when the earthquakes under his feet finally stopped, an earthquake destroyed everything he suffered to build. The relationship with Grayson was taken from him, all his efforts were ignored and trampled on as if they meant nothing. His title was a lie, his privileged position a mirage and being of the same blood, a chain that hurt them both.

Maybe we should just go our separate ways.

"Damian?"

"Daemon Rothschild."

"Uh." Drake just turns to the computer and starts working.

Damian, no, Daemon sits on the floor and takes one of the thrown papers, looking at it as if it were an object of real interest. It is a letter written in French, a delicate curved handwriting that says a lot about the lady who wrote it.

CN has not been on patrols for the past two weeks, his father exhibiting erratic behavior near the fifth anniversary of his wife's disappearance, increasingly desperate to get the two prodigies. CN mentioned that N made a successful recovery after four years of illness, a little longer and would have had the same end as E.

P has started an investigation against HM in his civilian identity for child exploitation, psychological abuse and illegal use of military weapons. Your tests and what was rescued from MK's memory were weighty, even if we don't arrest them for their crimes as HM, GA will spend a lot of time in prison and with TK and PG we have talked about the curses, I was even in contact with the man who you mentioned to me, JC turned out to know a lot about prodigies and provided important information to achieve the goal I mentioned you.

I know you will continue to investigate until you remove all the dirt that HM hides, I hope some of that can be used in court. It's been five long years and you don't know how grateful I'm that we met that night.

Come visit me soon, MDC.

The date is of ten months ago. Drake kept this woman, his activities with her, and the whole criminal affair a secret. Only someone with knowledge of the matter could understand whose initials are, but from the things of a certain Gabriel Agreste scattered all over the floor, you can assume that HM and GA are the same person. A type of villain? That is probable. And the chances that this woman is the same in the photographs are very great.

"Entertaining?" Drake turns to him, looking at him with an amused expression. Daemon assumes that he had everything ready just to add whatever name he chose.

Drake never does anything without having everything done beforehand. In those moments it's even reassuring, it means that he took the time to think about whether carrying it was a good idea, that he's not just a dead weight that he decided to drag without knowing what to do with him, that he took the trouble to make it as significant as his own depart.

"Who is MDC?"

"The person we're meeting with. Now, do you want to go back to the mansion or would you rather we go to dinner?"

"You're acting suspicious, Drake."

"I'm not going to risk that your built-in tracker has a damn microphone, mine had one and it was annoying as hell to get rid of it without raising suspicions." He gets up from his chair when the AI ​​is heard, Kolia, deliver a report.

Batman requests a meeting. The Joker has escaped from Arkham an hour ago.

Perfect.

I haven't even gotten a damn message.

Daemon takes out his phone, which only has a message from Jon advising that his things were taken by Alfred. Unsurprisingly, all of Arkham could have escaped, but his father would not revoke his punishment even on his deathbed.

"You will go?"

Drake walks over to a drawer and pulls out a gold ring? Some kind of double ring attached by a wire? Or something like that. He can't see it well.

"My old Red Robin suit will looks good on you, I'm sure. Do you want to disobey his orders? "He gives him a knowing smile and there's a crazy desire in his gaze to spread the chaos he'd only seen in Todd in his best days.

Will life with Drake be like this?

It seems he have made the right decision, there is only one question left to ask.

"What suit will you wear?"

"The one I used in Paris."

Drake leaves the matchbox in an unknown direction, Daemon immediately follows him so as not to lose him. He doesn't know the apartment, if he wants to wear that suit, if he wants to fight on his own terms, he's not in his plans to get lost.

The hidden part that is the main base of Red Robin is as modern as the bell tower, although he has a small suspicion that accessing this place is much more difficult than the cave. He has no proof, but no doubts either.

"From today you will no longer be Robin, take the suit as a simple transition between what you were and what you will be. When I took the old Red Robin costume, I did it because Jason had already worn it and that meant he was no longer Robin, but more importantly, I was no longer bound by the rules that Batman had set me... I was willing to go so far as necessary in my search for Bruce. "

"Makes sense."

Daemon always thought that wearing that suit and calling himself Red Robin only spoke of a lack of originality, of preparation, but it seems that he also spoke a lot about what Drake intended to do from that moment on. It took a year for him to put on a suit again and hit the streets, it took him a month to settle in and then it was only a matter of time before he left for three years.

"Change out. We will go around Gotham and wait for the night. We can find out what B is planning from Jason."

Drake sits down and activates the central computer, Kolia starts asking for identity checks, very interesting questions, but only one catches his attention.

Girl or boy?

"Girl."

Daemon looks at him for a moment before heading to the locker room, intrigued.

Look at the Red Robin suit in his hands, the suit that marked the change of direction Drake took so long ago. And now it will also mark his.

If there is a better version of me.

I will reach it.

Red Robin slides into the back of the motorcycle with Solarhahn, whose colors are predominantly red and gold with a little orange. The costume is magical, it's easy to guess just by looking at his eyes: the yellow sclera and orange eyes with red that stare back at him, surrounded by a red mask that fades into yellow near the edges. His cape simulates wings that start from the arms, those, he identified, can be detached to become (1) arrows and (2) small throwing blades, depending on his intentions. The costume is predominantly dark red with gold parts on the thighs, chest, and arms, the gloves a shade of red that doesn't decide whether to remain red or turn orange. But the most interesting thing is his black hair that melts into red and ends in gold towards the ends, as if it were on fire.

He couldn't help but give him a second glance when he saw it, the gold ring on his right ring finger, almost hidden by the shade of the gloves.

Drake showed him a little summary of the whole situation, the heroes and his role, but it was all too superficial, but enough to capture the significance of the event.

A very dangerous magical matter, too delicate and of which only Wonder Woman was aware outside of Paris, until Drake crashed with the whole thing in his search for Bruce. That sounds like something that would happen to him, he have that kind of luck.

"Don't ask questions. We will answer everything, but later."

Daemon nods and Drake instructs Kolia to report anything to the communications. That's when he gives him a very particular one and the same yellow color that he wears in his suit. He takes it and puts it on before putting on his hood, at which point the older man starts the motorcycle and the doors begin to open.

As they race through the streets of Gotham at dusk, Daemon looks up at the orange sky.

I extend my corrupted hand... towards a heaven that will no longer receive me.

But I know this is the way to save myself.

To find my way.

-------

I liked the name Daemon, it's of Greek origin. So, I was looking for names and I found it, I knew it was that. The other name was Demian, after Demian Sinclair from Hernan Hesse's book, but I decided on the other. Also, Daemon can also mean demon if other meanings are looked up and I see it almost as an inside joke that only he and Tim will know.

It was hard for me to write this chapter, I didn't want to make it sad, but I didn't want it to feel out of place either, I hope I made it.

From here it's only a matter of time before Marinette appears on the scene.

What do you think of how the story unfolds so far?

Tag list: @incredulous-reader @dnsakina

[sp00kworm]

Withered Leather (Vergil Sparda x Reader)

The leather was beginning to crack. Vergil blew air out in a stream as he ran a finger over the cracked spine of the book. Poetry was his pastime when he was younger, reading words upon words of the craft before he’d cast is aside. To feel was to be weak. Or so he had told himself for many years. He curled a perfect nail into the crack and dug a little, feeling the rot beginning to set into the glue and paper underneath. It was old now, the book stashed away inside their crumbling childhood home, only for his human counterpart to find and resurface. V was gone. Inside of him, part of him, but gone nonetheless. He was outraged at how much of him was human in the end. His enjoyment, and his drive, still lived within the man he had separated from himself. V had fought to reunite himself with the demon half. Urizen. Vergil had a concoction of memories in his head, from both sides. V fondness for the humans, and his brother, then also the burning hatred that came with Urizen. Vergil was whole with the both of them, but their conflicting views at least settled into a firm peace.

 Vergil peered at the van ceiling, nose curling at the odd stain over his head, teeth flashing when the door was pounded on.

“Vergie!” Dante cooed from behind the window, hands cupped around his eyes as he peered into the van, grinning at Vergil’s sprawled out form over the small couch. He clicked the blade of Yamato from its sheath and wondered how Dante’s blood would look splattered on the glass. The temptation to drive the sword through it and add another point to his hit count was tempting. Tempting but foolish. They were out in the middle of the countryside for a reason, even if he had no desire to move from the small seat he had stretched over. Dante’s grin made him sneer, scoffing as he rolled back on his bottom, sitting up in the van, Yamato held between his hands, the sword pressed to the floor, leaning his weight against it as the door slammed open. Dante grinned through the doorway, saluting as he trogged blood and muck into the van. Nico span around from the driver’s seat, cigarette between her lips as she screamed at him to get out.

“Hey hey, calm down!” Dante held his hands up defensively, leaning back out of the van before signalling for Vergil to come to him instead. The elder twin ignored Nico’s squawking.

“Dante! I only promised to drive you two muscle heads out ‘ere if ya’ would pay me! Mucking up ma van wasn’t in that deal!” She pointed at him threateningly before taking a drag from her cigarette and slamming the van door closed, “Ya can come in when you hose yourself free of Impusa guts!”

Dante rolled his eyes before shrugging and laughing, shaking his hair, which miraculously, remained a perfect silvery white.

Vergil stood, coat rippling as he sniffed and placed his sword in front of him, leaning against it, “Did you find the lead?” He asked coolly, nose turning at the smell of devil guts plastered to Dante’s coat.

“Oh, I get it. No ‘How are you Dante?’, just straight to the cut. I’m wounded, brother, really.” He sighed and shook the ends of his coat, slapping Impusa blood onto the stone pavement, “And, for your information, I did, find the contact that is.”

“Then why am I here, Dante?” Vergil sneered, eyes glancing at the run-down cottages set back from the lane.

Dante chuckled, “I wouldn’t bring you here to just leave you in the van. Take another whiff of the air by that gate.” He leaned against the side of the van and cursed as he smeared blood against the tanned metal.

 “DANTE! I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL TAKE BACK THAT LAUNCHER IF YOU’VE SMEARED GUTS OVER HER NEW PAINT JOB!”

 Vergil ignored the spat, snatching Yamato by the sheath as he moved over to the edge of the graveyard Dante had pointed to. The church was crumbling, old and in need of knocking down correctly. He leaned over at the waist and sniffed, fingers curling over the edge of the iron fence as he closed his eyes, silver lashes sitting on top of his cheeks. Inhaling, he tasted the fresh air on the back of his tongue before tasting something rotten. Rotten but hidden behind a perfume of allure. Jasmine and Frankincense. It was a powerful smell and he shook his head, snapping his head away from the fence with a growl, peering to look for a demon plant spewing pollen.

“Dante.” He growled as he marched from the graveyard, “Was it your intention to trap me in an allure spell?” He snapped the sheath of Yamato forwards and Dante grunted softly, catching it before it could slam into his gut.

“Nope. Well…It would have made this job a little easier if you had. Could have just followed you straight to the succubus that’s been growing fat on blood.” Dante grumbled, tossing Yamato backwards before rolling his shoulders, “Brother dearest,” He announced with a flourish of his arms, “I brought you here to hunt a Succubus!” He posed by the gate and laughed at the annoyance on Vergil’s face.

 “Is it really that much of an issue? If the devil is hiding, its too weak to even cast a proper allure spell.” Vergil pulled his hair backwards and looked at the large mausoleums in the back of the yard. One of them lead to the creature that was weakly snatching men from the village. He was already growing bored and turned to the van to snatch his book from the seat, tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat, ensuring it wouldn’t get lost. He could mend the spine when they were on their way back to the shop, hopefully when Dante had fallen asleep.

Dante rolled his eyes, “Whether it’s doing shit or not isn’t the issue. The village want it dead for stealing a few boys and men the past couple of days. There’s some rich guy too that wants his son back.” He rubbed his fingers together and walked into the yard, taking a whiff of the spell like it wasn’t meant to make men swoon.

“His son is dead.” Vergil spat as he stepped into the graveyard, Yamato held by his side. The smell was putrid and offensive, but he walked along the path behind Dante, who seemed all too happy to breathe in whatever bodies were rotting by this creature.

“Even if he’s dead, we’ll get a handsome little reward for killing it and the nest its gathered.” Dante kicked over a tombstone and watched as the ground underneath it crumbled downwards, quickly dashing over the ground and grappling himself upwards with the tree roots. Vergil stepped back three steps and watched as the sunlight poured down on what was the beginning of a deep underground nest.

 Dante groaned as he hauled himself back up, standing over the edge with a smirk as he spotted several fat Impusa. They hissed as they peered upwards, the light burning their darkness adjusted eyes. Dante grinned and drew his blade as he dove into the fight, sword flashing with crackling red energy as he sliced three Impusa in half, running at a speed that only Devil eyes could follow. Vergil watched the fight, bored, before looking around the spell ridden graveyard, his eyes looking to the large family tombs again. He hummed as he walked away from Dante, leaving him to his boringly easy fight as he walked towards the stone. They were listed with entire families on the front, the family surname in time consuming cursive in the stone. It must have taken a craftsman some time to carve all the individual letters in such a fashion. Vergil rolled his eyes as Dante gave a great roar of his style. Why on earth the male thought it was cool to announce everything he did, Vergil didn’t know. When he’d asked Dante about it, he either feigned ignorance, or genuinely didn’t know he was announcing himself in such a way. The half-devil hummed as he stepped between two stones, feeling the tension of some sort of grave trap. There was probably some sort of vine creature waiting in it to chew on him.

 His boots clicked on the stone as he hopped over a snapping tendril, sword flashing out and returning. The green tentacle wiggled on the flagstone, spewing dark red blood before twitching and going still. With a breath, Vergil spread his stance and drew the Yamato, feeling the ground rumble under his boots. His coat flared as he exploded upwards, the jaws of the trap creature snapping at the stone balanced on top of it’s fat, flat snout. Vergil flourished the Yamato, snapping at the vicious tentacles aiming for his head. He took a breath and sprung backwards, hands twisting on the handle, sending slicing high velocity energy at the tentacles before slicing through the stone, a burst of energy behind his step as he hurtled at the devil’s top jaw. He turned the Yamato with a growl, splitting the flat snout and nose open with a spray of blood before flipping again and dragging the edge of the blade deeper through the creature’s head, splitting the bone and brains open over the flagstone. The devil screamed, scales pinging off against the stone as it collapsed over the tombs, two tongues laid against the ground, blood gushing from its head.

 “Pathetic.” Vergil snapped the Yamato in his grasp, blood spraying up the stone as he cleaned it and slid it back into its sheath. Dante was still roaring inside of the hive, and Vergil turned his head with a sneer at the rev of a motorcycle engine.

“He’s taking too long with a simple Impusa nest.” Vergil complained to himself as he stepped over a crack in the path, looking at the family memorials with mild interest.

The sound of crayon on paper made him scowl even deeper. One of the tombs was open. The elder twin placed a thumb beneath the handle of Yamato as he stepped into the light filtering into the mausoleum. A human was curled over the top of one of the intricate stone tops to the resting places, paper pinned over the print and a black crayon in her hand, concentrating on ensuring the details of the casket were captured as well as they could be. A camera hung from her neck and a satchel over her shoulder made Vergil tilt his head.

 You scowled at the lack of light over what you were trying to take a print of. The stone was old but the name engraved was of interest. They weren’t documented as part of the family in the texts you had already read. You took the paper away and noted the name and dates in the corner with a click of your tongue.

“You are either ignorant or foolish to ignore me stood here.” A calm voice broke through the silence you had settled over yourself in the little tomb.

“Jesus Christ!” You jumped, paper crimping at the corner from where your fist clenched around it, “What is wrong with you?”

The male stood in the doorway, illuminated by a halo of light, sneered, clicking his tongue as he took the two small steps down into the family tomb, “You are the one so engaged in your work that you failed to notice a threat. If I were a devil, you would be dead.”

As he stepped down into the tomb, you took note of his features. A sharp jaw was accentuated by slicked back silver hair, the points flaring behind his head as he moved further into the cool tomb. He was tall and broad, cloaked in a heavy dark coat, blue waistcoat littered with silver accents. He was almost entirely in shades of blue, and the trousers were perhaps too tight, his thighs stretching the material a little more than necessary. It was then that you noticed the pretty sword in his hand, the sheath covered in beautiful blue and white flowers, the hilt wrapped with expensive leather and metal.

 “Wait...” You pointed at the sword in his grasp, “Devils? Wait, why the fuck do you have a sword in a cemetery?” The question made his scowl worsen. If he smiled, he’d probably look more attractive. It was a thought quickly shot down as he twisted the blade in his grasp.

“Surely you know about the nest? You are an idiot and a fool for coming here if so. You could easily be dragged under the creature’s spell.” He paused then sighed, “It really does just want males then. If you are fine, then this beast truly is fickle and weak.” The rambling stopped as the man frowned, lips poured before he took you by the arm.

“Hey Mister Bitchface, let go!” You dragged your arm away from him, but his grasp was iron clad, dragging you up the steps of the mausoleum, paper and pencils flying as you grabbed at your notes with a growl.

“If you wish to stay and rot with the corpses of the town’s men, then be my guest.” The man spat before letting you snatch back your arm, his fingers scooping the single strand of hair, that had fallen, back into its slicked back place.

 “Maybe I’d be more inclined to follow you if I had a name!” The tone made the tall man growl again, his eyes flashing a crisper blue, anger evident around the creases in his eyes.

“Vergil! My name is Vergil, now come! Before you are swallowed by some other trap creating devil.” He hissed before pressing his hand to the base of your spine, eyes looking around the deathly quiet graveyard as he led you away from the tombs and back towards a great hole that had opened. The ping of bullets sounded off the rocks and Vergil stood at the rim, hands resting on his sword as he waited for Dante to finish with his playing.

“Where the fuck did this come from?” You stood behind the man, mouth open as you dared to peer down, “Oh god those are Devils! Vergil, we’ve got to go!” You reached for him only to receive a glare. Vergil twitched away from your grasp with a sneer.

“Devils that are barely a threat. Just wait.” The man waited, coat billowing as he sunk down, crouched at the edge, leather gloves ringing at his gloves, a smirk on his face.

 There was a great howl.

 “Uh. What the fuck was that?” You dared to inch closer to Vergil. He was grinning now as the ground thundered under your feet.

“The beast is here.” Vergil pressed a thumb to the top of his blade as a man in red was sent flying upwards out of the hole. He went with a great scream, spinning in the air, leather coat flapping until he span, swinging his legs, rotating in an amazing display of dexterity, before landing by the trees, his foot slamming through a grave as he landed.

“Ah...shit.” The red male swore, rubbing at his stubbly chin as he shifted his booted foot from the rocks, “Sorry pal, shit happens. Hope you don’t come to haunt me or anything.”

Vergil ignored him, staring into the hole as the ground rumbled. The red male sauntered over and smirked, placing a blood slicked hand on the other’s shoulder. He was promptly shrugged off, Vergil reached for a handkerchief to wipe away the mess.

“So prickly, Vergil.” He teased.

“Did you kill it, Dante?” Vergil asked with a sharp look.

 The ground exploded a way away from the two of them, and you gasped. Dante reached for the sword on his back, “What the fuck do you think, Verg?”

“You failed, evidently.” Vergil snorted, standing up to face the creature that had rushed from the ground. The Succubus was hardly gorgeous, its insectoid body quivering, scaley wings spread and clawed feet clenching. Its breasts bounced before a mouth opened between them, snapping with rows of sharp teeth. Its face was humanoid, hair made of vines, snapping as she landed, legs shedding feathers as she screamed, scent firing into the air. The two men drew out handkerchiefs and covered their faces. You gasped and covered your nose, reaching for the surgical mask you carried for those old, spore filled tombs. Vergil glanced over his shoulder, nodding when you had already covered your mouth, holding his long beautiful sword close.

“Hey babe.” Dante gave you a wink, “You think you can run?”

“What?” You gasped as Vergil dashed backwards, hands outstretched, snatching you mid-stride as the Succubus screamed, clawed paws slamming into the dirt, vines bursting to produce great fungal flowers. Vergil grabbed you by the waist as Dante sprinted behind him, huffing, sword dragging in the dirt as the Succubus flapped its wings, abdomen quivering as it shot acid and more scent into the air.

 Vergil growled behind his handkerchief, “What did you do to it, Dante?”

Dante rubbed at his hair, blood smearing through the white strands, “Oh I don’t know. Killed its nest, cut off one of its legs!” He jumped over a tomb stone before rushing to face the demon, long sword gleaming with red, violent power. Dante twirled, slicing a thick column of vines with a blade of flying energy before rushing upwards with a burst of speed. You looked from Vergil’s shoulder in awe as he burst into light, form twisting and covering in scales, flames roaring in his chest as he launched himself like a bomb, screeching through the air, sword slicing with amazing power.

“What the fuck are you two?!” You slapped a hand repeatedly against Vergil’s powerful shoulder.

“Half devils.” He answered nonchalantly as he shoved off from the ground, sword slicing at a flying rock as he landed up on the surrounding cliff. The man placed you down on the ground with a grunt before turning to join the fray, coat flapping, “Sons of Sparda if its that important to you.” He rolled his shoulders and dropped off the edge of the rock face, hair flying and coat flapping as he landed. Light blue light poured from him as he jumped, clawed, bird like feet appearing. The rest of his form followed, blue fire streaming from his hair as horns grew and his arms grew great attached wings. Like a Wyrm of legend. You watched with an open mouth as he soared upwards and crashed downwards, sword slicing with a great crack of thunder.

 The Succubus reared and roared to the heavens again, mouth spraying blood and acid as she grasped for the two sons. An arm was laid in the grass, bleeding red, black marrow leaking from it. Her leg followed it and she hobbled to catch Dante’s sword in her grasp, twisting the blade at the expense of her fingers. The two claws thumped against the floor, and Vergil roared with a mouth full of teeth, rushing forwards with a detached brutality, his sword diving deep, gauging at the Succubus’ abdomen. She reared on her leg, pulling the blue devil closer to her snapping chest-mouth. The teeth dripped spittle onto Vergil’s horns and he growled as it dripped down his scales, eyes burning as he looked for Dante.

“DANTE!” His gruff baritone howled, “Finish her!” He roared as her weight pushed on him heavily, the claws of his winged arms slamming into the rock to push back against the devil’s over-bearing weight.

Dante appeared in a streak of fire, his mouth open, spewing fire as he moved with his massive sword. The devil rushed upwards, splitting the demon from belly to head, slicing her mouth open fully. A great scream sounded, and the two devils rushed away as her abdomen wobbled.

 A blue scaled form rushed up the cliff face, red following it as a terrifying face snatched you again, wings folding around you. The Succubus’ abdomen exploded with a great spray of acid. Vergil wrapped your body tight with his own, his brother leaned against you both, his own scaled wings spread wide to cover you both again. The acid erupted in a great spray, raining down in a harsh slap of fluid over the area. The cliff was sprayed with it and you heard the two demons hiss as the fluid sprayed down their scaled backs. It dripped downwards and you felt the males stand, leaving you curled on the floor. The grass sizzled around you as you looked at the destruction. The graves were melting under the acrid hose down, and you felt saddened as the trees groaned, bark peeling and chipping away with the poison. Vergil flexed his arms as Dante spread his wings, the two stretching out in front of one another as acid dripped from their backs and wings. They were unharmed by it, but both took a skydive from the cliff, twisting in rapid spins to remove the last of the toxin. The rapid spinning made you dizzy by just watching. You peered away and gathered your notebooks and charcoals, stuffing pages back into your book as you stood in the only living patch of grass.

 The two devils roared at the bottom of the cliff and you swallowed, pulling your bag closer before you were faced with Vergil.

 “Intending on running off, were you?” He snarked, clutching his sword tight, looking completely human once more. Behind you a thump sounded before a hot hand rested on your shoulder. Dante sighed behind you, spinning you with a gentle pressure.

“Ignore him. He’s an ass at the best of times.” Dante smirked at his brother’s scoff, “How about we give you a ride back into town? Our ride is parked not too far out.” He offered kindly with a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts. Except maybe his brothers. That seemed to be ice cold, you remarked sourly as you nodded.

“That would be great, thank you.” You smiled back at the red covered twin before following him down towards the path along the cliffs.

“Your welcome, babe. Now tell me, why the fuck were you out here chilling in an abandoned graveyard?” He gave you a look with a smirk as you opened your notebook.

“I was looking into a family tree. There was something fishy about their records. Turns out the man probably had a few bastards in his lineage. I was just taking prints of the names from the tombs.” You smiled, “I do a lot of family history work around the area, but this one might be a bit of a hobby at this point.”

 Dante nodded, looking at the notebook in your hands with mild interest. Both of you ignored the furious elder twin to your right. His eyes however, followed your finger over the pages, admiring your cursive and your meticulous notes alongside the prints of names and dates of death. Macabre but you seemed to take great pride in it all. He had a certain amount of respect for you because of that. His eyes wandered upwards, and Vergil caught himself as his icy gaze lingered on your face for a little too long. He scoffed under his breath at Dante’s commentary of the pages, looking out at the rotting graveyard as you chuckled next to him.

“It’s Don Vacile, Dante.” He grumbled, looking back at his younger brother sharply as the two of you smirked at him. He didn’t like that Dante’s crass attitude was already spoiling you.

“Vergil is right, Dante.” You teased as you closed your notebook. Vergil felt a swell of pride at winning one over his younger brother.

Dante blew a raspberry before rolling his shoulders, “Vergil is never wrong. But Vergil never gets laid.”

Vergil shot a look of fire at his brother, “Who’s the one with the son, brother?” His smile was tight lipped and poisonous.

“Someone’s who couldn’t wrap it up.”

You choked on your own spit laughing at the two of them as you made your way back to the van they had arrived in.

 After that day, you saw very little of the twins. Their streaking figures were on the news at times, huge scaly demon forms tearing apart some new threat as the tv crew struggled to follow them. Dante had winked at the camera once as he flew by. It was all very strange. They’d only asked that you tell no one about what you saw, but who would believe you? The city was quick to forget tragedies and the sleepy unaffected towns never saw it. You sat in your cottage and watched the news and days roll by, wondering if you would ever see the two oddballs again. It didn’t seem likely in your profession.

 A knock on the door one frosty morning confused you. You had a meeting in the next city for a family tree trace, but that wasn’t for another three hours. It was barely morning, the sun having just peaked through the fog to try and warm the air. You wrapped your gown a little tighter and unlocked the door and latches, looking outside with a shudder.

“Good morning.” Vergil uttered into the cold air, unchanged and wrapped in the same intricate coat he was in last time, minus the stains of blood from Dante’s careless hands.

Your mouth hung open for a moment, looking into the man’s icy eyes, looking up at his slicked back hair, the spikes unwavering in the chill, “Uhhhh.”

“Are you merely going to gawk, or can I come in?” Vergil gave a haughty roll of his shoulders, “I…I have something to ask of you.”

“Sure. Sorry, I just didn’t expect to ever see you again, let alone on my doorstep.” You let him in through the door and closed it behind him, rushing to go and fetch him a drink as he looked around your small home, ducking under the low beams before stepping down into the living room and taking an uneasy seat on your sofa.

 A tea made him smiley loosely, the edge of his lip quirking before he sipped and coughed, trying his best to dispel the awkwardness he had dragged in with him.

“I…” He paused and sighed, “I am not good with words. I enjoy poetry yes, but I cannot wax words like the greats. I know you are wondering why I am here, and I will tell you.”

The constipated look on his face did not help his case.

“I would like for us to speak more.” That was his simple statement.

“If you really just came around to my house at seven am, to tell me that, then you better come up with a better excuse and quick.” You threatened behind your mug.

Vergil looked caught off guard, “I…” He paused again, “I would like to speak to you in a romantic setting.” He confessed; his eyes guarded yet steeled.

“So, like a date?”

Vergil seemed to grumble at the term, “I suppose courting would be the logical conclusion yes.”

Your brain fried for a moment. His attitude was no different, yet he held your gaze with determined ferocity.

 A chuckle made him flinch, ready to accept defeat and humiliation as second best once more.

 You took his hand and didn’t flinch at the burning of his fingertips. He gasped and held his breath quietly as you leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Sure thing, Vergil.” You pulled away from him and shook your head, “But can it be later? I have to go to work like a normal person soon.”

He nodded stiffly before feeling heat colour his cheeks as you stood and moved up the stairs. On the fifth step you leaned over the bannister and smiled, “Pick me up at eight, Sparda, and then we’ll see if you’re worthy of this considering your attitude.”

Vergil smiled, the insult brushed away as he watched you go up the stairs, the doorknob in his hand, “Eight it is, my dear.”

 As he sauntered out the door, he pulled his poetry book free and pressed his fingers into the cracks and grooves of the leather, remind himself to once again, patch them up.