#upon meeting him for the first time.

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

NO FOR REAL WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS!!!!!

Rita from Season1 would've never said smth right then to Juno. Rita is given so little screen time the entire series it is very difficult to imagine her character growth off screen. I've gone into it in my own Rita Rant about how she's not really given the respect she deserves and is often benched and nudged aside (especially in her own fucking episode in Season 3). BUT THIS- BOY HOWDY I'LL TAKE THIS!!!

“Mista Steel, you can’t talk to me like that.”

Hey yeah! You can’t talk to her like that >:(

[sophiethewitch1]

In Death's Embrace Pt. 2

Jason Todd x Death!Reader

Part one!

Jason shoots up in bed, his hand stretched out. He’s sweating, drenched in his own panic in fear. His hand falls into his lap, still twitching. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, doesn’t remember what he was trying to grasp.

He knows he failed. He knows it slipped through his fingers like sand. He doesn’t think there’s anything more tragic in the world. He doesn't know why.

“Once again, you amaze me. Breaking the rules of the universe, not once, but twice.”

His hand is wrapped around his gun before you even finish the sentence. It’s pointed between your eyes once you do. To your credit, whoever just broke into his apartment without triggering any of his alarms, you don’t even flinch. No, you just fold your hands behind your back and give him an odd look.

You tilt your head, eyes moving over the scars on his face and catching on the lock of white hair he sports. Then, your face breaks into a smile, and something in Jason’s heart jumps. There’s a knowing in your eyes that he doesn’t like. An understanding.

You see through him, somehow. He doesn’t like it. He’ll shoot you for the offence.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Jason demands, assessing you like you assess him. You don’t look like a combatant, in long dark flowing fabrics. Still, he knows not to underestimate someone based on their appearance.

That damned clown never looked like a threat. And now he was standing here, with someone who seemed just as crazy in his bedroom. Only someone that crazy would break into his home.

“Are you going to shoot me?” your words are teasing, eyes fond. Maybe you’re crazier, then. You don’t believe he’ll do it. He will.

He should have already. It’s base curiosity that holds his trigger finger. That’s what he thinks it is, at least.

“I might,” he finally says, “Again, who the fuck are you?”

“It’s interesting talking to you like this. You knew who I was straight away last time, but this time you turn your weapon to me,” you continue, ignoring his threat. A muscle jumps in his cheek, annoyed at your presence, at your blatant disregard for him.

“Last time?”

Your smile turns into a bright grin. He’s momentarily stunned by it.

“So, you really haven’t won just yet. That gives me a small measure of pride,” you say, walking over to the window with your hands still behind your back, “Maybe enough to spare you from my anger.”

You look over at him again. Purse your lips.

“Maybe not.”

“I think you forget who is holding the gun,” Jason reminds you, clicking his teeth at the way you just shrug.

You go quiet. No more teasing words or ominous warnings. Jason should shoot, shoot now. He’d hate the cleanup, hate the mess, hate all the effort, but it was necessary. You were dangerous. That much was obvious.

Instead, he opens his big dumb mouth and asks, “What do you want?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Is it terrible I don’t know? Rules are rules after all, but this situation is… complicated. You’re not another Sisyphus, you don’t even want to be here.”

“You broke into my home and started threatening me. That doesn’t sound complicated,” Jason insists. This is such a fucking weird conversation. And Sisyphus? Jason had done his homework, he knew about the mythical man who cheated death. He thinks he’s actually quite a lot like Sisyphus.

He still doesn’t appreciate the comparison.

“Yes well, I don’t want to be here either, de-” your voice cuts off, eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow on him like he caused some great offence. Inside him, he feels his dead little heart wither even further at the sight. Like you being upset with him was one of the worst mistakes of his life.

Once again, you broke into his house. All he’d done was tell you to get lost. Oh, and maybe threaten to shoot you, but who cares about that. He soothes the momentary panic, insisting you obviously hadn’t.

Which is dumb. He’s being an idiot. Jason Todd is being an absolute moron right now, and he just needs to shoot you.

Instead of paying attention to the gun trained on you, you stare out his window, at the streets of Gotham’s Hill district below. The sun is rising, rays bursting through the fog. The people are just getting up with it. It’s one of the few times the city is anything close to quiet. Most are still sleeping, and so is crime.

Warm sunlight catches on your cheek, and again, something inside Jason cries out at the sight. It’s worrying.

“I think I want you dead, again,” you confess.

Jason’s breath whooshes out of his lips, and his gun arm twitches for a second. Well, fuck him, that’s certainly a statement. And again, why hadn’t he shot you?

He still doesn’t do it. He must be crazy, too.

“I’m being greedy. I always have been, of course. It’s what I am… But especially this time, I think I’m being too greedy,” you sound sad, your fingers trailing across the wooden window frame, “I think I shouldn’t be here, but it’s the ones like you who make it hard.”

You rub dust against your fingers, and Jason feels embarrassed for the state of his home. He realises a second later what a stupid thought that is, you broke in. He wonders how many times he’ll have to repeat it to remember it. He feels uncomfortable and off-kilter, and he knows it’s because of you.

He needs to get you out.

“I’ve always hated the special ones, you know. The smart ones. You’re too good at pulling me, manipulating me, tugging on my strings like a puppet. You make me human,” you turn back to him, crossing your arms and resting against the sill. You’re comfortable in his home, more so than he usually is. Calm, relaxed, like the world is at peace, and worries are something of the past.

He wonders what that must be like. Fucking delightful, he bets.

“Are you not human?”

You raise an eyebrow in response.

Shit. Ah, fuck it. His finger tightens, and the recoil jerks his arm. The silencer keeps the early apartment quiet. Quiet, if not for the sound of the bullet clattering to the ground.

You both glance down at the crumpled piece of metal sitting pathetically on the floor. You lean over, pick the piece up, and then lift it to your eye, watching that same sunlight reflecting the early morning in the steel. A small rainbow flitters across your skin. You close your fist, and you stroll over to Jason.

It takes him a moment to remember to be wary of you, and by that time, you already have his hand cradled between yours.

You place the remnants of the bullet in his scarred palm.

“I expect an apology for that later,” your voice is soft, sweet. Loving, even after he shot you in the chest. Not like it did anything. Your fingers curl around his, tracing every crack and crevice. You do it with concentration, with precision, like you were made just to touch him, to comfort him.

A memory, gone in a flash. He feels it’s loss like a toothache.

He swallows, “I’m sorry.”

You laugh, and the sun’s not outside, it’s in his bedroom and it’s smiling and it’s everything and it’s here in his grasp and he knows it’ll be okay again. It has to be okay again. You said it’d be okay, didn’t you? He can’t remember. His head’s swirling, spinning, falling right into you. Right back into you.

“Or now, that’s fine too,” you sound delighted. He’s glad.

You let go of him, and move back to the window, drawn by the view outside. Jason's hand clasp and unclasp. The street obviously fascinates you, your eyes flicking back and forth and tracking the movement of every soul outside. He wants your gaze back on him.

Jason clears his throat. You glance back at him, then pointedly, his right hand.

He can feel his face flush, embarrassingly. He’s still holding the gun. He turns the safety off and tucks it back under his pillow.

He clears his throat again. He wants something from you, expects it, really. But he can’t tell what it is. He thinks you know, though. That you’re withholding it, for some reason. He’s irrationally irritated at that. You said you were greedy, but nothing could compare to his greed.

Even if you wanted him dead. He was starting to put together the pieces, but he couldn’t seem to feel alarmed. No, it simply wasn’t necessary, with you here.

Still, it’s not quite enough. He wants more. He wants to know more. So he waits for you to speak again.

“I’ve thought about doing this so many times over the years. It would’ve been selfish, and more than that, outside of my duty. You’re not one of mine anymore. For a little while, at least.”

He wants to be. He wants to be yours. He wants it more than he can breathe. If he’s yours, maybe you can be his.

You glance to the side, thinking out loud, “But then you went and started remembering. I’ve worked very hard to make sure that’s impossible, you know. That the memories from my realm stay there.”

You turn a disapproving glance his way.

“Of course, far be it for me to get in the way of a Wayne and his decision to break the world. You lot do that far too much, give me too much work,” you mutter that last part, hand moving to your brow. Like you’re massaging away a headache. He should be doing that for you.

“But you did it. And you’re here. And now I am, too. And I have to go soon.”

You drift closer to him, and Jason’s breath catches. He’s still. He doesn’t make a single movement, scared he’ll scare you away. He realises that’s stupid. That you caught a bullet to the chest. That you’re stronger than anything he could imagine.

He still thinks he could startle you if he’s not careful. That you’re like the mist outside, incorporeal. But Jason can do anything if he puts his mind to it. He knows how to catch the wind, how to gather steam on the underside of glass, how to cup sand and water and feathers and everything that would ever want to be outside of his reach.

You’re out of his reach. He has to let you step into it.

You stop a foot away from him. He grinds his teeth, and again, you raise a brow at him. He doesn’t move, despite his muscles screaming at him too. You give him a nod and take another step closer. He still doesn’t move, and you give him a satisfied look.

“So, what should we do, Jason?”

“How do you know my name?”

“What? Did dying strip you of any brains?”

The banter is familiar. He doesn’t mean to ruin it.

“Do you have to leave?” again, a voice in his mind whispers. You look sad, again. Again, again, again. All of this is an again.

“Eventually. Sooner rather than later,” you sigh, “You can keep a secret, can’t you, Jason?”

“Not if you leave.”

It’s a bold move. You take a step back, and he winces. Back and forth, back and forth… Still, he doesn’t take the words back. He can’t, because it’s the truth, and now that you’re here, there’s no going back. He’ll do anything to keep you with him, and if you go too far for him to reach, he’ll follow you.

“I think that’s an unfair request,” you say, and he shakes his head.

“It’s fair. You don’t have to stay forever, just a while.” Now that, that is a lie. You seem to know it, too.

You look out the window again. Jason, after a moment's hesitation, moves over beside you. You don’t flee, your attention is on the people below. He opens the window for you, and you give him another smile. He collects them like the rare treasures they are. You lean out into the air, and he freaks, then realises you’d shrugged off a bullet. He stays close, vigilant, anyway.

“I’m curious, I have to admit. What’s this place like?” you ask, resting elbows on the wood. The streets are foggy, as they usually are in the morning. The Hill isn’t the nicest place, not the cleanest either, but you look at it like it’s heaven incarnate. He can see his neighbour down at the local grocer, the old woman who hoards cats seeing her grandson off to school, and one of his guys hanging out on the street, keeping the space safe.

Under his orders. The Hill wasn’t the nicest place, but he liked to keep it as nice as possible.

...Peaceful, he wanted the people here to have their peace. He was obsessed with it, really.

“It sucks.”

You laugh again, music to his ears, “Not the best advertising.”

“I take it back, it’s the best place on earth,” he replies, barely paying attention to his words. He’s seeing how close he can get to you. How many inches he can claim. His face is almost in your neck by the time you lean back, and he curses under his breath.

“It doesn’t need to be,” you say, pushing away from the sill and turning to wander around his room. You take in everything about the space. From the general mess, to the Jane Austen books crammed into his bookshelf, to the mask he’s left half-hazard on his bedstand.

You watch it all, just as fascinated with the world outside as the one inside. He wants to believe that means he’s special to you. And if it doesn’t, that just means he needs to work a little harder.

Finally, you turn to him. You take in every facet of him, once again. Your all-knowing gaze finds his hair again. You seem especially fascinated by that. You lift your hands, and he’s in them before he realises he’s moved.

You map his features with your hands, and he makes a little sound in the back of his throat. Ignoring that, you wipe the bags under his eyes. He feels his sanity slip away under your touch. You trace the scar on his chin, the one above his left brow. The stubble along his jaw. The bump in his nose. The edge of his lips. He wonders at the smirk you give when he groans. And finally, you come to that strand of hair.

You tug on it. A memory fizzles again, and to his frustration, he can’t quite grab it. Can’t quite take it, claim it. It’s not his, not yet.

You haven’t given him permission to remember. He wants it, he wants it, he needs it.

“I think I can stay, maybe. Just for a little, just a little. You want that, right?” your hands cup his face, and he knows, somehow, that you’ve done this a thousand times. And if this is the thousand-and-first time you’ve held him like this, he’s glad. To be back in your embrace is the sweetest pleasure. The greatest relief.

“Yes. Yes, yes… yes, I do,” he’s nodding, he’s begging, he’s pleading with you. Just for a moment more, just a second more. Just a little bit more, before you let him go again. He leans down and presses his forehead to you, sighing in your scent, the wheat reeds in the wind, the warm sun on skin.

He wonders what he has to do to make sure you never let go again. He wonders if you’ll let him do it.

You shake your head, giving him a rueful smile, “You really are too cute, darling.”

That nickname. The key to his heart, his mind. Every single barrier keeping him from you is gone, crumbled by your will. He is thankful you’ve given them back. He is thankful for every moment you ever had with him. And he’ll make a thousand more.

He presses his lips to yours, arms holding you close. When you melt into him, sigh into the kiss, he feels a euphoria he didn’t know could be true. He feels a relief he didn’t know even in his days under, even when you only held him.

He feels alive with it.

“Thank you for coming back,” he whispers against you, and he can feel that familiar, that damning smile spread.

“You left me. I had to hunt you down myself, Jason dear.”

Maybe he couldn’t have his peaceful death. But he had a loving one, and that was all he needed.

[hopeswriting]

daily life arc miura haru. does anyone know who i'm talking about. do you guys remember her. i still can't believe what happened to her 😔

[horsechestnut]

Well, it took until season 6, but Once Upon a Time has officially stuffed in so many flashbacks that they destroyed the timeline's continuity.

[storytellers-and-co]

"Truth stings - twice so with a tongue so sharp to lay it bare. Yet hear it people must, for to live in ignorance is to die as a fool. Take heart, for every ten who refuse to hear you, there will be one that will be worth a hundred. One who can see your heart is in right place, the strength of your compassion, who will fight by your side for what is right to the very bitter end for your and yours."

When Ruo first arrived to Eorzea, he had decided to try and stay as far away from the Scions as possible - Isekai tropes would not protect him from the bullets of over-zealous Garleans, nor Primals or fiends or what else have you. No, his plan was to be a simple healer for hire, and hope whoever the Warrior of Light was would steer away from him.

So, of course, when he spied Y'shtola in the Hawkers Alley, those plans evaporated. Mainly because he froze, staring at her for just a second too long before the Miqo'te came to confront him about it.

And like a man possessed, Ruo opened his mouth and unleashed what could only be described as Victorian era mini-speech - stunning the white-haired Miqo'te briefly.

".... Now if you'll excuse me, I shall take my leave-" Ruo bowed his head briefly - and made his hasty exit. Surely Y'sthola would forget about the odd man within few days, and Ruo could continue on with his plans. Surely?

[kaylazer]

back on my bullshit (meeting men im in love with). Ben Schwartz is so kind and tall :-) I didn’t totally freeze like when I met the Jonas brothers but the selfies we took are blurry so 😔

(at least I have these bc I told sam to record the whole thing heheheh)

[youraveragecatastrophe]

Shadowsan speaking to Ivy on the phone, instead of, say, Player, is fascinating. They weren't close in the previous season. I'm not sure they ever spoke directly to each other. This would suggest them bonding either offscreen during Carmen's recovery after Stockholm, or during the summer between S2 and S3

[welcometoteyvat]

(xq posting again) cant believe that bookworm's had 5 birthdays already. imagine being 21

[magentagalaxies]

always found this little parallel between how scott speaks about buddy cole vs danny husk fascinating:

(top quote is from this 2017 vulture interview, bottom quote is from paul myers' 2018 book "one dumb guy")

'he's smarter than me. braver than me. he's better than me'' vs ''danny may not be the smartest or the bravest but he's a very decent man''

[velvetjune]

for only showing up in the live action segments, it’s absurd how much mr door and thomas zane have consumed my thoughts. could not even begin to imagine what mr door’s role is in future games, let alone anything for zane, but the mystery only adds to the intrigue. so much of this goes to just how phenomenal the actors are—they performed every scene with intention and charisma

[polarisbibliotheque]

Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 4

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Chapter 1 (Prologue) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 (you are here!)

Age restriction: 18+ - there’s a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: You beat each other's asses. There'll be blood and injuries :)

Author's Notes: Quite a small chapter but hey! It's been less than a week (I think) from chapter 3, so hooray! I am afraid, though, this will be the last time Vergil will appear on his blue coat glory - next appearances will be during black coat era.

What I will say, is that our beloved demon in red will probably appear on chapter 7 ;)

And I love kicking Verge's demon ass

Chapter 4

You had changed. Vergil could see it in your face – you looked sturdier, with those eyes burning like fire and resolve still in your soul. That tired protector you once were, doing all you could to save those weaker than you, had now become a skilled fighter.

Your hands gripped the silver sword with grace and technique, your chin slightly high in the air. The arrogance he met in you many moons ago was still there, but you looked more experienced – not just a warrior anymore, but a hunter.

“You have something of the Abyss within you.” Vergil’s words were slow and calculated; that serious smirk never leaving his lips. “I will let you go without the humiliation of defeat once more if you give it to me willingly.”

Your expression didn’t show how confused you were with that statement of his – after all, you went to another realm, but you would be able to feel if it was the Abyss. The book, perhaps, could be that piece of ancient energy he was talking about and, suddenly, the feather weighted heavier in your pocket.

But of course. You now had access to the best source of knowledge on the Abyss, something that blue demon also searched for. With a convinced smile spreading across your lips, you couldn’t help but to raise your head in superiority: you had the upper hand in that department.

And, for all you cared, he could writhe with the pain of never being able to access it. In a matter of fact, you would make sure he would.

“Well, well, demon…” Your voice carried all the condescendence that made Vergil’s blood boil – even if his expression remained as unreadable as ice. The demon inside him, though, wanted to make sure you, a simple human, knew your place in the natural order of things. “Whatever it is that you want from me, you will have to take it. I will never give something to you, let alone willingly.”

“Hmpf. You could save yourself the shame of being subdued one more time.” Vergil scoffed, seemingly dismissing your comment. His eyes pierced through the darkness, meeting yours with a kind of savagery that didn’t match his icy demeanor.

“Last time, I was already injured and close to death.” This time, even if you continued smiling to maintain your upper hand, you already felt your blood running hot inside your veins. Soon, you would have to remind him why humans were far superior than his pitiful kind. “I wouldn’t be so sure of your victory in a fair fight with the same conditions.”

“We will never be on the same conditions.” He almost growled back at you, still maintaining his calculating look even if his voice showed the rage under still waters. “I would have to hold back so you could even have a chance.”

“Hmpf.” It was your turn to scoff, seemingly dismissing his point. Only your heart knew how much his words and hubris affected your pride – as much as yours affected his. “It sounds like you are scared of losing to a human.”

“Enough.”

Now your words had cut through his pride like the sharp blade of the Yamato – already glistening in the dark as Vergil quickly unsheathed his sword and plunged into a swift attack.

You responded at the same speed, gracefully holding your silver sword with both hands and blocking his attack. Meeting his eyes above the blade of your swords, Vergil’s silver gaze maintained yours before both of you repelled each other and jumped into the fight once more.

You didn’t protect your knowledge of the Abyss more than Vergil attacked you to take it for himself – your swords clashed so both of you could defend your pride.

Your years of hunting showed up in your fighting. You were smarter, quicker, with enough dexterity to make Vergil focus even more on the movement of your feet and the grip on your sword. Now you had a sort of streetwise experience to match your technique – making you more difficult to read and harder to beat.

Vergil, in the other hand, had grown more aggressive. Years ago, you observed how he stalked and attacked, sometimes even seeming to think too much before an attack. Now, he had given more room for his rage, showing it through his fighting style. Still technical, still skilled beyond everyone else you had fought in your life – but with a hate that threatened to make even the sturdiest of demons bleed.

You blocked one of Yamato’s piercing attacks, making you break your stance and stumble towards one of the mahogany bookshelves. As you hit your back on it, dust filled the air and some books fell on the floor, while you kept your eyes glued on the blue devil’s form as he sheathed his sword once more.

“There’s a lack of balance on your feet.” As always, he was full of himself, lowering his stance and holding the hilt of his sword, ready for a swift killer blow. “I should’ve never been able to break your stance with such an easy attack.”

With those words, Vergil released the Yamato, unleashing a thousand of cuts in the void to your direction in the blink of an eye. If your reflexes hadn’t been quick and you hadn’t rolled to the side, you would’ve ended up in pieces – just like the mahogany bookcase, now slowly falling apart amidst a rain of cut paper and dismembered books.

“You broke it with strength, not skill.” Your voice grabbed his attention, making Vergil quickly spin to his left. You, in the other hand, had already prepared yourself: raising from the floor, you took the opportunity to kick his torso with all your strength, making Vergil roll to the other side of the hall. “You lack attention on your enemy. First lesson: never lose sight of your opponent – as you gloat how good you are, they can kick you down in no time.”

That smile. Vergil wanted to take that smile out of your face with the slap of a hundred summoned swords as he got up from the floor. What you had just done to him wasn’t just a fair move on a fight – it was humiliation.

Once again, you rolled on the floor to escape his bright blue summoned swords, thrown at you at lightning speed. Up to that moment, you had only fought with swords and none of you thought of using anything else. Vergil’s rage, in the other hand, made him slowly give in to all he had available in a fight – and soon, he would forget you were human and wouldn’t hold back anymore.

Kneeling on the floor, it was time to take your guns out and have that demon taste some of the silver bullets you carried for hunting. You shot expertly, aiming with dexterity and firing quickly – but Vergil deflected all those bullets in a move you had never seen before: spinning Yamato in front of him, everything you shot was cut in half, hitting books, papers and shelves, but never him. Vergil remained in place, barely fazed by your fire power.

You had to bring him down with your sword then.

Plunging back into battle, you yielded your silver sword as Vergil readied for deflecting your attack. He tried a counterattack, but you blocked with expertise, almost too quick for a human. Indeed, the more he fought you, the more he realized you had excellent reflexes, timing and precision – if Vergil couldn’t feel you were entirely a human, he would doubt it.

But the blood that ran through your veins smelled exactly like his mother’s – vulnerable, sweet, completely human. When he was a child, Vergil quickly learned to distinguish between his mother’s and his father’s scent – and later, he learned it was all in their blood. Eva could be compared to flowers next to the scent of a demon; Sparda was like a strong bottle of whisky, a mix of smoke and burnt wood. The worse demons, though, reeked of rotting flesh and vinegar, something quite unbearable to his nose.

You, in the other hand, had no other scent aside the sweet notes of human blood. That same flowery fragrance of Eva, whether she wore perfumes or not. You didn’t need that for Vergil to know you were nearby – and for him to know there was nothing demonic or supernatural running through your veins.

Which only made him more furious inside when your silver sword managed to wound his right cheekbone.

You froze in your place as Vergil’s hand slowly raised to his face; the crimson blood staining the tips of his long fingers. You remained in silence as his head gradually turned to you, hand still raised, blood running down his hand. Vergil’s silver stare pierced yours with rage and shock – while you had a mix of fear and pride in your chest.

After all, you managed to draw his blood. Even if his eyes promised to unleash hell on you, your heart gloated with the pride of finally hurting your archenemy. He had no reason to talk you down anymore: it was more than obvious that you were on the same level as him and that made Vergil’s blood ready to explode.

“I hope you are ready to face the consequences of your actions, foolish human.”

His eyes glowed in the dark, his teeth now sharp with fangs. You knew he was a demon, but you had only seen him as a human – for the first time, he was about to show you his real form, how he looked when he was ready to kill. His nails sharpened and you tightened the grip on your sword. However he looked, however powerful he was… Now it was time to fight him in his true form.

At least, that was what both of you had expected before the floor trembled and the walls shook with a rumble that crossed the entire city. It was like you were brought back into reality – the Abyss would soon close, and you both had been so caught up in your fight, you had forgotten everything else.

Vergil’s eyes were back to silver, his nails and teeth suddenly human, as your eyes turned to the aisle that took you back to the outside. With another rumble, a shriek echoed through the city, piercing your ears.

You had never heard a sound like that before – and, as you stared back at Vergil, you saw in his eyes the same was true for him as well.

As you stepped on the old library’s roof, you and Vergil observed the city now under the bright light of the blue moonlight. You tried to find the source of such a shriek – and it didn’t take long to locate it: near the crack of the Abyss, in the distance, a ghostly figure crawled out. It resembled a woman, with black holes for eyes and a mouth glowing in red. Its legs were useless, but its body was massive, dragging itself out of the Abyss while commanding a swarm of humanoid demons – mere dolls to its own desire.

“It cannot be…” Vergil muttered under his breath, standing side by side with you for the first time. “That creature is a Hell Puppeteer…”

“They were extinct centuries ago. The Codex Daemonica says the last apparition of a Hell Puppeteer was in ancient times; that’s impossible.” And you couldn’t believe your eyes – even if the Puppeteer dragged itself right in front of you, controlling its many demons to its will, it wasn’t supposed to be there. You had only seen it in illustrations and descriptions.

Vergil slowly turned his head towards you, eyebrows furrowed. He too had only seen those kinds of demons in books, drawings of old describing how those vile and ancient creatures had been extinct even before his father decided to escape Hell for good. As you met his smart eyes, you raised one eyebrow.

“What? I’m a Devil Hunter now, I have to know the Codex by heart.” You stared back at the horror show right in front of you. “I find it baffling there’s nothing on the Abyss in the Codex, especially if its harboring that sort of thing.”

“Indeed. The entry on the Abyss is unsatisfying to say the least.” Vergil turned his attention back to the problem you had in hand. It was the first time he heard a human mention the Codex – when he was a child, Sparda made him and Dante study it thoroughly and he was proud to say he knew it by heart. Just like you, apparently. “Although, it also doesn’t have much on extinct species like the Puppeteer.”

“Well… It’s time to figure out how to kill that thing, then.” You took a deep breath, sheathing your sword and reading yourself to run towards that creature in the distance. Vergil just stared back at you once more; you just sighed in response. “I don’t expect a demon like you to do the right thing, you guys have no honor. I was hired to save the people in the city and at least try to keep it in one piece and not allow it to go to hell like mine was. You can do whatever you want, I’m fighting that thing and I’m killing it. When I write it on the Codex Abyssae later, you can have a read and learn something then.”

Taking the emergency stairs, you started climbing down the building while Vergil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You had to be the most unbearable human he had ever met in his whole life.

Because the most unbearable being was his stupid little brother.

As your feet touched the streets, Vergil simply landed by your side with a swift jump from the building, ready to walk with you.

“Bold of you to assume I am going to allow someone like you to write a Codex Abyssae.” He scoffed as you started making your way towards the Puppeteer.

“Huh. I do carry something of the Abyss with me, remember?” You teased with a cocky laugh, making him stare back at you with eyes so sharp they could rival the Yamato. “Don’t go thinking you’re the only one interested in the Abyss. Whenever you think about entering it, I’ll be there to stop you and close it for good.”

“And you dare say humans have some kind of honor.” He rolled his eyes, keeping his own pace and forcing you to catch up – you seemed to be able to stand by his side without effort, though. “With such hasty judgment, I doubt your research will have a good result.”

“You assume too much too quickly. I wonder what kind of judgement you have.”

Vergil scoffed back but made no comment. You were both researching the Abyss for two opposite reasons – while he wanted to harness its power, you wanted to close it. You would only join forces for one time to defeat that Hell Puppeteer; after it was over, you would go back to being archenemies.

There was nothing that would stand between Vergil and his search for power. Not even the scent of flowers.

**

To be continued...

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

"And the next time Shadow sees Tails he beats the shit–"

Don't worry Mr. the fox and Mr. the hedgehog. I saw your last Tailstube streams. I know you're kissing softly under the moonlight as we speak

[joyisoverparty]

fayetos' first meeting

one day i'll turn this into a proper fic, but today is not that day. in the meantime, enjoy my rough idea of what i think happened during kratos and faye's first meeting.

kratos' first meeting with faye involves kratos stumbling upon a dead deer in the wildwoods.

he's confused at first. the deer seemed to have died to wounds that couldn't have been inflicted by nature or animal predators, but he's never seen another person in these woods.

he's cautious, but decides to take the deer for himself. it's winter, and game has been scarce lately.

as soon as he touches the deer, an axe flies toward him from seemingly nowhere, missing his head by less than an inch.

he's on guard immediately, blades in hand. faye emerges from the woods, recalling her axe to her open palm with a stormy expression.

"leave it alone."

kratos bites back a scathing remark. instead he says nothing, grumbling, blades secured tightly in his fists. faye, in turn, clutches the handle of her axe tighter.

(it looks large for her, he notes in the back of his mind. she must be strong to be able to carry such a weapon so easily.)

faye studies him for a moment. her first thought is that the man looks wholly out of place. grey skin, bright red tattoos, not to mention those things in his hands. they're not from here, that's obvious enough.

"those blades." faye murmurs, eyes narrowing somewhat. "what are they?"

kratos twitches and grunts. he doesn't like talking about the blades in any capacity. he only uses them for survival. he answers vaguely, "it is not your concern."

"considering you look about two seconds from killing me with them, i'd say it is." her lips twitch upward amusedly. a gentle suggestion of peace.

kratos is not so easily swayed. he keeps his hold on the blades tight, eyes not leaving her axe. this isn't a weapon he wants to be on the wrong end of (like he currently is).

faye notices where his gaze is pointed. this man is scarred, she realizes, and not just physically. he's coiled tight, like he could break into a fight at any moment. like "fight" is all he knows.

she lowers her axe slowly, not loosening her grip. she's not stupid, she will fight if he does. but maybe she won't need to. "that's my game." she says calmly, nodding to the deer.

"i did not know another person lived in these woods," is all kratos says in response.

"neither did i. you live here?"

"for the moment."

faye wonders what exactly that means, but doesn't press with it. she's certainly intrigued by this man, if nothing else. "then i suppose we should get used to each other's company, no?"

kratos grunts. slowly, he lowers his weapons and steps back. "take your game and go. i will not disturb you if you do not disturb me."

"you disturbed me first." faye teases, but kratos' back is already to her.

she smiles as she hooks her axe onto her back. she debates offering to share her catch with him, but decides against it at the last second. the man seems eager to part with her, and she won't force him to stay. she knows this won't be their last meeting.

[horsechestnut]

Genuinely starting to think whoever was in charge of the Once Upon a Time timeline quit after season 5.

[godkilller]

🛑 !

send 🛑 to clean blood off of my muse after they protected yours. add + to reverse so receiver is the one cleaning blood off sender.

THE TOUCH OF A HANDKERCHIEF JARRED GIN FROM WHATEVER TRANCE BEFELL HIM IN THE MOMENTS AFTER a rather messy kill. His ear was ringing, a thrumming high-pitched tone. The carnage stained his typically clean-cut track record when it came to slicing foes down, a slather of crimson spattered across the ground in a flare off into two separate directions, a jagged arch of the prevailing gore that clung to Shinso's extended blade made its way back toward Gin when he retracted it, leaving a rather uncharacteristic mess of things. Maybe he was just a little rusty -- or distracted enough that they skimmed a hit on him first before Shinso split them in two. He really needed to work on his left-handed draw, sluggish, messy, slowed him down just a half-second too much.

If that arrow hit her instead, Gin would've been far more wrathful in his return-fire. Luckily his appearance to her defense wasn't anticipated, a rush to draw back and fire at the Shinigami hadn't graced them with the foresight to aim spitefully for her instead of the incoming threat. Gin didn't swat Peach's hand away when she sought to remedy the spilt blood dripping down from the scrape of the arrow to his temple -- he didn't want to put away Shinso yet. More threats could be lurking. Still ---- she needn't fuss, he was fine. She was fine. Crisis averted, narrowly. He turned his head away after the first few dabs of quickly-stained white. There were already stray drops bleeding into the white collar of his outermost pale cloak.

❝ It ain't safe at this hospital, they're huntin' down anybody worth a lick'a reiatsu that could help th' Gotei 13. ❞ That was why he left Hueco Mundo in the midst of the Quincy Invasion, emerging from his hiding in favor of lending his aid. Even after two years living as a rogue half-dead and neglected, Gin never stopped being a Shinigami after all.

❝ — go to Urahara's Shop, find Tsukabishi Tessai. He'll take care of ya if Urahara Kisuke's away — which, with th' state of everythin' right now, I reckon he will be. ❞

[shiawasekai]

Finding about Nethys was a very formative experience to Nela.

She was a terribly rebellious teenager.

During her childhood, she had been mostly sheltered from the worst of people's expectations by the existence of her human twin, Samel. They acted as a set and got almost the same treatment just... to avoid the otherwise endless complaints and tantrums.

As a teenager, however, with both twins building their own identities separate from each other, Nela found herself quickly overwhelmed by society's expectations on her as an aasimar. Their parents weren't the problem, they knew better than to force their kids down a path they didn't want; but it was a very different story with her peers and the other adults in her life.

And so, her resulting desire to spite e v e r y o n e played just as much of a part as her deep fascination for arcane magic when it came to her choice of god. Nethys was just perfect in that sense: it didn't go against her morals, he was far from any of the stereotypical choices due to obvious reasons (especially in Andoran) and his interests aligned with hers.

Nela joined a fairly benign congregation, which still caused quite the ruckus in her other social circles; but there she found community. People who saw the world like she did and were willing to teach her and guide her. There she also met her mentor, the woman who would train her to become an arcanist.

It truly changed her life for the better and gave her a space where she could thrive as herself.

Mind you, that was far from the last or only choice Nela took out of spite during her teens: her parents got plenty of heart attacks due to her shenanigans. However, she had already calmed down and grown out of it by the time she left on the fateful trip to Mendev.