jetblackknight

[jetblackknight]

Do not..... roll up to my blog with a Harry Potter AU. All the more so these days.

[jetblackknight]

April 13, 1913 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

[jetblackknight]

Thematic Headcanons. A series of subject-specific headcanons you can ask your favorite blog and muse.

hc + 🤝 for a headcanon about a connection with one of the receiver's mutual

hc + 👪 for a family-themed headcanon

hc + 🧡 for a friendship-themed headcanon

hc + 💌 for a romance-themed headcanon

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hc + 🤕 for a pain-themed headcanon

hc + 🚶‍♂️ for a habit-themed headcanon

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hc + 🏆 for a goal-themed headcanon

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hc + 🛒 for a shopping-themed headcanon

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver's choice

[jetblackknight]

[jetblackknight]

people love my tortured aura, devoid gaze and prey animal temperament

[jetblackknight]

✎ㅤ. . .ㅤ𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺.

₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of character analysis /headcanon questions to learn more about your character and your partners'! writing/headcanon prompts requested by anonymous. feel free to edit these as you see fit.

[ 🖐️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? [ ☂️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they crave touch or fear it ? [ 🎐 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a sound, like a song or voice, that they associate with peace ? [ 🕊️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen did they feel the safest ? [ 💤 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they sleep ? curled up, sprawled, holding onto something ? [ 🦇 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a fear they never talk about ? [ 🔒 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a secret they’ve sworn never to tell ? [ 🪢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they broke a promise ? [ 🫳 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they feel they owe, but never paid back ? [ 💼 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat do they always carry with them ? [ 🧨 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the quickest way to set them off, even if they hide it well ? [ ⛓️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does guilt feel like to them ? [ 💢 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho have they never forgiven and never will ? [ 🩸 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there something or someone that, if lost, would break them ? [ 🌧️ ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a pain they refuse to heal from ? [ 🪞 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen have they looked at their reflection and hated what they saw ? [ 📿 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat superstition or ritual do they cling to ? [ 🌊 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhen was the last time they cried ? [ 🐾 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo animals like them instinctively ? [ 🪶 ]ㅤ.ㅤhow do they laugh ? [ 🫀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho taught them what love is ? did it hurt ? [ 💭 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they believe they’re worthy of being loved ? [ 🎀 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is their main love language ? [ 🔦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they search for ? [ 📜 ]ㅤ.ㅤis there a story they love sharing with others ? [ 🌒 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a dream or goal they have given up on ? [ 🕯️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat memory do they replay when they’re alone ? [ 🌪️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s the one choice they regret (not) making ? [ 🧩 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat’s a truth about themselves they refuse to admit ? [ 🍻 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of drunk are they ? [ ✉️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of letter would they write but never send ? [ 🗡️ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat is a scar that they have but never talk about ? [ 🕸️ ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a favourite lie they like to hear ? [ 🪦 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat would they want on their gravestone but never admit aloud ? [ 🎱 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat kind of future do they crave, and who’s in it ? [ 🌀 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they have a recurring dream or nightmare ? [ 🍃 ]ㅤ.ㅤdo they feel like they belong ? [ ⚓ ]ㅤ.ㅤwhat does “home” mean to them ? [ 🧭 ]ㅤ.ㅤwhere would they go if they could disappear tomorrow ?

[jetblackknight]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[jetblackknight]

// s. so the ne. new sl**p. t*k*n album. s. so.

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙼—𝙼𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙳𝙸𝙴, 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ His words rang true, as it were ; everything about the room they were in stifled him. It wasn't claustrophobia, or fear, but something else. Like this wasn't the right place to do this. As if there were a ritual of some kind, some human ritual the two had discarded and yet he desired to have. Or perhaps it was merely Djahima he desired to have, as it were. Yes, most certainly Djahima. He shuddered at the possibility.

                          This was really happening — he was allowing it to go this far, allowing his arousal to guide them both where they needed. Djahima's tongue was like magma against his throat, despite his infernal temperature ; and yet the searing wetness of their teasing muscle left him harder than ever, digging further into the skin of their arms as if he really would die if they didn't move along.                           And yet this lack of sensation, this teasing, this molasses pace only furthered his arousal ; there was a comfort in it, even as he was torn away from the closet and brought into the open, suddenly vulnerable and visible. The heat of their hand so close to the heat of his arousal was exhilerating — so close, and they could touch him, pleasure him, milk him for everything he was worth. And he would let them. Tugging him by it over to the bed by his belt was good enough, though ; that didn't stop him from standing there, awkwardly, his eyes wild and wide while they sat down and tore his shirt open to reveal pale skin that was gleaming with a bit of sweat and breathing heavily.

                          It would have been embarrassing if he had been just a percentage less aroused.                           Djahima's words were muffled under the ringing in his ears, watching them toss his belt aside and pull his zipper down. This is happening, here and now. Alarm bells rose in his brain. Could he find his voice ? Did he even want to find his voice ? If he spoke, they'd stop. He didn't want them to stop, no matter the muddiness of his hearing or the cold sweat on his skin. He felt like a teenager again, under the spell of a heat cycle so fierce he couldn't stop himself with that beautiful, willing priestess—                          ❛ Sparda's Might, touch me already ! ❜ The first full sentence he managed to get out without stumbling. Djahima had always been a tease ( the first time he'd asked for something as childishly simple as grinding against him, they had spent the better part of twenty minutes moving so slowly that he had nearly finished in his leather pants ; and then there was the time before that, where only kissing had been involved . . . Vergil tossed both memories out of his mind, and quickly ), but this was awful ( in the best way ).                           Or perhaps Vergil was finally finding his voice. Did he even need it, as he selfishly reached for Djahima's wrist — though with the gentle ease of a human, every movement accounted for and careful, knowing his own strength — fervently pulling it towards himself. A lavender eye twitched, intense and almost insane.                          ❛ Please. ❜ He couldn't forget to be polite, of course. Asking was always better than demanding.

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ—ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ; ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ᴍᴀɴ, ɢᴀꜱᴘɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ.

Usually armed with a blade that could slice clean through time and space, he had long since been rendered completely helpless before their haphazardly calculated wiles. In the face of his increasing vulnerability, their tongue laid flat on the perfect slope of his neck as he began his pleading, dragging it slowly, savoring the flavor of anticipation coating his skin. It was he who levied a fraction of his might to hold them there, and yet, like a mamba, they inched ever so close to a softness that begged to be bitten. They could harness lattices of carbon from within their gums and grow fangs of diamond to latch onto his throat with. How lovely would it be to feel piping hot liquid fill their mouth, greedily gulping down the sweet life-blood of their beloved devil-prince. Could such twisted torture truly be considered evil if it is done out of pure adoration?

Ah, but what good would leaving him there like this if he were to die anyway if he couldn't "have it"? They could feel his erection fighting against leather as he pulled their hips flush against each other.

"We got my hand, we got my mouth...what was that last one, hm?" They finally pulled away from his neck to respond to his plea, sporting their debonair half-smile. "'Spose I can't have you dyin' on me, not when I got you this far." Djahima took the fingers that had busied themselves with dancing over his bulge and slipped them beneath his belt. After which, they promptly moved out of their walk-in closet with Vergil in tow. Djahima was quick to pull his open shirt down off his arms once they got him right where they wanted him.

They took a seat at the edge of their king-sized bed, which quite honestly took up most of the space in their bedroom, but they hardly used it for anything else but sleep...and for activities such as the ones Djahima and Vergil would partake in tonight.

The shaman had Vergil standing before them, their legs parted so that he could be as close to to them as possible. "You mentioned my hand if I heard you right..." They undid his belt buckle, then reached for his zipper. "That what you want? My hand stroking you?" Finally freed from his leather pants, Vergil's cock was able to assume its natural state. With Djahima sitting and Vergil standing, they were at the perfect vantage to take care of him, and thoroughly.

"Ooh, would you look at that. A thing of beauty, just like the rest of you. Looks like you'd stretch me nice and good. But we not there yet."

Djahima put their lips around their own digits, slowly pulling them out and pushing them back in, without breaking eye contact with Vergil. They even licked the palms of their hands in order to cover them with a slick coat of saliva—in knowing their spectacular prowess with nature, perhaps there was something else mixed in, too.

"Is this what you want, my sweet?"

[jetblackknight]

i’m sorry you have such negative feelings about me killing all those people 🙄

[jetblackknight]

to bite. Fondly.

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝚈𝙴𝚂, 𝙰𝙽 𝙴𝙶𝙶 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Vergil laughed at this, as if it were normal. For him, it had been. Perhaps it was different for each of them ; he dismissed the thought quickly, though, and lowered himself to the roof's surface as Nero did, though with a little more grace. He sat as he did with Dante, one leg curled underneath of his body and the other outstretched beside him. His arm hung over that knee, observing Nero from this position carefully — he was looking for any sign that his son had over-exerted himself.

                         ❛ But that is another time. Dante has left much of your life that he knows from me ; he's told me that I must hear it from you. Some sort of . . . bonding exercise. ❜ His tone wasn't dismissive, but rather a little upset, as if it irritated him that Dante had kept such important information from him. But he supposed his brother was right. It was better to hear the memories from the source, rather than secondhand. ❛ He has alluded to some, though. A battle in Father's church, here in Fortuna ? Something about boots, kicking perhaps ? Ah. You needn't tell me, unless you feel a desire to. ❜                           And more unnervingly, Vergil laughed, shaking his head in a way that seemed bitter, but not towards Nero. He produced another small handful of white candies — this time mixed with greener variants — from the same pocket, and held them out, too.                          ❛ So much of your life I have missed, Nero. There is no price on Earth or Hell I wouldn't pay for it to have been different. But for now . . . cake, once you are well enough to try flight. ❜                           He realized he shouldn't have said it, knowing how Nero felt about the entirety of his life. But Vergil couldn't help himself — as overbearing as he knew it was, Nero had to understand. He had to know that it should have been different. Had to know that he wasn't a mistake, even if he wasn't planned. Something sentimental and unforgiving tears through his heart, his humanity no longer keeping the emotions away. The palm holding out the candies trembles, a little. ❛ Or perhaps we should take the ferry. You look . . . unwell. Pallid, in the face. ❜

The more Nero learns of his father, the more similarities he sees; their youths spent learning alone, for one. 'T was, in a way, a rather difficult admission to make, especially given that he had always been so angry toward any thought of family or such - - but much had changed, just as he had over the years, and sometimes... one just had to let it go. Similarities - - they were to be celebrated, not detested.

"Yeah... Nico is a font of knowledge when you catch her in the right mood to spew it all out." He utters, quite fond of his friend. They'd had their ups and downs, as everyone did - but they'd got the same ideas on how to sort things out, the same sense of brashness and it had made them the perfect business partners.

"A fucking e g g ?" His reaction was so stunned that even his lack of expression didn't matter. How could some fragment information such as that be so casually offered?! That would not be something he would mention to anyone. N E V E R. Not unless he wanted some kind of chicken related nickname for the rest of his already damned life.

The moment his feet hit the ground, he shifts back - entirely involuntarily - in a fizz of blue and he finds that he has to sit upon the ground, feeling largely light headed. With no questions asked, he accepted the rather horrifying looking little sweets and immediately decided to eat one, the blue of his eyes staring distantly for but a moment. In the least, he was a fast learner - - but it wasn't anything he needed to rush with. He'd time yet to learn.

"Ballsy - - six story building." He comments quietly, rolling a shoulder backwards to ease some of the aches and pains that had settled there. "Obvious where I get that trait from---"

He's exhausted, weirdly, but gradually feeling better as each moment passed. He'd get better each time, he knew that much, but the sense of daunt that hung over him when he thought of such was uncomfortably overwhelming. Just as it had always been.

"I've done some fuckin' stupid shit over the years." But it had served a purpose at the time, he thinks - - each one had lead him to something else, especially during the whole Sanctus incident. What a clusterfuck that had been. "Not thrown myself off a fuckin' building though. Yet- or at least, not that I can remember."

[jetblackknight]

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Vergil did not expect the ' human dregs ' that had once been his to fall to silence. What he had said was merely a statement of fact. He had discarded his humanity, the humanity that was standing before him as frail as it had been before, yet now . . . artifically so ? It confused him as much as it must have confused the . . . what had he called himself, then ? V ? Yes. It must have confused this V as much as it confused himself. Or . . . Did it feel as his humanity had felt ? Had Vergil offended it, somehow ? Him. Offended him. Yes. Him. This was a part of him entirely separate. His own person, or, rather, devil. Vergil's temples began to ache. As he stopped in front of Grue's Cellar, he felt the gentle push behind him and turned, confused, before blinking.

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙸 𝚂𝙾 𝙲𝙻𝚄𝙼𝚂𝚈, 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙽 ? ❜

                          There was no offense to Vergil's tone this time ; rather, a genuine curiosity. HIs own humanity did not like sharing its own memories within his shattered, yet rebuilt mind. He could not remember what it was like to be powerless. Perhaps for the better, if this was how he had been. Still, that did not stop Vergil from reaching out to steady the artificial demon, before he could stumble backward and hurt himself ( how could he ? He was immortal ). The action simply felt . . . right, somehow.                           And this close, Vergil could once against see the distinctly inhuman appearance of this humanity's eyes, and inhaled.                          ❛ While it is . . . safe, for me to enter. Please keep your eyes down. We—We are walking into a bar of devil hunters. ❜ He hoped that the humanity-turned-devil could understand the intensity in his words, the begging-without-begging that he was implying. He let go of V's arms, but hovered, as if ensuring he would be okay.                           Such a strange sensation. Do I . . . Show him . . . my humanity ? No. Surely that would break this artificial demon's mind, as much as the humanity suddenly, almost insanely, agreed to appear.                          ❛ There is a booth in the back corner that is reserved for myself and guests of mine. We won't be bothered unless I call for the bartender. You . . . have little to worry about, otherwise. ❜

A part of him, he said. A part he tried to discard.

It conflicted with what V knew; that he had been brought to life by a flaming canid of a demon. A demon that made sure he knew who his creator was, yet never gave him his purpose. A demon that picked and dug at his mind, trying to spark memories that he could never recall, but couldn’t say for certain they weren’t there. 

But was that why? The reason for his fleeting and nonsensical memories of an island and armour and red eyes in a paled face-

Because he was discarded? Just an unwanted piece?

V was thankful that Vergil’s eyes weren’t on him, because he needed to shake his head to clear away the questions and thoughts that suddenly swarmed his brain, and he missed Vergil’s little ‘malfunction’ in front of the door.

Then, he was told to follow and Vergil began walking away, so V took after him, his footfalls as silent as his questions on the stone beneath him. His arms stayed loosely crossed over his chest as he walked, and his eyes momentarily stayed glued to the man ahead of him, vision trained on his back.

It eventually began to wander, though, as the pair walked. V, curious by nature, couldn’t help it; the scenery around him was a stark contrast to all he’d known in the demon realm, especially since he’d been mostly confined to Argon’s territory of volcanic glass and ash.

And the sky - the sky! -  was vast and open, nothing like the obsidian ceilings he’d often found himself staring up at.

He was a bit too enthralled by the unfamiliar sights around him, as when they reached whatever destination Vergil was taking them to, he ran into the taller man’s back headfirst, snapped back into reality by the collision as he stumbled backwards a step or two.

[jetblackknight]

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Oh, what a familiar feeling. The warmth against his cheek, the coolness of cleanliness. There had been a time in the past, hadn't there ? A time when he was crumbling to dust. A time when there was a little bug trailing on his leather coattails. No, not a bug. Something else. The weakness of being human. Of splitting. Stumbling, not Nero's help, but another. A long day of fighting back devils with the military. A long night of extracting civilians safely. Exhaustion. Searing pain in his right calf. A cramp ? Yes, a cramp. A gentle hand in his hair, praising him for the work he had done . . . but the hand was different. It was . . . pleasant, in a way that energized him. The scent of lilacs and wild mint, brushing past him, sneaking into the collar of his coat, into the collar of his vest.

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 . . . 𝙱𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝚈 . ❜

                          But that wasn't right, either, was it ? No, it wasn't. Yet the memory could not — would not — surface. The infernal one, it was keeping the film shrouded in chiffon, just enough to see shapes and colors, but not enough to see. It infuriated him, suddenly. Or perhaps it was the jolt of pain that went through his gored thigh, realizing that he was still alive.                          ❛ BEGONE, BEFORE I — ❜ But his exhausted and almost fearful expression was now mere inches from that of a much more delicate one. The fight left him in an instant, even as he grimaced. This was a face that bore recognition, and yet . . . he couldn't remember. He could only feel. A fondness, an intense fondness. Something . . . lascivious, perhaps ? No. Only on his end, he believed. Or perhaps not. So hard to tell, it was, with his infernal nature's cruelty. He blinked, laying back with a pained grunt, reaching for his face. It was water. She had been cleaning his face.                          ❛ Tania. ❜

                          The name came without difficulty ; the woman he had been looking for. Yes. This had to be her. Lavender eyes surveyed her living conditions, her home, not the clinic, and finally turned back to her with a much less intense expression. His leg twitched, involuntarily, in steady intervals . . . but his face turned to stone, refusing to allow her to see any modicum of weakness or pain. It would do no good for her features to mimic even a fraction of his previous own. Somehow, the idea of seeing pain on her face, as beautiful as it was, brought him a great deal of pain, worse than that of his leg. As if seeing her in pain would be something irreparable.                          ❛ W—Who are . . . ❜ A sting of pain so great inside of his thigh made him jolt forward again, narrowly missing connecting to her face as he leaned forward. Vergil could not stop the gritting of his teeth, nor their grinding, or the way a molar cracked and repaired itself in a single second as he growled. ❛ Sp—Sparda's fu—fu—Might ! ❜                           A man should never curse, in any capacity, in the presence of a beautiful woman. Words ingrained into his mind from the scattered pages of his father's journal, relics among the island of Fortuna. How long he had searched for anything from his father. And all that he had found were notes on how to be human. How Vergil had hated the man for that. But that rule — the only rule he remembered, as it were — had stuck with him. It was as if it were a mantra. Or, simply, that it was remnants of his mother, too, and the way she had scolded both him and Dante for using bad words as small children. He turned to the woman, the one he knew, somehow, was named Tania, and inhaled deeply.

                         ❛ My — It — H — Oh, dearest — ❜ Not a single sentence could leave his lips, keeping his gaze on her. He turned away and swallowed, closing his eyes. ❛ My leg . . . A devil. H-Holy Water. ❜                           And he knew this to be true, too — she knew. She knew of demons and devils and she knew of his life and his brother. Yet the familiarity . . . It irritated Vergil that he was not ' allowed ' to remember. How long would his infernal nature torture him in this way ?

Ever since Urizen's defeat, she felt little need to come to the clinic. Once things settled down and things were slowly going back to normal she would only come in to check in with the other volunteers that had stayed. And to see if a familiar poet was there despite knowing he was never returning. She could see the trail of blood before she even entered the clinic and it was intoxicatingly familiar. Without thinking she barged in expecting to see a young man with stark white hair yelling for help only to find a man in a blue coat slumped over and unconscious.

Her eyes were wild as she tried to process what was going on, but the loud shouts between the nurses and clerk were making it impossible to hear her own thoughts.

"What the hell are you people just standing around for?" Her voice was booming as it pierced through the panic and in a moment the clinic went quiet. 'H-he just showed up out of no where!' The secretary stammered out from behind the counter.

"Then why isn't anyone helping him?!" She rushes to the man's side to try and lift him up but she was grabbed by a doctor. She whirls around to snap at the man who would dare stop her and start a verbal fight with him. She was ready to snap, when a senior nurse, one of the few that survived the Qlipoth takeover nearly a year ago, that would approach from the back and vouched for her. 'She was one of the volunteers during the crisis! Let her through please, she knows what she's doing.' Finally the doctor let her go so she could continue hoisting his limp body her shoulders, a hand holding his arm steady over her shoulder and the other latched around his waist.

"I need a room."

'B-But he needs to be taken to the hospital! We don't have the equipment to care for him!'

"I wasn't asking." She just barges past them into the back of the clinic where they kept the offices for patients. As soon as she saw an open room she dragged him through and not so gently dumped him onto the once clean bed.

"Just what the hell was a guy like this doing here anyway?" She huffs after tearing through his pants to get her access to the festering wound on his leg. Just what the hell could do something like this? She was in the middle of assessing the wound when the senior nurse came around the corner, watching on with concern.

"Did he say anything? Anything about what happened or who did this to him?"

'He didn't say anything.... All he said was your name. He was asking for you.'

Her entire body froze in that moment. And she finally takes a moment to look at his bloody face. His stark white hair was a notable trait that only a few had from her own knowledge. One was the Devil Hunter Dante, a man she wasn't all too familiar with outside of stories. And then a young and up and coming hunter named Nero. She was familiar with the latter, through her acquaintance with a kind young woman named Kyrie, a gentle soul she had met during her time volunteering together. She would often gush by her partner and she would only meet him when one night Kyrie called her crying and begging for her help. It wasn't until she got to her home did she see a young man with white hair bleeding out in the garage. A strangely familiar sight.

A bloodied hand reaches up to gently push back the hair that had fallen in front of his face. He bared a striking resemblance to the young man, but this wasn't the source of familiarity she felt. There was something deeper there, a strange feeling in her gut that screamed at her to help this man.

Do not let him die. No matter what you have to save him.

A driving force that she hadn't felt since....

Her hand gently caresses his check before she pulls away to draw a finger to her lips, tasting it only to bite back the strong sting on her tongue.

Holy Water?

Bloodied palms press against the wound as a warm green glow emanates from her hand as she planted seeds of duckweed into the wound. Fueled with her magic they should begin extracting the holy water from his system. For the time being she wrapped the wound to stop the bleeding.

"He's stabilized for now but I'm going to have to take him with me. Can't get caught with an unlicensed health professional caring for an unknown patient in your clinic. Could spell a lot of trouble for you." She could tell he wanted to ask her about that man, for any sort of clue as to what was going on, but to tell the truth she had no idea. "Consider the debt you owe me for your life repaid." She could see the senior nurse hesitate for a moment before sighing.

"After you help me get him into my car of course."

~

It would be a tense 20 minutes before she got him to her 'office'. The drive was excruciating, constantly checking her rearview mirror to see if he woke up or if his condition got worse. She was thankful she had been able to get him in with the help of the senior, and it made her feel bad having to place a charm on the clinic to make everyone fall asleep while she used her plants to soak up the blood and destroy evidence. It would be best if they woke up thinking it was just a strange dream.

Now she had an unconscious bloody man on her couch who was a complete stranger and yet looked much like a boy she knew. She continued to feed her energy into the duckweed that covered the wound on his thigh. Giving it the power to continue absorbing the holy water. Within another hour it should clear the remaining holy water in his system. From there it was just keeping him stable enough and hoping he would wake up on his own.

"You must be a Sparda, even if I hadn't recognized your scent, who else would be barging into a clinic asking for a woman who doesn't even work there." Should she call that kid? She flipped open her cell for a moment and hesitated over the contact 'Firecracker' before she sighs and closes it. No, she should wait to make sure the man was able recover before she made any calls.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but you're very lucky. If I hadn't to come in who knows what would have happened to you." She talks softly, all edge in her voice gone as she gets up from her seat to go to a cabinet and grab some medicine. A vibrant and green bottle with the images of haunted faces floating within. A distilled potion made from ground up Green Orbs. This should help push him through the worst of it once he wakes up. Taking it and a bin full of warm water and a rag she returns to the couch.

"Now if you can hear me, I'm going to wash up the blood, the duckweed is doing its job on the holy water but I can't have you lying in filth." She tells him before she takes the rag and makes a move to start wiping the blood off of him, starting with his face. Hopefully he'll wake up soon, she didn't want to try and undress such a cumbersome man in order to get him out of his ruined and dirty clothes.

[jetblackknight]

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝙼𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙺 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁'𝚂 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ And it's true — even without the hunting devils bit, most of the ' handy work ' Dante did that was legitimate was his own. He was the one skilled in woodworking and simple repairs. Vergil had the knowledge from books, but he was certain his twin would never allow him near any woodworking equipment for at least another year. Hunting devils, however . . .

                         ❛ I've only recently joined him in his business endeavors. ❜ That much was true, too, though heavily obscured. He was on a leash, never to go out hunting on his own ; only with Dante, Mary-Ann, or Nero and Nicoletta. Never alone. Dante's trust was, as he had so eloquently put it, ' fuckin' earned, after the shit you put me through '. Vergil thought that was entirely fair. ❛ Mostly, I hold pieces of wood together, among other small things. Sweeping wood shavings, PVC pipe remnants, metal shards. ❜                           Surprisingly, the man didn't seem upset by this — like it was some sort of chore. He seemed to . . . beam over it ? As if happy that he could do this, instead of something else. But he did not allude to what the ' else ' was. Still, his own beaming didn't take away from Coyote's words, and the way they skirted around his questioning. Vergil grew suspicious still, but he was teetering on letting it go, too caught up in finding a genuine human ( or, in this case, non-human ) connection. Someone who did not immediately recoil at the sight of his unnerving stature and difficulty with showing emotion.                           Vergil looked at the book in their hand and once they were finished, plucked it from their fingers to add to the first book he had under his arm. He needed new reading material, desperately. And at this point, any suggestion was a good suggestion. ❛ Women deserve full autonomy ; it's rather stupid such a thing hasn't happened yet . . . or has it ? ❜                           A strange question indeed ; a crack of the facade, a peek under the curtain. It wasn't as if Vergil was secretive about the fact that he had been gone from the human world since the early nineties, but it wasn't as if he were going to blurt it out in random conversation — especially when that involved the explanation as to why he was away, and where he had been. That was a conversation for his and Coyote's later encounters. Perhaps when he learned of why they smelled of a corpse, were incredibly light on their feet, and why they smelled faintly of something metallic. And he knew it wasn't simply because of all the spikes and metal Coyote currently wore. Yet still, vampirism was the furthest thing from his mind.                          ❛ Surely it has, since the bra burnings and rise of third-wave feminism of the seventies and nineties . . . history has not been kind to women, or those that no longer are, but are still seen as such, of course. Something one would have to take by force, as ironic as it were. ❜ Fool ! Close your lips this instant ! And yet the words still poured through them like sand to a sieve.

"Yup. Anthony Burgess was linguistically inclined. He developed a couple of languages specifically for a few different creative pursuits. A Clockwork Orange includes Nadsat. A 1960s English-Russian schoolboy slang. You might need an appendix for the ones you can't make inferences about," Coyote explained. It satisfied them to see him tuck the book away under his arm. It wasn't really often they got to be a nerd about literature with somebody.

As they reached to grab something off of a high shelf, the observation caught them off guard. Most people didn't even notice, or at least they weren't bothered enough to point it out. They paused, wondering if he meant something else. "Oh yeah. Don't mind me. I've just always been kinda light on my feet. Some of my friends joke about putting a cat bell on me. But I learned a few things later on. Had somebody to teach me, even."

They scoff as they take Freckleface Strawberry and flip through the pages themselves. A book they could've used as a kid. Instead, they'd been given The Rainbow Fish. "God forbid, huh?"

"Probably less to do with the subject matter and much more to do with the man who wrote it being gay. That's one I haven't read, actually. I probably should." Coyote said.

For a moment, one would think that Coyote didn't hear his question. Nimble fingers dancing along the spines of books, nudging a few around. Weighing their words as they glanced around the shop, looking to see where the shopkeeper was. "I do a little bit of everything. Organizin', educatin', hmm, a little bit of cleanin' up where I'm asked or feel compelled to. Before all of that, I worked in psychology. And even before that, I worked in automotives. To be honest, you didn't strike me as a blue-collar man."

They looked down at the book they'd plucked off the shelf. "Lysistrata. No high school classroom would be able to stay mature about this one. A comedy about women starting a sex strike as a means of ending war. It was deemed 'immoral'. Probably for depicting women as having any sort of sexual agency, or desire, or capability to even make jokes about sex. It's pretty hilarious. This is another one I can recommend."

[jetblackknight]

Guess who finally got on their computer and is working on replies they promised last week

It's totally not me !

( I'm throwing them all directly in the queue so they get out as soon as possible, and don't worry, I'm not rushing through them ! I've actually wanted to write so badly, but using my dinky little phone keyboard is a nightmare, and there's no proper small text formatting on the tumblr app ! )

[jetblackknight]

// me and not sticking to deadlines, name a more iconic duo ✌️😔

I was exhausted Saturday, an explanation not an excuse, and spent most of the day either sleeping or trying not to die of Too Humid disease, so using my PC was a no go LMAO

I will try my best but atp I have to get either a tablet or a laptop so I don't have to turn my PC on and shit, it feels like a chore ( replying doesn't, just the act of going upstairs and setting up my PC and doing all the things to turn it on )