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my-devil-may-cry-brainrot · 6 months

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DmC: Devil May Cry- Mission 4: Under Watch

The loading screens themselves are always so cool. Also, scythe.

Yet again, if this is such a densely populated city, why are there hardly any cars driving on the streets and hardly any pedestrians? I mean, I know why, because the developers didn't want to have to program moving through traffic, but still.

BLOB, FROM X-MEN?

well, it's obvious that Virility doesn't actually make you lose weight.

Dante's expression looking a little soft kind of melts me

Immediately back to gremlin mode. Love it.

BEHOLD, THE ALL-SEEING EYE OF SAU-- I mean, Mundus.

I hate that I fell so many times getting between these. How embarrassing.

Yeah, fuck Big Brother.

...Literally, what the hell is this? It somewhat resembles one of the special red doors I'm supposed to bust through with my axe, but it does nothing? And I can't use Devil Pull on it, either? But it looks important?

"Come closer", says the ominous voice and words. "Nope!" says my survival instinct.

Oh, fuck these things.

Do I get completion bonuses if I find a key but can't get it? *hehe* If only.

Wait I figured it out. I feel so smart.

"homeless for you"??????

ain't no way I can get both of those hard-to-reach souls wtf

The Frost Knights are cool. I hate them.

Well, fuck you, too.

Another impossible place to get to????

Why does this remind me of a meme template of some dumb quote that sounds philosophical and wise but is actually stupid?

Awww Dante with the soft expression again, caring about her life. So cute.

I hate these ugly flying demon baby cherub things

Such a badass, perfectly timed screenshot. If I say so myself.

FLAPPY JACKET

DANTE'S ASS

COOL GUY LANDING POSE

*cries.*

I'm so dead

this thing looks so terrifying

how do I even kill it

it's armor is too strong

I BELIEVE I CAN FLYYYYYYY

BREAK A WINDOW AND TOUCH THE SKYYYY

THE WAY HE GLANCES AT HER TO MAKE SURE SHE SAW HIM BEING A BADASS LMAO

THE WAY HE TRIED TO PLAY OFF NEARLY STUMBLING AFTER LANDING

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Proof corporate media is corrupt in every universe. Falsely blaming Dante for shit is one thing but...??? MURDERING WOMEN AND CHILDREN???? HE DID NOT!!

Shiiiit the health/death penalties for the boss battle was brutal. All those enemies PLUS the Tyrant??? ugh

I managed to get all but ONE soul and I have no idea how to get it. No idea where the other key could have been, either.

#dmc #dmc: devil may cry #dante sparda #dante #sparda #first playthrough #screenshots #gaming screenshot #screencaps #reactions #simping hours #simping #mission 4 #under watch

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lothirielswandc · 3 years

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I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM (Starring John Constantine's Impeccable Parenting skills)

*This is a one-shot special for 3k views; it can be read regardless of where you are in the story*

— TWO YEARS AGO —

— LONDON —

“This is so stupid.”

“Oi! I’m not enjoying myself, either. I could be doing a lot more interesting things on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’m sure liver failure is a big commitment.”

“Okay,” Zatanna scooted forward, leaning between Raven and Constantine from the back seat. Raven’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel. When she glanced in the rearview mirror, she saw Etrigan calmly lick his thumb and turn the page on his copy of People Magazine.

“You’re a bloody seventeen year-old. How do you not know how to drive?” Constantine complained, turning in shotgun to give Raven a judgemental look.

She gritted her teeth. She did not like being in such close confines with him. His comments were getting on her nerves. And he smelled. The sharp aroma of liquor mixed with stale vomit. “I’ve been busy.”

“Like you’re one to judge, John.” Zatanna quipped, shifting to keep her uncomfortable position. “You’re terrible behind the wheel. How did you even get a license?”

“When most sods my age were reenacting the end of Thelma and Louise, I was mastering the dark arts.”

“Mastering is generous. Oh, Katy Perry’s new album is venerous,” Etrigan flipped to another page.

“Alright—we’re off topic, I don't want to be parked here all day. Set the knob to drive and let’s shove off.” Constantine grumbled.

Raven did as she was told and pulled on the “knob.” When it was level with the drive setting, the car started to inch forward in the empty parking lot.

“You’re doing great, sweetie. Let’s go over some basic driving rules first—” Zatanna offered.

Constantine dismissed her with a hand. “Blah blah blah, just ignore her. Here’s what you need to know: green means go. Yellow means go faster. Red means go when the coppers aren't looking.”

“Yeah, most of what you said is illegal,” Raven rolled her eyes. In the process, her gaze was drawn to the dashboard, “Can we turn the music on?”

“Yes.”

“No!”

Zatanna and Constantine exchanged a glare.

“She needs to focus. She’s not used to this,” Zatanna remarked.

“Any situation is improved with Led Zeppelin, Zee,” Constantine gestured at the slowly-inching car, “and this one is in dire need of some improvement. Roth, go to the stop sign. It’s time to release you into the population—and there’s a gas pedal there for a reason. Step on it.”

Raven tapped the other pedal with her foot. The car lurched forward and the stop sign blurred past as they met oncoming traffic.

“WOAH—!” Zatanna leaned over and straightened the wheel. Constantine’s face was squished up against the window. Etrigan barely glanced up from his magazine.

“I never gave Chaz enough credit for raising a daughter,” Constantine yanked himself off the glass surface, rubbing his face. “Bloody hell.”

Raven hardly caught his words. She was too busy trying to figure out the maze of roads before her. Everything was backwards: Londoners drove on the left, opposing every American street she’d been exposed to for the past few years. She hunched down, squinting, trying to stay in between the lines. Raven’s foot cried out in protest of being set at such an odd angle for a long period of time.

“You’re not even on the road—you’re in the other lane, you have to level yourself!” Constantine gripped the dashboard in front of him.

“I’m trying—stop yelling at me!” Raven snapped at him.

“Should’ve let Boston join us. He’s dead; he can't die in a car accident. He’s immune,” Constantine covered his eyes.

Something red filled the rearview mirror. “Here’s Boston—oh, fuck.”

“Shit—shit!” The car swerved. Raven winced as horns blared around her. She sank down lower in her seat.

“Boston!” Zee swatted the air that depicted the ex-trapeze artist’s spectral form. “Bad timing! We’re busy!”

“What? Etrigan texted and said you were getting ice cream.” Boston Brand settled into the empty seat behind Constantine, floating in the unoccupied space.

“You can't even eat it.” Zatanna pointed out.

“Don't rub it in! I don’t go for the food: I love scaring the kids that work at Dairy Queen by turning the machines on and off.”

Raven shook her head, keeping her eyes on the road. “I should’ve never returned to society. I should’ve stayed in Themyscira—no, I should’ve sailed to an empty island and lived out the rest of my life with a coconut named Wilson.”

“Don't steal my plan B,” Warned Constantine.

Boston’s form went through Constantine’s chair, his face hovering before the infamous Hellblazer. “You don’t look so good, Johnny. ‘Ey, kiddo, maybe you should stop by a bathroom.”

“Don’t bother. I went on that last turn.”

“Ew.” Boston shuddered and melted into the backseat. Raven chewed on her bottom lip as a traffic light appeared ahead.

“We’re turning right,” Zee instructed her.

“If you run over pedestrians, you get bonus points!”

“Boston, I will banish you to hell, so help me...”

Raven turned on the blinker and the car started to slow. She heard someone uncap a marker and scribble across parchment.

Raven’s eyes slid towards Constantine’s seat. “Are you drawing a pentagram right now?”

“It’s a sign. ‘Says impaired driver. Boston, take this and tape it to the back of the car. Give the wankers some warning.”

“Uh, this says insane driver, not impaired—”

“Shh! Just do it!”

The car steadily approached the crosswalk. Raven looked up and down the street for anyone walking, hopefully not future victims.

“Is that...Nanaue?”

The massive shark was hurrying across the road with his laptop; he was attending MIT online in order to spend more time with John. Apparently, the half-man, half-shark hybrid was an excellent tech wiz.

“Do not hit my boyfriend,” Constantine ordered.

“I'm not—although, for the record, I do not enjoy listening to you hook up with a shark every night.” Raven involuntarily shuddered, shoving away flashbacks of certain thuds late at night that reverberated throughout the House of Mystery.

“Agreed,” Boston nodded along with her. “Thank god for the vinyl records—that Marina lady’s a saint. What is she, Welsh?”

“And Greek.”

“Wow. A literal Greek goddess. Can we listen to her right now?”

“NO!”

The stop light turned yellow.

“Speed up, Raven. This light takes forever,” Zatanna replied.

“Slow down,” Constantine countered. “Do not hit Nanaue. That tall pile of earth-defying genetics is my one source of happiness.”

“High talk from the guy who just said ‘yellow’ means speed up,” Zatanna rolled her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Raven, step on it. We have places to be.”

“Why the rush, Zee? Is there a specific reason you don't want to see him—? You will stop at that crosswalk, young lady!”

“John, don't be an ass. This has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with me wanting ice cream before Boston terrifies the villagers!”

Raven had enough. She shouted over the chaos, “WILL BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP? CALM DOWN RIGHT NOW OR I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND AND NO ONE’S GETTING ICE CREAM!”

Raven turned her attention back to the road. A tower of silver with a glimmering sheen rose before her. In a hoodie with khakis.

Raven slammed on the breaks. Constantine face-planted against the windshield. Zatanna yelped as her seatbelt tugged her back against the tan leather seats. Boston went flying forward, floating past the outside of the car.

When the car fully stopped, Raven shut her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. She opened them, and a massive shark (with all limbs attached) waved at them from the front of the car.

Constantine pulled his face away from the glass (again) and turned to her, “No casualties. A broken nose. An intact boyfriend. Not bad, Roth.”

Boston floated back to the car, scowling, “Uh, I’d like to revisit the ‘no casualties’ part!”

Etrigan finally looked up from his copy of People Magazine, “Are we there yet? Why is Constantine covered in sweat?”

“Because parenting bloody sucks, that's why!”

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so-caffeinated · 7 years

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for the amelian prompt- jules meeting amelia for the first time! can't wait to see how jules reacts to will being so smitten with someone else :)

I used a random number generator to pick a prompt and this is the one that won. Incidentally, it’s almost identical to another one I got! Obviously, nothing is proofread. This takes place immediately after an upcoming one-shot, so… exceedingly minor spoilers for that. Let’s do this thing! (Writing time was an hour and fifteen minutes) cc: @dust2dust34 …

June 2036

Amelia’s hotel isn’t far from the restaurant the girls had picked for brunch. That had been by design. She remembers college and she knows full well how many mimosas the three of them can put away when they get chatting. And they had. There’d been laughter and good-natured ribbing and innuendo and a whole lot of spiked orange juice.

But there had also been something incredibly sobering about the brunch that leaves her half wishing she’d downed a few more glasses and half wishing she’d had one fewer. Her head is foggy right now and she wouldn’t mind either a full on giggly buzz or outright sobriety, but this halfway point is just annoying.

Starling City’s weather is gorgeous, though. Crisper than she’s used to for June, but that’s global warming for you, and the bright sunshine makes for a fabulous excuse to don her sunglasses and take her time lingering outside. In spite of the fact that she’s not originally from Starling, that she’d only moved here for a job after college - for the job after college - when she sucks in a deep breath of air it smells like home. It doesn’t make sense, but there it is anyhow. Central City has been good to her… very good. Her job, her boyfriend, her life is exactly what she’d wanted.

But part of her is here. Part of her wants to be at this restaurant every weekend with Celeste and Maggie. Part of her wants a tiny, one-bedroom flat to herself in the trendier part of the arts district. Part of her wants… well, part of her wants something else entire. Another city, another life.

It’s childish.

That’s what she decided years ago.

Life is short - life can be so short - and if you sit idly by then all your goals for it will slip right through your fingers. She’s making a difference in Central City. Her work is invaluable. She has a real impact on policy, on people’s lives. She doesn’t have time to entertain ‘what ifs,’ to linger on silly yearnings that can’t go anywhere.

“What the hell makes you so special?”

Amelia jumps at the voice, turning to find one very skeptical looking dark-haired girl leaning against the outside of the restaurant, scrutinizing Amelia like she’s been put under a microscope and she can’t quite figure out what she’s seeing.

“Excuse me?” Amelia asks. Her voice is uneasy and defensive. She’s not prepared for this conversation in any way.

But then, she thinks Julianna Queen might relish it all the more for that.

The younger girl pushes off the wall and saunters forward, all lithe grace and confidence that Amelia absolutely does not feel in this moment. She’d look dainty if not for the black leather biker jacket and combat boots and her matching unaffected expression. But Amelia suspects that’s an act, an affect put on for the sake of her image.

She’d know. She does the same professionally on a regular basis.

“You,” Jules says again, folding one arm in front of herself and resting the elbow of her other on her hand as she worries her fingers together like she’s trying to physically sort things out. Amelia’s seen her father do much the same thing while working. “What is it about you that has my brother tied up in knots.”

Thank god for sunglasses, but Amelia can’t credit the mimosas for the sudden color in her cheeks.

“Maybe you should ask him that,” she replies. It’s clipped, uneasy, and Amelia can feel her spine stiffening at the sense of an impending conflict.

“I think he’s put up with enough shit without me quizzing him about why he’s still mooning after you like an eon after one dance,” Jules scoffs.

“A year,” Amelia responds without even thinking about it. She could kick herself when she realizes what she’s said. She suspects that Julianna Queen is not the sort of person you expose your vulnerabilities to, but it’s too late now. “It’s been a year since we danced, not an eon,” she clarifies.

Jules cocks her head to the side and looks Amelia up and down like she’s trying to figure out if she’s something she needs to scrape off the bottom of her boot or not.

“A year,” she allows a moment later. “Have you even seen him since then?”

Amelia swallows hard and looks out to the street. Cars hurry by like ants, unaware and going about their business, life on a mission. There’s no one on their side of the street, but there are plenty of people going in and out of the mom-and-pop coffee shop across the way. It’s the stuff of daily life, the ins and outs of a city’s lifeblood. It’s routine. But her moment right now is not.

“No,” she answers. She doesn’t have to, she knows that, but for all her familiarity with the Queen men, she knows very little of the Queen women besides Moira.

“And a year later he still looks at you like you’re the only person in the room,” Jules points out. There’s no missing the annoyance in her voice and Amelia can’t deny the truth behind her words, inconvenient though they might be. “And you sit there looking right back at him exactly the same way. Seems to me like the two of you are still dancing.”

God, there’s a thought. Amelia’s head swims at that memory - or maybe the mimosas - and the breath she lets out is a shuddering exhale before looking back to meet Jules’ gaze.

“Your brother is a fantastic guy,” she allows.

“But, what? Not good enough for you?” Jules challenges.

“What?” Amelia asks. It comes out on a disbelieving laugh. “What are you even talking ab-”

“You,” Jules announces angrily. “You with your high-powered job and important life. Just because he’s a firefighter instead of a doctor or a senator or something. Just because he’s a bastard. You think you’re so high and mighty. So much better than-”

“He doesn’t think that, does he?” Amelia cuts off. She doesn’t give a damn what accusations are being thrown at her, doesn’t care in the least what Jules Queen thinks about her. She doesn’t owe her any explanations. But, God, if that’s what Will thinks. If that’s what he believes, what he has believed for years, she’s not sure how she’ll forgive herself.

But Jules doesn’t answer directly. Not right away.

“My brother is better than all of us. He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

“I know that,” Amelia blurts out. It’s painfully, gut-wrenchingly honest. But, God, she does know that. She’s seen it. His devotion to his family, to his job. His commitment as a brother, as a son. She’s seen it. She’s heard about it for years. Little Nate had rambled on about him all summer as he’d poured coffee around city hall years ago. Aside from his… varied romantic history splashing across the tabloids, she’d also seen much of his dedication to his siblings, his coworkers, his city written out in black and white - complete with an accompanying photo of him in uniform, covered in soot and carrying an infant out of a burning building.

If you want to talk about good men… Will Queen is prime, always has been.

“I’m not… I know I’m not better than him,” Amelia continues, licking her lips. “I’ve never thought that. Not once.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?” Jules asks. “Why the hell are you still dancing?”

She can remember actually dancing with him, can still smell the hint of his cologne, feel the heat of his palm against her back, remember the rush of his breath as he exhaled her name out against her cheek. She dreams about it sometimes. Waking up is always brutal those nights and her boyfriend’s warm embrace is far from what she wants in the quiet, honest cover of night.

“Dancing is wonderful,” Amelia admits aloud. “It’s fun and it’s… it’s a fantastic escape, but it’s not life.”

“Funny,” Jules says, folding her arms in front of her. “It’s my career, actually.”

Amelia thinks she’d known that, but she’s not certain and she nods her head allowing the other girl’s point. “It’s not my life,” she clarifies.

“Because your life is all big important things without any art in them? Without any joy or expression?” Jules snorts.

“I get a lot of joy out of my work,” Amelia bristles.

“No,” Jules sighs. It’s a pitying noise. “I don’t think you do. I think you get satisfaction and it’s been so long since you’ve had joy instead that you’ve forgotten the difference.”

“You don’t know me,” Amelia tells her angrily - correctly.

“Sure I do,” Jules scoffs. “I know you very well. You’re… pedestrian. You’re a person who hits the same coffee shop at the same time every day and hurries to be at their desk an hour early. You leave late and take papers home to work on at night. You probably haven’t taken a vacation since you started your job. You screw your boyfriend like clockwork twice a week just because it’s been a few days and you feel like you’re supposed to-”

“Excuse me”

“-You aren’t exceptional, Amelia. You’re ordinary. And worse, you like it that way. You’re nowhere near good enough for my brother, so quit dancing with him. He deserves better.”

Jules turns to leave at that, content to have the last word. Amelia will never know what it is that makes her speak up, but she knows she can’t allow this to stand.

“You’re jealous,” she announces. It’s too loud, too sharp, and the incredulous look on Jules’ face when she turns around feels very, very dangerous.

“You want to say that again?” she asks slowly.

“You are,” Amelia tells her, doubling down and pushing her sunglasses atop her head. “You’re so used to being the most important person in his world and you know I’m a threat to that. Because he does look at me and it’s like nothing exists but us, for an instant, not even you. Because you see us together and you know it could be so much more than just this, you know it could last, could be something real.”

Jules shakes her head, eyes wide and disbelieving as she runs her tongue along her teeth and takes a step closer until their toe-to-toe.

“Oh yeah?” she questions, looking up at Amelia.

“Yes,” Amelia replies firmly.

“Fine,” Jules acknowledges, raising an eyebrow. “Then prove it.”

This time, when she turns to go, Amelia lets her have the last word. She’s not sure what she could possibly say to that anyhow.

#ficon #ameliam #ficlet #jules queen #amelia prescott #prompt response #flashfic friday

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