#nor did his arm pick up on Dante's presence

[meri-meri-mwah]

Ain't no way I just noticed this big teddy bear was watching Nero during the entire first fight sequence in DMC 4.

I gasped so loud when I found out about this.

[leviathan-dee]

Tell Me When You’re Sober

(Dante x Reader, a lil piece where you’re drunk at the bar with the legendary devil hunter. I have been on a roll with these tiny oneshots. If anyone has any requests, feel free to send them my way! I always welcome some practice writing. TW Alcohol.)

(The song referenced here is "Opposites Attract" by Paula Abdul, 1988).

A happily drunk Dante breaks out his theatrical side in the bar, dragging you beside him.

Word Count: 1,413

Read On AO3

The atmosphere in the bar was toasty, the comradery of mutual drunks and laughter filling the dense air. Even the vermillion low-lights that shone from corner to corner seemed to propel the warmth in your chest. But nothing could be as pleasant as the company you held this very moment. A leather clad man propped himself up on the barstool, letting the whiskey glide smoothly down his throat. He turned to you, albeit a bit drunkenly, and parted his lips before smiling earnestly.

“Enjoying yourself, Dante?” You outstretched your hand, placing your palm on his cheek, giving it a playful squeeze. His adorable demeanour gleamed when alcohol coursed through his system.

“Doll, when am I not enjoying myself when in your company?” Gazing with adoration at your features, his palm cradled your hand, lacing your fingers together. It was these moments of pure affection that made you fall for the silver haired man over and over again.

“Touché, smooth-talker.” Slapping his hand teasingly, you gave him a wink, and ordered another drink.

Admittedly, there was no actual occasion to celebrate. You were both feeling down, Britain’s temperamental weather acting up again, with torrential floods of rainwater barrelling against the rooftops. The joint decision of a tiny outing, just between the two of you, was something you both very much needed. Thus you ended up here. In a tiny bar, of all places.

Then again, it never mattered where you landed, as long as it was beside your very own, darling devil hunter.

As you downed another drink, the pleasant buzz of relaxation blanketing your muscles, Dante shifted closer to you on his stool. The scent of whiskey became almost overbearing, as his stubbled chin tickled your cheek. He planted a somewhat clumsy smooch on the side of your face, his lips curving upwards into a cheeky grin, before continuing to down his glass of liquid courage. You giggled at the sensation.

A moment passed, the glass of his drink gently clinking against the lacquered wood of the counter. You watched the maroon wearing man, quizzically analysing his movements. Even in his intoxication, there was a lingering forlornness in his eyes. Something that bothered him, beyond repair. Whether it was the years of familial troubles, or the countless losses he had suffered, you did not know how to fill the void.

Before you could continue with your concerned thoughts, Dante placed his gargantuan, yet soft palm against your thigh, squeezing it with ardour. The gentle lul of eighties musical hits began its circulation on the speakers, your scarlet devil’s knees jerking up to the beat. Unsurprisingly, this was a tell-tale sign of his oncoming performance. He cleared his throat, before seductively gracing your ears with his voice.

“Tell me, doll. How did an angel like you, fall for a devil like me?” With a mischievous grin, Dante winked in your direction, watching your exasperated expression blow out a sigh.

“Dante, honey… no…” Before you could even finish the sentence, he bounced out of his seat, dragging you into the lit dance floor alongside himself. The refractions of rainbow lights shone mercilessly to the melody. Your drumming heart seemed to synch with the beat. Dante looked ecstatic, filling you with peace, and letting you forget any disconcerting thoughts moments ago.

“I take two steps forward, I take two steps back,

We come together 'cause opposites attract,

And you know it ain't fiction, just a natural fact,

We come together 'cause opposites attract.”

Dante’s jovial, as well as drunken, mating call chanting filled the air. Although it wasn’t unusual to hear his hoarse singing, to hear it below with such glee was a refreshing sight. Dante continued dragging you along, his hands on your hips, swinging wildly from one corner of the rainbow surface to the other. The giggling that bubbled from your lungs kept increasing in volume with each step.

“She likes it neat, and he makes a mess,

I take it easy, baby I get obsessed,

She's got the money, and he's always broke,

I don't like cigarettes, and I like to smoke.”

His serenade soured at the mention of cigarettes, his head shaking and tutting at the lyric. However, with each step of his feet, each playful touch of your cheek, you were dancing with not a care in the world. People could watch all they wanted, as long as you had Dante by your side. He grinned, laughed, and pranced. That was all that mattered. His happiness.

“Baby, ain't it something how we lasted this long?

You and me proving everyone wrong,

I don't think we'll ever get our differences patched,

It don't really matter 'cause we perfectly matched!”

The breakdown before the chorus completely broke you. Dante put on his best rapper stance, crouching in the centre of the dance floor, barely keeping himself up from the whiskey induced giddiness. The maniacal laughter that burst from your lungs made Dante’s lips curl into a proud smile, knowing full well that pretending to be an idiot was what made you laugh, and his heart flutter.

You finally gave in to the chorus, signing gleefully with your heartthrob of a boyfriend, grabbing onto his shoulders so you could peck his nose. Even if alcohol rushed within your veins, you knew for certain that it was his presence that caused the euphoric high, not the overpriced cocktails.

The nostalgic music seemingly began to die down, the two of you swaying romantically from side to side, basking in each others’ embrace. Two oceanic eyes scanned your features, Dante’s gaze softening with each inch of your face he took in. You could barely hold yourself back, cupping his cheek in order to plant tender pecks on his lips. He simply indulged in your warmth, kissing back with the same fervour you rained upon him.

Bliss.

Tranquil moments passing, the both of you ignored the next eighties hit. Dante pulled away from the breathy exchange. A triumphant grin appeared to trail on his visage, before less than gracefully cupping your hind cheek in turn. You gave him a dirty look, but soon began to feel the warmth bloom all over your frame.

“So, have I successfully wooed you with my charm?” Dante kept his hand right where he wanted it, eyeing you eagerly.

“Absolutely.” Your voice sounded meeker than you expected, the view of your towering devil seeming somewhat intimidating, especially with the rising hunger that flourished behind his lashes.

Before things could escalate, you grabbed his jacket, pulling the both of you back to the bar to order one final round of drinks. It was a wonderful night, but work was a responsibility you could not avoid. Neither could he, in that matter. Undoubtedly, Dante whined as you yanked him off of the ‘Saturday Night Fever’ style floor, his slurred speech uttering something about ‘the party hasn’t even begun yet’. You simply giggled at the display, patting his buttocks to sit back onto the stool, and down his final whiskey of the night.

“I love you so damn much, doll.” The statement caught you off-guard. Dante’s eyes seemed expectant as he focused on your stare. His every feature morphed back into the bittersweetness you witnessed before the wild dance. You reached out to him, cradling the back of his neck, feeling him shiver under your delicate touch. You placed a devoted kiss on the bridge of his nose, basking in the sensation of his skin.

“Tell me when you’re sober, Dante-” Before you could finish your sentence, you were flipped sideways, ending up in his arms, bridal style. You shrieked in surprise at the sudden change of direction. The sheer speed of your abrupt positional change from vertical to horizontal was astounding. You silently reminded yourself to never underestimate his strength, nor his speed. Thinking back to all of the times he effortlessly picked you up, you thought you’d be used to it by now.

With the wholehearted evening over, the scarlet devil carried you outside delicately, as one would a fragile rose. It seemed as though his intoxication finally left the system, leaving you to be the drunk of the pair. You buried your face in his collarbone whilst pressing lethargic kisses to his skin. Your beloved simply hummed in response.

The hum prompted something to rise in your chest, a love so ardent, you had no choice but to reply to his earnest confession with your own.

“I love you too, you big buffoon.”

[etlunainmorte]

“As she comes to the city, hollow hands empty,

Eyes open to what lies in wait for her,”

She does not weep nor wail,

In her eyes, home has always been burning.”

***

🌙 To You Who Rejected Me 🌙

***

II

***

"Now, where could that thing be?" Griffon mused to himself as he flew high above the shores of Delphi, looking for that vital something that his master lost when he dived into the ocean to escape those fire - wielding Elves attacking him. The demonic bird has been searching for almost an hour but, with no such luck. "Honestly, it could turn up just about anywhere!" He complained in utter frustration. "This is hopeless!" 

The bird was about to give up on his search when he noticed something gleaming at the corner of his eye. He looked down and squinted those golden eyes of his until he finally saw the thing. Indeed, it was right there, washed up on the shore and almost covered with sand and sea weeds.

There it was, V's antique metal cane!

"There ya are!" Griffon flew down to fetch the thing, at the same time shooing the sea gulls that were trying to claim it as their own like it was some kind of a rare sea artifact, almost fighting over it. "HEY, I SAID, SHOO!" The familiar screeched once more as he let out a weak electrical current to scare the noisy birds away, and it worked to perfection.

"Hoho! Thought I'd never see ya again!" Griffon opened his talons wide, ready to pick up V's cane,...

"What in the - ?!" The bird muttered the moment his talons came into contact with the metal cane. It felt somehow hot, and not just warm. He was not sure whether his eyes were playing tricks on him but, the thing did seem to glow. And finally, the metal cane seemed to tremble a bit against his talons, like it was alive. Sentient.

Still hovering above the sand with V's metal cane in his talons, the demonic bird squinted his eyes in suspicion. Master and familiar alike knew that the cane was nothing but an old piece of metal, and not a source of any kind of power, demonic or not. An aid for V's,... disability. Nothing more.

However, despite that, Griffon could feel something coming from the cane. Like it was emanating some form of unknown power. He just knew it deep within his core.

But, being unimaginably tired after what happened last night, Griffon ignored the cane, ruffled his feathers, and flew back to where Dante and his master were.

"I'm heckin’ tired." Griffon uttered as his wings took him to his destination - the ruins of Apollo's temple. "I'll let Shakespeare deal with ya."

"Your foot seem fine to me, V." Dante said for the third time since morning. 

"I could've sworn I felt this,... excruciating pain when I was attacked,... "

"Well, your foot seem,... fine to me!" And that was the fourth time since morning. "Look, V: you're a son of Sparda. Maybe the Demon blood's finally kickin' in and healed your wounds?"

And to this, V only shook his head. It's impossible for him, after all.

No matter how much or how intense Dante stared at his brother's allegedly injured left foot, he just couldn't find anything wrong with it, save for the missing pair of the poet's old gladiator sandals, and the frayed, almost tattered end of his pants, like something burned it. If anything, to Dante's eyes, V only seemed to have lost the other pair of his unspeakably tacky footwear. And a good riddance to it, if he may add! To the legendary Devil Hunter, it seemed so difficult to move and fight Demons with such footwear. And he would never deny that fact, despite knowing that he could hurt his brother's feelings for having such a questionable taste in fashion.

On the other hand, to V, it was an entirely different story. For, only last night, he swore his foot got burned badly due to the attack. So badly and so painful, he was actually scared to look at it.

And now, as he looked, no, stared, at his foot with disbelief, he couldn't help but feel utterly mystified. First, there was this strange presence that saved him from the enemies, and now this.

It's as if nothing happened to his foot, at all!

And honestly? V could not believe his sheer, dumb luck.

Or, was it even luck?

After all, since those Elves, and her, entered their lives, V and his brother experienced nothing but the unusual. The unknown. And he felt that he must learn to accept such things. Get used to them, so to speak.

V pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and knitting his eyebrows as a helpless sigh escaped his parched lips. Well, there's no use raking up the past. They must focus on the present. They must focus on the now. And for now, they must focus on getting to the Elven world in one piece. The portal led them to Delphi of all places, and V knew it meant something. They were getting really close to their destination. And he knew they would face an even greater danger when they get there. Well, it's not like the Elves would give them a warm welcome or anything. They're still wanted persons, after all.

Opening his eyes once more, he noticed Griffon flying towards them, finally carrying his lost metal cane. He gave a weak smile as the loyal familiar gave the cane back to him and landed on his waiting arm.

Then, V noticed something strange. So did Dante.

"No wisecracks or something?" Dante asked the demonic bird as he crossed his arms and tapped his boot on the ground.

"You do seem a bit quiet." V added, raising his eyebrow as he looked at his familiar.

"Ahh, V," Griffon stuttered, unsure how to begin. " ... didn't ya notice anythin',... weird?"

"Pardon?" The poet asked as Griffon's eyes wandered to the metal cane in his right hand.

"That thing!" The demonic bird squawked.

"Ugh, now what - ?" Dante began when a woman approached them, getting their attention and making them drop their conversation, much to Griffon's frustration.

"Can we help you, lady?" With a flashy grin, the younger brother graciously asked the woman, who was smiling nervously as her eyes went back and forth from him, to V, to the strange avian on the poet's arm.

"I, ahh,... " The lady stuttered, not sure how to address the situation.

"Yes?" And Dante didn't seem to help with the situation, at all. The woman became somewhat more nervous than before she approached them.

Inhaling through her nose and clearing her throat, she began. “Yes, well," She said, pointing at Griffon with a trembling finger.  “The other guests are getting anxious of your,… ahh,… pet bird."

"Is that so?" Dante answered with a boisterous voice. "Don't you worry a thing about our pet bird! You see, he's a rare - "

“I see. Don’t worry.”

All of a sudden, V heard a clear and distinct voice, overlapping with the woman and his brother's voices.

“These are my loyal,… companions. They would bring no harm to any of the innocent people here. That,…”

V's hands went up to his temples as he tried to distinguish and trace where the voice was actually coming from, when the voice itself took over his hearing, drowning out the other voices, and all the other noises going on around him.

“I can assure you.”

The lady let out a helpless laugh, then nodded. “Okay. Whatever you say.” She hastily moved away from Dante to give herself a safe distance from him and Griffon and clumsily pointed at the breathtaking horizon. “Well, now, enjoy your stay here at Delphi!”

The woman, being proud of herself for handling the difficult situation, walked away with a huge smile on her face. And Dante, being a huge flirt, started following the woman.

However, when his brother stepped away, V noticed something taking his place where he stood.

V's eyes narrowed for a second for what he saw. He closed his eyes, rubbed the tiredness and fatigue off them, and opened them once more. However, despite that, the strange figure was still there.

V saw,... himself.

And he, the other him, was drinking in the beautiful sight of Delphi's ruins around him.

“So, V,…” He heard Griffon ask all of a sudden. “Are we going to look for that thing there?”

"I'm sorry - ?" V turned to his left to look at Griffon but, the demonic bird was nowhere to be found.

“Not this time.” V turned towards his other self at the sound of his voice and noticed Griffon, himself, flying towards him. “For now, I need to take a rest and reflect upon our journey, so far.”

V almost fell off the old bench he was sitting on.

That voice,...

... it really was him.

But,... how?!

“The Yamato really does wonders, huh?” the Griffon who was with the other V said, then chuckled, ruffling his own feathers in delight with tiny shakes. “Who knew it would go directly to you and not to that kid Nero?”

"The Yamato?" His other self whispered as V followed him and his familiar on their way towards the ruins of Apollo's temple. What has the Yamato got to do with all this?

“For one thing, I’ am the rightful owner of the Yamato, not the boy Nero.” The other V answered as he skipped some rocks along the pathway that led to the ruins of the temple. “I think it was fitting that it answered to me. But, as grateful as I’ am that it was returned to me,” he said, stopping at what looked like the remains of an altar. “I must not abuse my fragile body by using it over and over to transport us. You see,” He began tracing the remains with the tip of his cane. “It consumes way too much of my,… demonic power. I must be wary of that fact.”

Of course, V thought as he observed what the other V was doing. I don't have,... that much demonic power.

“Aha, so that’s why we had to hitch that stinkin’ bus ride with that awful bitch! Didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut!” And the other Griffon sounded less rude, either.

“Now, be nice to our little human.” V reprimanded the demonic bird. “We will ’hitch’ on the same vehicle on the way back.”

“Ugh! Not again,…”

V watched in amusement how this other Griffon threw tantrums. However, his other self drew V's attention back. He was looking at the altar with an unreadable expression, tracing the edges of the marble altar with his cane.

Then, all of a sudden, he started reciting the few lines of a poem that was very dear to him. It was,...

“As she comes to the city, hollow hands empty,

Eyes open to what lies in wait for her,”

His mother's favorite poem,...

V closed his eyes and recited the old poem along with his other self.

“She does not weep nor wail,

In her eyes, home has always been burning.”

His eyes closed, his senses surrendered to the vision before him, he allowed nostalgia to take over his entire being. Of his mother reading this same poem to him, of her tales about a Princess named Cassandra who was gifted by the God Apollo with the curse of predicting the future,...

... of this hidden gateway of Delphi where she went to after being rejected and stoned by her own people,...

V opened his eyes, feeling something pulling him back from his reverie to the present, like a powerful force.

It was then when he was greeted by the sight of a morphing demonic entity right before his other self, who he assumed was one of his familiars.

He watched in awe as the familiar morphed into multiple pulsing dark vines that filled the entire altar. Him and his other self took a step back as roses of all shapes and sizes sprouted from the dark vines, and when his other self pulled something from the largest rose, his eyes grew wide with shock.

It was the Yamato, only it was glowing in a very unusual way.

V wanted to listen more, to know more, to watch what happens next but, the vision itself began getting blurry as their voices became more and more warped, like a disrupted signal of an old television. The vision, and the voices, warped and warped, until only a distorted and blurry version was left. And before the vision entirely vanished, V saw his other self raising the sword,...

... and slicing the air before him, creating a portal that led him somewhere,...

"V!" He heard Dante's voice from afar, like he was being called by him from the other end of a long tunnel. "V!" He felt a strong hand go down on his shoulder, making him turn around. "What are you doing? I was looking all over for you!"

The poet could barely believe what just happened. He was back, and he felt like he just woke up from a very long dream.

"I, ahh,... " V stuttered, turning back to the altar and seeing nothing there.

"Hey, V," Griffon, who just landed on his waiting arm, asked. " ... are you okay?"

"The gateway,... " The poet uttered, the vision he saw still crystal clear on his mind.

"What gateway?" Dante questioned.

"There's a gateway here." V reiterated as he walked closer towards the altar where his other self vanished. "It was opened using the Yamato."

"How did you know that?" With a raised eyebrow, Dante asked in confusion. "And besides, even if that's true, we can't really use the Yamato. I mean, it's with its owner on the other side of the globe right now."

"We can't rely on Vergil this time, I know." V answered as thoughts and ideas ran through his head like an unstoppable drill. "But, what if the gate,... was left open? What if it was never closed?"

Dante's mouth fell open at the possibility. Only a slight drawback made him close it again and shake his head in disapproval. "But, I see no gate here! All I see in this place are rocks and statues and ruins and tourists everywhere."

V turned to Griffon, who drew back at the intensity in his master's facial features. "Do it."

"Do what?" The familiar questioned.

"Distract the people while I look for the portal."

"How could I do that?! How am I - ?!"

"Alright! I'll do it!" Dante offered, turning away from them and walking away from the altar as he began singing something. And it's working. The tourists, especially the ladies, started listening to him and flocking before him. "I'm lying alone with my head on the phone, thinking of you 'till it hurts,... "

V grabbed this opportunity to look for the portal. He can't be wrong, the vision can't be wrong! They must get to the Elven world and he would do whatever it takes to get there.

He will do whatever it takes to get to her and fix this huge mess that was messing with their lives,...

It was then when he noticed something small and gleaming right before him. He reached out a single finger to touch it, and lo and behold, the small gleam made a tiny ripple that reflected so many bright colors. Like a prism. Another touch of his finger produced a huge ripple, revealing its true nature in all its entirety. Indeed, it was a gate. In the form of a curtain that was seemingly made of glass that reflected light like numerous precious gems.

"Whoa! That looks so unreal!" Griffon, who watched the entire thing with curious eyes, said in awe. "How did you know all this, V?!"

"I'll explain later." The poet answered. "For now, we should press on."

"I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you - " Dante sang with much gusto, wowing his audience, when he suddenly heard a familiar whistle. He stopped singing and turned around to see V beckoning for him to come join him and Griffon. The Devil Hunter turned back to his audience, made an incredibly believable shocked expression, and pointed at the sky. "Thunderstorm! Incoming thunderstorm! Run and hide for your lives!"

The people instantly believed him, scrambling and running all over the place to shield themselves from Dante's imaginary thunderstorm. The younger brother took this opportunity to join V.

"How in the world - ?!" Dante began questioning at the sight of the translucent gateway but, he was cut short as Griffon went behind him and started pushing him towards the gate.

"I'll explain later! We must hurry!" V ordered, then went through the curtain, looking as if he just vanished into thin air.

"Let's get goin', lover boy!" Griffon squawked, grabbing onto Dante's shoulders with his talons.

"I swear I need to go to therapy after all this." The Devil Hunter said as he, too, went through the curtain and vanished.

***

🌙 Finally! And this one took longer than expected. Enjoy!😁😁😁❤❤❤ 🌙

🌙 Thank you so much to these lovelies, @dreaming-gamer , @la-vita and @thottyonmainsquid .❤❤❤ 🌙

***

A few moments later, Dante arrived at the other side. But, his path was blocked by V, himself, who was standing still, his back turned away from him.

"You alright there, V?" Dante asked as he scratched his temple in confusion. "Aren't we - ?"

"Yes, we are." V cut him off, raising his metal cane and using it to point at something before the two of them. "We have finally arrived."

The younger brother followed V's line of sight, and what he saw before him simply took his breath away.

"Holy mama - !" Dante breathed in awe at the marvelous sight.

***

🌙

***

[sethrine-writes]

Daughter of a Devil - Ch. 16

Main Characters:  Father!Dante & Daughter!Reader

Words:  2343

Warnings:  Fancy stuff, Fluff, Father-Daughter Dancing

Story Summary: Being a parent wasn’t easy, nor was there such thing as being perfect at it. Good news for Dante, seeing as how he doesn’t have the slightest idea in hell what to do with a child. Sometimes, he was certain that fighting off a horde of demons was a far better match than keeping up with his own daughter. Well, at least he wasn’t going down without a fight.

A/N:  Thank you guys so much for all the warm welcomes back into this series! I’m so glad you guys are still interested in this lovely little universe. Here’s another chapter, just for you kind souls! Some nice fluff. Enjoy!

------

Chapter 16 - When the Devils Dance (16 yrs.)

You had honestly not expected to see both Lady and Trish waiting for you as soon as you entered the shop. In fact, their presence was a little irking, seeing as how your father had said they were on some sort of mission of their own a few cities away. Either he was lying, or they were really fast; the former sounded much more fitting for this particular situation.

“Hey Trish…Lady,” you said with a nod in greeting, eyeing the smiling women suspiciously. Sure, you were covered in dirt and muck and God-knows-what else from your earlier assignment of taking care of some small-fry demons (damn things were fast and kept tripping you up), but the mischievous grins sprouting on their faces didn’t look like the type of reaction appropriate for your disheveled appearance.

“Have you guys seen Dad?”

“Dante’s a bit…tied up at the moment,” Lady answered, her smile never wavering. You had a feeling her statement was far more truth than it should have been.

“Right. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just gonna go…that way, so - son of a bitch!”

You had just turned toward the kitchen and had taken a few steps when Trish had suddenly appeared before you, arms crossed just below her breasts and hip cocked to one side. Whatever her smile meant, you had a strange feeling that you were involved.

“I’m afraid there’s just no time for you to wander about. We have to get you ready!”

You gave the blonde she-demon a very strange look.

“R-ready? Ready for wha-“

“Come on, now, upstairs for a shower.”

“Wait…hey!”

You continued to shout and curse the whole way upstairs as Trish pushed you along, already pulling at your clothes to quicken the process. By the time you were actually in the bathroom, you were almost completely naked.

“Alright, wash your hair, shave those legs, and brush your teeth. You’ve got fifteen minutes to finish!”

You sputtered at the ridiculous amount of time you were given to do all of what she was asking, especially with how dirty you had gotten from your mission. You were just about to tell her off, too, when you turned and found she was no longer in the bathroom with you.

“Remember, fifteen minutes!”

“Are you guys crazy?!”

“Goodness, you’re right…better make it ten!”

You sighed heavily as you finished undressing and climbed into the bathtub for a quick shower. Whatever those two had planned, you were being forced to go along with it. You decided you might as well go along with the ride and hoped that whatever they were going to do with you didn’t hurt too badly in the end.

---

You may have just started out as a demon hunter, much like your father, but you had definitely already faced some hard challenges, had come home with some bruises and bleeding wounds that would soon scar over - much slower than Dante’s own almost instant healing, but hey, they would make for some interesting stories. 

In that regard, you wished you were fighting Sparda, himself, then being dolled up by the two women doting over you at that moment. Truly, you had to be in some sort of hell-dimension. Maybe you had died on that mission, and this was your punishment.

“Just hold still!”

“Damnit, stop pulling on my hair!”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“I am not!”

You continued to argue and struggle against both Lady and Trish, cringing at makeup brushes and coughing at the excessive amount of hairspray being used to keep your hair in place. It felt between a lifetime and probably about ten minutes for them to finish, everything calming rather suddenly as both women ooed and awed at their work.

You were turned abruptly to look into the full length mirror hanging on your wall, your disgruntled expression smoothing over almost immediately at your made-up visage.

“I look…so different.”

“Well, not really,” Lady explained, coming up behind you and placing her hand on your shoulder. “You’re just a little spruced up, is all. You’re still the same rough, difficult, badmouthed, daughter of a devil that we all know and love.”

You gave a huff of a laugh as Lady pat at your shoulder reassuringly and made her way to your closet as Trish excused herself with the promise of having Dante ready.

“One last thing, and then you can meet your dad downstairs.”

“Was he in on this whole thing, too?”

Lady gave you a look, one you recognized as twisted in the most delightful way. It was safe to say that Dante had gotten the same treatment as you.

You definitely still had questions, but they were answered rather abruptly when Lady presented you with a full-length dress, a gown only seen at high school proms or those fancy parties and dances-

Everything was starting to make sense. You weren’t sure if you had ever been so nervous as you were at that moment.

---

Every year for the past fifty-seven or so years, the local park held an annual formal spring dance that allowed all ages to attend. It was sort of like a prom, but with the addition of small children and elderly couples dressed up nicely in frilly outfits joining in on all the festivities. It was a chance for everyone to dress up for one night and make themselves feel beautiful as well as have fun with close friends and family members.

The park itself was lit up with lights stuck in trees and bushes throughout the whole area. There was a big makeshift dance floor laid out along the less grooved area of grass in the middle of the park, and several tables of refreshments and tasty treats were set out. Off to the side of the large expanse set aside for dancing was the music-mixer table where two DJs were stationed and playing a variety of music.

Many people from around the city were present, dressed to impress, and despite the large crowd, you were having a blast.

You weren’t even sure why you had been so nervous, in the first place, and even though the whole process of being dressed up wasn’t much your style, you were happy Lady and Trish had sprung such a little surprise on both you and your father.

Already, you had been asked to dance by several sharply dressed young men, all of which you accepted. You were surprised that Dante had actually allowed you to do such a thing, especially with the way he was when you so much as mentioned a guy you talked to on a normal, friendly basis. His focus tonight was to make you happy, however, and if you were happy dancing with all the men that showed up that night, then so be it.

At one point, as you were sitting down to take a small break and talking with your father on some of the weird and rather hilarious dance moves a large group was pulling off, a small boy around the age of five had come up to you with the sweetest little face. He then held up a flower he had picked just off to the side of the dance floor and asked if you would dance with him. It was the single most sweetest thing you had ever witnessed, and with a smile of your own (and a hardy laugh from your father) you accepted and allowed the tyke to lead you on the dance floor for two songs.

Before long, the DJs were beginning to dedicate the dances for specialty couples, such as elder couples, younger couples, just the kids, and so on. After about four or five dances, there was one that was for “Fathers and Daughters,” quite similar to the one some traditional weddings still did.

“Looks like it’s our turn to tear up the dance floor, Squirt,” Dante said with a short waggle of his brows, standing and holding out his arm for you to take.

You shook your head at his antics, but took his arm with a smile and let him lead you to the middle of the dance floor along with the other fathers and daughters gathering around.

The song itself was a very lovely melody, one that you were familiar with and enjoyed listening to in your free time. Instead of stepping to a more complicated dance routine, as you had first expected Dante to lead you into, you and your father both fell in-step to a gentle sway that went perfectly with the tune. One of your hands rested comfortably in his as the other took purchase on his shoulder, right above where you rested your head.

You were aware of several parents with cameras snapping a quick photo or two around you, but you didn’t mind much. There was almost a guarantee you’d be gifted with a photo of the moment by some mysterious means, of which you were more than okay with.

“So, how’d you like the surprise?”

You laughed a little and pulled back to look at your father fully.

Truth be told, Dante cleaned up really good, with his longer hair slicked back in a nice style and his face clean-shaven. He’d donned a nicer shirt for the occasion with a tie that matched the color of your dress and a newer, black coat, dark jeans and his usual dusty boots cleaned up to an almost decent shine polishing off the ensemble. He looked younger, rugged, even, in a nice way. You could definitely see the charm in his look, and it was no wonder why your mother had been so smitten with him when they first met.

“So, you did have a hand in it,” you accused in a playful tone, earning an equally playful smirk from your father.

“I may have mentioned something to the ladies, though all the planning and torture was their doing, I’m afraid.”

“No kidding,” you huffed, leaning back against his chest. “It was a little sudden, and too much hairspray was involved, but it was nice. This is nice. Oh, I was wondering, did Lady and Trish really have you tied up?”

Your father gave a heavy sigh, and laughter escaped your lips. Dante may have been one of the most difficult men you knew, but Lady was much more stubborn and hell-bent on anything she set her mind to, with Trish more than happy to join along in the mayhem. You were sure that if they wanted to put your father in a bright orange dress with ruffles and make him do the Macarena, they’d have him dancing the night away by that evening.

“Well, I’m glad you did it. You know, for me; I don’t think I’ve had this much fun since shooting off the eyes of that limb-sprouting demon a couple months back.”

“Yeah, that was one hell of a treat, wasn’t it? Lady was so pissed after that mission!”

You both began laughing as you remembered quite well the verbal thrashing the demon hunter had given Dante for taking his sweet time in taking care of business. You had been given the same thrashing, though it wasn’t nearly as harsh as the one your father had to endure.

Before long, the song came to an end which gave way to many cheers from the bystanders watching the fathers and daughters dance. You and Dante stopped in the middle of the dance floor, smiling at each other. You then reached around him and pulled him to you in a warm hug, feeling his much stronger arms wrap around you securely to return the gesture.

“Dad, I know I don’t say it often enough, but…thanks, for everything you do for me.”

“Squirt-”

Whatever Dante was about to say was interrupted by a loud, screeching noise coming from the sky. You both looked up into the darkness to find a large group of bird-like creatures swooping down and startling the people in the park, attempting to scramble the mass and section them off. Many began screaming and running around in hopes of finding a way to escape the strange sight, just as the demons were expecting, most likely.

“Let’s go,” Dante said, and just like that he was pulling you along by the arm while reaching inside his coat and pulling out what looked like Ivory to fire several shots at the circling demons. Doing so only served to do two things: make the demons angrier and startle the crowd even more.

People were tripping here and there as the winged creatures began to swoop lower to pull a human or two up a small ways before letting them drop back down. In a way, they were teasing them, playing with their meal, so to speak.

At one point, one of the bird-like demons came too close to you and had pulled at the back of your dress, ripping several seams and pulling at the fabric at the bottom until several pieces of it hung from your form.

You looked back at the tattered skirt of the dress, a burning sort of anger quickly seeping into your veins.

As your father reached within his coat once more to retrieve Ebony, you tore the remaining fabric from the bottom up to your knee in order to move around easier, revealing the glittering heels you wore as well as your gun, Rein, strapped carefully to your lower thigh. You pulled the weapon from its holster against your skin and began firing your own shots into the air at the swarming horde, all but roaring with the anger building inside you.

“You damn pterodactyls ruined my dress and one of the best nights of my life! I’ll send all of you back to hell!”

Dante stopped momentarily in his shooting to watch you go to town on the flying creatures, almost swearing he could see red in your gaze.

God, but you looked like your mother. You’d grown up into such a lovely young woman - damn near brought a tear to his eye.

[queenmuzz]

Three Sparda’s and a Baby....  Part II

I’m sorry if you were expecting a cute fluffy story about three grown men attempting to take care of a baby....

Devils Never...

Ao3 link here.

Devils never feel pain.   Well, not in this way,  they can feel the pain of flesh burning, tearing, ripping, but not the deep cutting pain in his chest, scouring through his nerves like acid, through his shoulder and down his arm, ending at his ring finger…. Or did the pain originate from his finger, and then into his chest?  Because on that finger was a slender gold band, a ring connecting him something he valued above nearly everything. Sparda freezes at the sensation. It’s a warning, but of what?

The answer may lay in what he holds in his other hand, dangling, choking, and yet still cackling.   He’s heard rumours of hell gates opening up bearing a familiar three pronged symbol, and demons bearing the same sigil.  And now, after weeks of searching, he’s finally gotten the culprit in his grasp. But why is there pain?

The three headed demon is down to one functioning head, the left snake one has been decapitated, the right lion one has had his jaw shattered, leaving the central goat one practically giggling in the Dark Slayer’s face.

“Heheheh” it wheezes before it coughs up black ichor, “It seems the Master’s plan has come to fruition, and I” another cough “am honoured to have played my part in your destruction” “Enough with your riddles!” Sparda barks, “Where is he!”

“Your betrayal was enough to keep Him contained, but thanks to your laxness, His servants have found out your greatest weakness.”  Its eyes close in pleasure, “I will die knowing that you will lose everything….” it lets a final neighing shriek of delight, before Sparda dispatches the wretch.  

Devils never value anything other than their own lives. In the Underworld, each demon looks out for what is most important, themselves.  Even when they submit to another demon, it is in order to preserve their own safety, or to gain an advantage against another.  

But Sparda knows exactly what this abomination is speaking of, and as the fetid corpse dissolves into ash, he realizes he’s walked into a trap.  He’s been led on a wild goose chase (humanity has always found charming turn of phrases, he’s realized), and unfortunately, he’s not going to be the one to pay the price.  He needs to get home as fast as possible. But he’s been led so far, that even by flying at supersonic speeds will take him a few hours. If only he had Yamato….but alas, he had given it to his eldest on his eighth birthday, as well as Rebellion to his brother (and of course, they had begged to take it to show-and-tell the next day, much to their mothers exasperation.)  So as he reforms into his true state, and unfurls his wings, all he can do is pray to any Divinity that is willing to listen, to keep what he treasures most safe…  

The burning pain continues until he’s around halfway the way home, and then the pain abruptly stops, replaced by ice cold.  This doesn’t make Sparda feel any better.

*****

Devils never panic.  When faced with unexpected circumstances, they automatically react in set patterns, analyzing their opponents and situations, and how to maximize it to  their own advantage. No emotion is used, it is all instincts.

He arrives, in the middle of a destructive thunderstorm, to a home that is ablaze, despite the rain.  Winds howl and thunder roars, but it’s not enough to drown out his screams of rage. There are a few remaining demons scuttling about, and he slaughters them with the finesse of two millennia of skill. But what of his wife, his children?

He braves the flames and rushes inside, screaming his wife’s name, his sons’ names, but the crackling fire obscures even his sight… surely they must be safe, surely they must have escaped…

And there he sees her, surrounded by runes of protection, keeping the flames at bay.  Red and black and gold cloth, cascading like a fountain… except she’s not moving. He rushes forward, to find her collapsed, her eyes open in fear, her mouth open in a silent scream.  Her long slender neck, something he used to find beautiful about her, where he placed the perfect amulet of silver and gold and ruby, is at an unnatural angle. Even so, he turns back into his human form, and places two trembling fingers on her jugular, hoping for some movement… There. Is. Nothing.

Devils never value their mates. To a demon, a mate is just a necessary inconvenience to reproduce.  Thus, they choose their mates based on who is the strongest, (but not too strong, one does not want to submit to a mate, but not too weak, for the progeny will inherit that weakness).  And after the deed is done, both go their separate ways, although sometimes, a last battle, often to the death, happens.

Sparda cradles his beloved wife in his arms, rocking her lifeless body back and forth.  She was the light in his life, a beautiful sunbeam that scattered the clouds of his soul.  Her voice, clear and sweet, could lull even the insomniac Dark Slayer into a deep slumber.

And now, she was gone, never to smile at him, nor to comb her long fingers through his hair, nor to kiss his nose, nor even to tell him how much she loved him.  It was all his fault. He had sworn on the day of his marriage to love and protect her, and he had failed. He’d become too confident, too relaxed, and she had paid the price…

All he could do now was  avenge her death. Perhaps it was in Mundus’s plans, but Sparda knew what he must do; rip open the barrier  between the worlds and take his revenge against the so called ‘God-Emperor’. He’d either cast him down, or die in the attempt.  His demon blood demanded it.

But there was still a matter that stopped him from going on a rampage….his sons.  He looked around, terrified he’d find their bodies, but all he could see were the shades of corpses of lower level demons.  Each smelled of magic, or gunpowder, signifying that however she had died, she had made it as hard as possible for her enemies.  But one corpse, located at the doorway didn’t have the smell of either...it smelled of the blade of Rebellion. That could only mean that little Dante had been here, hopefully attempting an escape  And as Sparda attempted to follow the trail, he could only hope that his youngest son had escaped.

Devils never feel terror.   They can inflict terror on humans, and in some circumstances, they can feel dread in the presence of particularly strong demons, (Sparda has caused that to infinite numbers of lesser demons)  But fear, or terror? No, a demon cannot feel it.

Sparda runs through the driving rain, torn between screaming for his sons, and keeping silent, afraid that it will lure them out, easy pickings for the demons.  He’s terrified that they’ve already been killed, or worse, captured. He knows the lengths Mundus has gone to subjugate anyone who has defied him (the Nobodies were once somebodies, before Mundus performed his tortures on them), and what better way to punish his former second in command, if he could not take him himself?

Lightning illuminates the muddy path, showing the corpses of yet more demons, these ones fresher, and not cut by Rebellion.  These ones were cut cleaner, if still a bit amateurish….obvious work of Yamato. He stills, straining to hear over the wind, rain, and thunder, and his ears pick up three sounds.

First, Dante’s terrified voice, “How much farther to the safe house?”

Secondly, Vergil’s, hissed “Shhhhh, you idiot!  They’ll hear us!”

And thirdly, to Sparda’s horror, the soft sound of what seemed to be blades being sharpened.  He takes his true form, striking from the shadows to find the Death Scissor at the base of a tree, skulking for what had to be the twins.  It doesn’t even have a chance to fight back, as he dispatches it with one swift slice. All it could do was shriek in protest as it dissipates into mist, its mask all that remains, before it is crushed under his heel.  He faces the tree (an old oak that he planted nearly a century and a half ago, when he first built the now burnt out manor), and in the flash of lightning, he sees his boys, both soaked to the bone, flattening their distinctive hairstyles to the point that they’re no longer distinguishable.  Although, Sparda can tell it’s Vergil, simply because he attempts to wield Yamato confidently.

“S-stay back!” his eldest says to him, obviously terrified.  Dante, equally petrified, clutches his brother’s shoulder. It breaks the Demon’s heart...his sons, while aware of their father’s identity, have only seen his true form rarely.  So he retakes his human manifestation, and calls to them.

Dad!

Father!

Both sons run towards him, and he holds them close.  They are both safe and unharmed, praise be, and he picks them up, to take them to the safe house, a place that will, be a sanctuary, if only temporarily.

“What about mother?” Vergil questions, and for once, the proud and eloquent Sparda is left speechless.  How to tell his sons that their beloved mother will never sing to them, never kiss them goodnight, never tell them how much she loves them?

“Vergil…” Dante says, and their father knows that the younger boy was there when his mother fell, perhaps in order to save him.  Does Dante feel guilty? He should not… It is his father who is to blame.

“We have no time, we must move” he says, clutching both sons as he speeds through the forest, leaving the hellscape behind.

Devils never care for their offspring .  The males usually leave after mating, and the females almost always abandon their young as soon as possible.  If they perish? Then they were weak, and not worth worrying about. That is the way of the Underworld, the weak are winnowed and the strong are considered rivals.

Sparda sits in the cushioned chair in the small cabin, Vergil leans on his left side, Dante, his right.  Both have been changed out of their cold wet clothes, toweled off, and now, hours after midnight, they’ve both finally passed out, clutching their swords, as if they are teddy bears.  Their father remains awake, alert to any dangers. But, as the storm finally subsides, he senses no danger and allows himself to relax, and to think of the future. Obviously, it is too dangerous to stay here, they must flee.  But to where? Sparda has accumulated residences and properties over the centuries, in various states of repair (Fortuna sounds tempting, but he has always been uncomfortable about living in an area that reveres him as a god) He needs to find a place with a good school, yet large enough where he and his boys can live in comfortable anonymity.  His sons need new sets of clothing, footwear, books (for Vergil), and toys (for Dante). And Eva….

He needs to go back in the morning, no matter the danger, to retrieve what he can, and to give her an honest burial.  She deserves that at least. She’d deserved so, so much more, but he’s failed her. He will have to bring her sons with him, to keep them safe from danger.  They would never leave his protection ever again. He must keep her legacy safe, to honour her memory, to give himself a purpose.

Despite the rain finally stopping, he feels wetness on his cheeks.  A leak on the roof? Or maybe he had forgotten to dry off his own hair….

Because as everyone knows…

Devils never Cry.

[buns-with-a-book]

The Maiden of the Blue Cloak

Inspired by @beyond-the-mirror​‘s Dante/LittleRed!Reader series. Fic is spicy.

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Devil Trigger!Vergil/OC, mentioned Devil Trigger!Dante Tags: @nimnox​ @furyeclipse​ @synchronmurmurs​ @harlot-of-oblivion​ @queenmuzz​

Summary: The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood is iconic indeed...but have you heard the tale of the Maiden of the Blue Cloak? 

Cassandra Sagefire rode through the snowy forest, her horse visibly nervous as they rode through. Across her chest was a satchel full of food and elixirs, to be delivered to the leader of the village on the other side of Red Grave Forest. The forest was known for being full of demons, with the main path being laiden with protective charms to keep the demons at bay. Cassandra wondered why no effort was made to seek a way to eradicate the demons but, given the charms that surrounding the road, perhaps the demons were too numerous to try. 

She threw the thought out of her head, keeping the reigns of the horse tight in her hand. She had a task at hand and that was delivering the goods that had been bequeathed to her. 

The horse stopped and whinnied out it’s distress. Cassandra looked up, seeing a pile of trees between her and the rest of the path. The horse paced unhappily at the blockade, earning a sigh from Cassandra. She turned the horse around and got off. After adjusting the bag across her chest, she reached up and slapped the hind of the horse. Startled, it ran off down the path. She watched the horse disappear into the faint snowfall, back to her village. She turned back around, towards the village she was meant to be at, and began to walk into the forest proper to find a different path. 

As she strode bravely through the snow-covered woods, she faintly saw her breath float upward from her, a sign of the chill that gripped the forest in the dead of winter. She could feel the demonic presence surrounding her. She didn’t dare let her fear be known, the anxiety of wondering if what she was doing was the right thing. Demons could sense fear, after all, and fear made one a walking target for demons to devour. Cassandra closed her eyes, thinking of the ways she could employ to keep herself calm as she walked through the snow-draped forest. 

Well, her mind went right to song. It was a way, after all, and if she was soft enough she wouldn’t attract demons. She took a deep breath and began to murmur-sing under her breath. 

I am a queen’s daughter Bravery is in my blood I will not fear the dark woods Nor blackened hearts of man Hì rì hoireann hó Hì rì hoireann hó

“Are you now?” 

She snapped up, looking around. Her eyes met a demon, a powerful one if she had to guess. His scales were a deep azure blue, covering every part of him. His head was, from appearances, armored in demon metal. At his side was an elegant but unusual weapon, a weapon not normally found in the frozen forest, but she never questioned how demons got their strange weaponry. What caught her eye were his own eyes, glowing ice blue and completely focused on her. 

“Who are you?”

“I should ask the same for you.” He growled, circling her. She did the same, the two carefully studying the other. “Why are you here?”

“The road was blocked and the bundles I bear must reach the village on the other side of this forest.”

“And yet, you are above the role of messenger.” He lowered his head, just slightly, giving off the impression of narrowed eyes. “Unless you speak in riddles.” That was something she couldn’t answer. Her father had been strangely insistent on taking the bundle to the village as if no other runner could hold its contents. 

“What do you want? Me gone? Or a fight?” She asked, tensing up in preparation for a scuffle. It was a deflection tactic, that much was obvious, but the demon reached over to the handle of his weapon. Cassandra let out a sharp inhale, a silver and deep blue rapier snapping into existence by her own will, the divine rapier Astra. She kept her gaze on the demon, letting out a soft exhale as she watched the demon slid into a battle stance. 

She took in a breath, just moments before the demon shot forward. She parried the thrust, spinning the blade away from her. The demon slashed forward, meeting the rapier again. Cassandra groaned as she held the blade in place, meeting the demon’s gaze. It was intense, like the conflict between his weapon and Astra. Cassandra growled as she kept her hand steady, arms aching from the battle between demonic and divine steel. Finally, she pushed back. Her eyes followed the movements of the demon of the snowy forest. He charged forward. Cassandra deftly undid her dark blue cloak, throwing it at it. He collided into the cloth and yelped, giving Cassandra the perfect opportunity to pin him down into the snow. Her rapier pressed into the demon’s neck, Cassandra straddling him, with the two heaving as they caught their breath. His sword was sticking out in the snow next to him, just out of reach. She pulled back the hood of the cloak, letting their eyes meet. 

“Clever…” He whispered, equal parts amused and irritated at his loss.

“Heh...you’re the best fight I’ve had in awhile.” She panted. She rested her head against his, catching her breath. “...now may I...have your name?” A quiet fell between her and the demon, the demon seeming to mull over her question. 

“Vergil.” The demon finally said, his voice as soft as the snow that fell around them. The rapier disappeared from his neck, Cassandra pulling off him. She held out her hand, to which Vergil hesitantly took. She pulled him out of the snow, her blue cloak fluttering to the ground. She reached down to take it, shaking the snow off before reclasping it around her neck.

“My name is Cassandra.” She said at last. “Would you like to accompany me to the forest’s edge?” 

“It’s only fitting, since you bested me.” The demon snorted, moving to retake his blade and sheath it back into its scabbard. Cassandra smiled softly. 

“Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, Vergil.” The demon let out a hum at her question. “I can only presume you’re the most powerful demon in the forest.”

“Because I am.” Vergil huffed. Cassandra noticed his horns flared with blue fire, perhaps to prove his point. It certainly made the area around them briefly warmer, along with scorching the nearby trees. Cassandra shrugged at the display. 

“Does that mean I’m the most powerful person in the forest because I bested you?” A quiet fell between them, she could feel Vergil seethe at the thought.

“By technicality.” He growled. Cassandra closed her eyes at the sound. She wouldn’t dare admit that her body shivered at the growl. She opened her eyes and leaned a little closer to the warmth-radiating devil. 

“What about your sword? It’s certainly unique, not something that one would find around here.” Cassandra asked, glancing at the blade at his hip. The demon’s eyes followed her gaze down to the blade. 

“It was my father’s. When he was slain, it was left in my care.” He said, his voice soft as if he was remembering one last fond moment with his father. Cassandra sighed and looked out into the snowy forest.

“I wish I had a strong bond with my father. He’s been distant lately, ever since my mother died.” Cassandra murmured. “It makes one wonder…”

“We are here.” Cassandra stopped, seeing the village in question just beyond the trees. She looked up to Vergil.

“Will you escort me home? I’m quite fond of your company. It’s better than talking to a horse.” Vergil snorted at that.

“Perhaps. I’ll think about it.” Cassandra smiled.

“I hope you do.” She turned to him. “Goodbye for now, Vergil.” With that, she walked to the village. She could feel Vergil watch her leave the forest and hoped that he would meet her again.

---

Cassandra held the clasp of her blue cloak tight as she ran through the wintry forests. Behind her, she could faintly hear the shouting of the men that pursued her. It had all been a ruse, she had been sent to marry the leader of that village. Cassandra would rather be demon food than be married to a man that she didn’t know. Even then, she would rather be married for love than be married for reputation.  

She felt a demonic presence and ducked, barely missing a blur of purple and black. There was a scream behind her but she ignored it in favor of running. The blue cloak fluttered in the wind as she ran, leaping over rotted logs and dashing across ice-cold streams. After what felt like miles of running, she hid behind a large birch tree, her heart hammering in her head. She closed her eyes, shaking and heaving from the running. 

“Vergil…” She panted out, sliding down the birch tree into the snow. Everything hurt from her mad dash to freedom. A hand suddenly grabbed her arm and she snapped up, seeing one of the village guards next to her.

“I found her!” He yelled back into the cold. Cassandra tried to pull away from him.

“Let go of me! I said no!” Cassandra snarled, digging her heels in the snow. The village guard was about to snap at her when a scarlet-stained katana shot out from his chest. It retracted, causing the guard to fall to the ground dead. She stared at the owner of the blade, a bloodied devil that she knew as Vergil. His eyes regarded her, the bloodlust of demonkind replaced with concern, before he held out his hand. She took it without hesitation, allowing him to help her up. “Thank you, Vergil.”

“Those men, why were they pursuing you.” He asked coldly. Cassandra looked to the guard. 

“Because my father sent me to the village to marry me to their ruler. I ran away from that. I didn’t want to marry a man I had never met before.” Vergil stared down at their hands. “I can’t go back now...and I can’t go to my own village.” 

“Then I will take you in.” Cassandra blinked at his words.

“You would?” She asked, watching as he expertly flicked the blood off his katana before sheathing it again.

“I would.” He picked her up bridal style, earning a surprised yelp from her. She wrapped his arms around his neck, watching as his wings flared out. He shot up into the sky and took flight, the forest below nothing more than a sea of black with white peppered throughout. He soared across the midnight sky, Cassandra staring down in awe at Red Grave Forest. She felt his face rub against her collarbone, making her squeak. 

“What was that for!?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” He mumbled, flying downward towards a cave. He landed with grace, carrying her into the cave. Cassandra noticed the glow that filled it, perhaps with the aid of some demonic magic. He turned into a cavern, Cassandra quickly noticing it was quite home-like. He set her down in a bed of pelts, Cassandra could tell they were made from the local fauna. She unclasped her cloak, letting it fall upon the pelts.

“Thank you, Vergil.” Cassandra smiled at him. Vergil let out a soft hum.

“My brother lives here with me, the cavern across this one. I’ll let him know of your arrival, that you are…” He trailed off, as if he didn’t know what word he wanted to use. 

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” Cassandra said with a soft smile on her face. 

“He’s a nuisance. He’s my nuisance.” Cassandra chuckled at his words. “Just...rest.” 

“Alright. Thank you.” She curled up on the nest of pelts, using the cloak as a blanket. Vergil watched her quietly for a few more moments before leaving the cavern.

---

It had been a few months since that daring rescue, those months going by swiftly but peacefully. Cassandra had devoted herself to learning new skills and learning how exactly Red Grave Forest operated, from hunting for her own to gathering herbs for consumption to trying her hand at making her own clothes (to varying degrees of success...but she tried). Compared to her old life, this was far simpler and happier. It also helped that she not only had Vergil, who she thought of quite fondly, but she had Dante as well. 

Dante, being of course, Vergil’s nuisance of a little brother. Vergil regarded him as a nuisance but Cassandra found him endearing. When Vergil was off making the rounds of Red Grave Forest, Cassandra was busy entertaining the younger of the devil twins. She found his antics entertaining, which passed the time during the hours Vergil was gone. With Dante’s help, the shed demon scales of her demonic roommates became protective armor and insulated clothing for herself. Demons may not have a need for such things but she, certifiably not demonic, did. 

Over the past few days, Vergil had become more protective of her in regards to his brother, even snarling in demonic tongue at the red-hued devil. Cassandra noticed this change in behavior and wasn’t pleased by his sudden possessiveness. Vergil may have saved her life all those months ago but she wasn’t going to let him hoard her time like a dragon. 

“Vergil.” Cassandra said with a huff, arms crossed. She wore a demonscale tunic and skirt, covered by reindeer fur. The spring night was cool with a nip of chill. Dante was out, taking over Vergil’s duty of scouting Red Grave Forest. The demon in question glared at her. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” 

“Your behavior. I’ve noticed you’re getting far more possessive of me lately.” She crossed her arms. “At your own brother no less.” 

“And?” 

“And!? You dingus, that’s your brother. Why would he try to steal me from you?” 

“You’ve been spending time with him.” Vergil hissed. “You reek of him.” 

“Because you’re off patrolling the forest during the day. He’s teaching me skills while you’re gone, such as what’s edible and what’s not and how to make clothes because I need things to wear to protect myself from the weather.” Cassandra pointed out, striding closer to him. “What’s the matter Vergil. You need to tell me.” There was a silence that fell between them, the two staring at each other and daring the other to step down. Finally, Vergil let out a sigh.

“Demons...go through a week of intense need for their mates. It is known amongst us as heat week. My instincts consider you as my mate. It makes me hunger for you…” He held her arms loosely. “I...I need you.” He pressed his head against hers, letting out a deep rumble. “I want you. Now.” 

“...because of heat week?”

“Yes.” He looked away, almost ashamed of himself.

“Well, if you just said that earlier, I wouldn’t have to yell at you.” She pulled him down to their nest. The demon let out an audible noise of approval, hands moving to hold her hips. 

“I will ravish you, as you deserve.” He growled, his hand moving to cup her face. His claws dug into her skin a little, not enough to break skin. His other hand moved under her tunic. “And then I will apologize to my brother, if it makes you happy.” 

“It would. Dante’s been nothing but helpful to me.” She leaned up to press kisses against his fangs, tasting ash against her lips. 

“Enough about him.” The demon groaned softly before pulling back, pulling her tunic off her body. Throwing it aside, he took quick care of her skirt to have her fully nude before him. He grinned at the sight. “You will be crying out my name soon enough.” He leaned down, pressing kisses and nibbles on her neck and collarbone. His hands groped her body hungrily, sucking hard on the skin. Cassandra gripped his horns as he kissed and sucked, she could feel his teeth dig into her skin and leave purple-black bruises of claiming in their wake. His lips moved downward, nuzzling the soft skin as he went. He settled herself between her thighs, holding her legs apart to gain access to the slick forbidden fruit of her cunt. He dove in, his tongue swirling around inside her entrance. He let her rest her legs around his shoulder, relishing the sounds of her moans and his name on her lips. She grinded her cunt against his mouth, moaning out. He relished the sound and her movement, continuing to happily eat her out. He pulled back a little, his tongue moving to circle her clit. His hand let go of her hip to allow a finger to carefully push into her entrance. She let out a cry of pleasure, legs trembling on his shoulders. He carefully thrust his finger into her, mindful of his claws. As he moved his finger, he glanced up to the trembling form of his mate. He relished the sight of her, nude before him with a thin sheet of sweat on her body. He let out an almost-silent purr before pushing a second finger inside. He stretched her out with his two fingers, looking up to her occasionally to make sure she was still ok. 

“I-I’m close…!” She whimpered. He pulled back his fingers, earning a rather upset whine from her.  

“And I am not, my mate.” He growled, sitting up and letting her legs fall limp on the nest of pelts and cloth. She glanced down, seeing his cock peer out from his armored slit. It was a deep azure hue, lengthy and ridged with a single drop of hot precum dripping onto her leg. She shivered when it landed on her bare skin. He leaned over her, rubbing the tip of his cock against her entrance. She reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder, the other clinging onto the pelts that made their nest. 

“Vergil…” She whispered. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Tell me when it becomes too much.” He murmured, slowly pushing into her. Cassandra gasped as each inch slowly pushed into her. He paused when her whining became more pained, patiently waiting for her to get used to his girth half-way inside her. Despite the burning hunger to mate coiled in his core, he couldn’t hurt her. He would never forgive himself if he did. He leaned down, gently pressing kisses to the dark purple bites he left upon her skin. Cassandra glanced down and wiggled downward, pushing more of his cock into her. He hissed at the movement, continuing the slow push until he was sheathed inside her. They stayed there, joined together and panting. Cassandra leaned forward, kissing him slowly and earning a low pleased rumble from him. The demon hummed at the soft almost reverent murmurs of his name between breaths and kisses, pride and heat roiling within him. He felt her hips roll experimentally against him, testing the waters before she pulled back.

“I’m ready, Vergil.” She whispered. The demon let out a hungry purr, slowly pulling back until the tip was sheathed inside her before thrusting forward. She gasped out, arching her back, her chest pressing against his. He hissed from the contact, rolling his hips against her. He groaned and growled as he thrust into her, relishing the warmth around his cock. As he continued to thrust into her, his chest rumbled with demonic purring, the purr to deter any nearby demons from bursting in. He kept thrusting, clinging onto his new mate. 

“Mine…” Vergil growled as his pace increased, the thrusts now harsh and short as demon instinct took over. A hand clung to her hip, claws digging into the skin. She gasped at the grab, shivering at the slight pain from his claws. She let go of the pelts, moving her hand down to rub her clit. Vergil moved his hand to cup hers, feeling the hint of slickness against the bundle of nerves. The sounds he received from her only made his thrusts intensify, his control fraying from the woman underneath him. 

“Vergil!” Cassandra gasped, shaking as she came with him. He growled as he filled her with his cum, keeping her close. His wings had flared out as he came, trembling as he kept her close. After a few minutes, accented by their labored breaths as they came down from their high. He slowly pulled out of her, growling softly. He looked down, seeing his seed seep out of her entrance. Instinctively, he reached down to push it back into her, ever mindful of his claws. She whimpered at the touch. 

“Shh…” He murmured, sliding into their nest. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest. He covered her with his wing, pressing his forehead against hers. “Rest.” 

“Jeez, not much for pillow talk.” Cassandra mumbled, too tired to be playful. Vergil let out a snort. 

“Rest.” He repeated, a little more insistent. “You know how insatiable demons can be…” 

“Alright alright, you big baby.” She chuckled and curled up against him. “I love you.” The demon gasped softly before sighing. 

“I...I love you too.”

[zer0pm]

No Name (8/?)

A/N: This is a V x Fem!Reader based on an Imagine that I have written. It covers the entirety of a romance with the charming tattooed gentleman from his conception to the end, wherever that is. If you would like to follow this story from the beginning you can click to my Ao3 page linked as “V” on this blog’s header description and it’ll take you straight to my work :) Please enjoy.

Synopsis: Dante and you have a brief heart-to-heart as you journey within the Qliphoth. Your past comes back to haunt you and after swearing off devil hunting for good, you pick up your weapon once again against the demon king.

Dante: “Morrison said you and V met before. Where did you find that guy? On the street?”

You: “Yep. Clothed him, fed him, put a roof over his head for the night. He was an excellent house guest.”

Dante: “Now’s not the time for jokes, Neff.”

You: “I wasn’t joking, Dante. What does it matter to you, anyway?”

Somehow Lady and Trish managed to get ahead, leaving you to make the journey to the target with Dante alone. And truthfully, you were not enjoying it one bit. It seemed the man was bent on getting under your skin at every waking moment whether you two were just walking around the hellish maze that is the demon tree or fighting ravenous hordes of relentless monsters simply by talking.

Dante: “It doesn’t. I’m just saying that you need to be careful around him.”

You: “I don’t like what you’re implying. It’s almost like you suspect there’s something between me and V.”

Dante: “Ha. It doesn’t take a genius to know he steals glances at you. It’s a guy thing and you’re...”

You glance over at him, waiting for his answer in challenge with a hand on your hip. The man was facing you, the way you were looking at him was making him try to come up with words that wouldn’t provoke you.

You: “I’m?”

He throws both of his hands up in defeat before cocking them on his hips, he turns his head away from you now in some random direction.

Dante: “You. You’re you. That’s it.”

Shaking your head, you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. He was tiptoeing, a terrible habit of his when he loathes to admit something. The way he was speaking, it was almost like he was jealous. Truthfully, you felt that he had no right to be.

You: “Look, Dante. V and I just met the other day. Even if there was something...”

With a finger, you poke at his chest once for emphasis before walking past him in a huff.

You: “Well, that’s just none of your damn business. Isn’t it?”

Intent on leaving it at that, you continue walking forward towards the area where the other girls were fighting. Dante stood in place for a moment before calling back to you.

Dante: “You know, we never spoke about it. That day you left.”

Flashes of the moment you walked through the doors of Devil May Cry for what you thought was the last time all those years ago began to sting the ends of your eyes. The look on Dante’s face, the angry exchange between you both, how betrayed you felt - all came flooding back. You had to bite your own tongue to will away the tears.

You: “What’s there to talk about? What’s done is done. My sister is dead. End of story.”

Only you truly wished it was. However, the story keeps replaying in your head, like it was nagging for you to finish it. But honestly, you didn’t want to. Afraid of closing that book forever, yet just as afraid of picking it back up again. So you did what you did, you let it be. You had hoped Dante would do the same, the story didn’t really include him anyways, yet the man somehow finds a way to make himself integral in every tale. This you’ve learned.

.

.

.

“You son of a bitch, I told you to wait!”

“We were out of time. Your sister told me-”

“I don’t care what she told you. That wasn’t part of our plan, Dante! You didn’t listen to me!”

“Both of you couldn’t get out of it alive so I had a choice to-”

SLAP!

“That wasn’t your choice to make!”

“Well, I made it anyway! I chose you. No matter how you look at it, it will always be you.”

That moment of anger and bitter pain was the only memory that was vividly fresh in your mind. You dared not think further back than that, to the past that led to you leaving Dante and Devil May Cry and devil hunting behind. That day was the last day that you used your weapon which now hung as a silver piece on your belt. You didn’t think you would be using it again so soon and alongside the man you didn’t want to see again period.

Eventually the two of you reached what appeared to be a double set of doors. In between the cracks, you can barely see a grotesque-looking monster...sitting on a throne? This must be the demon V spoke about and the one that had Dante on edge the moment he heard his name. Vergil.

You: “We’re here. Are you ready?”

You glance over at the legendary devil hunter who usually when it comes to jobs we just waltz right in not giving a crap. Yet right now, right here beside you, he’s still. Like a statue, staring at the doors.

You: “Hey, what’s going on with you?”

Dante: “...I wanna ask you a favor. Sort of.”

You: “Huh?”

Dante: “If we beat Ver... this demon king, you have my permission to kill him.”

You: “Okay... and why does that require your permission?”

Dante: “This way... you and me, we’re even.”

This shocks you into silence. Already your mind was speculating, reeling over about Dante, a man who prides himself on calling all the shots, prides on being a solo player, conceding this one action to you. You wanted to ask him, to elaborate further on what the hell he meant, but the legendary devil hunter was already through the twin doors, squaring his shoulders for the big fight. When you followed behind, you first spotted Lady and Trish rolling along the ground. It looks like they were beaten pretty bad and that alone began to bubble a growing anger inside you. This place was already setting you on edge and the greatest source of that anxiety was sitting before you all.

So this was the “demon king” that had even Dante garner the serious look? By appearance, he, assuming it’s a he, fit the word terrifying by every definition. Dante traipsed across the floor before the demon as if he was performing in a play.

Dante: “Well, well... O king of stench and filth. I’m impressed! Those are two of the most badass women in the world. Well, behind my sweetheart over here.”

He looks at you over his shoulder to wink at you. You had to roll your eyes and will yourself not to like over his words. His infamous monologue was already underway and he didn’t strike nor was he struck first this time. Must be a new record.

Dante: “And I know only one other guy that can defeat ‘em...”

The shift in his voice was evident along with the sudden change of mood in the air. Dante was staring down at the grotesque monster sitting on the throne, the latter of which appeared entirely unamused the entire time. You were almost certain that you were looking at a statue until Dante spoke a single word that made him tilt his head from the palm of his hand.

Dante: “Jackpot.”

Demon King: “Dante...”

It speaks. Prior to reaching at this point, you had your special arm tucked away on your belt, fighting the demons alongside Dante with nothing but a revolver. It wasn’t meant to show off, but to save as much of your energy as possible, not wishing to underestimate this powerful evil. Now that you were there, it was time. You remove the silver cylinder from your belt and lay it horizontally on the palm of your hand. By your will, it begins to glow and in and instant, it expands to a long staff. Across the surface were runic patterns of white and gold atop the silver that emitted a faint glow of energy. To grab a good feel for it once again, you twirled the staff in your hands, each spin releasing a burst of light.

The demon king moved again, this time facing you. It was hard to get a read of his expression, but you assumed that he did not like your presence one bit. Afterall, you were the last and he speaks that with venom in every syllable.

Demon King: “Nephilim.”

The last of a kind that the demons have feared and hated the most.

[daemongal]

The greatest gift

V x reader, angst, SFW.

T.W. mention of thoughts of suicide.

For some reason I have decided to celebrate V's special day with this. Hope you enjoy my first attempt at writing angst :)

___________

Today was V's birthday, and the anniversary of the day you met the tattooed man, a day you would never forget.

You had found him shambling around looking lost and disjointed, completely stark naked. You can’t really remember what went through your mind at that moment. Normally you’d stay as far away as possible from weird men, especially those who were happy enough to put themselves on display, but you remember feeling an intense desire to protect him, the moment you laid eyes on him; a feeling skin to how a mother feels the first time they hold their child in their arms.

You gave him your coat to cover his modesty and established that his name was V. You remember how taken aback he was at your generosity when you welcomed him into your home and how confused he was at your concern for his wellbeing. You fed him, worried that he hadn’t eaten in days considering how frail his body looked. He would always tell you that he was fine, and that his body was just weak.

When everything started going to hell, he was there at your side, protecting you with every ounce of his being. You would tell him repeatedly how strong he was, how brave he was but a look of guilt seemed to forever linger in his eyes. You took refuge with him at the Devil May Cry which remained vacant in a somewhat safer part of town, after its proprietor had fallen at the hands of the Demon King. V told you to leave, to evacuate from the town and stay away, but you couldn’t leave him. You knew you couldn’t protect him, but you still wanted to be there for him. He said you gave him strength, the strength to keep fighting.

He would leave in the mornings, scouting for any survivors, returning just after sunset each day with supplies and stories of his exploits. You would listen to him talk for hours, savouring every note of his voice. Each night you would retreat to bed and hold each other so tight that not even the splitting of the earth could separate you.

It was love, of that much you were sure. You still remember the look of pure disbelief on his face when you told him the first time. He told you he was undeserving, that your love was too good for him, that he was a weak and futile being that could never give you the happiness you truly deserved.

“If only he knew how wrong he was” you thought. You smiled to yourself, pulling yourself out of your daydream as you pressed the buzzer on the bus, signalling it to stop. You stepped down the ramp that had been lowered for you, flashing a smile at the bus driver as you left. You knew you had a bit of a walk to your destination, buses tended to just stick to the main roads these days, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed the memories attached to these tracks.

You knew back then he had secrets, but you told him time and time again that his secrets were his and his alone and that you knew him well enough that anything he kept from you would be for your protection.

You sighed as you walked further up the track. You knew nothing would have changed if you had known, if he had told you the truth. His determination and drive were the features that drew you to him, and you knew nothing would have changed his goal or the outcome. Redgrave was slowly recovering from its loss, and you had a family now. It was chaotic and messy, but Kyrie’s cooking was second to none and Nero was like the brother you never had.

You hadn’t been to visit V in a while, a guilty pang hit your chest at the thought, but your life had become busy as of late and you knew he would understand. You smiled as you were nearing the house on the hill; his family home.

You knew there was something wrong that morning. He had woken you up earlier than usual, a darkness and passion in his eyes deeper than you had ever seen before. You had made love with unrivalled intensity as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, and etched his very presence onto your soul. He told you he would be back by nightfall, as he always was. You didn’t believe him, yet there you stood, at the door giving him his kiss goodbye, waving him off as you always did. The tears began to fall soon after. You remember the door opening that night and the elation you felt. When Nero stepped through the door, bloodied and bruised avoiding any and all eye contact, you dropped to the floor, legs no longer able to bear the despair you felt.

You took a deep breath as you stood at your destination. You put the breaks on the stroller and reached for the flowers resting against the hood. You had decided on white lilies, soft and gentle much like his heart. You placed them on the memorial as you dusted the headstone with your hand, removing any debris. You gently lifted your daughter out of their seat and held her.

“Hey V.” You started, taking a deep breath to still your words. “Sorry it’s been a while, I’ve been pretty preoccupied.” You gazed lovingly towards your daughter. “Isn’t she incredible darling. Born of our love. Your legacy.” You pressed a kiss to her soft head to calm your shaking breath. You promised that you would always be strong for him, and that wasn’t going to change.

“She has your eyes. The nurses said they’d never seen a new born like her; lily white hair and eyes that looked like they’d seen the world five times over. Nero's enamoured with her. Calls himself Uncle Nero, he’s even stopped swearing, said he doesn’t want to be a bad influence, I know, you’d have to see it to believe it. Nico's determined that her first words are going to be dead weight.” You laughed quietly to yourself, fighting back the heat rising in your face and the stinging in the corners of your eyes.

“Still no sign of Dante returning, or Nero's old man. I hope they’re both ok. I’d like to meet him sometime, Virgil that is. Tell him how lucky he is to have such a great son. I don’t think it’ll be long before little Eva has herself a cousin. I’ve seen the way Kyrie looks at him when he holds her.” She held your index finger tightly in her hand as you spoke.

“Oh yeah, I hope you don’t mind, I named her after your mother. You were always at your happiest when you spoke about your childhood and I wanted to picture that smile whenever I looked at her.” You paused for a moment to gather your thoughts .

“I’m so sorry that you weren’t here to... to hold her with... me...” your vision blurred as you felt a familiar warmth on your cheeks, as the tears began to pour from your eyes against your control. Your arms shook as you placed Eva back in her seat and collapsed to your knees, hands against your face, throat burning from fighting back the tears and chest heaving with every intake of breath.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t do this! I never wanted you to see me like this. I needed to be strong for you V, I was your strength, I was your reason to keep fighting. I’ve needed you so much these past few months, I’ve fought so hard. I’ve struggled so much. Every time I look at her, I see you. If it wasn’t for her I... I... probably wouldn’t even be here.” You were sobbing uncontrollably, spilling your heart out, everything you wanted to hide and conceal behind a facade. But you were breaking, you couldn’t keep it up any more.

“I was ready to join you V, oh so ready. And then I found out, I had a life inside of me; a life that we created together. Even though you’re not here, every part of you that has been left behind is keeping me going, keeping me alive, protecting me. Someone weak couldn’t do that, someone weak couldn’t create such beauty.” The tears eased as you glanced towards your daughters peaceful face. You wiped your eyes, the tears stilling for long enough for you to regain some of your composure.

“Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a heaven in hells despair.” You read the words engraved into the headstone in front of you, tracing them with your fingers as you did. “I spent many a long night reading your book. The only peace I could find was in its pages. I read this one from the hospital bed the night I found out about our treasure and nothing has ever resonated with me more.”

You shared a few moments of silence, before a familiar gurgling began from behind you. You chuckled as you stood up. “For someone who used to struggle to clear a plate of food, you sure made one hungry baby.” You lifted her and cradled her against your breast. “Thank you , V. You’ve given me the greatest gift I could have imagined. How something so pure could have been born from a hell so grim, only you could have done this.” You looked down the hill to see the familiar van waiting. Nico knew you were coming today and offered to pick you up on her way back home, knowing you’d probably not want to face public transport.

“Looks like my ride is here. Nico's always on time now, and her driving has never been better. She realised her driving was not child safe in the slightest. How I made it to the hospital in one piece when I went into labour I'll never know. I don’t know who was freaking out more, her or Nero!” You smiled at the happy memories. You had so many of them now, and it was all possible because of him.

“Happy birthday, V. I’ll make sure she knows who her father was and how incredible he was.” You placed Eva back in the stroller as she gives you a content gargle.

“I’ll make you proud V. I’ll do it for the both of us... I love you.”

___________

A/N: I decided to go with a scenario where you were never told about what really happened in the Qliphoth. As far as you were aware, he died at the hands of Urizen (just in case anyone cared enough to wonder haha). Also, for the purpose of this fic, Devil May Cry is located in Redgrave, just seemed like a good place to stow away in my mind.

I'm sorry ;_;

[oneshotsinlife]

I Will Always Be With You Chapter 8: Dog

Severus looked at the child who was shyly trying to bury himself on his chest "Lupin… is not the best moment… we will talk… just not now" Severus was terrified, but he understood the sense of responsibility that the wolf felt towards his son, he was not the only one to lose someone during that terrible day.

"I will contact you when we are ready" he nodded briefly at his own statement, Lupin had this understanding look on his eyes "is Harry ok?" the wolf asked as if it was the most important matter in the world "he could be better but yes, he will be fine" after that they headed to Hagrid's hut, after all the wolf seemed to have finished and the half-giant would cheer even the darkest days.

Father and son walked down the path during which Harry shyly declared that he wanted to walk by himself, like the first time they walked through the gardens in Hogwarts, Severus smiled at the boy and let him explore, well, all the exploring that looking around while tightly holding Severus' hand would let him, not because Severus didn't let him go by himself, but because Harry was too insecure to not be holding Severus all the time.

Once they were in front of the small house Severus knocked twice on the heavy wooden door and Hagrid was heard inside, they waited for a couple of seconds before the door was opened "Professor Snape! So good to see yah, I thought yah were Remus" Hagrid said without noticing the little boy that was now hiding behind his father.

"I just wanted to introduce you to someone very special" he said gently pushing Harry in front of him "Harry, may I introduce you to Hogwarts ground keeper Hagrid, he looks really big but he is the most loving person in this castle" Harry tried to be brave and, without taking his hands out of his father and his bunny Dante said a small "nice to meet you." Hagrid looked like he was about to cry, he had been waiting for little Harry to come to Hogwarts from the day he left him at his aunt's care "it's very nice to meet yah too 'arry, please, come in, I'll prepare tea" Severus smiled down to his boy, squishing his hand in an encoring gesture.

They sat at the table with warm tea in front of them "not that I'm gonna complain, but how's little 'arry 'ere?" Hagrid asked while petting Fang who may have smelled Harry's wariness because he hadn't done anything that could have potentially scare the little boy. "I adopted Harry yesterday, I went to the Dursley residence yesterday to see for myself if Harry was treated well, once it was obvious that the Dursley are not suitable guardians, I took him" Severus explained leaving out the dreams of Lily and James.

Hagrid smiled sadly, hearing that such a sweet boy was in a bad household was saddening but he recovered quickly, 'Severus Snape with a child, well, that will be interesting' he thought while trying to understand why everyone thought about Severus as an evil man, he has committed mistakes but the fact that Harry could trust him made all of the difference in Hagrid's book, not that he thought that he was a bad person from the start, he knew Severus, the real Severus.

They spent quite some time on Hagrid's hut having a nice daily conversation while Harry got used to fang and started to pet him slowly, the big dog let him take his time and when he felt the child calmed enough he licked his face playfully, Harry froze for a second before he started to laugh hysterically. The adults stopped talking to watch the little boy play with the huge dog, after a while, the little one got tired and ran back to his dad's arms.

"It was a pleasure Hagrid, we will come back soon," Severus said while picking Harry up "yea, of course, come right in whenever yah want" little Harry waved goodbye to the half-giant and his dog sleepily.

Once back at their quarters Severus needed to have a small talk with his son about a certain wolf that walked around Hogwarts, he sat the little boy in the sofa and sat on the armchair to its right, he needed to keep his emotions on check, so he wouldn't worry his little one.

"Harry… Mr. Lupin would like to meet you" he saw his son's worried face "you have nothing to fear little one, neither for my sake nor yours, Remus Lupin was your parent friend and I don't want you to miss on a gentle figure to look up to because of my fears, which I am sure will fade away as soon as I am able to talk to Mr. Lupin about the incident" by the end of his speech Harry had climbed out of the sofa and gotten with him in the armchair breaking the serious atmosphere. "You are not leaving me, right dad? If I go with Mr. Lupin, right?" Severus hugged his little boy "of course not brat, you are stuck with me forever" Severus smiled slightly and kissed the boys forehead "then I will talk with him… can I sleep now, dad?" Severus nodded and carried his little one to his bed for a nap, after all, it had been a long day.

While Harry slept Severus floo called the wolf, maybe welcoming him to his home the very first time they properly talked wasn't a good idea, but he needed to get over his traumas as soon as possible so his son could enjoy the presence of the other man.

Once Remus was in the room he sat on the armchair opposite to Severus' "I really appreciate what you are doing Severus, I understand that is hard to invite someone like me into your house, especially after what I did to you… I am sorry for that day, and let me tell you I didn't know that Sirius had talked to you… he wasn't supposed to tell anyone… I am not trying to-."

Severus cut Remus rumbling with a gentle hand gesture "I… it's fine… really, and about not accepting people 'like you' into my house… you are not like Fenrir, you know that, right? If you are here is because I trust you enough to be near my son, Lily trusted you to do so, and Dumbledore does too… so may as well do so too" Severus took a deep breath trying to calm the panic inside him before talking again "Harry wants to talk to you and I want you to be there for him, tell him about James because my memories of him are not the best… I was not in a good place when I started Hogwarts and every memory of that time, except for Lily, is long buried in my mind…" he didn't want to get into too much detail, just enough so Remus would understand.

Remus was about to cry, Severus was letting him have time with the only person left for him, even about what he had done to the man, he had been years without any news from Harry, nothing at all, it was hard sometimes. "you said he was ok… what happened to him, Severus?" he asked not lifting his head "the psychological abuse is the worst of it… it's the hardest to overcome and heal… but he is a strong kid… he will be fine, he needs us, but he will be fine" Severus seemed to be reassuring himself more than reassuring his guest, in another gesture of trust he stood up and went to the kitchen, showing Remus how willing was to let him slither into his life slowly, once he came back he poured the tea and handled one to Remus, noticing that he had way more scars that when they were children "are you drinking wolfbane?" at Remus' shake of the head he nodded, he didn't need to ask why, the wolf's clothes and his skinny figure talked by themselves "I will start brewing the potion, don't worry, you'll not have painful transformations anymore" the broke Remus completely, he started crying.

[jjkmagic]

Welcome Home - SpardaWeek Day1

Title: Home

Pairing: V/Nero Rating: T

Word Count: 1750 Summary: He didn't know how he was alive or why, only that he was... and that there was someone somewhere he wanted to return to. Tags: Fix it, Fluff, First Kiss A/N: Written for SpardaWeek on Twitter. Can also be read on AO3.

Welcome Home

The sunlight was awfully bright against his eyes. It was what tempted him to open them blearily, looking around, his mind blank. Who...? What? Sensation returned to him first: his limbs stiff, his eyes burning even after blinking several times. Then came the memories, a flood of them: muddled, incoherent, illogical, and V, now aware of himself, looked around once more. He was sure he shouldn't be able to do so. He was sure he shouldn't be at all. How long- "How long have I..." ‘About a day, Shakespeare.’ V's eyes widened at the voice in his head, looking down at dark marks on his skin. "You are here, too?" ‘We sure are, complete and everything!’ "How?" ‘No freaking clue.’ As expected then. Where had they come from? This wasn’t even anywhere near to where the Qliphoth had been. Had the Qliphoth been dealt with? He had to assume so. Their surroundings looked perfectly normal so the worlds had obviously not been merged. But most importantly- "Where are we?" ‘Not Redgrave, that's for sure. But another city you might just find familiar.’ The latter was said in an almost teasing tone that had V confused for all but a moment. Fortuna? How had they gotten here? At any rate, that at least made it clear where to go to get answers.

His heart, freshly reborn with the rest of him, picked up at the thought, but there were more pressing matters and no time to pay that any mind. He reached around instinctively until his hand landed on the familiar form of his cane. V didn't question it, at this point there was just no use in doing so, and used it to help him to his feet.

They were surprisingly stable, his whole body feeling light and capable apart from a few stiff joints. "Well, I guess we better get going then."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

V looked upon the building for a long time, unmoving.

He wasn't hesitating so much as he was simply caught off-guard by the feelings that overcame him at the sight of it.

He had been here but a few times during the month after their initial encounter with Urizen, and only when his exhaustion and injuries had grown too severe to ignore. Yet it seemed like what little time he had spent here had been enough for him to consider this as something much more than a mere place for rest.

He had come home his mind seemed to tell him.

As ludicrous as that notion was, he couldn't stop the warm feeling trying to swallow him whole, every fiber of his being yearning to walk through these doors once more, to rest, to simply be. ‘You gonna go in, Shakespeare? Or did you just discover your calling as a human pillar?’ V couldn't help the smirk on his lips even as he was being mocked. Griffon was right, after all: no use in standing here all day when what he desired was so close. He who desires but act not... The door was open as he tried the handle, as it always was, swinging open before him as it would for anyone who sought help or a place of rest.

It was a risk for those who offered it, but oh so welcomed by those in need.

There wasn't much V needed right now, he thought, as his eyes fell upon the man in the hallway, silver-haired and restless, and apparently in the middle of fighting a losing battle against his own shoes.

V watched him give up on trying to slip into them and pull them on properly instead, with two human hands. Wasn't that something? "Sorry about that, did you need anyt-" The question was voiced as the man was still leaning over, dying off the moment he rose and saw just who had entered his home. There wasn't much V could say, and probably so much he should. "I'm back," he said instead, something so simple and yet somehow managing to encompass his feelings in all but three words. Nero stared at him, blue eyes wide and uncomprehending. V could see the questions in them, how and why, and a myriad more. V recognized them because he asked himself the same. Like himself, Nero settled for asking none of them, instead smiling softly, welcoming. "Welcome home," he said, and V was embarrassed at the stutter of his own heart at hearing such simple words in return. There truly was beauty in simplicity. Nero walked up to him slowly, carefully, as if afraid the apparition in front of him might vanish with the smallest disturbance of air. He looked all over V, and the man had to fight to stay still and not avert his gaze at the scrutiny. Nero's lips parted wordlessly and his hands tensed before suddenly reaching into his jacket. V could only look on in puzzlement as Nero apparently struggled for a moment before his hands returned with a bound book held between them. "I guess that's yours," he said, apparently nonchalant and yet seeming somewhat embarrassed. V's own eyes were wide, but he recovered quickly before accepting the book, reverent hands running over a familiar cover. "You had this with you? All this time?" Nero shrugged, failing at appearing nonchalant once more thanks to the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks. "What else was I supposed to do?" he asked, not expecting an answer, "You were gone." As he still should be, but wasn't. "V." His name was statement and request both, and V could do naught but look at the man who had uttered it. There was no response, nothing to be said that wasn't conveyed by their eyes alone. "Nero." There was tension between them, always had been, but it was almost palpable now, on the cusp of breaking.

This time, though, there was no demon invasion to take precedence. In the end it wasn't clear who moved first, maybe they both did. It didn't matter when Nero's lips found his, warm, slightly chapped and perfect. V pressed in close, not sure if the soft sound of urgency was his or Nero's, but it didn't matter. Nothing did. Nero's arms wrapped around his neck, clinging onto the back of his head. V moved to mirror the gesture, circling his arms around Nero's waist, book all but forgotten for the moment as was the soft clunk as it dropped to the floor.

In the end it had survived much worse than this, but V still felt bad. Later anyway, when things apart from Nero, his warmth, his lips, his body against V's, started mattering again. Right now they didn't as V broke the kiss to nuzzle against Nero, wanting to do both but failing, pressing ever closer instead. Doing anything to satisfy those feelings threatening to overwhelm him. Closer, closer, his mind urged him, but there was no more space between them. He raised a hand to cup Nero's face, marveling at his smooth skin, the soft tickle of hair at his neck, and pressed his forehead to his. "Nero," he breathed once more without reason, just because he felt he had to, receiving nothing but a soft, needy sound that Nero would deny until the end of days in return. When V looked down upon him he saw Nero's eyes closed in bliss, his hands still holding on tight, and the sight diminished all trace of reservation still left in V. V nipped at that full bottom lip once, earning another soft sound, before running his tongue across the seam in-between. Nero's lips parted at once, allowing him entry, and V took full advantage. His tongue sinking into that hot wetness felt like heaven, and when Nero's tongue pressed up against his he groaned low and deep. It felt like perfection, felt like coming home. It ended all too soon when the need to breathe arose, and V pressed one last kiss to Nero's lips before withdrawing completely. Nero's eyes opened, lips swollen and wet with saliva and his face redder than V had ever seen it. He looked absolutely stunning. "That's new," Nero mused, eyes wide and sparkling as he looked up at him. "What is?" V asked, an amused smile on his face, too happy to bother hiding it. "I never noticed before. You're taller than me," Nero said seemingly remembering something the next moment, "That explains why it's such a bitch to carry you. You're not heavy, you're just tall as fuck." And V laughed, couldn't help it, though the sound was foreign even to his own ears. It was just such a Nero thing to say. "Is that a problem?" he asked once his amusement had died down to a smile again. "Nah," Nero grinned, "just unusual." It took another moment before either of them had the presence of mind to disentangle, two pair of arms clearly hesitant to let go.

Once they did V bent down to pick up his book gingerly, fingers brushing imaginary dust off the cover. "Where is Dante?" Nero asked, making V pause. And here he had hoped Nero could answer that question. "Is he not back yet?"  He had no idea where the devil hunter was. Honestly he had no idea where his "original" was either, or even how much time had passed. All he had was the faintest feeling that he was there while all trace of Urizen was gone. A mystery for another day he figured.

"Then I am sure he will be soon," V said, not knowing where that certainty came from, nor if he actually believed it. Nero sighed.

"I guess..." He looked at V, and the remaining pink on his cheeks did nothing to alleviate the sudden severity in his gaze. "You're going to stay though, right?" V couldn't help it, like he couldn't help so many things around the younger man: his expression softened, touched by the other's worry, despite it being unfounded. "I have nowhere else to go," he said simply. And wasn't that the truth? Nero's expression brightened again, a small, almost bashful smile replacing the worry. "Good," he said before backpedaling at the implication, "I mean! You know..." V could only smile, growing used to the temptation to do so, and not minding in the slightest. "I understand what you mean." "Good. Well then. I guess I said so before but I'll say it again," he announced and his smile was almost blindingly bright.

"Welcome home, V."

If you liked it, please like and/or reblog, and feel free to yell at me via asks or messages if you feel like it^^

[heartlandhq]

❝ i am trying to write a poem in which i am neither a monster nor a martyr. ❞

INFORMATION,

full name ⋯ Mateo Álvarez / Matthew Beckett age ⋯ 19 years old pronouns ⋯ He/Him/His origin ⋯ St. Edward, Nebraska affiliation ⋯ None position ⋯ Independent

SURVIVABILITY,

advantages ⋯ athletic & resourceful disadvantages ⋯ reclusive & erratic preferred weapon ⋯ crossbow & machete

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warning ⋯ alcoholism, domestic abuse, child abuse, murder, suicide, death

BEFORE DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

mateo thinks even his family must have been happy once upon a time. dante and marlene álvarez were young when they had mateo –– barely in their twenties, the pair made a handsome couple, and along with little mateo, they made a picture-perfect family.

but as little mateo grew, so did his father’s love for alcohol. wine at dinner with friends, turned to beer in the afternoon with the guys, to any bottle closest to hand at any time in the day. there must have been a time when his father had been gentle, loving, kind, but mateo only knew a stern man, cruel and quick to anger.

dante hit his wife often, over the smallest of disagreements, and if mateo tried to stand up for his mother, the belt was turned on him. it’s okay, marlene would say as she tucked mateo in, your father is only doing what’s best for me. his mother’s words always left a bad taste in his mouth, and even at a tender six years of age, mateo was more worried than reassured.

despite the insidious going-ons in the house, dante and marlene álvarez could do no wrong in the eyes of their small town. everyone was deeply religious, and the álvarez family would show up to church in their sunday best, marlene’s bruises hidden underneath layers of make up and dante’s anger lurking just beneath the surface of his easy smile, unseen to all except those who knew to look for it. and it seemed that mateo was the only one who saw his father for the monster he actually was, but he was a good boy, and when his mother told him to let it go and just smile, that was exactly what he did.

it all came to head when mateo was nine. his parents were fighting in the kitchen, and for the longest time, mateo could only watch, frozen in fear. oh my god, he’s going to kill her, he had thought. when dante picked up the knife, mateo knew he had to do something. he moved without even thinking about it, and then suddenly his father was in a crumpled heap on their kitchen tiles, and mateo stood over him with his baseball bat in his hands.

blood was pooling at his feet, and mateo didn’t need to check his father’s pulse to know that he was dead; the unnatural way that dante’s skull had caved in said it all. when he finally tore his gaze from his father’s dead body, he found his mother, staring at him in horror. mama, he called, dropping the bat and ignoring the way the blood splashed onto his bare feet. the sound of his voice was enough to pull marlene from her shock. the devil, she screamed, you are the devil.

and then mateo could only watch as his mother picked up the knife from where it had fallen from dante’s grasp as he fell, the scream seizing in his throat as marlene stabbed herself, over and over and over again. and then there was one. marlene’s blood mixed with dante’s at mateo’s feet, and even as the woman stilled, the anguish on her face lingered. someone must have called the police, because soon he felt himself being scooped up into a pair of strong arms and led away.

it’s okay, the man whispered to him repeatedly, it’s going to be okay. the man’s words would finally register with him much later, but in that moment, all he could hear were his mother’s last words, the terror in her eyes as she looked at him. his mother had a husband who routinely beat her, but she was never afraid of him. no, marlene álvarez died in fear of her own son.

a case of murder-suicide, the police determined. tragic, certainly, but not unheard of. the community was shaken. dante and marlene had been loved by all and had seemed happy, for all intents and purposes. they just couldn’t believe that they had been wrong about the young couple, and so they sought other explanations. the child is cursed, they decided, touched by the devil.

if mateo had thought that his father’s death meant the end of his nightmare, then he was wrong. it only got worse. the entire town seemed to be afraid of him, whispers following everywhere he went. even the nuns at the orphanage he was brought to seemed to cower in his presence, unable to meet his gaze. when the night terrors had him jolting out of bed at night, throat raw from all the screaming, no one came running. he tried to pray at first, his mother’s rosary clutched to his chest, but it seemed that even god himself had turned his back on mateo.

eventually, he stopped trying. his family, his community, his faith –– they had all abandoned him, and mateo learned the hard way that the only person he could truly count on was himself. he was surprised when he was told that he had a visitor, and then confused when he didn’t recognise the man who waited for him in the small chapel. but then the man spoke, and mateo remembered the only person who had held him ever since that night.

anthony beckett was the only man who had offered mateo any comfort in the wake of the tragedy, but mateo was angry still. it’s okay, anthony had said as he whisked mateo away from his parents’ bodies, but there was absolutely nothing about his life that was okay. and he was mad that anthony thought he could waltz back into mateo’s life after a year of radio silence like nothing was wrong, like he wasn’t as bad as the rest of them. and then he learned that anthony had disappeared to get a fostering licence, and even though the anger still simmered – a constant itch under his skin – anthony had offered him a way out of this hell and he was eager to take it.

they moved to omaha, nebraska, where mateo got a fresh start as matthew beckett. the first few years were hard, and mateo remained distant and closed off despite anthony’s best efforts. but anthony’s patience paid off, and over time he managed to gain mateo’s trust. he became the father that mateo never had, and when he noticed that sundays were the hardest for mateo, he started arranging his shifts at the police station so that he could have sunday mornings off. the pair would then spend their time at the park, playing a variety of sports.

things were looking up, but they weren’t always great. mateo still woke up screaming in the middle of the night, and on other nights the trauma would keep him from even falling asleep in the first place. but like he had been taught when young, his problems at home were carefully hidden away from the outside world. mateo matthew was a popular kid at school, got good grades and was captain of the lacrosse team. charming and easy-going, he seemed like an open book, and no one ever suspected that he might have anything to hide. his dark past remained a closely guarded secret.

AFTER DECEMBER 25th, 2017,

mateo got a lacrosse scholarship to the university of maryland, college park, where he decided to study criminology. although he seemed to have a gilded tongue with everyone else, simple words alone weren’t enough for him to express the extent of his gratitude towards anthony. he had decided to major in criminology with hopes of joining the police force one day, and when anthony found out, the pride in his eyes let mateo know that the man he had come to see as his father understood what mateo was trying to tell him.

he had been back in omaha for christmas break when all hell seemed to break loose. it started when their elderly neighbour wandered onto their front lawn, blood on her nightgown and around her mouth. anthony had always been something of a bleeding heart – the fact that he took mateo in was proof of that – and he was about to open the door to ask if she was alright. mateo knew better though. he knew anthony wouldn’t listen to him to leave it alone, so the moment his foster father stood up, mateo bounded up the stairs to grab the man’s shotgun. the elderly mrs smith made a lunge for anthony the moment their front door started to swing open, but she hadn’t counted on mateo shooting her right in the head from his bedroom window.

rattled, they went into lockdown mode. the downstairs windows were boarded up, and when anthony was asleep, mateo snuck into mrs smith’s house to steal all the non-perishable foods that she had before other looters arrived. they sat in front of the television, day after day, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening. there was something going on, but the nation’s leaders seemed more keen on false promises than the truth. mateo had a sneaking suspicion about the pandemic, but it seemed too far-fetched, too crazy to be uttered aloud. but then a local radio station mentioned the zombie apocalypse, and mateo knew that there was no running from the truth any longer.

not too long after that, the internet stopped working. then the tv, then the radio, then cell service died as well. this was something completely beyond them. mateo knew that they were out of their depth, and the survivor in him knew that it would be in their best interests to stay out of trouble and start hunkering down. but anthony was a noble man, protective of his people. he had gotten over his initial shock after almost being attacked by the zombified mrs smith, and now that the town had erupted into chaos, the hero in him would not let him simply hide away when there was pandemonium on the streets and people in need of protection.

if anthony was going to be out on the streets, then mateo wanted to be there as well. but anthony convinced him that at least one of them had to hold down the fort. as terrible as it was to admit, the undead weren’t the only things they had to worry about. people could be driven to do terrible things when they were afraid, and nobody in town was anything short of terrified. mateo agreed to stay behind on the condition that they would switch roles every day, and that anthony would be the one staying home the next day. they shook on it, and the next ten hours he spent sitting by his bedroom window with his shotgun were filled with nothing but dread and anxiety. it wasn’t until anthony was home safe that mateo could breathe easier.

they settled into a routine. there were camps that were starting to form around town, and they would take turn scouring the streets for survivors and escorting them to a community of their choice. mateo knew that given a choice, anthony would have joined one of those survivor camps. he never said anything about it, but mateo knew that the man was holding back because of him. it had taken mateo years to learn to trust anthony, and the man had saved him from a terrible childhood. even though for anthony’s sake he wished he could have been okay with the thought of joining a camp, it didn’t change the fact that the idea of putting his safety into other people’s hands made his skin crawl.

valentine’s day, his foster father came home, apology written all over his expression. mateo had reached out, pulled away the bandages on anthony’s shoulder to reveal a bite mark. there was no surprise, only horror and anguish. there were tears and apologies; anthony felt like he had let mateo down, he’d been so busy trying to protect everyone else even at the cost of his life that he hadn’t given much thought to what it might do to mateo to lose him. mateo wondered if this would not have happened had they joined a camp like he knew anthony wanted to.

anthony’s hand shook as he removed his glock from its holster, and then mateo’s hands were on his, steady as he took the gun away. you deserve heaven, was the only explanation mateo offered, the sadness in his eyes belying the nonchalance of his actions as he held the gun to his father’s head. so do you, anthony pointed out, but he seemed less scared now that his fate was in someone else’s hands –– and maybe it made him the worst of cowards, to put such a heavy responsibility on the boy he loved like his own flesh and blood, but he was only human.

mateo only shrugged, i killed my father once, i can do it again–– it was the first time in an entire decade that he’d said anything about that fateful night of his parents’ death, and despite the confession, anthony’s expression remained even and unafraid, as if he had known mateo’s hidden truth all along. it was all the absolution mateo needed, and then he pulled the trigger.

mateo functioned almost completely on auto-pilot after that, burying anthony in their backyard as dusk fell. there were no tears. once that was done, he grabbed a hiking backpack, methodically filling it with all the food, medical supplies, and weapons that he could carry. it was too dark to leave, so he settled in for the night. sleep refused to come, and when dawn broke, mateo had already doused the entire house in gasoline. he watched from the street as his home was swallowed by flames, taking a moment to mourn for all he had lost and then slipped away before the inferno attracted too many of the undead.

mateo maintained friendly relations with the survivors in the various camps, occasionally helping to transport supplies between them. he knew that he looked unassuming and used that to his advantage, convincing people that he wasn’t a threat. most people didn’t question how he managed to stay alive on his own if he really was as harmless as he tended to portray himself, and if they did, divulging the fact that his father had been a police officer tended to sate people’s curiosity. he watched as survivors regarded each other warily, cautious and untrusting even as they offered support. despite himself, mateo felt a sort of sick satisfaction at that. welcome to my life, he thought bitterly.

in the end, mateo was alone again.

CENSUS,

faceclaim ⋯ Froy Gutierrez played by ⋯ Honey

[distant-rose-archive-blog]

I know this is scaling back your series like thirteen? (Christ Harrison is like thirteen now. Omfg) years but I really want to know how Emma and Killian found out about the first baby pirate Harrison (captain of the crew?)

Hi there! I’m so sorry that you waited so long for this. Unfortunately, I’m just a slow worker. With that being said, I don’t mind scaling back. I don’t write them chronologically. (I should perhaps write a timeline on when each story is taking place though.) 

In regards to Harrison being the captain of the crew? He’s more the quartermaster than the captain. Beth is more the captain since she can manipulate people to do her bidding the best. Quartermasters were vessel navigators; pirate quartermasters were elected by the crew and ranked higher than any officer except captain. Harrison is more of a guider than a demander, so I see him as a navigational guy. (I put way too much thought into this. Ignore me.)

Anyway, getting all that out of the way. Killian finding out about Harrison is a very angsty story. If you wanted a happy pregnancy reveal story, you picked the wrong kid. Like Harrison’s origin story is kinda horrible. This takes place three months after the finale. Please note that this angst-ridden ridiculousness has a lot of disturbing themes including child death and abortion. However, I mean this is at the way beginning. Like arguably this is the beginning of the Little Pirates timeline, so as angsty as this is, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Anyway, this is 4,100+ words of Killian discovering Emma is pregnant with Harrison.

There were some days when the good guys won but not everyone got a happy ending. Those were the hardest for Emma, who had been prophesied since birth to be the Savior, and had been told it was her duty to save everyone and bring back the happy endings. Today was one of those days.

For once the tragedy of the day wasn’t because magic or anything fairytale related at all, but a tragic tale of a broken family where one unhinged father discovered he wasn’t a father at all and decided the best course of action was to hunt down his wife and her children.

Killian had shot the husband when he had turned his weapon on Emma, saving ten-year old Ana Maria and eight-year old Dante but they couldn’t save the wife nor her six-year old son Oscar. The wife had been found shot in the back of the head in the residence. He and Emma had arrived too late for Oscar who had been suffering from a gunshot wound to the stomach. Emma sat with the boy as they had called for an ambulance, holding her hand against the wound in hopes of stopping the flow despite the blood pouring out between her fingers and pooling onto her jeans. She had held him close, whispering how it was going to be okay despite the fact that both Killian and Emma knew it was far from okay. Oscar had died before the paramedics had arrived and Emma had cradled his body close to hers, running her hands through his dark hair and tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

Killian had known that there was nothing he could do or say to make it better. He had felt this in his bones. He had tried to comfort her in a physical way, reaching for her hand and trying to put an arm around her shoulders. She had shrugged off both attempts so Killian let her be. David, who helped answer the call with them since they were having dinner together at Emma’s parents’ place, hadn’t gotten the memo, trying to tell Emma it wasn’t her fault or how “no team bats a thousand” - whatever the bloody hell that meant. Emma had just nodded absently in response, blood still covering her hands and mascara leaving trails under her eyes; David’s words hadn’t even penetrated the surface. She was lost somewhere dark in her head, beyond their reach.

When they arrived home, Emma immediately went upstairs and straight into the bathroom. Killian tried to follow her but she locked the door behind her. The locked door between them felt to Killian almost like a physical punch. He understood why she did it, that she needed a moment to herself after such a trying day, but Killian could not help wondering if locked doors this early into their marriage was a bad omen. Through the door, Killian heard his wife turn on the shower. While he knew she was probably rubbing her skin raw to clean away Oscar’s blood, he wondered if she had decided on the shower to cover up the fact she was finally breaking down about Oscar’s death.

Killian sighed, rubbing his palm over his eyes for a moment before stepping away from the door and heading back downstairs. He was no use to anyone, especially Emma, just standing outside their bathroom. He immediately went into the kitchen, coming to the firm decision that making hot chocolate would be the best course of action. It wouldn’t change things and it wouldn’t bring Oscar back, but he hoped it would help somewhat calm her turbulent emotions.

To help pass the time, Killian had decided to make real hot chocolate instead of the powdered instant that Emma seemed to prefer. Not long after Killian had moved into the house, Henry had gone off on a tangent him about the merits of “real hot chocolate” made by saucer with “actual milk” rather than microwaved water and packet. In a fit of desperation to get Emma’s boy to like him more, Killian had asked Snow to teach him to create the confection. (Little had he known this had entirely been the boy’s aim all along. “Mom, doesn’t even bother to try because she actually legit burns water when she even attempts to make pasta. The only thing she knows how to make is pancakes. So you were kinda my only hope, Obi-Wan.”)

It took him an extraordinary amount of time to make the hot chocolate due to the temperamental tendencies of their kitchen stove, but once he had finished making the drink and had added all the necessary embellishments (he had learned long ago that hot chocolate without whipped cream and cinnamon was a sin in this house), he was able to make his way back up the stairs.

The bathroom door was open by the time he had finished his ascent and he found his wife dressed in her pajamas and his black bathrobe which she had long since commandeered as her own, laying on top of their bed. Her blonde hair, still wet, laid around her like some sort of wild halo on their pillows. She was staring up at the ceiling with eyes, still red, and her hands resting on top of her stomach.

Killian watched her for a moment, leaning against the doorway while cradling the mug of hot chocolate in his hand. He looked her with a mixture of concern and anxiousness, waiting for her to speak but when she didn’t acknowledge his presence, he sighed.

“Swan, love, I brought you something…” His voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

Emma didn’t respond. She continued stare up at the ceiling and this time Killian noticed that the hands resting on her abdomen were shaking. He placed the mug down on the dresser closest to the door and ran his hand through his hair, wondering if he should call for reinforcements in the form of his mother-in-law and his stepson.

“Emma…”

“I should have saved him…” Emma whispered, her voice hoarse. It confirmed what Killian had already known; she had spent a great deal of time crying in his absence.

“Emma, you can’t do that to yourself, love…” Killian said as gently he could.

Once again, Emma didn’t respond and Killian could see her lips now trembling. He watched as her bottom teeth appeared and bit into her top lip for a moment, perhaps in a desperation attempt to keep her emotions lynch-pinned away.

“My magic,” she said quietly as if that explained everything. “I should have healed him. If my magic had been working, I would have been able to save him. Oscar would be alive right now, if my magic wasn’t so fucked up.”

Killian frowned deeply. He had nearly forgotten about Emma’s magic; it hadn’t even been on the radar in the horror show that was the night. However, he wasn’t even aware she was having issues with it. He tried extremely hard not to be irritated with her lack of communication with him on this behalf. It just felt like another thing that his wife didn’t trust him with. She didn’t trust him to comfort her after a trying situation and she didn’t trust him to tell him she was having trouble with her magic. Some husband he was.

“What’s going on with your magic, love?” Killian asked, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral.

This time Emma was visibly shaking with her entire body as if she was wracked with silent sobs, but he saw no tears leave her eyes, though they looked rather misty.

“Killian…” The way her voice sounded broke him. “Killian, I’m pregnant.”

When she said the words, Killian felt as if he had been separated from his body. Emma was still speaking, he could see her lips moving but he couldn’t hear her. It was as if the entire world had faded away in that moment and he was left in some sort of purgatory state that had no sound, smell, feel or taste.

He and Emma had a five second conversation on children before they had gotten married. Killian had made it clear that he would follow Emma’s lead on whatever she had wanted in that department; being married to her was more than enough for him and anything else was just bonus. Emma had decided that she wasn’t willing to make a decision on the subject until after they were married for a few years. “I want you all to myself before I make any decision on whether I want to share you with anyone else,” she had said. Killian had always assumed this was code for Emma did not want any more children and was too afraid to say so in case Killian had any urgings on the subject.

Killian had accepted the idea that he would never be a father. He had always expected that the Jones line would end with him. His lifestyle up until recently had not been conducive to siring and raising children, though he had briefly entertained the idea of raising Baelfire when Milah had been alive, though Bae had been beyond his formative years by then. And sure, he now had a stepson in Henry, but the boy was nearly grown, almost a man in his own right, and there was very little parenting to be done on Killian’s end.

However, at the same time, it wasn’t as if Killian had imagined what parenthood would be like for him. Occasionally a blonde haired, blue eyed little girl had flittered across his mind’s eye and he had thought on what it would be like to pick her up and have her snuggle against his chest or what it would be like to teach her to tie knots. Some of his occasional thoughts danced with the idea of having a little one to sit on his hip while he sailed the Jolly that he could whisper sailing lessons to. These had been nothing more than flights of fancy though and he had often banished them from his mind as quickly as they had been formed in his head because he had been certain that Emma did not want any more kids and dwelling on something that could never be was something he knew could result in great unhappiness.

Yet, here they were; three months married and apparently pregnant.

“Killian, please say something.”

Emma’s voice seemed to act like some sort of tether to reality and he was suddenly snapped back into his body where he was faced with a maelstrom of emotions he was by no means prepared to deal with. It seemed like every emotion that he had ever felt in his entire life had been pushed inside of him and he was ready to explode.

“Killian…”

The one of the most prominent emotions, and it nearly scared him how prominent it was, was a crowing primitive sense of male satisfaction that somehow hadn’t been fulfilled before (and the fact that it hadn’t been disturbed him on a many level.) It was a possessive essence that was thrilled with the concept that something that was his was now growing inside his wife and really enjoyed the idea of using the term ‘his’ on multiple levels. This child, unborn as it was, would tie them together in a way that could not be broken. Emma could divorce him at any time, but this child would always bind them.

“Killian…please…”

Aside from this absurd masculine pleasure, he also felt an intense amount of fear. Pan had once called him a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem and never had there been a painfully more accurate description in his life. Killian was more than aware that he was being held together by duct tape (an absurdly useful item Killian was coming to realize), sheer stubborn determination and Emma’s unwavering support. He could barely keep himself afloat as it was, how was he supposed to care for a child? With one hand? His hook wasn’t necessarily child friendly either. One thing became abundantly clear the more he thought about it - he was not at all equipped nor ready to handle a child.

“Killian…you’re scaring me…”

The next most emotion that seemed to possess him at the moment was anger and it surprised him how angry he was. Emma had known she was pregnant when they had received the call that there had been a shooting at the Hoya residence. She had known and had decided to respond to the call anyway, endangering both herself and the unborn child inside of her. A gun had been pointed at her head. He could have lost them both and he wouldn’t have even understood the magnitude of his loss. His babe had barely begun to exist and its life had already been threatened.

“KILLIAN!” Emma barked sharply.

He blinked in surprise, glancing over at her with a slightly startled expression. She looked annoyed; more like his wife who had a spine made of steel rather than the trembling mess she had been since they had taken Oscar’s body away.

“I literally have been talking for five minutes and you’ve literally been in zombie mode or something. Did you even hear a word that I said?” she asked between clenched teeth.

Killian bypassed the question for one of his own.

“How long have you known? How?” It was the first question that popped into his head that he knew didn’t have the immediate possibility of starting a fight.

“Only a couple of days,” she responded, eyes focused on hands resting on top of her still flat stomach. “My magic has been on the fritz for a few weeks so I went to talk to Regina on Sunday when I dropped off Henry and she had this crazy theory that I was pregnant and that my magic has to fight with the baby’s magic since I’m technically the host of both at the moment. She was so insistent that I wanted to prove her wrong. So, we got a test and I took it and it was positive…”the rabbit died” in her words. Whatever that means.”

“You took a test with Regina?” Killian could not help but feel irritation at that. This was his child, not Regina’s. Regina had known about the babe before he did. He knew he was being irrational, but it rubbed him raw. She had no business being involved in this.

“Yeah…” Emma rose her eyebrows at him as if silently asking if he was touched in the head.

“You took a test with Regina and found out you were pregnant on Sunday and it’s now Thursday, no, excuse me, it’s Friday morning and I’m now just finding out. Why didn’t you tell me?” He tried extremely hard not to seem demanding, but his growing anger with her crept in.

“Killian, I wanted to wrap my head around it. I wanted to understand exactly how I felt about it before adding your feelings to the mix,” she responded defensively.

This time he didn’t even bother to hide his ire.

“Well, I think it’s pretty clear how you feel about the child considering that you went in guns blazing into a hostile situation tonight and endangered both yourself and the baby in the process.” 

As words left his mouth, she looked at him like he crossed the room and slapped her. He watched a play of emotions dance across her face before she settled into what he could only describe as misguided indignation. She sat up on the bed, fingers twisted into the comforter as she stared him down.

“Killian Jones, don’t you dare use this pregnancy to take away my job from me. I will not be barefoot and pregnant the entirely of this marriage and if that’s what you’re looking for…then you need to leave.”

Killian’s jaw dropped and he sputtered angrily. Where the hell had that come from? He had been expressing his anger towards her careless endangerment of their unborn child and herself. No where in his line of question had he ever mentioned a determination to have Emma “barefoot and pregnant.”

“Gods above, where did you hear me say that nonsense? I never said you couldn’t do your job, Emma, and not once have I ever implied I was going to chain you to the house and fill your belly with babies. I didn’t even think you wanted any. I had agreed to anything you wanted, that bullshit waiting game. But waiting is over. Pardon the pun, but the ship has sailed. That child exists and it’s not just your life you’re being careless with anymore. I’m all for you being Sheriff, Emma, because it’s a part of who you are, but what about keeping the child safe?”

“Safe?” Emma let out a laugh that held no joy and made Killian’s insides cold. “Safe doesn’t exist. This kid will never be safe. The second some maniac gets a whiff of his existence, I guarantee you we will be up to our elbows in magical fairytale fucking nonsense and at least a dozen witches, three demigods and two evil scientists who will want to steal this kid to fulfill their plans of world domination. He might as well get used to it now. Fuck, I will be lucky if someone doesn’t speed up this pregnancy.”

“Maybe, but we will protect the chi”- “Like we protected Oscar today?” Emma asked him sharply, interrupting him. “Like my parents protected me growing up? Like they protected Neal from Zelena? Like we protected Gideon from the Black Fairy? The track record in protecting infants from evil is far from the best. This kid already has magic, Killian, and it’s fucking with mine. How long do you think we’ll have? Honestly?”

“That’s not fair, Emma,” Killian said softly, because it was the only thing he could say when his heart felt like breaking. He had always imagined that if Emma had ever told him she was with child, that it would be one of the best days of his life, and so far, it was shaping out to be one of the worst.

“No, it’s not, but that’s reality for us. We fucked up.”

She then turned away from him, grabbing a pillow and curling herself around it. Again, he felt the move like a physical blow.

Killian closed his eyes, clenching his fists and summoning up all of his inner strength. For the first time since they had been married, Killian felt the need to make a wall around himself, around his heart, because he couldn’t see way for this conversation to end without everything he was possibly crumbing to pieces. He prepared himself for the worse.

“Then, what do we do, love…?” he asked in a voice barely whisper. He could hear his own voice wavering in his ears.

“I don’t know,” she responded just as quietly. “I don’t know, Killian. The world is not a kind place. It’s scary, hurtful, dangerous and completely unfair whether it’s dealing with the Final Battle or some asshole who thinks it’s okay to shoot small children who can’t control who their parents are. I mean, look at us. I was in the foster care system. I was alone most of my life and I got the shit kicked out of me more than once in both literally and metaphorical ways. More times than I can count really. And you? You were enslaved, Killian, by your own father. You’ve been tortured more times than I care to know. You are covered in scars. The tattoos do a brilliant job hiding it, but babe, I can feel them. And that’s just our childhoods. The last few years? Pan? Hades? Hyde? The Black Fairy? They called it the Final Battle, but Killian, I’m waiting for the atom bomb to drop and this kid is going to be in the first in the line of fire. I don’t want that for my kid. Our kid. Some days, I’m amazed Henry is still even here…”

She was right. It hurt how much she was right. The logic behind her own words was undeniable and it all led to a conclusion that personally repulsed him and made him want to howl with rage, but seemed like the most rational thing to do.

“Do..we…Swan…do we…should we…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

She finished the question for him.

“Should we end it?” 

Emma had always braver and stronger than him, so it didn’t surprise him that she was able to say what made everything inside of him scream; horrified by the concept. Killian didn’t have issue with abortion; he had encouraged more than a few of the female friends he had made over the years to consider the option. However, the idea of destroying something that was part his blood and part Emma’s made him want to die.

She looked at him over her shoulder and she looked nearly as heartbroken as he felt. She tilted her head, asking silently for clarification with her; making sure that was the question he had meant to ask. He gave a stiff nod, grimacing as he did so.

“I don’t know,” she said, closing her eyes against the flood of oncoming tears. “I mean, it’s rational. We’re so new. A lot of stuff has happened. A lot of stuff will most definitely happen. Neither of us are in the right state of mind to even think about being parents, but…I don’t think I can do it. I couldn’t with Henry and I hated Neal more than life itself when I found about about him. I really don’t want to, I’m already attached. I felt guilty about calling him an it so I’ve been calling him, well, him…”

“You think it’s a boy…?” Killian asked, swallowing.

“I think it’s a beautiful disaster that I’m already in love with but at the same time, I’m fucking terrified…of him…for him…just all around petrified to bring this child into this mess. He doesn’t deserve to be born in world like this,” she answered honestly.

Killian couldn’t stand the distance between them anymore. He shed his vest, his brace and his socks, placing them carelessly on the floor next to the dresser before joining Emma on the bed. He curled himself around her, untying the bathrobe that had once been his and placing his hand on top of hers on her abdomen.

“You’re right, the babe deserves better, but that doesn’t mean we can’t…that we can’t try…You said that we don’t have good record at defending children from harm, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t tip the scales, that we can’t try…and sure, it’s scary but…I would rather try than admit defeat. If anyone can succeed, I would like to think it would be us…We’ve beaten incredible odds before…” he murmured against her neck.

“You want it, huh?” she whispered. One of her hands moved and found his, weaving their fingers together. Her thumb brushed lovingly over his.

“I am the last man on earth who should be reproducing. Pan was a demon but he had been very adapt in his description of me - a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem. I’ve got more sins than virtues and I’m woefully unprepared to raise a child. And you’re right, there’s always something going on, our life is chaotic and unpredictable, and there seems to be more disasters than quiet moments, but yes, despite all the reasons that I shouldn’t, I want it. Well, him.”

“So you think it’s boy, huh?” Emma asked in a watery laugh.

Killian squeezed her hand impossibly hard in response. He didn’t know how else to express his feelings without exploding.

“Well, it’s your gut, Swan. If you think it’s a boy and you’re calling him a him, then you’re probably right. Your intuition is never wrong, love, and I’d be a fool to bet against you. That doesn’t mean I would be opposed to a girl with your blonde hair and freckles…”

“I can’t believe this is happening…”

“If it makes you feel better, love, I can’t either. It’s scary, but we’ll figured it out. We always do.”

“Yeah…” Her head fell back against his shoulder and she turned it so that her nose brushed against the hollow of his neck. “I’m so tired…”

“It’s been a day, love. A long, emotional day,” he said, placing a kiss on her temple. He wrinkled his nose a bit as he caught a few strands of hair in his mouth. “You should sleep.”

He moved them so that they were laying on their sides, tossing the bathrobe carelessly over the side of the bed. Begrudgingly, he maneuvered Emma so that she was laying under the covers before sliding beneath the sheets as well. He placed his hand back on her lower belly, his thumb running mindlessly circles over her soft flesh.

“You’re not going sneak downstairs and have a nip if I nod off, are you?” she asked sleepily, trying to fight off her dropping eyelids.

“No, love, I’m staying right here,” he responded, placing another kiss on her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” she murmured before allowing her eyes to shut.

[aviationfiction]

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She is not fair to the human race. She is the cause for a war; serving as the undeniable demise of a million men. Her sun kissed skin gleams brighter than the finest gold and her intoxicating olive and honey eyes, serve as her weapons; weakening all who dares to stare into them for a lengthy period of time. Every aspect of her body is sculpted to perfection. She serves as a paragon of the higher power’s capabilities and showmanship. She is the personification of his excellency.

Yoooo this if I wasn’t blown away with the way he described her. Like I love reading from his pov because his words are like poetry. The way he describes and pay attention to every little intricate detail that is Autumn is absolutely amazing.

The way he looks at her is fascinating, especially because she doesn’t even know nor does she view herself in that manner. If Autumn could magically hear his thoughts, she’d either he baffled or embarrassingly amused by how enamored he is with her beauty. He notices every damn thing she does; even the things that wouldn’t matter to her or anyone else.

The bouncing of her ponytail was nothing in comparison to what was happening below her waistline and I nearly tripped myself as I purposely sprinted ahead of her to end the visual and cease those thoughts.

I laughed so hard tears where coming out. I can actually picture him doing this. Lol son Autumn had this nigga mind all in the gutter and I loved it, because he tries so hard for it not to go there. Especially with her.

He’s embarrassed by those type of thoughts because he doesn’t want to objectify her. That’s typical male behavior and he’s not trying to fall in line with that type of gawking but he can’t help himself. No matter how much he tries not to, he’s going to look and think about it. It’s natural behavior. He shouldn’t fault himself for that.

“No one’s home. My father’s in D.C. for something work related and my mother is out there for some type of summit or conference at Howard University. I’m assuming they’re most likely going to stay an extra day or two to do their romantic thing and return home. So yeah, it’s just me here today.” As we walked along, she snickered. “Why am I making it sound like I’m sneaking you in? I’m sounding so hot in the pants teen right now.” “Well. Are you sneaking me in?” I teased her and smirked when she widened her eyes at the question. She then lightly smacked her hand into my arm. “No. It just makes me think of the movie ATL when Lashonate’s character Tonya says to T.I.’s character Rashad look my momma not home, you want to give me a ride? And then Rashad says man your momma ain’t never home. You remember that?” I haven’t heard of the movie nor seen it. I knew Tip was into acting but I never had an interest in seeing him do it. I’d rather be a fan of his music; mostly the earlier work. This is the second time I’m hearing that Lashonte name from someone. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything she’s acted in before. “No. I’ve never seen that.” “My God, Dante. What do you watch when you’re at home chilling? You better not say House Of Cards either.”

For her to not only offer to cook for him, but for her to invite him into her home. Says a lot. That whole little exchange was so cute, because every time she finds out that Dante haven’t seen a movie or a tv show, baffles her, and I think that’s really cute that she’s tryna put him up on things.

She’s comfortable with him and she’s building a trust level with him that allows her to continue to allow him to come even further into her world. She trusts the respect that he’s shown her thus far and that’s what’s really important when it comes to those two.

I also love and find it hilarious how out of touch Dante is when it comes to films and popular culture overall. He really does live in his own little bubble. Autumn’s going to have to school him, because Stacey isn’t getting through to him.

Three reasons. Faith. I’ve always believed that we as human beings put a bit too much faith in God when it comes to every single thing. I don’t know why, but it felt like such a lazy approach. Around that time, honestly, I felt like I had nothing but him to cling to. It was the first time I put it all on him and firmly believed that he’d make sure I made it through it all in some type of way. I’m standing here and I’m functional so those blessings were gifted. The second is hope. I’ve been one hell of a pessimist over these past couple of years, so I had to work on becoming hopeful again. I’m still working on it but I’ve progressively gotten better. Lastly, myself. I don’t know what the hell the future holds for me. It scares me to think about it but I have to believe that everything’s going to work itself out positively for as long as I work on it.” “Faith. Hope. Self. I like and highly respect that. You know, a lot of people usually name their family or something completely outside of themselves as reasons for living and that’s cool but ultimately, I believe that you have to want to live for yourself before you can have the desire to live for anyone else. That falls right along the lines of needing to love yourself before you can attempt to love someone else.” “Exactly. You get it. It’s not a selfish way of thinking. It’s simply the way things should be.” Suddenly, she turned and swung open the fridge’s door to examine the contents inside. “You said French toast is your favorite right?”

This was so heart breaking for me to read. But for her to still be able to pick up the pieces and move on, had me yelling go sus. And I just think it’s so awesome that they’re both completely comfortable with each other to divulge things to each other that they normally wouldn’t.

Her strength is admirable and her ability to speak about it and be informative when it comes to his own story is beautiful. Her life is important and it’s good to know she realizes that and also that she’s found outlets to restore her faith in God and in herself. The rawness between the two of them is one of the driving forces of their friendship. The open honesty continues to draw them closer to one another and it serves as an outlet and escape from what does pain them in their individual lives.

“Yes. It’s just television sweetheart.”

I smiled so damn hard at this, even tho it was a slip up. I was like yes Dante

LMFAO! A slip up that had both her........and him shook!

When she caught him peeking, he was so damn embarrassed, but it was so cute.

My famous southern fried chicken, a vegetable omelette, and cinnamon French toast with a homemade bourbon peach sauce smothered over them.”

Well damn Olga I felt like I was watching an episode of Chopped lol. Shorty threw down in the kitchen. And for her to keep him company while he ate. And for it to seem so natural. I just love how comfortable they are with each other.

She made her time in Miami useful in that manner. Though it was to appease Andreas, her cooing skills do come in handy and Dante was able to get a taste of what she spend a lot of her leisure time doing. If he sticks around, one thing he won’t complain about is being hungry, because she’s sure to fill his stomach up upon request.

No. I was only asking because I wanted to know if you’d like to hang out with me today? I have a few things to do but it’s sort of a loose day for me. First I need to head home to freshen up and change. If you get ready while we’re here, you can just go with me. I have to stop by my office to wrap something up. What time is your appointment?” “It’s starts at five. It’s later in the evening because she’s coming into the office late today.” “I can drop you off. I’m supposed to check out a property around five thirty, so I can drop you off and pick you back up. Tonight, Diddy’s hosting a party at the club to celebrate some new flavor of Ciroc. It should be fun. He always brings a crowd and tons of special guests with him. Are you up for it?” Though I wanted to finish it all, I couldn’t eat another bite. After having swallowed down the last bit of French toast I had left, I tossed in the towel on the half of omelette and piece of chicken I had left.

Okay Dante I see you boy. Don’t wanna leave her. I was surprised she agreed tho. I kinda felt like she wasn’t thinking that would be doing to much, but obviously she’s more opened to them becoming better friends.

She’d already spoiled him with the breakfast and the company, so he wanted to keep that going for the remainder of the day. It’s surprising for someone who tends to always be by himself to desire an entire day worth of company, but again, that attests to how close the two of them are becoming and how much he already values her presence.

“And your closet damn near made me pass out. It’s amazing and that mirror that you have in there? Whew! Your closet is very Christian Grey.” “Very who?” I pressed send on the final e-mail that I needed to send over the Hakkasan group and glanced over in her direction. It was one hell of a gamble, but I was able to secure him an extended three year partnership with the group as a disc jockey and music consultant. He’ll be the resident DJ at Hakkasan nightclub once it has it’s grand opening, Wet Republic, and also at Omnia nightclub inside of Caesar’s Palace. “You’ve never heard of Christian Grey?” Her giggle was sheepish and her face suddenly turned a slight hue of red as her body shifted on the chair. “No. Who is he?” “Nevermind.” She couldn’t cease the laughter at my lack of information about whomever she was referencing to so I did what anyone would do. I immediately opened up another tab and typed the exact name into Google. When the results appeared, I clicked the first link available. “Christian Trevelyan Grey is the male protagonist of the trilogy, Fifty Shades of Grey. To the outside world, he appears to be a handsome and attractive young man in the business world. However, he has a hidden face: he is adept of BDSM.” It was my turn for my face to flush in embarrassment as I skimmed through more of the synopsis about the man. Fredrick’s talked about his weird interest in BDSM enough for me to know exactly what it is and what it entails. Autumn couldn’t contain her laughter no matter how many times she attempted to do so and the smirk on my face was by followed my narrowed eyes as I pondered how she made the connection between myself and this character. “How is my closet very Christian Grey?” “Because it’s very sleek, masculine, and it’s filled with suits, dress shoes, and you have those pull out draws with your ties neatly folded inside of them. That’s how Christian is described. He’s a business man, just like you are.” “But why do I have to be compared to the kinky ass business man?” “I’m not saying that you’re kinky. I’m just comparing your styles in terms of business attire. I wouldn’t know if you’re into BDSM or not unless I asked Samira or that three month girlfriend from college.” “Or you can just ask me.”

I cackled so damn loud my coworkers were looking at me crazy. And for her to say she would only found out by asking one of his exs and for him to boldly reply or you can just ask me. Phew chile. I can picture Dante dominating Autumn or the other way around. Hell for the right person you’ll get kinky for them.

LMFAOOOOOO! Dante decided to test the waters with that response and he cannot deny that even if he tried to. He wanted to see just how much she’d flinch or if she’d actually go there and open up the floor for that invasive but obviously intriguing conversation.

You think Dante’s dominant in the bedroom? Hm. Her too? Well, you’re definitely right about people bringing out all the works when it’s with the right person.

“Okay, Google Images does you no justice. Don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful in those photos, but damn, you’re fine as hell.”

I freaking love Stacey man. I just love her.

Stacey is a mess, but we have to love her. She can’t help but to be her loud and obnoxious self and that is by far what makes her so damn great. She makes Dante squirm and he needs that.

I’m not done with my feedback but I’m at work so I def will be leaving the rest later on tonight.

Thank you so much. I truly appreciate that and I’m glad you’re enjoying it thus far.

[buns-with-a-book]

Into the Spardaverse 3 - A Tale of Two Worlds

Donte and Dante talk, Cassandra and Reboot Vergil talk, lots of talking but expect some action in the next chapter.

Fandom: Devil May Cry, DmC (Devil may Cry) Characters: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, OC Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz

Summary: Dante and Cassandra hear the tale of the brothers of Limbo City. 

Dante looked around the safehouse the punk found for them. It seemed to have once been a nice apartment but now it was in ruins, sprayed with sigils and spells to deter demons by someone who came here before them. In the presence of them, he could feel a slight tingling. It was similar to Cassandra, when she summoned the orbs of light to either light the way or burn off the face of a demon. It never burned, at least not enough to slow him down, but it always kept him focused on the task at hand. 

“Hey.” The punk’s voice rattled him from his thoughts. He looked back to him, seeing what looked like a salvaged bag of food set out on the tiny table. There were a couple cans of tuna, some mayonnaise condiment packages, some sliced bread, and plastic utensils. The punk had taken an orange from the bag and was quietly peeling it open. Dante frowned at what was available, a frown that made the punk huff in irritation. “Look, if you’re gonna keep on going to find your sis, you’re going to need to eat.” 

“No pizza?” He asked, walking over to the worn couch and flopping down. 

“Nope.” The punk crossed his arms. “Haven’t had pizza in years.” 

“Jeez, what kind of life do you live?” Dante huffed, opening one of the cans and mixing the mayonnaise with the tuna. “Next thing you know, you’re gonna tell me you haven’t had strawberry sundaes.”

“Bleh, strawberries. Don’t like em.” 

“What!?” Dante stared at him. “They’re the best thing ever!” 

“I don’t like the seeds. They get everywhere and it’s distracting.” The punk replied. “I prefer oranges anyway, especially in orange sherbet.” He added, taking an orange slice and popping it into his mouth. Dante made a face, thankful that he didn’t turn out like this punk. He couldn’t fathom a life without his beloved sundaes. He quickly made a sandwich of tuna and mayo and chomped in, wincing at the taste. It wasn’t pizza...but it would do for now. 

“So, kid, how long have you been hunting demons?” Dante asked between bites. 

“...since I was a kid. I was tossed around from place to place, fighting off demons that hunted me down.” Dante noticed the softness in his tone. His hand reached up to hold a necklace, rubbing the red jewel. Dante could only presume that it was the Perfect Amulet, in another form. “Everywhere I was sent to, there were always demons trying to kill me.” 

��Ain’t that a familiar story.’ Dante mused, staring at the punk. 

“What was your mom like?” The punk asked suddenly, rousing Dante from his thoughts. 

“What?” 

“Your mom. We’re obviously more alike beyond looks and names.” The punk said, sitting up to face him properly. Dante took another bite of the sandwich.

“Well...only if you go first.” He waved his hand. He could feel the scowl that the punk was throwing at him before he let out a sigh. 

“My mom was an angel.” He said softly. “From what I remember, she held off Mundus’ armies as long as she could while Dad fled with us.” 

“Wait, Sparda was with you?” Dante interjected. “Lucky. My dad was never with us when...that happened.” He winced at the memory of smoke and flames, of the final scream from the mother he wasn’t strong enough to save. “Nor was Verge.” He raised an eyebrow at the punk. “Speaking of him…” 

“What about your mom.” The punk hissed. It seemed that the topic of Vergil was a sore subject, not that Dante could blame him. For years, Vergil was a subject that he didn’t want to think of, especially after what happened on Mallet Island. Dante let out a sigh.

“Ok, ok. My mom…” He closed his eyes, pushing past the memories of ash and smoke and blood. “She was a witch, as I recall. Familiars, potions, the whole shabang. Don’t really remember my dad much...I think he visited a few times before he just...disappeared. Everybody talks about him like he’s the hottest shit that ever walked around. Hell, even a whole town worshiped him like a god.” He chuckled at the thought of Fortuna. The punk listened quietly, shifting in his seat. 

“The Sparda I know...that I remember, he was just a really good swordsman.”

“Sounds like some things never change.” 

“He used to be kicking until recently...until the Demon King found him and killed him.” Dante winced at that. Some things never changed indeed. “I wanted to meet him, before he died, but…” He let out a sigh. “So much for that. Shit.” He hissed. 

“I understand that feeling kid.” Dante finished the sandwich and stood, walking to the window. “There’s a lot I wanna say to my old man, a lot I wanna ask...but I can’t.” He sighed, leaning against the windowsill. He looked down the street and blinked, watching as a tiny golden butterfly fluttered down the street. It stood out from the bleakness of Limbo City. He smiled, knowing exactly what that butterfly was. He held out his hand, letting the spectral butterfly land in his palm. His hand bloomed with warmth, reminding him of the sun that was shrouded behind grey and green clouds. He looked up, out the window, and felt a sense of direction. It was northward...and it was nearby. An image of a mansion flashed in his mind, guarded by a gatekeeper made of twisted metal and appearing like an angel. A flicker of his own demonic energy melded with the butterfly, giving its wings a bright-red glow. 

“What was that?” He heard the punk ask behind him. 

“The way me and my sis communicate, if one of us is in danger.” He said, letting it flutter away. “I know where she is.” He pointed out the window. “Up that street, a couple lefts, and we’ll end up at a big ole mansion. That’s where she is.” The punk let out a frustrated sigh. “Hm?”

“She’s at The Demon King’s Palace. Fucking great.” 

“So, we’re going to kick the ass of a jackass?” Dante laughed dryly, looking back to the punk. The laugh died off at the sight of him, looking more vulnerable than he ever saw. There was also the fact that he hadn’t seen Vergil at all, neither his own brother or the brother he knew the punk had. 

“That jackass...is my brother.” 

“Jeez. Everything just has to get more complicated.” Dante muttered, running a hand through his silvery-white hair. It didn’t help that the Demon King was the punk’s brother...who slew their father as well, he could never see Vergil doing that. It was those thoughts that he mulled over. In the distance, he swore he saw a blur of neon blue, like lightning across the cloud-covered sky. He smirked and stood up.

“Come on kid, we’re gonna meet someone at jackass’ mansion.”

“Who?” The punk quickly got up.

“My brother.”  

---

Cassandra hummed softly, watching the orb of sunlight she summoned bounce around at the mere gesture of her hand. While this little bitch that called himself Vergil was searching for her Dante and Vergil, she was passing the time as his prisoner. She had settled herself on the edge of the bed but dared not take a nap. It was too risky, especially with the Demon King lurking in the very walls of the mansion that was his palace. She had no idea how the demons of Limbo City operated, if even sleeping in their realm would damn her to a hundred years of slumber. 

‘When all else fails, assume their rules are the same as the Fair Folk.’ She thought. The handle of the door twisted before opening, revealing Vergil entering her prison cell of a bedroom. Behind him was a demon on spindly legs, holding a tray of tea. She stared at the demon, unsure how to react to it aside from disgust. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked, struggling to sound as neutral as possible. 

“My agents are seeking out your allies, Rose. It will not be long before they come.” An unsettling grin crept on his face. “And with their arrival, they shall be destroyed.” She noticed his unsettling confidence, as if he knew they would be crushed by him. Did he know what the Dante and Vergil she knew held? Did the power of Sin Devil Trigger exist in this world? Or was it impossible, a lofty unreachable standard? She didn’t dare ask, not wanting to spoil the powers she knew they had, to catch the Demon King off guard. 

“So…” She hummed, glancing around the walls. “Nice sigils you got on the walls. Are they supposed to do anything?” Vergil looked at her in surprise. He carefully pulled off his gloves, walking over to her. She stood up, backing away from him. “What are you doing!?” He took her hand, ignoring her recoil from the touch. 

“Perhaps you are no angel…” Cassandra bit back a scathing comment, trying to tug her hand out of his. He let go after a few moments, Cassandra quickly pulling her hand close to her. “Would you like tea?” And he had the gall to ask if she wanted tea!? He gestured to the demon who had been standing in the room. The demon looked towards her, tilting it’s faceless head. 

“...no thank you.” She whispered, trying to keep her voice even. She dared not ask about his mother, she was certain either Mundus killed her or he did it himself. “I...I don’t have the appetite at the moment.” 

“Suit yourself, Rose.” He sighed and stepped back, walking to the demon. He picked up a teacup and began to sip the tea. Cassandra stared at her hand, gently rubbing the skin. She didn’t dare try to activate her healing Crest, not wanting to attract any more of his attention than she already had. “Who were your parents?” Vergil asked. She frowned. 

“Soren and Eos Greensleeve. If you’re asking if they were human or not, they were human as far as I was aware.” 

“Was?” 

“They’re dead.” Another half-truth. Stella was dead and Nyx was dead to her. Vergil hummed quietly at the news.

“My condolences. I know what it is like to lose your parents.” She raised an eyebrow at that. 

“Eva...and Sparda, correct?”

“You know of them?” He asked, turning to face her. She swallowed. 

“I’ve heard of them, how Eva sacrificed herself to save her sons. Sparda’s last gift, Rebellion and Yamato...all rumors and legends. I wonder how Sparda would react, seeing his son as the Demon King?”  

“Quite interesting that you speak of a dead demon, a demon who did not bend to my will. It was a shame I had to kill Sparda.” Cassandra stared at him, her body frozen from shock. “He was half-mad from Mundus’ torture, it was a mercy to kill him.” 

“You speak of mercy but I doubt you were ever capable of it.” She whispered. “You only killed him because you could do it.” The look she got from that, a look of casual disinterest in her shock, told her more than he could ever say. 

‘This bitch is a fucking madman!’ She thought, narrowing her eyes at him. She wished she could run from the Demon King, she wanted to, but she had to wait for a distraction from the outside. Preferably named Dante, but any distraction would do at this point. She noticed he was walking away from the window, to the door. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To the library. I will find out who you are, Rose. You may not be the angel I originally pinned you to be but you are someone of interest. I just need to find out who.” The spindly demon trotted after him docily, stepping out of the room before Vergil closed the door and locked it. 

‘You won’t find out, because I don’t belong here.’ Cassandra thought, walking to the window. ‘And by the time you figure it out, I’m gonna be kicking your ass.’ She opened the window, watching as a blue spectral butterfly fluttered to her. She smiled at the sight, taking it into her hand. ‘Make that both of us, you little bitch.’