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[mirdaniaa]

22 and ingilmundr

When Ingilmundr is five, his father loses a battle against the Saxons. The price he must pay is a hostage. A son.

His only son.

Ingilmundr weeps when they take him away, even though his mother told him not to. “You will bring shame to your father,” she warned him.

He weeps, and watches through his tears as his father’s neck stiffens, his head turning away from the sight of the crying boy. When Ingilmundr remembers his father in the years to come, he will think of this wretched moment; of him, crying, and his father, turning away in shame.

.

The Saxons bring him to a place called a monastery, where men in coarse brown robes and wooden crosses try to teach him about the Christ-God. He shuts his ears against their stories, because his father has told him everything he needs to know about the Christ-God. There are many gods, not just one, and Ingilmundr will never trade Thor’s hammer for a flimsy wooden cross.

He does not shut his eyes, though, when they teach him how to read. Ingilmundr buries himself in the calfskin pages, stories of kings and battles and miracles from the Christ-God unfolding before his hungry eyes.

“Your eagerness to learn will take you far, Ingilmundr,” the abbott tells him.

His eagerness to learn takes him into minsters and monasteries all across England, where they forget he is the hostage Ingilmundr Anlafson and know him only as a Brother in Christ. Monks aren’t always peaceable book-readers, he soon learns; some of them are as hard as the land they till, made harder still by having to defend their flocks against Scottish and Welsh raiders. Someone, at some point, forgets who he is and puts a sword in his hand, and as with his books, Ingilmundr is a quick study.

He is good with a sword; better than most, even. Somehow, over the years, he finds himself given more and more chances to use it.

He knows he should be gratified. He is a Dane, and the son of one of the greatest sword Danes in the world.

And yet.

And yet, Ingilmundr prefers his books. He loves the letters carefully and lovingly shaped by monks in their quiet scriptoriums, he loves the stories they tell, he loves the gilded pages and imagines this is what the bridge Bifrost is made of.

But no one wants to talk to a Dane about his books.

Until one day, someone does.

He meets Aethelstan by chance. If he truly believed in God, he would say it was His will. As it is, he cannot help but feel that the gods might have thrown Aethelstan in his path. They talk all day and into the night: about faith, about books, about swords, about fathers. Ingilmundr has lived amongst the Saxons longer than he has not, but he has always viewed them as separate from himself until now. Now, when he looks at Aethelstan, he sees himself mirrored in those dark eyes.

When Aethelstan kisses him, Ingilmundr does not hesitate to kiss back.

.

In the morning, he sets out on trembling legs, telling his brothers he is journeying to find a rare book. They smile and shake their heads.

“Ingilmundr and his books,” they say fondly, but they do not stop him. It does not occur to any of them that he could be lying, that he might yearn for anything that lies beyond the turn of a page.

His trembling legs somehow carry him all the way to Dyflin, where his father now rules as king. The Danes almost do not let him into the high hall, plucking at his short hair and the cross around his neck, but he shouts his name over and over, Ingilmundr Anlafson, I am Ingilmundr Anlafson, until a woman with sharp teeth says, “It’s him; he has his mother’s look.”

She brings him into the high hall, where a man he remembers turning away in shame sits on a carved throne.

“Father,” he says, his legs trembling so hard he can barely stand.

“You will call me ‘lord’ as long as you wear that cross around your neck,” Anlaf Guthfrithson growls.

Ingilmundr pulls off the cross. “I never forgot who I was. Who my real gods are.”

Anlaf takes in his Saxon clothes, his Saxon hair, and turns away in shame.

Ingilmundr swallows. “I have lived amongst the Saxon and learned their ways, it’s true. But I never forgot who my people are. And I have come here because I know how to win England for our people once and for all.”

Anlaf drums his fingers against the arm of his throne. “How?”

Ingilmundr takes a step forward. In the shadows, a dog growls in warning. Ingilmundr takes a step back. “Their king, Edward, sickens. His son and heir, Aethelstan…he is fond of me. I can make him bend to my will.”

Anlaf snorts. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Ingilmundr says with cold certainty.

Anlaf is quiet for a long moment. When he stands, Ingilmundr realizes that they are almost the same height; even so, the other man still seems to tower over him. “It will not work. The Christian kingdoms have always united against us.”

“Aethelstan will offend them until they have no choice but to join with us. I will make it so.”

Anlaf considers him…and then he smiles, an ugly, sharp smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I believe you will.”

Ingilmundr doesn’t know what he’s expecting; an embrace, perhaps, an invitation, some sign that his father is proud. Instead, Anlaf says, “Go back to England, and await my instructions. I will send your sister Astrid to you.”

“Yes, lord.” Astrid. His sister by his father’s other woman, little more than a squalling brat the last time he’d seen her. Ingilmundr does not yet realize that the squalling brat is now a warrior, and their father’s chosen heir. He will learn this when it is too late to change his mind.

“And Ingilmundr.”

He cannot read the look on his father’s face. “Do not throw my name around like that again. You might get shit on it.”

Ingilmundr turns away in shame.

[idolomantises]

I… don’t really see myself continuing with the Amazing Digital Circus anymore.

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter four

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warning/s: coarse language; mentions of: grief, death, drowning; not proofread

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three, four]

word count: 13.1k

[1]

‘Can you meet me at the playground?’ was Guille’s message the night after your graduation, casting a blue streak over a relatively warm summer night. The short hand of the clock hovered over eleven when you got it, and you had half a mind to ignore it–because how dared he do this now?–but you sent him a reply before heading out of the door.

The playground was less than ten minutes away but you took the corner; the one that led around the block. He could wait, you thought. After all, you’d been giving him just that: the luxury of time. But he never did anything with it did he, so why would you rush? And what could he possibly want now after months of ignoring you? Was this a final goodbye? After everything you’d been through together, was this really how it’s going to end? 

You sniffled and ran the back of your hand over your eyes as you walked the last few yards to the park.

Tap tap tap.

The distinct sound of football-to-shoe brought you back. Ahead under the yellow glow of the lone streetlamp that lit the playground, with his back turned to you, was Guille juggling a football. A breeze brushed your cheek and it carried the familiar sweetness of Guille’s body spray. You remembered when he started using it—it was around the time you’d complained to him about how you found the scent of guy’s deodorants repugnant, and that you could only stand the new scent that he bought. And after that, it was all he’d ever used. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was around the time he started liking you, and the thought made you recoil. 

The ball reached another high, this time going over Guille’s head, making him turn, but it never connected to a touch. Instead, it landed on the ground. Its momentum carried it to a stop just a few paces away from you but you made no move to kick it back. You dragged your eyes away from the ball and found his finally.

For a moment, it was as if the world stood still. You soaked in the state of him: there was a heaviness that swelled in the skin beneath his eyes which were devoid of their usual light; his arms sagged heavily by his sides, contorting the contours of his silhouette to a shape that displaced the confidence you’d seen him wear so easily growing up. Even in the low light, the jagged cut that interrupted the line of his left brow remained prominent, but it was gone from view when dark curls fell to cover it after Guille ran his fingers through his hair.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, yet his voice still broke over his words. 

“Hey. Uh–thank you for coming,” he smiled a little. “Can we talk?”

You eyed him carefully, letting a moment of silence settle in the air as you crossed your arms. Only after you noted a slight movement in Guille’s throat did you skim the sole of your foot over the ball, sending it his way. When you met his eyes again, something akin to relief shone in them––or maybe it was gratitude?––before he kicked the ball towards you again. That went on for a while; back and forth the ball went during which no one said a word. From the way Guille kept clenching and unclenching his hands, you doubted he knew what he even wanted to say, least of all how to say it.

Still, you waited. 

Another moment, he stopped the ball, wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt before stuffing them in his short pockets, his posture awkward and stiff. He opened his mouth and in the breath before he spoke his first word, your heart dropped to your stomach and you braced yourself.

This was it.

“I–I want to apologize!”

You blinked. That… was unexpected.

“I know it’s probably too late, but I don’t think I can live without saying it, you know?” He shrugged as he smiled, but it was too crooked, and his eyes shone. 

“I’m really sorry. For what I did, and what I said. Those hurt you… I hurt you.”

He released a shaky breath, bit his lower lip as he swiped a thumb at the corner of his eye.

“I’m not expecting to be forgiven and I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I just–I’m sorry. And I want you to know that I had the best time with you.” 

His lips curled up to a smile but the quiver of his chin broke the curve and his tears spilled. 

He looked so young then, so much like a lost little boy who looked nothing like the boy you met when you were eight: newly-transferred Guille who became the smallest out of all the boys in your class yet, with his quiet confidence, he towered over them with his head held high. You remembered him as he was then when he first introduced himself to you, his cheeks rosy from playing too much under the sun and just a little out of breath when he asked you to be in his team during recess. He did it too without any snide remarks, something you’d gotten used to from playing with the other boys in class. He never brought your being a girl up even when your team lost, and it was the first time you were treated as an equal on the field at school. 

And he just stuck with you, and you with him; all the shared lunches, the laughter, the late night banters… there was no way you could let this friendship go. 

This was so stupid. 

“This is stupid,” you choked as you hastily wiped a tear away but it was quickly followed by another. “Come here, you idiot!” 

You surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, the force of it nearly knocking the both of you over. It took him a second but when the weight of his arms settled on you––when his comforting warmth finally seeped in––you were hit by just how much you’d missed him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” were the strained words spoken against your ear as he hugged you tighter. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled on his shoulder. “It’s going to take some time but we’ll be alright, I forgive you. And I want us to remain friends, under two conditions if you’re up for it.” 

He pulled away slightly to wipe his cheeks, and gave you a small smile. He was a bit breathless when he said, “Anything.” 

There was a light lilt in his tone and you understood he meant it, so you nodded, returning his smile. He followed you when you went to sit on one of the benches, situating himself so there was enough space between you for one person.

Looking him in the eye, you started, “I know it’s a lot to ask but if you have any plans to wait for me, I want you to forget about it. I love you and I care for you, but I need you to understand that a brother and a friend is all I will find in you.” 

His eyes strayed downwards and they clouded over. He closed them with a sigh and when they opened, he looked at you and you found a lightness in them that comforted you; his face bore a friendly warmth that you haven’t seen in a while.

“I understand, and you don’t have to apologise.” 

He scooted closer so he could bump his knee against yours, now grinning. His playfulness made you smile.

“And one more thing,” you added after a moment, and he nodded for you to continue. “You… you have to make amends with Alexia.” 

The grin fled from his face and you didn’t miss the way he flinched. His knuckles whitened and tension brewed in his muscles. And when his eyes darkened, you couldn’t help but frown at the change in his demeanor. You reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Guille––”

Then, like a spring, all the air of rigidness left him. He threw his head back and released a laugh that caught you off guard. When he regarded you again, the curve of his lips remained.

Then he said in a tone filled with mirth, “You know, if she hadn’t knocked some sense into me that night, I’d probably still be wallowing in self-pity like an entitled prick.”

At the reminder, your eyes wandered to the scar on his left brow but they lingered only for a second.

“And yes, done. She hates my guts,” you opened your mouth to protest otherwise but when Guille gave you a pointed look, you closed it immediately, “but I will patch things up with her. Besides, I need to thank her for straightening me out.”

You gaped at him.

“It’s that easy?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

“I mean, yeah? It’s either those or losing you, and I know I value you more than I do my pride and ego.”

There it was again, his quiet confidence. It diminished though when he brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose, eyes darting down to his feet briefly before meeting yours again. And when he spoke, there was more than a little uncertainty that bled into his tone, and maybe a little bit of hope. 

“Besides, we’re friends. Right?”

You scrunched your nose at him in answer as you grinned.

“Damn right,” you confirmed. Then you punched his shoulder for good measure. His jaw dropped open in an offended gasp. He sat there wide-eyed for a moment before he locked an arm around your neck, his free hand mussing up your hair in an instant, and you could only shriek and chortle at the action. 

In that moment, you felt as if a weight had finally been lifted off your shoulders. And there was no better way to truly feel the lightness of being than having somebody to laugh with. Then a comfortable pause washed over you both as you caught your breaths. In the silence that settled, you leaned back on your hands and kicked your feet up idly in the air. 

It was Guille who spoke first. 

“You don’t have to answer, but do you like someone?”

Your feet stilled. And then, without bidding, a series of images flashed through your mind of brown hair, freckles, hazel… Warmth coiled and gathered in your chest as if the ghost of a hand hovered over it. 

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

A distinct pop went off somewhere in your neck from the speed by which you gaped at him. Guille’s eyes remained trained ahead and his face was relaxed, void of any judgement… Surely, he didn’t say what you thought he said, right? 

You swallowed, throat dry, and choked, “What did you say?”

“Alexia.” He turned to you then, and smiled; small but not unkindly. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Blood thundered in your ears, and your heartbeat tripled. 

“No! I–That’s ridic–”

Warmth over your hand; Guille had taken yours into his, and the ice in your skin thawed instantly. Only when Guille tightened his grip to still your hand did you know just how badly you were shaking. 

“Hey, look at me. It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone, I swear,” his voice was soothing and he squeezed your hand for good measure. “I think, deep down, I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why I treated everything as a competition because I felt threatened by her. And I never understood why you always gravitated towards her like she’s your own Earth. But now I know. If… If I ever made it difficult to come to terms with your feelings for her, I’m sorry.” 

His words and their sincerity brought a calm with them, stopping the surge of panic in your veins. And, like a tide, it receded. Finally finding your voice again, you spoke. 

“You–you’re not angry?”

His brows rose.

“Why would I be?”

Then he gave you another smile. You understood it was meant to reassure you but you couldn’t help but notice that the corners of his lips were somewhat weighed down with sadness. Still, judgement made no home in his eyes. 

“I won’t tell anyone. I promise. And if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

A brief pause as his eyes wandered. 

“I–Maybe not for a while. It’s not that I want to, but I think some distance will do me some good. I want to respect your boundaries, and for me to do that, I need to get my feelings sorted out. I’m… I’ve made up my mind anyway. I’m leaving the city.” 

“What?” You choked. “When? Where are you going?”

Then a spark of anger went off. You jabbed at his shoulder. Guille yelped suddenly, his eyes became wide with surprise. 

“You jerk! Is that the reason why you’re finally saying sorry?!” 

“I–No, of course not! I mean, yeah, but no!” He gestured in the air. “What I’m trying to say is… I’m here because I want to make amends, not because I feel like I had to. Besides, I won’t be leaving for another two months.” 

Oh.

“Oh.” Your cheeks felt warm. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He repeated with a sarcastic note but a playful spark lit up his eyes. 

You apologised sheepishly. Then, “Where are you headed? And what are you going to do?”

Guille shrugged, leaning back against his arms as he looked up at the night sky.

“I don’t know yet. I was thinking of travelling for a bit, maybe go around Europe first? Do you remember how Aunt Aloma lives in London? Yeah, she told me I could stay with her if I ever planned to go there for university.”

When he mentioned London, a lead sank into your gut. Logically, you knew it wasn’t too far away; the three-hour long flight would be a small price to pay to see Guille again. The fact that he wouldn’t be an arm’s reach away like he was right then—that childhood was departing—made your chest ache. You didn’t know you’d teared up until you felt Guille’s hand on your shoulder and the consequent squeeze there. 

“Don’t cry on me now, I haven’t even left yet.” He said lightly but his eyes were glazed over, too. “Hey, don’t worry, it won’t be for good. Before you know it, I’ll be back here to annoy you. And you know, maybe once I’ve settled in London you could even visit.”

You took his hand and squeezed it back, saying, “Just say the word and I’ll be there. 

[2]

“He’s studying what now?” 

“Sports Psychology. Pay attention.” You swatted at Alexia’s hand but she ignored you. She continued to pinch some more grass from beside where she was laying and let them get carried by the breeze as she threw them into the air. The blades of grass flew freely but some of them landed on her chest and stomach where a bunch of them had begun to pile up. Still, she continued her endeavor. She looked ridiculous but warmth filled you nonetheless, and you smiled as you leaned over to pick them off her jersey. 

Alexia hummed with a note of surprise, “He works fast. He’s only been away for four months?”

“Well, we are talking about Guille here.” 

“Hmm, I always thought Lover Boy would end up in physio–Hey!” 

Alexia yelped when you jerked your thigh that her head was resting on.

“Stop calling him that,” you reprimanded with a light flick to her forehead. At the reminder though, your cheeks warmed. 

She rubbed her forehead as she narrowed her eyes at you, then with a huff and a pout, “Fine, fine! No need to get defensive. Why is it such a big deal anyway?”

“Because, Alexia, we’re all trying to move on.”

“You make it sound like the two of you broke up or something.” She snickered before adding, “Which begs the question, why didn’t you ever go out with him? Minus the fact that he gave you a concussion, of course.” 

Her tone changed at the end, an inflection of something bitter—a bit of her protectiveness showing through—that you chose to ignore. Yet you found yourself unable to answer her anyway. 

You recalled the conversation you had with Guille that night, the way he figured out who held your heart so easily. Ever since, a question gnawed at the edge of your mind, the same one that whispered to you now: were your feelings so transparent? So obvious? 

A brush against your jaw pulled you back and, upon looking down, you were met with the question still in Alexia’s eyes. You shrugged, pulling away from her touch as nonchalantly as you could. 

“Guille is a friend and only that.”

“But you were so close,” she commented.

“Proximity doesn’t always mean intimacy, Alexia.” You were grasping for straws, you knew this. Your eyes wandered before you admitted with another shrug, “Besides, I can’t really see myself in a relationship. Not right now, anyway.”

“Oh.” The sound Alexia made was gentle, barely audible, that you thought it was the wind’s whisper. And then in a tone so soft, “Really? You don’t like anyone? Anyone at all?”

There was something in the way she asked that beckoned you to look back down at her. The scattered rays of the sun dappled her freckled cheeks with flushed amber, and her eyes that were normally a deep shade of ochre shone golden in the light. There was a softness in them that made your heart stutter, and another thing you couldn’t quite figure out, almost a plea, but about what?

You dragged your eyes away from her lips to meet her eyes.

“No, I don’t think it’s for me,” you murmured.

She stared at you for a long time. It felt like being swallowed into their depths and you could do nothing but be swept away, keep the contact somehow, lest she’d find something she shouldn’t see. So you stared right back. 

Eventually, she whispered, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet.”

The lump in your throat remained even after you swallowed. Finally looking away, you hummed out in half-agreement.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

A pause.

“Do you miss him?” 

“I do. I really do.” You admitted with a sigh. 

After another moment of silence, Alexia continued.

“Would… would you join a club in England?” 

Your gaze flicked back down to her, frowning a little.

“It’s either Barça or Bayern for me, Alexia. You know this.” 

At that, Alexia averted her eyes, picked a fallen leaf, twirled it between her fingers, and then looked at it as if it held the mysteries of the world. 

Carding a finger through her hair, you prompted softly, “Why would you ask that?” 

She shrugged, quirking the corner of her lips downwards. Then she met your eyes with barely concealed vulnerability, voice hesitant when she asked, “So, you’re staying?”

“I am,” you said firmly, smiling at her. “Besides, we’re in this together, aren’t we? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.” 

Finally, her lips broke into a grin.

“I can’t wait to play with you when we get on the first team.” She said with such certainty you couldn’t help but grin back.

“Do you really think we’ll make it?”

“Yeah. We will, you’ll see.”

And you did.

There reflected in her eyes the vision of a future. That familiar splendor of passion—that unwavering resolve��shone untarnished, and the mere sight of it filled you with an overwhelming desire to kiss her. Instead, you leaned down and pressed your forehead to hers.

Alexia accepted the contact with a sigh, and then she whispered, “Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me, too.”

[3]

You got into Barça’s first team—the both of you did. 

There was a moment where you thought it was too good to be true, and that surely the other shoe would drop any time soon. 

And it did.

Maybe deep down, you hoped otherwise; that the universe would prove you wrong. But the universe had a wicked sense of humor, and you would’ve laughed at the cruelty of the joke if anguish had not choked your laughter tight into tears. The taste of achievement was still fresh on your tongue, still on your way to relishing it, before that same sweetness quickly soured to bitter disappointment. 

Not a year after joining Barça’s first team ranks, the news reached you. Our funds were not enough, they said, and they were sorry they had to cut the women’s team. There was no other way, the club didn’t have enough money to keep the team in the league.

The fact that you got a taste of your dream only to have the rug pulled beneath you was maddening, and it made the pain from the fall all the more worse. The news hit you hard, but Alexia took it the worst.

There was a thin line between perseverance and obsession, and some would even go so far to say that the two were opposite sides to the same coin. You know this. And you also know that Alexia had tossed that coin so many times now that she’d probably forgotten what each of those faces meant, progressively confounding one for the other until they were now one and the same.

Looking back now, the signs were all there: you were blinded by your own loss and your admiration for Alexia that you failed to see it or what it really was—a festering obsession. The signs were there in your time with Espanyol, especially during the first few months after the news of Barça’s restructuring broke; they were present in the way Alexia behaved compulsively, always seething with barely concealed hunger, her tenacity both on and off the field magnified to the tens. It waned somewhat during the season but now with the both of you facing another move—to Levante this time—her obsession resurfaced with renewed vigor, corrupting each knot of her muscle to constrict to their breaking point.

“Ale, do you want to come over to mine?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe of Alexia’s bedroom, while Alexia remained hunched over a folder filled with formations, the same one she’d been studying since last match day.

“Why?” She threw over her shoulder, not even turning to look at you.

You picked at your thumb. 

“I don’t know. Just come and sleep over? Mamá and Papá have been asking about you, you know?”

Finally she turned and her eyes found you. They were flat and the skin under them looked darker than they were yesterday. A slight crease was present between her brows, and her lips drooped slightly at the corners, seemingly unimpressed.

“I just saw them yesterday.” 

Okay, maybe that was a lie.

You shrugged it off, “Doesn’t matter. Come visit anyway.”

“I have other things to worry about,” Alexia grumbled with annoyance, turning around to assume her previous position.

“That’s not going to run away from you, Alexia. Come on.”

 Without letting her get another word in, you took her wrist in a gentle grip and tugged her away from her table. Although you had to admit, it was difficult not to remain unfazed when Alexia got like this, especially considering what she’s going through. Another part of your brain was saying the opposite; that it was because of what she’s going through that you had to intervene like this.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing?!” Alexia protested halfway down the stairs.

“Dragging you to my place, of course.”

“What about my things?”

“You have clothes there. Or, you can just wear my stuff.”

“But we have training!”

“It’s only a light session tomorrow.” 

“But—”

“Alexia.” 

You fixed a stern eye at her over your shoulder and she opened her mouth, as if to say something, before she shut it, sighing in defeat.

The both of you just made it down the stairs to see the front door swing open. Eli entered first, Alba trailing in after. At the sight of her family, Alexia strode to where they were to greet them; she kissed Eli on her temple, and Alba on top of her head.

“How’s Papá?”

Eli gave her daughter a small smile, but the skin around her eyes remained taut, weighed down by something inexplicably heavy. 

“He’s stable, love. The same as when you saw him this morning.” Eli’s gaze flicked to you. “Are you girls heading out?”

You nodded.

“I’ll be stealing away Alexia for the night. Is that okay?”

Eli smiled at you, “Of course.”

“We made some food for dinner. They’re on the stove top.”

“Oh, thank you, my girls.” Eli said, hugging you goodbye after you’d put on your shoes. Then she whispered in your ear, “Thank you.”

In response, you only hugged her tighter. Without meaning to, your eyes fleeted over to Alexia who was having a hushed conversation with Alba. By the end of it, Alexia embraced her little sister, placing another kiss atop her head only this time, Alexia’s brows were deeply creased. 

When you pulled away, you said, squeezing Eli’s hands. “Get some rest, Má. I’ll bring her back first thing after practice tomorrow.” 

And with that, you and Alexia headed out. 

The transit to your place was punctuated with a vacuous silence. Alexia sat beside you, less than an arm’s reach away, but her eyes were trained at somewhere far on the horizon; and she, even farther. But you let her be, there was plenty of time to talk later after all. 

By the time you got home, the lights were already off save for the small night light in the hallway so the both of you climbed the stairs on your toes, making sure to avoid that one creaky spot by the corner.

“You can clean up here, I’ll use the other shower. “ You said, jutting your chin to the direction of the shower. 

Alexia only nodded.

When you returned to your room, the bathroom was empty, a fresh glass of water stood by your night stand, and Alexia was nowhere to be seen. You were just about to head downstairs when she padded into your room with a towel draped over her head and a damp spot from her hair on a shirt you recognised to be yours. 

She must’ve seen the question in your eyes because she muttered, “Double-checked the door lock.”

You hummed as she walked past you, back into the bathroom, and you heard the tap run. 

���Thanks for the water,” you said while taking a sip from the glass she put there.

A sound of recognition came from Alexia.

When Alexia finally finished her business in the bathroom, hair slightly ruffled and almost dry, you were already settled in bed, the sheets on her side pulled off in silent invitation. But Alexia remained standing there, by the golden cast of your night lamp, looking a bit lost for reasons you understood.

Softly, you coaxed, “Hey.”

Alexia’s eyes flicked to you and your heart ached at the sight of them so dulled and weary. It took her another moment but she finally slid in next to you, the warmth of her finally arriving home and seeping into your bones. When her feet brushed over your legs as she shifted beside you, you joked with a hushed giggle to lighten the mood, “Get your cold feet away from me.” 

It worked because her lips quirked up slightly, eyes rolling in jest, but not a second later, her eyes dimmed again, and she looked away. You propped yourself up on your elbow to see her clearly but she refused to meet your eyes. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, you whispered, the words cracking under the weight of your emotion.

“Ale, talk to me.”

Silence.

A breath.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” came the hoarse reply.

Breathing deeply, you buried your fingers in her hair to try and soothe her. And again, you spoke in whispers. 

“You know, it’s okay to grieve about it, to be angry about it. You don’t have to be strong all the time, Alexia.”

Her eyes flashed with something red then and she growled.

“And what will grieving get me? The way through is forward and only forward. Do you think the world will stop to give you enough time to grieve? To be angry?”

She continued, each word exhaled with urgency. 

“No. The moment you stop, you will be left behind. And I can’t stop. Not now. Especially not now.”

“Having a moment for yourself isn’t stopping. You can’t expect yourself to go on like this forever. Sometimes, you have to do what’s good for yourself, Alexia.”

A scoff.

“It doesn’t matter what’s good for me. What I need is to get back to Barça. Then, and only then, will I feel at ease.”

“At the expense of what, then? Killing your passion for the sport by making it your duty?”

Alexia startled you when she ripped herself away from you, sitting up so abruptly that the headboard banged against the wall. And when she glared down at you, you found a look in her eyes similar to that of a desperate animal’s; a look where the distinction between fear and anger blurred into something wild. 

Then, through her teeth, she hissed in a low voice.

“It is my duty! It always has been. Don’t you see? It has always been more than a sport to me. It’s not the same for you and I don’t expect you to understand because you—”

She stopped herself, facing forward in an instant, pinching the bridge of her nose as she setted her arms over her folded knees. 

Slowly, you rose, and only the sound of sheets settling around your waist filled the air. This momentary reprieve was mainly for Alexia’s sake—she was overwhelmed, that was clear to see—but maybe you needed a moment yourself because what she said hurt you. Still, you soldiered on because this was for Alexia. 

She tensed upon your touch, her muscles rippled beneath your palm as you dragged it from the small of her back, tracing the contours of her spine to the nape of her neck, but by the time your hand finally settled on her opposite shoulder, some of the tension had melted away.

“No, you’re right, I don’t understand,” you began, voice strained. “I don’t understand why you’re so adamant in destroying yourself. This—this shutting your family out with what’s happening with you. Your mother is worried sick. She’s asking about how you are, Alexia, do you know that? Your own mother!” 

Alexia released a weary sigh and then said in an even wearier tone.

“She has no need to worry.”

You almost scoffed at that, but stopped yourself although you couldn’t help the severity that bled into your next words.

“How could she not when you’re working yourself to the bone? Tell me, how do you expect us not to worry?” 

Silence. Then the murmur of folding fabric when Alexia curled into herself, head buried in the arms folded over her knees. In that cavern of her own making, a ragged breath echoed, followed by the shuddering of muscles. You ached at the state of her, and there was a lump in your throat that you couldn’t swallow. 

And barely above a whisper, you breathed, “You cannot carry the whole weight of the world by yourself. You’re not Atlas, Alexia. Let your family in.”

“Ale,” you tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Red eyes peered from the darkness of her arms and it broke you, but you had to plead, “Talk to me. Please…”

“I–I’m scared,” she choked out finally. “He’s getting worse. It’s the second attack this month and I—”

Her fingers dug into her arms when she tightened her grip.

“I thought winning the Copa de la Reina last year would give us enough exposure but it wasn’t enough. So, I wanted to do it again this season to prove that we belong in Barça but instead, we lost to them.” A ragged breath. “And now we’re going to Levante. I just–”

She looked up at you, lips quivering with a whimper, “I just want us to go home.”

“Oh, Alexia.” 

Without saying another word, you put your arms around her, forehead pressed close against her ear and the hitch in her breathing resounded loud and clear.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how far we seem from getting back?” Alexia’s back tensed in answer but you only hugged tighter. “But that’s not true at all.”

You felt Alexia lift her head and you moved away just enough to see how she eyed you with confusion. You gave her a small smile as you grazed your knuckles over her tear-stained cheek.

“On top of your club activities, your national performance has been nothing short of exemplary. Those matter. And with all the articles they’ve been writing about you, it’s only a matter of time now.” Brightening your tone a little, you added with a playful smile, “you probably won’t finish your season with Levante before Barça gets their hands on you.”

A corner of her lips lifted up upon your remark so you pushed on.

“I know it’s not the same as being in Barça, but what you’ve achieved so far has got to count for something, Alexia. Your father… he’s so, so proud of you.” Your tone shifted, now firm. “And I doubt he’d be happy to know that his daughter is pushing her body past the point of injury to get into Barça. You know your mother and sister have been covering your ass, right? Uh-huh, yeah, I thought so.”

“You need to let yourself breathe,” you kissed her temple, then her shoulder. When your eyes met again, you found a soft look in hers that reminded you of when you were younger. Smoothing her hair again, you asked, “Can you do that, Alexia? Not for us, but for yourself?”

Alexia regarded you for a long, silent moment. Then she closed her eyes, opened them a breath later, and nodded, her lips curling up to a sincere smile. In response, you couldn’t help but grin back at her.

Sensing that her mood had elevated, you placed one last kiss on her temple before you reached over her, towards the lamp to turn it off, leaving your room illuminated by the blue glow of the moon. Alexia needed no guidance to rest her head against your chest and immediately, you wrapped your arms around her. She sighed deep in the crook of your neck and you were filled with a sense of belonging—of wholeness.

Your eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of  Alexia’s heartbeat pressed against your side.

“I’m sorry”, came the whisper.

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t have said what I did, about you not understanding. That was wrong, and I know all of this means everything to you like the way it means everything to me.”

“I appreciate that, Alexia. Don’t worry about it.” 

“And I’m sorry for—”

“Ale,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss on her crown, “you don’t have to apologise for anything.”

A pause before a deep exhale heated up your neck.

“Thank you, then.”

You hummed, already halfway to dreaming. And with one last reassuring squeeze at her hip, you found yourself murmuring, “I got you. Good night, Ale.”

“Good night,” Alexia said with a kiss to your neck and you slept with a smile on your lips.

[4]

“Alexia! Can you please—Shit!” 

It was too late. 

The box on top of the one you were carrying slid and fell, and all you could do was cringe as it spilled all of your toiletries by the front door. 

“Oops, sorry.”

You turned to Alexia with a glare of slight annoyance, but when you saw her sheepish expression, with the corners of her mouth pulled down and an eye twisted to a flinch, you let it go. With a roll of your eyes and a slight shake of your head, you signaled for her to proceed ahead as you held the door open with your weight. Once inside, she settled her boxes down on the tiled floor, letting out a small grunt as she did so, before she took yours. 

You’d just finished picking up the toiletries when Alexia asked, “That’s the last of it, yes?”

Turning to face her, you saw her wipe the sweat off her temples before settling her hands on her hips. She scanned the would-be living room occupied by some stacks of boxes. Apart from the couch and mattresses, almost everything else needed to be unpacked and organised.

You placed the toiletries on the nearest counter and made a beeline for the couch. On your way, you patted her back and replied. 

“Yep. Just let me take five, and then we can open ‘em up.”

You face-planted on the couch with a groan, which then turned to a sigh not a second later. Those boxes took more from you than you’d anticipated, making the stiffness of the couch feel as soft as clouds to your bones. 

The strain from your eyes began to dissipate the moment your eyes fluttered shut, and you could feel the peace that awaited you in that velvet darkness when you were ripped back to wakefulness the moment a warm, crushing weight pressed onto your spine. 

Alexia had taken it upon herself to drape herself over you like you were the couch itself. 

“What—Alexia!” You yelped, “Get off me!” 

But of course, she did the exact opposite.

“Why? I was just getting comfortable,” Alexia deadpanned. 

She shifted on your back and she at least had the decency to prevent her elbows from digging into your back as she did. The next thing you knew, her front followed the curve of your back, blanketing you in her warmth, while her arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

Your heart thundered in your chest and you tried not to think too hard about it so you snorted out, “I hope you’re comfortable.”

“Since you asked, yes. I very much am, thank you.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

“I carried those boxes for you.” 

“You didn’t have to if you didn’t make me drop the toiletries.”

“I told you to tape up the box, but you didn’t listen to me, so whose fault is it exactly?”

You rolled your eyes. She was right, but you weren’t about to tell her that. 

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly right, yes.”

See? You didn’t have to tell her. 

You scoffed, “Why do I even put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Alexia said in a matter-of-fact tone that made your heart jump. “Now shush. Let’s nap for a bit and then unpack.”

Alexia yawned, snuggling closer into you. If she heard the way your heart pounded, she didn’t comment on it. As you drifted into a warm slumber, there was weight that pressed against your chest—a realization of some sort—but about what, you didn’t know. 

Only after you woke to find Alexia had unpacked the boxes containing essential items and ordered a bag-full of takeaways; only after the both of you finished dining on paper plates, crossed-legged on the tiled, living room floor, laughing with your mouths full when Alexia made a mess of her food because of her inability to use chopsticks; only after Alexia found her Polaroid camera and took photos of the two of you, her arm slung casually over your shoulder, her lips pressed against your cheek. Then, and only then, did you recognise what that weight was for what it was. 

You knew then: you were utterly and irrevocably gone.

You were in love.

And you could only pray that the heat from your cheeks wouldn’t sell you out. 

[5]

With all the changes that came with moving shelters and clubs, there was no time to think about home. Between getting used to your new club schedules, being acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, and familiarising yourself with the local area, your mind had no energy left to ruminate by the end of the day. And the difference between staying over at Alexia’s—or vice versa—for a few nights and living under the same roof together for the foreseeable future became increasingly obvious as you settled in your apartment in Buñol. 

It was all new but the both of you managed and even somehow established a sort of routine. While you did most of the cooking and half of the cleaning, Alexia did the groceries and, thanks to her natural affinity for the sun—her words, not yours—she insisted on doing the laundry. You teased her about it but more often than not, her weather predictions proved accurate to the forecast, saving the both of you the trouble of dealing with damp clothes. 

But as routine fell into place, so did the yearning for home.

The thing about missing home was that it brought on a different kind of longing. It was the kind that burrowed deep, the kind that dug a gaping hole in your chest and left you at a loss for how to fill it. It provoked the desire to turn back the hands of time, live in a memory, and step back into a moment already gone by. 

Yes, there was a sense of freedom that came with living apart from your family, and sure the distance between Buñol and Mollet was only a three-hour drive or a five-hour train ride away. All of those things are true, but you’d be lying if you said being away from home didn’t feel heavy. 

No more was the comforting presence of your parents at hand nor the jovial company of Alexia’s family nearby; it was just you and Alexia.

And the world never felt bigger than it was now. 

You were lucky, though, to have Alexia with you. She was a piece of home that you took with you, and just having her by your side helped ease the ache somehow. But you have to admit, living with her brought on a different kind of pain. 

Ever since you realized just how deep your feelings for her ran, being around her had only gotten more difficult. Everything and everywhere reminded you of her, and everything she did would send a jolt to your heart that left you breathless. Something as simple as her running her fingers through her hair, or a small smile; a brush against your cheek, a hand against the small of your back—you were sure you were this close to going mad.

The intensity and frequency of these… stutters had only seemed to increase by the day, and frankly, it was beginning to scare you. That, and the questions that had been nagging you lately.

What would Alexia do if she found out that you liked her way more than a friend should? That you liked women? Could Alexia like women? She probably didn’t. She would hate you for this, wouldn’t she? What about your parents? How would you even go about telling them? Would they still love you? What if—

The sound of the key being slotted into the lock, followed by the opening and closing of the door cut your thoughts short. And then came a soft sound, barely audible.

“Alexia?” 

You called out but there was no response so you padded over to the living room. Just before the end of the corridor a small movement caught your eye. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your lips even if you tried.

“What—”

The kitten mewled softly again, rubbing itself against the beige tone of the walls as it took you in with those large, yellow eyes. Its coat looked bright and pristine, nearly as white as the petals of the tree heath flowers that bloomed at home in spring. The same flowers that filled the garden of your home with their sweetness. 

“Hey, there. How did you get in here?” You cooed, crouching slowly, before you reached out your hand towards the kitten. It took a cautious step back but you waited patiently, keeping your hand where it was. A moment later, it seemed to have found the courage, stepping forward tentatively to sniff at your finger, before it licked your knuckle. Then it ducked down, nuzzling its head against your palm, its eyes closing from the contact. 

Warmth flooded your chest and you whispered, “Oh, you’re so adorable!”

“She’s yours.”

Your eyes flicked up to find Alexia leaning her weight against the wall, her arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side; her eyes lidded with something you couldn’t quite recognise but you felt their warmth. The soft smile on her lips made her face look radiant and beneath her gaze, you couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

As an excuse to hide your face, you dipped down your chin to pick the kitten who only yawned in response. 

“Mine?” You asked as you stood up and walked over to where Alexia was, stopping just an arm’s length away.

Alexia only hummed in agreement, her smile still as soft as ever.

At that, you reached and draped your free arm around her neck, whispering against her ear, “Thank you.”

She moved, finally, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you closer.

“You’re welcome.” Her words, murmured though as they were, curled through the smile you knew she still wore and made their home in your heart. 

“What are you going to name her?” Alexia asked.

“Nona.”

“Nona?”

You hummed in confirmation. You pulled away just enough to make space to look at Nona, and you tried hard not to focus too much on how Alexia had settled her hands on your hips. 

“Mamá, Papá, me” you began, putting up a digit on your free hand as you listed each one, “You, Alba, Eli, Jaume, Guille…”

“And Nona,” Alexia finished for you, smiling down at Nona. Alexia met your eyes again.

“Your family of nine?”

“Mine,” you nodded, “And yours, too.” 

Alexia beamed down at you but then she scrunched her nose. 

“Does Guille need to be there?”

“Alexia!” 

[6]

It was raining when Alexia told you.

On a damp Monday night, a few months following your move to Levante—after the both of you found an apartment in Buñol, and after that fateful day of realisation—she said something that changed everything. 

Throughout the day, you couldn’t help but notice how strange Alexia was behaving. She’d twisted and fiddled with the hem of her jersey during today’s practice enough that she’d torn a hole through one spot. She’d twirled that loose lock of her hair so many times that you’d already lost count, and on the drive home, more than once, sped through a yellow sign. Even now, she was silent beside you as she helped cook the meal for you two tonight when usually, she would have gone over what happened at practice twice at this point. 

And at the rate she was going, she’d end up gnawing off the skin of her lower lip. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and clean up first?” You said as casually as you could, taking both of your plates off the table and moving towards the sink.

Alexia eyed you. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked. You caught a sight of her over your shoulder, sitting up, more alert than a second ago. 

“No, nothing. Why do you ask that?”

A pregnant pause.

“Because you normally let me help with the dishes.”

You shrugged, turning back to the sink. “Seriously, Alexia. It’s nothing. You just look tired. Now go so I can shower. We can put on AHS after.”

Another pause and then finally, you heard the scrape of her chair against the tiles.

“Alright,” she mumbled before her footsteps receded.

Much later, when you’d finished cleaning up and showered, the two of you wounded up on the couch, wrapped in each other with an episode of American Horror Story playing in the background. Alexia’s head was tucked in the crook of your neck while you played with a loose lock of her hair when you finally asked her.

“Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been worrying about all day, or should I keep pretending that I haven’t noticed?” 

You kept your tone light, almost teasing, because you had a feeling that whatever Alexia was about to say had weight to it. And surely enough, as soon as the question had left your mouth did Alexia stiffen against you and her breathing stilled. It took her another moment to pull away, untangling herself from you, before she reclined against the couch. 

Without so much as looking at you, she countered, “Could you hate me?”

The question jarred you and you couldn’t help but frown in confusion. What kind of question was that? You looked at her—searching for answers as to why she would ask such a thing—but Alexia kept her eyes fixed to the TV while the flashing images made shadows play on the smooth neutrality of her forehead and cheeks. You found no answer, so you replied truthfully. 

“No. Disappointed maybe, but hate? I can’t think of anything that would make me hate you.”

At that, her shoulders curled forward, arms crossing over her chest, and her chin dipped down so low it almost looked uncomfortable. 

She said softly, “Just think about it.”

Silence settled—heavily. 

You gnawed your lip, turning over everything in your head, as you tried desperately to come up with something. But nothing.

“Honestly, Alexia, unless you killed someone, I really can’t think of anything else.”

“I—” Alexia started but a choke cut off the rest of it. 

The sound came out so suddenly that it seemed to reverberate, bouncing off the walls and resounded loud in your ears. You sat up, alert, fully facing Alexia who now had her hands over her face, shielding her eyes from your view. She drew in a breath, and what she released was something shaky. 

You’d never seen her like this before, and you’d faced more than a handful of adversities together. What could possibly be making her hurt like this? Your gut twisted at the sight of her and you were filled with an overwhelming urge to take her in your arms. Instead, you settled for a light touch to her knee.

“Alexia,” you began softly, “What is it?”

Under the shield of her hand, you saw her lips quiver. Then a tear ran down her chin.

You ached at the sight but you remained silent.

“I’m—” Her lips twisted to a grimace. “I—I don’t know how it happened I just—”

Another pause.

“I like women.”

For a moment, the air stilled; almost like a vacuum had swallowed up all sounds. And then something swelled: blood rushed into your ears, and, as if life had broken a shell, a flood washed over you, filling each and every bone; and it felt a lot like hope. 

The raw sob that escaped Alexia’s throat broke you from your epiphany. She must’ve misunderstood your silence because now, she’d curled even further into herself, palms digging into her sockets. You shook yourself, mentally scolding yourself for getting distracted, before you moved closer to her.

“Oh, Alexia.” She flinched away when she felt your arms around her but you only clung tighter. “Thank you, Alexia, for trusting me with this. I want you to know that you don’t have to hide from me, that this doesn’t change anything no matter how that voice in your head might tell you otherwise. You’re still Alexia, and I—I love you all the same. I don’t hate you, I promise, and I won’t. I’ll always be here.”

When you whispered those words into her ear, she finally sagged into your embrace, turning her head so it rested, again, in the crook of your neck where she released a sob. This time, it sounded more from relief than from grief. 

There, on the couch, you held her until she fell asleep. 

“You know,” you whispered in the dark, tucking a lock of Alexia’s hair behind her ear long after she’d fallen asleep. Alexia didn’t stir, and you continued to no one in particular, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

And there with your whole world in your arms, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to hope.

[7]

When you were seven, just a few months before you met Alexia, an idea dawned on you. Sick and tired of the kid’s pool, with its small and, if you were being honest, slightly unkempt water, the large one next door offered freedom—a tantalizing concept for a child. You stood at one end of that pool and found a face of determination reflected back at you. You were going to do it; you would swim across the length of the pool and make it to the other side. 

And then, you jumped in.

It took about a minute or two before your muscles started burning, hardening to a cramp with every stroke, and yet the other side didn’t look any closer. That was when it sank in; the pool was far too large. There was a brief moment when you gasped for air and remembered to swim towards the nearest edge, just like your father taught you, but by that point it was already too late.

Water rushed into your nose and mouth, bringing stinging hopelessness in their wake, clogging your throat with a muffling silence that stifled your scream.

Your father barely caught you in time.

Yes, you remembered all too well that burn in your lungs. 

If that pool was a frozen lake, what would drowning feel like? 

In Barcelona, the lakes never froze in winter. Even the westerly winds that brought the Atlantic squalls slithering under each door in the city in cold February weren’t enough to make the chill settle in. The only time your bones truly felt the bitter meaning of winter was when you’d gone to Norway to attend a relative’s funeral, and the occasion did nothing to lessen the cold. It was also the first time you’d ever stepped foot on ice, and the fear that lanced through you at the sound of the first crack—seemingly almost like a thunder out of the blue—left you rooted to the spot, fearful that a breath could put you under.

Waiting for death felt just like that; like walking on a slate of ice. 

And the aftermath? 

A drowning of a different kind.

Every phone call was a step on that thin slate of ice; every step a space closer to certainty, each one a crack on that fragile surface, another moment closer to a falling in. The thing was, death was as true as the ice giving way but no matter how inevitable the end may be, or how slow the unfurling of that mortal coil may seem, the force of the fall was no less devastating. The ice would shatter and there would be a split-second when you’d feel suspended, held by a single thread of hope for one last miracle—the only miracle that mattered—but there was no saving you from the freezing waters. 

And nobody ever told you about how quickly you would sink under; about how the cold would bite their way down to the bones while your blood sang that familiar rhythm of life, a bitter reminder of the clear division between past and present—the antecedent and the aftermath; and just how painful it would be to be stuck in-between remembering what once was and what could have been.

In that space, in that frigid depth, no amount of screaming nor air could prevent you from drowning. Without the arms of a father to save you, how could you not drown?

And the worst part?

There was no bottom to grief; you either float or sink in that frozen lake.

And Alexia sank. 

[8]

Days passed, weeks, then months; the world kept turning. Life demanded you to be present and compelled you to move forward like everyone else. And yet still, even after changing everything in its wake, grief lingered as it always did. 

There were still times when you’d catch Alexia turn from every mirror, eyes casted down almost out of fear of what she’d see. How could you look at your reflection when every bit of skin there held the reminders of what you’d lost? Every reminder brought with it a memory, and what were memories if not a mouth full of teeth? It was a mouth that took every opportunity to bare its teeth, to gnaw at that hole in your chest until the edges were raw again—like they never healed to begin with. Again and again, it bit; its teeth, painting themselves red.

But if anything could transcend time itself, it was the resilience of the human spirit. Even if her father was never far from her mind, Alexia pressed forward; now for two hearts instead of one. 

Winter ended finally, and the sun rose again. And when summer arrived, so did the news. 

“Llorens spoke with me today,” Alexia spoke over the running of the tap. You looked at her over your shoulder, she was leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. She said the next part in a tone so soft that you barely caught it.

“He said… They asked me to rejoin Barça.”

Your eyes widened and it only took you a moment before you ran to her, wrapping your arms around Alexia’s neck, while Alexia returned the embrace by putting her arms around your waist. 

“Holy shit, Alexia! That’s amazing!” You practically screamed into her ear. Pulling away to look at her, you found pride shining in her eyes but for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, there was a weight that burdened the corners of her lips. You knew just how much this meant to her, getting back into Barça, and it worried you that she wasn’t celebrating like you’d expected her to.

You asked gently, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

At that, she sighed heavily, tightening her hold around your waist as she did. She gnawed at her lower lip, brows creasing.

“You haven’t heard anything from them?”

“No,” you admitted, ignoring the twinge in your chest. “It doesn’t matter, Alexia. This is your opportunity to go back. When are you due to leave?”

“I—I told them I’d get back to them tomorrow.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

“What! Alexia, what’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Finally, you recognised what it was that was casting its familiar shadows in her eyes: worry. Although you were grateful that she was, it was completely unnecessary and borderline irrational. She shouldn’t throw away what she worked hard for because you couldn’t perform at the same level, and no way in hell would you let her feel bad for your own inadequacy. 

You took her face into your hands, looking into her eyes as you enunciated each word slowly.

“Alexia, listen to me. You will meet with Llorens first thing tomorrow, and you will put that pen to paper, do you hear me? And then you will leave Levante without me—” when she opened her mouth, as if to protest, you pressed a finger to her lips. “You will leave Levante without me, and you will play for Barça come this season. There are no ‘buts’ here, Alexia. You have to do this. You owe yourself that much.”

Alexia remained quiet but she looked at you with large eyes that made your heart ache the way it always did for her. 

And then, “What about you?”

“I will work twice as hard. And I will meet you there,” you whispered, losing yourself in the depth of her eyes. “I promise.”

Alexia nodded and slowly, a smile made its way onto her lips.

“You better.” She mumbled. Then she added playfully, “Now get your hands off of my face, you’ve made it all wet.”

You flashed her a devilish grin before you wiped one of your hands down her face. 

[9]

It wasn’t until a month after your first game with Barça that you saw Diana again. 

With her line of work, it was no surprise that she was an incredibly busy person. That meant her stays in Barcelona were brief enough that she couldn’t make it to any friendly hangouts the way your other friends’ partners could, only ever having the time for Alexia which was the most important thing. So when Alexia messaged the group chat last night that she and Diana would be lunching with you, Patri, Tori, and Mapi today, everyone received the news with barely hidden enthusiasm. 

And this was how you found yourself sitting at the head of the table with Patri sitting on the other end, Alexia and Diana to your left with Alexia’s arm draped casually over the back of Diana’s chair, while Mapi and Tori sat to your right. As you all waited for your food to arrive, you engaged in a light and friendly conversation. Mapi and Tori were a lethal duo when it came to jokes, almost having all of you keel over from laughter, causing the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant to flit to your table, and you were sure you saw barely hidden amusement on the face of the waiter that served you. 

Lunch was going well—for your part especially—with all things considered. So you took this time to appreciate Alexia and Diana together just like this because you never got the chance to. And it was clear that the both of them made quite the pair; so beautiful that they almost looked untouchable. They kept their displays of affection sparse and yet the smallest of gestures held a thousand words. In Diana’s presence, Alexia seemed so happy and she had an air about her so light she was almost like the sun. 

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at the sight. Seeing Alexia like this was enough for you, and you knew this. She deserved this. If only Patri could stop eyeing you with worry, you could keep pretending that twinge in your chest didn’t exist. 

Everything was going well, but the universe—as it seemed to become accustomed to lately—was adamant to prove you wrong. Or, maybe you should’ve just crushed your feelings under foot once and for all. It was when the food arrived that things took a turn for the worse. 

When the last dish was delivered by the waiter, Tori, Patri, and Diana fell in a conversation. Mapi, you spied, was not so subtly texting someone beneath the table—Ingrid, you guessed, by the way her eyes shone and her nose crinkled in delight. Alexia on the other hand was left to fend for herself… against her food. 

After all this time, Alexia still couldn’t eat properly with chopsticks. It was definitely the bulkness of her hands that made her clumsy with the delicate tools; you’d told her as much before. You bit your tongue before you could tell her that again. Instead, you teased her.

“Are you playing with your food?”

Alexia glared at you but still, color rose to her cheeks as she grumbled. 

“Shut up. You know using these things is difficult for me.”

“Stop sulking. Besides, I already taught you before.” You rolled your eyes. Then you instructed, “Open your palm.”

She pouted but she did what you asked anyway.

“Your hands are too big so you have to hold them at the very end. Let the bottom one rest in the crook of your thumb, yes, that’s it. And hold the top like you’re writing with a pen. Loosen up a bit, you’re too tense.”

You adjusted the placement of the chopsticks slightly, “Just close your thumb over the sticks and move your—That’s it! You got it, you got it.”

With a triumphant smile, Alexia finally succeeded at her attempt to pick up her food. And when her smile curled over the food she put in her mouth, a warmth flooded the cavity of your chest. The sparkle in her eyes just then somehow made you feel like a teenager again. 

You didn’t know what it was that drew your attention to her, but your gaze flitted over to Diana. You weren’t sure what you expected; maybe that she was still talking with Patri or Tori… only she wasn’t. She was staring at you with a face set in a stoicism so neutral—her lips drawn to a careful line—that you had this unsettling feeling that she was everything but impassive. Her eyes betrayed her the most: they were sharp, barely narrowed, and there was an attentiveness in them that made you feel transparent—exposed—as if she could see right through you; as if she’d found something. 

A chill ran through you, and you shuddered internally.

Quickly, you averted your eyes back down to your meal. Developing an excessive interest in your food, you receded into yourself and tried to school your face to what you hope was impartial nonchalance. A little later when you finally felt brave enough to chance a look at Diana, you saw her talking to Patri and Tori again, laughing and smiling as if the moment between the two of you never happened.

You relaxed and you found breathing easy again. 

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

But really, you should’ve known better.

[10]

Time, with its infamous predisposition to fly, had snuck up on you. 

A blink of an eye found you stepping out of a plane in the middle of August and the next thing you knew, December only had days to breathe. Ending the year at the top of La Liga, together with your clean sheets, was nothing short of a relief. It was a testament to how you’ve integrated yourself with the team so far, but you knew enough that this shouldn’t call for complacency. In fact, it demanded the opposite; you needed to work harder especially with the match against Lyon looming closer in the horizon. 

For now though, rest was due. 

Most of your teammates had either flown themselves home or somewhere far warmer than Barcelona’s dropping temperature. For those who stayed, like you, you needed to find a way to amuse yourselves without freezing. Tonight, it seemed that the club was the unanimous choice: what better way to stay warm and have fun than to get drunk and dance? 

That was how you found yourself under flashing lights nursing your own glass while you watched the rest of your team get their freaks on from the bar. You knew Patri was already four shots down—you all had only been here an hour; Mapi and Ingrid were getting a little too cozy in a secluded corner, which you couldn’t fault them for since it was Ingrid’s last day in the city before she had to go home; Alexia had vanished with Diana to do who knew what, while Aitana and Ona were losing it on the dance floor. 

Aitana and Ona spotted you hanging out at the bar so they began to wave you over with enthusiasm. You shook your head at the display, smiling, and made to move off the counter you were leaning on when a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. But before you could turn to see who it was, a familiar voice pierced through the music. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Standing behind you was a woman; the stewardess that ushered you off your plane. Out of her work clothes and the dull setting of a plane, her beauty shone through untarnished. Gone was the sleek hairdo and instead, she’d opted to leave her hair down. Her short hair barely grazed her collarbones, you noted, and as you traced their outline, you found the piercing in her sternum glinting in silent invitation. She was wearing a simple black dress that revealed just enough of her chest to entice, the thin fabric of it accentuating the curves of her waist, and it stopped just halfway down the length of her thighs to reveal the intricate lines of floral tattoos on her side. 

Finally catching yourself, you tore your eyes away and found her gaze. What you found reflected in them was amusement and you tried to stop your cheeks from burning. 

As casually as you could, you said, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I… actually never caught your name.”

“Micah,” she replied, extending out a hand. You took it as you told her yours. She leaned on the bar, waved the bartender over who gave her the drink she asked for, and took a sip. Then she turned back to you. 

“You know, I never expected to see you again. And in a gay club, of all places.”

“Why not a gay club?” You asked with a small laugh.

She shrugged, one corner of her mouth quirking up almost sheepishly.

“I may have searched your name up after I met you. No history of relationships, just multiple pictures of you with the same guy. I thought he’s your boyfriend, so.”

“Is it a guy with curly hair?”

“Yeah.”

At that you let out another small laugh.

“That’s Guille, my best friend. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.” Micah’s cheeks flushed. 

You gave her a grin, “Yeah. But just to clarify, I am, in fact, into women. Exclusively.”

As if a switch has been flipped, Micah’s demeanour shifted, eyes now smouldering. The change affected you in ways you didn’t anticipate and with your slight height over her, it became difficult to keep your eyes where they should be, especially when the silver glint of her piercing tempted your eyes downwards. But just as the alcohol had thinned your blood, your self-control frayed all the same; your eyes roamed down to her cleavage which you admired briefly, before you met her gaze again.

That seemed to be the signal Micah was looking for because she stepped into your space, her drink now sitting forgotten on the counter. She dragged her fingers up your arm, all the way to your exposed collarbone where she traced the skin there while she watched you with dark eyes, her plump lip between her teeth. 

You shivered; she was so close now that the heat of her body washed over you. 

“Really? Prove it, then.” Micah whispered, ghosting her lips over yours.

You leaned forward when she pulled back slightly, as if magnetized to her lips. Then you asked, “How?”

“Dance with me.”

She dragged you to the dancefloor and you let yourself be swept away in the sea of bodies moving to the same rhythm. And then the both of you danced, her body against yours, your hands tracing her outlines as you pulled her closer as she did the same to you. 

Time blurred into a singularity after that but it existed again when, at one point, Micah took your cheek into her palm to pull you down for a kiss. Her lips were searing hot when they branded yours that you couldn’t help but gasp and moan into them, a sound which Micah gladly swallowed. 

It had been a while since you’d been touched and you didn’t realise just how much you missed it: the skim of skin over skin, the languidness of your blood turning to molten rush; how you missed the deprivation of air from your lungs and the delicious ache that came with it. And how you missed touching another. Your hands sought the exposed skin of her back, relishing the softness beneath your palms as you settled them there, respectfully just above her ass, to pull her in, flushed to your body.

She sighed and she looped her arms around your neck; deeper, hotter.

And in the heat, you lost yourself. 

You couldn’t remember how the both of you made it to your apartment, only that she ended up on top of you, head between your legs as you gasped out her name in the dark. And when she braced herself against her elbow, her other hand working you over the edge once more, you couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was with her curtain of brown hair, her lips slightly parted, eyes shining in the dark.

And when you came on her fingers with her lips on yours, you had a nagging feeling that this felt a lot like when you were nineteen. 

[11]

Clutching your head, you tried to soothe the remnants of your hangover as you headed over the door. You squinted at the light that shone through when you opened it and when the blob in front of you assumed a semblance of familiarity, you croaked out a question.

“Alexia? What’re you doing here?”

“Wow, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.” Alexia teased but when you glared at her, she finally answered your question. She lifted her hand and that was when you noticed what she was holding. “Got your jacket. You left it at the club last night.”

You blinked at her, eyes still squinted, and enunciated each word slowly. “You drove all the way here. To drop off my jacket.”

She nodded.

“And you couldn’t have waited until dinner tonight?”

“Nope. The jacket was of utmost priority, obviously. Second priority, of course, is to check that you haven’t dropped dead yet. Third, to make sure you show up at dinner on time.” Alexia stepped back and gave you a once-over. “And by the looks of it, you need more than just a check up.” 

“Fuck you.” 

At that, her brows only creased as she threw her head back to laugh. 

“Rough morning, huh?” 

“I’m glad you find my hangover amusing.” You grunted, turning to shuffle back into the kitchen to make the coffee you were about to prepare before a clown interrupted you. “Close the door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Okay, Grumpy.” Alexia said behind you and you heard the door close. A rustle of fabric, and then, “Go drink some water and maybe then you can actually hold a conversation.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see your face. 

“Shut up. I’ve only been awake for an hour.” 

“Sure.” Alexia dragged out her answer like she believed what you just said—she didn’t.

You turned on the coffee machine and pressed the button for a double shot. The sound of whirring filled the air.

“You want some coffee?” You asked, looking at Alexia over your shoulder who you found was not-so-subtly craning her neck to look down the hall. When she saw you looking at her, Alexia flashed you a questioning look.

“Are we alone or… ?” Alexia trailed off but before she could finish the question, you nodded. She walked to the counter and picked an apple from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, okay, good. And no, thanks, I already had a shot before I left home this morning.” 

You returned to your coffee, placing the cup aside so you could prepare the milk. 

Beside you, you heard the running of the tap and then a rustling of clothes followed by a slight thump. From the corner of your eye, you spied Alexia leaning against the counter. 

You just finished pouring the milk into your cup when you heard Alexia hum before the unmistakable bite to the flesh of an apple. Lifting the cup, you took a sip and welcomed the bitterness of caffeine on your tongue. 

“You know,” Alexia started, “you never told me you liked women.”

You froze. 

The lingering euphoria from last night—along with the excitement from Micah’s proposal for a next time when she left early this morning—immediately vanished. There was something about the nonchalant way that Alexia got you; it cut you deep. And the wounds you thought were long healed now bled through their stitches. A dot of coffee stained the white countertop, followed by another, and before your cup slipped from your grip, you put it down and pressed your shaking hands flat on the countertop. 

“What?” Your tone was tame but you were everything but. Pressure rose in your veins because how dared she. How dared she.

“I’m not mad or anything, I’m just surprised that’s all.” Alexia laughed lightly but the sound grated at your ears. 

“Was that a recent development? Did you find that out in the States?” Then she continued with a bit of guilt seeping through her voice. “If you found out before you moved to Angel City, I hope I never made you feel as though you couldn’t share that with me. And if I did, then I’m—”

“Please, don’t insult me, Alexia.”

As if finally detecting the ice in your tone, you saw her head turn towards you from the corner of your eye, but you made no move to look at her. 

 “I’m not insulting you. It’s just–I’m a terrible friend for never seeing the signs and that I couldn’t be there for you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scoffed but it sounded more like a choked sob than anything. The world blurred before you and you watched as your tears mixed with the coffee stains on the counter. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Came Alexia’s concerned voice before you heard a rustling of clothes, and then the touch to your shoulder. The reaction of your body was visceral: you stumbled back as you slapped her hand away as if she’d burnt you.

“Don’t touch me!” Heat pricked around the skin where she’d touch you, and you felt as if something was crawling beneath. “Get out.”

“What?”

Finally, you looked her in the eye and the force of the movement made your tears fall. Alexia stood there frozen, mouth agape, eyes wide and brows knotted in horror. You couldn’t care less; looking at her hurt and you wanted her out of your apartment—now. 

“I said leave.”

Alexia ran a frustrated hand through her hair and she pleaded, “Tell me what I did!”

“Get out, Alexia!” 

She opened her mouth, stopped midway, and finally shook her head. With one last look at you, she turned for the door but before she stepped out, she turned back to you. She sighed then said in a small voice.

“I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry anyway. I… I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, the door closed. At the click of the lock, you slid down to the floor; your back against the surface of the cabinets with Alexia’s half-eaten apple by your feet. 

She really did forget, didn’t she? And you were the only one who remembered because between the two of you, it was only you who cared enough to latch onto the memory. She didn’t care, and you doubted she ever did to begin with. Why did you think otherwise? Why?

Your face fell into your hands, and you sobbed. 

Stupid.

You were so fucking stupid. 

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

*rolls up 15 years late with Avatar the Last Airbender thoughts*

So I've been rewatching clips from the show lately to refresh my memory while I'm writing my Zuko Alone fanfic. And last night I rewatched the clip where Iroh teaches Zuko how to redirect lightning and I have had thoughts about this scene for years so I might as well finally throw them into the void of tumblr.

So, this scene is insane to me, because at the end of learning how he could-hypothetically- redirect lightning, Zuko looks at Iroh and, completely seriously says "okay I'm ready to try it with the real thing now". Like, Zuko, the boy with a massive scar on his face from where his father burned him just looks at his uncle and says, "shoot me with lightning".

And yes, he's 16 and not thinking but that's part of the point because the amount of blind, complete trust Zuko has in Iroh to look at him and say "shoot lightning at me" after the insane trauma he had at the hands of his own father- that is WILD to me. Zuko literally trusts Iroh so much that he just assumes, without even having to think about it, that no matter how volatile and unpredictable the lightning is, Iroh won't hurt him because Zuko cannot fathom his uncle hurting him.

And of course, Iroh's appalled because Zuko's standing there with a massive scar on his face from when his father misused firebending against him and likewise, Iroh cannot fathom hurting Zuko. And since IROH knows how volatile and unpredictable lightning is and how it could literally kill his son nephew he is absolutely NOT going to use it just to let Zuko practice redirecting lightning, but he's so flabbergasted that Zuko would even ask him that that he just kind of splutters angrily that he will ABSOLUTELY NOT shoot lightning at Zuko. (it's also just another layer of how messed up Ozai is because he shot lightning at Zuko without a second thought later)

But I hope Iroh thought about it later and realized the amount of pure, unthinking trust Zuko has in him because ;-; the child didn't even THINK about it. "Okay uncle shoot lightning at me now. I know I'll be safe because it's you." I love them so much 😭😭

[thou-babbling-brook]

Even little revolutionaries get sleepy 🌙💤

[kaelidascope]

I love them in every universe 🪷💛💜

[uravitypng]

dabi's talking about you to shigaraki while you're still in the room but he's paying no attention to you, treating you like you're not even there. you would typically call him out on his behaviour but right now he's telling shigaraki how much you're a good girl for him in bed and you freeze up and get flustered and it's hard not to when he's telling your boss how well you follow orders. "come here doll," he calls barely looking at you. you're confused and nervous but you start walking over to him. shigaraki smirks at the display. "kneel." your supple thighs expand as you immediately drop to you knees, realising that dabi is showing off and if you misbehave it could go very badly, you're in a room alone with two of the most dangerous people on the planet, granted dabi is your boyfriend but that's never stopped him getting angry at you.

dabi just pets your head laughing before turning back to shigaraki and carrying over the conversation. "i didn't have to train her or nothing, it's kind of pathetic really as soon she joined the league she did everything i asked trying to get my attention." you look up at him slightly frowning, he just pushes your head back down. "sometimes she'd look up at me with these doe eyes trying to be all innocent like, asking if i needed help on something. after awhile i gave in and fucked her like the whore she is. she's desperate, always trying to please, it really is pitiful."

"can i see?" you hear shigaraki rasp but you don't realise what he's talking about until you see him gesturing towards your soft body.

"what's in it for me?" dabi casually replies, you can't help but tense up, you don't know what shigaraki wants with you but he's never been one to sit and watch when he wants something, he takes. and right now with the way he's looking you've never been more scared of him before.

"whatever you want."

"okay."

your heart drops.

[yandere-yearnings]

Absume. (Yandere!Best Friend x GN!Reader)

feat. sui's ai

♡ oneshot, approx. 1k words

♡ post-specific warnings: melancholy (?), angst (??), angst w/o happy ending (???)

♡ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML SUIIIIIII❤️ i did not have as much time on this as i would've liked but no matter, i wasn't gonna exist on suiday w/o a suiday celebration dar style. i present to you ai angst❗❗(it was meant to be fluff but i'm a fucking dumbass who can't write lmao) ai belongs to @suiana and is from her stellar, absolutely fantastic game, Anything Will Do. sui i want you to know you make everything worth it and i wouldn't still be here on tumblr if it weren't for you. all my love to you mwah mwah <333 unedited, not proofread.

♡♡♡

This life was strange to you.

Sometimes it went by so fast, you’d wake up with no recollection of the days passed; staring at the ceiling with open eyes. It’s the same crack in the paint that had always been there, long and thin and unnoticeable if it weren’t for the fact you sought it out unconsciously. You remembered it, even if you didn’t remember crawling into bed that night, or having dinner at the table, and what exactly it was that your mother fussed over. 

There was a growing emptiness since you first noticed. No matter what you did, or how many people you were surrounded by, inside of you something was caving in. You didn’t know who you were. You didn’t know your place in this world without landmarking it by your achievements — and yet, when you looked back, there were none. How had you gone on so long? What had you been doing all this time?

Perhaps you lived in your head a little too much. Everything could be a little lighter if only you’d let it be. Sweeping every thought aside, you rolled, trapped your arm under your own weight and looked at your reflection in your mirrored bedside table. You were as you had always been. This was you, and this — whatever it was — was yours.

Lukewarm air, no temperature gradient, it should’ve made it easier for you to leave your bed, but you stayed there some long minutes before moving. Your clock was broken. Not conventionally. It only moved by the hour. Time was yours and you could waste it. There was security in the feeling that you had a choice to not start your day.

Morning, mundane as always, slathered you in its hues. Washed browns jittery under your feet, like there was no ground beneath you from wood to tile. The bathroom mirror had your fingerprints. You’d touched it many a time. Left a mark. This too, belonged to you. You could no longer believe this wasn’t real. Maybe it was that you were sensationless at your soles, treading carefully over loosely carpeted steps, trying to feel the tickle of those familiar fibres. When had you lost it all?

Your mother was in the kitchen, you don’t remember a time when she wasn't. It’s as if she can’t leave this lower floor, like she cannot rest, like her duties do not end. The door to her room never opens or closes, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen her without that plaid apron. She never notices you unless you speak to her. She never says anything different.

At the table it’s fruit, and it tastes like nothing. No texture, nothing to chew. It feels like you’re eating air. Play-pretend at a plastic table with a plastic knife and fork. You’re young again and your sister ropes you into her fake kitchen. You don’t have a sister. Not here, at least.

There’s a knock at your front door. It’s light, like the person on the other side is afraid to be heard, but wants your attention still. When you open it, there he stands — the only thing in this world that you can reach out and touch, that thrummed beneath your fingertips, as alive as you were desperate to feel.

Ai takes your hand, and the breeze picks up just like that. Ever so easy. You watch your feet and every step they take to the pavement, nothing skips; you can commit it to memory. He’s speaking to you but you can’t hear the words just yet, there is only wind and the rustle of leaves. His hair billows, bleeds out heavy cyprus that blends into the backdrop of trees. He has always given you these beautiful bits of him, and you had let yourself go blind.

Letting go was something you should’ve done long, long ago, but you guessed he was your comfort. Solace. A shelter you could run to. Leaving never felt right, not when you knew he’d stay waiting. Ai told you once, he loved you beyond all of this. Outside the street lights would flicker, and in the flashes it was his face illuminated, tucking you in after a dreary day. You could never hold onto those scenes, in your mind they were fragmented, and you forgot about them as quick as they came. If you asked him why, you knew he’d tell you that this was the price, whether either of you could pay it, whether either of you could even endure it anymore.

On a deep inhale, you finally resolved that it was no fairer to him as you found it was to you, that now was the only right time. Now would be the only time you’d have him by your side like this again. This moment alone, he was real and he would not slip through your fingers.

You had set out for school, but with your textbooks weighing what your heart could not, you had no intention of going there with him. Instead these empty streets faded, and quickly noon set over the park you ended up at. The swings did not creak, but they were old. You wondered how they could carry the two of you — you and Ai, and everything you’d both been piling up inside. 

Back and forth you went, here and in your head, trying to find the words to say you don’t think you could do this anymore. If you said sorry, would it make him mad? His due returns weren’t meant to be apologies. You were meant to fill him up just as he had done for you, you were meant to make everything worth it, every sacrifice, every stilted interaction from the day you understood that you were losing him. It was meant to get better. All this was meant to pass. Your mind was blank, and you were waiting for something but your clock was still broken, so nothing would ever come. You wanted to say I love you. You wanted those to at least be your final words — you just didn’t know how.

Ai was kind to you. He had always been. So he took your head in his hands, didn’t cry a single tear though it should’ve gone with that smile, and made the cut clean.

He said: “anything will do.”

[polarisbibliotheque]

Devil May Halloween - Ghost Riders In The Sky (Dante)

Devil May Halloween 2024 - Ghost Riders In The Sky (Dante's Halloween Special)

Pairing: Dante x Reader Summary: Oh, Halloween. Last year, you were almost forcefully married to a demon, so Dante's keeping his eyes on you. Well, this time, he will be the one needing help - and only a demon at the crossroads will be able to give you the powers to help your red devil. Rider, you should've known better to change your ways so you wouldn't ride with the ghost riders. Word Count: 25k words, it's a book, BEWARE. Author's Notes: Big big BIG credit to our beloved @furyeclipse who literally helped me write this year! We did this one as a sort of a collab and Fury wrote everything Ovid - so don't forget to sing her praises too!! We got you guys 55 pages of pure DMC crew Halloween shenanigans this time! I was on a big cowboy mood and I LOVE Johnny Cash's song, Ghost Riders In The Sky, with all my heart as well as... YES, THE GHOST RIDER MOVIE WITH NIC CAGE. NOT SORRY, I ADORED IT AS A TEEN. Hahahahaha those were the inspirations - oh, and of course Scooby-Doo inspiration with Nico and Kyrie on this one. Fury helped me getting the ideas going and I just finished writing it yesterday, if I'm not wrong. I do hope you guys enjoy it! I also hope Vergil's will follow soon, but I can't guarantee anything. Do apologize - but I hope Dante's can suffice for now. Happy Halloween, my dear critters, hunters and cheeky devils! ;)

“We’re stickin’ together this year, babe.”

You were almost laughing, but you didn’t want Dante to feel bad for wanting to keep an eye on you – your laughs would be of how endearing you thought he was being rather than anything else, but it would be too much to explain.

His protectiveness actually had a point, and you had to give him that.

“Ok, big guy.” Even so, you couldn’t refrain your voice of sounding a little dismissive. It wasn’t like you didn’t carry around a huge sword and a couple of guns to hunt demons by yourself as well – his worries had a point but, quite frankly, you could always put one hell of a fight if something even tried to touch you.

“Ei, I mean it!” You were walking side by side, but he pointed at you for emphasis. It was impressive how Dante could carry so much worry in his voice and still act absolutely nonchalant about everything – you thought it had something to do with the way his hips swayed during his laidback walks; even during a job, like you were at the moment. “Do I have to remind ya what happened every single last Halloween we had together?”

“I know, I know.” You sighed, but you had to agree with him. From a cursed top hat to being kidnapped to a demonic wedding, you had been through it all. Each year, you thought something new couldn’t happen, until Halloween arrived and, lo and behold, you were both in some new, crazy adventure. “To think it all started with that frigging top hat. How do you think Cheshire demon is doing? Any word from it?”

“Well, Patty allows it out of the hat from time to time. It seems to like her and protect her, who would’ve known?” Dante shrugged, letting out a long sigh himself. Patty practically stole the hat from the shop one day, and there wasn’t much Dante could do to have it back – the girl had a will of steel and, if he thought it was really dangerous, he would’ve never allowed it to touch her hands. In his eyes, everything was under control and Patty seemed… Happy. He would never steal happiness from her. “That spook is kinda her pet now. They’re ‘best friends forever’, who am I to get in the way?”

You let out a giggle. Dante looked like a father whose kid just brought a stray from the streets and looked at him with puppy eyes, asking to be able to keep it.

Only Patty’s stray was a skinny, creepy Cheshire cat looking demon, with a mischievous grin… But a good heart.

It looked worse than it acted, in all honesty. You were team Patty on this one.

“What…?” Dante side eyed you, noticing your endeared giggle and pleased expression.

“Well. You’re one hell of a dad, big guy. That’s all.” You answered in a sing-song tune, incredibly satisfied to be having that conversation mid-Halloween job with your half-demon life partner. “Best dad material I could’ve ever wished for. Really.”

And there it was, your life-long ability of making Dante speechless. It was something Vergil would almost always applaud if he was around, but you rarely left Dante speechless over thoughtful feelings in front of other people – those moments were mostly reserved to yourselves.

He immediately tucked his hands in the pockets of his pants – and you could almost say he was blushing. Dante turned pensive in the blink of an eye, and you couldn’t help but smile.

A father. He never really saw himself becoming one or even being one – and his expectations would be to be terrible at it, like his old man before him. Not that Sparda was a horrible dad when he was around, but he wasn’t. When Dante, Vergil and Eva needed the most, Sparda was nowhere to be seen. He never really knew what happened to him – just disappeared from the world and left them with the curse of his blood and stain of his name.

You knew very much what you were doing when you said he was great father material. You wanted Dante to feel proud of that – eventually, because he would have very much conflicting feelings about being seen as a dad… Mostly because, like everything else in his personal life, his immediate reaction would be to think he would absolutely suck at it.

Dante wasn’t the best at receiving heartfelt, sincere compliments. You were well-aware of that.

That’s why you had a personal mission to make him understand how amazing he was in your eyes – one compliment at a time.

“Well. At least I didn’t inherit that from my ol’ man.” He finally said out loud, looking back at you and flashing a half-smile on his lips. “Creepy-ass demons aside, you’re stayin’ under my radar today, hot stuff. With someone like yourself around, I’m gonna have to worry about demons tryna marry you every Halloween now.”

“Oh, please…” You rolled your eyes with his answer, making Dante immediately laugh in response. He was teasing, of course, but there was a sting of truth to his words. “That was… Awful. I hope it never happens again. If I have to wear one of those horrid wedding gowns again, I swear… I’m gonna start throwing punches.”

“Sucker punchin’ demons down the aisle, what an entrance!” Dante had to laugh alongside you – the previous Halloween had been one hell of a ride to say the least. “But hey, I’ll always be around to tear those horrible clothes off you, babe.”

“Oh, and that you do quite well, you devil…” You had to giggle in return as Dante had the cockiest grin slapped on his lips. Oh, how you loved bantering with your red devil.

Alas, it was Halloween, and all that sweet talking with your beloved red devil would have to wait. You two had finally arrived back at the hotel you were staying with the whole crew – courtesy of the inhabitants of the very western looking little town that called your services for that night.

Something had been brewing for quite a while: you and Dante had noticed it, but you weren’t able to actually identify what in the hell was going on. Ever since the disco incident with the hellish imps in Redgrave, it didn’t slip past your fingers that random summoning of demons was increasing around smaller cities – the hellish imps were probably a group that detached from the original summoning point and decided to wreak mischief right at the Devil May Cry’s backyard.

One city, though, seemed to be the most affected. Silverstone was quite small compared to Redgrave, but very much a tourist town. It thrived on its western look and it took pride in being known as a place that could take its visitors back in time to years of salons, gold rushes, wanted posters and duels at noon. Recently, though, the tourists were a little bit scared and decided to avoid the place, and with reason: demons were becoming increasingly common around the area.

There wasn’t much to do against it, for the demons seemed to come from the desert, at night, with a thirst for blood and human flesh – leaving only destruction in its wake. The political leaders of the city were taking too long to figure out what to do, so the tradespeople of Silverstone decided to come together and take matters into their own hands.

With a little council formed – mostly with owners of hotels, cafés, restaurants, shops, and every other kind of business that could benefit from tourists – you had quite the interesting proposition at the Devil May Cry for that year’s Halloween night.

*

“C’mon in! Door’s open!”

It was a chilly autumn evening at the Devil May Cry – nothing really eventful happening, so you took the opportunity to kick Dante off his chair and help you organize the shop a little bit. He didn’t complain – after all, things were a lot better after you came into his life; organizing the shop was one of those things.

You didn’t expect a knock on the heavy doors of the Devil May Cry, though. Since Dante was near the kitchen and your hands were busy putting your swords away on their rightful place at the wall right behind the desk, telling the random customer to come in was the best way to welcome them.

“Didn’t know it was time for a ‘Fall cleanin’ at this place! Looks like you can work miracles, after all.” That raspy voice and the smell of cigar was unmistakable. You giggled as you turned around to greet him.

“Well, you know how I roll, Morrison. If I can’t work miracles, I don’t even show up.” You rested your hands on your waist, having a cocky smile on your lips – which made Morrison laugh in return.

“I sure do hope you people can work miracles alright, pal.” What you did not expect to see, was Morrison’s client: a man well into his sixties, huge white mustache curled up at the ends, wearing light jeans, snake leather boots, checkered button up shirt to his neck and a white, quite imposing, cowboy hat – which he took off to greet you respectfully, revealing his combed back white hair.

“Well, if you call closin’ the Gates of Hell a miracle, we’ve been known to work those from time to time, Colonel Sanders.” As soon as Dante finished his sentence, you closed your eyes, controlling yourself not to giggle. You never wanted to seem rude to customers, but you had to admit, having a cowboy in the shop was a first. A cowboy other than Dante, that is. “Halloween is approachin’ and we’ve been havin’ more spooks than the usual around. Is that what this is ‘bout?”

The Colonel Sanders cowboy gazed at Morrison as if asking if the man had briefed Dante in advance. As the red devil sat on his huge chair, you rested on the edge of the desk, crossing your arms and allowing a proud smile to spread across your lips – Dante always played the goofy, reckless rockstar card, but he was far from being naïve and, how his twin liked to call him, foolish. When it came to his job, he was quick to notice patterns and underlying intentions of demons – and, since your hellish imp disco job, he had been keeping an eye on the increase of devils in and around Redgrave.

Oh, yes. You were more than proud to call him your lover.

“Told ya. He might not look like much, but he’s good.” Morrison answered the man’s look, making you giggle a bit. You could feel Dante glaring at you – the ‘he might not look like much’ would come up later, in a teasing and friendly banter between you both. “You guessed it, Dante. There’s a lot goin’ on, but I’ll let Mr. Carson here do the explainin’.”

“I take it you’re not from the city, Mr.” Dante pointed at the man’s hat, as Morrison moved to his favorite spot on the shop’s couch and the man approached the desk.

“Ye, not from around, indeed. Call me Buck.” The man took his time to shake Dante’s hand and yours – with a strong grip, but not as rough as you expected. You had to admit, you were a lot more familiar with rougher hands – like Dante’s. “I’m from Silverstone, you people probably heard of it.”

“Hmmm. Up north, smaller city. Got the name because of the silver mines around; one of the biggest cities back in the day, right?” You had to pull the mental map you had in your head to find Silverstone – it was a touristic city you had always wanted to visit but never really got the chance, hence why you knew so much about it. Also, it was good knowing maps by heart when you had to count on Nico driving you somewhere: you had been lost a couple of times with Nero, Dante and Vergil and it was chaotic, to say the least.

“Yes, pal, and we take pride in that!” Buck’s mustache smiled to hear you knew about his small town – something he didn’t really expect from people in big cities. Dante also looked at you, with his eyebrows raised, as you only looked back at him with a matter-of-fact expression in your eyes. He called you a know-it-all sometimes, but he actually loved that about you.

Vergil was a whole different kind of know-it-all – as per his words, the asshole kind.

“We been havin’ problems in Silverstone lately… Demon problems.” Buck’s dark brown eyes now turned serious, drawing yours and Dante’s attention. “It started with some small, flyin’ things. Annoyin’ little folk who liked to upset the cattle and do all kinds of mischief devilry around the city; they were drivin’ the tradespeople mad. But nothin’ a good ol’ rifle couldn’t solve. Some men and women took ‘em as target practice.”

“Hellish imps. You’re talking about hellish imps.” And even though you had a smile on your lips, you couldn’t look more annoyed. Dante couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“They’re easy to kill, but annoyin’ as hell.” He shook his head, remembering finding you in the disco, hopelessly chained to a chair, while the imps from Hell messed around with your stuff while Stayin’ Alive blasted through the amps. It was a sight to see – a funny, but rather cute one. “We also had some problems with ‘em recently.”

“Well, if we had only those… Hellish imps, you said… ‘Round the town, folks would take care of ‘em, no need for help. After a month, I think, it got worse.” Buck’s face turned somber and his shoulders seemed to recoil to himself – even if he was a naturally imposing kind of guy, it looked like he got a little smaller… Fearful, even. “Folks from farms started reportin’ dead cattle – not your usual disease or random poisonin’ from eatin’ bad food, no, poor cattle were bein’ torn to shreds; all blood drained. Some of us decided to take a look…” Buck shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “Overnight, farms turned into fields worse than slaughterhouses. I never seen anythin’ like it. And it was random too: some cattle dead, some alive.”

“Hmmm. Demons do have a thirst for blood, but only lesser ones wouldn’t risk going after armed humans.” You pondered, your memory going back to all the things you read in the Codex Daemonica. It was the best knowledge reference you knew… After Dante and Vergil. “You might’ve grown a reputation of being too tough for them not to attack you right away.”

“We tried to keep our lil’ town as protected as we could, pal.” Buck now had a thankful smile on his mustache, proud to hear someone like you appreciated their efforts and courage. “That didn’t keep those things at bay, though. We tried all superstition and priests to keep those things away. Some of us even tried shootin’ some in the dark, but they kept comin’ back. Farmers would be terrorized inside their houses at night, keepin’ their families safe and prayin’ they wouldn’t wake up to their cattle mutilated.” The man’s thick, white eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, eyes turning somber once again. “We were fightin’, pal. Keepin’ things together as we could. ‘Til that thunderstorm; rumblin’ in the skies like the devil’s herd themselves, crossin’ our path to bring our doom.”

You felt a chill dripping down your spine, rearranging yourself at the edge of Dante’s desk as if you were trying to make your sitting spot more comfortable. You weren’t one to fear any sort of devilish stories – quite the contraire, you and Dante heard those with enthusiasm and even let out some good laughs while at it – but you had to give it to that cowboy. He knew how to tell an ominous story, and that was a rare find.

He would be a certified success at camps, telling ghost stories by a bonfire at night.

“Thunderstorm, huh? That’s no small demon.” Dante suddenly turned serious – and when that happened, play time was over.

“Nothin’ small indeed. The cattle mutilation got worse, if you can imagine. Their blood, their parts… Gone. Some folk in the city tried to see what was goin’ on, and they did see somethin’: dark figures, watchin’ us from over the hills. Always when the night was approachin’, when the horror would begin. The ones who tried to fight back… Well…” Buck sighed, taking a little embroidered handkerchief from his pockets and drying some of the sweat that started to appear between his bushy white brows. “We lost our first townspeople. Good folk. Fair, hardworkin’ people. Good with a rifle too.”

“I know it’s a rather insensitive question, but it’s important, Mr. Carson…” You immediately apologized before you could even ask what you had in mind – after all, you could see the sorrow in the man’s eyes. Sorrowful cowboys had your heart softened like ice cream melting on summer, and you had Dante to blame over that. “But were there bodies? If so, did they have anything missing…?”

“Hmmm, yeah, they had some parts missin’… Mostly hair, nails… One of them, those things they… Well, they…” Buck sighed once more, putting the handkerchief away. You and Dante were used to that sort of horror – having contact with someone who didn’t work in the business like you did was definitely grounding as to what was considered horrible or not. “They took tongues and teeth too. A grim sight, pal, a grim sight… They all had their throats slit, clean cut, pale with their eyes frozen in fear. Forever starin’ at the thing that took their life.”

“Wait, you said clean cut…? As in a blade cut?” Dante had both his arms on his table now, leaning forward with interest as his eyebrows betrayed the confusion that information caused him. “Not an animal’s claw?”

“Nah, friend, that was definitely a blade. I know my animals, and I’m a pretty decent tracker along with some folks who like to hunt together sometimes. We know what’s a cut from a knife and a cut from a beast. Even those beasts you two been huntin’.” Buck shook his head affirmatively with so much conviction you couldn’t doubt his words. “Every single throat was slashed with a blade, maybe a huntin’ knife. The rest that was taken… Well, I dunno. I don’t wanna think a human could’ve done somethin’ so monstrous to someone else. That’s gotta be those demons of yours… After all, they come back every night.”

“And they kill humans every night as well? How many so far?” You maybe had something in your mind, but things were actually quite foggy. Some things didn’t add up – and, judging by Dante’s expression, he was on the same page as you.

“Not every night, no. We’ve been keepin’ ourselves safe. We’ve been sleepin’ together at big places: hotels, churches, markets. Barricade the doors, guards with rifles takin’ turns so everyone has a chance to rest, town watch to keep an eye on the dark figures on the hills… But sometimes, that’s not enough, friend. Sometimes, one of us gets lost and the body turns up the next day.” Buck lowered his head, shaking it right after. “It took us some time to find out how to fight back. We never knew there were… Professionals in dealin’ with those things. We thought we were abandoned to our own doom and nothin’ could save us, until a random couple from Redgrave said a man named Dante might be able to help our lil’ town. Gave us a number, and Morrison picked up.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you found us, then.” You smiled back, trying to lift up the mood a little bit – something that was quite impossible, but you pitied the man. You just wanted to see cowboys smiling; again, something you would always blame Dante for.

“I hope so, friend.” His mustache curled up on a small smile and you already had some more joy in your heart. Dante almost laughed upon seeing you so happy from trying to cheer up a client – you would always do the best you could, and you would always let your heart open to empathy. Something so human, and so lovely to his eyes. “Folks in town weren’t so sure ‘bout me comin’ all the way down to Redgrave to check this ‘devil hunter’, but it’s the last chance we got. We decided to risk it.”

“Your gamble paid off, pal. You got me interested – and, if you’re payin’, you got me hired.” Dante sighed back in his classic nonchalant way, already getting up from his chair, offering his hand to close the deal.

“That won’t be a problem. A job well-done is a job well-paid – you get rid of those horrors in Silverstone, the whole town will be more than willin’ to compensate you, pal.” Buck put his hat back on, shaking Dante’s hand. “I’ll be goin’ back to town tomorrow first time in the mornin’ –”

“Ya don’t have to worry. We can keep up.”

The biggest smile in the room was Morrison’s: he always got a commission whenever he found a job for you and Dante, so the promise of the whole town being monetarily thankful to you both was a great prospect for him as well. As Morrison and Buck Carson left the shop, and you all said your goodbyes, Dante went around the desk, slightly leaning on it by your side while keeping his arms crossed and eyes on the door – just like you.

“Demons don’t usually use blades.” You finally said what you both thought was so weird about all that story.

“And when they do, they’re not the chaotic bunch of the imps. They’re much worse.” Dante agreed with you, his voice now serious and pensive.

“What do you think? Hell Generals? Higher rank demons?” You furrowed your brows a bit, looking up to his reflective face. “Angelos…?”

“Might be… Might be all of them, might be just one.” Dante sighed, slouching a bit on his desk while blankly staring at the heavy wooden doors of the Devil May Cry. “We’ll only figure it out when we get to Silverstone.”

“Hmmm. I guess you’re right.” After your own sigh, you did your best to reach out to his face and place a rather long kiss on his rough jaw – making Dante look back at you quite confused, breaking his blank stare and having life back into those sky-blue eyes. “You’re very handsome when you’re brooding, cowboy, did you know that?”

“Oh, you like it when I’m serious, sheriff?” And even if he kept his straight expression, you could hear the fun teasing and loving notes in Dante’s voice. “Maybe I’ve to play the ‘stoic cowboy’ more often to ya.”

“Eh, I love you anyway, red devil. You don’t have to play any roles for me.” You shrugged, giggling as Dante’s hands already pulled you closer to him, sneaking around your waist. “Blame it on that handsome face of yours.”

“Ya think I’m handsome, then…?” And now he had a bit of his goofy smile on his lips, hell bent on teasing you for the rest of the night. You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into – and, considering every single Halloween prior to this one, that kind of break would be very welcome. You could feel it in your bones. “My sheriff has a thing for handsome devils, huh?”

“For one handsome devil. I’m pretty committed, you know…?” You finally allowed him to playfully kiss your lips, both of you smiling between pecks. “I’m not one to think everyone is handsome. I have standards.”

“Oh, and this cowboy here is your kind of standard, yeah?”

“You bet you are, Dante.” With the certainty of your voice and the way you pulled his head to a deeper kiss, something ignited in Dante’s chest. You knew exactly how to get him going – and he would never complain about that.

“Ok, sheriff. You got what you wished for!” Breaking the kiss, Dante immediately lifted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style throughout the shop and up the stairs. “Undivided attention from your handsome devil tonight, no refunds!”

“See? You surpass every standard I may have, babe!” You giggled, leaving a few kisses on his neck.

That was something you both learned after a few couple life-threatening, serious jobs: always seize the moment you had before the storm; enjoy every kiss and every touch you could with each other prior to one of those dangerous gigs – it could very well be the last chance you would have.

*

“Well, well, rise and shine! Got enough of your beauty sleep?” Of course, Dante had to tease his nephew – or it wouldn’t be Dante.

“Yeah, maybe you should try it too. Be lookin’ too much like an old man, soon they’ll be mistakin’ you for Santa.” Nero’s answer was as sharp as his sword, perfect for a punk like him. You had to wheeze, receiving a side-eye from your red devil.

“What?” You shrugged back, while Kyrie stopped by the porch of the grand Wild West looking hotel you were all staying – property of Buck Carson – worriedly observing the hills in the distance against the orange sky. “You kinda asked for it. Santa.”

“Great.” Dante’s smile was poisoned with annoyance. “Lil’ angel is comin’ along too?”

“Nah, I don’t think it’s a good idea…” Nero started mumbling, and you could see it in his face: it was a topic of discussion between them both. Kyrie was brave and wanted to save people, while Nero was overprotective and wanted to save her at all costs. After the almost marriage, he became a little worse. “There’s plenty of people to help here in town…”

“The demons might have kidnapped and hurt people already, wherever they are.” Kyrie’s hazelnut eyes focused back on Nero – determined, but still kind. “If so, those people need help. You can kill the demons, but I can help the people.” She turned her eyes to you, like an accomplice. “It’s what we have been doing for a while now.”

“Yeah, it backfired last year. With both of ya.” Nero added, having you looking back at him with surprise, resting your hands on your hips. That was bold of him, to talk to you like that. He was your honorary nephew, after all.

You finally felt the pang of a parent being antagonized by their child and you were ready to give him your very first scolding – what a Halloween already.

“Eh, have to agree with the kid on that one.” But Dante got in the way first, and now your surprised gaze turned to your red devil – who immediately picked it up and was quite used to some scolding. “Ei, I’m just sayin’, babe! Last year, you both got yourselves in a pickle, this close to marryin’ a demon in a ceremony that would be a real pain in the ass to nullify if it had happened.” And Dante wouldn’t argue if he wasn’t worried himself: if it was just him, Vergil or Nero being headstrong about something stupid, he would let it go – but it was about you. And your safety was a subject he would never let go. “Cut us some slack here, will ya? We’re just tryna keep ya safe.”

You and Kyrie never looked so conflicted in your entire lifetimes up until that point. There you were, standing on the porch side by side, hands on your waists, ready to rebuke them like the most annoyed family member of the year – but how could you when your partners were only being that annoying because you were so important to them, the only thing they cared about was keeping you both safe?

You wanted to argue and kiss Dante, all at the same time – and Kyrie perfectly understood your conflict, because she wanted to do precisely the same with Nero.

“Well, you don’t want me to stay here in town, do you?” You finally asked the million dollar question. If you couldn’t disarm them with the old ‘you’re-worrying-too-much’ scolding, you had to appeal to logic. “I’m a devil hunter. I go on jobs by myself. I’m as important as Nero or you, big guy, on this one. Kyrie has been training with Nero for a year now to be able to protect herself on the field whenever she needs to come along to help people, and she’s been helping me a lot last couple of jobs. Even killed some demons herself.” With those words, Kyrie’s hazelnut eyes found yours with pride in them. You remembered telling her how Credo would be proud, and how emotional she got. Since then, she was becoming even fiercer, but still keeping her sweet kindness, only resorting to violence if she had no other option at hand. “If you think we can’t handle ourselves, then all that talk about humans being even stronger than demons is bullshit, and you only say that to feel better about yourselves. Your actions must match your words if you really believe in something, you know.”

Nero and Dante just stared back at you like two wet dogs who did something terribly wrong and now we're being lectured by their owner and asking for forgiveness. Not even in their wildest dreams they could’ve thought such calm words could make them feel so small and embarrassed for their actions. They were completely speechless, trying to find an argument back and trying to keep their pose – but failing miserably.

“Damn, did you go to Vergil’s school of winnin’ an argument…?” Dante shook his head, having his hands on his waist now – and a slight smile on his lips. “You know I do believe in that. You two get in trouble, I’m killin’ the bastard who touched you. That’s it for me.”

“Eh, that’s it for me too…” Nero scratched the back of his head, not being able to counter your logic. “But I’m stayin’ close to you, Kyrie!”

“Heeeeeey there, you suckers! Your magical ride arrived for the night!” Nico appeared just at the right moment, tires singing on the pavement as she parked the van. “Gotta say, the mechanic in town is pretty good! Not like me, of course, but we tuned up a few things that needed some fixin’ and the van is workin’ fine!”

That was enough to get Nero bantering with Nico and Dante on his way to the van, ready to get to work. You and Kyrie followed along together, with her entangling her arm on yours as you went down the stairs of the hotel’s entrance porch.

“That was good! Point for us!” She whispered to you while giggling, making you mirror her actions.

��Hey, I learned with the best.” You pointed back at Kyrie, a satisfied smile appearing on her lips. “Nothing like treating the Spardas like the kids at the orphanage.”

“Oh, a little bit of gentle authority goes a long way with Nero. Dante’s like that too, right?”

“You have no idea. Best thing I’ve ever learned from you.”

“Ei! Can you both stop gossipin’ and get on the van already…?” Nero tried to look annoyed and maintain the punk attitude but you both could see how that was cracking and his whole body looked a lot gentler than his words sounded.

“Eh, kid, we just lost all credibility. Time to accept that.” Dante gave his nephew a pat on the back as he hopped on the van, already used to that kind of situation. Nero just blushed as you both giggled together and he helped Kyrie up while you followed your red devil in.

Plopping right by his side, Dante was calmly reading one of the many magazines about gunsmithing. You scooted near him, landing a quick kiss on his jaw – his eyes finally looking back at you, a half-smile hidden on his lips.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Hell yeah I do, hot stuff.” And he landed a quick peck on your forehead. “I love you too.”

Dante’s attention got back to his magazine as Nico kickstarted the van and you took one of your guns of its case to check if everything was in order before the job. Nero sat by Kyrie’s side like a guard dog while she talked about something completely unrelated to hunting with the gunsmith virtuosa at the wheel.

With the sun almost hiding behind the hills, tainting everything in blood-orange, you all failed to notice the dark figures following your every footsteps and the tires of the van as you plunged in the night to find the demons terrorizing the little town of Silverstone.

*

You had to be fair to Nico: driving in the middle of a dark desert wasn’t an easy task. You were engulfed by a sea of darkness and the only light on the highway was that of the van. Granted, there was nothing for Nico to crash the vehicle on, but she wasn’t leaving the road either.

“What you’re seein’ today, is the new town. A few miles away, there’s the old town of Silverstone – the original, if you will.”

As soon as the sun shone in the sky that morning, you called Kyrie and briefed them of the job – which, of course, they were eager to be part of. Buck led you all to the city: riding ahead with Morrison in his truck, followed by the Devil May Cry van… And Dante riding the Cavaliere with you safely holding your red devil’s waist, as you always enjoyed the motorcycle rides.

He introduced you to all the members of the small council of townspeople who decided to take those hellish matters in their own hands and end the horrors – and soon, you were having a meeting to understand where the damn demons were coming from.

“It all started as a silver mine, closer to the hills. Folks started to settle around, built a church and soon, Silverstone was born.” An old woman, Frances Campbell, explained with a map opened on a big table at the hotel’s party room – the common areas now filled with mattresses tossed around and families refusing to dare set a foot outside; be it day or night. “The town was hit with a wave of prosperity, and even more people tried their luck in Silverstone. Soon, there were too many people for such a small little town – and that’s when the town you’re in was born.”

“Why change the location of the town, ma’am?” Kyrie had her attentive eyes analyzing the map and, as always, made the most insightful questions. “Was there something wrong with the initial town?”

“Nothin’ at all, my dear. At least at the beginning.” Frances added, fixing the thin glasses that were starting to slide down the bridge of her nose. “The original town was closer to the mines, but not the water. Silverstone now is a lot closer to the main river in the region.”

“Well, whenever there’s a peak of prosperity, there’s a peak of greed too; at least in my experience.” Dante crossed his arms, also studying the map.

You did love when he got all professional. That’s how you ended up showering him with kisses the previous night.

“And that you are right, Mr. Devil Hunter.” The woman pointed at Dante as a teacher does when a student makes a smart remark – you remembered Buck mentioning she was a retired professor, and you could see she still had that in her. “And with greed, comes crime. People started tryin’ to take advantage of each other, steal, cheat, murder… Everythin’ you hear in ol’ Wild West stories.”

“The type of thing that attracts demons. Maybe that’s why they decided to appear now…?” You furrowed your brows and looked at Dante, but he too had a not so sure expression. “It was long ago, though, as you are saying, ma’am. It’s a long shot, but I’m trying to understand here why demons attacking Silverstone of all places all of a sudden.”

“Well, rumors started goin’ around the town back then, of a man who made a deal with the devil.” And that made all of you even more attentive, as a pack of dogs who hear a favorite word. “He was the richest of Silverstone, built a huge mansion in the old town… Died a horrible death: he got caught in the middle of a stampede. People never found his horse, nor the cattle and the drovers, but they found his body teared in pieces across the desert.”

“How did they know it was a stampede, then…?” And you would never tell him as not to hurt his pride, but Nero looked like a child hearing a spooky story by a bonfire.

“There were roof marks everywhere. Some parts of the sand seemed burned, as if the roofs were made of hot steel.” The lady’s voice was ominous and you did think she and Buck would make one hell of a couple. Maybe that could be your side quest for that Halloween, if there was something close to a spark between them. They would be an absolute banger at the spooky orphanage parties. “The townspeople said the devil had come to collect his part of the bargain for all the money the man got of his contract. Soon, the man’s wife died in an accident at home, and strange, usually deadly, happenin’s started occurring at the mansion. Everyone left and the building was considered haunted. The town started havin’ more and more issues involving death and horrible accidents, and soon everyone believed the man had cursed them from beyond the grave. That’s when the townspeople decided it was time to build a better version of Silverstone.”

“Nothin’ like an old, power-hungry bastard to bring down a whole city…” Nero mumbled more to himself than to anyone else while reading the map – but everyone could feel who he was really talking about. Wherever Vergil was at his Halloween job at the moment, you were certain he was feeling a sting from being stabbed by his own son in the distance. “Gotta a name for this as-Gentleman…?”

You couldn’t hold back a wheeze when Kyrie elbowed Nero so he wouldn’t curse so much in front of Frances, and tried to correct himself.

“Beau Blackwell. My grandma knew him, snob fellow. She never liked him too much, and kept cursin’ his troubled soul ‘til the day she went to the grave herself.”

“The Campbell ladies were never the kind to mess with, that’s for certain.” Buck finally arrived back, having both his hands hanging at the edge of his belt, his moustache smiling to Frances. “Grandma Campbell was a tough one.”

“That she was. Ol’ Blackwell didn’t even try to get in her way.” She had a proud smile back in her thin lips, a spark igniting in her smart eyes as soon as Buck Carson arrived.

Oh, you knew that spark. Your side quest for Halloween was on.

“And what did your grandma think of this Blackwell guy, ma’am? He had a deal?” For Dante, that was the most important information at the moment. A contract could indicate a whole number of things, but there was a good chance the old town had at least one good demon summoning place – at worst, a door to the underworld itself.

“She sure thought he did. As far as she said, Blackwell was a useless wimp who couldn’t find a slab of silver if it was paradin’ naked right in front of his nose.” So far, Nico was serious and didn’t get much into the demon talk – probably studying the map and all the routes in and out of the old town, as she always did. But the whole naked silver slab thing made you and her have to hold a wheeze – Nico failing and trying to mask it with a cough. “He also got to marry the sheriff’s daughter, the most beautiful and smart woman around back then – and the one all men fought to get. For some reason, the woman fell head over heels for a spineless shrimp like Beau.”

“Doesn’t look like she was that smart after all.” Buck shrugged. “I always thought that was the Campbell’s title.”

Oh, yes. Buck was genuinely head over heels for his Frances – and judging by the way she glared him back, with a smart smile on her lips, it was corresponded.

“We kinda got the title after she chose that ass.” With Frances’ answer, Nero couldn’t help but beam a proud smile: if she was cursing, he could curse as well. “The fact is, Blackwell was suddenly hit with a wave of luck that was very much out of character. And then, found death in the most mysterious and grim circumstances.”

“Yeah. That has the foul smell of a demon contract right there…” Dante was pensive again, now looking at the map. “Is the ol’ Blackwell mansion easy to find?”

“Pretty easy, Mr. Devil Hunter. It’s the biggest one in the ol’ town, bigger even than the church. Damn Blackwell was a show-off with all that money of his.”

“Well, it sounds more and more like a contract to me.” Dante sighed, looking back at Frances and Buck. “If they’re watchin’ Silverstone from the hills and there’s that much history in the ol’ town, I think it’s safe to say that’s where the demons are comin’ from. Either way, we’re checkin’ it tonight.”

“Tonight?” Buck’s eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, Frances copying his worried expression. “Don’t you prefer to go durin’ the day, when those creatures aren’t out?”

“Eh, I can’t put on much of a show if there aren’t any demons to kill, can I?” Dante shrugged and you had to smile. Buck had a point, but you knew the best time to check would be at night: if they were attacking when the sun was gone, that’s when you would find them. Prior to that, you risked finding anything at all. “Besides, I got the cavalry with me. We’ll be fine and you’ll be out of demons in no time.”

With the van riding in pitch-black darkness, though, you couldn’t make out any shapes in the distance: you would only see the creatures on the hills if you had the moon behind it – but it seemed like even the moon herself was hidden that night.

It was eerily quiet as well. You had checked your guns and your sword, making sure everything was in pristine condition. Now that you had nothing else to do, you were watching outside and paying attention to your surroundings – and there weren’t many noises. There were just a few sounds here and there that you couldn’t quite isolate and figure out what it was. But it felt, familiar in an off putting kind of way.

“Ei, sheriff. Everything ok there?” Dante’s voice took you out of your thoughts, and you turned your attention to him. “Your eyebrow will soon look like just one, the way you’re frownin’ there, hot stuff. What’s wrong?”

“Hmmm… I dunno…” You murmured back, trying to relax your eyebrows a little bit. That made Dante smile. “I have a… Feeling.”

“A feelin’, huh? What kind of feelin’, pretty eyes?” And even if he had that easygoing tone sprinkled in his voice and attitude, Dante did take on a more serious demeanor. “Good one? Bad one…?”

“A… Weird one. I can’t quite tell if it’s good or bad…” You had your worried expression back on, trying to understand what the hell was that thing stirring in your heart. Your feelings were notorious between you and Dante: he said it was your spidey-sense tingling, even if you didn’t have any heritage like his. “I just know something is wrong. I’m not feeling like things are completely… Ok.”

“Have they ever been ok in this family, y/n?” Nero had to put his two cents in the conversation, immediately making you a little less worried – and giggling with his question. “But hey, if you’re feelin’ somethin’s wrong, we should have our guard up.”

“Well put, kid. Y/n’s spidey-sense is no joke.”

“It’s not a spidey-sense, c’mon…” You rolled your eyes, already smiling with your red devil and honorary nephew.

But the moment couldn’t last for too long: soon, the van jumped in the air, as if it had aggressively ran over something.

“Hey, Nico! What the fuckin’ hell was that?!” Nero held Kyrie’s waist so she wouldn’t fly around the van – and only after you checked on them, you realized Dante had the very same reaction, but holding you close to him.

If you flew around, you would fly around together. You jump, I jump, as Jack Dawson would say.

“I’ve no idea!!”

“Don’t’cha know how to drive anymore?!” And now Nero stumbled over to the driver’s seat, as Nico stopped the van with a screech. He almost stamped on the front window like a sticker. “What the fuck is goin’ on?!”

“Why don’t you do the drivin’, if you’re so good yourself, huh?!” Nico fixed her glasses on her face, hands trembling and flailing everywhere. “I dunno what happened! It wasn’t an animal, nothin’ like that!! It was too fast and I didn’t see it! One minute, the road was clear, the other, I hit somethin’ and went over it!!”

“Oh, maybe it was a coyote or a wolf trying to cross the road…!” Kyrie’s heart was almost coming out of her throat, but you could all hear the tone of worry in her voice.

“It can very well be, those animals are common around here.” You had your own hand over your heart, feeling it beating like a samba school in peak Carnaval. “They aren’t used to cars, specially this time of the night.”

“C’mon, kid. Let’s check it out.” Dante got up from the seat, leaving Rebellion behind and carrying only Ebony and Ivory in his hands. “If it’s an animal, we can’t leave the pooch agonizing out there. If it isn’t…”

“They’ll regret gettin’ in the way.” Nero answered with a smile and already reloading Blue Rose, leaving Red Queen behind with Kyrie. “You better stay in the van.”

“Was that for me as well? ‘Cause you know, I got my own set of cool guns, too.” You looked back at Dante, waving your dual guns around – and winning a quick laugh from him.

“Hey, if it’s nothin’, it’s just trouble for you, pretty eyes. If it is somethin’, well, thank you’re more than welcome to join the party.” With those words, he winked back at you and left the van with Nero.

You remained close to the van’s door, telling Kyrie to seat beside Nico on the driver’s seat. None of you could really see what was going on: the only thing in front of you was the dark road and endless miles of pitch-black desert. For Kyrie and Nico, it was no different; although they had the headlights to light up a few meters ahead.

You could hear their steps as they quietly approached whatever it was that Nico ran over. Awfully quiet for the both of them. That feeling you had before only tightened in your chest, reverberating even more, almost making you forget how to breathe. Those seconds dragged like feet drenched in quicksand, trying to move but unable to get anywhere.

Until you heard a gunshot.

Before you could even ask what was going on, a dead demon flew over the van and landed on the hood with a loud noise, staring at all of you with its dead eyes and blood splattering everywhere – which made Nico and Kyrie immediately start screaming, almost hugging each other.

You jumped out of the van, finding Nero and Dante surrounded by demons – low tier demons, though, nothing you three couldn’t handle together. Wielding your dual guns, you started to shoot as fast as Dante had taught you.

Not as fast as he did, though. That was his demonic blood at work.

“Where did they come from?” You ran up to him, standing with your back to your red devil’s back – that way, you both could cover a larger area.

“No idea, babe. We were checkin’ out the dead one. Don’t move!” With those words, Dante used the dead demon as leverage to jump right above you and pull off his classic spinning move with Ebony and Ivory. With you in the middle, right below him, it was impossible to hit you.

You had to be fair: you would always be impressed when he did that and managed to keep you safe while slaughtering all the demons around you in one single move.

When you were least expecting, though, a blade flew by your side – superficially slashing your upper right cheek, but enough to make a constant flow of blood trail down your face.

Dark figures were approaching – like the ones the townsfolk described. You, Nero and Dante were already expecting higher rank demons; the ones who were really behind all that mess.

Until you all heard a motorcycle noise.

“What the…?!” Before Nero could finish cursing, though, you all turned around only to find a set of motorcycles running right into your direction. If Nero hadn’t grabbed you and dodged right away, you would certainly end up with a nasty injury.

You counted quickly. There were around sixteen of those dark figures, including the ones on foot and the ones on the motorcycles. One of them held an amulet that glowed with a blood red light in the dark, creating dark seals on the floor – the ones that summoned more of the lesser demons from the underworld.

That was where they were coming from.

“Nico, hit the gas! Get the hell out of here!” Nero immediately screamed, assessing the situation the same way as you did: it was a very bad situation.

“But…!”

“Now’s not the time to argue, Goldstein!” Dante’s voice was almost a roar – and Nico rarely heard him calling her like that. It was enough to make the gunsmith virtuosa get the van running. “Y/n…!”

“Ah, hell no, big guy! I’m not leaving without you!” You roared back, already shooting one of the demons that tried to attack Dante. The van’s tires screeched on the road as Nico turned it around abruptly to go back the way you came from – back to the new town of Silverstone. In a safer place, they could figure out what to do. “You jump, I jump! No refunds!”

Dante’s heart didn’t know if it wanted to jump out of his chest from desperation of having you in such a situation or from elation of you loving him so much as to put yourself in danger.

It was probably because of both.

“Kid! Y/n! Back to back, the three of us! C’mon!” He didn’t even had to say it again: soon, you had Dante’s and Nero’s backs to yours, the three devil hunters making it rain bullets over the demons. The motorcycles tried to approach, but you would always threaten them with killer shots.

With Dante’s sharp eyes in the dark, he eventually hit one of the motorcycles in such a way it crashed a few meters away from you. With the right shot, he could make it explode – and it was a strategy to use. He just wanted some more of those goofs to approach, so he could take a lot of them at the same time.

One of the motorcycles, though, decided to be brave – or suicidal, depending on your point of view – and try to run through the three of you, almost running you over. This time, though, your reflexes were quick enough to dodge in time, but that made you three separate.

“Alright… You clowns are startin’ to piss me off…” With that rumbling comment from Dante, he held out his hand, summoning Devil Sword Dante in a blaze of fire.

You could hear Nero groaning – he definitely missed Red Queen at the moment and ever since Dante managed to summon his two main swords, Nero always complained he couldn’t be that cool while fighting.

Understandable. You were missing your very own sword – you could only wish you could make it come over to you that easily.

At this point, you were pretty sure you would win. As Dante slaughtered the demons – and whatever figure who tried to come any closer – the odds were certainly in your favor. You helped with some shots here and there, aiding his kills and getting the job done.

Until you felt your fingers tingling. Furrowing your brows, you looked down only to see your hands trembling. Your vision became blurry, as the world suddenly tilted under your feet. The gash in your cheek burned with the wrath of the fires of hell.

“What the…” You mumbled, opening and closing your eyes a few times. You could barely hear Nero calling your name: it seemed like he was stuck inside a tin can. “Nero… Dante…?”

“Ei, babe, what’s…” Dante lowered his sword and, before he could finish asking, the dark figure with the amulet finally stepped near enough for you to see it was nothing but a human – which he confirmed when he lowered the hood of the dark robe he, and the other humans, were wearing. “You better start talkin’ before I decide to cut off that ugly head of yours. What’s goin’ on?!”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquittance, son of Sparda.” The man allowed a calm smile to grace his lips framed by a well-maintained goatee as you felt a sting of fire coursing through your whole body. You tried to keep it in, but you couldn’t hold back a groan. “I am kindly inviting you and your… Relative…” The man gestured to Nero, still completely ignoring you and the ever so worsening pains. “To join us in the old town for a talk. We have much to discuss.”

“What the fuck did you do to y/n?”

The man looked into Dante’s blue eyes – now with some sparks of red, teeth already growing into fangs – knowing quite well all their intentions would be fumbled if Dante and Nero decided to trigger right then and there.

And that was why you were an insurance.

“It’s a simple poison, found in the underworld. If the cure isn’t administered soon enough, though, your… Pet, I take it… Will perish.” The man treated you with disdain, making Dante already try to walk towards him to have his sword on the man’s throat. The human, though, lifted his hand, showing a glowing purple vial. “No human antidote can counter it, only the demonic one. This is the only sample in miles. They have only a few minutes, if I am not wrong, and the death… Oh, it is exquisitely agonizing.”

Dante’s jaw was locked. You could barely see through your blurring vision, fighting every fiber of your being to remain on your two feet – but your red devil was tense and ready to fight… Ready to kill. If he let his demon out, there wouldn’t be a soul left to tell the story of that night.

“What do you want?” His voice had a slight tinge of distortion – as you could almost sense, Dante was a word away from triggering.

“You and your kin to put down your weapons and follow us. We have prepared a very important celebration tonight and you are the guests of honor – especially you, Tony Redgrave.” You choked upon hearing that name: very few people knew that alias and, judging by Nero’s confused reaction, even fewer than you thought. “Do this, and we shall save your… Pet.”

“Call y/n ‘pet’ again, I’ll cut your tongue off, smartass.” Dante scoffed, apparently not affected by hearing his old name from the lips of a shady character in such a desolated place. “Don’t usually trust strangers in the middle of a crossroads.”

“As proof of my good faith, son of Sparda…” With those words, the man handed the vial to one of the other hooded figures – another human like him, wearing a dark robe to their feet, keeping their head down under the hood – who approached you slowly. Dante had his eyes trained on them, watching their every move. “I’m taking the first step. Lower your weapons, and my assistant shall heal your… Human.”

You couldn’t keep yourself standing anymore. With your stomach burning, you feel to your knees, barely able to see Dante in amidst the darkness and your blurry vision. Closing your eyes, your head was in such pain you thought soon blood would run down your face instead of tears. Your heart pounded on your chest quicker than when you rode the Cavaliere with your red devil and, as much as you didn’t like to admit, you came to the conclusion that was like dying felt like.

“Alright. Do your thing then.” Dante lowered his hand and his sword was gone in a small set of flames, Ebony and Ivory being abandoned on the floor.

“What…?! Dante…!” Nero was ready to fight back, to get that vial and cure you himself, but he saw the plea in his uncle’s eyes. You were outnumbered and you were dying from a poison none of you had the cure – only them. If they wanted, they could break that vial in a million pieces and leave you to die a horrifying death. “C’mon, we can…” But even Nero didn’t know what more they could do.

“Hey, Nero. Please.” Dante’s voice had no edge of playfulness or the typical easygoing tone. He was serious, defeated even. He would allow himself to be enslaved if that meant saving you – and all he was asking was for Nero to put down his weapons.

And so he did, with Blue Rose hitting the floor right after.

As soon as the assistant inserted the purple antidote into your bloodstream, others quickly approached Nero and Dante, locking heavy silver bracelets around their wrists – immediately cutting out their demonic powers. It was a first for Nero, who stumbled around and seemed like a dizzy, drunk young man. Dante, on the other hand, knew exactly how that felt like, having gone through something similar during his time at the Temen-ni-gru. Ancient demonic wisdom, infused in those bracelets to suppress demonic power and subdue powerful demons to a weaker one’s will… Or to enslave them for eternity, as it happened to Vergil once.

“Come. The night has only just begun.”

You felt your head burning as you watched them viciously knocking down Dante and Nero – something you thought you would never see in your entire lifetime. Falling to the floor of the road, you tried to get up, barely having any strength in your arms. You would drag yourself to them if you had to, but you wouldn’t give up… At least, not until your body gave out.

“What about their… Human… Master?” The assistant checked, standing right beside you but not moving a single finger to help you up.

“Leave them. A weak thing like that deserves to die like roadkill.” The man dismissed with a quick wave of his hand, ordering the others to carry the Spardas back to the old town.

Warm tears trickled down your eyes. You tried to get up, but your body was slowly giving out – the burning sensation, though, was fading away. Indeed, the antidote was working, but your body took the toll of it.

You weren’t weak. You were not. All those years, Dante kept fighting by your side, singing your praises as one of the most powerful humans he had ever met. You defeated the worst of Hell, you faced nonstop hordes alongside your red devil. A stuck-up snob like that unknown guy had no right to call you weak. You were not weak. You were not…

Your hands started giving out as you slowly tried to claw your way to their direction – but they were already long gone and the only soul left in the middle of that desolated highway was you.

But you were human. More powerful than any demon, as Dante would say. Why couldn’t you get up, then…?

Your arms gave out and you hit your face on the warm road, eyes closing in the middle of nowhere. The last thing you heart before fainting, was a blade cutting the asphalt right next to your hand – ready for you when you opened your eyes again.

*

“What are we going to do?!”

“I don’t know!”

“We can’t just leave!”

“I know!”

“What are we going to DO?!”

“I don’t KNOW!”

That was the main conversation back and forth between Kyrie and Nico as the gunsmith virtuosa drove the highway as if the devil’s herd itself was chasing them viciously, their hot breath on their necks, ready to take their souls.

Kyrie was standing right by the driver’s seat, holding for dear life on the very thing, as Nico gripped the wheel like she never did before in her life. They both screamed while the van was practically trotting on the road, bumping on every single stone on the way since Nico couldn’t care less to dodge at that point.

It was actually very impressive she never came to swallow her cigarette.

“What do you think will happen to them?!” Kyrie immediately gripped the necklace Nero gifted her in Fortuna – she saw it as a good luck charm, and would wear it anywhere. It made her feel closer to him and, whenever she was in trouble or uncertain, touching it would make her feel safe.

But never in her life it was the other way around: this time, she was worried Nero wouldn’t be safe. And that was so new.

“I dunno! I-I-I mean... Dante will…! He will, right?!” Nico stuttered back, barely able to think. If she could, she would light five or six cigarettes in a row. “I mean he… He called me Goldstein, for Hell’s sakes! He never does that! I’m as scared as you!”

“I know! They never did that!” Kyrie was about to cry – and she didn’t even know which emotion was making her feel like overflowing. “What about y/n? All of their swords are here, they took only their handguns!”

“What?!” Nico quickly glanced back only to see the three swords calmly lounging in the van. “Oh, fuck! I mean… Well, Dante… He has that big ass flamin’ sword inside ‘im, right? He can summon at any moment…! Right?!”

“I hope he can! I’m used to Nero, I don’t know how Dante’s sword works!” Kyrie rolled her eyes in pure despair, going back in the van to check on everyone’s swords. Red Queen now looked so quiet, so… Dead. It didn’t sit well with her, not like that. It had to be with Nero. He needed his sword. “Y/n knows how Dante works!”

“Oh, be damned! We’re on a hell of a fucked-up situation here, Kyrie!”

“You don’t have to tell me that twice…” Kyrie sighed, plopping down on the couch and cradling her head with both of her hands. After a few seconds of pure desperation, the woman turned her hazelnut eyes back to the Red Queen. The sword seemed like it was ready to rev-up, burning to be back in the hands of her master – like it was as annoyed as Kyrie to be away from Nero, sensing, like her, that he needed his weapon.

In the distance, Kyrie saw Rebellion trembling, as if it had the very same problem. Differently from Red Queen, though, it didn’t seem like a figment of Kyrie’s imagination: even if the van was kicking and prancing around, she could clearly see Rebellion was vibrating, as if it was ready to take flight. She remembered Nero telling her Dante could summon his sword like that: a simple call and she would fly over to his hands, no matter where he was.

“We need to go back.” The resolution settled in Kyrie’s heart as she stood up, holding the charm on the necklace she loved so much.

“What?! Have you lost your mind too?!” Nico didn’t know if she looked back to Kyrie or if she kept an eye on the road. “Those creepy dudes will kebab us in half a second if we step in that ol’ town!”

“They need their weapons, Nico! Right now, we’re the only ones that can help them get back to their owners!” Kyrie walked back to the virtuosa – again holding on for dear life on the driver’s seat. “If we don’t do that, their chance of getting away is very low! They’re depending on us to do the right thing, Nico!” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “Nero needs me. He saved me so many times, I will not fail him now.”

Nico remained silent for a while, frowning while chewing on the tip of her cigarette – the trotting of the van making her go up and down on the driver’s seat, almost hitting her head on the roof sometimes.

Kyrie was right. She knew the little angel was right. Nero hadn’t saved just Kyrie throughout the years, he had saved Nico too: she was just a crazy gunsmith with a very dubious driving style and a van to get the devil hunter around, but he was the one who would always get the job done. And when trouble came a little too close to them, Nero always made sure it would never even touch Nico. She could drive fearlessly through a horde of demons because she knew Nero would slay them all. That was something her heart always took for granted.

Now it was time to pay it back. It was time for her to risk her skin to get Nero out of trouble.

And damn well she would.

“Alright, little angel! We need a plan to save those three asses!” The resolution that resided in Kyrie now bled to Nico, making the angelic woman beam a satisfied and proud smile. “I’d say we go in guns blazin’, but we don’t have any guns – and those swords are useless for us.”

“I say we take a stealthy route. Calm down, breathe, think. Go back and give them their swords to let them do their job.” Kyrie’s voice now was a lot steadier, finally feeling a little surer of herself.

In the middle of nowhere, Nico slowed down until she stopped the van. The two women finally looked at each other.

“This gon’ be madness, you know that, right?” The virtuosa made sure Kyrie understood the seriousness of the situation they got themselves into.

“Yeah. But we’ve never really got scared of a little madness, have we?”

With an accomplice look, they giggled at each other, the tension finally seeming to dissipate a little. Leaving the driver’s seat, Nico stood up to check on the swords and think of a plan with Kyrie.

“What do ya think? They got kidnapped by that… What the hell was that, anyway?!”

“It sure looked a lot like the Order of the Sword…” Kyrie sighed, having memories of her younger days in Fortuna – making Nico remember as well. “I’d call it a cult. And I don’t know… Maybe they did get away, but…”

Nico waited for her to continue, but the words got lost in her tongue. Holding her amulet once more, Kyrie sighed before speaking.

“I don’t feel right. Something is wrong. Something’s wrong with Nero.”

“Eh… You and y/n with your weird ‘bein’-the-lover-of-a-demon’ bond thing…” Nico raised one eyebrow, pretending to have shivers. “It’s spooky sometimes. But well, if you’re sayin’ somethin’ ain’t right, I believe ya.”

Before the two women could keep going, though, Rebellion started vibrating more violently, stealing their attention. They frowned, looking at the sword as she threw a tantrum – seemingly looking like it would gain life at any moment.

“Uuuuuh… What’s goin’ on…?”

“I don’t know! You’re the gunsmith; you should know about demon swords better than me!” And even if Kyrie scolded Nico, she couldn’t take her eyes from Rebellion – after all, neither of the ladies knew what the sword was about to do.

“You’re the one datin’ a demon!”

“Nero’s weapons work a lot differently than Dante’s!”

With a loud clang, the eyes on the horned skull near the handle of Rebellion lit up in red, the sword perking up in resolve. Kyrie let out a loud screech as Nico jumped back, ready to have to tame the thing – after all, they had never seen that happening before.

In a blink, Rebellion went flying out of one of the van’s windows, crashing it like a million of stars, disappearing into the night.

Nico and Kyrie slowly looked at each other – their hearts beating furiously inside their chests.

“What the hell just happened…?”

“I think… I think that’s how Dante summons his sword…” Kyrie tried to explain in a whisper, still barely able to breathe.

“Doesn’t his sword come out of flames he summons from within’ himself, though…?” Nico couldn’t understand a single thing going on. She thought she knew how everything worked – but that Halloween was proving to be quite an adventure already.

“I don’t know…” Kyrie closed her eyes, keeping one hand over her heart. “Red Queen is very different…”

And, as if to agree with her, the sword herself revved up just a little, a few flames igniting for a couple of seconds. The two women stared at it, a little alarmed.

“And you? Not gonna say anythin’ for yourself too?” Nico pointed at your sword, not knowing what to expect.

With a little shake and a tingling sound, it seemed like your sword was telling off the gunsmith virtuosa.

Exchanging looks, the two women assessed the work they had in their hands.

Returning your sassy swords would be one hell of a ride.

*

It felt like the worst hangover of your life.

You slowly opened your eyes as pain reverberated through all the limbs on your body. Your head was pounding, every breath felt like your lungs were about to burst and your stomach apparently wouldn’t even be able to keep water down, if you had any.

As you came to your senses, you sat in the middle of the road, assessing your situation.

It was bad.

Really bad.

You were abandoned literally in the middle of nowhere. No one in sight: no town, no car, no soul, nothing. You could barely hold yourself together, let alone walk miles and miles in any direction to get anywhere. If you went to the old town to help Dante and Nero you would be more of a hinderance than anything else. If you went to the new town to get help and maybe meet Nico and Kyrie, you would probably arrive in the morning and, by then, the damage would be done already.

To say you were feeling useless was an understatement.

Looking around, though, you finally realized what was that slashing sound you heard before blacking out: Rebellion had carved the road, having come to your aid, as Dante said it would do if it felt you were in trouble – like it did to him. All you had to do was call; apparently, you did it unconsciously, seeking his help even when your mind was fading and all hope was gone.

You couldn’t help but smile – a bittersweet smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Well, thank you for coming, old friend…” Your started talking, using all your strength to get yourself on your feet again. It took you more than you expected. “But I guess I’m not in my best shape at the moment… I’ve no idea what to do.”

With those words, you gripped the handle of the legendary sword and pulled it off the ground. At least you could still wield it, even if you were tired and defeated.

“We’re in the middle of a lost crossroads, in this godforsaken piece of desert, no way back and no way forward – also no prospects of helping Dante and Nero. Let’s face it, Rebellion. We need a miracle.” You sighed, looking at the horned skull that embellished Dante’s first sword. With that, you summoned all the strength left in your body to rest it on your shoulders as your lover would always do – taking a deep breath and beginning your way to the old town. “Standing here will serve us nothing, though. I guess we gotta make it happen.”

“One should know they can always reach out for a miracle in the crossroads, little one.”

You turned around, startled, ready to put Rebellion to use – but the only thing you found in that empty road was… Yourself.

Yourself, but not really. Something was off. That same gut feeling you had before, started to form at the base of your stomach now. It was like staring at yourself in the mirror, but the eyes… Something was wrong with the eyes – as if they were not quite yourself. Looking down, the figure who slowly approached wearing your form had two sets of shadows – while you, yourself, had only one.

“Some would call that kind of miracle a curse.” You rebuked carefully, still studying that creature’s intentions. You had heard Dante and Vergil talking of doppelgangers, but that didn’t act like one: it was too sentient, too intelligent to be one.

“Not all of them were in your shoes.” The figure smiled – it was your smile, but with a different edge that made you feel slightly uncomfortable.

Either way, the creature – whatever it was – had reason on their side. Your situation was pretty hopeless and you still had a long way to go… You had much to do. Dante and Nero needed you. Whatever those cult like people wanted, it wasn’t good. The man knew Dante’s previous alias, and that was never a good omen.

For the first time, it was your red devil who needed the saving – and you weren’t nearly in no way, shape or form to do so.

You needed whatever help anyone could offer. You needed a miracle – or a curse.

“Now if you’re thinking I’m like those foolish cultists messing with powers they think they can control, you’re wrong. Besides, I could have killed you at any point while you were unconscious at the crossroads, even without Sparda’s beloved Rebellion by your side. I’m simply a bystander that’s looking to be entertained and eager to make mischief on this moonless night.” The figure paused and chuckled. “Not even Hecate could interfere – like she could, anyways.”

“Who are you…?” You asked carefully, wary of the utter convenience and situation at hand.

“My name has been lost for the ages, but it’s not of great importance. You, however, are much more interesting; after all, you are Dante Sparda, The Legendary Demon Hunter’s beloved and prized human. Untouched by demonic blood and yet able to wield one of the most powerful blades known to demonic kind. Consider yourself lucky to have such a powerhouse of a weapon by your side. However, I’m guessing that you’re in need of something with much more firepower to get your nephew and lover back.”

“How do you–“

“Sparda may have had many enemies, but there were a few of us demons that stayed loyal to him even after he left The Underworld.” With those words, the creature mimicking your appearance bowed a bit before turning a soften gaze to the sword in your hands. “It’s lovely to see you again, Rebellion, and I’m quite fond of your new powers as well; it’s a nice touch.”

“Wait a minute, you knew Sparda and served under him?” With your question, the figure wearing your likeness nodded. “Then why can’t you stop the cult that took Dante and Nero?”

“Simple, I’m not the one they’re trying to summon. However, though, they do have something of mine that I would like back.”

“And what would that be…?” When dealing with demons, all wariness couldn’t be enough.

“Dear ol’ Beau Blackwell’s skull, of course!!” Your mirror cackled before coughing politely. “You see, one of my subordinates double crossed me and took the damn fool before he was ready, and soiled the deal I had with him. So, when I came to collect, the body was there, but the head was missing along with his soul. Come a few decades later, I find what I’m looking for, but it’s out of my reach. See, us demons expend huge amounts of resources to stay in your world. It’s not as nice as the Underworld, but it’s decent at times.”

“Huh. So, the town folks were right about him taking a deal with a devil.” You murmured to yourself, one hand resting on your waist.

“Such a smart human, after all. Besides, when you meet the devil on the crossroads, on a pitch black night, talking to your mimic with two shadows… Such a bad omen indeed for most – but to others, a risky chance to turn things around, for a high price. If you know how to make a proper deal without losing it all in the end.”

Your eyes turned to the mirror of yourself – standing calmly in front of you, a peaceful smile on your face. Their eyes were not your own, those were demonic eyes. You were dealing with a demon in the crossroads – and that could turn into something really bad. Even if they were fond of Sparda, the very nature of trickster demons such as the one copying you was uncertain.

They could very well give you what you needed to succeed – but they could ask for an unfathomable price. Usually, the highest prices were always asked when people found themselves in desperate situations such as yours.

But your body was hurting. Your feet were barely able to hold you standing. Your hands were trembling, and you were pretty sure you could only wield Rebellion because the sword herself was aiding you – as Dante would if he was there. You were not in a position to deny any aid, you knew that – and the demon right in front of you knew it as well.

“Knowing how to make a deal is of little help when someone needs a deal.” You answered carefully, still watching the calmly smiling creature. “It usually exploits the one with less power.”

“However, I think you’ll like what I’ve got to offer – and you’ve got nothing to lose, after all.” Hearing that answer, you instinctively grabbed Rebellion tighter, making your clone let out a distorted laughter in amusement. “Oh, relax. I don’t want your soul or to cross blades with you; I’d rather not have Dante put me into the ground like he did with Mundus. I simply want a favor done and, in exchange, you get a way out.”

“What’s the catch?”

“You’ve been trained so well.” The creature’s compliment came without malice. “I simply want that idiot’s skull back and, in turn, you save those two Spardas and prevent a demon from coming into this reality empowered with human sacrifices.”

“And how do I know you’ll make good on your word…?” You had one of your eyebrows raised, the deal sounding too good to be true.

Your mimic whistled loudly and a demonic horse with six legs came out of the right path’s fog. Four blazing red eyes looked over curiously, as the black strong body had strange demonic symbols on its shoulders. There was a saddle, reins and a chest plate adorned with a black feather inside a book with a claw clutching them both: the demon’s symbol, embellished on the surface. Its main was wispy like ashes from a fire, but the fire was coming from inside the creature itself.

What really caught your attention, was the sounds of snarls and soft growls, as multiple demonic coyote-dog-like creatures kept their distance – but stood at the edge of the fog, as if waiting orders.

“My horse, Slade, shall take you to the cultists so you can put the skull in his saddle bag here. Then sound the horn to signal the pack it’s time to feed. Afterwards, the pack of hounds will devour those cultists, since they are made of the souls of those they’ve slaughtered, itching for revenge. All you have to do is prove you are not terrified and step up to save the boys from a cruel fate.”

Oh, you knew what that was. You knew what you would have to become. Meeting a demon like that, in the middle of the desert, offering you their horse and pack of vengeful hell-hounds as power for you to control? You could almost hear the faint song, whistling ghostly in the distance…

Then cowboy change your ways today or with us you will ride, tryin’ to catch the devil’s herd… Across the endless skies.

With your skeptic look, your mimic smiled in amusement.

“Are you brave enough to take the reins or do you want to wander home without your lover and nephew?”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You were out of options. Going back meant leaving them behind and failing to save them – you couldn’t do that to Nero, to Dante. Many times Dante tapped into the worst of himself, the darkest places of his soul, to summon a power he despised to save you and have you back home – safe and sound into his arms. Many times he became a demon fiercer and more powerful than those he was fighting against, even if he loathed it.

You could do that for him too. At least once in your lifetime – maybe for the only and last time.

Sensing your resolve, Rebellion settled herself on your back as you walked forward to the demonic horse and held its reins – knowing it was time to aid you, as she had aided Dante a thousand times before. Your mirrored image watched you with a pleased smile.

“Now, take the left path; it’ll take you straight to the abandoned church where the cultists are. Get going, rider, you’ve got until dawn.” The doppelganger reminded you before plopping a black cowboy hat on your head, only for you to look up in surprise when the figure was gone.

You closed your eyes for a second as your whole body seemed to be engulfed in flames – the pain lasted for only a little while, though. When it washed off, it was as if you had never been hurt in the first place: you could breath properly again, your limbs weren’t hurting and all your strength – and more – was back into your body. Taking another step, though, you heard a ringing that wasn’t there before.

Looking down, you realized your clothes had changed: an all-black cowboy attire, covered your body, fitting it perfectly; with a heavy black coat down to your ankles keeping you warm in the chilly desert night. The cowboy boots had spurs that ringed like little silver bells every time you took a step – and, as you did it again, you realized you left a trail of fire behind, melting the asphalt with your footsteps.

That wasn’t the work of the demon who used your appearance to strike a deal with you – as you looked back into the four curious blazing eyes of the demonic horse standing in front of you, you realized it was its way of saying it also chose you to be its rider. At least for a while.

“Demons are always dramatic, aren’t they…” You shook your head, sighing as you made your way back to the horse who kindly awaited you – now looking like a rider who deserved their service.

As you looked around the crossroads, you could see the pack of hounds remained, waiting for your orders. The horse lowered itself down to let you onto its back and the pack of demons perked up in excitement. As you got into the saddle and adjusted yourself, the horse got up and the demonic pack howled to each other – as if signaling it was time to move out.

You adjusted your new hat as you nudged the horse forward onto the left path. The soft sounds of claws were in the distance as the pack followed you both.

“C’mon, Slade. It’s time to burn some asphalt.” Hitting the open road, you cracked the reins and the horse took off into a gate and then galloped once he had hit top speed – the trail of burning fire in your wake, as you did yourself with your footsteps.

In the distance behind you, the faint noise of a stampede was close by, but as you looked over your shoulder, you could only see the pack of demonic coyote creatures following at a distance.

Yipping, yowling and snarling hungrily as they followed in excitement. You looked forward, holding Slade’s rein tightly and feeling the weight of the Rebellion on your back. Those cultists, whoever they were, better be ready to fight – you were coming for them.

Yippie-yi-o, yippie-yi-yay… Ghost riders in the sky.

*

If Dante had to guess, he’d say the cultists would lock them up in the desecrated church of that derelict town, as that kind of people would usually do. To his shock, though, he woke up on an old rotten bed that, if he moved too much, would definitely fall apart with his weight. Even so, it was able to cradle the half-demon with ease, and it didn’t turn into dust as Dante sat on it’s edge, massaging his head on the spot those damn cultists hit him.

“Took some time to wake up, old man.” Nero mumbled from across the room - making Dante look at his own kin on the same situation he was. At least, Nero’s bed was made of brass.

“Eh, those cultists weren’t jokin’ ‘round. Hit my head pretty hard; gimme a break, will ya?” Dante shrugged, shaking his head and looking down to his feet.

Nero furrowed his brows. In all his life, he never thought he would see his uncle so... Defeated. After all, it was Dante they were talking about, not some random human on the street. He couldn’t shake off that feeling that it was all so... Easy.

“Ei, kid. I know what’cha thinkin’. And you’re damn right, I didn’t fight as much as I should’ve...” Dante sighed, raising his head back up again. In the dark, Nero could see his blue eyes, and they had a tinge of melancholy even with the slight smile Dante carried on his lips. “But out of everyone in the crew, I think you’re the one who can understand me the best. Imagine if it was your lil’ angel on that situation. What would you do...?”

Nero scoffed, not wanting to look into his uncle’s eyes. Bringing up Kyrie was a sure way into Nero’s heart - and bleeding heart even. He would die for her, he would kill the whole world for her, he would destroy gods and demon kings if he had to - but he would never let any harm come to Kyrie. And if the only way to save her was to put down his weapons and let himself be taken - by enemies or even death - Nero would do it without thinking and without doubt.

Yes. Out of all the crew, he could understand Dante’s action the best. It was too easy to take them, because those damn people knew quite well the very best way to enslave a Sparda was to tear their heart apart.

“Eh... Guess there wasn’t really a good way out of it, huh...?” Nero massaged his own head, shaking it right after. “But we gotta do somethin’ now. I mean, we can’t sit around and just... I don’t know, what the hell do those creeps want with us anyway...?”

Weirdly enough, Dante smiled until it turned into a good laugh. Nero furrowed his brows, staring at his uncle thinking he had finally lost his mind - the kid wouldn’t complain too much, he could perfectly understand where Dante was coming from.

“What a situation, huh? To think one year ago, it was y/n and Kyrie in the same shoes as us!” Dante shook his head, slapping his leg with a hearty laugh upon realizing it. “There’s somethin’ of poetic in this, kid!”

“Huh. There kinda is...” With that, Nero couldn’t stop himself from laughing as well. He wondered if that weird tugging in his heart was what Kyrie felt when she was locked up in that church with you last Halloween, getting ready to forcefully marry a demon. “I just hope they won’t dress us up in those ugly ass wedding clothes.”

“Oh, no, no, no. If they try, I’m tearing them apart!” Dante answered letting a louder laugh out of his chest. Nero couldn’t help but smile alongside him: it was good to see his heart coming back.

“Well, not to spoil your party, but I don’t think we can do much with those things lockin’ us up.” Nero raised both of his hands, showing off the silver shackles supressing their demonic powers. “Never felt anythin’ like this before, it’s nasty.”

“Yeah, those things are no joke...” Dante glanced down at his own wrists, slightly sighing. “But I’ve been through it before. Just gotta relearn how to fight like a human, that’s all.”

“You say that as if it was easy.”

“It kinda is, kid.” Dante shrugged, looking around the room, trying to come up with some plan to get them out of there. “It took quite a while to have my demonic powers awaken, so I remember how it feels like. I fought as a human for a long time, as long as you did. Well... As human as we get.” He winked at Nero, getting up from the bed and pacing around the room - the wooden floor creaking as his weight shifted the old boards; but never looking like it would give out. “You just gotta fight without the good ol’ demonic leverages.”

“What do ya mean it took you as long as I did?” Nero had his eyebrows furrowed, head pending to the side. They never really talked about Dante’s and Vergil’s lives before Nero met them - even if everything they had lived shaped so much of what happened to him. Either way, it wasn’t an easy subject, and both twins didn’t enjoy much reminiscing about the past: Nero had to piece up their story like a huge puzzle he was only given jigsaw pieces every now and then. “I thought you guys always knew about your heritage. I mean, it wasn’t like me who didn’t know why the hell I was different from everyone else and had a weird demonic arm.”

“You haven’t had it easy, huh, kid...?” Dante wheezed, shaking his head as he still looked around the room, trying to pick up anything on the cult or on a way out. “I knew my heritage, yes, but not what it could do. Your dad found it out as a kid, when those demons almost killed him the night our home burned to ashes. But me...? Well, it took some time. I survived, remember? I started workin’ and opened up the shop, and your dad tracked me down. Instead of bein’ happy I was alive, guess what he wanted...?”

“Power...” Nero mumbled, looking down at his newly acquired human arm - something that was still so weird to him. If he had to be honest to himself, he still kind of missed it as a demonic thing or the prosthetic one Nico built him. It was very strange having to adapt being so... Mundane.

“Bullseye.” Dante winked at him, with a humorless laugh at the end. “It was his first attempt at opening the Gates of Hell, that dumbass. Still, he kicked my ass and impaled me with Rebellion.” With those words, Nero’s eyes shot back at Dante, a little shocked with that story. “At the time, I thought he wanted to kill me, but now... I have my doubts. Your dad’s a weird guy, you know? He won’t tell you he likes you, but he will stab you with your own sword right in the chest to awake your dormant demonic power so you can accept the legacy your dad of the year left you when you were born.”

Again, Nero furrowed his brows. Perhaps it wasn’t that strange he had such a hard time around his feelings - and it was actually a very good thing he had Kyrie around to help him let them out in a healthy way. He got to learn something Dante and Vergil never had the chance to learn: the only thing both of them knew was harshness. Could Nero really ask anything more from them...?

“I was around the age you were back when we met in Fortuna, I think... So you see, I spent quite a while fighting as humanly as possible, with no leverage whatsoever.” Dante pointed at himself, finally stopping in the middle of the room. “I think Verge would have more of a problem in this situation than both of us.”

“Well... If that’s the case...” Nero spoke slowly, still processing everything Dante had told him. With time, he learned not to make much of a fuss when Dante or Vergil shared something about their history and their life with him: it made them feel like it was ok to be vulnerable if it wasn’t treated as a big thing, so Nero would keep it that way. “Then I should have more of an easy time than you.”

“That’s the spirit, kid!” Dante now rested his hands on his waist, sighing while looking around the room. “Now. We have no idea what those Eyes Wide Shut wannabes want downstairs. Windows and doors are sealed with demonic stuff to keep us in, so we’re gonna have to force our way out somehow.”

“Ok. I say we try one of the windows and sneak out. We can try to take ‘em out quietly and figure out what they want with us in the way.” Nero finally got to his feet winning a grin from Dante - who was more than ready to agree with his nephew.

“That will not be necessary, Sparda’s kin.” Both of them were interrupted by the leader of the cultists - still wearing the dark robe, but now permanently without his hood. His eyes were cold, smart and arrogant; the beard well trimmed and intricate. He carried himself with an attitude that certainly screamed he thought he was much better than any other human in town. “I didn’t bring you here to have you in the dark regarding our festivities - you are our guests of honor, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, King Charles, cut the crap.” Nero rolled his eyes, tired of the way the man behaved. If there was something that pissed him off, that would be entitled people, completely full of themselves. “What the hell’s goin’ on here?”

“Even if you have a share of Sparda’s precious blood, boy, you are not the main guest. Know your place.” The man was clearly respecting Nero more than he respected you because of his heritage - or else, he wouldn’t even be addressing Dante’s kin.

“And you should know yours, fancy pants. Haven’t your mother ever taught you to respect people?” Dante had his hands on his hips again, but his eyes burnt like the fire he carried inside him. “Remember you have to keep us with these things so we won’t kick your ass. Give us enough of a reason, we’ll do it anyway. With or without demonic power.” He showed off the shackles to the man, noticing the human winced ever so slightly - trying to appear Dante’s words had no effect at all. “Who the hell are you? And you better answer this time ‘round.”

“You can call me by my family’s name, Blackwell. I’m Beau Blackwell’s great-grandson - and it is an honor to meet Sparda’s kin.” The man bowed his head in a sign of respect - something Dante didn’t do back and that made Nero smile. “I take it the townspeople of Silverstone did their job of telling you my family’s history.”

“If you’re talkin’ ‘bout the contract, hell yeah they did.” Dante’s eyes were now sharp, taking a guess where they were at the moment. If he could bet, he would say that was the old Blackwell mansion at the abandoned old town. “Guess stupidity runs in the family.”

“Damn, you beat me to it...!” Nero mumbled, making Dante smile proudly. At least they shared the same sense of humor - and taunts.

“I will admit my kin did play with powers much too great for his understanding and that was his downfall. He was too arrogant to realize he was biting much more than he could chew.” As Blackwell spoke, Dante and Nero just exchanged looks, having the same thing in their mind: the irony that he was criticizing the same thing they thought about him. “I, in the other hand, am more careful. I have studied the arcane and occult arts; learned how to wield them, tame them. There’s much more to ask of demonic creatures than petty, mundane things like money... There’s power. That’s what my kin failed to notice.”

“Oh, now there’s a word I never like bein’ thrown around...” Dante shook his head while mumbling to his nephew- and Nero couldn’t refrain to notice it was because of Vergil’s obsession with it for so long.

But, in all honestly, after everything he went through in Fortuna, humans seeking demonic power was never a good thing in Nero’s book either.

“Come. I will take you around the old Blackwell Mansion and you can be aware of what you will be taking part in.”

But, even with the man’s gesture and inviting demeanor, neither Dante or Nero moved a single step.

“Yeah, you see, we make a point on not taking part in things against our will.” Nero crossed his arms, making sure he wouldn’t leave without Dante. If his uncle stayed, he would stay.

Blackwell immediately frowned - not the calmest cult leader they had ever seen. Something about it reminded Nero of Sanctus.

“I am not asking you and you will be part of it - whether you make it a point or not.” The man raised his head high, as if to overcompensate for the fact he was smaller than the two devil hunters inside the room. “I have tried to be cordial and I will remain as such. I planned this night for a very long time, and neither of you will fumble it. The ritual will go on. The sacrifices will be made. The blood will be spilled. The demon king will rise. You can either take part peacefully or by force - but trust me, if you choose the second option, it will be painful.”

Dante wasn’t afraid of pain - and neither was Nero. Those words weren’t alarming per se: after all, it was to be expected of a cult that they would be made of sacrifices and blood offerings somehow, but they didn’t know if they were the only victims chosen for it.

What alarmed them the most, though, was the demon king part. There were a few of them, yes, but Dante couldn’t stop his blood from running cold as soon as he heard that.

After all, Mundus was a king. Could it be that godforsaken spiteful creature found a way to come back, so many years after Dante put it to rest? That it wasn’t for all eternity as he thought he had managed to do so...?

If Mundus decided to rear up its ugly head again, Dante wanted to be at the seat of honor to watch him rise just to tear him back into pieces and make him taste death once more.

As if noticing the sudden shift in his uncle’s heart, Nero looked back at Dante, waiting for an answer - but seeing the murderous glint in those ever easygoing eyes.

“Show us around, then. I guess gettin’ to know the stage of such a hideous play wouldn’t hurt.”

Blackwell had a peaceful smile back to his lips, finally allowing them to leave the room - but Nero could sense something was different; it seemed as if Dante could tear a demon king with his bare hands in the blink of an eye, but he was just waiting for it to rise.

*

“How can... Y/n... Ugh... Carry this thing ‘round... So easily...?!”

Nico mumbled while carrying your sword, heavily strapped on the gunsmith virtuosa’s back like a backpack. She always thought it should weight very little - after all, you always pulled the most incredible acrobatics while fighting - and you were human, just like her.

But the woman couldn’t deny: after walking around with that thing weighing on her shoulders, she started feeling a pain she wasn’t used to. Demonic metal was more efficient and lighter than any human and earthly metal, but still... It felt like she was carrying at least two guitars strapped on her back.

“Y/n is a trained hunter, they’re all used to it.” And even with that comment, Kyrie’s voice didn’t seem to struggle as much as Nico’s. She had dragged Red Queen around countless times to bring it to Nero, so dragging it once again through the desert wasn’t much news to her.

Neither to Red Queen. The sword always knew that when it was in Kyrie’s hands, she would soon find her proper wielder’s hands again to wreak havoc.

“Tell me ‘bout it... We’re all a bunch of weirdos, that’s what we... Ugh... Are!”

Kyrie had to giggle with Nico’s complaints. Yes, you were a bunch of weirdos, but that’s what made you all a family, wasn’t it? And family was always there for each other.

After they decided to take your weapons back to you, Nico drove all the way to the old town - and as soon as the ghostly, abandoned wreckage of a city appeared in their view, the gunsmith found a hidden place to park the van. Behind a few tall rocks, the Devil May Cry on wheels would be safe until that night was over - at least, they hoped it would.

Taking the swords in their hands, the two women started making their way to the old town - away from the main road, so they would have a better chance sneaking in unnoticed - and formulated the best plan they could at the moment.

“Ok. We’re almost there. So, we’re going in, and we’ll find a place to hide...” Kyrie started going over said plan, to make sure she and Nico were on the same page. Too much had already gone wrong that Halloween, they didn’t need even more problems.

“We’ll listen around to those assholes and figure out where they’re keepin’ the damsels in distress.” Nico’s answer was almost immediate, making Kyrie giggle. It was a first, imagining Nero as the damsel in distress and her saving him. “We’ll head over where they are...”

“Give them back their swords, and let them do what they do best.” Kyrie finished with a rather peaceful smile, given the situation. “Here. Let’s sneak in through here...!”

Going around the buildings, Nico and Kyrie entered what would be a dark alley between two wooden, rotten buildings in town. Going in from the back, they kept themselves low, walking side by side until they were the closest they could be of the main street. They could hear the cultists talking and patrolling the street, so they maintained utmost silence to get through them completely unnoticed.

The main street ended in a big plaza, with a large, decrepit mansion being the last building on it - and the only one with a semblance of light: not electrical, but a set of candles lit it from the inside, almost like a jack-o-lantern. The cultists roamed around the main street, but the larger number was definitely inside the mansion; after all, Kyrie and Nico could hear them chanting something they couldn’t understand.

“What do you think...?” Nico whispered to Kyrie, barely being able to hear her own self.

“They’re either in prison or... In there.” The woman answered in the same tone, pointing at the mansion at the end of the road. Nico sighed.

“I was hopin’ you wouldn’t say that... How are we gonna find ‘em in there...?!”

“I don’t know, but we have to think of a plan.”

The certainty in Kyrie’s voice was a little more reassuring - after all, they had a whole city swarming with cultists to cross and a mansion to infiltrate; all while carrying your weapons. They thought it wouldn’t be easy, but they didn’t expect that level of difficulty.

*

“Ok, I’m sayin’ it... We got a huge fuckin’ problem this time, Dante.”

Nero and Dante found themselves in a big party room, entirely lit with candles and decorated with sigils drawn with fresh blood - on the walls and on the floor. The biggest sigil, forming a closed circle, was in the middle of the room, glistening on the wooden floor. Cultists guarded the two entries and every window - big windows, that still had glasses on them.

The two devil hunters were seated on the middle of the circle, with their backs to each other, arms tied together so they wouldn’t escape.

“Beau Blackwell played with a demon he could not tame and he thought he could understand it.” Blackwell explained as they moved into the party room, revealing the ritual setting - everything one would expect on a ritual to summon a demon. “I, on the other hand, intend to do something much smarter. And that, involves... You.”

With a gesture from his hands, some of the cultists overpowered the devil hunters, guiding them to the center of the circle. Nero tried to fight, but immediately stopped as soon as he saw Dante followed the cultists calmly, almost sitting on his chair as if he was indeed a guest of honor. With his eyebrows furrowed, Nero did the same. After all, Dante must’ve known what he was doing, right?

Right...?

“Well, you’d usually need human blood to summon a demon, smart ass.” Dante’s comment was calm and cheerful, even, while he allowed the cultists to tie his hands behind his back and intertwine the ties with Nero’s.

“Oh, that will be arranged. There are many in my flock who are willing to serve such a higher purpose.” Blackwell smiled kindly, opening his arms to show around the room. “But a man with your knowledge must have noticed, this is not a common demon summoning ritual. It’s for a higher rank, a king - and one with that status would only come with a more special blood being spilled.”

“Eh. That’s why you need us, then...” Nero murmured, shaking his head. “And then what, smart ass? Gonna strike a deal of your own, too?”

“Oh, no. To summon him, I need you. To bind him, I need Dante.” Blackwell opened a wicked smile, making the room fall into complete silence as the two devil hunters didn’t say a word. “My ancestor made the mistake of gambling with a demon. I shall not make the same mistake - I will bind the demon and make it answer to my very own command. I will have all its power to myself, and there will be no one to stop my will. But to do so, I need powerful blood to do the binding - and there is no blood more powerful than Sparda’s blood.”

“Well, I’ll like to see you try that, Blackwell!” Dante started laughing, leaning back on his chair. “Stupidity really does run in the family, eh?”

“Apparently, it does.” Blackwell made a small gesture towards Dante and Nero, calling the cultists back to their places guarding the room. “The festivities will begin at 3 a.m. It’s just a small wait, but you will have the time to catch up... And say your goodbyes.”

Those were the last words Blackwell told them before leaving the room. Since then, the devil hunters had remained in silence, thinking about everything that had happened so far - and how to get out of that situation.

“Well, kid... After livin’ as much as I have, you’ll be able to say...”

“You’ve had worse, yeah, yeah, I know...” Nero laughed, shaking his head while staring at his beaten up boots. “But I mean. I’m gonna be sacrificed with a random crazy cultist to raise a demon king from Hell. You’re gonna be sacrificed to bind the demon king. Things aren’t lookin’ too good, man.”

“I just wanted to know which demon king they’re tryin’ to bring up this time.” Dante sighed, leaning back on the chair again. “But I guess there’ll be no old acquaintances today. That’s already a good thing, kid.”

“You... You were afraid that Mundus dude would be back...?” Nero’s question was almost as quiet as a whisper, barely audible for anyone who didn’t have a demonic hearing like theirs.

“Hmmm...” Dante’s answer took some time to come, even after he hummed in return. Nero rarely saw his uncle being that quiet and somber. “The world doesn’t need him rearin’ up that ugly head of his again.”

“Well... You killed him a long time ago, didn’t ya...?” This time, Dante only answered Nero with a shake of his head and a quiet hum. “I don’t think we’ve to worry ‘bout him, then, you’re pretty good at your job.”

“Huh. Thanks, kid...” Dante had a slight smile on his lips, but his words had an uncharacteristic bitterness to them. “But some demons have trouble stayin’ dead. Someone has to make sure that doesn’t happen to Mundus.”

Silence fell between them once again in the room. Nero kept looking at his boots, but his thoughts ran at a thousand miles per hour. He knew it was because of Mundus that his family was as broken as it was, that he never had a chance to have something normal. He knew it was because of that demon that Dante and Vergil had broken childhoods and carried a trauma that shaped their whole lives. But he never really understood the burden Dante decided to carry on his shoulders of ridding the world of such a horrifying demon - of making sure Mundus would never do to anyone else what he did to his family, to him.

It was a good path. A right path, some would say. But probably the most difficult one to follow: it was certainly the loneliest.

“Well, you got me with ya this time. That should account for somethin’, right?” Nero nudged Dante with his shoulder, hearing a slight laugh from his uncle.

“That does, kid. It certainly does.” With that answer, Dante sighed again, stretching his back and legs for a while. “Now, remember what I told ya? Fightin’ like a human?”

“Yeah...?”

“Good. ‘Cause that’s what we’ll be doin’ when that clock hits 3 a.m. You better get those legs stretched and ready to do some damage.”

“Fuckin’ finally. I’m tired of waitin’ here!”

They didn’t really know what they would do to get themselves out of that one - but, at least, they were together. They would figure something out.

*

“Ok... So. We have to find a way in.” Kyrie murmured over to Nico, as both women found themselves ducking behind a set of dead bushes near the mansion.

They managed to get there undetected, counting at least fifteen cultists on their way to the house. Keeping themselves on the outskirts of the plaza, they circled around in the shadows and got into the main garden through a broken piece of the iron gate.

To their relief, there weren’t many cultists around the mansion: they were either inside or outside on the town.

“Yeah. Way in. The main door isn’t an option... Right?” Nico tried a little smile to Kyrie, who just shook her head in negative. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Hmmm... I don’t see another entrance... Maybe there’s one in the back?” The woman tried looking above the bushes without being spotted but, as if on cue, a loud, ominous bell sounded from inside the house.

The two women immediately ducked even further, almost hugging each other from being startled. The bell sounded three times and they saw one of the cultists - now without wearing the cape’s hood - appearing on the balcony of the second floor.

“My children, it is time! Join us in sacrifice and festivity!” The man had his arms opened and his voice could be heard through the whole dead town.

Kyrie and Nico scooted even further in the shadows as the cultists on the main street left their duties to get inside the mansion. They watched the wicked procession of chanting voices through the dark street, entering one by one inside the house that seemed soon would fall apart.

“That’ll give me nightmares for years!” Nico whispered to Kyrie, shaking from a quick shiver that went down from the top of her skull to the base of her spine. “Damn cults.”

“Damn cults...” Kyrie whispered back, thinking how the Order of the Sword in Fortuna wasn’t that different.

As the heavy wooden doors of the mansion closed, the two women found themselves completely alone in that godforsaken ghost town in the middle of nowhere - being the only ones with some hope to save the devil hunters that night.

“What are we gonna do?” Nico had a tinge of desperation on her voice. “That creep said sacrifices, I heard it fine! You think they’re sacrificin’ the crew?”

“Well, if that is the plan, we can’t let that happen!” Kyrie had resolve in her hazelnut eyes, looking at the house over the dead bushes. “We have to try entering through the back. If there isn’t an entry through the back...”

“We are doomed!”

“No. We try something else. C’mon, Nico, they’re counting on us!”

“I-I-I know, but I don’t count on myself...!”

Before they could continue their discussion, they heard a thunderous noise in the distance - as if coming from the skies. Furrowing their brows, they searched everywhere, but there was nothing; not even a semblance of storm over their heads.

“You’re hearin’ that, right...? Right...?”

“Yeah...”

As soon as Kyrie answered, a vicious galloping came in with the wind. As they stared back on the main street, the figure of a fiery horse running with all might with a black rider on its saddle appeared like lightning, approaching at an inhuman speed.

“You’re... Seein’ that...”

“Yes. Yes.” Kyrie shook her head enthusiastically - probably with the same enthusiasm she wanted to ran away.

Before the two women could think of running, though, the horse reached the plaza - and they could finally see the face of the rider as the horse ran around the perimeter of the place; the rider cracking a fiery whip to draw the attention of the cult.

“Is that... Y/n?! But... We... They... Those assholes didn’t take everyone?!” Nico stumbled over her words, as both of them watched you in awe... And horror.

“Apparently not!” Kyrie’s heart danced inside her chest as the man who previously summoned everyone to the ‘festivities’ ran to the porch once again, having a few members of the cult join him - the others took glimpses of the plaza from inside the mansion, through the half broken windows.

You circled the plaza one last time, heading right to the iron gate - now open, which you saw almost as an invitation. You could feel the unease in the air, as Slade slowed its steps and entered the garden, coming to a stop without even your command.

Looking up, you finally saw Blackwell’s face for the second time that night. Now, he had his eyebrows up in shock, recognizing your face under the cowboy hat. In such a short time frame, you could say you had one hell of a makeover.

“Either you let me in willingly, or I’ll force myself in.” You stated loud and clear, having your hand ready on the hunting horn on the saddle horn. “You’ve got one chance to cooperate.”

“Bold words coming from just a pitiful human.” Blackwell’s response was almost spat on your face, with a small laugh that made his cultists giggle alongside him. “It’ll take more than just a few... Party tricks... To stop the ritual.”

“Oh, I got much more than some party tricks, smart ass.” You laughed as an answer, taking the horn out of its place on the saddle. “You’re not the only one striking deals with the devil on these parts. I think you will all enjoy meeting the souls you sent to the afterlife.”

You blew the horn loudly, allowing a ghostly sound to take over the air, as the demonic horse rose up on its back legs neighing loudly in a distorted tone with the demon pack howling in response - the mix of sounds making it seem like a cube of ice was running slowly down your spine.

When the horse landed, the pack took form from the darkness, making Kyrie and Nico scoot away trying not to get in those creature’s path. Blackwell’s eyes grew in terror, even if the man tried to remain arrogant and not show any kind of emotion - the pack raced forward hungrily with gnashing and snarling sounds as they opened their mouths with sharp fangs, ready to tear through the cultists flesh like butter.

“It’s the hard way for you all, then.” You pointed to the house, raising your voice once more. “Take what they owe from you!”

With that command and an intense howling, the pack destroyed the front door - and you could hear the symphony of roars and screams as some of the cultists tried to run away and others tried to fight.

“No! No! I will not be defeated by the likes of you!” Blackwell screamed from the porch, taking one of his followers and slicing their throat without a second thought, leaving the body on the ground as soon as he collected the blood. “Fight those creatures or sacrifice yourselves to their will! The ritual will go on and the main room is to be protected at all costs! That’s an order!”

The remaining cultists obeyed without questioning, willing to give their lives for that bizarre cult ran by Blackwell. You shook your head, watching as they entered in a rush, and still hearing the mayhem going on inside.

“Are you girls alright?” You finally broke the badass pose to look to your side, checking in on Kyrie and Nico. Both women were hugging each other, ready to scream and run, but now they just stared at you in awe.

“Damn, y/n, what the hell?! You almost killed me! My heart cannot take somethin’ like... Like.. A flamin’ demon horse?! How?!” Nico let go of Kyrie to wave her hands around in despair as they approached you - you, in the other hand, smiled back while caressing Slade’s head.

The horse was quite sweet for a demonic horse, if you had to say something.

“What happened? You were all fine when we left, I mean, you were all together...!” Kyrie tried to explain and you could see where she was coming from. “What’s with the deal you mentioned...?”

“Look, it’s quite a long story. But I had to borrow some powers - and help...” You pointed to the house as some growling and yelling was still happening, making Nico visibly shiver as you did so. “To save our damsels in distress for the day. Also have another kind of help.” And this time, you pointed to Rebellion strapped on your back.

“Oh, so that’s where she went!” And Nico could say she was relieved to see the sword with you. They would have a lot of explaining to do if they had lost Dante’s sword.

“We’re here to bring your weapons too...!” Kyrie took Red Queen out of hiding, since they had put the swords down for a moment while discussing their next steps. “We were just trying to figure out a way to...”

Before she could finish speaking, though, a loud noise came from inside the house and the windows started glowing with a flash of red for a while before going back to normal. The floor rumbled for a couple of seconds underneath your feet right after, and then everything went silent - even inside the house.

“The pack did their job, it’s time for me to do mine.” You took the reins back into your hands. “C’mon, Slade! Time to teach those assholes a lesson!”

“Let’s go...!”

“Let’s go where? Are you insane? We’re pretty ok here, outside, waitin’, while the hunters do their thing in there...!”

“Nico.” Kyrie rested both of her hands on the woman’s shoulders as you led Slade up the front porch stairs of the mansion and inside the house - taking everything in your path and leaving fiery steps behind. “They need their weapons. They need us. No time to back up now. Let’s go!”

“Everyone here’s insane...!” Nico rolled her eyes and, if it wasn’t such a dangerous moment, she would be lighting up another cigarette.

You rode through the dead cultists, ripped apart by the pack you summoned earlier - now gone, probably to finally have their rest. Following the chanting noise, you found a set of heavy wooden doors, locked from the other side and being well guarded. With your fiery whip, you took care of the guards in a blink; and with Slade’s hooves, the door was soon broken into pieces on the ground, with you riding inside the room and interrupting the ritual.

“Sorry the late, love. I got a little... Caught up.” You winked as soon as you found Dante’s sky-blue eyes fixated on you in pure amazement. He watched as you rode inside the room, whipping away any cultists who tried to get in your way. Your objective was to save Dante and Nero, and you had nothing but their safety in your mind.

“That flamin’ horse is pretty cool! Where did you get somethin’ like that?” And to say Nero was excited about it was an understatement: he looked like a child who just saw the coolest thing on earth and wanted that to himself as well - enough even to ignore the gash he had on his hand, dripping blood on the wooden floor.

Not a huge blood offering as they were expecting - but Blackwell didn’t want to waste too much of Nero’s precious blood on the summoning. After all, if Dante wasn’t enough for the binding ritual, he would use Nero as well.

“From a demon, no doubt.” Dante answered instead as you finally left the saddle and your feet hit the floor of the house - leaving fiery steps as you approached him. “Hope you didn’t do anythin’ too rash, babe.”

As you reached Dante, you could see the worry in his sky-blue eyes. He knew that kind of power, for a human like you, came only with a deal - and, usually, it never ended well for the human. Either way, what choice did you have that night, really? Not many, and you would do whatever you had to in order to save your lover. Dante knew that - and he would never want to be the reason of your downfall.

That’s why the first thing you did was to place your lips on his, on a slightly longer kiss. You hoped that would reassure him; that it would make Dante know you would make that decision over and over again if it meant he and Nero would be alright that night. You could think about your deal and your soul later, as long as they were safe.

Also, being Dante, he could easily take the increase in your body temperature after the deal.

“I did what I had to.” You answered as soon as you left his lips, smiling fondly even if you could see how melancholic his eyes looked. “Now, let’s get you both out of here. We have a cult to dismantle.”

“We’re experts on that!” Nero was already bubbling inside to fight, almost as if something told him Red Queen was nearby.

“It doesn’t matter what you all do!” Blackwell reappeared from a door on the second floor, holding a black box with silver carvings. “The gates have already been opened! The king will rise and with a few more spells, the binding will be done! Give up!”

“Why do all power hungry asshats always speak like that, huh...?” You shook your head, going back to freeing Dante and Nero: turns out, untying them was quite easy; the problem was the power suppressing shackles around their wrists.

“Eh, you know, babe... If they can’t sound like cheesy villains, then what’s the fun in that?” Dante shrugged, making you giggle in response. As you untied his feet, he finally got up, being followed by Nero as soon as you freed him.

Before any of you could do anything else, the floor rumbled once more and the red sigils in blood started glowing with a light you only saw in very well succeeded rituals. Indeed, the gate was opening, and the demon they summoned was about to come to earth - unless you did something about it.

“Hey, cowboy, can you take care of the cultists and their smart ass leader?”

“Sure thing, ghost rider. But dont’cha think you’re gonna have all the fun by yourself.” With that answer, Dante kissed you quickly before heading over to Blackwell. “C’mon kid. We got work to do!”

“About time!” Nero ran after Dante, even if he himself wasn’t sure what you would do with the ever trembling floor.

“Slade!” As soon as you called, the horse galloped over to you, having you back on its saddle in no time. You circled around the room, watching as the seal between dimensions opened and a metallic looking demon started poking its ugly head through it. Holding Rebellion’s grip tightly, you took it from the holster on your back, as you watched the creature who stepped into your dimension - black eyes oh so interested to finally be out of the demon world. “It’s time to work, Rebellion.”

“Ah... The Human world, at last...” The demon was almost as tall as the mansion itself, wearing a black metallic armor that you couldn’t tell if it was its clothing or its actual skin. It had a humanoid head, but the lips didn’t move as it spoke - almost as if it was wearing a mask made of marble; crowned with a thousand dark metallic spikes. Its black eyes, though, seemed to harbor infinite void; while its clawed hands dripped a viscous black liquid, pooling around its feet. The demon king looked around with no expression on its masked face, but soon those empty eyes found you: a rider on a fiery horse, carrying one of the legendary swords made with the fire of Hell itself. A human rider, wielding such power. “And already a hunter as a warm welcome.”

“To send you back home where you belong to.” You answered, raising your head with pride. “Can’t let you stay here for too long, your putrid highness.”

“A hunter with such power in their hands. This shall be interesting...” The demon king hummed, summoning two blades on each of his hands; forming from the dark liquid that dripped down from his claws. “Very well, hunter. I shall indulge you.”

You had no more words to say, for now it was time to fight. Charging in, you led Slade right in the direction of the demon king, circling around the creature to try to land a hit with Rebellion. In spite of his size, though, the demon was fast and you had to dodge a heavy attack from one of his swords - that buried on the floor, cracking the rotten wooden panels. You seized this opportunity to land a hit on his arm with the Rebellion - soon realizing the skin of the creature was, indeed, made of metal.

It would need a lot more strategy and power to land a blow that had an actual impact on that kind of demon - in all your life as a devil hunter, you had never seen nor fought against anything like it.

Meanwhile, Blackwell pointed his followers to take on Dante and Nero - who were running up stairs to deal with the man who was already setting up the second part of the ritual in a makeshift altar across the room.

The hunters just exchanged looks and a knowing smile before sucker punching their way up - even throwing some of the cultists down the stairs. If they had to fight like humans, they would... And they were actually very good at it.

“What the...!” Kyrie and Nico said in unison as soon as both reached the doors you brought down when you barged in the room - finding that mess of a scene: Dante and Nero running up stairs and you fighting a demonic king with Rebellion in hand. In a matter of fact, their shock came mostly from seeing a demon king for the first time in their lives. Other than Vergil, actually.

“Don’t t-t-tell me you wanna... Go i-i-in there.” Nico’s stuttering suddenly got worse, wincing as soon as one of the kings swords tried to bring you down - and you expertly held it back with Rebellion, keeping your balance on your horse.

It was actually quite impressive to watch.

“I... Don’t. We can... Wait.” Kyrie’s answer was almost a whisper, with both of them agreeing to hide behind something until the opportune moment to give the swords back to their respective owners.

“Blackwell! Time to end this party!” Dante announced as soon as he got to the top of the stairs, making the man jump in place.

There was a skull in the middle of the altar, sided by candles and behind a brass bowl - where he would probably collect Dante’s blood. Blackwell had already cut his hand and offered his own blood, chanting incantations written in an old book he had opened on the corner of the altar.

“It’s too late now, Dante. You should accept...”

“Man, you talk too much...!” Nero finally lost his patience. Before Dante could say anything, his nephew ran with all his might, drop kicking Blackwell on the floor. Dante couldn’t refrain from shaking his head.

“You never change, do ya, kid...?” He had his hands on his hips, watching as Nero kept Blackwell immobile.

The cracking sound of your whip drew everyone’s attention to the fight at hand. Looking down, Dante found you with the fiery whip on your hand, keeping the demon king at bay. Your foe immediately raised one of its huge swords to take you down in a swift sweep, but with a flick of your wrist, you wrapped the blade with the whip, cracking it with the sound of a thousand raging bonfires. Dante couldn’t help but raise his brows and watch you with amazement and admiration.

Indeed, you were a human to tame his demonic heart. There you were, mounting a demon horse, Rebellion on one hand and a whip made of the fires of Hell itself on the other, holding down the sword of nothing but a demon king in place. You didn’t back down nor felt fear - instead, you wrapped the whip even tighter around your own arm, making it shorter and forcing the demon king’s sword down. You knew it wouldn’t burn you, for you were the one wielding it. Keeping your gaze on those eyes made of oblivion, you commanded the whip to burn hotter and hotter... Until the very blade in the demonic king’s hand started to melt, pouring on the floor like molten mercury.

“Fuckin’ hell, y/n...!” Dante let out as soon as surprise hit his heart, watching it all while keeping his hands rested on the balustrade of the second floor. His mind couldn’t even think of that clown Blackwell behind him when he had you being such an incredible hunter downstairs, taming a demon king like he never saw any other devil hunter doing.

He was the only one he knew who ever conquered a king in his book - and there you were, proving the world why you were the owner of his heart.

“Rare are the fights worth fighting...” The demonic king’s voice echoed through the house, as the creature gained back his posture upon realizing one of his weapons were gone. “I can see why Rebellion stands with you. What is your name, hunter?”

“Y/n. Rebellion stands with me because I gained her owner’s trust.” Your answer came with your head held high, while you untangled your whip from your arm. As expected, there was no harm done to you nor your clothing.

“I reckon you gained more than his trust. It will be an honor bringing you down, y/n.”

“I wouldn’t be that concerned with y/n if I were you, ugly face.” Dante finally entered the conversation. He did like the fact that you owned the respect of a demon king, but he did not like it that the creature was now even more interested in killing you. His phrase, though, made both of you turn your attention to him on the second floor. “I mean, I know, my sheriff is givin’ ya a run for your money and, sooner rather than later, you’ll be back down in Hell in no time.” He had a smart smile on his lips, sprinkled with pride, which made you smile in return. It was good to see how much faith Dante had in you. “But we’re all forgettin’ the big elephant in the room: the smart ass who summoned you and has all the intentions on binding you to serve ‘im.”

“Huh. Son of Sparda. I did feel your stench when I arrived - I just concluded it was tied to the sword.” The demonic king raised his head up to Dante, now pointing his sword towards him. “But your words ring truth. You were not the ones who summoned me - and now you tell me a mortal thought itself to be powerful enough to try to bind me into servitude...?”

Oh, you could all feel the anger running on the king’s bloodstream - if he even had one.

“Oh, yes. Not even a honorable human like y/n, huh?” Dante winked back at you, making you giggle. You weren’t really scared of the demon king behind you - your lover had done one hell of a good job of drawing his attention from you and the fight at hand. “More of a...”

“Coward little shit hidden upstairs so you wouldn’t find ‘im!” Nero dragged Blackwell by the collar of his robe as the man stumbled to stand by Dante’s side - clearly trying to run. “And tryna complete the bindin’ ritual, will you look at that!”

“A cowardly move indeed, petty creature...” The demonic king’s voice echoed through the floor, trembling the boards underneath you all. “Weaklings like you should learn your place and which souls are bound to eternal servitude.”

With that phrase, the portal between dimensions opened once more, making you guide Slade away from it so you wouldn’t fall into the demonic world. The king pointed at Blackwell, making some of the black, viscous liquid dripping from its claws go up the man’s arms and neck, slowly reaching his eyes. Blackwell screamed in horror and pain as the liquid filled his eye sockets, turning into infinite voids completely out of a soul as soon as it was done. Nero let go of the man’s arm, watching him go down the stairs like a mindless puppet, walking obediently to the edge of the opened gate, staring into the demonic world as if he had no choice.

“You shall regret your hubris, petty creature.” With those words from the king, Blackwell willingly threw himself into the abyss, forever lost in servitude to the demonic king he thought he would be able to control.

It was the perfect moment. You couldn’t allow a demon king to stay, and he knew that very well. With a quick movement and a loud crack, your whip tangled itself around the demon king’s metallic arm. The expressionless face turned to you, staring into your eyes with that gaze devoided of soul. You held the look, once again wrapping the whip around your arm tightly, cracking Slade’s reins so the horse would walk backwards - helping you pull the demonic king with you.

You had every intention of pulling him down the opened gate, locking it right after he was gone.

It was a matter of strength and will. You kept pulling, and the demonic king kept anchoring his feet on the floor of the house. Dante and Nero watched it all from the second floor with their mouths slightly opened and hearts pounding viciously in their chests. Nico and Kyrie had their eyebrows furrowed, barely believing what their eyes were seeing. The hardwood floor started to crack underneath the king’s feet, but your eyes wouldn’t leave that soulless gaze. You wrapped the whip once again around your arm, making it even shorter, yanking the creature towards you - making him try to anchor himself down even harder.

Using the same command in your heart before, the fires on the whip got hotter and hotter, burning even brighter and making everyone in the room start to sweat - except for you and the king. The creature stumbled a little when you noticed the whip started to melt into its metallic arm - slowly, but surely, melting it... Destroying it.

If the demonic king wasn’t going back to his rightful place, he was going down. The way you stared into his black eyes made him know that.

“Y/n. I shall remember your name.” The demonic king’s voice reverberated through the room again, as he slowly glided towards the opened gate.

“You better. Next time you try to come up, you should know I’ll be here to take you back down.” Your answer was certain, causing a low laugh to echo through the room in return.

“It will be an honor. Hunter.”

Those were the last words you would hear from the demonic king. He finally let go and you yanked the fiery whip, dragging the creature down the same abyss Blackwell had thrown himself into. With the whip free, you had it back on its place on the saddle in a flourish, watching the gate slowly close up - too slowly, in a matter of fact: some demons had noticed it was open and saw an opportunity to come out and cause mayhem.

“Ei, y/n!” You heard Dante calling, as he ran downstairs alongside Nero. “Use the Rebellion! It’ll speed things up!”

Doing as he said, you killed a few demons who tried to come out - and, as you stroke one of them down where it belonged, you noticed the portal closed faster and faster, until there was only the tip of the Rebellion left buried on the very ordinary hardwood floor.

No demons. No gates. No kings. The mansion fell in silence - and the town had its ghostly quietness back to it. With the last stand from Rebellion, it was over.

Dante finally met you in the middle of the party room, watching you with a proud smile on his lips. He had defeated Mundus once, yes, but you had just put a demonic king back where it belonged without any help from him. That was quite a feat you could brag about as much as you wanted now - even if he knew you wouldn’t do it. He knew you paid the price for the power to do so, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t worth it.

“Guess you saved my ass this time, ghost rider.”

“I believe ‘thanks’ are in order, cowboy.” You answered casually, approaching with Slade walking lazily towards your red devil.

“Oh, you deserve more than thanks tonight, sweetheart.” And the looks in Dante’s eyes made you immediately giggle - while Nero rolled his eyes.

“Ah, stop that you too. There are children in the room...” He shook his head while both you and your lover stared at him with eyebrows raised, ready to question him. Nero just casually looked back at you. “It’s me. I’m children.”

“Ya know... I’m quittin’ this job.”

You three finally looked back at the door only to find Nico and Kyrie walking towards you - safe to say, Nero immediately smiled and ran to meet his love halfway.

“The materials are good, but damn...!” Nico rolled her eyes, completely ignoring Nero holding Kyrie tightly in his arms, kissing the top of her head while she giggled. “You’re all crazy...! Crazy!”

“What can I say? It runs in the family.” Dante shrugged, making Nero laugh from their now inside joke. He turned to you as soon as your feet hit the floor by his side. “You too, babe. You’re family as well.”

“Good to know you think I’m crazy too.” With your answer, he laughed a little bit out loud before having his lips covered by yours - now burning like fire.

“Phew - gonna take a while to get used to that, babe. Is it permanent...?” You could see the care in Dante’s eyes as he pushed some of your hair away from your face - your cowboy hat still immaculate on top of your head. It was clear he didn’t want any kind of thing that transformed you to something more than human to be permanent, but he would accept it anyway: after all, it was you; and everything you did that day was to save him. Dante never really had that.

“Not really. I just have to keep my part of the bargain and it’s gone.” You played with his hair for a while, making Dante have a goofy smile on his lips - only for you. “Which is a shame, really. I liked having you around, Slade.”

The horse approached you, bumping your shoulder with its fiery nose - making you caress its demonic head. All in all, it was a good mount and you grew strangely fond to it.

“And what’s your part of the bargain, babe?”

“Beau Blackwell’s skull. I’ve to find it and give it back to the demon who first made the contract with him.”

“Ya know, the other Blackwell had a skull on the altar upstairs. It’s probably the one ya need, y/n.” Nero considered, still having Kyrie in his arms. There was no force on earth that would make him let her go before sunrise.

“Huh. The demon who made the deal with Beau made a deal with you too, then...?” Dante decided to follow you upstairs as you started making your way towards it.

“Yeah, pretty convenient, I know...” You sighed in return, now used to the fiery steps you left behind you. “But hey, I needed a way to get ourselves out of this one. Demon at the crossroads was my only way out.”

“Yeah, and what a way out. You make one hell of a sexy ghost rider, babe.” Dante teased and, as soon as you got to the top of the stairs, you turned around to let him see you in all your ghost rider glory.

“Right? I’m gonna miss it, I feel quite the badass!” You laughed in return as he whistled upon watching you.

“You’re always a badass, sheriff, you don’t need all that.” There was that unapologetic sincerity in his eyes as Dante spoke, making you know he actually meant it. In all your life hunting by his side, you never felt like you were missing something for being completely human.

“Thank you, cowboy.” You winked back at him, locating the skull inside the black box with silver sigils. Taking it in your hands, now you just had to keep it in the proper place on Slade’s saddle and let it take it back to the creature who gave you those powers for that night. “Though the fiery whip was pretty cool, huh?”

“That it was.” Dante laughed alongside you, stopping for a while before going back downstairs. “Thanks for the rescue, y/n.”

“No worries, Dante. I’ll always be here for you.” You smiled back at him, using your free hand to gently caress his face. “For better or for worse.”

“Usually for worse.” He completed with a slightly bitter laugh, making you shake your head.

“That depends on your point of view, love. To me, it’s always better.”

You left another quick fiery kiss on his lips before heading back downstairs - and, as you concluded your business with Slade and Nico kept arguing with Nero, who kept glued like a koala on Kyrie, Dante couldn’t stop himself from smiling upon thinking about your words.

You were always the better on his life.

*

“To whom it may concern,

Business in Silverstone is back on its tracks. Folks are regaining confidence and tourists are back in town. Things have been flourishing like never before: with the rumors of the latest ‘demonic rituals’, occultists and supernatural enthusiasts are flocking around to visit the old town. Some young folk in the city have even made a ‘Supernatural Silverstone Horror Tour’, or some stupid young people thing like that.

It’s been a hit, though. Not only the young ones, but some old people are coming to take the tour. The old town has never seen so much interest before - and the old Blackwell mansion is now a haunted spot, or something. Haunted house? Dunno. These people like making things up. Not complaining! The hotel is packed every weekend, and there’s plenty of money going around to help us rebuild from the chaos those pesky demons set around on Halloween.

Things are going steady and good around Silverstone - and we all have you people at the Devil May Cry to be thankful to. Whenever you want to visit, accommodation, food and whatever else you need is on the town. You all will always be welcome here.

Oh, the young ones said if you ever want to take the horror tour or whatever, they’ll be more than happy to have you around. It would be an honor, they said. Maybe you could come and show those kids what a proper scare is like, huh?

Well, that’s it for now. I thought you would like to know how things are going - and that you have made friends here in Silverstone. Once again, in the name of the whole town, thank you.

Buck Carson.

Ps: Frances and I have been seeing each other for a while and she agreed to moving in with me in the Hotel. Thank you for your help, y/n.”

“They’re moving in together! Mission accomplished!” You had Buck’s letter in your hand, having just read it out loud, and now you were in the middle of a very weird - and happy - celebration dance in the middle of the Devil May Cry; Dante watched you with his arms crossed, legs on the table and a huge smile on his lips, as always.

“You’ve been playin’ quite the long game to complete that mission, babe!” He laughed alongside you, watching your bare feet happily dancing over the shop’s floor - no fiery footsteps to follow you anymore; your deal was done. “Who would’ve known? You’re a Cupid too!”

“Oh, I’m a good shot, cowboy.” You pointed at him with finger guns, as if you were aiming for his heart. “I could make a wreck with a Cupid’s bow!”

“Oh, there would be no one left standin’! Ouch!” He took his hands over his heart, pretending he was shot as soon as you hit him with your finger guns. “You already took my heart with ya, sheriff!”

“And you took mine with you, cowboy.” You walked over to his desk, leaving the letter on a safe spot and sitting by the edge as you and the ladies always did whenever you were talking at the Devil May Cry. “Who knows, maybe if I make a deal again next year, I’ll get the powers of Cupid for a little while.”

“Ha! Now that I’d like to see!” Dante let out a good laugh, watching intently as you settled in front of him. “But we did get some nice things out of this one this year...”

“Yeah, the whole town is thankful to us, we could go there someday as a vacation.” You considered while Dante agreed, shaking his head. “That’s nice, for a change.”

“Yeah, a first one for me too...” He took his legs off the table, having his feet on the ground again, leaning closer to you. “And you got yourself your first devil weapon, pretty eyes.”

“Oh, my fire whip. I’m so glad.” You closed your eyes, having a huge smile spreading across your lips. Dante quickly glanced over his shoulder, seeing the whip was still sitting peacefully alongside his own devil weapons on a wall display, precisely where you both left them. “All demon kings better beware.”

“I can bet you’re already a legend in Hell, hot stuff. You’re earning your name.” He nodded towards you in a gesture of respect. You could barely think of yourself becoming a legend and making a name for yourself in Hell - but you had to admit it would be more than nice to be known for your abilities.

“But you know, I really like being known as the human who has earned your love.” You looked back at your red devil intently, leaning down on the desk towards him. “That is more important to me than any kind of power I could’ve earned.”

“And that is somethin’ you’ll always have, y/n.” With those words, Dante quickly pulled you into his lap, you both making his chair shift heavily on the floor and make quite the noise - while your laughs ringed with it. “’Cause you know, there’s a reason why Rebellion followed you.”

“Hmmm... I thought it was because I called you somehow before fainting.” You furrowed your brows, pending your head to the side while watching his kind eyes.

“You can call it too, babe, but that’s not what happened that night.” As Dante started talking, he took one of your hands in his, drawing random patterns in it as he spoke. “You see, my swords answer to my soul. And my soul, was worried about you that night. As soon as Rebellion sensed you were in danger...”

“It found me. But how...?”

“’Cause I’d find you anywhere, babe. No matter the place, no matter the circumstance.” His answer was certain; his sky-blue eyes going back to meet yours. “I’d find you anywhere.”

“I’ll always find you too, Dante...” With that, you took his silvery hair away from his eyes, in order to place a gentle, slow kiss on his lips. There was no job to do, no world to save, no gates to close - you could take your time and savor each other. “And save you from whatever demonic kings that decide to step in the way as well.”

“Oh, I’ll always count on that, sheriff!” Dante held you tight against him, placing another long kiss on your lips, making you giggle as he did so. “And I think you said some ‘thanks’ are in order...!”

“But you already... Dante!” Before you could finish speaking, he lifted you up on his arms, leaving his desk to take you upstairs.

“Job’s done and we’re in due for some lovin’. No refunds!” As he spoke, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at Dante’s antics.

After all, by now, you knew every Halloween would have a new adventure in store for you - and you also knew that after every storm, some celebration was to be had.

And celebrating with your red devil would never be enough; after all, loving with all the might of their human heart also ran in the family.

[genericpuff]

Hello! I'm someone with autism (and I'm suspecting ADHD too) who's planning multiple projects. Do you have any advice when it comes to overthinking a lot about decisions on a project? Be it the first step, planning, questioning if you're moving too fast, etc?

ouuuu I think the biggest thing I struggle with personally is just like... the overbearing weight of expectation that isn't necessarily even there. Like, expectation to do everything right all the time, to never make mistakes, to never fall through on promises, to never break any 'rules' (real or imaginary) and most of all, for everything I do to matter in some big, recognizable, memorable way - but the steps to that goal aren't defined, I just know what the goal looks like, with no clear path as to how to get there, and so it often results in me aiming at my own "best guess" and then beating myself up for not hitting the target LOL which is completely unfair to myself and my own work!

What I try to regularly remind myself of is that I am one person, who is only capable of what one person should reasonably be able to accomplish on their own, no matter how much my auDHD tries to convince me otherwise that I "should" be able to handle more than what's reasonable. And in that same sense, there isn't any more pressure on me to put out something perfect than there would be on any other person. I am not Atlas carrying the fate of the greatest work known to mankind on my shoulders - I'm a chronically online dweeb making stuff that's interesting to themselves and sharing it in the hopes that even just one other person will like it too. That isn't a diss on myself, that's me embracing what I am so that I can keep doing it better and more confidently each time.

Though I don't know if this exactly applies to you, I'm gonna say it just in case: I know when it comes to balancing multiple projects, it can be hard not to go "oh well I SHOULD be working on xyz!" but at the end of the day, you're not a failure for preferring to work on something else or needing space from projects that used to thrill you and have now become monotonous. In fact, it turns out that's how it is for most neurotypical people too! I know they make a lot of shit look easy, but even they have shit they loathe doing - they just don't have to deal with the unique hurdles of being neurodivergent.

Always remember to set boundaries with yourself and your work. Remember, just because you're really excited to work on something, doesn't mean you have to work on it all the time. I've learned to appreciate those moments when I'm stuck doing my day job and I'm excited to get home and work on my passion project, because it means I can actually look forward to it and it'll feel all the more rewarding when I finally get to do it! Pushing yourself too hard to fulfill that excitement all at once right off the bat often just means you're gonna spend it all way too quick, and that won't feel good because then you'll be left wondering where all the love went.

Set little goals for yourself. Stuff that's manageable and achievable within a reasonable amount of time. I know we tend to dive into thinking huge right off the bat, because that's what's exciting to us, but when it comes time to actually do the work, those smaller goals can keep us moving forward far better than the big, far off, ambiguous goal hiding somewhere off in the horizon. While it's good to plan ahead, not setting smaller milestones for yourself can burn you out faster because it's really hard to work towards an "end goal" that might be too far away for us to even conceptualize. The small goals allow us to reward ourselves along the way, and they do ultimately still build up to the bigger picture in the end, even if it feels like we're "not doing much". It can be anything like "get to this chapter that I can finish in the next few weeks" or "fully write out this scene that's been living in my head rent-free".

As for the overthinking... yeah, I wish I had some magic solution to that, but it's really just about learning what you enjoy doing vs. what you don't, so that you can have confidence in knowing when your creative decisions suit the project you're working on. This is something that gets better with practice and experience, but I feel like it's better tackled by reminding yourself that any project, no matter the outcome of how popular it gets or whether or not it "takes off", is an opportunity to learn and grow. Treat every project as a learning experience and you'll hopefully find the process itself more enjoyable, which will subsequently buff up your confidence. It's all a process of honing in on what works for you, what you excel at, and what you enjoy doing; while learning what doesn't work for you, what you could improve at, and what you don't enjoy doing.

Finding a writing buddy or someone who's willing to read your work and give you feedback is super helpful for this, too, because sometimes it takes another perspective to help us navigate the fog of indecision and find a solution.

And again, remember - you are one person, and you are under no obligation for any of your projects to be some perfect, infallible holy grail. You will write stuff that you will inevitably look back on with disgust and cringe. You will create projects that you will eventually outgrow or move on from. That does not invalidate the time and effort you put into those projects - it's proof of experience and growth. Embrace the growing pains, find peace in the process in whatever way you can.

It's not a question of right or wrong - it's asking yourself what feels true to you and your voice, and finding out along the way.

[bibewilderedandbuck]

First time they say ‘boyfriend’ this or ‘my hot pilot’ that. What about the crew finding out tommy and buck fucked bc he thinks he cant donate blood?

Only the worker at the drive tells him that the only criteria for Not being able to donate in California is: close contact/lived with someone with hepatitis in the last three months, having tested positive for HIV, or undergone dental surgery in the last 72 hours.

Everyone looks at Buck expectantly and he nods holding out his arm. “Can’t believe i just told everyone that we had sex.” He doesn’t look the slighted bit ashamed.

Tommy slaps a hand on Buck’s shoulder and eyes the clearly visible hickeys that go from his ear to under his collar. “I think they already knew, babe.”

[momomallowart]

I finally watched Arcane and realized they're just the same character so I swapped their clothes ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ

[pidgydraws]

heheh~ yeah @kotikaleo i do have unnecessarily specific thoughts about the ring designs i did for this piece! lol firstly, these are ABSOLUTELY fidget rings. cuz i'd have done a more mechanical/gear specific design but any human who's worn a ring on the reg knows that having a bunch of little notches in it is HELL, so cute spinny rings it is. secondly, Viktor's has "in all timeliness" engraved inside of his and Jayce's has "in all possibilities". and thirdly, they HAD to have to round blue sapphires in them because every time i rewatch Arcane i get this gut wrenching feeling during episode 4 where i - very viscerally - feel like maybe the last beautiful thing they accomplished together, before anyone or anything truly started tearing their world apart, was fortifying the hex gems. in that moment, it must have felt like they were about to finally take the next big step towards everything they dreamed about~ but... we all know how that turned out. so! YEAH~! (O W O) those are my thoughts on my, Science Husbands, ring designs heheh~

[fujii-draws]

‘And Never Let Go’

Summary: In which Dusknoir senses a seasonal shift and change in himself towards his youngest comrades. Having no clue how to deal with these newfound, Gripper instincts.

Or

Old, emotionally repressed ghost conceals his feelings of fatherly instinct from his kids until it blows up in his face.

[Word count: 5130]

————————

Dusknoir didn’t know what was wrong.

He couldn’t put a finger on it— but these past few days, the phantom felt a… change. In himself. Or rather, how he acted—

“Ribbons..! C’mon you’re going to make us waste precious daylight…!”

“I’m coming Aimilios! Jeez..!”

—Around them.

The large wraith watched as the fairy and fighting-type ran up to the crossing near the entrance of Wigglytuff’s guild. The other two had invited Dusknoir over to do some job requests. Not that they needed the help— rather, to spend time with the large ghost-type. Something the revenant had always secretly appreciated.

…He didn’t know what it was… but anytime he’d been around the Lucario and Sylveon…

“Alright..! Now that Ribbons is finally here, we can— W-Woah..!—“

“AH—!!” Ribbons and Aimilios yelped startledly as a pair of large hands scooped them from off the ground so suddenly. “At least give us a w-warning—!“ Aimilios yipped, surprised.

“A-ah.. My apologies…” He gently sets Aimilios back down on solid ground. Ribbons opts to climb onto his shoulder ruff. They both momentarily give the Gripper Pokémon puzzling looks— ones of which the wraith narrowly evades.

——

He felt… an urgency. To protect the two, to shield them from any harm. Which— was a regular occurrence thanks to the heaps of shenanigans and life-or-death situations the two always seemed to get wrapped in. But… it was… different. It wasn’t only when they’d get themselves injured anymore— rather—

Dusknoir found himself becoming overprotective over the two over the mildest of things. From a Pokémon looking at them the wrong way, to a minor cut or bruise.

Anything seemed to set the wraith off completely. And that’s without mentioning the numerous times he’s picked and floated them around to areas the two could’ve easily gone to themselves. Or how he’d been constantly hovering around them like a Corviknight— glaring at the Pokémon they’d been conversing with.

That wasn’t the only odd thing the cloaked specter had noticed. Sometimes… it felt as if he’d been in a sort of… trance. Dusknoir’s yellow markings, bell, and eye would glow faintly. Staring at the two small Pokémon for extended periods of time.

And when the two had been away for just a couple of hours— The same yellow glow would return, only much harsher. Giving the ghost a migraine that would force Dusknoir to clutch his head. Wondering where his little ones had been. If they were safe.

His stomach maw slightly unhinged during these breakdowns… something Dusknoir assumed he had complete control over. But what terrified the ghost most… was when his stomach jaw would open around Ribbons and Aimilios.

He was able to shut it relatively fast. Enough so that the two had no idea what had been going on… but Dusknoir found it harder and harder to keep hidden by the day. At one point, reaching his hands out towards the Lucario.

——

“Hm..? Oh! Dusknoir!” Aimilios beamed. “Did you need something?”

“N-no… no need… no need.” He cups the Lucario’s face. Eye lidding as his maw slowly opened.

“Oh! Well… o-okay..!” The aura pup confusedly looked towards Dusknoir’s hands… too focused on him to see his stomach mouth unhinging. Holding the ghost’s grippers with his own, blue-black paws. “…I’m always here if you need anything!” He softly assured the large specter.

Dusknoir snaps out of the trance, detaching his hands from the Lucario. “Right…”

——

This behavior… it was slowly becoming a danger. Dusknoir had no idea what he’d been doing during these moments, thanks to the fog in his mind. But Ribbons and Aimilios would remind him of his strange behavior… something he thought he could keep unawares and hidden from the two.

These last couple of days had been the worst for the ghost’s instincts. Doing everything he’d done beforehand— except ten times more intensely.

He’d pick up the two and hold them, presumably for hours. Chase and hunt down Outlaw Pokémon that’d give them so much as a scratch. Maiming them before returning to tend to the injured Sylveon and Lucario. Whom of which looked up at him in horror and fear as they watched the blood of whatever poor outlaw dripped from his knuckles…

…Dusknoir decided that enough is enough.

———

He quietly asked the two to speak with him in private in the Sharpedo Bluff, where he finally clues them in on some of the details of his… trances. Shedding light on why he’s been acting the way he had. The Sylveon and Lucario sit and kneel accordly as they listen to Dusknoir intently… and worriedly.

“S-so that’s why..?” Aimilios stuttered, bewildered by the information. “You’ve been…?—“

“Yes.” Dusknoir looks towards the ground, unable to maintain eye contact with the Lucario. “That is correct.”

“That would explain… a lot of things actually.” Ribbons piped up, rubbing a feeler under her chin quizzically. She looks back up at Dusknoir, tilting her head and offering a soft smile after seeing his tensed expression. “Thanks for being honest with us. We appreciate it.” She beams, complimenting Dusknoir on how far he’s come since his deceitful days.

“Of course, but— that isn’t all I came here to tell you.” Dusknoir squeezes his eye shut.

Aimilios scoots closer to Dusknoir, putting a tiny paw on his large hand. “So… then..?”

Dusknoir clenches his fists tighter at the Lucario’s touch, guilt swallowing the ghost-type as he braced himself to say his next words. “I need you two to stay as far away from me as possible.”

“WHAT?!”

Ribbons and Aimilios shout in unison. The sylveon gets closer to the ghost-type as Aimilios had— wrapping a feeler around his other clenched fist.

“What’s with the outburst…?” Dusknoir quizzically raised his hands in shock— “It will only be temporary. I’ll return once I’ve found some way to remedy this.”

There was surely a book on ghostly instinct the wraith could skim through. It was only to ensure their safeties— why couldn’t they see that? Why were they so upset?

…Ah. Perhaps he should’ve worded his earlier plans of departure better. Sableye never truly questioned or worried about wherever he went during his escapades in the future. It’d take from a single hour to days until he returned… He really had to get used to this world and it’s ‘communication.’

“Who knows how long that will take—!” Ribbons shouts. “You might’ve gotten weirder these past few weeks, but you haven’t done anything to hurt us, dummy!”

“R-Ribbons is right..!” Aimilios concurred, his voice quivering. “W-we know you wouldn’t hurt us..! You promised!”

Dusknoir’s eye shoots wide open— staring at the two small Pokémon holding onto each of his fists.

He slowly unravels them back into hands… before cupping the side of each of Ribbons and Aimilios’s faces.

“…Truly?” His yellow markings begin glowing.

“Dusknoir…!” Aimilios laughs “Haven’t we told you this already…?”

“About a million times.” Dusknoir tilts his head, smiling back towards the aura pup.

“Yeah!” Ribbons puffed out her cheeks. “You’re not just gonna spend that many years gaining our trust back, only to go Arcues-knows off later!” She puts her paw on the hand holding her face. “You’re stuck with us, whether you like it or not!”

“At least…” She slightly leans into his hand, ears drooping slightly. “I hope you are…”

“…It was only going to be a temporary retreat…” Dusknoir felt himself becoming overwhelmed by the Lucario and Sylveon’s words and their protests towards his departure. He stares at the intertwining and aura Pokemon fondly, wondering how he managed to get such wonderful Pokémon to call his little ones. Even after all his faults.

Even after what he’d done.

“…You still wouldn’t mind being around me…?” The large ghost-type growled gently, the lights on his markings glowing furthermore as his eye lidded.

“Even when I’m like this…?”

The two shake their heads in unison, both of their eyes glistening with firm determination as Aimilios smiled up towards the ghost… while Ribbon’s frowned— hating to see the specter self-deprecate and beat himself up so often…

“We’re not going anywhere.” Aimilios closed his eyes. “W-we can even help you scour books in the library!” The Lucario added, with the Sylveon nodding rapidly at her partner’s words.

“We’re family now— and we’re not leaving you!”Ribbons gleefully added. “Or letting you leave! You’re stuck with us for all eternity, remembeeer?”

Hmph… of course she’d be the one to remember that promise he made to them. To be their sworn protector after weeks of haunting and harming them.

“Alright.” Dusknoir fought the urge to suppress his own emotions, which threatened to blur his vision of the Lucario and Sylveon. He still needed to do this. To take every precaution necessary.

But… not without a heartfelt, temporary goodbye.

…He goes to close the gap between the two. Planning to pull them into an embrace— one Ribbons and Aimilios had been anticipating. Dusknoir’s eye lidded with a red glow, his maw opening once more, dragging the two closer as they closed their eyes— trusting the ghost-type. Who’d hummed softly towards his children.

…Children…? Th-that was certainly a new thought…

…Dusknoir slowly regains control as his eye widens back to normal—

Before seeing what he’d almost done.

Dusknoir’s cyclopean eye shrunk in horror— detaching far away from the Sylveon and Lucario immediately. Grabbing his wrist as he stared at his hand. Was he…?

Oh.

Oh gods—

It was worse than he feared. So much worse.

“D-dusknoir..?!” Ribbon’s whimpered out worriedly—

“Stay BACK!” The Gripper Pokémon roars out, lashing towards the sylveon.

He was a danger to them. He had to protect them.

“…This is for your own good.” Dusknoir brokenly uttered. Before Shadow Sneaking into the ground.

“Please. Forgive me.”

“DUSKNOIR—!” Aimilios ran towards the ghost-type, trying to hug him before he disappeared… but it’d been far too late. The Lucario only managing to grab hold of the black smoke the wraith disappeared into… before fully slipping into the cracks of the Sharpedo bluff’s floor. Aimilios and Ribbons can only stare at the ground the ghost-type escaped from.

“H-he’s gone…” Aimilios dejectedly spoke.

_______

…

A full month had passed since they'd seen the cloaked phantom. Ribbons and Aimilios scoured aimlessly towards areas they knew Dusknoir commonly went to. But every single time, they came up short. The only thing they’d been able to consistently find being disappointment.

“Wh-where is he…” the Lucario fretted endlessly. Ribbon’s sat on Aimilios’s shoulder as she peered at the map in the Aura Pokémon’s quivering hands.

“I don’t know…” the Sylveon responded, “But we’ll keep trying…” a cat-like yawn escapes her. “Preferably tomorrow.”

The troubled specter avoided those two like the plague. It seemed that everybody in Treasure town had seen the ghost-type at one point or another. It frustrated Ribbons in particular. But she’d been upset aswell… probably as much as Aimilios— who blamed himself for the whole ordeal.

…Which was probably why her initial answer hurt the Lucario, who purposely ignored his fairy-type partner's somewhat uncaring comment. She sighs wearily, leaning in to repeat herself in a more respectful way. One that didn’t upset her Aura Pokémon partner.

“That marks off Kecleon’s shop…” Ribbons yawned once more. “Aimilios… We should call it a night.”

“B-but..!” Aimilios cried out. “We’re so close..!”

“Sweetie… I know you want to find him…” Ribbon’s cups his face with her feelers. “But you’ll only destroy yourself in the process if you keep taking these all-nighters..”

“Don’t you care..?!” Aimilios shouts, his emotions getting the better of him.

Ribbons only kisses the top of his head, recognizing this and taking the role of the voice of reason between the two. “Of course I do... But now we need to rest.”

“So… then…” Aimilios looks around. “Where do we sleep for the night…?”

“Hm. Good point.” She looks at the map, pointing to it with one of her feelers. “Grovyle and Celebi’s house is just up ahead..! I don't think they’d mind us crashing for the night!”

“A-Alright.” Aimilios rolled up the map, neatly tucking it away into his treasure bag as the two made their way to the grass-type’s shared home… unaware that the Gripper Pokémon they’ve been trying to find had already been there… waiting for them.

—————

It was relatively easy to move their way around the Future trio’s home despite night falling. Moonlight did well to offer illumination for the Lucario and Sylveon. Aimilios sighs forlorningly— still upset with not continuing his search for the ghost-type. He just wishes that Dusknoir would come back to them already…

“He’s fine.” The fairy-type spoke out of nowhere— almost reading her partner’s mind. “He’s stronger than all four of us, he’s safe.”

“How do you know that?”

Ribbons smiles, “I just do.”

…Aimilios couldn’t help but smile at himself despite not wanting to. Gah… Ribbons always did have a way of cheering him up.

Carefully, the two continue their way through the abandoned-like home. The only sounds that can be heard being their own footsteps and breaths. Which were visible thanks to the frigid air surrounding the Future trio’s abode.

“Spooky, huh?” The Lucario jested nervously, but unnaturally hearing no instant, witty retort back from his partner. Only silence.

Aimilios turned towards the intertwining Pokémon, giving her a smile of reassurance now that she was the one to begin stressing. Which seemingly did the trick— receiving a small smile back—

*CLATTER*

The two Pokémon’s attention is promptly stolen by the sound of a pot hitting the floor. A bone rush and Moonblast are already equipped once the aura Pokémon senses the complicated emotions emanating from this Pokémon. With Ribbons following suit, trusting her partner’s judgment.

Aimilios took the lead as he and Ribbons slowly made their way to the kitchen. Bone and Orb attacks still at hand as a precautionary measure.

They’re met with a large, black silhouette. With…

Glowing… yellow rings…

The two proceeded closer, light filling both their eyes as they smiled in unison. Upon getting closer— they hear him. Calling out their names. Almost painfully.

“DUSKNOIR..!”

The two small Pokémon wasted no time unequipping their Bone Rush and Moonblast respectively. Instead— Rushing over immediately to the familiar ghost-type.

“Ribbons? Aimilios…?” The wraith’s entire body straightened as he heard the two familiar voices. Turning around to face the young fairy and fighting types.

He caught them in his arms. Purring thunderously as he held the two close. Sharing a hug with them for minutes as they stayed in comfortable silence, before Dusknoir promptly broke it— speaking for the first time since they last saw the seven foot phantom. “Oh… you two…”

“…” The sylveon perked up from her initial face-nuzzling. Staring at Dusknoir. Was his voice… ever that deep? Taking a closer look now as the wraith held them— she gazed at him. Beginning to notice his more monstrous-like form.

“Dusknoir…” Ribbons began cautiously. “What happened? Is everything okay…?”

Dusknoir’s half-lidded eye landed on her, tilting his head uncannily.

“Does it matter?”

Wrong answer. Ribbons instantly began to squirm out of Dusknoir’s hold— squeezing herself out as she wrapped an immediate feeler onto Aimilios’s arm. Discreetly begging him to do the same. Something was wrong— very, very wrong with the elder ghost.

…

“…”

Ribbons felt something wrong with the way the gargantuan wraith was clutching his head on the kitchen counter table. Groaning out in agonizing growls and pained hisses. Not only that— but growling possessively. Causing the sylveon to second-guess herself. Shirking away as Aimilios stayed close.

“A-Aimilios—!“ the fairy-type whisper-shouted.

The way the ghost’s expression shifted into manic ecstasy is what really made Ribbons begin to back up a little. Her quiet yet desperate whispers towards the Lucario growing louder and louder.

“…Ribbons..?” Dusknoir bellowed— his voice being a few octaves lower than his regular voice. His pupil shrinking as one of his little one’s strayed further away from him. “Where are you going—?“

“D-Dusknoir..! Ohh..!” The aura pup wasted no time hugging the large specter. Whom of which— scooped up the Lucario in a tight bear hug. Almost too tight.

Aimilios didn’t understand why the Sylveon wasn’t as ecstatic as he was anymore. Or why she was cowering with her ears pinned. Too focused on reuniting with the Gripper to see what she was seeing.

Dusknoir, thankfully, broke out of his worsening trance as the Sylveon separated from him. Focusing on just Aimilios.

“We’ve been looking for you all over..! Where were you?!” Aimilios pouted, still clearly upset from the Irish-like goodbye the ghost gave them.

“Forgive me… I never wished to make you so unhappy…” His arms snake around the small aura Pokemon more, growling protectively.

“…”

“Come now….” Dusknoir’s embrace tightens. “Don’t be upset with me…” The giant specter coaxed.

Aimilios huffed out after a few seconds past— unable to hold onto his anger towards the ghost. “Alright…” the Aura Pokémon softly responded, hiding his face in the crook of Dusknoir’s ruffs.

“Thank you…” The wraith’s ginormous hands grab hold of the Lucario’s tiny waist; picking up Aimilios and craning his head thoughtfully left and right. Almost as if he were… inspecting the pup?

“A-ah… Dusknoir?” Right… Dusknoir was still in one of his… ‘trances.’ Now Aimilios understood why Ribbons was being so wary. The Aura Pokémon should’ve been as well… but he missed the ghost too much to care about logic. Logic that was telling him to run right now.

Perhaps that’s why when the wraith unhinged his large maw— the Lucario froze. Completely.

“D-dusknoir…?” Aimilios looked at the wraith worriedly, he turns his head back at Ribbons—

All he sees is her backing away— the white pupils in her cyan eyes dilating, slitting like a cat.

Ha…haha…! The Lucario nervously laughed in the back of his mind. He thought he was already past this..! He- h-he shouldn’t be having a freeze response…! Not with Dusknoir— not anymore…! So why… w-why was he so…?

Aimilios stared into the abyss that was the ghost-type’s innards. Purple flesh churned softly as a large, purple tongue unraveled onto the ground— beckoning the aura pup inside.

He… he wasn’t going to do what Aimilios thinks he’s… no. No.

Dusknoir wouldn’t.

…the Lucario’s eyes slowly meet the large specters.

“…”

Oh.

Dusknoir’s glowing, blood red eye only trained on the small Pokémon’s body.

Oh.

Aimilios’s ruby pupils shrink.

He’s serious.

“D-dusknoir..! W-WAIT—!”

“AIMILIOS—!”

The Lucario’s eyes shut as the wraith connected his head with the small pup’s. Purring softly.

“You were always much more prone to fear, weren't you?” Dusknoir detaches his temple from the Aura Pokémon— before gently pulling him towards the confines of his belly.

“Don’t worry. I’ll guide you every step of the way.” Dusknoir bellowed out— unable to hear the Lucario’s frightened cries.

The aura pup’s body squished into the surface of the revenant’s pliant body. Aimilios couldn’t even cry for help—a small, terrified whine only escapes him as he eased further into the depths of the Gripper Pokémon’s stomach. Tucking the small fighting-type away.

———

“There we are…” the gargantuan wraith purred—

Aimilios was the first one he placed inside. Thankfully— he didn’t put up much of a fight against the large revenant. Which pleased Dusknoir. He was always a good pup. One he was proud to call his own. “Be not afraid…” the ghost rumbled out gently hunched over, placing protective hands over his stomach. Almost cradling his larger belly… and the small Pokémon within... “Rest now. I have you.”

“Dusknoir please—!” Purple flesh only surrounded the Lucario— who squeezed his eyes shut in fear.

“Shh…” Dusknoir‘s glowing eye illuminated further, hushing the Lucario. “You need not worry about losing me anymore.” Dusknoir smiled. “…Not while I have you.”

“…” Aimilios curled up into himself— unable to speak without feeling the lump in his throat threatening him to start silently whimpering. He feels the imprint of a large hand pressing on him. Making the Lucario huddle even more as the large ghost doted over him.

…

His glowing eye trained on the Sylveon, who was only still there because of the paralysis she felt from watching her partner be devoured. Right before her very eyes.He gently floats over to the whimpering fairy-type— kneeling in front of her.

Ribbons immediately begins hissing, backing away from the terrifying ghost-type. This— t-this wasn’t their dad. Dusknoir wouldn’t— he’d never—

“Stay AWAY!” The irate eeveelution hissed— feeling her fight-response take over her as Aimilios did his freeze. Re-readying the Moonblast in her mouth. Dusknoir only seemed to look at her. Somewhat disappointed. He floats closer— testing the Sylveon’s resolve. His eye still lidded.

“I’M WARNING YOU…! I’LL DO IT—!”

Another advance towards her. Completely disregarding her threats.

Ribbons closed her eyes as the pink orb of energy blasted towards Dusknoir way.

…

Only for a large hand to catch it. Gently dissolving it as he crushed it in the palm of his hand.

He called her bluff.

He didn’t even flinch.

Dusknoir’s rings glowed brighter as he sighed, smiling down at the intertwining Pokémon. “Oh, Ribbons.” Of course she wouldn’t harm him. Aimilios barely tried to escape, so why would she?

Ribbons backed further and further away from the wraith— until backing herself into a wall. A dead end. Her cyan, beady eye’s looked up at the gargantuan ghost in what would be fear. Fear she hadn’t felt in years. She closes her eyes shut, expecting the worst—

Only for large, firm hands to cup her body.

“Ribbons, dear. Your partner is safe…” Large hands reach the petrified Sylveon, scooping her up. He gently placed her against his stomach— making her listen to the Aura Pokémon inside. “See..?”

Ribbons could barely squeak out of her raspy throat. Feeling Aimilios from within the barrier that was the ghost’s girth.

“Just let me take care of you…both of you.” Dusknoir bellowed, parting his teeth once more. The Sylveon and Lucario share a look of fear—before the gargantuan revenant squished the two inside his belly. Closing his yellow jaws slowly as whatever moonlight hit the inside of his stomach was snuffed. Swallowing both Pokémon into darkness.

Ribbons squeezed her eyes shut as he delicately placed her inside—sealing her away with the Lucario.

Without any time to shout— the Aura and Intertwining Pokémon had been pulled into the dark abyss that was the Gripper Pokémon’s belly. Dusknoir ignored their quiet, frightened mewls. For him to stop— drowning them out with his loud, rumbling purrs instead. Completely driven by the instinctual haze taking over his rational mind.

Being away from them for so long… it only made his instincts flare. Day by day. He clutched his stomach tighter. His yellow outlines grew brighter. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. But he didn’t care anymore. They were here now.

And they were all he needed.

“Oh… you two must be so exhausted…” Dusknoir growled in penitence. Still feeling guilt upon leaving the two small Pokémon on such short notice… they spent all that time just trying to track him. What sweet, caring children they were…

“Let me handle the rest.” Dusknoir cooed. Purring trilled growls as he examined his slightly larger belly— pressing large fingertips on the soft roof of his belly. Earning him startled whimpers from the inside.

———

“Shhh…. Shhhhhhh….”

“A-Aimilios…” The sylveon whined out, hugging her partner in fear.

“I-I know Ribbons… I know.” The Lucario had squeezed his eyes shut, alongside his smaller, fairy-type partner.

They’d been trapped inside the large ghost-type’s belly. He’d devoured them without a second thought— the last thing that could be seen was his glazed, half-lidded expression. As if he’d been running on auto-pilot. Mind controlled.

Dusknoir had floated onto the ground after finally securing the two in his stomach, an overwhelming sense of paternal instinct coursing through him. He’d hunched over, curling both of his arms around his stomach as he breathed heavily. It’d been a dark night, so that also might’ve been why he looked more terrifying to the two small Pokémon inside. The only features that could be visible were his yellow outlines… and glowing, crimson eye.

“I have you…” He growled protectively. Hugging his stomach as his possessive, ghost-side took over. Never having a reason to act on said instincts, until they arrived into his life. Until he was free serving an undead Time god.

The two Pokémon inside had been constricted further into each other as a result from the outside bear hug. Whimpering out in unison. The dark, closed space barely had enough room for the Lucario alone. So when Dusknoir had devoured the fighting-type alongside his equally helpless partner— frightened noises escaped both of their mouths.

“It’s g-going to be okay…! He… he probably had a reason…” Aimilios whispered.

“A reason for what— eating us ALIVE?!” Ribbons rebutted. Whispering back angrily in tears. “Aimilios if we don’t find a way out, he’ll..!”

…The Sylveon hesitated to finish her sentence out of fear and denial. They… really were done for if Dusknoir had chosen to do away with them right then and there… Their explorer badges had clattered to the ground when he shoved them inside his maw. So calling Grovyle or Celebi for help was already hopeless. Everyone else in the township had already fallen dead asleep, their cries for help going unheard by any ears… and the large ghost-type keeping them.

“H-he’ll…” The fairy-type buried her face into her partner’s chest. Gods— why was he doing this…?! He wouldn’t make some elaborate plan to regain their trust to harm them years down the line. Not again— Not when there were other, more opportune moments when they were alone. Still unevolved.

So why.

Why were they still so scared?

…

…The fear of being hunted in the future by him. It never truly left them, did it? Ribbons looks up at her partner. One look into his equally fearful, ruby eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“……” the Lucario couldn't formulate a response fast enough to ease Ribbon’s worries. Only holding her.

…The dumbest, most naive part of both of them still trusted Dusknoir. Trusted the Gripper Pokémon enough to let him devour them. Not fighting back in the slightest, even when they had every reason to. Even when he reminded them many a time to put him in the ground if they ever felt unsafe around him.

“H-he wouldn’t… He promised us..! The Lucario hugged her tightly. “He… he wouldn’t do that to us again…”

Aimilios was confident in that, and he knew Ribbon’s was too despite her fears. He wouldn’t have spent all this time trying to regain their trust… only to hurt them all over again.

There had to be a reason…

——

…

The Lucario and Sylveon had been at Duskull bank, putting in their extra earnings so as to not lose anything. But for some reason, the tiny ghost seemed… apprehensive. Constantly looking at the large Dusknoir accompanying the two. Once he’d been distracted talking to another treasure town citizen— he whispered something to the two Pokémon.

“H-hey..” Duskull began. “I should probably give you two a heads up…”

“A…heads up?” The Lucario tilted his head in confusion. “About what exactly..?”

“…Him.” He gestures to Dusknoir. “You kids may not know this but… it’s around this time of year ghost type’s tend to get… protective over their family… especially children.

That certainly got a reaction from the two. The Lucario becoming flustered at the thought of Dusknoir seeing them as his own… Ribbons went silent herself. Not even smiling anymore as an equally flushed expression was present on the fairy-type’s face.

But… It also made sense. The past few days Dusknoir had been acting…strange. He’d been extra protective of the Lucario and Sylveon. He’d growl and glare at Pokémon that dared to look at them wrong. Not to mention the constant hovering and picking them up. His eye glowed during these moments aswell…and it only seemed to become more frequent.

“S-so where are you going with th-this exactly?” The Lucario stuttered, trying to move on from that piece of information.

“It’s just, dusknoir’s’ have a way with ‘protecting’ their kids… it’s—“

Just at that moment, the large ghost-type had returned. Staring at Duskull.

“Forgive me for asking Duskull, but we’re quite ready to leave now.” Dusknoir smiled. Although he seemed to be glaring daggers at the much smaller pre-evolution. He didn’t seem to hear the initial conversation, thankfully.

“R-Right…” The much smaller ghost-type shirks away in fear, not finishing his sentence.

Dusknoir picks up the two, floating them to their next destination as they were left to wonder what exactly the ghost-banker was about to tell them…?

_____

“…O-oh my gods…” The Lucario put a paw on his mouth in disbelief.

“Wh-what??” Ribbons whisper-shouted. “What is it..?!”

“H-He’s protecting us….” Aimilios spoke, his eyes widening as his mind returned to the present.

“W-what…?” The sylveon looked up at her partner’s ruby eyes. “From what?!”

“Remember what Duskull said?”

“Yes? But what does this have to do with-“

“No, Ribbons. Think harder.”

And she does, closing her eyes to correctly recall the conversation that took place that day.

“He said that dusknoirs’ as a species had a way of protecting their…k-kids.” She hesitates near the end, still flustered by that fact.

“R-right…” The equally embarrassed Lucario responded. Briefly breaking eye contact with the sylveon.

“So h-he’s doing all of this…?” Ribbons looked up at the roof of the ghost’s stomach. Purple flesh churned from above, as well as below as it closed in further around the two small Pokémon.

“Because he thinks we’re his..?”

She feels herself getting a little choked up near the end. Not realizing just how much Dusknoir had truly loved the two up until this very moment.

“Mhm…” the misty-eyed Lucario replied, hugging Ribbons even tighter. “H-he does…”

The revelation was staggering… This once, world renowned ghost-type. Famous in nearly all of the Grass-continents, the ‘Great Dusknoir’ himself…

…Saw them as his little ones. The same unknown, naive kids that once approached him that fateful day. He’d been treating them as if they were his very own children.

It nearly made the Lucario and Sylveon cry.

…

They listened to Dusknoir’s movements as he floated down onto a hay bed. He looked down at his slightly larger belly lovingly. Knowing the two had been safe and secure. Low, satisfied growls erupt from within the ghost’s echo chamber. Rubbing his stomach soothingly for the two little ones residing inside it.

“Rest now, my children…” Dusknoir bellowed out in a protective rumble.

His half lidded eyes slowly close as he lays on his side. Preparing the other two for bed… he purrs as to lull the two into a slumber. Knowing that they’ll soon follow his example.

____

“So we’re not getting out until morning, are we?” Ribbons jokes, although a hint of a choked sob had been present in her voice.

“Mhm… for now, let’s get some sleep…”

“Okay…” Ribbon’s sighs, smiling softly at her partner. “Goodnight…”

“Goodnight…” He kisses the top of his partner’s head. Before both of them look at the roof of the ghost-type’s stomach… the same one that had claimed them as his own… Tears prick the corner of the two’s eyes. Knowing now how Dusknoir truly felt towards them. Hearing him call them his ‘children’…

They close their damped eyes, making mental notes in their heads to hug Dusknoir once he’d let them free.

[bloody-cupcakes]

would you do the different breakfast club members with a clingy/overprotective yandere s/o who kind of acts like their parent? thank you ^-^

They each desperately need some kind of a good parental figure in their lives, even if it's from a s/o with yandere qualities lol

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, the reader acts more like a parental figure than a partner in some cases, overprotective/clingy behavior displayed by the reader

Claire Standish

She acts like the typical bratty rich girl who's used to getting what she wants. What do you mean she can't go to that party? Who are you to tell her who she can and can't hang out with?

She typically "rebels" against you by doing the exact opposite of what you said, until she realizes that, surprise surprise, you were right all along. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course

On the surface she acts really annoyed by how overprotective and clingy you are, but secretly she loves having someone who actually cares about her wellbeing and isn't just trying to get back at someone when you tell her not to do something

Andrew Clark

He's pretty used to people telling him what to do, meaning he's not very good at thinking for himself. Imagine his surprise when you encourage him to start making his own decisions

Of course you have your own opinion on what he should or shouldn't do, but why should that matter? He's his own person, which you slowly help him realize over time

He doesn't really need someone to constantly look out for him (hello, he's an athlete, he can beat someone up if he really needs to) but he definitely appreciates having someone to remind him that wrestling isn't everything

Brian Johnson

He so desperately needs someone who cares about him for more than just his grades, the poor baby. Even if you just offer to help him with his homework he'll be eternally grateful

Honestly, he trusts you so much. You could tell him to take the day off and not worry about school and he actually will because he knows you'll end up getting his work done for him

He finds how much you watch over him to be very endearing because unlike his parents you actually care about him and not just his grades. He barely even notices how attached you are because he's just as bad

John Bender

I love him but he's one you'll have to drag kicking and screaming if you want to properly care for him because newsflash, he doesn't need anybody and can look out for himself

He gets so pouty whenever you lay down ground rules on things (how often he gets detention, when he needs to eat, etc.) and will flat out refuse to listen to you unless you start to ignore him

You're eventually able to wear down his rough exterior and get to his soft inside because deep down he wants to be cared for the way you do for him, even if he acts like a brat for it most of the time

Allison Reynolds

She's so sweet, you could tell her to set her house on fire and she probably would if you promised to give her attention (please don't actually tell her that though because she will do it)

As long as you spend time with her she's pretty content to listen to you. Occasionally she "acts out" or whatever but it's more to push your buttons than it is to actually misbehave

Her clinginess rivals even yours as she has to be around you pretty much all the time or she'll get upset. Even if you have to get groceries or run errands she'll gladly tag along just so she can be near you

[mingwrites]

Hey is it okay to do request and if so can you do a Drabble of Jongho smut please you can pick

of course, thank you for requesting lovely!

~

jongho was in a bad mood. luckily for you, he got really mean when he was in a bad mood. “on your knees,” he demanded, “ass in the air.” already dripping with excitement, you obliged him, sticking your ass and red-hot, fluttering pussy up high in the cold night air.

“good,” he spoke gently, rubbing your ass cheek with a flat hand before pulling it back and spanking you hard. you jumped with a yelp, and jongho placed a hand on your back. “behave,” he raised his voice. another smack, and another, some ten more times.

by this point your clit was throbbing with arousal, causing a dull ache to linger between your legs. “jongho,” you whined, “i promise i’ll be good, just please-“

his strong hand wrapped tight around your throat. “what’s my name?” he demanded, anger reverberating throughout the room.

your heart skipped a beat upon realizing your mistake. if jongho wasn’t going to go hard on you before, he surely would now. you choked for air and jongho finally eased his grip around your throat. after gasping a few breaths, you answered him meekly, “daddy.”

jongho grabbed you by your waist and, in one quick motion, he easily flipped you onto your back. his strong hands now gripped the backs of your knees and he forced them apart, leaving you wide open for him. he looked down at your center, rubbing a few circles into your clit before pulling his hand away, a string of your juices sticking to him. “jesus, you’re so fucking wet.” his voice mimicked disgust but his face showed otherwise. he grabbed his hard dick next, pumping it at an agonizingly slow pace. “beg for daddy, little one.”

your hole was twitching, already screaming to be filled, but feeling hopelessly empty. you spoke in sobs, “ple-ease, daddy! i need y-your dick so b-bad!” he was still. “i’m so wet for you, daddy, all for you! i need you so bad, daddy please…”

without a warning, jongho guided his dick to your entrance and shoved inside, splitting your walls apart in a perfectly painful maneuver. he stilled at your deepest point, graciously giving you a moment to adjust. then he got to work, setting his hips to a steady rhythm as he sought out that spot inside of you that made you scream.

his grunts in your ear, his large, sweaty body pressed to yours, his capable and veiny hands traveling across your body, it was all overwhelming and you knew you wouldn’t last long. not to mention his large, girthy cock making you see stars, stirring up your insides.

when his lower abdomen began grinding against your clit, your eyes welled up with tears and your mind went completely fuzzy at the overstimulation. “daddyyy,” you cried absentmindedly.

jongho stared down at your face, his brows furrowed in concentration, maybe frustration, or both. “what are you crying for, slut? you love daddy’s dick that much?” his tone was mocking and mean, as if your tears meant no more than dirt. “such a little slut for daddy’s dick, aren’t you? you’re- fuck- you’re pathetic.”