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baronessvonglitter · 8 months ago

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if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 16 | "all i want for christmas is you"

Dave York x f!Reader

Word count: 5,473

Summary: Years later, you run into Dave on Christmas Eve.

(Spoilers are in the Warnings under the cut so please peek responsibly)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, Time Skip, TW for physical altercation (pushing, choking, pinning down), alcohol consumption, talk of weapons, hinting at reader being killed, mention of chemical paralytics (NMBA's), surprise pregnancy (happened after Chapter 15) and revelation of paternity, mention of wetwork, reader has C-section scar, wears a dress and nail polish, masturbation, pussy pronouns, p in v sex, quickest enemies to lovers ever, and one Christmas Eve marriage proposal (if I've forgotten anything please do let me know)

Author's note: I defrosted Mariah Carey earlier than anyone would like her to be, and yes I was listening to this song as I wrote. I don't care. It's one of my favorite Christmas songs ever and nobody can convince me otherwise 😜

Series Masterlist

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

Six Years Later

You step out of your car into the cold St. Louis night. It's Christmas Eve, and the streets are lined with snow. Brightly lit storefronts boast presents of all kinds, the electric glow of the holiday season luring in last minute customers. You keep your hands in your coat pocket as you walk, eyes scanning the perimeter.

Pour Decisions, the bar you've owned for the past couple years, is filled with its usual patrons, the atmosphere friendly and charged with holiday cheer. Checking to see that the staff is doing well and everything is in order, you ask for an old-fashioned, enjoying the warmth that spreads through you as you sip the whiskey cocktail, sitting at an inconspicuous table in the back and looking around at the one thing you can really call your own, the only place that doesn't hold bad memories.

That's when you see him enter your establishment. The man who claimed to have loved you with all his heart. The man whose life you destroyed. The man without whom you wouldn't be where you are right now.

Walking to the bar and sitting by himself, drinking to take away the pain, is Dave York.

It feels like all your breath leaves your body yet you give an audible gasp. He doesn't see you, doesn't even appear to be looking for you.

In your darkest nightmares he returns for you and kills you. You carry that fear with you. You've been preparing for it since the day your plane left for London years ago.

Emergency exit to my right you think to yourself, a habit you've formed in the six years since ruining his life. Glock, switchblade, syringe, you do a mental checklist of what you have on you.

You don't know whether to stay or leave. You're rooted to the spot, keeping an eye on him, poised to take whatever action necessary.

The jukebox finishes "Baby, It's Cold Outside" and moves onto "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey. You cringe at the sudden mood dissonance. This song would've expressed your feelings for him, once upon a very long time ago, but now it's almost comical. You want each other in a different way now: gone, even if it means dead.

Dave sighs and takes another sip of his drink, clearly lost in his own thoughts. He looks at the other people around him, some smiling and drinking to make the pain of Christmas a little more bearable, others in town for friends or family, eagerness evident on their faces.

He'd give anything just to be in their place right now. To be happy. To be able to smile like he used to smile. And it was all taken away from him by you.

Suddenly he hears someone calling out your name over the music.

In fact, he's been waiting for it. His head jerks up to see where you are, but he can't find you. His eyes scan the bar from face to face.. until finally he sees you. You're sunk low in your chair but he knows you immediately. He knows those eyes that have haunted him for years.

You're nodding and talking to your friend, and the moment you nervously glance around you meet Dave's gaze. It feels like pinpricks all over your body.

For one moment the world stops. All of the moments of his time with you come rushing back as he looks at you. All of the joy he felt with you, all of the pain you caused him. For a moment he allows himself the memory of your pliant body beneath his, your soft, slender throat beneath his grip, thumbs pressing just hard enough on your windpipe to make you cum.

What a waste, he thinks, keeping his cold gaze on you.

You talk to your friend a little longer then finish your drink, order another, and down it.

Now you have liquid courage to face him.

You approach him but it feels like you're moving underwater, your limbs fighting the current.

And there he is. There you are. After six years apart. He hasn't changed much in all this time. He's still handsome. A few gray hairs here and there, and a slight scruff of facial hair when he'd always stayed clean shaven. Still wearing a suit like he's just left the office, the subtle scent of his cologne wafts to you. It suits him. But you force the thought away. You take stock of your own looks: burgundy sweater dress, black boots, hair styled differently from how you used to, perhaps in the hopes that disguising yourself would throw him off your scent, confuse him and leaving him chasing his tail.

"Fifty thousand dollars," you tell him. "I'll give you fifty thousand dollars to leave."

He says nothing, just staring at you as he hears the offer.

Fifty thousand. That's all it would cost for him to let you go. Fifty thousand dollars to spare your life.

But..

..is that what he wants, really?

"No," he says firmly. "You can't make it up to me with fifty thousand dollars."

Your heart sinks to your stomach. "Then name your price. Whatever it is I'll pay it."

Dave takes a long sip of his drink as he considers your offer. For a moment he's tempted to accept it, to end this nightmare once and for all. But..

..no. It's not a question of money.

"The price is a hell of a lot higher than that," he says with cold finality. "You destroyed my family and you left me without my soul."

In your time on your own you've learned to be assertive. You're no longer the shy, simpering girl he used to know. "You did that to yourself, Dave. I only held up a mirror to show what you really are. Besides," you give him a devious smile, your words dripping with venom, "we both know you have no soul."

"Maybe I don't," he meets your gaze with unwavering ire. "But neither do you.. you destroyed everything good and beautiful that we had."

He takes another long sip, savoring the taste and savoring this moment where he's dissecting you. "You can try to blame me. You can try to make yourself the victim of this story. But you're not the victim. You're the monster. You're the one who brought darkness into my life when I didn't deserve it. When I gave you nothing but my love and my faith.. you used them to destroy everything I held dear."

"I disagree." You hop onto the barstool next to him, unafraid of him. "The real victims are my father, who you killed, and your wife and kids, who you betrayed. We both lost our families, Dave. I evened the score."

His eyes bore a hole into your soul as you speak. "That's the thing you can't seem to understand, sweetpea. Life isn't a zero-sum game. One person's loss is not another person's gain. You didn't 'even the score' by getting your revenge."

His voice turns cold and harsh as he speaks the truth. "You made a choice to try to destroy me. That's something I can never understand. And you'll never be forgiven for."

"I'm not interested in your forgiveness, David," you correct him. "You're the one in my city, in my bar, looking for me. With you, there's always an ulterior motive. Out with it."

And then he smiles at you. It's a cold, hard smile. "I came here to see you. So we can end this."

You stare into his eyes and wear a sardonic smile. "You mean, so you can end me."

"Yes," he answers simply.

You consider getting another drink, but two old-fashioneds on an empty stomach has you feeling good already. Maybe that's why you're not afraid.

"My late husband owned this bar, and now it's mine," you say, looking around with pride and wistfulness. "I met him here, years ago."

"Husband," he repeats in a dull tone. "Did you ruin his life too?" he asks.

"Well, he is dead," is your deadpan reply and you hate that your heart misses a beat when Dave smirks in reply. "It would be bad for business if you were to kill me in my own establishment, at peak holiday season," you remind him, proud of your practical tone of voice.

"You may be right about that," Dave admits. "The customers would scramble out of their seats, trample each other to get to the exits. In this day and age you know I'll be caught on camera. And that's not good for my.. 'business'.. either. But," he adds with a grin, "that doesn't mean you're safe."

"I've been looking over my shoulder ever since I came back to the states. I was surprised you didn't follow me to London. In the meantime I've just been waiting for the day when you would come and exact your revenge."

"That's exactly what I've come to do," he says coldly. "I made a promise a long time ago that I would never forgive you."

He takes a long drink and looks at you as if he's seeing you for the first time. "And now, the time has come."

You can see it in his eyes. You can see the darkness that now resides there, different from the one that used to excite you. It's Dave, but it's not the Dave you used to know.

A chill goes through you. You nod, knowing this day is long overdue. If your father faced death at the hands of Dave York, so can you.

You put down your glass, the whiskey still on your lips. "I'm glad it's you. Poetic that way." You stand up from your seat, surprised that your knees don't buckle automatically. "Outside," you tell him.

In the darkness of the alley behind the bar, your coat offers no protection from the cold you feel in your heart. The back street is empty. You look up at the stars in the night sky, feeling small in their midst.

This is it.. the end of it all.

He looks at you and sees the same calmness that he saw in your father. He sees that you've accepted your fate without fear, and he can't help but admire that.

"You know.. I thought about it a lot as I came here," he says. "What I wanted to do to you when I found you.. and what I wanted you to feel in your last moments."

You languidly turn to him, as if in a dream. "So tell me."

"I wanted to make you suffer. I wanted to see you beg for mercy, to see you plead for your life." His smile is cold and cruel. "But you're not scared, are you, sweetpea? Either you're as tough as I believe, or your self-preservation instincts are for shit," he sneers. "Even now, you're calm.."

Your placid countenance belies your shivering heart as you stand against the wall, deep breath in, deep breath out. "How are you going to do it?"

"You really want to know? You trust me that much?"

"You're the best, right? I'm glad it's you." You smile a little, shaking your head. "I loved you from the first time I saw you, Dave. I've loved you all this time. I love you right now."

He almost laughs. It's comical to hear you talk about love at a moment like this. "And I've hated you for all these years. I hate you for what you did to my family. I hate you with every fiber of my being.."

His voice turns to a whisper. "And I hate you because I still love you."

A brief smile flickers in your eyes. "As you once told me.. 'If this is love, we're both fucked.'"

Dave seems reluctant now, as if he's had a change of heart. You love each other, despite everything, and even now you're willing to let him just take your life, snuff it out with a single blow.

"Don't disappoint me, York," your voice pierces his thoughts like an icy blast. "Don't tell me you've come all this way for nothing. Not when I've been getting ready for you."

In an instant he pins you to the wall, his weight pressing you into the bricks as his hands wrap around your throat. Your breath comes in labored gasps as you fight to free your arms and legs. Despite your efforts, Dave is physically stronger. He's methodical, using his strength to subdue you rather than overpowering you with brute force. You can feel the desperation rising, your struggle becoming more frantic as you wrack your brain for any possible means of escape.

In a moment of clarity amidst the chaos, you find a small sharp object in your purse - the syringe. With a burst of adrenaline you jab it into the soft area right below his ribs, keeping your thumb off the plunger.

He lets out a sharp grunt and loosens his grip, staring dumbfounded at the needle sticking out of him, your finger hovering over the end, ready to press the danger into his bloodstream. "Let me guess," he says, his breath warm against your face. "Propofol? Rocuronium bromide?"

"Air," you answer with a winning smile, your voice hoarse from his choking you.

He swallows thickly, face pale even in the wintry moonlight.

You've never felt a surge of power like the one shooting through your veins right now. "I'd say my instinct for self-preservation is pretty fucking good."

Right as you see that angry spark in his eye you take advantage of the temporary adrenaline rush and push him away from you. Dave stumbles back, pulling the syringe from his torso and tossing it away right before you crash into him again. You both topple onto the cold wet pavement, grappling with one another, and it doesn't escape your realization that it's all an inverted display of the way you couldn't keep your hands off each other years ago.

You're unaware that the contents of your purse have fallen out in the scuffle, until Dave pins you down and notices the knife, the gun, neither of which you bothered to use on him just moments before. Then the bright light of your phone screen illuminates its presence in the shadowy alleyway.

Your wallpaper is a picture of you, holding a small boy who's smiling as you're kissing his cheek.

Still beneath him, your stomach lurches and you scramble for phone. "Give that back!" But Dave doesn't listen.

"You have a child?" he asks, completely bewildered that he hadn't thought of you having a life apart from the history you have with him. You'd mentioned a husband, but not a child.

The photo is lovely, taken recently as he guesses from the similar hairstyle as you have now. He's a beautiful child, with his mother's eyes. The love between mother and son is palpable, something pure and sweet that he has only experienced with his own children. It takes the wind out of him. He looks at you and all of the anger, all of the hate and rage he felt towards you seems to dissolve like salt in water.

Your heart is near palpitating as you take the phone from him, gently wiping the falling snow from the screen, taking a tiny moment to admire the photo for yourself. "The last night we spent together in that little motel room.. before everything happened.. a couple months later I found out I was pregnant."

It takes every ounce of courage you have to confess this to him: "This is Benjamin.. your son.."

Dave is paralyzed by your revelation, utterly unable to move or even breathe as he stares at the photo, puts the pieces together. He sees his features in his son, the perfect combination of you and him in another being, a little boy who is the culmination of your love.

He sees you as he never saw you before. You're not the woman who betrayed him and destroyed his family. You're the woman who gave him a son, a part of himself that he never knew would exist.

"He's beautiful," he murmurs, drinking in this moment, helping you to your feet as you struggle to stand, asking if you're all right but you don't answer him.

You've never envisioned how this would go. Not even your late husband knew Ben's real paternity, just that you needed stability to raise him. A part of you is on edge. You've just revealed the person who means the most to you in this world, and in one moment Dave could take it away.

"He just turned five in September," you tell him, "That night.. that terrible and wonderful night before I left you.. something good came from all of it," you tell him.

He nods. "I guess it did." He looks at the picture once more. "Where is he?"

You take a moment before answering. "He's at home. A friend of mine is watching him."

"I want to see him."

"You already have kids, Dave. Or have you forgotten them?"

"Don't go," he pleads as you start to walk away. Around the corner you can hear the holiday music blaring from the bar. "Last Christmas" by Wham!

"I want to see him," he says, catching up with you. "Please."

Being a mom has made you soft. And the truth is you spent the majority of your energy in your short scuffle with him moments ago. "Follow me home."

"Leave whatever weapons you have in the mailbox."

You wait on him, arms crossed, ensuring your safety before you let him beyond your threshold. Dave puts his semi-automatic pistol and a knife. He had these on him all the time but didn't use them..

"Now you," he says, watching as you put your own gun and knife into the mailbox. One corner of your mouth lifts up into a half-smile as your eyes meet, realizing you've both thought alike.

Inside your home it's cozy. A brightly lit Christmas tree glows with warm golden light in front of the main window in the living room. Dave looks around, taking it all in: the decorations placed with love and care, the presents piled under the tree for Ben - his son - to open the next morning.

A woman, clad in a soft gray sweater and jeans, comes out from the hallway, carrying little Ben in her arms. "He couldn't sleep without you here," she tells you, her glance jumping quickly between you and Dave.

You take him from her, letting her know you're home for the night and giving a quick introduction to Dave. "This is Paige, she helps me with Ben from time to time."

They exchange hellos, a little awkward under the circumstances. You take Ben in your arms, and he immediately wraps his arms around you. You wish Paige a happy Christmas and she leaves.

Now it's just the three of you. "Can I hold him?" Dave asks.

You hesitate before nodding, asking Ben if he's okay to go with him. Watching him with his father you can see the resemblance, plain as day. "Is he what you looked like as a kid?" You ask curiously.

"I think so," he smiles, still amazed that he's holding his child, a piece of him that he left behind with you for so long, your love made real.

Ben is bathed and put to bed. Dave knows everything about him by now: his birthday, favorite foods, his friends in his kindergarten class, the names of his stuffed animals and favorite superheroes. All this Dave takes in with the same interest he had when his daughters were younger.

He even reads him a bedtime story while you watch from the doorway, watching a scene you never imagined would come to life. Ben has Dave's smile, his hair. It's uncanny. You remember when you first started working for the Yorks, the first night you walked in on him reading to the girls before bed. That was the moment you fell in love with him.

It might be happening all over again.

After he's asleep you sit in the living room, sipping coffee spiked with brandy.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asks.

You sip your drink, letting it warm the chill that's going through you, hoping it'll dull the overpowering emotions coursing in your veins. "I was afraid you'd come after me, kill me, and take him away."

"Is that what you think of me? That I'd kill you for our son?" For a moment he actually looks hurt.

"I don't know what to think of you."

"I deserve to be in his life," he says stubbornly, and you get a peek of the old Dave from before. "We can put the past behind us. We can get reacquainted. We can be what we should have been all along. He belongs to both of us. And I want to be here for him." He pauses, seeing the photos on the table and walls: you and Ben throughout his young life: on a beach somewhere with pure white sand, at a zoo posing in front of the zebras, and in every picture it's obvious he's loved.

"You did a good job with him, sweetpea. Our son is happy."

"He was my reason for going on," you tell him. "I was still in London when I found out I was pregnant. At first I thought it was the worst possible thing that could happen, but when I really sat down to make a decision I realized there was no other option but to keep him and love him. I knew a miracle could be reaped from the awfulness we sowed."

You raised him alone, mostly, with some help from your mother, who of course asked who Ben's father was. There was absolutely no way you could tell her, so you simply said it was a boyfriend who'd wanted nothing to do with the baby. After getting your Master's you found yourself here in St. Louis, met Liam who cared for you and your child, and lost him to sudden illness only a year after you married him. And every day you did not stop thinking about Dave.

"I assume you're still involved in your.. activities?" you ask him.

He takes a deep breath, mentally going over the jobs he'd done in the past six years, of which he'd taken more than before you'd left. Not only had he needed the money, but he needed something else to keep from thinking about you.

"Yes, I am," he replies. "I know you were hoping for a different answer than that."

"I was hoping for a different answer, but I wasn't expecting one," you tell him. "And the situation with Carol and the girls.. did she leave you? Did you work things out?" You hate that this is the answer you dread the most.

"We're divorced now," he says curtly. "And the girls.." an actual smile melts away his bitterness. "The girls are great. They're teenagers now. We've worked out a custody arrangement and we're keeping things civil for their sake. They adapted better than I thought they would."

"Do they all hate me for what I did? For my part in the affair?"

He pauses. "It's complicated.. the girls know why you left. I haven't given them any details and I doubt Carol has told them anything they shouldn't know. But you shouldn't blame yourself. It takes two to tango. I'm just as guilty."

You've finished your coffee, and just as you start to rise from your chair you pause, giving him a smirk. "Dave.. calling yourself 'guilty' after everything you've done is probably the funniest thing I've ever heard."

He takes your hand as you try to walk past him. "What would you say if I said we should be together for Benjamin's sake?"

You should have seen this coming, should have known he'd attempt to ingratiate himself into your good graces to keep some control over your life. "I've already done that. I married my late husband so that Benjamin could have a father.. I'm not going to go into any more relationships under false pretenses."

There's something more he wants to say, something that he wants to get across to you. "A lot of my life is gone. Lost. Because of what you did."

"I know. And I can say the same about you. We took each other's lives away."

"But you," Dave continues, "you gave me this. All of the happiness you took away, you gave it back to me in a way I never would have dreamed." He takes your hand in his. "And what if this isn't false pretenses? What if I'm asking because I know.. because we know, you and I are meant for each other?"

He knows he's getting ahead of himself. He's letting his emotions and his desire take over.

But you shake your head. "You only want me because I'm the one left standing in the ashes."

"You're partly right," he agrees. "I want you because you're right in front of me now. That's just natural, I'd say. But I always wanted you, sweetpea," he says with total honesty. "You were always the woman I loved."

"Fucked up people always love other fucked up people," you remind him. "And you and I are the most fucked up people I know,. Weren't we just about to kill each other in an alley?"

"Maybe you would have killed me.. but you didn't. And I could have killed you.."

"I get it, I get it," you playfully roll your eyes. "Am I your first failed mission?"

"Yeah, but.. definitely worth it."

He manages to get a smile out of you, and as he pulls you close he rejoices that you don't pull away. When he brings his lips to yours for a kiss, you don't stop him. You come together as fluidly as if you'd never been apart all this time, and you kiss him back hungrily, having missed his taste.

In the bedroom your appetite only grows stronger as you unbutton Dave's shirt, running your hands over the warmth of his chest. He lifts your dress over your head and you continue to unwrap each other. Your eyes take in every inch of his frame, seeing that he hasn't changed much in six years. His side job keeps him fit and he's kept his little belly that you've always found so attractive.

He reaches for you, takes your curves under his touch and gently kneading your soft flesh. "I missed you so much.." he whispers as you gasp with pleasure. "Missed what's mine." As his hands trace your skin he discovers the small scar on your lower abdomen, nearly hidden by the softness of your own little belly.

"What's this?" he asks, noticing that his touch doesn't seem to register there.

"It was Ben," you explain. "I had to have an emergency C-section."

His fingers trace over the scar, imagining the pain you must have gone through, the fear you must have felt. "I should have been there with you."

"I'm not made of glass, Dave." Breaking from him you lay back on the bed, legs parted as you begin to touch yourself, lifting your eyes to meet his dark gaze as your fingers continue their pleasured work across your delicate folds.

"Open wider," he says in a low command, crawling over you on the bed, watching intently. "Make yourself come."

He follows each dip and swirl of your fingers, the tips painted in red glitter lacquer, as they brush across your clit, disappearing into your already drenched cunt.

"How does that feel, sweetpea?" he asks, his voice husky with lust.

"Good," you moan. "But not nearly as good as you." You reach for him, and though he wants desperately to dive into your sopping wet hole, he practices control.

"Not yet," he says gently, chiding you. "I said, make yourself come."

He watches as you add pressure to your clit, your pussy swallowing up your middle and ring fingers while your other hand palms your breast, twists and pulls your nipple. He's never seen you more gorgeous, chasing your pleasure. The scent of your sex is in the air, beckoning him, and it takes every shred of his self-discipline to keep where he is, cock in his hand, lazily stroking as his dark eyes dance with the vision of you spread out before him, coming at last.

He takes his time about getting inside you, and though you're slippery enough to handle him it's still a tight fit after years apart. He's careful until you ask him not to be, and then he fucks you with smooth, steady thrusts, bottoming out as you arch your back, crying out his name, the sound of your flesh slapping together a perfect symphony with your moaning and his praise in your ear my good girl, missed this pussy so much, needed her all this time, and she needed me, gonna tame her, make her mine all over again.

He moves with you, as if he's connected to every beat of your heart. This is the only thing in the world that feels right, no matter how wrong it is. You can't not love him, You've never felt more like yourself, realizing that he brings it out of you. The air between you becomes electric, frantic, your movements desperate and wild.

"Come for me, sweetpea," he whispers, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. "Let me feel this tight little hole get her fill of me."

It's a fucking relief when you finally come, the moment prolonged as he continues to move, stimulating your clit beyond your point, only letting up when you forcefully shove his hand away. Watching you come is a miracle made true, something he never thought he'd get to experience again, and he comes with the final clench around him, keeping him there, keeping him home.

You're both vulnerable, perhaps for the first time, with each other. There are no more secrets to be had, no more devastation to wreak. Just you and him, and an ocean of possibilities before you.

"Can you forgive me?" he asks, meeting your eyes. "For what I did?"

It's weighed heavy on your mind since the day you learned the truth, and you've come to realize that all the tragedy did was allow you to move on, even if it brought you to have to face your past more clearly.

"Yes," you answer. "I do forgive you. And now you have to forgive me."

It's easier to do that now, now that the walls you both built up have been knocked down. "I forgive you," he echoes. "We'll never bring it up again."

There's a clarity you never imagined you'd receive, a gift that's long overdue after the years of being in limbo. You snuggle to him, pressing a kiss his throat.

"I thought about you every day, sweetpea," he whispers. "And maybe I'm crazy, but.. marry me."

You're at a loss for words. You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. "What.. what did you say?" you ask slowly, usure if you even heard him right. "Did you ask me to marry you?"

"I did," he says assertively. "So? Will you marry me?" A little smirk crosses his lips and there's a light in his eyes that you've never seen before.

"I'm just so.. stunned," you sit up against the headboard and he does the same. "Why would you even want to marry me? Don't you remember everything that happened?"

"I remember everything. I remember it every day. But like you said, 'fucked up people always love other fucked up people' and look at us: still crazy about each other even after we've ruined each other's lives. There's nothing for us except to be together."

"You sound so certain," you look at him with a conflicted smile. "Are you really sure this is what you want? To wake up every day and remember what happened and who we are?"

His smile lights up his whole face. "I'm counting on us to remember who and what we are. If we forget everything that happened between us then we've learned nothing. But now we're standing in the ashes of our old lives and look at us: we won. If anything, that just proves we're supposed to be together. We know all the bad parts of each other and we still choose to be here."

Watching him, and listening, you become convinced. You can't ignore the truth of what he's saying. "I'm gonna marry you, Dave," you tell him, your voice full of love and joy.

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taglist: @untamedheart81 @guelyury @auteurdelabre @darkheartgatita

#dave york #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #dave york fic #dave york x reader #dave york smut #dave york x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro boys #pedro pascal character headcanons #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #enemies to lovers #if love be rough with you be rough with love #ao3 series #ao3 smut

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 19 days ago

Note

max of 🪽?

(also i just reread both blade and branch and let me tell you it still hurts the 2nd time around. hurts really really bad. 😄)

AH THANKS but also SORRY but THANK YOU!

1k for 🪽:

---

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie frowns. “What unit?”

“The Great Depression,” Christopher says.

Eddie can see why he might not have been enthusiastic about studying.

“Do you, uh, need extra help there?” Eddie asks. “Like a tutor? Or maybe you and I can work on it together?”

“No, thanks,” Chris shakes his head. “I didn’t do badly. I just didn’t get as high of a grade as last time. I liked the nineteenth century stuff.”

Eddie blinks. He was so not this kind of student. This is all Shannon in him.

“Okay,” Eddie nods. “Well, it’s okay to be stronger in some areas than others.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chris shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

Okay, so Chris isn’t stressed about school really then.

“Is there anything else going on?” Eddie asks. “Anything in your life you want to talk about?”

“Not really,” Chris says.

“Any girl stuff?” Eddie tries.

“Nope.”

“And you and I are good?” Eddie asks.

Chris frowns. “Dad, are you good?”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, sorry. I just, uh… I have this weird feeling that I've forgotten something important.”

It’s as close to the truth as he can get.

“Well, don’t worry,” Chris says. “It’s not about me.”

And, actually, that does help. But it doesn’t fix things.

🪽

It keeps him up at night, thinking. What the hell is his problem? Why can’t he release Buck back to floating over a fucking fairytale oasis or whatever?

Both of the reasons Buck has stuck around lately have been women related. Ending things with Marisol. Not pursuing Fake Shannon. Not her name, but… Well, he doesn’t know it. Regardless, he thinks this is important. It has to mean something. No one is in danger. Chris is fine. The last two times he needed a guardian angel were for… Women problems…

Why would a guardian angel be needed for that? And still be needed after it? Honestly. Why? People navigate relationship drama all the time without some sort of heavenly guide at their side. So what is it about Eddie that makes this more serious?

He tries to reflect on his history with women, he really does. What he liked about them and didn’t like about them. It all comes back to that trying to get it right piece. Trying to not fail at something. That seems to be his resounding emotion when reflecting on Ana and Marisol specifically, and Shannon… Well, he holds so much shame over what happened with Shannon. How much of missing her is just wanting to alleviate that shame? Because the truth is, for the small windows of time where they were good together and Eddie wasn’t messing everything up, she was the only woman he’s ever really felt comfortable around.

It hits him hard. So hard his chest hurts.

He gets out of bed, creeps quietly out of his bedroom, and searches for Buck. He’s expressed that he doesn’t want Buck in the bedroom at night, watching over him, unless there’s a genuine emergency. So the angel approximation of his long lost friend seems to just linger in the vicinity instead. Eddie imagines nights are long and boring, when you don’t need to sleep and you can’t actually do much of anything.

“Hey, Buck?” Eddie whispers out into the night. He needs to talk to him. Badly. He’s careful not to wake Christopher, though. “Buck?”

Within a few seconds, Buck physically steps through the front door. The locked, closed front door. He phases through it like a comic book character.

“You okay?” Buck asks.

Eddie shakes his head. No, he’s really not okay.

“I didn’t find the Shannon clone attractive,” he says.

“Uh, okay?” Buck frowns. “You like ‘em better with bangs, or…”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “I was interested in talking to her because she looked like Shannon. Exactly like Shannon. But I wasn’t attracted to her.”

“Okay,” Buck nods. “I mean that makes sense. It wasn’t a sex thing, right?”

“But… But was I attracted to Shannon?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know,” Buck says gently. “I can’t answer that one for you.”

“What if I wasn’t?” Eddie asks quietly. Very quietly.

“Okay,” Buck nods again. “What if you weren’t?”

“I loved her,” Eddie says.

“I know,” Buck says.

“I loved her so much,” Eddie insists.

“I know you did.”

“I don’t think… I mean, sex with Marisol was good,” Eddie says.

“Sure,” Buck nods.

“I hardly ever… With Ana. I didn’t… It was me. Not her.”

“Eddie, are you…” Buck frowns. “What are you getting at?”

“You said I was just with them because I thought I should like them and I never would,” Eddie says.

Buck looks nervous, but he doesn’t deny it.

“What if I’m not…” Eddie sighs. “What if I don’t…”

“Are you implying that I’m still here because I set off a sexuality crisis in you?” Buck asks.

Eddie nods sheepishly.

Buck blinks. “Wow.”

“Wow?” Eddie fires back, a little too loudly. He has to lower his voice before he speaks again. “You’re an angel! You have to guide me!”

“Oh,” Buck’s eyebrows crease. “With my abundance of lived queer experience and divine angel training. Sure.”

Eddie groans.

“No, hey,” Buck amends. “Of course I’ll help. Just… Let me think.”

“What is there to think about?” Eddie asks. “Do you think I’m… Gay?”

“Well,” Buck puts his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “You’re reasoning is that you might not have been attracted to women, despite enjoying sex with them occasionally. Do you know if you have been attracted to men, despite having not had sex with them? Or have you had sex with a man?”

#daisies and briars writes #your face has faded fic

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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year ago

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Devil May Halloween - The Samhain Ritual - Dante's Path

Devil May Halloween 2023 - The Samhain Ritual, Dante's Path

Pairing: Dante x Reader Summary: It’s finally Halloween and, even if the demons are a lot more active this time of the year, that doesn’t stop you from going on hunts - the partying can be done later. Or… At least that was what you thought. Maybe Nero had pretty good reasons to worry about that job after all. Author's Notes: Fucking. Finally. It took forever, but here I have around 20 pages of a demon wanting to marry the reader and Dante going feral over it. Took me ALL THIS TIME to write and I do apologize, but SO MUCH has happened since October, I'm finally managing to get my life back on track. So heeeeeey, here we have Dante's part of the Halloween Special for 2023! Be sure to read the Prologue first to understand the road so far yes Supernatural fan right here and have fun!! But I do have to thank @furyeclipse - the idea came from an ask sent a thousand years ago and I've been reading her works on ao3 and that motivated™ me to write again! Be sure to check Fury's work over there!

Oh. And I highly recommend an AC/DC playlist while reading this. Just sayin'. We all know Dante is an AC/DC guy

Devil May Halloween 2023 – Dante’s Path

“You know, of all the things that could have happened to me as a hunter, getting into a forced marriage with a demon lord was the very last one I would’ve imagined.”

And you were definitely the only person in the world that could have made Kyrie laugh in a moment like that – at least, that was what she thought as she smiled for the first time since you both had stepped in that place.

It was desecrated ground, that was the reason why the demons chose such a place. An old cathedral, now turned into an abandoned set of ruins with a cemetery of forgotten souls in the back. Some stone walls still stood tall, but the roof was gone, along with some windows and part of its gothic architecture. The shroud of the darkest tones of night slowly crept over, having rows and sets of candles of all sizes as the only source of light beside the moon.

You and Kyrie were being kept in a secured room – the only with still four walls to hold you in, and a heavy set of crumbling wooden doors. You were handed wedding attires – white, as to demonstrate the purity of your human souls compared to demons – and shoved in there, forced to change before the ritual.

You tried to resist, but as soon as they threatened Kyrie, you had to abide. There was nothing you could do: you had promised Nero nothing would happen to her, and she was your weak spot that night.

“We will figure something out…” Kyrie murmured with a ghost of a smile on her soft lips, even if she didn’t carry too much hope in her heart. She knew that if you were alone, you would probably be fist-fighting demons with all your might to drag yourself out of that place, but with her by your side… She had never seen you so compliant.

“Hmmm. Yeah. I’m still trying to think of something.” You huffed, sitting by her side on a stone loveseat, having your elbows on your knees and your face cradled by your hands. “I feel naked without my stuff. So uncomfortable.”

Once again, Kyrie giggled. Indeed, it was probably the first time she ever saw you without your everyday clothes and specially without your weapons: be it your guns, your sword or even a pocketknife you carried around for emergency self-defense. She could only imagine how stripped you felt at that moment.

“Well, if it serves as consolation, this is definitely not my style.” She whispered in response, making you laugh immediately. Indeed, poor Kyrie looked like a princess covered in Chantilly. Too over-the-top for her, and you could say the same about your forced attire.

“Oh, what a mess we got ourselves into this time, huh…?” You still had that laugh in your lips, making Kyrie respond with a sad smile. “Though I bet Nero is going to die seeing you dressed as a bride.”

“He will never admit it.” Kyrie had to giggle with that mental image. She could almost see Nero standing in front of her, red as a tomato, stuttering while trying to maintain that nonchalant punk attitude he always tried to – even if Kyrie could easily see through all of that. “He does get all flustered whenever I’m wearing anything slightly bridal looking.”

“There you go. The hideous Chantilly wedding dress will have at least one good effect after all.” You sighed with a laugh, following Kyrie on her giggles as she blushed herself, happy to imagine that.

The moment wouldn’t last long, though, as you felt something shifting in the air. You immediately got up on your feet, keeping Kyrie safe and sound behind you. Her curious, scared eyes tried to pick up what was going on, but neither of you could see – you could just feel it.

With some fiery sparkles, one of the demons responsible for that mess materialized right in front of you.

“Well, well. It is good to see you are already prepared.” Horns and sharp features, but in the suit of a ruthless man – that was the best way you could describe the demon lords. They had the leathery wings, skin as rough as that of a lizard, eyes bright like flames in the dark – but something still carried the resemblance of a human being. They were tall – even taller than most doors – with sharp nails to be used as claws, fangs ready to tear throats apart. But they were built in the image of humans: something quite rare when it came to demons.

“Not out of our own free will – you shouldn’t be that pleased your minions managed to coerce us into these horrid things.” You pointed at your own attire, making Kyrie look up at you with tense eyes.

It was something she admired, to say the least. You could all look in the face of the most threatening of creatures and still manage to say something to taunt or belittle them. She wished she had that kind of courage.

“You do have a point, human.” The demon had a quick giggle in his voice, making you furrow your eyebrows slightly. It wasn’t every day one of those things would agree with your big mouth. “Come. I would very much like to speak with you.”

Oh. Demons and their teleportation shenanigans – to be quite honest, you hated it. Whenever you used any of their magic or even Vergil’s void thing from the Yamato, you always felt a little dizzy afterwards. It took you some quick seconds to make sense you were in what seemed to be the abandoned church’s library – in a room made of stones and rotten books, lit by decrepit candles and having just one usable table in a corner. The demon lords had clearly made that their own room for the day.

“It’s rare a demon wishes to talk.” You finally managed to say while the demon lord slowly walked towards his desk, having you in the middle of the room. Now Kyrie was alone and you had no idea what was going on with her – you had to play your cards well to see her alive again. “According to my experience, your kind prefers a bloodier approach.”

“I take it you haven’t met many demon lords then.” He had a nonchalant tone, waving his hand in disregard as he approached his desk and leaned into it, staring at you. “Nevertheless, that is more Orcus’ style.”

“Your little friend.”

“Al Pacino did play the devil once, didn’t he…?” The demon laughed in response and you did your best to cover up the shock that he understood your Scarface reference.

Movies and pop culture references with Dante were a given – the same way Vergil was an encyclopedia of forgotten and obscure texts, Dante was the go-to man when it came to movies, especially the classic ones. Making references and laughing with each other was something both of you cherished wholeheartedly – and you never thought a demon would get it.

Vergil never did – and he had to have spent some time with those guys in the last decades.

“Well, I don’t think you brought me down here just to talk about movies.” You crossed your arms, trying as much as you could to look tough in that attire. Which wasn’t going very well for you. “And it certainly wasn’t to properly ask for my hand in marriage.”

“Oh, no, no…” He answered with a laugh that crackled like fire – and you could easily see the amusement in his eyes. “I wanted to see what the son of Sparda saw in you… To bind himself to one of the weakest creatures known. Just like his father before him.”

“It’s not like Dante has married me, you know? We’re not like Eva and Sparda.” You raised one of your eyebrows. Something about that conversation was very… Weird. To put it mildly. “We’re not bonded like you want to do today. And on that note, I have to point out: marriages are quite religious. Aren’t you guys going to combust spontaneously trying to do something holy?”

“Oh, but you are bonded. He may not have chosen his father’s path, but his heart does not lie.” The demon had something quite mischievous in his eyes, and you were starting to notice the difference between him and Orcus: the second one was more of a brute, a lord of war so to speak – the one you were talking to, Erlach, was very cunning; but there was a glint of bloodthirstiness in the back of his eyes. That made him even more dangerous than you gave him credit for at first. “I shall never understand why Sparda did not wish to follow the ritual with his human. That would have made him so powerful, not even the most dangerous creatures in Hell would have dared to slaughter his family. A shame really.” He tossed aside a charred painting of Sparda and Eva: old, barely holding itself together, but still clearly depicting the couple holding hands and smiling to whoever decided to look upon them. “We do have our own rituals – and demons are no strangers to marriages. It has another name in Hell, though, it is a binding ritual: where souls connect and one can be made more from the other’s power.”

“Oh. So the other just accepts it’s going to be a puny little thing beside their partner? Sounds more like slavery to me.” You wouldn’t give the demon the benefit of the doubt nor make it all sound so wonderful. Anything related to devils always had a catch – and that had to be the catch to their own twisted version of a ‘marriage’.

And in all honesty, you weren’t looking forward to be made a slave to a demon lord.

“Some creatures enjoy that.” And the smile that covered Erlach’s lips could be only considered devilish. You did your best not to look like you were agreeing – even if you knew, deep down, that yes, some people did enjoy that. “Every con has its pro. With the binding and forfeit of power, comes protection and status. Few would want to desecrate the partner of a powerful demon – it could easily be the last thing they would do.”

“if I am bonded to Dante, then, I wonder why would someone like you decide to mess with the chosen partner of the son of Sparda.” Now you had a small smile hidden in the corner of your lips, slightly raising your head in hubris. You wouldn’t lie: the status you got from him among demons was always very welcome. “Not that I really need him to help me. If I had my weapons, you would all be laying on the floor in a pool of your own blood – and I’d be home celebrating Halloween with him.”

Erlach stared into your eyes for a good four seconds before opening a threatening smile with his sharp fangs. His own eyes burned like fire, but you never let his gaze go – it wasn’t in you to be scared by the likes of him. You had seen worse, you had fought worse… And only you knew how threatening Dante’s eyes could look when he was half asleep in a nightmare of his young years with you trying to wake him up so he could have some peace. That was worse than any demon you could ever face.

“Indeed, that is why I needed some leverage against you.” He waved his hand nonchalantly towards the door and you immediately understood he was talking about Kyrie. “It was never my intention to allow Orcus to bond to some creature as powerful as mine… But I did not knew the extent of your powers, so I needed something to keep you in line. Luckily, Sparda’s grandson is not as attuned to powerful partners as Sparda’s children.”

You furrowed your brows. Whenever you talked between the members of the crew, there was a tacit agreement Kyrie was indeed the most powerful of all – for her ability to love openly, to cry, to be vulnerable and to care with such an open heart.

But those abilities were inherently human – and appreciated in humans rather than demons. In the human point of view, Kyrie was stronger than all of you together, and no one could argue against that. But in the demonic point of view… You and Lady were top of the list when it came to being able to take demons in a fair fight.

But you… You had Dante’s heart.

“It was part of our bargain. But I would never allow Orcus to bind to the most powerful of partners, would I?” Again, that smile painted his lips. You remained in the middle of the room, holding his gaze, not even flinching as he approached you. “I must admit, though, I never thought you would have this… Fire.”

As Erlach stopped with a few inches from your own face, you didn’t recoil. You remained with your arms crossed, standing as tall as you could in front of that huge demon lord as his fiery eyes just stared deeply into yours – and you stared back.

But you sensed something… Different. In his words, in his gaze. You wanted to furrow your brows as you were slowly coming to realize something, but you did your best to remain as proud and emotionless as you could – and Erlach took note of that. A pleasurable note.

“I can see what the son of Sparda saw in you.” That devilish smile colored his lips once more as the demon took another step towards you. It took you a great amount of willpower not to step back. You would never step back. “When demons bind with demons, it is one sort of marriage. When demons bind with humans, on Samhein, with the correct ritual… Well, it is a very different thing. A kind of binding never seen before – and never attempted, not even by Sparda.” Erlach approached with another step, making you raise your head even higher. Every fiber of your being wanted to scream Dante’s name and watch your red devil storm inside that room and suplex Erlach face first on the floor – as he deserved. The demon lord, though, offered one hand to you, palm facing up. “At first, I targeted you for Dante would not take a weakling as a partner, but now… I am more than inclined to take you as mine. With me, you would have the protection and status of royalty in Hell. We can take over entire worlds. And they would all be mine and yours to rule.” You just kept staring at him as Erlach’s fiery eyes stared even more deeply into yours. “You just have to say yes.”

To say your head was spinning was an understatement. What a wild ride that night was becoming – and something inside you stirred, telling you it would become even wilder. Were you reading his words right…? His gestures…? Not that Erlach was being subtle about it, he was being as blunt as his kind could be, but… Were you going crazy? You were, probably. That was a more plausible explanation than what you had to admit yourself – than what you were living right at that moment.

“If you think I’d give up Dante for power, then you can see nothing he saw in me.” You spat back, still holding your head high. “You are just as clueless as the rest of your kind.”

Erlach laughed back – not a laugh of an evil demon as you were used to, but one of delight. He… Enjoyed your answer…?

“The more you speak, the more I see.” He finally chuckled, stepping back after one last stare. “And I will see you later.”

With a snap of his fingers, you were back to the cold, abandoned crypt you and Kyrie were being held hostages. As your dizziness faded and you came back to reality, you saw her holding one of your hands, checking if you were ok with one of her palms on your forehead. Even if you didn’t feel lightheaded anymore, your mind was still troubled – and you had to sit down on the stone loveseat you shared with Kyrie earlier.

“Are you ok, y/n? What happened?” She sat by your side, big hazelnut eyes staring at you with warmth and humanity – so much different from the fiery pit of Erlach’s eyes. So much more welcoming and cozier. So much more like home. You would’ve hugged her if you weren’t so disoriented. “Y/n. What did he do to you? What happened?!”

“I think…” You finally managed to put into words what just happened – even if you didn’t want to say what you thought out loud. It seemed that by saying it, a sort of magic would make it become true. “I think… A demon lord just fell in love with me.”

You and Kyrie just stared at each other in horror, not even knowing what to say.

“What the hell…?!”

And Kyrie finally managed to put into words what you had been thinking the whole time.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

Nico just stared at Lady as Dante growled while mounting on his bike.

To be fair, Nico wasn’t the safest person to be behind a wheel, even more in a dire situation like that with Nero by her side looking like he was about to bite ankles and throw punches – but something about Dante looking like he was about to burst into flames while viciously riding the Cavaliere and growling in a half-distorted demon voice was enough to get the gunsmith ever so slightly… Concerned.

“Everything ok there, Dante, or do we need to take you in the van?” Lady screamed out her window, while Nico hoped the bright red glint in Dante’s eyes was only her imagination. “You look like you wanna beat me in a race! We hunt demons to save humans, not run them over, you know?”

“Eh, demon spidey-sense is tinglin’, Lady! That’s no good!” Dante screamed back, doing his best to keep the demonic part of his voice repressed inside his chest. He would have more than enough opportunities to let that explode. “Y/n is unsafe. I can feel it. And I…” With that, Dante drove to the back of the van because of a narrowing road, only to come back a few seconds later. “Don’t…” Another interruption for Dante not to run over a citizen cluelessly crossing the street and almost being run over by Nico. “Like it!”

His last phrase couldn’t keep the distortion in anymore and it sounded like a deep roar that came out of his chest like fire. Trish could already see the fangs in his bared teeth: those demons were in for the fight of a lifetime, for everyone knew making Dante’s lover feel unsafe was one of the worst sins in the Sparda dictionary.

Nico opened her mouth to talk to Nero – because, maybe, he could beat some sense into his uncle’s head, given they had the very same heritage – but for the first time she just put the cigarette between her lips and decided to shut up.

She was still getting used to Nero’s new trigger, so the halfway-into-turning state was something Nico didn’t really know how to deal with. By this point, Nero’s nails were definitely claws and his fangs were very much similar to Dante’s. He was fidgeting everywhere, messing with Blue Rose, as if something was really wrong with the gun and he had to fix it – a thousand fucking times. Nico could also swear his eyes were starting to glow with an inhumane gold tinge and that was very alien to her.

“Hey, kid! What about your spidey-sense tingling? Anything new?” Luckily for Nico, she had Trish around – and that woman was a pure devil, so there were very few things she feared. They all knew Nero was getting used to his own new powers, so Trish always decided to stay around and lend a hand whenever Nero had to go through something emotionally heavy – she knew it herself that demon instinct always came crashing like a wild wave whenever emotions were running high.

“Eh, she’s not good too, Trish. Worried as heck, I can feel it.” Nero mumbled under his breath, fixing the barrels of the Blue Rose for the tenth time, probably – not even needing to mention he was talking about Kyrie. With a click, the gun cocked back to its original state and Nero turned his now slightly golden aquamarine eyes to the devil leaning on his seat. “And I don’t like it either. Not at fucking all.”

Nico had to say, it always sent shivers down her spine when Nero spoke with his demonic voice like that. She was used to him being her goofy sort of brother, bickering with her down the road and tossing over-the-top, smart mouthed taunts to demons. Hearing him like that was… Something else. And Nico didn’t like it that much as well.

The last time you felt unsafe seemed like a whole lifetime ago.

You tried to control your hands as they wanted to start shaking – but you kept telling yourself you needed to keep Kyrie safe. After all, you were the devil hunter, not her. Kyrie could kill every single one in the crew with kindness, but not those devils… Those had to be killed with blades and gunpowder.

Being with Dante had given you something you never really had before, and just now you noticed it was tied to your red devil: safety. Even if he wasn’t around physically, you could always count on the fact that Dante, son of Sparda, Crimson Slayer, would bend Hell itself around his will to keep you from any kind of harm. It had never downed on you because, up until that point, that was a given.

Today, Halloween of all days, was a little more complicated. Dante wasn’t around, the whole ritual was bound to have some heavy magic to keep him at bay, you were completely unarmed and the demons you were up against were another kind – not the stupid, belligerent type you handled almost on a daily basis; no, those were smart, cunning and dangerous.

To top all of that, you had Kyrie on your side. If you were alone, you’d probably already be trying some unhinged escape attempts, but they were so smart on deciding to kidnap her as well. She was your weak spot on that situation and the fact that you felt unsafe and couldn’t do your best to protect her, only highlighted the fear you started to feel creeping up at the base of your stomach.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, the only thing that could at least try to calm your nerves was to imagine being back in Dante’s arms, at the Devil May Cry, the smell of warm pizza around and him humming some old tunes you both loved. That was home. That was your haven. Dante was your refuge, keeping you secure from every evil thing that could attack you in this world, and he wasn’t there.

For a split second, you wondered if he could feel how much your heart was aching – screaming with all its might in the hopes he would hear its call.

Suddenly, two demons entered the room you and Kyrie were being held. They didn’t have to say much: with swords pointed at both of you and the heavy doors wide open, you knew it was time. Knowing you had to calm your nerves so at least she could have a chance to escape, you got up and calmly walked in front of Kyrie – head high and staring those demons right back in their eyes.

“Everything will be ok.” You murmured back over your shoulder, knowing Kyrie would listen. “If you find a safe chance to run, do it and don’t look back. I can handle them better alone.”

You felt Kyrie’s soft hands brushing on one of yours, her voice nothing but a whisper. “Don’t put yourself in danger, y/n. I don’t wanna run without you.”

You closed your eyes, chuckling a little in silence. She was indeed an angel among so many demons – including all of you in the crew. “Oh, Kyrie. You have to learn… The whole crew would die for you, don’t you know that already…?” And even if your words weren’t the kindest, you had the sweetest tone in your voice – saying nothing but the truth. “You run. It’ll take more than a few demons to bring me down.”

Kyrie knew you were lying only to make her feel safer – there was a tinge of bitterness in your sweetness, a slight glint of sadness in your eyes. Those were more than a few demons, and both of you knew it.

She could only sigh in response and confirm with her head. You and Dante were bittersweetly so alike: always lying and pretending nothing was too serious, putting yourselves on the line for those you loved, trying to make them stop worrying while you were both ready to walk right into certain death. She had seen how angry you got every time he tried to pull something like that on you – and Kyrie had to smile even if a little bit upon realizing how similar you and your lover were, even if you hated when he did that.

Both of your thoughts had to be violently changed and brought back to the present moment when the time came to enter what one day was a beautiful, untarnished cathedral. The imposing gothic architecture was in shambles, the stars shining clearly in the deep night sky above your heads – the high peaks of the cathedral long gone. A long tapestry on the ground, torn apart and eaten by parasites, lead the way in a dirty blood red to the middle of the aisle, where a grandiose bonfire stood and lit none other than your groom.

That was definitely not the devil you had intended to marry if you ever walked down the aisle. Also, you always thought if you ever married Dante, the ceremony would be in the Devil May Cry: you would enter the shop, dressed in your best hunting clothes – maybe something leather, carefully picked by Trish to make you even more mesmerizing – watching Dante smiling at you, leaning on his desk, arms crossed and love pouring from his eyes.

That was the perfect marriage for you alright. And leaving for a quick honeymoon with your red devil, riding on the Cavaliere, a few cans tied to it with a “just married” sign on the back, waving at the crew at the door of the shop while Dante made the motorcycle burn the road with its demonic power? More than perfect.

“You shall enter first. The other human stays until your ritual is performed.” One of the demons held Kyrie hostage, pointing your way down the derelict aisle. Her eyes were filled with fear, and you couldn’t do anything but comply.

Holding your head high, you walked down the damned aisle. Not like a perfect fiancé, but like a wronged force of nature, just waiting for the right time to unleash your fury against all those demons. You were wearing those ridiculous clothes, on that ridiculous place, while demons started chanting and playing a song for the demonic ritual that had just started, stripped of your guns, blades and clothes.

To say you wanted to sucker punch Erlach on his face until his sharp teeth fell out was an understatement.

And yet, he had nothing but admiration and fire in his eyes for you. The more you approached, the more he smiled, offering you his hand as you were getting closer and closer – you refused to take it, standing in front of him just like you did when he first talked to you.

“You know, the kidnapping and taking my gear away, I could forgive. But these clothes…?” You pointed down at that hideous thing that was forced to you. “You could’ve done better. A lot better.”

“I judged you by all the mortals I’ve ever met – and now I realize I shouldn’t have done so. Do apologize, exquisite creature.” And Erlach answered your insult with a delighted distorted laugh. You just remained there, looking like you had just stuck a flip flop into a toaster, not knowing what to do. It seemed that the more you tried to repel him, the more Erlach liked you. “But rituals shouldn’t be taken lightly. One should wear the proper attire.”

“To think a demon would’ve dressed his counterpart a lot better and risqué than this…” You sighed, pushing all those ruffles away from your face as he, once more, tried to take your hand and guide you to approach the bonfire. “I thought this was going to be a dual wedding. Where’s your friend?”

“Orcus can try to pull off his ritual after I’m done with mine.” Erlach had a devilish smile pulling his lips up in a distorted line. It was a little… Unsettling. “We… Agreed such a powerful ritual should be done one at a time.”

“Huh. That’ll be before or after you kill him?” You had one eyebrow lifted and Erlach laughed with joy in his voice, now finally forcing you to walk with him towards the bonfire. “You got quite the silver tongue to convince him you’re gonna let him go through with his ritual with his head still on his shoulders.”

“Oh, my dear, you have no idea.” Erlach forced you to spin around and look deep into his eyes, holding you by both of your arms in an iron clasp you couldn’t break away easily without your weapons. “You are very welcome to discover soon enough. I am mesmerized with your cunning and wit – so much better than all those pitiful uninspired creatures I have to live with every day. We will be quite a pair, sweet temptation.”

That admiration was there, that fire burning in his eyes, and… Lust…?! You had to contain a shiver of pure terror thinking a creature like that lusted for you. It wasn’t necessarily his appearance – you did find Dante one hell of a piece of temptation in whatever form he was, be it human, Devil Trigger or even his Sin Devil Trigger – but his soul. Erlach lacked the very thing that made you fall madly and hopelessly for Dante: his golden heart, his gentle soul, his kind eyes and his unapologetic humanity.

That was why it didn’t matter how Dante looked like: you would always fall in love with him. Even if he was just a piece of rock with googly eyes laying on his desk, you would love that rock with all your heart.

“What if I refuse to be your pair?” You had one of your eyebrows raised, trying to hide the fear creeping at the base of your stomach. “As far as I know, all marriages require a resounding yes from both parts. What are you gonna do? Torture me?”

“As tempting as that sounds…” And even if you didn’t show it, your blood certainly froze in your veins for a second. “I fear you would take a very long time to break under such circumstances. The Son of Sparda chose you for your brave heart and hardened soul, I can see that now. Luckily for demonic rituals, the sacrifices don’t need to consent.”

“Oh. I thought I was more than just a disposable piece of meat. I’m hurt.” Masking your fear with jokes and taunts, you had learned that with the very best. Dante had all the blame for that.

“Don’t be, my creature.” Erlach’s words were laced with a laugh while he took a ceremonial dagger from an altar nearby. “That is how humans are usually named in our rituals. You will remain alive, or else, it doesn’t work. I do need your blood… A reasonable amount, but nothing lethal.”

His hand clasped your wrist with a tight grip you couldn’t break from. Your heart started beating faster and faster, as you looked around trying to find Kyrie – crossing her terrified eyes as she watched from the distance, close to the entrance where once was a door, fearing for your life. You wanted to mutter some soothing words for her, but not even you could lie that much: your survival instincts kicked in and your adrenaline spiked. It was now or never, but you had to escape.

Erlach held your arm above a bowl made of pure gold, now darkened with time and stained with all the sacrifices it contained. He spoke some words in demonic language, while the chanting got even more intense – some things you could understand, but the others were lost as your mind became hazy with trying to think what to do.

It was a surprise to all – you closed your free hand in a fist and did exactly what you wanted to do since you saw that hideous thing you were wearing: sucker punch that conceited demon right on his face.

Erlach was taken aback for a moment, looking back at you with confused eyes. Seizing his distraction, you disarmed him and took the ceremonial dagger to yourself, cutting his hand that held your wrist and demanding him to let you go. Erlach stumbled back in awe, while you took a fighting stance with the dagger in your hand, ready to kill – but not ready to get married.

And he smiled.

“Such fire…!” To say Erlach was ecstatic was an underestimation. “My creature… What are you going to do with that?” And he took a predator stance, as both of you studied your options in that fight.

If you could look back at Kyrie, you would see her smiling and supporting you as much as she could. To say she admired you, was to say you only liked Dante.

“I am going to kill every single demon in this cathedral… Including you.” Pointing the dagger at Erlach, it was your turn to allow a devilish smile to cover your lips. “Then, I’m taking my friend back home. Back into the arms of the only devil I will ever love. Back to Dante.”

As you spoke, you didn’t even hear a ragged guitar faintly playing in the background – and approaching ominously. The only thing you had in mind was a tunnel focus on Erlach, ready to tear him apart as soon as he got close to you.

“Oh, I will enjoy that, my creature. And I might even need to get rid of Dante myself.” As soon as he finished his sentence, though, you scoffed in a laughter of pure mockery.

“Now that, you would try. Dante is so much more than you will ever be – he will reduce you to ashes with a single stare. That’s how pitiful you are compared to him, Erlach.” As your words poured, you couldn’t stop laughing at how he looked slightly insulted. Fucking finally. “And I gotta say, that’s not the only thing Dante is really good at. He does burn like fire.”

“I will enjoy subduing you.” Erlach growled, baring his teeth. Now you managed to piss him off.

“I will enjoy watching you try.” You wouldn’t allow him too much time to think: spinning the blade in your hand for a better grip, you finally tried to stab him with a swift attack – but he easily dodged as you got even angrier at that ridiculous clothing you were wearing. Those frills and terrible fabric made your movement a lot debilitated.

You tried a few other attacks as Erlach dodged and started smiling again, enjoying every bit of it – starting to even try a few attacks, while you blocked with the dagger. It was all too fast… At the same pace of the guitar that now echoed loudly, with a very familiar song approaching the chorus.

“Now, my creature.” Erlach held your hand with the dagger when you tried another stab. Even if you were resisting, it was more entertaining than anything else: you needed your gear. He pulled you closer to him, even if you tried to stay away as much as you could. “It’s time to stop the fun. We can do this after the ritual.”

Before any of you could do anything else, the guitar finally arrived – with the screeching of what seemed a thousand tires, the smell of gasoline and the sound of a shot from a gun you knew so well.

Said shot hit the dagger, making it shatter into a thousand little pieces in your hand, causing Erlach to let go of you in a reflex – while AC/DC’s vocalist screamed he would shoot to thrill, play to kill.

“Well, I think we’re all ready for the afterparty, aren’t we, hot stuff?”

Dante had entered down the aisle with Cavaliere screeching, leaving a trail of fire behind him, stopping right in the middle to shoot that ceremonial dagger into oblivion. The smoke was still fresh on the barrel of his gun, while he had one foot on the ground, still mounted on his motorcycle, smirking at you with that gorgeous smile that, today, you wanted to kiss out of his mouth with so much passion the crew would probably have to throw a whole bucket of water on both of you to put out the fire.

And, right behind him, Nico crashed what was left of the cathedral’s door while blasting AC/DC’s Shoot to Thrill because she would be damned if she didn’t put a good soundtrack for that moment. You could see her smiling behind the wheel, supporting every single bit of Dante’s antics.

The smile that painted your lips – a broad one, mixed with thrill and relief – was everything Dante wanted to see. That was all the confirmation he needed to know that pull in his chest was actually your heart desperately calling for him to help.

“Ya know, I could forgive the kidnapping, you got one hell of a devil hunter in your hands to deal with…” Dante now let go of Cavaliere, leaving it in the middle of the cathedral, walking down the aisle with the sassy walk you always loved to see – moving his hips and opening his arms, taunting with a pretended carefree attitude. The distortion in his voice, sharp teeth and claws betrayed his words, though – and you couldn’t be happier. “But what’s the deal with those clothes?!”

“Exactly.” You smiled back, sighing as if someone there finally understood you. Erlach just looked at you and back at Dante trying to contain his surprise – it wasn’t possible you were synchronized in even that. “I can barely move, how am I supposed to kick his ass?”

“I can help ya with that, pretty eyes.” Dante’s voice now became darker, leaning even further into his Devil Trigger. For a split second, you could swear you saw his demonic form taking over before Dante appeared again. His eyes were almost entirely taken by red, his hand already gripping the hilt of Rebellion. “But I gotta deal with a few of these clowns first.”

“I’m not going anywhere, hot stuff.” You had the proudest of smiles on your lips as the demons started to approach, ready to fight your red devil. “Show them what a real party looks like.”

“Ya don’t have to ask twice!”

“What are you all waiting for?!” As soon as Erlach screamed, the demons ran towards Dante as a pack of rabid creatures, ready to take his blood. Erlach smiled with pride as they surrounded the Crimson Slayer, already pouncing to take a bite – there was no way a hybrid could take so many demons at once in a fight.

Looking at the crew’s van, you managed to see Lady leaning by the vehicle, watching it all with excitement but refusing to get into the fight. You almost laughed upon seeing Trish holding Nero’s jacket while he tried to let himself go from her iron tight grip, probably saying he should be in the fight too – but his eyes weren’t locked on Dante or the swarming demons: Nero was looking for Kyrie.

And you would’ve done the same, finally questioning yourself where they were keeping her after all that confusion took over the ritual. Nero could very well let himself go of Trish, but everyone knew he had his own priority – a priority you couldn’t find, and that fact started worrying you.

You would have given that a better thought if a sudden fiery explosion hadn’t sent demons flying around the cathedral like fireworks. Dante’s Devil Trigger was on, but not his normal one… It was his Sin Devil Trigger in all his demonic glory, with leathery wings hovering him from the floor and Devil Sword Dante burning like fire in his hands.

To say that would be a slaughter… Again, would be putting it lightly. With the masterfully chosen soundtrack by Nico blasting on the background, Dante single handedly slayed all the demons that decided to cross between you and him. You risked a side look to Erlach, only to find the demon astonished by Dante’s form and power – and you couldn’t resist. You leaned on the altar next to you, with a matter-of-fact look in your eyes.

“He usually has this effect on people… And demons.” You had to say it. You just couldn’t refrain from taunting and annoying that silly devil who forced you to wear those terrible wedding clothes.

With the Devil Sword Dante dripping blood, the son of Sparda approached as he slayed all the demons that tried to fight. Dante was a frightening powerhouse – usually terrifying, but today even more… After all, the human he loved most in all dimensions was kidnapped by a conceited demon who thought he would have the chance to bind his beloved in a marriage ritual without their consent. Dante was beyond angry.

“It will only be an obstacle, then.” Erlach turned his eyes back to you. “Don’t think for a second I gave up, my creature. If I have to kill the son of Sparda, I will do so – with the power you will grant me with your blood.”

Once again, the demon held your arm – but this time, digging the nails into your skin, making you scream with the sudden pain. That made Dante immediately turn to you, being hit as well and inundating the cathedral with the smell of the blood of Sparda. His fighting became sloppy as he tried to approach you even faster – but it also became even more vicious.

Erlach dragged you back to the sacrificial bowl, as you tried to get away. Even with your fighting, your limited movements weren’t helping too much. As he extended your arm above the bowl, you managed to see – behind him, in the distance, covered in shadows – Orcus holding Kyrie hostage, searching everywhere for a breech so he could finish his ritual before Erlach.

“Nero! Kyrie is over there! Go kick his ass, kid!” You screamed while fighting so Erlach couldn’t drip your blood into the bowl. Yes, he needed more than a few drops from the gashes from his claws – but he could make them bigger once you were in a decent position. And you didn’t want to give him that.

“Kyrie! I’m coming for you!” And finally, after his aquamarine eyes found Kyrie’s plea for help, Nero did let go of Trish with ease – and the she-devil didn’t even try to hold him back. With just a smile on her face, the woman looked back at Lady and they knew it was time to intervene now that both of you were located and they wouldn’t risk any of your lives.

Amidst all that, with Dante literally burning his way towards you while being held back by three demons, a few invisible cuts made them fall apart and gush blood all over the floor. Vergil entered the cathedral, while carrying an old book you saw at Erlach’s office earlier that night – the book with all the ancient, and most forbidden, devilish incantations.

“Go on, Dante. I’ll take it from here.” Vergil barely looked at the demons he was fighting with: holding the book with one hand and being assisted by summoned swords, he only needed a few well placed judgement cuts to get rid of all those nuisances.

Dante didn’t even think twice after hearing his brother’s words. Marching down the aisle, he approached you and Erlach like a death omen – his demonic form in his ultimate Devil Trigger was enough to inspire respect even in the upper echelon of Hell.

And you had to say, you were proud of that.

“Let y/n go, Erlach.” As Dante commanded, you couldn’t fail to notice his voice was slightly… Different. The more he approached, the more his voice sounded less distorted and more human. “Ya know, for a demon with such a pretentious plan, you’d think you’d put up more of a difficult fight.” And when Dante stopped right in front of the altar between you both, he was completely human – looking at you with the sky blue eyes you loved so much. “I’m barely breakin’ a sweat.”

If Erlach’s claws weren’t deep into your skin, you would’ve locked your arms around his neck already, taking in his scent and calming down your heart. Yes, Dante would be smelling of gunpowder, blood and sweat, but that was still his scent. It was enough to make you feel secure again.

“Indeed. I underestimated you.” Erlach’s claws dug out of your skin, making you retreat quickly. You managed to see a little commotion where Kyrie and Nero were before, but with everything that was happening, you couldn’t quite make the moment where Orcus was nowhere to be seen – all you could be sure was that Kyrie was safe, back into Nero’s arms. And that was enough. “It seems like the blood of Sparda still thrives to this day.”

“Yeah, yeah, daddy’s blood and all that…” Dante rolled his eyes, shooting near Erlach’s feet. The demon jumped back, farther away from you – and that made you smile. “Spit it out, spook. How did you find out ‘bout the ritual? Where did ya get that book?”

“Apparently you never heard of a library. On that aspect, I win, my creature.” Erlach still had that weird admiration in his eyes for you, making you wince. You never gave him a single reason to like you. Demons had to be masochist creatures.

“Oh, I heard about those alright. It just so happens my brother here has spent a very long vacation time in Hell and lemme tell ya…” With those words, Dante finally took Erlach by his neck, leaning the demon over the sacrificial bowl and touching the blade of Rebellion on his neck. Dante usually didn’t get that feral… But Erlach had tried him a little bit too much that night. “He doesn’t have very nice words about you and your little friends. Those rituals aren’t well known in detail. Something gave you that book. Who?”

It wasn’t a side of Dante you liked to see, but, when dealing with those kinds of demons, it was a necessary one. Erlach, as far as you could tell, wasn’t just your dumb daily demon – he was in the upper echelon. And said echelon only became worse the higher the rank.

“You would love to know, wouldn’t you?” Erlach laughed even if the sword already started to nick some blood out of his thick demonic skin. “You will have to let me go to get your answer. If you don’t, no deal.”

You closed your eyes, sighing. Erlach was the deal kind of demon. And it was always a slippery slope with those silver tongue devils.

Dante knew that as well. His heart screamed at him to kill Erlach and let his blood run over the floor of the cathedral – to take you home safely and let you know that threat would never loom over you again.

But they needed answers. Only very high rank demons would have access to that kind of book – to those kinds of rituals. Demons like Sparda… Like Mundus. And that was something none of them wanted as a threat. The single thought of the possibility of Mundus being alive made him shiver and his blood boil. His house burned in his childhood, his family slaughtered like animals, his past stained in blood and sulfur. He didn’t want that to happen again. He wouldn’t let that happen again. Not to anyone in the crew, not to his nephew, not to his brother… Not to you.

Dante let Erlach go. The demon cracked his neck, gaining his posture once again. You stood by Dante’s side, ready to suplex Erlach into oblivion if he tried anything funny.

“The two of you already have what you need to know the answer.” Erlach pointed at the book in Vergil’s hands, moving his gaze back to you soon after. “I will have you as mine, y/n. You have my word, sweet creature.”

Before you could do anything in response, Erlach set himself ablaze in flames that kept burning for a few seconds while he disappeared back to where he came from – probably Hell, if you had to guess.

“Eh. We should’ve known he would leave without giving us a decent answer.” You sighed, feeling your shoulders relax for the first time that night, knowing all demons were dead and you were around safe people again.

“And even shamelessly flirtin’ with ya, what’s up with that…?”

“No idea, red devil. I did my best for him to hate me; apparently it backfired tremendously.”

You finally turned to look at each other. Both of you looked tired, completely out of energy – you, from your human body; Dante from the toll all that fiery explosion of anger and demonic heritage could take on him. His eyes, though… Those sky blue eyes, looked at you with the human kindness you always longed for – with the admiration and fire of a lover, but the gentleness of a soul who was not only your mate, but your home.

You felt safe again. All that insecurity, that fear, that horror of being alone and having to fight on your own – to survive on your own – it washed away in that infinite blue sky. He was your home, and you were safe. Nothing bad would ever happen to you, for Dante was there to catch you and hold you in his arms until you felt you could walk with certainty again.

“I heard you, pretty eyes…” Dante murmured, taking a strand of hair out of your dirty face, watching with amusement as you furrowed your brows. He took one of his hands over his heart, eyes looking into yours. “I heard you here.”

A gradual smile lit up your face as you understood what he had said. That pull, that thing you did, of closing your eyes and praying he would find you… It worked. Of course it worked. And you couldn’t be happier, with all that pouring like a golden fountain from your heart, making your eyes laminate with a few tears and threaten to overflow.

“I’m glad you did, cowboy.” You approached him, cradling his face with your hands and leaning him down so his forehead could touch yours. “I’m glad you did. I prayed so loud for you.”

With that, you took his hand to touch your heart, in the hopes he would once again listen – but this time hear the golden tunes it sang along the overflow. The frills of the ridiculous attire didn’t allow him to find your beat, though.

“Well, I told ya I’d get rid of that, right?” Dante sighed, staring down at that horrid attire – although he would argue you could never look bad. Even with that thing on. “Ei! All of ya, look away! I’m puttin’ y/n out of their misery!”

“What…?”

Before you could finish asking, though, Dante masterfully moved Rebellion around you – while everyone turned away or closed their eyes. Lady and Trish, though, just kept staring at that goof of a man you called your lover. Within a few seconds, those terrifying wedding clothes tore apart, pooling around your feet on the floor while you just stared back at your red devil – the chilly air of the night all around your bare skin.

“That was hot.” You had to say it while Dante quickly checked you out like the masterpiece he always thought you were.

“Not as hot as you, babe.” With a wink, Dante took off his red coat, wrapping it around you and making you warm again.

You loved wearing Dante’s coat. It was definitely too big for you, but it was always warm – that night, you could almost say it seemed like it was enveloped in flames. But it had his scent all over it and it fit like a huge cape you could almost drag on the ground. You couldn’t have asked for a better attire for that evening.

“Hey.” As you called for his attention, those blue eyes rested on you again, little by little settling all that restlessness that whole ordeal had set in your soul. And, since words weren’t enough, you once again cradled his face with your hands, this time placing a well-deserved kiss on your lover’s lips.

Dante giggled between your lips, wrapping his strong arms around your waist to lift you off the floor – making it easier for you to kiss him unapologetically. You never saw yourself as a damsel in distress, and you would have killed every demon in that room with a dagger and your teeth if it was necessary, but it wasn’t. And that was so new: you could always count on Dante to be there for you, to protect you and to be a place for you to fall whenever you lost your balance.

Your heart stopped screaming and Dante’s soul found peace again.

“Ah, I see Nero stole Dante’s idea.”

As you saw Kyrie leaving the van’s bathroom wearing nothing but Nero’s coat, she smiled happily back at you while showing it off as soon as you pointed that out. You were sitting in the van, still in the red coat – Dante would know only later that decision would cost him his sanity while trying to get his coat back from you. A few chases and him gripping you tight to get his coat back was in store for the rest of that night.

“It was a very good idea.” Kyrie had a mischievous smile on her lips, blushing a little bit while grabbing the collar of Nero’s coat and taking in the scent. “It smells like him. It feels like he’s always around.”

“I know what you mean.” You smiled proudly as an answer, barely noticing Nico staring at both of you while Lady and Trish giggled.

“Ya know what she means…? That coat is nasty!” Nico pointed at the blue coat enveloping the crew’s little angel, making you laugh a little bit more. “And yours?! If Nero’s coat is bad, Dante’s even worse! Looks like he just blasted from the insides of a frog demon or somethin’! And you say it has his scent?!” The gunsmith couldn’t be more revolted at yours and Kyrie’s antics.

“That’s Dante’s scent for ya...” You sighed, leaning back on the van’s seat – something quite red devilish like. “Gunpowder, demon’s blood and sweat. When he’s clean, though, it’s more of a woody and musky with a hint of pizza kind of scent. Sometimes strawberries.”

“Apparently, love doesn’t make us only blind, it makes our sense of smell completely absent.” Trish strutted her way towards the seat she always took in the van, across from you, having a complacent smile on her devil lips.

“It makes us more tolerant.” Kyrie sat by your side, completely happy to be wearing Nero’s clothes and safe and sound with the crew again. “That is a thing most people need to learn more about.”

“As always, angel Kyrie is right.” Lady sighed, taking her spot inside the van – after lightly elbowing Nico just to tease the gunsmith. “Just like we tolerate the smell of your cigarettes.”

“Hey, at least I’m not turning into a fuming creature blasting demon viscera everywhere!” Nico pointed at Lady with her cigarette between her fingers, making all of you laugh. “Must take days to get those things off your hair!”

“Sometimes, it takes even weeks!” Dante’s voice added from outside of the van, entering soon after to take his seat right by your side. To say Dante would be hovering around you for months, overly protecting you over anything and everything, was a very mild way to describe his behavior after that evening.

“Ya know, once I found a piece of liver hidden right behind my ear…?” Nero approached Nico as she just glared at him with pure disgust. “Took me days to find it.”

“You’re nasty, demon boy.” Nico lightly shoved Nero out of the way, dismissing all that conversation to go back to the stirring wheel. Nero laughed back, making his way to Kyrie and sitting by her side, cradling her with one of his arms while she rested her head on his chest.

“We couldn’t find more on the origin of their knowledge…” Vergil was the last one to board, closing the van’s door behind him. As soon as he did, Nico started driving back home – and he showed you a few things he had in his hands. “But we did find your gear. I will keep it in a safe place until we get back to the shop.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Verge!” You had genuine relief in your voice, watching as he carefully placed your sword next to him. “I thought I’d never see those things again. Thanks for finding them.”

As always, Vergil didn’t answer, just bowed his head as the perfect gentleman he was. Soon, Dante’s arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

“Huh, so much thankfulness for Vergil, while I was the one who saved your ass from that demon lord. I’m feeling a little ignored.” Of course, you knew Dante was only joking – never in all your time together you picked up any sign of jealousy he could have of you and Vergil. Dante was very secure about your relationship, knowing quite well where your heart rested – he would be insecure, sometimes, when it came to other humans.

“Oh, c’mon. How can I not be thankful when it’s my gear we’re talking about?” You raised one eyebrow, teasing him back – which only made Dante smile. “Now being a little more serious, it was rough being stripped of everything. Even with that hideous frilly attire, I felt completely naked. There’s no way for me to defend myself without all my stuff; I don’t have demonic blood running through my veins to go into a rampage and kill every single living thing in front of me.”

“Well, lucky for you, I got that goin’ for me.” Dante brought you even closer, tightening his half hug around you.

“Hmmm…” You took some time to take in his scent, this time directly from his neck, right in front of you. Yes, all those things you mentioned before, but you could always find the woody and musky Dante scent underneath all of that. And maybe it was that which made you feel so comfortable and secure. “I was scared. I was running out of options when you showed up.”

“Shhh, don’cha think ‘bout that, pretty eyes.” Whenever you voiced how uncomfortable you were with something, Dante immediately started caressing you just to at least make you feel physically comfortable again. And you had to say, it always worked.

“I know, I know… It’s just… I know I can always count on you to appear at the direst of moments, no matter where I am.” With those words, you placed one of your hands above his heart, making those sky blue eyes look back into yours. “I know you can hear me call, no matter what.”

“It’s part of the demon thing, babe.” Even though he was happy with that, Dante had a bittersweet smile on his lips.

“Yeah, maybe… But demons don’t show up to save desperate souls who are praying for them when all other options have failed.” You brushed aside some strands of dirty hair that insisted on covering those beautiful eyes – now looking at you with curiosity and admiration. “Do you know who do?”

“Hmmm…?”

“Angels do.” Your answer was but a murmur, even quieter than the engines of the van. “You are my very own guardian angel, Dante.”

Lady once said that, somewhere out there, even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one – but you would dare to add that devils did cry when they were loved back.

Your red devil was living proof of that on that Halloween night.

#devil may cry #devil may cry imagine #dmc #dmc imagine #dante x reader #dante imagine #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfiction #dmc dante #dante sparda #devil may halloween #the ripping the dress apart scene #I'm SUCH a fan of Zorro #and Antonio Banderas does that with Catherine Zeta Jones in the 1st movie #BOOM one of my fave things right there when I saw it for the first time #Dante was raised on Zorro and I'll die on this hill #alsoooo couldn't resist making Erlach a character that may or may not appear again #something about having a demon lord fall in love with Dante/Vergil's s/o sounds so funny to me #I have to make that a recurrent theme #and the 'I'd love you even if you were a rock with googly eyes' is indeed a reference to Everything Everywhere All At Once #just recently watched with my mom and was devastated and happy at the same time #some people we would love even in the rock dimension #I hope you guys like it!! even if it took forever to post!! T-T

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 years ago

Note

Okay, I just wanna say that I love ALL the fic ideas you came up with and I desperately want to read all of them but I know everyone else wants that too, so for the sake of your mental sanity, I'll pick my favorites

Also, as much as I cry/go feral over your angst works, your fluff/crack stuff does something to my brain chemistry that I need

So I really want to see more of the prompts I requested (omg, someone wanting to see more of their prompt, who would've guessed? Though which one you wanna expand on is up to you) as well as "Of all the things that could happen, did have to be this?", "Human Females Do What Once A Month?!", "Cybertrons newest younglings/sparklings"

Those are some of my personal favorites but if you aren't feeling it or wanna do angst, you do you. Love all your amazing work and thanks for listening to my rambles 🙃

Well thank you for the chance to write more fluff! I am so happy you like my work friend! I've been meaning to get to this request for a while now. But classes have been dragging me kicking and screaming through the mud.

Prompt for this request here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Of all the things that could happen, did it have to be this?

The battle for the Omega Lock was by far one of the most intense any of the Decepticons had ever engaged in. It was a fierce and brutal conflict that left both sides struggling. However in the end, all Autobots on Earth were captured, promptly executed, and had their bodies thrown into the Cybermatter as a taunt toward their desperate attempts to regain control of the relic. But of course, this singular act of smug retribution came with consequences.

As the bodies of the Autobots sank into the Cybermatter, the Matrix blazed and collected the sparks of the fallen within itself in an attempt to preserve them. Then, with the aid of the Cybermatter surrounding it, the Matrix did as it was made to. It remade those it was offered. Optimus it kept to itself, but the others? It molded them again granting them new life and hoping to save them from execution once more by altering how they emerged. It could not erase who they were, nor did it want to. No, it needed to preserve them and give them a chance.

With that in mind, there was no way the Decepticons, who were still reveling in their victory, could have ever predicted eight sparklings clambering out of the Omega Lock screaming and shivering. At first the gathered Decepticons were too shocked to act, but as a young Smokescreen wailed, Starscream moved without thinking. With soft murmurs and croons, the Seeker held the sparkling close to himself, soothing him with gentle touches and songs. After that, there was no stopping it. Megatron was cruel, but he was not the the kind to allow sparklings to die, no matter their origin. Thus he gathered the sparklings, brought them onto the Nemesis, and set course for Cybertron. Earth was all but forgotten amidst the chaos.

A meeting was held with all of high command as soon as the Nemesis was out of Earth's orbit. There was brief discussion of killing the sparklings considering they were formerly Autobots, however that was shut down immediately by Starscream throwing the biggest fit any on the Nemesis had the displeasure to deal with. The Seeker threw away any pretense of cowardice in order to defend the sparklings, regardless of whatever wrath Megatron might hold toward him after the fact. Thankfully for him, Knockout was quick to support his stance, even going so far as to threaten to damage the ship and tell the Vehicons about the incident if the order to kill the sparklings was given.

As such, with no other choice considering the threat of mutiny, Megatron sighed, and had the sparklings distributed until a better plan could be devised. The Nemesis continued to soar toward Cybertron, but the trip would take time and quite frankly, what interest Megatron had in Earth all but faded. Optimus was a sparkling, and without his foe fighting for the planet so viciously, the competitive desire to take the world was no longer present. Cybertron was his focus, even more so now that there were sparklings on board to fuel and raise. They had been at war for far too long, and now with the Autobot elites stuck as sparklings, it had practically been ended. Cybertron needed to be restored, and Megatron would see to it, if only to ensure he didn't lose the loyalty of his soldiers.

Of course, taking care of sparklings was far easier said than done. Each of the newly reforged Autobots seemed to have something... off about them. All were assessed by Shockwave and with his aid, assigned to the appropriate caretakers until further notice.

Smokescreen was biologically the youngest and based on the tests run, the most mentally stable. He behaved as a perfectly normal sparkling, with all the little quirks and habits of the newly emerged. In order to ensure that the sparklings with more... pressing needs were attended to, Smokescreen was given to the Vehicons, under the supervision of Starscream of course. The former Autobot rookie was perfectly tame for the most part and by all accounts, terrible friendly. He didn't care for who was tending to him and had a fantastic time with just about anyone. He only cried when he wanted something and was totally at ease for the most part. He had no sense of stranger danger whatsoever. His only notable quirk was the simple fact that whenever he got a glimpse of the other Autobots-turned-sparklings, something seemed to click in him.

In the instances where he caught sight of his former comrades, Smokescreen lost any and all self control. He would scream, kick, bite, and overall fight denta and digit to get away from whoever was taking care of him. There was an intelligence in his optics during those instances, and cunning calculation that often led to the sparkling somehow wriggling away and booking it after whoever it was he spotted. Thankfully for everyone, he would calm quite easily once allowed to interact with whoever it was he wanted to get to. He needed at least a half groon with the former comrade in question, but then he would not struggle against being removed.

Bulkhead was the second least difficult sparkling to handle. He and Wheeljack could not be separated without causing both to throw horrible fits and reject energon, and so were given to a caretaker together. Knockout ended up being the one to take both under his wing, partially due to their relation to Breakdown before their reforging, but largely because he was one of the few ground units that could be trusted with unruly sparklings. He treated them perfectly well and took great care of them. Knockout threw himself into the tending of his new charges, even going so far as to create carriers that he wore on his front and back, one for each sparkling. Both his charges were given ample entertainment and offered enough affection to be somewhat smothering. But of course, there were issues.

For an undeterminable reason, Bulkhead spent a great deal of time crying. Next to nothing Knockout did ever seemed to calm him. All that worked for the former Wrecker was being held close to Knockout at all times. Often this led Knockout to carry the sparkling around everywhere during the cycle, even while working. Bulkhead could not be left alone or he would begin to wail. Having Wheeljack with him helped, but Wheeljack had his own set of problems that made having him around a blessing and a curse. Perhaps due to his prior love of any and all things explosion related, Wheeljack was a master at eluding Knockout while he tended to his more sensitive ward. Wheeljack then proceeded to always get into something important, be it the inner workings of the Nemesis, or some wiring that inevitably led to partial blackouts. It was somewhat amusing most of the time for Knockout, up until Wheeljack started making Megatron mad.

Knockout has since kept to giving Wheeljack random broken electronic parts to mess with instead of watching his wreck havoc on the ship. Of course the pyromaniac still manages to escape the confines of Knockout's workspace here and there, but it is nothing serious... usually.

Arcee ended up with Starscream quite simply due to her rather debilitating problem. Anything that moved too quickly, she immediately did her best to attack and kill despite her small size. More specifically, anything with too much kibble for her liking ended up receiving her ire. Shockwave predicted it was due to lingering trauma from Arachnid, but whatever the case, she hurt herself and sometimes others because of her aggressive tendencies. Starscream, long used to tending to feral seeker sparklings, took her on as his own in an instant. He took every precaution tending to her despite her lack of flight capability. It had been far too long since he last saw or was even able to come near a sparkling.

Arcee was a vicious little thing, but Starscream handled her with grace none on the Nemesis knew he possessed. She quickly came to only calm around Starscream and her former Autobot companions as the seeker worked to earn her trust. It was an arduous process, but Starscream carefully cleaning her, singing to her, helping her fuel, and constantly holding her as close to himself as possible yielded results. She could not be around any of the other Decepticons without her newfound caretaker for fear of her hurting herself, but she was renown for the happy sounds she made when particularly at peace. Starscream has a whole album filled with photos of his adopted ward, which he shows off as if it were the documentation giving him ownership of Cybertron itself.

Ultra Magnus was a difficult sparkling to be placed under a caretaker. At first he was given to Knockout alongside Wheeljack and Bulkhead, but that swiftly led to numerous fights between the trio. Not to mention a startling lack of emotion from the former leader of the Wreckers and a subsequent explosion of it made handling him alongside the other two impossible. Ultra Magnus was a mess of emotions and couldn't be predicted at all for the most part... well except by one scientist. Shockwave did fight hard to not be given the position of tending to the sparkling, but Ultra Magnus needed a steady servo to guide him. He reacted to any sort of emotions that others presented with extreme prejudice. Shockwave had no facial components for Ultra Magnus to react to, nor did Shockwave have any outward emotional responses.

There were MANY concerns from Knockout and Starscream about Shockwave possibly turning Ultra Magnus into his lab rat or abusing him. However against the expectations of pretty much everyone, Shockwave was a highly dutiful caretaker once the mantle of being a parent was passed to him. He took all the necessary steps to tend to his ward, including setting up an entire section of his laboratory specifically for Ultra Magnus. In turn, Magnus was as happy as could be in a safe, controlled, and calm environment. He thrived in the stable comfort Shockwave provided and was content to remain quiet as the scientist kept careful tabs on what he needed and when. There was never a moment when Magnus wanted for anything, and in the odd instance where something set him off, Shockwave was there to hold him as he worked, waiting until Magnus calmed. Emotionally Shockwave was not particularly invested, but with Magnus's mental state, that seemed to be for the best for both of them.

Ratchet was an interesting case in that he REFUSED to be cared for by anyone. He was... odd to say the least. Being the most developed out of all the sparklings, he could easily toddle and was capable of managing basic words. What he said was concerning more often than not. He seemed to know things he really shouldn't, especially regarding death and medicine. In the end, Megatron himself ended up snatching up the former medic and becoming his overseer more so than a Sire. Ratchet had no interest in forming any real parental bonds, but he was more than accepting of tutelage despite his relative youth. That suited Megatron just fine as often he would allow Ratchet to roam with a Vehicon as an escort. In turn, Ratchet would visit with almost every one of his former compatriots and hang around with Megatron's inner circle, watching and learning without complaint.

The only times he made a fuss where when Megatron was eventually forced to come grab him from wherever he was hiding out and take him to his crib. Ratchet was NEVER pleased with that development. He got his energon from those his visited, and his assigned Vehicons tended to him when he required aid. He had no interest in being put to bed against his wishes, even if he was not exactly sure why. Once he had Ratchet secured, Megatron would fulfill his one vaguely parental task of the cycle and tuck the sparkling in, answering several questions and reading Ratchet a book of his choice before bidding him a good recharge cycle and leaving. Ratchet was a strange and oddly mature sparkling, one constantly hounding his fellows to ensure they were well. And despite the hatred Megatron once held to the former medic, he came to appreciate Ratchet's willingness to learn and was more than happy to give him classes necessary for a future leader. Ratchet didn't seem all that enthusiastic about leadership, but he took the lessons without complaint.

All the sparklings settled into some sort of situation, that is all save for Optimus and Bumblebee. Their situation was.... unique in the extreme. Before their reforging, Optimus and Bumblebee were bound as Father and Son. The Matrix, in its infinite wisdom saw this fact, and not wishing to destroy those bonds, came up with a fantastic solution. It simply... didn't give Bumblebee a proper frame. Optimus emerged from the Cybermatter screaming and ready to wage war despite being the size of Megatron's servo. But that was not the strange part about his and Bumblebee's situation. No, it was the fact that when examinations were run, it was revealed that Bumblebee's spark shared a chamber with Optimus's. Through some strange means, he yet lived, but was not yet truly developed. Optimus carried his sparkling within him alongside the resized Matrix, and based on the scans, it seemed that once Optimus was large enough, the Prime was going to likely go through the oddity that was budding.

That took almost everyone by surprise. Budding was not... unheard of. However it was so rare as to be little more than a fairy tale. Often it was the result of a set of spark twins forged from a hotspot not developing with enough protoform for both of them to have frames. In those instances, whichever sibling developed would eventually bulk up until there was enough protoform to break off and produce a frame for their sibling. Even in those extraordinarily rare cases, modern technology meant that it was often easier to artificially produce a protoform for the twin without a frame. With that in mind, there was discussion of having that done to Bumblebee, however a shriek of outrage from Optimus and a good look at the adult sized protoforms on board that that idea flying out the window. Not to mention Optimus's Sire coding was still active despite his youthful body, meaning that any attempt to take what he saw as HIS would end horribly. Bumblebee would be left alone, at least until Cybertron was stabilized.

Bumblebee's spark appeared healthy enough once they could strap the half feral Prime down long enough to get a solid look at his spark chamber. The gold and white mote of light spun happily around its far larger counterpart, pulsating as it swirled like a nebula. Optimus for his part was fiercely protective, and once released and given time to calm himself around his companions, he too revealed his oddities. Much like Ratchet, he seemed to know a bit too much and had little desire to seek out a parental unit. During the trip to Cybertron he largely avoided everyone and wandered the Nemesis, only remaining with his former comrades to receive fuel and check on them. Often he fell into recharge in dark corners, unwilling to settle down anywhere due to his parental desires. Thankfully for Knockout and Starscream's mental health, Soundwave, through bribery with energon goodies and respectful interaction, managed to acquire Optimus's trust.

While most certainly odd, Soundwave found himself with the young Prime as his ward. Optimus was perfectly content to remain quiet, muttering to himself and to the unframed spark within him as he followed Soundwave and watched. He was not a nuisance, and so the spymaster had no issue teaching the young Prime his craft and caring for him as required. Theirs was a strange relationship, one that never fully stepped into mentorship or a familial tie. They simply existed and assisted the other as much as possible. But of course their care for each other was quite clear when Soundwave would silently stalk the halls with Optimus clinging to one of his cables as he hurried to keep up.

They were processor ache inducing menaces at times, especially when Ratchet and Optimus managed to meet and be creepy together or when Wheeljack managed to get Ultra Magnus into a tizzy, but they were the former Autobots were Decepticon wards now. Most of the caretakers involved in tending to them would have it no other way, especially once the startling realization that they still required the Allspark to fully repair their world hit them all in the helms. That left them two choices.

One: Wait until Optimus was old enough to guide them to it.

Two: Try to focus on rebuilding Cybertron until Shockwave could find a way to locate it.

Either option involved time and a great deal of sparkling rearing in the meantime.

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daydreamsandafternoonteafics · 4 months ago

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You Know I'm Always Coming Back To This Place

Hi, hello, hey- I don't even know where to begin because I never genuinely thought I'd be back here.

Some of you may know me as CrumpetsAndTea or Daydreamsandafternoontea or maybe you don't remember any of my handles and just vaguely remember my stories: Let's Pretend It's Love, the quirky, fake-dating AU featuring a mildly-misanthropic cat and Netflix loving MC who convinces Harry to be her fake boyfriend in preparation for her sister's wedding or Crossroads, the angsty, pregnancy AU that centers around the misunderstood and isolated catering company-owning MC's tumultuous marriage to an emotionally unavailable, workaholic Harry with an unexpected pregnancy as the last possible lifeline for their union.

If any of that rings a bell to you, you've probably noticed my fics dropped off the face of this website, along with my blog and really most of the original Tumblr 1D fanfic community, which reached its peak somewhere between 2015 and 2019.

Writing has always been a passion of mine and something I've loved to do since I was nine years old. Fanfic gave me an outlet to create my own little impossible worlds where my teenage obsession was the star. Little daydreams I kept hidden in my thoughts could be brought to life in this virtual space and to say that it changed my life would be an understatement. Looking back at it all now, it's crazy to think what a major part 1D fanfiction played in shaping the brain chemistry of a certain age group. You really just had to be there for it all.

If we're being totally honest, I started writing 1D fanfic a bit late. The band was already on the decline and near hiatus by the time my fics gained any traction but our community here on Tumblr still managed to ride the rollercoaster out well beyond its peak.

You may wonder why I deleted my original blog and fics, and the answer is fairly short and simple but also completely complicated: life. I juggled finishing college and a major chronic illness along with the dreaded existential confusion of adult life while crafting these stories and then of course the major fandom burnout crept up.

Those joyful carefree days with unlimited free time to write were replaced with stress and sickness and I'd forgotten what it was like to be passionate about something. Dealing with the separation of 1D as a group and the boys' subsequent solo careers was also a somewhat difficult concept to grasp. I am glad that they have/had the freedom to pursue music they are most passionate about but there was a ton of toxicity that arose with the division of acts.

The "family" that I once thought of the 1D fandom as was now a mess of divided houses with a particular group putting down the other boys to uplift one as the most superior. I've always been a Harry girl by nature. He was the boy in the group that stood out the most to me. I fell for his gorgeous green eyes, adorable dimples, and offbeat sense of humor. The songs he put his pen to spoke to me the most(even without knowing he wrote them), His raspy baritone was one of the most unique voices I'd ever heard and we shared a love of the same type of music.

Being a just Harry girl felt right. Until it didn't.

I found myself feeling very uncomfortable amongst this new group of "harries" that was emerging with the debut of his solo career. This group consisted of some of us OG 1D stans who were crazy about Harry from the start but the loudest voices were those who never cared about 1D at all and used Harry's success to insult and talk down on the other boys.

Some will probably say I'm being nit-picky or overly sensitive but the vitrol coming from harries was awful. As a Black POC fan, I especially found myself feeling uncomfortable and sometimes unsafe reading some of the racist remarks made about Zayn or the white fans who called black harries "annoying" and "whinny" for attempting to get H to aknowledge the BLM movement.

All of this never really gave me the opportunity to adjust to or even enjoy Harry's solo roll out and I found myself even looking at him funny for the way that his fans were acting. (Not that his fans are a reflection of Harry but a toxic fandom can certainly turn a fan or casual listener off with no wrong doing on the actually artist's part). Interacting with the fandom wasn't fun anymore, it was anxiety inducing and left me feeling awful everytime.

I got seriously ill right before the release of Fine Line and exhausted with everything, I decided to pull the plug on all Harry-related fandom. I couldn't even bring myself to write fics anymore. It was quite the adjustment but I've found that not religiously keeping up with him and the fandom has been better for my mental health. Maybe the Harry fandom has changed(I seriously hope it has) but that unfortunately was my experience.

So why am I back? Well, I think we all know the answer.

Trying to process Liam's death has been difficul and surreal. I don't think any celebrity death has or will ever affect me in this way. There's been a bunch of incredibly insensitive think pieces about his passing and how fans are processing everything. Surely I didn't know Liam personally but having lost a brother at a very young age, I do have a perspecivtive of the pain his family is feeling at the moment which adds a different level to the grief I feel as a fan. However, I think what hits me the hardest is now having all the warm, fuzzy memories of enjoying 1D will now be bittersweet and soiled with the reality that Liam is no longer with us.

There's so much that's been lost here: a son, father, brother, boyfriend, friend bandmate ect and also the fact that 1D will never exist as a full unit anymore. There's the loss of my youth, knowing I'm ten years older than the 18 year old girl who swore I would never get over those five boys.

It's a bittersweet reality to realzie that dispite adult life jading my optimisim, One Direction was never too far from my heart and mind. I still feel the imense joy listening to their music or watching their interviews I felt all those years ago. I still feel that magical spark when reminising about my years stanning the band and the inner teenager in me wants to hold onto every bit I can.

I'm sure I'm not the only 1D stan in that place right now so I decided to bring back my fics for all who enjoyed them. With the recent events and nostalgia, I also find myself coming up with new ideas but I can't promise any active fic writing at the moment. I just don't think I have the time. I will however pick "Crossroads" back up. I think that was some of my best writing and I still thought about that fic years after abandoning it.

I think there's still time for me to fall back in love with Harry but for now, I'll mostly be preserving this space for the nostalgia of 1D. If any of you were writers from this era of 1D fanfic or read some of my fics, I do hope you'll stop by and say hello. I'd love to catch up with some of you all and see how you're doing.

#1d #one direction #1d fanfiction #harry styles #niall horan #louis tomlinson #liam payne #rip liam payne #zayn malik #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles oneshot #one direction fanfiction

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dickgraysonfr · 22 days ago

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Dear Officer Grayson,

I'm just a regular citizen of Bludhaven, someone you've probably passed on the street a hundred times without noticing. That's okay though, because I've noticed you, and so have countless others in this city that too often feels forgotten by the rest of the world.

I remember when you first arrived in Bludhaven. The city was different then—darker, more dangerous, more hopeless. We'd grown accustomed to looking over our shoulders, to hurrying home before sunset, to the knowledge that help wasn't coming if trouble found us. That's just how it was in Bludhaven.

Then you showed up at the BPD, this bright-eyed cop from Gotham (of all places!) with a smile that seemed too genuine to last in a place like this. We all thought the same thing: "Poor kid. This city will crush him like it crushes everyone." How wrong we were.

I don't know what makes you different, Officer Grayson. Maybe it's your background—rumors say you were from the circus before becoming a cop, which would explain your incredible ability to connect with people from all walks of life. Maybe it's just who you are at your core. But you patrol these streets like someone who believes in second chances, someone who sees the good in people even when they can't see it in themselves.

Last winter, during that terrible blizzard when the power was out across half the city, I saw you helping elderly residents get to the emergency shelter. You weren't just escorting them—you were carrying their bags, learning their names, making them laugh despite everything. You stayed long after your shift ended. You brought those little hand-warmer packets from your own supplies and distributed them to the children. You treated everyone with dignity.

That's what makes you special in this city of hard edges and broken promises. You remember that we're people, not just case numbers or statistics.

I've seen you break up fights without drawing your weapon. I've watched you talk down people in crisis when other officers might have escalated. I've noticed how you remember people's names—even the unhoused folks that society has largely forgotten. You brought Mrs. Ramirez's cat down from that telephone pole on 4th Street when no one else would help. You coach at the youth center on your days off.

Just last month, when those apartment buildings caught fire in the East End, witnesses said you ran back inside three times after everyone thought all survivors had been evacuated. You found that little girl hiding in her closet, terrified of the smoke but even more afraid to come out. You carried her through the flames wrapped in your own jacket.

Bludhaven has its share of heroes these days—vigilantes and masked figures swinging from the rooftops. They have their place, I suppose. But you, Officer Grayson, you walk among us daily. You show up. You do the work without needing applause or recognition. You represent what's possible when someone truly cares.

I don't know if you realize the impact you've had. How many young people in this city look up to you. How many community members feel safer knowing you're on patrol. How many of us have found reason to hope again because of your example.

In a city that too often feels like it's been abandoned, you remind us that we matter. That Bludhaven matters. That kindness isn't weakness—it's the greatest strength of all.

So thank you, Officer Grayson. For your service, yes, but more importantly, for your humanity. For showing us all that even in Bludhaven, especially in Bludhaven, there can be light.

With deepest gratitude,

A Bludhaven Citizen

Oh my god you left me speechless there. I didn't think anyone would pay so much attention to it and that my work would be noticed. I try to bring goodness to everyone, so that they don't be afraid and know that everything will be fine. So that they could have hope at least for a moment.

I may sacrifice a lot to protect the residents of this city, but now I know that my efforts are not in vain. Thank you for these words and for noticing it. I really didn't expect that.

#dick grayson #dick grayson rp #dcu #dc rp #batfam #dc comics

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doctorweebmd · 2 months ago

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so. i've been reflecting a lot about the existential grief people go through as they face the fact they're dying. the ones that i've been thinking about recently are the desire to 'leave a legacy' and to 'not be forgotten.'

it rings true to what i feared as a suicidal teenager. i was terrified of having no impact on the world. of existing for 'no reason.' of being forgotten when i'm gone. the idea of not mattering to anyone was even more painful than the sadness and grief within. its not an uncommon sentiment. people want to believe there are silent lovers in this world. that they matter more than they think they do. that if they disappeared, a myriad of people would emerge, saying 'i wish i was kinder to them' or 'i loved them all along and never said anything' or 'they changed my life for the better.'

this does not disappear with age. for adults, this often shows up in having children, grandchildren, a 'biological' legacy. of having their names live on in posterity. of writing a memoir or publishing art or getting their name on something that's been donated - of leaving a piece of their soul on this planet when their body passes. people want to be remembered. they want to matter.

this has changed for me over the years. why that is, i'm not quite sure. it could be from what i do for a living and the desensitization to dying. it could be from being assured in the love i have in my life and assured in who i am. it could be in the acceptance that i am just a human being that will likely never change the world, but hopefully i can put a little more kindness into it, and thats more than enough for me. and i want to be forgotten. i dont want the people that i love grieving me. i dont want to be a ghost haunting any joy they might find after my death. or to feel any guilt regarding me before or after death. like. if i'm dying let me die. pull every plug in the hospital room and turn off the lights. leave my ashes in the kiln throw them in the garbage i do not CAREEE. move on. i love you and all I want is for you to be happy. with or without me. that is ITTT.

#death tw #probably #part of me has been thinking about this because who could i trust to be my medical power of attorney #because i love my mom and my husband but neither of them i think could make level-headed decisions if i was dying #even though both of them are very much aware of my wishes. grief is a powerful thing #i guess it used to scare me that im insignificant #but now its also comforting. like. its okay to be insignificant.#i do not have to change the world for my life to matter #as long as i find happiness and help those that i can and be kind #that is a life worth living for me. it doesn't have to be more grand than that #anyway! i bet if/when i actually AM dying i will feel different #facing your own mortality can reveal things to yourself that you didn't even realize #so i'll let you know tumblr.com if/when this changes as i'm posting from my deathbed

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team7-headquarter · 1 year ago

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Naruto Classic is so fucking good and critical and it never meant to hide how wrong was the system or how awful was Hiruzen's view of politics.

I've just reached the introductory speech Hiruzen gave before starting the preliminary fights for the third stage of the Chuning Exams. Hiruzen starts by clarifying the truth about the Chuning Exams: it's not about friendship or goodness of the heart, but rather “a war-in-miniature between all the allied shinobi lands”.

It flew over my head when I first read it as a child.

At the moment, after years of conflict fighting over land and resources, the nations who were geographically close to each other decided to make an alliance and create a stage where they could show off their strength and challenge the other villages, without so much death. Hiruzen calls their alliance “temporary” and said that the Chuning Exams were a better way, compared to the old conflicts between territories.

To which Naruto responds that it is the stupidest thing he has ever heard, naturally.

There's something about the way the jonins stand in the background, something about how you can almost feel the memories of the last big shinobi war. To avoid another war, to avoid anything like that, those lands decided to replicate the violence through the Chuning Exams. Quoting Hiruzen:

“... It serves as an arena wherein, for the honor of their respective homelands... Young shinobi may fight... To death, if need be!”

The war never went away, it just became a sort of exclusive event.

My favorite part is that almost all the kids of the Konoha 12 decided to question the true purpose of the Chuning Exams. You got Tenten and Ino and Sakura and Kiba and Naruto boldly facing the Hokage on it, while others acted surprised or just endured it. Suddenly, there's no more fairytale or romantic side to the shinobi life. You are a tool, a weapon expected to die for your land, and if you are not strong enough you are a disgrace that is gonna be forgotten to die somewhere and if you are strong enough you're gonna be sent to die at the battlefield...

They even invite the rich and powerful and the most influential to watch the examinations, so they can decide what Hidden Village they should commission for their missions. They are indeed selling a product: their ability to kill if necessary.

Hiruzen's speech makes me sick. It is imperialism taken to the extreme of a mercenary ruled world.

Here's the transcription of the following passage because holy shit:

Hiruzen — and when one land is strong in battle and the village coffers overflow with the fruits of the many outside commissions this begets, then that village may say to its neighbors, "beware, for we possess prowess and riches and the influence of political power!"

Kiba — So?! Why is it necessary to stake our lives and fight... ?!

Iruka — ...

Hiruzen — The strength of a country is derived from the strength of its village and the village draws strength from the shinobi who live there and the greatest strength of those shinobi only emerges in the midst of a desperate life and death battle!

Now it makes sense why Orochimaru and Jiraiya pushed Sasuke and Naruto to the brink of death so they could "unlock" their hidden strength. It's the way Hiruzen thought, the way he probably taught them. Tsunade at least was gentler with Sakura, even if she broke most of her bones and was strict as the rest of her team.

Another Hiruzen quote, so it can fully hit the tone of his opinions:

“As you struggle for the sake of your very lives and your people, you help to fulfill the dream that was envisioned by your ancestors.”

Mind you, Hashirama dreamed of a world where kids didn't have to fight and get killed. That year, Hiruzen allowed 12 genin kids to participate in the fights, just because their instructors told him they were ready--- in retrospect, the Chuning Exams were a tragedy waiting to happen.

“To preserve the balance of power at the risk of lives is the essence of the friendship in the world of shinobi”l

At some point he tells the kids they are taking not an ordinary test and I think that he would finally tell them they should retire if they value their lives or something like that. All the other jounins tried their best to scare them away, okay? However, he was talking about how they could risk the dignity and prestige of their villages.

I've never been more thankful for the way Gaara told him to shut up and go on with the exam.

Those panels are a masterpiece. They make it very clear that there's nothing romantic about the shinobi system as Hiruzen conceived it. All those "peaceful years" were superficial and consisted of some of the worst crimes ever committed like a massacre, human experimentation, making the children fight to preserve the power balance, etc. they were a lie, one that explains many things.

Tsunade sending a team of rookies after Sasuke doesn't sound so crazy with this in mind.

It's just natural for the jonins. That's the world they grew up in, the one they learned how to move through. But the kids??????

The Konoha 12 was already revolutionary in their thinking regarding the system. You can see in their eyes how they refuse to accommodate such standards, how they plan to change it all.

#naruto #naruto classic #anti hiruzen

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akechi-stole-my-heart · 3 months ago

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Hi I’m back I love ur answers…

What are your general headcanons for Akiren and Akechi, both as individual characters and as a relationship? If you have any ofc. If you don’t then what are your favorite p5 AUs…

-💫

I'm gonna be real w you I totally do have headcanons but I'm so bad at listing them. Someone asks what my headcanons are and my brain does an emergency sweep and ctrl alt deletes all of them. So I'm gonna list the AUs first cause I do have so many of those and then see if my brain will be willing to offer me anything once I've gotten started talking about them.

First of all we have my big murder boyfriends au aka accomplice au that eventually turns into a swap au. I was in the middle of doing an ask game about it years ago when suddenly my brain did an ADHD and I never posted about it again. 😔 I have it all written down somewhere so I totally could finish the ask game but will I? Will I.......

I also have an Akeshu Ballerina AU, which you can read about all in one nice short post for once, it's a sweet and simple AU and also the first akeshu AU I came up with years ago haha.

I have my gorobot au, which is my most recent AU, and I even have a tiny bit of art for it. Gorobot AU my beloved...most of my AUs will never be written since there's just far too many of them, but I really wanna write something for this one someday.

I have my Akeshu Perform Wicked AU which you can read over on bluesky, it's mostly a silly crack thing but I love it so much nonetheless.

Princess Bride AU!! I love Buttercup Akechi and genderswap akeshu pls read the Princess Bride book it's so delightful

Amnesia Akechi AU. Inspired by a fic I read once that was good but I felt the concept had a lot of untapped potential. There are so many amazing things you can explore with an Akechi who has memory loss...the Actualized!Akechi coding, his already severe identity issues, his need for agency but intense self hatred, Akira wanting to protect him but also missing the original Akechi and loving every side of him, the way Akechi would absolutely believe he's not really himself without his memories...it could be So Good why are there not more fics like this y'all are sleeping

I think I would be a failure as a writer if I didn't shill for my Akechi Palace AU, since that's my main wip rn and basically my big Akechi magnum opus. Or it will be. Someday. Pls read it I prommy you'll like it it's everything to me

ok there are probably more I have forgotten tbh I'm obsessed with creating AUs and I have many more AUs that focus on Akechi or Royal Trio but these are the Akeshu AUs I'm able to remember at the moment. with that said let's attempt to list some headcanons

- neither Akira nor Akechi are morning people, Akira was forced to become one by Morgana but he always sleeps in like crazy on weekends (this fact is canon) and would stay up until the wee hours of the morning if it weren't for Morgana's pestering. Akechi has conditioned himself into a morning person because he had no choice with that schedule of his but if you attempt to converse with him before he's had his coffee your life WILL be in danger. future akeshu who have jobs that accommodate their schedules sleeping well into the morning and cuddling in bed until noon <3

- Akira comes from a relatively well off family that's popular in the small town he's from, which is part of why his arrest was such a big scandal, the kid of the Kurusu's is a criminal?? huge big deal to everyone in the city. his parents were always pretty neglectful and only cared about him on the level of his performance at school and as maintaining his reputation as a Good Kurusu. He's an only child. He had lots of "friends" who hung around him because of his status as a Kurusu but he never got close to anyone before moving to Tokyo and felt lonely. Basically, his backstory is almost the exact opposite of Akechi's--privileged and popular. But ultimately still alone.

- Chef Akira and Baker Goro

- I know I use "akeshu" almost exclusively but they're actually switches lmao. I don't really care about sexual dynamics (very ace) but that's kind of their whole thing. being equals and challenging each other and shit. so yeah, absolutely they are switches

I tried so hard to think of a fifth headcanon but man I am SO bad at this. if you wanna know my headcanons truly the best way to find out is to just read my fics I'm gonna be real, that's where you'll find most of them (pspspsps read my palace au)

#sera answers #💫 anon #akeshu #shuake

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thetormentita · 7 months ago

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all it needs it’s a spark - chapter 1

The Seven Kingdoms thought Robert Baratheon brought peace after the war, but reality can sometimes be tricky.

Pairing: Original female! Marbrand x Jaime Lannister

A/n: indulge me, let’s see how things would have been with a young lady Marbrand around the lions.

Rating: Teen (+13)

When she opens her eyes, the first thing her eyes can see is the same chariot she has been inside for days.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

A sigh escapes her lips. She has been trapped with him since the beginning of their journey.

“How can you read that much in this damned box?” she mumbles, frowning, as she stretches out her stiff limbs. The space inside the chariot is cramped, with books and scrolls scattered everywhere, making it even more claustrophobic.

“Wisdom is the only pleasure I can indulge myself right now without feeling guity, my sweet good sister.”

From behind the big book, Tyrion Lannister looks even smaller —his eyes twinkling with mirth and intelligence. He marks his place with a thin strip of leather, closes the tome with a soft thud, and maneuvers his way towards her, navigating through the clutter with the grace of a cat.

“Let me guess: you are pregnant.”

Dyanna looks at him with a raised eyebrow, almost surprised by his bluntness despite knowing him during half of her life.

“What? No!” She laughs, the sound light and airy, dispersing the tension that had started to build. “You truly have a unique way of starting a conversation, don’t you?”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting, matching the twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose I do. But then, I've always believed life’s too short for small talk.” His grin widens as he steps closer, the clutter of the room now a forgotten backdrop to their conversation. “And with you,” he continues, “I’ve always felt like we could talk about anything and everything. No barriers, no pretenses.”

She looks at him sideways with a soft smile before turning her eyes again to observe the fields stretching over them as they make their way towards their destination. She could have easily gone riding all the Goldroad next to her brother, her husband, or even the man next to her, but they all thought the Lady of the Rock should make the trip in the most comfortable way: in a wooden box with wheels.

“It has been years since the last time I went to King’s Landing” she sighs, trying to ease her temper. “The capital has its charms, I suppose, but nothing that truly calls to me like the Westerlands,” she continues, her gaze still fixed on the passing landscape outside the carriage window. “It is corrupted. It stenches dozens of miles around.”

Indeed it does. The infamous smell of the city is one of its most known aspects, with dozens of septas and septons claiming that sin and depravation are the responsibles for it.

“It has its beauty, though, doesn’t it?” Tyrion ventures, attempting to steer her thoughts to a brighter side. “The Red Keep, the Great Sept of Baelor, the harbor. There’s a vibrancy to it that you cannot find anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Dyanna turns to her husband’s brother with the same eyebrow raised again as an answer to his words; she would have gladly added a mention to its brothels, one of Tyrion’s favourite pasttimes, but it feels unnecessary.

“I am glad Gerion and Jeyne have stayed at home” she mumbles, her hazel eyes returning to the view from the carriage window, watching as the landscape gradually changes, subtlely, like announcing the proximity to the biggest city of the Seven Kingdoms. The capital's distinctive features slowly began to emerge on the horizon, the Red Keep towering over the other structures, a testament to the power and might of the Iron Throne and those who sit upon it.

Tyrion just hums and lays his hand upon her forearm, offering a silent gesture of reassurance; he knows well how much she cares for her children. She gives him a small, appreciative smile before turning her attention back to the window.

As soon as they stop by the Lion’s Gate, the door of the box is opened and at the other side awaits the reason of their uncommon friendship. With an offering hand, her husband offers to help her reach the ground, even daring to put his hands around her waist to make her avoid a half-dried puddle. She has always liked the feeling of his touch over her.

“Hope you had a nice trip” he mumbles, kissing her hairline softly before stepping back to allow her some space. The gesture, simple yet intimate, makes her heart flutter slightly, a reminder of the deep affection they share beyond the bounds of their longstanding marriage. The connection between them is palpable, a silent language of shared glances and subtle touches that communicates more than words ever could.

“I would have preferred to breathe fresh air, but your brother is a good company.” She manages a small smile, her eyes locking with his for a brief moment, conveying a mix of sarcasm and genuine fondness.

They had married young, almost with too much haste, but they managed to grow together, navigating the complexities of life side by side. One of the most desirable maidens during the Tourney of Harrenhal, her father, drove by greed, had rushed to search a potential husband for his only daughter in order to restore his house’s glory, but she was forced to stay at Ashemark during the war, only to have her dreams to be lady at places like Estermont, Storm’s End, Winterfell or Sunspear shattered with the news that she would marry the once Kingsguard Jaime Lannister, the youth that had preferred to murder his own king in order to save the entire population of King’s Landing.

“You look tired” his hand reaches out, brushing a lock of hair from her face with a gentleness she had not anticipated from the man known as Kingslayer.

“I just need some air, I am well” she attempts a smile, though it's brittle around the edges. “At our return, you will be the one to make the travel in that wooden cage, my love.” she retorts, attempting to inject a bit of humor into their heavy conversation. Jaime's lips twitch into a small, understanding smile, recognizing her effort to lighten the mood.

Dyanna Marbrand had grown to be the nice and pliant lady expected of her, quickly giving birth to the most treasured boy in the Westerlands, a blonde little beauty that had quickly become the pride of their house, the focus of his grandfather’s ambitions, and the center of Jaime's world. Her Gerold had inherited the stength of his father, but the wits of his mother, and Tywin Lannister, the richest man in the Seven Kingdoms, had seen great potential in him from the start. The boy was more than just a grandson to Tywin; he was a legacy, a continuation of the Lannister line, and his mere presence had granted Dyanna a space in the lion’s heart.

Husband and wife silently decide to go for a small walk around, still with enough time and without any haste in them. With a hand delicately on his arm, Dyanna observes around, finding a small glimpse of delight in the fields and nature around the big city, knowing that it would be moons until they get the chance to see something similar again. As they walk, the cool breeze of the late afternoon brushes against their cheeks, a soft reminder of the world's quiet beauty outside the stone walls and political machinations that usually surround them. The city, with all its hustle and bustle, feels miles away even though it's just behind the hill, its noises drowned out by the chirping of the birds and the rustling of leaves underfoot.

By the corner of her eye, Dyanna can spot her lord husband observing her, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

“You seem quiet.” her eyes go to the horizon, to the hills separating them from the mouth of the Blackwater River, where it meets the Narrow sea.

“Just taking it all in,” Dyanna replies, her gaze lingering on the serene view before them. “I wonder what will your father have in mind to ask for us to travel here.”

Her husband approaches, the grass whispering under his steps, his presence a comforting shadow beside her. “Father has always been one to surprise,” he muses , his eyes mirroring the same warmth she feels. “Whatever is it, you can count on me to stand by your side through it all,” he continues, taking her hand in his, an unspoken promise woven through his words.

Sometimes, specially when Jaime had to be far from home, she liked to have a drink with Tyrion by the fire, both letting themselves go and talking about any subject at their reach, no matter if it is about a book, money, gossip, or even politics. ‘You are the daughter my father always wanted’, he had told her once during one of those nights, his voice carrying a mixture of jest and sincerity that only Tyrion could manage. Dyanna laughed it off, but the words stuck with her, echoing in the quieter moments when she found herself alone.

“I am most thankful” she even leans her head over his shoulder, feeling the warmth from the Westerlander. “Maybe it can be nice to be back after all…” she muses, closing her eyes for a moment to savor the comfort of his presence. It was rare for Dyanna to let her guard down, to allow herself to feel the safety and warmth that came from being close to someone she trusted. Jaime notices the shift in her, the subtle relaxation of her shoulders, the gentle ease of her breathing. It is a moment of vulnerability that she seldom shows to anyone outside their private chambers. A strong hand slides over her own, intertwining fingers in a silent promise of solidarity and support. Jaime's gesture is simple yet profound, a testament to the depth of their connection and the unspoken understanding that has grown between them over time.

Hooves and clatter against the cobblestone of the road call their attention, making the couple turn to the road again, only to see a guard of forty Lannister guards coming from the other side of the gate, approaching them with a sense of urgency and formality. At their lead is a figure recognizable even from a distance —Lord Tywin Lannister himself, his expression unreadable as always, but his eyes scanning the surroundings with a sharp, tactical awareness. The couple, unsure of how to react, instinctively step closer to each other, their hands finding each other's in a silent sign of mutual support as they approach the chariot again, not wanting to make the Golden Lion wait for them.

“My lord” despite the years passed since their wedding, Dyanna still bows like she always did at the father of her husband as he climbs down the horse, approaching them with a measured stride, his presence commanding yet not devoid of warmth. Lord Tywin, the Golden Lion of Casterly Rock, had always been a figure of authority and respect, embodying the very essence of House Lannister’s motto, ‘Hear Me Roar.’ His steely gaze softenes slightly as he regards his daughter-in-law, a testament to the years that had woven respect, if not affection, between them.

“Dyanna,” he greets, his voice deep and steady, reflecting the control and poise that has always defined his reign over the Westerlands, but with a spark on his eyes only kept for her. “You look well.”

Dyanna, standing with the quiet confidence that had slowly become her armor in the lion's den, dips her head in respect, her eyes flickering with the same spark of determination and intelligence that had first drawn his attention years ago.

“Jaime takes well care of me” she looks at her husband with a fondness that softens her features, her hand brushing over his, a gesture so natural and filled with affection it could melt the coldest of hearts.

A soft hum escapes Tywin’s lips as he takes them to meet again with the group, exchanging words with his first-born son, letting Dyanna have some little time to reflect on her thoughts before she has to face the last part of the travel inside the chariot once more.

A grim before coming into again.

“He is cruel” she mutters once the door is closed, wrinkling her nose as her eyes drift to the inside, Tyrion gazing back at her from a comfortable corner, his eyes closed.

“Yet I still have to call him ‘father’ and he has to call me ‘son’.” he shrugs his shoulders, a look of resignation washing over his features. Dyanna can’t help but notice the blend of sadness and acceptance in Tyrion's eyes, a testament to the failed relationship he shares with his father. Tywin blames him for murdering the good lady Joanna at birth, when a fever took her to the Strange at her weakest moment.

“If it helps, he could take my father’s hand and go frolicking down a hill both of them” Dyanna offers, attempting to lighten the mood with a touch of humor. Lord Damon Marbrand never acted as a proper father with any of his children.

Tyrion cackles, and Dyanna feels a small victory in eliciting such a genuine response from him. The air between them shifts, becoming slightly lighter despite the heavy shadows that linger from their conversation.

"That would truly be a sight to behold," Tyrion replies, his usual wit finding its way back into his voice.

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and as she turns to look through the window again, her eyes can spot the change of views outside.

Both of them observe their surroundings, with Dyanna almost missing the nature around them. As the party approaches the Guildhall of the Alchemists, the atmosphere grows denser, a mix of awe and slight trepidation settling over them. The Guildhall, an imposing structure of dark stone and intricate silverfiligree, stands against the skyline like a monument to ancient knowledge. Its spires reach up, clawing at the heavens, while the heavy wooden doors appear almost foreboding, etched with symbols that shimmer slightly in the dim light, suggesting a magic that is both ancient and alive.

“Do you think they still have the Mad King’s wildfire stash?”

Both of then had lived the Rebellion from the outside, from stories clearly manipulated to show only Robert Baratheon’s truth, the good side of the fight against the cruel dragons they both supported then and still do. In that truth, the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen's obsession with wildfire was a darkly whispered legend. The tales spoke of caches hidden throughout King’s Landing, ready to burn all the city in case the rebels reached it.

“We must may them a visit.”

When the allmighty Red Keep looms by the windows as they go up Aegon’s Hill, Tyrion and Dyanna go silent, both trying to assume their oncoming future, with no clear date to leave that humongous prison. The Red Keep, a fortress of immense power and history, stands as a testament to the Targaryen dynasty's once unbreakable rule over the Seven Kingdoms, a showcase for their strength, for their try to make themselves as worthy of land as the ancient houses whose seats were centuries old.

Despite not initially liking it, Dyanna finds herself preferring Casterly Rock over the ancient seat of the now disappeared dragonlords, a feeling of unsteadiness gnawing at her whenever she thinks of it.

“Please, do tell me we will still have our nightly conversations.”

Tyrion’s mutter surprises her. At least she is not the only one who feels uneasy.

“Well, we will have to see if your brother—”

“Oh, my sweet good sister” the chariot stops and both cross their gazes for the last time before leaving their fake feeling of safety behind, “my brother will surely have other things in mind.”

#all it needs it’s a spark #ainias1 #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfic #a song of ice and fire fic #jaime lannister x oc #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfic #got fic #got x oc #asoiaf x oc

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