#they are the moment. in the year of good lord 2023

[luxraydyne]

gladnis fiends are sooooo big brained honestly. SO big brained fr.

[jakeperalta]

not to bring up the taylor discourse again but I think it's an extremely shitty take for non-fans to respond to fans saying "yeah I'm disappointed and do not condone this and it sucks" by being like "well ACTUALLY she's always been a horrible bitch and her fans are all just too ignorant to see it and it's their own faults for being a fan of someone so awful" like ok congratulations! good for you for never having enjoyed a single problematic thing in your life! but you're annoying and I hate you

[biceratops7]

Here's a neat detail:

Not to talk about season 1 Good Omens in the year of our Lord and Season 3 announcement 2023, but I kind of just realized another little moment that's very sweet and true to real life.

I really like that Crowley isn't just fine again after he learns Aziraphale survived the bookshop burning after all. Normally in stories when there's a "surprise, I'm alive!" moment, the characters just kind of celebrate for a minute and then move on business as usual. But Crowley doesn't. He continues to be visibly be shaken and a little unfocused throughout his conversation with Aziraphale, and when he has to explain what happened, he starts crying again.

I don't know I just thought that was a really nice detail because anyone who's experienced similar whiplash in real life knows about that... residual grief period I guess? I think this was a core memory that informed a lot of Crowley's behavior in season 2, you don't ever really forget that moment you lost them no matter how brief. There's just something very loving and vulnerable in him being like "I thought you were gone, and even though I know now you're ok, I want you to know just thinking about it upsets me deeply."

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 15: collaring with kamisato ayato from genshin impact

warnings: collaring, leash, degrading, thigh riding, cumming untouched, fluff at the end

notes: first time ever writing abt this pretty man. he’s so cocky i just wanna—

being the head of the kamisato clan is tiring. it’s boring. it’s nauseating. it’s annoying — everything and anything negative, it was the definition of being the head of the kamisato clan. but he doesn’t do it for nothing.

if it meant his little sister could live her life freely without ever having to worry about anything, if it meant his clan members and workers could sleep peacefully in the night, if it meant his only close friend, thoma could continue to be safe and protected — he would continue to be the head of the kamisato clan.

but there was another reason by he would continue to be in his position of authority. what other reason? his doting lover who would keep a tight leash on him as he pathetically humps his clothed cock on their thigh, of course.

no one would ever suspect a man like ayato to be the type to love being controlled. or collared. or even leashed for that matter but here he was. on your thigh, the soft leather material hugging his neck being a reminder that even with titles and authority, you would always be in charge.

titles, work or duties would always be thrown out the window the moment you would appear in his peripheral vision. with you, ayato didn’t needed to act all high and mighty. you were his lover of many years, you know exactly everything that goes on behind his mask of calm and collected attitude and the ever so gentle smile on his face. he thinks too much, plans ahead, takes too deeply but none of that mattered with you by his side.

with you, ayato could let loose and relax. with you, ayato could be a doting husband and not just a man with wealth and power and authority. with you, ayato could be just himself, jusg be ayato and not the head of the kamisato clan who shoulder the weight of everything.

with you, ayato could place sloppy kisses on your lips, a whine coming out when you only smile into the kiss and not kiss him back. he could clutch the fabric of your shirt tightly in his hands, humping his clothed cock into your thigh. he could take every word you said with a nod. heart shaped pupils, hazy eyes and drool covered lips wide open, gasping and begging you to help him. he could leave the leash in your hand, knowing that you would take good care of him. you always did.

“darling, will you please help me out? you’ve been away on your business trip for so long, i felt so lonely waiting for you” the young lord whines, leaning in to pepper kisses on your lips again. even with his swollen lips, he was so eager to kiss you. it was endearing in a way.

“that so? is that why you handed me this when i walked inside first without even a welcome back kiss?” you hold up the leash in your hand, tugging on it gently to pull him back for a proper kiss this time. he happily obliges, sighing into your mouth. he can make up for the forgotten ‘welcome back’ kiss later.

“missed you. missed you so much” wrapping his hands around your neck, ayato wiggles around on your lap a bit to a more comfortable position. legs spread on the sides of your own, placing sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your lips, he could barely hold back his giggle when your hands rested over his hips.

“my my, you did miss me this much. look at you, young lord. all hard and needy just when i came back home” you say his title with a certain mocking tone, knowing full well that ayato loves to have a bit of degrading in your game of pleasure and love.

but it was true. the moment he saw you walk into your shared home, letting out groans and sighs of relief of finally coming back home, he was already throwing himself at you. clinging to your form as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, taking in the familiar comforting scent of wood, honey and bonfire. it didn’t take long for you to let out a coo of affection before ayato was handing you an all too familiar leash, grinding himself on your thigh.

“s-sorry… i just missed you a lot” he whimpers, hugging you close to himself. that was how it all went. a quick hug and a coo at the hallways of your doorstep with your husband grinding his hard-on on your thigh. deciding to help him out with his hard work, you flex your leg, raising it a bit and flexing your thigh so it would be easier for him to ride himself stupid on only your thigh.

so easy to please yet so incredibly spoiled. even that didn’t seemed to be enough for him as his hands guide yours to rest over his hips. a silent plea to help him out.

chuckling with a sigh of defeat, you oblige. who wouldn’t with how he was slobbering all over you anyways? dry humping, hugging you close, taking in the familiar comforting scent of you as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. soft whines and whispers about how much he missed you, delirious moans of how much he loves you as he places open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“m-missed you… missed you a lot daaanh! guckk♡︎” before he could even finish his another moan of how much he missed you, ayato lets out a squeal, choking on his own moans as his ships still on your lap. there was a wet patch forming on his pants.

how sweet. your husband missed you so much he came untouched by just grinding his hips on you as you tug on the leash. perking up, he leans in to give you another kiss on your lips. his swollen lips hurt but he was willing to endure it for you.

a quick soft peck before he pulls back with a sweet smile. a genuine smile filled with live and affection. one that you eagerly returned with your own.

“welcome back home, darling”

“i’m home”

[pedrospatch]

to hell and back l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, i’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

word count: 8.2k (good lord I am so sorry)

a/n: not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. at least i think it is, i could be wrong lmao. this is by far one of the most challenging things i have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries. 

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment. 

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting. 

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up. 

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment. 

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” you whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away. 

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.  

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly flutter open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filters in through the ripped, white lace curtains that hang over the small, square shaped window right above your head. 

Blinking the sleep away, you prop yourself up slightly on your elbows and take a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago is tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeks—it smells damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you are certainly in no position to be a chooser right now. It’s not what you consider to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof, which is more than anyone can ask for. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you had been too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks. It’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt and using a rock as a pillow.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there’s also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent place to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell. 

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. Letting your guard down was risky. Too risky. 

You swing your legs over the side of the mattress and sit up, slipping on your pair of warm, wool socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small for you, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molds almost perfectly to your feet. You stand up and lift your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiff, sore back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You’re only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but lately, your bones snap, crackle and pop with each and every movement, making you feel twice your actual age. 

The thought of it makes you snort in amusement. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you’re still unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you make your way over to your khaki colored pack and pull out your aluminum canteen from one of the side pockets. You twist off the cap and gulp back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid makes it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbles loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of nuts and berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today. 

Maybe you’d get even luckier and spot a pheasant. It was their season, after all. 

You drink some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pull on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and pick up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers unless your aim was flawless.

Still, a bow was useful in its own right. 

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one. Simple as that. 

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” you had asked him. 

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly have ammunition for. There were ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it. 

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grab the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and leave the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. There wasn’t really anything for anyone to steal, anyway. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decide to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours. 

You step out onto the creaking, three step porch that’s so old it buckles slightly under your weight and a gentle breeze nips at your cheeks and nose. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside is fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue. 

You make a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There’s a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decide that behind it is the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pull out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You lean your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lift them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hope to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later. Otherwise you might just start gnawing at your own arm. 

Diligently, you scan your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife. 

That’s when you see it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasp softly as your sights fall upon the deer. 

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blink furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It’s not a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer, a female, and from the look of her, she has to be at least about a hundred pounds. At least.

You try to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it’s far too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper makes your mouth water. The rest of the meat could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remember you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You think about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with some of his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reach for your bow and pluck an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You’re careful to be as silent as possible as you take a few steps closer towards the unsuspecting grazing animal. You position yourself and stand perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you’re a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you don’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off, so it would have to do. Once you feel comfortable enough with your stance, you nock the arrow and set it on the string. You then hold the string and steady your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you’ve reached your anchor point, which is always the corner of your mouth. 

Breathe, you remind yourself calmly as you aim at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe.

Just as you’re about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whips her head back towards the trees and her ears prick forward—a split second later, she darts off, zooming across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing. 

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking shitting me?” you mutter under your breath.

Frustrated, you lower your weapon and just as you start to contemplate whether or not it’s even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly hear something—it isn’t until the noise draws closer to where you’re standing that you realize it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squint over in the direction of where you think it’s coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerges from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle. He holds a rifle in one hand and clutches the reins tightly in the other. 

Gasping, you whirl around on the heel of your boot and immediately make a beeline back to the boulder. You swing around the rock and crouch down, ducking out of his sight. You couldn’t be too sure if he’d seen you or not, but it doesn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washes over you and you can physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still haven’t reached for it and continue to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead. 

Swallowing dryly, you turn and carefully lift yourself up just enough so that you can glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you see a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he is on foot instead of a horse. He’s also armed, carrying a shotgun. 

“You’re mine you fucking son of a bitch!” he shouts. He lifts his weapon, aims, and then squeezes the trigger, shooting the horse in the side and bringing him down instantly. His rider goes flying off and he hits the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body had made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze. 

Your heart anxiously jumps up into your throat as you watch the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moves slowly and with no haste seeing as his helpless victim is lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man comes to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifts his shotgun once again and points the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovers over the trigger. 

Before your mind and body can even make the connection, you rise to your feet and aim your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumples, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bleeds out in less than sixty seconds.

You wait it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body finally goes limp and you are certain he’s dead. Taking a look around, you make sure the coast is clear and grab your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you make your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouch down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It makes a loud, horrid squelching sound as you remove it and blood from his jugular splatters your blue jeans. You then pick up his shotgun and check the chamber for ammunition. 

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there’s hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you carelessly drop the gun on top of his chest and move on in search of the rifle. You spot it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously make your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decide to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot. 

He groans and his head rolls to the side.

He’s still alive.

You effortlessly string the bloodied arrow in your hand and aim it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lower your bow.

Without realizing it, a little bit of your guard lowers along with it. 

Carefully, you sink down onto one knee next to the man and get a better look at him. He’s much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He has harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that is speckled with many, many grays, and wild waves of thick hair that look soft to the touch. Though some of his features are a little worse for wear due to his age, he’s still quite a handsome man from what you can see. He also appears to be in decent shape, clean and well fed, and you detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world. 

You hesitate, but then lift a slightly trembling hand and take the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turn his head towards you. 

There’s blood on his right temple and your fingers reach up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realize it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trail up even further and venture into his hair which, as it turned out, is in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You find a small gash on his scalp and your fingers become coated in the man’s blood.

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand leaves his hair and you place it on his broad chest as you begin checking him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lift the hem of the dark green thermal henley he’s wearing and you discover the scar on his temple isn’t the only one he possesses—he has several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You’re so preoccupied with inspecting the remainder of his abdomen that you don’t even notice the way one of his hands is slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man takes your hand in his so damn gently that it startles you and takes you by surprise, but it doesn’t frighten you. Weakly, he laces his fingers together with your own and he speaks again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knit together.

It almost sounds like he’s pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s referring to?

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder and you give it a violent shake. 

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You try to speak the words, but can’t. They’re formed in your mind and it feels like they are right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, they refuse to come out. You frown.

It’s happened before. 

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It felt like your voice had gotten stuck in the back of your throat. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you can speak.

You’d talk to yourself often when you were feeling lonely. You would read the books you carried in your pack out loud. Hell, you even liked to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious, or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, whenever you used your voice back in California, it only led to the harshest of punishments. 

A gunshot sounds off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shake the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It’s useless. He’s losing complete consciousness. 

You hear another gunshot and this one sounds like it’s coming from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you know, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it doesn’t really fucking matter. You don’t want to run into either one of them, regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone’s a fucking bad guy. 

Yanking your hand out of his, you get to your feet and prepare to make a run for it. But just as you’re about to take off, the man mumbles one last time. It’s incoherent and barely audible, but you manage to catch that name again. Ellie. 

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

For some reason you can’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounces around in the inside of your skull. 

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously. 

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you find yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why. He’s a stranger. He shouldn’t matter to you. 

You exhale a heavy sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gather up your belongings over your shoulder and pick up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rests comfortably against your backside. You walk around him, lean over, and hook your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you have inside of you, you start dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly can.

The pretty melody fills his ears as he comes to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller isn’t all too sure if heaven is a real place that actually exists, but the very minute he hears the feminine voice singing, he can’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’s gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that. So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung is all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairy tales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after their dinner—it would air on cable and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deal?”

Sarah would beam at him and nod eagerly. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the whimsical world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall deep into his food coma long before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.  

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops 

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words fade and the rest of the song is now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thinks.Even the humming is too fucking beautiful.

Joel feels a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything is fucking sore. 

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch to cool off would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on Mrs. Adler’s lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That’s how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head feels the worst. It’s fucking killing him. 

Joel’s eyelids twitch and he cracks them open ever so slightly, just enough that he can see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. He feels a hand at the crown of his head as the other continues to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It feels incredible against his warm skin and even sort of soothes the pain.

He lets out a small groan and the humming ceases.

Finally, he manages to force his eyes open.

Joel hears a little gasp and the bed he’s lying on squeaks and shifts. He then hears a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor. 

Although he’s still disoriented and his entire body aches with even the slightest movement, Joel manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadies itself after a minute and he glances around. He’s in a small, single room wooden cabin that has seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he sees that he’s lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He racks his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it takes him a minute, but one by one, the memories start flooding back to him. Joel had been leading mid morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembers shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off, away from the direction of their community. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was nothing but a blur.

Joel takes another look around the cabin and that’s when he sees you.

You’re on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes are wide and round, like a deer caught in the headlights. Your chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly—you remind him of a helpless, frightened animal that had been cornered by a vicious predator. You clutch the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel can see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles. 

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaces slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb. 

You don’t reply.

Joel moves onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tries again. “Are you alone?”

Silence. 

Joel takes a better look at you.

You’re young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you’re still the prettiest goddamn thing he’s seen in a long, long time. 

Joel speaks again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he’s met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raises an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna fuckin’ say somethin’ or what?”

You can only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowns.

Are you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you can’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thinks to himself.

He raises his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You wince, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could fucking hear him, alright. 

Joel swings his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He holds up his two hands, demonstrating that he has no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He tries to show some patience and gives you a minute, gives you a chance to respond, but when you say nothing, he can’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lift your free hand and hold up three trembling fingers. 

His stomach sinks. “Three days? I’ve been out for three fuckin’ days?”

You give him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel curses, hanging his head. He begins to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others? 

Did they make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashes in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold. 

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her and looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—he needed to get back to Ellie.

He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looks over at you again. 

“You all by yourself?”

You hesitate, but then nod in reply. Yes.

Joel sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing. That’s a start. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much ‘bout what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There were too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explains. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he’s in your cabin and he’s alive help him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nod again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he can’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. Skeptically, he presses, “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spill from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all of them, would go unanswered.

You look overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it’s best to take it one slow step at a time, Joel stands up and he cautiously walks over towards you. He holds out his hand. “S’alright,” he assures you in the most gentle voice he can muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refuse to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accept his hand and allow him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made. 

He releases your hand and takes a step backwards to give you your space. He isn’t too sure if you can’t talk or simply don’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guesses it’s probably the latter. 

Joel tries to think of questions he knows you’ll be able to answer without having to speak. 

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you hold up one finger. 

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You make a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He doesn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You point at him. That’s right. 

Joel is beside himself. He’s almost in awe over the fact that you’ve survived on your own for so fucking long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. Just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker. ‘Specially if your aim is shit,” Joel muses. He notices the offended expression on your face and quickly moves on. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reach behind yourself and pull out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then show him that you’re low on ammunition and don’t have any more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you step around him and walk over to a corner where his rifle is propped up against the wall. You pick it up, make your way back over to him and hand it over. 

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he utters quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes try meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really fuckin’ do.”

You shrug, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he says after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stare at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbles sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stops himself, but he’s sure you know what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snort and roll your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckles and holds up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he says. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my fuckin’ ass, you know.” He clocks the way the corners of your mouth threaten to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How ‘bout a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You hold up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pull out a large map of the state of Wyoming. It’s severely creased, as if you’ve folded and unfolded it hundreds of times. You hand it over to him and as he holds it out for you, you point to your current location. 

“Jackson’s ‘bout fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmurs as he scans the map. Suddenly, his dark brown eyes flicker over your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around, marking your skin. 

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retract your hand away from the map and tug your sleeve down back into place. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the mark, clear as fucking day. 

Joel awkwardly clears his throat and for the sake of not causing you any discomfort, he pretends he hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. He turns his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he states, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town’s gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out right now, we can make it there by nightfall—”

You back away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Look darlin’, I don’t mean to offend, but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner. If you don’t starve to death, then you’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

You glare at him and lift your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks. 

Having read your mind, Joel sighs. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shake your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned. Tortured. 

Joel observes you, and it doesn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softens. “Listen sweetheart, I ain’t all too sure ‘bout what’s happened to you,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You toss him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swears. “My brother runs it along with his wife and a small council. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips part slightly and your eyes glimmer with something that looks a lot like recognition, though Joel can’t be too sure what had prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life. 

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he lists off in an attempt to sway you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin again.

You’d heard that before.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bites back another frustrated sigh. 

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him. 

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offers as a compromise. “Hell, you can even walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel safest.”

You squint at him. Really?

“Or that bow of yours,” he adds, chuckling softly. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull—all I ask in return is that you at least make an attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip. 

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel says, taking a step closer towards you. He finds himself feeling surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he only hopes that means that, to some degree, you trust him already. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies. We’ll put you on a horse and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waits, giving you a chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sigh and reluctantly nodd your head. 

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel says, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.” 

[pratchettquotes]

A Personal Note: Celebrating 4,000 Followers*

Lord Vetinari walked out of the room and back into the main hall, with Vimes trailing behind. "However," he said, "in order to keep the peace, the golem will have to be destroyed."

"No, sir."

"Allow me to repeat my instruction."

"No, sir."

"I'm sure I just gave you an order, Commander. I distinctly felt my lips move."

"No, sir. He's alive, sir."

"He's just made out of clay, Vimes."

"Aren't we all, sir? According to them pamphlets Constable Visit keeps handing out. Anyway, he thinks he's alive, and that's good enough for me."

The Patrician waved a hand towards the stairs and his office full of paper. "Nevertheless, Commander, I've had no less than nine missives from leading religious figures declaring that he is an abomination."

"Yes, sir. I've given that viewpoint a lot of thought, sir, and reached the following conclusion: arseholes to the lot of 'em, sir."

The Patrician's hand covered his mouth for a moment. "Sir Samuel, you are a harsh negotiator. Surely you can give and take?"

"Couldn't say, sir."

Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

*A Rare Personal Note: This exchange comes after what may be one of the most famous Discworld moments of all time: the conversation where Vimes and Vetinari first discuss the age old question, "Who watches the Watch?", which becomes one of the central threads of Vimes' character progression. But the end of the conversation, which involves the fate of the newly christened Constable Dorfl, strikes me powerfully today. This marks one of the few times in canon that Vimes explicitly rejects one of Vetinari's commands on moral grounds. It also marks a rare moment when Vimes and Vetinari (who are often complex foils for each other) seem to agree on a fundamental point of morality: that a person must be treated as a person, whatever the cost, even if we do not understand them. On the last day of 2023, this seems more important to me than ever. We 4,000 Pratchett fans who share the quotes that fill this blog likely share very little else: If we met on the street we would not agree about politics, religion, the weather, or the correct storage of Battle Bread. But I think that Sir Terry would perhaps want us to remember that, even when we are at our most opposed, we are all made out of clay -- and that is something worth protecting. Happy New Year, my friends. May we all continue to learn what must be given, and what can never be taken.

[katapotato55]

how to make your writing be remembered forever and possibly be well loved.

(incredibly stupid and silly fanfiction line at the end of this post) I know that title is incredibly daunting but listen, its very simple. you ready?

MAKE STRONG CHARACTERS

"but kat! surely its not that simple! " nononono listen. bear with me. I want you to think of your favorite thing. Now ask: what do you remember the most about the thing you love? I will go first:

I love team fortress 2. and guess what: this game has been around since 2007, and was in development hell since before I was even born. The game has been around for 16 fucking years. And guess what? in the strong year of 2023 team fortress 2 Is STILL getting memed about. and do you want to know the crazy part? the character designs to the naked eye are not special at all. ok sure from a designer standpoint, these are very well designed characters made so that you can easily tell who they are based on their silhouette. but from the average joe.... tf2 is iconic but overall it looks ok. it doesn't seem special to a stranger to tf2. look at this completely random and arbitrary example of a game in the same genre:

I don't know shit about the characters in overwatch. Yeah i have a BASIC idea on what their personality is like based on voice lines and some videos i guess... but in-game they just exist. these characters are brightly colored, they have beautiful unique designs, hell they have even more diversity such as robots and people from other cultures! but i don't remember shit about these characters. Maybe I remember the ice lady and tracer, but nothing else. and yeah part of overwatch struggling right now is incompetant development, BUT: The characters in team fortress 2 are SO remember-able because the characters have such a vibrant personality. I am an orange box owner, its been a decade and a half and I am still remembering this game and enjoying art about it.

"but kat! that is a comedy game! Overwatch is a very serious game! are you saying comedy is needed to make a character more noticeable?" no. though I think allowing your characters to lighten up every now and then would humanize them. Not full on goofy, just give them something that makes them likeable. and if you cant do that, you can STILL make a compelling character even though they are mostly seriousness. I have an even more awfully thought out example:

kung fu panda is a masterclass in making a serious comedic movie somehow work. Master Oogway.... he isn't a comedic character at all. Yeah we made memes about him, but ignoring that, he is a wise and resourceful person. He is at calm and has faith in this intuition. there are a lot of characters like this. What makes Oogway stand out is that he is also a little bit kooky and sassy.

this youtube clip sums up what I mean. It is a funny line, it fits the character, and It doesn't ruin the seriousness of the moment. Some of the most successful series in history have something about them that has appealed to people. In my opinion: characters with strong personality and interesting traits is always a good way to ensure your writing is successful. The second most important is the characters bouncing off of each other in terms of their chemistry with each other. There is a reason why I spent years playing the first Destiny game and all of the DLC, but I remember fuck all about the characters. I think I maybe remember the bootleg star lord robot guy.

A writing exercise

here is an exercise to get you in the spirit of character making. step 1- get a random character from a random bit of media. In this case let me bring you master Oogway. Step 2- Get a completely different character from a completely unrelated series. I am going to give you Scout from team fortress 2. step 3- write a random ass thing about them interacting. Think about how the characters would react to each other and why. Think about each characters values in life and think about how they would bond and conflict with each other. Think about characters similar to the character they met in the past and how they reacted then, and if they have never interacted, make something interesting with it. Step 4- keep experimenting. Once you get into the spirit you can apply this to any new character you could want to make anyways thats it byeee- "arent you going to do that ?" do what? "make a writing thing about oogway and scout. " ........

Scout: let's go turtle you got nothing on my speed- Oogway: The one who first resorts to violence shows that he has no more arguments. Scout: that sounds like chicken talk! come on tough guy let me have it- Oogway then proceeds to make scout eat shit before vanishing in a cloud of cherry blossoms and dust from the desert. If this post isn't popular I want you to know my dignity was lost for nothing.

[coolshadowtwins]

SVSSS YQY Fan Fic Round up!

Ok, I finally have them all together! Please enjoy these fanfics, and if you have any to recomend that's not on here, feel free to say! I'll add it later!

First off, The YQY Weekend 2023 AO3 collection and The QiJiu Week 2023 I'm going to recommend as the entire pages! Great places to go find a fanfic to enjoy! Some might be double recomanded, but some should be unique!

Mouse On The Thorn by Lbhs_left_tiddie

On a mission, Yue Qingyuan comes across an omega child, who shares a name and a startling resemblance with his favourite shidi. Shen Qingqiu, however, denies knowing such a child, and make it very clear he wants nothing to do with him.

Without any family or home, Yue Qingyuan instead offers to take care of the child.

Palimpsest by Azzandra

Yue Qingyuan has one giant blindspot as a sect leader, and that's Shen Qingqiu.

But now a curse has made him forget Shen Qingqiu, and that changes some things.

gather jewels from graveyards by formerlyknives 

When strange rumours reach Cang Qiong, Shen Yuan is a little slow to investigate.

He lives to regret it.

The number children by Angry_gremlin_commando

Ten-year-old Mobei Wu, fifth son of the current Mobei-Jun, gets stranded in the human realm after one of his uncle's murder attempts. There he meets fifteen-year-old Yue Qi, fresh out of Lingxi caves and on the way to rescue Shen Jiu.

It turns out even ice demons aren't immune to Yue Qi's Big Brother energy. (This author has a good number of stories to check out! Go look at them!!)

A smile for the master, a snarl for the wolves by Angry_gremlin_commando

Shen Qingqiu and his young disciple Luo Binghe qi-deviate at the same time and swap bodies. It makes them understand some things about each other.

To Plant a Garden by SweetTiramisu

Yue Qingyuan spends so long beneath the earth that he becomes a part of it. Perhaps Shen Qingqiu will plant a garden in him.

Written for Qijiu Week Day 2: Touch Starvation.

bite your way to safety by AMereDream

The Geese come at a time that neither Shen Jiu nor Yue Qi considers ideal. They make it work. (This author has so many good fics! Go read them! This is just the one I chose to put on this list!)

You Were You, And I Was I by MissMegh

Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan qi deviate and turn into their teenaged selves. They don't know who they become. They don't remember the worst moments of their lives. They only know they're together again.

Pretty soon everyone on Cang Qiong Mountain knows they are, too.

Our Sect Leader Is A Baby! by dryingmangoes

Yue Qingyuan gets deaged. Somehow this changes everything.

for day 2 of qijiu week blessing/curse

Treading Well-Worn Paths by mofumofu

After Shen Qingqiu married Luo Binghe, Yue Qingyuan thought his role in the man’s life was over.

However, as he carried the child-sized lord of Qing Jing Peak in his arms, he was grateful for this unexpected opportunity to bond with the person he cherished most.

Shen Yuan, meanwhile, wondered desperately where the hell he was.

hey, share the weight a little by Tossawary

Shang Qinghua is miserable as an outer disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, doubtful that the plot will ever begin, when he finally runs into his first character. Yue Qingyuan is only a boy in desperate need of a helpful friend. Well, why shouldn't Shang Qinghua be that friend? A little investment now when they're young and Shang Qinghua might just be able to survive this world with the support of a sect leader.

It's definitely not because he's also in desperate need of a friend.

(He's definitely not expecting love.)

you're my number one by pennydaniels

Yue Qingyuan is granted a chance to have his heart's deepest desire made real by a mysterious goddess living in a small sect's private temple.

The Evening by kat8cha

Yue Qingyuan wakes up, he gets dressed, he goes to work, he goes to the gym, he goes to a party.

He pays people to tell him what to wear, people to tell him where to be, people to tell him what to do, and pays for someone else's engagement party.

A broken mirror restored by bunnyfication

Yue Qingyuan is hit over the head with the realization that he could ask Shen Qingqiu to marry him, Shen Qingqiu's suspicious mind cannot make sense of the sequence of events. Yue Qingyuan would never, would he? What is this, mind control??? (it's happiness, but neither of them has ever felt it before).

nobody, nobody told me by AMereDream

“Qingqiu-shidi,” he started. “Are you al—”

Xiao Jiu tugged, surprisingly strong for someone who had collapsed out of nowhere less than an hour before. Yue Qingyuan followed, partly out of surprise and partly because it was Xiao Jiu; of course he’d go wherever Xiao Jiu wanted him to be.

He found himself being dragged onto the bed, only the thin sheets separating him from Xiao Jiu's body. His breath caught in his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut.

Xiao Jiu's bony elbows dug into his chest, his thin — too thin, having skipped too many meals even for someone who didn’t need to eat — shoulders curved to meet Yue Qingyuan’s body.

His long hair tickled Yue Qingyuan’s face. He smelled like the honeyed soap he washed his hair with. Yue Qingyuan inhaled covertly, deep and greedy.

 

One morning, Shen Qingqiu woke up a changed man. Yue Qingyuan is left trying to figure out what happened to make him so relaxed and affectionate.

[awxum]

A collection of the best Severus fanfictions

I feel like there are quite a few fanfictions that don't have enough recognition in the fandom, so here they are- my personal favorite fanfictions that I have read throughout the years.

I mostly read angst/hurt-comfort fics, all of them has Snape as main character.

Some of them aren't completed, but still- I think they are worth reading. I will mark them "incomplete" or "ongoing"

Your Turn... by tr00per

Remus Lupin/Severus Snape

Words: 38,494 - incomplete

"The war is over and life is starting to settle back into some form of normality but for Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, so much has changed and so much has been left damaged, will they ever find peace?

When both return to teach at Hogwarts, a bit of meddling from Minerva McGonagall and a helping hand from Hermione leads to a tentative friendship that they both clearly need..."

Waves (will help us hide) by Hamlette

Lucius Malfoy/Severus Snape

Words: 86,526

"The year is 1981. On the night of the Dark Lord’s disappearance in Godric’s Hollow, His second-in-command comes to inform his friend and fellow Death Eater about what happened. But Severus is not dismayed – he barely seems to register what he’s told… Or the story of an ‘old friendship’ between two wizards, which would only be called such by historians."

The Black Hawk by Hamlette

Remus Lupin/Severus Snape

Words: 224,826

"Remus Lupin didn’t have the slightest idea how he had survived the Battle of Hogwarts. All he knew, was that he woke up safe and sound underneath a black duvet and apparently – cared for. What he was most shocked to find out, however, was that the battle did not take the victorious turn he had hoped it to and that he was saved by the most unexpected person to do so."

Smoke by Fayet

Remus Lupin/Severus Snape

Words: 25,498

"Remus had a firm idea what Snape meant when he talked of business. Death Eater contacts, probably. Well, nobody had ever seen their spy in action, and Remus would be the last one to turn down a good show."

In which Remus finds himself in intense pain and follows Severus on a journey into a dark place to find a cure. Instead he finds pictures in the smoke and more than Severus has ever planned to show."

This is part of a series- Those Who Favour Fire- and I recommend reading the entire series. Not all parts are translated into English, so if you are fluent in German, you can read it on ff.net.

Smoke (German version is called "Opium")

Fire (German version is called "Earl Grey") Words: 189,554

Honig (which is only available in German on ff.net)  Words: 122,406

The last part is unfortunately incomplete, but I think it ends in such a moment that it can easily be considered an ending (but definitely not the one I was hoping for). I recommend reading all of the work of Fayet.

With Soul of Light and Dark by CrimsonMyriad

Snape-centric

Words: 104,491- incomplete (but I still have hope!)

"As the Order knows full-well, only the pure of heart can cast a Patronus. When Snape saves Harry from the dementors and reveals his doe Patronus, the Order have reason to trust their spy. Snape knows that he could aid the war effort with his logic and ingenuity, but will the Order trust him enough to accept it?"

And Thou Shalt Be First by saiyanwizard

Snape-centric, Severus Snape & Albus Dumbledore & Minerva McGonagall

Words: 35,320 - incomplete (but last update was in Dec. 2023)

"The war for the wizarding world has ended, but one wizard has slunk back into the shadows, still broken and in pain. He who was considered last in everything must now be put first, not only for his sake, but also for the sake of those who still care."

Under The Water by Selly_Blackbird

Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Words: 21,890

"The lake was dark, cold, quiet, and it made him calm down, The castle was bright, noisy, crowded, and it made him panic, The panics took away his strength, made him weak and almost choked him, And the middle of this chaos there was He, and his warm and soft body."

Odysseus's Last Days by Amand_r

Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Words: 17,406

"He certainly hadn't predicted that the happy ending he'd dug out of the dirt, the blackness of his own self, the one he'd compromised so much for, would have dissipated with something as harmless as a plunge from a low bridge. Because it's not the fall that would have killed him. It would have been the sudden stop, or the rushing water, or a sharp stone to the skull, things that any wizard worth his salt could have got out of, if he'd wanted to."

Nocturne by Tira Nog

Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Words: 93,699 (it is complete!)

"Auror Harry Potter makes a life altering discovery during an interview with a prisoner."

Darkness Visible by plutoplex 

Snape-centric

Words: 181,884

"AU after GoF. Trelawney makes a new prophecy about a mysterious Half-Blood Prince, and Dumbledore struggles to find out who it's about. Already walking a tightrope between two masters, Severus Snape feigns ignorance while making his own plans."

It is unavailable on ff.net, but you can download it here. (I'm not sure if author is okay with it, but it would be such a shame to ignore this fanfiction while making my personal best list)

Making Do by ravenkira

Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Words: 56,802

"After the war, Severus Snape tries to find another way to deal with his abominable life."

It has second part, but it's not translated into English and it's ongoing. So if you can read Russian it's available here.

Self-Preservation by coffeeonthepatio

Harry Potter & Severus Snape

Words: 35,128 - ongoing, it's a repost and the last update was in 2022

"Mrs Figg has enough. 7-year-old Harry Potter cannot stay with the Dursleys any more. Severus Snape thinks everyone is better suited to raise the future Saviour of the Wizarding World. Harry dreams of being taken away by a tall man who scares even Dudley. REPOST"

The author took down the old version of this fanfiction and from what I understand she is not okay with sharing the old version.

Nothing To Lose by SINclair54

Snape-centric, Harry Potter & Severus Snape

Words: 14,766 - incomplete (edit: new chapter! 05.09.24)

"Severus Snape has decided he has nothing left to live for. He is only going on so the war can be finished and then he can die in peace. His spying for the light is continued but not willingly."

Grease & Lightning by Mothboss

Harry Potter & Severus Snape

Words: 43,114

"The year was 1988, and on one quiet Sunday morning in the early days of a blisteringly hot July, the Dursleys departed from Number Four Privet Drive. This, by itself, was of little consequence. They habitually went to church most Sunday mornings. Except... this time they simply didn't return."

and the sequel Acid Reigns which is ongoing and has weekly updates.

𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝙿𝙾𝙽𝚄𝙼 by shiterature

Remus Lupin/Severus Snape

Words: 188,359

"𝐝𝐞•𝐥𝐨•𝐜𝐚•𝐩𝐨•𝐧𝐮𝐦: 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯 - 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍.

»»»»

“Why is it connecting us?” asks Remus, his voice safe and demure in Snape’s ear, his gold eyes bright with adventurous urgency.

“It can be difficult to discern,” replies Severus as he relays the same breed of oddity back to him — although copiously subdued — “but it’s doing an irritatingly thorough job of carrying through.”

»»»»

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲��𝐚𝐫 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟏. A new acquaintance to the territory of teaching, an old friend to grief and misfortune, and entirely off on the wrong foot, twenty-one-year-old Professor Severus Snape reverts to an old charm of his — a charm for things that are lost — in attempt to find the one book in which he wrote it. But when the spell starts working against him and mysterious things start happening to his own students, it seems he has no choice but to form an alliance with an old schoolyard enemy in order to find a culprit, a book, and his own identity. And one thing is for certain: the irritating charm of Remus Lupin is nearly impossible to refuse."

And the sequel 𝚅𝙸𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙽𝙸𝙰 (ongoing, last update was in may 2024)

Godfathers by Lazlisz

Sirius Black/Severus Snape, Severus Snape & Harry Potter

Words: 95,869 - ongoing (regular updates)

"Severus Snape has traded what might be one of his last peaceful summers for a tumultuous few months housing the Boy Who Lived after Hogwarts' student registry notified him of a potential abuse case at Number Four Privet Drive. If that wasn't bad enough, he finds himself revealing far more than he ever should have—and far more than Albus Dumbledore ever would have allowed—to the boy about his past, and his mother. When Sirius Black reveals himself with the intent of saving his godson from Snape, the three of them end up standing begrudgingly together to find Peter Pettigrew and clear Black's name before the proper authorities can be involved.

Harry finds solace in the unexpected care of an unjustly convicted man and an ex-death eater; meanwhile Black grapples with repressed attraction to the man he'd spent his childhood tormenting."

Sacrifices Arc by Lightning on the Wave

A massive work, it consists of 7 parts, which are longer than the original Harry Potter series. It's AU in which Harry has a twin, eventual Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter & Severus Snape. Mostly Harry-centric, but I include it here because Snape is an important character in this story.

Saving Connor 

No Mouth But Some Serpent's

Comes Out of Darkness Morn

Freedom And Not Peace

Wind That Shakes The Seas and Stars

A Song In Time of Revolution

I Am Also Thy Brother

Cat, Bat and Dog by fromtheskytoyou

Sirius Black & Severus Snape

Words: 62,061 

"Severus survives the war but finds himself limited as he recovers from his injuries - a mixture of the snakebite and lasting nerve/mental damage from the Cruciatus Curse. Unable to be as solitary as he once was, he finds himself opening to people that his former self would have been disgusted at. And also he has a cat - which would be enough to draw me in."

This fic is inspired by Moonstone, which is also a great fanfiction!

[readychilledwine]

Cassian Masterlist

Cassian week 2023 -Day Two Prompt - Gentle - A training accident gone wrong leads to our reader being cared for by the Illyrian Male she considers her big brother (Cassian x Platonic Reader)

Early Mornings - Cassian and his mate are well matched in every way. He's the Lord of Bloodshed, General to the Night Court's Army, and she is the last of the Valkyries. Nothing can stand between them, unless you take her morning coffee. (Cassian x Illryian OC -potential to be a multipart thing leading to Cassian x Illyrian OC x Nesta)

Training Tensions** - part two of Early Mornings - Nesta x Illyrian OC x Cassian - an early morning training session leads to a steamy moment between our OC and Nesta

Daddy's Girl - Request -With his daughter freshly turning 50, Cassian now faces the hardships of losing his babygirl to adulthood and the horrors of dating.- girl dad!cassian x reader

So Small - Daddy's Girl Part 2 - featuring the imfamous chair scene, drunk batboys style

To Have and To Hold - Request - Cassian and reader are finally saying their vows after a few years of courting, but there's other vows Cassian finds just as important. (Cassian x single mom reader)

The Fox and the Hound - it's Cassian's turn for a Vanserra sister OC

Pleasure** - Cassian x reader requested - your cycle has been extra painful this time around, thankfully Cassian is always more than happy to help.

Heavy - Cassian x reader - Being a mother is so much harder than you expected, especially when Cassian is gone

Keep Going - GirlDad!Cassian x reader requested - When your daughter's wings start flapping, Cassian realizes it is time to teach her to fly

Mine *- Cassian always gets a little riled up when he gets to fight for your honor.

Good Girl * - Your birthday celebration at Rita's becomes Cassian's golden chance to end your 2 year shy and dry streak.

[aziraphales-library]

do you have some fics where nina and maggie (knowing that azi and crowley aren't human) interact with them? i've always been attached to the idea of maggie and nina being the only ones knowing that they (the ineffables) are an angel and demon, so any fics about that would be appreciated! Thanks a lot, have a good day/night (and also I'm writing this on December 31 2023, so happy 2024 season as well!!!)

Hello. You can check this post for fics like this. Here are more for you...

Spring Cleaning by RCReveal (G)

The Whicker Street friends are busy with spring cleaning in this post S3 speculation when something odd starts to happen to Eric and Muriel. Everyone comes together to help out and enjoy the beautiful spring day.

A Feast Of Friends & Family by ShadesOfDeviant (G)

“Merry Christmas Mr Fell!” Maggie smiles and moves to give Aziraphale a hug, squeezing tightly for a moment as the angel splutters in surprise before she pulls back. “Sorry, I got a bit caught up in the Christmas spirit.” “It’s quite alright my dear, nothing to worry about. It’s lovely to see you so happy.” Aziraphale replies, watching as Maggie smiles and all but bounces off to join Crowley and starts directing the demon where to put her dishes as he takes them out of the Tupperware boxes one by one. Only for the demon to almost drop an entire platter of iced biscuits as Maggie hugs his waist suddenly and visibly squeezes him. AKA: The Whickber Street Traders & Shopkeepers Association decide to have a Christmas meal together. Aziraphale offers to host with the promise not to make them all talk like Jane Austen again.

This Thing You Call Love (I Just Can't Handle It) by EdwardAllenPoe (G)

A couple of months after the events of the Whickber Shop Owners and Street-Traders Association meeting/Ball, Nina decides that she's ready to move forward with Maggie. As she eagerly and anxiously awaits the arrival of the Record Shop owner, a familiar demon comes into the shop after going suddenly MIA those months ago. But, the poor demon is very confused and a lot heartbroken, and Nina tries to help and give relationship advice. Or; Aziraphale comes back home, but Crowley still doesn't understand what Aziraphale feels truly, and Nina tries to help him.

An Ineffable Arrangement by Aidaran, Letha (G)

The Second Coming has been averted. Crowley and Aziraphale are finally together and on the same side. And the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association thinks they could take their bliss somewhere else. Or at least the storms associated with it. ------------- Nina, head conspirator of Whickber Street, was, against her will, a woman on a mission. To boldly take a demon where no one had taken him before. Shopping.

Shepherds of the Damned by angelwithawand (T)

After Aziraphale leaves, Crowley carves out a life of his own. “On Sundays, he goes to pub trivia night. It doesn’t escape him, the irony of a demon having a place that he attends like clockwork on the Lord’s Day of Rest.”

Especially to Me, Especially if it's You by cyankelpie (T)

Crowley has spent the last two years learning to cope with Aziraphale's absence. So when Aziraphale shows up with no memories, and Crowley is the only one who can help, it's not an easy thing to deal with.

- Mod D

[hauntedwitch04]

Foxy and little star

Nyx Acheron x reader

Words: about 1.3k words

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, public places, sassy cousin ;)

Author’s note: Hi loves! I finally managed to write some more after the crazy week I had. Hope you like it, your witch Becky

Requests are open I Ask

My masterlist

Join the Taglist

If you like my works, consider to buy me a coffee - Patreon submission

KINKTOBER ...........-..........KINKTOBER TAGLIST 2023

DAY 8: Public Sex

"Nyx, not here, everyone will see us." You whisper in his ear as you feel his lips on your neck, and already you feel your common sense failing.

"Even better, so they will all know that you are mine, and mine alone." Comments the young prince of Night, as he confidently and quickly lifts your hips to place your legs around his waist.

You know it's a silly idea, and that anyone could walk down this hallway into the Court of Nightmares at any moment, but right now it seems like the least of the problems, too busy to get to the pleasure you've been craving since you set foot in the Throne Room.

It's been almost a year now that you and Nyx have been dating, but you both still haven't had the courage to tell your parents because it hasn't seemed easy to even tell your friends, let alone tell the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court and the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

Immediately your mind, which had been lost in these details, comes back down to earth at feeling your beloved, taking off your panties, the only barrier dividing you at this moment. His lips are still on your neck, so eager, you pull him by the hair and match your mouth with his, hungry to taste the flavor of his lips. Still caught in that kiss, you feel him bring his cock toward your entrance. He pulls away slightly and gasps for you.

"Are you ready?" He asks, looking at you with his amethyst-colored eyes that first made you fall in love.

"Hurry up and show me the stars, little star, we don't have much time." You respond, kissing his nose, then his chin, and then his neck to leave the same marks he had left on you.

"As my lady wishes." He replies, before pushing his member inside you. You feel you can really touch the sky with your finger at that same moment. The pleasure your body feels is indescribable, and you find yourself biting hard on his shoulder to keep the sounds of your moans from echoing through the corridors of that cursed city and all his subjects from hearing the name of the one who causes you so much pleasure.

"By Mother, Foxy, when I saw you come in in this dress, I thought I cum at that same moment." Confesses Nyx, as she increases the speed of her thrusts, making you scratch even harder at the midnight blue jacket she is wearing this evening.

"That makes two of us starlets, you don't know how much I wanted to throttle all those bimboes in front of me who were commenting on how damn good-looking and sexy you look in this jacket, which shows off your whole body." You whisper, tugging at his hair again to make your gaze meet his. "Then I remembered who would have the pleasure of rolling around in the covers with you, moaning your name, kissing and biting you, and leaving the marks of his ownership tonight, and I pitied those poor fools." You continue, as you hear him let out a sigh of pleasure.

"Well, we're not exactly between silk sheets love." He comments, as he feels the walls of your pussy squeeze him tightly, letting him know that he is only a short time away from experiencing that extreme pleasure you have been waiting for so long.

"The night is still long, little star." You comment, with a groan, as you tighten your legs even tighter around her waist. "Nyx, I'm going to-"

"I know Foxy, let go and cum for me." He whispers, as you tip your head back against the cold wall of the hallway, and let shivers run through your body caused by both the contact of the cold wall with your warm body and the orgasm your lover causes you. You curl your toes as from your mouth like a prayer that only the two of you know begins to fall his panting name.

Nyx, shortly after you also reaches pleasure, releasing all his hot seed inside you, just in time, because you hear footsteps coming from the beginning of the hallway.

You are not yet totally lucid, still under the effect of the 'mind-blowing orgasm you had a few seconds ago, when you see Hecate, Nyx's cousin, appear.

"Are you all right? You've been missing forever, and we thought one had been sick." She comments worriedly, then changes her expression to a questioning one. "What are you doing here together? The last time you saw each other you swore to kill each other if one even felt the same oxygen as the other." She asks with a smirk as she looks at her cousin, who not so surreptitiously gives her a middle finger.

"Foxy felt sick and I was giving her a hand to go toward the bathroom to freshen up." Nyx lies, as she wraps an arm around your waist. You play along with him and pretend you can't stand, which isn't entirely untrue because after the pleasure the boy gave you, you only partially feel your legs.

Hecate nodded and headed back the way she came, making us believe she had bought that poor excuse we had made up, saying she would tell the others, and then pausing, just before disappearing from our sight and commenting with a smirk.

"However guys, next time if I were you, I would be more careful about leaving your personal items, like your "Foxy" panties, which are hanging from the chandelier above you." Immediately you look up and see that your friend is right. You feel your cheeks grow hot as you can't find the courage to look her in the eye. "I hope you used protection, I'm too young to be an aunt." She finishes before walking away and leaving us alone again.

"Well what can I say, we had almost succeeded." Nyx finally comments, chuckling, as with a gesture, shadows bring the underpants that were hanging from the chandelier into his hand. You snatch them out of his hand, before putting them back on, and immediately punch him lightly in the chest.

"This is for being so profligate and not taking my advice." You say, and before he can complain about what you told him. "And this is for the best orgasm of my life." You say before you kiss him, passionately and deeply. You feel his warm lips dance on yours, before pulling away to catch your breath.

"And I who for a moment had doubted our date tonight, to make your dream come true." He comments, chuckling after again feeling another light punch from you on his chest.

BONUS (I know, I could make oneshots just for bonuses :) )

"And who was right again?" Hecate says, humming as she approaches the most powerful group of people in all of Prythian, who look at her bored, others laughing.

Eris approaches, high-fiving her as her Uncle Rhys, not very happily, tosses her a coin that you, he and the High Lord of Autumn had bet on the relationship between their two sons.

"Never mess with an Acheron." Commented the girl's mother, Nesta, as she watched her giggling, recounting the scene to all who were present.

"Believe me, I know honey." Cassian whispers, tightening his arm around his wife's waist, then returning to his daughter's tale.

TAGLIST

@b7717 @forsiriussake @ohemgeewhat @123345566 @lust4lucille @lisamanban123 @shodowbane09

[polarisbibliotheque]

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.

[leezlelatch]

Happy Anniversary, Papa

It’s three years to the day since Copia became Papa, and you want to do something nice to show him he’s appreciated.

You gently squeeze the piping bag, adding the last few touches of blue icing to the cake, extra careful not to smudge a single swirl. You bite your lip and hold your breath, then will your hands not to shake. Finally, you let out a relieved sigh, standing back with a hand on your hip to look over your work.

A sheet cake, chocolate, with homemade buttercream icing bearing the words “Happy Anniversary, Papa” looks resplendent in the blues and golds of Copia’s papal colors. You’re sure your mouths and teeth will be stained by the end of it, and only if Copia likes it. You hope Copia likes it.

March 3, 2023. Copia’s three year anniversary of being Papa, the leader of the Ministry, the Antipope. You close your eyes and smile for a moment, remembering the day the white suited Cardinal became Papa Emeritus IV. His eyes shown that night with the promise of a bright future, and since then, Copia has come such a long way, ushering in a new, free era of the Ministry in the Dark Lord’s name.

Copia deserves the world. And while you and Terzo have a surprise party set up later, you want to do a little something yourself for the man you are hopelessly in love with. The man who shows you everyday that you are worthy of love, affection, understanding, and happiness. He is your happiness.

Putting down the piping bag, you carefully put the cake in a plastic snap-on container that one would usually see cakes in at the grocery. Actually, it is from a cake bought at the grocery store, cleaned and repurposed. When you were looking for ideas on what to put your cake in, Swiss bought a cake, ate it, and graciously handed over the container. Whatever works, works. But honestly, the image of the smiling Ghoul standing menacingly in your local grocery holding a cake had you giggling for hours.

You step over to a decorative mirror hanging on the wall in the living area of your shared suite and smooth away any flyaway hairs, adjusting your top and anxiously staring at your reflection. You want this day to be so good for your Copia. He needs to know how much you appreciate him. His time, dedication, his love. Three whole years of running this show, and as exhausted as he is, and you know your Popia is so tired, he manages to put on a smile every single day. Even now, he’s sitting in his office, likely buried under mountains of paperwork.

You pick up the cake and carefully leave the suite, wandering down the many corridors of the Ministry toward the Upper Clergy offices. You smile and nod at the Siblings you see passing by who dip their heads respectfully in return, which is something you will never get used to. As you pass the single oak door that used to be Copia’s office as Cardinal, you smile at it like an old friend before continuing on to the large double doors at the end of the hall.

You knock softly, staring at the cake as you balance it with one hand before returning both to it, squinting at the cake to make sure it hadn’t moved, or been disrupted.

“Eh…it’s open!” You hear Copia’s flustered, accented voice call out.

Opening the door with as little movement as possible, you slip inside, shutting it quietly behind you to smile at the man seated behind his desk. Copia sits back, his chair twisted to the side so he can comfortably cross his legs. He has a piece of paper in one hand, gazing at it with a furrowed brow. You move forward until you stop at the edge of his desk.

“Hi, Popia!” You say happily, your little nickname making the corners of his lips jump before he glances up at you.

“Amore,” he greets, putting down the paper with a sigh. “Do you need something?”

His less than enthusiastic greeting dulls your smile, but you hold out the cake, tilting it forward a little so he can see it in full.

“Happy Papa Anniversary! I baked it just for you. Thank you so much for all that you do.”

You put it down and slide it across the desk toward him, clasping your hands together in front of you. Copia stares down at it for several seconds before letting out a harsh breath, bending his elbow to rest his face in his hand. You freeze, the smile fully slipping from your lips, and you stare at him with rising dread as he hides his eyes, head tilted down.

“I’m sorry…Copia. I…”

“Am I a good Papa, amore? Do I even deserve this?” His quiet, pained voice interrupts your frenzied thoughts.

You close your eyes and take a breath, willing your heart to stop racing in your chest. Oh, Copia. You lean your hip against the edge, running your fingers through his hair, vaguely noting that it was starting to get long.

“Copia. I need you to look at me when I say this,” you tell him.

He swallows, and shifts, looking up at you with such lost, wet eyes. You make a small noise and cup his face, running your thumbs across his cheeks, uncaring of his paints. Copia needs you right now.

“I can’t imagine how difficult this job is. I can’t imagine what any of this work on your desk is. What you have to give every single day to take care of the whole congregation. The sacrifices you have to make to ensure we are happy and healthy and free. But you do it. And you do it without complaint. You do it with a smile and a wink and a silly joke. You make sure to love us to the best of your ability in your words at Mass, and through your actions here at home, and out on tour with the Ghost Project. I am so proud of you. Primo is so proud of you. Secondo is so proud of you. Terzo is so proud of you. We love you so much. You deserve to be celebrated because yes, my love, you are an amazing Papa.”

Copia stares at you for several moments before his expression shatters. He lets out a single, low sob and buries his face in your stomach, his shoulders shaking as he lets out weeks? Months? Three years of pent up frustration, worry, and self-doubt. You hold onto him, soothingly scratching his scalp, your fingers moving from his hair to his cheeks to any part of him you can reach as he smears black and white all over the front of your sweater.

“I love you, Copia. I love you,” you say softly to him, just whispering your love to him over and over. Letting him know you’re there, and letting him know that it’s okay to cry.

Copia sniffles loudly, a honking noise that makes you smile as he pulls back enough to look up at you, his eyes so puffy and face a mess. He is the loveliest thing you have ever seen.

“I want to be strong for you,” he whispers brokenly.

“You don’t have to be all the time, Copia. If there’s anyone in the world you can be vulnerable with, it’s me. It doesn’t mean you aren’t strong, it just means you have someone to lean on when the load gets too heavy,” you kiss his forehead gently.

“I love you. So much. Amore mio. So much. Sometimes I need to be reminded that I’m not alone anymore, forgive your Papa,” he smiles up at you, his bottom lip trembling a little.

“That’s right. You’re my Papa. My wonderful Papa. And I’ll happily spend the rest of my life reminding you of that. I love you too.”

Copia clears his throat and wipes his eyes, huffing out a laugh at the smeared black on his fingers. He blinks a few times and then refocuses on the cake, a tender “aww” leaving his lips as he reads over the text.

“Thank you, baby,” he says sweetly, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into his lap. “My dolce made something dolce?” He laughs at his own joke, a cute little “hehe.”

“Mhm,” you grin. “It’s chocolate. Just for my Popia.”

He nuzzles into your cheek, giving you several nipping kisses until you’re giggling, “You’ll help me eat it, yeah?” He says.

"Copia, I've been dying to shove my face into it all day."

"I know something else you can shove your face into," he wiggles his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and place a sound kiss to his lips.

"Happy Anniversary, Papa."

[elluia]

Choose Your Legends 8 ended with lots of surprises, and it's time to celebrate!

I've seen concerning amounts of salt and bashing on the games involved or not, so this will be a positive post! I'm tired of the fandom's dumb takes and toxicity so let's praise everyone for the amazing scores and stories that unfolded during this vote!

First let's start with the link to all the official CYL art since Year 1 of FEH, enjoy the trip down memory lane!

https://fire-emblem-heroes.com/fr/sp/illustrations/

(I nabbed that chibi Soren right away, bless Kita Senri)

CYL 8 Male winners:

🥇1: Alfonse | A beautifully deserved win for our well-written OC lord who keeps the story of Heroes entertaining with his crazy one-liners and unhinged plans, with more tender moments with his family and friends to soften him. I hope we get to see him grown-up like Legendary Veronica.

🥈2: Felix | I love seeing non-lord characters emerge from the voting. His voters have shown their supports 4 years in a row and it paid off! Especially nice win because Felix has been shafted by IS with a silly seasonal and an ok god-sword pre-TS unit.

CYL 8 Female winners:

🥇1: Bernadetta | Just like Felix, her voters lost to circumstances (aka the surprise Gullveig sweep), so I'm glad for them! Plus her post-TS personality should force the writers to tone down the moe nervous trait that flanderizes her character.

🥈2: Female Robin | She's finally free to be in the common summoning pool as herself, not Grima! She has too few alts to her name, and she marks the first time both genders of an avatar have won CYL, so good job!

About the Engage non-sweep, don't get disheartened! The votes for Engage were equal to Three Houses, but they were split between A LOT of fan favourites for both genders, while the FE3H fans rallied one last time for 1 male and 1 female representation, without competition from their lords. It's a respectable result, and the bashing on Engage is disingenuous and undeserved.

I've seen the top 5 from each game and I'm happy to see Finn up there for Thracia and Mae for Echoes. I hope to see Linoan soon, and other alts for Berkut and Rinea. People rallied for Athos to get in the game already, for Lloyd to have new art, for Seth and Titania to get the stats they deserve...

Fan favourites like Lyon or the Black Knight still score high. Azura received love. Even Elincia who's already been very lucky in 2023 got in the top for PoR and RD! I love to see people rally for a Sentinel Nephenee too.

We continue to see Leo and Takumi side by side, chilling in the male top 20 like BFFs. It's adorable.

This CYL8 follows in the steps of CYL7 with no main lords, only favourites and avatars.

Next year I hope to see Jugdral and Elyos win, but for now I'm happy with the 4 we have 🥰

[phoxey]

Is this what you dreamed about?

Professor!Bada x student!reader

CW: SMUT (18+) MDNI... porn without real plot, Dom!Bada, Sub!reader, fingering, choking, age gap, Dirty talk

AN: please enjoy this little treat to celebrate the end of 2023 ;) Happy new year guys and gals and nonbinary pals

From the moment you walked into that class on the first day of Uni, there was only one woman who occupied your mind. Bada Lee, your criminal history professor, a tall and intimidating woman. But she intrigued you, the way she smiled or looked at you sometimes, made your heart flutter. Your friends always teased you, saying that Professor Lee had a thing for you, which was why she always gave you good marks on all of your assignments.

That was until you got an Email one morning.

Dear Y/N, I attached your grade for your latest assignment to this Email. I am disappointed. Come to my office after your last class today. Best regards, B. Lee

Confused you clicked on the attached file, which summarized and explained the points that were given to you this assignment. You audibly gasped when you saw the total points. It was a failing grade! Impossible. You have never failed in one of your classes. Especially not hers.

After your last class, which ended late, you debated whether it was already too late to go to your professor. Also, you were nervous about what she was going to say. Until you stood in front of her office door, you still debated with yourself, but inside you saw light burning. It would be weird if you ran away now, so you dared to softly knock on her door.

“Come in.��

Shyly you walked inside and closed the door behind you. Only her desk light was burning in the otherwise dark room. When she looked up from her computer, she took off her glasses and set them aside. With a wave of her hand, she told you to sit, which you did, putting your jacket and bag down.

“How was your day?”, she asked.

“I was worried and scared because of your E-Mail, Professor Lee.”, you answered honestly.

She nodded. “Then let’s get to it. I must say I was very surprised and disappointed… usually you are better than that. But in the last few weeks…”

“I am a bit distracted…”, you admitted blushing.

“Say, what distracts you?”, she asked, her eyes piercing you.

“You.”, slipped past your lips and immediately your hand covered your mouth. Your ears felt so hot, they might as well be on fire.

Your teacher leaned back in her chair and smirked. “Really?”

“I am so sorry, Professor Lee, I didn’t mean to say that!”, you immediately rambled.

“But you really think that, do you?”, she asked.

“I… Professor Lee… I’m sorry, this was so inappropriate… I shouldn’t have…”

“You are not denying it.”

Your mouth shut and with your red face you looked down in embarrassment. You couldn’t deny what was true. That woman occupied your mind every day… and every night. It was simply not fair for her to be this attractive.

You didn’t even notice that she stood up, until two fingers lifted your chin and guided you to look at her. She met you with an indescribable expression. Dangerously dark eyes but a playful smile on her lips.

“You admit that you are distracted because you can’t stop looking at me?”, she asked.

You wanted to look away again, but she grabbed your chin between her index finger and thumb. The latter almost touching your bottom lip. She was so close; you could even smell her perfume. And lord, her scent was enticing.

“How about you answer this question and I promise to let you rewrite your assignment?”

As if your gaze filled with desire wasn’t enough of an answer. No, Bada Lee wanted to hear your pretty voice admitting that you fantasized about her.

Slowly you nodded. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

“Why?”, she whispered, her eyes falling to your lips, as her thumb pressed onto your bottom lip, making you open your mouth ever so slightly.

“Because… I find you attractive, Professor.”, you breathed out. You were almost in a trance, lost in her eyes and the feeling that stirred within you, the closer her face got.

“When you look at me, what comes to mind?”, she asked softly.

“Professor… I can’t…”

“Answer me.”

You swallowed hard and you could feel your lips tingle, hers were only inches away. “Your lips.”

A shockwave went through your body as you suddenly felt her lips on yours. Your mouth moved on its own and you kissed her almost desperately. A whine left your throat, when the kiss was over faster than you wanted.

“Like that?”, she asked.

Your eyes fluttered open. “I must be dreaming…”

“Oh sweetheart, this is so very real. If you’re good and tell me what your pretty head has been dreaming about, I just might be so kind to make it reality…”, she whispered and put some hair behind your ear.

“More… Your lips… everywhere. Your hands too.”, you admitted shyly.

She pulled you to stand and immediately into her embrace as her mouth crashed onto yours. She even seized the opportunity when you gasped, to slip her tongue past your wet lips, deepening the kiss. Your hands rested on her chest as hers roamed over your hips and back. A moan escaped when she moved south to kiss your neck.

“Have you dreamed about this too?”, she whispered against your skin and you could feel her smirk.

Eagerly you nodded, which caused her to chuckle.

“May I leave my mark?”, she asked gently, as her hands slipped under your shirt.

“I have dreamed about that too…”

As soon as you gave your permission she began working on a rather sensitive spot of your neck. She sucked right over where she could feel your pulse. Teasingly she bit into your skin only to apologize by licking over her mark. Bada leaned back to admire her work, but she was caught off guard by your look. Eyes half closed and unfocused, your lips deep red and kiss swollen. She almost lost her mind then and there when your tongue poked out to catch a drop of spit from falling from your lips.

She cupped your chin again to hold you while she savored a slow but deep kiss. Emboldened by her hungry gaze and your own lust, you took her hand and placed it a little further south, around your throat. She smirked down at you as she helped you sit on her desk. Her hand was just around your neck, she wasn’t applying any pressure at all, no matter how much you hinted that you wanted it.

It was only when she pulled you into another kiss by your throat, you got what you wanted. The pressure making you lightheaded, so that you couldn’t even form a coherent thought anymore. Her other hand ghosted up and down your thigh, sending shivers that went right into your clit, when she was only remotely close to slipping her hand under your skirt. Your hips rolled forward over and over in an unsuccessful attempt of creating friction. She noticed and her evil chuckle was swallowed by the kiss you shared.

“Please…”, you managed to get out.

“Beg for it.”, Bada smirked and bit your lower lip.

“Please… I need you to touch me.”, you really gave your best to get the words out. In response her hand left your throat and cupped your breast. You whined, that was not the touch you had wanted.

“Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”, she muttered into your ear and kissed your temple, before her other hand came up and her long slender middle finger pushed past your lips. It was almost pathetic how obediently you started sucking on her finger and swirled your tongue around it.

“You dreamed about me being knuckledeep in your pretty cunt, hm?”, she asked then.

Again you eagerly nodded and she pulled her finger out of your mouth. You watched curiously as she pushed your skirt up and your panties to the side. At first her slick finger rubbed your throbbing clit ever so slightly. Bada took a mental note, that prepping her finger with spit wouldn’t have been needed, not when you were dripping wet like that. Her finger slipped into you almost too easily, and you exhaled a soft moan. Bada captured your lips in another kiss.

“So warm, so wet…”, she whispered. “So perfect.”

You moaned. You didn’t even know if it was because of her praise or her finger that was thrusting deep into you. Maybe it was a bit of both.

Your breath hitched when she added another finger, as she decided that you were not moaning enough. She wanted to hear your beautiful voice when you would come undone on her fingers. And it worked perfectly. Your breaths got quicker and your moans louder, just how she wanted it. She grinned self-sufficiently against your neck as she worked on another hickey. Curse words left your lips when she started to curl her two fingers within you and you grasped her shoulders, holding on for dear life, as she toyed with the most sensitive spot that existed within your body.

The tingly sensation in your legs and the knot in your stomach announced the bliss that was approaching slowly. That was until you felt her thumb on your clit, while her other fingers pressed against your G-Spot. An overwhelming orgasm washed through you and a silent scream got stuck in your throat. You clawed into her shoulder and buried your face in her neck, as she helped you ride your high and dragging it out as much as possible until you were pulling away with overstimulation.

Gently she pulled her fingers out and she stepped back to look at her work. You pussy clenching around the phantom feeling of her fingers that still lingered. You sat there, on her desk, panting and your eyes were still delirious. Your skirt was still pushed up and your hair stuck to your face with sweat, while a few tears rolled down your face after the overstimulation.

“Is this what you dreamed about?”, she smirked and put her two fingers into her own mouth.