#this post is another way of saying dante needs a fucking break

[vesselsbliss]

Unexpected Gestures

Headcanon: Dante—when he has the funds—will hop pizza parlors. On those rare occasions, he discovers a dish that provides the right type of sensory stimulation. He’ll get a take home order, or two (or ten), of said dish in the largest size available.

Morrison shows up with an influx of jobs. The broker emphasizes the need for a demon hunter, capable of discerning between demonic threats and mere humans in elaborate costumes. Though tempted to refuse, Dante decides to accept the entire list of jobs.

It’s his most productive day this year. Today’s clientele seems more appreciative. In addition to the payouts, the demon slayer receives items usually meant for trick-or-treaters. Bags of candy—including an entire basket of full size candy bars, a Tupperware with pasta, another container with a slice of cake, an entire foil pan with homemade brownies, a dozen sugar cookies, and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Some of the affluent clients provide additional monetary compensation. It’s twilight by the time he gets back. He gets to work stashing the food items. Those close to him were more than welcome to dig in.

Dante summons Cavaliere again. Intending to use the rest of the day for his initial plans. He stops at a small pizza parlor across town; a tan building with a few tables sitting at the front outside. The sign reads “15th Street Pizzeria.” Flickering red and white letters are indicative of the need for repairs. Cavaliere disintegrates. He makes his way to the entrance. Torn black and orange decorations adorn the shattered windows.

“Sparda…” a reverberating growl drips with venom.

With a sigh, he summons the Devil Sword Dante.

“Die blood of Sparda!” It leaps above his head.

He makes short work of his assailant. Blood splatter, fur and viscera litter the surrounding area. The employees and customers are found cornered in the kitchen. Trapped by a muscular bat-like creature, almost as tall as the ceiling. It’s clawed hand reaches for one of the patrons, only for it’s head to be cleaved off.

Dante is lounging in his office chair, feet plopped on the desk, when Morrison pays another visit to Devil May Cry.

“Someone’s been looking for you,” the broker states. “The name “15th Street” ring any bells?”

Assuming it’s another bill for property damage, the question elicits a groan from Dante. Before he can say anything, a middle-aged man wearing black pants and a red t-shirt enters the building. He introduces himself as the owner of 15th Street Pizzeria, rambling about how he spent weeks searching for a tall, white-haired guy with a giant sword.

“You tracked me down because?”

“Well,” the man awkwardly scratches the back of his head, “to say thank you.”

Dante stands up from the couch. This had to be a prank.

The owner voices his appreciation for Dante saving the lives of his employees, the customers, and stopping the demons from destroying his business. He runs outside and returns carrying a couple boxes. After placing them on the desk, the owner mentions that he needs to go back to work. He bids the two men farewell, shaking both of their hands.

Dante carefully opens each box, making note of the toppings in each. Pepperoni. Cheese. Neapolitan. Chicago style deep dish with extra jalapeños, and no olives (courtesy of Morrison). The last one appears looks like a dessert, topped with caramelized pear slices and a white chocolate sauce.

Morrison notices Dante’s focus drift away from the pizza. “What’s the matter? Can’t process a random act of kindness.” He takes a drag of his cigar.

“Nah,” Dante turns to face him. “I just can’t decide where to dig in. That’s all.” He closes the pizza boxes and takes them to the kitchen. All five are placed in the oven at a low temperature, to keep them warm.

“Pizza party tonight then?” Morrison enters the kitchen and notices Dante bringing out paper plates. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

[fictionfixations]

trying to beat olivine boss

hi this is another post regarding bosses dhjwauidhsauidh

all i understand is guard guard guard until turn 10 where he can take damage again??

and i dont know if using all ults at once even works cause i never survive that long and doing 4 ults doesnt do anything

like okay so i switched morvay in cause i kept having 1 character who keeps dying and i dont have any of the lil gifts so i cant raise intimacy yet

i last to turn 3 where i get morvay's ult, maid dante's, and idol blade

im following a guide and im supposed to use an ult anyway and i understand that cause if i dont do anything i die

if i activate just dante's ult (cause morvay is REALLY low so trying to get attention off of him) he dies

if i do morvay's ult he dies (he gives himself like a shield so ive been using it when hes really low to where he dies next turn if nothing is done but it also means boss is taunted so hes fucked)

if i do dante and morvay's ult. i survive but it goes into next turn with everyone alive (3/5 ults active) which seems to be the play until he fucking kills 3/5 of my team what the fuck. me when i finally write down what i tested and thinking huh i dont remember what this does then gets fucked trying it again.

if i do dante and idol (because it says to not do morvays yet??) idol dies cause no guarding

oh yeah i also have olivine in slot 5 because they dont get damage taken. i tried seeing if space blade did anything but i dont think he does any healing in damage? i think he just makes you do more damage?? i cant remember i forgor but that doesnt work and olivines hp is squishy so he'd die anyway

what seems to be the best course of action for me is to get morvay's intimacy up and also get his level up probably because hes like lvl 51 while everyone else is like 58 so hes less squishy and pray he wont die as easily that way?? idk im still facing a coin shortage so its slow and steady progress

supposedly you need a dark element ult to break like his shield when doing all ult(?) but idk how accurate that is and also does it need to be an ult that attacks?? cause space blade is dark element i think but his ult affects teammates not boss

hHHh okay so i did dante morvay ult. survived till next turn. if i dont do anything next turn 3/5 gets wiped out. i did space blaed's ult to heal everyone. morvay and space blade is dead. im gonna retry

dante morvay ult but olivine ult this time

i think ive gotten this far before but idk wtf the pattern is cause im just attacking like normal and then out of nowhere team gets fucked by an attack

good to know if i accidentally guard olivine once instead of attack (heal) each turn morvay dies 💀

ok i did olivine ult

MORVAYS DEAD ?!?!?!?!? tf do i do both olivine and space blade ult??

okay so order of plan is Dante Morvay ult next turn olivine ult. but if i just do that morvay dies anyway so then olivine and space blade ult so then space blade dies.

..idk im stumped all i can think is give morvay more hp make him less squishy.

i mean maybe its on me for giving up everytime a character dies and i should keep going but also i have and i kept getting my team wiped so 🤷

my first instinct with bosses is to fucking panic

but i feel like im getting more in the groove and getting better at experimenting to see what works

i think its because i bullshitted through the fight with rin and then kept bullshitting😭😭😭

[n41r]

Otsu Post for my Oreca Battle Session from May 2024-

I made a blog entry for this month's session, because miracle occurs and so many things happened at once, it was one of the most insane session I've ever had since the last time I battled Red Dragon-

I did spent more credits than I usually do for funsies, but my god, what followed after-

((Also please do ignore the shitty doodle I used as this entry's thumbnail, I wanted it to look as shitpost-y as possible-))

For the past few months, I have been going into the arcade to play Oreca, with missions on hand Those missions are,

Get 4★ CuChulainn's item, "Holy Will"

Get 3★ Darkness Magica's item, "Raven Magic Stone"

Hang out at Chapter 6 for a chance to meet Pyramid Head

I don't have much expectation with my luck, so I usually give 3 chances to explore each chapters incase I didn't meet any of the monsters I was aiming for

And guess who I met on my first encounter of the day?

FRIGGIN CUCHULAINN- AND HE GAVE ME "HOLY WILL"-

AFTER SO MANY TRIES AND NOT BEING ABLE TO MEET HIM, HE SHOWS UP ON MY FIRST PLAY-

Finally having one mission crossed off, I thought maybe I could relax a bit, try my luck on the other mission, y'know?

And my second play started WAY TOO INTENSE for my poor mind-

DARKNESS MAGICA SHOWS UP-

AND WITHIN THE INCH OF HIS LIFE, BEELZEBUB CASTED "DEATH" AND EARNED US A VICTORY

AND MY WHITE WHALE, "RAVEN MAGIC STONE" AAAAAAAA---

AFTER TRYING SO MANY TIMES TO MEET HIM AND NIHIL, THEN FIGHTING HIM 2 TIMES AND GOT NO ITEM TWICE AS WELL- AEFKHKDFJHJGVDRTG--

At this point, I grew anxious- I contacted Enzina and talked to her to calm myself down, because this was a barrage of stimulation-

Then I told her, "Yeah, let's take things slow. I might try to get Kurt or Dran for now"

Guess what, tho?

PANDORA SAYS NO, WE GO TO THE GHOST SHIP-

We might have lost the battle, but guess who got commands up and joined the team with rare item???

DEMON KING AZUL JOINED, BRINGING "EVIL SHELL SAUSE"!!!

THE RARE ITEM THAT CAN CHANGE 4★ DANTE AND 4★ POWAN BGM INTO THE ACCOUSTIC VERSION IN BATTLE!!!

UPDATE (28th May 2024)

It have come to my attention that "Evil Shell Sause" is only able to change Azul's card illustration, so yea-

I was drunk on excitement and dehydration I think, lmao-

So yea, with all of this big encounters all happened one after another, I finally took a break because the excitement and rush actually makes my head hurts-

It doesn't help with the fact that Indonesia (and the rest of the SEA countries-) are getting hit by intense heatwave, and how crowded the arcade was that day-

And after the much needed rest, I went back to the arcade and finally took my own advice seriously, "Take things slow"-

And take things slow we did, since searching for Dran and Kurt was a simple task, and Dark Magica with CuChulainn only need to be combined with their item!

With 1 last play in mind, I try my luck once again on Chapter 6, with a team consisting of 2★ Dia, 4★ CuChulainn, and 4★ Culann Cuz y'know, I need to level up Dia too-

And... guess who greeted us, like RIGHT AWAY at the first enemy selection screen?

Yes, that's right, THE MONSTER, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND, THE RARE ENCOUNTER OF CHAPTER 6-

FUCKING PYRAMID HEAD--

THIS WAS MY FUCKING LAST PLAY, I WAS NOT EXPECTING BIG THINGS-

BUT PYRAMID HEAD???? THE ONE MONSTERS I WAS AIMING EVER SINCE I STARTED TO GO LEVELLING AT CHAPTER 6 SINCE FEBRUARY????

FUCK, IT'S FATE- /slapped

We might have lost and I didn't get his item drop, but hey, we got Pyramid Head at the end, so who is laughing now? /slapped

So yea, otsukare all around~!!!

[gotatext]

JUDE & ANGEL — NIGHT TWENTY-EIGHT.

location :   bean bags.

time :   evening, post jenny/jude being intercepted in the kitchen when they were making drinks, post jude/romi fight about ‘the jenny thing’ which jude denies is a thing.

description :  jude and angel talk about jude’s dumpster fire love life. this is before the kiss between jude and jenny at the dares game.

featuring :    angel /  @dobits

angel reid

“was just coming to get you,” angel greets with an innocent, ya might say angelic smile. he holds up two shots. “bearing gifts.” a little white flag in liquor form. he’s not sure where jude’s head’s at, decidedly unpredictable, and there’s no knowing what kind of convo happened after he’d left the pool. what sorta instigator angel had been painted out to be. “listen, it’s my bad for sending naomi in to break up your jenny party. between you and me, i kinda thought romi would feel a type of way about it, but... i dunno, she was, like, careless as fuck. anyway, that was my fuck up. my bad, man.

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

jude's predictably grumpy, lounging across the full length of one of the sofas, surrounded by a cloud of pineapple vape juice. i'm not sure what went down in the romi conversation yet because we haven't written it, but either way i'm gonna say he's not on top form bcos boi is angsty. when angel approaches, he shifts his leg up, making space for the other at the end of the couch and heaves up in a little sit-up to retrieve the shot, careful not to spill it as he flops back down. "thanks man..." he utters, taking another drag from his vape. "wait, what? you sent naomi in?" fucking bro code, man? what the hell. "type of way about what? we went to get drinks. it's literally nothing."

angel reid

"i thought i was doing you a favor!" angel defends, clinking the shot despite the pitch of their voices. you can't be mad while you neck a shot, right? he goads him on to take it with him, liquor goes down hot. "like, i thought romi would wanna go step in and claim their mans or whatever." a little laugh at that because it's how it was supposed to be - totally light hearted. "dude --," a deadpanned look of c'mon now, "the blonde is always looking at you, be fucking for real. like,* i* know it's nothing - i mean i figure it's nothing - but it's love island, man. everybody's grafting their ass off."

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

he can’t help but bark a laugh at that. “you thought what? don’t be daft.” the fact that angel thinks he’d need rescuing from jenny of all people is frankly a bit fucking ludicrous. “it was just a chat. not even a chat chat, it was a fuckin’ talk, man.” in a way, he kind of respects the fact that angel decided to send in back-up but it’s not like he was batting off jenny with a stick. she’s hot, he’d absolutely go there if romi wasn’t in the picture. it’s just a shame he can’t chirpse them both at once and see which one’s a better vibe. unless… “please. i’m not romi’s man. i’ve know her less than a day.” although with the way he’s been gassing them up to anyone who’ll listen, it’s probably easy to assume jude’s more all-in than he is. “nah, fuck off! she’s not, is she?” comes jude’s only response to the idea that jenny spends all her time looking at him. “you think she’s always looking at me? what about fuckin’... dante.” for a moment there, he forgot the other bloke’s name. “i don’t get your angle, angel. i mean, what are you saying? that i should graft her or avoid her? make it simple for me.”

angel reid

"okay, okay," angel concedes showing both whites of his palms now. there's the smallest of snorts at jude's insistence, the littlest of smiles. "i'm not gonna say the lad doth protest too much, but..." the way it's got jude all up in an english tizzy, it sure as hell makes it seem like there's something going on there. brow furrows like okay yeah sure when he refutes he's romi's man. a day is worth twelve here and he damn well knows that, it's not the point. angel considers the question seriously, shrugs. "i dunno, i think she's into dante. like, he's been... reciprophorical or whatever. no angle, for real. i'm just a dude with eyes and a mic, man." literally, in this case. "wait... do you think you should graft her?" now what happened to not even a chat chat? "i dunno, you don't gotta, like, jump her bones or whatever, shit. but the point of being here is to find your best match. if you think that it can't get better than romi, protect that shit, for real. but if you're curious about jenny..."

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

a sharp indent scratches between his eyebrows like a scar. “i’m not protesting too much, i’ve just been through this shit with romi. i don’t wanna be made to feel like i’m doing something bad when i’m not?” why is he the villain for talking to jenny in the kitchen? they were making drinks. it’s not deep. “i just think everyone needs to chill out about this whole jenny situation that’s not even a situation. i would get it if it had been like, 3 weeks i’d been with romi,” he actually wouldn’t get it even then, because they’ve done absolutely nothing out of order as far as he’s concerned, “but it’s been one fucking day and people are like, expecting me to put a ring on it or some shit.” he’s getting a little stroppy and defensive, perhaps, but it’s largely because angel’s the one person he feels he can vent to and they won’t take it personally. “here’s where my heads at, bro…” he starts listing off points on his fingers. “it’s been one day. i’m not even coupled up with romi yet, and although it’s going well, i have no idea whether they’ll choose to recouple with me. and if they do decide they want to keep me around, there’s still no guarantee that they won’t immediately drop me like a hot fuckin’ potato to rekindle shit with marcus and leave me out on my ass. yeah, i guess i kinda am curious about jenny? and i do feel like she’s putting feelers out there, like she’s interested, for sure, bro. but like, romi’s already said it pissed them off that i went to the kitchen with jenny so i’m trying to be respectful of that. i don’t want to fuck shit with romi up by entertaining something with jenny that might not even be a thing.” wow. that feels like, a fucking massive weight off his chest. “sorry for venting, bro.”

angel reid

"yeah, that's true," angel concedes, understanding. "like, everybody's waiting for you to propose to romi over here and then stick it on jenny over there." finger flourishes from one side of the villa to the other. it's hard to operate under the scrutiny of both the whole world and your fellow islanders, he'll give jude that. he listens to his arguments, nodding appropriately and wishes he had a drink in his hand. how jude can be here for one day and already be knee deep in a romantic existential crisis, he does not know. big grin smacks on his face, he shakes the knob of jude's knee amiably. "that's what it's all about, man, no apologies. okay, look," he wipes a hand down his face and then leans forward thoughtfully. "it sounds like romi's afraid she's gonna get mugged off by you, right? even if nothing's actually happened between you and jenny," he holds out a preemptive hand to stop jude's protests, assures him he believes nothing has truly happened. "that's a good thing. the fact that she cares like that... i dunno, that tells me she really wants to keep you around. and the marcus shit? c'mon, that's a problem for next week and it's probably not even a problem, y'know? i wouldn't even go there right now." it's a little sad, the fact that jude's kinda found somebody but is still so stricken with trouble over the whole thing. "the villa's just all excited, everybody's watching everybody else, don't trip on it. you know where your head's at, romi knows where your head's at. you're golden, babe, chin up."

[meistwentyinchheels]

draken and kazutora with a gamer s/o

; draken x gn!reader, kazutora x gn!reader

; fluff, slight crack

; warnings: cursing in kazutora’s part, possibly ooc, not proofread, otherwise none

; form: short imagines

; word count: 0.8k

; published: 28.07.2021

; author’s note: hi i haven’t posted in two weeks ahahaha sorry about that so have this thing i’ve had in my drafts for like a week now. also i used dmc and the re series in these two cuz they’re great games and that’s on mf period

The slight shout of a “Yo, I brought some food” was heard over the sound of a sword slashing at demons and the light “ROYAL GUARD” of a certain white-haired character. Draken noticed that you weren’t responding to him at all and had all your attention on the video game you were playing. He took off his shoes, leaving them at the entrance, and started walking towards you. It was only then you noticed your tall boyfriend’s presence and finally spoke, “Oh, hi Ken! I need to finish this part and then I’ll join you in a second”.

He placed down the food he had brought onto the living room table and sat next to you, staring at the tv screen. He was used to this kind of behavior as you always spent your time inside playing video games and the only time you even left was when he had dragged you along with him. Draken always saw you playing the same games over and over again so he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when he recognized the character on the screen to be the main character of Devil May Cry, Dante.

“Is this a new Devil May Cry game or have I forgotten what kinds of stages there were?” Draken asked breaking the silence between the two of you. “Oh? You actually pay attention when I keep on talking about it?” you asked shocked at this new information. You only slightly glanced at your boyfriend as you quickly moved your sight back onto the tv screen. “But yes! It’s the new Devil May Cry 3: Dante’s Awakening. It was released just some time ago and I finally had enough money to buy it.”

Draken only slightly laughed at your excitement. He won’t lie, he did sometimes get jealous when you kept on blabbering about Dante and how cool he is. “I’m not that bad of a boyfriend that I wouldn’t pay attention to what you say, idiot.” he voiced out loud. Draken noticed the way your lips curled upwards the moment those words left his lips. That also gave him an idea. An idea that might potentially have you kick him out of your house. He remembered how the scores in DMC are time-based so he decided to tease you a bit. He pecked your cheek only for you to go completely red. You quickly got over it so Draken decided to bombard you with kisses which caused you to smack him on the head with your controller.

“KEN PLEASE I’M GONNA GET A BAD SCORE I WANNA GET S FOR ONCE”

“Too bad.”

Have a sleepover with your loved one they said. It’d be fun they said. All these emotions swirling around his head, but happiness is not one of them. You, Kazutora’s lovely partner decided to play Resident Evil 4. At two in the goddamn morning. Oh no, neither of you were going to sleep well that night. Kazutora felt dread as he watched you maneuver the player character, Leon, around the village which was sadly full of villagers that are out for Leon’s head. A cutscene plays of Leon barricading himself into a house and how the villagers are working together to kill him.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE” Kazutora whisper-yelled, afraid he was going to wake your family up. “You fucker I’m trying okay” you whispered while smashing a bunch of buttons to get the villagers away from the player character. The church bell is heard from the tv screen as another cutscene plays, but this time the villagers are all walking towards the church. You and Kazutora watch in fear as Leon steps out of the house and says the corniest line known to man, “Where’s everyone going? Bingo?”. Kazutora looked dumbfounded while you tried to suppress your laughter.

“Did he just,,?”

“Yeah, he did” you spoke while trying to keep your laughter under control, “I can’t believe I laughed at that, that was so corny”.  You and Kazutora both laughed at your comment and focused your attention back onto the tv screen. The two of you have played the Resident Evil games together before, but never in the middle of the night so you were genuinely unsure if the two of you would be able to sleep tonight. You can’t just pause the game and save it either as you have to reach a certain spot. “I want to save the game and just continue in the morning so bad right now, but the spot hasn’t appeared yet” you voiced out loud and Kazutora commented saying, “I have a feeling it’s going to get freakier from this point”.

“Which is why I want to save and quit the game you coward.”

“I can’t retaliate cuz I kicked you on the head earlier due to getting scared so yes, I am a coward.”

© meistwentyinchheels; written by meistwentyinchheels - do not edit or repost

[bradtomlovesya]

Ⓦⓗⓔⓝ ⓣⓗⓔ ⓢⓗⓞⓦ ⓔⓝⓓⓢ (Part 1)

Summary: After seeing Brad using that red shirt on that concert you become oddly horny. (I suck at summary, sorry)

Clarifications: This is part 1, Part 2 will be posted tomorrow.

Thank you for the idea, baby @brad-is-my-dante Ily <3

Warnings: Smut +18, dom!Brad x sub!reader, Spit kink, Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), English is not my first language.

Word counter: 2k +

We were in the car going to the hotel. The first concert of the tour had started and Brad was more than happy about it and so was I. I really wanted to hug him and hold his hand as normal but I had to keep my distance the rest of the way or I would end up sucking his dick right now without caring about the driver or anything else.

That perfect red button-down shirt only made the moisture in the middle of my legs grow more and more. I wanted it, I really needed to get to the hotel room and make him fuck me like only he knew how.

“Are you okay? You haven't said something all the way” he said, getting me out of my thoughts.

“I'm fine, I'm just a little distracted, sorry” I responded with my gaze on the car window. Couldn't we get there faster?

“Okay…” He answered not very convinced.

The rest of the way was complete torture, I could only feel my desire growing and growing every time he breathed or moved his legs and let me see his perfect cock marked in his pants. Got damn! I could swear that I had never been so wet in all my life as I was now.

The moment we entered the hotel room and he closed the door, he couldn't hold back and chose to speak.

“All right, tell me what's up? You've been distracted since the concert ended and I'm worried, did something happen and you don't want to tell me? Didn't you like the concert? Believe me I can handle the criticism but I really thought you liked it”. He said as he pried more buttons off his shirt and pulled them out from inside his pants.

I swallowed hard and took my gaze off from the bare part of his torso "I-It's not th-that" I stuttered.

“What is it then?” He crossed his arms and his muscles were perfectly marked on his shirt. Some veins on his arms stood out and his scowl only made him look sexier.

“I can't take it anymore, sorry.” I ran my hands through my hair. “But this is your fault for wearing those pants, that red shirt, and those fucking rings. Fuck! your fingers.” I complained. “I've been distracted because I was trying not to give in to my urges but my panties are already too wet so could you please fuck me at once?”

The brown boy was only silent for a moment and then he laughed out loud. "It was that?" He asked. "You made me worried, Y/n! I thought you wanted to break up with me or something and apparently you just wanted sex." He laughed in denial. "Tell me what you want" he approached me "Tell me what you want and I will do it." He murmured with his lips brushing my cheek.

“Sorry, but seriously it's your fault for being so fucking sexy”. I felt his hands on my waist and my legs shook, I had never been so desperate. “I want your dick in my mouth, please.” His lips kissed my neck. “Please.” I repeated pleadingly.

“It's okay sweetheart. If you want to do it so much…” He acted difficult. “Sure you can.” He brought his hands up to his belt and slowly took it off, lowered his pants and directed her gaze to mine. His eyes were full of desire. "Come here" He held his member over his boxer shorts. "On your knees.” He demanded.

“On my knees” I nod and he puts a sofa cushion on the floor so my knees wouldn't hurt and I kneel in front of him.

“Go ahead, all yours.” He brought his hands to my hair and pulled it up so I was looking into his eyes. “I know we're both going to enjoy this, Y/n.” He said my name slowly and that only made me warmer.

I wasted no more time. I pulled his boxer down and his hard erection hit his stomach. There was some pre-cum that made me lick my lips as I watched him. I took his member in my hand and went up and up and down slowly while running my tongue over the tip. It tasted salty but coming from him, I loved everything.

“Damn, princess! That pretty mouth really knows how to do its job.” His face contorted with pleasure and his mouth parted as he felt my tongue on the tip of his penis. “Open your mouth.” He said seriously. I obeyed and closed my eyes waiting for him to introduce his big member into my mouth but that never happened. A hoarse laugh in his throat made me open my eyes again. “Did you expect my member? No, darling. If you want to, you will have to do it yourself.” He lowered his head and spat into my mouth. “Swallow.”

“Thanks.” I mumbled as soon as I swallowed her saliva.

“What did you say?” He asked with a frown.

“Thank you, sir” I corrected immediately and bit my lip. “Can I go back to work?” My pussy lips felt completely wet and sticky, there was no way I could stop it and I didn't plan on doing it. I was finally going to have what I was waiting for all night.

“Yes, sweetie. You can continue.” He nodded with a beautiful smile. I took his member again in my hands and this time I put it in my mouth taking what I could more. At least what my gag reflection allowed me. “Fuck!” He moaned loudly. "That's it, that's my girl.” He spoke between gasps with his head thrown back in pleasure.

I went up and down my hand with a cautious speed and used my saliva as a lubricant to make it easier. I thrust his cock down my throat and moved up and down deeply until I felt the need to breathe. I pulled it out of my mouth with a pop sound and a trickle of saliva still connecting us.

“Oh... Babe”. He sighed. “You look so innocent all the time in front of my friends and family. Everyone could swear that you are a total and complete angel”. He held my face by my chin with his thumb and forefinger. “And the truth is that you are an angel with the wishes of a demon. You make me sin but you make me touch the sky, isn't it strange?” He bit his lip. “Now be a good girl and open your mouth so daddy can fuck that pretty throat of yours.”

I opened my mouth and his member slammed into my throat making me have a gag reflex but I controlled it. My lashes bathed wet from my tears as I watched the muscles in his abdomen contract due to the force He was doing. The buttons he had unhooked gave me a perfect view of his god-sculpted abdomen. His eyes were closed and tight as he continued saying obscenities and fucking my mouth like there was no tomorrow. His veins pulsed and his dick felt harder than before so I assumed he was going to come and he did. He hit the back of my throat and painted everything with his cum. I waited for him to finish and swallowed it all so as not to waste anything. Also, I wiped his cock with my tongue and when he pulled it out of my mouth with a loud growl, I put my hands on the ground to breathe and steady myself.

“Are you tired?” He asked me with his heavy breathing and now his eyes looking directly at me.

“A bit.” I muttered. “But I'm fine.” I smiled with my eyes on his.

“Good because I'm not done yet.” He smiled and reached down to gently take me by the arms and lay me down on the bed. “Do you think you can handle it?” he asked as he kissed my neck and took bites.

“Yes, I can.” I gasped when he positioned himself between my legs and squeezed my butt tightly pulling me towards him. His hands lifted my dress and yanked my underwear off. “Bradley!” I looked at him with wide eyes.

“I'll buy you new underwear, I promise.” He murmured her with his face tucked between my legs and kissing the inner part of my thighs. “Love, I've never seen you so wet.” He spread my legs and ran his tongue between my folds in a slow way to collect as much of my fluids as he could.

My hands instinctively went to his hair to tug at it and my back arched in pleasure. His fingers found my entrance but they did not enter. He patted the area with four of his fingers and two of these he moved around the entrance.

“Bradley, stop teasing…” I moaned loudly when his thumb pressed my clit and he began to draw circles on it, keeping enough pressure to make me see stars and wanting to close my legs but he pressed them with his free hand to avoid it. The cold from his rings was felt throughout my core and many moans escaped my lips.

“I love the sound of your moans, especially when I'm the one causing them.” He slipped two of his fingers into my vagina and bent them a little to touch my G-spot.

“Fucking hell! Bradley..”. I moaned his name and closed my eyes. One more finger slid easily into my femininity thanks to how wet it was. His fingers moved fast and hit every point that made me moan and feel like an orgasm was forming in the lower part of my stomach. My forehead was sweaty and my hands were tugging at his hair getting several grunts and moans from his part that sent vibrations right to my center. One of his hands went up to one of my breasts and squeezed it with a little force causing me another loud moan and that my nipples went hard under the fabric of my dress. “Don't stop, never stop!” I cried

“I won't, baby” he murmured, licking and sucking on my pussy. His fingers were soon replaced by his tongue moving in and out of me quickly and deliciously.

Once again two of his fingers entered and moved roughly inside me. Her tongue squeezed and sucked on my clit and her other hand squeezed my other breast. That was the last thing I needed to cum on her lips with a loud moan of his name.

My vision turned white, my eyes slammed shut and my legs shook like Jelly. I held my breath for a few seconds trying to normalize it but it wasn't long because I felt something slide into my vagina all of a sudden making me moan even louder due to the over stimulation.

“I'm sorry my love. But I had to go in now or I would end again but this time on the room floor thanks to your exquisite moans.” He held still as I got used to his length.

His hands were on my waist and lifted my body so that his cock could fully enter me and contort my walls as only he knew how to do it. "You can move." I fixed my eyes on his.

"Finally!" He groaned, digging his fingers into my hips and starting to move with slow but rough speed. He came out halfway and entered me completely again in one fell swoop. "This cunt belongs to me and absolutely no one can make you feel as..." A heavy thrust. "As good as I do!" He exclaimed as the speed of his thrusts increased. "Take off that dress, please" he begged me with parted lips.

I took my hands to the buttons of my dress and took them off and then pulled it over my head. I also unzipped my bra and his eyes immediately went to my breasts. His eyes were pure pupils, they were completely filled with lust.

He lifted my legs over his shoulders and managed to go even deeper with each thrust. He lowered his face to my height and kissed my lips with pure love and ferocity. "Fuck! You don't know how much I love you!" He hid his face in my neck and sucked on my skin leaving a hickey that would be visible later.

"I love you too!" I exclaimed. At that moment I was a sweaty, moaning mess. I changed our positions so that he was under me. I inserted his member into my wet cunt and jumped over and over again, inserting his member into me just the way I liked it.

"Shit shit shit! Y/n!" He dug his fingers into my ass hard and covered my walls with his cum. It didn't take me too long to reach my ecstasy and I ended up on his cock doing a mixture of our cumshots.

"This was a thousand times better than I expected" I mentioned with my face hidden in the crock of his neck and his collarbone. "I didn't remember you were that huge!" I giggled.

"You have a bad memory then" He teased and kissed my head. He came out of my vagina and went for wet towels to clean us up.

Once we were clean, we crawled under the covers completely naked.

"I'll have to wear that red shirt more often. I like the effect it has on you." He put a lock of my hair behind my ear and kissed my lips sweetly.

"I'm Y/n and I approve of this message" I teased and bit his lip. I closed my eyes and it didn't take long for me to fall asleep. I love that red shirt, I really do.

[royivia]

The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

#

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

#

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

#

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

##

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

#

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

#

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

#

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

#

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

#

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.

[prolestariwrites]

The Wish [8]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, V, Lady, Eva, Sparda, OC Rating: General Tags: Family, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Typical demon hunting violence

Summary: A demon gives Dante the chance to have his greatest desires made real. When he finds himself in a seemingly idyllic life, all seems well until it starts to unravel. Will he sacrifice himself to save the family he lost, or will he choose to give them up for the truth?

Now Posted: Chapter 8, in which Dante has to face the most intimidating creature of all... his wife.

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Chapter 8: Dante Sparda, Legendary Demon Hunter

Dante pulls up outside of Vergil’s house and turns off the car. They sit in silence for a long moment before he says, “Thanks again for what you did back there.”

“You’re welcome.”

His brother’s voice shakes a bit, but it seems like he’s holding onto control, even if it’s barely. Which is something at least. “It’s funny,” Dante jokes, “you’ve used Summoned Swords on me half a dozen times at least, and this might be the first time you used it to save me.”

“Summoned Swords,” Vergil murmurs. “Is that what that’s called?”

“It’s what you called it in my world. Although it’s a bit different there.”

Vergil nods, and silence settles again. Dante scratches his chin as he searches for what to say. “You know, Nero can do it too. Surprised the hell out of me the first time I saw it.”

“Nero.” Vergil turns his face to the window. “I should get inside.”

“Yeah. But, Verge…” Dante sighs as Vergil looks back at him. It is obvious his brother needs him now: he needs comfort, reassurance, something to help him process everything and come to terms with the truth. He needs wisdom. He needs tact and compassion.

Damn it all. “I’ll pick you up in the morning,” Dante says. “Then we’ll look for dad.”

“Yeah.”

Vergil reaches for the car door and Dante blurts out, “Don’t worry about anything. We’ll find him. And if any demons show up, you can use Yamato. You’re a better fighter than I am, so you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not a swordsman, Dante,” he grumbles. “I haven’t fought with anyone since we were children.”

“But you can. And Mary can too. She’s a way more successful demon hunter than I am.” Vergil frowns at him, but Dante continues, encouraged, “She kicked both our asses. She’s always got some demon on the run, knows how to use dozens of weapons and make her own even. And Nero? He’s got all kinds of crazy power. He was demon hunting before he even knew how.”

“Nero’s just a child.”

“Yeah, here he is, but in my time, he’s older, and I’ve seen him in action. Took down a whole evil god robot once.” Vergil huffs and shakes his head as Dante leans his elbow on the steering wheel. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to worry. You didn’t think you could fight but then you skewered that guy. So trust that they can handle themselves. And your V, Vitale? He’s not… I don’t know him, he’s not from where I’m from, but if he’s anything like you, then he’s got this too.”

Vergil glances at him briefly before nodding. Then he opens the car door and climbs out, and Dante watches as he hurries up the driveway to his front door, still clutching the sword.

Dante heaves a long sigh before starting the car again. On the drive to home, he wonders what he’s going to do about Lir. He’s still not entirely sure she’s not a demon too, so if he comes clean with her, there’s no telling she won’t attack him just like the bar waitress.

His questions are answered when he walks in the front door. “Dante? Dante!” Lir practically runs to greet him from the kitchen. “There you are! What happened? Are you okay?”

Before he can answer she pulls him into a hug, forcing him to bend over so she can press her cheek to his. “Dante,” she murmurs, and he feels a pang of guilt as he returns the hug. “I was so worried.”

“I’m okay.” He eases up and pushes her hair back from her face. “Why were you worried?”

“Your mom called all frantic. She said your father ran off and broke a window and in his study… there was…” Lir’s voice trails away as she examines his front, and Dante glances down. There are splatters of blood on his jacket and shirt, and he steps back as she gapes. “She said there was blood on the floor. What happened?”

Her eyes are wide with alarm as they rise to meet his. “Let me get cleaned up and I’ll explain.”

Dante eases past her and heads to the kitchen. Lir follows, hanging back in the doorway as he moves to the sink. He uses the minute to think as he runs his hands under the hot water, taking a few pumps of dish soap to clean the blood away. He shuts off the faucet and grabs a dish towel, drying them as he turns to face her.

He leans against the kitchen counter and swallows thickly. “Mom was upset, huh?”

“Very.” Lir takes a step closer before hesitating. “What happened?”

“We… fought. It’s fine,” he says hurriedly, holding up a palm as she opens her mouth. “My dad’s been keeping secrets and I confronted him. It didn’t go well.”

“Secrets?” she asks. “What kind of secrets?”

Dante folds his arms with a sigh. “He’s not who he says he is. He’s… something else.”

“Something else? What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not human.”

He waits for a long moment to let the news absorb. Lir stares at him with wide eyes, and he notices how her fingers tremble as she reaches out to brace against one of the chairs at the little breakfast table. “He’s not human,” she murmurs.

Dante nods and she tilts her head towards him. “And the blood?”

He glances down at his soiled shirt. “That was my mistake. Dad was lying and I wanted him to tell Vergil the truth. So I stabbed him with a sword.”

“You stabbed him?”

“Yeah. He was fine though. Got right up.” Dante chuckles. “Shoulda seen the look on his face. Serves the old man right. He kept refusing to come clean, and I—”

“Dante.” His mouth snaps shut as she sinks into the chair, looking pale. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“If it makes you feel any better, this isn’t all his blood.” Lir looks up sharply as he spreads his arms. “Vergil and I got a drink afterwards and got attacked by a couple of demons in the bar. Had to kill a waitress and all I had was a chair leg, if you can believe it. Luckily Vergil came through. Wasn’t that bad, he killed the bartender.”

“You killed a waitress?”

Dante winces. “Okay, it sounds really bad when you say it like that. But they were demons, I swear.” He starts to walk towards her, and Lir scrambles up, pressing back against the wall. The fear on her face makes him freeze, and he watches as her eyes start to tear up. “Hey, relax. Really. It’s gonna be fine.”

He takes another step and Lir launches herself across the kitchen, diving for the knife block. She pulls a long bread knife from its slot and spins, holding it out like a magic wand as if to ward him off. “Don’t come any closer!” she shrieks.

“Okay. Obviously I’m telling this story wrong.” Dante holds up his palms. “I’m not gonna hurt you. See?”

“You’re crazy!” she cries. “Demons? Killing?” He rolls his eyes and she shakes her head furiously. “Stay away from me!”

She steps to the side, keeping pressed against the counter, as she fishes her cell phone from her pocket. Dante frowns as she swipes it on. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling the police.”

Her voice has an edge now, and Dante can see she’s a dangerous mixture of frightened and furious. “I’ll just go,” he suggests.

Lir shoots him a look to kill as she raises the phone to her ear. “Hello? Yes? Yes, I need the police, my husband—”

As she speaks, something catches Dante’s attention, like a pinprick on his neck. His head turns just as the ceiling explodes in a shower of drywall, the window shattering as something breaks through. Lir screams and he sees her drop the phone in the corner of his eye, and Dante steps between her and the two demons that now stand towering in their kitchen.

He looks up at the hole in the ceiling and grits his teeth when he sees the sky. “We have a fucking door you know,” he growls.

“Dante!”

Lir’s voice is wild with panic, and he holds out a hand. He curses silently, knowing her being here is going to just make this harder. It’s bad enough to fight a demon when a human is around, but now his instinct to protect her is screaming loud enough in his head to drown out any reason. He’s got to get her safe, and then he can deal with them.

“Lir, I want you to run.”

“What?”

“Get to the front door and run. Now!”

He doesn’t know if she obeys because at that moment they advance. Once again he tries to summon Rebellion, and again he realizes he’s left it in the damn car. Two sets of teeth and four sets of claws come for him with a screech, and then Dante is dodging, throwing one punch after another as he tries to make a plan. One of the demons picks up the toaster and throws it at him, making him duck. It sails over his head and implants into the wall behind him. “What the hell!”

One of the demons grabs his leg, pulling him to the ground. Dante lurches to the counter as he falls and grabs a drawer, yanking it free with one pull. He prays it has something he can use, but inside are dish towels. “Damn it,” he mutters, but he swings the drawer, which breaks with a spray of splinters as it hits one demon full on the face. It falls back and lets his leg go, and Dante scrambles to his feet, pulling open another cabinet.

This one has plates at least, so he grabs the stack and throws them one by one at the other demon. They explode in its face, the porcelain shattering loudly as it falls in pieces to the floor, but they disorient it enough that Dante can deliver a kick that sends it sailing across the kitchen. Before the two demons can recover, he lunges at the knife block, and with a steak knife in each hand, he quickly dispatches them both, slitting their heads open, both collapsing in a pool of dark blood.

Dante catches his breath and drops the two knives in the sink. When he turns, he finds Lir on the ground, her knees drawn up as she gapes at him.

“Lir…” he murmurs with a wince. They stare at each other for a long moment, and he takes in the pieces of drywall stuck in her hair, the way her shoulders shake, the bright flush on her face. But she’s alive, that’s all that matters. The rest of this shit he can explain, and fix, and make up to her.

Just then, there is the sound of someone talking, and they both look down at the phone on the ground. It looks like it takes a half minute for her to remember what it is, but then she jerks it up to her ear. “Hello? Hello, yes I’m here. No, no, everything’s fine.” Her eyes are wide as they take in the mess now that it’s settled, but her voice is steady. “I thought my husband was hurt, but he’s fine. A cabinet fell over in the kitchen, that was all the commotion. I’m so sorry.” She listens for a moment and then says, “Really, it’s not necessary. We’re fine.”

Dante takes a deep breath as she finishes the call, looking out the hole in the wall where the window used to be. He scans the darkness for any more demons, but his senses don’t pick anything else up. Lir says goodbye, and he glances over as she presses a finger to the screen before slowly setting the phone on the ground.

Their gazes connect, and he feels a twist in his chest as he sees tears swimming in her eyes. But then Lir scrambles towards him, and he catches her in a tight hug, her face pressed to his neck. Dante gives a small smile as he holds her closely, rubbing a soothing hand on her back as her breath shakes against his skin.

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“So that’s everything.” Dante looks over at the passenger side, where Lir stares straight ahead. “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Her eyes fall to where her hands sit in her lap. “So you’re not Dante? My husband?”

“I guess not,” he replies. “I mean, I’m Dante, but I don’t know if I’m him or if he’s me or if…” He rubs his face and glances at the clock on the dashboard which shows it’s nearly midnight. The gas station they had pulled into is deserted, and the light from the shelters over the pumps gives enough light that he can see the pained expression on her face. “Sorry. I keep saying the wrong thing. And uh, I guess I should apologize… for the other night—”

“No, it’s…” She glances over, almost shyly, and Dante’s heart skips a beat. “You’re still him, just not him him. I think.”

“Right.” He chuckles humorlessly with a half smile. “You hungry?”

Lir shakes her head. “Not really. I’m exhausted.”

“Let’s get some rest then.” He starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, heading down the nearly empty street. After a few turns he finds a little motel, and Lir luckily doesn’t argue when he parks. She stops to grab the bag she had packed in haste before they fled the house as he heads into the office, emerging a minute later with a room key. “Funny, the guy didn’t blink twice even though I’m a mess,” he jokes.

Dante grabs Rebellion from the trunk, remembering this time, before he leads her to room six.  But he hesitates when he slides the key into the lock. “I guess I should have gotten two rooms?” he murmurs.

“No. I don’t want to be alone.” She presses her hand on his back lightly. “It’s fine.”

He nods as they enter, flicking on the lights as Lir follows inside. There is a Queen-sized bed in the middle, a television, a chair and table, and Lir shrugs off her jacket before opening the bag. She pulls out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, holding them out to him. “Do you want to get cleaned up?”

“Yeah.” Lir doesn’t look up at him as he takes the clothes, and not knowing what else to say, he heads into the bathroom.

His reflection is a mess, his hair sticky strands covered in blood and dirt. His face and neck aren’t much better, and as he strips off his clothes, he thinks about what he must have looked like arriving home like that. “This is why I never got married,” he mutters to himself as he turns on the faucet. “Too much trouble.”

His dialogue continues as he starts the shower and unwraps the little bar of free soap, listing the reasons why a relationship and marriage don’t mix with demon hunting: too much blood. Too much laundry. Too many questions. Weapons. Blood. Death.

He leans his forearm on the tile, watching as red swirls around the drain until the water goes clear. Stupid fucking wish, he thinks. This life he had always wanted? It’s not possible, and he needs to accept that and move on. He had no idea what he was asking for, Dante realizes.

It makes sense, really, he tells himself as he towels off. After all, Lady didn’t have anybody. Neither did Trish. Whoever Nero’s mother was, it couldn’t have lasted long before Vergil was gone, if his brother even knew he had a kid in the first place. Too much liability when you have someone in your life. He remembers Lir’s scream as the demons crashed into their home, the way the fear hit in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. But Nero has managed it, hasn’t he? He has Kyrie, and goes home to her every night, blood and guts and all. Dante frowns, wondering if it’s not meant to last. It would kill the kid to lose her.

Sparda, Vergil, him, now Nero… their whole family, one after another, losing someone close before disappearing too. Like some big cosmic joke.

Lir is curled up on the pillows, the lights off and the television on. She pulls back the covers when he climbs up to join her, and Dante smiles a bit when she repositions herself with her head on his chest and her arms tightly wrapped around him. “This okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Dante snorts. “Nah. It’s a crazy story, I know.”

“I pulled a knife on you.”

“Not the first time someone’s done that.”

Lir stiffens a bit before lifting her head. She looks at him sadly, but he grins. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t tell me who I am,” she says.

Dante glances away with a shrug. “I don’t know you in my time. We never met.”

“Oh.” She lays her head back down against his shoulder, and Dante settles his hand on her hip. “I’m glad we got to meet here.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Dante listens as Lir’s breathing goes steady, her body sinking against him as she falls asleep. He stays awake, watching the light behind the curtain grow darker before slowly turning gray. By the time the sun comes up, his decision is made.

[the-ghost-king]

Me 0.1 seconds after reading your post about Will being Mothman simp: omg solangelo west virginia interstate dates 🖤 💛

Hey, it’s me again, the napping Nico person. Idk if you’re planning on writing 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙝 a story but if you did so, I’d love to read it, just wanted to tell you that. Hope you have a great day :)

@napping-nico I hope you have a great day as well! ;)

My apologies for the wait, as always I’ll reblog with the link to the Ao3 version!

Nico and Will go camping, something about tents and stars, Nico talks about military school and how camping was their idea of fun, in the morning they go along the river front and visit the mothman statue and maybe go on the river boat... Theme is it should be written like Ari + Dante staying in the desert overnight in the truck

Nature was something Nico loved, something he respected.

Growing up as a child hunting excursions had been a commonality in his home, they didn’t really need to go hunting; if they wanted fresh game there would have been a hundred men at their door asking for the chance to shoot for the di Angelo’s. 

His Nonno had always liked it, to Nonno hunting had never been about hunting and it had never been about the camping that came with the trips either. Hunting, as Nico had known it as a child, had always been about politics; the excursions a place, a way, and an excuse to make deals.

In Military academies, camping trips were their idea of a good fun time. 

A couple hundred boys and girls hiking out into the middle of Nowhere Forest loaded up with camping gear and taught how to cook food over open flame, and how to assemble tents in just a minute or two. The humdrum of set up, sleep, and take down with interjections and complaints sporadic throughout.

Nico had never minded camping, he found it some sort of calm. He liked the quiet, divine sort of life that nature provided. Nico had stood in front of gods and never felt power quite like that of a large old forest.

(Gods were bright and burning in their divinity, the air around them crackled and your throat was always tight and dry... Forests weren’t like that).

There was something about sleeping on the ground among all the living things, some sort of serene quality to it. He’d lay there among the sounds of his grandfathers disgruntled tossing and turning, and the annoyed complaints of other boys longing for their real beds, and Nico would breathe in the cold air of the natural world and feel something akin to home. 

His chest would expand and he’d feel some kind of emotion in his sternum, like the plants and branches themselves were growing forth from his lungs with each chilling breath in, and they were expanding in the depths of his lungs and heart in a silent agreement of mutual affection and love. 

To say the least Nico had always slept his absolute best outside.

Will on the other hand was a country boy at heart, he’d grown up in the middle of I Live 500+ Miles From Civilization Texas and backyards became camp grounds every spring and summer. 

For Nico camping had always been treated like a fun little activity and Nico had taken it upon himself to find the divinity in each excursion. As for Will, camping was just something you did sometimes. He didn’t have some complex connection to the act of setting up a tent and sleeping inside of it, the closest Will came to anything intensely memorable about camping was bonfires.. But his family was large and they all lived near one another, bonfires were a nightly thing not necessarily a camping thing within his family. 

To say the least, when Will asked him if he’d like to go camping in the middle of Fuck-All West Virginia Nico was absolutely in agreement. Sure he was a little confused as to why exactly they had to go all the way to West Virginia when they already lived in the middle of nowhere Texas, but he was sure there was a decent reason, as a demigod you learned to go with the flow sometimes.

What Nico hadn’t expected was that they would be heading to a quaint little West Virginian campground because his fiancé was a slut for Mothman.  

Nico looked over to Will as he climbed out of the drivers seat of the truck, “Cyrtids aren’t going to fuck you if you manage to find them.”

Will looks at him from outside the car, “I’d be just as happy to let them kill me slowly.”

“That’s my job!” Nico glares at him for a second and sees Will smiling at him happily.

“Well then, you’ll have to protect me won’t you, darlin’?”

“Hmph,” Nico climbed out of the passenger seat and walked around to the bed of the truck to help Will unload the truck and set up camp for later that evening.

They pulled out all their equipment so they could set up their trunk tent; listen, sleeping on the ground in a tent was one thing, sleeping in the open air of the truck bed was another, but figuring out you could combine both of them? Nico had been in heaven. 

They spend the time they work bickering, back and forth with light quips about the things each other had packed and how they packed them. They both had self-satisfied smirks on their faces the whole time, and they unapologetically threw pillows at one another while they were supposed to be readying their bed. 

Some older lady had walked by at some point and with a gasp of shock she’d looked at both of them sadly, “What are your names? I want to pray for you.”

Nico, ever the expert with old people and children looked to her kindly, “Forgive me, why are you interested in praying for us?”

The woman goes on a long spiel about how young relationships are hard work, she starts talking about how from the sound of all their fighting they sure needed a lot of work if they were ever going to love each other properly. She tells them about how she wants to pray for them so that they won’t fight anymore and they’ll be happy. 

When she finishes Nico is trying his hardest not to laugh so Will handles her, “Thank you ma’am, but I assure you we’re just happy to entertain the public.”

The lady has the most offended look on her face when Will tells her that, she picks up her woven bag from the ground and storms off to the sound of Nico’s poorly contained laughter. 

They finish setting up the inside of their tent and locking their food and valuables up in the truck all while still cracking jokes and making quips, “I just want to pray for you and your relationship” Nico says with a mock praying gesture towards Will.

The blonde laughs back at him, “at least she didn’t assume we were brothers.”

Will locks the truck to the sound of his own quiet laugh Nico’s annoyed groan that borderlines on disgust.

"You'll pay for that comment!"

"Promise?"

They end up on the Riverwalk around dinner time, they took a break from normal camping adventures like public bathrooms and trying to start a fire so they could instead go look at a statue of Will's oldest crytid-crush.

Somehow the thing was taller than 6"2 Will, almost doubling him in height with its polished glory. It had dark red ruby eyes on either side of its face, and the coloration of the creature had been handled by carving and removing parts of it until it resembled some sort of 6 packed moth.

Nico didn't really see the appeal, but Will found sharp teeth "simp worthy" so Nico supposed if he was happy that was enough.

He seemed in awe of the beast, staring up at it in wonder and awe- maybe a bit aroused too... This was Will after all, the dude was obsessed with that one demon character from the Blue Butler show? Black Butler?

Maybe Austin was right, maybe Will really did have a type.

Will gets bored after a while, and fifty or so pictures later, they decide to head back to the truck, Will blabbering the whole walk back about star gazing and maybe seeing the real Mothman fly by overhead while they do so.

They head back to the truck where there's food to be cooked over the fire, and they eat in their little bed-of-the-trunk-tent that amazes Nico everytime he sees it. The modern world has some crazy inventions sometimes, Nico spent a solid week on their living room floor obsessed with Will's Xbox and how it worked.

The tent was a light orange color with cream accents on it, inside it was gray, and they'd laid a spread of multicolored blankets and pillows out to sleep on. The top part of it opened with a little screened window piece, and up above them there were stars in the sky.

Nico crawled in to lay on his back so he could look out their little unzipped window, and he could hear Will doing something outside before he climbed in behind Nico.

"Alright?"

"Hmph."

"Good."

They lay in silence for a few minutes, both of them just lost in the sight of the stars and thoughts of the person breathing next to them. Will turns over first, just to look at Nico, so Nico gives him a taste of his own medicine and does the same.

Nico decides then to take a pillow and hit Will's shoulder with it, "Sap."

He's not angry, it's not an accusation, it's just a fact; Will's a romantic and especially so for Nico.

"Maybe so," He's smiling at Nico, "I got you something if you'd like to see it?"

"Oh?" Nico fakes coy in response and earns an exasperated look from Will.

"Here."

He hands him something small, places the little trinket in Nico's hands. Nico opens his hands to see little earrings of a dark moth with red eyes, they're silver on the backs and Mothman is painted on the front of them. This version is much cuter than the statue version.

"Thank you," Nico places a kiss to Will's lips.

"I know you don't really like Mothman as much as me," there's a slight pause where they both chuckle, "but I don't know, I thought maybe you would like them because they would remind you of this? I don't know, I sorry, it's just-"

Nico pets a hand through Will's hair, "I love you, and I love them, don't apologize for buying me things."

Will gets a little stressed sometimes to say the least, he had managed to get off his anxiety meds back when they were still at camp, but he sometimes still found himself in spirals. Nico didn't entirely understand anxiety, but he did know what it felt like to feel constantly inadequate, and he knew what depression felt like, and he'd like to think he can help a little.

It took both of them some time together to realize that they couldn't love each other's problems away. Even though they both had been told it didn't work like that, they were hopeful and in love and thought that maybe they could create something different. Eventually they both did come to realize that they just had to hold the other persons hand, and sometimes one of them stepped up when the other couldn't keep up the pace, but it was better that way.

You can't love someone through anything, love isn't a cure, but you can hold their hand through it and remind them that you love them.

Nico pulls Will closer, lets him lay his head on his shoulder, and they stare up into the night sky together. Nico whispers into his ear his own thanks for the gift, and let's his words change into sweet nothings. Talking about how much he loved Will, and when they head back down South how his Mom would be home from her latest tour, and he listens closely when Will tells him about some Mothman documentary that he watched.

And Nico falls asleep some point shortly after Will, he can fill his lovers heartbeat if he reaches out for him, he can feel his life force strong and present. Nico can feel the life ebbing out of the field that surrounds them, he can feel the life that makes the trees grow.

Nico falls asleep, warm, comfortable, and basking in the life around him.

Everything will be just fine.

[shianhygge-imagines]

{R} [DMC Reactions] S/O Sacrifice Scramble

AN: No, thank you! For supporting my angsty ass during my days of procrastination and getting my life together, lmao! That is an interesting idea! So... let’s take the same scenarios from the original reaction post... and just replace the s/o with another character’s s/o! :3

Let’s be honest... it’s not gonna be a happy affair! And given how the DMC universe is... it’s highly likely something like this would happen.

|Link to Original S/O Sacrifice|

|Masterlist Link|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dante

Gets saved by Vergil’s S/O

He’d needed an expert with him on a job when it happened. His usual carelessness had gotten a loved one killed. 

Dante cried in agony as your head rolled away, remembering how he’d promised his older brother that he’d bring you back safe and sound. 

How Vergil had promised Dante a slow painful death if anything happened to you. How Dante had agreed that if anything happened, he would let Vergil kill him. 

He didn’t know what to do, going into a full blown demonic rage and butchering the demon that killed you. 

All he could think to do after was to bring your body back to Vergil. 

The moment Dante returned, the roar of his motorcycle the telltale sign of his return, Vergil had practically flown through the shop front doors. His face didn’t show it, but his heart leapt in joy at your return, longing to hold you in his arms after a time apart.  

Upon seeing only Dante standing in the dark, tears in his eyes and a white bundle in his arms, Vergil paused, his mind quickly connecting two and two together. “Y/N?” Vergil asked for you, his lips twitching to fight a frown. When Dante only met his twin’s eyes and tearfully looked away, Vergil took a step back. “No.” He denied, eyes shifting to stare at the human sized bundle in Dante’s arms, “She can’t have…” 

“I’m sorry, Vergil.” Dante tried to apologize, but his brother practically snarled in denial. 

But little by little, Vergil’s mask crumbled when a hand fell out of the bundle. Your hand. Your wedding ring. You. Unmoving.

A sob escaped Vergil’s lips before he could stop it, and his legs suddenly gave way as he could only stare in despair. You’d loved him during his darkest time, and gotten him through it. And you were dead. 

Was this karma for all the harm that he’d done in the past? Was this the world taking its revenge against him for nearly bringing the end of humanity two times?You were supposed to be his redemption. His salvation. That you were gone… did that mean he was damned for all eternity? That he was destined to stand alone forever.

He’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, but now that was a distant dream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vergil

Get’s saved by Dante’s S/O

“Gah! Fecking hell, Vergil!” You screamed, practically diving into the swarm that your brother-in-law had sprinted into. From behind, you could hear Dante calling for you to let Vergil do his thing. But from his position on the cliff below, he couldn’t see the number of demons that awaited his twin.

They’d finally started to have some semblance of a non-toxic relationship again, and you were damned if you would just let Vergil get himself killed.

Dante had only just gotten his brother back, and it made you happy that the brothers had started to mend their relationship. If anything were to happen to either brother, you were sure that their relationship would have been set back by a great deal. And with how much you loved Dante, you couldn’t allow anything to happen to the only surviving member of his family.

That was why you threw yourself in front of a fireball, suffering through burns in order to protect a man that was usually frigid in demeanor despite his turning over a new leaf. And the pain was unbearable, your skin melting and clothes burning. You were only able to verify that Vergil was unharmed before you collapsed into his arms unconscious.

Vergil knew that he was a class A jerk to you, so he was surprised that you, someone who only held a small fraction of demonic blood, would throw yourself in the way of an attack that might have left him incapacitated, but not too severely injured.

He caught your falling body as it fell in front of him, surprise flickering on his face for a brief moment before he schooled his expression.

The demon that had burned you so badly shook in fear at the icy malice on Vergil’s face after he’d laid you on the ground and covered your damaged body with his coat.

“Y/N is precious to someone important to me. I hope you’re ready to suffer through a slow and painful death.” Vergil hissed, unsheathing the Yamato with a deadly ring of metal.

After the demon had been dealt with, Vergil calmly picked your body up from the ground, noting that you were still alive. With the still unsheathed Yamato, Vergil quickly opened a portal back to Devil May Cry, where he gave Dante the scare of his life by immediately barking out instructions on how to treat your wounds.

After you had been treated and left to rest, Vergil would break the news to Dante like ripping off a band aid. “She saved me from an attack.” Vergil saw the punch coming at him, but didn’t move, letting his younger twin land a strike to his face.

“Next time, you better be the one looking after her.” Dante growled, clenching and unclenching his fist, beyond furious that Vergil had been so negligent as to let you get hurt.

Knowing that there would be a next time because of your stubbornness, Vergil nodded. “Next time, I’ll look after her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nero

Get’s saved by V’s S/O

As loathe as Nero was to have to take you along on a hunt, he didn’t quite have the balls to defy you when it was your fiance’s life on the line

A few days prior, several demons had appeared to attack V, vowing revenge on the Sons of Sparda, blah blah blah, like you hadn’t heard that reason half a million times.

Due to having been a part of Vergil, V’s continued existence was sustained through absorbing demonic energy, much to your surprise and confusion on how that would work in the first place.

During the attack, V had been alone except for his demon contracts, Shadow, Griffon, and Nightmare. Normally, this wouldn’t have been much of a challenge for the four of them, but V had been severely weakened after Vergil ‘resurrected.’

Not only did the attacking demons manage to severely wound V, they had also taken it upon themselves to steal V’s demonic power. The only thing sustaining V was his contracts with Shadow and Nightmare. Griffon had decided to forge a contract with you in order to help. Now, you and Nero were racing against the clock to kill the demon that housed V’s power.

Despite not having an upraising involving combat, you held your own whenever demons appeared, brandishing V’s cane and a rifle borrowed from Lady.

“A Bride on a Mission” Griffon had called you after you struck down a demon with no mercy.

Despite being able to hold your own, you were under no illusion that you could kill the demon that had assaulted your fiance and left him for dead. So, when you saw Nero getting backed into a corner, still reluctant to use his Devil Trigger, you commanded Griffon to give you a boost, sending you soaring towards Nero.

Though you stuck the landing wrong, earning you a twisted ankle, you’d managed to blast through part of the horde. You didn’t get to celebrate your victory much, when you felt the painful end of a horn dig into your stomach and send you tumbling backwards.

“Y/N!” Nero cried out in alarm.

Now, normally, you tried not to curse... but laying on your back with a hole in your abdomen, you couldn’t help but let out a swear, “Fuck!”

The demon that had stolen your fiance’s power had come out to play, and you were pretty much down for the count. Nevertheless, you propped yourself up on an elbow and aimed with your rifle. “Heh, I’m not dead yet, you fucker.”

Nero, meanwhile, had finally started to take the fight seriously, blasting through the rest of the demon horde before advancing on the bastardization of a bull demon that had attacked you when he wasn’t looking. “Hey! Do you know how much trouble I’m in now that you’ve poked a hole into my friend’s fiance?!”

The banter was a front. Nero was scared shitless that he’d have to bury another friend and break the news to V... who might just find a way to kill him for not looking after you.

Activating his Devil Trigger for the sake of killing the beast, Nero followed the battle up with picking up the crystallized demonic energy embedded in the bull demon’s horn before using his Devil Trigger to get you to a hospital.

Somehow, between getting checked into the hospital, and waking up from surgery, Griffon had left you to return to V, who found out about what had happened and immediately brought himself to the hospital to yell at Nero and look after you.

When you woke up, V sat in a chair beside your bed, one hand holding yours and another holding a book. Seeing you awake, V set the book down and gently chided you after making sure you were okay. “Please, Y/N... Don’t do that again. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

V

Get’s saved by Nero’s S/O

For the sake of this request, we’ll say that Nero’s S/O is different from Kyrie (even if it’s the canon pairing >.>, The reason why I have to clarify... well, that’s a story for another time)

V had long since retired from hunting demons, instead, investing his newly mortal life in learning about the world with the help of you, Nero, and Kyrie.

He was only a month old when he’d assisted in defeating Urizen, and had barely grasps the basic human mannerisms and fundamentals. Like the use of money, or the fact that a bullet to the head would kill him, or your personal favorite, that he had to consume food for survival. Truly, when Nero first introduced you to V, you thought him to be a child.

Though, the first thing you did after meeting him had been to take him clothes shopping. Sure, it was summer, but once the colder seasons rolled in, you were sure that V would need proper shirts instead of... the trench coat corset thing? You’re amazed the thing didn’t come apart during his battles.

There were a few times that V was forced to fight demons, either to absorb their demonic energy in order to extend his life, or to beat off random assaults from demons that swear revenge upon the Sons of Sparda. These times were increasingly annoying for the young man, as he’d long since separated himself from Vergil.

Most of the times that he’d get attacked were during his walks in the streets of Fortuna. It was a beautiful town with old architecture, so V often found himself observing the towering structures.

One day, you decided to accompany V on one of his strolls, taking a sketchbook along just in case you found another spot to stop and sketch while V took his time looking at the building designs.

It is unfortunate, then, that while the two of you were doing just that, Shadow popped out of the ground beneath you, growling in warning as several demons decided to claw out of the ground around you.

Despite having V, Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare with you, your group was quickly overwhelmed by attacks from all sides. You’d never had to fight in your life, and by not having a weapon on you, you were just a burdening presence. That didn’t stop you from calling out enemy presence in the street and slapping bitches with your sketchbook, mind you. You were unprepared and untrained, but damn it you weren’t going to be a useless damsel.

This was foolhardy of you, taking on demons despite the fact that V probably had it all handled... especially the fact that V had asked you to stay back from the demons. You didn’t listen to your fiance’s friend, and so when you’d taken a shot at one of the downed demons, raising an arm up to slap the mofo, you suddenly felt pain, and heard a thump to the floor. The blood that trickled down your arm brought your attention to the fact that you were now missing your non dominant hand.

“Fucking hell!” you screamed, wanting to panic and flail around as V quickly took care of the remaining demons before hobbling on unsteady feat towards you, unbuckling his belt to tie it around your bleeding arm.

“Y/N...” V called your name as he applied the make shift tourniquet, “Y/N, which way is the hospital? We need to get you to the hospital soon, or you really will lose your arm.”

The two of you sprinted with as much haste as possible to the hospital, you trying not to scream in panic, and V, trying not to imagine your fiance’s ire as he held your severed arm.

The minute you entered the surgery room, Nero arrived on scene at the hospital, and practically accosted V, “What the hell, V! Y/N’s not a demon hunter! You’re supposed to protect them!”

V, already feeling guilty for being unable to protect you, winced and responded with a calm voice, “I should have had Shadow escort them away, that was my mistake. But your fiance is as stubborn as you, Nero. They wanted to help... and now they may lose their arm... or not. You did regrow your arm after all.”

Brain running a mile a minute and having already decided that he should now at the very least teach you some basic defense, Nero growled, “That’s not a normal thing humans can do, V. I know you’re still getting used to being a real boy and all, but...” Nero simply sighed tiredly. “Just... make sure you watch their back when you’re with them, okay? We were lucky that they’re not half dead.”

Hours later, your arm was reattached, but you made stump jokes that made Nero simultaneously want to kiss you and slam his face in the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 5 now posted

AO3

Helen was waiting.

It was a matter of time now, for John to come.

She pulled the sweatshirt that Nick had given to her tighter around her shoulders. It must be getting late, she notes, because it’s getting colder again.

The guards had changed just two hours after she managed to send John the text. The new ones weren’t as talkative but she really didn’t need them to be. Not anymore.

She had gotten a message out.

Now she just had to wait.

She wonders if he’s narrowing her location or if he’s already on his way.

She wonders what the fuck she’ll do if she wakes up again in the morning and find she’s still here. That John hadn’t come for her.

Maybe he wasn’t able to?

No. She pushes that thought quickly from her mind.

This was John. Nothing would stop him.

She just needs to keep waiting.

The phone rings from one of the guards and she watches, with vague interest, as he picks up the call.

“’lo?”

She can’t hear what is happening on the other side of the line, but the guard looks to Helen, his eyes wide with fear.

She can’t help the smile that grows on her face with the unbidden knowledge: He’s coming.

“What? Why?” There’s a pause and his eyes widen, “Yes, sir.” He hangs up and jumps to his feet, turning to his partner, “Go get the car. We’re moving her.”

“Now?” The other guy rolls his eyes.

“Marco, John Wick is coming.”

Helen breathed a sigh of relief just at hearing his name. He was on his way. He was coming.

Marco’s eyes widen and he, too, scrambles to his feet.

“Baba Yaga? Why?”

“Oh, you poor bastards.” Marco and the other guard look at her fearfully, “You agreed to guarding me without ever asking who I was.”

Stall, she thinks. They’re trying to move her to a second location, one that John might not be able to find as easily… She can’t let them move her.

Not if he’s coming.

“Who are you?” Marco asks.

She borrows the language that Nick used. Therapist or not, in this world, it was probably the most accurate assessment of their relationship, “I’m John Wick’s girl.”

“Oh fuck.”

Helen makes a show of examining her nails, “Honestly, it took him long enough.”

“Get the car, now!” The taller guard states.

“I mean, you could get the car.” Helen says, “But trust me when I tell you, that’s just going to piss him off.”

They exchange a look.

“My suggestion is that both of you leave before he gets here. He won’t come after you right away that way. Or you could stay here and surrender. Maybe he’ll take pity on you.” She offers a smile, “Claim your ignorance. You didn’t know who I was.”

They’re both distraught and tense. Finally, one of them breaks.

“Marco, get the car.”

“Dude, I don’t know…”

“Do you want to be here when John Wick gets here? GO!”

Helen makes a face, doing her best to look both understanding of his decision but skeptical of his choice. “Not your best move, but I get it. It’s noble that you’re willing to die for your cause.”

Marco makes a noise of fear but he hurries to the stairs, taking them two at a time.

The other guard grabs the keys that had been hanging from a nearby hook. He shoves it into the lock of her cell and Helen feels her heart start to race.

They can’t move her. Not yet.

Not after she finally got through to him.

He reaches for her and she quickly jumps across the floor to the edge of her cell. The sweatshirt falls from her shoulders as she does, and she wraps her arms around the bars as tightly as she can.

Fingers dig into her arm, but she holds tight. Every second counts.

“Fuck! Let go!” There’s panic in his voice and there should be. Every single thing these men have heard about John Wick, every rumor and urban legend, was about John at his baseline.

But right now, he was pissed.

She gave the guards the option to walk away. That they hadn’t is now beyond her control.

One arm is pried loose but the other stands firm. She manages to kick backward and he grunts, falling to one knee as his leg is knocked down.

She manages to free the arm and entangles herself back amongst the bars.

His arms wrap under hers this time and he tries to pull her off that way. The technique is a little better and she feels herself slipping.

She kicks out again, thrashing as hard as she can. She just needs to waste time, to stall. Just a little longer.

He’s coming.

There are footsteps on the stairs and Marco hurries back down.

Fuck.

She was barely holding out against one of DeLuca’s goons.

“Get the sedative!” The guard growls out and Helen resists the urge to swear.

She slams her foot back again, managing a kick to the balls and watches, in relief, as the guard doubles over in pain. She lets go of the bars and bolts to her feet. She feels her head rush after being on the ground for so long but she runs as fast as she can towards the stairs.

She makes it up the first few and then her ankle is grabbed and she falls forward. Her head bounces off a step and the world goes fuzzy.

Helen tries to blink, to keep herself conscious but it’s pointless. The needle is jabbed into her flesh and she feels herself being picked up.

She had been so close…

But it wasn’t enough.

…

They had a name. And an organization.

But nothing else. The sender had immediately blocked their number, but it was a start.

“Dante DeLuca is dead.” Winston had said when John read the text aloud. “He passed on three months ago. I had flowers sent to his widow, in Rome.”

“Does he have children?”

“Several. Only one legitimate, I believe. Mateo.”

“Karl, run a search on Mateo DeLuca. Current position, known allies, and any properties listed under his or his father’s name.”

“Running now.”

Mateo DeLuca was largely unknown. He wasn’t particularly well-respected by anyone and was really known only as Dante DeLuca’s son and heir. Dante, himself, hadn’t seemed too fond of the boy but that was often the case.

You raise spoiled children; you get rotten adults.

Mateo had a degree from Columbia University in business. A few arrests during that time but no convictions.

As far as the Underworld went, Mateo had virtually no presence.

And while Mateo was Dante’s heir, there was some evidence that he had been grooming a few others to take over the business upon his passing. But then he had died, seemingly of natural causes.

John was doubting that.

Winston stated that, indeed, the Syndicate was an enemy of the Camorra. Still, they were far too small to overtake the larger empire of the D’Antonio’s.

John didn’t care about that. The politics were over now that he had a name. Winston could deal with the fallout. Report Mateo’s treason to the High Table. Or not.

There really wasn’t much of a point considering that John was more than willing to just kill the bastard and be done with it.

Karl ran every property associated with the Syndicate in New York while John began strapping weapons.

“I have a location on Mateo.” Karl says, “He’s at a party in Manhattan. He just posted on his Instagram.”

John wasn’t entirely sure what that sentence meant.

“She must be being kept somewhere else.”

“A small property.” John agrees, “Someplace private, out of the way.”

“He’s got a handful of houses. A brownstone in Brooklyn.”

John shakes his head, “Too many potential witnesses.”

“There’s a few places down in Staten Island and oh… He owns a condemned block in Long Beach. Series of houses bought out after Hurricane Irene.”

“Closest neighbor?”

“At least a block.”

John grabs his phone back and types the address into his GPS.

She’s there. She has to be.

Still, he gruffly adds, “Keep searching. Just in case.”

“Jonathan, perhaps you should come up with a plan—”

John shoots the Manager a look.

He isn’t waiting anymore.

“Call for my car. I’ll update you when I can.” John tells him as he leaves the room.

The drive from the Continental to Long Beach should have been an hour. Luckily, traffic was on his side. The gas pedal pressed to the floor didn’t hurt, either. He blows through every stop sign and red light he meets.

The ocean is visible and he breathes a sigh of relief. He’s close, now.

His phone begins to ring and John spares the ID a glance. The Continental.

He answers it, “This is Wick?”

“Hi, Mister Wick, it’s, uh, Karl.” The Technician awkwardly greets, “You said to keep an eye out and I did and, um, DeLuca knows.”

“What?”

“He knows you’re coming, sir. He has sentries over in Long Beach and they reported seeing your car. He knows you’re coming and he made a call to someone at the house.”

“How many sentries?”

“I don’t know, sir. But DeLuca’s made two more calls since the house that have pinged in your general vicinity.”

Sure enough, John checks his rearview and a black car is following him. They’d have to be going at least fifty to keep on his tail.

“Thank you.” John turns off the phone. He’s less than five miles away.

Five miles away from Helen.

He’s sure they’re keeping her there now.

And they’ll be ready for him.

That’s fine. It won’t make a difference. He’ll kill them all.

As long as he got there in time.

They’d be moving her. DeLuca’s only leverage against John, and the only thing keeping John from outright murdering him was Helen.

He hears the sounds of loud motors and checks his rearview.

Sure enough, another car slides off of a side street and joins the pursuit.

In any other situation, he might have laughed. Now, it was just a nuisance. Another obstacle trying to prevent him from reaching what he needed most.

But he can’t worry about them now. He can’t stop to take care of the problem because he can’t fucking risk them moving her.

There’s an idling car out front of one of the houses.

He can see her. She’s clearly unconscious, being carried from the house to the car. Two men in front of him, he’s not even sure of how many are behind.

He had hoped for a bit of stealth, the element of surprise. But then, his car barreling down a side street at eighty miles an hour is hard to miss, especially when he slams the breaks and the tires loudly squeal along the pavement.

He’s usually better than this. A lot better than this. In fact, he’s not sure he can really remember a time since his teens when he went in guns’ blazing.

He was too calm, to focused, to tactical for that.

Yet here he is.

And the clock is ticking.

He can’t let them get away.

John opens the door and lunges from the car, ducking from the shots being fired from the cars behind them as they squeal to a stop. He aims low, not willing to waste ammo until he knew what he was dealing with and fired a shot. The back left tire starts to compress and he does the same for the right.

They’re not getting away.

The man, not carrying Helen, reaches to his belt and John fires again.

The bullet breaks into his hand and he can hear the cry of pain. Before the man can reach again, John aims higher and shoots him in the neck.

He can hear firing coming from behind him.

He has to take them out before she can be hit by a stray bullet.

All it takes is one.

Luckily, the man who has Helen has ducked down low.

He needs more eyes, more hands.

He turns, because he needs to and starts counting.

Three cars, two men each. Clearly, DeLuca had not paid enough attention when researching potential assassins to manipulate.

John ducks back behind the car, reloading his weapon. He wants to move towards them, to finish this quickly, but he needs to keep his head. He needs to deal with this like he’s not emotionally involved because, to do otherwise, would be suicide.

He stops and listens. The gunfire dies down and the men on the other side of the car are hollering directions to one another.

Amateur hour.

He can hear footsteps coming on either side of car, heavily pounding on the concrete.

John stays crouched but moves to the left side. He tucks his gun into its holster and, instead, grabs a knife from his boot.

Just as the first two men reach the front of the car, John grabs the one on the left but the shirt and stabs him in the gut. He stands, disarming the shocked man and drags the blade up. His hand snatches the gun with ease and he fires once over his shoulder to the man just behind him, then again at the man who was coming around the right side of the car.

He manages to dodge, jumping back behind the tallest part of the car.

John fires through the passenger side window. The bullet flies through the car and comes out on the other side, staggering the man back. He fires again and the man drops to the ground.

Four down, he thinks. Four to go.

A shot is fired at him from back where the other cars were. Two of the men still are hiding back at the cars they came in.

John spins back around to the front of the car.

The man from the opposite side of the car takes off running as John sneaks down low to the other side. He uses the new gun to fire low. The first shot goes through the calf, likely shredding the muscle.

Hurts like a bitch, John knows from experience. He hobbles and falls to the ground, screaming.

DeLuca’s men, it would seem, are well armed but not trained for shit. He’s momentarily baffled that these were the forces, the army that DeLuca thought he could use to overthrow the Camorra?

But arrogance was his pitfall.

John couldn’t fault him for that; it was his own, as well.

But everything else? The stalking, the kidnapping, the threats? John could fault him for that. That was the reason that DeLuca was going to die.

The last two standing from his pursuers seem unwilling to leave the safety of their cars. Which means, unfortunately, that John can either wait them out or be the one to move.

Waiting it out is smarter. He knows it’s what he should do but a look across to where Helen is and he can’t.

Anger flares within him as he realizes that the man holding her is using her as a kind of shield.

It won’t save him, John thinks, turning his attention back towards the cars. They’re waiting for movement, waiting to fire.

Outnumbered, outgunned, back against the wall.

Thank fuck for Kevlar.

He stands and immediately hears the shots being fired at him. He swerves, immediately, expecting to draw their fire. The bullets miss him and John sprints forward, firing as he does. A bullet hits the front side of the Kevlar and it nearly winds him, but he keeps moving.

John hits the opposite side of the first car and drops to his stomach. In the confusion, he fires and a bullet breaks the ankle of the closer man.

He drops to the ground and John flips around, jumping on top of the hood of the car to shoot the last man standing in the head before delivering a kill shot to wounded man on the ground.

There’s silence, except for the spluttering breaths of the man John had shot in the calf.

He hops off the hood of the car, heading towards Helen and the last of DeLuca’s men. He idly shoots the fallen soldier in the head and moves on.

DeLuca’s man scrambles backward, his arm wrapped around Helen’s torso, holding her up literally as a shield.

John shakes his head in disbelief, his gun lowered at his side but cocked just the same.

The man almost trips over the sidewalk in his state of panic.

John glances to Helen and tries not to tense or flinch at the blood spilling from her temple or the scratch marring her cheek. There are bruises on her arms that resemble fingers and he wishes he could kill them all again.

“Don’t, please…”

“Set her on the ground. Gently.”

“You’ll shoot me.”

“I’ll shoot you either way.” He snarls, “Set her down, and I’ll make it quick.”

“Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to tell you again.” John says, stepping closer.

“Okay, okay!” The man kneels and carefully sets Helen so that she’s on the grassy front lawn. Her body is laid out, her head lolling to the side. “Just, please don’t—”

John shoots him in the head.

The closest thing to mercy he was capable of while watching her bleed.

John reloads his weapon as he kneels, keeping it out of his holster. Just in case.

He checks her headwound first. It’s shallow but there’s a large bump that’s already forming. A fall, he thinks, rather than a hit.

The mark on her cheek similarly resembles an abrasion.

It’s simultaneously not bad and the worst thing he’s ever seen. He wraps an arm under her legs and another around her back and lifts her up. He pulls her close to his chest and breathes easy for the first time in two days.

He keeps his eyes peeled for enemies as he hurries back to his car.

He can’t stay here long. As much as he would love a confrontation with every single person under DeLuca’s employ, he has to get her out of here. To safety.

John hadn’t been thinking long-term beyond getting Helen to safety but now there were other things to consider.

He couldn’t take her back to her home. DeLuca would find it and attack, whether John was there or not. He couldn’t risk putting Helen back into the line of fire.

The Continental was off the table, too.

DeLuca already knew she existed, as did a select few of the Continental staff, but the last thing John wanted was for others to find out about her. She might never have another moment’s rest if the Underworld found out that John Wick had a weakness.

That left his house.

His heart stuttered at the thought.

He’d imagined it a thousand times.

Every morning when he had breakfast, he wondered what Helen would look like standing in his kitchen.

Every time he watched television or read on the couch, he would imagine her presence beside him.

Every night he went to sleep in his own bed, he would roll on his side and think about what it would be like to reach over and touch her.

His love. His life.

He maneuvers Helen to one arm as he opens the passenger-side door and slips her inside. He fastens the seatbelt and leans the seat back the best he can. Finally, he slips off his suit jacket and covers her with it. It’s huge over her small frame and he tries not to delight in the sight.

John cannot resist placing a kiss to her head.

She’s here.

She’s safe.

He closes the door and goes around to the passenger side. He turns the car around and hurries out of the neighborhood and back towards the city and the bridge that will take him back home.

John sets a hand on her leg, squeezing gently to make sure that she really was there.

The nightmare was over.

The rest could be handled with ease now that she was safe. He could track down DeLuca and make him fucking pay for taking Helen. Burn what was left of Syndicate to the ground.

The moment they had cleared Long Beach, he reaches for his phone, dialing the Manager.

Winston picks up after the first ring.

“Jonathan.”

“I have her.”

Winston hums in response.

“I’m going to need Doc.”

“At the Continental?”

“At my house.”

He can practically feel Winston rolls his eyes, “The Doctor doesn’t do house calls.”

“I’ll pay whatever he wants.”

“You are aware that I’m not your secretary, aren’t you, Jonathan?”

John resists the urge to roll his eyes, “Winston. Please.”

“I’ll make it happen.”

“Thank you.”

Winston huffs, then asks, “Is she alright?”

John glances over at the passenger seat. She still was unconscious, but she had stopped bleeding.

“She’s safe. A few injuries. I want to make sure that none are worse than they look.”

He’s met with silence at first. Winston clears his throat, “You do know this won’t be the end of it?”

John focuses his attention on the road ahead. “I’ll track down DeLuca.”

“Your secret is already out. Others will find out about your little therapist. You say she’s safe, but for how long?”

He swallows hard. He can’t begin to process those thoughts until Helen is safe, in bed, and being looked at by a doctor. Then, he’ll have the breakdown he’s been putting off for two days.

“I’ll speak with you soon. Can you make sure Karl gets paid and tipped well for his services?”

He can practically feel the Manager roll his eyes, “Yes, yes. I’ll send the Doctor out shortly. If you’re leaving Long Beach now, he may even make it there before you.”

John offers his thanks and drives the rest of the route in silence, safe the soft sounds of her breathing.

It puts him at ease, hearing her breathe.

He revels in every slight intake and gentle exhale.

It takes longer to get home than it did to find her. While he still speeds, he is no longer doubling the speed limit as he travels home.

As Winston had suggested, the Doctor was already there when John pulls up. He parks out front rather than pulling up to the garage.

“Mister Wick.” The Doctor greets as John climbs out of the car.

“Doc. Thank you for coming.”

John goes to the other side of the car. He undoes the seatbelt and slips her, carefully, back into his arms.

“Do you know what happened to her?” The Doctor asks, eyeing his new patient the best he can while she remains in John’s grasp.

John shakes his head, “She was unconscious when I found her. I don’t know if she was sedated or if she’s still out from the headwound she sustained.”

He opens the door to his home and leads Doc through the house, upstairs to John’s own bedroom.

With a sense of longing, he lays Helen in his bed.

He takes his jacket back and tosses it to the side, allowing Doc access to the rest of her body. The bruises on her arms look worse in the light of his room.

The man was lucky John was feeling merciful.

Doc opens his bag and starts by cleaning the wounds marring her face. He wipes away the blood and bandages the cut on her temple.

“It wasn’t the headwound that knocked her out.” Doc says after examining her. “It’s superficial, although I’m sure she’ll have headaches for the next few weeks. It looks like she’s been drugged a few times. I’d guess this is the work of a sedative.”

That was John’s guess as well.

“Give her twelve hours and try to wake her up. If she’s unresponsive, call me.”

The Doctor grabs a bottle of pills and hands them to John. “Aspirin will do just fine for the pain. Give her this for the headaches.”

John nods, tucking Helen into his bed as the Doctor packs up.

“I can’t thank you enough for coming out here.” John tells him. On his bureau, there’s several stacks of coins. He takes one and hands it off to the Doctor.

“Of course. I hope you’ll forgive my boldness, but I don’t recognize her. Is she based in another city?”

John fights back the urge to wince. While he doesn’t think Doc would say anything to anybody, he doesn’t want to let anyone else know about her identity. But then, Doc had come all this way to ease John’s fears.

He swallows, “She’s not of the Underworld. She’s… a friend of mine. Who got pulled in over her head.”

The Doc hums, “Be careful with otherworlders, John Wick. Persephone was only a guest of the Underworld and she never escaped it.” Before John can think of a response, Doc has his bag in hand, “I wish her a speedy recovery. Good night, Mister Wick.”

The Doctor leaves them in peace and John brings a chair around to her side of the bed. He sits down, nearly collapsing. She is safe.

His vigil begins anew.

[jvden]

𝖇𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖇𝖗𝖎𝖉𝖌𝖊𝖘

𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔧𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔧𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰𝔬𝔫 .

hi ! pretend like you don’t see the lack of graphic ok, something super sick is up there ok . jaden is in dire need of a buddy y’all . a theme of misdirection is common in these, as well as mentions of jaden’s affair (which i have not brought up much due to the fact that ... it just didn’t come up and i hadn’t fully fleshed out the ta as an npc) with theatre ta and garnet alum hudson evans . everything can definitely be changed around to fit anything, i don’t mind ! also if you’d like to just plot something basic, or further flesh out an original plot please let me know ! ok thanks bye -- @opalsmedia 

also see here . 

we dont believe whats on tv  twenty one piots . closed rose morrison .

what if my dream does not happen? / would i just change what i've told my friends? / i don't want to know who i would be / when i wake up from a dreamer's sleep / i need to know / that when i fail you'll still be here

WITH MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S around the corner, jaden is feeling uncharacteristically less than. normally, theatre is an escape for them, a activity that they don’t even need to think about, but here recently the weight of the society is taking over their mind. everything feels weird. the air around the manor is eerie, almost like everyone is keeping a secret and jaden is on the outside. the prodigies are busying themselves with opals, and with each other, jaden unsure of where they’re supposed to be going. on one hand, what happens if they’re that one prodigy that doesn’t fully make it? what if they let dante down? on the other, what happens if they just can’t find joy in the theatre anymore? what if they flunk out of strathmore and are forced to pick something else? who is going to catch them now that august is gone? 

YOUR MUSE CAN sense a shift in jaden, something is off - which may not be so unusual, but it's apparent enough to raise eyebrows. they’re a lending arm to take their mind somewhere that isn't the worst possible scenario. coffee breaks, movie dates, and picnics help take jadens mind off of the weight of the world and their situation, and your muse’s shoulder is always there to lend advice and help push them out of the rutt they’ve found themselves in. your muse is kind, a light at the end of a tunnel.

clementine halsey . open to all .

i don't need anyone / i don't need anyone / i just need everyone and then some

THEN: jaden and your muse weren't fast friends. however, the disgusting amounts of school projects meant they spent so much time together that honestly, they were just tired of looking at them. at first glance, they were into lace and love and rosé (or something opposite obviously). jaden was into leather and cigarettes and jack on the rocks. it was hard to find trust in them, to find a confidant that they could bring their walls down for and believe in their gut that they wouldn't leave. because not everyone leaves. right? their ability to know precisely what jaden thinks before they can get the words out made them a perfect match, the best of friends. your muse knew exactly when jaden's heart rate was rising, when they were getting too worked up for their own good, and knew how to calm them down. because of them, jaden learns to ask for help when and if they need it, rather than keeping to themselves and figuring everything out on their own. your muse is the first person jaden tells about hudson, about their affair. they were intoxicated, enough that they didn't realize what they were saying. now the cat is out of the bag, and things are weird, to say the least. they could see the casual looks your muse was giving hudson in the hallways, the strange silences when they talked about him or when your muse found out they were heading to his place for the night. they didn't think anything of it, they couldn't. they were happy. 

NOW: it’s common knowledge that hudson was a garnet only a few years prior. it’s common knowledge and it’s not necessarily knowledge that jaden would like for your muse to hold on to. hudson’s place in the society makes things even more uncomfortable for jaden and you can feel the relationship straining. what once was an inseparable bond has turned into missed calls, only catching the back of jaden’s hair before they’re out of sight, and lonely walks back to the dorms from the library every night. meanwhile, on jaden’s end, they’re struggling hard with the fact that hollis knows about hudson, they can’t find their place with the rest of the circlet let alone the society as a whole, and they’re backsliding in their classes as well. jaden’s not going to admit to needing help, but you know that they do without having to ask.

forever ... is a long time halsey . open to prodigies ig otherwise it’s against the rules, no?

build love, build god, build provinces / build calluses, break promises / cause i could never hold a perfect thing and not demolish it … 

THEN: they were the first relationship jaden partook in post rehab, and really, post august. it was hard. everything is rocky, they were one thing and then another. they were happy, but then everything was wrong. they were so innocent. so fucking kind and sweet. in the beginning, it bothered jaden, everything about loving them and wanting to be around them, bothered jaden. why couldn't they turn off that light? they knew they would get hurt. but their fucking smile… and maybe that's why jaden ran to the hudson in the first place. to be the one to hurt, and not get hurt. to be with someone that couldn't possibly break their heart because they would never get attached? turns out, they still got attached.

NOW: it's weird confiding in your muse post hudson. things felt normal, but they definitely weren't. they're using your muse as a shield, a security blanket almost. jaden can pretend things are normal in public if they still have their hand to hold. it was rocky, the first few months after the hudson debacle. but eventually, finding the friendship they had in one another made things comfortable. it was a new normal for them; stolen kisses, late-night fights ending in each other's arms. they were easy before, and now it was as if they were the secret. 

hand me downs mac miller . closed eliot rivera.

when i'm stuck between a rock and a hard place / walk and drop in change inside your empty guitar case / that's charity um, i move carelessly that's why i'm always tripping / i guess that's like electrolytes you help me go the distance

JADEN HAS VIEWED the society like a sort of joke since the beginning, but now, things are getting exceedingly more interesting. tying a bunch of second years to statues? that’s real shit. however with that said, they’re stuck. what is the point of the society? where are they supposed to be going? what is the goal that they had in mind with all of this? 

YOUR MUSE IS a mentor to jaden, helping them navigate through the society in a way that makes everything click for them. it feels forced in the beginning, maybe it’s the product of an informal or another task, and they aren’t opening up as much as they could be. they’re shy, afraid of the unknown, but eventually become willing to let your muse in. 

ik i left this one kind of sparse… but i feel like it speaks for itself lol

[pants-jones]

What I think about Devil May Cry 4

Devil May Cry is known as one of the best hack and slash games around, with its latest release taking the crown as the best hack and slash game ever. This post would be about DMC5, but there’s so much to do in that game that I don’t think I could even speak about it all, especially with it’s Special Edition coming out soon. So, I decided to talk about the game before it.

I’m gonna start with the fact that this is the first Devil May Cry where you don’t play as Dante (at least until halfway through the game). Instead, you play as Nero, the guy you see in the picture above. Nero’s gameplay style is very different from Dante’s, with a couple similarities. The biggest difference is that there are no style switches, and Nero only has one weapon and one gun. For those who don’t know, the absolute best part about playing as Dante is his arsenal; he ALWAYS has a ton of weapons that you can use to do the hokey pokey all over your enemies. You play as Dante for style, to look cool. Dante moves fast and you have to use all four of his styles and all of his weapons to be good with him. I’ll explain Dante’s kit in this game in a minute, but right now we’re on Nero. Nero only uses his sword, the Red Queen, and his magnum, the Blue rose. He’s a bit slower than Dante, and a whole lot more angry, which is consistent with his character because Nero is a very passionate, hotheaded person. Also he’s like 16-17 in DMC4, so it could be those teenage hormones. 

Now, here’s the biggest difference between Dante and Nero.

Now, if you’d kindly look at the top left of this shitty image I pulled off of google since I was too lazy to pull a pic from my own gameplay, you can see a circular gauge next to the green health bar. That would be Nero’s Exceed Meter. The special thing about Nero’s Red Queen is that it’s like... a motorcycle in a sword. The damn thing has an engine, it has a throttle on the handle and he revs it to make it heat up. I can’t even write all that without it sounding stupid and absurd but yeah, it’s real and it works. You can charge that meter up, and if i remember correctly you can swing the sword three times before running out, which is why if you press L2 or LT at the right time, you have a chance to fill up either one slot of Exceed or the entire bar, to continue your flaming onslaught. 

Next is the blue rose, which doesn’t have much but it works for Nero’s kit. It has charge shot, which is self explanatory, and it has Color Up. With Color Up, Nero loads the Blue Rose with explosive rounds, which you can layer on top of charge shot too. 

Nero has mostly the same abilities as Dante, with the only real difference being Table Topper. Table Topper allows you to dash around your enemy if you side roll at the perfect moment. The last thing in Nero’s arsenal for this game is his Devil Bringer. If you look at the picture above again, you will see a blue light coming from Nero, and if you look at the first picture I used, you’re obviously gonna notice his weird ass arm. I don’t know why he has this thing but its another big part of his kit. When an enemy staggers, you can grab them with this arm to play an animation that’s pretty cool. And when I say that you can do this move on every enemy, I mean every enemy. The coolest part is the game doesn’t say if you can or not, it just tells you what it does and you have to figure it out on your own. Using the Devil Bringer on bosses is probably the best part because it does massive damage, and when you do it with Devil Trigger activated it plays a much more aggressive animation. My favorite is when Nero uses Devil Trigger and triple suplexes an enemy. It’s so over the top for no reason and I love it.

Now, I would speak about Dante’s play style in this game but I literally remember nothing about it. I can say that it wasn’t that different from usual Dante. He obviously has new weapons but I don’t remember them that much. I’ve been replaying the game so when I get to that point maybe I’ll make a post about it. 

Now I’m gonna talk about the bad parts of the game. Because it is very flawed and dated, and playing through it hurts a little. This game takes place on the island of Fortuna, inhabited by a people who worship the Dark Knight Sparda(Dante’s father) like a God. Nero is the son of Vergil, Dante’s brother, and was born here. This religion (named the order) had some weird plot to take over the world with a giant statue that they called the Savior ( I think it was supposed to look like Sparda), and to do this they needed demon energy, so they made these big hell gates. Demons started pouring out and that somehow affected this islands climate?

And it’s a noticeable difference. Here’s an example. 

This is Fortuna Castle. This is a big castle that you go through twice (once as Nero and once as Dante) and the main climate in this area is snowy and very mountain like. On the backside of this castle is a bridge that goes into a waterfall that has a tunnel behind it, and once you go through this tunnel, you see this. 

An entire fucking forest. No, it’s more of a jungle and the worst part of the game. This game is full of dumb old 2000′s styled platformer bullshit that is tedious, annoying, and the reason I’m still taking a break from my second playthrough of this game. In a game that isn’t a platformer, it sure has a lot of annoying jumping stuff in it. Plus, this area introduces one of the worst enemies in the game. 

This is the Chimera Seed. It has no attack patterns that are easily recognizable, and even when it isn’t attacking trying to hit it only damages you. I have vivid memory of brute forcing my way through these enemies because I didn’t want to annoy myself actually fighting them. 

And this is Mephisto. A floating enemy, that goes through fucking walls. You can’t hit them until that black shroud is gone, and that’s also difficult to get off. This game has so many annoying enemies, it’s the worst to play through. Blitz was no where near as bad as Mephisto was.

This was the best DMC game until DMC5 came out, and it wasn’t that good anyways. But now that DMC5 came out, this games problems are emphasized greatly. In my opinion, this game is a 6/10. It’s good but flawed.

[ma-gic-gay]

Knock Before Entering

If Chase had simply knocked before he went in that room, there would be nowhere near as much awkward tension right now between the three of them.

But alas, he hadn't knocked and they were all in an uncomfortable position.

Let's set the scene: Just an hour ago, Michael and Willow had made their marriage official. In Wiley's playroom they were supposed to be painting stars on the ceiling in so their son could have stars to see when he was an astronaut. He was going to be one when he grew up and so they had begun painting them when the annulment papers had came in.

Instead of annulling their marriage, however, they'd finally said everything they felt about each other to each other- and acted on it. Several times.

They'd decided to go again and were making out like fifteen year olds when Chase barged into the room.

The mood had never been killed quicker.

Glaring at Chase, Michael and Willow threw on their shirts and tried to look somewhat presentable as Chase was standing there awkwardly, looking at everything but the sight in front of him. Willow blushes a deep red color, more embarrassed than upset. For her especially, this is an awkward situation.

When everyone's fully dressed, she excuses herself to go find Wiley. As she leaves, Michael's glare returns, as well as his bulging neck veins. "You wanna explain what you're doing here right now?"

"Brook Lynn and I made a deal where if she and Ned talked, I'd talk to Willow," Chase explains, clearly digging himself deeper and deeper into the hole he's created.

"Why are you and Brook Lynn making deals? And what do you have to say to Willow?" Michael asks.

"We're friends. For God's sakes, she's living on my couch! So, since we both have things we don't want to do but should, we made this deal. She tries to work things out with her dad and I tell her how I feel."

Confused, Michael asks, "What do you feel for my cousin that involves Willow?"

"No, not Brook Lynn. She's great, and very interesting, but I don't feel that way about her. We're just friends, nothing more. The deal was I tell Willow what I feel for her. Willow, she told me you two were getting an annulment so I thought it was my final chance to tell her how I feel about her."

Taking a deep breath, Michael asks, "And what do you feel for my wife, Chase? Please, tell me. I'm dying to know. I'm dying to know how you feel about her."

Chase can sense the anger in his tone as he says, "I love her. I-I know what you two-"

"You cheated on her with Sasha. The two of you broke our hearts when you did that, and I don't think you can say you love her if you can have an affair. I get that your conscience might not have let you date Sasha afterwards, but you still managed to cheat on her while you were supposedly in love with her. It's been months Chase, months since the affair," Michael reminds him. "So don't tell me you love her when you broke her heart and didn't care about that. Don't you dare do that."

"I didn't have an affair with Sasha! We faked it for the custody case, so you two would get married and keep Wiley safe from Janelle and her manipulations," Chase exclaims loudly.

Suddenly, everything comes to a halting stop. How loud was he, could Willow hear? Could Brook Lynn hear? What had he just said? The affair was fake?

Willow walks back into the room, confused. "What did you just say?"

"Willow, I love you. Sasha and I never cheated on you and Michael, we made up the affair because you two needed to get married for Wiley's sake. Now that you're getting annulled, I thought this would be my last chance to tell you that I love you and I don't know if I'll ever stop loving you. I need you to know that I still love you." The look on Chase's face is one of anxiety, but it's obvious he's telling the truth.

"You two were making out on a couch! That's still cheating, you just didn't have sex. Do you want an award? Some applause? Chase, you broke my heart. You broke Michael's heart. I've moved on and I don't love you anymore. It's best you move on too," Willow explains to him.

Brook Lynn opens the door, seeing the three of them in an awkward conversation. "We heard yelling from Chase and it was decided I'd be the best to come up here and figure out what's happening."

Angry, hurt, and annoyed, Chase kisses the Quartermaine girl intensely. Is he using her? Only slightly. The kiss feels right though, and so they pull away moments later breathless. Neither were expecting that to be... That. For a first kiss, it was a solid 10/10.

Anger fuels through Michael as his cousin actually kisses him back. "What the fuck are you two doing? Chase, you love Willow but somehow you're making out with her? You can't make a decision for the life of yourself. When you chose to play god with all of our lives, you knew what you were doing. And now you don't want to deal with the consequences of your own actions."

"Michael! I'm an adult, I can take care of myself. Look, I'm fine, alright? That was the first time him and I did that," Brook Lynn reassures him and his breathing calms slightly.

There's a pause before Michael's anger at Chase continues to spew, uncontrollable. "I can't believe you! Saying you're in love with my wife one minute and the next you're making out with my cousin. Brook Lynn, I trust you can take care of yourself, and I trust you told the truth. But Chase, how can you do that? How can you break someone's heart and then say, months later, that you love her? Tell me, please. I'm begging to know. Maybe I can break someone's heart who doesn't deserve it like you did!'"

"Look, let's all take a deep breath before we do anything we're going to regret," Willow suggests, bringing Michael back to reality: they're still in the playroom, trying to solve a problem. With annulment papers conveniently somewhere around here if they so choose to get them and sign.

After that momentarily breather for everyone, Chase says, "I do love Willow, and I think you might love Sasha still, Michael. Things could go-"

As he says that, Michael can't hold back and, neck veins bulging, punches Chase. It's a good punch, one Jason taught him to throw years ago. There are perks to having your mother's best friend being a hitman and your father being in the mob, and one is punching lessons. Well, really more self defense lessons, but still. It's a perk to growing up in dysfunction.

Chase and him fist fight for several minutes to the protests of Willow and Brook Lynn, who both were trying to stop it. But alas, nothing can stop two angry men from fist fighting each other like 12 year olds over an XBOX.

They finally stop the fight, both having taken good punches and thrown good ones. Fury burns in Chase's eyes as shame fills Michael. He let his temper get the best of him and this happened. "Look man, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have thrown that punch and started that-"

The detective throws another punch, this time leaving a bloody lip. "Damn right you shouldn't have. But now, you're going to be arrested for assault."

"You do not want to arrest him. Arrest me," Brook Lynn suggests.

"As much as I'd like to, Brook Lynn, you don't have any grounds for arrest at the moment and he does," Chase reminds her.

"Chase, please don't do this. At the very least, let me take care of his bloody lip," Willow begs and Dante walks into the room.

Whistling, Dante says, "What the fuck happened in here? It smells like sex and Michael's got a bloody lip and Chase has what looks like a bruised forehead. Is this some weird sex thing I don't know about because if so I feel like it's illegal."

"Do not start that conversation or there will be more blood," Brook Lynn warns him. "But currently all I know is Chase told Willow how he feels and Michael punched him when he said that she still loved him and he still loved Sasha. But I'm guessing that the sex thing came from Michael and Willow, so I'm pretty sure that's actually encouraged in most religions. Also Chase made out with me."

"How much did I miss? But Detective, arresting him is a shoddy at best move. Trust me, I was with the police department for a while." Dante chuckles.

"Thank you for your input Dante, but I'm going to go and bring Michael to the station," Chase says before reciting the Miranda rights to him. "If you don't want him to be in jail tonight, I suggest you go to the police station."

"I feel like this is harassment and that that's how the commissioner will see this as well," Dante informs him.

But the protests of his family don't have any meaning as Chase handcuffs him and he's dragged out to the police car, absolutely silent while everyone sees him being arrested by his former best friend.

An hour later, Diane's there and clearly displeased with him. "Michael. I would expect this behavior from, say, Jason or Carly. They've actually both been in a situation like this at one point. Irony's a beautiful thing. That's not the point. You are supposed to be the good one! Not the one fist fighting people with no real reason except you're mad they're in love with your wife!"

"I know, I know. I overreacted to it and I'm sorry for that and I let my anger get the best of me which I shouldn't have and I feel like hell but it was so great finally punching him. But, in my defense, he also said false things that we'd already said we're false and made out with Brook Lynn after insisting they were just friends. And he gave me a bloody lip, so I'd say we're even," Michael struggles to defend himself. "Is it still bloody?"

"Yes, it's still bleeding. Carly, Sonny, and Jason have been made aware you're here, and I'm sure that you and Chase have very different sides to the story but, provided he drops the charges, you'll be let free. If he doesn't, someone will need to post bail money for you and this petty case will be taken to court."

Chase walks back into the interrogation room. "Michael, I think we can make an agreement. I'll drop the charges if you and Willow get annulled."

Diane steps in, chuckling. "This form of agreement seems harassing, as does the proposition in question. Detective, I understand you decided to arrest him on the grounds of assault but a jury or the commissioner will just see this as you harassing my client. Additionally, the annulment papers were received by them today."

"Diane, we're not getting annulled. We, uh, we decided we're staying together. Chase, he walked in when we were making out and then told us he'd lied about the affair and that he still loves Willow and so Brook Lynn came upstairs to figure out what was happening and he made out with her and I asked him how he could do that and he insinuated several things about my love life so I punched him, not hard, and he fought back so we had a minor fist fight and then I apologized for throwing the first punch because that wasn't smart or productive and he gave me a cat lip," Michael explains.

"Detective, I strongly advise you stop harassing Mr. Corinthos here because that's what it looks like to me. Willow can make her own decisions, that's her choice who she wants to be with. She is not to be sold as property."

Chase, exhaling, says, "You're right. I shouldn't have arrested him in the first place, and I'll drop the charges, but someone does still need to bail him out."

"What is bail set at?" Diane asks, smiling.

"$500. I'll alert his family, which is loudly congregated out there," Chase says, standing up from the table.

"Thank you," Michael smiles.

As Chase leaves, Diane's smirk widens. "What's this I hear about no annulment? Did your grounds for it become, how shall I say this, void?"

"Well, the Quartermaine's already know, why not you. Yes, we did decide not to get annulled. It isn't something either of us want, so sorry for wasting your time."

"It's your private life so I'm not going to dig into it, Michael, but for what it's worth, I wish you and Willow the best on your marriage. Trust me, she's probably the only woman who both of your families will agree is good for you and who can deal with the chaos that is your life."

"Thanks, I think," Michael chuckles as she leaves and he finds out his bail has been posted and gets uncuffed.

He walks out of the room, embarrassed but fine minus the bloody lip, and sees that there's a good fifteen people out there for him; Carly, who's pacing and talking to Jason very loudly, Jason, who's remind her they're at a police station, Willow, who's trying to just ignore the situation, Brook Lynn, who's harassing Chase about how he acted, Dante, who's smirking about everything that's happened, Wiley, who clearly isn't comfortable with this situation, Sonny, who's just scrolling through his phone, Diane, who's discussing something with a disinterested Sonny. Dysfunction at it's finest.

Willow looks up and sees he's there and runs up to hug her husband. "You're okay? Your lip's not bleeding, but are you sure you're okay and we don't need to go to the hospital right now to get you checked out?"

Chuckling, Michael says, "Willow. Look at me. I am fine. Trust me, I've been through worse than my busted lip and soreness. You have absolutely no reason to worry."

"You were arrested! For punching him over me! I feel like there was plenty of reason for me to worry and be upset," she smiles.

"Well, I promise you, I am fine and don't need to go to the hospital. Your overreaction is, though adorable, unnecessary right now. I'm fine, Wiley's fine, you're fine, and that's all that matters," Michael assures her.

Smiling, she quickly kisses him which is convenient seen by everyone there. "Promise on your life?"

"That's a bit extreme."

"Then you're going to the hospital," she declares as Carly and the adults are laughing. "What's so funny?"

"How casually you two just kissed. Yesterday, you were getting an annulment and today there's this. We clearly need to be caught up on what happened. Besides, your concern is just so much like a wife, you two really are married now," Carly laughs.

"I'm still making him get checked out at the hospital. Would any of you like to join me?" Willow asks, earning another chuckle from them.

"Sure, why not?" Dante chuckles as the rest of them minus Brook Lynn agree to join; she's doing a thing she does where she just stares blankly while you talk so you can't see her emotion with Chase.

"You are way too worried about me," Michael protests.

"You wouldn't swear on your life."

"You're lucky you're my wife."

"I am," she agrees as they walk out, him kissing her forehead. "And you're lucky I'm your wife."

"That I most certainly am."

wsdfgbhnjm words

[lxpinwrites]

Sitcom College AU Pt. 1

(yes, that’s the title)

This was a ridiculous version of a “sitcom” I wrote involving mine and my partner’s characters. Of course I made it into an actual story, so I’ll be (Regrettably) posting it here. In general, it follows the story of four characters - Dante, Zacharus (my character!), Lucian, and Edwin. Below is where the chaos unfolds and where I expose my sins

Dante shuddered as he signed into Blackboard, praying to any god that would listen that he hadn’t missed any assignments in his search for his idiotic roommate, Zacharus, whom had been missing for over a week. He couldn’t continue to avert the calls from the Dean of Students - eventually, someone would realize that the damned fool was missing. 

He wasn’t entirely sure where Zacharus had gone. He awoke one night - the first night he had actually slept in a week - to find the bathroom light on. He had groggily watched, though his attention had been gathered when the shadow of two footsteps turned to four, as if Zacharus had dropped onto the ground. He had carefully slid out of his bed, padding silently to the bathroom door to find that it wasn’t even fully closed. When he had placed his hand on the doorknob to check on Zacharus, however, the door slammed shut and he heard Zacharus inhale so sharply that it sounded like a snarl.

“Go the fuck to bed,” Zacharus had ordered, his voice harsh and rough. Dante had left him in a huff, though he began to question his decision to leave Zacharus to his problems when he heard the front door open and close.

And that had been the last time he had heard of Zacharus Mays.

Dante tipped his head back and made a guttural, frustrated sound when he realized that he had a large paper due in less than a day. Typically, he would be fine with writing papers - hell, he had graduated with a 4.0 simply because he loved to learn. However, today he found that he had lost that same motivation to succeed, yet he refused to let his grade drop over something so trivial as a missing roommate. 

Dante stood, holding his laptop as he made his way to the next dorm over - where Lucian and Edwin lived. They had immediately met on the wrong terms due to Zacharus’s wild behavior, though Dante hoped that he could perhaps convince Edwin to help save his grade. 

He just hoped that neither asked about the whereabouts of Zacharus.

The door opened moments after he knocked, and he was met with the cautious and slightly-annoyed face of Lucian Daggerford. Though he tried to be polite, the tension was obvious - Dante and Lucian hated each other from the moment they had met. Lucian fluttered his eyes as he breathed, trying to force himself into a more pleasant manner, to which Dante almost laughed at. “Hello, Dante.”

Dante’s eyebrow twitched upon the name, though he was unsure why. These days, Dante had grown to dislike his name, and even saying it left a sour taste in his mouth, as if the person named Dante was no longer him. Though, it could be due to-

“Do you need something, or have you come to stare?”

Dante fought the urge to knock Lucian’s teeth out. Instead, he smiled tightly at him. “Is Edwin home? I need to talk to him.”

He didn’t think he imagined the way Lucian seemed to pale, his eyes darting towards somewhere in the dorm that Dante couldn’t see. “He… is, but I don’t know if he wants any guests today.”

“And why is that?” Dante asked, leaning on one foot as he tried to peak through the door. Lucian closed it just enough that Dante couldn’t see past himself, though for a minute, he thought he heard sniffling. 

Lucian hesitated, and Dante could almost see the uncertainty in his mind. “I don’t know if I can tell you. It - It’s a rather private matter, and I don’t want to insult Edwin by-“

“Who is it?”

Edwin emerged from the dorm, peaking out from behind Lucian. Dante fought the urge to stare - Edwin was much paler than usual and his eyes looked sunken, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was red.

Dante found that he didn’t know if it was a sickness, or something worse.

Edwin paused when he saw Dante, though he knew that Edwin didn’t hate him yet. “Hello, Dante. Did you need me for something?”

If Dante had perhaps been a nice person, he would have turned back, leaving Edwin to whatever was currently haunting him. However, Dante didn’t get called a bitch in high school for nothing. “Yes. We’re in the same business class, and I forgot about the paper that’s due soon. I’ll pay you to do it for me - just this once.”

Lucian looked as though he wanted to kill Dante for reasons he didn’t know, though Edwin looked less offended. “How much?” 

“I’ll pay you twenty for it.”

Edwin, who Dante had presumed to be much more kind and patient than Lucian, looked up at him with angry, almost unhinged eyes. “You want to pay me - twenty dollars - for a six page paper due tonight? Go - Go fuck yourself.”

Edwin made to slam the door, and had Dante’s foot not been in the doorstep, he would have succeeded. Dante winced as the door nearly crushed his foot, though he held strong. “Fine. Fifty.”

“No.”

The door made to close again, and he held it open with his hand, not wanting to deal with a broken foot. “Seventy.”

“We knew about this assignment since last week. If you cared so much about your grade, you should have done it before today,” Edwin said, his eyes threatening to water from either the confrontation or from what he had been previously dealing with. “Why did you not do it?”

Dante sighed, not wanting to admit that he had spent the past week searching the town for someone he claimed to despise. Instead, he grabbed his fine leather wallet, removing two hundred dollar bills. “Two hundred.”

Edwin let the door swing on its own as he stared at Dante’s hand in thought. After several minutes, despite Lucian’s whispered warnings, Edwin took it. “Give me your log-in information and it will be done.”

—

For the hundredth time that week, Dante drove along the far streets of the town, certain that wherever Zacharus was, it wasn’t simply in a downtown street. He had tried contacting any of Zacharus’s relatives, but the damn idiot didn’t have anyone in his contacts besides a ‘Motherfucker’ and a ‘Weed Guy’. Somehow, he didn’t think the latter would be much help. 

He hadn’t wanted to use Zacharus’s phone. He felt pathetic even searching for him - for all he knew, Zacharus could have simply dropped out. His gut, however, told him that something else was occurring. He knew he couldn’t avoid the college administration for much longer, so, sighing in defeat, he called whoever ‘Motherfucker’ was.

The phone rang for nearly a minute, and when Dante finally considered hanging up, ‘Motherfucker’ answered with a cocky sounding snort. “I knew you’d come crawlin’ back once that preppy kid shit failed. What, you couldn’t find any better than me? I-“

“Hello to you, too.” Dante’s voice made ‘Motherfucker’ shut up fast. “I think you’ve realized that this isn’t Zacharus. I’m his roommate, and Zacharus has been missing for nearly a week now. I had no urge to call someone like you, but you were the only other person in Zacharus’s contacts - for whatever reasons, I’m not concerned. However, I’d like to get the damned administration off my back, so if you know anything of his whereabouts, I-“

“So he finally ran off.” The harsh tone of ‘Motherfucker’ softened, though Dante knew he couldn’t have been too saddened by how he had initially addressed him. “I’m not surprised - the fucker always had a habit of running when things got bad. You think I give a shit, though? I don’t know where the hell he is.”

Something in Dante grew angry, though he didn’t know why. “If you dislike him so much, then why was he in your contacts?”

He snorted. “I made him put my number in, or else I’d tell the school what happened.”

“I presume that’s why you’re called ‘Motherfucker’ in his contacts. It’s a shame your real name isn’t shown - I’d have found you and beaten you half to death for the way you talk.”

“Hey, don’t get mad you can’t dick your boyfriend down now that he’s lost in God-knows-where. But if you really want a fight that bad, when you find him, tell him to bring you to Alex.”

Dante was met with a long tone by the time he tried responding, and he tossed the phone into his backseat angrily. He had all but forgotten where he was going, and by the time he paid attention to the road again, he was on the outskirts of town by the edge of the woods. Dante cursed as he looked for an exit back to the college - there was no reason for someone to be spending a week in the woods, and even Zacharus didn’t seem that insane.

As Dante was searching his phone for his map, he looked up just as something black darted onto the road, its eyes reflecting yellow from the headlights. Dante shrieked as he slammed the breaks, hitting the creature as it yelped. 

Dante realized just what had happened when the car ran into the ditchline, finally screeching to a halt just feet away from the creature that was still on the pavement, blood pooling around it. He wasn’t too concerned with the animal until he heard something snap, and he looked up to see the animal trying to stand, only for its front leg to have broken from the crash. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why, but Dante left the safety of his car to enter the stranded interstate, approaching the creature cautiously as it whined, another bone snapped. His flashlight shone on black, cracked claws that were bleeding from the tips, and he fought the urge to run back to his car and abandon it entirely. If anything, though, the experience would give him something to jot down for his English class.

The creature - no, the wolf - turned towards Dante as he stepped closer, and he froze in place. It was glaring at him with the same expression he had thought he saw once before, though he struggled to remember where. The wolf sat up before whining again, blood pouring from its mouth, staining impossibly sharp canines that looked as if they were-

Dante shook the thought from his head, thinking that perhaps the stress of the semester was finally weighing on him. He looked back at the wolf after several minutes, nearly jumping back when his flashlight shone on now-grey eyes that he knew were once yellow. He opened his mouth to speak, or perhaps to scream, but the sound of bones snapping and the sight of something he had once thought impossible silenced him.

Where the wolf once was, Zacharus emerged, collapsing - naked - on the asphalt, cursing as he clenched his bruised, swollen wrist. “Goddamnit! Fuck - how fast do you fucking drive? God, fuck - why don’t rich kids ever watch the damn road?”

Dante collapsed on the ground, backing up until his back was pressed against his car, staring unblinkingly at Zacharus.

“What the fuck is your-“ Zacharus’s face dropped, then, as he wiped off the last of the blood running from his nose. “Oh. You saw, didn’t you?”

—

Of the things that shocked and angered Dante the most, sneaking a naked, injured college kid up twenty-eight flights of stairs to his dorm was not the worst that night. Throughout the entire trip back - in silence, mostly, as Zacharus rested and seemingly reverted back to his human thoughts - Dante tried to not look at him. He tried to not look at the dozens of cuts and bruises on Zacharus - some of which he had caused from his reckless behavior. He also tried to not look at Zacharus’s dick, which he made no effort at hiding.

He all but dropped Zacharus onto his bed, tossing some jogging pants and a t-shirt at him as he covered his eyes. “For the love of God,” Dante said in exhaustion. “Stop being naked.”

Zacharus snorted in a way that reminded Dante of Alex, and he felt his blood boil again at the sheer thought of him. Zacharus seemingly noticed, because once his pants were on, he took on the first serious tone Dante had ever seen within him. “I’m sorry you had to find me.”

Dante shook his head in exasperation, sitting down at his desk as he chugged his coffee. “Finding and dragging you back is not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

Dante ignored how Zacharus stared at him in fear, as if he was reliving some similar horror. “The issue is that you were planning on spending the entire godforsaken year acting as though you aren’t a werewolf.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to tell some random rich kid the only damn secret I got,” Zacharus retorted, watching his arms as the bruises began to fade away. 

“I suppose your weed dealer and your ex-boyfriend aren’t secrets, then?”

Zacharus looked up at Dante in such a way that he immediately thought of that wolf glaring at him from the pavement, and he tried to ignore just how cold it looked. “I don’t think you want to call Alex that again.”

“You’re not refuting the same-sex implication,” Dante said, grinning as Zacharus’s eyes widened in horror. “Don’t think I care. I’ve caught you checking Edwin out before.” Before Zacharus could respond, Dante realized that it had been hours since his paper was due - meaning that the results were likely in. He signed onto Blackboard, read the results once, and then was storming out of the dorm towards Lucian and Edwin’s dorm.

He banged on the door, not caring if Zacharus followed him or not. Lucian groggily answered, though his eyes widened, looking past Dante at the still-shirtless Zacharus, who winked at him. Dante rolled his eyes at Lucian, pushing past him and ignoring Lucian’s protests. He found Edwin by his desk, and before he could punch him, Lucian was holding him back. “What the fuck did you do, Silvercrest?!”

Edwin grinned, leaning back in his chair. Dante only briefly noticed that he looked much better than before, though he didn’t know how he could have changed so quickly. “You wanted an unethical practice performed with little pay and a short deadline, so I made your paper as unethical as you wished. Enjoy your F, Amor.”

[freevoidman]

Okay I’m reading through Porg’s update so some of y’all can save your braincells and here are some great highlights (under a readmore bc i couldn’t help but tear into a few things she suggested):

Flat out ignoring that Vergil had changed by the end of the game as a result of V and Urizen’s separate experiences.

In trying to make V and Urizen their own character, she throws out the idea of Vergil being manipulated by the Qliphoth/Urizen (??? somehow??? even though the tree is implied to be non-sentient i believe???), with V being a Devil hunter looking through the remains of Mallet Island (which was completely blown up, turned to rubble, and then swallowed by the sea, so... that can’t happen), finding the cane which makes him youthful and not sick but... having the cane makes it so he can only kill demons through the cane??? for some reason??? And he needs the Qliphoth fruit to heal himself and free him from the curse???

How did she make V’s backstory even more confusing and complicated how the fuck did she do that

Almost immediately after bringing up the cane, she instead changes it to be one of the rings he’s wearing because she wants her “precious V” to use weapons other than the cane, which makes all the prior paragraphs about the cane’s curse and only using it pointless. She’s the one writing this fic, why can’t she edit her own work so it’s more cohesive?

Despite saying that V should be a Devil Hunter, she doesn’t explain why someone who is supposed to be killing demons would form a pact with at least three to fight demons. Her rewrite dismisses Visions of V, and she even states later that the manga is a waste of time as it won’t ever be translated into English (which 1) is not a limiting factor to reading it as many people have translated it already and 2) doesn’t dismiss it’s value at building up V’s character, who she supposedly likes the best).

Also, for someone who complains about DMC5 being a rehash of DMC3, she’s sure doing her best to change it to a rehash of DMC1 (Vergil being controlled by an outside force, bringing back Mallet Island, bringing back Mundus [the cane is supposed to be tied to Mundus]).

V apparently can’t be human because she wants to give him a devil trigger, despite having 3 familiars and his own strength. Okay I guess?

Also it’s really fucking sick how she describes V changing, because it’s apparently V fusing with Nightmare? Devil May Cry has never been one for body horror but she straight up says she was inspired by “The Thing (1982), The Fly (1986), Bloodborne, and Resident Evil 7″ for the transformation imagery and I wanted to nope the fuck out of there real quick.

Her segments of actual fiction writing and dialogue are really bad it’s almost like a parody Youtube skit.

She switches between prose and script writing randomly, it’s really odd. She does it primarily with Dante i’ve noticed? Here’s an example I wrote of what she does:

“Hey, don’t stress out about it will you?” Says John following a few steps behind VINCENT: Don’t get your panties in a twist

And that just happens... randomly? Like, there’s no indication why she’s doing that it just happens.

She straight up writes notes in her fic about the controls for character actions in-game what the hell--

She also shamelessly puts in a link to artwork that clearly isn’t her’s (and I highly doubt she got permission to post about) to try and show what V’s Devil Trigger would look like. I couldn’t find it because I don’t know how pixiv works, but that’s just a shitty move, especially with how she treats artists on tumblr when they draw art of Vergil.

EDIT: Porg has now straight up copy-pasted the art into her fic without the artist’s permission which is, we all know, fucking theft. While it is good artistry, is just a weird mashup of Vergil’s and Dante’s. It’s not all that unique and I don’t understand why she had to reference a bunch of body horror shit when all the Devil Triggers in game are essentially just a large flash of light and a seamless transition between forms??? It’s good art, I’m not trying to bash the artist, but... Porg, you could’ve been a little more original here rather than just ripping off another artist’s designs...

Everyone in her fic acts super casually to seeing Vergil alive in the Qliphoth and it’s like... honey, no.

Vergil acts WILDLY out of character holy fuck. Like, I know I should have expected that but this is NOT how Vergil would act in the slightest. She’s pretty much writing an OC.

Building off of this: EVERYONE acts OOC and... it’s not exactly cringey, but it is perfect proof that Porg doesn’t know what she’s doing and hasn’t properly analyzed the characters.

Dante acts weirdly... detached? There’s no sign of him acting like his normal goofball-y self, and he’s much more serious than normal. He actually acts more like cannon Vergil than himself, actually. (He also knows CPR apparently? Which... is a skill he would really never bother learning, so...)

Nero doesn’t act nearly as emotional, and acts calmly for some reason. You can’t feel any of his emotions behind his dialogue, only through the adverbs added to the tags)

V is too informative. He knows way too much about random shit that... no one should rightfully know. I’ll mention it more later, but... V doesn’t act like himself and I don’t really know how to explain it.

Vergil is essentially her OC. Seriously--he’s not as brooding or snarky, he’s far too open and apologetic, there’s practically no sense of rivalry between him and Dante. Weirdly, he acts more like canon V than fic!V does, despite the fact that Porg wants to establish V and Vergil and separate characters. His actions also make no sense when put alongside his canon personality. We aren’t reading anything about Vergil, we’re reading about Porg’s weirdly idealized version of him.

I’m going to make a break in the post here because I feel like this is the part that needs the most attention:

Porg goes OUT OF HER WAY to dedicate a GIANT portion of this chapter to her own OC: Nero’s mom. There are several long paragraphs of establishing the relationship between her OC and Vergil, talking about leaving Fortuna, how they were ‘happy’ and then saying that after a hurricane (inspired by hurricane hugo, you’ll see later) she got separated from Vergil, never reconnected with him, GAVE BIRTH, died from a demon attack with Nero staying near her corpse, and then Nero was found by humans and taken off the mainland to be taken to an orphanage on Fortuna. She wanted a massive amount of time to be taken out of the fun parts of playing Devil May Cry to establish a relationship that would never come back and essentially turn into a 15 minute soap opera inserted into a game about having fun killing demons.

Alright back to the noted highlights.

Porg confirms in her fic that the universe of Devil May Cry happens in the US, and that Fortuna is an island along the southeast coast and I want to fucking rip my eyeballs out at this point.

The ONLY REASON why she is doing this is because she lives in Florida. I know she does, and she just wants to imply that this is all happening near her home turf. How anyone who lives in Florida thinks an island like Fortuna can exist is beyond me though, because playing through 4, most of the buildings are inspired by Italian designs, and no one in the states would build an entire island with italian designs. I’ve been to Florida multiple times--there’s no buildings there even REMOTELY designed to match Fortuna.

EDIT: I have been informed that Porg actually lives in Pennsylvania, not Florida, which makes both more and less sense. Why Florida? Why not a hidden island up on the east coast? Why does this have to be taking place in the states at all Porg???

Yeah, let’s take Nero off the MAINLAND OF FLORIDA after a DEVASTATING HURRICANE and send him to an orphanage on an ISLAND which would’ve been hit the hardest by ANY hurricane. TOTAL SENSE. 

She tries to make her own timeline for the series using actual real world dates and events and it’s terrible (she references Hurricane Hugo in 1989, and confidently states that 3 took place in 1990, despite all evidence for the actual dates of events being fan theory established through circumstantial evidence).

There’s so much horror movie inspiration here--not cheap horror, but really twisted shit that... doesn’t fit with Devil May Cry’s tone at all? In the slightest? She references Jacob’s Ladder, plus all the other body horror media I wrote above.

Straight up just tears Vergil’s arm off which sure, I guess we gotta make THAT a parallel between Nero and Vergil. They can have a father son moment over being physically maimed.

In the scene immediately before this, Urizen picks up Vergil by the head and roots around Vergil’s memories (somehow???) to show him all the ‘bad moments’ in his life to traumatize him. She describes it as the audience getting flashes of him falling to hell, charging Mundus, being Nelo Angelo, etc. 

This causes Vergil to cry and beg for Urizen to stop. Then Urizen rips off his arm. So. Yeah. Another point for the OOC!Vergil/OC-taking-Vergil’s-place board.

Also this point ALONE made me realize that Porg does not know how much time, effort, and money needs to be put into making assets. Like, the entire fic she was stressing that everything be done in 5′s HD Graphics--including the ruins of Mallet Island, so I have to assume she’d want these little snippets in HD too, which would be a massive money hole creating these assets for one scene that lasts maybe ten seconds total.

I know I stated it in one of my earlier posts, but most of what she’s writing would fit better with a sequel for the reboot series, not DMC5. It would make her OOC writing of Vergil make sense, all the horror movie inspiration and body horror shit would fit better there, especially all the crappy dialogue too.

She somehow made Griffon even MORE annoying than in cannon.

BTW if I had to listen to poetry while fighting the final boss of a video game, I’d sooner turn my PS4 off. Not that poetry isn’t cool and all, but it cheapens the final fight and distracts you. It wouldn’t work.

EDIT: I realized this point made no sense without context, sorry. Porg made the Book of Urizen (the poetry book by William Blake referenced multiple times by V) either weirdly prophetic or made it out like Blake had inner knowledge of demon powers or... something along those lines, and V magically has the knowledge that reciting poetry from the book about Urizen will... harm him? Weaken him? Open a gate to hell (she mentions a portal appearing near him)? It’s very unclear, but she essentially rewrites Urizen as the final boss, and makes it three stages (V [Griffon recites some verses, which is what the first point was about], Vergil and Dante [this is where Vergil gets his arm ripped off btw], and then Nero) with all three of them reading poetry from the book to deal the “final blow” to Urizen. I’d much rather have Vergil be the final boss than have to go through a three-stage boss fight while every character I play as recites poetry to kill the boss.

She mentions Dante using Sin DT against Urizen but I’m pretty sure with her fuckery of the game’s events Dante can’t GET Sin DT? Because there’s no fight between Nero and Urizen where he’d intervene?

COMPLETELY IGNORES VERGIL’S DEVELOPMENT OF WANTING TO TRAVEL WITH HIS BROTHER THROUGH HELL TO ELIMINATE THE QLIPHOTH FUCK OFF.

Also she changed the lore of the Qliphoth so that it sprouts semi-naturally around every 500 or so years? So... shouldn’t leaving the Qliphoth roots be fine now? Since it’s natural?

Nico acts like growing back arms is totally normal

Wrote an INCREDIBLY shoe-horned in moment in the van with Dante filling Trish and Lady in about finding Vergil and everything that happened where, once again, Trish and Lady act almost completely nonplussed that Vergil is alive after 20+ years in hell, with about 9 of those ten years being trapped under Mundus’ control and corrupted by the Demon King

Seriously why is no one surprised in this fic that Vergil survived? Dante has a brief moment before finding him, but everyone finds out and accepts it like flipping a switch (once again--ESPECIALLY DANTE, which is NOT how the grieving process works)

Porg states that the ending is trash because the twins are fighting in hell, but completely ignores that most of Dante and Vergil’s lives have been built on conflict and they like fighting demons, especially Dante. Both of them were happy and doing what they love.

She also completely ignores through this entire thing that Dante was really fucking depressed in the novels leading up to 5 but hey I don’t even know if she can read.

I can vaguely agree that Trish and Lady were sidelined and they should’ve had a bigger role. However, I can’t fault the directors for not doing this, because they were already developing three playable characters with their own unique fighting styles. She writes all this shit about the story, writes notes about controls and mission layouts, but forgets that it takes a lot more than pressing a single button to code a game.

She just doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Seriously, none of these things are cohesive or edited properly, and despite her saying she wanted better for Vergil, or Nero, or Dante, or V, she writes all of them incredibly out of character and doing illogical actions. I just... I don’t get it.

The best part is--I can’t even tell her about these things, or give constructive criticism. She moderates the comments on her fic and isn’t afraid to delete anything she doesn’t agree with or can’t make a ‘passionate rant’ about.