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skvaderarts · 3 years

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Saudade 1. Lessons Learned

Hey everyone! Sorry for the note instead of a chapter today. I have some good news though despite everything. I, unfortunately, have to push back the new story Hiraeth until New Years Day due to personal reasons, but I do have something for you to read today. Saudade, the side story series to my Soliloquy Trilogy (wow it's cool to be able to say that!) is releasing its first chapter today, so go check that out instead! I think you'll like what I whipped up for you to enjoy :D

Again, sorry for the delay, but between the holidays and some other things that came up, I just had to push it back another two weeks. Please forgive me!

Chapter One: Lessons Learned

Notes below!

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Several decades ago…

In the twenty long centuries or more that he’d spend carrying out his rather eventful day to day life in the human world, the Dark Knight Sparda had undertaken many different kinds of challenges. He’s sat on the royal courts of kings and queens, and traveled to enumerable locations in an effort to seal away the darkness that he’d once contributed towards creating in his time serving the Prince of Darkness himself. In doing those tasks, he’d experienced a great many things, especially when it came to matters of war and destruction, many of which he’d fought singlehandedly, but nothing had prepared him for the seemingly innocuous task of keeping up with his two young sons, the both of which seemed literally hellbent of causing as much destruction and chaos as they possibly could. In many senses, they were the very anthesis of their father.

Calm, collected, and generally at ease, Sparda was still entirely unsure as to how the union between his lovely wife and himself could result in tiny creatures with such a strong predilection towards destruction. For the most part, Vergil was the exception to this rule. He spent the majority of his time quietly reading and shadowing his father around the house, only getting into notable trouble when Dante was involved to some degree. It wasn’t so much that the younger of the two was troublesome perse, it was that he didn’t tend to take no for an answer when it was presented to him, and he took any limitations set before him as a personal challenge. There was rambunctious, and then there was the wholehearted deep-seated hatred that their youngest son seemed to feel towards any and all rules and limitations.

And that was why Sparda had concocted a different sort of education method.

Like clockwork, the two children appeared before him, answering his summonses as he’d expected them to when he’d called them only a moment before. While their mother had no idea where they were at the moment, he could sense their presence on a more mynute level, an ability that came in handy on a regular basis. They stumbled their way into the room in a manner that spoke volumes. He was certain that they had been in the middle of something unsavory until he’d redirected their attention, and he couldn’t escape the feeling that he very well might find out what that thing was sooner rather than later.

“It has come to your mother’s attention that there is an insect nest of some kind in a tree in the back garden.” Sparda turned to glance in the direction of the back garden, knowing exactly which tree she was referring to and completely aware of the fact that both of his sons were actively trying to figure out which one he was referring to.” I’ve been asked to dissuade you in regards to meddling with it as it may cause you temporary harm.”

The two young children glanced between one another before nodding in conformation, more than capable of comprehending the concept of being stung by an unfriendly insect. They knew what pain was, and at least one of them had no desire to actively seek it out. While they both healed exceptionally quickly, that didn’t change the fact that they were still able to feel pain.

“Okay father, I won’t,” Vergil said with a slight shoulder shrug, opting instead to wander off and browse the bookcase in search of something less hazardous to do. If he was going to put himself in harm’s way, it was going to be with sword lessons or something similar, not by doing something as stupid as picking a fight with a stinging insect.

Dante peered around his father, curiosity overriding what should have been an obvious warning bell. I mean, they couldn’t kill him, right? What was the harm in it? They were just a couple of little bugs.” That makes sense. But can I still look at them? I don’t think they mind, right?”

Expecting something akin to that response from at least one of his offspring, he repressed the urge to chuckle slightly, shaking his head slowly.” I can’t say that I’ve ever asked them as much myself. But I’d advise against attempting to do so.”

The youngest member of the family looked disappointed by his father’s answer, but sighed and ran off, slowing to something akin to a jog when he considered what his mother or father would say if they caught him doing so. Sparda watched him go before casually resuming the book that he’d been reading prior to their conversation, taking a few sips of his tea as he resumed his more or less relaxed state. Vergil joined him, sitting on the floor nearest to him in a quiet attempt to spend meaningful time with his normally frantically busy father. The Dark Knight appreciated the gesture and was going to say as much, but before long the young white-haired child leaped up and scampered over to the window, his attention clearly fixed on something. Before Sparda could move to see what his oldest son was so interested in, Eva entered the room, a calm look of concern on her face.

“Darling, have you seen Dante? He’s been practically begging me to bake some sweets with him the last few days and we were supposed to do so a short while ago but now, for the life of me, I can’t seem to locate him.” Although her calm demeanor hid it very well, she was clearly concerned as to what had become of their youngest child. Dante had no perception of time, but he very rarely missed out on sugary treats. It was very unlike him.” Do you have any idea where he may have wandered off to?”

Sparda never got the opportunity to respond. Instead, Vergil did so for him, pointing out of the window behind him as he faced both of his parents, a slightly nervous look on his face. He already knew where this was going, and he was glad that this time he wasn’t on the receiving end of what he knew would be his mother’s displeasure, possibly even his father’s depending on how he decided to react to this situation. “Umm… I found Dante?”

As if on cue, a piercing cry followed by a branch snap and a notable impact with the ground could be heard from a short distance away, revealing Dante’s whereabouts to both of his slightly baffled parents. Eva folded her arms and gave Sparda a stern look as the white-haired devil Knight exhaled in obvious displeasure. Neither of them needed to inquire as to where their young son was or what had just happened.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, dear, but didn’t I ask you to take care of that nest sometime today?” Eva said, clearly unamused as to what had just happened. While she’d witnessed their abilities first hand, that didn’t make her any less concerned when it came to their wellbeing.

He nodded somewhat hesitantly.” That you did. And I warned them both to be warry of it, not even a half-hour ago, but as you can see…” He leaned over to see where Dante had gone just in time to see the child in question come running into the house yelping in discomfort as the results of his misadventures became clear for everyone to see.”... that didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Neither of them could hear very well as Dante babbled incoherently, completely taken aback by how unpleasant the combined sensation of being both attacked by hornets, and then falling out of a tall birch tree could be. He’d probably broken something, and that wasn’t taking into account his pride. Eva gave him a look somewhere between displeasure and concern as she tried to comprehend what on earth the distressed child was trying to communicate to them both.

With a look of almost stupefied disbelief, Sparda glanced over at Dante, somewhat sympathetic to his youngest child’s obvious suffering, but also unable to grasp how he’d managed to locate and enrage the unagreeable insects in such a timely manner. “Dante, this is why I advised against trying to befriend creatures that possessed singers and venom,” Sparda said sternly, earning him a much more extreme reaction than he’d considered reasonable.

The overwhelmed child burst into hysterical crying, none of which he doubted was ingenuine. That didn’t mean that he fully understood the reaction, however. He gave Dante a pat on the head, standing. “I suppose that I should go and take care of the nest then. Best to be overly cautious on this specific location.”

Eva shook her head, releasing Dante from her comforting grasp and sighed as she smoothed the wrinkles out of her long dress.” Oh no, dear. I’ll take care of this. You see to it that Dante is taken care of.”

With that, she gave the youngest of her twin sons a kiss on the cheek before heading down the hallway and up the stairs, a fierce look of determination on her normally calm face. The three of them watched her go, utterly bewildered. Not a single one of them understood what she intended to do to the hapless insects, but they knew two things. There weren’t going to try and stop her, and they were fortunate indeed that they didn’t have the misfortune of being on the receiving end of her plans.

It was an occasion they would never forget. Especially the hornets.

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Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed this little side story! I’d love to hear your suggestions for future ones. I plan to do these from time to time as a little bit of filler for the main stories. Sorry about the delay. Hopefully, this can fill the void between now and Hiraeth’s release. I have another chapter coming out on Christmas. Family stuff came up! I’ll see you all again on New Years Day! Enjoy the holidays!

#Devil May Cry #Sparda and Eva #Sparda Family #Dante #Vergil #DMC

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mama-orion · 7 years

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The overlooked anniversary

If the pilot took place in 2009, this would be Sherlock and John’s 8th anniversary from the day they met and, in this headcannon, fell in love.

As the years go by, the explosions of passion and thrill evolve into a love that’s deeply woven, utterly familiar, a comfortable routine. It’s natural that anniversaries slip their minds in the fray of work (especially The Work).

I adore the sparky first-time fics, but for their 8th anniversary, I want to celebrate the simple tenderness of their weathered relationship. Yesterday’s silly headcannon led me here. I hope you enjoy it.

…

It’s freezing. John crams his numb hands deeper into his pockets as he tramps along several paces behind Sherlock, the distance between them growing. He’d like to appreciate the beauty of the forest they’re wandering through. They’d even startled a herd of deer some time back, though Sherlock had hardly noticed. John’s feeling useless and it bruises his mood.

The day had started slow, just the comfort of tea and papers by the fire. And then there had been Lestrade’s text that jolted them from the flat to chase a lead, their adrenaline surging as they raced. The lead had sputtered out, but an unexpected turn had sent them all the way to Richmond Park to track… not the suspect, but the frozen, three-day-old footprints that could crack the murderer’s alibi.

At first, John tried to be helpful and make some sense of it, but frankly the tracks all look alike to him. They’ve been at this for hours and the thrill of the chase has sputtered out. Sherlock is absorbed and hasn’t said a word to him for ages. The sun’s about to set and he seems no closer to cracking the code. What a wasted day. If he’d thought to grab some gloves on his way out the door, maybe John wouldn’t feel so sour. He wishes he hadn’t realized what day it is. Just makes it worse.

It had taken him by surprise. They had been in the cab chasing their lead, John on his mobile looking up train schedules as Sherlock fired questions at the air. As John studied the day’s trains he’d noticed the date. January 29th. Their 8th anniversary. He’d grinned to himself. Here they were all these years later, still caught up in the chase together. He’d reached across the seat and given Sherlock’s thigh a gentle squeeze. Sherlock hadn’t even slowed his soliloquy of speculation, just scooched closer to him the seat, brushing a fast kiss on the corner of his mouth, his eyes sparking. John didn’t bring it up. He didn’t care that they’d forgotten. Sherlock was so beautiful when he was like this, shining, and he’d gazed at him quietly between the google searches.

John’s feet suddenly slide out from under him and he hits the frozen ground hard. Cursing, he picks himself up. It’s the fourth time he’s fallen. This is ridiculous. It’s been snowing and melting and freezing for days, so there’s a hard, slick layer of snow on the path. The chaos of frozen footprints and a thousand hoof-prints are a perfect puzzle that has Sherlock riveted. He’s been following one particular boot tread through the whole trodden mess.

John’s still lagging behind, distracting himself with ironic titles for this case’s blog… Stalking the Deer (Too Bad We Forgot the Deerstalker). The Hunt for the Frozen Feet. How to Track a Baddie and Freeze Your Bullocks Off… when he stumbles into Sherlock. John hadn’t noticed he’d stopped to study a footprint, crouched low with his magnifying lens. They both let out little surprised yells as John trips over him, right at the edge of a slope, and instinctively grabs Sherlock’s coat which only drags him down with him. They both slide down the slope, skidding faster and faster over the glassy surface.

John clings to Sherlock’s coat, trying desperately to slow their slide. There’s a skuffle as they flail, trying to stop, but they’re going too fast. A few trees blur by, but they’re out of reach. John digs his boots into the ice and only succeeds in spinning their slide headfirst. Sherlock crows a protest, but John starts laughing and hooting. It’s actually brilliant. He’s vaulted back in time to childhood and the simple thrill of a reckless slide.

They finally lose momentum. Sherlock struggles to stand on the icy crust, falls, tries again, falls. Cursing, irritated, he crosses his arms where he lays sprawled on his back and snaps at the darkening sky. “What a waste! It’ll take ages to find that track again.” Sherlock scowls over at John who is laughing hysterically, uncontrollably, cheeks pinked with cold. With a careful effort, Sherlock rights himself and skids cautiously over to John, offering his hand.

Still giggling, John rolls, tries to pull himself up with Sherlock’s help, only to drag him down onto him in a warm, ungainly pile. John wheezes with breathless hysterics and Sherlock’s mood finally begins to thaw, his smile twitching mischievously as he looks down at John, faces pressed close, breath puffing in the cold air. He grips either side of John’s face, pushes their noses together. “John. John? We are hunting a murderer. Do try to pull yourself together.” “Sorry,” John finally gasps through his laughter, “I’m so, so sorry–” but he’s stuck in uncontrollable giggle-wheezing. Sherlock watches his hysterics with fond amusement, shakes his head and kisses his temple. “Shhhh, shh. Get your breath back before I have to resuscitate you,” John sucks in ragged breaths, hiccuping small giggles, and harrumphs himself calm. He stares up at Sherlock very seriously. “And what if I wanted to be resuscitated, hm?” “You only had to ask, you needn’t have knocked me off a cliff to get my attention,” and he bites John’s lower lip very softly. A bubble of laughter spills from John and he’s lost it again, Sherlock grinning and kissing him right through his laughter. “How insensitive of me,” he says between kisses and John’s giggles, “neglecting my beautiful boswell.”

Sherlock grins and slides his hands under John’s coat, under his cardigan, under his plaid, and John groans happily to feel the warmth on his skin, but Sherlock hisses. His brow knits, voice low and concerned. “John you’re frozen.” His caresses turn more clinical as he tries to rub warmth into John’s cold skin. “Come on, let’s get you off the ice. We’ve got to get you home and warm immediately.”

John can’t tell if it’s the afterglow of his giggle-fit, the burst of sudden affection, or the relief of getting out of this frozen wasteland, but he feels buoyant as they begin to crawl their way back up the slope. Sherlock kicks through the ice with the toes of his shoes to make footholds for John, keeps looking back to check on his progress. The sudden turn to gallantry is adorable. John muses that the only thing that can ever pull Sherlock from a puzzle is his concern for him. Even the thought is warming. Should’ve knocked him over hours ago, he muses.

John lets Sherlock fuss over him in the cab, pulling him against his chest, folding his arms around him, cupping his cold fingers in his large warm hands and breathing over them. “Mm, almost forgot,” John hums, eyes closed. “Happy anniversary, love.” He feels Sherlock stiffen beneath him. His voice is pained. “John! I’m so sorry. God, I forgot. It’s just, the case, and–“ John smiles, bringing Sherlock’s fingers to his lips. “Relax, I forgot, too til I saw the train schedule.” “Do you, I dunno, want to go to Angelo’s or something?” “Nah, I’m knackered. Let’s just go home.” Sherlock nuzzles the top of his head quietly. An hour later, John finds himself stewing in the bath Sherlock’s drawn for him. He’s feeling very content and very sleepy. Sherlock sits on the edge of the tub in his dressing gown explaining his footprint deductions. He looks down at John’s half-lidded eyes and says a little peevishly, “You’re half asleep, you’re not even listening.” “Am so,” John mumbles, “said you wanted to get in this tub with me.” “No I didn’t, I–” John immediately comes to life. He pulls him into the water, dressing gown and all, hot water sluicing over the sides, Sherlock protesting through his shocked laugh as he flops into his lap. “John! Really! You could have just asked!” John smiles wolfishly as he pulls off the sodden dressing gown, nibbling the skin he uncovers. “True. But I discovered today that taking you by surprise is much more fun.”

Sherlock’s low laugh rumbles deep in his chest as he squeezes next to him in the tub, folding his legs under John’s knees and settling his head on John’s chest above the water line with a contented hum. John, perfectly warm, perfectly home, runs his fingers lightly over Sherlock’s skin, breathes in the steam and thinks, There, that wasn’t such a wasted day after all, now was it.

…

@currently-in-my-mind-palace, I hope this bit of tender fluff brightens your day a tiny bit

#january29 #headcannon #tenderfluff #johnlock #metaphorskeepmeright

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