#you are clairvoyant but only when ONE MAN makes ONE SPECIFIC DISH
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🍓 ˖ . ᵎᵎ Confessions features Alcohol (Sometimes) ✦ Dante x gn!Reader
⌕ summary: Dante and alcohol could be like water and oil — under no circumstances should they mix. Yet, at that night, it seems he's up to something with that drunk, big mouth of his.
notes: my god I'm nervous asf. um, hi y'all, guess who's back at writing after almost full 5 months of hiatus? that's right, we're back in action! i finally finished this little, silly oneshot that was rotting in my docs for... 7 months? geez, me and my lazy ass. anyways! i hope you all enjoy the reading! i wrote this with 4dante in mind but honestly, it can be any Dante, it's up to your imagination <3
⋆ 08/07/23 edit: i forgot to mention, but this fic was born thanks to this writing prompt, i just couldn't found it easily hehe
♡ word count: 1.125
♡ tags: fluffy, gender-neutral reader, no use of pronouns or reader's appearance description (you/yours used only), mentions of alcohol, drunk Dante (and he's sooo soft), Dante might be ooc sorry in advance, love confessions.
ⓘ gif's not mine!!
Dante and alcohol could be like water and oil — under no circumstances should they mix. Truth be told, specifically that night was not one where you enjoyed a patient mood, especially with the drunken Devil Hunter lying on the worn leather sofa and every half minute calling you and even dropping occasional flirtations. You were now in the kitchen, dedicating yourself to washing a considerable amount of dishes while from the corner of your eye you watched Dante, posture still relaxed and with a smile easily more dancing than usual, making sure that he wouldn't do anything that would mean usual danger for a person guided by the lack of sense that alcohol usually provides. However, the brief thought swept out of your mind; it was Dante. The man had a natural, bizarre attraction to danger.
That's when the handsome half-demon shook his head, his clear, icy-colored irises glazed over your back-to-back figure. Dante pouted for not getting the attention he wanted so much, then opened his mouth and verbalized his need.
"Babe," he began, loud enough that his voice scrambled from earlier hours' whiskey filled the short distance between them. You, however, sighed, determined to ignore him until he fell asleep from some miraculous, alcoholic effect.
Which was definitely not a good choice. Dante hated being ignored.
"Baaabe..."
"What is it now, Dante?" you answered over your teeth. He whimpered at such harshness.
"Don't be like that, loveee," he whined through his tone, "You're being a big meanie to me today, y'know that?"
"A meanie? Me?" your heels pivoted so that you were now facing him, one hand on your hips and your brow forming an arc of curiosity. "Why?"
Dante sipped the rest of a bottle of Jack Daniels, exhaling audibly at the end. Once again his typical smile grew at the corners of his mouth; you gulped, blinked and woke up to your somewhat glassy-eyed state attached in the Devil Hunter.
What exactly would it take for a man like Dante to be so attractive?
"Because I want attention," he replied, a simple retort that made the inside of your chest heave and your hand on your waist falter. Dante, although drunk, seemed to notice this act and widened the left corner of his feline smile even more. "And you're being a meanie 'cause you're not paying attention to me. Come here, sugar… I want smoochies."
At other times, you would chuckle and brush it off. It was common for you to deal with the half-demon on these alcohol-soaked nights, whether they were made up of flirtations and jokes or tears and outbursts — a part of you, even if momentarily, was grateful for the night's choice to be the first alternative. But something in Dante's tone alerted the part that was costing your frustrated attempts at concealment, the very same part that just now stirred just by witnessing his smile and the permanent gaze on you.
It didn't take that much clairvoyance to see the obvious: you were undeniably in love with Dante. A passion that you swore was, somehow, one-sided.
Your impatience melted away and the silence permeating the air of the place became metamorphic; from casual to uncomfortable. Dante tilted his head, waiting for an answer from you. You sighed, returned your focus to the last dishes and resigned yourself to drying them as a form of slight distraction.
"Dante, you're drunk."
He laughed briefly between words, "Tell me something I don't know, angelcake."
"You're talking nonsense."
"Maybe. But I still want some smoochies… Unless you don't want them, it's fine by me."
Once your work with the dishes was duly finished, you once again looked over your shoulder at him. Dante's lids drooped as the silent minutes passed by, his voice quieting, silver strands trailing across the back of the couch as he laid his head down. He was finally falling asleep.
You approached the half-demon's sleeping figure, uttering a 'tsk, tsk' which elicited a small chuckle.
"What do I do with you, Dante?"
The end of this night would be like that of many others, it would be up to you the arduous mission of putting Sparda's beautiful son to bed. Arduous for he certainly wasn't the lightest of beings and even though the habit made it look easy, your human muscles totally begged to differ.
Grunting as you struggled to carry him bridal style, you climbed the stairs to the top floor and with a little sacrifice managed to open the door to Dante's room. Before leaving him on the bed, babbling came directly from him, who now accommodated his face in the crook of your neck.
"Y'know, you're amazing…"
Subtly taken aback, you choose to listen to what the sleepy Dante had to say — for curiosity and for the unique, strong beat your heart emitted.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. You're also beautiful, and smart, and funny, and hot…" from there, you became hot with embarrassment as Dante's voice wakes up again, "You're so much fun! Man, no wonder I'm in love with you."
Your heart, happy and passionate, fluttered inside your ribcage. Your eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets. The surprising, heated euphoria altered your body temperature. Your arms softened like a sweet pudding, swaying and unconsciously allowing Dante to fall to the ground.
"... Ow..."
It wasn't possible, was it? Was it the illusions of the booze, or was Dante really in love with you too?
You gasped as you realized what you'd done, rushing to get the half-demon back in your arms in a fleeting act of trying to regain consciousness and collect all your agitated — but now happy — thoughts.
All right. Dante was known for many attributes, one of them was his frankness. And being drunk this same frankness was reinforced tenfold, in fact. There would be no reason for him to lie.
However, words like these had a huge impact.
You took a deep breath, carefully positioning Dante on the soft mattress and giving him one last look to make sure you didn't just lay him down and that he was comfortable enough. He mumbled as if he was in an argument with sleep, now lying face down on the bed. Your hand snaked into the untidy silver hair to pull it back from Dante's stunning face, your heart calmer and moving to a slower beat. You smiled, your eyes wryly drunk on the man's sleeping vision.
"Sweet dreams, daredevil."
You gave a shy peck on his cheek. Dante stretched a petit smile, and yours grew. Leaving the dark room, you headed for yours, even more wrapped in your feelings, which you now knew were reciprocated.
Quite a confession that could only have the signature of someone like Dante.
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#devil may cry#devil may cry x reader#devil may cry fanfiction#dmc dante#dante devil may cry#dante x reader#dante sparda#dante sparda x reader#x reader#reader insert#fluffy fanfiction#gender neutral reader#dante x gender neutral reader#dmc3#dmc4#dmc5#devil may cry dante x reader
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Medicine and Spirituality
Medicine and spirituality are often seen to be at odds, in fact one colleague of mine was very scathing and called mindfulness a cult. I know I am often mocked for my beliefs at work, but which far from upsetting me makes me amused and more than ever sure I am on the right path. We often mock that we do not understand or scares us. I am comfortable with myself at the age I am now and what people think of me is up to them. To quote the wonderful Wayne Dyer “When you judge another, you do not define them, you define yourself.” So be true to yourself and you won’t go wrong. Lies are the biggest damager of all times, and cause unhappiness and stress. You can’t be happy if you live a lie, so be authentic.
Medicine thrives on an evidence basis, everything we do, drugs we prescribe, all because the evidence suggests that this is the most appropriate form of action. The various aspects of the metaphysical world are denounced due to lack of evidence the non-believers say. But what is evidence, The Oxford Dictionary defines evidence as “The available body of facts or information indicating whether a belief or proposition is true or valid.” And there is an abundance of facts that prove the metaphysical world to be true. There is many aspects of medical treatment that we don’t understand why it works we just know it does and that is the evidence for its use.
A good example of the metaphysical evidence available is demonstrated well by mediumship, something I am keen on, but again often mocked. Not surprisingly, as there are sadly a lot of frauds who prey on the bereaved but a good Medium will ask no questions, and will give you evidence that validates the message she has for you. These will be specific things that will resonate with you about the person who has come to her and are the Mediums proof that her words are true. For example, one reading done for me at church mentioned a woman with 2 wedding rings – this was my maternal Grandmother when Grandpa had more money he bought her a more expensive ring. There was no way the medium knew that. Or the patchwork quilt I have on my bed, another said. Or the knowledge of the book I was writing. Or my desire for the recipe of a favourite dish. Is that not a fact? A piece of truthful information? This is all evidence.
I am clairsentient and clairvoyant and enjoy being able to give readings and the comfort that they bring. I am often blown away by the messages I have been able to give others and the validating visions I receive. I prefer to do readings for people I don’t know then there is no question of me knowing anything about them and therefore I am only relying on the images and feelings I receive and not ego. A few years ago, I was in a development circle at the spiritualist church I had not long been going to, I knew no one, not names or anything. Everyone in the circle was ethnically white, but I had this strong image of an Afro-Caribbean woman, her face contorted in pain and then I saw clearly her spirit leave her body and such a feeling of peace transcend on her. It came time for me to share anything that had come during the meditation and I decided I would even though I was quite convinced it was fake. But it wasn’t, the lady sat opposite me was married to a man of Afro-Caribbean descent and his mother had just died. Evidence.
Another time I was doing a reading and received the words “Little Angel” I relayed this to the lady who I was reading for, and it was what her dad, just recently passed, would say to her daughter, his grand-daughter. There was no way I could have known that. Is that not proof? Is more evidence really needed?
My Grandmother, who I have no memory of being particularly spiritual, used to say “There is more in heaven and earth than we know”. And that is most definitely the truth.
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