Devil May Cry shorts Title:Death and Taxes Fandom:Devil May Cry Rating:PG Summary:Dante doesn't like paperwork... Author notes:Dante doing ’normal’ things always makes me laugh, so for this one I decided to have him do something that is the bane of our lives, but at least we can put our name. I am aware that a lot of people see ‘Sparda’ as Dante’s surname, but I’ve yet to see it on anything canon (point me in the right direction if I’m wrong), so I take it that Dante doesn’t have a surname. He wouldn’t be the first, my Great Grandmother didn’t have one either. Disclaimer:All owned by Capcom, and they can keep it too.
It’s angular lines seemed to stare defiantly, it’s white smoothness smug that something so small and seemingly simple could stump the devil hunter.
Dante took a sip of tomato juice, leant back in his chair and sighed. He had faced the denizens of the underworld with less trouble than this. ’SURNAME:’ The form said. There was an asterisk to show it was a required field. He groaned. There was a downside to having a father that didn’t have a surname.
Dante turned the page and gave the new page an exasperated glare. The words ’net’ and ’deductible’ and ’income’ stared back at him. Like he had any idea of money beyond sometimes remembering he owed Enzo rent, and buying pizza.
He growled and wielded the pen like a weapon. Devils may cry, but they sure as hell weren’t going to get defeated by a damn tax form too.
After a short pause, there was the sound of a pen biting the dust as it shattered against the wall.
Title:The Little Things Fandom:Devil May Cry Rating:PG Summary:Eva finds some days harder than others. Author notes:If anyone ever finds out I'm secretly a complete sucker for Eva/Sparda, I may never live it down. Disclaimer:Still not owning Devil May Cry.
His Coat. The coat was the little thing that reminded her that he wasn’t there any more.
Eva dusted the little table that stood next to the coat stand in the hallway. Feeling hot tears well, she blinked them back and returned to the kitchen to watch the twins playing in the garden.
It was funny, she mused, that it was something so almost insignificant that would cause her chest to ache. True, sometimes the empty bed would bring fresh tears, but not as much as she would have thought. Nor did watching the two boys, who so resembled their father, or seeing the pictures on the mantelpiece, or his favourite chair in the corner of the room. All these things were a reminder of course, but they were things that made her feel like he was still there.
It was by its very absence, that Sparda’s purple coat reminded her that her dark knight was never coming home.