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Dear sweet sons of Sparda.... - +Yamato Rising+ [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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Dear sweet sons of Sparda.... [Sep. 24th, 2008|05:02 am]
Yamato Rising
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[Current Location |My desk]
[Current Mood |coldcold]
[Current Music |Evil Angel - Breaking Benjamin]

I should mayhap mention that I fail epically at updating my livejournal. Or anything else, for that matter. However, I do still spend some time rambling silently about LJ. Mostly for ficlet/art purposes.

So how am I doing? Mreh. I came to the conclusion tonight that the internet has officially saturated my brain. Not that it hadn't before, but I'm just starting to realize how much. Perhaps this is a pixellated state of enlightenment that comes with wireless internet access to my mind (I wish, tests at school would be a breeze).

Also, there are fandoms I should likely have never, ever been allowed into. Most lately and prominently Devil May Cry and Metalocalypse. Not that DMC hasn't been my undying, obsessive, beautiful love for quite sometime now, but it just keeps getting worse. ( For instance, I'm sitting here typing this in my Vergil coat because my roomie keeps it too fugging cold in here and I'm a bloody reptile. -.- )

I went on a Metalocalypse faving spree on dA tonight, because it simply was overdue. I waded through over 4k of pictures to find the ones I liked... *cough* mostly Skwisgaar/Toki stuff, but everyone knows I'm that way...and it will traumatize the boyfriend the next time he stalks my favs. >3>; That's actually incentive to do it, rather than discouragement.

This is an insomnia-driven fit of boredom, in case anyone was wondering.

....I've forgotten how to do half the LJ coding I used to, which means all of it. I wonder what happened to the notepad file I had full of it at one point.

I need to write again, I really do. I feel like I'm failing because all I do is RP these days, and though oftentimes that's crack induced fits of fangirlish glee, I am pretty happy with my decent RP skills, I just...my solo writing flows so much better and contains better thought out, poetic language and definitely better humor. Grah. Perhaps I should get around to doing the drabbles I've owed since the dawn of time, essentially. >3> Fandom drabbles. Mmm...nummy.

Awwwright then! *cracks knuckles* Here's a survivor request from my dA note-box.

Pairing: Vergil/Dante
Keywords:  Silk, Water, Opera House
(BTW, DS, the Opera House nearly killed my muse, I hope you're happy. >;3 *blows raspberry at* )

Muscles strained in a pretense of struggle, straining in an attempt to attain his freedom that came just short of putting too much strain on the delicate bit of knotted silk at his wrists, the glossy fabric seeming a butterfly touch in comparison to the gloved hand that lay atop them, the enforcer of the unspoken rule that the binding had decreed with its deceptive caress.

The crux of the dilemma was that he hadn't expected to find the other here, sweeping in like the stereotypical villian of some adventure flick, and Dante, being the stubborn brat that he was...had chased his brother...following him as the elder had known he would. Dante, after all, could never leave well enough alone. Drained, tired, and fresh from a dousing by the waterfall that shrouded the pathway to that bedamned Opera House, the place a goth-child's forsaken dream, the younger had cussed a storm, but pursued his quarry right back to where he'd done battle not moments before...

...but he couldn't see Vergil now, a dangerous fact that one.

His gaze he had felt, however...as surely as he felt hands on his skin now, his brother's fingertips seeming oddly cool to the touch...ice. His lips were a firey contrast...like glowing embers in comparison, licking droplets of water, one by one, from the younger's skin. Perhaps that was why he was angry, Dante inwardly mused, not angry that his twin had bound him with that godsbedamned cravat and was having his way with him, but that the prick wasn't doing it fast enough.

"Damn you, Verge, you're...nnn... fuckin' cold, bastard..." He hissed, letting anger, hurt, and age-old enmity surface to put heat into his words, a vain attempt at overriding undeniable pleasure.

The smirk didn't even need to be seen for one to realize it was there. "Then, brother-mine...perhaps you should warm me." Spoken in that godforsaken purr of his, and Dante wryly gave himself a mental told you so.

So much had changed...yet nothing at all.

-------------------------------------------



>o>;  Ok. I'm going back to bed now. owo; Now that my Vergil-muse wants to chew on my head and/or impale me.

-Em out~


 


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Comments:
[User Picture]From: orasa
2008-09-27 06:55 pm (UTC)
Oh dear... XD;;; You've succeeded in waking Dante up now, I'll have you know 8B
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