Infinite Dante’s booty posts: 14/∞
[ I cooked for myself.
There was no can opener involved, no microwave, just fresh vegetables and meat.
For once, I used an oven and nothing was burnt.
I was actually quite proud of myself.
Now, I’m weak and in a bit of a daze after throwing up and expelling my colon of its contents.
I poisoned myself.
I’m never cooking again. ]
I think it’s impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves.
"Dante likes that trashy woman with a who-knows-what injected butt, and I have my impossible to obtain crush:"
Really should’ve said fuck it and drawn Rebellion. Now he couldn’t— not if he wanted to keep his arms and legs mostly intact. Dante heaved a breath and returned a fiercely pissed glare to the cambion. “This isn’t a kink, you stupid prick. This is a fucking mental condition.” Vergil was before him, manually maneuvering his skull, which kept him from spitting in the elder’s face. He exhaled a jet stream of hot breath, like a snorting bull when his throat was exposed. The lines of his jugular veins were swollen from his rapid-fire pulse, and he swallowed hard, intent to draw in another breath, but it was ultimately pointless. Vergil took that moment to use his chest cavity as a sheath for one of those swords, driving it through the wall of muscle and spearing him with it right through his back. The muscle tension in his upper body gave out for a moment and he dropped his head and shoulders forward.
If Vergil was talking, Dante wasn’t hearing it— only the high-pitched ringing as blood filled his airways when he started to hemorrhage. Indeed, he couldn’t help but cough up the fluid blocking his ability to breathe. Every few seconds, his esophagus refilled with battery acid and he choked and spat bright red. He managed a wet bubbling inhale. That new appendage had been damaged beyond repair now, muscles torn from the inside out, but Dante was no stranger to punctured lungs or excruciating pain. He’d been tortured for most of his life since he was seven years old. Vergil wanted to make him crack but it wasn’t going to be easy. Eventually he lifted his head, meeting his assailant again with stubborn rebellious fury. He spat the pink froth in the back of his throat onto the elder’s already stained clothes. “…Get— fucked, bitch.”
Dante’s response came as no surprise to the elder devil, not even the blood he spat over Vergil’s custom clothing. Seriously, it wasn’t impossible, but blood stains took far too long to get out of his clothing than Vergil cared to wait. After a roll of his eyes, he summoned another sword into his hand, pressing the tip to the other side of his already impaled chest. ”I’m sure you’ll help me with that later.” Dante was lucky he was having too much fun to care about his “bitch" comment. Otherwise, things could have gotten messy…er than they already had gotten.
Using his rarely utilized demonic strength, he pinned his lover’s head back against the wall behind him. Vergil would not put it past Dante to bite him. His tongue crept past his lips and cautiously dotted over the blood that had dripped past the angel’s chin, collecting enough blood on the tip to spread over the roof of his mouth, coating his mouth with a hint of copper. For a moment, he was more interested in the artwork he had turned his lover into, gaze softened, lips parted in slight awe, but that moment lasted only as long as it took him to sheathe the other blade through Dante and into the wall, severing the other wing cleanly from his body.
At times, Vergil was easily everything to Dante. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for him. But he didn’t understand this— sure, he knew Vergil was a sadist, but this was a bit beyond Dante’s scope of what sadism was. This wasn’t fun kinky BDSM… consensual shit. This was— Vergil wanting to seriously harm him. He stared at the other for a moment while he was busy cracking up and playing fingerpaints with the blood. He frowned. “Yup, this is a special brand of crazy.” Dante’s stomach churned, but Vergil didn’t allow him to dwell on his disgust for long. There was a series of ‘shink's, blades spearing themselves into the wall around him. He'd barely managed to brace for impact, though it did very little good. Vergil made sure he was adequately crucified to the wall, like a pigeon waiting for vivisection on a science table. Where he wasn't impaled, his clothes were, or blades were cutting inch-deep into the sides of his biceps or inner thighs. Oh his sigil glowed fiercely, but healing around the invasions right now would do more harm than good. Dante was already trying to free one of his arms, grinding bared teeth. “Always—” He twisted his shoulder and hissed, “—fucking… grateful to you dragging me down into your depraved little pit of insane bullshit, Verg’.”
Vergil was unfazed by Dante’s insults, or more like distracted from them. Was it his birthday? Had he entered Heaven without realizing it? No, that couldn’t be right; Dante didn’t put out like that.
"You have your kinks, Dante, and I have mine." The devil rejoined his angelic mate, hand back on his elegantly angled jaw for control. He pushed up on his chin to tip his head back, baring the length of his neck to trail his painted fingers down. "For example—" The distraction from his other hand ended with a sword raised to his lover’s chest and promptly forced through and into the wall. A pierced lung had only been part of his objective. The sword had broken through the bones at the base of his left wing, leaving it attached only by flesh. "When there is blood gushing out of your nose, you are a superb work of art, my love, but, when that blood is staining your lips and trickling down your chin, you are perfection.” Punctured lungs tended to cause a nasty bloody cough, mostly caused by one’s choking on their own blood.
It literally took his breath away how much that hurt. Once he’d gotten over the shock of it, he was fuming. Now the things that had been an annoyance were something he had to protect like any other limb. It was bizarre— he felt the pain in his back, but the warmth of blood in the feathers, too. They felt damp and matted in seconds, like an abrasion to his scalp or something similar. Dante was trying to heal anyway, even though there was a whole fucking fleet of those stupid glowing toothpicks pointing at him now. Dilated eyes darted to each of them. Should he risk summoning Rebellion or focus on protecting the damn wings? He didn’t know how to control them very well, so all he could do was get his back to the wall and use it to try and protect the appendages between the solid surface and himself. “Fuck you, Vergil. I’m fucking kill you, I swear to God.”
Vergil brought his bloodied hand to his mouth to muffle the growing laughter, smearing the sticky fluid over his mouth. There was no stifling his amusement for long, though, so he simply allowed himself to chuckle freely. Still, he made use of that same stained hand, swiping his fingers through his hair and coloring it red. “There is no God, Dante.”
If Dante wanted to huddle himself against the wall, Vergil was going to let him. In fact, he was very supportive of that decision, sending the swords toward his arms and legs to stake him to the surface.
[Look at this sad little bastard.
Poked two holes on each side, managed to tie the key to the frame thing that it is supposed to pop onto, and painted over the thread with black nail polish.
Does this count as ghetto engineering?]
Vergil was lucky that Dante was so one-track minded. The contact was enough to distract him and make him think that maybe Vergil just wanted to get kinky. Dante would’ve been 9000% fine with getting kinky. He’d had enough time to smirk dumbly at the ‘plea’, but not enough to be cocky before Vergil abruptly squashed that thought by staking a summoned sword right through hollow bone and cartilage. There was a loud crack, like a bamboo shaft being broken, and all the color immediately left Dante’s skin. Being impaled through the stomach hurt less— all he could do was gasp. He shoved Vergil away from him and backed the hell up. Honestly he wasn’t sure if he should be mortified or royally pissed. Probably both.
As good as he’d been about steering clear of breaking Dante’s nose, one would expect the nephilim to allot Vergil at least one amputation. It seemed only fair. Dante wasn’t willing to let him just take what he wanted, though—which was even better. Hell, he wanted the angel to show real pain, not bite his tongue, pinch his eyes shut, and endure it.
Even as he stumbled back, there was no wiping the smirk off of Vergil’s face. He was almost giddy. Not even sex could satisfy him as much as drawing the blood of his lover could. “The longer you resist, the longer you’ll suffer,” he warned, a bit of a chuckle laced into his voice. The summoned sword disappeared from his hand, but it left a half a dozen more in its wake, hovering in midair, pointing dangerously at the younger male. The cambion rolled bright red fluid between his fingers, smearing it along his digits as he studied his boyfriend.
I spilled coffee on mine — and I actually hate coffee. I feel it was karma for saying it tastes disgusting. Now I have to punch my keys down. They’re going to fall off eventually.
[My keys pop off daily. I literally have to mash at them to get them back on. I have one key sewn on, thread and all. Some keys like to ignore I’ve pressed them. Also, some keys push other keys as well. O-o;
That’s just the issues with the keys. My screen is split open. ._.; I can’t shut the laptop because a joint is jacked up because a screw fell out one day and the plastic cracked when I unknowingly tried to close the laptop.
It’s just a poorly made computer. It’s brilliantly fast because I put extra RAM into it, but that’s all it has going for it, poor thing. I’m going to cry like a baby when I literally love the damn thing to its last functioning piece. It was my first laptop with a glowy keyboard. Abloobloo.]
[My laptop is falling apart. xAx; The keys are falling off and everything.
Dante remembered what Vergil had said, which was why he didn’t particularly want the guy near him. They felt just like any other limb, not something he was aware of unless he was using it. Aside from his balance, it was just like arms or legs, and they had sensation the same way. Vergil brought himself closer till he was right up in his business and Dante didn’t think he wanted to hear the solution. “I can wai—” Plenty of sensation. When Vergil grabbed the root of one, it felt more ticklish than anything and gave him a flurry of chill bumps. He almost laughed if it weren’t for the fact Vergil was probably interested in trying to murder him. “Stop fucking’ around. I can wait it out, I don’t wanna fucking play doctor with you right now.”
As if attempting to entice his lover into giving him his way, he released the wing, only to drape both arms around his neck and press bodily into him. There was a faux plea in the shallow frozen pools of his eyes. “But Dante…” With both hands conveniently near his targets, there was little warning before that same wing was in his hold and there was a blade lodged deep in the bone. “I didn’t ask.” Summoned swords could be so handy. In that period of time, he probably could have cut it clean off, but where was the fun in that?