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Vongola Rain Guardian
Squaring the accounts of battle, washing away blood spilled, the Requiem of Rain
Free Account
Created on 2012-02-15 07:15:56 (#1505598), last updated 2016-02-10 (492 weeks ago)
970 comments received, 383 comments posted
22 Journal Entries, 30 Tags, 0 Memories, 15 Icons Uploaded
| Name: | swingswallow |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | Apr 24 |
Layout credit to: ![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=r88.10)
spire
The realization that yes, Yamamoto did feel things other than what his idiot face showed—that he hurt and hated and felt sadness, that he had feelings. It was a weird thought, really. Gokudera had always thought of the swordsman as a vapid airhead, but... once you saw the look in his eyes after a kill, or after the Tenth’s death... looking back on it, the silver-haired man had never seen more pain flash over someone’s face before cutting it jaggedly with a half-assed smile.
He grinned, smile not quite reaching his eyes. It brushed against the bottom, adding some semblance of his old light to his amber irises. It wasn’t like it used to be, though. It was a poor imitation of his old smile, a mere shadow of the cheerful brightness it once held.
Maybe, Gokudera thought, this was another way God was trying to fuck with him. Making Yamamoto an assassin was by far the worst mistake that Bastard has ever made. The guy didn’t have the heart for the job. Gokudera could see it slowly eating away at his sanity, the thought that he’d actually killed someone gnawing away at him for days afterward.
Not that he cared what the stupid freak was feeling. It was just annoying to have to see that childishly terrified look cross over his face every so often.
There was some raw, unmasked emotion in Yamamoto’s eyes, something that he rarely showed anymore. Back when they were teenagers, that was all that was there—pure, unfiltered feelings. You could read Yamamoto like a book by just staring him in the eye. But as time moved on and his body count went higher and higher, that filter built up into something opaque until his eyes showed nothing at all. --Courtesy of Cats_fiend's 8059 fic Creator
spireThe realization that yes, Yamamoto did feel things other than what his idiot face showed—that he hurt and hated and felt sadness, that he had feelings. It was a weird thought, really. Gokudera had always thought of the swordsman as a vapid airhead, but... once you saw the look in his eyes after a kill, or after the Tenth’s death... looking back on it, the silver-haired man had never seen more pain flash over someone’s face before cutting it jaggedly with a half-assed smile.
He grinned, smile not quite reaching his eyes. It brushed against the bottom, adding some semblance of his old light to his amber irises. It wasn’t like it used to be, though. It was a poor imitation of his old smile, a mere shadow of the cheerful brightness it once held.
Maybe, Gokudera thought, this was another way God was trying to fuck with him. Making Yamamoto an assassin was by far the worst mistake that Bastard has ever made. The guy didn’t have the heart for the job. Gokudera could see it slowly eating away at his sanity, the thought that he’d actually killed someone gnawing away at him for days afterward.
Not that he cared what the stupid freak was feeling. It was just annoying to have to see that childishly terrified look cross over his face every so often.
There was some raw, unmasked emotion in Yamamoto’s eyes, something that he rarely showed anymore. Back when they were teenagers, that was all that was there—pure, unfiltered feelings. You could read Yamamoto like a book by just staring him in the eye. But as time moved on and his body count went higher and higher, that filter built up into something opaque until his eyes showed nothing at all. --Courtesy of Cats_fiend's 8059 fic Creator
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