[fics] Bruises in Retrospect
Your friendly neighborhood disclaimer: it goes without saying, but the Reborn characters do not belong to me.
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Title: Bruises
Rating: PG, just humor
Characters/Pairing: Romario, Dino/???
Warnings: none, but beware of falling rocks Dinos XD
Summary: Romario has a sneaking suspicion that something’s not quite right with his boss, and he has plenty of evidence to prove it.
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This was written based on that meme-type thing where a randomly selected song yields the title and word count for a fic. The fact that I own the song itself was inspired by another Reborn fic I read recently. . .
Song: "Bruises" - Chairlift
Words (Song Length): 401
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Romario will gladly stake his professional reputation on his firm and most educated conviction that his boss, Dino Cavallone, the tenth-generation head of a deeply respected mafia family, has hopelessly and helplessly, utterly and completely, blindly and blissfully fallen head-over-heels in love. And when the boss falls, he falls hard. Spectacularly and notoriously hard. Romario knows that better than anyone.
If the boss has indeed fallen in love, as Romario won’t hesitate to assert, then a lovesick Dino Cavallone can be aptly likened, without exaggeration, to a bull-better still, an elephant-turned loose in the proverbial unsuspecting china shop.
Romario’s most striking evidence in support of his opinion cites the astonishing observation that, while the average day’s events quite suitably label the boss as a royal klutz in his own right, his usual endearing clumsiness fittingly pales in the face of this newfound terror unwittingly unleashed upon the Cavallone household. The boss’s penchant for self-induced injury has veered exponentially beyond any precedential mishaps, which had been sufficiently staved off by the presence of Dino’s men-that is, until recently.
Over the past week or so, the boss has developed an ingenious talent for tripping not only down flights of stairs but up them as well. The boss’s habitual rowdy, infectious laughter melts to blushing giggles whenever they pass a florist’s shop, whereupon he promptly pricks all ten fingers after thoughtlessly snatching the nearest bouquet of red roses. Romario sighs to himself as slamming car doors victimize the boss’s head and hands, panics as he rushes to the boss’s side after face meets pavement for the third-no, fourth-time today, smiles wanly as the boss sheepishly chuckles, “gomen, gomen,” while clutching an ice pack to his knee, furrows his brow while raiding the sizeable first aid kit for band-aids and antiseptic after the boss’s rather unfortunate head-on encounter with a sliding glass door and an unsteady flower pot.
But the boss isn’t fazed in the least, simply dusts himself off and comes back for seconds, laugh never faltering, and Romario swears the walking disaster known as Dino Cavallone must be the most resilient creature on the face of the planet.
As a thump, a familiar “ouch!”, and a string of spluttered curses assail Romario’s ears, he sprints to the scene, fervently praying that he’ll deliver a still-living, still-breathing, still-in-one-piece boss to the first date next week. It won’t be easy.
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Title: A Thief Called Retrospect
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: the general cast of Reborn/whoever comes to your mind?
Warnings: none
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This drabble isn’t explicitly Reborn-related, as no names are mentioned, but it was definitely written with Reborn in mind and was inspired by the future arc in general. It just turned out much darker than expected. . . *rushes off to write comedy fic*
So feel free to imagine whomever you like! ^^;;
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Blurry, ghostly afterimages lurk and puzzle, the black-and-white negatives of our days past proofed clear in stark contrast yet curiously bereft of the saturated color, the weight of intricacy, the subtlety of connotation-all vividness lost in hindsight, as if a thief called Retrospect has selectively rifled through our musty scrapbook, pilfering at will and fitfully scattering the pages. We hesitate and falter, hands trembling as we bend backwards and strain and fight and suffer bitterly to gather those yellowed pages once again, an effort doomed to failure by its own very nature, since we wonder all the while, lost and wandering in the barren midst of last resort’s trial, but do we even want them back?
Only silence answers, and no one dares to fracture the millimeter-thin façade. For to answer would be to admit and to accept, and who will step forward to claim the name of Responsibility?
And they’ll tell us hindsight is 20/20, but you know, and I know, and we all know too damn well, that some of yesterday’s scraps are better off left abandoned and unresolved, so we seize the chance in all our glorious naïveté, barely pausing at the fork in the road and rashly spurring down the road more traveled, all-too-gladly and hurriedly, balancing our discarded, cumbersome reflections on the fringe of forgotten in the deepest corner of the darkest file.
So, desperate in a devil’s bargain, we forsake the ensnaring, parasitic pain and unwittingly accept blindness in return as the fragile memories yield under the scarcest of secret pressures, sparking those noir-tinted moments until they shatter into thousands, millions of glittering, itchy fragments that cling stubbornly like sand, the residual dust of days that clouds our vision. And, now sightless, we stumble headfirst from the fading illusion of yesterday into the foggy abyss of tomorrow, and life’s stage curtain opens on a tragedy.
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Title: Bruises
Rating: PG, just humor
Characters/Pairing: Romario, Dino/???
Warnings: none, but beware of falling rocks Dinos XD
Summary: Romario has a sneaking suspicion that something’s not quite right with his boss, and he has plenty of evidence to prove it.
- - - - -
This was written based on that meme-type thing where a randomly selected song yields the title and word count for a fic. The fact that I own the song itself was inspired by another Reborn fic I read recently. . .
Song: "Bruises" - Chairlift
Words (Song Length): 401
- - - - -
Romario will gladly stake his professional reputation on his firm and most educated conviction that his boss, Dino Cavallone, the tenth-generation head of a deeply respected mafia family, has hopelessly and helplessly, utterly and completely, blindly and blissfully fallen head-over-heels in love. And when the boss falls, he falls hard. Spectacularly and notoriously hard. Romario knows that better than anyone.
If the boss has indeed fallen in love, as Romario won’t hesitate to assert, then a lovesick Dino Cavallone can be aptly likened, without exaggeration, to a bull-better still, an elephant-turned loose in the proverbial unsuspecting china shop.
Romario’s most striking evidence in support of his opinion cites the astonishing observation that, while the average day’s events quite suitably label the boss as a royal klutz in his own right, his usual endearing clumsiness fittingly pales in the face of this newfound terror unwittingly unleashed upon the Cavallone household. The boss’s penchant for self-induced injury has veered exponentially beyond any precedential mishaps, which had been sufficiently staved off by the presence of Dino’s men-that is, until recently.
Over the past week or so, the boss has developed an ingenious talent for tripping not only down flights of stairs but up them as well. The boss’s habitual rowdy, infectious laughter melts to blushing giggles whenever they pass a florist’s shop, whereupon he promptly pricks all ten fingers after thoughtlessly snatching the nearest bouquet of red roses. Romario sighs to himself as slamming car doors victimize the boss’s head and hands, panics as he rushes to the boss’s side after face meets pavement for the third-no, fourth-time today, smiles wanly as the boss sheepishly chuckles, “gomen, gomen,” while clutching an ice pack to his knee, furrows his brow while raiding the sizeable first aid kit for band-aids and antiseptic after the boss’s rather unfortunate head-on encounter with a sliding glass door and an unsteady flower pot.
But the boss isn’t fazed in the least, simply dusts himself off and comes back for seconds, laugh never faltering, and Romario swears the walking disaster known as Dino Cavallone must be the most resilient creature on the face of the planet.
As a thump, a familiar “ouch!”, and a string of spluttered curses assail Romario’s ears, he sprints to the scene, fervently praying that he’ll deliver a still-living, still-breathing, still-in-one-piece boss to the first date next week. It won’t be easy.
- - - - -
Title: A Thief Called Retrospect
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: the general cast of Reborn/whoever comes to your mind?
Warnings: none
- - - - -
This drabble isn’t explicitly Reborn-related, as no names are mentioned, but it was definitely written with Reborn in mind and was inspired by the future arc in general. It just turned out much darker than expected. . . *rushes off to write comedy fic*
So feel free to imagine whomever you like! ^^;;
- - - - -
Blurry, ghostly afterimages lurk and puzzle, the black-and-white negatives of our days past proofed clear in stark contrast yet curiously bereft of the saturated color, the weight of intricacy, the subtlety of connotation-all vividness lost in hindsight, as if a thief called Retrospect has selectively rifled through our musty scrapbook, pilfering at will and fitfully scattering the pages. We hesitate and falter, hands trembling as we bend backwards and strain and fight and suffer bitterly to gather those yellowed pages once again, an effort doomed to failure by its own very nature, since we wonder all the while, lost and wandering in the barren midst of last resort’s trial, but do we even want them back?
Only silence answers, and no one dares to fracture the millimeter-thin façade. For to answer would be to admit and to accept, and who will step forward to claim the name of Responsibility?
And they’ll tell us hindsight is 20/20, but you know, and I know, and we all know too damn well, that some of yesterday’s scraps are better off left abandoned and unresolved, so we seize the chance in all our glorious naïveté, barely pausing at the fork in the road and rashly spurring down the road more traveled, all-too-gladly and hurriedly, balancing our discarded, cumbersome reflections on the fringe of forgotten in the deepest corner of the darkest file.
So, desperate in a devil’s bargain, we forsake the ensnaring, parasitic pain and unwittingly accept blindness in return as the fragile memories yield under the scarcest of secret pressures, sparking those noir-tinted moments until they shatter into thousands, millions of glittering, itchy fragments that cling stubbornly like sand, the residual dust of days that clouds our vision. And, now sightless, we stumble headfirst from the fading illusion of yesterday into the foggy abyss of tomorrow, and life’s stage curtain opens on a tragedy.
- - - - -