(no subject)
title: drabbles 1-5 (80various/D18/69vs.59/8059/G59)
rating: PG
sample: there is only so much we can throw away for ourselves before we lose it all.
1. Yamamoto/various
Yamamoto thinks love is a lot like playing Russian Roulette with blanks and bullets. Life spins the barrel for you and hands you the revolver when it's time... but it's your choice whether you want to pull the trigger or not. Most of the time he pulls it. He doesn't know if he's fearless or just plain stupid for skinnyviolentexotic boys and dangerouslydangerouslyalluring men.
But it's always BANG and it's always like this:
Your heart bursts every every time and you're sweating a puddle as the explosion echoes back to you with every pulse. Your thoughts run a million miles per second: Blank or bullet? Blank or bullet? Blank or bullet? Blank or bullet? Your ears ring, there's a pitchfork singing in your heart and all you can do is watch the aftermath.
Blank or bullet?
- - - - -
2. Dino/Hibari
Sometimes you find yourself leaning into touches that don’t really exist. Returning looks you wish were there. Searching for openings when there are none. Looking for warmth within the fathomless embrace of voids. You childe your imagination but you can’t stop indulging yourself (why not: aren't we all a little guilty of hope?) Better to fall weak to private sins than to quietly descend into madness.
Honestly, you were never truly qualified to be his teacher in the first place. But you cling to the notion because it’s something to keep you both in orbit of something platonic (so cursed we are: to want what we can’t have, to have what we don’t want.) These are fine, careful, self-imposed lines to tread and it’s the least you can do when you’re with him. It’s the closest and furthest you’ll trust yourself to go. You know there may come a day when you’ll be forced to pay the consequences for doing more of what you should have done less. For doing less of what you should have done more.
Because really... there is only so much we can throw away for ourselves before we lose it all.
- - - - -
3. Gokudera vs. Mukuro
Greater men have been devoured and gutted inside out and outside in by these illusions. But on the brink of everything Gokudera Hayato somehow manages to hang on.
His blood stills when that silky voice, amused and mocking, pierces the din once more, “Paper tiger, paper tiger… why do you insist on breathing fire?”
He hopes… no, he prays feverishly to God that infuriating rhyme will never hit the streets of Rome to live forever on the tongues of children. It’s not a rare occurrence for the nastier more humiliating fates of Mafioso to be immortalized in this roundabout fashion. The children of the Costa Nostra are not raised on witty tales of talking animals nor the exciting escapades of Royalty… they grow up on the legends of men and fools who were their forefathers. Every single Familgia, every single generation has their rhymes of shame and honour. Gokudera’s always aspired that his would be one of the latter… but it in the churning stomach of Mukuro’s illusions he feels like he’s been chasing the horizon for all of his life.
He lets loose a blast from his skull cannon into the direction of the Mist Guardian’s know-it-all-seen-it-all-done-it-all chuckle. The inferno blooms in a moment of desperate glory before it’s snuffed out like a flickering match. From the dispersing smoke and mirrors Mukuro lunges forward, spinning his trident.
“Do not make me repeat myself again: there is nothing to burn here, you silly boy.”
And this is how the true eye of the storm descends.
- - - - -
4. Yamamoto/Gokudera inspired by this translation
Gokudera Hayato.
The first time Yamamoto’s eyes scrolled the boy’s name (white and chalky against the dusty green of the board) he laughed to himself.
A hawk dude out of a temple prison? Or was it hell instead of prison? A hellish prison? Whatever, that surname was hilarious but it had to be made up.
And it was.
Later he found out. And later he’d wonder. He’d look over his shoulder and look (really look) at Gokudera. Names are important. You grow into them. Or you could grow out of them, you could become the polar opposite but they’re still there you know? He’d scratch his chin, tip of his fingernail nicking his scar. He guessed Gokudera grew out of his Italian name so much he flicked it away like one of his many cigarette butts. Probably ground it into the dirt with his heel. Either he snuffed it out like nothing or he snuffed it out carefully like it was something.
Nonetheless he put out the fire before it could die on its own.
The smallest tilt of a head can change a perspective and a boy, a man, you’ve known for years can become a stranger.
- - - - -
5. Gamma/Gokudera
Lately, he feels like he's growing into the wrong bones. It's been almost decade since he snapped back from the future and Gokudera still hasn't recovered from the whiplash.
Dual memories collide and meld into things that are half truth and half truth. Double vision de ja vu. He can't decide if he's living in a fraternal or siamese twin timeline.
It's worse when he's with him. The same smooth rolling voice that reads aloud the newspaper once purred death threats into the shell of his ear. The same hands that nearly broke his own now lingers on his shoulder.
And all the while the leopard and wolves frolic on the unnaturally green and manicured lawn. Their family's rings that adorn their right hands are as still and silent as metal can be.
White picket fences will always be the first to burn in the blossoming of self destruction.
rating: PG
sample: there is only so much we can throw away for ourselves before we lose it all.
1. Yamamoto/various
Yamamoto thinks love is a lot like playing Russian Roulette with blanks and bullets. Life spins the barrel for you and hands you the revolver when it's time... but it's your choice whether you want to pull the trigger or not. Most of the time he pulls it. He doesn't know if he's fearless or just plain stupid for skinnyviolentexotic boys and dangerouslydangerouslyalluring men.
But it's always BANG and it's always like this:
Your heart bursts every every time and you're sweating a puddle as the explosion echoes back to you with every pulse. Your thoughts run a million miles per second: Blank or bullet? Blank or bullet? Blank or bullet? Blank or bullet? Your ears ring, there's a pitchfork singing in your heart and all you can do is watch the aftermath.
Blank or bullet?
- - - - -
2. Dino/Hibari
Sometimes you find yourself leaning into touches that don’t really exist. Returning looks you wish were there. Searching for openings when there are none. Looking for warmth within the fathomless embrace of voids. You childe your imagination but you can’t stop indulging yourself (why not: aren't we all a little guilty of hope?) Better to fall weak to private sins than to quietly descend into madness.
Honestly, you were never truly qualified to be his teacher in the first place. But you cling to the notion because it’s something to keep you both in orbit of something platonic (so cursed we are: to want what we can’t have, to have what we don’t want.) These are fine, careful, self-imposed lines to tread and it’s the least you can do when you’re with him. It’s the closest and furthest you’ll trust yourself to go. You know there may come a day when you’ll be forced to pay the consequences for doing more of what you should have done less. For doing less of what you should have done more.
Because really... there is only so much we can throw away for ourselves before we lose it all.
- - - - -
3. Gokudera vs. Mukuro
Greater men have been devoured and gutted inside out and outside in by these illusions. But on the brink of everything Gokudera Hayato somehow manages to hang on.
His blood stills when that silky voice, amused and mocking, pierces the din once more, “Paper tiger, paper tiger… why do you insist on breathing fire?”
He hopes… no, he prays feverishly to God that infuriating rhyme will never hit the streets of Rome to live forever on the tongues of children. It’s not a rare occurrence for the nastier more humiliating fates of Mafioso to be immortalized in this roundabout fashion. The children of the Costa Nostra are not raised on witty tales of talking animals nor the exciting escapades of Royalty… they grow up on the legends of men and fools who were their forefathers. Every single Familgia, every single generation has their rhymes of shame and honour. Gokudera’s always aspired that his would be one of the latter… but it in the churning stomach of Mukuro’s illusions he feels like he’s been chasing the horizon for all of his life.
He lets loose a blast from his skull cannon into the direction of the Mist Guardian’s know-it-all-seen-it-all-done-it-all chuckle. The inferno blooms in a moment of desperate glory before it’s snuffed out like a flickering match. From the dispersing smoke and mirrors Mukuro lunges forward, spinning his trident.
“Do not make me repeat myself again: there is nothing to burn here, you silly boy.”
And this is how the true eye of the storm descends.
- - - - -
4. Yamamoto/Gokudera inspired by this translation
Gokudera Hayato.
The first time Yamamoto’s eyes scrolled the boy’s name (white and chalky against the dusty green of the board) he laughed to himself.
A hawk dude out of a temple prison? Or was it hell instead of prison? A hellish prison? Whatever, that surname was hilarious but it had to be made up.
And it was.
Later he found out. And later he’d wonder. He’d look over his shoulder and look (really look) at Gokudera. Names are important. You grow into them. Or you could grow out of them, you could become the polar opposite but they’re still there you know? He’d scratch his chin, tip of his fingernail nicking his scar. He guessed Gokudera grew out of his Italian name so much he flicked it away like one of his many cigarette butts. Probably ground it into the dirt with his heel. Either he snuffed it out like nothing or he snuffed it out carefully like it was something.
Nonetheless he put out the fire before it could die on its own.
The smallest tilt of a head can change a perspective and a boy, a man, you’ve known for years can become a stranger.
- - - - -
5. Gamma/Gokudera
Lately, he feels like he's growing into the wrong bones. It's been almost decade since he snapped back from the future and Gokudera still hasn't recovered from the whiplash.
Dual memories collide and meld into things that are half truth and half truth. Double vision de ja vu. He can't decide if he's living in a fraternal or siamese twin timeline.
It's worse when he's with him. The same smooth rolling voice that reads aloud the newspaper once purred death threats into the shell of his ear. The same hands that nearly broke his own now lingers on his shoulder.
And all the while the leopard and wolves frolic on the unnaturally green and manicured lawn. Their family's rings that adorn their right hands are as still and silent as metal can be.
White picket fences will always be the first to burn in the blossoming of self destruction.