itsmoistyams-blog

[itsmoistyams-blog]

f-umo‌:

　　 ◆ * The moment he lifted his head, he knew it wasn’t real. He felt fuzzy, and the idea of a dream did cross his mind, but in the end it didn’t matter– he had been tossed around too much by this island to believe the powerful sense memories assailing him were anything but that. The faint fishy smell of living above an active sushi shop, the familiar groove of the wood table he’d spent countless days at, it took no time at all to know where he was(n’t).

He was home. Not his little apartment he struggled to pay rent for every month, not Tsuna’s room where so many Vongola-vital memories had been made, but the place that had made him feel more at home than anywhere before, ever, even though it actually belonged to Yamamoto. And Yamamoto was across from him, the look on his face saying he was still the same Yamamoto from the island too.

“There’s no way it’s real,” he tried to say it softly, but shattering hopes always sucked. “But.. man, I miss this place.” A small smile tugged at his features in spite of himself– it was hard to avoid the comforts of home no matter the situation.

@itsmoistyams

Wincing, flat irritation scruffed his cheek and smelled like familiar yellowing straw. A groan emerged with the grogginess of daze and confusion. His muddy eyes fluttered open as he pushed himself up off the floor onto his elbows, digging his nails in like he could float off the ground at any moment. Craning and cracking his neck it bent backward at the warm light glow—and without hesitation he recognized knot in the wood, smiling at that dark eye as his friend had fallen asleep. That old box ceiling fixture, dusty and stained from the time his udon went flying. Tripping backward over that worn-out low-end table that he laughed the hardest at with Gokudera.

That damn table went flying across the room with the force Yamamoto stumbled to his feet. His eyes darted as dread was now piloting. He could make out a blur through his brimming eyes that looked like the silver hair he’d come to know. He was underwater, he couldn’t breathe, Gokudera’s voice was gargling. Yamamoto backed up and ended up knocking the old CRT, jumping as it hit the mat. He took frightened steps, turning his head back and forth between Gokudera and the door but he was already sprinting down the stairs in twos.

“D—AD!”

His voice croaked.

“DAD? DAD?” Chairs untouched hung off the tabletops, the front door shut, silence. Not a single customer to see this crying boy bawl and scream for his daddy. “DAD!” He hollered once more, pleading, rocking and pulling his hair out. He couldn’t tell anymore, was it the future? Was it the past? Was it some alternate universe of hell he’d been forced into by another cruel trick. Yamamoto had been tough, he smiled when he needed to, he was strong for everyone—but the one person in the world he loved more than anyone, he couldn’t protect. Everyone had brushed the future off but it was a scar that liked open itself up when Yamamoto was alone. He worried. He sobbed. He loathed.

A hand landed on his shoulder with a loving moist grip.

“Takeshi?! Takeshi what’s the matter; I’m in the freezer and I hear you screaming bloody hell…” The gruff, old and tired voice rattled him to his core as the hand turned him. He couldn’t say that one word. “Takeshi… Jeez, look at your face it’s sopping wet. I haven’t seen ya cry this much since you broke your damn arm.” Cold hands on his flushed face wiped the tears away, ran through his hair, and rested on his shoulders once more. “You kids were just playing your game and now you come running down here like the house is on fire—”

Yamamoto clung to his father, his face rubbing into his fishy shirt leaving more wet stains as he wept like a baby. His father just sighed, petting the boy’s head and rubbing his back in small circles feeling his shoulder blade jerk with each hiccup. “If you too are fighting, you need to talk it out. You can’t always run to Daddy… that said I’ll kick his narrow ass if you ask.”

[itsmoistyams-blog]

f-umo·:

◆ *If he wasn’t so grateful to Yamamoto, he might have hit him when his first instinct was to ask if Gokudera needed more blood. As if he hadn’t already taken more than his fair share. It took some measure of effort to trust in his words that all was well, but for all Gokudera’s worry, the merman really did just look… deflated.

Allowing it with a grumble, he turned his attention instead to his own wounds, flexing his bad hand experimentally. “I do, actually.. it might be more magical-looking if I was a full vampire, but there’s definitely a difference in my hand at least.” The shoulder cut was deeper, hadn’t been shielded by any flames, but even though he could feel the pulling at his skin of an open wound still on his palm, the deeper pains had almost entirely diminished. “..and I’m not so, uh. Ravenous. So.. thanks. I won’t let it get that bad again.” Not that he could promise he’d drink less, given less hunger– these instincts weren’t easy once the blood started flowing.

“You taste.. kind of, uh, crisp? Like a fresh apple, or really cold lemonade? There’s no metallic taste like when I get blood in my mouth normally, and it’s not, like, fishy either. It’s good. I mean, I’m a dhampir, it’s gonna taste different to me than someone who isn’t supposed to drink it, but it’s really good.” He’d rattled it off like he would describing any other meal, for a moment forgetting himself in the face of Yamamoto’s perfectly understandable curiosity, and forcing down the rising embarrassment after too. This was… normal. Or would have to become their normal, until Gokudera wasn’t subsisting on his best friend’s life juice anymore.

A sudden thought hitting him, he laughed, and opened up his mouth to show it. “Is my tongue blue?”

It shouldn’t have been so embarrassing, much less tempting, to hear what his blood tasted like to his vampiric friend. “Crisp, huh…?” Hypnotized by the sensory evaluation of his homebrew, Yamamoto stared at his bandage. “You think we can open me back up so I can try?” Knowing them and their teenage dares and Gokudera’s insatiable but morbid curiosity, it wouldn’t be so farfetched to hear Yamamoto and Gokudera went blood testing as if it was some new fad. He cheekily smiled at Gokudera to lessen some of the seriousness in his curiosity but he still found himself tracing a finger down a faint vein easily viewable from his now translucent merfolk skin. Guess his blood really was blue now even with oxygen.

The question piqued Yamamoto’s interest, more than willing to lean over on his palms to get a closer look at the other boy’s mouth. “Holy shit,” the color was a little muddied from the deep paint of mouthfuls of blood but as clear as day Gokudera’s jaws to tongue were indigo that bled out into bluer on the still pink parts of his trap. “Haha! It’s really blue dude, you sure you didn’t eat some candy before this to mess with me? I can’t believe I’m blue raspberry flavored.” Now with all the mentions of food, a low grumble of Yamamoto’s gut cut through their intrigue, Yamamoto’s cheeks reddening from his own primal hunger. 

“I guess I’m a little hungry too…” He muttered to the floor. He was in no strength to get up and forage for his own meal so his blue eyes focused on Gokudera, pinching his brows in a humbling manner. “I don’t know if you still eat-eat, but I’ve got some fish drying on the line. Should be ready by now if you could go grab them for me… and some of the wood for the fire, right outside. We can have stew or grilled — guest’s choice!” Despite his fatigue, Yamamoto still gave his all in grinning gill to gill.

“You’re an absolute mess.”

[itsmoistyams-blog]

pridefulshark·:

There was a list of things people didn’t know about Squalo, mostly because people didn’t get to know him beyond his violent appetite. There were some things that even the Varia didn’t know about him, which came from not sharing his interests beyond slicing people up.

Squalo liked fishing. It was a hunt of strategy that gained reward from location, bait, and technique. He also liked the kill and eating of the catch. So when Takeshi Yamamoto invited him out to the lake, he agreed.

“We’re not here to fool around.” He announces in a stern tone, though that didn’t always work with Yamamoto. The carefree type usually managed to find a way, and Squalo, as usual, took this too seriously. “Now get the boat loaded and we’ll head out.”

@itsmoistyams

Somehow, at deadass o’clock the birds chirped louder than Squalo and it was almost refreshing. Yamamoto could easily sense his friend’s excitement or rather enthusiasm for the sport. He’d get cheeky and point this out but after getting Squalo to show he’d feel awful about rocking the boat literally. “Aye aye cap’n,” he smirked, loading the well-worn boat with rods and toolboxes. His favorite component being a cooler filled to the brim with soda and snacks to get them through the lull. 

The sun was barely breaking on the backdrop of the dark lake waters, casting red streaks through the lavender skies to create a sense of serenity. The kappa dressed attendants (Yamamoto wasn’t sure if he should just accept a real duck-beaked man sold him a rental but it was hard to dismiss the webbing between his fingers) made rounds on the dock with red lanterns. They’d humored the fishers with rumors of leviathans and maneating koi inhabiting the lake but chuckled at the thought of some not returning, devils still banking on the river styx. 

Sounded like fun though. Yamamoto, near desperate for companionship, thought he’d invite one of the two people he knew for a good time. Squalo probably had a fishing pole arm attachment, Yamamoto would wager, probably watched Deadliest Catch. Guy was pretty handy. He sucked his tongue to hold in his wry laugh. “What do you think...” The boat now filled, Yamamoto carefully lowered himself into the well-worn boat, holding the boating knot in his hand for Squalo to join him. “Real lake monsters or bullshit?”

“Think we can catch Nessie? Xanxus might give you a promotion.”

[itsmoistyams-blog]

“Uriii, stay still will you?” A long mewl rolled into chirps and purrs as the small cat preferred rubbing against his hands trying to put her paws thru little sleeves.

Dust was gonna get tight for a while but it was worth it. Yamamoto had definitely gone above and beyond in his surprise: a mister and kitty’s matching yukatas. Finding a well-versed seamstress and ordering the garments was more amusing than it was tedious. Upon hearing of the festival he jumped the gun on his commission. He wanted to do something nice, a small thanks for all that had been done for him in his short but eventful time here.

Uri wasn’t his cat but he’d been taking care of her as his own in lieu of company (and as protection to one’s demand). Luckily for him, he gained enough favor with her to dress her up. “Just one more touch…” Fastening the obi til she meowed and pawed him with liberal use of claws. “Alright, alright, you’ve been a good girl, here’s an extra treat for being so cute.” She eagerly snatched the dried sardines from his hand and chowed down, gracefully keeping any crumbs from falling on her new outfit of course.

Yamamoto wore a blush from the sight, it was so cool seeing something from his imagination becoming reality before his eyes. He couldn’t leave this sight undocumented. Carefully he reached for his phone, opening the camera and catching a shot of Uri finishing her treat, “say fishyyy~”

Now to forward, aaaand sent!

[ there’s one for you too :) ]

@f-umo

[itsmoistyams-blog]

[itsmoistyams-blog]

✍ 2 & 11 & 15

✍(OO2) …being touched.

Yamamoto is a kinetic person, he knows a relationship is positive if there’s a physical connection with the other person. Just the little things—an arm around the neck, bumping fists, a touch on the arm—just a little touch, a little effort to bring him to his senses and garnish a smile even on his hardest days. That he isn’t alone, that someone cares enough to reach out to him. Yamamoto appreciates it and radiates warmth. 

He himself will immediately break any walls between him and another person just to get to that closeness. What’s the point of being formal between potential friends? You cultivate whatever from the atmosphere you set up and Yamamoto is trying to keep that good vibe going. He wouldn’t go as far to walk around town with a ‘free hugs’ sign but he’s giving them out if the situation calls for it damnit don’t fight it. 

Feel free to ask for a piggyback he won’t say no. 

✍(O11) …how easily they make friends.

Surprisingly? He has more difficulty making true friends than ‘people he sees often and is cordial with.’ Yamamoto can be secretive, changing the subject if it gets too deep to avoid burdening others with his true feelings. He doesn’t like being someone that needs comfort and prefers giving it. So his relationships never go past a surface level. The kinda guy that’s friends with everyone but is always alone.Honestly, before becoming friends with Tsuna and the others he was just coasting through life with the baseball team being his social circle. Outside of class and practice? Working at the restaurant with his old man. Besides that? Nothing really. Yamamoto isn’t a lonely person, he was just focused. Focused on baseball so he didn’t need much else. Ball is life—was life. Now he can’t get enough of his friends, they showed him he could have fun outside of his interest and now they have to deal with Yamamoto barging over to their places because he can’t get enough of them.

✍(O15) …where they see themselves in ten years.

A mean question—as things are now? He’s not sure anymore. He’s put aside baseball for the sake of his friends. Brandishing the blade to protect his happiness which was no simple task, his resolve is solidified. He’s not sure if he could ever return to baseball as a career choice as the same Yamamoto he used to be. When he learned his family’s swordsmanship he made a vow to take it seriously. Holding a sword and being able to use it against another meant he proverbially put away his ‘childish things’ to be the Rain Guardian.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from imagining. To try playing for as long as he can even though he knows he probably won’t be able to go pro, at least not for long. It’s a hard thing, giving up on a dream, but he doesn’t regret a moment of it. He realized what he was signing up for so now he’s just trying to accept mafioso reality. So where does he see himself in ten years? Hopefully just enjoying his life with his friends in good health.

[itsmoistyams-blog]

f-umo‌:

　　 ◆ * Leave it to Yamamoto to be down to party no matter what was asked of him; to willfully offer himself as a meal and be totally enraptured with the process even as Gokudera fumbled. He owed Yamamoto so fuckin much when this was finally over, but for now…

“I’m sure it’ll hurt a bit, but stop me if it’s more than a little, I haven’t… done this, yet… and if you start to feel woozy–” he cut himself off before he listed a hundred reasons to stop him, about ninety-nine more than Yamamoto needed to hear; he was generous, not stupid. Probably. “Just. Y’know. Trust your instincts over mine.” He was a predator, even if only half-vampire, and every cell in his body was saying to drink, not a single dhampir instinct dedicated to keeping the meal alive. There was no way he was going to let it go that far, but it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

Out of excuses to stop it from happening, he finally leaned in to his limb of choice, a shallow inhale all it took to find the right vein, sharp fangs lined up. As he bit down he considered their luck that they’d thought to do this while there were copious bandages nearby– and then all thought melted, and he drank.

Shit, it beat a rat, hundredfold, the difference between trying to live off toothpaste and ketchup packets and having a hot meal fresh off the stovetop. It felt right, this was what he’d been supposed to do from the start, how’d he been so stupid as to avoid it? For a moment, a loose handful of moments, it was not his best friend’s wrist his mouth was attached to, it was not Yamamoto kindly providing a service, it was just blood going down his throat, swallow after swallow.

He came back out of his daze like nodding off midday, a bleary snap with an accompanying sense of guilt, forcing himself to dislodge his fangs and pull away in an instant. (A little more of that electric blue blood beaded out of the punctures; he couldn’t stop himself from licking up the last excess but he felt his ears burn bright red even as he did it.) “S-sorry– you good? Too much? We don’t really have orange juice and cookies but I can find something,” he offered, still a bit dazed as he shuffled around for the bandages to wrap the bite wound, but glancing back it had already stopped a majority of the bleeding on its own. ..Probably best to cover it up anyway.

A prick was nothing—he neither blinked nor shift his view from his friend now canines deep in his wrist like a peach. Does it taste like fruit punch? He wondered, thankfully too ashamed to say out loud. Perhaps it was only thanks to his own monster transformation that the puncture didn’t sting more with the amount of blood he could feel fountain into Gokudera’s mouth. Gokudera was doing his best to make it as pleasant of an experience as “friend, let me get a suck on that vein” as he could. He could tell. The delicate way he held his wrist with a precise firmness to keep him still.

Maybe this was the sense of feeling ‘prey’ he should have naturally had. It wasn’t fear. It was the feeling of being in the room with animalistic instinct. Anyone could imagine being next to a wild predator, knowing no matter what you do you probably wouldn’t be able to escape being mauled, so the sensation paralyzes you into not reacting thoughtlessly. Into a sort of out of body experience to heightened awareness and doe eyes. Gokudera would hate it if he knew Yamamoto was internally comparing the scene to feeding a dog and testing if he could pull away the bowl without getting bitten.

Or the dizziness was getting to him. Until Gokudera snapped away he felt lost in the trance. He didn’t even notice the silence with the intensity he watched Gokudera’s throat dip. “—Ah,” fatigue hit him like a brick now that Gokudera was finished with his meal. Yamamoto’s eyes were noticeably lidded, arm droopily returning to his side once Gokudera lapped up the remnants like a kitten and applied a bandage. “But did you get enough?” Yamamoto could hardly care enough about his own discomfort, “I don’t know how good blood soup is but if you need more…” 

He tried lifting his arm back up with a tepid flick of the wrist. 

It didn’t aid his point.

“Seriously, I’m fine. I’ve donated blood before, just a little deflated but I’ll fill back up, haha.” His shack wall made for good support, a smile on his face as he leaned back with a roll of his shoulders. “Do you, uh, feel better?” His similarly blue eyes asked, his brows upturned for an honest answer. “I’m not sure what I taste like but if it wasn’t bad, just let me know when you need to feed, okay? Friends don’t let friends go hungry.”

“You’re an absolute mess.”

[itsmoistyams-blog]

For every ✍ + a number I receive, I will share one headcanon for my muse about...

…their sleep schedule.

…being touched.

…how long they hold grudges.

…how sensitive they are to insults.

…being complimented.

…being alone.

…meeting new people.

…getting sick (a cold, flu, etc.)

…eating.

…their handwriting.

…how easily they make friends.

…how educated they are.

…the type of music they like.

…a beloved toy or pet they had as a child.

…where they see themselves in ten years.

…what really scares them.

…how good they are with technology.

…how they would describe their personality.

…what makes them happy.

…what they think the meaning of life is.

[itsmoistyams-blog]

[itsmoistyams-blog]

dvvouring‌:

people aren’t prey, mukuro. he tried to hold back the roll of his eyes, really he did, but it was a lost cause for takeshi’s deep sincerity alone. still, there was nothing for it, mafia played heroes and the painted villains lost out. classic.

“you talk a lot for not knowing what you’re doing,” he commented dryly with a sigh. “if you must know, the person you so kindly saved is going to be making an attempt on my employer���s life tonight. maybe tomorrow, if properly spooked.” luckily the lot of them were pigs, and mukuro’s investment in stopping the would-be assassin was mostly because he wanted to choose the methods and timing of their deaths himself. c’est la vie. sometimes you got to carefully plan a revolution based on beheading the rich, sometimes a mafia kid stole your kill and let it go.

the talk of helping each other was cute, though. did he forget who he was speaking to? or was he just marginally desperate? mukuro’s allegiance was always in his own interests, and his interests never quite overlapped with those of mafioso ( somehow ); but here, now, his allegiance was first and foremost with chrome. where she went, he would follow. it was only in the interim that he found his passing dalliances, fixing societal problems where he could, a whispering viper in the ears of evil.

still. there was some potential use here. “if you’re serious about helping each other,” helping me, his tone stated plainly, as takeshi had already ruined his first mission, “how do you feel about saving damsels in distress? i could use a second.” he dug out the quest listing from his small bag, offering it as explanation. “it should take less than three days, round trip. shorter if you have no interest in coming back.”

medicine run | panastar & 8000 dust oh, good, you’re available to help! just what this woman needs; she needs this special medicine delivered to one of her friends. the bad news is that not only is the journey lengthy, the path is littered to the brim with bandits of all kinds! do you dare make the journey and help this woman out?

So he saved a murderer? He paused, somber, pinched brows as he stared then down to his feet. It was a complex feeling of guilt, righteousness, and confusion, and he didn’t get the idea that Mukuro had a reason to lie if he showed up here of all places. “...All I can do is hope that nothing will come of it,” he was being patronized for being a savior but Yamamoto wouldn’t regret his actions. Intervening a fight was the right thing to do and even Mukuro couldn’t change his mind on that.

His eyes lifted when the other spoke, “damsels?” He took the parchment in hand, skimming the listing of its contents. “A special medicine, huh… and you’re really interested in helping her out?” Yamamoto didn’t realize the guy had such a soft side for sick women. This was an opportunity. Perhaps, if he aided Mukuro he would be compliant in joining their temporary alliance. Gokudera wouldn’t be too excited but Yamamoto would rather Mukuro be on their side than an enemy.

“Let’s do it, as long as you don’t stab me in the back we should help her out.”

[itsmoistyams-blog]

f-umo‌:

　　 ◆ * “Bet your ass it was him, I’m lucky he didn’t go right up the middle, I barely dodged the rest of his swing. Hell, I’d be totally gutted if I hadn’t melted his damn sword.” What should have been complaints of mutiny came out instead with a breathy cheer; he was damn proud of himself, and that pride wasn’t gonna fade til the pain was long gone. It already was doing a good bit to override what should have been a bad mood brought on by the stinging of slug shit and having to sacrifice two body parts just to get what the Varia should give automatically.

Anyway, it was always hard to keep a bad mood up when Yamamoto was determined, all but the deepest anger and shallowest depression melting to his laugh and unstoppable care. The hands on Gokudera’s wounds were soft but firm, showed more comfort with blood and exposed muscles than any baseball player should have. Gokudera’d had no doubt, coming back here, that he would get the best treatment available– better than a soak in saltwater, for sure. “I got him on our side, though. Got his number, too, if you want it.” He rattled off rhetorically while he was worked on; obviously Yamamoto wanted it, obviously Squalo wouldn’t want it given so freely, obviously Squalo would give up on caring anyway, since it was Yamamoto. He had that effect on people.

As the worst of the pain was edged away by whatever Yamamoto had spread on his wounds and the bandages were properly tightened, the adrenaline was failing him and the exhaustion from pushing out so many flames was settling in its place… along with a gnawing in his gut that he’d been distinctly ignoring.

As if reading his mind, Yamamoto spoke up – this dude had a goddamn sixth sense for when Gokudera was hungry, and apparently that wasn’t severed by the unfortunate change in meal choice.

“…..’m starving,” he admitted with some hesitation, usual shamelessness at a free meal dampened some by the source. The second the offer had been made he’d started salivating, though, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t smell the blood in his friend’s veins like a damn mosquito. “I’m not gonna eat your flesh, but.. haven’t had any since I drained a rat dry first day…” Christ, he was hungry, the more he thought about it the more it clawed at him– he thanked his lucky stars he was just a dhampir instead of the real thing. “Don’t be afraid to back out, alright? I can get blood somewhere else if you get freaked.”

Even as he said his piece, he was reaching to pull up Yamamoto’s closest arm, gingerly holding it palm-up in front of him. “There’s, uh. There’s a pretty good vein in the wrist? Unless that’s weird for you.”

Yamamoto sucked his tongue, he knew Squalo would be a difficult one to listen to reason and join them in their campaign. As his student he really didn’t have much to say, no excuses for his mentor, but Gokudera didn’t seem to care. He was brilliant and radiant, he’d conquered the siren and even got his digits, “...I’d like that actually,” muttered. Squalo would probably never give it to him, probably, Yamamoto knew he had a puppy face that could work on anyone. So he’d take it from Gokudera if he was offering.

The merman felt better learning that his intuition was right; Gokudera did have a hunger. He was hitting himself for not asking sooner, of course Gokudera would have to be getting blood from animals. He doubted Gokudera would descend on another person and drain them like a beast. “I’m sorry for not asking before, please,” he inched closer, offering the wrist Gokudera now held. His heart beating a little more rapid now—could he sense it?

He shook his head, “no not at all, go for it,” a quiet tension as he watched with bated breath.

“You’re an absolute mess.”

[itsmoistyams-blog]

“You’re an absolute mess.”

Hands gently caress the blood-soaked makeshift bandage wrapped around a palm. He unravels it to the gore beneath. Flushing the wound with a water solution, it pours into a basin in crimson spirals. “This is the best I could get in the area, it’s a type of ointment made with some kind of sea slugs. I dunno if it’ll sting.” Yamamoto carefully applies in soft strokes of his finger. Next comes the gauze to wrap the wound on the other boy’s hand.

“Now let me see your shoulder, it looks nasty—did Squalo really do this?” There’s skepticism in his words but he knows better. Yamamoto grits his teeth looking at how deep the wound appeared, amazed that Gokudera could be so energetic with a seeping gash. He helps remove what little bit of a shirt Gokudera has left to access his injury. The process is repeated—flush, apply, bandage—wrapping his shoulder meticulously, there’s satisfaction but something feels incomplete.

They’re inhuman now, Yamamoto realizes. Gokudera is a type of vampiric creature now, he doesn’t know much about mythological things aside from what his friend has told him in complexity, but one thing sticks out to him. Feeding. Vampires feed to survive, they regenerate, it strengthens them. It gives him a curious idea.

“Gokudera, not to sound weird but… do you want… some blood?” His face is coated in concern and a dab of embarrassment. “You know, you’re like a vampire or whatever now, that means if you drink you’ll get stronger right? You should be able to heal faster and they say mermaid flesh has healing properties right? Like immortality and stuff.” The teen scratches his neck trying to find his point, “so like, we should try it, I have no problem with it I just want you to be alright.”

@f-umo

[itsmoistyams-blog]

happy pride!

[itsmoistyams-blog]

[itsmoistyams-blog]

pridefulshark‌:

With a shout of his name from a familiar voice, Squalo turns to see Takeshi Yamamoto ready to collapse to the ground as he gasps for breath. There’s no surprise on Squalo’s face, instead he looked mildly annoyed. Listening to his gasping, Squalo turns back to cleaning the sword he had in hand. There’s rag he has wrapped around his left stub, it’s this rag that he drags the blade of the sword across to collect it’s stains.

“You need to learn how to regulate your breathing as you run.” He tsks, turning eyes back to the boy as he finally seems to catch his breath and straighten his posture. A brow arches as a gift his mention and handed out to him, the moment he smells it his mouth salivates and his eyes light up. Squalo loves tuna almost as much as he loves swordsmanship.

He has to set his sword aside before reaching out to take the parcel. Although he was rather happy and grateful for the gift, he appears nonchalant as he tucks it away for safe keeping. Yamamoto doesn’t get a verbal thank you, but there is a softer expression on Squalo’s face for a brief moment.

“Is fishing all you’ve been doing here?” Now comes the harder tone. “Did you get a sword?” Finished with his task Squalo yanks the rag from his stub arm and tosses it on the ground.

Like a puppy, he can’t help but show his excitement to just see his mentor as his usual self. Squalo was without a doubt a merciless fiend with bloodlust but, perhaps it was just their connection as swordsmen, Yamamoto didn’t fear him. Squalo was synonymous with ‘quirky long-haired guy that could definitely fuck him up but is just so dang cool’ in his book. Seeing him now was a sort of comfort even in their predicament, the more familiar faces Yamamoto met the easier this transition was becoming.

Watching Squalo clean his blade, stains collecting and dampening the cloth he used, the boy’s back straightened with his scolding. “Sorry, sorry,” he chuckled, “I’ve been running all over, the second I heard some guys gossiping about a silver swordsman causing a ruckus I had to check it out for myself ya know?” His charming smile growing ever so slightly despite doing his best to appear more disciplined.

The gift seemed to go over well, Yamamoto didn’t need words. It’s all about feeling and since Squalo wasn’t chewing his head off he had to have been doing something right. Of course, his joyful expression quickly exasperated with this more serious tone. Shoulders tight, his now blue eyes looked back to the sword strapped to his back. “Yeah, I mean, it’s no Shigure Kintoki but it’ll do right?” His eyes return to Squalo, somber in his gaze. 

“What about yourself, doesn’t look like your normal sword,” his eyes can’t help but linger on his nub arm knowing his reply is going to ruffle feathers, “are you able to fight without it?”

[itsmoistyams-blog]

HS YEARBOOK MEME: KHR x Nicest smile   ↳ Yamamoto Takeshi / For kawaiinohime 

[itsmoistyams-blog]

(( like for fantasia mini starters? ))