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spookyceph · 5 years

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Peace Offering, a Shigadabi Fanfic

The first in a series of Shigadabi fics. Because why not?

WARNINGS for mention of destructive/depressive thoughts, language, and unabashed self-indulgence.

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3,378

Also, find it on my Ao3 account @ CarlyChameleon.

For someone who hated to drink, Tomura spent a lot of time sitting at the hideout’s bar. He couldn’t have done it if the place were still in business—some unlucky server would’ve had several drunk assholes to mop up off the floor before the night ended. But with it sealed off from the outside world the atmosphere suited him fine. It was quiet. Clean. Both adjectives that applied to his room upstairs, but locking himself in there too long gave him the urge to start climbing the walls. Even he needed to get out of his own head once in a while, whether that involved speaking with Sensei or just watching Kurogiri dust the glasses.

The open space of the bar never threatened to close in and suffocate him. All the different sizes and shapes of the bottles occupying the shelves, glinting in the low lighting, gave him something to look at while he thought besides a glowing screen or blank ceiling as he laid in bed. Or, like now, he could simply trace the swirling grain of the bar top with one finger and think nothing. Or what passed for nothing in his case—his mind churned and surged as relentlessly as the sea grinding away the edges of the land. He’d only learned how to roll back the tide enough to allow for some sleep or brief breaks that kept him from throwing himself off the roof and quieting his brain for good.

The Internet had fished up terms like rumination and obsessive compulsive and thought loops when he’d done a search once. Psychobabble for being his own worst enemy, in other words. Tracing patterns in fabric or wood or pictures or whatever did help sometimes like a few of the articles had suggested, though. Listing colors or items in his surroundings too when he became overwhelmed and started to flounder. (Breathing exercises, however, could fuck right off—all those did was cause him to hyperventilate as he counted each inhale and exhale faster and faster.) The tricks allowed him to hit reset and go back to a previous save point, in a way. The level didn’t get any easier when he returned to it, but the momentary respite allowed him to regroup and adjust his tactics.

He’d been doing an awful fucking lot of both ever since Giran’s first two finds had moved in. Tomura’s nail scraped against polished wood, digging in while his mind replayed the conversation with Kurogiri the evening before, clear as a cutscene.

We cannot further our ends without skilled support, Shigaraki Tomura.

I know, damn it. He couldn’t have even said what his party was fighting on-screen. He’d just kept selecting Attack each round. That doesn’t mean we have to take in every stray Giran drags in from the gutter.

True…yet please recall why we hired the man in the first place: to scout for promising candidates. He wouldn’t present us with anyone he considered beneath our notice. Each point had been spoken with the polite but unwavering logic that had won him the job as Tomura’s handler to begin with. Drifting over to the computer desk, Kurogiri had warped two manila folders onto it. At least skim their profiles before declaring your ultimate decision.

So, Tomura had. And he’d seen beyond a doubt that the fucking walking Rorschach test had been right, as usual. The description of the brat’s quirk had been particularly surprising. Tomura’s mind had roiled with all the possible uses for her. The smartass’s, on the other hand, didn’t boast as much versatility, but it did promise the kind of ranged and wide-area attacks needed to control a battle.

Giran had brought him an illusionist assassin and a black mage. With them, he’d have a better chance at clearing higher level quests. He hated the facts, but that didn’t change them, as he’d been taught in no uncertain terms during the little excursion to UA’s training facility.

Thus, Toga Himiko and Dabi, whoever he really was, had been granted permission to move what worldly goods they possessed into rooms of their choosing upstairs. Tomura hadn’t bothered to learn which. He figured he’d reduce the chances of murdering them in their sleep if he didn’t know.

His hand left the bar and relocated to his throat. The fingers didn’t scratch, but they flexed in the familiar pattern. Letting those two move in might have been a mistake—yet another in a growing string of them. He shouldn’t have given in to Kurogiri so easily because of rattled confidence. He should have insisted all recruits stay somewhere else until they proved their worth and loyalty. To hell with Giran’s professional instincts. What if they were spies for some hero agency? The Toga brat especially, with a quirk like hers. Barring that, they still hadn’t made it past basic introductions without trying to kill each other. How could they be expected to follow orders or not botch a mission because of their own petty goals? And anyway, both of them were just fucking weird.

A sound barged into Tomura’s thoughts from the outer world. Only the small, metallic click of a door handle turning, but it made his head snap in the direction of the hallway. Kurogiri never used the door. He didn’t need to.

Sure enough, there slouched a tall, ragged figure. The zombie. The one name wonder. Dabi.

The skin of Tomura’s throat stung as his nails finally found purchase. Of course the last person on Earth he wanted to see would show up at that very moment. Of course. Because the universe fucking hated him and the feeling was very much mutual.

For a minute, Dabi just filled up the space in the doorway, watching and being watched. When Tomura didn’t move to attack, he finally stepped into the room. His ugly boots clomped on the floorboards as he approached. Still wary, still keeping an eye on where Tomura’s hands rested, he paused at the far corner of the bar. Kurogiri must have had a chat with both newcomers, oh yes. Now they had to be aware of just how close they’d come to never annoying the shit out of anyone ever again.

“So.” Dabi nodded toward the shelves. “We gotta pay for booze or is it included in our membership?”

Even while asking a simple question he couldn’t sound anything less than full of contempt. Putting on an air of boredom despite the knot of tension between his shoulder blades, Tomura shrugged. “Knock yourself out. None of this shit comes out of my pocket.”

No further invitation was required. Dabi strode behind the bar and started examining labels, back turned. Tomura’s fingers twitched. Patchwork asshole. Like he’d fall for a trap that obvious.

Dabi settled on a dark blue bottle with a foreign label. Turning around, he grabbed a glass from beneath the bar, twisted the cap open, and poured without restraint. Fumes wafted over, crinkling Tomura’s nose. Great. Wonder-fucking-ful. The reek of alcohol made his stomach tie itself in knots just as much as it had after his first and final hangover.

He’d thought that drinking the toxic shit might help shut his brain up. And, after choking down an acidic gulp—he’d chosen something a deep gold because he’d just liked the color—it had, sort of. His thoughts had softened, stretching out and slowing with a new elasticity. So, even though his chest and nostrils had still been full of napalm he’d knocked back another swallow. The volume of his mental chatter had faded with the third. By the fifth it became benign background noise. The alcohol’s chemical burn had faded away on the seventh. Memories slid into blank blackness sometime after the tenth.

Kurogiri must have warped him to bed that night because when Tomura woke, sweaty, shaking, sicker than a lab rat, the man already had a bucket at the ready. He spoke not a word while letting Tomura puke his guts up. Or when he brought miso broth, umeboshi, and tea after the dry heaves stopped. He didn’t have to. Tomura hadn’t drunk a drop since.

“You look like you swallowed a bug.”

Tomura’s gaze leapt up from the bar to find Dabi staring at him over the rim of the now empty glass. A little riff of unease jangled his nerves. He’d never seen eyes such a deep blue. They caught and glinted in the low lighting the same way the selected bottle did. The patches of ruined skin sagging beneath just made them more striking.

“Must be the company.” His tongue moved too sluggishly to be sharp, turning the comeback into little more than a mumble. Another jolt of realization lanced through Tomura: Father wasn’t shielding his own face. There wouldn’t be much to see with his hair hanging in a messy curtain…but he still had to repress the urge to fidget on the stool and shift away.

Dabi smirked. Tomura couldn’t tear his stare away from how the smooth skin of his upper cheeks and the trauma-purple scar tissue of his jaw pulled in opposite directions against the surgical staples—the fuckmothering staples—binding them at the seams. The smirk only grew under the attention.

“Yeah, about that…” Dabi reached into his raggedy jacket and Tomura tensed. Then mentally cursed when not a weapon but a small jar was produced. Dark glass, unlabeled, it looked utterly boring in the other man’s palm (also stapled, also intensely weird) as he offered it across the bar. “For you.”

“What…what’s in it?”

“A gesture of goodwill.”

The scarred corner of Tomura’s upper lip peeled back just enough to show a glimmer of teeth. “You couldn’t have given me one in the first place by introducing yourself properly?”

Those disquieting eyes almost glowed. “Sure. But then I wouldn’t have seen who you are. People always show their real selves when they’re pissed.”

A fine tremor infected Tomura’s hands. One swift, short lunge. That’s all it would take to disintegrate Frankendick’s face for good. There would be no Kurogiri to play referee either… “So, what? That was just part of some elaborate test? You going to amaze me with an in-depth character analysis now?”

“Nope. I’m not feeling that generous.”

Right. That did it for his quota of fucks to give for the day. If he stuck around for another thirty seconds there really would be a murder in progress. Tomura turned away from the bar with a scoff.

“Hurts, huh? The stuff around your eyes.”

He froze with one foot on the floor, one still hooked on the bottom of the stool.

“Itches like a sonuvabitch too when it’s humid probably,” Dabi continued, sensing the hook had set. “What’s in the jar helps with that kind of thing.”

“Nothing helps.” The words hissed out of Tomura like a jet of steam.

“This will. I make it. Look how good it works on me.”

For the next solid minute, Tomura could do nothing except grapple with the question of how this staple-faced fucker could even be for real.

Dabi, for his part, let his smirk soften into something that almost resembled an actual smile. Unscrewing the jar’s lid, he set it down on the bar and dipped two fingers into the contents. When he reached forward, Tomura’s hand shot up and captured him around the wrist. Only his index finger didn’t touch, pointed at the ceiling and ready to clamp down in an instant.

On the verge of being reduced to bloody slush staining the floor, Dabi just cocked his head. “Jumpy, are we?”

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” It came out entirely too high and strained to spare Tomura’s dignity.

“I told you. Showing goodwill.” A pause. “Are you touch averse?”

“Am I what?”

“You know. Like, being touched gets you nervous or grosses you out. That sort of thing.”

“The fuck would I know? It’s not like I ever let anyone try!”

Okay. That hadn’t come out quite as intended. Tomura dug his fingers into Dabi’s wrist, deep enough to leave marks even through the sleeve of a jacket, daring the bastard to laugh or make a crude quip. Instead, said bastard quit smiling. His strange, stained-glass eyes only observed, absorbing details while giving none away. Contrary to the lack of mockery, hot blood rushed straight up Tomura’s neck and flooded his face.

All he had to do was flex one finger and Dabi would be dead. Every scenario that played out in inside his mind showed him having the clear advantage at such a close range. So why, why, why had the pulse in his chest and temples kicked into hyper mode?

“Think of this another way,” Dabi said, as if reading his thoughts and causing another spike in blood pressure. “As a show of trust.”

“T-trust?” The word tripped up Tomura’s tongue like it came from an alien language. “We tried to kill each other yesterday.”

The response was a shrug. “That’s yesterday. Like I said, you showed me what I wanted to know. Now I’m returning the favor. That’s why you were so pissed, wasn’t it? When I didn’t make an introduction? You wanted to see if you could trust me. Well, here I am, close enough for you to use your quirk on without much chance to dodge. Still not gonna tell you my name, though.”

All valid points. And having Dabi at his mercy did make for a strong show of dominance. It still didn’t explain why Tomura was the one on the edge of his seat. He eyed the pale goop coating Dabi’s fingers. Sensei had educated him on a wide variety of poisons used for killing or incapacitating victims, but he held few suspicions from that angle. Another crackpot personality test sounded more plausible. For cowardice? To see if he’d flinch if confronted? The only thing Tomura knew for sure was that he couldn’t back down without proving both. He could do nothing except follow the limited dialog and action choices to see what ending he got.

Gathering his will, he eased his fingers from Dabi’s wrist. “Fine. I accept.” A little forethought went a long way; the words came across as gracious rather than sullen.

Dabi continued to study him for a few more heartbeats. When he caught no hint of a trick he reached out and closed the gap.

The warmth came as a shock. It radiated off his fingers just before they made contact with Tomura’s cheek. Against skin they bordered on searing. Despite the extensive training in muscle control and pain tolerance Sensei had drilled into him, a twitch from his jaw betrayed him.

Raising his eyebrows a fraction, Dabi pulled away a few centimeters. “All right?”

Mismatched ass rag. He’d probably raised his body temperature with his fire quirk to provoke a reaction. Rather than Decay his hand and snap it off at the wrist, Tomura said through a snarl, “I’m fine.”

Dabi’s hooded stare declared his doubts on that, but he reached out again. Tomura didn’t falter a second time. The ointment, whatever it was made of, glided onto his cracked skin hot, clingy, and stinging. The fingertips applying it, though, did so with gentle strokes. After a minute or so the sting fizzled into tingling and the heat turned tolerable. It seeped into Tomura’s skull, his jaw and neck. The pinched muscles of his face slowly relaxed. Not so terrible after all. Weird to the nth degree, and he had no clue what he’d do if Kurogiri warped in on them, but not awful. Maybe he’d order Dabi to do this again in the near future. See how much the fucker smirked when his plan worked too well.

Fingers sliding into his hair scattered all petty plans of revenge. Tomura jumped and jerked his head away, blinking, startled.

Dabi’s skin pulled at the seams slightly from a small smile. “Your hair’s covering the other side of your face.”

“Oh.” The only way he could have sounded stupider was if he’d fried his brain like the UA kid with the electricity quirk. A possibility, given how his cheeks and neck were burning up. How the hell had he wound up on the defensive—again? This was why he liked games: whenever a dialog option or approval interaction went wrong he could backtrack and do it over until he got the desired result.

He should kill Dabi where he stood. Eliminate such a major factor of uncertainty. The League needed members to grow, yes, but it also needed stability. Kurogiri would come to see that eventually. Even if he didn’t there wasn’t shit he could do about it in the end. Tomura’s fingers curled on his thighs, ready to leap up and grab any bit of exposed flesh.

A gentle, stitched up hand beat him to it. Dabi brushed aside Tomura’s hair, tucking it back behind his ear. The tickle of the messy strands and strokes from warm fingertips sent fireworks sizzling and popping along the bundles of nerves in his neck and shoulders. Instead of going in for an easy kill his fingers dug into his legs. He barely managed to swallow what would definitely have been a humiliating noise in his surprise. He didn’t even want to consider what his expression had betrayed in that instant.

Was this why people hugged and held hands and all that? Because contact gave them a high? Somehow, Tomura doubted it. Novelty and his inexperience were probably heightening the sensations. Every touch he could remember had been a threat, either given or received. This would turn out no different. He raised his eyes from the bar, intent on finding some shred of evidence to support the suspicion.

Instead, he caught Dabi watching him. Not focused on rubbing the salve in. Not gauging reactions. Just…staring straight at him, irises as bright as the hearts of candleflames. Brain upended, Tomura shrunk in on himself a bit. Seriously, what the blazing fuck did this guy want? Why not spit it out already? The game didn’t have a point without a clear objective.

Tiny sparks spat across the network of nerves in Tomura’s scalp as fingers slipped into his hair again, combing through it. The sharp, involuntary breath he sucked in had nothing to do with the few strands that got caught and pulled by staples. Dabi took his hand away only to let it settle against the curve of Tomura’s cheek. The mildly calloused pad of his thumb caressed soothing heat into the peeling skin.

“There. Better?” His voice was almost as soft as his touch.

Against his will, Tomura realized it was. Not just his face either. For several glorious seconds, his thoughts stayed silent, at rest. There was nothing but warmth and blue eyes and strange feelings he had no names for.

Then the last possibility he would have considered for the whole bizarre encounter breached the calm surface of his mind, churning it back into chaos.

The stool tipped precariously under Tomura as he lurched back from Dabi’s reach. He latched onto the bar’s edge in the nick of time, keeping a finger on each hand away purely by the grace of reflex.

“You really are jumpy. Like a damn stray cat.”

If looks could Decay, he would have given Kurogiri something to sigh about in the form of sixty-eight kilograms’ worth of dust sprayed all over the immaculate shelves and cabinets.

Willfully oblivious, Dabi pushed the little jar across the bar top. “Here. Keep it. Should last awhile.” The smirk returned to his mismatched face as if it had never left. “Don’t expect me to share my chapstick, though. You’re on your own with that one, creep.”

Nothing but a strangled sound of outrage managed to escape Tomura’s constricted throat while the unbelievable bastard grabbed his chosen bottle and sauntered away. He considered flinging the empty glass after him. Using his quirk to bring the entire building crashing down on everyone inside. Crawling into the nearest hole and never coming out too. By the time Dabi was halfway across the room, Tomura had made his decision.

Slowly, his hand went to the jar. One finger touched the lid.

Dabi stopped in front of the door.

A second finger touched the dark glass.

The handle turned.

Three points of contact now.

Faint light spilled in from the hallway.

Tomura’s thumb wrapped around the jar in fourth place.

The door swung shut behind Dabi just as Shigaraki Tomura made his gesture of goodwill disappear, not in his grip but into his pocket.

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cheshiresense · 6 years

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Sky Arcobaleno!Tsuna + Hunger

Premise: Basically, Arcobaleno are batteries. The Sky Arcobaleno bears the brunt of the Curse to keep the world going while the other Arcobaleno elements are responsible for keeping their Sky going. The strongest and purest Sky is needed to stand as a pillar of the world and keep the other Arcobaleno elements in check, and the other elements need to be the strongest and purest in order to feed their Sky for as long as possible.

The Sky Arcobaleno eats their Flames, which allows them to keep their adult form and stay alive, but the more Flames they consume, the more it reflects on the other elements by de-aging their bodies. Because the Sky carries the weight of the Curse, in exchange, the six elements that serve them are theirs to command. If their Sky wants to eat, the elements can’t refuse. And Giglio Nero Skies have always known their duty.

Once the Sky Arcobaleno eats all the Flames available to them, the Sky would starve and die as the Curse becomes too much for them, and the other elements would either cease to exist soon afterwards because the Sky Arcobaleno has eaten too much of their Flames, or they would live on under the rule of yet another Sky until their Flame reserves have been completely drained dry. After that, a new generation of Arcobaleno is chosen, and the cycle repeats itself.

Reborn remembers Luce. Remembers the way she drew them in, welcomed them, gained their trust, bonded with them. And then ripped it all away in a single moment when she called them together and Checkerface sealed their fate with the Curse.

They were still adults at first. But then Luce started eating, told them it was her right and their duty and they had no choice. Reborn had never felt so furiously helpless, and he’ll never forget what it feels like to have someone feed on his Flames like some kind of leech. It didn’t matter where he went either. He fled halfway around the world and Luce could still drag his Flames from him, still gorge on them like she was hungry every minute of the day.

On good days, it only feels like someone has sliced his belly open and is feeding on his organs, and it makes him wonder if this was how Prometheus felt. On the bad days, it’s a violation at a soul-deep level that Reborn couldn’t describe even if he wants to. It isn’t all the time, but it’s often enough that Reborn can never seem to recover between bouts of feeding.

They all deal with it similarly and differently. Reborn throws himself into his work, into as many different fields as he can, takes as many jobs as possible, and sometimes, his exhaustion almost numbs the sick feeling in his gut and the weakness that tugs at him more and more as the years go by.

Viper holes themselves up in the Varia, distracting themselves with missions and money. Some days, Reborn thinks the reason Viper is so obsessed with money when they never were Before is because the endless calculations gives them something to focus on.

Skull signs up for as many suicidal missions as he does stuntwork even though he barely knows how to hold a gun properly, and the few times they bump into each other, Reborn knows that the only reason the Cloud is still alive is because Luce demands it. (Skull tries though. Because one day, it might even stick.)

Fon disappears into the Chinese Triads and stays away from his family like he thinks he might contaminate them or give Luce a way to hurt them too through him.

Lal and Colonello stay apart as much as possible. Lal can’t stand to see Colonello in pain, and Colonello can’t stand to see Lal’s guilt eating away at her as surely as the Curse is eating away at him. For the most part, they think she’s been spared. At the very least, Luce can’t eat her Flames, and her pacifier remains a dull empty grey.

Verde disappears too, into his labs, and he constantly swings back and forth between an almost feverish madness in his attempts to figure out a way to break the Curse and a detached sort of apathy when the despair takes over and he gives up.

The day Luce dies is a relief even though it doesn’t really change anything. They’re babies by that point, all of them except Luce, and they’ve been called together at the Giglio Nero mansion for the boss’ final moments.

Skull breaks out into raucous cheers when the news breaks. Luce’s subordinates look offended and outraged but the Cloud just grins wildly at them, daring them to shoot. Viper and Verde don’t even bother looking up from the deskwork they brought with them. Fon continues meditating like he doesn’t hear the death knell echoing across the grounds. Reborn breaks out a bottle of champagne and some glasses and makes a toast with Colonello and Lal in celebration. They all do their utmost best to make clear just how much they loathed the beloved Angel of the Giglio Nero Famiglia. Reborn for one doesn’t give a damn if they’re disrespectful. Luce doesn’t deserve respect.

They weren’t just called here for Luce’s passing though. Unbelievably enough, Luce’s Sky Flames burned themselves out before she managed to eat all their Flames. And so here they are, stuck in bodies that look somewhere between two and five as they wait for Checkerface to appear and bequeath the Sky Pacifier to Luce’s twenty-six-year-old daughter - who looks like her and spouts the same Greater Good bullshit like her, and already they hate her just like they hated Luce - and they all stand around and pretend they aren’t scared out of their minds. They sustained Luce for almost thirty years. They don’t have much time left, and they’ve long since resigned themselves to the fact that they would die for this Curse, for a monster-god and his mad plans, for a Sky who was supposed to care about them as much as they cared for her.

Checkerface does appear, the Sky Pacifier disappearing from Luce’s folded hands and reappearing in Checkerface’s, and the whole room tenses even as Aria takes a determined step forward, inclining her head respectfully as she reaches out to accept the Pacifier.

Except... Checkerface stares at her for a moment, and even if they can’t see his expression, they can almost taste his disapproval.

“What has Sepira’s line come to?” He murmurs as if to himself. “To produce such a weak Sky? But I suppose diluted blood was destined to out sooner or later.” And then to a frozen Aria, “You are unsuitable for the position. The Pacifier will go to another.”

And then without another word, he disappears, without leaving so much as a hint of who the next Sky Arcobaleno will be.

They all leave that same night. Aria seems shell-shocked but none of them could care less. If she has any sense at all, she would realize just how lucky she is, to now be able to live a full life. Reborn and the others - not so much. Not anymore. Not for a long time now.

They don’t know what to do. They wait for a month, together, however irritated it makes them to be in each other’s space for even that long, but nothing attacks their Flames, no invisible presence appears to begin feeding on them yet again, and eventually, they part ways, go back to their lives, uneasy but unsure of what to do about it. They keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn’t, at least not for another six years.

They don’t know why no Sky has called for them or why they haven’t started eating. They know the Curse hasn’t been broken, if only because they’re still babies, and they still have their Pacifiers, and the Flames Luce ate won’t ever come back no matter how much time passes.

Maybe Checkerface couldn’t find a suitable replacement Sky. But whatever the reason, at least they’re not actively being used as someone’s food source anymore.

The day Reborn arrives in Namimori - six years after Luce died - to train the heir to the Vongola throne and instead finds the Sky Arcobaleno haunting the Sawada household, he almost turns around and books the first flight he could find to Anywhere-But-Here.

The only reason he doesn’t is because the new Sky Arcobaleno is Sawada Tsunayoshi, who should be thirteen and would’ve been seven six years ago. He’s also currently in a body that looks younger than it should be, not quite a toddler but smaller than the average thirteen-year-old’s should be, more pre-pubescent child with stunted growth than teenager, and looks about one gust of wind away from keeling over dead.

This is a new low even for Checkerface, and Reborn is ruthless and sadistic and mostly heartless too, but he feels the ravenous pulse of Sky flames from his perch in the tree across from the house, spots the emaciated cheekbones and hollowed-out emptiness in the boy’s eyes, and he can’t quite make himself get up and leave.

They’re close enough now that Reborn’s Pacifier is already glowing faintly, and Tsunayoshi’s should be doing the same. Even if the boy himself doesn’t know how - did Checkerface explain nothing? - instinct should ensure the boy would latch on to Reborn’s Flames and start eating.

But they don’t. Reborn thinks he feels a whisper of want, of desperate hunger reaching for him, but a moment later, even that’s gone too.

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to make himself go inside. He’s so stupid, he can already hear the other Arcobaleno yelling at him for his stupidity, because if the Sky Arcobaleno learns how to latch on to Reborn’s Flames, he’ll be able to do it to the rest of them too, no matter how far away they are. But he goes anyway, if for no other reason than morbid curiosity and perhaps momentary madness. Besides, what’s that phrase youngsters like to use these days? Right. YOLO.

He braces himself for another Luce, for speeches about the greater good of the world, for Checkerface’s belief in Sacrifice parroted at him, taken as gospel.

He gets none of that. Instead, he meets Sawada Nana, who is - as that idiot Iemitsu spouted in great length - the perfectly welcoming, perfectly courteous, perfect housewife, but so clueless that it makes Reborn suspect brain damage, and completely oblivious to the way her son finds it easier to simply sit on the dinner table rather than in his chair to eat and picks at his food like he wants to throw each bite back up.

Luce told him once, through a serene smile that didn’t match the hungry darkness in her eyes, that normal food tasted like ash to her, and don’t you see Reborn, I need to eat too.

And of course he meets Sawada Tsunayoshi, who stumbles around the house like each step hurts him and doesn’t move unless he has to. Whose hands are covered in cuts because he has a habit of digging his nails into skin and rubbing back and forth until he draws blood. Who takes one look at Reborn, slaps a hand over the Pacifier around his neck, and spends the next hour doing his utmost to kick Reborn out of the house. He only stops when he exhausts himself. Reborn is impressed he actually managed to last an hour before he collapsed.

The story comes out in bits and pieces once Reborn’s half-dragged, half-goaded Tsuna back up to his bedroom for some privacy.

“Mom won’t notice anyway,” Tsuna mutters, slumped on his too-big bed. “She doesn’t notice anything. Nobody in this town does.”

Reborn wonders if that’s Checkerface’s doing. Probably.

Reborn coaxes out the story, aims for gentle because there’s something in Tsuna’s eyes - something flat and tired and dead - that makes him think pushing won’t do any good. Tsuna doesn’t really seem to care enough to hide anything from him anyway. Reborn just has to ask the right questions, and that’s something he’s almost always been good at.

Except when it came to Luce. How he didn’t hear the lies, he’ll never know.

And that’s how he learns of Checkerface’s visit to Tsuna when Tsuna was seven, of how the monster-god told him there was a way to make him feel better, of how Tsuna’s Flames were sealed two years prior by Vongola Nono and his own father and he hadn’t felt right ever since, of how Checkerface revealed that the Curse would shorten his lifespan and Tsuna doesn’t have a choice in the matter because it’s for the good of the world, but at least it would break the seal, and he would still be able to live a decent number of years because his Flames are strong. And finally of the method Tsuna can use to keep himself strong, to keep himself alive - by using the other elements that were already in place to support him. It’s what they’re for, and if Tsuna uses them up before he dies, Checkerface will be on hand to pick a new batch for him. The burden he has to bear is a heavy one but this at least would make it a little fairer and ease that burden just a bit.

Reborn’s heart seizes at that, and again, he has to suppress the urge to escape the house, the town, the country. It’s not like it would do any good anyway. He stays put instead and says, “So you know.” and the logical follow-up demand, “Then why haven’t you eaten?” Because Tsuna hasn’t, not once, in the past six years.

For the first time since the conversation started, Tsuna dredges up what little energy he seems to have regained just to pick his head up to peer incredulously at Reborn like he’s questioning Reborn’s intelligence.

“I can’t eat your Flames,” He says.

“They’re yours,” He says.

“I can’t just take them because I’ve been cursed,” He says.

“That’s wrong,” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And for the first time in decades, Reborn is left completely speechless.

Reborn stays. For one, he still has a job to do, even though it’s a rather moot point now, seeing as there’s no way the Sky Arcobaleno will be able to carry the Vongola rings on top of the Curse, and Timoteo might as well be a footnote in Reborn’s list of priorities at this point, but that’s not a conversation he wants to have before he sorts out what he’s going to do, so he might as well pretend he’s well on his way to shaping Tsuna into the Vongola’s perfect pet mafia boss.

For another, he looks at Tsuna and just... can’t leave. There’s a voice in his head that tells him this is one of the stupidest things he has ever done, only topped by his life-ruining mistake of falling for Luce’s charms, but he just... can’t. He couldn’t say why, if someone had the balls to ask, but maybe part of it is remembering that Tsuna’s first reaction upon seeing him and realizing who he was was to try and make him leave. Even now, sleeping in the same room, their Flames unavoidably brushing against each other, Tsuna doesn’t try to feed on him. Reborn can’t even begin to guess how much self-control that takes. Luce never even tried to hold back.

He follows Tsuna around over the next several days and sees the way people mostly just ignore him, like they know Tsuna’s there but they found him so insignificant that they couldn’t be bothered to talk to him or befriend him or even bully him.

Something in Reborn bristles at the sight.

The teachers are abysmal at teaching, and Tsuna barely pays any attention. Reborn thinks he should reprimand the boy for that, but he’s not really here as a tutor anymore, and the longer he observes, the more he realizes it’s not just his lessons that Tsuna doesn’t seem particularly interested in. It’s everything.

Reborn doesn’t dare shoot him with a Dying Will Bullet. He has no desire to see what dragging out Flames that are already so drained and unstable would do to Tsuna. If it drags out Flames at all. It’s just as likely Tsuna would simply drop dead, with no regrets to bring him back.

Sometimes, Tsuna throws up his meals. His body simply can’t digest it, and after the third time it happens, Reborn sits up with him on the floor of the bathroom, handing him a glass of water and a wetcloth when Tsuna finally surfaces from the toilet, looking paler than ever and too thin by far.

“I do eat,” Tsuna protests when Reborn mentions it. He flushes - barely - when Reborn raises a judgmental eyebrow at the toilet. “I do.” He grimaces. “Flames, right? I do eat it.”

Reborn stills, and then very deliberately does not flinch away, because even just two weeks is enough to foster just enough trust for Reborn to believe that Tsuna won’t eat his Flames.

“Most of the time, I eat my own,” He mumbles, and Reborn has to suppress the urge to gag at the very idea. “I have- I guess I have a lot? Once the seal broke at least. And it- it doesn’t make me full, but it makes the hunger a little better for a while.” He cracks a smile that’s less amused and more self-deprecating. “I’m running out though. I can’t eat as much of it anymore.”

Reborn keeps his face blank and breathes through the nausea roiling inside him. “...You said most of the time?”

Tsuna’s gaze drops to where his hands are twisting the wetcloth between them. “Um, yeah. I...” His shoulders hunch a little. “It was an accident, the first time. There were these two men in suits, and- and they said I had to go with them as leverage against the- the ‘Vongola Young Lion’-” Reborn’s lip curls with scorn. “-and they had guns and they were threatening me and-” He breaks off again and takes a breath. “They had Flames. Inside them. I could... sense the colour I guess? One of them was blue, the other was red. And I just- I was so hungry.” His head comes up, and he looks at Reborn like he’s simultaneously imploring him to understand even as he resigns himself to condemnation. “I didn’t even know what I’d done until after. I just... reached out and... ate, and they died. And I couldn’t sense their Flames anymore.” His shoulders sag. “I still- Sometimes, bad guys still come after me. They’re the only ones I- I eat. So. Yeah.”

Reborn takes a moment to digest everything. First of all, Iemitsu’s an even bigger moron than Reborn thought, which he didn’t believe was actually possible but one learns something new every day. And second of all...

“Does it help?” Reborn asks, tugging absently at the brim of his fedora, wondering why Luce never tried this method. Or maybe she did and it wasn’t enough.

Tsuna blinks owlishly at him. “Um, you mean- Well it doesn’t- it doesn’t make me full.” He hugs his middle in a way that pulls his shirt against his body, and there’s just something extra horrifying about being able to count the ribs on a child’s body. “I’m always hungry. Just... less hungry and more hungry. If I eat... someone else’s Flames, it makes me less hungry for a while. It works better than eating my own Flames too.”

Which makes sense. By eating his own Flames, Tsuna isn’t actually gaining any more sustenance. It’s like trying to fill a half-empty hole by scooping more water out of it and then pouring that same amount back in. All while more water drains away at the bottom because Tsuna is also fueling the world. Reborn is frankly astonished the boy’s even still alive.

Reborn is sitting less than a foot away from Tsuna. He can practically feel just how hungry Tsuna is. And still, still, his own Sun Flames remain untouched, an iron wall of resolve standing solid and firm between him and the black hole of a Curse inside Tsuna.

Out loud, he only says, “Okay. Okay, I can do that.”

Tsuna blinks at him, confused. Reborn doesn’t say anything else that night and only nudges Tsuna back to bed.

Reborn disappears for the rest of the night and reappears in the morning. It’s a Sunday, Tsuna is only just sluggishly crawling out of bed, and then he stops and gawks as Reborn opens the window and tosses in two criminals he found a town over, both with dormant Flames inside them.

“They won’t be missed,” Reborn tells the stunned Sky. “Now eat.”

Tsuna’s jaw flaps for a moment longer before he snaps it shut, only to whisper-shout, “Reborn! You can’t- Oh my god you can’t just kidnap people and- and- and feed them to me!”

Reborn sighs and points at one. “That one’s yakuza. Has a fondness for small children.” Tsuna blanches. Reborn points to the other. “And that one’s a serial killer. Just starting, with four kills under his belt. Not the sort you want remaining on the streets.” He gives Tuna a pointed look. “So it’s fine. Eat.”

Tsuna stays frozen on the bed. There’s something in his face now though, something that reminds Reborn of Luce as he stares at the unconscious bodies on the ground, on the verge of losing control.

“You’re sure?” Tsuna asks one last time, voice gone thin.

Reborn nods. “I am,” and then he has to fight not to look away as Tsuna’s eyes burn with the same orange that glows in his Pacifier, he all but falls out of bed, fingers fumbling for his prey’s flesh, and between one breath and the next, flashes of indigo and red struggle briefly in Tsuna’s hands before the Sky drags them to his lips and literally eats them.

Reborn has never been gladder that he at least avoided this scene with Luce, and she had to resort to eating their Flames from afar. (Would she ever have stopped, if she had them right in front of her twenty-four/seven? Or would she eat them all in one sitting?)

The two men are dead by the time Tsuna finishes. Their Flames weren’t that strong to begin with, nowhere near the strength and purity that the Sky Arcobaleno is supposed to feed from. But when Tsuna finishes, he only looks a little mournful that his meal is over. When he looks at Reborn, there is only a miserable sort of gratitude there, no lurking darkness ready to swallow him whole, and Reborn lets himself relax a little.

“I’ll clean up,” Reborn says briskly, and a routine is set from that point on.

Reborn doesn’t even know why he continues helping Tsuna. He makes sure the people he tracks down are always criminals of the more unsavoury sort, for both Tsuna’s and his own peace of mind. Killing someone is one thing. Yanking out someone’s Flame core for food is quite another, and... well, Reborn just makes sure to stick to the scummier side of society. Luckily for everyone involved (except the scum), there’s plenty of those on planet earth.

“You don’t have to,” Tsuna tells him later, after Reborn brings him yet another meal. He tries to find at least one person every couple of days so that Tsuna doesn’t have to eat his own Flames anymore, and something inside him unknots itself upon seeing a little colour return to Tsuna’s cheeks, a little more weight on his bones.

“You know that, right?” Tsuna persists. “You don’t have to do... this. We both know I can’t be Vongola Decimo. You can just... leave. I’ll be fine. I’ve been taking care of myself for years.”

For a certain measure of ‘taking care of’, in Reborn’s broody opinion.

“I don’t even know why you’re still here,” Tsuna mumbles when Reborn’s only response is to arrange the cooling corpses in the alleyway so that it looks like a knife fight gone wrong for both parties. “It would be... safer if you weren’t. What if I- I get too hungry one day? You could get hurt.”

I’m your Sun, Reborn thinks, unbidden, and apparently he knows exactly why he’s doing this after all. And you’re my Sky. A proper Sky. Not like Luce.

Tsuna is young and inexperienced and an odd mix of civilian-raised and mafia-numbed and death-acclimatized, but he is also... kind. Or perhaps just someone with a very particular sense of right and wrong. He has lines in the sand - some that he’s resigned himself to putting a foot over from time to time, others he won’t cross even at the expense of himself, and once upon a time, Reborn wouldn’t have found that especially notable, might even have scoffed at these morals when they’ve already ventured so far into murky territory, but nowadays, in this situation, when it involves the Curse and the Sky Arcobaleno and decades of being violated by one puppet master, only for this one to say no, Reborn can’t help but appreciate that.

“I’ll leave if it seems like you might lose control,” Reborn only says in the end.

Tsuna still doesn’t look happy because they both know full well that leaving - if Tsuna really wants to eat - won’t do Reborn any good. It’s just that staying might do even worse.

But Reborn doesn’t budge from his decision, and Tsuna eventually drops the argument. For now.

Reborn doesn’t call Gokudera. That volatile mix of self-esteem issues and anger is not what Tsuna needs to deal with. Besides, the boy is looking to serve a famiglia, preferably one that would look past his parentage and with enough clout to give Gokudera a chance to make a name for himself. It’s not a good quality to have in a Guardian, whose first priority should be the safety and support of their Sky.

And even if Gokudera did check off all the requirements for Storm Guardian, there’s also Fon to consider. Reborn rather thinks his fellow Arcobaleno would sooner pitch himself into the ocean before willingly acknowledging and strengthening the bond between himself and their new Sky, but there’s also a small chance that Fon will meet Tsuna and then promptly lose his mind like Reborn clearly has and end up sticking around. And however calm and polite Fon normally is, he’s still a Storm with a possessive streak a mile long.

Likewise, when Tsuna walks to school, sometimes they’ll bump into Sasagawa Ryouhei who leaks a cringe-worthy waste of Flames everywhere on his morning runs. He’s almost the spitting image of Knuckle too, but the first time Reborn - perched on Tsuna’s shoulder as they make their way to Namimori Middle - spots the boy and makes the connection with Vongola’s first Sun Guardian, his fingers twitch for a gun, and Leon hisses on his fedora.

Fon isn’t the only one with a possessive streak.

Reborn starts tutoring Tsuna. Future Vongola boss or not, Tsuna still needs to pull his grades up. He isn’t failing but he could definitely do better. Reborn has to tone down his teaching methods though. Even eating more, Tsuna is frailer than Reborn would like, frailer than Luce ever was, and his Flames are volatile on a good day. But Reborn’s never not excelled at anything he put his mind to, and he isn’t about to start now.

“Am I even going to live long enough to need any of this?” Tsuna asks once dubiously.

Reborn spritzes water in his face with his spray bottle. “That’s not the point. You can do better so there’s no reason not to try.”

They both pretend they don’t notice how Reborn never gives him a straight answer to that question.

Reborn doesn’t only tutor him. He teaches him how to fight too. Not with Flames because he doesn’t want to destabilize those any further than they already have been, and from what Tsuna’s told him, he’s used his Flames before, when he retaliated against the hitmen and assassins that came after him, it just always left him drained so Reborn doesn’t ask him to show what he can do. But basic self-defense is something Reborn can teach, along with how to hold and assemble and use a wide variety of weapons.

And when Tsuna goes with him on one of Reborn’s hunts, they make their excuses with Nana, and after Tsuna’s eaten, Reborn takes him to the local shopping center or an amusement park or the hanami gathering when the spring day coincided with one of their weekend outings.

“I’ve never left Namimori,” Tsuna confessed the first time he insisted on going with Reborn so that Reborn wouldn’t have to spend an entire night dragging his prey all the way back to the Sawada residence.

So Reborn starts planning their trips to include more than just hunting down food, and even if the places they go to aren’t anything special, Tsuna doesn’t seem to think so if the way he sometimes smiles is anything to go by, small, hesitant, flickering things that never stay on his face for long, but they’re genuine at least, paired with wide wondering eyes at every new place they go to, and with every passing day, Reborn finds himself more and more invested in coaxing out those smiles.

Reborn thinks about telling his fellow Arcobaleno that he’s found their new Sky. But he reasons that they’re more likely to drop everything and move as far away as physically possible from Japan than anything else. There’s no point telling them and causing panic, and no point telling them that Tsuna is different either - for all that they’re in the same boat, and Lal and Colonello aside, they’ve only ever been friends in the loosest sense of the word, and for some of them not even that, so he doubts they would believe anything he said about the Sky Arcobaleno.

They all still remember - of the six of them who spent any amount of time with Luce all those years ago, it was Reborn who got attached fastest, who fell hardest for Luce’s warm smiles and charisma.

Reborn does ask Tsuna if he wants to meet the others. He is possessive but even he knows better than to hoard a Sky all to himself if that Sky wants to claim his other elements.

“Would they like me?”

“I like you, don’t I? And I don’t like that many people. You should be honoured.”

“Yeah, but you were easy, Reborn.”

“...”

“I- I mean, you wanted to stay. From the beginning. I felt your Flames reaching for me right away. I think... you wanted a Sky? And I’m not sure why cuz I’m not much of one, but your Flames at least thought I was a suitable one from the start. So. That’s why you were easy. You wanted to stay, so you stayed long enough to get to know me. I don’t know if all the others will. And even if they do, I dunno why they’d want to stay once they know me. I’m not... anything special. I still don’t know why you stay.”

Tsuna says no, in the end, if only because he’d rather they don’t see him like this, so Reborn doesn’t call them. He knows Tsuna thinks he’s a nothing-special Sky, that at least half the reason Reborn stays is out of pity. Reborn doesn’t know how to explain that that’s not it. He barely understands his own reasons. Tsuna is right about one thing though - as embarrassing as it is, Reborn does want a Sky. He always has. He just never met one strong enough to attract him until Luce, and Luce was poison on so many levels. One would think Reborn would’ve learned his lesson after her - once burned, twice shy - but no, apparently his own Flames still don’t know better. And no matter how unstable Tsuna’s Flames are, they’re also magnificently powerful, even after six years of damage from the Curse.

Eventually, the Flame cores from the criminals Reborn hunts down aren’t enough. Tsuna starts to fade again, hollow-eyed and too-thin and tired all the time, and he can’t even keep down the Flames he eats, throwing them back up in a sludge-like tar that reminds Reborn a little of the Vindice’s Night Flames.

“It happens,” Tsuna just mutters when Reborn comes back with twice as many unconscious Flame-active bodies as usual in an attempt to make Tsuna eat more. “Sometimes, they just don’t work. They don’t- They just taste like ash.” Reborn flinches. Hears the ghost of Luce’s voice. “I’ll be fine. I just have to ride it out. I’ll be able to eat them again later.” His smile is a tight, brittle thing that doesn’t even reach his eyes, one Reborn hasn’t seen in a while. His gratitude is genuine though. It always is. “Thanks though, Reborn. For all of this.”

Tsuna gets worse. He tells his mother that he’s coming down with the flu again and Nana obliviously excuses him from school. It’s obvious they’ve done this song and dance before. Then he retreats to his bedroom and only drags himself out for meals that he throws up later and leaves him shivering like there’s ice in his bones and crying like someone’s carving out his insides with a rusty spoon. Reborn can’t do a damn thing except offer him water and try to keep his sudden fever down.

A terrifying idea begins lurking at the back of his mind, and Reborn does everything he can not to think about it because that way lies the kind of madness he swore he would do everything he can to avoid.

Then a letter from Nono arrives, and at this point, almost three months already since he arrived in Namimori, Reborn’s almost forgotten Vongola. But the Nono tells him that there are Vendicare escapees heading to Namimori, and that it’s Tsuna’s job to deal with them.

Reborn tells him of course. There’s no point hiding the truth.

“I’ll take care of them though,” Reborn promises grimly despite Timoteo’s orders of non-interference. Timoteo isn’t his boss. His contract only stipulated that he had to train Tsuna to become the next Vongola boss, and even that became irrelevant because a Guardian bond superseded any contracts, and Arcobaleno business superseded everything. This is both. “They might try to lure you out, but I won’t let them hurt you.”

Tsuna stares hazily at him, blinking sluggishly through his fever. Reborn makes a note to hunt down another criminal tonight. Tsuna hasn’t eaten in four days.

“Can I eat them?” He finally asks, and that dark edge of hunger is back. Reborn barely twitches in the face of it now. “They’ll be strong, right? If they could escape a mafia prison? So if we get them, can I eat them?”

Well, why not. At least a few of them should have stronger Flame cores than the average killer on the street. “Sure, Tsuna.” He brushes fingers over Leon, whose eyes glow yellow for a moment. “I’ll make sure not to kill any of them so you can see if any of them suit your tastes.”

Tsuna smiles, all serrated edges and eldritch hunger, and all Reborn can think in that moment is, I have made a monster of myself for you and I don’t care.

He thinks he should mourn that more than he does.

It’s an on-and-off thing, as Tsuna said it would be. He goes back to the pathetically weak Flame core diet for several weeks, and then he’d spend a few weeks after that heaving up anything and everything he tries to force down. And then back. Reborn watches it happen three more times but he gets sick of seeing Tsuna suffer long before that. The last time, a week goes by, then two, then three, then a month, and still he can’t stomach the food Reborn brings for him. He can barely get out of bed anymore. Reborn knows he’s resorted to eating his own Flames again. He stays up half the night, listening to the rattle of Tsuna’s breaths and feeling the writhing agony of his cannibalized Sky Flames, half-expecting to wake up to a corpse any day now. He’s at his wits’ end, and that insane idea at the back of his mind is looking less and less insane by the day.

And then one day, in a moment of startling lucidity, Tsuna turns to Reborn, white-faced and clear-eyed and determined, “I want you to leave.”

Reborn fully admits to staring for a full minute, rendered speechless by the sheer stupidity of such a request. “No.”

Tsuna is already shaking his head. “My Flames, I can’t- sometimes I feel like they might start acting on their own and I- I’m just so hungry-” He breaks off, madness staining his eyes orange before he shakes his head again and yanks himself back into the present, clinging to his sanity like a drowning man to a lifeboat. “I might hurt you. And I know I can still- Even if you go back to Italy, I could still hurt you, but if you’re not here, I think I’ll be able to control it better. You’ll be safer away from me. So you have to leave. I-” He smiles shakily, and for a second, he looks on the verge of tears. “I’m so glad I met you, and I’m so glad you stayed, but you need to go now.”

“No.” Reborn repeats flatly, and he thinks again-

“You have to!” Tsuna yells at him, and then he doubles-over and starts coughing up black Flames into the wastebasket Reborn quickly snags for him. It goes on and on and on, and Tsuna isn’t the only one shaking by the time the boy finally collapses back into bed, chest barely stirring with each shallow breath.

Something in Reborn snaps.

He’s never done it to himself before, but he lived with it for almost thirty years, so he knows how to find the Flame core within himself, how to grasp a shard of it in his mind’s eye, and finally how to break it off from the whole.

He almost passes out from the pain, but there it is, glittering at his fingertips, a yellow-gold so pure it fills the room with light.

And on the bed, Tsuna freezes, and then his head snaps around like a hound scenting blood. There’s a terrible darkness in his eyes, on his face, all his attention on the piece of Flame core in Reborn’s hand, and he’s halfway off the bed before his shoulders jerk back, an invisible wall slams down, and he actually reaches up and slaps himself.

It’s Tsuna again, looking out from those eyes, flickering between orange and brown, swaying on his feet even as he shakes his head. “No. No no no!” And then his Sky Flames surge up and out like a tidal wave. It’s the first time Reborn’s ever felt the full weight of it, more powerful than Timoteo’s, more powerful than Luce’s, and Reborn only gets a second to marvel at it before Tsuna snarls, “Get out!”, and he’s flung right out the window, shoved clean over the front lawn and gate, and dumped on the sidewalk just as a barrier of Sky Flames erect themselves around the house. They glimmer orange for a moment before the colour disappears, but when Reborn extends a hand, he meets resistance, and he can get no further.

The barrier doesn’t fall the next day, or the next, or the next. Reborn fumes and swears and even dares to fire a few bullets at the barrier, to no avail. Nana comes and goes like there’s nothing there but Reborn can’t get in no matter what he does.

Four days pass, and Reborn’s had enough. He calls Viper, because if anything can slip past even a Sky barrier, at least the first time, it would be a Mist with Flames of equal purity.

“I need you to come to Japan. I can’t tell you what for until you get here.”

“You know my usual fees for favours.”

“I’ll pay.”

“I’ll be there in three days.”

“I’ll pay triple if you get here by tomorrow.”

“Done.”

“I’ll send you the location.”

Viper doesn’t realize who exactly is residing in the Sawada residence until they actually arrive. Or at least they don’t realize it’s the Sky Arcobaleno. All of Vongola probably knows who Reborn’s been sent to teach.

Viper tries to leave as soon as they realize. Reborn has a gun to their head and a concentrated Chaos Shot glowing at its muzzle in the time it takes them to back-peddle half a foot.

“You’re going to get me inside,” Reborn tells them with a calm he doesn’t feel because Tsuna’s lifeforce, so entwined with his own these days, is slipping away like sand through an hourglass. “You can consider leaving without a bullet in your brain your payment.”

“Have you gone insane?! Do you know who that is?!”

“Considering I’ve been tutoring him for the past seven months, I would say so, yes.”

“Then why are you still here?!”

“I don’t have time to explain things to you. Just get me inside. I’m not asking you to stick around after that.” The Sun Flame bullet brightens. He stares unblinkingly through the glare of it, straight at Viper. “Get me inside. Now. I won’t repeat myself again.”

Viper does it of course. They’ve never been quite as suicidal as Skull. It takes some work, but Viper manages to worm a hole through the barrier within the hour, and as soon as they’ve made it big enough for Reborn to slip through, Reborn is gone, tearing back into the house and up to Tsuna’s room as fast as he can manage.

Tsuna is a broken motionless sprawl of limbs on the bed. His Sky Pacifier is still glowing but he barely twitches even when Reborn shakes him by the shoulder.

Reborn still has the soul shard he snapped off from his own Flame core, and he presses it to Tsuna’s lips the moment he gets some semblance of awareness from his Sky.

“Eat.” He orders, demands, begs. “Damn you, Tsuna, eat it or I swear I’ll force it down your throat if I have to!”

And - at last - when Tsuna finally gives in with a noise at the back of his throat that sounds achingly like a sob even as he swallows down the piece of Reborn’s Flame core and his own Sky Flames flare like wings unfolding for the first time, Reborn sits back on his heels and feels like he can finally breathe again.

#khr #r27 #sawada tsunayoshi #reborn #myscrap #hunger verse #headcanon #arcobaleno #what is this monstrosity #my brain i swear #is a dark and disturbing place sometimes #but i just #really wanted reborn murdering ppl for tsuna #no big deal #offering up bloody hearts on a platter #or at least flame cores which is almost the same

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secondratefiction · 6 years

Text

Smut Alphabet - Sweet Pea

Nobody asked for this, but I spent two days on it so I’m posting it anyway...

A=Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

• Sweets has a reputation, and it's not unwarranted, but there is something about you that just throws all of that right out the window. It always starts the same way, no matter how rough he may have been with you: Heavy breathing and small kisses against your shoulder or collarbone depending on if your facing towards or away from him, and stoking his thumb along your hip, back or stomach, wherever he happens to have a hold of you. Then, once he's able to actually focus on anything again, he's up, cleaning up, making sure your squared away and comfortable. Once you're taken care of, he'll fall back in beside you, hauling you into his chest and kiss the top your head, content to just relax for a little while longer, potentially (hopefully) even falling asleep with you warm against his side.

B=Body Part (Their favorite part of their partner's body)

• Your Thighs. Oh my god this boy is absolutely weak for them. He's obsessed... in his hands, around his waist, pressed against the sides of his head, all of it. Just all of it. Send help, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

You've developed a love hate relationship with summer and warm weather. On the one hand, your shorts drive Sweets absolutely mad and he can't seem to keep his hands off you. On the other hand, your shorts drive Sweets absolutely mad and you can't wear them for more than a day before they're marked up with so, so many hickeys and other love bites.

C=Cum (Anything to do with cum basically... I'm a disgusting person)

•The single fucking hottest thing he's ever seen was you pulling back after blowing him, sitting back on your heels, hair a mess, makeup smudged; positively, sinfully, debauched, and looking up at him with deceptively innocent eyes and traces of his cum at the corner of your mouth.

That image along getting him through more lonely nights than he'll admit to.

D=Dirty Secret

• It's buried so deep that even he doesn't acknowledge it, but there is a tiny piece of this boy that wants so badly to sub for you.

Once while you were riding him, you'd pushed his hands away from you, trying to take control. He humored you; and when you unconsciously pressed your hand against the base of his throat to steady yourself, he lost it. He honest to god whined, though he'll deny it to this day, and shortly after he came so hard he almost passed out on you.

E= Experience (How much do they have?)

• Experienced enough. It's not like there's some mile long laundry list of former flings, but he also wasn't above occasionally taking home one of the girls that had a habit of hanging off him at the pool tables.

F= Favorite Position

• Anything where he can pull you around to kiss him. Mostly facing him in some capacity, where he can grab a fistful of your hair, close to the scalp, and turn your head whatever way he wants it.

If not that then it's over the counter, the table the back of furniture, or against the wall. Basically anywhere that puts your ass out for him, where he can pin you down and plow away.

G= Goofy (How are they in the moment? Are they more serious or humorous?)

• Generally, Sweets tends to lean more towards the serious end of the spectrum, especially if you've made him jealous or caught him in a bad mood; but it's not like he's never laughed during sex. Especially if you two are purposely teasing and trying to rile the other up, you've had more than one occasion where sex somehow turned into a game of 'who can make the best sarcastic comment or innuendo before one of us comes.'

H= Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

• Decently? It's not like he's putting any great effort into it, but he's not just letting it go either. Some kind of low effort, easy middle ground.

I=Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

• Once again, it's one of those things that depends on what kind of a mood you happen to catch him in. If he's been under a lot of stress with Serpent business or god forbid another confrontation with the Bulldogs or even the Ghoulies, you're much more likely to get Sweets who's angry and frustrated and hasn't had a proper outlet for all the emotions.

On the other hand, there are some days he feels like he's hit bottom, like the only good thing he has going for him at all is you and there is literally no way he's ever going to be able to express how grateful and absolutely in love with you he is, but damned if he isn't going to try

J=Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon)

• Given the choice, he'd 100% much rather be doing anything with you. Unfortunately, that's not always an option, and when it's not, he's still more than capable of taking care of himself.

Especially on long nights where you've been unable to stay over, he likes to draw things out. He's got a whole library of pretty images burned into his brain to draw from, as well as one very well hidden gallery on his phone of pictures and videos you've sent him to help with that.

K=Kink (One or more of their kinks)

• Size Kink - We all know this is a thing, but I don't see nearly enough people talk about it.

Dear god you just look so damn tiny stood next to him, let alone under him, and he's not entirely sure what to do with everything that stirs up.

• Dominance - Unpopular opinion: I don't see Sweet Pea falling into ??the specific category of "daddy kink". The boy is dominant and possessive af, but I think the line falls just short of the actual title of 'daddy'. I can see Sir though, and him calling you any number of pet names that absolutely should not sound that sinful.

L=Location (Favorite places to do the do)

• Honestly, he prefers back at his place, just because there's less chance of someone walking in or being interrupted in some other way.

M=Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

• You wearing his clothes, it’s cliche as hell and he kind of hates himself for enjoying it as much as he does, but he does nonetheless. Especially his leather jacket, the whole thing just seems to swallow you.

• Anytime he's walked out of the Wyrm, or anywhere else, to find you just sitting on his bike waiting for him.

• That look he catches you giving him anytime he's leaning across the pool tables to line up a shot, and he's not entirely sure if you're planning to fuck him senseless or eat him alive. But, with that look, he's good either way

N=No (Something they won't do, turn offs)

• Anything that could seriously harm you or cause more than momentary pain. Sweet Pea isn't exactly known for his gentle disposition, so of course he's rough with you sometimes: spanking, pulling and pushing you around, he almost seems obsessed with having his had wrapped around your throat. And yeah, that can leave bruises or sore muscles, but it's never been extreme, he's never been out to truly hurt you. The one time he thought he did, hyper extending your hip in the heat of the moment, he nearly had a panic attack and spent the next several days making it up to you.

Also, he's always been super careful not to actually choke you. Like I said, the boy loves putting his hand around your neck, but it's never been more than firm pressure for you to feel it while you breath in and out, or holding your head in place so you can't move it, but never going so far as to cut off your air.

O=Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

• Ok, yes, of course he likes receiving, c'mon, really, why would he ever say no to that? But in all honestly, if he could get away with it, he'd spend all day, every day between your thighs.

P=Pace (Fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

• Depends on the mood you catch him in. Usually it falls more on the fast and rough side just because only seems to know how to work through his emotions physically. Not that you're complaining all that much.

Q=Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

• The amount of times this boy has snagged you in the hallway and dragged you off to an empty classroom or storage closet in the mornings or during lunch... It is some kind of miracle the two of you haven't been caught and suspended or expelled. And that's not accounting for the times he's pulled you out behind the Wyrm or off to a dark patch of forest out of view of the bond fire

So, yeah, it's safe to say he's a fan.

R=Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

• He doesn't really care much one way or the other. More or less the rule of thumb is if you're comfortable and want to do it, then he's all for it.

S=Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they usually last)

• Generally you'll go anywhere from one to three depending on the kind of time and other extenuating circumstances you guys have. There have been rare occasions where it's gone far beyond that, but those are the exceptions, not the rule

T=Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them?)

• Does he own any? No, not yet anyway. But he's not opposed to including them if you're interested.

U=Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

• There is something about seeing you desperate and frustrated that just gets to him. He absolutely loves to drag it out as long as he possibly can, but he's also pretty good at reading the signs that he's going too far and needs to just back off and give you what you both want already.

V=Volume (How loud they are, what kind of noises do they make, etc.)

• Shockingly vocal, but surprisingly quiet. He's a not lout at all, but from the time the two of you really get started, until he comes, he almost never shuts up. Moans, groans, growls, the boy sounds like a damn animal, and that's not accounting for when he got his mouth pressed against your ear, muttering devious and immoral things.

W= Wild Card (Random headcanon)

• It seems like it should go without saying but this poor boy is so whipped it's almost pathetic. Behind the big, tough guy exterior, you've had him wrapped around your finger almost since day one.

X=X-Ray

• Technically, yes, he falls into the category of "well proportioned"... but, and let's be real for a minute, have you seen the proportions we're working with here?

Y=Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

• Before you, it was little to nonexistent, things cropped up once in a blue moon, but it wasn't like it was something he paid much attention to. After you... it's not like it's some crazy 180 turn around or anything, but it's still a lot more often than he's used to. As long as you're not complaining though, he's not going to worry about it too much.

Z=ZZZ... (How fast do they fall asleep afterwards?)

• After he's sure you're happy and squared away? Not that long at all. Once you're both cleaned up and he's got you tucked back against him. he's out within five to ten minutes and most likely not waking up for a while either.

#sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea imagine #riverdale #riverdale imagines #fanfiction #imagines #reader insert #writing #smut alphabet #smut

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learnmoviesordeath · 8 years

Text

HSBC Spec Ad and Idea...

Since Oct of last year, I’ve started writing as personal and intimately as I can in my journal, therefore, these blog posts will probably get a little less emotional from now (I’m hoping anyway, so that I don’t gush too much online).

To bring this briefly up to date, I shot another spec Ad in February about a guy who sneezes during a passport photo, and needs a ‘second chance’ from HSBC. It’s quite poorly developed and is entirely off-brand, but its quite cute I suppose.

I’ve recently had an idea for a feature screenplay. My intention is one of self-improvement, to speed myself up and give myself more discipline. I’m also desperate to see if I can write a scene I actually like, something that I’ve failed to achieve so far. My writing often comes off with little confidence and with awkward rhythm. Also, after watching Ed’s Hippopotamus movie, I have given myself a kick up the but - I simply must try and tackle a feature.

And why the hell not? I’m in a position where I have all of the free time in the world after quitting my job and going freelance again.

So that’s the plan.

The idea - 3 friends go on a pre-summer hike on the south coast in search of ‘Durdle Door’, a little known spot on the South-West Coast of England. Their journey is interrupted by the mysterious death of a local man, acting as a catalyst for their own demons and existential wonderings.

Already, it feels a little wanky - there’s the ‘existential wonderings’ part AND it feels cliche for friends to go on a road trip where they ‘learn about themselves’. But I’ve been watching a bit of Rohmer, Linklater, and most recently I’ve read the Bergman auto-biography, ‘The Magic Lantern’; there’s a looseness in these guys that I really admire. They manage to get away with making films that are not necessarily intended as audience pleasers. So that’s the intention, writing a film, within the boundaries of good taste, that pleases me spiritually.

The boundaries of good taste is the hard part.

So far I’ve got these characters called Hannah, Dev and Joshua.

Hannah is (at the moment) the main character - but I intend for the film to be omniscient. I don’t really know who she is yet. I find it easy to write her as quite joyful, but a little indignant - a bit snappy and uptight. I keep thinking of Blake Lively, but she’s a different personality so that’s a bit odd. I don’t know how best to play her to best serve the tone - I really don’t know what tone I’m going for yet either. Hannah’s name isn’t that great, I keep forgetting it and it doesn’t give me the feeling of who she is. Hannah is not very self-aware I think, so she interrupts freely and puts emphasis on her opinions - she can border on being annoying, but she’s too kind at heart for it to turn us off her. Lives in London with Dev.

Dev is a more serious but very sensitive and a little brooding. Based on Dev Patel. I think this is poor casting, as I want Dev to snap, like Christopher Eccleston in Shallow Grave and I’m worried Dev would be falsely represented as the ‘vicious orient’ if I call him Dev. I also don’t want Dev to be primed from the start - ready to break. I want to see it gradually, so it’s more faesible and there’s more of a dynamic arc. I don’t like Dev’s name either - it’s a little too endearing. I prefer Daniel, a little more self-important, but is also a little more upper-middle class. When shorted to ‘Dan’ it becomes a little out-of-date -- I don’t know. One night, a little shaken by the state of the man’s corpse (I’ll come to this), Dev opens up: ‘When I’m with people, I want to be alone and when I’m alone, I want to be with people’. This is probably shaped by his internalised working life in the city.

Dev and Hannah are in a relationship together. Lastly, there’s

Joshua, again, another name I don’t like. I prefer Ollie. Basically, this guy is a bit more exciting and free-spirited than Dev. I think Joshua is a little less-self aware, and this appeals to the less self-aware parts of Hannah. There’s a natural chemistry between the two of them. They had a brief fling in school and have always been good friends, but Joshua stayed behind while Hannah went to uni with Dev (they all went to the same school though originally). I think this is one of the main sources of conflict - a kind of jealousy love-triangle. Dev recognises this clear chemistry and grows jealous. Joshua is romantic about the coastline, coming from the country himself (where Hannah grew up) and keeps quipping 'I don’t know how anyone could live in London’. His character contradiction is that he keeps bringing up old nostalgic events and sounds little lonely. Hannah: ‘So that’s Ellen, George, Dom & Tom, Kirsty Stallidge and Rory all in different places now, that’s like the whole gang’. Joshua (with a little pain): ‘Yep, that was the gang’. Hannah: ‘So you seeing from Charlie from work now is that who you hang out with’. Joshua: ‘Yeah I mean me and Charlie have a quality time, he’s such laugh, we have had some fucking mad weekends going clubbing where the musics like *lifts his hands and makes bass noise with lips*, yeah it’s .. good.’ Momentary pause. ‘Yeah and I still see work-mates on Monday nights for football’. Crucially, is hiding the pain with an over-compensation of personality. He also is seen taking anti-depressants by Hannah. He should be written as one of my friends as I can definitely write that.

So I’ve got these ideas and there’s clearly going to be some scenes there. I kind of want the drama to culminate in a scene where Dev has gone jealousy mad and becomes a little obsessed with how the man died (he thinks it was suicide -----> why Ben? How is this at all motivated?). He has dreams of Joshua and Hannah having sex and in a hot blooded fight, pushes Joshua over the edge of the cliff. Josh falls some 100 metres and smacks against the water. Hannah and Dev can’t believe what’s just happened. After a moment of silence, Joshua surfaces, bleeding a little, miraculously having missed the rocks. I’m not entirely sure what the ending is supposed to say - they look at each other gravely realising that they all have messed up post-millenial lifestyles? Is it a commentary on the over-educated millennials? It’s all a bit bombastic, PLUS 1. Dev’s fever dreams are totally irrational and move us into psycho territory from a fairly realistic grounding. Tonally this ending is perhaps confused. It’s big but it belongs in a gradual psychological thriller. It’s also a bit Miss Marple, maybe.

Also the plot is very thin at the moment. We have a bunch of 20 somethings talking for 90 mins.

We have:

Expo and char set up, destination: Durdle-door (promise of a climax) pgs 1-10

Inciting incident - learning about past Hannah/josh fling. pg 10

We get existential talk for 10 more pages til we get to the dead guy.

Plot point 1 - dead guy. Expo about cause of death. Therefore, re-root to durdle door. (Char’s see body?)

Char’s discuss mysterious death and weird body (Eel’s coming out of mouth and anus - not a joke). Dev’s jealousy and Dev & Josh’s existential crisis developing.

Finally they get back on the coastline homestraight for durdle door. Point of no return as home-straight for durdle door takes them away from civilisation (?)

They arrive. It’s idyllic but Dev’s jealousy is at a peak.

Dev envisages them having sex.

Dev goes after Josh, pushes him over the edge of a cliff.

Josh survives narrowly.

They look at each other, broken and matured.

Obviously ending is weak, how are they matured?

Hannah passive. Conflict is within other char’s, she’s just a lens, a vessle. :/

Hannah can’t see very well, she finds out Dev is going off after Josh and there’s parallel action tension. This is tonally off the charts though, become netflix psycho-horror. Also have to be stronger motivation for Dev to want to harm Josh.

But it’s the whole Hero’s journey, God’s thumb (Holes) Heaven’s Mouth (Y Tu Mama Tambien) thing based on El Dorado I guess.

Ragrdless, it’s very cheap, it’s 3 people in a field with natural lighting (mostly) and beautiful locations.

If it’s cast right and written with sincerity, even with a weaker plot it’s worth a shot!

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