(no subject)
Whew! First time writing Reborn stuff. >_>;
Title: Those Old Shogun Movies
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman: Reborn!
Characters/Pairing: Yamamoto
Genre: Musey General
Rating: PG
Summary: Warm, drabbley goodness.
Yamamoto was reluctant to say it aloud, because it made him feel just a little silly, but...
Hot damn, did he feel cool with his sword. At first he'd thought it was a little strange, that weird bat the baby had given him. Who gives someone a weapon like that, anyways? Especially in a peaceful town like this one. Sure, there were those incidents with explosives, but those were usually Gokudera's fault, who wasn't so much as dangerous as he was cranky. And of course, there were those beatings and kidnappings happening lately, but that was just a gang war, wasn't it? Thugs disputing over turf, things like that?
Yamamoto practiced behind the shop.
Besides that, babies usually didn't hand out expensive weapons like candy, but it was a gift and the kid had seemed pretty sure, so Yamamoto accepted it graciously. He'd almost taken it to practice one time; it was hard to remember that it was a sword -and a telescope! How cool!- when it looked like some regular aluminum bat. It was pretty heavy, though, so confusing it with a regular bat didn't happen very often. He'd just been in a hurry that day, late for practice, and snatched it up to take with him purely out of instinct. By the time he'd made it to the batter's box, it was almost too late and he'd had to back out nervously on an excuse of a stomachache just to take it back home. It was unusual for him to shirk practice like that, so the coach allowed it, and the trip back home gave Yamamoto the time to wonder incredulously why it was becoming second nature to have that bat with him.
He felt like a rounin, from those old shogun movies he watched with his dad on Saturday nights. So cool.
Somewhere down the line, though, when it blurred between game and reality, fun and seriousness, Yamamoto stopped feeling cool with a sword. Perhaps it was when his father gave him the Shigure Souen sword, or maybe once Squalo had been killed. It wasn't as if it dawned on him, enlightened him or anything stupid like that. He'd just slowly come to accept that games didn't get this serious; that people didn't die in games. That the adults were too intense for this to be a game, and that his blood spattered on the concrete and turning the water pink didn't constitute a game within normal parameters. The idea of bowing out briefly -very briefly- crossed his mind, but the looks on Tsuna and Gokudera's faces squashed that thought quicker than he could have on his own. He was in too deep now, and besides that...
Someone was depending on him.
...Somehow, knowing that, he felt even cooler than the rounin in those old shogun movies.
Title: Torrential Downpour
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman: Reborn!
Characters/Pairing: Gokudera muse, slight 8059
Genre: Angsty-ish
Rating: PG
Summary: Like the difference in freezing sheet rain and sun-kissed summer showers.
Yamamoto was incredibly strong. Gokudera wouldn't ever say it aloud, but it was true, and he couldn't deny it when the baseball idiot used that strength to protect the Tenth.
Gokudera didn't stop to consider that Yamamoto's strength encompassed more than simply fighting power. He couldn't stand the idea that Yamamoto's confidence and happy-go-lucky idiocy was in any way helpful to the Tenth, not when he had Gokudera as his right hand. But sure enough, whenever Yamamoto was singled out in any battles and he would flash that easy, "things will be fine," grin, it was nigh impossible to be pessimistic. That was the only reason why Gokudera's stomach lurched every time Yamamoto spilled blood; because it was bad for the Tenth, because it worried the Tenth. He didn't care if that moron died, but the Tenth obviously did, and whatever the Tenth wanted, Gokudera wanted. That was how a right hand was supposed to think.
That was the only reason why he climbed down into that pit, scrambling and slipping over the drenched and ruined concrete. That was the only reason two fingers pressed to Yamamoto's neck and checked for a pulse, why a sigh of relief puffed past his cigarette, why he grabbed the boy's arm and yanked it over his shoulders to pull him back to safety. It was for the Tenth's benefit.
Even after the battle for the rings was said and done, Yamamoto brushed off his injured eye like it was nothing, and recovered with so much bounce that even Ryohei was impressed, and crowed victories over the power of his companions -"Yamamoto's strong, to the EXTREME!"- much to Gokudera's endless irritation.
It wasn't till around the time that the hunt began that Gokudera began to appreciate that different kind of strength. The Tenth was all nerves, matured but still fretful over his family and friends, and some days Gokudera felt rather useless; mindless comfort wasn't much his game. He was much better at eliminating obstacles, scouting for information- action, he was better at doing. Yamamoto was usually the one to step in and assure the Tenth, somehow, with just an easy grin and an arm around his neck, or a distraction ready-made for their boss, to keep him busy in the empty hours of hiding. Gokudera hated it, that hiding, but it was a necessary evil, and he set himself to work, planning the downfall of the enemies that plagued the Tenth while Yamamoto fussed over the Tenth.
Plans screeched to a halt when Yamamoto's father was killed.
There had been word of suspicious people snooping around the Take Sushi shop, so Yamamoto had asked permission for a brief leave to move his father, which the Tenth naturally granted. As the day crawled onward and still no word from Yamamoto, Gokudera had given him a call to yell at him for worrying the Tenth -he was only antsy because the boss was antsy, after all- and didn't recieve an answer. It was then Gokudera knew that something was wrong. With how dangerous things had become for the Vongola guardians, they were under strict orders to keep their phones operational and with them at all times, so the only excuse for not answering would be a dire one.
Yamamoto called back, and Gokudera had taken a breath to curse at him before stopping cold.
"They killed my dad. I'll be back in a day; I gotta arrange the funeral." Click, dial tone.
It wasn't so much the message that made him stop, but the tone in the man's voice. It wasn't grief-stricken, or despairing or hell, even furious.
It was flat, dead. Emotionless. Yamamoto was not emotionless, it was the last thing he could ever be, and it wasn't until he was truly upset that his voice ever even came close to the unyielding ice Gokudera had just heard. He passed the message onto the Tenth with a sort of detached air, a little shocked, and awkwardly held him in Yamamoto's place as he cried. The next day, right as rain, Yamamoto entered the base, shrugging out of his jacket and offering the Tenth an easy, apologetic smile, as if he had been caught doing something mildly disobedient. As the Tenth clutched Yamamoto's arms, apologizing and sobbing again, Yamamoto comforted him as if he had been the one to lose a father.
"It's all right, Tsuna," Yamamoto murmured, squeezing his shoulder. "He went to see Mom. He's probably having the time of his life now."
There was the issue of compromised security; if the thugs who had killed the previous master of the Shigure Souen style had been their enemies -there was little doubt- then they had new and dangerous information about Yamamoto that could help trap him. Yamamoto solved that problem quickly and efficiently; with all of his possessions along with it, Yamamoto burned his house to the ground. As far as he had been able to tell, his father had managed to kill his attackers, and since it had been fairly recent there hadn't been a follow-up investigation of the missing assassins, so after removing his father's body, Yamamoto doused the shop in gasoline and lit the fire to eat up what was essentially his entire material life.
That kind of strength was almost unreal.
It wasn't until later, when Gokudera finally cornered Yamamoto on his own, that he found that it wasn't quite strength compelling him, or even so much as obligation. "I didn't want a reminder of Dad," Yamamoto had told him, words chilling, and Gokudera longed for that stupid, idiotic, sunny disposition over this frigid, new Yamamoto. It wasn't often that it happened, but as the time passed after the death of his father, Yamamoto was a little colder than before, a little more serious.
Like the difference between rainfall from north to south. Like freezing sheet rain, and sun-kissed day showers. Both were powerful, when the drops smacked against the asphalt in torrential downpours, but Gokudera preferred the latter of the two.
Yamamoto had lost that sun about him, and nothing could bring it back. And Gokudera didn't know if it was strength or what...but he didn't like it in the least.
PS: If you would like to see a sad, depressed Yamamoto in the rain, rendered with absolutely gorgeous and dare I say it, godly artistic prescision, then you should totally go look at xihn's art over here lika rite nao.
Title: Those Old Shogun Movies
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman: Reborn!
Characters/Pairing: Yamamoto
Genre: Musey General
Rating: PG
Summary: Warm, drabbley goodness.
Yamamoto was reluctant to say it aloud, because it made him feel just a little silly, but...
Hot damn, did he feel cool with his sword. At first he'd thought it was a little strange, that weird bat the baby had given him. Who gives someone a weapon like that, anyways? Especially in a peaceful town like this one. Sure, there were those incidents with explosives, but those were usually Gokudera's fault, who wasn't so much as dangerous as he was cranky. And of course, there were those beatings and kidnappings happening lately, but that was just a gang war, wasn't it? Thugs disputing over turf, things like that?
Yamamoto practiced behind the shop.
Besides that, babies usually didn't hand out expensive weapons like candy, but it was a gift and the kid had seemed pretty sure, so Yamamoto accepted it graciously. He'd almost taken it to practice one time; it was hard to remember that it was a sword -and a telescope! How cool!- when it looked like some regular aluminum bat. It was pretty heavy, though, so confusing it with a regular bat didn't happen very often. He'd just been in a hurry that day, late for practice, and snatched it up to take with him purely out of instinct. By the time he'd made it to the batter's box, it was almost too late and he'd had to back out nervously on an excuse of a stomachache just to take it back home. It was unusual for him to shirk practice like that, so the coach allowed it, and the trip back home gave Yamamoto the time to wonder incredulously why it was becoming second nature to have that bat with him.
He felt like a rounin, from those old shogun movies he watched with his dad on Saturday nights. So cool.
Somewhere down the line, though, when it blurred between game and reality, fun and seriousness, Yamamoto stopped feeling cool with a sword. Perhaps it was when his father gave him the Shigure Souen sword, or maybe once Squalo had been killed. It wasn't as if it dawned on him, enlightened him or anything stupid like that. He'd just slowly come to accept that games didn't get this serious; that people didn't die in games. That the adults were too intense for this to be a game, and that his blood spattered on the concrete and turning the water pink didn't constitute a game within normal parameters. The idea of bowing out briefly -very briefly- crossed his mind, but the looks on Tsuna and Gokudera's faces squashed that thought quicker than he could have on his own. He was in too deep now, and besides that...
Someone was depending on him.
...Somehow, knowing that, he felt even cooler than the rounin in those old shogun movies.
Title: Torrential Downpour
Fandom: Katekyo Hitman: Reborn!
Characters/Pairing: Gokudera muse, slight 8059
Genre: Angsty-ish
Rating: PG
Summary: Like the difference in freezing sheet rain and sun-kissed summer showers.
Yamamoto was incredibly strong. Gokudera wouldn't ever say it aloud, but it was true, and he couldn't deny it when the baseball idiot used that strength to protect the Tenth.
Gokudera didn't stop to consider that Yamamoto's strength encompassed more than simply fighting power. He couldn't stand the idea that Yamamoto's confidence and happy-go-lucky idiocy was in any way helpful to the Tenth, not when he had Gokudera as his right hand. But sure enough, whenever Yamamoto was singled out in any battles and he would flash that easy, "things will be fine," grin, it was nigh impossible to be pessimistic. That was the only reason why Gokudera's stomach lurched every time Yamamoto spilled blood; because it was bad for the Tenth, because it worried the Tenth. He didn't care if that moron died, but the Tenth obviously did, and whatever the Tenth wanted, Gokudera wanted. That was how a right hand was supposed to think.
That was the only reason why he climbed down into that pit, scrambling and slipping over the drenched and ruined concrete. That was the only reason two fingers pressed to Yamamoto's neck and checked for a pulse, why a sigh of relief puffed past his cigarette, why he grabbed the boy's arm and yanked it over his shoulders to pull him back to safety. It was for the Tenth's benefit.
Even after the battle for the rings was said and done, Yamamoto brushed off his injured eye like it was nothing, and recovered with so much bounce that even Ryohei was impressed, and crowed victories over the power of his companions -"Yamamoto's strong, to the EXTREME!"- much to Gokudera's endless irritation.
It wasn't till around the time that the hunt began that Gokudera began to appreciate that different kind of strength. The Tenth was all nerves, matured but still fretful over his family and friends, and some days Gokudera felt rather useless; mindless comfort wasn't much his game. He was much better at eliminating obstacles, scouting for information- action, he was better at doing. Yamamoto was usually the one to step in and assure the Tenth, somehow, with just an easy grin and an arm around his neck, or a distraction ready-made for their boss, to keep him busy in the empty hours of hiding. Gokudera hated it, that hiding, but it was a necessary evil, and he set himself to work, planning the downfall of the enemies that plagued the Tenth while Yamamoto fussed over the Tenth.
Plans screeched to a halt when Yamamoto's father was killed.
There had been word of suspicious people snooping around the Take Sushi shop, so Yamamoto had asked permission for a brief leave to move his father, which the Tenth naturally granted. As the day crawled onward and still no word from Yamamoto, Gokudera had given him a call to yell at him for worrying the Tenth -he was only antsy because the boss was antsy, after all- and didn't recieve an answer. It was then Gokudera knew that something was wrong. With how dangerous things had become for the Vongola guardians, they were under strict orders to keep their phones operational and with them at all times, so the only excuse for not answering would be a dire one.
Yamamoto called back, and Gokudera had taken a breath to curse at him before stopping cold.
"They killed my dad. I'll be back in a day; I gotta arrange the funeral." Click, dial tone.
It wasn't so much the message that made him stop, but the tone in the man's voice. It wasn't grief-stricken, or despairing or hell, even furious.
It was flat, dead. Emotionless. Yamamoto was not emotionless, it was the last thing he could ever be, and it wasn't until he was truly upset that his voice ever even came close to the unyielding ice Gokudera had just heard. He passed the message onto the Tenth with a sort of detached air, a little shocked, and awkwardly held him in Yamamoto's place as he cried. The next day, right as rain, Yamamoto entered the base, shrugging out of his jacket and offering the Tenth an easy, apologetic smile, as if he had been caught doing something mildly disobedient. As the Tenth clutched Yamamoto's arms, apologizing and sobbing again, Yamamoto comforted him as if he had been the one to lose a father.
"It's all right, Tsuna," Yamamoto murmured, squeezing his shoulder. "He went to see Mom. He's probably having the time of his life now."
There was the issue of compromised security; if the thugs who had killed the previous master of the Shigure Souen style had been their enemies -there was little doubt- then they had new and dangerous information about Yamamoto that could help trap him. Yamamoto solved that problem quickly and efficiently; with all of his possessions along with it, Yamamoto burned his house to the ground. As far as he had been able to tell, his father had managed to kill his attackers, and since it had been fairly recent there hadn't been a follow-up investigation of the missing assassins, so after removing his father's body, Yamamoto doused the shop in gasoline and lit the fire to eat up what was essentially his entire material life.
That kind of strength was almost unreal.
It wasn't until later, when Gokudera finally cornered Yamamoto on his own, that he found that it wasn't quite strength compelling him, or even so much as obligation. "I didn't want a reminder of Dad," Yamamoto had told him, words chilling, and Gokudera longed for that stupid, idiotic, sunny disposition over this frigid, new Yamamoto. It wasn't often that it happened, but as the time passed after the death of his father, Yamamoto was a little colder than before, a little more serious.
Like the difference between rainfall from north to south. Like freezing sheet rain, and sun-kissed day showers. Both were powerful, when the drops smacked against the asphalt in torrential downpours, but Gokudera preferred the latter of the two.
Yamamoto had lost that sun about him, and nothing could bring it back. And Gokudera didn't know if it was strength or what...but he didn't like it in the least.
PS: If you would like to see a sad, depressed Yamamoto in the rain, rendered with absolutely gorgeous and dare I say it, godly artistic prescision, then you should totally go look at xihn's art over here lika rite nao.