Dreaming of S(erpents), a DoS remix drabble (2016-01-14)

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After Jiraiya, Shikako is the closest thing Konoha has to a seal master. It’s not a surprise, really–this fact has been brought up before on multiple occasions–but she’s never felt it so keenly as she does in the moment.

“You want me to… what?” Shikako stammers, her shoulders tensing with apprehension.

Anko’s unusually solemn gaze does not waver–Shikako wonders if it’d be less unnerving if the older woman had her trademark smirk.

“I-I don’t think I can do that,” she tries, before reconsidering: technically, she might have the ability. She’s just not sure if she’s allowed, “I mean, I don’t see what I can do that Jiraiya-sama couldn’t. And I don’t know if–”

“Kid,” Anko interrupts, before scowling, “Shikako,” she tries again, “I’m not expecting you to pull a miracle out of your ass and get this damned thing off me.”

Shikako’s face freezes, uncertain on how to proceed.

Anko snorts, a rueful grin on her face, “I know a little about seals myself, okay? I just want you to take a look, see what you can learn. With your teammate marked up, too, I figure you’ve got a stake in this.”

And it’s no secret that Shikako’s been formally, officially banned from examining Sasuke’s cursed seal.

But no one said anything about Anko’s.

Shikako straightens out from her hunch–not relaxed, but focused–her body a few steps ahead of her brain. Verbally, she dithers, “I’m not sure…”

But Anko pounces on the hesitation, “I’m not asking you to somehow be better than Jiraiya and that damned bastard. I’m asking you to be different. Just look at it. Please, Shikako.”

It really is a good opportunity. And Anko has already stated she’s not expecting any solutions or modifications. If anything, this is more of a favor to Shikako–she’s been itching to get a closer look at the cursed seal and even a prototype is better than nothing.

“Okay,” Shikako agrees. And then, because she will always be a lucky seven at heart, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

—

This.

This is the worst that can happen.

Shikako, standing in an impossible void, water up to her ankles and a giant white snake with Orochimaru’s face on it.

A part of her–a very tiny part, the smallest bit that isn’t reeling in confusion and horror or preoccupied with the flurry of escape and combat plans flickering in an out–can only sigh. She should’ve known. Orochimaru is a crazy, evil psychopath but he’s a genius for a reason.

And it probably didn’t help that she jinxed herself. She just didn’t expect to be pulled into some kind of mental space like Naruto does whenever he talks to Kyuubi.

The seal is on a complete different person, though, how does this even work?

She can ponder that later, this is very obviously not the time.

“The little Nara on Sasuke’s team,” the giant Orochimaru-faced snake says, it’s body uncoiling and slithering towards her. He… it… continues, “So you’ve managed to–”

And then the explosion.

Good news–seals somehow work in this mental space even though it may be the inside of a seal. She’d been worried about structural instability, one of the basic tenets of sealing, but she’d still done it; touch blast is a staple of her fighting style, after all.

Bad news–she’s going to need a whole lot more than a single touch blast to take down this fragment of Orochimaru.

Also, she’s made him… it… angry.

Very angry.

—

Normally alliances are a good thing, especially the one between the Akimichi, Nara, and Yamanaka. In fact, given their compatibility and foundation of friendship, the clan alliance has literally never been anything but a good thing. Not like weak flimsy false alliances that break or fester and fail.

But in this very specific, extremely particular case, maybe it’s not such a good thing.

Because being allies with the Akimichi and Yamanaka means that each clan can comfortably stay in their niches and trust each other to focus on their own specializations.

And that means Shikako has absolutely no idea how to handle herself in a mental battle. How the hell does Ino do this all the time?

She had always thought that the Yamanaka mind jutsu were similar to genjutsu–overlaying their own will and personality onto a person with copious amounts of chakra and finesse. Emphasis on the finesse.

If she had known that it was more like a telepathic caged grudge match, well. She’s always had great respect for the Yamanaka clan, but now she also has extreme fear. Also, bewilderment–how are they not all batshit insane?

And they don’t even have the benefit of seals like she does. Jutsu doesn’t work here, which means that all the Yamanaka have are their own mental representation of themselves.

Then again, most of them are up against normal humans and not freaky giant snakes with human heads.

Ino survived; she just has to hold onto that thought. Shikako may not have the same training in the Yamanaka mind arts, but she has seals and she’s up against an earlier version as well. She can survive, too.

—

She doesn’t know how long she’s been here. There is no sun or moon or sky, just Shikako and the Orochimaru-snake and the void. If it weren’t for the cuts and bruises on herself and the huge missing chunks of flesh on the Orochimaru-snake, she’d think she was stuck completely. Frozen in some monstrous tableau–like some kind of fairytale, a lone human trying to take on a dragon.

As it is, she thinks maybe she’s been doing this for days–weeks, months, and eternity. And she can’t help the chilling thought that she’s trapped herself into an infinite hell of some kind (sometimes Tsukuyomi still haunts her, when the sun sits red and heavy in the sky).

But as she’s about to set off yet another round of explosions–there are only so many strategies involving touch blast she can implement–she’s suddenly yanked back and up and, thankfully, out.

Her mind is shoved back into her body, the abruptness causing her to gasp. Then cough as she chokes on air.

Lungs, why this again?

A hand covered in the green glow of medical chakra is pressed over Shikako’s chest, but another hand bats it away.

“It’s just her body being stupid, Sakura” Ino says, angrily, pointedly, “because only an idiot would try to do what she did without having any training in mind jutsu,” but Ino’s hand, curled around Shikako’s wrist, is gentle and warm. Her brow is furrowed not with irritation, but concern.

Shikako is lying on her back, the prickle of grass uncomfortable on her neck. Kneeling on one side of her is Sakura, ignoring Ino’s reprimand and using a diagnostic jutsu on her, and on the other is Ino. Standing above them, with an expression muddled with guilt and relief, is Anko. Shikako can sense some other bright points of chakra–members of the kunoichi group, the older ones at least–just beyond her line of sight.

“Did you call everyone?” Shikako coughs out, because it’s one thing to fail utterly. It’s another to fail utterly in front of an audience.

Anko raises an eyebrow, “Well it was either them or the Hokage.” Which, point. Shikako isn’t exactly looking to get yelled at by Tsunade-sama for blatantly flouting proper procedure. Again.

And given Ino’s experience and Sakura’s apprenticeship, they are basically the most equipped to handle the situation, besides the Hokage, that is.

“I’m pretty sure we still need to tell shishou about this,” Sakura says, apologetic but firm.

—

(“And that’s the real reason why I’m here,” Shikako says, with a not quite obnoxious grin on her face.

Kankurou squints at her, suspicion etched into the line of his jaw, the tilt of his head, “You fought a giant imaginary snake and got assigned as the Suna ambassador… You’re fucking with me.”

She just grins wider.)

~

A/N: I’m sorry anon, I’ve had so many starts and stops with this prompt of yours that when I finally wrote a thing that had a decent length to it, I just decided to keep it.

So probably not what you were looking for…

Word Prompts (F5): Fairy Tale

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You are surrounded.

The stories your grandmother told you have helped you survive so far; lessons in the shape of bedtime stories–don’t eat anything, don’t give up your name, they must always tell the truth but they also twist words like spiders weave their webs.

But still.

They are faster and stronger, older and sneakier and impossibly brighter, and there is no way you can make it through this with your life.

The knight slaps you across the face, a full bodied movement, and if it didn’t hurt so much you’d think it was almost beautiful. Elegant, the way his wings stretch back as counterbalance, a tapestry of colors that somehow glow.

Instead, your teeth cut into the flesh of your cheek. Your head is whipped to the side, your neck straining to keep you whole.

You breathe in harshly through your nose, an ugly creature dealing with pain.

They are going to draw this out and you will never know peace because another thing your grandmother told you: they don’t kill humans, they keep them as prisoners. As pets. Stupid, pathetic toys that they can use and discard at their leisure.

You spit out the blood pooling in your mouth–yet another hideous action from the human–a watery red glob that hits the gleaming stone of the throne room floor with a squelch.

But then–it sizzles.

It bubbles away at the marble, disintegrating the ground as if it were acid, not blood. And around you, they look disturbed. For once their expressions are not smug amusement or stoic superiority, but instead it is confusion. Distress.

Fear.

Fairies are fast and strong and old and sneaky and bright. Fairies are, in every way, better than humans. Why, then, would they be so restricted–trapped Underground, when humans enjoy the surface world and the sun?

Fairies are weak to iron; another of your grandmother’s lessons.

You’re human–iron runs through your veins.

~

A/N: I’ve inundated myself with too many fandoms and my brain is pulling itself apart in trying to decide which to write for. So for now, here’s some original fic.

Because supernatural creatures are apparently weak to iron (it’s meant to be a euphemism for “weapon” but pffft, nah) and given how often I try to donate blood, only to be told my hemoglobin levels are too low and I should eat a more iron-rich diet… well.

HAHAHAHAHA, fuck you fairies. You can’t do shit to me I’ll bleed on you.

Trailblazers drabble (2016-01-12)

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After an hour of waiting and no sign of her friends, Tetsuki leaves a note, grabs her go-bag, and uses the Ten Year Bazooka on herself.

She comes to underwater. The cold and wet is a shock to her system and she immediately gasps and regrets it. Her clothes–chosen for durability and warmth–are dragging at her limbs, and even though her bag is heavy she keeps a tight grip on it. Gravity, even limited, reasserts itself and she kicks upward–spluttering when she breaches the surface.

Coughing and blinking and shivering, she makes her way to the shore of what appears to be the river running through Namimori. She recognizes the bridge vaguely, even from this new angle. For a few moments, she stays where she is, relishing the feel of solid ground, before shakily making her way to her feet. Her friends aren’t going to find themselves.

She hopes they had a better start than she did.

—

Tetsuki wanders around the ghost town that Namimori has become. Wandering is the incorrect word–what she does is nowhere as nonchalant as that–she sneaks and sidles and skitters around. The streets are empty and the buildings stand like skeletons devoid of the flesh and blood of living people.

She doesn’t know what day it is, or even the specific time of day, but the sun is up–if filtered and grey through a persistent layer of clouds–and yet, nobody. If it were the middle of the night she’d understand; although even then there would usually be the occasional late-night returnees, or a few Disciplinary Committee members on patrol. There is only stillness and silence.

The chill down her spine has very little to do with the river water still dripping from her clothes and hair. It’s as if she’s all alone in the world and it’s creeping her out.

She can’t find her friends. She can’t find anyone.

Someone finds her instead.

—

The Sasagawa siblings, upon seeing her, jump up and pull her into a rather painful, extremely damp three-way hug. Her hair ends up caught in the zipper of Ryohei’s jacket and Kyoko accidentally bites her shoulder. So, really, not all that much different than when they were children.

Haru-chan tuts at her wet clothes, but leans in close enough for a sideways hug of her own. Lambo-chan adds moisture of his own by gripping her leg and bawling–she absently pets his hair and ignores the fact that there is probably snot mixed in with his tears. The older boys and Chrome keep their distance, but they appear to be relieved to see her: Gokudera-kun’s shoulders visibly relax, and Hibari-senpai even offers her a nod of acknowledgement.

“Something’s wrong,” she says, because that much is obvious. It’s been almost an hour since she’s used the bazooka, longer for her friends. The effects are only supposed to last five minutes, they should’ve switched back home already.

None of them respond. Verbally, at least. Ryohei’s face shutters into blankness and by his side, Kyoko twitches. The others are very careful not to move.

“Something’s wrong,” she repeats, reading the signs around her, “… with me?”

Only Tsuna meets her eyes.

~

A/N: … I’m still a little unsure on something. Like, obviously, Tetsuki is dead in TYL since it’s thereabouts of her dead before 25 years old thing… but I don’t know whether or not I want this to be a world in which she was Lightning Guardian or not.

… hm…

On the one hand, her existence would be a major wrench in Byakuran’s plans/knowledge. And Tetsuki’s all for fucking up overly entitled dudes’ plans.

But on the other hand, I kind of also like the idea that Tetsuki was the one in on TYL!Tsuna’s plans/Shouichi’s betrayal/etc (instead of Hibari) but her death meant TYL!Tsuna had to change to the backup plan (aka, Hibari).

¯_(ツ)_/¯

I thought canon had Kyoko as Mist and Hana as Storm? Eh, your fic anyway…

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esamastation:

hexastrose:

esamastation:

Canon doesn’t actually say one way or the other as far as I know. I made Kyoko Sun because evidence says that these things run in the family (Gokudera, Bianchi, Belphegor, Rasiel and Every Sky Ever) and Hana is Mist because.

Iirc in the manga Reborn shot Kyoko with a dw bullet and she showed a mist flame

I know she was shot with one but I’m gonna need proof on the fact that it was Mist flame she produced.

i wrote a thing about flame types here, but basically:

people can have more than one type of flame–in canon Gokudera, who is predominantly Storm, also has Rain, Lightning, Cloud, and Sun in order to use Sistema CAI

so it’s possible (probable, actually) that Kyoko has both Sun and Mist flames

[[personally i headcanon that women are more likely to have multiple flame types which explains why (besides blatant sexism, that is) there are so few female Guardians–because they don’t have a predominant type so much as a more stable blend of flames, and thus can’t be the (insert flame type here) Guardian]]

Trailblazers drabble (2016-01-11)

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Kaiza-senpai and Yamamoto don’t get along, but not the same way Yamamoto and Gokudera don’t get along. It’s not words thrown like dynamite and smiles like a sword, it’s not arguments face to face but fighting back to back. It’s not a thin layer of teasing and irritation over a foundation of mutual understanding and trust.

For Kaiza-senpai and Yamamoto it’s a little bit jealousy and some awkwardness and a persistent, unavoidable uneasiness. They are warped reflections of each other, and frankly, they just don’t like each other.

Of course, they don’t actively dislike each other either–not like how Hibari-senpai and Mukuro go at each other like starving dogs, teeth and blood and bone-deep rage–but it’s a distinct lack of fondness. An absence of even trying to get along that makes it so strange.

And yet…

“Don’t call him that,” Kaiza-senpai says, sharp and cold–and not the shallow way Tsuna had always considered her, Kyoko-chan’s scary, austere almost sister–something pure and true and threatening. Promising.

Reborn, however, was scared of nothing and would probably call the Grim Reaper and amateur, “Oh?” he asks, eyebrow raising, as if to say what are you going to do about it.

Yamamoto is frozen, smile pulled tight over his face, unsure but patient.

“No one is a natural born killer,” she continues, unafraid, “That phrase is stupid.”

If Kaiza-senpai wasn’t fond Yamamoto, then she absolutely hated Reborn.

~

A/N: …

Untitled SW:TFA drabble (2016-01-10)

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This drabble contains spoilers for Star Wars: The Force Awakens

Rey comes to him on Ahch-To, lightsaber in hand and desperation in her eyes. The Millennium Falcon is short one Han Solo and the galaxy one Republic.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

There is something about the Skywalker genes–greatness or madness–strong in the Force but at what cost. After Ben’s–Kylo Ren’s–descent, Luke thought he knew what he was doing.

Send Rey to Jakku, send her away so she won’t be a target. So his mistakes won’t catch up to her, so she wouldn’t have to pay for his sins.

None of this was supposed to happen.

If ever she got curious, if ever she asked about him, she was to go to Lor San Tekka. And he would give her the map. But only if she asked, and only if she wanted.

Luke thought Jakku would be safe for her.

From her.

The desert is harsh, but Skywalkers have always been better there. Kinder, more controlled, the sand wearing away at all their sharp edges. Luke thinks maybe being raised as a Jedi is what led to Ben’s fall, honed and shaped until that’s all he became–a weapon.

Things were supposed to go better, be better.

He didn’t know Rey had ended up completely alone on Jakku, unaware of Lor San Tekka’s existence much less the information he had for her.

Hadn’t thought the Resistance would try to find him–he who had created their enemy through his failure.

Couldn’t believe that Han would come back and help, only to wind up dead. (But Luke should have–Han always came back when it mattered).

And now Rey is here, staring at him like he has the answers. As if his attempts at solutions weren’t just problems in the making.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now.

~

A/N: Tiny thing because still feels but mostly I’m confused on some points and trying to work everything out in my head.

So, basically, I hella headcanon that Rey is a Skywalker. Specifically, Luke’s daughter, and that she was left on Jakku for a reason. Or Lor San Tekka was left on Jakku for a reason… Basically, he was meant to be the Obi Wan Kenobi to her Luke except whatever adult supervision they had in place for her either bailed or died and so she never even knew to go find Lor San Tekka to go find her father. :/

Growing Strong (Burning Bright), Chapter Five (2016-01-09)

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Something Doctor Shamal told him springs to mind as he sits rigidly in his estraged sister’s photoshoot perfect receiving room. Different types of flames have different aspects–abilities, yes, but also character traits. At the time, Branton had chalked it up to more of that mystical mumbo jumbo, but now he’s not so sure.

Storm types were devoted (obsessive), Mist types were insightful (manipulative), Sun types were optimistic (naive), so on and so forth, little things like that. It had seemed as legitimate as the silly color changing mood rings that had been a fad during his teenage years. His own independent (isolated) tendencies certainly match Shamal’s description of Cloud types–he’d shudder at the thought of this suburban lifestyle, settling down to start a family, if he weren’t trying to make a good impression on his estranged sister.

Or at least a not absolutely terrible impression.

“I won’t make a scene outside where the neighbors can witness,” she says, begrudgingly bringing a tea set and placing it on the table between them. Impeccable manners even if the actual well-meaning intentions aren’t behind it, “I expect you to say your piece and leave. Preferably for another two decades if not longer.”

It’s not exactly the best reception he could have had, but it’s fair enough. Certainly better than what he was expecting.

Then again, he’s not sure what he was expecting, really, hadn’t known what twenty years would do to the fifteen year old girl he’d left behind in Cokeworth. Still has no idea what it did to the thirteen year old he can’t find anything about.

Branton knows bringing up their little sister, the sister who Petunia had always been at least a little jealous over, isn’t exactly going to endear him to her. But given that he literally has exhausted all other means, well…

Frankly, he hadn’t actually wanted to see Petunia again. Not out of any ill-will–actually, quite the opposite. He knows she’s got a nice, normal life set up here, far from their Cokeworth past; far from her brother’s criminal inclinations and her sister’s magical existence. There’s no reason for her and her new family to get tangled up in this at all, not when she has no way to defend herself against it.

He expects to say his piece and leave her life again. This time for good, because Petunia doesn’t deserve this, him, showing up on her front door out of the blue.

He can’t say the same for his other sister, who stepped into an entirely different world than the one Branton did, and only ever sometimes looked back. A world where every person was armed and dangerous and capable of doing impossible things.

Well, maybe her world was a little like his.

Branton nods, gets back on track, steels himself for the final severing of ties between himself and Petunia. “Where’s Lily?” he asks, and notes the way her mouth flattens into a hard, displeased line. The way it always had after their little sister received a letter neither of them had gotten.

But he also sees the way Petunia’s eyes narrow, her eyebrows curve. Not out of distaste or jealousy or even anger. Out of confusion and then shock and then quickly hidden sorrow, “You’re thirteen years too late to ask me that,” she responds through gritted teeth. She looks away, though, lets him deal with the news without her cutting, accusing gaze.

Maybe Lily’s world was more like his than he thought.

~

A/N: Lalalala, I swear I will get to Harry soon… maybe.

Untitled SW:TFA drabble (2016-01-08)

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This drabble contains spoilers for Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

There’s something to be said about dying wishes–that final thought punctuated by a final breath. The last beat of a person’s heart as it rides one last emotional wave. It turns a mindless soldier into an older brother for the last half a second of FN-2003’s life.

Three swipes of blood across a helmet. One desperate, crushing grip. Fingertips pressing into gloves and armor–skin contact denied even at the end.

But the Force is in everything, even dying, newly awakened storm troopers. All Slip needs is a spark to bring his brother to the Light.

—

In chaos of battle, Finn kills multiples storm troopers. It’s nothing personal, on either side–they have their orders and Finn is trying to survive. He is too busy wishing for a blaster and avoiding attacks and marveling at the light saber in his hand to think beyond that. It’s something he learned wearing the helmet–there is no time for feelings and regrets.

Until, suddenly, there is.

“Traitor!” shouts a voice Finn recognizes, as intimately as anything could be considered such when you serve the First Order. “Traitor!” calls out FN-2199, and maybe in a kinder world Finn would have called him friend, but that is not the world they live in.

But there is space for rage, because Nines doesn’t attack Finn with a blaster but with a Z6 riot control baton. A much closer choice, far more personal.

Finn falters, whatever had been guiding his hand lets go under the assault of Nines’ indignation, or at least the pain that comes from a perceived betrayal. Finn, caught up in the unexpected flurry, can’t hold onto the light saber, much less respond.

Can a person be a traitor to something they never chose? Can a storm trooper truly defect if they are brainwashed into believing?

FN-2199 does not answer him, because suddenly he is dead before Finn can ask.

—

Phasma knows her time is limited; it has been since the mission on Jakku failed to retrieve the map. It’s a slow descent, the General and Kylo Ren’s constant bickering and oneupmanship buys her some time, but she knows it’s coming.

FN-2187 is one of hers, the way even runts of the litter belong, and while she would never describe herself as maternal she will admit to being possessive. And the most disgusting part is, FN-2187 was an exemplary soldier. She could trust him to survive even the most difficult of simulations, to not only complete a mission but lead his fellow troopers to success. A fine soldier, even officer corps material.

When he was loyal, of course. Now he is aiding and abetting fugitives, an active enemy combatant, and finally, a spy holding her at blaster-point.

She brings down the shields–she’s a captain not a trooper, she has a sense of self preservation–and looks down at her stray pup.

The other human intruder–an old man, Han Solo–asks about garbage chutes and trash compactors, perhaps in relation to FN-2187’s sanitation duties. She wonders if the old man understands what that means; if FN-2187 bothered to explain the euphemism, or if he even knows that it is a euphemism.

She lets the wookie put her down the garbage chute, no matter how ignoble. It’s an escape route and, considering what she just did, a much needed one. Regardless of who wins this impending battle, she will not be in their good graces.

Her time is limited, but FN-2187 is one of hers; she taught him everything he knows–she can survive anything, too.

~

A/N: Finn is the apple of my eye, the darling of my heart. What a sweetie. 🙂 I just want everything to go well for him.

The last section with Phasma had to be rewritten once I checked out Finn’s wookieepedia page and found out that apparently he consistently scored top marks as a cadet in the pre-movie novel. So I was trying to figure out why one of the top cadets would be in charge of sanitation duties, until I realized… sanitation could be a euphemism for clearing out the native people/animals of the planet that First Order took over for the Starkiller Base. O_O

… anyway. Hella enjoyed the movie. There were many points which could have been handled better but I’ve already screamed about that with my BFF so no need to rehash. Although, who knows, maybe some of that will prompt me to write some more drabbles. For knows this was the one that I really wanted to get off my chest before delving into some reading of my own 😀

Trailblazers drabble (2016-01-06)

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(Stolen Thunder)

The thing about the Ten Year Bazooka is that it pulls a person from a future, not the future. There are branches in the universe, and while the time space continuum is elastic, there still exist some limitations. That is why the Ten Year Bazooka has such a short usage, and why it doesn’t have a high demand.

For most members of the mafia, being switched with a decade older version of themselves wasn’t an advantage, especially if there was no timeline specific intel to be reaped. Ten years later would mean ten years passed their prime–slower reflexes and aching injuries, the casualties of age–or worse: dead.

And so the Ten Year Bazooka was a novelty, an interesting gadget at most. The kind of thing one would show off at a science convention, not use in actual combat.

Unless you are a child.

To a child, ten years is a lot. Ten years means a bigger body and greater knowledge, it means being taken seriously. As a person, as a threat. As a Guardian.

Lambo knows a lot about being dismissed. It’s been that way his entire life. Indulged but ultimately ignored by the Bovino family, barely tolerated and relegated to the side by Vongola–a child trying to play catch up with teenagers, a teenager trying to stand his ground among grown ups. Lambo’s existence has always been one of almost but not quite enough.

But at least it was never so literally.

“Tetsuki Kaiza,” Lambo murmurs to himself, five minutes after a past version of himself used the bazooka, sending a teenager to deal with consequences of his childish temper tantrum. Instead he found a girl who defended him from Reborn’s irritation, a girl with green Lightning flames sparking at her fingertips, a Vongola Guardian ring on a chain around her neck.

A girl, he finds out later, who does not exist in this world.

Or, rather, existed only for a short time.

He researches–this timeline is thankfully peaceful, and so he has the opportunity–and tracks down the girl who would have been Lightning Guardian to a cemetery outside Namimori. Japanese gravestones do not have dates on them, but they do have names: the deceased, of course, and in bright, living red, their still living family members.

It’s telling that the two names in red are above the one that brought Lambo here–parents, Fuyuko and Toichi.

The caretaker has been in charge of this cemetery for years–definitely over two decades–and has a keen memory. He’s also talkative, more so with a tidy sum of cash, and has no problem telling even a foreign teenager about the sad story of little Tetsuki Kaiza.

Little Tetsuki Kaiza who had been kidnapped after her first day of kindergarten and held hostage by the yakuza for two weeks before finally being killed. Apparently, her parents hadn’t paid the ransom.

Supposedly, they hadn’t even been in the country to receive the demands.

Fuyuko Kaiza was a professor of some sort–constantly invited overseas for lectures–while Taichi had been a popular athlete; or an actor, maybe a musician. He’d been something popular. Back then, anyway. Both of them terribly successful in their careers, until their terrifying failure as parents came to light.

Of course, they’d tried to salvage what they could. Bought a nice gravestone, made large donations towards Namimori’s police force which had undergone a shocked, upheaval of their own. Little Tetsuki Kaiza, such a sad story.

Lambo thanks the man, even though his throat is sour with a whirlwind of thoughts.

Maybe that’s why three seemingly civilian teenagers from a tiny town in Japan would become Guardian’s of the strongest mafia family in the world. An entire generation of school kids shaped into weapons. Protect yourself, because adults can fail. Become strong, so as not to become prey. Don’t end up like Tetsuki Kaiza.

“Yasuraka ni nemure,” Lambo says to the gravestone of a little girl twenty years dead, “Riposi in pace,” he says to the lost, potential Lightning Guardian.

This timeline is peaceful, true, but Lambo is mafioso born and bred–Family is important, dead or alive. He has at least two people upon whom he can enact revenge and a lead for more to follow.

Maybe his fellow Guardians will want to join him.

~

A/N: One of my ultimate truths for Tetsuki Kaiza, no matter which iteration of her I am writing, is that she never lives beyond age 25. And those are in the lives that I’m actually writing about–in such universes like KHR, where it’s canon that there are alternate timelines, various versions of Tetsuki Kaiza never live long enough to actually become Tsuna’s Lightning Guardian.

I didn’t know how to fit it in, but basically, as more teenage Lambos get summoned to the “past,” interact with Tetsuki, then get shunted back into their present with a burning need to figure out who the hell this other Lightning Guardian is, more Tetsukis’ pasts get revealed. Sometimes, she dies in something less dramatic–a car accident, maybe. Sometimes she was never even in Namimori (her parents settled down–or attempted to settle down–elsewhere and she died there). Sometimes, she lives a completely separate life from the mafia but still somehow ends up dead before age 25 (and, thus, before teenage Lambo can actually meet her).