Title: Dreaming of Autistic Clouds
Rating: R
Characters: Self-Insert Character,
Warnings/Tags: Alternate Universe, Timeline Inaccuracies, Unreliable Narrator, Headcanon, Autism/Aspergers Syndrome, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Safe People, Safe Places, Sensory Overload, Sensory Underload, Agender Character, Mental Issues, Moral Issues, Health Issues, Flames, Out of the Box Thinking, Poor Coping Methods, Child Abuse, Mafia, Flame Attributes, Introspection, Maybe Magic Maybe Mundane, Alternate History, Reincarnation, OC Overload, Gender Issues, Discrimination, Sexism, Organized Crime, Families of Choice, Self Created Family, Cloud in Control,
Summary: The problem of being born aware, and with your memories in tact is things like Dying Will Flames may show up a little bit early. And by that I mean only about two months after you're born and it finally settles in that you died, but you don't want to be dead and you want to be back where you were before... in that moment, well at least I like the colour purple... But at the same time, this is BAD.
Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn, I own only my OCs and the plot.
Notes: I'm sorry, the bunny bit me and I had to. Also those tags are there for a reason. Also Child Abuse is tagged because this is KHR, and even canon doesn't have the best examples of parents... I mean Lambo is five, I-Pin is five, and well you know.
Basically though it's going to be a mess.
It takes me a week to understand why it's all blurry. To understand why the world shifts and refuses to come into focus instead a constant blur of colour and sensation. A week to understand that everything is too big and I'm too small.
A week to plunge myself into denial and merely hope that it's all merely a side effect of smashing my head into the ground after tripping over the cord in the hall.
It takes a month for the denial to slide away and my vision and hearing to clear. To understand that there are people rushing around. Speaking English, speaking other languages as well. Accents and languages that I'd never gotten the pleasure of hearing in my life before. And it takes me that long to understand that my name is still mostly the same.
I'm still Tamara, still a palm tree.
Except my last name is now Gangitano... which is decidedly different in origin from my last name... I think it's Spanish? Maybe Italian? I don't know. I just know that it takes me a month to push past my denial and finally begin to understand.
I'm now Tamara Gangitano.
It takes another month for it to finally settle, and for me to begin to mourn. To curl up in a room far too decorated and elaborate, far too extravagant for someone who always keep their room modest with a single bookshelf, bed and desk... for someone who had plain walls with self created artwork, and a fine layer of dust, only a couple of dresses or fancy pieces of jewelry.
It takes me two months to blow everything up.
Literally.
Purple flames that dance, and blaze, and make everything kind of go SHOOM and shoot up in size. Carpet that becomes a forest, the crib spreading out and expanding. It's like everything is a sponge and soak in the purple flames before simply expanding. Stretching up and out and filling the entire room with super-sized equipment, and random items, like a book or lamp, or a pillow that's now triple my size.
And through it all I scream.
I scream because it's why my infantile instincts tell me to do.
I scream because it's all I can do to let out my pain.
I scream because it's real.
I scream because this isn't home.
I scream because I don't want to be reborn into a place like this.
I scream.
And the purple shifts and twists. Dancing and pulsing. In tandem with my screams, it burns and expands, growing and stretching.
Abruptly it just cuts off, and I can't scream anymore. Silent tears that wash over my face and down my cheeks it streams. My face scrunches up and I feel my tiny hands fist... and larger arms come around to wrap me up and hold me close. A sharp scent, a strong scent of some cologne, and the faint twang of copper and metal. The feeling of warmth and constant repeating steady beat.
Slowly, the streaming tears stop and I blink my eyes back open.
Blurry features that slowly come into focus.
Warm brown eyes, dark slick backed black hair, and a kind of glowing skin, if I had to pick a colour maybe Peru would be the right word. With a rose underglow, or overlay. I sniff, once, twice and can feel my eyes still watering at the very edges.
"Hush my little Figlia" he sooths me. "Shh, shh... you're safe..." I still make a small whimper.
Because even if I am safe here... It's not home... and those flames... they're vaguely familiar. In a bad way. Yet I'm tired from all my screaming, and my emotions have run themselves down. Run themselves dry and right into the ground. A few more, final tears slip out and I close my eyes to simply listen to the familiar beat.
To listen and to understand...
I don't think that I have a mother in this life. At least I've never seen her, just the various nannies, and my father. I yawn and blink up at him. Small hands curling and a weird smile spreading over my face.
Maybe...
Maybe just maybe I'll be able to accept this life. As long as those flames don't mean anything too disastrous...
Somehow I get the feeling that's hoping for too much. But oh well... I'll just roll with it...