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2024 Akira Amano 'The Characters' Exhibition bonus 'Selfie-style' cards.
[ID: Official art of multiple characters from the manga and anime Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
They're all drawn as if taking a selfie, most of them smiling and/or doing a peace sign or another playful gesture with their hand.
Reborn, Colonnello, Viper and Fon are in their cursed forms, with Viper pulling their hood down, trying to hide more of their face.
Gokudera waves at us, with "Vongola Famiglia" written on his palm and the Vongola's emblem drawn on it too. Lambo is in his Ten Years Later version, Tsuna's shown both in his normal state and in Hyper Dying Will mode, Basil is in Hyper Dying Will mode too and Chrome's wearing cat ears.
The glass hit the table hard enough to slosh bourbon over the rim, but you didn't care. You were three drinks past your limit and the Varia celebration was still grinding on, all the subordinates too terrified to actually enjoy themselves.
"Xanxus~"
No response. He sat in his chair like it was a throne, jaw tight, watching the room with those scarlet eyes.
"Xanxus, I want to go upstairs."
"Then go."
"With you." You leaned into his arm, pressing your cheek against the sleeve of his jacket. Your body leaned heavily against his side and you made absolutely no effort to move.
"Take me to bed... pleeeaaase?~"
"Tch." He didn't look at you but his hand came up and gripped the back of your neck. Whether it was due to loss of patience or habit, it was hard to tell.
"You're a pain when you drink." he grumbled.
"And you're mean even when you're sober, so we're even."
That got the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He stood without warning, hauling you up with him, and you stumbled into his chest with a surprised laugh. The room went dead silent seeing this, as every Varia officer suddenly found something fascinating to stare at on the far wall.
He walked and you kept up only because his hand hadn't left your neck, steering you through the corridor, up the stairs, all the way to the heavy oak door of your shared quarters before he shouldered it open.
You grabbed his tie before he could deposit you and turn around and yanked him forward, although he barely moved as his eyes dropped to your face.
"Stay~" you giggled.
"I wasn't leaving." he lied.
"You were going to go back down there and brood in your chair for another three hours." You pulled the tie again, walking backward, drawing him in. "I know you."
He kicked the door shut behind him and the lock clicked.
"Yeah." His voice was low, stripped of its usual bite. He looked at you standing there flushed and stubborn in the low light. "You do."
His mouth found yours before you could say another word.
TYL!Superbia Squalo
"VOOOIII! How many of those have you had?!"
You held up four fingers. Then reconsidered, and held up five.
"Oh, for fucks--sit down before you fall down!" Squalo grabbed your elbow as you swayed on the barstool, silver hair swinging as he whipped around to glare at the bartender. "Who kept serving her?!"
The bartender, a civilian contractor who clearly had not signed up for Varia-adjacent terror, went pale and backed into the liquor shelf.
"Squalo." You tugged on his sleeve. Then tugged harder. "Squalooooo."
"WHAT."
"You look really pretty tonight~♥" you curled a lock of his hair around your finger.
That shut him up for approximately one and a half seconds before he looked away from you to hide any evidence of a blush. "You're drunk."
"Drunk and correct." You leaned your full weight against him, arms looping around his waist, face buried in his chest. He stiffened, not because he minded, you'd been married long enough to know that, but because half the Varia was watching with open glee.
"Get off me. We're in public."
"No."
"That wasn't a request!"
"Carry me upstairs and maybe I'll let go." you grinned.
"I'm not--you can't just... dammit, FINE." He ducked down, got an arm under your knees, and swept you up like your weight wasn't a factor. You shrieked with delight as he stormed toward the staircase, face burning red, bellowing at anyone who so much as glanced their direction.
"EYES FORWARD OR I'LL CUT THEM OUT OF YOUR SKULLS."
He kicked open the bedroom door and set you on the bed with more care than his expression suggested. You kept your arms locked around his neck.
"Let go."
"Come here."
"I just carried you here, woman, what more do you--"
You kissed him. Messily and off-center, tasting like cheap prosecco. He made a strangled noise against your mouth and braced one knee on the mattress, his free hand fisting in the sheets beside your hip.
When you pulled back, he was breathing hard. That pretty face his flushed all the way to his ears.
"Door's still open," you whispered.
He walked back a few steps and slammed it so hard the frame cracked.
"Happy?"
"Getting there." You pulled him down again and he went down willingly this time.
TYL!Belphegor
"Ushishishi."
That laugh had been following you for the last twenty minutes. You sat at the end of the banquet table with your chin in your hand, cheeks hot, fourth cocktail mostly gone, and made a point of not looking at him.
"The princess is sulking."
"The princess wants to leave." You pushed the glass away and finally turned. Belphegor leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, crown tilted, grin already in place.
"Bel, I'm tired. Take me upstairs." you offered your hand towards his.
"Hmm. Ask properly."
You narrowed your eyes. "I'm your wife, dipshit."
"And I'm a prince." He tilted his head, blond hair shifting. "Rank supersedes marriage. Those are the rules." he shrugged.
"Those are your rules."
"Ushishi. Exactly."
You stood up, wobbled, and caught yourself on the table. His grin didn't waver, but he was beside you in two strides. A knife appeared between his fingers out of nowhere, flipping idly as he offered you his other arm.
"The prince will escort you. Since you're clearly incapable of walking in a straight line."
"How romantic."
"Royalty doesn't do romance. Royalty does obligation." But his hand settled on the curve of your waist as you walked, thumb tracing a slow circle against your hip through the fabric. The corridor stretched long and dim and his boots clicked an easy rhythm beside yours.
He opened the bedroom door and you turned, grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling him across the threshold.
His grin stretched wider. "Oh?"
"Get in here."
"The princess is bold tonight." He let himself be pulled, one step, two, until the door clicked shut and his back was against it. You pressed all of your weight against his lean frame and his chin dipped. Even behind that curtain of hair, you could feel his gaze on you.
"Tell me what you want." His voice dropped, the laugh finally absent from it. "Be specific."
"You. Now. Consider it another one your obligations."
He reached behind him and locked the door.
"Ushishi. Granted."
TYL!Dino Cavallone
You were leaning sideways on the couch when Dino found you, and his reaction was as predictable as the sunrise.
"Oh. Oh no, honey, how much did you--here, don't lean like that, you'll fall off the--ack!" He tripped over the coffee table reaching for you.
The head of the Cavallone family, beloved by many, undone by furniture yet again. Romario, standing by the doorway, pinched the bridge of his nose and looked away.
"Dino~" You reached for him as he caught himself on the armrest. "Dino, I want to go to bed."
"Yeah, okay, that's probably a good idea." He straightened up and pushed his hair back, that apologetic smile already forming. "Can you stand? Here, take my arm."
You took his arm. You also took the opportunity to lean your entire body into him, cheek against his shoulder, arms wrapping around his.
"Sorry," you mumbled into his jacket.
"For what? You're allowed to have fun." He pressed a kiss to the top of your head as he guided you toward the hallway. His stride slowed to match yours, patient with every uneven step as he looked back. "Romario, we're done for the night."
"Of course, Boss."
The walk upstairs took twice as long as it should have. You kept stopping to nuzzle into his neck, and he kept laughing though flustered, gently steering you forward.
He got the door open with one hand and walked you to the edge of the bed. "Okay, let me get you some water and--"
You grabbed his jacket and pulled causing him to stumble forward with a surprised yelp as he catched himself over you, one hand on the mattress, the other on your hip.
"Stay."
"I was just going to get you--
"Dino." You looked up at him, flushed, stubborn, still holding his collar. "I don't want water, I want you."
His ears went red and his smile became less composed. He exhaled, long and slow, and let his forehead rest against yours.
"You should really have some water..."
"I will, after we're done."
He sighed. "I suppose that's as close to a compromise as I can hope for."
TYL!Byakuran
He had been watching you all night as you finished your sixth marshmallow cocktail, which was his fault as he had them made specially, and the room was doing a gentle spin.
"Bya... kuran." you slurred.
"Hm?" He appeared beside you with half-eaten bag of marshmallows in his hand.
It was midnight at a Millefiore gala and the man was snacking on sugar.
"I'm calling it."
"Already? But the party is so fun." He popped another marshmallow into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "You haven't even tried the cake yet."
"If I try the cake, I will fall over."
"I'd catch you."
"Yeah, after my face falls into it... And after laughing on top of that." you murmured, smacking his shoulder lightly.
His smile widened a fraction. "Maybe. Maybe not. You'll never know unless you do it." He offered you a marshmallow and pouted when you pushed his hand away.
"Take me to our room. Please."
"Since you asked so nicely." He set down the bag, licked sugar off his thumb, and offered you his arm.
The hallways of the estate were empty. Your heels clicked unevenly and he matched your pace without comment, humming something tuneless as you leaned into him.
He opened the bedroom door and you stepped through, turned, grabbed the front of his shirt with both fists, and hauled him inside.
His eyebrows lifted. The smile stayed, but something behind it sharpened. "Oh my~"
"Shut the door."
"It's already shut. Didn't you notice?" He looked down at your hands on his shirt, then at your face. "You're flushed."
"I'm tipsy."
"You're also pretty."
That stalled you for a second. He used it and stepped forward, closing the gap until your back met the edge of the dresser.
"What do you want?" he asked, and for once the playfulness thinned out, leaving just the question and his eyes on you.
"You. Without the audience."
"Done." He kissed the corner of your mouth first, almost delicate, then caught your lips fully, and the taste of marshmallow dissolved into something much better.
TYL!Gamma
You glared at your empty glass for past ten minutes but Gamma had only noticed four minutes ago from across the room. You knew because he lit a fresh cigarette, which was what he did when he was deciding whether to intervene.
Intervention arrived in the form of a hand on your shoulder and a flat voice above your head.
"Okay, time to go."
"I'm fine." you insisted, swatting his hand off.
"You've been staring at that glass like it insulted you. You're done." He took it from your hand and set it on the bar without looking. "Up."
"You're so bossy."
"You married bossy. Let's move."
You stood, and the floor tilted. His arm came around your waist instantly, pulling you against his side. He didn't make a production of it, he just adjusted his grip and started walking.
The cigarette stayed between his lips as he navigated you through the thinning crowd. Stairs. Hallway. Door. He fished the key out with one hand, the other still anchored on you, and shouldered it open.
"Bed. Water on the nightstand. I'll be back after I finish--"
You grabbed his sleeve and he stopped. The cigarette bobbed.
"Come inside." you asked.
"I need to check the perimeter for--"
"Gamma." You pulled harder, stepping backward into the room. "The perimeter can wait."
He looked at you. Looked at the steel grip you had on him, took the cigarette from his mouth, crushed it in the hallway ashtray without breaking eye contact, and stepped inside.
The door closed and locked as he stood there, back straight, watching you closely.
"You planned this." he realized.
"I had four drinks and an impulse. That's not a plan."
The ghost of a smile appeared and vanished as he crossed the room and caught your jaw in one hand, tilting your face up.
"Impulse, huh." His voice was low and close. "Lucky me."
Reborn (Adult Form)
You switched from wine to whiskey an hour ago and that had been a tactical error on your part. The jazz club was winding down, smoke curling under low amber lights, and you were propped against the bar with your lower lip pushed out.
"That face isn't going to work on me."
You pushed it out further.
Reborn stood beside you in a black suit, espresso in hand even though it was midnight and regarded you with the calm appraisal of a man who had never once been outmaneuvered by anyone, least of all his own wife.
"I want to leave." you requested.
"Then leave."
"With you, Reborn."
"Ah." He took a sip. "You could have led with that."
"I could have--But I'm four whiskeys in which have compromised my communication skills"
He set the cup down and adjusted his fedora as his eyes traveled from your flushed face to the way your dress curved over your hips.
"Compromised," he repeated. "That's one word for it."
"Are you going to help me or just stand there being handsome and unhelpful?"
"I can do both." But he offered his arm, and when you took it, he pulled you close, hand resting on the full curve of your waist. He walked you out without a word to anyone.
The hotel corridor was quiet. He unlocked the door, held it open, and you grabbed the lapel of his suit jacket and yanked him through.
One eyebrow rose. The fedora tilted.
"Bold."
"You like bold."
"I like competent. Bold is a bonus." He pushed you against the now-closed door and leaned down with his mouth hovering just above yours, close enough that you could smell espresso and gunpowder.
"Hm, you're still pouting," he murmured.
"Fix that then."
The corner of his mouth curved. "Yes, ma'am."
Fon (Adult Form)
The tea house had been converted for the reception with paper lanterns strung between wooden beams and low tables crowded with guests.
You miscounted your cups of sake, which easy to do when they were so small and kept getting refilled, and now you sat with both hands around an empty cup, cheeks burning, quietly refusing to admit you overdid it.
Fon knelt beside you with a soft smile.
"You're rather flushed."
"It's the lanterns. They're very... warm-colored."
"The lanterns." He smiled fondly, not wanting to tease you intentionally. "Of course."
You turned the cup over in your hands. "I think... I'd like to go to bed, if that's okay."
"Of course, let us go then." He rose and offered both hands to help you stand.
You took them and he drew you upward, absorbing your unsteadiness like a current as you wobbled.
"Lean on me if you'd like."
"I... don't want to be an inconvenience." you hesitated.
"You are my wife." He said it as though that answered every possible objection. His arm came around your back and you pressed into him, your head finding the curve of his shoulder.
He guided you through the corridor with unhurried steps. The night air came through the open screens, cool against your skin as his thumb traced a slow line along your shoulder as you walked, rhythmic as breathing.
The bedroom door slid open under his hand and stepped aside to let you through. You took his hand and softly pulled him in with you.
He followed your lead without any resistance and slid the door shut behind him with his free hand while his other hand held yours tighter.
"You've been patient all evening," you said.
"I'm always patient."
"I know. But I'm not." You squeezed your hand lightly in his hold. "Please stay with me."
He studied your face for a long, quiet moment. Then he raised one hand and brushed the hair from your temple, fingertips trailing down to your jaw, tilting your chin up.
"I believe you may have missed it when I implied..." he trailed for a moment. "That I was coming with you, not simply dropping you off."
Colonnello (Adult Form)
The military fundraiser had free beer. That was their mistake. Your mistake was trying to keep pace with a man who spent years drinking with soldiers, which meant by your sixth bottle you were gone and he was merely cheerful.
"Kora! You look like you're about to slide off that chair."
"I am fine."
"Says the one who put the wrong name on the raffle ticket twenty minutes ago."
"...That was a stylistic choice, in case anyone else had the same name."
Colonnello laughed as he leaned back in his chair. His dress shirt was rolled to the elbows, with his blond hair pushed off his face, looking like the kind of man recruitment posters wished they could manufacture.
You set your bottle down with both hands and looked at him dead on. "Take me home Nello."
"We're staying upstairs. Hotel, remember?"
"Then take me upstairs." you corrected.
"Can you walk?"
"Colonnello."
"It's a real question, kora! Last time you said you could walk after drinking and you zigzagged into a coat rack and almost took out a waiter."
"That coat rack was in a stupid location."
He grinned, stood, and crouched with his back to you. "Hop on."
"You're not serious."
"Yep.--Hop on."
You climbed onto his back because you knew there was no point arguing at this point.
His hands hooked under your thighs and stood with ease as you locked your arms around his neck, and he carried you through the lobby at a stride that suggested he could do this up a mountain in full gear.
Which he had done to prove a point, hence your lack of arguing this time around.
"You good up there?"
"You smell like beer."
"So do you, kora. We match!"
He took the stairs even though the elevator was right there definitely to show off to you and shouldered open the hotel room door once the two of you reached it.
He bent to let you slide off onto the bed but you didn't release your arms.
"Kora, you gotta let go so I can--"
"Nope." You pulled, hard, and he toppled back onto the mattress with you. He let out a surprised bark of laughter, catching himself and rolling over to be above you and your legs hooked around his waist.
"Oh," he said, grin shifting into something more focused. "That's how it is."
"That's how it is." you repeated.
"Good. I was hoping you'd say that, kora."
He kissed you as though this was another point he intended to prove, and honestly, you were happy to let him.
Skull (Adult Form)
"Nobody at this table has said a single nice thing to me all night. Not one!" This complaint had been broadcasted approximately nine times in two hours.
The other guests, a scattered collection of underground figures who stopped registering his existence around complaint three, carried on without blinking.
You rubbed your temples. Six cocktails. You had six cocktails because listening to your husband campaign for acknowledgment required chemical reinforcement.
"Skull."
"I pulled off a triple backflip on a motorcycle last week. Triple! Do you know how many people can do that!? Me, I can! And did anyone here even--"
"Skull."
He turned, eyeliner smudged from an earlier dramatic episode you mercifully missed during a bathroom break, and his face toggled from grievance to full undivided attention in half a second.
"What's wrong? Are you okay? You look flushed. Are you sick? Do you need air? Should I get--"
"I want to go to our room. Now, before I dissolve into this chair."
Everything about him changed in that moment. His shoulders set back with his chin lifted. It was the posture he pulled out whenever he was handed a mission he could actually complete without getting drop-kicked across the venue by a former colleague.
"Done! I've got this, come on." He rounded the table and offered his hand with a flourish that was absurd yet completely sincere. You grabbed it, pulled yourself up, and leaned against him.
He stumbled a half-step but caught you properly on the second try.
"I've got you. Okay? Right here. Not going anywhere."
He steered you through the crowd with his arm locked around your waist, shooting looks at anyone who glanced your direction, expressions he clearly believed were threatening. They were not.
After a side quest of going to the wrong floor, and going down the wrong hallway, he finally got the two of you to your hotel room. He fumbled with the keycard twice before the green light clicked, and by then you were already fisting the collar of his jacket.
"Wait at least let me get the--"
"Inside. Now." You hauled him through the doorway and he yelped, tripping over the threshold, catching himself against you as the door swung shut behind him.
"You--right now? You actually want--"
"We are literally married Skull."
His face went red from the piercings down. All that restless bravado condensed into something more controlled.
"Y-Yeah." His voice cracked once. He steadied it. "Yeah. We are."
Then he kissed you like he still couldn't believe his luck, and you kissed him back until he believed it.
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The Fon people, also called Fon nu, Agadja or Dahomey, are a major African ethnic and linguistic group. They are the largest ethnic group in Benin found particularly in its south region; they are also found in southwest Nigeria and Togo. Their total population is estimated to be about 3,500,000 people, and they speak the Fon language, a member of the Gbe languages.
The history of the Fon people is linked to the Dahomey kingdom, a well-organized kingdom by the 17th century but one that shared more ancient roots with the Aja people. The Fon people traditionally were a culture of an oral tradition and had a well-developed polytheistic religious system. They were noted by early 19th-century European traders for their N'Nonmiton practice or Dahomey Amazons – which empowered their women to serve in the military, who decades later fought the French colonial forces in 1890.
Most Fon today live in villages and small towns in mud houses with corrugated iron gable roofs. Cities built by the Fon include Abomey, the historical capital city of Dahomey on what was historically referred to by Europeans as the Slave Coast. These cities became major commercial centres for the slave trade. A significant portion of the sugar plantations in the French West Indies, particularly Haiti, Dominican Republic and Trinidad, were populated with slaves that came from the Slave Coast, through the lands of Ewe and Fon people.
The Fon people refer to themselves as Fonnu, or sometimes as Danhomenu meaning a person of Dahomey, the precolonial Fon kingdom of the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries.
Oral history of the Fon and related ethnic groups traces their origins to the town of Tado, on the Mono River in present-day Togo. Herskovits (1967 vol. 1:167-169) records four origin stories, but the dominant one holds that Princess Aligbonon of Tado mated with a leopard and bore a son named Agasu, ancestor the Fon royal dynasty. In the sixteenth century, Agasu's descendants emigrated and founded a new kingdom in Allada, present-day Benin. Though there are questions about its veracity, the dominant myth holds that during the seventeenth century a dispute over the throne led to the emigration of two princes from Allada and the creation of two new kingdoms,one in Hogbonou (later Porto-Novo) and one in Kana (Bay 1998, Brunet and Giethlen 1900:54, David 1998:23, François 1906:30-31, Law 1997, Lombard 1967:72, Mattei 1895:176, Quenum 1999[1936]:14). Those settling in Kana became known as Fon, but remain closely related to the Gun people of Porto-Novo and the Ayizo of Allada. In Kana, the Fon encountered indigenous Yoruba-speaking peoples of the region before founding the kingdom of Dahomey. According to legend, a Fon leader killed the local Gedevi (Yoruba) ruler named Dan and planted a house post through his belly; the word Dahomey is derived from Dan-xo-mε (in the belly of Dan) (Bay 1998: 50, Le Herissé 1911:60, 278). In the seventeenth century, the Fon king Hwegbaja built a new palace near Kana and dug a deep protective trench around his home. This trench is called agbodo, and the town within became known as Agbo-mε. Abomey became the Fon capital and seat of the royal palace, a compound surrounded by five to ten meter high mud walls containing 7,000–8,000 residents, servants, and royal wives (Edgerton 2000:15). During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, European travelers' accounts of Abomey's royal court mention the lavish décor, wealth and status enjoyed by the King. The royalty went to great lengths to demonstrate its power and to impress visitors and citizens alike through bloody displays of terror, including human sacrifice (Burton 1864, Skertchly 1874, François 1906:86-87, Lombard 1967:85). In Europe, such gory accounts were read with curiosity and horror, fueling the justification for the eventual conquest of Dahomey. Visitors to Abomey also returned to Europe with fantastic tales of Abomey’s female soldiers whose ferocity and courage so impressed them that these warriors were likened to the mythical Greek "Amazons."'
In the eighteenth century, Dahomey expanded and took advantage of lucrative trade developing with European powers on the coast, especially after King Agaja defeated the southern kingdoms of Allada, Savi, and finally Ouidah by 1727 (David 1998: 31, Edgerton 2000: 38). Dahomey's most profitable trade was slavery, and there were frequent slave-raiding battles between Abomey and the Nago/Yoruba-speaking peoples to the East and North. These campaigns also brought Yoruba captives into the court of Dahomey, where they introduced Yoruba deities and other religious traditions to the Fon. Due to military casualties and slave exportation, between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries the population of Fon-related peoples fell from 511,000 to 280,000 (Manning 1982:32, see also Burton 1864:371, Edgerton 2000:39-40). Throughout the period of the Atlantic slave trade there were Portuguese, British and French trading posts in Ouidah (Quenum 1999[1936]:7), but by the mid-nineteenth century French interests gained the upper hand, establishing a permanent Catholic mission (Alladaye 2003, Clément 1996), developing the palm oil trade (Hargreaves 1966:17), and creating French protectorates near the coast. By 1890, tensions erupted into a series of skirmishes between French and Dahomean forces, leading to the French conquest of Dahomey in 1892. The French introduced schooling and public health, levied taxes, and used forced labor to build roads and railroads. By the middle of the twentieth century, forced labor was abandoned and the colony was granted elected representation in the French government, leading to its independence on August 1, 1960 (Agboton 1997, Pliya 1992, Ronen 1975). During this period, regionalism pitted northern Muslims against southern elites, while an enduring division also developed in the south between the Fon, Nago (Yoruba), and Gun peoples.
