mantis-dea

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unexpected Events - Chapter 7: Wayward

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

You park your car right across from where the incident happened. Both you and Giorno step out of the car and head towards the scene of the kidnapping, ready to investigate.

The narrow alleyway stretches out before you, nestling between two neighboring restaurants, Trattoria Trussardi and Shing Market. This is where it happened. Where Matteo’s sister went missing.

Just as you were about to take your first step into the alley, Giorno’s hand unexpectedly reaches out, enveloping your own.

“Let me take the charge. Stay close,” he states.

You concede, realizing that stepping in by yourself with no means of protection is a foolish choice. With Giorno by your side, you both venture into the alley, your senses on high alert.

The only sources of lighting in this dimly lit alleyway are two feeble lightbulbs hanging above the backdoors of the adjacent restaurants. Further down the alley, you see a few flickering streetlamps, casting a faint glow over the small parking lot reserved for only the restaurant workers’ cars.

As you approach the backdoor of Trattoria Trussardi, your eyes catch sight of the flashlight Matteo dropped. You bend down and retrieve the flashlight with your free hand.

You recall what he told you, “Matteo said that he wasn’t sure why his sister was taking so long to take out the trash. He took his flashlight with him since the alleyway was dark.”

You glance towards the small parking lot and notice a portion of a large green trash bin to the left, being poorly lit up by another flickering streetlamp. “When he walked out, he saw his sister, yelling in the distance. She was only ten feet away from the trash can when a bright light suddenly overtook her whole form. He became blinded, dropping his flashlight. He went back into his family’s restaurant, panicking because he couldn’t see. The police nor his family could not locate Belladonna.”

You look up at Giorno and exchange a glance with him, both of you silently acknowledging the need for caution. You both enter the parking lot area and stand where the incident most likely occurred – ten feet from the trash can, possibly facing to the right.

You attempt to release your hand from Giorno’s, but to no avail.

“No. We stay together. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

You shrug, unaffected by his overtly protective stance. It makes sense, you propose. Afterall, he is the Stand User here, and he knows more about this stuff than you.

You begin to inspect the area. The parking lot is relatively clean, minus the few syringes in the corners and tiny potholes scattered about. The yellow lines indicating the space for a car are faded and need to be worked on. You don’t see anything out of the ordinary; it looks like a basic back-alley parking lot.

However, as Giorno crouches down to surveil the ground, you notice something peculiar about the wall right next to you. You point Matteo’s flashlight towards the wall and turn it on.

With the flashlight’s assistance, you can see the red brick wall sharply transition from a very light shade of red to a darker shade.

“Giorno, do you see this?” you ask.

“Yes,” he responds, “it seems the ground is also this way.”

You point your flashlight towards the ground to see what he is inspecting. The pavement also follows the same suit – from a light grey color to the familiar black pavement.

“The walls and pavement are two separate colors…” you think out loud, letting the gears turn in your head.

There is no reason why they should be different colors. The sun doesn’t even reach this place, it doesn’t look like there is an oil spill, and there are no signs of the walls being painted on.

 “Whatever was here,” Giorno begins, “must’ve acted as a sunblock. The darker shade is the original. This is the only spot that has this lighter color.”

You shine your flashlight around the parking lot. He’s right; this spot is the only one in the facility.

You recall a documentary you’ve watched about the Hiroshima bombing. When the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, people close to the bomb instantly vaporized due to the amount of UV radiation, leaving shadows of people behind. These shadows happened because their bodies acted like a sunblock when the radiation bleached out everything around them, permanently marking what their last action was before they inevitably perished.

“She didn’t get kidnapped, she evaporated…” you say, stunned at the revelation.

“It’s the work of a Stand,” Giorno says with scrunched eyebrows. He stands up, “You were told there were multiple people disappearing, correct?”

You nod, “In fact, just across the street, the owner of the candy shop disappeared.”

The two of you head towards the front of the candy shop. Unlike the alley, the sidewalk is understandably well lit with there being a streetlamp brightly shining down upon the sidewalk every few feet.

As Giorno bends down to examine another bleached spot, you feel a deep sense of sorrow wash over you. The sign on the glass entrance door, 'Closed temporarily until my father is found,' carries the weight of a family's despair. You can't imagine the pain and uncertainty they must be going through. They’re hopeful he will come back, that his sudden disappearance is a misunderstanding, not knowing that he has passed.

You and Giorno look around, finding no immediate clues. Deciding it would be unsafe for you to stay in what’s now considered enemy territory, Giorno proposes to head back.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“I do not want to risk the two of us being in enemy territory.”

“Who the hell kills three people in the span on two days?” you ask, trying to wrap your head around this situation.

“A member of Superare.”

You tilt your head, “Superare? Is that the mafia in Foggia?”

“Yes, the reason why my boss wanted to talk business was because of territory issues-“

His words fade into the background as you catch a suspicious shimmer beneath a distant streetlamp. A gut feeling intensifies tenfold, signaling impending danger. Something is amiss; something is about to unfold. Without a moment to spare, you shove Giorno out of the way.

A deafening bang echoes.

Instead of the anticipated sharp sting, you buckle and awkwardly collapse to the ground like a rag doll.

You try to squirm.

You try to talk.

You try to move all parts of your body; all attempts prove futile.

Giorno acts with urgency, swiftly lifting you up off the ground and sprinting towards cover behind the candy shop. As he gently sets you down, your condition becomes his immediate concern. Leaning you against the brick building, he observes your inability to sit properly;’ you slump back down to the ground. Picking up your arm and releasing it, he notices how it immediately falls limp. It becomes evident that even the simplest movements, such as blinking, are out of your capabilities.

“You can’t move.” He comments, “What do the Americans say? It’s like a deer caught in the headlights…”

A figure emerges from the corner of your stilled vision. In response, Giorno takes his brooch and summons a vine to envelop the two of you. You hear two pairs of footsteps, circling the barrier Giorno created.

“Don Giovanna,” the man starts, “My, what a pleasure it is.”

Another deafening bang pierces through the air, but the expected silence does not follow. Instead, a whizzing sound reverberates outside the barrier, echoing as if bouncing off unseen surfaces, until you feel a sharp sting in your left arm,

You’ve been shot.

Astonishingly, a bullet found its way through a miniscule gap in Giorno’s vines.

Another bang, another whizz, and Giorno stumbles, a grunt escaping him.

“Merda. I suoi proiettili sono simili ai Sex Pistols.”

You’re both ensnared, backs to the wall struggling to find a solution. Giorno, formidable as he is, struggles to shield you; you’ve unwittingly become an impediment to his victory. Your heart pulls at knowing this.

You want to support him.

You want to protect him.

However, you find yourself unable to move, drifting in and out of consciousness. You feel utterly useless, unable to provide the support you desperately wish to offer. Yet, this hopeless feeling sparks a newfound sense of determination sparks within your core.

I will support him, and I will protect him.

A yellow hue envelops you, and something surges within you. Your attention is drawn to a gleam racing towards Giorno just before succumbing to the weight of your eyelids. One of the Stands is inspired by a fic I read a while ago. I don't remember who wrote it, but when I find it, I will credit it.

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unexpected Events - Chapter 6: Road Trip

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Matteo left the bar briefly after confessing to what he saw happen to his sister, his eyes heavy with unspoken grief. You take a deep breath and prepare for the rest of your shift. Despite the number of patrons you’ve had, it is a relatively quiet night with no incidents. The bar is bathed in the soft glow of dimmed lights, and you can feel closing time coming near.

As you wipe down the counter after your last patron left, the chime of the bell above the door rings out, breaking the silence. You turn to see Giorno standing there. His presence is unexpected, and his appearance is impeccable as ever; the lines of his suit crisp and clean.

A ladybug hovers in front of your face, its delicate wings fluttering rapidly before it transforms into a bracelet you rarely wore.

So, this is Giorno’s Stand.

With a tilt of your head, you invite him to sit across from you, a silent acknowledgment that he's welcome. He accepts your unspoken offer, taking his seat.

“Giorno?” You inquire softly.

“I just wanted to make sure you are okay,” he responds, his tone carrying a genuine concern that warms your heart. A smile gradually spreads across your face. It's been a while since anyone has expressed such genuine care for you, aside from Creed. You feel genuinely touched by his gesture.

Wanting to express your appreciation, you reach for the best tasting Italian wine on the shelf, a bottle usually reserved for patrons with expensive tastes. Pouring it into the finest crystal wine glass you possess, you offer it to Giorno. Alongside the wine, you offer him a fancy jar of chocolate pudding you made during the start of your shift.

“You work late,” He comments as he takes a bite of his pudding.

“Yup,” you respond, “I don’t normally come home until 2:30 am-ish.”

You return to wiping down the counters, taking a glance at Giorno periodically as he savors his pudding, noting the almost astonishing speed at which he finishes.

He likes chocolate pudding.

With patience, you wait for him to savor his cup of wine entirely before recounting the events involving Matteo. His question about the distance to Wayward reveals his intentions. You acknowledge the urgency in his tone.

“It’s a two-hour drive,” you confirm, voice trailing off as you anticipate his next question. “We’re going now, aren’t we.”

“Yes. It is best to go immediately. We have an advantage.” Giorno concurs, his expression serious. He crosses one leg over the other and leans in slightly. “The kidnapping occurred not too long ago, correct? It’s best to go while the scene is fresh. What would be the most efficient mode of transportation?”

You continue your closing procedure, opting to not respond yet. Giorno’s proposal to go to Wayward immediately brews a dilemma within. You need rest; while you do not feel completely drained, you are aware that your senses are impaired. On the flip side, you feel a sense of responsibility and well-being for Giorno. Also, he is right; the freshness of the scene might provide crucial clues, and you really want to help solve this case for Matteo.

Deciding to put your worries aside, you offer him assistance. “I’m tired, but I don’t want you to go alone,” you concede, “The bar closes soon, so we can go to the parking garage to get my car and drive to Wayward.”

Giorno nods, appreciating your willingness to assist. Once you have closed and locked the bar, the two of you make your way to the parking garage. It is located directly in the middle of your workplace and your home – it takes 15 minutes to get there from your house and 15 minutes from the bar. You rarely drive your car in the city; Lapalton’s pedestrian-friendly nature and costly parking options have made your car more of an occasional necessity than a daily mode of transport.

Unlocking the car, you both get in, and embark on the two-hour journey to Wayward. About ten minutes into the trip, Giorno engages in conversation, seeking more information about Wayward.

“Is Wayward similar to Lapalton?” he inquires.

You shake your head. “No, it’s quite different. It’s a lot smaller and caters more to upper-middle-class suburban family life. It doesn't have the same lively urban vibe as Lapalton. As for issues like drugs or homelessness, you won't find them as prominently in Wayward. They have stricter policies and tend to push them out.” Now, it was your turn to ask questions. “Can you tell me more about stands?”

As you drive through the night, the miles ticking away, Giorno considers your question about Stands. Honestly, you aren’t sure why you never asked for more information about it on the first night. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or being overridden with too much information.

“Stands,” he begins, “are the manifestation of one’s fighting spirit and innate power. Each Stand has unique abilities, and their powers are as varied as the people who wield them. Some Stands are physically stronger than others. For instance, my Stand’s strength is subpar compared to a person I once knew. He was able to skip time.”

Immediately upon hearing his last two words, you swerve onto the shoulder, slam the breaks, and whip your head to the side. “What.”

“I don’t feel the need to repeat myself.”

“How do you just casually say, “Oh yeah, I knew a guy who can skip time.” Next, you’re gonna say, ‘I knew a guy who can stop time.’”

Giorno’s eyes darken, and he remains silent. You lean back in your seat, realization dawning on you. “Holy… You know a guy who can stop time.”

Your mind races with the implications of such powers. You begin to comprehend the constant risk that Stand users face. "This is the risk you go through every day?" you murmur to yourself.

Feeling a sense of empathy and pity, you put your car into park and lean over to give Giorno a heartfelt hug. You can feel the stiffness in his body, but you continue to offer your support "This must be awful," you say softly, acknowledging the challenges he faces as a Stand user. “You must be around my age, right? I can’t imagine never knowing who is after me or what Stand’s power I may face. I may only know you for a day, but you’re one of the most resilient people I’ve met. I hope all is well for you in your universe.”

After a few more moments, you let go of him, and resume your drive to Wayward. A silence fills the car, which is eventually broken by Giorno.

"Thank you," he replies sincerely, his voice soft but appreciative. "I appreciate your kindness."

During your road trip, you and Giorno engaged in small talk, mainly discussing topics related to Stands and Stand Arrows, deepening your understanding of his universe.

[mantis-dea]

Alternate Modern Day Dio Headcanon

Modern-day Dio is an alternate Dio Brando I canon and will be writing future short fics for.

From a young age, Dio’s life has been nothing but tragic. When he was just six years old, his mother succumbed to an unknown illness, leaving him only fading memories of her love and warmth.

Dio’s father, on the other hand, was a deeply troubled and abusive man. Dario was an alcoholic who would turn on his son in a fit of rage. For years, Dio endured both physical and emotional abuse at the hands of his dastardly father, making each day a living nightmare for Dio.

When Dio was just 12 years old, his father met a timely end, sparing him from further torment. With no other family to turn to, Dio found himself thrusted into the challenging world of the foster care system. Since that fateful day, he has moved from one foster home to another.

His tragic life played a significant role in shaping him into the teenager he was.

He held contempt for many of the foster homes he was in, thus he often spent his time in the streets. He possessed a natural talent for pickpocketing, a skill he honed out of necessity from when his father would refuse to feed him.

Dio refused to go to food banks. On her deathbed, his mother asked to care of Dario. Despite his abusive nature, Dio, out of pride and an unfulfilled sense of loyalty, couldn’t bring himself to report his father or accept charity from others.

Instead, he turned to pickpocketing tourists to provide for both him and his father.

Dio, like the suave man he is, used his charm and persuasion to get what he wanted from others.

Modern Dio is a true chaotic neutral:

If he witnesses a crime in progress, he will take advantage of the situation.

He’ll grab a few items from the store, before innocently going up to the store owner, “oh, what happened.”

Pickpocketing is also how he met his S/O.

S/o is a comic book artist. At the young age of 16, her talent in the comic book industry began to garner recognition from both fans and professionals.

When she turned 18, she wanted to expand her storyline outside of the United States. Impulsively deciding where her next series will take place, she purchased a passport and booked a one-way plane ticket to London.

As she strolled through the streets of London, lost in the architecture of the old buildings, she suddenly found herself colliding with a stranger. Dio, ever the charismatic figure, flashed his signature charming smile and gave a polite apology. He extended a hand to help her up and then continued his way.

She chuckled at his actions; though she had never travelled out of the United States, she was not a clueless tourist.

Intrigued by Dio’s skill and charm, she decided to trail him, gradually recognizing him as a captivating subject of her art.

She followed Dio through the streets of London, analyzing his every move, her smile growing every second; she found her muse that would open a new chapter in her series.

Dio led her to an alley with a dead-end, interrogating her.

“Why on earth do you keep following me?” his brows furrow, feigning worry, “Did you perhaps drop something when I bumped into you? I am so sorry.”

She walks up to him with a giant smile on her face, “I want you to be my muse.”

“…Pardon?”

After an explanation of what she does and offering generous compensation, Dio – though cautious – agrees to be your tour guide.

As the two of you spend more time together, Dio and s/o’s soon build a genuine friendship. Their shared experiences with childhood issues draw them closer. And that friendship soon turns into love.

Dio wrestles with these newfound emotions, attempting to bury them with casual encounters with other women. However, the more he tries to deny them, the more conflicted he becomes.

On an abnormally cold winter week, Dio became severely ill, and his s/o rushed him to the hospital. Throughout his stay, s/o was a constant presence. When she could not be by his bedside, she would anxiously wait in the waiting room.

As Dio battled his illness, his love grew stronger, and he finally confesses the day he is out of the hospital.

Personality of S/O

Modern Dio’s significant other embodies the essence of a laid-back workaholic. Her passion for her comics is similar to the famous mangaka Rohan Kishibe’s; in amidst a new series, she sacrifices sleep and eating, much to Dio’s chagrin.

There was an occasion when Dio discovered her unconscious in her office and rushed her to the ER; he discovered she did not eat, drink, or sleep for three days. Ever since then, Dio has become a vigilant guardian. When he cannot be present, he asks his associate, Pucci, to keep a watchful eye on her.

Her nurturing nature shines through in her relationship with Dio, doting on him to an extreme degree. When she is not engrossed in work, she prepares dinner and offers soothing massages to Dio.

Her selflessness towards her family is particularly evident when she and Dio have kids; she puts their own needs and desires first. She will even stop working on her writing if her children need assistance.

While she is nurturing to those dear to her, strangers will most likely never get the privilege to witness this side completely.

For example, when she noticed a local business getting robbed, she never called the police. Instead, she allowed the robbery to unfold and whipped out her sketchbook to capture the moment; it's not like it's her problem anyways.

Modern-Day Dio Dating

Dio is unmistakably possessive of his s/o. I mean, it’s Dio. What do you expect? He despises the idea of sharing what he considers rightfully his.

Why must you go to Amsterdam?” he inquires, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“It’s essential to experience different cultures in person. One of the characters I am working on…”

He scoffs, interrupting her, “Not alone. Either I go with you, or…” He suddenly picks her up, carrying her to the bedroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I make it so you can’t.”

As he approaches his early twenties, and his relationship with his significant other deepens as the years passed by, his chaotic personality mellows.

His unwavering loyalty to his partner becomes intertwined with his pride, and thus the idea of cheating is out of the question for this version of Dio.

Dio also reluctantly befriends his s/o’s acquaintances. For instance:

“Johnny Joestar, is it? Why on earth do you dress like a character from a ghastly 1970s cowboy film?”

Johnny, unfazed, remarks, “You’re British. I don’t need to say more.”

His high libido and strong desire to have children with his s/o led to the decision to start a family at a young age. They welcomed their first child when s/o was 21, and their second arrived a year later.

Dio marries s/o when they discover they are expecting their first kid.

Both s/o and Dio have dual citizenships in the UK and US. They opted to purchase a home in the UK – with s/o’s money – since Dio aspires to attend law school there.

All-in-all, this Dio is a much tamer version who actually gets along with the Joestar family and finds happiness in a loving relationship with is s/o.

[mantis-dea]

Hey!! I hope you're having a nice day! There is something that literally keeps me up at night because I can't imagine the rest of it.. So basically, one day Giorno came home to find a letter that says that someone kidnapped his daughter. Of course, he angrily goes to get her back but when he arrives he sees that his daughter is casually playing cards with the guy that is guarding her. After some explanations he realize that this guard is pretty cool but the others aren't.. I absolutely love the way you write, you're truly underrated!! If it's not to much to ask for coould you maybe write something based on this? Feel free to add or remove details!

My first request! I don't think I'll be taking requests often, just ones that intrigue me, such as this one. Not sure if this is the ending you wanted, but this is how I imagined it would go. Thank you for your words! I hope you have a wonderful week!

Giorno and his wife had just gotten back from their trip to New York City. Normally for business trips, one of them would stay behind to take care of the kids. However, a rather troubling matter had captured the Joestar bloodline’s attention, and his wife insisted on accompanying him for support. They reluctantly decided not to bring the kids along, fearing that the situation may turn ugly. Instead, they entrusted their children to the care of their most trusted subordinates.

Upon their arrival home, they immediately noticed several abnormalities about their house. Notably, there were no guards stationed around the perimeter as they usually were. They cautiously entered their home, their guns and Stands at the ready.

Their home was in chaos, with chairs and their television clearly flung and broken. The floor was littered with broken knickknacks and bits of glassware. They immediately reacted to the chaotic scene; Giorno headed to their son’s room, while his wife rushed to their daughter's room, anxious to ensure their children’s safety.

Giorno burst the door open. To his surprise, GioGio’s room was spotless. Which brought a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, not much could be said about your room. It was in shambles, with clothes strewn all over the place, the bed broken, and the wooden furniture snapped into two. The most chilling of all was the blood that painted the walls. The room filled with an air of dread as they read the single note that laid in the middle of the room.

She’ll be gone by tonight.

As his wife rushed to pick GioGio up from his afterschool activity to ensure he was hopefully safe and sound. Giorno did not waste any time. He swiftly grabbed the Requiem arrow, transformed one of your belongings into a tiny bird, and raced to the enemy’s hideout. He had a strong hunch that the perpetrators of your kidnapping were from the opposing mafia group, located in the next city over. He had been keeping a close watch on them for a while, but never perceived them as an immediate threat as they never made any direct moves against Passione. Judging by the state of your room, he believed you did not have much time left. It was a reckless move to charge headfirst with no plan in motion, but the urgency of the situation left him with no other choice.

Guided by the power of Gold Experience Requiem, Giorno swiftly and efficiently dealt with his enemies. He interrogated those who seemed the most likely to provide information about your whereabouts. With every enemy he eliminated, he drew closer to your location.

Finally, with the aid of the information obtained and the ladybug’s guidance, he reached his destination. Beneath a large painting, a hidden door led to a dark, dank room littered with metal doors on both sides. Passing by several cells, the ladybug stopped at a door located at the back of the secret chamber, indicating this is where you were held captive.  

Carefully, Giorno transformed the doorknob into a ladybug, and slowly pushed open the door.

His eyes widened in disbelief at the sight before him. Here his daughter sat. In the dimly lit room. Right across from one of your captors. Playing… Cards?

“Go fish.”

“What is this American bullshit?” you mumbled.

As you took a sip of your apple juice, your eyes unconsciously roamed around the concrete room, and they landed on a familiar pair of eyes.

You set the glass down and wave at your father, “Ciao!”

Upon hearing your cheerful greeting, the kidnapper you had befriended attempted to turn around. However, Giorno, cautious and unwavering, wasted no time. He snatched his ladybug brooch from his suit and imbued life into it, birthing a vine that ensnared the man. The supposed kidnapper initially squirmed and struggled to free himself, but soon surrendered. He threw Giorno a pout and a silent plea for his release, a plea Giorno ignored as he walked pass the man.

Giorno bent down and tenderly gripped your shoulders. His keen eyes scanned for any injuries. Using the cards, he mended the scrapes and bruises that marred your body. Satisfied that you were now safe from harm, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you out of the room.

You booped him on the nose, “I am fine, papa. I can walk.”

“I know,” he muttered, still in a state of shock. Only you, he thought, have the capabilities of rendering him this speechless. Seriously, who plays cards with their captors, especially ones who have threatened your life and harmed you?

Understanding what was likely going through his mind, you began to explain yourself. “I was getting bored, being stuck there for hours. Besides, he isn’t a bad guy. He was forced to become a member of their mafia because his father was in debt.” You answered, attempting to wriggle out, but his grip tightened.

“And how would you know that?” he started, now gently setting you in the passenger side of the vehicle. “People in the mafia are known for their excellent use of deception. Do not be gullible.”

You crossed your arms and pouted, “You know, I was more banged up before you got here. Call me gullible all you want, but he helped heal some of my wounds too."

Upon hearing those words, Giorno gripped the car’s door tightly, and then he dropped down to give you a tight hug. You reciprocated the hug, one hand reassuringly patting his head.

“Don’t be scared, papa. I may just be eleven, but I understand the risks of being a family member of a don. I will be ready when I’m older, so you will never have to be worried about me.”

He rested his head on your shoulder. Your words brought both reassurance and an aching sorrow. No matter how stable Naples is, the risk of harm coming to you or GioGio remained high. He knew this was a potential risk when he and his wife decided to have children, but he had always hoped he could protect them. Whenever a threat approached his children, he felt a complex mix of emotions.

“It’s okay papa.” you pinched his cheek, trying to pull him out of his reverie. “I promise. We’ll be okay. When I get older, I’ll be the one protecting you.”

He nodded and said, “Next time, if your mother and I go, I will be taking you and GioGio.”

He released the hug and made his way over to the driver side of the car. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he knew it was time to make a few crucial phone calls, specifically to summon a cleanup crew.

“After you are done with your phone calls, can we get gelato?” you asked, employing your most persuasive puppy-dog eyes.

“It’s ten at night, and we still have not discussed the captor who saved you.”

You raised a brow, “So what? Just have Señor Fugo gently interrogate him for details on his life. I haven’t eaten for the past several hours. I’m hungry. Feed me.”

He sighed, relenting, “Alright.”

[mantis-dea]

Father Giorno x Daughter! Reader - Faux Disappointment

Synopsis- Don Giovanna's daughter has been attempting to deal with assassination attempts all by herself. However, after a near death experience, Giorno exchanges a few words with his daughter.

I think this one I will come back to if I remember. I need to stop writing when I am drinking. Feedback will really be appreciated on this one because I forgot about half the things I wrote in here.

Passione, the largest and most powerful mafia in all of Italy, has faced numerous attempts to overthrow the Don, all of which have failed. Recently, rival factions realized that directly targeting Don Giovanna is futile. Instead, they chose to focus on his biggest weakness – his children.

And that’s what leads to your situation. You’ve chosen not to disclose the threats that have been coming after you to your father. Whenever you recognize someone is trailing you, you would steer them to discreet locations where no other Passione member could eavesdrop on. You’ve taken it upon yourself to handle and learn from these assassinations and kidnapping attempts, believing that it is your duty to be strong enough to neutralize them. After all, you are the supposed next-in line Don of Passione.

However, the last attempt nearly cost you your life. If it wasn’t for your family sensing something was amiss that night and rushing to your aid, you would not be here today.

For the first time in a while, you hazily witnessed your normally level-headed family in a state of hysteria. Your younger brother sobbed uncontrollably as he gazed upon you, sprawled on the ground, barely conscious, with bones protruding from your skin. Your crying mother gently stroked your hair and gave words of reassurance, while your father, cool and collected, worked to repair you using his Stand.

After your father successfully mended your injuries, you remained unconscious for the night. When you awoke, your mother was by your side, holding your hand, sobbing once more. You informed your family that you were fully recovered and felt just fine, prompting your father, as stoic as always, to request a meeting in his office.

So here you sat. In your father’s office. Head resting in the palm of your hand, a frown on your face.

After a brief wait, he finally opens the door to his office. He enters, locking the door behind him. He walks to his chair without making eye contact with you.

He takes his seat behind his desk, fingers interlaced. His eyes are closed, presumably deep in thought about how to address last night’s events. You swallow hard as the atmosphere in the room increasingly becomes unbearable.

“Y/n.”

“Padre.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “For how long this has been happening?”

You respond with a shrug, a response that he did not like. His frustration boils over, and he slams his fist onto the desk.

“You know I hate repeating myself,” he states sternly.

You scoff and retort, “There’s no need to worry. I would’ve been fine without you there anyways. It always ends like this, and I always live to tell the tale.”

“Would have been fine? Always live?” Your father repeats, disliking your whole hostile and nonchalant attitude about this.

As you hear your father ramble on about the situation, his voice uncharacteristically trembling with emotion, you notice the tears falling down his face. The Don of Passione, the most feared man in Italy, is crying. Uncomfortable by the unexpected display of emotion, you sit there, nervously fiddling with your thumbs.

“Why?” He implores, voice crackling. “I love you. I can’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to you. So why endanger yourself like this? Why have you distanced yourself from me? Why treat me like this? We used to be so close. You would always ask to join me on my travels. Share everything that’s been going on in your day. I’m struggling to comprehend where it went wrong. Is it me? Am I falling short in some way?”

Tears cascade down your face. Ashamed, your head droops down, and your eyes fixate on your fiddling thumbs.

“No, papa,” you begin, voice mirroring his as you attempt to communicate amongst the weeping. “I guess, no, I know it’s because I’m ashamed of letting you down these past few months. I know I embarrassed you at the last few meetings I’ve attended, and I understand why you’ve been taking GioGio place instead. He’s so much more advanced in his studies, despite being three years younger than me. He’s already at my grade level and continues to excel. And my Stand. I acquired one several months back, but it’s not strong… Unlike the rest of the family.”

You hear your father rising from his seat, and you brace yourself for what might come next. To your surprise, you feel his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a tight, warm hug.

“You are not a disappointment, and you will never disappoint me,” he states firmly. “The last few conferences that I’ve taken you too were difficult, even for me. You exceeded my expectations, keeping a remarkable composure. I took GioGio to the other three meetings because… the Dons have sons your age.

You sniff, “What?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, resting his head on your shoulder as he explains, “The Dons have sons your age, and I didn’t want you to meet them in person because they’ve been eagerly anticipating your introduction.”

“You don’t want me to date them.”

Your father hesitates for a moment before admitting, “…Yes.”

Your whimpering quickly turns into laughter after hearing your father’s confession. You encase your father with your own hug, squeezing tightly. “Papa,” you say in between giggles, “I am not interested in dating at the moment.”

The tension in the room lax as you continue laughing. You feel your father’s gentle pout on your shoulder before giving you a chaste kiss. He quickly changes the subject to avoid your teasing.

“I am also aware of your Stand. Though, there are Stands that truly are not meant for combat, I believe yours can be. It’s all in the matter of how you use it.” He says with a reassuring tone, emphasizing the potential and versatility of your Stand.

“That’s why I haven’t been telling you about the fights I got into. I’ve been using the fights to discover my Stand’s combat potential.” You explain, your words trailing off as you process what your father has just revealed. “Wait, you knew I had a Stand? When did you find out?”

He chuckles, “It’s hard to miss the irritated look on your face when you could finally hear Sex Pistols.” He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, “If you would like, I can assist you with discovering your Stand’s potential.”

“That would be great.” You say, pulling him back so you can look him in the eye. "I'm truly sorry for keeping you in the dark about the dangers I've faced lately. I’ll tell you all about my ventures if you don’t ground me.”

[mantis-dea]

Bruno Bucciarati X Reader - Drunk Friends

Prompt: Bruno helps reader with her drunk friend then finally asks her out.

I, myself, drank a lil today. So I ain't too sure what's going on. Watch me come back and regret.

Contentment washes over you as you settle into the welcoming embrace of your couch. With a sigh of satisfaction and a glass of red wine in hand, you reach for the TV remote and press the power button. This has become your nightly ritual ever since moving to Naples, Italy.

As your soap opera runs in the background, you absentmindedly reach for your flip phone. To your surprise, you’re met with a barrage of notifications from none other than Matteo, a close friend of yours. 11 miss calls. 14 text messages. All within the span of an hour.

“He cheated on meeee.”

“Pick up, I need you bestie.”

“Bestie :(”

“I NEED YOU, BITCH. PICK UP.”

“WAKE UP. GET UP.  GET YOUR ASS UP.”

Your brows knit with worry as you make four consecutive attempts to reach Mattero, your calls met with his voicemail. You look at the home screen of your phone for the time.

22:00.

You sit back on the couch, placing a finger thoughtfully on your cheek. You recall him insisting on taking you to a club tonight. However, you declined his invitation, not too fond of clubs, or crowds in general.

With that in mind, you get up, get dressed, gather your belongings, and set out into the night.

Your first attempt to locate Matteo at a club he told you about proves unsuccessful. Disheartened, you sit at a metal chair located near a fountain, a sinking feeling of worry gnawing on you. As you reach for your phone to see if Matteo has responded, a sudden realization strikes; your phone was left behind on the coach in your haste to find him.

You sit there, contemplating your next step when you hear a familiar voice calling your name.

“Is something the matter?” He asks.

“Oh, Bruno,” your frown instantly turning into a smile, “It’s good to see you.”

You first crossed paths with Bruno a little over a month ago. You were walking home, clutching a bag of oranges an elderly lady gifted you for helping her. As you approach your abode, you overheard a conversation about a kind old lady gifting him a bag of apples; he couldn’t refuse the apples, he told his friend, but he isn’t too fond of apples. Mustering up the courage within you, you approach him with a nervous smile, mentioning that you were also gifted a bag of fruit, but it was oranges. You offered to trade, mentioning that you loved apples.

From that moment on, you began crossing paths with Bruno on a regular basis, which prompted a growing friendship. You never actually hung out with Bruno, but you did share a cup of coffee together a few times.

“I’m actually looking for a friend of mine. They-“

As you explain your situation, you see him reaching for his phone. Giving an apologetic smile, he holds up a finger before answering.

“Bruno? Where are you? Giorno said you had important matters after the conference … WAIT. Are you finally going to ask your crush ou-“

He hangs up abruptly and glances your way, hoping you did not overhear what Mista just said. When he sees you smiling at him, the soft moonlight casting a gentle glow on your face, he feels his heartbeat pick up.

He clears his throat, “I sincerely apologize. Can you tell me once more what the issue is?”

“It’s no problem-“

“HEY CUTIE.”

Once again, you’re abruptly interrupted. However, this time, it is by the source of the problem – Matteo. He comes sprinting towards you with the goofiest smile, arms outstretched, looking for a hug. Before he can even get close to you. Bruno swiftly intervenes. He extends his arm, blocking Matteo’s path and fixes him with a stern, disapproving glare.

Matteo scoffs, “Bro, nah, she’s mine, bitch.”

Bruno, taking it as fighting words, readies himself to exchange harsh words with Matteo. However, the sound of your laughter breaks the tension, drawing his attention. When he looks over and sees you smiling and laughing, his stern expression melts away, a soft smile taking its place.

“He’s my friend, Bruno,” you begin, getting up and walking over to Matteo. “He’s the one I’ve been trying to find.”

You outstretch your arms. With an exuberant leap, he tackles you, and you both tumble down to the ground with an “oomph.”

As Bruno stands there, his gaze fixes on you, a pang of longing tugs at his heart. He didn’t know you had a partner. The revelation fills him with a mix of emotions. How long have you been together? Is he overthinking this? You did just say he is a friend.

 He wishes that he could be the one to hug you like that.

“Why didn’t tchu ansswer my calls?!” he asks, crying. You can tell he had too many drinks tonight based on all the words he slurred.

You attempt to get up, but Matteo keeps you down, his face in your chest, much to Bruno’s disdain.

You place a hand on Matteo’s head, giving soothing pets. “I think you had too much to drink tonight.”

“I am not think as you drunk I am.”

You chuckle, “Yeah? Well, can I at least get up?”

“No, your boobs are nice.”

Before you can utter a word, Bruno moves swiftly, almost in an instant. He assists in gently helping Matteo get off you and onto his feet. Slinging Matteo’s arm over his shoulder, Bruno hoists him up.

“Oh, Bruno. It’s okay. I know you must be tired. I can do it.”

“It’s not a problem,” he responds, “I can help him get to where he needs.”

Amid your insistence, Bruno decides to take charge. With a semi-conscious Matteo who can barely stand, Bruno begins walking. With a smile, you hurry your way over to Bruno.

During the journey back, you and Bruno engage in small talk, sharing stories about your days and experiences. The exchange of conversations makes the trip feel like an enjoyable adventure, one you wish you could continue forever. However, all good things must come to an end, and you finally arrive back at the apartment.

Bruno places Matteo gently down onto the couch. As he takes a moment to look around the apartment, he is pleasantly surprised to find it matches his expectations. The space exudes a warm, homely atmosphere with its cozy and charming décor. The delightful aroma wafting through the air only adds to the overall welcoming ambiance.

He’s surprised to see nothing that looks like it belongs to Matteo.

“Does he live here?” Bruno inquires.

“No, he used to live with his boyfriend.” You answer, “His boyfriend cheated on him, and I don’t want him back there until I know it’s safe for him.”

Boyfriend, Bruno chants in his head. They aren’t a couple. Bruno feels a breath of relief amongst hearing that. While he processes his thoughts, Bruno’s phone continues to vibrate. He takes out his phone to see if it’s anything of urgency.

“Just ask her out, ffs.”

“Did you do it?”

“Y’all fucking or what?”

While Bruno reads the colorful messages Mista sent with a darkened face, you crouch down and offer comfort to Matteo by gently stroking his hair.

“Do you need to throw up?”

“Nnn. Nyoh.”

With Matteo in a more stable condition, you determine it would be safe to leave him alone momentarily. You follow Bruno out of your apartment.

“Thank you so much, Bruno,” you express your appreciation sincerely. Is there something I can do to pay you back?”

“Dinner. Go out to dinner with me.”

Your face flushes with hues of red and pink. You hide your face in your hands, embarrassed by your reaction. “Are you sure… with me?”

Bruno gently removes your hands from your face and places a finger under your chin, tilting it slightly so you would look at him directly. He laughs at your adorable reaction, finding it endearing and charming.

“I’m very sure, with you.”

Extra:

“Mista.” Giorno starts, eyes closed in an attempt to remain composed. “Please exit my office. Now.”

Mista, phone in hand, lays on the only other chair in Giorno’s office, his legs dangling from the chair’s edge, swinging back and forth as he awaits a response from Bruno.

“You think they’re fucking?”

Giorno pinches the bridge of his nose, “Volevi questo, Giorno. Volevi unirti alla mafia.”

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unfortunate Events - Chapter 5 - Lunch with Roomie

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

It’s currently noon, and it is a gloomy day, but luckily rain is not expected today. You stepped out of class, finally being liberated from the clutches of your Introduction to Accounting class, and are currently riding the bus to get groceries, a task you attempted to do yesterday.

Considering your hectic work schedule and the fact you’ve been away from school for a few years, you opted to only enroll in one class. That way, you can gradually acclimate to the academic routine while accommodating your demanding work commitments.

Luckily, your class is only once a week. Unluckily, it is over three hours long.  

Never. Again.

The bus comes to your stop, and you step off, determined to check off your grocery list. Your destination: Szechuan Market – a quaint grocery store nestled in Chinatown. In this neighborhood, prices are generally more wallet-friendly compared to the mainstream grocery stores or farmer's markets you’ll find across Lapalton. What kept you coming back to this specific store was the owner, Lian; she is one of the kindest souls you'd ever encountered.

You first met Lian a few months back when a neighbor told you that Chinatown was the go-to place for affordable groceries. As you strolled down the bustling streets, you noticed a middle-aged lady struggling to carry a box of jackfruit into her store, Szechuan Market. Without hesitation, you stepped forward, taking the box from her and asking where it should go. That chance encounter had led to a friendly conversation and a helping hand in restocking her store.

Now, most of your grocery runs coincided with the days of Lian's deliveries. It was a tradition you both appreciated, and you tried to continue.  Unfortunately, unforeseen circumstances have disrupted your plans for the past couple of weeks. You hope Lian wasn’t too upset with you.

Pushing open the entrance door, a small chime from the bell above it rang out. Almost instantaneously, you hear Lian’s greeting, “Welco-… Oyouu. Shh. Lah, where have you been?”

You met her gaze, a tinge of guilt in your expression, “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

Grabbing a basket, you start filling it with food items you need, all while engaging in a conversation with Lian. You catch on to the latest neighborhood gossip as you make your way through the narrow aisles.

When you place your basket down on the counter for Lian to tally and bag your items, your eyes land on a cookbook, The Recipes of Naples. Thinking about Giorno, you grab the book and add it with your other purchases.

“This is a lot more than you usually purchase. You know, like it’s for two.” there’s a glint in her eyes as she smiles, “Have you met someone?”

You scratch your cheek, “A friend is staying with me. They fell on hard times, so I’m helping them get their footing back.”

“No need to lie, lah,” She chastises, “You know, you’re awful at lying.”

“Sorry.” you apologize, guilt ridden on your face.

You carefully pack whatever you can into your backpack, carrying what you can’t by hand. Just as you are about to make your exit, Lian tells you to wait. She rushes into the back and returns shortly with a plastic bag.

“Two servings of steamed duck, one for you and one for your boyfriend. Let me know how it tastes. You take care of yourself, okay? Come back next week!” Lian said with genuine warmth.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mumble.

You thank her for the delicious lunch and head home.

You rigorously climb up the stairs to your apartment, sweating from the weight of the groceries you’re carrying. When you reach your apartment door, you set down your bags to fumble for your keys. Just as you were about to unlock the door, it swings open, and out comes a ladybug. You peer inside and see Giorno in the doorway. He glances at the bags in your hands.

“Oh, I was just about to go find you,” he says, now taking the bags from the ground and helping you carry them to the kitchen.

You step inside your apartment, shedding your bag and taking off your shoes, “Thanks for the help.”

He gives a single nod, his expression calm and composed.

You sit the bag with the duck dish onto the small dining table. “I’ve got lunch!” you state, unpacking everything and setting aside one for Giorno.

You grab two glasses and a carton of orange juice from the fridge and set them on the table. Giorno sits down across from you, peering at the food in front of him.

As you eat your meal, you notice his peculiar dining habits. Every bite he took of the duck, he would swiftly wash it down with a sip of orange juice. He’s not even a third of the way through the meal, and he’s already onto his second cup of orange juice. It’s quite evident that he isn’t particularly fond of the duck meal.

"Is duck not to your liking?" you ask, genuinely curious about his taste preferences.

Giorno pauses for a moment, his piercing gaze thoughtful as he considers his response. "I just find the combination of flavors... unique."

"I appreciate your willingness to try it," you say with a smile, acknowledging his polite approach to the meal.

Giorno takes another sip of orange juice before continuing with his meal. Despite any reservations he may have, he continues eating with his characteristic composure and grace.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, admiring his determination to finish the meal. “I’ll make you something else. Don’t eat something you don’t like. I ain’t that broke,” you assure him.

“It’s not a problem,” he insists, but you are too quick for him; you snatch the Styrofoam container and flip through the Italian cookbook you bought. Your face lights up when you see a dish from your cookbook.

“I don’t have the right pasta, but how does pasta alla genovese sound?” you ask.

Giorno, now right behind you, examines the recipe. "You went out and bought a Neapolitan recipe book?" he asks, surprise evident in his voice.

You reply, not revealing your true reason for buying the cookbook. “For some reason, it was on the shelf of a Chinese grocery store.” You scratch your cheek with a finger. “I saw it, and I wanted to try recipes from Italy.”

Giorno chuckles softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I suppose that's a fair point. Let's give it a try.

While Giorno goes through your kitchen to find the ingredients needed, you roll up your sleeves and begin to wash the tomatoes.

“Thank you,” he says.

You wave your hand, “I really don’t mind. I actually enjoy cooking and baking. It’s a relaxing activity for me.”

Normally, on your off days, you would go grocery shopping, and when you came home, you would meal prep for the week. However, the past couple of weeks have been hectic, with an increase in customers and a decrease in workers. You love your boss but hate the job and city.

As Giorno follows the first steps to make the sauce, you got down to cutting the last vegetables needed. The two of you cook the dish in a surprisingly comfortable silence before Giorno asks a question.

“I hope I am not overstepping, but may I ask where you went this morning?”

 “I went grocery shopping.”

“For five hours?”

“You were awake?” you ask before responding, “I had class today. It’s a 3 hour-long class.”

He hums, “I was awake. I also know that you didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Was I too loud? Sorry.“

“No, I also was unable to sleep.” He looks at you, aware of the question forming in your mind, “No, the bed was comfortable… and it smelled nice.”

You pause in adding pasta to the boiling water, taken aback by his unexpected comment.

Last night, you told Giorno to take the bed. He was reluctant in taking it, insistent that he did not want to take that away from you. So, you plopped onto the couch and nudged him off, so that he would be forced to take the damn bed.

It made perfect sense for him to sleep there. You often returned from work at odd hours, and the small dining table near the kitchen served as your study area. Besides, the couch had become increasingly comfortable for you over time, feeling like a soft cloud to rest on. Creedance had given you the couch just a month ago when his daughter moved out for college, and you had found yourself falling asleep on it more and more.

When he finally relented and headed up to the loft area to sleep, you settled in at the dining table to catch up on assignments. Three hours into your study session, you realized you should have washed the sheets for him, and anxiety crept in, keeping you restless throughout the rest of the night.

Before you can formulate a response, he takes the initiative, “What do you study?”

“Bookkeeping. I’m already learning a bit on how to do bookkeeping via my boss, and I like crunching the numbers, so I said, ‘eh, why not.’”

Your explanation seems to satisfy Giorno's curiosity, and the two of you continue working on the pasta alla genovese, occasionally exchanging remarks about the recipe. There is a surprising feel of comfort and warmth in the air.

As the dish nears completion and the aromatic scent of the sauce fills the apartment, you feel a sense of contentment. Once the pasta is plated and ready to be served, you gesture for him to take a seat at the table.

As the two of you enjoy the pasta alla genovese, you note Giorno's remarkable composure despite the extraordinary circumstances he found himself in. It has only been a short time since he had been transported into your universe, a situation that would have sent most people, like you, into a state of panic or confusion. However, Giorno appears to handle it with a calm and determined demeanor that left you both impressed and intrigued.

"You aren't scared?" you ask, genuinely curious about his mindset.

Giorno met your gaze with a resolute expression. "No, I am not. I know I will return.”

You awe at his conviction. It’s clear Giorno possesses a strong sense of purpose and resolve. You wonder more about his life, what challenges he faced in his own world, and what the outcome of this unexpected encounter will be for both of you.

After the paste was consumed, Giorno insists on doing the dishes. You try to help, but he simply urges you to relax. Seeing that he will not let you back into the kitchen, you decide to indulge in a long-overdue shower.

You ascend the loft area, grabbing your clothes before descending and heading to the bathroom. You shed your clothes and hop into the shower. The warm water cascading down feels like a soothing embrace after a long day. The tension gradually melts away, and you emerge from the shower feeling refreshed and revitalized.

As you sink into the comfort of your couch with a content sigh, a gentle smile plays on your lips. Sleep beckons you, your eyes starting to feel heavy, you struggle to keep them open.

Just then, the shrill ring of the phone shatters your hopes and dreams. Your smile remains, as you hold back tears that are welling up in your eyes; you answer the phone. You didn't need to check the Caller ID; you know exactly who it is.

“Creed,” you murmur.

“Y/N.”

“What times?”

“4 p.m to closing.”

You hit the mute button and give a heart-heavy sigh, a single tear defiantly tracing a path down your cheek. You then glance at the time on your phone, the digital display showing 3:30 p.m.

Hitting the mute button once again to unmute the call, you pose another question, “Just me?”

“Just you.”

Fuck.

Your heart sinks, and you concede. “Aight, I’ll be there.”

Creed offers his thanks, promptly ending the call. You pinch the bridge of your nose, grappling with your exhaustion, and start preparing for work.

Giorno pops his head out from the kitchen. "You should call back and let them know you can't today. You haven't had any sleep yet."

You shrug, nonchalantly grabbing a uniform from one of the few storage compartments in the walls of your apartment, “It’s fine,” you remark as you scratch your cheek with an index finger. The remark is mostly to yourself and not him; you are trying to convince yourself that everything’s okay, “I like money.”

With the uniform in hand, you disappear into the bathroom to change. Giorno follows closely behind, his concern palpable. After donning the uniform, you sling your satchel over your shoulder and start putting on your shoes, all the while with Giorno shadowing your every move.

“No,” you assert, anticipating his objections, “you cannot change my mind, and no, don’t come.”

He relents. “I understand… Be safe.”

With that settled, you head to work, aware that today will be a challenging day with you being the only employee. Then again, when are you not the only employee?

About five hours into your shift, the bell chimes, and a familiar face walks through – Matteo. He is the same age as you, 23 years old. His family use to own an Italian restaurant a few streets away from the bar. However, due to the pricey rent, his family decided to move the restaurant to Wayward, a city two hours from Lapalton.

You’re accustomed to seeing his charming smile as he chats up whatever lady he encounters but today, he looks awful. His eyes are red and puffy, indicating he’s been crying.

You offer him his favorite drink on the house and strike up a conversation. “You wanna talk about it, buddy?”

You feel a pang in your chest as you see Matteo in such a state. Tears well up in his eyes, and then, the dam breaks. He starts crying. “You haven’t heard? What’s been going on in Wayward?”

You shake your head, concern etched across your face “No, I haven’t.”

Matteo's emotions are running high, and he slams his fist onto the table. "There's been a string of crimes happening these past two days in Wayward, and no one is doing anything about it," he exclaims, his voice quivering with frustration. "My sister… was kidnapped.”

You cross your arms on the table and lean forward, “Tell me everything.”

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unfortunate Events - Chapter 4 - It's Like the Movie, Maybe

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Feedback is welcomed! Honestly, I think I may be coming back to this one, not sure yet. I feel like some of the dialogue can use some modification.

Another thing, I chose to not describe his Stand. I feel like I should of, but we all know the description of Gold Experience at this point.

You step into your humble abode, quickly shedding your shoes and placing them on the rack. He mimics your actions, removing his shoes and stepping off the rubber mat. You gesture to him to sit on your couch, and he takes a seat. You disappear into the kitchen, setting out to prepare some warm milk. You grab the only two mugs you own and pour the steaming milk into them. You add generous spoonfuls of instant hot chocolate powder. With the mugs in hand, you return to the living room, finding Giorno scanning your modest home.

“I know, not much to look at,” you remark, offering him one of the cups of hot chocolate, to which he accepts.

You join him on the couch, cradling the one mug in your hands. You steal a glance at him. Once again, you are in a mental battle. On one end, you still just cannot believe you allowed this man to follow you home. Yes, he did save you. Yes, he does seem to be a gentleman. However, you do not know him, nor what mafia group he is affiliated with. On the other end, you have a gut feeling that he is a genuinely nice man. You want to hear his story. You want an explanation. You want to know if anything bad will happen.

He shook his head, “No, your apartment is comfortable.”

It also does not help that you find it challenging to gauge his thoughts. You wonder what thoughts he hides behind those inscrutable eyes. Recognizing the need to allow him a moment to gather his thoughts, you shift your gaze to the dark void of the turned-off television, savoring the sweet warmth of your drink with each small, contemplative sip.

The room floods with an unspoken tension, both of you lost in your own thoughts, waiting for the right moment to unravel this entire fiasco.

Then, he begins to speak, breaking the silence that hung in the air, “I am aware this sounds absurd, but I am not from here.”

You turn to face him, eyebrow already cocked, “Yeah, I hear the accent. Italian?”

He gives an unexpected small smile before continuing, “Yes, however, that is not what I meant. I am not from your universe. I came to this conclusion after discovering some foundations I am a member of does not exist here.”

He gives a pause, seemingly to give you time to digest what he has revealed. You can sense that he is carefully considering what to share with you next, and perhaps, what to lie to you about. You feel like a detective, ready to crack a case. You take a sip and signal for him to continue.

He continues, his voice measured and calm, “Before all of this, I was in Foggia, a city northeast of Naples. I went to discuss a deal with my business partner. However, he disliked the proposition I proposed.”

You take a loud sip, “By business partner, you mean a mafia head.”

He stays silent briefly. No doubt deciding what to say, before finally, he decides to tell the truth. “I was in Foggia with my Don to propose to them to join us.”

Sip.

 “And by joining, you mean forcing.”

He huffs, “They have been growing increasingly more agitated and disrupting order.”

You look to the side, regretful. You feel like you pushed him too much to talk. “Sorry, I just wanted to know what we were dealing with. I didn’t want to make any rash assumptions.”

“It is not a problem. I should be telling you this information, so you at least know what we are up against.”

We?

“We came to a disagreement, and that is when they decided to draw their weapons. Among his men were Stand Users. You may have recalled the incident that occurred an hour ago. You saw it, correct?”

You nod, “The purple face with squiggles coming out.” You tap a finger on your cheek, “So, he’s called a Stand User because he has a thing called a Stand. And a Stand is like a supernatural ghost thing that gives weird powers.”

“Perceptive. Stands are the manifestation of one’s soul. They come in an array of different shapes and forms.”

In an instant, a gold humanoid figure suddenly appears right next to him.

“This is mine. Gold Experience.” Suddenly, a ladybug appears in your view. In an instant, the insect transforms into an umbrella, and you realize it’s the same one you gave him that night. He picks it up and leans it against the couch. “I am able to create life from inanimate objects. I was able to locate you since items will always go back to its original owner.”

You hum, processing what he told you, “So basically, you don’t know who had the ability to send you here, nor do you know how many of his men were teleported here.”

“Correct. Unfortunately, your good deed has wrapped you into this.” He gets up and bows, “I sincerely apologize-“

“Woah, Woah.” You also get up. You place a hand on his shoulder and gently nudge him back down on the couch.

“No apologies. I did that because I wanted to. That’s not on you.” Your eyes droop in sadness, “if anything, I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed and helped or done more. But you’ve seen these streets… I think. It’s too risky. I’ve been worrying about you all day. I’m glad you’re okay.”

He stares at you, searching for insincerity. When he finds none, a soft smile forms on his face, “You’re a good person. I am grateful I’m in good hands.”

“You said, ‘I’m’ like you’re gonna be my roomie.”

Silence again. He looks around the apartment before responding,

“I think,” he begins, “it would be optimal for us to stick together. There are people after us.”

You raise a brow, “If you need some place to live, you can just say that.” You point at him, “They are after you, not me. One guy does not confirm they all know about my role in this.”

“There is no guarantee he was alone. Another worrisome thought would be that Stand Users are naturally drawn to one another. Only Stand Users can see Stands. “

Only Stand Users can see Stands? I saw the squiggly stand, and his stand Gold Experience. Huh… Hmmm… OH.

You spring off the couch, placing the mug down before immediately grabbing the small fragment you picked up just this morning from the small breakfast table. You hand it to Giorno.

He inspects the item with fraught, “This is a fragment of a Stand Arrow. When it pierced your skin, it has claimed you worthy to acquire a Stand. No matter how hard you attempt to avoid them, you will encounter them. Though, I wonder who held this…” He whispers to himself as he places it in his pocket, “If you do not mind, I will be keeping this. It is too dangerous.”

“That’s fine by me,” You respond, satisfied that he will be the one taking it. “You aren’t sure how many people are after us, correct?”

“I cannot say for certainty, but I did count four.”

You thought about it. You know there is something in his story he is leaving out; he just gave you the details you asked, and the information needed for you to grasp the situation – the bare minimum. Then again, it seems like this is all you need to know. You’re too afraid to ask for more details. You don’t need to meddle into his life.

You consider his words carefully. “How long are you expecting to stay?” you ask.

He looks thoughtful for a moment. “I am not sure,” he admits, “However, if I am too much of a burden for you, I will leave immediately.”

You hum upon hearing him say “will” with such confidence. He said it as if you have already agreed upon him staying. Cocky. Confident. All words to describe this enigma.

You take note of his clothing once more. They are brand new, no doubt high-end brands. Although they do not look nearly as expensive as what he previously wore, you’re willing to bet that this simple professional attire costs more than what you have in your checking account.

“You came here from another universe, and you live in Italy, yes?” you ask, seeking clarification.

He nods.

“So how did you afford those clothes?” You inquire, curious about the financial details of his situation.

“I stole them using my stand,” he admits, matter-of-factly, “All the associates were ladies, so I charmed them a tad and used my stand to turn what I needed into bugs. Though, I didn’t just take clothing.” He pulls out a stack of American dollars. “I have about $800.”

You chuckle at his confession, the tension in the room seemingly dissipating. You extend a hand to him, and he stands up, accepting it. You shake hands, a sense of camaraderie beginning to build between you too.

 “Nice to meet you, roomie.”

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unfortunate Events - Chapter 3 - Cool Magic Trick, Bro

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

I won't be using tags for the next few chapters because I don't want to overhaul the tags with this slow-starting story. I know it can be annoying.

After Chapter 4, the pace will pick up and the romance will start. The first 4 chapters were chapters I wrote about 6 months ago. I picked this story back up about a month ago. I want to finish this story, but I wanted it to be less slow paced. So I am apologizing in advance for the sudden change in pace.

I am hoping to knock this story out in 20 chapters or less, but we will see what happens. Honestly, maybe I'll even change the first 4 chapters to follow the pace of the rest of the story. I just worked so hard on the four chapters that I don't have the heart yet :(

You sit in a barstool on the patron side, munching down on a turkey sandwich, staring at the empty seats in the establishment. You are the sole worker at the bar, once again. Gwess had to leave a few hours earlier, her reasoning being something came up with her pet parrot. Fortunately, no patrons have entered the domain for the past couple of hours, so you were able to finish all the night-shift tasks, meaning you didn’t have to stay around to finish anything; you can leave once the hand touches the two. You stare at the clock hanging up on the wall.

1:48 a.m.

Twelve more minutes.

Your attention draws back to the empty chairs. Creedence does make a profit from this bar, but it isn’t nearly as popular as other bars around here. There are two reasonings. A, this is a relatively new bar that has yet to establish more loyal patrons, and B, Lapalton has mostly party bars.

That’s where Creedence’s bulb on top of his head flickered. He realized there weren’t many bars for the businessmen to discuss business; he created this bar in the hopes to attract them or for people who want a calmer atmosphere after work. You have no doubt in your mind that under Creedence’s guide the SPW Bar will one day become a popular bar.

1:59 a.m.

You stand up to throw away the saran wrap that your now eaten sandwich was sitting upon. While you do complain about this job often, you do enjoy the laid-back atmosphere. Despite getting a few bad apples every night, most of them are well-mannered, even when tipsy. Still, you do not want to make a career out of this occupation. This is just temporary.

Assuming no one will enter the bar, you make your way towards the employee-only area to shut off the lights and to grab your things.

Ding

The nastiest scowl appears on your face when you hear the entrance doorbell chimes. Quick to fix your face, you turn to face your patron with a polite -albeit clearly forced – smile.

The tall man stood near the door with a lovestruck smile that sent the hairs on your arms screaming to be let off your arm. His outfit reminds you an awful lot of Dr. Strange, except with a black cape and dress pants. Purple arrows ran horizontally down his white shirt.

Your eyes look up at the clock.

2:00 a.m.

You give a genuine smile, this time from relief. “Sorry sir. no more patrons for tonight.”

He chuckles, “A drink being served by a beautiful lady does sound good right about now,” he speaks with an Italian accent.

Italian. Accent.

You attempt to take the most silent gulp you can muster. Though, you doubt that he would not be able to tell under his scrutinizing eyes.

Oh no, I’m gonna get Godfather’d.

Leisurely striding over, he takes a seat right closest to you and slides closer. “Though, I’m here for you, Miss Carina.”

You blink a few times before pointing a finger at yourself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. I think you know why I’m here.”

There is no way you can get away from lying with this guy. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and exhale. You open your eyes and look directly into the man’s eyes.

“I was coming home from my shift. As you can see, my job keeps me late. I saw him chilling in the alley, slumped over. He was uninjured, but unconscious. I felt bad, so I gave him an umbrella and called an ambulance. I don’t know what happened to him after that, or if he’s even alive.”

He hums, “Did he have anything on him? Did you see anything around him?”

Yes.

“No.”

He leans in closer, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “You know, I have a special knack for telling if someone is lying.”

Stay calm. Stay cool.

“Cool. However, I am not lying. I don’t like dealing with extra shit since my life is already shit. Listen, I really don’t want to stay here longer. Please.”

He stares at you for longer.

“Well, I can see you are telling the truth,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "My apologies for holding you up, Miss. Have a wonderful night.”

With that, he turns and heads for the exit. The doorbell chimes again as he disappears into the night, but the sense of unease lingers.

Your heart continues to race, pounding in your chest like a drum. Each breath feels shallower than the last, as if the air in the bar had turned into toxic gas. Your trembling fingers clutch the edge of the nearest barstool. Your thoughts race a million miles a second.

Something is off.

Something is not right.

You dare not look behind you, unprepared for what you might see.

The silence in the bar is deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the echo of your own rapid breaths.

You know you should leave. Take the back doors and sprint. Yet, your legs feel like lead. Your gut screams at you to run, to escape this place, but fear and curiosity roots you to the spot.

With one final gulp, you finally muster the courage to glance over your shoulder.

“WHAT THE-“

“That’s the ear of the man who ratted on you.”

Your head snaps to the owner of the voice, eyes widening in disbelief. There, leaning casually against the doorframe to the kitchen, stands the man who just finished interrogating you.

“The homeless man.” He strides over with a skip in his step, “You know, the one who was swishing the broken bottle around like a mad man. Yeah, he saw everything. From you giving an umbrella to a passed-out blondie to you screeching and passing out then picking something up near the trash can.”

As he comes centimeters of your trembling form, he slips a hand into his pocket. With one finger, he lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his unnerving gaze.

“I’m not one for beating up harmless women. It goes against my gentlemen’s code. I just want what you picked up, and I’ll be on my merry way out.”

A lightbulb lights up above your head.

Avoiding his piercing gaze, you ask with a quivering voice, “Promise?”

“Promise.” He replies, his surprisingly easygoing grin never wavering.

You scratch your cheek with a slightly trembling finger. “It’s in my bag. In the employee locker in the back.”

You move past him. Surprisingly, he let you do so; you’re acting off. You know he knows that. You slip into the kitchen. Though your heart still pounds, a newfound determination flares in your eyes. In the dimly lit kitchen, you make your way to the back door. You open it quietly and then sprint into the night. Thank Danny DeVito you left the door unlocked when you took the trash out.

 You ran, not towards your apartment, of course, but to the next best course of action to scare him off—a nearby crack house.

You sprint across the street, to take a shortcut through Paisley Park. However, before you could feel a moment of relief, a rough hand snatches your arm.

The man, now wearing a pouting, holds up your satchel. “Come on, Carina.” Much to your disgust, he drops your bag and strokes your cheek. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”

Panic surges through you. It seems he went through your belongings, so how did he catch up to you so fast?

He hums, “Perhaps it is at your apartment?” his face lights up as he changes the awkward stance he held you both in. He loops his arm into yours and holds your hand.

What the fuck is going on.

“Why don’t we go together, yes?”

You don’t budge an inch and stare at the man. Perhaps it would just be better giving the man the item. You have this gut feeling that keeping it will only cause more trouble in the future.

At the same token, you feel the need to keep it safe. You are not sure why, but the thought of handing it over leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

In desperation, you attempt to wiggle yourself out of his grip. However, he is having none of it, and decides to just hug you to prevent you from moving.

That’s when you saw it. Amidst the struggling, you catch a glimpse of a ladybug passing your form. As you follow its movements, wondering what it’s doing this late at night, you notice a purple arrow shooting out from his feet and stretching forward. Both you and the man are carried along by the arrow's incredible speed until you reached the tip of the arrowhead. Inside the narrow arrow that barely was the width of the man, you were moving astonish fast; you estimate around 30 mph. As you approach the arrowhead, the arrow would shrink until it completely disappeared upon reaching the arrowhead.

What.

Your mind reels in shock and disbelief. What in the world did you just witness? You look up at the man, ready to bombard him with a million questions, until you see… Well, what the hell are you seeing? A purple face with zigzagging yellow and purple arrows sticking out underneath it. That is literally the best and only description you can give.

WHAT.

Before you can even begin to comprehend this surreal sight, the man interrupts your cognitive thinking, “Carina, will you be telling me which apart- “

Then, he spots what caught your attention, and his demeanor takes a drastic turn. He throws you down to the ground. Your eyes scrunch up in pain as you go down with an “oof.”

He shouts, “YOU!” with tears welling up in his eyes. “When were you going to tell me you were a Stand User! You cheater!”

W.H.A.T.

He stomps towards you angerly, fists crackling. Standing in front of you, his tears fall onto your pants, soaking them. “Of course. You’re a cheater. I should’ve known. Well,” He sniffles, “You know what cheaters deserve?”

Your voice trembles as you respond, “Not death?”

“DEATH.”

The man swings a fist in your direction. However, it never finds its mark. Vines shot up from the ground, ensnaring him. The verdant vines continue to emerge, partially obscuring your view of the man.  

Your mind races with a mixture of astonishment and confusion. Just as you are about to shout another “what,” you hear fast approaching footsteps. Once again, your night takes a bizarre turn.

Standing behind you is the same man whom you gave the umbrella to last night. No longer is in tattered clothes, he now wears black dress pants accompanying his neatly rolled-up, white long-sleeve button down. His shirt has a few purposeful top buttons undone, showing a sneak-peak of his toned chest.

He extends his hand towards you, and you accept it, albeit with a dumbfound expression. The ground shudders beneath your feet, giving birth to more colossal green roots that now completely obstruct your view of the other man.

You turn your gaze back to the blond-haired man, who conducts a swift examination of your body, searching for any signs of injury.

You give him a soft smile and take a step back, reassuring him, “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine, promise. Thank you for helping me.”

His eyes lock with yours as he responds, “This incident is my fault. I sincerely apologize for the trouble I have caused you.”

You stand there, one hand rubbing up and down the opposite arm. Unsure on what to say, you shift your attention back to the vines. Their continuous growth gradually slows down with the passing of time. After another minute or so, they begin to wither and crinkle, eventually disintegrating into ash. The vines no longer obstruct your view. However, your captor is nowhere to be seen.

“So, uh,” you slowly turn your attention back onto the blond-haired man. It becomes evident that his gaze had never left you. “You, uh, you killed him?” you ask.

 “Yes,” he replies calmly, “I assumed you did not want to see a corpse, so I moved it away from this area.”

You shrug, “Eh, he deserves it. I mean, who knows what that creep would’ve done if you didn’t stop him. Better him than some other innocent victim, right?”

His lips part before closing his eyes, seemingly lost in thought. Honestly, you are having a difficult time getting a proper read on him. “You would be correct.”

Once again, you two stand in silence. However, this time, he decides to look up at the moon, perhaps to give you some space as he may have sense your discomfort.

Your attention turns to your watch.

2:20 a.m.

Deciding that standing around getting bitten by mosquitoes is no fun, you walk over to your bag, pick it up, and then turn to the man.

“You coming, or you just gonna stand there staring at the moon?”

 He nods and starts walking towards you. You head back to the bar to clean up the mess. Mysteriously, the ripped-off ear is gone. You make a mental note of the missing ear, you would look around for it now, but you have more important issues at hand. Besides, you’re too tired to care enough about its disappearance, and there’s a good chance your captor put it in his pocket to use as a scare source. You lock the bar, and begin the journey home, with the blonde-hair man walking right beside you.

It is incredibly dumb to have a stranger follow you home. However, the late hours left you with limited options, and you want answers and hot chocolate. Besides, his demeanor, despite it being a brief interaction, seems far from that of a bad person. His genuine concern for any injuries you might have sustained during the encounter is reassuring. He does not seem like a bad person.

“I don’t think I’ve gotten your name.” You begin, introducing yourself first.

“Giorno Giovanna.”

[mantis-dea]

Bruno Bucciarati's Type Headcanon

Bruno is someone with a deep-seated desire for a loving relationship and perhaps, a family of his own. As the years go by, his desire increasingly starts to surface.

However, the path he walks is fraught with danger and uncertainty. Serving as Giorno’s right-hand man in Passione, his life is intertwined with the complex world of Italy’s strongest mafias.

As Team Bucciarati works tirelessly to clean up Passione and protect their territory from rival factions attempting to seize power, Bruno finds himself constantly away on perilous missions, often with little respite between them. His absence can range from days to weeks, and sometimes even longer.

The weight of his responsibilities and the knowledge that his life is constantly on the line weigh heavily on Bruno's heart. He is aware of the dangers he faces, and it pains him to imagine someone he cares about worrying and waiting for his return, only for that day to never come. He has seen too many comrades who had family fall, and it's a fear that haunts him.

He believes that suppressing this desire is the responsible thing to do.

Bruno not dating means several less things to worried about.

What if someone kidnaps his s/o and uses them as leverage?

What if he promised a night out, but he could not make it?

What if a rival member decides to kill his s/o?

Because of these factors, luck would truly have to be on s/o’s side, especially if they are a civilian.

As a generality, Bruno’s type would be someone who is kind, gets his weird sense of humor, and exudes a calming presence that makes spending time together effortless. Whether he and his s/o are fishing, listening to Miles Davis, or simply relaxing, being near his s/o soothes him.

On the other hand, while I do think Bruno values calm and stability in a partner more, I can also see Bruno liking someone slightly chaotic. Someone who he enjoys sharing a laugh with. Someone who does stupid things to get him to laugh. However, he's not looking for an extremely chaotic personality, as his demanding work already saps his energy and exposes him to such individuals regularly.

Additionally, this person must accept his line of work.

If his s/o is not part of the mafia, he won’t disclose his involvement unless they begin to suspect, or the relationship is about to go to the next level.

Bruno would want them to see him as a person first before they make a decision. Afterall, he is in Passione to eradicate drugs amongst the youths.

Bruno is most likely to enter a romantic relationship with a fellow member of Passione. His future s/o would need to have some experience within the organization, preferably working alongside Bruno on numerous missions where they shared the same living quarters.

There are two reasons why Bruno would date a fellow Passione member:

1.) Bruno will be less apprehensive about dating knowing they are perfectly capable of defending themselves.

2.) They understand the mafioso lifestyle. Though the disappointment will still be present, they won’t be resentful or surprised when he’s away for extended periods of time. This shared perspective significantly reduces potential strains and misunderstandings. Moreover, Bruno can have open discussions with his significant about Passione's members and issues, providing a valuable source of insight and support.

If his s/o is a civilian, they must be the one of the luckiest people ever.

For this civilian to catch Bruno’s attention, they’d have to do something truly “significant” in his eyes. It will most likely be an act of kindness.

Helping an elderly lady with groceries.

Buying a kid who didn’t have money an ice cream.

S/o trying to skim board in a fountain, only to fall face first into the water, attempting to avoid crashing into a kid.

I also have a one-shot where civilian s/o exchanges a bag of apples that Bruno was gifted for a bag of oranges. She was watering plants on her balcony when she overheard the conversation about him not being fond of apples. She runs down and exchanges the bags with him.

After witnessing an act of kindness, there is a low chance that Bruno may strike up a conversation with you. If you are close by him after the incident occurred, he may comment about it out loud.

As time passes, If Bruno sees s/o consistently after the initial incident, he will begin to think about them more frequently, noting just how often they keep crossing paths. If he’s in a crowd, he finds himself doing a quick glance to see if you are there.

After a series of encounters – four or five to be exact–, with each one seemingly involving him or his future s/o running into one another, he becomes drawn to them. He eventually initiates a conversation, sharing a chuckle at the uncanny frequency of their meetings. With each interaction, Bruno finds himself falling deeper in love, and s/o becomes a constant presence in his thoughts.

He starts to believe fate is trying to bring you two together. Unexpectedly, after some pep talk from Mista of all people, he finally goes and asks them out for dinner.

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unfortunate Events - Chapter 2 - The Object

Chapter 1

The echoes of a metal door slamming reverberate through the alley. For a moment, the air becomes thick with the stench of rotting garbage. You instinctively wince and mutter incoherent complaints about your life. You open your eyes to the discolored brick wall that reflects the dim light of a single flickering streetlamp overhead. It’s nighttime.

Realizing what transpired, you quickly got up on your knees and gave yourself a pat down.

Condition? Uninjured.

Satchel? Still there.

Items? Not Stolen.

Pants? Still on.

With a sigh, you dust off the dirt on you, aware that a shower would be necessary after this whole ordeal. Just as you were about head back, your eyes gravitate towards the grimy pavement you were unconscious on. You are puzzled by what you are seeing – a small, dull object, no larger than half your thumb. You cautiously pick it up to inspect it closer. It seems to be a fragment of something, with its outer edge colored silver and the rest golden-brown. You can’t discern what is had once been.

“HEY!” A shout jolts you out of your stupor. You snap your head towards the commotion. Near the end, where the alley meets the main road, stands a man wearing ragged clothes. He swishes a broken beer bottle in the face of someone familiar – a resident who lives a floor below you. Screeching to the top of his lungs, the resident runs away.

Ah, that’s why I haven’t gotten robbed.

The drunk begins walking towards you, albeit clumsily. Without hesitation, you sprint towards your apartment and slam the door shut.

Slowly, you make your way towards your living room area, carefully placing the fragment on the coffee table before sinking into your couch. Your fingers interlock, creating the perfect bridge to rest your head upon. You are fixated on this enigmatic object. A terrible, sinking feeling crept over you – you know this item will bring complications into your life.

Abandoning it is an option, of course, but the mere thought scares you. You have a feeling that if you got rid of it, it would either find its way back to you or fall into the wrong hands. You just know it.

With a trembling hand, you pick up the fragment to examine it once again. Now, it appears ordinary, lacking the allure it once possessed. Why was it so difficult to part with this object? Just what is with this object?

Ring. Ring.

You unzip your satchel and pull out your phone.

Incoming Call: Creedence Clearwater

Creedence Clearwater is the owner of the SPW Bar. You’ve only known him for a few months, but you’ve come to appreciate him as a boss far more than any of your previous employers. Unlike previous bosses, he is always ready to lend a hand when you ask for help. He makes a point of addressing his workers’ concerns promptly and efficiently. Creedence can be found at the bar every day, from the moment it opens until it closes, tirelessly ensuring that everything runs smoothly.

You’ve built a good rapport with him in the short time you’ve known him, and he has earned your respect with his dedication. Whether it’s jumping in behind the bar during busy shifts or resolving conflicts among staff members, Creedence is always there, leading by example and fostering a supportive work environment.

However, these past nine days have been different. He’s been in Florida, trying to help his daughter resolve a wrongful accusation of murder. In his absence, you’ve found yourself taking over almost all his responsibilities, resulting in more hours. Creedence assured you that he’ll compensate you more, as he felt guilty leaving on such short notice. While the extra money is nice, you long for his return.

“Good evening, Creed. How’s everything?” you answer.

“Oh, it’s going. Can’t believe I paid $150 per hour for a consultation with a lawyer,” Creedence responds, frustration evident in his voice. “By the way, you know the new guy, Joshu? Yeah. Well, he walked out. I was wondering if you could close the bar with Gwess. Time-and-a-half.”

“Say no more.”

You bid each other farewell, leaving the object on the table before getting ready for work.

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unexpected Events - Chapter 1 - The Encounter

As a general rule in a large city, you should MYOB - Mind Your Own Business. Of course, who would've thought calling a man an ambulance and giving him your umbrella would leave to something called Stands. Definitely not you.

My first Tumblr post! My blog will be fanfics, mostly JoJo's Bizarre Adventure and maybe Overwatch. Not sure if I will take requests yet.

For this story, I don't know how fast chapters will be coming out, nor do I know how many chapters it will have. I do want to say that, so far, this story in progress has over 10k words.

It's my first fanfic I'll be publishing, and a lot of it is just me going with the flow. I'll let you know if previous chapters have changed and what changed. Feedback is welcomed!

As you stand inside the old brick building, you watch pellets of water race down the glass windows, creating a blurry kaleidoscope of colors. You hear a distant low rumble of thunder, a reminder of the powerful storm raging outside. It’s been three days since you last caught a glimpse of the moon, hidden behind the thick veil of clouds that have been crying down on the city. This relentless downpour had transformed the streets into shallow rivers, and it seemed like the storm had no intention of relenting.

But you were grateful for the shelter of the building. It's a familiar haven from the relentless rain—a place where you've found solace amid the chaos of Lapalton's changing seasons. You decide not to think too much about the storm and to enjoy the soothing sound of the rain tapping against the windows. It's a comforting backdrop to the cacophony of voices and clinking glasses that fill the bar tonight.

“Why?” The drunkard’s wording slurred, “Why? Why did she leave me?”

You continue to clean a wine glass with a towel, your focus on your task. Such outbursts are common among the last-call patrons, and you’ve learned not to take it personally. But when he places a crinkled hand on top of yours and starts rubbing, you feel a surge of discomfort. You try to pull away, but he tightens his grip.

“Sir, please let go,” you say calmly, unsure if he’ll even pay heed to your comment.

Instead, he starts mumbling about how he can’t find someone like you who’s good at “care.” You raise an eyebrow at his words, having not a clue on what he’s even muttering about.

When he finally notices the deafening silence, he releases your hand and stands up. “You’re too fat for my taste anyways,” he mutters, stumbling towards the door, leaving no tip.

No. Tip.

Bartending for the rich is great, they said. It pays well, they said. High end bar, my ass. I’m barely pulling $10 a night in tips.

Several months back, you used to work at a small hotel. Checking people in, reserving rooms, and even sometimes cleaning the questionably wet bed sheets. There, you overheard your coworkers gossiping about Maria, a coworker who quit her job and became a high-class bartender, making six figures. The words “six figures” were all you needed to hear. You quit all your jobs without two weeks’ notice once you surprisingly got a job at SPW, a high-end bar in one of the biggest cities in America.

That hype immediately faded on day three.

Sure, your salary did increase, but it surely was not the six figures you were promised. You know what did increase? Your hatred for the wealthy. They constantly brag about being rich, but they can’t spare you a few dollars? The rare time you do get tipped fairly is if they bring a party with them; they only tip as a power move to show just how wealthy and considerate they are to their group.

After cleaning up the bar, you grab your things, open your umbrella, and lock the doors. Unfortunately for you, buses run less frequently past midnight, and it is currently two-thirty in the morning. So, your options are to either take the thirty-two-minute walk or wait an hour at the bus stop that is about two blocks away where drug addicts hang out.

You trudge through the pouring rain.

Walking home in this fucking sucks.

You do love rain, just not when you have to walk through it at two-thirty in the morning after a twelve-hour shift.

Surprisingly, you reach your block five minutes faster than usual. The motivation to make it home made you walk faster. All you wanted to do was sleep.

In the distance, you spot a familiar sight – an unconscious man leaning against the aged brick walls, slumping over. You live on the less fortunate side of the city, near the slums. The disoriented drug addicts, wandering drunkards, and the frequent thievery and robberies make this area one of the worse areas to live, but the inexpensive rent of a decently size apartment is a major selling point for you. Luckily, all the crazies you’ve encountered so far have been relatively harmless. Still, you’re always on edge whenever you pass one.

If people were amidst a drug exchange or passed out drunk, you’d wait it out; unless they overdosed, they typically don’t stay for more than half an hour. However, tonight, you don’t care. You don’t feel like waiting for this one to get up and go. The weather is abhorred, and you’re drenched, cold, dirty, and exhausted. A steaming hot shower and a good night’s rest sounds like heaven right about now.

You proceed with caution and approach. You were planning to just ignore him. However, your bafflement got the best of you. You halt and squat down to stare at the young man before you. Despite the alleyway being dimly lit, the man’s golden, disheveled hair shines like a polished gold bar. He looks around to be your age – early 20s. His expensive-looking black suit and pants consist of many cuts and scuffs; it seems as though he got into a fight with someone.

 You lean forward and take a whiff.

“Well, he’s not drunk.”

You put a hand to his nose; you feel a light puff of air. Then, you pull up both his tattered sleeves. No track marks. No injuries.

Your eyebrows furrow. This man is mysterious and sketchy. Mysterious because he’s hot and looks innocent. Sketchy because he’s in a not-so-good area in this awful weather, unconscious of all things. He looks like he got into a fight, but he’s completely uninjured.

I bet he’s part of an Italian mafia. Like that movie, Godfather.

You shot up and stumble back when you hear a small grumble from him. You stay deathly still for a minute, readying to bounce if need be. However, the man eyes never opened.

You let out a small sigh of relief. You feel terrible as he sits knocked out in a dirty alleyway in the rain. You truly do want to help him. However, you don’t know him. You don’t know who’s after him. Why he ended up here in the first place. It’s too dangerous to assume he’s a good person. Still, you did not want to leave him like this. You place an umbrella over the man and call for an ambulance before heading in the direction of your apartment.

Your apartment complex is unique – there is no main indoor lobby where you could chat with the landlord and take an elevator up to your floor. No, instead, you must walk up a flight of questionably rusty metal stairs to get to the door of your apartment. Fortunately, you are only on the 3rd floor and not the 13th floor.

You unlock the door to your apartment. The exterior would fool anyone into believing that the old building is rack and ruined. It may or may not potentially fail a building inspection, but the apartments - well at least yours - are very clean. The complex is a bit expensive for the area, but much cheaper compared to the inner city, meaning there are more people like you and less addicts living within the flats. Though, the smell of weed does pass by from time to time.

When you step into your apartment, a familiar, rubber, black mat greets you. You bend down to untie your dress shoes and place them neatly in the small compartment beside you. Your studio apartment is spacious. Hidden in some parts of your white walling are large storage compartments. You had a white sliding door that disconnects and reconnects the kitchen area from the rest of the living room. A black metal staircase to the left leads you to your bed. Very spacious indeed, but dark. Your only window is the one next to the entry door; though, at least it’s a large window. Another feature located to the left of your door is the bathroom that harbors a washer and dryer.

Turning the handle of your bathroom door, you hear the familiar click as it opens. You reach for the shower handle and, after a few moments of finicking, water streams down from the showerhead. As you shed your clothes and step into the shower, the hot water soothes your tired body, and a contented sigh escapes your lips. Thoughts of your job as a bartender, with its challenges posed by wealthy patrons, linger in your mind. Being a bartender has its moments of fun, but it's also filled with frustrations, and you can't help but think about the high turnover rate in your line of work. People can be demanding, and the pay is barely above the minimum yearly salary.

You dry yourself off, slip on a pair of warm pajamas, and head to bed. Usually, you would sit down and do at least an hour of assignments for your classes, but you are not in the mood today.

Your eyes flutter open. Stifling a groan, you sit up and pull out your flip phone from under your pillow.

9:42 a.m.

March 11th, 2008.

Normally, you’d sleep for a few more hours. However, your kitchen is starving; you have not gone grocery shopping for the past two weeks because you’ve been so caught up with work. Your boss proposed higher pay if you willingly worked from opening to closing this entire week. Of course, you outright rejected. Then, he countered with time-and-a-half. There was no hesitation when you told him, “Bet.”

Even with your 5’2” stature, the loft area of your apartment is too petite for a proper stretch. You slowly climb down your ladder to prepare for the day ahead.

After eating an instant mac-and-cheese microwave bowl, you put on your shoes, and head out. As you walk down the metal staircase, you notice the absence of the young man from last night. A pang of guilt courses through you as you think of the condition you left him in. You’re hopeful an ambulance came to give him the care he needs.

As you tread by where the young man was, you suddenly catch sight of something. Something that smitten you instantly. Amidst the dark, dank alley, something in the distance shines with an otherworldly brilliance, beckoning you closer. There is no resistance; you mindlessly walk towards the light, until you’re standing right in front it. Your head tilts. It’s still unclear as to what it is; the intense shine blocks the view. You reach out towards the light.

A sudden, searing pain has you screeching at the top of your lungs. You’re quick to clasp a hand over your mouth to muffle your screams of agony. Your body suddenly felt heavy, and you began to sweat excessively. The world seems to be spinning around you at a rapid pace. Something is not right, you thought, just as your legs buckle. You crumble to the ground.