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lady-wallace · 2 years

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Uncomfortably Numb: Whumptober Day 16 (JJBA)

Angsty Bruno whump for today’s @whumptober fic

Prompt: “No Way Out” (paralytic drugs)

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 5

Character: Bucciarati

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Masterpost

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Abbacchio dragged himself out of bed with a tired sigh, wincing as he stretched out bruises and strained muscles. They'd been putting in a lot of hours recently. It was a lot more work than he had expected tracking down the factions of Passione who weren't happy with the fact that Giorno had taken over as the new Don. A lot more Stand users than they had expected too—apparently Polpo had recruited more than even Bruno had been aware of.

On top of that, three of them were still getting over near-death—or in Bruno's case, back from death—experiences and Abbacchio would be lying if he said it was easy. He still woke up most nights with a cold sweat and an ache in his gut, the new scar in the center of his chest twinging uncomfortably. He'd been up enough nights to have to comfort Narancia going through the same thing. No one, of course, should be expected to just get over that kind of thing, but still, he would like to get a restful night's sleep again.

Bruno must have also been getting poor sleep recently, because he actually was not up before Abbacchio this morning.

Which was…honestly a bit worrying.

"Is Bucciarati in the office?" he asked Fugo who was making a cup of tea, dark circles under his eyes.

"No, just me and Giorno. I don't think he's up yet."

Abbacchio went over to start a pot of coffee and looked up to see Narancia stumbling in, eyes still closed.

"What's for bre'fast?" he murmured.

"Whatever you're making, brat," Abbacchio snipped.

Narancia rubbed an eye and looked around accusingly. "Thought Bucciarati was making pancakes."

"He's probably resting after yesterday, I'll make' em!" Mista said as he also showed up in the kitchen, Trish following soon after with a yawn.

Abbacchio frowned and watched the coffee drip into the pot. That was everyone up before Bruno which was practically unheard of. Had he left to do something early? No, Fugo or Giorno would have been up early too and likely would have seen him leave. That only left options Abbacchio wasn't very fond of. Because Bruno didn't sleep in. He barely stayed in bed when he was sick or recovering from injuries.

Abbacchio also didn't trust him not to have gotten injured yesterday during the fight and not bothered to tell anyone. He did that way too often as it was. Relying on zippers to close wounds and thinking that was a sanitary option.

Deciding to put his mind at ease, Abbacchio made his way upstairs and knocked on the door to Bruno's room.

"Hey, you up?" he called.

There was no answer. Abbacchio felt worry settling into his stomach and he reached for the doorknob.

"Bruno?"

When he opened the door he was surprised, and slightly unnerved to find Bruno just sitting on the side of the bed, fully dressed for the day, staring down at his hands.

"Bruno," Abbacchio called again, heading inside. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I can't feel anything, Leone," was the quiet answer.

Abbacchio frowned, not sure he had heard correctly. "You what?"

Bruno finally turned to him and the look of pure terror in his eyes stuck Abbacchio to the core. "I—I can't feel anything."

"What do you mean you can't feel anything?"

Bruno shrugged his shoulders briefly. "It's like…you know in a dream, you can see yourself and the things around you and are aware of touching them but because it's a dream, there's no real sensation." He took a shaky breath. "It's just…it's just like when…when I was…"

He trailed off, and Abbacchio stepped closer to the bed, trying to swallow down the panic in his throat as he pressed his fingers under Bruno's chin. A bit of relief washed over him as he felt warm skin and the pulse beating under his fingers.

"You're not dead," he said simply.

"What am I, then?" Bruno asked shakily, picking up his hands and staring at the palms. "Because it's like I'm looking at my body, and I'm able to control it, but without being able to feel it, it's almost like I'm not really here at all."

Abbacchio suddenly grabbed one hand and dug the nail of his thumb into Bruno's palm. "Do you feel that?"

Bruno's brows furrowed. "I can feel that you're solid but I can't really feel what you're doing."

Abbacchio pressed his lips into a worried line. He had no idea what to do about this. He didn't even know what this was. He thought they were done with all this fallout aftermath shit.

"When did this happen?"

"This morning, when I woke up."

"Alright, well, I'm getting Giorno; he might be able to figure it out with his Stand."

"Leone, don't," Bruno wobbled to his feet as if figuring out his footing. "If…if this is some sort of side-effect of him bringing me back, I don't want him to think it's his fault. It might just wear off."

"Yeah, because ignoring issues always works out for the best," Abbacchio scoffed and left the room without allowing Bruno the chance to protest. He knew Giorno would actually agree with him on this one.

XXX

Bruno slumped back onto the bed, pressing his hands between his knees. It was such a strange sensation, knowing there was pressure there, but yet, not really being able to perceive it.

He didn't want to admit how terrified he had been when he had woken up to complete numbness. That had been one of the most horrible things about being dead. Not feeling anything. What if he would be like this for the rest of his life? He wasn't sure what he would do.

He could hear loud voices from below as inquiries rolled in, and soon Giorno hurried into the room, looking pale.

"Bucciarati?" he asked as he made his way over to the bed.

"I'm all right," Bruno insisted. "I just can't…"

"Abbacchio said you couldn't feel anything? Is it exactly like it was…before?" Giorno asked.

Bruno cocked his head to one side. "Not entirely. It's just this…numbness, a detachment almost."

Giorno knitted his brows together and held out a hand before he seemed to hesitate, and asked. "May I?"

Bruno nodded tiredly.

Giorno manifested his Stand and it reached out to place a hand on Bruno's shoulder. After a couple seconds Giorno's frown deepened as he seemed to be in silent communication with his Stand.

"I…your body seems to be functioning properly, but…"

"But what?" Abbacchio asked from where he had been standing in the doorway, arms crossed, seeming to be fending off the others from piling in.

"I don't know, something foreign." Giorno pulled back and his Stand dissipated. "Yesterday when we went after that drug ring, I could have sworn I saw something when the men were retreating."

"You think this might be some kind of Stand attack?" Abbacchio said, looking a little relieved.

There was chattering outside the door before Mista poked his head around Abbacchio, "Actually, Gio, I think I saw something too. I thought one of the guy's shadows looked weird, but at the time, I was just trying to stop them."

Bruno reached up to the back of his neck, where there was a somewhat itchy spot he had thought was a bugbite—well, it had been itchy yesterday when he could still feel. There was still a raised spot though. "Giorno, can you see what this is?" he asked as he pushed his hair out of the way.

Giorno leaned in as Abbacchio also came further into the room.

Giorno made a sound of surprise. "Abbacchio…"

The goth leaned in as well and swore.

"It's some kind of symbol," he told Bruno. "Around what looks like a puncture wound. It…looks familiar..."

"Wait, let me look." Fugo came into the room, eyes widening when he saw the back of Bruno's neck. "This is…"

"The symbol that was found on at least two of those recent overdose victims," Giorno finished grimly. "It was reported as a birthmark. There might have been more too that no one paid attention to."

Bruno frowned, anger churning inside of him. There had been a recent rash of overdose victims in the city, and they had tracked the cause down to the drug ring they were currently looking into, but he hadn't suspected the deaths might have been caused by a Stand.

"If that's the case, then we need to hunt this bastard down," Abbacchio said. "I'll go back to the warehouse and see if I can find out anything about this guy with Moody Blues. We have no idea what kind of time frame we're working with so, let's make this quick."

Giorno nodded. "Fugo, I want you to see if there's any information you can dig up on a Stand user that might have this power. Trish and Narancia, I want you to watch over Bucciarati while the rest of us head out."

"I don't need anyone to babysit me."

"With all respect, Bucciarati, we still don't know exactly what this does or how long it takes to work; it's already been over 12 hours," Fugo commented grimly.

"Exactly, it's better someone keeps an eye on you," Trish added firmly, crossing her arms.

Bruno sighed, but knew how insistent his team could be. "Alright. The rest of you be careful though."

Giorno nodded and left with Mista and Abbacchio. Bruno made to stand up. "I'm not going to sit around and do nothing though, I'll go help Fugo in the office."

Walking was weird, and he found himself making deliberate movements in order to be sure of his footing. Trish and Narancia followed closely behind with worried expressions.

"Are you sure you should be up? What if moving makes it work faster?" Trish asked.

Bruno sighed. "It's impossible to tell, but I would imagine if it's a Stand power, it probably has a method." He stumbled over his numb feet and Trish and Narancia instantly ducked in to take his arms.

"Can't you work from bed?" Narancia asked, eyes wide.

"Not right now," Bucciarati told him.

They made it to the office and Fugo looked like he was about to protest, but Bruno shot him a look and the teen shut his mouth—not without an obviously disapproving look though.

"Are you looking through the database?" Bruno asked him, lowering himself into his desk chair.

"Yes, though I haven't finished digitalizing all of the files we have on the city's Stand users yet so…"

"Let me have the files then," Bruno told him.

Fugo set a stack of them on his desk and Bruno shuffled them around with difficulty.

"Would you like me to get you some tea, Bucciarati? I thought maybe something warm would be nice," Narancia asked as he and Trish stood off to one side, looking helpless.

"Please," Bucciarati told him, if only to give him something to do. Truthfully, he couldn't tell if he was thirsty. Or hungry. In fact, he felt like only more sensations were slipping away from him.

They worked for a while, coming up with not much of anything. It took Bruno a frustrating amount of time to turn pages, fingers fumbling so much Trish finally sat next to him and did it for him.

He tried to drink Narancia's tea, but while he could briefly register that it was warm, it offered none of the comfort a warm drink usually would. Besides, he was afraid to spill it…

Then the words started to swim on the page. Bruno pawed his eyes awkwardly, wondering if it was poor sleep, or a side-effect, but it just seemed to get harder to see.

"What's wrong?" Fugo asked.

Bruno shook his head. "I'm fine." He made to stand up, but found that while he had been sitting at his desk, his legs had apparently just stopped working. He barely caught himself with an elbow on his desk before he tumbled to the floor.

"Bucciarati!" the others all cried, rushing to his side.

Bruno felt a brief moment of panic as he fought for breath, unable to even feel his lungs expanding, pawing weakly at his chest.

"You should lay down," Fugo said firmly and helped Trish and Narancia lift him and drag him down the hall to the couch.

"S-sorry," Bruno murmured, tongue getting heavy now. It was hard to keep his eyes open. This seemed to be getting worse rapidly.

"You need to call Giorno and the others!" Trish said, sounding frantic and…far away. But Bruno could still see her blurry pink figure in front of him.

At least he thought it was Trish. Memories flashed back, of how he had nearly ended everything by mistaking Trish's father for her, when he couldn't see before…

Bruno gasped a breath, realizing he wasn't breathing and tried to consciously pull air into his lungs.

"He's just getting worse," Narancia cried.

"I'll see if they're any closer to finding the Stand user." Fugo said.

"Bucciarati, you need to stay awake!" Trish's voice filtered in.

"Am awake," Bruno managed. He just couldn't seem to open his eyes fully anymore.

Narancia pressed close to him on the couch and Bruno could see his arms wrap around his body, but had no sensation of it.

"It's okay, I'm sure Giorno and Abba and Mista have almost found the guy," Narancia was saying. Bruno watched the thin arms flex around his waist as Narancia squeezed him tighter. "Can…can you feel this, Bucciarati?"

Bruno swallowed hard as his eyes only blurred further. "No," he croaked.

And what was worse still, perhaps, was that he was starting not to care so much anymore. His vision blinked out, but there was no more panic. Just a sense of peace now.

The last thing he heard was his name being screamed from miles away.

"Bucciarati!"

XXX

Cold, unfeeling, no heart to pump blood through his veins—he was as good as a marble statue.

Bruno's eyes suddenly flew open and he gasped, dragging air into his lungs as he flew into a sitting position.

"Bucciarati!"

Hands found his shoulders, holding him upright. Solid, pressing. Bruno looked down in shock as he could feel each finger pressing into his flesh.

He turned his gaze toward Giorno, leaning over him and reached out to touch his cheek, feeling warm skin, running a hand up through his blond hair, soft strands clinging to his slightly clammy fingers. He let out a shaky sigh of relief.

"Can you feel?" Giorno asked, pulling back and clasping Bruno's hand in his, the press comforting.

"Yes," he breathed.

Giorno sank back slightly in relief, but didn't let go of Bruno. "We weren't sure we would be able to find the Stand user in time. When we got back here, I—"

The door burst open and Narancia barreled in. "Is he awake?"

Bruno smiled wanly at the boy and opened one arm in invitation. Narancia let out a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh and lunged into Bruno's arms, holding on so tight he threatened to squeeze the breath from Bruno's lungs, but the fact that he could feel that was the important part.

"Narancia, be careful!" Trish said as she, Fugo, Abbacchio and Mista appeared as well.

"How are you?" Abbacchio asked him, concern obvious in his eyes.

"I'm alive," Bruno said simply. "And I know I am."

As if by unspoken coordination everyone converged on the bed and enfolded Bruno into their midst. He closed his eyes, grateful for the warm press of familiar bodies. It was the kind of thing he knew he would never take for granted.

~~~~~~~

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slowd1ving · 3 months

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PENDULUM ✦ . 　⁺ xi.

SHADOWS (PASTEL GHOST)

"Cloaked like a phantom in the shade, You'd lie and watch me disintegrate." wc: 8.5k

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE MASTERLIST

PENDULUM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ・゜NEXT PART

“Alright – stop right there! Don’t even think about getting any closer!”

Zeppeli’s words blazed fierce against the cold of the night air. Standing precariously on the crag of rock that held his weight, he looked like a dusty, bygone hero – cloak streaming and whirling brown with the dusk, and a confident stance that assured his control. He looked like someone you could rely on; it was a trap you might’ve fallen for had you laid eyes on him for the first time in this moment.

“Yeah – you! I’m talking to you! I told you to stop right there, so why are you approaching even closer?”

In the warm light of the fire, you began slowly gathering your belongings. There was a terrible, icy cold which could only be attributed to this newcomer's arrival. Within your sternum, Depeche Mode had unfurled itself urgently – until it pressed against your flesh like a cold, oily solvent. It was stirring with a haste you’d never felt before; it only made your motions all the more fervent.

Group Four rose at the commotion. She’d noticed Johnny already sitting astride his voice, and nudged you hurriedly with her velvety nose.

“Don’t– don’t shoot! I don’t mean any harm; all I did was see the fire and come here, I swear,” the newcomer cried despairingly. You approached the stone ledge cautiously – his trembling eyes flicked to you in surprise, then back at Zeppeli.

His face . Had you seen him before? That face – riddled with tiny, hollow craters that dotted his cheeks and brow in uniform lines – briefly swam into your mind’s eye. He wore grey, just like what you remembered from the first stage’s feast. Who is he ? You chewed your lip beneath the bandanna contemplatively. Was he at the champagne table ?

Who–

“Meaning harm, or no harm–” Zeppeli forced out, jabbing a finger at the tremulous jockey. It might’ve been mere coincidence, but the shadows created the impression of a gun on the desert ground. “I’ll judge that after you leave.”

“Let’s take a guess, why don’t we?” he continued, punctuating each syllable with a stab in the jockey’s general direction. “What do you think will happen if you make any foolish moves?”

It was his game. You had come to realise exactly how he played – whatever poor target wandered into his vicinity would have his frustration taken out on them in the form of verbal barbs.

“I was bitten – bitten on my hand here! This is bad – real bad,” the newcomer blurted out desperately. His eyes were wild as he waved his swollen hand in the air, and you fought the urge to look away at the sight of pink, oozing flesh. Zeppeli was wordless as he stared fiercely at the poor fool. “I was squatting down and taking a dump–”

[Literally so unnecessary.]

You agreed wholeheartedly.

“–and my fingers were bitten! Shit – two whole fingers on my left hand!”

As if to emphasise his gristly point, he held up his hand while he slowly slid off his horse. Beside you, you could feel Zeppeli radiate absolute annoyance as he briefly pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This fucking asino ,” he muttered under his breath. “Does he not understand the meaning of not making foolish moves?”

“Clearly not,” you exhaled, all the while trying to hide the small amusement you felt at the situation. His eyes swivelled to yours in brief surprise – like he hadn’t expected you to reply – but slid away just as fast. You fought down the irrational disappointment welling up within.

Wait, what ?

Disappointment? You furrowed your brow, but didn’t get the chance to reflect on the thought as the man in question opened his mouth once more. Internally, Depeche Mode snickered.

“Hey, what the hell are you getting off your horse for?” Zeppeli yelled out furiously. If you squinted, you could almost make out steam being propelled out of his ears. “You idiot! You asshole, don’t make me tell you to stay away once more!”

The atmosphere had changed; no longer did you think of it as a childish game. Carmine fire reflected off the steel spheres Zeppeli’s hands now hovered over – in a mere second, his exasperated provocations had devolved into something much more sinister. Just a few moments later, would this newcomer end up like that petty thief?

“Number two, did he say what he was bitten by?” Zeppeli murmured while keeping his eyes firmly locked on the newcomer. Startled, your body shook itself out of your stupor and you blankly stared at him. Number two?

“No, he didn’t say,” you whispered back. It was strange; that inherent feeling of wrongness had returned and only intensified. With each passing second, more and more adrenaline coursed through each vein – each capillary, each artery – until your hands trembled from the strain of staying put. Sweat left its salty residuals on your lips; they tasted just like tears.

It really was strange. Here you were, barely standing from exhaustion and slowly slipping away into the manic grasp of fear, but your mind was soaked through with a clarity you’d never felt before. Tranquillity ebbed and flowed in your limbs; was this what Zeppeli felt facing powerless opponents? The only experience you could relate to this was the exhilaration you’d felt perched on the ledge of a building – just you and the chill of unprecedented heights. But no, that was hopelessness : the untethering of your mind from worry due to reaching the end.

This was something new .

The maudlin end had not yet been hit – what factor had provoked this clear-mindedness that an imminent fall from new heights had not?

Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with someone you thought you disliked might’ve been a great place to start your introspection. It might’ve provided invaluable insight to your dilemma, yet you couldn’t test anything as the injured jockey opened his mouth once more.

“It– it was a poisonous lizard: yellow and black stripes, hiding behind the shit as I was trying to wipe my a-ass!” he sobbed out; by now, his left hand was flopping uselessly about, and you winced at both the injury and his words. “Pleeease! Give me some fire so I can burn and clean my wooound!”

Zeppeli’s expression was troubled. This close to him, you could see each tremor – each creak – in his facial muscles as they contorted into a weary and closed-off mask. Even the miniscule fluttering of golden lashes hadn’t gone unnoticed by your sharpened eyes; they shadowed the scattering of lightened freckles cast high on his cheeks – jagged, tiny lines you couldn’t help but look at. Maybe in the daylight, away from the bloody haze of this race, you’d be able to appreciate every line–

[You’re hopeless.]

You blinked in sudden exhaustion. I really need to sleep . Enough about dealing with this new jockey; it was hard enough to focus on the darkened valley below without any distractions. Energy was corroded and mutilated into useless thoughts like these – fluttering, feeble little things that eddied away into fruitless trivialities of life.

You didn’t have time . All you had was the opportunity to make allies, not true connections that would be ripped away with either your succession or your untimely death.

When had you adopted such cynicism?

“I don’t think it’s a fake wound,” Johnny ruminated from where he sat perched on Slow Dancer; if you recalled in the hazy dregs of memory, you’d briefly seen him get up on his horse in that twisting, spinning motion. He didn’t speak with any particular inflection; rather, his voice was quietly knowledgeable – as if he were a student giving his certain input in a class argument.

“What gives, Johnny?” Zeppeli challenged through slightly gritted teeth. What gives, indeed ? From what you’d seen, this man really wasn’t afraid to butt heads with people he was supposedly close with; maybe you were closer to making him an ally than you’d thought. Johnny tilted his head and closed his eyes briefly in concentration – it was then that you noticed the cold metal he held. A gun . When had he drawn it? More importantly, was he planning on using it? You eyed him wearily, yet he was unusually steady-handed for someone who’d claimed to never using one before.

[Maybe he really isn’t going to use it.]

“The lizard’s a ‘spotted salamander’,” Johnny explained slowly with his Southern lilt. In that moment, the warm, smoky breeze curled around you; if you shut your eyes shut, you were back in those stupid Scout camps, with the gentle voice of your instructor piercing through the evening air. But no. It was a different time, and you had a different stupid objective to complete. “Once its venom circles the whole body, you die.”

“Look at you, knowing this cool stuff,” you remarked off-handedly. Your comment was quiet, yet Johnny still caught the smile in your voice and flashed a small grin back at you. Sorrow suddenly clouded your throat as you thought back to Diya and her stupid, fun little facts that you sorely missed in the turmoil of today.

Was time frozen, where she was?

Did life continue on as it had?

Would she even exist , in the future you’d create?

You looked away from Johnny.

“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it? Wait for the rescue group!” Zeppeli threw the words out like they meant nothing to him. Executioner. His green lips had curled past the point of derision. Executioner. Though, rather than conveying that surety with his body language, you watched as his arm lowered slightly – trembling all the while. Executioner.

Doctor.

. 　⁺ ✦

(“ We’ll continue where we left off.” )

( It’s Dr Amsa’s last lesson, yet neither she or you know it. No, maybe she does – after all, you’ve never known a woman so wise she can pluck out lessons from the past, and predict the very future. You’ve never known her to be wrong; there’s an inherent opposition to the very thought of it. )

( “It’s eighteen ninety-one,” she begins weaving her tapestry of bygone events once more. Unlike all the previous, mundane lessons, you’re sitting up in your chair and watching with an enraptured expression. Perhaps, unlike before, you too have a sense for what’s about to come. )

(“ Tell me!” you scream out to the poor neighbour holding you back. “Why the hell did they take her? What had she ever done?” )

( But that hasn’t happened yet. )

( What’s going on? )

( “We’re taking a look at those lost from the Steel Ball Run, unless I’ve made a mistake?” She smiles, like she knows it’s a funny thing to even think about it. Dr Amsa never makes mistakes. )

( Rain pours out from the sky, as if the very world cries out in grief for who it lost. You cry too; salty tears, you find, taste the bitterest when mixed with the polluted rain. )

( “Who can tell me who we were talking about back on Monday?” She waits patiently, though this class of unenthused children never responds. Though, there’s movement in the dustmotes. The haze of little particles is disrupted – a monumental feat which has only ever been achieved a few years prior, when this class was filled with bright eyes and chubby little hands waving in the air. )

( “Gyro Zeppeli!” you pipe up determinedly. Querying gazes turn to look at you – at this shitty, rundown little school, why do you speak so enthusiastically? You were never like this; something about that conversation – those splendid words – has filled you with something akin to embers of curiosity. )

( “Right you are, kid,” Dr Amsa’s gaze slides over you. It’s as if this outcome was expected for her – knowing her, maybe you played right into her hands. “He’s going to be our case study for this lesson. Other schools tend to stick with Stephen Steel as the case study, but you guys are a bunch of bright kids.” )

( Her words are laughable. Certainly, they might’ve been to this hopeless little school – filled with nothing but empty platitudes – but in this moment, you feel differently. You’re swept up by the tides of an adult who smiles at you. )

( “From Luisa Zeppeli’s accounts and memoirs, we can establish his date of birth to be either 1866 or 1867 – the radioactive carbon-14 dating suggests this as well.” It’s there that you want to ask about what exactly carbon dating is; maybe here is where your lust for science starts. )

( “Dr Amsa, what’s carbon dating?” It’s not you who puts your hand up. You glance in surprise at the girl who speaks – in this rundown place, she’s close to popular. Indifferent Lorelei, who’s never spoken a word to you but never speaks of anyone either. She gifts you one of her smiles, and you cannot help but gift one to her back. )

( “Carbon dating… well, it’s the use of a radioactive type of element called carbon-14 to see how long ago something lived. All living things are born with a certain amount of this element in their bodies, but radioactive elements are unstable,” she pauses briefly. She’s not a science teacher, yet her words nurture the flames of the subject in your stomach. Your pencil has long fallen against your meaningless doodles. “Its instability makes it want to break into smaller pieces to be stable again – over time, the carbon-14 will ‘decay’, and depending on how long ago someone died, or something, we can calculate when that was if we look at how much is left of the element.” )

( Indifferent, charming Lorelei’s eyes sparkle, and you suddenly understand why she’s so popular. )

( “Right – back to history in the World History lesson,” Dr Amsa laughs briefly, as if she hadn’t just woken up a germinating dream in your heart. “Zeppeli actually hadn’t started off as an executioner for the Kingdom of Naples. Luisa recalls that he started off working as a surgeon under his father, saving hundreds each year.” )

( It’s such a paradoxical concept you can’t help but frown. )

( “Ah-ah, I see your confused faces and raise you this: to be an executioner, he had to know the body well, wouldn’t he?” It’s then that she hands out a little fact file to stick in those tattered exercise books with crappy, cheap glue. You’ll never fully read the sheet – and you never think you’ll need it. )

( The only thing that sticks in your mind is an image of a coin flipping: both sides as one. )

( Perhaps she knew. Dr Amsa, seeker of the truth and knower of the future, might’ve peered into yours. Why else would she have given you such insight into someone she was never obliged to? )

( If that’s the case, isn’t it your fault she died ?)

. 　⁺ ✦

Doctor. Executioner.

The paradox stood by your side.

The paradox pressed his lips together tightly, as if restraining the words held captive in his larynx.

“What are you talking about – why would the rescue group come at night? I’ll be dead before daaawn! After I cut off the poisonous part, I want to clean it – please spare some fire,” he begged – at this point, his wheezing was borderline pitiful as snotty tears ran down the length of his pitted face.

Are you not a doctor ? You wanted to challenge the impassive lump of flesh beside you – but that was a surefire way to get yourself killed. After a long and painful interrogation where you lost any chance of returning home, you were sure he’d give you a torturous death. Anger burned inside you; even if this guy wasn’t trustworthy, there wasn’t any harm in throwing a lit branch to him.

“Are you gonna let him die?” Johnny asked from Slow Dancer. No, it was better that he broached this topic to Zeppeli rather than a strange stranger who’d done nothing but argue with him. His eyes were directed right at the jockey, watching every tremble – every shake – of that swollen flesh. In your professional opinion, he looked ill-at-ease, and you couldn’t help but feel the same.

“I don’t know,” Zeppeli licked his lips in the crackling heat of the fire; you could almost hear the cogs whirring and clicking in that great golden head of his. “I don’t trust him one bit… what a strange guy.”

“Why not toss him a lit branch?” you suggested, tossing up your hands at his deliberation. Doctor . Executioner . It seemed those two sides were constantly warring inside: a writhing, untouchable mass you never wanted to unravel. The paradox glanced sidelong at you, or rather, the frown present in your furrowed brows and shadowed eyes. There was nothing to suggest the angry set of your mouth, just the quiet disapproval in your gaze as you stared back. “He won’t come closer and it’ll be up to him to survive with it.”

It sickened you: talking as if help was beneath you, so ruthlessly . You would’ve never been so callous centuries into the future, but times really had changed.

“You’re right,” Zeppeli conceded reluctantly. His face hadn’t yet settled into peace, but it was slowly getting there. The man stooped low to pick up a lit branch at the edge of the dying fire, before holding it up like a torch. No, that wasn’t right. Zeppeli wielded the branch like a sword; he swung it, until it whistled through the air like a steel blade. It cut through the atmosphere like it was a hot knife gliding through butter – you could only watch, mesmerised, as the after image trailed behind.

“I won’t let you come near us, but I’ll throw you this lit piece of wood!” He cupped a hand over his mouth; the syllables rang out true to the valley. Unlike when he jabbed his finger accusingly at the jockey, his hand didn’t shake as he pointed the fire at him. “You can start your own campfire and cauterise it that way, got it?”

Us.

“Got it! Oh thank you – thank you, thank you, thank you!” It was a rush of burbling that cascaded out of the jockey’s mouth. Like the most pious of acolytes, he clasped his hands – one swollen and purple, the other healthy and tan – in a picture of utmost gratefulness. Looking at him, you felt a surge of shame that you ever got a bad feeling from this newcomer.

[Don’t be so sure yet.]

Depeche Mode’s cynical interruption had your downcast eyes snapping back to the jockey.

What the fuck?

You had spoken too soon.

Before your incredulous eyes, the jockey unbuckled his belt with a swift clink of metal. Stained leather easily slid over his neck, and he pulled both ends tight to create a makeshift noose. Leisurely, he tossed and buckled an end to the branch hanging low over his body, lolling out his tongue in a grimace.

It happened too quickly to fully conceptualise it in your mind.

“Hey, asino ! What the fuck are you doing?” Zeppeli yelled disbelievingly. Up high on Slow Dancer, Johnny’s face was visibly disturbed by the scene in the valley, and you couldn’t help but feel the same way. “You’ll kill yourself before you even get the fire, you hear me! Idiot!”

No longer were his words sure and proud in the face of such perplexity. You could see his fingers draw back as if seared – as if he were fighting with himself to help the fool himself. You felt the same way; Depeche Mode could help if you got within range, but something was wrong .

It was despicable, it was detestable ; you were fully prepared to help, but the innate sinister feeling condensing your bones into leaden weights had you hesitating .

“ Urk … It– it’s anaesthesia– anaesthesia – since I’ll… need to cut off the poisoned bit of my finger, I’ll need a painkiller,” he coughed out; by now, his face had a crazed smile painted on. With the other end of the belt tied around his leg, he tightened it further, all the while brandishing a sharp knife. “I invented this way myself… completely out of this world, so don’t try it yourself. I always let the pretty girls strangle me first…”

[What?]

Can’t we help ? You all but begged the stony Depeche Mode to respond, yet it was eerily silent. Before you could even visualise the red button you’d been searching for, the jockey screamed.

“Just – before – I – pass out !”

His knife dug into flesh, and the action had you looking away as his blood curdling yell echoed against the rocks and cacti. Sweat lined both your face and Zeppeli’s – though he hadn’t looked away. Those golden teeth were gritted with futility, and you could feel your own molars grind in dreadful anticipation.

“The hell is he talking about?” Zeppeli forced out, but it was too late.

There, half-concealed by the barren shrubbery, was the slumped-over jockey. His hands were limp against the ground, and his knife had been propelled to land only a few metres away on the slope. One final time, his legs shook – while his lower face was covered with foamy spittle – and there was no further response.

A sickening silence ensued.

You, who had been so hesitant to help, were feeling grotesque. With Depeche Mode, you could’ve helped, but you didn’t , and this man’s state was no one’s fault but your own.

Fuck it .

You pressed that red button, but nothing happened. No whir, no clicking, no nothing . Depeche Mode, inexplicably, was silent.

What the hell? Answer, you idiot!

[I’m sorry.]

Why’d you block me? This guy’s as good as dead!

[He’s got a ‘ something’ targeting all of you. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do anything for him.]

You were stumped. Again and again, you pressed the button – again and again, you repeated the same mantra of questions, yet Depeche Mode refused to move. Against your sternum, it felt like you had a leaden wall blocking you from your spirit.

“–here’s your fire, just get out of here, dammit! Fuck, he might really be gone from all that strangulation. What an idiot – hey, wake up!”

The torch flew in a smooth arc and landed a metre or two away from the stilled jockey. There was no response.

Zeppeli, albeit hesitantly, inched closer.

“I’m sorry that I was hard on you when you were bitten,” Zeppeli called out dubiously. “We don’t want you lying there all night either! Just get up and get out of here!”

Then, it happened. He kicked the falling knife out of the way, and you suddenly felt a very ominous presence descending. Just as quickly as it appeared, it went away – and you were left wondering whether that haunting chill was just your imagination.

“Hey– hey, he didn’t really die, did he?” Zeppeli questioned nervously. His hands were in his pockets as he approached your ledge again, and you soundlessly moved to let him pass by you. He crouched by the fire, shivering slightly in the suddenly frigid air of the desert.

“You two – I found his name on the racer list,” Johnny spoke up suddenly. Balanced precariously with a gun in one hand and a crumpled newspaper in the other, his eyes searched the printed letters and the saddlecloth of the newcomer’s horse. “Number C-450 – candidate ‘Andre Boom Boom’, in tenth place in the first stage.”

You were busy thinking back to where you might’ve heard his name when the second thing occurred.

It happened like this: one moment, Zeppeli had risen and stood proud against the prussian-blue sky – in the next fateful moment, he stumbled. Now, you might have viewed something like this as a mere coincidence; of course, it could’ve all been due to his exhaustion, or overexertion – anything else. But you’d seen the cause.

There, seemingly out of the blue, the brown leather of his left boot had been slashed in five distinct gouges.

“My.. boot?” Zeppeli murmured in mild surprise. It was bizarre. It was ludicrous. Clearly, he’d only noticed now; his head turned this way and that, not finding a culprit. Inexplicably, that furrowed gaze met your own, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking. “You saw that, right?”

When you nodded wordlessly, his expression only grew even more troubled.

[ Watch out .]

Depeche Mode’s cryptic message sunk into the marrow of your bones, and you could do nothing but shiver.

“–and this ‘Boom Boom’ – wait a minute,” Johnny continued reading his newspaper aloud, oblivious to the strange events unfolding past the words in front of him. He glanced up at the jockey, before adopting a troubled face of his own. “Ninth place is Benjamin Boom Boom, and eleventh is L.A. Boom Boom…”

“ Shit – I should’ve checked as soon as I saw his saddlecloth,” he cursed. His words provoked a tide of foreboding to wash over the campfire, dulling the warmth of the dying campfire even further.

[ He won’t be alone .]

“He’s… not alone? Three of the same last names – he’s part of a ‘family’!”

Johnny’s panicked yell had Zeppeli spewing his own imprecations. Meanwhile, your eyes were fixed on that fateful, glistening knife – slowly, it stained the ground carmine, until it was all that swum in your vision. Fuck . All at once, the built up lethargy and toll of the day crushed you; dark spots floated wherever you looked, and you wanted nothing more than to just fall asleep where you stood.

But you couldn’t do that.

[Wake up , idiot!]

Depeche Mode had bought you precious few grains of time.

“We’ve got to start moving,” you insisted, hurriedly tacking Group Four up. She stood, calm despite the worry in each step you took. “We’ve got a minute or two at best before they arrive.”

“How do you know?” Zeppeli demanded, yet he too was tossing stray belongings back into his bag. You didn’t reply as you cinched your saddle around the barrel of her stomach.

“Can you hear them?”

Your words were short, but enough to make him pause in concentration. By now, the faint thundering of hooves could be heard by human ears. Depeche Mode’s impression had allowed you to hear the sound of metal against metal – hoof against packed sand – a lot faster than they had, so you weren’t overly surprised at hearing it for yourself.

Still, the spiced taste of desperation pooled on your tongue anyway. Clumsy fingers buckled cinches in a way that Vincent would be horrified with, and your palms were clammy with cold sweat. How could they not be, with the unseen enemy taking too-big strides to breath down your neck?

“Who the hell are they?” Johnny yelped. You didn’t turn to look at the dusky horizon, though you were sure of what would greet you if you did. Rather, you methodically checked all the straps and buckles of Group Four’s bridle and saddle – three fingers for the throat, two for the space between pommel and wither – rattling off Vincent’s rules in your head as you did so.

Done . With brief few seconds to spare, you secured your bag firmly onto Group Four, and sprung off a rock to hoist yourself onto the leather saddle. Using your legs to aid her, you urged her to go next to Slow Dancer.

“They’re a team – a three man team, aiming for the fifty million!” Zeppeli glared at the incoming riders – they looked like figurines from this distance, but it was disgustingly naive to dismiss them as such.

Concentrate .

What did you have in your arsenal to defend yourself? Depeche Mode was a given, but you’d tested out its ability already – as it turned out, the effects of whatever slot was chosen was never greater than approximately ten minutes, despite its initial advertisement of indefinite activation. You couldn’t maintain its fighting form for longer than that time, and it was stupid to activate it prematurely.

Besides, unlike the spheres of Zeppeli, Depeche Mode’s range was embarrassingly short when it came to fighting.

I should really buy a gun .

“Hey, Johnny, give me your gun real quick,” you commanded. It had been years since you were taught by your mother, yet the muscle memory still thrummed against your skin.

“What?”

Johnny’s startled voice rang clear against the approaching din at your authoritative tone. Fuck – he’d mentioned never firing a gun before, hadn’t he?

“We don’t have time to argue over this – you’ve never fired a gun, and I have,” you replied exasperatedly; already, your hand was stretched out to receive the cool metal against your palm. At your behest, he finally slipped the weapon into your outstretched fingers. Unlike the modern, compact revolvers you’d been taught with, this was significantly heavier and more old-fashioned. A granny weapon , you’d called it when your mother had brought out some antique weaponry – like always, she didn’t smile at your childish joke.

“If they charge at us…” Zeppeli called out from where he still stood on the stone lip of the hill, clearly trying to formulate a strategy for dealing with two and a half people. The half, of course, referred to the still-unconscious Andre Boom Boom.

“Johnny– no wait, number two–” he did a double-take as he saw you holding the gun rather than Johnny. He’s never gonna let up the nickname, is he, you thought sourly. “Shoot the one on the left with the gun! I’ll take the right!”

“Got it, sarge,” you uttered, low enough for only Johnny to catch. Well, that’s what you thought – Zeppeli glanced at you exasperatedly, until you shifted your focus back onto the gun in defeat.

Focus, birdbrain .

. 　⁺ ✦

( The story goes like this: there’s a child and a mother, and it’s early morning, and you’re definitely yawning more than she’d like. Frost coats the grass beneath yourshoes; you can feel the frigid cold nip and bite at your chubby little fingers. “Focus,” she instructs, just as freezing as the wind. )

( She’s not a warm person, your mother. )

( “I am, mama ,” you peer at the shoes darkened with dew, then out at your surroundings. You’ve been in this part of the garden before, of course you have, but it’s the first time that the range has been set up like this. )

( “No, you’re not,” she leans down, until all your eyes can see is her serious face. “I’m teaching you how to fire a gun today.” )

( “A gun…” you wonder – you’ve only seen them in flashy spy movies and your mind does not yet comprehend the link between the weapon and the pool of Dr Amsa’s blood. It’s been a year, but the wound has already been locked tightly away in the abyss of your subconscious. )

( “See? You’re not focused,” she sighs. It’s only when the grains of sand hit the ten-minute mark of silence that she begins her demonstration. )

( “This, here, is a semi-automatic–” )

Focus.

(“ –you turn safety off like this–” )

Focus.

( “–here’s the modern revolver, notice how it’s double-action, so there’s no need to manually cock the hammer each time you fire–” )

Focus.

(“– here’s the antique revolver – typically they’re single action, so press down here after firing so the chamber rotates– ”)

Your eyes snapped open.

Got it .

. 　⁺ ✦

“Bullets,” you requested, not waiting for a response as you pressed the chamber open and closed with a firm click. Full chamber . Silently, Johnny handed over a pouch of heavy bullets, which you opened slightly and placed in an inner pocket of your crimson jacket.

Sweat beaded on your face as you checked the mechanisms once, twice, then once more. Right – the hammer wasn’t jammed, the chamber rotated smoothly, and the revolver was in perfect condition. What, then, was the problem?

Forget moving on – forget defeating those targeting your potential alliance – forget returning home. Despite the tidbits of information leaking from the walls in your subconscious, you could barely hold onto the gun with your clammy hands. Fuck fuck fuck fuck – you fumbled with the weapon and shakily aimed it at the man riding fiercely on the left.

Yet, despite all the tribulations facing you, the pulse of your tattoos beat resolutely on.

“Shit!” The sudden curse from Gyro had your heart drop and your eyes bear witness to a perplexing development. What the hell? Those earlier gouges in his boot, while disturbing, had been relatively harmless. But now, the leather box had been completely destroyed, and sharp blades pierced through his foot. Blood soaked into the hard-packed sand, and even from Group Four you could smell the beginnings of caustic, metallic blood permeating the dusty air. “What the– my foot !”

Naturally, your focus slipped at the sight of him keeled over so pathetically.

“You good?” you called out hesitantly. Sure, he was an asshat, and sure , you didn’t like him all that much – but his unusually shocked expression had you worried too. Minisculely. Just an iota. A crumb of concern, if even that.

“Do I look like I’m good – fuck – you – fuuuck – idiot?” Zeppeli yelled out hoarsely. He doubled down, likely both from the pain and to check the injury out. Seriously, where the hell had those blades come from? “ Damn – the pain’s fucking incredible too – it’s slowly creeping up my foot! Fuuuck – it feels like a box is wedged in there.”

Well, shit .

You supposed it was time to activate ‘it’ now.

“Johnny, hold onto the gun for a few seconds.”

“Huh?” Johnny sputtered in disbelief as you shoved the weapon back into his hands – yet he didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t able to see the teeth gritted in determination under the cloth, but he sure as hell saw the concentrated knitting of brows. Bitter metallic fumes emanated from where your palms touched the revolver, but you ignored them. Wiping your hands on your jacket, you honed in on a singular thought floating around in the cavern of your mind.

That big red button, set to start the cogs and mechanisms whirring in your right palm.

That shining, crimson button, set to flip the coin in the air to decide your next course of action.

You slammed down on it, and the thunderous sound of approaching horses and mocking jeers died away. As the slot machine spun out a fate in your hands, you concentrated on a singular thread – a fervent mantra – to help guide your fortune. Personal Jesus, Personal Jesus , you prayed.

Your bones shook, your head hurt, and your throat was clogged up with the cold dust of the desert – yet still you mouthed the words. Personal Jesus, Personal Jesus, Personal Jesus. Was there any other way?

[First slot activated: Personal Jesus. Countdown has begun.]

18:13

You had up to roughly ten minutes to use the ‘rejection’. Now, from your lazy, tired experiments, you could only focus on a specific target to apply that ability at a time; normally, this wouldn’t pose a problem as it was a one-and-done sort of thing, since the ‘natural’ and ‘unnatural’ states of things were a clear dichotomy.

Now, what happened when there was a third party interfering with your target?

You bit your lip in concentration. With your estimate, you’d have to use Personal Jesus to continuously monitor and ‘reject’ the injury as soon as it took effect – since the influence of whatever that ominous feeling was, was also continuous.

There was no complete way of healing his foot until that other ability was neutralised.

Take care of Zeppeli .

[Got it.]

For once, you didn’t look at Depeche Mode in derision as it appeared in its ridiculous outfit; rather, your eyes remained trained on Zeppeli as the syringe struck his leg, passing through as seamlessly as it did for Group Four. Speaking of your mare, she let out a surprised snort at the appearance of the spirit once more.

But it was Zeppeli who had the most interesting reaction.

“What the–” Zeppeli gazed in his leg as the blades receded, then glanced around to see the culprit. The blood soaking the ground had disappeared back into his leg, and you could see him testing the leg once more. Then, he noticed something and his gaze hardened.

Stay away from me, Depeche Mode .

It seemed he’d noticed the floating head after all.

“You guys saw that, right?” Zeppeli murmured dazedly, rubbing an eye with a stray hand, but you gave a noncommittal grunt – while Johnny hadn’t been paying enough attention as he pointed the gun at the horizon. “Fuck – it’s gone again – what the hell?”

It also seemed that his ability to see the floating head was limited.

“ Fuck – the blades are back!” Zeppeli cursed as the knives pierced his feet once more. Sweat soaked your clammy hands as you concentrated on his legs fiercely – it seemed that your ability was also limited. Is it stress, or the other side’s doing? The question echoed in your mind as you gripped your reins tightly. “Something’s going wrong with my body – I kicked his knife away with this foot! It could be some kind of poison – or some disease!”

“Did Andre Boom Boom do it?” Johnny scrambled to aim at the unconscious Andre Boom Boom, but his hands couldn’t pull the trigger.

“Look – I think whatever caused it isn’t entirely stable either… the blades keep disappearing – and that thing appeared – shit, that asino really did a number on my head,” Zeppeli stood unsteadily and rubbed his nose bridge, before pointing exhaustedly at the two racers hurtling towards the makeshift camp. Behind him, Depeche Mode was trying to make itself inconspicuous – as inconspicuous as it could be with its shining bald head and practically fluorescent nurse gear with a massive fucking syringe – in the shadows of Zeppeli’s legs.

Told you that costume was stupid .

Well, that’s what you would’ve thought if it wasn’t so focused on tapping Zeppeli’s feet every time. If you were being honest, it was rather commendable. For such an annoying spirit, it really did take its role seriously.

Even if that role was dumping you centuries in the past.

“I don’t care who has the gun – just take the one on the left, and I’ll take the right! While this lull in those stupid, annoying knife things lasts, I’ll take the right!” Zeppeli called out desperately. His face shone in the firelight as sweat trickled down in rivulets down his palloured face. You could roughly guess the direction of his thoughts, and that seemed to be a rush of expletives and imprecations – while a very small area focused on an incoherent plan. He was staring at you, hard, but you were focused rummaging in your bag to appear as oblivious of the floating head as you could.

Secretly, you were watching the plight of Johnny’s aim from your peripherals.

If you were being honest, he was doing better than you expected. Despite his previous (and understandable) reluctance to fire the gun, his arms held steady as he took aim for the leading figure – wrapped up in a dull green coat (with an absolutely tragic haircut, even worse than Stephen Steel’s).

“Johnny, hurry up and shoot!” Zeppeli cursed loudly as the pain flared up again, and you couldn’t help but wince as you felt the resistance of the other force.

Have they encountered ‘that’, as well ?

‘That’, of course, referred to the Devil’s Palm where this all started.

You chewed your lip harshly. This ability was specific to Zeppeli, but all he’d done was kick that bloody knife– fuck. Bloody ? Knives? Iron? The quick images that rushed into your mind gave you a brief inkling of what the ability did , but you couldn’t be too sure. Those blades hadn’t been there randomly – but rather they’d been created .

“I’m trying– what the fuck ?”

It wasn’t a surprise when Johnny’s gun fell apart. No, it was a surprise, but the metal parts flying in Zeppeli’s direction were not.

“Shit – Gyro, look out!” Johnny yelled worriedly as the heavy chamber and components rushed straight at the unsuspecting executioner. How ironic . Ironic. Iron-ic . You suppressed a snicker, while you felt Depeche Mode glare at you with its empty clock eyes.

[You’re so unfunny, you know that?]

Zeppeli practically crumpled as the barrel hit him straight in the ribs. Your suspicions were confirmed as you saw the metal practically burrowing its way into his body. That settles it .

“Johnny, what the hell are you doing?” Zeppeli called through gritted teeth. The impact had him crouched low to the floor once more, and Depeche Mode squinted at you in concern.

“The gun broke, all of a sudden – I swear,” Johnny pleaded. His hands shook as he held out the gun to inspect it, but you knew it wasn’t his fault. Rather, that ability was to blame here, not someone who’d never shot a gun before. “It’s not an old gun; I bought it just the other day! But it suddenly fell apart!”

Depeche Mode, target the ‘magnetism’ , you instructed it.

Eight minutes remained.

“It’s being pulled – Gyro!”

“You’ve been turned into a big fucking magnet, Zeppeli,” you yelled out with your hands cupped over your mouth. Zeppeli looked harrowed at your words, but when you watched him stare at his leg – now practically useless with the amount of material diving into flesh – you knew he understood exactly what that entailed.

“What– what the fuck is going on?”

Or maybe he didn’t.

He clutched at his leg disbelievingly, but his eyes weren’t lying. Clear as day, metal was being attracted to him at an alarming rate. And so was–

“Gyro – look out! Even that knife is moving your way!” Johnny leaned far over Slow Dancer as he cried out – though, you too could only watch in horror as that blood soaked knife spun like a compass to point at Zeppeli menacingly.

Fuck, Depeche Mode – target the magnetism affecting him – is it not natural for a human to be a magnet?

[I’m trying .]

Never had you heard Depeche Mode sound so rueful – so despondent .

[They’re strong – whatever they have is the same as me . At this stage, I can only neutralise the symptoms and consequences of the magnetisation, rather than target the root itself.]

You could feel your heart drop at its proclamation. Fuck . Even with this ability, you were still fucking useless .

I’m buying a gun at the checkpoint , you resolved.

“There’s iron in blood too – maybe they’re controlling it that way?” Johnny yelped as the knife slowly lifted off the ground. You swallowed thickly.

Focus on removing the parts already stuck to him, then , you commanded.

[Got it.]

All of a sudden, his legs were clear once more and the gun parts lay scattered on the ground beside him – yet the knife was already flying his way. Shit . All you could do was hold your breath and stare, transfixed in horrified fascination, as the blade reached closer and closer and closer and closer–

Zeppeli whistled lowly as he leaned backwards – and blocked the blade with his steel ball. When did he pull that out? Here, you were witnessing the extent of his training; never in a million years would you have thought you’d witness this imposing historical figure in full glory. Fragments of Dr Amsa’s lessons pierced your veins and your throat and your eyes; all you could do was observe him as your heart ached with loss.

What would she say?

What would Dr Amsa have said if she stood here with you?

“Historical accounts will never let us observe the true depths of someone’s mind.”

Maybe she’d say this.

“There will always be a ‘perspective’ when we look at any source – someone is always behind the production, and it is their thoughts that obscure what happens, however minisculely.”

Maybe she might’ve also said that.

If you were ten, you didn’t think you’d be able to appreciate that sentiment in all its truth. But standing here, watching someone’s history and present and future unfurl before your very eyes – it was then that you truly understood her message.

History, whoever it was penned down by, would always remain influenced by that person. No matter how factual, no matter how unbiased that person tried to be, the whole picture would never be captured.

You didn’t know anything about Zeppeli – only the things remembered by other people. Never could you know a person through reading words about them; words could never capture the full impression of somebody, no matter how meticulously crafted and full of prose they were. Executioner . Doctor . Paradox .

Even if you wrote millions upon millions of words about someone, there would always be an ‘unknown’ about them. You would never be able to scope out a person’s truest, innermost self. You’d never be able to fully know Zeppeli.

You’d never fully know anyone else, either.

Shit . You were getting too nostalgic and big for your boots.

Obvious Philosophical Advances aside, there was blood staining and polluting the very particles of dust that clouded this area. The caustic smell of fear soaked your mask with sweat and adrenaline, mixing on your lips and on your salty tongue. There was nothing to suggest peace for your ponderings, and everything to suggest an imminent scramble for survival.

Time unfroze.

Zeppeli’s graceful arc of motion smoothly flowed into the next movements, rippling and distorting the air around him. He used the momentum of the flying knife and it spun – spun , just like those steel balls, just like the motions of your slot machine – on his crooked elbow. As the knife came to a slow halt and began dropping, courtesy of Depeche Mode, he bent and flung the steel ball.

Finally.

It was finally in action.

The green sphere was here to sow strife once more.

Once, twice, thrice – all too soon, it became too fast to follow the number of spins as it advanced towards the approaching Benjamin Boom Boom. It was a comet, a meteorite, come to burn in a glorious display of tragedy and power as it fell from the stratosphere. You held your breath in anticipation as it hurtled towards the man in the dull green coat.

And inexplicably, something else happened.

The man in the dull green coat smiled.

It was strange. You recalled it quietly; somehow, you too had formed your own ‘expectation’ and ‘narrative’ of Gyro Zeppeli. Nevermind the Doctor, or the Executioner – those were accepted adjectives stolen from others. But no, this narrative was entirely your own.

Invincible .

Sure, you knew his sorry fate – but that was through other sources. Here, he was still alive. Here, you’d only seen him like this with your own eyes: proud, stubborn, and powerful . You watched, time and time again, as he threw those weapons over and over, until all enemies crumpled and twisted into compact, neat little spirals.

Invincible .

It was strange. You’d been so quick to realise the fault of other people’s accounts that you failed to realise the fault in your own. The clouds obscuring his nature were entirely your doing – your lens.

Words, especially so few as one, cannot begin to describe the true depth of a person.

Your understanding of Zeppeli proved pitifully insufficient.

Time unfroze once more.

A mere second before the man was brushed with the deadly steel ball, he lifted a hand and smiled. Lazily. Triumphantly . It was a single gesture. Something so inconsequential – the almost-closing of his forefingers and thumb – yet so devastating .

Zeppeli stumbled.

That steel ball – a weapon you’d considered practically invincible – was being steadily whittled down with nothing more than a singular gesture. Metallic green shavings floated before the man responsible, like the dying trails of a comet, and you could do nothing but watch in horror. It ground down into a fine marble – just like that, hopes of surviving withered away too.

“The– the steel ball,” Johnny murmured deliriously. It seemed that he, too, was feeling the intense effects of dissonance here.

You stared, dazedly, as the whirl of dust swam around you. The thunderous, capricious dance of horses circling closer and closer to the camp echoed in your eardrums – until all you could hear was the impending sounds of your life’s end at this death march.

“Zeppeli! Get on your goddamn horse!” you yelled out, feeling Group Four pace restlessly beneath you. It was futile; the man was still stumbling around in a hazy rush, not listening to anything but the hopeless thoughts swirling inside like a murder of crows. “You idiot – get the high ground!”

“Gyro! The steel ball was gone in mid-air – it’s iron, too! But how– how can you just grind iron like that? Who the hell are these guys?” Johnny’s face was peppered with sweat as he spoke – it glistened high on his freckled cheeks and around his worried blue lips. Zeppeli still didn’t answer.

“We’re surrounded, Zeppeli – they’re circling around us. Get on your goddamn horse before we’re completely cut off!”

You wanted to tear your brows out in frustration; really, you got that it was a big shock that his metal balls hadn’t managed to work this time, but this idiot was going to get himself killed if he didn’t get on Valkyrie soon.

“These guys are completely different,” Zeppeli muttered feverishly. Still, he stumbled, and still, he looked ill – but he was finally responsive . His brows were drawn low over his eyes, and he watched the circling riders with a distinct, abject queasiness. “Not like Mrs Robinson – far from it – he was breeding insects in his eyes and controlling them!”

You glanced at Johnny with a rather incredulous expression. Well, what you could manage with half your face covered.

What the hell, man?

He shrugged helplessly in reply. And if you were being honest, you weren’t too keen on learning about the details either.

[We don’t have a lot of time left, you know.]

Five minutes remaining .

“The difference between that kind – and this – those guys have a serious ‘ something ’, and they showed up in this race,” Zeppeli concluded, lowering his stance once more so his hand rested on his other holster.

A serious ‘something’.

You hear that, Depeche Mode? He called you a serious something.

[Shut up.]

Sorry, sorry .

The gaping maw of imminent death was encroaching upon the peripherals of your sight. At this point, the only things in your arsenal were one broken gun, one broken steel ball, one tentative steel ball, and a spirit that was all too preoccupied with reversing the continuous effects of magnetism on Zeppeli’s foot.

We are not winning this shit , you sighed out. Sure, the numbers were equal, but the abilities were definitely not .

“What the hell do you mean – a serious ‘something’?” Johnny’s mouth was wide open as he questioned Zeppeli. He, too, was relying completely on that last steel ball.

This stinks. This stiiiiiinks.

“I don’t know – I’d like to know… I’ve got absolutely no clue what that entails,” Zeppeli muttered. For once, the formidable executioner looked utterly defeated. His shoulders, even in the throes of the mechanical movements of reaching for his legendary weapon, had all but slumped downwards, while his legs looked all but ready to collapse.

Whatever he’d faced today before coming here was only the beginning of a very unfortunate journey.

That wasn’t all. There, pounding slowly against the flesh of your clammy palm, was the time slowly approaching the end.

Three minutes remaining .

. 　⁺ ✦

#johnny joestar #gyro zeppeli #diego brando #steel ball run #sbr #jjba #johnny joestar x reader #gyro zeppeli x reader #diego brando x reader #hot pants #funny valentine #slowd1ving #res ･ﾟ writing #jojo no kimyou na bouken

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rottenbrainstuff · 2 years

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I’m finally, FINALLY getting around the watching Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure part 5. The later parts are just not as much my cup of tea and they get less and less so as they go, and hey that’s ok. My middle kiddo watched part 6 and loved it and now she’s watching part 5 so I guess I thought it was time.

Abbacchio so far is my favourite character, I love how he’s a cranky wine aunt, and sex pistols is so cute, I’m glad they finally showed up.

My Japanese is barely past a beginner level but even so it’s still neat to be able to hear little details that don’t translate well into English: for example, the passione boys all speak with pretty typical arrogant slang, but Giorno uses much more polite language and that adds a little dimension to the character that doesn’t really get translated in the subtitles.

However, this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen:

I’m sorry, the capos do WHAT? They dress WHAT in order to WHAT?????

In what universe do they dress normally lmao

(Yeah yeah yeah I know that one old man was dressed as a street sweeper. It’s still funny)

I miss the big beefy stands with simple powers from the earlier parts but whatevs.

#jojos bizarre adventure #vento aureo

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chepsi · 3 years

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my biggest problem with writing ANYTHING is my obsessive concern for realism. this is why i am once again reading about figure skating injuries at 2 am

#dude this is just jojo’s bizarre adventure fanfiction chill out #aaron and i immediately decided when we made this au OVER A YEAR AGO that ghiaccio would figure skate bc the juxtaposition is GOOD #i had just watched i tonya so maybe i found an aggressive spirit who is passionate about a beautiful delicate sport appealing #but yea i just watched fucking speed skating and his technique is Very much more of that variety #but i don’t care. it isn’t as pretty. i want ghiaccio to do a triple lutz #but we gave him an ankle injury and i know like technically Anything Can Happen but i just want to make sure that like #i’m not giving someone on a highly advanced level of skating an implausible injury #i think he just lands an axel wrong or something. probably already going on at least one stress fracture but this takes the cake #idk! people mess up so idk why i feel like he Can’t mess up. maybe he really does just make a stupid mistake.#idk this doesn’t even happen until way in the story so whatever #txt #oops i just went off. but i love figure skating ghiaccio. i have big big feeling about him

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esha-isboogara · 2 years

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jojo’s bizarre porn tropes

publishing even MORE headcanons before i finish the first set ? an absolute iconic move from me tbh. i went crazy with my tags bro😩but anyways enjoy this …i will do more characters if i can come up with more tropes

here’s part two

jonathan - he’s very vanilla so your videos fall under the passionate category. jonathan takes the act of making love very seriously so expect to cum at least twice in one session. he won’t over stimulate though , he gives you a pleasant high. y’all don’t post a lot but when you do it’s usually a movie that will have the viewers drooling.

joseph- amateur porn. he isn’t too fond on setting up a camera and having a script or whatever. he’d much rather record you giving him head or maybe a lil pov of back shots. joseph makes sure you’re featured on his only fans regularly. videos are usually no longer than 5 minutes.

jotaro- big dick small girl trope. my god this man is hung. people watching your videos are always slightly worried for your safety. how does it fit? women all around the world want to be you. some of the more aggressive sessions almost always lead to concerned comments. jotaro does have a bit of a reputation so he refuses to show his face along with yours.

kakyoin- not a trope but most of your posts are cosplay related. dressing up as your favorite anime characters and fucking for money is a dream come true. a lot of work goes into your videos mainly because of the well put together costumes and make up looks. the entire look gets ruined in the end but presentation is a big deal. the two of you have a cute set up. it’s high effort but the rewards are so worth it.

josuke- innocent boy and experienced woman. he still won’t say it out loud but he is a total bottom so having you top him/take control is perfect. josuke will use titles like “step mom gives new son blowjob during dinner” to catch a persons attention. or so he says. you’d swear he has a bit of a thing for it. your videos are usually a bit longer and medium effort.

giorno- very beautifully done/well put together porn. people who watch the two of you enjoy modern art and pretty landscapes. it’s essentially art house porn. your content is extremely well put together and is pleasing to eye as well as to the dick/pussy. giorno doesn’t much care if his face is recognized-hes a crime lord there’s not much anyone can do at this point.

leone- rough sex! the people who watch your videos are sickos and the others are worried for your safety. lots of tying up, whipping, slapping and abuse of your little hole. don’t worry it’s all consensual and monitored.

bruno- pov style porn. honestly an iconic move from him. he loves to go back and watch your tapes so why not upload them. similar to joseph they’re never longer than five minutes but there’s a good amount of them. occasionally you two will put together tutorials for those less experienced in sex.

jolyne- lesbian! jojo knows how much men love that wlw content so the two of you exploit that fetish to the max. it started off as just a few short clips but as time went on you and jolyne got a whole set up. most of your vids are pretty basic but men especially eat them up so 🤪

hermes- massage porn. she’s always been good with her hands so why not use her abilities for something fun? you guys don’t upload often. not because you don’t want to just because you always forget or get too caught up in what you’re doing.

foo fighters- the two of you were on the weirder side of porn hub. strange toys, story lines and odd outfits. from alien sex to retro porn you’ve done it all. honestly it doesn’t really matter if others find it sexy the two of you enjoy it. it doesn’t take much to convince them to post your videos- it takes longer to explain how the camera works than anything.

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giggly-squiggily · 2 years

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Hi it’s 1:36 am and I just finished part 3 of Jojo’s Bizarre adventure and I have thoughts (spoilers under the cut)

Also: TW: mentions of animal death

First of all: best part so far. I loved it so much!

Jotaro Kujo is a brick wall of stoic muscles and good lord I love him!

Joseph!!! I loved him in Part 2 and ahhhh god this part made me love him more! He’s so funny with his “OH MY GOD!”s and “OH SHIT!”s 🤣🤣🤣

Kakyoin (sobs) God I loved him. Mr Cheery-I had only just realized he wears Cherry earrings and that made me happy. His stand was so cool- as was all of them!

PONLNAREFF!!! I wasn’t expecting to fall so hard for a character but on my god! He’s my favorite! Over the top, handsome, too funny for words: I’m happy he lived but lord my heart 😭😭😭

Avdol (sobs) Another king- just the best character! I loved him from day one- his fortune teller theme really made the story, and him and Joseph’s shenanigans were top tier! Also another favorite stand!

IGGY!!! (Sobs hardest) I loved him!!! I wanted him to love what the hell is wrong with this show??? Like- I get it, but also- come on not HIM! 😭😭😭 Still one of the best doggos yet- he’s too funny and his antics were both brave and hilarious! (Also his English VA is Shino from Naruto, so that made me happy)

~~Some other things~~

- The whole Tarot card/Egyptian God theme for the various stand users was absolutely brilliant! I knew a few and leaned about a lot- and quiet a few stand users were hilarious!

- Best of Dio’s Villlains: The old woman, The lovers (even when he was annoying), the brothers (I forgot their names but the comic one and his face shifting brother), the magnet lady

-Worst: Death 13 (gross), the child shadow dude (Ew ew ew ew ew), Cool Ice (F*ck that dude), The dude who did the whole shifty thing and turned into Kakyoin briefly (though the whole cherry thing was funny- especially when you realize he actually did do that)

- I could really do without all the dog deaths. I think I saw somewhere that the reason there’s so many is because the creator loves dogs and seeing them hurt/killed is the epitome of evil to them (don’t quote me on this- it’s just what I heard), but even so- I didn’t like all the random animal deaths.

- Kid Polnareff was adorable but again- that whole arc with the villain was gross. Whatever the heck his name was- it was just super uncomfortable watching it. Baby Jotaro and Polnareff were cute though!

- POLNAREFF LAND QHSNNQNANQMKSNS of all the wishes he could pick that was one of them. “It’ll be bigger then Disney!” 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

- on the subject: This:

Mid attack but we still gotta do the secret handshake 🤣🤣🤣🤣 Kakyoin and Polnareff are bros and would cause all the mischief.

“Jotaro and I are both students, so we’ll share a room.” Uh huh- sure. That’s the reason you want to share a room with Jotaro, Kakyoin? Gotcha 👀💅

I probably have more thoughts but it’s late and I have stuff in the morning so- good night everyone! :D If I remember I’ll give more thoughts!

#squiggily rambles #jjba #stardust crusaders #thoughts #midnight thoughts #I really did love the anime #I’m excited for part 4!#it’s gonna be a minute before I start it but when I do #it’s gonna be a good day #non tickle #tw: mention of animal death #stardust crusaders spoilers

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randoimago · 3 years

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Day 5, Baking Cookies with Jotaro

FANDOM: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Character(s): Jotaro Kujo

Type of Request: Oneshot, 🎄

Word Count: 586

Note(s): This was actually really fun to write. I was confused with the direction to take this in the beginning, but I had fun!

Festive Prompt List if you’d Like to Request headcanons!!

“More chocolate!”

“More chocolate?” You asked little Jolyne as she looked up at you, nodding her head vigorously so of course you dumped in some more chocolate chips despite the recipe giving a specific amount.

“Good grief, you give in too easily.” You just gave a wink to Jotaro, who was in the kitchen as well, mostly thanks to Jolyne’s incessant pestering. She wanted both of her “parents” (she lovingly calls you her parent despite you not being married to Jotaro) to help make cookies.

“And you don’t?” You questioned him rhetorically since he is currently in the kitchen “helping” even though he stated he had work he needed to get done. You were met with another “yare yare” from him, causing you to smile.

“How long do we have to wait?” Jolyne asked as you evenly put the dough on trays and put them in the oven to bake.

“About ten minutes, but we’re going to have to check them to see if they need to stay in longer,” you informed her and she gave a nod before going to just stare at the oven. “You’re not going to be able to make time go by faster, let’s watch some TV or something in the meantime.”

“What if we turn up the temperature, then they’ll cook faster!” You went to stop her from touching the dial on the oven, but Jotaro beat you to it (probably by cheating with his stand, but you weren’t going to say anything).

“I would like the house to not be burned down,” he said, being surprisingly patient with his daughter. Having a kid has definitely caused him to thankfully mellow out. Jolyne just gave him a pout before getting excited about watching some kid’s show and dragging you along wtih her.

“You coming with, Jojo?” You asked and Jotaro waved you off.

“I’ll start cleaning up, you made my kitchen a mess.”

“Hey, without me this kitchen would never be used.” You didn’t hear a reply to your statement but you know for sure that he made some kind of mental comment. You just took satisfaction in having the last word before going to keep Jolyne company for a bit.

You sat with her, happy to just listen to her chat about whatever show she was watching but instead she turned the volume up higher before leaning over to you. “Dad already got your present,” she whispers a bit too loudly to you. You glanced in the direction of the kitchen just to see if Jotaro heard before you matched Jolyne’s mischievous expression.

“Oh? What is it?” You whispered back. Her eyes lit up as she started to say something, but before she could, Jotaro suddenly appeared while covering her mouth.

“I will take your present away,” Jotaro threatened the girl, causing her to frown as she struggled in his hold. He let go and she crossed her arms, pouting as he walked back to the kitchen, muttering about how he can’t leave you two alone for a minute.

As he walked away, you saw Jolyne pointing at her ring finger and giving you an excited look. It took you a moment before you understood, face heating up at what she was saying. Before you could ask her a million questions, a beeping came from the kitchen and Jolyne gasped.

“Cookies are done!” She jumped up and you were quick to follow along, heart and mind racing at your new knowledge as you did. Christmas couldn’t come fast enough.

#jotaro kujo #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro x reader #jotaro #jojos bizarre adventure #jojos bizzare adventure x reader #jjba x reader #jjba

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dirty-brainrot · 3 years

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(Alien)

Kinda wanna make a series where the jojo villains appear in you home and lives with you.

Pairing: Kars x Reader

It was an average cold night. The perfect temperature to snuggle up in your warm blanket and pillows and watch a random movie on Netflix until you pass out. On the 2nd movie, you felt your eyelids get heavy as the sounds on tv get fuzzy and distant. As you were succumbing to sleep, out of nowhere, a loud boom came from your backyard along with a small earthquake. You jolt up with eyes opened wide.

Slowly getting off your covers, you looked around your room to see if anything had fallen and possibly break. Luckily, nothing broke nor fell. You quickly turned off your tv, slipped on your sweater, and ran to the source of the boom.

In your backyard, there was... A man? A man on a vast crater. He seems to be the one who caused the earthquake and the crater. It left you with many questions while he stood there, perfectly fine. You could feel his menacing aura from where you stood. With caution, you called out to the mysterious man that could possibly be an alien from outer space. "Um... Sir?" You don't even know if you could call it that.

He looks at you and you approached him. "Do you... Need help?—" He interrupts you by chuckling. "Finally... I'm back..!" You watch him monologue something about a Joestar bloodline and getting stuck to space that you didn't really pay attention to. You were focused on his loincloth and horns (and his abs plus his huge tiddies too). "Bizarre." You thought as he approaches you.

"Human... Where am I?" The man or alien, in bizarre clothing, questions. "Oh, well you're in (country)." You respond as he stood in front of you. 'Man. He's really tall.' Is what you thought as you crane your neck upwards to his towering figure. "I really like your hair, funky alien man." He was taken aback by the random bluntness but he shook it off by smirking.

"I'm rather hungry but I'll spare you and make you my pet, human." 'is he kind of some alien overlord?' You giggle quietly and decided to go along with whatever this man had to offer. It's not every day you get to see a man-looking alien that possibly came from space and will take over the world. "What's your name, funky alien man?" He struck a pose, you swear you could hear faint music playing but that could just be your sleepy brain. "My name is Kars, last of the pillarmen. Use it well human." Holding in your laughter, you nod.

"So... Do you want human food? I don't know what food you eat but maybe human food works too." ‘Hmm.. Maybe he eats plants... Or rocks!’ He stops posing to look at you with visible disgust on his face.

"Whatever man. I'll just make food for myself." You head back inside, leaving the backdoor unlocked so he could get in. Opening a cupboard, you grabbed your bread, peanut butter, and jam. As you peacefully make your PBJ, you hear a loud sound, which is similar to a door getting ripped off, you swiftly looked at your backdoor. It was removed from its hinges.

The man threw the door away into your backyard. "Hey!" You shouted while glaring at the man. "Do you know how much to get a door fixed?!" He looks at you with a bored expression. "No." You pouted. 'Man... He probably did it by accident since he's incredibly buff." You sighed and shook your head then continued to make your sandwich as the man wandered around in your kitchen. "Please don't break anything else." You comment as he grabs the toaster and shakes it.

After a while, you finished making 4 slices of PBJ. Two for each of you. You walked to your dining table and called him. "Kars!-" "It's Master Kars for you, Human." He appeared behind you, making you yelp from your seat. "Holy shit... Don't do that again." You said as you clutch your hand to your chest trying to steady your breathing. With a sigh, you offered him a sandwich. He rose his eyebrow but still accepted the offer. "It's really good since I used the best brand of peanut butter!" You grabbed your own piece and merrily took a bite out of it. He cautiously eyes his sandwich and took a bite. You watch him eat his sandwich with caution then suddenly spat it out. "Hey..!!"

"This is unacceptably horrible, human." You glared at him and ate your sandwich. 'Now I'm gonna have to clean that later.' "I'm sorry that it doesn't fit your alien tastes." He places the sandwich on the counter and looks at your fridge. You watch him as if he was a tv while you ate your sandwiches.

He touches the door handle and stares at it. Catching up on what he's doing you quickly stop him. "H-hey wait! Maybe it's best if I open it instead." You place your sandwich back on your plate and quickly shuffled beside him and opened the fridge. "Just open it gently. I don't want to pay any more damages." He ignores you and went straight for the meat in the freezer. “This’ll have to do.” He comments as he devours the fresh meat in one go.

'Oh... He...eats meat. Neat.'

With that knowledge, you feel slightly terrified 'but he looks like he's fond of me... So I guess there's that...?' You gulp and walk back to your table and nervously eat your sandwich as he rummages around your refrigerator. "Human, what is this?" He points toward the ice dispenser on your fridge. "Oh!" You grab a mug and walked beside him. "It's an ice dispenser!" You say while you place your mug in it and watch it dispense ice. "Ta-da~" You gave him the ice-filled mug. He grabs a piece of ice and eats it (which was pretty cool. ) "Humans are innovative nowadays." He hums and looks at your small figure.

You stare back at him.

He rubs his chin. "Maybe I'll give you humans one more chance. You spark my interest and... I want to see more of this... technology." 'Oh... well that's cool? Kinda hoping for an alien invasion' You tilted your head and gave him a goofy grin. "Neat!"

Well, you just made an alien buddy! That probably has a power that can erase humanity in a single attempt but that doesn't matter because he's your alien buddy now.

JoFoe in your home series: Diavolo, Kira

#jojo #jjba #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jojo bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure battle tendency #battle tendency #jjba part 2 #kars #kars x reader #okuyasu x reader #jojobaoil

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sohin-ace · 3 years

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Josuke & Okuyasu - Magazine

Inspired by that one fanart I can't use because I can't find the artist.

Enjoy~

'Boys will be boys'.

We don't count the times this excuse was used to justify the hormone-driven and often stupid decisions or behaviors of male teenagers.

This applies to our two protagonists, Josuke and Okuyasu who just happened to be at that age where boys were curious about their own selves but most importantly of course, curious about the opposite sex.

They couldn't really be blamed, sexuality was a normal part of a teenager's life after all. Which may or may not imply them oogling questionable things here and there or watching specific videos, for instance.

Josuke and Okuyasu decided to feast their eyes as a part of their numerous 'bro dates' as they called them, and made it a regular thing.

Of course, they made these moments very secret. Only them could know what sinful things they were doing after school. They trusted no one else than each other and nobody should ever know about their activities.

They especially couldn't let a girl know about their shenanigans. Oh no, that would be an absolute disaster if they were to be caught red-handed by a girl from their school. They would have to carry the heavy title of 'disgusting perverts', stamped right on their foreheads for the rest of their highschool years, if not their life.

One day as they got out of school, they decided to check out the X-rated section of a local konbini, section placed strategically in the far corner of the shop, and opened some nice porn magazine for their needy eyes. As one does.

"Yoooo Josuke check this out!" Okuyasu exclaimed to his friend while pointing to one of the pages, already blushing madly and coughing up an impressed chuckle.

"Oh my god!!" Josuke whisper-yelled to his friend, trying to not catch people's attention. "That's hot! You think those boobs are real?"

They kept on drooling over pictures of sexy women in bikinis or underwear and posing suggestively for 10 more solid minutes, completely forgetting about their surroundings.

They weren't really worried about getting caught as the section they were in was pretty far away from the entrance of the store and nobody really passed by this corner of the shop anyways.

As they were in their own little fantasy world, they didn't notice a certain H/C haired female coming up behind them.

"Hey isn't that the red head girl from last time?" Josuke commented as he pointed at a certain picture.

"The one who was licking a cherry? Yeah I think so." Replied his tan best friend who started chuckling.

"Who even licks cherries like that?"

"I don't know but she can lick my cherry if you know what I'm sayin'~"

They both snorted obnoxiously and stupidly to themselves until they suddenly heard a very familiar someone right behind them.

"Hey guys! What's up!"

The boys jumped, screaming high pitched 'Eeeks' and 'Uwahs' at the sound of your sweet voice startling them into the worst heart attack they'd ever experience, threatening to cut their short lives even shorter.

Josuke nearly dropped the lewd magazine from his clammy hands and they both turned around abruptly, sweating bullets as they desperately and clumsily hid the piece of dirty evidence behind their backs.

'Oh no. God, everything but not this...' They both thought in unison, as if connected.

The last thing they could have ever expected or wanted, was seeing YOU, of all people, here out of all places and now, out of all times. They really had the worst luck. Suddenly, getting struck by thunder seemed appealing.

"O-o-oh hey Y/N-chan..." Okuyasu stuttered shakily, still sweating profusely.

"What uh... Ahem... What are you doing... here...?" Josuke continued clearing his tight throat and eyeing his best friend with rising anxiety.

The boys were silently communicating, trying to come up with anything, any excuse to either hide their shameful crime from you, or make you leave as soon as possible. They had to work their so-called 'bro-telepathy' like they never did before.

"I was passing by to get some strawberry milk, but then I recognized your hair in the distance! I'm so glad to see you!" You smiled angelically at them while showing them your little pink carton of strawberry milk like it was some prize.

You were beaming so brightly at them, they almost had to squint at your radiating light and beauty. Oh no this was bad, they were both striked by you like an arrow right through their heart.

'She.... SHE'S TOO CUTE FOR THIS WORLD!' They both screamed in their heads.

You, in particular, should never know about what they were doing. EVER. You were way too pure and too innocent for this. Who knows what your reaction would be if you discovered their lewd secrets? Would you judge them? Be disgusted by them? Never talk to them ever again? They couldn't possibly risk that.

Sadly, they were not as glad to see you here as you were to see them. You eventually asked them the oh-so-dreaded question that they wished you'd never ask.

"So, what were you boys doing? Reading manga?" You leaned over to the side slightly trying to see what they were hiding behind their backs and they both panicked.

Obviously you didn't notice the big 'R18' sign over all three of your heads and surely, you couldn't know what this part of the store was since you probably never checked it in your entire life.

In an amazingly coordinated moment, Josuke swiftly handed the magazine to Okuyasu while walking towards you, passing in front of the Jobro, the action completely hidden from your sight.

Josuke came in front of you and grabbed your shoulders, smiling big and trying to act as natural as he could.

"Aah um yes! Manga! Actually there's this one manga I wanted to show you, good thing you're here!" The pompadour-haired haafu was still obviously in utter panick, even if he tried his best to play it cool.

As Josuke was trying to deflect your attention from their guilty pleasure, Okuyasu took this advantage to turn around and scurriedly hide the magazine back in it's original shelf.

You were confused at their shady behavior and furrowed your eyebrows a little bit. You noticed Josuke was sweating and panting slightly, but your eyes traveled to Okuyasu fumbling with the magazines behind and you tried to make out what he was doing.

But Josuke wouldn't let you discover their evil plan for anything in the world, and so, he cupped both your cheeks in his large hands earning a gasp from you as he almost squished them, and turned your head back to face him.

He leaned down to your height and your eyes widened, puzzled by his spontaneous actions.

"Y/N Look at me! Look at my eyes!" He stared at you with a serious expression and you blushed at his sudden bold act and how close he was.

"J-jojo...?" You yelped as your heart was beating fast in your chest.

You were so confused as to what the hell was going on and why they were acting so weird. You knew the two could be up to some truly bizarre adventures sometimes, but that was just so strange.

Whatever they were trying to distract you from, it was working. His face was so close to yours, and his big hands were so warm, you subconsciously put your small ones over his wrists in response, face now red with blood and adrenaline.

You were beyond puzzled at everything that was happening, but you were so lost in Josuke's ocean blue eyes, you completely forgot about what Okuyasu was hiding so clumsily.

Speak of the devil, the tan male suddenly came up to you both, and Josuke released you from his grasp as his best friend made a surprisingly genius offer.

"Ohh Y/N, you didn't pay for that milk yet, right? Good, it's my treat then! Josuke, let's get some too! I'm thirsty."

The scar-faced boy casually wrapped a large arm around your shoulders and swiflty turned you around in his strong hold, effectively dragging you away from the adult section of the store, and barely letting you any time to even glance at the overly sexual display around you.

"Eh? What about that manga you wanted to show me?" You looked back at Josuke, regaining your composure slowly.

"Oh that? Never mind, it's not important anyway- Hey Okuyasu, do you want banana flavor or chocolate?" The fourth Jojo quickly changed the subject as he opened the fridge doors and picked up some drinks.

"You guys are acting so weird today..." You loved the boys, and they usually brought you into their messes, that wasn't anything new, but sometimes you really couldn't understand them. "I'll go wait in line while you guys make up your minds."

You gently patted Okuyasu's chest who almost forgot to let you go and you walked away towards the cash register.

When you were finally out of earshot, they both stared at each other, thinking of how they just dodged a bullet so big, it might as well just have been an atomic bomb.

"D-dude... That was so clutch man...." Josuke sighed, still swallowing his stress out and his best friend only shut his eyes and cringed before grabbing his drink.

"Just shut up, let's not talk about it..."

"Aaahh!!" Okuyasu let out a loud sigh of delight as he sipped his banana milk. "Man, that hit the spot."

"Yeah! Nothing better than some fresh milk in the summer. Great idea Y/N."

You three walked out of the store and headed back home, enjoying your drinks. You giggled at their over-the-top reaction and handed them your own carton.

"You guys want to try strawberry flavor?"

"Oohh~" Okuyasu gushed before smirking and taking the item from your hands. "An indirect kiss from my little Y/N! Lucky~"

Josuke gasped and snatched the drink as well, snickering when he was done. "Can't say no when she's the one who proposed huehue!"

"Well you both drank from the same straw, so technically you two kissed too!" You laughed at their priceless shocked facial expressions.

"WHAT?!"

"Naah dude, no homo, no homo." Josuke patted his friend's back, reassuring him with the holy expression famous for saving countless men from potential homosexuality.

Okuyasu sighed in relief. "Yeah, no homo! Still in the bro zone, bro."

You snorted at their questionable reasoning and kept on walking when you suddenly saw two familiar faces coming towards you.

"Oh! It's Koichi and Yukako!" You waved and smiled at the couple who approached you.

"Oh hey guys, what are you doing?" The short male greeted with a smile.

"Oh nothing much, I bumped into them in the konbini." You sheepishly answered and Yukako quirked an eyebrow at the two suspicious looking males next to you.

"Really?" She feigned, still staring at them. "What were they doing without you I wonder..."

"I don't know, reading manga I think? I'm not sure, they wouldn't tell me." You tried to look between her and them and they seemed to glare at the girl as hard as she did them.

"Huh?" She scoffed and shifted her weight on one leg." I bet you guys were reading porn again. Y/N I can't believe your patience around those guys."

"HUUUHHH???" Koichi yelled in pure surprise at the revelation and you three widened your eyes.

"YOU FREAKIN- OH MY GOD SHUT UP!" Okuyasu gasped and screamed at the girl who was smirking in victory.

"W-what?" You stuttered and looked at the two visibly stressed boys. "Po-... I don't- ... What??"

"Y/N DON'T LISTEN TO HER SHE'S LYING!" Josuke guiltily tried to reason as you covered your mouth in shock.

"Well it's the truth, right? Did I hit a sensitive subject, perhaps?" The brunette chuckled cutely, infuriating your friends even more.

"YOU'RE DEAD!!!"

Josuke sprinted towards Yukako who easily hoisted her awe-struck boyfriend over her shoulder and ran for dear life, having no regrets whatsoever.

An old one. A very old fic, it hurts to read it. I'm going to go ahead and post some old stuff I wrote just to get them out of my drafts. I hope they'll be enough for my beautiful gangsters.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #jojo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #writing #x reader #reader insert #jojo part 4 #part 4 #diamond is unbreakable #josuke higashitaka #nijimura okuyasu #platonic #josuke x reader #okuyasu x reader

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