#Muse ᴏʜ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘɪꜱꜱ ᴍʏ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ. ᴀʙʙᴀᴄᴄʜɪᴏ
@zettaflarc one-liner for bruno
“ no - you heard wrong. i didn’t say , we should put giorno down. i just said, he’d be happier someplace where he could roam free ... a farm or something . “
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@starprint ‘s trish
he splutters as the wine he’d swallowed goes down the wrong way - coughing to bring air back into his lungs before staring dumbfounded at the girl before him. clearly thrown by the question. “ what -” he rasps.
the teens he’d begrudgingly cared for - have the habit of spouting endless amounts of bullshit. he’d grown accustom to it. scarcely getting a reaction from him anymore. but that - where the hell had that come from.
“ why is that any business of yours , kid.”
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@sunovagun said : “Make me.”
“ i shouldn’t have to - “ while he wasn’t officially in charge. he's been given the task to ensure the squad ; and their surroundings. survived the evening without the guidance of bucciarati. it wasn’t his job … they were all gangsters, capable to looking after themselves. but bruno , had asked - so nicely. that he oversee the others. and it was unlike him to disobey a direct order.
“ i don’t care if it’s fugos turn - someone has to wash those damn dishes , and i don’t trust narancia enough to make him. “
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@dimetallo said: pulls leone into his lap . u___u
leone abbacchio , was by no means a small man. all lanky limbs, and firm muscle. standing at least a head over the rest of their squadron. it was standard to him. to have bucciarati rest his head upon his shoulder , leaning down to kiss the man he loved. he’d grown accustom to the experience; that was until risotto had infiltrated their lives , and hearts. readjusting wasn’t a hassle – but there were things that still took him by surprise , like the arm firmly encasing his waist , hefting him easily into his lap. as though he weighed almost nothing. he almost laughs at how ludicrous they must look together ; rare smile graces painted black lips. leaning into the embrace.
“ you only did this to show me that you could , right ? ‘
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mista starter for @starprint
bucciarati was in the habit of bringing in strays - those who had felt the cool damp stone of rock-bottom. who this corrupt society had chewed-up and spat back out again. he was long disenchanted with the idea that every person held a seed of good, the potential of reform - but that didn’t stop bucciarati. a man whose compassion almost outweighed the fact he could be downright terrifying - brutal.
music drowned out the sounds of fugo’s tutoring, the clinking of metal on plates - idle chatter of the cafe. it was far too early to actively participate in reality - content to stare, eyebrows drawn together at the clock. awaiting bucciarati’s arrival , new recruit no doubt in tow. he didn’t even know the guy - and he was already pissed off. in his opinion , the team was already cramped. only just learning how to cope with narancia incessant music - pounding through shared walls at all hours. getting on each and every one of his nerves.
fugo places down his pen, narancia beaming towards the cafe entrance. signalling the arrival of bucciarati. turning in his chair, nonchalant, in attempt to mask any interest he may have. honey eye’s widen - god must have an appalling sense of humour. standing beside their impeccably dressed boss - shabby appearance only highlighted by the comparison. mista. a kid he wished he’d been given enough time to forget - not that he had much chance. as he’d thrown him in lock-up on no less that several occasions. minor offences. warranting only an over night stay. still leaving him to watch over the kid - shrugging off his relentless attempts at conversation. he thought he’d told him - pull your head in kid. keep going the way you are - and you’re going to find yourself in deep shit one day.
“ oh for fuck’s sake.”
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@zettaflarc starter for bruno
he’d joined passione not caring if the next mission would be his last - he’d follow orders. and risk it all to complete the task at hand , finding some peace in that routine. the lack of sentimentality. all he was meant to be was a tool. he didn’t really know when that all changed - but he’d guess it was somewhere between being skewered through the chest and waking up relieved. job complete - and overwhelming sense relief that his team. his family, had made it.
it would have been some cruel injustice if he’d come out of this breathing - even just barely. only to hear the others hadn’t been so lucky. but they had, bucciarati had survived. running into the fray - wouldn’t be so easy anymore, would it? he was ashamed of how attached he'd become.
but how long would the peace last? he wondered. surely giorno - the kid he was reluctant to call his new don. would have some other dream - that’d have them sticking their necks out again. it didn’t matter if he was technically his new superior - he still pissed him off. anyway - he’d promised to follow bucciarati, and that was still his plan.
he released a sigh - one that could be seen in the cooling air. icy even. leaning on the balcony wall - taking in the view. the sun rising over the italian landscape. painting the sky pink and orange. was he really deserving of seeing this sight again? probably not - but he still wasn't going to take it for granted.
“so - what now bucciarati. did you really think we’d get this far?”
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@godborn giorno ruins abbachios wedding starter bc i had to.
contrary to popular belief he didn’t hate giorno giovanna. at least - not anymore. though he’d rather take a bullet than admit it. there were just times when he didn’t want to see giorno giovanna. he didn’t want to see giorno giovanna while at work or while running errands, or even while having dinner with the rest of their squad. and seeing him , with the gall to be so impeccably dressed at eight in the morning, having a breakfast business meeting with his fiance , when he himself had just crawled out of bed. hair un-brushed , face bare. that - had set him up for an awful day. giorno was a constant in his life. there was no escaping it.
but one time - where he was entirely sure. he didn’t want to witness the spectacle that was giorno giovanna. was his own wedding day - a day where he’d exceed all expectations , and actually allow himself to be happy , so enamoured with the man he loved. pride - hadn’t allowed him to beg. but he had pleaded - reasoned with bucciarati. the best course of action would be , not to invite giovanna at all. hell , they hadn’t even know the kid before they’d gotten engaged. there was no reason for him to come , to witness their vows. but bucciarati was a force - the argument futile.
" you made that about yourself , and that mushy look ... disgusting. it's going to put me off cake , and we haven't even cut it yet. " words lack his usual bite. antagonistic , mostly for show. mostly. still displeased with the man’s presence , his active position in the entire affair. but such anger was hard to grip to - when watching his husband mingle was steadily thawing his heart.
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“yeah - i support giorno’s rights.”
“giorno’s rights to shut the fuck up.”
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@starprint said: a kiss on the temple from trish
he wasn’t going soft - no matter what buccellati said. he wasn’t capable of softness , being kind. when he cooked dinner for their small team , or helped narancia with his studies when fugo couldn’t bare it. it was out of necessity , not because he wanted to help. at least - that’s what he told himself. a lie - that helped him get through the day. it was easier believing he wasn’t close enough to anyone to risk losing them again.
“don’t - you’ll get your lipstick on me.” the act of affection is brushed off. but the words aren’t said without fondness - a small smile. no - he wasn’t becoming attached to whatever this small family of theirs was. not at all.
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@ofstring said : “Sorry for wasting your time and your money but thanks for your money”
tall man sighs at the girls arrival . the kids had been usually quiet the past few hours , hours where he’d tried to enjoy the peace. listen to his music some , enjoy a glass of wine. the things that were difficult to do when bucciarati was intent on adopting every stray that crossed his path.
“ yeah whatev - my money !? “ pale hands grasp at pockets - searching for his wallet. coming up empty , oh for fucks sake. he’d expect his shit from giorno , and at least he’d have caught narancia in the act. and he had , many times. picking his pocket , leaving him none the wiser. it’s impressive , annoying. but the irritated expression painted onto pale features doesn’t let it show through.
“ next time -just fucking ask, shithead. what did you even need it for ?”
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𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 .
: * ROMEO & JULIET . suburban july . scraped knees . bruised knuckles . blood in your teeth . bare feet on hot concrete . restlessness . your high school’s empty parking lot . love poems in your diary . a window open to coax in the breeze . burning inside . an ill - fitting party dress . a t - shirt you cut up yourself . the time you tried to give yourself bangs . biking to your friends house . bubble gum . gas station ice . the feeling that you’ve met before . rebellion . a car radio playing down the street . cheap fireworks . a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie . switchblades . red solo cups . dancing in your bedroom . screaming yourself hoarse . running out of options . the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac . climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep . flip - flops . a eulogy written on loose - leaf . the merciless noontime sun .
: * HAMLET .
speaking in a whisper . holding your breath . a browning garden . a half remembered story . furniture covered with sheets . fog at dawn , mist at twilight . losing touch . the ethereal space between winter and spring . the soft skin at your temple . the crack in the hallway mirror . things you’d say if you knew the words . uncombed hair . books with writing in the margins . books with cracked spines . books with lines scratched out . prayers on all souls’ day . a chipped ceramic bathtub . a cold stone floor . the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat . the sparrow that got in your house . shadows . the creek you played in as a child . a dirty night gown . an oversized t - shirt . a collection of your favorite words . soil beneath your nails . ghost stories . the strangeness of your own name in your mouth . deep silence . exhaustion . a cliff with a long , long drop down .
: * THE TWELFTH NIGHT . wicker deck furniture . new england summer . large sunglasses and a blonde bob . a storm over the ocean . patio umbrellas flapping in the wind . the smell of chlorine . muffled laughter . sarcasm . starched cuffs . day drinking . bay windows . the idea of love . love for the idea of love . love for love’s sake . hangovers . wandering over the sand dunes . a vagabond with a guitar . fishermen with tattoos . a pretty boy with a slacked tie . a lighthouse . growing too close . boat shoes . feeling yourself change . big , floppy sunhats . double - speak . a song you keep listening to . turning red under their gaze . margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger . string lights on a balmy night . sleepy june days . fights you’re unprepared for . hope you weren’t expecting . pranks that go too far . bad poetry . pining . becoming less of a stranger .
: * MACBETH . the space where your grief used to be . a bird that’s lost an eye . old blood stains . heavy blinds . the smell of sweat . the stillness after a battle . a fake smile . a curse . the taste of metal at the back of your tongue . your house , unfamiliar in the dark . a dusty crib . the smell of sulfur . an orange pill bottle . streaks in the sink . a black cocktail dress . your hand on the doorknob , shaking . a chilly breeze . crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night . clenched hands . a rusty swing set . a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00 . a snake that crosses your path . an owl that watches you . a dog that runs when you approach . red smoke , dark clouds . cool steel . tile floors . footsteps in the hallway late at night . a baggy suit that used to fit before . visions . insomnia headaches . nursery rhymes . being too far in to go back now .
: * MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING . the high drama of small towns . a pickup truck . military supply duffel bags in the hall . hugs all around . tulip bulbs . a wraparound porch . a pitcher of iced tea . a rubber halloween mask . someone on your level . ill - timed proclamations . stomach clenching laughter . rushing in . not minding your business . crepe paper . white lies . secrets written down and thrown away . southern hospitality . homemade curtains in the kitchen . a sink full of roses . hiding in the bushes . old friends . the wedding dress your grandma wore , and her mama before her . a dog - eared rhyming dictionary . chamomile with honey . the intimacy of big parties . lawn flamingos . gossip . a crowded church . friendly rivalries . unfriendly rivalries . love at five hundredth sight . not realizing you’re home until you’re there .
: * KING LEAR . cement block buildings . power lines that birds never perch on . the end of the world . useless words . rainless thunder , heat lighting . a too big sky . arthritic knuckles . broken glass . chalk cliffs . the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes . something you learned too late . wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk . a cold stare . empty picture frames . empty prayers . the obscenity of seeing your parents cry . a treeless landscape . bloody rags . grappling in the dark with reaching hands . the sharpness at the tips of your teeth . the blown out windows of a skeletal house . decay . jokes that aren’t jokes . biting your tongue . prophesies . aching muscles . tired feet . stinging rain . invoking the gods . wondering if the gods are listening . worrying that the gods are dead . white noise . shivers . numbness . the unequivocal feeling of ending .
: * A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM . the smell of wet soil and dead leaves . listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed . wildflowers . the distant sparkle of lightning bugs . a pill someone slipped you . fear that turns into excitement . excitement that turns to frenzy . mossy tree trunks . a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness . night swimming . moonlight through the leaves . a bass beat in your chest . a butterfly landing on your nose . a kiss from a stranger . a dark hallow in an old tree . glow in the dark paint . drinking on an empty stomach . a twig breaking behind you . spinning until you’re dizzy . finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from . an overgrown path through the woods . cool dew on your skin . a dream that fades with waking . moths drawn to the light . giving yourself over , completely . afterglow . the long , loving , velvety night .
✧ tagged by : @godborn my wife <3 ✧ tagging : All of u whomst see it
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“for i am a sinner in the hands of an angry god. bloody mary, full of vodka, blessed are you among cocktails. pray for me now and at the hour of my death, which I hope is soon. amen.”
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@starprint said : “We’re going to paint your room a color that’s not stupid.”
abbacchio , was a private man by nature. his apartment was modest , minimalist , not for design but just because it was practical. it’s not like he ever planned on having people around anyway , for him it was just a place to sleep. to store his things. the only other who had even seen it , had been bucciarati , who had so eloquently expressed his opinion ; the apartment held less character than a prison cell , and somehow felt less homely than one. but the walls were gaudy enough to firmly place it in the forties. again , the floral print didn’t bother him. time had diminished any cheerful element it once held , the decrepit yellowed paper fitted how he’d felt.
“ it’s wallpaper , i’m not sure you could even paint over it , even if i wanted you too . “ silver hair man shrugs , trish should count herself lucky she was even getting to see it. . he’d have to bribe her , not to share the information with the boys. if mista came knocking on his door - he might finally snap. “ not that it matters , because you’re going to pretend like you never saw it.”
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@starprint ❛ This is why Mom doesn’t fucking love you! ❜ angry fugo at abba (vine memes accepting)
pale face falls further - eye’s narrowed. this little shit - the nerve, the audacity. if they weren’t at the dinner table - providing entertainment for the rest of the squad. and other clientele - all who have ceased eating to watch. he wouldn’t feel so obliged to remain so civil. that and - he’d promised buccellati he wouldn’t let mista place any more bet on fights - within their own team.
“ you’re not even buccellati’s favourite .. he prefers narancia.”
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@starprint t rish ❛ Dad look, it’s the good kush. ❜
painted lips quirk - there's almost a laugh. he hadn’t expected to hear that from trish of all people - mista , maybe. narancia , almost certainly. he’d have socked them over the head for being idiots. but unlike their capo. he was blatant with his favourites.
“don’t let bucciarati hear you say that.” humour clear in his voice. adding the oregano to the basket.
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“oh, look at us, we’re in love and happy and not dead inside”, get fucked. “
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