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kaiserposting · 2 years ago

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Guido Mista — Clever

PAIRING: Guido Mista/Reader WORD COUNT: 1.4k TYPE: Humor

After a few blinks, some contemplation, and a massage to the bridge of his nose, Fugo demands, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Mista? I mean-" then words seem to escape him because the sentence trails off until it halts completely.

Mista frowns.

Narancia, to help the situation, or maybe to make it worse, says, "Well, I thought it was pretty funny."

"Guys, you're not helping."

"I don't really know what you want us to do," Fugo says in a distasteful tone before he nudges your unconscious form with his toe. You're alive, sure, but Mista will probably be dead to you after all this.

Narancia finds more amusement in the situation. "[Y/n]'s such a pansy, fainting after that."

"I didn't think this would happen," Mista says under his breath before he glances away with an emotion that one can vaguely describe as guilt, or something adjacent.

"You made it look like the police came over to [Y/n]'s place. We're in the mafia. What, exactly, did you expect to happen?"

"I thought it was pretty common knowledge they only do that 'outlining the corpse' thing in movies!"

Narancia bursts into another fit of laughter. Cries and holds his stomach and flails around, even.

"And you," Fugo starts, snapping his neck in his direction with a motion that's more fitting for an alien than a human. Then he thrusts his index finger forward like he's weaving a lethal weapon. Narancia staggers back as he tries to avoid getting his eye poked out. "You helped him. You helped him do this. What were you thinking? What were you both thinking?"

"Chill, chill," Narancia says with a wave of his hand. Once more, he's determined to be the least beneficial party in this conversation. Fugo sneers in response to his dismissal, but that stays irrelevant when Narancia takes a long step to avoid pressing his foot to your face and approaches the crime scene. Or, well, it's a fake crime scene, but with the state you're in, it might look like a real one to bystanders now.

He traces the note Mista wrote with his finger and opens his mouth to read it out loud, but it proves too absurd for him, and the only things that come out are strangled noises and spit bubbles until he rolls over in an exaggerated attempt to stifle his giggles.

At this, Fugo raises an eyebrow. He didn't really bother reading what the note comprised since he thought Narancia and Mista were pulling a prank on you or something, and so he didn't consider any other possible... motives for this. With mild intrigue clouded by indignation, he squints his eyes and cranes his neck, only for Mista to grab him by the shoulder and try to stop him. "No, no, man, don't-"

After getting over his fit, Narancia wipes away a fake tear and recites with a flair of sick, sadistic glee in his expression, "I've just been dying to go out with you!" Then he laughs some more at it. He would do great as a paid actor in the audience of a comedy show.

The betrayal causes Mista to freeze, clam up and gawp like a fish. Whatever happened to friendship?

Fugo spares one more bewildered blink until his gaze turns judgemental and full of contempt towards Mista's game, or lack thereof.

As a defense mechanism to this embarrassment, Mista quits grimacing altogether and now appears to be repressing the last fifteen minutes, during which his way of 'confessing' gave you a panic attack and made you black out, and the subsequent bullying when he asked his so-called comrades for help. "So, do you guys think this is salvageable?"

So, he may or may not have asked Narancia to draw his outline in front of your house, then placed the note there. He thought it was clever, and he thought Narancia agreed, but apparently all Narancia wanted to do was make fun of him. Then, when he picked you up from where you were at, instead of throwing yourself at him in exaltation or something, you... passed out. You didn't even read what it said. Or maybe you did and assumed you have an unhinged stalker.

Fugo kind of had a point when he asked him what he was thinking.

"That's crazy," Narancia says, a wide grin on his face, still not entirely recovered from his hysterics. "It's crazy you just said this."

Fugo says Mista better pray you got amnesia from the fall, but Mista argues he didn't let you hit the ground when you actually fell.

He reiterates, "You better pray [Y/n] got amnesia from the fall," with a twitch in his eye and his lips sloping with condescension.

___

"The pigs are coming to get me!" you declare when you awake, clutching fabric in your hands. You look down. It's one of your blankets. Like one that you recognize and own.

Interesting.

For some reason, Narancia, Fugo and Mista are at your house.

"Heyyy," says Mista with a smile that shows too much teeth and resembles a flinch. Narancia turns around to do something that suspiciously looks like doubling over and laughing. Fugo's giving the wall the Kubrick stare. "How are you feeling?"

"We were outside?" you say, as you recall, he was standing somewhere behind you when you saw that thing in the yard, and Narancia and Fugo weren't there at all.

"You... Fainted on the way here... And were having a nightmare. I don't know," he offers after a while of staring and crinkling his eyes, and he's also sweating profusely, like he's hiding something.

Fugo had cleaned the chalk from the concrete. It should be fine.

You rub your chin. "Yeah, well, whatever." What follows that statement is a shrug after you throw off the blanket to rot in the corner of your room. Fugo is trying really hard not to scold you, on account of your probable concussion.

"What, just like that?" Narancia asks in surprise at your recovery time.

"We'll be going," Fugo says, then grits his teeth, which makes his next words sound more ominous than they needed to. "Mista will stay around with you to make sure you're fine. Right?"

"Erm, yes, totally," he confirms.

"Why are you scratching your head?" you ask, confused. "You're always wearing a hat. Does it feel like anything? Or are you itchy because it makes you sweat?"

Your remark makes Mista quit the sheepish behavior. The line of questioning feels like you're throwing boiling water at him.

"Do you have dandruff?"

"Uh," Mista says with what he believes to be a disarming smile on his face. A prolonged moment where he leafs through a book you keep lying around before closing it again and putting it back down despite not reading a thing passes. "Do you want me to do anything? For you?"

He's unusually fidgety. Now that he has abandoned the book, he's tapping his fingers against the table to produce a sound that's only mildly grating to your nerves. You realize Fugo and Narancia are no longer here when the front door clicks, and that makes your face light up with something sinister.

"Yeah. I mean, obviously."

"Oh, what is it?"

"We've got to go on a date now, right?"

Mista's eyebrows pinch together, though he doesn't understand. Even then, embarrassment catches up to him, at the possibility you're teasing him or...

Wait.

"Were you pretending?" he asks, incredulous, but also with a begrudging respect for your evil genius.

Of course, you recognized his hideous handwriting immediately when you first saw it. You nod in the affirmative.

"Why? I thought something happened to you. I was so worried-"

Before Mista can ramble any more about how concerned he was despite his readiness to girlboss and gaslight his way out of the situation, as you saw, you raise your hand and your palm faces him rigidly. "To punish you for being a cornball, duh." But it's fine, you suppose. You like that about him.

"Damn, was it that bad?" He leans down onto your chair and almost slides out in his dramatics.

"Well, no. I was going to stop, but then you called Fugo and I got curious about what you'd do. Anyway, are we going?"

"I mean, give me a second," Mista says. All date ideas he had prepared flew out of his head when you collapsed. Maybe it shouldn't be Narancia who becomes a paid actor, but you.

You're a little evil, Mista thinks while he watches the way you're observing him with self-satisfaction written all over your face. It's alright, though — he likes that about you. Kind of.

#guido mista x reader #jjba x reader #mista x reader #jjba x you #golden wind x reader #bro is named salad lmfaooo

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crazyyanderefangirlfan · 2 years ago

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Secret

“I hate this."

"We ALL hate this, Narancia." Fugo sighed.

Indeed they do. They just received orders that they had to team up with La Squadra Esecuzioni to eliminate a rogue stand user. La squadra are the black sheep of Passione, a team of hitmen that were known for their ruthlessness and unapproachable image. You can imagine the sheer reluctance the Bucci gang were feeling but couldn’t do anything about it.

“Nothing good comes with them.” Leone sneered as he drank his wine.

“It’s just one mission. It will be over before you know it.” Bruno promised.

He and his team were waiting in the Libeccio in their usual table but added two more and a few chairs. He spoke to Risotto beforehand and asked to have a team meeting here.

“Signore Bucciarati.” One of the waiters called. “Your guests are here.”

“Ahh, please escort them here.” The waiter bowed and left.

A few minutes later La Squadra Esecuzioni walked in. He and his team walked in and sat on the opposite table. It was completely silent at first with both teams glaring at each other, after a few more minutes Bruno cleared his throat.

“I believe we have a few matters to discuss.” —-------------------------------

The Bucci gang were driving to the meet-up point, just outside the ruins of Pompeii. During the meeting there were some arguments and some threats passed around but it ultimately got quiet from both the stern voices of their respective leaders.

They spotted a red car in the distance, moving closer they saw the entirety of La Squadra. They parked next to them.

“I still don’t get why they need so many people for this job.” Mista commented.

“If you paid attention to the fucking meeting, you know that several groups of people were already sent to him and died! Not to mention we don’t even know his fucking ability!” Ghiaccio heatedly reminded him.

“But of course you need the best team to be with you.” Illuso added with a smirk.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY!?”

Illuso was taken aback when Narancia tackled him and pulled a flipper knife to his neck.

“What the fuck make you assholes better!” He sneered at him and dug his knife deeper. Suddenly he was lifted up and pinned to the ground, the younger man craned his head to the culprit.

Gelato grinned down at him deviously, he pressed his knee harder on his back making him cry out in pain.

“What makes us better? For one thing, we have far more experience in the mafia than any of you combined.” Sorbet answered, he pressed his foot on Narancia’s head. By this point the teen was thrashing around to get the couple off him.

“YOU BASTARD!” Fugo tried to attack but was quickly apprehended by Sorbet and placed in a headlocked. The ice cream couple snickered at the sight of the two struggling teens.

“Let them go.”

The deep timbre of Risotto’s voice had the couple stop and let them in seconds. Mista was helping the teens on their feet, the three of them were scowling at the duo.

“It’s useless to fight one another, we have a mission.”

“He’s right, just focus on what we need to do.”

Three calmed down but wouldn't stop scowling at the Sorbet and Gelato.

They all made their way into the ruins, each of them was on high alert. Narancia already summoned Aerosmith and began to scout the area, unfortunately besides them there was nobody else in the area. Bruno instructed him to expand the search area, after a few more minutes there was still none. Drawing the conclusion the user is either not there or uses a long-distance stand.

Mista was already getting sick of this. The intel they were given was bullshit, I mean who would come here in all places!?

They all paused and tried to discuss where the enemy was, he was a bit far away so he could only hear bits of the conversation.

A glint caught his eyes, he turned back to everyone else. Still in discussion. Slowly he approached the area, when he got closer he saw it.

It was a book, specifically a diary. It was red with a gold lock that was unopened. He picked it up.

“Mista, what is that?” Bruno’s voice called out to him.

The gunslinger turned his head around and saw everyone looking at him. He jogged back to the group.

“Umm, someone left their diary.” He held it up for emphasis.

“Why would anyone leave it here?” Leone pointed out, glaring at the small book.

“Maybe some tourist accidentally left it?” Pesci suggested.

“Who the fuck cares about some stupid book!? In case you all forgot, we still have someone to kill!” Ghiaccio screamed. Mistabacked away from and finally held the diary in both of his hands.

“Open it.” Narancia egged.

“Let’s see what nasty secrets are there.” Formaggio grinned. Mista returned it.

He flipped it open and a burst of red light knocked them all back, Mista shielded his face and moved in too close but a ghostly face came out and shrieked. He jumped back.

Finally, the face went back to the book and shut itself.

“What the fuck?” Ghiaccio swore and honestly that was on everyone’s mind.

Suddenly the entire hitmen stood straighter. They surveyed the area, brows furrowed and stands ready.

Taking the hint, the Bucci gang did the same, waiting for movement. Narancia cursed as he saw the same thing in his radar.

“So we are dealing with a long rang stand, and from the looks of it, it’s similar to Babyface.” Melone surmised.

Red tendrils burst from the ground and formed a box-like container around them.

“AEROSMITH!”

“WHITE ALBUM!”

“SEX PISTOLS!”

Bullets, ice and punches rained down the cage but not a dent was made, what made it worse was some kind of liquid was filling up the room. They tried again and still nothing.

“Crap! Now what? It doesn’t even look fazed!” Gelato kicked the walls in fury.

“Wait a minute!” Narancia exclaimed. “I saw this before!”

“Where!?”

“I saw this in a cartoon!”

“Then it’s useless!” Prosciutto interrupted, shooting at the walls.

“Let me finish! In the cartoon you have to reveal a secret of your own after that it stops!”

“Like hell I’m telling you stronzos anything!” Ghiaccio retorted, blasting ice around the liquid, stopping it momentarily. His teammates shouted their own agreements.

“Narancia, there’s a reason why it’s a cartoon! Nothing like that happens in real life!” Leone lectured.

A loud crack was heard, the liquid that Ghiaccio froze soon burst and filled the room faster. The bespectacled male tried again but the pressure was stronger.

Narancia recalled Aerosmith and took a deep breath.

“I HAVE ADOPTION PAPERS IN HOPING THAT BUCCIARATI AND ABBACHIO WILL ADOPT ME!”

Everyone whipped their heads to him incredulously while said people looked at him shocked and a bit flattered.

The diary from earlier floated up. When they moved closer they saw words written in it, closer inspection it was Narancia’s confession.

The container flickered and the liquid was flowing slower but not as strong.

“Holy shit that worked.” Sorbet breathed.

The teams shared a look. They’ll hate this but this is the only thing that will help them escape.

“Uh, okay, uh, sometimes, when me and Illuso are supposed to be cleaning out gutters, we go to get coffee instead!” Formaggio revealed.

“And a lot of times, I don't even get coffee! I just don't feel like cleaning out the gutters!” Illuso added.

(Risotto and Prosciutto just looked at two in disappointment, with the blonde muttering they’ll have punishment if they survived.)

Unfortunately it seemed to have an opposite effect as the pressure became much more powerful than before, quickly filling it till the liquid reached their calves.

“What kind of secrets did that cartoon on yours reveal?” Melone asked.

“Really personal ones!”

They all grimaced at the answer.

“ALL RIGHT, I'LL DO IT! I LIKE TO SING ALONG TO REALLY BAD POP MUSIC!” Pesci yelled.

The water rose.

“I WAS THE ONE WHO DRANK ALL THE WINE BACK IN BASE!” Leone revealed.

The water rose faster to the point they had to swim. Mista swam up after having been swept away.

“NARANCIA! REMEMBER WHEN WE ORDERED BEDS FOR OUR ROOM AND YOUR'S NEVER SHOWED UP?! I LIED! I STACKED THEM UP AND I'VE BEEN SLEEPING ON THEM THE WHOLE TIME! I'M SORRY, DUDE, IT'S JUST TOO COMFORTABLE!” Mista revealed.

“Are you serious?” The teen voiced incredulously.

The water drained a bit and the pressure was lowered a bit and it still flowed.

“I THINK NARANCIA LOOKS KISSABLE WHEN HE FOCUSES!” Fugo exposed. The said male blushed and while teammates shared a smirk.

The pressure slowed even more

“I FELL IN LOVE WITH BUCCIARATI/ABBACHIO AT FIRST SIGHT!”

Both males stared at each other in shock with red faces at their own confession. Everyone else snickered.

The water dropped significantly and the diary was getting more and more filled.

At first they sighed in relief but the water pressure came back just as strong.

“GAHH! Risotto! You and your team have to say something!” Bruno yelled.

“AHH! WHEN I WAS LITTLE, I STOLE MY NEIGHBOR'S BIKE AND THREW IT OFF THE ROOF!” Ghiaccio yelled.

The water rose faster.

“SOMETIMES I HIDE PESCI'S SHOES CAUSE I THINK IT'S FUNNY WHEN HE'S LOOKING FOR THEM!” Gelato revealed.

“WE’RE HORRIBLE PEOPLE!” Formaggio stated.

“No shit.” Was the collective thought of the Bucci gang.

Melone: “I LIKED TO USE PROSCIUTTO AND ILLUSO’S HAIR PRODUCTS!”

Proscuitto: “HALF OF MY LUXURY ITEMS ARE FAKE!”

Illuso: “I ACTUALLY LIKE WATCHING THE MOST POPULAR GIRLS IN SCHOOL!”

Pesci: “I HAVE A PLAYLIST OF ALL THE BARBIE SONGS AND SOMETIMES HUM IT WHEN NO ONE IS AROUND!”

Sorbet: “WHENEVER ME AND GELATO USE GHIACCIO’S CAR WE TEND TO FUCK!”

“WHAT!?”

Formaggio: “I LIED ABOUT BEING ON THE FOOTBALL TEAM!”

Risotto: “I SING THE OPERA WHEN I’M IN THE SHOWER AND WHEN NO ONE IS IN BASE!”

It was getting worse, the liquid was rising faster to the point they were near the ceiling and running out of room.

La squadra shared a collective look. It was desperate and honestly felt silly but they had no choice. They inhaled deeply and shouted in chorus.

“WE ALL HAVE A CRUSH ON OUR CIVILIAN BOSS!”

With one last shriek, the stand finally disappeared. The diary was finally filled and shut itself.

The teams marched up to it and summoned their stands.

Attacks rained down on the insufferable book, in the distance they heard a faint scream.

Risotto gave Ghiaccio a look who nodded, summoning White Album he skated off while the rest kept destroying the diary.

Ghiaccio came back with confirmation of the dead stand user, much to everyone’s relief but now that left with the awkwardness in knowing each other’s secrets.

Bruno coughed into his fist.

“So-“

“You heard nothing from us.” The tone Risotto had held was a warning.

He and his team quickly walked away from them, leaving the Bucci gang. After a few more minutes they returned to their car as well.

“I knew it was my mattress.” Narancia piped up. Mista rolled his eyes.

————————-

“I can’t believe we had to share our secrets with La Squadra of all people.”Narancia complained.

“I can’t believe something from your cartoon worked.” Fugo commented.

The Bucci gang were taking a stroll around the area, it was quiet but had some hidden gems.

“But it helped!” The shorter teen grinned. The blonde rolled his eyes.

Narancia pouted, his eyes trailed to one of the shops and saw a particular one selling cookies and cool looking plush. His stomach suddenly growled.

“Bucciarati, can we head into that store? PLEASE? They’re selling cookies and that toy looks so cool!”

The bob-cut male studied the store. The sign read “Dollface” in white words on a pink board with small dolls and plush animals surrounding the letters. It was two-stories and the windows were filled with dolls and plushies, blocking the inside of the store, in the corner were shelves of cookies and a tall fridge of drinks.

“Alright.”

When they walked in however, it wasn’t what they expected.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

The entire Bucci gang gaped at the shocking sight, wondering if they’re dreaming or not.

Behind and around the counter was La Squadra Esecuzioni, all wearing pink uniform shirts with a little doll where their hearts were supposed to be. La squadra looked just as shocked to see them here. The Bucci gang stood there, having the reality sink in place.

The execution team worked in a disgustingly cute toy shop that caters dolls and plushies, wearing pink shirts that looked just as cute.

Pfftt-

“SHUT. UP.” Prosciutto seethed when the other team began to snicker.

Cause really, it was hard not to laugh at the most notorious team being in such a cutesy store.

Mista sank to his knees, his fist pounding on the floor, Fugo turned away and covered his mouth, his body shaking. Naranci let out a fit of giggles, Leone covered his mouth to hide the smirk and Bruno was lightly chuckling at them.

“Never thought I would see you and your team working in such a place.” Bruno admitted. Risotto sighed.

“It was our only option, and the pay is good.”

“By the way.” Mista chimed in, standing back up, wheezing. “Didn’t you guys say you had a crush on your civilian boss?”

He was harsy hushed in return.

“Shut the fuck, do you want her to hear-”

“Oh, hello!~”

La squadra stiffen at the sweet voice, some were even blushing.

The backdoor opened to reveal a short and petite young woman. She had apricot orange back-length hair with two cat ear like buns with two strands frame her face, orchid purple eyes and tawny freckles across her body scattered like constellations. She wore a 50’s styled blue dress with white polka-dots and a halter neckline, on her feet were baby blue ballet lace up flats. She accessorized with pearl studs and a necklace.

The Bruno and his team had to blink a few times to see if she was real.

“Um, hello?” She gave them a sweet bright smile as she waited patiently for them to talk. Yeah, this was real.

“Hello, miss Tira.” Bruno greeted as he read her name tag.

“Umm, I’d like to buy some cookies?” Narancia started.

“Oh! There’s a basket near the front door.” She pointed at the mentioned item. Narancia made a beeline and began to fill it with cookies and drinks. After that, he walked up to one of the aisles and grabbed an airplane plush that looked suspiciously like Aerosmith.

“These please!”

She was about to respond, when the distant sound of a phone was ringing. She gave an apologetic smile and excused herself. They waited until her footsteps faded.

“She’s too good for you guys.” Leone started.

“Yeah! She’s so nice and you guys are so..” Mista trailed off when he saw some of them glare at him.

“You don’t think we know that!?” Ghiaccio growled.

She’s been so kind to them; giving them leftover snacks, bonuses and just being very sweet. Not to mention how funny she was, how easy it was to have a conversation with her, how everything got interesting when she’s around and was willing to be their unpaid therapist.

Melone bagged Narancia’s items and gave him the bag, when the door opened. About three men walked inside just as Tira came back, as soon as she saw them she rolled her eyes.

“Hi, are you ready to buy something now?” She asked, by the tone of her voice, this wasn’t the first time she met them.

“Of course not. But are you ready to pay up?”

She scowled.

“First of all, I haven’t paid before and never will. Second, get out.”

The mad sneered and glared daggers down at her. Mista and Leone moved in to help, but they caught Risotto shaking his head to them.

“Lister here you little troia, I’m getting sick and tired of this prissy attitude of yours. You either pay or we trash this place.” He hissed at her face.

Ghiaccio opened his mouth but was quickly clamped down by Melone.

Tira stared directly to his eyes.

“Get. Out.”

Growling, he raised his hand intending to slap her only for her to catch it. The action shocked everyone san La squadra.

She pulled him towards her and bashed her head to his. The sound of cracking filled the air as the man dropped to the floor bleeding and unconscious.

The men with him tried grab her, but she jumped up the counter delivered a kick to each one of them, like their boss they also fell unconscious.

Tira dusted of her dress and wiped the blood from her forehead.

“Honestly, they’re lucky they didn’t make me rip my dress.”

A distant ringing of the phone caught everyone attention.

“Again? Oh well, boys please clear out the trash.”

“Yes ma’am.” Formaggio saluted. She smiled and walked out.

Turning back to the Bucci gang, who just looked stunned on what they witnessed.

Mista was first to break the ice.

“I can see why you guys like her.”

Tagging: @the-illiterate-pirate, @rae-pss, @michellenero, @jojowifey, @sweetsparklerain

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vital-spirit · 8 months ago

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OFFSCREEN POST

The Missing Scraggy: Part Five

BANG!

A gunshot goes off, and the Salandit flies back, falling over. Lucario stands behind Bingo, the remaining elemental energy dissipating from his gun.

Salandit was a quick shot, but Lucario was quicker.

The Lillipup recoiled from the sound, attempting to blink away the ringing in her ears before she could even begin to process what happened. Taking a second to recover she looked over her shoulder at Lucario, looking back and forth between him and the Salandit before giving herself a firm shake and bracing herself for a fight.

Scrafty didn’t waste a second after the gunshot, already rushing forwards with his knives out and ready to slash.

The Salandit holding onto Tyson jerked him upwards onto his feet, using him as a human shield as he drew his gun and fired three shots indiscriminately. One of the shots hit Lucario, who lets out a low growl at the heat from the super effective attack. Unable to shoot without risking hitting Tyson, he darts away, trying to avoid getting hit a second time.

Another one of the bullets barely grazed Scrafty’s shoulder, but that didn’t stop him from rushing towards the Salandit, darting side to side in a random pattern to avoid more gunfire as he counted each shot fired.

BANG! A bullet flew past Scrafty’s head. Four.

After getting a good ways away, Lucario turns back, charging at a different Salandit. Before it can react, he slides to a stop and holds his paw up, using Dragon Pulse. The Salandit, expecting a physical blow, doesn’t move in time and is sent flying back into the Salandit Lucario had shot earlier, knocking both out together.

BANG! Scrafty managed to change directions just in time to narrowly avoid the burning bullet. Five. He lunged forwards one more time, ready to leap aside to bait out—

BANG! The sixth bullet.

“Outta rounds, friend,” he sneered down at the Salandit, craning his neck side to side as he approached the lizard, twirling his knives in his hands menacingly.

Tyson craned his neck to look back at his captor with a grin. “Oohh, youse in trouble now!”

Lucario gets behind the Salandit, standing tall over it and Tyson. “You heard the kid,” he says with a growl as the Salandit slowly turns it’s head to look up at Lucario in fear. “‘Youse in trouble now,’” Lucario quotes the Scraggy, causing the Salandit to gulp in response.

There’s a tense moment of silence, before the Salandit drops Tyson, and scrambles towards the two Salandit Lucario had knocked out earlier, jumping on top of the two and playing dead.

With a smug grin, Tyson stares down at the Salandit and says, “Mista Lucario, get ‘is ass.” Without so much as a word, Lucario raises his gun, and shoots the Salandit pile twice, a barely muffled giggle sounding from beneath his bandana.

Meanwhile, Scrafty rushed to his brother and kneeled down to hurriedly cut the ropes wrapped around him. The second that he was free, the older Pokemon pulled him close and held him tightly in his arms.

“Tyson–” he nearly sobbed, clutching onto the Scraggy. “Oh thank the Dragons… I thought– I thought I lost ya…”

Scrafty leaned back to inspect him for any signs of injury, holding him by the chin and twisting his head from side to side to survey every inch. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they do anythin’ to you?”

Tyson shook his head. “Jus’ a lil’ bruisin’ from the ropes is all…”

His brother sighed in relief, “I can live wit’ dat. Better to get a lil’ roughed up than–'' Suddenly his head shot up. “LILLIPUP! WHERE’S–”

The final Salandit– the female one�� arched through the air as Bingo, having lassoed her opponent while the two older Pokemon were busy, swung her up and over, before slamming her down into the ground with a sickeningly hard THUD!

“Oh.”

The female Salandit was out for the count with Bingo holding the other end of her lasso in her jaws, the fur on her haunches standing on end as she panted between the rope. Lucario rolled his eyes at this. “You done yet?” he asked.

Bingo carefully removed the lasso from around the female Salandit before wandering over to Lucario with a smile, “Ye.”

Scrafty pushed himself off the ground and helped Tyson to his feet. “A’ight, looks like we’re done here. Y’all ready to head out?”

Lucario’s aura sensors twitch. “Not yet. Someone else is here.”

Tyson tilted his head. “Someone el–?”

And that’s when it hit them. That sickeningly sweet scent– so sweet it was almost dizzying. So impossibly alluring that it commanded the attention of everyone in the area.

The scent of finely aged wine. With hints of almond.

Clap.

A voice echoed throughout, slow and syrupy, dripping with venom.

“Look what the mutt dragged in.”

Part Five: Scene End.

#pkmn irl #pokeblog rp #rotomblr #the story thus far #pmd irl #desert whispers #offscreen post #the middle of nowhere

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mr-babygirl · 28 days ago

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WALLPAPER MASTERLIST

DC Comics:

Harvey Dent (Two-Face)

Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow)

Ra's al Ghul

Talia al Ghul

Jojo's Bizarre Adventures

Bruno Bucciarati

Dio Brando, 1 and 2

Giorno Giovanna

Guido Mista

Joseph Joestar

Josuke Higashikata

Kira Yoshikage

Leone Abacchio

Muhammad Avdol

Okuyasu Nijimura

Jujutsu Kaisen

(requests not open)

Gojo Satoru

Nanami Kento

Ryomen Sukuna

#wallpaper #aesthetic wallpaper #jjba wallpaper #dc comics wallpaper

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pannas-boy · 7 months ago

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JJBA: Golden Wind AU Ficlet

AU Disclaimer: This AU is about a house-of-horrors type situation. It is not a light-hearted fic, as it does touch on child abduction, abuse, and neglect. The fic, and this insert, is mainly centralized around the recovery of the children/teens involved, mostly Luca. For context, Mista is the police officer who first encounters Luca after escaping and continues on to help him. Luca is of age when they meet, and they develop a relationship over time

Pairing: Guido Mista x OC, Guido Mista x Luca Carpaccio

Summary: Luca finds himself struggling to articulate his physical needs in his relationship with Mista

TW: Light sexual content, discussions of physical harm, discussion of consensual bruising/hickies

Word Count: 2.9k+

A grunt passed through Mista’s lips as he kicked his shoes off, hastily pushing them against the closet door. He looked back over his shoulder, hand settling on the doorknob. He tried to twist it a few times, finding himself mostly satisfied with its refusal to budge. His sock-clad feet padded softly against the carpet as he trudged down the hallway, peering through the open bedroom door.

Luca was cuddled in bed, the thick duvet wrapped over his shoulders, his mess of curls nestled into Mista’s pillows. The man grinned as he pushed the door open, meeting the frail man's gaze. He cracked his fingers before unbuttoning his shirt, stepping toward Luca. He slipped it down his shoulders, leaving him in a white tank top. The ninteen year old’s eyes loosely followed Mista’s movements as the man draped his overshirt onto the foot of the bed. He inched into the warmth the man brought as he sank onto the edge of the mattress.

“Hi, babe.” Mista cooed, lips splitting into a smile.

“Hey.” The brown eyed boy mumbled, tattered hands finding Mista’s, pulling them up to his face.

“Baby?” Mista’s sharp features pulled into a frown, long fingers hooking beneath Luca’s jaw. “How’re you feeling?”

His dark lashes fluttered as he opened his eyes, soft gaze locking onto his boyfriend. “M’okay.”

Mista’s frown deepened as he cocked his head, watching Luca push himself further into his grip, small fingers digging into his wrists. He gave the teen's reddened cheeks a gentle squeeze, urging him to look upward. The boy’s bottom lip jutted out as his glossy eyes darted up, dark brows furrowed.

“Is something wrong, Luca?” Mista held his chin, dark eyes searching his face.

Luca shrugged softly. “Can we cuddle?”

Mista nodded, leaning to plant a kiss on Luca’s forehead. The brown eyed boy’s ears grew hot as Mista’s breath hit his skin, his calloused fingers brushing against his cheeks. Luca let out a huff, pulling away from Mista’s hold, only to barrel back into his chest, arms winding around his broad torso. Confused by Luca’s interruption of his own plan, the officer blinked.

“Mi amor.” He purred, wrapping his strong arms around Luca’s frame, tangling one hand in his hair. “What is it, baby?”

Luca shrugged. “I don’t feel good.”

“I can see that, cachorro.” Mista kissed the crown of his head. “What’s got you stressed?”

Luca ducked his face into the crook of Mista’s neck. “It feels stupid, I don’t wanna say it.” He whined.

Mista let out a soft breath, craning his neck to see Luca, only to be met with a mop of unruly hair tucked firmly against his shoulder. “You can tell me anything, Luca.” He tightened his arms around the teen. “If it’s something about the house, I really do need you to tell me.”

Luca began to shake his head. “It’s not about the house.” He burrowed further into Mista’s chest.

“What is it, baby boy?” Mista pleaded, pulling away again in an effort to see Luca’s face.

The young man sat up, eyes darting downward as he stumbled over his words. “I miss having bruises.”

Mista’s lips parted as he ducked downward, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Luca pouted. “I look weird without bruises.”

Mista’s shoulders fell, his eyes falling onto Luca’s fidgeting hands. “What do you mean, honey?”

“I’ve never not had bruises.” Luca whispered, his knees tucking to his chest. “I look weird without them. My skin’s too pale.” He let out a soft groan. “I don’t like seeing my veins. It’s nasty.”

Mista’s brows knitted together as he fumbled for words. He was fully aware of the intricacies of Luca’s trauma, cautious of the boy’s boundaries and needs, but he’d failed to realize the physical change in his own body would present an issue.

“Baby, is this about the other day?” Mista gently laid a hand on Luca’s leg, features saturated with concern. “I’m so sorry, Lu, I really didn’t mean to leave marks on your arm.”

Luca shrugged half-heartedly. “You don’t have to say sorry.” His skin grew clammy as he stole a glance at Mista, anxiety rising in his chest at the sight of tears welling in the man’s glossy eyes. “I’m okay.” He straightened his legs out, his hands falling into his lap as he batted his lashes. “I liked it.”

Mista’s face shifted as he shook his head. “I don’t…” He took a deep breath, blinking away his tears as he eyed Luca. “I don’t think you liked it, honey.” He rubbed Luca’s thigh. “I think you’ve gone through a lot, and you don’t really know what a lot of it means.”

Luca frowned, his shoulders falling. “I do know what a lot of it means.” He scoffed, picking at his fingernails.

Mista nodded softly. “That’s not how I meant it, baby. I’m sorry.”

Luca chewed at his lip before letting out a soft sigh. “You don’t scare me.”

Mista looked up, eyebrows furrowing.

Luca huffed, struggling to find the right string of words floating through his mind. “You didn’t scare me. It didn’t hurt.”

“You bruised, Luca. It did hurt you.” Mista tried to keep his breathing even, a sharp ringing starting in his ears, his cheeks slowly going numb. “Even if I didn’t mean to.”

Luca shook his head. “Not like when Diovolo hurt me.”

Mista cocked his head, distress crossing his face. “Baby, that doesn’t-”

“I like knowing they’re from you.” Luca cut him off, ears and nose red. “It makes me feel safe. I liked it.”

Mista swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “I didn’t.”

“Oh.” Luca’s small frame seemed to deflate further as he pulled his knees back up to his chest. “I didn’t know.” He lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Mista whispered. “I’m not sure it’s something you should enjoy, Lu.” He looked up at the boy, his gaze avoided as Luca put his forehead to his knees. “I love you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But it’s not hurting me.” Luca mumbled.

“Yes, baby, it is.” Mista nodded, chest taut as he stressed over his words. “Even if you don’t think it is.”

“You only grabbed me so hard because we were playing.” Luca snipped, eyes swinging upward. “Not because you were trying to hurt me.”

Mista’s eyes screwed shut as a wave of dizziness hit him. “Baby, just because it was an accident-”

“You grab me tight because you love me.” Luca’s shoulders began to shake as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Because you don’t want anything to happen to me. Right?”

Mista shook his head. “That’s two different things, Luca.”

“It is two different things!” Luca shouted.

“Hey.” Mista’s eyes opened, his tone soft as he met Luca’s angry glare.

The teary-eyed teen tore his sight off his distraught boyfriend, curling into himself as a whine left his throat. “I just want hickies like a normal boy.”

Mista took another deep breath, clasping his hands together as he spoke. “I understand what you mean, Luca, but that’s different from hurting you.”

“I know it is, Mista.” Luca sighed. “That’s what I’ve been saying. I don’t know what else to call it, I don’t know how to say it.”

“Okay.” Mista nodded, sitting up and extending his hands toward Luca, palms up.

The teen was quick to cross his legs in front of himself, scooting closer to Mista, small hands flattening against his palms. The older man grabbed Luca’s hands in his, bowing to press their foreheads together.

“You’re telling me that you don’t want me to hurt you for pain, right?”

“No.”

“You want me to… leave marks on you so that people know we’re together and I did it to you?” Mista cringed as the question left his mouth.

“Yes.” Luca nodded, fingers digging into Mista’s palms. “Please. I promise it doesn’t hurt when it’s you.”

Mista let out a slow breath as he sat up, releasing Luca’s hands in preference of his face, fingers cupping his jaw. “Okay.” He nodded. “First and only rule for now, listen.”

Luca hummed, glistening eyes locked on Mista.

“You need to, absolutely need to tell me if I am actually hurting you.” He spoke sternly, hands firm against Luca’s warm cheeks. “If it starts to scare you, you need to tell me, okay? I do not want to hurt you, so you have to tell me if it stops feeling safe, okay?”

Luca nodded, his rusty brown eyes twinkling as he gripped the canvas fabric of Mista’s pants between his fingers. “Okay.”

Mista eased his hands away from Luca’s face, letting him regain his own balance. He extended his hands once more, this time with his pinky fingers out. Luca was quick to follow once more, holding his hands out in the same manner.

“The second it is no longer enjoyable, you have to tell me.”

A pout tugged at Luca’s pink lips, his dark brows furrowing, a blush rising against his freckles. “But I don’t want to upset you.”

Mista shook his head. “It’s not about upsetting me, it’s about your safety. Okay?”

Luca chewed the inside of his cheek as he avoided Mista’s gaze, his heart thumping violently in his chest. He licked his lips before looking back up and nodding. He interlocked opposite pinkies with Mista, crossing his forearms over each other, and in turn, Mista’s. Luca pecked the back of each hand, a shy smile rising on his lips as he met Mista’s onyx eyes.

“I promise.”

Mista mimicked the motion, pulling each of Luca’s small hands up to his lips before dropping his hands, grabbing his face once more. His eyes fell shut as he pressed his lips to Luca’s, smiling against him as he felt small hands gripping his shirt. Mista pulled away, chuckling as the teen pushed himself upward in an effort to follow. He dropped back onto the bed with a huff, large eyes focused on Mista.

“Can I ask something?” The man cocked his head, hands resting on Luca’s legs.

“Mhm.” He nodded, attention focused on toying with Mista’s long fingers.

“What do you mean it makes you feel safe?”

Luca gripped Mista’s fingers, mustering a weak shrug. “Nobody’s gonna try to take me if they can see I’m already yours.”

Mista’s chest grew warm as Luca curled into him, torso resting in his lap. Mista wormed a hand free, tangling his fingers in Luca’s soft waves. The words echoed in his head, causing goosebumps along his skin.

I’m already yours.

He adored Luca, delighted to have him in his space, finding himself completely charmed by the young man. He mulled the words over once more, fingernails scraping Luca’s scalp. The teen had very easily fallen in line with Mista’s routine, increasingly comfortable as time went on. The apartment had quickly become their safe haven, early mornings nuzzled in bed, their nights spent on the couch in the living room, a movie on the television. Mista could no longer imagine a night ending without the boy’s dead weight snoring comfortably in his arms as he trudged down the hallway to the bedroom.

Luca scooted further into Mista’s lap, pulling the man’s calloused hand against his cheek. He pressed a gentle kiss to his long fingers, a hum rolling through his throat.

“Do you still wanna cuddle, baby?” Mista cooed, his deep voice rumbling through his chest.

Luca cautiously sat up, wary of Mista’s strong jaw. He sat still on the mattress, hands in his lap, legs still crossed. He nodded, repeatedly pushing his heels into the blankets, chewing at the inside of his lip. Mista chuckled as he got to his feet, untucking his tank top, hands going for his belt buckle.

“Go get comfy on the couch, I’ll be right there.” He nodded toward the door, shuffling his pants off.

Luca snatched his stuffed rabbit from his side of the bed, feet sinking into the soft carpet as he padded across the room, nudging himself into his tall boyfriend’s side. Mista grinned as the brown haired boy cuddled into his torso, arms winding around his waist, cheek rested against his chest.

“I love you.” Luca mumbled. “Thank you for saving me.”

Mista’s heart panged, his hands finding Luca’s face once more as he tilted his chin upward. “You don’t have to keep thanking me, Lucas.”

The frail teen shrugged. “I’m gonna keep saying thank you.” He stood on his toes, craning his neck to meet Mista’s level.

The older man stooped down, sealing their lips together. “Go find a movie to watch.”

Luca’s rosy face pulled into a smile. “Okay.”

He shuffled out of the room, down the hall. Mista let out a huff as his shoulders dropped. He picked his pants off the floor, tossing them onto the bed, to be dealt with when he regained his energy. He yanked the tank top over his head, throwing it into the hamper in the corner of the room. He stifled a yawn as he made his way toward the wardrobe, tugging his shirt drawer open, amused to see Luca’s binders squirreled away with his clothing. He jerked a black t-shirt over his head, choosing to stay in his boxers rather than finding sweatpants.

He surveyed the bedroom, enamored by the tiny hints of Luca: his shoes tucked beneath the bed, the ragged stuffed animals displayed in his corner, mismatched socks in a pile, coloring books in a stack by the window. His self-proclaimed stim-pouch was on his nightstand, zipper undone, his magnetic sliders on the furniture’s edge. He ambled over, placing the toy into the bag and shutting it, tucking it safely into the drawer.

“Mista?”

The man smiled at his boyfriend’s soft call, traipsing across the room and shutting off the lights. “Yes, baby?”

“Are you coming?” Luca whined.

“Yes, baby.” Mista’s grin widened as he rounded the corner, entering the living room. “Did you find something?” He checked the lock on the door, twisting the knob to test its resistance.

“Yeah.” Luca nodded from his spot on the couch, knees tucked to his chest, stuffed rabbit cradled against himself. He had plugged their string lights in and closed the shades to the balcony, the television illuminating his soft features. He bounced lightly in his spot, large eyes transfixed on his boyfriend. The taller man crept toward the couch, dropping unceremoniously into the empty space beside Luca.

“What’re we watching?” He threw an arm over the back of the couch, letting the smaller boy cuddle into his torso.

“Scary movie.” Luca hummed as he hit play, tossing the remote over Mista’s lap. “Don’t want the remote.”

Mista scoffed as he picked up the remote, adjusting the volume for the overbearing title screen, feeling Luca inch further into his lap. Mista tossed the remote onto the coffee table, tracking Luca’s movement from the corner of his eye. The teen had set his bunny aside, hands testing the stability of Mista’s thighs as he crawled over them, straddling his lap, small hands curling over Mista’s shoulders.

“I thought we were gonna watch a movie, honey.” Mista shifted under him, fingers wrapping over his hips, tugging at the fabric of his boxers.

His eyes glazed over as he traced the lines of Luca’s plump lips, watching his pink tongue dart out from between to moisten them. Luca toyed with the fabric of Mista’s shirt, his face turning pink as he met Mista’s gaze. The young man gave a weak shrug, hands moving to play with Mista’s curls. Mista squeezed his hip, leaning upward to ghost his lips over Luca’s.

A whimper left Luca’s mouth as he melted into Mista’s touch, dragging himself closer to the man’s torso, small fingers tangling in his dark hair. The older man smiled, hands cupping the swell of Luca’s rear, pulling his own knees apart to help shuffle the teen further against his chest. He moved his hands to the younger man’s waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his sweater.

“Movie?” Mista teased, barely pulling away.

Luca shook his head, glossy eyes focused on Mista, admiring the coarse hairs that lined his lip, fingers moving to trace the stubble along his jawline. The older man broke into another smile, humming as he gave Luca’s sides another squeeze.

“I wanna kiss.” Luca whispered.

Mista kept one hand on his skin, the other moving to grab Luca’s face, thumb pulling his lip downward, watching the boy’s dark lashes flutter shut. “No movie?”

“Don’t care about the movie.” Luca huffed, brows furrowing as Mista’s thumb slid over his bottom teeth. “Want you.”

Pride swelled within Mista’s chest, the heat from Luca’s body almost too much to bear. He gripped the boy’s jaw, smashing their lips together, arm straining as he rocked Luca against his hips. The teen whimpered, winding his arms around Mista’s neck, feverishly pushing his lips against Mista’s soft skin. His stomach filled with butterflies as Mista’s mouth trailed across his cheek, strong hand forcing him to tilt his head upward, neck exposed. Mista planted open-mouthed kisses along Luca’s freckled skin, teeth scraping over the goosebumps that quickly formed. Luca fisted his small hands in Mista’s silky hair, a soft breath escaping his lips. Mista sank his teeth into the soft crook of Luca’s neck, feeling the younger man squirm against him.

“You okay?” Mista sucked his spit back into his mouth, hands stilling against his boyfriend.

Luca nodded with a soft moan. “Can you please do that again?”

Mista grinned, his confidence growing with the bulge in his pants, Luca’s pathetic whimpers becoming more and more apparent. Mista pressed another soft kiss to Luca’s neck before tightening his hand around the teen's jaw, biting down harder.

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nokspit · 4 years ago

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#underground hip hop #Hip hop music #azhiphop #boombap #louis gibbor #embrae le veen #N.O.K.#@nokspit #progression of the boom bap #dj jahbluez #rap music #arizona #phoenixhiphop #mista crane

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years ago

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game over / scarlet ribbons bad ends.

note: since i structure scarlet ribbons like an otome, it makes sense to include what the bad end for the boys routes would be, no? i decided to only do giorno, bruno, fugo and mista for now, but i plan on adding narancia/abbacchio’s bad ends eventually ! warnings: fem reader, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied depression (for giorno’s), not sfw implications, pregnancy mention, tampering with birth control (for bruno’s), violent thoughts, mentions of religion (for fugo’s), coercion and threats (for mista’s).

>...would you like to try again from your last save?

First Circle: Limbo.

It isn’t your imagination, you decide. Nighttime is decidedly eerie. Your senses are dialed up to eleven, eyes constantly scanning your dilapidated surroundings for signs of danger. There’s nothing but headlights and street lamps and flickering convenience store signs. You take a deep breath, mentally going over your plan, as it was the only factor keeping you tethered to reality at this point. There’s a good chance it is.

The taxi driver is supposed to pick you up at 11 PM sharp. He’s been bribed in advance and swore not to utter a word of it to anyone. You paid for your plane ticket in cash after checking over your shoulder nonstop to ensure you weren’t being trailed. This would work. It had to work — an opening in the chaos following Passione’s drastic shift in leadership.

Your grip on your suitcase tightens.

This isn’t how you wanted your time in Naples to draw to a close. Leaving without uttering a word of it to anyone, to save the last shreds of your heart that were left. Abbacchio, Narancia, and Bruno were gone. Fugo was too, in a different way, scuttering off to someplace out of reach in his shame. It was too raw being here, the pain near debilitating at times.

That’s why you have to go. Your friends who still draw breath might think less of you for it, but you’re past the point of caring.

Or so you thought.

An arm lazily slings itself around your shoulder and you feel a barrel press against your lower back.

“Hey there, pretty girl. Going somewhere?”

Your immediate instinct is to summon your Stand, fully prepared to pummel the interloper who encroached on your personal space. However, there’s something familiar about this person, familiar enough that you grind your reflexes to a screeching halt. Craning your neck to the side, you note the distinct pattern of Guido Mista’s hat. Your taut muscles relax at the familiar sight and he gives a lopsided grin.

“Christ, Mista, you scared the daylights out of me!”

The gunslinger hums. The lack of banter makes you gulp. It’d been days since you saw him last — not from a lack of trying on his part. He’d called almost nonstop, left more voicemails than you cared to count, and even stopped by your apartment to knock on the door. You’d turn the lights off to project the illusion that you weren’t home. Guilt weighed down on your soul like anchors, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. Not when you were planning to leave everything behind.

Everything, including him.

“Mind explaining what this is about?”

You thought you’d feel better once he spoke up again, an idea that was dismissed as soon as it came. There’s no liveliness in his tone; the trademark zest that you had come to associate with him over the years is gone, replaced by a shallow husk. The night is tepid and still you shiver.

“I… was just thinking about taking a vacation,” you’re aware this in-the-moment lie is hardly convincing, and Mista probably knows it too.

“A vacation, huh,” he plays along for a second that seems to drag on forever, “A vacation that had you pack everything in your apartment up and buying a one-way plane ticket home?”

There aren’t any real arguments you can make, so you don’t bother trying. The two of you stand just like that, both trying to get a read on each other, not daring to move or utter a single syllable. Then, he sighs. You feel his warm breath fanning against the back of your neck. His grip on your relaxes, though he doesn’t move his arm, as if he thought you’d disappear in a puff of smoke if he did.

He pulls you into a one-sided embrace. “Don’t go. [First]. I can’t have you leaving me too.”

Not sure what else to do, you bring a shaky hand up to his toned arm, splaying your fingers across his skin. He’s trembling, you notice.

“I have to. I can’t— can’t stand to be here anymore, not with them gone,” a lump in your throat forms. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckles, the sound weak and devoid of humor. “So that’s how it has to be, huh?”

The streetlamp overhead flickers.

“Well. I’m sorry too, girlie.”

Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the gun barrel pressed against your back. You had almost forgotten about that in the midst of everything else. A click resonates behind you as he takes the safety off. Your blood runs cold and your eyes widen — there’s no way he would…?

“This would look real bad to Giorno if I were to report it. Running off without a word to the states with all you know about Passione,” Mista nudges you with the barrel once. “You of all people should know the type of business we’re in. People have been killed for less.”

You bite your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. “Mista… are you actually... threatening me?”

“That’s a crude way of putting it, sure. I’d like to say I’m bringing you to your senses.”

Guido Mista, who would lend you his leftovers without complaint, marathon old movies so long as you were the one to suggest them, who let you use his shoulder as a pillow on long car rides back from jobs; that Guido Mista is holding a gun to you with the resolve to shoot. You want to write it off as a bluff. A nightmare, a prank in bad taste, anything but him being genuine.

Heartbreak comes in more forms than one, you suppose.

He does eventually stick his gun back into his boot, though his tight grip on you never falters.

“How ‘bout we head back now? We can put this all behind us. Things’ll go back to how they used to be.”

If only either of you believed that to be true.

Second Circle: Lust.

Bruno noticed your ring finger had been bare as of late.

It wasn’t like you gave no explanation for the predicament. Tears that he longed to wipe away would gather in your pretty eyes, dripping down the expanse of your blotchy cheeks, as you sniffled and pleaded for him to see reason in a scenario that never called for it. He never understood that. He’s perfectly reasonable — it’s you who has been acting out. Not him, never him. But that’s okay, his love for you is unwavering.

And oh, does he love you.

Yes, it stung, like drops of caustic acid dropped directly over his heart. Controlling, you would call him. Saying that he had no right to restrict your freedoms, that he was your fiancé now, not your Capo. It brought him no pleasure to enforce these rules on you. The world you lived in was a dangerous one, with gnashing teeth that’d sink and tear right through your flesh. A world where children were forced to join the mob to protect their fathers, where drugs flooded the streets and wreaked havoc in every life they touched, a world where mothers could choose to up and leave one day simply because they were bored.

Bruno opens the medicine cabinet in your shared bathroom and scans over the contents. He finds the box he was looking for, crinkled from frequent use, then sets out to work.

He could see it now, unfolding in his subconscious like a play with acts closely knitted together. The idyllic life that he sought and deserved. It would be on an evening much like this. He’d turn off his car, place the keys in his pocket, then begin the trek up the driveway to his slice of heaven. Work had drained him that day, as it always did. That mattered little when you greeted him at the door. A smile on your face, countenance softening upon your husband’s return. You’d rush to embrace him — apologizing for any flour on your apron that may have rubbed off onto his suit — a gripe he’d easily dismiss.

You would think to ask about his day, then change your mind upon noting his fatigue. Instead, you tell him about yours, mindful to keep your voice light so as not to worsen the pounding in his head. The latest book to have caught your interest, how your flowers were due to bloom any day now. He’d soak up your every word like a sponge. His home smelled of the bay’s salt water, your floral perfume, and the brick oven margherita pizza you had finished putting together right before he pulled in.

After dinner’s conclusion, he would secure two crystal wine glasses from the cupboard. While you patted down the dishes with a rag, he’d sneak up behind you, eliciting a gasp from your perfectly kissable lips.

“Dinner was delicious,” he’d whisper, then nibble the edge of your earlobe, his hands settling on your waist journeying further south, “Might I ask what you have planned for dessert?”

His goal to fluster you would prove successful. Chuckling at your endearing reaction, he’d then redirect his attention at the nerve clearing of your throat.

“Actually… I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy wine tonight, or for any time in the near future.”

His heart would pound and twist and leap in his chest. This is the moment he’d been waiting for. He’d know your admission before you speak it, having sensed it, as if your souls coalesced and temporarily became one. You're pregnant, you would tell him. The family life he always wanted but was robbed of is finally within reach. You were the key to unlocking this fairytale ending. In that instance, he’d become the happiest man on earth.

The mirage fades away.

He’s himself again, staring back at his reflection, having just finished his grim task. It wasn’t an easy decision. He flushes the tablets in his hand away, hoping some guilt might disappear alongside it. It’s not like he wanted to go behind your back. You were being unreasonable, presenting him with no other option then to become the bad guy. It’s for the sake of his future family, he reassured himself. Meddling with your birth control was the first step in his plan to keep you with him.

The box was returned to its regular spot, showing no signs of tampering. You’ll be none the wiser to his little parlor trick. Somewhere down the line, you had forgotten how much he’d been there for you, providing for you at every chance and asking for nothing in return. This is just the debt collector taking his due. This would be the chance for you to come and rely on him again.

Bruno noticed that your ring finger has been bare as of late, but it won’t be that way much longer.

Fourth Circle: Greed.

Today, Giorno brought you a brand new pair of ballet slippers.

You could tell it was made from expensive material, boasting a price tag that’d likely have sent your eyes bulging from your head had you ever encountered it while browsing Naples’ many boutiques years ago. The magic slipper slides perfectly onto your feet by his prompting. Not too tight, not too loose. He compliments your handiwork as you crisscross the ribbons to hold it in place, pleased that you’re enjoying his gift. Your happiness is his happiness, he’d often tell you.

“I have more surprises in store for you,” he informs. Giorno offers a hand to help you up, gentleman that he is, then leads you to a limousine waiting patiently for you both outside.

The chauffer never looks at you. You don’t think he has the courage to.

On the car ride over, Giorno attempts to entertain conversation with you, to mixed success. Your mind is clearly somewhere else, so he eventually leaves you alone. The last pair of ballet slippers you wore were nowhere near as nice as these, you think. Hand-me-downs from your cousin who happened to dabble in the art then give up on it just as quickly. You treasured them though, kept up with their maintenance, while secretly envying your affluent classmates who were able to afford much prettier pointe shoes that must not have left calluses on their feet.

What would they think if they could see you now, tied down to the most powerful man in Italy?

With the nature of his Stand taken into consideration, it might be more accurate to describe him as the most powerful man in the world itself.

It’s sunset by the time you arrive at your apparent destination. You’re unable to gauge the exact location of just where this is, since by the time the bumpy country roads gave way to smooth, well-kept pavement, Giorno insisted on tying a blindfold around your eyes. He treats you with the utmost care. Apologizing for having to move your hair from its place to secure the ribbon, then smoothing it back out with all the tenderness Eros bestowed upon Psyche while he loved her into the night.

You hear the songs of new birds in the distance, far different from the cries you came to know at the secret Eden Giorno stashed you away in.

It’s a whirlwind after that. You’re swept away, Giorno serving as your guiding hand, assisting in navigation through the unknown territory. By the unnatural chill on your skin, you surmise you’re inside an air-conditioned building. The rest of your senses cannot assist in gauging more than that.

“And here we are,” Giorno removes your blindfold, the cloth fluttering to the ground, forgotten. “My gift for you.”

Teatro di San Carlo — the theater your younger self dreamed of one day performing in — stands before you in all its glory. Rich, velvet curtains hang from the many boxes dotting along the room, golden embellishments line the tall walls, whose ceiling boasts a fresco painting depicting men and angels floating in clouds.

Was this reality? You couldn’t be certain.

The life you once lived felt so far away now, like you were gazing at it from underwater. What remains in your memory is little more than a shifting blur. Once, you were an aspiring ballet dancer, then a member of Passione, and after that… was Giorno. Your new past, present, and future. He took the reins to your life then never handed them back.

At some point, you register he’s left you on the stage. Not alone, oh no, never alone; the spotlight shining directly in your face does not blind you that much. Wherever you are, he never strays far.

It begins softly, as most things do. The thrum of violins. Then the wistful, yet foolishly hopeful oboe melody, its vibrato rending your heart in half. The Enchanted Lake suite from Swan Lake. Your body moves on its own accord, limbs shifting to match the rhythm, though they might not be as agile as they once were.

“You’ve always told me about your dreams, Giorno, so allow me to tell you mine.” You said those words to him once, then whispered the desires of your soul, hand-delivering them to the devil who disguised himself as a god. “I long to play Odette in the ballet Swan Lake in Italy’s most prestigious theater.”

You used to practice into the unholy hours of the night. Until your feet bled and your bones weighed down with fatigue. Even then, you continued your plight, continued to dedicate yourself to a dream whose fruition would become wholly dependent upon another.

You’re little more than a marionette whose strings are wound tightly around his finger.

If you close your eyes, pretend you’ve been transported elsewhere, to a universe that was kinder, you can imagine otherwise. To a timeline where after Giorno overtook Passione, he allowed you to pursue your career. It’s Friday night. There have been butterflies in your stomach all week leading up to the grand premiere. Your fellow castmates go through their various rituals to calm their nerves backstage. The curtains rise. You are happy, you are where you’re meant to be, you are free—

The prerecorded song comes to its natural conclusion.

There’s no decrescendo from the orchestra winding down, nor thunderous applause that threatens to burst your eardrums. All there is, and ever will be, is Giorno. Seated in the front row, his attention settling nowhere else than upon your figure, illuminated on the stage. His legs crossed, lips forming a closed-mouth smile. Once he’s certain you’ve finished your performance, he claps, the lone sound reverberating throughout the desolate auditorium and your skull.

You performed on the stage you yearned for your entire life. However, you never could’ve imagined the audience would consisted of one man, and a litany of empty seats occupied solely by phantoms beside him.

Fifth Circle: Anger.

The bells are especially loud today.

Fugo tugs at his collar for what must be the umpteenth time. He’s renting the suit, having not seen the point in putting out the ridiculous money necessary to own it himself, yet he’s starting to wonder if they got his order right. He didn’t cheap out enough to request polyester instead of wool. So why won’t his skin stop itching? It’s almost as if maggots had dug beneath his epidermis. Writhing, multiplying.

He bounces his foot up and down, earning dirty looks from the surrounding congregants in the process. Wooden pews are as uncomfortable as he remembered, if not more so. His parents never made him attend church often, as it’d detract from his time dedicated to studying. There were still appearances to be maintained, however. They’d attend mass at least twice a year, both times, coincidentally, ended up becoming his least favorite dates on the calendar. Pasqua and Natale meant sitting through hours of rites, dusty hymn books, organs that creaked, whined, and groaned. A priest prattling on and on about a book that hadn’t changed while the world around it did. Wine that always tasted too sour for his palate.

He hated it. He hated being here.

Why is he here again?

The miserable stillness is replaced by something infinitely worse.

Everyone rises to their feet. The organ plays a melody, the sound heavy, though the meaning behind it is light. Doors open — muted oohs and aahs following soon after — then a beautiful woman begins the trek down the aisle. She’s easily the prettiest woman in the room, Fugo thinks. It’s not even close. An angel incarnate, lovelier than anything da Vinci or Raphael could concoct.

Still, that doesn’t answer the pressing question of why he is here. Why he is standing, either, as if his body had moved on his own accord to avoid public scrutiny. The bride gets closer and closer, gliding like a specter in the night. He’s seen her before, hasn’t he? He’s almost certain of it.

It isn’t until he makes eye contact with the bride that it hits him. Everything comes flooding back at once, a dam broke loose, water filling his lungs and choking him in the process.

That’s right — that’s you. You wearing an assembly of whites, meticulously tailored to your body, with lace finishings and a veil trailing behind you long enough to reach the door multiple meters away. It’s your wedding that he’s attending. Fugo had often entertained the thought of what your wedding might be like. The bouquet you’d pick, how you’d style your hair, those silly little ponderings that led nowhere yet were always his favorite fantasies.

What he never thought, however, was that you’d be marrying someone else. Someone who isn’t him. Passione’s new Don, a beacon of hope, was to be your groom; whereas Fugo was smothered in unsightly darkness and discarded like a forgotten toy.

Could this be his divine punishment for abandoning his team at San Giorgio Maggiore?

Purple Haze howls within him. A monster barely contained, its chains threatening to shatter at any second. He could, theoretically, unleash his Stand upon the blissfully ignorant congregation here to observe the Don of Passione’s big day. Leave a trail of rotting innards and vocal cords too frayed to scream in his wake. The scent of burning flesh mixed with dissolving bodily fluid would permeate the air, overtaking the sickeningly sweet incense and vases of flowers gifted by Giorno’s many allies that currently dominate his senses.

It’s possible that he’d be caught up in the diseases’ path of destruction, not that he’d mind at this point. Not when he’s living a life permanently separated from you. For a time, he was able to handle this, considering it his atonement for being a coward all those years prior. No longer can he think that way.

He’ll do it. He’ll really do it, Purple Haze could manifest right now, annihilate everyone, and then—

You smile at him.

Ah. His heart stops and so does his last-minute plan. Fingers twitch by his side, then ball together into tight fist, fingernails puncturing his skin. He might be subjugated to damnation, but that doesn’t mean you should be as well. The first love of his youth, the one he’s certain he’d adore until he was wrinkled and made immobile by time’s passage, if he were to ever live that long.

He remembers your blissful teenage years together. Your annoying habit of forgetting to take the dishes out once they were clean, how you sang songs to yourself after your radio broke and you couldn’t afford to get a new one, the way you’d barge into his room without knocking to ask the most inane questions. He’d always scoff at them, turning away so you wouldn't catch the telltale red hue on his cheeks for having earned your prized attention.

Would today’s ceremony have been different if he’d entertained your silly whims back then? If he confessed his crush to you, took your first kiss for his own, ravished those lips he’d spend hours upon hours daydreaming about?

What a fool he was then. To be fair, he considers himself just as much as a fool now, if not more so.

A fool for thinking you’d ever walk down the aisle if someone like him stood waiting at the other end.

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years ago

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Home (Don Giovanna x F Reader)

Ahhhh it took me an eternity to do, so much so that the ask was eaten😭🏃‍♀️ @ladybugblues @neratics I hope this reads well. No warning only fluff

Word count: 1.2k

You nursed what felt like your fifth mug of hot chocolate in as many hours. Craning your neck to look outside the window, you noticed how beautifully the afternoon sun had shone on the cypress trees out in the garden. It was clear that the seasons were changing and you loved the warm, cozy atmosphere that autumn brought with it.

The golden hues bathing the atmosphere outside also reminded you of a special someone who was away for the past week. You weren't a stranger to Giorno having to be away from you, it was all part of his occupation and you had known that when you had fallen for the golden haired don. His time away also afforded you the opportunity to continue your activities so that when you both did manage to find the time to be with each other, it was just for you two and nothing else.

This time was slightly different from the others; your thoughts relentlessly drifted back to Giorno regardless of how busy you were and how many tasks you had to complete.

Snapped back to reality from your thoughts by the shrill ring of your phone, you jumped up to answer, knowing for certain that it had to be Giorno. You answered the call with extra gusto, causing Giorno to laugh through his greeting.

"Missing me that much, hey, my love?"

"Well yes tesoro, how are you? When are you coming back home?"

"One question at a time bella," said Giorno through more laughter. Even though it was just a call, hearing his voice and the comforting quality of his laughter had soothed your yearning and made you feel better.

You both had been on the call for a fair amount of time before Mista had called him away to attend to yet another matter.

"I have to run now tesoro, it won't be too much longer till I'm back in Naples and we can make up for lost time. I love you."

"Love you too, stay safe," with those words you ended the call, and returned to your work feeling slightly more energized than before. The next few days had passed with an alarming speed, as you filled your days with work and completed as many projects as you could to free up some time over the holidays. The same could be said for Giorno, and as much as he tried to steal moments away at a decent hour to attempt to talk to you, time would run away from him and he'd quietly go to bed after a few unanswered attempts at a phonecard with you. He'd gently chastised himself for feeling disappointed in being unable to speak to you, reminding himself that you needed your rest and that it wouldn't be long before he got to see you again.

The chill had properly set into the air and you had bundled yourself in your warmest outfit to go to work. It would shape up to be your busiest day yet, dashing in and around the office and town to make sure you could complete everything in time before your vacation started. You had stopped at your favorite deli to pick up a coffee and a few pastries for dessert that evening. As much as you were grateful for cup Ramen being a quick dinner for when you simply could not find the time to cook, you wanted to make a dinner that didn't include having to rehydrate its ingredients. You could have sworn you saw a shock of golden waves close to the exit of the deli, but the booming voice of the barista calling out your order number had prevented you from getting a better look. Laughing at yourself, you reminded yourself that Giorno was still traveling, however that bizarre occurrence was the first in a series of such events. While shopping for the rest of your ingredients you thought you had heard his voice while you were checking out in one of the isles, again, only to chastise yourself a little more harshly than before for having to remind yourself for the second time in as many hours that he was still away. Your last stop was the little florist at the ground floor of your old apartment. When you had first moved in as a confused college student, the owner, Paola, had stopped you to give you a small bunch of daisies each week, and you found yourself becoming a regular patron of the shop. Even after you had moved, you still stopped by every once in a while to make conversation and would always leave with something regardless of whether you had needed it or not. WIth his ability, Giorno always made you roses, and they were beautiful, but you had always honoured the sentiment of dotting the white daisies into those arrangements.

You had spent longer than intended speaking to Paola, catching up and filling each other in on the new events in each other’s lives. When you had finally started on your way back home, you ran through the events in your mind, making the drive back home even more peaceful. During your musings about how much you missed Giorno, you had finally reached the gilded gates of the Villa and were let in by security. As soon as you walked in, you were greeted with a huge display of long-stemmed roses strategically placed on the table in front of the mirror so that you would see them.

Excitedly, you placed the flowers you had brought home next to the ones left for you by Giorno and had started making your way to the kitchen to put down the rest of your purchases before you sought him out, but as you drew closer, you were greeted by intermingling aromas of baking pizzas and the balsamic dressing of the salad that Giorno loved.

“Welcome home amore mio,” called out the blonde don without turning around as you entered the kitchen. He had set down the utensils in his hands and extended his arms to accommodate the running hug you had always ambushed him with when he had come home from such trips.

“Ah Gio, that’s my line tesoro, how? Why?” Realising you had been had, you playfully hit his shoulder as you both held each other, scolding him for not telling you he was coming home.

“Well, amore, if you had known, I wouldn’t have gotten to see that particular smile, so sorry, but not really…” he replied, the laughter adding a wonderful, musical quality to his voice.

“And look, you’re even making dinner-”

“Well I know that a certain hardworking treasure would be surviving on ramen cups and coffee alone while I was gone… am I wrong?” asked Giorno, speaking the words into your shoulder. Resting his face in the crook of your neck, he had noticed something different about you- pulling away slightly to get a better look at you, a smile bloomed on his face when he noticed you were wearing his sweater. Not being one to pass up an opportunity to tease you, he had to ask despite being fully aware of how much you had missed him.

“So tell me, amore, any particular reason you’re wearing my sweater?” averting your eyes, you played with the soft fibers of the hem to avoid the pools of jade staring at you.

“Well yes… It smells just like you…” your expression coupled with the earnest words you had just uttered were enough to melt Giorno, overwhelmed by how much he loved you in that moment, he cupped your cheek and kissed you tenderly, convinced that you were indeed the one for him.

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fearxtoxfreedom · 11 months ago

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SPINE ARCHED off the couch, body subconsciously seeking more of Caroline's touch, those dainty digits climbing her ribcage like a ladder. Rung. To Rung. To Rung. & SHE STOPED. Nails scraping at the sensitive flesh just beneath the underwire of her bra. Leaving behind fire in their wake. (part of her wanted her to dig deeper - to really hurt her) She was burning up. Alcohol in her system wasn't helping. & As much as she knew she NEEDED to push the teenager away, for Liz's sake, she didn't actually WANT to, "Oh fuck..." She shoved her chest out, "Caroline..." Guttural groan. Urging the girl to explore further, but she hesitated. Thank god her conscience kicked in, (cause elle didn't think she'd be able to stop her) — "Yeah. Sorry about that." She didn't sound sorry. Mostly because, SHE WASN'T. Liz was her girlfriend. Of course she was gonna have sex with her. If her step-daughter didn't want to hear it, she could pop in some headphones & listen to music or something. Maybe go over to Bonnie's house to escape. She was eighteen now. & Liz wouldn't say no to getting some private time with Elle. Could it be that was why she suffered through it? She knew that if she left the house, the two would GO BUCK WILD on every surface of the Forbes's residence? Some part of her was still convinced that Caroline was just a perv who GOT OFF ON IT. "Mm..." Soft hum. Metallic tang of her own blood tasted even better off that finger. Desire-darkened eyes were nearly black. Tongue swept across bloodied digit, lids flittering as the bitter taste assaulted tastebuds. Clit throbbing agonizingly between arousal-slick folds. She was drenched through her panties. Caroline didn't know this about her, (& that was for the best), but this kind of thing really got her juices flowing. She was tempted to suck index-finger into her hot, hungering mouth, but she stopped herself. If she did that, there would be NO GOING BACK.

"I don't make this easy?" Words are slurred. Jumbled. Almost unintelligible. (christ. how much had she had to drink?) She scoffs & chuckles under her breath, "Look in the mirror." Cause it wasn't HER who had crawled into the other's lap, humping their leg like a needy BITCH IN HEAT — Elle's hands had found Caroline's bony hips, in an attempt to push her away. At least that was what she'd tell herself later. In reality, she was guiding the girl's body in rhythm with deliberate rocks of her knee into that panty-clad pussy. Even through her jeans, she could FEEL how wet the blonde was for her. Denim hot, damp, & sticky. In her intoxicated state, she didn't have the same level of skill as she typically did. Bony knee SLOPPILY SLAPPING against that engorged bundle of nerves. She was just trying to push her away. Right? Yeah, that's right. That was all she was doing. LIAR.

"YOU LIKE THAT...?" Three breathy words that tumbled past ruby lips before she could catch & swallow them. She was way too fucking drunk for this. They both were. She needed desperately to regain her composure, BE THE ADULT, & put an end to this. (they'd already cheated, hadn't they?) Eyes rolled back in her skull & she basked in the sound of her precious step-daughter cursing at the top of her lungs for her. It sounded SWEETER than it should have. Hooded eyes followed Caroline's down toward her own breasts. Brows raising when she spotted hardened nipples straining against the thin red fabric of her top. Okay. That one was gonna be hard to explain away. "What can I say? I'm really drunk and you're really hot." Things she shouldn't say for 100, Alex. "Mmh..." Elle craned her neck further to give more access as the young girl WENT TO TOWN on her neck. Kissing. Sucking. Nipping. & Scraping teeth across pulse-point. That in particular, caused her entire body to tremble. Manicured nails sinking into Caroline's hips. EXCAVATING FLESH — There was her phone. Right on time. It was like Liz could sense how close Elle was to making the second biggest mistake of her life. First, saying that she hated her dad when she was three, before he died in the line of duty. Third, going home that day when Hotch ordered her to. (yes, this was even worse than that. she'd rather be dead than hurt liz)

NEXT MINUTE WAS A BLUR — Panic combined with the liquor in her system & how quickly she'd reached for her phone, had the entire room spinning around them. Then there was the way Caroline's tight abdomen tensed beneath her palm, when she physically put a stop to her advances. Proving that she'd had THE POWER to do so all along. (which of course she had, she was a trained FBI agent. caroline was a teenage girl) When the blonde relents, climbing out of her lap & tossing her half-naked body on the couch beside her, Elle flashes her a look that says 'Thanks.' Answering the phone, just in time to have Caroline press that hot half-naked body right up against her side, swiping her drink. BREATH CATCHES in her throat, & she prays that Liz didn't hear it. Or writes it off as her simply being drunk, "Sorry, babe." Pet-name comes naturally. Surely to Caroline's disgust. She could honestly care less right about now. (girl didn't have a leg to stand on. probably couldn't stand at all) "M'okay. Just watching a movie." Guilt kicks violently at her gut. She's the WORST girlfriend ever. (& she's about to get even worse) — Glance over at the exposed teen through heavy lids. She's tired. Alcohol always had this effect on her. "Caroline went over to Bonnie's." LIAR. "Thanks. Means a lot. But, I think I'm just gonna lay down and take a nap 'til your shift ends. You don't need to take off work. REALLY." (please don't) "I love you." Yes, she was fully aware that Caroline was listening in on the conversation & fuming beside her.

#xbornxsurvivorsx #𝔼𝕃𝕃𝔼 𝕩 ℂ𝔸ℝ𝕆𝕃𝕀ℕ𝔼.#𝔼𝕃𝕃𝔼 𝕩 𝕃𝕀ℤ.#𝕍. 𝕊𝔼𝔸𝕊𝕆ℕ 𝟚.

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villainsletter · 2 years ago

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Characters/Personagens

Characters that I write about. This list can update from time to time.

Personagens que eu escrevo, a lista pode atualizar de vez em quando.

Fandom List/Lista de Fandom

Request rules and blog rules/ Regras de pedidos e regras do blog

Playlist

Animation/Animação

Castelvania

Alucard Carmilla Drácula Hector Isaac Sypha Belnades Trevor Belmont

Anime/Manga

Boku no Hero Academia

Atsuhiro Sako/ Mr. Compress Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead Mirai Sasaki/Sir Nighteye Nemuri Kayama/Midnight Rumi Usagiyama/Mirko Sekijiro Kan/Vlad King

Bungou Stray Dogs

Akiko Yosano Ango Sakaguchi Arthur Rimbaud Chuya Nakahara Doppo Kunikida Edgar Alan Poe F. Scott Fitzgerald Fyodor Dostoevsky Howard Lovecraft Ivan Goncharov Katai Tayama Koyo Ozaki Louisa May Alcott Mark Twain Nathaniel Hawthorne Nikolai Gogol Osamu Dazai Ranpo Edogawa Sakunosuke Oda Sigma T.J. Eckleburg Tatsuhiko Shibusawa

Death Note

L Light Yagami Misa Amane Naomi Misora Raye Penber Touta Matsuda

Haikyuu

Asahi Azumane (Time Skip) Daichi Sawamura (Time Skip) Ittetsu Takeda Keishin Ukai Manabu Naoi Taoki Anabara

Hellsing

Alucard Seras Victoria Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing

Hunter X Hunter

Chrollo Lucifer Franklin Bordeau Feitan Portor Illumi Zoldyck Jed Kastro Kite Knov Kurapika Kurta Leorio Paradinight Machi Komacine Omokage Pakunoda Pariston Hill Phinks Magcub Sadaso Sedokan Shaiapouf Shalnark Shizuku Murasaki Shura Uvogin Wing

JoJo's Bizarre Advetures

Part 1

Bruford Dio Brando Erina Pendleton Jonathan Joestar Robert E.O. Speedwagon Straizo

Part 2

Caesar A. Zeppeli Esidisi Joseph Joestar Kars Lisa Lisa Suzi Q. Wammu

Part 3

DIO Hol Horse Holy Kujo Jean Pierre Polnareff Mariah Muhammad Avdol Steely Dan Telence T. D’ Arby

Part 4

Akira Otoishi Jotaro Kujo Kira Yoshikage Mikitaka Hazekura Rohan Kishibe Shinobu Kawajiri Terunosuke Miyamoto Tomoko Higashikata Tonio Trussardi

Part 5

Bruno Bucciarati Diavolo Formaggio Ghiaccio Guido Mista Illuso Leone Abbachio Melone Prosciutto Risotto Nero Scolippi Vinegar Doppio

Part 6

Enrico Pucci Ermes Costello Gwess Johngalli A. Jolyne Kujo Narciso Anasui Weather Report

Naruto

Asuma Sarutobi Chojuro Deidara Ebisu Genma Shiranui Hidan Iruka Umino Kabuto Yakushi Kakashi Hatake Kimimaru Konan Mizuki Naruto Uzumaki (Boruto Era) Orochimaru Sasuke Uchiha Tsunade Zetsu

Sailor Moon

Souichi Tomoe

Shingeki no Kyojin

Armin Arlet Bertholdt Hoover Erwin Smith Hange Zoë Jean Kirschtein Levi Ackerman Marco Bodt Miche”Mike” Zacharius Sasha Braus

Soul Eater

Franken Stein

Books/Livros

Carmilla

Drácula

Count Drácula Jonathan Harker Lucy Westenra Mina Harker

Frankstein

Victor Frankstein

Fallen Saga

Ariane Alter Cameron Briel Daniel Grigori Roland Sparks

The Phantom of The Opera

Christine Daaé

Erik

Visconde Raoul de Chagny

The Picture of Dorian Gray

Basil Hallward

Dorian Gray

The Scarlet Letter

Arthur Dimmesdale

Hester Prynne

The Strange Case of Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde

Beatrix Emery

Dr. Henry Jekyll

Edward Hyde

Twilight Saga

Alice Cullen

Caius

Dr. Carlisle Cullen

Jasper Hale

Comics/ HQ

DC Universe

Bane Bruce Wayne/ The Batman Clark Kent/ Superman Corinthian Death Desire Dick Grayson/ Nightwing Edward Nygma/ Nashton/ Riddler Harleen Quinzel/ Harley Quinn Jason Todd/ Red Hood Jervis Tetch/ Mad Hatter Johanna Constantine John Constantine Jonathan Crane/ Scarecrow Kate Kane/ Batwoman Koriand’r/ Starfire Lucifer Morningstar Morpheus/ Dream Oswald Cobblepot/ Penguin Pamela Isley/ Poison Ivy Selina Kyle/ Catwoman Victor Fries/ Mr.Freeze Zatanna Zatara

Marvel Comics Universe

Bucky Barnes/ Winter Soldier Bruce Banner/ Hulk Carol Danvers/Capitan Marvel Charles Xavier/ Professor Xavier Clint Barton/ Hawkeye Durig Eddie Brock Elektra Eric Brooks/ Blade Erik Killmonger Erik Magnus/ Magneto Gamora Hella Odinsdottir Jake/Steven/Mark Grant/Moon Knight Jane Foster/Lady Thor Jennifer Walters/She-Hulk Kang Karen Page Kate Bishop/Hawkeye Kürt Wagner/ Nightcrawler Layla El-Faouly Logan/ Wolverine Loki Laufeyson Makkari Mantis Matt Murdock/ Daredevil Maya Lopez/ Echo Monica Rambeau / Spectrum Natasha Romanoff/ Black Widow Neena Thurman/ Domino Ororo Munroe/ Storm Peter Parker/Spider-man Peter Parker/Spider- Noir Peter Quill Pietro Maximoff Raven Darkholme/ Mystique Remy LeBieau/ Gambit Sam Wilson/ Capitain America Scott Lang/ Ant-Man Shang-Chi Steve Rogers/ Capitan America Stephen Strange/Doctor Strange Sylvie Laufeydottir Thena Thor Odinson Tony Stark / Iron-man Valkyrie Venom Vision Wanda Maximoff/ Scarlet Witch Wade Wilson/ Deadpool

Movies/Filmes

Bram Stoker's Drácula

Count Dracula Jonathan Harker Lucy Westenra Mina Harker

Scream

Ghostface Sidney Prescot

The Boy

Brahms Heelshire

Greta Evans

The Phantom of the Opera

Christine Daaé Erik Visconde Raoul de Chagny

Underworld

Amelia

Karven

Lucian

Scott Speedman

Selene

Van Helsing

Anna Valerious Aleera Count Drácula Gabriel Van Helsing

Series

Doctor Who

Doctor (9th-12th ) Rose Tyler

Midnight Mass

Erin Greene Father Paul Hill Riley Flynn Sheriff Hassan

Sherlock (BBC)

James Moriarty John Watson Mary Morstan Sherlock Holmes

Supernatural

Arcanjo Gabriel Castiel Charlie Bradbury Crowley Dean Winchester Lucifer Sam Winchester

The Boys

Annie January/ Starlight Billy Butcher Earving/Black Noir Frenchie/Serge Hughie Campbell Kimiko Margaret Shaw/Queen Maeve Mother’s Milk/ MM

Tumblr Sexyman

You can ask me any Tumblr sexy Person

Video Games

Detroit Become Human

Connor Gavin Reed Hank Anderson Kara Luther Markus RK900

Five Nights At Freddy's

Phone Guy

Purple Guy

Genshin Impact

Albedo Arataki Itto Baizhu Beidou Capitano Cyno Diluc Dottore Eula Jean Kaeya Kamisato Ayato Kequing Kujou Sara Lisa Ningguang Pantalone Rosaria Sangonomiya Kokomi Shenhe Shogun Raiden Tartaglia Tighnari Thoma Xiao Yae Miko Yelan Zhongli

John Doe

Persona 5 Royal

Dr. Takuto Maruki Goro Akechi

Resident Evil

Ada Wong Alcina Dimitrescu Carlos Oliveira Karl Heisenberg Leon S. Kennedy

Twisted Wonderland

Carter Diamond Dire Crowley Divus Crewel Idia Shroud Leona Kingscholar Rook Hunt Sam Trey Clover Vil Shoenheit

Thank You Very Very Much!

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phobophile-psychiatrist · 2 years ago

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The Quinzel Effect

When I buzzed, you could hear her squeal through the glass wall. I opened the door to a-- kind of dressed Harleen.

"Heya, Jonny! Whatcha doin' down here? Come to gossip? Or play doctor?"

"Harley, how you doin'? I'm actually here to ask some questions."

"Oh," Harleen chuckled, "Advice? Startin' to sound like Red."

I hesitated, "Eh, close, I s'pose. I wanna know sum about-- you."

Harley chuckled, "Hittin' on me? That's barely professional Dr. Crane!"

"Not like that, Harley," I approached the cell and pulled a metal chair away from the wall, "It's more about-- feelin'."

"Feelin'?" Harley was taken aback, "Jon, is this you trying to open up?"

"It workin'?"

"It's-- a start."

I sighed, "Fine, Crowley wants me to be more-- honest. I don't know where to start."

"And?"

"I wanna know why she-- I don't know how to phrase it."

"Cares?" Harley folded her arms, sitting down on her bed, "Loves you?"

"You think she-"

"Think? Don't you also have a psych degree?"

"I ain't ever been good at-- this kinda stuff. At least, regardin' me."

"What did Eddie say to you?"

"Wha' d'ya mean?"

"You wouldn't voluntarily come down here, Jonny."

I scoffed, "He didn't say nuthin'."

"He told you to come to me because you feel like you're Crowley's Mista J, don'tcha?"

"That degree didn' go to waste."

"You're here because you wanna know why I loved Mister J, so you might know why Crowley loves you."

"Unhuh."

"Well, sorry, Jonny. I was a good-for-nuthin-outta-my-gourd-run-of-the-mill basketcase masochist who was manipulated into submission by a psychopathic sadist with a batman fetish."

"You think I manipulate her?"

"No, Mista J manipulated me," Harley laid on her side and propped her head up on her palm, "Crowley thinks you're a lot like her. It's different. She forgives ya, sure, but she doesn't think you're infallible."

"I don't understand."

"And I don't expect you to. That's somethin' you have to ask Crowley, not me."

"How do you-"

"You see how she looks at you? Remember that time in the cafeteria? When she pulled the straw off of you, or when she smiled at you while you were eatin'? A doctor doesn't care like that, a friend doesn't even care like that."

I averted my gaze from Harley's blue eyes.

"Tell me about Crowley and you. When she first came here, you two already knew each other for a long time, didn't ya?"

"GCU. She was in her early 20s."

"Oh, lots of history!"

"She was in my class," I chuckled quietly, "Top of it and everything. Two of us begin there, she would stay after class and even volunteer for whatever I needed help with. She loved to stick around. I remember she admired me then, which, for what I was doin' here, felt undeserved."

"What were you doing here?"

"I was revisiting fear toxin, experimenting alongside Strange on the concoction and some of his own projects." I sighed, "I was having some-- complications with Diane back then."

"Diane, your ex-wife?"

"Yeah," I leaned forward and folded my hands, "Crowley became the only real reprieve of my day, the only thing I looked forward to. Eventually, her being in my class grew somewhat scarce."

I brushed auburn hair back, "She was engaged to some-- boy, back then. William, I think? I don't remember. I remember her chasing him around like a little neglected puppy. He didn't give a damn about her. I won't deny I grew rather possessive of her by then-- I hated seeing her chase a kid that didn't have the balls to admit her relationship with her professor scared him."

I chuckled dryly, leaning back in the chair, "I kinda stalked the kid."

"This goin' where I think it's goin'?"

"Probably," I said, "I found out the boy was distancing himself from Crowley because he had another partner-- actually, Crowley had become a sidepiece to him. So I did what that itch in my mind wanted me to do."

"Oh, Scarecrow."

I nodded. "I took the boy to the barn for days. Kept him there. Injection after injection. He let me refine my toxin; he became my first mistake."

I sighed, pinching the skin between my eyes, "Crowley's friends got privy to the idea I may have had sum to do with it. A few approached me, sure, but Crowley never did."

"She had skeletons in her closet too though," I chuckled, "I mean, she knew where I lived-- where my barn was. Ion tell anyone where my barn is."

"Crowley's got a little stalker in her?"

I snickered, readjusting in my seat, "I s'pose."

"I guess Crowley's always had a thing for ya Jonny-boy."

I sighed, and massaged my temples, "But I came here to find out why."

Harley groaned loudly, "It's a feeling Jonny! You're literally a feelings doctor!"

"I'm a psychopharmacologist."

"You're a psychiatrist and a psychology professor!"

"Still more of a chemist."

"Yeah, a Fear Toxicologist."

I gave a dry chuckle.

"The satisfying answer you're lookin' for is somethin' you're gonna have to ask Crowley directly."

"You saw how I tried to ask you."

"Yeah, terribly."

"I can't just ask Crowley."

"You mean to tell me you can kiss her but not talk about your feelings with her?"

"How do you-"

"I can read, Jon," Harley snickered, "That woman writes everything online."

"I-"

"Jonny, talk to her when she gets back. For real, for once."

I sighed and stood up, "Well, it's been enlightening, Dr. Quinzel."

"Always a pleasure Jon-Jon," She chuckled, "And, quit bein' a stranger, wouldja?"

I gave a halfhearted smile and turned on my heel. "See you soon, Harley."

Notes, Harley Quinn: Good friend. Means well.

#jonathan crane #dr jonathan crane #crowley in arkham #dr crowley #arkham asylum #dc comics #batman rogues #batman villains #dc universe #working at arkham #dc #gotham rogues

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tigresslanzhu · 3 years ago

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Scenario: A butterfly passes by and lands on your nose…

Po: Tries to keep still to keep from scaring it, but his nose really itches.

Shifu: Lets the butterfly explore the area. He tenses slightly as it crawls on the bridge of his nose.

Tigress: Looks on in confusion for a few seconds before its little legs tickle her nose. Her breath hitches for a while before sneezing the butterfly off her nose.

Monkey: Stares at the butterfly on his nose, then cups his hands over it, trapping it, then letting it go.

Crane: Sighs in annoyance at the fact that a butterfly thinks his beak is a new kind of flower to pollinate from. Five minutes after it decides it is done, the pollen makes Crane sneeze.

Viper: Giggles and giggles at the tickles the butterfly is delivering to her nose.

Mantis: Too little to have a butterfly land on his nose. He does break down in tears because it reminds him of his old girlfriend, who was a caterpillar.

Artica: Her nose tickles instantly. She tries reasoning with the butterfly, telling it that it can’t land there because she’s going to sneeze before sending it flying.

Zeng: He is so caught off guard by the butterfly that he crashes to the ground.

Oogway: “Inner peace… inner peace… itchy nose… ATCHOO! Aaaaah! That’s better! Inner peace!”

Mei Mei: It doesn’t get a chance to land on her nose because of how much she is dancing with her ribbons.

Mr. Ping: “Hello! We have a new special on my tofu ice cream!”

Li Shan: blows the butterfly off his nose.

Peng: Butterflies love him, so not only does one land on his nose, but millions join in and tickle all over his body.

Nu Hai: Sees how long she’ll let the butterfly rest on her nose before she has to sneeze.

Bao: “What are you trying to do, make me look bad in front of the ladies? Get off of me!”

Jin: “Your looked at me funny! Time to die!”

Fan Tong: Runs and hides before it gets a chance to land on his nose.

Jade Tusk: “Yeah, you’ve made a fatal mista- TCHOO!”

Empress Xiao: Giggles at how tickly it feels before she sneezes, then feels bad that she scared it.

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knifefather · 4 years ago

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Ok hear me out, Bucci Gang finds an abandoned baby

ANON I LOVE THIS

｡ﾟ★: * 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓾𝓬𝓬𝓲 𝓖𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓕𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓪𝓷 𝓐𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓑𝓪𝓫𝔂 ｡ﾟ★: * SFW, beware of depictions of child neglect Under the cut for length!

Imagine the whole gang walking back home from a night eating dinner at Libeccio. They're stuffed full of food and wine and they're all talking and joking like usual. Then, they hear it. Crying. Wailing.

After sharing concerned looks with each other, they silently decide to investigate. Bruno leads the way, ushering the group near the alley where the sound is coming from. They're ready for a Stand fight, so they're all tense and at the ready. When Bruno whips around the corner, Sticky Fingers ready to battle, his facial expression changes to one of confusion rather than one of suspicion.

"What is it, Bucciarati? Where is the bastardo? I'll fill him with holes! Let me at him!" Narancia chirps, jumping in front of the entrance of the alley. Aerosmith buzzes above, ready to fire.

"Hold it, Narancia. I don't think that's a Stand user," Abbacchio says from behind him, gazing down the alley. "Bucciarati? What's going on?"

"It's... a baby," Bruno says, blinking slowly. He kneels down next to the clump of dirty blankets on the ground. He pulls the once light pink blanket to the side, revealing a small set of fists and a scrunched-up little face. The infant is crying, its lips almost blue from the cold.

"Where are the parents?" Giorno asks, walking up behind him. His lips are tugged in a frown as he gazes down at the abandoned child. It reminds him too much of his own childhood, and his heart can't bear the thought of leaving the baby behind, uncared for. Bruno cranes his head to look up at him.

"I don't know... But we can't leave it here. We have to take it home, at least for tonight," Bruno claims, gathering the baby in his arms. He can tell that it's been quite some time since the child had been fed or bathed. The observation sends the hot feeling of anger down his throat, pooling in his stomach. How could someone do this? In such a dangerous part of town, no less? He rocks the baby in his arms, trying to pacify it.

"What's going on?" Mista asks, rounding the corner. He is munching on some bread sticks that he had taken with him from the restaurant, his mouth full. "Whoa... Is that a baby? What the hell is it doing out here?"

"The parents must have left it behind," Fugo said from behind him, crossing his arms.

After that, the gang takes the baby home. Bruno sends Trish and Fugo to the store for supplies and promptly takes care of the baby's needs. Then, Giorno gets to work on healing the child’s ailments as well as he can. They learn that the baby is a girl. The child stays in Bruno's room over night, the mafioso waking up every so often to check that is she okay. At one point, Abbacchio knocks on his door, offering to watch over the baby. He heard Bruno waking up periodically during the night and took pity on him. He takes the baby for the rest of the night and allows Bruno to get some much-needed rest.

In the morning, the gang gets started on finding the baby's parents. They ask around town, inquiring if the locals knew anything about a baby left by Libeccio. They gathered no useful information, ultimately.

"Should we... put her up for adoption?" Bruno asks, hands clasped together as he struggles to think of a solution.

"I don't feel right doing that, Bucciarati. There's no guarantee that she would go to a good family," Giorno responds, shaking his head. "Do you think we could maybe... keep her?"

"You know that Passione is no place to raise a child," Bruno shoots back. "But, perhaps you have a point." He wanders over to the baby's crib, looking down at her inside. She's sleeping, her small hands curled around the stuffed animal he bought for her, and her mouth working over a pacifier as she slept.

"It would be rough... Nearly impossible, even,” Bruno added, his tone carefully controlled.

"Wouldn't it be worth it? At least here, we know she'll be cared for properly. Plus, I know you've grown attached to her," Giorno speaks, sidling up behind him and also gazing into the crib. “You have a big heart, Bucciarati. You want to care for people. This little girl needs to be taken care of. To be shown love.” Bruno winces at his words because they’re true.

“Then it’s decided, isn’t it?” Bruno responds, not looking at Giorno. He reaches down into the crib and gently strokes the light, fine hairs that decorate her head. He can feel his heart melting in his chest and the child sleeps, her likeness of a baby angel. Her cheeks are rosy as she rests, a contrast from the sickly pale color she was when the gang found her. She gained weight quickly from being fed properly, and responded well to the care of the members of the gang. She loved to be held and cuddled, and was as well behaved as an infant could be. Bruno couldn’t deny his budding fatherly affection for her any longer.

“What should we name her?” Giorno asks, smiling as he watches Bruno interact with the baby.

Bruno’s blue eyes shimmer as he gazes down at her. “How about... Angela? It’s perfect for her,” he whispers, losing track of time as he beams down at her, his gaze brimming with love.

#in which giorno and bruno are proud gay parents #BAHAH #no but seriously this ficlet gave me baby fever #team bucciarati #jjba #sfw #knife asks #my work

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