#this coat is being held together by glue and prayers

[sancherry3]

i cosplayed daniil dankovsky yesterday. here are some photos from my fun steppe vacation

[jjba-hell]

Take of Prometheus

Ahhh so... the next two pieces I went OVERboard. This is not character specific but very reader driven. As a warning as well- you’ve probably noticed that I do not really do the whole “soft” reader thing. I want to hold my own against anyone, my reader inserts are no different. (Also conversation flow is easier)

Some context for the piece-

Sorbet is the reader’s brother

Reader does possess a stand that can hold souls by the chain that binds them to their bodies- this can be used to keep people “alive” until their bodies can recover or it can be used to kill by breaking those chains on command.

Reader used to work in forensics before getting mixed up with the mafia.

Prompt chosen: Death, more specifically dealing with the aftermath of an important death

Triggers: complicated family dynamics, death of a relative, pretty intense conceptialization of post-mortem operations and uhh that’s it

@lasquadraweek2020 @risottoneroo @giogio-gucci-gangstar and @junosartsthetic​

2,5K words and gender neutral reader- seriously, good luck

The irony of holding a funeral service for your brother wasn’t one you thought you’d have to endure but unfortunately for you, it wasn’t your choice.

You rose up from your seat on the chapel pew and started moving towards the back- passing by the rest of your squad who were scattered in their own pattern among their seats- most of them in pairs.

They were, however, the only ones who could attend- not like you and Sorbet had any other family that would grieve among you. That was a choice he had made, one which you were unfortunately dragged into.

The funeral processions went on as usual- with the caskets being carried out of the chapel and taken to the side-by-side graves. You and Risotto were tailing behind the two caskets being carried by the other members. It would have been nice if you felt sad or morose about the whole affair but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

All you felt was an uncontrollable rage you didn’t want to deal with, much less act on. Perhaps you were still in shock- the manner of your brother’s death seemed so bizarre you hardly believed it wasn’t some twisted trick he was pulling and at the same time you KNEW the cruelty of your Boss was displayed in those formalin glass cases. Gelato’s horrified expression almost surprised you more- that bastard never feared anything.

Risotto gently took hold of your shoulder and pressed you forward towards the lowering coffins. You had the honors of tossing the first handful of dirt.

You moved ahead, knelt down between the two graves and gently let the clumps of moistened dirt slip from your hands. The first handful for Sorbet was because you were family, but for Gelato-you had forged a marriage contract for the two of them to persuade the church to to let them be buried together. The mafia did many unspeakable things but threatening churches was not one of them- probably the Catholic guilt from their homes making itself known.

The rest of the team followed suit, bowing their heads in a prayer you knew had no use- neither one of them were going anywhere good after death.

When the grave keepers started shoveling the rest of the dirt on you didn’t wait to see them finish the job, you simply left to find a private corner to indulge yourself in a cigarette- a habit you thought you had broken.

You pulled the packet and lighter from your back pocket and soon found a particularly deep set angel statue with a wide base to slip onto, at the very back of the church- overlooking a courtyard you saw no purpose for other than looking good.

The first drag had just left your lips before you heard footsteps approaching. You’d recognize that stride anywhere. “Stop following me, Risotto.”

True to your prediction, Risotto rounded the corner on you and with a sigh he held out his hand. You’d caught him killing a cigarette in the alleyway behind the base once before, but you figured that was only because the pressure of looking for your brother was taking a toll on him. He took one of your cigarettes and lit it before returning your pack back to you- not uttering a word to you.

Illuso had once told you he had gotten a lead on how long Risotto had been in the mafia- more specifically La Squadra, you shuddered to hear the answer of 16. You’d only joined after wasting a few years away at medical school- unable to imagine your 16-year-old self killing people then. It takes time to become desensitized to this sort of thing. Maybe that was why all you felt was anger right now. And somehow you could laugh at the almost awkward question Risotto asked you.

“Holding up?”

“I’m fine. Can’t really say I feel anything...‘cept maybe rage.”

He only nodded, bringing the cigarette to his lips once more. “I’m guessing we won’t be receiving any orders or any pay for a while.”

“It’s not the pay, Ris.”

You let the moment slip by for a second. You truly didn’t care about getting paid- you weren’t stupid. Most of you had some emergency nest eggs carved and duct taped into your mattresses.

“I’m mad at my brother.”

“You’re mad at your brother getting caught?”

“I’m mad that after all this time- years after he promised me he stopped gambling, he took the ultimate gamble and fucked us all over one more time.”

Risotto stepped to the other side of the statue base, leaning against it.

“And you believed him?”

“Stupidly, yes- I did. I thought he had what he wanted. The risk, the danger, the blood, guts and gore but it still wasn’t enough. Now I ask you, Risotto Nero- how are we supposed to move on? The Boss doesn’t trust us, we can’t disband or disappear, the money’s already running dry- all we are, are sitting ducks waiting to be slaughtered.”

Risotto didn’t say anything, those black and red eyes gazing back at you with the same cool anger you could only hope you held in your voice.

He stepped forward, held onto your arm and seemed to be using Metallica on both of you. When you gazed down at your own body you were becoming transparent. Eventually neither one of you could be discerned from the shadows. “I’m not going down without a fight.” He grumbled from where you could only guess his face was. “First opportunity I see, I’m going after the Boss myself.”

It would have been a lie if you said you weren’t surprised. Of all people to go after the Boss, Risotto was the one you least expected to act out.

Metallica wore off and you were back to watching Risotto take a drag from his cigarette. Of course you understood why- why wait to have your throat slit when you could do something to prevent the person from getting to you, it was only stupid because you were running towards the one holding them knife.

“I’m not gonna sugar-coat it, y/n. I know how it feels to lose family, blood family and I need to make one thing very clear.”

He killed the cigarette under his foot and then looked you straight on. “I couldn’t even wish to succeed at this mission without you.”

Life within La Squadra, or specifically Passione, had started off rather innocently a few years back. You had made it into a state mortuary- proud of how far you’d come on your own. By that time, Gelato had become the newest addition to the apartment you shared with your brother. Sorbet never disclosed to you what exactly he did but you’d had your suspicions that whatever it was, it was probably illegal. At the time, you didn’t care...by then you could pay for the apartment yourself, should he ever disappear. It wasn’t like you were THAT close.

It was just that one night, when he and Gelato came stumbling into the apartment- bloody, beaten and a little drunk when everything suddenly started to go downhill. Both of them had stab wounds littering their bodies and you initially wanted to take them to the hospital but they were adamant that you not even look at the phone to call for anyone else.

So you stitched them up yourself. Big mistake.

For no sooner than that same night you came back from work did you find another gang mate asking to be stitched up.

One right after the other- your time was spent with dissecting people during the day and stitching the living back together at night. Of course the gang couldn’t have you as a possible liability- possibly babbling about what awaited you when you got home so you ended up having to join, your job abandoned and because of Sorbet, you ended up in La Squadra as a medic. Or at least so you thought until they started bringing you along on missions so often that you ended up killing all on your own.

You suppose that’s why you felt like you couldn’t mourn Sorbet’s death- if not for him, you might have still been living a normal life.

“You mean my stand.” You narrowed your eyes at Risotto and for once he huffed a bit of laughter- the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe a bit of your brains on the side as well?”

In the stare off you two held for a second you were reminded of everything you had been through since Delivery day.

You couldn’t imagine having to send your brother’s body to the crematorium or anywhere in the state it was in. The responsibility to get it into presentable condition suddenly fell upon you...

It was labor intensive- you had to use a false structure- something resembling his original skeleton- that you could glue and stitch all his severed pieces back together. Dead bodies were not something new to you, he didn’t mean enough for you to care... yet it still made you vomit every time you had to roll the pieces back into the freezer to work on later.

By the time you had finished, Melone asked you what you’d think Sorbet would have wanted- cremation or burial.

You chose burial as a joke- knowing the vain bastard would rather be lowered into the ground in pieces than have his ashes mixed with anyone else’s, the exception being Gelato’s of course.

You just didn’t quite expect Risotto to take you seriously- needless to say it wasn’t an open casket though.

You broke off your gaze from Risotto with a sigh- looking out over the picture perfect grounds in front of you.

It was Risotto who spoke out eventually. “I can’t pretend to know what’s going on inside your head, y/n. The decision remains yours to make, I won’t coerce you. Just know that if we go to hell, we’re dragging the Boss with us.”

With that he walked away in the opposite direction he came from, leaving you to steep in his words.

You said nothing as you took your own cab to your apartment that was now halfway packed away in boxes- shoved into what you could now consider a spare bedroom so that you could at least plop down on the couch without having to run an obstacle race. Not like you wanted to have any reminders of the ghosts of your brother and his boyfriend.

However you soon came to understand that that was inevitable...

Every damn thing you came across in the apartment reminded you of them- the kitchen counter that hosted so many botched up people they had brought to you, the busted up microwave display Gelato had hit with a baseball bat... then you remembered the batch of unfolded laundry sitting in the basket that held more of their clothes than it did your own.

You shoved the apartment door shut behind you and with a groan slid down with your back against the door.

What exactly you were feeling, you were unsure. Were you truly mad at them? Or was that just a guise to hide how much your heart ached that you had lost all blood relative you had? You should be happy, shouldn’t you? He dragged you into this mess, didn’t he? You were stuck here until you’d eventually be killed by it- that was enough to hate him and rejoice at his passing but he remained the one person you’ve ever truly had by your side.

You curled in on your knees, banging your head against your knees in frustration.

“Well, I suppose I owe Risotto an apology.”

You peered up at Prosciutto who was now looking down his nose at you. Of all people to send to check up on you, Risotto chose him?

“What do you want?” You grumbled back at him.

He shrugged, nonchalantly gazing at the hallway around your apartment door. “Risotto tried to convince you of something at the church but I wanted to pitch an alternative to you- if you’re interested.”

You rose up and gave him a side-eye. “I haven’t decide on anything.”

“I’m aware, let’s talk.” He continued as he opened the door behind you, letting you slip in first.

“I’ll be frank dolcezza, nothing is going to bring your brother back and from what I’ve seen from you, you don’t want him back either.” He was talking over his shoulder at you.

“Where is this going, Pros?” You frowned back at him from the front door.

“I’m saying, fuck revenge and fuck your brother.” He turned around to talk to you head on. “You said it yourself- we’re sitting ducks until the Boss decides we’re not and we’re being paid worse than the dealers under some capos. What’s worse is there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“And how does that amount to repeating Sorbet’s mistake?”

Prosciutto sat down on the couch, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette holder. “See it this way, help take down the Boss and either die trying- getting out of the gang if we succeed. OR sit here, do nothing and wait to be taken out of the Boss.”

You took the now lit cigarette from his fingers and brought it to your own mouth. “I’m not stupid, Pros. You didn’t need to come here and explain everything to me like Pesci.”

You moved over to find the crystal ashtray from the kitchen.

“It’s my brother’s death I can’t quite seem to come to terms on.”

You returned the ashtray to the coffee table in front of Prosciutto, taking another drag before handing it back to him.

“Oh come on. What has that bastard ever done to help you?”

“He got me through my first years as a student...he was all I had after our parents died.” You blurted out as you slid off the arm rest of one of the couches to slouch into the single-seater. “Now you tell me- are you really mourning their deaths or are just scared of the message the Boss sent?”

Prosciutto seemed to mull that question over as his cigarette burned out slowly between his fingers.

“We’re mourning. I suppose if you depend on each other as much as we do- it becomes habit to care.”

He didn’t meet your gaze as he uttered those words- killing the cigarette in the ashtray before getting up and striding his way towards the door.

“What was that alternative you wanted to talk to me about?” You called back at him just as he was about to disappear out of sight.

“Simply put? Stay on stand by for when things get ugly for us- if we make it- you get a free ticket out of this shit show.”