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arliaeien · 7 days

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Chapters: 42/? Fandom: ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Johnny Joestar/Gyro Zeppeli

Characters: Johnny Joestar, Gyro Zeppeli, Hot Pants (JoJo), Diego Brando, Funny Valentine, Lucy Steel (JoJo), Stephen Steel, George Joestar, Anne Joestar

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Friends to Lovers, Canon-Typical Violence, Ableism, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, POV Alternating, Alternate Ending, Medical and Rehab (spin) Inaccuracies, Kissing, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Bug bites fetish, Ass Play, Finger Fucking, Dirty Talk, Top Johnny Joestar, Bottom Gyro Zeppeli, Dom/sub Undertones, Johnny Joestar is Still Disabled, Friends Are Chosen Family Aren't, Your tradition is not mine, Politics, Post-Canon, meet the in-laws, Travel, Alternate History

Summary:

“The best miracles are imperceptible to the world.” – Unknown author

April 1891 Gyro entrusted Johnny secrets of how he’s feeling considering his family and Naples’ fall.

*updated every Sunday* (post-canon)

Snippet:

“How did your father react?”

“Told me it was better I ruined her chance. That she’s alive only for her being blind.”

“It’s… harsh.”

“With medicine, it’s like that all the time.”

“You saved lives.”

“Not only. Malaria transmitted by mosquitoes is also a plague in my country. Even using quinine, not everyone was making it. Witnessing people die year-round is shit. I can’t stand to have other people’s lives in my hands anymore. Whatever I could do something or not. Nor am I liking them enough to want healing colds or pain on a daily basis.”

“...”

“It’s a matter of choice. Once my father asked me to choose which person we should save between a mother and her son.”

“You feared making the wrong choice?”

“It’s not about making good or bad decisions. It’s a choice. The same way it was not good or bad to try to get the corpse or win the race. It’s a choice. And the only thing to do is to accept consequences after.”

“I chose neither of those. I chose you.”

It struck Gyro.

‘I’m no match,’ he thought.

But Johnny, as driven as last year, wasn’t upset at all. Maybe he considered it a good choice.

Maybe Gyro was worth it.

Maybe that was neither about the race’s fame nor ambition for an unknown religious accomplishment.

Maybe all of this was a matter of happiness.

Of love.

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redgyl · 1 year

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I am so sorry for how long it took for me to put this together. I debated for so long for how to do this next bit, trying to figure out how to best set up the rest of the story. Ugh.

In any case, many thanks to @applestruda for creating this Boatem AU.

Chapter 5

In the wild fens not overly far away from Cub’s house, two beloved zombie servants opened a gift for their queen.

There was an explosion. When the smoke cleared, two stone statues stood in the zombies’ place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was going down over the cozy cottage. Two children, a red-haired boy of about five and a two-year-old, flaxen-haired girl with red-yellow wings, played gently together around under the trees in the peach orchard, taking delight in the tiny creatures they found there. Smoke rose from the cottage chimney, where a dark-haired lady stirred the pot in the kitchen. She tasted the stew, then walked out to the garden to pick just the right herb.

Grian stood nearby, watching the children play. He wasn’t there in person, so he couldn’t hear her laughter as the littler one caught a ladybug, and he couldn’t smell the blossoms in the leaves; he was just Watching. But it always did his heart good to be there, even if it was just in spirit. He loved and treasured the peace and love of home and family.

When Watching in his sleep, there weren’t many voices he could hear. His wife’s was one of them. “Dinner time!” her clear voice rang out from an open window, interrupting the children’s play. The little girl didn’t seem to hear, but her brother lifted his head, called back, “coming,” and then proceeded to drag his sister away toward the house. She screamed in angry protest (Grian was glad he couldn’t hear that,) and flailed her little fists and kicked her feet and flapped her wings, but he was bigger than her and just as stubborn, so he won. Their mother came out and gently picked her up, and she cried on her shoulder, presumably telling her about how mean her brother was.

Grian followed behind, and the little boy looked back directly at him. “I hate it when she does that, Pa!” the boy said, clearly just as upset as the girl was. “She heard Mum, too!”

Grian quickly shushed him. “Remember that she can’t see or hear me right now, so please talk quietly,” he reminded him. “But you did good, Charles. You answered Mum right away, and you didn’t fight Ariana. It’s just hard on her to switch so quickly away when she’s focused, so be patient.”

“When will you come home, Pa?” Charles suddenly asked.

“That … will be a surprise.”

“I hate your surprises,” the boy said sourly.

“No, no, you’ll like this one,” Grian promised earnestly. “Now, let’s see what Mum has made.”

And so Grian enjoyed his evening watching his family. Every now and then he would catch his wife, Arlia, winking at him, and he sorely wished he could hear his daughter or she could see him. The stew looked tasty, and the children went to bed easily afterwards, and he got to chat with Arlia late into the night about their respective adventures and the children’s valuable moments, and news about the neighbors and about the country. Her raven hair glimmered in the dark, and her black eyes were deep as she looked at him.

“Is the Shadow after you,” she finally asked him.

“Possibly,” he admitted; the Shadow was frequently upset with him for one reason or another, ever since he chose to remain mortal. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t usually visit us during the day when you’re gone. You can only visit us when you are either asleep or knocked out. But I saw you with the children all throughout the day.” Arlia bit her lower lip, keeping her composure. “That frightened me. What happened?”

So Grian shared with her what he knew; the nearby presence of Shadow when Scar unexpectedly attacked him in Vex form, that transformation seeming to have been triggered by an evoker’s whistle. He also told her how the group had decided to keep Scar in the order, in spite of the liability he posed.

Arlia shook her head when he finished. “I can’t say I agree with them. I like Scar, but if the Shadow is using him to get to you … it’s too dangerous to keep him close.”

“We don’t know if anyone in particular was targeted,” he offered. “For all we know, the Shadow was just having fun, relishing in the tragedy and confusion of betrayal and such. But targeted or not, I’d rather keep my eyes on him. ’Keep your friends close,’ all that.”

Arlia looked at him sharply. “You think Scar’s an enemy?”

“No, of course not! But I think it’s still safer if I know exactly where he is so I can intervene if the Shadow tries again. I’m alert to it, now, so I won’t likely be caught by surprise.”

“We can’t afford to let Scar go berserk again,” she emphasized seriously. “Your friends are taking this too lightly.”

Grian nodded. “I agree.” But then he felt a tug at the back of his mind. His form started to fade; he was waking up.

“I’ll talk to Scar about it,” he said quickly as he faded away and his vision dimmed to black. “I love you. Give the kids a hug from me. Bye.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His head splitting with pain, Grian woke to find himself on a bed in a room filled with strange books and glass jars filled with various odd specimens, including a couple with sculk. A dim lantern set on a small table crowded with half-finished, alchemical projects lit the room enough that Grian could see his friends through the open door that lead to the next room, them carrying supplies back and forth and talking in quiet voices befitting the time of night. In a far corner stood a clock that read 11:30. In the room with Grian stood a familiar man in front of a row of colorful jars on a shelf. The man looked soft and round, his messy black hair contrasting sharply with his white, but colorfully splattered, overcoat.

“Here we go,” the man, whose name was Cub, announced, pulling a small, amber-colored, glass bottle down from a shelf just above eye-level. Cub turned around to Grian, his eyes smiling through his spectacles. “Good! You’re awake. Let’s get you healed up,” he said as he walked over and sat on the bed next to Grian’s head. “How are you feeling, Grian?”

“Like an ogre dropped a boulder on me,” Grian answered weakly. “Potion?”

“Yes,” he answered, pulling out the cork stopper. He put the bottle to Grian’s lips. “Just a swallow!”

Grian winced when he caught a whiff of the hot-smelling mystery sludge, and screwed his face to steel himself for a bad experience. The powerfully bitter, thick-textured, nasty taste washed down his mouth and into his belly, where it hit like lead. For a moment he felt absolutely sick, but then like sun coming out behind clouds, the pain in his head slowly evaporated, the ache in his neck and wings and chest faded away, and he found that his breathing (he hadn’t noticed how tight and shallow it was before) was now easy and relaxed. He sighed in relief.

“Why,” he asked, “do you make your healing potions so vile? For a moment there, I had preferred staying half dead.”

“It’s the golden standard for healing potions, you ingrate,” Cub replied lightheartedly as he eyed the liquid’s new level in the bottle (was it really only a swallow?). “If they tasted like candy, people would stupidly hurt themselves on purpose just so they would have an excuse to drink one. These things aren’t exactly cheap to make.”

“As if THAT’S the crucial reason,” Grian chuckled. “Is ‘palatable’ really too much to ask for? Patients need compassion, you know.”

“Most healing herbs used are, naturally, bitter,” Cub answered as he popped the cork back on. “I’m afraid that diluting this concoction to make it tasty would reduce its effectiveness significantly.”

“Thanks.” Grian’s stomach still felt queasy, but his curiosity still wasn’t quite satisfied yet. “My head’s better, but my stomach’s still sick. Why is that?”

“The potion is still hard at work,” Cub explained as he got up and put the bottle back in its place on the shelf. “You may not be in pain anymore, but that’s just the analgesic effect warping your perceptions; you’re still injured, even if you can’t feel it. Stay still until the potion has done its job. You’ll know it when you don’t feel sick anymore. Now rest easy,” Cub said as he walked toward the door, “while I tend to the rest of my guests.”

Cub left Grian alone in the room, helping the rest of the Boatem Order set up beds and get food and drink into their bellies. Grian heard them all talking to each other, but they were continuing to keep their voices low, so he couldn’t catch more than an isolated phrase here and there, not enough to know what they were talking about. Resigning himself to the belly-ache-induced rest, Grian impatiently stared down at the claw gouges in his chest plate.

Once the queasiness was gone, Grian sat up. Right on time, Scar peeked in. “Good morning!” Scar said with forced cheeriness.

Grian double-checked the clock. ”It’s not morning yet,” he corrected him. “Not ’til after midnight.”

“Really?” Scar said, looking at the clock, too, as he entered and shut the door behind him. “Oh, man! I had wanted to be clever.”

“You can be clever in eight minutes,” Grian said. He smiled, but pointed sharply to the gouge on his chest plate. “See why I don’t want a boob window?”

Scar’s smile froze and his face stared falling. “Look, I’m really, really sorry about that,” he said in sincere despair, seeming to hardly notice Jellie rubbing his cheek. “I am so sorry. I — I really don’t know what else to say.”

Grian scratched the side of his head. Flakes of dried blood showered off his freshly-healed scalp, making a mess on the bed. “It’s all good. No need to apologize. I don’t hold it against you,” he said, brushing the flakes off onto the floor. “I know an enemy did it, not you, if that makes sense. And I’m okay and you’re okay and so is Impulse and everyone else. But still … you had transformed awful quickly, and that enemy is still out there.” Scar’s face kept falling, so Grian quickly added, “so, we need a plan and get ready for the next time we come across an evoker.”

“Is that what he’s called? An epoker?”

“E-VO-ker, Scar. And I don’t know if we’ll run into him again or if it’ll be a different one. Either way, you’ve got to know that there are guys out there who can summon and control vexes. Thanks to that guy this morning, we now know that this includes you even when you’re not feral.”

Scar had started nervously petting Jellie, standing by the door. “Look, as I said, I’m not blaming you,” Grian continued. “You're just as much a victim as I am. I’m just saying that we need to come up with a counter for any other evoker we run across.”

“What about Mumbo’s idea?” Scar said in a carefully controlled tone.

“You mean you hold onto Jellie if you hear a whistle? That may help, but it’s not a solid plan. We need to figure out some way for you to maintain control even if an evoker is around.” Grian yawned deeply, suddenly feeling so drowsy. “How can I be so tired when I’ve been asleep all day?”

“You had a big day,” Scar said calmly. “Go ahead and lay back down and go to sleep, Grian. We can figure out all the big brain stuff tomorrow.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple minutes later, Grian was back to sleep. Scar listened to snores of all varieties rising from throughout the slumbering house. Only one other person was left awake, his old buddy, Cub, and he was yawning and settling back down to his spot on the floor (having given up the bed to Grian and the couch to Pearl).

Scar wasn’t sleepy, anymore. His mind was active and clear. No longer worried about his friends’ acceptance of him, he had been able to think and remember better what had happened that morning — is it now yesterday morning? — and he knew what he had to do.

He had tried to kill Grian, specifically. He didn’t know why, but he remembered the directed compulsion. Some deporker … befolker … mesoaker … had directed him to end the avian’s life in particular.

Can that compulsion come again in an instant, like it had that morning? Would it be stronger next time? Is there a limit to how much Jellie can do to stop a despoker? Can he learn to keep control in vex form?

Young man, blond with a black headband, wore green, had a magical, all-purpose weapon-armor-thing … there couldn’t be too many people who fit that description. Not the magical-shifting-weapon bit, at least. Shouldn’t be too hard to find, right?

Scar went to his makeshift bed on the floor, but as he knelt down beside it, he pulled out a tiny bit of the vex’s power, creating an illusion of him getting under the covers. He laid out the contents of Grian’s stuff and most of his own on his bed and laid the covers on it, so it looked like he was really there, buried under the blanket.

Invisibly, silently, Scar snuck out of Cub’s house and disappeared into the night.

#applestruda #boatem knights au #grian hermitcraft #impulse hermittcraft #mumbo hermitcraft #pearl hermitcraft #impulsesv #mumbo jumbo #pearlecentmoon #hermitcraft #I wish I was better at keeping up with social media #I have no idea how the Boatem AU has developed since I last posted.#I'll try to catch up now.#Everyone here is so awesome!

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