#narancia ghirgha

[theeyeofganymede]

Here, filler art of dragon Fugo

But like,, I love when people associate lyrics that revolve around poison/toxicity/venom and associate it with Fugo

Lets take a moment to think about this carefully yeah?

Purple Haze’s primary weapon is unleashing his horrifying murder virus only if absolutely necessary. This virus is commonly associated with smoke (Fugo’s stand in the dub is literally called Purple Smoke) now lets see if the definitions are similar?

Poison is described as: “a substance that is capable of causing the illness or death of a living organism when introduced or absorbed.”

Venom is described as: “a poisonous substance secreted by animals such as snakes, spiders or scorpions and it’s typically injected into prey or aggressors by biting or stinging.”

Radiation is described as poisonous and plus?? The word Virus comes from the latin word for a “poisonous liquid”

THEREFORE the association with venom/poison/radiation for Fugo makes sense THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

(Also side note, Fugo and Narancia both have ‘smoke and fire’ symbolism about them which I find kind of cool. Just goes to show how tightly knit together they are)

[marysnotsaint]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Narancia Ghirga/Giorno Giovanna, Risotto Nero/Giorno Giovanna, Leone Abbacchio/Giorno Giovanna Characters: Narancia Ghirga, Giorno Giovanna, Leone Abbacchio Additional Tags: Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Stands (JoJo), Blow Jobs, Sloppy Makeouts, Ageplay, Explicit Language, Degrading Language, special participation of Bruno Bucciarati, controlling Giorno Giovanna, Eventual Smut, Literally I have no plan when I wrote this Summary:

Alternate universe.

People have fantasies. Even Narancia has one for himself.

The new transferee student in the school caught everybody's eye even Narancia Ghirga who's into just having fun in his life. He even now wanted to have fun with him.

NO BETA READ

[amidalashandmaidens]

Apparently I have a thing about making my stands non-humanoid.

[ddarker-dreams]

The way id eat my own thumbs to know what the bucci gang would do if sr reader mentioned off hand that she wanted a boyfriend. Just hanging out with them on a balcony and she just offhandedly sighs “I wish that could be me!” when she sees a girlfriend giggling with her boyfriend outside I just think itd be silly

Note: better get the salt and pepper out because i loved this idea so much i had to write it . it'd be criminal not to. godspeed to your thumbs.

[Scarlet Ribbons Index]

Giorno

“I hadn’t realized you were interested in romantic relations, [First].” 

Smooth and practical — Giorno Giovanna never wastes an opportunity. That's what he considers this to be, a rare opening into your psyche. He'll even take notice of what the boyfriend was doing the instant you decided to voice your thoughts. Gotta tuck that knowledge away for later. Most importantly, however, is your response to this inquiry. He won't follow up much at the time should you respond in the affirmative, but it'll make a solid foundation for his future plans. He's always a fan of asking open-ended questions to learn more about you. Observation can only prepare him for so much. Sometimes he has to roll up his sleeves and put himself out there more, if it means he could possibly win over your most sought-after heart.

Bruno

“... I’m sure there are many who’d be grateful to experience that with you.” 

Bruno tries to remain blasé so as not to betray his inner feelings. Emphasis on the word tries. Really, if you were any less oblivious, you could've picked up on the borderline yearning timbre in his voice. He finds it equally reassuring and troubling that you're actively hoping to be in a relationship, to the point of voicing the desire out loud. It feels like a chance that, if he doesn't act swiftly enough, will pass him by. Bruno loves the others on his team dearly, but he knows how feral they'd start getting should they have been the ones you told this. You stress him out so much without even realizing it. At the end of the day, how can he be upset by this, when the mere thought of having you be his and him yours gets him through the most strenuous circumstances? You are his guiding light.

Fugo

“You want that? Don’t you see how he’s slobbering over her? Gross. A little self-respect goes a long way.” 

No, he isn’t bitter, what are you talking about, psssh. Fugo always expresses his disgust over public displays of affection, finding it to be in poor taste. Some serious self-reflection would reveal he's beyond envious. It just... looks nice... so fun and carefree... then there's him. A guy who has been chasing after you for years by this point without ever having the courage to make a serious move, lest he risks ruining everything. He keeps trying to confess through telepathy, meanwhile, you think he must be annoyed since, from your perspective, it looks like he's glaring at you. Poor guy. The extremely subtle hints he drops and telepathy haven't gotten him far. Still, staring at your wistful expression when you confess this fills him with hope. This could be the push he needs to say what he's been wanting to say for so long.

Mista

“Well, have I got some good news for you.” 

Mista is his own worst enemy. He wants to come across as casual enough to not pressure you into anything and make the atmosphere awkward, but by doing so, you have a difficult time taking him seriously. This genuine statement from Mista ends up coming across as another one of his jokes. You just kinda give him a light punch on the shoulder and laugh. Meanwhile, he's crying on the inside from yet another instance of you not picking up on his flirtations. What does a man have to do? Get down on one knee and propose while reciting a monologue? Now that he thinks about it, you'd still likely view it as a jest if he were the one to do it... alas. Being the funny person in the friend group has its pros and cons. Regardless of his mixed success in the moment, he'd still find comfort knowing you're interested in a relationship too.

Narancia

“What? You want to be a pigeon? Wait, that’s not what you're pointing at. Ohhhhh.” 

A heart-pounding moment! Okay, okay, he needs to get himself to calm down. These hand-delivered moments by the universe are best approached with a steady mind, using logic and reason to deduce the next optimal step— who is he kidding! You want a boyfriend! He can be a boyfriend! So, by following this train of thought, you could potentially want him as a boyfriend. He'd later go on to reveal this revelation to Fugo who appears nowhere near as enthusiastic about the prospect as Narancia is. It doesn't matter. A fire has been lit beneath Narancia's feet and he's ready to get moving. He intends to boost his appeal and lure you in using the art of subtly. When he's talking to another and you enter the room, he'll switch the subject and then loudly discuss how single he is. Super single. Not in a romantic relationship whatsoever. Nope, nada. His eyes keep flicking to you to see if you've gotten the message. He tells himself in his heart that you did.

Abbacchio

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Abbacchio is ready to shame you for envying such an obnoxious, unnecessary display being flaunted in public. Unlike Fugo, Abbacchio holds a genuine resentment toward this sort of stuff and wishes people would get a room. He'd ask why you'd be interested in anything like that. From what he's seen over the years, it's relationships that people loudly flaunt that fizzle out the fastest. You're more amazed that Abbacchio of all people is entertaining an in-depth conversation about relationships to feel like he rained on your parade. He isn't nearly as selfish as he thinks himself to be. He tells you all this not just for his own benefit, but so that in the event you end up with someone else, you'll give these matters some serious thought. He won't ever admit that to himself, however. Deep down in his soul, he wishes for your happiness above all else. He writes this off by telling himself he just wanted to complain about something he's always had a pet peeve about.

[randoimago]

How would the Bucci gang react if their female s/o Has a stand that it like killer queen and s/o very sweet to them but she Absolutely terrifying to her enemies.

Sweet S/O Terrifying in Battle

Fandom: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure

Characters: Leone Abbacchio, Bruno Bucciarati, Pannacotta Fugo, Giorno Giovanna, Guido Mista, Narancia Ghirgha

Type of Request: Headcanons

Notes: Here you go!

Abbacchio thinks that's hot. You're a sweetheart which definitely clashes with him being an asshole, but he loves it when you go all out against enemies.

Bruno can't help but be amused by your change in personality when battle happens. He is very happy that you're able to take care of yourself. He's still going to try taking care of you for all the other moments.

Fugo is constantly afraid of breaking you because you're so sweet and he's not great. So you being terrifying in combat makes him feel relief.

Giorno teased you now and then with how sweet you are and how "you wouldn't hurt a fly" (not one he made anyway, that'd come back to bite you). Seeing you in combat had him biting back a smile. You definitely showed him.

Mista was originally scared by the change in personality but then he thinks it's hot. Definitely can't help but stare with how ready you are to wreck your enemies. He's simping hard.

Narancia also was scared at first but now he amps you up. You're incredible and going to kick so much ass! And your equally cool boyfriend will help too.

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

Based off of this post!

These are all of the characters (that I can think of) that are inspirations for my self insert! (yes there are girl characters here, but that doesn't make me less trans masc)

In order:

Narancia Ghirgha (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Nocturna (Spongebob Squarepants)

Marie Kanker (Ed Edd n Eddy)

Vanilla Ice/Cool Ice/The love of my life (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Leone Abbacchio (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Sam Manson (Danny Phantom)

Link (Breath of The Wild)

Clawdeen Wolf (Monster High)

[ataraxiaspainting]

jojo's bizarre adventure.

bold – yandere.

italic – concept.

regular – non-yandere.

bold and red – favorite characters, more likely to get longer fics.

purple - bullet formatted.

*~*~*~*

giorno giovanna.

(to be added)

bruno bucciarati.

(to be added)

guido mista.

(to be added)

narancia ghirgha.

(to be added)

pannacotta fugo.

(to be added)

leone abbacchio.

(to be added)

trish una.

(to be added)

risotto nero.

(to be added)

josuke higashikata.

(to be added)

rohan kishibe.

(to be added)

jotaro kujo.

(to be added)

jolyne kujo.

(to be added)

[fugoisfugone]

Narancia ghirgha

[dailyabba]

I would have eaten him long ago if it weren’t for him being coated head to tail in his own mucus. 

I mean that.

@laecandraw

[silverbulletsama]

MY BABY CHILD

[ddarker-dreams]

Meet The Parents II. 🎀

Giorno x F Reader / Narancia x F Reader. Commissioned piece.

Word count: 3.3k. Note: Dialogue in italics is meant to represent words spoken in English !! [Scarlet Ribbons Index]

It’s the type of day a tourist couldn’t be happier with. Cloudless baby blue skies, nonexistent humidity, and a light northern breeze to cool the skin.

Giorno Giovanna thinks that the timing for such weather couldn’t have been better. Given your current frazzled condition, entertaining your two special guests from overseas is made easier by the outdoors' availability. The young Don fears you’d stress yourself into an early grave otherwise. You said you’re going to dazzle and distract your parents with Napoli’s beauty, so as not to allow any downtime.

Downtime means more intimate conversations. Apparently, this is a risk you don’t want to take, hence your current tour guide persona.

“Is she still looking out the window?” Giorno queries your Stand, who has taken to floating around dejectedly. In an attempt to soothe your nerves, Scarlet Ribbons tried braiding your hair, an effort met with reproach. While you normally let your Stand amuse itself by fashioning your hair into innumerable styles, you claimed ‘you have a strict image to maintain and can’t go around looking like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.’

Your Stand nods in affirmation at Giorno’s question.

“Did she at least put the binoculars down?”

This time, a shake of the head.

Hurried footsteps echo against the tile of Giorno’s villa, footsteps that can only belong to you, as he’s dismissed the few employees trusted with the home’s upkeep for the day. Your Stand fades away, apparently still in low spirits from your earlier altercation. You round the corner and sigh in relief upon spotting Giorno.

“They’re returning from their walk,” you have a distinct pleasure in confirming. “We’ve almost made it through this harrowing trial.”

Giorno disguises a chuckle by clearing his throat. “Has it been that cumbersome? You look like you’re in your element to me.”

“Yeah, if my element is ‘ungodly distress’. I think I’ll need a therapist when this is all said and done.”

“I’ll see that it’s arranged.”

Giorno’s attempts at soothing your nerves are fruitful. It’s strange, this switch in roles. You were usually the one who made a point of uplifting the spirits of others. While Giorno’s more reserved nature doesn’t lend well to making you burst into hysterics like Mista or Narancia can, he fills another role. One that is specially carved out in his shape, unable to be occupied by another.

He is the best at getting a read on you. Though he’d never admit it aloud, he takes pride in the fact. The others may have known you longer, but he catches the nuances they’re blind to.

For instance, he sees the genuine sprouts of concern hiding beneath your typical display of theatrics. You’ve gone to great lengths to hide your involvement with Italy’s underbelly. This false impression, meticulously crafted, could shatter like glass at the slightest pressure. Doing so would undoubtedly break something inside you too.

Giorno refuses to let that happen. Not when you’ve become so integral in his life, that he can scarcely remember a time when you weren’t around.

He trails not far behind as you run to greet your parents. Their faces light up the second they spot you — he can’t blame them. Before he enters the conversation, he recalls the words spoken by Bucciarati many years ago on his first trip to Libeccio.

“The others might give you a hard time at first, but try not to hold it against them. That’s just their way of getting to know you,” Bruno trailed off. Then his lips quirked into a fond smile. “However, you don’t need to worry about that with [First]. She’ll make you feel like you’ve known one another your entire lives within minutes.”

It was exactly as Bruno foretold.

“GioGio, my mom and dad want to thank you for your ‘cousin’s’ hospitality,” you call over to him.

Giorno wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or impressed by how quickly you crafted a lie to explain away his opulent residence. For safety’s sake, Giorno thought it best if he met your parents privately, away from the prying eyes that came as a consequence of being Passione’s boss. Thus came the tale that his Posillipo estate actually belonged to some rich cousin who felt gracious enough to lend it to him for a few hours.

Your worldbuilding went beyond that, but that captures the essence of things. He admires your tenacity.

His appearance in the backyard where your family unit has huddled together is met with a chorus of accented ‘grazies’.

“Woah, that was pretty solid,” you give an approving look. “Have you been practicing that?”

“I read on a pamphlet that we should know how to at least say hi, yes, no, and thank you,” your mom confirms.

“Still can’t roll my r’s if my life counted on it, though,” is your dad’s contribution.

“Well, one year of high school Spanish can only do so much,” you give your dad a conciliatory pat on the shoulder for good measure.

He shakes his head. “I took French.”

You make a face of faux sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Giorno feels a stirring within the recesses of his soul. This close-knit bond is unfamiliar to him, a long-forgotten desire he chased after futility as a child. He knows of the hardships you endured, and how you were brought into Passione’s fold for the lack of a better alternative. This is what you fought to preserve. What you shed blood, sweat, and tears for, hiding the damning trifecta behind a seemingly carefree smile.

He resolves himself to fight for it too.

“It’s been my pleasure,” Giorno responds in kind. He might not be as English savvy as Fugo, but he can roughly follow a conversation and chime in on the occasion.

The young Don then turns his attention to you. “I’ve prepared a small gift for them, if that’s alright.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, contemplative. “Is it… proletariat friendly? No Giorgio Armani or Gucci, right?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that. You can look it over first if you’d prefer.”

“Nah, I trust you. I’m just on high alert. Mista wanted to give them a vintage bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc and I almost died. I can’t keep giving everyone rich cousins…”

Giorno can’t say he didn’t expect such shenanigans. Everyone is doing what they can to land themselves in your parent’s good graces, for if you hold their opinion in such high regard, it might be the key to claiming your hand one day. This appears to be an unspoken yet universally understood truth. While Giorno would find it unbecoming to consider your parents a means to an end, he isn’t going to pass on this rare opportunity.

It isn’t just about winning them over either. Your approval factors into the equation as well.

After a brief departure, Giorno returns with two wrapped boxes in tow. He hands them to your mother and father respectively. You look as curious as they do, inspecting the present’s outward appearance for any hints. He takes a deep breath. It isn’t often he’s nervous, since his position doesn’t permit such weakness, yet he can’t deny the fluttering in his stomach. He moves on to the next stage of his plan.

“Please tell them I wanted to show a small token of my appreciation, for having raised such a kind and thoughtful daughter,” Giorno isn’t surprised to see your face morph into embarrassment. Still, he continues, a touch of mischief underlying his tone, “I’ll know if you mistranslate, [First]. English was my foreign language class.”

You give an exaggerated sigh and resign yourself to your fate. You repeat what Giorno said to them, uncharacteristically sheepish as you do so. His heart soars at how endearing the sight is. A devious side of himself tempts him to tease you more, but his polite tendencies win out, advising that now isn’t the time.

True to his word, the gifts are nothing that showcase his exuberant bank account. It’s a simple tie for your father and a brooch shaped like a ribbon for your mother — both a recognizable shade of scarlet. You look at the gift, then him, your mouth agape and your eyes glossy. He can decipher the depths of your gratitude without you needing to utter a word.

“Well, look at that,” your father holds the tie up for closer inspection. “You’re always wearing this color anymore, [First]. I guess it’ll be a family thing now.”

Your mother expresses her appreciation next. “What a thoughtful gift. I have an outfit that’ll match this perfectly! Tell your friend he has such good taste…”

Giorno decides the evening couldn’t have ended on a more positive note.

Your parents don’t depart long after that, jet lag still weighing them down. You offer to accompany them in the taxi back to their hotel, but they say they don’t want to take up any more of your time than they already have. So you settle for staring out the window until the cab leaves your line of sight. This time, you’re noticeably missing your binoculars, which Giorno believes your Stand hid in a vengeful act.

Once you’re certain they’re long gone, you run at Giorno with open arms.

He lets out an ‘oof’ at the unexpected impact, his cheeks flushing and hands uncertain where to settle themselves. Eventually, he reciprocates your embrace, ignoring the knowing thumbs up Scarlet Ribbons gives from behind your shoulder.

“I can’t thank you enough, GioGio,” you pull back, much to his disappointment. The bright smile lighting up your face instantly makes up for it. “I really… wow. This might sound kinda silly, but whenever I get homesick, I think I’ll feel better knowing they have a reminder of me like that near them.”

A wistful yearning fills him then. This wish to pull you back to his chest, reassure you that he’d do anything to appease whatever negative emotions you may harbor — homesickness or otherwise — but he keeps himself in check.

It wouldn’t be appropriate for him to do that yet.

Still, he’ll see to it that a day will come when he can.

“It’s the least I could do. I consider your family to be my family.”

And so they will be, if his next dream is to be fulfilled.

-

It doesn’t take much to excite Narancia.

He’s always brimming with energy — too much energy, according to Fugo, but who cares what that guy thinks — ready for anything and everything. His infinite enthusiasm somehow doubles whenever you’re involved. Anyone with a set of functioning eyes could see how utterly lovesick he is for you. Well, except for you, apparently, who finds it presumptuous to assume others’ feelings.

When you still came back to visit him at the hospital, despite the way he snapped at you for what he considered ‘pity’, he swore an oath to himself. No matter the cost, he would see to it that you’re happy and never cause you distress again. If presented with the choice between having you or the world, he’d pick you every time, without hesitation.

You’re precious to him, living proof that not everyone will cast him aside at the first opportunity.

Convincing himself of this has been an uphill battle. He’s been left behind too many times to count, made into nothing but a stepping stone for others to advance forward. Distrust cultivated throughout an entire lifetime is not so easily dissipated. They linger, like sediment that’s fallen to the bottom of a pond, waiting to rise at the slightest stir.

Narancia rattles off the gelato order you gave him, barely comprehending the fact he needs to pay once the employee confirms it. His head is elsewhere. He hands over more cash than necessary, grumbles something about keeping the change, then scurries to the side. In the background, he catches the melodic sound of your laughter. He sees you clutching your stomach, your eyes crinkling with mirth, and both your parents smiling as well.

Narancia has always wanted to secure your happiness… so why is it this sight unsettles him so?

Feeling the way he does now is nothing short of aggravating. He doesn’t understand it or know how to make it go away.

Regardless, he knows he needs to try. It would put a damper on the mood if he comes back over and sulks. He likes your parents and wants them to like him too. He might not be super smart the way Fugo is, or as charismatic as Giorno, but he still wants to showcase his strong points. That’s why he’s been mentally preparing for this day. Practicing English (by listening to rap music, but he still counts it), fixing his posture, and even acting all gentlemanly. He can’t recall a time he’s held open so many doors and pulled out so many chairs.

“Nara, need some help carrying all that?”

Your abrupt appearance nearly has him yelping in shock. Narancia steadies himself, preparing to ask what you mean when he recalls the tray in his hands. He can’t recall a time when he crawled so deep into his head.

His skin flushes when you poke his cheek. “Hello? Earth to Narancia? Did looking at the gelato give you some sort of existential crisis?”

“N-No! There’s, uh, no crisis here.”

You give him a quick glance over, as if not entirely convinced, yet ultimately relent. Narancia sighs in relief. Had you decided to keep pressing the subject, he isn’t sure if he would’ve been able to deflect your attempts. Lying hasn’t ever been his forte.

The gelato is dispersed among the four of you. You’ve settled at a quaint picnic table, rustling branches overhead granting refuge from the Mediterranean sun. Although Narancia can’t understand whatever conversation is taking place, he nods along, his eyes never leaving your animated form. He admires how your hair billows in the breeze, pulled up in a high ponytail and strung into place with a ribbon.

He’s always thought your hallmark color suits you. It’s warm, bold, and passionate. He couldn’t see a shade of scarlet without his thoughts instantly drifting to you.

“My parents were wondering if you’ve ever thought about visiting the States.”

Narancia does what he can to shake the shackles of uncertainty off of him so he can respond. “I kicked the idea around when I was younger, yeah. It might be kinda hard now. Lotta work to do.”

“I can’t blame you for developing an aversion to flying after Sardegna,” you nudge him with your elbow. “Maybe we can revisit the idea when things settle down. There’s so much I’d want to show you. I just know you’d love it! In Times Square, grown men walk around dressed as Elmo and harass people if they don’t give ‘em money after you take a picture together. It’s hilarious.”

Your dad throws something in, which you translate with unrivaled excitement. “I almost forgot! You’d get to try New York pizza… it apparently descends from a Napoli immigrant, what’re the chances of that. I know you fiercely defend your Neapolitan pizza’s honor, but I’m confident I can convert you.”

He scrunches up his nose. “No way. That shit sounds—”

Remembering his company, he slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Pff, Nara, it’s fine, they can’t understand you,” you wave off his concern. “They wanted to let you know you’re welcome anytime. There’s no need to rush an answer, though. I’ll just say that you’re thinking about it.”

Narancia pushes his melting gelato around with a spoon. “Hey, [First]?”

“Mhm?”

“Have you ever…” The words die on his tongue, for the mere possibility submerges him in grief, “Have you ever thought about moving back? To your home, I mean. Cause… Giorno would let you. Then you could pursue your dreams again and be happy.”

He can’t bring himself to face you. Guilt weighs down on him like an anchor — here you are, trying to enjoy an outing with your parents you haven’t seen face to face in years, and he’s bringing down the mood. The fear of this future manifesting into reality hurts. It isn’t a brief, weak pang, it’s a heavy ache that reverberates throughout his entire being.

You’re his best friend, his first love, his everything.

Would seeing your parents — a reminder that you have a home elsewhere — threaten to take that away from him? And could he ever be selfish enough to stop it?

You rattle off something, causing both your parents to stand. They send a friendly wave Narancia’s way, which he returns with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, given the tempest brewing in his heart. Then they’re off to overlook the Golfo di Napoli, fitting in perfectly with another cluster of tourists.

“Is this what’s been bothering you, Narancia?”

He can’t bring himself to speak, so he nods his head.

You rest your hand over his. Your skin is soft and warm, a combination that serves as a balm to his malaise. He recalls when he’d been forced to live in the streets, after serving time in a detention center for a crime he didn’t commit. He remembers how his former ‘friends’ abandoned him, spreading rumors that the eye disease he’d contracted was contagious, his isolation seemingly set in stone. No one looked at him, came near him, much less touched him.

When you visited him in the hospital for the first time, you practically tripped over yourself to hug him. His heart monitor had gone through the roof — he couldn’t believe a pretty girl like you would willingly come into contact with him.

You intrinsically knew how to comfort him then, and you know how to comfort him now.

“Well, I guess it’s natural to wonder that. I won’t lie and say I’ve never considered it. For the longest time, I tried to push it to the back of my mind, because there was a lot of work to do before my debt would be paid off. What you said about GioGio is right. It’s one of the first things he asked me after overtaking Passione.”

Narancia swallows thickly, the silence following your last statement deafeningly loud.

“That being said,” you squeeze his hand then, “I made up my mind. Dreams are fluid, Nara. At least to me. They change shape over time as we grow, experience new things, and meet new people. I don’t want anyone else to experience what I did. By doing some wrong, we can bring about good. I want to keep Passione strong so a worse entity doesn’t take its place.”

You give him a wink. “That means you’re stuck with me.”

To further emphasize the point, you use your Stand’s ability to manifest a ribbon, tying your wrist to his.

“Will that make you happy?” Narancia asks.

“Not always, but life’s about more than being happy,” you reply without hesitation. He can tell you’ve given this some thought, far before he broached the subject. “That’s why we need each other. Gotta keep things bearable, y’know.”

A beat passes. Then he grins, wide enough that it almost hurts, but he pays it no mind. He squeezes your hand back. Sensing his lifted spirits, you mimic his smile, allowing the ribbon to fade away for it served its purpose. You never fail to amaze Narancia with how utterly lovable you are, he swears it’s almost supernatural.

“You’re right. You’re always right, [First].”

At this, you put your hands up, a laugh leaving your lips. “Oh, far from it. Now let’s go get my parents back before the crowd gets any worse.”

Narancia springs into action, the usual pep in his step making a triumphant return.

“If we’re making plans to head to the States, there is one place I really wanna visit.”

You raise an eyebrow as he helps you up. “Oh? And where might that be?”

“The mouse’s home turf. Disneyworld.”

“You know that means we’d have to go to Florida, right?”

“What’s wrong with this ‘Florida’ place?”

You place your hand on his shoulder. “That, my dear Narancia, is a long tale, full of mystery, intrigue, and alligators…”

[ddarker-dreams]

First Time Realizing They’re in Love / Scarlet Ribbons.

Note: sometimes we just need cute stuff in this world ... and i am here to provide... on very rare occasions. this being one of them. reader is fem here and uses she/her pronouns!

[Scarlet Ribbons Index]

Giorno

It was an innocuous instance that, while likely nothing of note to you, opened the door to a colorful new world for him. 

Giorno always knew that he enjoyed being in your presence. He never considered it much past that, likely hesitant to uncover all that awaits should he give it more than a precursory glance. Ignorance is bliss when the other option might permanently change the trajectory of his relationship with you forever. 

"Alright, GioGio, so I’m thinking— now, you’re really going to need to track with me on this one,” you clear your throat, as if trying to capture his full attention. Little did you know there was rarely a moment you didn’t already have it. 

“Three words for you: great white sharks. We know they have their little meetings on a yacht once a month. Now, you use Gold Experience, turn some seaweed or whatever into great white sharks near their yacht, and bam. Problem solved.” 

The apparent logistics to such a feat don’t seem to dawn on you from the way you’re beaming, proud of your solution about a mole problem within Passione’s ranks. It’s been the root of multiple headaches for Giorno lately. Though sitting here with you, in this quaint little caffé, his troubles seem to be momentarily at rest. You ease the ache better than any painkiller.

The back of Giorno’s hand goes to cover the smile blooming on his lips. It’s a genuine smile — not the plastic variation he uses when meeting with other organizations or politicians — and he can’t remember the last time he experienced such a simple pleasure. A soft chuckle accompanies this act, something you apparently weren’t even expecting if your widening eyes are to be of any indicator. 

“I’ll, ahem, consider your suggestion.” 

After your initial shock wears off, you return his smile in full. “If that’s the strategy you end up using, I’m expecting a hefty bonus.” 

Giorno wonders what exactly it is you do to him. He could at times feel like a dead man walking, the weight of countless expectations heavy on his shoulders, only for you to make him forget about it with ease. It’s a miracle that he believes to overshadow even the power of his own Stand. 

Could this be...? 

He cuts the train of thought off prematurely. Ignorance might be bliss, unfortunately, he’s anything but. The boiling in his blood that urges him to intervene when others make moves on you, akin to a devil on his shoulder, courtesy of his father. The elation he shares in your success and the shared sorrow in your failures. You make him easily experience emotions he used to practice in the mirror every morning.

There’s no other explanation, he thinks. 

The next sip he takes of his espresso tastes sweeter than the rest. 

(Bruno, Fugo, Mista, Narancia & Abbacchio under the cut for length!)

Bruno

It wasn’t unusual for Bruno to be flagged down by various people when walking the streets of Napoli. He was something of a local celebrity, and while he had made plenty of enemies, he had won over even more friends. 

“Is everything alright, Signora Menini?” 

The elderly lady in question had approached him yet kept looking around, as if searching for someone in particular. “Oh, yes, everything is fine. I was just wondering where that young lady I often see with you might be.” 

The only individual that fits this description has to be you, who happens to be out on a job he assigned. Naturally, he wouldn’t indulge this information to a civilian, but his interest is undoubtedly piqued. 

“Do you mean [First]?” 

“Yes, that sounds right,” she nods. She then lifts a tinfoil-covered platter up to him. “The other night, I was sitting at that bus stop over there alone, when she happened by and joined me on the bench. It was a relief to hear she had to take the bus too since things have been so violent as of late. We sat together and had the most lovely chat. I ended up promising to give her a slice of my tiramisu the next time I made it, so this is for her, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

Bruno takes the gift and promises to do just that. 

“Please, do take good care of [First], Bucciarati. She’s a sweet girl.” 

“... Trust me, I intend to.” 

A detail that stuck out to him in particular is that you don’t use the bus; your shared apartment is within walking distance from here. You must’ve wanted to lend a helping hand without making it too obvious. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, his heart light enough to soar. This goes beyond simple pride in seeing you help another. It’s more personal, intimate, a connection that goes taut whenever he’s too far away from you so that he is pulled back. 

“And another thing, Signore,” she continues on. “Someone like that is bound to attract suitors. Don’t miss your chance. She’d make an excellent wife, don’t you think?" 

He coughs into his hand, trying to suppress the burning of his cheeks that cannot be blamed on the Mediterranean sun. It’s unprofessional to think of you in such a manner when you’re his subordinate. Okay, a subordinate that he’s on very good terms with, but a subordinate nonetheless. 

“I see you’re giving it some thought. Good. I’m always open to being a godmother should the need ever arise.” 

Bruno Bucciarati, who could keep his cool even when a gun was being pointed at him, almost combusts on the spot. He buries his head in his hands yet remains ever respectful of his elders, since that’s how he was raised. 

“Thank you... for the advice, Signora,” he manages to squeeze the words out. 

“Of course. It’s always important to support young love.” 

She’s off after that, bidding Bucciarati a good rest of his day. It’s not until minutes later that the full impact of her words hits him like a ton of bricks. 

Wait... love...? 

Fugo

Fugo wouldn’t like to say he’s eavesdropping. No, eavesdropping has a bit of a negative connotation, he’d prefer the term listening on the sly. In his defense, he did announce to you he was home upon returning to your shared apartment (a fact he’s still getting used to). You simply... didn’t notice, oblivious creature that you are. Maybe it was because you were too preoccupied talking on the phone while pacing the balcony, but alas. Details, details. 

He chalks this up to a synchronicity. You just didn’t hear him, he just so happens to be standing by the open window in the kitchen, the universe basically lined this up for him. Might as well go along for the ride. 

That was his original intention, but you’ve been gushing about Bucciarati on the phone to your parents for the past ten minutes. Fugo has been keeping count. He gets it, Bucciarati is great, he looks up to him too; this is just putting a damper on his mood. Fugo can’t think of a single reason why this would trouble him so viscerally, yet there’s no denying that it is. He can practically feel Purple Haze writhing inside him in agony. Begging to be released so it can wreak all kinds of havoc. 

He’s about to go walk his negative bundle of emotions off when you change the subject. 

“And yeah, that guy I told you about, Fugo, remember? No dad, I didn’t say boyfriend, stop looking for tickets to fly on over... y’know, the genius. Mhm. That’s him.” 

Wallowing in his dejection, Fugo assumes you’ll stop there; most people tend to. They recognize him for his intelligence and nothing else. It’s a foreign, unwelcome sensation of emptiness that builds in his chest, engulfing his former irritation like a blackhole. 

“I think we’ve been getting along better lately. There’s some untapped synergy potential. He’s actually really funny, in this dry humor sort of way. I was worried I’d never get close to him at first, since I kinda got this sense he found me annoying, but I’d say we’re pretty good friends now. Like there was this time I forgot my wallet and...” 

Fugo can barely hear you recount your story over his heart thundering away, his face turning red enough that any onlooker might think he’s been burnt to a crisp. There’s a new development in his once hollow chest — a faint tingling — unknown yet far from unpleasant. Or maybe it is. He can’t really tell. This... he can’t chalk the impact you have on him up to hormones anymore, can he? These physiological responses are extending way past that. 

He grasps the countertop hard enough that his knuckles turn white to ground himself.

Whatever it is you’re doing to him, you need to take responsibility for it, because it’s really freaking him out. 

Mista

Whoever invented the radio, or radio waves, just whatever that stuff is called, Mista gives his sincerest kudos to. They did him a service that could not be understated. More importantly, however, he needs to sincerely thank you for tagging along. This job was going to be a monotonous one, dropping off a delivery from Polpo to some old money that had zero high adrenaline stakes but a painfully long drive. Real mundane stuff.

That is until you offered to come along, apparently having nothing else better to do that day. Did Mista accept your request to join him embarrassingly fast? Yes, he sure did, not that it matters. Okay, well it mattered for the first hour when he kept internally beating himself up for not coming off as the super-cool-suave-machismo-emanating being that he knows he is, but that doesn’t matter now. 

Because right now, you’re hitting him with the most passionate aria of Bohemian Rhapsody he’s ever been graced with. 

He’s somewhat blubbering along to the lyrics, not entirely getting everything right down to the last consonant due to it being in English, but the general sounds are there. You, on the other hand, are a master of the craft. Carrying the tone with ease and lining up the words perfectly with Freddie’s.

And wow, not to be cheesy, but what a sight it is. You’re basically glowing sitting beside him in the passenger seat. You even did a rendition of the little electric guitar solo! Holy shit! How cute is that? 

Cruising down the highway, while he sings loudly (and badly) with you, it occurs to him that he never wants this moment to end. He never wants his time with you to end. How would he be able to accomplish that...? There’s a word right on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason or another, he can’t bring himself to fully form it. 

“Marriage,” a voice whispers in his ear. 

At first, Guido Mista thought God himself may have seen fit to reach out to him during his plight. After further consideration, it becomes clear that the big man in the sky likely wasn’t the source of this revelation. Turns out one of the Pistols decided to manifest and give him that final push. 

You turn your head to face him, momentarily putting an end to the karaoke. Turns out that push may have been off a cliff. Into spikes. And shark-infested water.

“Hm? Did you say something, Mista?” 

Wow you’re pretty and you smell good and your voice is the loveliest fucking thing he’s ever heard he just wants to scoop you up into his arms and hold you forever—

“N-Nope, not at all, don’t know what gave you that idea, aha.”

(This might be the one thing the Pistols are right about. Marriage with you... sounds nice. Yeah. He likes the thought of that).

Narancia

“Why do you keep visiting me?” 

Narancia didn’t mean for the assertion to sound as aggressive as it did, and by your facial expression, you must not have been expecting it either. Prickly bits of guilt stab at him in rapid succession. He tries to will them away, having made up his mind on this matter long ago. He can’t stand the thought of people looking down at him — especially not you. For reasons unknown, it irks him on a level unheard of. 

Here in this sanitized world of white walls, beeping machines, and a constant rotation of medical personnel, you've made it your personal mission to visit him. Aside from Bucciarati, whose lone appearance ended in a passionate scolding toward him, you've been his only visitor. 

"When I heard about you from Fugo, I wanted to make sure you were doing alright," you explain. He inhales sharply through his nose. So that's how it is, then. Pity. You pity him, in the same way one would a kicked puppy. Narancia bunches together his sheets by how tightly he grips them. He'll heal up, get discharged from the hospital, then you'll go on with your life and forget about that one poor kid you used to visit.

"But... to be honest, I just like to hang out with you," you smile, your voice soft. Narancia blinks, uncertain if he heard you right. "I look forward to our heated debates over if Biggie or Tupac is better. It’s fun. I feel... I feel more like someone my age, for once.” 

You clear your throat and get up from the chair beside his bed. “If I’m bothering you though, I’m really sorry. I can go—”

“N-No, that’s not, er,” his face feels painfully warm. He can tell your eyes are on him, but he can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, finding the prospect embarrassing. “I should be the one saying sorry. I like it too. So, uh, yeah. Sorry.”

You’re about to respond when his heart monitor picks up in speed and volume. 

“Oh, Nara, your heart rate...! Um, it’s fine, don’t panic, let me just get the doctor real quick.” 

With this, you scurry out of the room.

He looks at the number on the monitor, which reads 140. It’s not an uncommon occurrence for this to happen whenever you visit. Sometimes it happens when you laugh at one of his jokes, put your hand on his shoulder, or wear a cute outfit. The doctor always just shook his head and chuckled whenever you asked for an explanation on the phenomena. 

This time, after you leave, having ensured Narancia was fine, his doctor gave him some parting words that kept him up the rest of the night. And all the following nights after that.

“The best diagnosis that I can give, Narancia, is that you’re lovesick for a certain Signorina.” 

Abbacchio

It feels illegal to see you like this. 

You’re usually... annoyingly peppy. Upbeat. A proverbial ray of sunshine that he wore shades to avoid being blinded by. That’s how it was meant to be. How, if he were honest with himself, he likes it to be. So finding you a sniffling mess is a jarring experience, if not borderline surreal. His initial instinct is to check for physical damage — he finds none — leaving him at a loss on what to do. You still haven’t noticed him. He could, in theory, make a clean break and sneak off with you being none the wiser. 

It would admittedly be coldhearted, but he wasn’t good at this sort of icky emotional stuff. Someone more empathetic and talented with their words like Bucciarati would better suit this situation. Besides, you’re just co-workers at the end of the day; nothing more, nothing less. This is what Abbacchio tells himself as he walks onward.

Straight toward you. 

“... Hey.” 

You jolt, finding his presence unexpected amidst your lamenting. A few more sniffles, hasty this time. You wipe at your puffy eyes and give your most convincing smile. 

“Oh, Abbacchio, hi,” you’re smearing your mascara from how much you’re rubbing your eyes. “Ah... this is... y’know, well...” 

You slump your shoulders and give up on making any excuses. 

“Mind if I sit?” Abbacchio isn’t sure if he sounds gentle, for he didn’t think he had the capacity for the tone anymore. It might just be the closest thing he can get to it. 

You nod. 

He sits down next to you and leaves enough space for propriety. Meanwhile, you’re back to your previous task, tears cascading down your cheeks one after the other. The main difference is that you’re trying to be less noisy about it. Eventually, the downpour settles into a drizzle. You scoot closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder. His muscles go stiff at first, only to relax not long after. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Since when has he cared? What is urging him into such a fruitless and uncomfortable endeavor that he stands to gain nothing from? He could say something insensitive, further sour your relationship, make things awkward at work— 

“In a bit, if you don’t mind,” you close your eyes and take a shuddering breath. “I wanna stay like this a few more minutes. Please.” 

His lips part and close just as fast. He nods, certain he’d stay still for days, so long as it was you who requested it. This isn’t a one-off instance, he realizes. Abbacchio would go further for you than he ever would bother for himself. It’s always been this way. You have him wrapped so tight around your finger, that he doesn’t think even a pair of scissors would cut him free. 

Maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad. 

[ddarker-dreams]

Idk if you’ve already done this or not, but if you haven’t bucci hang finding out sr reader is pregnant please and like how they would be during reader’s pregnancy

I'M ON IT 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ 

[Planned it]

Giorno

He just kinda.... holds you for a few minutes. No words are spoken, yet you don’t think they’re necessary; it’s as if your souls eclipsed and become one for the briefest instance. The two of you had discussed this at great length before, but actually experiencing it feels so much different. When he pulls back, he cups your face in his hands. He’s confident that you’re going to be a wonderful mother. Underneath his joy, he can’t help but wonder if he’ll be a good father. The closest thing he had to a father figure was a nameless gangster who watched over him from afar. Giorno wants to give your child the love he never had growing up. Sensing his internal conflict, you reassure him that you’ve both got this. He won’t be alone in navigating these concerns. You remind him that you’re both a team (though you proudly claim to be team captain, to which he chuckles), soothing away his budding fear. He’ll set aside as much time as he can from his Don obligations to dote on you. 

Bruno

This is a day that will live forever in his mind. Bruno looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. While you may never know this since he finds it embarrassing, he used to fantasize about the idea of building a family with you. Maybe retiring from Passione and moving back to his childhood town, getting a house on the water, taking your children to all the best fishing spots his dad taught him about. While carrying out this exact fantasy might not be in the cards yet, being with you is already a dream come true. Expect to be picked up and spun around (until he worries that you might get dizzy and puts you down with the utmost gentleness). The man is beaming, taking your hands in his, thanking you over and over. He lost his family at a young but is now able to be part of a new one with you. Not even five minutes later, he’s planning out the dimensions and wallpaper for the future nursery...

[Messed around with the idea — still a surprise pregnancy]

Mista

His eyes get all wide and he cannot wipe the smile off his face. He keeps asking really? Really? In this high pitched voice to confirm whether or not this is actually happening. Pistols are cheering at the prospect of having “Number Seven” and start heatedly debating who should get to be the godfather. Mista almost tackle hugs you, mutters a quick oh shit after remembering he should probably treat you delicately now, then covers his mouth. Quietly asks if the baby could hear that or not (you say you doubt it). He’s always been more of a go with the flow type, but increases his intentionality in the months that follow. He starts practicing how to change diapers on a doll (Pistols snitched on this to you). No matter how flustered you get due to the side effects of pregnancy, his chill aura always remains. He’s great at keeping you grounded — almost nothing fazes him. You could ask him to bake you cookies at two in the morning and he’s on it stat. No complaints, just an endless well of love for his cute wife. 

Narancia

He’s smothering your face in smooches because of how hype he is. Narancia becomes an unbridled ball of energy, practically bouncing off the walls, firing a thousand questions per second. When does the kicking start? Can the little one hear him yet? Before you can give an answer, he’s already kneeling, speaking in a soft tone in the general direction of your stomach. Introduces himself as “your super cool papa” and is already giving name suggestions. You weren’t sure what reaction to anticipate but this display is beyond heartwarming. Narancia is swearing that the little one is going to have the best parents ever, that he can’t wait to meet them, and encourages them “to keep doing your best in there” while gesturing at your stomach. Narancia will be telling everyone in the general vicinity that you’re with child while puffing out his chest. If someone takes your seat on the bus, he’s ready to jump them, even when you explain it’s fine because you’re not showing yet. He’s basically counting down the days until your due date. 

[UH OH very much a surprise pregnancy]

Fugo

You can practically see him doing all the calculations in his head to determine the percentage of this happening. The number he arrives at is astronomically low, since you both took precautions to prevent this from happening. While he thinks he’s in a better place mentally compared to his teenage years, self-doubt swirls in his mind, and he stands there shell-shocked until you keep calling his name. Fugo already wrestles with the insecurity that you could do better than being with someone like him, he just never thinks he can be good enough. Sitting down and talking things over with you helps a lot. He apologizes — saying that it’s you he should be focusing on right now — but you never demean him or look impatient. He solemnly swears that if you want to keep the child, he’ll give it his all too. What starts out as apprehension cold as winter melts into the budding excitement of spring as the months progress. You both attend parenting classes, he’s reading more developmental psychology books than you can count, and he shows up to every doctor’s appointment thirty minutes early. It makes you wish he could see the good in himself that you see everyday. 

Abbacchio

Abbacchio is conflicted to say the least, but to no fault of your own. This is a big commitment. Naturally, he’s committed to you, it’s just that he never gave much thought to raising a kid. He’s worried he’ll screw up somehow and ruin the child for life. If you decide to keep it, he’ll take responsibility of course, there’s just a lot for him to work through mentally. He circumvents this by almost overfocusing on you and neglecting himself. He’ll make sure you’re always comfortable, shoos you off whenever you try to do chores, starts putting in extra hours to further cushion your finances. Keeping busy is an effective method for a while, until he starts to get burnt out. Up until that point, he’s tip-toed around the conversation whenever you try to bring it up, but you finally manage to get his real thoughts when you start crying. He can never stand to see you cry. He lets everything out, the good, the bad, the ugly. Everything can’t be resolved and neatly tied up in a single evening, but it’s a good place to start. Abbacchio feels closer to you and somewhat more secure about the future. 

[ddarker-dreams]

Brotherzoned / Scarlet Ribbons.

Reader saying “Oh, he’s like a brother to me!“ when asked about the boys.

[Scarlet Ribbons description]

Giorno

Abbacchio will be bringing this up for years to come, in fact, he’s so overjoyed by this, that he picks up your tab at Libeccio the following week. Giorno is proficient enough in schooling his expressions that you wouldn’t be able to tell the poor boy’s heart just dropped — he is quickly redirecting the conversation though. Aaaand Abbacchio sent him a “Sorry for your loss” card in the mail. Great. Giorno really thought he was reading your body language well and doing the whole courting thing right, so this comes as a metaphorical slap to the face. Nonetheless, he’s never been the type to cower in the face of adversity. Expect flower bouquets to be delivered to your residence with such frequency, you might be able to quit Passione and become a florist. Giorno nonchalantly asks what your favorite romance movies are and the man starts to study. Analyzing every frame of the lead love interest, trying to discern what it is that caught your eye. He’s committed to winning you over before the other competition digs their hooks in you. (It did reassure him to see Narancia struggle with opening the door for you due to not realizing it was a push, not pull variation). 

Bruno

No one has the heart to rub it in Bruno’s face, given the crestfallen expression that immediately follows your words (though he covers it up just as fast). This is a shocking revelation for him. Ah... looking back on his actions through this lens... he could see how this misconception occurred. He’s walked you home at night, always inquires about matters relating to your health, and generally tends to dote on you. He sighs a lot for the remainder of the day. On one hand, he’s flattered you feel that close to him, but this is definitely not what he was aiming for all these years. It wouldn’t sit well with him if he dropped his compassionate disposition entirely, the urge to fuss over you is prevalent as ever. Bruno decides to step up his game in light of this harrowing information. For example, the next time you’re in a crowd and he’s worried he’ll lose you, instead of guiding you by your shoulders, he places his hand on your lower back. (Mista is stunned by his Capo’s boldness and takes notes). 

Fugo

Mista and Narancia are pointing at him while laughing, much to his immense disdain, and your confusion. You didn’t think you said anything funny? Did you pronounce a word wrong? The duo is practically howling while Fugo is chasing the two around the restaurant, while Bruno, muffling his own budding laughter, tells them to cut it out. Fugo is red up to his ears. He’s muttering obscenities the entire walk home, his day ruined. Was viewing him as a romantic prospect so terrible an idea? He swears he’ll never forgive you for this transgression, the next time he sees you, he’ll give you a piece of his mind and— oh you’re jogging up to walk home alongside him. That sweet smile you direct his way is making his heart pound for a reason other than frustration. His grudge is dropped in record time while he listens to your every word intently, nodding along and asking follow-up questions. He’s even opening up his wallet to buy you gelato when he caught you staring at it a second too long. There’s no denying that he’s whipped for you.

Mista

High contender for the worst moment in his life. The man actually clutches his chest and falls to his knees, making pained noises while doing so. It doesn’t matter if you’re in public because he’s doing this regardless, zero shame on his part. To further sour things, Pistols start reminding him of this admission whenever he gets haughty or holds out on their snack time. They collectively refer to this as, quote, “The Incident”, end quote. He starts reading some magazines for advice on how to pursue your crush after this with mixed success. The good news is that he’s starting to wear cologne to impress you, the bad news is that the cologne is a little too strong. He’s trying to take it in stride since he’s got an easygoing nature, but it’s got him staying up late at night, staring at his ceiling unblinkingly. Maybe he’ll start flexing his biceps when you’re glancing in his general direction like the column in the magazine suggested...

Narancia 

He’s laughing along, yet do not be fooled by this act. He is but an empty husk of a man for the days that follow. Narancia is whipping out his “sad tunes” mixtape while what feels like a rainy cloud hovers above his head. Bruno takes pity on him and gives an understanding pat on the back. Lamenting over the past, he’ll walk the streets, kicking rocks while he tries to figure out where he went wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have let you ruffle his hair! That isn’t an action where he’s overflowing with machismo so as to impress you! Hmph... it is a minor setback... but he can’t ever stay down in the dumps for long. Narancia will start working even harder to win over your affections. If anything, he’s decided he’s more motivated now than ever. The next time you see him, he’s wearing sunglasses and a black leather jacket, despite it being over ninety degrees out. He tries to take a puff of a cigarette and starts coughing so much you have to get him a glass of water. He’ll get ‘em next time. 

Abbacchio

Out of all the roles you could assign him... this is not what he expected. He’s popping open the vintage wine tonight. The next time you ask for his help in opening a jar, expect to be left high and dry. What the hell do you think is brotherly about him? He doesn’t get it. Abbacchio thinks he’d prefer if you had instead pointed at him, and in all seriousness, said you hate his guts. Yeah. That would’ve been better. Not to mention the smug look that bastard Giorno sent him after hearing this... that shithead is beyond infuriating. How quickly he switches to smiling innocently when you glance back over in his direction too! It’s revolting. Abbacchio swears he’s not going to lose to that. No, if this ship is going down, he’s taking everyone else with him. He’ll see if he can put some rumors in your ear about the others to make them less desirable in your eyes. There’s lots of groundwork to lay out and he’s overflowing with ideas. 

[ddarker-dreams]

locke i swear you got a type going on... chrollo? INFJ. Johan? INFJ. Scaramouche? INTJ. Kafka? ENTJ...

its even funnier than im an entp and we have the exact same type 😭😭😭😭

honestly i am so predictable ... this made me wanna examine 🔍🕵️‍♀️ the trends of my all-time favorite characters. let's see .

chrollo lucilfer (INFJ)

giorno giovanna (INFJ)

scaramouche (INTJ)

pannacotta fugo (INTP)

bruno bucciarati (ISTJ)

levi ackerman (ISTP)

johan liebert (INFJ)

daryl dixon (ISTP)

alucard (ISTP)

tony stark (ENTP)

gojo satoru (ENTP)

izaya orihara (ENTP)

feitan portor (ISTP)

narancia ghirgha (ESFP)

guido mista (ESTP)

so many introverts........... yes........... exclelent...................... i love them..................................... they listen to me speak.......... and damn i speak a lot.....