The Golden Life
May. 7th, 2020 08:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamervolunteering tomorrow for the first time since this all started. good wishes will be appreciated. (also depending the Shadowed Suspicion post will be super late or super early)
~dreamer~
Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure Eyes of Heaven
Summary: Eyes of Heaven: Explored mostly as a source of working through jojo issues ;)
There's a love confession in this one.
Word Count: 1203
Rating: Teen
Warnings: barely mentions the stepdad, but mention is there
It’s a little more embarrassing to have him overhear the more personal aspects, but it can’t be helped, and perhaps it will also help demonstrate to them he has a heart.
Mista walks closer than he would let others, but here, he finds he doesn’t mind it. The gunman had noticed his pain, however carefully he’d tried to hide it, but perhaps the man misses how he lets down his walls. It’s easier around the Pistols, unfortunately, because he cares more about what the User thinks than his Stand, and therefore conversely it’s harder for him to be fully uncensored around Mista, but he is making the attempt, which is, well. It’s more than he can say for anyone. And he does find himself relax around the dark-eyed individual.
“How can I help?” Mista asks abruptly, and he feels a swell of affection, because of course Mista is one of the most reliable people he knows.
“Apparently my father is as bad as Diavolo.” To the gunman’s credit, he takes the statement at face value, and after a second envelops Giorno in a hug. He’s not used to touch, at least not touch not meant to hurt, but if there’s anyone in this world he trusts, it’s Mista.
He draws strength from the gesture. “Thank you for everything, Mista. I don’t know if I’ve said it,” a lie; he’s perfectly aware he hasn’t, “…but I truly appreciate all you’ve done since I joined.”
He pulls away to see that a blush has somehow broken through the gangster’s darker complexion, and allows himself a small, satisfied mental smirk. One of the man’s hands doesn’t seem to want to fall to his side and eventually does so only reluctantly.
“It was no problem,” he insists, rubbing at the back of his head (and Giorno wants to take off that hat, now that he’s aware for certain that Mista returns his regard, run his hands through the dark curls he’s caught a glimpse of—but this isn’t the time and Giovanna has better self-control than that) and downplaying his role. “You seemed like a great guy from the beginning.”
That’s a slight lie, too. He’d dismissed Giorno until he’d played that trick with the ‘tea’ and the jellyfish, at which point he’d been utterly delighted, an emotion that never quite seemed to fade. It’d seemed oddly easy, but then, Mista was a pretty straightforward sort of person. Well, no, perhaps it’s more of an exaggeration where he’d been impressed since near the beginning.
“Well, I still appreciate it. Truthfully, I haven’t had such a warm welcome anywhere other than school, so it meant more to me than you know.” Mista looks slightly hurt at the implication, which wasn’t the point. Giorno didn’t desire pity. He quickly moves on. “His name was Dio Brando. He was a vampire who stole a Joestar’s body and tried to kill all of them.”
“So—better not to bring it up?” Mista clarifies, and Giorno nods.
“It would be…awkward, to say the least.” He’s aware of the older man frozen in his hiding place. “Fortunately, I also have the Joestar legacy, which is more noble. This birthmark is apparently proof.” He pulls down his collar to reveal the star, watching Mista’s Adam’s apple bob in response. Still, he doesn’t intend to rile the older man up too badly. It’s something he would not be opposed to exploring in the future, as he is still a teenager with similar urges, but now is not the time. “I intend to help them beyond just rescuing Bucciarati and Fugo, if only to learn more about myself and prevent my father from causing the same sort of damage as Diavolo.”
“You know I’d follow you anywhere. Just say the word,” Mista insists, and despite himself Giorno finds his cheeks warm just a little.
“There’s no true reward in it, unlike being a capo,” he suggests, trying to get Guido to say it himself, rather than allowing his Pistols to do it.
“Too many people I care about have already died. They might be back, but it’s not like it’s not still dangerous, and I’m not letting you die too.” Mista’s serious for once. That is, he remains that way for all of three seconds before he dissolves into protests. “I mean, I’m not implying you can’t take care of yourself, especially with that Requiem of yours, but I thought the same thing about Bucciarati, and—”
Giorno smiles happily at that, and Mista trails off.
“Nobody’s cared about me enough to stay and ensure my safety. As I said, I’m grateful.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m not sure you understand the depth of my gratitude.” Gathering his resolve, Giorno leans up a little and kisses Mista’s cheek gently.
The gunman looks frozen like a statue, only to come back to life at Giorno’s gentle giggle. “I’ve been interested in you for a while. Your looks I noticed almost immediately, but the trust you showed on the boat was…refreshing. I constantly had to prove myself to everyone but you. There was just never a good time to say this—and now isn’t exactly optimal either, but it recently came to my attention that you might return my feelings.”
Mista seems to be torn between elation and embarrassment. “Sex Pistols, huh,” he finally decides on, trying to appear cool and collected. He seems to have realized that his confession has already been said without his being present. The Pistols had been eloquent and reassuring, in a weird way, while Mista’s just being adorable. Giorno doesn’t have a reaction he prefers, but fortunately, he doesn’t have to choose.
“They weren’t the only ones, but yes. I’m honestly not sure if I would’ve had enough courage to speak up on my own without it.” Mista looks poised to protest, but he holds up his hand. “I’m relatively inexperienced, and I’m not used to allowing myself to be vulnerable. We don’t really have the luxury of doing much, here and now, and I’d hardly like for either of us to be targeted as each other’s weakness, but…I believe small gestures would be all right.”
“I’ll save the giant bouquet for when this is all over,” Mista promises with a smile, slipping a hand into Giorno’s own. The gunman isn’t one for speeches, and that’s all right. “If you’ll have me, I’ll always stay by your side.”
“I would wish for no other,” Giorno insists, squeezing back gently. “Let’s find and attempt to help Signor Joestar. If he can’t understand Italian, he’s sure to have difficulties finding the food he likes.”
“Oh, hey, I wonder if they’ve got pistachios. They’re great for snacking for both me and the Pistols.” He’s still a little tense, but not in a bad way, and he actually has relaxed—mostly.
~dreamer~
Main Points:
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure Eyes of Heaven
Summary: Eyes of Heaven: Explored mostly as a source of working through jojo issues ;)
There's a love confession in this one.
Word Count: 1203
Rating: Teen
Warnings: barely mentions the stepdad, but mention is there
When he asks Mista to take a walk with him and the old man exclaims something loud about trying to find food to place in the refrigerator even as Jotaro grumbles about embarrassments, Giorno’s beliefs are confirmed. He won’t bother informing Mista, though, because discretion is not really among his admirable traits. This is probably the best way of telling the Joestars, anyway.
It’s a little more embarrassing to have him overhear the more personal aspects, but it can’t be helped, and perhaps it will also help demonstrate to them he has a heart.
Mista walks closer than he would let others, but here, he finds he doesn’t mind it. The gunman had noticed his pain, however carefully he’d tried to hide it, but perhaps the man misses how he lets down his walls. It’s easier around the Pistols, unfortunately, because he cares more about what the User thinks than his Stand, and therefore conversely it’s harder for him to be fully uncensored around Mista, but he is making the attempt, which is, well. It’s more than he can say for anyone. And he does find himself relax around the dark-eyed individual.
“How can I help?” Mista asks abruptly, and he feels a swell of affection, because of course Mista is one of the most reliable people he knows.
“Apparently my father is as bad as Diavolo.” To the gunman’s credit, he takes the statement at face value, and after a second envelops Giorno in a hug. He’s not used to touch, at least not touch not meant to hurt, but if there’s anyone in this world he trusts, it’s Mista.
He draws strength from the gesture. “Thank you for everything, Mista. I don’t know if I’ve said it,” a lie; he’s perfectly aware he hasn’t, “…but I truly appreciate all you’ve done since I joined.”
He pulls away to see that a blush has somehow broken through the gangster’s darker complexion, and allows himself a small, satisfied mental smirk. One of the man’s hands doesn’t seem to want to fall to his side and eventually does so only reluctantly.
“It was no problem,” he insists, rubbing at the back of his head (and Giorno wants to take off that hat, now that he’s aware for certain that Mista returns his regard, run his hands through the dark curls he’s caught a glimpse of—but this isn’t the time and Giovanna has better self-control than that) and downplaying his role. “You seemed like a great guy from the beginning.”
That’s a slight lie, too. He’d dismissed Giorno until he’d played that trick with the ‘tea’ and the jellyfish, at which point he’d been utterly delighted, an emotion that never quite seemed to fade. It’d seemed oddly easy, but then, Mista was a pretty straightforward sort of person. Well, no, perhaps it’s more of an exaggeration where he’d been impressed since near the beginning.
“Well, I still appreciate it. Truthfully, I haven’t had such a warm welcome anywhere other than school, so it meant more to me than you know.” Mista looks slightly hurt at the implication, which wasn’t the point. Giorno didn’t desire pity. He quickly moves on. “His name was Dio Brando. He was a vampire who stole a Joestar’s body and tried to kill all of them.”
“So—better not to bring it up?” Mista clarifies, and Giorno nods.
“It would be…awkward, to say the least.” He’s aware of the older man frozen in his hiding place. “Fortunately, I also have the Joestar legacy, which is more noble. This birthmark is apparently proof.” He pulls down his collar to reveal the star, watching Mista’s Adam’s apple bob in response. Still, he doesn’t intend to rile the older man up too badly. It’s something he would not be opposed to exploring in the future, as he is still a teenager with similar urges, but now is not the time. “I intend to help them beyond just rescuing Bucciarati and Fugo, if only to learn more about myself and prevent my father from causing the same sort of damage as Diavolo.”
“You know I’d follow you anywhere. Just say the word,” Mista insists, and despite himself Giorno finds his cheeks warm just a little.
“There’s no true reward in it, unlike being a capo,” he suggests, trying to get Guido to say it himself, rather than allowing his Pistols to do it.
“Too many people I care about have already died. They might be back, but it’s not like it’s not still dangerous, and I’m not letting you die too.” Mista’s serious for once. That is, he remains that way for all of three seconds before he dissolves into protests. “I mean, I’m not implying you can’t take care of yourself, especially with that Requiem of yours, but I thought the same thing about Bucciarati, and—”
Giorno smiles happily at that, and Mista trails off.
“Nobody’s cared about me enough to stay and ensure my safety. As I said, I’m grateful.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m not sure you understand the depth of my gratitude.” Gathering his resolve, Giorno leans up a little and kisses Mista’s cheek gently.
The gunman looks frozen like a statue, only to come back to life at Giorno’s gentle giggle. “I’ve been interested in you for a while. Your looks I noticed almost immediately, but the trust you showed on the boat was…refreshing. I constantly had to prove myself to everyone but you. There was just never a good time to say this—and now isn’t exactly optimal either, but it recently came to my attention that you might return my feelings.”
Mista seems to be torn between elation and embarrassment. “Sex Pistols, huh,” he finally decides on, trying to appear cool and collected. He seems to have realized that his confession has already been said without his being present. The Pistols had been eloquent and reassuring, in a weird way, while Mista’s just being adorable. Giorno doesn’t have a reaction he prefers, but fortunately, he doesn’t have to choose.
“They weren’t the only ones, but yes. I’m honestly not sure if I would’ve had enough courage to speak up on my own without it.” Mista looks poised to protest, but he holds up his hand. “I’m relatively inexperienced, and I’m not used to allowing myself to be vulnerable. We don’t really have the luxury of doing much, here and now, and I’d hardly like for either of us to be targeted as each other’s weakness, but…I believe small gestures would be all right.”
“I’ll save the giant bouquet for when this is all over,” Mista promises with a smile, slipping a hand into Giorno’s own. The gunman isn’t one for speeches, and that’s all right. “If you’ll have me, I’ll always stay by your side.”
“I would wish for no other,” Giorno insists, squeezing back gently. “Let’s find and attempt to help Signor Joestar. If he can’t understand Italian, he’s sure to have difficulties finding the food he likes.”
“Oh, hey, I wonder if they’ve got pistachios. They’re great for snacking for both me and the Pistols.” He’s still a little tense, but not in a bad way, and he actually has relaxed—mostly.
