#Rohan is just destined to have his house burn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jojo-reader-hell · 3 years

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Dude, can I request something for Rohan’s innocent, small, kind, little sister dating josuke? Could be Headcanons or an imagine. Be it when he finds out or jusg in general. But it’s totally fine if you don’t want to or can’t do this request too. Thanks

This. This right here. This is what made me love Josuke.

I didn’t know if you meant that Josuke found out who she was, or if Rohan did, so I just wrote it as Josuke finding out. (Also isn’t this gif the cutest? Imagine he’s there with you drinking coffee at the cafe 🥰)

“Hey Miss! You forgot your Moomin!”

You’d never let him live it down, not even years later down the line when you’d be expecting your firstborn together in college. The image was burned in your mind of your meeting: Josuke in all his Elvis pomp glory, running after you in the train station, holding hands with a fluffy and fat white hippo toy, waving it around like a dork. Little did you know you’d look back on this day as him being your knight in shining armor, or more like knight with fluffy Moomin. Often you would tease him about his childlike exuberance, meanwhile he didn’t let you live down the high pitched noise you made when you saw him holding your plush toy, nor did he let you forget your delightful cry of “Moomee!” when he finally gave it back to you.

“Thank you! Thank you for bringing back my Moomee!” You cried, “I didn’t know I dropped him.”

“Heh, no big deal! I thought he was too cute to be left behind, and it’s easy to see he belonged to you.”

You smiled at the insinuation, noticing that he was also pointing to the charm of a funny little man in green on your backpack. As naturally as love can progress, the next thing you knew was that he was following you to your destination, gushing about the show and the books. Moominland Midwinter, which you later found out was his favorite book, launched the both of you into an hours long discussion of a mutual dream to live in a bath house by the sea. You took your conversation to a local sweet shop. It was nice to chat Moomins over an ice cream sundae. Especially when you’d never actually been asked out on an impromptu date by a cute boy before. Even better was the fact that every time you said something nice, he reached out to pet your hand with a smile.

You found out a lot of things about Josuke that day. It was all things no other girl would ever have the privilege of knowing. His favorite character was Too Ticky, and he confided in you that the character he related to the most was Ninny.

“Sometimes I feel like disappearing.” His voice dropped to a low hum, his nimble fingers rubbing the back of your hand as he walked you home. “So many things happen at once, often the majority of them are bad, and I don’t know how else to stop it. I feel like maybe if I could disappear like she could, it would be easier. I just wouldn’t want anyone to find me, so the bell around the neck is out.”

“But remember... All she needed was a little kindness to help her face the bad times.” You smiled, stopping just a short ways from your street. “And I think that’s what you need too.”

Josuke was just so enamored, his heart beating a mile a minute as you kissed his hand and told him if it ever got depressing that he could call on you. That is if he ever wanted to talk about more than just Moomins and the like. It was like a dream, you slipping your telephone number in his hand, him asking if he could please lean down to hug you goodbye, and especially the quick peck he had to sneak on your cheek before you took off for your house.

The day would have been almost perfect. Almost, he says, and this always makes you upset when he says it was almost perfect, because no sooner did he turn around to ride Cloud Nine all the long way back home, tiny Koichi’s gaping fish face assaulted his line of vision.

“B-b-b-bRUH?!?! D-DO YOU KNOW WHO THAT WAS THAT YOU JUST KISSED GOODBYE?!” Koichi squealed.

“Huh?!”

Yep. It was an almost perfect day, because that was the day he decided that the surname Kishibe just wouldn’t suit you at all. Higashikata was far better.

#jojo’s bizzare adventure #josuke higashitaka #josuke higashikata x reader #jojo josuke #jjba diamond is unbreakable #jojo’s bizarre adventure diamond is unbreakable #jjba diu #diamond is unbreakable #tales from moominvalley #look rohan this is my new boyfriend #rohan kishibe #Moomins

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nomettesbizzareadventure · 6 years

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accumulated wars and flights (6/?)

They leave early in the morning, early enough that the ocean breeze overpowers the timid rays of the rising sun and leaves Kakyoin feeling cold and exposed in his light summer clothes. Rohan doesn’t seem bothered- not by the morning, not by the cold, not by Kakyoin’s skepticism. He’s looking bright and better than bright, illuminated by some kind of invincible enthusiasm for everything strange in the world. Kakyoin could find it charming, if he weren’t carrying fox traps in his pack. Rohan, unfortunately, is amazing with his spellwork, and Kakyoin’s pretty sure that if he so much as brushes accidentally against one of them he’ll instantly revert to his fox-form.

“Look at it,” Rohan, looking back over Morioh. The sky is lavender shading into black, the last of the stars still retreating into the darkness of the west. The wind drives itself against Kakyoin in squalls and gusts, the smell of the ocean mingled with the scent of the fields and the forest. In Morioh, a single small plume of black smoke is rising from a chimney as some enterprising early riser begins breakfast.

“Look at the composition,” Rohan says. “Beauty is so fortuitous when we find it by accident, but that’s when we’ve got to savor it most.”

“You like it here,” Kakyoin says, surprised.

“Of course I do,” Rohan says haughtily. “I chose to live here, didn’t I?”

“Yes…” Kakyoin says, and trails off. “But you don’t exactly come out of your house often.” He doesn’t mention that Rohan acts like humanity was invented specifically for the purpose of distracting him from more important things, like art. If anyone can get offended at the obvious, it’s Rohan.

“So what?” Rohan says, already heading up the road. “It’s distracting outside.” He frowns at Kakyoin, who has jogged up to keep pace with him. “Don’t you go and start any rumors about me secretly liking people or anything like that, you hear me? The last thing I need is people trying to get too familiar.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Kakyoin promises, not bothering to hide his smile. Rohan glowers at him a bit, clearly gauging his sincerity, then continues up the road. They continue in silence for a bit, then take the road north out of Morioh, towards the woods.

“What are your goals for today?” Kakyoin asks, picking through his words carefully.

“Have you ever seen a fox?”

“Yes…” Kakyoin says, biting down the sudden, suicidal urge to laugh.

“No, a real fox. One with multiple tails.”

“Yes,” Kakyoin says, thinking of the first time he saw his human form reflected in the pond of a forest. He’d flinched away from the sight, startled by the way his reflection looked back at him, alien as any hunter.

“Wasn’t it beautiful?” Rohan demands. Kakyoin shrugs, drawing a narrow-eyed glare from Rohan. Another memory overtakes him: Dio in full splendor, the piercing radiant moon caught behind his tails, the city cowering before him like a beast lying belly-up. The rhythm of his steps stutters, and he nearly trips. Rohan is looking at him, and Kakyoin can feel the itch of his magic like something crawling between his shoulder blades, but whatever Rohan sees, he doesn’t feel the need to remark on it. There’s a thin line between his eyebrows, like he’s concentrating on a painting. Kakyoin slaps his hand over Rohan’s eyes, blocking his view.

“Hey!” Rohan protests. He’s not actually strong enough to dislodge Kakyoin’s hand from his face, so they stumble along like that for a few steps before Kakyoin takes mercy on him and lets go.

“What was that for?” Rohan demands.

“I told you to quit using your magic on me,” Kakyoin says.

“I was only looking!” Rohan says. “I didn’t even change anything!”

“Quit looking,” Kakyoin tells him.

“Quit being visible, then,” Rohan retorts. “A man with bright red hair has no business getting huffy when people stare.”

They argue all the way to the river. There’s a boat waiting for them, and a man waiting in it. The sailor is tall and slim, with dark hair cut like a helmet to his head and a peculiar fluidity to his movements. He greets Rohan by name and waves the two of them onto the boat. Kakyoin’s grateful to see that he won’t have to entrust his clothes to Rohan’s sailing abilities, but he’s a little discomfited to see that the destination has already been decided, the ferryman already paid. Kakyoin’s familiar with the Rohan who sits in his room and paints for hours, but he doesn’t know this Rohan at all.

“Do you know much about sailing?” Rohan asks him, and Kakyoin shakes his head.

“I once crossed the Western Sea,” he says absently, “but that was long ago, and I did very little to help with the boat.”

“That’s a long journey,” Rohan says, and looks up at Kakyoin with the happy face of a child expecting a treat. He’s always wanting to hear about Kakyoin’s past, about where Kakyoin got this scar or that skill, like he’s just dying to crack Kakyoin open and eat his heart. It’s annoying. Kakyoin toils day and night in service of Rohan’s whims; can’t he have a single thing to keep to himself? His suffering is no one’s business.

“It was,” he says, and nothing more. Rohan looks sad for a moment, and then his chin firms up.

“I’ll get it out of you someday,” he says, and goes off to bother the boatman. Kakyoin is left with nothing to do but sit and try not to feel the way the boat bobs up and down. He’s on the verge of falling asleep when he scents something on the wind, and it makes him sit up straight.

Fox. He can’t catch too much information from the wind in this form, but the moment is unmistakable, if brief. He sits up in the boat, unease heavy in his stomach, and scans the far shore, but nothing shows itself. There’s only the up-down of the boat and the quiet motion of the reeds, though he watches for the rest of the long trip. If anything is following them, he can’t see it.

The early morning burns away to noon, and then that’s gone too, and it’s early afternoon when they finally disembark. Kakyoin is restless and unsettled from all the hours on the boat. Of all the things humanity has invented, small boats that bob up and down with the current are not among his favorites. His head aches from hours spent squinting at the shore, and he’d like to lie down under a tree and sleep until the terrible sunshine has subsided, but it doesn’t look like he’ll get a chance. Rohan, who was napping peacefully while Kakyoin kept watch, bounds onto the shore with a frankly disgusting amount of energy and hurries up the path. Kakyoin is sorely tempted to just leave him to the foxes. Instead, he finishes unloading their things by himself and thanks the boatman for his services.

“Godspeed,” he’s told. “I’ll be back for you in a few days, if there’s anything to collect.”

Wonderful. So, they’re almost certainly in real danger. Kakyoin sighs, thanks the ferryman, and walks slowly back up the path after Rohan.

It’s a long way up the steep riverbank, and the path meanders from left to right. With every switchback Rohan is further away, the figure of his white clothes obscured by the plants that grow along the riverbank, and then he’s out of sight entirely. Kakyoin climbs slowly, weighed down by their supplies, but eventually he reaches the top of the embankment and finds himself looking down at a field of wildflowers. He can just see the darkness of Rohan’s hair in the distance, bobbing among the flowers and grass, his white-wrapped silhouette framed against the pale sky, and Kakyoin can feel magic everywhere, enough to make his teeth ache.

“Rohan,” he says, but Rohan is already gone. Kakyoin races up the path, his heart thundering, and is lost immediately. The plants stand tall here, taller than his head, and all he can smell is flowers. His skin is crawling, but he continues forward, fighting through all the instincts that tell him to run because something is here and it’s not hiding, it’s waiting-

“Rohan,” Kakyoin calls, knowing that he’s giving his position away and not caring. “Rohan, come back! Rohan!” There’s a shudder, and then the flowers around him begin to twist and move, and Kakyoin snarls and leaps back. Foxfire scatters all around him, illuminating him in green, and the flowers shrink away. There’s a buzzing sound in the air, but Kakyoin can’t see any insects. The flowers are all wilting, now, and then there’s no flowers at all, only flat ground, and the distant shape of Rohan, lying flat on the ground. Kakyoin runs so fast he’s not sure if his feet do much more than brush the ground, and then he’s lying at Rohan’s side and looking at the blood soaking into Rohan’s headdress.

It’s only when he’s already got Rohan in his arms that it occurs to him that if Rohan dies, Kakyoin will be free. No more debt. No more Morioh, no early mornings, no stupid errands. No Rohan. Kakyoin’s looks down at the unconscious man in his lap and tries to think. It takes a serious head wound to knock someone out, and there’s no doctors nearby. Probably. Kakyoin has no idea where they are. Rohan could die right here, right in this meadow with only one stupid tree, and then Kakyoin would be free, and Rohan’s body would be so much meat.

On the road to Dio, they found many corpses along the way, killed for fun and left to rot. The first time, Polnareff thought the man was sleeping, but Kakyoin knew better. Foxes scavenge, and there’s a smell to a dead body that says food. The thought makes him nauseous, and the nausea makes him furious. He doesn’t want to care about Rohan. He doesn’t want to be here- in this meadow, in this form, in this situation, with Rohan’s blood warm on his fingertips. His magic whispers to him, telling him that this is no choice at all, that to be human is to have obligations and loves and to know grief. You loved Jotaro, his memory whispers to him. He saved you, and in return you followed him into hell, loyal as a dog. The thought makes him snarl, though there’s no one to see. He lifts Rohan and carries him to the only shade he can find, the space under a wide ficus tree that stands in the middle of the meadow.

He pulls some water from the pack, then dabs it gently along Rohan’s forehead. Rohan doesn’t stir when Kakyoin removes his headband and checks his skull for fractures, half-terrified that he’s going to find an indent. The task so absorbs him that he doesn’t notice the other fox until it’s barely an arm’s length away. The sight freezes his breath in his throat, his whole body paralyzed with shock.

“Dio,” he chokes out, though it’s not, not at all. The creature in front of him is slim and bright, with fur in the hot white color of the sun and five tails that trail behind it. It lifts a single delicate paw and places it on Rohan’s forehead.

“Cousin, you are burdened with obligations to the unworthy. If you want, I can free you,” it says, fixing pale ocean-colored eyes on Kakyoin. Kakyoin doesn’t know what to say, and then he does.

“No,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”

“Whatever you feel, it isn’t real,” the fox says. “It’s an accident of our magic that traps us in these bonds, but we can have more. We can be more. Don’t you dream of something bigger than what you have?” The words send something reeling in Kakyoin, and he flinches back, a low animal growl in his throat. Dio said almost exactly the same thing to him once, word for word.

“I don’t aspire to live by stepping over the bodies of the innocent,” he says.

“But he trapped you, didn’t he?”

“He saved me,” Kakyoin says, bitter. “I was being chased. He thought I was… a one-tail, thoughtless.”

“Hmm,” the other fox says, and then it changes. In human form, the other fox is young, younger than Kakyoin, perhaps younger than Josuke. It wears a long robe in pink and blue, the chest open in the shape of a heart.

“Humans are so careless,” it says. “Why is your human here? To catch me as well?”

“Rohan? No. He’s only here to make sketches. He’s an artist.”

“But powerful like a priest,” the other fox says, frowning. He smells like the kind of flowers that only bloom in the morning, and there’s a white star on his left shoulder. He reaches for Rohan, but Kakyoin parries his hand, his eyes still fixed on the star.

“Are you…” he starts to say, and then trails off, because there’s no way this child could be a Joestar.

“If I want humans to talk to me, they call me Giorno,” it says, because foxes don’t have names between themselves. “There was a priest who came to my woods, and he called me Giorno Brando, as if I could be bothered to care about a sorcerer who stole every piece of power he had.” There’s unexpected passion in the words. “And you called me Dio.”

“You look like him,” Kakyoin says. “You act like him too, like you expect the whole world to sit down and listen because you want to talk.” Kakyoin doesn’t mean to say the last, but he’s too bitter to pretend at friendliness with Dio’s son. Giorno hasn’t stated his relation, but he doesn’t need to. It sits on him like a crown.

“We can’t help what we inherit. But even so, I’m not him. Here- let me fix your human, if you’re so set on being bound.”

“I’m not,” Kakyoin says sourly. “What did you even do to him?”

“I just put him to sleep,” Giorno says. “It’s not my fault he was running and face-planted into a rock.” He extends a hand, and this time Kakyoin lets him press the palm of his hand to Rohan’s skin. Rohan stirs, once. The color comes back into his face, and his shallow breathing evens out.

“Who was chasing you?” Giorno asks abruptly. “Your human rescued you from someone. Who was it?”

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Kakyoin says, remembering his desperate flight. He’d woken to the feel of fangs in his side and run, his side burning with poison. The only time he’d caught a glimpse of him was at the end, when his stamina had been almost at its end, and all he’d seen was a glimpse of purple robes and dark skin. He relays this description to Giorno, whose lips draw back in a wordless snarl at the words.

“Pucci. Steer clear of him. He’s some kind of fanatic- a former follower of my father.” There’s an unexpected spite in the words.

“Tired of the past?” Kakyoin says. He doesn’t want to like Giorno, but he can sympathize with the rage in his voice. Giorno looks startled at the response, and then he laughs. It’s an animal’s laugh, high and sharp and abrupt.

“I like you. I’ll allow you your trespass, just this one time. But this is my place. Tell your human to stay out of it.” Between one moment and the next he’s a fox again, his golden-white fur gleaming hotly under the sun.

“He’s not my human,” Kakyoin says. Giorno’s eyes are cool and empty as the fog rising over the sea, and then his tail twitches, just once, as if he’s amused.

“Kakyoin Noriaki,” Giorno says, though Kakyoin never told him a name. “Once your name was spoken in the courts of the mighty. If a day comes when you grow tired of your debts, you know where to find me.” He lowers his head and pads away, flowers growing where his feet strike the earth, and then he’s gone.

It’s silent in the meadow, as if even the wind were holding its breath. Kakyoin has the sense of narrowly having escaped calamity, as if for one moment he had teetered on the edge of an entirely different world before returning to this one. Giorno is not his father, and yet- Dio made Kakyoin feel the same way. At the time, he’d been pleased to be chosen, to be special. Now he knows better. He’s had enough of prophets. Kakyoin shakes the lingering afterimages of divinity from his head and starts to make camp.

There’s a fire going and a tent up when Rohan finally stirs. Kakyoin’s an old hand at setting up camps after the whole long campaign against Dio, and he likes the busywork of it, likes seeing a space transform from wilderness into something like a home. There’s so many little parts to humanity! Cooked food, soft beds, tents, utensils, drinking cups, blankets, bandages… a million little luxuries that the people of the woods live without. Animals will sleep anywhere, but humans change the world around them. They carry civilization around with them in their pockets, ready to unfold at any time. Kakyoin can see why Giorno resents the intrusion, and yet…

On the bedroll, Rohan makes a muffled noise and turns his head to the side. His eyelashes flicker. His breathing changes, and then he pulls himself upwards into a sitting position and stares back over the fields. He rises unsteadily to his feet, his legs still trembling, and begins to walk away.

“Hey!” Kakyoin says, and chases after him. This time, Rohan is too slow to make any headway, and Kakyoin catches up to him after a few steps.

“There was- there was a fox!” Rohan exclaims.

“It’s gone now,” Kakyoin tells him. “You were asleep for a while.”

“But-,” Rohan protests.

“No,” Kakyoin tells him, and carries him back to camp. Rohan doesn’t resist as much as Kakyoin thought he might. In fact, he wraps an arm around Kakyoin’s shoulders, and sits a while in contemplative silence when he’s placed on his bedroll. It’s progressed from raw daytime to the early afternoon, and the sun slanting through the leaves has faded from scorching to tolerable. Rohan’s mouth moves, though Kakyoin’s not sure what he’s saying, and then he looks up sharply, his eyes locked on Kakyoin.

“Dio Brando,” he says. “The one who raised the spirits of the forest and the sea against the cities in an attempt to crown himself Emperor. How do you know him, Kakyoin?”

A big thank you to @relares for wonderful beta work!

Note: I have stopped posting updates for this story on my tumblr. Future updates can be found at this location.

#kakhan #Noriaki Kakyoin #Rohan Kishibe #giorno giovanna #bruno is making a cameo appearance as a sailor here #anyway giorno is extremely spooky and also have some backstory #the fox spirit and the artisan

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