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fandomsonrequests · 4 years

Text

𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓..? [𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 5]

fandom: ATEEZ

characters: prince! park seonghwa

reader: fem! knight

word count: 2.2k+

summary: It was time for another Selection. No- not a Selection for a bride but rather a well-trained knight to keep Prince Seonghwa safe after a failed assassination attempt. You, a blacksmith’s daughter, manage to make it to the elite group of knights worthy and skilled enough to protect the crown prince after months and months of training. This alone catches Seonghwa’s eyes- in more ways than one

a/n: part 5 here we go! i’m sorry if its taking too long, school started so i dont have much time to write as often ;^; this is kind of unedited (im using grammarly sue me sujsk) so im sorry for any errors!

taglist: @iwanttohitmyself @barcelona-sergei @minihongjoong @i-purrple-u

↞previous ♛ next↠

The Capitol was certainly different from the quaint town of Trelark.

The Capitol was… colorful to put it simply. Several people milled about the streets, bustling around and going about their daily lives. What the city folk wore was flashier and livelier than the dull brown or grey tones of the clothes the townsfolk wore. It sparked some sort of insecurity within you, making you clutch at the fabric of your pants as you look out the carriage window, seeing young women your age float through the streets in bright yellow skirts or green pleated dresses.

The streets were wider and tiled with smooth stones compared to the rocky ground that rocked the carriages up in the village of Trelark. The shops were bigger and the smell- the smell of the place was better for some reason. Delicious aromas of freshly baked bread or roasted pig wafted through the air instead of some goat or horse dung. It made your stomach rumble. You had eaten your packed lunch and shared it with your friends in the carriage that brought you over to the Capitol.

Speaking of which-

“Oh my gods, look at that dress,” Siyeon says as she presses herself against the carriage window and points to a dress in the display window of a seamstress’s shop. It had a sweetheart neckline with bell sleeves in an elegant shade of red, a transparent lace on the hem. Despite how simple it looked, you only wondered how expensive it was.

“I’d give anything to wear that.” She continues and releases a small whine as she slumps back into her seat. “I wish this Selection was for a princess instead of a knight.”

Raviv, who was beside you, laughed at the young woman across you. “Maybe next time. You never know.” He says as he picks at the loose threads of his shirt again. “You can just drop out y’know?”

“And miss out living in the palace and bring shame to my family at the same time? Uh, no thanks. I’ll do my best until I give out.”

You roll your eyes and huff in amusement at the two as they continue to banter. You loved the two a lot- you really did. Siyeon was like the sister you never had and Raviv had a special place in your heart. But you on the other hand were firm in your resolve and promised to yourself that you’d try to outdo them without having to step on them.

You saw more of the city as the carriages pulled through the cobbled streets of the Capitol. Sure it had its fair share of beauty but not every place was perfect. You caught a glimpse of some street kids, covered in dirt from head to toe, in the alleyways between houses and shops. Some of them would be begging for some alms while others just went about and played.

Suppose it couldn’t be helped- the world was cruel like that. But it still breaks your heart every time. You didn’t have much yourself but you were happy and had a roof over your head. Maybe life for the unfortunate was a lot tougher here in the Capitol.

Eventually, the carriages that came from the village of Trelark finally reached the lavish gates of the castle. There was a drawbridge, just like you imagined, but what you didn’t anticipate was the lavish gate that lay behind it.

As soon as the drawbridge lowered, a rather beautiful gate greeted your eyes. There were pillars made of stone and marble running down the sides while gold figurines of horses decorated the top. Black iron bars with gold-tipped ends that pointed up into the sky lined the space between each pillar.

But the gate was nothing compared to the palace itself.

The three of you all looked out the window, eyes gleaming and mouth agape as you gawked at the sight that beheld you. The palace was surprisingly similar to the ones described in the books- pearly and white, tall with several towers striking out from each side, buttresses that supported the building, and a large flag bearing the current family’s crews right on top of the centermost tower. The palace was huge. You couldn’t even see where the walls ended on each side.

“You know,” Raviv starts out softly. “If we were ever supposed to go through this place, I think we’d get lost.”

“No kidding,” Siyeon says, just as quiet like him. “I think I’d be starving and thirsty the minute I find my way back to the entrance.”

“Or one of the undead.” You added, and lightly kicked at Siyeon’s foot.

She then proceeded to flop down against the seat and rise with her hands in front of her, making growling noises as she imitated a zombie, lunging at the both of you. The trio laughs at the antics and pushes her back onto her seat when she pretends to take a bite of your arm.

“Oi, behave in there!” Called out the driver and patted the side of the carriage, effectively hushing you and your companions.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you though. “Whoops.”

“Seonghwa there you are!” The Queen exclaims when he arrives, lapels of his clothes properly pinned and his crown sitting on top of his soft locks.

Seonghwa greets his parents who were sitting upon their thrones, awaiting the delegates that were to arrive at any moment. He kisses each of their cheeks and sat on the right side of his father’s throne, back straight and head high- just as he was taught since the age of five.

A few servants ran around the throne room, sweeping up the linoleum floors and dusting the marble columns. The velvet rug that led from the entrance up to the elevated floor that held the thrones were freshly pressed and practically spotless. The King wanted to leave a good first impression on his people.

“How many do you think there will be, father?” Seonghwa asks, looking over to the man.

The King only straightened up and looked ahead. “Many,” He replies without turning his head to his son. “They come from all parts of our kingdom. I think half of this room may be filled.”

The prince manages to hold back a sigh. Instead, he exhales through his nose and curls his fingers around the armrests of his seat. He thought it was a bit of an overkill to have all these people train just to protect him. Despite the assassin coming from a different kingdom, he thought that bringing other people from within their kingdom imposed a risk as well- you never know if there could be traitors out there.

Nevertheless, he just learned to trust his father’s decision. He knew that his father was wise and well-aware of his decisions. He just hoped this method wouldn’t backfire…

“They’re all here already your highness,” A servant announces as they enter the throne room. “There’s quite more than a handful.”

With a nod and a wave of his hand, the king tells the servant to allow the delegates to enter. The servant gives a low bow and exits the door only to return a few moments later with the young adults. Quietly, they filed into the throne room, wearing different garments that fit with the place they came from.

People from the field lands wore hard, boots dried with mud and loose-fitting clothes to help them move around. Folks near the dock wore almost similar clothing but had more loose-fitting shoes and or sandals. The delegates from the mountain had already shed off their coats as the weather in the Capitol was much warmer. And finally, the folks from the city were more well-dressed, with button-ups, well-tailored pants, and sturdy boots.

You glance around as you shuffle in with your companions near the edge of the group. You hadn’t anticipated this many people to attend. It made your stomach churn with nervousness- there was big competition here. But you weren’t taught to quit this early- you were going to push on until you give out.

Others slinked away or flinched whenever a city-dweller looked over at them. It was a bit hard not to- they just radiated some sort of energy. An aura of power to be exact.

Seonghwa scans the faces of the delegates. They were all so different- in height, background, wear, and everything else. Many looked like they were reluctant to be there but many also had this look of determination in their eyes.

There was one gaze that caught his in particular. It belonged to a woman, maybe his age, standing near the back. He could tell from her garments, specifically the coat that hung over her arm, that she lived in one of the mountain villages.

Her lips were pursed together as she observed the palace around her. There were wonder and awe in them- but as soon as her gaze landed on him and his family, they steeled into something harder, one that read that it would take more than would think to take her down.

Seonghwa is pulled out of his thoughts by his father’s voice welcoming all the participants to the palace.

“Welcome to the Capitol,” The King booms, a warm smile on his face and his arms outstretched. “I’ll keep this brief, but I’d like to thank you for coming all this way. It means a lot to me, my wife, and of course- my son.”

All eyes shift over to the prince. It wasn’t the first time many sets of eyes were trained onto him but he felt nervous this particular time. Maybe it had to do with the fact that the circumstances were different, that they weren’t looking up at him while he stood beside his father during speeches or city celebrations or whenever he had to deliver the occasional speech. Yeah, that must be it.

The young man folded an arm over his torso and bowed a perfect ninety-degree angle. It was a silent gesture of his gratefulness for their efforts, eyes glistening as if all the stars were placed into them.

The King looked to his side and gave a nod. Two men came out from behind a pillar and stood at the foot of the elevated platform that held the thrones.

The first was a tall and burly man. A long white but faded scar ran from the top of his head and across his brow, just catching the edges of his eyelids. Because of the long healed injury- part of his injured eye had a milky-blue color to it, showing that he was partially blind. HIs muscled under his pressed dress suit flexed as he gave a bow and straightened up. He was the literal embodiment of tall, dark, and strong. Despite this though, he radiated a warm and inviting energy- especially with that soft smile of his.

The second was the man most people hated. It was the nobleman that went to the town of Trelark. He wore less warm clothing but his stupid purple feather plume hat remained. His silver beard seemed extra curled today and a shit-eating smirk was plastered across his lips.

The majority of the folk that came from the mountain villages had a sour look on their face when they saw the nobleman. They tried to mask it though to avoid any offense that it could bring to the king.

“This is Byron,” The King introduces the first man. “He shall be training all of you till one of you manages to succeed as the prince’s protector. And this is Duke Hae-seong, one of my royal advisers and a Duke of the kingdom. He shall help manage you and educate you around the protocols of the palace and the kingdom.”

“Yes, that’s right.” The Queen says softly, voice warm and gentle. “It is important not to only train the body but the mind as well. The prince’s protector needs to be knowledgeable of the kingdom’s laws and what his or her rights are as a protector.”

It was a very wise move on the royal family’s part and it made sense. They didn’t want the protector to overstep any boundaries, whether intentional or not or have any abuse in power on their part.

Many delegates didn’t seem pleased to learn that Hae-seong would be tutoring them though. He was impatient and very brash- he clearly was displeased with the way the king and queen took commoners into the palace without a single thought of doubt; he was just good at hiding it.

“Ladies, please follow Mina to your quarters. Gentlemen, Sir Byron will be the one to take you to yours. I hope you don’t mind sharing with others.” The King says and gestures to the crowd gathered in front of them. “And to show our gratitude, we shall be throwing you a feast tonight to commemorate your arrival.”

This seemed to brighten up the spirits of the young delegates. Energy fills them as the adrenaline of excitement rushes through their bodies. A few of them now their heads gratefully to the royal couple while the rest showed their appreciation through bright smiles.

“I thank you all once again for going through all this trouble. Now, freshen up. You’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

The group bows down to the family before them and separate into two groups to head over to their bunkers to rest and recuperate. You look back at the royal family again, seeing them step down from the throne and head to wherever they needed to be in this gigantic castle.

This was it. The game was on- and you were determined to win it.

#ateez #ateez x reader #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #royal au #royalty au #royal ateez #royalty ateez #prince park seonghwa #prince seonghwa #prince!seonghwa #fantasy au #fantasy ateez #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #regiis #fandomsonrequests

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shiscawrites · 5 years

Text

im still alive i promise im just slow as shit

and i’m back on my bullshit

cross posted on ao3 please give me all the validation you can

Series: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Giorno/Mista

Rating: T

Summary: like i already gave it a pretentious summary on ao3 im not doing it here too

Warnings: uh obvious implications of past child abuse

Giorno is standing outside on the veranda again.

The sun has already started to rise. The harsh rays shine through the panes of glass that line the door leading out to the marble balcony, and it forces Mista to crack his eyes open.

He takes a moment to acclimate himself, to wake up enough, and he steps out of bed to walk towards the rising sun.

Giorno hears his footsteps on the marble floor; he knows, but doesn't react, as Mista opens the door and moves closer to him, and only twitches slightly when his Mista places a warm hand on his bicep.

“Come on.”

Giorno grips onto the stone railing a bit harder before relenting and turning around, being led back to bed silently.

***

Mista had never been used to being the responsible one.

Bucciarati was their fearless leader, the man who always had a plan. Told them what to do, and they would do it. Bucciarati handled the meetings with higher ups, delegated any missions that had to be done when he didn't just do them by himself. Kept a watchful eye over them but never got in their way unless it was ultimately necessary. Bucciarati was who they all looked up to.

But Bucciarati wasn't here anymore. And neither were half the people who looked up to him.

Giorno was here, instead.

He had always been similar to Bucciarati; a little colder, perhaps, but he had the same air about him, the same aura that made people want to follow him. Made people want to be with him. Giorno was always so confident, but humble enough to know he was not infallible. Knew what his limits were yet boldly pushed past them anyway.

Once the dust had cleared and Trish was safe, doing her own thing as a singer and model, did Mista have the startling realization that he was wildly unprepared for what actually taking down the boss meant. What actually taking his place meant.

He had to start wearing suits. Looking and acting professional. It wasn't insurmountable, but the sudden sharp turn into having to constantly present as dignified and poised when he was anything but had been tedious at best and utterly asinine at worst. Making Giorno's appointments, delegating where Giorno couldn't, meeting with businessmen and politicians who demanded their attention—it had been a difficult leap to make for somebody whose only responsibilities a month ago were shaking people down and maybe putting a bullet in somebody's brain if the situation truly called for it.

Giorno had handled it all with startling aplomb. Mista had been thrilled, at first, to have a good chunk of the work shouldered off to him—and to Polnareff as well, but to a lesser extent. Once everything had settled into place, though, the magnitude of what Giorno was doing had dawned on him in an unsettling way.

Giorno, Mista had one day realized, was only 15 when everything had started. He was only 15 when he decided he would uproot the entire command structure of one of Italy's largest mobs. He was only 15 when he decided that he would be willing to commit premeditated murder.

Mista had been failing chemistry class and getting his first girlfriend when he was 15. The first time he killed was in a heat of the moment snap decision so he could save a life, and he'd vomited in a toilet once the adrenaline wore off.

Once it all had clicked for him, any sense of fear or hesitation he had ever felt towards Giorno as a leader melted away, and was replaced with a deep sorrow and an even stronger urge to follow him. A stronger urge to be with him.

Their relationship had naturally progressed to the point where Mista knew Giorno the best out of anyone in Passione, in more ways than one. They shared a bed, intimately, and being the underboss was barely a factor in why he stuck to Giorno like a second shadow.

Yet, with his loyalty and affection in no question, Mista had an inkling, a niggle in the back of his mind that told him that he was just on the outside looking in.

Giorno himself stood at the peak, and Mista would just have to make peace with the fact that he would always be just a little bit below him, looking up.

If Giorno, who had done incredible acts of self-sacrifice in order to get where he was today, would be willing to pick up the mantle of running an entire mafia syndicate, then Mista could at least make sure that he survived long enough to see his change realized.

He just wished he could walk beside Giorno, instead of staring at his back, six paces behind.

***

Mista tunes out most of the meetings Giorno has. To the people Giorno delegates to, he's just a silent sentry with a gun on him as visibly as possible.

He keeps his eyes on them, of course, but the words coming out of Giorno's mouth became white noise a while ago.

“...Is that clear?”

Their backs straighten in unison and they mutter their words of affirmation. Giorno nods them off and Mista escorts them out, a practiced routine they've done the fifth time today.

He turns back to Giorno just in time to see him rubbing his eyebrows—the telltale sign he's got a migraine forming. Mista pauses for a minute. The words “you should take a break” are on the tip of his tongue, but telling him to do that never works, so he eyes the end table Coco Jumbo is snoozing on and reaches into the drawer to take out a bottle of Ibuprofen, the pills rattling from the movement. He sets it on Giorno's desk, and nudges his boss a little bit.

Giorno regards it coolly, but doesn't move to take any. He's going to be stubborn today.

“I'm fine, Guido. It'll pass.”

Mista rolls his eyes and uncaps the bottle, pouring out three in his hand and places them on the desk. Giorno visibly bristles. Mista moves them closer to him.

“I said—.”

“Gio. We both know it's going to get worse and you'll be bed bound if you don't deal with it early. Stop being a dick about this.”

He can see Giorno's jaw clench. If he were any other person in the organization, Giorno would've already killed him.

Mista keeps his gaze on him leveled. He stopped being intimidated by Giorno a long time ago.

Ultimately, Giorno breaks first, with a deep sigh accompanying his decision.

“...You're right. I'll take them.”

He takes the pills and swallows them without water in one fluid motion. His attention is turned back to the papers he has on his desk without a second thought, as if those few seconds wasted were deeply precious.

Mista places a hand on his shoulder and rubs gently, and Giorno only hesitates slightly before moving his hand up to link their fingers together. He leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of Giorno's hair. His hair smells like vanilla, no doubt from whatever new conditioner Trish sent him to try.

“If you want my opinion...” He presses another kiss against the top of Giorno's head. “I think those land development contracts can wait. It's time for lunch, anyway.”

Giorno tilts his head up for a proper kiss in lieu of an actual response, but the final answer is there regardless by the motion of him picking up his pen and putting his name to the paper, then turning it over and grabbing another one.

Mista breathes in sharply through his nose, and leans against a wall near the open window behind Giorno once more. If he moves his head slightly, he can see Giorno's reflection in the glass pane.

Giorno's pen scratching against the paper is the only sound other than the waves crashing in the bay. The salt from the ocean paints the breeze, and overtakes the scent of Giorno's vanilla conditioner in his mind.

And, just like that, he's back on sentry duty.

***

They typically make time for Polnareff whenever they can. As consigliere, Giorno runs most of his ideas by Polnareff before truly implementing any.

It's less common for them to speak about work-related issues, though. Mista steps inside the familiar space mostly to drink from the vast wine collection Polnareff keeps in there and vent to the only functional adult in their perilously small inner circle who has similar experiences he does.

“Giorno's upset again,” Mista murmurs, swirling Chianti around in a glass as he sits on a sofa across from where Polnareff was standing.

Polnareff leans against one of the sofas as he nurses his own glass of wine. When Mista doesn't continue speaking, Polnareff clears his throat.

“Is that all you came here for? To say that and drink my wine?” Polnareff's lip quirks up. “I know I'm good company, but really, this doesn't seem like the best use of your time.”

Mista rolls his eyes and sets his glass down.

“Well, I wanna get him out of his funk but I don't know how. I keep catching him looking at Bucciarati's hair clips. Those little...” He mimes ovals with his hands, and places them on the top of his head. “You know.”

“I know what hair clips are,” Polnareff says with a chuckle. “But yeah, I know what you're talking about. I catch him looking at Narancia's bandanna once in a while. I don't see him looking at Abbacchio's...” He mimes something being on top of his head. “I don't see that too much, but he does do it occasionally.”

Mista snorts. “That's not surprising. Abbacchio treated him like shit.” His face turns stony and he turns his gaze back down to the red wine he had began swirling around again. “Giorno still cared about him, though.”

“He cares about all of the people who work for him.” Polnareff pours himself another wine glass.

Mista takes a sip, ready to correct him. “Abbacchio was working for Bucciarati.”

Polnareff raises a brow. “Are you sure about that? Are you certain about that?”

Mista grimaces.

“You've got a point.”

Polnareff sits down on the sofa across from Mista, and crosses his legs. “We're off topic. So he's upset. Are you going to do anything about it?”

Mista breathes out a sigh. “I don't know. What can I do? Usually he just sorts through it himself. I'm typically a non-presence whenever he gets, y'know, depressed like this. Nothing I try to do seems to matter.”

“Mh.” Polnareff swirls around his wine. “I don't think he knows how to deal with people supporting him. In the emotional sense.”

“Well, I'm not about to have a big sit down and talk about our feelings. Giorno has too much on his plate. With all this work he has to do—he barely eats. Whenever we get lunch together I end up eating most of his food.”

“So too little on his plate, then?” Polnareff responds with a grin that was a little too wide.

Mista narrows his eyes briefly before groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That was awful. Jesus, you should feel ashamed for that.”

Polnareff lets out a cackle, to Mista's unrestrained annoyance. After taking glee in his terrible pun, he dials it back and resumes discussing the matter at hand.

“Well, regardless.” Polnareff takes a sip from his wine glass. “This is a good time to bring this up. I kept meaning to tell you about this and just I never got to it, but the other day while you dealing with that stand user near the docks, Giorno and I got in a heated argument.”

Mista is taken aback slightly. Giorno getting into an argument, and a “heated” one at that, is incredibly rare.

“About what?”

“Something stupid. Honestly, I really can't remember the details.” He waves his hand absentmindedly. “But there was a point where I raised my voice, and he—I've never seen this before, he...shrunk back? It was the first time I've really seen Giorno look scared.”

Mista jerks. “Scared?” There's a brief moment where he pauses, confused, before realization dawns on him in a way that makes his stomach churn. “You don't think he was—.”

“I don't know,” Polnareff pointedly interrupts, holding up a hand to stop Mista's thought. “And it's not my place to ask. But speaking as somebody who had to take care of themselves, and...” He pauses in his sentence, visibly gathering himself. “...And a little sister, at a young age, on their own, I recognize his behavior.”

Mista rubs one of his temples with his fingers as he leans back in the chair and lolls his head up towards the top of the room with closed eyes.

“Jesus.”

Polnareff swallows the rest of his wine, and keeps the empty glass in a loose grip between his index and middle fingers.

“Mista, listen,” He starts, placing his glass to the side and leaning over with his hands clasped. “If I'm being honest, I don't think Giorno doesn't appreciate what you're doing. As underboss, your entire job is making Giorno's life easier. Even little things, like making sure he eats, I think, he does appreciate. I just...I think he doesn't know how to appreciate it.”

Polnareff stops speaking, briefly, and closes his eyes to gather his thoughts. Mista keeps quiet, and waits.

“...Up until something forces him to change, I think, Giorno...he's going to do everything himself.”

“But why?” Frustration creeps into the edge of Mista's words. “It doesn't make sense.”

Polnareff looks at Mista with a sad smile on his face.

“Because, for him, that's all he's ever known how to do.”

***

It's a day of meetings. Neither of them are thrilled about it.

Mista is sitting over a coffee table, cleaning his gun and waiting on the shower, when Giorno steps out, water dripping from his damp hair. He moves to sit at his vanity that's leaned up against a wall far across from their bed, pulls his hair back away from his face, and gets to work.

It's almost hypnotizing as Mista watches him go through his morning routine: toner, spot cream, face cream, eye cream, moisturizer, facial oil, sunscreen, primer, foundation, concealer, powder, bronzer, blush, eyeliner, eyebrows.

Giorno does not leave room for imperfection.

Mista almost feels drab in comparison.

He puts the chamber back on his gun, the last piece that needed to be added, and walks over to Giorno, who just finished blow-drying his hair. Giorno's mouth quirks up in a small smile as he sees him approach, and Mista toys with the ends of his hair as he stands behind him.

“Not sure about you, but I'm excited to sit in office after office of high-ranking Italian politicians vying for Passione's support.”

Giorno tilts his head up and their lips met.

“It won't be that bad, I'm sure.”

Mista snorts. “Every time we meet with people like this they're never under the age of 50 and they all smell like mothballs and too much cologne. That smell takes days to get out of my head, Giorno. Days.”

Giorno laughs, soft and airy. Mista can't help himself and leans back over to place a kiss on the star birthmark just below the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“I'll make sure to put an air freshener in the car after we get out, then.” Giorno wrinkles his nose a little. “They really do wear too much cologne, you're not wrong about that.”

Mista gives one last kiss against Giorno's jaw and steps aside as Giorno manifests Gold Experience to braid his hair, and he leans against a wall perpendicular to the vanity with his arms crossed.

“It's still pretty jarring to get used to, I gotta admit. Bucciarati would always go alone to these sorts of things—sometimes he brought Abbacchio but he did it by himself, I'd say like, 99% of the time. I don't think he was ever high up enough to meet with, y'know, senators and stuff, but he met with Polpo a lot, and some other capos from time to time.” Mista put his hands on the back of his head. “I think I really took for granted some of the stuff Bucciarati did for us.”

Gold Experience fades once Giorno's braid is perfectly fastened. Giorno sits silently, staring down at his pale fingers that rest on the edge of the oak wood vanity.

Mista sees Giorno's lips part in the mirror as he starts to speak softly. “How long did you know Bucciarati for, Mista?”

“About a year or so, I think? Give or take. I told you he bailed me out of jail after I got that bullshit ruling, right?” Giorno nods. “It was right after that. We had lunch and he wanted me in his group and I said yes.”

Giorno breathes in, then out.

“...Do you think he would be satisfied with how I'm running things?”

Mista stares at him with furrowed eyebrows.

He...doesn't really know how to answer that.

Bucciarati, for all his talents as a leader, never really had many grand plans the same way Giorno did and still does. Anything Polpo asked him to do, he would do it, and do it well. The only times Bucciarati ever spoke out against Passione were when Mista would overhear him speaking privately to Abbacchio or Fugo about his distaste for the drug trafficking and how he felt frustrated at his inability to do anything, but that's all it ever really led to: frustration. Bucciarati was in no position to do anything about the growing drug problem, and he knew it.

Then Giorno entered the picture.

Then Bucciarati was gone.

And all of his ideals had been passed onto Giorno like a burning torch.

The large part in Mista's brain that cares for Giorno wants to say “of course, you're stopping what Bucciarati hated most about Passione and you're doing an amazing job at it” but a feeling of hesitation stops him. While no doubt Bucciarati would have been thrilled at seeing how much cleaner Naples as a city now is, Giorno is brutally pragmatic and stopped being able to bloody his own hands a long time ago. Mista has no doubt that had Bucciarati taken over, he would've eliminated every threat on his own, with his own hands.

So his answer isn't the most confident.

“I mean...probably.”

Giorno frowns.

It's not what he was expecting, and Mista knows it.

“I see. Thank you.”

The conversation ends anticlimactically; Giorno ignores him as painfully and as obviously as possible while he puts rollers in his bangs. Mista walks away towards the shower, seeing Giorno picking up hairspray for his braid out of the corner of his eye.

As he rounds a corner in their bedroom, he hangs onto the wall and stops.

He opens his mouth to say something, and his eyes flick back over to Giorno, who he sees looking up at him in the mirror.

Nothing comes to his mind that sounds good enough, so he simply walks into the bathroom. Giorno doesn't spare him another glance.

***

Once a month, Trish deigns to visit the two of them in Naples, and each time, it's a great reprieve for everyone involved.

Their guards at the front can barely announce her presence before she's strutting into the palazzo. Her white Versace heels match the mink coat she's wearing over a short, black dress with a keyhole neckline. She keeps her hair the in the same, perfectly coiffed style, most likely by using enough hairspray that would choke a lesser being. Sunglasses costing at least €500 lay over her eyes, and with each echoing step of her heels she acts increasingly like she owns the place despite the fact that she's being led around by a guard—a guard who is obviously intimidated by her.

As soon as she's led into the room where Giorno entertains guests, her mouth splits into a grin and her heels clack even louder on the marble flooring as she darts up to hug the both of them.

“Giorno, it's so good to see you!” She grabs hold of his hands as she places a kiss on his cheek. When she pulls back, she sniffs the air slightly. “I see you've started using that conditioner I recommended.”

“Yeah, it smells great,” Mista interrupts, and wraps her up in a big hug. “I dunno where the hell you find half of this stuff but it's all amazing.”

She kisses his cheek as they pull back from the hug. “Still not trimming the hair on your knuckles?” The smug, knowing tone in her voice is hard to miss.

Mista grins, and fires back. “Still wearing outfits you have to be peeled out of?”

They all sit down on ornate couches with gold-trimmed crimson pillows, Mista casually throwing an arm around Giorno's shoulders as he drinks tea across from Trish. She plucks a macaroon from one of the silver trays set out with treats and pops it in her mouth.

“Milan fashion week was a shitshow, did you see? The Prada winter collection? Awful. It was all trash.” She takes a long sip of her tea. “If I'm being totally honest, none of the other lines were much better. Gucci kept using this terrible mustard yellow color. For winter!” She threw her hands in the air. “There was a bright spot, though, in that giant waste of fabric they called a fashion show. I met another stand user!”

Giorno raises an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Mhm. Her stand wasn't for combat, so it was nice not having to fight for my life for once,” She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. “We really hit it off. Her stand was like real-life photo touch up. She could smooth out their skin and make their make-up pop,” She makes a popping sound with her mouth as she says the word. “and all that stuff. Once they got a certain distance away from her it would wear off but it was really cool—I haven't...most of the stands I've seen were, 99% of the time, only useful in a combat situation. Well, besides Coco Jumbo. How is he, by the way?”

“Asleep,” Giorno says with a chuckle. “How did you find out she had a stand in the first place?”

“Well, I was waiting on my makeup and the chair I was sitting in was very uncomfortable, so I used Spice Girl to make the cushion I was sitting on softer. She was nearby doing makeup for another model and was amazed that I had a stand, too. She'd only seen a couple before mine. She called hers “Dress Down”, interesting name.”

Mista snorts. “You use your stand for shit like that?”

Trish straightens in her chair, undeterred. “I can and will. Sounds like somebody is jealous that all their stand can do is deflect bullets. Look at this,” She brought out Spice Girl, and the couch she was sitting in began to undulate slightly. “It's like I'm in a water bed now, I'm so cozy.”

“That's the dumbest thing I've ever seen.” Mista turns to Giorno with a “can you believe this” look on his face. “C'mon, back me up here.”

“I used to use my stand to grift people.” Giorno closes his eyes and sips the rest of his tea, looking more than a little bashful. “So I don't have a leg to stand on here, really.” He sets his cup down. “And sometimes, when nobody else is around, I do things like this.”

He grabs a book off of the coffee table in front of him, and takes Gold Experience out to morph the book into a small Calico cat. Trish gasps in amazement, putting her hands out and making grabbing motions. Giorno happily hands her over, while Mista looks mildly annoyed.

“Man, what the fuck.”

Trish holds the kitten close to her body, scratching under her chin. “Oh, she's so cute! Do you make them often?”

“I do. Making animals like that can be very therapeutic, actually. Cats, especially. Did you know that cats actually domesticated themselves? It started in ancient Egypt, I believe. It was more beneficial for them to lower their aggression and stay around humans for food—typically mice that would get into the farmed grains. Most cats purr at about 25 decibels, but the interesting thing is that nobody is quite sure how exactly they purr. One theory is that they use the muscles in their larynx to create the sound, but why they do it is also up for debate. They mostly do it as a sign of being content, but it can also happen if they're in pain. For example, cats can start purring whenever they give birth. Oh, and recently, I found out that a group of cats is called a “clowder”, and that they sweat through their...”

Giorno looks up, and sees Trish and Mista simply staring at him, bewilderment on both of their faces. He clears his throat, and gathers himself, uncomfortably aware of what just happened.

“...they sweat through their paws.”

Trish gently releases the kitten back onto the table, and Giorno turns it back into a book, silently staring at it afterward.

“Um,” Mista places his hand on Giorno's shoulder. “Gio—.”

Giorno shrugs it off and stands, offering a hand across the table to Trish. “Trish, I think it's about time we all gave Polnareff a visit, don't you agree?”

Trish clears her throat and nods, taking his hand and standing in one fluid motion. Giorno throws a look back at Mista, who jerks and stands up beside him.

“Ah, let's go meet with Polnareff and then have lunch?” Trish flicks her eyes between the two of them. “Is that alright with everyone?”

“Yes. It sounds great.” Giorno replies quickly, obviously eager to distract and move past his earlier diatribe. “Mista?”

“Uh, yeah. Sounds fine.”

Giorno nods and begins to walk forward, opening the door and leaving it wide for the two of them.

Trish yanks Mista by the wrist to get him to walk with her, her heels clicking loudly against the floor once more as they trod down the long hallway to Giorno's office.

“Listen.” She hisses out in a whisper. “I don't know what the heck is up with Giorno, but you gotta do something.”

“I don't—.” Mista sighs, irate. He looks up; Giorno is getting further away from them. “I don't know what to do, Trish! What am I supposed to do?!”

She shoves him back, nothing but anger showing in her bright green eyes.

“Do what he can't do for himself.”

She gives him one last glare as she stomps briskly in front of him, leaving him in the dust.

***

Mista wakes up shivering.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes as much as he can, then turns to find the source of what's making him cold.

Giorno is on the veranda again.

At least the sun isn't up yet.

With a groan and a stretch, Mista pulls up the sweatpants he's sleeping in and gets out of bed. Even with socks on, the marble floor is icy as he walks across it.

Giorno's head twitches towards him as he steps outside. Mista doesn't say anything as he moves towards him, wrapping his arms around Giorno's bare chest and pressing a kiss at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

“You're freezing,” Mista murmurs, his voice low and groggy. The cold night air causes him to instinctively cling to Giorno tighter for warmth.

“Just a little longer,” Giorno whispers, his fingers squeezing the hand Mista has on his chest. “I just...need a little longer.”

What Mista wants to do is tell him that he'll catch a cold standing out on a stone balcony in the middle of the night as he stares at the calm, black ocean. He wants to take him back inside and touch him until Giorno stops thinking about whatever he's thinking about. He wants Giorno to say what's on his mind.

But Giorno won't talk without Mista prodding him, and Mista isn't going to do that.

Even though he wants to.

He just holds Giorno tighter and watches the crashing waves with him.

***

Mista throws open the door to their bedroom and the two of them slink in, utterly exhausted from another day of nonstop meetings.

While the election in Italy was already over and done with, it meant that most time spared went to meeting with politicians and making sure their goals were in line with Giorno's own. His power over Passione, while uncontested at the start, could easily slip if public opinion was against them. Getting politicians, and more importantly, their delegates, on their side, was key to consolidation.

That didn't mean it wasn't tiresome.

“Fuck.” Mista undoes his tie with his index finger and tosses it aside, shrugging off his coat jacket and unbuttoning the dress shirt beneath it and letting it drop to the floor before he falls onto their bed face first.

Giorno is only barely more collected than he is, and manages to get his own jacket, shirt, and tie in a small pile near their hamper before sitting on the bed next to where Mista collapsed.

“I'm going to be hoarse tomorrow from how much I talked today,” Giorno takes out the hair tie holding his braid together and shakes it out, golden locks cascading loosely over his shoulders. “I think they'll all be willing to work with us, though.”

“They better be!” Mista groans and rolls over onto his back. “With all the money we're willing to throw at them, I'm gonna be real pissed off if they turn their backs on us now.”

Giorno makes a noise of affirmation. “Half of the people we met with are so corrupt they don't really have a choice, unless they want us to release all the information they'd rather keep hidden away.”

Mista snorts. “What information? The mistresses? The racist comments? The illegitimate children? Or a combination of all three?” He groans. “These guys are such assholes.”

Giorno hums in agreement, and stretches his arms out, his joints audibly popping. “I'd like to shower,” He rubs his hand against Mista's shoulder. “Join me?”

He looks at Giorno out of the corner of his eye. “You're gonna have to help me up for that to happen.”

Mista feels Giorno move off the bed to stand up, and shortly afterward the cool, alien hands of Gold Experience help bring him up into a sitting position. He holds his own hands out to Giorno, who gets him onto his feet.

“You'll feel better afterward.” Giorno says, then pecks him on the lips.

They step onto the granite flooring of their large, opulent bathroom. In the entryway sits a long, marble counter with two sinks inset into it, in front of a framed mirror that spans the upper half of the entire wall. A broad, stone archway leads into the bathroom proper. Their shower, one that could easily fit six, sits nestled in the corner, with a half-wall coming between it and the toilet. Across from it lies an elevated, oval, drop-in porcelain tub that's the size of a small pool, two marble steps leading up to it. Fine art lines the walls, and a glass chandelier hangs high above the floor.

Giorno takes off his pants and briefs and enters the small cave they call a shower, turning it on and waiting for the water to heat up. Mista manages to stop gawking at him long enough to shed himself of his own remaining clothes to join him.

He places a hand on Giorno's bicep and kisses his neck, letting warm water run down his tired body. Giorno turns and links his fingers with Mista's, and Mista bumps their foreheads together, wrapping his arm around Giorno's slim waist.

His thumb brushes over a raised spot, and Mista furrows his brow as he looks down at a long scar across his lower back. He's seen Giorno naked more times than he can count, but he's never noticed that scar before. A few other scars mar Giorno's back, but they almost seamlessly blend in with his pale skin.

“Woah, I never noticed those before. Were these from when we were guarding Trish? I'm surprised you haven't used Gold Experience to heal the tissue.”

Giorno's reaction is immediate and severe. He breaks away from Mista, almost as if he's been burned, and takes two steps back from him. He's shaking, just slightly, and Mista's hand stays hovering in the air as he tries to process what just happened.

“Giorno, what—.”

“Don't touch me.”

He speaks in a low, cold tone, and Mista bristles. He's two steps away from immense frustration until realization dawns on him.

“Oh.” Mista rubs at his arm. “I don't...do you want to ta—.”

“No,” Giorno interrupts, his stare placed firmly on the shower tile below him. “Let's just finish showering.”

Mista starts to reach out him.

“Hey, Giorno...”

Giorno's head jerks up and he cuts down whatever Mista was attempting to do. His eyes are dark and unmoving. The hot water of the shower does nothing for the ice in Mista's veins.

Resolve crumbling, Mista stays silent and reaches up to grab some shampoo that sits on an indent in the tile wall, and lathers it up in his hair. Giorno's tenseness fades, and he takes his own bottle of lavender-scented shampoo off its ledge.

They finish up the shower in silence.

They don't talk the rest of the night.

***

“This doesn't seem like something you need to do, Gio.”

Mista leans back in the Lamborghini, turning his head to the side to get a better look at Giorno, who seems nonplussed.

“Repeated attempts to get them to stop via intimidation haven't worked, and I have no intentions of bribing a drug dealer.” Giorno crosses his legs. “It's about sending a message, Guido.”

“Yeah, but I probably could've done this on my own.” Mista crosses his arms. “How long has this guy been dealing drugs? A month or so?”

“Longer than that, probably.” Giorno's cheek presses against the car window, and he sighs. “Signs point to this person being a stand user, and even though many of our soldatoj are good at what they do, a significant amount of them don't have stands.”

Mista hums. “Still, I don't think this is something you needed to involve yourself in. Like, I could've gone with another stand user and taken care of this.”

Giorno smiles, and Mista can feel himself relax.

“It'll be fine, Guido. If all goes well, we'll be drinking wine and eating bruschetta in an hour.”

The car turns and drops them off in a large, abandoned alley that's littered with cracked walls and graffiti, leaving no spot barren. Giorno and Mista begin to scope out the area the second their feet touch the dirty concrete.

“This is right, yeah?” Mista takes out his gun and checks the chamber. “Seems a bit...I dunno, seems kinda shitty even for a drug dealer.”

“From what we've been told, this is the place,” Giorno murmurs in response, pushing around loose debris with his foot as they round a corner away from the car. He keeps staring in the distance before his head sharply turns towards Mista. “Stay here and cover my back. Don't let anybody down this alley.”

Mista nods, and summons his stand. No. 6 follows behind Giorno as he rounds a corner. With his back up against a decaying brick wall, all Mista can do at this point is wait.

Five minutes pass until something feels off. It's a change in the air or something like that, but the hairs on the back of Mista's neck stand up, and he makes sure nobody is coming towards him before peeking his head around the corner.

Large swaths of flypaper litter the ground and walls, and Mista's eyes widen. He grabs a bullet out of his pocket and tosses it about a meter away from him, into one of the pieces of flypaper on the ground. The bullet lands, and sizzles, melting into a puddle of goo and soaking into the flypaper until no trace of it remains.

He's seeing nothing but red flags, and what finally gets him moving is an alert from one-sixth of his stand.

“Mistaaa! Giorno's in trouble!”

He bolts. It's tricky; flypaper is literally everywhere, giving him very little room for footwork. His balance falters, just enough for the leg of his pant to lower to the point where it touches the paper. Part of it sizzles and burns off, being absorbed and fading into nothing. Once the acid finally stops, he can make out indistinguishable voices around a corner about six meters away.

Mista jumps between the spaces, being extremely careful to not let any part of his body touch the flypaper. The closer he gets to the voices, the louder and more distinct Giorno's own voice gets. No. 6 is waiting for him, jabbing its little finger around the corner.

He sidles up against the corner, and peers his head around just enough to see what's happening.

A man has Giorno pinned against the dirty brick wall, one arm caught behind his back and the other pressed into a swath of flypaper on the wall, his pale skin burning away and filling the air with the stench of melting flesh. He's wearing jeans and a sleeveless denim vest, but what strikes Mista's eye the most is that the skin around his forearm looks utterly bizarre. What looks like a ream of paper—the same color as his splotchy flesh—is fanning out of his arm.

The man grins; any teeth that weren't missing entirely are a sickly yellow. “...It takes about five minutes for 'Scar Tissue' to completely disintegrate a human arm, clothes included.” He presses Giorno in closer to the wall, and Giorno glares at him out of the corner of his eye. “Next, it'll be your face, Giovanna.”

“Giorno!”

They both look towards Mista; both equal amounts surprised. Mista levels his gun, the momentary distraction giving him the perfect opening. He's milliseconds away from squeezing the trigger, before Gold Experience is out and the arm that Giorno has stuck in the flypaper is cut off by his stand.

Mista's eyes widen.

He's too stunned to move.

Blood gushes from the wound on Giorno's arm, but Giorno barely pays it a second thought. Gold Experience decks the man in the head and he hits the brick wall behind him, landing square against a sheet of his own stand. He doesn't even get time to scream before Gold Experience moves in crushes his windpipe. His body falls to the ground, lifeless, and the flypaper spattered around the area fades away.

Giorno sways on his feet, woozy from blood loss, but has Gold Experience punch out a brick from the wall. It transforms into an arm in just a few seconds, and he presses it against the stump, fusing together cells, veins, bone, and muscle until he's making a fist with his hand to confirm it's back on correctly.

He looks up at Mista, and smiles gently. The shock finally wears off for Mista, and he walks up to Giorno and shakes him.

“Giorno. What the fuck.” Mista hisses.

Giorno's eyes widen. It's not the reaction he was expecting.

“I had the perfect shot—he was going to have a bullet in his brain in a second. There was no reason for you to rip your arm off like that!”

He can feel himself raising his voice. Giorno scowls, and roughly removes Mista's hands from him.

“I had no guarantee that his stand would fade when he died.”

“There's only been two exceptions to that rule, Giorno! You couldn't have waited for me to shoot him before you ripped off your fucking arm?” Mista pulls at his hair with both hands, then rubs both down his face. “Don't—don't do that!”

“I can replace limbs, Guido. This isn't the first time I've done this, and I really don't think it's going to be the last.”

Giorno begins walking out of the alley, but Mista grabs onto his wrist to stop him.

“That doesn't make it okay! What the fuck?” Mista's voice is completely raised to a frustrated yell at this point. “There have been times where we've had to hurt ourselves to complete a mission, but this was not one of those times!”

Mista blinks, the red clearing from his vision, and he can see Giorno's entire body trembling. He lets go of his wrist like it's made of fire.

Giorno turns to Mista.

“Do not ever raise your voice at me.”

He tries to sound authoritative, but the tremor in his words betrays him. His hands, already pale, have turned even whiter from how hard he's clenching them. His eyes, normally a stoic and calm blue, are large and watery. Stray hairs fall from its normal braid, and frame his face in a way that makes the harsh angles look softer.

Giorno, Mista thinks morbidly, is finally acting his age.

All of the anger vanishes from Mista like a cloud of vapor. More than anything, he just feels so, so tired.

“Boss. Let's just get back to the car.”

Giorno doesn't respond to him, and Mista didn't really expect him to in the first place. They stand silently for a few more seconds before Giorno wordlessly leaves the alley and heads back to where the Lamborghini is parked.

The car ride back is silent. Giorno's reflection is in Mista's window, and he stares at it the whole time.

***

Three days later, and they've spoken less than 20 words to each other.

When a letter from SPW Foundation came in requesting a meeting with Giorno to “create a mutually beneficial business relationship”, all the details came from a meeting with Polnareff in the turtle. Giorno, conveniently, was out of his office when Mista entered and exited the turtle.

Just as conveniently, Mista wasn't needed for the discussion of how to go about meeting them.

That doesn't mean he didn't stand outside of Giorno's office and eavesdrop.

“You can't seriously be thinking about meeting him on your own,” Came Polnareff's voice, equal parts incredulous and concerned.

There's a brief pause in the conversation; presumably, Giorno is sipping his tea.

“We'll be meeting at a restaurant that I own. That I've been to several times, by myself, without issue. I really doubt that a stand user would attack me in such an obvious place.”

“There's always a chance,” Polnareff warns.

“Didn't you tell me that this man I'm meeting with was a stand user?” Giorno responds, his tone a little huffier than how a mob boss should sound.

“He's probably just as strong as you are,” Polnareff admits. “But he's not invincible. And neither are you.”

Giorno pauses again.

“I appreciate your concern, Polnareff, but I can take care of this on my own.”

Mista steps away from the open doorway, feeling a little hollow, and leaves before Giorno can tell he's been there.

Two days later, Giorno gets in his Rolls Royce and leaves for the restaurant. Five minutes later, Mista tails him on his motorcycle.

He hasn't done anything like this in a while, and it's nice to be able to get out of the palazzo without having to wear a suit. Even in ripped jeans and a grey hoodie, though, Giorno would easily recognize him, so keeping his distance is key. With a helmet covering his face, and a guitar case on his back to obscure the weapons he's carrying, he makes a sharp turn onto the street where the restaurant Giorno's going to is.

Mista can see Giorno's car drop him off at the entrance. The restaurant is open-air and viewing the sea, stone archways all around the perimeter. Marble stairs lead up to a second floor, thicker pillars holding up the ceiling with tables situated near the stone railing that runs along the second level. Potted plants hang from the middle of the archways, and granite tile lines the floor.

Not even two blocks away from the restaurant is a modest apartment complex, six stories high, giving Mista a perfect vantage point to watch Giorno from. He turns into a narrow alley, parking his motorcycle near a dumpster and placing his helmet on the seat. Eyeing the fire escape, he ascends as quickly as he can given the weight he's carrying on his back.

By the time he's at the roof, he's wiping the sweat off of his brow, and he drops the guitar case as gently as he can before opening it and taking stock. A revolver, useful as it is in most situations, isn't suitable for this range, so he picks out the semi-automatic rifle taking up a good 50% of the case and attaches the ammo cartridge and scope to it. Ostensibly, everything is ready to go, but Mista can't help himself. He looks longingly at his revolver, and decides to grab it and some spare rounds anyway. He places the gun in the back of his pants and the ammo in his jean pocket.

Everything is finally set up. There's no wind in the air, and it's a perfectly sunny day. A cement half-wall runs around the roof of the building, and he rests the rifle on top of it to keep it as still as possible.

Mista closes one eye, stares through the scope to get a perfect visual of Giorno, and then he waits.

Giorno is certain nothing bad is going to happen; Mista is going to keep that certainty in tact.

He sends out No. 3 and No. 6 to hover near Giorno; close enough give Mista a broader visual range of the restaurant but far enough away that he's certain Giorno can't see them.

Giono sits, poised, at a table in the middle of the restaurant, his position shifting as he sees someone coming towards him. Mista follows his gaze, and his eyes widen as he spots a large, hulking brute of a man in a white coat speaking indistinctly to the host before he's ushered towards where Giorno is. He says something to Giorno, who responds, but he can only make out faint murmurs. Mista places his finger on the trigger and keeps watching as he urges No. 3 and No. 6 a little closer so he can hear their conversation.

“...It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kujo. I have to say, I'm surprised to be meeting somebody from America. I had assumed they'd send a European agent.”

Kujo pulls out the chair across from Giorno, and sits. “I wanted to meet you for myself.” He scoots his chair in. “This was a good opportunity.”

Giorno's eyebrows go up, and he leans back in his chair. “All this way just to meet the Don of Passione for a business deal?”

“Yes and no,” He responds gruffly. “It...has more to do with your birth father.”

Giorno looks confused, and a little stunned. Out of all the things Kujo could've said, that was hardly something he could have expected.

“You..knew him?”

Kujo pauses.

“I killed him.”

There's a shift in the air. Giorno does his best to put on airs that he's unaffected, but Mista can tell, even through a scope, that he's torn. His body language cools, his arms crossing and his back pushing further against the chair. Kujo himself doesn't try to speak, instead taking long sips of his water as he waits patiently for Giorno to gather his thoughts.

It's some time before Giorno opens his mouth to speak, and he's noticeably unnerved when he does.

“...I spent most of my life wondering who my real father was. All I had was a picture my mother gave me. I had thought, maybe, that we would meet, at some point.” Giorno's fist clenches. A childhood notion, held on for this long, finally dashed.

Kujo very obviously doesn't know what to say, so he keeps quiet.

Giorno collects himself, and breathes in sharply.

“...Did he deserve it?”

Kujo, stoic as he is, manages to convey an expression most would call “surprised”.

He takes a long sip of water.

“I've never killed anyone who didn't deserve it.”

Giorno stares at him, silently urging him to continue. Kujo takes in a deep breath.

“Your father—Dio Brando...He killed hundreds of innocents—there's no official death toll, but I would put it at over 500.” Kujo gets quieter, and he stares down at clenched hands. “He killed my best friend. Two others were killed on his orders. He almost...killed my grandfather.”

Kujo's hand is trembling slightly as he brings it up to adjust his hat.

Giorno himself looks shaken, having to process too much information too quickly. Kujo has no reason to lie to him—his father being a killer dashes whatever fondness is left of him. He still has that picture in his wallet, and Mista has a feeling that it won't be there for much longer.

His eyelashes brush against his cheek as he blinks, and looks up at Kujo with a solemn expression. He responds, just barely above a whisper.

“I'm sorry.”

“...To give an answer your question: yes. I think he deserved it.”

It's quiet for a solid two minutes, before Giorno speaks up in a slightly wavy voice.

“How do you...cope? With losing your friends.”

Kujo smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and doesn't respond.

The conversation comes to an end in two ways: one, with Kujo's lack of response, and two, with a gunshot that cracks the air from a gun that isn't Mista's.

It's not a stand user that tries to kill Giorno, but a regular assassin with a regular gun. It's something they rarely deal with anymore, but the oversight cost them.

No. 6 kicks the bullet out of the way before it can hit its intended target of Giorno's head, landing squarely in his shoulder instead. Giorno hisses and leans forward, grasping at his wound. The sound of a gunshot has the other patrons screaming and running out of the restaurant, leaving it and the surrounding area mostly empty within minutes.

Giorno has Gold Experience out, ready to turn the bullet into muscle tissue, and then something in the atmosphere changes and Mista feels his skin prickle. The table they had just been sitting at has been flipped on its side; Kujo looms over Giorno, hand on his bicep, looking at the wound on his shoulder as Giorno sits down on the floor with the table as his cover. A pit forms in Mista's stomach—it had been so nauseatingly similar to how it had felt when time skipped.

He dwells on the feeling for too long, too distracted to realize that a large, buff, purple man is holding No. 6 between its thumb and index finger. Mista blanches as No. 6 kicks and screams, trying to get out.

Kujo shows it to Giorno. “Is this a stand? Is this what's causing this?”

Giorno looks at it in utter disbelief.

Kujo dives over to another table and kicks it over to use as cover just as another gunshot goes off, clipping his long overcoat. Mista grinds his teeth, then lets go of his rifle, making a mad dash down the fire escape. His heart thumps in his ears, legs sprinting as fast as he can down the street and into the restaurant.

Giorno takes on a look of sheer bafflement as he sees Mista running towards him, loading his revolver all the while.

“What—.”

Several bullets are shot towards Mista and all are casually kicked away by 1, 2, 5 or 7 and made into holes on nearby buildings. He dives down once he gets close enough to Giorno, and takes cover next to him, who looks at him with a mix of confusion and irritation.

“What are you—.”

Mista ignores what he's about to say and places his gun on the ground next to him. He puts both hands on the sides of Giorno's face, and pulls him in for a kiss. Giorno reflexively kisses back, but makes a confused sound in the back of his throat. Mista continues to ignore it, and after he breaks the kiss, he wraps his arms around Giorno tightly, squeezing him, as if confirming he's really still there.

Kujo stares at them. Mista ignores him the most.

“God, you're safe, okay.” He places one last kiss on Giorno's forehead, then lets go. He narrows his eyes and looks over at Kujo, who is still holding No. 6.

“Hey! Let go of my fucking stand!”

Kujo blinks, and stares at No. 6 with mild amusement, before what Mista assumes to be his stand lets it go.

Mista jerks his head and sends No. 6 off to find the gunman, but Kujo does the work for him by pointing up at pillar breaking up the railing on the second floor. Mista sees a shadow on the pillar behind it, and relocates No. 6 a little to the left of where he's standing, then shoots.

He hears a gurgled scream, labored breathing, and a thud—then no sounds follow.

“Is he dead?” He yells up towards No. 6.

“Yup! Got him right in the throat!”

Mista sighs, and slumps down against the table. He reaches for Giorno's hand, and squeezes it tightly. The adrenaline still hasn't worn off, and his whole body is shaking.

“When we get back, I'll give you guys some pepperoni. The good stuff, I promise.” No. 6 fades away and he hears all six pistols cheer in the back of his mind.

The restaurant is utterly deserted now save for himself, Giorno, and Kujo, with a few new bullet holes added to the decor. He turns to Giorno, still gripping his hand, and notices the blood running down his suit jacket.

“Hey, you haven't healed your shoulder yet.”

Giorno blinks, eyes wide.

“Oh. Right.”

Gold Experience is out, and the hole is closed in a second. He barely even reacts, and in fact seems more upset that his suit is ruined than anything else.

Mista rises to his feet, and helps Giorno up as well. He's a little unsteady, likely from the shock of being shot at, but Mista helps right him. He glances over to see Kujo, who's still sitting on the ground. He's not hurt, but by all accounts, he seems a bit exasperated by the whole ordeal.

He walks over to Kujo and offers him a hand to help him up; Kujo takes it, and Mista wheezes from helping up a man two times his size, nearly toppling over onto the ground from the effort.

“You didn't get hit, right?” Mista grimaces, rubbing his hand.

“I'm fine.” Kujo cocks his head slightly. “Who exactly are you.”

“Uh, Guido Mista.” He jabs his thumb towards Giorno. “I'm his Underboss.”

Kujo raises an eyebrow. Mista's face reddens under the scrutiny.

“...Right. I should be getting back to my hotel.” Kujo adjusts his hat, and looks over Mista's shoulder at Giorno. “We'll be in touch, Giorno Giovanna.”

Giorno jumps slightly, still a bit dazed, then nods. Kujo brushes past Mista, and heads towards a payphone across the street to call himself a cab.

As they wait for Giorno's car to pull back around, Mista heads back up to the apartment building roof and gathers up his weapons, placing them all back into the guitar case he brought them in. As he's coming back down the fire escape, he sees Giorno's chauffeur open the door to the Rolls Royce for him, and Giorno enters it.

Mista saddles up in his motorcycle, revs the engine, and follows it back.

***

Giorno stays quiet even as they get inside the palazzo, and Mista doesn't even bother trying to start a conversation. He follows Giorno up to their bedroom and lets him get changed, lets him wash his face, undo his hair, and watches silently as Giorno walks out onto the veranda.

He closes the door behind him. Mista stares at him through the paneled windows.

Something in him cracks.

He can't do this anymore.

Mista stomps towards the door to the veranda and throws it open. Giorno turns around to look at him in shock.

The sun lights him up from behind, bathing him in a golden hue. His loose hair brushes across his face in the breeze.

“Guido?”

“I don't know what to do.”

Giorno looks at him quizzically.

“I don't know how to say—I'm not,” Mista runs his hand down his face and sighs, then steels himself. “You can't—you can't do that again.” He's mindful of how he keeps the tone of his voice, trying to stay low and even. “The only reason there isn't a bullet lodged in your brain right now is because I was there. Don't ever do that again.”

“I know. And I can't thank you enough, Guido, but I can't talk about this right now.”

“Giorno.”

He takes Giorno's hands in his own.

Mista breathes in, breathes out, and then starts to talk.

“Listen. I don't know what happened in the past to you. It's something you obviously don't want to talk about and I'm not gonna press you on it—if you ever wanna tell me, that's fine, but you don't have to and I don't expect you to. I just gotta tell you that you don't have to do this all on your own. You shouldn't have to do this all on your own. You feel so far away from me sometimes, it's scary.”

“I know you wish Bucciarati was here. I do too, y'know? He was always better at shit like this; I hate wearing these suits, Giorno, it sucks so much. He would be so much better in this position than I would be. But it's up to me, now. It's my responsibility. And more than anything, I want to keep you safe, but you have to let me. You've always made me feel like I can do anything, now let me put that feeling to use.”

Mista squeezes his hands before he gets down on one knee, and kisses the ring finger on his right hand. He lets his lips linger before rising to his feet once more.

“...I'm not here for Bucciarati anymore. I'm here for you, Gio. I'll follow anywhere that you go, but please, let me walk beside you.”

Giorno looks at him with widened eyes and cheeks dusted pink. Mista squeezes his hands and smiles at him. The ocean waves crash around them, sunlight glimmering off the water.

Giorno's golden hair flutters about his face as he turns his gaze downwards.

“...I remember making my own meals when I was two,” He murmurs, and Mista has to strain to hear him. “I learned how to do stitches by the time I was six because my step-dad...” He inhales sharply to cut himself off and lifts his head up to look at Mista with an emotion he rarely displays: uncertainty. “This...is entirely new territory for me, Guido. And I...I get scared sometimes.”

Giorno exhales sharply. The tension leaving his body is visible.

Mista pulls him into a hug, and Giorno winds his arms tightly around Mista's back, almost clingy.

“I'm just glad you finally said something.” Mista's voice is muffled in Giorno's hair, and he places a kiss against the top of his crown. “We can work this out. I'm...not great at this, either. But I don't want you to rely on just yourself from now on. Because you don't have to anymore.”

Giorno doesn't move or say anything for a bit, and Mista lets his words hang in the air. It's only several minutes later does he feel a small nod against his chest.

“...Okay.” Giorno pulls back, his hands sliding down to squeeze onto Mista's own once more. His voice is soft and tentative. Large blue eyes lock with Mista's own deep brown ones, and Giorno gives a small, genuine smile. “I can try. I want to try.”

Mista grins, and dips his head to catch Giorno's mouth in a kiss.

The sea salt lingers in the air as they stay on the veranda, watching the sun set. Mista keeps Giorno firmly in his arms. When the night air becomes too chilly to bear for any longer, Giorno takes him by the hand and leads him inside to lay on the bed. Throughout the night, they stay curled together in a warm embrace.

***

Things weren't always smooth.

Sometimes Mista had to insist more than he should have in order to get Giorno to crack. Sometimes Giorno would still take on more than necessary. Sometimes Mista would take long breaks outside of the palazzo because he was too overcome with frustration.

But things were improving. Things were better than they had been.

There was one day, one specific day, where Mista could tell the progress was being made—he would never be able to forget it.

He had woken up from a crick in his neck, his eyes adjusting to the soft blue hues of the room indicating the sun was starting to rise. Instinctively, he had looked towards the door to the veranda, but the curtains obscuring the windowed door had been closed.

Giorno had stayed, curled up against his chest, breathing softly, looking perfect even in his sleep.

Mista, with a grin on his face, had pushed back his hair and kissed his forehead, before wrapping an arm tighter around Giorno's waist and falling back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #giorno giovanna #guido mista #fanfic #fanfiction #giomis #giorno giovanna/guido mista

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itscaramelli · 7 years

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hello, been a while since i write and post. was thinking to launch my article + hashtag series but, i guess i have something a lot better for my 2nd bloggiversary.

as some of you might know, i recently just attended a campus conference; unashamed. so yes, this post today is going to be about that trip. how i got there, the people i met, how i think the city is, what i’ve learned and what God spoke to me personally :) so here it goes.

i love the aftermath of what the conference gave me. im still singing the songs in my head, picturing the visuals in my mind and having the chills from the Word i heard.

Aug 1st - 6th, 2017

Day 1

our flight was at 2pm in the afternoon, we had a 3-4 hours layover in KL so we arrived at MNL at around 2am in the morning :’) THEN GUESS WHAT, we had few committees from the conference waited for us just to greet and welcome us in the airport on our arrival. that’s just the thing about the people there, they’re VERY welcoming and caring.

yes. it was undeniably tiring, i was unbearably exhausted but was cautiously excited of what’s gonna happen for the next few days. i personally got myself ready for this. i emptied my mind and heart to be filled with what God will give to me during the conference.

for first-timers like us, i knew we should be ready for any unexpected adventures. everything went well until we arrived in our apartment’s concierge; we couldn’t get in to our room as smooth as i imagined. it was around 3am and cuz i didn’t have the information about the room’s number yet, we called the owner of the apartment whom i been contacting through airbnb. YOU KNOW WHAT. turns out she was in labor. no kidding, no exaggeration. she legit was picking up my call and answering me in labor pain 😭💜 this is how extra and dedicated are the people there i’m tellin you.

long story short we finally got our keys, did little re-arrangements for the room and then we went to bed 💤 it was about 4am in the morning.

we got up at about 12noon to look straight for food lol 😂 speaking of which, we stayed in Pasay City. the food around the apartment was either fried chicken or pizza. so yes, you guessed it right, we had fried chicken for lunch.

the gates are opened at 2pm, so after a quick briefing in our tower lobby 2.15, we (with fellow indonesian delegates) walked together to the arena.

i honestly didn’t know what im gonna get myself into. i’ve never attended a campus conference before, so i was pretty much just ready for about anything. then, we were finally there, lining up at the entrance to get in…

they welcomed us with acoustic percussions session which they could invite us to dance along with them.

and that’s one of the things i really loved about the conference; they were really focused on students/youth that the tools they were using to attract us are 100% relatable.

we got there at about 4pm so we had to wait for 2 hours tops til the conference really starts. BUT IT DIDN’T FEEL THAT LONG AT ALL. as you all might know, i showed a glimpse of the ambience of the arena in my facebook posts (and more on this one!); that’s really nothing compared to the real thing, really.

they had videos of what to do and what not to keep us entertained, they also had videos of games which we can react to (basically to shout or dance or wave) and it was fun. they really kept our excitement going.

then they opened the praise & worship session with I’ll Never Walk Alone, it was soooOooooooOo uplifting. it really shows that they’ve thought everything through.

*tune in to Victory Worship’s Beautiful Love to get in my mood!*

the first session reminded me of how God had taken away the shame in me. i, we, were living in sin. sin brought shame. shame takes away our honor, while God actually gave security, talents & skills, which reflects in His image. and shame will try to make us go make an attempt to try with our own efforts to get that. when humanity decided to rebel against God, they immediately signs that they refuse what God has given us, the identity He had given us.

after hearing this message, the Holy Spirit gave me a vision of the things i’ve bothered myself with. the things that made me ashamed of myself in front of God. the lies that it had brought to me which made me who i am today.

then i felt Him. i felt Him saying “I have forgotten all of that. Melissa, you are MY daughter. you are ACCEPTED in My eyes. Don’t ever doubt My love for you. I have forgotten what you did wrong, it’s your turn to do the same.”

tears streamed down my face lyk craayyyyy D’:

God really touched my heart and made me understand that im worth far more than the shame i had built on myself. He has given me a new identity, my shame is covered by His great and everlasting love. no reason for me to be ashamed now.

so after the conference that night, we went to the mall for Jolibee :3

Day 2

they are opening the gate at 12noon that day and the conference will start at 4pm, so we gotta get ready a lil earlier than the day before.

we had a few plans for lunch that day but didnt manage to do any of it lol #sleepdeprived. since we also wanted to get the merch while knowing it’s gonna be a long line ahead of us for it, so we decided to get lunch in a place near the apartment.

we got in the arena at around 1.30pm i guess, and then went straight for the merchhh! it was a long line, but it was worth it. their merch were really cool and comfy. i wike it.

we always start the session with a praise and worship session. honestly, i rarely listen and haven’t really familarize myself with the church’s own music. so for the past 2 days, we were kinda blanked out. but, the good thing is they repeated the same songs on different sessions that it actually got stuck in our heads little by little.

after day 1, i actually got the revelation of how i should see my church back home in Bali. i feel like now i know the potential of what my church is going to be like. i got to the understanding of being there in the arena feels more like reuniting with the big ENC family. we talk about the same things, we speak the same ‘language’ and we serve the same faithful God <3

session 2 was about being unashamed of God Himself. it hit me just by the title of the message. i love how the conference have its own flow to make us understand in being shame-free. i learned that when we are already unashamed, free from the burden of shame, we can help others to do the same.

to live fearlessly unashamed is to live FULL of the Holy Spirit. God has called me to live a life of fullness, nothing half portioned. when i focus on God, i can see beyond my obstacles.

instead of being ashamed of God, i need to be proud. God has given me the spirit of boldness and love, that’s what happens when i focus on what God has given me. i use that to bring others back to Him, to let others love Him and experience His love. there’s no substitute in living/having the Word; i can’t love God FOR others.

with a lil greeting from few new MCs, we continued to the next session.

this time they talked about being unashamed of the Gospel. here’s what i’ve learned about it; the Gospel works because God MAKES IT WORK. it’s not me nor what i did, but God’s only power.

reasons to be unashamed of the Gospel; first, clarity of the message. meaning, let’s not put too much on our shoulders. Jesus is the message, i shud be telling about Him and what He’s done. second; conviction of Its truth. the Gospel is TRUE no matter they believe it or not. i shudnt hesitate to ask questions/to explore the Word together with fellow world changers :) next; confidence of Its power. the power is in the Gospel, not in me. focus on sharing about Jesus so that i can overcome my obstacles. next reason to be unashamed of the Gospel; compassion for the lost.

God has a heart for the lost, He wants me to feel the same. and why was i ashamed of the Gospel u ask? cuz i was too focused on myself (on my cant’s and wont’s that i waste time on doubting myself, basically relying on public opinion) rather than the people who are longing for Jesus.

i have been entrusted with an important duty and have been FILLED with the greatest power, so NO REASON TO BE ASHAMED.

we’re continuing the day to the worship night. during the 2-hour break we got the chance to reunite with the 10Days team from Baguio who visited Bali not so long ago <3 felt so gooood to be with this family again!

it was Campus Day that day, so we were supposed to wear our campus attires/uniforms. cuz lé lack of information i had, we didnt pack any of ours. so me, i decided to change to one of the tees i bought earlier.

now that i have His spirit, the next session was about having the power to preach the gospel. the Holy Spirit gives me boldness. let HIS WORD 'cut out’ into (their) hearts, it’s NOT my job to do that.

the spirit that we’re bringing home is the supposed to be like a volcano not matchsticks. we’ll always have to be ready to explode and let that spirit run through, not easily blown by raging winds. #weareTeka #notTeFiti #datDisneyreferencetho #sorry?

worship night started. we were literally just singing worship songs, speaking in tounge and declaring prophetic words. that part of the night really strengthened the message i have heard from the previous sessions.

there was a part where we were asked to just kneel down and be still to hear from God. im always looking forward to that, cuz i really want to experience hearing directly from God. but like how i’ve mentioned before, God has His own way to communicate with me.

so on that complete silence while kneeling down, i didnt hear anything.

but when we started to go back standing up, while they’re singing worship songs in the background and prophetic words to strengthen, God started to picture faces in my heads. faces of the people i know and the people i’ve never even met before. faces of people from around the world.

those people i know, are my friends in college. my best friends whom i’ve spent most of my time with back in college. God was showing me how precious they are to me and to Him. God made me understand His heart for them, and not only that, on that very second He started to pour out His heart into mine. i started crying because God made me feel their pain in need of the Salvation. God refreshed me their back stories to remind me they’ve survived life, and they’ve survived for a reason. and that reason is to come back and reunite with Christ.

God changed my heart since that night. God made me see the importance of this mandate He left us to do. im fired up and revived by the Truth that has set me free from shame, and made my spirit rise to be ready to go home and do what needed to be done all this time.

we ended the night with a celebration, praising and worshipping God. the feeling of celebration synchronised with my heart, which was rejoicing knowing im living in a great and powerful purpose. it was a life-changing night for me. i went home with a happy, full and free heart.

Day 3

same like day 2, we needed to be at the arena at 2pm at least.

different from me and my brother, Jeremy, we had Arrows to attend to that morning. the service starts at 9am so we went from our apartment at 7.30am to be on time there when the gate opens.

Arrows (in Ministry) is a community of Pastors’ Kids in the church worldwide.

soooooo they served us great breakfast there. breakfast is my favorite meal of the day and there are a lot of foods to choose from i was so happy lol =)) but as you know i cant eat that much anyway, so i literally just had cereal and milk.

it was all good til i heard that we had to sit with complete strangers in one table hahahahaha. shud i even talk about this again? im a full-on introvert :)) just ask me to say hi to people i’ve never met before, and i could faint hahahaha kidding. but yes, please im speaking for fellow introverts on the face of this planet; we don’t like people, we love them :)))

it was not easy sure, but remembering what happened to me the night before i think i got this. so yea, i ended up in this table of 7 of us (new friends!) i guess? it was great to be around the friends who understands and who gets it. we all know the 'pressure’ and it was nice to hear their experiences and how they overcome their hard times.

personally i was never pressured with the pastor’s kid title by my parents. i already understood my role as God’s child and that is not different than any other God’s children in the world. since i was little i’ve never felt so excluded. i’ve never felt i had to be an example BECAUSE im a pastor’s kid, but its because i shud be the salt and light. then when it’s about dealing with meeting people’s expectations, what i understand is that im not a people-pleaser, im a Jesus-pleaser. *grins*

indonesian delegates are wearing indonesia themed/written attire that day. so before heading to the arena together with the bus, i and Jeremy had to change first.

it was a bitter-sweet feeling cuz it was the last day of the conference, but i also can’t wait to go home and share what has impacted me here. as i’ve mentioned before, they never made us feel like we’re waiting cuz they had these videos that kept us entertained.

they made us shout when we see our country’s name on the screen. how convenient??? we were wearing our country’s tees :“)))))

we had Victory Worship to lead us in praise & worship that final day! :))

the fifth session was shared by a Japanese pastor, he introduced us few Japanese words that we can actually use in discipleship. twas fun :3

from that session, using the story of Zacchaeus, we need to know some similarities here. both the campus and Jericho is a strategic place to start to change the world. God is in the business for destroying strongholds. and in the end, God wins :) Jesus engaged with Zacc(haeus), the very opposite person from who Jesus is. but He sees the potential in Zacc.

to have the heart to engage the campus, i need to see the pain of the lost. understand their need of Jesus and His salvation. then i see the potential in the Gospel to transform lives, not me or the people im reaching.

reach the campus by engaging the lost as lifestyle. because discipleship is a life-time process.

we ended that session with a powerful faith declaration.

the next session reminded me that we’re not only should impact our friends in the campus/school but also the people around us who we meet everyday.

what i’ve learned is that engaging the community is not meant to be intimidating and the Gospel is the power of God for Salvation. we are NOT the power, just vessels. so i need to put my confidence in God. cuz when i step out to help others, God will take care of me.

Jesus engaged the community. we engage the community to show what we look like, how we are about; reflecting heaven. it means we don’t always succeed. im not perfect, but im serving a perfect God.

to do it, i need to learn to wait on the Lord. go not with idea, but with faith and power from God. that’s the thing about us, we only carry the power. when i connect with God, i’ll realise who is the power and who is the carrier.

lastly, i need to remind myself that this is all about God. and im doing it to display His splendor.

on day two and day three, they had a halftime show during the break. that day, they chose pairs to represent each patron to play a game on the stage. its like a 'complete the lyrics’ kinda game. i was in the blue patron, our representatives lost but tsokeh!

we were supposed to bring flashlights or something that lights up that day. little did we know, that we’re actually going to use that for during the interval.

*tune in to The Beat by Victory Worship~*

the video got into a moment where it tells us to light up our flashlights while they ask things like; "are you unashamed of God?”, “are you unashamed of the gospel?”, and all we did was shout. and im telling you; i was not just shouting for the euphoria, but i was releasing my excitement cuz i know im free from shame itself and i cant wait to SHARE THE GOSPEL!!!

the video didn’t end there. after asking those questions, they wrote there “look around you. you are not alone.” (DUDEEEEEE WHAT?? HOW WAS I NOT SUPPOSED TO BE EMOTIONAL THAT TIME???!!) i held JJ, Em and Ryan on the shoulders reminding them the same thing :“) the final session hasn’t started yet and i was already crying whattttt.

aaannnddddd the final session is here. #bittersweet :’) they opened with Victory Worship’s “The Beat” sung by soloists in VARIOUS LANGUAGES in the world. MY EMOTION– I CANNOT EXPLAIN IT. :”””””””””

from that final session, ive learned that Jesus’ last words were meant to show His end-game; for us, all of us, to live in the Kingdom of God where the devil has no power.

Jesus directed His disciples to a specific place for missions; Galilee. irreligious, insubordinate and interracial Galilee. that’s where God wants His Kingdom to be settled on. there was a clear purpose why Jesus chose the mountain of Galilee, its cuz that’s where all the wrong things happen.

His mission of bringing His 12 disciples was to send the TEENAGERS! WOOTS!!

we are not saved from something, we are saved FOR something.

the discipleship message is and has always been about Jesus. when we make disciples, we’re bringing Jesus to spread Jesus. so that His Kingdom is brought to this world. the method to do is teaching. teaching is about a personal journey through a personal relationship. we make disciples as we journey though life together.

the moment when im doing the right thing, thats where temptation will find its way to me. so i gotta keep that spirit and keep my eyes on Jesus at all times. and reminding myself that Jesus promises all authority for me to be His daughter.

dat bitter-sweet feeling so strong tho :”) the conference has ended, but it’s just the beginning now!

after everything’s done we were asked to leave the arena immediately but you know me imma take as many pictures i cud, keeping dem memories bruhhh!

we had dinner with the 10Days team from SWM ’16 who went to Bali last year. we ate at this pizza place called Yellow Cab :3 good food with awesome and loving fransss <3 #reunited

after that we went for a coffee (not me) and played game cards there. one thing i’ve learned from the people there is that; they stay up late! hahaha we were still at that coffee shop over 11.30pm and people haven’t stopped coming in.

thought we stopped there? nope. we, well some of us, decided to go karaoke somewhere near the arena. but we were wrong. it was more than 4km, we walked for almost an hour i guess??? but then we didn’t karaoke after all cuz it was too late and the minimum use for the room was for 3 hours so. yep we walked back :) fun…

what a DAY. we got back in our apartment then directly went to bed.

Day 4 (last day)

we had plans with the Dionglays for that afternoon :3 we were sent an uber to go to the Every Nation building in BGC.

we were taken to the cafeteria as soon as we arrived. had lunch and then we were toured around the building, took pictures in front of the infamous world map and then sat in for a while in the prayer training. in that very prayer training, we got new friends and got a chance to partner up with them in prayer.

i personally loved the building, it’s like seeing the future! hahah everything is in its place and so organised. the atmosphere was so welcoming i didn’t want to go out :’)

but we did, we did few walks around the BGC and i started to realize that the EN building is literally surrounded by campuses and world embassies… was kinda speechless, it’s like God showed His obvious purpose for them to be placed there. <3

the rest of the day was funnnnn, we went to Market Market then had Philippines authentic cuisine for dinner. i enjoyed and loved every minute, it’s like reuniting with family.

went home with a full heart and tummy :3

and of course i didn’t go pack then sleep. i was legit polaroid photo hunting with Ems. didn’t go anywhere far, we went downstairs to the playground and pool area tryna get the best shots we could get. #lastnight #gottamakeitcount

packed then went to bed at around 1am? i forgot! x)

Day 5

going homeeee :(: flight was at 12noon, so we needed to be there at least at 9am.

yes, that was a Sunday. but church service was impossible to attend, so we did a mini worship & sharing sesh in the apartment before we took off.

our kuya managed to get us some friends to help us for our airport trip. didn’t pay attention to the ticket, we actually got off at the wrong airport terminal =)) i panicked cuz i can’t have anymore spontaneous adventures that time :’)))) but God made everything go smooth afterwards, we made it in time for check in and baggage drop.

our flight to KL was 1 hour delayed, so when we got in KL we didn’t get that long layover we expected. it was good but kinda disappointing(?) cuz we actually prepared few things to do while waiting at the KL airport =‘)) but the faster the better righttttt???!!

after flights for more than 5 hours in total, WE WERE FINALLY HOME <3 <3 <3 welcomed by our families, who were ready to hear what we’d experienced for the last 5 dayssss!

MY HEART IS FULL.

i can’t thank God enough for the opportunity for me to go there.

Manila is absolutely home away from home. everybody there is family whom i hold dear close in my heart <3

special shoutouts!

to the Salazars & the Dionglays for taking care of us there and managed everything to make sure we got back home safely.

to my fellow indonesian delegates; it was good to be with you guys again <3

to the 10Days team from Baguio, ate Rona, ate Sha, kuya Geoff, and Kneekie; thank you for slipping in time to reunite with us!

to the SWM16 10Days team; thank you for the delicious dinner and also tagging us along to your alumni reunion awww

to my ENC Pastor, my awesome uncle, Ps. Ari; for sending me <3

to my family for letting me do diz and made everything possible! IM SO GRATEFULLLLL <3

to Jj, Em and Ryan; LET’S CHANGE THE CAMPUS AND CHANGE THE WORLD.

have a sweet day.

xx,

Caramelly.

#thoughtsafterunashamed wheninPH MNLtrip2017 unashamed2017 itscaramelli caramellytravels

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