rejectshumanity asked: "Why be boring when you can be overwhelmingly well-dressed?"

General Sentences, Vol. 10

"Well dressed?" She asked, looking at him up and down. "Are you referring to yourself or someone else? Because you're the last person I would call 'well dressed'."

{ @rejectshumanity ;;

"What can I say? I’m a lover of abandoned stuff, misplaced stuff, forgotten stuff, any old stuff."

@rejectshumanity

[ ✞ ] - ❛ I suppose I should have seen this coming… ❜

“That really spooked you.” 

"Y...yes, well... we can't all be paragons of stoicism like Miss Kujo."

@rejectshumanity said: NOTE 👀

(notes for ur muse)

"So I've been reading up on this Cunt Kunt Kant guy. I think yo I think he has a stupid fuckin name. and he's stupid. all of these philosof philoz philosopher dipshits are stupid. Why do you like reading about boring old jackasses who sit around and talk bullshit all day? anyone could come up with this shit. You're better th This is fucking stupid. If you wanna be sound smarter than everyone stop talkin about a dude named cunt all the time. You're better than th" [the rest of the note is furiously scribbled out]

✨ one hikari coming right up ✨

posting this as an ask bc i am obsessed. Serving cunt as always!!!

💪

          source :   prompted   /   status :   selectively accepting .

intention   governs giorno’s life ;   rarely does he perform   any   action without first gauging its range of consequence ,   weighing every possible outcome on a scale   &   calculating the precise angle at which it skews .   he cannot afford to make mistakes ,   &   this has been true as long as he can remember   ━━━━   housed within the abyss of his elusive   &   untouchable core ,  a wounded child still quivers at the threat of   earning his step - father’s wrath ,   though he often finds himself   caught in that bear trap   whether he can fathom a   ‘  reason  ’   or not .

    years have passed since he gazed upon the interior of that   rotten home ,   yet its position as something of a   foundation   for the way he operates cannot be disputed ;   though the fear has beaten itself into aureate armor ,   though he exhibits an unthinkable power only   bolstered   by the height at which he holds his own head ,   there lies a tenderness in him that he guards with vehemence .   never again will he allow that battered boy to be victimized .

    even now ,   as the boy   man  who   owns italy ,   every twitch of a finger   &   bat of an eyelash must amount to greatness .   an entire population relies on him ,   entire crime ecosystems desire his demise ,   &   a   new dream   beams down on him like apollo himself illuminating the path forward .   for all he has sacrificed ,   all he has lost ,   the only option is to ensure he can uphold the causes for which their lives had been torn asunder .   it is all he ever thinks about ,   now ;   the ways in which he can atone .

    the onus of rebuilding a society   &   the   crushing weight of grief   do not quite evaporate when he returns to his father’s house ,   but there is a   sense of reprieve   to be grasped amid the cold darkness of the manor .   pockets of warmth envelop him upon reuniting with his siblings   &   greeting faces that have watched him grow since he’d been removed from the   broken cradle   of his mother’s neglect   &   his step - father’s violence ,   &   though giorno rarely appears these days ,   far too occupied with his responsibilities across the mediterranean ,   in a bizarre ,   almost   twisted   sort of way ,   this place where many have suffered feels like   home .   perhaps it lies in the reality that ,   for once ,   he was not the one at risk .

    still ,   giorno makes no habit of   letting his guard down .   though his father had never lifted a finger against him ,   he knows what he is capable of ,   &   knows that   he   is the source of the   vicious darkness   that permeates giorno’s very existence ;   that ,   despite his   golden heart   &   reverence for life ,   has always been there   ━━━━   threatening to overpower his true nature ,   but since finding   harmony   with it instead .   infinitely ,   it is part of him ,   his father is part of him ,   yet giorno knows himself well enough to discern that they will never be the same .   his refusal to unhinge himself from his humanity   &   descend into the   calculated depravity   wherein his father dwells places a certain   strain   on their relationship ,   but it is not so intense that it unravels whatever love is there .   it only makes it   [   . . .   ]   complex .

    hence ,   his state of forgone consciousness does not immediately register   alarm   when a presence joins him in the study .   gold experience requiem   does not emerge on its own accord ,   prepared to loosen the threads of reality itself to ensure giorno’s preservation .   his blood does not run cold ,   his body does not tense .   he can feel that it is his father ,   just as he has always felt him there ,   even when he wasn’t .

    never would   giorno giovanna   fall asleep some place other than his heavily secured bedroom back at his estate in napoli ,   or a similar arrangement in some other location where business calls .   never but now ,   for this is an exception   ━━━━   a rarity wherein the exhaustion of his demanding life is allowed to catch up to him   &   whisk him off to rest under the promise that   everything will be okay .   those words hardly sound right ,   grating against his   armored conscience   like a legion of cicadas outside his mother’s old apartment in japan .   but he believes them .   thus ,   he is tucked into his father’s chair ,   half - consumed literature strewn across his lap   &   between his dainty hands ,   less than aware of how   small   he must look there . 

    all too quickly ,   his position changes   ━━━━   almost as if he is   floating ,   but somehow grounded just the same ,   secured against something solid   &   teeming with life ,   despite being cold to the touch ;   treelike ,   he muses .   bewilderment tugs at the edges of somnolence ,   but giorno does not fully awaken .   contrarily ,   he relaxes   more ,   a head of golden hair coming to rest against the unexpectedly plush surface of   whatever holds him .   by the time he recognizes that distinct blend of scents ;   egyptian musk ,   fermented red wine ,   the iron of blood ,   he registers movement carrying him out of the room ,   &   the part of giorno’s brain that is always on realizes what is happening .

    a delicate smile curves lips ever so stoic ,   perpetually trained into an expression of illegible disinterest .   giorno is   warm   against his father’s algid skin ,   &   perhaps it is   him   that transfers the sensation ;   the residual heat giorno carries from the caresses of daylight are the most his father will ever feel the sun without recoiling in pain .

    ease flowers at giorno’s core ,   &   for once ,   he does not recoil when touched ,   either .

continued from here:

He gave his command, but before she could follow it, she found herself on her back, staring at his beloved face. His big hand was splayed over her still flat tummy and she quivered. She'd first suspected for a while when she had to excuse herself to make runs to the bathroom for nausea and she had started taking midday naps, something she'd never really done before, and the smell of certain foods she once loved now made her ill.

Acquiring the pregnancy test was a bit difficult- even during the day when Dio was asleep, she usually had one of her capos following her around, especially when she left the palazzo. Naturally, she sneaked into town... and proceeded to purchase a dozen tests. Every single one of them came back blue. She immediately scheduled an appointment with her private doctor, and sure as the sun rose in the east, she was pregnant.

Her smaller hand rested over his. "I'm about six weeks along," her cheeks colored and her eyes softened. "Our baby is about the size of a sweet pea right now, or so I was told."

@rejectshumanity

(i completely forgot to send this in until now 🥲 i'm so sorry for the wait!)

i really enjoy your portrayal of giorno! i think your writing really captures that sense of inner kindness he inherited from jonathan, and emphasizes his innate desire to help innocent people and do right by his loved ones. it’s always a fun (or angsty) contrast to his dad’s twisted mindset, lol. he’s like the conscious dio never wanted (although he still loves his son despite their….let’s say personality differences 😅)

i also agree with joxxy on how well you write gold experience. the threads you have featuring stand battles are so fun to read!

What is something about my portrayal[s] that sticks out?

☆~*•.°●☆~*•.°○☆~*•.°●☆~*•.°○☆~*•.°●☆~*•.°○☆~*•.°●☆~*•.°○

Meanwhile me forgetting to reply to this until a month later

Aahhhh thank you so much!! That's exactly the way I intended to write Giorno, I'm so glad it came off that way!

I really need to write more Stand battles, I have so many fun ideas-

astrophysics 101 / @rejectshumanity

nothing would excite her more. as an astrophysicist, nothing fascinates her more than the stars, sparkling like jewels in the skies for her to pluck out and examine. 

❝ i would certainly love that prospect. ❞ she lit up as brightly as any of the cosmos had to offer.  ❝ and perhaps, i could teach you more about this advancement, if you so please. ❞ 

rejectshumanity asked: "In the great game of chess that is our relationship, you see only one move ahead. I see dozens. That is why you will never mate me... That's a chess term." 

House Sentences, Vol. 8

"Thanks for the clarification, Snaggletooth. For a second, I thought you were trying prove that I'm not good enough to fuck you. Not that you needed to since I have no interest in hopping on that decayed dick of yours."

as  charlie  slumbers  peacefully  in  her  cozy  bedroom  far  away  from  DIO’s  manor,  the  clairvoyant  vines  of  his  second  stand  wrap  tightly  around  his  television  set,  clearing  its  wall  of  impenetrable  static  to  reveal  a  live  image  of  the  unsuspecting  young  woman.  behind  him  sounds  a  child’s  malicious  giggle  —  that  of  little  ungalo,  whose  BOHEMIAN  RHAPSODY  struck  his  father  with  a  terribly  cruel,  terribly  funny  idea.

❝  let  this  be  a  lesson,  ungalo,  ❞     he  says,  grinning  with  anticipatory  glee.     ❝  never  speak  of  your  deepest  fears,  lest  they  fall  into  the  hands  of  your  enemies.  ❞

they  sit  back  and  wait  for  the  onscreen  reveal,  snickering  as  the  television  blares  louder  and  louder  with  the  collective  screeches  and  squeals  of  one  hundred  beady-eyed  rodents,  straight  out  of  willard  and  ben.  what  a  spectacular  entrance  they  make!  the  innumerable  masses  waste  no  time  in  descending  upon  the  poor  girl;  they  pour  in  through  her  open  window,  and  squeeze  so  many  of  themselves  through  the  small  crack  underneath  her  door  that  it  breaks  off  from  its  hinges.

they  could  have  stopped  there,  having  just  given  charlie  the  greatest  scare  of  her  life,  but  this  relentless  assault  is  only  the  start  of  her  waking  nightmare.  standing  motionless  in  the  open  doorway  amid  a  sea  of  squeaking  rats  looms  none  other  than  a  murderous-looking  mickey  mouse.

as if it wasn't an empty suit of padding and plastic by an unknown force, no… not unknown, this was far too personal for it to be some lucky guess at the phobia lottery by some assassin or late night robber, but how!? If not that then… when? Dio, you bastard. the tv continued to vomit out mice, each one it'd own variant and colour as though the little fuckers were handcrafted especially to ensure her terror, who could know!? Unless… she had simply been too careless? or someone's got a big fucking mouth, the humiliation burned more than anything an enemy STAND USER could do and she had a hunch that was DIO'S aim, to watch her prideful appearance crumble and break under something as small as a mouse, no, thousands of them.

"NO, not you, MICK!!" CHARLIE SHRIEKS, her voice thick with fear, edged in a cracking octave of betrayal. her shaking hand pointing at the complete mess that was a beloved mascot to children all over the world but was now the mascot of her nightmares, she had loved the guy as a kid, the real thing not so much as just something woven into her DNA by GOD as some cruel joke she figured, and now-- there was no way she was looking at anything with this damn mouse's face on it the same again, and with a empire as large as DISNEY she doubted she could ever escape the gaze of the three circles that will eventually take over the EARTH.

frantically kicked at the edge of her bed, trying to keep the rising mice level at bay, their numbers beginning to devour the furniture, crawling and gnawing ever closer in a fury of squeaks and squabbles. shit shit shit, fuck, fucking shit fuck-- every variant of fuck and shit, CHARLIE cursed it through clenched teeth. she was never living this down, she was ruined, she was going to die twice.

her octaves rose, the falsetto of her voice rising for once matching her gender as MICKEY MOUSE lunged forward, filling her room as well as their hotel with her screams.

one nandor on a sticky note for you 💖

ooc;; excuse me. what? shut up, this is too cute. i love it. thank you! I'll go ahead and keep it in my pocket 😭

@rejectshumanity @kxjostarr

Dio and Jotako would totally have this conversation

🐾

Rossiel rubbed her nose, blinking as she struggled to remind herself to be grateful this game of tag was not currently being played with knives-- or worse.

"Did... you need something?"

//drawing myself kicking and screaming out of my depression-caused art block so i can draw toxic gay vampires

@rejectshumanity just a wip so far but for youuu