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jjba-hell · 4 years

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Unforgiven

Alright, here it is- my debut! I tried to model this as close to canon but doing research post-writing proved me wrong. I didn’t think I’d be able to adjust my writing accordingly so I’m sticking with what I did.

Prompt chosen: Backstory

Some trigger warnings before we get into it: Canon typical violence, death, grief, suicide (if you squint). I mean if you know Risotto’s backstory you know it’s pretty harsh. If I missed some, let me know- I’m new.

Tagging @risottoneroo because I thirst for their Risotto content.

2,3 K words (yikes, I know)

They had done everything for him in the ambulance. Or at least that was what Risotto had seen. It was a hit and run- damn bastard. Maybe the driver was so drunk out of his mind that he didn’t even care. Regardless it was Risotto who was kneeling beside his cousin’s body in the street to try and stop the bleeding while fumbling with his phone to call for an ambulance.

Risotto sat bouncing his leg in the emergency room as his cousin was going under the knife in an attempt at retrieving his life from the accident. The seconds on the clock above the receptionists’ desk didn’t even seem to move. Risotto had almost had the idea that the lack of movement was because the clock was broken. Until the seconds hand painfully lurched forward to sit in a new spot.

Go take off that shit right now.” His father hissed beside him.

The comment dragged him back to his surroundings and the other people waiting alongside him- his uncle, who seemed just as caught up with staring at the door they had rolled his son through and Risotto’s own father who was much too aware of the prying eyes that surrounded them and more specifically poised on Risotto’s appearance.

Risotto turned back to watching the seconds tick by, deeming the onlookers unimportant. But not even another second passed before his father hissed out another “Dante!” with much more anger.

Thinking back on his father Risotto doesn’t remember much of the man other than the similarities he held with Risotto at his current age. He knew he was going to be tall- his years of being a lanky teenager being a pretty good indicator but the bulk his father carried from his days in the army and at the family business only started making themselves known later in Risotto’s own life. He wasn’t quite going to let him get to him that easy.

“Luciano is fighting for his life on the operating table and all you can think of is what I look like? To other people?”

His father disapproved of the punk phase Risotto had gone through. In fact- he hid it from his father. It was his and his cousin’s secret life, one that had all at once been exposed and scrutinized on this night.

Risotto’s father squared his jaw before standing up, grabbing hold of the lapel of his son’s jacket- moving towards the restrooms.

“Maybe if you didn’t look like such a menace, people would feel some remorse for running you over.” He grumbled ober his shoulder at Risotto on their way there. He shoved him into the rest room and gave one more stern order.

“Take this shit off, Dante.”

Then disappeared back to the waiting room.

Risotto started by taking off his snake bites, looking himself in the mirror and wondering if they were thinking the same thing about Luciano in the operating room. Would they feel less remorse if they saw the metal in Luciano’s eyebrow, or his ear? Would they half-ass helping him pull through back to life if they saw him like his father saw Risotto?

He pocketed the piercings from his face and some of the wrist bands before turning his Metallica T-shirt inside out. He threw his jacket over his shoulder and was about to head out when the reality seemed to hit so much harder.

They had just come from a concert; it was why he was dressed up like the punk his father hated seeing. He and Luciano were just two teenagers taking a smoke under the lamppost three blocks away from home- thinking it would give them enough space to air out the smell of cigarettes before walking through their front doors.

Risotto lurched forward over the sink and couldn’t even bring anything up, just gagging up bile as his stomach convulsed.

This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This- I’m gonna wake up. It’s just a bad dream.

He splashed his face with the cold water from the tap and took hold of some paper towels to wipe off the experimental eyeliner.

When he walked back to the waiting room, he just wanted to disappear- away from the waiting eyes. He wanted- no, NEEDED- to be there for his cousin, even if it was just to hear them say “he’s pulled through” but his father’s words had planted a thought in his head that made him feel ashamed to even exist. He was stripped of all dignity, all that he felt comfortable in and he just wished he didn’t have to be seen anymore.

He sat down beside his father again, going back to bouncing his leg to watch the seconds sluggishly drag on until the doctor came through the doors.

Luciano’s father rose, frantically asking if his son had made it.

When the doctor started with the words, “Mr Armani, I’m sorry to say but your son-“ Risotto simply knew. From the way his heart felt like it was breaking down his chest to crash land at his heels.

His head felt heavy, dropping between his hands. Now, more than ever he didn’t want to be see- wanted to be at home shutting the door to his room to deal with all the grief he felt in his heart. But all he had was the privacy of his own hands.

Life moved around him for the next few hours, just walking and doing as he was told. He had gotten home and Rina- Risotto’s stepmother at the time- seemed to take pity on him, guiding him to his room where he just sat on the bed and stared at the wall in front of him.

This phase stretched well beyond the first few hours, moving towards days of not getting out of bed until Rina came to ease him out of bed with breakfast or into the bathroom to try and restore some kind of normalcy but it hurt. It hurt so much. This helplessness only lasted three days of course.

Eventually he was getting sick of being babied so he got up himself, leaving the house early in the morning for a jog around the block and then sitting in front of the kitchen counter for breakfast before either one of his parents could even bother getting up. He was gone the second they opened their bedroom door anyway- throwing his bag over his shoulder to wherever he could run to. Usually he just ended up waiting ungodly hours in the alleyways for the bus to take him to school.

“Hey, freak! Where’s your cousin?” A particular assholes asked as Risotto took a drag of his cigarette. Risotto gave a single glance his way before returning his gaze back to the cars running up and down the street.

A hand yanked him backwards by his shoulder and stole the cigarette from his hand.

“I’m talking to you, dumb ass! What? Can’t hear me from up there you freak?”

Risotto took one look at the guy, picked him up by his shoulders and slammed him against the wall- watching as he slid down the wall and crumbled into himself.

Risotto was about to spit more vitriol at him but instead gave a quick kick to the kid’s gut and walking out of the alley, holding back beating the shit out of the guy for the fear of being snitched on.

A different hand shot from around the corner of the alley, making Risotto stop at the edge of the alley and the walkway. The hand belonged to a strange sight in the middle of suburban Italy at 7 in the morning. Dressed in a well-tailored navy suit, a man only a head shorter than Risotto stopped him. “Not gonna finish the job, properly?”

He meant the dumbass in the alley. Risotto only shook his head as he moved past the hand that was holding him back- not even bothering to look at the guy that had stopped him.

He was about to cross the street to wait on the other side but the stranger called back. “It’s a shame what happened to your cousin.”

Risotto stood still in his tracks. “You do my know shit.”

“Don’t I? Luciano Armani died at the hospital Sunday morning after being being hit by drunk driver- you were the one that called the ambulance, Dante.”

Risotto knew his father and his uncle valued their privacy surrounding the situation- so he couldn’t help but be annoyed by the fact that this guy knew too much.

“What do you want?” Risotto asked over his shoulder-figuring this guy was some sleepy local reporter.

“Nothing really, not yet. But uhh-“ the man stuck out a business card with his name and number on it- nothing more. “Don’t be shy to call me when things go south for you.”

The thought suddenly struck him- mafioso. Sleezy bastard was probably trying to get him to do his dirty work for him- Luciano’s killer probably owed a debt to these guys.

Risotto took the card and surveyed the simple print. “What if I called the cops on you?”

The guy laughed. “Smart kid, but I’m afraid that would simply put more of your family members in their graves.”

And with a simple turn the guy disappeared down the street. Risotto pocketed the card, perhaps out of stupidity, perhaps out of curiosity but one thing was for sure.

He didn’t quite regret keeping it.

Rina had kept him in the loop in terms of what was going on with Luciano’s case as time went on. The police had caught the bastard that killed him and was currently constructing a case against him. For a moment, just a fraction of a moment, Risotto felt hopeful that perhaps there would be some justice for his cousin.

But it was overshadowed by the grief he felt as he helped clean up Luciano’s room, a few doors down from his parents’ house.

It was strange- the Armani brothers ran a business together but could never afford more than the two good homes in a good-ish neighborhood. The butchery was known for supplying most restaurants but butchers didn’t make that much money.

Risotto and his aunt were tasked with clearing up Luciano’s room which dragged all the memories of his cousin back to the forefront of his mind. Recalling the family dinners the two of them would duck out of for the sake of not having to babysit the younger cousins- in favor of an underground rock concert or just to play in the arcade nearby. Luciano did always have that one arcade token stuck in his back pocket he forgot to use, eventually turning into a “lucky” coin the two of them would jokingly hide in each other’s jacket pockets for whatever stupid reason.

Risotto found said token in one of the jean’s that he was folding up. He held Luciano’s passport a few hours later- feeling his stomach convulse at the sight of his birth date. 16. Luciano Armani was 16. Not even sure what he was going to do for the rest of his life- now it was a life he would never live.

Risotto never had siblings- his mother had passed shortly after his birth, he never even knew what a mother was. The closest thing to a mother he had was Luciano’s- his aunt. His father and uncle were more concerned with the butchery to care. Not much had changed on that front.

But a better brother than Luciano didn’t exist.

That was how Risotto knew him- the brother he’d turn to whenever his father would get aggressive after a few rounds of rum. The brother he went to when his father remarried. Even if Luciano couldn’t give him any solid advice, the distraction of going out and getting up to shit together was enough to overcome the isolation of his pain.

Tiredly, Risotto was sent back home by his grieving aunt. He didn’t even recall if the room was packed up completely.

It was the night before the funeral service and in the hot summer night Risotto clambered into a cold bath to help soothe the pain over his body. Perhaps he would never have been in the situation if he didn’t spend so much time at the school gym, on the track...

Rina had even drawn the bath for him, leaving the Epsom salt on the rim to add if he needed it.

Risotto opened his hand to see the coin he seemed to be holding onto the whole week. In the back of his mind he supposed it was him trying to draw some strength from it, as if it’s supposedly luck could help him through the pain.

With a deep breath he closed his hand around the coin and sunk his head underneath the water- asking for luck one more time.

At the funeral service Risotto said goodbye to the coin, tossing it on top of the first handfuls of dirt already sullying the polished wood coffin.

He thought it was acceptance he felt as he let the cool metal sentiment fall from his palm.

All of that was shattered when the trial for his killer came back as not-guilty.

Hearing the verdict made him feel like all grounding he had while climbing over his grief slipped right under him and he was undeniably plummeting.

Ending up in the inconceivable rage he still feels whenever he thinks back to how he ended up looming over the figure of the drunkard that killed his brother. He was so sick of waiting- sick of waiting for the doctor’s verdict, the jury’s verdict. They had all failed him that day, so he decided to take matters into his own hands.

The night the verdict was released, Risotto had called the mafioso, asking when they could meet for a talk.

He was straightforward about what he wanted- he wanted the man dead. If it meant doing it himself and being protected by them or if they wanted to off him themselves- he didn’t care.

They had shrugged and said they had no reason to kill him, but he’d need to go through two initiations to make the murder disappear.

The first was simple enough, kill the guy he wanted dead.

Risotto was too far gone to even care as he bludgeoned the guy to death with a crowbar, feeling the bastard’s blood splatter against his face in a warehouse not too far from the shore.

He wrapped the body up in plastic and duct tape and brought the body to the mafioso that had led him thus far.

“We’ll get the blood later.” The man smiled through cigarette smoke. The mafioso threw an arm around Risotto’s shoulder after he hauled the body into the trunk of the car.

“Now, for the hard part.”

Acquiring Metallica felt like a joke- mocking the part of himself he felt he’d never allow to be seen again, the part he and Luciano hid from the world. He figured the ability was for the sake of wanting to make other people feel the weakness they carried in their own blood and the invisibility was a gift- on he wanted to possess to escape from the eyes that surveyed him as he was in pain.

Normally, getting into the mafia acquired smaller crimes first, but since Risotto had started with murder he was assigned to join the hitman team- on one condition.

His family be left untouched.

He promised to sacrifice a cut of his pay for every month for years to assure they were never hurt again. It caused him to move into a dingy apartment after spending too much time on the couch of the hideout, but he didn’t care. He moved up quick enough not to care- most hitman don’t last over 30 years old anyway.

His father, Rina, his aunt, and uncle, all his younger cousins would be safe as long as he kept paying. It was, after all, he had left of Luciano. The smallest wad of cash was all physical reminder. But somehow it made him sleep a bit easier knowing they were safe. Only question that plagued his nightmares was if it was enough to redeem something of his soul.

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #jojo part 5 #jojo golden wind #la squadra #Risotto Nero #lasquadraweek2020

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pleasecallmecaptain · 6 years

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Clicker

Character: AU!Student Steve x Reader

Word Count: 941

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long, but I’ve just been stuck in a rut with inspiration and writer’s block. I’m slowly trying to work my way back into writing, so here’s a quick drabble I’ve been working on. I’m a bit rusty, but thank you for reading! ♡

You groaned as you dragged your feet slowly up the steps of the giant lecture hall. 8AM math classes should be illegal. Who can focus on numbers so early in the morning? You shifted your backpack strap to avoid it from slipping down and turned into your usual aisle, plopping down onto the seat with your housemate, Wanda, taking the seat to your left. You threw your head back against the back of the chair and shut your eyes, hoping to gain a few more minutes of sleep.

“Why did we take this class again?” You mumbled quietly, but loud enough for Wanda to hear.

“Because we need this class to graduate.” Wanda responded with a sigh.

The lecture hall began filling up as the beginning of class inched closer when you heard somebody shuffle in and take the empty seat next to you. Wanda nudged you with her elbow when the professor walked in, shaking you out of your power nap. A yawn escaped and you quickly covered you mouth when you saw the guy next to you glance over. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat and retrieved a notebook, pencil, and clicker from your backpack.

You hated the clicker. As bad as it sounds, it’s the only reason you attend this class at this ungodly hour. A clicker is a device that most professors like to use as a means to not only track the understanding of class material, but also as a way to track attendance since there was no way a professor could do role call for a class of 150 students. The professor will put up a question with multiple choice answers, usually A-E, and you would answer by pressing the corresponding letter on the clicker. It’s almost like a game show of sorts and it required you to be there in person in order to participate. So if it weren’t for this devil device, you could enjoy a couple more hours of sleep and just self study since all the slides were posted online anyways.

The professor pulled up the PowerPoint presentation and began his lecture. Your eyes continued to shift from the screen to your notebook, your hand moving furiously to keep up with the professor. You heaved a heavy sigh as you wished, for the hundredth time, that you could take notes on a laptop, but you knew deep down that math notes were meant to be handwritten. Your note-taking began to slow and your heavy eyelids began to close. Your head dropped to your chest, eyes unable to open. Wanda laughed quietly under her breath, but didn’t bother trying to wake you.

Suddenly, loud chatter and stomping footsteps woke you from your slumber and you saw students all around you walking out the classroom doors. Stifling a yawn, you glanced over at Wanda to see her packing her bag. A wave of panic washed over you and you gasped.

“The clicker!” You bit your lower lip and looked at Wanda with pleading eyes. “Please tell me you helped me answer the questions.”

“Nope.” She stated simply. You swore you saw a corner of her lips turn upward just ever so slightly.

“What do you mean ‘nope’? You were sitting right there!”

Frustration clouded your face and you huffed, turning away from Wanda.

“Calm down. Lover boy took care of it for you.” She smirked and jutted her chin towards the boy on your right.

Your head snapped towards him. He ignored your stare and quietly shoved his pen into his pencil case.

“Um.” You coughed to get his attention. “I heard you answered the clicker questions for me?”

He gave a single nod. He then swiveled in his seat to look at you and immediately, you lost yourself in his beautiful blue eyes.

“May I ask why?” You had to know why he helped you. After all, you didn’t know him and he didn’t know you.

“So you would still get credit,” he answered matter-of-factly, a light pink dusting his cheeks.

A bright smile spread across your face and you felt your heart skip a beat. Just a tiny one. You stood up and swung your backpack over your shoulders, ready to leave this dreary room.

“Thank you so much, uh…” You paused when you realized you didn’t know his name.

“Steve. The name’s Steve.”

He rubbed the back of his neck before slowly rising from his seat. He slipped the messenger bag over his shoulder and looked at you expectantly.

“Y/N.” You introduced yourself and hurriedly thanked him once more when you saw Wanda waiting for you by the double doors on the left. “See you next class!”

He uttered a soft “bye” before walking towards the other side door of the lecture hall. Halfway to Wanda, you suddenly stopped and turned on your heels. You held up your index finger at Wanda, asking her to give you one more moment. She only rolled her eyes and waved you away with a casual hand.

You practically chased the blond man across the large lecture hall.

“Steve, wait!”

Steve halted his footsteps and whirled around at the sound of his name being called out. Leaning against the wall, he waited for you to make your way over. When you finally caught up to him, he raised a brow at you, wondering what else you had to say.

“Steve, can I buy you a cup of coffee? Or lunch? Or, uh, something?”

You licked your lips nervously as you waited for his response.

A grin stretched across his face as he adjusted the messenger bag strap across his shoulder.

“I’d like that.”

Thoughts and comments?

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