I Sound So Robotic Every Time I Interact With Anyone Here 😭 It Feels So Weird Speaking In Full English

Posting this iconic piece of media that I just NEVER found online isolated except in an archived reddit thread

is there a specific genre for this and if so it’s my favorite

4 illustrations for Aragorn and Legolas

dear non-spanish speakers writing spiderverse fanfiction (or anything with spanglish),

in spanglish you don’t switch by word, you switch by phrase.

it’s not:

“[first part of the sentence in english], [second part of the sentence in english], mi amor.”

“[full english sentence], querida.”

it’s:

“[first part of the sentence in english], [segunda parte de la frase en español], mi amor.”

-

also miles is boricua, miguel is mexican. they have two different accents and use different vocabulary for certain words.

also miles is “nyourican” - a puerto rican native to new york - while his mom is directly from the island, so there are differences there, too, because his spanish is more influence by new york english. 

here’s some good references that aren’t google translate (which usually pulls from spain, a country that speaks vastly differently from latin america)

SpanishDict

WordReference

here have some random videos on different slang/spanish accents:

Puerto Rico

Mexico (1) (2)

-

in spanish most words are gendered, so most feminine words end in a and masculine/gender neutral words end in o. adding ito/ita makes something cuter, smaller and more affectionate.

spanish nicknames that aren’t “mi amor”

“querido/a” - darling

“cariño” - dear (always masculine regardless, of who its being said to)

“mi princesa/príncipe” - my prince/princess

“mi rey/reina” - my king/queen

“papí/mamí” - can be used in any way; romantic, sexual, familial for one’s parent or child, or just platonically

“tesoro” - treasure

also spanish is a language that uses adjectives as terms of affection both cute ones and ones that might sound insensitive in english

gordo (fat), flaco (skinny), negro (black), blanco (white), linda (pretty), bella (beautiful), morena (brown skin), etc.

and like most languages that are not english, spanish has multiple ways of saying i love you.

“te amo” - romantic

“te quiero” - familial, platonic (although there’s nothing wrong with using it romantically)

see also:

te adoro - i adore you

te deseo - i want you

te necesito - i need you

 and, of course, they can vary regionally too.

please use this because i have read a lot of really well written things that take me out of it because the use of spanglish is terrible. don’t just go on your presumptions that spanish/spanglish works in the same way that english does.

buena suerte, gringos.

- signed your friendly neighborhood afro-latina

jian dui (煎堆)

(smoke) tomas vrbada x chef!reader

this is a longer more in-depth fic, completely self indulgent (no one is surprised) this is for all the overthinking thought daughters out there!

mentions of overwork and stress; comfort and fluff fic

4.5k

12 o’clock, midnight. You fight to keep your eyelids open, your grasp on the ratty broom constantly slipping like your will to continue sweeping the floor. There had been some form of celebration in the dinner rush, one of the village elder’s ninetieth birthday if you recall correctly- you could only tell because of the long-life noodle soup and fish orders that piled in your kitchen. 

That and the sound of vivacious chatter that rang damp and faded by the time it reached the kitchen, muffled out by the popping of hot oils and staticky songs that eked out your handheld radio. But the service floor was dim and empty now, the lingering smell of leeks and alcohol the only reminder of the hectic rush hours ago.

Seeing as the teahouse had officially closed hours ago, Madam Bo and the servers left long ago- the former only leaving after promises that you wouldn’t stay up too late and would lock everything up properly. Now, you had regretted not letting her stay, the silence and darkness culminating in a rather lethargic and lonely feeling. 

Deeming the floor clean of scraps, you set the broom and dustpan to the side and sit yourself down at a large, round table. The exhaustion of working a full day seemed to hit you all at once the moment you hit the chair, a strained sigh leaving your lips. The soft sound echoed throughout the airy building, sending chills down your spine. 

You spent many nights at the teahouse, finishing up closing- but usually it was not alone. Oftentimes, it was Madam Bo who accompanied you; with one last pot of tea brewing and ready to greet you once everything was done. The two of you would sit by the entrance, looking at the stars and quietly planning the next day’s quotas. Some nights Raiden and Kung Lao came by, usually by the latter’s plan, eager to annoy you into closing up faster. Raiden would sit at the smallest table, hat hung up neatly with some water while Kung Lao followed your every footstep, criticising for every speck of dust you left in your wake.

He’d pinch your waist, you’d kick him in the shin, and Raiden would laugh. It, ironically, often pushed you back to doing an extra hour of overtime, but the two’s company was more than welcome, even if you pretend like they were burdensome. 

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the sound of a dog barking. It’s far away enough that the sound doesn’t make you jump in your skin; you rest your head on top of your sprawled out forearm, strands of hair spilling onto the table. It was that time of night, where even the hardest of workers reached their homes and were greeted with dogs barking, warm dinner and naggy housewives. But you were here- at the teahouse, alone and stuck with a pile more chores before you could even think about going home. 

Once you did get home, everyone would probably be asleep and the house just as quiet as here. Then you’d leave at dawn, before anyone would have woken up. You turn to bury your nose into the crook of your arm, trying to bury the small feeling of dread that bubbled within you. 

You were tired, hadn’t had a day off in three weeks, and honestly couldn’t tell if a nervous breakdown and nervous breakTHROUGH was coming your way. In fact, a server had told you to try and take the next few days off, claiming to be sick or something rather. But if you were sick, who would man the kitchen? You still had that delivery of spices coming tomorrow, but then the meeting with the butcher on Tuesday, and…

Tears pool in the corner of your eyes. You pinch the nape of your neck, stifling a bitter laugh. Really? The butcher was the straw that broke your back? The laugh turns sour, and you sniff like a child ready to engage in full cry baby mode. But before you can indulge in a well-deserved cry, you catch a shadow in the corner of your eye. Human-shaped, moving at a slow speed.

A thief? You hadn’t had to deal with any thugs in a long time. Your body stiffened as adrenaline filled your arms, holding your breath as you waited for the right time. Maybe this was a sign- and you could take out your frustration with some good old combat. The moment you catch a foreign scent of leather you know the assailant’s close enough to strike, so you lash out first.

Twisting your torso you kick out the chair in front of you, knocking them back as your other leg coils back for a high kick. The trespasser is decidedly male, wearing all black, and in the blur you managed to catch of him, looked to be unarmed. You want to be confident in ending the confrontation soon, but he effortlessly catches your leg before it reaches him, gloved hands against your thigh and throws it down. The movement trajectory just about sends you to the floor but you catch yourself right before your chin collides with the table edge, nails uncomfortably jutting into the wood. 

He holds onto the back of your singlet, far too dangerously close to bare skin. Blood rushes to your ears, draining out the distant sound of the man yelling- you barely grab onto your tang jacket that had fallen onto the ground, whipping it behind you. The heavy fabric hits him in the face and has him let go of you to grasp at it, giving you precious time to regain composure and wind back a nasty cross punch. It lands beautifully, backed up with your weeks of unspoked upset, and the man falls flat on his rear, jacket slipping off his body and back to a puddle on the floor.

You stalk forward with all the intent of beating this man to a pulp and asking questions later. But sobriety shocks your limbs like cold water when you see who’s in front of you; straight nose, short silver hair-

“Tomas!” You cry out, dropping to your knees and gripping onto his shoulder. He offers a strained smile, holding onto his neck. “Oh my gods, are you alright? Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Your words are accompanied by a string of apologies and frantic, fleeting hands ghosting over wherever you thought you’d hit him. Right by his jaw, where you’d landed the punch, had a patchy red mark clear as day even in the midnight darkness. You cringe looking at it; why had you gotten him with your good arm? It would turn puffy and dark by the morning.

“I mean, I did say several things, but I don’t think you were listening.” Tomas peers up at you with wide, unblinking eyes, mouth quirked in a frown. 

His words were well-meaning; and you knew that being a part of the Lin Kuei meant that he got throttled around ten times worse for breakfast, lunch and dinner- but the idea that you’d so blindly struck a friend without rationalising the situation left you feeling like an angry, primitive caveman.

Tomas got back on his feet long before you did, his shadow offering a comfortable shade from the world. He offers you a large hand, fingertips just peeking into your field of vision.

“You hit pretty hard for a chef, by the way. What are you fighting in that kitchen?” You groan, letting your forehead unceremoniously clash onto the cold floor. Tomas laughs above you, and you feel him dragging you up to your feet. “Sorry, my bad.” The words come out between the occasional giggle.

You let him sit you down on the very chair that had been launched at him not a minute ago, and he settles for standing in front of you with his arms crossed. How he can laugh so brightly with that bruise on his face, you can only wonder; maybe you ought to take a couple notes when it comes to smiling in the face of adversity. You must’ve sighed again subconsciously, because Tomas shoots you a pointed look, his once full grin mellowed into a half-pulled awkward sort of baulk. 

A brief moment of silence passes you both, neither quite sure of what to say. The gape in conversation is emphasised by a hissing wind passing by, uncharacteristically cool for the July temperature. Tomas is looking somewhere directly behind your shoulder in an effort to make eye contact, and you aren’t sure how to react; he had always been the more outgoing, conversational one, and it seemed like his energy whether sheepish or cheerful was contagious.

You crack the knuckle of your ring finger in a moment of habit, and cringe when his eyes dart to the sound with mild alarm. 

Tomas, this time with a noticeable amount of surprise, asks you if you’re going to hit him again. You debate your answer, deciding to forgo one entirely for a new question. 

“Why are you here? You know our opening hours.” Tomas scratches the back of his neck, standing with his head down like he’s being scolded. Which he wasn’t, for the record. You just happened to have a stern way of speaking, is all. He begins several sentences, always halting and rephrasing himself before any of them could come to completion. And despite the smile on his face, his hands gestures in a way that you knew meant he was uncomfortable; before he can continue, you nod sympathetically. Even without big details, once you heard the words ‘brother’ you had a decent idea of the bigger picture. 

Tomas scrunches his nose in a way that is small and meek but genuine, sitting down amicably at the chair you pat the surface of. His pale eyes follow you as you stand up, and before he can ask where you’re going you speak first. 

“ I’m coming back, with tea. Want anything else?” 

“Don’t trouble yourself for me.” 

The sound of grumbling is more honest than his words, evident by the way his cheeks flush. You let out a laugh, a first proper one in what feels like days. He rolls his eyes in an attempt to brush it off, but he looks right back at you with a new purpose- hoping you’d listen to the not-so-subliminal subliminal messages he was sending you. A promise in the form of “i’ll see what i can do” is enough to satiate him (for now), and you’re free to shuffle to the dark kitchen, only able to find your way from the dim glow of moonlight. 

As the water boils, you scavenge about for anything that might qualm the bottomless pit that was Tomas’ appetite. Having cooked for him for- how long had you been working as a cook here? Four years? Four years was enough time to know that Tomas, who you lovingly refer to mentally as big-boy, could eat as well as he could fight. There wasn’t much to offer, though. Most of the stock was fresh produce, sauces and grains, though there was a little wrapped bamboo steamer nestled in the corner behind some baskets. 

You sigh, gingerly pulling it out. Raiden had gifted them to you, from this morning, homemade sesame balls made by his mother or grandmother- the maker not as important as how delicious they were as a sweet you fell in love with, even back when you had them for the first time at ten years old. The original plan was to eat them hot during the mid-afternoon lull, but you had been so busy the entire day they’d been neglected and turned cold. Well, now was as good a time as any, you guessed. 

Once the water boiled you prepared two large mugs of… passable tea (you were a chef, not a server) and balanced it carefully along with the bamboo steamer. You only almost dropped the ensemble twice, which all things considered was pretty impressive; even if Tomas’ gleeful snickering made you feel like it was your first day on the job.

Speaking of which, from the moment you exited the kitchen, the man had been observing you like a wide-eyed owl, knees tucked to his chest and two very capable arms hanging by his sides, neither of which made the smallest move to assist you. He watches you set the mugs and steamer on the table, having the nerve to ask where the teapot was if you were going to drink tea. 

“No fancy service after hours. Be thankful I didn’t just throw the leaves into lukewarm water.” Tomas snorts at your very real threat, and you let him think you were just joking. 

You take a sip of the tea while he enthusiastically blows on him more times than necessary, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart to see if he’d gotten a reaction out of you. It earns a shake of your head, but you find yourself smiling behind the lip of your mug. 

He was trying to lighten the mood. Even after you’d been the one to deck him in the face- though to be fair he had snuck up on you. As a repayment of kindness, you nudge the steamer he’d been eyeing over to him. It’s comical, the way the mere thought of a snack could make his face light up. 

“As payment for rocking your shit.” He scoffs at your statement.

“I’ll have you know I let you ‘rock my’- Ooohhh, these look good. Are they jian dui? Do you have chopsticks?”

You laugh at how he eagerly rubs his hands together, even harder when you pass him the chopsticks you keep in your apron only to find him wrist-deep in the bamboo steamer pulling out two sesame balls. He lets out an incredulous sounding ‘What?’ before indulging himself in a hearty bite, eating the entire sweet in one fell swoop. The second one, squeezed between his middle and ring finger, is demolished right after he swallows the first bite. The only sound that comes from him is a content hum of appreciation, and then a muffled, food-filled offer of one the sweets; where you take out a single ball. 

With an amused huff you lean back in the chair, satisfied for now to watch Tomas eat so passionately. Seeing the way his previously tense face melt into genuine happiness was the kind of reaction every chef loved to see; it was also a reaction he gave you whenever he ate your food as well. It was probably why Tomas was one of your favourite people to cook for- you could even look past his shady Lin Kuei business and strange affinity with smoke bombs.

In between wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and taking a drink from his mug, Tomas asks you a very loaded question in a manner only describable as unceremonious.

“By the way, are you okay? You looked upset when I came in. ”

The question stunlocks you into speechlessness, and your change in posture was enough for him to flinch in his seat, quickly apologising if he had been insensitive. He hadn’t been, you make sure to tell him that, but you just weren’t really used to people asking you for a change. You stare lamely at your still untouched sesame ball, trying to find the right words. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d try to talk about your feelings- but you never wanted to burden your family or Madam Bo, and god knows that seriously talking about things with Kung Lao would just feel… weird. 

“I think…” You chew the inside of your cheek. “I’m tired? Not from work, I can do that fine; but- maybe it is work, and I’m lying to myself- I don’t know, I’m not making sense and it’s just complaining, probably.”

Tomas props his cheek against the palm of his hand. 

“Sometimes after training I cry.” 

The sentence, as much as it shocks you into sitting straight, comes out of Tomas like it’s nothing. Your face must’ve looked obviously surprised, because he offers you a half-shrug. 

“Not everyday, just when it gets hard. But I never know which part of it is making me miserable, so I end up crying like a kid in my room.” 

You look at him wordlessly, trying to find a response. He apologises again, saying he wasn’t the best at comforting people. And you understand- it must be hard, especially when his two older brothers aren’t exactly the role model of loving communication. But despite the blunt phrasing of it all, Tomas’ words helped you feel a little better. Knowing that someone with a lifestyle as different as yours, and one where he had to be tougher than you did, that he also felt the same way made you feel much less alone. You put your sesame ball back in the steamer and roll it amongst the sparse remaining ones. 

“I stuck my head in the icebox this afternoon so I didn’t freak out. Madam Bo came in to rush an order, and I got so scared the lid closed on me.” 

You still remember the nauseating smell of chilled meat that permeated the ice box, a scent that didn’t leave your hair for hours afterwards. Tomas laughs when you share that, and mentions how Bi Han does something vaguely similar with his ice affinities; it’s a strange image that you have trouble believing. He seems to have an equal anecdote to share for everything you tell him, which both helps you feel less ostracised for your more vulnerable moments and tells you a little more about the enigmatic character that is Tomas. You both talk idly until the mugs of tea had run dry, which seemed to give Tomas the encouragement to speak up,

“My brothers and I were in the area to meet Madam Bo, for a meeting, but I’m not sure what kind of business they had with her.” You raise your eyebrows at the change in his tone; a little more quiet and forlorn; and asking him why he wasn’t in the know only made his shoulders sag further down. “They don’t… tell me about these details. I just know when to show up and what to do.”

Tomas had always walked shoulder to shoulder with Bi Han and Kuai Liang, so for him to say that was a surprise. “I asked too many questions, and it pissed Bi Han off- you know how he is. He went on another one of his… tangents. I didn’t want to hear it, so I left, and came here.”

By the end of it he’s half-speaking and half chewing on the already raw nails of his thumb. He sounds incredibly downtrodden, but in a way where he’d been acquainted with the feeling for a while now; and even gives you the same half-hearted smile you give Madam Bo when she asks you about how you are. Bi Han’s ‘tangents’ weren’t too familiar to you, but you’d heard him angry once. Of course behind the safety of the kitchen walls you were safer than the two brothers actually speaking to him, but the boom of his voice still made you want to duck for cover. If you remembered correctly, he had slipped out something about Tomas not really being his brother- something of the likes. With how much Tomas admired him, you could only imagine how much that would hurt.

Gingerly, you pat his other hand, one that’d been fidgeting splayed out on the table. He takes your thumb, squeezing it in return. You study his hand, faded scars littering where his gloves could not cover. They vary from white to angry red, and there’s one on the joint of his thumb that’s circular, similar to an old oil burn below your knuckle. 

“We match!” Tomas seems suddenly overjoyed at the mundane discovery, bringing your smaller hand closer to him and looking over it with much precision. He even puts your hands side by side, smiling to himself when he sees that they really do line up. The warm sight is doing something to your already fragile heart, seeing him handling you so delicately- an experience you’ve missed from anyone in god knows how long; you begin to feel your throat clog up. 

He looks up at you, and instead of frantically apologising again, or trying to prevent it, he just takes your hand in both of his, soothingly running his thumbs along your fingers. 

And just like that, months of emotional suppression goes down the drain.

When the waterworks finally do turn on, you feel utterly embarrassed to be crying in the presence of a Lin Kuei member, even if he was patient in letting you pathetically gather up your thoughts in snotty blubbering nonsense. You tell him everything- or at least as well as much as you can without making yourself cry harder. Tomas doesn’t say much, only nodding and periodically affirming you when you make the odd negative comment about yourself. Right when you’re coming down from the bulk of emotional distress, you make the mistake of mentioning how upset you were that as a chef, you often went hungry and forgot to eat in favour of work. ‘

By the end of the thought you’re up and ready for another bout of tears until Tomas picks up one of the last sesame balls and feeds it to you. Well, it was more an involuntary feeding- the kind that you did to zoo animals like giraffes or gazelles, but the strange scenario of being hand fed a cold sesame ball is enough to stop the tsunami wave. You tearfully eat the sweet like a child, and everything seems to calm down until you accidentally bite Tomas’ hand and he mentions how even though you were hungry, you couldn’t eat him as well. You knew it was a light-hearted joke, but for some reason, it makes you cry again. He picks up the last one, having the gall wave it in front of you like a parent feeding their child mashed peas; it’s effective in ceasing your tears, but the offence you take from the action takes over an equal amount. 

You smack his hand away too hard by accident, sending it tumbling onto the floor and under the table. You yelp, and Tomas immediately ducks to try and pick it up, hitting his head on the table’s underside. 

A series of ‘ow, ow, ow, ow’ emits from him like a mantra as he slides off the chair onto the floor, clutching his head for dear life. You burst into watery laughter that grows in strength as he turns to side eye you from his awkward position. 

“Are they really that good?” Is a rhetorical question from you because- yes they were- but it’s one you ask to chide the silver haired man. He groans in response, ungracefully slumped over to a cross legged position, still scratching his patch of hair like he’s expecting a miraculous bald spot to have formed. “Don’t… even. Bullying me from the high ground.” he mutters. 

You then join him on the floor, knees bumping as you get yourself comfortable. Tomas scuttles momentarily before he turns over with the sesame ball, successfully retrieved, delicately held between two fingers. He blows on it once to get all the dust off, then presents it square in front of your face; you roll your eyes and make a show of blowing air on it like it’s a pinwheel. 

“Good as new!” 

“You are ridiculous.” 

Tomas sticks out his bottom lip and shrugs, and you find yourself feeling somewhat lucky to catch such a candid and free side of him tonight. You both split the last sesame ball and eat it under the table with the secrecy of children sneaking halloween sweets after bedtime, and you giggle when a dollop of the filling drops off of his half and splats right onto his shoe. He shushes you when you snort by accident, as if there were metaphorical adults downstairs ready to catch you red handed. It’s only half way through the motion he notices his own ridiculousness and relents, joining you in the delight of it all. 

Once the two of you wipe your hands, finally finished with all the sweets, you stare at the sky above you. Craning your neck to see it under the table, it looks different than it usually does- more daunting, mysterious, like it felt stargazing as a child. You’re not sure what mood overtakes you, but you lean to rest your head on Tomas’ shoulder, cheek squished against the fabric of his Lin Kuei uniform. It’s promptly followed by the feeling of him mirroring your actions on the top of your head. He radiates more body heat than you’re used to- and in the summer heat it borders on being clammy, but the feeling of his shoulders rising and falling is one that so perfectly cures your recent lack of simple human touch.

 You stay like this for a while, not moving much aside from Tomas occasionally nuzzling into you for a more comfortable position.  He suddenly speaks. 

“Sorry for scaring you.” 

“...Sorry for punching you in the face.”

“Apology not accepted.”

His voice is soft and cheeky- his usual tone. You elbow him sharply, and he doesn’t even budge. Soon, drowsiness overtakes you, the adrenaline from before melting behind the exhaustion of your work day. You let your eyes close, settling into the crook of Tomas’ neck with the intent of only resting your eyes for the time being. He huffs airly in response, sounding half-asleep himself. It’s incredibly peaceful- in a way that you haven’t felt since sneaking naps during a family reunion; and what was meant to be quiet relaxation turned into the best sleep you’d had in months. 

You wake up at the crack of dawn, to the feeling of Tomas being dragged out from under the table. He lets out a string of complaints and frantic this and that, begging the other person for mercy. The other person, as it turned out, was Madam Bo, coming in to open the teahouse. You watch in groggy amusement as he’s whacked in the head with the broom you left by the table last night; as the elderly woman goes on about Tomas being a stupid boy, and for him to leave her precious cook alone. 

Before he’s shooed away, he gives you a closed-eye smile and wave, telling you to have a good day at work. You barely have time to raise a hand in acknowledgement before it’s your turn to be dragged out by Madam Bo, thankfully with no broom this time. 

Child of Sleeping Beauty, Silver Rose. Almost always found asleep. His collection of (clumsily) embroidered clothing has worried many of his peers, but he insists he didn't make them. He'll tell you he is a Royal, albeit with a bit of...hesitation.

i had soooo much trouble with silver 😭 his outfit stressed me out so much from the skirt thing to the shoes to his backpack...in the end, i think he turned out pretty nice 🥹 also yeah that's a neck pillow hoodie in case he falls asleep with his head tilting backwards #alwaysprepared

harleyyy ♦️

more prooompts!!!♡♡♡

mini love report — giorno giovanna

relationship health diagnosis — 80%*

symptom one — intuitive

giorno's uncanny ability to read others got him far in life. it's a skill so interwoven into his being that it's as involuntary as breathing. from the instant he laid eyes on you, he started work on a mental profile. depending on what he wants, he'll make slight adjustments to how he interacts with you. he's hyper-aware of your likes and dislikes at all times. fortunately for you, his intentions aren't malevolent. the adjustments aren't drastic but you'd probably find it weird if you ever learned about this (you won't).

this information goes to ensuring you're comfortable around him. he finds intimacy a vulnerable, fragile thing that must be handled with care. you can feel the quiet intensity of his gaze most toward the start of your relationship, although it never goes away. he's searching for any sign of discomfort or unspoken cues to continue.

eventually, he'll come to trust that you'll voice misgivings if you have any and that he can ease up.

symptom two — resolute

once this man sets his mind on something, there's no stopping him. this staunch determination can be good, bad, or a discordant mix of the two. what differentiates him from other ambitious individuals is his patience and opportunism. he'll pursue you for years if need be. giorno doesn't want to conquer your heart, no, he longs to be worthy of having it. after all, if you've caught his attention, you must be special.

challenges may arise when 'determined' shifts to 'obstinate.' regardless of how opposed you are in a disagreement, he never disregards your perspective. the lone exception is when your safety is involved. should he believe you doing something imposes a risk, it's like trying to convince a brick wall. he'll still hear you out but you both know his mind is made up. he won't relent until you capitulate. he's methodical in dissuasion; never raising his voice or condescending you. he's well-mannered and considerate as ever.

you come around to his side faster than you'd care to admit.

symptom three — respectful yet sly

while mindful of your boundaries (thanks papa jonathan), giorno knows what mischief he can get away with (sorta thanks papa dio). for a man who has garnered the fearsome reputation he has, he's surprisingly impish. he'll quietly fluster you before getting your picture taken together, so that he can capture your expression forever. at dinners with important figures, when the conversation gets painfully boring, his hand will brush over your thigh beneath the table. he acts confused by your admonishment as if he hadn't instigated it.

occasionally, when thinking back on interactions from your teenage yours, you experience an epiphany. what you thought to be an innocent comment had flirtatious undertones! if you bring this up to him, he'll smile softly and say he's 'glad you finally noticed, even if it took a while...'

primary area of concern

he's what you might call 'morally flexible.' there are some lines he'll never cross — promoting illicit substances or harming children are the premier examples — yet he's still a mafioso. as the don of passione, he regularly engages in dubious practices. should you ever ask about his undertakings, he's honest up to a point. he knows how to make unpleasant subjects palatable. the thought of regularly lying to you makes his stomach churn.

giorno settles for misdirection and obfuscation. it's so subtle, so well done that you'll likely remain none the wiser. he masterfully steers you away from topics you're better off not knowing (in his view). he admits to lesser wrongdoings to satiate your curiosity.

no matter how he spins it to himself, however, this is still lying. it's just a fancy, roundabout version.

prognosis

giorno may have this debonair flair to him, yet beneath the polish sits a lonely heart. he's worried he'll accidentally spoil your relationship (especially if you're close friends before he confesses), or otherwise bring some harm upon you. he wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself. you're someone he can be himself around. the charm he always exudes changes shape in your presence. he's a bit less smooth, more prone to blushing and fidgeting. he's just really good at hiding it.

he'll be a steadfast partner (and hopefully husband) come hell or high water. he's gentle and kind in a way no one beside you can illicit. you make him want to be better so that he's never at risk of losing you.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-100)