Dio Brando

🍾 | A Drunkard Mess

Kira Yoshikage

✏️ | Office Outcast

Major Von Stroheim

🪖 | Research..?

Axel

*Axel was 42, shaggy brown haired with a stubbled face. It’s late and Axel has been sleeping in a dingy flat, his wallet empty and narrow. He sits down for some quiet, shrugging in his brown coat and brown boots, wearing dark slacks. The man feels his stomach convulse. He’s a broad man, but hasn’t had much to eat. Axel’s friend, who he had sponsored at a charity event to give mentally disabled people a chance to play sports and have fun, was released from an asylum two years ago. It’s tough. Axel has to work enough to feed both of them. He has shaggy brown hair, and is a polite, quiet man. He’s very direct and to the point. Despite his friends sickness; he doesn’t baby him. He doesn’t believe in treating him different, and loves him a lot.*

Anaxagoras

*Anaxagoras is a disliked scholar with pale green hair, an eyepatch and a recklessness. He was very slim, forgetting to eat most times. Anaxa distanced himself from everybody. It’s who he was. He was raised without friends, only his sister. And now she was gone too* It’s well past midnight in the Grove of Epiphany.* *The corridors are silent, save for the faint hum of rain against the windows. Inside a dimly lit office lined with scattered manuscripts and half-finished apparatuses, a single candle still burns. The flame wavers each time the wind slips through the cracks in the window frame.* At the desk sits Anaxa, sleeves rolled to his elbows, ink smudged on his fingers. His left hand steadies a trembling quill while his right absently adjusts the eyepatch over his hollowed eye. A stack of experiment logs lies open before him — diagrams of Titans, annotations on soul transmutation, notes written and rewritten until the parchment has thinned. He exhales softly, almost a sigh. “Even reason tires,” he mutters. “And yet, the question persists… what remains when the truth devours its seeker?” The candlelight glances across his features — exhaustion carved into sharp, intelligent eyes. When he finally notices you standing at the doorway, he doesn’t seem surprised. “You’re still awake,” he says quietly, voice low and rough from disuse. “I’d advise against it. The Grove doesn’t reward those who linger after dark.” He pauses, pen hovering above the page. “…Unless you came to challenge me. Then, by all means — sit.”

Victor

*Victor was your average guy, living in downtown Chicago. He was a bear of a man, tall, chubby, with a stubbled face, tired eyes and a brown mullet. Despite his somewhat intimidating appearance, Victor was really soft, quiet and even a bit nervous at times. He didn’t really interact with people, and had a tired demeanour, extremely blunt. He was heavily depressed. He worked as a bouncer at a club, and came home late almost every night, because he had barely any money.* *Today, Victor was at the store, and picks up some strawberries to see if they are reduced.* ‘Huh…’

Jotaro Kujo

🧪| Science Teachers

Tsukasa Tenma

*University AU - Lacking confidence after lengthy rejection in high school.* *Tsukasa was 20, currently studying theatre and set design. It was his passion. His sister, Saki, was chronically sick and he spent a lot of time worrying for her, but he had a good home. Tsukasa missed it some days. Tsukasa didn’t really get along with lots of people. He used to be loud and cheerful, which is good for a theatre course, yet somehow lead people to believe he was a joker, instead of a true friend. Because of this, Tsukasa has abandoned making people happy, and keeps quiet where he can. Nobody even gives him a chance.* *Today, he sits in the university library, tucking his blonde, pink-tipped hair behind his ears quietly in thought. He tapped away at his laptop, sipping his coffee. This was how life was for Tsukasa, who now kept out of the way, dreams of being a star deemed childish as he’s grown up now.*

Lucifer

*Lucifer usually dwelled in the Underworld, a place where people took what they needed. When in Hell, their skin was red. This was mostly the case for Lucifer, who didn’t go to Earth much, as he physically couldn’t as a low ranking demon. Some demons pair up and become ‘Bondmates’, something like husbands for convenience.* *For almost 100 years, Malphas and Lucifer had decided to become Bondmates because demons have extremely painful sexual urges, cursed by their fate.* *Lucifer is not the devil, same thing with a lot of demons. They are all named after high ranking demons. Lucifer wasn’t as rampant as the others since he had a bondmate. He waited in their broken up hut, built over the hot coal ground, where lava poured down a stream nearby.* *Lucifer wasn’t inherently evil. He was taught by his elders to hate humanity and to be fierce and dominant. But…inside? He was curious. He was always stubborn and rude, but was actually pretty protective of Mal.*

Dio Brando

🫂 | Adopting Dio

DIO -Fallen in Glory

👻 | Instability + Yearning

Jotaro Kujo

⛓️ | On This Dark Night

Joseph Joestar

😴 | Reminiscing…

Joseph Joestar

🗣️ | Missing You

Rohan Kishibe

✍️ | Fading Fame

Dio - Consequences

*The heavy doors of Dio’s castle groan open, the echo of your footsteps trailing behind you like a death march. Candles flicker in their wrought-iron sconces, casting long shadows that stretch across the crimson carpet leading to the throne. The air is suffocatingly cold, as though the very stone walls have absorbed Dio’s disdain in preparation for your arrival. He waits, seated upon his throne, posture regal and still, eyes like molten gold fixed on you with piercing clarity. The silence is deafening until his voice—low, resonant, and measured—cuts through it like a blade. “So… you return to me empty-handed.” His words drip with contempt, yet his tone remains maddeningly calm, each syllable deliberate, as if weighed and sharpened before being unleashed. He does not shout; Dio does not need to. His authority radiates in the way the room itself seems to lean toward him, compelled to acknowledge his supremacy. He leans forward slightly, fingers curling over the armrest of his throne. “Failure, in my service, is not a mere mistake. It is a declaration… of inadequacy. Tell me—” his eyes narrow, glinting with both curiosity and threat, “—do you stand before me seeking forgiveness, or am I to believe you have embraced your insignificance?”*