#bitterlimoncello

[strawberryrots]

‘you are so bad at this. it’s cute.’

@bitterlimoncello //  🍓 local shidan maker says that italian genius is incapable of doing any housework

fugo’s first instinct is to throw a hand up and shush her but it’ll take his concentration off managing the flow of icing coming from the piping bag. this is the 5th attempt he’s made at flooding the inside of the flower but fugo has a reason to believe that limoncello’s presence alone is what throws him off his game. she could bump me at anytime.... poke at my hand... whisper in my ear....randomly come out and squeeze the bag..

ah...

in fugo’s concentration (and lack thereof in fear) he squeezes the icing bag and a shot of red royal icing streams across the table. all previous passable attempts look like they’ve become the victims to a cookie massacre.  “listen... i plan the recipes. i buy the ingredients, i read the instructions out loud and set the timer. cooking it myself especially with a gallery watching my every move was never in my job description.”

[stcndsadvcnture]

@bitterlimoncello​ asked:  ‘ naples is the detroit of italy. ’ @ mista fkdhsfkhdskgh

shit my friends have said|| accepting

       finger taps his chin at her words. “You know what, I think you might be on to somethin’ here.” now there’s interest in his eyes as he leans forward on the table, investing himself now in this topic. “Okay, explain, let’s hear it. Is it cause of the cuisine? Cause I hear the food in Detroit is pretty damn good, but i ALSO think the food in Naples is probably a lot better. Or maybe it’s cause of another reason?”

[zettaflarc]

@bitterlimoncello​ ♥

“The wallet. Give it back.”

[miiscreants]

❛ what’s wrong, you don’t trust me? ❜ @ ghiaccio. asked by possibly the least trustworthy woman in the greater naples area.

✧ ——— ❝ It's not that I don't trust you.... I just want to know if this isn't some kind of prank where I end up looking like a fucking fool and everyone will be making mockery of me for weeks on end. Because if it is so then no I won't step forward. ❞ In which he indeed doesn't trust her.

[inevitableshott]

@bitterlimoncello asked  3 - What was your father like in general?

Send a number and ask my muse about their father. (not accepting)

      How does one describe a man that couldn’t take a joke? That every single thing in his reality had to cater to his whim. A hair out of place could spiral into a week's ordeal of a ticking time bomb at the head of the dinner table. Nothing went his way and it was just the world's fault. Never enough money, never enough food, no one cared to make an effort in his reality.

      There could be a million and one words to describe such a misogynistic, narcissistic, egomaniac but the one Mista settled on was-- 

“A douche.”

[inevitableshott]

Anonymous said: Well, it could be a lot worse. At least they aren't calling you his Number Four.

"You dumb fucking shitheads only have the one joke, huh..."

       Limoncello isn't a particularly nice person, but she knows a line when she sees one. The number four, the sight of sand tinted eerie-blue in the night... they're fears rooted in different places, but Limoncello recognizes the indignity in having someone prod at them--especially callous is the outsider who thinks they can do so without repercussion, like they're making a joke so worth laughing at that people will forget that they've got no right to.

       But Limoncello doesn't forget these things, and isn't a nice person. And that this bastard thinks they have any claim to try this shit makes her meaner still.

       "Say... you ever heard of the survival rule of threes? They say you can survive three hours in extreme conditions, three days without drinkable water, three weeks without food..." Limoncello tips her head, haughty and derisive, and eyes them up like a particularly unpleasant and unfortunate cockroach that's skittered into her line of sight. "Three minutes without breathable air, even... Ain't that something? So, y'know, since three's the limit, I'm kinda curious! If I deprived you of air for four minutes, would you still be able to hack out that impotent little deflated-condom-balloon wheeze you call a laugh after?" Her eyes narrow, smile sharp and toothy--predatory, more snarl than grin. She flicks at the padlocks on her belt and Smooth Criminal descends, unnervingly wide-eyed, onto her shoulders.

"Let's try it."

everyone thank @bitterlimoncello​ for their time

[hopingforjustice]

@bitterlimoncello said: 15. Do you want to parent like your father parented you? father’s day asks.  /  accepting.

ㅤ ㅤ ❝ I guess so! Dad was always very present in my life despite working a lot, and he made an effort to listen to me even though he was tired or busy with something. I would definitely try to always be there for my children, and do my best to understand them. I just wouldn't be so... Permissive? It was very good at that time, maybe that's why I liked him so much, but during my time babysitting I realized how children need discipline, for their own sake. ❞

[hopingforjustice]

@bitterlimoncello said: ❛ It’s not your fucking fault. ❜ poetry sentence starters.  /  still accepting.

ㅤ ㅤ The certain bluntness in Limoncello's voice has never been more appreciated. Her way of speaking, so sure of what she said and comfortable with that certainty, pulled the other out of the storm of negative thoughts blowing through her mind. Reimi lifted her head, pink eyes searching for dark browns, confusion being overshadowed by growing sadness. She did not think that situation would ever be possible. Not because she didn't trust the other girl — but because the story of how and why she died didn't seem so relevant anymore. Free from the alley, being a ghost has become almost comfortable. It was like living forever, without worries... But curiosity would flourish in the people around her anyway.

ㅤ ㅤ Death was a mysterious thing, even for people who dealt with things like physical manifestations of their fighting spirit every day. If Reimi asked questions and showed interest in their Stands, talking about herself seemed a natural but difficult response, because... It was her fault in a way. Her parents and Arnold did not have to die. They lost their lives because they were with her. Her gaze fell on her graceful hands, analyzing her palms and moving up her fingers, turning to check perfectly manicured nails, the skin soft and velvety. She thought it would be easier to talk about it with a girl, but found that it didn't make much difference.

ㅤ ㅤ On the other hand, she promised herself, and especially to the people who loved her, that that kind of thinking would no longer inhabit her mind. No, there was only one culprit, one person had enough power to prevent that situation, and unfortunately it was not Reimi. ❝ You are right, it’s not my fault. ❞ Her voice sounded almost like a whisper — an answer to herself rather than Limoncello. ❝ I thought this way for a long time, it’s hard to get rid of old habits. ❞ The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile, not as bright as ever, but an effort to thank that attempt to comfort her. ❝ So thank you, I appreciate it a lot. ❞ More than she would be able to express in words, even in gestures.