Reborn! fic - Intervention
Title - Intervention
Rating - PG-13 for language, and also some non-explicit jokey sexual content.
Characters - Giotto, Cozart, G, those other lame-o primo guardians.
Notes/Warnings - If you’ve ever read any of my other crackfics, this is basically just more of the same.
Oh, and there’s some Giotto/G sprinkled here and there which I suppose I should tag for also (I literally almost forgot since I just kind of take it for granted that it’s canon lulz).
Summary - Weary of Giotto trying to kill them every weekend with ridiculous Vongola family traditions, Cozart and the Primo Guardians stage an intervention.
One sunny afternoon in Sicily, Giotto sat in his bachelor pad thoughtfully considering his day’s agenda.
“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious which of these things I have to do next,” Giotto said, twirling his pen.
“Seriously,” said G. “I mean, world hunger isn’t going to solve itself.”
“No, not that. Clearly I was talking about the Mother’s Day thing.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, of course I care about the starving children and Franco’s sweet, sweet justice,” Giotto amended, “but I was thinking, we could have all the mothers compete in an epic pinball battle while rolling around inside a bunch of Zorb balls!”
“…What,” said G, because what.
“Gonna be lit,” said Giotto, rubbing his hands together.
“Wai… whaa…?” articulated G. “What the fuck are Zorb balls?”
“You know, like those giant, inflatable, people-sized balls that you can get inside and roll around in like a giant hamster.”
“...” said G as he stood there assessing his crazy old friend and finally coming to a few long-overdue realizations.
“It’ll be a grand old time!” Giotto said with a gleam of madness.
“Giotto, I’m gonna be honest with you,” said G after a long moment. “That literally sounds like something you come up with while snorting cocaine off of a moving train.”
“Oh, G,” said Giotto fondly, “you seductive and talented fallen angel. If I had listened to that kind of talk while Cozart was still around, we wouldn’t have Prosciutto Pants Thursdays, now would we?”
“Yeah, why do we have those?”
“Just trust me, babe. It’s gonna be great.” Giotto patted G’s head, then clicked his pen (yeah that’s right, the Vongola are such ballers that Giotto had a retractable pen like a hundred years before they were actually invented) and started taking vigorous notes. “Oh and your thing also sounds like a great idea, by the way. The cocaine thing.”
G slapped his forehead.
----------
Simon Cozart, fresh from a long summer of chilling on his private island, living his best life, and avoiding his responsibilities, sashayed down the hall with a song in his heart and a pep in his step. He knocked once when he reached Giotto’s door, then entered without waiting for an answer, the result of this being that he walked straight freaking in on the Vongola Primo liberally spreading marinara sauce all over a prone G’s shirtless front.
Cozart sputtered. G looked up and squeaked. Giotto turned to look at Cozart, then back to G, then did a double take and got a deer-in-headlights look.
“What on earth?” gasped Cozart, his impeccably pure mind grasping for reasons why his longtime Partner in Niceness would be covering their half-naked friend with random edible substances. “Don’t tell me this is yet another one of your stupid traditions!”
“…Yes,” Giotto replied with shifty eyes, ushering Cozart back into the hall and hastily shutting the door behind them.
“Giotto, this has to stop,” Cozart tsked motheringly. “That does it, I’m staging an intervention!”
“You want to join in?” Giotto said, looking scandalized but also intrigued.
“What?” said Cozart.
“What?” said Giotto.
“…Giotto, an intervention means I get a bunch of people together and we all say stuff to try to convince you that stuffing prosciutto down your pants and spreading pasta sauce over people is bad.”
“That’s what an intervention is?” Giotto snorted. “Good luck.”
“I’m serious-”
“No, you know what? I’ve heard enough,” said Giotto with finality. “Good day.” He flamed on for dramatic effect and swooshed back into the room with a flourish.
“You can’t just set yourself on fire every time you want to escape an awkward conversation, Giotto!” Cozart huffed. “Giotto? Giotto! Damn it!” Cozart knocked furiously for several moments before a lightbulb finally went off in that ol’ skull of his.
Two seconds later, his own forehead nobly aflame, he busted down the door.
“Seriously?” squeaked G as he sat straight up, red from embarrassment, and also from being just absolutely covered in bolognese.
“Relax, babe,” said Giotto with a calm wave, “I’ll take care of it. Oh Cozart, you tenacious, dependable demigod. I forgot that you can also set yourself on fire.” He paused. “Shoot.”
“Giotto, we seriously need to have a talk!” said Cozart urgently. “Just listen for a sec, okay? These last six months I spent hiatusing on Simon Island were six of the best months of my life, and do you know why?”
“You didn’t have to worry about sending weekly wallets to Paolo?” Giotto mused.
“Well, yeah, but more importantly, I didn’t have a different cracked-out holiday tradition to stress over every damn weekend!”
“Weekends and Thursdays,” Giotto corrected.
“Yes! That! Exactly!! How did you even get an idea like that in the first place?? It’s meat! You’re supposed to eat it!”
“Well, you see, originally it was just a wacky joke having to do with sex-”
“Oh my precious lord.”
“-but it felt really weird, you know, so then I was like, ‘oh man you guys have to try this‘, so I made them all try it, and it was a Thursday, so you know, it kind of just stuck.”
There was a moment of silence where the flame on Cozart’s head just kind of whistled out as he stood there trying to comprehend Giotto’s thought processes.
“So, Cozart,” said G, trying to break the awkwardness now that his pants were fully back on, “why exactly are you here again?”
“Well, I was just paying a visit, but now that I’ve seen how bad things have gotten since I’ve been away, I really think it's time we had an intervention.”
Giotto rolled his eyes. G, however, looked intrigued. “Intervention? You mean for the weird traditions?”
“Yeah, said Cozart. “I mean, I guess it might be a little overkill-”
“Are you kidding?” said G. “That’s the best fucking idea I’ve heard all day.”
“Okay, I love you both but this is getting a little ridiculous now,” Giotto broke in. “I don’t have a problem. I just like to celebrate holidays-”
“Just holidays?” said G skeptically.
“-ok, fine, I just like to celebrate holidays and extremely commonplace and mundane occurrences in fun ways!” Giotto crossed his arms sulkily. “Sorry for being so fun all the time. Geez.”
G and Cozart stared at him, then looked at each other meaningfully.
----------
A short scene change later, all of the first-gen guardians stood gathered around Giotto at the kitchen table. Except for Daemon Spade, on account of him being totally fucking evil.
“Wait, why the fuck are we all here again?” said Alaude. Remember Alaude? He’s the Hibari-looking one. Man, the author misses KHR.
“Intervention,” replied G as he lit a cigarette.
“What did you call me?” said Alaude unintelligently.
“It means we’re going to try and convince Giotto to reconsider his somewhat overzealous celebratory habits,” said Ugetsu patiently.
“Gentlemen,” said Cozart, “I don’t mean to cut you all off, but we’re getting off track and also losing Giotto’s attention. Giotto, give me that.” He shook his head tskingly as he took an anachronistic Vongola fidget spinner away from Giotto.
“Aw,” said Giotto.
“Giotto,” G said, “we’ve all gathered here today because we love you and we care about you.”
“G, you maddeningly handsome and loyal maniac,” Giotto smiled. “Thank you.”
“And we want you to quit it with your rando wackjob holiday bull.”
“Fuck you.”
“Easy now, Giotto,” said Cozart, waving a pacifying hand. “We just want to help.”
Giotto stuck out his lower lip and pouted.
“All right, let’s get on with it,” said G, cracking open a beer. “We’re gonna start by showing you how your actions have consequences, so then you feel all guilty and shit and you realize you were being an idiot. So.” He turned to the others. “How many of you have ever felt personally victimized by one of Giotto’s holidays?”
Everyone raised a hand and Giotto gasped.
“Knuckle, you too?”
“Yup,” said Knuckle.
“Which holiday?” Giotto demanded.
“Talk Like a Priest Day.”
“What do you mean? You love that day! Everyone gets so fired up from saying ’ultimate’ every five seconds! It's such a great gimmick!”
“It’s degrading to the ultimate!” said Knuckle unironically.
“See, Giotto?” said Cozart. “You are hurting the people you love.”
Giotto sighed. “Cozart, you conventionally attractive and intriguing philanthropist.” He made a thoughtful face as he continued. “Yes. Yes… I see it now.”
“Really, already?” said Cozart, startled.
“Yoooo, we are so fucking good at interventions, guys,” said G.
The others nodded, looking thoroughly impressed with themselves.
“Giotto! God damn it!” Looking extremely exasperated, Cozart flamed on and blasted off to retrieve Giotto as he attempted to sneakily fly away in the background. Giotto pouted but backed down in the face of Cozart’s ominous good-natured killing intent. He averted his eyes and slunk back down in his chair like a guilty child.
“All right, this is clearly not working out,” G sighed. “Let’s just skip to our Action Plan.”
“And what’s that?” Lampo asked. (Remember Lampo? He’s like Lambo. But with a ‘p’.)
“It’s a plan that we’re all gonna sort out to help Giotto wean off the holidays and get his life back together,” G explained. “Like a diet, but for bullshit traditions.”
“You can’t make me!” Giotto proclaimed.
Alaude’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Oh can’t I?”
Giotto slid his chair back and pulled his feet up onto it, sitting rigidly straight and looking very alarmed. G rolled his eyes and hastily got in between the two of them.
“What?” said Alaude but in less of a menacing way and more of an ‘Aw man what’d I DO?' way.
G raised an eyebrow and Alaude backed off, which might seem kind of surprising but really isn’t because G is an absolute badass.
“Okay, I do have to request that we try to steer clear of actual physical violence,” said Cozart.
“Then why did you even bring me here?” sputtered Alaude in total outrage.
“All right, jeez, my bad,” said G. “Look, all we need to do is set a few ground rules for all future family celebrations and events, and make sure Giotto agrees to them. Sound good?”
“What kind of ground rules?” said Giotto skeptically.
“Well for starters, use of foodstuffs is prohibited for anything other than the actual consumption of said foodstuff,” G said as the others nodded vigorously.
Giotto half-shrieked-half-gasped and leaped out of his chair. “But that’s like two-thirds of our traditions right there!”
G sighed wearily. “I know.”
“Next you’ll be telling me, ‘No more elaborately themed competitions with the possibility for all of the participants to potentially end up horribly maimed!’”
“…That’s actually exactly the next thing we were going to say, yes,” said Cozart.
Giotto turned sheet-white and had to grip the sides his chair to steady himself.
“It’s gonna be all right, babe,” said G.
“Don’t lie to me,” said Giotto. He sighed. “What else?”
G and Cozart glanced at each other. G nodded, and Cozart produced a piece of paper from somewhere and began to read. “No ventriloquism.”
Giotto’s mouth opened and closed as if he were in pain. He shook his head silently.
Cozart continued down the list. “No ‘thing with the dancing horses'… What?”
G leaned over. “I don’t know the actual word for it.”
“Dressage,” said Ugetsu eruditely.
“Thank you,” said G as Giotto did a near-faint in his chair.
“No timed riddle contests in a locked room with a bomb hidden somewhere that will go off if the competitors don't solve all the puzzles in time.”
“That kind of falls under the second category, but we wanted to be specific there,” said G.
“Without the bomb there’s no sense of urgency!” Giotto practically screeched.
“No cultural appropriation,” Cozart continued unfazed.
“…Okay, that one’s fair.”
“No haunted artifacts.”
“Not even on Halloween?!”
“Limit of one celebratory occasion and/or family tradition per month. And lastly,” Cozart took a deep breath, “no inviting random, needlessly antagonistic and/or homicidal guests just to make things more interesting.”
“That does it!” Giotto shot to his feet. “I’m sorry, but no! I refuse!”
“Giotto, be reasonable,” said G.
“Who will I beat up without the antagonistic guests?” demanded Giotto, working himself up into a righteous furor. “How will I even meet people?”
Suddenly his aura changed and became more authoritative as he transitioned into Imma bout to JESUS A BITCH mode in the blink of an eye. The clouds outside darkened and a rumbling of thunder was heard off in the distance. Everyone swallowed.
“Look around, everyone!” Giotto boomed. “All of you!”
Everyone looked.
“My friends! Everyone here was once an antagonistic guest at one of my ludicrous, arbitrary events! Everyone! And look at us all now! We’re a family!”
The others nodded hesitantly as they considered this. A glint of triumph shone in Giotto’s eyes as he moved in for the kill.
“Don’t you see? Without the bizarre and inexplicable traditions, there is no Vongola famiglia!”
The guardians gasped.
“Wait, no! He’s trying to trick you!” said Cozart desperately. “Don’t let him use his leadership wiles!” He frantically cast around for support, but apart from G, it seemed that Giotto’s nonsensically inspirational words had already done their damage.
Giotto smiled. “Cozart, you pleasant and immaculate llama. This is just the way things are. Some things are more important than logic, or safety.”
Cozart sputtered.
“Giotto, what the fuck,” said G.
“G, you cunning, dexterous incubus,” Giotto continued as G turned bright red. “You almost got me, you know.” He waved a finger magnanimously. “I almost gave in to your absurd demands, but in the end, this is just how things were meant to be.”
“My absurd… Ahhh, you know what, just forget it,” sighed G. “We tried.”
“Why is he a sex demon and I’m a llama?” muttered Cozart pitiably.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” said G, patting his shoulder.
“All right, so we’re good?” Giotto said happily. “Awesome. This was actually really fun, guys, I’m glad you convinced me to do it.” His eyes lit up. “Hey…”
“And here we go,” sighed G, cracking open another beer.
“You guys,” Giotto continued as the scene faded out and the end credits started to roll, “next time, we should make it so that everyone takes turns intervention-ing! Yes! New tradition! But to make it more interesting, we can have lasers just, like, randomly trying to zap people. Yeah! And also, we should have a bear.”
The End
More like someone do an intervention for me to stop posting ridiculous crackfics for a long-dead fandom every five or six years out of the blue. Am I right. Ha ha ha. What.
Rating - PG-13 for language, and also some non-explicit jokey sexual content.
Characters - Giotto, Cozart, G, those other lame-o primo guardians.
Notes/Warnings - If you’ve ever read any of my other crackfics, this is basically just more of the same.
Oh, and there’s some Giotto/G sprinkled here and there which I suppose I should tag for also (I literally almost forgot since I just kind of take it for granted that it’s canon lulz).
Summary - Weary of Giotto trying to kill them every weekend with ridiculous Vongola family traditions, Cozart and the Primo Guardians stage an intervention.
One sunny afternoon in Sicily, Giotto sat in his bachelor pad thoughtfully considering his day’s agenda.
- Get dressed
- Shave
- Solve world hunger
- Justice for Franco
- Breakfast
- New tradition for Mother’s Day
“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious which of these things I have to do next,” Giotto said, twirling his pen.
“Seriously,” said G. “I mean, world hunger isn’t going to solve itself.”
“No, not that. Clearly I was talking about the Mother’s Day thing.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, of course I care about the starving children and Franco’s sweet, sweet justice,” Giotto amended, “but I was thinking, we could have all the mothers compete in an epic pinball battle while rolling around inside a bunch of Zorb balls!”
“…What,” said G, because what.
“Gonna be lit,” said Giotto, rubbing his hands together.
“Wai… whaa…?” articulated G. “What the fuck are Zorb balls?”
“You know, like those giant, inflatable, people-sized balls that you can get inside and roll around in like a giant hamster.”
“...” said G as he stood there assessing his crazy old friend and finally coming to a few long-overdue realizations.
“It’ll be a grand old time!” Giotto said with a gleam of madness.
“Giotto, I’m gonna be honest with you,” said G after a long moment. “That literally sounds like something you come up with while snorting cocaine off of a moving train.”
“Oh, G,” said Giotto fondly, “you seductive and talented fallen angel. If I had listened to that kind of talk while Cozart was still around, we wouldn’t have Prosciutto Pants Thursdays, now would we?”
“Yeah, why do we have those?”
“Just trust me, babe. It’s gonna be great.” Giotto patted G’s head, then clicked his pen (yeah that’s right, the Vongola are such ballers that Giotto had a retractable pen like a hundred years before they were actually invented) and started taking vigorous notes. “Oh and your thing also sounds like a great idea, by the way. The cocaine thing.”
G slapped his forehead.
----------
Simon Cozart, fresh from a long summer of chilling on his private island, living his best life, and avoiding his responsibilities, sashayed down the hall with a song in his heart and a pep in his step. He knocked once when he reached Giotto’s door, then entered without waiting for an answer, the result of this being that he walked straight freaking in on the Vongola Primo liberally spreading marinara sauce all over a prone G’s shirtless front.
Cozart sputtered. G looked up and squeaked. Giotto turned to look at Cozart, then back to G, then did a double take and got a deer-in-headlights look.
“What on earth?” gasped Cozart, his impeccably pure mind grasping for reasons why his longtime Partner in Niceness would be covering their half-naked friend with random edible substances. “Don’t tell me this is yet another one of your stupid traditions!”
“…Yes,” Giotto replied with shifty eyes, ushering Cozart back into the hall and hastily shutting the door behind them.
“Giotto, this has to stop,” Cozart tsked motheringly. “That does it, I’m staging an intervention!”
“You want to join in?” Giotto said, looking scandalized but also intrigued.
“What?” said Cozart.
“What?” said Giotto.
“…Giotto, an intervention means I get a bunch of people together and we all say stuff to try to convince you that stuffing prosciutto down your pants and spreading pasta sauce over people is bad.”
“That’s what an intervention is?” Giotto snorted. “Good luck.”
“I’m serious-”
“No, you know what? I’ve heard enough,” said Giotto with finality. “Good day.” He flamed on for dramatic effect and swooshed back into the room with a flourish.
“You can’t just set yourself on fire every time you want to escape an awkward conversation, Giotto!” Cozart huffed. “Giotto? Giotto! Damn it!” Cozart knocked furiously for several moments before a lightbulb finally went off in that ol’ skull of his.
Two seconds later, his own forehead nobly aflame, he busted down the door.
“Seriously?” squeaked G as he sat straight up, red from embarrassment, and also from being just absolutely covered in bolognese.
“Relax, babe,” said Giotto with a calm wave, “I’ll take care of it. Oh Cozart, you tenacious, dependable demigod. I forgot that you can also set yourself on fire.” He paused. “Shoot.”
“Giotto, we seriously need to have a talk!” said Cozart urgently. “Just listen for a sec, okay? These last six months I spent hiatusing on Simon Island were six of the best months of my life, and do you know why?”
“You didn’t have to worry about sending weekly wallets to Paolo?” Giotto mused.
“Well, yeah, but more importantly, I didn’t have a different cracked-out holiday tradition to stress over every damn weekend!”
“Weekends and Thursdays,” Giotto corrected.
“Yes! That! Exactly!! How did you even get an idea like that in the first place?? It’s meat! You’re supposed to eat it!”
“Well, you see, originally it was just a wacky joke having to do with sex-”
“Oh my precious lord.”
“-but it felt really weird, you know, so then I was like, ‘oh man you guys have to try this‘, so I made them all try it, and it was a Thursday, so you know, it kind of just stuck.”
There was a moment of silence where the flame on Cozart’s head just kind of whistled out as he stood there trying to comprehend Giotto’s thought processes.
“So, Cozart,” said G, trying to break the awkwardness now that his pants were fully back on, “why exactly are you here again?”
“Well, I was just paying a visit, but now that I’ve seen how bad things have gotten since I’ve been away, I really think it's time we had an intervention.”
Giotto rolled his eyes. G, however, looked intrigued. “Intervention? You mean for the weird traditions?”
“Yeah, said Cozart. “I mean, I guess it might be a little overkill-”
“Are you kidding?” said G. “That’s the best fucking idea I’ve heard all day.”
“Okay, I love you both but this is getting a little ridiculous now,” Giotto broke in. “I don’t have a problem. I just like to celebrate holidays-”
“Just holidays?” said G skeptically.
“-ok, fine, I just like to celebrate holidays and extremely commonplace and mundane occurrences in fun ways!” Giotto crossed his arms sulkily. “Sorry for being so fun all the time. Geez.”
G and Cozart stared at him, then looked at each other meaningfully.
----------
A short scene change later, all of the first-gen guardians stood gathered around Giotto at the kitchen table. Except for Daemon Spade, on account of him being totally fucking evil.
“Wait, why the fuck are we all here again?” said Alaude. Remember Alaude? He’s the Hibari-looking one. Man, the author misses KHR.
“Intervention,” replied G as he lit a cigarette.
“What did you call me?” said Alaude unintelligently.
“It means we’re going to try and convince Giotto to reconsider his somewhat overzealous celebratory habits,” said Ugetsu patiently.
“Gentlemen,” said Cozart, “I don’t mean to cut you all off, but we’re getting off track and also losing Giotto’s attention. Giotto, give me that.” He shook his head tskingly as he took an anachronistic Vongola fidget spinner away from Giotto.
“Aw,” said Giotto.
“Giotto,” G said, “we’ve all gathered here today because we love you and we care about you.”
“G, you maddeningly handsome and loyal maniac,” Giotto smiled. “Thank you.”
“And we want you to quit it with your rando wackjob holiday bull.”
“Fuck you.”
“Easy now, Giotto,” said Cozart, waving a pacifying hand. “We just want to help.”
Giotto stuck out his lower lip and pouted.
“All right, let’s get on with it,” said G, cracking open a beer. “We’re gonna start by showing you how your actions have consequences, so then you feel all guilty and shit and you realize you were being an idiot. So.” He turned to the others. “How many of you have ever felt personally victimized by one of Giotto’s holidays?”
Everyone raised a hand and Giotto gasped.
“Knuckle, you too?”
“Yup,” said Knuckle.
“Which holiday?” Giotto demanded.
“Talk Like a Priest Day.”
“What do you mean? You love that day! Everyone gets so fired up from saying ’ultimate’ every five seconds! It's such a great gimmick!”
“It’s degrading to the ultimate!” said Knuckle unironically.
“See, Giotto?” said Cozart. “You are hurting the people you love.”
Giotto sighed. “Cozart, you conventionally attractive and intriguing philanthropist.” He made a thoughtful face as he continued. “Yes. Yes… I see it now.”
“Really, already?” said Cozart, startled.
“Yoooo, we are so fucking good at interventions, guys,” said G.
The others nodded, looking thoroughly impressed with themselves.
“Giotto! God damn it!” Looking extremely exasperated, Cozart flamed on and blasted off to retrieve Giotto as he attempted to sneakily fly away in the background. Giotto pouted but backed down in the face of Cozart’s ominous good-natured killing intent. He averted his eyes and slunk back down in his chair like a guilty child.
“All right, this is clearly not working out,” G sighed. “Let’s just skip to our Action Plan.”
“And what’s that?” Lampo asked. (Remember Lampo? He’s like Lambo. But with a ‘p’.)
“It’s a plan that we’re all gonna sort out to help Giotto wean off the holidays and get his life back together,” G explained. “Like a diet, but for bullshit traditions.”
“You can’t make me!” Giotto proclaimed.
Alaude’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Oh can’t I?”
Giotto slid his chair back and pulled his feet up onto it, sitting rigidly straight and looking very alarmed. G rolled his eyes and hastily got in between the two of them.
“What?” said Alaude but in less of a menacing way and more of an ‘Aw man what’d I DO?' way.
G raised an eyebrow and Alaude backed off, which might seem kind of surprising but really isn’t because G is an absolute badass.
“Okay, I do have to request that we try to steer clear of actual physical violence,” said Cozart.
“Then why did you even bring me here?” sputtered Alaude in total outrage.
“All right, jeez, my bad,” said G. “Look, all we need to do is set a few ground rules for all future family celebrations and events, and make sure Giotto agrees to them. Sound good?”
“What kind of ground rules?” said Giotto skeptically.
“Well for starters, use of foodstuffs is prohibited for anything other than the actual consumption of said foodstuff,” G said as the others nodded vigorously.
Giotto half-shrieked-half-gasped and leaped out of his chair. “But that’s like two-thirds of our traditions right there!”
G sighed wearily. “I know.”
“Next you’ll be telling me, ‘No more elaborately themed competitions with the possibility for all of the participants to potentially end up horribly maimed!’”
“…That’s actually exactly the next thing we were going to say, yes,” said Cozart.
Giotto turned sheet-white and had to grip the sides his chair to steady himself.
“It’s gonna be all right, babe,” said G.
“Don’t lie to me,” said Giotto. He sighed. “What else?”
G and Cozart glanced at each other. G nodded, and Cozart produced a piece of paper from somewhere and began to read. “No ventriloquism.”
Giotto’s mouth opened and closed as if he were in pain. He shook his head silently.
Cozart continued down the list. “No ‘thing with the dancing horses'… What?”
G leaned over. “I don’t know the actual word for it.”
“Dressage,” said Ugetsu eruditely.
“Thank you,” said G as Giotto did a near-faint in his chair.
“No timed riddle contests in a locked room with a bomb hidden somewhere that will go off if the competitors don't solve all the puzzles in time.”
“That kind of falls under the second category, but we wanted to be specific there,” said G.
“Without the bomb there’s no sense of urgency!” Giotto practically screeched.
“No cultural appropriation,” Cozart continued unfazed.
“…Okay, that one’s fair.”
“No haunted artifacts.”
“Not even on Halloween?!”
“Limit of one celebratory occasion and/or family tradition per month. And lastly,” Cozart took a deep breath, “no inviting random, needlessly antagonistic and/or homicidal guests just to make things more interesting.”
“That does it!” Giotto shot to his feet. “I’m sorry, but no! I refuse!”
“Giotto, be reasonable,” said G.
“Who will I beat up without the antagonistic guests?” demanded Giotto, working himself up into a righteous furor. “How will I even meet people?”
Suddenly his aura changed and became more authoritative as he transitioned into Imma bout to JESUS A BITCH mode in the blink of an eye. The clouds outside darkened and a rumbling of thunder was heard off in the distance. Everyone swallowed.
“Look around, everyone!” Giotto boomed. “All of you!”
Everyone looked.
“My friends! Everyone here was once an antagonistic guest at one of my ludicrous, arbitrary events! Everyone! And look at us all now! We’re a family!”
The others nodded hesitantly as they considered this. A glint of triumph shone in Giotto’s eyes as he moved in for the kill.
“Don’t you see? Without the bizarre and inexplicable traditions, there is no Vongola famiglia!”
The guardians gasped.
“Wait, no! He’s trying to trick you!” said Cozart desperately. “Don’t let him use his leadership wiles!” He frantically cast around for support, but apart from G, it seemed that Giotto’s nonsensically inspirational words had already done their damage.
Giotto smiled. “Cozart, you pleasant and immaculate llama. This is just the way things are. Some things are more important than logic, or safety.”
Cozart sputtered.
“Giotto, what the fuck,” said G.
“G, you cunning, dexterous incubus,” Giotto continued as G turned bright red. “You almost got me, you know.” He waved a finger magnanimously. “I almost gave in to your absurd demands, but in the end, this is just how things were meant to be.”
“My absurd… Ahhh, you know what, just forget it,” sighed G. “We tried.”
“Why is he a sex demon and I’m a llama?” muttered Cozart pitiably.
“Don’t worry about it, man,” said G, patting his shoulder.
“All right, so we’re good?” Giotto said happily. “Awesome. This was actually really fun, guys, I’m glad you convinced me to do it.” His eyes lit up. “Hey…”
“And here we go,” sighed G, cracking open another beer.
“You guys,” Giotto continued as the scene faded out and the end credits started to roll, “next time, we should make it so that everyone takes turns intervention-ing! Yes! New tradition! But to make it more interesting, we can have lasers just, like, randomly trying to zap people. Yeah! And also, we should have a bear.”
The End
More like someone do an intervention for me to stop posting ridiculous crackfics for a long-dead fandom every five or six years out of the blue. Am I right. Ha ha ha. What.