fragolatossico-blog-blog

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Pannacotta Fugo was not fortunate during his lifetime.

Pannacotta Fugo was not fortunate in his death, either.

The rusty smell of iron filled the old school's science lab. A fairly innoucous place most days. For now, it was far from innocent. There was no was anyone could ignore the bloody, morbid scribbles drawn on the walls carefully-- it was such a horrid sight, like some satanic ritual had taken place. Just yesterday, the lab was pristine, clean, ready for any student to come in a work with a thirst to learn--

But Fugo had no such thirst. He was deflated and unmotivated. He was unmoving, refusing to leave his room. The reasons for such a habit wear unclear and vague, if not childish and stupid. Despite all this, just yesterday, he was alive. He was breathing, sentient. He looked peaceful now, despite the clear bludgeoning of his head.

Did he not resist his assailant? That was the elephant in the room.

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Oh. That was way too much. Fugo flicks Narancia’s forehead in frustration, perhaps he was a little annoyed, too. Nothing new.

“Ugh. No. I’m not. Don’t take it the wrong way, stolto.” sighed Fugo. “I mean it very literally. I get worried and eventually sick thinking about you running your tongue and getting in trouble. At least now I can watch you carefully.” Half truth. A bad habit.

Fugo hadn’t thought about it. Not carefully. How did he feel about Narancia, anyways? Simply, he was essential to his survival, mentally, physically, whatever. That was the laconic. Narancia was needed, required. But didn’t that just mean that he was being used? It was a disgusting thing to think about, and unpleasant things weren’t so rare on the island. And thus, it was obvious that those thoughts are destructive.

The other possibility was tamer. But just as terrible. So really, it made sense to label the elder as his “best friend”. He didn’t feel deserving of such a title, but anything beyond that was gross. Even if he felt like that, it was gross. He could feel his pious grandmother frowning at his misplaced affections.

How unsightly.

“But… we’re… we’re best friends, right? I’m lonely when you leave,” This was, more or less, a compromise. “Being lonely isn’t very nice.” 

Was Fugo smiling again? Maybe.

we fuckin ballin motherfucker i cant believe tihs | narancia & fugo

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God, are you there? It's Pannacotta Fugo.

How do you tell someone you hate their guts?

Just kidding. It's quite the opposite... Fugo's palms were drenched in sweat, but it was indistinguishable whether he hadn't recovered from his fit or he was just nervous. Who thought the person he rescued years ago would become the object of his fancy? Narancia was scruffy, hot-blooded, noisy, even uncultured--  but that only gave Fugo all the more reason to protect him-- he was delicate, fragile, emotional!

Even so, Fugo manages to step on his nerves often. Klutz! All he could do now was ameliorate the situation... time and time again. "I'm fine. I'm not dying," half true statement. The boy could definitely get worse given time, weather, mental state, quality of food, amount of fluids taken... "I'm... fine, Narancia." A reassuring smile.

"I'm fine because... you're here."

we fuckin ballin motherfucker i cant believe tihs | narancia & fugo

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Gentle knocks came from an essentially gentle person... such knocks where not gentle on Fugo's conscious... it was fairly late at night, and here there he was, staggering, slowly restoring his balance. Still awfully dizzy, but hopefully coherent enough. Unhinging the door slightly, as far as the chain let it go, confirming it was him. And it was. With the chain undone, the door creaked and in went the little orange.

Fugo couldn't help but heave a sigh, noticing how badly he'd made Narancia worry. "You're awfully overdressed," he remarks lightly, even though he felt anything but. Feeling it was in bad taste, he narrows his gaze. "Sorry for waking you up so late." 

That's right, he was guilty. Default emotion by now.

He made the elder worry about him all the time, right? God. This wasn't any different.

"I'm sick," admitedly, he could have said it in a better way, but-- "I... we need to talk." 

Maybe he was crying, maybe he was not. Either way, default emotion.

we fuckin ballin motherfucker i cant believe tihs | narancia & fugo

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we fuckin ballin motherfucker i cant believe tihs | narancia & fugo

Waterdrops cascade down one particular sink in the quiet of room 119.

Fugo was just washing down his shame, so to speak. Keeping lunch down has been fairly difficult as of late. No longer was the reason anxiety, but simply poor health in general. He'd been quite sickly ever since he'd arrived, but it was never this bad. His condition had taken a turn for the worse ever since he'd miscalculated that one time-- perhaps it was due to the fact Fugo suddenly binged on every single food he would usually gag at... who even knew.

He was hungry, demons clawing the pits of his stomach for food to upchuck once more. But it was all fruitless as he knew what would happen. Changing mindset only guided the boy to further worry and dread. Pearching his hands, over his mouth, nose, his entire face-- even breathing had become laboring, but at this volatile time he had one answer left. Through pathetic tears, coughing, sputtering-- lie the light at the end of the cave.

              Narancia.

                                                            Maybe it was time to tell him

                                         about his little "condition", or "feelings" even if he

                                         didn't know what they were.

from: fugo to: narancia

[TXT]: come to my room asap

[TXT]: right now

[TXT]: now

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Guess who's going back to his room, asshole.

Your slab is here, asshole.

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Maybe it's best if he went more...

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                                     ABOUT THE MUSE.

General Appearance. — Fill out.

Name: Pannacotta Fugo Age: 16 Gender: Male Eye color: Green Hair color: Blonde Height: 175 cm Scars: Self inflicted stab wound to abdomen. Burns: Around lips and hip lie the markings of Purple Haze. Over weight: nah Under weight: bordering... experiencing loss of appetite/pain when swallowing as of recently

Favourite…

Colour: no no no no i'm not going to even start Movie: N/A T.V Show: N/A Food: Strawberry yogurt... eating hard things is getting painful Drink: Fruit punch, non-alchohlic Video Game: video games are for kids... Place: nowhere. nothing seems welcoming for some reason... Ice cream flavor: Doesn't eat ice cream...

Have you…

Had sex: NO Had sex in public: NO... Gotten pregnant: NO?! Kissed a boy: no Kissed a girl: no Gotten tattoos: no Gotten piercings: considering Smoked or drank: smoking is bad + doesn't down drink well Had a broken heart: ??? Been in love: maybe...??? Needed surgery: JESUS CHRIST PUT HIM BACK IN THE HOSPITAL Stayed up for more than 24 hours: that's not normal??

Are you…

A virgin: DEFINITELY. A cuddler: no A kisser: no Scared easily: no. yes. maybe. depends... Jealous easily: not really... Trustworthy: hell no Dominate: no Submissive: .............arguably In love: yes trivial information... Single: yes In a relationship: no Considered mean: when you're cold as hell it's probably a consideration...

Random questions.

Have you harmed yourself: yes Thought of suicide: sometimes Attempted suicide: once in a blue moon Killed someone: YES! THE MAFIA KILLS PEOPLE?! Wanted to kill someone: DEFINITELY Who did you kiss last: .......grandmother? Last text: 200 unanswered texts to sabitsuki Have/had a job: mafiasso isn't really a job, is it. Do drugs: NO? HELL NO. NO

--Fill out with Muse information--

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galant asshole:

“Non pensare troppo in esso, eh?” He knows quite the variations of languages, unfortunately. Nice try, though. Maybe speaking one that isn’t a popular thing to learn for information purposes would be a better idea. Something like pig-latin. Only the elementary kids know that one!

"How long did it take for you to figure that one out?" Big sigh. "Right, right. The bear is a devil, or at least a representation of one. I think everyone who has any idea what the definition of that word means realizes this. He has let people go, however. So long as one is dead and someone, somewhere is suffering, he doesn’t really have the mind to care about the rest! If a mass homicide means that someone who hasn’t broken yet has finally crumbled to their knees, then he’ll allow it, so long as they, in turn; will take the torch of onslaught murder and commit the crime. Get it?"

...Well, shit. Absolute bullocks.

"...not very long. I don't have to say everything I've come to realize to you." Sharp intake of breath. "...it's not my obligation."

"That much seems clear. It's solid enough. Monobear, though. What is he? He seems animatronic, or something similar... but also sentient. He could be controlled by some sick-minded madman. He could be some sort of alien. If vampires and demons exist, then it's definitely possible, right? But I believe in the former. There's no proof saying which he is." Pinches temple. Thinking is hard nowadays... "Are you familiar with the principal of probatio diabolica? Latin for devil's proof. There's no proof  stating that he isn't an alien. There's no proof stating he is. It's an enigma, really... Perhaps our misery is his planet's fuel. But there's no evidence to falsify nor confirm."

Someone's been reading too much brain junk food.

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"Romantico ... che è così strano. Quel ragazzo è così strano." Sulky, negative muttering in different language.exe was launched. Hopefully, you don't speak Italian. Grunt.

"...that's a weird way of putting it. I don't think everyone's dead. I think people are finally getting tired of killing... but the bear's a devil, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't stand for it. Our purpose is to die... and entertain. There's no way everyone just dropped dead. Or, at least, there's no way the bear would allow it."

"That depends, honestly. While it could mean everyone is sleeping and dreaming of whatever desires their mind possesses, it could also mean they’re all dead and we’re the only ones left." Small pause. "A world made between us. How romantic!"

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"Isn't that... a good thing?" Weirdo.

"The nights have seemed to grow quieter."

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There it is.

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           A football field. Two people. A man and a girl. Pannacotta Fugo. The stadium was empty.

Like his soul.

The girl's name registered into Fugo's memory quietly. Sheila E. The was a large shadow cast on the male beside her. The young female sealed her ears with shocking obedience, as if she trusted the man with her life. Fugo shook in his place. All he could stammer was, "Is he really dead?"

He had no idea who he was referring to. Most of the reply was static.  He heard terms such as six months. You were there. You aren't looking at reality.

Narancia, too. The news tossed so casually, like a mangled body is tossed into a creek, but really. That was what Narancia was now, right? According to this strange man. He didn't know any of these people despite recognizing the girl who he had never met. Maybe he'd forgotten. Maybe this dream was real. Maybe he was making it all up. A person cannot make up a face whilst dreaming. They can only dream of faces they've seen, so... it was much too enigmatic.

Misplaced memories explained so much, like scarring on his bottom lip akin to a marking from Purple Haze's blight, the breathing problems he'd encountered suddenly and kept so skillfully quiet about, a secret well kept, even from his best friend, who'd fuss and worry. He'd receive terrible bouts of something akin to an asthma attack if he lost his temper and shouted too much. Fugo managed to hide it so far. If one was to put one and two together, it seemed he orally inhaled small droplets of the virus. But even in small amounts, it would have still decayed his organs, giving him a more painful death than most infected victims.

He didn't want to be treated like an invalid by the one person he wanted to protect most of all. He can't protect that person if he's being babied. Even so, Fugo wished to be babied, he wished for something close to the warmth of his grandmother. The orange did not feel anything like that, but it felt just as good. How beautiful it was to have your head patted. He was not a loved child. "Used" was a better term. He could not go back to his past when he'd been disowned and kicked out of high society. Therefore, he was a unit used up and tossed prematurely. His usefulness to society was dismal. What troubled him, how ever, was the fact that Narancia was not "used". Narancia could have left him at any moment and gone back to school. He had a future before him. Fugo was way beyond his expiry date.

In extension, he did not want Narancia leaving him. His feelings towards the elder were vile and disgusting, things he hoped Narancia would never notice or realize for as long as eternity can go. He loathed the idea of such feelings being returned. He wasn't possessive in the sense that "you're mine" but "you're the only one who can take care of something like me" because that was what Fugo was. An object of extreme intelligence. When he was not, he was a killing machine. Even Buccellati used him.

The thought of Narancia being dead terrified him. You could not rouse what returned to the earth, after all. There was probably one person who knew where Narancia was. He realized in his little act he had sacrificed a whole two months to being alone. Why hadn't Narancia come clawing at his door yet? It was a frightening mystery. His hands shook violently as he gripped his monomessenger. He did not want to unblock this person. He disliked this person.

He disliked Sabitsuki.

to: sabitsuki from: fugo

[TXT]: sabitsuki

[TXT]: thats your name, right? i unblocked you to ask you something.

[TXT]: about narancia.

[TXT]: i had a bad dream about him. that he was dead. someone told me he'd been dead for six months. details were vague.

[TXT]: my texts to him don't send. there's no trace of him. do you know?

[TXT]: where is he? you're his roommate. a disliked person to me, but his roommate first and foremost.

[TXT]: therefore, it is expected you know.

[TXT]: where is narancia?

[TXT]: ive been rather rude to you in the past. set that aside. i just want to know where he is.

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"All right... looks like you and I aren't on the same page. Let's say you attend a trial. Everything is fine. Two or three trials. Then the killers slowly start to become people who had previously helped find the murderers before, thus leading to weakened trust. These people would never kill, right? They helped catch other murderers before! But there they are. they've gone and done it. And I'll make it pretty clear that in this situation right now, if it wasn't me, you would have been terminated. The same goes for me. You could be hiding a knife in your stockings, you could stab me right here and now and no one would suspect you. You think "I'll never do that!" but really, the bear is just playing around. You'll get to that point soon enough." Aaand a long draw of breath. A cross of the arms.

Thoughts of children laughing in ridicule paraded Fugo's mind. Everyone here was a killer. "...hell, maybe I'm hitting rockbottom soon enough. Certainly made enough enemies." If anything, the friends:enemies ratio was a staggering 2:100.

"That’s exactly the problem.” Mahiru frowned. She had been in this situation before, she had felt hopelessness before. No, it had been much more than hopelessness, it had been a bleak despair that had threatened to consume her every normal thought. "People are dying but if we accept it as a fact then you’re accepting the reality that it’ll never stop!"

"Look…" She took a breath. Arms folded across her chest and she looked away. "Sorry I suddenly butted in but if this type of thinking prevails then…then we’ve really lost."

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Eh. He's not safe from the new students and their rabid optimism, it seems. He'd only mused to himself for a second, only to have a weedy. Shorty. Something-y redhead nattering on his head like a lost hummingbird. This can only end so bleakly. Pannacotta Fugo's mind was wired for realism, maybe even tinted darker than normal people.

"You said it yourself. Eavesdropping is bad. People here drop like flies. I don't see what the problem is, I want just minding my business. Lasciare."

Mahiru had heard about the bodies-it was hard not to when it-no he- was all the island talked about. Overhearing a certain phrase while walking around, the photographer stopped in her tracks. He couldn’t be talking about what she thought he was talking about, right? "Hey. Sorry for interrupting or eavesdropping but that kind of attitude is exactly what we don’t need!”

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More dead bodies? And people are surprised? Upset even? He wasn't in his best state, he hasn't been for the past three days, but such things were trivial at this point--

"I couldn't care less," murmured Fugo.

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Put one (or more) of the symbols in my inbox and I’ll make a specific headcanon

■ - Violent headcanon

♦ - Emotional headcanon

✿ - Happy headcanon

● - Sad headcanon

♠ - Painful headcanon

♥ - Love headcanon

♡ - Sex headcanon

☆ - Appearence headcanon

☠ - Death headcanon

♒ - Family headcanon

☮ - Friendship headcanon

▼ - Childhood headcanon

∇ - Old age headcanon

☄ - Food headcanon

★ - Education headcanon