#serene? i guess? like not malicious but still very proper and it's just me but i still find it a little unsettling

[somelazyassartist]

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[ddarker-dreams]

Fallen From Grace Part 2. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Click here for part one!

Luxury surrounds you at every turn, and tonight is so different. 

The dish that’s sitting in front of you for tonight is bruschetta, a dish warm and inviting in contrast with its desolate surroundings. Bread grilled in a brick oven with fine, expensive cheese melted onto it, hints of garlic and olive oil mixing in to create a drool inducing image. On top lays a light garnish of parsley, bright green contrasting the deep reds of the tomato. 

Every one of your meals is similar in this refined quality. It felt jarring at first, having every need of yours attended to with utmost care. Not only because it’s unusual to be treated with this regard, but because of those who carry the actions out themselves. 

They scurry around you, gaze cowering to the ground and voice meeker than a mouse. On the scarce occasion they find it absolutely necessary to ask you a question related to your preferences, their eyes never dare to meet your own. A sudden interest in the top of their shoes develops, or fiddling with any objects in hand. Your premature conclusion was that they were too guilt ridden to even look at you. 

Now, lips pressing against a glass and taking in sips of cool water, you know the lamentable truth. 

It isn’t that the servants of this villa feel remorse for standing by and enabling your isolation, failing to assist at any opportunity. No, money can soothe any scathing concerns in that regard. It’s a different poison, far more venomous than all consuming guilt. It’s a primal fear of Italy’s most powerful don that drives their complacency, in sight of immoral actions. 

Spineless cowards. Every single one of them. 

You return the cup to its original place on the long, wooden table. The muted sound is the only one in the grand dining room, aside from occasional silverware hitting a plate across from you. Since the beginning of dinner, you’ve made it a point to ignore him. Too many troubles to count plague your mind, the man on the other side of the table being the source. 

Uneasy silence does not last as long as you wish it would. He gently clears his throat, a signal that shouldn’t go ignored.  Looking up now, you’re unsurprised to see Giorno’s ever watchful gaze meeting you back. Pale skin is illuminated by flickering candlelight, golden hair framing his mature face. 

There’s a closed mouth smile on his face, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Unsettling.

“Do you still not feel hungry?” 

Giorno’s voice startles you, fingers twitching by your side. Time is an elusive thing, minutes always seeming to blur together, creating an incoherent mess. How long have the two of you been sitting here? Ten or so minutes, is your guess. Judging from his plate being almost finished, you realize just how long your thoughts were holding you captive.

Swallowing back the bile that creeps into your throat, your eyelids flutter shut. “Ah… something like that. You don’t need to wait for me, I’m sure you’re busy.” 

It’s Giorno’s turn now to take a sip from a wine glass, swirling the white liquid before raising it to his mouth. It’s rare that he drinks, a distaste for heavy alcohol consumption a moral code embedded in his person. Moscato d’Asti if you recall correctly, which you declined an offer for earlier. From the bottle alone you surmise it cost a fortune.

“You’ve hardly eaten anything today,” Giorno points out to you, voice leaving little room for argument.  He looks at your untouched plate, frowning at the undesirable sight. “Should I have something else prepared for you…?”

Exhaling shakily, you accentuate your disinterest in the subject by avoiding eye contact. It’s been like this lately, always placed under a magnifying glass. A tense exchange between supposed lovers, neither cluing the other of their true agendas. In this twisted parody of a dance, Giorno claims a clear upper hand. He leads you according to his own tempo, never once stopping to let you regain your breath. 

Even with him out of your vision, you still feel the crushing weight of his stare. You swallow despite the dryness of your mouth, reaching once more for the soothing glass of water. Panic has long since settled in, disrupting any logical way of thinking and successfully shaking you up. How long can you hide your secrets from him? At this rate, you won’t last much longer.

It all started four, excruciatingly long days ago.

Marco, a guard who you have grown fond of, seemingly vanished into thin air. Along with all the other workers. No explanation, no clues, nothing. The days that followed left you littered with doubts and soul crushing anxiety, taking your every thought hostage. Did something happen to him? If so, what? Did Giorno learn of your secret interactions with him? And if he did, how the hell is he remaining so composed? 

“You’ve been zoning out often.” 

It’s unfair how he can pick up on your behavior without even trying. Being picked apart and analyzed in real time has never been your favorite, yet it feels even more dreadful now. When you first arrived in this golden barred cage, you had nothing to hide. Now, the burdens of your sins against Giorno threaten to swallow you entirely. 

Nails threaten to puncture the soft skin of your palm, hands balled into tight fists on your lap. Every little poke and prod of Giorno’s comments further torments you, sending you into a spiral of never ending despair. Controlling your outward reactions is the bare minimum you can offer at the moment, too skittish to do anything else. Even the sight of delicious food in front of you sends your stomach churning, the scent of it bringing nausea rooted in crippling anxiety. 

He has to know, right? Everything would make so much more sense if he did. It would explain this surreal, benevolent streak that emerged from him seemingly unprompted. It’s not that Giorno was ever outright cruel to you, until this point, you were given your space. No longer is that a luxury you can experience. 

The past few days he’s been practically glued to your side, giving you no time to get your bearings. An unrelenting attack from all angles. It’s an impossible feat to maintain a facade of cluelessness like you were able to before.

Giorno tilts his head, still awaiting a proper answer. Gathering what remnants of strength that remain, you hurriedly utter to half the truth. “I-I haven’t been feeling well.” 

This disclosure earns you a worried glance. He looks at you a moment longer -- as if searching for something -- before pulling back his chair. It groans against the wooden floor in protest, steady footsteps approaching you. Now by your side, he bends down to inspect you further. A tentative hand is placed to your forehead, assessing your condition from a closer perspective.

“You don’t feel warm.” he murmurs while retracting his hand, the action giving you a chance to breathe normally again. Does that mean he thinks you’re lying? Not giving you any further hints at his inner thoughts, Giorno stands by your seated form in silence. In hopes of avoiding suspicion, you come up with a rushed explanation.

“I’m tired, that’s all,” you scratch your cheek, finding difficulty in maintaining your composure. “It’s really nothing to worry about, Giorno. A few restless nights won’t do me in.” 

If a physical ailment was bothering you, Giorno’s ability could serve to aid you. There isn’t anything his Stand can do for exhaustion though, not to your knowledge. He blinks, long eyelashes fluttering in the process. Whether he believes you or not is in the air. The topic is left to the wayside for now, much to your inner relief.

You had gotten sick once in the past. Even more freedoms were stolen from you, health professionals sworn to Passione monitoring you around the clock. Privacy was nonexistent, a true nightmare of an experience. It was only a mild fever, nothing that could cause any true harm. Giorno took it seriously, acting in an abundance of over protection until you recovered.

It won’t be ideal for you if that happens again. For almost a week you were forced to the confines of your bed, taking bitter medicines and eating only bland, nutritious food. That period of time made you go borderline stir crazy, having nothing to do aside from entertaining your malicious thoughts. If he’s thinking about putting you through that again, you’re unable to tell. 

Composed and serene as ever, he takes your hand up from your lap with tender affection. 

“[First]...” your name rolls off his tongue in a low tone, his deep voice and close proximity causing your pulse to quicken. “If there’s anything on your mind, know that you can come to me.” 

Your breath hitches, all hairs on the back of your neck standing. So he has noticed, or believes your anguish is related to something other than physical illness. It makes more sense why he’s insisted on having you in his presence, to keep you in his sight. To make sure you’re not misbehaving. 

The coarse pad of his thumb rubs over your hand in slow, methodical circles. Involuntarily, your hand begins to tremble. There’s not an opportunity to state your case against his words before he speaks up again, words intent on placating you.

“There must be something I can do for you. I hate seeing you troubled like this.” 

You need to think of a diversion. Fast. He’s eroding your defenses, goading you into spilling the hideous truth of your disobedience. A small voice in your head pleads with you, whispering that maybe he’ll forgive you if you confess now. For you to beg for amnesty, claiming the depths of loneliness you’ve felt all this time. Would that cause him to take pity on you? 

Or would you suffer greater lengths than before for your misdeeds? 

Pushing down the temptation, a hopeful idea comes to mind. Deft fingers wrap around his hand, a tired smile on your lips. “You’re very considerate. It really isn’t anything bad, I’ve just had a few rough nights. I’ll try sleeping earlier tonight and seeing if that helps.” 

Giorno gives your hand a final squeeze before pulling away. “Ah, of course. Whatever you feel is best.” 

It’s a small victory, holding purpose to you. You can’t make any moves under his scrutinizing presence, the threat of alerting him by acting suspicious constant. He can’t be around like this forever, Giorno’s position requires constant attention. Even a few days into him not leaving the premises, you’re having trouble adjusting. It has to be a temporary arrangement, he won’t always be able to monitor you. When the opportunity presents itself, you’ll learn the truth about Marco.

You swear this to yourself.

“I’ve read that relaxing before going to bed helps with sleeping problems. Let’s walk around the gardens together, and see if that helps.” he phrases it like a suggestion, but you know better. It looks like you won’t be escaping Giorno’s presence anytime soon, an oasis of sleep slipping through your fingers like sand. Offering a meek nod instead of utilizing your voice, you mimic his previous actions and get up from your seat. 

Giorno extends an arm to you, which you accept. It’s not that you want to, per se, it’s that you need to maintain the charade from before. Marco suggested to you that if you act less combative to your husband, he might grant you more freedoms. Which you desperately want to attain. In light of his sudden disappearance, it would be suspicious to stop acting like this. Reverting to your former harsh behavior won’t do anything good. 

The new disposition worked in your favor. Instead of ignoring Giorno or cursing him like before, you acted tamer. And, as Marco predicted, some embargoes on your freedoms were steadily lifted. Acting like a loving wife to a man you feel nothing about animosity for isn’t an easy task. It’s a survival tactic. 

You catch a whiff of Giorno’s light cologne, the scent dotting your skin with goosebumps. He’s always been a man of fine taste, you must confess. Once at his side, he begins to walk in the familiar direction of his outdoor gardens. The spot is a grandiose one, awe-inspiring flowers from all over the world appearing in full bloom. Even out of season plants are capable of flourishing, which you suspect is due to Giorno’s Stand.

For such a reprehensible person, he sure has a beautiful ability. 

He looks lost in his own thoughts for most of the walk, and finally speaks up often a prolonged silence. “I’ve noticed how you enjoy your time in the gardens.” 

Struggling to keep up with his pace and balance your rapid thoughts, you take a moment before responding. “Gardening is something I always wanted to try. When I first looked into it, I never realized how expensive a hobby it is.” 

He hums in response, offering a moment of reprieve from stressful conversation.

When the two of you walk outdoors, you’re greeted by the crisp evening air. The sun is just beginning to set in the sky, warm colors embracing the expansive greenery. A main path leads up to an outdoor fountain, which emits a noise of rushing water. On either side of you are a variety of shrubs, pink and blue hydrangeas in bloom. A cicada beats its wings in the distance, a telltale time of summer. 

The openness the outdoors brings with it a false sense of solace. You prefer this to the confining walls of inside Giorno’s mansion, which bring with them melancholic memories. A single aspect of this area has earned your ire, the large window above that is attached to his office. You’ve looked up to see Giorno watching over you for a few seconds. Further cementing the idea that you’re never truly alone. 

Silence settles in between the two of you, weaving through winding paths and mossy stone arches. This is a part of the garden you don’t come to as often, you notice. Rounding a final corner around some hedges, you spot a stunning collection of flowers that must be new. From a dark center, pointed petals emerge, jet black in color with hints of crimson on the edges. 

Giorno pauses to observe the mesmerizing blossoms as well, reaching out to inspect a petal. As soon as he touches it, his lips curl into a frown, almost like he’s remembering something. “A few days ago, I decided I wanted this addition. I got what I needed to grow it this morning.” 

You thought that Gold Experience could create life from anything, so it doesn’t make sense to you why he needed to wait for the arrival of something. Maybe even Stands have limits? Any desire to ask about it is stifled by the fact that you’re talking to Giorno, curiosity fizzling out as fast as it sparked.

He pulls a handkerchief out from a pocket within his suit, and wipes off his fingers that had touched the flower. 

“Black dahlias. It isn’t a flower most people would associate with summer, but I found myself interested in them.” he offers a look into his inner thoughts, a rare occurrence. You wait patiently, sensing he has more to say.

“All plants have different meanings, some even having their own folklore. Tell me, [First], what do you believe black dahlias represent?” 

A perplexing question. Not wanting to offer a halfhearted answer in fear of being reprimanded, you give it some thought. Darker colors typically symbolize negative feelings, at least in literature. It’s possible the same logic applies here. In the distant past, you’d read online about an unsolved murder case in America by the name of The Black Dahlia. It seems anything with the name can’t be a good omen.

Humming in thought, you offer the best guess you can concoct. “I’m not the best with stuff like this… if I had to guess, I’d say it means suffering. Or something to that effect.” 

“Very close. Not quite,” Giorno’s eyes betray the calm delivery of his words, a hidden storm within. “What black dahlias symbolize… is betrayal.” 

You’d swallow if you could.

In a single instance, it feels like all the air has been forcibly punched from your lungs, body going numb and blood running cold as ice. Every ounce of strength that hasn’t been sapped from you goes to keeping your knees from buckling, mouth dry and tongue like sandpaper. He doesn’t blink, waiting patiently to see what your next move will be.

He knows. You don’t know how, but he knows. Similar to how a predator toys with its prey before devouring it, he’s testing you. Gauging for a reaction, savouring the guilt that rolls off you in palpable waves. Options and time are limited, both a dry well as he expects a response. 

Your resolve begins to wilt, perishing under the harsh conditions it's been placed. Roots crumbling and petals falling to the ground, it’s a competition within your mind to see what thought will win. Marco risked his own livelihood in order to give you companionship, to make you feel human again. Can you stay afloat under this immense pressure? 

With unexpected speed, you decide. There’s no backing down now. You’ll see this treacherous charade through until the bitter end. It’s what you owe to him, what you owe to yourself. If it’s games that Giorno wants to play, then so be it. 

“My guess was close then, wasn’t it?” you force a light laugh at the end of your sentence, straightening your posture and giving him your best smile. Within the depths of his countenance is an unidentifiable emotion, his jaw tight and eyes studying. All intensity melts away within an instant, the Giorno you’re used to seeing reappearing in front of you.

“Yes, yes it was.” 

Without his prompting to do so, you wrap your arms around his arm once again. Letting out a soft exhale, you speak up, hoping to rid yourself of this tense atmosphere. “A walk was just the thing I needed. I feel better already, still a little tired though…” 

It isn’t a regular occurrence that you touch Giorno of your own will. You can’t remember the last time you’d done it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He subtly leans into your touch, welcoming the warmth it brings. Hope erupts within your chest, that you can still play innocent and get away with your grievances. 

Now that you’ve been removed from the moment, your mind is clearer. Capable of reasoning with itself, instead of scrambling to react. It’s a possibility that Giorno has an inkling of suspicion, and nothing solid to grasp it. Giving yourself up and playing right into his hand is exactly what he wants, and you adamantly refuse to do it. It’s shameful that you even thought about giving up, even if it was only for a brief moment. 

It could be the fried nerves, that you find yourself rambling more than you normally do. “I never asked, but how was your day? You always ask me about mine, so it seems right that I’d return the favor.” 

“Busy, not much more than usual though. I regret not being able to join you for breakfast. I had... something to attend to.” Giorno reminisces back to this morning, tone lighter than before. It looks like your hunch of him not knowing anything concrete could be true. A passing breeze ruffles through your hair, cool air serving to calm you down more. 

You can do this. You’ll make it through the storm, and find out the truth on your own terms.

“There’s always tomorrow,” you gently tug at his arm, back in the direction of the house. “Can we… can we head back? I still want to try and sleep, even if it’s early.” 

Never one to deny you anything, he starts the walk back, and you follow suit. “I’ve never seen you this talkative before, [First].” 

You’ve never felt the need to talk this much until now. Rambling about nonsensical topics gives your overwhelmed brain a much needed reprieve. If there’s anything good you have to say about Giorno, it’s that he’s an excellent listener. Never interrupting, always offering his full attention. He never offers his input more than he sees necessary. 

The comment doesn’t feel like a pointed one, rather a truthful observation. You let out a sigh. 

“I’ve always had a lot to say,” you start with a purse of your lips, mindful of yourself. But I hate you. “Once you get me talking, you’ll miss the days I was quiet.” 

He doesn’t buy into the self derogatory statement, and shakes his head. “I could never tire of hearing your voice.” 

You open your mouth, only to close it again. Warmth erupts onto your face, the genuine delivery of a line only Giorno could deliver properly. Displays of heartfelt fondness leave you taken aback, never allowing you to understand the man by your side. How can he say in good conscience that he loves you, while taking you from everything you’ve ever known? 

Giorno Giovanna, who you’ve spent a little over a year with, is still an enigma to you. 

When you spoke with Marco, rarely did either of you bring him up. Out of respect for your feelings, you guess. On the rare occasion you did ask a question about Giorno, there weren’t any clear answers. All he knows is that Giorno took over Passione at a young age, and issued wide reform of the gang that extends worldwide. 

The fact is an intimidating one, since he’s so close to you. 

Now back inside, evening has settled in. Long halls are deserted of any life, only you and Giorno occupying them. It’s off putting, you can’t think of the last time you’ve seen this home so empty. There must be someone here, if your meals were made. Other than that, the only human being you’ve seen is Giorno. 

Your shared master bedroom is on the second floor, and after an uneventful trip, he holds the large doors open for you to enter first. 

Lavish and not obnoxious in its designs, this room is where you spent all your time when you first arrived. Not of your own will, since you were antagonistic. Looking at the custom glass windows, it brings back memories of desperately trying to break them with different furniture. Then the noise of doing so getting you in even more trouble. 

Next was an iron shackle against your ankle, metal cold against your skin and uncomfortable. 

Compared to that, you should feel like your current condition is better. Now it’s mental strain instead of physical. There never is rest for the weary.

Hands of the grandfather clock in your room read 8:24 PM. Your guess is that Giorno will dismiss himself any moment now, heading to his office and giving you much needed space. It’s an unspoken routine that you’ve fallen into. Though you ultimately sleep in the same bed at night, Giorno doesn’t join you until much later, if at all. Being in charge of Passione is a full time commitment. 

With a muted thud, the door closes behind you. Giorno draws the curtains over the windows shut, cutting off what little sunlight shone through. Fully mesmerized with his graceful actions, you find yourself staring. It’s when he starts unzipping the top of his royal blue suit that you realize he isn’t intending to leave anytime soon.

Looking for something to preoccupy yourself with, you get ready for bed yourself. The marble ground of the master bathroom feels cold against your bare feet, causing you to shiver and mutter a quiet curse. After brushing your teeth, you open the door to see Giorno still getting changed, bare back facing towards you. Why is he still here? 

Reading your thoughts, he turns around, white pajama shirt in hand. “Is something wrong, [First]? You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.” 

He can be teasing when he wants, much to your chagrin. Sucking in a deep breath, you give your honest thoughts in a strained voice. “It’s just, I thought you’d have work to do.” 

“I’ve taken care of what I need to today,” he lifts the plain shirt over his head while he speaks, the material stretching against his defined muscles. “So, I’ll spend time with mi cara. It’s been a trying week.” 

Well, that makes two of us. 

His last comment makes you curious. Giorno isn’t the type to complain, if he sees a problem he dedicates himself to fixing it. What is it that managed to earn an admission like that? You’ll test your luck and press further, seeing if you learn anything. It could be related to Marco’s disappearance. 

“Trying…?” you repeat back, testing the word on your tongue. Giorno pulls his braid over his shoulder, and you recognize what that means. Before he gets the opportunity to fiddle with the restraints himself, you walk over to his side and start on it. He allows you to do so, shoulders relaxing as you pull the hair tie out. 

“I shouldn’t burden you unnecessarily.” 

His golden hair is like silk between your fingers, having a light floral scent. You furrow your eyebrows while working through undoing the braid, combing through it. He subtly leans into your touch, eyelids fluttering close at your soothing maneuvers. Prying the truth from him will take more effort.

“It’s not a burden.” you reassure, pulse quickening at the anticipation his silence brings. Worst case scenario, he’ll deflect again and you’ll drop the subject. Feeling inquisitive leaves you unsatisfied, Giorno opting to leave you in the dark about most matters. 

“There was a plot uncovered, relating to you.” 

Your actions cease, body frozen on the spot. 

“It was a threat on your life to weaken me. This morning, everything was taken care of, so you have nothing to worry about. That’s the reason I’ve been working from home the past few days,” he runs a hand through his hair, and turns to face your stunned form. “I’d never allow any harm to befall you. New staff will be replacing the previous one, there’s nothing to disprove that they weren’t all involved.” 

“A few workers were going to get close to you, and draw out information about me. Then... ah, well. It doesn’t matter now.” 

What he’s saying makes logical sense. You’re the wife of a powerful man, who has more enemies than you could ever hope to count. Your mind drifts to Marco, and the time that you had spent with him. A seed of doubt is planted within you, knowing that Giorno distrusted his former staff enough to get rid of all of them. Those men and women were tested vigorously, so for him to now distrust them... 

That leaves a single, haunting question that you don’t want to entertain. Was Marco getting close to you, with the sole purpose of murdering you at the best opportunity? It… it can’t be like that. You spent hours by his side, laughing and reminiscing over snacks and games. He told you about his family, the misfortune that befell his sweet sister, his inner conflict of working for Giorno at your expense. 

When Marco rarely spoke of Giorno, he did ask a few questions about his routine. You thought it was so the two of you could speak together with ease, and sneak around. 

You had cared for him. In the deepest sentiment your broken heart could conjure, you really did. It was the highlight of your day, what you looked forward to every morning when you woke up. The reassurance he would offer, giving you that extra push to carry on your miserable parody of a life.  

Mouth agape, no words can form on your dry tongue. Giorno must mistake your inner conflict for worry over the undone plot on your life, running his hands up and down your arms. He pulls you into a hug in hopes of comforting your shaking form, and you hate yourself for accepting it. 

Nothing makes sense. This has to be a trick, a cruel misunderstanding. Why has the universe seen fit to toss and turn you at every chance, jostling your being to the core. Vacillating between two sides of yourself, the one that wants to believe him and the one that doesn’t. 

Wetness drips down your cheeks, finally breaking down. You sniffle against his shoulder, even more upset with yourself for willingly accepting his embrace. It’s not that the thought of death bothered you, it’s what your trust was broken. Was everything Marco told you a ruse?  

You don’t know. You suppose no one other than the aforementioned person knows, if he’s still alive. It’s embarrassing, truly humiliating to know you told him the secrets of yourself. All for it to amount to nothing, a dagger twisting into your side repeatedly. 

Giorno hushes you, pulling you tighter against him. He coos sweet words into your ear, now rubbing the small of your back. You take all of him in, accepting him in a moment of profound weakness. There’s deep pain, first, then nothing. Emotions come to a halt, numbness settling in as you cease weeping. 

What is there to feel now? 

Soft lips press against your forehead, Giorno offering a chaste kiss. This amount of physical affection is the most he’s ever given you at once, now offering you all of himself. Too weak to protest, you close your eyes, wanting to sleep and never worry about anything again. 

Why try anymore. 

Giorno... did he speak the complete truth? That you can only trust him? He’s given you everything you could ask for, always turning the other cheek when you lashed out at him. He loves you, in his own twisted way. Even after all the rejection you spewed at him, he loves you still. 

“Amore, oh amore,” he whispers into your ear, warm breath causing you to shudder. He pulls back from your amorous embrace, taking your face in his thumb and lifting it. “I’ll take care of everything. Come, let’s get you cleaned up for the night. You must be tired, hm?” 

So, so tired. Of everything. Of this life you live. 

Arms sneak around your shaking torso once more, and he places his head atop yours. Tears are gone for now, a well long dried up. Now, you stand and shake. Head devoid of coherent thoughts, limp against him. He holds you up, keeping you steady.

You close your eyes. Has Giorno always smelled this pleasant? It’s starting to grow on you. Your ear is against his chest, his skin pressed against your own. Listening carefully, you hear the steady thump of his heart. The one before that you thought to place a knife through, now bringing you solace.

What a joke this world is. 

Giorno accepts you, always. Like he said time and time again, the words now settling in. You mutter something against his chest, voice seemingly inaudible. Even you are uncertain of what they are, yet he seems to understand nonetheless. 

And he smiles, content. 

[wxnnabe]

number 6 w narancia Mayhaps?

@ narancia is best friend, what a tip top friend good on ya mum

You once drew comfort in the trio often sat in the park on a bench or lounging on a picnic rug. After a frustrating day of school, you would pass by the trio of misfits often-when you first saw them, you recognised them almost straight away-the mafioso of Passione, at least in the neighbourhood you resided in, were treated with respect. Bruno Buccellati was, after all, a good man, and his actions followed his name like a trail of evidence to that claim. You would only have to ask around a bit to know half of the ways he would go above and beyond for the rest of the community, and it was hard to admit that he was actually and probably very capable of murder. The trio here were amongst his little rag tag team-you would see them fleetingly, around about the city.

But you managed to notice them parked next to the water fountain first when you heard a commotion happening as you turned to the very opening coming home from school one evening. Two of the boys were tackling each other, pens and books flying. It seemed like any attempts at a peaceful picnic were lost, and you couldn’t help but think this wasn’t the first time as the third one had sat back and complained for them to knock it off. You felt something hit your leg, and as you bent down you found a pen-probably from all the fighting happening almost right in front of you. You picked it up, and for a brief moment glanced at the fight unfurling in front of you.

As luck would have it, your eyes caught on a book that was thrown onto the edge of a plate, smashing the plate and propelling some of the shards to your crouched figure. The bits of broken china and food on the plate were flying right at you, aimed for your face. Your hands flew up to protect yourself, and you barely managed to protect your face from the flying pieces of cake and fine china debris. Finally, the two stopped fighting to the crash of the plate and the scuffle and a muttered curse as you struggled to find your footing with a searing pain that was now throbbing through your arm. There was a sudden silence as their friend flew into action, calmly walking toward you.

“Ah, now look what you’ve done!” He calls out to them, and the two break apart, the blond one straightening up his bizarre suit. The other huffed slightly, but peered over to what had gotten his friend so worked up. You looked to the man looming in front of you. He was equally dressed in an insane get-up that you would have laughed at if not for your current situation. He gave you a wary once over, and you realised that you were still holding onto the pen in your hand. Words tumbled out of you in a stammer as your brain tried to keep up with what was happening.

“S-sorry I just, thought this was yours and I was gonna slide it back to you-” The one with the bandanna cut you off, pointing to your left hand.

“Hey, you’re bleeding!” He looked mildly concerned, though you could still see the cautious look from his friend in his eyes. Your eyes glanced from his to the man in front of you, to your hand as you bent it over to have a proper look where the throbbing was coming from. Sure enough, a piece of the plate had wedged itself into your arm, blood trickling down from your elbow. You blinked as a drop trickled down from the wound to the tip of your elbow. You let out a small mutter of “ouch” before extending your arm slightly as the blood dripped onto the pavement. The boy in front of you held your hand, and tilted your arm slightly to get a better look.

“Tsk…hey, at least next time watch out for your surroundings, you two!” The boy who was crouched next to you flashed you a warm smile.

“You’re in good hands, honey!”

You later learnt of their names. Guido Mista, the one who would playfully flirt with pretty girls and trembled at the sight of anything in pairs of fours. Pannacotta Fugo, one of the boys fighting, was smart and kind, but you learnt quickly not to tease his temper. And the last, Narancia Ghirga, he one who called out to you; he was energetic, and loud-but their was a fierce loyalty and trust that he gave to his friends you almost envied.

Often times, one of the others from the gang would tag along with them. Abbacchio and Giorno were nice, but reserved. Fugo explained they were often there so your little group wouldn’t turn into a four.You’d like to say that you were friends with them, but Fugo would deny it.

“You don’t want to be friends with us. You don’t want anything to do with us, if you can help it,” It frustrated him, when you hung out with them, but he eventually got used to it. Mista seemed indifferent to you; you had your suspicions he was simply acting cool, though, because he’d be all over you the moment you offered to shout them a pizza. Narancia did warm up to you, and would now welcome you every time you turned through the park. You would chat with the three casually, and Narancia would quiz you on school and your assignments. He seemed to pale as you described the multitude of your work, and Fugo would hastily change the subject. Narancia confided in you later on that he had dropped out very young, and was trying to study to finish his schooling.

“That’s really amazing, Narancia! If you ever need any help, just ask yeah?” You were sat cross legged next to Narancia, with Fugo chatting with Giorno about the book he was reading next to him and Mista off buying a pizza, losing some bet the group were haggling over before you came by.

“Yeah, I guess…studying’s a pain in the ass, so thanks for offering,” He grumbles, and you laugh.

“If it wasn’t difficult, it wouldn’t be worth doing right?” He gave you a mischievous grin.

“Right. Oh, and who are you again? Some kind of old wise master?” You were about to playfully smack him when Mista slides some pizza boxes down and plonks himself down with a loud sigh.

“Man, can we wait ‘til there’s five of us to start makin’ bets?” Narancia gives him a smug grin as his mouth is already stuffed with a slice of pizza.

“But then we won’t be able to exploit you and your phobia!” Mista looks about ready to cause a scene, but Giorno cuts in between the two and opens another box.

“It’s not like your short on cash,” Mista takes another slice, and sighs again, his tone pointed to the boy next to you as he speaks up.

“I just don’t like watching my money drain to a rigged bet, that’s all,” Narancia picks up on this, and leans back to catch Mista’s eyes.

“Oi, we didn’t rig it at all! Your just obsessing over nothing is all!” Mista stands to this, his slice long forgotten.

“Hey, don’t make me go over this again! I’m serious, four really is bad news!” While the two bickered on, Giorno had turned to you with a curious look.

“Why are you always here?” Despite how it was posed, his tone and expression didn’t look malicious. And though he had asked you with a serene smile, you could see he wanted an answer that satisfied the question. You pondered for a while. Surely you knew that they were dangerous? If the wrong person saw you hanging out with them, they could get the wrong idea about you…or, even worse, what you meant to them. Being kidnapped and held for ransom wasn’t exactly on your bucket list.

“Well…I mean I guess you guys are like my friends, right?” You considered them close. Narancia especially. For some reason, the two of you just clicked, and a couple of times he would even walk you home from school, just to get some time in to vent or ask you about your day. You’d gotten pretty adept to calming him down from his outbursts, and you’d like to say he’s made you a bit more confident to just have fun. You really did look forward to hanging out with them.

“Have you ever taken any thought to if you got hurt because of that?” Fugo snaps at you, but his eyes betray his worry. You note that he doesn’t shoot down the prospect of ‘friends’ with some relief.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” Narancia startles you, jumping into the conversation.His attention turned away from Mista, he’s now looking directly at you with a deadly serious tone in his voice. In your peripheral, you can see Giorno smiling, though you can’t bring yourself to break eye contact with those violet eyes. He looks dead serious.

“Sorry?” Your still reeling from that statement, No one’s going to hurt you. How on earth could he be so sure?

“I said, no one’s going to hurt you. No one will hurt you, not on my watch!” He gives you a grin, and suddenly he’s back to his normal self again. He takes a playful bite out of the slice of pizza in your hands, and with a “Hey!” he laughs, and the dark mood from the conversation is long forgotten.

[isaacathom]

oh dude the funnest part about this whole Stanton-Zhang family is that when Rhia is like, legally revealed to not be Rhia.

the police (possibly international, idk) are questioning the family, figuring out if this is some sort of identity fraud. like ‘Patrick Stanton, are you aware of a woman claiming to be your daughter by your first wife?’ ‘Rhia? yea.’ ‘well, is she?’ ‘uh, no. but she is like family to us.’ ‘wait, what. so youre in on it?’ ‘oh, yea! my sister in law Bronwyn and her family brought her over for a holiday and we had a long discussion about her situation and how we could help. we offered to have her fill that role’ ‘soo.... you DONT have a daughter by your first wife?’ ‘nope.’ ‘........ so shes just a fake person?’ ‘pretty much? but she is functionally family. we adopted her in all but legal terms’ ‘...........’

the police are very confused, needless to say. they go to Bronwyn and Jun. ‘so, uh, the fucks up with Rhia?’ ‘well, Jun found her knocked out in the Team base and took her with him to ensure she was safe-’ ‘wait he took her?’ ‘well, yes, i didnt know if someone would come back for her and was worried she’d end up badly injured as a result of that wait time, or that she might wake up alone and get lost in the desert’ ‘.... right.... go on’ ‘so we took her home and looked after her and she explained her situation, being an orphan and basically relying on that Elliot fellow-’ ‘the ex elite 4 member?’ ‘yea, that guy. and shes talking about how he left her for dead in the base-’ ‘what?’ ‘youd have to ask Rhia and Elliot. but we heard her story and, well, we’d grown close to her over her time with us, so we thought, maybe we could adopt?’ ‘so then why didnt you?’ ‘welllllllll we were worried Elliot would come looking for her if we properly adopted her, PLUS it had been like, two weeks since she went missing, so if we suddenly appeared with her itd look really bad-’ ‘it already looks pretty bad from here’ ‘we know, sir. so we decided instead of adopting her as Seren, we’d.... yknow..... pull in a favour. work something out so she could stay with us as someone else’ ‘and you used the Team?’ ‘no shit. i mean, i WAS an admin. i basically talked to Dante - that guy you arrested, the big one, not the kid - and we... made arrangements’

‘alright, Seren. the fucks up with this?’ ‘with what?’ ‘this whole ‘Rhia Stanton’ thing.’ ‘oh. well, i was staying with Elliot for a few days, a sort of field trip from the orphanage, go fight some gyms sorta deal. and Elliot had that Team raid, and i begged to come along, so i ended up going. and when we got in, we got jumped by a team of grunts. after a scuffle, i managed to free Elliot, at which point he.... yknow.... fucking bolted.’ ‘what’ ‘oh, sorry, he fled like a coward, better?’ ‘.....’ ‘and then the grunts beat me up. woke up in Juns house, he explained stuff, i stayed with them awhile, rest is history’ ‘miss, thats what we want to know’ ‘well, ok. at this point id been missing arrroooouuund two weeks, and Elliot had been blatantly lying about the circumstances. BLATANTLY. saying oh, he left me in bed and went to the raid and i was gone in the morning, fat lot of shit-’ ‘miss’ ‘so i thought, i cant trust him. but if i go to the police, ill probably have to confront him, and id probably lose in the public opinion, because ~everyone~ trusts in Elliot, and they wouldnt trust me.’ ‘are you sure?’ ‘well, at the time, definitely. with hindsight, maybe not. at the time, i was positive dealing with him would be more trouble than it was worth, and thatd he’d basically never leave me alone if i reappeared. and i... didnt want to see him again, yknow? so, i talked to Jun and Bron and their daughter Lyndelle, trying to figure something out.’ ‘and thats when you concocted this Rhia Stanton thing?’ ‘oh, no, that came a little later. see, the family had already planned, for a while, a trip to Unova to see some other family. and they thought, ok, theyll bring me along, and theyll discuss it with THEIR family there’ ‘how did you get out of [Victoria]? you didnt have a passport’ ‘uhhh. honestly? no fucking clue’ ‘miss’ ‘Jun basically handled it, as far as i know. called in a favour with the Team, yknow, asked them to mock up an id thatd get me to Unova, and then we’d work from there. i dyed my hair, wore big sunhats, off we went! THEN we made up Rhia Stanton’ ‘...........’ ‘what?’ ‘why didnt you go to the authorities?’ ‘given that, at the time, the authorities were the Organisation and i thought they were firmly in Elliots camp, given the whole raid collab thing, i wasnt trusting those fuckers-’ ‘miss’ ‘as far as i could throw them. then, yknow, turned out they were Team, but i didnt know that, and Jun didnt exactly ~tell~ me that at the time. no need, i suppose. was still no guarantee they’d have taken my side. given how EASILY they let go of my case, i fucking doubt it. fiiiirmly in elliots pocket to curry public favour. wasnt having it’

the police come together ‘what the fuck do we do about this?’ ‘well, the family ARE willingly giving up this information AND ‘Rhia’ and Jun are acting as informants on the Team....... we could let this go’ ‘but its like, supppppper illegal’ ‘but they were all in on it. they wanted her to be in their family but didnt want to involve Elliot. remember, he was basically her guardian at the time’ ‘i GUESS? still illegal’ ‘but they ARE informing on proper criminals doing malicious crime, rather than something that at least had good intentions. not like she committed tax fraud. the only people who have touched Seren’s accounts are her family from Johto taking all of her inheritance. doubt ‘Rhia’ has seen a penny of that, somehow’ ‘...... sure, fine, say we let her off. what do we do about the fact she exists twice?’ ‘...... shit’

in the end they end up partially merging the Seren and Rhia files and removing any blatant lies, like her Unovan ancestry. with some tweaking, they legally adopt her to the Stanton family (Patrick and Eira), thus allowing her to keep her illegally gained Unovan citizenship (based on the fact Patrick and Eira were wholly open to the idea of legally adopting her if it would help, and simply didnt because the Org expedited the process through illegal means). they probably remove her Johto citizenship through her ‘mother’ (Patricks first wife), since as Seren, she hadnt gotten that citizenship through descent anyway (given her parents were both Johto natives who renounced and became [Victorians lads]). they basically just wipe it clean. they give her the OPTION of informing her blood family of what happened. she says fucking go for it. publicise it. publicly wrap the case on my disappearance. im not going to seek them out. in the end, her blood family MIGHT seek contact. the only real connection she would have is being able to claim her inheritance from her dead parents BACK from her blood family (who, as you’ll recall, took that inheritance from Seren’s account after she was presumed dead). whether Rhia would actually go for it? no idea. probably couldnt be assed. given shes basically disowned that section of her life, it doesnt really bother her much.

tl;dr the police are really confused by this seemingly good intentioned act of some sort of identity fraud and in the end dont pursue charges and just sorta....... let it go.......... i mean yea she WAS a criminal but it was blackmail/extortion in terms of being in the Team, she was consistently anti-Team, and shes informing on them and helping personally fuck them over, so, like..... if she didnt harm anyone, who cares, lol.