#shoe reads vento aureo

[shoechoe]

Abbacchio and Giorno's dynamic is genuinely so funny because Abbacchio will react to anything Giorno says with grabbing him and saying "Giorno you little shit. I'm the senior here so you listen to ME. You sniveling little arrogant brat. You're so stupid. You're going to get us killed. You're an idiot. You mean nothing to me. I hate you. I hate you so much." and every time Giorno just stares blankly at him like absolutely zero of it processed at all

[dominijoyce]

"Are you crying? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, I just- I have always dreamed of this opportunity and lost hope in it and yet- And yet, here you are."

Idea inspired by @starplatinumgold in which Fugo is a gorgon who went all of his life scared of hurting others and Giorno is a living stone statue and therefore immune to his deadly sight giving his lover the opportunity to be this close to someone without worry of doing them harm.

Also if you are interested, I included some of my ideas of other Vento Aureo characters in this Monster AU under the cut- Maybe someone might get inspired to produce something out of that, just how I did, heh.

Okay *cracks knuckles*

Vento Aureo Monster High AU (cause that's what happens when two completely different hyperfixations meet)

First things first, this AU doesn't take place in the high school itself, cause I don't wanna mess with character ages and etc. This AU (at least my version of it) doesn't involve mafia either, because I just imagine it as a simple Vento Aureo Simple Slice of Life shenanigans, but with monster twist (they deserve to not suffer at least once, heh)

The main idea for Fugo other than a gorgon is that he is specifically the child of Sthenno (was thinking of Euryale first, cause there is no canon child of her yet, but I think Sthenno fits him better)

The original poster that inspired this idea compared Giorno to a gargoyle but I don't think that fits him so he is a living statue, cause Araki based his design off of one. While they aren't connected in this AU, I also sorta got the inspiration from the myth of Galatea and Pygmalion which makes both Giorno and Fugo related to ancient myths ^-^ (also my friend pointed out that it also fits, because vampires are connected to Pillar Men - wasn't intentional, but also fun)

As for the rest of the main squad-

Bruno is a werewolf, but not because of the reasons that people might compare him to one (wolflike behaviors, leadership skills, sort of caretaking nature etc.), I mean those too, but I made him into one, because of a reason that only real true OG Monster High fans are able to connect :p

Leone is a banshee, because death follows him everywhere, heh. In all seriousness I just think it fits him and his aesthetic and also I have seen multiple reinterpretations of him as a ghost and I wanted to be sort of "original" (banshees *are* ghosts in MH, I know, but they are like weird and not full type of ghosts so *shrug*)

Narancia is a steam robot, who is a "failed prototype" of his creator, that was thrown away. He malfunctions quite often or even completely shuts off due to various issues with his design, quite often forced to replace his parts with any new ones he manages to find (can't exactly afford to buy new ones yet or do a full repair). Also he has a jetpack, a radar similar to his Stand and his shoes can switch to roller-skates.

Mista is a black werecat, because I honestly have no idea what else could fit him tbh. His main gimmick is luck and unluck, where he is superstitious about every little thing (not only fours) that could bring unluck - sometimes including himself, even when others reassure him there's no way he brings anyone bad luck with just existing. He is still paranoic though.

Lastly, Trish is a hybrid monster, because I fell in love with this concept back when it was introduced and I firmly believe we need more of that. She is a sea monster and boogeyman hybrid. Sea monster cause she grew up on the coast and boogeyman cause Diavolo ofc, but also I think it is funny cause in canon MH boogeymen hate being the center of attention and use shadows or shapeshifting to always be out of spotlight, while I imagine Trish would be the opposite of that and always strive to be the brightest star in a room. Sea monster also fits, because some of those underwater weirdos (like octopi among others) can manipulate their shape to such a high degree and fit into such narrow spaces and that kinda reminds me of her Stand.

If you read all of this, thanks for being interested in my random rambles and ideas and hope you like them. Maybe I will come up with more (was considering Part 6 Protagonists as Monsters, but not many ideas yet), but for now have these funky creatures!

[pipartuuli]

To Know All of the World's Unknowns [JJBA One-Shot]

Summary: Pre-Vento Aureo One-Shot. In which Abbacchio reappears looking like hell after going missing for a few days, and Bucciarati hears him out. (BruAbba flavored but nothing overt.)

Content Warnings: Mild violence, Implied alcohol abuse

Read at AO3.

"...A deep whoosh of air comes out of Bucciarati’s nose - a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Out with it comes the remainder of the frustration and anger he’d been collecting over the past several nights. He gets it now, and it makes sense: Abbacchio remains ever-faithful, not always to Bucciarati, but to the truth. No kidnapping. No secret missions from Polpo. No drugs - thank God, no drugs."

The clock has just rolled over to show three forty one in the morning when Leone Abbacchio finally comes stumbling in. For once, perhaps surprisingly, he’s not drunk, but exhausted to the point that the symptoms are nearly indistinguishable: staggering on his feet, relying on the doorframe for support, nearly tripping on the threshold, ready to pass out on the nearest horizontal surface he comes across. Even the smattering of dried blood that spangles his chest and throat and face isn’t a completely foreign feature of a night spent lost in the bottle and indulging in some pro bono vigilante work.

This particular night marks the first time in four days that he’s shown his face around Bucciarati’s apartment, which has become their team’s communal safehouse. All four days have been spent completely incommunicado. He’d left no messages about his abrupt departure and had given no warnings or details to any of his teammates. For all intents and purposes, he’d vanished.

It’s why Abbacchio isn’t too surprised to see an enraged Bucciarati glaring at him from the dark of the hallway.

“Abbacchio!” Bucciarati’s voice is a whisper, and it isn’t. It’s a growl, a husky shout. Unclassifiable in terms of volume, but unmistakably angry. Venomous like a viper’s hiss. Their leader is stripped down to a pair of pajama pants and his hair is mussed in tangles that suggest he’s been fitfully asleep. There’s a darkness to his eyes that can’t be chalked up to sleepiness alone. He’s pissed.

“You’re an adult,” he goes on, voice still hovering between man and wolf, “and I don’t need you to ask my permission before you decide to fuck off for three days.” There’s an extra emphasis on ‘fuck off’ that further underlines his roiling anger. “But you are my soldato, and you are absolutely to inform me when you’re going to be unreachable. Do you understand?!” All pretenses that he isn’t going to shout and risk waking the others asleep in the apartment are gone by the final question.

It isn’t that Abbacchio had suffered a maladjustment to the lifestyle of working under someone who holds absolute authority over his life when he’d sworn fealty to Passione. No, he’d happily surrendered his autonomy to a higher power several years prior when he’d given himself to the Italian police force, a bold SVB LEGE LIBERTAS permanently inked onto his left shoulder blade even today (Abbacchio has considered on more than one occasion having a cover-up piece done, but he appreciates its irony enough to let it linger). Giving up the bulk of his free time and any interests that no longer fit the lifestyle required of him had been a sacrifice he’d been willing to make as a police officer, and one he’d been equally willing to make for Passione. He’d never expressed any signs that subjugation wasn’t working for him under Bucciarati’s thumb.

And so it was that his sudden reappearance now, half conscious and bloodstained, after an even more sudden disappearance was truly cause for consternation.

Abbacchio regards his seething superior as he toes off his shoes and locks the front door behind him. “Uh-huh.” His voice is scratchy and hoarse and matches none of the energy being directed at him by Bucciarati.

Bucciarati looks incredulous. “I beg your fucking pardon?!”

Abbacchio bites off an annoyed sigh and clarifies, “Yes, sir. I’m going to bed.” He’s already moving towards the back of the house, pushing past Bucciarati, when a strong, mean grip on his shoulder stops him.

“We’re not done talking,” Bucciarati spits.

Abbacchio tilts his head back to make eye contact with his superior. Sleepy gold-flecked steel eyes underlined with heavy, dark circles meet electric blue ones failing to hide fury. Abbacchio lets out his sigh in full this time and asks, “Can we talk in your office, at least?”

…

Bucciarati’s head is pounding. He hasn’t slept well in three nights.

It’s not unusual for Abbacchio to go missing for a night and show up as dawn breaks, reeking of vodka or whiskey and waking up the entire household as he purges it all out in the hallway bathroom. When they’d first brought him onboard, Bucciarati had attempted to discourage the behavior, first by gently talking to him and stroking his back as the man crumpled over the toilet sobbing and moaning, and later by chastising him and accusing him of being a bad influence on the younger members. When neither tactic worked, Bucciarati had more or less given up on trying to reform him. Giving Abbacchio a constant stream of tasks and chores - something to pour his anxious energy into - seemed more effective than any verbal counseling Bucciarati could ever offer, anyway, and his benders became more and more infrequent.

But they did still happen.

So when, four nights ago, Abbacchio was not in his bed, Bucciarati hadn’t panicked.

When, three mornings ago, Abbacchio still wasn’t in his room, Bucciarati had felt more annoyed than anything. He assumed his troubled soldato was out lying in an alleyway somewhere in a puddle of his own sick or had gotten himself into some kind of trouble by fueling his mouth with ethanol instead of rationality. Inconvenient, but he’d come limping home soon enough, surely.

When, the next night, Narancia had returned home and reported that Aerosmith had scoured every single source of carbon dioxide in a ten kilometer radius and none of them were Abbacchio, Bucciarati was equal parts infuriated that he had wasted an entire day on a pointless search and rescue operation and stressed that Abbacchio had seemingly vanished.

When Abbacchio stayed gone, Bucciarati’s mind drifted to darker conclusions:

Abbacchio is taking orders directly from Polpo, meaning some kind of organizational shift was on the horizon and Bucciarati’s position was not as secure as he’d thought.

Abbacchio has actually been a police informant all along and he’s gotten enough information to pull off some kind of sting against Passione.

Abbacchio has been taken hostage by a rival syndicate. A ransom note will be sent demanding money in exchange for his life. Bucciarati is going to have to plead his case in front of Polpo.

Abbacchio is two-timing Passione for a rival syndicate. He was a mole seeking information and he’s gotten what he’s needed. There’s going to be a turf war.

Abbacchio is on drugs.

Bucciarati hadn’t wanted to consider it as a possibility before, but he, at last, had come face to face with the knowledge that Abbacchio was an addict, and maybe alcohol wasn’t cutting it for him anymore. He’d strained his memory, wringing it out for any details he could remember about seeing track marks or pinprick pupils or sudden nosebleeds. Had Abbacchio’s irritability and withdrawal actually been symptoms of something worse than depression and alcoholism? Heroin? Meth? Morphine?

And then there was the last option, possibly the only thing worse than the possibility of drug addiction. Bucciarati actively tried to discourage himself from thinking it, but as the hours ticked on and Abbacchio stayed missing, the idea only became more incessant: Abbacchio is dead.

Abbacchio is dead.

Abbacchio is dead.

Bucciarati had spent the entire final night lying awake and fighting a sick feeling that welled up further and further with each heartbeat, wrestling with all of the unsavory possibilities until the rattle of the deadbolt turning in the foyer brought him out of bed and bounding down the hallway in one flash of motion.

And now here they are: together, in Bucciarati’s office, Bucciarati’s knuckles stinging in sync with the pounding in his head and Abbacchio on the ground in front of him with a fresh bruise blossoming across the ridge of his left cheek in a shape that approximately matches his superior’s fist. Bucciarati knows he should regret it - getting physical with a subordinate - but he doesn’t. He wants to hit Abbacchio again. And again. And again until Abbacchio gets some goddamn sense knocked into him.

“Get up,” he spits, shaking out his hand. “On your feet.”

Abbacchio’s body moves shakily, but he manages to get himself upright and standing.

“Are you drunk?” It feels the most natural place to begin.

Bucciarati can see Abbacchio’s tongue working the inside of his cheek, possibly licking up the blood that’s in there now. Abbacchio cringes. Good. It should hurt. He wants it to hurt.

Abbacchio swallows thickly and says, “No, sir.”

“Are you high?”

“No–”

“Don’t even fucking consider lying to me, Abbacchio.”

“No, sir.” Thick, bloody spittle bubbles up at the corner of his mouth.

“Show me your arms.”

Abbacchio makes a soft ‘tsk’ sound, possibly annoyed at not being believed, but he reaches for the hem of his jacket and sets to work tugging it off. He moves stiffly, and as his bare skin is revealed, Bucciarati can see why - he’s covered in bruises and abrasions, a particularly nasty one covering his left shoulder and upper arm. There’s also a pretty nasty set of scrapes along his forearms that seem to have been made by human hands. None of them are what interest Bucciarati at the moment, and he reaches for Abbacchio’s right arm as soon as it’s bare, grabbing him roughly around the wrist and yanking until his forearm is out straight. No track marks. No bruising reminiscent of a tourniquet. Bucciarati checks the left arm, and it’s the same story - no typical signs of drug use. He takes each of Abbacchio’s hands in turn, spreading each of the fingers and looking at the space between them closely for pinprick scabs. Nothing.

So Abbacchio isn’t shooting up, but if he’s snorting it or taking pills–

“I’m not using, Bucciarati,” Abbacchio says again. “I’ll piss in a cup if you want to test it.” He has the nerve to smirk a little, unevenly as his cheek swells. “Or, fuck, you can lick me if you want.”

Bucciarati sighs this time and pushes Abbacchio’s arm away and turns towards his desk, moves for his chair, suddenly far too tired to stand. “Where the fuck were you?”

“Scampia.”

Freezing mid-sit, Bucciarati’s brows quirk. Scampia has quite a rough reputation. Passione’s more established rival syndicates operate out of that quarter, taking advantage of the astronomical unemployment rates and getting vast swaths of the population hooked on drugs, roping them into muling, or both. Drugs, sex, and violence thrive in the underbelly of the northern neighborhood, often spilling into the larger whole of Napoli and even neighboring cities. Violent deaths there aren’t quite a weekly affair just yet, but they are all too common.

Little wonder, then, that Abbacchio is splattered with blood and covered in bruises.

“Alright. I’ll bite: why were you in Scampia?” Better to have Abbacchio explain than for Bucciarati to let his mind resume its deranged wanderings through the many possibilities.

“I was doing some reconnaissance.”

Bucciarati crosses his arms, brows still arched. “Reconnaissance? You’ll have to enlighten me; I was under the impression you took your orders from me, and I don’t remember assigning you a three-day reconnaissance mission.” Even if Polpo had hand-picked Abbacchio for a job, he would go through Bucciarati to assign the orders. There was a certain respect for the chain of command within their organization that simply wasn’t broken. Again, all things Abbacchio should have been used to from his time as an officer, however brief - so what the hell?!

Abbacchio shifts his weight from foot to foot as he stands before Bucciarati’s desk, staring fixedly at a stack of papers on one edge of it. Anxious to get to sleep, maybe, or anxious to get out of Bucciarati’s office so he won’t have to talk about something difficult. “It was personal, sir.”

Bucciarati lets out a single, humorless laugh. “ Personal’? I’m sorry, but you’ve lost my trust for the moment. You don’t get the luxury of being vague. Clarify.”

The blood at the edge of Abbacchio’s mouth has begun to trickle out. He slurps it back with a thick, wet noise. Pauses. Then begins, “There was a murder there in the sixties. An old cold case.”

It’s not at all what Bucciarati was anticipating, and so the wheels of his mind spin in the mud for a moment before gaining traction and catching up to what Abbacchio is saying. The arch of his brows remains in place as he listens.

“A double homicide. A mom and her kid.” Abbacchio’s lips snarl back a little and reveal bloodstained teeth as he recounts the tale. Bucciarati isn’t sure he’s aware he’s doing it. “I’ll spare you the details, but know it was… brutal. They didn’t die peacefully, and they didn’t die quickly. The file had photos. Suffice it to say, it fucked my nineteen-year-old rookie self up pretty bad.”

Here he pauses to prod at his cheek and the red blooming there from Bucciarati’s punch like an opening carnation.

“Alright,” Bucciarati concedes, shifting in his chair so that he’s resting his elbows on his desk. “And?”

“You’d think it’s the significant other - the husband, the boyfriend, whatever. That’s usually who it is. Except her husband had died two years before that and she wasn’t dating anyone that her friends or family knew about.”

He sways again. Maybe it’s that he’s about to pass out on his feet. Maybe the memory of the gorey details is really getting to him.

“So we start looking at the next-of-kin. Her relationship with her parents was good. They adored her. Not them. One living brother, but he’d moved to America back in the fifties and hadn’t been back to visit since. Aunts, uncles, cousins….” He shook his head. “No. Either they had alibis or we couldn’t pin them with a motive or… whatever. She had no enemies, and the kid was just a kid - school, football, the arcade. We couldn’t find a suspect.”

Bucciarati holds up his hand, palm out, fingers together - “stop”. Abbacchio’s getting lost in the details. Typical. “You went to Scampia to, what, investigate a forty-year old murder case?”

Abbacchio opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. Instead, he nods his head, not as if in agreement with Bucciarati’s question, but as if he’s thinking and the answer is coming to him in bits and pieces. “I… It was, ah, something my partner had always said….”

Cold prickles across Bucciarati’s skin as Abbacchio’s voice trails off and his eyes drop like lead to the floor. The subject of Abbacchio’s late partner is one that’s still as sore and fresh as the day that wound was opened, now two full years ago. Bucciarati can count the number of times Abbacchio has mentioned him on one hand, and it’s a subject that he handles with more delicacy than any other that he can think of - even the untimely death of his own father. Through bits and pieces of lamenting, drunken confessions, Bucciarati has stitched together what happened in his mind: Abbacchio was a cop. Abbacchio made a bad call. Abbacchio’s partner died because of it. The trajectory of Abbacchio’s entire life was thrown into a tailspin. Details weren’t ever requested; they weren’t needed, and Bucciarati could tell it hurt too much.

So for Abbacchio to bring up in conversation the man that he seems to idolize even today is always a bit of a surprise that leaves Bucciarati feeling just as suckerpunched as Abbacchio actually was a few minutes ago.

“It was assigned to him when he started. It was just. Just something he always said he would figure out some day. It meant a lot to him, I guess. And, y’know, he never got to see it through because of– uh, because–”

He didn’t end the sentence, but both men know what he wants to say: “Because of me.”

Clearing his throat, Abbacchio soldiers on. “Anyway, I’ve got Moody now. So.”

A deep whoosh of air comes out of Bucciarati’s nose - a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Out with it comes the remainder of the frustration and anger he’d been collecting over the past several nights. He gets it now, and it makes sense: Abbacchio remains ever-faithful, not always to Bucciarati, but to the truth. No kidnapping. No secret missions from Polpo. No drugs - thank God, no drugs.

“You went to Scampia to use Moody Blues to find the murderer and accomplish your partner’s goal,” the superior summarizes, leaning back into the leather chair. He can’t find it within himself to make eye contact at the moment, staring instead at one of the golden grommets on Abbacchio’s shucked coat that lies crumpled like a dead animal.

“Yes, sir. I guess that about sums it up.”

A silence falls between the two of them as Bucciarati digests this information. He’s still angry, still infuriated that Abbacchio would disappear without a single word so flippantly. As if he has no respect for authority. As if Bucciarati and the power he holds is insignificant. As if Passione does not have the gall to punish disobedience to the highest degree. As if Abbacchio doesn’t owe Bucciarati his very life for scraping him up off the street and rehabilitating him.

As if he doesn’t believe that every single person in this house cares for him and would be devastated to find out he’s been injured, or worse. As if Bucciarati doesn’t love him.

Bucciarati is hurt. Hurt for himself, but hurt more for Abbacchio who takes on so much alone that he drifts through life like no one can see him. Like he died right alongside his partner.

“So?”

Abbacchio looks up and meets Bucciarati’s gaze for the first time in a while.

“You did find him, yes?”

“Uh, yea– yes, sir.”

“And?”

Abbacchio is clearly caught off-guard by this sudden tonal shift. “And… the cityscape ain’t exactly what it was in the sixties, so it took me a solid two days and a lot of lock-picking and body-checking locked doors to find the right spot.” He pauses to look down at the red welts and purple marks spangling his skin. “Where a lot of these came from. And then I had to rewind to find what I was looking for. I could remember the month and year, but not the day or time. It took me a long time.”

“Who did you find?”

Abbacchio shrugs. “Just… some guy. Sometimes it’s just some guy. Not a relative, not a suspect I remember seeing in the file. A nobody from under the radar. Some fucked-up, piece of shit lunatic who gets off on torturing women and children.”

“You killed him.” This time, it comes more as a statement than a question. All of the evidence is there in the form of little rusty red droplets across the ex-cop’s face, the desperate claw marks up his forearms.

“It took me a little while to find him,” Abbacchio goes on, his voice having gone dark. “He’s old now. Doesn’t look exactly the same as he did in the replay.” He snarls out a twisted, blood-tinged smirk. “Well, he was old, and he looks really different now after I made him eat the curb. I don’t think even dental records would help ID ‘im. He struggled a little-" here Abbacchio pauses to stretch out his arms, looking at the scrapes up his forearms, before finishing, "but it didn’t matter.”

Another prolonged silence drops over them.

“Did you not sleep at all in Scampia?” Bucciarati asks, finally allowing concern to blossom up where the briars of anger have been rooted out. It’s not that he’s gone back on his decision that Abbacchio had been wildly out of line - no, this sort of behavior is very much not tolerated in Passione and Abbacchio would be penalized in accordance with the magnitude of his disobedience, and soon. But Bucciarati also sees that there are needs Abbacchio must have fulfilled before he will have the mental capacity to properly process a punishment. Rest, understanding, and then retribution.

Abbacchio, for his part, has possibly drifted off on his feet in the unfilled seconds of silence. He jolts at his boss’s voice and finally mumbles, “I guess I just didn’t really remember to.”

“I thought not. You look like shit.”

Abbacchio nods. “Yes, sir. I feel like shit, too.”

Bucciarati stands, the leather chair creaking under him as he rises to his feet. “Let me be clear: I don’t own you. You’re your own man.” It feels as much a reminder for Bucciarati as it does for Abbacchio as he declares it. “But you cannot ever do something like this again.”

Abbacchio swallows a yawn once, and then fails to swallow it a second time, hiding it behind a grimy hand. “Sorry.” It’s unclear whether the apology is for the yawn or for his disappearance.

“We thought–” Bucciarati cuts himself short, not wanting to verbalize the thoughts that had haunted their home over the past few days, lingering in the vacancy like dust motes. “We thought you had been hurt, or killed.”

“I understand, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

A soft laugh rips its way out of Bucciarati’s chest. It’s not a happy sound, but a desperate one. “Please, Leone, I’m telling you as a friend that we were worried for you. Tell me you understand.”

“Yeah, I get it, Bruno. Sorry for scaring you.”

“I hope you are.” Bucciarati regards his subordinate, his friend, watches as he lists first to the right, then to the left, his head starting to tilt. “Come on.” He moves around the table and gently takes Abbacchio by the less injured elbow, coaxing him towards the door. “You need to sleep.”

Quietly, as if aware again of the other three people asleep in the house, the two men move down the hall from Bucciarati’s office into the bedroom that Abbacchio has claimed as his own. The bed is too small, a holdover from Bucciarati’s childhood, and his feet hang off the end of the mattress when he stretches out fully, but it’s a far cry better than where Bucciarati found him, and Abbacchio has never complained. He doesn’t complain now as he collapses onto it, seeming to be asleep upon impact.

Bucciarati tugs the sheets up over Abbacchio until he’s buried up to his shoulders.

“Abbacchio?”

A soft grunt leaves Abbacchio, and his nose crinkles slightly, but there’s no real indication that Abbacchio has really heard him. Bucciarati goes on, anyway, smoothing Abbacchio’s hair back behind his ear, running a thumb over the cheek he bruised. “You can’t assume responsibility for every mystery that exists. You can’t try to know all of the world’s unknowns. Moody Blues is a gift, but you’ll run yourself into the ground if you try to figure it all out yourself. You’re too important to us for that, yes?”

Abbacchio slurs something that might be “yessir” and nuzzles into his pillow.

“Alright. Sleep well.”

For the rest of the night, until the sounds of a shower running across the house signal that the rest of the home’s occupants are beginning to awaken, Bucciarati sits vigil at Abbacchio’s bedside, silently thanking God that he’s back where he belongs and wondering if he’s going to have to take a trip to Scampia in the morning to make some human remains disappear.

[mrsgiovanna]

A Dream Realized (Don Giorno x Fem! Reader)

The cutest request from a nonnie mouse, I had too much fun writing this and may have gone overboard😅

This takes place many years after the events of Vento aureo.

No warnings, just pure, self indulgent fluff😍💜💭🐞

“Giorno! Get out! Get out! Get out! You’re not allowed to see (y/n) in the dress!” Trish ran across the room to slam the door before Giorno could see you while you tried on your stunning designer dress and shoes in front of your excited bridal retinue.

“But I just want to talk to her, I’m leaving in a moment and I’ll only see her at the wedding now,”

“Gio, please wait, I’ll be out in a minute,” you call out, hurrying to get out of your dress so you could see him one last time before your wedding tomorrow,”

“Of course tesoro, don’t worry, I won’t leave without seeing you first,” Giorno paced outside the master bedroom, amused at the laughter and muffled conversations he could hear from the other side of the door. As soon as you step out of the room, you run into his arms, and give him the warmest, tightest hug you could with all the energy you could muster, almost as if you wanted to memorize the way his body felt against yours.

“I’ll miss you tonight my love, not that I’ll be able to get any sleep…” you say as you look up into his sparkly emerald eyes, interlocking your fingers around his neck.

“No, no bella, you need to rest, I want you to be well rested and alert for tomorrow, don’t want people to think I’ve tricked you into marrying me when they see your dopey, sleepy face,” teased Giorno, masking a mischievous laugh by burying his face in your hair.

“Whatever… my sleepy face is adorable, you just don’t want anyone else to see it,”

“Yes bella, you’ve caught me out, only I should be able to see you like this. Giorno locked his fingers around the small of your back and pulled away to look at you, “you know, the next time we hold each other like this, you’ll be Mrs. Giovanna, you ready for that? It’s your last chance to run away…”

“Oh you guys are so annoying, Giorno, come on, its only one night, (y/n), we’ll… try to have him back in one piece for tomorrow, can’t make any promises though,” said Mista as he slung an arm around the young Don’s shoulders trying to drag him off. With a few chaste kisses, Giorno had left and you went back to the room to go over the final details of the wedding and just have a moment to relax with your party.

 You both spent your evenings recounting stories of your childhoods together, you knew the boys were out somewhere making the best of Giorno’s final moments as a bachelor, but you weren’t worried, you wanted him to have a normal experience for once, well as normal as one can conjure while being the don of Passione.

Yours was a classic “childhood sweethearts” love story- little boy meets little girl, they become the best of friends and a mutual escape for one another from their painful realities, boy goes on an epic journey and attains a supernatural, almost godlike power and ousts the menacing don of the most powerful mafia in Italy for the betterment of society, boy then pursues girl after years of mutual pining for each other- just your usual love story…

Reforming Passione was not easy, and it took years of painstaking work to get to a point where Giorno could focus on his personal life, and be the man he thought you deserved. You never doubted that he would realize his dream, and you cheered for him silently from your position in the shadows, staying hidden for your own safety.

­ “Everything looks beautiful outside- here, I’ve brought over your flower crown and the bouquets that Giorno had sent over, I’m convinced this was made with GE, I haven’t even seen some of these flowers before,” marveled Trish as she helped fix your headpiece to your hair. “Giorno is already here, he looks like an absolute dream, well, he always did look great in black.” You smile at Trish, thankful that she was your maid of honor, she really has been the best friend you could have asked for during this entire planning stage, and you were excited at helping her in the same way when her time came.

As you give yourself one last look at your reflection in the gilded mirror, a little butterfly flutters through your window and lands on your outstretched hand, slowly transforming into a small note. The girls all gather around you as you unfold the letter and begin to read it. You recognize the immaculate penmanship immediately-

My beautiful (y/n),

To say that I’ve been looking forward to this is an understatement. Thank you for always being the source of my strength and my sense of calm in this crazy world. I’m usually a man of few words, so I’ll keep this short and save the rest for my vows to you. I just want to say that I love you and I’m ready to embark on this new adventure with you. Today you will take my name, and in exchange I get everything I could ever want- I get you…

P.S. look for a little blue box on your nightstand, please wear that when you walk down the aisle.

All my love, Gio

One of your bridesmaids hands you the box, and you open it to find a beautiful, elegant jeweled necklace, perfectly matched to your look for the day.

The ceremony was beautiful, romantic and lighthearted- everything you could have hoped for, and the sight of Giorno beaming as you walked towards him is one that will remain imprinted in your memory forever. Your reception was the grandest soiree you’ve ever planned and you were elated that everything was going according to plan, and that the guests were having a wonderful time.  Despite your exhaustion, you danced the night away with your handsome husband, until you both could barely stand. Finding a quiet corner, you decide to sit down and just observe the cheerful scene.

With glossy eyes and flushed cheeks, you both look at each other affectionately

“I can’t believe this is happening Gio, it feels like a dream and I’m scared I’m going to wake up…” Giorno looks at you while twirling a lock of your hair in his fingers, drinking in your loveliness, “It is a dream amore mio… one that we have realized. Nothing and nobody will be able to take this from us now…” he says as his gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips, claiming them in a soft kiss, the first of countless more to come.

[mistaeq]

➵ fugo + katherine's fluff alphabet [@pr3sa 's birthday gift]

pannacotta fugo x katherine lancaster [@pr3sa 's vento aureo OC]

arguments: fugo's a feral man, so his anger issues would be really triggered, if he happened to argue with kathie. luckily, he's learning to manage his issue, thanks to his wife directly, and he'd never do anything to her while angry.

babies: he keeps on denying it, but he's a better father than he likes to admit. he's always saying he's the worst, but the truth is kathie is grateful everyday, for he's the man whose children she gave birth to.

cuddles: pannacotta's a sweet man, but i won't deny katherine probably has to be the one to pull him into a well deserved session of cuddles. he's never sure about it at first, but as he gets used to his wife's arms' warmth, he'd rather not go away. just like showering.

dora's random hc: okay here's an interesting headcanon about katherine and fugo. katherine is best blueberry girl with an amazing voice and amazing skill with music, super beautiful girl, and fugo's just a lucky hoe because he gets to kiss her everyday. fuck you fugo. oh and their creator is awesome. like really.

effects: fugo changed completely when he got to know kathie. she always accepted him the way he was, and as a way to thank her, the boy trusted her completely and evolved day by day into the new man he is.

first date: you know how pannacotta's iq is incredibly high and stuff? well, throw it all out of the window, because during his first date with kathie, his words got stuck in his mouth the whole time, and couldn't manage to pour his heart out properly.

giggle: everyone admitted that since katherine and fugo started dating, the man's become way more lighthearted about stuff, and thanks to her, he can be heard giggling even at midnight, probably thinking of an inside joke of theirs.

honesty: he knows how much his wife suffered for men lying about their intentions in her regards, but he's always been more than honest about his love and appreciation for her.

indoor: sometimes the couple happens to be stuck indoors because of bad weather, for example. when they don't cuddle, fugo would probably try to get katherine involved in playing a board game. chess and monopoly are his favourites.

jealousy: he used to be jealous of the gang at first, but now he trusts both his friends and above all his wife. still, when a man he doesn't know gets too close to her, fugo sometimes gets suspicious or worried. just until his doubts don't disappear.

kiss: oh please katherine, shower this man in kisses and tell him he's worth a lot, fugo will melt. pannacotta enjoys being kissed more than being hugged. kisses are part of those kind of things he sees as more intimate than hugs, just like lovemaking and so on.

love letter: pannacotta is so shy, come on. under that thick layer of anger, lies one of the shyest people ever. he'd definitely use love letters to communicate his love to kathie sometimes. not the most romantic she's ever read, but she's happy.

miss you: oh man. those times when they've been apart after fugo left the gang. without katherine by his side, pannacotta felt just like his life could be ruined. he could have gone with them, he could have protected her. fuck. he was regretting his actions so much, praying he would have been able to see her again, alive.

newborn: after kathie gives birth to their newborn baby twins, he feels like he could run around the moon with his bare feet only and come back on earth. he's gonna definitely cry, maybe just not in front of his wife. man is so happy he can't hold back.

oh no: he doesn't pull many pranks on katherine. she's definitely and easygoing girl, but he knows he lived through some traumatic experiences, and doesn't want to scare her, even for a prank only. he just does innocent stuff like hiding her shoes or eating her favourite pastry before her, but not much more.

presents: pannacotta is the one who knows katherine's tastes the most, out of all of passione's member, but he's gonna need other members' help to choose the presents for her, for fear of getting something she already has or something she'll dislike.

qualities: he fell in love with katherine because she never criticized him for his personality. she listened to fugo's story, she supported the man's effort to get better, and never ever tried to change him or rush him into eliminating anger from his life. she's respectful and he cherishes it.

reading: he's not perfect, but pannacotta can definitely tell when his better half is down or is in a bad mood. what he does is sitting next to her and and gently asking what's up. if he can help, he'll definitely not move until he manages to.

stand: oh, purple haze loves kathie, it's just a little worried about what it might do to her with its uncontrollable anger. it wouldn't be the first time that stand goes berserk when it shouldn't. pannacotta loves seeing and being with the pied piper, though...

together: fugo likes to eat together with kathie, otherwise his will to eat disappears, it's almost like children who refuse to do something unless a specific adult is with them. a day on which she wasn't there, the gang had to put a photo of her next to the table.

unexpected: he would learn to dance for katherine, since she loves so much to make people dance with her pied piper. at least he'd do it with cognition and sense, when it happens. it would be a big surprise for kathie.

vacation: being part of an organization like passione, they wouldn't have much time to think about a vacation. but for pannacotta, every day spent at home with his wife instear of being in the streets, fighting against other stand users, is a well deserved vacation from fear and from danger.

wedding: during the marriage ceremony, he'd have a huge smile on his face, which is a coping mechanism in order not to cry out of happiness. he doesn't want to breakdown in front of his new wife and in fronf of all the guests, but he'd be so thankful to kathie, it will be difficult to resist.

e(x)es: well, fugo hates every man who had to do with katherine before and would love to see them perish for how they treated the most amazing woman of his life. so yeah, he won't even have to worry about exes coming back to her. he'll kill them, in case.

year: oh, his head would go crazy thinking about what to do for an anniversary. pannacotta has so many ideas about a romantic date, that every single one of them starts looking too simple for such an amazing girl as kathie. he doesn't realize she'll be happy with anything he does.

zzz: after the first time you sleep together, he doesn't want to ever stop, he feels happier and calmer if katherine sleeps beside him, so he can easily know if she's fine and whether she's sleeping calmly, dreaming or having nightmares. nighttime matters a lot to him.

[supposed2bfunny]

Heck it! Vento Aureo Neuro-Divergent Headcanons!

Narancia

-Narancia has (undiagnosed) ADHD.

-And boy does he love to stim with his hands! Using his flick knife is his preferred method of keeping his hands busy, but that tapping he’s doing while listening to his boombox? Slappy time! 

-He also flaps when he gets served his favorite meal or a fancy dessert at restaurants with the gang.

-His feet are EXTREMELY restless and he has a tendency to kick his shoes on and off when he’s sitting around. This makes them a tad loose, which is why they always come flying off in battle.

-Surprisingly, Abbacchio is the most equipped to handle Narnacia’s energy and helps ground him with his Cool Goth Vibe.

-Abba and Nara paint their nails together sometimes when Narancia is feeling overwhelmed. Especially on rainy days when the sound of the rain puts him on edge.

-He’ll just start singing jingles from commercials at random, sometimes in the middle of a conversation. When they get in his head, he’s gotta let them out! In general, noises can be either a source of elation or anxiety for him.

-He’s often lost in his own thoughts so deep that when someone speaks to him, it can take a few seconds for him to process what’s just been said. 

-Sights, sounds, and smells all tend to overwhelm him, but touch is very soothing. Look how tight that shirt is; there’s a reason!

-Sometimes if he’s having a hard time, he’ll just ask for a bear-hug from Mista. The pressure helps him relax instantly. Since it took a long time for Narancia to work up the nerve to ask for a hug, he would at first just grab one of Mista’s arms and drape it around his shoulders, or even place one of his hands on his head. It didn’t take long for Mista to understand the wordless request for comfort.

Fugo

-Holy fuck words are hard for Fugo.

-Unless you ask him about something he’s passionate about. Then he will chat away and info-dump, his eyes light up and it’s one of the rare times you’ll see Fugo open up and look super happy.

-Since he has a hard time socially, he tries to use formalities to bridge the gap between himself and friends. Teaching math to Narancia? Formal, serves a functional purpose. A logical thing to do, really. Also means he gets to spend the afternoon with his friend :) He’s also always trying to take on extra tasks for Buccellati so he can be around him.

-He adores Buccellati, but Bucci tends to make a lot of intense eye contact, which always makes Fugo antsy because he hates eye contact. Thank god for Abbacchio, who will go on a mission with him and return to Naples without ever looking at his face. What a good friend!

-Yes, sometimes he practices speaking in front of a mirror, trying to keep his head high and make his cadence more like Buccellati’s. And what about it?

-Touch-averse to the extreme. Do not touch him. Please.

-Hands-down pickiest eater of the group because a lot of smells and textures freak him out. His sense of smell in particular is super strong. When in doubt, strawberries are always a good way to make him eat. He can devour those all day and never tire of them. He’s been known to just eat bread for lunch if the smell of his meal is Bad and puts him off.

-Also prone to stomach-aches from stress. His mind-body connection is VERY strong and his social anxiety informs how he feels. And since he’s anxious most of the time...:(

-His skin is so sensitive: his suits are made from super soft material and don’t have tags. His clothing budget is sky-high but he looks dope and he feels good!

-He tends to pick at his hair, so he has horrible split ends all the time.

-He’s probably the least likely one in the gang to self-sooth or practice self-care because he doesn’t feel he deserves to feel good. Thankfully, the rest of the gang feels quite differently and is slowly but surely memorizing everything they can do to make his life easier.

Mista

-He’s naturally extroverted and loves to be with friends, but he needs breaks to recharge frequently, which is why he always brings along books or magazines to read and have quiet time. If he doesn’t get a chance to decompress, he gets fidgety, overly chatty, and very unhappy. 

-Understanding what people are saying and interpreting other people’s feelings? Easy! Communicating back to people what’s on his own mind? Oof!

-Voice modulation? Lol never heard of her. Sometimes he’s just yelling instead of talking and that’s that on that.

-Despite the efforts he puts into being the “laid-back” type, he’s actually prone to anxiety attacks. Generally, he’s pretty helpless to communicate when he’s going into an attack, and doesn’t want to be seen as overly emotional or worse: a burden. So he tends to clam up until he reaches a breaking point. The only two people who can soothe him once he’s in the height of anxiety are Buccellati and, surprisingly, Fugo.

-His fear of the number four is 100% a self-imposed sort of order to help him feel he has control over some aspect of his life. Is that specific number linked to a childhood trauma? Probably! He’s not gonna talk about!

-Loves to eat, but he used to get distracted/lost in thought and skip meals chronically when he was younger. That’s why the Pistols are always begging for food at mealtimes. It gives him a routine.

-Executive dysnfucntion to the max.

-Hyper-empathic. Don’t let the tough demeanor fool you: he cries like every day, and adopts the vibe of whoever he’s with, which is again, why he gets overwhelmed and needs down time despite his love of socializing. 

-Zero spatial awareness. If there is something to bump into, he’s already bumped into it, knocked it over, tripped over it, or stepped on it. Half the time he’s hurt on missions, he’s the last one to notice.

Giorno

-Zero perception of personal space. Especially if he really likes you. (People are quick to assume he and Mista are a couple because his hands are always on him: it’s really just a security thing for Gio, nothing romantic intended).

-He also tends to get right up in your face if you’re having a one-on-one conversation. For the longest time, Fugo avoided talking with him alone cuz he Did Not Like the invasion of personal boundaries.

-He has a silly sense of humor, but his delivery is so flat people often can’t tell he’s joking, which leaves him feeling kinda :/

-Not good at reading people’s tones. If he has empirical evidence to glean something about someone (ie Buccellati’s hesitating to injure the drug addict teen in their first fight, which showed Giorno that he’s a kind and trustworthy man), then he’s confident. But he gets confused when he has to go off of facial cues and tone of voice alone. Those are way harder to understand for him!

-He’s constantly asking if his friends are upset with him because he can’t tell and he’s very anxious about that! At least Abbacchio is upfront about his feelings, even if he’s not too fond of Giorno. At least once a day you’ll hear a very polite “Hey, Narancia...I’m very sorry to trouble you, but you’re not mad at me, are you? No? Okay just checking...”

-Put Fugo and Giorno in a room together and get them talking about Roman history or biology and they will not shut up. They LOVE to info dump at one another!

-He had such a lonely childhood and he is hyper aware of how literal and overly formal he can be. He acts collected but he’s actually so self-conscious of it, and is terrified that the gang puts up with him because of his stand abilities, not because of who he is as a person.

-Soooo sensory-seeking. Please braid his hair! Go ahead! He would adore that!

-Has been known to summon Gold Experience just for a hug when he was really upset. These days Narancia and Mista try to be there for him instead.

-He has synesthesia all the time, which might be part of how he’s able to think so creatively when fighting other stand users. Sometimes on bad days, he’ll just communicate in colors instead of words, because it takes less energy.

-On one really bad day, Abbacchio asked why Giorno was showing Mista pictures of different gray skies in a book and not talking. Mista explained that those pictures were what was in Giorno’s head, that words were too heavy that day. After a moment’s thought, Abbacchio grabbed his headphones, set them on Giorno, and put on Monteverdi’s Symphony No. 3 in D Minor with the order “listen to that and tell me what you see.” Giorno searched through some of his books, then showed him a series of Monet’s water lillies. “That’s what I thought. Keep listening, punk. I’ll need the headphones back at the end of the day, or else you’re in for it.” Closest bonding experience they ever had.

At the moment I can’t think of anything for Abbacchio or Buccellati, but I’m happy to hear any other ideas people may have!

[wri0thesley]

finally decided it’s time to stop putting off finishing the last few episodes of the Vento Aureo anime... just finished the ep that Narancia dies in and i am Not Alright. i knew it was coming since i read the manga but i was Not Fucking Ready. i openly sobbed for abt 20 minutes. my heart is dead. i am a husk of a being. fuck you diavolo

:( 

honestly i knew abba’s death was coming and i still sobbed like a little tiny baby. i have been in ur shoes. the pain is real

[shoechoe]

i think a lot about diavolo immediately impaling narancia when the gang shoots doppio. every time i watch it the impression i get is "revenge kill"- it was a very impulsive-seeming action for diavolo (it blew his cover when he was attempting to not reveal himself) and it happened so quickly it seems really likely that it was a direct response to them killing doppio.

it's always been very vague how much diavolo really "cares" for doppio, if at all (people say that he "left him to die" in bruno's body when he left, but like... how do we know he had any way to take his soul along with him?)- and also, if he does "care", in what way does he "care"? like, does he just value doppio via seeing him as an object/tool for power? does he value him as an extension of himself? does he care about his well-being in any genuine way (i.e. his loneliness) or does he just use it to manipulate him into staunch loyalty?

like a lot of things about diavolo it's ultimately kept vague and up to interpretation, and this seeming reaction to doppio's shooting is an interesting piece of it

[shoechoe]

why does abbacchio have no face up there

[shoechoe]

this shot is so funny. of course he spends his time by himself ominously wearing a cloak curled up in the corner of a dark room

[shoechoe]

I see nobody talk about this or even say the opposite, but... isn't Sex Pistols kind of a terrible Stand? Like, easily the weakest Stand out of the Bucciarati group? You have to feed it and lecture it into actually working (sometimes they refuse), give it rest with naps, and sort out arguments between them, and then all they do is change the course of bullets by kicking them, which is just a worse version of Hol Horse's Emperor stand. They don't even come with a gun or bullets themselves and they're too tiny and weak to move basically anything else.

I know there's a point in Jojo about even "weak" Stands being useful when used the right way but I feel like there should be more of a point about Mista's ability being damn close to useless and him still managing to make something out of it.

[shoechoe]

Vento Aureo is such torture because I can't even enjoy King Crimson's introduction arc without being annoyed. It frustrates me so much that Diavolo is created to be a hyper-paranoid, intensely calculated villain who's smart enough to know how to completely wipe himself off the face of the Earth for over a decade but in order for the plot to work he has to keep making ridiculously bad decisions and mistakes that a character like him logically wouldn't.

Case in point: Why did he have to take Trish from Bruno while still in the elevator (not to mention leaving her entire severed hand for some damn reason?) He could've just waited for them to get to the top, stayed in the shadows and said something like "Good work, Bruno, let Trish step out and leave now" and then when Bruno was gone he could kill Trish before she ever even sees him. Boom. Bruno has no way of knowing what he did to her.

Also why did he have to take Trish to the basement to kill her? He could've just murdered her as soon as he got to her... and him nabbing her in the elevator makes no sense anyways because neither he nor King Crimson should be able to interact with things while in erased time, but Jojo loves being inconsistent with Stands anyway, so whatever I guess.

[shoechoe]

out of all jojo characters i think cioccolata is the one most like a fucked up horror movie villain

[shoechoe]

It's so funny how this was La Squadra's plan of all things. What would they have done if they saw Trish's ability was just to make things soft (AKA has literally nothing to do with King Crimson's ability).

How does the logic follow through here... how does her Stand even help them track anything really

[shoechoe]

why does he have curves...

[shoechoe]

I like how Doppio never questions why the Boss can give him parts of his soul and his Stand and seemingly knows most of what he's doing at all times when he calls despite Doppio not telling him. I like to imagine Doppio going "Wait, you gave me your King Crimson's arms and Epitaph? Can Stand users do that?" and Diavolo pausing for a second and responding "Ummm..... yeaaah Stand users can do that... Don't question it though" and Doppio goes "OK 😃" and never brings it up again