#shoe watches vento aureo

[shoechoe]

love how he has to sprinkle in the "whom I hate" just so you know he still doesn't like him even as he does what he told him to

[cophene]

𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎 | vento aureo; g. mista ending.

✦.⁺ ginger ale.

table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : a college student tries getting the attention of some of the most admired and attractive people on campus, only to get caught up with stands and vigilante groups in the process. notes : modern au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.5k+

═ ☆. IT WASN'T UNTIL AFTER MISTA opened his centre console that (y/n) noticed the sleek glass bottle catching the light.

"You are not bringing that."

"Hell yes, I am. My guy will thank us for it, trust me."

"Did you get that from Prosciutto?"

"Who else? He may be a questionable guy, but when it comes to suits and alcohol, he does not go wrong."

(Y/n) wrinkled their nose at the bottle. They were barely out of the hospital, and the thought of ingesting anything of that sort made them queasy.

"Hey, Prosciutto gave me his word this was a good batch. I owe him like, 200 euros for it, the bastard." Mista took out the bottle with a self-assured smile.

(Y/n) got out of the car with a sigh. They'd been pleasantly surprised when Mista had suggested visiting Scolippi. The poor sculptor had slipped (y/n)'s head the past few weeks. Hopefully, he was doing well.

The two of them asked to see Scolippi at the front desk. The receptionist sent up a call and allowed them to take the elevator to the seventh floor.

"Actually, we'll take the stairs, if that's alright," said Mista.

The man blinked. "Yes, of course. Feel free."

Mista swung the bottle of alcohol jauntily at his side as he led (y/n) up the staircase. (Y/n) was a little miffed. Even if they were at a hundred percent health, they did not enjoy traversing seven flights of stairs.

"Tell me what was wrong with the elevator?"

"I want to check something," replied Mista. He was dressed in bright-red joggers and a blue-and-white windbreaker that rustled loudly with every movement. He had been a little too pleased at the compliment (y/n) paid his high-top sneakers, doing a terrifying dance in the custom Sex Pistols shoes that mortified (y/n) and every passersby on the street.

No more compliments for Mista.

The stairs were like some vertical memory lane for (y/n), which they realized must have been the reason Mista had insisted on them. Actually, this entire trip had a delicious sort of irony to it, the sharp contrast to how they'd first met Scolippi to now. If they concentrated, (y/n) could almost hear Rolling Stones slamming down the stairs.

"Aw, look, the window is still broken." Mista stopped in front of said window with an almost wistful smile on his face. It was such an odd expression that (y/n) laughed.

"Ah, yes, I too fondly remember the time you nearly fell to your death out here."

"But you caught me," said Mista, "and that makes all the difference."

(Y/n)'s heart tripped a little at the tone of Mista's voice. They were about to say something when Mista continued up the stairs.

They finally reached the seventh floor. (Y/n) tried to hide how winded they were while Mista counted the rooms down to Scolippi's.

"Gross, 484," Mista muttered, knocking on the door.

"It's unlocked, you come in," Scolippi called from the other side. "Just be careful of—"

There was a crash and a screech that (y/n) wasn't sure came from Scolippi or Mista. They rushed through the door to help Mista right the large sculpture he'd knocked over.

"Shit, my bad, Scolippi," Mista said. His eyes widened when they landed on a hairline crack that (y/n) was 90 percent sure hadn't been there before. He discreetly angled the sculpture toward the wall, glaring at (y/n) to keep their mouth shut.

Scolippi picked his way toward them, his hands smeared with clay and wearing a heavy-duty apron. He looked irritated, but managed a small smile.

"Just watch your step," he said. "Come this way. I'm nearly done with it."

Every flat surface in Scolippi's apartment had a sculpture or moulding of some kind. There was really no rhyme or reason to them; there were lithe humanoid figures, abstract shapes, buildings, animals. Some looked unfinished, some were coloured and others looked like they'd been thrown against the wall and then stomped on. There was a baffling sort of beauty to the sculptures, something fascinating about seeing Scolippi's mind at work.

"How's your hand?" (y/n) asked, ducking under the reaching arms above the doorway to the kitchen.

"It's a little stiff, but basically back to normal," answered Scolippi. To (y/n)'s amusement, his kitchen table didn't have any free space that wasn't covered with clay. He very much seemed the type to eat meals on the floor.

"Aye, Scolippi, how much for this one?" Mista was making a show of admiring a human-sized statue by the window of a shapely woman with her arms raised provocatively over her head.

"Your firstborn," replied Scolippi without missing a beat. Mista mimed pushing the statue to the ground and (y/n) bit back a snort.

Passing the kitchen led to the biggest room in the apartment. (Y/n) guessed it was Scolippi's studio, going by the workbench and canvas draped over the walls and floor.

Dominating the space was perhaps the largest sculpture (y/n) had ever seen. They struggled to make sense of it, moving slowly through the studio to see it from every angle. The clay was twisted into nonsensical lines, appearing as flowy and weightless as silk. Tiny, delicate strands broke off here and there, moulded into corkscrews and curlicues. (Y/n) half expected the sculpture to start undulating on its own.

"What is this?" they breathed.

"Actually, I have to thank you," Scolippi said. "I remember the doctors at the hospital complimenting the great job I'd done on wrapping my hand. I don't remember exactly, but they said there was pressure to minimize the bleeding."

(Y/n) vaguely remembered wrapping Scolippi's hand with White Satin. It had been instinctive at the time; (y/n) was glad to know it had done him some good.

Scolippi raised an arm to encompass his sculpture. "It's all wire and clay, but it's quite impressive, isn't it? I think it might be my largest work."

The swirling, flowing lines in front of (y/n) suddenly coalesced. Their mouth opened a little.

"I'm very grateful to your White Satin," said Scolippi, still looking at his sculpture. "I might have lost my hand if it weren't for your Stand."

(Y/n) felt a pang in their chest. An image rose in their mind of those first few days in the hospital, trying to gather White Satin to themselves only for the Stand to tear and splinter apart. It had been impossible to summon more than a few measly threads without them dissipating; nothing at all like their cords of steel.

They glanced at Mista leaning in the doorway, feeling as though he'd had something to do with this. He gave them a small, rueful smile.

"I'm planning on showing this at an exhibit later this month," said Scolippi, coming to stand beside (y/n). "It's not quite finished, but the curators were very excited. I'd like to dedicate it to you. You were my muse, after all."

(Y/n) blinked at the sudden warmth in Scolippi's voice. "Oh, well, uh—"

"You don't have to feel modest. White Satin was such a unique piece of inspiration to work with. It pushed me to—

There was a loud pop as Mista opened his bottle of alcohol. He thrust it—a little rudely—into Scolippi's face.

"Okay, enough of that. Here's to Scolippi and his great sculpture, yada yada."

Scolippi took the bottle dubiously and tipped it back. His brow wrinkled.

"What's wrong with it?" Mista swiped the bottle back and took a swig himself. His mouth puckered

"Do not do a spit-take in my studio," Scolippi said intensely.

Mista swallowed with a painful expression. Curious despite themself, (y/n) reached out a hand.

"Let me try."

"No, don't. It's terrible."

They kept their hand out.

"For real. I'm not messing with you."

"..."

Mista flushed. He thrust the bottle into (y/n)'s hands. They steeled themself, then took a drink. It took a second, but then they laughed.

Mista had paid 200 euros for a delectable bottle of ginger ale.

Mista and (y/n) agreed to visit Scolippi again when the sculpture was finished. (Y/n) could barely begin to describe how they felt that Scolippi had dedicated time to make a sculpture of White Satin, and Scolippi chuckled when they struggled to articulate it.

"I'm just glad you like it. I always thought it was a shame non-Stand users would never see your lovely Stand. In this way, at least, they'll have an opportunity. I could never hope to do the real thing justice, however."

(Y/n)'s chest warmed at Scolippi's words.

Mista had pushed (y/n) towards the door then. He hissed something into Scolippi's ear as he left, to which the sculptor just shrugged.

Upon leaving Scolippi's apartment, (y/n) was hit with a wave of exhaustion. Their body still wasn't healed from the ordeal at the fundraiser; the body pains had been better today, but now (y/n) felt them all at once.

Their body, torn like silk.

"Hey, you're not looking so hot," said Mista, steadying (y/n)'s arm.

They swallowed. "Just tired."

They had been glad when Mista hadn't treated them like delicate china the days after their hospital discharge. A part of them had been afraid their friendship would shift when he saw how badly (y/n) had been hurt and stitched back together. There were only so many piteous glances and conciliatory words they could handle.

"We should head back," Mista said. "I have a huge exam that will kick my ass."

(Y/n) nodded, following him back to his car. They were grateful he'd offered first, seeing as they hadn't wanted to seem weak and sickly.

They couldn't help smiling the entire ride back to Sapiena. There were rock fixtures lining the street. Funny that Mista had thought they might have been versions of Rolling Stones.

Mista darted glances at them every now and then. He looked away every time (y/n) caught him, but a smile played on his lips too.

"What is that stupid smile for?" (y/n) asked when they caught Mista looking again.

"Nothing. It's just nice to see you smile. You've been so down since the fundraiser. Which you have every right to be, of course. I just ... I just like it when you smile."

This was (y/n)'s favourite version of Mista right here. Not the bullheaded, frankly, asshole, he was with Stand users, and not the cocky, devil-may-care hooligan he was for Sapiena. (Y/n) liked Mista best when his eyes crinkled at the corners and his words seemed to stumble out on their own. When his laugh rumbled deep in his chest and he got scared of the stupid number four.

Mista fake-winced. "Ahh, don't smile like that. I can't handle it. It's like looking into the sun."

(Y/n) punched his shoulder. "You didn't have anything to do with Scolippi's sculpture, did you?"

"Maybe. I may have put the idea there. He didn't need to flex so hard though. You'd think he was trying to make a move on you." These last words came out in a low mutter.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'm glad you liked the sculpture."

"Remember at the bonfire when you accused me of blackmail and bribery?" The memory appeared like a bright flame in (y/n)'s head. It really did feel like years ago.

"Yes. It was valid, wasn't it?"

"Not in the slightest, asshole."

"For the record, you still look scary in your photos."

"For the record, your car is still a trash-heap."

"Where's the trash?!"

(Y/n) leaned back against the headrest, content to let Mista rant. And the poor idiot did, until his voice and the late afternoon light and the motion of the made (y/n) drowsy.

They closed their eyes.

"Hey. Can I ask you a question?"

(Y/n) nodded, keeping their eyes closed.

"So, I have a friend who's kind of confused about someone."

"Is that someone hot?" (y/n) mumbled.

"No, actually. They're like four on a scale of ten."

"Ouch."

"Mhm. Anyways, my friend ... he doesn't know how he feels about this someone. He's confused."

(Y/n)'s mind was in the lazy fog between sleep and consciousness. They were only half-listening to Mista.

"Okay. Well, what does he think of them?"

Mista didn't reply right away.

"He thinks they're amazing. They're smart, snarky, quick on their feet. They never laugh at his jokes but he knows they're just hiding it. They make him feel happy, in a way that not a lot of other people do. When he's with them, he just feels lighter, and even if I make an ass out of myself, I want to make them smile, because even if I can't get a laugh, that smile is more than enough."

(Y/n)'s eyes were still closed, but their mind was completely awake now.

"Some people might not believe in fate, but I do. And I believe even if they shoot me down, they were destined to be in my life. They were destined to catch my eye, and get stuck in my head, and make my hands sweat when I text them. They were destined to give me that damn look that just makes me go wild. They'll just look at me, and my entire head goes sideways. Can't think straight. They could tell me to punch a nun and I would."

(Y/n) had to force back a laugh at that.

"This person sounds wonderful. I can tell your friend really cares about them."

Mista coughed. "Uh, yeah, I do. I mean, he does."

The car came to a stop. (Y/n) opened their eyes and looked straight at Mista.

"My advice for your friend is to tell that person exactly what you told me. There are some solid points there."

Mista's Adam's apple bobbed. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. I'd tell your friend to call this person tomorrow afternoon at four and tell them everything. I think he knows exactly how he feels, and this person will too."

Mista looked a little confused. His cheeks were flushed pink.

"Okay. I'll tell him that."

(Y/n) nodded. They got out of the car, crossing around the front to head back to the dorms.

"Hey! Why does he have to call at four?"

(Y/n) turned back. They walked to Mista's rolled down window, leaning so they were at eye level with each other.

"Because this person has classes a little later tomorrow, but they'll be free after four."

"That's a terrible time. Maybe he'll call at five, instead."

"I can't guarantee this person will answer then. It has to be at four. You know, just to piss your friend off."

"Well, my friend will just come in person. Ditch the phone entirely."

Mista grinned. So this was what he'd meant then, that something could flip their head sideways and make them punch nuns.

(Y/n) lowered their face towards Mista's, their lips barely an inch apart—

—And tugged his cap over his eyes.

"Hey!"

(Y/n) turned back towards the dorms. "Ciao, Mista. Wish your friend luck."

"He doesn't need luck," Mista called, a laugh colouring his voice.

"He's already got his answer."

table of contents

[cactusbunni]

DOPPIO’S KITCHEN NIGHTMARES!

[supposed2bfunny]

I posted 1,997 times in 2021

37 posts created (2%)

1960 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 53.0 posts.

I added 859 tags in 2021

#murdoc niccals - 123 posts

#jjba - 122 posts

#vento aureo - 115 posts

#2d - 107 posts

#good omens - 100 posts

#gorillaz - 99 posts

#sanders sides - 60 posts

#ineffable husbands - 47 posts

#cats - 46 posts

#noodle - 40 posts

Longest Tag: 107 characters

#i nanny one; i assure you anything they come up with will be funnier than anything we could ascribe to them

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Hey all, @mister-softy is selling all sorts of cool hand-painted pins! Mine came in today and they are super cool; you should go buy some!

Here’s more examples!

20 notes • Posted 2021-07-28 21:32:19 GMT

#4

Last fic of 2020, come get some Murdoc processing his trauma after Song Machine!

20 notes • Posted 2021-01-01 01:32:59 GMT

#3

How about both Crowley AND Aziraphale for the ask game? I don't know if you can ask two characters at once, but it just feels wrong to separate them.

Oof sorry for the delay but man I have been looking forward to taking the time to answer this ask since I first saw it! :D

You're so right, DO NOT SEPARATE THEM!

We'll start with Crowley:

Rate them: 100/10 baby sauntered vaguely into my HEART OKAY! Everyone loves Anthony J Crowley!!

Sexuality headcanon: Aziraphale-sexual.

Gender headcanon: All. Of. Them. Fluid as fuck. Give the snake all the genders!

Favorite moment/random trivia: My favorite scene is probably when he travels though a phone line and traps Hastur in his answering machine: heroic AF.

Also the LEWK he was rocking in the mid-2000s? probably my favorite style for him. The hair length is perfect and those sunglasses. I adore those sunglasses okay?

Random headcanon: Has a sweet tooth that makes Aziraphale look like a dessert-hater. Just because we don't see him eat or drink that much doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it. He likes going to bars and ordering cocktails that are like 60% simple syrup and watching bartenders and patrons stare in horror as he guzzles them down one after the other for hours.

Opinion: I love Crowley I would die for Crowley I would love to invite Crowley over to watch Golden Girls and drink cocktails with me, this gentle snake deserves the world and I can't wait to see what outfits he rocks in Season 2!

Now for Aziraphale!

Rate them: 10000000000/10 my anxious baby. I don't 'kin' but I'd come close to such antics for this angel.

Sexuality headcanon: Crolwey-sexual, but he knows full well that humans perceive him as gay and he embraces that.

Gender headcanon: Agender. Keep that shit away from him, please. He uses he/him pronouns, but he is an ethereal being who doesn't have time for gender binaries.

Favorite moment/random trivia. BASTILLE AZIRAPHALE SUPERIORITY. His SHOES!

Random headcanon: He was horrified by the first (and second) wave of the Black Death in Europe, and took it upon himself to go around miracling people back to good health. When Heaven caught wind of it, Gabriel came down and forbid him from interfering, and severely injured the hands he used to heal, leaving him with burnlike scars that lasted for about a century. Crowley hates the 14th century in part because of what it did to his angel physically and psychologically.

Opinion: Anxious, probably autistic and an unapologetic sensualist: what is not to love about this wonderful angel? One of my favorite characters ever. And sorry, but TV Aziraphale > book Aziraphale IMO!

30 notes • Posted 2021-08-25 15:33:30 GMT

#2

Got these pins from @toytle and god, I want to hug them! I want to offer them an apple juice. I’d give them my social security number if they asked nicely.

Please check out Toytle’s shop, I am over the moon with this purchase! Thanks so much!! 🥰🥰🥰

34 notes • Posted 2021-11-02 20:42:40 GMT

#1

Do you guys ever think about how Murdoc kidnapped Russel to get him to join the band?

And Russ heard his music and was just like “okay, I can vibe with this,” and agreed to join the band.

Like can you imagine Russel sitting down at the first band practice, which just devolves into 2D and Paula heading out to smoke and Murdoc ranting, likely high on amphetamines, about all the other bands he was frontman for, about the demons he’s summoned with black magic or whatever, about his abusive prick of a dad forcing him to sing Pinocchio songs and also how Murdoc has been considering trying a wine enema and what are Russel’s thoughts on that?

And Russ just sits behind his drum set like

146 notes • Posted 2021-05-30 00:41:23 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[blitzturtles]

Title: First Kiss (Sort Of)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): FuMis

Summary: [FuMis_Week2021 / First Day of FuMis Week: First Times, Marriage, Betrayal]

He’s terrified. With a heart beating too fast and bounding so wildly that it leaves his sternum aching. He feels light-headed from the effort it takes just to keep his breathing under control, and it’s all he can do to keep on his feet, rather than sink to the floor. God knows his legs are weak under him, ready to give. It’s the only thing that keeps him from running now.

(Takes place after Purple Haze Feedback.)

Notes: Btw, I'm doing a writing / fic giveaway! Check out this post to see how to enter. Goes until 8.25.21!

-

Fugo stands in Giorno’s office, awkward and stiff with a mask covering the lower part of his face. He’s waiting; the office is empty, devoid of even the Don’s presence. The air is stiff without Giorno, as if the life has been sucked out of the room in its entirety, and all that’s left is a broken shell of a man boy. Standing alone, and awaiting his judgement.

He’s terrified. With a heart beating too fast and bounding so wildly that it leaves his sternum aching. He feels light-headed from the effort it takes just to keep his breathing under control, and it’s all he can do to keep on his feet, rather than sink to the floor. God knows his legs are weak under him, ready to give. It’s the only thing that keeps him from running now.

This meeting is one that he’s desperately awaited for weeks, but has continuously put off since he last saw Mista. He’s only spoken to Giorno; every other familiar face has gone unseen, and it isn’t for lack of trying on anyone else’s part. They ask; Fugo says, ‘no’. They ask again, and Fugo refuses to relent. Refuses to give up his self-imposed exile. And no amount of convincing from Giorno has been able to change his mind.

Until now.

Until his selfishness got the better of him, and he asked the Don to set up a meeting (‘Don’t tell him it’s me,’ he remembers all but begging) between the single most important person in his life and himself. A shadow of who he once was.

If he could only get his legs to move. To get one foot in front of the other. It’s not too late to back out now. He knows Giorno will cover for him. Won’t mention his name. Won’t speak of his cowardice, but that’s unfair to Giorno. Worse is, it’s unfair to Mista; Mista who’s been asking after him for weeks now. Mista who still sends barely comprehensible texts to his phone in between short-but-sweet voicemails. Mista who loves so unconditionally, and continues to expect nothing in return.

Fuck, Fugo truly is the worst kind of person. He wipes at his eyes to try to clear them of the tears that begin to build in the corners. He’s so caught in his own, spiraling thoughts that he doesn’t hear the door open, much less someone step inside.

“Fugo?” The name doesn’t quite break through the cacophony of self-hatred swirling in Fugo’s mind, but the second attempt-- the quiet, “Panna?”-- is more successful.

Fugo’s eyes snap up. He’s a wild, frightened animal in that moment with a gaze that shifts past Mista and locks onto the doorway, but Mista shifts so he’s blocking the one and only exit.

“Hey, you okay?” Mista asks, quiet and gentle, like Fugo hasn’t spent countless days avoiding him. Leaving him out in the cold with no explanation. No timeline of a possible return. Just. Nothing. And Fugo knows how he’d feel if he were in Mista’s shoes right now, but he only sees worry in those dark eyes.

It’s not fair. In fact, it’s wrong, and Fugo is less than human for putting Mista in this position in the first place.

“Panna,” Mista repeats when Fugo still hasn’t responded. He steps closer with a touch of hesitation. He watches Fugo, waiting for a sign that he’s misstepped, and that only makes Fugo feel worse, but it doesn’t stop Mista.

“Don’t,” Fugo breathes when Mista gets close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Don’t what, Panna?” Mista asks, fingers already outstretched and reaching.

Fugo catches his hands in the air. Squeezes with just enough force to emphasize his point. “You don’t want to see what’s underneath, okay?” He knows what’s under his mask. The gnarled tissue greets him every day in the mirror. Giorno’s offered to heal it for him on two, separate occasions, but the Don has since dropped the subject, which Fugo is grateful for. He can’t bring himself to erase the scars on either side of his face. They mean too much, as a reminder and a path forward.

“I think I do,” Mista answers with a cheeky grin. It’s half-assed and fooling no one. Fugo can see uncertainty. If only he could find the words to impress upon Mista. To make him understand, but Mista’s always been stubborn. Take six bullets and keep going kind of stubborn (though Fugo’s heard that Mista’s broken that record. Much to his horror.)

Rather than fight a man that he knows can out stubborn him, Fugo drops his hands and lets his arms hang slack at his side. He takes a slow, deep breath and holds it in, while his eyes remain downcast. He can’t bring himself to watch the reaction.

“Oh,” Mista breathes when he gently unhooks the mask with his fingers and pulls it forward and free from Fugo’s face. The scars are mostly healed, though there’s some persistent redness that indicates their freshness. Each one extends from the corners of his lips and wraps around his cheeks. The ends disappear into his jawline, and he knows they’re unsettling. Unsightly. There’s a reason he keeps them covered, and it’s not to spare his own feelings.

“I-” he starts, or tries to, but Mista’s surging forward with both hands cradling Fugo’s cheeks. He’s mindful of the scars, but there’s no sign of avoidance. Any thought that Mista is disgusted goes out the window when Mista captures his lips in a kiss. Their first since his return, despite the two having met a few times between the Boat and the incident that led to his new scars.

Mista grins at him when he pulls away. This time, it’s a genuine, beaming thing that could blind a man. “You look badass, Panna,” he says before Fugo can speak. “Seriously, you think these’re going to freak me out?” His thumbs gently caress over the knotted flesh. “Do you know how many bullet holes I have?”

“That’s different,” Fugo answers immediately, but his voice is weak. His heart feels like it’s skipping too many beats, and he feels like he might float away if Mista dares to let go.

“It’s really not,” Mista tells him with a humorless laugh. He leans in to kiss Fugo again. This time with a bit less urgency. It’s slow and gentle and perfect, and Fugo wants it to never end. He can feel his cheeks growing wet, which he expects. What he doesn’t expect is that, when he opens his eyes, he finds he isn’t the only one crying.

“I’m sorry,” Fugo breathes when they pull apart. He shifts against Mista’s hold, but Mista doesn’t let him pull away.

“Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re here,” Mista says. He brings their foreheads together gently and closes his eyes.

Rather than fight Mista, Fugo decides to give in. Just this once. He can have something nice for a moment. Something he can’t ruin no matter how hard he tries, because Mista won’t let him.

[letsgo-usaqii]

God idk what I’ve been eating to give me such weird dreams but I dreamt that In this week’s Vento Aureo episode instead of getting coco jumbo it just cuts to the gang going to an amusement part. Fugo and Mista are on some sort of Flume Log ride sitting in the back while Doppio is losing his shit up front and Ciocolatta and secco were having a blast laughing at him. Abbacchio was watching some sort of speech/countdown/event and I have no clue where every one else went. Before we all left we met up at the front and almost everyone was there. “Where’s Mista?” Fugo looked at me and was just “got arrested.” Like????? My dream just ended with Mista chilling in Jail and Doppio was there too, sobbing, holding up a horse shoe.

[fukuaureo-blog]

Vento Aureo Cruise Ship (MIL project)

                                The Ultimate Joyride

The best way to cruise Alaska just got better as Vento Aureo joins the seas. Find your happy place on board Vento Aureo when she cruises year-round from the west coast to Alaska, the Mexican Riviera, and Panama Canal from Miami and Los Angeles. Enjoy a rush like no other as you race in the middle of the ocean on a thrilling two–level race track. Immerse yourself in all the wonder of a virtual world in the Galaxy Pavilion. Be pampered in luxury in our new, spacious and beautifully appointed Concierge accommodation. Explore the wilds of Alaska including pods of whales up close in untouched Icy Strait Point. Enjoy holiday experiences that will delight your senses and calm your soul on Vento Aureo. 

                                       Vento Aureo

                           Cruise Ship Highlights

Vento Aureo Speedway

Go for the checkered flag on a thrilling two-level race track in the middle of the ocean. Whether you're racing through exhilarating turns or simply relaxing on the top deck, cruising with Vento Aureo means vacationing at your own speed or try our other activities.

NEW! Vento Aureo Entertainment: Footloose

Kick off your Sunday shoes and get ready to experience the rockin' hits and dynamic new musical renditions of Footloose, debuting for the first time at sea on Vento Aureo. Featuring the hit music of Grammy Award®-winning artist, Kenny Loggins, Footloose celebrates warm and open minds

Concierge Accomodation

With plenty of room to relax, our beautifully appointed, luxury Concierge suites offer some of the grandest accommodation on board. Feel pampered with concierge service, available to help with everything from booking shore excursions to arranging customised experiences. Priority embarkation and disembarkation, private daily breakfast and lunch, and special perks round out the exclusive experience in these spacious suites.

                                           Dining

COMPLIMENTARY DINING

Every cruise fare includes beautifully crafted menus in our three main dining rooms, a help-yourself buffet and a variety of casual cafés, grills and on-the-go choices. From fresh-baked breads, desserts and pastries to our chefs' original dishes made with the freshest ingredients, your dining can be as fine or fun as you want.

The Manhattan Room

One of three Main Dining Rooms, The Manhattan Room is where guests can enjoy specially curated modern and classic dishes made with the freshest ingredients.

Savour

Balancing classic favorites with unique new dishes, dining at Savour is a must. Offering guests an extensive menu of deliciously fresh flavours along with chic and modern decor, visiting this Main Dining Room is always in style.

Taste

Serving a wide variety of cuisine, Taste offers a stylish and contemporary atmosphere. Plus, with a menu that changes daily and carefully selected wine recommendations, you'll experience a different culinary adventure with every visit

                                              Cruises

Bahamas Cruises

See famous theme parks, bustling straw markets, lounge in the sun or just take it easy.

One of the most anticipated ports is always Great Stirrup Cay. From snorkeling an underwater sculpture garden to parasailing, watersports take center stage. Or simply lounge by the sea with an icy piña colada and some fish tacos. In Nassau, adrenaline junkies can swim with sharks. Bargain hunters can shop the Straw Market. And history buffs can explore the town's swashbuckling past. Fresh seafood, especially conch (pronounced konk) is a must-try. Before departing Miami, visit Versailles, a restaurant and gathering spot for all things Cuban. Sip a cafecito while waiting for a hot, pressed (and very famous) Cubano sandwich.

Caribbean Cruises

The turquoise water and white sands shimmer. Experience the sublime colourful architecture.

The Magic City might make it hard to say goodbye. Explore the art deco architecture on South Beach with a walk down Ocean Drive or indulge in a café Cubano from a café on Calle Ocho. The Caribbean's premier resort-style destination awaits you in Harvest Caye. Settle in poolside or explore the 7-acres of beachfront before grabbing some souvenirs and zip lining across the entire island. Then catch some rays in Costa Maya. This Mexican coastal paradise is the perfect place to soak up the sun on the beautiful beaches or spend time admiring the ancient ruins of the Mayan civilization.

Mexican Riviera Cruises

The sunsets will melt your cares away, as will the beaches, diving and fun-filled adventures.

Embrace the best of Mexico's charms on a seven-day ride of a lifetime. Your first stop takes you to Cabo San Lucas where you'll take a scenic tour of the rugged coastline. Then head to Mazatlan for some fun in the sun on their palm tree-lined beaches and a tour of the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception. In Puerto Vallarta, watch nature's largest mammals in their natural habitat or inject a rush of adrenaline into your holiday as you zipline through a lush rainforest

[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]

Jojo often calls back to the idea that Stands are very personal and revealing things, and that showing someone your Stand ability is showing something deeply personal about yourself to them- both because it's valuable combat information that they could use against you and because Stands are a manifestation of your inner-being.

I'm not sure if Araki actively thinks about this all the time, but I think that implies something very sweet about comrades who know each other's Stands and feel comfortable showing it to each other. It also implies something very interesting about combat and ties back to the theme of how it's a kind of "intimacy" in the series. It means that as enemies fight with their Stands, they get to know each other on a personal level in some way.

[shoechoe]

I forget how much of a little asshole Giorno is at the start of Vento Aureo. My friend watched the beginning and told me she didn't really like Giorno because he was "kind of a dick" and I see why. I guess it's like Josuke being a delinquent and Jotaro getting into fights and stuff

[shoechoe]

not going to lie i think koichi's voice is kind of annoying sometimes

[shoechoe]

I've seen Mista be called a "dad" because of how he has to care for his own Stand but personally I think Sex Pistols being a bunch of little guys that cause mischief and fight like siblings is more of an indication of Mista having a childish/immature-leaning nature than him being fatherlike

[shoechoe]

I always thought that Fugo's added-in anime backstory was weird and random, and while I still don't really like it, watching Cioccolata's backstory again kinda makes me wonder if Fugo's anime backstory might've been intended to be some kind of parallel to Cioccolata's.

-Both were extremely intelligent and got into high-status places at young ages (Fugo getting into a university at thirteen; Cioccolata getting top grades and volunteering to "take care" of elderly patients at fourteen, and eventually becoming a surgeon)

-Both have violent tendencies that eventually led to their fall from grace (Fugo with his extreme anger issues and Cioccolata with his enjoyment of torturing patients)

-But one was an understandable crime (Fugo beating his molestor to death) while the other was out of pure evil (Cioccolata torturing his patients for fun)

-Fugo was victimized and had stress piled onto him by his older peers while Cioccolata victimizes and emotionally torments elders to suicide

-Fugo was recruited into the gang by Bruno after realizing that his anger could be put to use in his group instead of being a burden on him; Cioccolata was recruited into the gang by Diavolo after discovering his true nature because his unrelenting sadism could be put to good use for torture/assassination purposes

-These shots:

Since Fugo was initially planned to be a twist villain, and Cioccolata and Fugo have remarkably similar stands (which led a lot of people to speculate that Fugo was initially going to be in Cioccolata's place, but this is unconfirmed) I wouldn't be surprised if this was intentional.

[cophene]

𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎 | vento aureo; six.

✦.⁺ 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐨𝐮𝐬.

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : a college student tries getting the attention of some of the most admired and attractive people on campus, only to get caught up with stands and vigilante groups in the process. notes : modern au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.1k+

═ ☆.  FIRELIGHT WAS SUPPOSED TO be comforting.

It was supposed to make you feel warm and safe and alive.

Why was it, then, that (y/n)’s heart nearly stopped every time the lighter flickered?

The lighter was blocked on all sides by (y/n)’s textbooks on their desk. Too paranoid to sleep, (y/n) had spent all of last night awake. They’d stuffed the underside of their door and secured the window to prevent drafts from coming in. Then (Y/n) had perched on their bed, barely moving as they watched the lighter cast unsteady shadows on the wall.

It was a ridiculous amount of effort for this challenge. Trish was bluffing, a part of (y/n)’s mind told them. There was no way she and Giorno would know if the lighter went out. It would be too easy to shut off the lighter until next midnight, when (y/n) would have to return it to them.

But the other part of (y/n)’s mind knew that was the point. This was a matter of personal integrity, not skill. It probably didn’t matter whether or not the lighter went out. What mattered was if (y/n) would be willing to tell the truth if it did.

Maybe it was stupid, but (y/n) was determined not to let the measly lighter go out. (Y/n) wouldn’t be able to live it down if they didn’t beat this test. The rest of their time at Sapiena would be spent remembering their failure.

Half an hour before their (y/n)’s class, they risked moving from their position to change and get ready. (Y/n) considered what to do as they pulled clothes out of their closet, casting glances at the lighter shoulder every so often. It would drive (y/n) crazy if they left the lighter in their dorm. The entire campus could go up in flames. Bringing the lighter with (y/n) wasn’t any better, though. The student body would know what was up, but the faculty and security wouldn’t and could possibly confiscate it. How was (y/n) supposed to go through all their classes with a lit lighter?

A knock at the door pulled them from their thoughts. (Y/n) went to answer it, making sure to position themself in front of the wall of textbooks around the lighter.

(Y/n) opened their door as gently as they could, the crack barely large enough to see the other person.

“Can I help you?”

(Y/n) was met with a flash of teeth.

“Actually, this is a matter of whether or not I can help you.”

(Y/n) didn’t like the look of the blonde-haired male on the other side of the door. His smile was too sharp, his blue eyes shifty. He pushed the door open despite (y/n) keeping weight on it. The corners of (y/n)’s mouth tightened.

“I don’t think so. Please excuse me.”

A leather shoe prevented her from closing the door.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to keep that lighter lit if you had help?” the male asked.

(Y/n) feigned confusion. “What lighter?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” the male said lazily. “If they gave the lighter to you when you left the bonfire, you still have over thirteen hours to go.”

“I have to go,” (y/n) said, trying to force the door closed. (Y/n) didn’t know who this guy was or want him anywhere near the lighter.

“You need to go to class, and I’m guessing you spent the last ten minutes deciding what to do with the lighter, right? Just leave it to me, and I’ll watch it for you.” The male grinned again, raising his eyebrows.

Was this part of the test? Was this guy here to throw (y/n) off?

“I’ll be fine,” (y/n) said firmly.

“Listen,” the blonde-haired male said. “I’m short on cash, okay? I really need this right now. I’m willing to watch over that lighter for however long you need. I just need 200 euros.”

“200 euros?” (y/n) echoed. “Who do you think I am? Forget it.”

“You don’t trust me? That’s fine. I don’t blame you. It is a little strange I’m approaching you out of nowhere.” The male took a couple of steps back, allowing (y/n) to get a better look at the spiderweb pattern running along his open jacket. “I’m Prosciutto. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Wasn’t that the name of the bartender from last night? (Y/n) stepped in front of the door and closed it behind them, keeping one hand on the doorknob.

“What do you want from me?” they hissed.

“200 euros,” Prosciutto repeated calmly. “Just pay up, and I’ll watch over that lighter for you.” He glanced at his phone. “I think your first class is starting soon. You should hurry.”

“Give me one reason why I should trust you.”

Prosciutto chuckled. “Do you think Mista and Bucciarati passed their tests on their own? They were practically begging me to help them. They gave me a few euros, and now they’re hanging with Una and Giovanna. Simple.”

(Y/n) had no way of checking that claim. But would Prosciutto really go as far as to lie about something like that?

“Don’t you have your own classes to get to?”

“It’s my day off,” Prosciutto said. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” His expression became grave. “Please, it’s really the least I can do. I need that money.”

(Y/n) knew they could just skip class and stay with the lighter for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, though, their partial scholarship relied on perfect attendance. If Prosciutto was offering, shouldn’t (y/n) just accept? He’d helped Mista and Bruno, apparently. And Trish and Giorno knew him. That counted for something, right?

An alarm on (y/n)’s phone went off, signalling they had less than five minutes to get to their lecture.

(Y/n) opened their door and motioned for Prosciutto to come inside. While he sat down at their desk, taking in the walled-off lighter, (y/n) went into their closet and took out the savings they’d brought for emergencies.

“That’s 300 euros,” (y/n) said, handing the bills to Prosciutto. “One hundred extra to make sure you don’t go through my things. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear,” Prosciutto said, pocketing the money.

“I’ll be back to check on you at lunch. Then I only have one more class before you can leave. If you go back on your word, I—” (Y/n) stopped. If this failed, (y/n) couldn’t blame anyone but themself. The thought nearly made them grab the money back when Prosciutto spoke again.

“You can trust me,” he said with enough sincerity that (y/n) almost believed him. “Despite what you may think, I want you to pass this. You seem like a good person. I’m not really part of their circle myself, but I think you’ll be a good fit. If I can help you, I will.” Prosciutto’s smile wasn’t the wide grin that showed his prominent teeth. It was smaller, more sincere.

(Y/n) was overthinking this, weren’t they? Not everyone would be out to get them just because they were hanging out with Trish and Giorno. There were some people who genuinely just wanted to help (y/n). They were making the test easier. Trish and Giorno hadn’t said anything about this. What if they expected (y/n) to have assistance?

“Molte grazie,” (y/n) said, giving in and gathering their things to leave. “I owe you one.”

Prosciutto leaned back in his chair. “It’s no problem. I should be thanking you. I was between a rock and hard spot, lemme tell you.”

(Y/n) gave him a smile, peeking at the lighter one last time before rushing off to class. On the way, they passed a strange-looking student they had to look twice at but immediately forgot about as they joined the crowd of students. The green-haired student went in the direction (y/n) had just come from. He went down the row of doors before stopping in front of one in particular.

“Big bro?” he said, knocking on the door. “You in there?”

When he didn’t get an immediate answer, the green-haired male tried the door. There, he found Prosciutto in the same position (y/n) had left him—leaning back in his chair, contemplating the lighter.

“What are you doing?” Pesci asked. “Just put it out, and let’s go already.”

Prosciutto didn’t move. Pesci could see the lighter flame reflected in Prosciutto’s blue eyes.

“What if we didn’t do it this time?” he said softly. “What if we let them pass?”

Pesci scratched his head. “Why, though? That’s not the point of this, is it?”

Prosciutto took one of the books surrounding the lighter away. “I’ve just been thinking that there has to be a better way to do this. Shouldn’t they get a choice?”

“Well, everyone would just say no. I would have.”

“That’s because your Stand is weak,” Prosciutto hissed, cutting his eyes at Pesci. “You don’t even know how to fully control it.”

Pesci shrank back, eyes darting to the floor. He mumbled an apology.

Prosciutto looked back at the lighter. How could such a tiny thing drastically alter a person’s life? It seemed even less right that someone else would be making that decision.

Prosciutto actually didn’t mind (y/n) from the few words they’d exchanged. They seemed intelligent, capable. Even if (y/n) didn’t know what was going on, they would have figured it out eventually.

In one neat motion, Prosciutto capped the lighter shut. The flame extinguished with a hiss. He got up, pushed in the chair, and left (y/n)’s room, Pesci on his heels. Although his heart twisted, he didn’t look back.

In the end, it was a shame. (Y/n) might have paid him 300 euros to watch the lighter, but Giorno had paid him over three times that amount to extinguish it. He supposed it didn’t really matter when he was 1300 euros richer.

(Y/n) had been wound tight as a wire all day and jumped when they felt a tap on their shoulder. When they turned to find a rakish grin and messy black hair (y/n) told themself to calm down. It was just Narancia, who, (y/n) had to admit, they were glad to see.

Keeping true to his namesake, Narancia was dressed in a baggy orange sweater and headband today, hands tucked into his sleek cargo pants. He was also wearing a pair of orange Fila Disruptors.

“Ehilà,” (y/n) said sheepishly, readjusting their grip on their textbook and notes. “Sorry, you scared me.”

“Are you okay? You look super tense.”

(Y/n) forced their shoulders to drop and their back to straighten. Their head hurt from thinking about nothing but the lighter the entire morning. More than once, they’d been tempted to take a washroom break and check on Prosciutto and the lighter. Unfortunately, the dorms were on the other side of campus, and they wouldn’t have been able to make it there without seeming suspicious. (Y/n) was itching to get back to the lighter now that it was their lunch break.

“It’s nothing. Lectures just dragged on for too long.”

“Fugo and I are heading to the café for lunch. You want to come?” Narancia raised his eyebrows. “I know Fugo would love that. Me too, but mostly him.”

“I actually really need to get back to my dorm,” (y/n) said, taking a few small steps away from Narancia. “Maybe another time.”

“I can just come with you, and we can go when you’re done.”

(Y/n) bit their lip. Narancia probably knew about the lighter test, but if he didn’t, (y/n) didn’t know how to explain it to him. He looked like he really wanted them to come, though, so (y/n) nodded.

“Alright, sure. I won’t take long.”

Narancia fell into step beside (y/n), asking them about their lecture. (Y/n) answered, trying not to focus on their roiling stomach.

You paid Prosciutto 300 euros not to leave. It’ll be fine.

(Y/n) stopped abruptly. Narancia kept going for a few steps before he noticed and turned back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

(Y/n)’s grip on their books went slack as they caught sight of slicked-back blonde hair moving through the crowd. Prosciutto barely looked at (y/n) as he passed. He might as well have been a stranger.

No. What is he doing here?

(Y/n)’s textbook and notebooks tumbled to the floor as they tore down the corridor toward the dorms. Narancia called after them, but (y/n) ignored him, shoving students aside in their haste. All they could think about was that silver lighter. Maybe Prosciutto had needed a break and let someone else stay there.

It was still lit. It had to be.

It felt like (y/n) arrived at their dorm room a second later. They ploughed through their door, heart in their throat. They could only stare at the lighter, sitting innocuously on their desk.

Closed shut.

aight, so, fun fact. i originally planned for y/n to bring the lighter with them and then have it get extinguished that way. but it felt kinda dull tho, so i roped prosciutto into it :]

previous chapter || next chapter || table of contents