It’s me Mod Ham here with some news as to past happenings and future outlooks. I realized that every day we get more followers, but some of you may not have heard what happened if you weren’t on our discord, so I wanted to update you all here.
A few months ago us mods decided to shut down the server as it was not bringing in a lot of people to keep to keep the server going or keep it lively. That means there will not be a 2021 week, but we are more than happy to reblog anything you wish to share with us. The blog will still stay up as a catalog of this year and last years amazing works by our followers.
Thank you all for your amazing contributions and hard work you put into making fugonara week as wonderful as possible. We hope to hear from you guys, and don’t be shy to share your works with us!
Summary: At school, people was always commenting what they have dreamed last night, telling crazy stories, laughing about it, or commenting the stupidest details.Fugo didn’t have what to tell. Hell, he didn’t even have someone to tell those stories to.
Notes: Hello! It's me again. I was truly excited about the Fugonara week. To be honest, I spent the whole day writing this because I couldn't focus. Depression does that to me... but I hope you like this. I really poured my heart into this, and I hope to keep writing more for the week. Fugonara is a really cute ship, and I really love them.A few things I'd like to say:- I don't know if when Fugo joined the gang, Mista and Abbacchio were already there, so I kinda invented it hehe don't blame me for that. This was written for Fugonara week day 1: Dreams!
- Fugo's backstory is the PHF one (please read PHF)
- I'm not a native (I'm from Spain) so please take this into account if you see any mistakesComments and kudos are much appreciated! <3Twitter: Shirotxpoison
Tumblr: weakeninghopeThank you and see you soon <3
fic under the cut!
Fugo’s never been one to remember what he dreamt last night. His life had always been pretty monotonous as far as he remembers. Or at least it was before beating his professor up with a dictionary. Waking up, brushing his teeth. Having breakfast (compulsory breakfast, if he could have decided he would have skipped it, he used to wake up without wanting to eat anything, but his parents always told him that he had to start the day with enough energy to study throughout the day). Dressing up. Going to school. Studying until dinner. Dinner. And then off to sleep. Turns out that when he went to sleep he was mentally exhausted and his brain didn’t have the energy to design a dream-like universe.
In this aspect, he was envious.
At school, people was always commenting what they have dreamed last night, telling crazy stories, laughing about it, or commenting the stupidest details.
Fugo didn’t have what to tell. Hell, he didn’t even have someone to tell those stories to.
He wasn’t allowed to play videogames, he wasn’t allowed to have friends, he wasn’t allowed to do anything that didn’t imply studying or nurturing his brain, because he was “gifted”.
As time went by, he continued having dreamless nights, but when he started university at the age of thirteen, he started having really uncomfortable nights. He still had no dreams (nightmares either) but he used to wake up feeling really nauseous, which made breakfast really hard.
It really didn’t help that his siblings would burn his textbooks or draw on them which rendered the textbooks useless, and his parents blamed Fugo for not taking care of his stuff, which brought Fugo to having to stay until 2AM studying because he was grounded. And then he had to wake up at 6AM to go to university because his parents were busy working and he had to take the bus to go to university.
His life until that point had created a Fugo whose only way to feel something was through rage. He felt furious. Furious because his parents were too hard on him and always mad e him prioritize his privileged brain over absolutely everything. Furious because he only received attention because his parents wanted him to be perfect. Since the day that he noticed that his sibling s started trashing his belongings when he was younger, Fugo started committing small acts of rebellion. Not dressing up as he was supposed to. Not having breakfast. Little fits of rage that at least let him feel something. But of course, those attempts at having a personality outside of what he was supposed to be didn’t last that long, because soon after, his parents resorted to physical violence. When that happened, Fugo didn’t cry. He was just angry. Angry at having to go through this. Angry at himself. And when his parents stopped hitting him, he would often slam his head against the wall or punch it until his knuckles bled.
This got worse when he started university. And got even worse when his grandmother died. That night, he did have a dream. He dreamt about his family disowning him, he dreamt about him living in the streets, having nowhere to go, nowhere to have a life, being a nobody that never got the chance to have a normal life, that never got the chance to be himself. Because, if someone asked him what he thought of himself (not that it was gonna happen though, Fugo didn’t have people who’d be interested enough as of to ask him his opinion of himself) he’d say… not a lot. He was just what he had to be. Until he beat up his professor with a dictionary because he badmouthed his dead grandmother. That was Fugo’s biggest act of rebellion. Against the professor. Against his parents. Against himself, for always following the rules.
That was when Fugo’s life went downhill, and his dream about his family disowning him became his reality. He was sent to a cell, and his parents told him that they wouldn’t b e bailing him, because for them, Pannacotta Fugo was no more, he was just a worthless punk who, tired of being the uptight, flawless perfect model that they had instilled him, committed the despicable act of hitting a professor, someone superior and worth of admiration, with a fucking dictionary. Multiple times.
W ithin the loneliness of his cell, Fugo thought long and hard. He regretted a lot of his life choices (being born was the first one, even though that hadn’t been a choice) but not what he had done. Because even if it meant that he wouldn’t have a future anymore, he had decided something for himself, and he wasn’t going to tolerate some dude who didn’t know anything about his life badmouthing the only person who has ever cared for his wellbeing. Besides, as he had thought before throughout his life, he’d rather not have the desired future his parents were waiting for him to experience. He was better of like this. He knew that, after what he had done, he had no place among society, that he was a lowlife, scum, garbage, that no one would ever want him again. He could say farewell forever to having friends, to being important to someone. He’d think about saying goodbye to having a girlfriend, but he’s never been interested in girls. He’s never forged an emotional bond with anyone, let alone with a girl, and to be honest, if he thought about it, it was a big “no, thank you”.
He’d already made peace with the fact that he’d be alone forever until someone, this Bruno Buc ciarati , came to his cell and told him that he’d give him a path in life. A place to belong.
It sounded interesting, indeed; a place to belong. Fugo’s never had one in his life. He’s never even dreamed of living in a world of the books he read, particularly because he wasn’t interested in reading, he became a bookworm because he had to be one. But truth be told, he’d rather read that hear his parents argue or listen to his siblings badmouthing him and complaining about Fugo receiving all the attention. Unwanted attention. Fugo never asked for this “attention”. Because his parents never cared for him as of to give him a hug when he needed one, for example. But his siblings only saw what they wanted, and it was that their parents only cared about one person in their family.
Bucciarati looked like a gangster. He didn’t have it written all over his face, but his composure, his attitude, how he talked, how he moved, how he dressed. Fugo was pretty intuitive and could guess as much. Not that he had seen a lot of gangsters during his life but… Bucciarati looked like one. But not like a “bad” one. Fugo couldn’t imagine this guy harming someone. Fugo had known cruelty before, and this guy didn’t fit in his standards.
For a moment, Fugo pictured what it would be like, being in the mob. Putting his talent in use for other stuff besides studying and studying for earning himself a righteous future, a good job, money, and a family to be with. Fugo imagined that the mob was a cruel world, ruthless, cold. But he was honestly so fed up with being “good”, and he thought that if he was going to die, at least he’d die doing something he’d decided by himself. And Bucciarati was right.
He could no longer live in his parent’s world. In their world.
He wondered that if he joined Bucciarati, he would stop having those awful, dreamless nights.
So he said fuck it and accepted his offer.
After some time, Fugo passed the test and acquired his stand, Purple Haze. He learned from Bucciarati that stands are spiritual manifestations of your psyche, so he quickly associated Purple Haze with his repressed rage. His stand was quite deadly, to say the least. So he preferred not using it a lot, because he was still learning how to use it.
On the other side, the gang members were quite… odd, if he had to use a word to define them. Abbacchio had a very hard shell to break; he didn’t look like one to give up easily, or to open up to others. He only looked comfortable around Bucciarati, which was probably the reason why he was there, at the restaurant meetups. He always sat close to Bucciarati, as if to distance himself from Mista and Fugo himself. Mista was… Mista. He had a strange phobia regarding the number 4, and a very… cute? Emotional connection with his stand. Mista was very extroverted, always trying to talk with Fugo, and Fugo only knew how to answer… awkwardly, since he had never had any friends.
In the end, Fugo grew used to it. But one day, he found one boy rummaging through the trashcan near the restaurant. At first, he thought of helping him; because the hopelessness in his eyes had reminded him of himself when he had given up on life when he was in his cell, right before Bucciarati came to bail him. But then, the rational part of Fugo, how he grew up and became to be, took over him and decided to ignore him, so he returned to the restaurant.
If he felt a pang of pain and his stomach twisted when the boy looked at him, with his unbandaged eye, Fugo tried to ignore it.
That night, Fugo had a dream. He dreamt of that boy falling in an endless pit of despair, he dreamt of Fugo trying to extend his hand to him, but they couldn’t touch; they couldn’t reach. He dreamt of darkness consuming them both, and when he tried to scream, he woke up and realized he had been screaming for real. He was sweating hard, and he had yelled at such a volume that Bucciarati came to him room to ask what was wrong.
Fugo didn’t say a word and left the building. He had something to do.
He spent two hours running around the suburbs of Naples until he found the same boy rummaging through another trashcan.
“You’re coming with me.” He said, as he grabbed the boy’s hand. Then, he went to the restaurant where everyone was and said “I’d like to buy this man a plate of spaghetti.”
The same day, the boy, Narancia Ghirga, he learned afterwards, passed the test and joined the mob. Fugo didn’t know if this had been the right decision; but he couldn’t let this boy face the same fate he was going to face if Bucciarati hadn’t come to rescue him. He would have felt too responsible. He knew that nothing good came from mingling with others, but he wasn’t a jackass, and he felt the… need, to help this boy out.
When Narancia Ghirga joined the gang, he started to live with them, since there was an extra room in their appartment. Narancia’s room was right next to Fugo’s.
A few days passed, and even though Narancia and Fugo didn’t spend that much time together, Narancia sometimes spoke to Fugo about how he wanted to go to school, about how he admired Fugo for being smart, something that he was never going to achieve in his disastrous life. At those remarks, Fugo felt something strange in his stomach and his heart started speeding up his pace.
However, Narancia seemed to get along with Mista, often telling him how he felt or what he dreamed about. Narancia seemed to have a lot of interesting dreams, since Fugo often heard them chatting about that topic when he was having his teas or writing or reading a book.
The same day, at night, Fugo woke up hearing someone scream. Preoccupied with what had happened, Fugo went to Narancia’s room to check if something was wrong. The room was only illuminated by the dim lightning coming from the window, but he could clearly see Narancia squirming and panting in the bed.
He was having a nightmare.
That was when Fugo decided to act. Ever since he went to rescue him and had went through Naples tightly clasping his hand to bring him to the restaurant, Fugo has felt a strong emotional attachment with Narancia. So he decided to sit in his bed and calmly touch Narancia’s face to bring him to reality.
“Narancia” He whispered. He didn’t want to talk really loud since it could disturb Narancia, maybe. He didn’t know how to act when someone was having a nightmare, but he tried to be soft so he wouldn’t experience shock when he woke up.
Narancia kept squirming. Fugo decided to slide his palm a little bit through Narancia’s cheek, and he felt how soft and sticky it was, probably because he was sweating buckets. He must be terrified. Fugo definitely had to help him get through this.
“Narancia” He said, this time, a little bit louder. This seemed to startle Narancia, because, in one last dream-induced spasm, he moved from the bed until his face was inches apart from Fugo’s. When he opened his eyes, they stayed one good minute looking at each other. From this distance, Fugo could see drops of sweat falling from Narancia’s forehead, could see how his purple eyes shone under the moonlight. Could see his sleep mused hair. God, even in his disheveled state, Narancia looked beautiful. Fragile, but beatiful. Fugo wanted to protect him forever.
“F-Fugo?” He asked, his face still inches apart from Fugo’s. Fugo’s hand was still caressing Narancia’s cheek.
“Yes, it’s me, Narancia. You had a nightmare. You’re here again. With me. You’re not alone.” He whispered, hoping that would make Narancia feel better.
Narancia sighed, and Fugo could feel the warmth of his breath.
“So it was just a dream, huh? It sure felt real as hell.” Narancia let go, putting a little bit of distance between Fugo and himself. If Fugo felt a little bit disappointed, that’s not to be discussed.
“Nightmares tend to be like this.” Fugo claimed, even though he had like, two nightmares. He used to have dreamless nights, but he was sure that upon meeting Narancia, his dreams would start having a very different content.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Fugo continued, removing his hand from Narancia’s face. He didn’t want to be too invasive, but in a brave moment, he put his hand on top of Narancia’s that, lay on the cover of the bed.
“It was the same as always, Fugo. My friends leaving me behind. My mother dying from her infection. My father being shitty. At that time I really thought there was no future in store for me.” Narancia sighed. His eyes gleamed under the light, and Fugo could tell he was on the verge of tears, so he clasped Narancia’s hand tighter.
“I used to feel that about me, too.” Fugo confessed. If he felt an emotional connection with Narancia before, now it was just intensifying.
“You? How could you think you don’t have a future? You’re brilliant, Fugo!” Narancia exclaimed. At least, he looked more calm now.
“If I joined the gang and I’m here it means that my life wasn’t that good.” He reckoned, caressing Narancia’s palm. Narancia looked like he was more calm now, and instead of retrieving his hand, it looked like he was leaning to the touch, and Fugo was really glad.
“But you’re not alone anymore. You have the rest of the gang. And me. You have me.” Narancia reassured.
“You have me too, Narancia.” Fugo said. Inching closer to Narancia.
And then, he had an idea.
“Hmm… Do you… err… want me to stay the night with you? So you don’t have any nightmares? I can sleep on the floor if you want! I just don’t want you to be alone after what you’ve been through.” Fugo rambled more than he had initially wanted, but he didn’t want to make Narancia uncomfortable, so…
“No! I mean, yes! Yes, stay! But… stay on the bed with me. I can make room for you. I don’t want you to sleep on the floor, after how much you’ve helped me. So, please stay, Fugo. That would make me really happy.” Narancia exclaimed, with a little bit of emotion in his voice. Fugo was happy that it looked that fear had left Narancia’s voice and features. Sadness didn’t fit the boy’s expression. Narancia looked better when he was his usual jiggly, happy self. Fugo really did admire that of Narancia. He didn’t just like his looks, he liked his positive vibes, his crazy stunts, how bad he was at math but how he still tried to get better. There was a lot of Narancia he liked and respected.
And for the first time in his life he understood what it was like to have someone with whom he could form a future with. For the first time in his life, Fugo felt attached to someone. And he didn’t want to let go. Ever. He was sure that he would still suffer with coming to terms with himself, after all, he had hated himself throughout his whole life, but when he helped Narancia, he felt better, he felt at ease. And the thought of spending a night with Narancia, sleeping at his side… Made him feel really warm inside.
“Okay…” Fugo said.
Narancia proceeded to scoot close to the corner of the bed to make space for Fugo, and then Fugo got on the bed with Narancia. Narancia lay on his side and so did Fugo, both facing each other. And then, none of them said anything, but they, slowly, closed the space between each other and their lips touched for a second, before Fugo retreated because he was too flustered to keep going. They’d have chances to kiss in the future (he hoped). Now they just had to bask in each other’s company. Fugo then held Narancia’s hand and intertwined their hands together.
It's Fugonara week!!! I'm so happy! I never thought I will post on my tumblr Because I'm more focused on Instagram... If you interested check out my Instagram @anony_meow ᕙ(＠°▽°＠)ᕗ
