One million years late but here’s my @jjba-secret-santa present for @sinfulsecretsjojo. My most sincere apologies for being this late with it!!!! Some stuff in real life got me unexpectedly busy these days so I couldn’t log in sooner. I also had a bunch of setbacks and issues with my present (had to re-do it from scratch about 3 times these past weeks ;-;). This is my first time drawing these two so I’m not too sure how well I did, but I hope you like it, buddy!!! <3
🎅🎄☃🎁❄ Hope you’re having a wonderful holiday season!!! 🎅🎄☃🎁❄
JJBA Secret Santa gift for @erraticatedshotgun! Diego x Hot Pants, “Christmas Meaning”
@jjba-secret-santa @erraticatedshotgun Meeeeeeerry Christmas~! For your Secret Santa gift, I wrote you a oneshot for this ship, I hope you enjoy it! And above all, I hope this Christmas is filled with nothing except roads to take you to memories of Great Days~!
For all others interested in reading: this oneshot will contain heavy Part 7 spoilers as a fair warning!
“What does ‘Christmas’ mean to you, Sir Dio?”
December of 1891 had been rather uneventful for the couple, beyond Diego speaking of the particularly cold winter plaguing England that year. After the defeat of the President, Diego’s dreams had come true. The prestige coming from winning the Steel Ball Run race had granted Diego the recognition he had long-craved, even receiving Knighthood from Victoria herself. Even revenge had finally come after years of waiting; even without 'Scary Monsters’ (even nearly a year later Dio felt a twinge where his left eye once was, a phantom pain as he remembered what Valentine had done to obtain the Corpse) he could do nothing to protect himself from the newfound influence of the Knight, fleeing desperately throughout all of England to escape the Knight’s wrath. Sure, he denied everything, and in truth; most of the allegations thrown against him were indeed complete lies crafted by Diego to torment him. Stealing from his masters, regularly beating other employees, bad-mouthing the Queen and even the Lord… It didn’t matter, all that Diego cared was that this man was finally in his grasp, and feeling him squirm as he tried to escape felt good. So what if it was 90% lies? The 10% of truth was more than enough to warrant the revenge. And on one otherwise uneventful July, hung himself to finally end the torment brought upon him.
It had brought Diego a sense of satisfaction, the long-awaited revenge against the man that he was sure had all but sentenced his dear mother to death to teach him pride. And then? Diego had finally tracked down his father, and repeated the process. Although for Dario, he ended up in prison; he had heard how much his father despised prison above all else, and found having him imprisoned for life on false charges to be far better than any other revenge. If Valentine was alive, would he have described it as ‘taking the napkin?’ He didn’t know... nor did he care. Revenge, and pride, was his. And the president was dead, with he, Hot Pants, and Lucy as the witnesses.
And all in all? It felt good. Commoners kissing up to him always felt good, but much more enjoyable than that was the nobility smiling as they shook his hand and smiling. Knowing that none of them meant it, that they despised and hated Diego for his success; that these blue-blood assholes who had been born with power had to see their power ‘dirtied’ by some bastard son who once ate gravy out of a cup on the same level as they would. The smile he gave them when shaking their heads or bowing to their women was never one of respect; he mocked them. And they knew it. He could see the looks of those noblemen’s faces contort into anger for the briefest of seconds when they saw his mocking smile.
Sir Diego was a very happy man, to say the least.
His mansion was an extravagant one, between his ex-wife's fortune, the incredible wealth won through the Steel Ball Run, various jockey tournaments in his homeland, and now his newfound connections to the nobility that did not have enough pride to resist him and fell to his charisma, Diego was happy to find himself the wealthiest man in the world, surpassing even the nobility he served. He was in the middle of planning a lavish, extravagant Christmas party for the nobility of England; even Victoria would be attending. Of course, the intention was to show-them all up. The most expensive, fanciest food, the best wine, the most talented musicians of England to play the music. It would be a night none of the attending wealthy would ever forget; and they would know it was a boy who was once almost willing to eat porridge out of a shoe who did it.
He had been so preoccupied in it all, he didn’t even notice his wife calling for him.
“Sir Dio... Dio... Diego! Diego Brando!” Hot Pants huffed. It wasn’t fun when he didn’t respond to it.
“... Hmmm? We’re married, there’s no need to use my full name,” Diego finally turned back, facing Hot Pants. “What is it? The party is tomorrow, I need to focus on the ‘finishing touches,’ Hot Pants...”
“It’s not my fault you don’t respond to anything else,” Hot Pants retorted, sighing. But clearly, she had other questions on the mind. “I want to know. What does ‘Christmas’ mean to you, Diego?” Hot Pants asked the Knight, who rose an eye at the question. “I’m your wife. Doesn’t Mrs. Brando have the right to know what her husband’s opinions are?”
Diego paused at the question, still caught off-guard. “’December 25th.’ That’s what Christmas means to me.”
“Really?” Hot Pants asked, head resting on her hand. “That’s quite odd. After all, Christmas usually means something to everyone,” she responded. Diego couldn’t read her expression; disappointment? Anger? Amusement?
“I grew up in absolute poverty,” Diego reminded her. “We had no room to celebrate Christmas growing up. It was just a day near the end of the year to me.”
“Really? Nothing ever happened at all?” Hot Pants inquired, her expression unchanging.
Diego paused for a second before scoffing. “If you must know... Back then, we would prepare Yorkshire Pudding for Christmas,” Diego explained. “It was the sorriest Yorkshire Pudding imaginable. Discount candy dropped on the ground probably tasted better... but to us, that was all we had. And as a little boy, they did make me happy,” he explained, remembering those days. He tried to never dwell on them, and this was the first time in quite a while he actually remembered the naïve young boy he once was. “It was better than the gruel we usually ate... some of the more religious farmhands would pray, but me and my mother did no such thing. When I became a success... sometimes I attended lavish parties to increase my social standing, but when I could, I would just spend it as another day,” Diego explained. “I’ll change my answer. In the past, Christmas has meant ‘Yorkshire Pudding’ and ‘opportunity’ to me. I suppose now, the only thing remaining in Christmas to me is ‘opportunity.’”
“I see...” Hot Pants replied, tapping her foot. Diego narrowed his eyes, finally growing annoyed.
“And what of you? What does ‘Christmas’ mean to you, Hot Pants?”
Hot Pants brushed some hair out of her face. “’God,’ of course. Did you forget I was a nun?” Hot Pants teased, looking out the window. “’Family’ as well.’”
Diego wanted to press on, but didn’t want to ask questions relating to that painful past. But he didn’t have to. “My family was devout. We didn’t have much, but the togetherness and midnight mass... it was nice,” Hot Pants explained. “My little brother especially loved it. My father would always get him a small toy, like he did for me when I was young. His eyes would always light up like you gave him a brick of gold,” Hot Pants smirked and laughed a little, before sighing.
“... Hot Pants, you don’t need to-”
“I want to,” Hot Pants interrupted. “When I was at the covenant, Christmas ceased to be about ‘family.’ It was only about ‘God’ and ‘God’ alone. Virgin Mary too, but all personal attachments were lost. Even the bond of ‘family’ was lost there, to us women that had sacrificed everything to serve Christ,” she went on. “In that world, there is no room for things like ‘family.’ If anything, ‘family’ can turn you away from God to walk the path of heresy,” Hot Pants explained.
“’Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s; and to God the things that are God’s,’” Diego replied. “In this case, as a nun, everything is God’s. How miserable. You might as well be having a living death,” He retorted, but Hot Pants laughed at his response.
“It was miserable,” she explained. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a more miserable experience, than when I was trying to atone every day for God’s redemption and forgiveness,” she went on, chuckling, before the laughter could hardly be contained.
“… Have you lost your mind, Hot Pants?” Diego asked. “I’ve heard terrible things about those institutions. I hope you don’t need to go to one.”
“No, no! Just… God, when was the last time I laughed so hard?” She stopped laughing to catch her breath, smiling. “I thought… I thought that if I gave everything to God, I would obtain ‘forgiveness.’ That one day in heaven, I could face my brother and be received by him… and by God, and one day my family as well. Then I came to America to compete in the Steel Ball Run, and got caught up in everything for the Saint’s Corpse… I thought it would redeem me in the eyes of God, but more importantly, my brother,” she admitted. “More than God’s, I wanted my brother’s forgiveness. A nun should not aspire to that, though… she should aspire only for ‘God’ and nothing less.”
“Even if you did it for the sake of your brother… to seek your ‘brother’s forgiveness’ and not ‘God’s forgiveness’ is the worst sin any woman in your position could do, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, Sir Dio,” Hot Pants replied. “Then again, I am no nun now…”
“But you were, back then,” Diego responded. “And even now… you are still religious, are you not? Despite everything with Stands and the Corpse?”
Hot Pants paused for a moment at that one. “Indeed… yes, I would say I am still religious. I may not go to bed anymore, but you see me read the Bible from time-to-time. I still like to pray before sleeping, even if its quiet… I think God favored us back in America. I think God wanted us to defeat the president and put the Corpse to rest,” Hot Pants admitted. “Even though the ‘body of the Saint’ allied with Valentine, the ‘spirit of God’ was with us and not him. That is how we were able to win in the end.”
“You mean Johnny,” Diego scoffed. “Diego was the one who dealt the killing blow. Once Valentine obtained that ‘new power’ we were helpless at that point in the fight,” Diego gritted his teeth. Even though he had won the race, the ultimate victory belonged to Johnny. He narrowed his eyes as he slumped into a chair, still bitter nearly a year later that he was not the one who dealt the evil president the killing blow. “That is a victory I lost.”
“But you won me, didn’t you?”
Hot Pants smiled, making her way towards him and sitting on his lap. “After all, you got married again, and I’m not chatting with your ex-wife’s spirit; so clearly there’s something you enjoy about this, don’t you?”
Diego was quiet, taking her hand. It was rather late, almost midnight. But still the servants worked at their master’s call (if nothing else, he treated them well, only the most bitter complained. It was rarely they had to work so long and for so hard), as Diego refused to sleep until he felt the preparations were perfect. “Hmm…” Diego put a hand on her back, kissing her forehead afterword’s. “I am happy to have you by my side this Christmas.”
“Are you, now?” A kiss on his cheek followed, before his lips briefly brushed against his own.
“… I suppose… hmm… Hot Pants, I would like Christmas to mean something else, I think.”
“Oh?” She asked, that unreadable expression soon returning to her.
“What if I said I want my Christmas to mean ‘you’ from now on?”
“… Oh?”
“You’re my wife. I want to spend my life with you. Christmas used to mean something to you, but it never meant anything to me. So…” And he cupped her chin. “From now on, I want ‘Christmas’ to mean ‘you.’ I’ll even go to church, if you want me to.”
The answer caught Hot Pants off-guard, pausing for a few moments before smiling. “… I wouldn’t object to that either. “I don’t have a family anymore, and my life no longer belongs to God, so I can’t say there’s any other value Christmas currently has to me. So as husband and wife… yes. I wouldn’t mind for my Christmas to be about ‘you’ from now on, Diego.”
“Glad to hear it,” Diego replied, hand on the back of her head, their lips finally pressing together for a real kiss, pulling together a few moments later.
“… I’m not saying up to help you finish this asinine party, though.”
Diego chuckled. “I’ll go to bed quietly, don’t worry. I’ll make you a deal. Before the party tomorrow, late me take you out into London. Let’s get a good breakfast, just us. Let’s make it a ‘tradition’ for us. Does that sound good?”
“It sounds perfect,” and Hot Pants got up from his lap, not facing him. “I love you, Diego.”
Despite being married, it was words they rarely said. Diego didn’t see any reason to say things they both already knew, and Hot Pants seemed to feel the same way. Actions were worth more than words, after all. So, the ‘intent’ made when put into the words meant a lot.
“I love you too.”
Hot Pants smiled, leaving Diego to once again bicker about the preparations of their manor, making her way to their bedroom, accompanied soon by her favorite of the maids.
“Mistress… did you tell him about… ah… you’re…” The young thing blushed, just thinking of the action. “… That you’ll be… expecting soon…?”
