#miracleverse

[gangstar-paradise]

also GOD looking at soft mudad art makes me want a scene where soft mudad happens and DIO is just confronted by the sheer enormity of 'I have a SON and he LIVED and I have TERRIFYING AND INFURIATING FEELINGS about this'

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

How would the SB IB Akuma Class react to what their evil versions did to the Astro/Logan back on their dimension? I just love this kids getting traumatized by their other selves.

Marinette: That… Was… Horrible!

Nino: I-I can’t believe I did that! No wonder he hates us!

Nathaniel: *Rocking back and forth in a corner* I’m a monster. I’m horrible. How could I do that?

Juleka: We’re bad people! We tried to kill him!

Myléne: *Crying in Ivan’s arms*

Ivan: We deserve worse than hell!

Logan: Guys, you didn’t actually-

Adrien: I’m a despicable human being!

Alya: I can’t even look at myself!

Logan: … On second thought, I’m quite enjoying this.

Sabrina: *In the fetal position* We’re abominations against human decency.

[barkers-art]

Christmas/Early Birthday gift that I drew for @starryoak. I wanted to draw one of her next gen ponies from the Miracleverse (her disliked ships AU), and I eventually decided to go with Dusty Dunes. He's wearing a sweater because I thought he'd look really cute wearing a sweater.

[gangstar-paradise]

Giorno: vegan from now on ORRRRR developing a taste for meat hmmmm

[gangstar-paradise]

Birthday

A little thing I whipped up for Miracleverse!Giorno's birthday. ---

April 16, 2006

The day passed without trouble; a few phone calls, a tour with Abbacchio and Bucciarati and Mista of a new warehouse Passione was going to start using for moving textiles from a new connection in Asia. A normal enough day, under a fine spring sky and a hint of rain moving in toward the weekend.

As they were driving home and the sky was starting to tint to a warm orange-rose with the slow descent of the sun, Bucciarati's watch bleeped, and he made a soft 'oh' sound under his breath. He turned around to lean over the side of the seat, and smiled at Giorno. "Auguri, Giorno."

Giorno blinked, as if he wasn't sure the remark was being directed at him. Then he licked his lips before giving Bruno a small, tired smile in response. "I'm surprised you remembered that." He shifted his weight in the seat to sit up more attentive. "Thank you, Bucciarati."

Mista, sat next to Giorno, nudged him with an elbow. "Where are we going for it?" It was tradition for the birthday-haver to take the family out, after all.

Giorno blinked again. "It's been a long day. Do you actually want that?" Of course, it had been different when it was him and Mista alone; Mista had always insisted, and they had so few people to celebrate with that it usually turned into a quiet, meditative meal, tinted by recollection so close on the anniversary of the charge to Rome.

Giorno couldn't get a read on Abbacchio, who was driving, but Bruno's expression shifted into a gentle, mild dismay.

"Of COURSE they do!" Mista was quick to jump in, projecting his voice and grinning from ear to ear. He threw an arm around Giorno's shoulders and tugged him in close, trapping the young Don against his warm sweater, in the crook of his arm. "Right, guys?"

Giorno oof'd but accepted this manhandling with a tiny huff of breath before resting a hand on Mista's arm and leaning in.

Bruno speared Giorno with a firm look. "I think we would be insulted not to be asked," he said, and his expression was both warm and a warning at the same time.

Giorno knew an order when he heard it, even if Bruno was 'merely' his sottocapo. He felt a rise of heat in his cheeks, a flush of being known and called out for trying to evade it; he pulled his gaze from Bruno's. "Well, then."

He slipped a hand into his pocket, and pulled out his BlackBerry, delicate fingers quickly tapping out an email that went out a moment later and set Bruno, Abbacchio and Mista's phones off; Giorno's invitation going out to the inner circle.

"Let's get together at home at 9," the Don of Passione said, snuggling against Mista's side, "If it's all the same to you, I already have the best presents I could have possibly hoped for this year. If we can keep it a low-key family affair between us tonight, that's best for me."

"How old are you now anyway?" Abbacchio asked, as he brought the car to a stop at a light.

"20," Giorno answered, while Mista gently placed a tiny kiss in his hair behind his forehead.

"So, you're still a baby." Abbacchio snarked back, though he himself had just turned 24 in March, with a birthday celebration that had spilled across three bars and ended in two different bedrooms.

"Guilty," Giorno riposted, with a wry smile, remembering. They had spent a fair amount of time teasing Abbacchio back last month about being 'the old man' of the group, as well as some tortured puns about 'abbraccio for Abbacchio' just to get him flustered. "No tucking your ear away, either, brat," Abbacchio warned. "You're getting every one of those birthday pinches."

"Are you inviting Risotto?" Mista wanted to know, and he couldn't help tightening his grip on Giorno.

The Don shook his head. "No. He's in Sicily right now, taking care of a personal matter." He spoke lightly, but he could feel the faint 'unwinding' sensation threading through the car following that announcement, a relaxing and lowering of shoulders, the slight tell-tales of released breath. He was careful to shield his disappointment from his face then. At some point he was just going to have to commit and force the issue, but a family event for his own birthday certainly wasn't the time to do it.

Instead, he asked, "Would you all be okay with just ordering in?" as he picked up his phone again, moving to dial one of the group's favorite restaurants.

With a general murmur of assent around him, Giorno dialed the restaurant and placed a large order with a sizable tip for the rush, and let his weight sink into Mista's side. He'd been hoping to avoid the conversation entirely and slip through the day unnoticed, but of course Bruno was going to catch him at it…

Giorno's smile deepened, fond and tender, though it was for himself the most. He really had to get used to the idea of letting people remember his days.

--

Everyone was deep in the dolce, gathered snug around a candle-lit table in Bucciarati's too small, but beloved dining room, nursing dessert wine while they chattered. Giorno was nibbling at one of his favorite cheap puddings, despite having already tucked away a serving of the delivery's excellent tiramisu - today of all days he could justify it.

He looked from face to face at the table. Nearly all of his loved ones, their faces golden with candle glow, cross-talking over each other, gesturing with animated hands and voices loose with wine and ease; this was more than enough to make the young Don content. Tomorrow, who knew, but today, they were all here, and alive.

If he detected just the faintest hint of desperation in the celebration, it was one that he knew all at the table equally felt and shared; the shadow of Rome hung over their heads in different ways, and was best chased out in a large, loud group exorcism - together.

His contemplations of this and his second-to-last spoon of flan were interrupted by a heavy thumping at the door.

The group paused, went blank-faced for a second, and then immediately snapped away from the table like a flowing ocean wave - everyone up and taking positions, getting into motion, Stand auras flaring.

Narancia hiccuped (he'd had a few), "One at the door," with Aerosmith's radar already over his eye and pinging. Mista had pulled his gun out of his pants and was trying to get between Giorno and the door.

There was, then, a kind of tooth-rattling boom; like thunder, but also if the thunder had very specifically chosen to go off six feet away from the table, followed by a sharp snap; the movement of air rushing to get out of the thunder's way.

Before anyone could gather their wits, a huge blond man and a very small grey woman both emerged from the thunder. Their eyes were hard, keen and bright, and their clothing was alternatively outlandishly a Middle Eastern flair for the man, and a mass of dark, time-aged robes for the small grey woman.

Dio smirked as he assessed the scene before him, and his eyes locked on his son. At his side, Enya the witch giggled brightly from a crooked mouth missing several teeth.

"Giorno Giovanna," Dio purred, striding forward as if he owned the room, one hand on his hip, radiant with afterglow of The World still falling from around his huge shoulders, "We greet you on this, the evening of your birth. Enya and I have come to gift you with our presence. Now, introduce me properly to your companions."

Giorno collected himself as fast as he could, trying to push the surprise out of his face, schooling it to the calm and steady expression that he knew his father expected. "Of course, Padre. Everyone, may I kindly introduce you to my father, the vampire Dio Brando, and his second, the witch Enyaba?"

The collective, baffled shrieks of "Your father?! DIO?!" brought a broad, fanged grin to Dio's green-painted lips, and he reached for the wine at the table.

[gangstar-paradise]

[gangstar-paradise]

Practicing their shared Stand. Giorno uses Metallica to create life through Master of Puppets.

[gangstar-paradise]

DIO hosting a tournament arc for the VA cast both to amuse himself and to test all of Giorno's men. He also puts up the prize money - but of course, the final round is versus DIO himself. Who do we think would make the final round? Without Stands, my money's on Risotto, but Nara and Mista are both mean physical scrappers, and Abba could also pull out a surprise dark horse move. I think Trish would go far too, but she just isn't as beefy as the taller boys. Bruno would sit it out, I think, but observe. It is wrong I kinda want this? Plus, after watching the tournament arc in Tojima Wants to Be a Kamen Rider I'm kinda digging the idea.