#sometimes Giorno leaves out berries for him me thinks

[e40536]

vamp au shenanigans

[napandasandwich]

baby draft of something i’m working on to get through vento aureo feelings

our scars make us is the tentative title bc i cannot name things for the life of me

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each section describes no color but that the new character brings and is associated with

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until /green/ which describes trees getting their new leaves and, sparingly, the way the characters and their colors come together in harmony and discord, and each brings their own color to the scene, like spring

then the history, his perspective

then the sun, then the girl, then gold, then the end

1. orange 2. red 3. purple 4. blue 5. green 6. yellow 7. black & white 8. pink 9. gold 10. silver

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orange is for fugo, like warning colors in animals, his bright anger and brighter intelligence, the shiver, the nervousness in nails bitten to the quick, the fidgeting, the simmering mass of emotions, the snapping to focus, his bright ostentatious clothes that he fidgets in, the orange jacket, bright bright bright and searing, to the point where you were surprised when his stand was purple, but it makes sense as his shadow, the purple of a bruise faded to orange smears at the edges, how anything made his skin go red, hand tap tap tapping an orange pen on the paperwork, artfully slicing a cheese, holding a boxcutter with a safety orange handle to a man’s eye, hands on various object with a nervousness before he set to the task but competency once he’s on his way, the love of rules and systems he knew but could never force himself to fit inside, last scene is him cutting an orange with a knife and offering it over more paperwork, orange pools of light in the late night warm companionship of bruno’s apartment, orange settling into bruno’s cool grey life and warming it

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red is for narancia, the blood around him, the stink of infection and how easily his face goes red when he's angry or cries, passion and a loud voice and music and violence, everything about narancia is bright now that he's better and you would die to preserve that because always in your mind the image of a boy in a hospital bed, eyes and heart vacant and forgotten and scared, blood on the pillow and the way fugo's nails dug so deep into his hands they drew blood, and how when you banished naracia from joining you he didn't know that you'd already taken pains to kill/threaten those who'd hurt him, that fugo was in charge of keeping an eye on him and how your own rage had snapped when you found out fugo had given him an introduction to polpo, narancia's face going red when he cried and screamed as you tried to send him home, his cheeks still red when he fell asleep later, safe as you could make him while knowing that his blood was now already on your hands

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Purple is mista, excess, freedom, the first time bruno picked one of his own, how bruised and hurt mista was by prison and that bruno got him his gun (? Check?), wine and all the rich things in life, crushed grapes, berries, a woman in a purple dress, his chatter to nara and fugo a background noise that drew fugo’s annoyance and nara out of himself, the sound of music in the house, mista ducking into a shop to come out with pastries for each of them sticky and oversweet, turning mista away as soon as the body in the alley drops, handing him off to fugo with a look as the purpleblack spreads on the pavement and bruno hurries to call stickyfingers, the sky overhead going purpledark in the summer as mista came wandering home from a long walk, gun in his waistband and a hum in his throat, bruises on his knuckles and a smile on his face, and his cheeks are never gaunt anymore

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Blue is abbacchio, love and pain and lust and most of all a strange companionship. Power imbalance and worshipfulness, self-degradation, a beautiful afternoon, the stink of a drunk, the refinement and expansiveness he tries to crush, loving someone who wants to self destruct and how hard it is to have someone always turn away when you offer vulnerability, self doubt and finally a creeping despair of things changing, but through it all love love love, the swell of orchestra and the magnetism, the color of the open sky, something ascendant, of heaven, his old uniform and the sea beside the cafe where you first realized you were in love, blue bruises from fights and blue in the shadows of the bottles of liquor and the blue of blood and of a sacred broken heart, wishing he could see himself still, wishing he would see you, catching your breath that sometimes you think he does but the love lying unspoken between you is just as bright and unknowable as heaven itself, an open question forever unanswered

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Green (we green and growing things), a year of early spring, new leaves in the trees and something stirring in the air, the smell of cut plants, things were getting better for the gang

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Yellow is giorno's arrival, associated with light, flowers, bees, the sun, flashing everywhere in the reflection of a luxury car, he is like the sun and yet still almost a child, new things, perhaps the flowering of what began in green, his is hope

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then in black and white, bruno's actual view becomes clear, rather than just scenes that include him as focus. colors become absent from bruno's life with the loss of his parents, and once he joins the gang formally and gets his stand he gives up on himself and his life includes no color/passion, only emptiness and careful balancing acts and unease.

Those colors are also identified with nero and then white noise on the phone (pledging allegiance to silence) and the simple logic of following orders, superiors and subordinates, gang members vs civilians/everyone else, who lives and who dies according to rules he just has to follow, step by step

(we also find out about bruno's particular method of body disposal and that that was a role he played before he was given his own subordinate in the form of fugo, partly because polpio felt bruno was wasted as a bullied junior member of another gang)

then one by one, he is given his gang (none were technically chosen by him, but each chose to stay with him) and color returns to his life, slowly, through his interactions with him which lead him to finally feel that there is perhaps more to life than taking orders until his untimely death.

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in yellow it's revealed that although polpio nearly raised bruno for while and was always his direct superior, he was abusive. when giorno kills polpio bruno's feelings are mixed, but the end result is still that giorno killed his abuser and freed an essential part of him that had until then been trapped.

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in pink we discover that bruno's choice to save trish was the *first* time he had ever gone against orders at all, and that yes he was both dead and freaking out v badly. but she was someone he could save, the way he had wanted to keep his gang safe and even get them out of the gang one day. and she reminded him of his mother, quiet and strong-willed and unfairly treated as a pawn by the world.

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gold is about bruno's feelings about giorno re the longevity of the gang and it's stability if something happened to him, and his own choice to embrace battle and a final death in the face of a way to break the cycle of the world in which his has grown up and that has shaped and hurt every one of his people. willingness to see the world change, at any cost, even though he never wanted to pay the price it took and did begin to doubt himself, but in the end there is only one choice, a final choice, and everything else doesn't matter.

short section about bruno's willness to die, and his gratitude for each of the people who brought color to his life, as it begins to seep away for a final time

Trish. Giorno. Abbacchio. Mista. Narancia. Fugo. I'm sorry.

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[drop silver as a chapter name, use epilogue?]

a man walks by a cafe where someone gets up to help him with a bag, their walking leads them through an alleyway where the taller tugs the shorter to a brief stop, a momentary kiss, they talk of their friends briefly, and then they go on together beyond the bend in the road

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I'd forgot how to daydream So consumed with the wrong things, but in The dark, I realized this life is short And deep down, I'm still a child Playful eyes, wide and wild, I can't Lose hope, what's left of my heart's still made of gold

and i know that i'm still fucked up but aren't we all my love darling our scars make us who we are, are

when the winds are howling strong and you feel you can't go on hold tight sweetheart you'll find a rainbow/

Rainbow - Kesha