#howler

Dio

Dio treats gift exchanges like a power move, not a kind gesture. He absolutely gives gifts that are meant to assert dominance or remind you who’s on top. He believes his presence is already a gift, so anything he gives is meant to reinforce hierarchy.

He gives everyone something expensive, dramatic, and impractical. Antique wine, ornate jewelry, rare books bound in leather. No receipts. No explanations.

To Pucci, he gives a handwritten book of “philosophical reflections” (it’s just Dio’s thoughts compiled). This is the only gift he gives sincerely. 

To Kars, he gives a jewel or artifact from an ancient civilization, purely to flex that he can obtain it.

Dio fully expects his gift to be the best one and will stare at everyone until they react appropriately. Silence is not acceptable.

Kars

Pretends he doesn’t care about gifts, but secretly absolutely cares. Kars gives gifts like he’s distributing tools to subordinates. Everything is chosen with surgical precision. No wrapping. No flair. Just purpose.

Dio: A biological specimen or ancient fossil. A reminder that nature predates him.

Esidisi: Rare minerals or materials meant to stabilize his body and emotions.

To Wamuu, he gives handcrafted weaponry or training gear, something meant to perfect him.

To Santana, something ceremonial and symbolic of loyalty acknowledging him as a warrior.

He does not wrap his gifts. They are presented plainly, like an offering.

Kira

Kira hates this. Loathes it. Detests the attention, the social obligation, and the implication that anyone expects emotional sincerity from him. A gift exchange is one of his personal hells: too many eyes, too many reactions, too much room for interpretation.

He gives normal, polite, boring gifts because normalcy is safety. Soap. Candles. Hand lotion. Office supplies. Everything is neutral, unscented or lightly scented, and from a department store. 

Every gift is wrapped neatly, identically, with plain paper and a small tag. He gives everyone roughly the same thing, just adjusted slightly so it doesn’t look suspicious. His gifts are objectively useful, high-quality, and completely forgettable.

If anyone questions him, he stiffens slightly and just says, “It’s practical.” He does not elaborate. He wants this over as quickly and quietly as possible.

Diavolo

Diavolo does not want to be perceived, acknowledged, or remembered in this situation. He participates only because not doing so would draw more attention.

His gifts appear mysteriously with no name attached, placed where they need to be without anyone seeing him do it. Everyone knows they’re from him anyway. There’s an unmistakable weight to them, expensive, rare items sourced anonymously, impossible to trace back to any seller.

To Pucci, he gives something philosophical or religious, old and valuable, as if testing whether Pucci understands its significance. To Valentine, he gives something politically useful, documents, artifacts, or leverage disguised as a gift.

He does not stay to watch anyone open them. By the time people notice his gifts are there, he is already gone.

Doppio

Doppio is awkward, guarded, and painfully aware of the power dynamics in the room. Still, he understands appearances, and he knows exactly how much money smooths things over.

His gifts are expensive but understated, luxury items that don’t scream wealth unless you know what you’re looking at. High-end watches, rare books, custom accessories. Nothing sentimental. Nothing flashy. 

He’s polite when handing them out, brief with his words, and visibly relieved when each exchange is finished. He keeps checking his mental list and absolutely forgets who he’s already given gifts to at least once, panicking internally before playing it off.

Despite everything, his gifts are some of the nicest there. They’re well chosen, tasteful, and surprisingly considerate, even if he never sticks around long enough to hear anyone say thank you.

Pucci

Pucci gives religious or philosophical gifts because he genuinely believes that guidance is the greatest kindness he can offer these people. Every gift is chosen with intention, tied to what he believes the recipient’s soul requires.

Books, rosaries, handwritten notes about “fate” and divine purpose. Each one comes with an explanation, spoken softly and earnestly, as if this exchange is sacred rather than social.

To Dio, he gives something deeply symbolic and reverent, an artifact he somehow came into possession of. This is his most carefully chosen gift. To others, he gives items meant to steer them toward what he believes is their true path, whether they want that or not.

He truly believes his gifts are meaningful. When someone brushes it off or reacts dismissively, he doesn’t argue, he just looks quietly disappointed, convinced they aren’t ready to understand yet.

Valentine

Valentine makes this political. There is no separating gift giving from ideology for him.

Everyone receives something patriotic or historically symbolic, flags, artifacts, replicas, documents tied to national legacy. Each gift is carefully chosen to represent “prosperity,” “unity,” or “destiny,” and none of it is subtle.

He gives a short speech while handing out every single gift, explaining its significance and what it represents. He expects respect, attention, and gratitude in equal measure.

Everything has Meaning™. Even the wrapping feels deliberate. 

Literally no one asked for this level of intensity, but Valentine considers that irrelevant.

Diego

Diego is petty, and his gift choices reflect that perfectly. He doesn’t give bad gifts, he gives pointed ones.

Every gift is just slightly insulting if you think about it long enough. Expensive enough to avoid open criticism, but chosen to highlight a flaw, insecurity, or rivalry.

To Valentine, he gives something that subtly mocks his patriotism or authority. To Dio, something flashy and terribly gaudy, almost daring him to acknowledge the joke. To everyone else, gifts that feel uncomfortably specific.

If someone gets mad, he just smirks and says, “What? It’s thoughtful.” Watching people realize what he meant is half the fun.

Tooru

Tooru only participates in the gift exchange because it’s easier than explaining why he wouldn’t. He doesn’t treat it like a big deal, and he definitely doesn’t treat it like a moral or emotional obligation. To him, it’s just another social task to get through.

He’s observant, but he doesn’t linger on it. He notices what people like, what they use, what they talk about in passing, and then files it away. When it’s time to give gifts, he chooses things that make sense on a surface level.

His gifts are simple, practical, and oddly well suited. Music records Pucci mentioned once. A plant that fits Kira’s lifestyle. An equestrian item Diego eyed last month.

If someone comments on how accurate the gift is, he just shrugs and says something like, “You mentioned it before,” as if that explains everything. He doesn’t stick around for reactions, doesn’t explain himself, and leaves once it’s done. 

Howler

Howler goes all in budget wise, but not thoughtfully whatsoever. He completely forgot about the gift exchange until the day of and solves the problem the only way he knows how: money.

Everyone receives large sums of cash, luxury gift cards, or sudden “investment opportunities” dropped into their hands like it’s nothing. No personalization. No symbolism. Just overwhelming financial value.

He assumes everyone will be grateful and doesn’t really care if they aren’t.