#ciao america

[strangledwires]

DID YOU KNOW that the Japanese version of The Urbz featured different styled faces than their American counterparts? Every Urb has a different face.

They even edited the opening to reflect this change. With characters either matching the Japanese style, or not looking as aggressive. (Note the "Central Station" man isn't scowling and has a calmer expression. Mazuiko Jackson doesn't appear as menacing either.)

Not every character in the opening is edited, some in the background remain the same, and will.i.am also remains the same in the opening.

The endings also have these same changes.

[lu2211]

[m0c4triz]

[curtins]

SALVATORE — jujutsu kaisen x reader minors dni

prologue. → going on summer vacations with the jjk men and things get a little...hotter?

pairings. satoru gojo x afab!reader / suguru geto x afab!reader / nanami kento x afab!reader / choso kamo x afab!reader / ryomen sukuna x afab!reader / toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings+. non-sorcerer/jujutsu au, from the back, exhíbitíonism, mild food play, ríding, máting press, creámpíe, against the wall, oral (f. receiving), fíngeríng, hey even in a cave! reader is called good girl, princess, baby, darling, my love.

word count. 4.1k! song inspiration. salvatore — lana del rey

a/n. update #1 writing this fic had me looking up shit on wikipedia pages abt cities around the world, had me checking meteorology maps...tried to choose cities i've been to but i was still racking my brains. update #2 btw whenever i write smut like this i'm filled with outstanding self awareness and minor shame but thats the fun of it 😭 this is day no.3 of me trying to rewrite this all from scratch update #3 day 4! fawkkkk i wanna go on holiday too now. lmao if i was in the sukuna one, i would have been mad as hell, istanbul is stunning <3

mp3. everything looks better from above my king, like aqua marine, ocean's blue

TOJI FUSHIGURO — all the lights in miami begin to gleam 📍 miami, america

"o-oh, fuck. think she's really tellin' me to keep going like this, don'tcha think?"

your boyfriend is mean when he's like this. sharp, jade eyes narrowed as they take in the sight of your puffy folds swallowing him up over and over as he's stuffing himself into your sticky walls. and if you turn your head away, from where you're smashed against the pillow, you can see the floor-to-wall ceilings of the high-rise penthouse that offers an uninterrupted view of miami's glittering skyline.

"how - how, did you even get this place, hah, toji?" it's a wonder you can even get a coherent sentence out right now, your guts are practically being stuffed with inches of your boyfriend's veiny cock, and it's leaving you, well, delirious.

but with humble credit and thanks to what you can assume is your own nasty grip, toji's not faring much better either. his brawny frame is practically shuddering, and while you can't see his face in this position, you're certain that a sharp canine has sunk into his lip, and his breath is coming out in hulking groans.

"heh, you're n-not meant to ask questions like that, princess? gotta, ohhh, gotta keep some business s-secrets up my sleeve, huh?" and he's practically a beast right now, handling you on all fours of this king-sized bed, draped in silk sheets the colour of red wine, "just a reward for a-, haah, a job well done."

any job well done from toji was most likely something illegal, but you can't even bring yourself to care, not when there's a bucket of chilled champagne on the glass table to your left, and certainly not when his fat cock is smearing right through you, leaving a coil in your abdomen that only he can unravel.

you whine, feeling the fat tip of his cock practically rummage and make a home in your cunt, "toji, wan' more," and you're pushing the plush of your ass against his pumping hips, and you hear his sharp intake of breath.

a rough hand has snaked underneath you, creating a small gap between you and the bunched-up fabric on the bed, and his callous fingertips are now circling sloppy, messy circles over your clit, leaving you bucking in his hold.

"n-now, stay still, princess. not done with you yet."

SUGURU GETO — ciao, amore. soft ice-creams. 📍 amalfi coast, italy

you're not sure how long you've been trembling under suguru's mouth, but it must have been an eternity under the ministrations of his tongue.

the sun has been blazing high, casting a golden glow over this part of the private beach, hidden away from the towns bustling with tourists like yourselves who had descended upon the coast for the summer.

soft waves lapped in ebbing waves, the rhythm breaking the perfect stillness of the afternoon, in this wooden cabana, separated from the terracotta villas.

and no, your mind was nowhere near admiring the turquoise waters of the ocean, but rather your lover's mouth practically exploring every inch of your cunt like this.

the tapered tip of his tongue had long been probing around your fluttering pussy, taking in every last drop of your pearlescent luster that was practically dripping over his chin.

not to mention the absolutely sticky and languid trails of melting ice-cream, each biting cream drop that fell on your hot swollen folds getting promptly cleaned up by the one who was enjoying this sweet game.

"shhh! don't wanna get kicked off this beach, do ya, pretty?"

and suguru looks positively devious, his violet eyes gleaming with crude intent. his black hair is a tangled mess, long locks falling victim to your clawing nails that tumble carelessly over his bare back, kissed by the sun and glowing with a soft, rosy pink hue.

and when he smiles, the sunlight catches onto his lips, making the slick on his mouth sparkle and wink up at you.

"been - it's been an entire hour by now, can't you just let me cum," you huff, closing the plush of your thighs around his ears, boxing him in.

geto flashes you a mischievous grin, running a slow finger through your sopping folds, and lightly brushing over your entrance as you mewl again.

"where would the fun in that be, pretty?" he murmurs, "love seeing how wet this cunt gets for me, need to let me have my fun."

what a devil. clearly, getting under your skin is a sport for him.

you're hardly given a moment to breathe before he's jostling two thick digits right into the thick of it once more, in and out, in and then out, as his thumb find its home on the slope of your bare mound again.

"besides, we can take it slow for 'nother hour, can't we?" and now suguru's toying with your clit, and his teeth lean down to graze the swollen, throbbing bud, "gotta see just how much you can beg for me."

NANAMI KENTO — catch me if you can, working on my tan 📍 gold coast, australia

"w-wait, darling," nanami shudders under your touch, under your fresh set of nails raking small patterns over his neck, "anyone could just walk past here, y'know."

you curl your lip, before pressing your mouth in an open mouthed kiss to his stretched neck, warm and flushed.

you can feel the galloping thrum of his pulse beneath your lips, the heat almost intoxicating, mingling with the faint tang of the pool water's chlorine, and the scent of banksia and frangipanis in the air.

you can also feel his thick cock dragging through your walls, as you ram the weight of your hips over and over again. it seems like the shimmering skyline of surfer's paradise was just what nanami needed, after months of work, and you're determined to make the most of your time here.

he's got you bouncing practically like a ragdoll, heavy balls swinging up and smacking your skin in what little space remains between the two of you, and he's panting into your chest, "whatd'ya gonna do if someone sees?"

"mhm, don' care, no-one's here, nanami."

his broad arms loop around you in the pool chair, as you straddle the sizeable bulge that's making a tent in his briefs, "nasty, sometimes, aren'tcha?"

you smile, as your husband's large hands roam over your back, making you arch your back into his touch — as he deftly pulls at the tight knot holding your damp bikini top together.

"ah, don't get shy now. let me see these," and you can only nod hazily as he lets your tits spill out, and press up against his bare, chiselled torso, "wanted this so bad, just a minute ago, yeah?"

"s-still want this," and for good measure, you grind your hips down over his cock with even more pressure, feeling him jolt with a quiet 'fuck!' underneath you.

"haah, that's not fair, darling," and he's crashing his weeping, curved tip so far into you, that you're certain you're seeing stars on the saltwater horizon, "what happened to playing nice?"

you know you should be weary of the flicker of challenge that glints in his stern brown eyes, softened by the haze of your squelching cunt, "do y-your worst, otherwise what? can't keep up?"

a cocky smile curves over his mouth, and that's the wave of satisfaction you were looking for, hoping that he'd take the bait.

he leans further back in the pool chair, now with an arm wrapped lazily around your gyrating hips, but you can feel his grip tighten, stealing the humid air right out from under you, "we'll see who can't play nice when you're begging for my cock to fill you up."

CHOSO KAMO — all the lights are sparkling for you, it seems 📍santorini, greece

"hey, shh, shhh..."

choso's voice is a low rumble as he glides his thick, leaking tip down your slick core, and you shiver as the cool ocean breeze mixes with the warm slick gathering between your bodies, "w-wow, you're doing so good, handling it so well, my love."

you must have made a good choice, choosing this suite. one carved seamlessly into the tan-rock of one of the island's famous caves. and well, your sweet boyfriend has been fucking you so incredibly that you feel your eyes start to water, blear away from the pretty blue and terracotta accents on the mantelpiece.

his girthy cock sinking into you send shivers to your pussy that leave you fluttering and squeezing around him tighter, clenching around the veins as he sinks even deeper, so the thickened head is practically kissing your cervix, and filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

"d-does it feel good for you too, cho?” you gasp, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the soft choppy strands that fall around his shoulders, "this...this is what you wanted, right, baby?"

the pale mauve of his lips curves into a faint smile, and despite the sharpness of his thrusts making a home in your gummy walls, there's a tenderness in his shadowed, hazel eyes as his palm glides down your torso, cupping your tits gently, "w-would go anywhere in the world, if it was with you."

and he's looking at you with such love that you just cannot help but believe him when he says, no, shudders out a "you're so beautiful."

the sound of the water lapping against the rocks below fills the room, mixing with your soft whimpers, as the slow roll of choso's hips leave your puffy folds weeping. the thick, throbbing head of his cock brushes against your g-spot, right there, and you moan, lost in the sensation.

"god, y-you’re so good at this," he breathes into your ear, his voice hoarse and strained, and suddenly far more shaky, "ah - could do this forever."

"w-will you?" you whisper, eyes fluttering as you lose yourself in what is surely ropes of stringy white cum painting you lovingly inside, "wan' feel you all the time, cho."

choso's misty, flushed gaze locks onto yours, filled with a heat that makes your heart race, and fireworks shoot through your abdomen, "think you're g-gonna be my wife someday, yeah?"

you bite your lip, a shy smile painting your face despite the way that he's practically jostling inch after inch into your pussy, pressing into you like a vice, "really mean t-that, cho?"

"ahh, 'course i do," he shudders, brushing a thumb down the swan-arch of your neck, "now, hold onto me."

RYOMEN SUKUNA — dying by the hand of a foreign man, happily 📍istanbul, turkey

"huhh, oh my god! you're an animal," you huff at your fiancé, who's currently sprawled on the plush bed underneath your straddling thighs, under the sheer curtains that billow softly in the warm breeze from the open latticework windows.

and right now, sukuna looks like a mess.

and it brings you a great deal of satisfaction to see your usually composed and aloof fiancé so undone and disheveled, as he grins up at you — the black markings on his face creasing with the movement.

his rosy-pink hair is a tangled heap, but you can't resist running your fingers through the short, tousled spikes.

and his lips, which have been marking you up consistently for the past ten minutes, gleam glossy and full, as his crimson eyes lock onto yours with the smug satisfaction of a cat who's gotten its way.

he'd barely waited a mere minute after the two of you had arrived back to your hostel's room, from a whirlwind tour of the sultanahmet district, before he had pounced on you, and had practically tore your long skirt off.

you don't quite think it's worth mentioning that you've been pawing equally at your boyfriend in the same time as well, pulling his thick and lengthy shaft out of the confines of his boxers, and swiping a thumb over the angrily-gleaming tip.

"d-didn't even take a second to think about all the places we just saw? the history lessons, and - sukuna, were you even listening?"

by now, you're fighting back heaving shivers at the way the pads of his calloused fingers run under your top.

"hah! yeah, yeah. history and all that," he murmurs, low and amused, but his focus is clearly elsewhere, his lips now resuming their previous task of snapping at your torso, letting pretty berry-red marks beam.

you roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at the corners of your own glossy mouth, "y-you're impossible," and you try not to squirm as his forefinger and thumb on each hand pinch at a nipple under your top, "don' even know why i bothered bring this...this camera around. the guide said that these sights were o-once, oh fuck, sukuna, get a grip, said the sights were once-in-a-lifetime b-breathtaking."

"breathtaking, huh?" sukuna shifts closer to you, scooting you further over his wide lap, and his voice has dropped to a low and sultry whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, and leaves you aching, "i think you're breathtaking. wan' explore this," and here, he snaps at the elastic band of your lace panties, "instead."

"and besides, i was listening," and now, he's patting his sculpted, exposed thighs behind the plush of your ass on him, "the guide said that this city straddles two continents."

he's emphasising his words with a deliberate tap, clearly hoping you'd catch the awful word-play.

"say something like that again, and i'm booking the next flight home."

"hah, so now you hate it when i am cultured."

by now, his two rough hands kneading at you has left you...airless. thick heat has been pooling in your core, and you just can't help but let out a soft whimper, "sukuna…only wanted y-you to focus."

he shakes his messy head, laughter rumbling deep in his chest, under thick pectoral muscles, "no can do, brat. you’re my focus now. done enough sightseeing outside today, wanna do something inside."

"you’re impossible!" but you gasp as he skims a thumb over your cloying, dewy clit, making you jolt.

you know he must be in a rare, mellowed mood because he breathes, "impossibly in love with you," and it's quiet, teasing as the heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, "now tell me how much you want this, and maybe i'll think about giving you a different type of lesson."

franky, by now you want nothing more than to be filled with heavy, hot inches that curl into you, sloshing their way to the most sensitive spot of all, and sukuna must see that on your face.

"i -," you begin, but the words falter as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, and the weeping tip of his cock taps against the wet pool staining your underwear darkly translucent.

"just say it, brat. tell me how bad you want it, i'll even be nice this time," he urges, his voice a sultry purr, "just gon' give it to you as you ask, yeah?"

"wan' you in me, 'kuna," you finally admit, breathless, "i want you so much it hurts."

"good girl," he mutters, his eyes darkening with desire. "now you're getting the right idea."

you sigh, content, but then still your rocking hips suddenly, "but after this, we're still going out to the bazaar for dinner."

"for fuck's sake."

GOJO SATORU — like a boss, you sang jazz and blues 📍paris, france

you're not quite sure where exactly you should be training your ears, whether you should be listening to the sultry notes of a saxophone that wrap around the plush velvet booth where you and gojo are seated.

or the thick, clingy swish of his fingers practically bullying themselves in and out of your pussy. the air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars that make you wrinkle your nose, and fine whiskey (that makes gojo wrinkle his nose) and the sweet tang of your own slick, privately, just for the two of you.

your boyfriend sits close to you, his left hand tight on your waist, and the other working a fine instrument, bunching up underneath your ysl silk dress.

"baby, look at how your perfect cunt's talkin' to me," he's whispering, and you can hear the sheer glee in his voice, his breath hot against your ear.

meanwhile, your jaw is slack and you're doing your best to not meet his touch with a sultry, rhythmic grind of your own hips, but the knot is quickening and tightening within you.

but gojo just smiles, and you can see the blue in his eyes darken underneath his sunglasses that have slipped slightly down the slope of his nose, "but can't have everyone hearing this melody, can we? might think you were the main fuckin' attraction for the night and not -" he cocks his head to the quartet serenading the paris night sky, and the other patrons of this filthy wealthy club.

you just sink your teeth into your painted lip, suppressing a whine as he curls three fingers within you, reeling you entirely pliant and having you lean against his broad chest under his jacket, "b-but satoru, 'm getting close."

he's being awful, you think. and when he had pulled his hand out earlier, it had been entirely coated in a ribbon of your arousal, the slow syrup beginning to run down his slender digit, but he had parted his lips and let not a drop go to waste on his tongue.

the music is swelling, it's a jazzy crescendo that fills the air, and your gaze hazes and wonders, focusing on the open window where the eiffel tower stands ablaze in lights. soft gasps are escaping your lips, when gojo starts slamming his fingers up and up further, right up to his glossy knuckle, clearly searching for your g-spot.

and you are so glad that this booth is turned away from the rest of the club's patrons, for if they saw you, it would be no secret as to what exactly was going on underneath your gown.

"focus on me, love. just focus on how you're soaking me."

he's pressing his fingers impossibly deeper, stroking your walls in a way that make it impossible to think of anything else but him.

"gojo, please…" you breathed, struggling to keep your voice low, "what if someone sees?"

he laughs, pressing his mouth to your neck, and you know he's inhaling the new scent that you had picked up at the luxury flagship stores earlier, his treat.

"let them. paid good enough money to get in here," and now he's getting more insistent, practically ravishing your aching pussy now, "besides, they wanna say anything about it? i'll cut out their tongue."

"p-pretty sure that's, mmph, i'm sure that's i-illegal, 'toru."

"don't want your pretty head thinking about anything else right now, 'kay?" and god, it's one of life's greatest works, how he just knows how to work his magic like this, and the way that he's pinching, rolling and twirling his fingers has you convinced that the holy six-eyes technique, passed down in the sacred tradition of the gojo clan, is being put to nasty work.

sure enough, a little spark! there, and a bigger zap! against your clit practically confirms your suspicions, as does the unearthly glow you catch in gojo's wide eyes, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards a precipice, panting open-mouthed against him.

"dirty girl, you don’t want to make a scene, do you?" he says this like he was not the one who pulled you into this booth, and palmed his way up your slip-dress. like he's not the one who tore into your lace panties, and shoved them into his pocket.

"it feels so good, satoru,” you babble, barely able to contain yourself, as he scissors his fingers wide, nudging your walls apart, "i can’t — "

"then don't," he interrupted, his voice low and commanding, "just let it happen. i want to hear you, i wanna hear her too, but only if you can keep it down."

you nodded, breathless, watching as waiters in impeccable black-and-white attire glide between the tables, carrying trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and glasses of dom pérignon.

"good girl," he murmured, his fingers curling just right, pushing you closer to that exquisite precipice, "now, be quiet and enjoy the moment."

just as he pinches your clit, you feel everything around fall away in shattering starfall. bolts of lightning shoot and splash through your lungs, stilling your heart, leaving your cunt pulsing with a life of its own, fluttering against satoru's fingers which still haven't stopped.

it's only then you realise that the band has stopped playing, and the other patrons of the clubs are leaning out of their seats, slapping their hands together in fervount applause.

but you can only stare, dazed and boneless from the remnants of an excellent fucking orgasm, as gojo leans in, just over the shell of your ear.

"how about we go back to the hotel room? wanna see an encore?"

[ahqkas]

♯ PRACTICE MAKES IT BETTER ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! struggling with the local slang, you feel out of place until you meet theodore nott, the silent slytherin (based off this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 2.3k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, kissing + lmk !

NOTES! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

AMERICA WAS VIBRANT AND DIVERSE. The music scene was thriving with genres like grunge, hip-hop, and pop dominating the airwaves. To you, it was a place of contrasts and boundless possibilities. It was a land where towering skyscrapers stood next to historic buildings, and where you could find everything from bustling cities to quiet, open countryside. The diversity was striking; every state feels like its own little world, with different cultures, foods, and ways of life. It was a country where you could experience all four seasons, with hot summers, cold winters, and vibrant springs and autumns. The sheer size and variety made it feel like there was always something new to explore, whether it was a national park, a music festival, or just a quirky little town.

Then you moved to England.

Leaving behind the familiar sights and sounds of America, you stepped into a new world of magic and centuries-old traditions.

The first thing you noticed was the climate change. England's weather was full of frequent rain and cloudy skies. You had to get used to bringing an umbrella everywhere with you.

Hogwarts in Scotland was completely different from Ilvermorny, which resided on Mount Greylock. The towering buildings of the castle intimidated you a bit as you were used to the more modern school, but you were excited for the change of scenery.

The stone corridors, moving staircases, and enchanted portraits had captivated your imagination. The castle itself was full of new discoveries. Sure, you missed your old friends dearly, every one of them, but the owls worked hard and you managed to make new friends here.

As an exchange student from America, walking the hallowed halls of Hogwarts was a totally new experience. The ancient castle with its sprawling grounds, enchanted staircases, and hidden passageways was like stepping into a dream. But it wasn't just the magical environment that threw you off balance; it was the British slang that seemed to pop up in every conversation.

During your first week, you found yourself constantly bewildered by the new expressions. At breakfast, when a cheerful Hufflepuff asked if you wanted a "banger" with your eggs, you hesitated, unsure if it was an insult or a menu item. When a Ravenclaw mentioned being "knackered" after a long night of studying, you had to suppress a laugh, thinking it sounded more like a sound effect from a comic book than an expression of exhaustion.

The confusion was endless: "snogging" instead of kissing, "knickers" instead of underwear, "blimey" instead of a simple exclamation of surprise. You did your best to keep up, but the nuances of the language often left you feeling like you were missing the punchline of a joke. To put it simply, you were lost.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the library, poring over a stack of books for a Transfiguration assignment, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Ciao, piccola," Theodore Nott drawled, sliding into the seat across from yours. His presence was effortlessly welcomed, with his cool demeanor and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. He was a strange boy at first, never letting anyone, but when you warmed up to him, he was a totally new person.

"Hi, Theo," you greeted him with a smile playing on your lips. Theodore had been one of the first students to approach you, his Italian heritage a surprising connection. He often teased you in his native language, enjoying the way you fumbled with the unfamiliar phrases. A nuisance, that he was.

"Come va la tua giornata?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ("How's your day doing?")

Already hearing this phrase a few times, you learned to understand its translation. With a sigh, you ran a hand through your hair. "It's been . . . interesting. I'm still trying to understand half of what everyone says here."

Theo chuckled, the sound rich and warm to your ears. "British slang getting to you?"

"You could say that," you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you watched his amusement at your misery. "I feel like I need a translator just for conversations."

"Well, if you think British slang is confusing, wait until I teach you some Italian slang," Theo smirked at the idea that appeared on his mind. "It's a whole different level."

Now this got your attention. "Teach me, then. It can't be that difficult from the British slang."

Over the next few weeks, Theodore Nott became your informal language tutor. He started with simple phrases, weaving them into everyday conversations until you began to pick them up naturally. He taught you how to greet someone with "Ciao, amico!" instead of a formal "Buongiorno," and how to say "Andiamo!" when you were ready to go.

One rainy afternoon, as you sat together in the Great Hall, Theo decided to test your knowledge. The rain tapped persistently against the high, arched windows, casting a muted gray light across the large hall. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky outside, swirling with dark clouds and flashes of lightning that illuminated the space completely. Despite the dreary weather, the Great Hall buzzed with the soft hum of student conversations, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the rustling of pages.

Theo, seated across from you at the Slytherin table, leaned back casually, a mischievous glint in his eye. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, framing his sharp features. You had grown accustomed to his teasing, the way he delighted in challenging you with phrases in Italian, watching with amusement as you thought through the unfamiliar language. Today was no different, his eyes scanning the hall as if seeking inspiration for his next test.

You had been in the midst of revising for an upcoming Charms exam, your notes spread out around you in a chaotic array of parchment and textbooks. The soft light from the floating candles above cast a warm glow on the pages, making the ink shimmer slightly. As Theo's gaze returned to you, you knew another one of his lessons was coming.

"What would you say if you were really tired?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Theo's questions were always a blend of practical and playful, designed to push you just a little further each time. He spoke with the ease of someone completely comfortable in his skin, his words flowing like the rain outside, steady and sure. His Italian phrases, though foreign at first, began to weave themselves into the mind of your understanding.

Your responses grew more confident, the hesitation in your voice diminishing with each passing day. You found yourself thinking in Italian at times, the language slipping into your thoughts as naturally as your own. Theo's delight was evident, his eyes lighting up whenever you got something right, his praise sincere and heartfelt.

The rain outside showed no signs of letting up, but within the Great Hall, a warmth lingered.

You thought for a moment, then confidently replied, "Sono stanca morta." The phrase rolled off your tongue more smoothly than before, each syllable a small victory in your journey to master his native language. The meaning — "I'm dead tired" — was all too familiar after long days filled with classes and studying.

Theo laughed, the sound rich and genuine, echoing softly in the near-empty Great Hall. His laughter was like a reward, a confirmation that you were getting it right. Silver eyes sparkled with approval, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that made your heart flutter. The warmth of his reaction was comforting against the dreary, rain-soaked afternoon outside.

"Well done!" His voice was filled with genuine pride and delight, making you feel accomplished. His praise was never out of place; it was always heartfelt.

Your heart swelled with a mix of pride and joy. Learning Italian was not just about understanding a new language, but also about bridging the gap between your worlds. Each phrase, each word, was a step closer to understanding Theo better, and a way to connect on a deeper level.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching yours, waiting for your next move. "And if you wanted to compliment someone on a job well done?" His question was another gentle challenge, pushing you to dig deeper into your newfound vocabulary.

"Bravo!" you answered without hesitation. The word felt natural, a perfect fit for the context. As you spoke, you couldn't help but smile, the simple word carrying a world of meaning and mutual respect. Seeing the approval in Theo's eyes, you felt a surge of confidence.

Theo's smile broadened, and his expression softened with pride and admiration. The approval in his eyes was more than just about your grasp of the language; it was about your willingness to immerse yourself in something new, to share a part of his heritage, to make an effort to connect.

The atmosphere around you felt lighter, the earlier tension of the day's studies dissolving into a shared moment of triumph and connection. The Great Hall, with its towering windows and ancient stone walls, seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world of language and laughter.

The candles above flickered gently, casting a warm glow that danced across Theo's features, highlighting the pride in his eyes.

One day, as you walked together by the Black Lake, the cold water reflecting the moody sky, Theo turned to you, his expression thoughtful. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees that lined the shore, their branches swaying rhythmically as if in silent conversation. The scene was picturesque, the expanse of the lake stretching out before you, a serene contrast to the bustling life within the castle walls. It was quiet out here, and you liked this spot.

"You know, you've picked up Italian slang faster than I expected," Theo remarked, his voice carrying a hint of admiration and surprise. His thoughtful tone blended seamlessly with the natural sounds around you, creating a moment of perfect harmony.

You laughed, the sound bright and carefree, echoing across the still waters. Nudging him playfully, you replied, "Maybe I had a good teacher." The playful banter was a reflection of the easy camaraderie that had developed between you, a testament to the countless hours spent learning and laughing together.

Theo's smile softened at your words, a tender expression that seemed to light up his face. His gaze lingered on you, the depth of his affection and pride evident in his eyes. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, each shared glance made your knees tremble. Like you were the only girl at Hogwarts.

"Maybe," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a warmth that enveloped you. "Or maybe you just have a knack for languages." His words were a gentle compliment, a recognition of your efforts and abilities.

The path around the Black Lake was peaceful, the occasional ripple disturbing the otherwise mirror-like surface of the water. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. As you walked side by side, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, the rest of the universe fading into the background.

Your footsteps synchronized, a silent dance of familiarity and comfort. The conversations flowed effortlessly, alternating between Italian lessons and shared dreams, each word weaving a tapestry of understanding and companionship. Theo's presence was a constant, steady and reassuring, his thoughtful insights and quiet encouragements a source of strength.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape. The twilight hues painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, a breathtaking sight that added to the magic of the moment. Theo's silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun was a picture of serenity and quiet strength, a reminder of the stability he brought into your life.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the Slytherin boy took a small step closer, closing the distance between you. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, his proximity sending a gentle thrill through your body. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours, the touch sending a spark of electricity up your arm.

In that moment, with the golden light of dusk casting a magical glow around you, Theo leaned in. His movements were deliberate, filled with a tender hesitation. As his lips met yours, the world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of pure, unadulterated connection.

The kiss was gentle at first, a soft press of lips that spoke everything you needed to know. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the gentle caress of his hand against your cheek — it all combined to create a sensation that was both exhilarating and deeply comforting.

Theo's hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. The kiss deepened, becoming more confident, more insistent. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The connection between you intensified, the kiss becoming a language of its own, expressing everything words couldn't.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. The world slowly came back into focus, the sounds of nature reasserting themselves around you. Theo's eyes, still holding that mix of affection and awe, met yours. A soft, contented smile played on his lips.

"Grazie, Theo," you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude.

"For what?" he asked confused, his brow furrowing slightly.

"For being patient with me. For this. For . . . everything."

Theo's eyes softened, and he reached out, intertwining your fingers in one. "No worries," he replied, his voice just as soft. "I'm glad I could help."

[affogonellamarmellata]

update sulla situazione (non migliora)

dargen d'amico pink lips pink glasses sweater paws. tragico.

[spanishskulduggery]

are there phrases in spanish like 'whoever smelt it dealt it' or 'if you said the rhyme you did the crime'?

Follow-up question for you - do you mean rhyming phrases (because yes I know a few), or do you mean call and response type things (because I know they exist but I don't know many)

As for farts it's el que lo huele debajo lo tiene which is "he who smells it has it under them" literally

Followers if you have any rhymes or cutesy sayings to add please do

-

As for rhyming things - and I don't know how regional any of these are:

Hola caracola [a greeting; lit. "hello, shell"]

Chao pescao [a goodbye; lit. "ciao, fish" - el pescado is "fish" like seafood or fish for eating, not el pez "a fish" as animal; but it's pescao or pesca'o where the D isn't fully pronounced; sometimes chao bacalao where el bacalao is "cod"]

¿Qué pasa, calabaza? = What's up? [lit. "what's happening, pumpkin?"]

Me piro, vampiro. = "See you later, alligator" [lit. "I'm going out, vampire"]

De nada, monada. = "You're welcome" [lit. "you're welcome cutie"... la monada can be "cutie" from mono/a, or it can be "silly" or "monkey-like" because also mono/a]

Te sales minerales. = "You're doing great", or "You did good" [lit. "it's coming up minerals" like in mining]

Caminando y meando (para no hacer charco). = "Let's keep it moving" [it literally is "walking and peeing to not make a puddle" but that's like "hey we can do multiple things at once, pick up the pace", but it's also a song lyric]

Calabaza calabaza cada quien a su casa. = "Time to go home everyone!" [sometimes it's cada uno a su casa or some variation; it's always casa at the end; it means "everybody go home now" but in a playful way... this is how you'd jokingly say "okay time to go home everybody" or "you don't have to go home but you can't stay here" at a party... literally "pumpkin pumpkin each one to their house"]

Colorín, colorado, este cuento ha acabado. = "That's all, folks", or "And they lived happily ever after." [it's a joking way to end a story or say something is over... literally it's "little red, red, this story is over"

There are also a few that are so very cultural I couldn't explain it all... like Superman chorizo y pan is just like a thing to say that sounds vaguely inspiring but is nonsense? It's not quite the same as perrito super gordito which is just a meme that's silly... but it's equally just silly and childish

[though chorizo and pan have some political significance where chorizo is slang for corruption and pan is slang for money, where chorizo was linked to thieves and political corruption, and pan is linked to money like "daily bread" or ganar pan is like "to earn a living", very much like "breadwinner" in English; that's just too much to hope someone would understand if they didn't just know it already so for your purposes it's a silly thing people say with Superman... unless it's politics and people are saying no hay pan para tanto chorizo "there's not enough bread for this chorizo" in which case they're saying politicians are taking our money - think the way English-speakers call useless spending "pork" in bills]

And call and response, very few.

Like I know ¿qué pasa, calabaza? is often followed up by Nada, limonada or Nada, nada, limonada which is just "nothing, lemonade"

I've heard a few from South America where it's like ¿Cómo andiamo? or ¿Cómo anda(s)? for "How's it going?" [and yes andiamo is Italian], and the response is con patas "with legs"

...

And there are sometimes where someone will be cutesy and choose a word that's almost close to the word as a joke; like saying holanda "Holland / linen" instead of hola, or Graciela instead of gracias

[martiandmichelle]

Ciao ancora amanti. Yes, that is I, Maria, in the photo trying to show off my curves.

As my childhood memories of my early life in Sicily fade away I think of it and it comes to me like a scent of something I cannot quite place, a wonder if it was all real or a dream. I have been a citizen of the USA for nearly 30 years now and will be 43 in September. And on this Independence Day of America I wish all to realize we are all Americans first regardless of our past experiences, or the colors of our skin, or the beliefs of our religions, or the persuasions of our political ideologies. Though no longer the motto of this country, e pluribus unum from the language of my Roman ancestors, is still true, da molti, uno in my slowly fading Italian: "out of many, one."

I will not say my political or religious beliefs nor will any of us here at our new studio (or back at Studio M) ever discuss such, though I will say we do not all agree - no, we do not agree at all. But we love each other dearly: "abide these three that remain: faith, hope, and love - and the greatest of these is love."

Ti mando il mia amore,

Maria

[redhairedwolfwitch]

Painted Fires Burn Brightly (3) - Andy Herrera x DeLuca!Sister!Reader - Station 19/Grey's Anatomy

A/n: wow a fic that doesn't involve women's football? i am shocked... but also I want to work on like five football fics at once so it's chaos here in my little corner.

Summary: You have inspiration for the first time since Amelia Shepherd broke your heart and threw you into a wall of artist's block. But who knows if the fire between you and Andy will burn out or become an eternal flame?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Request: hey 💓 could you write a deluca!sister x amelia fic where r is a cheeky italian which puts amelia in gay panic mode x

A/n: this diverts from canon like a curly wurly chocolate bar, also mentions a one night stand, there's no smut but it's alluded to, so, read at your own risk, and don't ask me where this happens in canon, because that will give me another headache:)

A/n: to whoever reads this, you matter.

Previously...

Opening the door, your eyes widened slightly before you smiled a little, "ciao, fiamma."

Andy Herrera stammered for a moment before smiling, "hi, are you free?"

---

"Lunch with my baby brother and angioletta of a baby sister was okay, by the way, I know you haven't met them yet."

"What does angioletta mean?" Maya enquired, leaving Andy to pause as she listened for the meaning of the Italian word.

"Little angel." Carina smiled, resting her hands on Maya's hips as she leaned in for a kiss.

---

"I'd call you some Italian name in response, but I only know fiamma, and angioletta..." Andy admitted as you let her inside, taking a sip of your drink as Andy spoke.

All it took was hearing angioletta for you to spit your drink, covering your face as Andy's eyes widened.

"Whoah, you okay?"

"Sorry, sorry! It's just, my sister calls me angioletta, fiamma." You explained, wiping your face with a piece of kitchen towel before drying where you had spat your drink.

Andy frowned as she processed what you just said, her jaw clenched as she stared at you, eyes glancing over your features.

///

"Wait, wait, your sister, your sister wouldn't happen to be Doctor Carina DeLuca, who is dating Maya Bishop, a fellow firefighter at Station 19?" Andy asked, her hands on her hips as she quirked a brow, waiting for a response.

"Well, I haven't met Maya yet, but Carina is my older sister. I'm sorry we didn't discuss it, we were a bit busy after leaving the bar, and it's not exactly pillowtalk." You admitted, pulling into yourself as Andy's eyes softened, her fire qwelling as she realised how insecure you were after everything.

"You're the youngest?" Andy toed the line onto another topic, gently stepping forwards to pry your fingers from where they were clawed into your arms.

"Yeah, after what our father did, our mother left with Andrea and myself to America, Carina stayed in Italy with him. I was little, so I barely remembered Italy. I begged and begged my mama to take me when she would go visit papa and Carina, and she did. I stayed and completed my undergrad there, got dual citizenship and came back to America for my master's degree." You explained, staring at your shoes as you spoke, tensing slightly as Andy stepped closer, her hand under your chin to coax you into looking at her.

"What your father did?" Andy gently prodded, feeling you lean into her hand as it cupped your cheek.

"Bipolar disorder. Our father was a renowned surgeon, but he operated during a manic state on seven people, four died. Our father got away with it because of his connections, but mama left him, and took me and Andrea with her, Carina stayed." You explained, glancing away as you took a breath.

"They worry about me. They thought I was developing it at one point, but I'm fine. I saw a doctor and a psychiatrist in case, because they scared me, but I don't have it. Carina worries for my brother now, but she checks up on us both." You brushed away a tear before it could parade down your cheek, mumbling apologies and swear words in Italian before Andy intervened.

"It's okay, they said you're okay, so it's okay. I'm sorry I asked so many questions, I just, I panicked, can you imagine how your sister would react to this? And Maya? She already had this shit-eating grin after I told her I had earth-shattering sex with an Italian girl, what happens when she finds out it was her girlfriend's baby sister?"

The smirk on your face was intolerable as Andy covered your mouth with her hand.

"Please tell me you didn't actually use the word 'earth-shattering' because... now I feel dirty, what if my sister found out you said that?" You grimaced, watching as Andy gently removed her hand from your mouth so you could speak.

"God, I have no idea if Maya... she overheard, your sister knows I found an Italian lover who called me fiamma." Andy realised as your eyes widened.

"Yeah, I'm not going to hear the end of this from her, especially after..." You trailed off, looking over at the canvas on the coffee table with sorrow in your eyes.

"Your last heartbreak?"

"Yeah, when Carina told me what was going on, I begged her to get rid of everything, every little piece of inspiration. I found that one behind a bedside table, and called her to get rid of it, like the others. I can't even go have lunch with my siblings at Grey Sloan because she tries to come over and talk to me. It's... ugh, I want to paint my emotions away." You replied, heading towards your studio/the spare room when Andy caught your hand, smiling as you tilted your head in question.

///

Carina didn't expect to see a voicemail from you after checking her phone. She helped a mother deliver her baby a while ago and was now going to get the resident to update the chart when her phone buzzed.

"Carina, hey, what's going on?"

"Y/n found another of the canvases that remind them of Amelia. I'm going to go see if she is okay, and remove the canvas." Carina explained as Andrew hurried over, spotting Carina grabbing her bag.

"Wait, Y/n dropped one of their paint tubes when she ran at lunch. Here. Uh, I think the cap was a bit loose." Andrew replied, flicking his fingers as the luminous green paint coated his fingertips.

Carina murmured a mix of a thank you and a swear word in Italian under her breath as Andrew passed her the metal tube of paint, holding it daintly until she could wrap it in some tissue, green paint in her bag wasn't something she wanted to clean up.

///

"This is what you've been working on?" Andy turned her head from where the two of you had been leaning in, closing the distance between the two of you.

"Uh, yeah, since you left this morning. I take my travel bundle with me when I go out too. I have some older stuff if you want to see, before she who we don't talk about by name entered my life?" You offered, heading over to the wardrobe, Andy's eyes following your figure as you began to rummage through the bottom of the wardrobe.

Holding the chosen sketchbook up with pride, your eyes widened and your cheeks heated up as you noticed how Andy was looking at you, that small smirk on her face making your stomach dance with butterflies.

///

"Before we met, I think maybe, before Maya even met Carina, my best friend from my childhood, he died. He jumped in front of a bullet for me, this kid, Milo, he didn't know the gun was real, he just wanted to play cops and roobers. I threw myself into work." Andy divulged part of her past to you one night, her fingers drawing patterns over your collarbone as your chin rested on the crown of her head, holding each other in the darkness.

///

Time had passed since you met Andy Herrera in that bar, starting a relationship. Neither of you regretted it, but the two of you were hiding from Maya and Carina.

Your brother knew. He could tell that the light in your eyes had returned, but the light was more like a fire, and your art was beginning a surplus that had you developing more than a portfolio.

When Andy found out her dad's cancer was back, she ran to you. Allowing you to gently hold her in your arms, running your fingers over her skin and listening to her recall story after story about her father, who had maybe six months to live.

"I met him, I think I met him before I met Maya actually. I was looking for Carina at your firehouse, you were all out on a call. He let me take some photos for my artwork. He was kind. Some people don't think art is a worthwhile thing... your father is amazing, fiamma."

///

"Shall I call in sick?" Andy enquired, leaning into you as your arms wrapped around her waist, pulling you closer.

"You and Sullivan still tense?" you hummed, feeling Andy bury a groan in your shoulder.

"Plus everything else? You are my saving grace, my angioletta." Andy smirked as you made a grumbling noise.

"Do you have to use my family's nickname for me when we're naked in bed together?"

///

"I talked about you in therapy today." Andy admitted when she got home from shift one day, finding you with charcoal all over your hands and slightly on your face, working on a piece of paper stretched over a board.

"Did it help?"

"You're my saving grace. Even the therapist could tell." Andy replied, pressing a kiss to your cheek before spotting the charcoal smeared on your face.

"We also talked about salsa dancing."

"I would like to see this salsa dancing of yours, y'know. I don't know how to dance but... I'm scared I'll stand on your toes." You confessed, pausing as Andy started to wipe at your face.

"How about, I show you a little after we get this charcoal off your face?"

///

"Don't you have that hike with Jack Gibson today?" You enquired, gesturing to Andy's phone as she drove you to where she wanted to meet her father for breakfast. With you. She was taking you to meet her father.

"I'll text him, if you still want to go?"

"You sure your dad will even like me?" You paused, hesitant but Andy reached over to stroke your cheek after parking the car.

"I adore you, and it's not like he can tell me not to crap where I eat this time, you only wait outside the firehouse to see me or if Carina's not answering her phone."

"Yeah I've walked in on Maya and Carina enough times to say that if Carina's not answering her phone, she's involved in someone's vagina... Maya's, or a pregnant patient..." You grimaced at what you were saying, but Andy wasn't able to hold back her laughter as the two of you walked into the cafe, not seeing how Pruitt was watching, seeing how you two were holding hands and grinning.

He didn't mention it at the time, but admitted later, the two of you looked at each other like there were stars in your eyes. Like you each hung the moon. He didn't mention though, how you two were a better match in his eyes, than Andy and Sullivan could ever be.

///

"Wait, so you're related to Carina?" Jack enquired, turning his head to acknowledge you as you hiked behind him and Andy.

"She's my big sister."

"Have you met Maya yet?" Jack asked his next question, glancing between you and Andy in thought.

"Yeah, I walked in on them, then Carina invited me and Andrew, my big brother, over for dinner with her and Maya. She's very competitive, only time my brother and I won any games was when we played an Italian one."

///

"Andy's never home. She's seeing someone, she wouldn't tell me before but I went on a hike with her and Carina's little sister earlier. Pretty sure it's her."

"I guess both Maya and Andy like Italians?" Miller replied, before his phone buzzed in sync with Jack and Vic's.

A four alarm fire turning into a five alarm.

///

"Fiamma... it's a beautiful day to save lives." You paused as Andy dropped you off on the street to walk home, away from the five alarm fire she had to attend to. Andy didn't know the reference but she nodded, love in her eyes as she headed away.

Andy didn't know the reference because you knew it from the surgical videos you watched with your brother when he was studying for his residency. He may be going into general surgery, but Derek Shepherd was almost a god in neurosurgery.

///

You didn't know what had happened at the storage unit fire until Andy was stood on your doorstep, tears running down her face.

Twenty bells were being rang that night, for a fallen firefighter. Andy's father, Pruitt Herrera had died venting a roof to save his team, to save his daughter.

///

Andy's gasp roused you from your sleep, sitting up immediately to check on her.

"Fiamma?"

"Whatever Warren gave me, it gives me crazy dreams." Andy wiped at her eyes, before shuffling into your arms, resting her head on your chest as you gently ran your fingers through her hair.

"The only thing that's okay about any of this, is that he went out his way. Dixon doesn't get to make that a bad thing." Andy whispered, closing her eyes whilst yours lingered on a box sat across the room.

The cremated remains of Pruitt Herrera.

///

"Um... Vic wants to talk to you?" Andy passed you the phone, having found you standing over a large board of stretched paper, sketching out something.

"Sure? I've met her once- hi, Vic... yes I have that skill, when do you want me? As soon as possible? Right, okay, give me half an hour." Your eyebrows were nearly in your hairline as Andy managed to muster up enough energy to raise an eyebrow at you.

"Vic needs some help with some stuff, will you be okay if I go out for a bit? There's lunch in the fridge if you're up to eating, fiamma." Kissing Andy's forehead as she nodded. You would be back as soon as you could be.

///

"What did I just walk in on?" You raised an eyebrow, walking into Station 19 to spot Travis topless, in USA flag shorts, a USA flag top hat and his firefighter boots.

"He's July. For the calendar." Vic explained, holding back a laugh as you blinked several times.

"Isn't that rather objectifying?"

"See! I told you!" Travis gestured to you, reminding him of his comment earlier about feeling like a piece of meat.

///

"Okay, hold there, then whip your hat off like you're celebrating!" You instructed Travis as you and Vic worked on photographing him hanging onto the fire pole that was located in the station.

///

You were home before Andy woke up, promising Vic you would come back later when Dixon wasn't roaming around being an asshole.

///

"What is that arm doing? Where is Baby DeLuca? She's way better at instructing poses than you are!" Travis grumbled as he and Vic tried to photograph Maya for the calendar.

///

"I'm an orphan... I'm an orphan." Andy muttered to herself, her head lulling side to side before she met your eyes, "I'm an orphan."

"You've got me." You whispered back, offering Andy your hand to take.

"Do you talk to your dad?" Andy enquired, but you hid a grimace at the idea of talking to your father.

"Only Carina does. Andrew did, but he used him to try speed-run a medical experiment thing, so our father went back to Italy angry. I don't really know him, and what I do know... your father will always be a better father than mine."

///

Your phone buzzed with a message from Vic, asking how you would describe each pose for the remaining months of the calendar. Andy's head rested on your shoulder as she slept, leaving you to type out your message with your free hand, sending Vic enough details so she could formulate a decent fundraising calendar for Pruitt.

///

"What is that? Oh my god, did you all do one?" Andy raised an eyebrow, looking at the fundraising calendar photo of Maya.

"It was all Hughes' idea!" Travis blurted out, before blurting out the rest, "Vic got Baby DeLuca to help too!"

"Baby DeLuca?" Maya raised an eyebrow, unaware of how well the firehouse knew you, whilst Andy smiled at the calendar, flicking through the pages.

///

"Where were you going stir crazy? You haven't been home lately..." Jack began, leaving Andy to sigh.

"It's complicated."

"It's usually just an address." Jack chuckled, but Andy sighed again, biting her lip.

"You've met her. We just haven't told Maya... or my girlfriend's older sister, who Maya happens to be dating, that we're dating. I've been staying at her's, she's my saving grace." Andy confessed, not meeting Jack's eyes but he was smiling, glad it was you, and not the other choice he had heard whispers about. Andy had not married her battalion chief after dating him for about a month.

///

"Hey, cariño. Can you- can i get your opinion on this? I think there's something weird here, with my family after my mum died." Andy asked, finding you in the kitchen trying to sort out the homemade pasta that Carina had made for you and brought over whilst Andy was in the shower.

"I don't know what I'm looking at... fiamma, why does your mama look so sad in this picture?" You watched what you were saying, before passing the photo you found to Andy, who frowned at how miserable her mother looked, in a family photo.

"Where are you going?" You enquired, but Andy hurriedly kissed your cheek and ran out, grabbing her keys as she shouted, "I need to check something at the firehouse!"

///

Andy updated you with texts after that, you could tell she was mad, but then your older siblings turned up at your door. Andrew was struggling with his bipolar disorder and adjusting to his meds, and Carina didn't admit it at first, but Maya had cheated on her with Jack.

Andy's texts to you went unread as you left your phone on the coffee table, sitting in the middle of the couch with your older siblings leaning into you, taking the comfort that you gave. You didn't realise the parallels this hug gave at the time, but an old photo of a little you being hugged by a young Andrew and a young Carina became your favourite photo of you and your siblings as time went on.

"What do you want to watch?" You enquired as your brother laid on your couch, but you received no answer as he was fast asleep.

"Wow, okay... movie with headphones it is." You murmured to yourself, picking up your phone as it lit up with a message from Andy.

Fiamma: my mami is alive

///

[chigirisprincess]

　 ˚ ᡴꪫ You Could Be Mine Tonight; Interlude I

— Chigiri Hyōma

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, chigiri puts the go in egoist, first meetings, author self insert, selfship lore heavy, reader is italian-american living in italy, set in verona, some italian dialogue, first meetings, ⊹ Run time. 1.4k ⊹ Note. Fawn is back again with yet another series of sorts. This is my selfship lore with mister Chigiri Hyōma and will be expanded upon whenever I am inspired so enjoy! <3

The fair city of Verona fed the romantic daydreamer that crawled into the deep recesses of your chest as a child. In spite of spending your last six months settling in, you couldn’t fathom ever tiring of waltzing through the old, cobbled streets and imagining the lives led by those living over five hundred years ago in the middle ages. Idling wonder if they too ran their fingertips across the smooth, rosy marbled walls. Or, if they gazed upon the stars while resting in the Piazza dei Signori as you did when your red wine tinged evenings drew to a close.

You supposed the reality of those living all those years ago were far more bleak than proposed by the Middle English romances you studied during your undergraduate. Still, it didn’t mean you couldn’t imagine a display of courtly love spilling over the aged edge of Juliet’s balcony; a gallant knight who was far more romantic than the whiny Romeo, and a demure lady who was more akin to a blossomed flower than a person. With the sky, a most remarkable shade of blue– far more dazzling than anything you’d seen back home– and the scent of sweet flowers carried on the breeze, it was difficult not to lose your thoughts within a fairytale-like dream.

A rich waft of freshly brewed espresso rouses you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the small café you’ve made into your home for the afternoon. Sparing a glance back to your laptop where your latest novel sits open, you sigh before snapping it shut. As romantic as Verona was, your fantasies failed to inspire an ending to the chapter you’ve spent the last month working on. You blamed the lack of direction on your recent move, halfway across the world from North America to Europe but in the droll truth you suspected your lack of romantic experience was beginning to impede upon your ability to write a romance novel. Shoving your things into your bag, you offered a wave to the barista before clearing out.

The next building over was calling your name.

It was a small, family owned bookstore that had been passed down at least six generations and resided between two restaurants. The current owner, Signor Fiorentino seemed perpetually miffed by the constant racket amassed by the staff when on break but was always amenable when offered fresh biscotti. Which was precisely why you picked up an extra one at the café in case you decided to head over.

The small bell above the door rings as it opens, announcing your presence, “Ciao signore!” You greet, shuffling through the cramped rows of shelving. 

A smile tugs at your lips as you reach the small checkout counter where he sits. Signor Fiorentino is perched upon a well worn stool, thumbing through a copy of today's newspaper.

“Buonasera Signorina,” he grins at the sight of you, his smile growing wider when he takes notice of the biscotti in your hand, “Is that for me?”

You hold your hand out in response, passing it over to him, “You know it is,” you say, resting your elbows on the counter, “So, have you gotten anything new in stock?”

Your hopeful tone dwindles when Fiorentino narrows his eyes at you.

“Buttering  me up with sweets are you?”

“What! No!” You frown, “But … I was wondering if you’d heard back about that custom bound copy of Romeo and Juliet?”

The expression he wears tells you he hasn’t. With a sigh, he shakes his head, “The seller says it's on their backlog and they’ll get back to me soon.”

You wear your emotions on your face as if it were your favourite sweater, never one to masterfully disguise the disappointment you felt. It was your greatest flaw that loved to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. Like now. The corners of your mouth dipped into a petulant frown, your bottom lip jutting out. You became a mirror image to the kindergarteners you taught English to. They were cuter than you when they did it.

“Cara mia do not stress!”

Sometimes, he speaks to you as if he were your family. You allow him to far more often than you should. He reminded you of your nonno, you supposed that you reminded him of his children and grandchildren who had long since immigrated to North America. Reaching over the small counter, he rests a weathered, spotty hand onto your forearm.

“I’m not,” you mutter with a small sigh, “I’m just frustrated.”

He gives your arm a sympathetic squeeze.

“I know.”

Returning his smile, you turn to the dozens of book lined shelves in search of something to satiate the burn of disappointment you wished to mask. Your fingers graze against the lip of the dust covered shelves as you pass through them, floating around the shop as though you were a spectre rather than a customer. You settle in front of the stack of mediaeval literature. Pursing your lips, you tilt your head to get a better view of the title, Amorosa Visione. A long, narrative poem. It wasn’t exactly your first pick, you much preferred Middle English romances but you needed to branch out every once in a while. Pulling the book off the shelf, you took a step backwards as you skimmed the blurb printed on the back.

Another step backward causes you to bump into another person.

So engrossed in your reading, you hadn’t noticed they joined you in the aisle. Dipping your head down in apology, you offer them a smile.

They scoff, looking you up and down.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, hoping they spoke English, “I didn’t see you there.”

His expression only worsens, “Yeah, right like I’m supposed to believe that,” he snips in English, flicking a strand of bright red hair from his eyes. 

He turns toward you, standing with their arms crossed over his chest. His sunglasses slip down his nose as he peers at you. You blink in shock, face warming at the sight of him. He was pretty, unfairly so. With long, pretty lashes that frame sharp magenta eyes which cut right through you with his glare. Shaking your head, you remind yourself that he was a jerk who was irrationally annoyed over you accidentally bumping into him.

“I … I don’t understand what you mean,” you frown, “It was an accident, I promise I wouldn’t bump into a stranger on purpose.”

“You don’t recognise me?” The man asks, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze. He seems to pick you apart with his clipped words and harsh stare as if he were given hours to scrutinise each miniscule part of you rather than a few measly minutes.

“Am I supposed to?” You cock your head to the side, “Are you an influencer or something?”

You give him a once over, taking in his attire. He was dressed fairly casually but still looked rather put together. The accent that shrouded his words told you that he too wasn’t from Verona, but nothing in the way he carried himself struck any ounce of familiarity. The arrogance and accusation that lingered in his narrowed gaze seemed to align with your view of celebrities and micro influencers. 

Disgust flashes in his eyes,“No, I’m a professional soccer player,” he explains, “Manshine City, ever heard of it?”

“Okay …”

“I thought all Italians were huge soccer fans,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

You stifle an eye roll,“That’s a kinda a misconception like how not all Canadians are obsessed with hockey and say “aboot”” your comment doesn’t elicit a laugh like you hoped it would, instead he gives you a strange look, “Besides, even if it wasn’t we tend to be pretty nationalistic.” 

“Right.”

A lull passes between the two of you before he speaks again.

“I apologise,” he says, almost begrudgingly, “For assuming you were some desperate fan.”

Biting back a snarky remark, you laughed to yourself. Were all athletes this full of themselves? 

“No apology needed.”

He purses his lips before nodding his head.

“Just uh, don’t give the shop owner the same attitude unless you want to be chased out of here with a broom.”

The corners of his lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles, “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Tucking your book beneath your arm, you slink out of the aisle with a relieved sigh. You hoped, whatever other soccer players that may have been crawling about this fair city were certainly less egotistical than him.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

networks; @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

[smettoquandovoglioforse]

❤Che gentile questa mamma, a molti il pianto di un neonato da fastidio.Durante un volo di 10 ore, diretto dalla Corea del Sud verso gli Stati Uniti.

Una madre ha distribuito a più di 60 passeggeri della classe economica, una bustina per ciascuno.

La busta conteneva alcune caramelle, un paio di tappi per le orecchie come una sorta di scuse anticipate, nel caso in cui il suo bambino di 4 mesi avesse urlato durante il volo.

La busta conteneva anche un messaggio che diceva:"Ciao, sono Jun Woo. Ho 4 mesi e oggi vado in America con mia madre e mia nonna. Sono un po' nervoso e spaventato. Questo è il primo volo della mia vita. È normale che pianga o provochi qualche disturbo.

Cercherò di mantenere la calma, ma non posso promettertelo. Per favore usa i tappi se la mia voce diventa troppo forte. Goditi il viaggio. Grazie".

Una cultura del rispetto della libertà altrui.❤

Corea del Sud

Dal Web

[avalentina]

Bookstore Owner Y/N x Christian Pulisic Preview

Warnings: Multi-Lingual (Some Italian mixed in, I will translate most of it), otherwise none as of yet, this is just super cute and fluffy so far, the reader is half American half Italian but grew up in Italy.

892 Words

I’m grabbing another box of reshelves when the little chime above the door of Rose’s Books dings. My grandmother used to call me her little rose and it was her who fueled my love of books. When I get out from the storeroom, a young guy about my age is wandering around looking at everything. He looks like he just finished an early evening run. His short hair has these adorable natural curls to it and when his amazing brown eyes meet mine, the box slips from my hands and thumps to the floor, landing on my foot.

“Merda, ouch.” I yelp as he rushes over with a shy smile on his face and grabs the box. Easily hoisting it onto the nearby counter.

“Is your foot okay?” He asks with an American accent and my stomach erupts in butterflies.

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. Bruised toes tend to happen when you own a bookstore.”

“Oh, you own this place? It’s cozy, I like it.” He says, that shy smile back

“Thank you.”

“I take it you’re Rose?” He asks.

“Well technically my name is Y/N, rose is a nickname from my best childhood memories, so it seemed fitting. But anyways, did you just come in to browse or are you in need of a specific title?” I ask, shaking myself out of the daze and back into sales mode.

“I was hoping you had a copy of The Sorcerer’s Stone. I lost mine.” He says sheepishly.

“I don’t have The Sorcerer’s Stone, but I do have The Philosopher’s Stone.” I say with a knowing smile.

“I keep forgetting it has a different name in America.” He says and we fill the short walk over to its shelf with talk about Potter. I hand him the book and our fingers brush as he takes it from me.

“All set then, or do you need some time to browse?” I ask, hoping he opts for the latter option.

“I think I will take a peek around if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” I nod. “Can I get you anything to drink? I’m a firm believer that a good book is always better with a comforting drink.” I’ve got a little setup of some espresso, tea options, water, lemonade, and my favorite apple cider behind the register station.

“Maybe just a small lemonade.” He says and I grab him one before going back to my shelving. As I go around the shop reshelving I feel the weight of his eyes on me from time to time and can’t help but take quick glances over at him as well. He’s just so pretty to look at.

I hear the door chime again, as my best friends and business partners Livia and Nico come in to help me close up the shop. Nico grabs his first box and starts reshelving before setting it aside and rushing back over.

“Y/N why is Christian Pulisic in the shop right now?” He asks me and I guess he’s referring to the cute guy with brown eyes.

“He needed a new copy of Philosopher’s Stone. What’s wrong with that?”

“He's Christian Pulisic, one of the new signings for AC Milan.

“So he’s a footballer?” I ask.

“One of the BEST footballers ever. I bought his jersey to wear to games as soon as the transfer was finalized.”

“Okay Nico, breathe, he’s also a normal human being. Why don’t you do the reshelves in the kids section and I’ll finish your area.”

“Would it be a bad time for me to get his autograph?”

“Of course not, happy to chat with a fan.” The guy who I guess is kind of a big deal says to Nico with a genuine smile and extends his hand so Nico can shake it.

“Ciao. È un piacere conoscerti di persona. Sei incredibile. Adoro quando fai scivolare la palla tra le gambe di un altro giocatore, penso che tu la chiami nutmeg, comunque è così bello.”

“I'm going to be honest. I have no idea what you just said. I recognized nutmeg but that's about it.

“Not to worry Christian, I can translate Nico for you. He said, Hello. It’s nice to meet you in person. You’re amazing. I love it when you slip the ball through another player’s legs, I think you call it a nutmeg, anyway it's so cool.” I say. “Nico just has a tendency to get all of his rushed thoughts and ramblings out in Italian. It's a lot easier.”

“That makes sense. Maybe all I need is an Italian tutor.” He says, looking at me with that shy smile.

“Oooh, Y/N would be amazing at that. After all, she is half American.” Livia chimes in, having finished her round of reshelves.

Christian raises an eyebrow and my face flushes as I explain. “My father was on vacation in Florence when he met my mother who was on holiday there with her friends.”

“Her parents are the best Italian love story. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, boy and girl enjoy classic Italian food, boy up and moves to Italy to be with girl.” Livia adds and I bury my face in my hands.

“That's actually adorable.” Christian says. “So what do you say? Will you help me learn Italian?”

[soleilceirinen]

Ciao, amore (Tom Ripley x fem!reader) - Plein soleil AU.

Summary: Tom tries to convince you to return to America.

A/N: Plein soleil is one of my favorite movies, although I like the book (The talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith) this version is my favorite, perhaps because Tom is played by Alain Delon.

English is not my first language, sorry for any mistake and thanks for reading!

Warning: none besides typical sexist comments of the time (50s-60s).

MASTERLIST

Italy, 1959.

The soft summer breeze moved the white curtains as the sunset casted a golden glow to the room. It was exactly what you were waiting for. 

"Move your head a bit to the right, Tom," you said to the man sitting in your favorite armchair by the balcony. He obeyed but looked at you sideways. "Don't move."

He sighed, relaxing his shoulders. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the party tonight, Y/N?"

You shook your head, already focused on adding color to the canvas. 

Tom was one of the most gorgeous men you had ever seen, since the moment you saw him for the first time, you knew that you had to paint a portrait of him. If you were lucky enough, you could get a bit close to capture the exact blue of his eyes.

"I don't feel like going and pretend that I enjoy being there, answering their stupid questions and faking smiles. They don't even like me, they only want me for my father's money," you muttered as you added a bit of shadows to the painted version of Tom. "You could have gone with Marge and Dickie if you wanted, you can still catch them if you're fast."

"I thought you wanted to go, that's all," he said. You hummed in response. 

The both of you spent about an hour in silence until the sunset was gone and the golden light changed into darkness. 

"Are you going home for Christmas?" asked him, breaking the silence after a while. 

"You already know the answer to that, Tom. I don't want to argue again about this, alright?" 

"Alright, but you should think about it. Your family is worried about you, all alone and so far from home."

You frowned, taking the dirty brushes and starting to clean them with turpentine. The smell of it always made you feel a bit dizzy, so when they were clean enough, you headed to the balcony to get some fresh air. 

Tom followed you, positioned himself against your back, trapping you between his warm body and the balustrade. 

"Why don't you go back home yourself, ah?" you said bitterly, not expecting an answer.

He had nothing to come back, you knew that much. 

His insistence on coming back home was starting to bore you, mostly because you knew the truth. Your father, an utterly wealthy man wanted you to return to America and in order to do that, he had paid a huge amount of money to Tom to convince you. But there was no point. In Italy you were free.

"I will spend the winter traveling through Europe, learning from the great paint masters," you whispered dreamily. 

You had everything planned, starting with going to every Italian city to visit the monuments and museums, copying the greatest artists's artworks. You wanted to learn of the use of color from the venetians, the composition and the light. Your next stop was going to be Venice. 

Tom hummed and hugged you. He leaned his head on the crock of your neck and left a trail of soft kisses down your shoulder. You turned your head to the side to give him some more room. 

He was aware of his attractiveness, and he never doubted to use it in his favor. Your friend Marge always told you that she didn't trust him, that he was weird. You knew that he was sticking with you because he wanted a bounty but you didn’t mind. 

You were young, free and wanted to have fun, so as long as he kept you satisfied, you wouldn't care about his true intentions or his past. 

“I’m not going home, Tom, and this is the last time I’ll have this conversation with you or with anyone else. Am I being clear?”

He kept kissing you, cupping your breasts with his warm hands through the thin fabric of your dress. “It was just a suggestion, maybe you could think about it.”

Suddenly, you weren’t in the mood. With quick movements, you got rid of him and let yourself fall in the armchair with the skirt of your dress flowing gracefully around you. Tom stared at you, leaning against the balustrade. 

“I want to be an artist,” you said softly, playing with the hem of your dress. “And it is something that I can only achieve here. Coming back would mean getting married, giving up on all my dreams and becoming my mother, and that’s my worst nightmare.”

It was true. The moment you set foot in America again, your father would make you marry some stranger in order to increase your family wealthness, have children to inherit the fortune and live for the rest of your life as a housewife, as a trophy to show at parties. But you wanted to be your own self, an artist. 

Tom walked towards you and knelt in front of your legs, grabbing your hands in his bigger ones. “Marry me, then. We could go wherever you want, do whatever you want,” he finished kissing the back of your hand. 

You tried to hide your amusement with a pout. You liked Tom but you would never marry him. Your father would never allow it, you were the heiress of a great fortune and he had nothing, not that you minded but it would drive your father crazy. It was a good reason to do it though, just to annoy the old man, but you weren't stupid. Tom didn’t want to marry you out of love, he just wanted money. 

You caressed his chiseled cheekbones and leaned forward to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. 

“My father will choose the man I marry, and that man is not you, Tom.”

He frowned, trying to keep his face neutral but you knew that your comment had hurt him in a way that you could never understand. Tom let go of your hands and stood up, pacing around the room until he stopped in front of the canvas. 

“You know, Y/N, I’m your best option. With me you could do whatever you wanted, I already told you. By yourself you’d only be a woman. Nobody would take you seriously as an artist.” 

His cold words meant to cause you a similar pain than the one he felt moments earlier, but you counted on that. Whenever he felt hurt or humiliated he seemed to act like a wild animal. 

“I’ll use a pseudonym, a male one. That’s what we women do. We don’t need a man to be successful or independent, we are our own man.” 

Tom seemed to think about something, you could almost see the hinges inside his head turning. 

He was nothing more than a fortune hunter. Even when he tried to hide it under sweet whispers in the night, or soft caresses, the coldness was still there, it never felt real. Instead, wherever Tom was, it felt like he was playing a role. You hadn’t met the real Tom yet, and you doubted that you would ever do. 

For now, you could just play dumb and pretend that you were unaware of his true intentions. After all, you were young and most important, free. The new decade will come soon and you’ll try to enjoy your youth traveling around Europe and making memories with the people you would find in the way. 

Tom would stay by your side until one of you two got bored of the other. To him, you were just the goose that laid the golden eggs. To you, he was nothing more than a pair of blue eyes with some pretty things to say.

You sighed and stood up, walking to him and hugging his waist. “Let’s not fight, alright?”, he was staring at his portrait, with his jaw clenched. “Tom, if you are still in Italy by the end of next month we can go together to Venice. How does that sound?”

Slowly, you felt his muscles relax in your embrace. It could have been unnoticed but you saw him nod. “Venice sounds perfect.”

[hetalianhistorian]

Orders for the FanFun's Hetalia phone shoulder and fragment cases bags are open for preorders until July 10th!!

Source link: https://fanfunmarket.co.jp/artist/80-hetalia

Each bag has a flower and color based on each of the main cast. A shoulder strap bag will cost ¥15,400 yen. The pouch is approximately 17.0cm in length, 10.0cm in width, and 1.8cm in thickness. The shoulder strap will be around 110cm. Its body is made from synthetic leather with the fabric consisting on rayon, the metal made from zinc alloy, and the stones being made from glass. The fragment cases are sold separately, each costing about ¥9,900 yen each. The size is approximately 12.0cm in length and 7.0cm in width. The material is the same as the shoulder strap bag. The zipper will have the character's name engraved on the front and the back of it including different greetings from each character's language. Here are the different engravements:

Italy: "Ciao"

Germany: "Guten Tag"

Japan: "Konnichiwa"

America: "Hey"

England: "Hello"

France: "Bonjour"

Russia: "Privet"

China: "Ni Hao"

Order period will be from June 13th to July 10th. Preorders will be shipped out in late October 2024. You can preorder here through the FanFun website! Note: Not all stores ship internationally. A proxy or forwarding service may have to be utilized. Please keep this in mind and do your own research when buying Hetalia goods from Japan!

[scratchybongvt]

HANDICAP PENALTIES! (Sidemascots 1.12)

Stay tuned for a poll at the end!

Vinicius: Americas! Versus!

Miraitowa: REST OF THE WORLD!

Burke: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?! Why do we only have 3 and these guys 7?

Borobi: The Americas fell off mate!

(The ROTW team laughed)

Sumi: CUT!!!

[Technical difficulties]

Vinicius: Americas! (And their colonizers)

Wenlock: What?!

Sumi: Versus…

Miraitowa, Borobi, Honohon, Someity and Tina: REST OF THE WORLD!

Miraitowa: Things may’ve changed since episode 1, but some things won’t!

Vinicius: The loser must have one of its members KICKED OUT THE SHOW! Who? YOU DECIDE!

Everyone: GAME ON!

THE SIDEMASCOTS!

Vinicius: Season 1!

Yodli: Good afternoon Nini.

Nini: I’m fine, thank you, and you?

Yodli: Uhhh… me too. Isn’t this the first time you commentated a match full of flops?

Nini: What do you mean?

Yodli: Uhhhh… Never mind. Here comes today’s referee…

La’eeb: Thank you, thank you!

Miraitowa: La’eeb?! I’m screwed…

La’eeb: Don’t worry, I’m going to keep this game fair and square!

Vinicius: Said a person who has an entire history of corruption…

La’eeb: YOU TAKE THAT BACK!

Vinicius: Fine!

La’eeb: And because of that, ROTW goes first!

Miraitowa: That’s the only time you’re letting any other Asian country a chance…

Yodli: Miraitowa kicks off!

Nini: To be honest, I don’t remember what they did in the last 120 minutes…

Yodli: I only assume they did nothing. Ha.

Miraitowa

La’eeb: Mirai, my Asian bestie….

Miraitowa: Show off!

La’eeb: Press this button to see if you have either an advantage or a disadvantage!

Miraitowa: I’ll score anyway! (Presses button)

La’eeb: what it’s going to be, what it’s going to be?

(Tada!)

Computer: Take a penalty with a superstition

Miraitowa: Take a penalty with a superstition?! What superstition?

La’eeb: The red Japan home kit!

Miraitowa: Ack… I think I’m going to be sick…

(Transition)

Yodli: Miraitowa takes the first penalty in a shit Japan home kit! At least it’s not as worse as this year’s home kit…

Nini: Japan? They wear blue lad!

Yodli: Yeah, but for some reason someone who has less ball knowledge than you decides to change it. Idiots.

Miraitowa: I’m going to score anyway!

Yodli: Mirai steps up… it hits the bar!

(Miraitowa takes off the shirt and spits on it)

Miraitowa: This kit is SHIT!

Nini: Why do they change to red lad?

Yodli: Ask the JFA! 0-0.

Vinicius

La’eeb: Vinicius, go!

Vinicius: (presses button) what it’s going to be, what it’s going to be…

Computer: Score a penalty on FC25

Vinicius: Siu! How’s that for a handicap!

(Transition)

(It’s Gerson with the penalty to win it for Flamengo…)

Yodli: Now there’s someone doing the commentary for me…

Nini: Why is he playing a video game lad?

(Panenka, goal!)

Vinicius: Siu!

(The goalkeeper moved too early, penalty retaken!)

Vinicius: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?! Still that shit Gangwon FC mod?!

La’eeb: Yeah?

Vinicius: I’m screwed. 0-0.

Yodli: Gangwon FC corruption? I thought FIFA corruption was worse.

Nini: What’s Gangwon lad?

Yodli: Have you ever been to South Korea?

Nini: I never went overseas lad.

Yodli: Oh….

Tina

La’eeb: Tina, go!

Tina: (presses button) what it’s going to be, what it’s going to be…

Computer: Score a penalty with the smallest possible goalpost Lukaku can score

Tina: Let me guess…

(Transition)

Yodli: Tina is taking a penalty on a goalpost that spans the entire width of the pitch!

(Everyone laughed)

Tina: Are you guys pissing me off? (Obviously scored) this is as easy as winning the Scudetto! Ciao!

Yodli: 1-0 to ROTW!

Nini: Why is the goalpost long lad?

Yodli: SHUT. UP.

Sumi

La’eeb: Sumi, go!

Sumi: (presses button) what it’s going to be, what it’s going to be…

Computer: Score a penalty with a dead person in goal

(Transition)

Burke: Rest in peace, Quatchi, he didn’t stood a chance against Miga and Co.

Sumi: Why there’s a British passport on his grave?

Burke: He once said there’s a chance he’ll get British citizenship than Atlanta United getting the playoff spot this year, and since Atlanta has a decent chance of making it this decision day, I’ve went ahead and posthumously give him the British citizenship he wanted.

Wenlock and Mandeville: LONG TO REIGN OVER US, GOD SAVE THE KING!

Sumi: Oh haha. (Sumi shoots but Quatchi’s coffin blocked it) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Burke: Saving shots after death? Wow. Clearly the Colorado Avalanche’s going to learn A LOT.

Yodli: Saved by a hockey superstar goalie who’s already dead? Where do I get this before…

Nini: Why is he dead lad?

Borobi

La’eeb: That random Australian…

Borobi: The disrespect.

La’eeb: Go!

Borobi: (presses button) what it’s going to be mate, what it’s going to be?!

Computer: Score a goal with a football

Borobi: What football? Aussie rules? Gridiron? Rugger?

Burke: They all have the same egg shape.

(Everyone laughed)

La’eeb: an American football!

Borobi: GAME ON MATE!

(Transition)

Yodli: I don’t know if this is a penalty or a field goal with a soccer post!

Nini: Why’s the ball shaped like an egg lad?

Yodli: SHUT UP. Borobi makes his run-up… WIDE!

Borobi: Sorry mate, I only kick egg-shaped balls high above!

Miraitowa: Damn! Australians…

Yodli: 1-0.

Sumi: Intermission: Hit like to feature in the next Sidemascots video!*

*joke. But who knows. Hit like.

Burke

(Generously illustrated by Burke himself, aka @miraislashtowa. The handle you see in the illustration here is his Twitter handle. Go follow.)

La’eeb: Why are you wearing an Inter Miami kit and an Atlanta United cap?

Burke: I need something to dress for Decision Day after all. I’ll be honest, judging by my heart rate, I’m nervous of what will unfold.

La’eeb: ha, that’s the spirit, go!

Burke: (presses button) what it’s going to be, what it’s going to be…

Computer: Hit a home run

Burke: A home run?! At this rate it’s no longer penalty shootouts, a decathlon more like!

(Transition)

La’eeb: Ready?

Burke: READY! TOMAHAWK CHOP IS MY DEATH BLOW!

La’eeb: Go! (Throws the ball)

(Burke proceeds to hit the ball with his bat which destroys the scoreboard up in the stands)

Announcer: HOME RUN!

Burke: I AM INEVITABLE!

(Meanwhile in another stadium)

Nini: Where is he lad?

Yodli: *sighs* he probably quit. Americans.

Announcer: GOAL!

(The crowd roars)

Nini: How did he score that goal?

Yodli: For the only time, I agree with you. How did he score a goal?

Someity

La’eeb: Someity, go!

(Someity presses the button with her telekinesis)

La’eeb: Telekinesis? What were my designers thinking?!

Computer: Score a penalty blindfolded

Someity: I’m better at blind football than sighted football anyway.

Wenlock: Show off!

Mandeville: Calm down…

(Transition)

Miraitowa: Wait, wait, wait!

(Miraitowa bangs both of the goalposts while the crowd is silent)

Miraitowa: Go!

(Someity obviously scores, the crowd roars)

Announcer: GOAL!

Someity: Yippee!

Yodli: As a sighted person, I can confirm it’s a goal!

Nini: Why is she blindfolded lad?

Yodli: 🤦‍♂️

Wenlock

La’eeb: Wenlock, go!

Wenlock: (presses button) what it’s going to be, what it’s going to be…

Computer: Score a penalty with Zion Suzuki in goal

Wenlock: Zion Suzuki?

Miraitowa: The Asian Onana!

Wenlock: It should have been easier if you have the actual Onana in goal, but I’ll take it.

(Transition)

Suzuki: Hey striker! Shoot this way!

Wenlock: Wait, really?!

Suzuki: Really!

Wenlock: I am truly… humbled.

Yodli: It looks like Japanese Onana is trying to live up to his name!

Nini: Why is he letting that one in lad?

Wenlock: Let’s go!

Yodli: Wenlock makes his run-up… IT HITS THE POST!

Wenlock: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Suzuki: Yes! It looks like I am STILL Japan’s starting keeper!

Nini: How does he miss this lad?

Yodli: God, you have less ball knowledge than Andre Onana! If Honohon scores this, Rest of the World win!

Honohon

La’eeb: Honohon, if you score this, your team would win!

Miraitowa, Someity, Borobi and Tina: Siu!

Honohon: Miss, then the opposition will have a chance to send the game to sudden death!

Burke: MISS, MISS!

La’eeb: Ready?

Honohon: READY!

La’eeb: GO!

Honohon: (smashes button) what it’s going to be, what’s it’s going to be…

Computer: Play with a futsal goal

Honohon: Futsal?

La’eeb: A goalpost comically smaller than a regulation goalpost!

Everyone: OOOOOOOOOH!

(Transition)

Yodli: It all comes down to this…

Nini: Are you sure lad?

Yodli: I AM sure lad!

(Honohon heavily breathes)

Burke: HURRY UP!

Honohon: Shut up!

Burke: YOU’RE GOING TO MISS ANYWAY!

Honohon: SHUT UP! (Heavy breathing)

Yodli: Honohon to win it… and he blows fire to the goalie!

Goalie: I’M AN AMATEUR GOALIE, GET ME OUT OF HERE!

La’eeb: You can’t-

(Honohon blows fire into La’eeb)

La’eeb: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Honohon: No more booking for me!

Yodli: Straight down the middle, GOAL! REST OF THE WORLD WIN!

Nini: They still have a shot in hand lad!

Yodli: I DON’T CARE! (Throws Nini away) YOU’VE BEEN MY USELESS COMPANION!

La’eeb: SOMEONE GET ME A FIRE EXTINGUISHER! I’M JUST A PIECE A CLOTH!

Honohon: YOU’RE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER! La’eeb?

Vinicius: He’s dead.

Burke: Rest in peace…

Miraitowa: NO MORE QATARI CORRUPTION FOR ME! YIPPEE!

VOTE NOW!

Vinicius: I’m out from the poll!

Wenlock: WHAT?!

Mandeville: You can’t just resign from the poll, that’s against the rules!

Vinicius: I can and I just did. Besides, I have insurance to protect me from being fired from the Sidemascots!

Sumi: Me too!

Burke: Me three!

Mandeville: How do get those insurance?

Vinicius, Sumi and Burke: AURA!

Wenlock: Aura, mer mer mer mer mer.

Mandeville: You f**ker. But, you clever f**ker.

Burke: See you all next week!

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Tom: Ha, penalty shootouts? Meh. BUT THIS EPISODE IS SH-

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[spanishskulduggery]

Just discovered while talking to someone in Spanish that "Adiós" is more of a permanent goodbye, something you might say to someone you expect to never meet again, like a stranger. Instead, he said I should use "nos vemos" when speaking with people I know, which makes sense. I was wondering what other goodbyes I could use that aren't permanent? Obviously there's "hasta luego" and "hasta mañana."

I wouldn't go that far necessarily, but yes adiós can be used for people you don't expect to see for a long time (possibly never again like sayonara means in Japanese)

Literally, adiós is "go with God" which would have been a lot more impactful in the time of needing to journey days/weeks/months to meet some relatives, and possibly having to deal with war, disease, wild animals etc

A lot of Western langauges have something similar, even "goodbye" is "God be with you/ye"

Some people do use it for a permanent goodbye. Others use it for an indefinite but probably long period of goodbye

And some people just say adiós as a standard goodbye with no deeper meaning other than "bye"

Note: You can also say adiosito which I wouldn't necessarily recommend outside of friendly conversation since it can sound sarcastic; it's like "toodle-oo" but it's literally a little goodbye

Note 2: If you vehemently hate someone and you hope to never see them again, you can say hasta nunca which is like "see you never" and I think that's beautiful

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Today people do use adiós just as "goodbye" though it can read as "we won't see each other for a while"

The more short-term is nos vemos "we will see each other"

Another variation is a direct object version rather than reflexive. You can say te veo pronto "I'll see you soon" for example, instead of nos vemos pronto "we will see each other soon", that sort of thing

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There's also hasta pronto "see you soon", hasta la próxima "see you next time"

And a lot of people have adapted certain words into Spanish like bye/bai or chau/chao for goodbyes

chau/chao in particular comes from ciao and is super common especially in South America

Another common one I say is cuídate "take care of yourself" / cuídese for polite, cuídense for plural

Depending on context you can also say ¡Suerte! "Good luck!" (or ¡Buena suerte! or ¡Que tengas mucha suerte! "Hope you have lots of luck" or te deseo mucha suerte etc)....

Another common one I say is ¡Ánimo! which means something like "Chin up!" but literally it's "energy" or "cheer"; if you're saying ánimo with someone you're essentially saying ¡Aguanta! or ¡Resiste! which is like "Hang in there!" or trying to pep someone up, where animar is "to cheer someone on" so it's all related there

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Also I know you said spoken but just in case, if you're signing off on a letter/email there are some basic phrases you can use:

saludos = (a generic kind of goodbye) [lit. "salutations" or "regards"] un cordial saludo = (something like "kind regards")

atentamente = "yours truly" / "sincerely" [lit. "attentively"]

estamos en contacto / estaremos en contacto = "we'll be in touch"

And if you're writing a friendly letter you can say abrazos or besos for "hugs" and "kisses" respectively; it's very common to say something like te mando un abrazo "I'm sending you a hug" or something like that

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Also, if you're at a party or something, you can say something like ya me voy or me largo or something like "I'm heading out"

I tend to say something like hora de irme "time for me to go" because in my English-speaking brain saying me largo feels awkward like I'm storming out but I know that's not what that always means

Additionally you can say debo irme "I should go", something along those lines is pretty standard

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If you're being funny, I think me piro vampiro is somewhat used in Spain (but maybe not so much now)... it's just there for the rhyme. Literally "I'm out, vampire" or "I'm leaving, vampire" [pirarse is an idiomatic way of saying "to leave"]

For Latin America, more common would be chao/chau pescao which is literally "goodbye seafood/fish" since pescao is an informal spelling of pescado where the D can kind of be aspirated

You may also see/hear chao/chau bacalao "goodbye cod"

Again, all for the rhyme. The equivalent of "see you later alligator" in English. Everyone loves a rhyme

But obviously only do this among friends because it's informal and a bit childish