#i love these little cultural things of the Italian culture and i wish i could learn more of it 💖💖💖

[technically-a-kiwi]

Universally pathetic part 3 (🌌true cosmic AU🌌)

Part 1 | Part 2

The chef comes in front of him " Don’t you want-a to say anything ? I think I heard-a you start a sentence "

Maurice cover his face with his blanket, and wishes even more for this being to leave.

The chef ponders… that’s very interesting, maybe he’ll see something if he reads his mind ?

"Get out you fat ass, can’t you see I want to be alone ?"

the mind reading worked "Fat ? Well that’s-a rude, you’re-a quite plumped yourself might I add" says the chef, hoping his brother catches onto what’s going on .

" What ? Why’s that demon talking to itself now ? This nightmare is getting weirder…" thinks Maurice, still completely silent.

" I already told-a you, I'm neither a ghost, or demon, or illusion. I am-a real ! " Says the chef.

Maurice is confused, why is that thing saying? " Wait..." He thinks, " Huh... Can... You say my name? " He thinks very clearly.

" Yes " says the chef, " you are Maurice Spaghetti, father of Maurice Spaghetti Jr, you are 55 years old, you love your-a son, money and burgers, you hate almost everything related-a to italian culture which includes pizza, pizza chefs and-a the language itself. "

" OH FUCK THAT THING CAN READ MY MIND-" Thinks Maurice, finally realizing what's going on. He rises up very quickly, completely panicked " OKAY OKAY, I'LL ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS! But please stop reading my mind ! " He says while holding his head.

" Nice-a !" Says the chef, gleaming of joy, he sits down, legs crossed on Maurice's bed. " First of all, when I called-a you pathetic, you almost said-a something, what was it ? " He asks, very curious of Maurice's answer.

" I wanted to say that it's not true and that you're an asshole" says Maurice, unfazed.

The chef frowns, " are you kidding-a me ? I can feel-a your thoughts, do you really think I can't-a tell when you're-a lying?! What did-a you REALLY want to say?! " He says, tiny flames coming out of his mouth.

Maurice jumps a little, the flames took him off guard " WOAH- Okay! Huuuh... I... Wanted to strangle you, happy !? " He says, a little triggered.

The chef is stunned, his colors going dull, he sighs and rub his eyes with his fingers " Well, looks-a like I need-a to use other methods to make you talk. " He quickly took Maurice's hand and started to bend his finger the opposite way, " go on, say the truth, only the truth. " He says, with an unfazed expression.

Maurice could feel his finger bend in an incorrect way, he tries to free himself, but no matter how much force he puts, he couldn't escape the chef's firm palm. Maurice started to seriously panic " OKAY OKAY, I WANTED TO SAY YOU'RE RIGHT !!! PLEASE LET GO !!! I BEG YOU ! "

The chef lets go, very confused... " I'm-a right? " He says, he did not expect this answer, but Maurice was telling the truth.

" you're right... I am pathetic. " Maurice says, holding his hand, " and I can't be anything more than that... ".

The chef is shocked, that was the last thing he expected to come out of his mouth... That only triggered his curiosity even more. " When-a you say that you can't-a be anymore than-a that... Does that-a mean you tried to change ?" He says, very curious of his answer, for it could define whether he won the bet or not.

Maurice stairs at the chef, he started to... Tear up ? He sighs... " I... I did, but... Oh and why am I talking about this to you ?" He says, snapping back to his regular attitude " I answered your question, you're not even real !" He says, completely fed up, he holds his head, concentrating " Come on Maurice, snap out of it !"

The chef looks angered " What ?! Nonononono, you don't-a get to do that after triggering my curiosity so much! And for the last time I AM real ! "He says flaming up.

Maurice frowns furiously " YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE IS REAL?!" , he takes his alarm clock, throws it at the chef... And... Misses...

It was the last straw, Maurice jumps at the chef in an attempt to strangle him, the chef stops him in course and knocks his brother out, putting him on the floor. Maurice tries to set himself free, but the chef's hand completely glues his head on the ground.

" You should-a know better than to attack a cosmic entity, you know ? " Says the chef, talking down at his brother's actions, " now tell me, you tried-a to be better, but what happened? " He says, still quite curious about his answer.

Maurice tried to free himself, in a complete fit of rage, he squirmed back and forth, and yet he couldn't move at all. He snaps " WHY DO YOU CARE ?! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE ?! YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED?! NOTHING! I JUST CAN'T HELP BUT BE WHAT I AM ALRIGHT?! " He tears up " I TRIED TO STOP GAMBLING, I TRIED TO BE NICER, BUT I CAN'T, ALRIGHT?! I always fall back eventually... I... It never lasts... "

The chef ponders... Very intriguing..." Hum... So you try, but you can't... "

" let me go now, I answered your stupid questions..." Says Maurice, trying to hold back his tears.

The chef lets go, Maurice gets up and goes back to bed " you know what ? " He says " that's completely fine ! I'm a failure to my family, I'm a failure to myself, I'm a failure to the cosmos itself or whatever the hell you are. THAT'S FINE ! That's completely fine " he lays down and covers himself with his blanket " I'll just die of a heart failure because I can't pay my meds anymore, and the world will be better for it... "

The chef feels a little weird... That's not what he expected at all... And it's not the message he wanted to give off either... " that's... No... That's-a not what I meant at all, you're-"

He's cut short " ARE YOU DEAF ?! I SAID I ANSWERED YOUR FUCKING QUESTIONS, GET OUT ! LEAVE !" Maurice yells, completely furious.

The chef starts to float away, understanding. But before he goes... " Just-a one question, you didn't seem-a to recognize me... Do you-"

He's cut short yet again

" GET THE FUCK OUT, NOW !!!!" Yells Maurice, almost coughing his lungs out.

The chef leaves...

He goes higher, and higher, breaching through space and time.

There he was, back in the cosmic realm. He lost the bet.

But still... He's not angry at all, or frustrated... He's just... Fascinated...

All this time, he believed Maurice to be the only being in existence to never be anything else but pathetic... This Maurice tho wasn't really pathetic, he was... Miserable?

" Yeah, miserable is what I'd call you right now Italian man !"

The chef glows a blinding light as he's stunt by the host's entrance.

" GOD DAMNIT NOISE, STOP DOING-A THAT !" he yells while holding the host by the collar

" Yeaaaah no " says the host, mysteriously teleporting behind the chef " anyway, who won ? Even tho I know I did, I still want to hear you admit defeat hehe" he says pulling out a cigar out of his sleeve

The chef sighs " You won-a, Noise... I was wrong... " He says while rolling his eyes.

" YEEEES !!! " the host exclaims, throwing his cigar up in the air and glowing brighter than even " GIMME GIMME GIMME" He says while pulling out his hands, asking for his price.

" Sigh... You're unbelievable... " Says the chef, he takes of one of the host's gloves, separates it into ten pieces, then crush the pieces very firmly in his palmes.

Ten miniscule singularities formed... And after that...

BOOOOOM

The singularities expand into full universes...

" There. " Says the chef, handing the fates of the universes to the host

" YES ! " says the host, gleaming in glee " oohoho be prepared worlds, you'll be having glitter in all your breakfast for the rest of your existence hehehe..." he says looking down menacingly at the universes. " although you could have used something other than my glove... " He says, a little bumped out he lost one of his gloves...

" Noted, " says the chef, " I'll-a use one of your eyeballs next-a time ! " He says, smiling with a sarcastic grin

" This was a fantastic collaboration, " says the host while shaking the chef's hand, " have a absolutely noisy day ! See ya " he says before faiding in a cloud of smoke and glitter

The chef is left alone yet again... He rethinks of that Maurice he met... He didn't felt that intrigued about a mortal for years now...

Maybe... Hum... Maybe he'll keep an eye on him, mess around a little, after all who knows, maybe he'll see other surprises ?

Oh what is he even thinking, watch over some random man with a tear jerker story ? He's a cosmic entity, he saw far worst tragedies, he won't soften for one among many insignificant little being... But still...

Hum... Eh, why not ? Making pizzas and watching over his kids was getting a little boring anyway...

A new experience... That would be nice...

THE END

[im-notbean]

Headcannons of; Quackity x Greek! Male! Reader

On god bro. I just really want somebody who speaks Greek on the QSMP. So in orderto cure this fantasy of mine I have now created this, sorry if you dont like the fact that Y/N is greek but I had to do it. Sooner or later okay-

⚠︎ Warning ⚠︎

Swearing

Some cultural things you might not understand

Might not be accurate to the cannon QSMP

This post has both Q!Quackity and CC!Quackity

Grammar mistakes

Characters might be a bit off to you

Mentions of Homophobia

Author kinda pools info about greek food-

If anything bothers you from above please, don't read!

CC!Quackity

・Your accent>>>>>>

・I'm sorry but he just loves it, especially when you pronounce certain words.

・Like saying yogurt and bread shit like that you know?

・If you say Alex in greek he gets scared- (Άλεξ [Álex] might not be accurate lol)

・Praise. Him. In. Greek.

・He get's so mad if you don't, goes full on Mexican on your ass-

・Quackity definitely respects your boundaries, so he'd ok with you not wanting to be public about your guy's relationship

・Especially with Twitter and shit (I refuse to call Twitter "X")

・Makes the funniest jokes and yall know those corny ass pick up lines

・Like "I wish you were my Xbox, cause I wanna play you all~~ night ♡"

・He definitely does those daily

・He can't cook for shit, so you have banned him from the kitchen

・It's always akward explaning that to your parents...

・Quackity loves it when you cook for him

・Especially Greek deserts (I'm just gonna fanboy over greek food for a hot minutes)

・Like tiramisu or like those almond cookies

・OR FUCKING BAKLAVA

・OR EVEN LOUKOUMADES

・Incase you don't know what I'm fanboying over, Tiramisu is an Italian dish so I'm not gonna go over it in much detail

・Basically a layered desert with espresso innit

・Baklava is one of the MOST iconic Greek deserts, it's layered with phyllo pastery, melted butter, and nuts!

・The most common are pistachios and walnuts by the way and theirs a layer of cinnamon-orange syrup pored over it once it is baked!

・Loukoumades are the Greek version of fried dough, their normally topped with honey, cinnamon, and walnuts.

・Anyway...

・He loves then sm

・If yall decide to make your relationship public, he wants you to decide how to do it.

・I personally believe you take over his stream one day as his "Special Guest"

・A cooking stream because y'know- it's iconic

・Your baking a classic greek disk.

・Gyro (Pronouced Yee-ro by the way)

・Basically Gyro is a dish that is a mix of lamb and beef (sometimes chicken too) that is made to fill pita bread.

・The sauce that is paired with is called tzatziki (it's really fucking good.) it normally has tomatos and onions and paied with greek fries.

・So your cooking the meat and stuff and Quackity just comes up behind you and you turn around right cause you know he's their

・So quickly, you bend down and kiss him.

・A little smooch before you kick him out th kitchen-

Q!Quackity

・You guys met on the train to the island.

・He tried talking to you but he seriously could not understand you, it wasas if you were speaking another language.

・When the government had paired people up, you didn't get a partner :(

・You also didn't really want an egg either, but you didn't mind babysitting them!

・Phil is so greatful for this-

・Quackity had heard about your egg sitting and decided to leave Tillin (I think i butchered this ngl) in your care

・Tillin loved you, she also liked the fact that she could understand you and offered as a translator.

・When Quackity came back he was surprised to see his own child translating what you were saying

・Once the new members joined you were assined partners with Tubbo (I am not sure if the new members have assigned parners ngl so...also are we getting new members today?)

・(Not even joking- ANYWAY LMAO)

・So y'know how Tubbo can get info out of Curchuro (prob butchered that again lol)

・You can do it also, sence your the only person on the server who can speak greek and not English he thinks the info he tells you is safe.

・You get Tillin to translate to Tubbo about what Curchuro tells you >:D

・Quackity learns about this and then he realized what the fuck is happening

・The he realized one day, you were gone.

・Along with the eggs.

・He never realized how much he liked you until you left...

・Quackity tried looking for you and the eggs

・But he never got far

・Tubbo also tried to help look for you, to no avail

・Not gonna lie, you and Phil got locked in a cage togther 😂

[doulayogimama]

This photo is from yesterday but we met up with this little girl and her mom again (third day in a row) and they love each other so much 😭🤍

We hung out with them all over Málaga for 5 hours! The girls were like let’s goooooooo and the mom and I were exhausted by the end lol

That was really nice though, I’ve never experienced that. Connecting with a mom and just being able to have a 5 hour conversation and not have it be awkward. She was very vulnerable, very open about her life. It was refreshing, because I’m like that too. Like… just lay it on me, idgaf about pleasantries, tell me all of the wonderful and terrible shit about you 😆

Her ex is the Cuban one, she’s Swiss and Italian. Honestly, her stories about him made me very grateful that I married outside of my culture. I know that’s not a great thing to say, but to meet a decent Cuban man that won’t cheat / take advantage of you in some way is … almost like trying to find a needle in a haystack. The machismo aspect really poisons the minds of men. Their inability to tap into their emotions and be honest with themselves, with others… ugh it’s sad. I truly only know a couple of Cuban dudes (and one is my brother) that I would trust to be an upstanding partner.

Cuban men (and more women than most other cultures) commit adultery and just… lie to their spouses and partners. This guy had a gambling addiction and the mom I’m hanging out with (M) is a successful influencer who makes a great salary from social media. Guess who “borrowed” money from her and never gave it back? Yeah.

I wish I could say differently, there’s lots of beautiful things about the Cuban culture, but the reverence for marriage / partnership ain’t one of them.

[shipskicksandgiggles]

45 or 49 for the prompt lists. Idk about characters except Eddie has to be involved for 49 lol

LMAO of course Eddie would need to be involved with the nipple piercing prompt, it's too good. I hope you love this as much as I do

prompt: “What is the purpose of nipple rings?” “Decoration.” “Like a Christmas tree!” (from this list)

Family Video Paradise also on ao3

Thursdays were, without fail, the slowest day of the week at Family Video. 

It took about a month of working there for Robin to notice the pattern. 

Fridays were the busiest. Families having movie nights, teenagers going on dates, adults eager to unwind from the work week. 

Saturdays and Sundays passed in a similar fashion, with more people wanting breaks from reality before work and school started up again on Monday. 

This is where the pattern diverted from where she expected it to lead. Instead of Mondays being slow, Mondays were busy with the people returning their movies from Friday. 

Then Tuesday with the returns from Saturday. 

And Wednesday with the returns from Sunday. 

There weren’t many checkouts that happened on those days, maybe a few here and there for sick days and vacations, but by and large, those first three days of the work week were for returns. 

This left Thursday as the odd one out. The reset day. Hardly anyone came in because most everything had been returned, and the public would be back the following day to check out something new.  

It was quiet. Peaceful even. Keith wasn’t as strict about the movies she and Steve put on in the store because no one else was likely to see them. 

Steve would flip through the magazines the store got in the mail, usually some pop culture, borderline tabloid thing that he found entertaining, and she would pick up a film she probably wouldn’t watch on her own time. 

Because as much as the store had a pattern, they had a pattern too. 

A pattern that started to involve Eddie Munson a little under a year after it had cemented itself into their lives. 

Eddie had also picked up on this pattern, and would choose that day to come in and bother them about something or other, which did add a bit of variety to their day, so neither of them seriously wanted to kick him out, even if they threatened to do so. 

That’s just how it was. 

So this particular Thursday wasn’t out of the ordinary whatsoever when Eddie walked in the door, already making noise like he was going to be a nuisance. 

Steve was flipping through his magazine. Robin hadn’t seen which it was that day, but she heard the glossy pages turn as if he hadn’t registered Eddie’s presence. 

Not that she had stopped in her task either. She had two movies she was trying to decide between, although one of them was an action movie thrown into the ring for Steve’s sake since she never let him pick. 

She probably wasn’t going to pick that one, but she was trying to be fair. 

The sound of Eddie picking up a VHS almost made her break. He checked out movies with the kids on Fridays, but maybe he was checking something out for himself. 

He set the case down in front of her. Only then did she look up. 

“Munson,” she greeted. 

“Buckley. Have you considered the merits of-” he glanced at the tape “-Cinema Paradiso.”

“I speak French and Russian, not Italian.”

“You don’t have to speak a language to appreciate art, birdie.”

Robin glared at him for a moment before adding it to her pile. Without her asking, he took the generic action movie she’d grabbed for Steve. 

Before she could protest, he interrupted her. 

“Don’t give me that, we both know you weren’t going to pick it. Humoring Steve is nice but don’t hurt yourself.”

Steve let out a quiet huff that Eddie probably couldn’t even hear, and she suppressed a smile. 

She rolled her eyes instead. “Whatever. Put it on the cart so it gets reshelved correctly this time.”

“As you wish, Bluejay.”

He did as she asked, and before he could go back to bothering her, Steve tapped on the counter. 

They both looked over at him, giving him their full attention. 

“What is the purpose of nipple rings?”

That wasn’t at all what she was expecting him to say.

Robin choked on nothing.

Eddie had yet to make a sound. 

She realized that this was because Steve had asked the question while staring directly at Eddie, as if he was asking him the question, rather than just throwing it out to the room. 

“Decoration,” Eddie answered easily as if this wasn’t the most exciting thing to happen in the store on a Thursday. 

“Like a Christmas tree!” Robin chimed in helpfully. She’d gotten her voice back, and was curious to see what would happen next. 

Steve nodded and went back to reading as if nothing had happened. 

“Not so fast, Harrington. I want to see what you’re reading that made that particular question occur to you.” Eddie swiped at his magazine, blocking Steve’s attempt to get it back. 

He angled it towards Robin, who was grateful to have an ally in these kinds of situations. 

“Hmm. Rolling Stones. I guess that sort of makes sense,” Robin said. “Some of those musicians make eccentric style decisions.” She looked at Eddie pointedly. 

He ignored her. “So, there’s a perfectly plausible explanation for why he asked the question. I do have a follow up question though,” he stage whispered conspiratorially.

“Which is?” Robin stage whispered back.

“Why did he ask me?”

Steve, to his credit, looked a bit embarrassed, but remained silent in favor of glaring at them. 

“Do you have a theory, Munson?”

“Well,” he had a look on his face as if he was trying to contemplate the state of the universe, “perhaps he thinks it’s the sort of thing I would be attracted to.”

“Could be.” Robin tried to look equally as contemplative. “Or maybe that you know someone with them and might have some knowledge on the subject?”

“Ah yes, stereotyping the metalhead, I see how it is.” 

Steve let out an irritated sound which Eddie finally cracked and directed the question at him. “Which is it Stevie?”

“Neither,” Steve retorted.

“Then why did you ask me?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, staring Eddie down as if he would drop it. 

Eddie however, refused to do such a thing. 

After another minute, Steve gave in. “I thought you might have them and wanted to know why,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

Robin burst out laughing while Eddie’s jaw dropped. 

“You’ve seen me shirtless!”

“A while ago, you’ve gotten more tattoos since then.”

“A tattoo is not on par with a piercing, you weirdo. Anyways, the government never gave me my one nipple back and it wouldn’t be worth it unless I could get both pierced.”

“The bats took your nipple, not the government,” Steve reminded. 

“Tomato, potato.”

“That’s not the saying-”

“You could get a tattoo of a nipple with a piercing to even it out,” Robin interrupted.

“Not helping,” the guys said in unison. 

“It was just a suggestion, geez.”

“There are easier ways to ask if someone has a piercing, Harrington.”

“I was just thinking about it! No better time like the present.”

“You’re thinking about me shirtless? Damn, Stevie, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

This was another thing that had become routine. The flirting. 

Robin could have done without that.

Steve flushed a light pink, and Robin gave up. 

“My god,” she muttered, throwing her hands up. “I’m going on break. By the time I get back, whatever this is needs to be sorted out. You have 15 minutes.”

And with that, she walked back into the break room. She was glad she’d packed a book and a snack today, so she settled into the beat up couch she was sure upper management found at a thrift store, and glanced at the clock so she knew when she had to go back out. 

She gave them a few extra minutes while she finished her chapter, but they probably didn’t really need it. 

When she walked back out, Steve was smiling at Eddie like he was the only person in the world, and Eddie’s face was so red it was almost purple. 

It took her a second to realize why, and then Steve pulled him closer to kiss him on the cheek before shoving him away with promises of picking him up at the trailer park later that day. 

Eddie nodded and stumbled out of the door, groping a few times at the handle before he was able to push it open since he wouldn’t stop staring at Steve. 

Robin let Steve keep watching out the door until Eddie’s can tore out of the parking lot before she finally made her presence known. 

“Jesus Christ, finally!”

Steve smacked her with the magazine, and she squawked. 

“Shut up or I won’t tell you a single detail of that conversation.”

She just gave him a look. 

He seemed to genuinely resist for a moment, but then his facade cracked. “I’ll tell you everything, just put whatever movie you’re going to pick into the player so if anyone comes in there’s actually something on the screen.”

Robin looked down at the two movies she had to pick from. She didn’t remember why there had been such a debate in the first place. She chose Cinema Paradiso.

[grandhotelabyss]

If asked to give a commencement speech at an ivy, what would you say?

I've never gone to an Ivy, so I'm not sure. I was only ever even on the campus of one once, 12 years ago, for a conference at Brown—the ACLA, I think—where I co-chaired a panel with a friend of mine on love or affect or something in contemporary fiction. Somebody did a Heideggerean reading of Fight Club. I was later chided by my colleagues for letting a scholar who'd come from Istanbul present a dazzling and incomprehensibly intelligent neo-structuralist reading of Orhan Pamuk for 45 minutes, despite the 15-minute limit on papers. She'd devised a rose-shaped diagram to represent the structure of love and narrative in Pamuk and passed out photocopies for us to study. She'd given the diagram her own first name, a scientific discovery: "The Çiğdem Rose." "You just let her talk because she was hot!" a fellow graduate student accused. (He had presented on Louise Erdrich. The refrain of his paper was, "Techne determines ethnos." Does it?) She was hot, but I let her talk because I dislike confrontation, and I was hoping the structuralism might come clear. I had already decided I had no future in academe, so I mostly skipped the conference, mostly skipped Brown, and just wandered the steep hills of that cloud-hung city under gray March drizzle, alone. Or sometimes in the company of an academic friend who'd written something on Erich Auerbach: another Turkish connection, Istanbul double-exposed upon Providence. I stared at monuments of Lovecraft, of Dante—Auerbach's beloved Dante, the first modern poet, now banished to the other side of an ocean he hadn't known existed, well beyond the Pillars of Hercules, another fragment (like me) of that "Italo-Semitic mob" Lovecraft would not have wished to see walking up and down his dream city and eating the salt bread of exile. In an Italian restaurant, where I considered ordering the clams casino but decided against, my colleagues and I debated the ethical propriety of criticizing Mitt Romney's Mormonism in the upcoming general election. The question arose because a scholar from Brigham Young had presented on Never Let Me Go, a paper written in the style of Kathy H's ingenuous narration. "I don't know how it was where you were," he began. My colleagues earnestly discussed Santogold on the damp nighttime streets, cobbled and smelling of the sea. Santogold: "I can say I hope it will be worth what I give up / If I could stand up mean for all the things that I believe..."

Anyway, that was the closet I ever came to the Ivies. Another memory, this one from 2006. On my first day of graduate school at my humble R1 alma mater, the Director of Graduate Studies, who would later be the supervisor of my dissertation, though I didn't know that then, made a speech to us. "Go over to St. Paul," she said, "and see the agricultural campus—see those grain silos. That's the money that will get turned into culture here." She told us, "You are the stewards of capital." A jejune leftist, I was scandalized at the time; I'd gone to graduate school work for the vanguard of the revolution, not to be the steward of capital. The little speech turned out to be a repurposed bit from the end of her book on gender, capitalism, expertise, and modernism. She'd written it in a more critical tone than she'd said it in:

Thus this book carries traces, both material and ideological, of those telltale marks of complicity I have taken pains to uncover in the modernists of this study and in the expert copies they made. Yet this conformation offers all the more reason to engage the subject and to gauge our involvement in such a way that, as descendants of these expert modernists, we see ourselves for the stewards and parvenus we decidedly are.

Now, would-be parvenu that I am, I only wish I had more capital to be the steward of. So "money gets turned into culture" and "you are the stewards of capital" are therefore probably the two things I would tell the assembled graduates of the Ivy Leagues, what I would say if I ever found myself back in Providence, way up on top of College Hill some fine day in May. "Go together, you precious winners all."

[independentartistbuzz]

INDIE 5-0 HOLIDAY EDITION: EUGENE RUFFOLO

Eugene Ruffolo, the New York City-based artist, has released TEN GOOD SERMONS, an album that marks a significant shift from his traditional songwriting themes. While his previous work centered on love and loss, this collection presents ten sermon-inspired songs exploring deeper themes of forgiveness, friendship bonds, and the search for existential truth, all delivered in his characteristically intimate style.

His musical journey includes eight acclaimed albums, beginning with his debut "A Fool For Every Season." This first release, produced by Grammy winners Ben Wisch and John Leventhal for Japan's largest indie label For Life Records, earned international acclaim, with Rolling Stone praising it as "a CD sure to please women everywhere!" and German Audio Magazine dubbing it "a jewel of folk pop." His subsequent albums, including "When We Were Kings" and "The Hardest Easy," saw distribution throughout Europe via Rounder Records, followed by three recordings with Germany's premium audiophile label, Stockfisch Records. His repertoire also includes an Italian album accompanied by a 130-page self-written book exploring food, music, and Italian culture.

His versatility as a vocalist has led to collaborations with an impressive array of artists, including Garth Brooks, Tony Bennett, Kenny Loggins, Run DMC, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Spyro Gyra. Behind the scenes, Ruffolo has made significant contributions to the commercial world, lending his voice to 43 national television spots and winning a Clio award for his first commercial composition. His voice was notably featured in Barack Obama's most widely aired TV campaign advertisement.

Perhaps most touching is Ruffolo's dedication to children's music. A three-time Parent's Choice Award winner, he has contributed to various children's music projects, including McClanhan Book Company's series and Berlitz productions. His work with the Songs of Love Foundation stands out particularly – he has created 115 personalized songs for terminally ill children across the country, demonstrating his commitment to using music as a force for good in young lives.

What is your favorite holiday song and why?

Oh wow---that’s a tough one. I really love holiday music so I have so many favorites!

I wish I didn’t have to pick one (did I already say that?) Just the other night I went to a Christmas show/benefit and there was a children’s choir that sang “Christmastime is Here” (The Vince Guaraldi tune of Snoopy/Charlie Brown fame). And as cliché as that may seem—it went straight into my heart. It’s such an evocative little tune that reminds me of my childhood and Christmas—and all of those good things. So let’s go with that. If we have to choose!!

What were the traditions around the holidays in your house growing up?

Well-I come from an Italian family and my parents took the holidays very seriously. My mother would spend days upon days decorating the house. It always looked so beautiful. And then of course there was food—and lots of it. My Dad was very serious about tradition-so we would have the Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve. I loved that and have continued the tradition myself. Lastly, there was no shortage of presents. And Lord knows I love a present!

If you could record your dream holiday duet with anyone dead or alive what would it be?

Another virtually unanswerable question!  Let’s go with me and Donny Hathaway singing Amy Grant’s “Grown up Christmas List”.

What is the first holiday track you ever learned?

I’m not sure what the first holiday track I ever learned was, but I do remember the first Christmas song I ever recorded.  When I was in my early 20’s-I was asked to record a track on a Holiday compilation album that had a lot of really cool artists on it. Their tracks were all pretty produced but I did a simple acoustic guitar/vocal version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”. And somehow I still occasionally get emails from far and wide with people telling how much they love the version. At the time I remember being upset that they had skimped on my production-but the simplicity seems to have struck a chord!

What are you currently working on?

I just released my 9th solo album called “Ten Good Sermons”-so I’m pretty involved in trying to get that out into the world, but I’ve got plenty of ideas brewing! I’m just itching to get back into the studio…….

[cassiana-on-dark-side]

Hello! 🤐🎸🎅🏻 here

I’m happy too 😊 I did think about switching to Italian and I’m ok with either, it would be exciting to switch and see how we write in our own language, but like you said English is also fun and if people feel like scrolling through the srs24 tag they can still read our messages. I’m from Florence, although all four of my grandparents were originally from the South 😂. You? :)

Don’t worry about it, now I’m the one who should apologise 😅. I’m incredibly happy and excited for you! It’s always such a disarmingly deep joy to welcome a new life into the family 🥰. And your brother is right in appointing you, he knows his son’s cultural education will be in the best of hands 😉. Big congratulations! 🥳

Love love love Wish You Were Here! I must confess a little “musical sin”: I don’t think I’ve ever listened to any Queen album in its entirety 😣 Whenever I hear one of their hits I enjoy it and I’m glad it happened to be on the radio or someone played it, but I never went to look up an album 🫣🫣 It’s probably because I get that too, I just fixate on something really hard for a while and sometimes I go back to the same obsessions, so it’s hard to find a moment to go explore new potential ones 😅. There’s so much music I want to discover and it becomes almost a bit daunting to choose what to start with from an infinite list of unknowns.

That’s cool! What are your fandoms? I also love movies, what kind of movies do you like? As for my hobbies, I’ve been getting into videogames more and more lately. I wasn’t allowed to play them growing up so I guess I’m trying to catch up on cool stuff I’ve been missing out on as well as avoid missing out on new ones too! 🤣 I used to write too throughout school, but I kind of lost the spark a bit (although every now and then I still feel the need to at least journal, there are things that I just can’t process without writing about them). I also constantly try to get into exercise but I always fail, to the point where I think my hobby is *trying* to exercise 🤭 I won’t give up until I find something that works for me! 💪🏼🤣 my favourite so far though is bike riding, it reminds me of when I was a kid. Albums-wise, it’s really difficult for me to decide on just a couple of favourites, there are too many good albums out there! Whenever I’m asked though, my go-to is Selling England By The Pound by Genesis and also Hail To The Thief by Radiohead (basically my top albums by my top bands).

You too! Have an amazing day and enjoy the first days of being an aunt! 🥰

Hi dear!

No problem with the language, I actually think it’s fun to keep going like this. 😊 How wonderful Florence is! I’ve been there a few times, always with different people and on different occasions, and every time it’s a new and beautiful discovery! 🌟 By the way, there’s a church (and a station 😐) that have my name! Incredible, right? But none of my relatives come from anywhere near there. I’m from Rome (we’re practically neighbors 😅) and I could write for hours, but I’ll spare you! XD

My little nephew is such a sweetheart, really a mini Santa’s elf! I can’t wait to introduce him to lots of music and all the beautiful things in the world! 🎶✨ As for Queen, no worries, you can hear them everywhere now, although there are some hidden gems that are delightful. But I totally get it because when I get obsessed with something, it’s hard for me to move on from it, just like with Pink Floyd. 😅 But there’s so much amazing music I’d like to explore more! Like Genesis, Yes, and many others. 🎧

As for exercise, I get it. I kind of hate it, but I have to do it to stay in shape, and it’s tough. 😅 What I love the most is hydrobike (incredible, but true!) but it’s a bit of a hassle to find something nearby. 🏋️‍♀️

The fandoms I’ve been (and still am) most active in are Star Trek (especially Voyager), where I wrote my first fanfics, Tolkien, and now this one about classic rock. I like all kinds of movies as long as they’re not too silly or horror. What about you? Any other musical or artistic obsessions? 😎

[graziadiocenterilpostino]

Alumni Spotlight: Giacomo Sproccati

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself and your Italian background.

I was born and raised in Milan, Italy. Languages have always been a great passion of mine. In fact, I went to "Liceo Linguistico," which allowed me to cultivate an interest through the classes I took, and by giving me the opportunity to travel across Europe as a Model United Nations participant. I began my undergraduate studies in Communication at the University of Milan, and I moved to Rome as a sophomore to pursue a dual degree exchange program at John Cabot University (JCU), an American degree-granting institution based in Rome. Studying at JCU was an incredible experience, and coming from Milan, Rome taught me to appreciate daily simple gestures, which was quite a challenge as a Milanese.

In my free time I enjoy playing a lot of sports. I like running and dancing hip-hop. Whenever the season allows it, I like to go ski, and when I see nice waves, I enjoy grabbing my board and attempting to surf them.

2. What led to your decision to pursue a master’s degree in Italian studies? Did you have specific career plans going into the program, or did the program encourage you to explore avenues that you had not anticipated?

I decided to pursue a Master's degree in Italian Studies because I am passionate about languages. The M.A. program allowed me to teach since day one, and I always looked forward to being in the classroom and helping familiarize students with a new system of making sense of the reality around them. Also, I wanted to travel specifically to the U.S. to fully immerse myself in a reality different from Europe. Lastly, the program was interdisciplinary, and as much as I was interested in specializing, I also wished to be able to continue including communications in the field I was getting into.

3. You mentioned that you went to work for the Florida State University after you completed your MA in Italian. What brought you there and what kind of work do you do?

Being an Italian M.A. student was a terrific experience because the program, CSULB in general, and Southern California provided me with an array of incredible opportunities. However, I realized that the Los Angeles area was not the place that would fit best my routine, so after graduation I decided to return to Italy and seek employment in Florence, which was close enough to family and friends. The Florida State University’s Program in Florence had a position open, and they were looking for a candidate interested in both being an administrator and teaching in the classroom. My experience made me qualified for both, and I was offered the positions after two interviews.

4. What is the ideal career for you?  If you could do the thing you love, what would that be?

In addition to the languages, I have a strong interest in public speaking, and my ideal job is to teach public speaking in a context where American culture meets the Italian one in harmony. I am lucky enough to work such a job here in Florence at the FSU Program. Teaching in Florence allows me to take advantage of and use many sports as a classroom, thus going well-beyond the traditional rooms in the Study Center. In addition to teaching public speaking, I am gladly continuing my administrative career as Academic & Recruitment Coordinator.

5. What advice would you give to someone considering the Italian Studies program at CSULB?

To anyone considering the Italian M.A. Program, I would strongly encourage you to go forward with it. The Program offers fantastic opportunities to research, explore, teach, and present at conferences. The overall experience prepares you very well for the working-world in a variety of fields. I encourage all students to take advantage of as many of the incredible opportunities being offered as possible!

[driftingjazzbard]

"It does indeed. People have different tastes in a lot of things, but I've yet to meet anyone who flat out doesn't eat." Granted in Xandora that wasn't entirely impossible...which was part of what she loved about it, in truth. Different cultures, peoples, ways of living, it had all of that but in more variety than she'd ever dreamed of seeing.

He'd made something truly beautiful.

She gestured to the king crab she was prepping, eyes still sparkling with delight. "I'm doing my best to make sample portions, but they're still your sample portions. This big brute is about to get steamed over some curry so the flavors infuse. I hope...more of your people get used to me so we can start swapping recipes properly. I'm sure they have their own ways of preparing food."

She wouldn't mind making more friends as well, though she adored Alexander very much.

"The rice is called dirty rice, it's prepared with seasoning as well which makes it look the way it does." Into the steamer basket went the crab, and over the boiling curry, and now the shrimp were getting prepped in the assurance they'd be welcome. "I used to go to this one Italian costal town and every trip I made, I'd head down to the docks when the boats came in. The crews would cook up shrimp they'd caught as a snack for themselves and sell some while they unloaded. Just a little garlic butter they'd brought along, but sitting out on those docks as the sun set munching shrimp was...spectacular. I wish you could see it."

He polished off his crab cakes, mindful that these were just samplers, so he took care not to overindulge. "Getting to know a new culture through food is truly clever. Food brings people together." And indeed, it had brought him together with many different folks over time.

He watched with keen interest as she tackled a large crab, cleaning and prepping it. Though it looked daunting, the aroma promised a delectable meal. Truth be told, Cromwell didn't find Erin bothersome at all. He had his own ways of navigating through crowds of staff, seamlessly weaving in and out to ensure his tasks were completed. He had gotten along better with her than with many others.

"I've had gumbo before, but I don't recall ever having rice with it," he mused, eyeing the bowl curiously. It smelled fantastic and seemed well-seasoned. He dipped his spoon in and took a mouthful, his eyes lighting up with delight at the combination of textures and flavors, the spice adding a special touch.

"Oh~ This is absolutely delicious," he crooned, savoring every bite. The crab and lobster were equally amazing.

[ladykailolu]

The Zeppeli family developed a system of saying things without actually saying them. For example, if they have guests over and one of them pours the wine, the way that they position the bottle signals to the other if the person they're talking to is worthy. If they have the bottle rotated backwards then that's them saying "Don't talk to this guy, he's no good", among other little cues. It was also considered a great sign of disrespect if a waiter did not wait on the most senior person in the party if they went somewhere nice to eat. Or if the women did not wait on the patriarch of the family first.

And that is another thing: when the fam gets together, all the men talk to each other in a great foyer somewhere with couches and fancy end tables and ofc wine. Everywhere there was the wine!

And the women, they go somewhere else and don't listen to the men talk.

They're also very traditional, which posed a problem for Mela (and Gyro, to some extent). Mela wants to bring her girlfriend Jodie over but she can't let anybody know that she's seeing Jodie. Cant let nobody know. Gyro has a similar issue when he invites Johnny over, and Caesar has this roundabout thing for Joseph. They gotta keep it hush hush.

Enter Paxe, Gyro's eldest child. She wants to join the men in talking about whatever they're talking about because staying with the women and helping to cook is very boring to her. But it's considered disrespect and out of place for a girl to be talking among the men during these get togethers. The Zeppeli men don't say nothing at first and watch Paxe, each staring from their place to impart the message that she shouldn't be there. And she got it but she didn't care. She wanted to be where her papà was, so she wanted to stay and pretend that nothing was wrong. Then one of the men piped up at Gyro. "You gonna let this kid stay here or what?" And Gyro knew that he was already disrespecting the family but not controlling his child and if he didnt do anything, there would be problems down the line.

So he pulls Paxe aside and pleads with her to stay with her grandmother and cousins and do what they tell her to do. If anybody else told her that, Paxe would dig her heels in like a little bull and go right back to what she was doing. But she could never stand like that against her father. She loved and respected him too much, and ever since her mother died, the last thing she wanted to do was to make him angry.

[cherryesskisses]

Fate Laid Differently In a Taxi Ride

Jake Lockley × fem desi!reader

Word count: 1k+ words

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This wasn’t the night that you had wished for.

When your boyfriend called you up in the afternoon to tell you that he would fetch you to take you out for dinner, you were beyond the moon. Both of you had been so busy for the past weeks that neither of you had been able to do anything together, be it indoors or outdoors. So you were excited and spent hours rummaging through your wardrobe, trying on one dress to another. Finally, you settled on the black cami dress, satin and fitted against your figure, that you remembered your boyfriend liked. Your face was covered with makeup and your dark, raven hair flowed freely down your back. No matter how modern your outfit may be, you would always love to adorn yourself with accessories of your Desi culture—a simple matching set of Jhumka drop earrings and necklace.

Basically, you were dressed over the top, not just to please your boyfriend but yourself. You deserved a good night and having yourself pampered. Soon enough, your boyfriend came by minutes after and off you two went to your favourite italian restaurant. You were pleased at how the night came to be.

So the outcome of the night wasn’t what you were expecting.

Here you were sitting opposite of your boyfriend, who started off sweet and romantic in the beginning, but now looked guilty and sad like someone who just committed a crime.

“I’m sorry, y/n, but I actually want to break things off with you.”

Your heart shattered into pieces and you felt yourself becoming one with rage and disappointment. Tears were already free flowing down your cheeks and without replying, you stood up from your chair and headed out. Deep down, you were hoping that he would chase after you but after more than 20 minutes of walking down the sidewalk, you realised he wouldn’t be chasing after you.

You wanted to break down and cry from the pain you felt but you were not the type to cry in public, or at least you tried your best not to. So quickly you hailed down a taxi and entered the vehicle to hide your messy self. The moment you sat down at the back seat, you couldn’t even bring yourself to speak or look up. You stared down at your lap, hoping that the night would just swallow you whole. Without realising the taxi began to move even though you had yet to mention a destination as you were drowning with waves of emotions.

The taxi moved smoothly and you couldn't even tell how long or when it began. Before you know it, your soft sobbing filled up the space inside the vehicle.

“Are you okay?” The taxi driver spoke soft, curious and you noticed the Spanish accent. Hearing his voice somehow calmed down your nerves a little and it made you look up. You could only see dark brown eyes through the rear-view mirror as they stared back at you. Somehow seeing them made you feel a little warm and safe even though you know nothing about this stranger.

“Just—” you laughed dryly, wiping the tears away with your fingers, “just stupid, stupid night is all.”

“Someone broke your heart.” It was a statement and not a question, as if he could read you through the dark of the night.

You wanted to deny at first but you chuckled and nodded. "Yeah."

"Your boyfriend?" He inquired as he swiftly took a left.

"Ex-boyfriend." You corrected him with a slight edge to your tone. Remembering your ex-boyfriend made your blood boil and hands curling up into fists—regretting that you didn't punch him before you left the restaurant.

"Lo siento, hermosa." The corners of his eyes crinkled up slightly. "Ex-boyfriend."

"He must have been a stupid guy to hurt a beautiful woman like you." The taxi driver added.

You shook your head as you felt warmth travelled through your cheeks at the sudden compliments—you knew basic Spanish to understand him speaking in that language. Tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear, you somehow jumped to the first thought in your mind. "Have you been a taxi driver for a while now?"

He seemed amused at the question before shrugging his shoulders. "For as long as I can remember, yes. As a taxi driver, you meet many people. Bad, good, rude, kind—you name it. You would either chat with them or say nothing."

It felt weird that you found yourself captivated with his voice; it was calming and playful too, and hidden with untold stories. Not to mention that the Spanish accent lured you in further even without seeing his face fully.

"Besides that, there are also times when some passengers forget to tell where they wanna go and I just drive around."

It took you a few minutes to take his words in and fully understand the meaning. When you did, you gasped and cursed yourself in your mother tongue at your foolishness, smacking your forehead in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry. It slipped out of my mind." You muttered softly but loud enough that he laughed. His laughter made you smile though you suppressed yourself—at least, you thought you did.

"It's okay. I don't mind accompanying a beautiful passenger like you." He quipped while winking at you through the rear-view mirror. Again, you blushed like a teenage girl. Then you proceeded to tell your address and he redirected the route to your neighbourhood.

The ride to your apartment was filled with chatters between you two. Random questions were easily exchanged and the both of you talked as if you had met one another before. So when he finally pulled up outside of your apartment building, you felt your heart sunken in despair. You didn’t want to end the night and wanted nothing more but to continue talking with the taxi driver. Yet, you knew better than to keep someone from doing their job especially when the night was still long. With a reluctant heart, you pulled out a couple of bills from your purse to hand them over to him.

“Hermosa, it’s fine. Keep the money. I don’t need it.”

“But—”

He let out a charming chuckle as he fixed the flat cap on his head; with the help of the lights outside, you can see a bit more of his handsome features that were causing your heart to race a mile.

“Maybe..” he paused and flickered his eyes upwards back to the rear-view mirror to look at you, “you’d like to go on a dinner with me as payment instead?”

His suggestion caused both of your brows to raise up out of surprise and also the fact that your mouth almost agreed as quickly as you heard it.

“My ma told me not to say yes to strangers.” You replied with a hint of playfulness and seriousness mixed together in your voice and it was visible on your features.

“Then we best make ourselves acquainted, right?” He replied with a hum.

Maybe you should be more wary of him. After all, you only knew him for less than an hour, or was it less than 30 minutes—either way, you should have been more careful of the taxi driver. But you couldn’t help yourself from wanting to know him better and accepting his offer.

Turning around from his seat, you finally saw his face properly and you were correct, he was ravishingly good looking, and your heart stuttered a beat.

Offering you the most charming smile that one can have, he extended his hand to you as if to seal the deal of your fate to be entwined with him.

“I’m Jake.”

You did what your heart told you and shook his hand.

“I’m y/n.”

This wasn't the night you wished for but you didn't mind a bit.

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Translation:

Lo siento: I'm sorry

Hermosa: Beautiful

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A/N: I wasn't sure if I correctly portray Jake Lockley but this is how I envisioned he'd be with someone he finds interesting. Hopefully, I did him justice! If not, I'm sorry—😭

Also, I'm not a desi girl but this is made specially for my dear friend!

Happy belated birthday gift and Happy Deepavali @jake-g-lockley <333

[stargirlstudio]

You Are My Task [Part 2]

☆ Dmitri Antonov x fem!Reader

☆ Warnings: age gap (11 years apart), class difference, smoking, swearing

☆ Word Count: 3156

☆ Chapter Summary: Dmitri has been at the estate for almost a month, adjusting to the Madame’s schedule, but important boundaries are to be made if they want this arrangement to be successful. One phone call leads to a tender moment that upends their mutual agreement.

☆ A/N: Thank you for 300 followers!! I love you all so so much, please enjoy!!

☆ A wonderful mutual of mine @atenastears made a Dmitri enemies to lovers playlist! You can listen to that here I think it captures the feeling of the fic wonderfully!!!

⇦ Part 1 ☆ Part 3 ⇨

It has been three weeks since Dmitri arrived at the estate and he learned many things about Madame (L/N). He learned that she wakes up at noon, spends an hour getting ready, and eats her first meal of the day at 1 pm. During her brunch, she gets political updates and asks about any calls from her father, a minister from her home country. Then she has her post meal tea while reading a book along with some French pastries. She walks around the grounds for a bit for a little exercise and then she takes a nap. After her nap, she calls her friends. Then she has dinner. Afterwards, she’ll sign off on what is to be prepared for her meals tomorrow and go to bed. 

“It’s a lengthy routine, but it keeps the Madame entertained and most importantly safe. It’s within her confines and her father’s wishes. Please, adjust to her schedule,” Emelia explained. How she kept up with her own schedule was beyond him, however he was by your side through and through. He glanced over at you as you ate your eclair, reading a Stephen King novel. He chuckled, causing the Madame to look up at him. She quirked a brow, continuing to read her novel until she heard him laugh again. 

“Is there something funny?” She asked. He looked over, his arm perched on the oak bookcase. 

“I would have thought you would read classics,” He said. “Not some horror novelist,”

“What? Like the Anna Karenina in your hand?” She retorted. “I read most classics when I was younger. This is just something new. Besides we have different tastes, that’s all,” She held the book closer to your face. “Clearly,” Whispering to herself, that of course didn’t fall past Dmitri’s ears. He scoffed again, looking out at the window crossing his arms. It was truly isolating to see the expanse of snow decorating the hills, her attitude alone could burn all of it and he could tell just by the anger radiating off her body. He always felt her fiery gaze on him. 

He pursed his lips, abruptly turning around. “May I ask you something?” Dmitri asked. She didn’t lift your eyes from the page. “Madame (L/N)?” 

She smiled, setting the book on her lap with her finger marking the pages. “Why yes, Mr. Antonov. What would you like to ask?” The Madame faked a smile — which infuriated him even more. 

“Why are you so…so…”

“So…so…what?” She challenged him. He feigned off, She’s insufferable. Dmitri watched as her laced finger held the handle of the teacup. 

“Nothing. I was just wondering…why only French pastries?” He asked. She looked down at her half eaten èclair. She tilted your head, scrunching her nose a bit. “The foods you eat are French too, is your tea French as well?” She sipped your tea, rolling her eyes.

Madame (L/N) laughed. “My teas are imported from Asia. I’m quite a fan of darjeeling and assam,” Setting down her white cup. “France is mostly known for their coffees. I much prefer Vietnamese coffee. It’s good, strong, but good. I crave it these days but I don’t have access to the right coffee or condensed milk…shame…” Dmitri smiled. “Turkish coffee is good based on its presentation alone. I absolutely adore Italian style coffees. I think their coffee culture is top tier. It’s just not the same when made at home,” 

“I guess things are only enjoyable when enjoyed elsewhere,” Dmitri remarked. He watched her feign a small smile. “You know, I think you should expand your horizons,”

She scrunched her face, “How so?”

Dmitri walked away from the window, pacing around the Madame’s couch. Her finger was no longer holding her place in her novel, now set aside and forgotten as they both held eye contact. He bent forward, almost being at her level. “For starters, maybe you can try Russian?”

She looked down, suddenly the sight of her laced hands was much more interesting than the conversation, “Pardon?” She said, looking up at her smiling bodyguard.

“Did you hear me? Russian pastries — my people are knowledgeable on good food too,” Oh “You should try them,” 

“What’s wrong with the ones I have?” You asked. “Are you questioning my taste?” Dmitri rolled his eyes. Absolutely unbelievable. Only you would hear one sentence and come out with another. 

“I never said that!” Dmitri exclaimed. “Are the rich so quick to feel offended, I just gave you a suggestion to try something new,” She turned her head. 

“I never said I was offended!” She said back. “Is it in your job description to take jabs at people or are you just naturally annoying,” 

“I don’t take jabs at regular people but at snobby people like you then sure,” Dmitri remarked. “We both hate having each other around,”

“Can I ask you something?” She asked. “Mr. Antonov,” Mimicking his tone from before, he crossed his arms before gesturing his head for you to go forward. “Let’s walk. I want to walk around the grounds now,” You said, grabbing your coat and heading out. He trailed behind, just enough to keep you within earshot but behind you. “You’re right. I hate having you around, but if we stay out of each other's way then I’m sure your job and my life will be much easier,”

“Understood,” He said. 

“You know I could have you fired,” She said. “Imagine thinking that you can say all of that to me and keep your job,”

“I’m not worried,” He said. “Your father doesn’t want to have to hear about you going through another process of finding a personal guard,” 

“Oh you’re so confident,” You replied. “I’ve never had someone challenge me, most people wouldn’t dare,” 

Dmitri jogged around you, spinning so he’s facing you, lightly walking backwards. “I am not most people,” He said, pulling out a cigarette. He watched as you breathed in and out, he was careful to blow the smoke away from you. The walk was cut short from the back door opening. Alan, the estate’s butler, clutched the stone railing.

“Madame (L/N)!” He said between huffs. “It’s your father! He’s on the phone,” Dmitri watched as you bolted across the lawn and up the steps, almost tripping. He picked up your scarf that dropped as he followed behind. She shucked off her purple coat, throwing it at Alan who nearly dropped the expensive coat. Dmitri rushed over to balance him, asking if he’s okay. 

“Father, hello,” She said out of breath, she listened intently with a big smile on her face. Dmitri watched as she smiled for the first time in weeks. He had watched her every morning asking about her father, a man so busy with many of his political aspirations. The only person who usually called was her brother, who was in her home country but he droned on and on about government activities that his calls were anything but enjoyable. He stepped a few steps closer, just at the top of the stairs as he watched her face fall. 

“So you won’t come?” She said quietly, clutching the green phone. “When will I see you?” Tears were welling up in her eyes, Dmitri took a few steps toward her, her lips quivered as she quickly wiped away her tears. She nodded again and hung up. He looked around and saw the staff looking at her solemnly. He heard from one of the maids that the Madame had been expecting a short visit from her father or at least a long phone call – since her arrival months ago, neither has happened. It had been very lonely for her, with no family and no friends by her side. The Madame sighed, running up the stairs, until her wrist was caught by her bodyguard. He didn’t know why he reached out, but he watched as her heaving calmed. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. She tugged and he let go, running to her room. The slam of her door made everyone jump. Emelia walked up to Dmitri, “Will she be okay?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s a strong girl,” She said. “She’ll be okay,”

Hours had passed and the Madame didn’t come out of her room once. The once occupied halls where she often walked or the sounds of her laughter on the phone were absent. The occasional phone ringing in her room would go off, indicating that her friends wanted to talk but of course, Emelia answered instead saying that she wasn’t to be disturbed today. Dmitri waited outside of her door, at his assigned post, as he always had, waiting for her to come out. He thought about the events from earlier, the way her face lit up when she heard she was finally receiving a call from her father. Her face falling and her shoulders dropping, it was heartbreaking to see. He saw her resolve disintegrating, who she was at that moment, when he clutched her wrist. He didn’t see a stern, haughty, cold-hearted woman he saw, just for a little bit, someone who just wanted to hear from her father. 

—

You clutched your pillow, sitting on the alcove looking at the view outside. It was snowing today in Moscow. You had hoped that your father would call, maybe have a nice chat or to tell you news of him coming home soon. You understood how busy he was, but a part of you wanted him to come. Maybe he doesn’t want me anymore. 

You remembered the days of playing games on the grounds, amidst the heated tensions between your father and the backdrop of the political state of the country – you remembered nothing but happy days. There used to be a big playground you and your brother would go on. Mr. Munzuk, the estate owner, loved spoiling you and your brother with gifts. “Shhh, I’m not supposed to have these,” He would tell you. You remembered a big toy pony on wheels and the joy and laughter as your father and Mr. Munzuk. You thought that maybe you could recreate the same feeling of joy if you walked around the gardens, trying to remember the bits and pieces of your childhood, but to no avail. You thought about all the times your father talked to you. Once you got to a certain age, it felt like he was more of a commander than a father. He praised your brother, gave him access to many opportunities and made him the younger version of him. From what you could tell, he was still a dad to him. 

As you grew out of a child’s body and into a young woman, it no longer felt like you could say “father” with the same diction as a child. One day, you were dropped off in Europe and he barely called. At first you loved the freedom of being a 14 year old it-girl, spending money and being carefree but you almost envied the power your brother had. One that you could never achieve so long as you were a woman in that household. At first it was tolerable, but you had ideas, joined organizations and wrote political papers. You had an idea of what could make a state better, what political relations needed to be strengthened, but you were never going to be a fraction of what your brother was – your father made that clear. 

“I assure you, you are not fit to be in office. Maybe you could handle it if you were a-”

“A what? A son?”

Two knocks from the door grabbed your attention. You got up from the alcove, “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Dmitri,” Mr. Antonov said. “I wanted to ask you something,” 

You clenched your fist, “If it’s to make fun of me, I don’t want to hear it,” 

“It’s not!” He said through the door. “If you don’t like what I have to say, you’re more than welcome to slam the door in my face,” You walked over, hand hovering over the gold doorknob. You turned it, leaving the door at a crack. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” You said curtly. “What do you want?”

“Would you like to go into town? To get your mind off of things?” He asked. “I’ll take you to try some Russian pastries,”

You wiped away your tears, breathing out to clear any sign of crying from earlier. “What use will that be? It’ll be a waste of time,”

“I'll give you odds. 100 to 1. Just trust me, it won’t be a waste of time,” He said. 

You looked out of the car, Dmitri sitting across from you. It was a new town, one that you haven’t been to before. It was further away from the closest town near the estate and much quieter too. The dim lights illuminated the shops and so many people were walking around, not as busy as the other town which was perfect. Dmitri tapped on the partition, telling him directions and the car parked in front of a small bakery. You watched a woman mix batter through the window and people sitting down at the tables, laughing and enjoying their food. You hardly noticed your driver coming around and opening the door for you. Dmitri of course exited first with you in tow. “Come on,” He said, holding out his hand. You grabbed his hand, almost stumbling until he held your hip steady. “Careful, Miss (L/N),” He led you inside the cafe, the aroma of sweets and baked goods filled the air. You looked around at all the treats in the display case, cakes, small pastries, and even homemade candy filled the almost chaotic display. It was wonderful. “Which one would you like, Miss (L/N)?”

“Hm?” You said, distracted. “Uh, I guess you can choose. Since you’re so confident in your odds,” He laughed and spoke to the woman gesturing to two things. “I do want cake though. Now that we’re here,” He sighed and spoke to the woman again. You looked around for a table but the only available space was a table with two seats next to each other so you sat down and waited for Dmitri. There unfortunately was no way he could sit across from you, so he carefully scooted next to you. 

“Okay, here's a cake for you to try,” The brown and white layers looked absolutely delicious. You took a bite, you looked at Dmitri as he watched you intently gauging your reaction. You hate to admit that he was right, but the cake was absolutely delicious! You took another bite reveling in the sweetness that hit your tongue, the little crumbles adding a unique texture. “Told you so…I…knew the previous owners so I know the cakes are still good,”

You nudged him playfully, picking up the other utensil and holding it to his mouth. “Ahhh,” He paused, before taking a bite. You both giggled as you repeated the same motion. “How have I never tried this?”

After chewing he spoke, “How long have you been here Miss (L/N)?”

“Four months?” A crumb was stuck at the corner of his mouth, taking your thumb and swatting it away. He looked at you just as you looked at him…what just happened. He coughed and you turned away. Avoiding any further eye contact. You quickly took a sip of your tea but it was still hot and some had spilled on your finger. Dmitri quickly took the napkin and patted your finger blowing on it to take away any of the heat. His rough hands held yours, you observed the years of labor on his fingers. Fingers that have pulled revolvers. Your hands were smooth, perfectly manicured, the most it had ever been through was four years of essays. Your fingers were so close to his lips it made your heart race. He looked up and your jaw tensed, he tilted his head, slowly letting go. 

When you both arrived home, laughing and smiling about today, you were met with a very concerned Alan and an almost furious Emelia.”Madame, where were you?! It’s half past 8 usually you would be in your room now,” 

“I apologize Emelia, it’s my fault,” Dmitri interjected. “I had forgotten my watch and I wasn’t watching the time. I would have brought her home sooner,” Alan smiled looking at Emelia but still, she wasn’t having it. 

“Well you both missed dinner. Have you eaten yet?” You both shook your head. She sighed and gestured to the dining room. You looked over at Dmitri, who’s gaze was already fixed on you, chuckling at her absolute exasperation. There was something so carefree about him. Ever since he came to the estate, he had managed to break some rules. Usually you hated the smell of cigarettes, laughter that was a little too loud, vulgar language, but Dmitri was different in that sense. His laugh and demeanor wasn’t anything unpleasant, if anything it was inviting, but also painful — he reminded you too much of your friends. That was a problem. He reeked of nostalgia and happy memories. He reminded you too much of who you used to be. 

The moment you stepped into the estate you were hyper aware of who you were. Daughter of a minister second to an Ambassador, Granddaughter of a munitions company CEO, Great-Granddaughter to an oil magnate — your family has funded many wars, been apart of foreign conflicts, as small as your home country was — it was a well kept secret that your family played the puppet in many conflicts. And just like that, you morphed into the perfect girl. 

——

Dmitri followed her up the stairs, remembering that scene at the bakery. Her eyebrows tense, her doe eyes, how she winced at the pain, how he needed to make sure she was unharmed. And just before when she swiped her thumb near his lips, how smooth and delicate she was. Her mouth was anything but, in that moment, it was the first time he felt any concern from her. 

Concern? The Madame? No, impossible. 

He thought she would reprimand him for taking her hand, but she didn’t. She just observed. Did she even care how close they were for the first time? How their shoulders touched as they sat together in that crowded bakery. How close her fingers were to his lips?��

He escorted her to her room, she opened the door, glancing back. “Thank you for today, Dmitri,” He noticed how she didn’t wear her usual gloves. How her thumb was bare against his face.

“Dmitri, now is it? We’re on a first name basis?”

“Please leave Mr. Antonov, good night,” She said as she entered her room, glancing back one more time. 

“Goodnight, Miss (L/N),” She bowed her head and the door shut on him. The way her demeanor changed once they entered the house didn’t fall past Dmitri. What a shame.

Dmitri Tag List: @druigswh0ree @h3k3t @milfodyssey @lucilexe @wolfstcr @mvnsonslvt @redridinnghood @kenthoe @redshrike @quixscentsposts @padawansubscription

You Are My Task Tag List: @sweeter-innocence-fics @actuallyeddiemunsonsgf @lucilexe @eathom @qkdyxdj @enbywan @skinmittensgoblin

[helaintoloki]

Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

[fangirl-imagines]

Being in a Relationship with Michael Corleone Would Include...

A/N: Michael Corleone is one of the sexiest men ever to grace the silver screen and I will not be taking criticism on this. If you have any Michael request please send them in because I have so many things I want to write for this man. 

When you met Michael it was long before he ended up becoming the Don. Either while he was in college or right after he got out of the marines. 

It was when he allowed himself to show more of his sweet side and that is partly what drew you to him was his kindness and those big dark eyes. 

Even after he becomes Don Corleone though he will always have a big soft spot for you. 

You get to see the sweet, kind natured side of this big scary mobster and you know his heart better than anyone else ever could (the good and the bad of it). 

In public he will never be very affectionate with you. 

He’s not ashamed of you by any means, quite the opposite actually, he’s proud to have you on his arm, but he thinks showing affection is a weakness so it’s something he likes to reserve for when the two of you are alone. 

Then he can barely keep his hands off of you. 

At home when he likes to have you sitting on his lap, his arms wrapped around you, and you running your fingers through his hair (or vice versa) while he sorts through the million and one things he has on his mind at any one time. 

He also has a habit of coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you and kissing your neck when you’re the one focused on something around the house like when he gets home and you’re fixing dinner, he will silently come wrap his arms around you and kiss your neck in greeting and stay there talking to you while you finish what you’re doing. 

Loyalty is everything to him. He will stay loyal to you no matter what and he expects the same thing from you. 

He will never even think of looking at another woman as long as he has you waiting for him at home. He doesn’t see how any of them could compare to you anyway. 

Michael is a bit...old fashioned in his views on your relationship. 

When you get married he’s going to expect you to stay home and focus on being a housewife. 

Sorry but that’s just how Michael is. There really is very little changing his mind on this. 

Speaking of which, Michael is incredibly stubborn on pretty much everything. You will HAVE to put your foot down on somethings because otherwise Michael will never budge when he makes up his mind on something. 

Tom has had to play referee between the two of you more times than he would like to remember, trying to talk some sense into Michael for you and trying to explain things to you rather than just giving you a firm no like Michael does. 

But when it comes to involving you with the business Michael will never budge. He wants you to stay as far away from his business as possible. 

He may seem unreasonable to you sometimes on this, especially since his business can very easily impact your life together and your marriage but he will still almost always try to avoid talking to you about his work and keep you as far away from his business dealings as possible. 

His worst fear in the world is something bad happening to you and it eats at him how much danger his business could potentially put you in. 

If anyone from his world were to ever threaten you or your family with Michael, Michael would be losing it inside no matter how stoic he remained on the outside. 

That person would be dealt with very quickly and finally. Michael won’t tolerate any threats against his family and he is ruthless when it comes to your safety. 

You have to be willing to let a lot of things go unquestioned with Michael. There are many things he wishes he could tell you but never will because he knows it's in everyone’s best interest if you don’t know. 

Arguments with Michael can be frightening mostly because of just how calm and quiet he is during them even though you can see how tense he is. 

He will usually just shut down and walk away when you try to fight with him. He hates fighting with you and it upsets him enough that he has to walk away before he loses his temper with you. 

Most of the time though, Michael would be so sweet with you, even though he isn’t very publicly affectionate he is always very intended to your needs. 

He’s always ready to sweep you aside if he thinks you’re uncomfortable in a situation or are feeling anxious, if you’re having a bad day he can immediately pick up on it and will be trying to get you to relax, etc. 

It doesn’t matter what else is going on in the room, Michael always has one eye fixed on you at all times, making sure you’re okay. 

You try not to stress Michael out too much when you’re having a problem or are just feeling kind of down but Michael knows about this and hates it. 

He wants you to feel like you can tell him anything and feels guilty that you don’t want to tell him when you’re struggling because you don’t want him to worry about you. 

Michael always is going to worry about you. 

Michael will always have your back, he is never going to let anyone talk bad about you in his presence. Ever. And God help the poor bastard who would ever actually try to hurt you because they would be meeting God very soon.

You’re going to end up spending lots of time alone while he’s busy with work but he tries to make it home for dinner with you whenever he can. 

Michael usually doesn’t come to bed until late either and is an early riser so he is usually coming to bed after you and leaving before you but sometimes you’ll wake up to him climbing into bed next to you and pulling you against him, pressing his lips softly against your forehead and telling you to go back to sleep. 

You’re going to have to spend lots of time with his family and become very close to them. 

They accept you with open arms though after you marry Michael and become a Corleone. They all can see how happy you make Michael and they are happy to invite you into their family and have you as one of them. 

Connie especially would be so happy to have a sister finally. She is much closer to you than she was to Sonny’s wife and she loves having you around for gossiping and shopping. 

If you didn’t know Italian before you’re going to want to learn and there are certainly plenty of people around to help you learn. 

The first time you told Michael “ti amo” he just grins and kisses you, so proud of you for learning and touched that you made it a point to learn more about his culture. 

He wants to have a family with you right away after you get married. 

Family is important to him and he loves the idea of having children with you. 

He may or may not have a breeding kink but that is a topic for another day. 

Slow dancing. 

Slow dancing in the living room or in Michael’s office together at night after a long day. 

When he is really stressed out he likes when you sit in his lap and put your head on top of his and smooth his hair. His whole body relaxes then and it helps him feel a little better and safer to be sitting there with you, wrapped in your arms. 

He tries really hard to do something romantic with you when he gets an opportunity even though they are few and far between. 

As important as his business is to him, Michael will always try his best to make you understand that you and your family together is always his first priority in life.

[jade-parcels]

Miscellaneous Fatui hcs 🎭

Keep in mind, we don’t know much about them!! And I haven’t delved into the lore or whatever :) this is just for fun!!! It won’t be accurate!! :) This was an old warm up draft thing so might as well post it! It’s really just one big ramble page :)

The Fatui and their titles are inspired by the Italian commedia dell'arte. So I believe the Tsaritsa is very into the Genshin equivalent of Italy, if there is one. (If they’ve got Mondstadt(German) and Fontaine(French) then there must be some sort of Italian sounding dialect then? Maybe?)

If she’s into theatre and “Italian” culture/history, I like to think that the harbingers had to learn Italian as well as other languages as they trained to become harbingers. It’s fun to think about Ajax, the stutterer and the fool, having to sit and be tutored for Italian lessons as a heavily accented Snezhnayan! He’s got Pulcinella and Capitano looming over him, lecturing him about grammar…All the kid wants to do is go out and slaughter enemy camps. Is that too much to ask?

I love the idea of the Tsaritsa throwing a ball (or multiple?) every so often. Here, she shows off her soldiers, diplomats, riches, weaponry and harbingers to all she invites. It’s a huge event that the normal, everyday people of Snezhnaya wish they could see in person and not just photographs in their newspapers. Zapolyarny Palace has tons of carriages outside and those who make their way inside are all dressed to the nines

^^ at these balls, the harbingers are decked out in their formal uniforms which are saved for occasions like this. They all wear their masks and wear sashes that display their countless pins and badges that they earned. Their uniforms don’t exactly match in style since they’re inspired by their theatre roles, many of these uniforms include ruffles, puffy sleeves or bells, but they’re not ridiculous by any means! They’re just cool, cool enough that guests’ eyes tend to go wide when they see them for the first time

In addition to learning Italian, the harbingers also had to learn all kinds of etiquette. This is usually hard for them since they want to fight all the time or do their own thing. Scaramouche was a sight to see during his etiquette training, he was so insufferable that he failed his course three times. Part of this course is ballroom dancing. The Tsaritsa expects her harbingers to engage with the guests at the ball! And if she wanted to dance with one of them, they better know how to dance or they’d be a terrible embarrassment to her

Capitano, Signora and Dottore have beautiful singing voices. They can’t stand each other, they want to rip each others’ throats out, but when it’s time for the first dance of the night and they’re called upon to sing with the band as the Tsaritsa dances with a lucky guest to start the night off…They don’t exactly hate each other in those moments. It is quite the honor to sing in front of everyone this way. And they just look THAT much better than everyone else. They’re practically super soldiers, they have their best uniforms on, they dance like they were made to do so and on top of that, these three can sing like angels. Is there anything they can’t do? All it takes is months of grueling training :)

Ajax is the youngest harbinger. When he went to his first ball while still training under Pulcinella, he was totally flabbergasted. He came from a smaller town so seeing the grand ballroom of the Zapolyarny palace all gussied up and full of guests…He’d never seen anything like it. Even now, after attending many of these stupid balls…He still feels that little spark of magical, childlike admiration when he steps into the room for the first time

I love the idea of the harbingers having their own wing in the palace. They all have separate rooms, labs and offices but there’s one parlor where they can go to play chess, strategize or relax. They could go anywhere else in the palace if they wanted to but some will go out of their way to annoy the others in the parlor just for fun. Dottore will flip the chess board while Pantalone and Sandrone play, Signora will play the piano off key to annoy Scaramouche while he tries to read, Capitano will put his feet up on the coffee table while knowing how much it bothers Pulcinella. Sometimes they’re like one big rabid family who hate each other. The Tsaritsa likes that a lot

Something else I like to imagine is ‘family dinners’. When all of the harbingers happen to back at the palace, it’s rare for them to all be there at the same time, the Tsaritsa will call for them to have dinner with her. It won’t be a formal affair, no mask required, just the twelve of them at the table together. Sometimes they sit and strategize, sometimes they tell stories, sometimes they sit in silence as the Tsaritsa glares at them when plans are ruined. These ‘family dinners’ are either somewhat pleasant or absolutely dreadful

What about their military uniforms? They must have uniforms of some kind right? From the harbingers we’ve seen so far (Childe, Scara, Signora and Dottore), they pretty much just wear whatever they want! I love the idea of them having 2 actual military uniforms. One for winter, kinda like the Russian uniforms with the cloak/capeish looking coats. And another for…Well, not winter. It’s still long sleeves and long pants, combat boots, sashes, masks and gloves. They rarely wear those uniforms unless 1. They’re all together in the public eye 2. They’re going to see the Tsaritsa all together

Ooo something else, it would be so cool to see maybe a little old lady who makes masks for the harbingers. She’s just a sweet old Russian grandmother who lives in the palace just cause the Tsaritsa likes her! So she makes these beautiful masks, carves them and paints them all by hand. She makes sculpts of each harbinger’s face so she can continually make new masks. Some with nicer paint, some formal masks with more detail, plain black masks for royal funded funerals, masks with gemstones in them, replacement masks for broken ones. Everyone gets along with this lady. Harbingers actually find a bit of joy in getting her souvenirs from neighboring nations or trying on masks for her just to see her smile. No one dares to disrespect granny. She has scary dog privileges :)

[uelden]

Vanity Fair interview translated

Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.

I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.

Translation under the cut

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021

"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything

With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.

In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.

It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.

To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon

"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas

"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano

From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight

"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria

The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre

"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano

Against panic – The stage as therapy

"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria

Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you

"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano

Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano

The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it

"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan

Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom

"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria

Sexism – A culture to be dismantled

"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano

Grow yourself – The only commandment

"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan

"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria

Love in progress – Music, girlfriends

"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan

"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas

"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria

"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano

The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection

"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas

I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]

"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano

Having touched the sky – The fears that remain

"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano