#i studied a bit in italy that’s why i chose italian

[seo-changbinnies]

this is so random but... why is it that you tag felix using fratello? i've followed you for a bit and i laugh every time i see it 😭

it’s italian for brother!

[stonesilhouette]

Feline Fiasco

Hetalia x Reader

This is written for a female reader but there isn't really anything specific that would suggest that besides a few references. If you want to read, I'm not going to stop you.

Also (Y/n) is completely uninterested in the countries for the majority of this, all she's interested in is the cats. This is way fluffier than anything else I've posted, which is two things, and this part is relatively America-centric because (Y/n) works for him. This is also way less quality work than those two posts but idk deal with it?

There is more to this but it's unfinished and I'll probably never post it. My friend also helped with the cat names so if you don't like them... uh assume that they chose them. One last note, I thought it would be funny to write the accents so you also have to deal with that.

As one of the many secretaries working in the White House, it was actually quite a surprise to you that you ended up as the main secretary to the human personification of the U.S.A.

Because of this, you had become quite close to Mr. F. Jones and more importantly: his cat.

You couldn't help but coo at the adorable and floofy feline. Sure, you should probably finish filing those papers, but national security can wait a few more minutes. Besides you couldn't resist the allure of the purr. It would be an understatement to say, when you learned that the other personifications also had furry friends of their own, you were excited.

America didn't want you interacting with the other countries, especially not Russia. But you honestly didn't care and you weren't the recording secretary for those meetings, so it's not like you were in attendance anyways. That somehow didn't stop you from having to tag along and meeting more nation cats; of which you weren't sure why they had brought them along in the first place. It's not like you were complaining.

Ball of fur after ball of fur. No cat went un-petted. Except for Germany's cat; he had evaded you time and time again. But no longer! For today was the last day and you were going to pet that cat if it was the last thing you did.

There it was. It's sleek black fur, the ribbon in Germany's signature colors around its neck, and that always alert look on its face. He would evade you no more. You crouched down in your very inflexible pencil skirt and prepared to pounce.

"Vhat are jou doing?" A voice thick with a German accent called out, startling you and the cat who decided to bound back towards him and into his arms.

"Uhhhh." You blanked.

"You're America's secretary right? Vat vere jou trying to do to my cat?" He questioned, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

You gulped and tried to explain your actions in a way that didn't sound absolutely ridiculous.

"I-uh. I wanted to pet your cat and… he kept evading me and I thought if I snuck up on him that I could pet him." You looked away and pitifully whispered, "Sorry."

"If jou vanted to pet him, all you had to do was ask."

"Really!?" Your eyes lit up and you looked up at the German with pure and unbridled excitement. He coughed and looked away with a slight blush resting on his cheeks.

"Of course." He held the cat out. You, with no hesitation whatsoever, immediately started to adore and love the cat, even shifting it from Germany's arms to your own.

As you continued to pet the cat, who despite his earlier refusal, seemed quite happy, you asked Germany a question. "My name's (Y/n). What's yours if you're willing to share? No pressure though."

His eyes widened a bit before he shook it off and gave you an answer. "Ludwig Beilschmidt." He responded, studying his cat. "Germouser seems to like jou."

You could barely stifle a laugh at the name he had given to the black cat. He sensed your amusement and gave an explanation.

"Feli- Italy named him. I vas going to name him Johann or something similar. Italy was zoroughly horrified by my suggestions and vould not rest until I vent vith his."

You smiled at the Italian's antics and shook your head with amusement. "Germouser is a fine name for an absolutely wonderful cat."

Germany seemed to get flustered again as he watched you coo at his cat, completely ignoring his presence. He would have just left him with you, but the meeting was starting soon and he didn't want to be late. Luckily for him, America decided to pop around the corner, demanding your attention. So you were forced to give up the precious kitty cat and return with Mr. Jones.

Alfred was annoyed. Not at you but at everyone else. Why did they have any right to be around you? You were an American citizen. His citizen. Sure, all you were really interested in was their cats. But what if you thought that they and their cats were so cool that you left him and went to live in a different country instead? He couldn't let that happen.

"So, (Y/n), dude, broette." He said on the way to the meeting room. "Here's the deal."

You gave him a look and raised an eyebrow.

"I need someone to watch Hero for me and my sitter flaked so you're gonna be watching him." He fingered-gunned at you and stars seemed to shine in the air around him. This, of course, was nothing new to you. It wasn’t like you would have rather been attending the meeting anyways.

So you stayed in a different unoccupied meeting room with a lovely, furry friend. It wasn't until he started hissing at a corner that you were in trouble.

"Hero, what's wrong?" You asked, concerned at the agitated cat. His tail bristled up and his ears flattened down as he took a defensive position. Out of nowhere another fluffy cat waltzed in from the very corner that Hero had been hissing at. It was Boris, a cat that belonged to Russia.

You hadn't actually gotten to pet him yet because to be honest, you were also scared of Russia. But… He wasn't around… and his cat was. And his cat was purring.

That was about all the reasoning that you needed to brush past Hero and scoop Boris up into your arms. The former started yowling for your attention and followed you as you went to sit down with the Russian cat.

You laid down on the plush carpeted floor and lifted the cat that you were holding up above you. Boris’ fluffy body was placed onto your chest and he immediately started purring louder once he got comfortable. He nuzzled his face into your neck, much to the annoyance of the American cat. Hero yowled at you and pawed at Boris, desperately trying to get him off.

Boris only gave him a smug look in return and kneaded into you, further solidifying his spot. Hero decided that it wasn’t worth the fight and that he was going to get his owner to remove the Russian cat and put him back into his mother’s lap: aka you.

The surprisingly smart and agile cat leapt around the room and pushed down the door handle, slipping out through the crack. You didn’t notice this as you were currently immersed in the bliss of a cat sitting on you and letting you pet it.

Eventually the purring lulled you into a peaceful and warm slumber, the two of you deciding to take a cat nap.

It would be Russia who found you first. Ivan realized that his cat had gone missing and he honestly didn’t care enough about the meeting to stay. It's not like anyone would try to stop him.

So as Hero bounded down the halls towards the meeting room, Mr. Ivan Braginsky came from the other direction; his sense of where his cat was at any one moment was completely uncanny.

The Russian gradually opened the wooden door and it quietly opened without any resistance. He turned his head towards where he heard purring and was met with a surprising sight. It was America’s secretary, with his cat, lying, with his cat.

You were breathing softly and the movements of your chest moving up and down also moved Boris. Ivan couldn’t help but faintly smile at the sight. Said cat opened a singular eye to acknowledge the new presence in the room. He flicked his tail and settled back into his spot. Not wanting to bother you or the cat, Ivan pulled out a chair and sat down. 

He pulled out some paperwork, seemingly from nowhere, and began to work on it. The sounds of your quiet breathing, combined with the light purr from Boris, made for a calming work environment. 

As the three of you remained in peaceful bliss, another kitty cat was running around the corner on the never ending search for food. Itabby trotted up and down the corridors looking for an open door that might lead to some food that didn’t come from England. Her golden fur glimmered as the sun shined through the many windows in the building. She looked over at a door that had opened slightly and was too blinded by the thought of food to notice the scarily familiar scent coming from the room.

Itabby scampered over to the door but screeched and meowed as she was sent flying by an American blonde and his equally irritated cat. She tentatively peered around the door at the scene forming.

“HEY!” Alfred yelled, startling both you and the cat. You shot up straight, Boris falling into your lap. “What are you doing with her?!” He yelled again, getting his face up into Ivan’s. The other man gave him an unamused look and stood up, towering over him. Alfred, despite this, did not back down and continued to stare angrily at him.

“Go away.” The white-haired male said, his accent heavy as he crossed his arms. “You have startled them with your unnecessary noise. You are just like the rest of your country.”

The air tensed and became heavier as the seconds went on. They began to size each other up as Hero, ironically, “heroically” walked proudly over to you and with his front paws, pushed Boris off of your lap. He quickly took his place and started purring. Boris’ fur began to puff up as he hunched down and prepared to pounce. His back legs flexed and he made the jump, sending both him and Hero flying towards their fighting owners, who were remarkably somehow not in a physical fight. Yet.

You very quickly realized that you did not want to be in the middle of  two superpowers fighting and quietly took your leave. (E/c) eyes met feline amber ones and you swept up the cat and made your escape, leaving behind the feuding men and cats.

Itabby snuggled into your arms as you finally slowed down to catch your breath. Her round tail whooshed back and forth as you tiredly walked through the long hallway. The two of you eventually ended up in the rose gardens of the meeting building. The area was well taken care of and beautiful if you did say so yourself. The meeting was taking place in England and Mr. Jones had told you about how the Brit enjoyed gardening, so it made sense as to why it was here.

Speaking of the British, you spotted a fluffy feline shape from the corner of your eye. It was deeper into the gardens and among the trees. Itabby finally decided that it was time to go and return to her owner. She gracefully leaped out of your arms and landed on all fours and trotted off to beg Italy for some pasta. You instead continued your approach to the cat, which at this point, you could tell was a Scottish Fold.

The left side of his face was brown and so was his tail. Alike to his owner, he seemed to have what you assumed were some kind of eyebrows and when he opened his eyes to look at you, his olive eyes stared into yours. He flicked his tail and layed back down onto the wall that he was laying on. His collar jingled as he moved and you quietly moved up to him. On the gold circle attached to the same olive color collar, was a name.

‘Scone’ You thought. ‘Oh my god. This is the most English cat name I have ever seen.’

You almost started laughing but the smoldering glare the cat gave you made you think otherwise. The stone wall was surprisingly cold for the summer sun and as you sat down, you took a look at Scone. He seemed to still be quite grumpy, but he knew you from earlier in the week, so he was not alarmed. You lifted up and moved your left arm forward to start petting him.

Scone was soft and clearly well-taken care of. His fur was clean and had no knots or dirt insight, despite laying around a garden for half a day. You continued your actions and the both of you started to fall back into slumber. Your hand hovered on the back of the feline and your head slumped alongside your body.

It was peaceful. With birds chirping and the wind lightly blowing. There was a river babbling somewhere in the background and it made for a serene scene. The only reason he had let you pet him was because you had fed him earlier in the week. He didn’t have his collar at that point so this was the first time you had gotten his name. Your eyes closed as you recalled the event from a couple of days prior.

The day after the plane landed you were on the hunt for felines. Armed with some cat food, a retractable mouse-on-a-stick and hope, you made your way around the building England had set aside for housing the rampant countries, and byproduct, their cats. France’s cat, Monsieur, was an absolute attention wh-. He really liked attention, and would rub himself against your leg anytime the two of you crossed paths. It’s not like France, or Francis, was much better.

It’s not like you minded petting him. He was adorable after all. The cat, not Francis. But you had wanted to meet as many other cats as you could and so you had to stop by Francis’ room multiple times to drop off Monsieur.

“Je suis désolé.” He said, taking Monsieur out of your arms. “He keeps getting out. But I guess he knows when there’s a lovely lady around.”

You ignored his attempts at flirting and instead scratched Monsieur’s chin one last time before leaving. He purred at you and while you felt bad about leaving him, you were on a mission! Besides, you had a certain Japanese cat to track down. Monsieur meowed at you as you walked down the hallway and if you didn’t know better you’d say so did Francis.

Either way, nothing was going to stop you from petting Tama, Japan’s cat. He was an adorable little black and white feline with the cutest little bob for a tail. You had actually spotted him earlier and was about to go up to him before Monsieur literally jumped into your arms, demanding attention. Of course you weren’t going to say no so Tama quickly left your sight as you went to return Monsieur. 

Wait, isn't Monsieur just sir in French? Oh well there was no time to think about questionable cat names, this building was full of them.

Monsieur wasn’t the only attention whore of a cat. Prussia’s cat, Purrussia, wasn’t much better. He would follow you down hallways and meow with his scratchy meow at you while Austria’s cat, Allegro, whined behind him. He literally tried to jump up at you a few times.

Of course both of them were interrupted when Hero ran straight at you and tackled you like a professional linebacker. You had thought that it was mostly fluff, but no, apparently Hero could pack a punch. He knocked the wind out of you as you fell backwards onto the tiled floor. The cat sat proudly on you and looked around like he was waiting for something or someone. Whoever he was waiting for, however, wouldn’t show up fast enough to see Purrussia return the favor and tackle Hero off of you, much to Allegro’s horror. 

The white cat had a German ribbon as well but it looked like it was fraying at the edges. The reason you were bringing this up was because Hero was currently using one of the edges to try to choke Purrussia and Allegro was using the other to try to pull Purrussia away from Hero. Neither was really working and all it was really doing was making Purrussia more and more agitated.

“PURRUSSIA!!!” A shrill voice yelled out from down the hallway.

The cats stopped their roughhousing to see two of the countries barrelling down towards them. Well Prussia was. Austria was slowly walking over, looking more inconvenienced than anything else.

“Purrussia! Purrussia!” Prussia reiterated, pulling his cat up by its arms. “Did jou vin?!”

Everyone but the two Prussians stared in disbelief at his statement. The albino feline furiously nodded his head and if he could have talked you would have imagined that he would have been saying, ‘I’m awesome!’

Hero angrily meowed down below, as if to oppose Purrussia’s non-verbal statement. Allegro just haughtily licked his paw and stuck his nose up as if to pretend that he was disgusted with their fighting as if he hadn’t just been a part of it. Austria picked up his in-denial cat and you picked up Hero who calmed down as soon as you did. 

“Sorry about him.” You said, brushing his unruly fur down with your hand. “He gets a little competitive.”

“Ja. It’s fine.” Austria said, petting his own cat. “Purrussia is not much better.”

“HEY!” Prussia yelled. “My awesome Purrussia is doing his best! And besides, at least he actually does something!”

“Jour cat picked a fight vith a vall (wall) Gilbert.” Austria sassed.

“Vell jour cat’s piano playing is trash!”

Austria gave a gasp of horror before inching closer to the Prussian.

“Jou take zat back, RIGHT NOW!”

Prussia just laughed, still letting Purrussia’s back paws dangle as he held him like one would a toddler. He got in close to the Austrian’s face, smiling deviously at him.

“Nein.”

He suddenly, while still holding Purrussia, took off, running away from Austria. He wasn’t far behind though and you could hear the man yelling in German all the way down the far corridor.

“Well Hero.” You said, looking down at the cat who had made himself very comfortable. “That was weird.”

He just snuggled closer to you and you sighed. You scratched him once more before heading down the opposite hallway. The destination was clear, before you could continue your cat quest, you’d have to get this one safely back to its owner.

You suddenly snapped back to reality, still sitting on the wall. The sun was now high in the sky and the spot underneath you was no longer cold. You were especially warm as you now had a Scottish Fold sitting comfortably upon your lap. Quietly cooing at the cat, you looked to see if there was any way to escape your furry prison. The most important rule of cats: once a cat sits on you, you’re not moving until they do.

You sighed, legs uncomfortably stiff. Scone was far more content and his bushy tail occasionally brushed against your leg. It was incredibly cute but it didn’t make your back stop hurting from being hunched over for the last half hour.

Voices came from farther within the garden. There were two people currently engaged in a soft conversation. You caught bits and pieces of it; there was a man with a British accent and a man with what you thought was American until you heard him say ‘aboot.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at your own observation, disturbing Scone in the process.

He scornfully meowed at you and you offered pets in an apology. Around the corner turned Scone’s owner and a man who looked incredibly similar to America. They both turned to look at you when the Scottish Fold you were fondling stretched out to impossible lengths and complained like a cat while he did it. England looked down at your lap to see his cat very happily cushioned on your thighs. The man next to him was also holding a cat who again looked very similar to America’s.

They were clearly different though. This man’s hair was more auburn and his eyes were a shade of impossible purple. There was also more of a wave to it whereas America’s hair was as straight as hair comes. Familiarity lit up in your eyes, not for the man however.

“Maple!” You exclaimed, wanting to go to the cat but also not willing to disturb the one on you. “How have you been?”

The men stared at you, wondering if you were talking to them or the cat. Of course Maple himself answered this as he jumped out of his owner’s arms and darted over to you. He gracefully climbed up the small wall and placed himself down by you. Scone was on your lap and he was nicer than Hero so as to not push him off. You moved one of your arms to pet Maple and kept the other on Scone. They were so cute you felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh.” A quiet voice spoke out. It came from the man behind England. “You’re Alfred’s secretary right?”

You smiled and nodded at the man. “And I assume that means you’re Canada, right?”

He looked a tad taken aback before nodding himself. “Yeah…” He trailed off and England instead picked up the conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching his furrball cat, Hero.” He walked over and leaned against the wall.

“I was. But then he and Boris got into a catfight… and then America and Russia got into a catfight.”

Canada laughed in the background but quickly covered it up. England stared at Scone, looking to see if there was anyway to get him off of you without being scratched himself. He had enough injuries, that should have scarred had he not been a country, from the cat. He shivered a bit, though also began to pet the feline, scratching his under the chin.

“That sounds like those two.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing your affections. Canada also came over to pet his own cat who ironically did smell like maple syrup. 

“Can I make you the villain of this story?” You asked England, gesturing to Scone. “I do actually have somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh I suppose I can assume that role.” He mused, carefully picking up his cat. He was not happy to be moved but England just shushed him.

Canada also picked up his cat who was slightly nicer about the whole thing. He fidgeted with Maple’s ear as he held him.

“I’m Matthew.” He said, carefully shifting Maple so he could put one arm out to shake your hand.

You finished the formal greeting. “I’m (Y/n).”

The other blonde butted in from the background. “I’m Arthur, love.”

“It’s very nice to formally meet both of you. Seeing you from across a meeting room doesn’t really count.” You smiled and gave a small pat to each of the feline’s heads. “Well I wasn’t kidding about needing to get somewhere. I really didn’t mean to get stopped as long as I did.” 

You playfully glared at the Scottish Fold sitting comfortably in his owner's arms. He promptly ignored you, instead turning around cutely. England apologized but you told him it was fine. You were at least 50% sure that Mr. Jones was probably still fighting with Russia. Those two really were like angry cats. You waved the two men off and went on your way to find out the answer to that question.

Instead of coming across two feuding superpowers, you came across two of the Asian nations’ cats. You had already met them both but this was the first time you were seeing them together. Tama was sitting up high on a shelf while China’s cat, Meowzedong, was angrily meowing at him from down below. Everytime he tried to climb up, Tama would use a paw and swipe a book or other object down at him.

You flinched as a very breakable, very expensive-looking, vase crashed down. It was this movement that alerted the two cats to your presence and Meowzedong wasted no time at all to come over to you and complain. Now you couldn’t exactly speak cat but you got the jist.

Bending down, you carefully picked up the cat. Meowzedong always had a weird clump of fur that looked almost like a ponytail that, no matter how much China cut it, always grew back. He yowled at you and pointed a furry paw in Tama’s direction. The other cat had already loafed on top of the high shelf and you looked at him, back at Meowzedong, back at Tama, and then back at Meowzedong again.

“I don’t know how tall you think I am but I’m not that tall.”

Meowzedong just narrowed his eyes and meowed at you again. You sighed, looking back at Tama. If he had a long enough tail to flick it at you he would’ve. Sensing the futility of his quest, Meowzedong instead spread himself out in your arms and if you didn’t know better you would have said that he was mocking Tama. And if you really didn’t know better you’d say that it was working and that the bobtail was getting more irritated by the second. The personifications might have had to act cordial but their cats had no such qualms.

Finally, Tama de-loafed himself and gracefully hopped down a few other layers before reaching the bottom. He gracefully walked over to you and sat on your foot… Well shoot. What were you supposed to do now?

So here you were, from one cat prison to the next. Standing in the middle of some random, out-of-the-way hallway because the nations’ cats were all attention-hogging, though very adorable, brats.

You didn’t know how much time had actually passed. There was no clock in the hallway, you didn’t wear a watch, and both of your hands were occupied so you couldn’t check your phone. As cute as they were, your legs felt like they were about to collapse in on themselves. You couldn’t even shift how you were standing because Tama had taken it upon himself to lay across both of your shoes. Your arms also felt like they were going to fall off at any second. Meowzedong wasn’t a particularly heavy cat but try holding anything over five pounds for longer than five minutes.

You were desperately hoping that either they would finally get bored and leave or someone would come to save you. Wow you guessed you really did need a “Hero” right about now… Dammit you thought that referencing needing a hero in your head would magically summon America or his equally hotheaded cat.

“Tama. Meowzedong.” You murmured. “Can you please get off?” You hoped to whatever god or gods were out there that they didn’t hear the desperation in your voice. Never show weakness to a cat.

The two cats made eye contact with each other for a moment and seemed to come to an agreement. Meowzedong stretched his body out before jumping onto the ground. Tama did the same but instead greeted Meowzedong when he landed.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you said that you collapsed onto the wooden floor below. You quickly got up however as you didn’t want them to see it as another chance to sit on you. At least not right now. You pulled out your phone to see all of the messages and calls you missed. You had put it on silent while watching Hero and forgot to turn it back to vibrate.

‘Oh my god Mr. Jones called me twenty-three times.’ You thought, frantic. ‘I’m gonna be in so much trouble!’

You raced down the hallway, startling a group of micronations as you went. There was no time to apologize! You had to keep your job! If not for you then for the cats!

Not even thinking to knock you burst open the door where America was staying, side note why wasn’t it locked? And were greeted with the sight of!... Mr. Jones… crying? His cat looked pretty dejected too and was currently hanging himself off the side of the bed like a rug.

“Sir?” His head shot up to look at you.

He quickly snapped his head back away, mushing at his face in an attempt to try to make it seem like he wasn’t crying.

“(Y-Y/n)” He stuttered for a second, before immediately going back to the hero persona. “Where’ve you been!?”

“Are you okay?” You ignore him, instead asking your own question.

You titiled your body to look at what he was looking at… Was that a framed picture of you?!

It didn’t matter because he was very quickly all in your face again. You could see what seemed to be a rapidly healing black eye and a tooth that hadn’t fully regrown in yet as he smiled at you. Just how long was he fighting with Russia for?

You sat him down on his bed, considering if you should even bother getting a medkit for him. Either way you ended up spending the rest of the day with him, watching movies and sitting what you considered a good ways away from each other on the plush couch. He apparently had a nicer room in all of England’s properties from when he used to live there during parts of the year.

Hero filled the gap in-between you of which America was mildly annoyed about. He kept trying to get you to use ‘Alfred’ but you insisted that it was unprofessional. He’d close the gap one day.

[graziadiocenterilpostino]

Student Spotlight: Lesly Valtierra

1. Tell us a bit about yourself and why you chose to study Italian.

Hello! My name is Lesly and I’m a third-year Italian major. I started learning Italian in high school, which is where my love for the Italian language started. As I was figuring out what I wanted to study in college I realized I had a great passion for the Italian language and culture and wanted to continue educating myself in that. Another thing that influenced me was my general love of languages and learning about different parts of the world and the culture and history that come with them.

2. You completed an internship for a local Long Beach-restaurant, Marlena. What kind of work did you do there? Did you have a favorite moment?

For my internship at Marlena, I was able to learn a ton about Mediterranean food and drinks. For example, wine, including pairings, history, types of grapes, geography, and ways to describe wine. Additionally, I was able to make fresh pasta with Chef Mike and learn about the processes in different places and the importance of ingredients.

I think one of my favorite moments there was doing a mock service with everyone, in preparation for the opening of the restaurant. I remember the practice being a little goofy since we had to role-play different scenarios and challenges that could potentially occur. It was so much fun to bring out our inner actor and to pretend to be difficult guests! It was such a cool way to learn about dealing with people politely and professionally.

3. This semester, you are partaking in a study abroad program in Venice. Can you describe this program for us? What are you looking forward to the most during your time abroad?

Yes! I’ll be studying at the Ca’ Foscari University in Venice, where I’ll be taking courses, mainly in Italian, to further practice my language and communication skills. I think that what I’m most excited about is partaking in different festivities while in Italy, such as Carnevale (which is coming up very soon 🙂). Additionally, I’m excited to make new friendships and travel around Italy getting to know the food scene better!

4. What are your favorite hobbies and a fun fact about yourself?

One of my favorite things to do is bake, especially anything with chocolate. I also like to be outdoors and go on bike rides or walks. I also like to read about ancient civilizations. Hopefully, I’ll be able to visit the ruins of all my favorite places one day! A fun fact about myself is that one time I fell off my bike in the middle of the road and people thought I got run over.

[octalove]

II: Blood and Ghosts

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader tries getting a clue. part one

“Typically, they steer clear of the Village, but that doesn’t appear to be the case as of recent. Oracle found out about an operation out of a Hadley’s Deli there- standard money laundering, but it also could’ve been linked to the shipment of cocaine that we found at the Yacht Basin.”

“Right. So what changed?”

“A better question would be what didn’t?”

A beat. The contrasting silence that followed jarred me from my thoughts as I glanced over and realized that Bruce was prompting me for an answer. Tim looked expectant and inquisitive, but that was sort of his default expression.

“Oh. Sorry. What?” I said apologetically.

“Maroni.” He said simply. Nothing came to mind. He didn’t express verbal disappointment as he turned back to Tim, but I knew it was there.

“Red Hood has been operating out of The Bowery. Maroni and Falcone are stubborn, but they’re losing. He’s pushing them north.”

“So moving to the Village isn’t expansion. It’s desperation.” Tim muttered thoughtfully.

“I believe so.”

“May I be excused?” I asked. Bruce glanced back to me, studying a moment. Scrutinizing every detail; not deciding whether or not to let me leave- rather, deciding why I wanted to. Then, he nodded. Seems he wasn’t in the mood to ask.

I swept up my laptop and phone, and ascended the stairs from the cave to the manor quickly, trying to escape the eyes boring into my back. Only when the cool, lemon-scented air of the manor filled my lungs did I breathe a sigh of relief. Alone. All I needed was few minutes alone. I scaled the marble steps to my room and shut the door.

I hadn’t told anyone that I saw him three nights ago. That I watched him murder a man in retribution for me. My alter ego, anyway. I don’t know why. Maybe because it would mean having to tell them I snuck away. Having to walk through every detail again; sights, sounds, smells. What Red Hood was wearing and what he sounded like, what gun he was holding and how he held it, what prompted him to fire, how many shots and how he acted when he did.

But if ever there was a time to be high-strung and anxious, it was when you were keeping secrets from Batman. And Oracle. And Nightwing. And Red Robin. And Robin. Damian in particular could smell a lie like blood in the water, and he wasn’t too polite to hold your gaze until he was certain you weren’t hiding anything. That, and the art of solidarity was still foreign to him- even if I did tell him in confidence, he would take it right to Bruce. Possibly the police. Maybe a news outlet or two just because it soothed his vindictive nature. I’d been avoiding him.

Evening bled into night, and I was barred from masked business on school nights, so I couldn’t even patrol to ease the anxious energy. Still, that meant less opportunity for Bruce to analyze my musculoskeletal ticks or whatever the hell he did to tell when I was nervous, so I decided it was a worthy trade-off and resigned myself to independent research.

Who the hell was Red Hood, anyway? Half of Gotham was looking for him, the other half was running from him. I opened my laptop.

His debut was The Viper House, a strip club in Little Italy that also functioned as a human trafficking hub when the owner, Renaldo, needed to buy his wife (or handful of mistresses) a new Blue Nile diamond. By the end, the building had to be gutted. There’s only so much crime scene clean-up can do with carpet.

Next came the kingpins. Blowing open a trafficking operation had a short grace period if you didn’t cut out the source. Italian mobsters, the Romani families, the crews that had built empires on drug and sex trade dropped like flies until they found that their numbers dwindled for the first time since Joker finally bit it. The dozens of loyal men on their payroll decided that empty pockets were better than a full grave, and when it came to the business of death, Red Hood was very persuasive. It went on like that for six months; he amassed men, power, weapons, and tech. Most importantly, a potent reputation. This was due in no small part to his creative footwork; he liked to send messages. One file covered an incident where Alphonso Kuznetsov decided to write Gotham’s new player an open letter in the evening column suggesting that if he decided to bring his business to Port Adams, he might find himself in a ‘watery grave’. Kuznetsov was found a week later when a fishing vessel drug an entire coffin from the bottom of the harbor, padlocked and full of water. He was bound, drowned, and gagged with a copy of the very paper that featured his message. Red Hood must have been in touch with his artistic sensibilities; it was all very Shakespearean.

Of course, these were all just words. Rumors and hearsay. All I knew of the Red Hood from my intimate encounter was that he had a quick hand, an incendiary temper, and he didn’t fucking like creeps. All the makings of vigilante, if you chose to see it like that.

I sighed. Two hours and none of my research gave me any indication of why me. Why the hell should Red 57-kill-count Hood care if some goon told me he like the way I looked in my suit? I may has well have been the veiled threats of Kuznetsov’s evening column for all my inconsequence to him.

But it all kept running through my mind. Backwards and forwards. The vitriol in his voice preluding the barbarity of his reprimand. The way he said little Batgirl, like the crime was that I’d been engaged at all. More than the memory, something was telling me to keep digging. Something dragging me back to Crime Alley with the current of the running blood through Little Italy’s gutters.

I had to do something. And if that something wasn’t going to Bruce, then school tomorrow would have to wait.

The morning went along as per usual. I woke up at six, dawned my Gotham Academy uniform, grabbed a muffin and coffee, completed a complicated and well-practiced secret handshake with Tim (that Dick was secretly jealous of), and was out the door at 6:30, keys jingling in Alfred’s hand.

He dropped me off outside the ornate gothic academy, and I waved goodbye as I skipped backward along the cobblestone walkway. Once his black Mercedes was a pinpoint on the horizon, I promptly turned heel from the front doors, heading East toward the Narrows. Catching the subway there would take me as far as the Knight’s Stadium, and from there it was a short distance to the Alley. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in my academy uniform- anyone who gave a shit could pretty confidently deduce that school was in session at 8am on a Tuesday, and no student native to the Alley could afford a private education, so I was bound to draw eyes. I hadn’t packed an extra outfit incase Tim or Alfred got suspicious- that was paranoia puppeteering. I wasn’t used to skipping school. I’d have to make due.

Crime Alley in broad daylight was a brand new experience. At night, at least the smoke unfurling from the sewer grates hit the flickering streetlights and offered an unconventional charm. During the day, it was like shedding light on a foul sin. I was starkly out of place, and even the lapdog-sized rats seemed to know it, scurrying back across gritty concrete when I passed by. I looked for familiar things I’d seen the other night- a run-down apartment complex, a gated liquor shop, a meager but menacing corner-store, busy with glaring laymen reluctantly dragging out their wallets for a pack of cigarettes. I caught the eye of a woman sitting on the curb with a paper-bag bottle for company, and she scowled.

Spurned by the rats, and now by the people, I was running out of options. Sticking close to the buildings that perimetered the square, I moved in tandem with the motion of the locals, so as not to draw any eyes by looking lost. It was an unnerving scape; too quiet for my liking, but just empty enough to feel safely underseen. I made my way past familiar landmarks until I finally stood before the warehouse where I’d been.

I listened; no sound from inside. Even henchmen have day jobs. Jimmying the rusty padlock was just a matter of brandishing a bobby-pin from my hair, and the heavy metal door swung open without much resistance. I cautiously picked my way around crates and boxes, unsure of what I was looking for. Clues, maybe. Proof that he was here and dropped a body in my name, amen.

There was a dark, daunting stain on the floor where Hoffman’s body was. A phantom gunshot echoed in my ears, along with a nauseating sound of flat-back weight slapping concrete.

“Ain’t school in session?” I spun on my heel, meeting the red helm of a towering man draped in leather and armor. My mouth went dry. My right foot slipped back into a fighting stance before I remembered I was in cashmere and plaid, not kevlar. Not that I even stood a chance either way; but at least he seemed to harbor good will toward Batgirl. Wordlessly, I took a few steps back until I was standing over the blood and ghosts of Hoffman’s demise.

“P-please. Don’t- don’t hurt me.” I rasped.

I could play the rebellious, morose teenager and come up with something like it was a dare, or I could offer no explanation and simply cry.

Red Hood’s head tipped one way. His hands were empty- for now. Two heavy-looking glocks hung on his waist. I didn’t want to die on top of Hoffman’s blood stain. There was a level of symbolism there I was deeply unprepared to spend my final moments analyzing.

“Lookin’ for something, darlin’?” I swallowed- unable to say you.

“Wh-What do you want?” I asked.

He laughed, but it was humorless. Lacking whatever key component made laughs so appealing. As though the sound rung off the gravestones of uncanny valley before reaching my ears. “I think we’re both asking stupid questions.” He said. I was fucked. He outweighed me by a hundred pounds, and could out-draw me even if I had a weapon. I had no explanation for my being here that suited a civilian, and my phone was in my bag, meaning help was a world away.

But just as soon as he advanced a few paces, he stopped, and gestured to the crimson beneath my feet.

“Enjoy the show the other night?” He asked, before pulling something out of his jacket pocket and twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease. A batarang.

“You forgot somethin’.”

Cold, knife-like fear erupted in my spine, driven to the hilt. He knew. How did he know? What the hell was I supposed to do? My terror must have shown on my face, because he stopped fidgeting.

“It’s okay, babydoll. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“H-how-“

He moved again, slow, lazy strides until he was no more than an inch from me.

“Who are you?” I asked, figuring if I was gonna die, I should at least know that much.

His hands grabbed mine. The leather of his gloves was cool on my skin, but it barely registered for the closeness of him. I stared at the red bat symbol on his chest, jagged and angry looking. I blinked and looked down slowly as he closed my fingers around the cold metal of the batarang.

“Go home, little bird.” It was a cold, seething demand, his voice snagging on the scrambler to make it sound like a low growl.

“Tell Batman when he’s ready to stop sending his toy soldiers,” His hand went under my chin, tilting my head upward. My breath shook as I drew it, hitching, even though the man before me was faceless. Clean, red monochrome, glinting in the light.

“I’m getting impatient.” *

I walked through the manor door in a daze, the cold steel batarang searing my palm.

Bruce and Damian were in the living room, each invested in their own reading material. The grandfather clock ticked his steady tempo, and I inconspicuously adjusted the bag on my shoulder. Bruce had a steaming cup of coffee on the glass side table beside his leather chair.

“How was school?” He asked, not looking up. My paranoia convinced me it sounded rhetorical, but I shrugged anyway.

“Same old.” A glance, to see if my lie had landed.

Damian was the spitting image of his father. He, along with Tim, operated in the wake of being an only child, so he never did care about how I did in school, or much of anything else in my orbit. If at any point he did, he never thought to ask. Father and son looked like a matching set of dolls sitting there, cross-legged, with dark hair and gaunt eyes, both leanly muscular, and habitually poised; a consequence of being from the upper echelon of each of their respective backgrounds.

“Hey, um, are you going out tonight?” I asked.

“I am.”

“Can I come?”

“Are you certain you want to?” He still didn’t look up.

I blinked. “Um… yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been distracted since the last outing.”

Damian visibly tuned in.

“Oh. Sorry. I had a big paper I was worried about for school, but I turned it in today, so I’m good to go.” I threw him a thumbs up, even though he wasn’t looking.

A beat.

“Very well, then. Nine o’clock.��

I nodded, and headed toward the stairs.

“Y/N,” I stopped, and turned around. He was looking at me now, eyes blue and steady.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you did well?”

“…”

“On the paper.”

I threw him a smile. “The best.”

[iammultifandomaf]

Chapter 4 - Italy

BROTHERHOOD

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12211562/4/

Finally, Stiles and Lydia were about to fly away on their little trip to Italy. It was quite exhausting for both of them, mainly because Lydia had to repack their suitcases in order to fit into the prescribed weight that the airline had for their planes, and their flight was early in the morning. Stiles made them several sandwiches the day before for breakfast and for later at the airport which was very useful when the time came.

Their flight took around long nine hours which were filled with talking, reading, movie watching and of course, sleeping. Lydia brought a special book with her by Barbusse with the childish stubborness that she can also read such a book as John. After several chapters, she understood why the bearded man said what he said. It wasn't a relaxing book, indeed.

When they finally arrived to the airport, found their luggage and bought a Starbucks coffee, they exited the huge building into the chilly weather outside. The couple didn't have a precise plan on how to get to their hotel, so they kept standing at the sidewalk for a while, looking around at the unknown surroundings.

Stiles noticed a taxi at the corner and nodded to it. "So, let's take that," he suggested but Lydia didn't answer. She was staring in the opposite direction, not listening to whatever Stiles had said. She suddenly turned her head to her impatient boyfriend and asked with a chuckle: "What?"

"I was just asking if-"

Lydia understood at once what he meant and cut him off: "Don't you wanna rent a car? I could drive if your bottom is too lazy."

"What? I'm not lazy, I don't know what you're talking about."

"So, let's rent a car, huh?"

And so they rented a Škoda Octavia, silver color. Lydia quickly hopped into the drivers seat whilst Stiles put their suitcases into the trunk. He sat down next to his girlfriend who was already impatiently drumming her fingers on the leathered wheel. Stiles withdrew a small map from his jacket pocket and laid it open in front of him. Lydia stared at him in disbelief while he was studying the map through.

"You are kidding, right?" Lydia chuckled at Stiles who raised his gaze from the cartography lying on his knees.

"Did I say something funny?" Stiles said with feigned bewilderment.

"We are living in the information age, you know that right?" she asked and reached for the map to confiscate it but was tenderly struck by his fingers.

"Don't you touch my map, missy. I know what I'm doing. I'll just look at the map for a bit and then I'll know the way for sure. I had lived here anyways. Or did you let this tasty detail of my past slip your mind already?"

"Well, no. But-"

"So gimme a sec, sweetie," he said with a smirk and returned to his careful map-reading. In several minutes, he swiftly packed his map into his pocket, again, and began instructing the slightly impatient driver.

Lydia was quite surprised by Stiles' good memory because he seemed to remember a lot of places, streets, shops and even the round abouts, even though he had been living elsewhere for such a long time.

After a half an hour full of detailed directions, they arrived to the Hotel Pfösl. Lydia pulled up in front of the building, letting Stiles to get out of the car and fetch their luggage from the trunk. Whilst he carried the baggage into the lobby, Lydia found a nice spot to park in.

When Lydia finally came to the lobby, Stiles had already prepared all their documents needed for the check in. The process of checking-in was rather smooth and fast and the couple landed in their room with the number 1936 which made Stiles for some reason snort in amusement. Lydia arched her eyebrow at him but he simply ignored her and entered their room.

Being the time for dinner, they decided to visit the village where the hotel was located in and find a nice-looking restaurant. After a few minutes of walking, white cold snowflakes began to fall down at their heads, so they run into the first pub they had encountered.

As they sat down, a grumpy waitress approached them and asked for their order which was way too fast for the couple and Lydia just pointed to the table across the room and confidently said: "We'll have what they're having."

The woman with the roman-shaped nose rose her eyebrow and looked behind her shoulder to see whom Lydia meant. She shrugged, visibly exchanging the position of her chewing gum in her mouth, and left. Stiles watched her go and then returned his focus on his redhead in front of him.

"She was nice," he said with a smile which made Lydia giggle a bit.

"The nicest of them all," Lydia agreed and glanced over the bar where the waitress stood at the beer pipes, watching back at their table. Lydia abruptly looked away and said with a whisper: "I think she's checking you out. I guess she sensed out your italian origins."

An entertained smile grew on Stiles' face as he continued to play this game. "Then you ought to be extra careful that she doesn't lure me away."

"No way she's doing that!" Lydia said and let her fist hit the table in an appropriate volume.

The evening passed quickly and their food was eaten with admirable speed. The couple ended up drinking their alcoholic beverages. Lydia was swallowing down her beer whilst Stiles studied his fourth glass of wine with his hazels.

"She really stares a lot," Lydia commented the impolite behavior of the grumpy waitress.

"Some people tend to stare," Stiles said, not giving the woman much of a thought.

"Is it possible that she knows you?" Lydia asked, creating a small fictional image of small Stiles with missy grumpy together in her mind. Stiles turned his head around to look at the personnel behind the bar and then shook his head: "Nah... Would have remembered such a glamorous person."

Lydia paused for a while, recounting the amount of wine Stiles had had and blurted out a question:"Are you still in contact with somebody from here?"

"Hm, not anymore," Stiles said, appearing a little sad even.

"But you were...?"

"Um, yeah. Of course."

"What happened?"

"We went different paths I'd say. More like he chose to leave but I guess he didn't have a choice. I don't even know anymore."

"Why did he leave?"

"Uh, my life situation changed and suddenly it wasn't quite suited for... um, his way of life? Not sure how to explain it. So he left."

"Were you close?"

"Very."

"What a dick."

"Come again?" Stiles' eyes widened in surprise, not expecting this reaction.

"You just don't leave when it gets tough. That's so coward-ish. Like what the hell? Whoever it was, he left you when you went through a change or whatever. He was supposed to stay and support you. Gosh. I hate these selfish kind of people."

"Hm," he hummed and looked down at his glass. Lydia decided not to dig into his friendship which had fallen apart and changed the topic to more joyful things which created the usual smile on Stiles' face.

After they finished their drinks, the couple headed to their hotel through the dark of night. Lydia clung to Stiles' forearm and giggled at his monologue he was having about how he loathes today's technology.

At once, Stiles grunted with pain as something hit the back of his head and he fell on Lydia who tried to support his weight with all her strength whilst she looked around for the attacker. Behind them was a man with a baseball bat and a woman with a revolver in her hand, directed at Stiles. Lydia tried to stand up but was stopped by the woman: "You stay down, redhead. Let go of him."

Lydia ignored the command she was given and squeezed Stiles even tighter. Stiles' vision came back to him and he started to move as well but he only got struck, again, which was the last thing he was conscious of.

"What the fuck?!" Lydia yelled at them, scanning the way for any potential help but there was not one living soul. The man began grabbing Stiles by his torso which made Lydia jump at her boyfriend, protecting him with her whole body.

"Stop!" Lydia cried.

"Get of off him, or I will shoot you," the woman threatened, cocking the barrel at Lydia.

"God, kill me but don't take him!" Lydia begged, her eyes filling up with tears.

"We're not interested in you," the man said and pulled Stiles' limp body from under Lydia. The redhead rose to her feet and marched to the man who swinged his bat, hitting Lydia and knocking her out.

Everything went black and Lydia felt how she fell on the cold solid ground.

When she regained consciousness again, she was alone. No Stiles. No attackers.

[matkomakto]

When and why did I choose the languages I learn?

As a break from my thesis, I want to describe my life-long adventure with foreign languages. All this started when I was 9 or 10, it was a boring summer holiday. I had nothing to do, so I rewatched all the Barbie movies. I knew them by heart, so to change something I watched them in all the languages possible. However, each language has a different story, so I’ll describe them separately.

English: I started English when I was 6, I loved it from the very beginning. In the primary schools I always scored A’s and B’s, I frequented additional classes till the age of 11. It got worsen in secondary school, I don’t know if I didn’t like the teacher or the teacher didn’t like me, somehow my grades were much worse than before. However, on the finals I scored 100% and 88%. In the high school I felt my love for this language again. I can say without doubt I was the best student in my group, even though I didn’t get engaged into competitions etc. I simply didn’t want to, but that’s a different story. When I realised I made a mistake having chosen a science class, I decided to take up a preparing course to the extended matura exam, which I managed to pass with 82% result. Then, I chose to study English at uni, and I must admit, it has been a 3-year holiday.

German: In the secondary school I had to choose a second language. My choice was German. When I struggled with English, it was German which still gave me the happiness. Actually, it was my first German teacher who noticed my talent for languages. She took care of me, engaged me into several competitions. After one year of additional lessons with her I knew as much as after 3 years of secondary school. Though, I really regret that I chose German in high school. I wasted 3 years during which I could have continued the study on my own and not repeating the basics each year. Now it’s been 9 years as I’m struggling with this hella boi. Even if I’m not as advanced as I would like to be, I enjoy learning it.

Spanish: I’m not sure if I can say that I have ever studied it. I’d rather say that I acquired it. Since I remember, I’ve been watching various Mexican telenovelas and somehow I managed to acquire it without officially learning it. I remember that once I was desperately looking for episodes of one of these telenovelas, but the only version was without subtitles or anything. However, when I started watching I realised that I can understand almost everything. After 6 months (and matura exams) I decided to buy some textbooks and start the official study. In 3 years I’m nearly fluent.

Italian: Honestly, I have no idea when my desire to learn Italian started. Maybe it was when I was 13, or when my cousin started learning it in high school. I started studying it in 2017, one month after I had taken up Spanish. In the first two years my progress wasn’t huge, it all changed when I became a fangirl of Il Volo and when I decided to go to Italy the following year. Believe me, I wanted to give it up several times seeing that I wasn’t progressing as fast as with Spanish. Now I can say that my Italian is only a bit worse than Spanish.

Norwegian: I wanted to learn a language of one of the Scandinavian countries. I lowkey neglected it now, but I’m still able to understand short texts and it enabled me to understand also Swedish and Danish.

Czech: C'mon, I’m Polish. I love the sweet sound of this language, it makes me laugh sometimes. If you ever asked yourself how Slavic languages sound for the speakers of another Slavic lang, for me Czech sounds like children’s speech. And this feeling keeps me very interested in it. A few months ago I managed to hold my first short conversation in Czech.

Hungarian: It looks so surreal. Also, Hungarian natives are very helpful people and they often learn Polish. Polak, Węgier — dwa bratanki —  együtt harcol s issza borát. Unfortunately, there are very few resources for this wonderful language and Hungarian Duolingo course is the least helpful thing.

Russian/Ukrainian: I joined them together since they have quite similar stories. I fell in love with their soft sounds and a bit hard accents and also made my Ukrainian uni friends into checking my exercises XD. I took up Russian when I finished Ukrainian, sometimes I mix both of them. For example, in Naples I had a conversation with one Ukrainian woman and we used Ukrainian, mixed with Russian, mixed with Polish and Italian (we can register it as  a conlang, I swear). 

Portuguese: I never really planned it. It was an impulse, when speaking with my friend Heloísa. She said that the next language I should pick up should be Portuguese. Here we go!

Greek: It’s my #1 on my to-learn list. The love for this language is dated back for the Barbie movies era. For now, I’m able to read short captions even though I don’t understand what they say. And I always criticised my Maths and Physics teachers’ handwriting, the most horrible thing I have ever seen.

[ellisdeluca]

LORENZO  ZURZOLO  ❙  CISMALE   ⟿  looks  like  ELISEO  ‘ELLIS’  DE  LUCA  is  here  for  HIS  FIRST  year  as  a  HISTORY  student.  HE  is  19  years  old  &  known  to  be  ASTUTE,  PERTINACIOUS,  OSTENTATIOUS  &  FACETIOUS.  They’re  living  in  PERKINS,  so  if  you’re  there,  watch  out  for  them.  

hello  hello  !  i'm  fae  ,  i'm  twenty  ,  my  tz  is  gmt  &  i  use ��she  /  her  pronouns  !  i  chose  this  gif  for  the  sole  reason  that  it  is  so  ellis-esque  that  i  could  SCREAM  (  ellis  is  Baby  .  but  make  it  grumpy  &  hostile  .  )  i  actually  ???  think  he  is  literally  the  baby  of  the  rp  at  nineteen  years  old  hehe  but  ANYWAY  :  i  have  a  busy-ish  day  today  with  studying  for  an  exam  tomorrow  but  i  will  be  able  to  get  to  ims  &  hopefully  won't  be  too  tired  for  interactions  later  tonight  .  you  can  find  more  about  eliseo  below  the  cut  and  i  can't  wait  to  write  with  you  all  !

statistics

full  name  :  eliseo  andre  de  luca  .   nicknames  :  ellis  ,  de  luca  .   date  of  birth  :  november  2nd  .   star  sign  :  scorpio  . pronouns  :  he  /  him  .  (  cismale  ) sexuality  :  homosexual  ,  homoromantic  .   place  of  birth  :  bologna  ,  italy  .   languages  spoken  :  italian  ,  english  ,  french  .

biography

eliseo was born in italy to elena and leonardo de luca, a wealthy couple who had everything they’d always wanted despite the baby they’d always dreamed of. eliseo’s entire existence, therefore, had a lot to live up to. 

despite being born in italy, eliseo spent a lot of his childhood travelling europe and moving from place to place. they eventually settled in london when eliseo was thirteen, where he attended boarding school which ... was a Wild Ride honestly eliseo kinda thrived 😳

life was pretty good for eliseo - his parents weren’t the most attentive at times, considering they’d always wanted a child to fawn over, but more than made up for it with splashing the cash on their little pride and joy. he was SPOILED 

which made it all the more harder when everything came crashing down around him :// mr leonardo de luca ? was a big fat SCAMMER and ended up going down for fraudulent activities , leaving eliseo and his mother alone to fend for themselves . he had to grow up FAST ; juggling the last year of sixth form with working in any way he could to support his mother. 

he pitied his family, but mostly he resented them for how their lives had turned out and knew he wanted out as soon as he possibly could. he finished his a-levels with straight A*’s, and applied to attend radcliffe without hesitation.

personality

i guess you could call eliseo a bit of a fraud himself. he still acts as if he hasn’t got a problem in the world, spends his money on ridiculously pretentious things, and talks about his family as if nothing has happened. he’s kind of just living in a dream world. in reality he is scared about what will come of him, whether he’ll make it in the world or whether he’ll just flop and becoming nothing.

he takes his studies pretty seriously because he’s driven to succeed, but he’s naturally always been v v intelligent so it’s nothing he gets particularly stressed over. 

he’s kind of a big head Honestly :/ loves himself a little too much

a big flirt , but in the kind of way that he makes fun of you and is then like ???? why won’t they shag me 😔

likes to party but can sometimes take it a lil too far, definitely a bad influence 

he’s quite closed off; it’s rare that he’ll sit and talk about his feelings to anyone. he’s always held his cards close to his chest in fear of rejection ??? disappointment ??? who knows, but he’s by no means an open book. his parents don’t even know that he’s gay because he just doesn’t talk.

talking about his parents... he doesn’t really communicate with either of them :/ as far as he’s concerned, they’re just a part of his past that he doesn’t want to address (like every other hurdle in his life Oop) 

random add-ons

somebody hug him . please . he needs a hug . 

he has a little bit of an accent when he speaks; but it’s a jumbled mix of General European-esque and english 

he got a tattoo on his thigh when high just for the lols, it’s just a little crown outline because he evidently thinks he’s god’s greatest gift 

he has a habit of letting everything build up and then overwhelm him terribly, so if you hear objects smashing in his room ??? don’t knock 

again : somebody hug him . please .

[lionheartslowstart]

Getting To Know Me

I had a rough start during quarantine. My mental health was dipping pretty low, I felt isolated and bored, and I was alone with my thoughts so the body dysmorphia was turned up pretty high. I’m not sure what happened, but somehow, I was able to do a complete 180. I’m taking the time to change my lifestyle and find ways to make myself happier, because, what the fuck else am I going to do during quarantine?

First things first, I’ve changed my sleep cycle. Huzzah! I went from falling asleep at 3-5 am and waking up at 1-3 pm, to falling asleep at 10-11:30 pm and waking up at 7-8:30 am. Crazy right? Somewhere in there I hit a couple bumps in the road, so now it’s been more like falling asleep around midnight and waking up between 9 and 10. Still way better than how it was before, but I’m trying to work back down to at least 8 in the morning. This was incredibly challenging for me, and a huge victory. My energy levels have increased, and my mood has generally been better.

I’ve started doing yoga. Yes, you read that correctly. I’ve been doing yoga for almost three weeks now. It’s the first thing I do when I wake up. My best friend turned me on to this amazing app, Daily Yoga. Highly recommend. I do yoga for two days in a row then rest the third day, which is what the app suggests. I’ve been taking courses, beginner courses specifically since I’m new to this whole yoga thing. The sessions started at about 10-15 minutes, and they’ve increased to 20-30 minutes or so. Not very long, but I figure I’m doing it almost every day, which I’m told is better than long, intense workouts less frequently. I’m hoping to increase to 45-60 minute long sessions. Though, once society resumes and I start school, I may no longer be able to do it every day. But that’s why I’m trying to increase now. If I can only do yoga a few times a week instead of every day, I want to be stronger so I can participate in longer routines, and so I can challenge myself with more difficult poses.

In addition to my almost daily yoga, I have a short work out regimen I do every day, including on days I don’t do yoga. I do 100 squats, 50 crunches, 50 lower abdominal crunches, and 60 oblique crunches. Every. Single. Day. Some days I don’t want to, but I force myself, and I’m always glad I do. I also try to go on walks, especially on non-yoga days. There’s a lovely trail right by my apartment, so I try to get in at least 30 minutes. Like I said, I’ve only been doing this stuff for about three weeks, so it’s not like I’ve lost weight or anything. But I do feel stronger, and I think I look a little stronger. Also, my butt is poppin’ thanks to all the squats. I don’t know if it’s because I’m feeling stronger, or because the exercise is helping with my mental health, maybe a bit of both, but my body dysmorphia has seen a drastic decrease. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely still have bad days, but I would say that, overall, I’m obsessing about my body less, and shitting on my body less. There have even been several days where I see myself in the mirror and think, Damn, I look good.

Other than fitness, I have added a couple of other things to my day-to-day. I’ve been making sure to practice my Spanish on Duolingo every day for about ten minutes. Not only that, but I started taking French, too, which I also practice for ten minutes a day. Unlike Spanish, French is very difficult for me. I’ve studied Spanish since middle school, and while there was a large lapse in my speaking of it, it came back to me very quickly. I’ve always loved the language, and grasping it came easy to me. French, not so much. It’s way harder than Spanish. Just, generally. The grammar is less consistent, most of the differences in words are in how things are written out and NOT how they are actually spoken, so as a result, all of the words sound the fucking same, there are 80 fucking vowels to memorize, and, to top it all off, the pronunciation is super difficult already. I hate it. I love it. The challenge is the fun! My mom and I were supposed to go to France this summer (fat chance now, I know), which is why I chose French as my second language to learn. My mom speaks French, but I figure if I’m going to be spending time in a foreign country, I might as well at least try to understand what’s going on around me, as opposed to solely relying on my mother to get us around.

Another thing I’ve been working on is learning guitar. This is something I’d been doing before quarantine began, but being in quarantine has allowed me to practice a lot more. I’ve added guitar practice to my regimen, although there’s been a pause in that, as the handle for the case broke on the way to my mom’s house for a lesson, so the guitar will be remaining there until the new case arrives. But before that (and presumably after we get the new case), I’d been practicing every day. I would practice all the chords I know and play through the two songs I’ve been working on two or three times. At my most recent lesson with my mom, we downloaded a P!nk song online, and she taught me a new chord so I could play it. Now I know 10 chords: G, C, D, D7, Em, E, A, Am, A7sus, and Bb (aka, the hardest chord ever). Obviously, I still have a lot to learn, but I’m proud of the progress I’ve made. Guitar is hard, but I’m determined.

So, these 5 things (yoga, daily workout, Spanish, French, and guitar, in that order) are how I begin my day, every day. I usually finish anywhere from 10 to noon, depending on how early I wake up. This frees up the rest of my day for household chores, errands, cooking, calling my friends, video games, overall chillaxin’, and various creative endeavors like crafting or writing. But this has led to two different results, one positive and one negative.

The positive effect is that I have a schedule. My mornings are pretty set in stone, and I try to organize the rest of my day as best I can. I use a “To Do List” every day, and I include my leisurely activities on it as well so I can put everything in some kind of order. I try to accomplish any chores or errands I have in the middle of the day (with the exception of doing the dishes and cleaning the stove, which I do every night after dinner), and spend the rest of the day having fun and relaxing. I end every night by reading in bed for about thirty minutes, which has definitely helped with my sleep cycle. All of this has led me to the conclusion that I can be functional in a regular society.

The negative outcome is that I’m still bored. When I was living in Italy, I was constantly anxious because life is so slow-paced there. Other than my classes, I felt like I had nothing to do, which was a stark difference from life in the Big Apple. It just felt weird to have all this time on my hands, and as a result, I often felt unproductive. I also didn’t take as much advantage of the free time as I should have, but that largely had to do with the state of my mental health at the time, as well as just not being used to having buttloads of leisure time and therefore not knowing what to do with it. With everything going on, life right now feels really similar to how it did in Italy. Like I said, I finish my routine by the end of the morning, and then the rest of my day is just a big blank space that I try to fill with everything and anything else.

But even this has led to another positive realization! When I started this journey three weeks ago, I was afraid that when society reforms, my schedule will fall apart and I’ll become overwhelmed because I’ll suddenly have a lot of other things I need to do (namely school and medical appointments). I definitely still have anxiety about that, especially since school will be incredibly demanding, but that anxiety is beginning to lesson. Why? For the same reason I’m bored all the time! My morning routine only takes a couple hours. Even if I have to switch to the evening because of school, or split it up into half one day and half another, it will still be manageable. I know I will have space for the other demands in my life. As my mom has said to me, it’s a lot easier to go from having one schedule to having a different schedule, than to go from having no schedule at all to having a schedule. I’m sure there will be adjustments, maybe ones I haven’t thought of. But I’ll be able to figure it out, even if there are bumps in the road (which I’m sure there will be), because I’m building a skillset.

So, what does all of this have to do with the title of this entry, “Getting To Know Me?” I was on the phone with my therapist the other day, telling her about all the progress and positive changes I’ve made, and how I’ve been feeling as a result. She responded, “You’re getting to know yourself.” This took me by surprise, which I voiced to her. I told her that I’ve always prided myself on knowing exactly who I am, but I nevertheless thought she was right. That, yes, I do know Who I Am, but, as with everything else, I’m discovering even more. I keep peeling back layer after layer, I keep thinking I’ve reached the core, but then I tap a few times and realize, Oh fuck yeah! There’s even more! 

I’ve learned that I like waking up early in the morning. My goal is to be able to wake up at 7 or 7:30 every day. (This doesn’t change the fact that I love nighttime, which will no doubt cause me issues down the line, but I’ll figure it out.) I love learning languages. I want to be able to speak Spanish and French fluently. Maybe I’ll even try learning Italian after! I want to be able to speak as many languages as I can cram into my brain. I’ve learned that I can take this fitness journey, and I’m enjoying it. It’s okay that I’m still a beginner, and that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of being an expert if I keep going. And I can live without sweets. I still treat myself every now and then (and when I do, portion control is still an issue I’m trying to work on), but for the most part I don’t crave chocolate or sugar the way I used to. I’m currently attempting to go two weeks without dairy. Now that has been HARD. The exceptions being anything that comes with my Blue Apron meals, because I’m not going to waste food, and putting a little bit of milk in my coffee, because I can’t not have a little bit of milk in my coffee. But in terms of breakfast, lunch, and snacking, zero dairy. I’ve substituted Pringles and Pop Tarts for fruits, applesauce, and (non-dairy) yogurt. I’m only on day three, but I’m confident I can make it to day fourteen. I’ve learned that I have more energy than I thought I did, which is huge. I’d been so used to feeling sluggish and exhausted, I had no idea I have the capacity to feel this energized! The best part is that I know it’s because I’m doing all of these things that MAKE me feel energized. And they make me feel energized because they make me happy. Even sitting here writing this, I’ve just thought of more things I want to work on while I have this time. And I’m going to! I have the time, all I need to do is remember to add it to my To Do List.

I know it’s a scary time right now. I don’t want to pretend it isn’t, or that a lot of lives haven’t been lost, or that we shouldn’t take it seriously. But taking it seriously involves staying at home as much as possible, and if we’re stuck at home anyway, shouldn’t we make the most of it?

[camillemontespan]

the right girl [drake walker x MC]

So I asked for some prompts and the lovely @drakesensworld  suggested I rewrite the scene when they are in Italy and stage a fake proposal so they can distract the press and track down the photographer. Instead of Maxwell fake proposing as per the book, instead it will be Drake. The fake proposal ends up being a bit too realistic. I actually never chose this option when I was playing the book, so hopefully, I’ve managed to do this justice? Anyway, I’mma write (i’m sorry if this prompt hasn’t turned out the way you wanted!)

'We need a distraction,' Camille decided. The group had been socialising at the diplomatic dinner in Italy while continuing their investigation into who took the fake photographs of Camille. They knew the photographer was at the event, it was just finding the right moment to distract the press.

'Camille, slap me in the face! They'll love that,' Maxwell said. 'But not too hard because I bruise like a peach.'

Camille shook her head. 'I'm sorry but slapping you would be like saying no to a puppy. I can't do it.'

'Ooh someone propose!' Hana squealed. 'It would be so fun!' Olivia rolled her eyes. 'Really? God that's sickening.'

'It could work..' Drake said. Olivia's eyes sparked. 'Well, Drake, if you're offering.. Propose to Camille.'

Drake's eyes widened. 'No way, no. I'm not doing that. Anything but that.' Olivia smirked. She knew how much Drake liked Camille.  Unlike everyone else, Olivia wasn’t blind. 'I think you protest too much, Walker..'

Camille groaned. 'Drake, just do it. We'll lose our chance if we don't act soon.' Drake let out a frustrated sigh. 'Fine. Who's got a ring?'

Olivia pulled a diamond ring off her finger and tossed it to him. 'Here. It's my least favourite one.' Drake caught it and looked at the diamond. It was huge. He didn't want to propose with a tacky gobstopper. You're not actually proposing, you idiot.

Sighing, he motioned for Camille to sit down. She frowned but obliged anyway. 'Guys, will you move away so that the press can actually see what's about to happen?' Drake whispered sharply. 'Ah sure, yeah, sorry!' Hana apologised, grabbing Maxwell and skipping over to the corner of the room. She was far too excited about this.

Drake cleared his throat. He could see Camille was studying him, a look of confusion on her face. 'Drake. Why are you getting nervous?'

She knew him so well. 'I'm not nervous,' he muttered. 'Just stage fright, that's all. Drama was never my forte at school.' She giggled and nudged her foot against his leg. 'Come on, propose away. I promise I'll say yes.'

Drake turned a shade of pink and looked down the floor. It's just acting. It's a distraction.

He coughed and then, deliberately to attract attention, said loudly, 'Camille Montespan.' Some of the press turned to look but not all. It was fine. This was a good start. He cleared his throat and bent down on one knee. Oh dear God, this is really happening. How humiliating.

'Camille,' he said. 'I've been thinking about this for a long time. I've been thinking about us, I mean. Us, together.' He blushed and tried to ignore the hush around the room as the diplomats and socialites around them realised what was happening. He looked up briefly and Camille gave him an encouraging smile.

'You make me happy. On my bad days, I just have to think about you and it helps. Instantly. You've got that effect on me,' he told her, his mouth quirking up at the corners. Was he getting into this? He was, wasn't he?

'You make me a better person. I used to be distant, angry. I took it out on people who didn't deserve it. I put up walls so nobody could hurt me. But you.. You brought those walls down. You brought them down so easily, like it was nothing. You know what I’m thinking. You know how I feel without me having to say anything. And I know how you feel without you needing to say a word. We can read each other so well. You’re like my own reflection.’

Camille was staring at him now, her mouth agape. Clearly, she had been expecting a very short proposal, a simple distraction, nothing compared to this speech that Drake was suddenly reciting. Drake found that he couldn't stop. He genuinely couldn't stop talking and confessing every feeling he had for her.

'You take me seriously and you understand me. You've made me a better man and for that, I will be eternally grateful, Camille. But I would also be eternally grateful if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife.' He held up Olivia's diamond ring. He tried not to wince at the sheer size of it.

Camille was still staring at Drake. He stared back, thinking about everything he just said. Why didn't he just keep it short and sweet. 'Camille, will you marry me?' Why not say that? He went overboard. The sickening realisation that he just confessed his true feelings in front of diplomats, Italians, the court, their friends, Liam..

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Camille was blinking fast now. Drake was alarmed to find that her eyes had welled up with tears. She is a great actress. He thought. Really committed to the role.

'Camille..’ he whispered. 'Say something.'

She shut her eyes and then opened them, her eyes shining. She plastered a smile on her face. 'Yes, Drake, of course I'll marry you!'

She jumped up into his arms and everyone cheered. As they applauded, she whispered in his ear, 'We need to talk.'

Flashbulbs from the cameras caught the moment and soon, Maxwell, Hana, Olivia and Liam joined them. 'Congratulations guys!' Hana cried, clapping her hands. It seemed she had forgotten it was all a ruse. Liam laughed. 'Good performance. God, Drake, you even had me convinced!'

Olivia smiled at Drake, her eyes flashing. 'So convincing.'

Maxwell nudged Camille. 'There's the photographer! Now's our chance!' Camille was standing there, frozen, her face pale. She was watching Drake, who was doing his best to avoid her eyes. When Maxwell nudged her again, her attention was brought back to the room and she nodded. 'Photographer. Yeah, let's get her.' She rushed past Drake as Maxwell followed her. Drake closed his eyes, hoping he hadn't destroyed whatever it was they had.

Later that night, Drake poured himself a glass of whiskey and settled down onto his bed. The train was now heading out of Italy towards their next destination. He was glad to leave Italy behind. This night behind. 

The door knocked and he groaned. Dragging himself up, he opened the door to find Camille standing there. ‘Montespan-’ She pushed past him and looked around the room. She reached out and located his bottle of whiskey.  ‘There we are,’ she murmured. She poured herself a glass and took a deep drink. ‘Camille?’ Drake stepped forward. 

She set the glass down and her eyes found his. ‘Your fake proposal was beautiful, Drake,’ she told him. Drake’s eyes widened. ‘What?’ Camille smiled weakly and moved closer to him. ‘Really beautiful. Did you always plan on saying those things or did you feel suddenly inspired?’  Drake blushed and looked down at the floor. Camille placed her fingers on his cheek and forced him to look at her. ‘I thought I was going to cry,’ she admitted. ‘Were you being honest? Be honest now, Drake. I know you have feelings for me but do they really run that deep? Or are you just a good actor?’

Drake let out a breath and took her hand. ‘I may have been more honest than I intended.’ Camille squeezed his hand. ‘I loved it.’ Drake’s eyes widened. ‘Then why did you look so shocked before you said yes?’ Camille cast her eyes down and bit her lip. ‘I could just hear you saying all these things and I realised how much I have wanted to hear you say those things, sober. You’re honest with me when you’re drunk on whiskey, Drake, but you still hold yourself back slightly when you’re sober. That said, I know you care for me because I just know you inside out and you look after me when nobody else does. It was just a shock hearing you be so honest and in such a public way.’ 

Drake sighed. ‘If I had the choice, I would have told you those things privately.’ ‘Now you can.’ Their eyes locked and Drake had to force himself to look away. ‘You need to clear your name first. Find out who took those photos of you and put that to rest. One big situation at a time,’ he told her. Camille nodded. She knew he spoke sense. But one thing she wanted to know, she had to ask. ‘How would you propose to someone if you had your way?’ Drake chuckled and turned a little pink. ‘Ah Montespan, don’t embarrass me now...’ ‘Please?’ she looked up at him and pouted. Drake groaned and had another sip of whiskey.  ‘Fine. But this stays between us.’ Camille held out her pinkie and they pinkie promised. God, she had introduced him to the concept of pinkie promising. As Olivia would say, it was ‘sickening’. 

‘I’d propose privately, no interruptions, nothing fancy. I’d propose with my grandmother’s ring.’ Camille gasped. ‘A family heirloom? Oh my god, that’s adorable.’ ‘It’s a square blue topaz. Not too big, not too small. Just right. She made me take it before she died. Made me promise to give it to the right girl. The one who made me happy. Who loved me for me.’  Camille smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘That’s really sweet.’ Drake shrugged. ‘Just what she wanted. Am I hell going to go against Grammy’s wishes.’ ‘Well, I’m sure whoever you choose to marry will be the right girl, Drake,’ she told him, her eyes shining. ‘And with that proposal.. and the way you fake proposed to me... well, if you keep that script, she would definitely say yes.’ She squeezed his hand and blinked. Drake could see she was trying not to cry.

‘Are you okay, Montespan?’ he asked, reaching out take her hand. She nodded, smiling. ‘Yeah. Just wish I knew what my future looked like. That’s all.’ She wiped her eyes and sniffled. 

She left him standing in the middle of the room after giving him a kiss goodnight. They both wanted each other. They both knew that. If it wasn’t the suitor competition getting in the way, it was the fake photos. They could never catch a break. He wished they had met in different circumstances. He wished they were normal people who could just be together. 

But Drake knew what he wanted. He wanted Camille. He opened his bedside table drawer and located the satin red box. He opened it gently and looked down at his grandmothers ring.  He had kept it with him since Grammy had insisted he take it. It was his most prized possession. 

The right girl. He smiled now. Drake had found the right girl. He just needed the right moment to make her his. 

[lsamdon3]

Packaging and its Identity in Italy and United Kingdom

The topic I chose to talk about is packaging. I always found very interesting how product’s packaging is studied and designed and packaging itself is one of the main reasons that lead me to graphic design studies.

I have always found the subject very interesting, and in fact before creating a blog archive specifically for this research and for this project, I found myself collecting on my personal site many examples of packaging that I found aesthetically pleasing, well thought of, and interesting. After creating a new blog for this project, I started to gather a whole series of packaging examples that are not necessarily contemporary, but from different countries and times.  

At some point during my research I focused on two specific countries, Italy, my country of origin and England, the country that has been hosting me for five years now. Having experience shopping in my country, I grew accustomed to a certain product’s aesthetic. Personally, I find the difference between Italian and British packaging very interesting and I would therefore like to further explore this topic.

I think my research could be of interest to anyone that would like to see the difference between British and Italian’s culture by using packaging as a medium.

This research would take a look at objects that pass through our hands every day. Here I would like to reflect on their aesthetics and why common objects, specifically their packaging, can be so different in Italy and in the United Kingdom.In my research I would like to export my point of view. The point of view of a person of Italian origins who has nevertheless lived in England for five years. 

As a graphic design student, I have always looked at the packaging from the point of view of those who create it, reflecting on what could make the product more or less attractive to the customer. While shopping, I have always found interesting how my attention is drawn to product’s packaging designed in a way rather than another—and of course, being Italian and having lived in Italy for twenty years made me very aware of the aesthetic connected to my country’s identity. As an expatriate, I got to get used to the cultural identity of England. 

And I would like to export the point of view of and Italian graphic designer, expat in the United Kingdom, starting from asking myself an important question: what is that differentiate my country, Italy, and the united kingdom’s packaging design? The most obvious answer may be their respective national identity. But what is the national identity of a country? The national identity of a country comprises the claimed qualities that bind and distinguish the country’s population and form the basis of their unity and identity, and the expressions of the population’s culture—such as habits, behaviours, or symbols—that have a common, familiar or iconic quality readily identifiable with the country. 

If we’re talking about British culture, one of the very first things that come to our mind are the Royal Family.But how important are the Royal Family to the idea of Britishness today? On March 1st 2018 a set of coins goes into circulation in the United Kingdom. Launched by The Royal Mint, we now have a series of new ten pence pieces– 26 in all, created to form an A-Z of British life in the 21st century. They’re described as ‘Quintessentially British’ and two of the designs are directly linked to royalty (as expected, the Queen features on the reverse of all the new coins). The A-Z features plenty of the things you’d expect people to say if asked to name something really British. C is for cricket, T is for Tea, and U is for Union Flag. The royal mentions come towards the middle of the alphabet where we find J for Jubilee and K for King Arthur. That, according to this bit of social history, is where royalty fits into the concept of being British in 2018.

 But the Royal Family is just a start into the British national identity, and while researching on the identity of the United Kingdom, I also started researching on Italian National identity. The long history has left a legacy to the Italian population: a national character, whose traits are easily recognizable even if in continuous evolution. They often have become stereotypes, like a distinct mischief, loudness (with the colors of melodrama), sentimentality and attachment to the family. Italy is also known for its place in history as mother for many great artists, from centuries ago until today. For this reason, I found essential to ask myself what are the names that connects Italy to design. I started by reading “The story of graphics. Stories and pictures of Italian international graphic design from 1890 to today” (“Il racconto della grafica. Storie e immagini del graphic design italiano e internazionale dal 1890 a oggi”), by Andrea Rauch, (2017). The author begins his story from the second industrial revolution, when cities take over the countryside. Starting from Chéret, Toulouse-Lautrec, Cappiello, passing through the pioneers of the brand image and the first attempts at image coordination. Going through the climate of rebirth of post-war reconstruction, when in Italy emerge the great personalities of Albe Steiner, Bruno Munari, Erberto Carboni, Armando Testa, lo Studio Boggeri. E poi Müller-Brockmann e Max Bill, Noorda, Vignelli, Iliprandi, Grignani, Fronzoni, Leo Lionni, Saul Steinberg, Paul Rand, Milton Glaser, Seymour Chwast and Heinz Edelmann. Not strictly connected to the side of design that works with packaging, this reading has been essential to understand that outside-influences can make and break a country’s identity. My second reading has been “FATTOBENE Italian Everyday Archetypes”, cured by Anna Lagorio and Alex Carnevali, 2017. Have they been designed already perfect, in the midst of the tasks they perform, or is it the habit —culture—that makes them seemingly irreplaceable? The objects of daily use, those that we use in the office or at home, have been designed to perfection, or is it the continuous use and adaptation to which we are obliged to them that make them so indispensable? Bruno Munari, for example, believed the objects of daily use were "real design". Useful objects, independent of fashions and designers—often anonymous: “Even before the term design was used for objects that respond to essential functions, these objects had already been produced and are still in production and are improved each time through the materials and the technologies used. They are objects of daily use in homes and workplaces and people buy them because they don't follow fashions, they don't have problems with class symbols, they are well-designed objects and it doesn't matter by whom. This is true design."(Bruno Munari, Da cosa nasce cosa, 1981)While it can be argued that Bruno Munari’s point of view applies mainly on the design of “things” rather than their packaging, is outlook on what can be called true design has deeply influenced Italy’s vision of design in itself—therefore I think it was essential to read more about this designer.

 That’s when I found that Munari’s idea of perfect design extends, of course, on packaging. Munari describes the perfect packaging: an orange. For him the fruit was, in fact, inclusive of packaging and declared that "nature is the first producer of packaging in the world: every type of peel, shell or skin exists to protect the product contained within it". (Bruno Munari, “Good design”, 1963) 

I decided to integrate some online research and watched several TED talks, one of which “Beauty: the competitive identity of Italy”. The TED talk is given by Maurizio Robilant, president and founder of “Italia Patria della Bellezza” Foundation. After 30 years of experiences in branding consultant for Companies and a long-time activity to support the Made in Italy, Maurizio Robilant decided to put his skills to work for create a competitive identity for Italy. In this talk, Robilant opens with a stream of compliments to my beautiful country, only to follow with an unsurprising—for an Italian, at least—truth: “Italians don’t like Italy. From a research done in 2015 from the Reputation Institute, only 50,6% of Italians are satisfied with their country. Nonetheless, 65,8% of foreigners love Italy.” (Maurizio Robilant, TEDxMilano, 2015) This find can be particularly interesting for my research, considering that the country's self-esteem is reflected in every area of its appearance. No less than other areas, it affects the design of products, and of course, their packaging. As I noticed, Italians in the most recent times tend to have a desire for change, ditching the old and traditional for what is considered modern by the western standards. If motivated by a desire for change, or a desire for escapism from their country’s image, it’s not clear. Taking into account this information, I would consider the satisfaction and sense of belonging of the population of a country as a key concept, therefore I will have to research further on, as both influences deeply a country’s national identity.  I find that further research on this topic should be done for me to be able to compare the design of the packaging in Italy and United Kingdom. To make this comparison easier, I decided to pick three different products, and I will analyse their story, evolution and current packaging design in each country. For example, I could pick eggs, and analyse how the packaging has been presented on the shelves of British supermarkets in the past years, and how it looks now. Then I would do the same on Italian eggs packaging, to then compare the two of them. How do they differ from one another? And why? Which package would attract the interests of younger generations while groceries shopping, and which packages would instead end up being bought by older customers? Why? And more curiously, why do Italians and British people’s choices differ so much on this topic? I also find particularly interesting how certain products are packaged in the United Kingdom, and I’d like to talk about it on my research.  

For example, in the United Kingdom milk is packaged in ways that would, by far, prevent the sale in the whole country of Italy. To be more specific, an Italian customer would think that milk in the United Kingdom is sold in plastic packaging that Italians use only for machine washing detergent. I’d like to insert in my research little curiosity about packaging that can even be considered an actual culture shock for some.

As for my action plan I would research more on the British side of design and designers during this summer, as it’s an essential part of my research.I still have to look for visual examples to help my research. As I was suggested through feedback, I will choose a limited number of products of which I will study the packaging in Italy and in the UK respectively. As for this summer, I’m planning a trip to London, specifically to The Italian Cultural Institute, in 39 Belgrave Square. There I will be able to consult various sources to enrich my research. Subsequently, I intend to return to Italy for two weeks, and I will use this opportunity to observe the packaging of the three products I chose in this research. I’ll collect pictures and study the story behind the products, how they’re connected to the past and current culture.  Once back to the United Kingdom, I’ll do the same with the three products and their packaging. I’m currently collecting pictures and videos that could help me with my research on my blog, and I intend to keep doing that. 

In the meanwhile, I’m planning on watch a list of very interesting TED Talks that I found during my research, some of them:

-“Packaging is for people”,Sylvia Vitale Rotta,TEDxISTEC, Born in Tanzania of Italian parents, this citizen of the world studied in London at Art School. She meets Nick CRAIG with whom she founds Creative Team dedicated to Branding & Packaging Identity. Since the agency has become a reference in the market both in France and abroad;

-“How to think like a designer, Michael Bierut, Bierut announced the creation of his first ever monograph: How to: Use graphic design to sell things, explain things, make things look better, and (every once in a while) change the world.”

I’m also creating a list of books that I’m planning on reading this summer, some of the titles in the list:

- “Why Italians Love to Talk About Food” by Elena Kostioukovitch(2009), with a beautiful introductionby Umberto Eco;

- “TheTotal Package: The Secret History and Hidden Meanings of Boxes, Bottles, Cans, and Other Persuasive Containers”, by Thomas Hine, (1997);

- “Brit(ish): On Race, Identity and Belonging”, by Afua Hirsch (2018);

- “Identity Crisis”, by Ben Elton, (2019);

- “Britain Explained: Understanding British Identity”,by Martin Upham, (2017)

List of References

Bruno Munari(1981)

Da cosa nasce cosa

Bari:

Editori Laterza

Bruno Munari (1963)

Good design

Bari:

Editori Laterza

Anna Lagorio and Alex Carnevali (2017)

FATTOBENE Italian Everyday Archetypes

Milano:

Corraini Edizioni

Andrea Rauch (2017)

The story of graphics. Stories and pictures of Italian International Graphic Design from 1890 to Today

Milano:

La Casa Usher

Elena Kostioukovitch, Umberto Eco (2009)

Why Italians Love to Talk About Food

Thomas Hine, (1997)

TheTotal Package: The Secret History and Hidden Meanings of Boxes, Bottles, Cans, and Other Persuasive Containers

Afua Hirsch (2018)

Brit(ish): On Race, Identity and Belonging

London:

Jonathan Cape

Martin Upham(2017)

Britain Explained: Understanding British Identity

London:

John Harper Publishing

Ben Elton (2019)

Identity Crisis

London:

Transworld Publishers Ltd

Maurizio Robilant (2015) Beauty: the competitive identity of Italy | Maurizio Robilant | TEDxMilano [online video]

Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuTBf0bkKI8

Sylvia Vitale Rotta(2016) Packaging is for people! | Sylvia Vitale Rotta | TEDxISTEC [online video]

Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Db68SjgC3oY

Michael Bierut(2015)Michael Bierut on how to think like a designer [online video]

Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RanfCx18gi4

[graziadiocenterilpostino]

Chiara Sala: on visiting CSULB

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself and your Italian background. How did you become interested in visiting Cal State Long Beach?

Hi everyone! My name is Chiara and I am 24 years old. I live with my friends in Milan in a very nice small apartment and I attend the State University of Milan, one of the oldest and most beautiful universities on the world (in my opinion!). I study one of my biggest passions: Italian literature. I have always lived in a small town close to Milan with my family and now that I live in a big city I can tell that it is a totally different and more exciting lifestyle. It totally suits my way of being: I am an curious and outgoing person and I love meeting new people, which means that a cosmopolitan city like Milan creates the perfect environment to do all of this. I also have a lot of passions like dancing, playing sports, and visiting museums and art galleries. Luckily, Milan facilitates keeping all these hobbies alive. I am also a Christian and for this reason, living close to one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the world (Duomo, Santa Maria Nascente) is something incredible for me.  

Even though I really like my city and my country I always love to travel. My family has always been adventurous and curious: my parents and older siblings spent 6 years in Uganda in the 90s and since then, they never stopped traveling. My sister Daniela has been living in Ecuador for the past 12 years and my sister Anna just moved from Beijing to South Sudan. I’ve always found the USA fascinating and this is why I chose to spend my senior year in high school in New York City. Since then I fell deeply in love with the United States and I’ve always dreamed to go back there one day. This is why I decide to write my master thesis in the US. Thanks to my cousin Caterina (who lives in Los Angeles) I decided to contact Dr. Enrico Vettore, her former Italian teacher at CSULB, which is the university that she attended. In the last 3 years of college, I started to take an interest in teaching Italian to foreign students and I thought that it would be interesting for me to have an experience abroad to learn more about the different teaching methods of the Italian language.  

2. You came to CSULB to do observations for your research. Can you tell us a bit about the work you did and other projects you have going on?

Dr. Enrico Vettore and Dr. Clorinda Donato told me about the intercomprehensive approach that is used at CSULB with the Spanish speakers and I found this topic very interesting–this is why I decided to attend the different Italian classes. I observed how this approach worked and how the students respond to this kind of method. Before I came to California, I did not know anything about intercomprehension, it was a totally new concept for me that had I never heard about in my studies at my university. For this reason, I tried to learn as much as possible from the professors and from Dr. Clorinda Donato, who was kind enough to let me interview her. It has been an amazing experience, and I find it really interesting to observe such good and competent professors as they introduced new students to my language.  

Now, I will work on finishing my thesis and I will graduate at the end of April.  

3. What are your post-graduation plans? Is there an ideal career path you have? Would you prefer to remain in Italy or move abroad?

I would love to teach either Italian literature to Italian students or Italian language to foreign students. I had an amazing experience as a student with my Italian teacher in high school. I think the years in high schools are very difficult, but also fascinating and I believe it would be both challenging and incredible to teach something that I love as much as literature to Italian boys and girls. At the same time, I would like to spend some more years abroad, possibly in the US to teach the Italian language. I still have to make a decision, but I find both possibilities exciting. 

4. Is there any advice you have for someone visiting Italy? What are the must-see locations?

Even though Italy is a small country. it is famously beautiful in each and every region. The beauty of its art is in every city from the North to South: I could tell you to visit Florence, Naples, Siena, Rome, or to enjoy the southern sun in the Mediterranean beaches of Calabria, Apulia and Sicily. But I would like to focus more on the North since it’s the side of the country where I grew up and I feel like it is not as known as the other places. Lombardy and Veneto have some of the largest and most beautiful lakes of the country, I would suggest to visit Lake Como, Lake Lecco and, and above all, Lake Garda. There are some gorgeous little towns in which you can visit some of the fanciest villas you will ever seen. If you go to the Aosta Valley and Piedmont, you will have the chance to see the Alps and some of the most iconic mountains of Italy such as Monte Rosa and the Cervino. If you are planning to visit Italy in the winter you should definitely take a day or two to ski in these regions. Some places, like the famous Bormio, are known for their incredible scenic outdoors spas where you can relax in fancy Jacuzzis while admiring beautiful landscapes. In Piedmont, you can find some beautiful valleys where you can try some of the best wine you will ever experience. If you want to enjoy some days at the beach, you can go to Liguria and see the Cinque Terre. If you are used to sandy beaches, you will be a little disappointed, though, because these little towns are built on the rocks and it is not easy to find a comfortable spot to lie down and sunbathe. But I assure you, you will be surprised by the uniqueness of these little colorful towns. There are plenty of cities you should visit while you travel in the North like: Turin, Venice, Bolzano, Bergamo, Genoa, Pavia, but I want to focus on my city, Milan. Unfortunately, Milan is rarely found in the category of the “beautiful cities of art,” since is mainly known for its business and it is considered to be the most modern city in Italy. But I think its beauty lies in the encounter between its aggressive modernity and the past that is preserved among its streets. If you go to Milan, I would suggest to visit the neighborhood of Brera, the Duomo, and the Navigli, which are artificial canals where young people like to hang out and drink and chat. If you like soccer you should go to see a game at the San Siro stadium, and if you enjoy opera, I would suggest you to go to the Scala. Milan is famous for its fashion, so if you are into stylish clothes you should go shopping in the main streets of the city like Montenapoleone and via della Spiga.

5. This semester you are returning to Italy. What was your fondest memory on campus? What do you think you will miss the most from Long Beach?

I am really sad that I had to leave CSULB. It is a beautiful campus and I had some incredible experiences that I will never forget. Above all, I will miss the opportunity to meet people that are so different from me. Honestly, in the beginning I found kind of hard to introduce myself to the students because I think Americans are less sociable than Italians. But with some effort I succeeded in making friends and I am very happy and grateful for those relationships; I will miss them a lot. I like that it is so easy to find people that have different interests, perspectives, beliefs and backgrounds from me. I will also miss Italian classes; I love that they are so small and I really appreciated the relationships with the teachers. I found the professors to be very nice and always available. I feel how much they care about their students and there is not much distance between them and the class. I also really liked the amount of entertainment that you can find on campus (bowling, gym, pool, etc.) I really enjoyed spending time with my friends in those areas. I will miss Long Beach very much, I loved the food, the weather (in Milan it is 0 degrees Celsius today!) and the company!  

Chiara Sala

[antoine-roquentin]

The new German left coalition, Aufstehen, aims to break the morbid consensus of perpetual ‘grand coalition’. Unsurprisingly Wolfgang Streeck, one of the few sociologists who would think to ask the question How Will Capitalism End?, is one of its partisans, making the case for the coalition in a provocative long-form article for Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. A long-time supporter of Die Linke, he sees in the emerging coalition the chance to realign the left on the basis of an orientation to power.

If the ‘realists’ of Die Linke coalesce with the left-wing of social democracy, they could legitimately aim to govern. They could break the deflationary fiscal regime, end the taboo on taxing corporations and the rich, end debt rules that prevent municipalities from writing off their debts and the government from credit-financing infrastructure, address class and regional inequalities, and abandon a decrepit US-aligned foreign policy of propping up some corrupt governments and bombing others. This is an agenda that most on the Left would support.

So why is there a need for a new coalition? Die Linke is surely the one German party that has consistently supported policies like this. What would yet another realignment achieve beyond a further step down the road to a fractal Left? What, given the ambition of Streeck’s agenda, is there to be ‘realists’ about? What is the issue over which there is such “moralising away of fundamental questions” that one needs a new Left?

The issue, at least for the ‘realists’, is immigration. Specifically, it is Die Linke’s commitment to open borders, and its repudiation of former leader Sahra Wagenknecht for dabbling in anti-refugee rhetoric. The ‘realists’ are the Wagenknecht wing, the ‘sectarians’ are the delegates who voted against her. Unable to win the argument in Die Linke, the ‘realists’ are betting on a new political vehicle. This is the aspect of Streeck’s case that I want to comment on. Or rather, because he submerges the argument in the general rhetorical sweep of his recent Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung article, this is the part I want to expand on.

One has to admire, first of all, the parsimony of Streeck’s political taxonomy. As far as arguments on the Left go, there is only one fork in the tree of possibilities. On one branch, we find ‘realists’, accommodating the anti-immigrant sentiment which the Alternative for Germany (AfD) capitalises on. On the other, ‘sectarians’, sacrificing political efficacy to moral posturing, and using the AfD’s far right politics to avoid the issues they raise.

If these sound like the sorts of one-dimensional protagonists one might encounter in a morality fable, they are. Nonetheless, Streeck says, the prevalence of preening sectarians means that the “big questions” are suppressed. Capitalism, democracy, climate, war, “globalism” and “national statehood” are off the agenda while purists ineffectually worry about the “niceties of national and international asylum law”.

From this, one might get the impression that the ‘realists’, led by Aufstehen founder Sahra Wagenknecht, are desperately keen to stop talking about refugees. Yet one thing that one really can’t say about them is that they’ve driven refugees down the political agenda. It may not be the issue they spend most time talking about, but it is the issue that defines them as distinct from their opponents on the Left. Granted that they do, in fact, also talk about war, climate, inequality and capitalism, that wasn’t ever controversial in Die Linke.

Indeed, it was Wagenknecht who chose to make refugees the issue, in a deliberate and predictably controversial break with Die Linke’s policy, by attacking Angela Merkel from the right, beginning in August 2015. Merkel had, in response to a popular sentiment in favour of letting in Syrian refugees, undertook a short-lived pirouette to Wilkommenskultur. The Dublin Regulation, an EU law which says that member-states have to process applications from asylum seekers, was suspended. The purpose of the law is to ensure that migrants who arrive in destinations like Greece, Italy and Spain, stay there. It is linked to an apparatus designed to deter refugees from making the journey to Europe, from illegal ‘pushback’ agreements with Greece and Turkey to the harassment of rickety boats on the Mediterranean seas by Frontex operations. But Germany, for a brief moment, said it would welcome the refugees.

One would be entitled to be a little cynical of Merkel. Though often mistaken for some sort of bleeding-heart liberal, she had cheerfully baited migrants and Muslims, and declared multiculturalism a failure, and bears significant responsibility for the fortification of ‘Fortress Europe’. But when Wagenknecht attacked her, it was for suggesting that Germany could handle the refugee inflow. She later blamed Merkel’s “uncontrolled border opening” and police cuts for causing a major attack carried out by an ISIS supported in Berlin in December 2016.

Nor was Wagenknecht, in making this claim, weighing in with an argument that was under-represented in the political spectrum. The giddy thrill of transgression that palpably comes with such ostensibly hard-headed ‘realism’ is entirely unwarranted. Her argument that open borders was to blame echoed the AfD. The complaint about police budget cuts echoed the social-democratic vice-chancellor, Sigmar Gabriel. More broadly, in attacking the momentarily liberal-sounding Merkel fom the right, Wagenknecht was cutting with the grain of established government policy and rhetoric. There are, further, many ways to describe what such rhetoric does. For example it, demagogically, leverages the emotional response to a devastating event to advance a political argument. But one thing it definitely doesn’t do is break the mould, forcing the long-neglected issues of capitalism, democracy, climate and war back on the agenda.

Still, what if the argument was correct? Shouldn’t that be the most important thing? Should political correctness censor the truth? What could be more typical of the moral Left than its fidelity to abstractions over mucky realities? Anis Amri, the Berlin killer, was after all an asylum seeker from Tunisia: QED. I will not evade this, but I will just briefly pause to point out what might not be obvious, viz. that majority of terror attacks in Europe continue to be carried out by citizens of Europe, not migrants, and that the UN’s study could find no evidence of any correlation between migration and terror. So there is already a problem with conflating border controls with counterterrorism.

That said, Anis Amri was definitely not the beneficiary of any “uncontrolled border opening”. Amri had arrived in the Italian island of Lampedusa by boat in 2011, like tens of thousands of other migrants fleeing the turbulence of the Arab spring. He was held in a detention camp for refugees. Why is there a detention camp for refugees in Lampedusa? I’ll come back to that. When thousands of the detainees rioted, in protest against the notoriously awful conditions – which the island’s mayor compared to a concentration camp – he was among those locked up for it.

It was in a European jail that Amri was spotted and recruited by the jihadists who would link him to ISIS. He was already in the Schengen Zone when he migrated to Germany in July 2015, shortly after his release but before Merkel’s announcement. And while he did apply for asylum, he was turned down and scheduled for deportation – like most asylum applicants in Germany. While the deportation was going through the courts, he was under surveillance by German security services. They determined that he didn’t pose a threat. They were wrong, of course. But neither in the detail nor in the big picture does the Amri case prove anything about Merkel’s suspension of the Dublin Regulation, let alone that Germany is a soft touch and that refugee controls are too lax.

So, far from thinking asylum is a marginal issue, or a distraction, Wagenknecht and allies clearly think it an issue worth fighting over. One for which they are prepared, at key moments, to say things that are emotive, grossly inaccurate, and just a little bit sleazy.

It is clear enough what Wagenknecht was trying to do, and what the ‘realists’ in Aufstehen are now trying to do. Die Linke had been suffering from a prolonged political stalemate. Far from gaining amid capitalist crisis and eurozone turmoil, it had seen its vote stagnate since making a small gain in the 2009 Federal elections. In 2017, it was beaten into fifth place by the FDP and the AfD. The Left Party lost eleven percent of its voters to the AfD between 2013 and 2017, although a far bigger share of far right votes came from the CDU/CSU, and more still were previous non-voters.

Wagenknecht and her allies think this is because Die Linke is out of touch with its ‘traditional’ supporters. The older, less educated manual workers in the East who voted AfD are not reached by squeaky-clean, sanctimonious middle-class activists crying about dead refugees. The rage against refugees, they think, reflects a misdirected class anger on the part of the poor. This poor man’s economism patronises people. It treats them as victims of an astonishingly crude form of ‘false consciousness’, taking no account of the elaborate systems of perception and values in which such beliefs are grounded. Not to mention the sheer stubborn, cussed delight with which people invest their beliefs. It doesn’t ask what it might mean, in terms of their attachment to hierarchies and competition, if people are more offended by refugees than by class injustice.

Yet it is not just an argument about false consciousness. Rather than alienating those who vote for the AfD, the ‘realists’ proceed, the Left needs to understand and address their legitimate concerns, then give them a radical gloss. In an article written with playwright Bernd Stegemann for Die Zeit, Wagenknecht rebukes the Left for feel-good purity, oblivious to the fact that refugees compete for “scarce resources at the bottom of society” and can be a little bit scary and strange at times. Notice that Wagenknecht and Stegemann aren’t, themselves, claiming to be affrighted by refugees with their strange ways. I suspect they would be mortified to confess to such a disposition. For that reason, the attempt confer a certain rationality and grown-up dignity on an everyday prejudice reeks of condescension and bad faith.

It is also, finally, illogical. There is no evidence that the anti-refugee position is driven by any practical experience of competition or brushes with any frightening foreign culture. To the contrary, the AfD vote in 2017 was highest in the areas with the lowest share of foreign-born population: an utterly typical pattern. By that time, moreover, Wagenknecht’s rhetoric had been prominently broadcast across all media for two years. If it was going to woo those racist voters, one might have expected it to do so by then. Instead, it may well have given some voters the motivation they needed to jump ship.

As Aufstehen was launched, Wagenknecht and Stegemann co-wrote another article for the Nordwest-Zeitung, calling for a “realistic” immigration policy, steering a convivially middling course between two unpalatable extremes: “the resentment of the AfD” and “a limitless welcome culture”. Such a policy would fund those volunteers looking after refugees, without allowing people smugglers “to dictate which people can reach Europe by illegal means”. This is a soothing formulation. Realism. Who wants to be unrealistic? Smugglers. Who wants to be on their side? Neither this extreme nor that extreme. Who doesn’t want nuance?

The ‘realists’ are in no way breaking new ground with such rhetoric, so familiar from centrist triangulation. It is not as exciting as blaming open borders for terrorism, but it is utterly conventional for the politicians who empower traffickers by criminalising refugees, to then blame the traffickers. And even, when the predictable casualties wash up in their dozens, even their hundreds, on an Italian beach, threaten to bomb them. Yet, in a world where transport is becoming ever cheaper, what is it that gives exploitation-mongers such leverage? Why, to put it more concretely, has there been a spike of drownings in the Mediterranean in recent years, as those rickety boats run by the traffickers sink?

The number one reason, according to the UN’s International Organization for Migration (IOM), is the ramping up of European border controls, including strategies of “illegal pushback” by land. These strategies have been formalised by Merkel in deals with both Turkey and Greece. Deals which have been faulted for violating Article 4 of the European Convention on Human Rights, outlawing the collective expulsion of aliens.

These policies didn’t follow a huge influx of refugees. The flow of irregular migrants, only a minority of whom were refugees, had fallen sharply in the 2000s. The share of irregular migrants as a proportion of the population has varied from 0.38 to 0.77% of the total European population. There was a short-lived spike in 2015, driven by the Syrian civil war: with one million arriving by sea alone, according to data kept by the IOM. In 2016, it fell to 387,985 by land and sea. In 2017, the figure was 176,452. In a continent of 741.4 million, with over five million born each year, and even assuming that every single new arrival was accepted and then contributed nothing by way of work and taxes, this is simply not the crisis-inducing burden that Wagenknecht has claimed.

It is always a risk to play the numbers game. For a lot of people, any number is too high when it’s refugees and immigrants. They have been defined in advance as a problem, by newspapers, politicians and policies intended to demonise them. To downplay the number of refugees implies that it’s just as well there are fewer, because ‘they’ are indeed a problem. Worse, this tends to have a retroactive effect. If new migrants, refugees or not, are defined as a problem and a burden, then it follows that they must always have been a problem and a burden. Therefore today’s citizens, whose parents and grandparents arrived as migrants, are always potentially a problem and a burden. But it is useful to underline just how separated from reality anti-asylum rhetoric has become.

The logical position, if you’re anti-trafficker, is to wind down the panic, and roll back the policies known as ‘Fortress Europe’. Rather than spending €25bn over six years to expand the EU borders apparatus, let more refugees in and let them build new lives. And, to her credit, Wagenknecht has in the past voted against asylum restrictions, and called for such invidious measures as the Dublin Regulation to be permanently cancelled. Yet, that increasingly is not the tenor of her rhetoric around immigration. And nor, in view of the publicity around Austehen, will it be the tenor of the new organisation.

It would be convenient to dismiss this as mere political opportunism. And, in part, it is: to give up difficult strategic terrain for short-term, tactical gains, is the essence of opportunism.

Nationalism and anti-immigrant racism have long been major pull factors drawing millions to the Right. The centre-left traditionally attempts to neutralise it, electorally, by appropriating it. Shortly before losing the federal election in 2005, Schroeder unavailingly mimicked Merkel’s attack on multiculturalism, worrying that immigrants were failing to integrate, creating “lawless zones or parallel societies”. Their coalition partners, the Greens, joined in: “integration is no game”, they said, abjuring multiculturalism “if it means that anyone can do whatever they want”.

This was not a response to a real situation. Multiculturalism had never meant anyone doing “whatever they want”. Germany was not dotted with “lawless zones”. But the SPD and Greens believed that others believed in this fantasy, and it was easier to attempt to ventriloquise them than abandon their hardline neoliberal reform agenda. It is difficult not to see an echo of this in the Wagenknecht strategy, from demagoguery about terrorism to middle-steering, difference-splitting rhetoric about the AfD. But, even in cynical, electoral realpolitik terms, it doesn’t work. It never works. It merely sustains the emotional basis for racism, what Spinoza called the ‘sad passions’. And those who want immigration-bashing can usually smell a bullshitter and will vote for the real Armani. If the radical-left doesn’t defend immigrants and challenge the racism driving the AfD vote, even at the cost of offending the sensibilities of potential voters, no one else will. And the beneficiaries will be the Right.

It is not just opportunism, however. This is where Streeck’s piece does usefully clarify the stakes. In his sophisticated analyses of capitalism’s modes of crisis management, and the brick wall it hit in 2008, Streeck has repeatedly asserted the legitimacy of the national state against globalisation. If capitalism is to be subordinated once more to democratic control, the key strategic locus for that control is the nation-state, which is not just a material fact but a legitimate civic and political community. In this he opposes the necessarily rooted nationality of democratic citizenship to the cosmopolitanism of investors and bankers.

For Streeck, as for Lafontaine, Bernie Sanders, and many others on the social-democratic Left, immigration controls are essential for any viable left-wing government. If you have open borders, Streeck warns, it is harder to regulate labour markets and suppress wage inequality. You can’t take account of what infrastructural capacity there is to support migration. A “pragmatic” policy would dispense with such abstractions and determine socially-just criteria for admissions and exclusions. Points systems, for example, as well as means to keep out undesirables. Given, moreover, that Streeck accepts the nation-state as the only viable locus of social solidarity and democracy, open borders is morally unacceptable. Hence, he worries about fellow citizens – AfD voters, one presumes – being declared “Nazis and racists” because they don’t want the collective goods they have financed through taxation “to be declared morally liable to being expropriated”. It is not clear whom the expropriators are supposed to be here, if not migrants.

Of course, believing all of this need not lead one to engage in the kinds of public baiting that some of the ‘realists’ have. One could believe every word of the above and still think that there should be fewer and less restrictive border controls than there currently are. One could, as Streeck does, flatly dismiss the open borders position, much as one might dismiss the case for flying saucers, without thinking that one can somehow bait-and-switch racist voters. There are as many varieties of ‘realism’ as there are ‘sectarianism’.

Yet, the fact that in the case of the ‘realists’ he lauds, it does lead to demagogic baiting – and soft-peddling the argument with the AfD, and vague genuflections to the ‘issues’ they raise – is grounds for questioning it.

Is it really plausible to oppose nation to capital in the way that Streeck and so many other social-democrats do? How ‘cosmopolitan’, really, are investors and bankers? Are they not wholly dependent on nation-states to furnish them with stable currency and infrastructures and advance the global institutions which entrench property rights, investor rights and capital mobility? Are they not largely integrated into their respective national states? Has the strength of the nation-state really waned, or is it more the case that the position within nation-states of subaltern groups, and their democratic self-expression, has waned? Is the Left’s task to re-empower national states and to rally round the civic communities subtending them, or to shift the balance of power within them?

On the question of migration, it is not clear that what Streeck adumbrates by way of strengthening the nation-state’s role is in any sense inconvenient to capital. In what way would a points system, for instance, not subordinate labour mobility to the interests of capital, and further entrench labour market segregation? In what way is it better for workers that states assume more right to restrict their mobility in the coming years? Presumably the idea is to use tighter borders to create tighter labour markets and support wage claims supposedly threatened by competition from migrant labour.

This is known as the “lump of labour fallacy”, neglecting as it does the fact that migration tends to increase total employment, rather than raise competition for existing employment. Even in the Schengen Area, where the ‘pull factors’ are shaped by institutionalised precarity, weak unions and emaciated welfare, there is little evidence of such effects in the aggregate. Even having a points system in place, however, doesn’t stop migrants from being blamed for low wages, despite the paucity of evidence. To put it bluntly, whatever immigration regime you have, there will always be people falsely blaming social problems on immigration. Not because it’s the fault of immigration but because some people are xenophobic or racist. Why should the Left give ground to this?

Finally, is the nation-state really the exclusive plausible basis of democracy and social solidarity, as Streeck suggests in his debate with Adam Tooze? The Left didn’t always think so. Much of its history has been characterised by social movements and alliances which deliberately practiced democracy and solidarity on scales other than the nation. This is a matter of taste, no doubt. But I prefer the Left that is uncompromisingly in solidarity with migrants and refugees, recognising them as class brothers and sisters, to the Left that will throw them under the bus for the mirage of “political power and responsibility”.

[liteeventyre-blog]

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Hi everyone! wassssss upppppp

So my name is Alessandro, I’m from Palermo, one of the most beautiful Italian cities (modestly), and currently I’m in Norway for an exchange year, and I will keep you updated with my adventures and thoughts and pictures and whatever. Hope any of you will give a fuck.

So this is my second month here, and although the first period was pretty hard, now I’d say I’m doing fine. One of the questions that people ask me the most lately is “Why did you choose to go on an exchange?”. Well, there are so many reasons why I did... First of all, I just want my life to be full of amazing adventures, and i wanted to start early with the one that will probably be one of the biggest experiences in my whole life. But I’m sure you’re wondering why I chose to come to Norway... at least that’s what everybody asks me. The answer is that I don’t really know why, I was just fascinated by northern European countries, and wanted to do something different rather than the more “mainstream” destinations. Also yes, I was kinda influenced by the Norwegian tv series Skam, and so I decided I wanted to see Norway from the inside, and not just as a tourist. 

Right now I live in a little town called Mogreina, about 50 minutes away from Oslo, the capital, and right outside a bigger one, Jessheim, which is where I go to school every day. School is nice - definitely not as intense and difficult as the Italian one. The structure is brand new (it’s been working for just two years now) and the “style” is closer to the American one rather than the one I’m used to. Indeed, you have some mandatory classes (Norwegian, Math, History and Gym), and then we can choose up to 5 facultative classes. I picked up International English (where you basically study some global phenomena like multiculturalism, globalization and stuff in English), Philosophy (since I studied it in Italy too), Psychology (which I actually really like, I think it’s really interesting and I always wanted to study it), and French. Also, you can choose which level of math you wanna study: there are three levels; the basic one, the middle one and the advanced one. But there are so many other classes you can pick, like sociology, law, chemistry, physics, etc...

A place I really love going to is Oslo. I usually take the train from a station really close to my place, and it doesn't take so long to get there. As you get out of the Sentralstasjon (the Oslo central station), you can see the magnificent and modern Opera House, made with white marble from Carrara and looking over the sea. 

Now it’s really more beautiful than how it looks in this picture, but I swear next time I’ll go to Oslo I’ll shoot some better pictures to post.

Although Oslo is not a really big city, it still feels like a capital, and every time I go there, I discover new places; I still have a lot of things to see. One of my favorite places in Oslo is a road along the sea, with several scaffolds where you can take a ferry to go to some museums (like the Viking ships museum) or to go on a fiord tour. Yes, the one in Oslo is a fiord! It’s really beautiful but it’s definitely not as spectacular as the ones on the west coast (yep seems like the west coast is the coolest wherever you go), like around Bergen, because the Oslo one is way older and so it’s been more corroded by the water. 

Same here, it’s really a looot more beautiful than it looks in this picture (you can only see the sea here) so yeah I promise I’ll shot some better pictures there. Also, from there or from the central station, you can walk through very nice streets, full of little shops, cafes and restaurants, and most of them are in the limited traffic zone! You can see the cathedral, which is not as big as other capital’s cathedrals, but it’s really nice though. Then you will meet the National Theatre, and in front of it a big and nice square, with so many green spaces and a beautiful fountain. And then, if you keep walking, you will finally arrive to the Royal Palace. 

Same here, I’ll shot some better pictures. By the way, as you can see, it’s really humble and modest to be a Royal Family. It was built in the first half of the 19th century and it’s definitely not as gorgeous and rich as Buckingham Palace. The Norwegian Royal family is indeed particularly known for their modesty. There are some guards around the palace, and you can even shot a delphine with them. I won’t post mine ‘cause my face is really horrible in that but I will ask for another one! Behind the Royal Palace, there is a beautiful park where everyone can enter. 

Last place I’m gonna tell you about, is a magnificent monumental park, Vigeland Park, that I visited last weekend. It’s really big and beautiful, and it’s full of many different sculptures created by Gustav Vigeland in the first half of the 20th century. 

I swear that in my next posts I will talk about these places better, and post better pictures, and make you discover many other places around Oslo.

Finally, two other questions that people ask me the most are “Is it true that Norway is more expensive? And that people are colder?” Well, yes, and yes. But don’t expect something terrible. Of course there are some things that are more expensive here, but there are a lot of things with the same prices as in the rest of Europe, sometimes (rarely) even cheaper. The things that cost more are usually souvenirs and tourists stuff (ugh I love them) and some kinds of food, like candies or some Italian food (ugh I love them pt. 2). But yeah you can survive here, definitely. Also the average salary is higher so yeah, Norwegian people don’t struggle to get over the month at all. Also yeah, people are colder here, but probably not in the way you think. When I arrived, everybody was so nice and welcoming to me, I wasn’t expecting that, but they were really great. You start feeling people are a little bit colder when you try to make some new friendships, something that goes over saying “hi” or just talking at school. And yeah this is harder. It’s more difficult to have real and strong friendships here, but I would say it just takes longer. Luckily I have a lot of other exchange students in my same situation that I can hang out with!

By the way, this was my first post, and I hope you guys (if anybody will ever read these last lines) found it interesting or nice or something and not boring to death like I honestly think it is. But yeah let’s just post it, who cares.

Ha det bra(like they say here), write you soon!

[gyuprint]

tags

rules: Answer the 28 questions and tag twenty other people!

i was tagged by @bubsjinnie thxxxx

ill try to tag 20 people but i doubt i can: @haechancult @nctkun @rcnjun @jaeminiac @honeyjaemiin @bluejspark @wlwjaehyun @jaehyu @wlwnctdream @moomins-world @monteenlovebot @1aechan @daehwintermelon @jenoscats @zerenus @lovezhong @cafechenle @choerry @sunshineboymark @pork-jisungie

~~~

i. nicknames: idk i just get called stupid a lot and a lot of puns about my first name which i hate so in a way noelle is my nickname

ii. zodiac sign: gemini

iii. height: 5′5 1/2 but i normally round up to 5′6 uwu

iv. age: 17

v. time: 7:49 pm

vi. fave bands/artists: nct (all of them but also mainly dream lol) as far as not kpop groups i can't really think of any

vii. song stuck in my head: “Honey Honey” from Mamma Mia 

viii. last movie I saw: It was the new jurassic world and it was actually pretty good!!

ix. last thing I googled: HULU CUZ IM AOBUT TO WATHC B99

x. other blogs: @love-yuta which i need to use more and @chensungfthearts which i need to use more whoops

xi. do I get asks: i mean i guess? i wouldn't say i get a whole lot but i definitely get more than most ???

xii. why I chose my username: because chensung is superior and i was shocked no-one had snagged this username yet

xiii. following: 544 and currently unfollowing more lol

xiv. average amount of sleep: i have insomnia so i couldn't tell ya

xv. lucky number: 5 because of my sports number

xvi. what I’m wearing: an oversized college t-shirt and short shorts cuz I'm not doing shit for the rest of the day

xvii. dream job: this is my current issue

xviii. dream trip: Japan, China, South Korea, and Italy

xix. fave food: chicken lmao

xx. play any instruments: violin, guitar, trumpet, uke, and piano lol

xxi. fave song(s): currently it is If You Wanna Stay by The Griswolds

xxii. play any sports: i played soccer for most of my life and i miss it :( but after my diagnoses it is really hard to do anything 

xxiii. hair colour: i just dyed it bright red

xxiv. eye colour: dark green with orange/brown in the center OR if I'm out in the sun a lot they turn super bright BRIGHT green

xxv. most iconic song: chewing gum chinese version

xxvi. languages I speak/am learning: fluent in English, I know a little bit of Italian and ASL and i took Latin in school, try to study Mandarin

xxvii. random fact: I have a deformed ear lmao

xxviii. describe yourself as aesthetic things: rain falling while it is sunny outside, laughing until it hurts, listen to your friend say something stupid but also thinking its so funny you have to share it with someone else, over sleeping but still making it somewhere on time WHILE ALSO looking presentable

[bizmiss1-blog]

Why ‘BizMiss’?

Well, first, let me tell you a bit more about myself. I’m a junior in college double majoring in marketing and psychology. I started college with the desire to be a psychiatrist, but quickly changed my mind when I realized the enormity of strain that came with the job. As I was entering college, I felt lost. Psychology was so interesting, but I did not want to have a traditional psychology career. I had planned on psychiatry my whole life… so now what? Through taking a variety of classes my freshman year, I realized that not only were the business classes understandable for me, they were also interesting. For a freshman in college, classes that are interesting do not come around very often, so I decided to investigate further.

I came to realize that business was not just pushy salespeople manipulating you or an accountant sitting at a desk all day. There was this thing called marketing which I found intriguing. Marketing and psychology go hand in hand, probably why I was so interested in it. To target the right group of people that you wish to market to, you need to know your audience and what makes them the ‘right group’. But what I love most about marketing is the switch from knowing what your consumers want to buy to why they want to buy it. This psychological aspect is extremely interesting to me and is what pushes me as a marketer.

In the past few years, I have gotten involved professionally as much as possible. Through joining the American Marketing Association, Delta Sigma Pi, the Sales Team, and having an advertising/branding internship, I want to absorb as much as I can about the business world before I am projectile launched into it in T-11 months (wow, ain’t that a scary fact). I’ve loved every second of the clubs that I am a part of. They all give me a different perspective to the business world that I would not have gotten otherwise.

Lately, I have been getting more interested in advertising and branding, which is what my internship is in. I would love to learn how to use Illustrator, Photoshop, InDesign, Canva, and other design platforms in classes, but there are only a few courses at the school I attend that discuss these platforms. Through my internship I have gotten more familiar with other platforms, which has been giving me real world experience of what my possible career after college would be. Although I’m graduating soon, I am allowing myself time to figure out what’s best for me and what I truly enjoy doing.

So now that you know a bit more about me, let me tell you why I chose to create BizMiss. First of all, it’s a play on words. Come on, everyone loves a good play on words. But in all seriousness, I created BizMiss because I truly enjoy dressing professionally and helping my friends pick out what they should wear. I have so many business clothes (seriously, it’s ridiculous) because I rationalize my clothing purchases as my investing in the future since I will be needing these clothes once I start my career.

The clubs that I am a part of often require business casual or business professional dress, so I have gotten used to slipping on heels and a blazer for a long school day. Although sometimes it can be annoying to have to look nice when my friends are sitting comfortably next to me in leggings and a baggy t-shirt, generally I like getting dressed up.

My internship also requires business casual dress in the office. I feel as though it promotes a sense of knowledge and professionalism that would not be achieved if any kind of dress was allowed in the office. When I wear business clothing, I am more confident in myself and what I’m saying because I look the part of a professional. Our boss, the CEO of the small company I intern at, always chooses to wear a suit. No matter the day, even if we’re just at the office, he wears a full suit. His decision to wear a suit reflects his power and confidence in the office. Although it’s just clothing, I feel as though I respect him more since he is dressed more professionally than I am.

Maybe there’s something to be said there. If you think about it, whether it’s business clothes or sweats, why do some clothing gain us more respect that other clothing? I wonder if it has to do with the material it is made out of. Sweats are comfortable, soft, and easy to move around in while business clothing like blazers and slacks are tightly wound with a higher thread count. Perhaps since business clothes are more uncomfortable, the people that would wear them are seen as more serious and are automatically given more authority?

Or maybe it is because of how expensive it is to create business clothes. Because they are typically made with higher quality fabric, it could be a status symbol to wear these clothes. For example, if you wear Lululemon apparel, which is extremely expensive athletic clothing, you automatically are viewed with more prestige than someone without name-brand athletic clothing. Perhaps people in business clothes are similarly viewed with prestige because of the clothes’ generally higher price tag. But, I digress.

My love for clothing stemmed when I was in high school. I always enjoyed fashion and keeping up with different clothing trends. Of course, like the typical high schooler, I was nervous to stand out too much, so I would never wear the fashionable clothes that were too ‘out there’. However, I did experiment with clothing and would often wear clothing that my friends would never wear.

Now that I am in college and could care less what others think of my clothing, I am free to experiment and wear whatever clothes that I enjoy. I used to do this mostly with everyday clothes, but as of the past year I have branched out and begun to wear business clothes that is fashionable, but not always normal. Personally, I like looking different than everyone else because it sets me apart and (hopefully!) is another way to make me memorable to others.

Last year I spent the first 3 weeks of summer in Italy for a psychology study abroad trip. It was my second time in Europe but was the trip that I cherished the most. My first trip to Europe, I was too young to appreciate everything around me, especially the fashion. Last year I was in complete awe at the sophistication and boundaries pushed with clothing in Italy. I found my new favorite store, Zara, there. This is one of the major stores that most Italian woman visit to find everyday clothes. However, since the fashion in the United States is much different, most of the clothing at Zara is perfect for business clothes. Italy taught me to appreciate ‘wacky’ patterns and flared sleeves in a way that I never thought that I would before.

Not only do I want to use this blog to promote different business clothes, but I also want to give insights and tips to my readers. I am lucky that the clubs that I am in do a fabulous job of preparing us for what to wear in the business world and what is and isn’t acceptable to wear. However, I know that many students that are going into the business world did not get the same opportunities and help that I did. My goal is to arm my readers with the insight to know what is acceptable to wear to each type of career they may encounter.

What took me the longest time to understand was the difference between business casual and business professional clothing since most business clothes can either be dressed up or down to reflect the specific look you are trying to achieve. I personally enjoy dressing business casual more so than business professional as there is more room to experiment and more options to try. However, business professional clothing is what makes me feel the most confident and professional. Overall, there are pros and cons to each type of dress.

You might be thinking, this girl is just a college kid, why should I listen to her? I’m sure that I could learn just as much from you as you might from me. From what I’ve learned in my experience, the business world is constantly growing and changing so why not use each other to gain a bit more knowledge into the field that we are all going into? I would love to hear your feedback and thoughts in the comments so let’s make this interactive and fun for the both of us!

If you decide to keep up with my blog, I would like to thank you in advance for taking the time out of your probably hectic life to read my tips and tricks on business dress and etiquette. I was extremely grateful for all of the knowledge that I gained from my clubs and internship and hope that you get a little something out of reading my blog as well. Ladies, let’s take this leap and dive into the BizMiss world together.

[sydneyswallow-arh]

(V.S. - 3)

Title: Agony in the Garden

Artist: Francesco Bassano

Culture/Place: Italian

Media: Oil on canvas

Date: 1582-84

Why did John Ringling choose “Agony in the Garden”?

I believe John Ringling chose "Agony in the Garden" by Francesco Bassano is because of the artist and what the painting means. Knowing the amazing history of how the Ringling museum became known for what it is today and understanding the background of the artist; I could see how John Ringling could appreciate this artwork. Francesco's father founded their family workshop and studied heavily in the religious world, and this painting in particular was one of nine that ranked in a church in Brescia. It tells the story of the scene after the Last Supper, in the Garden where Christ prays to his father before his arrest that his apostles shall keep watch and allow the "cup" of sacrifice should be passed from him and then his apostles fell asleep. The story that Francesco portrayed in the oil painting portrays what you would think the mood would be in that story, dark but showing a bit of light (in the prayer/cup) of hope. John Ringling and his wife admired the Italian artwork very much and I believe the reason why he chose this piece of art to be displayed at the museum is because it shows the culture well in detail, the mood, and it was easily relatable to anyone that lived in Italy at the time. Finally, knowing that the family started their own workshop of painters and John Ringling himself spending most of his life building throughout Sarasota and finally opening up his own museum, could appreciate the hard work and love that they similarly shared for art.

The Renaissance era began from Humanists that had influenced emphasis on classic latin literature They also embraced reform of the church through a return to ancient biblical and early Christian works. They were able to adapt their ideas to the different political and cultural situations in the various Italian city-states, one being Venice where Bassano lived at the time. Francesco Bassano created “Agony in the Garden” during the Late Renaissance, also known as “mannerism” which lasted from 1520s–1600. During this time human beings became the central focus of artistic expression in painting, sculpture, and architecture. Bassano's father founded their family workshop and studied heavily in the religious world, and this painting in particular was one of nine that ranked in a church in Brescia. It tells the story of the scene after the Last Supper, in the Garden where Christ prays to his father before his arrest that his apostles shall keep watch and allow the "cup" of sacrifice should be passed from him and then his apostles fell asleep. The story that Francesco portrayed in the oil painting portrays what you would think the mood would be in that story, dark but showing a bit of light (in the prayer/cup) of hope. This painting shows the culture well in detail, the mood, and it was easily relatable to anyone that lived in Italy at the time. It is a vertical oil painting that is staged during the night which gives it a darker effect. The praying Christ is in the center of the painting and the Angel with the cup is above him to the right and the sleeping disciples are on the ground below him. The contrast in this painting give emphasis to the to the mysterious appeal and accent the garments on the characters to give attention to them as well. “Agony in the Garden” shows how well the artist was familiar with the reliogus culture during The Late Renaissance period. It clearly portrays the scene of Christ praying to the angel and being strengthened by it right before the soldiers are coming to arrest him. The detail in the contrast of light helps the viewer understand the meaning behind it. The light from the cup reflecting down on Christ bring out the intensity of that moment and what he needed before he was arrested, which creates feeling of empathy of what he was feeling and what he was looking for from the angel to the people looking at the painting.

"Italian Renaissance Culture." Renaissance and Reformation Reference Library, edited by Julie L. Carnagie, et al., vol. 2: Vol. 2: Almanac, UXL, 2002, pp. 305-371. Gale eBooks, link.gale.com/apps/doc/CX3426300028/GVRL?u=lincclin_mcc&sid=bookmark-GVRL&xid=68c4c31d. Accessed 11 Nov. 2021.

“Agony in the Garden.” The Agony in the Garden, http://www.ringlingdocents.org/bassano1.htm.