it's a good day to be italian

consider: misala, or mila and sala, the real yuri on ice

 -they meet a figure skating competition in florence, mila, the favoured skater by all, sala, the underdog with a bright future. its rivalry at first sight, both of their competitive streaks not fading for a second as they move onto the ice. mila is sure in her abilities, in her sheer strength in power in her jumps, but she isnt cocky. the moment shes left the kiss and cry, shes watching sala as she skates onto the ice, confident despite not a spectator outside her country knowing her name. and she watches in earnest as sala pulls off a performance with grace she can only dream of, watches as the crowd is silenced into adoration as her program ends after what feels like a millennium that had passed in seconds. in seconds, all rivalry is thrown out the door. she comes in second that day, but spends the entire night drinking in her hotel room and asking if italian cuisine is as good as its said to be. 

 -they hit it off from there, phone numbers exchanged, skype calls and text messages sent during times not on the ice. sala is one part cheer and two parts cheek, teasing even mila, whose known for her antagonistic mannerisms, to a flush in seconds. it doesnt stop mila from retaliating, from sending the girl who exists in bright smiles and beautiful into looks of shock and surprise when she spends a competitions earnings to visit her and sweep her off her feet for real. sala doesnt admit it, ever, but she loves how strong mila is, how she can pick her up in seconds and lift her with ease. you shouldve done pairs, sala teases, poking her cheek. only if you join me, mila responds, sing-song with a wink.

 -friendship turns to romance before either girl has an inkling of whats happened. touches become frequent at competitions, either girl leaning over the boards during programs and watching with glee as the other performs, mila, hollering with excitement, sala, silently beaming with pride. the first time sala notices her eyes lingering on mila’s thighs as she jumps is the same day mila kisses her in the halls. she’s just gotten off the ice, hairline slicked with sweat, smile wide and cheery across her face. when she spots sala, she bolts, tackles her into a hug and brushes their lips together before the other has any idea of whats happened. they’re practically the only ones there, and sala cant even bring herself to worry about cameras when mila is lifting her by the waist and smiling against her lips. ive wanted to do that for ages, sala tells her. mila laughs, says, at least one of us had the balls. 

 -michele, as much as sala loves him, is an idiot. she receives daily compliments of such good friends! and im glad youve connected with another girl instead of fooling around with those boys! sala snickers onto the phone with mila, laughs as her girlfriend (she bubbles and prides at the word, cant imagine being in love with someone this perfect) as she impersonates her brother. it must be so late for her, sala knows, but still stays up until the dawn breaks to hear her voice.

-in the end, nothing really changes besides shared rooms and yuri plisetsky frustrated glares when he realizes hes dealing with two couples instead of one. mila doesnt think theyre that big on pda, but she wont lie: they hang off each other and flirt at any given moment, laughing and catching eyes from across the ice.

anime that isnt appreciated enough:

Battery

Mob Psycho 100

Joker Game

91 Days

Sakamoto Desu Ga

Nabari No Ou

Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu

Parasyte

21/100 • Monday, February 6, 2017

This was actually yesterday (I’ll post today’s soon). We didn’t have internet and the library was closed, so I did my calc homework at Mcdonald’s and got free food! I’ll also be co-running a booth at my school’s International Fair (ya girl gotta get them service hours lol) so that’ll be fun

If you’ve never read On Tour by CarpeDM, then, oh boy, you have no idea what you’ve been missing out on. Mainly hot Nico di Angelo goodness. It’s so good that I actually drew something with my shit art skills. I was gonna properly lineart it but… I’m really lazy, not gonna lie.

His collarbone tattoo says “all'inferno e ritorno e l'inferno di nuovo” which should be italian for “to hell and back and hell again” (green day), but I google translated it, so it could be saying “you’re a piece of shit” for all I know.

Also, holy shit BONUS! because it’s the best scene in the history of forever:

Yep.

anonymous asked:

Italian soda

Italian Soda: Describe your dream date.
This is gonna be so cheesy…
But like a walk in the woods on an autumn say, and like there’s like leaves everywhere… And its nice and cold and we’re wearing jackets and holding hands and laughing and having a good time, and we stop to eat lunch, and draw and stuff and maybe kiss or make out for a while and we just have like a really nice day in the woods and there’s like a lake and we sit by the lake and just be together… That’s my dream date lmao-

sorry i keep forgetting to update this on Monday we had italian class and then our Modern Life in Rome class which is where our professor takes us to different parts of Rome so this week we explored more in our area of Rome so like Garbatella and the San Paolo area. after class we all cooked stir fry together and lets just say its a good thing we are all chemical engineers because none of us have a career as a chef (although we do have a cooking class tomorrow!). Then yesterday we had italian class and then in the afternoon we went to see the Spanish steps which I thought were actually really underwhelming. but then we hit up aperitivo which never fails to disappoint. today we had class and in a few hours we are gonna go to vatican city and tonight we are making american food and planning our next few weekends. this weekend we are gonna do 2 day trips from rome as opposed to travelling so saturday we are going to tivoli and sunday we are going to perugia which apparently has the best chocolate in italy. also tonight we are planning out where we wanna travel the rest of the semester. next weekend is amsterdam could not be more excited!

I don’t know if it made it on tumblr yet, but this is the new initiative of the Italian Minister of Health: “Fertility Day”.
I’ll just translate the posters and let you think about it.
top left: “Beauty has no age, fertility does” [picture of a woman holding an hourglass]
top right: “Fertility is a communal good” [picture of some water]
bottom left: “Young parents. The best way to be creative” [picture of some feet coming out of a duvet and a smiley face]
bottom right: “The constitution protects conscious and responsible procreation” [picture of knitted baby shoes and a ribbon with the italian colours]

honestly i don’t even know what to say someone else comment this because i am speechless.

ok so horrificsmut i wrote this earlier but holy shit the mobile app sucks.

this au has been bouncing around in my head for a while, but since i kinda have a hatred for food, i’ve been afraid i can’t write it. but maybe i can anyway:

geoff is a jaded food critic in new york, a town that chews writers up and spits them out, but fuck if everyone doesn’t just swallow his bullshit because. well, honestly, because he panders to his audience. he’s known for being a tough critic, a tense judge. he wishes he could be honest, could just eat good food and tell the world to give that restaurant business. but writing is its own business. he has to judge every little detail, has to slam a restaurant every now and then. okay, most times he slams them.

anyway, he’s jaded. just do the job.

and one day he walks into this little italian restaurant in brooklyn of all places, and he isn’t expecting much. ITALIAN, how CREATIVE. he doesn’t have a reservation, but as soon as the staff realizes who he is they’re apologetic and tell him he’d have a table right away. if they’d known he was coming it would be faster. here’s a glass of wine on the house.

it’s fast anyway, which is nice, and geoff settles in as his waiter helps him. he eyes the kid that stalks up to him, obviously forced to come do a job. he says hello, that his name is ray and he’ll be geoff’s server for the night. he reads off the specials, he points out the wines they have just for that weekend, and then he closes off and geoff knows he’s about to get some kind of bad news. an excuse, maybe. “hey, so, uh, i dunno if you knew this or not, but our head chef is out of town for the weekend. so if you wanted to, you know, come back next week it might be better.”

and geoff scoffs and orders a party’s helping of food, tasting each item once or maybe twice if it’s good. and it is good. he convinces himself that it’s just alright, despite the meat being perfectly cooked and the vegetables roasted on real fire for a smoky flavor. he picks out the minute details, because he won’t have himself writing one of his first heartfelt, excellent reviews on ITALIAN FOOD.

so he goes home and he writes his review and it isn’t scathing, no, but it isn’t great either. it’s just so-so. people eat it up, and geoff goes about his week. halfway through, though, he gets a call from an unknown number. he ignores it, and a few hours later he listens to the voicemail. it’s some kid, with a scratchy voice and a jersey accent, frustrated and requesting geoff come back to his restaurant - ohhh. geoff laughs it off and, yeah, he admires the kid’s spirit but he’s not going back.

and then one night, while geoff is at his favorite little hole in the wall coffee shop, he hears a commotion at the front. and he looks up to see this fiery redhead insisting he take two plates of foil covered food in, and they make eye contact and suddenly the kid is headed right for him. saying his name, setting food on his table, uncovering a steaming pile of lasagna. his voice matches the message geoff got earlier that week, and soon geoff is laughing out loud and setting his book down and asking how the HELL this kid found him.

and michael, he says his name is “michael jones, the guy you dissed behind his back, you know?”, tells geoff it isn’t exactly hard to find him. that asshole writer types like him are always in little shitty coffee shops, and that geoff has mentioned this one at least three times in reviews. he doesn’t have to be a detective to find him. and he tells geoff to eat.

so geoff eats and it’s fucking good, honestly. it’s really good. just enough ricotta to moisten handmade pasta, sauce that michael must have tried every two seconds to be sure it was cooked just right. he hums, watching michael watch him eat, and laughs. michael’s quick to dive into why he’s there, to tell geoff that he needs to reevaluate his food, that he needs to redact his review. and geoff almost chokes on his bite, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat.

he leaves michael there, still chuckling about it. he laughs about it for days, whenever it comes to him. as he writes his next review, he giggles. he just cradles the thought and the incident into the back of his brain, pulling it out whenever he hates his job and his life. whenever he thinks about the grumbling hum of the kid chef’s voice. whenever he thinks he might go back to that restaurant, just for the company. whenever he feels himself slipping out of the independent, successful, lonely as fuck lifestyle he’s cultivated for himself.

and as time passes he sees more and more of michael. he sees him at the grocery store, and michael comes up to him without any shame. he sees him at the coffee shop two more times, and he always goes back home with a plate of hot food. it’s fucking hard to forget the kid when he keeps poking his way into his life, keeps inSISTING that geoff give him a shot, that it wasn’t fair that he’d judged his restaurant when he wasn’t even there.

so geoff gives in a little. okay, he gives in a lot. he gives michael his address and one friday night, michael is on his doorstep with a huge tray, and with wine, and with a fucking caprese salad chilled so it won’t wilt. and geoff groans at the sight of the osso buco, and fuck if it isn’t the best meal he’s ever had in his life - better than his own cooking. better than any michelin star awarded restaurant he’s been to.

and michael’s funny and delightful and doesn’t even mention the review. he just pours geoff wine and eats his food and talks about his favorite episode of Always Sunny and about how he’s thinking of tripping over to italy for a real education. he asks geoff if he’s always liked food, if he’s a chef himself, if he cared more about the food or the writing. and geoff tells him. he finds himself gushing about writing, about how he doesn’t want to review restaurants anymore, about how he got into it to be an artist and he ended up some pseudo-celebrity with an ego he didn’t notice get too big.

they have a fucking good time, and it’s almost one in the morning before either of them notice, and geoff walks michael to his car for an awkward, mumbling goodbye. michael gets in his car, and before he heads on down the street, he rolls his window down to look at geoff with his brows raised and a dorky, almost-nervous smile on his face. and geoff shifts, glancing up the walkway to his house before back down to him, and michael laughs loud and shaky.

“jeez, geoff, how many meals do i gotta make before you realize i like you?”

anyway that’s all i got i’m sure they bang in the end

fifth harmony are really killing it lately
worth it is holding up pretty well on the itunes and radio charts
they’re nominated for an italian mtv award
they’re performing at the billboard awards
they’re singing at the dancing with the stars finale
they’re special guest performers at the licensing expo

its a good day to be a harmonizer