#e pare stella che tramuti loco

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Rosemary Snow!!

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Notas en que me explico _La Divina Comedia_ 3

Paraíso Par. 1. Dante sube en este canto al cielo después de invocar a Apolo para que lo inspire: "Entra nel petto mio, e spira tue/ sì come quando Marsia traesti/ de la vagina de le membra sue." Así de insólito va a ser lo que verá. A Beatriz mirando el sol. Al sol. A Beatriz mirando al sol. Al sol. Hasta deshumanarse: "La novità del suono e ’l grande lume/ di lor cagion m’accesero un disio/ mai non sentito di cotanto acume." Dante está ya en el Paraíso. Beatriz vuelve a mirar el cielo. Par. 2. Al cielo de la luna, apunta el anotador, como corrigiendo a otro, como subrayando que la perla sempiterna, brillante, espesa, sólida, pulida, tiene un cielo. Sólo lo rarísimo y lo denso pudieron haber hecho esto. "[V]oglio informar di luce sì vivace,/ che ti tremolerà nel suo aspetto". Ahora sí creo que esto mejora. Par. 3. Encuentran a Piccarda, quien por no cumplir sus votos está en el cielo más lento. Cuando Dante le pregunta si es feliz en ese lugar menor, ella responde: "E ’n la sua volontade è nostra pace:/ ell’è quel mare al qual tutto si move/ ciò ch’ella cria o che natura face." Todo cielo es Paraíso, concluye Dante. Y eso que la gracia de Dios no llueve igual para todos. Par. 4: "[M]a tutti fanno bello il primo giro,/ e differentemente han dolce vita/ per sentir più e men l’etterno spiro", responde Beatriz a una de las dos dudas que Dante no articula en el canto, pero que había expresado anteriormente. Parecería que todo está en todas partes y somos sólo nosotros los que solo vemos partes. La otra duda queda así resumida: "ché volontà, se non vuol, non s’ammorza,/ma fa come natura face in foco,/se mille volte vïolenza il torza." Santa Barolini que lo explica todo. Par. 5. "Si cominciò Beatrice questo canto;/ e sì com’ uom che suo parlar non spezza,/ continüò così ’l processo santo". El argumento se relaciona con el libre albedrío, el mayor don que Dios dio al ser humano. Suben al siguiente cielo y ven varias almas que se acercan. O eso parece de tanta luz que despedían. Como estas terzinas: "che si cela elli stessi/ per troppa luce, come ’l caldo ha róse/ le temperanze d’i vapori spessi,/ per più letizia sì mi si nascose/ dentro al suo raggio la figura santa;/ e così chiusa chiusa mi rispuose/ nel modo che ’l seguente canto canta." Par. 6. A partir de un águila y su vuelo, Justiniano nos cuenta la historia del Imperio Romano. Anteriormente, los cantos seis fueron también usados para la historia política de Florencia y de Italia. El recorrido llega hasta las diferencias entere güelfos y gibelinos, y a la figura de Romeo, de Provenza, quien murió exilado por calumnias, como Dante, según Dante:" indi partissi povero e vetusto;/ e se ’l mondo sapesse il cor ch’elli ebbe / mendicando sua vita a frusto a frusto, / assai lo loda, e più lo loderebbe". Par. 7." Io dubitava e dicea «Dille, dille!»/ fra me, «dille», dicea, «a la mia donna/ che mi diseta con le dolci stille». Y lo que explicará Beatriz es la caída de Adán y por qué su descendencia carga con ella. Se explica cómo se perdió el don más grande recibido y cómo se hizo la humanidad. Además, que hay cosas en el universo que no hizo Dios directamente y otras que sí: "ma vostra vita sanza mezzo spira/ la somma beninanza, e la innamora/ di sé sì che poi sempre la disira". Par. 8. El cielo de Venus. Dante no nota el cambio hasta no ver un cambio en Beatriz: "Io non m’accorsi del salire in ella;/ ma d’esservi entro mi fé assai fede/ la donna mia ch’i’ vidi far più bella." De entre la confusión se distingue Carlos Martel, quien citando al mismo Dante, será la voz cantante del relato-- "Noi ci volgiam coi principi celesti/ d'un giro e d’un girare e d’una sete,/ ai quali tu del mondo già dicesti"-- la voz que, entendiendo, mueva este tercer cielo. Par. 9. Dos personajes se presentan ante Dante: Cunizza --" Cunizza fui chiamata e qui refulgo/perché mi vinse il lume d’esta stella" -- y Folco -- "Folco mi disse quella gente a cui/ fu noto il nome mio"--. Y aunque hablan de la corrupción florentina es difícil olvidar el astro que preside esta sección: "perché non satisface a’ miei disii?/ Già non attendere’ io tua dimanda,/ s’io m’intuassi, come tu t’inmii». Estamos por salir del último cielo al que la Tierra proyecta sombra. Par. 10. Cuesta reconocer que el cielo nuevo es el del sol, porque no podemos salir del orden de nuestro mundo: " e se dal dritto più o men lontano/ fosse ’l partire, assai sarebbe manco/ e giù e sù de l’ordine mondano." Aunque aquí hay luz sobre la luz, brillo sobre todo el brillo: "Quant’ esser convenia da sé lucente/ quel ch’era dentro al sol dov’ io entra’mi,/ non per color, ma per lume parvente!". Dante, el escriba de la materia: " quella materia ond’io son fatto scriba." Par. 11. No hay mejor oficio que la pobreza de San Francisco y Tomás de Aquino nos contará su historia: "De l’un dirò, però che d’amendue/ si dice l’un pregiando, qual ch’om prende,/ perch’ad un fine fur l’opere sue." Como en todo el Paraíso, lo que se relata responde las dudas que Dante ha ido teniendo en otros cantos. El entramado va entonces hacia atrás y nos lleva también a lo que sigue: un franciscano y Santo Domingo. Un espejo espeso. Par. 12. "Degno è che, dov’ è l’un, l’altro s’induca:/ si che, com’ elli ad una militaro,/ così la gloria loro insieme luca." Así hablará ahora Buenaventura de Santo Domingo. También mencionará los nombres de los doce sabios de su círculo que, junto al círculo de sabios explicado anteriormente, ponen en práctica el juego entre la unidad y lo diferente presente en todo el Paraíso: "così di quelle sempiterne rose/ volgiensi circa noi le due ghirlande,/ e sì l'estrema all'intima rispuose." Par. 13. Imagina y sigue imaginando, nos dice Dante para explicar lo que vio: "quindici stelle che ’n diverse plage/ lo ciel avvivan di tanto sereno/ che soperchia de l’aere ogne compage". Y sobre esa imagen nos pide volver a imaginar. Y es que lo que sigue es muy complicado: "per sua bontate il suo raggiare aduna,/ quasi specchiato, in nove sussistenze,/ etternalmente rimanendosi una." El misterio de la Creación, en boca de Santo Tomás. Creo, porque ya me confundí. Par. 14. Aquí hay que seguir imaginando y desimaginando: el agua en un vaso: "Dal centro al cerchio, e sì dal cerchio al centro movesi l’acqua in un ritondo vaso,/ secondo ch’è percosso fuori o dentro" y la visión de la belleza de Beatriz, que debe olvidarse: " Ma Bëatrice sì bella e ridente/ mi si mostrò, che tra quelle vedute/ si vuol lasciar che non seguir la mente." Se llega al cielo de Marte y a una cruz: “’n quella croce lampeggiava Cristo”. Par. 15. El cielo de Marte es el de la historia familiar. Por eso la mención al padre de Eneas, la cita a Virgilio y la figura de Cacciaguida: "Si pia l’ombra d’Anchise si porse,/ se fede merta nostra maggior musa,/ quando in Eliso del figlio s’accorse." Se hablará afectuosamente de Florencia y del linaje de Dante, mientras yo sigo pensando en estos versos: "Quale per li seren tranquilli e puri/ discorre ad ora ad or sùbito foco,/ movendo li occhi che stavan sicuri,// e pare stella che tramuti loco,/ se non che da la parte ond’ e’ s’accende/ nulla sen perde, ed esso dura poco"... Par. 16. Continúa la historia de Florencia en voz de Cacciaguida. Ahora es más temporal y crítica del presente, consciente de su temporalidad: "Le vostre cose tutte hanno lor morte,/ sì come voi; ma celasi in alcuna/ che dura molto, e le vite son corte." De ahí el siguiente y bellísimo catálogo de nombres: " o vidi li Ughi e vidi i Catellini,/ Filippi, Greci, Ormanni e Alberichi,/già nel calare, illustri cittadini; /e vidi così grandi come antichi, /con quel de la Sannella, quel de l’Arca,/e Soldanieri e Ardinghi e Bostichi." Algo tiene que quedar. Par. 17. Un canto al exilio de Dante, que aunque es pasado aquí se enfutura: "Tu proverai sì come sa di sale/ lo pane altrui, e come è duro calle/ lo scendere e ’l salir per l’altrui scale." Un canto de gratitud a la familia della Scala, de Verona: "ch’in te avrà sì benigno riguardo,/ che del fare e del chieder, tra voi due,/ fia primo quel che tra li altri è più tardo." Un canto-visión: "così vedi le cose contingenti/ anzi che sieno in sé, mirando il punto/ a cui tutti li tempi son presenti". Par. 18. Al cambiar de cielo dejan una pléyade de héroes, de quienes sólo vemos el nombre y el resplandor. Tan rápido los mencionará Cacciaguida: Josué, Macabeo, Carlomagno, Orlando, Rinoardo, Guillermo de Orange, Godofredo, Guiscardo. En el cielo de Júpiter todo son letras. Letras literalizadas en imprenta y levedad: "L’altra bëatitudo, che contenta/ apareva prima d’ingigliarsi a l’emme,/ con poco moto seguitò la ’mprenta." Par. 19. Dante se sorprende de esa visión plural que dice "yo": "ch’io vidi e anche udi’ parlar lo rostro,/ e sonar ne la voce e «io» e «mio»,/ quand’era nel concetto e «noi» e «nostro»." También se pregunta por qué hay seres virtuosos que no se salvan al no saber del dios cristiano. Ya no sólo lo hace en términos temporales --el caso de Virgilio --, sino geográficos: "Un uom nasce a la riva/ de l’Indo, e quivi non è chi ragioni/ di Cristo né chi legga né chi scriva". La justicia en el Paraíso nos lleva a recorrer el mundo. Par. 20. El águila que habla como un río -- "udir mi parve un mormorar di fiume/ ché scende chiaro giù di pietra in pietra,/ mostrando l’ubertà del suo cacume" -- le explicará las luces que puede ver en su ojo y ceja: David, Trajano, Ezequías, Constantino, Guillermo II el Bueno y Rifeo el justísimo. Así, Dante cuenta la sorpresa de que haya dos almas no cristianas ahí: "La prima vita del ciglio e la quinta/ ti fa maravigliar, perché ne vedi/ la region de li angeli dipinta." Las virtudes teologales mencionadas luego nos regresan a la última escena en que vimos a Virgilio. Todo es muy emocionante. Par. 21. El cielo de Saturno es de cristal, tiene una escalera que sube y sube. Ahí la belleza infinita de Beatriz, si sonriera, acabaría con Dante. Como terminó la música que hasta ahora había sonado siempre. Una de las almas contemplativas se aproxima a Dante y, a sus preguntas, responde: "Ma quell’alma nel ciel che più si schiara,/ quel serafin che ’n Dio più l’occhio ha fisso,/ a la dimanda tua non satisfara,/ però che sì s’innoltra ne lo abisso/ de l’etterno statuto quel che chiedi,/ che da ogne creata vista è scisso." Barolini nos avisa que Dante ya está preparando el fin del Paraíso. Par. 22. En el cielo de Saturno ven una luz que es san Benito, en cuya compañía Dante se siente resguardado: "così m’ha dilatata mia fidanza,/ come ’l sol fa la rosa quando aperta/ tanto divien quant’ell’ha di possanza." Suben a la última esfera y ahí Beatriz pide a Dante mirar para atrás: "Col viso ritornai per tutte quante/ le sette spere, e vidi questo globo/ tal, ch’io sorrisi del suo vil sembiante". Así, el canto finaliza con el peregrino observando el camino recorrido: “l’aiuola che ci fa tanto feroci”. Par. 23. "[L]o era come quei che si risente/ di visïone oblita e che s’ingegna/ indarno di ridurlasi a la mente": el Paraíso sólo puede contarse a saltos, entiende Dante. Y hace visión de la división: «Io sono amore angelico, che giro/ l’alta letizia che spira del ventre/ che fu albergo del nostro disiro; /e girerommi, donna del ciel, mentre/ che seguirai tuo figlio, e farai dia/ più la spera suprema perché lì entre». Par. 24. "'La Grazia che mi dà ch’io mi confessi', /comincia’ io, 'da l’alto primipilo,/ faccia li miei concetti bene espressi'", pide Dante para hablarle a San Pedro. Este es un canto a la posibilidad de creer en algo y a la argumentación. Hace de la fe moneda de cambio y silogiza lo que pide creer: "Risposto fummi: «Di’, chi t’assicura/che quell’opere fosser? Quel medesmo/che vuol provarsi, non altri, il ti giura". Es un mecanismo de relojería. Par. 25. Dante expresa lo que quiere conseguir con su escritura: "Se mai continga che ’l poema sacro/ al quale ha posto mano e cielo e terra,/ si che m'ha fatto per molti anni macro,/ vinca la crudeltà che fuor mi serra/ del bello ovile ov’io dormi’ agnello,/ nimico ai lupi che li danno guerra". Se trata de los primeros versos de este canto en que aparecerán Santiago y San Juan y, si antes fue la fe, ahora se centrarán en la esperanza. Un poco después dice: "ritornerò poeta". Es lo que espera. Y aquí seguimos volviéndolo a leer. Como para copiarlo todo. Par. 26. A San Juan y la caridad como amor a Dios, que ya esperábamos, sigue Adán, quien explica que a él lo condenó su desobediencia: "Or, figluol mio, non il gustar del legno/ fu per sé la cagion di tanto essilio,/ ma solamente il trapassar del segno." Su exilio es causa, práctica y consecuencia de un límite. Adán también se refiere a la lengua: la que hablaba y la que se derivó de sus actos: "Pria ch’i’ scendessi a l’infernale ambascia,/ I s’appellava in terra il sommo bene/ onde vien la letizia che mi fascia;/ e El si chiamò poi". Por el límite, la división. Par. 27. Éste es un canto de contrastes: después de la escena en que San Pedro critica combativamente al Papado, llegamos a versos como los siguientes: "Si come di vapor gelati fiocca/ in giuso l’aere nostro, quando ’l corno/ de la capra del ciel col sol si tocca,/ in sù vid’ io così l’etera addorno/ farsi e fioccar di vapor trïunfanti/ che fatto avien con noi quivi soggiorno." Estamos cambiando de cielo y llegando a la quietud del mundo: "La natura del mondo, che quieta/ il mezzo e tutto l’altro intorno move,/quinci comincia come da sua meta". Ahora sí parece que hasta el Paraíso se va a terminar. Par. 28. El movimiento perpetuo y el Primum Mobile: "distante intorno al punto un cerchio d’igne/ si girava sì ratto, ch’avria vinto/ quel moto che più tosto il mondo cigne". Un canto para girar: "e questo era d’un altro circumcinto,/ e quel dal terzo, e ’l terzo poi dal quarto,/ dal quinto il quarto, e poi dal sesto il quinto./ Sopra seguiva il settimo sì sparto/ già di larghezza, che ’l messo di Iuno/ integró a contenerlo sarebbe arto." Par. 29. De la naturaleza de los ángeles: "Queste sustanze, poi che fur gioconde/ de la faccia di Dio, non volser viso/ da essa, da cui nulla si nasconde:/ però non hanno vedere interciso/ da novo obietto, e però non bisogna/ rememorar per concetto diviso . . ." Nunca han visto más que a Dios: ahí está todo y no necesitan recordar nada. Cada vez entiendo menos. Lo raro es poder seguir: "Forma e materia, congiunte e purette,/ usciro ad esser che non avia fallo,/ come d’arco tricordo tre saette." Par. 30. Amanece en Beatriz. Y la visión es tal que Dante deja de dudar: "al punto che mi vinse,/ parendo inchiuso da quel ch’elli ’nchiude". Sabe que no puede seguir porque no tiene palabras para decir lo que ve: "ma or convien che mio seguir desista". Según él, porque entonces: "con atto e voce di spedito duce/ ricominciò: 'Noi siamo usciti fore/ del maggior corpo al ciel ch’è pura luce:/ luce intellettual, piena d’amore;/amor di vero ben, pien di letizia;/letizia che trascende ogne dolzore.'" Par. 31. “In forma dunque di candida rosa”, comienza este canto en el que veremos la última sonrisa de Beatriz. La sonrisa de Beatriz de Borges. Cuando Dante vuelve a mirar se encuentra a San Bernardo. San Bernardo mirando a María según los tópicos del amor cortés: "E la regina del cielo, ond’io ardo/ tutto d’amor, ne farà ogne grazia,/però ch’i’ sono il suo fedel Bernardo." Mirar cómo mira el otro es querer mirar. Par. 32. " [P]oui tu veder così di soglia in soglia/ giù digradar, com’ io ch’a proprio nome/ vo per la rosa giù di foglia in foglia." Así San Bernardo explica la corte en el Empíreo, donde todo es orden: "Dentro a l’ampiezza di questo reame/ casüal punto non puote aver sito." Todo es diferencia: "Dunque, sanza mercé di lor costume,/ locati son per gradi differenti,/ sol differendo nel primiero acume." Dante duda por lo que parece ser la última vez. Par. 33. Sólo copiaré los versos que más me gustaron de este último canto del libro: "Qual è ’l geomètra che tutto s’affige/ per misurar lo cerchio, e non ritrova,/ pensando, quel principio ond’ elli indige,/ tal era io a quella vista nova:/ veder voleva come si convenne/ l'imago al cerchio e come vi s’indova;/ ma non eran da ciò le proprie penne". Como para empezar de nuevo.

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ROSEMARY'S BIRTHDAY IS ON VAMPIRE DAY???

🧛🧛🧛🧛

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IT'S ROSEMARY'S BIRTHDAY 🥳

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My fic year in review, 2022

I saw @captain-aralias doing this and I thought “hey, this is fun!”. So cool that you (aralias, you are the you here) do this every year.

Fics I wrote:

Learn to let go (929, T, CrisTales)

A rip in time (68K, T, Doctor Who Universe)

Zimbits April Updates (2.7K; T; Check, Please!)

che col tuo lume mi levasti (63K, T, Simon Snow Series)

At last (801, G, Glee)

e pare stella che tramuti loco (29K, T, Simon Snow Series)

Wielded by the righteous (2K, G, Simon Snow Series)

The Naked Truth (15K, T, Simon Snow Series)

Call Me Maybe (12K, T, Simon Snow Series, with @captain-aralias)

Barking Up The Wrong Bakery (8.7K, T, Glee)

These numbers could be lucky for you (402, G, Glee)

Then maybe time would not erase me (2.7K, G, Julie and the Phantoms)

Thinkin' about us (377, G, Our Flag Means Death)

All I needed for another day (768; G; Love, Victor)

Ebb & Flow (29K, G, Glee)

Dalton 8 Days of Pride (2.8K, G, Dalton)

Dalton 8 Days of Wrath (WIP, T, Dalton)

I can't believe it IS butter (1.111, G, Simon Snow Series)

Time After Time (18K, T, Simon Snow Series)

The Moon fic (49, G, Glee)

Stage Fright (12K, T, Glee, with all the authors of the @gleefrankenfic)

aap noot mies (8K, G, Glee)

A Grimm Christmas (5K, G, Simon Snow Series)

So Much Better (12K, T, Glee)

There's nothing ironic about show choir (14K, T, Simon Snow Series)

Ljubim te (WIP, T, Glee)

Holy moly. This is... more than I thought. I also just found out that you can filter your statistics page by year, so I don’t have to grab my calculator. AO3 tells me I published 319,614 words this year! “Published”, because I have a lot of unfinished WIPs that I wrote for. Meanwhile, Paradiso 2 was written in 2021 and part of Paradiso 3 as well. I’ve been writing A rip in time since 2017 and also I wrote the beginnings of the alien!Blaine fic and Time After Time in 2018 and 2021.

All Glee fics are about Klaine. Almost all Simon Snow fics are about Snowbaz, with Call Me Maybe as the exception. That is a gen fic. Same goes for the Love, Victor one, the JATP one and the CrisTales one. The Dalton ones are multiships. The other two ships I wrote for are Zimbits (OMGCP) and Gentlebeard (OFMD).

Some questions under the cut. Aralias, these questions are really good.

Best/worst title?

The best titles are Time After Time, The Naked Truth and A Grimm Christmas in my opinion, and I cannot take credit for those. Christina @facewithoutheart came with Time After Time (my working title was “damn Baz, you live like this?”), Pati @aristocratic-otter came up with The Naked Truth and Jas @aroace-genderfluid-sheep came up with A Grimm Christmas.

If I gotta pick my own work, it’s I can’t believe it IS butter. Okay, and I kept laughing every time I wrote There’s nothing ironic about show choir, because Rachel’s delivery of that line would play in my head.

The worst is probably Thinkin’ about us. That was definitely a last minute title. I mean, it makes sense to me, but it makes no goddamn sense for this fic. I chose it since it’s the lyrics of Just A Dream (UH UH UH I WAS THINKIN’ ABOUT YOU, THINKIN’ ABOUT ME, THINKIN’ ABOUT US yada yada) which is a huge inside joke in the Dalton Discord, but this fic has absolutely nothing to do with Dalton and its Discord. The fic is about waking up from a dream, hence the shit connection, but yeah... not the best.

Best/worst summary?

I am not the best at writing summaries, mostly because I tend to forget about them until I am ready to post and I’m like “oh SHIT oh FUCK”, so the best? Hmmmm. @cerriddwenluna really helped me out with the aap noot mies and the Ebb & Flow ones. But alas, if I have to pick my own work, I think it’s Time After Time.

Simon Snow dies in the White Chapel, and Baz has to live an immortal life without him. Or so he thinks. Every twenty years, when the Veil lifts, Simon and Baz are able to reunite. Something is keeping Simon from moving on, and Baz doesn’t know if he wants to find out what that is, because it would mean letting go.

And if there’s one thing Baz can not do, it’s letting Simon go.

Simple and straight to the point. It introduces what the fic is about and it also introduces the main source of tension: Baz doesn’t want to let go of Simon. Drama ensues!

Worst:

And finally, the end.

This is from the Zimbits Update fic and it means absolutely nothing. That’s because these Updates fics are collections of drabbles, so each chapter has a summary of its own. But as a result, I always put my own commentary in the summary of the fic as a whole. It makes some sense if you read the series in one go, which is something a lot of people do (and it always brings me joy when I get an AO3 e-mail with kudos and it’s clear that someone went through it all), but on its own it is terrible.

I just refuse to write “I am bad at summaries” in the summaries. I at least gotta commit to the bit 😔✊.

Best/worst first line?

All my first and last lines are very short. I realised most of the fics start with a short line, then a larger line that really kicks of the story.

There seems to be one exception, which is the Bakery fic. That’s why I think that’s the best first line.

There are many decisions that have led Kurt Hummel to this dog bakery, but the biggest one was his decision to move to Los Angeles to become a dog party planner for influencers.

And worst.... Hmmm. Like I said, most of the first lines are very similar: short and not saying a lot. I don’t think the beginnings of my fics are bad, per sé, because all the opening paragraphs are a decent way to start a fic. I’m going with At Last, since that is a missing scene from Glee, so the fic jumps straight into a scene:

“But... But what?” Kurt asks, desperate to make some sense out of this situation.

Best/worst last line?

The best is probably The Naked Truth, once again because that one is longer than 10 words.

I put my pencil on the paper, I look over to Simon who’s already flexing his upper body, and I start to draw.

But yeah, I don’t think of first and last lines, but I think of beginnings and endings in a larger scale, like a paragraph or a chapter. But this one is nice and it also says something about what the fic’s about, unlike other last lines.

I picked the upcoming worst line since I apparently used it twice.

All is well.

Again, my last lines are very short and again it doesn’t mean they’re bad, but sometimes they are. Sometimes it’s clear I was looking for a quick line that felt fitting for any kind of ending. So this is the end of A rip in time and The Moon fic. (And I won’t be surprised if I have used it more).

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

Damn, I wrote a lot more than I thought. Over 300.000 words is insane, so yes, definitely more than I thought. I admit I don’t really plan my fics in advance. It’s changed a little bit since I started doing fests (more on that later), but most of the time I just start writing and I see when (or if) it sees the light of day.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

Well, I couldn’t have written for Gentlebeard since the show didn’t exist last year, but jk jk. More seriously, I did write for three new fandoms: OFMD, JATP and CrisTales. And I got some returning ones (Dalton and Love, Victor).

The genre that completely threw me off was parenting fic or whatever you want to call it. I never even attempted a serious fic with any of my ships as parents. There have been kid OCs before (like, Julie for Klaine in the Myosotis series, or the unnamed twins for Zimbits in one fic that I can’t fucking remember right now), but I never wanted to do that, mostly because I don’t want kids myself so I never think about it.

And then my little Rosemary Snow happened. Maybe this is cheating, cause I did mention that I wrote part of Paradiso 3 in 2021, but oh MAN. OH MAN. How much love I have for this fictional child. If Simon and Baz are the dads, then I am the fairy godmother (who killed her biological parents oop-). She’s not real and yet I’d die for her. And not only is this a fic with a kid, but also it delves deep into adoption, another topic that I swore I’d never delve into. Alas, here we are.

Oh, and I wrote my first Main Character Death with Time After Time, but Simon is still constantly present in the fic as a Visitor.

What’s your favourite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

Paradiso series. And yes, I know, I wrote all of Paradiso 1 and 2 in 2021 and part of Paradiso 3 in 2021 as well, but I loved it. I had so much fucking fun.

I often say that Paradiso 1 is the amazing eldest child, Paradiso 2 is the awkward middle child and Paradiso 3 is the surprise youngest child. What I mean by this is that Paradiso 1 is probably the best and maybe I should’ve ended it there, but I wanted to continue so badly that I wrote Paradiso 2. Could that fic have been better? Definitely. I think it is quite messy. But I love it nevertheless and it still introduced a lot of cool things. Paradiso 3 was even more unplanned and since it took me on a journey, it was a surprise.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

Everyone say “Thank you AO3!”

I usually don’t pay attention to my stats. I have no clue if something is popular because a) most of the time I do not know how many kudos etc. a fic has and b) even if I do have a vague idea of it, I don’t know what constitutes as “popular” in the grand scheme of things. I do sometimes associate one person with a fic and even if that one person was the only one loving it, I’d be happy.

So thank you AO3 for this goddamn great statistics page. Now, I do peek here maybe once a year, just out of curiosity (I think I may have made annual posts about that) and god this page is a godsend for having all the information in one place.

Here are the hits:

Note that a lot of people who read A rip in time read it in the beginning of when I started posting (2018). All the others got posted in 2022 only. Oh, well, Paradiso started posting mid-December 2021, but most of it was posted in 2022.

Kudos:

Same story here. I filtered the results on 2022, but since A rip in time did post in 2022, it is an outlier, like spider georg.

Comments:

Bookmarks:

And here again. If we disregard A rip in time, it seems like Time After Time is the most popular. Damn Baz, you live like this?

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

Call Me Maybe. Call Me Maybe! God, @captain-aralias​ already mentioned it, but yes, I totally agree that Call Me Maybe is the most underappreciated. And I know why. It isn’t a shippy fic. It’s a gen fic about Agatha, and Simon and Baz only make a “cameo” in the actual fic.

But I put my heart and soul in this fic. I projected on Agatha like a boss. I even tried to rickroll the fandom!

And this was the only time I was aware of it not being popular. Like I wrote above, I have two reasons that I am usually ignorant of how well my fics are doing. I don’t care. Yes, I’d like people to read my stuff. I always use the cake analogy. If someone spends hours baking a cake and no one eats it, then even when the baking process was fun, it stings. But even then, since I do not actively track my stats and I don’t look at other people’s stats either. I remain blisfully ignorant and I find that very freeing.

But this fic was part of a fest. All the fics of that fest were put together in one AO3 collection. And that made it very easy to see how this fic was not getting the hits that others did. It took a long time before this fic even got 100 hits, while others already had over 400 or so. When it hit 100, I was very emotional. I knew it wasn’t going to be as popular, since this isn’t a Snowbaz fic, but man. There were some huge differences.

Now, honestly, the most important thing to me was that @captain-aralias​ liked it, which she did. I am so happy she liked it. Even her comments in her 2022 review page make me feel warm and fuzzy and happy. But I also wished more people had the chance to like it as well.

I’ve talked about my approach to stats etc. several times with people. There I also said that no matter how true it is that 99% I do not care, there is also the 1%. I think every writer, even “chill” ones like me, is prone to some anxiety or disheartened feelings at one point about stats and Call Me Maybe was my fic for that situation. I just really, really wanted people to read it. I still do. I haven’t checked the stats ever since it hit 100 hits, since that was the milestone I had in mind when I realised Call Me Maybe was falling behind, and it happened, but I wouldn’t mind more people reading it.

Story that could have been better?

Without a doubt, it’s Ebb & Flow. It’s just messy. Even more messy than Paradiso 2. (Not as messy as A rip in time, though, but the whole idea behind A rip in time is that it’s kinda bad anyway, which is why I love it.) (If you love the Doctor Who universe, and mess, A rip in time is the fic for you!).

Or well, at least I think Ebb & Flow is messy. It had a beginning with a lot of info-dumping, a wacky middle where too much was going on, and a good ending that is only that good because I was inspired by another fic. It’s because I had a story to tell, but I also wanted to nerd out about Splatoon 2. Do I regret the nerding out? No, not at all, but it made it a bit messy, especially for people who do not know Splatoon 2 (I did provide a glossary, but still). Besides, the Big Sad of the story is that Burt is dead and I am not sure if I like how I handled the grief. @thnxforknowingme​ told me it’s fine, which was reassuring, but every time I reread Ebb & Flow, I have to stop myself from skipping to the last few chapters cause that’s the good stuff.

Sexiest story?

Gotta pass. Would you believe it when I say T-rated The Naked Truth is the most steamy I ever wrote? All because they were undressing each other! (Well, okay, look, Simon was naked for a lot of the fic but in relation to his relation with Baz, it’s only a scene where they start to take off to undress). I used the word dick for the first time! Wooooh!

Although I think an upcoming chapter of Ljubim te might surpass it. Not too big. I don’t think I’ll ever write E (or M. I gotta see how it goes with Ljubim te.)

Saddest story?

Time After Time. I mean, it’s MCD. I made people cry! Even though Simon is still constantly in the fic, he’s Capital D Dead as in No Amount of Magic Can Bring Simon Back kind of dead.

And on a personal note, Paradiso 3 was incredibly emotional for me, as an adopted person, to write.

Most fun?

Probably I can’t believe it IS butter. I want to write more of the Butter Saga, where Simon marvels over all the forms of butter!

Just... the image of Simon carrying butter packets with him everywhere, so that he can gnaw on them. I love this guy. I kept laughing throughout the entire writing process and I loved that I got to share it with the CO Discord, since the idea came from there.

Oh, and as a Glee fan, I absolutely loved There’s nothing ironic about show choir. I really tried to capture the crazy Glee dramatics for this fic and Simon and Baz’s feud. Ruta and Vitis forever!

Story with single sweetest moment?

Not to toot my own horn, but I am obsessed with this line from The Naked Truth:

Again, there’s so much laughter.

Is this what love is like? Endless exuberant laughter? I revel in the sound of his joy.

I mean, pretty swell for an aroace gal.

And I also got the comment that Time After Time is utterly romantic in its own way, and I have to agree, even though Simon is super dead.

Hardest story to write?

Ebb & Flow. It’s the unfortunate truth that I hated writing this fic. I complained constantly about it here and on The Lima Bean Discord. I don’t want to put it so crassly (”I hated writing that!”), because it was a fest so I wasn’t the only person involved, but it’s just what happened. I loved the prompt. I fucking ADORE the art that was created for it, but the writing.... Oh honey.

I got stuck a lot. Getting stuck isn’t new, but this was my first fest and it was nerve wrecking. I’ll get more into that later. But this led to this extra pressure and that only made the existing bad feelings even worse. Basically, when I ended it, I was so fucking done I couldn’t look at it, since it just made me anxious. I normally write and then polish my work before posting, but here I didn’t want to dwell on this fic. The day before posting day, I finally opened the document after 2 weeks (I think?) to do some final edits and that was it.

This also goes back to the whole “story that could have been better” answer. Is Ebb & Flow truly that messy, or am I just projecting my negative feelings on it? I did talk with some others about how I started to like Ebb & Flow after I got positive feedback, and how that also motivates me to comment more. The comments I got on that fic make my day and I admit I am surprised every time I get a positive one. Not that I expected negative ones, but I don’t know... I just didn’t like it.

I do now. Don’t get me wrong. I like Ebb & Flow since the people in this fandom really lifted me up, but I still think it could’ve been better. But I like it. It’s on my mind a lot, mostly because I am listening to a lot of Splatoon music and of course, Splatoon 3 has been released. Hmmm, maybe I’ll write that sequel one day (*wink wink nudge nudge* @cerriddwenluna​).

Easiest/most fun story to write?

Barking Up The Wrong Bakery. I actually wrote Bakery fic to counter all the bad feelings that arose while writing Ebb & Flow. Instead of polishing up Ebb & Flow, as I should’ve done, I went head first into Bakery fic.

I even made a meme about it:

It was just so much fun. The whole idea of this fic was letting go of trying too hard and it was so worth it. And I had Cooper as a cartoon villain of sorts. I have more to say about it later, but crack is very relaxing to write.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

Call Me Maybe definitely was a huge thing. I had written an Agatha saga in 2021, but I still think Call Me Maybe was the first time I gave Agatha the love she needs. And, yes, yes, projection on characters. You know how it is.

After Wayward Son, I was really rooting for aroace Agatha. So much that after I first finished AWTWB I was clinging onto the fact that Niamh wasn’t mentioned in the epilogue. As in “yes, yes, they kissed in the book but that doesn’t mean they actually end up together, Agatha can still realise this isn’t what she wants either!”. I came around because I too am obsessed with Niamh. If I weren’t aroace and if Niamh Brody weren’t fictional I’d also ask her hand in marriage. If Agga doesn’t want her, then I want her!

So yeah. Niamh Brody, amirite?

But still, I liked the idea of exploring the big What If. Originally, Call Me Maybe started out as Agatha realising she likes girls since she gets a crush on Penelope. @captain-aralias​ already wrote in the original CO WIP Adoption Fest fic that she was also fine with it being a friendship fic between Agga and Penny. I shifted the crush part from Penny to Ginger. I tried that for a while, which is why the beginning of what I’ve written is more about Agga having Feelings and Thoughts when she’s around Ginger.

But I suppose Ginger isn’t Niamh. I realised I wasn’t vibing with it at all. I already have issues with writing characters who fall in love because my aroace ass has no clue what that is. So I messaged Aralias again to tell her it was going to be an aroace!Agatha fic and I realised that I could use the Feelings and Thoughts from the beginning for that reason as well. Yes, she has Feelings and Thoughts about Ginger, but it’s not romantic and that bothers Agga, because she doesn’t know why she can’t just fall for her. As a result, I had to let go of the more flirty playful Agatha from AWTWB, but I worked out. So maybe it wasn’t a change in perspective, since I already had aroace!Agatha in mind after WS, but more a “coming back to that perspective”, after AWTWB changed it up.

Most overdue story?

A rip in time. I mean, I started writing it in 2017 and I started posting it in 2018. I felt incredibly empty when I finally finished it, but it was time. I knew I wanted to finish it before 13 regenerated, so I did.

God.

What a ride this was, though.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Oh, yes, definitely. There are probably two big risks and one smaller risk.

The smaller one is that I branched out to new fandoms, but honestly, that isn’t super new. I also wrote fic for other fandoms in previous years. It’s just true that Glee/Simon Snow/Check, Please! are my go-to’s, even though I only wrote one Check, Please! fic this year.

The bigger ones are:

1. I participated in collaborative fests and challenges. I have been doing the Klaine Advent since 2015 and I’ve written for some other challenges, but this is the first year I collaborated. Call Me Maybe and Stage Fright are the only ones that I co-wrote, but the other collaborative fests are still collaborative in my eyes, because I wrote other people’s prompts or other people made stuff for the fic. But yeah, I had the 321 Klaine Reverse Bang, and the CO WIP Adoption Fest, and the Glee Frankenfic, and of course the latest Klaine Secret Santa. And oooooh boy, it was nerve wrecking. Not gonna lie there. I usually live by the “I write for me and ME alone” principle, and that obviously does not apply when you’re working with someone else. There have been moments where I was so nervous. I was constantly hoping that the others would like it, especially with So Much Better, because that was a holiday gift! I remember fistbumping the air when I got the news that I could use Legally Blonde for that fic. Sometimes that had negative consequences (yeah, again, Ebb & Flow), but I learnt a lot. I do think I ought to tone it down. I wrote a lot about my girlboss situation, which was basically that I took on too many challenges etc. and that I was girlbossing too close to the sun. I am just genuinely excited and I want to encourage people in the fandom to make more challenges, but woooh, maybe I gotta tone it down.

2. I wrote a surprising amount of cracky fics. Bakery fic, The Moon fic, Thinkin’ about us, Butter fic, aap noot mies, There’s nothing ironic about show choir... Heck, I still have the WIPs Hold on to that feeling and Just Some Guy. I started both this year and those are also cracky. I made Baz a Klainer 12! Check, Please!’s John Johnson is here! I usually write angst and serious stuff, like mental health issues, grief, broken friendships, internalised homophobia, questioning identity etc., so this was a huge departure. Not to say I’ve never written crack. The fic where Jack and Bitty almost adopt a donkey on the Sims 4 is a thing. But I didn’t see it as a genre that I write often enought to say that it’s a genre I write. Man, Bakery fic did me a lot of good, because I had a fucking blast writing all the crack stuff. I kept laughing a lot while writing the stuff and I am happy being also found it cracky. Kissy kissy smooch smooch! BONK!

This year’s theme and the story that demonstrates it most:

Kinda what I wrote above: crack and collabs. I don’t know if there’s one specific story that demonstrates it. None of the collab fics are the cracky fics. Although that being said, I shared a lot about writing the cracky fics, since I obviously didn’t have to keep that a secret until a post date. As a result, I did get fun feedback while writing it. I already made a mushy post a few weeks earlier about how I am so happy that fandom exists and yeah, yeah I am happy it exists.

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

please for the love of god let me finish my fucking zimbits fics oh GOD

This is a long post so if you made it to this spot, hi! Since it’s a long post, I wrote some little drafts for each answer and the sentence above is the draft for this one. Because yes, please, let me finish the two Zimbits fics that I’ve been writing since 2019. They aren’t my oldest WIPs, but I want to write Zimbits again because I miss these characters.

I don’t know when I’ll get to it, though. I currently have one WIP on AO3, which is Ljubim te, my Klaine Advent 2022 fic. I don’t feel rushed to finish it. After all, I finished my 2019 Advent fic in October 2020, but I want to finish it. And I really want to wrap up my CO textfic. I got very far into that fic, but then I put it away to focus on the fests and challenges that did have a deadline.

I‘ve also been thinking about bullet point fics/fic where the author just writes it down as “notes”. There are two big AUs that have been on my mind for a while, namely the Sarah Jane Adventures Extended Universe (SJAE, since 2017) and the Glee/Sense8 crossover (since 2020) and since these two are basically a collection of ideas, maybe it’s possible. I’ve never made a bullet point fic/”notebook fic” (no idea if that is an actual term), but I have read them.

Apart from that, I’ll see.

[forabeatofadrum]

3, 6, & 30 for ao3/writing q’s!

Eyyy! Hi Jenna!

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I mean, I wrote most of Paradiso 3 in 2021, but I published it in 2022, so I guess it counts for AO3 wrapped. e pare stella che tramuti loco was a journey. I don’t know if I can ever do it again, which is why I am the most proud of it.   

6. Favorite title you used?

I laugh every time I write There’s nothing ironic about show choir, because I hear the actual glee line in my head every time I write it down. And then she dramatically leaves!

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

I finished A rip in time, a fic I’ve been writing since 2017. I’ve had this ending in my head since 2019 or so but I just... I could never write it down. So I am surprised I managed to finally finish it.

[forabeatofadrum]

Look I know I don’t watch Bridgerton, but like all the other people on the internet, my social media are overflowing with Bridgerton content. Charithra Chandran who plays Edwina Sharma? Yeah, she’s now my adult Rosemary FC. I don’t know. It just clicks.

[forabeatofadrum]

@urban-sith replied to your post “R :3”:

i wanted you to talk about rosemary so bad so i am glad you remembered her lol!!

​Rosemary Natasha Srinivasan Snow-Pitch(-Grimm-Salisbury-whatever?) my beloved

who has her own little wooden toy kitchen where she practises using toy swords to slice her food, like her papà does

who loves gardening, but more importantly, loves sitting in the sun next to her papà while he gardens

who, as a toddler, believes she can turn into a bat

who therefore has a stuffed bat named Pipi as her favourite plushie

who loves getting thrown in the air by her babbo, knowing he will always catch her with his vampire reflexes

whose cute curls and dark eyes get hidden by her ridiculously big sunhat that she loves to wear in the summer

who insisted on having a custom made flowered suit, like her daddies

who is growing incredibly strong and loves to wrestle and roughhouse with her papà

whose magic feels like crying a river

who isn’t the most powerful with magic, but who still loves how her water magic contrasts and therefore compliments her babbo’s fire magic

who adores all the sundresses that auntie Agatha sends in

who loves puzzling with all her possible last names, because it means she has a big family, and she loves everyone so much (apart from her great-uncle Nicodemus, she got that from her babbo)

who is, in turn, adored by everyone, especially her nonne Lucy and Daphne

who is besties with Marta and Ire from asilo ;)

who loves drawing, especially with crayons

who makes her daddies laugh a lot when she copies their mannerisms

who calls people in class ‘twats’, because she thinks that’s kind

who loves to talk in English, Italian and Italish!

who is as much of a sweet tooth as her papà

who is as much as an academic as her babbo

whose excitement can light up an entire room, making strangers smile around her

who happily points out all things she finds beautiful by pointing at them with an excited look on her face

who drinks blood from bottle caps

who, like her papà, adores Winx Club (although her papà doesn’t like to watch more than the first four seasons and the first movie, but that is his loss!)

who loves playing with hair, especially the golden locks of nonna Lucy

who knows her biological mummy and daddy are very proud of her, no matter what

whose favourite colour is ‘rainbow’

who is easily motivated to train her vampire strength, so that she won’t accidentally hurt her papà

who adores the stars, both real ones and the ones magicked by her babbo

who thinks her papà is the best at giving piggy back rides (sorry babbo!)

who gets easily distracted by pretty birds

who becomes immortal for whatever fucking reason and then spends her eternal life obtaining degrees in order to spread and archive knowledge about the world

who thanks to her daddies becomes the best of three worlds: mage, vampire, Normal

🥰 Rosemary Snow 🥰

[forabeatofadrum]

@urban-sith​ 🤫🤫🤫

[forabeatofadrum]

thinking about her*

*immortal adult Rosemary Snow

[forabeatofadrum]

Paradiso series - MASTERPOST

Paradiso

General tag for everything! 

A trip to the library 1.

A trip to the library 2.

Timeline of whole of Paradiso.

Flat in Salò.

A non-canon “What If?” where Simon and Baz get to meet their canon counterparts.

Fic shout-outs!

Paradiso 6 aka the one where Baz punches Gabriele D’Annunzio.

Paradiso 8 aka the one where Simon punches Gabriele D’Annunzio.

And as usual, there are some memes in my general dank memes about my fics tag.

--

l'amor che move (il sole e l'altre stelle)

Summary: After Watford, Baz decides to leave the political hellscape in the World of Mages by moving to Italy. Simon is a tour guide who’s lived his entire life in the Lago di Garda area without anything out of the ordinary happening. But the connection when they meet is immediate, and it almost feels like magic.

Word count: 73K

Chapters: 30

AO3 | Tumblr tag

Story extra’s:

Simon in Limone

All the places they visited in the fic

Baz having a terrible time

The easter eggs!

The roadtrip magnet

Placeholder titles

--

che col tuo lume mi levasti

Summary: Simon and Baz have been living in Salò together for two years, but a trip back to England rocks Baz’s world when he finds out that Fiona’s dating a vampire. Back in Italy, Simon, Baz and Lucy think that the Italian magickal community can help Baz on his quest of understanding who he is. 

Word count: 63K

Chapters: 25

AO3 | Tumblr tag

An overview of what happened between Paradiso 1 and 2, written before I started writing this fic

All the places they visited in the fic

A separate post for some sights in Trento

Placeholder titles

Cut chapter 24

The easter eggs!

--

e pare stella che tramuti loco

Summary: Simon and Baz’s days of unexpected adventures and magickal mishaps are long gone. They’re in their early thirties and they still live in their flat in Salò and they don’t see any reason to change that. But when Emma asks them if they want to adopt a baby girl who’s both a vampire and a mage, they realise that their lives can get upended after all.

Word count: 29K

Chapters: 10

AO3 | Tumblr tag

All the places they visited in the fic

Flowered suits, Snow-Pitch style.

Baz’s hair

Rosemary facts

Rosemary as an adult

Placeholder titles

Cut chapter 8

The easter eggs!

[forabeatofadrum]

e pare stella che tramuti loco - chapter eight

Notes: Technically speaking, this is the last regular chapter, since the next one is an epilogue. I’m fine. Really. This is fine. The epilogue feels like another regual chapter anyway. I’m really fine.

AO3

–

2034

BAZ

My family dresses up nicely, if I may say so. And I may. We’re at our Easter’s best, which is needed since it’s actually Easter. Simon, Rosemary and I are all wearing flowered suits. Usually, that’s my forte, but Simon got a flowered suit from Daphne years ago in another attempt to not look homophobic. He hates it, so he only wears it when Daphne’s around. Rosemary’s is custom made for her and I know my father hates the fact that she’s not in a dress, but he’s decent enough to not comment on it.

We don’t always go home to England for Easter, but Ms. Snow planned a visit so we decided to join her and do Easter with the family in England. Some countries have two Easter days, so we do that as well. It’s now Easter Sunday and I’m with my family in Hampshire. Martin Bunce and his team of researchers created a spell that would close a dead spot (I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it), so my parents and siblings moved back for my parents’ early retirement. I have to begrudgingly admit that I love this estate. Now that I am no longer an angsty teen, I can appreciate it more.

It’s a family affair. The three of us are here. Mordelia just broke up with her girlfriend, so she’s on her own. Mordelia being a lesbian is one of the greatest gifts that the universe could gift me and my father couldn’t do anything about it because he was already a declared changed man! (One queer kid is something he can handle, but two?) But the twins did bring their partners. They’re only twenty-two but they want everything at once. They remind me of Penelope in that sense. Petra’s already pregnant! Swithin didn’t come home for Easter since he’s swamped with exams and honestly, he probably made the right choice. That’s what I realise when Fiona, Nicodemus and Luigi walk in. Fiona and Luigi clean up nicely, since they make some effort, but Nicodemus looks as dreadful as usual.

“Be nice,” Simon whispers.

“Yes, babbo, be nice,” Rosemary says in the exact same serious tone and it cracks me up. She’s starting to act so much like Simon. Yes, nature is an important part of a child’s development, but don’t underestimate the power of nurture.

It calms Simon’s nerves, though. They’re still there, I know that they are. Sometimes in the darkest days, he confides them with me, as if I don’t know. And then I tell him that sometimes, sometimes, I still am afraid of turning into my father.

But Rosemary adores us.

That’s why she insisted on this custom suit. She knows that I wear a lot of roses and when she found Simon’s suit in the back of our dresser, she proudly exclaimed that she needed one too.

“Oh Rosemary, you look adorable!” Daphne crouches down to pinch her cheeks.

“Thanks, grandma,” Rosemary says and she’s hiding her discomfort. Daphne is having a harder time accepting that Rosemary’s growing up than us.

“She does, doesn’t she?” Fiona yells from afar. Fiona likes Rosemary, which makes me feel a bit guilty about the fact that I cannot stand Luigi.

“Grand aunt Fiona!” Rosemary almost pushes Daphne off her feet and she runs towards Fiona. Daphne’s face falls for a millisecond, but she knows how to school her expression. She can handle being less than Ms. Snow, but Fiona’s special treatment stings.

“Come on, mum,” I put my arm on her to guide her back to the dining room. She’s gone all out. She hires staff, but she also likes cooking so she helps out.

“Why doesn’t she like me, Basil?” Daphne asks. I have to hide my surprise. Daphne’s disappointment is a well-known secret. This is the first time she actually confides with me. “Ms. Snow is more present in her life, so I get why Rosemary favours her, but she only sees Fiona’s at parties and events.”

“I don’t know, mum, I really don’t,” I say with a sigh, “If I had the answer, I would tell you. But rest assured, she still largely prefers you over father.”

Daphne harrumphs. She also doesn’t like it that my father and I never got a strong bond again. Don’t get me wrong, it got way, way better over the past decade and I appreciate him greatly for his effort, but I am still a petty piece of shit. But honestly, my father and I are as fine as we can be.

Luckily, he adores Rosemary as much as any other person. Becoming a father has made me grow somewhat closer to my own. Mostly because I want to learn from him so that I don’t become him, but it works!

“Mum, she does like you, truly,” I say. I take two glasses from a tray and hand one to her. She gives me a thankful smile. “Rosemary’s very vocal when she doesn’t like someone, like Nicodemus.”

This means that I have no guilt about hating Nicodemus. It’s wonderful.

“I don’t know how to make it better,” Daphne says, almost tearfully. I look around to make sure that we’re still talking in private, but everyone’s minding their own business, so it’s fine. “I give her so many gifts!”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“Gifts are nice, but they aren’t everything. Remember how it started between you and Simon?”

Daphne adores Simon. It took a while, but they got there. That’s the main reason why Simon started joining me on the family trips.

“You were so desperately trying to not look homophobic, so you send us gift after gift after gift, and we appreciate it. I mean.” I nod towards the general direction of the others to remind her that Simon’s wearing her suit. Really, Daphne doesn’t have to know that Simon only wears it for show. I suppose it’s his way of acknowledging that Daphne, in her way, cares for him. “For a long time, you were more concerned about how you would look than about our feelings. And then you realised that and took action. The actions were more important, like when you stopped solely referring to Simon as ‘my friend’, or when you kept telling me to wish him the best after our calls, or when you helped me plan his twenty-seventh birthday party, or when you insisted on being my maid of honour when I told you we were getting married-”

“You still picked Agatha Wellbelove.”

“Of course I picked Agatha Wellbelove. We made a pact at Watford. That’s why I was her Best Man at her wedding, but your excitement meant so much to me I almost broke that pact.”

Daphne looks up in shock. Her eyes are shining with tears and happy surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, mum. It’s just that Agatha is my everything, even now, together with Simon and Rosemary, so I ended up picking her. But it was so nice. And then you gave this touching speech, which was way better than father’s awkward blubbering mess, because yours had so much heart and you welcomed Simon to the family. Those things matter, not another bloody Bimby.”

Daphne’s staring at her glass as if it has all the answers of the universe. She’s contemplating her entire life, probably.

“Besides, you have time,” I say. That’s what Simon and I keep telling each other when it comes to Rosemary. “She’s four years old and it’s true it’s difficult now, since you’re so far away, but that will most likely change when she gets her own mobile.”

I’m not like my parents. I know it’s 2034, for Merlin’s sake, but I am old-school and I refuse to give Rosemary a damn mobile at that age.

“You think so?” Daphne asks, hopeful.

“Yes.” I don’t even have to lie.

--

SIMON

Rosemary likes my family more than Baz’s, but so does every sane person. Easter Sunday was a proper affair, but Easter Monday is party time. We’re all at my uncle and Beth’s house, which is actually my grandma’s house, since he inherited it after her death.

My uncle and Beth took my grandma’s master bedroom, Anna took my uncle’s old room, and my mum’s room has been turned into a second guest room, but she always stays there when she visits. Rosemary and I drop our stuff in our usual guestroom. Baz’s downstairs with my uncle, talking about classic cars. This isn’t the first time that Rosemary’s staying here, but she’s always so ecstatic to be around here.

A townhouse in London is so different from a house in the mountains of San Felice del Benaco or a remote mansion in Hampshire. And it’s bloody Mayfair from all areas in London. We keep saying that Baz’s the rich one, but every time we visit my family, I get reminded that I am part of a noble family. Me and my mum just never lived that lavish lifestyle.

Like, right now Rosemary’s staring out of the window and she’s counting all the people walking around. She’s not used to seeing so many people pass the house. There are too many to count.

Despite our noble status and our fancy house, we are allowed to go batshit here. No suits. No staff. No dreary classical music playing all the time. (I don’t hate classical music, but it doesn’t really do much for the vibes). We didn’t even have an Easter Egg hunt yesterday, even though they have the land to do so. The Salisbury house is still in the middle of a capital city!

Well, at least the food’s always great at the Grimms.

I am wearing trackies and no one minds! We’re not expecting any other guests, since Beth is an only child and her parents have also died as well, so it’s just the seven of us.

“Come on, Rosemary,” I say and I hold out my hand. “Who’s going to help me cook? Not nonna Lucy, right?”

Rosemary reluctantly moves away from the glass, but she does take my hand. She can’t allow my mum to go to the kitchen before her.

She basically drags me downstairs. I’m happy that I’m pretty strong, because Rosemary’s vampirism is kicking in slowly. Thanks to Emma’s books on vampire parenting, we know what to expect when it comes to her abilities. Stuff like strength and sight and smell kick in first, even before the fangs grow out, and it’s noticeable with Rosemary. I really have to use all my strength to prevent her from being dragged on the floor.

It’s a mess downstairs, just how I like it. My grandma did prefer to keep the place cleaned up, but my uncle’s more relaxed. I like both versions of the house, but my uncle and Beth’s version feels more home-y. You can see that someone’s living here, which is a big departure from the clean and proper mansion in Hampshire or how my grandma used to live here. (To be fair, my grandma’s house still felt home-y despite the sterile interior, since she did have trinkets everywhere and it always smelled like her cooking.) (Oh my God, I miss her.)

“Nonna Lucy, no! La cucina è vietata!” Rosemary yells quickly when she sees my mum moving towards the kitchen. I know she does it to play with Rosemary.

“Come, Rosemary, run!” I scoop her up and together we rush to the kitchen. Rosemary’s delighted laughter soothes my ears.

We pass Baz and my uncle, who are now looking at photos of my granddad’s car, and Beth and Anna, who are painting eggs. Sometimes it’s weird to think that I have this family now, even though I’ve known of my extended family for almost two decades. But it just hits me every now and then. I went from being alone with my mum, to having my mum, my husband, my daughter, my deceased grandma, my uncle, my aunt-in-law (is that a term?) and my cousin. I even have in-laws! Sure, the Grimm-Pitches have nothing on the Salisburys, but I still care for them.

Rosemary chases my mum out of the kitchen and I laugh. I pull the sword out of the kitchen counter, since my mum left it there for me, and I quickly ask my mum to spell Rosemary put before she leaves.

I give Rosemary some eggs to crack, since she insists on helping. Of course, it doesn’t go well, which frustrates her, but I help her with the other eggs. I can hear cheery music. Anna must’ve put it on. I hear laughter and talking and pure happiness. I love this family. I love my family.

--

Someone’s shaking me. I groan. I am a deep sleeper, so whoever is trying to wake me must be using full force. It’s probably Baz being a fucking twat again.

I turn on my stomach and I bury my face in my pillow, hoping that he gets the message. Easter Monday was long and I’m tired, damnit.

“Papà?”

That snaps me awake. Sorta. I hoist myself up and I see that it’s Rosemary who’s standing next to my bed, shaking me.

“Rosemary?” I blink away the sleep and I reach for the lamp on the bedside table. The light is blinding and next to me, Baz also rolls around and lets out an annoyed grunt.

Now that the light is on, I can see Rosemary’s face and I feel my heart drop when I see tear tracks on her face.

“Papà?” she says again. I lift up the blanket so that she knows she can crawl in.

“What is it, my rosebud girl?” I say without thinking, because I am still half-asleep. Now that I’ve said it though, I realise that I’ve used the same term of endearment that my mum sometimes uses for me.

Rosemary climbs on the bed and when she lies down next to me, I put the blanket on her.

“Nightmare,” she says silently, careful not to wake Baz.

“Oh, sweetie, what was it about?”

This isn’t the first nightmare. One time she dreamt that she got turned into an orange and that everyone tried to peel her. It was very weird and I had to stop using oranges in dishes for a long time. I sometimes wish that dreams were magickal, because then I could ask Baz to spell them away.

But this isn’t a silly dream about an orange.

“My real mummy and daddy,” Rosemary cries out.

Baz and I prefer the term ‘biological’, since we are Rosemary’s real parents, but she’s only four years old so we don’t care. She’s never dreamt about her biological parents before, though, so I cup her face and lightly wipe away her tears.

“Do you want to tell me what you dreamt?”

Rosemary shakes her tiny head. “I don’t remember.”

I let out a relieved breath. Maybe that’s a good thing. I still don’t want her to be reminded of what happened that day in Udine.

“But it felt scary, yeah?”

Rosemary nods.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Rosemary.”

Rosemary sniffs her nose and I am about to turn off the light when I feel Baz moving around.

“What’s happening?” he sounds groggy. He props himself up on one elbow and he’s squinting his eyes at the light source.

“I had a nightmare, babbo, sorry for waking you,” Rosemary says.

“Oh little puff, come here,” Baz says sweetly. Rosemary untangles herself from my embrace and she climbs over me. She’s now lying between me and Baz, so I turn to face her.

“Sorry,” Rosemary says again. She must’ve gotten the overly apologetic behaviour from me.

“Don’t be,” Baz still sounds a bit sleepy, but I know that he’s fully awake now. His body just needs some time.

“It was about Rosemary’s bio parents,” I tell him.

“Sorry,” Rosemary says again, and the worst part is that she sounds genuinely sorry. She never has to feel sorry about waking us when she needs us. I tell her that.

“Rosemary, it’s fine. Your papà and I have nightmares about our family too,” Baz says.

“Really?”

Baz nods against her. “You know that grandma Daphne isn’t my first mum.”

“Because grandma Natasha is dead?”

“Exactly. And sometimes I dream sad things about grandma Natasha too.”

Rosemary doesn’t know that Natasha got murdered. She also doesn’t know that Baz witnessed it. She’s too young to learn that, but she does understand what a stepmother is.

In the same vein, she also knows that my dad is dead, but she doesn’t know how or why. As predicted, she asked about my dad one day. Me and my mum had troubles answering it, but Baz just calmly explained that my dad has been dead for a long time and that we don’t like to talk about him. It was enough for her.

One day we’ll tell her everything. Today is not the day.

That’s why I say something vaguely. “Yes, Rosemary, I have nightmares about my dad’s death too.”

“When parents die unexpectedly, it can be very, very sad and difficult,” Baz says, “It’s totally okay that you sometimes have nightmares about it, even when they’re very vague.”

“And we will always be here for you, Rosemary.”

Baz wraps his arms around her. I follow suit. I ask Rosemary is it isn’t too warm, but she seems to really like it.

“Thank you,” she says softly and I think she’s slowly falling asleep again, now that she feels safe.

“Baz, turn off the light,” I say. I don’t want to move and he knows a wandless and non-verbal spell that turns the light on an off.

At an instant, the room becomes dark again and the three of us fall asleep, cocooned under my uncle’s fancy duvet.

–

End notes: Don’t mind me. I am once again emotional about the boys and Rosemary having a big, loving family. Flowered suits? Flowered suits! I posted the suits that they’re wearing here. And this chapter is called ‘Family’ in my document, but fun fact, originally it was going to be about something completely different, namely death. But after writing around 700 words, I realised I didn’t want it to be about death, so I did a full 180, deleted everything, and started over with a more wholesome chapter. Well, I didn’t fully delete it. You can read the draft of ‘Death’ here.

And finally, the I put my thing down, flip it and reverse it spell is a reference to my beloved Restoration Ecology by aralias. Technically speaking, the spell shouldn’t work in this universe (read Restoration Ecology for find out why, really, do it), but Restoration Ecology is my beloved so I wanted to put a little easter egg.

[forabeatofadrum]

e pare stella che tramuti loco easter eggs

Yes, there are some of them and since the nature of this fic is a bit different from the other installments, the easter eggs are.... a bit more personal. A lot more personal, actually. Oh boy, my parents truly can never find out about this fic.

Prologue: N/A

Chapter 1:

Rosemary is named… after my sim Rosemary, who in turn is named after the song Rosemary, from the musical How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying. This is why Baz uses part of the lyrics. 

Bimbys? Plural? Yeah, my family has multiple as well.

Chapter 2:

Writing this fic was very weird to me, since I am adopted. I tried to sort of take a peek into the minds of my parents. As mentioned in the author’s note, it was very, very important to me that Rosemary got the love that I got, and because of that, this entire fic has little moments that were very important to my parents regarding me. I want to point out this part: “I’m pretty sure we did the right thing. Baz and I want to adopt Rosemary because we want to love and care for her, not because we pity her, or because we feel like we have to, or because we want to ‘save’ her. Those aren’t good reasons for adoption. It’s just a big change for us, and for Rosemary. We need to be fully behind it.” That’s true. My parents hate it when others say that they’re ‘heroes’ for adopting me and my sister. After all, we are not some charity project for them to boast about. But it does still happen that people adopt for the wrong reasons mentioned above (and there are more wrong reasons). I’d rather have people not adopt then. For example, if I remember correctly, my uncle didn’t want to adopt, not because he thinks it’s bad -after all, he’s never treated me or my sister any different from his biological nieces and nephews- but because he just doesn’t feel like that’s something he’d want, and I’m glad that he can just admit to that, because it’d be way, way worse if he adopted without fully wanting it.

The conversation where they realise that their joy is at the cost of someone else’s happiness (or lives, in this fic’s case) is a sentiment that sometimes weighs down on my parents, or so I think. I remember we once watched a TV show about adoption and the mother talked about how that’s a burden she carries, and my dad closed his eyes and tearily said “... yeah”. That moment changed me. I think a lot of people don’t think about the full picture that comes with adoption, both in reality and in fiction. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t mind reading these super romanticised depictions of adoption, but I knew I wanted to give my readers a different perspective. Adoption is incredibly complex and it’s also definitely a case-by-case thing, but some things do occur a lot, and I think this burden is a sentiment that is shared by more people.

This also comes back in the third easter egg: Srinivasan. It was of utmost importance to me that it was possible to use Srinivasan as a second name, so that Rosemary’s original name would not go forgotten. The same happened to my original last name and my sister’s original last name. My parents turned it into our middle names.

Speaking of Srinivasan, that one is also from my Sim family. My 10 generation long Pereira-Crabtree family had the Savalani-Morse family at one point. My Sim Rosemary is also part of this same Pereira-Crabtree family. Anyway, Davin Savalani-Morse married Sara Srinivasan, so their kids got the last name Srinivasan-Morse. 

And another one: Hindi. My parents put me on Chinese lessons as a kid to be connected to my heritage. Unfortunately, my angsty teenage me didn’t care enough and it’s a regret. One day I will pick it up again.

Chapter 3:

“There are horror stories about adopted kids who cannot bond with their parents, but they’re exactly that: horror stories. There are plenty of biological families with problems.” is a very important line to me since I’ve had too many rude comments in my life about my family! I even have an entire FAQ about it. Does it qualify as an easter egg? Bro idk. 

Chapter 4:

My parents held my welcome party in a playground. It wasn’t owned my lobsters, though.

And another one: Indian food. My mum wanted to learn some authentic Chinese cooking for me and my sister.

Chapter 5:

When I was a wee child, my parents would let me drink from bottle cups, since normal cups were too big. I never drank my grandma’s blood, or any blood, though.

Chapter 6:

Heh... okay, so this is a sort-of easter egg? Rosemary’s magic feels like crying a river, because I was writing this fic and I’d cry a river just for you at the same time.

Chapter 7:

So. This is quite a chapter, huh. When I knew I was going to write about adoption, I knew I wanted a chapter with this kind of vibe. And now I am going to tell you something that sounds truly awful, but it’s a good thing that it’s fiction. Still, without context, the following sentence might sound terrible. Killing Rosemary’s parents was a gift from me to her. Yeah. Remember that this is fiction. I’d never tell anyone in real life that their dead parents is a gift. But fiction allows you to explore concepts and scenario’s without mostly hurting real people. Simon, Baz and Rosemary aren’t real. I did this for a very big reason: I love Rosemary. I love this tiny fictional child so much that the thought of bringing her harm, even though it’s all fictional, is saddening. And I love her too much to let her feel the dilemma, conflict, heartache and pain that a second pair of parents brings me. I know I already shared a shit ton of personal stuff, but for reasons I don’t want to share, I do not ever wanna meet my biological parents. It’s honestly a nightmare scenario for me. Knowing that it can happen is terrible, but also knowing that I am maybe willingly withholding closure for some people, is equally terrible. (I do always say that I’m only fine with possibly reconnecting if they find me, not the other way around.). This is an incredibly personal and complex source of pain and I knew that by killing Rosemary’s parents, I would close the door on that dilemma for her. As the author, that’s my gift to her. I mean, Rosemary is 3 years old in this chapter, she’s fine! And the story ends when she’s 5! That’s another deliberate choice, because I do think that when Rosemary hits her teens, being adopted will weigh down on her a lot. Adoption is, in my humble opinion, a great and wonderful thing, but I think by now I already showed the complexity, and that complexity will hurt Rosemary the same way it hurt me. Killing the Srinivasans means that I can at least take away one part of her pain during her teen years. But I’m not writing that. (I don’t think a lot about “Paradiso 4″, aka what happens with Rosemary after the fic. That little part is all I know. That, and that she’ll choose immortality.). If you’ve read this soul-baring (and soul-bearing) part, you might be wondering: “Then why the fuck did you do this? Why the fuck did you still give Simon and Baz, and therefore also Rosemary, this anchor to her parents?”. Bro. Free therapy. And as I pointed out, fiction is a place to explore scenario’s without causing damage. I know this chapter was more from Simon and Baz’s POV, instead of Rosemary’s, which obviously brought a certain form of disconnect between me and this chapter, but I still felt like I needed some way to just... explore this. Exploring the scenario of meeting the parents is too scary, even to do so in fiction (and again, I literally can’t in this fic, I killed them as a gift), but DeShawn, a friend-of felt the safest option.

Okay this is another ‘not-really-an-easter-egg-but-is-it?’ easter egg. I always mention when I add little fic references, but I didn’t mention this one, since it’s a Klaine fic! But yeah, the part where Simon and Baz are asked by Rosemary’s teacher about Rosemary’s language is a reference to The Symphony Verse, specifically Cadences, where Kurt and Blaine’s daughter Addie calls everyone dumdum and poop. 

I mention that Rosemary is somewhat aware of her adoption. At this point, Rosemary is around 3 years old. According to my parents, I was also that age when I was aware of it. I don’t know how. Kids are wack.

Chapter 8: 

“Baz and I prefer the term ‘biological’, since we are Rosemary’s real parents.” Anyone who tries to insinuate that Simon and Baz aren’t Rosemary’s real parents can die at Simon’s sword. Same goes for me and my parents. 

Epilogue:

The Kapoors were added in after I already finished the chapter. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the need to have that. The Kapoors are a reference to another Klaine fic and my life. Let me explain. Somewhere after I finished the epilogue, I got reminded of Mei, Maddy and Li. They’re OCs from the Klaine fic Hearing Verse and they’re Klaine’s daughters. Mei and Li are adopted and Maddy is biologically Blaine and Dani’s. Never before in my life have I seen a portrayal of adoption that resonated so much with me. I even talked about Mei, Maddy and Li with my fucking family. I cannot overstate how much this fic and these girls mean to me. It was gutpunch after gutpunch after gutpunch and these three kids are forever in my heart. In Celebrating, Klaine befriends Miss Wu and her family. They run a Chinese restaurant and she’s a friend of the family and she helps Klaine a lot when it comes to Chinese things. Again, many things from Hearing Verse are very familiar to me, but when I first read this, it hit extremely hard since my family has the exact same thing and ‘my’ Wu family is still a part of my life. So all of this led to me wishing the same support for Rosemary, and so the Kapoors happened.

My parents made a makeshift art study for my eighth or ninth birthhday.

Of course I had to put Winx Club in here somewhere. Mostly because of my childhood obsession, but also as the chapter points out, it had an adoption storyline that meant a lot to me as a kid. The moment where Flora tells Bloom that adoption is a sign of unconditional love still hits me in the fucking feels, man.

Also, yeah, Simon can recite some Winx Club episodes word for word because... so can I. 

[forabeatofadrum]

e pare stella che tramuti loco - chapter seven

Notes: To half-quote Jason Mendoza: oh Simon, we’re really in it now.

AO3

–

2033

BAZ

There’s a man hanging around outside my classroom. The classrooms at Pratello have glass doors, so I can see him. He’s definitely too old to be a student here.

After ten minutes, I need to do something, because some of my students have noticed him and they’re distracted. They need to look at their books on the importance of Dante’s Divina Commedia on contemporary spells, not at this man who seems to be lost.

Why didn’t he ask anyone for directions? Why is he standing outside my classroom?

I tell my students to do some reading and then I excuse myself. Since there’s a glass door, the man sees me approaching and he seems to square up. I frown.

“Buongiorno. Ti sei perso?” I ask him.

He’s staring at me with wide eyes. My vampire instinct kicks in and I sense his heartbeat. His heart is beating relatively fast and if I am interpreting it correctly, he seems nervous.

“You’re professor Pitch, right?” he asks in amazement. Did I misinterpret his heartbeat, or is he nervous and happy to see me at the same time?

“Lei parla inglese? You speak English?”

“Well, I don’t speak Italian, so English is a start,” he says and I think he’s from London, based on the accent. The man holds out his hand. “DeShawn Jones.”

“Basilton Pitch, but you know that already,” I shake the man’s hand. DeShawn must be magickal, since Normali can’t see Pratello. Even Simon has a hard time finding it sometimes. I don’t feel magic, so he probably doesn’t have much power. I don’t know why he’s here.

“Nice to meet you,” DeShawn sounds overwhelmed.

“May I ask why you’re standing outside my classroom?” I say, “You’re distracting my students.”

“Oh. Uh. I’m looking for someone called Rosemary Srinivasan. Formerly Rosemary Srinivasan? I don’t know- You’re her father, right?”

“Yes?” my own undead heart now starts beating. It doesn’t happen every day that a stranger comes looking for your daughter.

“Sorry, I- this is a lot, but uhm, Rajan was my best friend and when I heard that Rosemary survived, I knew I had to look for her and-”

“Rajan?” I cut in. That name sounds familiar.

“Rajan Srinivasan. Her…”

I immediately understand what he’s implying. I stumble backwards and I lean against the wall. I’ve heard that name before, which is why I recognise it.

“Father,” I finish the sentence.

“I don’t want to imply that you aren’t!” DeShawn quickly says when he sees my current state, “But yes. Sorry, this is unexpected, I know-”

I interrupt him. “Stay here.”

I open the door with an incredible force and the glass almost breaks. Some of my students look up in shock. Some of them were actually reading, but others quickly try to hide their mobiles. I don’t even fucking care.

“La lezione è finita!” I yell out and I sound more erratic than I anticipated, but really, I don’t care about anything right now except for DeShawn Jones, “Potete andare! Get the f-flick out of here!”

I must come off as daunting, since the kids hurry to gather their stuff and most of them run out of my classroom without meeting my eyes. I can deal with the consequences of my actions later. I am not supposed to freak out, almost drop an f-bomb and dismiss a class, but I think I have a proper reason.

When the classroom is completely empty, I hold on to my desk and I take a deep breath. This is not a bad thing. This is- Well, I think I am so overwhelmed since this is an utterly beautiful thing, but I need a moment.

This is real.

This is actually happening.

I tighten the grip on the table and at one point I realise I broke off a piece. I need to calm down, but this is a lot. I try to focus on my breathing, but I admit I am ecstatic. I take out my wand and I put a silencing spell around me and I just laugh hysterically in disbelief. This is definitely unchartered territory. I never expected anything like this to happen. I thought it wasn’t possible.

I have no idea what is going on, but I know that I am happy.

Overwhelmed? Yes.

Nervous? Yes.

Happy? Yes.

Oh fucking hell. (I still don’t swear as a Normal, unless I feel like I have to and fucking hell.). There are a thousand of thoughts floating through my head right now. I put my hand against my mouth to stifle the disbelieved laughs, even though I know DeShawn cannot hear me. Then the laughs turn into sobs, but I think they’re happy tears. This is… this is a lot, but this is wonderful. I think. I hope.

After a few minutes of crying, I end the spell, I throw the desk piece in the bin, I grab my stuff and I go to DeShawn, who’s waiting. He’s turned his back to the classroom, probably to give me some privacy. It does comfort me that he didn’t witness my breakdown. He turns back when he hears me cough.

“Mr. Jones, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say and I muster a smile. Yes, this is overwhelming, but I don’t want him to think that I am angry. “Would you like to come over to my home for a cup of coffee?”

“DeShawn is fine,” he says, “And yes, I’d like to.”

--

SIMON

Rosemary’s sitting next to the rosemary bush on a little blanket. I love it when that happens. I like it when she’s around while I’m gardening.

“I like rosemary,” she says when I place some rosemary leaves in her hands. She knows they share a name, so she gives me an expecting look. Oh, I am supposed to laugh at her amazing joke.

“I like rosemary too,” I say and I run my hand through her hair. She lets out a laugh.

Rosemary abruptly drops her leaves and she gets up. All by herself. I know she’s three years old already, but sometimes I still can’t believe how fast she grows.

“Rosemary!” I call after her when she starts running towards the house. I don’t want to leave her out of sight.

“Babbo!” she squeals. As on a cue, Baz appears in the doorframe of the backdoor. Rosemary hugs his legs.

I check my watch. Baz’s not supposed to be home yet.

“Snow,” he says to me. He has a serious look on his face. “I’ve called you six times. I even spelled your mobile.”

My mobile’s inside. I never take it outside when I’m gardening, because I don’t want the soil to dirty it. Baz knows this, and he takes in my look. I’m wearing my gardening pants, gloves and I have a trowel in my hand, so Baz understands.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Up! Up!” Rosemary yells loudly towards Baz and her wish is his command. Once she’s in his arms, she starts pulling Baz’s hair. Rosemary’s obsession with hair has never changed. Baz looks at me and he nods towards the living room. He goes inside and I follow him.

I drop my trowel at the door. I don’t like that he’s not talking, which means that Rosemary isn’t allowed to know. She’s now at the age where she’s understanding things more properly, but she’s also started echoing our words. Her teacher once called me to school, since Rosemary was being mean to other children. Turns out she was calling everyone a twat. It was very weird to explain to her teacher that I call my husband a twat with affection.

I can hear Rosemary babbling. She’s a very chatty child. She has my scatterbox speech and Baz’s love for words. Baz sometimes makes some affirming noises to show her that she’s listening intentionally. She goes silent at one point and I follow them to the living room.

Someone’s standing there.

“Snowfield, meet DeShawn Jones,” Baz says. The man, DeShawn, extends his hand towards me. I take off my glove and I shake his hand. I don’t know why he is here, but he looks positively radiant when he sees me.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr…”

“Snow,” I fill in.

“Oh, oh!” he looks to Baz with a wide grin, “Snowfield, that’s funny!”

“At least someone appreciates it,” Baz says jokingly.

“I do appreciate it, Baz!” I say back. He knows that I do. “Just get on my level!”

“Yes, with your herb garden.” He rolls his eyes in an exaggerating way. We have this conversation at least once a week and it never gets old to poke fun at each other.

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” he says and if it weren’t for our daughter in his arms, I’d kiss him immediately. He knows that too. Rosemary giggles.

The three of us simultaneously remember that there’s a fourth person. DeShawn is still beaming at us.

“Sorry, uhm,” Baz looks a little bit nervous, “Snow, DeShawn is Rosemary’s former… wait. Is there a name for this?”

“I’m also pulling at the seams here, Mr. Pitch.”

“Baz,” Baz quickly says, “Only my students call me that.”

“Let’s just start from the beginning,” DeShawn says to me, which is needed, because I am very lost. Who is DeShawn and why did Baz leave work for this? “I know this is going to sound overwhelming, but I was Rajan Srinivasan’s best friend.”

“Rajan?” I say but then I see the look that Baz is sending me and I realise why I know that name. Oh. Oh. “Oh!”

“Here,” Baz hands Rosemary to me, “I’ll make that coffee. Sugar, milk, DeShawn?”

“Milk, thank you.“

Baz leaves me behind with the best friend of my daughter’s biological father and I have absolutely no clue what the fuck I’m supposed to do. Baz and DeShawn seemed to have hit it off. I wonder how DeShawn found him. Us.

“Shepard.”

“Sorry, what?” I ask.

“I found you through Shepard,” DeShawn says. I guess I said that part of wanting know how he found us out loud. “Kind of. Sorry.”

I am so confused.

“Let’s start at the beginning!” DeShawn says again.

“Please.”

Baz comes in with a cup of coffee. The three of us sit down. Rosemary’s on my lap.

“Trishna and Rajan’s murders hit all of us hard. Rajan’s dad, may he rot in hell, told us that Rosemary died that day as well. So when I overheard Shepard Bunce talking about someone named Rosemary Natasha Srinivasan, uh, something, I realised something was wrong.”

He looks apologetic when he tells us that he never properly heard her last name. His mind shorted when he heard the combination of ‘Rosemary’ and ‘Srinivasan’.

“You know Shepard?” Baz asks.

“A little bit,” he answers, “We’re both on the Coven and at one point you know all the other Black Coven members. He’s a really cool guy. Great that we can have a Normal at the Coven now.”

“So you started a little investigation?” Baz states. Shepard couldn’t have known. He would’ve called us to at least give us a warning about this.

“I should’ve called, I know,” DeShawn says apologetically. He hasn’t drunk his coffee yet. I think he’s just as nervous as I am. “I didn’t want to scare you off. My partner told me I’m mad for this, but I just needed to know.”

He looks at Rosemary, who’s now making grabby hands at my hair. (I need to grow it out again, for her.). He looks mesmerised.

“She looks like them.”

“Thank you,” I say, like a fucking idiot. What the fuck does that even mean? Luckily, no one dwells on my idiocy. We have bigger things to deal with. I think. I guess. I don’t know. Is this an issue? Is all of this an issue?

“Snow,” Baz puts his hand on my leg. My heartbeat must be driving him mad.

“Anyway, uhm, I asked around and did some magickal searches online when I heard that Baz Pitch is her dad and I found the website of Pratello with Baz’s name on it and the next thing I know, I’m on a plane to Italy. Sorry.”

“What for?” Baz asks.

“I really should’ve called,” DeShawn says.

“Yeah,” I mutter. Only Baz hears it and he squeezes my leg. I don’t know if it’s to support me or to tell me to shut up. Baz is overjoyed to see DeShawn and it makes me feel bad.

This is a good thing. This is a beautiful moment.

But I don’t feel very well.

I tighten my grip around Rosemary.

“I just wanted to see if she’s really alive. Now I have,” he smiles easily. He looks so happy and nervous. “I should get going. I can see that she’s okay and that’s all I needed to know. Everyone back home will be chuffed.”

“Everyone back home?” I exclaim. As far as we know, there is no one back home.

“Friends, no family,” DeShawn says quickly, as he understands my confusion, “Trishna and Rajan had some close friends back home, not just me. But yeah, I think I’ll go.”

“Stay,” Baz says, “Finish your coffee, at least.”

“Right. My coffee,” DeShawn looks around him, looking for his cup, which is right in front of him. His head must be somewhere else.

So is mine.

--

That night, I’m sitting outside staring at my actual herb garden. Baz hands me a beer. Rosemary’s already asleep. He sits down next to me.

“So?”

“So.”

“Talk to me, love.” He probably didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Rosemary and DeShawn. DeShawn and Baz were so happy and Rosemary liked the attention, even if she doesn’t know the implications. At least Baz knew that I was spiralling, so he made sure that DeShawn didn’t stay for dinner.

I huff out some air and I frown.

“Are you upset about any of this?” Baz tries to sound neutral, but I can hear a judgmental undertone. I am not upset. I tell him that.

“Are you not a bit, I don’t know, overcome by all of this?” I ask him.

“Of course I am. You should’ve seen me at school. Your mum has already left a voicemail, but I will deal with the repercussions of my public breakdown and some property damage tomorrow. But once I understood how wonderful this is, I knew I had to introduce him to you.”

Baz did the right thing and my mum will understand once we tell her. But what do we tell her?

“Sorry, I should be overjoyed on Rosemary’s behalf,” I mutter.

“Talk to me,” Baz says again, “We decided from the very beginning that we were going to be very open about her birth parents and DeShawn just gave us access to so much more information.”

“I know.”

And we are upholding that promise. We’ve tried to find every source of information on the Srinivasan family that we could find, but it was difficult since there was no family left except for the conservative grandfather. (Who apparently died.). Rosemary is somewhat aware of her adoption, even though I don’t understand how. We’ve told her, and I don’t think she fully get it, but she knows. She understands that she had other parents before.

I want Rosemary to know. I want her to able to ask me and Baz anything. I know what it’s like to grow up with a part of you missing and wanting and the fact that my mum never even wanted to acknowledge my dad still fucks me up sometimes, even though it’s been years and I understand why my mum did that.

But this just came out of nowhere.

“I just thought we had some time,” I say and I take a swig from my beer.

“She’s three, Simon. We have.”

I know what’s troubling me, but I just don’t want to say it. Baz knows that. He’s not going to force me to speak. But I feel like I have to. It’s unfair to DeShaw and to Rosemary.

“I still wonder if I will ever be enough for her,” I admit and I don’t meet Baz’s eyes, “I don’t want her to bond with DeShawn, which is rude.”

DeShawn was on the brink of overjoyed tears during the entire visit, that’s how happy he was to see Rosemary. I feel bad for hating him for that. (Do I hate him?). Baz looked the same, although he was a bit better at schooling his expression. (I don’t hate him, though, I never could.)

“Simon,” I hear Baz say kindly, “Is this still the magic thing?”

I shake my head. No, that is the one thing I have come to accept, since Rosemary is now old enough to express that she doesn’t need my magic. I know this feeling of dread is unnecessary. I don’t even know where it comes from. Yes, Baz’s sometimes worried that he’ll be a dick, just like Malcolm, but I didn’t have any bad parenting in my childhood, since my mum was the best mum ever.

I tell Baz all of this. It’s stupid. I know.

“Then what are you so afraid of, love?”

“I don’t know.” I let out a bitter laugh. That’s the worst part. I don’t know.

“Simon. I don’t want to psychoanalyse you or something, but I think you’re just anxious in general. Your head immediately comes with all these scenarios, but they’re not real.”

“It’s in my head now, Baz.” I groan out. I rest my beer on my knee and I look ahead. We have an amazing view and you can see Salò from here. It always looks beautiful after dark, since the lights of the pier reflect in the Lago di Garda.

Baz follows my gaze.

“Salò. The place to be. It’s always there for you in need, Snow.”

I laugh shakingly. We left Salò, for Merlin’s sake.

“But really, Simon. It’s all going to be fine,” he says as he stares at the city, “DeShawn is not a threat. No one’s a threat. She’s ours and nothing can change that.”

I know that. I know that so well. I am still so fucked up. I think I have to admit that I never wanted something like this to happen. Does that make me a bad person? Am I a shitty dad to Rosemary for not wanting her to have this? Am I a shitty person to DeShawn and friends for wanting to withhold closure?

DeShawn really looked so fucking happy and I so desperately wanted to put my sword through him.

“How will I ever stop this?” I say and I tap my head. I don’t know why this is happening. I’ve never been uncertain about anything, except when the whole magic thing first came crashing down on me. I’m generally not an anxious person, but ever since I became a dad it feels like my mind starts to leech on different reasons to doubt myself.

Baz knows this. I’ve mentioned it before.

“She’s three years old. She’s so young and we have so many years to go. When will I be at ease?”

He leans against me. I focus on him being here.

“Maybe start by eliminating certain doom scenarios?” he suggests, “Make sure that you’re at ease at certain parts?”

I think about it.

--

Rosemary’s waving to all the strangers that we pass on our walk. People love it. I push her stroller and sometimes people stop me to tell me that I have a cute daughter. I smile and thank them, but I don’t linger, since I have a destination.

Baz’s given me the address of DeShawn’s AirBnB.

Should I have called? Baz’s also handed me DeShawn’s phone number. But then I remember that DeShawn also dropped in unannounced, so I have no qualms. I arrive at the AirBnB and I ring the bell.

“Mr. Snow?” DeShawn is visibly surprised to see me. I think he picked up on my unhappiness. (It was pretty hard to miss, since I was the only one not smiling.)

I take a deep breath and I try to calm my nerves.

“Hello,” I say kindly, “Can Rosemary and I come in?”

“O-Of course,” he steps aside and he helps me with getting the stroller over the threshold. Once we’re in, he closes the door behind us and I give him a reassuring smile. I’m ready for this.

--

End notes: I have a lot to say about this chapter, but I’ve saved it for the easter eggs.

[forabeatofadrum]

e pare stella che tramuti loco - chapter five

Notes: Sitting by the seaside, drinking up the sunshine. You're here so why don't we go, dancing in Sanremo!

Yes, what would a Paradiso installment be without a city trip? The italicised text is part the lyrics of MIKA’s Sanremo. I love the song and also the meaning behind it, so I decided to pick Sanremo. I’ve never been there before, so I’ll leave you with a reminder of the Milan disclaimer: most of the places mentioned are chosen at random and I cannot personally endorse them. Since this is a future fic, I also obviously cannot guarantee that these places still exist in 2031.

Enjoy!

AO3

–

2031

BAZ

It’s always a bit tricky to travel around with a small child. I mean, I suppose. This is our first actual trip with Rosemary. Simon and I have had some moments to ourselves in the past year, and then Ms. Snow would babysit, but now we’re actually going on holiday as a family.

We’re not going super far away and we won’t stay long. It’s a four hour drive to San Remo. We picked this spot because Simon’s never been there, which sounds unreal, but then again there are plenty of places in the UK that I’ve never even seen.

I’m driving and I can see Rosemary in my rear-view mirror. She’s safely buckled up in her kiddie seat and she’s playing make believe with Pipi, the toy that Mordelia gave her. It’s short for pipistrello. It keeps her calm.

I used to be a bit of a fussy child while travelling, but Rosemary’s on her best behaviour. Four hours in the car is probably long for her, and it’s only the drive! But she deserves to see more of the world, as Simon says. We need a change of scenery, to be honest. The move to our new house outside Salò, up in the mountains of San Felice del Benaco was hectic, even when I had magic on my side. Simon and I often lament about missing living in Salò, but Rosemary now has her own room, Simon has a bigger kitchen, and there’s a lot of outside space. Besides, we have a view on Salò from our garden so we can stare longingly at the place to be.

Our navigation tells us that we’re almost there.

“Siamo quasi arrivati,” Simon says to Rosemary, “Ci siamo quasi.”

“Okay,” Rosemary says off-handedly. She’s not really paying attention.

“Are you excited, little puff?” Simon then asks, since he’s not satisfied with the lack of enthusiasm. I roll my eyes. She’s only a year old.

“Yes.”

Simon lets it slide. I laugh. He is ridiculous.

Simon and I mostly talk in English to her, but Simon sometimes throws in some Italian. I do too, but to a lesser extent. We decided to not do the approach where one person speaks English and the other Italian. After all, Simon grew up with his mum speaking English and it never hindered his Italian, so Rosemary will be fine.

Besides, she’s so young. Sometimes she seems to speak Italish. Normally I’d have an aneurysm at the butchering of language, but it’s the best way to describe it and she sounds adorable.

--

San Remo is definitely wired towards posh, rich people.

I fit right in.

Simon doesn’t.

But I don’t mind. I’ve always liked it when the two of us are together like this, since sometimes people can’t believe we’re together. I’m walking around in a custom suit, dress shoes and a flowered shirt. Simon’s walking around in an old t-shirt that I Cleaned as a whistle’d, trainers, and worst of all, a pair of jorts.

(Shepard Bunce will forever be on my shit list for introducing Simon to the atrocity that are jorts.)

At least he gives me full reign on dressing Rosemary. As long as she can’t develop a fashion style of her own, I’m in charge. She’s walking between us, holding our hands, and the dress that she’s wearing is a gift from Agatha.

Oh, yes, we’re also wearing our ridiculously big sunhats. It completely ruins the vibe of my outfit, but Rosemary loves it and I allow it.

It’s a Tuesday, which means that there’s a market in San Remo. The three of us walk around the Piazza Eroi Sanremesi. It’s next to La Pigna, the Medieval city centre. We’ll go there afterwards. Right now we’re here to buy some snacks.

It’s crowded, so Simon and I make sure that Rosemary doesn’t slip away. She sometimes tries, because she wants to walk on her own, now that she can do so, but we won’t let her. Besides, she’s still learning, but Rosemary stubbornly believes that she has perfected the whole walking thing, which is why she insists on walking. We try to make it fun for her by occasionally swinging her between us or I will throw her in the air. It makes her laugh a lot.

The market doesn’t interest me that much. We’re itching to go to La Pigna, since that’s recommended. We can’t fill an entire day with things, since Rosemary will get tired. That’s the downside of travelling with a tiny child, but if Rosemary needs to sleep, then one of us will just carry her. I have vampire strength and Simon has strength of his own.

I am now able to lift Rosemary with one hand and she laughs when I throw her in the air, only to catch her perfectly with my great speed and reflexes. I see some people stare with wide eyes, afraid that I’ll drop her, but I can do this.

After living as a fully-fledged vampire for just over decade, it’s almost weird to think that I spent the first twenty-one years of my life repressing my vampirism. I can’t even remember what it was like to not have this strength, or this hearing, or this echolocation, or these reflexes. Sure, I had them, but I put so much effort in pretending to be human.

(I didn’t realise how tedious it was until I let it go.)

So far, Rosemary is very chipper. “Look there!” is her new favourite sentence. Simon and I were worried for a moment, since her last big trip ended with the loss of her parents, but it goes swimmingly. We still don’t know how much she remembers. But Rosemary is clearly enjoying it and we haven’t even seen the flower parade yet! That’s for tomorrow.

Right now, we’re walking through La Pigna. We’re on our way to Giardini Regina Elena. Apparently, the view is really beautiful from up there. La Pigna itself is interesting. The state of this place is less than ideal, but that sort of works, since it’s an old city centre. There are little shops everywhere.

Once we’ve climbed up to Giardini Regina Elena, it’s indeed beautiful. You can see San Remo and the sea. Rosemary’s on my back, since she got tired from all the steps, but now she desperately wants me to put her down again, so that she can wander off. I won’t let that happen.

“No, Rosemary, first let papà talk about the city.”

Simon’s never been here before, but even after all these years, he cannot pass up an opportunity to be a tour guide. I know he’s done his research.

“Sanremo’s been around since the medieval period, which is why La Pigna exists,” Simon immediately starts and I still love it when he goes into this tour guide mood. He takes it so seriously, looking all serious and almost ready to fight. “The walls around La Pigna were built to protect the city from raids. Sanremo became really big in the nineteenth century, because that’s when the tourism really hit off, so Sanremo started to cater to the rich and famous, especially the ones from England.”

“We fit right in.”

“You fit right in,” Simon argues. Well, true, the jorts prove his point, but technically speaking, Simon’s also part of a lineage of rich English mages. (Merlin, I wonder if earlier generations of our families have been here?)

“I do.”

“But yeah, nineteenth century. There’s where all those luxurious villas and hotels stem from. I know we aren’t going to Villa Nobel, since we’re doing the flowers instead, but Nobel is one of the most well-known inhabitants. Oh, and empress Sissi vacationed here!”

We continue our long tradition of making selfies from high places, although this is our first one with Rosemary in it. It’s not going well, since she tries to reach out to grab Simon’s mobile, but it leads to some ‘action’ shots of Rosemary pushing my face out of her way and Simon looks shocked.

This other family takes pity on us and they offer to make some photos. We accept, because those selfies are fun, but we’d love to have some proper photos of our first trip.

--

SIMON

Sanremo is for the cultured people like Baz. There’s theatres and there’s the symphonic orchestra and the casino has special Tuesdays about literature. Baz is marvelling in it, but I am uncultured, so I thoroughly enjoy walking between the palm trees on the boulevard and watching all those hotels. We’ve been walking for a long time. We first did the Corso Degli Inglesi route, which shows off a lot of villas and beautiful gardens with flowers. Now we’re on our way to find a place to eat near the beach.

Rosemary’s sound asleep and I am carrying her around. The walk was simply put too long for a little child, which we expected. She needs her daily nap. Sometimes people stop us to tell us that we have a lovely baby. We do, we really do.

She’s so comfortable, sleeping against me.

“She trusts you,” Baz keeps saying.

She does.

I wonder for how much longer that will go on.

No. Stop, I think. We’re here on vacation. I deserve a fucking break from my thoughts. We’ve had her for a year now and all is fine. She likes us. We have a nice house. Baz loves his career path. We sued my former workplace into bankruptcy and we’ve given the money away to charity (since, yes, Baz does have a point, we’re both from rich families). We’re doing extremely well and we’re very happy. Being a stay-at-home dad is incredibly fulfilling, despite my nervosity. Rosemary makes everything better.

Baz keeps complimenting me as well, since he knows I’m sometimes still afraid of failing her. He keeps making comments like that. “You’re good with her.” “She likes you.” “I love how delicate you are when she’s around.”

I was always a bit of a fighter. Even as a kid, I used to play pretend with sticks as swords. I liked roughhousing. I pretended that everything was a big challenge, just for fun. Even my jobs were challenges. I will be the one to give you the best information on northern Italy. I will be the one to mix cement as perfectly as possible. I will help the most customers in one day.

I even took on my relationship with Baz as a challenge and a fight. That makes it sound like a bad thing, but it isn’t. It’s more that it gives me a purpose and something worth fighting for. Baz jokes that I went in headfirst with raised fist, puffed out chest and tilted chin. There are rough kisses and good-mannered teasing. Our relationship and marriage is a constant thing in my life that I will keep fighting for, even when I don’t have to.

But Rosemary doesn’t need me to be a fighter. She needs me to be soft.

Having a kid does change your entire life. Rosemary is our first priority now. Baz and I can no longer stay out for fun on a whim. We have to make sure that she’s okay. Even this trip is clearly different than earlier trips. We’re so lucky that Rosemary can sleep unbothered in our arms, otherwise we would’ve had to limit our little excursions and we’d have to stay in the hotel, so that Rosemary can nap.

It’s all worth it, though.

Baz and I wake her up when it’s time to eat. Before we go to the restaurant, I put Rosemary down. Baz’s poured some blood in a plastic bottle and he pours some of the content in the bottle cap for Rosemary. I help Rosemary. She’s gotten better at holding a cup on her own, but the bottle cap is small and that makes it difficult for her. The two of them drink and I have gotten used to watching my husband and daughter drink blood, but it’s always funny when they drink from a bottle.

Well, Rosemary doesn’t have most teeth yet, so fangs are completely out of the question, so she can’t drain a bag, but knowing that it’s blood is just so funny to me. Everyone else will think it’s thick syrup. (I’ve once tried it, just for fun, and it tastes like steel, but according to Baz, the vampirism dissolves that taste.)

I’m just standing here, waiting for my vampire family to finish up the blood drinking. It’s my mum’s blood. They’re drinking my mum’s blood from a bottle. Well, I’ve seen weirder things at this point. (Shepard once introduced me to a talking river!)

Baz and Rosemary’s existence has brought the CoMa and CoMi together and maghi have started donating blood as well. The CoMa and CoMi will never fully be one, but it’s become more normal for maghi and creatures to get along, also now that most of the zone morte are gone. Fiona, Nicodemus and Luigi aren’t the only mixed family these days!

Baz says that maghi blood is even better than pig blood and one time he even allowed himself to bite my mum. Is it weird that I was jealous of my mum? Will Rosemary one day drink from nonna Lucy as well?

Rosemary spills a little bit, but I shield my family as Baz cleans her dress with an Out, out, you damned spot.

“Well done, little puff,” he says and he ruffles her hair, “Bravissima.”

“Eat?” she asks and she pats her little mouth.

“Yes, yes,” I say and I pick her up. She flings her arms around my neck with ease, “And we have a nice view on the sea, Rosemary. Il mare!”

Rosemary holds out her hands and Baz and I both take one in our own hands. The three of us walk to the restaurant.

--

Sanremo is called the Città dei Fiori for a reason. Every February or March, the Carnevale di Sanremo takes place. We’re here for the flower parade, the Sanremo in fiore. Cities in the area present an original composition of flowers displayed on moving car.

As expected, the city is packed with tourists. I once read that around 60.000 people travel to see the parade. It’s also broadcasted on RAI UNO, so I know it’s a big happenstance, but now that we’re actually in the midst of all these people, it’s insane.

Baz and I hold on to Rosemary. She once again wants to walk a bit on her own and we’re definitely not letting her out of our sight when it’s this crowded. I’m not going to make the same mistake that my mum made all those years ago in Lazise. Rosemary can fight us if she wants, but we’re not letting her walk on her own.

We considered paying for seats, but being crammed against some metal fences in order to get a glimpse of some flowers is part of the experience! Baz and Rosemary have respectfully left their sunhats in the hotel so that they wouldn’t block the view.

Okay, sure, Baz has used some kind of spell that made it possible to be in the front row, but no one has to know.

We’re not going to stay for the entire parade. It’s too long for Rosemary and we definitely need to eat.

The parade is so worth it. There are so many floats with extraordinary flower compositions. Apart from the floats, there are dancers and marching bands. It’s so beautiful and the sun makes all the colours of the flowers pop even more. I know that there aren’t maghi in Sanremo, since there’s no CoMa meeting place close by, because otherwise I would’ve expected this to be magickal. It’s almost difficult to believe that all these flower compositions are assembled by Normali.

“Look there! Look there!” Rosemary keeps saying. She points at every float that passes. Some notice and they pay extra attention to her. One woman even handed her a flower and Rosemary looked at her as if she was a goddess. Rosemary might not be much a talker (she literally can’t be, she’s only a year old), but she’s such an expressive child when she wants to be. She’s constantly pointing and gesturing.

At one point, Baz and I spend more time looking at her than at the actual parade. Watching Rosemary enjoy her first trip has been the highlight of all of this. Baz and I smile brightly. Her happiness is contagious.

This is the best vacation ever!

–

End notes: We can be there in a couple of hours, to the place with the yellow flowers. Somewhere only we know. Sunset in Sanremo.

[forabeatofadrum]

Anyway, since I just posted it for the WIP Wednesday, it’s not a spoiler, but here’s the suits that the Snow-Pitches wear during Easter.

Simon

Baz

Rosemary