Un ragazzo aveva una cotta per questa ragazza, e la seguiva ovunque andasse. Un giorno, la ragazza se ne accorse e chiese al ragazzo, "Perché continui a seguirmi?" Il ragazzo rispose, "perché sei cosi bella e penso di essermi innamorato di te", disse la ragazza "davvero? Ma non hai ancora visto la mia amica. Lei è molto più bella di me ed è proprio dietro di te". Il ragazzo si voltò e rispose "mi stai prendendo in giro? Non c'è nessuno dietro di me". La ragazza rispose "hai ragione, ma se davvero mi amassi, non ti preoccuperesti neppure di guardare"
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posts for the first time in weeks and runs
A preview for my Carry On Through The Ages piece ( @carryonthroughtheages ) Thank you for everyone who has tagged me over the weeks and for those who tagged me today: @artsyunderstudy @confused-bi-queer
Tags under the cut
Tagging: @theearlgreymage @ileadacharmedlife @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @martsonmars @cutestkilla @shrekgogurt @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @nausikaaa @whogaveyoupermission @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @wellbelesbian @crimsonskyes @bookish-bogwitch @johnwgrey @yeonjunenby @mostlymaudlin @raenestee @gekkoinapeartree @ionlydrinkhotwater @brendughh @wolfywordweaver @fatalfangirl @erzbethluna @bazzybelle @kohatenz @foolofabookwyrm-activated @facewithoutheart @prettyaudvampyscones @moodandmist @henreyettah @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @thewholelemon @stardustasincocaine @takitalks @theimpossibledemon and anyone who wants or has time!
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My mate @snowbaz-parentis wrote this excellent work for @carryonthroughtheages.
Safe Harbor
It all started on an island...
It's 1956, and Baz Pitch is existentially lost in New York City. After graduating from Columbia, he's working for a wedding photographer with no taste as he avoids his inevitable fall attendance at Yale Law School, his father's alma mater. All Baz wants to do is be a fashion photographer, and when an opportunity to assist a famous photographer out on Fire Island falls in his lap, it just may be the key to helping unlock him from the closet of his family's expectations.
It's 1956, and Simon Snow is wondering if there's more to life than this or if this is as good as it gets. He's been working in construction with his foster father, David Cadwallader, practically ever since he was taken in at age 13, but there's something beyond the water that's calling for him. When Davy offers Simon a chance to manage his family's rental properties for the summer in Cherry Grove on Fire Island, Simon jumps at the chance to finally take charge of something.
What Baz and Simon didn't expect: the sense of freedom that comes from being able to absolutely surrender to the truest version of yourself, and the choices you have to make when it happens.
Chapter one is up now on ao3.
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Thanks to @messofthejess & @forabeatofadrum for the tags and for everyone else who’s been tagging me lately ❤️❤️❤️ I’ve been an utter wreck these days so I’m taking a cue from @forabeatofadrum and sharing a bit from every fic that’s haunting me. It’s the WIP Night of the Fic-Dead.
A few tags up front for people who I think will care about one of the struggling WIPs: @ileadacharmedlife, @bazzybelle, @yellobb, @artsyunderstudy, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @raenestee, @thewholelemon & @bookish-bogwitch.
Clips under the break.
Fic commitment I need to get my act together on
From my unnamed COTTA, which is a pre-WWII fic that may or may not form a Captain America AU in future days:
I swipe under my nose, adding more red to already bloodied knuckles. “Really, Baz, I almost had ‘im.”
“Obviously,” Baz drawls, leaning into my space to dust off my hair, shoulders and chest. One hand lingers on my sternum, like he’s letting my weak heart prove it’s still beating.
I swat him away. “Quit your mother hennin’.”
“Be a better chicken and I will.”
Posted fics that need a new chapter
From the next chapter of All I Ever Wanted was the World, which I think about daily but never write:
“So what did you do to piss him off?”
Somehow it doesn’t feel right explaining. I’m sure we both come off wrong with it, but I don’t like speaking for other people. “Ask him.”
“Not really that interested.” Niamh pushes off where she’s been leaning against the counter. “Do you use those or are they purely for show?”
I glance at where her gaze falls. “My arms?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
From the next chapter of On Love’s Light Wings, that I never think about except to wince when I remember it exists unfinished:
My arms come up, pushing under the back of his shirt to feel his bare skin. There are moles here. I never touched them… when he was alive…
Last time…
He’s doing that thing. That thing with his chin. I’m a puddle. I’m his; I don’t even care that he’s not my Simon…
From Santa Baby, which I fucking swear I am trying but I actively hate this concept:
“It’s hardly a problem–” Shepard argues.
“What prob–”
“Shhhh,” Simon shushes me.
I drop my jaw. “Ex-cuse–”
“Shepard,” Simon whines, “I can’t just…”
“Did you just shush–”
“He’s a complete stranger.”
I scoff. “Hardly.”
From the next chapter of boulders turn into sand, which I have started and restarted and restarted and… you get the point:
My fists grip the back of his shirt, wrinkling his silk and I told myself I wouldn’t do this; I told myself this was a line I’d never cross. That I’d never take one night from Baz at the cost of our friendship.
But then he whispers, “Please, please,” against my lips and maybe I’m not taking anything.
Maybe I’m giving.
Other shit that buzzes around my head but never makes it to paper:
when your heart goes, my Padam Padam-inspired sequel to blame it on the spray which would cover sexy club dancing, Lamb, Baz biting Simon, and maybe some weird bond shit if I ever managed to clear my plate of unfinished stuff to write this just to see if I can.
The Real Ending, my The Real Tragedy sequel where we find out if Simon found Baz but, more importantly, whether Natasha can truly accept her son, which is why I haven’t written it. Because boooring.
Bad Wolf/Blue Lace, which I’ve decided if I ever finish it should be my last fic in the fandom. My insanely dramatic reverse Open Sesame moment where I lure you all in with cracky bullshit and then leave on the most personal note I can.
Baz Baby or Two Roommates and a Baby which, at this point, I’m only interested in writing so I can sneak in some kinky shit as a gift.
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