To be honest, there is nothing I crave more than visiting Paris, London, Amsterdam, Barcelona and all the other cities with a spirit as unique as the people living there. I want to get lost in foreign lives, in the anonymity of capitals and languages that still don’t feel native on my tongue.
I want to go for a walk by a river, admiring the city lights, while discovering another person’s heart but mostly my own.
A stupidly fluffy SnowBaz fic for the Carry On Valentine’s Celebration
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Meet me in Room 172.
I refold the note, noticing how the
paper has already settled into well-known creases since this morning. It’s not the first anonymous note I’ve gotten
over the past week, but it’s the first time the writer has made a move beyond
The Watford halls are sickening
today, even to me. I understand the
appeal of decorating for Christmas, but Valentine’s Day? It just seems a little patronizing to adorn
the walls in that many paper hearts,
whether the hearts can magically float around people’s heads or not. And it’s not that I’m a cynic, but Valentine’s
Day this year was set to be a difficult one for me, since I no longer have
Agatha to dote upon.
But as I slip the little creased note
back into my pocket and make for Room 172, the paper hearts seem less mocking
and my own beating heart feels just a bit lighter.
When I reach the door I falter,
doubts rushing to my head. What if there’s no one there? And what if there is? Then what?
But I turn the knob and shove open
And immediately I see who’s waiting and
I hate the thrill that bolts through me, and I wish that I had turned back.
Baz’s face goes red when he sees me
and I wonder briefly if I’ve seen him this angry before, so enraged that he
“What,” he seethes, “are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” I spit back, my heart sinking and racing at
once. “What are you doing here?”
“None of your business,” he growls,
sitting on one of the desks and pointedly looking anywhere but at me.
Everything in me is boiling. I’m angry and I’m disappointed at once, but I
puff up my pride and stalk over to another desk and sit down to wait. Maybe the fates will be on my side for once
and the mystery writer will reveal themselves yet.
Although, would that be the fates
with me or against me? Because
everything right now is looking like Baz wrote the note, and sitting here in
the empty classroom full of paper hearts with him just a few desks away, it’s
getting harder to ignore the buzzing under my skin and harder to ignore the
fact that he is the common
The clock ticks away like a drumbeat
and I stare at the door, hoping, praying
for something to happen.
“Why are you here?”
I throw a glance over at Baz, who
has turned his head so that he can see me without looking at me. “If you must
know,” I reply sharply, “I’m waiting for someone.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“I think you’re pathetic.”
I have to squeeze my eyes shut and
count to ten like Penny told me before I can breathe evenly again. “What’s your excuse, Basil?” I grit through my teeth.
“Why do you have to be here? Has
no one invited you across the threshold?”
It’s a lame dig, but I know it will be effective, whether he shows it or
not. If there’s anything I’ve learned
from being his enemy it’s that vampire jokes are a no-no.
“I told you, it’s none of your
“Can’t you take your business elsewhere,
When I turn to throw another insult
at him, the sun through the window catches the side of his face and turns his
eyes to silver… and the insult dies in my throat.
I try to stomp on the thought. No.
But it’s too late.
It’s there. It’s taken root.
And the longer I look at him the
more it flowers.
Another thought bubbles up to the
surface almost tentatively. Are you sure it wasn’t him?
As much as I know I should try to
extinguish that notion along with the previous, I let it linger. If I think back on it, I don’t think I ever have seen him angry enough to turn red.
So maybe he’s not angry.
Maybe it’s something else.
When he meets my eye, I’m still
staring at him, and his gaze darts away again, but his cheeks.
They go pink, and there’s no anger
in his eyes. Only uncertainty.
His silver eyes.
And all at once, I decide to change
comes Simon’s soft voice, “you can drop the act.”
I turn to look at him again, and it’s
like looking at the sun because I can feel his image scorching onto my
retinas. Meeting Simon Snow’s gaze is
something that can only be done in doses, for me at least, I don’t know why.
Well, I know why, but I can’t logically explain it.
“Act?” I repeat dumbly.
He slides off the desk and takes a
slow step in my direction, and even that is enough to set my heart hammering. “Yes,” he says, “act.”
“I don’t know what -”
“I think you do,” he interrupts me, “I
think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He pauses for a breath, like he’s second-guessing himself, but then he
meets my eyes again. “I think you wrote
My brain screeches to a halt and
nothing makes sense. “Notes,” I reply,
and I hate myself because the boy I’m head-over-heels for is actually not at my throat and I sound like a
He seems to get a burst of
confidence. “It’s okay, Baz,” he goes
on, still slowly advancing, “I don’t mind, but you could have just said
I have nowhere to go. I want to leap up from my spot and run, but I
can’t. Even in all this, my pride
wins. I’m on a desk in the middle of an
empty classroom, and I’m cornered. “Said
something,” I stammer, “about what?”
He shrugs, right in front of me
now. “Anything from any of the notes,
which were unbelievably mushy, by the way.
I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Hang on,” I stop him, unable to
keep from shrinking back. “You’ve been
“All week,” he grins, “though I didn’t
realize it was you until I got here. I
have to say, that last one was weak poetry.
I mean, ‘roses are red, violets are blue’?”
Something in my brain clicks and I
swear I hear a ding. “‘Meet me in Room 172’,” I finish with a
His face lights up like all the
stars in the sky are in his eyes. “I
knew it was you,” he murmurs, and – Crowley
– his gaze flickers to my mouth, no more than a foot away.
And I want it. I want to keep quiet and let him close the
distance. Hell, I want to do it myself.
But I reach into my pocket and pull
out the scrap of paper from inside. “Then
I hate to tell you this, Snow,” I say quietly, my heart breaking, “but I didn’t
He looks away from my eyes for the
first time and his brow scrunches up when he sees the note in my hand. He takes it from me and unfolds it, his eyes
scanning over the words again and again, the same little three-line poem. I watch as he checks his pockets, finding an
identical note in his jeans, and the penny drops.
“It wasn’t you,” he says, almost to
himself, and his face falls.
“I’ve been getting anonymous notes
all week, too,” I confess. “It’s a trick
on both of us.”
His hands are shaking. “Why would anyone do this?” he asks quietly,
his face reddening, and I can’t tell whether it’s with embarrassment or anger
or sadness, or all of the above.
“I don’t know,” I stand at last and
saunter over to lean against the wall, grateful for some air that isn’t charged
with proximity. “People are dicks, I
“And you swear that you had nothing
to do with it?” He won’t look at me at
He squeezes his eyes shut and I half
expect tears to appear on his cheeks, but he just nods once and turns to march
towards the door.
An image flashes through my brain,
of his eyes boring into mine, of how they flickered down to my flustered mouth.
And suddenly I decide that I’ve had
enough of this.
He stops dead in his tracks. “What?” he says without looking at me.
“What for? You said you didn’t do anything.” His voice sounds sore, like he is fighting
tears after all.
“I’m sorry that you thought it was
me,” I tell him, “because…” I trail off, unsure how to finish.
I wish he would look at me. “I hate to ask, but did you mean any of that?”
“About not minding if it was you?” He sighs like he’s given up. “Yes.
I meant all of it.”
He meant all of it. From the words to the glance at my lips. All of it.
He shoots me a red-faced glare at my
I stare back, and I can feel a big
stupid grin bubbling up. “Yes, actually.”
That catches him off-guard. “Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t mind if it was
you, either,” I blurt out before I can lose my nerve.
His eyebrows finally un-furrow and
he meets my eyes properly. I know that I’m
turning pink again, but as he starts to step towards me, I hold his gaze.
When he’s right in front of me
again, close enough that I have to look down to see him, he whispers “You mean…”
One of the paper hearts littering
the room suddenly jumps up off a desk, and I don’t know if they’ve been charmed
to target fools in love or not, but it starts to dance around my head.
Simon chuckles at the heart. “Is that a yes?”
I allow myself a tempered version of
the big stupid grin. “You could say
The heart swoops in front of my
eyes, and I lazily wave it away.
Simon stands on tiptoe and plucks
the heart from the air by my eyes, and we’re no further than a breath apart.
And then he leans in the rest of the
my hand hard when they finally fall together, and I squeeze back. Stealthily she snaps a silent photo on her
phone, and I make a mental note to get her to send it to me later. The fruits of our labours.
We step back from the open door of
Room 172 as quietly as we can, but I doubt we need to worry. Simon and Baz are both far too occupied to
Penny keeps hold of my hand as we
make a break for it, waiting until we’re around several corners before
“Damn,” she grins at me, “we are
All I can do is grin back, still
holding her hand as we stroll down the hallway, kicking up clouds of red paper
I don’t think you’ve yet noticed how captured I am by the sound of you. You haven’t come to understand what the syllables you say mean to me or why I pay such careful attention to the way you’ve made them dance for me. They’re breathing in my head and bouncing around my thoughts, and I don’t know how to get you out of me just yet. Maybe it’s the way the mystery rolls off of your tongue while at the same time everything’s all too familiar. Maybe it’s the way your lips form my name without calling me crazy. I think I’d step into you if it meant getting to hear your lungs calling me from inside your chest as well, if it meant that I could hear your heart sing too.
I'm in love with that moment in the latest ep when Kara scrunched her face right before kissing Mon-El, dunno why, just in love w it
This precious moment right here??
I have so many feelings about it as well! Let me start by saying, bless Melissa and Chris’s acting choices because I feel like a lot of what makes these scenes so special are these little moments. I feel like Kara is just taken by a surge of affection. He just melted her heart and she can’t even hide it. And Kara is usually very expressive with her face. I feel like her reaction means “my boyfriend is the sweetest person ever and he admires me so much, it melts my heart!!” and also “I really am in love with you!”. And that’s so beautiful.
is less like a first and more like a last,
a finality, an ending
– the end of Maul’s doubts, of his denial, the end of his internal
insistence that Thrawn’s attentions and affection were meaningless,
or less than sincere, or a form of manipulation.
fingers linger over Maul’s tattooed skin with a reverence and
worshipful grace that finally, finally
makes Maul truly believe he still merits the title of Lord.
The whispered words in a foreign tongue run tremors up his spine, and the way Thrawn’s lips
ghost over Maul’s own echoes breathless obeisance born of awed
is a comforting darkness behind Thrawn’s glowing eyes to match the
deep dark places in Maul’s twin beating hearts, a growing warmth
there that envelops him and penetrates him and holds him so close
that it doesn’t even matter that he has nothing below his waist,
doesn’t matter that Thrawn’s gentle explorations are limited to only
half the flesh Maul should have had. Maul’s world coalesces into the
luminous eyes above him and the fingers on his skin, and he finds
himself reaching up with shaking hands to caress the pale blue skin
of his new lover’s face. And Maul discovers it is not only Thrawn who is
enthralled, not only Thrawn who is filled with awe and reverence and touching warm skin in
ardent benediction to this strange and sacred fate that brought them
into each other’s arms.
Fanart of one of my favourite Ham ships, The Marquis of Large Baguette and the To-mac-n-cheese dork.
I made this with @terror-in-the-dream in mind, because she’s such a talented artist and I admire her so much. Her art always makes my heart happy and inspires me to be better.
So, Ida, this is my way of saying thank you :’)
I LOVE YOU!!!!
the way dan speaks about phil fills me with so so much happiness. there’s never any doubt in my mind that they’re soulmates, not necessarily romantic, but they are very much “next to each other” in life. you can just tell how much they appreciate and care for each other, dan literally never denies phil of the credit he deserves and is always conveying his fondness and love for him, be it through words or gestures. the closeness they share is definitely something i admire and hold close to my heart, as an onlooker.