*whispers* no notes

Simon: *peeks out from behind menu he’s not reading*

Baz: *glares*

Simon: *visibly blushing*

Baz: *narrows eyes*

Simon: “So, I was feeling… something… and I did… something…”

Baz: *places down menu in the restaurant they’re sitting at* *takes deep breath* “Simon… what did you d-”

~music starts playing… sexy violins… romantic stylz music~

Waiter #1: *brings giant bouquet of roses*

Waiter #2: *brings giant red velvet cake to the table, adorned with many a decorative, edible flower*

Waiter #3: *brings comically large valentines card over (even though it’s only half way through January)

Baz: *actual rabbit in the headlights*

Simon: *starts babbing* “So, that feeling I was feeling was love and I got carried away and gosh, I was just thinking about everything and things and then you! And then I asked these waiters to come over here and bring all this stuff and so *takes deep breath* Basilton Grimm-Pitch… will you be my valentine?

Baz: *deadpan glare*

Simon: *puppy-dog eyes, looking adorable*

Baz: *deadpan glare*

Waiters: *uncomfortable squirming*

Baz: “SIMON SNOW WE ARE MARRIED!”

Simon: “Still…”

Waiters: *still uncomfortable, now also confused puppies*

Baz: *resigned sigh* Yes, I will be your valentine

Simon: *fist pumps in the air* *whooping and holling with pure joy* *high five’s confused waiters*

Baz: *blushes* *hides behind his menu and secretly grins at his adorable amazing sunshine husband and thanks his lucky stars he’s married to the most wonderfully amazing goofball in the whole wide world*

@carryon-valentines

Incorrect Interview Quotes with L&C

“I’m not really listening to Lockwood half the time. I just smile and agree, and then I do what I want.”
-Lucy Carlyle, on how she manages her work with Anthony Lockwood

“I REALLY like Lucy. Like, she’s a great addition to the team, I mean.”
-Anthony Lockwood, on his thoughts of Lucy Carlyle

We’re in constant need for a new microwave because George keeps exploding stuff in ours.”
-Lucy Carlyle, on home space

“Sometimes I take Lockwood’s hair products and switch them with the stuff in our pantry.”
-George Cubbins, on what he contributes for the agency

“I basically take care of him. The boy cannot handle himself without me, frankly.”
-Lucy Carlyle, about Anthony Lockwood

“I’m proficient in 4 languages. English, sarcasm, profanity, and strangely ancient Greek. Only so I can cuss people out in a different language.”
-George Cubbins, on his hidden talents

“What? Of course we’re qualified to be running this agency? Get out of my house–”
-Anthony Lockwood

Okay I know that we’re all reeling from the fact that teg is out and a tv show might be happening but can we still talk about how Lucy’s upbringing fucked her up? Like, Lucy talks about being the youngest of her sisters with a drunk, possibly abusive father and a neglectful mother in the first book. She doesn’t think she’s pretty because her mom told her she wasn’t and she was raised to bank all her worth on being a good agent. This isn’t super prominent in the first couple books but in the third, when holly comes around, don’t these issues just blow up? Like holly is everything Lucy thinks she’s not and she just brings up all these insecurities that Lucy’s own mom encouraged and how fucking sad is that. Not to mention holly threatens lucy’s position of agent in her mind, essentially taking away a core part of her identity that, once again, her mom encouraged. There are quotes from thb that talk about this. Anyway can we all just take a minute and realize how much Lucy’s mom screwed her over and really focus on how her issue with holly was less due to jealousy of Lockwood favoring holly but more because of how her mother treated her.

pretty girl ✧ peter parker

summary : peter parker may be a bumbling wreck around you most of the time, but when it comes down to it, his ability to shower you in his affections is unparalleled. 

wc : 1.6k

author’s note : i took part of @iusethistoreadfanfics aka liz aka the sweetest person ever’s request and an anon’s request for a pretty boy part two and turned it into this :) can be read separately it’s not a /direct/ sequel. 

   There was a moment, when you and Peter were at a standstill between not quite dating yet not quite just friends, when he understood with the entirety of his heart that simply calling you his best friend was not enough, nor would it ever be. He remembers the way he does every memory that involves you; as if he were stepping back in time and reliving it, clear as day, still so fresh in his mind that it could have happened just twenty four hours ago. 

   It was still the summertime when it happened, albeit one week shy of September and two weeks until the start of tenth grade for the two of you. Nevertheless, it was August, and school had been the furthest thing from your mind when you had begged Peter to accompany you to the beach, just an hour’s ride on the train from his apartment to the Rockaways. He had argued that it was more September than August at this point, that the ride would take forever, but you had insisted and because it was you and he was just another lovestruck boy with an affinity for making you smile, he agreed. He hadn’t gone with the intention of actually basking in the sunlight or standing at the edge of the water the way he knew you would, he just enjoyed your company. Then, he saw you standing there on the sand, staring out into the ocean in a pensive sort of way, and maybe it was the way the summer sunshine was illuminating you in an odd sort of way, but he knew he was in love in that simple moment. In love with the little freckles that spotted across your shoulders and the huggable way your body had been shaped and in love with the everything and anything about you. He had been well aware of the strange limbo you were both in- acknowledged feelings for each other hanging there but neither of you making a move to shift the balance in favor of a romantic relationship. 

   He was floored, to say the least. He barely blinked when you looked back at him, smiling brightly at him. “What are you looking at it?” You had said, standing next to him. He raised a hand to trace over the little stars, the freckles, on your shoulder with his finger, an unabashed grin beginning to make its way across his face. You knew what he was he looking at, and he didn’t want to be embarrassed when he told you. 

    “You,” he had breathed, an ever dreamy sigh. “Always you.” 

     Pretending not to be as shy as you were quickly becoming underneath his intent gaze, you looked down at his hand, still sitting at your shoulder before dropping awkwardly to his side. You met his eyes again, and his cheeks were burning bright red despite the confidence he had found within himself. He was still the dorky, easily flustered Peter underneath it all. He just wanted to be capable of giving you a compliment without stumbling over his own words. “Why’s that? I know I need to start doing crunches again but-” 

   “Don’t even finish that sentence.” Without saying much else for fear of not being able to coherently explain how utterly stunning he found you, he took your hand in his and pulled you over to the water. You two sat down there, and he had wrapped his arm around you hesitantly, but it wasn’t in the friendly way he had done it all those years, and you both knew it. Peter leaned over to rest his head on your shoulder. “I don’t think we’re just friends anymore.” You nodded, turning your head to the side so you were face to face with him, your hand slipping under his jaw. “What do you think, pretty girl?” 

   It was the first time he had called you that, though it wouldn’t be the last, and you had known it from the second his eyes lit up at the way you had ducked your head to hide the shy grin on your lips and the pink blotches on your cheeks. His smile was dazzling before he kissed you, and yeah, maybe you loved dorky Peter, but the confidence was ever so endearing as well. 

    Every part of Peter was impossible not to love. Even the parts of him that lived to embarrass you endlessly. 

    He took pride in being the sole resident of your heart, and because of this fact, he was the only person to ever be capable of making you blush like he’s never seen. Of course, he was the champion of being blushing like mad after receiving a compliment, but sometimes, you had to relinquish your control and just let the boy call you every term of endearment under the sun and watch as his sweet smile shined for you alone. 

   Pretty girl was your weakness. It was the weak in the knees, flustered grin, shying away sort of weakness. The sort of thing that made you hide your face from him only to have your hands grabbed and pressed against his cheeks as he waited for you to look up at him again.  

   Naturally, he tried to say it as often as possible. 

   “Psstt, pretty girl,” he kept his voice at a whisper, "D’you have the geometry notes for today? Think I lost mine.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling when he saw you sink low in your chair in English class, staring down at your book. 

  “No.” You rested your elbow on the table, your cheek in your hand to hide most of the blush. “You have the notes. I saw you give them to Michelle. I need to get back to reading.” He nodded, plopping his own novel on his desk and propping it open, pretending to be reading when in reality he kept glancing back up at you. “What?” 

   “Nothing, nothing at all, pretty girl.” He laughed to himself as you placed your head on the table, and he laughed all the way to lunchtime as you blatantly tried not to look at him. Peter Parker is, however, unavoidable, no matter how hard you attempt to ignore his advances and happy little smiles when he catches you still all flushed pink from an earlier encounter, and in his head, he compares it to the blush of a rose petal. 

   After school, he meets you in front of your locker, leaning against the one next to yours like a dork and wiggling his eyebrows at you when you finally slam your door shut. “You’re coming over, right? You’re not too upset with me for making you all blushy and cute today in class? ‘Cause, like, really Y/N, if you were me, it would’ve been totally worth it. You were adorable.” Because it’s Peter, you can never be mad for too long, so you shake your head no and slip your hand in his. “Okay good, I wanted to get ya something.”  

    His surprise gift his a bouquet of pink roses that he says reminded him of you the moment they caught his eye early this morning, and he presents them with a long winded explanation of why to him, they were you. He watches your eyes crinkle at the corners, your hand squeezing his as your other hand takes the flowers from him. “Thank you, Peter. They’re- they’re very pretty.” 

   He shrugged, trying to play it off cooly even though inside he was utterly ecstatic that you had appreciated the flowers. He wasn’t always sure that he was getting this whole boyfriend thing down. “Pretty flowers, my pretty girl, no big deal.” But it was, at least to you. He holds your hand all the way to his apartment, enjoying the sunny glow on your cheeks that makes his own face burn in the best way. 

   May reminds you both to keep the door open when you get to his apartment, just because she’s the aunt and she has to remind Peter of those sorts of things, but neither of you mind. 

   He puts on his playlist for you when you drop your bag on his bed, motioning for him to come over and sit with you as Hearts Don’t Break Around Here softly fills the small room. Peter places his arm around you, the way he did three months ago at the beach for the first time when your feelings were new and wild and rushed. He starts singing quietly, always so shy about his voice even though he knows it’s your favorite thing to listen to. You can almost feel yourself falling asleep against him, but he shakes you gently to make sure you’re awake when he murmurs the next few lines. “Every night I’ll kiss you, you’ll say in my ear, oh we’re in love, aren’t we?” He lets Ed take over the remainder of the song as he looks down at you, and it’s a look that any girl or boy would fall for in a heartbeat. “We are, right? In love?” 

   “So in love,” you reply, kissing him soft as ever. Gentle. 

    “Good,” he whispered, his hand trailing over your face. “Sometimes I- I have to double check. Just make sure that I’m not… like, dreaming, or something. That I’m not driving you away with complimenting you so much, ‘cause I know you hate when you blush but I just can’t resist. You’re my sweet girl, my pretty girl. I need to tell you. Is that okay?” He’s got that nervous expression on his face again, so to put his mind at ease, you pull him against you again. 

    “Peter, that’s okay. As long as it’s you, it’ll be okay.” He relaxes under your careful touch, practically melting against you until you smirk a little and say, “I’ve got more of the power anyway, pretty boy.” And suddenly a red face Peter Parker is pulling away from you, furiously blushing and cursing the day he ever decided he was going to fall madly in love with you, except not really, because it was arguably the best day of his life.   

    The cycle then repeats. 

tags : @parkerroos @spideyyss @ladysnowren @hufflepuffholland @grant-valdes-holland @captainswriting @spideyyparker @focused-on-holland @underoosie @marvelsdaughter @iusethistoreadfanfics @bihaza @theclonewarss @skymoonandstardust @punk-rock-princess-626 @lunastarwatcher @warcriminalrogers @brittyblogs @tiny-friggin-human @heartfrost (if you wanne be taken off the list let me know it’s no problem)

November Third (part eight (b))

@o0o-chibaken-o0o you asked for it. you got it.

bingo l part one l part two l part three l part four l part five l part six l part seven l part eight (a) l part eight (b) updates to come..

Only Pansy would arrange gatherings on school nights. She said it was because the teachers would be much less likely to expect students to be partying on Monday nights, so they were less likely to be caught. Which, Draco supposed did have some merit to it. But the main reason was clearly because Pansy didn’t seem to need as much sleep as everyone else, and liked to laud her morning perkiness over the rest of the year as they walked between classes like zombies.

Draco would have much preferred to stay in bed all day. Anything to avoid Potter, and regain some sleep. But he was supposed to be good this year. And he really needed perfect grades if he was going to land a job after school. He didn’t have the same extracurricular activities as Potter to include on his resume. What was he going to say? Disgraced Death Eater?

So, it was with great reluctance that Draco dragged his feet to his first class, charms, a class he was all too aware he shared with Potter. He arrived early as he had skipped breakfast - it would have been too much of a temptation to stare across the Great Hall at Potter - so he had his choice of seats. The back row was the easy option - he might be able to get a sneaky nap in - so he settled himself in for a nice relaxing class of not dreaming about Potter.

That turned out to be impossible of course. Draco should have realised November third was not yet finished. The seat next to him was snatched up, rather boldly, by Harry Potter. Which could really only mean one thing - Potter had questions. Only this time there was no veritaserum to force them out.

Draco ignored Potter as best he could - although Potter was not making it easy. Surely, he didn’t have to sit that close, and surely he didn’t have to keep fidgeting and shuffling in his seat, and SURELY he didn’t have to try and pass notes to Draco. Were they suddenly back in first year or something?

Draco just kept on pushing the note back across the table without reading it, and Potter would slide it right on back. But Draco couldn’t read it. He didn’t want to deal with this conversation now, the aftermath of the humiliating (but admittedly heavenly) scene last night. Potter would want to know things. And Draco had already revealed too much.

However, just like Draco, Potter was a stubborn bastard, and it didn’t seem like he was going to give up on the note situation anytime soon. So when he leaned into Draco’s ear and whispered, “Just read the fucking note, Malfoy,” Draco gave in.

He picked it up with an irritated sigh (so Potter would know how much of an inconvenience it was for him) and reluctantly read Potter’s scribbled note. He snorted. The note had one word:

Keep reading

Aziraphale: *exists*

Crowley: 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit