great lunches

  • *the lab*
  • Molly: *working*
  • Molly: *thoughtfully* If you ever get married, would you invite me to the wedding?
  • Sherlock: *looking through the microscope* Can't have a wedding without the bride.
  • Molly: ...
  • Molly: *blinks* I-I was talking to Anthony.
  • Sherlock: *looks up*
  • Molly's Intern: *waves awkwardly*
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: So was I.
  • Molly's Intern: *panicky* What?
  • Sherlock: *looks back at the microscope; embarrassed* Get out.
  • Molly's Intern: *scurries off*
  • Molly: *amused* That wasn't nice. I needed him.
  • Sherlock: *blushing* Oh...be quiet.
  • Molly: *steps closer; smirks* That's no way to speak to your bride.
  • Sherlock: *smiles; nonchalant* So...so that's a yes?
  • Molly: *laughs* Of course.
Queen Penny

Rewind the clock by a couple of decades and I was working as a team lead for an office supply store. This office supply store has a “copy center” where staff members would print, copy, and scan stuff for customers.

Enter “Penny”. Penny was a middle-aged woman who would come in every Friday smelling like wine, dressed somewhat elaborately, and who would make ridiculous demands on the copy center staff. Penny: crazy lady!

Penny’s weekly Friday afternoon visitations had been going on for a while before I ever became aware of her. She would come in with elaborate letters including photos, keepsakes, etc written to England’s Royal Family - various members from the Queen to Prince Charles to Fergie. She would make the copy staff photocopy the letters, demanding perfection to the point where she measured the margins to ensure the contents copied were in the exact center of the page. Then she would make the copy center staff package the letters and, when she did include something such as photos, inspect the packing to ensure the tape was perfectly even and pay the shipping to Buckingham Palace in London. She would frequently make the copy staff read the photocopied letters back to her. When they had initial refused to, she had called district management and complained so this request was honored whenever she asked.

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“You’re a terrible father” - Tony Stark x Daughter!reader

Love the idea. And really, I kinda take any requests :D. Thank you for this one, it’s right here, hope you like it :

(My masterlist blog here : https://ella-ravenwood-archives.tumblr.com)

_____________________________________________________________________

It was the twentieth fucking time you tried to call your father, Anthony Stark, and you fell, once again, on his stupid voice saying that he was “too busy to answer” and that he’d “call back” but “probably not”. Damn that man. 

In your entire life on this Earth, you were pretty sure he never picked you up on time somewhere. Never, ever. He was just always late, so much that you came up with a trick of actually telling the wrong times for him to be on time. If something was at 6pm, you’d tell him it was at 4. But even with that trick, he still often managed to be fucking late. Which is why most of the time, your stepmother came to get you. But Pepper, wasn’t available today. 

You smiled, thinking about your “stepmother”. You were so glad she was in your life, being pretty sure that if your dad never had the help, he probably would have lost custody of you before you reach the age of 1…You considered Pepper your real mother. You never met your biological mom as she just dumped you in front of your dad’s house, with a note. One paternity test later, and it was confirmed you were his…You were the first step to his transformation, the first to help him become the man he was today. Better. 

So you grew up with Pepper around. She filled in brilliantly the mother role, even before she actually started dating your father (you remember the day you finally convinced him to just tell her his feelings, and smiled).

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anonymous asked:

Dude my life has devolved into just Stress TM. You could write the silliest shit and I'd be about that as long as it was cute and distracting.

How about 22 Jump Street Scene 1 and 2:

“Well, not same case because,” Geno grins, then continues, “I’m get laid last night.”

Dayum,” Flower whisper-hollers.

“He’s smart, he’s funny, loves hockey, he’s major in history,” Geno says, then leers. “Great mouth. The best ass. Ride me three times. Was good.”

Mario rolls his eyes, but he acquiesces and extends a hand for a high-five, which Geno gleefully takes.

-

“Hi!” Sidney says, running to Geno’s side from the event hall porch and greeting him with a kiss. “You made it! Come meet my dad!”

Geno smile melts off his face as he looks up at Mario Lemieux’s confused, then enraged expression.

-

“So, um,” Mrs. Lemieux starts, “how did you two meet?”

“Oh,” Sidney says, clasping Geno’s hand, while Geno turns paler. “We met after the hockey game. And then he, um, stalked me back to my room.”

Stalked?” Mario echoes, not taking his gaze off Geno. “And then what happened?”

“And then we–we hung out and watched a movie,” Sidney says, looking taken aback. “We watched it, um, a couple times? G?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah, movie. Watch a lot.”

“I–fuck.” Mario throws his napkin on the table pushes his chair back with a squeak, stalking off to the restroom. “Excuse me.” 

-

“Captain, we have something very important to tell you,” Flower begins, then pauses as Geno fidgets nervously with his velcro. “Dude, you wearing Kevlar?”

Geno doesn’t respond, and he does not make eye-contact with either Mario or Flower. 

“Gentlemen, we’re not going to ignore the problem here,” Mario says, crossing his arms. He looks like he wants to rip Geno’s skin from his face. 

“What’s the problem?” Flower asks. “What’s going on?” 

This is what’s going on,” Mario seethes, as he turns a frame on his desk to reveal a smiling photo of…Sidney Crosby.

Geno very pointedly looks into his lap and stays silent. Flower squints, looking closer, then it’s as if a lightbulb went off in his head.

“Oh, shit,” Flower crows, laughing raucously as he descends into French. “Oh, shit. Shit. G fucked the Captain’s son! This is the best thing ever, G fucked the Captain’s son!”  

Flower runs outside, singsonging to the crowd below, “Geno fucked the Captain’s son! Sidney Crosby! Geno fucked him and then bragged about it to Lemieux’s face. Fuck!” He returns to his seat, patting Geno, who looks like he wants to be sick. “You understand this? You told him, to his face, that Sidney Crosby blew you and then fucked you. Three times–”

Mario slams a hand on his gun, resting on the desk, and Flower quickly sobers. “–I mean this is really serious. This isn’t that funny. I’m disappointed in you, Geno.”  

Slytherin Princess

Request from anon: please can you do an imagine where Draco and the reader are like the king and queen of Slytherin or whatever and they’re like the coolest couple ever and one day someone crosses her path and she makes sure he pays for it

Thanks for requesting anon! I’m sorry if this is really bad, I wrote this in one sitting :/

Masterlist

Originally posted by pansyknowsallthingspotter

You had been dating Draco for a good two years - you were both in sixth year and had structured a pretty notorious reputation; everyone always referred to the two of you as the ‘King and Queen of Slytherin’. Ever since people had found out about the two of you, they noticed how perfectly you fit together - Draco was a respectable, almost despotic character yet you were oddly kind, though everyone warned “Get on the wrong side of Y/N Y/L/N and you’re dead meat.” You knew how to defend yourself, having come from a similar family as Draco, it came naturally to the two of you. 

You were surprisingly clever (one of the top in your year, actually) and you were proud of it. If you didn’t put those extra hours in at the library, you probably wouldn’t have passed your O.W.L.S; it came as a shock to your parents when you were placed in Slytherin (your mother was a Ravenclaw and so was your father) yet you supposed your house destined who you were meant to be. You were a Slytherin and you were proud of it. 

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highlights from my lunch

some boy i know, placing his lunchbox on his head: meditation!

*the wind kicks up and knocks everything off the table and the lunchbox almost hits me in the face*

everyone outside: *actually dying*


~

someone: drown your demons!

me: i can’t drown my demons

me: they have floaties

~

me: just, the more angsty the song becomes, the more hellish it gets

crush: yea

me: how could this hAPPEN TO MEEEE

crush: IVE MADE MYMISTAAAAAAAAAAKESS

me: *so much laughing*

me: GOTNOWHERETORUUUNNNN

crush: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Dad!Minho headcanons

Originally posted by yepponur

Dad!Minho would include…


  • At first, he barely knows anything about kids. He has taken care of them and knows the basics, but he had never been a father, so when he changes his first diaper or gets woken up by loud wailing, expect him to be concentrated on the task. Minho is sweet, that’s his nature, but he looks cutest when he’s reading through those new parent’s books with his glasses placed over the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows furrowed.
  • Absolutely, he tried hard. Everyone knew this when you saw the tall, handsome man with a bag full of baby supplies hanging from his shoulder and his baby on the other, the same widened eyes as him.
  • He loves to make food for his kid. Surely, he wasn’t the best and baby food wasn’t supposed to be the tastiest –or the easiest one to prepare- but he wanted to make his son smile, hence why he’d put a little bit more of care when he was the one that had to prepare breakfast and once he served the food, he would look at his child like he was being judged in a cooking show. “…Babe, I think he likes it!” He would cheer and that would bring a smile to his partner’s face.
  • The bad thing about Minho is that he falls asleep too fast. One moment he’d be standing up from the bed when the baby was crying and he’d promise that he’ll be back, but once she wakes up she sees him sprawled over the chair that was near the baby’s crib and his long limbs would be everywhere as soft snores left his lips. A good parent got tired easily; he likes to make that excuse.
  • Too rushed with things, he is. Minho wants to be there for the baby’s first steps, the first word, the first everything, but he wanted it to happen too fast. The man would be sitting on the floor and clapping his hands with the biggest smile as he waited for the baby to come over at him and she’d laugh “Minho, he is only two months, he can’t walk yet!” “Just wait and see!” Eventually, when the baby does give his first steps –months after that, obviously- he’d be so proud, honestly.
  • Probably that parent that prepares his children’s lunches. He’d pack everything and even wave them goodbye when they were going to school. He liked to believe that he was motivating them to have a great day and it wasn’t so bad to have his –embarrassingly cute- dad picking them up when they are out.
  • One hundred percent possibility that Minho will wear anything that his children give him, from those tacky necklaces that children make to t-shirts that they painted for him, anything would just look beautiful in his eyes and even when he ended up with a lot of glitter and paint around his body when he took them off at night, he still loved them.
  • Goes to every club meeting that his children have and any contest that they participate on. If his son is presenting a science project, he’s there, if his little girl is having a soccer match, he’s there. Even when he’s such a busy person, he’d still make time for those who he loves and he’ll even cheer them on!
  • “Dad, where do babies come from?” That question would make all the color leave his face and he would give one of his charismatic smiles, instantly reaching over for his wife’s hand before dragging her in front of him. “Oh, look, your mom’s here!  She knows!”. It’s not that he doesn’t want to give them the talk, but he doesn’t know how to say it in kind words.
  • He wants more children. “But babe-” “We have enough children, Minho.” “One more-!” “No!”
  • Even when his son and little girl are already teenagers, he still takes them out for ice cream or plays sports with them at the park. He wants to make them remember how good of a time they had with him.
  • Finally, Minho would be a simple kind of dad, but he’ll do anything to make his family happy.
New Beginnings

Originally posted by sheexhalesvanillalace

Summary: Dance Practice for the Yule Ball and Y/n and George are paired up to practice. Just flufffff! Also need to tag @notgreengrass for being the editor over my posts, and helping me with the ending. I have no idea what I would do without you, tysm for making my writing that much better!

Word Count: 1578

Pairings: George Weasley x Reader


The Yule Ball, as McGonagall described it, was a tradition that only happened during the Triwizard Tournament in which boys and girls — third year and up — attend a formal dance. The partying was what George was fine with, but the aspect he was had trouble with was the dance class.
Sure, on the outside he joked around about the ordeal with his twin brother, but on the inside, George was terrified. It wasn’t because McGonagall was forcing everyone to learn how to do the Waltz correctly, no. It was because of the person he longed to dance with.

Y/n stood just across the room with all the other girls. It was a sunny day, and so her y/h/c hair looked glossy from the diamond-like reflections of the large window. Her smile was captivating, radiant even, as she laughed at the sight of McGonagall and Ron dancing together. Her hips were swaying ever so slightly to the soft music bouncing off the stone walls of the room.

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Stealing Sweaters (Part 6)

Thank you very much!!!! 

If you’re new to the series, please start here!


“So I was thinking, for the eighth year quidditch teams, we could see if any other sixth or fifth year players wanted to join, just to fill out the roster,” Ron said, gesturing animatedly with his hands as they made their into the great hall for lunch.

Harry brow furrowed as they sat, “But we have enough players-”

“Enough people who can fly.” Ron said loading up his plate, “Just because Zabini knows how to use a broomstick doesn’t mean he has any talent, or interest for that matter, in being a chaser.”

“I suppose…” Harry conceded, his brow furrowing further. He glanced around, trying to figure out what seemed off.

“So-” Ron paused to shovel some sort of green bean concoction into his mouth- “wif a few fifh years and sifs years we can-”

Hermione sighed and leant in front of Harry to say, “Ron please finish your food, then talk. No one wants to see the process.”

Ron made a vague mph sound as he dutifully closed his mouth.

“That’s it-!” Harry pointed to Ron and Hermione on either side of him, “the two of you aren’t sitting together!”

“Like I want to be stuck listening to Ron go on about quidditch, I mean really,” Hermione said shortly, already digging a massive book from her bag and charming it float in front of her so she could read as she ate.

Ron shrugged and gestured for Harry to get some food. He still felt a prickle of unease at the back of his mind but he did his best to ignore it and began filling his plate.

“Malfoy!” Hermione called out, waving her hand like she did when she wanted to be called on by a professor.

Harry froze, staring blankly at his plate, his ears straining to hear what they were saying.

“Yes, Granger?”

“Have you read Killgow’s Art of Potioneering?”

“I have,” Draco said warily.

“Excellent,” Hermione said, and as Harry glanced over, saw her grab Draco’s arm and pull him into the seat beside her, “I have some theories-”

She disappeared into potion theory, talking about compound reactions and differential magic effects, all of which Harry would have needed years worth of private tutoring to even know half of what she was saying. Draco was following her with nods and interjections, moving to a different page of Hermione’s book with a flick of his wand to highlight whatever point he was making.

It wasn’t until Draco glanced over at Harry and caught him staring that Harry realised he was staring and quickly looked back at his plate. He felt his cheeks grow hot and silently cursed himself. He ate a few bites of food to give himself something to do so that he wouldn’t be tempted to glance over again.

It was all Hermione’s fault.

Every since she had said that Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Before he had been planning to talk with Draco, to try and figure out what he had done wrong. Now he didn’t know what to do.

Ron leant forward, suddenly entering Harry’s line of vision and making him jump. He called over to Hermione, “Hey, Mione, I was wondering if you’d look over my charms paper before I turn it in.”

Hermione pulled herself away from her discussion with Draco and frowned at Ron, “You should have asked earlier. How are you going to fix anything right before class?”

Ron shrugged guiltily, “You could, check my spelling? If I’ve put something stupid in I could scratch it out.”

She sighed, “Fine.” Hermione stood and with a deft swish of her wand, Her plate leapfrogged over Harry’s and his slid underneath, her book dutifully moving back over her plate, now in front of him. “Trade places with me, Harry?” she said, already moving in a way that suggested her words were more or less a formality.

Harry hesitated, shooting a desperate glare at his best friends as he realised the source of all his unease was this- whatever they had planned. He reluctantly moved down a seat next to Draco.

Draco who was eating, or moving his food around on his plate in a very focused manner. He didn’t even look over as Harry took his new place.

Harry grabbed up a bread roll, very slowly cutting it in half and then smearing too much butter on it before setting it down on his plate, feeling too nervous to actually eat it. “Done much flying?” he asked, just to break the unbearable tension.

“No.” Draco said stiffly, “Studying, mostly.”

“Oh. Right.” Harry said faintly.

“We have exams coming up, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Draco said without any inflection whatsoever.

“Yeah…” he absently started to pull his roll apart with his fingers, “Never too early to get a start on those.”

“They are the most important exams of our lives.”

Harry nodded, as he glanced over, he noticed that Draco hadn’t eaten what little he had put on his plate, all of which looked worse than the bread roll mess on Harry’s plate. At least he had eaten something when he was trying not to stare. Harry looked at Draco himself and noticed faint shadows under his eyes and worried that he was looking thinner than before.

“Would you like the tea pot?” Harry asked, knowing that even in his worst moods, Draco always at least had tea.

Draco looked over and for just a second their eyes met, before Draco turned away, squeezing his eyes shut like he was in pain. “It’s fine. No tea. I’m fine.” He stood up and grabbed his bag, “Not really hungry anyway.”

Harry watched him leave, a tiny squeezing pain lodging itself in his chest. “Has he been eating much?” he turned and looked at Ron and Hermione who were watching him intently, no charms paper in sight, “Do you know? He looks thin.”

Ron shook his head and added a shrug.

Hermione said, “I don’t know but I haven’t exactly been watching Malfoy’s eating habits.”

“Not very well,” A light airy voice piped up from Hermione’s other side. Luna leaned into view, “I think Draco’s worried about something.”

Harry grabbed his bag and stood up, “I’m just gonna go to the kitchens. Maybe I can convince the house elves to send him something…”  he hurried off, his friends watching him go.

“He hardly ate anything himself,” Ron said.

“I think your plan sucked.” Ginny draped her arms around Luna’s waist and rested her chin on Luna’s shoulder.

Ron frowned and said testily, “What do you know about anything.”

“Anyone can see what you two are up to,” Ginny said.

Luna smiled, “I think it’s sweet. Harry and Draco will be so happy once they’re together.”

“If you can manage a plan that isn’t utter rubbish,” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow.

Ron’s frown deepened into a glower, “It’s not like it’s going to work out all at once, is it? It’s like a chess game and in chess, how you move your pawns is just as important as how you move your queen!”

Ginny opened her mouth to retort but before she could say anything, Luna reached over and gently tugged on Ginny’s earlobe which had the strange effect of making her blush and go entirely silent. Luna turned back to Ron and Hermione, “What Ginny means is that we would like to help.”

“We have an idea,” Ginny added.

Luna nodded, “It’s quite good.”


Part 1 ~ Part 2  ~  Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 (you are here!) ~ Part 7   ~ Part 8

Touch Starved III

So this was supposed to be fluffy. But then Morality ended up having a lot of emotions, and all, it didn’t stay that way. Sorry guys. Also my inspiration while writing this was “Sleepsong” by Secret Garden

Part I Part II Part IV

As Anxiety shuffled into the dining room the next morning, he kept his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched. A large part of him was hissing in the back of mind to flee, to hide away in his room. But he’d promised Prince he’d come out today. He’d also promised himself to try and let the others get this whole touch thing out of their system.

Also he hadn’t had the chance to eat last night after dropping the plate, so he was really freaking hungry. Truthfully that had been the only thing that had allowed him to work up the willpower to come down.

Still keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor, he slunk over to his seat, flopping down in it with a huff. Once sitting, he allowed his eyes to flick upwards. Logic was sitting across from him with a newspaper. Seeing Anxiety looking at him, he raised his cup in greeting.

“Salutations, Anxiety,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Sure,” Anxiety said flatly. “Whatever.”

Thankfully before Logic had a chance to reply and make the situation even more awkward, Morality swooped in with a plate covered in bacon.

“Good morning!” he sang out. “I made toast, bacon, eggs and sausages!”

“Do you have jam for the toast?” Prince asked, entering the room.

Morality hummed. “I’m not sure,” he said, “You can go check the cupboards though.”

Prince nodded and ducked into the kitchen. Logic had turned his attention more fully to his paper, which meant that the only person left for Morality to focus on was…

“Anxiety!” Morality beamed at him. “I’m glad you came down. Make sure to take as much food as you like, kiddo. And if you want something else, just ask, ok?”

Anxiety shifted uncomfortably. See all this fussing and special treatment was what he was trying to avoid.

“This is fine,” he muttered, reaching out to grab a slice of toast. He shoved it in his mouths without even bothering to butter it, too determined to have an excuse not to talk.

Morality wasn’t deterred though. He kept chattering on. “Well I’m glad! I’m really happy you cam down today, I was starting to get a bit worried. So do you have any plans for today?”

Anxiety squinted at Morality. Where was this going?

“No,” he eventually said slowly. “Not really.”

“Do you want to rematch the Lego Batman movie with me then?” Morality asked bouncing up and down in his seat. “Logic isn’t interested, and Roman said he was going to be busy coming up with video ideas today.”

Anxiety almost said no. But then he remembered his stupid promise.

“Yeah, sure I guess,” he mumbled. Just let them get it out of their system, he reminded himself. Then it will go back to normal. You’ll be left alone again.

“Yay!” Morality clapped his hands together. “I have to take care a few things first, but want to meet up in the common room after lunch.”

“Sounds great,” Anxiety replied, moodily poking at his bacon. At least he’d have time to mentally prepare himself.

After lunch, (they typically were on their own for lunch, with breakfast and dinner begin the designated “family” times), Anxiety made his way into the common room. Morality was already there, sitting on the couch, remote in hand.

“Hey, Anxiety,” he waved. “I’ve got the movie all set up, so just come sit down.”

Normally, Anxiety would have gone to one of the armchairs to sit. But this time he sat down right next to Morality, feeling their legs brush together. Morality looked a bit startled, but thankfully didn’t comment.

“I love this movie so much,” he chattered, “It’s just so cute!”

“It’s ok,” Anxiety said flatly. He did actually like the movie. Somehow it had ended up being more true to the comics than most movie portrayals of Batman were. That didn’t mean he had to be enthusiastic though. He’d already shown up, Morality wasn’t getting much more out of him.

Not fifteen minutes into the movie, Anxiety could feel Morality begin to fidget. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the other side. He looked weirdly nervous.

After a few more minutes, Anxiety felt Morality shift again. His arm, which had previously been at his side, now stretched up and over, until it rested on the back of the couch. It wasn’t really touching Anxiety, but he was aware of its proximity, just a hair’s breadth away from being around his shoulders.

He could feel himself tense a little, but forced himself to relax. It was fine. It made Morality happy. He could deal with it.

As the movie went on, Anxiety found himself focusing less and less on Morality’s nearness to him. Mostly because he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He hadn’t really slept much the night before. Sure, he’d tried, but he’d just ended up tossing and turning all night, his mind refusing to shut up.

And, well, sitting on the couch, the noise from the TV a comforting drone, who could blame him for struggling to stay awake. Soon, it became too much effort all together, and his exhaustion dragged him under.

There was some kind of noise above him. Still not opening his eyes, Anxiety tried to figure out where he was. He was lying on something warm, and moving?

As the fog in his mind lifted a little, he abruptly realized that at some point while he was sleeping he had leaned against Morality, and he was now partially lying on his chest, and Morality’s arm was now really wrapped around him. And that noise? That was Morality talking.

“You know I remember, when you first appeared in the mindscape,” Morality was saying softly. “You were so small, I just wanted to wrap you up in a blanket. But then you didn’t seem to want any of us near you, so I thought that maybe it was better to keep my distance. To let you make the first move.”

Morality took in a long shaky breath. He sounded as though he was on the verge of tears. Anxiety didn’t move. He wasn’t sure what to do. Morality clearly thought he was still asleep, and he wasn’t sure what the other would do if he realized Anxiety was awake. So he just stayed frozen, keeping careful control of his breathing.

“That was a mistake,” Morality whispered, his tone full of guilt and pain. “I should have known better. I should have made sure you knew you could reach out. Instead I just left you alone, for years. That’s not how a father should act.”

He paused again, sniffing softly. Was he actually crying now?

“And now,” he said sadly, “you’re too scared to even let us help you. You flinch every time we come near you, and you look so confused every time we so much as pat you on the back, like you can’t understand what or why we’re doing that.”

Anxiety felt the hand on his back rise to run its fingers through his hair.

“The only reason you’ve let me this close is because you’re asleep,” Morality continued, “And when you wake up, it’ll just be like before, you’’ll keep looking at us like you expect us to hurt you. And I hate that.”

Morality was definitely crying now.

“I hate that we did hurt you,” he sobbed. “I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to be safe. I wanted you to know that we would look out for you, no matter what. But we didn’t, and I know we’re trying to fix it, but I’m scared that maybe we were too late. God, I hope we weren’t too late.”

Despite the warm arms now clinging desperately to him, Anxiety felt cold. He’d known this hadn’t been a joke, Prince had made it pretty clear that they were serious about this. But this was way more than he had expected. Helpless in the face of what he was now realizing was more than just simple pity, he stayed silent and still.

Morality’s words weren’t intelligible anymore. He only let out sob-filled mumbles, as he pressed his face into Anxiety’s hair. Eventually, the sobbing trailed off.

“I love you, kiddo,” he whispered. “I hope you’ll figure that out someday. We all love you. You’re family, you’ll always be our family.”

Morality sighed, sounding weary.

“I should probably get you back to your room before you wake up,” he said. “I don’t- you’ll be happier if you wake up there.”

With that, Anxiety felt himself being gently lifted upwards, cradled in Morality’s arms. The other side began to walk, carrying him towards his room. The entire time, Anxiety kept his eyes shut.

After a brief fumble with the door, Morality let himself in, and Anxiety felt himself being placed on the bed. A hand brushed his bangs back, and a pair of lips gently pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep well, Anxiety,” Morality murmured. “I hope your dreams are happy. I hope they’re kinder to you than we’ve been.”

Anxiety heard him walk away, the door shutting behind him. Once he was sure Morality was gone, he sat up.

He stared at the now closed door in dismay. This-this wasn’t something he could just indulge for a few days and make it go away. They were- this wasn’t something small

What am I going to do? he thought. I didn’t- I never wanted Morality to cry because of me. But how do I handle this?

He pulled his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapping around them. He was Anxiety, he was supposed to be alone. But apparently the others had decided that wasn’t true.

Part of him wanted to say that it was all a lie, that if they were telling the truth, it would never have been like this in the first place. But a greater part of him knew that there was no dismissing what he had just heard. For better or for worse, the others were serious.

Which meant he was going to have to find a way to deal with it. Anxiety let himself think about what it was like being curled up in Morality’s arms. It-it hadn’t been terrible. It had been awkward, sure, especially since he’d had no idea what to do.

But, at the same time, when he had first been waking up, before he’d realized what Morality was saying, it had actually felt kind of nice.

Hesitantly, Anxiety tried to imagine what it would be like for the others to touch him, what it might be like to hug them. It was… a weird thought. Not bad necessarily, but it also felt kind of overwhelming.

Although, hadn’t Logic said that they’d work up to that? That they weren’t going to try and hug Anxiety right now because they knew it would be too much?

Anxiety chewed on his lower lip. Maybe this wouldn’t be bad? True, he still thought he would be fine without all this fuss and touchy-feely stuff. But, the others cared. And as much as he hated to admit it, knowing that actually made Anxiety feel good. He’d always just figured they’d hated him. After all, why wouldn’t they?

But if they didn’t hate him, and if this whole thing was more than just pity, if it was them maybe trying to show they cared. Then maybe, just maybe, he could let them in.

Anxiety really hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake. If it was, he knew he’d never get over it.

Beca lectures Chloe over how ridiculous she thinks Chicago's name is

Chloe: He has a very chiseled look to him, but also cute, almost like a lost puppy.

Beca: yeah, okay, but you’re not going to actually take him seriously, right?

Chloe: Why not?

Beca: His name is Chicago.

Chloe: So?

Beca: That’s not a name.

Chloe: It’s his name, so obviously it is.

Beca: It really isn’t.

Chloe: Beca, it’s just his nam-

Beca: oh my god, okay fine, maybe it’s his name but it’s stupid, just drop it, Chloe.

Chloe: You’re the one who brought it up-

Beca: YOU CANT DATE SOMEONE NAMED CHICAGO. “CHLOE AND CHICAGO”, THAT JUST SOUNDS REALLY LAME, OKAY? AND I GET IT, ITS YOUR CHOICE, BUT ITS ONE OF THOSE CHOICES THAT YOU’LL PROBABLY HATE YOURSELF FOR LATER BECAUSE YOU’LL BE THINKING, “GOD WHY DID I CHOOSE SOMEONE NAMED CHICAGO OVER MY BEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD WHO WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR ME AND HAS A LESS RIDICULOUS NAME.”

Fat Amy: …

Aubrey:

Beca: …

Chloe: …

Beca: What? Did you hear that? I did. I’m hungry, Amy, wanna grab lunch? Yes? Great let’s go.

*Fat Amy and Beca leave the room in silence*

Chloe: …

Aubrey: She’s been pining over you for years, you know.

you guys today was my first day of work and literally the first thing my boss did was hand me twenty bucks and told me to get a couple small toys from the gift shop and i was like ??? okay i guess? and i got back with some toys and he was like “okay now we go meet the kids. they’ll love you bc you just bought them toys.” and my heart exploded this is truly where i’m meant to be also i made 20 new friends all under the age of 11 i love life

Scars

Originally posted by thalassa55

Tom Holland x Reader

Request: Yes

Summary: Struggling with scars due to several surgeries as a child, Tom is there to comfort and love the Reader.

Word Count: 2,580

Warnings: Language, body image issues, talk of scars, childhood, loving!tom, sad stuff, fluff. (That’s it ??)

A/N: Wowza, I posted ?? I know, it’s crazy. Hopefully this is close as to what the anon asked for and is a decent tom imagine (still struggling w/ those tbh). As always, enjoy reading and feedback is appreciated!


Today was yours and Tom’s one year anniversary of being together.

You were beyond ecstatic when he had asked you out for the first time.

Thinking about it always makes you crack a smile, remembering the horrendous first impression you both presented to one another.

You had been at a local cafe getting a simple cup of coffee, enjoying your time.

Tom, however, was in a rush to get to a meeting, so as you were reaching to grab a napkin off the baristas counter, he quickly and accidentally rammed into you.

His coffee went everywhere.

He started apologizing profusely, but you were too entranced  by his muddled hair and deep brown, chocolate eyes that glistened every time he stared into yours with worry spread across his gorgeously chiseled face.

After that, you two kept running into each other.

A few of your friends always commented how it was “fate.”

And after a while, you started believing it too.

Tom is my soulmate.

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