and then it froze eight times

Prophet City: Part Eight

A Dean x Reader / Superhero!Au

Master List

A/N: I just want to start off by apologizing for taking so long. I worked sooo hard on this for such a long time so I truly hope you guys like it. Please let me know what you think. ily <3

Word Count: 4,027

Other Characters: Charlie

Warnings:
- language.
- mild violence.
- talk of death.
- twinge of angst.

Tags: (at the end)

*gifs are not mine. 

Doing as you were told, you froze in place, scared to even move an inch. Charlie’s voice was gone from the intercom, replaced with a soft buzzing that echoed off the bare walls of your prison. Suddenly, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; the only sound you heard was your own heart, hammering in your chest. 

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened, your body beginning to ache from lack of movement. When sudden muffled screams and slams could be heard outside the door, you thought you were hallucinating. Still, you didn’t move, afraid that one small muscle twitch would ruin what Dean and Charlie had planned.

Keep reading

Q used to be the youngest double oh ever (he was a double oh before Bond was). He “died” while saving Bond on their first mission together. After a couple years, Q come back as ‘Q’ and Bond reacts. (could be angst or fluff, it doesn’t matter) – anon

Yessss! Jen.

“Double-oh eight?!”

Q froze.

This was not going to be good.

“… double-oh seven,” Q greeted, with a strangely awkward thing that ought to have been a smile but managed not to be; he turned his attention back to the painting in front of him, wondering – with a touch of hysteria – whether he still had the option of pretending to be somebody else.

“You’re dead.”

“Not quite.”

Bond sat down heavily, tension riddling his body. Q couldn’t really blame him. The last time Bond had seen him, Q had been carted off the medical evac, never to be seen again and officially recorded as dead. Bond’s very first mission.

(They had slept together on that mission. More than once. Q blushed most of the way to his toes at the recollection).

“I thought you were dead.”

“Yes, that’s more accurate,” Q nodded. “I don’t have much I can say, on this front. It was necessary at the time, for a number of reasons. I apologise unreservedly for any distress…”

“… any distress,” Bond hissed, a shade too loud for a public gallery. “You were dead. I was responsible for you.”

Q arched an eyebrow. “I was your superior officer, I think you’ll find that I was responsible for both of us,” he returned primly. “As it happened, the way to ensure our safety was the feigned-death incident. Not what I had intended, I would like to add, but necessary all the same.”

“You could have contacted me afterwards.”

Bond looked genuinely upset. Not just petulant or angry, but genuinely upset, as though Q truly had managed to do damage. “I considered getting in touch once the smoke had cleared,” Q mused, “but it seemed increasingly unlikely that it never would. Hence I am no longer on field work, and it would have been foolish to contact you. Now, onto the mission at hand…”

“… and you’re now Quartermaster.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re…”

“Finish that sentence, and I will kill you.”

Bond didn’t doubt it. He still had vivid memories of the man in action; Q was one of the few agents Bond remembered with nothing but respect. He had been brilliant.

And now, his Quartermaster.

Such a strange world.

“All of us die once in a while,” Q reminded him quietly, wryly. “Necessary sacrifices. New beginnings.”

Bond looked at him. Truly looked.

“Let me buy you a drink?”

Q hesitated, his assessment transparent, the thoughts flicking. It was probably a bad idea, if he was being honest; Bond was a loose cannon, Q was juggling identities and a very demanding job, both had histories of destroying people they loved.

“Alright,” Q nodded, blithely ignoring all better judgement. “Drinks.”

3

Sorry (not sorry?) for all of the selfie spam lately, but my body appreciation has been something fierce. I got up this morning and pretty much froze when I saw my reflection in the mirror. The scale isn’t budging AT ALL, so I’ll be interested to see what my measurements and photos show tomorrow.

I babysat for EIGHT hours tonight for one of the 3rd grade teachers. It was actually awesome and I ended up making almost as much as I make in one week of work. Please remember I work part time, but still. Oh and I ran 3 miles and did my Hammer & Chisel video beforehand with hardly any time to spare. Solid day all around.

paper airplanes & the office

a/n: dear @jehle26, I told you I’d post NFL today, but I couldn’t write it, so here’s a very short thing I wrote a while ago. Hope you like it :)


“I’m in a boring corporate business job and you’re in the cubicle in front of mine, did you just send me a paper airplane with the words ‘WASSSSSSUPPPP TURN UP BITCHEZ’ written on it?” AU

-/-

The alarm clock ringed loudly on Taylor’s ears. Still asleep, she moved her arm to tap it and turn it off, but it kept beeping.

“Damn”, Taylor hummed and stood up. When she glanced at the clock, she froze. It was nearly eight o’clock. She was late. She cursed loudly and ran to the bathroom. She could swear she did everything she had to do (including stopping at Starbucks for her skinny latte) in a record-setting time.

Blame it on Karlie. Only her best friend could’ve thrown a break-up party on a Sunday night with lots of tequila included. Now, it was Monday morning, she was late and hungover.

Wonderful, Kloss, thank you.

She sat on her cubicle and turned on the computer when her boss, Mr. Jackson, passed besides her and gave a distasteful look.

“Late again, Ms. Swift?”

Taylor looked at the man. He was in his forties, was a short, chubby, bald man who apparently hated his life. Rumor has it that he was dumped by his wife and now lived with his parents on a tiny apartment. She faked a small smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson. Won’t happen again.”

He scoffed. “That’s what you said the last time”, he completed before heading to his office. Taylor absolutely hated him. The man practically owned the shitty company she worked for, and didn’t do anything. His subordinates did everything, while he watched. And he still dared to criticize their work! Taylor rolled her eyes and turned her head to the gigantic amount of paper on her desk. She sighed when she heard her boss compliment her co-worker in the front cubicle, Adam Wiles. She never got along with him.

They never really talked, but one look was enough to know that the man was an obnoxious flirt. He even tried it once on her, but she turned him down flat.

She was in the middle of an awfully boring desk job when a paper airplane landed on her desk. On the right wing, there was something written on capital letters:

WASSSSSSUPPPP TURN UP BITCHEZ YO MISS SWIFT”

Oh, she was not angry. She was pissed. She didn’t need further confirmation to know the source of the thing. It had a name. Adam. Wiles. Of all people, in all that office, it had to be him. The co-worker she never ever talked to, the one she envied because of the endless compliments and above all, the co-worker she despised.

Taylor took deep breaths and calmed down before smirking mischievously. He wanted a game, a game he would get. She grabbed a paper sheet and made the airplane, writing on the right wing.

Fuck you, Wiles J

And yes, it had a smiley face.

She stood up a little bit on her chair and threw the paper on his desk. She didn’t hear it landing, but heard him chuckle. She hoped it was enough to make him stop the little game.

But it wasn’t.

A few minutes later, another airplane landed on her desk. She exhaled deeply and read what was written on it.

Do you think Jackson fancies me? He compliments me like all the time”

She tried containing her laughter, she really did, but she erupted in a loud laugh a few seconds later. That thing was getting interesting. She grabbed another paper.

“nah I don’t think so. But have you seen him hitting on Jane from HR? UTTERLY DISGUSTING”

Before she threw the paper airplane, she looked at the other two on her desk. Jackson couldn’t see that, not now, not ever. She hid them in her bag, because the trash can wouldn’t help much. Then, she threw it.

She pretended to be interested in her work but she was eager to receive the next airplane. And there it was.

“I KNOW RIGHT poor Jane. I heard that Jamie and Carl from accountancy hooked up on the broom closet last week”

Taylor rolled her eyes.

“Everybody in this office knows that, and they have been teased and mocked about it endlessly last week.”

They spent all day exchanging paper airplanes – small talking, gossiping, and laughing. Five o’clock rolled around and Taylor gathered her things in her bag when he popped up behind her desk.

“Wanna grab dinner at that Chinese place down the street?”

Taylor hanged her bag on her shoulder and smiled. “Sure.”

-/-

The colors of the sunset were already splashed all over Los Angeles’ sky, and Adam and Taylor were walking side by side, the water hitting their ankles.

“Why did you send that paper airplane?” Taylor asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I remembered that old adhesive on your car and made a paper airplane to have some fun.”

“Who would ever guessed we’d end up here.” Taylor said, giggling, when her cellphone started to ring. She picked up.

“Hey, Ashley. Yeah, mom and dad are coming back home soon.”

The Friendship (Re)Development

The Rod of Asclepius Series (part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight)

T, 4k+, AO3

Ian is a nervous medical intern, Mickey is a grumpy nurse.


A week goes by and Mickey doesn’t even look at Ian. Ian respects that, keeps his distance, even though it’s killing him. All Ian has been able to think about is the way Mickey froze as soon as Ian asked him, “do you love me?”. He keeps replaying it in his head. The way Mickey’s mouth dropped open, the silent stammering as he tried to think of something to say. But there is one moment Ian comes back to each time, one little thing: he didn’t say no.

Mickey could have just said no. He could have told Ian to fuck off or that he’s a fucking idiot - but he didn’t.

Ian knows, he fucking knows, that it means something.

And he’s willing to wait to find out what that is.

Keep reading