you better start running


concept: a self-indulgent outrageous 80s au where sidon is a hot lifeguard and link is a babe that likes jazzercise

Your Move

The nine times Simon and Baz prank each other and the one time they don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

March 29


Technically, I might have cheated a bit.  Then again, we never clearly laid out any rules.  We never actually decided that each player had to wait until the next day to lay their trap, it was just sort of understood.  So if I made preparations the night before, I would say that it’s completely fair.  After all, how can you break a rule if none were ever written?

           When Baz gets up before me to use the shower, I hide my grin under my blankets.

           I dress as the water runs.  

           I take the planned precautions and double-check that I’ve remembered to wear my necklace.

           When the water shuts off, I take my position, sitting on my bed with my back against my pillow, waiting.  The picture of calm, even though I’m buzzing with anticipation.

           I count down in my head as I hear the curtain slide back.

           Three, two, one…



           “Problem, Baz?”

           “WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?”

           “I should think it would be obvious.”


           I don’t move.  I stay exactly where I am and straighten out a crease in my shirt. Crowley, I’m starting to act like him.

           There’s a steady stream of cursing from the other side of the door.  Normal cursing, not magical cursing, though he sounds angry enough to curse me right off the school grounds.

           When he cracks the door open, he doesn’t lean around to look at me.  

           “Oh, come on,” I tell him, “get it over with.”

           He takes a step forward and emerges, wearing only a towel around his waist, half of his body hidden behind the door.  Part of my brain registers the fact that I’ve never seen him with this little clothing on, but I’m very much distracted by his hair.  It’s slicked back with shower water, a few strands hanging in front of his eyes, and it’s blond.  Yellow-blond.

           A smirk takes control of my face.  “Well, that clearly worked, then.”

           “Do you have any idea how bloody dead you are.”

           “Could you hurry up in there?  I’d like to use the bathroom.  Oh, and it’s your move.”

           He slams the door in my face and I bury my laughter in my pillow.

           He takes an exaggeratedly long time to get ready, probably to spite me, or maybe he’s busy trying to magic the bleach out of his hair.  Trixie told me it was extra-long lasting, but it is only Normal bleach with no magical properties.  Maybe I did charm it to be a bit stronger, but he could probably magic his hair back to normal if he tried long enough.  I just wait on my bed, studying my nails casually like I assume he does when he’s tormenting me.

           When Baz finally reappears in the doorway, he’s fully clothed and his hair is still blond, but it’s different now.  It’s dry, and instead of yellow his hair is a soft white. He hasn’t slicked it back like he usually does, just lets it fall around his face like snowflakes.

           His skin is so pale that white-blond hair shouldn’t look good on him.

           But it does.

           It’s light and soft and it makes his heavy gray eyes look gentle, even though he’s currently using them to shoot daggers at me. It’s striking against the green of his uniform, and it’s like he’s turned from a vampire into a wood elf, tall and elegant and smooth.

           His hair looks so soft, freshly washed like this, that my hands actually twitch.  I want to take a lock and rub it between my fingertips.      

           Crowley, it looks good.

           There’s a lurch in my stomach, unfamiliar and cold, and I don’t know what it means.  Not that it matters, I’m definitely not thinking about my stomach right now.

           “I thought I told you to run,” Baz growls through his teeth, his cheeks pink.  Maybe from shower steam, maybe from embarrassment.  I wonder what my cheeks look like right now, with how I feel them heating up.

           “I’m not stupid, Baz,” I reply calmly, even though there’s a weird shiver working its way down my back.  “If I leave the room, you’ll just throw me down the stairs or something.  This is the safest place for me right now.”

           “Maybe I’ll throw you out the window and let the merwolves have you.”

           “Try opening the window, Baz, see how far you get.”

           “What did you do to it?”

           “Nothing serious, just a simple precaution, but you won’t be getting it open.”

           “What if I carried you out the door?”

           “You’d have to fight me to get me there, and I don’t think the Anathema would like that very much.”

           He seethes at me for another few seconds before storming out the door.  I can hear his angry steps all the way down the tower.

           I stay where I am for I don’t know how long. It’s like I can’t move, and my stomach is still feeling hollow.  Not in a hungry way, more like someone took one of my organs out and left a giant empty spot, and now the rest of my organs are frantically shifting around to try and fill the space.  I’m cold and hot at the same time.

           “Crowley,” I say aloud to the empty room.

           It looked good.


           Penny and I are out on the hill when she sees what I’ve done.

           “Mor-gana, Simon,” she breathes, her eyes wide.  “How are you even still alive?”

           I shake my head, watching Baz as he disappears into the castle.  His hair is even more ethereal in the light of day.  I can only imagine what he would look like if the sun were shining.  He’d have a fucking halo.

           “The better question is, why has he left it like that?” Penny muses, squinting at the doors even after Baz has passed through them.  “Couldn’t he magic it back to normal?”

           “Maybe the dye is too strong.”

           “How exactly did you pull this off, anyway?”

           “I poured hair bleach in his shampoo last night.”

           She shakes her head with a disbelieving laugh. “Crowley, Simon,” she says, “when is this game going to end?”

           I shrug.  I hadn’t thought about it.  “When there’s a winner?”

           “And how do you determine a winner?”

           “Maybe just until one of us concedes.”

           “I know you two,” she scoffs, “that’s not going to happen.”

           Something about her saying you two makes my heart beat a little louder in my ears for just a second.

           “So let me get this straight,” she continues. “First you changed his sugar into salt, so he turned your scones to rock.  Then came the necklace thing, and the glue on the doorknob.  I know he kept turning your music up yesterday, but there’s something missing in between.  Did you forfeit that day?”


           “What did you do?”

           The memory is sour and I grimace.  “I don’t want to talk about it?”

           “Why?  Did it not work?”      

           “I cursed him.”

           “So what?  He’s cursed you loads of times.”

           “I gave him nightmares.”

           Penny doesn’t answer for a second.  “You did what?”

           “They were only supposed to be minor ones, but something went wrong, they were never supposed to hurt him.”

           “How bad were they?”

           I want to scrub the memory from my eyelids. “I had to wake him up because he kept shouting.”

           “Simon, that’s… terrible, actually.”

           “I told you, they weren’t supposed to be scary.”

           “Still, you attacked the mind.  Worse, you attacked the subconscious.”  She looks at me like I’ve taken her food without asking. “Does he know it was you?”

           “I don’t think so.”

           “Is that why you didn’t get mad yesterday when he pranked you?”

           “Why would I get mad?” I shrug.  “I deserved it.”



           “I never thought I’d see the day that you felt bad for hurting Baz.”

           I shake my head.  “He might be a twat, but you didn’t hear him.  No one deserves whatever he was dreaming.”

           Penny watches me thoughtfully.  “Hmm,” she muses.


           “Nothing, just… maybe you guys don’t hate each other as much as you think you do.”


           Baz’s hair is still white-blond later at night when we turn in.  I still have to consciously remind myself to stop staring at it.

           He hasn’t said anything to me since this morning, but I don’t think it’s because he’s mad.  More just the normal silence that exists between us when we’re not actively fighting or shouting abuse at each other.

           I wonder as he turns out the lights if his hair has always looked so soft, or if I’ve just noticed it now.  When he turns it black again, will I still have the urge to touch it?  Is it something I’ve always wanted to do but only just realized?

           A thought occurs to me as his breathing starts to deepen across the room.  “Hey, Baz.”

           “What, Snow?”

           “We match.”

           It’s ridiculous and not even close to true. My hair is the blonde of honey, while his is currently the blonde of fucking snow, but that makes it even more ironic and, naturally, even more funny to me.

           Baz doesn’t say anything, just sits up and punts one of his pillows at me, and I can’t hold in a giggle when it hits me.

The Microchip Has Been Compromised (Dean x Reader)

Originally posted by life-of-a-plaidchester

#9 Dean “You can’t banish me! This is my bed too!”

Dean dragged himself to your room, looking exhausted.

“Man, I am beat.” He made his way to the bed but you quickly sprang up and held out your arms.

“Woah there icky Vicky where do you think you’re going?”

“To bed?” he said, gesturing behind you.

“Oh, no,” you replied shaking your head. “You’ve been throwing up all day you’re not giving whatever stomach bug you have to me.”

“I’m fine now!” he exclaimed. You looked at him unconvinced. “I’m getting better! I only had to run to the bathroom 2 times for the last 4 hours.”

“I know I heard you both times and the second time was 30 seconds ago.”

“(y/n)….” He whined. “C’mon this is the best bed in the house.”

“I know which is why I’m not giving it up,” you said crossing your arms. “The sofa is open and so is the bed in the panic room. You’re not allowed in this room until you can manage to keep your stomach contents in your stomach.”

“You’re banishing me? Really?” he said in disbelief.

“Yes and you can blame whoever or whatever made you sick.”

“You can’t banish me! This is my bed too!” he exclaimed.

“I’m not backing down from this one,” you replied. You handed him his pillow and a blanket and gestured toward the door. He hung his head and went to the door. He looked over his shoulder at you as pathetically as he could. You shook your head and he kept going. Once out of the room he peeked back in, pouting at you. “No, Dean.” He sighed and threw his back back, stomping away toward the couch.

Dean tossed and turned on the couch. It was too small for him to be comfortable. He had to scrunch up his legs to keep them off the floor and he couldn’t lay on his back because his shoulders were too broad and his right side would hang off the edge. He huffed and punched his pillow into a better position and closed his eyes now that he was semi-comfortable.

In the kitchen just a few feet away, the sink was dripping. Each drop echoed through the house, the noise drilling into his head. He flipped over but now he was facing the wall and the clock above ticked louder than the dripping faucet. He swore he could hear every cog turning in the damned thing. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on sleeping.

Drip. Drip.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Drip. Drip.

Tick. Tock. Ti-


He couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his things and crept up the stairs. He slipped down the hall past Sam and Bobby’s room, who were both snoring comfortably, to the room he shared with you. There was a still a light on inside.

He eased the door open slightly. Inside he found you asleep, a lore book still open at your side with the bedside lamp still on. He crept over and removed the book and shut off the light before getting into the bed beside you. He tried his best not to wake you but you still sensed the shift change next to you.

“Dean?” you whispered, barely awake. You reached out and felt his bare skin under your fingers.

“Yeah, sweetheart it’s just me,” he answered. You muttered an acknowledgement and moved over to rest your head on his chest. “Don’t stay up so late next time, I miss you,” you mumbled. You leaned up and lazily kissed his lips before settling back on his chest. You were asleep again within moments. Dean exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and relaxed into the bed. He closed his eyes, relishing in the silence and comfortable size of the bed and drifted off to sleep.

You awoke with a start. Your head was swimming and your stomach roughly churned.

“Oh no.” Your hand flew to your mouth and you ran to the nearest bathroom. You barely made it in time. You were still on your knees heaving and coughing into the toilet when you felt two hands pull your hair back. You turned to see Dean smiling nervously at you.

“Rough morning, knockout?” You were about to say something when you became sick again. Dean sat beside you and held your hair back with one hand and rubbed your back with the another. When you were able to catch your breath you turned to Dean.

“Once I can stand again, you better start running.”

anonymous asked:

I was hired as a server, so I get $2 a hour. I don't work during opening hours. I work 11 pm to 6 am shoveling snow. I also had to come in during a snowstorm and when I told them I had no ride, they told me "You better start running." I had to walk 3 miles in -20 temperature to shovel snow when we were in the middle of a storm. The manager who lives on the same street didn't even offer me a ride home when we left. I caught pneumonia and they wouldn't let me call in sick. They laughed about it.

Are you being paid $2 still when you are not serving tables? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal because you’re not getting tips. I would contact HR. -Abby

RP-Starters: Hate, Rivalries and Irritation

“Oh, great, it’s you.”

“I can beat your ass any day.”

“Just fuck off.”

“I was having a great day. Your ugly mug just ruined it.”

“Yeah, you’re doing awesome. If losing is awesome, anyway.”

“You? Better than me? Right.”

“Oh I’ll beat you.”

“There’s no way I’ll be losing to you.”

“Leave, or I’ll see that you’ll be leaving in a bag.”

“There’s no way you can do it better.”

“Now you’re just being arrogant.”

“Was that a challenge?”

“There are no words to describe how much I hate you.”

“Can you not?”

“I’ve never seen anyone do it that badly.”

“I didn’t even know someone could fail at this.”

“Even a baby could beat you.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You better start running.”

“Get the hell out of here, or I swear to god-”

Wrong Cup

Pairing: Winchester Brothers x Winchester sister! reader

Word Count: 571

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: I’m not sure what this is called, it’s not angst and it’s not fluff. But it’s one of my three submissions for @straightasdeanwinchester challenge. The prompt in this fic is I think I picked up your coffee by mistake. It’s italicized.

Originally posted by sittingonyourcounter

You were sitting in the semi-dark hotel room reading a novel you had picked up in one of the many gas stations you and your brothers had stopped in on the way to this town. Sam is gone to get coffee and breakfast, Dean is still sleeping. Sam opens the door to the hotel room, holding a drink holder and a bag.

“Finally,” you mumble.

“You didn’t wake him up?” Sam asks.

“No, I wasn’t bothering him, he’s not what people call a morning person,” you look at Sam incredulously.

“So you left him for me?” Sam asks with a grin.

“Always, you know how cranky he is,” you state and try to get back into your book.

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A Rude Awakening: SPN Hiatus Writing Challenge 2017 - Week 1

Author: @supernaturallymarvellous

Characters: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester

Word Count: 500

Warnings: None, just some sweet little fluff

A/N: This is my entry for Week 1 of the SPN Hiatus Writing Challenge 2017 being hosted by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing.  The prompt given is in bold.


The loud thump of the door startled you from sleep.  Running your hands over your face and then through your hair, you took in your surroundings and slowly began to realise last night’s drinking session had gotten somewhat out of hand.  Empty beer bottled were scattered across the table in front of you, sharing the space with an abundance of used glasses and an almost drained bottle of whiskey.  Letting out a deep sigh, you let yourself slump back down onto the table and scrunched your eyes tightly to block out the bright lights.  

“Oh no, sweetie.  No more sleep for you, Y/N.  We have to be on the road in less than an hour and the pair of you need to shower before we go.  Now up and at ‘em.”

A strong pair of hands then wrapped themselves around your upper arms and pulled you to your feet.  Blinking furiously, you looked up and found yourself staring at Sam, just back from his usual morning run.  Glancing briefly at your watch, you shook your head and began to whine and pout.  

“Sammmm, don’t be mean to me.  It’s 8:30, I have a hangover and you’re annoying me.  Please just let me rest for a little while longer.”

“Look, you can’t blame me because you and Dean don’t know when to call it quits. But I’ll make you a deal.  I’m gonna wake Dean up as well but not as nicely as I did with you.  If you can get it together enough to walk out of that door within the hour, I’ll let you help.”

“You’re gonna prank him?”

A smirk formed on Sam’s face and he simply nodded.  That was enough to spur you into action.  There was nothing better than a good old fashioned pranking and Dean always made a good target.  Moving around Sam, you practically ran out of the library and made your way to shower and dress as quickly as you could.  


Just over 45 minutes later, you and Sam were standing over Dean who was still sleeping soundly in the same position he had been for the majority of the night.  

“Ok, on the count of three….tip and run.”

Lifting the bucket of ice cold water as high as you could above your head, you poured its contents down directly onto Dean who woke immediately and let out a string of expletives.  Following Sam’s advice, you ran after him towards the garage, laughing as you did so. As soon as you reached the Impala, you turned to Sam, chest heaving from the combined effort of running and giggling like a crazed child.

“You know he’s gonna make us pay for that, don’t you?”

“Oh definitely.  But you have to admit that it was worth whatever he can throw at us.”

Hearing Dean’s voice, you looked over at the doorway to see him standing there with a handful of soaking wet sponges.  

“Accurate choice of words there, Sammy.  You two better start running………”


Tagging: @waywardimpalawriter, @eileenlikesyou-maybe, @purgatoan, @zepppie, @helvonasche, @mysteriouslyme81, @mamaredd123@madamelibrarian, @chainez-8, @babypieandwhiskey@supernatural-jackles, @wheresthekillswitch, @jensen-jarpad, @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel, @notnaturalanahi, @redlipstickandplaid, @jayankles, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, @katymacsupernatural, @hexparker, @deathtonormalcy56, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @autopistaaningunaparte, @jared-padaloveme

Forced - Request

Requested by anon: Dean x Reader OS about it. It’s basically the Reader gets raped but is too ashamed to tell anyone, but the boys figure it out eventually and comfort her.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word count: 2,212

Warnings: Rape, gore.

A/N: This is such a hard topic. Please, guys, if it’s your case you have to look for help. I know it can be embarrassing to admit, and to scary, but please look for help. It is the only way to fight back, and to stop that awful people. Sadly, in real life, there’s no such thing as a Dean Winchester ready to kill for us, so please defend yourself by telling the police or any figure of authority in charge of that.


Originally posted by littleblondesamoan

Running away in that endless street, and the night is darker than ever, and the rain is heavy but not enough to hide her footsteps.  She can sense him coming closer, but she can’t tell where he’s coming from.

She knew it was a bad idea to go after him alone, she knew she had to ask for help from another hunter, but her pride was far too big and she had decided to put an end to his reign of terror once and for all.

If she had only known what kind of monster he was, maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have tried to stop him. Maybe she would’ve avoided the town or called the cops, or maybe she would’ve sent someone else – a male hunter – to kill him on his sleep. Because, truth was, humans were far worse than any other Supernatural creature.

He was morbid, insane, vulgar, disgusting. The kind of man one changes to the other side of the street, just so one doesn’t walk by his side. The vibe he expelled at plain sight was enough to reject whoever saw him.

So he decided that, to get his way, he would have to take it without permission.

In his brain, he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He would break into women’s houses and apartments, he would capture them on the streets and drag them to dark alleys, or even so, get them so drunk at the bars they wouldn’t remember their name the next day – not that there’s ever a next day.

He was a supernatural fanatic. If one entered his house they would find all kinds of books, amulets, sigils, and other things related to the life (Y/N) and the rest of the hunters lived. Thankfully, he was still ignorant to the existence of such things.

Because of his fanaticism, the way he “got rid” of his victims seemed to be like some kind of monster had done it, hence, (Y/N) had target him as his next hunt.

When she arrived in town, she found out exactly who he was. She thought it would be an easy hunt, everyone blamed him for the murderers, and everyone ran away from him so, if he got killed, no one would care.

Humans can be real monsters.

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Look at the sneaky protags trying to go through each other’s door

Cold Outside (Credence Barebone Imagine)

Your parents weren’t wealthy, they weren’t lavished and spoiled or rotten from the inside out with greed like everyone you knew seemed to think.

You were a simple child, perhaps a little too simple, but careful like your parents nonetheless. You sat on your knees behind the counter of your parents’ pastry shop, sniffling every so often - your nose stuffy and red from the cold.

“Y/N,” your mother said from her place behind the counter, “it’s getting warmer out, why don’t you go play with your friends?”

You looked up from your colouring book on the floor to the woman above and sniffed again, “It’s cold outside, Mommy.”

You heard the hum of an impatient woman and shot up from your place on the floor and straightened up your posture, turning into the back room to fetch your overcoat, scarf and matching gloves.

You recognized that woman immediately, the pointed nose and squinted eyes, she scowled down at you from her place behind the counter. Brown hair cupped by that hideous grey hat, skin wrinkled with anger and form shivering from the cold she loomed you, you forced yourself to smile up at her before dashing past both women with a quiet goodbye.

“Y/N, you forgot to pick up y - ” your mother moaned as you rushed out the door, the bell’s ringing and swinging door the only evidence you were ever there at all.

You always hated being seen by customers, especially that horrible woman. Your mind always exaggerated her features in memory but she was still just as hideous inside as she appeared outside in your mind.

Since your parents had realized their dream of opening a bakery together almost eight years ago, that awful woman came every Monday to purchase treats, for herself of course. You knew she had children of her own - adopted, but still hers.

You’d seen them all shuffle single filed out of that dreary old church every Sunday in their ugly blue uniforms, their mother, leader of the Second Salemers preaching to passersby about the danger of witchcraft in America.

Just as you turned a corner, you were blinded by a thick sheet of paper. “Ah!” You swatted the killer paper out of your face and while the wind tried to carry it away, you turned with a grumble only to be blinded yet again.

“P-Please!” You heard a cry, and as you gripped at the paper angrily, scrunching it up and gaping at the dozens of fliers being swept away with the wind you couldn’t help but feel terrible for ever having felt angry at all.

Ahead of you by just a few paces were four boys, “Please, sto-stop it. I need those.” A pale-skinned boy in an ugly blue uniform crawled around on his hands and knees in a pathetic attempt to pick up the fliers.

The other three boys laughed as they stomped the fliers into the snow and dirt, some picking them up to shred them into pieces just to throw them in the Second Salemer’s face. You frowned, those boys weren’t much bigger or older than you and so you puffed out your chest, your coat stretching snuggly across the expanse of your small chest.

Stomping towards the group fiercely, your little legs took long strides that probably looked ridiculous to anyone else, but intimidating to you. “Stop it!”

Your eyes briefly met with the cowaring boy on the ground, who’s knee-high socks and NSPS uniform was completely covered in mud and a flash of sympathy crossed your youthful face before twisting into an angry scowl which looked more like a pout.

“Leave him alone, what’s wrong with you? Those aren’t your fliers!” You pointed accusingly at the group and stomped your foot. “Go away!”

The red-head of the group snorted at you and bunched up a flier with his fist, tossing it at you and raising his eyebrows tauntingly.

“Why do you care? You part of this circus or somethin’?” The brunette of the group turned and laughed at you, poking his tongue out and shredding up another flier.

“I said go away! Do you want me to start screaming?” You threatened, your bottom lip quivering the more worked up you got. “Oh no, guys, we’d better run. Second Salemer’s gonna start screaming.” The ginger taunted. “More like crying.” The brunette smirked, about to open his mouth to speak again when his face met snow.  “Ow!”

Your hand raised above your head, you stomped your foot again, “Go away! Go away!” You screeched as you flung snowball after snowball at the now retreating group of boys.

“Go! Go!” You had long since forgotten about the stray fliers and so as you chased away the group of tyrants, you accidentally trampled a few with your boots. You stopped immediately and let your arms drop, gasping softly as you ducked down onto the ground to gather the remaining fliers. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized, “I’m gonna tell my daddy and he’ll - “ the boy’s shaky hands shot up to catch yours and he whimpered, head down and body quivering, “Plea-se don’t tell anyone! Ma will find o-out!” He begged.

Your eyes widened as they met his properly, his pale face was beginning to grow red, the tips of his ears, nose and lips were all beginning to deepen in colour and as you took in his strangely sharp features, you realized his eyes were also growing puffy and red. He was crying.

“I lost the fliers, Ma is going to be livid with me.” He panicked, scavenging through the melting snow as tears fell from his brown eyes. “These ones are all wet and soggy,” you told the boy, and he almost immediately started wailing, head in his hands - he cried and cried and just wouldn’t stop.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. We can just go get the other ones, right? Those boys threw a whole lot in that direction.” You pointed a finger in the opposite direction and the raven haired boy sniffled, his cries slowly subsiding until only soft hiccups remained. “I-I can’t collect all of them, there’s so many.” You reached out and wrapped your fingers around his wrists, pulling the small boy up into his feet.

“I’ll help, silly.” The boy was completely at a loss for words as you turned, hand-in-hand and running off down the street to fetch his fliers. “We need to hurry, Mommy said it’ll rain today.”

Struggling to keep up with your quick steps, the boy’s eyes wandered from the street ahead to your hand cupping his mindlessly. His eyes watered but he quickly blinked away the tears, he was truly terrified right now. “Look, Second Salem boy - fliers!” You turned to face the brown eyed boy and smiled widely, “I’ll go get those ones across the street, you get the ones here.”

You dashed across the street after a quick left-and-right. You busied yourself catching fliers from the ground, the air and even peoples’ hands to get as many as possible in a nice, neat stack.

On your way back, your eyes scanned the street for the timid boy you’d met, but you saw nothing. You clutched the stack close to your chest as you walked, checking alleyways, looking through glass windows and turning corners. Only when you gave up and began your trek home did you find him again by the side of the street, picking fliers from the gutter.

“There you are,” you pouted, “I thought you left me to do the work.” The boy looked up at you wide-eyed, about to speak when his eyes were forced shut - a droplet of rain had landed on his forehead.

“Oh, oh n-no.” You smiled at the boy, “C'mon,” you grabbed him by the tie carelessly and dragged him down the street and into your parents’ pastry shop away from the cold and the rain. “Mommy, I brought a friend!” You called, smiling at the regulars seated by the window and far wall of the store on your way in. “Mommy, I brought a - ”

“And what’s your friend’s name, dear?” Your mother’s head revealed itself from behind the counter, oven mitts adorning her hands. “This is, uh,” you stopped and frowned almost immediately, your entire body freezing up in thought.

Anyone else who didn’t know you would’ve assumed something was seriously wrong with you at that moment, but your mother and a few customers joined together to laugh at your odd behavior.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Your mother knelt down to eye-level with the boy at your side, all the while you stood useless, still attempting to remember the boy’s name. Had he even told it to you at all? It took a moment for him to respond, but he eventually spoke after a long, timid stare at the ground. “C-Credence, ma'am. Credence Barebone.”

You smiled up at your mother almost instantly, “Credence! His name is Credence, Mommy!”

You clapped your hands together and gasped as the fliers flew to the ground. “Where did you meet Credence, Y/N?” Your mother asked as she began collecting fliers from the ground, brows furrowing as she skimmed over the content. “Ah, a Second Salemer?” The boy, Credence, began shrinking under the gaze of everyone excluding yourself, as you were oblivious to the agenda behind the extremist group.

“Well,” Your mother smiled at you and then at Credence, “you can’t hand out fliers in that weather.” She motioned outside with a nod and you turned to look outside where the rain angrily patted against the glass window. Credence panicked at this, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Ma will definitely give me a lashing for this, I-I should go.” You pouted and reached out, caging Credence’s arm in yours and urging him to come with you to the kitchen, “Well I’m sure your Ma wouldn’t mind you staying for a little while longer? I could give her a discount on her next order of pastries.”

Your mother wriggled her brows suggestively and you nodded, “Please stay and play with me, Credence. I’ll even help you hand out fliers next time!”

Credence bit his lip and looked from you to the door for several moments before the alluring aroma of whatever was being baked and your pleading stare seduced him beyond reason into staying. “I-If it’s not too much trouble, ma'am, may I stay?” You squealed and clutched Credence’s arm tighter, looking up at your mother thankfully.

“Of course, dear,” your mother said. “It’s cold outside.”

:Neurotenic spinosaurus:
A lean and skeletal neuro specimen with an abnormal electromagnetic field radiating from it’s bioluminescent spinel structures. It’s magnetic field operates at a frequency that not only disrupts electronics but also interferes with ones neural connection between the brain and eyes causing optic distortion ranging from ‘visual snow’ to compleat blindness. If you’re vision starts to fail you better run in the right direction and hope you’re either too heavy to be snagged by it’s harpoon-like tongue or too swift to be caught by it’s hook-like tail.

anonymous asked:

how do the boys work out with their s/o or if they don't work out, how do they chill out with their s/o ?

Considering my friend and I have been going to the gym a lot lately because mama needs to get in shape for cosplays she wants to do I gotta do this one

Not going to lie, this boy will probably need some motivation to go work out since all he seems to do is sleep and eat food that’s bad for him, so you’re going to have to entice him with something- whether it’s a reward of a movie night or an ice cream date, you have to offer something. It’s the price for making him sweat and mess up his hair. Realistically, he knows that he needs to stay active so he’ll begrudgingly agree anyway. He’s not going to be running on a treadmill or anything, but he’d love to do some kind of kickboxing class just to watch you kick some ass and also kick his ass because he would be too scared to fight back. Afterwards, he’s going to want to collapse on the couch with you and play video games or honestly just pass out, but on your “off” days, prepare to be extremely lazy with Noctis and lay on the couch stuffing your face with popcorn because it’s movie day.

While he might be a little energizer bunny, working out at the gym really isn’t his cup of tea, and he’s also not the type to get all aggressive over his physique like Gladio. Prompto is more of the guy that wants to go out and do something fun so that it disguises the fact that you’re exercising, so the ideal casual workout would be something like volunteering to walk dogs at a local shelter. Walking dogs is literally a win-win situation because you get to spend the day outside in nice weather and play with puppies! Just going for casual walks with you is Prompto’s favorite thing, but if you wanted to take it up a notch and go hiking, he’s all for it! Just make sure he doesn’t leave his camera at home because you’ll be seeing some awesome landscapes on your adventures. If you’re going to spend the day chilling out, he’lls be down to binge watch a new tv show or do something crafty like put together a photo album.

He’s undeniably a gym rat, 100%, but he doesn’t always have to be at the gym to be able to work out. If he takes you to the gym with him, he’ll insist that you be his spotter while he lifts weights, and if you sit on his lap while he’s benching, it’s even better. Having your pretty ass sitting on him is going to make him all that more motivated to work harder. If you’re unfamiliar with a lot of techniques, Gladio will always be there to help you get the right form so you’re toning your muscles properly. At home, he’s the kind of guy to be spotted doing pull-ups on the door frames, and you have to pray that they won’t collapse under the stress one day. If you don’t like mornings or running, you better be prepared to start loving them, because Gladio religiously gets up early to go for a run on the weekends. Sleeping in is an urban legend. Sometimes, though, you can coax him to have a day off, and he’ll offer to take you out for lunch- or he’ll pull out his phone and start looking for new places to go hiking.

He doesn’t look like the type to be seen at the gym, but his broad chest and lean muscles suggest otherwise. Ignis is very devoted to staying in shape because he needs to be able to fight for the crownsguard when out with Noctis. He doesn’t do any of the heavy lifting like Gladio does, and rather he focusses on exercises that keep his body fast and flexible. He’ll work on cardio, gymnastics, and occasionally yoga, and in all honesty, he could probably run a marathon and not be tired afterwards. If you’re into this like he is, he’ll be thrilled to have you as a workout partner, but if it’s not your cup of tea, he’s totally fine with it. Though, he will still suggest that you give yoga a try with him sometimes because it can be incredibly relaxing and sensual. Ignis will never force you into doing anything, so you’ll find him sacrificing some workout days to spend time with you and just stay home to try out some new recipes that you found.