god i know i said my anime kylux days were over but after drawing this @kdazrael suggested i watch antique bakery which i DID i marathoned it last night and it spawned this evil hell au you’ll probably be seeing more of
Storefront window displaying women’s clothing, six mannequins wearing dresses and a suit, women’s dresses hanging on back wall, mirrors, lamps, potted plants and vases of flowers also in the window display. Written on the outside awning: “4145-Fit Rite Shoppe-4145.”
Harvey C. Jackson Collection.
Courtesy of the Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library
Sometimes Neil dreams of the past. Sometimes the dreams are so vivid he can smell his mother’s corpse as it burns, so vivid he can hear wit absolute clarity the clang of his father’s ax, so vivid he can see the metal glint off Lola’s knife as she carves his arms to ribbons.
Sometimes he can feel Riko’s knife as it slips beneath his skin, as he hits him until blood fills his mouth, as he makes him run plays until Neil is past the point of pain. It’s like he’s paralyzed, unable to move, unable to fight back.
He doesn’t realize he’s dreaming until his eyes are snapping open, his gaze landing on a hardened face with messy blonde hair, steady hands on his shoulders.
He’s pretty sure someone is screaming, and it takes a moment for him to understand that it’s him, but then Riko’s knife is back, his matches are back, his fists are back, and Neil is powerless beneath him, just as he was the first time, and he can’t stop. He can’t stop his own voice, just as he couldn’t stop Riko’s torture. It lasted so long, god, it lasted so long. Days and days and days and weeks, time running on and slowing down and stretching out.
Then strong arms are wrapping around him, and he’s being pulled against someone’s chest; he knows from the feel of them it isn’t violent, that it’s meant for comfort.
this is really old and its been sitting in my wips since forever but this is for @jiilys because nothing i ever do will ever stop being for you and even though i wrote this when i was trying to be like you its ok because i dont think i’ll ever stop trying to be like you
Nothing makes sense to me anymore. You walk with me to Potions even though it’s on the other side of the school and I know for a fact that you have Divination right now. I can’t stop looking at you. Every time I do it’s like being jolted awake, and all of a sudden I am 14 and staring at your collarbones, like, holy shit, James, when did you get tall? Your grin is crooked one side when Mulciber socked you in the jaw after you cursed him for calling Sirius a traitor. There’s a chip on one of your canines and when you wink at me it turns my insides to water, but I’d never tell you that. I think I am close to dissolving when I am around you.
My stomach tightens into a fist when I catch you staring at me in Transfiguration. Every time I quench down on hope it sparks an ache somewhere in my body, behind my right knee, the hollow at the base of my throat, the tips of my fingers. Somewhere along the way we take a trip to the beach and I can’t process the thought of you, glorious and tan and seawater glistening all over you. I try to hate you, because that would make everything so much easier. I hate your stupid face and your stupid hair and the way you call my name. You dunk me in the ocean and saltwater fills my nostrils and it is so much less painful that the feel of your bare hands on my waist.
I am trying to paint my nails in the dorm when you knock on the door and muscle your way in, throwing yourself down on the bed and complaining about homework. You make it seem so easy, staring at the ceiling as though bounding into my dorm room at 3:00pm on a Monday afternoon is completely normal. I can see the underside of your jaw from where I am sprawled on the carpet. I wonder what it would feel like underneath my lips. I manage to kick over the bottle of nail polish and it spills over the carpet, the colour of blood, like a stain that will never come out, like you, like this immovable weight on my chest when you stoop to help me clean up the mess. Nothing is messier than the tangle of veins and arteries looping around my heart, beating a tattoo against my chest. Your breath tickles my nose. I am blinded by what I cannot have, and it is the hazel in your eyes and the soft sweep of your cupid’s bow and the way you bark out blatant laughter on the uptake, like I am glorious, but I am wretched, because I want to feel your lower lip between my teeth.
Sometimes I think it would be easier if we had stayed friends, because now there is a barren landscape between friends and where I want to be, which is nestled in the region of your neck and shoulder. You kick me under the table in Charms and I lean over to pinch you. You have your shirtsleeves rolled up and I can see veins cording your wrist. I can handle an E on my Charms exam but I cannot handle this. I cannot handle the way you are looking at me. We end up having a pinching war and Flitwick gives us both detention, but it is worth it. It is worth it because you laughed and the sound of it is like shockwaves, keeping me awake.
You are like an itch that I cannot scratch. I blast Blondie in the dormitory at 8:00pm on a Saturday night to flood out all the thoughts of you. If you were a ghost you’d be a filmy apparition in gossamer thread and cheeky smiles. My thoughts always seem to stray to you like a default, as though it is normal to be thinking about what you look like without a shirt on. We go to Hogsmeade and I gaze in every storefront window so I can catch your reflection without having to look at you.
I start to have dreams. Dreams that wake me up in the dorm in the early hours of the morning in a sweaty, gasping mess. I should be thinking about famine and war and my Transfiguration test next week but last night I dreamt that you planted a terrarium in the space between my ribs. I fight my way into sleep and it’s fucking delightful and I enjoy it, because you are everywhere in my head and I don’t have to think about it. The thought of you seeps all the way to the ends of my fingers and I itch to hold you for real, completely. It’s so much easier to call you a git and kick your shin on the way to Herbology but I rarely see any colours anymore apart from the hazel of your eyes.
The other day you paid me out for liking Simon and Garfunkel and I almost thanked you for it. Instead I punched you almost hard enough to expel all source of feeling from my knuckles. I am wasteless for you, inexhaustible for you. You leave me breathless, listless, like I have been knocked out, like I am punch drunk. Pretending becomes easy. I do it all the time. For example, today I pretended that I wasn’t perturbed by your knee touching mine under the table in the Great Hall. I can pretend that I don’t quake with the thought of you, neglect to quiver like something waifish and insubstantial when I’m around you, that the touch of your hand on my upper arm doesn’t send my nerves into overdrive.
Avery called out to me on the way back from the library the other day and it shouldn’t affect me but it does. I can’t even remember what he said because I was drowning in anger and spite but somehow he’s planted a vision in my mind of what it would be like without you and it is scaring the shit out of me. I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if that were true, if at some point under the thumb of this war I lost you and I cannot stand it. I want to run to you, hold you beneath my hands but I don’t because you should not miss something that you never had. Instead I sit in the dormitory at 1:00am because if I go to sleep I know this will haunt me worse than you did, and I am shaking and pale and sweating and the gentle padding of your footsteps down the staircase doesn’t help. ‘Lily,’ you say, and then you are crossing the room to me because I bet you can see my hands vibrating where they’re clutching a blanket around me and you are saying, ‘Lily, Lily, oh my God, are you ill? What’s wrong?’ A crease furrows between your brows and I am shaking my head you are clutching me tightly, so tightly, like you’re afraid I will shatter without you there.
A few days later you corner me after Charms, and I am bright and wieldy and I have been sleeping better since you stroked my hair until I fell asleep, but you look burdened, and you are asking me what happened to me to make me frightened and pale at 1:00am in the dormitory. Somehow I clamour out with an answer something like, ‘I lost you in my head,’ and it doesn’t make sense but you have my head between your hands and you are murmuring to me, saying that I will never loose you, not so long as I live. Then you ask me what made me so ill, because you think I may have given it to you, and I am giggling and laughing and you are holding me to your chest and breathing comes easy with the reminder of your heartbeat under my hands.
At 3:30, Reigen was standing tenth in line to check out at
the grocery store nearest his apartment. He stared forward, glaze-eyed, through
the ceiling-high windows decorating the front of the store. Rain clouds had
gathered as a thick and dreary coat. The parking lot adopted their gray tint,
and the air had turned dense with the spiking humidity, the crackling
electricity. A storm was rolling through.
Not inside though. Inside the store was temperate, dry, perhaps
just a bit too cold. Inside was bathed in the whiteness of fluorescent lights,
and smothered in a silence broken only by the steady blip of a scanner running across grocery items. It lulled Reigen
into a daze. Or maybe it just made him aware of it. If he were being honest
with himself, the dazed feeling had been eating his brain for a good number of
hours. That was easier than fully understanding the responsibility he had taken
on. But it also made his memories of the day feel more like dreams, or plans,
or thoughts. What had he done since the morning?
The line moved forward. Reigen shuffled with them.
The morning. …The morning had been quiet. The kind of dense
and safe quiet that came with waking before the sun was even up. The kind that
came with knowing he was likely the only soul awake in the apartment complex,
soft socked feet scuffling across the floor above the heads of the sleeping.
Well one of the only souls, plural. That included Mob.
What’s up, party people?
I tell ya’, I always had a hunch Barry saw me as a potential best man –
or best mate, as Julian would say –
but now it’s official. When he and Iris
tie the knot I’ll be there ready to rock the most epic best man speech ever heard
on any Earth! This promises to be some high level adulting and I have to make
sure I look the part. Even though, the
couple hasn’t set the date, I found myself looking into the mirror –
fantasizing about the occasion – and decided your boy needed to step up his
fashion game. To put it simply, it was
time to dress like “a real grown up” as Harry would say. So I cracked open my limited
edition Green Arrow piggy bank and hit up the Central City Mall to buy some new
It’s been a hot minute since I hung around the mall, and I
was bombarded by youths, elderly mall walkers (gotta get that heart rate up!),
and pushy bargain hunters. It reminded
me of the classic zombie mall sequence from Dawn
of the Dead (freak-ay!) But I then spotted
some kids hanging by the food court, goofing off. They made me nostalgic for my old mallrat
days. Ah, the memories. I resisted the
urge to hit up the video game store and headed straight for some upscale
clothing shops. Before I knew it I was
in my own Pretty Woman montage of
trying on baller outfits. Slacks and new
leather shoes? Check. Check. Silk
buttoned down shirt? For days. Suave
sports coat? You know it. Suddenly I was
strutting the mall, turning heads left and right. I stopped at a storefront and looked at the
fashionable man before me. Turns out I
clean up real nice until…
Two kids from the food court ran past me, scuffing my shiny
new leather loafers. I turned to see a
security guard chasing after them. I
ducked down a hallway where no one could see and opened a quick breach and
popped out right in front of the kids. I
told them to slow their rolls and asked why they were being chased. The kids looked scared and pleaded that they
weren’t doing anything wrong – they were pretending they were Flash and Kid
Flash on the hunt for a meta. I have to
say, I was touched, just the security guard caught up to us. He barked at the kids – “no running allowed!”
When I told the guard they were only emulating the heroics
of The Flash and Kid Flash, the security guard softened. Turns out, he was also a big fan and let the
kids off win a warning. The kids thanked
me and said they never expected a grown up to be so cool. They disappeared into the mall, probably to
hit up a Spencer’s Gifts like I did back in the day.
On my way out, I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront
window. I saw the reflection of a sharp-dressed,
serious man and realized I was kidding myself.
This is isn’t me. I’m fine at
being an adult, but in my own way, going by my own rules. So I returned all the
clothes and stopped at the food court’s Big Belly Burger for fries and a shake,
in my Cisco-approved wardrobe. And Barry
and Iris will be cool with whatever threads I decide to rock on the big day.
Summary: Dean gets hit with a curse and you’re the only person that he can talk to.
Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas, OC George
Word Count: 2922
A/N: I wrote this for @wheresthekillswitch and @trexrambling Crack It Baby Challenge. My prompt was “I’m pretty sure there’s a law against removing your pants in public." It will be bolded in the fic.
If you’ve never heard of the movie Mannequin please watch this. And don’t judge me, the eighties were weird, ok? I actually worked in display and merchandising for years because this movie made hanging out in a department store after hours look like the best time ever.
Thank you to @pinknerdpanda for betaing the beginning of this story and thank you to @hannahindie for polishing it up. You ladies are wonderful!
You worked on the new mannequin all day. You were tired of the faceless weirdo ones
the store had been using forever so you made a bet with George; if the real
looking one got more attention he’d let you make more. You knew exactly how you wanted him to look;
tall, sandy brown hair, full lips and green eyes. You sigh to yourself as you think of him; the
man from ‘that one hot summer’ in college a million years ago.
That night you drive to the store ready to work on the new
display with George.
“Here’s the new mannequin,” you say setting it down.
George looks him up and down. “Mmm, maybe you can make me one.”
You laugh, rolling your eyes. “I’m gonna start setting up.”
“Ok, I’ll be there in a bit.
You pick it up and walk over to the window, your thoughts
occupied with the next display. You
stand the mannequin up looking him over.
He really is perfect, you think to yourself as you pick out a hat to put
“What the hell?”
“Holy fuck, what?!” you scream.
The now-alive mannequin is gripping your shoulders, “Where
am I? How did I get here?” the tall,
gorgeous, used-to-be mannequin asks.
“Dean?” you pause, catching your breath. “I’m hallucinating. All these late nights have finally made me crazy,”
you mumble. “The most vivid
hallucination ever,” you say touching his face.
“Hey,” Dean says touching where your hand just was.
“How are you alive?”
“Uh, what? I am alive!
How did I get here?”
“Dude, I hate to break it to you but you were a mannequin
about ten seconds ago.”
“A mannequin, see,” you gesture around you, “storefront
He looks down at what he’s wearing and a look of disgust and
surprise crosses his face. He starts to
undo the button of his pants.
“And, I’m pretty sure
there’s a law against removing your pants in public,” you say, holding up
(God I submitted like two or three asks and a submission within the past two months I feel like I’m posting so much here I’m so sorry. D| ) This is gonna be long, and I apologize, but I’ve never dealt with this type of person or situation before and I’m entirely unsure of what to do. tl;dr at the bottom.
I work at a public library. There’s this woman who seems very well put together- dressed fairly well, straight posture, etc., but every single worker here has commented for me to be wary because there’s something “off” about her. I’ll call her M. And it took a while, but boy, did I start to notice it. So far, since I have started at the library, M has…
Asked workers and volunteers questions by getting so close you can feel her breath on your face.
Gotten angry with the circulation desk workers because we charge $3 for a replacement library card (your first one is free.) because she thought that they could write a new number on the back of her current one (numbers and barcodes are printed directly on the cards). She wanted them to write a new number because her crystals said it wasn’t a good number for her.
Sits in one of our armchairs and literally stares at us for at least an hour at a time.
Asked my coworker a question. Which was answered, no problem. M started walking to the front doors. Got to the doors. Stopped. Turned around and STORMED back to the reference desk, slammed both her hands on the counter as she leaned in really close, and demanded my coworker tell her exactly “how you got your hair like that!”
Tried to come behind the desk to look over our shoulders and see if we were using the right websites to find information for her.
We release the printed pages at the desk after people pay for them. They come out face down. M, at the time, had a cast on her arm. She kept looking at the cast and then at us, as if she wanted us to ask what happened. When no one took the bait, she decided to say that we better not look at her printed pages because they’re legal documents about her broken arm and it’s her personal business and she is not legally obligated to show them to anyone and we can be sued for reading them. :|
Among various other incidents that weren’t like, “you need to get out of the library” disruptive, but have caused workers to become very uncomfortable.
M also likes to try and trap librarians and volunteers into conversations when they are not on the clock.
Incidents that were specific to me include:
On Halloween, we are allowed to wear costumes, granted they aren’t skimpy/gory. I wore my unicorn kigurumi to work, and also brought my unicorn head mask in case my boss or our public relations committee wanted pictures for our website (I’m not really a picture person.). I was sitting at the reference/info desk with only the hood to my kigurumi up and we got the same kind of “walk past and then rush back” reaction my coworker got for her hair, only without the slamming of the desk. M asked me if she could take my picture. I said “no.” Had that been the end of it, whatever. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I got everything from “you’re so cute though” to “my sister in law likes unicorns and [insert semi-coherent rambling here].” Finally, my coworker flagged one of our security officers and he started heading over and M left.
When M had the cast on her arm, I was covering circulation one day. She asked if we had a bag, and I told her that we sell reusable canvas bags ($2). She asked if she could have one, I got the sheet out of the cash drawer to record the purchase, and she asked what I was doing. Then she said I was discriminating against her by charging her for a bag because “I have a broken arm and I shouldn’t be forced to pay.”
Some time ago, on a day I wasn’t scheduled to work, I took the bus into town to stop at the local art store and grab some sushi. Our bus terminal is a quite large building with storefront-styled windows all on the front and most of the way down the side. It is a straight shot from one street to the next. Normally, I cut through the bus terminal. However, when I neared the entrance, I saw M sitting inside and reading a book. She hadn’t seen me, but I still didn’t want to risk it, so I went around the building. Note, I’m wearing my giant-ass bright green headphones, and looking at my phone while replying to an email. As I get about half through the walkway to the next street, I catch M in the corner of my eye. Unsure of if she noticed me, I turned to go to the opposite side, and she actually speeds up and makes a beeline for me, catches up to me, taps me on the shoulder, and starts trying to talk to me as if I’d hear her over my music. Not really sure of what to do as the woman already makes me uneasy, I just point to my headphones and cell phone like I’m on a phone call and walk off quickly.
Today I had two incidents with her. I was assisting a student with her resources for a paper. She was having trouble finding non-reference books that she would be able to check out on the subject she needed, so I was discussing the online resources we offer with her. I’m a generally soft spoken person and she was right in front of me, so no problem. We’re quietly discussing them and I show her how to access them and then she leaves. Five minutes later, M comes over from her seat well across the main lobby, slams one of our database brochures and our bookmark that looks like the header of our website on the desks, and demands I tell her about the online resources “you told that girl about.” I’m just sitting here wondering how the hell she even HEARD me. There’s no way, unless she was either using a sound amplifier or she was hyperfocused on our conversation.
The second incident today was when I was on my dinner break. I left the library because my grandmother had asked me to see if there were any Peeps on clearance, being the day after Easter and all. I get out of work, get to the local Aite Rid, and grab a few packs for her. Right when I come out of the store- BAM, there’s M, sitting on the bench near the exit and staring in the direction of the store’s doors. Again, I’ve got my headphones on (don’t worry! I wear them around my neck in stores and only put them back on after I’m done buying my things!). She notices me and picks her things up like she’s going to get up to come talk to me, and I just go right in the other direction and cut through a department store to get right back to work. Fortunately, I think she’s gone for the day.
I’m really unsure of what to do. She hasn’t done anything outright ban-worthy in the library. I also don’t want to sound like I’m being an asshole in case she has a mental illness, but she genuinely makes me uncomfortable- especially since I’m unsure of what do do if she approaches me when I’m on the clock. I can’t really say what I wish I could (Which would be: “Please leave me alone, you’re making me uncomfortable.” or something…), and I don’t know if she’s the type to like, come in to the library and try to start something when I AM on the clock. Other workers in both the circulation and reference departments are also creeped out by her and we’re really not sure what to do because she hasn’t done anything that we really needed security for or anything.
Does anyone know how to handle something like this? She seems harmless and all, but you never really know. Anyone can lash out physically. I don’t think she’s targeting me specifically- as other workers have had similar “off the clock” complaints with her.
Patron at my library is massively creepy. Invades personal space WAY too far (we can literally feel her breathing on us if we’re not safely behind a desk), tries to get behind desks, tries to trap us into awkward conversations, approaches us in odd manners when we’re off the clock, has asked to take pictures of me, has also accused me of being discriminatory when I was going to charge her for the bags we sell as one of our ways of funding the library, and various other incidents. I’m unsure of what to do because she legitimately creeps me out and I’m not sure if she would be the type to lash out physically.
I’m not sure if anyone here would have tips on how to deal with her, other than to stay within sight/earshot of a coworker or even a patron when she’s near.
Sorry for this being long, but having two incidents with her in one day kind of freaked me out.
You walked back to the table from the restroom, willing
yourself to make it through the rest of the night. Your best friend had dragged
you out on a double date, and here you were, stuck in a booth beside William.
He seemed nice enough, but the conversation was dull and you didn’t seem to
have much in common. You had come to help your friend, to be her wing-woman;
but she seemed to be doing fine on her own. Sliding back into booth, your rolled
your eyes when you glanced across the table; your friend practically on the lap
of her date.
“For fuck’s sake.” you muttered under your breath. You
thought you were being quiet enough in this noisy restaurant, but William had
“Do you want a ride home?” he whispered, clearly
uncomfortable with the situation at hand.
“Oh God, yes.” you blurted out. “Sorry, not because of you.
This whole… situation… it’s just weird.” you clarified, grabbing your coat
and pulling yourself out of the booth. You shrugged it on, William sliding out of
the booth behind you. You noticed he was taller than you had originally noticed in the dim
lighting of the restaurant. You took a step towards the door, a voice stopping you in your tracks.
“Where are you guys going?” your friend asked, finally
breaking eye contact with her date; realizing you were heading outside.
“Home.” you said, straightening your coat.
“Have fun.” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at you at you
“That’s not what I meant.” you muttered, rolling your eyes . “Text me when you
get home.” you sighed, noticing all her attention had gone back to her date
. William tilted his head,
motioning for you to follow him, knowing that any attempts to get her attention
would fail. He held the door for you, exiting the restaurant into the clear
I worked in a shitty clothing store in the local mall. It’s the kind of place that hires high schoolers and, over the summer, college kids. It’s minimum wage, so our employers didn’t expect much. Honestly, they just hoped we didn’t come in drunk. Hell, if our eyes were a little red, they’d look the other way, if you know what I mean.
Which is why the pranks continued for so long. It started out small. Jumping out from behind doors. Hiding in clothing racks. Prank calling the store on days off. It was funny and petty and stupid.
That’s the key word again – stupid.
It was my coworker, Spencer. He’s the reason the pranking eventually came to an end about six months ago. And the reason that I eventually quit my job.
See, none of us were exactly rocket scientists. Most of us were a little dumb for the sole fact that we were teenagers. But Spencer was dumber than the rest of us. I mean, that kid was a few eggs short of a dozen. Not college material and probably would never move away from our hometown. But we liked him just the same. He was good for a laugh.
But, God… he took it too far.
It happened on Tuesday. I was working from three to nine, which meant I was on closing duty. I mopped the storefront, cleaned the windows, took out the trash and threw the cardboard boxes from inventory into the cardboard compactor. I locked up and did a quick inventory check. Most importantly, I did it all by myself.
See, Spencer was supposed to be working with me. He was supposed to come in at noon and leave at eight. It’s not uncommon for someone to close alone, but usually there’s another person there for part of the evening. It makes finishing closing duties easier. I can’t take out the trash while I’m helping customers, you know.
He’d been there when I came in at two, but at some point he’d left without letting me know and without clocking out. I was pretty irritated – I wondered if maybe he was playing some kind of joke on me. Spencer wasn’t the type to think things through – he might very well have thought that abandoning me on the night shift would be hilarious.
I called Spencer but didn’t get an answer. I called my manager and let her know that Spencer had ducked out on me. I expected Spencer to return my call or at least text, but he didn’t. The next time I worked – two days later – I asked my manager, but she hadn’t heard from Spencer either.
Now, Spencer might not be the brightest bulb in the box, and yes, sometimes he forgets his schedule or messes up and doesn’t come in for a shift. But he isn’t the kind to just shirk his responsibilities. If he misses work, he accepts the blame for it and makes it up to his coworkers. He doesn’t make excuses and it doesn’t happen often. That’s why none of us employees really have a problem with him. So the fact that he was completely MIA left me a bit confused. If he’d left me there as a joke, he would have confessed to it by now. He wouldn’t have stopped coming in to work entirely.
I didn’t get worried until the next week when Spencer’s mother officially filed a Missing Persons report.
She came into the store to talk to the manager. I saw them disappear into the office – which is really just a cramped closet in the back room with a dusty old desktop computer – and could barely make myself focus until they came back out. Mrs. Damson – that is to say, Spencer’s mom – had tears in her eyes. I heard my manager, Kelly, assure her that they’d check the security footage. Then, Kelly asked me to come to the back office. She’d never done that before.
It turns out that I was the last person to see Spencer before he went missing.
At least, the last known person. His mother had seen him at the house before he went to work that Tuesday. He’d never come home. Spencer had been working with me and only me – Tuesdays are slow and Kelly had been busy along with the rest of the managers, so there’d been no manager present. The last time I remembered seeing Spencer was around four-thirty when he’d gone to use the employee restroom in the back. That’s the last anyone had heard of him.
I told Kelly what I remembered and she told me she was going to try to get her hands on the security footage. Most likely, Spencer had just high-tailed it with some of his buddies. Impromptu road trip or something, hell if I know. Kelly assured me over and over that the most likely scenario was that Spencer was completely fine and had just done something unexpected… unexpected and stupid, but then again, this was Spencer we were talking about. Stupid was implied.
I let that placate me for the most part, although I was still nervous the rest of the night. I managed to distract myself for most of the next day, playing video games with a few buddies. It wasn’t until mid-evening when I got a call from Kelly.
“Hey, Conner, can you come to my apartment? There’s… something I want to talk to you about.”
Akuma don’t always pop up at the most convenient of
times. They interrupt all sorts of things, from school to showers. In
their rush to arrive at the scene, the superheroes sometimes show up a
little less put together than normal.
When they first started out, the two superheroes were naive and overenthusiastic. They made up for their lack of experience in energy and endless attempts to appear more on top of things than they actually were. Sometimes it manifested as nightly evening patrols across Paris, before they realized that they never caught any akumas that way and it was only affecting their ability to finish their schoolwork and get enough sleep in order to be awake to fight the akumas. Sometimes it showed in their early attempts to track down Hawkmoth, when they tried following the purified butterflies after attacks when they didn’t have to immediately return to whatever they were doing before (every attempt was inevitably cut short by their Miraculous running out of time and the butterfly disappearing while they recharged). Sometimes it was accepting every invitation for a press conference in their first few months as superheroes, answering the same old questions over and over and over.
Sometimes their inexperience showed when they made an immediate beeline to the attack, no matter how serious (or not) the attack was or what they had been in the middle of doing. It made for some interesting hair styles.
“Oh, you cannot be serious,” Marinette groaned as she heard her phone ding with the special akuma alert system she had set up on it. Her hands were full of conditioner and she was in the middle of a shower. Grumbling, she quickly rubbed the conditioner into her hair and shut off the shower before leaping out and struggling to pull on her clothes over her damp skin. “Couldn’t Hawkmoth wait ten minutes?”
“Uh…” Tikki said as she watched her Chosen pull on a shirt (backwards and inside out, but Marinette didn’t seem to notice) and wrangle her still-wet, conditioner-filled hair into Ladybug’s trademark pigtails. “You know, you could finish-”
“Transform me!” Marinette cried, cutting Tikki off. With a flash, Ladybug replaced Marinette in the middle of the bathroom. She grabbed her towel and tore out of the bathroom door as soon as she was sure the coast was clear, heading up to her bedroom. Ladybug tossed the unused towel on her chair as she continued racing up to her balcony, hurrying to join the fight as soon as possible.
A trail of water drops marked her path as she went.
Arthur grabbed a handful of Merlin’s tunic and dragged him down the sidewalk to the storefront window. Beyond the glass stood a statue wearing long blue robes speckled with stars, and a pointed blue hat covered with crescent moons.
“Is that-?“ Arthur gasped, and his face was going to split with his grin, absolutely it was, he could feel it. “That’s- It’s a-“
“Merlin the Magician Costume, yes,” Merlin said impatiently, reading the sign at the base of the statue.
Arthur looked at him with wide delighted eyes, then burst out laughing.
Merlin gave a loud put-upon huff. “It’s not that funny.”
Arthur laughed so hard that he had to bend forward, hands on knees. He was barely able to speak because of it. “You simply must- get those- robes-”
“I already have them.“
Arthur’s head jerked up. “What?”
Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. Defiant and embarrassed in equal measure, judging by the pink in his cheeks. “I said, I have them.”
Arthur pictured Merlin actually wearing the catastrophe of a costume, and burst out laughing again, even harder than before.
“You are being such an arse,” Merlin said, pulling Arthur by the arm back to his horse and shoving him toward it.
“I remember!” Arthur said, as he climbed back into his saddle. “The night I came back from Avalon! When you were still an old man! You had them on then!”
“I wear them for the Solstice Festival,” Merlin informed him as he climbed on his own horse. “It’s tradition,” he added defiantly, before urging his mare down the narrow street between the rows of parked cars.
It took several minutes of chuckling before Arthur got control of himself again. He had to wipe tears from his face, and even rub at his cheeks, because they were actually aching from smiling. He couldn’t even remember the last time that had happened.
“Merlin?” he called.
“Do you have the hat too?”
“You do, don’t you!”
“Yes, all right? God you are such a-!”
“I think I shall command you to wear it,“ Arthur called, joyful at the mere thought of it, because oh my yes, Merlin in that hat-
“Not a chance,” Merlin said over his shoulder, though his own amusement was plain in his voice now.
Wear Your Heart on Your Skin (2500 Follower Giveaway Fic #17)
For @a-moment-of-such-peace, who requested a soulmate AU. I was given a few options for pairings, and I’m sure no one will be surprised that I went with E/R.
E/R, modern soulmate AU, soulmate tattoos.
“Could this be any dumber?” Enjolras demanded, holding his shirt up and looking in the mirror at the tattoo that had appeared on his side at some point over the night.
Combeferre sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a soul mark, Enjolras,” he said patiently. “It’s supposed to be a unique, identifying mark, not a work of art.”
Enjolras glared at him. “I know that,” he snapped, lowering his shirt and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “But it’s still stupid.” He switched his gaze back to the mirror, scowling at his reflection as if he could still see the tattoo. “It looks like some sort of deformed bird.”
“Who is it?” Courfeyrac practically screeched as he ran into Enjolras’s bedroom, excitement clear on his face. “Who is he? Where did you meet? When did you meet? Is he hot? I bet he’s hot!”
While Enjolras just gave him a withering look before slumping over to the bed, Combeferre shook his head slightly to try to signal to Courfeyrac that this was not going to be that kind of conversation. “He didn’t meet anyone,” he told Courfeyrac. “The tattoo just appeared during the night.”