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cecilspeaks · 4 years

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176 - The Autumn Specter

Lips are the toes of the face. Welcome to Night Vale.

[spooky theme song]

It’s Halloween again, Night Vale, my favorite day of the year. As a kid, my mother used to dress my sister Abby and I in homemade costumes and take us door to door, vaguely threatening our neighbors until they gave us candy. When I was a teenager, I got a little old for trick-or-treating, so I started going to haunted houses with my friends. A lot of those haunted houses were kind of predictable with all their chain saw killers and Victorian ghost children singing nursery rhymes, who would follow you home and sing by your bed for months afterwards, but they always got to me. I loved the emotional rush of being scared. I still do. Of course, I don’t go out much to haunted houses, but I still love good old fashioned scary stories. I thought today would be a great day to share some of my favorites with you. I had my new intern, James, put together a few spooky tales that are perfect for putting you into Halloween mood.

But first, let’s have a look at the Community Calendar. This Saturday night at the New Old Night Vale Opera House, is the annual costume gala. This event is the Opera House’s largest fundraiser and one of the most prestigious costume contests in the region. A panel of judges will be on hand to determine the best costume at the ball. Last year’s winners were Joel Eisenberg and his partner Danny Jimenez, who dressed in a tandem outfit of a stegosaurus. I was there, listeners, and it was impressive! The creature was so realistic-looking. The craftsmanship of the costume was top notch, but listen, I have to confess I’m always more into high concept creativity rather than realistic details when it comes to costumes. Like I remember the 2015 gala, when Amal Shamun came dressed up as the concept of ennui. She made herself 12 feet tall, dressed in a taupe long coat, and created a constant drizzling rain inside the ball room. Anyone who looked at her got super sad and wanted a hug. But Joel and Danny’s stegosaurus was fine.

Sunday afternoon is the fall craft sale in Old Town Night Vale. An inscrutable maze of stalls showcasing the finest products from our town’s artisans. There will be cultural events for children, like finger painting classes, puppet shows, and a visit from the Autumn Specter. The Autumn Specter returns. It comes to collect its crops, with its great and sharp sickle. [creepily] It will harvest every ripe soul in Night Vale, the Autumn Specter is hungryyyy! It is Octoberr and it is timme to feeeeeee-duh.

Hey James, this Community Calendar doesn’t seem right, it’s just a bunch of stuff about the Autumn Specter. Also this font size, what-what is this 32 point? That’s just much too large. And it’s printed in red ink and that is a waste of our color toner, James. Eww, eww! This red ink is still really damp. OK, plus there’s nothing about start and end times of the craft fair, or anything about the food trucks, like if the Autumn Specter is hungry, surely it wants some falafel or Korean barbeque or tacos. James, could you just redo this story? James? James? [clears throat] Well, listeners, I don’t know where James went. Um, I can hear him breathing, but I don’t see him anywhere. Yeah, it’s fine, let’s just get onto our first spooky story.

[static, old-fashioned music] One quiet moonless night, not long ago and not so far away, a teenage girl sat in a house that was not her own. It was the home of Tony and Sheila McDowell. The girl was their babysitter, and she had just put the two young McDowell children down to sleep. The girl watched TV alone in the dark living room, only the bluish flicker of a scary movie illuminating her face. The phone rang abrupt and loud, startling her. She raised the receiver to her ear. “Hello?” she said with a slight quiver. “Have you checked on the children?” came a raspy voice. The babysitter ran quickly upstairs, opening the door of the kids’ bedroom. She flicked on the light, and there they were, fast asleep. She went back to her movie, but the phone rang again. “Haave youuu checked on the childrennn?” came the same voice, only more sinister. The babysitter again hurried upstairs, opened the door, turned on the light, and saw the children still asleep. The caller called again and again and again. “Have you checked on the children?” The babysitter, so scared, barely able to move, hung up the phone before the voice could finish its repeated query. When the phone rang once again, she answered and shouted: “Stop calling me!” But this time, it was a different voice. The person on this occasion said: “Ma’am, this is the police. We’ve traced the call. The call is coming from inside the house. Get out, get out!” The babysitter panicked and started to run, but then she remembered: she never called the police! How would they know to even trace the call? So she crept fearfully upstairs to the children’s room, and the phone was ringing again, the clamoring bell igniting her fright. And she cracked open the door and she saw- She saw the young McDowell boy and his little brother hunched over a phone and giggling! They were pranking her, and she felt relieved but embarrassed. And she told them to stop fooling around and go to sleep. And they all shared a good laugh.

Let’s have a look now at traffic. [papers rustling] Um.. OK, well I don’t seem to have a traffic report from intern James. Also James isn’t here right now, because I sent him out to go pick up lunch a few m- Oh, hey James, James, James, James – wait, why are you standing in the control booth? You were supposed to go get lunch and also I’ve asked you a couple of times not to wear that burlap bag over your head. I mean yes it looks great, with the Jack o’ Lantern face drawn onto it, I mean the mouth is a bit lopsided and the eyes are a tad uneven, you know kinda flat and emotionless, but all in all it’s a cool look, but it’s decidedly not allowed in Station Management’s dress code. Oh, you’re holing a knife, too! So did you get- did you already get that lunch then? Well if that- if that’s the case, you don’t need to cut my sandwich in half, I’ll-I’ll take it whole. And also I need that traffic report, thanks. James? What are you waiting for, the Autumn Specter to do it for you? [chuckles] Hop to it! James?

[clears throat] Well, while James is working on that, let’s get back to my favorite spooky Halloween stories. This one isn’t a story so much as a fun Halloween game. The legend of Bloody Mary.

According to the lore, if you turn off all the lights, and stare into a mirror, repeating “Bloody Mary” three times in a row, she will appear and tear your face off! I’ve never tried this because I don’t own any mirrors, but my husband Carlos conducted this very experiment in his science lab. He said he darkened the room and repeated the name and nothing happened for a long time. But then a figure of a woman appeared, silvery gray and shimmering, and she approached Carlos slowly, her hollow white eyes never blinking. She brought her face only inches from Carlos and said: “Are you for real?” And Carlos said yes, he was indeed – real. And Bloody Mary said: “OK because this time of year, I just get a bunch of giggling, screaming teenagers, and I’m really tired of ripping off their faces for no pay whatsoever!” And Carlos gave her some resources for starting a union and she thanked him and she offered to tear his face off in exchange for the consulting, but Carlos said no, he liked his face, and wisher her luck. Night Vale, pay your malevolent spirits! They’re overworked especially around Halloween. And a 20 per cent gratuity for poltergeists, phantasms, revenants, and ghosts is standard.

And now for t- what the, oh you- [papers rustling] Wait, OK. You know, I thought intern James had handed the traffic report to me, but this is just a piece of parchment with a 9-pointed star seemingly drawn by a finger dripped in blood. And then there are a series of ancient runes scrawled around the outer edges. Now I took runic in college. I mean, most of my friends took Spanish as their language, but I thought living here in the American Southwest, it would be more useful to study ancient Scandinavian and Germanic alphabets. And from what I can make out, these are a message about the return of the Autumn Specter. Ugh, alright. OK. I love that intern James loooves Halloween and whatever this the Autumn Specter is. In fact, James is still in the break room right now construction a sacred totem out of ash tree branches and twine. He’s been muttering to himself all day in a language that I don’t recognize, and the only words I can understand are “Autumn Specter”. But I still have neither my traffic report nor my lunch! Wait, do you think James is… Naah, put it out or you mind, Cecil.

Let’s tell another spooky Halloween story. There once was a beautiful young woman who wore a green ribbon around her neck. She won the affection of a handsome young man. They fell in love and one day the boy asked the girl why she always wore a green ribbon around her neck. She would not tell him. One day the man and the woman were to become husband and wife. In her white bridal dress, the woman still wore her green ribbon. The man asked her on their wedding night if he could untie the green ribbon, but even on the most intimate of evenings, she said no, and he respected her answer. But he longed to know what she was hiding behind the ribbon. Through the years, the man asked the wife again about the ribbon, but she never removed it, nor answered his questions about it. She only warned him that he would not like what he saw if she were to remove it. He asked less and less, but his curiosity grew and grew. And they became old, very old, and they knew their time left was short. The man asked one more time: “My dearest wife, love of my life, tell me that I may remove the green ribbon from around your neck.” And the old woman said: “My adoring groom, here in our room after all these many years, yes you may. But I caution you, as I have many times before, that you shall not like what your eyes behold.” The man hesitated, but finally reached his weakened, wrinkled fingers to the green bow along her nape. And he tentatively pulled the ribbon, and suddenly it unfurled, falling from her neck, and the man gasped. Upon her neck was a series of ornate letters spelling out “GOTH LIFE”. The woman said: “I got this tattoo in high school but kind of outgrew it and it’s super embarrassing.” And the man replied: “It is for sure weird, but also pretty cool. I like it.” And she never wore the green ribbon again.

You know, listeners, I’d love to bring you that traffic report, but right now, um, I’m facing something much more urgent and more dire. My studio door has opened on its own, and as I turned around, I could see down the long faintly lit corridor of our offices. And at the end of the hallway stands a figure, and he wears a Jack o’ Lantern mask, his head crooked to one side like a dog asking a question or like a hanged man, or both. And it is intern James, and he holds a long knife and he walks, he walks slowly toward me. And he is speaking at first in a mutter, but now louder, a strange shout in an obscure tongue like a magician casting a wicked spell, and he is moving much faster toward me, like a limping run, and his blade is raised high, and James is not an intern, Night Vale, bu the Autumn Specter itself come to reap my soul!

But before he does that, Let me take you to the weather.

[“Welterweight” by Nels Andrews. https://nelsandrews.bandcamp.com/]

So. During the weather, I went to human resources and requested a file on intern James. Oh I’m fine, by the way, and James is not the Autumn Specter, but I’ll get to that. So I found a copy of James’ résumé and cover letter for the position of radio station intern. His application was originally submitted in 1845. “That’s almost two centuries ago!” I exclaimed, but according to HR, they’re pretty backlogged on the intern apps. “What are you gonna do, we get to them when we get to them,” they said from the bottom of their abandoned well. Paperclipped to James’ application was a wrinkled and yellowed news clipping from the Night Vale °Daily Journal, and the article says that James died on Halloween night in 1849 when he was hit by a train. I then went to the hall of public records and found that our radio station was built in 1950, atop the very train tracks where James met hi send. James’ soul has been wandering the halls and offices of our radio station ever since. For all James ever wanted was to be a radio intern. To serve the listening community, to lift high the voice of journalistic truth. And it was his death that led to the shutdown of those train tracks and the eventual construction of a new station home, and the building we still use now. So I was wrong about James. He was an intern, after all, and not a malevolent Halloween spirit.

But I was right that the Autumn Specter had come for me. For when I turned to see James running down the hill, I did not notice the Autumn Specter behind me, with its bony hands and scarecrow mouth, and I did not notice its soul reaping sickle, which it had raised high above its oversized head and stick thin body. And James had given his life for the building of our radio station, and in death, gave his soul for the very same cause. And James threw himself upon the Autumn Specter, and he tried to stab the Specter’s neck and chest, but it-it- it did nothing. And the Spectre pushed James aside and then turned its black coal eyes upon me. And it raised its curved blade once again and swung! I tried to duck, but was too slow. And just as the sickle’s edge reached my face, James dove in front of it and vanished in a burst of white flame, as he was struck. And the room was empty and the Autumn Specter was gone too.

To the family and friends of intern James, he was… an OK intern. Not always on top of his writing deadlines, but he literally sacrificed his soul for our radio station. I can’t bring you a traffic report today, but I will live to bring you one tomorrow. If we find a new intern. And HR tells me that we have hundreds of candidates, although most of them are not yet aware that they are candidates.

Stay tuned next for our new cooking competition show, “Flay Bobby Flay”.

And as always, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: The road to hell is paved with cobblestone. It’s super bumpy, not at all comfortable, and really bad for your car’s suspension.

#wtnv #Welcome to Night Vale #welcome to night vale transcirpts #episode 176 #the autumn specter #sorry i misspeled it as spectre

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jackmfvegas777 · 3 years

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Tiny Notes on Cosplaying at Cons

NOTE--THIS IS ALTER #2, WILLIAM HAROLD AFTON / SPRINGTRAP / "PURPLE GUY".

The rest of the post is written by him;

I love when people react positively to my host's homemade cosplay of me.

It makes me and him feel happy.

He did it so well, even if he thinks there are mistakes, I really like it, & I think he did me justice, especially with the new re-done head that he recently made.

I enjoy wearing it with him and going out to parks, and cosplay events, and conventions somewhat often.

It's extravagantly fun to wear the Springtrap/Spring Bonnie suit once again, it's invigorating and makes me feel 'me' again.

NOTE--SWITCH; NOW ATOM T. L. YORKE, HOST.

Atom here, again.

so as a cosplayer, if you see us at a convention or event or public space, always know it's okay to ask me/us to take a picture with you!

we will always stop for you.

even if i'm resting, i'll put my cosplay back on briefly, to take a quick picture with you/of me.

for online stuff, for long-distance requests,

you can send me pose & outfit request(s) via anon submission, message, email, or reply/reblog, and i'll try and make a picture with a cool pose and/or cosplay/look that you come up with for me! mention which cosplay (if any, you can request styles of regular dress too, just not specifics like what exactly clothes it is, 'cause i will be only closet cosplaying what i own already, not buying anything for it, due to low funds.) anything you want me to be in!

you can also mention what type / look / aesthetic you want the picture to be in.

feel free to message me,

or reblog with the request,

or email me at [email protected],

or send me an anonymous tell,

and i will post it on Instagram, Tumblr and Facebook so that everyone can see. and i can shout you guys' social media profiles out as well,

for the service of requesting & helping me out,

to get you guys more followers and views and likes, cuz y'all deserve it!

note; only rule is--no suggestive/inappropriate requests for clothing. everything has to be SFW.

crop tops, shorts, dresses, skirts, & makeup looks are fine though, due to me being fine with wearing feminine things now that I'm on T & almost always recognised as a man, even with drag on, although i dress feminine occasionally, i'm pure male in mind & soul!

(and now body, due to T! yay!!!!)

(also just to let you know, most cosplayers don't like to be interrupted during rest, so make sure to keep that in mind.

but i particularly am fine with it, so if you see me at a convention or anywhere (i go to the Lvl Up Expo in Las Vegas, NV at the Las Vegas Convention Center, every year, and i plan to go to more places later when the funds & time is right!),

feel free to ask me for a picture,

or just a cool pose,

or even an autograph in William's signature weird 'cursive-not-quite-cursive' that he made up himself.

thanks guys, for being great followers and friends/acquaintances, we love y'all & hope you guys have great days! 💜

also reblog this artist! they draw him so well!

#springtrap #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #william afton #purple guy #fnaf 3 #did #dissociative identity disorder #alter #alters #protector alter #william h afton #william harold afton #tw mental illness #tw did #cosplay tips #cosplayer #cosplay #fnaf cosplay

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hereticpriest · 4 years

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Social Media Drabbles

Sero’s brows furrowed as a notification popped up on his phone, but he smiled when he noticed it was only that a TikTok had been uploaded by a friend. He flicked it open lazily with his thumb while chugging a bit of his recovery drink, and nearly spat the drink out when the video began to play.

Bakugo Katsuki, also known as Ground Zero, was cooking in a brightly lit kitchen. The camera was set up in one corner of the room, seemingly propped up on a shelf. He wore a black crop top advertising the hero Augment, a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants, and a white apron. The hero was tossing vegetables in a large pan, and he paused for a moment to shout over his shoulder -

“Babe, do you want food?”

The song ‘My Type’ by Saweetie began to play as the hero added a splash of oil to the pan and began to stir. A woman with pink roots and white hair danced into the room in a pair of skin-tight leggings and an oversized Red Riot t-shirt. She gave a couple of twerk-like movements while grinning and gesturing to the blond in front of her, then danced her way over to him and began pelvic thrusting barely an inch from his back while lip-syncing the song. A scowl marred Bakugo’s face as he turned to see what she was up to, sensing her presence even though he didn’t hear her. His whole act was softened by the fact that he didn’t even try to push his girlfriend away, even when her hips ground into his ass. A white hearing aid was visible in his right ear when he turned his head to look at her.

“You’re a fucking gremlin. Offer you food and you start humping my leg.”

The woman gasped, then punched her boyfriend directly in the left ass cheek before the video cut out and replayed.

@therealAugment 08-04

Stupidly hot? Check. Tsundere? Check. Chef of my dreams? Check!

#thatsmytype #groundzero #augment

Sero stared in a sort of awed horror, tapped the like button, then sent the video to one of his many groupchats with his old UA classmates.

ZerotoSero: http://vm.tiktok.com/b2k3mzc

ZerotoSero: Why ru coming for my brand Kei?

PikaPika: The fuck? What kind of loser gets mad at his gf for grinding on his ass?

Gremlin: IKR? My phenomenal sense of humour is wasted on this man

RedRiot: K but that ass punch looked like it hurt

ZerotoSero: Well deserved

PikaPika: Where the lie tho?

Splodeyboi: SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU NERDS

Splodeyboi: Who tf changed my nickname in chat?!@

Gremlin: Who tf doesn’t know how to use his phone?

Splodeyboi: I’m going to WRECK YOU

Gremlin: Promise?

PikaPika: Oop

Pinky: I left you idiots alone for five damn minutes...

~+~

Mina let out an excited giggle when a notification popped up mid-way through an intensive scrolling session on Instagram. She opened up her Snapchat and tapped on the unread message. Keiko was sprawled out over Bakugo’s lap, her cheek pressed to his shoulder and a hand tracing the column of his neck. The blond was clearly invested in the movie they were watching, as he didn’t react much when Keiko nipped at his jaw.

“I look intimidating until I smile check.” She sang, pressing her lips to his cheek, then blowing a raspberry right below his ear with her nose pressed against his hearing aid. Bakugo laughed and smushed his hand in her face, pushing her away so he could dive in to bite and kiss at her neck. Keiko giggled wildly, nearly dropping her phone before she could turn the video off.

“Fuck, those losers are so damn cute.” Mina said with a soft sigh, sending back a stream of coloured hearts in the chat.

~+~

“Aw damn it!” Kaminari dropped his controller in his seat as he stood up, brushing himself down exasperatedly, “I’m gonna get a drink. S’your turn Kiri.”

“Can you grab me a beer?” Kirishima requested, picking up the controller and flopping down on the abandoned armchair. Kaminari waved a hand in acknowledgement as he headed into the kitchen. Keiko pouted at the sight of him, putting down the bowl of diced tomatoes she’d been about to mix into a dip she was making. An answering pout from Kaminari had her opening her arms and hugging the hero as he shuffled in to cuddle her.

“You okay Pikachu?” Keiko asked in her poutiest baby voice. He gave her a little whine and a pout, drawing a soft ‘Tch’ from her, followed by a laugh.

“You’re becoming more and more like your boyfriend.”

“Am I? I didn’t think Katsu would hug you. Do you guys cuddle often? Can I join in? Go on, sparkplug. I’ll bring out some beers and some chips n’ dip.” Keiko promised.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Sarcasm queen.”

Kaminari headed into the living room again and collapsed in a chair, watching as Kirishima and Bakugo tried to find and kill eachother in the game. Keiko soon joined them with a six pack, a bowl of homemade tortilla chips, and a bowl of a homemade salsa-esque dip. She laid everything out on the table, popping the caps on three beers and setting them out for the boys. Kaminari tried to yank Keiko into his lap to distract Bakugo via jealousy, but Keiko dodged his hands easily and headed down the hall to her bedroom to grab a hoodie. Bakugo’s hoodie, of course. Kaminari was on his phone when Keiko came back into the room, circling the wooden dining chair Bakugo was sitting on. He quickly began to film as Keiko eyed her boyfriend for a moment from the side, then carefully slid into his lap facing him, snuggled tight up to his chest.

Bakugo grunted but didn’t protest, simply adjusting his arms around her so he could continue playing his game. Keiko hummed happily, nuzzling her face into his neck and letting her arms rest around his shoulders loosely. When he won, the blond leaned over to put the controller down on the table and replaced it with one of the opened beers, his hand grasping Keiko’s bum to keep her from sliding down his thighs when he leaned forwards. He swigged from the beer while Keiko barely even reacted to the movement, just kissed her boyfriend’s throat as he drank. Kaminari snickered, zooming in on his hand on her butt, then gasping as it gave a squeeze. He flicked the camera up to Bakugo’s smirking face, crimson eyes fixed on the camera.

“Shit.”

The video was later sent to Keiko and Bakugo, and the only reason he didn’t get murdered was Keiko insisting the video was adorable. Keiko trimmed out the ‘butt grab zoom’ and posted the video to Instagram, tagging Kaminari as ‘the creeper with the camera’ just to make him laugh.

~+~

The notification light flickered on Kirishima’s phone, so he dropped the weights he was lifting and grabbed his phone and water bottle to take a quick break. He squirted some of the water on his face, then downed the rest of the bottle before finally unlocking his phone.

Precious: Eiji-boo!!! Honey, come visit us! I wanna film a tiktok with you.

Precious: Have you seen the one I posted with Katsu?

Eiji: I haven’t! I’ll watch it on the way over.

Precious: See you soon Eiji! I won’t tell Katsu, he’ll be so happy to see you

Precious: You know, in his way.

Kirishima smiled, heading to the locker room to get changed and shower, but pulling up TikTok on his phone on the way. He opened Keiko’s page and grinned at the sight of her latest videos. A good half of her videos were dance videos, and the other half consisted of her pissing off her boyfriend to varying degrees. Bakugo didn’t use social media much, but he had Keiko to manage his public image with his PR rep, so he didn’t really need to. Kirishima liked that Keiko always respected Bakugo’s boundaries with what she posted or sent to them. He’d seen her record a video, show Bakugo, notice he didn’t like it and immediately delete it. It wasn’t often, however. The blond hero seemed to have endless levels of patience with his girlfriend’s antics. It seemed Keiko was the only person he had any sort of patience for.

The most recent video began with Bakugo lifting weights. Music played in the background as he bent over to pick up a weight, and as the music began to crescendo, Keiko darted onto the screen and slapped both of Bakugo’s asscheeks in time with the two claps in the music. She tried to run away after, but Bakugo caught her ankle and yanked her back to him, pinning her to the floor. The screen went black, then came back with the music repeating. Bakugo was shirtless now, and doing pull-ups in a doorway. Keiko watched him shamelessly, standing when he dropped back to the ground. She approached Bakugo, her posture and the sway to her hips saying he was about to be a very happy man. She slowly skimmed her hands over his stomach, leaning in for a brief kiss, then slapping his pecs in time with the claps in the music once again. She didn’t even have a chance to try and run. Bakugo picked her up and slammed her up against the wall, her legs around his waist and her wrists in his hands. The video ended there, and Kirishima was finally able to breathe. If anyone else had ever done that to Bakugo, he was sure they’d be murdered. He remembered (mostly fondly) when Kaminari and Sero went through their ‘fuck with Bakugo’ phase, and the many nurse office trips that resulted in.

~+~

It’s Present Mic who shows Aizawa the video. The Instagram video is exceptionally popular, but Aizawa wasn’t really a social media guy, so he never would’ve seen it otherwise. It starts a trend that is now blowing up, and Mic admits that he’s already filmed a response video. Of course he has. Dork.

It opens with Keiko on a flat grey background. She’s wearing her hero costume without her gloves, but the heavy scarring on her hands is obvious. As is the fact that she can’t close her hands fully.

“I am Augment, the unyielding hero. I have permanent damage in my hands from backlash of my quirk. I will never again be able to close my hands fully, or open them fully. My grip strength has also been reduced. My ability is not defined by my injury. I stand alongside the disabled, and those who have been permanently disfigured. Your disability does not define you. You too can be a hero.” Keiko offers a smile to the camera. Bakugo steps up beside her in his hero costume, his hearing aids clearly visible. He’s wearing his home ones, not the ones created as part of his hero costume. He swiftly fingerspells his hero name.

“I’m Ground Zero. I’m hard of hearing, but that hasn’t stopped me from being the number one hero, so you losers better step up too! Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t do something, or else you’re just as weak as they say you are!” Katsuki shouts and signs simultaneously. He tended towards simcom, and always had, even when the hearing loss was minimal.

“What Ground Zero means is that true weakness is giving up to fear, while true bravery is acknowledging fear and doing what needs be done regardless.” Keiko says, then gives the camera a peace sign, “Real heroes are defined by their heart, not their power!”

“Hey! That’s not what I said stupid woman!” Bakugo shouts, and the video ends. The comments are full of linked videos of other people saying the same sort of things. It swiftly has expanded to include mental illnesses, mental disabilities, addictions and personality issues.

After a ton of needling from Present Mic, Aizawa will eventually make one about the backlash of his own quirk. All of his previous students end up commenting on it, and Aizawa will forever deny crying over it.

#BNHA #boku no hero academia #prohero au #social media au #bakugo x oc #bakugo katsuki x oc #bakugo has hearing loss fight me #drabbles for days #mywriting

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justkending · 5 years

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Used to Be Overlooked. Chapter 5.

Summary: Steve Rogers was walking down the streets of Brooklyn after finishing a mission. The goal was just to take some time to clear his mind along the city streets, but when he runs into a gorgeous young lady that looks extremely familiar… How can he go about moving on? Who is she? What does he know her from? Was that memory even from this decade?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Rosalyn Ember/ Y/N ?)

Word Count: 1900+

Warning: SLOW BURN. Soooo slow, but sooooo worth it…

A/N: Short chapter, but worth it. We are going to get a little more clues to Miss. Rosalyn Ember... Also, I finished my last final last night, so my writing schedule will be more open!!! Yay! Also, please send feedback! I want to know what you guys thing:)))

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5:

As soon as you hung up the phone with Bruce, you let out a long and shaky breath. Maybe he still doesn’t know you are. Maybe they didn’t show any pictures. Maybe…

Oh, who were you kidding? The chances of him not connecting the dots were at 5% or lower. It’s fine. It’s fine. You can avoid them. You are a busy woman. There was always going to be something to do that you could use as an excuse to not have dinner with them… But how long could you keep that up?

You placed your phone on the kitchen counter looking down at it. You had just walked through the door when your phone rang and the whole conversation started. Rolling your eyes at the turn of events you decided you would worry about it after you got out of your work clothes and made dinner.

You ran upstairs in your quaint little house that was vintage, something you always looked for in a house, but modern enough for comfort.

You put on a pair of grey joggers, a cropped tank top, and a simple sweater over it that always fell off your shoulder due to the size. You walked over to your vanity, and saw all your curls from today had been tousled due to you running your hands through them. A stressful habit you picked up. You quickly threw it up in a high ponytail and pulled a few strands out to loosen it a little.

Coming back down the stairs, you glanced at your phone again as you walked by it thinking if you should just pick it up and give into the invitation. Maybe it was time to face your fears after all these years...

No. Now was not the time.

You went to the fridge and started pulling out things to make a small meal. Homemade mac and cheese it was. You got the ingredients out and started boiling the pasta while the cheese and milk mixed.

Again, you looked over at your phone where it hadn’t moved from you coming in. You played with the threads of your sweater biting your lip really thinking about it.

“NO! No. You aren’t going to do it. Not worth it. You’ll be moving on in another 2 years. Not. Worth. It.” You silently cursed yourself.

The food was done, so you made yourself a bowl before grabbing your laptop and heading for the dining room table to eat and continue to work. Like you had said, there was always something to be doing. __

It had been 2 days since they called you and no one really brought it up since then. There were a few teasing remarks here or there directed at Steve, but nothing that was looked too much into.

Steve was in the kitchen with Sam reviewing their last mission when Tony came in.

“Hey Cap, mind if I talk to you for a minute?” he asked smiling at the two at the table.

“Sure, what’s up?” Steve said. Sam nodded and grabbed his protein shake before leaving just the two of them alone.

“So, I’ve noticed something that keeps coming up on the most recent search history on the house computers,” Tony said taking a seat across from Steve, and interlacing his fingers giving him a look.

Steve just went blank faced knowing what he was talking about, but didn’t want to exploit himself.

“What kinda thing?” Steve said fidgeting with some papers.

“I think you know,” Tony retorted with an eyebrow quirking up. “Something having to do with a women and quite possible love interest?”

“Tony, I-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Tony said putting up a hand. “I just wanted to see what the fascination was about. It looks like you’ve done quite a bit of research on her.”

“Yeah… I’ve been meaning to talk to Nat or you about that actually,” Steve mumbled.

“What about? How to ask her on a date? Cause you’re not going to find any good ways via internet,” Tony chuckled.

“No, I uh- I actually ran into her the other day before Banner’s meeting with her. She seemed like she knew me, but I didn’t really recognize her,” he let out a sigh. “Tony, she knew my name. She was walking off and called me Steven. I never said who I was.”

“Hmmm... Interesting,” Tony paused processing it. “Maybe she’s a fan. I mean a lot of the world does know who you are.”

“She didn’t seem like the fan girl type. Plus, they know Captain America. Not many care to know Steve Rogers.”

“Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from… Is that why you’ve been researching her? Trying to figure out where you know her from?”

“Yeah.”

“Any luck? I’m assuming not since your research hasn’t seemed to show anything no one already knows,” Tony laughed leaning back in his seat.

“You can see what I looked up?”

“Uh, duh. I created the computers and this smart house. Not that hard to see what you guys use it for,” he winked.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Since you already know everything now. Think you can help me dig a little more?”

“Sure! I’m kinda curious myself now. I’ll get right on it. I should have a whole file for you tomorrow some time,” He said getting up and heading for the exit.

“Stark!” Steve shouted making him turn back around. “Can you keep this between us? I don’t want everyone teasing me on it. It’s already a lot with Bucky.”

“I’ll do my best. But you know how my mouth works,” he winked shooting a finger gun before leaving.

Steve let out a sigh knowing there was definitely a chance of Tony making a scene out of all this. But then he heard Stark yell from the hallway.

“Don’t worry kid! I’ll keep my mouth shut!”

Steve laughed under his breath and went back to reviewing the papers. Now maybe he could get some work done knowing that the issue with figuring out who you were was being looked into.

The next morning, Cap was in the gym working out earlier than usual. He couldn’t get much sleep since he was anxious to see what Tony would find on you.

He had just ran 10 miles beating a new record time wise, and had done over an hour of different strength training when Tony made his way in dramatic as always.

“You owe me SO much for all the time and effort I put into this research. All 2 hours worth.” he said waving an manila folder toward the soldier.

Steve released the leg press he was doing, and grabbed a towel laying on the back of the chair.

“Two hours?” he said wiping the little bit of sweat that accumulated as he stood.

“Yeah, I started shortly after our little talk, and after QUITE a bit of information thrown at me, I made myself a nice bath and glass of scotch, and went to bed. Figured you would want it as soon as possible,” he said waving the folder at Steve who took it with a small smile.

“As soon as possible is 10 hours later?”

“You got it didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah. So, what did you find?” Steve said opening it and looking in it.

“Actually-” Tony closed the folder in Steve’s hand making him look him in the eyes confused. “I think we should grab Bucky, and sit down and go over what’s in there. It’s a little more, hmmm… What’s the word? Shocking, than I thought it would be…” Tony said crossing his arms and pursing his lips with a tilt of his head.

“Good or bad shocking?” Steve said worried.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that,” he said walking out. Steve close behind. “Where would Bucky be at this time of day?” he said turning the corner on the way to scout out the rest of the building.

“Ok, so you finally told Tony what’s going on?” Bucky said as they sat in Stark’s office gathered around the desk.

“More like he found out. He was checking the browsing history on computers and came across my search of Rosalyn,” Steve said leaning back in his chair.

“Wait, you go through the browsing history on the computers?” Bucky said all of a sudden nervous.

“Yes, and don’t worry Buck. I won’t tell anyone what I’ve found on your stuff,” Tony winked getting a glare from Bucky.

“Stark,” he gritted.

“What am I missing here?” Steve said perking up interested at his friends secret.

“Nothing. It’s not as weird as he’s making it out to be. Let’s just get back to the problem at hand. Steve. What did you find?” Bucky said avoiding the question and pushing on.

“It’s what I found, and I think you guys will be quite interested,” Tony said sliding a second file onto the desk toward Bucky so they each had one.

They opened and started flipping through the papers. After a few minutes, Bucky spoke up.

“I don’t get it. Why am I looking at multiple peoples information? I thought we were just talking about Rosalyn.”

Steve and Tony shared a solemn look before turning to Bucky who was looking between them.

“That’s the thing,” Tony said coming around the table and leaning against the front. “Like Cap said, nothing goes back further than 5 years for her. But… There are some people who look just like her that show up every once in a while. We have Emmeline Francis. Violet Transton. Amelia Manners. Ruby Grant. Renee Foster. Margaret Masters. Those were just a few that I found. I’m sure if I dug some more, than the list goes on. She has a thing for the more old fashioned names.”

“And the dates…” Steve said.

“Yeah, that’s another thing. The dates,” Tony said sighing. “They are 5-6 years apart. But somehow, she never ages. This supposed Rosalyn Ember, is either changing her identity ever 5-6 years, or her family has really strong genes and all the cousins look the same,” Steve and them sat for a second processing. “Of course, that’s not possible because each alias has no record of family. Either says she’s from foster care, dead parents, or nothing at all.”

“So, in conclusion…” Bucky breathed out picking up on what was happening.

“In conclusion, this Rosalyn Ember is looking like a lot of other people, and somehow knows who I am. Could she be, I don’t know, gifted or something? Because according to the time stamps and all the aliases, that makes her..” Steve started doing the math and shot his head up when he had the answer. “Almost as old as Bucky and I.” There was a pause. “Given that there are more names and identities she has, she could be in her 80’s or close to her hundreds.” he turned to Buck who was blank faced with his mouth open.

“Holy shit,” Buck muttered.

“I thought the same thing. And that, is why I needed a hot bath after all this.” Tony said putting his hands up and going back around the desk. “You know what we have to do now.”

“What?” Steve and Bucky said together.

“We have to investigate ourselves. Not just online, but in person.”

Steve and Tony made eye contact knowing exactly what needed to be done. The only way to get to the bottom of this wasn’t like this, but Steve talking to her himself.

Chapter 6

Used to be Overlooked Tag:

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insecure-amphibian · 5 years

Text

The end of a long chapter

On mobile, so of course cannot 'read more' my apologies to my friends.

This is an arc ending for Elliarie where I finally make her retired and half her really be happy. She'll be around more often, just in casual clothes and ready to share war stories with any fool willing to talk to her.

@olliehaldstan and @nyura-shadowstep since you seem to like my writing so much.

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The trek to Duskwood had been a long one. Not just for time, but emotionally. Every thought that crossed the graying woman’s mind was something along the lines of ‘Go home and forget it.’, ‘You aren’t worthy of their time any more.’.

‘You still get to see her when she comes to stormwind.’ She pushed on.

‘Don’t ruin that much.’ She resisted.

‘He never wants to see you again.’ Her heart ached as she walked further

‘Just go sit by his grave and wait for the inevitable.’ it shouted in her head.

‘Die with honor. Die with pride. Die on the battlefield like he did.’ Apart of her agreed with it. It was what she should have done. She’d been apart of this war for over thirty years. She should end it on the battlefield like her husband had. But she couldn’t do that. Not to her brother, not to his kids.

Apart of Elliarie’s mind looked at this cold, dark, ghostly forest as the beautiful and lush one it had once been. It still heard the birds that chirped in the healthy green trees and the many travelers who came here to look upon the legendarily beautiful part of Elwynn Forest. Another part looked at the forest and saw it for what it was, cold, dark desolate. It chilled her to try and recall what had happened. But she didn’t have to as soon as parts of the ruin of Darkshire started peeking through the overgrowth.

How in the world her brother thought it was safe to raise a family here, she could never understand. Had it still been the lovely forest and gorgeous town it once was, perhaps she could put it together. But it wasn’t. It was dangerous.

Stone rubble marked a place that had once been so incredibly important to her, the cross that once stood so tall acted more as a gravestone to the sacred place where she had learned to be a priest. It stood on the edge of town. It was a forgotten grave after thirty or so years, and honestly, it was fair. There was clearly no good in the light forsaken place. Otherwise it wouldn’t look the way it did. It broke Elliarie’s heart to look at it. But she hadn’t been there to stop it from happening, she shouldn't be there to grieve.

The ruins of the church marked the edge of town, beyond the fallen stones barely stood run-down wooden homes, likely crawling with termites. The stone pathway riddled with grass and cracks and all kinds of signals of wear. The Tavern looked lovely though. Perhaps because it was the only place that was commonly used by the people of Darkshire. For a moment Elliarie wondered if her brother was often there. But she knew Alois would never want to be like their father was. Not to his children.

The streets were nearly empty, not even lurkers looking to steal and ‘bargain’ walked the paths. Only the occasional under-dressed guard from the Night Watch passed through, casting skeptical, untrusting glares towards the old woman. It chilled Elliarie to her core, how these people could change so much. But the last time she had been here, felt like forever ago.

Across from the Tavern was a small place. A home with light smoke erupting from the chimney. It was maintained much better than the other homes on the edges of town. Not by much but they clearly tried. Newer planks of wood were nailed on top of old ones clearly covering holes, a thick cloth tarp sat over the roof shielding it from the elements as they likely couldn’t afford a whole new roof. On the other side of the windows sat cute homemade curtains made out of various fabric, none of which matched. But it gave them privacy. It almost looked the same from when it did when she was still young.

A deep breath escaped Elliarie’s lips as she approached the rotting steps, logs carefully cut and placed to replace what had been lost to time. Her hand raised next to her cheek in a fist, ready to knock on a door that for a moment looked like it would cave in when she did. But instead she stood there, fear shaking her bones.

Perhaps she would have preferred it if she were to drop dead right there, if the cruel hand of fate would finally unleash it’s hold on her and not make her face the consequences of her actions. But she was soon pulled out of when a shriek sounded from behind the wooden home, the shriek of a young child.

Elliarie had drawn her sword, not willing to traverse Duskwood without protection, she ran from the stairs and sprinted past a corner and along side the long wall of the house, coming face to face with a well maintained gate and on the other side of it short fields of wheat and picked berries, far on the other side stood a line of about a dozen or so trees with apples growing on the limbs and several ladders leaning on the trunks. In the farm a little boy sat curled up. Elliarie knew him, he was a sweet boy, but what had done this to him.

“Phoenix!” She called out, vaulting over the gate and running through the crops careful not to trample them as she went to comfort the boy.

He was small, only about four years old. He had thick ashy brown curls and skin that had the vaguest of purple tints to his otherwise pale white skin. His longer years drooped down as he slowly walked back and forth and his usually cheerful round face was stained with tears and flushed to an almost violet hue, even managing to hide the scar that adorned a good chunk of his left face. His otherwise soft brown eyes were closed tight as if he was trying to hide from something.

Elliarie had soon approached the young boy, skidding to a halt through the dirt and swiftly clambering to get to the boy’s side, wrapping her arms around him and taking him into her lap.

“Oh Phoenix sweetie! What happened?” Elliarie cooed, rocking back and forth slowly while the boy sobbed. He opened his eyes just the smallest amounts to realize who it was, turning to look at Elliarie as he launched himself upwards and wrapped his arms around her neck and hung on as if it was the last time he’d ever see her. And through heavy, snot-filled, sobs he explained the ever so dire and world ending story that he had just experienced.

“I was d-doing my job and scaring the.. The birds. And… and and one of them. One of them it was flying right at me and. I.. I was thinking it was gonna… that, that is, that it was gonna poke my eyes out!” He stammered into her shirt. Elliarie patted the hal-elves back a few times, struggling to control her laughter.

"Oh no! Baby…." She said affectionately, her laughter barely escaping with the phrase. "It's okay, auntie Ellie is here now." Elliarie spoke, comforting him.

It wasn't long after that a man came running from further beyond the farm. He was tall and built well and had a strong face complemented by the long stubble of a beard that was just beginning to grow back. His striking blue eyes were filled with worry as he rushed towards Elliarie and picked up the half elf from his arms. Cradling the toddler in one arm as he helped Elliarie off the ground.

"Sweetie are you okay?" He asked, his voice clearly raised an octave as he spoke the the child. But Phoenix was unable to respond through sobs. "Ellie what happened?"

"I heard a shout while at the front door and came to his rescue. Apparently one of the birds scared him." She informed, her voice soft as to not tell the child that she didn't relay his story directly as told.

"Thank goodness. We were all finishing up the north fields harvest when we heard him shout. I thought he was closer than that. Oh I'm so embarrassed. I must look like a horrible father right now." He laughed uncomfortably as he went to support his sobbing son with both arms.

"You're fine Lucan. I'm sure the town wouldn't let anything happen to him. Besides he's so adventurous, he might have been right behind you but got distracted with his scarecrow duty." Elliarie chuckled, wrapping an arm around Lucan and giving him a hug. Lucan laughed along, unable to return the hug due to the child that was still calling upon the protection of his big strong dad .

"Are you just in town on guard duty or are you here with that company again?" Lucan asked, looking her up and down, realizing something was off with her more casual attire.

"Actually…" she started, nervously rubbing her hands together. "That's what I came here to talk to you and Alois about." But she wasn't able to elaborate as soon two girls had jailed the woman between their arms. Both were much taller than her five-four. The one in front of her had bold blonde hair and rested her chin on Ellie's head, her blue eyes closed right as she and her sister rocked her from side to side a few times.

"Aunt Ellie! It's so nice to see you again!" The blonde declared stepping back.

"By the light Scarlett! The last time I saw you was just a few months ago, you shouldn't be this tall already!" Elliarie proclaimed, to which Scarlett laughed. Elliarie turned around to face the other girl, she was shorter than her younger sister. Her hair was a deep black color and her eyes brown in color. Her freckled cheeks turned up with a beautiful smile.

"Oh Solei! You too! Can you both stop growing and be short like your aunt?" She asked, reaching up to put an arm around both of their necks and bringing them down to eye level with her in an affectionate way. Giving them a tight squeeze around their shoulders before releasing them.

The last member of their lovely family as finally showed up. Shorter compared to the family, about five-six. His blonde hair was fairly short all around but longer on the top. His face was similarly structured to Elliarie, in that while long it was still fairly round and his tanned skin was dotted in far too many freckles. He was about seven years younger than his sister, but looked even younger when compared to her war torn age riddled features. His warm brown eyes looked at Elliarie with a cold glare.

"Good to see you're okay, Elliarie." He spoke, a passive aggressiveness in his tone as he approached his sister, arms folded over his chest.

"You too Alois. Really good to see that the family is doing well!" Elliarie laughed uncomfortably as she went on. "How's the harvest going?"

"We're done with the north fields. Just need to grab the bags and start on this one." Alois responded rather dryly as he motioned around him at the wheat.

Lucan butted in, handing the now, much quieter, yet still sniffling, Phoenix to his oldest sister.

"Well in that case, Solei, Scarlett? Can you both take Phoenix and grab what we picked? I think your father, Ellie and I are gonna go inside for a bit." He spoke as the two girls nodded, carrying Phoenix off past the wheat crops as the three adults disappeared inside.

The small tired home was quite cozy. The wooden floor covered in a cacophony of rugs and carpets. A nice couch and a few done chairs faced the now dying fire as Lucan rushed to revive the flames and continue the warmth through the home. Alois had taken a seat on the couch, his husband joining him soon after with an uncomfortable smile on his face.

"Why did you come back?" Alois started. His tone much more outwardly hostile than it had been in front of the children. "After everything you've done this past year? Why do you come back now!"

Elliarie felt his anger. He was so rightfully so. Last time she had sat down to talk to him it was after their march on Lordaeron. He had every right to be angry about that. She didn't blame him anymore.

"It's not about Solei this time, Alois. I came here because I had time to think-"

"Had time to think did you? I sure as hell hope you did!" Alois' body language spoke as if he wanted to lunge at his sister, but Lucan's hand was interlaced with his. It seemed to calm at least his physical temper slightly.

"You didn't talk to us for nearly a year! This was… this was an important year! Your own daughter turned sixteen! We welcomed Phoenix into this family, and he'll you turned fifty! We thought you'd come by for at least one of those. But instead you wish Solei a happy birthday when she's in town on her own time and only meet Phoenix when he's taken to visit! The least you could have fucking done was respond to the letter we sent you!"

Alois raged on, his brows furrowed as he ranted. Each word aimed into her heart as a personal attack, and she sat in a stunned silence contemplating as he went on.

"I don't even care about the Solei thing anymore! I know that you know she's my daughter. I know that you would realize that I was right! That's not what I'm angry about anymore, I'm angry about the fact that you decided to be so goddamn petty about the whole entire thing that you cut me, my husband and our kids out of your life until it was convenient for you!" Alois had thrown his hands up and changed his tone to directly mock Elliarie.

"'Oh look at that, my nieces and nephew are in town! They can stay with me but as soon as they step outside the city gate, I don't know them anymore!' you got so wrapped up in a king that doesn't even know exist, that you forgot about your own fucking family Elliarie. You got so involved in grief for someone that died nearly sixteen years ago because you saw him when you should have been dead. You got so involved in a war that's killing our planet that you forgot about the only people you had left. And that is what I'm angry about Ellie. I don't care what need you have! I just want to know what went through your head to think that any of that was perfectly acceptable!"

Alois' speech had ended in a shout, his anger resonating through the room as he leaned back on the couch with a huff. Nestling next to his husband as he bravely kept his tears back. It broke Elliarie's heart. She had practically raised her brother for seven years after Grand Hamlet fell, and his stance… it felt like an adults. He was an adult. He wasn't the sobbing twelve-year-old he had been when she last really looked over him. He was an adult, with responsibilities, with a family and people that depended on him. He was right. What she had done was immature.

"You're absolutely right Alois. I shouldn't have done all that. You're my brother. I should have listened to you right after I told you about Lordaeron. I shouldn't have distanced myself as much as I did. But I can't take that back now. What I can do is come and make amends. And that's what I plan on doing." Elliarie paused, watching Alois' demeanor relax in the slightest of bits.

"That's why I came to tell you something." Elliarie paused, ruffling through a pocket on her pants and pulling out a detailed gorgeous pin in that of of a golden lions get with a silver and white banner draping from its mouth.

"Yesterday the rest of the royal guard thanked my for my years of service to Stormwind and I officially retired. I have the rest of my life ahead of me and that's why I want to spend it with you." Elliarie spoke with a smile on her cheeks, pinning the adornment to her left breast.

"But along side that I wanted to offer you two and your family a place in Stormwind. It's safer there, it's easier for your kids to get around, the people are lovely and there is this nice little place near the farm where the Kal'dorei stay. I've saved up so much from work and retirement and the odd jobs on the side. And I really, really want to make it up to you."

The two men seemed to be stunned for a moment. Lucan looked towards Alois and murmured something Elliarie tried very hard not to hear. Alois seemingly didn't respond to him, only turning to his sister and standing up.

"No. You don't get to do that Elliarie. Safer or not this is their home and we've gotten along just fine. You don't get to barge in here and suddenly try to be the good guy. If you want to repair this relationship, you're going to work. And the way you can start is by helping finish harvest." Alois spoke. His voice still the smallest bits cold towards his sister as he extended a hand.

"And you better believe if you're going to start making it up, you're living under my roof here in duskwood."

Elliarie took his hand, and with sudden strength was pulled into her brothers arms in a tight hug. Elliarie wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight.

"I'll do whatever it takes, I promise. I missed you Ali."

"I missed you to Ellie."

#wow #WoW #world of warcraft bfa #warcraft #long post #my writing #wow RP #writing #wyrmrest rp #wyrmrest alliance #wow oc #Elliarie Newbury

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currebunz · 5 years

Text

Wearing nothing but a smile Ch 4

AO3 link

After a few days of planning, it was ultimately decided to have the meeting in the local park. At first, Hado had wanted to go to your home. An enthusiastic Togata jumped on board of the idea as well. Thankfully, Amajiki had voted against it with you, making it a tie. The four of you planned to meet on the weekend in the afternoon, allocating plenty of time to draw ideas. When you informed your parents of your outing, they were absolutely delighted. "You already made friends, I'm so proud" your mother praised you shamelessly. Your father nodded in agreement, handing you hero catalogs. "These are just lying around, take them for reference" he explained. By the time you left, you had a large bag of hero magazines and a box of homemade sweets. To add insult to injury, both parents pressured you into "dressing nicely".

You paced outside the park nervously, fingers playing with the loose bandages on your arms. Maybe you could come up with an excuse to not show? The stress of the situation made your stomach churn, go or leave? Could you even face them after that? You mind ran a mile a minute, distracting you from the airy Hado approaching. "Oh! There you are!" she waved to catch your attention. Hado's simple dress and heels made you feel relaxed, at least you weren't alone. "Did you get lost? The park is right there silly" she giggled taking your hand and dragging you in. You had to admit, Hado had some muscle to her lithe body...

As expected, Togata and Amajiki were already sitting under a tree conversing casually. As you and Hado approached, Togata looked up with a charming grin. "Fashionably late ladies?" he teased. Amajiki waved shyly, scooting closer to Togata so you could sit next to him. You sat across from Togata, Hado sat next to you across from Amajiki. Your little square of awkward glances and bright smiles held a suffocating silence. "So, what'cha got? Huh? Huh?" Hado broke the silence. She bounced in her seat excitedly looking over your large bag. "My dad gave me some old hero catalogs to use as reference" you explained as you pulled out the stack of magazines. "Woah! What does your dad do?" Togata took a share of the stack, handing Amajiki a portion as well. "He's an artist, he mostly does graphic design for Hero merchandise" you explained. "How interesting!" Hado bubbled with joy. She glanced in your bag and grabbed the container. "Oh, this smells yummy" she shook the container gently, listening to the sound from inside. "Hado, that's rude..." Amajiki weakly protested. "It's fine, my mom made some snacks for us" you shrugged off the situation with ease.

Without further permission, Hado opened the container and placed it in the center of the square. "Let's begin eating! Oh, and thinking!" she added quickly. Togata and Amajiki began scanning over the catalogs while Hado discussed color schemes with you. "Something that goes well with your hair color would be great, but also complimenting your complexion" she muttered aloud. "Can I request warm colors?" you offered. She tilted her head, looking you over. "Some dark and cool colors too, you're more of the mature type" she agreed. "Mature?" you repeated. "Yeah! I can see you being a mature hero, kind of like a big sister type or a dominatrix!" Hado explained. She began explaining the mature traits of Midnight and Ryukyu, two well known female heroes. As Hado began going into great "detail", the two boys became restless.

"And so! Something like-" Hado was cut off by Amajiki tearing a page. "My bad" he apologized folding the page back into the magazine. "I think we should avoid an 18+ costume" Togata suggested. For once, you were thankful for him. "I know, I know, I'm just spitballing here" Hado defended herself. Togata presented a page he had been staring at for a while. "How about this? It's kinda pretty" he smiled. The image advertised a former hero, 'Marionette'. The costume was designed in a gothic and elegant style. "That is a bit too much, I don't think I'd be able to maneuver in that" you explained. Togata looked it over again, processing your words. "Hmm, it might be easier if we knew more about you" he suddenly grinned. Amajiki knew that grin too well, another plan.

"That's a good idea! Let's hear it" Hado exclaimed. "Keep the questions appropriate Hado" Amajiki set up a precaution before Hado could speak. "Okay, okay" she laughed. "First thing first! Your quirk is?" Togata leaned forward expectantly. You shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, now that you thought of it, your quirk name was embarrassing. "Well, my quirk is called 'Gula Armatus', which literally means 'Arms of Gluttony'" you explained. All three of them blinked in confusion and awe. "M-my parents originally moved from Spain! The name was decided over there so it's a bit grandiose" you added quickly. "That sounds really cool! What can you do?!" Togata shouted. "Is that why you wear bandages? Can I see? Can I?" Hado leaned closer to you, her fingers tracing the bandages on your arms.

"Guys, I don't think it's fair to pry that much" Amajiki's outburst came as a surprise. Hado paused, sitting back with a frown. Togata also settled down. "I'll admit, I don't like my quirk that much so I'd rather not show it off" you explained. Amajiki nodded in understanding. "Remember, we're focusing on the costume" he scolded. "Wow, that is very shocking to hear from you Amajiki" Hado's blunt remark made Amajiki shudder. "Haha, well he's normally this way when he can get it out!" Togata laughed. "Guys...." Amajiki held his stomach, no doubt experiencing cramps from being put on the spot. "Before Amajiki passes out, let's continue" you shifted the attention off Amajiki. "Right, well you would want something without sleeves then..." Togata trailed off in thought. "Something stylish but easy to move in!" Hado clapped her hands together as she came up with an idea. She excitedly shifted through the magazines in search of a reference. "Here! Here!" Hado pointed to the page she held open.

There was a female hero in tactical wear. "We can change the color for now so you don't look so lethal" Hado explained. "I think you'd look in great in it!" Togata was in favor of the outfit as well. "It's up to her" Amajiki reminded the two. You looked over the outfit, it wasn't unappealing. "My midriff would be exposed, but I think I can deal with it" you nodded. The crop top would take some getting used to, but it met your standard of mobility. "Then it's settled, any suggestions for color?" Togata asked. You shrugged, still foreign to the making of a costume. "As I said, it should match with her looks" Hado pouted, annoyed that she had to repeat herself. "Sorry! Come to think of it, your arms are a different color than your skin" Togata turned to you with a curious look. "That is true" you didn't like the little glint in his eyes. "In that case, we'll need to see them" he continued.

And here you thought you would get away with it. Amajiki appeared exhausted, no longer coming to your aid. "You don't have to use your quirk, but just show us your arms" Hado joined in. Through her calm demeanor, you could see the child-like curiosity. "Fine, but don't scream" you warned. You slowly unwrapped your bandages, your fingers visibly shook as you removed coverage of your left arm. Togata, Hado, and even Amajiki had eyes glued onto your left arm. As splotches of garnet appeared, you heard a few gasps. "It's not an injury..." you threw that out to calm them. You finished unveiling your arm, displaying your monster-like arm. You drew your claws back into a tight fist on reflex, fighting the urge to bandage it back up. The silence was slowly killing you. "Say something already..." you muttered, shifting nervously.

"It's such a pretty color" Hado smiled. Her hands hovered over your arm. "Can I touch?" she asked this time. You nodded, watching her trace the top of your arm. "Don't touch that" you warned as she drew closer to the carmine color of your underarm. "Why?" she pulled her hands back slowly. "Well, I can destroy objects by 'eating' them so I am able to taste there" your voice became quiet as you began to recall your first encounter with Togata. Your cheeks burned red, you hoped he wouldn't be able to do the math with that one. "Ah ha! Now I get the gluttony part" Togata reached forward and placed his hand on top of your fist. "W-wait!" you felt him pull your hand open carefully. Your palm rested in him, causing shock to flow over you. It was a fear of yours that you would harm someone with your quirk, hence the bandages.

As time passed, you realized nothing was happening. you tilted your head in confusion. Togata, on the other hand, appeared over the moon. "Your hand is kinda cold but really soft," he said aloud. Hado was smiling knowingly, she leaned over to you. "What's Togata taste like?" she asked. You cleared your throat in surprise, choking on air. "L-like skin?" you managed to choke out. From the corner of your eye, you could see Amajiki in deep thought. Suddenly, he jolted upright. He stared at you, then to your hand joined with Togata, and then back to you. In a matter of seconds, his face exploded with redness. "Tamaki? Are you okay?" Togata glanced back at him worriedly. "I-I'm fine!" he squeaked out. He definitely caught on, you only hoped he wouldn't tell Togata. "Ah ha! You wanna hold her hand too! Don'tcha?!" Hado teased.

Somehow, it led to you holding hands with Hado and Amajiki as well. You felt your eyes sting with tears afterward. "Are you okay?" Togata's eyebrows furrowed in worry. His smile was replaced with a small frown. "Y-yeah...it's just that it's been a long time since I felt another person's hand" you explained as you wiped your eyes. Hado shared a glance with the others. Togata was the first to speak up. "Well, if you ever want to hold hands, you don't even need to ask" he shot you another charming smile. "How shameless!" you heard Hado giggle. Amajiki wore a small smile, not surprised by Togata's words. "I-I'll keep that in mind" you began to bandage your arm back up.

"Oh yeah, why not go with a black and dark red color?" Hado offered. She reminded you all about the costume. "That sounds good, let's write this down" Togata began making some quick notes for you. "Make sure to add the clipping for reference" Amajiki reminded him. Hado had already begun tearing out the page carefully. You watched in awe, they diligently put together a folder for you. "Make sure you submit that to Ectoplasm, it may take a while for your costume to arrive through" Hado hummed happily. You took the folder graciously. "I will" it felt heavy in your hands despite being mostly paper.

"It's getting late, we should call it a day" Amajiki announced, displaying the time on his phone. "Aww, just when things were getting good" Hado whined. Although, she appeared happy as ever. "Let's trade numbers, we can talk later" Togata suggested. Hado whipped her phone out in an instant before Amajiki could put his away. She began trading numbers with him, leaving you and Togata to do so. "Um, so how..." you hadn't exchanged numbers with anyone before. "Like this" Togata took your hand and opened your phone to the option to exchange numbers. "Then you shake it like this" he gently rocked your hand in his. The small beep told you that the deal was made. You watched a message bubble appear with a smiling emoji. "That 's me!" Togata laughed. You edited the name to match his, then repeated the action with Hado and Amajiki.

Now it was time to say goodbye. Hado waved goodbye excitedly, leaving with a skip in her step. You headed in the other direction, waving back awkwardly. "See you guys..." you tried to smile, managing a sheepish grin. Togata and Tamaki waved back, heading home together. "That was a lot" Amajiki sighed, he felt more spent than in hero training. "That was fun, we should all get together again," Togata said as he stared ahead. Amajiki watched his friend carefully, he really hadn't caught on. "Good job with getting closer to ____, you didn't fuzz up this time" Amajiki praised him. Togata glanced at his friend, a small blush on his cheeks. "Well, I gotta admit..."

"I really liked holding her hand"

#mirio x reader #bnha mirio #mha mirio #mirio togata #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fanfic #reader-insert

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daniellehelenamusic · 5 years

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...And Sometimes People are Magical

It was a Monday in November…the chaos of cooking a Thanksgiving feast was over, and I finally had a day to run errands and breathe a little. I woke up later than I should have, packed up some orders, got dressed without showering, smoked a blunt, and headed to the train station to hop on the subway to 125th. This day’s journey was made possible by my favorite mom jeans (which now have the under-cheek rip, but I refuse to let go), my “Got Melanin?” t-shirt via @secrettisout (which I cropped because I am who I am), a scarf from one of my friend’s giveaway piles, my brand new favorite winter coat copped from Goodwill the day before, and a Kalustyans bag (my favorite store in Manhattan) holding two orders from two Queens I have loved since 5th grade (my Domi and my Juju). And yes, there was a fanny pack on deck. I was dressed in my "Dani doesn't give a fuck" best, and my curls were bouncy and didn’t look slept on, so I had a mild feeling it was going to be a good day (shouts out to my conditioner bars).

As I reached the top of the stairs at 125th, I was stopped by the most gentle human who leaned in to show me his phone. I thought he was a tourist about to ask for directions, (mostly because of the camera), but as soon as I saw the screen on the Humans Of New York Instagram, I remember saying “Oh my God you’re famous!”. Mercury was in retrograde so I had no idea what this chance encounter would lead to, but he asked if he could take my picture and ask a few questions to which I responded, “Of course!”

Can we talk about how amazing Brandon Stanton is? He pulled it out of me with a simple question: what do you struggle with? And I remember thinking for a second, and recalling a conversation I had with my squad a few days earlier—time. Time is what I struggle with. I do so many things that it feels like I never have time to do nothing. And sometimes it’s good to go on vacation and do nothing. He inquired further about all that I do and developed this look of amazement when I was still listing things. He asked when I was going to give up since being this busy is not sustainable, and I convinced him that when you are passionate about something, you just have to do it, and remain consistent. Eventually, you will reach a solid fanbase that is large enough to make the art sustainable. Everything I do, I thoroughly enjoy doing, so I can’t imagine doing much else. We joked about shitty jobs I’ve had, and talking to him about all the things I love doing made my heart smile.

Before we parted ways, he mentioned that music is subjective, but everybody buys soap. I neglected to mention I was only making batches of ten bars at a time using all natural and mostly organic ingredients. My bars didn’t stand a chance with the HONY community; I simply didn’t have enough. I was making product in batches of 10-20 items, which was plenty for my squad of supporters, but after our encounter, I had to start looking for ways to upscale my soap-making production. And I figured I had plenty of time since he mentioned he might post the photo a few months later. Whoops…

Fast forward two weeks and my life changed. One chance encounter with a well known photographer managed to restore my faith in humanity. I received phone calls, comments, emails, DMs…the love from complete strangers was beyond overwhelming. Apparently my crazy lifestyle choices and stubbornness are inspiring to dreamers everywhere. I CRIED ALL THE TEARS. When people shared my struggles and messaged me only to remind me that I was not alone, I could not handle life…SO. MANY. TEARS. I felt so full of love that I forgot to eat most days, and I ended up foregoing holiday decorating in my apartment and properly celebrating because I was so busy trying to fulfill the huge surge of orders before flying home for Christmas. The responses I received from the post still inspire me on a daily basis. When I feel like shit, all I have to do is reread the messages to remind myself this life is worth something and what I’m doing has value.

What I love most: I was able to connect with people beyond just Instagram through the feature. My website got hundreds and thousands of views from almost every country with internet, and my store received far more orders than I was capable of processing as a solo operation. My friends and New York family came together to not only help me package and ship products, but to show me that I had a village. We may not see each other everyday, but we make time for each other when in need. I was definitely in need. And I definitely love them forever for coming to the rescue. It is easy to say a product is made with love, but in the aftermath of the HONY post, I can proudly say everything I create is made with hella love--you know...that happy cry love that makes you want to hug strangers (with their consent).

As an employee of the service industry, the phrase “I hate people” comes out of my mouth more than it should, but only because a noticeable fraction of the people I encounter are, in fact, terrible. The majority of us are generous, caring, loving, and supportive, and I am eternally grateful for Brandon’s ability to bring out the best in people. His community of followers is the most amazing collective of people from all over the world, and I hella love them. So yes, sometimes people are shitty, but what makes life awesome is the fact that sometimes people are magical, and they can change your life for the better. I love all of those people. Thank you to all the magical humans inspiring me everyday to continue being my most authentic self.

And thanks to Brandon and all of my new friends and supporters, I was finally able to invest in equipment to make soap in much larger batches, so stay tuned for more bars, and more homemade goods. Thank you guys!

#inspiration #love #gratitude #humanity #humansofny

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all-alone-he-turns-to-stone · 6 years

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Gladly Mistaken

Summary: Loving Halloween is one thing. Attending a party is another. Being called slut by your boyfriend is painful. Drinking is a normal reaction. But kissing the wrong person in costume? It can either be pathetic or having a surprising ending.

Word Count: 2772

Pairing: Reader x Dylan O’Brien

Forever tag list: @multilovee @5sospoplikerock @rosecoloredshawn @mieczzyslaw

Warning: Swearing, mention of dirty things huhu

A/N: So this is my entry for @obrosey-af Halloween writing contest challenge with the prompt to like kiss wrong person in costume! I love Halloween but I never get to chance to celebrate. My school was not decorated. No one was dressed up. Even no candies. Yeah. Sucks. But there’s so many good fics on tumblr! I doubt mine is as much as good as the ones I read but here, this is my Halloween gift to all of you!

Don’t be mistaken. I loved to attend partys, especially when it was Halloween. It was my favorite holyday, I loved spending hours making my own costumes, creating them to be more than perfect. Armed with my sewing machine and a good dose of patience, I was unbeatable. So, of course, when Josh, my boyfriend since a few months, told me that there was a costume party at his favorite bar, I jumped of joy, grabbed my costume and used the last days to work on it. Between Josh and me it wasn’t the joy lately, he became distant, cold and could stop texting me for many days without saying anything to finally appear in front of my house with a big smile, flowers and a package of condom. So when he told me about the party, knowing my passion for Halloween, it touched me.

He was still thinking of me.

And besides, I had promised him a costume to go in pair with me. Many hours of hard work later, fingers stung to the blood and time I could have taken to study, I finally finished our costumes and the joy I had to put mine and give his to Josh gave me a huge smile on the face that stayed all day until the evening of the event.

Deciding to surprise my boyfriend, I went to get ready before he arrived. I slipped the stockings on my thighs and then put on the blue and red shorts. The length of it made me quite uncomfortable, but I was ready to put on the costumes I had long worked on. Then I placed my feet in the high-heeled boots entirely homemade, the master piece of my costume. The little, slightly torn white, red and blue crop top next with the bracelets, the necklace with the inscription pudding and the fake tattoos. Then, I worked my face, applied a temporary color in my hair to make it blond and tied them in two ponytails on each side of my head which I dyed one end blue and the other pink. I put on makeup to my lips, eye shadow same color to my hair around my eyes, and finally, the final touch, the fake tattoo on my cheek and the baseball bat.

I looked at myself one last time in the mirror and sketched my most psychopathic smile that I could, trying to appear as my character.

Then, someone knocked on my door, making me jump. I glanced at my cell phone next to me on the bathroom counter to notice that I had spent more than two hours preparing myself. I sighed, a smile stretching my red lips before gamboling towards the front door, my baseball bat in hand to go open to my boyfriend. I was anxious to see his reaction seeing me dressed like that, because I was very proud of my shot. However, when I opened the door, my smile disappeared as fast as a kick that can be administered between the legs of a gentleman, the disappointment curving my lips down for a pout.

"Oh, babe, Harley Quin! Wow, you're hot!” Josh entered, gave me a kiss on the lips before heading to my kitchen after slamming my ass violently, leaving me freezing on the spot.

"I thought ..." I started, closing the door while he was helping himself in my fridge, catching a beer between his black-gloved fingers. I swallowed, trying to regain my joy. "That we ... we were having costume duo... "

A nervous and embarrassed laugh made my chest tremble as I glanced at the sofa where I had carefully folded his costume.

"Oh, sorry babe. I bought a suit with Mary yesterday. She wanted to see me in Batman, but hey, it doesn’t matter, Harley and Batman are still a duo, right? Aw, come on, don’t act like a kid,” Josh ended by throwing his beer already empty in the trashcan, passing in front of me to go out without forgetting to grab my ass as he passed. "Come on, I'll be in the car," Batman ordered and left my apartment without waiting for me. My eyelids closed and I took a deep breath to calm myself down.

"All right, Y / n. Your nice little shit of a boyfriend just forgot you made him a costume to go buy one with his slutty ex. Everything’s fine. It's Halloween, what can go wrong? "

And it was on these unconvincing words that I nodded, got out of my apartment and left the Joker costume in my living room, untouched.

I was wrong.

When we arrived, the loud music greeted us, making my rib cage tremble. On the way, several people hooted at me and whistled, something I wasn’t used to, but I stayed in the character. My bat on my shoulder, I sent them my best psychopath smile while following Josh who went automatically to the bar to order a drink.

"You sound like a whore," his voice shouted over the music, making me turn my head sharply towards him, my eyes wide.

"What ?!” I indignantly stared as he sipped his glass of amber alcohol.

"All the guys are looking at you, and you're smiling at them. I don’t recognize you anymore, Y / n. "

And on those very hurtful words, my boyfriend raised the corner of his mouth, a sign of pure selfish judgment and left me alone at the bar. I saw batman going somewhere until I lost him in the sea of costumed people. I swallowed my tears, bit my lower lips and closed my eyes, not wanting to cry, not here, not now. But the pain in my chest was strong. So when I opened my eyes, it was to order a shooter.

A shooter turned into two, then three, then four, mixing through some beer and glass of whiskey, almost all paid by men trying on the small and helpless Harley Quinn. But all retreated, receiving insults and threats, my baseball bat dangerously pointed at them.

My brain was so numb that I didn’t really know where I was anymore, the smell of sweat and alcohol, added to the loud music and the fast, colorful lights were starting to make me sick. I had to go out to get some fresh air. I searched for the well-seeing red light board indicating the exit. Once I founf it, I took my bag and my baseball bat and started to steer myself towards the exit, my heels starting to be hard to walk with.

Something to my right suddenly caught my eye. A black and rather tall figure wearing a cape and a bat mask was in conversation with a very beautiful and sexy catwoman with a plunging neck line. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol in my blood or just my anger, or even my exhausted patience, but to see Batman, aka my boyfriend soon to be my ex flirting with a girl more beautiful than me wearing skin-tight leather pissed me off. I walked towards him firmly, my heels slamming loudly at each step and I stopped near them. Since I wasn’t getting noticed by either of them, I poked the shoulder of Batman. The latter turned to me and without letting him the chance to speak, I pressed my mouth against his own while keeping his face forcibly close to mine by holding his neck strongly with my hand that didn’t hold my bat. I opened my lips and let my tongue go out, making the kiss hot and very wet, tasting the spice of his last glass of alcohol he had consumed. I deliberately looked at the catwoman in the eyes while washing the inside of his mouth with my tongue, feeling his moans vibrating against my lips without hearing them under the deafening music. As soon as I finished, a steam of saliva connected our mouths a moment, I sent him the most powerful slap I could, making his head tilt to the side. Then, satisfied, I placed my bat on my shoulder and left without waiting for my rest.

As soon as I was outside, I took a deep breath, the fresh air of the October night was real refreshment for my lungs. I had taken without noticing the rear exit that led to the alley between the bar and the next building, but that didn’t matter to me. I had some peace, peace to try and put my ideas back in place. Once my lungs were well ventilated, the music sounding softly in my ears, I walked to a small concrete step and sat there to then look in my bag for cigarettes. Still angry and numb by alcohol, I looked for my lighter. Once it was in my hands, I placed my palms near the mouthpiece so the wind didn’t extinguish the flame and scraped my thumb on the small metal gear that emitted a little muffled sound, but no fire. I groaned and tried several times, but each time a little smoke and an annoying sound told me that there was no more gas in my lighter.

I swore loudly, throwing my lighter away as I rolled my eyes in my eyelids and tried but in vain to drive away the tears from running down my cheeks, spoiling the makeup that had taken me so much time to do.

My phone rang in my bag, alerting me of a text message. I grabbed it with one hand, the other still holding my cigarette, to see a message from Josh.

Josh: Left with Mary. Couldn’t find you. Later.

I groaned, outraged, my breath stuck in my lungs as I saw the message. Not only was he abandonning me, alone, on foot, away from home ... but with his ex?

"Somebody kill me ..."

Totally absorbed by the contemplation of the puddle of water at my feet, my head between my hands and my elbows resting on my lap, I didn’t notice the lapse of time where the music became louder. Neither the sound of footsteps of a person walking towards me. I knew I was no longer alone only when the significant sound of a lighter that lit made me jump, a flame of a comforting orange dancing before my eyes. A gasp of relief escaped my lips and I rushed my cigarette against the flame, the other mouthpiece in my mouth and took a long and satisfying nicotine puff, thanking the person without looking at him.

"No problem," he replied in a deep, husky voice, a voice that shook my whole body. That voice, I knew it. But where did I hear it? The pale smoke left my lips as I exhaled slowly and looked up to see who had lit me. A black coat, a cloak, if I hadn’t heard his voice I would have been persuaded it was Josh. But when I saw his face, minus the mask, my mouth paralyzed open. Luckily I held my cigarette in my hand because it would have fallen into the water.

"Wow. Either I drank too much, which I doubt because I often drink more, or they changed the ingredients in this ... " I glanced at my cigarette in my hand, then back to the Batman. "You really look like Dylan O'Brien. You even have the same voice," I continued as I got up, pointing him with my hand holding my cigarette. He also had one in his hand now without the black glove and the smoke came out of his mouth irregularly when he burst out laughing.

"Oh. I thought you knew it when you kissed me... But when you hit me afterwards I realized that you must have been mistaken, Harley Quin."

This time, the cigarette fell from my mouth and went out into the puddle, my mouth still frozen wide open, exactly like my eyes staring.

" Oh. No. I. Am. So. Fucking. Sorry.” I put my hands in my face, remorse and embarrassment too strong. "I ... I took you for my boyfriend ... well, my ex, I mean ... it's complicated ..." I pulled my fingers out from my eyes to spy on the Batman who was Dylan fucking O'Brien. "He's an asshole that just left with his ex. Leaving me alone. Without any way to get back home.” I laughed nervously, dropping my hands near my hips.

"It sucks," Dylan commented, raising a compassionate eyebrow and handed me his cigarette. At first, I shook my head, not wanting to abuse the poor actor who had eaten my hand on my face.

"You've washed my tonsils with your tongue, I'm pretty sure you did. We can share a small mari joint."

I shrugged and took what he held out, taking a deep breath before stopping. Had he said… marijuana joint?

"So what does Dylan O'Brien do at a Halloween party?” I let the smoke slowly out through my nostrils, savoring the special and numbing taste.

"The same as Harley Quin ..." He answered, detailing me with his amber eyes rather black in the darkness of the alley. "Do you want to finish that elsewhere?” He offered, taking another puff.

I don’t know why I accepted. Neither why he had proposed. Maybe the mix of different alcohol, cigarettes and marijuana, adding to the rising heat in me of having one of my favorite actors in front of me, dressed as Batman and inviting me to celebrate Halloween with him, but I accepted. I took my baseball bat and followed him, a smile probably looking creepy on my face since the makeup was ruined, but oh well. It fitted the character.

The first thing that woke me the next day wasn’t the horrible migraine, or the ray of light that filtered between the curtain and the window. It was the loud, shrill ringing sound of my phone that rang out into the deepest corner of my head, making me cringe with rage as I blindly grabbed my bag to answer, my eyes still closed. My other hand was on my forehead in order to calm the pain.

"Hello ..." I answered in a pasty voice.

"Y / n! Where are you?! You spent the night elsewhere? What happened?” Josh was screaming in my ears. He had let me down. And he was shouting at me. I groaned and cut him off.

"You're an asshole, Josh. A bastard full of shit. I leave you, it’s over, go fuck your ex," and on these words, I closed my cell and threw it somewhere in the room where it fell into a soft sound.

After turning in the bed, my arm touched something soft and cold, fabric resembling satin of hotel sheets. My eyes still closed, I mumbled some incoherent sentences for myself.

"Wow. I dreamed I had taken Dylan O'Brien disguised as Batman for my ex. Wow. Haha ..." I laughed, running a hand under the blanket only to touch my bare skin. Without worrying about the pain, I opened my eyes sharply, staring at the white and a little too luxurious ceiling.

"Why am I naked. In a Kingsize bed too expensive for me. In a hotel room."

"Because it wasn’t a dream," a mocking voice I recognized near my ear to my right gently made, making my head turn sharply to its source. And there, beside me was lying Dylan O'Brien, head against his palm and elbow on the pillow, starting at me with the most beautiful smile of the universe, his messy hair making him only more adorable.

"Oh. God.” I couldn’t believe it. In a random and confused act I lifted the blanket to look underneath and see that he was as naked as me. "Oh my God.” Everything came back to me. I followed him to his hotel room. We talked, drank, smoked, it was good. He had said how beautiful I was, gently caressing the skin of my arms when he could have easily touched my thighs. Respect was present even with alcohol and drugs. And when he had said how much my tongue kissing technique still required some practice, I told him to teach me.

And we. Had. Sex. Together. Sex. Him. With. Me.

"Oh my fucking God. "

"Call me Dylan," he whispered softly in a voice that made me melt inside. "That's the name I made you scream last night ... Harley Quin. Or should I say ... Y / n?"

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wyntersriddle · 4 years

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Characters: Barry Allen, Leonard Snart, Iris West, Cisco Ramon, Eobard Thawne | Harrison Wells, Lisa Snart, Wally West, Mick Rory, Hartley Rathaway, Mark Mardon, Shawna Baez, Ray Palmer, Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen, Joe West, (more characters to be added as more chapters are added)

Additional Tags: Inspired by Miraculous LadybugAlternate Universe - College/UniversityAlternate Universe - Different PowersBarry Allen is a cinnamon rollBarry Allen & Leonard Snart are the Same AgeThief Leonard SnartCisco Ramon is so DoneLeonard Snart is chat noirBarry allen is ladybugNew Ladybug Miraculous HolderI Will Go Down With This ShipFluff and SmutEventual SmutEventual Happy EndingPre-RelationshipOther Additional Tags to Be Added

Language: English

Summary:

When Barry Allen finds a small black box he ends up getting superpowers of creation from a little red bug called a kwami. Similarly, Leonard Snart steals another box and gets his own superpowers of destruction. Together, they must fight through evil monsters, awkward lunch dates, and save Central City while still trying to graduate college.

Inspired by the show Miraculous Ladybug

Barry huffed out a breath when he finally collapsed in his seat for first period a few minutes past 10am.

He was already late as it was and lugging around his thick textbooks and laptop did nothing but hurt his lower back. The class was a good size, not too cramped or empty, the lecture was interesting enough, and all Barry could do was squirm in his chair the whole hour and a half. College life was sure could be exhausting.

Central City Academy housed the greatest legends to date and Barry wanted to meet them all. Teachers like Martin Stein, head of the criminology department, David Singh, head of the detective agency, and Sara Lance, the Dean for almost 15 years, were all on his list to attend their seminars. The creme of the crop though was Doctor Harrison Wells, the lead field expert in all technology and science. If Barry could somehow meet him, he would be on the top of the world and could die happily. Even if nothing else came from today, at least he could say he walked on the same sidewalk Dr. Wells drove past every morning.

Barry’s first class was taught by Martin Stein, an older gentleman with white hair he could see a mile away. He took notes diligently, asked questions, and before walking out introduced himself. Professor Stein was elated to find out Barry’s major was in Forensic Science, the “modern prosperity of the future” as the professor put it, and even went so far as to invite Barry back for coffee in the next coming weeks to discuss participating in some experiments of his own.

Barry basically skipped out of his class, not bothering to look forward until it was too late and he collided head first into someone wearing huge glasses hiding half their face. Something hot spilled all over Barry’s jacket and he shrieked, dropping his textbooks and messenger bag in a heap on the floor.

“Ow! Omg I’m so sorry—“

The person reached forward to prevent the hot drink from spilling any further, instead knocking the sunglasses off her face. She dove into her bag and brought out a napkin.

“Here, let me help you with that. I’m such an idiot for forgetting the lids.”

“That’s alright,” Barry said, already peeling his hoodie away from his body before his t-shirt could get wet. The smell of coffee hit him head on. “I didn’t like this jacket anyways.”

Truth be told it was his favorite jacket, the only memento Barry had of his dad in prison and his mom before she had passed away from cancer in the beginning of the year. By that time, Barry had already graduated high school, done his first two years of college, and moved to Central City to start his Bachelors that fall, wanting to put his past behind him and start from scratch somewhere new.

“Hey, wait.” The lady put her hand on Barry’s sleeve when he bent to get his stuff. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

The young woman could have come out of a fashion magazine with her dark skin, long black hair, and dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Now that Barry looked at her, like actually looked at her, she was familiar too, even if he couldn’t place her from where.

“I don’t think so?” Barry said instead, reaching for his bag and wincing where he heard something shift. “I’m sorry but I really gotta get to class.”

“Right.”

She helped stack up the remaining books into his arms, watching out of the corner of her eye so Barry didn’t topple and fall from the added weight.

“Wait a second.”

Barry was pushed forward and then he almost did land on his ass. The books held up in their pile and he shot the woman a look of exasperation.

“Barry Allen? Like as in the Barry Allen? It’s me, Iris.”

“Iris?”

Barry was finally able to cram the textbooks next to his laptop in his bag and watch as Iris grinned back at him.

Oh...that’s why he had thought she was a model.

“Hey, it’s you, Iris.” Barry rubbed his neck, fighting a blush. “Long time no see.”

“It’s been forever,” Iris chatted. Barry could now smell the sweetness of her perfume. “How are you? Last time I saw you you were pushing the swing behind me and making those really weird experiments in middle school. Damn it’s been forever.”

“Yeah...It really has.”

Iris West, Barry’s childhood crush was staring at him and only remembered those lame volcano projects he had done. How convenient she didn’t remember all the valentine letters or the chocolate bars for Secret Santa he would leave at her desk, not to mention all the time he had spent staring at her yearbook photo before he had given up his freshmen year when she had transferred schools.

“You look good,” Barry continued, his heart in his throat. “You go here?”

Iris did that cute hair flip she had perfected at the end of 8th grade where her hair had only gone up to her shoulders. Long hair really worked for her.

“Yeah, I’m majoring in journalism so I can finally run my own news stand in the future. Still haven’t given up just yet.”

Ah yes, Iris had always been obsessed with journalism and creative writing, even making her own club in middle school. Barry had wanted to join but never had the guts to ask.

He really had to go before he fell further into the rabbit hole that was Iris’s big brown eyes.

“I...Uh,” Barry stuttered, motioning with his hands. “I gotta—Class.”

Iris must have gotten the message because she moved back to give him space. “Right.”

Barry nodded.

They said their goodbyes and Barry retreated out of there faster than a cheetah on steroids. Iris had promised coffee one of these—something he would have to psyche himself up for later—and he had said yes, like an idiot.

Although it had been good to see her...

Barry snapped his brain back to the real world. Iris was unattainable. She was attractive, bold, smart, the total package. Never, in a million years, would she want to go out with someone like him, neighborhood geek whose ideal date was staying home marathoning Stranger Things on Netflix and taking a nap.

A breeze swept leaves up into the late September air, carrying the scent of fall. The tree colors were changing from their typical green to golden brown and burgundy, Barry’s favorite time of year. It was automatically calming, even without the thin protection of his jacket the autumn sunshine turned his hair light brown.

The next class was short, a lecture on the introductions to the psychology of the human brain. It wasn’t as interesting as Barry would have thought with a lot more PowerPoint explications then talking, but he would make do. He also made sure his laptop wasn’t cracked or broken before placing it carefully back in his bag and jogging to the food court to find something to eat.

Barry had the all in one meal plan since he lived on campus. Having the ability to eat anything he wanted without gaining too much weight always had its perks, especially when he ordered the juiciest burger he could find and munched on it in one hand while holding a large vanilla shake in the other.

It was around 2pm and the food court was a bustle of activity. People gathered to sign up for clubs or talk to their peers about their assignments. Jazz music filtered from a sit down Italian restaurant, while across from it a huge crowd waited their turn for homemade pizza slices. There were vending machines, snack stands, and even an ice cream parlor tucked in the corner. At the center of it all the library stood proudly, the only place where food wasn’t allowed past a certain point. There was even a system to rent entire rooms for the day for people to sleep, study, or scream because of finals.

Barry moved onward, trading the shouts and loud noises for the quiet outdoors where again another breeze caught his attention. A blue bird twittered down at him from its nest, a squirrel chittered, and lizards liked the lips from across the treetops.

Barry had to seriously watch where he was going because for the second time that day he collided head on with another person, this time a young dude heading the same direction.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry. Wasn’t payin’ attention.”

“That’s okay, man. It’s cool.”

The stranger regarded Barry with a smile. He had long, wavy hair all the way to his shoulders, and a pair goofy 3D glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. The vintage Revenge of Sith t-shit and paint splattered jeans made Barry feel at ease.

“Is that real?” Barry asked when his gaze fell to a NASA pin on the corner of the stranger’s collar.

“Limited edition, baby,” the guy said. “Got it at San Diego Comic Con last year. 25th Anniversary Apollo 11 pin in the flesh. Had to trade my complete Star Trek playing card set just to even be considered bidding for it.”

“They make Star Trek playing cards? For real?”

“They make playing cards out of everything.” The stranger held out his hand and Barry shook it. “I’m Cisco by the way. You catch my vibe?”

Barry grinned. “Bartholomew Henry Allen. My friends call me Barry since it’s shorter and a lot faster.”

“Like Barry Sonnenfeld,” Cisco exclaimed, and then persisted to sing and snap the Addams Family theme. Barry snapped with him in the last chorus. “Far out, man. That’s wicked cool.”

Cisco’s good mood was infectious, Barry couldn’t help grinning and walking in step with him.

“Where you headed?” Cisco asked. “I got one class left and wouldn’t mind talking to someone with good tastes.”

Barry laughed. “Same here, then I get to unpack. I’m in G66, at the Northside.”

“Awesome-sauce, I’m there too! Is this a match made in heaven or what?”

They continued to walk and talk under the trees, Cisco describing his schedule in details even Barry could barely wrap his head around, but they still laughed and talked about stupid stuff like they hadn’t just accidentally head butted each other.

Barry’s phone chimed, signaling he had only 10 minutes to get to his next class before he would be considered late, and he blanched.

“I’m gonna be so late,” he groaned into the sky.

“No you’re not.” Cisco’s cheeky grin lit up his face. “I know a shortcut. This way.”

They cut through the grass to the other side of campus toward the statue garden Barry had been meaning to check out. Crossing two things at the same time always had its perks.

The statues of past teachers and deans stood proudly among the foliage. Their perfect white skin was like marble and so lifelike Barry had to breathe out a sound of wonder. He recognized Professor Stein among them, a younger version of himself, and Dean Lance with her stern expression. At the center stood Doctor Harrison Wells in all his glory, a perfect replica. It was hard not to stare.

“He’s a legend, ain’t he.” It was Cisco standing next to Barry.

“Beyond a legend.”

They grinned, going in through the back of the building where the auditorium was already packed with people. There were only two seats left in the front row facing the doors and Barry made a beeline straight towards him, Cisco on his heels. They sat down just as the clock stuck 2:45 and the lecture started.

The place felt like a can of sardines, and Barry had to fight to put his laptop on the table in front of him. The auditorium easily housed over 200 people and everyone held their breath at the same time waiting for Professor Rip Hunter to walk through the doors.

Barry looked around for a few seconds, catching the faces of others doing the same. The place even had a dark corner where the more reserved students sat. Barry could feel one of their eyes on him now, hidden enough so when he turned his head he slightly could only make out a navy blue jacket.

People exclaimed when the doors opened and instead of the walking Professor Rip Hunter, Professor Harrison Wells rode in on his wheelchair. People gasped and some clapped. A girl even fainted, falling out of her chair with a heavy THUMP on the floor.

Doctor Wells was here, in the flesh, in front of Barry!

Barry almost squealed from his seat, only stealing his breathing when Wells clapped his hands to have everyone’s attention.

“Good morning, students.”

There was more cheering and snippets of disbelief.

Professor Wells chuckled. “I’m sure you all know who I am. I will be subbing in for Professor Hunter for today. Rest assured this is a treat for all of you as well as me, in fact I’m a little rusty with my teaching so forgive me.”

Wells cleaned his glasses on his sleeve. Even the gesture made Barry’s eyes go wide. He could practically see the individual stitches from where he was sitting, the slight wear and tear of the professor’s shoes, and even the individual hairs on Well’s perfect head.

“I will be here if you all have any questions, but for now let us begin.”

XXXXX

College life sucked ass.

College classes sucked even more.

College professors, now they were the real dicks.

Leonard Snart rolled his eyes for the fifth time that hour. If he rolled them any further back he could probably find not only his brain, but the professor’s too.

The class was beyond drab, History of the Assembly Line, and the poor bloke who had to teach it was even older than the source material. Rest assured, Len would be skipping this class and probably the next one, and if he had a third he would skip that one too.

Math and science had been his forte since diapers, that was why he’d ended up in this stupid college in the first place. ‘The home where lawyers and DND geeks could party like the days of yore.’ Leonard had to laugh. Whoever thought college was fun clearly hadn’t seen the bill at the end of the semester.

At least the campus wasn’t all that bad. With its slick rooftops, starch white walls, and peaceful serenity that seemed to envelope whole environment, Leonard could see himself staying there until the late hours of the day, ducking into the library or one of the swinging tables littered across the greenery. There was also a garden in the middle of campus where all the famous crack heads and hippies could mingle and smoke until they passed out for the week. It was a paradise for some, a prison of books for others.

The nerds were lively this year. Leonard had passed at least 7 clubs all asking for his vote to sign this or end that. He had given his favorite finger to most of the people that passed him, saving his breath for whoever tried to chase him down when he speed walked away. A piece of paper wasn’t going to abolish world hunger anytime soon, even with Len’s signature mixed in the middle.

His next class was halfway across campus so he took the long way, making sure to breathe in the chilling air and watching the leaves dance as they fell from the trees. People didn’t appreciate nature as much as they should’ve, but this campus showed the importance of clean air. The grass was green from the constant sprinklers, the smell of dirt intoxicating in its own way.

Leonard arrived at class too early for his liking, deciding to stick around for a little while longer as a few people passed him by. He had missed lunch, wasn’t hungry, but a girl holding a sandwich made him stomach churn so he looked away and headed inside to hide his appetite.

There was still 32 minutes and 15 seconds left for class to start so he surveyed the area, stopping to tie his shoe to look under the tables too. No one paid him no mind as he made his way to the back, swiping pens and pencils and the occasional phone he would misplace later so the person could find it. Leonard never kept what wasn’t valuable, even now in a college setting when most of these students could afford the best of the best.

A shiny black jewelry box caught his eye from another student sitting next to him, next to an expensive looking leather wallet. The blond boy smiled, all hearts and roses, but when he bent to take out his laptop for the lecture, Len swiped the box and wallet off the table and pocketed it without anyone noticing. Jewelry was always worth a pretty penny and the extra cash would certainly help pay for dinner.

The professor walked in through the double doors, or rather rolled in. He practically screamed pretentious asshole in Len’s direction with beady eyes behind his designer glasses, his Prada suit pressed without a wrinkle, his wheelchair spotless. The lecture started like all the other classes, boring and dull while Leonard tried not to drool in his sleep.

For being such a random topic like quantum physics, the class was beyond packed with some students standing on the sidelines and others pausing by the door while they mixed up their schedules. Whoever this professor was, he was clearly a big shot. In fact, if Len squinted he could see all the nerds in the front row hanging onto his every word, writing things down so fast their hands would fall off.

Leonard tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He got what he paid for, all for a degree in engineering that would be obsolete in a few years when tablets or smartphones would take over mankind or their jobs would be taken over by machines.

Time ticked at a snails pace and he caught himself glancing at his watch more than once every minute. It really sucked that he could barely afford lunch, much less a laptop. Maybe if he played his cards right he could get a loan or steal some other sucker’s when they weren’t looking. Writing on his hands would have to do for now.

The professor asked question after question only the people in the front row understood. The whiteboard was wiped clean by another student and soon Leonard’s head rolled to the side.

Class ended and he woke up with a jolt. People were already heading out and half the auditorium was empty when he decided to get up and stretch. A few stragglers had stayed behind to fan over the professor, each more wide eyed and excited than the last. Len didn’t need to stick around for that snooze fest, he quietly saw himself out, dumping the wallet in the trash when he saw how many credit cards were in there. There was over $200 in cash.

It was past 6 when he kicked off his motorcycle and rode home, past the slums and the trailer homes to his little modest house on the outskirts of Central City. It was a good 40 minute drive but Len didn’t mind, not when he had the open dirt road all to himself and the wind drowned anything from reaching his ears.

His house wasn’t anything special, just a roof over their heads until Len could move out and take his sister Lisa with him. He had left once in his lifetime and the look of betrayal on her face told him she would never get over it, and he would never let himself forget it.

Lisa had two moods: absolute flirtation or extreme anger. With the first one she could charm even the moodiest king cobra, seduce them into marrying her, and then promptly have them cut off their own head off with the bat of her eyes. The second mood was so bad the devil himself could come down and Lisa would smite him with her glare.

There was one final secret mood only Len knew about and once he entered the house he immediately tried to beeline to the door, knowing the onslaught of questions would want to make him donate his ears to charity.

“Lenny,” Lisa called in a sing-song voice. “I know you’re here, big brother. How was your day?”

Rather than answer, Leonard stuffed his collar in his mouth and bolted up the stairs. He didn’t get far however, because Lisa smacked the door to his room wide open before he could lock it.

“Come on now, don’t be like that.”

“My day was fine. Classes are fine. Everything is peachy.”

Lisa hid her grimace with a tight smile. “Make any new friends? Got a hot date and that’s why you won’t tell me? Come on, Lenny, I’ve been cooped up all day slaving away to rich pricks and exchanging fake numbers I’ll have to burn in my memory. How was your first day?”

Lisa worked at the Saints and Sinners Dinner, an appropriate name considering it was in the sleaziest part of town where their father did most of his gambling. The customers were asshats, but at least the tips were good, letting Lisa finish her last year of her GED so she could hopefully follow away from Len’s footsteps and make a name for herself one day.

Her super short skirt covered little to the imagination and her makeup was always as pristine and flawless as her hair. Today she wore a modest coverup over her work uniform, the last birthday present Len had gifted her when she had turned 18.

“Where’s the old man?” Leonard asked instead of answering. “If you behave I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

It was a rhetorical question, they both knew where he was. Leonard also knew his father, Lewis Snart, wouldn’t be back until the early hours of the morning, long after Lisa had gone to work and he would make himself scarce.

“What’s for dinner?” His sister asked, smoothing down Len’s leather jacket with her fingertips.

“Pizza. My treat.”

“Pizza?” Lisa wrinkled her nose. “I can’t pay tonight. All of my tips went to the electric bill this month.”

Of course they did.

“My treat,” Leonard repeated. “I said I’d pay last time. Now, do you want to go get it or have it delivered?”

Lisa didn’t hide the way she stared hopefully at the door. That told Len everything he needed to know.

He took the jacket from her fingers. “Come on then.”

Even through all of Lisa’s pestering, she was silent most of the ride to The Tower of Pizza diner, a locally owned business that knew both siblings by name. They could also get a discount on the best garlic bread in Central City.

The diner was practically empty when they arrived, only a few customers milling around the checkered red and white booths. They said their order to the cashier and piled into a single booth, Lisa going first and Len facing her.

“So,” Lisa started. “Now are you going to tell me how your day went?”

“If you want, fine.”

Leonard told it like it was, he didn’t sugarcoat anything anymore for Lisa. She was a big girl, wiser than most people in their 30s, and she knew the law of the land better than anyone. Len described the open campus and the even more open people with their clubs and their acronyms and their frat parties. Her eyes went wide with every description, picturing it all in her mind’s eye. Before long there pizza arrived, half Hawaiian half veggie lovers, and Lisa stuffed her face while Len continued.

“The library is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, a whole 9 stories of books and computers. You can find anything you want in there.”

“Are there any sororities? What were they like?”

Len shrugged. “How should I know? You want me to join one and tell you about their slumber parties?”

Lisa sighed into her pizza even though she did chuckle at the joke. “I wish I could join a sorority. Do you think it would be fun, Lenny?”

“Matching clothes and banging the school mascot. What’s more fun than that?”

Lisa shoved her crust into his mouth before he could say anymore. The pizza almost choked him but Leonard swallowed it whole, coughing it down.

“You’re a jerk you know,” Lisa snapped. “You didn’t even want to go to college and yet here you are, taking it for granted.”

“Jesus, Lize.” Leonard drowned his watery soda. “If you’re so hurt about it why don’t you go in my place? The classes are fine, I just...”

His voice trailed off and Lisa said nothing. The garlic bread was starting to taste bitter.

“Are you going to leave me too, Lenny? Is that it?”

Leonard almost choked again. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t stand your little sister anymore because I hold you back. Come on, we both know you didn’t want to stay in Central. You only stayed because of me!”

“That’s not—“

Lisa waved the last slice of her Hawaiian in his face. “Don’t you lie to me, Leonard Snart. I’ve been getting lies all my life.”

Len said nothing, couldn’t say anything to that statement. Lisa was right in a lot of things, but he didn’t want to believe her.

“Let’s just go home.”

He left a hefty tip because he could and they were off, this time the ride less comfortable. Lisa only held on when she had to and Len purposely turned harder in order to feel the contact. They got to the house and before he could even put his helmet away he heard the sharp closing of the door to Lisa’s bedroom.

Leonard didn’t bother, letting his sister cool down was the best option, even if it took a week for her to talk to him.

He threw his jacket against the wall, punched the dresser, and watched as an angry gash formed on his knuckles. He punched the wood again and again until the pain was so bad it was no longer grounding.

Leonard fell to the floor, head in his hands. He would have to clean up the blood from his clothes before his dad made it home, but for now he just sat there, wallowing in his self pity. It wouldn’t help anything and yet he still did it.

Something nudged his foot and Len opened his eyes slowly to spy the little black box he had swiped in his last class. It was barely the size of his fist now that he looked at it, hardly special.

Yet something was calling him to open it. He needed to open it. BADLY.

He took it in his hands and the wood was polished against his fingers. The blood had stopped flowing from his cracked knuckles, but Len still managed not to get a spec on the black box.

Opening it was...normal. Actually it made him feel worse. A single sterling silver ring blinked up at him and he almost, almost threw it aside to continue to sulk.

Except a small voice that was not in his head spoke next to his ear and almost half scared him to death.

“If you get blood on the ring I’ll kill you.”

XXXXX

Barry was high as a kite when he left Well’s class. Cisco had excused himself to go to the bathroom, claiming he almost peed himself when the professor had rode in like a knight in shining wheelchair parts, and if Barry was honest with himself he had probably peed himself from excitement too.

The walk to his dorm room was shorter than he could have imagined, but then again he had skipped the whole way.

Barry’s dorm room was a modern, quaint apartment complex that had a basketball court on one side and a pool on the other. It was the kind of place frat parties would be thrown on one night, and then the other would be the annual board meeting where all the professors would gather over coffee on the bottom floor. There was complimentary breakfast, rose shaped soap, and even towels that looked like swans when Barry wheeled his luggage in and dropped it at the foot of the bed.

The room was a good size, single bedroom like he had requested with another person across the hall where he would share a kitchenette and bathroom. The window overlooked the campus, all the trees changing colors right before his eyes. There were clean sheets in the closet, simple and white, and the walls were burnt orange to contrast the dark furniture.

Barry threw his hands up and whooped loudly. Today had been amazing, even if his jacket was stained with coffee and his classes gave him more homework than he could imagine, he had met with his idol, his world.

Barry unpacked his photographs and camera equipment first, taking the time to organize them on the shelf overlooking his bed. Then he hung the few science posters on the wall he had managed to stuff into his bag and left his high school soccer trophy on his desk next to his laptop and books.

There wasn’t much else to put away besides clothing and enmities so Barry let them be, instead fishing for his phone in his messenger bag. He came up empty so he turned the whole thing upside down on his bed and watched as a bunch of pens, papers, and a notepad flew out. Still no phone? What was wrong with this bag!

Barry dug his hand until he felt a hidden pocket where his phone had been lodged in between two zippers. He also felt something else in there, foreign to his fingers, but it felt small enough that he pulled both objects out at the same time.

The thing turned out to be a small black box that when it caught the light had swirling designs on the sides. Barry started at it and opened it without a second thought. A set of simple black earrings stared up at him, two little dots against the cushioning.

Where had these come from? Barry had never worn earrings in his life besides the one time he had dressed as a pirate in grade school.

He was about to toss them aside to take them to lost and found, but a bright light exploded from inside the box and Barry helped, taking cover under a pillow.

“Hello there, master of creation. My name is Tikki and—“

Barry screamed and fell face first onto his bed, slamming his head on the wood. It hurt like hell but it didn’t matter, he lay still.

He must have passed out because a knock on his door almost caused a Barry to knock his head a second time on the floor.

“Yo, dude!” There was more knocking and Barry half stumbled half crawled to the door to open it. “Everything okay?”

It was a boy younger than him, dark skinned with curly hair, wearing only a towel around his waste. Water was still trailing down his face.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Barry averted his gaze politely.

“I heard screaming.”

“I...slipped.” It was such a lame excuse. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

The boy looked him up and down, clearly not buying it, but didn’t press.

“Alright sure. If you need anything I’m Wally by the way.”

Barry nodded. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

Barry shut the door without another word, then he groaned. He hadn’t given his name!

Barry opened the door quickly just as Wally was closing the door to the bathroom, probably going to change.

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m Barry.”

Wally cracked a small smile and they went their separate ways.

The door being shut made Barry’s skin crawl. He looked around the room and everything seemed normal enough. His books and laptop were still on his desk so there hadn’t been a break in. His clothes were still unpacked, the bed was messy where he had fallen.

He could have sworn he had heard a voice. Barry checked under the bed, in the dresser, but found nothing.

“That was quite a scare,” a frilly voice said. “You should be more careful.”

Barry yelped, grabbing the nearest object to defend himself. It happened to be the desk lamp and he yanked it out of its socket, plunging half the room into darkness.

Just great.

“Whoa whoa. Please don’t hurt yourself.”

Barry could barely see but from what he could make out there was a tiny bug-like creature floating close to his face. An alien. Oh he was so screwed.

“I’m Tikki,” the floating thing said—hadn’t it already said that? “And you’re the new master of the miraculous.”

Barry could faint, or wait maybe he did faint again. The Tikki bug thing was talking to him. It was a real alien!

“You’re...YOU’RE—“

“Tikki. And you are?”

“Barry Allen?”

“Barry Allen.” Tikki nodded their head—her head? Its head?

“What are you exactly?”

“I’m a guardian of the miraculous of creation, a kwami,” Tikki supplied, zipping over to and on the desk. “You were chosen to wield my powers and become a superhero.”

“Superhero?”

Tikki nodded. From the looks of the little antenna poking out of her reddish, almost pink head, and her trill voice Barry could guess she was a girl. She almost resembled a little ladybug.

“Are you ready to transform and see what I’m talking about?”

Transform...?

HOLD THE PHONE.

Barry stumbled to Tikki, dropping himself in his rolling chair.

“Wait wait, start from the beginning. You’re a miraculous. What even is that?”

“Miraculous are beings of pure energy sent to guard the hope and virtue of humanity. We have existed for centuries in secret with only a few people in the history of time that have ever documented us. Those are called guardians, and there is one right here in Central City. I was sent to find you so you could help him save the world.”

“Save the world.”

Apparently Barry was a dumb idiot because all he could do was repeat whatever Tikki was saying. He was probably getting pranked, yeah that was it! Pranked by Wally across the hall to usher him into his new year at the university.

“Thanks,” Barry said slowly. “But I’m good. I’m no hero. Cue the cameras, this prank is over.”

Tikki’s gaze darkened, her blue eyes turning bluer. “This is no joke, Barry. I really am a miraculous. And you’re my new master. We should start your training immediately.”

“No. What you are is a figment of my imagination!” Barry threw his hands in the air and whirled around. Maybe if he closed his eyes he’s wake up from this dream.

He ended up finding Tikki poking his nose when he opened them.

“Come on, come on,” she rushed. “Your partner must be waiting for you.”

“Partner?”

Tikki nodded like it was obvious. “You wield creation, your partner wields destruction. Together you are ying and yang.”

“Right...”

Barry chewed his bottom lip. On the one hand he could turn in this little bug creature over to the authorities and be done with it, maybe put it to good use. The lab always needed to resources to find cures for cancer or the common cold, maybe this was it. On the other hand, he could see where this was going, stick it out for as long as he wanted. Hell, he could be a superhero according to this thing.

“Okay.” Barry nodded slowly, then more firmly, deciding his mind. “Okay, I’ll do it. What do I have to do exactly?”

“I have to pierce your ears. Please hold still. I’ll explain everything once you have the earrings on.”

If Wally heard a Barry scream again he didn’t knock on the door a second time.

If you want more let me know!

#coldflash #legends of tomorrow #wip #dc comics #dctv #leonard snart #barry allen #coldflashforever #the flash #alternate universe #fanfic

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annaisu · 7 years

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Cutthroat Kitchen: Prepare Nyehself!

AN: Cutthroat Kitchen is under rights of Food Network, and I make no claims to it as such. Alton Brown is a real person, and I have no claim to him, either. Papyrus, however much I would love him to be real and to lay claim to him, is in fact created and owned by Toby Fox.

This is a work of fiction created for @undertailfanficcontest starring Papyrus in the humor category! And let me tell you, this was the first time I’ve ever lowered my word count on purpose.

Tags: Humor, one of the characters is a bastard, just deserts, friendship

Summary: Papyrus is quite pleased to be part of a cooking competition where he can show off his skills – only his opponents are paying for him to wear a catsuit and cook with aluminum foil utensils?

Tonight, hopes would be crushed, dreams would be shattered, pride would take a mighty fall, and these chefs were going to spend all their money making sure that the other cooks were the ones to suffer. Alton Brown surveyed his domain, feeling a sadistic glee begin to grow. Yes; this would be quite the fun show.

His introductory speech began playing in the background, just the thing to set the mood as he pulled out a metal briefcase. “I have $100,000 of cold hard cash; four chefs get $25,000 each. But if they want to leave the kitchen with any of this cash, they have to survive three culinary challenges – and each other. In a game where sabotage is not only encouraged, it’s for sale.” Memories of past challenges passed through his mind – ice cream made with liquid nitrogen, ramen without any noodles, his victims forced to cook while stuffed in cumbersome and humiliating ‘superhero’ outfits, cooking in canoes – good times, good times.

The host smiled in the anticipation of the poor, unsuspecting chef’s future frustrations. They thought they knew – they always did – but they were always wrong. Tonight, there was something even more special than normal – something that had never been seen on this show before. They would be host to a true monster – and only time would tell if he was a monster in the kitchen as well.

He hid just out of sight, watching as the four contestants descended from his ‘tower’, one at a time. They had all given their biography to the camera before this event, and he recalled the pertinent facts as they paraded across his kitchen – let them prance while they still have the chance.

Dave was first; a big, burly southern guy. He’d discovered a taste for cooking as a kid and learned his craft from his grandma’s hip – classic southern boy. He was here to show off that country strength, to have fun and make some money. He laid out his fine array of steak knives and cooking utensils, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture of preemptive defiance.

Hank was next; he was much slimmer than the first, well dressed with hair slicked back. He walked as if he was the second coming of Gordon Ramsey, and had the attitude to go with it. He was so proud to serve his food only to the elite, seemed to think that they were the only ones deserving of his work. His little chef kit was well made – likely tailored and made of expensive leather. Alton didn’t bother to hide his grin – he did so love making this type of person suffer.

Their special guest came next, bounding into the room with disturbing levels of energy for what looked like the dead. A tall skeleton, dressed in red booty shorts and a white crop top, proudly took his place behind his stand. He pulled out what looked like a homemade bag, containing his cooking utensils with… faces and hearts stenciled on top? And stickers of spaghetti? The apron he was wearing, somehow securely wrapped around his skeletally thin – and just skeletal in general – body looked well-made and well-loved. Little patches had been torn and sewn up, and there were messily embroidered pictures of… a human and a skeleton holding hands at the bottom? And the words “COOLEST CHEF” splayed across the chest? Well, this Papyrus was certainly going to be a fun contender.

Papyrus was here to show off his cooking skills and represent monster-kind – “WELL, MYSELF MOSTLY, BUT ALSO MY TEACHER AND FRIEND UNDYNE! AND MY FRIEND THE HUMAN, AND MY BROTHER THE SLOVENLY SLOB – SANS, IF YOU’RE LISTENING, PICK UP YOUR SOCK RIGHT NOW! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE EMBARESSING ME WHEN YOU’RE NOT EVEN HERE!” The sheer force of his words, combined with his macabre appearance, created quite the frightening visage. Yet, he was wearing a smile, and was radiating a friendly atmosphere – quite the interesting contradiction.

Cynthia was his last victim of the day – and the only female, unless the monster was hiding something unexpected under his short shorts and poofy shirt. She was from up north, divorced and with three kids. After returning to college, she had opened a very friendly family restaurant. She was here to prove to her Ex that she was worth something, that she could succeed no matter the odds life placed before her, and take home some money to her teenaged kids. She took her place as the last in the row, pulling out a well-maintained kit.

The host prepared himself, ready to introduce himself to the poor saps. Time to see which cooks would trip and fall in a blaze of humiliation!

“HELLO, FELLOW CHEFS!” The monster beamed out, and Hank didn’t bother resisting rolling his eyes. The creature on his right was loud, unsightly, and creepy as heck. The blank, empty black eyes seemed to stare into his soul as he accidently met the thing’s searching gaze. He shuddered, and pointedly turned his back to it, facing his human fellow chef.

“Think you’re suited up for the day?” he casually asked, seemingly unintentionally tugging the collar of his suit as he surveyed the other man’s dress. Plaid shirt, jeans, cutthroat kitchen apron – hmph.

The other fellow – Dave, or something equally plebian, let out a hearty laugh. “I think I’m quite well suited for cooking, thanks, but don’t you have a business meeting to be getting to?”

Hank sniffed, not bothering with a comeback. It seemed that neither of his temporary neighbors would be worth speaking to in the least. He couldn’t help flinching as the skeleton started shouting again, animatedly talking with the woman at the other end. He was quite ready for the host to come out and for this farce to begin.

Alton did appear, with a casual suit and a bombastic attitude – quite the match for the figurative bombs he would be dropping throughout the show. At the beginning of the round, he’d assign a dish, and they’d have 60 seconds to collect absolutely everything they would need to cook said dish from the walk-in cupboard – and they’d only have seconds to compose their mental grocery list.

Alton finally started talking about what he was looking forward to the most – auctioning off sabotages, where he would be encouraged to buy ridiculous inconveniences for his opponents. They would all be given 25 Grand – likely more than any of these plebeians had ever had in their lives’ – to purchase said items, and whatever was left at the end the winner would take home. Of course, Hank himself had no real need for this money, and was already planning to spend all of it tripping up his unworthy opponents – mostly that ridiculous skeleton and the woman, neither of which had any right to be in the same kitchen as him.

It never even crossed his mind for a single second that he might not succeed, so assured of his victory was he. Not a single other person in the room, save the well-dressed host, was even worthy of a second glance or thought of consideration. No, he was the only one that would claim this culinary victory – and he’d make his ‘opponents’ miserable the entire time through!

Alton opened up his briefcase and began offering out the money – two bundles apiece. As the uncultured savage to his left rubbed the money to his cheek, clearly enjoying the entirely new sensation of wealth against his skin, he daintily picked out his two bundles of cash. He looked upon them with disgust, wondering just how many grimy hands had handled these $100 bills.

Returning to beside the metal table in the center of the open area, the host began speaking. “To start everybody off on a roll, I’d like to see a good, breakfast casserole!” Alton cheerfully exclaimed, bouncing slightly as he spoke. Hank jumped as a shriek of outrage sounded from beside him, and Alton paused in his words.

“WAS THAT A PUN?!” the monster exclaimed. Resisting a grimace, Hank pointedly ignored its words. He supposed monsters were far too uneducated and stupid to recognize even the most basic parts of human humor, even of such a low a form as bad puns.

Alton didn’t seem to take offense, though he did seem to be slightly thrown off. “It was indeed a wonderful play on words, only some of the most punny forms of fine humor!” Hank peeked to his right, watching as the skeleton groaned and covered his eyes.

“HUMAN, THAT JOKE WAS ALMOST AS BAD AS MY BROTHER’S – IT WAS COMPLETELY BARE BONES! NYEH-HEH-HEH-HEH!” the skeleton cackled and Hank grimaced .

Alton, contrary to Hank, seemed quite pleased by this reaction. “Well then, I hope the skele-ton more that I have won’t break you before you finish your breakfast casserole ! You have 60 seconds to gather everything you’d need to make this delightful dish, starting now!”

Startled, Hank was a second behind everyone else in grabbing his basket to go shopping – and thus he had the clearest view of when the skeleton did a front flip right over the judging table. He stared, unbelieving, not moving as time ticked by – only when he realized that all the other chefs had made it into the cupboard did he start forward on his own.

What was that skeleton doing?! He tried not to stop and stare as the skeleton darted around the cupboard, items seemingly flying into his basket of their own accord. He distractedly groped for his next ingredient, unable to ignore the spectacle before him.

“30 seconds remaining!” called a very unwelcome voice from just beyond the cupboard door. Hank felt the panic well up, as he realized he didn’t have half the things he would likely need, and could not for the life of him remember the other half. He began grabbing everything he could get his grubby little hands on.

“10, 9” Nonono- Hank knocked the closest things into his basket and ran out the door, knocking into another contestant and cursing as the collision sent several ingredients flying out of his basket as he fought to make it through the door. “4, 3,” he burst free, panting as he staggered back to his station. “2, 1, time’s up!” Discreetly mopping his sweaty brow, Hank surveyed his spoils of war, and everyone else’s as well. He… technically had everything he needed for a good, refined breakfast casserole.

The skeleton, who seemed just as cheery as could be, had a neatly packed basket full of a random assortment of goods – clearly, he’d just grabbed whatever was closest to hand! Hank ignored the hypocrisy of his own statement, peering around the Halloween prop to see the girl’s basket, and then pointedly looked away. She seemed well-enough prepared, so what. The country hick to his left seemed to have filled his basket with bacon, bacon… and more bacon.

Finally, their host was beginning to roll out the sabotages. Hank licked his lips in anticipation, watching as the symbol of the other’s demise was slowly lowered… and revealed to be a roll of aluminum foil. “Win this, and you can force a chef to give up all of their cooking utensils and pots, and they must instead make their own cooking! Who’s willing to start off the bid with $500?”

“$1,000!” he cried, and waited to see if anyone would dare challenge him.

“$1,200,” came the drawling voice on his right. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy, surrounded by people who couldn’t recognize their inferiority.

“$2,000,” he bid back, noticing that the skeleton seemed quite unconcerned. He ended up spending $3,500 on his roll of aluminum foil, but was quite pleased at this deal as he debated on which of his foes should suffer first. The man, for daring to challenge him, or the skeleton for being here and existing in the first place. Yes, definitely the skeleton.

He sauntered up to Alton, trading his money for the foil and dropping it on the thing’s station, noting with disdain the cheap and marked up case that held the thing’s now unusable cooking implements. He returned to his station, satisfied, and ready to win another bid. He ignored the skeleton’s words of, “WOWIE! IT’LL BE JUST LIKE COOKING AT HOME, AFTER UNDYNE AND I DESTROYED ALL OF THE POTS WITH THE FORCE OF OUR COOKING PROWESS!” Was this thing serious?

Hank fumed as the skeleton shaped his cutlery with ease, somehow forming a perfect looking knife and a well-rounded bowl in less than a minute. “I HAVE A VERY SHARP MEMORY, AND I HAVE ENCOUNTERED QUITE THE NUMBER OF KNIVES, YOU SEE! NYEH!” Just ignore the skeleton. “WOWIE, MR. HOST-HUMAN, YOU SURE HAVE A LOT OF ALUMINUM FOIL! LET’S SEE WHO CAN WEAR IT BEST!” Wait, wear it?

Looking up from where his prep work was beginning to come together, Hank saw the judge and the thing both wearing ridiculous looking foil hats. The Judge was wearing something like a pirate hat, and the bag of bones was rocking… an open-faced helmet? Just when did he have time to make that ridiculous thing? Hank had barely even gotten his work laid out properly, yet this thing had already crafted his workstation and costume decorations?

Growling in frustration, Hank was at least pleased to see that the country cad was struggling, if no one else was – thanks to the two other sabotages he’d bought and delivered. Reassured, he returned to his work. He didn’t have all the ingredients that he wanted, but he… probably had enough. Probably.

"Wha- that's totally cheating!" Hank declared, staring aghast at the pearly blue bones flashed around the skeletons station, dancing to a tune no one else could hear. The clubbed end of one bone was stirring the batter, and the skeleton was using the tip of the other as a sharp knife to slice his vegetables into perfectly sectioned slices. The craziest part was how the spinning bone was doing so without any guidance - it was just moving about on its own!

"OH!" The wretched skeleton faced Hank with a beaming smile. "I SEE THAT YOU HAVE NOTICED THE BEAUTY THAT IS MY CONJURED BONES!" The bony chef paused, a worried look sliding across his face. "PLEASE DON'T BE JEALOUS, FELLOW CONTESTANT HUMAN! I REALIZE THAT YOU CANNOT SUMMON BRILLIANT BONES OF YOUR OWN, BUT I AM QUITE PREPARED TO LEND YOU SOME OF MINE! A GREAT PERSON AND CHEF, SUCH AS I, MUST ALWAYS BE GENEROUS AND KIND TO OTHERS!"

Gritting his teeth, Hank barely resisted spitting at the stupid, ugly monstrosity beside him. "I wouldn't touch any of your filthy bones if you paid me." Unnoticed by any of the contestants, most especially Hank who was once again doing his best to ignore everything around him, Alton’s eyes glinted with a brilliant, sadistic new idea.

Hank barely hid the curl of his lip into a sneer as the judge appeared – a woman, of all things.

The judge finally made her decision after trying each dish – she ‘had to’ let the farmer go. Hank watched as the man returned his untouched cash to Alton, calmly accepting his fate and giving Alton a ‘manly’ handshake. Of course Hank had won this round – and he fully expected to win the next two and humiliate everyone else along the way.

Finally, the round was finished, and they had a short break to talk to the cameras while the next round was prepared.

Cynthia’s new friend helped her stand up, using a strength at odds with his skeletal appearance to bring her to her feet as they walked together back to the main room. They’d had a relatively quiet and quite friendly chat between the rounds, but now it was time to return.

Alton waltzed back in with full aplomb, wearing what seemed to be a pinstripe suit at first glance – until Cynthia realized the stripes were actually noodles hanging onto his suit. “Welcome back contestants, and get ready for round two! It’s certain to tie you up into knots, and leave someone stranded! We’re going for a true classic today – spaghetti!”

Papyrus squealed in glee beside her and she gave him a smile, already knowing of his love for the pasta dish. She couldn’t help but take satisfaction on how the sleezeball skittered away in startlement.

“Indeed! You are free to create any variety of spaghetti you wish, this traditionally meaty pasta dish! We have all the ingredients you could need, and your shopping time begins… now.

Cynthia darted off after Papyrus, falling behind as he used the table to launch himself further forward, sketching the list in her head and the best way to grab each item as fast as she could. Having children and anticipating their needs had prepared her for this, and she was at a huge advantage to the business-chef that was only slightly lagging this time.

Making her way back to her station at a much more sedate pace than she had left it, Cynthia double checked that she had grabbed everything that she wanted for her chicken alfredo spaghetti – she did. A glance to the side told her that both of her fellow chefs had collected plenty as well. She thought back to the first round and couldn’t help but to snicker – Hank had forgotten plenty of things in the beginning rush, and she could easily overhear his muttered cursing whenever he came across his missing ingredients.

Turning her attention back to the host, she braced herself for the first sabotage to come. “Well, now that we’ve spent time together and found ourselves closer together, I think it’s time to get closer still!” Alton knocked on the panel, waiting for the item to be lowered before he revealed – a length of rope. Cynthia paled, memories flashing before her eyes. Ropes never meant anything fun for her. “Win this auction, and you can force your opponents to be tied together! They will be forced to cook together, work together, and stick closer than a strand of spaghetti that was left in a pot overnight. Starting bid at-“

“$2,000!” Hank interrupted once again, and she would have glared had she not been silent with fear. She saw Papyrus glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and watched as the eye socket closest to her slowly closed, then reopened. Neither of them said anything.

“Opening bid at $2,000, anyone willing to give me 21-hundred? Anyone, anyone? Going once, going twice – sold, to the gentlemen in the boring suit for two thousand dollars!” She smiled weakly – compared to the host’s noodle suit, Hank’s suit was rather boring, if more expensive than what she spent on groceries in a month. There was a reason she was competing for a cash prize, despite going up on TV against others being entirely new for her.

“Now, I know that this show can be a bit of a cat-astrophe sometimes…” Alton trailed off, opening the panel to reveal a cat headband. “But I was feline like I couldn’t paws-ibly resist! Win this bid, and you can force your opponent to dress up with these adorable cat ears, a matching cat tail,” he continued, pulling up a long tail from beneath the table – it had to be at least 4 feet of solid black faux-fur! “And of course, the cutest part of cats – their little paws!” He ducked his hands under the table once more, this time arising with giant, fluffy gloves that completely encapsulated his hands. “As sweet as they look, these don’t make for the easiest cooking experience! Who’s willing to buy the best catsuit seen on this show yet?”

“$2,000!” Hank predictably exclaimed.

Cynthia decided that this was one outfit she was willing to spend money on, if only for the sheer humiliation value in forcing the uptight man into it. “2,500!”

Hank still ended up being the winner, but he spent a full 5k on a fursuit – and he ended up giving it to Papyrus, who immediately donned the admittedly adorable outfit, beaming all the while. She was pretty sure Hank only had about 11k left.

“Now, people, don’t get yourselves tied into a knot; we’ve got a giant pile of noodles right here that have done that already!” Cynthia groaned as she a wagon with a proper Gordian’s Noodle Knot roll into the center of the room. “Win this auction, and the chef of your choice will have to untangle this knot before they are able to begin cooking!”

She fought long, and Papyrus fought hard, but they both backed down when Hank bid a whopping ten thousand dollars on the ridiculous time waster. He had to be down to the last of his money – he had successfully won every bid so far, often paying exorbitant sums to do so. To her dismay, she was the one gifted with the lovely time waster.

“Now, I know we had someone who wouldn't pay to touch our friendly skeleton's bones - but how about we have someone else pay for it?" Alton called out, this time not revealing anything from the behind the screen. So this was why Papyrus had been called away separately – so that he could give permission for this.

“$1,500!” She called out, before Hank could even try. If she was right…

“$2,000!” He bid back, and she felt her heart sink. Was she wrong?

“AAAANK,” Alton called, doing a remarkable impression of an incorrect buzzer. “You, my besuited gentleman, are only in possession of $1,500 – something new to you, I’m sure.” Hank stared, slack jawed, and Cynthia felt the rising tides of victory. “Now, unless someone else can pay at least sixteen-hundred dollars, this round is going to this lady right here – no? Going once, going twice – are you sure you don’t want to speak up again, Hank – sold, to Cynthia! Please approach your fellow contestant for his magic touch, and then confiscate all your victim’s knives, spoons, whisks, and other various implements.

Cynthia did so with great glee, taking the two large bones and handing them over to Hank, who still had a horrified look on his stunned face.

“Now, chefs, two of you are ready to proceed to cooking, and one of you is to remain here with me. As soon as this lovely lady finished, she and our resident monster will be strung together tighter than the red strings of fate!” Cynthia couldn’t help but shudder – at the thought of being tied up, and the thought of being tied to another person like that. “On my mark… go!”

She paused for a moment in thought, then nodded. “Wait one moment, please.” She approached the wagon with her longest, sharpest knife. “The Gordian knot couldn’t be solved, until…” With a few sharp slices, she began carving the ball into two. “Until the knot was split.” Noodles fell to either side, losing shape as their knot came undone.

Alton groaned theatrically. “At this rate, you’ll finish the task in a tenth of the time it took to set it up!” She flashed him a smile, but didn’t reply as she was too busy straightening out the short strands on the table before her, smearing them out in great handfuls and shaking them straight.

“Just have to raise them properly, keep them on the straight and narrow,” She quipped. “Make them realize the consequences if they don’t straighten out.

All too soon, she was back in front of her cooking station, and she realized that she had only hastened the arrival of the dreaded rope. This was a Gordian knot she couldn’t cut. Papyrus cheerful greeting helped soothe her nerves, and she managed to keep her breathing steady as an extra helper loosely tied them together.

“ARE YOU READY, HUMAN PARTNER?” She nodded, anchoring her perceptions on his solid voice to fend off flashbacks. “AS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE HAD A HEAD START AND CAN CLEARLY SUCCEED DESPITE ANY DIFFICLUTIES, I INSIST THAT WE HEAD TO YOUR STATION FIRST!”

“Thanks, Papyrus,” she offered him a small smile as they toddled over to her station. “Just let me know when you’re ready to switch back, alright? We want to be sure that both of our dishes succeed.” They were united in a single purpose – take down the most unlikeable person in the room, and send him home crying.

Looking over at the disgruntled face of said ‘foe’, she laughed at how he seemed to be trying his best to touch the lowest amount of surface area of the lightly glowing bones .

Hank began to audibly fume, screeching with unmanly terror whenever he touched too much of the magical bone. Everybody else traded eye rolls, though Papyrus seemed to be doing his best to remain dignified and proud, as was befitting of the mascot of monsters.

Someone who wasn’t trying to remain dignified was Alton, busy attaching more noodles to his costume as they worked. Soon, it wasn’t just spaghetti noodles, but penne, rotini, linguini, lasagna, and just about every other noodle that existed. Soon, his outfit was a mishmash of different carbohydrates, and Papyrus actually stopped to grin and give him a giant thumbs up. “NOTHING CAN TOP PASTA THAT SUIT, HUMAN! SAVE MY OWN COOL OUTFIT OF COURSE, NYEH-HEH-HEH!” The next time Cynthia saw Papyrus’ outfit, it had noodles draped across it in matching reflection to Alton’s outfit, and a noodle circlet around the cat ears which had been taped to his head. The skeleton made the noodle look work .

“I’m sorry, but I have dismiss… Chef Cynthia.” Cynthia nodded, determinedly biting at her lip and refusing to cry. Her new friend had passed, after all, in a sparkling flame of glory. He had to win and destroy that Hank in the next round. She couldn’t hear the judge’s explanation over the pounding refrain in her head, how she was worthless and her cooking was barely even fit for dogs, and-

“Arf!” …She was hearing things now, wasn’t she? She turned slowly, looking for the source of the sound. Happy barking came from behind her station, and then a little white dog popped out – muzzle coated with her spilled spaghetti. Apparently, her meals were fit for dogs – this one certainly seemed to be enjoying it.

“NOOOO!!!!” Papyrus cried, sinking to his knees. “WHY MUST YOU PERSIST IN TORMENTING ME, WHEREVER YOU GO?” The dog just yipped happily, grabbing one of the bones and trotting up to the judge’s table.

“Does this dog belong to you?” The judge, Antonia, asked. She was already petting the dog, which seemed to be preening in the attention, licking it’s chops.

“WHAT?!?!” Papyrus yelped. “OWN THE MEDDLING CANINE? NO ONE OWN’S THE ANNOYING DOG – THE ANNOYING DOG OWNS YOU!” In the short amount of time it took Papyrus to speak, A.D. had eaten all of Cynthia’s spaghetti, all of Papyrus’ spaghetti, and had knocked Hank’s weird dish right onto his suit.

“Good dog,” Cynthia whispered to it as it came up to her, and Hank began to scream and rant, all composure long spent. “Very good dog.”

Papyrus was very pleased and somewhat saddened with how this cooking competition was turning out. He had made a new friend! And had fun cooking with said friend! And got to dress up like a cat, which he most certainly did not enjoy at all, nope, and he was definitely not looking forward to seeing Alphys’ reaction when she saw the show!

Yet this brand-new experience had been soured by his other neighbor, the cruel human with the heart of pride and greed. Papyrus was still having fun, still enjoying the novelty of being on TV – he was on television right now! Like Mettaton! – and still so proud of being one of the first monsters that truly showed themselves to the human world. He was monsterkind’s mascot after all, and he needed to present a good face!

Even when Angry-Human attacked him and his new friend, again and again and again. That was the only way the prideful human was still on top – by putting other’s down. It saddened Papyrus, knowing that the human could do better – and knowing that the man would likely refuse to ever try being so.

Still, it had been quite amusing to see the man gaping at his brilliance, clearly impressed by his stunning flips and culinary feats! Perhaps if he was lucky, he would still manage to walk out of here with two new friends!

Papyrus wasn’t worried as Host-Human declared the challenge: Upside-down Pineapple cake. He may not have been the best cook below ground, but he had learned much in the years above – how to cook for humans, how to cook without burning the house down, and how to pay a mortgage! All very exciting things!

Humming happily, Papyrus took his groceries to his workstation and happily set up camp, chopping away, mixing and stirring with exacting precision. The clever yet cruel sabotages were to come in the middle of this final challenge, rather than before! He couldn’t help but be impressed by some of the ideas – and the many ideas of the episodes before this one, his own episode. If he won, he would be the star of the show!!!! Even more widely seen than Mettaton, star of the Underground! Such an incredible new experience… as was this entire adventure!

Fighting together with his ally to defeat the foe, finding the secret treasures hidden in the closet of glorious foods – as soon as he returned home to his brother, he was insisting on getting a matching pantry! – to talking with so many humans and to the camera… and hopefully, he would have the new experience of bringing enough money home for his family. The above-ground had been semi-welcoming, but it wasn’t always… kind. But that’s why Papyrus was here!

“Chefs!” Host-Human called out and Papyrus peeked up, staring in outrage as he saw the Annoying Dog perched on top of the judging table. “I know that sometimes you can’t always find everything you need in the pantry in the limited time you have, so I took the liberty of shopping for you! For a small price, this basket of food is yours to do with as you wish – keep it for yourself or swap out your opponent’s basket!” Papyrus couldn’t help the rush of glee that filled him – his foe had no money with which to win this prize.

The ingredients Host-Human was holding were… somewhat what was necessary for the desert, but they were also of the lowest quality possible. Now, Papyrus knew that he could easily deal with such a handicap – it was no different than struggling for human and foreign ingredients underground, but… wasn’t it almost fair, for a human to be forced to deal with this instead of a monster, for once?

Yes, Papyrus decided. This was karmic justice, of which his brother would approve most heartily! “$1,500!” he cheerfully called out, knowing that the human had no more than that. Indeed, moments later, he gracefully gifted the human with the food, and went to take back the old basket – only to draw back in surprise as the human spat in it and at him.

“NOW, HUMAN, THAT IS NO WAY TO REACT,” Papyrus scolded. “THAT’S NOT THE SPIT-RIT OF THINGS! NYEH-HEH-HEH!” he laughed as he retreated out of range, unwilling to get human slobber on his pearly bones. The dog’s slobber was bad enough!

Several minutes later, Alton spoke up again, while petting the dog. “You know, something interesting about the upside-down pineapple cake is that it’s turned upside-down. I know, who would have guessed? So, I was thinking… how about turning one of you upside down? Whenever you want to work at your station, you must be suspended in this sling and hung upside down at a lovely 45-degree angle. Who would like to-“

“Just give it to the damn skeleton already, you know he’s got the money!” the human beside him snarled out. Papyrus didn’t know that humans could turn that shade of purple – he was learning new things everyday!

“Well, alright! Papyrus, would you like to place your bid, please?” Papyrus somewhat uncertainly offered the expected 15-hundred, but he wasn’t sure about the action. Would the human be okay? He hadn’t been planning on bidding; as a monster, he was much more suited to physical difficulties, and he could still use magic to assist in his cooking. But if the other insisted…

With a deep scowl, the human was strapped into a deceptively simple rig, whereupon the same person that had tied him together slowly rotated the contraption until the human was at a very awkward looking angle. Papyrus felt a bit bad, but the human had quite literally asked for it!

No more sabotages came, but no more were necessary. The other human was hissing and spitting, no longer biting back his vitriol. Specks of spit landed in his…cake, as he attempted to bake. Papyrus felt pity for this poor human – if he could not get over himself, he would have absolutely nothing – nothing to show, nothing to hold onto, nothing to be proud of.

…and at the moment, the human had absolutely no pride whatsoever. He was red in the face, puffy in the cheeks, angry in the eyes, and empty in the money pocket. Quite frankly, it was everything he asked for and deserved – and the helper he had to ask to lift him each time was a female human! Which, for some reason, this male human despised.

He had to ask her nicely, too, or she’d dump him entirely on his head. It took him quite a few tries to figure this out! Papyrus shook his head at the lack of decency, and exchanged a high-five with the girl as he passed. He was so hip and with the times!

Papyrus grinned and the man let out a new stream of curses as one of his pans caught fire. Undyne would approve!

Papyrus watched with anticipation as Judge-human – different than judge-monster, who was Sans and had an entirely different job than this human judge – took a bite of his cake. He let out a short protest – no, not a squawk! Not at all! – as she then fed a bite to the dog that had successfully pulled off the Puppy Eyes Maneuver, ™. Papyrus could never get that look to work on anyone other than his brother – it wasn’t fair!

“Well, chefs, I have to say this is one of my easiest choices,” the judge said as she pulled back. Both she and papyrus looked over at his competition – a sad, burned and crumbling cake that was falling apart as they watched. The dog had refused to eat it when offered – Papyrus supposed that the dog did clearly have good taste, only going after the finest bones and cuisine – his, of course.

“And with that, I am proud to say that you, chef Papyrus, are the winner of cutthroat kitchen!” She said, and the dog let out a happy yowl as Papyrus screeched with joy.

“YES! YES! SANS, I DID IT! I WON! I WON!” Papyrus jumped up and pulled the judge into a hug, and then the host. “I ACTUALLY WON AT COOKING! I ACTUALLY WON IN A HUMAN SHOW! I MEAN, OF COURSE I’D WIN – I’M CLEARLY THE COOLEST MONSTER HERE – BUT… I WON!!!” Papyrus began to dance, only to be interrupted as A.D. started to growl.

“You rotten little-“ clearly the other human did not like losing, as he was approaching Papyrus with murder clear in his eyes. Papyrus slowed his celebrating and sighed – there was nothing so trying to his patience as a human trying to murder him.

*tinkle tinkle tinkle* Everybody stopped, as a rain of yellow liquid splashed down on the approaching human. He roared and launched himself forward, only to slip in the doggy residue and land face first in his ‘cake’.

Security came in, and quickly removed the stinking human, leaving Papyrus to his victory. Well! That had certainly been new!

-fin-

I hope you enjoyed reading! I’ll be posting this to AO3 after I get some sleep - I stayed up until 9 in the morning with no sleep so far - and a sequel with a few of the bits I had to cut to reach the wordcount. Hopefully it’s not too choppy, and that you enjoyed reading! This was my first intentional humorous - or should I say, humerus, story, so I hope it goes over well!

Thank you again for reading, and have a wonderful day!

Update: Link to AO3 version here!

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#Undertale #Undertalefanficcontest #@undertailfanficcontest #Papyrus #Cutthroat kitchen #Alton Brown #OCs #because you can't have a contest without competitors #humor #friendship #sabotage #Annoying Dog #my stories #my stuff

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audreycritter · 7 years

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Hi, I love your writing! I don't know if your flash fiction prompts are still open, so if they're not, ignore this! But, if they are open: Damian and Martha Kent? Pretty please?

This was an ask clarified to be in the Cor Et Cerebrum universe and it was SO MUCH FUN to write. I’m sorrynotsorry it got so long for something that’s just talking, haha. Rating: GRelationships: Gen/Friends

Gear Shift (AO3 Link)

Damian Wayne is sitting in the front of an old Ford F-150 on a rough wool blanket thrown over the tattered upholstery of the bench seat. He’s got both hands on the steering wheel, but the engine is off and the window down as he listens to the argument behind him.

Martha Kent is on the side porch right in view of the dirt road up into the west field and Jonathan Kent is standing in the bed of the truck, next to the two massive and grayish-white, plastic tanks of organic fertilizer. The old man has a red bandanna tucked under his ballcap, draped down over the back of his neck.

“Don’t you let him drive that truck, Jonathan Kent,” Martha snaps from the porch, shielding her eyes against the sun.

“He’s thirteen!” Jonathan protests, slapping his hand against a tank. “Clark started driving for haying when he was twelve!”

“You know why that’s different,” Martha says sternly.

“The Llewellyns start their kids at twelve, too,” Jonathan says stubbornly.

Damian holds his palm against the worn gearshift, uncertain what he should do. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard them really argue before.

“Caleb Reinhardt had Eric driving when he was nine. Nine, Martha! Now I’ll grant you he was tall and I’ve never met such a level-headed kid all my life.”

“That was nigh on twenty years ago,” Martha snaps. “Things have changed.”

“He’s thirteen,” Jonathan says. “I’m not taking him joy-ridin’! And he already knows how to drive. You do, don’t you?”

He looks at Damian and Damian nods. He feels like he’s betraying Martha Kent, who throws her hands in the air and says, “Alright, then, Jon, but if you get him killed you’re gonna make the phone call, not me.”

Jonathan clambers down from the truck bed and strides over to the porch, where he and Martha stand with their heads bent close together; her side is to him, though, a little defensively according to Damian’s own understanding of body language.

And if he was a normal kid, maybe he wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying. Or maybe he’d just be polite enough to tune it out and amuse himself for a minute with studying the gauges in the truck. But he’s got sharp ears and a sharper sense of… maybe it’s not curiosity, maybe it’s self-preservation. Whatever the reason, he can hear what they’re saying across the quiet morning yard and he listens. He watches in the large side view mirror.

“Do you trust me, Marty?” Jonathan asks, and Martha waves a hand dismissively. And then she nods.

“You know I do,” she replies. “I’m not saying I agree with you.”

“Is it my decision?” he asks seriously, his tone firm, his ballcap and bandanna wadded in his hand. “Am I gonna be in the doghouse over this?”

“No,” she replies, resigned. “Go on, then. You know how I feel, I’ve made it clear. But I’m done meddlin’.”

Jonathan kisses the top of her head and pulls his cap and bandanna back on, and heads back to the truck. He hauls himself up into the bed and taps the rear window in the cab.

Damian twists and slides it open.

“You close up that other window, now, and take it slow up that slope.”

The engine rumbles as it turns over and Damian glances in the mirror one more time, as he cranks the window shut. Martha is still standing on the porch and he can’t figure out her posture– she’s got one hand on her hip while she watches Jonathan, but she looks neither angry nor accepting.

For all the arguing, Damian does know how to drive and he can drive well, thanks to a fleet of manual transmission cars and a lot of not-always-authorized practice. Jonathan shouts instructions through the open rear window and they make slow laps around fields while the farmer sprays the young crops before the sun climbs too high.

They’re back to the farmhouse by lunch and Damian parks the truck in the gravel by the nearest barn while Jonathan opens the empty tanks to air out. Damian braces himself for whatever reception they get inside, uncertain how much of Martha’s lingering displeasure will fall solely on Jonathan’s head and how much will trickle down onto his own. She’s never been really angry with him before, even if he’s seen her annoyed in small ways or scolding, but it always seems to come from a calm center. And he’s never heard her really argue with Jonathan before.

Jonathan himself is whistling like he hasn’t a care in the world as they walk toward the farmhouse and Damian nods at the old farmer’s thanks. He really did enjoy helping and it’s only now back at the house that he’s worried; out in the fields, it was the furthest thing from his mind.

They both kick their boots off on the porch and the screen door creaks as they go inside. Martha is in the kitchen slicing pieces of cold ham. There’s already a plate with a tomato sandwich on thick homemade bread for Damian.

“How’d it go?” she asks, sounding cheerful, and Damian takes the plate with a confused frown. He carries it to the dining room where he’s sure they’ll follow, while Jonathan chats with her. They speak in low voices, too low for him to hear with the air conditioner running in the dining room. Then Martha laughs and Jonathan pokes his head into the room just as Damian sets his plate down, “Come on and eat on the porch with us. Martha made some sweet tea if you want a glass.”

They eat on the front porch under the shade from the roof and when Jonathan stands and announces he’s running into town for some things, Damian declines his invitation to come along.

“Suit yourself,” the old man says amiably. “Just boring bank and feed store business anywho. Shouldn’t be long.”

He leaves and Damian is acutely aware that Martha is sitting on the porch swing, not bustling around to gather the plates and empty glasses, because he is still sitting and she’s waiting him out.

“Jason’s classes end at four today,” Damian observes as a distraction.

“They do,” Martha agrees. “He’ll be back for supper.”

“Would it be alright if I climbed into the barn loft to do some sketching?” Damian asks, still looking at the steps he’s sitting on instead of her. His legs look too long to him after that last growth spurt. He’s still not used to how far down the steps they go when he stretches out and they feel like not part of his own body.

“Only if you stay off that loose hay,” Martha says. “I was proud of you today when Jon and I were talking. You didn’t jump into the middle of things to defend yourself. Last year, you might have.”

Damian looks back at her sharply. She and Jonathan acted like nothing was wrong the entire meal and now he’s genuinely bewildered.

“Why are you pretending not to be mad at him?” Damian demands.

Martha’s eyes open wide in an expression of surprise and then her face relaxes. She stands and begins gathering the plates.

“Come help me thin the carrots before it’s too hot,” she says. Damian follows her into the house with tall glasses in his hands and he sets them in the sink.

Minutes later, they’re outside again, this time in the smaller family garden near the house. Martha has a wide sunhat tied beneath her chin and Damian kneels next to her to pull the feathery carrot tops she points to. They dump the pullings into an scratched yellow bucket for the chickens.

“I’m not mad at Jonathan,” Martha says after they work for a bit. “We didn’t agree, that’s for certain, but we agreed it was his decision.”

“You weren’t happy when we left,” Damian says, watching a worm wriggle in the spot where he’d pulled a skinny, short carrot.

“Nope,” Martha shakes her head. “But most folks take some time to get over things they don’t like. Doesn’t mean they can’t.”

Damian considers this.

“If I were at home and I fought with Father,” he says, knowing that it’s not exactly the same relationship, “we might stay angry for hours or days. Until one of us relented.”

“Once, Clark went a whole week without talking to me,” Martha says. “Lord, but that boy can hold a grudge when it suits him. I’m glad it’s a rare thing.”

“Father and,” Damian pauses, wondering if he’s giving too much away but also genuinely puzzled and trying to make sense of things. Sometimes the way the Kents behave is just so foreign, like another language that he’s never been taught. Or perhaps just a separate dialect, where he misses phrases and idioms while following the general direction.

“I’m no snitch,” Martha teases him, ribbing him with an elbow. “But you keep your secrets if you need to.”

“Father and Selina sometimes quarrel,” Damian says, guessing this to be a similar relationship of a sort. Closer than son and father, that’s for certain. “It might take them weeks or months to resume their relationship. They don’t always argue loudly. Sometimes, I am not aware there was a disagreement until I notice her prolonged absence.”

“Hm,” Martha says thoughtfully. When she doesn’t start in on a lecture in reaction to this, he continues.

“I do not think he has spoken to Mother for over a year. But perhaps that should not count. I am uncertain they have had any conversation not resulting in conflict for the entirety of my life.”

“You know your grandparents fought,” Martha says casually, dropping a handful of carrots into the bucket. They fall soft and soundless on the stems of the others.

“What?” Damian says, frozen. “You knew them?”

“Of course not,” Martha laughs, not loud or hard, but gentle and quick. “But honey, everybody fights.”

Damian forces his hands to keep moving, to seize vegetable matter and pluck it out of the earth. He has never heard his Wayne grandparents spoken of with anything but solemn or confiding tones, something like hushed reverence. Even Father, for all his interior motivations and the ways he makes them known, doesn’t really talk about his parents in the days before they were murdered. And he must have memories– he was nearly the same age when they died as Damian was when he left the League for Gotham, and Damian most assuredly remembers his life before.

“If they were married, they fought,” Martha says. “Now, I’m not saying they screamed or threw things. Some people fight so silent and still you never can figure out how they even know they’re mad about the same thing. I knew a couple like that once, up on a farm on the other side of town. They left to join their kids in Arizona years ago, but that’s beside the point. I was over piecing a quilt with her once and every time he came in the house, she’d get all tight-lipped and he’d just scowl. But they made up all the same. Worst fight they’d ever had, she told me later, and about wallpaper of all things.”

“That sounds like Father and Pennyworth,” Damian says with a grin at the plants in front of him. “They fought like that over a red chair once.”

“Now that is a battle of wills if I’ve ever heard tell,” Martha observes with a chuckle. “Anyways, my point was, everybody fights. Fathers and sons, sisters and sisters, husbands and wives. And some of them it just tears apart. Some hurt people can go a whole lifetime and never reconcile. But if you don’t wanna go leaving a trail of broken relationships behind you, you figure out how to fight and get over it, real fast.

“So, to answer your question, no. I’m not mad at Jonny. I was. And I’m sure he was miffed at me for challenging him. He doesn’t like it much when I do, but I do it all the same, and we both survive. But we both got over it and because we don’t like to be miserable, we both got over it pretty darn quick.”

“Tt,” Damian says softly, thinking. “I would not have helped by defending my driving experience then.”

“Nope,” Martha says, standing and brushing her skirt off. “You know what the Bible says about that? ‘He who meddles in a quarrel not his own is like one who takes a passing dog by the ears.’ You might be fine, might get your fingers bit. I used to quote that one at Clark pretty often, he had a habit of getting himself involved in things. Guess I didn’t convince him otherwise very well, now did I?”

Damian grins again, this time at her.

“I don’t think he learned,” Damian comments.

“Well,” Martha says, picking up the bucket. It’s not very heavy but Damian takes it anyway and she lets him. They pick their way out of the garden and toward the chicken coop. “Well, I didn’t mean for this to turn into a lesson. Goodness, I hated when my Ma did that to me– take an honest question and turn it into a moral, but here I am, doing it to you same as I did to Clark and Conner.”

“It’s alright,” Damian says. “I am interested in finding alternative methods to conflict resolution. It is a significant portion of my life.”

“Yes,” Martha says, looking over at him. He’s nearly as tall as her now. “I suppose it is. Not exactly of the mending fences variety though.”

“There may be that as well,” Damian says. “Perhaps you have observed Father’s past habit of incorporating orphaned youth into our family. I had acquired several siblings even before my arrival.”

“Incorporating,” Martha says while Damian tosses the carrot bits into the chicken yard, “is perhaps not the word I would use. But you do have an awful lot of people to get along with, I’ll grant you that.”

“They are suitable,” Damian says, watching the chicken peck at carrot tops and squawk at each other. “Thank you for answering my question.”

“You know,” Martha says slowly, in that way she speaks when she’s second-guessing herself. He’s only heard it often enough to know what it is. “Me and Jonathan have had a lot of practice and we made a commitment to each other a long, long time ago. I don’t want to give you the impression that I think everything your daddy does is the wrong way to do things.”

“He is a very capable man,” Damian says, “but it is a foolish person who only seeks one teacher. It is wise to search out the master of each art.”

Damian is not trying to be profound, just honest. He is not prepared for the way that Martha Kent’s eyes suddenly fill with tears, the way she turns her head to snap at the chickens to hide it.

“Look at you,” she says gently, glancing at him a moment later. “You stop that growin’ up and take a year or two off, else I’m gonna have to pester your daddy or Clark into finding some new little ones. We still need a baby around here.”

Damian doesn’t move. He’s worried now that he insulted or wounded her, until she leans over and gives him a quick hug. He doesn’t pull away or do much to return the hug, but he accepts it and the relief within his ribcage is immense.

“Come on inside and keep me company while I make cake. I’m in a mood,” Martha says, walking back toward the farmhouse. “I’ll let you lick the beaters if you still need good reason to come indoors.”

“I suppose it would be unkind to boast about this to Jason,” Damian says, setting the bucket down and tagging along after her. “But I do enjoy his exaggerated outrage.”

“To be honest, honey, I think he does, too,” Martha confides in a low whisper as they go into the kitchen. “But maybe we’ll just save one in the fridge for him just in case.”

Damian nods and washes his hands, looking out the window at the field as he does.

“Thank you for trusting Jonathan,” he says. “I like to drive.”

“Oh boy,” Martha says. “I know that tone. Your daddy doesn’t let you at home, does he?”

Damian smirks at her over his shoulder. “We don’t have a farm,” he says, shrugging a shoulder. “But it’s okay. I’m not a snitch.”

“Lordy. Jonathan’s gonna be, though,” Martha says. “But that’s alright. He brought it on himself. Go get your sketch pad. I’m not gonna have you pilfering bits of brown sugar while I work, so you should keep yourself busy.”

Damian quick-steps away from the towel she swats at his legs and returns a moment later with his sketchbook. While she whisks eggs for the cake, he sits at the small kitchen table in the room thick with the smell of vanilla and sketches the soft green stems of carrots from memory. It is quiet while he works and while she works, but it is a good quiet and he feels no need to fill it with words– the scritch scritch of charcoal pencil and the thwick thwick thwick of beaters are enough.

#batman #batfam #damian wayne #martha kent #cor et cerebrum series #ficblogging #ask #flash fiction pshaw

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sheisthesunl1ght · 5 years

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Dayna hadn’t wanted to leave the band,

not really, but guilt was eating her up from the inside out. She couldn’t help but feel responsible for The Supreme very nearly losing their guitarist. Not to mention the drama with Patrick. She needed to get back home to make sure he didn’t try to threaten her family.

Her new friends had been understanding and more than helpful when it came to getting her back home. She would forever be thankful to them, and she missed them dearly. Still, she had missed her mom more and getting to see her again after everything was much needed. Day spent an enormous amount of time with her mom and younger brother. She met up with a couple old friends to catch up. She hadn’t heard anything from Patrick, thankfully. Her life was just starting to get back to normal. That is, until Chase hit her up only a week after she had gone home, asking if he could come visit. She’d have been lying if she said she didn’t miss him and the others, so of course she had complied.

What surprised her was when he came to visit again not long after that, and then again a week later. It was nice to see him, and they got real close, real fast. She introduced him to her family, and even to some of her friends. It felt easy and natural with Chase. On one visit, they got drunk together playing cards. It was a blast, and in their drunken shenanigans, they slept together in her bedroom. The morning after wasn’t even awkward. It was hard for Day, though, keeping the romance she had had with his brother a secret. And what made it even harder was that she often thought of Derrek even when she was with Chase.

When Chase had invited her to meet them in Australia for Derrek’s big return, she was torn and hesitant. She knew she still had feelings for Derrek, but she didn’t want to lose or complicate whatever it was she had with Chase. She liked him, a lot. He was sweet and so hilarious. She often couldn’t keep up with him, but it kept her on her toes. It seemed like he liked her just as much no matter what she said or did. With Derrek, Day felt like she was walking on eggshells. Two brothers with opposite personalities, and they made her feel in two completely different ways. It was difficult to handle, but she couldn’t miss out on Derrek’s debut after she was responsible for his departure in the first place.

The Supreme was back and better than ever. Day had enjoyed every second of their set, singing every lyric from the sidelines. The thought of seeing Derrek again made her anxious, and the closer they got to the end of the show, the more her stomach twisted itself into knots. She turned away as the final song ended, getting herself a glass of water to calm herself. Dayna had only just put down her empty glass when someone crashed right into her.

“Day!” Before she could react, his arms were around her. Day hugged Derrek, not minding how sweaty his back was. He was glistening and as gorgeous as ever. Her heart was beating so fast.

Chase filled in the awkward pause by asking about her flight. Finally, she could say something without sounding like an idiot. “My flight was good! Long, but it was definitely worth the trip.” She looked at Derrek as she said it, then guiltily looked away.

When Bash interrupted, she was relieved. She hugged Bastien and Maycen and Paige, happy to see all of them again and she followed them out to the pub down the street. On the way there, Chase asked how her mom was.

“She’s good! She actually just got promoted to floor manager at the diner, finally. She’s only been running the place for the past like, ten years.” Day said happily. “Speaking of, I brought you guys some of her famous homemade danishes! It was a challenge to bring them on the plane, but they made it to the hotel.”

Once at the bar, Chase left Day and Derrek alone to find them a booth. Her heart started beating terribly fast once again as he took her hand and led her to the bar. He was so close to her, and just the simple contact of their hands together made her sweat. He ordered two rum and cokes and she was happy to get a bit of liqueur in her system to ease some of her nerves.

“So, how’s your hand?” She asked him, trying to keep her cool. The wood paneled bar was cozy and intimate, with multicolored lights hung all around and music that was fun and upbeat but not so loud that you needed to shout. It was a nice place.

“Good as new. Better than ever. You know, except when it hurts.” She raised an eyebrow at his response, and he continued, “I’m just glad I can play again.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. I’m glad it’s better.” She replied. “Listen, I wanted to say I’m so—,“ her apology was interrupted by Chase announcing he had found them a spot at the back.

Dayna downed her drink and let Chase take her hand, leading her away from Derrek. She looked back at him as he stayed behind, looking almost sad. Her heart ached with guilt. Still, the night was a total blast. She was reminded of how much she missed being around them. Day almost choked on her drink when she heard the story of Chase’s nude nonsense. She burst into laughter, being able to picture the scene all too well.

When Derrek excused himself, Day’s heart sank. She tried to act like she wasn’t disappointed in the night coming to a close, then Chase put her on the spot. “I hope it’s not a problem but since we didn’t know for sure if you were going to make it, we couldn’t book you your own room. I just figured we could share.” He was so casual about it, shrugging one of his shoulders the way he always did. It was so familiar and almost comforting. What could she say?

“Yeah, of course! No problem.” Day said, trying to match his careless tone. “Better than crashing in the hotel lobby,” she forced a chuckle and followed Chase out of the booth.

She caught Derrek’s eye as he leaned against the edge of the booth. He nodded at her, saying he’d see her tomorrow.

“Sure. Goodnight, Derrek.” She replied quietly and met Chase outside.

They made it to the hotel without incident, thankfully. Day had been used to going out with Chase and him having to throw up on the way back home. She spent a lot of time taking care of him, but she didn’t mind. He had taken good care of her, as well. Once inside the room, Chase threw his arms around her and kissed her cheek. He seemed glad they were finally alone. He told her he had missed her, which made her laugh considering they had seen each other just last week.

“You’re being silly,” she said, but she kissed his scruffy cheek and pulled away to put down her purse and take off her jean jacket. Underneath was a pastel-striped halter crop, which had been a welcome-home gift from her mom.

Day felt Chase approach her from behind, and she could tell from the heat of his skin that he had taken his shirt off for the second time that night. He tugged on the string of her top, undoing the only thing that was holding it up. She let him slip it up and off her, let him cup her breasts in his hands and kiss the skin of her neck. It felt good, and she wanted him but knowing Derrek was just down the hall made her feel so conflicted. Day pushed those thoughts out of her mind, wanting to enjoy the time with Chase. She turned and kissed his full lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their chests pressed closely against each other’s, and the two of them fell back onto the bed, Day on top of him.

There was a knock on the door then, and Dayna’s head whipped toward it. Her eyes were wide and she shoved herself off of Chase. She covered her breasts with her arm, looking for her top in the dim light of the room.

Chase told her to relax, that he would answer the door. It didn’t reassure her much, but she stopped running around the room like a headless chicken. He went to the door and checked the peephole, announcing that it was Derrek.

“Derrek?” Day all but gulped. She abandoned the search for her shirt and just bolted into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. What could he possibly want?

She heard the door open as Chase let his older brother into the room. Day could hear them talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying. She hoped he had just forgotten something and would leave quickly. There was no way this situation could end well. Day heard her name on the other side of the door, and she had to act quickly. She threw back the shower curtain and turned on the faucet. She was going to pretend to have a shower, then decided she might as well shower for real. The Australian heat had made her sweat bullets and maybe Derrek would be gone by the time she was done.

Half an hour later, Day felt clean and refreshed, until she realized she had absolutely nothing she could change into. She dried herself off for as long as she could, leaving her messy, towel-dried hair loose down her back. There was no avoiding it anymore, she had to leave the bathroom sometime. She unlocked the door and slowly opened it…

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the-little-witches-books · 7 years

Text

I’ve been considering posting things I write for a while now, so here’s something that I wrote as a school assignment once and ended up really liking so here it is.

Eshe and the Bees:

Aaron was in what his grandmother would call “A pickle”, and that “pickle” being his family farm failing so terribly he wasn’t even sure where to begin to fix this. The farm had been in his name for a year now and has been the most difficult year of his life. He had watched his grandmother tend to the farm his whole life without issue, had helped her tend to it his whole life, but almost as soon as she had passed last year the farm had started to slowly die as well and Aaron was at a loss for what to do.

His grandmother, always the bright woman, had left him binders full of notes on how to take care of the farm; little things that he hadn’t known before now and phone numbers that he would need when it was time to sell products, but then there were things that didn’t make sense to him. There were a few notes scrawled in the margin’s that said things like “IF YOU NEED HELP CALL ESHE,” and a recipe for a pound cake that he was sure was supposed to go in her recipe books instead of her work books. Aaron had absolutely no idea who Eshe was or why he would need to call them and therefore waved that note off as well. There was no phone number for Eshe either, so he safely assumed it was nothing too important. None of his grandmother’s notes said anything about what to do if all the plants started to die without warning.

The animals that the farm raised were doing swell, the cows and the goats still producing fresh milk, they were all as healthy and active as they should be, the hens still laying good eggs, but the plants…the plants were another story. Aaron had done everything he could think of to help them; he’s tried three different types of soil, he’s tried a different watering system, he’s tried everything and the plants still wilt and rot. He had one of his grandmother’s old friends come over to look at the plants and when the older man couldn’t find the root cause of the problem, had merely shrugged and suggested trying to plant new crops. It was getting to the point where he was considering selling the property out of spite (for obvious reasons he could not have done that but it was a nice threat in the back of his mind).

It wasn’t until an early January morning that Aaron found out why his farm was doing so poorly and how to fix it.

Farm life required early mornings; getting up at sunrise so that he could get work done quickly and making sure that all the animals had food ready for them when they awoke. Aaron was just waking up and heading to the kitchen when he noticed that the lights were still on, and there was no one else who could be in the house aside from him and the dogs he owned. Aaron did the most logical thing that he could think of and grabbed the baseball bat he had lying around for reasons like this, and crept into the kitchen as silently as one could creep in a house with creaky wood flooring.

What Aaron found and what Aaron was expecting were two completely different things. He expected someone to be rifling through his things; taking what they could get their hands on and possibly attempting to murder him. What Aaron found was a woman with ebony skin drinking a cup of coffee and angrily tapping away at a cellphone, a basic smartphone, it would do enough to multitask, with a case shaped like a bumblebee, sitting regally at his kitchen table, unaware that he was standing in the threshold with a baseball bat. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a bun, and her nails had dirt embedded so deeply into them he was sure it was more pain than it was worth to try and clean them.

“Ummm?” He asked, unsure of what to do.

The woman looked up from her phone and glared at him for reasons Aaron couldn’t figure out. “Who are you? Where is my cake?” She asked, dropping the device roughly onto the table. “It has been a year, and we had a deal. Where is Maria, we must have words.” Her voice was harsh and demanding and Aaron wasn’t sure who had broken into whose home at this point.

“Ummm?” He asked again, unsure of what was going on.

She snapped at him a few times. “Maria, boy, where is she? We had a deal and I haven’t gotten my payment in a year. I demand answers.”

Aaron slowly lowered the baseball bat and scratched the back of his head. “Grand-Maria, died a year ago…Ma’am…”

The woman took a long sip of her coffee and made a humming sound. “Sit down, boy.” She said, pointing to the chair across from her. “We have things to discuss.” Aaron wasn’t sure why he was listening to the woman, but he put the bat down, made himself a cup of coffee, and sat down across from her without saying a word.

Neither of them said anything for a long time, silently drinking their coffees and tapping away at their phones until the silence was too much and Aaron asked a question.

“Who are you, exactly?” He wondered, looking at her closely. He’d been living with his grandmother since he was born and didn’t remember ever meeting this woman or hearing about some deal that his grandmother had made with anyone.

“My name,” The mysterious woman began, “Is Eshe and I am a goddess of fertility.” She spoke the words slowly but surely.

There was more silence for one heartbeat, two, three, four, and finally-

“You’re kidding me.” Aaron said without hesitation. He believed a lot of things; he believed that a god existed, and he believed that science could explain almost everything, but this was too much even for him.

The woman, Eshe, huffed angrily, nostrils flaring at him. “I beg your pardon?” She hissed out. “How dare you say that to me.”

“Excuse me? You broke into my home!” He shouted, louder than he probably should have.

“I have an open invitation to come into this home whenever I please to come into this home! Did your grandmother tell you nothing of me?” Eshe looked him dead in the eye, a trait that Aaron had always found intimidating.

Aaron remembered the note, but that didn’t help with anything. “There’s only been one mention of you; a note telling me to call you if I needed help but nothing else. Are you going to explain things to me, or are you going to continue to make vague comments all morning? I have a farm to tend to.”

A scoff and a lazy wave of a hand in the air. “A farm that is dying, because you have failed to make the proper payments.” She laughed out, not harshly, but amused by the situation. “Calm yourself, boy, and I will tell you a tale from sixty years ago.

“When your grandmother, Maria, moved here with her new husband they had no idea what they were doing, their crops would not grow, and their animals would get sick so easily they could not keep them alive, and so they prayed for some sort of help, any kind really. Kind and generous as I am, I came to your grandmother one morning while she was making breakfast and struck a deal with her. Once a month she is to leave me a fresh, homemade cake, any sort of cake, and I would keep the farm thriving for her and her family. It was a simple enough deal you see, payment was easy and all I had to do was keep things alive. Easy. But, a year ago today the cakes have stopped being left out for me; I figured that there were some slight…mobility issues, Maria was getting rather old and I was allowing a grace period of two months and if the cakes stopped coming I would stop nurturing the farm. It has been a year; your farm is dead.”

Aaron could see how it all made sense, could even understand why his grandmother had left that random cake recipe in her binders now. He didn’t know how to bake though, didn’t even like sweets. What was he even going to tell her?

“Would you like to make a new deal with me, boy?” Eshe asks, standing to make another cup of coffee. She rummages through his cabinets like she’s lived here her entire life, and pulls out a large container of honey before squeezing a generous amount of it into her coffee.

“My name is Aaron.” He says, weakly.

“Answer the question, boy.” Eshe chides him, and goes about her business in the kitchen. “You can have a functioning farm again, or you could lose everything your grandmother has built and we both know how sad that would be.” She says offhandedly.

Aaron watches her buzz around the kitchen for a few more minutes before she sits, and looks at him knowingly. “What kind of deal are we talking about?” He asks.

Eshe hums contently. “What do you think about bees?”

Not really an answer, but he’ll take what he can get. “I don’t care for them.”

“Wrong.”

“Wrong?” How could his own opinion be wrong?

“You love bees, you’re deeply invested in taking them off the endangered species list, why you even have a few bee hives in your farm and give money to the Save the Bees Foundation every month. It’s all very noble of you, boy.” Eshe smiles at him slowly, and picks up the forgotten phone and taps away at something.

“Is that my deal? I take care of bees and you take care of my farm? Why bees? I don’t like bees.” Aaron tells her. He doesn’t know who she thinks he is, he can’t afford to give money to a foundation every month when his business is doing so poorly.

Eshe doesn’t look up from the phone, which bugs Aaron slightly. Why can’t she just give him her full attention? “Did you know that we’ve lost 44% of bee population over the summers of 2015 and 2016? And that the number of bees lost grows every single day? If someone doesn’t do something soon there’s going to be a big problem.” She says it like it’s the only thing that matters.

“If you’re a fertility goddess why aren’t you helping some poor couple have a baby or something?” He asks, annoyed by the entire situation.

Eshe looks up at him blankly. “Couples who want to have babies aren’t my problem. There are other gods and goddesses that they can pray to, but I don’t bother with them unless I need to. My concern is for this world and what’s happening to it.” She tells him firmly.

“But why bees? Why not something else?” Aaron asked.

Eshe groaned. “Bees are one of the most important creatures on this earth; without them we would have next to nothing. Your plants will not grow, which means that your animals have nothing to eat, which means that you have nothing to eat and without anything to eat you will die. To put it in simpler terms for you, boy, everything you value will perish.”

The two had a stare down, and Aaron wanted to say that he stood his ground the whole time, but Eshe’s gaze won out and he gave up.

“How do I save the bees?” Aaron pondered.

Eshe returned to her phone, an annoying habit of hers. “The confirmation emails should be coming in any minute now.”

“What emails? Are you always this cryptic? How did you and my grandmother get along?” Aaron knew he was asking too many questions, yet didn’t have it in him to stop himself.

“You ordered a bee colony, and a few books on bee keeping, and you’re organizing a Save the Bees rally; it really is such a kind thing for you to do if I must say so myself.” Eshe smirked up at him. “Your grandmother would be so proud.”

Dozens of thoughts were running through Aaron’s head at once. He wasn’t sure that he had heard her correctly, but he was almost positive that he had heard every word she said crystal clear.

“So, bees are just going to show up at my house one day?” He asked.

“March first, to be exact. You can’t start a bee hive in the winter, you see, you have to wait until it gets warm or they’ll die and we don’t want that.” Eshe told him. “You can use the time in between to start learning about bees, and how to properly bake.”

“Can I just buy you a cake instead?”

“No.”

“You’re really not helpful at all.” Aaron told her.

Eshe shrugged. “I’ll be back in a week for my cake, and we’ll have another talk to see if you’ve learned anything useful.”

“What about my farm?” Aaron asked.

“Your farm will be back to its former glory when I know you’re invested in this, or when I get my cakes. Whichever one comes first.” Eshe finished her coffee and stood up.

“Do I have any choices in this?” He knew he didn’t, it was nice to ask though.

She stared down at him and then vanished.

Aaron was left confused and intimidated. He needed more than a week to figure things out, and to process what had just happened to him. He didn’t believe a thing Eshe had said, there was no way that a goddess had been in his home. She had just up and vanished and now that he was thinking about it, he was probably just hallucinating. He decided that, after feeding the animals and doing the basic things that needed to be done, he would go to sleep. When he woke up he would forget all about the events of the morning. Yes, that would work.

When Aaron checked his phone later that night there were ten confirmation emails for books about bees (and one cook book), and two bee colonies were going to be delivered to his farm. There was a new text on his phone from a number that Aaron didn’t recognize, and when he opened it the text was made up of those stupid emoji’s that Aaron roughly translated into “Boy learns about bees, Boy saves world”. At that point, Aaron resigned himself to this life...after all, Aaron only had to wait…and learn…

The books came two days later, and by that point Aaron has given up tending to the crops and focused on the animals, which meant that he had plenty of time to read the books that Eshe had gifted him. Bees, Aaron found out, were more interesting than he had originally thought. They were such small creatures but they were so important to the world. All his crops needed bees to survive. Without them half of the farmer’s market would be out of business. Aaron was by no means a scholar, he didn’t feel the need to look things up if he didn’t have to know them; but there was something pulling him towards this, something telling him that he needed to do more, more, more.

Eshe was spread out on his couch the next time he saw her, a book in hand and a plate full of honey cake resting beside her. “This is probably the worst cake I’ve ever had.” She told him in greeting.

Aaron made an offended sound in the back of his throat. “Hello to you too, Eshe.” He threw himself on the chair across from her.

“What have you learned, boy?” She asked.

Aaron thought about the last two weeks of his life, the questions that he had going through his head since she had shown up in his life. He had looked up the name “Eshe” on Google one night and came up with an African goddess of fertility, known to most for helping anyone who left sweets out for her. He didn’t want to believe her, it was the most ridiculous thing that had happened to him, but things were in her favor. He had learned a lot, but was it what she wanted him to know?

“Bees are more important than I am.” He hoped that she would say otherwise, but doubted that she would say anything against the claim.

She hummed approvingly. “And so, what are you going to do?” She prodded gently.

“Save the bees.” Aaron said confidently. It was the only real answer he could give. Save the bees, save everything that’s linked to them, save the environment that is slowly but surely collapsing.

Another approving hum came from the couch. “I heard that there’s a company selling bee t-shirts, all profits go to the foundation.”

Aaron knew where this was going before she could say anything. “How many did I order?”

“Seven, one for every day of the week.”

Aaron shouldn’t be surprised that she would push seven bee themed t-shirts on him, but he was. The two sat in relatively peaceful silence before he had to ask her another question. “Why can’t you just save them? Save all of us this trouble.”

Eshe closed the book and let it rest on her stomach. “If I could fix this I would have fixed it before it was an issue, but it doesn’t work that easily. Man caused this problem, man can fix it and they will fix this. The most me and my fellow gods can do is push you the right way and hope that you get the hint.” She reached for the cake and poked at it with her fork.

Aaron thought about the ice caps that were melting, and the Great Barrier Reef dying and all the things Eshe had told him. Bees were only part of the bigger picture that she had been trying to paint for him. It sounded like she was asking a lot from him, and the research and planning was taxing, but taking care of the bees would be easy. Check on them every other month or so, harvest the honey in the fall, and make sure that they were safe and in return his farm would flourish. Easy, easy, easy.

“How would someone set up one of those fundraisers?” He asked her.

Eshe grinned. “I thought you would never ask.”

#Original things #personal #Eshe and the Bees #writing things #I love Eshe because I made her as ace as possible #ace character #Eshe #Aaron the dumb farmer #save the bees

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