The lights flickered and buzzed, slowly bringing in to focus an empty room. A spotlight flashed, and a boy with panicked jade eyes and curled green locks jumped up, looking around.
"H-Hello? Is anyone there? Why am I here, what is this place, how did I get there, is that a camera..." The fidgeting boy went off on a long-winded ramble. Off the screen, you could hear a shriek of a girl, and the raging stomps of her fury as she neared the stage.
"Excuse ME?" She yells, and the boy scrambled back, his wide eyes lined with vivid terror. "You are NOT the main character of this story, beat it, chump!", she barked, and kicked him out of the scene. She sighed, tapping her foot impatiently. She opened her eyes and glanced upwards, and her emerald eyes widened in shock when she saw a small red-light leering at her. "Wait- you already started rolling?" She stammers before clearing her throat and puffs out her well-endowed chest. She takes her hand and flips her curled ponytail, which was the hue of sunshine blonde fading half-way into a cherry-blossom pink. Freckles in the shapes of bubbles on her cheeks crinkled as she beamed.
The young woman slowly strides towards the camera in long steps, stopping just before the yellow line on the ground. She raises her hand to the air and smiles. "Allow me to introduce myself, lovelies; Bubbles Mesta, and no, that's not a nickname," she corrected, wiggling a tiny finger in admonishment. With a hefty huff Bubbles pulls out a meter-long stick, and strains as she reaches up on her tippy-toes to reach an off-screen projector and pulls down a grey sheet. She taps the screen and a picture shows up on screen. She grins.
"This is my workplace. It's a two-in-one, cute-patootie, double-stacked little shack that's managed to not only house a family of four but manage a cafe bakery as well," she explains with pride. "I work full-time there as a baker, and I literally could not imagine any other life for myself. At all. Nothing comes to mind," she laughs, However her expression darkens after the laughter fades. She shakes her head and her spirits rise again.
The screen flips over to a picture of two woman with cherry pink hair, one with short, spiked hair, the other with long braids. She points to the braided one with golden eyes, smiling softly. "That's my mother, Sakura Mesta. She has the Quirk Misfortune. She was never taught how to use it, so she can never turn it off. Let's just say it makes life... Interesting," Bubbles admits rather sheepishly, before tapping the screen on the one with short hair. "That's my sister, Aislinn Mesta, who inherited the less negative effects of my mom's Quirk. She's a hero, and of course, of fucking course she named herself Miss Fortune. Nobody would pass up that opportunity." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
The next slide shows a very 'Norman' looking man, with straight, dull, slicked back blonde hair and a thinning mustache. His green eyes were hidden by the perpetual flash of his round glasses, which were always staring deeply into a newspaper. "You thought his name must be Norman, right? Well, yeah, ding ding ding, you're fucking right. Norman Harold Mesta is his full given name, and he's as boring as one gets. Especially with a Quirk like his. You'd think having bubbles as a power couldn't possibly be boring, but it's my dad; he made it possible." She sighs, her green eyes downcast. "He literally just uses it to fetch his coffee. That's it. I could not tell you what else he uses it for- oh my god, to grab the newspaper, duh." She smacks her head and smiles dumbly, before shaking her head, heavy with disappointment.
"And then you've got me!" She exclaims, and tugs at her ponytail which bounces straight back up. "The 'misfit' of the family. My crime? Being born with bubble freckles. That's right. That's why my name is Bubbles, not just to torment me," she concedes. "But, that doesn't stop me from pursuing being absolutely badass! You know not to fuck with a girl names Bubbles, cause that chick definitely knows some kickass MMA," she boasts, the idea of being humble thrown out the window into a ferocious pack of dogs. "There is only one thing that is stopping me from being a hero, my Quirk! Well, that's to say, I have no Quirk. None, zip zap zatta. I ain't got a single lick of mutated genes in my teeny tiny ultra-minuscule body," she explains. "Not that that's a bad thing, per se, but... I have to work soooo much harder to even have an iota of interest. It's tiring, being me," she sighs wistfully, placing her hand on her chest daintily.
She clears her throat and taps the screen one last time, which shifts to Bubbles in mid-run, a bright, easy smile on her face. "And that, my succulent chocolate chip muffins, is where my - no, sorry, our - story is going to begin!" As the camera slowly zooms in on the first scene of the story, the young boy jumps up in front of the screen again, his panic apparent.
"PLEASE HELP ME! MY NAME IS MIDORIYA IZUKU, AND I AM LOST AND IN NEED OF HELP, PLEASE HEL- AGGGH!" Steam billows out of the heroine's nose as she drags him out of the scene, his cries heard off camera as the scene begins.
I bounded down the street as fast as my legs could carry me, slipping past the throng of pedestrians that looked on at me with exasperated expressions. My backpack bounced in time to my steps and the paper in my hand crinkled as I looked down at my watch. Anxiety grappled my chest in a chokehold.
"Aw fuck nuggets, I'm going to miss out on the cupcakes again," I bemoaned, the store finally in my sights. Some people stopped in my tracks with a jovial wave, their eyes crinkling with warmth.
"Hey Bubbles! Off to get some more ingredients?" One of them called, and I nodded quickly, flashing them a tiny, hurried smile.
"Yup, if I sprint, I should get there before the family cupcakes pop out!" I explained, turning back around. I unfolded the crinkled paper and skimmed the list quickly. Whipping cream, strawberries, and... Something that looked concerningly close to anchovies, which caused my face to scrunch in confusion. I read closer, and it actually said ananas, which are pineapples. Still a confusing request, especially in French, but it made better sense for a bakery than anchovies. "Bleh," I said aloud, causing a couple of listeners to furrow their brows.
I kicked in the door, the aura of urgency surrounding my form in red light. The store clerk sighed, shaking his head as I sped around the store in search of my goods. He knew that I always pushed it to the last minute, causing complete chaos in his poor store. I spared a moment in my witch hunt for ingredients to cast him an apologetic glance, before rushing to the fridge section. Canisters of whipped cream were lined up like stalwart soldiers, and I giggled, placing two of them in my basket. When I was about to turn the corner into another aisle, a scream sounded, promptly followed by the shattering of glass.
I ducked down and covered my head, my heartbeat loud in my ears. I glanced upwards, and I could see over the aisle crimson feathers fluffing out. The slithering voice of a villain caused my heart to squeeze in fear, and I trembled in place. "You come anywhere near me, hero, and I'll slit this man's throat," he warned with a cackle. The hero cursed, his feathers ruffling more. I couldn't quite see him, but I didn't have time for that.
My family would take no excuses when it came to cupcake time.
My eyes wandered for anything, and they landed in my basket, looking at the canisters of whipped cream. My eyes widened as I gently pulled open the fridge, acquiring two more metal containers and gripped them tightly, my frame shaking. This was reckless, absolutely and undeniably, but those cupcakes were a one-and-done deal, I wasn't giving them up for anything. There were very few things I looked forward to in this life, and those fucking baby cakes piled on with frosting were an absolute must-have in my life. I couldn't go another week after I had missed six!
I slipped around the corner, keeping my body low and silent, which wasn't that hard considering my size. I popped off the lids and shook the cans vigorously, praying that it would be enough of a distraction for the hero to do his job. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. It was now or never. I took in a deep breath, hanging the basket on my right arm, and I jumped up, high in the air.
"WHIPPING CREAM ATTACK!" I bellowed loudly, and the villain turned around, his black eyes wide as I sprayed the cream all over him. He howled, accidentally releasing the man in his disarray, who took off running down the street. Immediately afterward, vermillion feathers shot forward and pinned the villain down, smothering him in cream. I dropped the empty cans and sprinted for the cash, slamming the money on the counter and speeding off, shoving the things in my bag. "Sorry for the mess, bye Mr. Tasiki!"
I sprinted like the wind, desperation hounding at my heels. Maybe, if I was lucky, I would get those cupcakes!
Hawks apprehended the criminal and blew out a breath of air, stretching his back. His feet were covered in whipped cream, but he didn't really mind. He turned to the clerk, who that girl seemed to know. He pointed a thumb in the direction she ran off in, an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips.
"Who was that," he asked nonchalantly, and the clerk sighed as he got out with a broom, dreading the business of cleaning up the mess.
He scowled slightly, but it didn't stay for long. "Bubbles," he answered wearily, "Bubbles Mesta. She's a handful," he commented, his eyes closing as he got to work. Hawks snorted, undeterred.
"Hah, no seriously, what's her name," he asked again, hoping for a real answer. The clerk propped himself on the broom and raised an eyebrow. Hawks took a step back, fighting a laugh that threatened to erupt from his throat. "Oh my god, you are serious."
"She works up the street at a bakery. She's a local, it's hard to believe that young girl is nineteen sometimes," he lamented, shaking his head. Hawks shrugged, undeterred.
"A baker huh... Also, I'm twenty-two but I act like I'm six. No judgment from me," he expressed, and began walking. "Thanks for the help, gramps," he said, waving as he exited the store, casually walking to the bakery. The smile that was on his face grew as he recalled the events.
It had been a while since he was intrigued by someone.
"What do you MEAN you burned the cupcakes!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air. I pulled at my eyes as I set down the bag, hanging my head low. "Mom, you know you can't bake. You aren't allowed," I reminded, and she pouted as she put her hands on her hips.
Sakura stuck out her lips stubbornly, her eyes looking at her as though she could do no wrong. "But I never get to bake anymore, plus you were late again today..." She trailed off, and my eyes went hazy with red rage.
"Okay, I was a MINUTE late, and I already told you that it was because a villain had attacked the store Mom, you can't make rash decisions, like destroy our perfectly good cupcakes! Especially in a minute!" I sighed, shaking my head in dismay.
It took all of two seconds for me to tie the banana-cream apron and storm out to the front, refusing to continue speaking with a brick wall. Silent steps followed me, and I growled when I turned back to find her following me. "What, so you can't trust me now?" She shrugged, her lips slanting off to the side as if to say you brought this on yourself. I rolled my eyes, groaning
I rested my head on my palms, puffing out my cheeks with a drawn-out groan, brushing a lone strand of hair from my face. It taunted me when it sprang back into its vivacious curl in between my brow, dangling like bait. My hair always fucking did that. It hated being straight, and I didn't know why. The door chimed its welcome, and a regular customer hobbled inside. It was a kind lady with a cane, who I genuinely had no problems with as a person, but as a customer she was just... I breathed through my nose, my temper spilling through the customer service bandaid I had strapped around me. My mother looked to me with begging eyes, and I sighed inaudibly, before smiling as kindly as I could when the woman approached me.
"How can I help you?" I asked sweetly, and her lips wobbled as she began to walk to the display case, tapping the glass with a wrinkled finger and glancing up at me. "A strawberry shortcake?" The lady nodded slightly, and her brow furrowed.
"What is it?" She asked, and a twinge appeared in my eye. Dementia wasn't treating her well, and she needed in-depth essays of information when she browsed, no matter if she had been here the day before for the exact same treat or otherwise. I turned my head to my mom and shook my head slightly, the lifeless look in my eyes promising death.
After the fifth treat, the door had rung again, and I heard multiple murmurs as the person came up to the cashier. Their presence was very relaxing, and even though I couldn't see them, my patience had slowly returned to me in waves. It felt relieving.
My mom asked the customer, "Could I help you, sir?"
"No, I'm fine with waiting," he replied easily, and my mother shifted awkwardly. I so desperately wanted to take a look at this newcomer, but the lady had walked farther away.
She pointed at a relatively popular pastry, and I inwardly cried. "What's this one deary." I must've looked like I was dead inside.
"That? Is a croissant," I answered, and she nodded, holding up two fingers.
"And this?"
"A cookie, raisin bran to be precise,"
"Do you have coconut?" Kill me quickly.
"No, ma'am, only three types of cookies." I closed my eyes and begged for her not to ask which of three types we have again. Today was an especially bad day for her.
Suddenly, the mystery man had taken the bag from my hands and handed it to my mom, who's eyes widened. "This lady has more sweets to show you, miss," he charmingly offered, and she nodded thankfully. It was perfect payback, and I looked up and my eyes widened.
"Oh, you scrumptious bagel," I whispered, and he blinked in shock and confusion before bursting into laughter. I covered my mouth and my skin flushed a brilliant scarlet, steaming with the heat. "I-I am so sorry sir-"
He waved it away, his smile bright and light, setting my worries at ease. "No no, it's all good. I've never been called that before, feels kind of nice," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. I used this brief moment to take in his appearance. He wore a baggy beige sweater and pants, the former having a fuzzy collar. His shirt was black with yellow patterns, hugging the base of his neck with no sleeves. He wore a yellow visor, which did little to hide the honey-coloured eyes that pierced mine, rooting me in place. His hair was windswept and ash-blonde, and completely.
Fucking.
Sexy.
"Oh please look a little more, it's nice knowing I'm eye candy," he teased, and I flushed again, straightening like a stick.
"C-Can I help you sir?" He nodded and leaned on the counter, a playful smile on his lips. He held out a gloved hand expectantly.
"You sure can sweet cheeks," he replied, and once again I grew embarrassed. Normally with flirty customers, I was able to fend them off, but he caught me off guard and continued his relentless attack. I was completely helpless before him, and he knew it. "Could I get a sweet lady's number?" He asked, and I stammered, shaking my head.
As I shook my head, it cleared my thoughts, and I was finally standing on solid ground again. "No, sorry sir, I can't do that," I apologised, and he huffed, his brows raising in question. Suddenly my phone was in his hands, and he quickly added in his number before I could stop him. "Wait, WOAH how did you get my phone?" I exclaimed, suddenly panicked. He winked at me and placed my phone back in my hand, and one of his feathers detached from his wings and caressed my cheek softly. I couldn't respond, couldn't bring myself too. It would just end badly.
"Shoot me a text when you want to hang out. Until then, you creamy cheesecake," he chuckled, winking before turning around and walking away. He tucked in his vermillion feathers and slipped outside, and only then did I bring my hand up to cup my cheek. Trouble, I was in deep trouble.
"Oh you scrumptious bagel" is literally going to be my pick-up line.