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liebgotts-lovergirl · 2 years ago

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Fire On Fire: Chapter 26 Part 2

(Ch. 26.1) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: With the Gestapo on high alert and a bounty on her head, the stakes are only getting higher for Alix as the night of her mission fast approaches. But luckily, she and Captain Nixon have some help.

WARNINGS: War, Death, Espionage, Survivor's Guilt, Nix's functional alcoholism, the usual

A/N: All disguises mentioned are actual techniques used by the OSS, SOE, & CIA! Also, Cisco is based heavily on SOE spy Juan Pujol Garcia (aka Agent Garbo) & several other Spanish Maquisards who fought the rise of fascism in Europe for years before WW2 began!💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: December 2nd, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

Alix awoke to the sound of hushed voices in the hall.

Cracking a reluctant eye open, she reached for her knife just as the mantle clock chimed.

4 o'clock in the morning.

Splendid.

She must've dozed off waiting for their asset's arrival.

Silently easing herself off the couch, she crept towards the adjacent wall, her path just barely illuminated by a cool sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains.

The voices were getting closer…

Alix relaxed instantly as she recognized her handler’s voice, dry bemusement drizzled over his every word like syrup.

"That’s all you brought, Picasso? One bag?"

There was a hearty chuckle from the darkness and then a second voice replied simply:

"They tell me pack light, I pack light."

The speaker's voice had a rather airy, almost nasal quality she hadn't heard before and a pleasant, rolling accent she couldn’t quite place.

Sheathing her knife, the spy subtly retreated to the sofa, managing to be seated just as the two men entered the room.

“Sorry we’re late, Runt,” Nixon remarked as he threw himself into his usual chair and propped his boot-clad feet up on the coffee table.

His gaze flickered over to their visitor and playfully raised his voice just loud enough for the other man to hear.

“Seems like the Spanish can’t keep to a schedule!”

"Next time, you hike the Pyrenees then, chaval," the diminutive newcomer retorted, a toothy grin appearing from underneath his scraggly beard as he removed a faded leather jacket and placed it delicately on the coat rack.

"And I will be the one to drink and complain. Besides, 'Más vale tarde que nunca', as my abuela always said."

As the asset dragged a chair from the kitchen and into the living room, Alix watched him blearily and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

He was supposed to be here at midnight, she thought with a pang of irritation. What had taken him so long?

The visitor-- Picasso, Nixon had called him-- was in his early thirties, disheveled in ill-fitting black fatigues covered in dirt and twigs, a dark cotton shirt nearly swallowing his frame whole.

Even in his beaten-in combat boots, he couldn'tve stood more than an inch taller than her and he was so slight that his clothing seemed to hang off him like the rucksack he had slung off one shoulder.

Noticing Alix's scrutinizing gaze, the visitor's smile only widened and the American spy observed a barely-visible gap between his two front teeth that reminded her vaguely of her baby cousin.

"You must be La Mariposa Negra," he noted brightly as he sat down, placing the canvas rucksack onto his lap with care.

"There is a poem in my country called that! Perhaps you have heard of it?”

“Unfortunately not,” Alix responded stiffly, still trying to figure out who on Earth this man was working for, why he was late, and why he was now sitting so casually in the living room of the safehouse as though he were part of the furniture.

“Ah, qué pena,” the Spaniard commented easily, still seeming far too cheery for the hour.

“But probably it will lose something in translation anyway."

From his chair, Nixon yawned lazily before gesturing to his protégé.

“Agent Martinelli, meet Cisco León Estrada of the Cantabria Maquis. He’ll be in town for a few days on special assignment.”

The Spaniard extended a gloved hand and they exchanged brief pleasantries before he began unpacking the canvas rucksack on his lap.

“We hear much about you on the radio, Mariposa,” he gushed as he placed two detail brushes onto the coffee table.

"How you make the Germans afraid. It will be an honor to work on you.”

Alix was instantly alert.

“On me?!”

"Correct,” Nixon commented from his place to her right, popping a caramel block into his mouth before going on:

"Cisco is a master of disguise. The SOE calls him Picasso for a reason."

“You are too kind, my friend," the Spaniard replied with a modest wave of his hand. “I have had much practice.”

"Donovan called him in for you personally, Runt,” her case officer garbled through a mouthful of candy.

“He’s going to get you– Well, ‘Tanya’ – ready for her big debut.”

A small vial of dark liquid was placed onto the wooden table top with a plink.

"Is that iodine?" Alix asked as she eyed the antiseptic nervously. “Somebody performing surgery?”

The two men exchanged glances.

"Yes" Nixon deadpanned at the same time Cisco answered with a light "No".

"Well as long as we're all in agreement," Alix snorted as the shorter man rose from his seat, scrutinizing Alix with a pensive gaze.

The former model recognized that look and remained still, patiently allowing the artist to work.

Mumbling to himself in Spanish, the Maquisard plucked absentmindedly at the bush of his beard for several minutes as he paced and studied her features, clearly trying to decide where to begin.

After a moment, he snapped his fingers.

"The eyes,” the Spaniard stated with a decisive nod. “Then teeth. Then hair.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Breaking an ankle during jump training hadn't been as miserable.

It had been one flash of pain when she'd collided with the ground and that was it. Mercifully, the bone had gone numb. Alix wished she could go numb now.

But instead, it felt like her scalp was being flooded with lava, each strand of hair being personally seared to the root by the peroxide Cisco was using.

She'd been sitting on the edge of the tub in a robe they'd pilfered for what felt like half an eternity, letting her stinging eyes wander the cramped bathroom.

The Spanish asset, Cisco, was standing by the counter, a needle-thin brush in hand as he painstakingly dabbed each pearly tooth of the mold with a thin film of iodine just dark enough to discolor them.

Every good agent knew the devil truly was in the details.

Eating with the wrong fork, a discontinued brand of cigarettes, a discarded receipt with a traceable bank number, even wearing a certain color too frequently could all spell disaster for an agent undercover behind enemy lines.

They couldn't afford to overlook anything; Alix's life would depend on it.

But even with Captain Nixon firing questions at her about her cover from his spot on the tile, all she could think about was the torturous burning sensation of her head and the dark blue colored contact lenses making her vision blur.

"Madonna mía, can I rinse it out yet?" she burst out finally, her fingers clenching onto the side of the tub as she tried to distract herself from the sizzling sting of the liquid seemingly seeping into every open pore.

"Please? Jesus Ch-"

"Only if you are wanting to lose half your hair," Cisco responded, his sharp eyes never wavering from his work.

"And I do not think you are wanting that."

"Where did you go to school, Tatiana?" Nixon quizzed her as he reached the third page of her cover's dossier.

Alix ignored him.

"How much longer?" she inquired and the Maquisard took a quick glance at his watch.

"Thirty more minutes, tía."

"Am I talking to myself?” Nixon complained loudly. “I said, 'Where did you go to school, Tati-'"

"It's Tanya," Alix snapped finally, dropping her voice to a lower, throatier pitch with a thick Russian accent.

"Only my mother calls me Tatiana. And I was trained at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy."

Her case officer didn't miss a beat.

"And your mother? Where did she train?"

A trick question.

"This is joke, yes?" the spy asserted, crossing her arms in front of her chest with an imperious toss of her head as she imagined a spoiled collaborationist socialite like Tanya would.

"We only train with the best. And the best have always been at the Bolshoi."

Captain Nixon gave a silent, grudging nod and Alix could see him fighting a smile at her performance.

"And your dad?" he prompted. "What's your old man do?"

"He is dignitary," she responded, the smoky quality of her lowered voice adding an extra layer of flippancy.

"That is all you need to know."

Nixon nodded his approval and drew a check mark in the margins of her dossier just as Cisco put the finishing touches on her false teeth and sat them on the counter to dry.

"I must get the, ah como se dice…El tinte– " He gestured frantically as he tried to summon the English term.

"Hair dye," Nixon supplied and the Spanish Maquisard nodded enthusiastically, scooting the large box toward himself.

"Sí, yes–" he said between grunts as he tried to pry the tightly-sealed packaging apart. "The dye! Hostia–"

With a huff of irritation, Cisco flicked a knife out from his boot and began to carve the box open to get to its contents.

“You would think–” he muttered in between laborious saws. “– they are hiding gold in here, when really, this– ”

With a final, swift cut, the Spanish operative was able to dip his hand inside and pull out a small package of Auburn Allure buried within layers of cardboard.

“– is all.”

“Dye’s hard to find these days,” Nixon commented as he shifted from the sink to the wall so Alix could finally rinse the peroxide from her hair.

“With shortages and all. Kathy’s always on about it.”

The cool rush of water on her scalp sent a shiver of relief washing through but when she flipped her hair back and looked into the mirror, Alix let out a yelp of horror at the ashen creature staring back at her.

“What did you DO?!” she shrieked as she clutched at the limp strands of her now ghastly-yellow hair.

Skip and Don were going to have a field-day with this.

“Hostia, I told you not to look yet,” Cisco scolded, swatting her hand away from her face.

“You will only scare yourself. Captain Nixon, the scissors porfa.”

Alix opened her mouth to respond but suddenly thought better of speaking sharply to a highly-trained operative with scissors now in hand.

“Not. One. Word." She growled in Nix’s direction and even though it obviously pained him, her case officer made a sarcastic zipper motion across his lips and turned back to her dossier while Alix continued to violently pantomime slitting his throat.

“Ignore him,” Estrada uttered sympathetically, swiping a portion of her bleached hair to the side and clipping it.

“We are not even halfway finished. You must trust me, vale?”

Alix sighed hopelessly and rubbed her stinging eyes again as the operative took the scissors to her beloved hair.

“Vale.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Within a couple hours, Alix had gotten used to the contact lenses and even the uncomfortable dental façade that shifted her jawline but she was still getting used to the overall person staring back at her in the mirror.

The haircut and bangs suited her face surprisingly well but being a bleach blonde did not. Luckily, the Spanish operative had a plan to fix that too.

“Damn Cisco,” Alix remarked in a tone tinged with envy as she watched him combine ingredients like an expert chemist.

"You can do hair, you can paint, you can take a dental impression, you can kill a man in probably at least 5 different ways, is there anything you can’t do?”

The Spaniard contemplated the question as he vigorously shook the bottle of dye.

“Maths,” he declared after a moment’s pause.

“When I was in university, I always struggle in Maths. Painting a scene from memory, no problem, but you ask me to solve a complicated equation? This I cannot do.”

“What did you end up studying while you were in college?” Alix inquired curiously as he began to apply the deep burgundy dye into her hair with patient strokes.

“Art,” was the wistful reply, his hand faltering slightly with his fading smile.

“But I leave university when the Guerra Civil starts… My little brother and I, we fight in the war. I make it out…Diego does not.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alix whispered, instinctively reaching to touch her rosary.

She knew the ache of that loss all too well.

“How did you end up in the intelligence game?” Captain Nixon asked, finding his voice.

In the mirror, she could see a shadow cross Cisco’s face.

“I go home to Cantabria. I see what Franco has done to mi pueblo…mi gente… mis amigos… Everywhere you look, there is death."

He swallowed hard.

“That is why I no longer go by my first name... Francisco.” He spat the word like a bitter curse.

“After what I have seen…All of the things he has done to good people, all of the things he is doing to mi amada patria…I cannot stand –”

His voice broke and he cut himself off, lapsing into a tense silence.

After a moment, he gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

“So I put down my brushes… I pick up my guns and I go to the mountains, I join the Maquis. Then the SOE, they reach out to me. They hear of my background. They want to train me in disguise and–”

He finished brushing in the dye and made a half-hearted gesture with the brush as if to say Voila, here I am.

“Bueno, what about you? Why intelligence? I am curious.”

Alix took a deep breath and shifted anxiously in her seat.

What reason could she give? There was only one reason she had stuck with the OSS for so long, only one reason she hadn’t quit the spy game long before.

This operative had just poured out his whole life story to her and she couldn’t even say a name?

“M-My brother,” she forced out, surprised at how brittle her voice sounded as the words tumbled out.

“He, um…He was a Navy lieutenant. He shouldn’tve been there that morning, on the ship, but –”

She took a shuddering breath, the words feeling like sawdust in her mouth as she slowly continued.

“– But he'd stayed the night to mediate some stupid squabble. So he was with his men that morning on the Arizona when…when–”

She shook her head, unwilling to give voice to the awful words, but she didn't have to.

"Entiendo por lo que estás pasando," Cisco intoned sympathetically as he began painting dye onto another section of her hair. "We have both lost much and it drives us here, to make a difference."

"Definitely. I tried to join the Women's Army Corps first," she admitted. "But I don’t take orders well. So suffice it to say, my superiors and I didn’t exactly get along.”

She looked over at Captain Nixon, expecting some sort of quip but he appeared to be studying the pristine white tile, so she went on:

"Luckily, Director Donovan was looking for the headstrong type and knew my father personally, so he asked if I would be interested. And--”

She shrugged, trying and failing to keep her tone light.

“Here I am.”

"Bueno," Cisco chuckled. “My wife, Yessenia, has a favorite saying: 'Pan con pan, comida de tontos'.”

Alix's brows knit in confusion.

“‘Bread with bread'…?”

“A ver, it loses something in translation,” the Spanish operative expressed with another breezy laugh. “Es como...all the same is boring, no? It is good to be different.”

Captain Nixon was strangely quiet throughout the course of the conversation and Alix stole another furtive glance in his direction.

The intelligence officer was taking a sip from his flask with a hollow stare straight past her, at the wall.

He was the odd one out, she realized, and he knew it.

The only one of them who hadn’t lost anything…or anyone.

It suddenly dawned on Alix that she had never known why he had joined the Airborne to begin with or why he had agreed to become a case officer. She never knew why he was so strict with her but lackadaisical when it came to everyone else.

To be frank with herself, Alix realized she had never thought to ask. Even if she had, she reasoned, would he have given her a real answer? Probably not.

But now that everyone else was opening up too, perhaps he just might.

"Hey Nix--" she started and it was almost like her case officer sensed that she was about to inquire seriously about a topic he was loath to discuss because he hurried to cut her off.

“Say, you two mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Madonna mia, you’ve got to be kidding,” Alix groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation before adopting a gruff, mocking tone.

“What happened to ‘no radio for the month, Runt. It's not safe’?!”

“Well first of all," Nixon noted dryly, already exiting the bathroom to retrieve the contraband. "That impression of me could use some work!"

Moments later, he reappeared, radio in hand, and plopped it onto the bathroom counter.

"And second of all," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk at the look of indignance on Alix's face. "Since we’re leaving tonight, HQ gave the okay."

Before the young agent could respond, the saccharine voice of one of Germany's most notorious propagandists came wafting over the crackling airwaves.

“–the Andrews Sisters singing ‘Pistol Packin Mama’. GIs sure love girls and guns, don’t you? Is that why some of you are lending your aid to The Black Butterfly?"

Axis Sally let out a girlish giggle so malicious that it made the spy’s blood run cold and she exchanged worried glances with Nixon, whose expression had darkened instantly.

How did Berlin know she was getting help from American soldiers?!

Where were they getting such detailed information?

Even Cisco blanched as the announcer’s words set in, the dye brush slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor, deep red splattering across the tile.

“You are smart men," Sally purred coquettishly, somehow sounding more threatening than if she had been yelling.

"Surely you realize you’re backing the wrong horse. After all, do you know how easy it is to kill a butterfly?”

There was a brief pause and then another chime of haunting laughter as the infamous announcer answered her own query:

“All you have to do is catch it.”

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ao3feed-westallen · 1 year ago

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Foreigner

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/NdWTvsI

by Disructor

Kiara Allen, hija de Barry Allen y Kara Zor el, logro salvar el multiverso sacrificando su propio universo, antes de que este colapse sobre si mismo escucha a la entidad conocida como Speed Force negativa y logra escapar antes de ser borrada de la existencia, termina en un universo cuyo futuro esta a punto de ser alterado por el peor enemigo de su padre y decide detenerlo, salvando a dos personas muy importantes que deciden ayudarla a establecerse en este universo, sin saber que su intervención ha iniciado un efecto mariposa que bien podría llevar a la destrucción temprana de este.

Words: 4662, Chapters: 1/?, Language: Español

Fandoms: The Flash (TV 2014), Supergirl (TV 2015)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Barry Allen, Eobard Thawne, Joe West, Iris West, Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow, Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-El, Original Harrison Wells, Tess Morgan, Original Metahuman Character(s), Original Characters

Relationships: Barry Allen/Iris West, Barry Allen/Kara Danvers

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Multiverse, Action, Adventure, Romance, Angst and Drama, Family, Metahumans, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/NdWTvsI

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #WestAllen #westallen

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fanficwritersworld · 3 years ago

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I Was Made For Loving You

Summary: After a run in with Superman you find your soulmate

Paring: Jordan Kent x Empath!Witch!Reader

Requested: No

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of death, revenge, intense emotions and kiddnapping

Masterlist|Prompt List

A/N: THIS IS NOT RELATED TO MY OTHER JORDAN KENT X WITCH READER FICS

After Superman took over the Earth alongside his mysterious brother, you fled to a new one. Your father, Cisco Ramon temporarily opened a breach to Earth-Prime, allowing you to escape. You fled to Smallville, a place your father told you so much about.

It was easy to fake your identity, seeing as the Cisco Ramon of this world never married your witch mother, whom was dead for the past decade. You went by the alias ‘(Y/N) Saunders’ after Kendra Saunders who trained you to be like your father, a hero.

When you arrived at Earth-Prime, your soulmate mark appeared. It was the house of El crest on your wrist with the words ‘El Mayarah’.

So you’ve spent the last three months trying to decipher the tattoo and saying.

“(Y/N)! You going to the football game in Metropolis this weekend?” Jon Kent, a close friend of yours asked, walking alongside you. You both hit it off when you first started at Smallville High, his twin brother Jordan included.

You nodded at his question, your bags already packed back at the warehouse you hid and converted on the outskirts of town. You must have drifted out of reality because the next thing you know, you’re on the floor rubbing your backside.

“Sorry! (Y/N), I am so sorry!” Jordan’s voice panicked, trying to pick up your books. You quickly took notice and helped him, forgetting about your soulmate mark. “Why do you have Superman’s logo on your wrist?” Jordan asked, highly confused.

You stood up from the floor, dusting yourself off. “Dunno. When I find my soulmate I’ll let you know” You sighed, grabbing your spellbook from the floor. “I’ll see you both at the game. I gotta go” You changed the subject before running out of the school.

The moment you left the town to go back to your home, the overwhelming feeling of pain, confusion and anger took over. You fell onto the road, your bag dropping beside you. One thing you hated about being an Empath Witch, the negativity of others.

But this was different. It was like two complete strangers fighting over something, something you’ve only experienced once in your life. “So you’re the little witch? I’ve heard stories about you Ms. Ramon. Some said you were a low-grade Supergirl back on our planet” A man taunted you, walking closer as you tried to find a power dampener in your bag.

The man yanked it out of your hands, throwing it to the side. You looked up to see a man in an oversized metal suit. “Let me guess, you’re the guy who tried to kill Superman? Captain Irons?” You guessed, recognizing his emotional aura.

No answer.

“Remember me? The little girl you left motherless when you decided that all powered beings were evil” You retorted, your eyes glowing bright (F/C). Irons readied his hammer, it’s mere presence taunting you.

“You shall pay for Mariposa Delfaine’s death” You swore, snapping your wrist to one side. Irons. A wave of concerned emotions overtook your senses, making you turn. Looking at you with wide eyes, Superman landed to see the scene in front of him. “How?” He asked, coming closer to you.

You felt his emotions increase, causing you to clutch your head in your hands. “Sweet Jesus!” You groaned, falling to your knees. “This feels like the time I accidently read Clark Kent’s emotions” You compared, breathing heavily. “What can I do to help?” Superman asked.

You looked at him in shock.

“What can I do to help?” Clark asked you, seeing you limp towards football practice. “Excuse me?” You asked him. He looked down to your clearly broken leg, how you hadn't screamed with every step was beyond him. “Your leg (Y/N), it looks broken” He sighed.

Of course it was broken, you jumped from a thirteen storey window last night after you stole some information on Kryptonese. “I’m fine Mr. Kent” You answered, praying he wouldn make contact with you. You wouldn’t be safe feeling his emotions after his mother’s death. “(Y/N), you need medical attention. If you're not comfortable with Nurse Kelly, I know some basic first aid” Clark offered.

You shuddered at the thought of Nurse Kelly giving you first aid, that girl is kinda weird and her emotions match. You reluctantly sat down on the bleachers, praying he wouldn’t make contact. Clark kneeled down on the concrete, pressing his fingers gently into our leg. *dolor cesset humano tactui* you chanted in your head.

However when Clakr touched your skin, you bit the urge to scream. So much pain, loss… grief and regret. For a man that looked like he had everything figured out, his emotions were like a normal human only ten times more intense.

“Clark? You’re Kal-El?” You asked in a hushed tone. It wasn’t really a question for him but yourself. He was shocked, his emotions shifting rapidly causing you more pain. “My bag…. I need my bag.” You moaned once more, the emotions getting stronger. Clark reached for your bag, bringin it to you. “There’s an old book, open it to the page titled ‘Aliena Adfectus Donec Cantus’ and I need the first spell” you instructed.

Clark read out the spell, coping his words with better punctuation. Soon enough the pain ceases, allowing you to stand without an ache. You turned to Clark smiling kindly. “You know what El Mayarah means by any chance?”

…

You sat outside the Kent Farm, apparently Irons trapped Clark and Lois along with the boys tried to save him. You waited patiently for Clark’s red truck to drive into the farm, Jon and Jordan safe and sound.

“(Y/N)!?” Jordan’s voice yelled, looking up from your spellbook. His hair was a mess. He had soot and scraped cheeks as he smiled at your presence. His clothes were filthy but that didn’t stop the rush of excitement you felt in your core. “Jordan!” You screamed, running into his arms. You felt a weird tingle on your wrist but that didn’t matter. He was okay. “I was so worried when your Dad told me what happened” You muttered into his chest.

You both parted from the hug before you hugged Jon as well, scolding him for driving and ruining his Dad’s truck. “It’s weird having someone else know about Dad’s other life” Jon commented as you bandaged their wounds. “Well now you guys know how I can tell how you’re feeling now. Thank Jesus that it isn’t as intense as your Dad’s” You smiled, putting away the medical supplies.

Clark had returned, hugging his sons the moment he walked in the door. You felt the love seep into the room like a tsunami, you felt lightheaded in a goodway. “You okay (Y/N)?” Lois asked you, seeing you sway side to side.

“Empathy takes effect on my body. Positive emotions are like helium gas wehreelse negative ones are like touture. Kryptonians emotions affect me ten times more to a normal human” You slurred before Lois guided you to the couch. “Motus temporaliter coniunctus Clark Kent” you chanted lazily before the effects of Clark’s emotions wore off.

“I need to make a totem for your emotions. Is he always this happy go lucky and sappy?” You asked Lois, pointing to her husband. “Living embodiment of a golden retriever” Lois answered. You stood up, grabbing your bag. “I better be going before I walk into a trash pile” You huffed, walking to the door.

“What does El Mayarah mean? I can't find a meaning anywhere!?” You asked Clark, the door half opened. “Stronger Together, it’s what the House of El stands for” Lois answered for him. “How did you know that?” Clark asked his wife. “Kara”

…

Rain poured outside the warehouse you bought. You say bought but really you just spelled the owner into giving it to you for free. Your dog, Krypto snuggled up against you as you stared at your wrist.

‘El Mayarah’

‘Jordan Kent’

You smiled to yourself, feeling at peace. Maybe being on this Earth wasn’t so bad.

“So you’re my nephew’s soulmate?” a man’s voice echoed. You looked around, confused to why Krypto wasn’t responding. His veins glowed green against his white fur.

“Who’s there!?” You growled, eyes glowing.

“Your new leader”

Who wants a part two?

Requests Are Always Open

#jordan kent #spotify #clark kent #lois lane #superman and lois #jordan kent x witch reader #jonathan kent #jordan kent x reader #jordan kent imagines #arrowverse #Spotify

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moma-prints · 3 years ago

Photo

IV: Cisco Kid (folio 14) from The Mariposa Suite Nos. I-VI, Warrington Colescott, 1970, published 1971, MoMA: Drawings and Prints

John B. Turner Fund Size: plate (irreg.): 11 3/4 × 10" (29.9 × 25.4 cm); sheet: 14 7/8 × 12 11/16" (37.8 × 32.2 cm) Medium: Etching, aquatint, and drypoint with roulette from an illustrated book with seven etchings (six with aquatint, five with drypoint, five with roulette, and two with photogravure)

http://www.moma.org/collection/works/19793

#museumofmodernart #museumarchive #warringtoncolescott

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thecaptainsgingersnap · 4 years ago

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Rosalind Renee Smythe (Earth-1)

Birthday: May 12, 1975

Alias: Rose, Ginger Snap, Mariposa (by Cisco), Little Flower (by Harry), Rose Bud (by H.R.) Petit Flamme (by Sherloque), Petal (by Nash), Beacon of Passion (during Crisis)

Species: Meta-human

Place of Birth: Central City

Career: CSI, chemist, superhero

Hobbies: Coding, video games, collecting comic books

Likes: Science, Glee reruns, Vibe-accinos, country music, Star Wars movies, graphic t-shirts, Twizzlers,, the beach, baseball, fireworks

Dislikes: Sweaters, being cold, swimming, lizards, snow, asparagus, cheesy romance movies, paperwork, losing stuff, roller skating

Favorite Bands: The Band Perry, Little Big Town, Lady A

Physical Quirks/Scars: Clumsy, fingers spark when anxious or angry, wears glasses

Speech: Fast, wordy, prone to technobabble

Gear: Supersuit bracelet, mask, superpowers (pyrokinesis)

Favorite Animal: Elephant

Pet: None

Family: Kris Smythe (twin sister), Jackson Smythe (older brother, deceased), Hannah Smythe nee Bullock (mother deceased) Jack Smythe (father, deceased) Harry Wells (adoptive father), Jesse Wells (adoptive sister), Ronnie Raymond, Ralph Dibny (adoptive brothers)

Friends: Barry Allen, Caitlin Snow, Iris West, H.R. Wells, Tracy Brand, Sherloque Wells

Love Interest: Cisco Ramon or Nash Wells (depending on point in story)

Personality: Nice, intelligent, passionate, short tempered, nerdy

#Rose Smythe #the flash oc #harry wells #jesse wells #ronnie raymond #ralph dibny #Barry Allen #caitlin snow #iris west #hr wells #Tracy brand #sherloque wells #Cisco Ramon #nash wells #my ocs #moodboard

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ochoislas · 4 years ago

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Como Kazuko miró al techo, Izumi la imitó, echando atrás la cabeza. Pegada directamente al irregular techo blanco había una caja de plástico blanco con dos tubos fluorescentes. Incluso mirándola directamente, la luz que proporcionaban al gran espacio que hacía las veces de sala de estar, comedor y cocina era todo menos deslumbrante.

—Triste ¿no? —rio Kazuko. Izumi asintió. Más parecía que la habitación se había oscurecido de repente.

—Es una vergüenza. Llevamos aquí cuatro años y nunca he quitado la tapa para limpiarla por dentro. Las mamparas dejan pasar los insectos y no s�� cómo se meten dentro del plafón, pero se han ido acumulando ahí muertos con los años. Siempre me digo que tengo que arreglarlo, pero nunca encuentro el momento, y así han pasado cuatro años.

La sala daba sobre un parque. Y aunque estaba cruzando la calle, los frondosos cerezos junto a la reja eran de buena talla y desde el apartamento de Kazuko se veían tan cerca que parecía que se los podía alcanzar con la mano. Las farolas de vapor de mercurio que iluminaban el parque debían quedar más adentro, porque su luz difusa guiñaba tras el sombrío follaje. Según decía Kazuko había una animada calle comercial detrás, pero sus luces no se veían.

—Tienes muchos insectos aquí ¿no? —comentó Izumi apartando la vista de la noche afuera y mirando otra vez el aplique blanco del techo. En la tapa había tres surcos estrechos a todo lo largo y en el centro de cada uno de ellos una sombra negra y mugrienta. Ahora que sabía lo que era le parecía distinguir que los lunares más apartados de las manchas del centro tenían forma de insectos diminutos, con alitas transparentes y larguiruchas patas.

—Hasta cigarras vienen volando y se pegan con las mamparas.

—¡No me digas! ¿En el centro de Tokio? ¡Es increíble!

—Bueno, las prefiero a las esfinges. Mira que eso de ahí no serán más que mosquitas, pero como he dejado que se acumulen ya tantas muertas, me da reparo mirar. Al principio me daba igual, pero ya llevo un año o así que la verdad no me atrevo a abrirlo. Pero supongo que antes o después tendré que limpiarlo. —Dejó de observar el techo y le llenó la cerveza a Izumi. Su hijita de seis años dormía ya en la habitación contigua. Izumi había llegado después de la hora de meterla en la cama, como le había recomendado Kazuko. Llevaban seis meses sin verse.

—Hablar de polillas, cigarras y todo eso me trae recuerdos. Las esfinges se colaban a veces en casa, hasta cuando era ya adolescente. Hoy día con tantos edificios de cemento ya no se ve ni una hormiga.

—Nosotros nos encontrábamos a menudo babosas y grillos en la cocina, y en el sobrado se escuchaba escarbar a los ratones —dijo Kazuko regocijada. Habían ido juntas al mismo instituto en Tokio veinte años antes.

—Ya. Nosotros no armábamos un cisco por eso; menos con las esfinges. No sé por qué pero siempre estábamos cenando cuando entraba una y entonces se montaba un guirigay. Teníamos que apagar las luces y buscar periódicos mojados. Hasta que uno no la atrapaba no nos podíamos sentar otra vez.

—Las alas esas empolvadas que tienen, qué grima ¿no? Mi niña no soporta ni las mariposas de la col, esas blanquitas. Se echa a llorar cuando una se le acerca.

Izumi se rio: —Y luego estaban los escarabajos dorados. Ponerse a atraparlos era no acabar. Yo les retorcía la cabeza y los tiraba otra vez fuera. Aunque ahora me acuerdo que una vez me dio por juntar cada noche los bichos que mataba y contarlos —se le animó la voz recordándolo—. Ya sabes que el último año de instituto nos quedábamos despiertas hasta muy tarde. Pues bueno mi habitación estaba arriba y la luz de la mesa atraía miles de hormigas aludas. Eran una verdadera plaga. No era posible ignorarlas, así que cada vez que una aterrizaba en mi mano o en mi cuaderno, le daba un cate; hasta que un día se me ocurrió pensar que ya habría matado un porrón de ellas y empecé a preguntarme cuántas serían. Supongo que fue entonces que empecé a reunirlas. Cuando las conté me llevé una sorpresa, y luego seguí a ver cuantas podía juntar, por no sé qué morbo. Con que una se acercara a mi mesa... ¡zas! Creo que recuerdo un montoncito de aludas muertas junto a mis libros, ya me dirás las que habría. Tienen unos cuerpos tan chupados... era un poco como reunir las virutas de borrador. Bueno tampoco es verdad. Yo me daba cuenta que aquello no era muy sano y no debía darme por ahí. Cada vez que veía de soslayo el montón me tenía que parar de nuevo a contarlas, regodeándome en el puntaje. Aunque sabía que era absurdo —le sonrió a Kazuko. Ésta tenía una expresión típica de su etapa escolar, con la boca algo torcida a la derecha, enseñando los dientes como en una morisqueta: —¿Así que ése era el tipo de cosas en las que te entretenías, no? Después de todo no me voy a extrañar, es propio de ti.

—¿Ah sí? —Izumi trató de recordar cómo era ella en la escuela, pero no fue capaz de hacerse una idea. De su íntima Kazuko, sin embargo, conservaba la impresión de una chica arrojada pero que no parecía cercana a nadie en la escuela.

—Sí, desde luego —contestó Kazuko—. Todo el mundo hablaba de cómo te cambiabas para natación. Mientras las demás en el vestuario andaban con mil tapujos, poniéndose el bañador por debajo de la ropa, tú te quedabas completamente en cueros y luego te lo ponías la mar de a gusto.

—¿Y eso que tiene que ver con las hormigas aludas?

La carcajada de Izumi le pintó a Kazuko una agria sonrisa: —Pues sí que tiene que ver.

—Yo también tenía vergüenza, te diré. Pero era cabezona. Era como decir: ¿para qué tanta tontería si somos todas chicas y así es más fácil?

—Pues lo mismo es. Ser cabezona o tomarte las cosas demasiado a pecho. Meterte en camisa de once varas, vamos.

Izumi la miró a los ojos: —Si a eso vamos ¿y tú? ¿no hiciste lo mismo?

—Pero yo no tenía en la cabeza desde el principio tener a la niña —replicó Kazuko mirando fijo la palma de su mano.

—Había algo que te empujaba a meterte hasta las trancas en el asunto ¿o me equivoco? No era por la niña, pero tampoco por él...

Kazuko no contestó de primeras.

—Bueno, es una forma de verlo —dijo por fin—. Como su mujer no era de las que se alteran por nada, quizá quise ver cómo lo tomaba. Si ella no hubiera sido tan indulgente con el amorío de su marido igual nunca hubiera tenido al bebé... Poner celoso a alguien así cuesta trabajo.

—Yo hubiera pensado lo contrario.

—Mientras no te importa, pues sí. Pero cuando estás lista para el careo definitivo, y no pasa nada... Yo estaba loca por una gran escena; que su mujer se plantara aquí desquiciada con un cuchillo en la mano... Cuando leía tales historias en los periódicos, suspiraba. Aunque si lo piensas, ella podía haber estado deseando lo mismo. Igual no deseándolo, pero esperanzada quizá.

Izumi apartó la mirada y la dejó vagar tras las puertas cristaleras del balcón, a la par que decía: —En conclusión, que en verdad nadie quiere que lo maten por celos. O habría asesinatos por todas partes.

Kazuko miró también a los árboles: —Cierto, pero llega un momento en que (y una misma no sabe cómo llegó a eso) te parece que de verdad es lo que te queda. No es que quieras que te maten, es que llega un momento en que de pronto te das cuenta que ya lo han hecho... No te puedes distraer.

Tsushima Yūko

#Tsushima Yūko #literatura japonesa #compulsión #obsesión #insectos #tsushima yuko

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umamiclitoris · 7 years ago

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#techsupport #IT #funny #jokes #cisco #network security #netsec #borboletta #mariposa #pocketbook

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desenefaine · 4 years ago

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Furios și iute: Cursa spionilor Sezonul 4 Episodul 05 dublat in romana

Furios și iute: Cursa spionilor Sezonul 4 Episodul 05 dublat in romana *Desene Animate Dublate in Romana*

Fast & Furious Spy Racers S4 / Furios și iute: Cursa spionilor Sezonul 4: Mexic Episodul 05 - Regele Ocelot vs. El Mariposa online dublat in romana

Dra Nicăieri și Echo îl abordează pe Palindrome, Cisco îl găsește pe Tuco pe ringul de lupte, iar Layla îi spune lui Frostee că nu se simte dorită în echipă.

#desene animate #desene faine #desene noi #desene dublate

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chaparrales · 7 years ago

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Una sobretarde de otoño , cuando los braseros guardaban la volcanica cordillera de cisco y en las impacientes manos infantiles aguardaban , con un corte , las bellotas , para que con la paletilla alguien las enterrara y las desenterrara en su coccion . El viento se llevaba a la vega los toques de misa . Sono un trueno y el aire se lleno de un sonido denso que cuando se estrello en la acera de la calle parecia el derrumbe de una casa de cristal . Por la ventana , el niño miro a la calle : llovia , llovia hasta envolver la calle en agua . Fue entonces cuando el niño vio la razon de porque la madre tenia puesta esa tarde junto a la imagen del Sagrado Corazon , una taza frailera con agua y aceite donde ardia una mariposa cuyo disco flotante era , recortado , el dorso de una carta de naipes , como si sobre el aceite la llama jugara una partida a cartas tapadas .

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newsreadersin · 6 years ago

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New Post has been published on http://newsreaders.in/indian-couple-dropped-800-feet-due-to-selfie-and-alcohol/

America: Indian couple dropped by 800 feet height due to selfie & alcohol

California : In the Yosemite National Park in California last October, when they allegedly reportedly drowned 800 feet below the ditch in October, the Indian couple was drunk during this sad incident. It has been revealed in the autopsy report.

According to the report, 29-year-old Vishnu Vishwanath and his 30-year-old wife Meenakshi Murthy were drunk in ethyl alcohol before falling off the Trench Point of National Park. No drugs were found in his body. Ethyl alcohol is found in alcoholic beverages such as beer, wine and alcohol. Assistant Mariposa Andrea Stewart told the county coroner that due to the condition of the dead bodies of both the bodies falling on such a height, investigators could not accurately detect the actual level of the addiction.

According to Mercury News, a local newspaper published in San Jose, California, Stewart said, “We have just arrived at the conclusion that he was drinking and wine was present in his body. We do not know how much it will be. Both married in 2014. Both of them studied software engineer from the College of Engineering, Chengannur, in Kerala. Vishwanath was a software engineer and was working in the company’s headquarter Silicon Valley in Cisco India.

Vishwanath posted a photo smiling at the edge of a rock of both the Grand Canyon on his Facebook page. The couple had posted about their exciting journey on social media.

They wrote about their travel experiences around the world in the blog ‘Holidays and Happy Year Ever’. Vishnu’s brother Jishnu had told that he was taking selfies.

Jishnu told that Murthy had misappropriated the tripod before selfie. It is ironic that a few months ago, Murthy had advised people not to take photographs with dangerous edges and skyscrapers, but he died during taking selfies.