*Busts down door* *Ninja-rolls into room* Taa-daa!
I've written so much angst-y stuff lately, so it's about time that I put out something lighter and fluffier. I present to you the latest development and I promise you that it's made of nothing less than 100% of my finest fluff.
This is a Human!AU, by the way.
Disclaimer: *Looks around* Are you looking at me? 'Cause I don't own anything here. If you're looking for Butch Hartman, he's somewhere over there. *Gestures vaguely*
21. Carnival (Prompt 030)
Anti-Cosmo sighed as he was dragged through the amusement park by his wife, who was nibbling happily on some cotton candy. It wasn't that he was particularly unhappy about spending time with her, but did she really have to choose this place for their date? Fairs weren't exactly his favourite thing, what with all the snot-nosed brats running around and the high percentage of people vomiting into the garbages after rides on the so-called "fun" roller coasters.
But Anti-Wanda had insisted, and so he had given in. Admittedly it bothered him a bit that he was wrapped so tightly around her finger, but what could he do about it, really? Besides, he tried to convince himself. It could've been worse: she could have asked me to take her to the zoo. He shuddered.
"C'mon, Cozzie! Let's try this one!" Anti-Wanda pointed to a large coaster, full of large drops and sharp turns, complete with three consecutive loop-de-loops. It was appropriately named Cyclone. Anti-Cosmo winced.
"Er, perhaps another time? We should probably wait at least another half hour before going on anything that intense so that we can digest the pizza we had earlier." He said, feeling slightly guilty when Anti-Wanda's face dropped. "How about we go on the Ferris wheel?"
Grin returning to its original place Anti-Wanda nodded, grabbing his hand and tugging him along with her through the game booths and crowds of people. Relieved, Anti-Cosmo let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Another crisis had been averted.
After doing a full loop around the park and hopping on a few of the rides along the way, they had finally returned to the Cyclone. "Please?" Anti-Wanda asked, tugging on Anti-Cosmo's sleeve. "Pretty please?"
Anti-Cosmo shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know . . . are you sure you don't want to do something else? Maybe a ride that looks less like a torture instrument and more like something that won't kill us?" He asked, cringing slightly as one of the cars whooshed by, the passengers all screaming loudly.
For a moment Anti-Wanda paused, studying her husband with one eyebrow raised. "Are y'all scared or somethin'?" She asked with a giggle.
"No!" He responded vehemently, eyeing the roller coaster with a wary look.
"Then let's go on it!"
"Why?"
"'Cause otherwise I'll know you's a scaredy-cat!" Anti-Wanda grinned widely, enjoying the way Anti-Cosmo's cheeks darkened in a betraying blush as he began to get flustered.
Beginning to sweat, Anti-Cosmo stuttered out a response. "Well . . . y-you see, the only reason I don't think that we should go on it is because it might—"
"—Scaredy-cat!" Anti-Wanda interrupted.
"You've no evidence to support that claim." The genius frowned. "Especially since I can guarantee you I am one-hundred percent human."
Anti-Wanda's tone turned into a bit of a whine, and a pout was beginning to form. "Please?" She asked quietly, widening her eyes to look like the epitome of innocence.
One look at her made Anti-Cosmo's resolve crumble instantly. Damn her and her adorable-ness. He turned his gaze to the ground, then to the roller coaster, and then back to Anti-Wanda with an overexaggerated sigh.
"Fine." He amended, and his spouse let out a joyful squeal. "But only if you stop calling me a scaredy-cat!"
Grabbing Anti-Cosmo's hand with an extremely tight hold, Anti-Wanda pulled him into the line. Fortunately—or unfortunately, in Anti-Cosmo's case—the coaster's cars were quite large, the three of them seating up to twenty each, so the line moved rather quickly. After what seemed like only a few moments, they were standing at the front, being pulled along with the crowd as they boarded. While Anti-Wanda yanked him toward the very front of the car, Anti-Cosmo wondered just how it was possible that his wife could ride and enjoy these contraptions and simultaneously be afraid of rabbits, of all things.
After sitting down, it took a mere two-point-one-four seconds for Anti-Cosmo to regret getting on this ride: his stomach had apparently decided this was an opportune time to practice gymnastics, he was painfully aware of the fact that he was not going to leave this park without emptying the contents of his stomach into a garbage bin, and to top it all off he was absolutely sure that he was going to scream like a little girl the moment they hit those steep drops. Wonderful, he thought dryly. At least Anti-Wanda would be happy.
Suddenly, like a circus performer shot from a cannon, they were off, launching sharply upwards. Anti-Cosmo gritted his teeth as they whipped around into what was probably best described as a barrel roll, a steep plunge following soon after. Determined not to make a sound, Anti-Cosmo channeled his—ugh—fear into the grip he had on the handlebar in front of him, his knuckles turning white from the effort.
Beside him, Anti-Wanda giggled with glee and let go of the bar, raising her hands into the air as they headed into a tight corkscrew. Anti-Cosmo squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to whatever deity may or may not have existed that this would be over soon, and when the car suddenly stopped, opened his eyes in shock.
That's when he noticed that the car had moved onto a separate part of track that broke away from the others, rotating the entire car so that when the track stopped moving with a loud click, the car pulled them down another steep drop—
"AHHHHHH!"
—this time, backwards.
After what felt like an eternity of being whipped around this way and that, sent down perilously steep drops, and feeling like the butterflies in his stomach had decided to do the macarena, Anti-Cosmo nearly whimpered when the loop-de-loops suddenly loomed up in from of them and the car took another steep plunge to gain momentum. Gripping the metal bar in front of him so tightly he thought he might crush it, he clenched his eyes shut and did his best not to scream like a little girl.
Quite unfortunately for his pride, his efforts didn't do much to prevent a high-pitched screech from escaping him as they zoomed around the loop, moving onto the next in record time. Anti-Cosmo squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his stomach do an unpleasant flip-flop as they rolled through the second one. As the car turned upside-down for the third and final loop, it paused, giving all the riders an excellent upside-down view of the park.
Then, with one final push, the car crept forward and gravity took over, pulling the car down and rolling it gently into the station.
Doing his best not to fall flat on his face, Anti-Cosmo let his wife pull him along once more as the crowd of people rose from their seats and out the small exit gate. Anti-Wanda lead them over to a bench, where she released Anti-Cosmo's hand and sat down, looking torn between laughing at him and worrying over him.
Half-stumbling over to the garbage can conveniently placed next to the bench, Anti-Cosmo leaned over it, bracing himself with his hands clenched tightly around the rim. After a few heavy, laboured breaths, he began to empty the contents of his stomach into the bin.
After a little over a minute of retching, Anti-Cosmo panted as he leaned back slightly, his knuckles on the edge of the bin almost a ghostly white. Clearing his throat (and spitting the last of the bile into the trash can) he began to get out some money for a water bottle when one suddenly found its way into his hand.
He wasted no time in unscrewing the cap and downing half of it in record time, washing away the awful taste that lingered in his mouth.
"Thank you." He said to Anti-Wanda when the bottle had been drained and tossed into the recycling.
"You's ain't a scaredy-cat, I'll give yah that." She responded, looking him over. "But y'all still ain't no tough guy, that's for darn certain!" She laughed at his features twited themselves into a highly offended look.
"My toughness is not defined by whether I can ride a roller coaster without vomiting afterwards or not." He informed her, taking her hands and raising one eyebrow.
She grinned back at him. "Says you."
He sighed, although Anti-Wanda caught the twitch of his lips mid-huff as his eyes turned to the sky in a half-roll. Anti-Cosmo leaned down to steal a quick kiss, but Anti-Wanda pushed him away gently.
"There ain't no way I's kissing you 'til y'all brush your teeth! I don't want no puke-kiss!" Nose wrinkled, she stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest.
"It's your loss, dear." Anti-Cosmo shrugged, a slightly mischivious grin finding its way onto his face. Taking her hand, he started towards the park exit. "I'm not sure about you, but I believe I've had enough of this silliness for one day."
"Although the most unfortunate part is I'm not entirely sure if the food here tastes worse going down or up." Anti-Wanda scrunched her nose up even further and her husband smirked. Sure, maybe it hadn't been his brightest idea to let his pride dictate what he did, but he didn't find himself regretting it.
Well, he thought, remembering the unpleasent taste of the bile in his mouth. Maybe a little bit.
This one's shorter than usual, only 1662 words. It feels a bit more drabble-y, too. Sorry about that, but I can only stretch them so far. :P
I'm with AC in this one, though. You can throw me down 100-foot drops and spin me until I can't tell which way is up, but the moment you send me upside-down I start to puke my guts out. Ugh. Although unlike him I love roller coasters and all that stuff.
Can you believe I've been working on this for a year (and only gotten 21 one-shots done)? Weird. Ah, well, we all have our faults. Mine is that I write slowly. And that I can't work on just one project at a time, I need seventeen. Oops.
Reviews, anyone? All I ask is that you take a minute out of your day and send a review my way. Even if it's simply "gr8 job, upd8 soon" it'll probably still make me grin like an idiot.