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The Windy Walshes

Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea

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AH! Accidentally posted this in obs rather than stories (fail). How do I fix this...?

So, as a complement to my emotional-y, serious-y story over on the adult board, I wanted to write some fluff. So this is fluffy. Superheroes, superpowers, sneezes... hilarity ensues.


‘Dear God, Max! Again?

Max Walsh was quite abashed, looking up at his mother from his seat at the kitchen table. ‘Yes, again,’ he confessed. Again, he’d almost exposed the family’s biggest secret. Again, he’d put his mother, his father, his older brother John, not to mention the entirely of Saint City, in danger. Again, he’d sneezed.

‘Really, Max, my god, you’re going to have to learn how to control those damn sneezes or you’re literally going to blow away everyone’s disguises...’

‘It was a smaller one this time though, I promise, I really held it in...’ He tried to defend himself, forming a counterpoint with his mother’s tirade.

‘and not just me and your father... the Maxwells, the Stanislawskis, the Orions...’

‘and hardly anyone noticed...’

‘all exposed thanks to your childish inability... I mean for chrissake Max you’re nineteen...’

‘I mean except the Professor, but he slammed his toupee back on like lighting...’

‘and you’ve had allergies for how long now? And you still forget to take your medicine, my god, I swear, if we have one more incident like this...’

‘I mean it was so fast I thought he might have been...’

‘I’m asking your father to move you back to SC with us.’

‘a super too... wait, what?!” He froze mid-sentence.

‘You heard me, Max,’ his mother said, standing over her son, gripping the table with white-knuckled fury, glowering at him so fiercely he would have sworn it was her super power, ‘if you don’t straighten up, you’ll just have to come back to the city and stay with us, so I can take care of you! I’ll make sure you take your medicine, I’ll keep your prescriptions refilled, I’ll make sure you’re not so distracted with your little girlfriend that you can’t take care of the most basic business...!’

‘Honey,’ Max’s father interrupted, telepathically, ‘You’re shouting at the boy and I feel your anger all the way over here. Really, I can hardly concentrate on what I’m doing, and it’s somewhat important right now.’

Max glanced over at the TV, which he hadn’t noticed until just then. And, for probably the seven thousanth time, when he glanced over at the TV he saw his father. In black and gray spandex. Fighting crime.

Mr. Walsh, also known as The Brain, was just at that moment telekinetically lifting a large steel bar to toss it at some fleeing criminals. Max knew that gambit, knew it well. He’d through the bar in front of them, curve it around to pen them in and then...

‘Looks like I’ve got you trapped!’ his father announced triumphantly, an announcement that came through the television speakers loud and clear thanks to a nifty device their family friends the Stanislawskis, also known as Mr. Electric and Broadcast (the “broad” joke, Max constantly heard, was a terrible idea drunkenly concocted in college), had developed, a wireless microphone\transmitter woven into the fabric of most supers’ costumes. Every news station in the country had carried a SuperMic receiver in their audio gear, which had, of course, netted the Stanislawski’s quite a pretty penny, enabling them to live quite a bit better than your average super.

Almost involuntarily, Max and his mom groaned The Brain’s catchphrase along with him, ‘Did you really think you were smarter... than the... than the...’ And then, something unexpected happened. ‘Th-than the... the ah... the ahhh.... aaaayahhhhh... AHHHHHHHH... HAAAAAEEEEESSSSSSSHHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' Totally unexpectedly, out of nowhere, Max’s father erupted with an absolutely colossal sneeze, louder than any sneeze Max had heard (although perhaps not louder than any sneeze he’d ever produced). And suddenly the iron bar uncurled itself, and began twisting involuntarily into the shapes of popular movie monsters.

At the construction site, Mr. Walsh was perplexed to say the least. The tickle had come on so suddenly, so unexpectedly, he could hardly even feel anything but the sneeze. And that same feeling was coming on again...

Yaaahhhhh... YAAAAHHHHHHHH.. YAAAAAAAEEEEEEEE-SSHHHHHHHOOOOOOHEEYYYY! WASSSSHHHHOOOOOOOOOO!’ He sneezed twice, each sneeze as massive as his first. And at moment, thousands of wallets flew at Leonard Walsh. ‘Wha...” he said, as he recovered from the sneeze, to notice the wallets barrelling towards him. In that moment, he realized two things: 1) he needed to ‘port out, and 2) he’d been contemplating the Walshes money woes (and movie monsters) a lot more than he thought.

And, fearful of a last, lingering tickle he felt brushing around in his sinuses, he hit a button on his costume, and teleported into the living room, standing before Max and his mother.

‘He-hey, honey... I ahhhh.... I th-think... I think... ahhhhhhhh... heehhhhhhhh...

‘Oh my god Lenny why the hell would you come...


‘Here?’ Max supplied the end of his mother’s sentence, as she was currently floating, ass first, up the stairs and towards his parents’ bedroom (Max didn’t even want to think about that one). And Mr. Walsh finished his sentence as well, stuffily

‘I dink I’m cubbing dowd wid a code.’

He snatched a tissue from the table, gave a thick, heavy blow, and added (somewhat less stuffily),

'And I'm willing to bet those criminals escaped.'

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