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infernobot · 3 years

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TEETH?

Teeth?

By InfernoBot

I had just finished recording, and was carrying my dog in from the office, when my mom handed me an envelope. Once I had my sweet pupper nestled into a blanket, I joined her on the couch and slit open my mysterious delivery. Inside was no note, just a brochure to something called ‘Furnal Equinox’ and an accompanying plastic badge bearing the image of a anthropomorphic dog, (maybe it was a wolf), wearing a graduation cap and gown.

As my eyes scanned the glossy pages, my excitement grew; some lovely person had sent me a weekend pass to a furry convention! This was my big chance to make a video detailing my adventures through a mass gathering of one of the internet’s most maligned and misunderstood subcultures. Over the coming weeks, I studied the brochure, read up on the panelists online, noted every question about the furry fandom that popped into my head. My itinerary for the whole weekend was mapped out.

Super chats and KoFi tips managed to cover the cost of a bottom-barrel airline ticket, and I got a great deal on an Air B&B from a charming indiginous woman named Semide, whose sisters had enrolled in college and left their rooms vacant. She was even kind enough to include meals as part of the deal. The weekend of the con finally rolled around; I threw my things in a bag and I was off to Toronto.

Eighteen hours and three layovers later, I was sitting at my host’s kitchen table with a warm towel draped over the back of my neck, sipping a cup of coffee. It turned out Semide was a naturopathic healer and knew some kickin’ remedies for aches, pains and jet lag. I don’t put much stock in essential oils, but damn if I didn’t wake up feeling fresh and ready to face the day the next morning. The convention was being held on the waterfront about nine blocks from Semide’s place, not too bad for a walk, and I reckoned I could make the trek each day.

I left late in the morning, well after the con had opened. No sense waiting in line, I figured. It was three blocks from the Westin Harbor Castle, when I saw the first fursuit.

There was no explaining the rush of exhilaration I felt. This was real. This was happening. I was gradually being surrounded by dozens of people decked out in bright, elaborate costumes. Some that couldn’t afford full suits wore just heads and gloves, giving a ghoulish Frankenstein’s monster appearance to their character. Or the wolf-man caught mid transformation after being bitten by a neon fox in a rainbow pride shirt. The less daring, or particularly destitute, settled for headbands with animal ears and strap-on tails.

Waiting to cross the last street, I was elbow to elbow with a giant Sonic the Hedgehog and a seven-foot tall purple giraffe sporting a quadruple-XL adult diaper. Something told me before the weekend was over, that particular garment would get filled. Before I could contemplate the logistics further, the light changed and the extremely polite, if curiously dressed herd moved into the street and we sorted into a semblance of a line being steadily processed through the doors into the main convention hall. I was in.

The lead-up to the main event hadn’t prepared me for what lay inside. A teenage girl in a ‘volunteer’ shirt thrust an opaque plastic bag into my hands before Big The Cat shoved me aside and began professing his undying love for her beauty. I stumbled into the row of booths on the main floor, further progress blocked by an electric green armadillo strumming an acoustic guitar with a stuffed fish tucked in the strings.

This was it, I weaved my way between con-goers and took it all in. Clip-on LED cat ears. A custom-fit fang booth. Stacks of comics focused on humanoid animals. Racks upon racks of faux-leather collars and leashes. The waifu pillows. I pulled my phone from my pocket and approached the nearest open booth.

Time for an interview, I thought.

Eight hours, two energy drinks and a box of granola bars later, I was dead on my feet. There was no way of knowing how many people I’d talked to as the day progressed. Or just how strange my conversations had become. I think I spoke at length with Cool Cat about the merits of various vape pens, despite the fact I don’t smoke. But it hadn’t all been nonsense.

Before I had degenerated into a gibbering wreck, I had chanced to be standing beside a fountain near the food court and heard a familiar warbling voice behind me. To my great delight, when I turned around I found a young woman with jet black hair, a hawaiian shirt and a black & yellow long-Furby draped over her shoulders; I instantly recognized her as Teya from Strange Aeons. After she’d finished speaking to her friend, I politely tapped her on the arm and introduced myself. She turned out to be super cool, excited to meet another youtube creator, and talked to me for about ten minutes as her girlfriend went off to wait in line for the bathroom.

While most of our conversation centered around videos and our special boy Greg, my eyes kept getting drawn back to Thursday Plurbonym Boyporridge. His black and yellow checkered belly, his luxurious black fur, those piercing green eyes; it was all so captivating. I couldn’t quit looking at the charm necklace below his little yellow beak spelling out his name; Thursday. Eventually, I complimented her on her videos and her handsome long-son one last time and we parted ways. It had been a pleasant break, but even here, the persistent strains of Insane Clown Posse that permeated the space were grating on my nerves.

When the time had come for all the furry folk to close up shop and head home, I staggered out into the street with all the lingering con-goers. Despite the initial culture shock, most of the people I’d met had been great. I could stand here, elbow to elbow with ponies, foxskies, giant pomeranians and adorable cat girl maids on the steps of Westin Harbor Castle, and just enjoy the last moments of the sun setting over Toronto. That is until the moment was shattered by an obnoxious voice that sounded more like it belonged outside a Patriots game accompanied by the echo of shattering beer bottles.

“Now that the party’s over, we can get down to the afterparty at my place; which of you bitches wants to come home with me?”

My head swiveled like a tank turret toward the source of the voice, my face bearing the expression which must have read did this motherfucker just?

A man-child wearing a My Little Pony t-shirt that had been stretched over his prodigious girth, a pair of denim jorts hanging past his knees and sweat-stained socks encased in mandles, slid his oily bulk up behind a group of teenage girls dressed as some kind of anime cat maids. He leaned his acne-studded face in close to them and said, “Since you’re dressed as maids, how about I take you home and make you change my cumm-y bedsheets after a night of passionate love-making.”

The overly-polite locals may have been in shock, but I knew a neckbeard when I saw one and knew immediately what to do.

“How ‘bout you back the fuck off bro, they’re kids.”

Maybe he wasn’t expecting resistance, but he seemed genuinely taken aback by someone speaking up. Once he got a look at me, he re-adjusted his fedora and stared me down. I admit, I might not look terribly intimidating; bulky, but not muscular, with my hair dyed bright teal and swept to one side. At least I had on a Pink Floyd t-shirt, that felt a little like a layer of protection against his fed-aura. He drew in a snot-choked breath and continued,

“They’re dressed as the maids from Painappuru No Oshiri, they’re harem girls that’re totally thirsty for the main character. Each maid is eager to bend over and present their ripe ruby star-fruit to their master. They’re, like, practically advertising how much they want it in the ass.”

“Why don’t you leave them alone, fuckmuppet?” I retorted. “You look like you're forty and they’re a bunch of teen girls.”

He was not pleased with my argument. The group of cat-maidens had shaken off their surprise and closed ranks. But they weren’t ready when he lunged forward and grabbed at the petticoat of the red cat-maid on the outside, lifting her skirts up to expose the shorts underneath.

“It’s not even a chick, it’s a dude. Chill out.”

A glance at the cosplayer’s face revealed a mask of burning red embarrassment, fear and confusion. Their friends were moving to grab at the neckbeard’s hand, but I was quicker. I swatted his arm like I was chopping down the internet itself and pushed right up in his face. Practically nose-to-nose, I couldn’t avoid the stench of fermented funyuns rolling off his breath.

“Keep. Your. Fucking. Hands. Off of them.”

His chins quivered slightly.

“Oh, you wanna start something, Rainbow Brite? I bet you like it in the ass, prancy-boy.”

“For a supposedly straight guy, you sure are obsessed with getting your dick in a guy’s butt.”

The flab of his cheeks reddened to match his acne.

“You’re gonna regret that. I’m a man with a very particular set of skills…”

I cut him off; I didn’t have the patience for a real-life copy pasta.

“Is one of your skills getting punched by me? Cause if you keep talking, you’re going to be teaching a master class.”

I could feel that neckbeardy-bravado wavering. Perhaps he could sense the crowd around us had turned against him, moving to shield the cat-maids and staring daggers into his lumpy flesh. With one last snotty huff, he turned and stormed away; the sound of his mandles slapping on the concrete echoed off the face of the convention center.

A group of several of the more adulty-er people had ringed the victims and were doing their best to calm them down. I shuffled over and started to apologize for the beardo’s behavior, when the red cat-maid began thanking me profusely and asked for a hug. Apparently, this was not the first time their group had been approached at the convention. We stood around chatting for a while, and they promised to check Evangelion when they got home. Once the cat-maids were safely in their Lyft, I waved them goodbye and turned to make my journey home for the night.

I started back up the street I'd taken this morning, but as I approached the doorway to a grimey building, I became aware of a fully-suited Yogi Bear propositioning a man dressed like Linda-Carter-era Wonder Woman. I was pretty wiped out and didn’t have it in me to process an altercation like this if they noticed me and instead took an abrupt right turn down an alley, intending to zig-zag back to my Air B&B.

I was nearly out the other side when my ears picked up the slapping of mandles on pavement rushing up behind me. A searing pain burst into existence in my lower back, like someone put a cigarette out on my spine.

I went down, hard.

The mylar swag bag I’d been swinging around all day splashed into a puddle off to one side. I was barely able to heave myself over onto my back to get a look at my attacker. It was him. The Neckbeard. He stood over me, grinning, his yellowed teeth visible in the night. The little black box in his hand flickered with a blue spark as he triggered the taser again.

“Heh heh. You like that, princess? I aimed a little high so I wouldn’t damage your sweet ass.”

“Fuck….you….” I gasped out through the pain. My muscles were cramping like someone had dug a burning fork into my lower back and twisted it up like a plate of spaghetti.

“Heh. You’re the one taking it in the ass, rainbow bitch.” He stepped over me, squatting like a linebacker, bringing the taser close to my face. “Maybe I’ll push this in your eyeball and see if I can make it boil.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement between his legs. Something thin and dark darted up from the shadows, toward his exposed back. He let out a cry of surprise, and shot upright, swinging his arms wildly behind him, grabbing at something. He hopped wildly from foot-to-foot across the alley, the tail hanging from the back of his pants swaying wildly with the movement. I thought it was weird I hadn’t noticed the tail before, especially with how long it was, practically sweeping the ground. The fuzzy black appendage was moving...wrong. It kept curling up and twisting out of his hands as he grasped at it, almost as if it were...alive.

“Oh Goddamnit!” He screamed. “What the fuck, dude?!”

He dropped the taser and got a grip on the tail with both hands, tugging on it. A ripping sound echoed through the alley as the seat of his pants tore out. The thing was, the tail wasn’t attached to his pants, it was going in through his pants, nestled between his prodigious posterior cheeks like one of those fetish plugs. As he violently jerked it side-to-side, it was ripping at the fabric of his trousers, the same went for his less-than-tidey whiteys.

“Get this fucking thing off of me!” He howled.

He grunted as the tail slipped his fingers and wriggled another foot inside him. Tears were welling up in his eyes and he collapsed back against a green dumpster. Like a man who had gambled on a street taco truck and lost, he bit his knuckle and gripped his abdomen through his stained t-shirt. It might have been a trick of the light, but I swear I could see his belly distend and squirm; the words ‘Friendship Is Magic’ bulging as something rolled under them.

His mandles dug into the alley grime as he feebly kicked his legs, and I could only watch in disgust as the rest of the fuzzy, black, thing slithered up inside him, forcibly dilating his leather cheerio. It was incredible. I could actually see its progress as it wormed its way through his body. He blubbered something about God and Jesus as his hand clawed frantically at his own belly, before his voice abruptly went silent.

There was a long, drawn-out wheezing sound, like one of those novelty rubber chickens, as the bulk of the thing moved up his throat. I don’t know how his flesh distended and deformed without bursting, but it reached his mouth and his jaw opened wide. First one small black, fuzzy ear lined with black and yellow plaid popped up, then another, followed by the crown of this thing’s head, pushing his teeth outward like flower petals blooming.

It rose before me, straight up from his mouth, its black and yellow belly slick, but not stained by his juices. His dislodged teeth clung to its matted fur like an obscene necklace. It swayed slightly in the moonlight, a pair of luminous green eyes fixed on mine, and its beak opened. With the rising inflection of someone asking a question, it uttered one word:

Teeth?

#strange aeons #moonhorse #furby #long furby #fan fiction #Teya

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iwritethat · 5 years

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Jason Todd: Walking Dead

A/N: I know some of the plot points aren’t factual in the DC universe but I got creative with Jason’s character, hopefully it’s a nice read though. 🎃

>>>>——————————>

Jason’s flatmate was weird.

He was never quick to judge someone and after all of the characters he’d encountered in his life , to reach such a label so fast was saying something.

In the beginning of the arrangement the two got along swimmingly, but soon enough the dynamic became rather ambiguous. (Y/n) was a friend of Roy’s and as such couldn’t be all bad - sure, they had their peculiar introduction but once out of the way it all seemed too good to be true. Roy brought up the proposal of living with one of his old friends when Jason needed a new temporary place to stay, he’d said (Y/n) had been there through his worst and helped him with recovery -?that no one was more loyal and reliable than them.

However, it grew considerably weird with the startled scream his sharer released when seeing him in the dark, now this was perfectly normal as maybe they weren’t used to having someone around quite yet - at least that would’ve been the explanation if they weren’t 2 weeks into their deal. Not only that but (Y/n) scrambled back to their room at record speed and slammed the door behind with no justifiable means.

Strange? Yes.

Next he noticed how they had an obsession with the heating, whenever he was around it always seemed to be on even if the weather of late October miraculously didn’t call for it. It had only begun after they’d cooked breakfast together, maybe they enjoyed the heat of the oven? He’d tried giving them blankets or even his hoodies and yet it wasn’t enough to break their odd habit. Again, weird.

Luckily he wasn’t staying for long...

———

Your new housemate was insanely weird.

Of course you had Roy Harper to thank for that, the only time he pays uninvited visits is when he wants something, your assumptions proven correct with his hinting text message.

[Katniss: U know how much u love me...]

Although his proposition was rather enthralling, his friend needed a place to lay low for a while and with your newly rented 2 bedroom apartment, you were his first choice and thus agreed.

He brought ‘Jason’ over a few days later so you could be introduced - and upon seeing him a vast sea of varying thoughts raced across your mind.

‘He’s hot.’

‘No he’s going to live with you.’

‘Is he one of those friends?’

But then another momentarily fleeting option halted your positivity - is he one of Roy’s older friends, the ones from his rough days of addiction and before you could even register your next actions you’d already subtly voiced such concerns.

“Please don’t bring any dodgy things here, I can’t have the police sniffing around.”

“Like what?” Jason turned to you, brow raised in curiosity.

“Drugs?”

“Oh no, I don’t handle that - I have people to do it for me.” Jason calmly replied, like it was the most normal thing in the world as he took in your kitchen whilst you shot a look that roughly translated to ‘you better be joking’ to a sheepish Roy.

“But I have guns and other weapons, are they okay?” Jason once again faced you with a serious expression, genuinely asking your permission and honestly you could not deny that beautiful man.

“Yeah, I mean sure. You’re not gonna use them right?”

“Not in the apartment. Unless someone breaks in obviously.” The ravenette was confident in his statement, now checking out your living room leaving you slightly baffled.

“Obviously. So um, why do you have them, and why do you have drug runners?” Intrigue burned in your veins, you couldn’t help but strive for answers given the causal circumstances of the contrastingly deadly topics.

“He’s a Crime Lord.” Roy smugly cut in, an immediate expression of concern shot at Jason who you’d hope would deny the allegations.

“Dude, way to sell me. I run a drug ring, you can never stop crime but you can control it so that’s what I do. None of my people sell to kids so that’s a start. So, what’s our rent?” He playfully punched his partner before elaborating and oddly enough it made sense to you.

It should’ve been a warning sign, what normal person makes a first impression by telling you he has people who handle his drugs so don’t ever worry about them being in your apartment. No one.

Although that wasn’t why he was so damn weird. No, far from it. You didn’t know what he was.

One night, you’d awoken to grab some water and tiredly walked out to the kitchen only to meet Jason who possibly just showered after patrol but as it was basically pitch black you couldn’t be certain. You met his gaze - his irises illuminated green - and you instinctively screamed, stopping short as he tilted his head slightly silently asking why you’d done so. Now you thought it was a misunderstanding, a trick of the light maybe, so you stared a few seconds longer and yet they remained dazzlingly bright like fireflies. It was then that you scrambled back to your bedroom slamming the door behind you and sliding down it to the floor with your hand over your mouth, water long forgotten. Safe to say you didn’t sleep that night, demons have vibrant irises don’t they?

It was unknown whether he knew about his glowing eyes, nor could you find an appropriate time to bring it up. You’d built up the courage to do so a few days later over breakfast which you’d opted to cook together.

He hovered over the oven, yourself standing beside him admiring his work until he turned to you with spoon in hand insisting you try some. You did so, holding his wrist steady - his skin beyond freezing - he’d been right next to the oven, how could he be so cold?!

You’d approved of the taste, even if he’d dabbed some on your nose simply for amusement and straight after you switched on the heating to hopefully warm him up a bit.

You continued this procedure whenever you felt he radiated unhealthily low temperatures and occasionally Jason offhandely mentioned that the weather wasn’t cold enough for such measures but you simply shrugged with a smile. Although he would throw a blanket over you, or even offer to lend you one of his hoodies to warm you up and yet you couldn’t understand why he thought you were cold when he was icy to the touch. Ghosts were inhumanly cold...

Plus, although the white streak was quite attractive on him, it was apparently a permanent characteristic but whose hair is naturally white in only one place at such a young age? Frankenstein maybe? But wasn’t he a zombie?

Luckily he wasn’t staying for long...

———

Halloween was upcoming so the TV stations traditionally broadcasted relating titles and it seemed the Sixth Sense was one of them.

Jason hopped through the window, fully clad in his Red Hood armour as the film was finishing, he’d gone to get changed and by the time he’d returned another horror was beginning. He’d joined you on the sofa, resting his legs over you purely for annoyance but you found entertainment in your playful dynamic.

“Hey (Y/n), do you think yelling at a guy holding an AK-47 is a stupid way to die?” It was a random but relevant start to a story he’d intended to tell.

“Oh god you don’t want me to solve cases with you do you because I’m not ready for that man. Like I thought I might be seeing dead people but this is too much.” That particular Sixth Sense related comment surfaced after he’d brought up vigilante related drama - of which he assumed you already knew about due to your relationship with Roy.

“Okay, what is with you? You’ve been acting so weird!” He finally needed answers, the unexplained oddities becomoning too much for both parties involved to the fact Jason was compared to a horror film character.

“Me? I’m not the one with glowing irises!” You sarcastically counter after Jason’s quizzical remark.

“Glow- What?!” He shut his eyes, fingers resting on the bridge of his nose before he looked up to again with a confused glance.

“Your eyes... they glow green in the dark sometimes, didn’t you know that?” Your tone was softer now, the sincerity in it making him want to believe your claims even more.

“No I didn’t... Are you sure? I mean it could’ve been a mistake if -“ Before he could finish, you turned off the lamp beside you and held your hand mirror in front of his face, low and behold they lit up.

“Lazarus green...” His voice was much quieter, tone holding a hint of pained disappointment as he spoke with an almost frustrated expression.

“A-what green?”

“Lazarus, like the Lazarus pits. It doesn’t matter (Y/n), you don’t need to worry about any of that, it will always haunt me by the looks of things.”

“It does matter, please tell me. I’m here for you, that’s what flatmates are for isn’t it no matter how temporary we may be.”

Surprisingly, after a long period of contemplative silence he began his turbulent tale of life, death, vengeance, villains and vigilantism leaving you rather speechless. It was certainly a befitting horror film script.

“...now I’m here, but hopefully one of my safe houses will be clear soon and I’ll be out of your hair.” He finished, shifting his feet that were now entangled with yours as you sat opposite one another on the couch.

“That revival pit, do you think that’s why your eyes glow? It would explain why you’re always cold, and your physical abilities too.” With a finger to your lips you calmly thought aloud, Jason also captivated by the concept.

“I’m cold too? That’s why you insist on keeping the heating on?” Despite his jest, he withdrew himself from you at the thought of affecting you with his apparent side effects of coming back from the dead.

However you shook your head, shifting forward and placing your hand against his, of course his own towered yours in comparison and he was a contrast of bemused and skeptical with your actions. You felt his skin warm up with your touch, the result bringing a smirk to your face.

“I don’t mind it. Your skin might be cold but your heart isn’t, and besides, I can always warm you up Jason.”

“Oh can you now?” He raised a brow at your unintentional suggestive statement, cocky but flirtatious smirk dancing across his lips.

“I - that wasn’t - I was trying - you know what, I’m just glad we’ve solved our differences.” As you attempted to justify yourself, Jason only laughed much to your feigned aggravation.

“True, I’m calling Roy over tomorrow. How could he not notice?” Jason managed, his he argument raising distinct confusion.

“This is Roy we’re talking about.” Was your only reply, though you would acknowledge just how incredibly smart and tactile Roy was any day of the week much like Jason would - but being apart the Outlaws meant subjugation to a few friendly insults.

“Point taken.”

———

Both Roy and Kori had dropped by the next morning to discuss your recent discoveries over breakfast which was a revolutionary one for all of you in some way.

“Glowing eyes? Ah, to be fair you usually wear your mask and helmet so I don’t normally see them and it’s not like I sleep with you so how the hell would I know? As for the cold thing, we’re always outside - if anything I just envied how Lian would always stop crying around you.” Roy calmly sighed, the revelations intriguing to him also and you suspected that he knew more than he was letting on. For a start, keeping such a thing to himself if only to freak you out once he moved in.

“Oh! They say that babies can see the supernatural, like when they just stare into space and people say they can see ghosts. It might be like that.” You laughed, although your comment caused the boys to consider the possibility as it would certainly explain why Lian ceased in her crying around Jason.

“I didn’t say anything as I thought you were trying to match me.” The goddess Kori giggled, her eyes aglow in emerald for demonstration.

“Anyway, is everything set?” Jason nodded to the alien, now concerned with leaving you in peace.

“Sorry Jaybird, gonna need another few weeks before you can leave.” Roy haphazardly shrugged, looking between Jason and yourself as he gazed to you with a sympathetic expression.

“You don’t mind do you? It’s already been 6 weeks, I can -“

“Jason, it’s fine. You’re too weird not to like, but we should stock up on food if you’re staying.” With a wave of your hand you cut him off and smiled, gesturing toward the cupboards as you mentioned them.

The Outlaws were all equally grateful, and soon Roy and Kori headed out meanwhile Jason began writing a shopping list.

“I thought that everything was in order for Jason to come back today?” Kori politely inquired once the pair had left, the previous information contradicting with her current knowledge.

“Shhh, it is but they get on so well, a few more weeks and they both might finally have a place they can call home for once.” Roy carefully explained, a hopeful glint in his eyes mixed with that of sorrow considering what his two friends had gone through.

“I see, as long as our friends are happy then I shall ‘shh’.” The Tamaranean joyfully agreed, all too chipper with the plan.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dc imagine #roy harper #dc gets spoopy

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winterromanov · 5 years

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we will grow taller together - bucky x reader

PART ONE - THE GENTLE HUM OF EXISTENTIAL DREAD

parts: zero

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Extract: “No. No, what I’m saying is, he needs—they both need—someone. He needs someone to help look after Clover while they both get their lives back on track.” Steve pauses, looking you straight in the eyes. “Someone like you.”

Genre: romance, nanny x single father!AU

Taglist: @blindedbyyourgrace17 @verygraphicink @igotkatiepowers @welcome-to-my-studylife (taglist still open, reply/message to be tagged)

PART ONE

“Next please!”

The queue shuffles along until your face-to-face with yet another tired-looking college student, purple eye-bags visible underneath a pair of circular rimmed glasses. It’s fall dead week and if most of your customers are anything to go by, it certainly lives up to its name. Every single one of the tables spread out on the main floor of Vormir Coffee has been crammed with sleep-deprived teenagers and textbooks, meaning you and your colleagues have been swept off your feet with orders for caffeine products refills. You expect the rush to continue over the next few days as revision turns into actual mid-terms—as is tradition, you’ll be offering free chocolate muffins throughout the week by the door, because nothing heals the pain of a shitty Econ paper like chocolate muffins do.

Yet…as you look in the near-dead, distant eyes of your latest customer, you feel a pang of jealousy deep within your chest. While you’re pouring coffee into refillable mugs and forcing your best service smile (which is a difficult feat nine hours in to a ten hour shift) they’re reading and learning and absorbing.

You miss learning. God, you miss learning, even the terrible impossible chaos of one exam after another and deadlines piling up around you like sandbags. But being, y’know, poor, means there’s not much you can do about your grad school dreams, even if you do spend your free hours searching the internet for outlandish scholarships and funding schemes.

So. For now, it’s coffee. Potentially forever if you want to continue to eat and have electricity, which is just about all you can afford right now. And the occasional lipstick if you’re feeling particularly extravagant.

“What can I get you?” you ask the student, whose scruffy brown hair doesn’t look like it’s been washed in a few days. Oh well. Desperate times require desperate measures. At least you’re not his roommate. He grunts for an inevitable espresso and fishes round his wallet for some spare dollars while you get to work. Moments later you offer him the finished product and he drops the exact change into your hand, skulking away to a table without another word. Well, you’ll forgive a lack of manners during one of the most surreal weeks in the academic year.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

On the announcement of your name your glance flicks back to the remainders of the gradually quietening queue, and your face subconsciously breaks out into a grin when you finally see a customer that doesn’t look like a vacant zombie.

Steve Rogers grins back at you. He’s wearing a beanie over his blonde hair and a warm winter jacket—the temperature was freezing when you practically slid from the subway to work this morning and as the day slowly eclipses into evening, the temperature is falling back down with it. His cheeks are flushed from coming into the warm.

“Hey Steve!” you greet him cheerfully, because seeing an old friend is the perfect way to end a tiring shift. “How are you? How’s Natasha?”

Steve dips his head bashfully, like he always does when he’s asked about himself or his girlfriend. “We’re both great, thanks. What about you? It’s been a while.”

You gesture around you as an answer. Taking all the shifts you possibly can means you probably spend more time in Vormir than your own apartment. From what you can recall Steve has been back in the States for a few weeks after his most recent tour of Afghanistan; him or Natasha keep dropping you invites here and there, but you’ve been working or too dog-tired to accept them. It kind of makes you sad, as you watch your social circle shrink, but being an adult is the worst and staying alive is reasonably important to you.

“That bad, huh?” Steve asks sympathetically. You nod back, dramatically rolling your eyes.

“That bad. Always that bad, Rogers. I’m a slave to consumerism, but don’t let my boss know that.”

Steve laughs, leaning onto the counter. “I actually… (Y/N), when do you finish up here? Do you want get a drink? I’ve just got something I wanted to run by you.”

You narrow your eyes with curiosity. The clock that ticks mercilessly above the door reads six forty-two, so you’ve got less than twenty minutes left of your shift, and the look on Steve’s face is too intriguing to turn down just so you can rush home, open a bottle of cheap white wine and watch Stranger Things on Netflix. Even if you are up to the season three finale.

“I clock off at seven,” you reveal, but you nudge your head in the direction of the remaining customers who are starting to get annoyed at the hold-up. “Grab a seat. I actually have to do my job for a while longer and I’d rather not get fired because you’re distracting me.”

Steve holds his hands up in mock surrender and slowly backs away from the counter, allowing your next customer to slide into his position. You watch as he drops into a two-seater by the window, scrolling through his iPhone, a muted grin tugging at his lips.

Steve’s favourite bar is a short walk across town, the kind that is warm and dark and a little bit retro. You’ve been to Endgame before with him and Natasha, and you’d all split quarters so you could play ABBA songs on the Jukebox by the entrance. Right now it’s playing Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac, so it seems today’s patrons have taste.

You grab one of the more private booths through the back while he gets the drinks. You’ve not seen your phone since your lunch break so you take the spare seconds to scroll through your social media—less than an hour ago Natasha’s posted a photo to Instagram, both her and Steve making stupid faces in the living room of the apartment they share. It’s captioned who do I have to kill to make sure you’re not deployed again?

Your heart melts a little. Steve and Nat. Nat and Steve. Two people who have been together for longer than you’ve known them, and they just work so fucking well, two halves of the same coin and all that. Your thumb hovers over the like button for a moment before clicking it, because you’ve never had someone in your life like that. You’ve not found the other half of your coin.

Most days you’re too exhausted to really think about it. But sometimes…something will click in the back of your brain and it dawns on you like an avalanche that this might be your life forever. You’ll be serving coffee forever. You’ll be on your own forever.

Fortunately Steve slides into the seat opposite before you can go into a full-on existential crisis, but you sure as hell know that’s what will inevitably cross your mind when you’re stuck staring at the cracked ceiling of your apartment in bed tonight.

Steve’s smile is concerned as he pushes a desperado in your direction. “You look troubled.”

“When am I not?” you say with a shrug, taking a sip of your drink. The alcohol burns in your empty stomach. You haven’t eaten since lunch—maybe liquor isn’t the best idea, after all. “Anyway. As much as I love seeing you, Rogers, this isn’t just a friendly drop-by is it?”

Steve is drinking some generic American beer. He wipes his lip before speaking. “Yeah. Like I said. There was something I thought I’d run by you.”

“Ominous.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Are you going to spend the next half an hour or so pushing a pyramid scheme you swear isn’t a pyramid scheme? Because I really didn’t think that was your style.”

“No. Not a pyramid scheme.” He shakes his head in mild disbelief, probably wondering why he’s still friends with you. “It’s more…do you remember my friend? James?” When you look back blankly, he elaborates. “Bucky. Guy I used to go to school with. Dark hair. Lost his arm in Afghan about a decade ago…”

“Oh! Oh. Bucky Barnes. James Barnes.” You feel kind of bad that the arm was what made it click, but you do remember a quiet, well-mannered guy standing in the background of a few of Steve and/or Nat’s social events over the last few years. You’ve never been formally introduced but Steve talks about him every so often, just casual mentions in conversation, nothing detailed. They’d grown up together, trained together, but their career paths parted after Bucky’s car nicked an IED on the outskirts of Kabul. Truly horrifying. “Yeah. Sure. I remember him. What about him?”

Steve grimaces. “Well, it’s a bit…complex, to explain, so I’ll just go straight into it. About seven years ago he met a girl, she got pregnant, they had a daughter.”

“Oh! I never knew he had any kids.”

“Yeah. Clover. She’s six now. Way too smart for her age, really mischievous—doing crazy things like sending vegetables in the post to the grandparents she doesn’t like and reading fucking Frankenstein. Big Mary Shelley fan, to Buck’s sheer delight. Awesome kid.”

You smirk, not sure what any of this has to do with you, but little Clover sounds exactly how you were at her age. “She does sound pretty awesome.”

“But Connie, her mom…she passed away just over a year ago in a really awful car wreck.” Steve’s face falls into a look of heartbreak, empathetic as always. “Her and Bucky haven’t been together for years but they shared custody of Clove, Connie having her a lot of the time.”

You feel something shift in your chest, like shards of glass are pressing in between your ribs. Real loss stories have always been pretty hard for you to digest, regardless of who they belong to. You think about death a lot in, like, an abstract and unreachable kind of way. You think it gives you size, an awareness of your place in the world, the universe. But that’s your own death. You’re kind of comfortable with that one day you will cease to exist. It’s just the people that you care about you fear for. And everybody cares about somebody.

“God, that’s awful, Steve,” you murmur, eyes softening. “Is he looking after her on his own now?”

Steve nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. And he’s not doing too great, (Y/N). It’s not my place to go into details about what goes on in his head, but nobody gets over the trauma he went through and goes back to before. And the loss of Connie and suddenly becoming Clover’s only parent, and her trauma, as well as trying to hold down a full-time job…like Jesus, I’m surprised he can even get up in the morning. Sometimes he doesn’t.”

You ache for Steve’s oldest friend as is only natural, but you’re still at a loss as to where this involves you. You rest your chin in your hands, looking at Steve intently. “It sounds like he’s going through a tough time. I’m really sorry. But is this…any of my business? Because you can always confide in me about things that are on your mind, but this sounds really personal.”

“No. No, what I’m saying is, he needs—they both need—someone. He needs someone to help look after Clover while they both get their lives back on track.” Steve pauses, looking you straight in the eyes. “Someone like you.”

The laugh that erupts from your chest is involuntary, but Steve’s expression is still completely serious. Is he really suggesting what you think he’s suggesting? “What? You’re asking me to be a nanny?”

“I suppose you could call it that.” When you stare at him with disbelief, he rolls his shoulders. “(Y/N). Why is this such an eccentric idea? You hate your job. Buck has a spare room at his place which, no offense, is way nicer than your apartment. You’re great with kids, you’re funny, you’re smart…and you’ve already said you think Clover sounds like an awesome kid. You two would get on great.”

“That’s all irrelevant considering a, I’m not a nanny and have no experience looking after a child in that close and intense an environment. And b, Steve, this is an eccentric idea. Other than the scraps you’ve given me I know absolutely nothing about James, and what the hell does he know about me?” When Steve’s face looks a little guilty, you roll your eyes. “Oh my god. Steve. James hasn’t even said he wants a nanny has he? He doesn’t even know you’re asking me this.”

“This would be so good for him,” Steve half-pleads, puppy dog eyes engaged, “He’s fussy about strangers and Clover, but he knows you through me. He’ll trust my judgement.”

“Steve. You can’t just go making decisions like that! This is insane.”

(Steve has a habit of thinking he knows what’s best, for himself or other people, and rampaging down that path in the pursuit of a happy ending. Sometimes people don’t need his version of a happy ending.)

Steve eventually relents, relaxing back in his seat. He’s forgotten you’re not usually one for blindly going along with one of his Heroic Schemes, preferring a more idealistic approach. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll discuss it with him first. But I think you should come along when I do that.”

“Steve.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, but I think you should meet them both properly. You could be a good friend to him either way. It wouldn’t hurt, (Y/N). Maybe it would be good for you too.”

God, you’re way too done for this shit, your legs aching from a day of being constantly on your feet and dead inside from getting up at six this morning. Steve is not the kind of guy to give up on something he’s clearly passionate about in his quest for the greater good, and this point it is just easier to agree to his requests. Even though his idea is way too bizarre for anyone normal to actually accept.

Being a live-in nanny for a guy you barely know and his daughter, both of whom have just lost someone extremely significant in their lives? And him being totally unaware that his best friend is proposing a job he has no authority to give? Yeah, fuck that.

Steve is right about one thing, though. You do really, really hate your horrible job.

When you reluctantly nod, and Steve grins, you jab a finger in his direction. “Like you said. It means nothing. This is weird as hell, but you’re super annoying when you don’t get your own way, and I’m totally allowing you to receive all the backlash when it backfires.”

“I think I can deal with that.” He gestures at your empty bottle. “Want another drink?”

The alcohol has made your body a little lighter, but your stomach growls loudly in argument. Instead, you clamp your hands on the table. “No, but you can buy me a pizza. It’s the least you can do for me, weirdo.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, used to your directness. “Pizza it is, then.”

Okay, so maybe Steve Rogers is the most annoying person in the world, and maybe his aggressive selflessness in the hope of doing right for his friends will eventually be his downfall, but he’s usually a pretty nice guy. You sometimes forget that you’re lucky to have him.

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heller-obama · 5 years

Text

Operation Newsboy

And this is the chapter that was originally planned to be posted last night, but I just barely didn’t have enough time, so I’m posting this at 7 am before I get ready for the first day of school. Fun!

I also made a tag for what I write and a tag for this specific story (they’re the first two tags at the bottom)

Here’s the prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, and chapter five if you hadn’t read them

Chapter 6

Words: 1,207

Warnings: uhhh blood(not graphic), injuries, swearing(idk if y’all care about that), horrible jokes

Editing: grammarly + read throughs

I shifted awake in my bed, the boys getting ready around me.

“C’mon, Speedy, get up!” Race whacked me in the face with his hat.

I groaned. “Yeah, yeah, I’m up.”

Sara’s voice crackled in my ear. “Wally, this is your complimentary 5:00 AM get-your-ass-out-of-bed call. Please get your ass out of bed.”

I activated my comms, and for the sake of Race and Sara, I said “I’m up!” really loudly.

“Good for you,” Race and Sara said, almost simultaneously.

I subtly switched my comms off.

As usual, we got ready to go out and sell papers.

“‘Ey, Jack! We is leavin’!” Elmer called.

“Go on without me!” Jack yelled.

Elmer looked at me. “You comin’, Speedy?”

“Nah. I’ll wait for Jack.”

”A’ight.” I saw them disappear down the stairs, then heard the tell-tale whoops and yells that meant that the newsies were up and ready for work.

Barely two minutes later, and Jack came down the stairs. “‘Ey, is you waitin’ for me, Speedy?”

“Yeah, just finished getting up, figured I’d wait.” I lied. But how do you say, ‘hey, I’m waiting for you so you don’t get brutally murdered in the street by some magical time assassin’? Well, I could say that, but I might sound a tad crazy. Okay, I’d sound a lot crazy.

Jack clapped my shoulder. “Aw, I’m touched.”

* * * # * * *

We were close, maybe a mile away from the distribution square, when stuff went down.

Jack was talking about the girl he met yesterday, in the theater and on the street, when I got this feeling that someone was following us. I whipped my head around, but no one was there.

“What’s with you?” Jack chuckled.

I shook my head. “I--it’s nothing.” I don’t know who I was trying to convince--me or Jack. “I thought I heard someone behind us.”

Jack looked behind us. “Well, there’s no one there. We’s are all safe—” An abnormally loud sound exploded somewhere off to the side of us, and I whipped my head around, the world slowing down around me. In the alleyway next to us, on the other side of Jack, I saw a dark figure holding what looked like a modern-age gun. There was a flash of light around the muzzle, and there was a bullet flying out of it. But something was wrong. The bullet was flying fast, faster than what should’ve been possible. It wasn’t a gun from my time; this was a gun from the future. Far into the future. I cursed the people who thought they needed to make guns with faster bullets. There was no time to try and grab it, it would just shred my hand. I dashed in front of Jack, and the bullet meant for his throat made its way into my shoulder. Who knew being tall saved history?

Time unfroze, and I stumbled, the force of the bullet knocking me back as it tore through my flesh and muscle. And it burned. Damn, it hurt. “What was that?” Jack asked, and I leaned on him to catch my balance. “Woah there, Speedy.” Jack chuckled and then frowned. “Wait. Weren’t you just—” He pointed to the other side of him.

“Ow.” I groaned.

Jack finally noticed the blood streaming out of my shoulder. “HOLY SHIT!” He leaned me against the side of a building and leaned over me.

“Ow.”

“When the hell did that happen?” At least he lowered his voice.

“Goddamn interdimensional time assassins with futuristic guns,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What do I do?”

“Stopping the bleeding would help.”

“Wally, you’s got a hole in your shoulder and you’s still being a smart-ass?”

“Pain sharpens my tongue.”

“You’re delusional.”

“No, I’m dying of blood loss.”

“Wally, since I’s don’t want you to die, I’mma let that slide.”

“Gee, I’m touched. Can I stop the bleeding now?” Somehow, I wrangled the vest off my chest and ripped a long strip off. I stood up, definitely with a struggle, and tied my makeshift bandage around my shoulder. My shoulder still felt like it was being melted in a forge, but it wasn’t streaming out anymore. It was less like a river and more like a creek. And then I crouched slightly, making sure my hat and bandage were securely fastened.

“What is you doin’?” Jack asked.

“Something I might regret,” I sighed. “Hop on.”

“Youse is delusional!” Jack protested. “You just got shot. I’s should be carryin’ you!”

“Jack,” I said sternly. “Get on my back before I pick you up and carry you like a bride on her honeymoon.”

He sighed. “I don’t know why we’s call you ‘Speedy’,” he grumbled. “we’s shoulda called youse Stubborn.” He hopped on my back anyway.

“Hold on tight,” I warned him.

“I ain’t grabbin’ your wound!”

“Then hold on to my neck!” Jack muttered something about me dying of strangulation before the blood loss killed me.

“Get ready,” I said, shifting my body.

“For what?”

“This.” I took off running, as fast as I could go with the shooting pain in my arm and the pain in the ass on my back.

The aforementioned pain in the ass starting yelling, swatting at the lighting around me.

In seconds, we made it to the park where we hid the Waverider. I stopped and let Jack off my back. He stumbled and threw up in a bush. “Yeah, get it out, bud.” I patted his back as he upchucked his breakfast and dinner in the bush.

“WHAT THE SHITTIN’ HOLY HELL WAS THAT?” He cried, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Science.”

“That ain’t no science! That’s like that book Frankenstein!”

I was expecting some comic book reference or something. And then it dawned on me. I “Damn, you don’t have superheroes?”

“What?”

“Long story.”

Jack opened his mouth to say something when a bay door on the Waverider opened. Sara and Mick came out, her bo staff and his heat gun pointed directly at us.

“Wally, why the hell are you here? And why’d you bring him?” Sara yelled, lowering her staff. Mick, predictably, didn’t lower his gun.

Poor Jack was just too overwhelmed. His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed. Thankfully, I caught him before he fell.

“Now look what you’ve done!” I cried mockingly. “He’s out cold!” Sara and Mick just glared at me. “Can I come inside, at least?”

“We aren’t stopping you,” Sara said.

“Can you at least help me carry him inside, Mick?” I asked.

“Can’t you do it?” Mick growled.

“I would, but my arm hurts.” I motioned to the blood seeping through my makeshift vest bandage.

“Damn it, West, how’d you manage to get yourself shot?” Sara cried.

“That goddamn time assassin.”

“Care to elaborate?” Sara said, her hands on her hips.

“As long as Gideon stitches me up.”

“Of course she’s gonna—” She trailed off and sighed. “Rory, grab the kid.”

“Which one?”

“The one that’s passed out cold, genius.” While Mick grabbed the unconscious Jack, I walked into the Waverider, the pain in my shoulder slowly coming back as the adrenaline faded.

“I might need an Advil, too.” I joked.

Sara glanced at me, then at my wound. “Wally, you’re gonna need the whole damn bottle.”

#Jamie writes stuff #operation newsboy #superheroes weren't invented till 190something #in a comic strip #so yeah #there's your useless trivia fact of the day #these were horrible jokes I'm so sorry #Newsies #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #race #legends of tomorrow #Wally west #Sara lance #mick rory #the waverider #fanfic #fanfiction #writeblr

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