Those Diddly Darn Newsboys

Trump is angry at NBC News for using this photo of him, so please don’t use this enhanced, enlarged version of it for anything.

To prove something to a friend, please

REBLOG IF YOU THINK ASEXUALS BELONG IN LGBTQ+ SPACES

I am risking nothing

I AM SORRY FOLLOWERS, I LOVE MY MOMMY

Will not risk.

And blocked

And reported

Summary: The prologue to a story and woman that would shake both Russia and the Western World as she trained endlessly, building resistance and tricking her way to approval and even admiration. Though, will being hardwired dor evil doom ruin her chance at a redemption, becoming a hero herself with semi-stable relationships, or will she forever be jetting across the country, bringing the fear and the legend of ‘The Black Widow’ with her?

Warnings: Violence, gun shots, death, and, possibly bad unedited writing?

Word Count: 707 (it’s just a little one)

A/N: My first piece of writing on this account and it’s the start of a series, oh goodness. Okay, so, this will not be entirely accurate to neither the comics or the MCU since I have combined both of them so please forgive me. Anywho, hope you enhoy and feedback is always appreciated!! Thank you in advance for reading.

Disclaimer: In this Natalia/Natasha is 22 years old, wich I know is a lot older than both the MCU and the comics.

A BRIEF ORIGIN STORY

A SUPERPOWER OR THREE, MAYBE FOUR DEPENDING

A SUPERHERO OR VILLAIN NAME

YOU MIGHT ALSO GET AN ARCHNEMESIS WHO HAS REBLOGGED THIS ALREADY

tumblr: oh! so he’s gay!

writer: uh…no, he’s attracted to women.

tumblr: ….so he’s bi!

writer: uhh…no…….he loves his guy friends but he’s not romantically/sexually attracted to them.

tumblr: ….so you’re homophobic.

writer:

Don’t even trip.. I'ma take those off ya hands for you.

Part 1

Mush + Reader -female viewpoint

(My very first fanfic )

“She just had these eyes, y'know? And her smile? Wow. I see her every day but I just can’t do anythin’ to talk to ‘er. Sometimes she buys a pape now an’ then for her dad and I turn so red and flustuh’d that I almost drop 'em all. Papes I mean. I see pretty girls all the time but this one.. She’s different.”

My heart beats fast as I turn quickly away from the fence not hearing the other newsboy’s answer. On the other side were two newsboys talking about their day by the old deli. I turn the other corner and walk hastily toward my father’s office. I feel bad for listening in on his conversation. Him, being “MY newsie”, as I like to call him in my head. There’s no doubt what he was saying was about me. It’s been more than a month since father and I have moved to lower Manhattan, New York for Father’s job. And it’s also been more than a month that I’ve been taking the long way to get to Father’s office just so that I can see “him”. Mush. Yes, his name is silly but I find it somewhat adorable. The first day, father and I rode in on the carriage to our new house, I saw him. He noticed me almost immediately as I looked out the carriage window and I pretended not to see.

Mush isn’t the only one who gets flustered and blushes. I have the same problem and each time I went to buy a newspaper I willed myself to not embarrass either one of us and I never stayed to talk. Luckily, however, on the first time I bought a paper from him, he introduced himself not one bit bashfully but so confidently that he could have sold a newspaper to someone who couldn’t read. I like him more and more each time I see him. Those deep beautiful eyes that would glance at me when he thought I didn’t see. That smile he would show to every passerby that he tried to sell a newspaper to. He seems to like my eyes and smile too.

I enter the office building as I do every day to fetch Father for dinner, wave as I pass Johnny, his assistant, walk up the flight of stairs, and smooth my dress before I go inside Father’s office. His office is well-lit with a view of New York’s streets. On his desk he has a picture of me and him the day before we moved here and a vase of flowers that I replace every now and then with flowers from our garden. He looks up from his typewriter.

“Once again, you’re late, missy. Punctuality is the key to success. And by the looks of it, you will not be successful in life. Don’t let it happen again.”

He holds his stern look for a mere two seconds before the smile (that I expected) crept on his face. He’s always played this game since before I can remember. He would pretend to be angry every time I came late but he could never keep a stern face for too long. My father wasn’t very good at acting.

“You’re getting better at it, Father. I actually believed you this time”

This was the same answer I’d give to him every day.

He smiled at me and got up from his chair.

“You coming means it’s quitting time for me.”

“Come along then, Maisey said she was making chicken pudding tonight.”

Maisey was our cook who never ceased to make the best and most delicious meals.

At hearing about the meal, Father’s stomach growled and we both laughed as we exited into the cool autumn air.

That night, I thought about what Mush said. I smile each time I think about him and I decide that I’m going to talk to him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be the day that I muster enough courage to talk to him. I spend the rest of the night fantasizing scenarios of what might happen tomorrow before I fall asleep.

The next day I set off earlier in the evening so Father won’t have to play “the game” with me. I take the long way as I do every evening, passing the shops and restaurants bustling with people getting last minute supplies for dinner or enjoying dinner already. I stop and pretend to rummage through my purse, but really I’m carefully eyeing the street looking for Mush. Then I see him. He’s wearing his newsboy cap at an odd angle and his clothes are clean but a bit torn and ragged here and there. Even though it’s still the beginning of the evening, he looks tired and worn. Under his arm are about 15 newspapers, I suspect today hasn’t been a good selling day for him.

I take a deep breath and walk up to him. He glances up and when he realizes who I am his eyes widen, his cheeks redden, and he hesitates to speak. It quickly passes and he grins at me, adjusting his hat.

“Evenin’ miss, may I interest you in today’s newspaper?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you”

He hands me a newspaper and I give him a penny in return. I tuck the newspaper under my arm. It’s now or never.

“Your name is Mush, correct?”

He looks surprised and nods. I wonder if I should’ve said that and panic rises in me quickly.

“My name is (y/n). Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand to shake. He bows and kisses my hand instead of shaking it.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (y/n).”

I blush so much, I’m afraid I may look like a red fire truck. He smiles at me and my heart pounds so hard in my chest, I think he can probably hear it.

“It would also be my pleasure, if you would like, to deliver the newspaper to you personally.” he says.

It’s my turn to smile.

“I think I’ll come here to you and come get it instead, but thank you” I answer.

He grins again and raises an eyebrow.

“Well then the best part of my day will be having a lovely girl such as you buy a paper from me”

I fight back the urge to blush again.

“You’re flattering me,” I laugh

“My intentions exactly” he says bowing again

“It’s been wonderful talking to you,” I say beaming at him, “but I really must be going.”

I step backwards onto the street as he answers.

“See you tomorrow then Miss (y/n)?”

Suddenly the smile slinks off his face. He’s looking at something behind me. I turn around and my heart nearly stops. A horse drawn carriage is coming right at me in full speed. Panic flashes in the horses’ eyes as they see me. It’s too late for me to react and I fear this is it for me.

Suddenly I feel a strong grip on my arm and a force pulls me out of the way. I hear the horses’ hooves thundering by as the driver yells an expletive at me. Mush and I fall into a puddle of mud nearby, both of us breathing hard as we land. We half sit, half lay there in shocked silence. He notices he still has my arm in his hand and quickly but gently releases it.

“I’m so, so sorry,” I stammer, “you didn’t have to do that”

We both stand up. I try in vain to clean my muddied dress and petticoat with my hands. Then I see that most of his papers have been soiled by the mud as well. I get my surprisingly still clean purse out of my pocket. I take his hand, place a shiny new quarter in it and enclose his fingers around it, then I take the dirtied papers. He gawks at me for a second.

“No, no, (y/n). You don’t have to..”

“Yes I do. You saved me from getting trampled, I owe you more than a mere twenty five cents,” I answer.

He smiles at me, my heart melts and before I stop and think, I kiss him gently on his cheek. I don’t wait for a reaction, I gather up my dress and run home.

I’m careful as I enter the house, making sure no servants see me with my soiled dress and shoes. I bathe as quick as I can and change into a new clean dress. Then I take the quicker way to Father’s office.

Me: