#i have kept every single pair of boots ive ever owned

[imaredshirt]

But what happened to Fiddleford's boots. The cute boots with simple embroidery that he took to college with him. The boots that were definitely expensive and that he took good care of cause he's a good country boy who knows the value in a solid pair of boots. Did he lose them with his memories. Are they huddled in a corner in his hut in the dump. Are they tucked up somewhere in storage at the Shack, ignored because Stan doesn't know who they belong to or what to do with them. Does he get them back when Ford comes back or are they just gone. My brain is fixated on those boots.

[jubans]

title: pinky promise pairing: chigasaki itaru/fem!reader rating: g (general) premise: promises were made to be kept, but damn did itaru have a sharp memory.

Back when you were still a kid, you had a peculiar friend.

Your fathers were best buddies in college and your mothers got along just as swimmingly as well. Whenever either couple would go out of town, the other would follow suit—both parties bringing along their young kids so they could bond with one another. 

Itaru was a quiet boy. The first time you met him, he was like a hermit that couldn't be coaxed out of his shell. Eventually, you gave up on trying to get him to play house with you; retreating to the living room with a gaming console in hand. You've been wanting a Gameboy for a while now, and your father did love spoiling his little girl. While you were in the middle of catching your first Pokémon, however, you noticed that Itaru was watching you play over your shoulder, interest sparkling in his pretty eyes.

"Itaru-kun, do you play Pokémon?" you wondered, hoping he'd finally open up to you.

The young boy nodded timidly. "My Gameboy is in my backpack..."

And that's how you started growing closer than you'd initially expected. You challenged him in Pokémon battles every chance you got, but Itaru defeated you every single time. Something about IVs and EVs, he said. But you didn't really care about those. You just wanted the pretty looking Pokémon on your team. 

In your usual outings with his family, Itaru would often play off-handed pranks on you—putting weird bugs he found behind your dress, spitting watermelon seeds at you, and even pushing you into a shallow part of a lake. But despite his outlandish behavior, you didn't cry about it like most girls your age would when a boy was being mean to them. You returned his mischief sevenfold in your own way, and that only made your parents think what a lively duo the both of you were.

But like most childhood friendships, it didn't last as long as you'd liked. 

With your father having gotten an opportunity to work in America, that meant you had to move residences. The news was hard to take in at first. You grew up in Japan. All your friends were here! And what will happen to Itaru when you were no longer there to keep him in check? But, you've always been more understanding than most children. You accepted it faster than your parents had anticipated.

One day, you decided to tell your him about your sudden moving-away with a proposition that would ensure he wouldn't step out of line while you weren't around. 

"We're going to get married someday, right Taruchi?" 

Itaru blinked at you in nonplus, surprised by the strange nickname. "Taru...chi?"

"Itaru Chigasaki!" You giggled, clapping your hands together in unhinged glee. "It's my nickname for you, so no one else is allowed to call you that, 'kay?"

He spared you a small smile. Even at a young age, he already looked breathtaking. Eyes of carnelian and hair spun from almonds and vanilla—there was no reason for you not to crush on the boy who lived the next door over. 

But then, he did something you've never seen anyone else do with you before. He held out his hand, holding up only his pinky, as he gazed at you expectantly. You craned your head to the side, not knowing how to react. Itaru laughed softly before taking your small hands in his own, manipulating your right hand's fingers so that you were doing the same gesture he was.

"We'll pinky promise on it," he said, entwining his stubby finger with yours. "It's a promise that we can never ever break. No matter what."

"You promise to marry me when I get back?" you asked, curling your own pinky as well. 

He snickered. "I'd hate to be stuck with an old hag like you, but if you insist..."

"Hmph!" you simpered, folding your arms across your chest as you turned away from him. "I'm only eight, Taruchi!" 

"You'll be eight-y when you return," he retaliated. 

You spent the afternoon trying to beat Itaru in another Pokémon battle, but he came out victorious as usual. Just before you could start up another match, however, his mother told the two of you that they'll be attending an event hosted by the company she works for, and that you could come back and play tomorrow again. 

"See you soon, old hag," Itaru imparted, waving a hand goodbye as you stuck out your tongue to blow a raspberry at him. 

Stupid Taruchi. Why do I even like you?

"Mom, was it really necessary for me to fly back to Japan for this?" you groaned into your cellphone, asking the question for the hundredth time. 

Your mother merely tutted at you from the other end of the line. "You know how much your father loved the MANKAI Company, sweetie. We even flew here a week early so he could take a peek at the final rehearsals." 

"Yes, I know that part of the story," you sighed as you slowly unpacked your things from the single duffel you brought. "But why do I have to tag along? I had to find a substitute for all my classes this week, and I think the head professor will give me a piece of her mind when I get back to California."

"I'll have your father talk to her, then." The sound of her laughter was jeering in your ears. Why your mother had always been so carefree was a mystery to you. "Unwind a little, sweetie! I think you're going to want to see one of the new Spring Troupe's actors."

"What?" Your tone came out exasperated, but at the same time, your eyes were trained on the ample view of Veludo Way from your hotel room.

Your father used to be one of the members of the original Spring Troupe back when you were still a kid. Though he was one of the most academically proficient professors you knew today, he always had an unbridled passion for theatric arts. But with how swamped he's become with his work at the university you both teach in, him flying to Japan to watch amateurs stage a production was the last thing you think he would do.

Lost in thought, you didn't realize that your mother had been telling you something over the phone. 

"Anyways, if you want to see him, I got us tickets for the closing night this Saturday." Your mother sounded disappointed for some reason. "The earlier showing dates sold out by the time we bought them."

You didn't even bother finding out who this so-called actor she was pertaining to, your mind too preoccupied with the lesson plans you forgot to leave to your substitute. With an exasperated groan, you pulled out your laptop from your luggage, booting it up. You loved your mother too much to point out that she could have just told you to fly over here at a later date so you could minimize your absences. 

"Sure, Mom," you relented. "Do you want to grab some dinner later?"

"No way."

Eyes of carnelian. Hair spun from almonds and vanilla.

"No. Way." You had to physically look away from the stage to contemplate for a moment. Was that... Was that who you thought it was?

From your right, your father spared you a sideways glance, confusion painting his features. "Hm? Something the matter?" 

It's him. The boy with the pretty eyes and the smile that masked his mischief. Itaru. Taruchi. 

"I-It's nothing, Dad," you reassured, forcing yourself to train your eyes on the scene playing before you. "I just remembered I haven't started formatting my midterm exam yet."

"Oh, don't fret about work here," he chuckled, gaze trained fondly on the stage. "Plays are where the actors give it their all to put a smile on people's faces. I've always wanted to see you up on stage, but what kind of father would I be if I imposed something you didn't want?"

His words made you relax back into your seat, watching as Itaru's character, Tybalt, conversed with one of the leads on-stage. He delivered his lines so naturally, like the character was moulded to fit him in particular. He looked so...different now, too. Itaru had lost the fat in his cheeks—angular cheekbones taking its place instead. His voice was set into a much deeper tone, given that he was probably in his mid-twenties, just like yourself. Who knew a gamer shut-in like himself would pursue theater, of all things?

"It's nice to see good old Chigasaki's son up there, though." Your father smiled. "That kid was almost like a son to me."

The scenes breezed past before your eyes, each one leaving you at the edge of your seat. Their twist on Romeo and Juliet was comical, to say the least. But each time Itaru stepped under the spotlights, you noticed the strain in his movements. Whenever he had to walk to the opposite side of the stage, his steps came off a bit wobbly. This was a critical scene where Romeo and Tybalt were going to duel to the death, too. 

When you spared your father a wary look, the set in his brow told you that there was definitely something up. 

"Boy's got a sprain," he concluded. "Goodness. He should've known better than to perform with that dead weight dragging him around."

You frowned. "Then Taruchi, I mean, Itaru should—"

"Tybalt, stop! The battle's over!"

Romeo's little ad-lib caught the attention of the audience, no one daring to draw a breath to see how things played out. 

"Lower your blade!" he shouted, voice carrying the emotion in his eyes.

Even Itaru was taken aback by Romeo's resolve. His mouth twitched into a smirk that reminded you of the days he would show you the stag beetles he's caught over the summer to freak you out. You haven't even said two words to him fifteen years later, but somehow, you knew that he hadn't changed. Not one bit. 

"(Surname)-san, hello!"

A woman that seemed right about your age greeted your father with a shake of hands once the two of you arrived backstage. Your mother had insisted that she would wait for the two of you at the parking lot as you gave your congratulations to the actors. So here you were, standing awkwardly behind your father as he animatedly conversed with the said woman, who seemed to be the director of the show.

"Kid, as much as I'd like to tell you about your dad, it isn't my place to tell," your father chuckled. 

She sighed. "Ah, that's what Yuzo-san told me, too..."

"Say, this is quite out of the blue, but my daughter here wants to have a word with one of your actors. Itaru, to be precise."

Wait, what?

"Oh, sure!" The director nodded, twisting the knob to the dressing room behind her before you could even protest. "Itaru-san, someone wants to talk to you!" 

"Oho? Itaru-san has stans?"

"Fans. But you're not too far off, huh, Citron?"

"Wah! Itaru-san is so popular!"

"Tch. As long as it's not her, I won't complain..."

The sound of cheerful laughter hit your ears, and the next thing you knew, he emerged from the doorway—still in costume without a single hair out of place. Itaru grew up to look like one of the princes in the fairytales your mother used to read to you, and it grated on your nerves more than it should. How could the kid with the most rotten attitude you've seen be blessed with a growth spurt like this?!

Too busy wallowing in your own frustration, it took you a moment to register the utter shock on Itaru's face once his vibrant eyes landed on your father. But when his gaze shifted to you, his lips parted in muted surprise before spreading into a disbelieving smile.

"So you finally thought about coming back, huh, old hag?"

Before you could even think, you seized the collar of his costume with your fist, familiar irritation festering in your chest faster than you could blink. "It's the first time we meet in fifteen years and that's your opening line?"

Itaru hollered loudly at your aggression, but the gesture didn't even faze him one bit. Maybe it was because he stood about a few inches taller than you now. Nonetheless, he held your hands in his own—holy shit they were smooth—before prying off your hard grip on his clothes.

"Ah, Izumi!" your father called out to the director. "I want to discuss something about the MANKAI Company and how I might be able to pitch in. Itaru-kun, you can keep her occupied for the time being, right?"

"What? Dad, don't leave me with hi—"

"She's in my care," Itaru spoke over you, a gloved hand going up to ruffle your hair. 

As you watched your father and the director disappear right down the corridor, you gulped when you felt Itaru's piercing gaze on you. Turning around, you saw that his lips were still affixed with a condescending smirk, like he had some dirt on you that you didn't know about. Slowly, you backed away from him, but the hallway was cramped and you ended up with you in between the wall and the man in front of you.

"So," he began before he braced his palms on either side of the wall, trapping you in place. How could someone who had the regal air of a prince look at you like a wolf in sheep's clothing?

You felt your heart racing hummingbird-fast in your chest, breath hitching when he leaned in to ask:

"When's the wedding?"

[imaconstantmess]

Until

Until

First attempt at writing anything, criticism is something that is welcome and much needed so please tell me if there was anything you didn’t like.

Warnings: swearing, abuse(ex), angst with an ok ending

Steve x Gender Neutral! Reader

Steve’s mind has been occupied for the past few weeks, and it’s got something to do with the recruit he’s been assigned to train.

part 2 here

Cold.

Empty.

Bright.

“Damn it.” Empty shelves stared at him, save for some sauces that he never used, and some out of date milk in the door. Since when could he not act like an adult and remember to go food shopping every once in a while? He almost slammed the fridge door in frustration, but then he remembered that the fridge wasn’t made to be shut in anger by a super soldier who could keep a helicopter grounded.

The apartment was nice, clean, and more modern than Steve would have chosen. He didn’t want to admit it but he couldn’t help but like the designs Stark kitted him out with; He’d actually said thank you for the record player to both the males’ surprise. With a heavy sigh Steve looked for his keys while shrugging on the leather jacket that he liked to wear. He hadn’t bothered to change clothes since yesterday, since he’d been stuck with debriefing a late night mission to some agents, one of which liked to argue. He doesn’t know where they found him but he suspected he wouldn’t be working on the field for much longer.

Steve decided to just bike it to the nearest fast food place, since he just didn’t have the effort to buy and cook his own meal tonight. Steve wouldn’t usually ditch a healthy meal (a habit left over from when he needed all the strength he could get), but the frustration and sleep deprivation he’s been feeling lately has him doing strange things. He pulled up to the closest diner that would be open, the brightness of the inside straining his eyes a little. It was stereotypical in design, with the black and white tiled floors and old, faded red leather booths. Not all the neon lights worked, but it was clean and had pretty good food from what Steve remembered. He started looking at the menu until he heard the one sound he didn’t expect to hear.

Your voice.

——————————————————

Training was tough. You’d passed the intelligence tests, the demanding physical examination, and had shown excellence in taking orders and adapting to the situation at hand, singling you out from the other recruits in your regiment. That’s why they chose you, as an experimental new initiative that Nick Fury had come up with. It was meant to be a sort of civilian type of avengers, ones with no powers that could blend in more easily with a crowd. An American version of elite spies under shield authority and direction. And you were chosen.

Each avenger with hand to hand combat training got a recruit. Tony and Bruce didn’t have one because tony relies on his mind and if Bruce fights, the other guy makes an appearance. You did an intricate personality test, asking questions as simple as ‘what’s your favourite colour and why?’ To ‘what do you think the most important global issue is at this time?’ and from those results you were paired with the avenger that you were most compatible with, to help ease the training process and create an almost student/mentor situation. You got Captain America.

Surprisingly, the first session you two had together didn’t involve training. It was almost an interview between the two of you, but a lot more casual. Steve text you to meet him an old diner in New York, one that you happened to frequent often. You already ordered your drink when you sat down in a booth, skimming over the menu.

“F/n l/n?”You looked up and found a nice pair of baby blues looking at you, and although you knew he was attractive from the tv, real life was a whole other experience. If you weren’t taken...

Before you could gawk, you put on a friendly smile and answered “Thats me. I’m guessing you must be Steve Rogers”

And that was the first time you met.

——————————————————-

It was late. You’d just got home after a briefing for a mission which lasted longer than it should have. Sam’s recruit, agent Andrew Garrison, had a mouth which led to some sarcastic remarks towards Steve which were in your opinion, uncalled for. When Steve put him in his place it made you feel some type of way, but pushed those feelings aside. You were in a relationship that was coming to almost a year long. When you got home to your cosy apartment you kicked off your training boots, and was about to take off your shield assigned jacket when you heard a cough from the couch.

You went to look in the fridge for something quick to eat, but settled for a bottle of orange juice “Hey, sorry I kept you waiting, the briefing went on longer than it should have. Garrison decided to sass Steve, so after Steve basically put him in his place Fury came in and gave a long ass speech on how we have to show the same respect to other mentors that we show our own” you plopped down next to your boyfriend on the couch but your smile faded when you saw the look on his face. “Tyler? What’s wrong? You alright?” Concern laced your voice as you reached out to tough his face. You were shocked when he slapped your hand away.

“What’s wrong? I can’t believe you’re even asking me that...” he got up and started running his hands through his dark hair. “You’re never here anymore. You’re always training... if thats even what you’re doing” his dark eyes look different, almost like you’re looking at at stranger. While you’re too shocked to reply, he raises his voice in an almost shout. “You’re always out! Shield can’t be training you that much. How can I trust you? You’re around other men all the time!” He spat, his face almost in a snarl.

“Are you kidding me? I’m training under the avengers, not sleeping with other men! You’ve seen Steve- CAPTAIN AMERICA- drop me off! How could you think I was lying?” Your voice was strong but there was a sting in your eyes.

“Then how come Ive been seeing disgusting purple marks on your neck!?”

“I GOT JABBED IN THE FUCKING THROAT-“

“LIAR!” The argument went on for about 15 minutes, you trying to prove your innocence while Tyler just kept making more and more ridiculous accusations. You’d had arguments before, but never this bad. You turned, about to walk to your shared room to try and avoid the conflict- until a loud sound was heard on your right. He’d thrown the damn pot fruit bowl at your head. You whipped round, a look of shock on both your faces, as if he couldn’t believe he’d done it either. This was the turning point for you, things had never been physical in your relationships and they never would be. The shock on your face turned to anger as you fought back the urge to restrain him, like Steve had taught you. You grabbed your keys, and put your jacket back on.

“We’re done. Try to attack me again and i will show you just how much training I’ve done” your face looked terrifying, but under the mask you were heartbroken. You’d thought he was the one you were going to spend your life with. You were wrong. Obviously. You stormed out of the apartment, too consumed by anger to realise you had nowhere to go. You had limited cash on you, and your closest relatives were a state away. You couldn’t ask your friends to come pick you up, it was too late. After walking for almost an hour, you came across an old diner you lived going to. You told Steve about this place a few months ago, and both of you went after a particularly hard day of training. Plus it was literally open 24hrs, so you could stay until it was early enough to catch Steve or Sam on a run. You sat down at an empty booth in the corner, but since the diner was empty you could see and hear everything. You ordered a simple cheeseburger and a coke, not wanting to spend much money. You just sit and wait until you hear the phone ring. It was Tyler.

“Babe? Where are you? I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that it was all my fault-“

“You could have killed me. And I completely agree, it was your fault.

Don’t call me again. I don’t know when Ill be picking my stuff up. Bye”

“Y/N don’t do this, I love you-“

“If you loved me you wouldn’t have thrown a bowl heavier than a brick at my head.”

You heard the door open, but you were just angrily staring at the table, not bothering to see who came in. You were biting your knuckle to stop yourself from crying, pent up emotions wanting to break free. You tried to keep from crying, growing silent as you evened your breathing.

“Why are you doing this?! I thought you loved me! Maybe I did aim it at your head so what!?” Your heart sank. He’d meant to hurt you. Knock you out, maybe even kill you. “You deserved it for turning away from me. Why can’t you just come back? You need me. Give me one valid reason why I should stop calling you”

“You tried to fucking kill me”

_________________________________________

“You tried to fucking kill me”

Steve heard your voice and whipped round. He hadn’t noticed you in the corner when he came in, but the words you just spoke sent a small shiver of fear down his spine. What had happened? We’re you ok? You were still in your shield assigned training outfit, and there didn’t look to be any blood on you. He quickly walked towards you and saw you angrily slam your phone down, an unreadable expression on your face.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” It unnerved him to see you like this, he’d never seen you sad, or even angry before. Irritated at losing hand to hand combat? Sure. But he’d never seen you like this... so open... so...vulnerable.

You blinked back tears as you slowly rose your head up to look at him. He’d taken a seat across from you, arms on the table and the most concerned look you’d ever seen him with. Then again, after taking a quick glance at your reflection in the mirror, you did look a mess. Hair messy from a days training, red eyes and a blotchy face from almost crying. You decided it was not a good look on you.

“I’m-“ you were about to say fine, but you weren’t. You needed someone to talk to, and although it might be considered unprofessional, Steve was worried and you knew he wouldn’t drop it. He’s too stubborn. “Actually, I’m not fine. My personal life has just been obliterated.”

You let out a dry laugh to try and hide the hurt.

“Y/N, what happened. Tell me, please.” The way he had said please, with so much emotion almost made your heart burst. And with those eyes, full of concern and... something, staring directly at you you found it hard to not tell him everything. You looked and the table when you started explaining, almost ashamed of what happened.

“You remember my boy- well EX boyfriend, Tyler? He tried to maim or kill me. Haven’t figured out which he meant to do yet.” You hoped a bit of sarcasm would make the words you just spoke seem less... heavy to the super soldier. However when you glanced up, the look on the super soldiers face was pure anger. Before Steve could say anything, you carried on “ he didn’t actually touch me, but he tried to. I walked out before anything else could happen.”

“What do you mean tried to?” His voice was eerily calm, but soft. It completely betrayed his stiff posture and furrowed brows. You’d never seen him like this, but you weren’t scared. Somehow it was comforting.

“Well you know that big, heavy ornate fruit bowl that my grandma made me?”

“The one shaped like a peacock? Feathers for the bowl?” You nodded.

“He threw it. At my head. I was walking away and it hit the wall next to me.” You explained quickly, seeing him lean back and nostrils flare slightly. He was directing his angry gaze at anywhere but you, you weren’t the reason for his anger.

“He could have killed you. A blow to the back of your head from and object like that- jesus it could’ve cracked your skull open. You could-“ he swallowed, calming himself before finishing his sentence. “ you could be dead right now. Or unconscious, or with a cracked open skull...” as he trailed off he realised how bad the situation could have been. You could’ve been hurt. Not by some trigger happy mafia member, not by a highly trained hydra assassin. Hell, not even in training. When he caught your throat in training a few days ago he thought you were going to hate him forever, and he hated himself for hurting you. Even after you caught your breath and smiled, no laughed at him for fretting, he still hated himself for putting you through unnecessary pain. The fact that you were hurt in your home, in the one place you were supposed to be safe infuriated him. He had never wanted to kill, not really, but the anger and secondhand fear for your safety could have been the thing that made him do it. He looked at you now, seeing past the obvious and noticing the circles under your eyes and the way your body just seemed exhausted, physically and emotionally. Before he could speak, you decided to change the subject. Until tomorrow at least.

“Hey you getting any food? I can practically hear your stomach from here.” You said with a smile. Steve relaxed his posture a little and realised he hadn’t ordered in his haste to check on you. As he turned around to once again look at the menu, to cheeseburgers and cokes were laid out infront of you both by a middle aged woman, who had a young motherly look to her.

“I know you didn’t order anything, but the diners quiet and I couldn’t help overhearing a few things. I added cheesy fries, no extra cost.” The woman turned to you, wiping her hand on her black apron in a worried manner. “I hope you’re ok sweetheart. If you want, I can sneak you another drink, on the house. Just ask.” She gave you a kind smile as you thanked her and tried to return it, completely forgetting to ask Steve if he was ok with the meal. It reminded you why you joined sheiks in the first place, to protect people like her.

You and Steve started eating, and for a few minutes there was nothing but comfortable silence. Until Steve had a thought. After taking a few sips of his drink, he broke the silence.

“Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” He was not under any circumstance letting you go home to that psycho.

“Actually, I was just going to chill here for a few hours and hopefully catch you or Sam on a run...” now that you’d said it out loud, it sounded kind of stupid.

Instead of being angry, Steve just looked sad as he asked “why didn’t you call someone? You could’ve called.. me.” He almost sounded disappointed. He was, he would go pick you up from Japan if you’d asked him. He thought you knew that. “I would’ve picked you up..” he picked up a fry to try and seem more casual about what he’d said, about what he’d implied.

“Honestly, after I stormed out I was angry- walking around New York for an hour” you stopped to take a sip of your drink and have some fries. “It’s late, tower is on lockdown in early hours. And.. everyone was so tired after today. It’s not fair on them if I wake them up.” You took a bite of your burger and swallowed quickly. “ And you... you’ve been so stressed lately and after that stunt Garrison pulled I thought you deserved some sleep” you finished your sentence with a light shrug. You took another bite of your burger and looked at Steve, who couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. How dare you think you’re less important than a few hours sleep.

“You can stay at my place if you’d like, Ive got a spare room... it has an en suite.” As Steve was nearing the end of his sentence he thought he sounded stupid. He’d daydreamed once or twice about having you live with him, sharing a bed... but he never thought that this would be the way it was going to happen. He’d kept his distance because you were in a relationship, never going over the platonic boundary with you.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to be a burden-“

“You’re never a burden.” He said that a bit too quickly for his liking.

“Well... ok, sure, thank you. I don’t really have any spare clothes so I might be a mess in the morning...” you laughed slightly and Steve’s eyes lit up. That’s better.

With a slight blush, Steve said “if you want, Ive got some spare clothes you could sleep in. You can wash your clothes at my apartment if you’d like.”

The gesture was oddly intimate, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to refuse. You both finished your meals, which Steve refuses to let you pay for since “you’ve been through a lot tonight. I’m paying”

You said your goodbyes to the waitress and headed outside. You were trying to hide a smile.

“What’s got you smiling?” Steve asked as he handed you a helmet.

“Not going to lie, I’ve always wanted to ride your...” you paused, making sure his bike was an old Harley. But Steve couldn’t stop himself from finishing that sentence in his head. “Harley. It’s so much cooler than the bikes in Starks garage. Hey, why don’t you have a helmet?”

“I don’t live too far, and I’m more likely to survive than you. And besides, we’re not going to crash.” He said as he swung his leg over the bike. He gestured for you to get on and after fastening the straps on the helmet, you got on behind him. You hesitated before putting your arms around his waist, but then just wrapped yourself around him. The feeling of his strong back pressed against you sent a pleasant wave through you, and Steve was just glad you couldn’t see the shy smile on his face.

“Ready?” He asked as he kicked the engine into life.

“Mmm” you said as Steve moved forward, leaving you clinging to him.

You couldn’t wait to go to sleep, even if it wasn’t in your bed.

Steve was just happy you were safe now. He’d never once offered his spare room to anyone except Bucky, he’d never trusted or cared about anyone enough.

Until you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: hope you liked it, it’s my first ever attempt at writing a fic so opinions and criticism are welcome :) I’ll do a part 2 if this gets a note, new to tumblr so I’m not sure if anyone will read it.

[pearls-of-patton-moved]

Adronitis

Takes place in the Fata Organa AU.

Words: 1131

Pairing: Platonic analogical

The first tickle of his throat hits in the morning, and Logan worries for a moment before getting lost in his first class of the day. By lunchtime, he seems to be coughing a bit more than usual, but he’s already focused on a new research project he wants to start, and decides to skip lunch in favor of the library. It comes as a shocking realization to Logan, later that evening, when he glances up from the book he’s reading, to realize that he’s horribly cold and his head is pounding. Shocked at this sudden onset of illness, Logan quickly packs his things up and leaves the library, but by the time he’s reached the dorm, he barely has the energy left to set a water bottle on his nightstand and huddle under the covers. He curls up, but sleep proves difficult to come by, and every time he manages to drift off, he inevitably wakes himself up with yet another coughing fit.

By the time Logan wakes, the next morning, Virgil appears to have come and gone, and with a start, he reaches for his phone to check the time. The glaringly bright screen echoes 11:30 back at him, and Logan struggles to get up, having already missed one of his classes, and determined not to miss the rest. He feels sore and moves sluggishly around the dorm room gathering his things, but just before he can leave, the door bursts open as Virgil returns.

“What are you doing?” Virgil demands, glaring at Logan with a surprising ferocity.

“I overslept. A better question is why didn’t you wake me?” Logan growls back, irritated and still ridiculously tired.

“Overslept?” Virgil barks back. “You kept both of us up half the night with your coughing fits, and you’re worried about oversleeping?!” Logan tries to formulate a response, but Virgil is already stepping forward, crowding into his personal space and herding him back towards his bed.

“Get back in bed, idiot. Hell, you didn’t even eat the breakfast I left you, before trying to book it out of here!” Virgil steps to the side, as soon as Logan sits back down, and picks a tray up from it’s resting place on his nightstand.

“What-” Logan tries to ask, but Virgil is already interrupting him.

“You need to eat something. And drink the tea, too.”Virgil offers him the tray as soon as he’s settled, and Logan examines its contents. Fruit, oatmeal, and a cup containing the tea Virgil had mentioned.

“I can’t just skip my classes, Virgil, I might miss something important,” Logan argued, though he still picked up the spoon.

“Seeing as I already spoke to your teachers about it; yes, you definitely can. You haven’t missed a single day of class yet, and in case you haven’t noticed, you’re sick.” Virgil responded evenly. “The sooner you take the time to get better, the sooner you’ll be able to go back to class.” Silence descends on the two of them for a moment, as Logan eats, and Virgil rummages around in his backpack.

“You spoke to my teachers?” Logan quietly asks a minute later.”Why?”

“I mean, you’re sick.” Virgil looks back at him warily. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“Ignore me? You’ve never displayed an interest in interacting before. I just find it -odd- that you would choose to take an interest in me now when I’m ill.”

“I guess I’m just used to taking care of sick people. I’ve got to go to class.” With that, Virgil leaves Logan alone in their room once more. Carefully, he settles in to finish eating his breakfast, though it’s much closer to lunchtime now, Logan supposes.

The next day is Friday, and if anything, Logan feels even worse, so he stays in bed once again, annoyed with his body but unable to argue in the face of Virgil’s confident assumption of control. It reminds him of being back home, with Aunt Lacey fussing over him the moment he catches a cold. He tries to read his textbooks, to study and at least pretend to be productive, but his eyes can barely stay open, let alone focus, and mostly he ends up just sitting in bed, staring at the wall in front of him, waiting for time to pass. Virgil finds him like that, when he returns from his classes, staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes.

“Jeez, you look like you’ve been given a prison sentence. I’m surprised you’re not studying, actually.” Logan started to shake his head in response but aborted the motion immediately as it set his head spinning.

“I attempted it. My eyes seem to be having trouble maintaining focus on the words.”

“Oh, well you could watch some Netflix or something? It’s honestly creepy, you just staring at the wall like that.” Virgil placed a tray with more food beside Logan, before shrugging of his backpack.

“I do not have Netflix. It seemed an inadvisable expenditure when I should be spending my time studying.” Logan frowned, focusing on the food Virgil had brought him.

“Okay, that’s just sad. Where’s your laptop?” Logan pointed at his backpack, where it lay beside his bed, wondering what Virgil wanted with it.

“Ugh. password?” Virgil asked once the machine had successfully booted up.

“Mmm,” Logan mumbled. “Tomato.”

“That didn’t work, Logan. Are delirious too?”

“Not-” Logan frowned. “Not literally tomato. The scientific name. Solanum Lycopersicum.”

“Sola- what?”

“Solanum Lycopersicum. It’s the scientific name for the tomato. Just google it.” This time, Virgil had brought Logan some kind of soup, so he sniffed at it. It smelled like chicken broth.

“Right. Of course, that’s your password.” Virgil pulled out his phone and started typing.

“What are you doing anyway?’ Logan blew into the soup, watching Virgil out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m logging you into my Netflix account. You need something to do, and it has plenty of documentaries. I’m sure one of them will interest you.” Virgil typed into the computer for a moment more. “There, your own profile and everything. Enjoy. I’m going for a run.” And once again Virgil was out the door, leaving Logan adrift in Virgil’s complete shift in personality over the past two days.

Logan’s feeling marginally better the next day, and by Sunday afternoon, he’s feeling well enough to leave their room for his meals. Logan worries temporarily that Virgil’s been infected with whatever caught hold of him, but that fear proves unfounded, and Virgil remains as healthy as ever. With Logan’s returned health, Virgil’s attitude returns mostly to normal, but Logan finds his curiosity about his aloof roommate has only been heightened after this most recent incident. He only wishes he had an idea of how to properly thank Virgil for his help.

tags taken from the fanders taglist

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[tumblunni]

Social anxiety C C C COMBO BREAKERRRRR

I had a real good day yo!!

I was in a really stupid emotional state at 4am this morning cos of a dumb nightmare about my abusive mum that i havent seen in 15 years. But at least because of it it prompted me to try and find the address of my childhood home again, and i successfully did and i had a huge nostalgia wave just looking at google street view. I dont know if i'll ever be brave enoughto actually visit there and walk down the same road again with my new and taller legs, but just knowing that its not impossible makes me feel a lot better.

But then srsly i was in real big panic attack shakes and i couldbt get back to sleep and i had a pounding headache and my eyes hurt and then when i finally passed out i kept waking up like half an hour later and having to go thru all the hell of getting asleep again. And then when i woke up at 5pm having wasted the whole day i realized my electricity was out and i needed to walk the 1.5km to the shop where i can pay the bills and AAAAGH giant headache and on the verge of tears and its the middle of a heatwave and my hair dye is all faded bad and so many damn excuses. And 'oh well itll take like 20 minutes to get ready and then what if i walk too slow and the shop is closed'. All the stupid reasons i use to excuse my social anxiety!

BUT IM REALLY PROUD THAT I STILL DID IT

I'm not just giving myself the 1.5 on my kilometres count, im definately getting two points for 'survived anxious social situation with style and grace'!

Cos seriousky cos of the heatwave i wouldnt be able to wear heavy baggy coat yo cover myself up, so i went out in a short sleeved shirt with my binder and i was really inpressed with how good i looked in the mirror. Yknow even tho my face was like sleep deprived mega anxious death hell! XD but yeahi managed to accomplish the Basic Things Of Daily Life despite being in my worst anxious state for ages, and i did it in sweltering weather and while unconfident in my ability to pass. I actually ended up having a swing in my step on the way back and enjoyed a completely un anxious walk for once! I just saw myself in the mirror in the supermarket bathroom and was like 'holy shit i look perfectly fine, what was i worried about?' And then i didnt completely fall apart due to the now new worry that if i was actually successfully passing then maybe i'd get kicked out for using the bathroom of my birth sex. It was a slow shopping day so nobody else came in there, it was fine. And i mean i'd still feel equally as anxious using the other bathroom, there arent any unisex toilets for nonbinary folk :(

But yeah i handled it really well!! Its such a small anxiety to other people tho and i still feel ashamed that i cant completely shed my peoplephobia all at once. But this was a really big step up that metaphorical staircase!

Oh and while i was there i actually felt confident enough to Actually Do Some Damn Shopping! I didnt just limit it to a basic run and gun, get in there, get the one thing and leave thing. I very often do that!! Sometimes it takes me two trips to the shops to get everything cos i got so anxious i just ran home after the first thing XD But today i actually wandered around the whole supermarket and checked if there was anything on sale or anything i forgot to put on my shopping list. Again, very basic thing that normal people do every day, but for me i usually get irrationally panicked so this was a disproportionately big accomplishment!

I BOUGHT A SHOES

I havent bought a new pair of shoes since like.. 4 years? 5 maybe? I cant recall if it was before i moved here or just after. I have a stupid habit of only owning one thing and only replacing it when its broken, because like.. Leftover instincts from being poorer. And its stupid cos im perfectly able to splurge on electronics or pokemon merchandise or whatever when i have spare money, yet when it comes to actual life necessities im like 'nah what a waste'. I guess its cos avoiding paying for them was a common experience during those homeless times, whereas splurging on self birthday gifts was not a thing i could ever do at all. Possibly this is the same reason i get easily suckered in by scratchcards and lootboxes, its easy to not notice how much i'm wasting when its not something i have a long experience with. Plus they kinda cheat by making each singular pull be cheap and then encouraging you to keep gambling fifty more times. But its only 2 bucks each time~fuckin hell im dumb to fall for that shit.

ANYWAY thats why ive been using the same shitty pair of trainers for like five years. Theyre really durable but theyre not exactly comfy or very good looking. Theyre like this neon green and yellow and black tron lines abomination that i DO KINDA LOVE but ive gotta admit that it doesnt fit with many outfits. I literally dont own a single other yellow anything.

So yeah i bought three pairs of shoes on sale for 15 pound in total HOLY SHIT thats a good dealio! I got some plimsolls/daps/im not actually sure what they call them in other countries sorry. Its like the fabric shoe but it has a good grip runner's sole to it? Always used to wear them in gym class at school, i liked them beter than trainers cos the sole wasnt as thick and inflexible. I mean im already clumsy without like 3cm more height on me! And then i got some sort of loafer thing thats similar but more The Comfort. And then i also got some super soft indoor slippers! So now i actyalky have shoes for differebt occasions!! Jogging walking and laying around being a couch potato! Not just wearing these big chunky trainers for all of that! I mean lol it used to be even worse, once my Only Shoes were actualky these huge mountain climbing boots XD i got them free from the homeless shelter and kept them for years after i left, even tho they were too tight and always cut up the back of my ankles. Ah, memories of past trauma! Why am i stirring up so many of these today!!

So anyway yeah thats my Very Boring Normal Day that for once i managed to handle like a normal human being. I'm proud!

Oh and i also got a glitter cowboy hat and i dont know why they were selling a glitter cowboy hat but it was the only sort of sun hat they had so i went with it. It kinda helps with dysphoria somehow?? Like i know people will criticize that part of my fashion first before they notice how ugly the rest of me is XD and its hard to be sad when you're thinking 'beep boop gender cowboy'

[chuchoose]

ive started reading the online mtg stories can you guess my favourite character #02

It was a rough and tumble type of tavern. A warm fire crackled in the communal hearth, but none found its invitation compelling, for to do so would be to show your back to all the other patrons within. The bar remained similarly vacant save for the mustachioed, pot bellied man, bald in age and experience, who stood quietly polishing a stein with a remarkably white cloth.

To say the air was tense was an understatement. Tough customers of all kinds glared suspiciously from over the tops of drinks and from under the guise of hoods in seats that dotted the room’s edge. Many such looks, at one point or another before flicking to another potential backstabber or life taker, would rest upon the red cloaked mage wearing a smooth black mask of obsidian who sat alone at a table in the center of the room with her back to the tavern’s entrance. The mage’s mask was entirely featureless, like one solid plate of black stone, and, in its smoothness, the outlaws and criminals that surrounded the mage studied the total lack of countenance nervously for any indication of impending and fiery violence. Word had gotten around, see, about the black-masked fire mage burning her way through the wizard folk. Now, none of the bar-goers in the room tonight were such manipulators of magic, but the story went that, though the fire mage was particular with her quarries, yes, she was not so discerning with those who crossed her. 

So they all drank. Nervously, and with no intention of intoxication, but they drank.

The barman sighed loudly at all of this. He flipped his immaculately white cloth over his shoulder, left the now-cleaned stein on the less clean bartop, and disappeared into the kitchen behind him. No sooner were the front doors to the establishment flung open, bathing the entrance in a wash of moonlight. All eyes turned to the new customer, save the fire mage who kept her attention on the untouched drink that sat in front of her.

The new arrival cut an imposing silhouette in the door frame despite her slightness. She pulled back a cowl to let down a great mane of blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulders with a lazy shake. Her eyes were cold and piercing in their milk white and exacting stare. All patrons who locked eyes with her averted their gaze quickly upon realization of who they had laid their eyes upon. Some more cautious folks even clutched their cloaks tightly to make their own forms seem small, while others more wide and weathered rooted around in their trappings for certain charms kept for luck and protection. 

The newcomer was the mage hunter Erill (the Devil to her prey) and anyone who killed wizards with no magic of their own was no one worth messing with. Whispers would have you believe that her eyes saw the weaves of magic, which is why some wizard, in a desperate bid for survival, blinded her to no avail, while others rumbled that her eyes were as mundane as any others. Neither such gossipers could decide which was more intimidating. 

The doors slammed shut behind Erill’s purposeful strides towards the fire mage’s table and every other bargoer let out a collective sigh of relief to have escaped the mage hunter’s attention. The mage hunter flipped open her cloak to take a seat across from the fire mage, revealing a pair of slender, silver-laid short swords on her belt to which anyone who caught sight of flinched (except for the unflappable fire mage, of course). A crooked grin flashed across Erill’s face at the mage’s composure, and she unfastened her twin swords to place them neatly on the table between them. In turn, the fire mage pushed the untouched drink forward and offered it with an outstretched palm. Erill’s grin became a full smile and she scooped up the drink with little hesitation, drank long and deep, then returned the emptied stein to the table and her scowl to her face. Onlookers who forgot their self-preservation gawked in jaw-dropped shock at her constitution, while others busied themselves with the bottoms of their own liquor.

Erill swirled what little swill had remained in her mouth and spat it out onto the bar floor besides with a satisfying splat. She kicked her boots up onto the bar table and leaned back far into her chair. “What do you want?” the mage hunter growled.

“What we both want,” the fire mage said.

Erill snorted. “I’ve heard the stories. We might be killing the same people, but we definitely don’t want the same thing. Tell me what you want. Now.”

The fire mage sat quietly for a long moment. Erill grumbled in discontent. As Erill swung her heavy boots back onto the ground and made to leave, the fire mage spoke up.

“He saw my face.”

Erill’s face screwed up in annoyed confusion. “So? You killed him-” she caught herself as the realization dawned on her. Her confusion turned into a wolfish and toothy grin. “That’s why you don’t keep secrets, mage,” the mage hunter drolled. “You should know better than anyone you can’t stop a dead mage from telling tales. Especially if you’re hunting all of them at once.”

“I made a mistake.”

“Yeah?” the mage hunter mocked. “And now your whole ridiculous crusade might go up in flames over it.” Erill laughed at how funny she thought she was being. “Your fault for insisting on that antique in the first place. This is your problem.”

“How do I fix this?”

“You can’t!” Erill snapped. “If one of them has your face, then it’s only a matter of time before a necrospeaker finds the ghost and makes him talk. Once he talks, it’s over. You don’t keep secrets against mages. You might as well have put the noose in their hands.”

“It was important they didn’t know my name.”

“Unfortunate. Now they do. Or will. In time. It's over.”

From behind her mask and gritted teeth, the fire mage persisted. “Help me.”

“You have a lot of nerve making demands at me, witch. Watch your tone or watch your back.”

“Do not call me that,” the fire mage warned.

“What did I just say?” 

In a flurry of motion, Erill snapped up one of her swords from the table and had it unsheathed and at the fire mage’s throat. The fire mage was as quick, if not quicker, however, and in that time, the mage conjured a dart of flame dripping from her fingertip, pointed at Erill’s eye with one hand while she had another hand and flame cupped around the silver sword at her own neck. The flame danced around the edge of the blade, neither flesh nor fire able to breach the perimeter the silver of the sword made in the weave around it without great effort. The whole bar became deathly still.

After the longest heartbeat ever, both women released their breaths held in tension, and the whole bar relaxed along with them. Erill returned her sword to the table, still unsheathed, and the fire mage shook the spells from her hands.

“You’re fast,” Erill admitted. “I can see how you’ve been so successful. Shame we’re about to lose you.”

“Unless you help me,” the fire mage offered again, insistently.

Erill rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers at the grizzled, brigandined man nursing the same drink he had been holding onto for dear life since Erill walked in. She pointed at his drink, and the giant of a man nodded and jumped from his seat all at once to bring his drink over to her. She took it from his hands without so much as a look and he returned to his seat while only tripping over himself once as she shooed him away. She swirled the murky amber booze around in the cup lazily as she spoke. “I understand the words you are saying, but I don’t think either of us understand what you’re asking of me.”

“Give me your silver and I can keep on doing this.”

Erill stopped moving entirely. The less experienced customers thought perhaps the mage hunter had been cursed, but those more familiar knew it was far worse. 

Erill gave the drink an appraising look, downed what was left of it in a single gulp, inspected the bottom of the cup solemnly, and then left the emptied drink next to the first. She did this all in the most quiet of manners, contrary to her conduct up until this point to every onlooker’s horrified observation while the fire mage stared forward at Erill unflinching and unperturbed. 

Erill licked her lips, trying to taste the words she would speak next. She found them bitterly. Ultimately and slowly, she decided on: “You’re going to have to repeat that one for me. Not sure I heard right.”

Without hesitation. “I won’t, and you did.” A bargoer whispered “yikes” louder than he meant to.

Erill nodded, as if in understanding and consideration. She regarded the fire mage with a discerning look, smacked her lips in disbelief, and seethed a frustrated sigh from between her teeth before scooping up both her swords and flipping the table in the mage’s face with a kick. As Erill had anticipated, the fire mage released a pair of propelling gouts of flames from both her palms and launched herself backwards, flipping out of the tumbling chair that splintered beneath her. The fire mage skidded to a stop before the door behind her, just where Erill expected. She didn’t need to see the fire mage to know what she was going to do next. The mage pulled her still smoking palms into fists and swung a pair of fireballs into the upturned table in a makeshift bastion that burst apart with concussive force. The table shattered into a spray of shrapnel. Patrons in every direction clutched at their fresh wounds, and fresher blood spilled itself in a web of splatters from the explosion’s origins. Through the cloud of dust and debris, Erill pushed through in long strides, swords held up in a cross in-front of her. Another pair of fireballs flew from the fire mage, but as they came to Erill’s swords, they seemed to slide right over them and passed the mage hunter. The fireballs careened into a bystander brigand behind her. He released a short yelp before slumping to the ground dead while clutching the hole in his chest where his heart should’ve been.

Erill’s face twisted itself into a hungry grin, knowing this is how it always went. Wizards knew little else than what they always did. For all their crooning about ancient knowledge and forgotten secrets, research this, quick wits that, when blades came to blood, they always went back to what they knew, even if they knew full well what silver did. With one sword still held high for whatever the fire mage would try to throw at her next, Erill pulled her other sword back in expectant lunge.

The problem was that the fire mage expected this. In the moments where Erill’s steps quickened to make pace for the final leap into her well-practiced execution, the fire mage marshalled a jet of flame into her back foot and flipped into the air with a series of twists. Erill’s first sword connected with nothing, but Erill did not get the name of Devil by dying. The other sword she had held in defense flipped around in her hands effortlessly with an instinctual flick and now set itself tall like a shark’s fin in the path of the fire mage’s evasion. 

The problem was that the fire mage expected this, as well. See, the fire mage had never seen true silver before, much like most of the world’s unwashed masses. Most of the luck and protection charms formed of it bore little more than a sliver (if that) for the sake of superstition and any quantity of actual use was hoarded in the mageocracy’s vaults, but once the fire mage saw its effect on magic and mage flesh, she had itched at the opportunity to do what she was about to do next.

If the trick of silver was that, like a wedge, it pushed the weave away, what happened if you pushed yourself at it? 

The fire mage sheathed her body in fire, fully anchoring the enchantment to her flesh, where Erill’s outstretched blade would find her, twisted her movement just right, and it was all as she had hoped. She felt the silver propel her away in her velocity and for a moment the thought flashed across her mind how it would have felt to have been wrong. That grim consideration parsed for only a moment as the exhilaration of her flipping and twisting gripped her and she wrapped her arms in kind around Erill’s waist as she went. Erill was formidable, yes, and strong and fast, too, but she was still smaller. The fire mage didn’t need to be that much stronger when she had speed and gravity to aid her here, so she held on tight and, with the last of her forward momentum, rolled forward and took the shorter mage hunter in a suplex that landed with an ugly sounding crack. The air escaped Erill’s lungs all at once. The fire mage summoned low flames into her arms still wrapped around Erill’s waist, ready to bisect the Devil with an incinerating embrace if it came to it, but she prayed she would not need to.

Erill slumped weakly onto the disgusting tavern floor. Her grip on her swords remained tight. They were quiet for a moment, and the fire mage would have worried for Erill were it not for the rise and fall of breath she felt against her so tightly wrapped arms. 

Between shallow breaths, Erill managed to say, “You know... I can’t... give you my silver.”

“I know,” the fire mage replied between the tired breathing of her own.

The whole bar was stock-still silent besides the few patrons who were moaning from their fresh, shrapnel induced wounds. The barkeep returned behind the bar counter and shook his head disapprovingly. He pulled the abnormally white cloth from his shoulder and began scrubbing the blood and splatter from his countertop. The blood seemed to disappear entirely, but the cloth remained as undirtied as if it had never known filth.

“What if I helped you get some?” the mage hunter asked. “Silver, that is.”

The fire mage extinguished the magic in her arms and rolled onto her back. Erill’s legs flopped down onto her in kind. “That would be acceptable,” the fire mage breathed.

They lay in weary, huffing silence for a few minutes before Erill spoke up, having caught her breath.

“I’ve never known a witch-” She caught herself. “A mage to throw themselves at my silver before.”

“I wasn’t sure that’s how it would work,” the fire mage admitted.

Erill let out a short snort. “Good guess.” She pondered on her next words and decided on the simplest solution. “You got a name?”

The fire mage was slow to reply. It was her turn to choose her words wisely. Eventually, she replied, “Not one that I can say.”