Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

skymurdock asked: for the headcanon meme: Steve Rogers the angry little chihuahua.

On Monday, the very angry Stevie got beaten up in one parking lot, but he was still angry.  On Tuesday, the very angry Stevie got beaten up behind two diners, but he was STILL angry.  On Wednesday, the very angry Stevie got put through three experimental procedures, but he was STILL angry.  Anyway, gonna do me some Steve Rogers for this ask meme.

A: what I think realistically

Adapting to the 21st century isn’t really difficult, once he can face the reality of it properly.  It reminds him, more than anything, of that first week after the serum–everything is too bright and too loud and too fast.  But now the world is unfamiliar to boot and there’s no one who cares enough has the time to help him adjust.  It’s a rough couple of months before he masters the situation.

Unrelated to the above, Steve was actually great friends with most of the chorus girls.  At first they were…uh…suspicious, to say the least, because he was a massive brick house of a dude who could lift a motorcycle and looked like the ultimate version of the assholes they put up with on the regular.  So they didn’t speak to Steve past the most basic courtesies for a week and a half.  

Then they went out drinking after their first performance in a new city and Steve sat quietly in the corner with a water until he saw Cheryl sitting stiff and toying with a fork as a man’s hand crept up her leg.

“Back off,” Cheryl said sharply.  The guy did not.

No one was more surprised than Cheryl when Steve loomed up from the corner like the wrath of God and sharply announced, “Buddy, if you’re not going to leave the lady alone, you and me are gonna have problems.”

The next day, Steve showed up to the theater ready to sit off to the side as usual.  Instead Cheryl plopped down in front of him, held out a handful of bobby pins, and said, “I need an extra set of hands to put my hair up.  You braid, Cap?”

“Um, not really,” Steve said, blushing.  “But I can learn.”

B: what I think is fucking hilarious

Highlights of Steve in the modern grocery store include:

- Steve And The Grudge Against Weird Bananas

- Steve And What The Fuck Do You Mean You Want Five Dollars For This Tomato

- Steve And Wow You Can Get Vaccines At A Grocery Store–Wait What Do You Mean People Believe Vaccines Are Dangerous

- Steve And Hey You There Leave That Cashier Alone Unless You Wanna Settle This Outside

- Steve And The Girl Scouts of America

- Steve And The Struggle of Grocery Shopping Without Getting Recognized

- Steve And Really What The Fuck Is Wrong With Bananas

Needless to say, Steve isn’t really allowed to do the grocery shopping anymore.

C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

SHIELDRA dumped all their files onto the internet, courtesy of Natasha’s salt-and-burn solution to HYDRA’s infiltration.  Steve has been in the modern world for a good few years by now, so he sits down and starts searching through it for information.

He shouldn’t be doing it.  He knows it’s just torturing himself.  He hasn’t known where Bucky is since Insight went down, and none of this will help him find the Winter Soldier if he doesn’t want to be found, Natasha assured him of that.  But…he just has to know.

Capture.  Surgeries.  The arm.  Missions.  Cryostasis.  “Programming.”  More missions, more cryo, more programming–torture, it’s torture, God, all this time he was mourning his best friend while Bucky was being tortured.

Steve lasts through five files before he throws up.

D:  what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

Y’all, Steve is Wanda’s weird adopted big brother and no one can stop me from believing it.  He shows her a bunch of Disney movies that she missed out on as a kid and she asks him for advice about Vision and he jokes about how he’s definitely the wrong person to be asking for romantic advice.  They have a good weird relationship.

lathori asked: Marvel (you must do some that don't involve Xmen, I see you) FOR ALL THE MEME QUESTIONS <3 your wife

JUST LET ME TALK ABOUT X-MEN FOR THREE HOURS WOMAN

For this list

name ur politically correct ship that no one ever questions

I SHIP NICK SPENCER WITH THE DEEPEST PITS OF HELL RESERVED FOR TRAITOROUS BIGOTED SCUM.  But I mean other than that…Natasha/Clint, Vision/Wanda, Rogue/Remy, and my much-maligned-by-movies-and-ignored-by-the-internet OTP Kitty/Colossus.  There is no order of preference here.  Also I recently got sold REALLY HARD on Steve/Bucky (recently, ha, like three years ago Jesus Moran get your shit together) so like, also Steve/Bucky.  And any marriage that makes Storm happy and a queen of a country, so by default Ororo/T’Challa.

now name ur trash ship

I do ship Natasha/Bucky, but I think the circumstances confirm me for a bad person, because I only ship them in the context of ‘I don’t remember you and you barely remember me but you can’t bring yourself to kill me so you shot me and saved my life and I woke up in your safehouse while you wiped my wounds with a gun in your other hand and I’m not sure which one of us you’re going to shoot first.’  So.  Like.  In the single most unhealthy available context.  In a whole universe of unhealthy contexts.

Also I feel like Bobby had a crush on Hank when they were both kids and sometimes still jerks off to his best friend but I DIGRESS.

and ur really trashy im-going-to-hell ship

Elektra the unhinged murderer/Matthew Murdock the desperately earnest crusader.  Fuck brutally against a wall and piece each other back together with trembling hands that smear your skin with blood.  Cling to each other in your dying moments and stand over each other’s graves feeling guilt for not saving each other and guilt for not killing each other.  Throw words like knives and hate yourselves for every hit even as you gloat.

Good.

who is your cinnamon roll fave who everyone loves

KITTY GODDAMN PRYDE, @EVERY MOVIE PERSON EVER COME HERE AND FIGHT ME.  Also Warren and Storm, I would die for Storm.

Also Steve Rogers.  I have this reoccurring daydream where Steve punches Nick Spencer in the face.

who is your sinnamon roll fave who everyone loves to hate/hates to love

I genuinely would not even know if I had one of these, Marvel has been in my blood and bones since I was too young to be on a computer unsupervised.  I like the FF more than most people seem to?  I really like Professor Xavier and I get really defensive when people talk shit about him?

who is your trash fave who is so problematic they probably have hate tumblrs dedicated to them

I…do not know.  I think Loki makes a pretty compelling villain, but I think I’m in the majority there.  I low-key want to fight whenever someone suggests that Warren joined Apocalypse of his own free will, but I AM STANDING BY COMIC CANON COME AT ME.  So yeah, don’t think I have one of these.

what is ur  guiltiest guilty fave fandom

Okay, listen, I will be an eighty year old woman who is made entirely of salty, salty attitude and brittle bones and I will STILL be reading my campy ridiculous 60′s comics with terrible dialogue and circus-performer villains.  I know it’s not a fandom, but still.

OH I really love X-Men: Evolution and I have a whole lecture about why it’s the best adaptation of the X-Men that I’m aware of to date, but I never tell anyone that I like it for some reason, does that count?

what is the fic you want to write/read but can’t because it is too full of Sin

…so.  I actually started this one (this one) and it was Good but then I realized it would be months and months of work and I got pre-emptively tired, but basically, first words soulmate AU where Natasha and her Black Widow trainee peers all got programmed to brutally murder anyone who said their words. So then Clint shows up and of course says her words and she tries to kill him before he pins her to the wall with an arrow, and they have a really terrible brutal few months where she begs him to just kill her a lot.  And Clint keeps a taser on his person for survival reasons.  And at least once Natasha tries to stab him to death in his sleep just to end the struggle.  And Clint has a terrible awful no-good very bad conversation with Coulson about the appropriate time to cut his losses.

what is the most sinful fic you have ever read/written

G O D D A M N

what is the worst thing you want to become canon (character death, trash-ship etc)

…listen…it’s Marvel…it’s all already canon babydoll…all of it…everyone is dead…everyone has had bad relationships…everyone has been resurrected…there’s no answer here…

what is your most sinful headcanon

Do not look me in the eye and tell me that Remy LaBeau has not figured out a way to have sex with someone without touching her skin.  Whether he’s put it into action or not, that’s another story, but he has DEFINITELY figured it out.

what is your cutest headcanon

Clint watches a lot of Disney movies (he looked it up, it’s called reparenting yourself) and so consequently during that couple month period where he and Natasha are basically locked in a warehouse waiting for her to fight off the worst of the brainwashing, Natasha watches a lot of Disney movies.  Now they’re Avengers and they watch Disney movies after missions and shit. Steve gets invited to join them because Natasha decides that They Will Be Friends (Natasha’s grasp on how to make real non-mark friends is heavily influenced by the fact that her first real friend shot her, handcuffed her, and locked himself in a warehouse with her for a couple months, and also was a circus performer with a dubious handle on the friendship thing himself).

what is your heart-breakingist head canon

…I mean…canon…

I have others that are non-canon or fit within canon but like that shit’s a longer post that would need to be broken down fandom by fandom

what is ur crackiest crack ship

HA, Storm/Arkon, because the idea of Storm as the queen of a campy-ass warrior world makes me laugh

what is ur marginally less cracky crack ship

Fury/literally anyone, because he would be SO BITTER about growing feelings

what is ur favourite ridiculous au

It’s not actually that ridiculous, it’s kind of terrifying, but AU where Loki brainwashes Natasha instead of Clint in Avengers.

For @littlestartopaz: 34 - Vision/Wanda

When you’re around I don’t know how to hide my feelings.  I count in binary, in my head.  zero one one zero one one and you count clouds. (while you count clouds)

So it was going to be a stand-alone Vision/Wanda thing but then I started it after eight hours of researching WWI and???  Instead it’s an immediate prequel to the first Vision/Wanda fic I ever wrote, it’s mostly Natasha being smug, and Wanda doesn’t even appear, I don’t know what happened.

Natasha prided herself on being difficult to sneak up on.  It had served her well for their brief stint in Wakanda, but now they were in America again, scattered up the East Coast, and she was sitting on the roof of one of her less secret safehouses, watching the sun go down.  And any dense half-blind idiot could see a six-foot bright red robot in a cape descending onto a roof in Middle of Nowhere, Appalachia.  

The only reason she didn’t immediately yank out the gun she’d tucked away under the corner of her blanket was because Stark, Banner, and Rhodes were all about as subtle as…well, a six-foot bright red robot in a cape.  She was confident that she’d notice them coming, and if she didn’t they deserved to cuff her.

Keep reading

Clint’s perspective of meeting Natasha in that one soulmate AU, for @littlestartopaz.

Clint’s soulmark curves under the line of his collarbone, in tiny, precise handwriting.  And it’s…interesting.  It’s in Russian, he learns that real quick as a kid, and when he’s seven, still living at home with his parents and his brother, he finds out that one of his teachers speaks the language.  He rushes up to her the very next day and explains, hasty and stammered, and she smiles kindly, offering to translate it for him.

He pulls down the collar of his shirt—he sees her eyes drag on the hand-shaped bruise on his wrist, but she doesn’t say anything—and she leans down to read his words.

“Let’s see,” she says, and reads out the Russian words.  Clint tries to memorize the sound of it, so that he’ll know his soulmate when they meet him.  “Oh,” the teacher says quietly, and smooths his shirt back over his mark.  “Listen, baby, I don’t think it’s anything you need to worry about just yet, okay?”

“What does it say?”

She gives him a smile, sort of grim and sad and confused, and says, “I’m sorry, baby, I’m not going to tell you. You don’t need that on your conscience today.”

Keep reading

Some Nat/Steve friend fluff for @littlestartopaz, in that soulmate AU from earlier, reading it probably isn’t necessary but I’m always in search of approbation.  This is probably just a few months after the Avengers were formed, in my bastardized movies-comics-wishful-thinking-verse where they all live in Avengers Tower.

Steve and Natasha are sparring, because Steve gets nervous about sparring with fragile normal humans and Natasha is willing to bully him into it.  Tony isn’t generally one to spar, given the suit, and Clint’s still recovering from the cracked rib he sustained on their last mission, and Thor, who could take Steve’s full strength punch without batting an eye, is still off-planet handling his psychopath brother.  (No one asks Bruce to spar, because they all like being un-splatted.) So Natasha drags Steve’s protesting ass into the ring and punches him in the face until he fights back.  Unless he manages to actually grab her, it’s a pretty fair match.

It’s a system, okay, and if Natasha thinks it’s funny that he’s afraid he’ll hurt her, that’s between her and the inside of her own skull.

Keep reading

PSA

words-writ-in-starlight:

I write.  I swear to God.  I actually love writing fanfic.  BUT, and here’s the catch, I have a ton of trouble coming up with short fic ideas.  Short anything ideas, really.  The most memorable example is that one time I decided to write how I thought someone being able to see the future would pan out, just a few pages of character study, dicking around with super powers, nothing fancy.  Smash cut to a year and a half later, I’m wrapping up my 350 page novel and staring dismally at my 200 additional pages of worldbuilding.  And it’s always like that, it gets so out of hand.

SO.  My solution to that is this.  If you have a craving for a specific pairing that you know I ship, shoot me a prompt and I’ll throw together a short fic for you and post it.  I’m trying to unwind after finals, so it’ll be good for me, and you’ll get fic, so it’ll be good for you.  

Hit me up.

Since that one Les Mis E x R Superpower AU got a hundred notes last night, I would like to remind everyone that I TAKE PROMPTS ALWAYS. My inbox is open, my free time is excessive, and I am bored, it would be my genuine pleasure to write y'all some fic. There is a (perpetually in progress) master list of ships on my blog.

For @littlestartopaz from my vast repository of prompts from her.  R from this post, Steve/Bucky/Sam friendship (“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had.  Of course I’m in.”)

Okay, some stealth feelings about Steve being all alone in the 21^st century snuck in there, but they’re real small and mostly this is very funny, I have no regrets.  Timelines for the first two should be obvious, the third one is some time after they drag Bucky’s poor exhausted self out of cryo again and go fight more shit. Because Steve is a fighty shit and Bucky would never be able to let him run off alone and Sam is rapidly falling into the same black hole of stress.  

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had–”

“Well, now, Buck, we both know that’s just not true,” Steve protested, half-laughing.

“The stupidest plan you’ve ever had,” Bucky repeated firmly, and knocked back the rest of his beer without breaking his scowl.  “Except for that time you became a lab rat,” he allowed as he lowered his glass, “this is the stupidest.”

“So are you gonna bail on me?”

Keep reading

viperofsand asked: BUT HOW DOES HAMILTON REACT AT THE 'I AM YOUR FATHER' REVEAL? (Because I am sure he got into Star Wars knowing nothing like Jon Snow)

buckygreyjoy:

peradii:

I’m going to combine this with @calltomuster‘s request for hamifeels 

–

The first time he watches television they stare at him, rapt, as though the expect him to reel back and cry witchcraft! or else swoon like a maiden in the high heat of June. He is astonished, yes, but he does not permit himself to gawp like a savage; he says, instead, “How does it work?” It is something to do with tubes and light and satellites, apparently. Quite, quite remarkable. 

The films come next. Popular culture, they call it, and once again Hamilton is struck that although man has progressed in technology the stories he tells are always the same: of love and women and blood and glory. Of course, there are some small alterations: he is first scandalised, then gratified, at the quantity of nudity onscreen – likewise with the depiction of same-sex intercourse. Tony Stark seems shocked when he watches Queer as Folk and does not immediately go to the confessional. Didn’t you study history at all, he hears Sam  gloat, didn’t you read his letters.

“My children burned the good ones,” says Hamilton, smirking (and saddened, of course he is saddened; Laurens is long-gone; how he wishes he could read his sweet words again –)

Anyway. The films. “This is a classic,” says Steve Rogers. Hamilton was offered a floor in Stark Tower; he refused for several reasons, most prominent among them the fact that he despises Tony Stark and cannot bear to be anywhere near the yammering arrogant man who believes that his way is the only correct way of conducting business (what do you mean? This is not ironic, not in the slightest. Hamilton is nothing like Stark: he is certain of his own rightness, perhaps, but that is because he actually is right.)

Instead, he has rented a room in Brooklyn, sharing an apartment with Steve Rogers and his paramour Bucky Barnes. Not that they use the word paramour. Not that they even acknowledge that they live together. A strange pair, so devoted to each other that they never need speak devotion aloud: it is communicated entirely in their longing glances and lingering touches. That, and the obnoxiously loud coupling every night. On the third night of interrupted work, Hamilton recorded the racket and threatened to release it to the press if they did not keep it down. 

They obliged, though Steve had the temerity to say, “Shouldn’t you be asleep at three am?” and Hamilton said nothing, only fixed him with the shadowed angry glower of a man who has just discovered the wonders of modern-day coffee. 

“What is it?”

“Star Wars,” says Bucky, grinning. He smiles a lot now – and every time Steve looks at him like the expression is a rare and treasured thing. Perhaps it is. Hamilton thinks of Eliza, Laurens, Philip and aches. All he loves is dead and gone – but he has his work, his legacy, time. He can endures. If there’s a reason I’m still alive, when all who love me have died – then I’ll get the job done. Something like that. He struggles to remember the lyrics. 

(This is a lie. He’s seen it eleven times. He knows every word off by heart. He has written Miranda lengthy essays on the points he got wrong.)

‘Star Wars’ may be set in the far reaches of space but it is, at its heart, a fairy story. Lost princes and princesses, tales of liberty and tyranny. Hamilton loves it.

“I am your father,” says the mechanised Vader to young Luke Skywalker (nineteen and dreaming of glory) and Hamilton’s eyes grow wide. Afterwards, he says:

“He didn’t deserve redemption.”

“What – Vader? Well –” and Steve looks like he’s about to launch into a spiel about love and doing terrible things for it, but Bucky taps his elbow. By an unspoken accord, he  lapses into silence. 

“He failed his son – he let him make the same mistakes he did, fall into a life of violence and blood and war. He abandoned him,” and Steve thinks how Hamilton’s father left him and his mother on some scrap of land in the Caribbean and maybe it is that –

– but then he thinks: there was once a boy who died in a duel to defend his father’s honour. And there was once a father who outlived all his children. A man who died, leaving a widow to raise eight babes alone. A man who returned when the battles had been fought and won. 

He places a hand on Hamilton’s shoulder. He does not speak. What could he possibly say?

why would you do that to my heart it did NOTHING to you

WILDLY uncalled for.

cthulhu-with-a-fez asked: like at least when people in the 1800s went to settle things with firearms it was a mutually agreed-upon challenge with actual rules and a doctor on site to handle injuries.

peradii:

………………..do you know how this would go. I THINK YOU KNOW HOW THIS WOULD GO. Our boy gets twitter because no one takes to the modern world of EVERYONE HAS AN OPINION AT ALL TIMES ON EVERYTHING like Alexander Hamilton, gobshite without compare. His handle, for those who want to fight him, is adotham because AlexanderHamilton was taken and JeffersonIsACocklesswonder is both too long and inappropriate (another aspect of modern life Alexander loves: the insults. He swears in the baroque, joyful, incomprehensible fashion of Malcolm Tucker because he is Alexander Hamilton. Bitch.)

(Bitch is not punctuation, Nick Fury will say to him later. Alexander Hamilton begs to differ. Bitch.)

Anyway. Anyway. You know how it happens: some troll tweets him. @adotham come fight me you immigrant cunt and Hamilton tweets back: name a time and place and no one ever replies. 

“They wish to duel me, do they not?” he says, Macbook on his knees, head on one side: quizzical, black-eyed, gorgeous. Captain America blinks.

“Not…precisely,” he says. How does one explain the etiquette of twitter trolling?  Steve doesn’t understand it himself. Hamilton, tiny and quivering with pent up energy, ready to fight the world: be it with quill, blog or gun. He’s got the most magnificent eyes and the most aristocratic nose and –

– Steve has always been confident in his sexuality. He is bi as fuck and happily involved with Bucky, Winter Soldier, World’s Most Deadly Assassin and current ambassador to Wahanda. 

But my God, my God, Hamilton makes people forget that they are committed – 

– almost. Almost. Anyway: he says, “I don’t think they actually want to fight you,” he says. 

“But they challenged my honour,” says Hamilton, hotly. 

He responds to every threat of violence thus: a demand for a time and a place. He gets increasingly frustrated. Not once does a troll respond. Eventually, they stop entirely – mainly  because Hamilton learns a little of Tony’s computer prowess, tracks one down, and shows up outside his house with a pair of pistols. “Guns drawn at dawn,” he pronounces, and the chubby forty year old blinks and stutters and stammers and Hamilton grins, sharp and feral, and says, “Stop writing cheques you can’t fucking cash.”