Anonymous asked: u wanted prompts: steve takes it upon himself to stand outside planned parenthood clinics and fight people who attack and harass pp
Listen, I see and observe your ‘Steve’ up there, but I raise you Forty Percent of the Marvel Universe because I am bitter about the current direction of the whole comics thing at the moment. *Max Rockatansky voice* I guarantee you, a hundred and sixty days out, there’s nothing but salt. Anyway, if you’ve read my Claire Temple AO3 fic that may or may not get more stuff added to it when I feel inspired, this is technically that universe, but prior knowledge IS NOT REQUIRED, okay good let’s do it. Also I believe that movie canon only applies to me when I feel like it so everyone is in New York and the Avengers live in the Tower, no one is dead and everything is F I N E. I dunno, this is only like the first half of a much longer thing that covers this whole day and, if I had my way, would be a full-blown elaborate media fic with tweets and Trish’s show and everything. But here, it’s real long, so I left it alone. It’s on AO3.
Steve got the call pre-dawn, just as he was leaving the Tower for his run.
“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY said politely from the ceiling, “you are receiving a call from an unknown number with a New York City area code.”
“If it’s a reporter, let it ring out,” Steve said, knotting his running shoes.
“Reporters do not have your personal cell number, Captain,” FRIDAY said, and there was a trace of genteel condescension in the artificial voice this time that made Steve grin down at the floor.
“Where in the City?”
“Hell’s Kitchen.”
Steve frowned, straightening up. “That might be Daredevil in trouble. You better put it through to my phone. Thanks, FRIDAY.”
“Of course, Captain,” FRIDAY said. Steve’s top-of-the-line, not-on-the-open-market-yet, Jesus-Cap-does-your-shit-phone-even-text-here-let-me-replace-it StarkPhone rang, a jaunty tune that sounded distinctly like the National Anthem, and even more distinctly like the foreboding of Bucky getting his ass kicked.
“Steve Rogers,” Steve answered, hitting the green button and raising the phone to his ear.
“Um…hi, Captain Rogers,” the voice on the other end said hesitantly. “This is Claire Temple, I don’t know if you remember me, but–”
“Of course I remember you, Miss Temple,” Steve said, grinning. “You pulled a piece of rebar out of my chest, hard to forget a first meeting like that.” She laughed, the same slightly worn chuckle he remembered from her. “And it’s just Steve, please, ma’am. I think once you’ve been up close and personal with someone’s lung tissue you can probably skip the ‘Captain.’”
