star-spangled man

dependent steve rogers for @reshieldedhq // defended by claire

[americanhero-a]

intro --- long bio --- headcanons

( chris evans. 40/107ish? don’t ask a cryogenically frozen previously-dead man his age. he/him. cis male. ) are you a HERO ? something tells me that sketchbooks full of smudgy pastel memories, worn-in leather jackets, a vintage motorbike make you who you are, STEVE ROGERS. with the powers of SUPER SOLDIER SERUM, you’re sure to have a noble, stubborn personality — and you definitely belong to SHIELD . were you listening to THE ONLY LIVING BOY IN NEW YORK by SIMON & GARFUNKEL on your way to the subway? it suits you. we can’t wait to see what you do next! ( claire. 23. she/her. gmt. )

character name: steven grant “steve” rogers / captain america age: 107? looks about 40? look, it’s complicated faceclaim: chris evans voiceclaim: chris evans skill set: super soldier serum: artificially enhanced physiology; peak human speed, strength, reflexes, durability, and condition (etc.); accelerated healing; extended longevity;; military training, master combatist, expert weapons and vehicle proficience; professional artist ....... idk he’s captain america dude affiliations: the avengers, shield, team cap family: sarah rogers (mother, deceased), joseph rogers (father, deceased) zodiac: cancer (july 4, 1918) wiki link: i use a hybrid of 616 & mcu! they’re not way too impossibly different for steve specifically so we go wild here team

was your character “blipped” out? if so, what did they return to and how is it affecting them? if not, who important to them was blipped out, and what has it felt like after those five years have passed? ( if your character is a dc muse:  what were they doing when they passed through the portal? )

He was NOT! He was instead Big Sad for most of the time! He took to grief counseling where he could, and started a support group to try to help those left behind. He blamed himself for most of it most of the time; he was there when it happened, and he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t save everyone. He lost. He had to do what he could to make it up to the survivors.

where are they living? are they living with anyone?

He’s got a loft in Brooklyn--it’s kind of sterile, and his old place (lots of Captain America memorabilia, cannot endorse enough) got cleared out after his death, and the Avengers Compound isn’t really an option anymore. Just him, though. Doing great! Doing fine!

why is your character affiliated with who they’re affiliated with?

Steve has deep-seated team loyalty, but he’s not nearly as naive and idealistic as he had once been. He’s found people who share his values and want to do right by the world, and he’s sticking with them. Some rifts (see: Civil War) are hard to heal, but some bonds (see: defeating Thanos) go deeper.

who are their major friends, allies, and foes?

major friends: Bucky Barnes (BFF xoxoxo), Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff

allies: the Avengers (current and former), Fury, Coulson, SHIELD

foes: uhhh.... the US government? 

whose hands do they believe the country should be in?

Good, just leaders who stand by their people, support human rights, keep their promises, and are hot HYDRA. Also people who would preferably exonerate Steve and his friends of their convicted war crimes.

what’s their current mental state at? their physical state?

Physically? Great! Truly could not be better; he was designed to literally never be in bad shape. He’s also not dead anymore, so that’s fun and funky. Mentally? Who knows, dude. Tired. Confused. Worried. The last thing Steve remembers is returning the Infinity Stones--they tell him he disappeared or died (stories are mixed, but he has memorials now), but he’s here again. He’s a man out of time, back from the dead twice now, and it’s terrifying. He was ready for retirement after Thanos as it was. He can’t vanish entirely, though. He has to have come back for a reason, right? 

[americanhero-a]

sniktbeer​

–

Logan wasn’t nostalgic. He couldn’t afford to be. He always thought that was one stark difference between him and Rogers: whereas Logan chose to forget and move on, Steve had always been haunted by the past. He supposes it may be because the Captain had less practice than him, or the fact that while Logan had lived the entirety of his incredibly long life, Steve had his ripped away. That was a gap he never knew: the sensation that he was meant for something that got taken from him. He’d lacked purpose for as long as he could remember. Secretly, he’d always looked up to Rogers because of that. He never appeared to want for a direction.

Maybe he was just good at hiding it. “I didn’t go to school.”  Logan says dryly. “Mrs. T-Rex kicked me out week one.” He sipped at his beer, lukewarm and strong. Tasted like shit. Logan chuckles, showing an inkling of amusement for the first time. “That’s the ugliest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen. Got half a mind to take some a’ the kids on a field trip and award whoever takes down the fuckin’ shield.”  He spares Steve an amused look.  “Ya could be the guest speaker.”

Steve admired Logan’s ability to move forward. If he was old, Logan was ancient, but he didn’t wear it as heavily. Maybe it was the coarseness, the embracing of the lines in his face, the stubborn refusal of sentiment. Steve wished he could do that, but he’d spent too long stuck in the past. Maybe it was the way his life was split into pieces. His waking hours weren’t too many, but there was before, and there was after, and there was this unexpected postscript. An encore no one had asked for. There was the life he’d lived, and there was the unexpected extra time, and he’d had no choice but to make good on it. Steve had wanted to be a soldier, he’d wanted to fight, he’d wanted to make the world a better place, and the world kept spitting him back out and putting the shield in his hand. He’d made a promise, and, if there was any reason he kept coming back, it was to keep it.

“Overachiever,” Steve said, rolling his glass between his hands. He’d tried school, but life hadn’t allowed it. The time off high school to care for his mom, the single term of art school before the money dried up. He would have liked more, he though. But some things weren’t meant to be.

One more death, and he was sure the country would be determined to put his face on Mount Rushmore. Once, Steve would have liked the attention. Once, he would have hated it. Now, he’d been making his peace. He was tired of being canonized; he didn’t deserve it; he would have loved to be able to turn a corner without running across a monument, but he’d hit a quiet, tired acceptance. Still, the Statue of Liberty was a bridge too far. “You know what? I’d endorse that. Count me in. Her form’s all off, anyway.”

[americanhero-a]

warcried​

         satisfied   with   his   response,   diana’s   excitement   for   the   race   increased.   ❝   with   a   body   like   that   and   a   body   like   mine   ?   ❞   she   clicked   her   tongue.    ❝   we’ve   got   this   race   in   the   bag.   ❞   —   their   eyes   meet   and   for   a   moment   diana   wondered   if   she’d   come   across   him   in   the   past.   briefly   she   examined   his   features   ,   chiseled   yet   soft.   he’s   handsome   and   from   aura   alone   she   can   sense   he’s   the   kind   ,   soft-hearted   type.   she’d   remember   him   if   they’d   ever   met.   diana   decided   that   maybe   he   just   had   one   of   those   faces.   when   steve   introduced   himself   ,   diana   paused.   the   whirling   excitement   around   her   drowned   away.   she   stared   at   his   hand   before   quickly   snapping   out   of   her   state.    ❝   steve   ,   ❞   she   repeated   his   name   with   sweetness   —   almost   as   if   that   name   meant   everything   to   her   (   because   at   one   point   it   did ,   jeez   was   every   man   named   steve   handsome   ?   )      ❝   i   love   that   name.   ❞   the   brunette   extended   her   hand   to   shake   his.   she   looked   up   at   him      ❝   my   name   is   diana   ,   it’s   nice   to   meet   you.   ❞

&

He laughed. With a body like that--a body built in a lab, stretched and reassembled to past the peak of human endurance, the first and last of its kind. He’d spent a while adjusting to it: what it was like to tower over others rather than be towered over, how easy it was to breathe, to run, to exist in the world in full sound and color. Yeah, it wasn’t half-bad. He could handle a three-legged race. And, he looked her up and down, she didn’t seem too shabby either. “I think we might be punching below our weight, actually. The little guys won’t know what hit ‘em.” 

He was sure they hadn’t met before, but--he felt a connection. She was pretty, and she looked young enough, but there was something old about her. Something tired and out of place, like she didn’t quite fit here, at this festival, in this city, in this time. “Thank my folks,” he said. “They thought it was good and sturdy.” And look how that turned out. For the longest time, it had been the only thing sturdy about him. He shook her hand, impressed by the old-fashioned manners. “Nice to meet you too, Diana. So. What brings you three-legged racing?”

[americanhero-a]

agentcarter​

ever since the blip was undone, her life had gotten even more complicated. there was a certain level of personal hurt everyone coming back inflicted on her. it was purely selfish. and sharon sure as hell wasn’t saying she wished it hadn’t happened. but the guy she was seeing immediately left her, and her ex disappeared entirely, leaving her to draw some conclusions. it felt like she was no one’s first choice, no one’s priority, and it made her feel some kind of way that she didn’t want to acknowledge. 

sharon carter had always been good at focusing on work, but with so much personal unrest, she found herself spending the last two years on overdrive, an attempt to do anything and everything to avoid those feelings. sharon didn’t have the time to feel insecure or sad or lonely. she had a whole world that needed her, and if she lost focus, people would suffer. and so, she hadn’t made any efforts to reach out to some people all too often, but she needed bucky barnes for something, and so she found herself approaching the address in his file. 

she knew, in theory, that steve rogers was back, but she’d done everything to not dwell on it. so when he opened the door of bucky’s place, she stared at him, dumbfounded, then glanced down at the file in her hand, and back up at him. “i have the wrong place,” she said simply. @americanhero​

They’d told him, with all due respect, to get a goddamn life already. Natasha had spent years trying to set him up, trying to pull him out of the thick cloud of memories he carried with him. He lived here now. He lived now. He wasn’t a weapon, a symbol, a pretty face on a poster. He was a human, a flesh-and-blood man with a heart he’d wrapped in layers of armor. He’d fallen in love once, and he’d never get her back; he was spent, he was done, he’d had his fill. He’d tucked himself away and stayed there, resigned to the hand he’d been dealt. Steve Rogers died in the ice in ‘45, and Captain America had been thawed out.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Then there had been Sharon. So like Peggy and so not, so smart and strong and a little bit terrifying, willing to coax him out and deal with the shards of ice left in his bloodstream. She was the closest he’d been to being alive this side of the millennium, but it hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t been enough. Steve had tried, he had, really, but he’d never stopped living with a foot in the past, never been able to put aside his mantle entirely. He could take off the helmet, lay down the shield, but he could never stop carrying the weight of Captain America.

They hadn’t made it long.

He hadn’t seen her since he’d returned, and he hadn’t known if he’d wanted to. He hadn’t known how to. What did you say? How did you say it? He’d been around a long time, he’d seen everything from HYDRA bases to alien spaceships, but he didn’t know how to deal with relationships. He’d never had much luck. But here she was, standing outside his door, file in hand, looking... displeased to see him.

Steve blinked. “Were you looking for Bucky?” he said. “He’s just stepped out for a bit. He should be back soon. Do you want to...?” And then he stopped, sighed, ran a hand through his hair. A hundred and seven years old, feeling like a teenage boy stumbling over his words. “Hi, Sharon.”

[americanhero-a]

lttlebrnes​

(  @americanhero​  !  )      she  technically  could  have  done  this  during  her  last  life  time  ,   the  one  where  she  was  a  widow  ,   dying  TRAGICALLY YOUNG  and  not  even  getting  the  chance  to  meet  natasha  romanoff  .    technicalities  didn’t  always  mean  things  would  ever  get  done  ,   though  .   as  rebecca  could  have  probably  searched  for  him  during  her  second  reincarnation  -  but  it  would  have  gotten  her  killed  earlier  .

           and  that  rebecca  had  wanted  to  survive,   that  rebecca  was  determined  to  break  free  .   at  that  point  ,   it  was  her  against  the  world  -  the  man  who  was  her  brother  in  another  lifetime  was  god  knows  where  .

           but  this  time ?  this  time  she  had  time  to  FIND HERSELF,  find  her  past  ,   perhaps  find  the  true  rebecca  she  was  meant  to  be  -  without  the  darkness  of  the  winter  soldiers  and  widows  looming  over  her  shoulder  .   this  time  she  was  free,   and  she  intended  to  use  that  freedom  .   she’s  at  the  LUNAR NEW YEARS FESTIVAL,  enjoying  the  food  when  she  sees  him  ,   and  a  flash  of  memories  come  flying  back  to  her  mind  .

            meeting  him  for  the  first  time  with  bucky  ,   spending  time  buying  hanukkah  presents  for  steve  ,   the  excitement  she  got  seeing  him  -  like  she  was  seeing  her  own  brother  when  bucky  ended  up  bringing  steve  home  for  dinner !  the  piggy  back  rides  he  had  given  her  even  younger  siblings   (  never  her  ,   she  was  nearly  the  height  of  him  when  they  first  met  )  ,   and  laughter  and  creativity  he  brought  into  the  household  . steve rogers was always welcome,  in  the  barnes’  home  and  rebecca’s  heart  .

           “  hi !  sorry  ,   uhm  -  … you’re steve rogers  ,   right ?  ”   she  asks  ,   peering  up  at  him  .   rebecca’s  a  bit  older  now  ,   knows  she  looks  way  different  than  the  last  time  she  saw  him  ,   since  he  last  saw  her  .“  i  was  wondering  if  i  could  …talk  about  something  with  you ?  ” 

It was strange, sometimes, to remember that a century ago, he had been nothing more than the dreamy child of poor Irish immigrants. It had been Joseph, always a little too deep in the bottle because he couldn’t hold a job, and who couldn’t hold a job because he was a little too deep in the bottle, who faded away until he was six feet under before Steve was ten years old. It was Sarah, who had tried her best, but had never been quite well or strong enough to hold the pieces together. It had been Steve spending as much time as he could the Barnes house, a home that felt so much warmer, so much fuller, so much safer than his little apartment. It had been Bucky, of course, adopting a fatherless child with a temper bigger than he was tall, but it had been the whole family, holidays and laughter.

There had been siblings, too, most of them too young to say much, but there had been Rebecca, a good kid, a sweet kid, who never seemed to mind having Steve around all the time. He was an only child, and even he was too much for his parents to care for, but, among the Barneses, he was one brother among many, the one who just happened to be blonde and Irish Protestant. He missed them all dearly, but he knew that life was in the past, on the other side of several wars and a few alien invasions. He wondered what happened to them all, but records were scarce, their echoes lost to history. He’d learned to leave it behind; he was lucky enough to have Bucky back.

But sometimes, in the worst of the long, cold, lonely nights, he remembered what it had been like to have a family.

He’d made himself as inconspicuous as possible at the festival, though he knew that was a tall order--he was, unfortunately, painfully recognizable, even in street clothes. (He’d hated that beard from his years in hiding, but maybe he’d been onto something. It was amazing how willingly face blind people could be.) He’d just finished admiring a vendor’s work, politely shaking the artist’s hand, saying yes, I am, that’s me, it’s very nice to meet you, when a young woman appeared beside him, asking his name.

Steve turned, prepared to give the Captain America smile and nod, the practiced public-facing spiel, but he stopped. She wasn’t quite right, wasn’t quite what he remembered, but he knew her, he was sure of it. Maybe time had played tricks on him, maybe his memory was fading, but--no, it was impossible. She was dead; they were all dead. It had been such a very long time ago. But, then again, he was dead many times over, and here he stood.

He realized he was staring. “Yes,” he said. “I am. That’s me. I’m sorry, I just--you look so much like someone I....” He shook his head, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Never mind. What’s up?”

[americanhero-a]

ofhulks​

closed for @americanhero​ location: steve’s apartment

It shouldn’t have been so hard to knock on the door of a friend. But Bruce’s hand raises and falls, raises and falls. His first curls and uncurls, his mouth opens and closes. Somewhere beyond this worn, wooden door, is Steve Rogers. And somewhere between them, is an expanse of questions. It’s not that Bruce isn’t happy to know he’s alive, he’s ecstatic, but gifts come with price tags. And Bruce has always been afraid - all his life it seems - of many things but most of all the part where the other shoe drops. 

Fortunately for the mild-mannered scientist, the door opens even against his indecision and he’s faced with Steve Rogers. “Hi - um - Cap,” Bruce’s hands fly around, gesturing wildly. “I was just in the area, so I thought I’d stop by and - “ See if it’s real. “- check in? D-Did you know that they made a musical about you?”

&

His reunions with his teammates had been slow--maybe too slow. He could have been better about seeking out old friends, finding the people he’d once seen every day. Family felt too strong a word, coworkers too weak. Steve wasn’t sure what they were, not anymore. He wasn’t sure how to reappear from the dead, how to show his face and say, Surprise! I’m back! Again! He didn’t know how this had happened, and he didn’t know how long it would last. He just didn’t know. So instead, he’d kept quiet, kept to himself, letting things come when they come.

There was a knock at the door, and Steve peeled himself off the couch, removing a complaining Alpine from his lap. Bucky’s cat was good company, at least--he’d never thought of himself as a cat person, but she was winning him over. He opened the door, unsure who in the eclectic parade of visitors he’d find on the other side, and broke into a relieved smile. “Banner,” he said. “It’s good to see you.” He opened the door wider and nodded, raised his eyebrows, let out something between a laugh and a tired, world-weary sigh. “They won’t let me forget it. Here, come on in. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

[americanhero-a]

psymond​

@americanhero ( closed starter )

❝ this is the first time i’ve seen anyone in here for lunch. ❞ she smiles at the very RECOGNISABLE blonde. captain steve rogers aka captain america. back in the land of the living. yes, yes everyone’s delighted she’s sure. ❝ it’s not a bad place to be except that many don’t like venturing in here because there’s better options. well they think there are better options. ❞

&

It was an old-fashioned place, the kind of hole in the wall he would have frequented in the before times (which before, he wasn’t sure; he didn’t know that it mattered--everything was before now). A certifiable greasy spoon, good for some quiet and a club sandwich. Steve turned at the sound of a familiar voice, and found Emma Frost beside him. “You’re the last person I would’ve expected to find here,” he said. “You’re right. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

[americanhero-a]

warcried​

[   👑   ]    𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝚃   𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁    𝙵𝙾𝚁   .  .  .   @americanhero​ 

         the   lunar   new   year   festival   was   in   full   swing   ,   diana   paraded   throughout   the   event   joyously.   she   indulged   in   the   unique   delicacies   and   drank   quite   a   bit.   yet   her   eagerness   to   participate   in   the   cliché   festival   games   had   yet   to   be   fulfilled.   majority   of   the   games   required   two   players   and   with   diana   attended   the   event   solo   ,   she   wasn’t   even   considered   to   be   a   candidate.   as   per   usual   the   brunette   refused   to   accept   defeat   so   she   searched   for   anyone   ,   willing   or   not   ,   to   be   her   plus   one.   in   hopes   that   her   first   victim   will   be   her   only   she   tapped   the   shoulder   of   an   unsuspecting   guest.   ❝   hi   ,   hello.   there’s   a   three-legged   race   and   the   prize   is   this   absolutely   adorable   plushie.   ❞   as   she   explained   her   reasoning   diana’s   eyes   beamed   with   excitement.    ❝   i   think   we’re   close   enough   in   height   to   win   it   ,   right   ?   ❞

&

He wandered the crowd quietly, grateful for the food, the distraction, the anonymity. It was nice to get out of the house and just be Steve for a minute, a man brought back from the dead to do more than sulk on his best friend’s couch looking for either a fight or retirement, depending on the day. To be totally honest, Steve still wasn’t sure if he’d lost Bucky in the crowd or if he had truly just refused to come (nearly a century at this together, and the man was still a mystery to him). He wended his way towards the games, alone, and stopped to watch until he was tapped on the shoulder. He turned to find a woman nearly as tall as he was--he was confident he didn’t know her, but there was something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. Something in her eyes, maybe.

He laughed at the offer. A three-legged race. He hadn’t done one since he was a kid, his weak lungs wheezing, stumbling over his own feet, dragging Bucky down with him, as no one else would agree to be on a team with a shrimpy kid who might snap in a strong breeze. “You’ve got a point,” he said, “but I can’t promise I’ll be that good a partner. Little out of practice.” He smiled and extended a hand for her to shake. “I’m Steve.”

[americanhero-a]

shewidows​

nat  doesn’t  even  have  to  look  back  ,  to  know  that  he’s  following  after  her  ,  because  of  course  he  is  .  he’s  steve  .  she  trusts him  with  her  whole  life  ,  with  everything  she  has .  they  keep  a  brisk  pace  as  they  navigate  through  the  crowds  ,  heads  down  as  to  stay  unrecognized  .  it’s  only  when  they  reach  a  hole  in  the  wall coffee  shop  that  natasha  stops  short  ,  reaches  for  the  door  handle  and  pulls  it  open  ,  motions  for  steve  to  cross  the  threshold  first  . 

 “  first  of  all  ,  what  happened  ?  after  i .  .  .   you  know  .  ”  that’s  the  first  question  to  answer .  honestly  ,  sometimes  that’s  her  only  question  .  it’s  like  there’s  a  gap  ,  a  crevice  between  what  natasha  used  to  know  as  fact  and  what  she  knows  now  ,  which  is  admittedly  not  much  .  and  natasha  hates  not  being  in  the  know  . “  and  you  died  ?  ”  just  the  thought  unnerves  her  .

He follows her easily, wordlessly, his steps heavy where hers are light, his frame broad where hers is small. They were a funny pair, the two of them: an American war hero and a Russian spy, lab-made to clash at every turn. But they fit, in their way, their contrasts complementary, their similarities stronger than their differences. Against all odds, they worked. Most everything in Steve’s life had been against all odds. So he followed her lead in companionable silence, letting Natasha usher her into the coffee shop first. Warm, quiet, small, anonymous--she approached it with familiarity, and Steve was struck by the image of Natasha Romanoff making a life for herself in New York, having neighborhood haunts and local spots. It felt wrong, but he liked it. Maybe they could both find lives out here. Maybe they weren’t so hopeless after all.

Maybe it was just another part of her deep cover. He never could tell how much of the Natasha he saw was real and how much was spy training. He hoped the woman he was seeing now was the former.

He took a seat at a little empty table, gesturing for her to sit across from him. He’d offer to pull out the chair for her, but he valued his life. Arms crossed against the table, nervous, tired, he sighed. “I... don’t know,” he said. “We won, Nat. Because of you. Which--” he gestured around the coffee shop, “I guess you’ve probably already figured out. I went to return the stones, and... That’s the last thing I remember. I woke up here.”

[americanhero-a]

drstrvnge​

          IT’S  NOT  THAT  HE  hates  steve  or  anything  .  he  just  doesn’t  know  the  blond  all  that  well  .  actually  ,  he  doesn’t  know  him  at  all  .  the  exhibit  at  the  smithsonian  can  only  tell  him  so  much  .  “  definitely  not  what  i’m  saying  ,  ”  he  starts  .  “  you  don’t  need  to  do  much  but  stand  there  in  your  glory  and  they’d  let  you  in  for  free  .  ”  he’s  sure  saving  the  city  and  the  world  will  get  him  some  brownie  points  .  it  happened  to  him  on  occasion  and  it’s  always  a  jarring  experience  each  time  .  “  so  do  you  ,  for  someone  who’s  legally  dead  .  how’s  that  working  out  by  the  way  ?  ”

“Hm,” he said. “They did all get some big ideas about me while I was gone. Think I can give some constructive notes?”

They’d crossed paths only briefly, in the years the Avengers had fractured and grown. What had once been Steve’s team, the closest thing he’d had to grounding, to purpose, to a real life in this impossible postscript, wasn’t his anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. Stephen Strange was proof of it--hell,  they’d just replaced one Steven for another, who didn’t even bother to spell it right. He should’t feel resentment; it wasn’t the wizard’s fault, but he couldn’t help looking at him with that pang of jealous. He had Stark’s arrogance, Stark’s attitude, but none of the endearing qualities. As far as Steve could tell, none of Stark’s common sense.

“It’s been... weird. I’m having a hell of a time trying to reopen my credit cards. The bank’s not too big on letting a guy with a death certificate take out money.”

[americanhero-a]

kentruth​

*  CLOSED  /   @americanhero​  ––  is it a BIRD ?  is it a PLANE ? 

Clark knew there was some kind of unspoken jurisdiction among heroes. Or at least it was that way in his world. He would not fly into Gotham and try to care for the people Batman protected, nor would Flash run around Metropolis facing off Lex Luthor in his place. It was an agreement that made sense, and that they each respected.

But the Justice League wasn’t here in this New York. And there were still threats to be neutralised and people that needed helping. Superman flies over the city’s skies both as a habit and because he wants to find out more of how he came to be there. It’s not luck that makes him aware of a commotion few feet down on the ground, it’s the desire to do what he’s always done.

Superman sees the scene unfold from the clouds: a gang of thugs, a car chase amidst pack traffic, and a bus driver that had just lost control over his wheel. He also sees the sight of a red, blue and white shield, but ignores it as he dives in the direction of the bigger vehicle. Just before it tips over and the lives inside it are compromised, Superman appears and lifts the bus off the ground with his hands above his head. Carefully, he finds another place in the neighbourhood to set it down: somewhere away from the commotion that was still ongoing. Once he does, he spares the driver and passengers an assuring nod, and flies back to the scene at lightspeed.

He finds himself next to the man he knew to be Captain America, for his suit gave him away just as well as Clark’s did him. “Lovely morning, huh?”  Greets the Kryptonian with a smile.  “Hope you don’t mind the assist back there. Still need a hand with these guys?”

He didn’t do street work often these days. He’d never really been the local hero on call, jumping into the first signs of trouble or a petty mugging. Steve had been built for war, carefully constructed and deconstructed to follow orders, give orders, lead a team, save the day, save the world. That “Save the City” nonsense meant more “giant alien invasion in a tristate-area-wide battle” than “car accident on the Upper East Side.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, or that he couldn’t help; he just didn’t wear Spandex under his clothes, and he knew there was a whole number of vigilantes lurking in New York’s alleys ready to dive headfirst into action.

But, he’d realized, maybe trying out a little of that patrol thing would be good for him. He’d picked up the skills during those years in hiding, Nomad protecting Europe from its shadows. And he needed something to do now. His Avengers were a thing of the past, he was a soldier without a war to fight. And, in the immortal words of Bucky Barnes, he needed to “get a hobby and stop painting creepy murals in the hallway.” 

So he suited up, self-conscious of the star-blazoned shield strapped to his back. Captain America is back in town, it shouted, but the world had gotten on without him. There had been a car chase not far from his apartment, a bus crash in its wake. Steve sprinted after the thugs as they veered away, forcing the cars to a stop, wishing he’d had some backup. He was a soldier; he didn’t usually do this alone. And then, suddenly, a flash of red and blue dived from the sky, taking point on the bus, and Steve found himself with an unfamiliar new teammate.

Crisis averted for now, Steve looked at the billowing cape, the giant S on the man’s chest, and felt far less ashamed of his own armor. “I’ve seen worse,” he said. “I think I’ve got them handled, but you work fast. Thank you.” Steve extended a hand in greeting, polite, old-fashioned to a fault. “What do I call you?”

[americanhero-a]

task 1: a steve rogers aesthetic

" for as long as I can remember , i just wanted to do what was right . i guess i'm not quite sure what that is anymore . and i thought i could throw myself back in : follow orders , serve . it's just not the same . "

full playlist here && pinterest board here

psd credit: x, x

ft. @menaticide , @ofhisiron , @shewidows​

[americanhero-a]

i simply do not vibe with the mortifying ordeal of being known

[americanhero-a]

shewidows​

and for the first time since she came back , nat feels like she’s finally on the level ground she’s been so desperate to find. she turns finally, catches eyes with her best friend and most trusted confidante and reciprocates a smile of her own. she’s so goddamn happy to see him. “ good to be back , steve. ” eyes flit back to the marquee and she leans into him slightly, bumps their shoulders together.. she has so many questions , so many things she wants to say but instead she settles on: “ not too keen on seeing yourself on the big stage huh ? ”

and she hasn’t heard much about this musical  ––––  only really saw playbook covers and blurry videos on google but she can’t imagine that it could capture just everything steve rogers went through. it almost feels like a mockery , even though she figures that whoever wrote it had good intentions. the road to hell and all that. natasha doesn’t necessarily want to be near this theatre anymore ( the vibes are horrible ) and it sure as hell can’t be good for steve’s psyche to continue hanging out here so she turns , abrupt , and starts walking. throws the words, “ c’mon. we’ve got things to talk about, ” over her shoulder.

It was such a simple thing: a friendly shoulder bump, a little lean. The casual, familiar way she stepped right back into his life like she’d never left it shook him, and then it steadied him. For a moment, he’d never had to live in those awful days after her death. Their last glance, that knowing smile, the “see you in a minute,” became a promise unbroken. It had been far, far too many minutes, but they’d found their way back. They were two ghosts, they were a statue and an assassin, they were just two friends standing on a New York City street while an incredibly tacky musical marquee lit up the night.

He wanted to ask her why she did it, or if she’d do it again, but he knew the answers. He wanted to thank her, but that didn’t feel right, either. Natasha went out the best of them, far better than Steve was in the end. Instead he shrugged and looked at her with a bemused half-smile. “Tried the theater career thing,” he said, shivering at memories of a winged hood and dancers in star-spangled dresses. “Didn’t work out.”

And just like that, she was gone again. Moving, always moving. It wouldn’t have been Natasha if she weren’t, he thought, and he turned to follow her, jogging a few steps to catch up. They sure did have things to talk about. Piles of them. Mountains. Cosmic-scale and her mysterious sister-scale and what the Hell is Apple Pay? “You always did like an understatement,” he said. “Where’d you want to start?”

[americanhero-a]

sniktbeer​

Steve Rogers. Symbol to the nation. Ally since the 40s. Pungent smell of cologne that he was willing to bet was just natural. Captain America. A guy Logan doesn’t mind telling to fuck off, even if he did like Rogers. Cap was right with one thing, even if he wasn’t aware of it: that was indeed how Logan greeted people who came back from the dead. And old friends. And strangers.

“Yer lookin’ spry for a dead guy.”  Logan comments without looking Steve’s way, but instead taking another sip of his piss poor excuse for a beer. “Sorry I didn’t go to yer funeral. Figured you’d bounce back.” He had gone, paid his respects in the back row away from the crowds and gone his way without being noticed. A nice outing as far as he was concerned.

He finally turns to face Steve. “How’d you die?” Logan asks point blank. He’d never been one to beat around the bush. Or to keep track of how the Avengers got killed and came back again. He had his own deaths to worry about. Plus, in the midst of all the different stories and sources, the truth got lost along the way. Easier to ask straight to the man himself. “And come back. D’ya go through hell? Haven’t been there in a minute.”

Steve knew he wasn’t the only one out of time--in either sense; running out, misplaced. He knew there were people older than him, people who had passed back and forth through death so much it lost all meaning, who wore mortality as little more than an inconvenience. But he wasn’t a god; he wasn’t even a mutant. He was just a kid from Brooklyn who’d signed up to do something good a very long time ago. Whatever had brought him here, he was grateful for the constants, the people he could call “old friends” and truly mean it. Logan was one of those. One of the few buddies he still had from before the ice, one who understood this prolonged life better than most.

Steve looked down at the counter, rolling his glass between his hands. The condensation left a trail on the countertop and his hands cold, but his hands were always cold. The aftereffects of a deep freeze he’d never quite been able to shake. “And you’re looking alright for, what is it now, seven hundred? Ten thousand? You went to school with the dinosaurs, right?” He took a sip of his soda and shrugged. “No harm, no foul. Wasn’t my first one.”

He looked over at Logan then, head cocked, eyebrow raised, and sighed. Steve had never thought he’d bounce back. He’d already lived too many lives. He’d had too many chances. He’d figured he would have run out by now. “Y’know,” he said. “That’s the thing. I don’t know. I’m returning the Infinity Stones, and next thing I know, I’m here, and they’ve turned me into the Statue of Liberty.”

[americanhero-a]

sniktbeer​

*  OPEN  /  @reshieldedstart​ ––   A WATERING HOLE SOMEWHERE. ​

It was a common sight, or at least should be. Easiest thing in the world was to walk into a dingy bar at the quiet hours of the night and spot a solitary man at the balcony nursing a pint of the cheapest beer the place had to offer. May be his first or the night, or fourth, even seventh. It made no difference either way. His state of mind stayed the same, all it changed was the bitterness in his tongue. To Logan, the more bitter the better.

If he hears or senses someone approach, he pretends not to. The man stays unmovable all the way, as if hoping that through stillness he’d reach invisibility. God, did he envy Sue Storm sometimes. Alas, he doesn’t reach such a state and whoever had started on their way to him had not stopped. They were very much in his field of vision, invading the comfort of his solitude. Or at least it seemed like they were. For all he knew, they could’ve just felt like taking up the stool next to his for no particular reason. Regardless, he felt strongly about it remaining empty. “Seat’s taken, bub.” Declares the Wolverine in a grumble. “Fuck off.”

He didn’t drink, but he could appreciate a good dive bar. They were quiet in their clamor, dark and anonymous. No one was looking for the man who used to be Captain America in a dive bar; no one would expect that the guy in the baseball cap sitting alone in the corner, nursing a ginger ale, had been the face of the country. They were the same in every city, every country, every lifetime: sticky counters, creaky stools, damp floors.

This one, though, wasn’t quite as anonymous as all he’d expected. As Steve walked down the bar, cap pulled low, he saw a familiar silhouette: a man, short and stocky, and a half-empty pint glass. Every city, every country, every lifetime. Some things were constants.

Without stopping to ask, Steve sat on the empty stool next to him, setting his own glass down against the cracked linoleum. The soda inside was a pale amber, a dull imitation of Logan’s beer. It didn’t matter; it all did the same thing to him. The serum had seen to that long ago--and even if it hadn’t, Steve had seen what it could do to a man. He’d watched his father fall apart, and he’d sworn he’d never let himself down that path. A ginger ale would do. “What, that’s how you’re gonna greet a guy just back from the dead?” he said. “Good to see you too, Logan.”

[americanhero-a]

@menaticide​

Steve Rogers had lived many, many lives--far more than any man had any right to live. He had been a child of the Depression, a sickly, dreamy child his parents could barely afford. He’d been a noble-visioned orphan, an art school drop-out with nothing tying him down, desperate for more. He’d been reborn the first time in a military lab in New Jersey; he’d woken again in New York City decades after he should by all rights have died. Then, when he’d thought it was over and his time was up, after he’d run out enough lives to warrant canonization, he’d come back. This was his last round. He was sure of it. He hoped. He didn’t know that he could handle another life after this one.

But, through all those lives, he had had one single constant: Bucky. His brother, his best friend, the only person still a live who remembered when Steve was barely five foot four on a good day and would snap in a strong breeze. Bucky, who had come back from the dead himself one time too many, who Steve had taken in in their last life, who had taken Steve in in this one.

Bucky, who had had an entire bedroom for his cat, a fluffy white-coated thing who refused to relinquish her claim. Here he was, the man who had once been Captain America, sharing a bedroom in a cheap, poorly-decorated apartment with a cat. (He couldn’t tell Bucky that he did, actually, love her an awful lot. In all his lives, he’d never had a pet. He’d been allergic, then he’d been busy, then he’d been dead. But if he only had one shot left, maybe they weren’t so bad.) It was peaceful, though, when she wasn’t hogging all the pillows for herself. Domestic, even. Normal, almost. They could sit on the couch, Alpine perched in his lap, Steve stroking her absently as he flicked through the TV. Why were there so many streaming services now? He hadn’t been dead that long--how had they made so much TV while he was gone? It was overwhelming, and his little post-ice catch-up journal had vanished with the rest of his things after Thanos.

The door shut, and Steve looked up towards it as he heard footsteps. Alpine stood up in his lap, too, and let out a chirp. “Hey, Buck,” he called. “Did you know they remade Sex and the City? Why did they do that? Wasn’t once enough?”