captain american idol

anonymous asked:

Ha, I was just thinking how amusing it would be if the Legends organized a competition in search of the "Next Greatest Captain" ala American Idol. Of course captains from across time and space are welcome to compete. And just imagine the most amazing commentary from our esteemed panel of judges Leonard, Sara & Mick.

Next Top Captain. “I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU, WE WERE ALL—” and Len interrupts Mick, “not all of us.” Then Sara, lounging in her chair, “Pretty sure you weren’t either.”

Rip ends up storming off the set. Jonah is very amused, though he was also voted off (Len wonders why he was even a contestant) so he follows with an arm around him.

Eventually, Gideon recommends her creator. They consider it, but in the end Sara just takes over. Kendra is her co-pilot. Lesbian pilots.

This got out of hand. I apologize.

The Domestic Life of Mr. and Mrs. Rogers - Part 14

This one is for missingthebetterhalfofme.  The song Steve sings is an old Irish Gaelic lullaby entitled “Seoithín, Seo Hó”. I’m not Irish myself, so I apologize if I have this wrong.  Enjoy! This is up there in terms of sugary sweetness…

14. Lullaby

              Steve couldn’t carry a tune to save his life.  Apparently the serum had brought every other part of him (and when Natasha said every part, she meant every part) to the very peak of human perfection, but his singing voice had somehow been omitted.  Completely passed over.  And it was strange.  She knew his sense of hearing, of determining and differentiating pitches, was phenomenal. She knew he could perceive sounds with the utmost clarity and at a far greater distance than a normal person.  He was the furthest from tone deaf as could possibly be.  But singing? His version of it was more like strangling a cat.

              He was completely oblivious to it.  Once they’d gotten to the point in their relationship where they’d been comfortable enough with each other to actually be comfortable around each other, she’d made this sad discovery, that he really couldn’t sing.  They’d been living in DC at the time in his apartment.  She’d started sleeping there, sleeping with him, and one thing had led to another and pretty soon the barracks at the Triskelion was too far a drive after a night at his place enjoying his company.  And it was too dismal to be there, too depressing. Natasha had never had a home in her life, had never settled anywhere with anyone or had ever even fathomed that she’d desire, let alone need, such a thing.  However, she found herself needing him.  Needing the comfort and security of his home.  She didn’t like to be away from him anymore.  It hard started out as a small, timid realization, and it had morphed into her leaving her toothbrush beside his in the bathroom and him emptying out some drawers in his dresser and making space in his closet for her clothes.  She’d never dreamed such simple things could make her happy, could make her feel like she belonged.  Her phone on top of his on the nightstand.  Her make-up next to his razor.  Her favorite foods in his refrigerator.  Her guns and holsters right alongside his shield.

              Her body lying right next to his in his bed.  And her snuggled up in his comforter and breathing in his scent and listening to him sing in the shower.  Steve had never told her, but she knew how much he loved a shower.  It made sense.  Growing up back when he had during the height the Great Depression and before the advent of so many of the conveniences everyone now took for granted, bathing had probably been at best a tepid affair.  Now there was seemingly endless hot water.  His issues with being cold aside, just being able to enjoy that was still such a pleasure to him.  So she’d snooze in his bed or check her phone, and while she was doing that, she’d hear him singing, off-tune, soft at first but then louder like he was confident she was sleeping.  He would sing things from his era, melodies she didn’t recognize. Things from the last seventy years. Steve’s taste in music was predictable yet somehow not; he liked a lot of classic rock and older tunes, of course, but he also seemed to be interested in new things, things she wouldn’t expect. Like pop.  And dubstep, of all things.  Who could imagine that Captain America would like dubstep?  Of course, it hadn’t been love at first listen. Natasha (and Tony, it seemed, from the volume of movies and music piling up in Steve’s apartment) had taken up the effort of educating and exposing him to pop culture and media.  Not everything was a hit.  Still, more often than not, she’d catch him humming a song she’d played for him or sneak a peek at his phone at the playlist to which he’d been listening on his jog or during his workout and find a new slew of music obviously inspired by her guidance.  And him singing in the shower.  His memory was so good that he could sing an entire song, exactly word for word, that he’d only heard once.  Off-key and horribly flat, but he could sing it verbatim with military precision.  She knew that for a fact.

              She’d teased him about how awful he was at singing.  He’d gotten (mostly) fake offended.  And, of course, she’d made endless jokes about it.  If only the world knew that Captain America wasn’t perfect.  Captain America, the worst American Idol contestant in history.  The judges would have to give him a chance out of pity.  People would vote to keep him on just because it’s a solemn, civic duty.  He’d rolled his eyes and sang louder in the shower every morning, just to annoy her as she lounged in his bed and smiled.

              Well, she was lying in their bed now, trying to sleep.  Trying and failing.  The baby was extremely busy inside her, twisting and turning and kicking.  James was wide awake and intent on keeping her the same way.  First it had been hiccups, little bubbles and pops that used to tickle and amaze her to no end but now were a tad bothersome.  Whatever calm state the baby had been in earlier that day, the hiccups had dashed it, and now he was very much on the move. This was happening more and more, that he was getting started just as she was trying to stop.  There was still another month until James was born, and she was already exhausted.

              “What’s the matter?” Steve asked from her left as she turned over yet again (not that there was anywhere she could lay that was comfortable).  He was sitting cross-legged beside her, a few field reports and tablet computers strewn around him on the bed.  He was catching up with paperwork for SHIELD, carefully scribing his notes with an actual pencil (she didn’t think she’d ever convince him that writing everything down by hand first was a waste of time when the forms were all computerized now).  He set a folder aside, turning to her.  “Can’t sleep?”

              “It’s not me who can’t sleep,” she grumbled.  Another kick nearly sent the air out of her lungs it was so sharp. Being pregnant with Captain America’s child was an experience, to say the least.  The SHIELD physicians who were caring for her couldn’t tell her if the baby had inherited the super soldier serum.  Even Bruce, who was the world’s foremost expert on Project: Rebirth and Doctor Erskine’s work, wasn’t certain.  But Natasha was convinced.  This child was strong and healthy and incredibly active.  Incredibly active.  Steve didn’t need a whole lot of sleep; living with someone who could go multiple days without a lot of rest, who typically only slept three or four hours a night and only “faked” the rest out of courtesy to those who required more, had taken some acclimation on her part. However, she could still go to bed when she needed or wanted to and sleep through when Steve got up at the crack of dawn for his jog.  When little James Rogers decided to start his day, mom had to start with him.

              That left her exhausted, through and through.

              The baby turned over completely.  Steve’s brow furrowed when he saw her stomach move.  It was a bit freaky, to be honest.  Natasha had never fathomed being pregnant, and so the idea of feeling another little person doing somersaults inside her… It was something incredible.  The number of nights they’d just laid there, his hand flat on her belly and hers atop his, feeling and waiting and wondering about what lay ahead of them…  Incredible.

              Right now, though, she just wanted him to quit it and let her rest.

              Steve went back to his paperwork for a few minutes, and James settled down enough that Natasha entertained the idea that maybe that was it, that the acrobatics show he’d been intent on performing since dinner was over.  She breathed deeply, finally finding a comfortable spot on her left side, and let her eyes slip shut, drifting to the sound of Steve’s pencil scratching over the SHIELD forms.

              Nope.  James kicked her again, kicked her hard.  She gave a short sigh, rolling as much onto her back as flat as she could tolerate and putting her hand over the offending spot the lower left side of her stomach. There was another kick.  A flutter.  Something that felt like a punch?  If he was this energetic inside her, how would he be outside?  Would he ever sleep?

              She tried to doze again in this new position, thinking maybe that would soothe him.  It didn’t.  She grunted in irritation and sat up in defeat.  “What’s wrong?” Steve asked again obliviously, shifting his papers around.

              “Your son won’t sleep.”

              “Why is he suddenly just my son?”

              “Because you’re the one with the super serum that’s keeping him up and therefore keeping me up,” she explained, closing her eyes and leaning back into the headboard tiredly.  “Make him stop.”  That was a plaintive, exhausted moan, a plea for relief that she knew couldn’t be answered. A want that couldn’t be fulfilled. But Steve had been fulfilling her wants for years now.  She heard him shifting around, his papers being pushed to the side, and she wearily cracked open an eye.  “What are you doing?”

              “Shh,” he said.  He’d crawled somewhat in between her legs.  He slid his hands up the swell of her stomach slowly, almost reverently.

              “What in the world are you doing?” she asked again, not in the mood for this.

              “Shh.”  He was more insistent this time.  “I want to try something.  Do you trust me?”

              “Trust you to do what?”  This was plain crazy.  And dumb.

              He smiled slyly, teasingly.  “It involves me singing, and I know how you feel about that.”

              Flabbergasted beyond rational comprehension, she just nodded after a mute second, gesturing at her pregnant stomach.  He scooted closer, dropping his face closer to her belly. “James,” he said, summoning a stern note to his voice.  His Captain America tone, as pretty much everyone put it.  Natasha smiled and rolled her eyes.  “James, this is your father.  Stop bothering your mother and go to sleep.”

              Little James Rogers was his mother’s son, too, because he kicked hard right at his father’s left hand almost defiantly.  Despite her weariness and deflating mood, Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle.  “He listens about as well as you do.”

              “Like you should talk.”  Steve smoothed his hand over the area.  “It’s bedtime,” he reminded more softly, clearly speaking to the baby. “You want a lullaby?”  Natasha opened her mouth to complain but Steve gave her a look that silenced her pretty effectively.  “You want Daddy to sing you something?”

              For some reason, that made her uncomfortable.  “Steve…” she whined, sitting up further.

              “You know, maybe your son would go to sleep if you just settled down,” he teased. “The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.  Now let me do this.”  She hesitated a moment more, unsure.  But then she followed his advice and settled back down.  She watched as he caressed her belly in silence for a bit, almost like he was imagining holding James.  And then he started humming quietly, a low, gentle sound.  “Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh…”

              “What does that mean?” she whispered down to him, unable to keep a sheepish grin from her lips.

              “Shh,” he shushed again, giving her something of an annoyed look.  She flushed and conceded, nodding her acquiescence and slumping gingerly against the headboard.  He started humming again.  Singing again.  “Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh…  Mo sheoid gan cealg, mo chuid gan tsaoil mhór.” She didn’t understand the words, and she didn’t recognize the language, but it had to be Gaelic.  His voice was so quiet, low and pleasant, and it reminded her of night, of deep, dark, endless skies and waves rolling against a distant shore.  Gentle and serene, low tones and peaceful swells.  Soothing. It was beautiful, this lullaby of his, and as she listened, she felt the tension leave her muscles so easily.  She felt her body sink into the pillows and quilts, her mind slip away from the worries of the day and the aches of pregnancy and the silent anxieties in her heart.  There was nothing but his strong hands sweeping in gentle caresses across her stomach, the lulling tenor of his voice, and their child between them.  “Seothín a leanbh is codail go foill.”

              She hardly even noticed when he stopped singing. She opened eyes that had slipped shut to find him still tenderly rubbing her belly, his gaze unfocused but teeming with tender grief and love.  He, too, seemed far away.  She reached down to slip her fingers through his hair.  “Your mother?”

              He focused on her, blue eyes gaining a familiar glint.  “Yeah.” He smiled faintly.  “Every night when I was little.  My favorite lullaby.  Put me right to sleep.  First song I ever learned how to sing.”

              She could have poked fun at him, maybe something about how it should have been the last or how sappy and sentimental this was, but the thought never even crossed her mind because she’d never heard anything as beautiful as her husband singing their unborn child to sleep.  Never. She reached down for him, blinking away the little bit of stinging in her eyes.  He kissed her tummy again before pushing himself up and moving over her, careful not to put his weight on her.  She took his face and brought him in for a sweet kiss.  “Sing it again?”

              Steve smiled.  “Sure.”

              She closed her eyes as he gathered her in his arms, his hands over her heart and over their son.  His lips pressed to the nape of her neck, his voice a vibration on her skin that went straight to her soul.  She sighed, melting against him, and finally, finally James was quiet as Steve sang them both to sleep.