Natalia Peggy Rogers, you are named after the two bravest, strongest, independent women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Tony Clint Bruce Thor Rogers, I am so sorry your uncles got hold of your birth certificate before me.
It is the foremost role of all literature to reflect the natures of our society through commentary both explicit and connotative. From his politically-driven birth, Captain America was written not to represent the sense of American ethos as it most commonly manifested but as an embodiment of what it ought to be. He was an avatar, a personification of anti-totalitarian ideals. In a sweltering climate of terror, he occupied the role of the typical Adonis-like hero for more than fifty years while upholding a legacy of integrity, patriotism, and most importantly, compassion. Rather than blindly following the lead of near-fanatical nationalism, he reminded his readers that evil is not absolute. He reminded us that even the shining United States were prone to the disease of fascism. He reminded us that when a world overtaken by fever demands that we move, we must plant ourselves like a tree and say, “no, you move.”
You never had to be reminded. you never learned. You never had to look to an allegory for the guidance the evening news couldn’t give. You could afford the luxury of living in a vacuum where fiction was nothing more than boyish fancy. You saw a weapon to be slung, not a shield to be held between a hero and his villains whose parallels to reality weren’t nearly as subtle as you seem to think.
By bastardising a symbol of freedom for the sake of shock value, by putting the word “heil” into the mouth of a man marked by Auschwitz, by playing with the predestination of Hitler’s regime for victory, you have successfully reflected a petrifying aspect of society: a class of people who do not fear for their freedom because it was never in danger. You can backpedal all you like, but you’ve shown your hand. You belong to a group of people who are content to live in ignorance so long as it isn’t disturbed by the harsh fact that you are no less complicit in the decline of society than the men who actively seek it.
Why else would you be so apparently fond of Nazi politics?
Natasha was rapidly discovering that there was a very good reason it was called labor.
another one coming,” Steve warned her. He could see the contractions on
the screen beside her bed. She’d been laying there for an hour already.
They’d arrived in the medical ward at the same time as Bruce, who’d
looked like he, too, had been roused from a peaceful sleep if his messy
hair and bleary eyes had been any indication. He’d immediately jolted to
full awareness, however, when he realized this was really it. He’d
hooked both the contraction and fetal heart rate monitors back up to
Natasha after Steve had helped her changed out of her pajamas and into a
hospital gown and boosted her onto the bed. From there, Bruce had
performed a quick internal exam and discovered she was four centimeters
dilated, completely effaced (whatever that meant), and, in fact, the
first twin’s amniotic sac had broken. Then he’d left to make some phone
calls. That had been a while ago, and only Steve was in the room with
her now, watching the monitors and trying to be helpful. “It’s coming,
Yes, it was coming. It was coming hard and harsh,
and she barely had a chance to brace herself against it. It was a
strange pain, not the worst she’d experienced in her life but certainly
not something she could just brush aside. She’d read online that some
women likened it to the worst menstrual cramps imaginable. Thanks to
what the Red Room had done to her, she’d never much experienced what
“normal” cramps were supposed to feel like, but this… It was pretty bad.
The rock hard muscle of her uterus tightened and tightened until
breathing was a chore, until her back throbbed and her pelvis felt like
it was cracking under the pressure, until she could hardly do much else
but concentrate on getting through it. But that was what was strange
about it. She got through it. They came in waves, in very
predictable waves, and like waves, they swelled and crested and peaked
and then dipped into release like sliding down into a trough. And the
sliding down was such a momentary relief that she almost felt high after
surviving each one, like getting through every contraction was a
victory. One step closer to this being over.
Climbing up to the crest, though? Like now? Less than pleasant. “Breathe, Nat.”
This was where it got bad. “I swear to God, if you tell me to breathe one more time… Oh, God. Oh, God!”
okay, I won’t,” Steve promised. It was hard to focus on him when it got
bad. He was right there with her, had been continually in fact, doing everything imaginable
to make this easier. Natasha didn’t know whether to hate Bruce or love
him for showing Steve how to read the little tracings on the monitor for
her contractions, because her husband had elected himself to keep track
of them, timing them, letting her know when they were coming and when
they were ebbing (it was only a little creepy – and amazing – that he
could see all of that from the tiny sensors attached to her
bare belly). And he was watching the twins’ heartrates, both of them,
and she could see he was driving himself crazy with worry. “I won’t. I
won’t. It’s alright.”
“Don’t tell me that, either,” she growled,
writhing a little despite herself. God, this was awful. And it wasn’t
just the pain. It was the vulnerability. Exposure. Lying there
with practically nothing on, only this thin nothing of a gown and a thin
nothing of sheet covering her naked lower half. She’d never liked
doctors, never felt comfortable in this setting, never cared for the
unnatural submission that came to her in the face of medical procedures.
The Red Room had done that to her, one of its many lasting curses.
Their cruel “physicians” had branded an automatic response into the core
of her body and heart: fear and resignation. Struggling meant more
pain. Panic was ignored. Her wants were irrelevant. She’d had no choices
back then in Brushov’s hands. They’d done to her what they’d wanted,
and she’d had no choices.
She knew this was as far from that as possible, but it was hard to shake free of those responses, especially now when she again felt like
her choices had been wrested from her. Granted, these were entirely
different forces doing that, entirely different reasons (the exact opposite reasons
in fact) for being in this bed and in this position. For months she’d
swallowed down her aversion, the traumatic memories and inclinations to
run and fight, the terror she felt every time someone claiming to be a
doctor touched her. She’d slowly adjusted to Bruce’s tentative,
practical hands. Now, though, her body was beyond her control, well and
truly beyond it, and she felt more naked and unprotected than she ever had before. No clothes. No masks. No mission. No training. Nothing. Nothing but Steve and her own belief that this was okay and she could do it.
I can do this.
The pain reached its apex, and she didn’t think for a few
seconds. Steve took her hand again. That was good. Something to anchor
her when it reached its worst intensity. He was right there, looking
between her face and the monitor, letting her squeeze his hand. With the
serum from the twins pumping through her combined with her own enhanced
strength, she wondered idly if it hurt. He didn’t flinch, at least not
at that. “It’s almost over,” he swore softly. “You can do it.”
“You… you a cheerleader now?”
“Right now, yeah. Breathe, Nat.”
gasped, trying to focus on her breathing (as much as she didn’t want to
admit it, she knew he was right – that was extremely important, and it
gave her something to do, something to focus on). The steady swish swish swish of
the babies’ heartbeats was thunderous as she worked through the
contraction, digging her nails into Steve’s palm, twisting his fingers
hard enough that, were it anyone else, she’d be worried about breaking
them. He just took it. She managed to get her eyes open, managed to look
at him, and found him watching her with baby blues that were wide and
frightened and desperate to do something to make this better.
came the slide down the other side. There must have been endorphins
flooding her brain, because it felt good. Like the serum was trying to
make it easier. Rejuvenating her in every way it could in between the
contractions. Giving her extra strength, extra endurance, and extra
relief. She didn’t know if that could be the case, but it was nice to
think it. “Okay,” she breathed out, smiling lazily despite herself.
“Okay?” Steve asked, now trying to readjust her grip on him without disturbing her too much.
chuckled a little, a tad nervous at her sudden change in mood. This
whole thing was so unpredictable. As crazy as it was for her, clamoring
for the last vestiges of control over herself, it was probably even more
so for him having to watch it. “You look like the cat who got the
“Better now. I think it's… I think it’s the serum.”
Steve looked surprised. Then he smiled faintly, like he was happy something he’d
done was making this better for her. He leaned down and kissed her
sweaty forehead, brushing her mussed hair away. “Give you every drop in
my body if I could,” he murmured into her forehead.
“No,” she replied, not having the energy to push him away. “We just got yours working again. No.”
laughed more fully, flushing a bit in embarrassment. “What else can I
do for you then?” He was quick to straighten, to grab the damp washcloth
he’d gotten for her forehead. Normally she despised anyone fussing over
her, but it felt good right now, drifting contentedly in between
contractions. He wiped the sweat away from her face and then carefully
set the cloth over her brow. “You want some water?”
“Bruce said not to drink,” she reminded muzzily. “Or eat.” Where did he go, anyway?
must have been truly stricken with equal parts excitement and panic to
have forgotten what Bruce had told them. “There’s ice,” he said after a
beat, triumphant to have come up with that solution, and then he was
readjusting the sheet to cover her lower body and legs better and
heading to the door.
The next contraction came without warning.
“No, no! Steve! Wait!” He turned around and was back in a blink. He
scrambled to take up her hand again, and Natasha groaned through gritted
teeth. Not going to lose it. Not going to cry. Not going to. Not going to. “Oh, God. God… Steve!”
“Right here,” he promised, holding her as much as he could.
pain ratcheted up quickly, faster than she was prepared for, and a slew
of Russian obscenities (a few particularly vulgar) blasted through her
trembling lips. Steve understood, of course. “Language?” he admonished
with a little smile, flushed red with worry.
She glared at him. Glared. It was hard with the pain trying to invert her
abdomen, it seemed, but she managed, sitting up a little by digging her
elbows into the bed. “I hate you for doing this to me,” she snapped.
“Hate you. You… you know how much?”
Some part of her mind still
registering what she was saying and thinking noticed that he looked a
little upset. But he blinked it away, and she couldn’t hold onto her
guilt. He smiled. “How much?”
“So much. So damn much, Rogers. You did this to me.”
“I know, love. Just breathe.”
She was in too much pain to snap at him for uselessly reminding her yet again to
watch her goddamn breathing, instead closing her eyes and simply
obeying. In through her nose, out through her mouth. She could do that.
“‘Be his partner,’ he said,” she gasped, grimacing. The contraction was
getting worse, and she was having a hard time doing anything
but panting. But she was stubborn. “'Sh-show him h-how to be a SHIELD
agent,’ he said.”
“He?” Steve asked, smoothing back her hair and watching the monitor to see if the contraction was ending.
“Fury! Please, God…”
came closer, wrapping an arm around her chest. She latched onto it,
curling her nails into his forearm. “You can do it,” he murmured
encouragingly. “You’re almost there.”
“Breathe, baby. Don’t talk. Just breathe.” He was like a broken
record, but her body so craved comfort and relief right then that she
couldn’t care. And the muscles of his arms and chest were strong and
sure around her until she couldn’t see or feel much else besides him. He
was like a shield, like he was trying to block the pain from reaching
her. She blinked away tears, concentrating on what he said to do,
concentrating on what he was saying. It was hard to focus on his words,
but she realized it didn’t really matter what he was saying.
His voice was low, a wordless murmur, it seemed, against her ear. She
held onto that, onto the sweet, calming nothings he was telling her, and
rode through it.
Once again she was sliding down the other side,
exhausted and going limp and pliant on the bed. “Didn’t mean that,” she
whispered. “Steve… I didn’t mean that… I don’t hate you.”
actually laughed, the ass. “'Course you don’t. But you don’t hafta like
me too much right now either.” He grinned crookedly, kissing her
forehead as he leaned away from her. He sniffled, and she wondered a
moment if maybe he didn’t have tears in his eyes. She supposed this was
fitting, in a twisted sort of way, that he had to watch her go through
this without being able to take away her pain just as she’d had to watch
him suffer through being sick without being able to touch him. The
second that sour thought went through her addled brain, she dismissed
it. And he gathered himself quickly. “These are coming fast. Two
minutes, maybe three.” She didn’t know what that meant. One of the twins
moved inside her – not much longer and they’ll be out and I’ll see them move –
and she groaned as that made her uterus tighten again, not quite into a
full contraction but definitely a pang of discomfort. Steve was
rattled; in these few moments where she was in better control of her
faculties, she could see how frayed he was around the edges, how he was
putting on a brave front for her sake. There was terror in his eyes,
panic in his hands, that she’d never seen before, not even when they’d
been facing down some of the worst threats and dangers the world had
ever seen. Had she been in better command of her emotions, she might
have been amused. As it stood, she needed him to stay calm, because if
he lost it, she’d lose it, too. She knew it. “Where the hell did Bruce
Dylan O'Brien Teen Wolf The Maze Runner Captain America Sebastian Stan Holland Roden Stydia Sterek Spoby Keegan Allen Chris Evans Once Upon a Time Emilie de Ravin Robert Carlyle Rumbelle Reign Frary Adelaide Kane Swanfire Michael Raymond-James Switched at Birth Bemmet O'Brosey Arrow Olicity Emily Bett Rickards
Summary: What happens when the Avengers find a baby at their doorstep? They adopt them, of course!
A/N: So yeah… I always wondered what the team would be like around a baby, especially Nat since she can’t have children. Basically, this is an AU where everyone gets along, there was not Civil War, Pietro is alive and it’s MCU based. Now that that’s out of the way, I give you: Baby Avenger!
I would like to thank all the kids I’ve babysat for giving me the information needed to (somewhat) write about a child and my mom for telling me how bossy I was as a kid… THANK YOU!
Warnings: Some language, mentions of abuse/torture. This one’s a bit more dramatic!
Disclaimer: I found the last gif bellow on google so I do not know who they belong to, I just know it’s not mine. [if it’s yours, contact me!]
So, Steve/Bucky is kind of my OTP, but I also like their relationship because it reminds me strongly of a sibling relationship–something I rarely see explored in fic (especially the jealousy side of sibling relationships… I may be wrong, and if so, please let me know or give recs). I have a younger brother myself, so I’ve always been intrigued by sibling dynamics, and my mother is a child psychologist who studied birth-order psychology.
According to her and other studies I’ve read, oldest children are, generally speaking:
-inclined to follow the rules
-type-A, a high achiever academically
-but need approval from others (especially parental figures)
-afraid of change
My theory is that Bucky, while he may seem to disobey the rules a lot, mostly only does that when he’s with Steve–who is an ONLY child. Only children don’t really follow rules, they do their own thing. I actually read Bucky’s behavior as largely that of a conformist (social chameleon) and someone who is prone to doing what he’s told (Winter Soldier behavior still isn’t his fault, but he could be more susceptible to brainwashing). I think he’s probably very much a rule-follower–it’s just that sometimes he has his own definition of what ‘the rules’ are. (For instance, if he and Steve did mess around… I think Bucky would be the more conflicted one, and very likely would have pursued women a lot out of a need to conform).
Eldest children are also preoccupied, even obsessed, with living up to the expectations of others and performing well. I’m sure that played into the conditioning he went through as the Winter Soldier and even how he became such a good soldier/sniper in WW II.
His swagger is also completely typical of an eldest child. We like to show off, partly as a dominance display in front of the younger siblings and partly as a way of impressing the parents.
Unrelated to birth order, I read him as very highly social, with a high need for affiliation. (Well, maybe it’s partly related to birth order, as only children learn to be more independent). He’s clearly an extravert. Which means that he would be doubly susceptible to praise- and reward-based motivation from authority figures.
Now, Steve, as an only child, is more independent and inclined to find his own way, but he is very definitively reliant on other people–probably also an extravert and probably befriended Bucky as a surrogate older sibling, which means that I’m not sure if birth-order psychology would be accurate there.
Red Room & Winter Soldier Programs in the MCU - Part III
As a part of #Buckynat Week sponsored by fuckyeahbuckynatasha, I’m contributing a summary of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) depiction of the Soviet Red Room and Winter Soldier programs.
In long-standing comic canon, the Red Room Academy produced Natasha Romanoff as a Black Widow operative; the parallel Winter Soldier program produced a brain-washed super-assassin out of an injured James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. The last four episodes of the Agent Carter TV series lifted the curtain on what was simply speculation of Natasha’s past Soviet training and, to a lesser extent, Bucky’s ‘recruitment’ by the Russians within the MCU.
This third installment is more speculative, as I discuss possible connections between Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) and James “Bucky” Barnes (Winter Soldier) as well as some predictions for Natasha’s backstory in Age of Ultron. Most Especially, because it’s #Buckynat Week, I’ll go on even further out on a limb and suggest a relationship dynamic for Natasha and Bucky in Captain America: Civil War.
Spoiler Alert! Obviously, I’m discussing many of the events of the first season of Agent Carter and Captain America: The Winter Soldier (as well as touch on other Marvel movies as they apply), so if you wish to remain spoiler-free, this is your chance to avert your eyes.
THE BIRTH (1920 - 1941. From pre-serum Steve toughing it out on the streets of Brooklyn to enlisting into the army and receiving the serum.)
american beauty / thomas newman ☆ thiskidsnotalright / awolnation ☆ get up / all good things ☆ luck / american authors ☆ america’s son / air review ☆ birth of a hero / two steps from hell ☆ the legend begins / audiomachine
THE RISE (1941-1945. Captain America has been born, and Steve Rogers’ blossoming relationship with Peggy Carter until he crashes the plane in the ice.)
a real hero / college ☆ believer / american authors ☆ beast / nico vega ☆ boogie woogie candy man / christina aguilera vs the andrews sisters ☆ i’m gonna be (500 miles) / sleeping at last ☆ the girl / city & colour ☆ we could happen / aj rafael ☆ when we first met / hellogoodbye ☆ accidentally in love / counting crows ☆ berlin / snow patrol ☆ young and beautiful / the bryan ferry orchestra ☆ we’ll meet again / vera lynn
THE FALL (1945-2011. The first two songs are Steve lost in the ice, the third song is Steve being found, and everything from thereon is him coming to terms with waking up nearly 70 years into the future.)
an ideal of hope / hans zimmer ☆ band of brothers requiem / michael kamen ☆ arrival of the birds & transformation / cinematic orchestra ☆ things we lost in the fire / bastille ☆ these streets / bastille ☆ lost in the world / kanye west ft. bon iver ☆ the war was in color / carbon leaf ☆ is it any wonder / keane ☆ world spins madly on / the weepies ☆ soldier on / the temper trap ☆ stay and defend / wolf gang ☆ look how far we’ve come / imagine dragons ☆ brother / x ambassadors
THE STAND (2012 - present. Captain America rises again in the wake of the Chitauri, the Kree, the Skrulls, the Civil War, and the Incursions. No matter the betrayal or torture or tribulations, he’s always going to stand up.)
coming home pt ii. / skylar grey ☆ always gold / radical face ☆ battle born / the killers ☆ choosing dauntless / junkie xi ☆ theme of captain america / marvel vs capcom 3 ☆ skyrim theme / jeremy soule ☆ atlas / coldplay ☆ trouble man / marvin gaye ☆ breathe of life / florence + the machine ☆ i see fire / ed sheeran ☆ soldier’s orders / akira yamaoka & melissa williamson ☆ iron (string) / woodkid ☆ lachrimae / audiomachine ☆ taking a stand / henry jackman ☆ my demons / starset ☆ overcome / oceans divide ☆ captain america march / alan silvestri