.shieldbound

Hello! Welcome to my lil Steve Rogers blog. My name is Dixon and I live in the PNW, have an obsession with coffee and my dogs and love anything horror related. Steve will be plotted mainly in the MCU with my own headcanons and divergences mixed in. I’ll be off and on here, so activity will be sporadic but feel free to look around and reach out to me with any questions!

other blogs. come say hi!

LOYALTYWORN (bucky barnes, main blog) REACTORIC (tony stark, low activity) 

can you fight god?

this is the fight of our lives and we’re going to win. whatever it takes…

mcu based and canon divergent CAPTAIN AMERICA steven grant rogers

@whitesuited​ || a meme from somewhere in here! || yep! there’s bunches.

belt loops .   pull  my  muse  closer  by  their  belt loops . 👉👈😏

To say it’s been a day is an understatement.

Steve sits in the living room with the radio on. Some station that’s playing quieter melodies that he’s not really paying attention to. Something to drown out the noise of the city past the windows and nothing more. It’s warm in the room thanks to the faint glow coming from the hearth. Candles dance in their holders and a dim Tiffany lamp shines a myriad of colors against the wall. Everything’s muted, quiet for a reason. He’s just enjoying the silence..

Sharon seems to notice it, too. He hears her enter and she comes into the room from the foyer without a word. Their eyes meet and he smiles. She smiles back and it warms him to his bones more than any fireplace ever could. There’s a sigh of relief that parts his lips--she’s HOME. A hand comes up, motions her near. He only waits for her to get close enough that he can loop his fingers through her belt loops and pull her the rest of the way in. “C’mere..”

               “I JUST WANT you to get it in your head that there isn’t a single Barnes out there who would want you to think that his life is WORTH more than yours.” It was a complicated feeling she’d had to wrestle with for a long time — far longer than the war — … that she wouldn’t want Steve to hurt himself even for Jimmy’s benefit. And that she wouldn’t expect him to pick her brother over his own safety. Not because she valued him more… she just wanted him to value himself more than he did. And she knew that there wasn’t a more wretched feeling than having someone so ready to kill themselves for your benefit. She’d seen it in the war to so many degrees: boys who died with their family’s picture in their hands saying at least I died for them before the light faded. But Becky had been one of those families left behind, both by Steve and by Jimmy. She’d been the next of kin who had gotten one telegram… and then another. And she knew that there was no relief from that pain that came with the understanding that they were ready to die for you. 

But try as she might, she couldn’t impress upon Steve — had never been able to, if she thought about it — that nothing else mattered once you were dead, because you were just dead. That she hadn’t felt comforted or protected when she’d been given flags to take the place of the boys in her life. But flags didn’t fill a home with sound. Flags didn’t work endlessly at whatever jobs they could pick up — at the docks or the factories or anywhere looking for a body — only to need a shirt hemmed before the next morning. Flags weren’t ever going to make her feel safe and loved and wanted. 

                              The flags had only ever made her feel alone. 

“I’ve already had to bury you,” Becky repeated. “I’ve never heard of someone else who had to deal with what I’m dealing with, so I don’t know what I want, okay? I just don’t want to go through what I went through again, and you saying sorry or trying to use my brother against me isn’t making me figure it out any faster.” 

Steve already knows that..

He already knows that Bucky would tell him to stop. Let him go. Let the memory slip away with him until it doesn’t hurt anymore. He knows down to his bones that Bucky wouldn’t want him to risk himself to save him. And yet? He, also, knows that Bucky wouldn’t listen to his own words if the roles were reversed either. Hypocrites. Both of them. They’ll have to accept that. Hell. They mostly have. Even if it’s infuriating at the time. Her worry isn’t lost on him. In spite of what she might think. Of what she’s reduced him to in her mind. That he doesn’t care that she’s hurt. Or that he sees her pain and it doesn’t mean anything to him because he refuses to quit. He sees it. He knows. He understands. If there was any other way to do this without hurting her? Steve’d take it in a heartbeat. Less than.

But he’s not sure there is and so he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. If there was a way he could reassure her that he’d be back, he would. Impossible as a feat that it seems to be, he doesn’t think there is. Part of him feels a splash of anger drop into the mix when she accuses him of using her brother against her. That’s not what this is. That’s not what this EVER was. 

Mostly, though? Hurt registers in his eyes and the flinch of his jaw as if recovering from a slap is all that greets the accusation before he wipes his palm over his mouth and drops it to his side after. Breathing in through his nose, Steve finds that he’s---speechless. There’s no words that he can say to make things better. No words that he can say that would gain him any favor in her eyes.

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘,  𝐖𝐇𝐎  𝐂𝐀𝐍  𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘  𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄  𝐇𝐈𝐌  ?    Eddie’s  ——  new  to  this  kinda  life,  and  this  universe,  and  he  heard  so  much  about  everything  that’s  happened  here  ——  it  was  kinda  a  long  road  to  even  finding  the  Avengers,  and  after,  y'know,  learning  what  he  could?  Even  longer  to  be  bold  enough  to  even  find  them  to  reach  out  at  all.  There’s  still  that  cold  fear  of  just  being  taken  as  the  bad  guy,  because  he  figures  most  of  these  guys  ain’t  gonna  exactly  be  calm  about  an  alien  who,  y'know,  eats  brains.

[  𝙷𝙾𝙻𝚈  𝚂𝙷𝙸𝚃!  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝚆𝙴  𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃  𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙰𝙶𝙴  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚃  𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴  𝙱𝙰𝙳!  ]  Venom’s  just  as  enamored  as  he  is,  though  ——  perhaps  less  surprised.  Eddie  can  feel  some  inkling  that  Venom’s  hiding  something  from  him  again  ——  some  knowledge,  some  recognition,  because  a  lot  of  their  exclamations  and  commentary  have  felt  ——  oddly  performative.  But  this  isn’t  the  time  or  place,  so  he  just  mutters,  "  No  fucking  kidding,  "  as  he  watches  the  reports  flicker  by.  Devastation.  Worldwide  sorrow.  Death,  loss.  It’s  almost  incomprehensible.

“  Okay,  you’re  just  gonna  have  to  ——  fuck,  you’re  gonna  have  to  forgive  me,  I’m  still  stuck  on  the  whole  billionare  in  a  tin  suit  and,  y'know,  a  ——  uh.  Veteran  of  the  World  War  2  who  looks  younger'n  me  and  a  giant  green  angry  guy  and  a  literal  Norse  god  and  ——  ”  He  waves  his  hands,  pinching  his  nose,  "  Fighting  a  god  damn  alien  army  by  playin’  Back  to  the  Future.  It’s  just.  A  lot?  Okay?  "

[  𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴  𝙸𝚂  𝙰  𝚆𝙴𝙸𝚁𝙳  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶,  𝙴𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴.  𝚆𝙴  𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳  𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚆  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙸𝙵  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳  𝙻𝙴𝚃  𝚄𝚂.  ]

Eddie  grimaces.  "  Yeah,  not  ——  bad  timing,  buddy.  "

Steve’s carefully watching him..

In spite of the lightness he’s attempting to bring into the conversation, Eddie looks like he needs it, he’s keeping a careful eye on the other man searching for the moment where he might have to steer them away from this conversation. Let him go. Maybe come back again. When it all isn’t too much. (And it’s much easier than watching what’s on the television.. He’s seen it before anyway.) Pressing his tongue against the backs of his teeth, a watchful back and forth wander of his gaze measure’s Eddie’s profile after the outburst. It’s gone by the time he starts speaking.

“There’s nothing to forgive. I know it’s a lot..,” a brow quirks up when he leans forward in his chair and braces his elbows on the tops of his thighs. Fingers lace together and hands lift. He taps two extended thumbs against his bottom lip, pausing to consider his words before he continues. “Doesn’t really get easier to digest.. Sometimes I have a hard time believing all of it happened. Even though I was there. Tell me all this would happen back before this? I woulda thought you were crazy. Outta some story..”

                “I DON’T WANT you to back down if something’s wrong,” she replied, though perhaps her agreeing didn’t sound much like agreeing through the angry tones that threatened to push over into that strange mix of rage and grief that always came after feelings like this. “But I’m not gonna let you keep TRYING to put yourself in a goddamn wooden box every time you sniff injustice in the air. And don’t give me the it’s not gonna happen bullshit, ‘cuz I can list off SEVERAL suicide missions you’ve decided you were uniquely qualified for.

“You think you dying is gonna do anything to protect anyone? That the bad’s just gonna STOP when you’ve finally how sweet and right it is to die for your country’d yourself right into the grave?” The fear behind her anger had bubbled up to take the place of rage somewhere between him putting the ice pack on his head and Becky stepping back, away from him, scared that she was either going to start taking swings or crying if she didn’t put space between them.

“I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen when you’re gone,” she said, starting to pace. “And it’s a when, not an if, because I know you’re not gonna stop trying to prove yourself to yourself until you’re dead. But here’s what’s gonna happen: I can tell you because I’ve already done it. I’m gonna be here, probably with another empty casket because you won’t even give me the peace of mind of getting to see you one last time. And someone’s gonna tell me that I should be proud to have known you. And someone else is gonna give me another folded up flag, because lord knows two wasn’t enough the first time around. And then I’m gonna use the same headstone as last time, because why waste a good piece of granite? And then the bad in the world is still gonna keep happening, except it’s gonna feel even darker because you’re not there.” 

Somewhere in the speech she hadn’t planned on making, she’d stopped some distance away and had turned to meet Steve’s eyes again. 

“Someone’s gotta give a shit whether you live or die,” she said. “And between us, we know it’s never been you. But I get all the flak for being a worrier. You don’t make life fair.” 

“I’m sorry I put you through that.. Back then. That you didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to either one of us.” Ice pack forgotten once it’s sat down, he turns and walks a few steps away before leaning against the wall. A dull thud can be heard as his head rests back against the plaster. “I’m sorry that it hurt you more than I can ever hope to make better. But? Becky. I’m not as suicidal as you think. I don’t want to die..” It’s just that. When push comes to shove? He’s not afraid to if it means it’s going to protect others. 

“There were times I did. Can’t lie my way out of that. When I lost him. That was the worst. Didn’t really think I could keep going knowing that I’d just got him back and then he was gone again. That I failed that bad. That’s the time where I really just thought that following after him? Was all I could bring myself to do..”

Blue eyes roll towards the ceiling and he folds his lips between his teeth trying to measure his words right. “I’ve just always had a low price tag on myself. You know that. I know that. I’m sorry.” A crease of confusion, of straining to think things through forms between his eyebrows. It’s still there when he turns his attention back towards her. Eye to eye, his palms swing out from his hips and he shrugs. 

“What do you want me to do? Give up? Throw in the towel? Just say to hell with it and let things go? I can’t do that. Not when it comes to him. Especially that. And you can’t expect me to ever think otherwise. Why would you want me to,” his head tilts and he tries to tie together where he’s doing wrong by standing beside this ever present need to never let Bucky down and to be who she wants him to be.

Aren’t they supposed to go hand in hand? Especially in her book..

               SHE DIDN’T WANT to give him a chance to speak; the more he talked, the more he was just talking out of his ass, and she didn’t have the bandwidth for his shit in that minute. So when he decided to take the SMART ROUTE and say nothing, she was relieved. 

“Don’t start with your shit,” she repeated herself, because she was about one bad decision of Steve’s away from losing her mind in anger and the incomprehensible nature of her rage was already starting to settle in. 

“Because if you say one more goddamn time that you were doing this for Jimmy, or whatever other excuse you’ve come up with to give yourself a free pass to do WHATEVER YOU WANT, I swear I’m gonna try to kill you, and then someone will probably kill me for trying to kill you, even though you seem absolutely dead set on getting yourself killed. WHAT ELSE HAS CHANGED?” She threw her hands up, punctuating the end of the sentence with just how frustrated she was with everything. With him, with the reasons he always came up with as to why he was always right and everyone else was always wrong, and the way people just WENT ALONG with it. 

“Your way of doing things isn’t always the right way,” she said, stepping toe to toe with him and shoving an ice pack in his hands for the bump on his head, looking straight up.

                                         “This feels awful familiar, don’t it?”  

Becky is .. was .. is .. the checks and balances that he knows she’d rather not be. But, she’s never afraid to voice her mind. Wasn’t back then and isn’t now. He appreciates that about her. Admires her for it. One of the many reasons. Having it turned around on him, though? Never a fun thing. Never something to enjoy. He wished there was another person here. Someone to get in the middle. Turn the conversation around. But he wasn’t and facing this solo was the only option he had. 

Should’ve turned around and crept back out. Unnoticed and disengaged. Too late.

Steve stands there through the tongue lashing, not daring to interrupt. Blue eyes swing from the floor up to greet hers a few times. There’s things he disagrees with there. So says the clenching of his jaw and how he grinds his back teeth together to keep his mouth shut. But then he’s got an ice pack shoved in his hands and reflexes have his fist curling around it before he takes a step back to put space between them. 

A small, half-smile’s there to answer her question before he dips his head in a nod. “Yeah. It does. Some things never change..” Him being one of them. At his roots, he’s still the person who stands behind his convictions the same way he did back then. There’s been moments he’s faltered. Moments he’s questioned himself. Questioned everything--but this isn’t one of those times and he doesn’t appreciate being treated like it might be.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓  𝐈𝐓  𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓  𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒…    𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆.    it’s  been  almost  two  years  since  bucky  died,    and  it’s  been  hard.    there  have  been  days  where  life  just  felt    pointless    and  it  felt  like  she’d  never  move  on…    and  yet  steve  hasn’t  left  her  side  ever  since.    and  she  hasn’t  left  his.    they’ve  been  each  other’s  support  system  through  all  the  grief  and  adjustment  and  it’s  helped  her  more  than  she  can  even  put  into  words.    and  sure,    bucky  might  want  her  to  move  on  someday,    but  like  this?    with  his    best  friend?    it’s…    complicated.    overwhelming.    and  yet  here  they  are.

it  was  only  a  matter  of  time.    they  might  have  been  close  before,    but  now?    it’s  different.    there’s  a  connection  there  that’s  been  growing  steadily  over  the  last  year,    and  they  shouldn’t  be  surprised  that  it’s  finally  caught  up  to  them.    lips  are  caught  in  a  heated  kiss,    roaming  hands  tugging  at  clothes,    and  as  much  as  it  feels    wrong    she  just  can’t  seem  to  stop  herself.    before  long,    they  stumble  toward  the  bedroom,    her  dress  shirt  half  shrugged  off  as  steve’s  lips  move  along  her  neck.    and  the  words  he  utters?    they  send  a  shiver  down  her  spine.

❝  steve—  ❞    she  breathes,    leaning  in  to  nip  at  his  ear  before  that  nagging  voice  in  her  head  finally  butts  in.    hands  press  gently  against  his  chest,    pressing  enough  pressure  to  get  his  attention  but  not  daring  to  push  him  away.    ❝  steve,    we  shouldn’t—  ❞    it’s  beyond  complicated.    she  wants  him,    she  really  does,    but  at  the  same  time?    god,    it  feels  like  she  should  be  ready  for  this,    like  she  should  be  able  to  get  past  the  whole    dead  boyfriend    thing,    but…    for  some  reason,    this  all  starts  to  scare  her.    chest  heaves  as  she  regains  her  breath,    lifting  his  chin  to  look  him  in  the  eye.

❝  …    i  still  love  him,  ❞    she  frowns,    tears  stinging  behind  her  lashline  that  she  refuses  to  let  go.    and  yet?    she  loves  steve,    too.    how  is  that  fair?

They made promises. Bucky and him. That he’d be there for her if anything ever happened. And he hasn’t left her side. She hasn’t left his either. In a way, she’s been here for him more than he feels like he’s been much good to her at times. Losing Bucky left a hollowness inside of him that couldn’t seem to be filled. Right after? Nothing felt real. He’d lost him so many times before that he’d convinced himself if he just held on. If he tried harder. Looked further. Did MORE. That he’d find him. Somewhere. Bring him back in one piece. Just like before. Just like always. Maybe some parts of him haven’t given up that hope and there’s a guilty streak in him that says it’s not all for her either. That it isn’t even mostly for her. He wants him back. Because he’s barely had him every time he’s won the battle to get him home.

But there’s another spark that’s been building. Something he never planned. Emotions that’ve dug in deep and refused to keep from growing. Plenty of sleepless nights have been spawned from those thoughts, those ideas, those feelings. Ones he gets when he looks at her. He fell for her. Somewhere in between the pain and loss and comfort and quiet. He fell. And he’s apologized to his best friend more than once, wondering if he’d be forgiven. Of course he would. And, now, tonight--it’s become a powder keg and that spark’s gotten too close. The fire that’s burning inside of him damn near brings him to his knees the second her mouth’s on his. It’s not long before they’re becoming consumed by it and stumbling towards the bedroom.

“Yeah,” his tongue catches his bottom lip and pulls it in as chills run down his shoulder when her teeth find his ear. There’s a rock in his throat and it’s growing--he swallows around it but his heart’s pounding and---should they be doing this? He wants her, he does. God, every piece of him wants her. Should he let this happen? And all he can feel is her in reply. Until there’s a pressure against his chest and it draws his attention down to her hands. He stops immediately, panting for air when he hears her tell him they shouldn’t. His heart drops. Takes his stomach along with it, too. He nods, voice momentarily stolen. And he can’t look up until she makes him. Burning eyes meet hers as his arms relax from around her.

               HE WAS GONNA be the death of her. Anyone bothering to look from the outside may have thought it was Jimmy who she needed to worry about the most. Jimmy, whose draft card sat like a ticking clock over their heads. Jimmy, who took hits at the neighborhood boxing club and came up with a grin and a bruised jaw. Jimmy, who needed to have someone turn his head back round when pretty girls flashed pretty smiles. 

No. No… it was Steve who made her heart stop about twice a week. Steve, who made promises he couldn’t — maybe wouldn’t — keep. Steve, who still climbed through the fire escape instead of going to the door because the spot of the apartment curtained off for Becky was closest to that window. Steve, who was gonna get himself killed just trying to convince everyone else around him that he didn’t have any fear. 

Honestly, she was starting to get tired of these lectures about as much as she was sure he was. When they had been little, she’d gotten into just about as many fights as he did, but when everyone else kept growing bigger and she’d stayed the same size she’d been since she was about thirteen, Becky had had to learn how to pick her fights and how to use more than fists. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought that Steve didn’t want to learn that lesson. Sometimes she thought he did all this — got into fights he knew he couldn’t win, kept lying to the government for the honor of being cannon fodder… — because he knew he shouldn’t and he was mad. At the world, at the universe…. maybe even himself, she didn’t know. It just felt like the more she told him that she didn’t want to be stitching up his shirt to put him in a cedar box, the more he tried to make that fear a reality. 

“Why can’t you be good enough when I’m around?” she asked him, dropping that last rag into the sink and handing him a fresh one. He could keep his split lip clean by himself it he wanted to keep trying to convince her that it was the right thing to do. “Why can’t you think of all the times I’ve had to clean you up — all the times Jimmy knows about and the ones he doesn’t — and decide to just give me a goddamn day off?” Why do you give a shit when he’s worried, but give me heart attacks every day?

What she said next? That hurt worse than the bite on his lip did. Both getting it and the astringent she cleaned it up with being jammed against the wound. It knotted up his stomach and ripped his gaze from hers and aimed it, guilt-ridden, towards the floor instead. She was right. He deserved every word. Then some, even. Buck was always at the front of his mind. A mixed bag of emotions that he felt since he could remember. Ones he could touch. Others he never could out of fear of what they meant. But they were there and deep and created a heap of worry that was always clinging to the wrong of his mind no matter what the circumstances were. Or how he always managed to fuck up and break whatever promises he made about trouble and staying out of it. 

There’s just so much bottled up inside.. Itching and clawing and screaming to get out.

Sometimes he feels like he’ll break in two because of it. Some building pressure that will just have him exploding into tiny pieces long past stitching back together. The only way to make some of it ease up is with fists and fights he might never win but’ll beat his way down into a gutter trying to. It’s in how he wants to follow his BEST FRIEND into the trenches for the privilege of being there with him if he falls and maybe having a chance to stop it. Of giving his everything for something he believes in because it’s so fucking hard to believe in what he sees in the mirror every day and then other times? All he can do is believe every word his mother ever told him that he was born to make a difference and the only way he knows how is...

..with bloodied knuckles and bloodier lips. With bruises he leaves behind and ones that are pounded into him. With broken bones and broken vows and broken lines that never will accept him because just look at him. Make a difference. How the hell does he make a difference when all he gets is.. Be careful. You can’t do that. You gotta watch yourself. Come on, you know you can’t. You’re not tall enough. Well enough. Whole enough. Man enough..