#bornsoldier

I  have  lived  many  ages  of  men,  Steven. Centuries  without end. I have seen many great men, and known countless honours.  

Something that looks like a flying car enters the atmosphere of Wakanda, touching down between Thanos’ army and Wakandan forces. Four step out of the vehicle, a hulking gigantic Thing with cratorial rock formations for skin. A blonde woman who waves to Prince T’challa and sparks a small smile on the King’s face. A near identical taller blonde man who hollers something along the lines of ‘you can all go home now cavalry’s here!’ and at last a man sporting similar facial hair and the same iconic blue suit as the the other three wear.

And all, on their chests emblazoned is a proud number Four. 

        “ I nearly thought we wouldn’t make it. We got your message on the outskirt’s of the Orion Nebula,” he says and embraces one of his oldest friends, turning round afterwards for introductions. 

“ We haven’t met have we? ” he asks holding out a hand. “ My name is Dr. Reed Richards. I’m sorry, my family and I would have been here sooner but meteor storms can be very tricky to navigate. This is Susan, her brother Johnny and Ben. We’ve uh...” he rubs the back of his neck. 

“  ow...  ”

[text] I was under the impression my brother had informed you of my return to this planet.

[text] I’m almost offended you couldn’t guess.

[text] The picture will remain secret as long as you agree to my terms.

Just like that, Loki appeared in front of Steve.  His hands were clasped behind his back and he wore a subtle smile on his lips.  “Hello, Captain.  It has been quite some time.  Cellular phones are quite a marvelous toy, wouldn’t you agree?”

          going three days without sleep is normal.  well ,  not so normal for others ,  but normal for him.  it’s hard for him to get rest ,  often lost in his own thoughts or out of focus.  survivor’s guilt has no qualms with dragging him deep down into void of nothing but everything.  he knows the best bet for him to recover is getting some sort of therapy or just talking with anybody ,  but he’s not keen on discussing his past and his mistakes.  

          blood stains his hands ,  and no matter how hard he scrubs ,  the crimson doesn’t come free.  the fear in the eyes of those he’s killed in the past ,  playing some sort of middle - man to carry out the fate another has bestowed upon them ... it’s brutal ,  what he’s done.

          redemption isn’t as easy as he thinks it is.  some days it’s easier than the rest.  sometimes a smile makes it through ,  and there are times where those smiles don’t reach his eyes.  white lies are spoken like it’s become his default response.  i’m fine ,  he’’ll say.  connor doesn’t know if he actually convinces anyone that he’s fine ,  but if they don’t question him personally ,  he’ll consider it a victory.  he’d much prefer to avoid conversations that throw him back into the war field or the contracts he’d taken at the time.

“ Mr. Captain America, Mr. Rogers sir.  H-Hi! “