#steve rogers at 100

[saltyteethbooks]

Phew! I think this typeset took the most brain power because I had to translate a fic heavy with images as well as links to photos of actors and other media (a number of which have become dead in the years between) but I adore this fic since the day it was posted.

Had to track down age appropriate actor headshots (are some of them the exact ones? Uh, no, cause Internet Archive doesn't have a saved copy of the links) and ended up shoving them all into each movie section endnotes lol, and so so much QR codes+URLs.

But also I had to perform 3 exorcisms/deep cleaning on the printer cause it absolutely refused to emit any gosh darn magenta ink, so compounded frustration.

In the end I made a soft cover/paperback out of it with a naaaaarrow oxford hollow because I have a hot glue gun curse. The cardstock is a seriously pretty embedded glitter type, so shiny!

[deantavias]

eat

read fanfic

cry

sleep

rinse & repeat

[iwillbefamousonedayipromise]

Interview to Steve Rogers about what happened in November 1943

That's what hapened (the other is Bucky)

[skullfragments]

July 4th, 2024 - Steve Rogers has been alive for 106 slutty, slutty years

Happy Birthday Steve! It's ok that you fell asleep before the party started; an old man needs his nap time <3

This started off silly and cute and then veered into slightly self-indulgent territory. I will not apologize.

(yes, OF COURSE the kiss is from Bucky, who else could get away with the party hat, smooch, and flash photo without waking him?)

[autumnrory]

steve + brown leather jackets in the captain america trilogy (2011 - 2016)

[hainethehero]

Writing in my journal: Stucky not even being one of the top 100 ships on ao3 for 2023 is literally so depressing

[marvel-lous-guy]

Steve: Why are you eating tofu?

Bucky: I'm trying to convince Sam I'm a vegan

Steve: Why?

Bucky: I've been stealing his chicken from the fridge and if I'm vegan, he can't accuse me of stealing it

Steve: Why not just buy your own chicken, Buck?

Bucky: this is much more fun, watch

Sam: Okay! I have had enough! WHO THE HELL! IS EATING MY GOD DAMN CHICKEN!?

[kaitlinamberxo]

“I can do this all day.”

kaitlin's 100 favorite fictional muses — 45/100: Steve Rogers

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

clingy

Steve Rogers x reader

A/N I'm sorry for not posting for a few days, I will catch up but my son has been ill and I've been focusing on him. This is a part of my 100 followers celebration. Also, all mistakes are my own, so if you see any feel free to comment them and other comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated.

THIS IS NOT AN 18+ FIC BUT I STILL FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MINORS READING MY FICS SO PLEASE DNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR

Summary whenever you come home from a mission Steve feels the need to be touching you at all times

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/WEBSITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings fluff

Steve wasn’t really a clingy person but when you come back from a mission, you saw a different side to america’s golden boy. 

As soon as the quinjet landed, Steve was running over, waiting for you to walk out. He picked you up and walk ed into the compound with your legs wrapped around his waist and your bag over his shoulder. 

He didn’t put you down until you reached the living room on your shared floor: he put your bag on the table and sat on the couch with you on his lap. 

“I missed you so much baby,” Steve mumbled into the crook of your neck. 

“I missed you too stevie,” you replied, running your hands through his soft locks of hair. 

You stayed like that for a while until your stomach grumbled. This made Steve chuckle and pick you up again.

“What do you want to eat darlin’?” he asked.

“I’m thinking takeout from that Thai place we went to before I went on this mission.”

“That sounds like a good idea babe. I’ll call them and you can go and get some blankets to make the couch more comfy,” he said, kissing your forehead and putting you down.

You walked into your shared bedroom and grabbed every blanket in sight (there were many since you loved to hoard blankets) and arranged them on the couch. Then, you grabbed the pillows off your bed and arranged them so both you and Steve would be comfy. 

A few minutes later, Steve walked into the living room and laid down on the couch with his head on your lap.

“They said it should be here in 15-20 minutes,” Steve told you with a smile on his face since you had started to play with his hair.

“That means we can start a film. What do you want to watch baby?”

“What was the film you said you wanted to watch with me before you went on the mission?” 

“Are you talking about A Muppets Christmas Carol?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“We can watch that baby, I just gotta find it on Disney+ first.”

Not many people knew this but Steve loved musicals, he didn’t know why but theres something so magical about them that always captivated him. He doesn’t tell many people this fact about him though since he’s a bit embarrased about it (he was almost too embarrassed to tell you but a few kisses sorted that issue out.)

You pressed play on the remote and saw a smile creep onto Steve’s face. You loved to see him so happy. 

15 minutes into the film you were alerted by F.R.I.D.A.Y that someone was at the gates with a delivery for you.

“I’ll go and get it darlin’” Steve told you, smiling.

It wasn’t long before Steve was back. You grabbed you food and sat on the couch. Steve walked over to you but he didn’t sit on the couch, he sat between your legs- you had already put a few pillows and blankets there on the floor, knowing Steve would sit there. He rested his head against your left leg while he ate his food and watched the tv.

Once the both of you had finished eating, Steve wrapped his arm around your left leg and gave your thigh a kiss. This didn’t look like anything special, but to Steve it was a perfect level of intimacy for him and his slight clingyness.

This being accompanied by you constantly running your hands through his hair made him feel happy and content that you where home but also that you were ok with his need to be touching you at that moment.

If you want to join my taglist to know when I post these fics or any others please click on the link.

Also, if you want to see what I reblog, my other account is @sebastianstanisahotmf-reblogs

Taglist: @buckys-wintersoldier, @nicoline1998enilocin

[bromcommie]

but you're here oh man, you're here played in a god game but you're here

[deantavias]

oh yeah i love reading (fan-fictions to dissociate).

[spooky-lil-spider-enjoyer]

Me to my sister while I watch TWS with her for the first time: Look he is such a baby!

Her, visibly confused as to why I'm calling the assassin dressed in all black leather who is trying to stab the OG Miss America and failing repeatedly: Mady what the fuck?

[cafecitowriter]

Wednesday 100 - To Peggy, With Love

Graphite marks wrinkled paper, mimicking impossibly perfect brown pin curls. A wave of inspiration struck him in the dressing room at the half hour call, and he’s determined to finish it before he’s forced away from her. Again.

He’s been drawing her for months, in-between scenery of places they’ve performed in and dancing monkeys. Agent Carter graces the pages of his notebook more often than he’d ever dare admit aloud.

The letters she writes him remain tucked inside that same notebook.

Maybe one of these days, he’ll be brave enough to include one of these portraits in his reply.

Also posted to AO3

Written for Steggy Month at @steggyfanevents - Week 1: Peggy Carter. While it's technically from Steve's POV she's his forever muse.

[rainintheevening]

31. “Don’t worry about me.” for Steve and Bucky! <3

Been awhile since I did one of these. Feel really rusty. Here, beloved, have a late birthday present.

WWII. Here be angst. Open ending.

31. "Don't worry about me."

Snow battered against the other side of the glass, cold puffs of air coming sharply in at the corners of the sash. Beneath Bucky's fingers the windowsill started to creak, and he hastily let go.

He held himself quite still, hardly daring to breathe, staring blankly out at the storm. A jagged lump sat in the back of his throat, aching, raw.

He wanted to cry, to shout, he wanted to punch something, he wanted to take everyone of those HYDRA agents and beat their brains in. Right now, he could do it and he wouldn't even blink.

From behind him came a soft rustle, a murmur, "Buck?"

The wave of hot rage stilled, retreated, leaving only cold fear to pool in his chest. He turned quickly, strode two steps to the bedside. Sank to his knees.

"I'm right here, Steve. Right here."

He reached to press his cold fingers against Steve’s warm cheek. Too warm? He wasn't sure. He didn't know anymore.

He used to be able to tell Steve’s temperature within five degrees by touch alone. Now, it was all different, Steve was different, and that was supposed to be good! That difference was supposed to save him! And now... now nothing could.

Steve’s one working eye cracked open, a dark slit.

"Bucky?"

Bucky leaned forward, into the line of view of that single eye, and it widened enough for him to glimpse that warm blue. "Hey, pal. You hangin' in there?"

"Buck."

One corner of Steve’s mouth twitched, and then his eye closed, and he seemed to fall a little, fingers slipping on an icy ledge above a dark canyon with no bottom.

Something in Bucky's stomach lurched after him, but there was nothing for Bucky to grab.

Steve’s hands lay quite still at his sides. His chest rose and fell, erratic and slow.

Bucky had wiped away all the blood he could, taking the enormous risk of lighting a fire to melt water and heat the tiny, one-room cabin. He'd used up every bandage he could, and torn up his own shirt and undershirt for more. He'd dribbled a little cool water into Steve’s mouth, but his friend had turned his head away.

Now he brushed his thumb lightly over Steve's dry lips, bit his own together hard. How long did they have? An hour? Probably more, seeing how Steve had survived this long.

He stayed kneeling by Steve’s side, touching his brother's face, the bandages that covered where a large portion of his skull should have been. Rested his hand on the muscled chest that had replaced the thin one. Let his hand fall to grip Steve’s, and linked their fingers.

Should he leave, hike out into the snowstorm on the off chance some of the others might still be near? They'd been scattered by the ambush, and he wasn't even sure who had made it out of that death trap alive. Perhaps none of them had.

He glanced down to where he had applied the tourniquets, one above the ankle, the other high up on Steve's thigh.

Should he have done that—tried to stem the bleeding? Maybe it would have been more merciful not to, to make it go quick, to end this. Wouldn't it? Even now, he still had his revolver. He knew exactly where to put bullets, how to make it fast.

Bucky gulped back a wave of nausea. No, hell no! He couldn't, he couldn't, no matter how 'merciful' it might be. He'd spent well over a decade preserving Steve’s life, how could he stop now?

What would Steve want? Was he suffering? He didn’t seem to be in pain. Did he know how horrific his injuries were? Did he know he was dying?

"Buck."

He lifted his head sharply, blinked back hot tears. Steve’s eye was still closed.

"Yeah, I'm here, Steve." He pressed a wet kiss to the back of Steve’s hand.

There was no answer.

The only thing Steve had said since he first surfaced to consciousness was Bucky's name, like a reflex, as enduring and un-erasable as breathing or pulse.

Cold, exhausted, broken in his spirit in a way he had never been before, Bucky slumped against the bed, cutching Steve’s hand against his chest, and gave himself up to tears.

How would he live without Steve? How could the world even continue to turn without that warm, shining light of Steve’s presence in it? All those times before, when Steve had wandered off the edge, had nearly been pulled under, and Bucky had begged him to come back, had fought off Death itself with a stick. He'd come to think Steve was always going to make it, always going to recover.

"Please, God, please!" he choked out between sobs.

He'd prayed for Steve before, and Steve had always made it through the night. He'd prayed sometimes, in the early days of his torture after Azzano, begging Someone to come and save him. And someone had.

"He needs to live. He's so good, he's my friend, he deserves to live."

But what was the point now? Steve had literally had his brains blown out, he'd lost big chunks of his legs, he had shrapnel in his stomach. There was no medicine, no doctor that could put Steve back together now.

"I don't want to kill him, I can't!" Bucky choked out. "I'm sorry, Steve, I'm sorry, I can't. I couldn't live with that."

He caught his breath, swallowed back a sob, and lifted his wet face. A glance at the chair by the fireplace, where his revolver lay.

He had more than one bullet.

"Bucky."

He whipped his head around to glance at Steve, hot shame pouring over him.

How could he think that? Steve would be so disappointed, he'd be horrified.

Steve’s hand twitched a little in Bucky's, and Bucky cleared his throat before he spoke.

"Yeah, I'm here, pal. With you. To the end–" He couldn't finish.

Time ceased to carry it's old meanings, there was only the space between breaths, the whisper of his name that got quieter with each reiteration.

At some point he got up to pile more wood on the fire, and stand, staring at the revolver for too long.

"Buck?"

He could barely hear it, but he turned away, moved back to the bed. This time he moved around it, and gingerly sat on the dusty mattress, stripped off his coat, shivered slightly as the air hit his bare skin.

Carefully he stretched out beside Steve, turned toward his friend, pressing close, trying to be tender, to be gentle, as he spread his coat over both of them. He pressed his face into Steve’s shoulder, so big now.

"Listen, Steve, listen to me. Please. I'm here, and I'll stay until you don't need me anymore, that's a promise."

The tears had passed, and he could say this steadily now, dry-eyed.

"You can go. Okay? Go whenever you're ready. I know Aunt Sarah would love to see you again, and your dad. I know they're both so proud of you. Not half as proud as I am, but still really proud."

"Buck."

It was barely a breath.

All that enhanced body that had saved Steve’s life so many times in this crazy war, and now it meant he died slow, fighting a losing battle to fix itself, to mend parts that were no longer there.

"Don't worry about me," Bucky whispered, mouth close to Steve's ear. "I'll be fine. You can go, okay? Don't worry about me."

A long silence.

He smelled sweat and blood and smoke. A cold draught curled under the coat, but Steve was still warm against his chest and side. The fire crackled quietly, somewhere the roof was leaking in a steady drip-drip-drip-drip.

"Buuuuck."

Long, drawn out on a sigh, but oddly warm, an aching suggestion of a smile edging it with love.

Bucky didn't lift his head, he just closed his eyes, and held Steve as close as he could.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'm with you to the end of the line."

Snow pattered quietly against the glass, piling up on the outer sill.

[peotego]

masterlist

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hello, love, here is the masterlist of my masterlists

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⋙ Harry Potter Characters ⋙ Marvel ⋙ The Maze Runner ⋙ BBC Merlin ⋙ The Umbrella Academy ⋙ The 100 ⋙ Stranger Things ⋙ Riverdale

[nascenticity]

i have seen a lot of headcanons (& fics!) about bucky doing crochet or knitting that i LOVE but i also need everyone to consider --

steve watching his mother doing irish crochet; maybe she even teaches him some simple things when he's sick and needs something to occupy him so he'll sit still and rest; its a creative outlet for sarah and that artistic streak is something she and steve share almost a century later, crochet comes back into fashion with millennials and gen-z, and steve looks up a youtube tutorial. he doesn't have many physical things left from his mom; but he can make some stuff that she would have loved and it helps him feel close to her.