Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

Anonymous asked: D For the fandom meme?

From this ask meme!

D: What was the first thing you ever contributed to a fandom?

Pretty sure the first thing I ever actually contributed was THIS Scarlet Witch/Vision post-Civil War fic, which is entirely fluff originating in a conversation I had with my best friend about the lack of fic for the two of them and the fact that no one had written a mid-air kiss for these two FLYING SUPERHEROES.

An excerpt:

Vision’s hand reached out, hovering just over her shoulder.  “Are you having nightmares again?”

“Nothing shocking,” she said.  “The same.”  The wreckage of her house, her brother’s body.  Strucker’s failed experiments.  Straitjackets inside cages inside prisons.  The Avengers, twisted and shattered in red light.  “Some new.”  Men without limbs, and sinking into the sea, and Vision, turning his clear cold eyes and terrible power toward her.

Vision lingered for a moment, then lowered his hand so that his palm was up, an invitation.  “Come with me.  Just for a little while.  I promise to bring you back.”

I love this ship, y’all.

skymurdock asked: for the headcanon meme: Steve Rogers the angry little chihuahua.

On Monday, the very angry Stevie got beaten up in one parking lot, but he was still angry.  On Tuesday, the very angry Stevie got beaten up behind two diners, but he was STILL angry.  On Wednesday, the very angry Stevie got put through three experimental procedures, but he was STILL angry.  Anyway, gonna do me some Steve Rogers for this ask meme.

A: what I think realistically

Adapting to the 21st century isn’t really difficult, once he can face the reality of it properly.  It reminds him, more than anything, of that first week after the serum–everything is too bright and too loud and too fast.  But now the world is unfamiliar to boot and there’s no one who cares enough has the time to help him adjust.  It’s a rough couple of months before he masters the situation.

Unrelated to the above, Steve was actually great friends with most of the chorus girls.  At first they were…uh…suspicious, to say the least, because he was a massive brick house of a dude who could lift a motorcycle and looked like the ultimate version of the assholes they put up with on the regular.  So they didn’t speak to Steve past the most basic courtesies for a week and a half.  

Then they went out drinking after their first performance in a new city and Steve sat quietly in the corner with a water until he saw Cheryl sitting stiff and toying with a fork as a man’s hand crept up her leg.

“Back off,” Cheryl said sharply.  The guy did not.

No one was more surprised than Cheryl when Steve loomed up from the corner like the wrath of God and sharply announced, “Buddy, if you’re not going to leave the lady alone, you and me are gonna have problems.”

The next day, Steve showed up to the theater ready to sit off to the side as usual.  Instead Cheryl plopped down in front of him, held out a handful of bobby pins, and said, “I need an extra set of hands to put my hair up.  You braid, Cap?”

“Um, not really,” Steve said, blushing.  “But I can learn.”

B: what I think is fucking hilarious

Highlights of Steve in the modern grocery store include:

- Steve And The Grudge Against Weird Bananas

- Steve And What The Fuck Do You Mean You Want Five Dollars For This Tomato

- Steve And Wow You Can Get Vaccines At A Grocery Store–Wait What Do You Mean People Believe Vaccines Are Dangerous

- Steve And Hey You There Leave That Cashier Alone Unless You Wanna Settle This Outside

- Steve And The Girl Scouts of America

- Steve And The Struggle of Grocery Shopping Without Getting Recognized

- Steve And Really What The Fuck Is Wrong With Bananas

Needless to say, Steve isn’t really allowed to do the grocery shopping anymore.

C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

SHIELDRA dumped all their files onto the internet, courtesy of Natasha’s salt-and-burn solution to HYDRA’s infiltration.  Steve has been in the modern world for a good few years by now, so he sits down and starts searching through it for information.

He shouldn’t be doing it.  He knows it’s just torturing himself.  He hasn’t known where Bucky is since Insight went down, and none of this will help him find the Winter Soldier if he doesn’t want to be found, Natasha assured him of that.  But…he just has to know.

Capture.  Surgeries.  The arm.  Missions.  Cryostasis.  “Programming.”  More missions, more cryo, more programming–torture, it’s torture, God, all this time he was mourning his best friend while Bucky was being tortured.

Steve lasts through five files before he throws up.

D:  what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

Y’all, Steve is Wanda’s weird adopted big brother and no one can stop me from believing it.  He shows her a bunch of Disney movies that she missed out on as a kid and she asks him for advice about Vision and he jokes about how he’s definitely the wrong person to be asking for romantic advice.  They have a good weird relationship.

For @littlestartopaz : Steve catches Wanda sulking and invites her to Disney Night with Nat and Clint.  Wanda teases him, and Vision ends up there too.  Better yet, not MCU so we can also have her brother.  Or just ignore that part of the MCU.

GOOD. Also, Quicksilver is alive and healthy after a while in a healing coma, as speedsters do.  I read a wild AU once where he was shot and died, and the comments were full of complaints about how it didn’t make sense.  I am RIGHT THIS MOMENT deciding that this fic and this and this and possibly some others with small tweaks exist in the same universe as this one (I do not have a timeline to speak of) and also I’m disregarding that same wild AU’s belief that Clint lives?  On a farm?  Rather than a shitty apartment building in NYC and the Tower/Mansion?  And that Nat and Clint are not soulmates on a level that makes romance look downright petty, kay-thanks-bye.  AND also I’m so glad we all remember how Wanda and Pietro were kids who were pressganged and conned into service of HYDRA rather than being voluntary recruits.

It wasn’t like Wanda had expected her relationship with Pietro to be all roses after he came out of his coma, but her worry had also done a spectacular job of blurring out some of his less desirable qualities as a brother.  Like, just for example, his overwhelming, pointless, overprotective bullshit.  She muttered a bitter Sokovian curse under her breath and stripped off her jacket, dropping it on the bed without a care for the soot that would certainly stain her sheets.  The rest of her uniform was given the same careless treatment, abandoned on the floor as she yanked on a pair of leggings and a soft shirt two sizes too big.

She wasn’t even sure who she was more frustrated with—Pietro, for yanking her out of the way of a spider ‘bot that she could have taken care of, or herself, for losing focus for long enough to let him take the hit for her.  Someday, he was going to suddenly realize that his fragile twin sister had gone and turned into an adult while he was busy fending off the world.  She hoped it was sooner rather than later, or she might have to beat it into him.  Assuming he even lived that long, which was beginning to look increasingly unlikely.

“Stupid nervous bastard,” she muttered in English, and flopped down on her bed, flat on her back with her fingers laced over her face.  “Martyr.”

“Hazard of the profession,” Steve’s voice said, amused.  Wanda turned her head, untangling her fingers to look toward the door, where Steve was leaning against her doorjamb.  He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, standard fare for any of them after showering upon returning from a mission.  His hair was a rumpled mess and he had a nasty purple and blue bruise marbling over one cheek, where Bruce had diagnosed a cracked zygomatic.  In combination with the blood that had been leaking from a split in his lip, Natasha had cheerfully commented that he was looking very patriotic indeed.

“Put ice on your face,” she said, frowning at him across the landscape of her comforter.  Steve grinned at her, and winced, raising the cold pack in his hand back to his cheek.  

“Like I said,” Steve said.  His voice was muffled, but his eyes were bright and wild with adrenaline, like blue fire.  “We’re all fucking martyrs, or so I’m told.  Your brother just wants to keep you safe.”

“Well, I just spent months at his bedside because he took eight bullets to the chest and severed his spine,” Wanda said, sitting up sharply.  “So he can get over it.”

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So @littlestartopaz​ sent me this post and a request for Vision/Wanda and I fucking love this ship and also Jewish!Wanda is my jam (LITERALLY WHO AM I KIDDING, RELIGIOUS SUPERHEROES ARE MY JAM) so I did it.

Okay also Topaz I know you sent me this prompt a while ago but I wanted to be able to post it for the first night of Hanukkah so I held onto it for a few days.  And it’s now officially after sundown where I am, so Happy Hanukkah, everyone!

Wanda had set up a small table in the empty hall outside of Pietro’s room, where she could see him through the wall of windows without being kicked out for bringing fire into the medical wing. He was still asleep, even months after Sokovia—she’d seen him in this sort of healing coma before, but never for so long.  The external damage was healed, but his body was still rebuilding fragile nerves and blood vessels and ruined organ tissue.  The doctors said that he’d shut down every system to preserve what he could after taking those bullets to save Hawkeye, and she was glad for that, glad that, when he woke up, he would be her brother again.  She could stand any wait.

Or at least that’s what she told herself when she came down to sit with him.  

Wanda smoothed a blue cloth, fringed and embroidered with a white star, over the table she’d stolen from the lab. The steady beeping of the heart monitor inside the room was reassuring, but she missed hearing Pietro rattle around near her as she went through these motions.  The first year they had fine things, a soft cloth and matching candles and all, and he was comatose.

“Wanda?” a tentative voice behind her asked, and she jumped so hard the table rattled.  “I’m sorry,” Vision said as she whirled on her heel.  He was dressed in civilian clothes, plain and disingenuous against his bright synthskin, and he looked apologetic, as he always did when he took her by surprise.  He moved as quietly as a ghost most of the time and the Mind Gem let him shield his mind so tightly it was as if he wasn’t there at all, and Wanda was unused to being startled.  “I was looking for you, and this was the last place I could think of.  Don’t you usually visit your brother during the morning?”

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In Which the Raft Will Fuck You (or Wanda) Up

For @littlestartopaz, Wanda/Vision, C (“Please, don’t leave”) and G (“I almost lost you”) from this, post CA:CW

Time for pain, children. Blame it on the fact that I found this gloriously accurate post full of thoughts about Wanda’s stint in the Raft.  In which Wanda has some trauma from being wrongfully imprisoned by a bunch of dickheads, and doesn’t talk much anymore.

“Wanda,” Steve said quietly, wrapping his hand around hers—he had tried to steer her by an elbow at first, the old habits of the forties coming up under stress, but she had stumbled back so quickly she’d barely missed falling off a curb.  “Come on, let’s go.”  He gave a tug and she drifted after him, silent.  He steered her toward the couch in their newest hideout and she let him push her down until she was sitting down, her hair pulled back into a tidy braid and her hands linked tightly together in her lap.  A blanket settled over her shoulders—Sam—and she slowly pulled her legs up to her chest, binding her arms tightly around her knees.

“We’re just going to be in the next room, kid,” Sam said, resting one hand on her shoulder, and waited, as if to give her a space to reply.  When she said nothing, he squeezed her shoulder and followed Steve out of the room. Wanda waited until they were gone and reached out with her fingers to catch the blanket and tug the corners over her hands.

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Request from @littlestartopaz: I has a Plunnie for thee. Little snit bits between Wanda and Vision at the compound about Vision learning to do things like when it’s okay to go into someone’s room. Or being the only one to knock on the wall like it’s a door. Or that one time he knocked on the floor under her bed because she was having nightmares and scared the shit out of her. 

Pre-Civil War, so no spoilers.

“Pardon me, Miss Maximoff, Captain Rogers asked me to–”

“Hey!” Wanda yelped in alarm, casting a hand out toward him.  Red light lashed out and left scorch marks on the wall, passing through him harmlessly.  He looked startled, eyes widening as he hung there halfway through the solid wall, and she dropped her arm, scowling.  “Do you mind?” she asked, tightening her grip on the towel wound around her chest.  Her hair dripped down her shoulder, a neat twist, and she could feel each drop of water leaving a cold track over her skin.  “It’s polite to knock if someone’s door is closed.”

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Anonymous asked: Vision/Wanda "We are snowed in and the power's out, how do avoid hypothermia." Mini-fic PLEASE??? Also, mid-air kissing if it isn't too much trouble?

All right *cracks knuckles* gonna do kind of a combo to hit as many of those aspects as possible.  Post-Civil War, minor spoilers, I guess, and I’m assuming they’re not all actually holed up in Wakanda.

The apartment T’challa had acquired for them–in Brooklyn, because Steve left it up to Sam and Sam had pointed out the advantages of knowing the terrain–was middling in size, but it seemed echoingly huge at night.  Wanda hadn’t realized just how quickly she had grown used to the quiet noise of the others in the compound, someone always on hand to sit with no matter how late she was awake.  Insomnia and nightmares were rampant among the Avengers, and she was no exception, but now…now there was no one.  Steve was in his room, probably awake himself and trying to work their way out of this impossible problem.  Sam was better at sleeping than most of them, only really awake about one night in seven.  Lang was gone, Clint was out on a recon mission to check up on an old contact.  Barnes–Bucky–was still comatose in Wakanda, while they tried to find a cure for seventy years of brainwashing and torture.  She had offered her services, nervous, and T’challa had agreed to keep her in mind as a last resort–Wanda’s experience was all putting stuff in, but she could probably learn to take things out.  Until they found a solution, though, the man with the metal arm and the haunted blue eyes would stay in his glass coffin.

And Wanda was awake and alone and cold, at three in the morning on a Saturday, sitting on a couch and staring at a dark television.  

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