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     Steve sidled up next to the pilot--he was starting to think of her as his partner, the crazy things they’d gotten up to together--and smiled at her terse greeting. She was the best they had, and he’d seen her in action, on the ground and in the air. If she wasn’t one for his team, no one was.

     “Not at all,” he said, waving the bartender over for a refill. “Mind if I buy you a drink, pilot?”

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝙰𝙵 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚝 sits at the bar, cigarette balanced between her left index and middle finger. In her right hand is held a glass of whiskey. She rests an elbow on the bar and takes a lazy drag. When someone takes a seat beside her, she doesn't look their way, only offers a few words.

"Do excuse me if I am in your way," she murmurs, before emptying her glass.

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Reblog if your muse has had a near death experience.

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𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓭 — send 🌹 for your muse to give mine a single rose.

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Send “They’re ’s a 10, but..” and fill in the rest to call out my muse!

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Steggy

Art credit:

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Anne Hathaway in Armani Privé and Bvlgari 75th annual Cannes Film Festival

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hurt meme.

“ i got you. it’s gonna be okay, you’re going to be okay.”

“i feel like everyone’s miles away from me.”

“my mind is a dark place. you don’t want to be there.”

“i know this hurts, but you have to stay awake.”

“don’t close your eyes, please don’t close your eyes!”

“i just want to be numb, i don’t want to feel anything.”

“please don’t do this, don’t act like you care.”

“you don’t care, nobody cares, just leave.”

“you’re my friend, of course i fucking care.”

“i can’t give up on you, so please don’t give up on yourself.”

“i love you so much, i forgot what hating myself felt like.”

“i fucked up, why do you not care?”

“i can’t walk, just go on without me.”

“you have broken ribs, take it easy.”

“i have no idea how to do cpr.”

“whose blood is that?”

“apply pressure to the wound, don’t let go.”

“don’t you dare fucking let go!” 

“what the hell happened to you?” 

“are they dead? did you kill them?” 

“do you know what you’ve done?” 

“you’re either with me or against me.” 

“who the hell did this to you?” 

“are you alright? you hit your head pretty hard…” 

“i can’t see!! what’s happening to me?” 

“when was the last time you ate?” 

“what do you mean you’re fine? you are not fine!” 

 “i’m fine, it’s just a flesh wound, i’ll be okay.” 

“for how long? how long were you bottling this up?“ 

“there’s so much blood, you won’t last.” 

“are you… throwing up in there?” 

“why aren’t you eating?” 

“just breathe… you’re okay, i promise, just breathe.” 

“i can’t breathe, i can’t –” 

“i woke up, & you were gone.” 

“just tell me something, was it really worth it?” 

"it’s okay to hurt & breakdown. you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

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Send “I’ve got you”  to carry my injured & nearly unconscious muse

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So I forced an AI to become a steggy shipper for a while and here are the results. Steve and Peggy reuniting in the 50’s and their subsequent family. ❤️☺️

@cafecitowriter, @capandcarter-blog, @captainjim and @roboticonography, these are for you, because you make my steggy heart burn bright ❤️

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the concept art i will forever refer to, from catfa, as illustrated by christian cordella.

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“In all fairness, if she told every story of saving my life, we’d be here all week,” Steve said, smirking between bites of pie. “Your mom’s right, thought. We don’t do it for the praise or the glory--even if we get some really, really good stories out of it. We do it because it needs to be done, and we’re the only ones who can.” He reached out to ruffle Billy’s hair. “Remember that, someday, if and when you take over for us, when we get old and grey.” He winked. “If we get old and grey, of course.”

Still, he couldn’t help an audible groan when Wanda mentioned the Yankees game. It had seemed like a good idea at the time: his favorite game, his dear friend, a breath of fresh air, the old “baseball hat and sunglasses” disguise (darn near fool-proof, in his experience), but as soon as the camera had caught sight of him, and some overly-patriotic idiot had started playing his theme music, he had tried to recoil into his chair as much as a mountain of super-soldier possibly could.

“C’mon, Wanda, you promised you wouldn’t bring that one up,” he said, half-whining, half-laughing. “I still can’t believe I even have theme music.”

He scooped up the rest of his pie, rubbing it in the melting ice cream to scoop it up. His time in the War had taught him not to waste a single calorie, and besides, it was damn good pie.

“How ‘bout next time we just play, like any other family, and try to avoid showing up on some random kiss cam?”

Not that it was a kiss cam, exactly, but those were the words that popped into his head, and if the glove fit, it was good enough.

“Besides, I want to see what these two next-gen heroes can do against a couple of trained avengers.” He fixed a kind smile on the boys. “Think you fellas can go easy on a couple old-timers?”

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Steve raised an eyebrow at her comment about Westview, but he elected to hold his tongue. Had it been wrong? Of course. Had it been her fault? Not entirely. Not even close. And besides, he had visited the town, after all had been said and done, as part of a special SWORD envoy. He couldn’t see that the people were any happier the way things were: run-down stores, crumbling theatres, leaky houses, dead-end jobs. In principle, he agreed that freedom was better than security, but when he had seen the way that people there lived, when Wanda’s subconscious wasn’t pulling the strings… he found he pitied them, in a perverse kind of way that he didn’t dare voice aloud.

“Your mom saved my life more times than I can count,” was all he said, in response to Tommy, putting on his best storyteller voice. “I remember once, when Thanos himself was coming after us, with one of his death wheels five stories high, I thought I was a goner, but your mom picked it up with her mind and threw it right back at his mothership.” He shot an admiring glance at Wanda.

“Then again, that’s maybe not the best pre-snack kind of talk.” He lifted the ball, effortlessly, tossing it and catching it without looking. He grinned at Billy as the boy set a place in front of him, only to be followed by a healthy dollop of ice cream from Tommy. “I suppose an argument could be made that this belongs in a museum, but then again, so do I.” He chuckled. “I don’t think ol’ Babe Ruth will mind if we use a baseball for what it was intended for. Besides–it seems your mom doesn’t know how to play. Think we can teach her?”

The boys listened enraptured by Steve’s story about how Wanda had saved his life. “That’s so cool! Mom, how come you never told us that you threw a death wheel at a ship?” Tommy asked. She was pretty sure he didn’t know what a death wheel was.

“Because like Steve said, if I told you every story of me saving his life, we’d be here forever.” Wanda joked as she sliced up the pie. “And heroes don’t brag about the people that they’ve saved.” She told her sons seriously.

“Tell us another one!” Billy pleaded as Wanda handed him a plate to pass to Steve. She rolled her eyes. Of course boys always want to hear the gory war stories about their parents doing crazy things. She supposed that she was just glad that her sons saw her as a hero, although she hoped that they wouldn’t blindly worship her like some people did with their heroes.

Once she’d cut up the pie, she came to join the boys with a tray of drinks. The boys thanked her for the juice as she sat down. “I do know how the game is played. Remember you took me to see the Yankees once.” Wanda interjected between bites of pie. Steve had been desperate to get Wanda out of the compound so had invited her to game day. “We wore sunglasses and baseball caps to try and avoid being spotted but the crowd cam still caught us. They started playing Steve’s theme song, and I thought Steve would fall out of his seat he was so embarrased.” She told the boys with a smile. 

“But you’ve never played, Mom!” Tommy interjected.

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Put "I mean..." in my inbox if your muse has masturbated thinking about my muse.

Put “I mean…KIND OF” if it was on more than one occasion.

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Send  “I just want you” for my muse’s reaction.  

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Send “I’ve got you”  to carry my injured & nearly unconscious muse

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ofcrimsonenchantresses​:

Wanda scoffed when he told her that the town hadn’t been bad under her tenure. “Yeah, that’s why they ran us out of there.” She told him sarcastically. She understood why everyone hated her, even once she’d explained that she had had no control over the magic. But the boys, it was all they had known up until that point, it was hard to explain that the magic that had brought them into the world was also one of the worst things she’d done to other people.

“They’ve been settling into school okay at least. Take the bus at the end of the corner.” She explained, gesturing in the direction of said corner. Wanda was so proud of how well the boys had been dealing with all this new information. New place, new people, new rules.

Wanda stood up to get them some drinks to go with the pie once they had come in and she’d introduced them. She got apple juice for the boys and iced tea for her and Steve. The boys listened to Steve with excited eyes, always wanting to hear about their mother and father before they were parents. “Mom saved your life? When?” Tommy asked excitedly.

They caught the mitt and listened to Steve talk about Babe Ruth. Even the twins had heard of him. “That’s so cool!” Billy told him. “But is it okay for us to play with it? Shouldn’t it be in a musuem or something?” He asked nervously, always the more anxious of the two.

“Can we, Mom?” Tommy asked when Steve suggested they go play catch.

“Of course we can, it’ll be at least an hour on that coat, but first let’s have some of this delicious pie Steve brought.” Wanda told him as she began cutting it up. “Billy, can you get plates and Tommy, I think there’s some ice cream in the freezer.” She instructed. The boys put the mitts down on the island and went to their chores.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her comment about Westview, but he elected to hold his tongue. Had it been wrong? Of course. Had it been her fault? Not entirely. Not even close. And besides, he had visited the town, after all had been said and done, as part of a special SWORD envoy. He couldn’t see that the people were any happier the way things were: run-down stores, crumbling theatres, leaky houses, dead-end jobs. In principle, he agreed that freedom was better than security, but when he had seen the way that people there lived, when Wanda’s subconscious wasn’t pulling the strings... he found he pitied them, in a perverse kind of way that he didn’t dare voice aloud.

“Your mom saved my life more times than I can count,” was all he said, in response to Tommy, putting on his best storyteller voice. “I remember once, when Thanos himself was coming after us, with one of his death wheels five stories high, I thought I was a goner, but your mom picked it up with her mind and threw it right back at his mothership.” He shot an admiring glance at Wanda.

“Then again, that’s maybe not the best pre-snack kind of talk.” He lifted the ball, effortlessly, tossing it and catching it without looking. He grinned at Billy as the boy set a place in front of him, only to be followed by a healthy dollop of ice cream from Tommy. “I suppose an argument could be made that this belongs in a museum, but then again, so do I.” He chuckled. “I don’t think ol’ Babe Ruth will mind if we use a baseball for what it was intended for. Besides--it seems your mom doesn’t know how to play. Think we can teach her?”

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ofcrimsonenchantresses​:

“We’re definitely getting there. The boys’ room is the last one that needs painting and we still need a few bits but everything’s mostly done.” She explained as she set the pie down on the breakfast island. The last few weeks had been a flurry of painting, decorating and buying things for the house. Sure, she could magic it all the way she wanted it but she wanted the boys to be invested in making this place their home.

She frowned when he laughed at her, only to laugh herself when he showed her the paint smeared handkerchief. “Thank you, you can imagine how painting is going with two overexcitable ten year olds.” She commented. She smiled when he handed her the bag with the baseball and mitts. “Oh, they’ll love that. There’s a park around the corner, maybe you can take them sometime. I don’t really know how to play.” She suggesed.

Wanda took a seat herself when he asked how she was settling in. “It’s okay, a lot for all of us.” She admitted. “The boys miss their dad and this is all very new for them, but they’re such troopers. I think they miss Westview too, that’s their home, you know? And it’s going to take a while for this to be home.” She explained, gesturing to the apartment around them.

She raised her voice when she spoke around. “Boys, leave the paint to dry and come meet Steve. He brought you a present and some pie!” She called through to the bedrooms. A few moments later, there was the sound of the boys running through. “Boys, this is Steve Rogers. He’s an Avenger friend of mine.” She told them with a smile. 

Steve tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and nodded sympathetically. It was no easy thing, to wake up one day and find that your life had been a dream, or a distant memory; that it might never return to you as it was, and all you could do was start over. “From what I hear, that town, under your tenure, wasn’t all bad. And it’s the only home they’ve ever known. Give them time. They’ll adjust.”

He grinned. “Besides, I’ll take you three on a family outing to the park, get you feeling normal before you know it. Wouldn’t do if I just took the kids, we’d be an odd woman out. We might as well get you into the game, even things up a bit--so long as you don’t magic the ball around too much.” He smirked, as though he couldn’t do the very same thing himself.

“Hey, fellas,” he said, looking up as the boys stumbled into the room in that adolescent-boy way, their feet too fast for their brains. “Don’t worry about the Avenger stuff. Just call me Steve. Your mom and I go way back.” He added, in a low, conspiratorial voice, “You actually wouldn’t believe how many times she was the one who saved my life.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it, then he reached into the bag and pulled out the mitts, tossing one each to the boys. He rolled the ball between his fingertips. “Would you believe I got this ball signed special by Babe Ruth back in ‘34? I hear a little of his magic rubbed off on it. What say we all go play catch after a while, get you outta the paint fumes?”

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Steve could hear the words from inside the house--another advantage of his enhanced senses--and he had to chuckle at the way that Wanda wrangled her super-powered children. It seemed the fabled “mom voice” was universal, no matter if kids had super speed or magical powers.

“It’s not problem, Wanda.” He smiled widely, handing her the pie and following her into the living room. “I’m just glad you three seem to be settling in. I figured the pie might be a welcome reprieve for a couple of growing boys and a tired mom.”

He caught sight of the speck of pain on her cheek and laughed. “Hang on, you’ve got something right... there.” He drew his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at it as best he could, though he still left a few streaks of paint where the smudge had been. It wasn’t exactly an exact science. “That’s better, mostly.” He smiled.

“Oh, and I brought this, for Billy and Tommy.” He produced the bag with the catcher’s mitts and the baseball. It was a good, old-fashioned American pastime. He saw no reason to deprive the boys of something so wholesome. “I don’t know how the magic or superspeed will come into play, but hey, it should be a heck of a competition.”

He settled, perched, on the edge of a chair. “What about you? Settling in okay? I figured this wasn’t bad for a housewarming, but if you need anything else, just ask. I figure we gotta kinda look out for each other, these days.” There was unspoken subtext there, an offer to listen, if she needed to talk, if she was hurting more than she let on; but he was just as content to make small talk, as though they were perfectly ordinary people, not the things that history and fate had forced them to be.

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A Slice of a Better Life

@ofcrimsonenchantresses

The Westview incident was far in the rearview, and receding every day. It was understandable, Steve thought: everything that had happened, all the wrong that had been done, all the hurt that had been inflicted. He understood regret; he understood guilt, and shame. He might have been the poster boy for the US Army, once upon a time (a dubious honor, he often considered it), but he knew the way that people looked at those they could not understand. The fear. The approbation. It was so easy to hate, and so difficult to forgive…

But he didn’t blame Wanda for what had happened in Westview. Not by a long shot. She was as much a victim of her powers as anyone, and by the time she had learned just how powerful they were, she had shut them down, destroying the entire simulation, regardless of what personal happiness she might lose. That was courage, and it was more than Steve could say of some of his other teammages. Wanda bore the true spirit of an Avenger, and he had to admire that. Goodness knows all of them had things they regretted, things that would haunt them to their dying days. There was no sense in withholding compassion from their friends, their loved ones, not when every action was fixed on making things right, not when self-guilt was so much greater than any external punishment.

And so, Steve found himself knocking at the door of Wanda’s new place, a home-baked apple pie tucked one arm, a baseball and and glove in a bag looped awkwardly around his fingers, to give to her boys. That was a small kindness, there, that she still had her children, and that by all accounts, they were the sort of young men any mother would be proud of.

     “Wanda?” He called, raising his voice just enough that she might hear him. “It’s Steve. I brought, uh, pie. Not sure how good it is, but I thought you might like it. Can I come in?”

After Westview, there was nothing left for Wanda than to rebuild. It had been that way before Westview but she had been swirling around the vortex of her own depression with no way of getting out that time. Now at least, she had the boys to think about. They needed a home, they needed warmth and love and schooling. She needed to be a mother.

So, she’d gone to Strange, explained the situation and the Sanctum had helped her set up a few blocks away in the Village. There was a good school for the boys to attend and as Vision’s next of kin, she’d inherited all his wealth and assets (he’d liked the stock market) so they didn’t have to worry about the rent. Strange helped Wanda ward the place against any evil beings and offered the Sanctum’s library to help her study chaos magic and understand her powers.

She and the boys were painting the boys’ bedroom when there was the knock at the door. “I’ll get it!” Tommy shouted.

“No, I will get it.” Wanda insisted, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him zooming off to answer the door. She walked through the hallway to the front door just in time to hear Steve calling through it. She hurried her step to get the door before he disappeared. “Steve.” She smiled, a smear of paint on her cheek and her dunagrees covered in specks of blue.

“Please come in, but ignore the mess. We’re painting the boys’ room but we were just about to take a break whilst the second coat dries.” She explained, gesturing to the hall where all the twins’ things were piled up to avoid being painted. She took the pie off him and directed him into the living room, which was a little less chaotic. “I guess Strange told him about all this.” She guessed as she took the pie off his hands.