Wanda Maximoff (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seeingscarlet) wrote2030-02-06 01:26 pm
seeingscarlet) wrote2030-02-06 01:26 pm
Entry tags:
Contact | Noctium
« scarletwitch »
TEXT ✧ AUDIO ✧ VIDEO ✧ ACTION
Wanda Maximoff ✦ MCURESIDENCE ✦ Solstice Estates
GEMBOND ✦ Ruby
❝I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll get back to you when I can.❞
INFO ✧ PERMISSIONS ✧ KINKLIST ✧ EXTRA
no subject
They are what they have been made to be, him by being chosen, Wanda by choosing for herself, even if she hadn't known the full weight of it at the time. There is no escaping the power or the responsibility that comes with it. Though there is one subtle point on which he disagrees.
One of his hands is occupied with the act of holding her, but with the other, he finds one of her hands, smoothing his fingers over hers. ]
A warrior and a weapon are not the same thing, and it's wrong to conflate the two. You are no one's tool to wield.
no subject
It's easy for you to say. You have your own powers. You don't need mine...either mine or the Ruby's. [Syncing is different. The Gembonded need it to survive, yes, but someone else needs that Manna too.] But if you didn't...imagine what you could do with me.
[The phrasing is deliberate, like she's a tool to be picked up and used, but uh. Despite their current positions, the other implications have escaped her.]
It doesn't matter what I think. I have power, but I am not in charge. [They are two very different things, and without a clear idea of what the people who are in charge here really want...well, she's met plenty of world leaders at home. She can take an educated guess.]
no subject
She doesn't mean it like that. He wishes he was wearing his helmet, but at least she's not looking at him. Because he can feel the now-familiar sensation of an absolutely searing blush coming over his face.
It does not help that Titania is laughing in the back of his head. You're enjoying this, he thinks at her accusingly. Her only answer is more laughter.
This is a serious conversation. This is not the time to be thinking about what he'd like to do with her in any other sense. He shouldn't be thinking about that at all.
Taking off his armor was such a bad idea.
He does his best to quickly strangle those thoughts, hopefully before any echo of his desire can make it across the synch. Her question and the conversation is much more important than how touch-drunk he's become. ]
You have your own powers as well. You showed me.
[ It was the most unbearably attractive thing he'd experienced since his days of punching Felwinter's head off. No, thinking about that does not help.
The basic concept of her question, when he reaches past his own childish thoughts, is something he finds almost repugnant. He knows that this isn't uncommon behavior; there were many reasons he was feared by the other Warlords, and his aggressive hatred of the way they used other people was but one of them.
He owes her an answer. He can only reach through his own context, because he does not know her world. ]
If you were under my command... [ Slight emphasis there, because a warrior is commanded, not used. His breath is a little unsteady as he continues; this is a feeling close to lust, though perhaps one that would be less shocking to her from what she knows of him. His voice goes low, a tone more suited to whispering to a lover in the dark. ] ...we would tear ships from the sky and raze fortifications to dust. Our names would be whispered in fear, like a curse, by all who would hurt our people.
[ We would. Because he does not ask of others for a fight he will not engage in, himself. Because he leads in the field. Because he is a warrior, too. He tries to shake the mental image of Wanda, the bloody hem of a proper warlock's coat streaming in the hot breeze like a flag of war, the enemy devastated at her feet. Her power like iron bonds, her teeth at his throat.
She doesn't need the burden of his want.
He curls his hand around hers, wrapping her fingers into a fist that he holds in his own. He clears his throat, finding a more normal tone with which to continue. ]
We are the playthings of powerful beings, but they cannot control our wills. What you think, what you want matters. And anyone who thinks otherwise here will answer to me.
no subject
Was it something she said? Or is he just...Like That...? She will give him credit where it's due; she knows he sees her. This must just be some fantasy she's accidentally blundered into...right? For all of her skill over the mind, there are places she does try to stay out of unless someone is actively doing the equivalent of shouting at her - and she has little experience in this area, even as an infiltration ruse.
This isn't the most uncommon thing - some people, rather than being afraid, seem to have this utterly bizarre desire for her to 'step on them' - but she's not...she can't. Or rather she knows all too well that slippery slope into the darker side of the Scarlet Witch and doesn't want to inhabit it any more than is strictly necessary. Because sometimes that side of her is necessary for the greater good, but that doesn't mean Wanda doesn't scare herself sometimes.
She will do him the courtesy of trying to pretend she hasn't noticed anything amiss. Because beneath this swell of feelings, she hears the 'we' and knows that he cannot answer from the stance she has asked him to consider because it simply is not in his nature. And so at long last she forces herself to relax. Whatever she's blundered into, she's still as safe with him as she would have been, once upon a time, with any of the other Avengers. Even Vision. Before she'd destroyed all of that.
She should just perhaps be a little more careful in the future. More intentionally considerate, now that she knows of his, ahem, inclinations. She knows what is expected of her here, but that's not yet a step she's ready to take with anyone.]
...you're a good person. I'm glad things are different where you are from.
[This is not quite an acceptance - only time will tell if she can ever feel truly safe here. But she feels safe enough right now.]
no subject
She's not a Titan. It's not even that he hasn't gotten it through his thick skull, it's that it's been so long since he interacted with someone who didn't have the fundamental understanding of what he is, and he doesn't know how to do it. She's not a mortal human, and she's not a Guardian, and it's confusing. Ultimately, it reflects ill on him, because she deserves more respect in answer to the vulnerability she has shown.
He holds himself carefully still even after she has relaxed and keeps his gaze fixed on the fire. He doesn't shut off the link that is the synchrony, but he pulls mentally back from it, as pleasurable as it is, and tries to hold it at the same distance he would for any student.
It would be easier to pretend that nothing had happened at all, but that would be the coward's way out. He's never been a coward, even if that means he's often a fool. ]
I'm sorry. You're not a Titan, and you deserve better than for me to have forgotten that.
[ He uncurls his fingers, holding his hand flat under hers. She hasn't done anything so dramatic as retract her permission, and he's not going to embarass them both by fleeing into the snow like a spurned boy. He's still glad for the contact between the two of them, happy to be a wall for her to lean on, honored by what she's shared even if he's reacted unsuitably. But the offer is there, silent: If she'd rather he left, it's an order he'll take without question. ]
no subject
If he'll allow it, she'll lace her fingers with his. It was just an accident, and this is far from the first time she's sensed something she shouldn't have.]
I don't know what that means. I'm me.
[A point could be made that he keeps telling her she's not a tool but also keeps hiding behind this Titan/wall concept. But this is not the time or the place.]
Stay?
no subject
He owes her an apology for this, too, if not one that needs to be spoken. He squeezes her hand briefly, drawing his thumb over hers. ]
I promise I will stay until you want me to go.
[ Lips half-pressed against her hair, he smiles wryly. ]
And yes, you're a Wanda. We don't have any of those where I'm from. [ So he doesn't already have a full understanding of where the lines need to be between them, how the dynamic of power works, what he owes to her, and what, if anything, she owes to him.
It would be much simpler if he still adhered to his Dark Age rule: I don't have friends. Just people I protect. But that ended with Felwinter and the Iron Lords, even if his close friends have always been few. Wanda is already more than simply someone he protects, and he's both too greedy and not cruel enough to take that from her. ]
no subject
I still don't understand. You keep saying you are a Titan, or that I am not, but I don't know what that means.
You know I can read you, right? If you can't explain it...can you show me?
[And she hopes that isn't pushing it too far, but she doesn't want to accidentally make fools of them both again if it's completely avoidable. She's the telepath here - if anything, it's her responsibility to make sure this doesn't happen again.]
no subject
I can try.
[ He tries to unearth for her the things that have most shaped him. Because once, there were no Titans or Warlocks or Hunters; there were only Risen, and they made themselves into what they are now. Titans exist because of Saint, and Saladin, and Zavala, and him, and many others now lost shaping their understanding of the duty that came with their power and passing the lessons on.
He remembers facing down a Fallen Walker with only his fists and his Light, dying and dying and dying in fire until he finds its blind spot and charges it, tearing through armor plating with bare hands crackling with Arc. At close quarters, a fist beats a gun.
He remembers finding the abandoned keep, slowly rebuilding it into a place that could shelter the terrified, starving people he found. Holding its shattered gates against the assault of another Warlord while his people hid inside. Holding a Ward of Dawn all night to keep out a howling blizzard that had come before he could make repairs, his people huddling at his feet. Holding against bullets, against fire, against waves of Fallen. Holding. Holding. Holding.
My body is my greatest weapon, unbreakable, stronger than a gun that can jam or a knife that can dull. I know no fear. I am the lightning, the crash of thunder, and I cannot be stopped.
He remembers taking the assault to another Warlord, coming to earth like a falling star and shaking her keep to ashes and dust. Capturing the woman's ghost as it tries to flee and crushing it in his hand. A devastating offense is the best defense.
He remembers Six Fronts, a five mile-long dive into the fray past the edge of the City, Arc singing joy through his veins. The crash that made the ground ripple like water around him. The one survivor of his assault, a badly wounded Captain, surprising him and plunging a knife through his back. Moments later, him flinging the grenade that ends her. Celebrating later with Saint-14 and the other Titans, drunk on the joy of battle and victory and the Light still echoing through them.
He remembers Twilight Gap, Saladin shouting for retreat as the Fallen close on the City. The helpless rage in knowing that the City behind him will fall, and so will humanity. Seeing the gap in the surging Fallen, piled high with the dead. Calling to his fireteam. Cutting off the feed as Saladin rages at him, accuses him of chasing glory. Surrendering himself wholly to his Light, uncaring if it burns him to a husk, and in so doing trascending battle and into divinity. The Light pools on the ground and burns around him and his fireteam, and he burns with it as they take the wall.
They are the wall that the wave of Fallen breaks on, and they hold. ]
no subject
You--
[She sits up, breaking free just enough to be able to look at him and raise a hand to his cheek in concern. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears - she has not truly understood the horror of his world until now. Shaxx has a similar heart to both Thor and Steve but even a god can die...and Shaxx has just. Gotten up. Over and over and over and over...]
I'm sorry. [For everything he's endured, everything he's been forced to become by necessity because if he didn't, no one else would.] I'm so sorry.
no subject
There's no need to be sorry.
[ He is aware of the existence of trauma as a handmaiden to war; he's seen good Guardians flame out under the weight of despair and emotional exhaustion. He had his own dark days, long ago. Maybe he's too old for that, now. Maybe there's something fundamental to his personality that has made him more suited to this than others, which is no judgment on them. He can take on the weight they can no longer bear.
Or perhaps what she means is those gone to their final deaths, though what he showed her isn't even the smallest fraction of brothers and sisters he has lost. Those are sacrifices worth mourning.
There is ugliness in surviving so many battles, deep wounds that heal only slowly. But there is nothing else he could be, or would be, given any kind of choice. This has been his life from the moment of waking, before he even named himself Shaxx.
He still hasn't explained it properly, perhaps.
He offers her another memory, in the hopes that it is the missing piece: Standing on the Tower in the cool winter night, so late that the lights have mostly been turned off and only a few Guardians go about their business, watching as the paper lanterns of the Dawning spiral into the sky and the city below blazes with life. This place he helped build, standing in defiance of all darkness and death.
He fumbles for the words the she must need to hear: ] It is our nature to survive. And with us, humanity survives. Together, we built a new home. Together, we are the wall that keeps it safe. We are the hands that fight for a City free from all fear.
I didn't choose to bear the Light. But it's my duty and honor... and joy to do so.
no subject
She understands that protectiveness and pride. She just hates what has happened to his Earth and the sacrifices that have been demanded of him and others to secure this much, the fact that there is such a heavy burden for these Guardians to bear at all. She's seen minds that have shattered from less.
Perhaps it is in their nature to survive, but she also knows from experience that it is a terribly lonely existence, to be so set apart from the people you protect. It might be different when there are more people like you. But even so...it isn't as if the regular Avengers are the poster children for Healthy Coping Mechanisms and Generally Being Well-Adjusted. And none of them have been through the trauma of so many violent deaths.
That shared pain is enough to bring her to tears, yes, but that's not the only reason. Her heart hurts for him, and she hates to see the people she cares about in pain. Even if that pain is well in the past.]
...I think I understand. [Understanding doesn't require liking it, after all.] You have a good heart, even after everything you have seen.
[Wanda doesn't know how to make this better. But she certainly doesn't think any less of him and he needs to know that. If he didn't want her darker side and she wasn't still feeling so emotionally raw from the events at home, this could very well be a different conversation.]
And...I trust you. You can feel that, yes?
no subject
He can only hope she does understand now, at least a little. And maybe she'll finally realize that she can't hurt him.
His only regret is that he's hurt her in some way, because she's crying. That was never his intention, to burden her with more grief that isn't even hers to bear. He reaches up to wipe her tears away with his thumb, the touch feather-light. ]
It's all right.
[ The words are meaningless assurance because he doesn't know what else to say.
But the trust, he can feel. Not such an unnatural thing, for people who have survived death together. And it's to his immense relief that he hasn't damaged that trust with his fumbling, though it serves as a reminder that he must take every care not to abuse this gift. ]
Yes.
no subject
So stay, if you want to.
[There is a simple, primal comfort in holding someone and being held in return and, well...they both probably need it, honestly.]
We're all right.
no subject
Turning into a Fallen now, are we? Titania asks.
Hush.
--the small but undeniable imbalance of power is of concern to him, since she is in a much more vulnerable position than he is, and he's very aware of that. And on the fourth and final hand--
Hm, so are you going to be an Archon or a Kell, then? Titania muses.
I am not dignifying that with a response.
Except you just did.
--he very much wants to both support and protect Wanda. Part of that is the duty that he owes he because she is someone who needs support. But far more important is that everything he's said to her before--and thought about her--is true. She is a Light worth knowing. He likes her.
And maybe he's just running in a big mental circle because he needs to find a way to give himself permission to do something he already wants to do.
You are making this way too complicated.
You are not helping.
There are far more reasons to stay than to go, ultimately, he decides. He can go to his brothers for advice on the ethical concerns and they'll keep him honest. His helmet is there, ready to be put back on if he starts feeling too naked without it. And he remembers Wanda saying that she had power, but no control. Perhaps it will be good for her to have control over this, even if it's a small thing on the scale of the world.
It seems silly, that this decision takes far more consideration than ones that involve far more explosions. But he's used to making those kind of decisions. He's extremely comfortable in a space where the worst outcome is death that might or might not be final. Here, he is very much outside his experience, and it shows in his indecisiveness, however brief. ]
I want to stay. [ Now that he's thought it out, he can speak as firmly and definitively as he normally does. His lips curve into a crooked smile. ] As I promised.
[ I will stay until you want me to go.
He leans in to rest his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. It's the most intimate gesture he knows as someone who normally wears a helmet, something done without thinking. He repeats: ]
We're all right.
no subject
When the moment passes, she curls back around him, just like they were before. She's supposed to be keeping him warm, right? She just...doesn't want to let go yet.
Does it count as being clingy if this is something they're supposed to be doing anyway?]
I'm glad it was you I found in the Crater.
[This could have been so much worse if she'd been all alone, and she might actually believe Shaxx when he says that the Rosses of this world, if they exist, will have to answer to him. She saw how he held strong against so much.
(But she remembers the sincerity in Vision's voice and mind when he'd promised to protect her and she remembers that falling apart: Wanda sending him hurtling through the floor because she'd panicked about Clint and later being torn from Vision's arms and unceremoniously slammed into concrete by Ross's soldiers. They still have their power here, but they don't have control.
But maybe a Titan would have drawn the line long before literally everything fell apart. She can certainly trust him to have her back in a way that she can't expect of anyone else she's met so far.)]
no subject
Her words bring another smile to his lips. ]
I am, too.
[ There is a spark to you. It will light the world.
He finds one of her hands with his and laughs softly before reciting: ]
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars
Unlook’d for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun’s eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove nor be removed.
no subject
He could easily put her to sleep like this. Easily. But she's still clinging to consciousness when he finishes, if barely.]
Is that one yours?
no subject
No. Shakespeare. Sonnet 25.
I'm no writer. But as I said... memorization is a trick. [ Really, there are plenty of people (and he might be one of them) who would argue he's stuffed so many random plays and poems into his brain because he's definitely not using it for anything else. ] Poems are more fun to recite than longer things like novels.
[ He considers how sleepy and content she feels. He has many more poems rattling around in his head that he can offer up. ]
Soul’s joy, bend not those morning stars from me,
Where virtue is made strong by beauty’s might,
Where love is chasteness, pain doth learn delight,
And humbleness grows one with majesty.
Whatever may ensue, O let me be
Co-partner of the riches of that sight;
Let not mine eyes be hell-driv’n from that light;
O look, O shine, O let me die and see.
For though I oft my self of them bemoan,
That through my heart their beamy darts be gone,
Whose cureless wounds even now most freshly bleed,
Yet since my death wound is already got,
Dear killer, spare not they sweet cruel shot;
A kind of grace it is to slay with speed.
no subject
...except she's safe and warm and sleepy and she's just not going to make it much longer. It's a gradual fading, but soon enough Wanda falls asleep on him. He may not understand how significant this is, but Wanda and sleep haven't been friends for a very long time. She always sleeps much better when there's a second, trusted mind nearby and tonight, for the first time since Lagos, she'll sleep without nightmares.]
no subject
It's been a while since that happened, he comments to Titania.
You're going to get tired of saying that around her.
I don't think I will.
He waits a while to make sure she's well and truly asleep, then waits a bit longer. He's not one to enjoy sitting still, but he passes the time by reviewing the other sonnets he's memorized, by Shakespeare and others. Once he's certain that she's well and truly asleep, with slow care he shifts around so he can pull her fully into his arms, and then stands.
He deposits her gently on her bed and untangles her arms from his, shushing her sleepy protests until she settles back down and he can pull a blanket over her. These are motions he remembers at least; he put more than a few children to bed in the keep, and after in the City, when they'd wandered from their beds. He smooths her hair down with a light touch and then returns to the fire.
The under armor is warm again at least; he pulls it back in place so only his head and hands are showing. Probably should have done that earlier.
You didn't want to move her. And she wasn't complaining.
True, he allows.
Neither were you.
He shakes his head to himself. I've got to be careful with her.
You're overthinking things.
You're the only one who'd ever accuse me of that. He settles down on the floor, comfortable enough in the under armor and wrapped in a blanket, though it still feels odd without the plating. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep, but the air against his face feels strange and his breath sounds too distant. Finally, he gives up and pulls his helmet on. It's better. That's what finally lets him ease off into sleep as well.
As he often does, he dreams of Twilight Gap. ]