He glances away, a look of carelessness crossing his features. Metaphorically brushing off the heaviness. ]
Nothing that I'm incapable of handling. Here. [ He's withdrawing his hand to offer her the cup of water again. Game or not (and he insists that this is only a game, a gamble), this... exchange is getting too close for comfort. ]
[Water is an excellent distraction and whatever moment they were having passes as quickly as it came. This time it's easier to fight the urge to chug the rest of the cup, even though she's still terribly thirsty. Wanda's much more patient than most Asgardians in her situation would be - part knowing better and part guilt.
Finally she sits back, but when Wanda turns to Loki that odd warmth from a few minutes ago is subdued. She's not looking at him any differently than normal.]
[ The question acts as the final thing necessary to break his discomfort.
Loki releases a breathy laugh and places the cup down. ]
Would you like it with or without jam? We have... ah, the ever reliable apple.
[ Spiced apple, to be exact. No bruschetta -- a conscious decision on his part, not knowing when she would wake and having no plausible reason why a servant who has never tended to her would specifically bring it. ]
[ Following the established pattern of feeding her, Loki holds the bread to her mouth, positioning his other palm to catch the crumbs -- nearly a mirror image of the night she had fed him the bruschetta... were it not for his form being that of a woman in white robes and golden hair tied back with ribbon. ]
You'd enjoy koldskål, then -- cold soup of buttermilk, yogurt, and vanilla. Easily flavored. `Tis the wrong season, but your condition merits it.
[Physical closeness is expected given Wanda's condition and Loki's role as her attendant, and she only glances up at him briefly before taking a small bite. In this context (and only as long as it stays in this context), it's nothing special.
But Wanda's eyes light up when she tastes the jam. Loki must have been paying attention to her favorite flavors, even if he couldn't bring her anything she's taught him without arousing suspicion.]
It's good. [Smile! She pauses, waiting to see how the first bit of food settles in her stomach.] I have not heard of koldskål yet, but that sounds wonderful. [Like the kind of thing that would bring unspeakable relief to her poor throat.] It is a summer dish?
[ He flicks a glance just as she takes her bite. The corners of his mouth curve in the tiniest of unbidden smiles as he catches the light in her eyes before she says anything. ]
It is, and a necessity during those dreadfully torrid months. [ So he would argue, anyway. ]
I don't even want to think about summer right now. I have had enough heat to last the rest of my life, I think.
[She hopes he's exaggerating, if she's even still here come summer. So far Asgard's been more temperate than what she's used to. It's not the only reason she's become ambivalent about returning home...but it certainly doesn't hurt.
Thankfully, after a minute of rest her stomach still isn't protesting. Wanda chances another small bite.]
[ To most Asgardians, yes, he is exaggerating. Most of them weren't actually jötunn. ]
I've never been fond of the heat, [ is what he says, carrying none of the weight of his ancestry in the response. ] Sweat and grime -- more my brother's style.
[ Without thinking of it, he does lean forward to feed her the last bite of her bread. ]
Our foods are fresh or preserved. We've other dishes to soothe Summer's hand -- but the sentiment is appreciated.
[ The Asgardians have a way of being simultaneously advanced and old-fashioned.
He plucks the enchanted cloth from her head and gently places the back of his hand against her forehead, not daring to let the frost bleed through despite the persistent warmth of Muspelheim.
Frowning, he murmurs, ] Still too warm. [ He withdraws and rises from his seat. ] Rest. I will replace this with something colder.
[Wanda thinks nothing of it until after the fact, of how close her lips came to brushing his fingers, and tells herself yet again that this is hardly the time. But if nothing else, today is proving that despite her attempts to deny and minimize it, she is continually drawn to him.
Even his touch on her forehead feels oddly right, gentle and almost soothing despite being warmer than the cloth. Wanda's eyes close in an extended blink, though the fever-flush makes it impossible to know if his touch has affected her in any other way.]
You'll be my hero if you have something colder. [She smiles softly, then leans her head back against the pillows and closes her eyes for real.] Don't worry. I will not be going anywhere for a long time.
[She might start to drift to that odd place between sleeping and waking if Loki is away for long, but unfortunately for Wanda, now that she's physically able to be awake, she's too uncomfortable to sleep.]
[ 'You'll be my hero' snags his thoughts like a thorn on a sweater. It simply isn't him -- never has been, not after he dropped the foolish dream of his childhood. Thor was the hero. Loki was merely the sidekick. Adviser. Soother.
All he does, however, is offer her a bland smile before leaving. It was and still is his intention to pour some of the jötunn chill into the cloth, which makes her 'hero' remark ever more ironic.
That and the koldskål returns with him, the latter seasoned with cinnamon, long enough for Wanda to have drifted into the in-between. Just stepping into her quarters ignites that dull ache in his chest that has waxed and waned since first appearing, and Loki isn't certain he'd like to know why now.
Perhaps it's the way he brushes aside her hair, allowing the frost to coat his fingertips just briefly before placing the colder cloth onto her forehead, or the small furrow to her brow indicating discomfort from Muspelheim's touch. He is technically capable of offering her relief, but...
[Even drifting, Wanda is vaguely aware of his return, enough that she gasps not from the sudden touch but the sudden cold.
It's wonderful.
Her sigh of relief is deep and instant, and you'd think he'd been the one to pull her out of Muspelheim from the way Wanda looks up at him. She doesn't have to call him her hero again. Her expression says it all.]
Mmmmm, what did you...this is much better.
[Wanda catches Loki's hand, still cool from his magic, and squeezes it. Such care and gentleness would have been touching from anyone, but she has learned that Loki does not bestow them lightly.
He must have been very worried about her.]
Thank you.
[Wanda hasn't seen the koldskål yet - she only has eyes for Loki at the moment.]
[ His breath hitches in his throat when she gasps, worse case scenarios flooding his sympathetics, but then she sighs and appreciates and Loki is momentarily stunned that anything of his cursed blood could bring gratitude.
Despite that, he follows the inclination to omit the truth. She probably already knows, he thinks bitterly, and if not, then it is easy information to gain. He doesn't consider her kindness in the context of knowing, though, always eager to think the worst of others -- especially when it comes to himself. 'Hope' has burned him one too many times (regardless of the immorality of his deeds).
He smiles wanly in return, bidding the coolness to fade beneath her touch, but doesn't pull away. ]
I've brought koldskål. Let us see if you are able to sit, hm?
[She knows, vaguely, but there are so many more important things Loki is to her than jötunn, than the fallen prince: teacher, friend, unlikely confidant, supposed soulmate, and now caretaker. Even wearing an unfamiliar face Wanda can tell there's something wrong with his smile, enough that she squeezes his hand again. Did she say something wrong? She really is grateful.]
Now you're spoiling me.
[So unfortunate that sitting up requires her to let go of his hand to keep the cloth from falling. Her head still protests the movement, though thanks to the cloth and earlier attempts at rehydrating her, it's much more bearable this time. She rests a moment until the pain passes, eyes closed to savor the cold.
Finally she gives him a tiny smile.]
Is it regular koldskål or did you put something else in it?
[ The reassuring squeeze brings him conflict: troubled that he fails to conceal these deeper emotions, but hesitantly hopeful -- and he daren't even acknowledge it as anything but a knot in his chest -- that she seems to care enough to offer him comfort.
He merely shrugs his too delicate shoulders in response to the spoiling comment and gathers the small tray holding the soup, spoon and napkin as she steadies herself. ]
Alas, no cure-all, but a pinch of cinnamon. [ He sets the tray upon her lap and retakes his seat beside the bed, flattening his skirts beneath him like a natural. ] If you think yourself able to tolerate something more substantial, the bread and jam should compliment it nicely.
[If anyone were to have witnessed these little exchanges, they'd probably assume that Wanda's starting to fall for her pretty new handmaiden. Wanda herself probably wouldn't go that far just yet...but she has to admit that she does want to keep Loki close and those not-quite-smiles make something inside her twist painfully.]
No, that's perfect. I love cinnamon.
[Wanda had still been picturing something thicker, like a runny milkshake, but it turns out Loki was right. This is exactly what she needed. It's cooler than the water, soothes her throat, and is absolutely delicious.]
It's good. [Another warm smile, and soon Wanda's fed, refreshed, and resting.
It's a week before she regains enough strength to get out of bed and several more weeks before she can even make it to the library. While her health is no longer at risk, she is still easily tired and leaving the palace isn't an option.
She'd probably have gone out of her mind with boredom if not for Loki. Wanda's tried to shift her nap schedule so that she's not exhausted for their usual meetings, but sometimes it's still hard. The brazier keeps her room pleasantly warm, the divan is piled with soft pillows, and Loki's presence has come to be a source of great comfort.
She might have leaned too closely into his shoulder and drifted off while he was trying to explain the finer points of a particular spell to her. Try as she might, Wanda just couldn't keep her eyes open, and Loki's voice had been too soothing for her to 'just rest them.'
How long was she drifting? It couldn't have been more than an hour before a jolt of panic rouses her. She blinks, disoriented for a moment, but these fearful emotions aren't hers. So--
Loki.
He must have fallen asleep too, but he's clearly not at peace. Wanda reaches out and pauses, frowning. She could fix it with a wave of her hand, but reaching into his thoughts feels like crossing some sort of line that he might not forgive. Even for his soulmate. She definitely can't interfere without his knowledge...but she can't leave him to suffer.
So Wanda takes a deep breath, places a hand on his, and lets the scarlet twine around them as she steps into his dream.]
[ Playing handmaiden to the heat-stricken witch had demanded that Loki drop a certain amount of his defenses, but to contribute their current state of comfort wholly to the facade of caretaker would be a blatant lie. Unconsciously or not, with acknowledgement or denial, he allowed Wanda to chip away at his walls. There was a faint ache associated with the distant familiarity of being in a position of trust with someone in whom he held a certain degree of fondness -- but the balancing act of "Odin" versus "Lady Maximoff's handmaiden" takes its toll on him.
Asgardians and Jotuns alike resist fatigue far better than Midgardians, but even they have their limits. By the time Wanda has recovered enough to resume her studies, Loki is operating on fumes. Though adept at hiding it, he's grateful that Wanda hasn't been sharp enough to notice anything -- he assumes, anyway, otherwise she'd have said something, right? So when he feels the soft pressure of her head fall against his arm and turns his head to see her eyes closed and her breaths slower, he thinks, Just for a bit.
He'll take the opportunity to close his eyes just for a bit.
-
He is sitting on the throne of Asgard.
The throne room is bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun casting long shadows past its inhabitants. Gungnir rests comfortably in his slim hands, his hands. Familiar faces make up his audience of several, but it is Frigga's that clutches his heart with guilt. He leans forward to rise, but she and everyone else -- Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, equally part to reveal Odin -- Odin in his full-armored majesty, with Gungnir in his weathered hands.
Loki bites back a hiss, but the king needn't verbalize his disappointment. Odin ascends the steps to the throne, each footfall eerily silent, and Loki sits there like a little boy again, immobilized by the All-Father's sheer presence. As Odin lifts the spear, Loki cringes and furtively glances at the one in his own palm only to find that it is no longer Gungnir, but the scepter given to him by Thanos. Panic erupts in his throat. Why now? Where is he?
Gungnir slams down toward the golden steps as Loki looks wildly around the room. His eyes lock with those of a girl who surrounds herself in scarlet.
Oh no. No.
He knows where this is going.
Cracks erupt over Loki's armor as Gungnir hits the floor, its reverberations along the palace walls bone-shuddering. An ever increasingly large figure slowly makes its way toward the throne from the shadows, but Loki cannot tear his eyes from the growing disgust in Wanda's as each splintered piece of his armor caves into the damning blue of a Frost Giant. ]
[It's been months since Wanda's done this and she's only ever tried with Pietro. For the Avengers, it usually only takes a small psychic push for their nightmares to reshape into something better. If they've ever suspected her meddling, they've never said anything. Nudging is easy enough to ignore.
It will be harder to ignore the second Wanda who fades into existence behind him. She's in her Scarlet Witch attire (summoned, no doubt, from her protective intentions), in contrast to her double's elegant dress.]
Loki!
[In the dream, Wanda hurries forward. In the real world, her fingers twitch and the other figures in the throne room vanish like smoke. No more Odin. No more Thor. No more false Wanda, but not before her double's expression resolves into all of the hate and disgust she's ever expressed when talking about Ultron or Strucker.
Her power doesn't touch Loki. She's too afraid of hurting him when she's not even sure what's happened.]
It's all right. It's not real.
[There's only true concern in Wanda's expression as she slowly reaches out for him. She's heard rumors of his true heritage, but with no frame of reference for what a frost giant is or should look like, it's not quite coming together. It just looks like Gungnir did something to him and now he's hurt.]
[ If his adrenaline weren't running the show, he might have noticed the budding warmth in his chest responding to Wanda's efforts -- but when he sees how awfully her double's expression twists, his insides twist with it.
Like an imaginary line, the surroundings behind Wanda remain gold and splendid -- and beyond her further, shadowed -- but the walls crack and splinter into the harsh, frigid terrain of Jotunheim in front of her. Loki stares at her with bewildered red eyes, the lines on his face more than worry, but actual ridges traveling down his neck and torso. His helmet is the last to chip away, its golden flecks vanishing in the snow at his bare feet, leaving a stockier set of horns in its place.
When Wanda steps forward, his grip around the scepter tightens. Every muscle fiber in his body is screeching to flee, but instead he rises abruptly, upper lip curled into a snarl. ]
Who are you to make that judgment? This-- [ He angrily gestures to himself. ] This is real. [ Just as quickly, Loki rolls his shoulders back, smiling derisively. ] Oh, would you like me to apologize for it?
[She's concerned that he might be hurt, but not repulsed. There's a wild beauty to this form and Wanda's no less drawn to Loki like this than she was to his servant girl disguise. She wasn't raised on frightening tales of frost giants. If this is 'real' and part of him...what is it to her but just another form Loki wears?
Wanda only pauses briefly before starting to reach up to cup Loki's cheek if he'll let her. Weeks ago, it would have felt far too forward, but something has shifted in the way she sees him.]
[ She doesn't accept the challenge of argument like Sif readily would -- how Thor used to -- but parries his scorn with a soft serenity that shakes him at his very core. His heart lurches, the approach reminiscent of Frigga's gentle hand -- too gentle, perhaps -- but this haphazard state of emotions allows Wanda the opportunity to close the distance between them.
Uncertainty flickers across his face. Her palm molds to the angle of his cheeks and his next breath is drawn sharply in response to the heat of her skin. Jotun skin melts away into pale pink like the flow of watercolors as Loki parses her words.
Dreaming? Then she--
On the divan, Loki awakens with hitched breath and a stiff jolt. One glance at Wanda in his periphery is all that's necessary to launch himself from the seat and gain some distance -- any sort of distance. He stills just as abruptly, keeping his back to her as he scans over the backs of his hands, teeth clenching as the ridges fade into his skin.
There are too many issues at hand, even for a schemer like himself; he feels a writhing tangle of anger and shame coiling around his throat, threatening to burst from inside of him. Had she just-- truly, in his dream-- in his head--
Meanwhile, the areas where his hands had fallen during his impromptu nap shimmer with the dancing reflection of the brazier's flames against their jagged, icy surface. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He glances away, a look of carelessness crossing his features. Metaphorically brushing off the heaviness. ]
Nothing that I'm incapable of handling. Here. [ He's withdrawing his hand to offer her the cup of water again. Game or not (and he insists that this is only a game, a gamble), this... exchange is getting too close for comfort. ]
no subject
[Water is an excellent distraction and whatever moment they were having passes as quickly as it came. This time it's easier to fight the urge to chug the rest of the cup, even though she's still terribly thirsty. Wanda's much more patient than most Asgardians in her situation would be - part knowing better and part guilt.
Finally she sits back, but when Wanda turns to Loki that odd warmth from a few minutes ago is subdued. She's not looking at him any differently than normal.]
And now? Do I get to have some of that bread?
no subject
Loki releases a breathy laugh and places the cup down. ]
Would you like it with or without jam? We have... ah, the ever reliable apple.
[ Spiced apple, to be exact. No bruschetta -- a conscious decision on his part, not knowing when she would wake and having no plausible reason why a servant who has never tended to her would specifically bring it. ]
no subject
If I ever say no to sweet things, something is very wrong.
[She doesn't have the same drive to seek them out as Pietro did, but if it's being offered at a mealtime, especially after such a harrowing ordeal...]
no subject
[ A conversational question meant to invite expansion on the matter (if she chooses to share it) as he prepares her little meal. ]
no subject
[A beat.]
Especially desserts with cinnamon or chocolate. [And she'll be delighted when she finds out it's spiced apple.]
no subject
You'd enjoy koldskål, then -- cold soup of buttermilk, yogurt, and vanilla. Easily flavored. `Tis the wrong season, but your condition merits it.
no subject
But Wanda's eyes light up when she tastes the jam. Loki must have been paying attention to her favorite flavors, even if he couldn't bring her anything she's taught him without arousing suspicion.]
It's good. [Smile! She pauses, waiting to see how the first bit of food settles in her stomach.] I have not heard of koldskål yet, but that sounds wonderful. [Like the kind of thing that would bring unspeakable relief to her poor throat.] It is a summer dish?
no subject
It is, and a necessity during those dreadfully torrid months. [ So he would argue, anyway. ]
I'll bring you a bowl the next time you wake.
no subject
I don't even want to think about summer right now. I have had enough heat to last the rest of my life, I think.
[She hopes he's exaggerating, if she's even still here come summer. So far Asgard's been more temperate than what she's used to. It's not the only reason she's become ambivalent about returning home...but it certainly doesn't hurt.
Thankfully, after a minute of rest her stomach still isn't protesting. Wanda chances another small bite.]
Is it really so bad?
no subject
I've never been fond of the heat, [ is what he says, carrying none of the weight of his ancestry in the response. ] Sweat and grime -- more my brother's style.
no subject
[Surely they have something like a pool, at least? They must.]
I wish I could bring you some.
[Another bite, and very soon Loki is going to have to decide whether to directly feed her the last piece or hand it to her.]
no subject
Our foods are fresh or preserved. We've other dishes to soothe Summer's hand -- but the sentiment is appreciated.
[ The Asgardians have a way of being simultaneously advanced and old-fashioned.
He plucks the enchanted cloth from her head and gently places the back of his hand against her forehead, not daring to let the frost bleed through despite the persistent warmth of Muspelheim.
Frowning, he murmurs, ] Still too warm. [ He withdraws and rises from his seat. ] Rest. I will replace this with something colder.
no subject
Even his touch on her forehead feels oddly right, gentle and almost soothing despite being warmer than the cloth. Wanda's eyes close in an extended blink, though the fever-flush makes it impossible to know if his touch has affected her in any other way.]
You'll be my hero if you have something colder. [She smiles softly, then leans her head back against the pillows and closes her eyes for real.] Don't worry. I will not be going anywhere for a long time.
[She might start to drift to that odd place between sleeping and waking if Loki is away for long, but unfortunately for Wanda, now that she's physically able to be awake, she's too uncomfortable to sleep.]
no subject
All he does, however, is offer her a bland smile before leaving. It was and still is his intention to pour some of the jötunn chill into the cloth, which makes her 'hero' remark ever more ironic.
That and the koldskål returns with him, the latter seasoned with cinnamon, long enough for Wanda to have drifted into the in-between. Just stepping into her quarters ignites that dull ache in his chest that has waxed and waned since first appearing, and Loki isn't certain he'd like to know why now.
Perhaps it's the way he brushes aside her hair, allowing the frost to coat his fingertips just briefly before placing the colder cloth onto her forehead, or the small furrow to her brow indicating discomfort from Muspelheim's touch. He is technically capable of offering her relief, but...
The koldskål is certainly less damning. ]
no subject
It's wonderful.
Her sigh of relief is deep and instant, and you'd think he'd been the one to pull her out of Muspelheim from the way Wanda looks up at him. She doesn't have to call him her hero again. Her expression says it all.]
Mmmmm, what did you...this is much better.
[Wanda catches Loki's hand, still cool from his magic, and squeezes it. Such care and gentleness would have been touching from anyone, but she has learned that Loki does not bestow them lightly.
He must have been very worried about her.]
Thank you.
[Wanda hasn't seen the koldskål yet - she only has eyes for Loki at the moment.]
no subject
Despite that, he follows the inclination to omit the truth. She probably already knows, he thinks bitterly, and if not, then it is easy information to gain. He doesn't consider her kindness in the context of knowing, though, always eager to think the worst of others -- especially when it comes to himself. 'Hope' has burned him one too many times (regardless of the immorality of his deeds).
He smiles wanly in return, bidding the coolness to fade beneath her touch, but doesn't pull away. ]
I've brought koldskål. Let us see if you are able to sit, hm?
no subject
Now you're spoiling me.
[So unfortunate that sitting up requires her to let go of his hand to keep the cloth from falling. Her head still protests the movement, though thanks to the cloth and earlier attempts at rehydrating her, it's much more bearable this time. She rests a moment until the pain passes, eyes closed to savor the cold.
Finally she gives him a tiny smile.]
Is it regular koldskål or did you put something else in it?
no subject
He merely shrugs his too delicate shoulders in response to the spoiling comment and gathers the small tray holding the soup, spoon and napkin as she steadies herself. ]
Alas, no cure-all, but a pinch of cinnamon. [ He sets the tray upon her lap and retakes his seat beside the bed, flattening his skirts beneath him like a natural. ] If you think yourself able to tolerate something more substantial, the bread and jam should compliment it nicely.
no subject
No, that's perfect. I love cinnamon.
[Wanda had still been picturing something thicker, like a runny milkshake, but it turns out Loki was right. This is exactly what she needed. It's cooler than the water, soothes her throat, and is absolutely delicious.]
It's good. [Another warm smile, and soon Wanda's fed, refreshed, and resting.
It's a week before she regains enough strength to get out of bed and several more weeks before she can even make it to the library. While her health is no longer at risk, she is still easily tired and leaving the palace isn't an option.
She'd probably have gone out of her mind with boredom if not for Loki. Wanda's tried to shift her nap schedule so that she's not exhausted for their usual meetings, but sometimes it's still hard. The brazier keeps her room pleasantly warm, the divan is piled with soft pillows, and Loki's presence has come to be a source of great comfort.
She might have leaned too closely into his shoulder and drifted off while he was trying to explain the finer points of a particular spell to her. Try as she might, Wanda just couldn't keep her eyes open, and Loki's voice had been too soothing for her to 'just rest them.'
How long was she drifting? It couldn't have been more than an hour before a jolt of panic rouses her. She blinks, disoriented for a moment, but these fearful emotions aren't hers. So--
Loki.
He must have fallen asleep too, but he's clearly not at peace. Wanda reaches out and pauses, frowning. She could fix it with a wave of her hand, but reaching into his thoughts feels like crossing some sort of line that he might not forgive. Even for his soulmate. She definitely can't interfere without his knowledge...but she can't leave him to suffer.
So Wanda takes a deep breath, places a hand on his, and lets the scarlet twine around them as she steps into his dream.]
no subject
Asgardians and Jotuns alike resist fatigue far better than Midgardians, but even they have their limits. By the time Wanda has recovered enough to resume her studies, Loki is operating on fumes. Though adept at hiding it, he's grateful that Wanda hasn't been sharp enough to notice anything -- he assumes, anyway, otherwise she'd have said something, right? So when he feels the soft pressure of her head fall against his arm and turns his head to see her eyes closed and her breaths slower, he thinks, Just for a bit.
He'll take the opportunity to close his eyes just for a bit.
-
He is sitting on the throne of Asgard.
The throne room is bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun casting long shadows past its inhabitants. Gungnir rests comfortably in his slim hands, his hands. Familiar faces make up his audience of several, but it is Frigga's that clutches his heart with guilt. He leans forward to rise, but she and everyone else -- Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, equally part to reveal Odin -- Odin in his full-armored majesty, with Gungnir in his weathered hands.
Loki bites back a hiss, but the king needn't verbalize his disappointment. Odin ascends the steps to the throne, each footfall eerily silent, and Loki sits there like a little boy again, immobilized by the All-Father's sheer presence. As Odin lifts the spear, Loki cringes and furtively glances at the one in his own palm only to find that it is no longer Gungnir, but the scepter given to him by Thanos. Panic erupts in his throat. Why now? Where is he?
Gungnir slams down toward the golden steps as Loki looks wildly around the room. His eyes lock with those of a girl who surrounds herself in scarlet.
Oh no. No.
He knows where this is going.
Cracks erupt over Loki's armor as Gungnir hits the floor, its reverberations along the palace walls bone-shuddering. An ever increasingly large figure slowly makes its way toward the throne from the shadows, but Loki cannot tear his eyes from the growing disgust in Wanda's as each splintered piece of his armor caves into the damning blue of a Frost Giant. ]
no subject
It will be harder to ignore the second Wanda who fades into existence behind him. She's in her Scarlet Witch attire (summoned, no doubt, from her protective intentions), in contrast to her double's elegant dress.]
Loki!
[In the dream, Wanda hurries forward. In the real world, her fingers twitch and the other figures in the throne room vanish like smoke. No more Odin. No more Thor. No more false Wanda, but not before her double's expression resolves into all of the hate and disgust she's ever expressed when talking about Ultron or Strucker.
Her power doesn't touch Loki. She's too afraid of hurting him when she's not even sure what's happened.]
It's all right. It's not real.
[There's only true concern in Wanda's expression as she slowly reaches out for him. She's heard rumors of his true heritage, but with no frame of reference for what a frost giant is or should look like, it's not quite coming together. It just looks like Gungnir did something to him and now he's hurt.]
no subject
Like an imaginary line, the surroundings behind Wanda remain gold and splendid -- and beyond her further, shadowed -- but the walls crack and splinter into the harsh, frigid terrain of Jotunheim in front of her. Loki stares at her with bewildered red eyes, the lines on his face more than worry, but actual ridges traveling down his neck and torso. His helmet is the last to chip away, its golden flecks vanishing in the snow at his bare feet, leaving a stockier set of horns in its place.
When Wanda steps forward, his grip around the scepter tightens. Every muscle fiber in his body is screeching to flee, but instead he rises abruptly, upper lip curled into a snarl. ]
Who are you to make that judgment? This-- [ He angrily gestures to himself. ] This is real. [ Just as quickly, Loki rolls his shoulders back, smiling derisively. ] Oh, would you like me to apologize for it?
[ What is a cornered animal to do but lash out? ]
no subject
[She's concerned that he might be hurt, but not repulsed. There's a wild beauty to this form and Wanda's no less drawn to Loki like this than she was to his servant girl disguise. She wasn't raised on frightening tales of frost giants. If this is 'real' and part of him...what is it to her but just another form Loki wears?
Wanda only pauses briefly before starting to reach up to cup Loki's cheek if he'll let her. Weeks ago, it would have felt far too forward, but something has shifted in the way she sees him.]
You're dreaming.
no subject
Uncertainty flickers across his face. Her palm molds to the angle of his cheeks and his next breath is drawn sharply in response to the heat of her skin. Jotun skin melts away into pale pink like the flow of watercolors as Loki parses her words.
Dreaming? Then she--
On the divan, Loki awakens with hitched breath and a stiff jolt. One glance at Wanda in his periphery is all that's necessary to launch himself from the seat and gain some distance -- any sort of distance. He stills just as abruptly, keeping his back to her as he scans over the backs of his hands, teeth clenching as the ridges fade into his skin.
There are too many issues at hand, even for a schemer like himself; he feels a writhing tangle of anger and shame coiling around his throat, threatening to burst from inside of him. Had she just-- truly, in his dream-- in his head--
Meanwhile, the areas where his hands had fallen during his impromptu nap shimmer with the dancing reflection of the brazier's flames against their jagged, icy surface. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
keywords super relevant
♥
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
pity for anyone but himself? inconceivable
let her have her dreams
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
I'm so sorry, I've either had migraine brain or soup for brains
no worries
(no subject)
(no subject)
omg sorry!!!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)