#scarlctswanda

[glxrious-purpose]

i’m not gonna let you goad me into this, i know what you’re trying to do -- @scarlctswanda​

Even if he would not admit it out loud, Loki was impressed with Wanda's magical skills. But that did not mean he would not like to trick her into making a mistake, hoping to prove that mortals had no business trying to meddle with powers beyond them. "Oh you do, do you? You think you can read my mind? You may have impressive abilities, Wanda dear, but you are no match for a god." She might have correctly guessed that he was goading her, but Loki was confident he could get her to rise to the bait eventually. "If you do not wish to try and levitate that automobile over there, would you rather try to turn unsuspecting mortals into toads? I know I would very much enjoy seeing that, and I would be more than glad to do so if you do not feel up to the challenge."

[daisyquakes]

‘ i’m not being anyone’s captive ever again. ‘

@scarlctswanda​

Daisy's relationship with Avengers was funny. She had obsessed over Tony Stark right after he had come out as Iron Man. She met Steve Rogers in an alley. And Wanda? Daisy didn't know her formally, but SHIELD had files. Her twin brother had been fast and her powers had been described as 'weird.' And Daisy couldn't help but be drawn to her because it felt... it felt like her story too. Finding out she had powers. Reaching for something and ending up working with Hydra instead. (Her trust of Ward still stung.) "I won't stop you," Daisy murmured. "But that won't stop people from trying. Won't stop them from looking at us and calling us weapons of mass destruction — minimizing us into things instead of people."

[impulselantern]

melody // @scarlctswanda​

His mother used to sing to him. If Simon was quiet enough, if he closed his eyes tightly and shoved the rest of the world from his mind, he could almost hear the melody. He didn’t remember the words now, couldn’t even say for sure if the lyrics had been in Arabic or Egyptian or English, but he found himself humming what he thought might be the tune sometimes. When he was stressed or sad or uncertain. 

These days, he was often all three at the same time.

He didn’t realize he was doing it until the person beside him on the park bench shifted, until he realized there were eyes on him and remembered that the language of his mother’s lullabies was often seen as a threat instead of a comfort to people who didn’t understand it. Simon cleared his throat, turning towards the woman with a faint smile. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”