#writteninscarlet

[nomanslannd]

"  I  wasn't  going  to  hurt  him.  I  was  just  going  to  teach  him  a  lesson.  Guys  like  this  think  they're  untouchable.  It's  good  for  them  to  learn  that's  not  the  case.  "  

Ian  folded  his  arms  tightly  against  his  chest.  "  Oh  come  on.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that.  I͟  b͟e͟a͟r͟l͟y͟ ͟t͟o͟u͟c͟h͟e͟d͟ ͟h͟i͟m͟.  " // @writteninscarlet

[inhcritance]

@writteninscarlet asked: "were you ever going to tell me the truth?"

He does not look away. He forces himself to look at her, unmasked and yet still in the suit, alone as they are, and not look away. She deserves better than his shame, when he has long known this was a possibility.

That this would happen, one way or another, and it'd hurt her. He'd still hoped they'd have more time. That maybe he could settle this and take off the suit forever, one day, and they could just be themselves.

He almost wants to lie, and assure her he would. It'd be easier. She deserves better from him, he thinks.

"I don't know." He admits, his smile wry. "I didn't really know how to break the news, not when I wanted to keep it all separate."

Selfishly, he knows, as he shifts in place. And it hurts, and he's been rash and reckless and he knows Wanda would have survived that hit. That he should have never gotten in the way. But it was Wanda, and even his pragmatism has limits.

He still forces himself to breathe, to press the armor against his wound, and tries to stand up properly. It's far from ideal, but he doesn't fall. He's too nervous to stay still, even if he's long known this day would come.

"For what it's worth," he says, because there are some things he doesn't want to leave unsaid, "what we had... it was never about you being the Scarlet Witch."

Because he expects this to be the end, but if nothing else he wants her to know he hasn't been using her. Even if he doesn't expect her to believe him.

He's a fool, he thinks, but for some time he was happy. Recklessly, selfishly happy.

[maximummusesarch]

@writteninscarlet

"The hell?"

Marc has grown used to strange things happening in the Midnight Mission. It comes with the territory of living in a sentient house from another dimension which pretends to be a haunted house. But that doesn't mean he can't be shocked every once in a while. This is certainly one of those times.

There's a strange red door where the door to his office should be.

"This isn't one of yours, is it?" He asks aloud, seemingly to no one. After a few seconds, Marc shoves his hands into his pockets. "Thought not." He steps closer to the door.

It doesn't seem like a trap, but nothing ever does. And some kind of magic being strong enough to influence the Mission is concerning enough. Where was Dr. Strange when you needed him?

He looks to his left, and then to his right. He's all alone, and the red door is right here. He takes a deep breath, and opens the door to step through to a... magic store? He's about to ask where he is and how he can get back to the Mission, when he sees the face behind the counter.

"Wanda."

[wallopinwebyapper-a]

@writteninscarlet sent: [ food ] sender brings food over to receiver's house ORDINARY THINGS THAT FEEL INTIMATE

"Phew," exhausted Peter - because it could've been perceived as a less than favorable response to the food offering. He didn't worry how Wanda got in. Did he give a spare key? Sometimes his humbleness about his abode got in the way of sharing his modest apartment with her. She had the better residence, and felt like the better host.

His exhaustion was from spring midday warmth and the high altitude having seemingly heavier winds against his suit. Otherwise it was a calm patrol and errands run for himself and friends weighing on him throughout the day. He was in need of rest, and certainly a meal he's likely missed in the last eight to ten hours.

"Smells like you bought for more than one meal. And of sesame and honey? I'm partial to shrimp, but my senses say they're probably bigger than my thumb if it's prawns."

[positivelybeastly]

@writteninscarlet

"Wanda! You caught me on my way out the door - I was just gonna bum around NYC for a bit, maybe catch a movie. You wanna come with? There's this great little theatre that shows all kinds of foreign movies this time of the evening, I think y'might like some of them."

It's been a restful time at the Mansion, and Hank can practically feel the oncoming calamity, so he's aiming to make the most of it before Count Nefaria comes knocking a hole through the wall or something. Plus, as lovely as all of Jarvis' cooking is, he's in the mood for a hotdog with double everything on it, and he knows exactly where he's gonna get one.

"Whaddya say? My treat."

[normaltothemax]

5 Love Languages prompts [ absentminded ] sender casually takes receiver's hand in public, laces their fingers, and doesn't let go ( wanda to clint because she is just the kind to be like… still there? still there.)

They were out to dinner, celebrating a successful mission. Well, okay, really, they were all just starving after that fight and a single Chinese restaurant had somehow remained open. It was fate. Destiny. It would’ve been stupid to turn down their offer of a free “thank you” meal. Plus, it gave everyone time to just sit down and breathe for a minute or two.

Clint was in the middle of regaling everyone with stories from the circus, exaggerating only a little (who was going to tell on him?), making big, grand gestures with his hands, chopsticks almost jabbing Natasha in the eye a time or two. Partway through a(n entirely made-up) story involving popcorn, a horse, and a tightrope-walking bearded lady, a smaller hand slipped into one of his. He didn’t have to look to know who it belonged to—Wanda was the one seated directly to his right, after all.

He didn’t pause in his storytelling, didn’t stutter or even look over at her, just gave it a squeeze and continued on, dragging her hand along for the ride.

@writteninscarlet (x)

[jreach3r]

reacher would be lying if he said he didn't agree with wanda. normally, his gut was correct in all manner of situations. but as they crept forward a feeling of dread swelled up in his chest. something wasn't right.

"do you..." he paused, searching for the right word. reacher didn't quite understand the woman's abilities. he REFUSED to call her a mutant. to him, it was an insult.

"do you SENSE anything?" see, feel, or know were all other options he could use but reacher refrained. "this could be a trap."

@writteninscarlet sent in: i have a bad feeling about this.

[doomtorious]

@writteninscarlet // liked.

"How long have you been stitched together with hexes?" Pensive stare, piercing dark eyes beyond proud brow of his mask, "I see you for what you are, witch."