[ it never stops. frank knows that curse, the ever drowning wave that carries on and on without a chance to breathe, suffocating in the grief, in the pain, in the ever pulsing ache that doesn't go away. eventually, he stopped trying to fight it, to simply let it fuel him, because getting rid of it was never an option.
but this isn't his pain now, it's wanda's, and he could feel it in the shake of her voice, in how it vibrates through her, commands her. he sees it in the surrounding world around him.
his own is a carnival, like a photograph sliced out of a memory, but hers β it's a visualization of what's likely to be her daily nightmare. devoid of life, crimson with that pulsating pain. ]
It won't stop. [ he responds quietly, nearly against her hair. it's not an answer that's wanted, he knows. but frank has never been one to try to pretty up the truth with sugar. he can only ever say what's real. ] Shit like that, it's always gonna slice through us. It's gonna find that hole where it hurts most and it's gonna rip at the edges to make it bigger.
[ the truth. but even in truth, there's something of hope in there, even if it's not often something he offers to himself. ]
But it doesn't have to be all there is. You can face it, grab it with your bare hands, and you can take command of it. The hurt won't stop but you can use it to push back and steer it on your own terms.
he doesn't know that there is absolutely nothing else there for her, and when she had tried to face her pain, do something with it, she delved too deep into the darkness. it promised her everything, promised her that she could push back, steer, be the one in commandβshe could have had it all.
and where did that leave her? with this desolate wasteland of turmoil and the remnants of corruption that still corrals at her heart, relentless, unwanting in letting her forgetβ
that she is a monster.
it's too late for her; neither push or pull was the answer for her. wanda maximoff doesn't get to have options.
slowly, wanda pulls her hands up to reach and hold onto the fabric of his shirt, to keep herself steady. it's a feeble, weak grip, her shoulders shakingβher voice quiet and trembling.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
but this isn't his pain now, it's wanda's, and he could feel it in the shake of her voice, in how it vibrates through her, commands her. he sees it in the surrounding world around him.
his own is a carnival, like a photograph sliced out of a memory, but hers β it's a visualization of what's likely to be her daily nightmare. devoid of life, crimson with that pulsating pain. ]
It won't stop. [ he responds quietly, nearly against her hair. it's not an answer that's wanted, he knows. but frank has never been one to try to pretty up the truth with sugar. he can only ever say what's real. ] Shit like that, it's always gonna slice through us. It's gonna find that hole where it hurts most and it's gonna rip at the edges to make it bigger.
[ the truth. but even in truth, there's something of hope in there, even if it's not often something he offers to himself. ]
But it doesn't have to be all there is. You can face it, grab it with your bare hands, and you can take command of it. The hurt won't stop but you can use it to push back and steer it on your own terms.
no subject
he doesn't know that there is absolutely nothing else there for her, and when she had tried to face her pain, do something with it, she delved too deep into the darkness. it promised her everything, promised her that she could push back, steer, be the one in commandβshe could have had it all.
and where did that leave her? with this desolate wasteland of turmoil and the remnants of corruption that still corrals at her heart, relentless, unwanting in letting her forgetβ
that she is a monster.
it's too late for her; neither push or pull was the answer for her. wanda maximoff doesn't get to have options.
slowly, wanda pulls her hands up to reach and hold onto the fabric of his shirt, to keep herself steady. it's a feeble, weak grip, her shoulders shakingβher voice quiet and trembling.]
I'm just... so tired...