wanda finds it, that thread she's been trying to tag along with towards the wisp of memories, all in an attempt to try and burrow herself in feelings she's familiar with, like an insatiable hunger derived from a need to feed the emotions that make her magic pulse with power.
the boy speaks, throat tight as the words barely squeeze out. i'm sorry β i don't want to leave you. wanda feels warmth in her hand, a tight hold. she ignores it, tries to, but she finds herself drowning in something that is not her own; like a dam that breaks and floods it all, she finds herself whirling as she rushes through the memories she's just about barely uncovered.
for a moment, wanda can't breathe, feels hands at her throat. your weakness, peter β this morality β it's choking you β can you feel it? blurry vision and choked breaths. a flurry of movements as the spots in her eyes make it hard to see, while her senses try to bring her back to the present. no, noβ may, run pleaseβ]
No!
[she inches too close to something that is too painful, too similar to a pain she keeps guarded, because otherwise it just knocks her down over and over and over again, worrying over what ifs, where tears fall without her permission. wanda tries to stop time with her magic, but it has all sunken to a point where she is not entirely in control, where wanda needs to recover her footing amidst these waves.
there's an explosion β
followed by the noise of falling rubble, the whistling of more bombs in the air. aunt may is reeled away from peter, a lasting smile on her expression before the reality of the queens apartment is torn asunder. it's cold, winter cold, and dark now, the skies filled with smoke and ash.
should peter rise from whatever familiar rubble he finds himself in, his spider-man suit on, he will see in front of him a bed, two children hiding under it, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes.]
cw: mention of no way home spoilers, strangling, war zone depictions
wanda finds it, that thread she's been trying to tag along with towards the wisp of memories, all in an attempt to try and burrow herself in feelings she's familiar with, like an insatiable hunger derived from a need to feed the emotions that make her magic pulse with power.
the boy speaks, throat tight as the words barely squeeze out. i'm sorry β i don't want to leave you. wanda feels warmth in her hand, a tight hold. she ignores it, tries to, but she finds herself drowning in something that is not her own; like a dam that breaks and floods it all, she finds herself whirling as she rushes through the memories she's just about barely uncovered.
for a moment, wanda can't breathe, feels hands at her throat. your weakness, peter β this morality β it's choking you β can you feel it? blurry vision and choked breaths. a flurry of movements as the spots in her eyes make it hard to see, while her senses try to bring her back to the present. no, noβ may, run pleaseβ]
No!
[she inches too close to something that is too painful, too similar to a pain she keeps guarded, because otherwise it just knocks her down over and over and over again, worrying over what ifs, where tears fall without her permission. wanda tries to stop time with her magic, but it has all sunken to a point where she is not entirely in control, where wanda needs to recover her footing amidst these waves.
there's an explosion β
followed by the noise of falling rubble, the whistling of more bombs in the air. aunt may is reeled away from peter, a lasting smile on her expression before the reality of the queens apartment is torn asunder. it's cold, winter cold, and dark now, the skies filled with smoke and ash.
should peter rise from whatever familiar rubble he finds himself in, his spider-man suit on, he will see in front of him a bed, two children hiding under it, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes.]