[come what may. visions of aunt may flood wanda's reckoning, as peter's thoughts slingshot between that surface-level instinct of protecting kids, to thoughts of his new york apartment and all the sentimentality that comes with it. it's that thread, that painful thread full of sorrow and guilt and self-hate that consumed her and threw her into a loop of emotions she had thought forsaken enough to control.
she cannot let herself drown in it again, which is why the twins had emphasized that he shouldn't think too much. at least, now, wanda is ready to brace herself against the crashing waves of it all.
βwhat is grief, if not love persevering?β
and that's exactly what she needs to hang on to, how valuable those words are, and how they keep her strong, resolved to keep walking, no matter what else comes her way. (it probably helps, that peter questions why he should hate her; the way he promises that their mom would be okay.) peter jumps through the whirlwind of scarlet, gets dragged with the torrent, and wanda exerts herselfβthe shrill scream of the wind hiding her voice as she pushes her magic to submission, taking all the pain that came with it onto herself, even peter's, if just momentarily, to shape and mold it long enough to make sense of it.
it's peter's new york apartment againβbut not quite the one he grew up in. it's the one he moved into, one cold december day, all by himself, memories others had of him completely lost to a spell. this much wanda is not aware of, but there is a distinct feeling of solitude there. scarlet carves itself on the walls, but only as it pulls the segments of this place together.
peter may stand looking around, but at one point he will notice the warmth of a hand on his back. a familiar voice speaks to him: a woman, dark-haired with brown eyes.]
It's pretty bare, Peter. [aunt may purses her lips, but smiles nonetheless.] You'll try and make it your own, won't you?
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she cannot let herself drown in it again, which is why the twins had emphasized that he shouldn't think too much. at least, now, wanda is ready to brace herself against the crashing waves of it all.
βwhat is grief, if not love persevering?β
and that's exactly what she needs to hang on to, how valuable those words are, and how they keep her strong, resolved to keep walking, no matter what else comes her way. (it probably helps, that peter questions why he should hate her; the way he promises that their mom would be okay.) peter jumps through the whirlwind of scarlet, gets dragged with the torrent, and wanda exerts herselfβthe shrill scream of the wind hiding her voice as she pushes her magic to submission, taking all the pain that came with it onto herself, even peter's, if just momentarily, to shape and mold it long enough to make sense of it.
it's peter's new york apartment againβbut not quite the one he grew up in. it's the one he moved into, one cold december day, all by himself, memories others had of him completely lost to a spell. this much wanda is not aware of, but there is a distinct feeling of solitude there. scarlet carves itself on the walls, but only as it pulls the segments of this place together.
peter may stand looking around, but at one point he will notice the warmth of a hand on his back. a familiar voice speaks to him: a woman, dark-haired with brown eyes.]
It's pretty bare, Peter. [aunt may purses her lips, but smiles nonetheless.] You'll try and make it your own, won't you?