( closed prompts )

[carmesi]

Who: Wanda and others
What: Eclipse, magical madness, quest
Where: Solvunn and Horizon
When: A bit after the eclipse, mid-March.
Warnings: Will include in top levels if necessary.

Comments

[piqure]

Oh, [ lamely.

her hands shake, and his fingers curl lightly over them when they pass along to his wrists, a familial contact.

a shallow breath taken. in, out and repeat.

he had no idea how her magic worked. chaos magic, she says. it takes over she says, and his brows pinch. like dr octavius, with those tendrils of tech? it’s parallels and comparisons, but in no moment of his sprint through filling in blanks does he settle on resentment.

there’s sympathy. there’s an ache, somewhere under his ribs. her eyes aren’t those of a person who doesn’t have any good left in them and it isn’t in the nature of peter parker to see the worst in people. ]

I didn’t realize. [ didn’t realize his hurt was so loud. didn’t realize how much it had lingered, taken root. he thought he was doing okay, better and better at shaking it off when all it really was, was that he was learning to live with it and those were not the same thing.

and her powers could sense that?? he had no idea. what it worked with, what it reacted to or how the unending torrent of his thoughts, or the turmoil within, could influence it.

what this place making it worse? ]

It’s — it’s okay. [ he sounds rattled, but he means it. ] I didn’t tell you about her. It was just — really recent. I didn’t realize your powers reacted to these things. [ he watches her, hands still curled around hers, in part worried. in part, tries not to focus on more parallels, despite how one’s mind works after tragedy (he was holding onto his aunt when she fell). ]

I guess — I guess telling me to stop thinking makes a lot of sense, now.

I’m — sorry, too. [ for all she’s lost. he doesn’t know the extents but he felt them. he wants to ask about her kids. doesn’t think it’s the right time. clears his throat and finally let’s go, lifts his head to look around the bare apartment, instead. ] Is it better now? Is there — anything I can do to help?

[ he isn’t sure what else to offer.

should he be hurt? scared? angry? maybe that’s the expectation, in a way. maybe he needs a moment. he’ll take one later. ]

[carmesi]

[peter speaks, says it's okay, explains a little bit about his aunt — tries to go about it in his usual high-speed vocalization of thoughts, probably doesn't even notice the way his expression shifts and goes downward, somewhat avoidant of that reality. she has a vague recollection of, yeah, telling him to stop thinking so much.

things, while stuck in the fugue of scarlet and chaos, were a little difficult to discern entirely, now that she's got a better foothold on reality.

when peter pulls his hands away and looks around, wanda is left to hold her hands, the warmth of peter's hands gone. she takes a deep breath, not willing to concede to the fact that this itself is a death sentence to their acquaintanceship nor him solidly drawing away from her entirely, forever. so she brings her hands closer to herself, rubbing them lightly, nervously. it's what helps her look up and around with him, at the bare apartment.

there's a small shake of her head.]

I tried to recreate it to what you had before, [in the horizon] but I didn't... know the details of it. [what he had placed in his domain and what she had corrupted with her magic. quietly, answering his question:] — I think it's alright now.

[wanda steps forward, pulling at the sleeves of her coat (modern clothes, from their world) downwards, hiding her wrists, but stopping before she moves too far away.]

Our... memories got mixed up. [it's a lot: of grief, of pain. it's worse when it's shared, because there's no untangling what is yours and what isn't.] I — could make you forget this happened, if it's too much. I'm just...

[so ashamed. the following words come out of her before she can stop them:]

It's alright if you hate me.

[piqure]

[ there's a moment, brief as it is, where neither of them speak, where his hands wring around themselves, pass along the sides of his jeans as he takes the room in. he finds his focus returning slowly, slowly, until — ]

No — [ his head whips around to her, response a little too rushed. i can make you forget she says and he can't help how his heart hammers at the thought. it's alright if you hate me follows so soon after and he shakes his head, so very certain. no more memory spells for peter parker, for a while. ] No, I don't want to forget. [ then she'd be the only one who'd remember this and that sort of solitude flew too close to home too. ] It's fine, I promise. And I don't hate you, Wanda.

[ more than anything though, he looks aghast at the idea. tommy had said the same thing she’s worried you will hate her. ] Why would I?

[ it's obvious enough to him that she didn't mean to come here with this intent — with pulling proverbial sutures of new wounds free, with sharing her own emotions in the process.

he steps back towards her, head canted, eyes searching. concedes on one thing with obvious apprehension: ] Our memories — okay, so that was kind of a lot, yeah. It did sort of feel like things got tangled? [ his nose scrunches in trying to put a name to it, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. ] I don't understand all of it, but — [magic is hard to control sometimes, a simple fact said by a twin in a safe little living room. ] It's okay, really, we're okay, right?

[ he stands there, a little unsure now, and doesn't say anything for some time. there's a lot of things to be said (or maybe a lot of things that shouldn't) when they stand mutual witnesses to some of their darkest moments.

if she's worried about him turning his back on her, she shouldn't worry. they all make choices. peter chooses to stay. their worst moments don't define them, an idea he needs to believe in, for his own sake too. ]

[carmesi]

[it's different.

peter goes and then returns so her vicinity to quickly, earnest in clearing the air to whatever her words may imply. he doesn't want to forget, he promises it's fine, and he even reassures her that he doesn't hate her. no one dislikes you, wanda—she exhales a quiet laugh, remembering vision's words. why would i?

her throat tightens and she shakes her head a few more times, minute movements as if to dismiss the notion altogether as he approaches her again. other people are harder to read, layered and careful with what they do give away; trust was an unending endeavor. it was simpler with others—vision, steve. peter is proving himself to be so much like them, and it only makes her remember how much she misses them both. lips part to breathe, bringing a hand up to wipe at the tears from her eyes.]

I can understand why you speak so fast and say many things. [she says finally, a warmth in her words. he's incredibly smart, and his heart is incredibly big, too.] You really don't stop thinking.

[relief washes over her as she echoes him.]

We're okay.

[for what it's worth, their physical bodies are alright. it's the emotional scars that got messed with, but it's not nothing they've been without for some time, is it?

she swallows, and speaks again, gaining a little bit of her usual candor, even if she is still somewhat withdrawn.]

It must have been hard creating this place. [the new york apartment.] Was this your childhood home?

[piqure]

[ no, he really doesn’t stop.

he manages to look sheepish at her saying so, however, corners of his eyes pinching as he exhales a huff, almost humor. weary as it may be. ] Ugh — yeah, yeah I guess?

[ the topic change feels a little like an offer, standing there with stinging eyes and brittle hearts. something that opens up the air to move forward instead of dwell, and he’s glad. we’re okay and his mouth tilts, a hint of a smile, relief echoed in the expression more than anything else. he wasn’t asking about their physical bodies, anyway. he knows they are and aren’t but that’s the way its been for a while.

but, the question does get him to focus a little more on what’s around them.

it’s feels disjointed, this space, standing in the living room of the small bedsit apartment that must have bled through his thoughts enough for wanda to shape it, with the distinctive chill of emptiness until he looks past it and to the kitchen and while he’s not yet mastered the full extents of the horizon, it is so intrinsically instinctual, that all it takes is for him to think about it just a little louder.

he’s good at that, after all, fact established and the kitchen takes on a warmth again, feels like two different places. he considers it, wants to pull towards it, frowns and shakes his head. ] No — we lived in a few different places.

They were all in New York, though. [ there’s a couch, the same one may’s had for a while. there’s a table, chairs. ] This one's...the first one I had to get by myself, though.

[ tentatively, ] Oh — um, I met your kids? [ everything feels like a poorly timed segue right now. he winces. ] Sorry, it's fine if you don't want to talk about it, but I just — I didn't know. We saw a lot of stuff from each other? And I just mean, if you wanted to talk about things, I'm here to listen.

[ and, in the fashion of someone who truly talks as much as he thinks, he adds with that quiet sort of honesty that is inevitably too telling: ] It — just feels less lonely, now.

[carmesi]

[wanda feels it inside her, the way their pain is parallel. peter's life may not have been turned upside down by the horrors of war and a destroyed apartment, but there is certainly destruction and loss. wanda was young when she lost her parents—when the war that waged in the streets of novi grad took over her home—but peter is young too, and he's already lost everything. at least wanda had pietro, and she wasn't alone as she traversed through her grief and anger alongside him; at least wanda had vision, who healed her grief and sorrow with love and gentleness.

she exhales slowly, watching as the place changes a little under peter's command, hears him bounce between topics, landing on her sons.

the smile she offers is small, heading for the couch and taking a seat, letting the palm of her hand lay flat on the cloth of the cushion, feeling the texture on her skin.]

Billy and Tommy. [their names are full of warmth when she says them, and when she raises her head, away from staring at her hand, a single tear falls down her cheek; it's almost like she's been holding back on uttering their names, making it missing them all the worse. wanda's throat is tight as she swallows, looking over at peter.

it just feels less lonely, now. there is gratefulness in her eyes. she can trust peter.] No one else knows about them.

[her magic is useful in many occasions, and, in this case, it helps her with manipulating peter's domain. she doesn't touch it, though; instead, scarlet waves paint like gauche paint on paper, bringing forth the image of her sons to sit on the couch, tommy to her left, billy to her right. her arms are around them, holding them close to her. they're sketches of a memory, with no thought of their own, but they press to her, holding onto their mother.]

I brought them to the world with my magic. [in case he starts thinking about numbers and the maths and thinks that having 11-12 year olds doesn't make a lot of sense—] But they couldn't stay.

[it's confusing, she knows, and perhaps it will throw a wrench into peter's attempt to understand the nuances of magic. wanda scrunches her nose and looks at him.]

You saw my brother, too.

[she remembers manipulating his memory to hold peter off.]

[piqure]

[ he wouldn’t want to say he lost everything. but he did, in many ways. it felt like she had too (felt, more apt than seen).

not all was lost, he'd still argue. after all, the multiverse was reportedly stable. mj and ned got into their top choice universities, friendship strong as ever and maybe one day — one day they'd know him again. dr strange...returned to the sanctum, and likely returned to facing down issues larger than the worries of an eighteen year old who didn’t even call to convince a school for admission first. life went on.

and yet even those who are alive and who matter no longer remember him. even here, it’s all just borrowed time before something happens again — before he gets whisked back home, or before they do, and how does that even work and if they come back will they know him or will he have to do it all over again?

it isn’t a spiral of thought he should go down on and the world shudders around him, and peter pushes against his horizon instead. almost forcefully pushes, chases the loneliness away, pulling the apartment back to whatever it was before: one of may’s places. melancholy maybe, but comfortable to fall back into. maybe because he can’t quite picture any other place with as much stability for the horizon to take its shape.

but wanda approaches the couch and sits, and peter lingers at the threshold, carefully watching the scarlet tendrils paint the scene around them.

there’s an ache under his ribs, cavernous. brows pinch, and he watches the two boys. there’s the start of a wave, until his hand drops by his side again. ] Oh.

[ anything beyond that seems inadequate. her magic? created them?? they couldn't stay? he does supply ] I won't tell anyone else... [ that's not his secret to tell, regardless.

he doesn't understand the magic, no. the nuances are lost on him, the disbelief rising before its tamped down. but it would not be superfluous now to say he knows near exactly how she feels despite. at the mention of her brother, he nods. small and quiet. ]

Oh — yeah, yeah I did.

Pietro, right? [ don’t go forgetting it the man of memory had asked. it seemed impolite to now. it seems impossible to. ] I didn’t know he was part of the Avengers too.

I'm — sorry. [ he remembers wanting to warn him, apprehension bubbling up. he means the next genuinely: ] He seemed really great.

[carmesi]

Just for a day.

[the way she says it, in sing-song, like it's a bit of an aggravation and not something quite so special. she sighs, pulling tommy's longer hair lightly behind an ear, her own magic and this place's workings allowing for the semblance of realness to their shapes.

it's not at all surprising that he isn't all that well known at all, even with the newer avengers; no one ever spoke of him, no one wanted to speak about him with her. clint did, but wanda hated to do so—the guilt he felt over the situation weighed on him. besides, whenever wanda was pulled out of her shell enough to talk about pietro, she would always look for a reason to fight about it—she was angry, in pain, and didn't know where to put these feelings.]

He was — half of my soul, ripped apart. We were always together, and after our parents were killed, he always looked after me. [a small shrug] He was twelve minutes older, and he would never let me forget.

I was so angry when he was killed. How dare he leave me? How was I supposed to continue living? I felt like I was... dead.

[she hugs her children tighter against herself, a lasting comfort, before she squeezes a little too tight, enough for flutters of red to disappear, their image breaking apart as she ends with her elbows at her lap, her hands to her face. every day that she isn't with her sons feels like a nightmare; it aches, it's painful.

wanda composes herself enough to sit back, her face muted, eyes rimming with tears, looking at peter. she recalls their first conversation back in sam's horizon.]

It never goes away. We just have to learn to live with it, because the world moves on.

[she reaches her hand out to him, so that should he take it, she will tug him to sit on the couch with her; however, she doesn't let go of his hand, holding on to it, now putting her other hand over his. her voice a quiet whisper after she waits for peter to sit himself down and stop wriggling in place. she knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, because she's had it a number of times before. vision always led it, and she leads now from his example (and she's glad he did, because had she bottled it all inside, she would have broken at the seams).]

What happened to Aunt May, Peter?

[piqure]

[ peter keeps stock-still while she talks, arms crossed and shoulder leaning against the threshold to the room, little more than an arms length from the couch and treacherously unsure of what to say.

there’s a small wave of guilt, somehow, for not knowing who pietro was until he’s come to him in that blur. he wishes he knew him for longer than a frazzled recollection. there’s a small huff, brittle humor in the small curve of his mouth. he was twelve minutes older, and he would never let me forget.

it felt like i was dead, and she talks of anger and he nods. it wasn’t the same, their stories, but they had uncanny parallels, found in losing the people that meant the most. ] Like you’re drowning.

[ slips out, all sentiment, before he watches the twins fade through the scarlet, doesn’t realize the step he’s taken forward as it happens until he’s looking at her offered hand and tear filled eyes. how could she ever think he’d hate her for any of this, he still doesn’t know, a hand carefully slipped into hers.

throat suddenly dry, confronted face-on with something he’s been trying to tamp down ever since he’d scrambled himself out of the tumultuous interweave of their collective grief. don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.

but she asks so directly and so simply, settling in on the couch and he deflates. he considers it a moment, considers the honest hurt wanda had just shared with him.

parallels.

he shrugs. his voice is small, a waver at the edges of his words.] She stayed when she should have ran?

[ memories still frayed and raw. even if they weren’t just scrubbed through, even then, sometimes when he closes his eyes all he can see is her in the rubble but it’s especially bright now.

her last words, and the burning anger that still stings the back of his throat like bile. ] We wanted to help, and things just got messed up. I really messed up.

[ he takes a breath and the words all tumble out faster than he can stop them. he hasn’t had the chance to tell anyone else, not in the same context. strange knew the facts, sam knew the loss. wanda seemed to know his heart. ] There were all these people coming in from different universes — people who knew me. Or — versions of me, I guess? [ he doesn’t infill the how’s or why’s, apprehensive. guilty, embarrassed, and maybe not wanting to bring in stephen (he thinks of the wrecked man in the horizon just days before, all sharp words and dismissal and hurt). ]

We — wanted to help them. Sending them back would have meant they’d just be sent back to die, but —

But I thought we could help them instead and May agreed. She convinced me it was the right thing and —

There was a fight, [ he doesn’t look at wanda as he talks. doesn’t look at anything in particular as much as through. his throat tightens, hands tense under hers.

I want to rip him apart.

he nearly had, too. a near thing until his own counter, a displaced peter parker with nothing but understanding in his words and his eyes, reminded him of a different choice. reminded him of everything she stood for too. ] One of the last things she told me is that I still made the right choice. And that I had a responsibility.

[ he shakes his head, and finally chances to look at her, near stranger no longer, who somehow knows the most now. ] Is it bad I still wish I killed him? [ he doesn't specify who, isn't sure he can, or he needs to, the corners of his eyes tight. ] I didn't. It wouldn't have changed anything but —

It doesn't go away.

[carmesi]

[it cannot be comforting, to feel the guilt of someone's death on your actions—because of mistakes. wanda listens, keeps her hands wrapped as a steady anchor for peter's tense hand.

universes. the multiverse. people getting pulled in.

it's pretty dangerous, vision had told her once, as their conversations of more trivial matters eventually led to his unbound exploration of the universe and the cosmos and whatever the stone on his forehead wouldn't keep quiet about. wanda can only imagine what must have happened, the inklings of those thoughts locked too far back in the recesses of peter's mind, regardless of their thought becoming intertwined.

it's always the better people that they know who end up dying. vision, wanting to save the world; peter's aunt may, wanting to believe in the good in others.

a fight brings back memories of that moment when she started losing hold of her magic; she felt like she was being strangled, a crazed man's eyes staring down at her, pupils blown out. she felt the spit after his words on her cheeks, the desperation in her thoughts, how weak she had felt. all that: peter's memories.

gently, wanda tries to sway the tension from peter's hand, rubbing lightly over his knuckles, reminding him that he isn't alone.]

I never got to kill those who took my loved ones from me. [not stark, not ultron, not thanos.] I still think about it, but... that's not something you can come back from. [similarly to how she had done to the illusion of tommy, wanda picks a hand up to fix peter's hair behind his ear, an easy enough distraction.] But I've killed others, innocents, because of my own mistakes. It feels horrible, and I think of it every day. [she drops her hand back down onto his, holding his hand tighter.] It will go away.

[it's—the opposite of what she told him, before, but peter had asked if that self-hatred would ever go away. this time, he asks it in the context of the guilt that comes from not taking action. it will go away. she thinks she forgave tony stark, despite everything, so there's that, right?]

Just focus on her words.

[he had made the right choice; he had a responsibility. i love you, before a flash, the mind stone breaking. shakily, she exhales, and lets go to pull him close, her words a murmur against his hair.]

You hang on to that, Peter.

[piqure]

[ for a moment, peter closes his eyes and tries to ground himself, between how tired he feels and how — hollow, maybe. wrung out of everything he had.

but her hands on his serve as anchor, and the cadence of her voice and not for the first time, she offers understanding. parallels. it goes away, she promises. he isn’t so sure, but he wants to trust her in that, so much.

but there’s a news anchor’s voice in his head, loud amidst the rush of a downpour and stretched across a billboard; everything spiderman touches turns to ruin and we, the innocents, are left to pick up the pieces —

eyes flick open, with an inhale in. hair tucked behind his ear. ] Yeah. Yeah, I guess you can’t.

[ he doesn’t know what else to say, just leans forward when she draws him in. you hang on to that. it’s all he can do, as he pulls away, and runs a hand across his face. ] Sorry — [ croaked again, a sniff. ] Sorry you got drawn into this. I didn’t mean it to be so — loud? [ she said her powers reacted to these things, hadn’t she? that they’ve been acting out for the last few days?

sentiment called to sentiment, but he hand’t wanted to make it worse, isn’t sure if he could have ever helped it anyway.

ruin and ruination. ] — and, thank you. For listening. No one else knows all of that, either. Not fully, anyway.

[carmesi]

It was my fault.

[there's no point in cutting corners. it was her magic that spiraled out of control, latched onto something incredibly private, all because her intent was that she wanted to uncover something dark, something deliciously upsetting, just so she could feed her own pain.

but she offers a small smile nonetheless, because it means so much to her, that peter would not blame her for what she's done. wanda knows he is smart enough to know where fault lies.

this really speaks to how beautiful and generous his heart is.]

It's not easy. [parsing through these feelings—keeping them in, allowing others to know about them. neither option is easier.] Vision would constantly walk into my room to see how I was doing, after Pietro's funeral. I found it so irritating, but... it helps.

[she rubs her hand gently along his back, and then allows for distance between each other. their knees knock together, but nothing more.]

You can talk to me any time you want, Peter.

[looking around at the work-in-progress that is peter's horizon, she settles back on the couch.]

I only saw these kinds of apartments on American sitcoms. Do you know Friends? [PLZ] Their apartments were much bigger.

[piqure]

[ it wasn't, actually, he wants to say.

but sometimes, good intentions still lead to messes. he knows that too and it doesn't feel like a point that they need to keep dwelling on, he thinks and it's easier to react with just the slightest shake to his head against her shoulder before righting himself away.

he looks down at his hands again, before rolling his shoulders, and looking back out at the incomplete horizon. edges of memories of everything it wants to be, too much all at once. ] Thanks, Wanda. [ not alone. ] You too. [ for now. ]

[ the question catches him off-guard though, and his eyes are quickly snapping up to look around the room again, then back at her. his mouth tilts in tired amusement. ] Oh, yeah! Yeah, I know Friends — [ hey are you trying to say this place is small!! ] — their places were definitely bigger than what you can get now. I guess it depends where you look.

[ he hums, as if realizing he never really knew, or asked: ] Where were you, before getting brought here? [ country, planet. universe? ]

[carmesi]

[wanda is glad that her comment offers some levity to their situation, despite all that they've witnessed so far from each other. it brings a smile to her face that he's quick to recognize the sitcom she would watch a lot of, in a faraway country, unawares of the reality of a place such as new york city.]

I never actually got to go to New York City.

[so she has no scale of it, only ones from a very particular viewpoint.

she is curious about his question, though, frowning for a moment as she thinks about it, until she lands on what she's talking about.]

I was... in some part of Sokovia, but [a light shake of her head] it's obviously not Sokovia anymore. Thanos was defeated, and it's been, maybe a few months? I didn't keep a calendar or phone with me.

[with a slight sigh and a bit of a shrug, she straightens her back before she speaks.]

I don't have anywhere else to go.