( catch-all ) can we just start over

[sorser]

WHO: Stephen Strange & Various
WHAT: Post-canon update shenanigans and other things.
WHEN: Throughout the month of August.
WHERE: Thorne & the Horizon

(( closed starters below! PM this journal or hit me up at aurajen if you want to plot something! ))

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[carmesi]

[it is grief, still raw and untended, that warps wanda's mind into believing the worst of herself—of her presence here in this world. it is so much of it, and it doesn't feel like love is persevering. that much feels like a bandaid over the inconsolable pain that ruptures her apart.

even if, in finding something warm and affectionate in this world, it could shift the way she sees herself, her actions, and whether she is deserving of anything good, the truth is that part of her still thinks— of how others may return home, to something more, whereas her options are either to return to nothing but a void, or remain here with the growing worry that she will lose those willing to love her at any moment.

stephen could not possibly understand, is what wanda tells herself. the way he thinks, sees the world, so blindingly in contrast with her own perception.

her expression shifts momentarily, uncertain if he is being truthful or not. there is shame here, and she can't help but feel wholly deserving of the scathing words and judgement from others. it is hard to see the kindness when it feels like she's the rotten apple in the pile.]

You — [she pulls back from speaking momentarily, gaze shifting, the obvious gearings of someone who is trying very hard to not break into a crying mess. she manages, but barely, her voice navigating a deeply hurt, emotional quality.] You make me feel like I'm not good enough. [—to have this kind of feeling tied to stephen strange... wanda could laugh at herself. but it's not about him; it's about every man in her life who has only ever seen her as a tool or a weapon or something so dangerous, she must not know how to handle herself.] I hear your words— and it's just... disappointment, or chastising.

[a deep breath, blinking away at the pool of tears in her eyes.]

You spoke to me respectfully when you thought I could help you and America. Like an equal, though we had barely spoken before. [a stark difference, from tony, from hayward.] As soon as I revealed my intentions and the hex, your words— You said I was calling myself a witch, like it was stupid. And you and Wong used it as an insult. [when it is what she is—just as much as he calls himself a sorcerer. why must his title hold respect, and hers a reason for derision? she emphasizes:] It is what I am, Stephen.

Tony always spoke to me like I was a child, when I was well over my twenties. You men keep treating me like I don't know what is best for me, and perhaps I don't — clearly, what we've lived through may prove that.

[but—]

But I'm also my own person.

[you make me feel like a child who isn't allowed to forget their mistakes, is what she doesn't say. she is not trying to forget them—those mistakes, those lives she took—but it hurts when that is all he sees in the eyes of others: fear; it hurts when that is all she hears in their words: relentless reminders.]

It's the way your words cut, Stephen. Like there is no sympathy there for me.

[they've talked about this before, hadn't they? back when she saw his memories and he hers—when she tried to explain to him why his choice to give thanos the time stone destroyed everything she had left in the world.]

Did you not flinch just now when I approached you at first?

[because oh, she noticed.]

[sorser]

[To his credit, he lets her speak. Lets her say her piece until the very end. But by the end of it, Stephen’s face has shadowed itself with a frown, wrinkles marring his brow, making him genuinely look the age he feels. He can’t wholly force the incredulity out of his words.

This is a lot to unpack; he feels like he’s walking on eggshells.]

I flinched because—as much as I wish it weren’t the case—the memory of Kamar-Taj in ruins is still fresh in my mind. We’ve been working on rebuilding it now, did you know that? And every time I look around, watching students practice, or work towards putting the place back together brick-by-brick, I can’t help but notice how many less of us there are now. So yes, I’m a little hesitant, Wanda. And I don’t think it’s fair that you expect otherwise from me so soon.

[What kind of person does she think he is? An automaton? A man who moves through life like it were a checklist, frowning at the things and people that do not fall into line accordingly? Or worse, someone better than that?]

I’m not— [He tears this part out of his throat as though his pride will not allow it. But his pride needs to be softer, more malleable, and he must concede a little.] —a saint. I’m still just human.

[But that flaring moment of indignity is gone in a flash, leaving only more exhaustion in his wake and an empty feeling at his core. Wanda looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and Stephen feels like portaling himself into another realm altogether if he could. He sighs long, reins himself back in. Raises a scarred hand to scrub at his face, his next words having lost their edges.]

I don’t mean… to sound the way I sound half of the time. More than half. [God, did she compare him to Tony Stark?] Christine used to tell me the exact same thing… [He lets that thought trail off, die on the vine.] But I’ll make it clear now: I’ve never once lost respect for you, Wanda. Would I have made any better decisions in your shoes?

[He scoffs.]

I think the multiverse has already answered that for us.

[carmesi]

[—there, that pang of guilt, fully aware of her actions in kamar-taj and the lives that she took without a second thought. it is easy to zero in on her own pain, ignoring what's been left in the wake of it all. stephen gets to see the results of her actions, and he is right to not let her forget it.

she also notes his indignity and decides to just let it pass, especially when he tries to sum it all up by trying to explain to her that he's just human.

perhaps a way of noting that her impression of him, as this superior of hers in some way, is one he recognizes and sees that she's mistaken about. it seems to deflate him some, as he starts to explain.

unlike stephen, however, she was unable to see into the many different stephens in the multiverse. she raises an eyebrow, seeming to understand what he means. whatever he glimpsed while traversing the different worlds, it must not have been elating for him, to see himself projected as someone who can very well be corrupted by dark magic.]

I'm — sorry. For the things I've done.

[has she already apologized? it feels like she's constantly doing that. but she means it, even if there is nothing she can do here to properly prove it.]

I'm sorry for hurting you and those around you. [your friends, colleagues, pupils—whatever they may have been] I just... [lost my way? felt so incredibly alone, and it was used against me?] I don't know what I can do to make anything better.

[to stop feeling that tug, of chthon, of the dark magic he created—]

Don't spare any details to the others. They deserve the truth.

[sorser]

[Perhaps someday he'll enlighten her. Tell her about the Stephen who caused an incursion through overuse of the Darkhold. Or another, whose world was a cold and barren wasteland, who sought to kill him mere minutes after his visit. The belief of others that Stephen Strange was only ever a man who would cause destruction wherever he tread, in the wake of the decisions he made for others — the Illuminati certainly thought as much, clapping him in anti-magic irons as soon as they caught whiff of him.

But that discussion is for another time. Her apology feels like a shard of ice splintering right through him — and he knows exactly what it is: the useless feeling of being unable to do more than just stand here and make Wanda feel worse.

Maybe he still isn’t too far departed from the usual gamut of Stephen Stranges across the multiverse, after all.]

I know you regret it. [He never doubted that from the moment he stepped into her domain. That was never up for debate. Learning how to move forward is the crux of the issue here.] You don’t have to apologize to me.

[(Apologies feel like putting a bandaid over a bullet hole.)]

I’ll tell them what I think they need to know. Nothing more, nothing less.

[carmesi]

[if not him, then to whom?

there's that feeling—of being unable to win either way: her cries unheard, her apologies unwanted. it's a blurry line to be on, and wanda struggles with how she can't find strong footing either way. who is she, really? the person who did something awful, or the one horrified by the awful thing she did?

wanda doesn't know where to go from here, and so she is quiet, turning away from the sorcerer.]

If that is all, I would like you to leave now.

[she pauses, her expression distant.]

Good bye, Stephen.

[sorser]

[And like that, it's over and done with. Except it isn't, not really, a million dangling threads between still hanging and untended. If Stephen walks away now, he walks away from a problem still not solved—something that goes against the grain of his very personality—and for a moment, he hesitates.

But the request cements itself, known in the tiredness of his brow, the way that he steps back and away, hands raising not to convince her otherwise, but to cast the easy motions of a basic spell.]

Until next time, Wanda.

[He can at least leave her with that promise: no doubt that he’ll see her again. Maybe then they can smooth down these rough edges, or make them more jagged than before. It’s about a fifty-fifty chance at this rate, struggling to find common ground that won’t give under the weight of their opposing viewpoints.

His magic spreads, revealing that hidden door, outlined sharply against the falling snow. It swings open as he approaches, exiting, and closes behind him without the sorcerer bothering to look back.]