ώάήȡά (scarlets) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-04-21 08:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, marvel: wanda maximoff, ₴ inactive: stephen strange |
WHO: Wanda & Strange
WHAT: Wanda's canon update makes the Sanctum (+ rest of Vallo) wonky, Stephen talks her down
WHERE: The Sanctum
WHEN: Super early this morning / bordering late last night
WARNINGS: WandaVision spoilers, in case you're sensitive about that
STATUS: Complete
Good morning, Dr. Strange - how may I assist you today? The letters were spelled out with alphabet magnets on the fridge, a blur of color until the words formed, slipping and sliding around - this hadn’t been going on for too long, and yet Stephen was already kind of over it. Over the fridge demon actually being useful that is - he still wasn’t certain of its name or gender but it was definitely giving off 1950s housewife vibes. He half expected it to appear in a full-skirted swing dress made out of cotton, holding up a plate of ooey gooey chocolate chip cookies. Maybe a bundt cake? Because the Sanctum had definitely gone back a few decades - back to a prosperous post-World War II era, designs influenced by space exploration and science. Pastels in the bathrooms and in the kitchen, on the sinks and cabinets, natural tones in the other rooms - the furniture was chrome-legged with clean lines, curved comfortably, tablecloths decorated with fruits and flowers. The fridge had upgraded too (sort of), it was gigantic - maybe that’s why the demon was in a good mood. The Sanctum no longer looked like a dark, creepy gothic funhouse (at least not on the main level - the artifacts remained unchanged), but an abode best for entertaining and dinner parties. Nope. Anyway, Stephen’s focus was on the fridge (and ‘good morning,’ sure, he guessed it was technically morning at this ungodly hour) - he let a sigh billow out of him, mildly irritated. “Any more of that apple pie?” he asked. Two seconds later the fridge doors burst open and, in a tornado of dishware and flying forks, a piece of pie was neatly placed upon a dessert plate. Add a glass of milk, the letters added - Stephen pointedly ignored that advice and took the pie upstairs to his Supreme Assistant Witch’s room. “Wanda?” He knocked lightly on the door. “It’s - can I come in?” The door flung open. Wanda wasn’t behind it, of course; didn’t have a hand on the doorknob or anything, she simply wanted it open and that’s exactly what it did. That was what she could do, when it came down to it - if she wanted something bad enough, she could make it happen and it required no discipline. That was what made her dangerous, in Agatha’s eyes. The rawness of the magic, how she could make things happen without meaning it and yet have it be so complex without effort. Magic on auto-pilot. Don’t get her started on that spontaneous creation part either, the very thing Stephen had claimed to do but she was hesitant to fully embrace until now. She had dabbled in it in their training, harmless inanimate object tricks that she’d been satisfied with because anything else beyond that seemed impossible. Couldn’t happen. Shouldn’t happen, and yet. Her room was a magical, crackling mismash of chaos. Literally. Knick-knacks were afloat, her furniture kept changing these red, static transitions - the style would switch to different eras, the colors swapping from something bright to monochromatic (back and forth). It was a direct reflection of her emotions; a mess for a mess, her own clothes also being re-written from one design to the next. She was pacing, processing, wringing her hands with a shimmer of a scarlet headdress ghosting over her forehead. It went in and out, flickering like a light she struggled to keep off but couldn’t. “When you said I could create things - I didn’t think that meant I could make myself get pregnant.” What had happened with Vision - the one she created and this new stark-white version of him - had been heart-shattering enough, but what was forefront on her mind at the moment were the twins. Her twins. Okay. This was clearly - going to require more pie. Or maybe a bong, Stephen didn’t know. He’d come into the room, however, and he was definitely all in - with the meaning encompassing a few different definitions. Mostly that Wanda was living here in the Sanctum, she was his friend, he felt closer to her than he did with most people on the island, and he wasn’t about to just let her flounder after she received the memories he was certain she would. The ones he wanted to warn her about, and now he was glad he actually did that. There went the pie, added to the hurricane - or rather, he set it down and it morphed into cherry the next moment, then chocolate cream, then lemon chess; maybe eventually it would settle, much like Wanda herself. He’d help her get there. Though Monica hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy part. By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth, he really hated being out of the loop about all of this. And, naturally, the time stone was still MIA - he was fucking useless without it, and that fact was beginning to sink into the marrow of his bones. Some Sorcerer Supreme - couldn’t even look into a single shred of green mist. Regardless, he extended his hands in all of their scarred, shaky glory. “Wanda, it’s alright. Just hold onto me.” That might be the first step - an anchor, so she didn’t go off drifting through a stormy red sea. “Tell me what happened - what do you mean, you got pregnant?” There was a tiny part of Wanda’s brain voicing you need to reign this in - if she thought hard enough, wanted it enough. She had done it before, bringing down the walls of the Hex (not something she coined herself but she supposed it fit?) and unspooling all the magic that had woven itself into the new reality she had created for herself. It was a matter of getting it together. And she did, somewhat, when Stephen offered his hands. The pacing stopped. Her own fingers trembled - adrenaline - but she took him up on his offer to use him as some kind of anchor. The bedroom furniture ceased changing though not a thing matched. The curtains were an eyesore floral, walls wood-paneled, floors a black-and-white patterned tile and her bed had become a waterbed. Hideous, practically archaic. Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths. “I wanted,” she began, forcing herself to pause to swallow that aching knot in her throat; otherwise she’d be able to hardly speak. Wanda’s clothes hadn’t settled yet - they kept phasing between sweatpants and flannel to this strange, strange armor-like halter top getup. “I wanted a family? Something - something normal. And I didn’t know what I was doing because I was just… happy to live this delusion that was somehow happening around me. I had Vision. I had this home, and I wanted more. So I made my own children. Twins. Billy, and Tommy - they’re mine.” When she had undone the magic that had taken over Westview, it meant they had disappeared with it too except there were versions of them here, and Wanda had so many damn questions that she hadn’t a clue where to start. What had happened went beyond her simply creating a version of Vision because she couldn’t cope. She held people hostage, and didn’t even know it. Or chose not to see it, was more like it. When he was at Kamar-Taj, Stephen did a lot of studying - time in the parlor, incense sticks on the windowsills. Time in his cell, time in the library which contained the books of the Sorcerer Supreme, chained into sliding panels made of metal. He wasn’t behind on everything - he knew of the Darkhold (comprised of matter from the Dark Dimension), he knew of the myth of the Scarlet Witch; additionally, Monica had mentioned a woman named Agatha as being a part of this New Jersey community and he could only imagine she was practiced in the ways of magic herself. He just never imagined that this would all be revealed in a way that meant myths came to life right here - but also, Wanda was so much more than a myth. “It’s - it’s complicated, Wanda,” he said, taking a step back still holding onto her hands - he sat on the edge of the waterbed and fuck, now he knew why these things died in the 80s (felt like sitting on Jell-O, liquid cornstarch and gel). “You weren’t just grieving. It was PTSD, complex trauma - you couldn’t get your footing.” She hadn’t been able to, probably not since Pietro was killed. “Maybe it was wrong - maybe you made mistakes. But the only way to process grief and trauma is to go through it.” It wasn’t simply a straight line either - steps A, B, C, and D, then you were all better. Instead it was more like a nonsensical scribble. Wanda bit her lip to stop its trembling, a fresh wetness to her cheeks - because she’d been trying to work through all of this, trying to process it at her own pace now that she was getting into the routine of normalcy. The need to constantly evade the government didn’t exist here, and she had friends (even the ones she thought she’d lost) and while perhaps it wasn’t the life had wanted, it was still a good one. It was hers. She was finding her footing again. Then she wobbled when Stephen told her about how she created another version of Vision, and now that she finally knew what had happened - all that she had done - the balance was lost, and this was equivalent to falling flat on her face from the height of a skyscraper. It was those waves again, pulling her asunder right as she got used to holding her head above water and breathing. That flicker of that headdress began to solidify, and her clothes seemed to finally settle in its design. The hands Stephen held in his became gloved as her hair took on a bit of a wild look, crinkled yet free. The Scarlet Witch is not born, she is forged. “I will,” she nodded, her words holding certainty despite the vulnerability behind it - how they quivered, the scratchiness in her voice. Wanda couldn’t sit just yet, but the grip she had on him was tight. Unyielding. “You always told me about this power and I think - maybe I held myself back because I was afraid, and I didn’t know what it could mean and now I do. I can feel Vallo dampening it, reigning some of it back. That… is a good thing.” “Maybe it is,” Stephen agreed, and that was probably for everyone’s protection - Wanda’s own protection as well, since she had the ability to rewrite the fabric of reality and not only would that damage this world it would damage her too; who knew how pushing herself to the absolute limit would affect her. “But you don’t have to be afraid. Or at least, not in a way that means it stops you from living the life you choose.” A little bit of healthy fear could be beneficial, because it meant self-preservation. He took a breath, as things seemed to settle even more around them - Wanda’s clothes especially, the tremors to her hands that he still held. Everything else would morph back to its original state eventually. He didn’t know what time it was, exactly, but it was technically late (early? The early morning hours felt like peace). “I could be wrong, but. Changing the town and building and creating - it’s like...you wanted to fill a void. That’s natural, I think, to want to fill a void. People try to do that as they grieve - but it’s not so much that. It’s more like we have to get used to that void being there.” You couldn’t fill it. Whatever had happened in New Jersey, it was proof of that. “Did you give it all up, to free everyone?” he guessed. Vision, and the kids - a version of them seemed to be here, which was interesting. But Stephen assumed that Wanda couldn’t have her cake and eat it too - he wished he had been there, to help her. Then again, there may have been nothing he could have done. She needed to be the one to let everyone go. She needed to do it herself. Ah, that question was what caused Wanda to free her hands from him. It was only so she could dab at her eyes, dry those incoming tears - and she had this watery smile to her too. Sad, bittersweet. “I did,” she answered, because how could she not? Holding an entire town hostage, trapping their consciousness into their own minds while these re-written versions of themselves took root to help her fantasy run its course was not what she wanted. But it happened anyway, a consequence of her desires and why she could agree with Agatha that she was dangerous. So, yes, learning these powers of hers and how to control them was imperative. Wanda didn’t want her emotions running amuck to manifest itself into that kind of magic again. Slowly, shakily, she exhaled a deep breath and joined him on the waterbed. “That Vision I created was the personification of everything I had felt for him,” she explained. “Vision’s actual body was repurposed - I know his memories were restored but I do not know what became of him. He disappeared.” Clearly somewhere away from her. Wanda didn’t know what that meant for the Vision she knew, or them. If it even mattered. “And the boys, I tucked them in. I said goodbye. But I have the Darkhold, and - Stephen, I think I’m trying to find a way to get them back in a way that is permanent?” A venture like that obviously couldn’t end well, could it. Stephen had a handkerchief somewhere - or well, he pulled one from its hiding space through a small, sparking circle and then gave it to Wanda so she could use it to catch any tears that may fall. “If you have the Darkhold, I’m sure we’ll cross paths eventually,” he chuckled ruefully. “It...may be possible. To get them back. Hard to say without knowing the whole situation or where they are, but. I wouldn’t rule it out.” If he had the time stone, he could look - follow that thread to its inevitable conclusion, live out and see exactly how Wanda would be reunited with her children. But he didn’t - he’d lost his greatest weapon, his greatest asset, and time magic in general (where he once had been so comfortable) now felt like trying to make sense of a goddamn bag of Scrabble letters spilled out onto the floor. “Hard to say what the future holds for any of us,” he admitted, and that was a difficult thing to do. “However - being in the present moment, really being here, that’s what is currently important.” Couldn’t ruin today by mourning tomorrow, after all. A handkerchief. Of course Stephen would find one for her. The gesture elicited a wet laugh from her, and she took the cloth to properly wipe the dampness from her cheeks - blech. Feeling like this was nothing short of exhausting. Wanda wished she could be done with it, move on without looking back but she knew firsthand it didn’t work that way. And obviously, when she tried that route - Westview happened. Actual reality had to be faced, and it wouldn’t be the one she built for herself. Being in the present though, he says. Like now - the changed furniture, the wild magic that rooted itself into the Sanctum walls. Wanda had to fix this, even if the adrenaline had ebbed and exhaustion seeped into her very bones. It was what caused her head to drop onto his shoulder, and she inhaled steadily through her nose and yes, finally, there it was. Ripples and threads of crimson crackled in the air, resetting the room and arranging inanimate matter back to its original form, the correct decor. The correct flavor of pie, too. “If we do cross paths back home again,” Wanda whispered, knowing it was more than likely now with the Darkhold present, like Stephen had said. “I hope it is on good terms. I’ve a feeling my messing with reality may have caused you some trouble.” If only all foul-ups were as easy to fix as this - though Stephen hadn’t minded the little flipflops in aesthetics here in the Sanctum. Everyone made mistakes and he wasn’t under the impression that Wanda was perfect - she didn’t think that either. The mistakes she did make in New Jersey, well, she’d paid for those. The cost of a ‘perfect’ life with a recreated Vision and spontaneously created twins wasn’t worth hurting an entire town’s worth of people (taking them away from their own families) just to be able to have that. “I’m sure it will be on good terms,” he uttered quietly, shifting on the actual mattress - the waterbed was gone, praise be - to slip his arm around Wanda; of all the terms used to describe Dr. Strange ‘voracious cuddler’ wasn’t usually one of them but he could make exceptions. Sometimes. Or even sometimes be surprising, you never knew. “Because, honestly, I’m due for all sorts of trouble that doesn’t have anything to do with you. There’s a lot of loose ends to tie up, even from before the Snap.” Like Karl Mordo, who had been so shaken by the Ancient One’s admission that she drew power from the Dark Dimension to fuel her magic, her long-lived life, that he turned his back on Strange and Wong and was suddenly of the belief that magic was being used to break the laws of nature. Probably didn’t help that Stephen himself had broken time to be able to save the world, but. He wasn’t going to apologize for that. Point was, if he knew about Wanda and what she could do - Stephen didn’t envision that ending well. “Try not to worry about it though,” he advised. “Maybe - get some sleep? I can stay, if you want.” Sleep, yes, that sounded delightful - though Wanda doubted she’d get much of it. Truthfully a part of her couldn’t stop thinking over the twins (they were here), couldn’t stop thinking about how the reasons for their behavior around her finally clicked into place and how she created them. There had always been a hint of a pull she felt towards them, and now she knew why. She was half-tempted to reach out to them now but that was a bit ridiculous. It was the middle of the night (early morning?), and she needed to sit on this information before making assumptions on how they’d want to proceed now anyway. “I want that pie first,” she declared, and beckoned it over with a curl of her finger. The plate was ensnared by that iconic red magic of hers, floating over until it settled onto her lap. Apple-flavored and delicious. A perfect way to channel her feelings - eating dessert with her hands, she didn’t care. Let this mythic being (was it possible to resign?) be a mess. Her head, still resting on his shoulder, tilted up to meet his eyes as she held the bitten slice. Stephen sticking around probably wouldn’t hurt - if her powers went haywire again he’d be there to help. “Did you want some or are you just going to watch me gorge myself?” “I’ll watch you gorge yourself,” Stephen decided - but that didn’t last long. Blue eyes did a bit of a shifty shift, like he was checking to make sure the spirit of the fridge demon (now back to whatever constituted normal, he hoped? Back to being a pain in the ass that cared not for him?) didn’t pop up and stab him with a butterknife for deliberately not bringing a glass of milk. Alright, then. Nevermind. He took the pie slice and bit into it before giving it back to Wanda and - right, yes, messy. It was good though, don’t get him wrong - flaky crust and just the right amount of cinnamon and nutmeg and other spices. But pie in bed was definitely something of a decadence. “I can make you some tea too? To help you sleep?” he suggested, because it was his fervent hope that Wanda would get some shuteye. Though he supposed ‘make’ was a loose term because all he had to do was flex a little magic and the mug, steam wafting from the top, appeared there with a gentle whoosh on Wanda’s nightstand. “It’s chamomile.” Perhaps a little something extra as well, in this particular blend from the shop. Nothing bad - but visiting with the Sandman was a lot easier when soothed by this particular hot drink. Wanda wouldn’t say no to tea. It could help soothe her nerves more, maybe slow that race of thoughts running a marathon in her mind. After the pie, though. Stephen was spared a nibble but she claimed the rest of the slice for herself - emotional eating was part of the grieving process, yes? To some, anyway. This would be her moment. “Thank you,” she sighed, trying to free the tension from her bones all in that reath. Her threads needed changing too - again - as this ‘Scarlet Witch’ ensemble didn’t promise a comfortable rest. A spark and sizzle of chaos energy later, Wanda was back into her sweats and a plain night tank. The headdress vanished, and her hair seemed to have straightened out into a more controlled style. “I owe you - so much, if I were to be honest.” Not that it was like Stephen to feel as if Wanda owed him, but he had somehow been there to handle the brunt of her emotional distress since the moment she appeared here. And he’d been patient - always willing to do anything she may need, or even gently push her into some necessary direction. If they were never to develop a close friendship back home, then she was happy it was something that had happened here. If he was surprised by the declaration, he didn’t show it. Stephen merely tsked, because of course Wanda didn’t owe him - it wasn’t like that. “I don’t have a lot of friends,” he said and that was a fucking understatement. “I’m happy to do what I can, when they need me.” Besides, she had been there for him too - making sure he actually ate real food and didn’t sustain off of tea, sarcasm, and bitterness during his long work days (extra long when there were monsters afoot). Studying magic with him, learning together, and helping out with Looking-Glass as well, simply because Stephen couldn’t bear to see the place flounder or, worse, become boarded up and eventually converted into something like a Starbucks. It was one of the few places in Vallo he’d actually felt connected to, and Wanda had jumped right in with him to save it - he appreciated that. It wasn’t going to be easy for him either - he had yet to accept that he could actually be the Sorcerer Supreme without that glowing green rock. For someone whose ego was previously inflated beyond any sense of reason, once upon a time, he had severe doubts about himself now. Later, she’d probably get to be there for him too, during his own emotional distress. “Alright, get some rest,” he insisted, popping that last bit of pie nibble into his mouth and making space for Wanda to lie herself down now that she was wearing pajamas and not - whatever that Scarlet Witch ensemble had been (it looked nice, don’t get him wrong, but he imagined the headdress poked uncomfortably if you slept on it). “I’m not going anywhere.” And they’d worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Wanda was going to attempt the rest thing, yes - tea first. It was nice to wash down the pie with something warm anyway, and she wasn’t about to let it go to waste in the scenario it could actually edge her in the right direction of slumber. The empty plate was levitated onto the nightstand, and she found herself settling to one side of the bed. Which meant that the other side was vacant, since Stephen had told her he would stay. “I will try,” she sighed, digging her palms into her eyes - god, she did feel the exhaustion. “I don’t want to keep you up, though - so if I happen to think too loud, don’t feel as if you need to stay for my sake.” Platonic bed-sharing after an emotional, reality-warping kerfuffle - sure, why not. Wanda needed someone and Stephen fully planned to be there for her - he didn’t need to put on some Marvin Gaye and turn this into a seductive experience, it wasn’t like that. Maybe some men couldn’t sleep in a space like this without getting their dicks out but he had never been that way. “I think we’ll both fall asleep pretty quickly,” he admitted, yawning just a tad - Wanda had her snooze-time tea, as a bonus. He didn’t have official pajamas or anything, just sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that was faded and worn, since he’d left the Mystic Arts garb hanging in his wardrobe. “No problem there.” He scooted closer and draped his arm around her loosely, eyes closing. It would only take two seconds before sleep arrived swiftly anyway, the same way a violent gust of wind suddenly arrived. Platonic bed-sharing was perfectly fine considering the circumstances, and obviously she trusted him - Stephen had become this personification of an anchor that kept her grounded, and having him present helped. In any capacity. Now that she knew what she was really capable of, she knew he was someone she’d have to turn to. That she didn’t need to figure this out alone, relying on the Darkhold only when it came to guidance. Wanda’s eyes closed too, and she felt her muscles and bones practically liquify. Tomorrow, yes - she could process better, figure out what it all meant for her now, and find the best way to broach the twins about their, ah, lineage (her top priority, really). Tomorrow. |