est. august 2015
mcu-based, independent, selective
tracking #amazingarachnid

☣ | THE WITCH

     nightmares had plagued her. was it not so simple? to close one’s eyes and see, reflected in the darkness, formless yet so clear — one’s own worst fears. painted in shades of grey as though the world were as colourless, when she could merely open her eyes and see the sky, blue as his eyes. it seemed to mock her grief. 

had she not been responsible for plunging others into visions of their past? if not their past, then fabrications of the overactive mind, determined to reduce to a trembling figure, daunted by the shape of an average height woman, merely because her eyes turned red. ( she would become their fear, because she showed them theirs, wrung them out and laid them bare only for the experience to stay betwixt them. if they dared to tell others, they would only laugh; what woman has the power to dredge up secrets that nobody else knew? )

she deserves this, somehow. to find herself in the kitchen at an hour that had long passed, nursing a mug of tea that had long gone cold. if she only hadn’t told him to leave, he would be alive. if she hadn’t been so cruel, then perhaps ultron would not have been so persuasive. this is punishment. this is retribution for her actions. and wanda is certain – she deserves this.

     pietro didn’t

image

                         ‘ is it? i had not noticed. 
                           i could not
sleep

     A nod, the tired lines on his face creasing in curiosity. Hazel eyes filter
     to the mug of tea gone cold in her hands, her voice carrying the bluest
     tinge
of SADNESS when she speaks. His gaze flits back to her visage,
     and he almost regrets doing so. Pallid skin, eyes filled with greens
     and greys that it reminds him of flaxen hair. He can feel a stone drop
     in his stomach, and it makes him sick reliving the nightmares he had
     been woken up from. He blinks twice, trying to get rid of the trauma
     from his eyes before looking at her again, wincing when he does.

     He notices now the fair skin she carried like porcelain, eyes frail and
     delicate like the rest of her appeared. The shade of her gaze is does
     nothing to hide the sadness beneath them. Morose and black like a
     FUNERAL.

      She’s sad. He can’t initially put his fingers on it, but she carries a guilt not
      just emotionally, but physically as well. Her hands looked weighed down by
      an anchor, her face like glass and her voice a crystal that was ready to crack.
      She looked pretty, worn and delicate; but he was unsure, with the way her
      placid gaze carried experience far above what her lithe form suggested.

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                          ❝   — You okay?    ❞

#[ RP | PARA ]  #[ V | CODENAME WEBHEAD ]  #trulyfear  

MJ