#diisarray

THANOS CLAUSE CAUGHT ON

THE HUG IS MORE THAN WELCOMED , 

arms wrapping around the other, warm smile arising on her features. it’s been too long since she’s seen Wanda, too long since she’s been able to embrace her in such a manner. asgard had become more STRICT, making travels all the more difficult in recent times. yet it wasn’t that, but the concern for the future arising. arms release the other just to get a proper glance at her features, her own chestnut gaze beginning to water at the REUNION between friends.

‘     yea, i’m fine - i’ve even found more siblings ! it’s just. . .     ‘

it’s hard to speak of it, yet wanda DESERVES the truth.

TONY WANDERS INTO THE KITCHEN THAT early afternoon when the elevator doors open into the Avengers’ communal floor, his brain foggy with a few too many hours of sleep (a sleep which followed days of far little sleep). There’s a headache building and bunching in a tender soreness in his temples, so his eyes are directed at the floor as he runs the next set of calculations in his head. His one-track mind won’t be torn away from its previous task so easily, and it isn’t until he bumps into the corner of the dining table, mumbling numbers and formulas to himself. He squints, directing his eyes upward – and meeting the one pair of eyes that he had so actively been trying to escape these past weeks.

Wanda Maximoff. He straightens almost immediately where he stands, back stiffening as he takes in the sight of her seated casually at the table, and thinks that his heart rate might quicken just a bit.

The feelings that the Witch stirs in him are... conflicted. And that’s an understatement, really. The things that make Wanda Maximoff, the things that have turned her into the Scarlet Witch, is too deeply twisted and contorted into the ties of Tony’s own past; and Tony’s eidetic memory will not simply wipe away lessons long ago learnt in Afghanistan. 

Neither will it allow him to forget his friends, bruised. bloodied, and beaten – rotting away in an empty, endless void so cold and echoing with the rot of corrupted time. Looking into Wanda’s eyes, he feels a slight shudder racing through his spine. It’s one that he quickly identifies and suppresses, because he will not think of that place now.

❝ Miss Maximoff, ❞  he says, tone a little too flat to be natural.  ❝ G’morning. ❞

The instinct to take the long way around the other side of the table is tempting. Instead, he moves towards, and very deliberate brushes past her.

meanwhile the avengers solving their problems w/ alcohol & bitter glares.

don’t be a superhero, not healthy, martyr complexes, survivor’s guilt

be a super not-hero-not-villain and deal with your anger and emotions constructively

⋰⋰ ———      @diisarray      ⋰⋰       meme.  ⋮ ★

          PESSIMISM RUPTURES,  AND NEBULA BLANCHES,      Anything kindly,  she thinks,  has been stolen from her.  Surrounded by rubble and the nigh-coming death of all begets oppressive air,  a waiting.  Something she has come to know  —  it will never sit comfortably,  just as a blade is only pleasant to see when against the throat of another.  Nebula works her jaw,  ducks her head that she might grant the girl a semblance of honesty,  however sharp that her edges are.   

          ‘  You will never have it.  ’      She says;  experience has taught her such.  Though she may now be free of allegorical chains and the agony granted her from such,  she does not heal.  She does not think that anybody would heal,  or even if she is deserving.  There are screams of the slaughtered rattling her head that she continues to feel no sparking remorse for.