[Her solution to that is just never sleeping, but she wants better for her brother. Wanda stops her attempts at annoying him in favor of leaning in to kiss his cheek.
She'll always have a soft spot for him.]
I'll make us lasagna and then we'll take a nap. Good?
Might I ask if you are making your sleep schedule be the same as mine?
[is this a good thing? is wanda sleeping more because of him??]
I will keep you company as you cook.
[atta boy, here he goes—getting up from the bed in one swift, normal-speed movement, and stretching. he'll have to wash these exemplary marker-tattoos from his hand, huh.]
[pietro grabs her held out hand and pulls her up. stained or not from the marker scribbled disaster on his hand will be no matter, just another sign that they're both so intrinsically entwined together.
his grip is firm on her hand, her subsequent removal from the bed an easy task.]
Now you cannot ever complain to me about being annoying to you.
My job here is to keep conversation going. I am running out of things to talk about.
[bullshit, pietro always has something to say if he finds the right inspiration and direction for it. which isn't too hard when he's going through thoughts at a fast rate; he could probably just go into a million tangents were his sister not such a grounding force to him.
it's easy to tell that he acquiesces to her plan, sitting down after the kiss and already racking his head for topics of conversation. it's almost nostalgic the way they left the tv on, the muted sound of old timey-whimey cartoons ricocheting down the hall into the kitchen.]
Can you also choose dreams if you make me sleep with your magic?
[She knows it's bullshit. Her brother can tell stories, invent stories, or complain about this and that. Ask questions. Go on and on. A thing she's missed dearly, because no matter the memories or dreams she'd have of him, it wasn't her brother in the flesh, breathing and speaking.
She had good and bad dreams about him over the years. It's why, after bringing out a pan and some ingredients, she heads back over to him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind the chair and rests her chin on the top of his head. Really, the only time she can do this is when he's sitting down, so she takes advantage.]
The fun thing about dreams, Wanda— [he starts, pausing a moment as he feels her chin atop his head; wah, sooo heavy] —is that they are so random that they will surprise me in a good way because I am not planning them.
[he pats the arms interlocked over his chest.]
I can write a list of ideas though. Throw them into a magic randomizer blender for ultimate surprise.
I'm not giving you naughty dreams about Sports Illustrated models.
[She squeezes him tightly.]
Have you been having bad dreams?
[No shame in it. The both of them were plagued by nightmares after their apartment was bombed, and there's only been more fuel for them since. Some of her strongest memories from their childhood was waking up sweating, in a panic, tears streaming down her face--and crying against Pietro until she could sleep again.]
I have very good imagination, I do not need "naughty dreams" [yes, air quotes and all] for semblance of private time. I have more manners than that.
[and wanda should know as much. anyway—]
Bad dreams? Worst I had so far was failing fourth grade math test. I could not figure out multiplication tables. Then a lunchbox ate me whole and I was rolling forever in a desert made of marshmallow.
[a quick shake of his head, almost as if to show his desperation of said reminder of a bad dream. he grabs one of her hands, though, and presses a kiss to her knuckles.
nah, he's not gonna share with her if he's been having bad dreams.]
[hmm... isn't that a little too loaded with an undertone of imminent something? oh well, it certainly catches pietro a little off-guard, as his hand tightens on his sister's hands for a moment.
truths, truths. hm. hmmm.]
Eh.
[he sniffles, making a gesture of one annoyed older brother, hoping to push her and her mushiness away without really putting a lot of effort into it.]
[he rests his head against a hand, elbow on the table as he basically just slumps over. magic cooking is nice because it's quick, and honestly, if it means he doesn't have to help with the washing...
This is starting to sound like HYDRA-sponsored interrogation.
[as if they ever got it easy when they were under hydra's control. thankfully (for him), he sees the dirty rag and easily moves out of the way. he doesn't catch it not because he doesn't love her, but because he simply can't be bothered.]
Maybe pistachio?
[he's not really thinking of the flavor—he's not got a favorite. casually restores his obnoxiously-calm seating position on his chair.]
[The food will be ready whenever Pietro complains enough. Yay, magic. Wanda frowns at him not picking up the rag because she is not their mother, and yet... there will still be pistachio and cherry ice cream (SWIRLED) in the freezer for him.]
Gross? Gross for what? Pistachio and cherry is perfectly fine combination.
[or was it because of the rag... he, very obviously, glances behind him, an arm over the top support of the chair, and gives a long, hard stare at the rag—like he's surprised it's still there.]
You know, sometimes it is hard to believe we are twins. I am never this sloppy. [the joke is that he isn't a super clean person either— but, just to prove a point(?), pietro stands up and picks up the rag before wanda can magic-whisk it away form the floor. he even folds it very neatly.] Have you considered having guests?
[The real answer? No. This place was never meant for anyone but herself. She likes it better now, with Pietro here, but that's it. If anything, it makes her less inclined to reach out to anyone else she might know, because how is she supposed to explain this?]
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[She can do just about anything, but she's not eager to really lay that out.]
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[there was no suggestion box!]
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[Wanda playfully taps his temple.]
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Not now. After lasagna, though.
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You? Suggesting nap time?
[If she wasn't already certain this was her brother, she'd be worried.]
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She'll always have a soft spot for him.]
I'll make us lasagna and then we'll take a nap. Good?
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[is this a good thing? is wanda sleeping more because of him??]
I will keep you company as you cook.
[atta boy, here he goes—getting up from the bed in one swift, normal-speed movement, and stretching. he'll have to wash these exemplary marker-tattoos from his hand, huh.]
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[More like lonely. More like she worries if he's dead again. More like she likes to spend every waking moment with him.
Wanda holds out a hand to be helped up. She's going to get stained.]
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[pietro grabs her held out hand and pulls her up. stained or not from the marker scribbled disaster on his hand will be no matter, just another sign that they're both so intrinsically entwined together.
his grip is firm on her hand, her subsequent removal from the bed an easy task.]
Now you cannot ever complain to me about being annoying to you.
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[Never with any real seriousness, at least. Wanda keeps Pietro's hand in hers as she leads them out to the kitchen.]
You can sit at the table and talk to me while I cook.
[She's so okay with that plan that she pauses to kiss his cheek.]
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[bullshit, pietro always has something to say if he finds the right inspiration and direction for it. which isn't too hard when he's going through thoughts at a fast rate; he could probably just go into a million tangents were his sister not such a grounding force to him.
it's easy to tell that he acquiesces to her plan, sitting down after the kiss and already racking his head for topics of conversation. it's almost nostalgic the way they left the tv on, the muted sound of old timey-whimey cartoons ricocheting down the hall into the kitchen.]
Can you also choose dreams if you make me sleep with your magic?
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She had good and bad dreams about him over the years. It's why, after bringing out a pan and some ingredients, she heads back over to him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind the chair and rests her chin on the top of his head. Really, the only time she can do this is when he's sitting down, so she takes advantage.]
What do you want to dream about?
[A yes, then.]
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[he pats the arms interlocked over his chest.]
I can write a list of ideas though. Throw them into a magic randomizer blender for ultimate surprise.
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[She squeezes him tightly.]
Have you been having bad dreams?
[No shame in it. The both of them were plagued by nightmares after their apartment was bombed, and there's only been more fuel for them since. Some of her strongest memories from their childhood was waking up sweating, in a panic, tears streaming down her face--and crying against Pietro until she could sleep again.]
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[and wanda should know as much. anyway—]
Bad dreams? Worst I had so far was failing fourth grade math test. I could not figure out multiplication tables. Then a lunchbox ate me whole and I was rolling forever in a desert made of marshmallow.
[a quick shake of his head, almost as if to show his desperation of said reminder of a bad dream. he grabs one of her hands, though, and presses a kiss to her knuckles.
nah, he's not gonna share with her if he's been having bad dreams.]
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She dips her head to be able to press a hard kiss to his temple.]
We'll both tell one another the truth in time.
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truths, truths. hm. hmmm.]
Eh.
[he sniffles, making a gesture of one annoyed older brother, hoping to push her and her mushiness away without really putting a lot of effort into it.]
Magic cooking today?
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Always magic cooking.
[But lasagna is easy. Layers and layers, though the ingredients just all happen to be there as she heads to the counter to begin.]
What about dessert? We can have something when we wake up.
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he's not about to complain.]
Ice cream? Would be nice.
[a simple man, hashtag it]
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Okay, but what kind of ice cream, Pietro?
[She dribbled some sauce on the counter. After wiping it up, she throws the rag at him because she loves him.]
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[as if they ever got it easy when they were under hydra's control. thankfully (for him), he sees the dirty rag and easily moves out of the way. he doesn't catch it not because he doesn't love her, but because he simply can't be bothered.]
Maybe pistachio?
[he's not really thinking of the flavor—he's not got a favorite. casually restores his obnoxiously-calm seating position on his chair.]
Oh, or cherry.
[wanda can pick up the rag with her magic!!]
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You are so gross.
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[or was it because of the rag... he, very obviously, glances behind him, an arm over the top support of the chair, and gives a long, hard stare at the rag—like he's surprised it's still there.]
You know, sometimes it is hard to believe we are twins. I am never this sloppy. [the joke is that he isn't a super clean person either— but, just to prove a point(?), pietro stands up and picks up the rag before wanda can magic-whisk it away form the floor. he even folds it very neatly.] Have you considered having guests?
SLAMS BACK IN
[The real answer? No. This place was never meant for anyone but herself. She likes it better now, with Pietro here, but that's it. If anything, it makes her less inclined to reach out to anyone else she might know, because how is she supposed to explain this?]
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