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[ Wanda sighs heavily and shakes her head. She tuts for good measure as she continues to scrape her nails against his scalp. ]
You are hopeless, Pietro. What will I ever do with you?
[ Aside from keep him for herself. She's happy to be selfish in this instant. ]
If you're too hopeless, I'll have to change our lessons. I don't think you'd want that.
[ Less spanking. Less allowing her to be the one who actually gets to dominate. She likes the flush of power she feels at that, at him trusting her enough to let himself be vulnerable and submit. ]
You are hopeless, Pietro. What will I ever do with you?
[ Aside from keep him for herself. She's happy to be selfish in this instant. ]
If you're too hopeless, I'll have to change our lessons. I don't think you'd want that.
[ Less spanking. Less allowing her to be the one who actually gets to dominate. She likes the flush of power she feels at that, at him trusting her enough to let himself be vulnerable and submit. ]
[Pietro rolls his eyes, though it takes so much effort to do so right now. Wanda will never stop. He shifts and presses himself close at her side, snaking one arm around her.]
There is maybe a shred of hope for me.
[It sounds like a concession, because he very much liked those lessons, and he should be honest about it. He can learn that much at least.]
There is maybe a shred of hope for me.
[It sounds like a concession, because he very much liked those lessons, and he should be honest about it. He can learn that much at least.]
A small, tiny shred.
[ She holds her hand up, almost pressing her index and thumb together. There's a small space between both fingers as Wanda narrows her eyes to inspect it. But it'll always be big enough to earn him a spanking as long as he wants it. Saying as much is too easy.
She grunts and makes a show of wriggling beneath him. ]
Your arm is heavy. Are you trying to crush me?
[ She holds her hand up, almost pressing her index and thumb together. There's a small space between both fingers as Wanda narrows her eyes to inspect it. But it'll always be big enough to earn him a spanking as long as he wants it. Saying as much is too easy.
She grunts and makes a show of wriggling beneath him. ]
Your arm is heavy. Are you trying to crush me?
[Wanda, please. Pietro sighs in annoyance, at both her display and her grumbling and wriggling. He curls in on her a little, and moves his arm from her stomach, but it's just to cover her mouth with his hand.]
Go. To. Sleep. I am tired.
[The latter comes out as a whine.]
Go. To. Sleep. I am tired.
[The latter comes out as a whine.]
After scouring the Multiverse for a way to fill the hole inside of her, she decides enough is enough.
She calls for him.
Her boys call for her, but she calls for him. She can't do this alone anymore. Tucked away in a secluded part of what's left of Sokovia, Wanda's orchard thrives and her sheep bleat, but the world around her feels so stagnant. There's no movement. There's nothing to cause the hairs on her arms to rise. It's like time doesn't move here, even when she lets the day shift into the night and the night shift into the day.
She sits on the porch of her house—a two-storey, like they always thought they'd move into when the war was over (although, that was her and her dreams of living the life her sitcoms promised)—and waits for something in the air to shift.
This time, she won't get it wrong. She'll be conscious of what she does here. The world she's created is perfect—the temperature's warm but not too warm, and the nights are cool but not too cool. No one disturbs her here. It's quiet without the onslaught of bombs. There's no one here to slip her nightmares into.
She plays absently with her blackened fingers while watching her sheep trot in the distance. The twigs of her apples barely move in the wind. She hopes that after all this time, he'll heed her. He has to; Pietro has always come when she's called, even when her voice hasn't slipped past her lips.
Necromancy is the darkest of magic, but Wanda's been in the dark for the last ten years. She thinks it's about time the light shone on them again. She thinks it's about time that she took back what was hers. If Stark can snap the world back five years later to keep his legacy intact, why can't she resurrect her world?
When there's a shift in the air and the invisible barrier around her orchard is infiltrated by something sharp, she holds her breath and waits for him.
And when he appears, she can't see him through her blurry vision. The tip of her nose is already pink, even though she refuses to shed tears. She doesn't rise; Wanda's forgotten how to use her limbs.
"You missed breakfast," she says, her Slavic accent back into place. It feels right, like she's finally home.
She calls for him.
Her boys call for her, but she calls for him. She can't do this alone anymore. Tucked away in a secluded part of what's left of Sokovia, Wanda's orchard thrives and her sheep bleat, but the world around her feels so stagnant. There's no movement. There's nothing to cause the hairs on her arms to rise. It's like time doesn't move here, even when she lets the day shift into the night and the night shift into the day.
She sits on the porch of her house—a two-storey, like they always thought they'd move into when the war was over (although, that was her and her dreams of living the life her sitcoms promised)—and waits for something in the air to shift.
This time, she won't get it wrong. She'll be conscious of what she does here. The world she's created is perfect—the temperature's warm but not too warm, and the nights are cool but not too cool. No one disturbs her here. It's quiet without the onslaught of bombs. There's no one here to slip her nightmares into.
She plays absently with her blackened fingers while watching her sheep trot in the distance. The twigs of her apples barely move in the wind. She hopes that after all this time, he'll heed her. He has to; Pietro has always come when she's called, even when her voice hasn't slipped past her lips.
Necromancy is the darkest of magic, but Wanda's been in the dark for the last ten years. She thinks it's about time the light shone on them again. She thinks it's about time that she took back what was hers. If Stark can snap the world back five years later to keep his legacy intact, why can't she resurrect her world?
When there's a shift in the air and the invisible barrier around her orchard is infiltrated by something sharp, she holds her breath and waits for him.
And when he appears, she can't see him through her blurry vision. The tip of her nose is already pink, even though she refuses to shed tears. She doesn't rise; Wanda's forgotten how to use her limbs.
"You missed breakfast," she says, her Slavic accent back into place. It feels right, like she's finally home.
( from here. )
So you confirm you are becoming Rusty Man a year earlier than intended?
Interesting.
[ If only she were a scientist, she'd do something scientific with this. ]
Did you want to hear another one?
Or are you precious about losing another life?
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