A ScarletVision fanfiction exchange event in celebration of ScarletVision Appreciation day, on June 1st 2020! This will be a collection of works exchanged between participants, all centred around Wanda and Vision, and the ScarletVision ship.
Eeeeek I’m very excited to officially kick off @artemisegeria and I’s Scarlet Vision fic exchange event! For details, FAQs, rules, dates and deadlines, check out this profile...
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Okay, I’ve finally put the finger on what irks me most about the new Vision-comic, the one where Vizh, believe it or not, goes back to the laboratory he was created in and makes himself a wife and kids because he wants to be ‘normal’.
It’s how fucking heteronormative the whole concept is.
Ah yes, the only way the Vision could feel normal is if he builds himself a lady synthezoid and twin children synthezoids. There are no other definitions of ‘normal’ or ‘human’, no, of course the traditional family picture with a home life and a caring wife and lovely children.
And that’s not even the worst. His wife and children are not so heteronormative by choice. He literally builds them for this reason, which is the uttermost OOC-thing I’ve ever seen about the Vision (and believe me, the guy has had his fair share of being out of character). Vizh, the synthezoid built by Ultron as a weapon, rebelled against this destiny written out for him, by deciding that he could be more.
However, he doesn’t even give his new family that choice, the choice he made, to be more than his programming. The Vision once told Simon Williams that, because his programming is based on the latter’s brain patterns, he has all his preferences, he likes jazz, playing chess etc. But he had one thing all to himself: Wanda, his wife, who fell in love with him and whom he fell in love with without anyone programming that. Wanda never had to fall in love with Vizh, but she did anyways, because human life is strange. But his new synthezoid wife does not have that choice. She is created to be his wife, which gives me AoU-vibes, which is not a good sign.
And then there’s the fact that he creates his new children as twins. As if he didn’t have twins with his first wife. As if those twins weren’t reincarnated in Wiccan and Speed. As if he’s consciously trying to recreate some old memories instead of finding another way to be ‘normal’.
It openly disgusts me that humanizing Vizh comes as an ‘Oh, look, they are your typical neighbours - but with the power to destroy the world!’ (Also since when does he have that power? He’s the first one dying on every mission, what is so world-destroying about that??). It’s exactly how they sold Clint and what they built his character on in Age of Ultron instead of giving us the human disaster the archer is in canon. Perfect families don’t exist. Imperfect human beings do. A Vision who has a perfect family (that by the way has no speaking in the matter whatsoever) doesn’t make him more human. Struggling and failing and looking for his way in the world does, because that’s a lot more real and normal.
title: unmarked
pairing: wanda/vision
rating: T
word count: 7762
summary: He has put on so many colors and so many patterns, and yet there is one thing he hesitates to try—soul marks.
AU: vizh is a vigilante of sorts, a member of a group that steals from the rich and gives to the poor. one day, while running away from some rich governor’s guards, he runs into wanda, a girl who lives with her father and her brother in the village. she offers him a place to hide and, despite her family’s initial doubts, takes care of vizh and earns his trust. it doesn’t take long for her to start helping out during his raids, especially when they find that she has a penchant for predicting the enemy’s moves.
Professor Xavier's class is held in the coldest room in the whole university, and yet Wanda keeps forgetting her jacket at home. Good thing Vizh is always prepared.
or “I’m constantly shivering and miserably cold in this class and you bring me a blanket one day.” AU from here
also on AO3
Wanda has three jackets. One’s made of fleece, another made of leather, and the last made of denim. She’s pretty sure about it, mostly because she stares at them every night when she gets home and she vows to herself that she’s going to remember to bring one the next day.
The problem is she never does. She gets up, makes do with a granola bar for breakfast, takes a really quick shower, and forgets to put on a jacket. Then, at that point, she’s almost late for class so she rushes out of the apartment and doesn’t see Pietro’s text reminding her about how cold it is in Professor Xavier’s class.
So now here she is again, with cold air blasting against her shoulder and thinking, hey, at least I’m not sitting in right in front of the air-conditioner. She seriously needs to figure out a way to get out of herself bed the first time her alarm rings in the morning.
And what makes things worse is the person beside her.
Ten seconds after sitting down, she notices the thermos probably full of pleasantly warm coffee on the table, the windbreaker he’s wearing with pockets that must really be nice for cold hands, and the red scarf wrapped around their neck. She almost regrets sitting there, but then it’s either she endures having to glare at him for the whole class because she’s freezing her ass off and he’s not, or she finds another seat and makes things even worse for herself.
So she makes the obvious choice, and of course, there are consequences.
“Is there something wrong?”
Wanda startles. “What?”
“You’ve been staring at me for two minutes now,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Have I done something to you?”
“No,” Wanda says, crossing her arms and making a conscious effort to sit back in her chair and stare at the professor instead.
“Are you sure? You don’t look quite well.”
And she really mustn’t, she realizes, because she’s shivering really badly and probably deathly pale as well. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want some tea?” he says, taking the thermos and handing it to her. “It’s black, so don’t worry about getting drowsy.”
Wanda sniffs, still a bit grumpy, but she accepts the thermos anyway. “Fine. Thanks,” she says, and honestly, it’s the best tea she’s ever had. So she might be a bit biased because it’s the only good thing going on for her right now, but it’s also really good tea, okay?
“My name is Victor, by the way, but call me Vizh.” he says.
“Wanda,” she says, nodding. She sets the thermos back in its place. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Vizh says, and that would’ve been fine. That would’ve been normal interaction, but then he takes the next step. “Would you like to borrow my windbreaker? I don’t mind, and you need it more than I do.”
Wanda considers him for a moment, her lips pursed. Then, “No. I can’t. That’s too much.”
She expects him to insist, but he doesn’t.
“If you’re sure,” he says, and they don’t speak to each other again.
The next week, she finds herself in the same situation yet again. No jacket, no thermos, no scarf, but still with the air-conditioner behind her. She’s also still sitting next to Vizh for some reason.
“I brought you something,” he says, just as Professor Xavier starts to set up a demonstration.
“What?” Wanda asks, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
Honestly, it’s nothing she could ever expect. An extra jacket maybe, or even a scarf, but Vizh goes and takes a blanket from inside his bag. A blanket.
“What,” Wanda repeats, only now it’s in disbelief.
“Well I don’t really have any other jackets and I didn’t know if you’d like a sweatshirt so I brought this instead,” he says, his smile hopeful.
“It has Wall-E on it,” Wanda observes.
“Yes, it does,” Vizh says, and offers nothing more than that.
Wanda glances at Vizh, an amused smile playing on her lips. “It’s great. Thanks.”
in which I went overboard (aka it got too long as usual), went off the prompt (kinda), Wanda is clumsy and grieving (not in that order) and Vizh is basically me (avid reader of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein - the thematic fits)
Wanda pulled her scarlet scarf tighter around her body to shield herself from the sudden gust of wind. She smiled as her eyes wandered over the people on the paths. There were people like herself, coming home from work, in suits and elegant costumes, joggers, grandparents keeping a wary eye out for their grandchildren, all kinds of people, and they walked around, noticing and being noticed.
She was still delved in thoughts as something suddenly bumped into her from behind. She turned around and met the eyes of a little boy, who looked up to her with huge brown eyes, biting his lower lip.
“…s-sorry, Ma’am.” he stammered.
Wanda’s smile broadened, and she said reassuringly: “Don’t worry about it.”
He returned the smile insecurely, and Wanda was thinking about if she should say another word.
Before she could do so however, a little girl ran up to them, long hair waving behind her, and the boy reacted immediately.
He set off running, throwing his head back in the dash, yelling loudly: “CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, SIS!!”
It felt like a blow to Wanda’s stomach.
The girl groaned, like she was used to this kind of treatment, and then speedily took up the pursuit. “You’re so unfair!”
They both vanished from Wanda’s sight, but she couldn’t have seen them anyway. Tears started brimming her eyes, and she gasped for air. A thousand memories flashed before her, a thousand times she saw Pietro playfully running away from her, daring her to catch him, knowing full well she wasn’t able to do so.
There were times when her brother’s death was not the first thing on her mind, times when she didn’t feel his absence in her life, of his teasing, of his protective care of her.
But more often, it was a stabbing pain in her heart, a knife twisting and turning and tearing open a wound that had barely made the first tender steps towards healing.
Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and her vision was blurry. She felt her knees get weak, and blinded by the liquid in her eyes, she staggered around, fumbling for something to hold onto. She reached for something that felt like a park bench, and relieved, she let herself fall onto it and let her tears flow without barricades.
Just, as she noticed after a few seconds, that park bench did not feel like a park bench. The back of it, where her hand had reached, had surely been that, judging from the blurry picture she’d seen through the veil of tears, but this was irregular and kind of soft, and park benches usually did not make strange exclamations of surprise when you sat down. At least, from her experience they didn’t.
With effort, she blinked and wiped the tears from her eyes, enough to finally see clear.
What she saw was a pair of gorgeous blue eyes staring surprised back at her.
She blinked again a few times, trying to process what had just happened.
Apparently, she’d just sat down on a complete stranger’s lap, bawling her eyes out. Wanda looked at her hands, and she saw the traces of black mascara smeared all over them. Amazing. She was coming across like a complete lunatic.
The stranger seemed astonishingly composed at the sight of the completely dishevelled woman who had basically just raided on him. He just started pulling his book out from beneath her. He really must’ve been immersed in his lecture if he didn’t see her coming. And now, she had rumpled pages with her pain-induced clumsiness.
“I-I-I’m s-s-orr-ry.” Wanda stammered, feeling about as uncomfortable as the little boy from before, and she hastened to get down from the stranger’s lap.
He caught her wrist before she could run away or let the earth swallow her or her head exploded from the sheer amount of blood the shame drove up her cheeks, and pulled her back down onto the bench next to her. He let her wrist go immediately.
“Excuse me…I was a bit at a loss for words.” he said, with a soft English accent that gave Wanda a slack feeling in her stomach. “But you don’t seem in the condition to go anywhere, if you allow me to put it that way.”
“Yeah, you can put it that way.” she said, and it came out a lot more sarcastic as she wanted it to. Wanda pulled out a tissue and started drying her eyes.
“I’m glad you seem to be recovered enough to retrieve the most despicable of human emotion. Sarcasm.” he said with a little smirk while smoothing the pages of his book.
Wanda gave a little laugh. She noticed he didn’t even try to inquire why she was behaving like this in the first place, and she was infinitely grateful for it.
She watched his long, nimble fingers carefully stroking the pages of his book, and it had something soothingly calming. His whole presence – and she’d been here for at most three minutes, yet it was utterly noticeable – was a bastion of calm, and she could use calm right now.
He had not reacted in any way like she had expected it from any person with eyes in their head, being…fascinatingly different. She couldn’t quite put the finger on what made out the bastion, but it was definitely there.
“I’m so, so sorry about your book.” Wanda said sincerely.
He smiled at her, and her knees got weak again. “Don’t worry about it. This book has been through much worse.”
Indeed, it was tattered and worn and had obviously been read a lot of times.
nterested, Wanda leaned over. “What is it? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t.” he said, and a kind of spark gleamed in his eyes “Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It’s one of my favourites. The monster is…an extremely beautiful, well-crafted character.”
Wanda smiled quietly. “I have actually never read it.”
“You should.” the stranger told her unobtrusively ”There is so much in it.”
There was silence for a few seconds before Wanda opened her mouth. “If you don’t mind, for the moment, I’ll just be sitting here.”
He was quiet for a little while before timidly proposing: “…I could read it to you, if you want. I don’t know what upset you, and I don’t need to know, but maybe it’ll take your mind off it.”
Wanda was surprised, but she only needed a split-second to decide. “That would be…unbelievably nice.”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss…?” The question hung in the air.
“Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.”
“I’d be delighted to read to you, Miss Maximoff.” he said, his eyes fixed on hers.
“You’re really…nice, do you know that?” she replied, a bit perplexed and still wiping away tears.
“I am a saint.” her new acquaintance said with a definite does of ‘despicable’ sarcasm.
“A true vision.” Wanda said just as sarcastically. “Hey, that would explain why you’re so courteous - I’m hallucinating.”
“Dear Lord, I hope not. The existential questions this would raise. Speaking of which, do you know the story? Of the book, I mean.” he asked, curiously.
“Just the usual stuff. Please start at the beginning.”
“Introduction and all?”
She nodded. “Please do, my Vision.”
He bit back a grin, threw a look on the page, then broke into another, broader grin. “You’ll like that first sentence, then. So…from the author’s personal introduction…I saw—with shut eyes, but acute mental vision—“ Wanda did giggle at this “-I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life and stir with an uneasy, half-vital motion…”
Wanda closed her eyes and let herself be enveloped in that soft voice. She listened carefully, unknowingly wrapping her scarf closer around her body. For the moment, there was only this wonderful stranger who was there for her when she needed it, and his voice taking her away to unknown and frightening places.
Wanda Maximoff did not notice the people in the park. Those who looked around, just as she had done before, and perceived the petite girl cloaked in a red shawl and the tall man with the book on his knees, sitting side by side on a bench.
