#scarletwxnda

[visionmcu]

Well, I was born yesterday.

Happy birthday @scarletwxnda 💖

#visionedit #marveledit #scarletwxnda #dailymarvel #dailymarvelheroes #vision #my stuff #happy birthday olive oil ily

[maximoffvizh]

fic: the sun is too bright for me (but your smile is brighter)

he’s imagined how he’ll tell people this story. ‘i grabbed her scarf when it blew out of her hands in the wind’ said in a dreamy voice. absolutely no mention of the vampire reflexes that allowed him to do that | scarletvision au: vision is a vampire trying very hard to pretend to be human for the sake of his new girlfriend. don’t ask him why he doesn’t want her to know

He tugs anxiously at the tight collar of his turtleneck, wondering whether he should drop down to an even lighter shade of blue. Maybe this rich colour is too much of a contrast to his pallor, maybe it shows that his eyes shine a brighter colour than they should, maybe it means that this magical woman will take one look at him and realise that he wears high necklines to hide the two distinct round scars on his neck.

Vision forces himself to step away from his wardrobe, smoothing his sweater down with anxious fingers. She won’t know. She has no reason to suspect that he’s a vampire, that there are bright white marks on his neck showing where the venom flowed into his blood and changed him that late fateful night. He isn’t like those who lean heavily into this part of their identity, dressed all in black with silk-lined capes around their shoulders, haunting the vampire bars and living in apartments filled with expensive furniture and black marble.

He lives as a normal twenty-seven year old, in a cosy apartment decorated in pops of warm yellow, attending night classes for his third degree and holding down a job as a copy-editor. He speaks French, Italian and Sokovian, he knits and crochets and paints, he plays violin and piano and all of those are accomplishments he’s sure anyone who puts their mind to it would have achieved at twenty-seven. It just happens that he was bitten and made into a vampire in the seventies, and has been aging at a snail’s pace ever since. It allows for plenty of time to master the skills of a child prodigy.

He wishes he could check his reflection as he leaves the apartment, but at least it just so happened that her shift today meant she wouldn’t be free until after dusk. No prickle of sunlight will touch his skin, and he intends to treat her at the wine bar and be able to take a walk with her in the moonlight. They can talk about their lives, and he’ll let her do most of the talking - hearing about her life will be far more interesting than telling the lies of his for the hundredth time.

Wanda is waiting outside the bar for him, and he pauses for a moment to admire her, the dark red dress that hugs her figure and her hair tumbling in gentle waves around her shoulders. A black coat skims around her, and she’s examining her nails as he crosses the street and says a soft, “Hi.”

She starts, almost dropping her purse, then smiles, colour flooding her cheeks. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, immediately horrified. Not even thirty seconds into the first date he’s had in almost fifteen years, and he’s messed it up.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she says, seemingly collecting herself. “It’s impressive, being that silent. How’d you learn that?”

“Master of hide and seek in school,” he lies quickly, and she giggles. It’s better than telling her he’s so silent because he’s a predator and she, with her blushing cheeks and beating heart, is technically prey. ‘I am, biologically speaking, supposed to eat you’ is not a sentence to say on a first date. Or ever.

Luckily, she talks enough for both of them through their date. Telling him about her cat and her friends and her job and her childhood, talking about the country he saw before war devastated it, stood on its hills and watch dawn stripe the sky pale lavender. He’s content to listen, to hear her accent emerge more the longer she talks, to take in all of her. He can see the myriad shades of green in her eyes, the dark spread of her eyelashes, the faint freckles scattered across her nose breaking through the thin layer of make-up. Every twitch of her fingers draws his eyes, and he can smell the musk of her perfume, and beneath that the sweetness of her skin, his eyes tracing over the web of veins crisscrossing her wrist.

He takes a deep breath to clear his head, and instead takes a long sip of wine. Wanda giggles and says, “Slow down, handsome, I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you home.” She reaches across the table and brushes a stain away from the corner of his mouth, her finger so warm against his skin, and he stares at her for a long moment before he ducks his head.

Their walk through the park takes them to a stream, a picturesque curved bridge, and he grins helplessly when she tangles their gloved hands together, tossing her hair back over one shoulder and smiling at him. She pauses at the arch of the bridge, and he looks down at the colours caught in the water, at the trembling reflection of the moon.

Then her lips are on his, scalding hot, and he leans into this first romantic contact in so long, the first real human contact in years. Her hand touches his cheek and doesn’t jerk back at the cool of his skin, but cradles him closer. His arms wrap around her and he’s sure that he wouldn’t even notice if the bridge collapsed beneath them.

He does, however, notice when it starts to rain. But Wanda just beams at him and pulls her umbrella from her bag, raising it above them and continuing to kiss him. It feels like a scene from one of the movies he loved so much in the eighties, still watches despite Sam insisting that he has to get a more modern taste in his media, and he smiles against her mouth.

Being in a relationship - that’s what this is, a relationship, a beautiful woman who cheerfully and casually calls him her boyfriend and brings him coffee and buys him novelty socks just because - is somewhat difficult when he’s keeping such a huge secret from her. But he can’t bring himself to tell her. She thinks he’s just a normal guy, admires his cosy apartment and beams when he answers her questions in her language, gushes over the painting and scarf he gifts her for her birthday and lingers in his arms even when he makes excuses about poor circulation and not being able to warm her up.

She’s also shrewd, and clever, and it’s difficult to fool her. He can put her off kissing him after she’s eaten Italian by lying that he’s allergic to garlic, but he ruins that by kissing her when she leaves and having to quickly backtrack and claim the allergy isn’t so severe that it will affect him if he doesn’t ingest garlic. She wears a silver necklace one night that makes his nose itch and his eyes water, and the first excuse that comes to mind is that he just got very emotional over the sight of an old man pushing his equally old dog in a red wagon. He tries to put her off taking photos again and again, until she thinks he’s ashamed of her and that turns into a three-day silence before he turns up at her door with an armful of flowers and a mouthful of apologies, and she kisses him and promises she won’t do anything he isn’t ready for.

She falls out his lap, rumpled and panting and wanting, after they’ve been carefully and slowly making out for minutes at a time, her skirt tugged up high on her thighs and her shirt riding up, and he feebly lies that he has a migraine and leaves her apartment. He’s thrumming with desire, shaking with it, and his fangs are dropped and he runs his tongue over their points with a shudder of horrors. If she’d felt them...if they’d gone further...if he’d hurt her...he has to break up with her.

“Or you could just tell her the truth,” Sam says. He’s lounging on his couch, playing MarioKart, and Vision is fretting on the gaudy rug he’s always hated that Sam bought. For someone who was born in the eighties and turned in the early noughties, Sam really has a thing for the garish seventies aesthetic. “Vampires are common knowledge, she’s not gonna run away screaming.”

“You don’t know that,” Vision says, miserably picking at the seal of a blood pouch. He can still see Wanda’s eyes dark with desire, feel the press of her hips into his, and he can imagine how he looks after dinner. Fangs dropped and stained crimson at the tips. She’d be horrified to see him like this. “I really like her, and-”

“And the last time you really liked somebody you ended up hiding from the crazy father that thought you were a demon and tried to shoot you, I know,” Sam says, and Vision shivers at the memory. Virginia’s father screaming about the devil and his monsters, the bullet that passed harmlessly through him, diving into a river and letting the current carry him away, emerging hours later with nothing to show for it but the filth that caked him, the silvery scar in his chest and the knowledge that getting too close to humans is dangerous. “But times have changed, my friend. We’re an acknowledged species. And this girl doesn’t have a father to chase you with a shotgun, anyway.”

Vision throws the blood pouch at his head. Sam catches it, tears the corner off with a quick flick of his head, and drains it without losing first place in his game. And Vision mopes to bed, lying awake as the sun rises.

He doesn’t see Wanda for a week, avoids her calls and answering her texts. He paints sad dark paintings, works harder, and spends his nights reading long rambling stories about love and crying while Sam makes fun of him. He stares down the barrel of eternity and no more time with her, and he pretends that he isn’t upset. Pretends that he knew that an ending was inevitable, because a relationship between a vampire and a human can’t work out.

He pretends that even when Ian proposes to Sam, and he realises that maybe it can.

To: Wanda

Hey. I’m really sorry. Can we talk?

The knock on his door comes three hours after the fateful text, and Wanda is in his apartment. She’s wearing an enormous grey hoodie and leggings, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and carrying a coffee cup. And she stares at him witheringly, arching an eyebrow, and says, “So you ghosted me for a week, and you wanna talk?”

“I’m so sorry,” he says weakly. “I...I didn’t know what else to do.”

“If you didn’t wanna have sex with me, all you had to do was say so,” she says, and the defiance is fading into hurt, and guilt is pouring hot and gnawing into his chest and he wishes he was human. That he could take her in his arms and show her all the things he wants to do without being paralysingly afraid of hurting her. “If you want to break up-”

“No!” he insists, and she looks up, her eyes narrowed. “No, the last thing I want to do is end this. I...Wanda, you make me feel human-”

“But you are...” She trails off, and her eyes drop to his neck, deliberately bared. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.” He slumps back on the couch, and she’s still standing, moving closer. “I...the last relationship I had ended in her father chasing me off the property with a gun, before people really understood vampires, and I couldn’t...I can’t bear to think about losing you because of this.” He pushes a hand through his hair, and says, “But if you want to leave...if this is all too much for you...I won’t begrudge you your decision. It would be for your safety-”

“Vizh.” Her voice is soft, sweet, and she cups his face between her hands before she cradles his head to her stomach, and he closes his eyes and breathes her in. “You make me feel safe. It doesn’t matter to me what you are, you’re clearly in control of yourself. And now it makes sense why we only meet at night, and why you don’t wanna take photos, and why you don’t like when I eat Italian, and why you flinched every time I touched you when I was wearing silver jewellery...” She trails off, and he lifts his head to see her frowning adorably. “But why wouldn’t you have sex with me?”

“Oh...um...” If he could blush, he certainly would with her curious expression and her bright eyes. “See...it’s hard for us...vampires, I mean...to control ourselves with human...lovers. And I’m scared that I...I might get carried away and hurt you. Because I...we’d be so close. I’d hear your heart so loudly, and we’d be...naked. And things. I don’t...I don’t want you to get hurt. Not by me.”

“Oh sweetie.” She lifts his chin and plants a simple, sweet kiss on his lips. “You could never hurt me.” Then she smirks, slides into his lap, and breathes, “And make no mistake - I’ll always be the one in control.”

She kisses him, long and hard and dirty, and his breath rasps into her mouth. Her kisses trace a path from the corner of his mouth to his ear, and she whispers, “By the way, you’re a terrible liar. I’ve known from the start.” A tug of her teeth on his earlobe, and she breathes, “Fucking a vampire is on my bucket list. But only if I top.”

If a dead heart could come pounding back to life, that would be the sentence that does it.

#beth writes fic #scarlet vision #scarletvision au #visionmcu #scarletwxnda

[visioncentral]

HI I WISH YOU GOOD LUCK ON YOUR VISION BLOG HE DESERVES THE WHOLE WORLD!!!

thank youuu!

#rosie #answered #vision sends you all his love #scarletwxnda

[changebydjo]

Cherry 🍒

cherry; have you ever been to a psychic?: i haven’t!! i’m not against going to one or anything but i’ve just never had the opportunity to

✨🌹🌙 questions! 🌙🌹✨

#thank you!!! #asks #scarletwxnda

[marirable]

Tagged both by @sorrydearie and @shotgun-cake , thank you <3

The rules: List 10 different female faves from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people.

1. Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

2. Jessica Hamby (True Blood)

3. Yennefer (The Witcher)

4. Nymphadora Tonks (HP)

5. Natasha Romanoff (Marvel)

6. Kaylee Frye (Firefly)

7. Cece Parekh (New Girl)

8. Leia Organa (Star Wars)

9. Arwen (LotR)

10. Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Tagging @m-reveur @boom-slap @hefellfordean @mccartneys @ellielstories @philippedeclermont @bi-marvel @scarletwxnda @htgawparksandrec @behereforthis

#tag game #mine

[thatscarletwitch]

Rules: Answer 20 questions and tag 20 People you want to get to know better.

Tagged by @my-visions-are-scarlet. Thanks! I’ve never done one of these before, I feel so cool.

Name: Olivia

Zodiac Sign: Pisces

Height: 5′ 3″

Languages Spoken: English

Nationality: American

Favourite Fruit: Probably Lychees 

Favourite Scent: Lavender, Rose, or Vanilla

Favourite Colour: Red and Blue

Favourite Animal: The Majestic Penguin

Coffee, Tea or Hot Chocolate: Tea

Favourite Sweets: I don’t know, I’m bad at choices, some kind of ice cream if that counts?

Dream trip: I can’t really choose one place, I just want to see the world before we destroy it

Favourite Fictional Character: Take a guess....

No but really it’s Wanda and Vision don’t make me choose between them.

When this blog was created: Oh wow, I don’t even remember.

Last Movie You Saw: Solo

Song you’ve had on Repeat: Sublimity from The Grand Cyberpunk Gala of Gabriella Gadfly. Because apparently I like to cry.

Favourite Holiday: Halloween and Christmas, for different reasons

This probably won’t end up as 20 but here I have tagged some people, sucess

@orderchaoslove @venusiandarling @snitchesendupinditchesss @wandaisfierce @scarlet-vision-trash @magistrate-of-mediocrity @theskyismadeofpenguins @scarletwxnda @scarletphantom1704 @dennisocd

[visionmcu]

#tall blonde and gorgeous 

#marveledit #dailymarvel #dailymarvelheroes #marveledits #marveladdicts #visionedit #vision #iw #my stuff #scarletwxnda #here's your happy meal olivia #come again #thank you for ordering french fry delight

[visionmcu]

Acting is like sex - lots of fun to do but a little embarrassing if you have to talk about it afterwards. 

– for @scarletwxnda

#paul bettany #marvelcastedit #marveledit #dailymarvelkings #dailymarvel #paulbettanyedit #scarletwxnda #*crying* i hate lq footage #my stuff

[maximoffvizh]

I have three fic titles: Ephemera 🥀 A Heart Whose Love Is Innocent 💖 All Creation Shivers With That Sweet Cry 🌙

Ephemera

A summer romance, starlit beaches, kisses tainted with knowing that when autumn comes the relationship will end

A Heart Whose Love Is Innocent

A lost child brings romance to their lonely parents’ life. Sadness, regrets of lost love, lessons in creating your own version of a family following tragedy

All Creation Shivers With That Sweet Cry

Coming of age narrative. Sexual awakening. Woods and darkness and passion.

#scarletwxnda #answered

[visionmcu]

Paul Bettany during a studio shoot in London on Mar 05, 2004. 

(©) David Harrison | ZUMA Press

#paul bettany #marvelcastedit #dailymarvelkings #dailymenedit #pbettanyedit #paulbettanyedit #dailymarvelheroes #scarletwxnda #made this 4 u olive #welc #my stuff #no one's making stuff for my man so i will

[maximoffvizh]

I was forced by @visionmcu and @scarletwxnda to make this picrew. If anyone else wants to do it, let your friends peer pressure you into doing so!

#about me #visionmcu #scarletwxnda #now the pablos reign supreme are y'all happy

[maximoffvizh]

fic: curtain of fire

“i get that it’s hotter than satan’s asshole out here but if you remove any more clothing i won’t be responsible for my actions-wait. why are you smirking at me?” au | scarletvision, pwp

"What is the point of being friends with the king of clean energy if he’s not even in the state when our air conditioning breaks?” Wanda grumbles, and Vision glances up from the pages of his book. Catches himself staring at her pulling her hair away from her face, wet from the shower and sticking to her cheeks in dark curlicues, the pale length of her legs in her striped shorts, and jerks his gaze back to the black lines of type before she notices him staring.

“Tony is on his honeymoon, and the landlord said he’d send someone over to look at the unit before the end of the weekend,” he says, and Wanda groans. He looks at her again over the spine of his book, watches her tug her T-shirt away from the small of her back, belatedly realising he’s staring at the thin strip of skin exposed when she stretches and forcing himself to look away.

“You know when landlords say they’ll send someone over it’s just to pacify their tenants,” she says, frowning at the clanking of the ice machine before it spits out two tiny cubes. “We should admit defeat and just buy a couple of fans.”

“The heatwave is supposed to break next week,” he says, and she shakes her head at him, taking a long drink of water, and he tries not to stare at her mouth, not to look too hard at the way her clothes stick to her damp skin when she moves.

“I’ll melt away before that,” she says, melodramatically dragging her hand across her forehead, and he smiles fondly. “How are you not melting?”

“Linen is a very comfortable fabric in high heat,” he says, and she shakes her hand.

“It’s this hot and I still don’t get to see you in shorts,” she says mournfully, and he flushes, burying his burning face in the pages of his book. Not that he knows a single thing happening in the story. Not when Wanda is tugging at the hem of her shirt, frowning. Especially not when she sighs and pulls it over her head, leaving her in only those tiny shorts and her bra, and he struggles not to stare.

“What are you doing?” he asks, fighting not to let the sudden rush of desire strangle his words, and she glances back at him and smiles sunnily, innocence in the curve of her lips.

“It’s too hot for clothes,” she says sweetly, and he stares entranced at her fingers moving to the button of her shorts, the little shimmy of her hips as she wriggles out of them and tosses them aside. “There’s no point in wearing anything when it’s just the two of us.”

A flick of her hand closes the blinds across the windows in the room, leaving slanting lines of sunlight patterning the floor, and the heat seems to grow even more stifling the longer Vision stares at her, book forgotten resting in his lap. Her hair spilling over her bare shoulders, so much skin, and the surety of her idle steps around the apartment. Like she knows exactly what she does to him. “Wanda...darling, what if someone comes to the door?”

“Then you can answer it, babe,” she says, flipping her hair over one shoulder, and he stares at the freckles scattered over her back. “I can borrow one of your shirts if I really need to cover up, right?”

Thinking of her in his clothes, his shirt open around her, he swallows thickly and shifts on the couch, moving his book to hide his sudden erection. “Maybe you shouldn’t take anything else off,” he says quietly. “Someone could come to the door any moment...really.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Vizh?” she asks, and gives him one of the silky smiles that sends his head spinning, moving across the room towards him in sways of her hips. Pulling his book gently out of his hands and grinning when she looks down at him. “Guess I’m not.”

“Well...I...um...” He forces his gaze away from her, clears his throat, and says, “It’s very hot in here.”

“I know,” she says, and reaches for the buttons of his shirt, slowly unfastening them and trailing her fingertips down his chest. His eyes fall briefly closed at the sensation and she slides into his lap, dropping a kiss on his lips. “But we could make it hotter.”

“I thought you were already too hot,” he says, aiming for teasing. But the words come out with a little more of a plea behind them, and she’s grinning, her hands disappearing behind her to unclasp her bra.

“That’s why we shouldn’t be wearing any clothes,” she says, and kisses him again. He meets her this time, sliding her further into his lap, closer against him, and he can feel her satisfied smirk against his mouth as her hips start to roll against his. She’s tracing her fingertips over the edges of the vibranium lines crossing his chest, and he wriggles awkwardly out of his shirt, trying to keep her close.

“Aren’t...aren’t you going to stay too hot if we do this?” he asks, and she grins, her hands sliding down between them to unzip his slacks.

“This is worth it,” she says, and moves out of his lap. “Lie down, babe.”

He obeys her immediately. Of course he does. When she’s in this mood, smirking and climbing on top of him, straddling his hips and scratching her nails down his chest and leaning down to kiss his neck as she grinds against him, he’d do anything she asks. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You, hopefully,” she retorts, and his laugh turns into a gasp when she nips at his neck, grinding harder against him. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

“Yes please,” he rasps out, and she giggles, repositioning herself and continuing to kiss at the hollow of his neck, making his fingertips dig into her hips and her name fall from his lips. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” she whispers, and he leans up to kiss her, to hold her close and experience every single moment of her. Card his fingers gently through her hair and trace his fingers over the dip of her back and let her push him closer to coming, eyes closed and just feeling her.

She moves a little faster, rougher, gasps out his name and draws his hand down her stomach with a quiet, “Touch me.” They keep kissing through a slightly awkward angle until he recognises the shift of her breath, the way she arches into him until it almost hurts, and swallows every rough breath as she comes. Gazing up at the soft smile at the corners of her mouth, the way she whispers, “Vizh,” and leans closer to him.

He lets her come down, and then pulls her into a kiss and breathes, “Wanda,” into the charged, hot air between them. And she smiles and starts to move again, tracing her fingers over vibranium, leaning down to whisper something filthy in Sokovian so close to his ear that her lips brush his skin. He comes with a choked groan of her name, and when they’re done she drapes herself over his chest, kissing his jaw.

“I love you,” she breathes, so easily, and he wraps an arm around her, turning her face up to his to kiss her. Feeling life and brightness in the way she smiles when they part, her eyes shining like sunlight is part of her.

“I love you too,” he whispers, and she shifts up his body to kiss him, their legs brushing together, her hands cupping his face so gently. Like he’s precious, important, priceless.

“Do you think having sex in a cold shower would be too ironic?” she asks sweetly when they part, and despite recovery time another shiver of desire runs down his spine.

“I don’t think so,” he says, and she smirks and slides off him, holding out a hand to him.

He takes it without hesitation.

#scarlet vision #beth writes fic #visionmcu #scarletwxnda #scarletvision fic

[visionmcu]

4. 22. 84. 98. 😘

4. how did your elementary school teacher describe you?

quiet. like. painstakingly quiet they wanted to send me to a psychologist cause they thought there was something wrong with me but el oh el the joke’s on them cause that was a symptom of child abuse

22. role model

medb from irish mythology. kaween. i just hope to never meet the same fate as her. death by a block of cheese to the head does not sound like a good way to die kskksks

84. barbie or polly pocket

barbie cause i never had polly pocket 

98. favorite historical era

i’m not really a history buff to be honest but i guess ancient greek times or ancient rome maybe

send me a weird ask

#answered #ask games #scarletwxnda

[visionmcu]

YAY sleepover time! Name your top 5 celebrity crushes 🧐

1. paul bettany

2. barry allen from the flash tho i guess grant gustin technically but idk him i’m just here for barry lmao

3. ezra miller

4. tom holland

5. iain de caestecker even though i watched only 1 season of aos lmao

✨ sleepover / ask me stuff ✨

#rosie's sleepover #answered #scarletwxnda

[maximoffvizh]

fic: i believe the storybooks i read

fairytale prince/knight au | title from i know it’s today from shrek: the musical (repost from my old blog - if you’ve reblogged before and would like to again i’d be very grateful! <3)

Candlelight flares, casting soft shadows against the curved walls of his room. He shifts on the bed, gazing up out of the hole in the roof caused by the castle crumbling throughout the years to look at the stars, winking down from the night sky. Breathing out a soft sigh and reaching for the book lying next to his bed, opening the heavy cover to mark off another day passed. Day number eight thousand four hundred and twenty-three.

They promised he’d only be here for a hundred days. But that grew to five hundred. Then a thousand. And he’s been here for years of his life, from a boy to a man. The only person he sees being the messenger who brings new books and food and materials once a month. He taught himself to sew, to map out the stars, to draw and paint and keep the solitude from driving him quite mad. And he’s never let go of the belief that each day could be the day his saviour comes.

A knight, they said. A champion of the kingdom, brave and bold and brash, the sort of man who would cross a blistering desert and climb a mountain and kill a dragon. Climb the swirling stairs to the door that’s been locked since the day he arrived and free him. And he will offer this knight a token of his gratitude, and he will accept with his eyes bright behind a heavy helmet, and sweep him from the tower that has been his prison. They will be married in the kingdom, and he will finally know true love’s first kiss.

That daydream has kept him sane through years of imprisonment, through hearing nothing but the dull rumbling of the dragon curled around the tower breathing. Seeing the gleaming of the jets of fire that stream from the dragon’s nostrils when it grows angry. Clasping his hands to his ears and frantically humming his mother’s lullaby to himself when he heard the distant screams of the knights who came before falling victim to the dragon. He knew that the right knight would know how to slay a dragon. There would be a day when it would be the dragon’s dying shrieks that he heard.

He must fall asleep reading the same love story again, tracing his fingertip over the familiar words of a princess promising herself to her handsome rescuer, a man with dark hair and bright eyes down on one knee, because he wakes to hear the dragon roaring, shaking the entire castle. A distant crash of another tower crumbling, and he scrambles upright, straightening his clothes frantically. Brushing his fingers over the velvet to smooth it down, taking up his looking-glass to correct his hair before he rushes to the window that looks out over the rest of the castle.

There’s a knight at the gate, and his heart soars. Silver armour, and a sword at his hip, a bow strapped to his back, and Vision smiles down at his saviour. Wondering how he looks beneath the helmet, if his eyes are blue or green or brown or grey, if his hair is black or red or blonde, whether his jaw is clean-shaven or stubbled, whether he’ll have gentle hands or callused.

In the stories, when the knight saves the princess, they always kiss. He sees the illustrations dancing behind his eyes, hands cupping faces, curved to waists, eyes closed and eyelashes tangling. Wondering how it will feel for someone’s lips to be on his, to feel someone’s arms around him, to know what it’s like to kiss and be kissed. He feels a flush creeping into his cheek, and pulls his thoughts away from that. He can’t be flushed or unsightly when he meets his saviour.

Far below him, the dragon is uncurling from around the tower, wings extending above its heavy body, a dark blue that blends into the shadows, its eyes yellow as a cat’s. Its teeth and claws gleam white in the eerie light of the flickering torches, and Vision can see the glow in its throat as it spits a weak flame into the air. A warning.

He knows the pattern of the fights. The knight will charge, the dragon will breathe a churning whirl of flame. If the knight manages not to be caught in that and roast alive in his armour, a swipe of the dragon’s massive claws will swiftly dispatch him. He once saw a knight ripped in half by the dragon’s massive jaws. It haunted his nightmares for months, and still rears up in the shadows some nights.

But this knight doesn’t charge. As the dragon’s maw gapes open, he whirls behind a pillar, and disappears into the shadows while the dragon screeches in fury at lost prey, and Vision is leaning out of the window as far as he can without falling to search for the knight’s silhouette. Finding him the dark by the slight shift of the moonlight on his armour, the shine of his sword, and wondering if this will be the knight to save him.

The dragon yelps in agony when the knight slashes his sword across its tail, drawing a stream of purple blood flowing down the dark scales, shining in the light, and Vision cries out in fear when an enormous foot kicks the knight aside, and there’s the sound of metal scraping over the stones, and this must be it. His saviour is dead and he will stay in the tower for years more before another dares to try.

But no, the knight is getting to his feet, sword in his steady hand, and the dragon’s eyes are narrowing, focusing on its prey. Vision leans even further out into the night, his breath rising silvery in the air, watching the way the knight fights. Not like others he’s seen before, but more like a dancer, the movement of his body soft and fluid. Entrancing. Dodging another blast of fire, a swipe of claws, and sparks fly out when the claws drag against the blade of his swore. It must be somehow enchanted, for it doesn’t simply break under the pressure. A deft twist of hand and one of the dragon’s toes is severed from its foot, and it roars in agony as the knight slips beneath its belly and scrambles up its back.

And Vision nearly falls out of the window with excitement when he sees the knight drive his sword deep into the dragon’s back, the jewelled hilt shining. The dragon screams in agony, and so slowly slumps to the floor. Still. Finally slayed, and now he’s free, he’s free, and he almost runs down the stairs before he remembers the instructions. He has to stay behind the locked door until a knight finds the key among the dragon’s horde and rescues him.

He just watches the knight pull his sword from the dragon, wiping the blood away on a scrap of fabric that probably once hung proudly around the shoulders of a knight who met his death at the dragon’s claws. Watches him cross the room to the crumbling staircase and then tilt his head up. Pull the bow from his back and nock an arrow, firing it upwards with a faint whistling sound.

Vision watches in awe as the arrows wraps itself around a sturdy anchor above his head, and the knight presses a button and shoots upwards as if flying. Until he’s level with the window, and Vision hastily moves backwards to allow him to climb in. Noticing that he’s a little shorter than he seemed from above, but amazed by how smoothly he detaches his bow from above and sets it neatly against the wall. “That was incredible,” he says, feeling himself starry-eyed and overwhelmed. “It truly was. You are incredible.” Remembering the routine suddenly, grasping for the handkerchief left with him the day he was trapped, and holding it out, “Please, please, take this. A token of my gratitude.”

A chainmail-gloved hand takes it from him, glancing at the crest of his kingdom embroidered to the corner, and tucks it carefully into the quiver still holding arrows. And those hands rise to carefully lift the helmet away, and a tumble of fiery hair falls over the silver armour, and when the knight lifts their head Vision gasps out, “You’re-”

“Wanda, champion of Lord Stark,” she says sweetly, setting her helmet down and pulling her gloves off, running slender fingers through her hair. “I hate that thing, it’s so hot in there and I can hardly see.” She unstraps her breastplate, detaches the metal coverings on her arms, and he averts his gaze momentarily when the tight crimson tunic she wears beneath is revealed, clinging to her curves and making his mouth suddenly dry. “So how long have you been up here?”

“Eight thousand four hundred and twenty-three,” he says, and she arches an eyebrow at him.

“What’s that in layman’s terms?” she asks, and he flushes. The way she speaks, she can’t possibly be from court. Only thieves and peasants speak so informally.

“Twenty-three years,” he says stiffly, and she glances at him, detaching the greaves from her legs and revealing shapely calves and ankles in skintight breeches, making him stumble over his breathing.

“And no one ever slayed the dragon?” she asks, and he shakes his head. “Gods, I thought maybe this was dragon number five or something. Never send a man to do a woman’s job.”

“Sir...um, Miss Wanda, why are you taking your armour off?” he asks, and she just shakes her head at him. “Shouldn’t we leave?”

“Dragon’s dead, we don’t need to run,” she says, so light and unconcerned. As if she didn’t just fight a dragon and free him. “I plan on sleeping through the night before we leave. Your bed sure looks comfortable. Gossamer curtains and all.”

“But the door is locked!” he protests, and she smirks. Pulls a pin from her hair, another spiral of red falling around her shoulders, framing her pretty, freckled face, and works it into the lock, twisting it around for a moment before there’s a sharp click and the door swings open.

“And presto, we can leave whenever we want,” she says, and pulls her tunic down her thighs, drawing his attention to the curve of her waist into her hips.

“You aren’t like any knight I’ve ever met,” he says, and she grins at him.

“Sweetheart, I’m not like anyone you’ve ever met.” She rolls onto his bed and seems to be asleep in moments,

#beth writes fic #scarletwxnda #scarlet vision #scarletvision au #scarletvision fic

[visionmcu]

The High Priestess The Moon The Magician🌙✨

the high priestess: what is your dream date?

that’s a tough one. i’d have to say april 25th. because it’s not too hot and it’s not too cold. all you need is a light jacket skkskskksk but if you mean date as in event then probably an amusement park or road trip type of thing with lots of room for being spontaneous 

the moon: have you ever written a love letter?

nope

the magician: have you ever written a poem or song about somebody else?

no but i’d love to someday tbh kinda always wanted to do that

☀️🌙✨ send me a tarrot card ✨🌙☀️

#answered #ask games #scarletwxnda