fabtonch

I feel flashes of love

"It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness, and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end, because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?"

And honestly, it makes me cry. Truly, how could the end be happy? They could find a way, but I, personally, don't see them going for it, and it hurts. It hurts so much. I know they're just fictional characters, but they're so much more than that to me. I just wish that Marvel and Disney hadn't discarded their happy endings somewhere along the way. I wish we could go back to the time of MCU and Disney movies in which you could handle the suffering because you knew, you knew, that it would be worth it in the end. You could trust that your favorite heroes would find a way out of even the most hopeless situations, that you would watch the end credits roll with a smile on your face instead of your heart being shattered in a million pieces.

He sacrificed himself for people he believed cared about him, for a woman we not only assumed he might care for but one he explicitly said he loved. Synthetic body and brain, made of vibranium and stone created during the big bang was not only dying like “any man” but also loved like one. And then brought back after his sacrifice to only die, believing he failed everyone even though he fought so hard to have the stone destroyed at a time when there was no going back. He is one of the four people that actually dies in Infinity War and when all of the Avengers mourned others people, he was being stripped for parts by S.W.O.R.D. He was not allowed to make the sacrifice because others’ egos were too big and then was forced to die twice and now his body and life are being manipulated. He even says he can’t remember before Westview, but he’s still Vision and he wants truth over lies. He wants to be with Wanda even though she is doing these things but he can’t just sit back when people are hurting. He wants the husband and father life but he can’t let go of the one thing he always had, his own mind.

GONNA SEE DADDY VISION DADDY VISION DADDY VISION. I’VE BEEN WAITING LITERALLY FOR YEARS

Twilight Time

@fabtonch Your art is always so beautiful and I wanted to write a little something based on it. This Drabble is inspired by the linked art. Hope you enjoy!

“What’s this?”

Her voice floats across the humid room, latching onto his shoulders and turning him towards her with a sheepish smile. “I found it at a garage sale and thought, um,” Wanda lifts her eyebrows expectantly, always giving him time to figure out his words, even when curiosity rests unabashed in the quirk of her lips. “Well,” Vision glances at the oaken piano, his reasoning feeling flimsy now that scrutiny is being applied. “It has been suggested that music is soothing to babies.”

Instinctively her hand falls to her stomach, fingers curving along the increasingly prominent bump beneath her dress. “You know we have a radio.”

They do, a fine one at that but, “As they get older, the act of learning to play might help foster their cognitive development.”

Wanda nods along with his reasoning while her eyes narrow in contemplation. “Do you know how to play it?”

“I-“ the piano stares at him with just as much interest as his wife, “well no.” Wanda’s smile strains to stay encouraging instead of strutting into disbelief. “But,” he raises a finger to emphasize the promise of his argument, “my auditory processing unit is programmed to perfectly recognize pitch and no doubt rhythm.”

Wanda’s lips tilt up ever so slightly, “Is it now?”

“Indeed.  And my dexterity is impeccable.”

“Yes it is.”

The saucy little wink she sends him almost derails this whole endeavor, “Wanda…” but he stays the course, wanting to show her why he felt this buy was important. With four strides he meets her in the middle of the room, arm looping gently around her waist as he guides her towards the bench, “please have a seat.”

Vision settles next to her and stares at the instrument, his hands coming to rest awkwardly on the keys while the tip of his shoe seeks out the pedals that he isn’t entirely certain how and when to use. “I am certain it cannot be too difficult.”

“Go for it.”

An easy command except all that resides in his head is deafening silence. “I do not know what to play.”

“Well, probably something easy.”

“Such as?”

His eyes slide sideways to watch her think, a stray hair swaying along her cheek as Wanda stares back at him with a slight shake of her head. Her “I don’t know either,” is paired with an apologetic smile, “the only song in my head isn’t easy, I think.”

At least she has a tune to work with. “We shall go with that then, what is it?”

“Oh, um,” a breathy laugh escapes her mouth, hand falling absentmindedly to her stomach and rubbing small circles into the fabric, “putting me on the spot here, Vizh.”

“My apologies.” He prepares to end their session, not meaning to make her uncomfortable, but then she begins a stuttering rendition, “Heavenly shades of ….something falling, it’s um twilight time. Out of the,” now she hums it, uncertain of the words. While she does so a sheen of scarlet forms around his hands, encouraging him to play something. “…calling it’s twilight time.”

“Ah I think I know this one.” He tests his fingers on the keys, trying to find the ones that most closely match not only what he recalls of the song but her own voice. Eventually he settles on what he believes is correct and haltingly they put together a tune of sorts; her stitched together lyrics nudging along his fingers into an overly simplistic, chordless melody. Whenever they find themselves at an impasse, whether through a loss of lyrics or (the far more common) slip up of his fingers, they start over, each time bringing more vim to their synchronized, “it’s twilight time,” as if it will protect them from their errors .

After what might be the tenth or even hundredth attempt, they finally near the end of the song, Wanda ushering them to the finale with an unwavering sincerity in her voice, “Each day I pray for evening, just to be with you. Together, at last at…”

A nudge from her hip cues him in that this is a joint statement, their voices combining for one last “twilight time,” and then all settles into silence with the last reverberations from the piano.

Vision turns as best he can to gaze at his wife, lips curving up at the grin on her face and the pride filling her voice, “I think we did pretty well.”

“Yes, for our first attempt it was acceptable.” Not impressive, by any means, but he should not have assumed it would come so easily. ‘‘But you, my darling, were magnificent.”

She waves away the compliment, “That’s pushing it, though,” Wanda moves his hand to her stomach, pressing his fingers into her body just enough for him to feel the rapid jabbing of a foot. “they seemed to enjoy it.”

This should be a good thing, except it was meant to sooth not excite. Perhaps they chose the wrong song, something they can play around with in due time. For now he looks to the positive of it all, “I suppose we have to consider it a success then.”

“Agreed.” Wanda pats his thigh, her voice laced with joyful encouragement, “Want to keep practicing?”