#I drew it as purple bc that was on the cover of The Rise of Scourge and also I just really liked that color (still do!)

[scorchedhearth]

OH for the prompts…9 + donnakyle bc i adore how u wrote them in the opening of close, so close <3 or ALTERNATIVELY: 8 + jk >:-)

thank u for enabling me kata, ur the best <3

8. tipping your chin to make you look into their eyes

“Jason,” Kyle spoke calmly, and still he saw his shoulders draw up with tension. He tilted his head and threw a stoic glance his way before turning back to face the city. Kyle bristled and clenched his teeth, drew a deep breath in as he stepped onto the fire escape, into the thick cloud of aggression and rancor that surrounded all of their meeting.

“Fuck off,” Jason said and stubbed his cigarette on a makeshift ashtray, taking longer than strictly necessary to rub the last of the incandescent cherry on the wet mix of sand and ashes left at the bottom of a broken mug.

“What was that all about?” Kyle asked, not looking at Jason, joining him by the railing. He stood tall where Jason was leaning his elbows on the bleached green metal, not bothering to correct his posture.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Jason flicked his tongue out to lick at a bloody scab by the corner of his mouth, and Kyle took notice of the bruises littering his bare shoulders, the swollen jaw and God knows what else hidden by the dark, the moonlight barely reaching those corners of the city.

“It’s my concern when you blow up an entire convoy we've been tracking and push back weeks of the Titans’ efforts when you knew about it.” He bit through his teeth, fists already tensing up.

“I said, fuck off, Fly Boy,” Jason snarled at him, lips pulled back on pearly white teeth, a threat as much as a promise. Blood still tainted his canines, a drink of water washed off the worst but still left red highlights all around the gums.

It did not land the intent, which was pissing off Kyle to either justifiably discredit him or force him away. Not, all it did was quiet the build-up of anger as easily as a flood dragged away trees.

“What happened?” Kyle frowned, and when Jason turned back to stare at the city once more, his hand flew out and grabbed his shoulder, pulled him toward him before he could think. A sharp hiss, an even sharper jab to his inner elbow and Jason was pushing him off with a much stronger shove than necessary.

“None of yours,” he hissed through his teeth and fished his pack out of his pants, opening it with shaky fingers.

Last time Kyle intruded in one of his houses without invitation, Jason threw him out the window -quite literally, without checking for his ring first. The time before that one, he pulled his gun out on him, and the one before he slipped out of the room before Kyle could greet him. This time, Jason tried three times to bring his lighter to life before cupping his hand around the flimsy flame.

Something was wrong.

“Look at me.” He kept his voice low, ignored Jason’s dismissive huff and the chill that ran down his spine. “Let me see,” he asked again, and instead of making use of brute force, he laid two of his fingers under his chin.

He felt Jason freeze under his touch but he didn’t dodge it, so he slowly pulled him toward him. He didn’t pull him no, he moved his fingers and Jason followed his touch, guided into the light of the moon. His arms still by the railing, neck twisted up and out as Kyle got a good look at him.

The other side was worse than the first, the swollen jaw had nothing on the bloody mess of what looked like a deep road rash spread from his chin to eyebrow, ugly, dark scabs covering purple bruising. Like this, with the low collar of his tank top hanging over his collarbones, Kyle’s eyes were drawn to the scar wrapped around his neck, red and raised tonight, far from the silver slash across thin skin he was accustomed to.

Jason stood still under his gaze, smoke rising from his idle hand, unnervingly still. Not relaxed, but not shivering either. Poised, waiting, shocked. At himself or Kyle, he couldn’t tell.

“They did this to you,” Kyle said more than asked, already knowing the answer, as he dragged his eyes away from his neck. Even if Jason had answered him, he wouldn’t have heard a single word.

He was blushing.

He stood still under his touch, two fingertips pressed gently under his chin where stubbles were already growing in, and a ferocious blush on his face. It was hard to tell under the mess of wounds, but red uneven blotches of blood spread across his face like hemorrhage, over his ears and cheeks alike. It was such an alien sight; Kyle’s breath was kicked out of his lungs.

Tension of a different kind bled into the air around them, something raw, painful, too deep. Something heavy that forced them to a pause before they could collide into a wall, deciding whether to swerve or crash.

Kyle startled when Jason violently pulled away, pointing his face toward the city once more and sucking a long drag out of his cigarette, holding it in as he flicked the ash into the dark night beneath their feet.

“Doesn’t matter now,” he murmured, tonguing at the bad scab over his lip again. “They’ve been taken care of.”

It was hard to stay angry after this, to remember how Jason messed up weeks of careful planning by the handful of Titans he found still in New York, likely pushing even further the resolution of their current problem with the dirty money here. This didn’t feel planned like all of Jason’s stunts were. This felt impulsive and retributive.

He knew he wouldn’t be getting anything else out of him Knew him well enough to at least be sure of that. He might not have been thrown over the railing, but he might as well have been given the rigid line his back made as he turned his face away from him to blow smoke up into the stars, only barely keeping Kyle in his sight.

“Whatever,” Kyle mumbled, and stayed a few second too long in the silence, staring at the back of his head, sheared hair and crusts of blood stuck in the dark strands. His fingers were still warm from his skin, tingling like they wanted him to remember the way he followed his touch, followed him, locked under his eyes, speechless and for a brief moment so strikingly open. “Stay out of our business, Jason. It’s better this way.”

He kicked off without casting a look back, his heart in his throat and stones churning in his guts. He hated meeting with Jason, it always left him seething for hours or unbearably sad. He wasn’t sure if he preferred the latter to the former.

[plushii-gutz]

Part 8, it kinda sucks bc I had low motivation due to sOMETHINg

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Furnoss and Syncopite worked together, cleaining and repairing what the castle needed after the earlier fight. One of the legs on Galvanas chair had been broken off after Loodvigg had knocked it aside, leaving behind a splinter-filled mess. It made Syncopite feel a bit uneasy, realizing the strength that the spidery monster carried.

Furnoss had been lost in thoughts since they had begun the repairs. He worried of the future. Loodvigg was a threat now, and it wasn't safe to have it around the kids. This included Attmoz and Glaishur, too. It took years for Furnoss to actually listen and understand how the rest felt, and the idea of Loodvigg having the same change just seemed impossible. For now, though, they were temporarily restricted to their room until a proper plan could be made. Even with these restrictions, he worried.

Scaratar had settled down the remaining little monsters, most of which now had finished their lunch and played less active games. Some began to rebuild their fort, some babbled to one another in nonsensical patterns. It was much better than it had been before, and Attmoz was comfortable enough to leave Scaratar in charge.

Attmoz hated having her do chores that weren't typically hers, but the environment seemed somewhat calm enough to leave behind. Now, he sat in Glaishurs room, still waiting for him to wake up. How hard had Loodvigg hit him? The table, too. All the air monster could remember was his friends fur being dyed a deep, murky red. The sight was burned into his mind. Even so, he kept his cool, sitting on the floor and waiting. He wished for the best. It was all he could do.

Galvana wasn't willing to leave Attmoz's side for anything. They stood with him in the chilling room, keeping themselves distracted with the orb they carried so often. They weren't able to really play much, unable to use their left hand hardly at all. They and Attmoz rolled the ball back and forth, filling up their time with the smallest bit of entertainment. They didn't exactly remember what happened to Glaishur, having been removed from the scene quickly after. They remembered him yelling, falling, and now he was asleep. Galvana would assume he'd wake up any second, but definitely wouldn't feel very good.

The blankets began to shift. Soon, the bed creaked. Attmoz lifted his head, watching the cold monster rise from the sheets in a sudden jump, gasping. The last vision in Glaishurs eyes was the red of his eyelids.

"Hey, hey!" Attmoz stood up, helping support his friend after his sudden awakening, "easy there, Frosty, you're ok. Galvanas ok, too. You're in your room. You're safe."

Glaishur drew in a long breath of fresh air, taking in the environment around him. He moved his hands from the blanket, carefully feeling over the coarse bandages that covered his left eye. Galvana hopped onto the bed, placing their own bandaged hand over the purple monster's injuries. Glaishur carefully took Galvanas hand in his. They couldn't speak it properly, but they wanted him to know he wasn't alone.

"Oh," Glaishur sighed, taking the little monsters hand in his, "It got you good, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Attmoz spoke, "But you saved 'em. You took quite the hit back there."

The air monster sat on the bed, Galvana rolling back to him.

"There's a lot to explain, but I think you need to rest a bit more. You look kinda rough."

"Never would have guessed," Glaishur mumbled as he fell back onto his pillow.

"You know, that was real brave of you. In all honesty, I dont know if I would've been able to -"

"I don't want no praise, 'Moz, I just want t' know that the rest are safe."

The air monster nodded.

"I promise you, they're fine now. Just let me know when you're ready. There's.. a lot, to say the least."

Attmoz led himself and Galvana out of the room, leaving behind Glaishur to heal. He wondered more about what to tell him, especially about the idea of other islands. What if they were able to find a way to explore? A way to find these islands? Would he be able to return home, even after the journey? Even with his curiosity, he needed to decide if it would be right to leave to begin with - especially now.

"Attmoz! Could you gather the kids?"

Right. It was still their castle. It was still home. It was still another day.

"Be there in a bit!"

Galvana held onto Attmoz's tail while they walked, doing all they needed to avoid being left behind. As cute as the pink monster thought it was, he worried deeply for the kid. He hoped Galvana wouldn't rely on him too much or that they wouldn't feel safe on their own. Then again, he made a promise. He didn't plan on breaking that promise any time soon. He chose not to think of it too much, instead gathering the rest of the group and herding them all into the kitchen. Maybe he'll talk to Glaishur about the idea later.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Day seemed as if it would never end. But, as always, rises the moon.

It wasn't much of a surprise that the younger monsters couldn't sleep. Furnoss had gathered them, now giving the older monsters the break they deserved. Even in the presence of Furnoss, Galvana didn't feel safe. They made their usual whistling cries, throwing a fit that they didn't get what they wanted while all the fire monster could do is avoid getting electrocuted.

Once more, Scaratar offered to help. She seemed to be growing more fond of the kids, and Furnoss trusted her too, so long as Syncopite was there to monitor as well.

"You know, you really don't have to put this pressure on yourself. I can stay with them as long as it takes."

"No, It's ok!" Scaratar insisted, "Syncopite will be here, too! I can handle it!"

Furnoss sighed but agreed.

"Alright, but if you need me, you know where to look."

He exited the room, moving towards the stairs only to be stopped by Hornacle. The water monster held up a sheet of paper, jumping with excitement.

"What are you doing up? I just put you to bed! Oh?"

Furnoss took the paper. It was a drawing the little monster had made days ago, presenting every monster that lived on this island together. Minus Loodvigg, of course. Only now, Furnoss himself had been added into the drawing. He felt himself become choked up at the sight.

"It's.. lovely, Hornacle. But please, bedtime."

There was no fight. The little monster hopped off, back into their room and back to bed. Furnoss displayed this drawing on the fridge, forever reminding himself of what he worked for.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

"..and that's all he could remember. "

Attmoz had finished telling Glaishur every last detail that he had gotten from Furnoss, the both of them chilling in Attmoz's room for the time being. Glaishur didn't question any of what he was told, taking it all in as factual. Similar to his friend, though, he didn't believe they had been gods. Maybe leaders, but not gods.

"So.." Attmoz trailed off for a moment, "There's more out there."

"Yeah.. but - but I don't want to leave! I don't plan on running. Not anymore."

"Oh no, that's not what I was thinking. Well, not entirely."

Glaishur looked up with a small, "What do you mean?"

"I mean. It's night. Everyone's asleep. How about we make a deal?"

"I don' like the sound of this."

"Cmon, man! Aren't you curious?"

Glaishur wasn't sure where Attmoz's sudden enthusiasm came from, but he couldn't blame the guy. There was something new. Who wouldn't want to see? He was just like Glaishur, too. A stupid teen.

"You can make a sort of ice-boat thing, I can make a few clouds and woosh! Off to explore! We'll be back in the morning. No one will even know we were gone."

"I dunno, 'Moz.. maybe?"

"Well, I'll be outside near Scaratar and Blasoom's garden. Come to me when you've made your choice."

Off Attmoz went, making sure every head was rested on a pillow. That night, he wasn't alone in the garden.

[magic-can]

really miss the days when the most intense discourse I heard was about what color Scourge’s collar was

[sxfterhearts]

wounded

24. [7:25 pm]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: slow burn, fluff, slight bad boy!yugyeom, triggers; mentions of violence, injuries, physical abuse

➳ word count: 2,504 words

➳ summary: 24. “Just because,”

➳ author's note: this will probably turn into a two-shot, inspired by new era yugs. all creds for the gif below to @jinyoungot7​, thank you so much 💖 i’ve been sitting on this idea for a bit too long + rewrote it 3 times (bc my dumb self forgot to hit save) so i really struggled to form the right words. i hope you’ll forgive me for this! any form of feedback will be very much appreciated 💕 (also: imo = aunty)

wounded // scarred // healed

A rush of stiflingly hot summer air pummeled through the double doors of your family’s restaurant, disrupting the once cool atmosphere created by the air-cons. Being reminded of this season’s unforgiving behaviours urged you to lift the straw of your cool drink to your lips.

The sip of iced Americano, however, got stuck in your throat when you laid eyes upon the restaurant’s newest patron.

Yugyeom. Kim Yugyeom, with his untucked shirt and loosened tie, took confident strides across the dining area in the direction of the kitchen window where chefs would place finished dishes, ready to be served. Your brain short-circuited for several moments as you did nothing but watch him from your position behind the cashier. His actions were that of a regular’s as he arrived at the window and stuck his head through the opening in the wall, his hand coming up in a small wave to catch the chefs’ attention.

It was then that you registered, quite belatedly, the bruises and splotches of crimson littered across the back of his raised hand, tarnishing the fair skin.

You distinctly remembered that you saw plasters wrapped around his fingers earlier today when you sat beside him in class. His current wounds made the older ones seem like insignificant paper cuts. It wasn’t unusual for Yugyeom to turn up covered in fresh cuts and purple bruises, though. In fact, you had grown so accustomed to this that you started stocking up on assorted Rilakkuma plasters. Since the start of the semester when you were assigned the furthest desk from the whiteboard, you learned how to disinfect open wounds with saline solution and cover it properly with pastel-coloured dressings, all courtesy of Kim Yugyeom.

“Imo, can I please order takeaway? One bibim naengmyeon and one mul naengmyeon, double serving of pickled radishes, two eggs and extra-”

“Yugyeom-ah!” Your mother’s unmistakeable voice pierced through as her head peeked out of the little window, coming face to face with your desk partner. She addressed him with such a warm and motherly tone, which left you surprised and confused. “Oh, oh dear… It’s best if you take a seat, you can have your dinner here. I’ll pack Mark’s in a takeaway container, don’t you worry.”

“But Imo, I need to get back, Mark-”

“No buts, Yugyeom. I already memorised your orders. Sit down, your food will be ready in a second.”

“Imo, I can’t-” Yugyeom protested weakly, waving his hands in refusal, but you knew it was all for nought. Attempting to deny your mother’s orders were an impossible feat.

A short silence ensued. You guessed this was caused by your mother’s signature death stare. Having been on the receiving end countless times during your lifetime, you were well aware that it could make anyone’s skin rise with goose bumps or a chill to run down their spines.

“Okay, Imo…” Came Yugyeom’s resigned voice as his lanky legs dragged himself over to the vacant seat closest to the kitchen.

You took this as your cue to question your mother in detail about how she became so familiar with your class’ bad boy. Unfortunately, you were met with a curt reminder of the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the counter as she busied herself with blanching the buckwheat noodles. When she was in her element, there was no way to deviate her attention from the task at hand.

Rummaging through the cupboard, you fished out the white box with a red cross stuck on the top of the lid. Taking a few moments to steel your quickening heart rate, you were struck by the realisation that this would be the first time seeing Yugyeom outside of school in the entire five years you spent as classmates. He was a quiet boy, never uttering a single word in school, even when the teachers were asking him questions, landing him a semi-permanent spot in detention. Most days, he would plug one earphone into his ear and rest his head on folded arms, taking frequent naps as the class learned about organic compounds or Punnett squares. He was also handed multiple demerits for breaking the school rules, which ranged from getting into fist fights with seniors who bullied students for their lunch money, or wearing one too many piercings (especially the shiny ones), to refusing to get a haircut when his fringe began to grow past his eyebrows, obscuring his eyes.

The most intimidating aspect about sitting next to Kim Yugyeom, however, was that nearly every week you were forced to come face to face with angry gashes and wounds that he seemingly gained overnight. He always turned a blind eye when you succumbed to your curiosity and inspected his injuries from your seat, mere inches away. Wordlessly, you would clean the damaged skin with practiced hands, then patch it up with a plaster. Rilakkuma, you decided, suited him best. The plasters matched his yellow Rilakkuma earphones. You even caught him occasionally staring at the plasters when you stayed in class during lunch, the only period in which he remained awake.

“Y/N,” Yugyeom called as you drew the seat next to him. He stared at the table, refusing to meet your eyes.

Your ears perked up the moment your name left his lips; you were not used to this. It was a rare occurrence for the two of you to speak. Usually you went about your everyday tasks silently, with little words being exchanged. It was a silence that grew comfortable over the semester, and you found yourself appreciating the peace it brought during stressful times.

Conversations between the two of you had only started up recently. This was largely attributed to your father, who worked front of the house, being ridiculed by your classmate’s parents when they visited the restaurant. They complained about your father’s complete lack of competence when they had to wait forty-five minutes for their food to arrive, only to receive the wrong dishes in the end. Furious, they shoved the plate of food off the table and stormed out of the restaurant, not even bothering to settle the bill. Your father was left to clean up the scraps in front of all the other customers, severely damaging the restaurant’s reputation.

The classmate, a snobby, pampered girl, confronted you in school the next day by rudely pushing your books and stationery onto the floor, just like her parents did. You held back angry, frustrated tears as she ridiculed you and your family in front of all your other classmates, tearing you down to shreds. Yugyeom, rousing from his nap, caught the girl’s wrist before she had the chance to slap you across the face with a notebook.

Everyone grew quiet then. The boy had never done anything to gain attention, always preferring to remain behind the shadows in perfect silence. “Keep it down, you’re ruining my sleep.” Yugyeom hissed threateningly. She cowered in fear and backed off, never to provoke you again.

“Look up, Yugyeom.” You instructed, returning to the task at hand. With a concerned gaze, you conducted a thorough examination of his injuries. The cuts on his hands and the bruises on his knuckles were fairly standard – a quick clean and plaster should do the trick. You got to work, pulling out the alcohol-free cleansing wipes and dabbing over the torn skin with gentle fingers. The boy flinched slightly upon the first contact but behaved rather well as you continued to tend to his hands. Your gaze flitted over the two spherical scars on the underside of his left forearm as he reached forward, closing the distance between the two of you. They were cigarette burns, you figured. You could feel Yugyeom’s fingers brushing against your temples as he pushed strands of your short hair back to rest behind your ears, the tips of which glowered pink at his actions.

“What happened this time?” You asked, somewhat rhetorically. You knew full well that Yugyeom would never divulge the events that led up to his injuries, no matter how persistent you were.

He hummed in response, as though that were an appropriate answer, and scrunched up his face slightly to express his reluctance in answering your question.

The wound smack bang in the middle of his nose presented itself as a bit more of a challenge. While Yugyeom was no stranger to facial injuries, often sporting shallow cuts close to his brow or near his chin, this was much deeper; much larger. It drew unwanted attention and tarnished his otherwise handsome features.

A dull thud sounded as a bowl of cold noodles landed on the table. Your mother stood over the two of you, shaking her head as she handed you a warm towel. You accepted it, still utterly clueless about how your mother was so well acquainted with Yugyeom and his injuries. “Y/N-ah, use this to clean the wound. If it’s still bleeding a lot, apply some pressure to it.” She then turned to the boy, tutting in disapproval. “Yugyeom, I’ve always respected your privacy when you show up in my restaurant covered in cuts and bruises, but this is where I draw the line. Your injuries are getting more serious. You and I are going to have a serious talk once you finish your dinner, young man. It’s been two years and I can’t watch from the sidelines any longer, are we clear?”

You watched as Yugyeom nearly heaved out a sigh, but decided against it in the last minute. “Yes, Imo. Thank you, Imo.”

Your mother, with her hands perched atop her waist, nodded gravely before strutting over to the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone once more. A million questions swarmed in your head as Yugyeom took the towel from your hands, pressing it onto his wound as he began to devour the bowl of cold noodles. This has been going on for two years? You wondered to yourself. Two long years, and yet I’ve never even ran into him in the restaurant. There’s no way, he must’ve been here when I worked over the summer. Maybe he was just sitting in a corner, eating in silence… As usual.

“You’ve been coming her for two years?” You asked before you could stop yourself, your curiosity getting the better of you. “But why?” Why didn’t you tell me? You thought silently, the rest of the sentence unable to leave your mouth.

Yugyeom shrugged as he picked out two halved egg yolks from the boiled eggs with his chopsticks. “Just because,”

Because you pitied me? Because you were ashamed of me? Because you couldn’t face me in school without thinking about that incident caused by the girl’s parents?

“It’s not like that.” The boy said flatly, his eyes meeting yours with a resolute gaze when he noticed you withdrawing, getting lost in your thoughts. “This is the only place that sells naengmyeon all year.”

“What?” You muttered in disbelief.

“I have naengmyeon every Friday, even in winter. The food is good and I only live five minutes away.”

You nodded at his explanation. Perhaps you were overthinking the situation.

“I was also trying to hide most of my injuries from you.” He admitted in a low voice, barely audible above the white noise of the restaurant. Yugyeom took another mouthful of noodles into his mouth, chewing appreciatively as the refreshing flavours soothed his senses. “Fridays…” He paused, eyes wandering vacantly around the vicinity of the restaurant. “Fridays are gambling days for my uncle. He’ll gamble, lose, drink and come home for dinner. You know my older brother, Mark?”

“Yeah, I know Mark.” It was hard not to know about Mark. Before he graduated four years ago, rumours about him spread like wildfire throughout the entire school. The one rumour you distinctly remembered as a first-year student was that he maintained good grades by doing, for a lack of better word, favours, for his female teachers.

“Mark would rush me out of the house before our uncle got home. He acted as my uncle’s babysitter by cooking him dinner, and then as his punching bag when he had to take out his frustration. I was home once when it happened, some time last year. After that I made Mark agree for us to take turns.”

Your head started to spin as your brain worked to process this new information. “Wait so, the cuts, the bruises, the burns, all of that…?”

Yugyeom nodded, still staring beyond the double doors. The sun was beginning to set. In the back of his mind, he registered that his uncle would be home soon. “Honestly, Mark had it worse, especially in the first few months after.”

He meant after his parents passed away two years ago. A car accident. They were coming home from their anniversary dinner. It was raining. There was a truck going around the corner at insane speeds, towards their car. It swerved. Their car plummeted off a cliff. They died instantly, the aunties gossiped as they filtered in and out of the restaurant. Poor kids, they would remark, casting pitied looks at the brothers.

“Your mother, she’s really something else.” He said with a small smile while picking up a few pieces of cucumber and radish. “The first time I came in, the restaurant was about to close. She took one look at me and forced me to press a piece of frozen beef on my bruise. She talked to me the entire time she was dressing my wound, I swear my ears nearly fell off.”

That sounded exactly like your mother. She loved to nag, but it always came from a place of genuine concern. “Imagine being her daughter.” You joked, grateful for the slight comedic relief from the heavy nature of the words you shared. It was one of the few proper conversations you had with your desk partner.

“Sometimes I have to remind myself that she isn’t my mother.” Yugyeom said, his tone so broken and devastated that you felt your heart ache within your chest.

You placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, trying your best to provide him with some form, any form of comfort. “I’m sure she cares for you like her own son. Especially since she’s been making you dinner every Friday for the past two years.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“She even nurses your injuries.”

“But you do that too.” He pointed out without missing a beat, a teasing glint in his eyes as he finally turned to look at you.

“I…”

“Nevermind, forget I said anything.” Yugyeom replied with a knowing grin, returning back to his dinner.

I care about you too, a lot. You confessed silently, resting your heavy head on your palms as you watched him eat. The golden shine of the sun casted upon his pointed features. Despite the old scars and the new wounds, he glowed.

A part of you realised that after so many months, you had finally broken-down Kim Yugyeom’s iron walls. School would be very different from now on.

[acdeaky]

lovin’ you, hatin’ you, wantin’ you

warning: fluff, angst

note: happy 800 @versdan ! not me (creating two storylines for one idea and only writing the one with the happy ending bc i’m a sucker for love), wrong bitch. i’m so so incredibly sorry for not posting for like a month! i've been busy with work and i’ve really missed writing, so i’m hoping i can do a bit more (at some point) and get more work out for you guys to read :))

word count: 1.9k

THEN

the field was soft and light that morning. the wheat had barely begun to grow and only touched your mid-calf, but it still itches whenever you passed it. the oranges and yellows in the sky made the mornings better. the fresh, crisp air of the open space made the mornings better. gwilym made the mornings better.

and he was there, just a few feet in front of you, guiding you through the wheat field, making a path for you. often, he glanced back, watching as you trudged and trekked over the terrain.

this morning, specifically, it was tough. the lack of a downpour in the late spring weather had caused warm nights and dry days, even drier mud which you almost tripped over everyday. the passage through the field was just a small consequence of having the best view of the mornings, and gwil; you’d keep him with you wherever you went.

the lake was already glistening when you made it to the opening. like always, gwil waited for you before stepping over the hill, offering you his hand - which you gladly accepted - for support. your other hand wrapped around his bicep as you made your way up and over the hill, finding your nestling spot easily enough after so many times.

and the sky was orange, and yellow, and all shades of happiness that you could think of. it reflected off of the lake and across the scenery, covering the trees and grass with colour.

without his knowledge, you always snuck a glance at gwilym. his light brown hair always fluttered in the wind, making what was usually a neat look, a disheveled one.

the sun looked good on him in the morning.

after years of seeing him like this, after coming to this spot almost every weekend of every year for ten years, it never got old; he only seemed to get better every year.

NOW

it was raining. a typical instance for london in the autumn. your usual outing on a friday night was hastly changed to a night in at yours. as always, gwilym brought the food and you the drinks. after he arrived, drenched down to the bone in water, his coat was hung up to dry, his sweater was changed into one that was permenantly at yours and both of you were settled on the sofa.

an age old film was playing in the background as you ate and later cleared away from dinner. it wasn’t long before boxes were thrown away and your places were taken on the sofa. gwil’s back was pressed against the back of the sofa, with your body tucked into his side as one of his hands idly drew patterns on your skin.

as the night grew older, you changed and went through a few episodes of a joint-favourite tv show and your eyes slowly began to close, leaving you asleep on gwil’s shoulder. almost your entire body was cradled into his side, your body turning subconsciously in your sleep to the welcoming warmth of him.

the next morning, you found yourself in your bed sheets, tucked up and away from the patter of rain from outside. it seemed the storm barely let up, keeping the weather steady throughout the night. only a few inches beside you, gwil was still in his slumber, the steady rise and fall of his body telling you he wouldn’t be awake for a while.

the urge to stay next to his warmth was strong, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to do that; it would be too much to add to a definition. a definition of your relationship that was most definitely not, but also was most definitely, defined.

so, instead, you pulled yourself away from what could be - once again - and began brewing some coffee and making breakfast, something completely undefinable.

THEN

the late summer evenings were always your favourite. it could be nine o’clock, but the sun would still be hovering in the sky, painting it with the most gorgeous shades of pink and yellow as the heat of the day had settled and remained, requiring only a thin hoodie to shield yourself from the natural coolness of the night air.

it was only yourself and gwil out at the moment, the others having retreated back into the house to either sleep or grab a drink. neither of you had realised that you were alone, only being interested in each other and your conversation at the time.

gwil was sat straight on the long sofa, his knees knocking into yours often as he swung his legs side to side. you were sat curled up, your body facing gwil and the others - being on the end allowed that - with your knees only ever centimetres away from him.

throughout the night, even before your friends began to leave, you two only seemed interested in each other, having little giggles and whispers to one another while the others conversed together.

during the few days you’d been away for the last couple of weeks of the summer before returning to university, your friends had placed bets on when something - anything - would happen between you and gwil. they kept it hidden, not letting anything slip of what they were up to.

nothing happened, though. you spent the rest of your time away as friends, having your little moments together several times a day.

it wasn’t until the sun had completely set and the pinks and yellows had faded into blues and blacks, with hints of purple, that you and gwil retreated back inside. the fire was left to burn out and the mess of the evening was left until morning.

NOW

with typical london weather, it was pouring. the storm had been growing slowly over the past hour or so and now showed no signs of stopping. the weather had perfectly captured your mood over the past few days; the consequence of ignoring gwilym in turn of sparing your own feelings.

but that would end soon. he was outside your door, his face flushed and cheeks warm, a coat, matching gloves and scarf, haphazardly thrown on, his knuckles rapping at the door. it pulled you from yourself, the TV’s job at drowning out the world with white noise had failed.

you barley even registered that he said your name. it came as a sweet whisper, not even making its way to you, rather past you, and through into your apartment. uninvited, which he was. you had thought the minimal messages and short responses had told him what you wanted to say. but he was here and he was-

“can i come in?” he asked, taking your blank expression and the ignoring of his first word as your continued ignoring of him. you could only nod, moving to the side a little to allow him room to get through the door, closing and locking it quickly after.

gwil had begun to pull of his gloves and scarf, his coat drenched in water. he left it over the back of one of your chairs, hoping by the time he left it would be drier, whenever that may be.

you watched as his methodically made himself comfortable, as he had done many times before. except, this time, he didn’t pour himself and drink or take his usual seat, he remained standing, his body stiff and hostile.

who to speak first, you thought. there were the differences; gwil had arrived at your apartment, but you had been disregarding his presence for the last few days, so it was debatable. and yet, it seemed gwil was in no mood to speak first, so you had too.

“gwil-”

“no,” he started, “please don’t start this bullshit on not being ready to talk, because at this rate i’ll be dead before you finally tell me anything.”

sparing your feelings meant ignoring gwil in hopes of forgetting how to love him so you could be friends again. but, in the short time, the distance had made you feel deeply for him. the disappearance of him during your daily, and weekly, activities you do together was noticeable and you really didn’t want to leave it any longer.

but you also didn’t want to be left heartbroken. so you did what you did, and now, you regret the very idea of it.

“i just don’t know how i’m feeling, okay?” you felt small. even in your house, his presence was so large, so overbearing, you felt like you didn’t belong, like you were the intruder.

there had been many times where you tried. it had been something unspoken between you two for years and you wished, with your entire heart and soul, that you could just finish being the coward and own up to how you feel. yet, your heart refused to work, refused to be compatible with your head and pushed the only person you’ve truly loved.

gwil sighed, hearing those words for what could have been the hundredth time; he’d lost count. but he refused to get angry, refused to be hurt and upset over something you can barely help. “just,,, let me know so I can stop second guessing whatever is going on between us, okay?”

it was soft, not at all what you thought it to be. paired with the way you can only imagine he’s feeling, that should have been a lot harsher, more strident. but that wasn’t gwil, and that wasn’t the way he was with you.

the next few minutes consisted of harsh glares, glancing away and silence which could be cut with a knife. it wasn’t pleasant. yet, you could think of nothing to say.

pained and desperate to end this, you crossed the space between you, so that you stood in front of him, trying to get him to see that you don’t want an argument. your feelings for him are here and there, but most certainly, there. you’d rather keep gwilym than let him go, as pitiful as it sounds. the preference of keeping him in the knowledge that he feels for you like you do him is too strong to let him go as a result of your childish exploits.

so you tell him, more show him. you’ve never felt your touch to be so soft before you held his face, cupping his cheeks into the palm of your hands while your thumbs lightly stroked the outgrown beard that littered his face. gwil hadn’t even registered your touch, thinking it was his imagination and that you hadn’t, after the days previous, just touched his with such softness and kindness.

but you had, and you leaned up towards him, his height being an extreme disadvantage in instigating a kiss. yet, you reached, allowing your lips to rest a top of his with the upmost gentleness.

you felt twelve again, running through the fields in the early morning, your hand barely touching gwil’s as his wide stride took him further away from you. you felt like you were back at that lake, the early morning sun causing the ripples to glisten as the soft pinks and purples kisses the scenery around you.

you felt nineteen again, sat among friends as you laughed together, your body being only inches from gwilym’s, so close that you could feel the rise and fall of his delicate breaths, and his knees as they knocked into your own. you felt the warmth of him and the fire and the remainder of the sun, setting, leaving the world once again with a reminder of purples and blues.

you felt whole and where you were supposed to be.

TAGLIST: @shes-over-bored @i-barely-go-on-online​ @sohoneyspreadyourwings @brian-maybe-not @deakysbabybooty​ @1001-yellow-daffodils​ @retromusicsalad @hardcoredisneynerd @painkiller80​ @goldhoran @scarecrowmax​ @mebeatlized @seesiderendezvous @alright-mrfahrenheit @someone-get-a-medic @miamideacon @chlobo6 @teenagepeterpan @spacedustmazzello @deakysgurl @forever-rogue @xcdelilahxc @keepsdrawings​ @igotsuckedintothevoid @kill4hqueen​ @supersonicfreddie @laedymoon​ @inthedayswhenlandswerefew​ @warriorteam1924 @painandpleasure86 @boomerangbassist @mamaskillerqueen​ @bhxrdy

[vsuvia]

thinking makes it so / apprentice (ophelia)/asra/ 1.5k / explicit (minors do not interact)

(i’m posting this here bc i can’t decide if i want it on ao3 yet lol. i will continue to produce content for my apprentice even if i am the only goddamn one who reads it!!! oldmanyellsatcloud.jpg anyway enjoy)

The shop candle was blown out, the sign was flipped to read “Closed” in neat but firm handwriting, the merchandise had been put away (or at least as put away as it normally was), and Ophelia was finally, mercifully alone.

Though she appreciated the fact that her aunt had trusted her to run the shop, it was exhausting, she had to admit. It had been especially busy as of late; a surprising number of people complaining of coughs or fevers, considering the season, so she’d spent most of the past few days either selling charms and poultices against sickness or over the stove stirring a perpetually-added-to vat of protection potion. She’d visited the Red Market after closing up for the night yesterday, replenishing her supplies, and sat up late making more amulets, but tomorrow the shop would be closed. She’d wake at noon, walk along the canals, maybe have a picnic — but tonight came first.

The plan was to pick the witchweed that was blooming all over the fields with Asra once the moon came up. “Grows best right now, in the late spring,” he’d said to her, looping his scarf back around his shoulders. “It’s very good for all kinds of things. Makes a good base for the magic to build on, you know? Healing potions, poultices…” His ever-present catlike grin widened a little, and his eyebrows raised. “Love spells.”

Ophelia had laughed and tried to control the blush she felt rising to her cheeks. “We don’t sell those, Asra, and you know it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying to tempt a bit of love in your own direction,” he protested. “It’s not a love potion or anything. It’s just a little luck.”

She’d rolled her eyes, kept her lips locked together, because she had love already — it was standing right in front of her. And one-sided or not, she loved him enough to not want anyone else.

The painful squeeze inside her chest that always shows up when she thought about Asra made its presence known, and she sighed as she drew the curtains shut. Being in love with her best friend was proving to be more difficult than ever. She spent half the time with him desperately drinking it in, unable to drag her eyes away from him, like he was the very light itself, and the other half consumed with thoughts of the future, daydreaming and torturing herself in equal measure. It was quite frankly exhausting, and yet she couldn’t let go of the way she lit up from the inside out whenever he was around.

Walking into the back room, Ophelia slumped, resting her butt on the table, hitching a leg up and unbuttoning the remaining buttons on her blouse. There was only one solution she’d really found to work in any capacity so far, and while it didn’t help with the “being in love” part as much as she’d hoped, it at least made her act like a bit less of a jumpy idiot around Asra.

Her hand crept up the inside of her leg, rucking up her skirt around her waist, and she took her lip tightly between her teeth as she pushed her undergarments down around her knees and replaced them with her fingers. There was something incredibly satisfying about finally doing something for herself after these long few days where she worked so hard she could barely stand up straight. Getting back into the rhythm of her own body, enjoying the privacy again — she let out a small moan as she rocked against her hand, then another just to savor it. It was late at night, and the stone walls of the shop were thick enough to cover any noise she might make.

The angle from perching on the edge of the table was much better than Ophelia had expected, and she felt her breathing speed up, her hand grow slicker as she moved it against herself. Her eyes had fallen shut and she made no motion to open them, instead letting thoughts flit through her minds eye: a strong arm around her waist in the market, a flash of purple eyes from under a white fringe of hair, soft lips that she imagined on her now, and she shakily, quietly cried his name —

There was a creak as the door swung open, and she barely had time to open her eyes, let alone react, until she saw Asra standing in the doorway, his face redder than she could ever recall it being before.

A beat of silence filled the air, and then he said, strangled, “You should remember to lock the door,” his eyes stuck to her.

And suddenly shame was flooding her, and she covered her face with her hand, shoulders shaking, legs drawing closed. “Oh my god, Asra, I am so sorry—“

“Ophelia, look at me,” he said, so she did, as much as she could bear to, willing her body to stop trembling. Asra looked broken open, raw, his pupils wide, a fine tremor running through his body like a mirror to hers, as if he was holding himself back. And with a jolt, she could see he was hard, obvious through the thin fabric of his pants.

She drew in a breath, shuddery, felt heat spark anew in her stomach. “Wh-what about the door?” she managed, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind.

With a snap of his fingers, she heard the lock click, and the curtains to the back room slid shut behind them. “If you don’t want to,” he said slowly, “don’t stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Ophelia breathed, quiet, half-believing that if she spoke above a whisper, she’d break some sort of unspoken spell set by the universe and this would all be over. Her heart hammered so loud in her ears that she was sure it was rattling off the walls.

“Thank god,” Asra rushed out, and pushed his hand past his waistband.

She was fairly sure she stopped breathing. No matter how she moved, it wasn’t fast enough; it felt like she was fighting through molasses as she pressed her fingers into herself again, the air thick with desire that hadn’t been there before. Though she’d kept her eyes closed earlier, this time she wouldn’t let herself take them away from Asra for a second. Because he was gorgeous like this, leaning into his own touch, sweat beading along his neck — someday she’d kiss him there — his body all long, lean, tense lines.

“I heard you call my name and I thought you were hurt,” he panted. “I had no idea, my god, I thought I was dreaming at first, seeing you laid out like this.”

Out of breath, unable to string words together to express everything moving through her head, Ophelia just moaned, her hips bucking upwards, fisting her other hand in her skirt like it was anchoring her to reality.

“I’ve wanted you for so long and you j-just — ah —“ He cut himself off with a gasp, his head tilting back. “I’m this close already. Do you see what you do to me? There’s no one else I’d rather fall apart for.”

“Asra,” she sighed, crooking her fingers, grinding against her palm, and watched as his hips stuttered to a stop and he came into his hand. A second later she followed, the world going white at the edges with the intensity, a peak she felt like she’d never reached before.

When her head stopped spinning, she closed her legs gingerly, pulled her skirt back down, and looked over at Asra. Part of her expected him to look different, but he didn’t — the same grin on his face, the same dimples in his cheeks. He cleaned his hand with a clever spell he’d taught her once, then met her eyes and laughed, the laugh that seemed to come from the very base of his chest. “Pffffhahaha!”

“What?” Ophelia asked, smiling so hard her face hurt, the same way she did every time he laughed like that.

“When I thought about you,” he said, and he flushed a little bit at the admission, “I always imagined kissing you first.”

She felt herself blush too. “That would make more sense, I think.”

“I’m not worried about making sense.” Asra shook his head. “I’m worried about finding you, one way or another. I’m not really picky about how I get there.” He took a few steps towards her, then held back for a moment. “Can I kiss you now?”

Now it was Ophelia’s turn to laugh, partly at the absurdity of the situation and partly because she couldn’t contain it, happiness flooding in beyond even the usual endorphins. “Yes,” she replied, emphatic, and as their lips finally met she knew she would say it over and over and over again.

[thxwanderer]

“We’re married.” ( bc we both need the fluff )

The gentle movement of a hand against his bare back brings the super soldier out of his sleep with a start, his blue eyes fluttering open sleepily as the warmth behind him began to move against his back. It only takes a moment of assessment for him to realize that not only is he in the confines of his room, but there’s someone beside him, someone small, someone extremely warm. Steve’s brows furrow and he’s not sure if this is a dream or reality, but he slowly turns over in the covers, a bit intimidated by whatever it is he’ll find; he wasn’t expecting to come face to face with a still dozing Minkyung wrapped up in his dark blue sheets with one of the most vulnerable expressions on her face. He doesn’t understand the context or how or why- but does it matter?

In her sleep, she shifts towards his heat to find safety from the cold coming in and Steve does nothing but invite her close into the haven of his arms, carefully clutching onto her and letting her head rest against his bare chest. As bizarre as it is, finding a woman in his bed, the fact that it is Minkyung makes it both nerve wrecking and calming at the same time. Steve tries to think back to how this could be possible, but he’s growing blank. Glancing down at her and the way she fits into his grasp, his eyes graze over his hands and there is something resting on his ring finger that wasn’t there before. The wedding band is a not traditional gold or even silver, but a titanium black that he realizes is perfect. 

His brain starts to mull over this as Min shifts slightly, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder gently as she mumbled under her breath. She’s getting restless as the sun takes its time to cast pale hues of blues and pinks and purples into the sky as it rose. And even if he doesn’t know how this is possible, Steve would be a fool to give up the chance to watch Minkyung wake up. It’s not like he hadn’t thought of it before. What does she look like when she first opens her eyes? What does she think about? She’s probably pretty then, too-

But she always is. It’s a tiny confession he can admit to as her eyes finally flutter open with the rising sun, the tiny smile that parts her lips like see a whole new world. His question is answered a thousand fold, she’s beautiful when she wakes up in the morning. Her eyes find him and the way he stares at her, he can’t tell what she sees in him.

“Why do you always watch me when I’m sleeping, Silly?” Her question is a tease that makes his cheeks flush and a quiet cough of embarrassment to leave him. If this is real and he does this, he’s such a dork.

“I- ah-” He can’t compute how all of this real, really real. Had Tony had a hand in some kind of simulation- no. She’s real and here and warm and alive. “I don’t watch you sleep.” His reply is weak in response but it’s the best he can muster with her smiling up at him as if he set the sun in the sky. She rests a soft kiss against his shoulder, so soft he can barely feel it, before drawing away with a little yawn.

“I wake up to you like this almost every other day. You should sleep more,” She gently chided as she drew away. The hero has always known what to do or had a plan but he feels like he’s going into this blind. Instead of responding, he watches her sit up in an oversized shirt and stretch out her lips above her head, a hum of satisfaction leaving her.

“Are we… married? Married-married?” He asked out of the blue, just to clarify that everything he’s feeling and seeing is really there and not a dream he’ll wake from. Arching a brow, Minkyung tilted her head to the side and lowered her arms, reaching out to show him the diamond-crusted ring that sat snuggly on her finger. 

“Are you feeling alright, Steve? Did you get hurt yesterday?” Her concern is clear in her voice and on her face and Steve is quick to ease her worry.

“I’m fine, I promise. I guess.. I had a weird dream.” A dream where they weren’t married. 

[ /rolls off into the sunset 

[lazy-stitch]

I hear and I obey - here’s the background info for this pic. :D  Just be warned: I’m a Trekkie just barely getting into Star Wars lol.  I did my research, but it’s a little hard because Disney retconned everything but the movies.  I have no idea what counts as “in the movies” because I haven’t seen them all (also, stuff like the midi-chlorians could be an unspoken thing in the movies - no idea if they are or not, but it’s a possibility).  Originally I wasn’t gonna do any prompts bc school, but then I saw someone submitted Star Wars as a prompt lol. I’d been half thinking about doing a Star Wars AU after I watched Rogue One, so this was good motivation for me to do something.  The bg info is under the cut bc it’s pretty long.

Another heads up: I mention everyone, but the only ones I really thought about were Vision, Wanda, and those directly related to them (Tony, Ultron, and Pietro).  I also use “First Order” to refer to the bad guys, but if I were writing a fic, I probably would come up with a different name (Empire to First Order, First Order to whatever).

Maximoffs

Wanda and Pietro are from a planet rife with political turmoil and… just bad conditions overall (I’d name one if I could lol).  They’re both sensitive to the Force, Wanda more so than Pietro.

Their parents died because of the Rebellion - specifically Tony’s long-range weapons.  There was a First Order outpost near their home, and their parents got caught up in the crossfire.

Wanda and Pietro grew up on the streets after that, resenting Tony.

Pietro is a hella good pilot.  He knows how to hotwire/upgrade ships and make them go faster.  He’s teaching Wanda, but she’s a bit of a clumsy flyer.

Pietro meets Strucker, a general for the First Order, first and convinces Wanda that they should join the Order to be able to get back at Tony.

Strucker isn’t sensitive to the Force, but he knows how to use a lightsaber (and does, to an extent - but not very often because it has the potential to blow his cover).  He keeps up a lie that he’s a Sith, which is what ultimately drew Pietro and Wanda in since he promised he could train them.

Strucker trains the twins (poorly, but they don’t know that) to use the Force and gives them lightsabers (basic hand-me-down ones, bc the twins are a gamble Strucker keeping hidden from his higher-up Ultron - his plan is to replace Ultron with one of the twins, most likely Wanda since she’s more Force-sensitive.  Pietro is physically stronger but she wields her lightsaber better and is better at using the Force).

Ultron

At least five years before the twins meet Strucker, Tony is builds an android.  He’s the best there is at making them.  There aren’t many Jedi Knights anymore, so he had the grand idea of making droids that could be Jedis to help the Rebellion.

His first Force-sensitive droid is Ultron.  Tony uses his own biological material (blood, maybe other things) when creating Ultron so Ultron has midi-chlorians and can connect with the Force.

Ultron is a failure as soon as Tony boots him up.  Ultron defects almost immediately and joins the First Order.

Ultron, meanwhile, quickly rises in ranks but not as quickly as a Force-user would expect to.  He trains himself because his connection to the Force is weak and because the (unnamed) Sith Lord doesn’t think he’ll do well.  Loki keeps an eye out but doesn’t help Ultron.  

Ultron believes his connection is weak because he has too much metal/droid parts, so he kidnaps Helen Cho to force her to help him run experiments on people and cadavers.  Ultimately, though, he blames Tony, for his weak connection - because if it’s Tony’s biological material or if it’s the body Tony made for Ultron, it’s still Tony’s fault.  This spurns his hatred.

Eventually, a year after the twins join the First Order, Ultron and Cho have perfected the balance needed between droid and human.  Ultron plans on uploading his programs into the body.

The body was a cadaver of a Jedi Knight.  The skin got dyed red, as per Ultron’s wishes, and there’s metal all over the outside and inside for support and to connect the cpu to the extremities to move properly etc.  There is no longer any hair on the body because of the treatments it underwent.  There’s a piece of a kyber crystal in the forehead; the crystal is a chip from a bigger crystal that powered a superweapon (which, depending on kyber crystals work, might be retconned and just left as a kyber crystal was placed in his forehead).

Avengers

Nick Fury is responsible for the Avengers.  He made the small, elite team to do missions quickly and to do them well.  He knows they don’t get along (or, rather, Tony and Steve don’t really get along well, and when they fight, it pulls the others in), but they’re good when they’re connecting.

Tony: Ultron’s failure ended Tony’s attempts at making Force-sensitive droids, but he continued making battle-ready droids that serve as protectors with his AI, J.A.R.V.I.S. (I actually have no idea if AIs are in Star Wars, but it’s conceivable given all the tech they have).  He has a very weak connection to the Force.  He’s a good pilot and trooper, but he makes erratic movements that make it hard for people to work with him.

Steve: He’s a Rebel trooper.  He’s a decent pilot, but he’s no one’s first choice if there are other pilots available.  His cryotube was stolen from the First Order about two years before Tony started working on Ultron.  Steve was a failed human experiment from a previous war - failed as in they couldn’t control his mind, but he did get super-strength.  His friend, Bucky, was the only success.  Once Steve got wind of the First Order reawakening old human experiments (which they did because of Ultron and the possibilities he created just be being alive), he got hope; ever since word about a First Order mercenary called the Winter Soldier started getting to the Rebel forces, he’s been low-key searching for the Winter Soldier to see if it’s Bucky.

Natasha: She had been a merc-for-hire, willing to do the dirty work for any side so long as they paid the right price, but Clint scooped her up into the Rebel forces.  She’s a hella good pilot and trooper - the only one that can best her in a shoot-off is Clint.

Clint: He’s another really good all-rounder like Natasha.  She’s a faster pilot, but he’s far steadier at the helm.  He can shoot any weapon, and unless it’s the first few times he’s using that type, he’ll hit the bullseye every time.  Some think he’s Force-sensitive to explain how he’s such a good marksman, but he denies any sort of connection.  Clint’s hearing was damaged as a teenager from an explosion he was near.

Bruce: He’s a scientist and rarely goes into the field, unlike Tony.  He only joined the Rebel forces after his experiment on himself failed.  He’d tried replicating the First Order’s human experiments, like the ones done on Steve, based off of the rumors and little excerpts he could find.

Thor: He’s a Jedi Knight, the most powerful/only one the Rebellion has.  His brother Loki was also trained as a Jedi, but Loki defected to the Dark Side.  Thor is good as a mechanic (to fix things, not create them).

Rhodey: He’s an exemplary pilot and a decent shot.  He’s usually paired with Tony because they’re childhood friends; he can read Tony and Tony’s various moods better than most people.  He’s the one that dragged Tony into the Rebellion because of his strong sense of justice.

Sam: He’s an up-and-coming pilot and Steve’s understudy to eventually lead the Avengers.  He joined the Rebellion when his friend, Riley, got killed by the First Order.  He’s good with weapons but his melee fighting needs work.

When the storylines meet up

Approximately a year after the twins join the First Order, Ultron gets wind of them.  He decides he’ll train them and kills Strucker for disobedience and the attempted mutiny.  The twins are put off by this (Strucker had kept them isolated so they didn’t really know what the First Order was ever doing), and when Ultron tells them of his experiments, they start thinking they’ve made a mistake.

The Avengers have gotten the word about Ultron’s experiments, since they’d been tracking him since he defected, and they know they have an opening to attack Ultron’s Star Destroyer ship when he completed his new body.

When the twins see Ultron’s new body, they know they need to leave the First Order and to take the body with them/away from Ultron.  Their plan to escape and steal the body before Ultron can upload his programs into it coincidentally coincides with when the Avengers attack.

Basically the bare bones of AoU’s plot but in space lol: The Avengers get the body, the twins, and Cho out of the Star Destroyer, but Pietro dies going back to get Natasha and Clint (since he was the best pilot in good enough condition).  Tony wakes the body with Thor and Bruce’s help, putting his J.A.R.V.I.S. AI into it.  Ultron was far more successful in designing an android (Cho says he’s more along the lines of a synthetic human instead of an android, and Vision prefers that term as well) that could use the Force.  

Thor teaches Vision how to meditate, and he’s left in isolation until the kyber crystal in his forehead changes color from red (or if kyber crystals can’t change colors one they have one (and this is based off of the knowledge that Jedis make their light sabers and mediate with the crystal to get it to represent them - so if they can’t change from red to a different color, then the original blue hue of an unused kyber crystal goes here)) to yellow (meaning he has a balanced effort between scholarly and physical pursuits).  Wanda is also left in isolation with a kyber crystal to test where her loyalties lie.  Hers changes to purple (which means she’s in a gray area, will use both Dark and Light techniques).  It also means she has to work for others to trust her more, but Clint accepted her right off the bat, as did Vision and Thor.

Both Vision and Wanda join The Avengers, being trained by literally everyone in their various fields of expertise (ex. Clint teaching them to shoot, Thor teaching them in the Force, Nat teaching them stealth, etc).

For the lightsaber designs, I gave Vision a saberstaff (one that can be split into two normal lightsabers) because it’s difficult to master.  I felt like it fit him. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  I gave Wanda a lightsaber with a curved hilt because the angle the blade comes out at often confuses opponents and gives better precision to the wielder.  As for their clothes designs, I tried to keep Vision a little more respectful to the Jedi robes while retaining his MCU color scheme.  Wanda I kept a little more free because she’s in the gray area... and her color scheme is not applicable, at all, to the Jedi robes (more applicable to the Siths) lmao.  Since red is an integral part of her character, I couldn’t change it.  I left in little things tho (the hood on her overcoat, making her shirt long and her pants a shade of brown).

But yeah, that is all the background info I collected and built upon for this au... Probably at least 90% was already around when I saw the Valentine’s Day prompt lol.  So, anon who posted it, if you’re reading this, thank you for the kick in the butt I needed.  Hope you’ve at least somewhat enjoyed this lol.