#I hope we get to see an exploding chamber pot at some point

[its-cosmerely-an-obsesh-wound]

And other things Lift taught me today:

There are chamber pots rigged to explode

Sigzil is a sexy scholar

Drehy is hot, has a hot husband, can fly, and this is decidedly unfair

Windrunners are suspicious because they don't run into walls

If things poop and fart inside you, you cannot be taken seriously

A building can clap back at you for insulting it

Druff

[thewidowsghost]

The Temple - Pt. 2 (Skye x Coulson!Reader)

Main Masterlist

Part 1: The Temple (Skye x Avenger!Coulson!Reader)

Previously on The Temple:

The elder Coulson reaches up, brushing a piece of hair behind Skye's ear in a fatherly fashion.

"I'm so sorry. I'm gonna make it right. I'm gonna find the Obelisk."

"No," Coulson murmurs hoarsely.

"I'm gonna stop the drill. I'm gonna make it right," Skye continues, bolting from the room before (Y/n) can even think.

"Skye, no," Coulson calls. "Don't go down there."

"Dad, I have -" (Y/n) begins.

"Go! Go after her!" the elder Coulson says and (Y/n) jumps to her feet, glancing between the doorway Skye had gone through, and her father lying on the ground. "Go!" he yells again, and (Y/n) wipes away her tears, sprinting after Skye.

. . .

There's a metallic grinding nose, and Skye, Trip, (Y/n), and Raina focus on the Obelisk on the pedestal. It opens, revealing crystals and (Y/n) tenses.

"How do we stop it?" Trip asks.

"I don't think we can," (Y/n) says. She turns to Skye, tears welling in her eyes.

Skye grabs the front of (Y/n)'s shirt, pulling (Y/n) closer and kissing her.

"I love you," both young women whisper at the same time; the two focus back on the Obelisk.

Skye exhales heavily as the chamber trembles.

. . .

"And Skye and (Y/n) barely made it out alive! (Y/n) hasn't even woken up yet!" Mack shouts.

"Thanks to Trip! He sacrificed his life, Mack!" May counters.

"No, he traded his life for theirs!" Mack yells. "And then he was shattered into a thousand pieces!"

"That's enough!" the Elder Coulson yells. "If Trip was here, he wouldn't be arguing. He would't be bitching. He would be gearing up to do what needs to be done." Skye looks horrified at the can that had been trembling, and looking around, she sees her girlfriend curled up in the floor in a corner, her hands pressed over her ears. Skye crosses the containment module and sits down next to where is sitting on the other side of the glass. "Yes, we're dealing with forces we don't understand, but HYDRA I do understand. I want everyone ready when the sun comes up - end of discussion."

Everyone else leaves the room and Skye murmurs, loud enough for (Y/n) to hear. "(Y/n), what's happening to us?"

. . .

"The Avengers wouldn't have been necessary if we hadn't unleashed alien horrors," Simmons cuts Skye off again.

(Y/n)'s eyes had gone cold. "Go," she says bitterly, turning away from the scientist.

"But -" Simmons tries but (Y/n) turns back to her.

"There's always danger, Simmons," (Y/n) snaps, the stirring feeling rising up in her again. "Not everything is something that has to be destroyed or -" (Y/n) stops, turning her head away. "Go."

. . .

There are metallic crashes as pots and pan fall onto the ground and into the sink.

"Skye, (Y/n)? You want to talk to us?" May asks, and the two lover exchange horrified glances.

"Skye, what's doing this?" Coulson asks, his eyes widening.

"I am," Skye admits shakily.

Lady Sif goes to grab Skye's arm, and Skye flinches away, "No." Skye pulls (Y/n) along slightly, removing her hand from (Y/n)'s as she claps them to her forehead.

Skye's fist clenches and the glass behind (Y/n) and Skye explodes.

And, as if in slow motion, (Y/n)'s frame grows larger, towering over Skye.

The grizzly bear wraps it's arms around Skye, protecting the brunette from the shattered glass.

"Hand them over," Lady Sif orders and the elder Coulson and May pull out their hand guns, moving in front of the two younger women. "It will be safer for all of you."

. . .

A sword tip is stabbed through the wall.

"Agent May, release the girls!" Lady Sif orders.

"May, she'll get through," Skye whispers.

"Ignore it. Remember - focus," May says.

"I can't," Skye breathes as Lady Sif breaks the barrier.

May steps back and Skye grabs the agent's ICER, shooting herself with the gun. The rumbling stops and (Y/n) turns to her unconscious girlfriend.

"Skye," (Y/n) whispers, fear spiking through her. "Skye!"

"She harmed herself," Lady Sif says, staring at (Y/n) and Skye, her eyes wide.

(Y/n) pulls her unconscious girlfriend closer to her, her eyes wide.

. . .

"A right to know," Fitz echoes. "What - is that the same way that Sif and the Kree had a right to know?"

"I think this situation's a little bit different, mate," Hunter responds.

"No, you would have done to them exactly what Sif and the Kree wanted to," Fitz argues.

"You don't know that," Simmons says.

"Yes, I do know that!" Fitz yells. "They would - You would - You'd 'handle them'! Mack just said it! Like, uh - Skye and (Y/n) are something to be locked away in a cage somewhere. We should be protecting them."

"No, Fitz," Mack interupts. "We're the ones that need protection from them." Then Mack goes silent, looking over Simmons's shoulder.

Fitz and Simmons turns around, and five SHIELD agents catch sight of (Y/n) and Skye - (Y/n) supporting Skye's weight.

Skye looks into the room, looks away, and then she and (Y/n) start back down the hallway, a disgusted look on (Y/n)'s face, and a large dufflebag thrown over (Y/n)'s other shoulder.

Fitz looks between the other for SHIELD agents, and then follows (Y/n) and Skye.

"Skye. (Y/n)," Fitz calls down the hall, but the two women keep making their way down the hallway.

The two make their way into the BUS, entering the containment module.

"You don't have to stay," Skye tells (Y/n).

"You know I'm not going anywhere, love," (Y/n) murmurs, sitting down beside Skye on the small bed. "Please, rest," (Y/n) says softly lying down on her side and lifting an arm so Skye can cuddle up to her. "We'll figure out something," (Y/n) murmurs. I hope . . .

3rd Person POV

Skye leans over a bowl, dipping a piece of her grilled cheese into her tomato soup.

"I got to say, Director, no doubt, this is the best grilled cheese I've ever had," Skye says, humming in contentment.

"Other times, I'd be offended, but I agree," (Y/n) says, looking appreciatively at her father as she stuffs another mouthful of grilled cheese in her mouth. "Isth really gud," (Y/n) says, her mouth full and Skye looks slightly disgusted.

"Secret ingredient," the Elder Coulson asks.

"Ooh, what is it?" (Y/n) asks, having swallowed her mouthful.

"I will not disclose," (Y/n)'s dad replies, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Skye laughs and her spoon lets out a little chime against her bowl, setting it aside before nestling herself into (Y/n)'s side.

(Y/n) hums contentedly, shoving more grilled cheese in her mouth.

"How are you doing with all the monitoring?" Coulson asks gently.

"I barely notice it," Skye lies.

"We wouldn't subject you to it if it wasn't absolutely necessary," Coulson tells her.

"I assume you're putting us on the gifted index," (Y/n) guesses.

"We are," Coulson the Elder nods.

Skye sighs, looking slightly regretful. "I've been doing some monitoring of my own," she says. "Check this out," she shows the older Coulson her bio-meter watch which shows her heart rate at sixty-five beats per minute. "My entire life, I've been searching for my parents and my search ended with answers that are so much worse than I could've imagined," Skye admits and (Y/n)'s gaze softens and she sets down her grilled cheese, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend. "Sad, twitchy, not-all-there Dad, a dead Mom, alien mist that turned me into a walking natural disaster, a friend dead -"

(Y/n)'s eyes cloud with pain. The Avenger had always been close to Trip, and his death made that so, so much worse.

"Hey," the Elder Coulson says softly, coming over to sit beside (Y/n) and Skye on the small bed. "Trip was not your fault."

"My point is, I'm steady. Nothing is shaking," Skye tells Coulson, looking slightly proud of herself. "I'm stopping them before they start."

"That's good," Coulson replies, looking happier than he just had.

"If I keep working on this, I can be back in the field in no time," Skye says excitedly.

(Y/n) squeezes Skye, happy for her girlfriend's excitement.

. . .

"She's acting like everything will go back to normal," Coulson tells May a little later, pulling Skye's and (Y/n)'s files to add them to the SHIELD Gifted Index.

"That's what Skye does," May says. "Do they know they're being put on the Index?" May asks.

"They do," Coulson replies. "They both do seem to be getting control of their powers."

"That's good," May admits. "But we barely understand them - other than they're strong."

"Catastrophically so," Coulson agrees, referring to Skye's powers.

"Protocol is, anyone on the Index undergoes a full psych eval and a treat assessment," May reminds Coulson.

"We'd need to bring in someone from outside," Coulson remarks.

"Someone we can trust," May agrees.

. . .

"I think it's so cool," Skye remarks, looking at (Y/n) the Husky admiringly, "that you can turn into animals."

"Are you kidding me?" (Y/n) asks, shifting back into herself, her eyes gleaming lovingly. "What about your powers?"

Skye smiles at her girlfriend, cuddling into her side, listening to the radio. (Y/n) wraps her arms around Skye's waist.

"Hey, look what a hello from a stranger turned into / Caught up in a moment like it's just us in this room / All the right words at the right time and you know 'em 'cause you know me / Better than anyone else, we don't need anyone else / There's a couple billion people in the word / And a million other places we could be, but you're here with me / Take a moment just to take it in / 'Cause every high and every low led to this / I'm just so glad you exist / Don't you ever go, don't you ever go, don't you ever go changin' / Never let me go, never let me go, never let me go, baby / Don't you ever to, don't you ever go, don't you ever go changin' / Never let me go, never leg me go, never let me go, baby," (Y/n) sings softly along to the song, swaying her and Skye slightly. "I'm just so glad you exist," (Y/n) murmurs in Skye's ear.

Skye looks up into (Y/n)'s gentle (E/c) eyes.

"I love you," Skye murmurs, pressing her cheek against (Y/n)'s.

"I love you too," (Y/n) replies, her eyes closing in contentment.

"You remember our first mission together?" Skye asks and (Y/n) fixes her gaze on Skye's chocolate brown eyes.

"I do," (Y/n) answers, her eye sparkling

"Yep, you were kicking ass and looking hot while doing it." Skye asks and (Y/n) throws back her head with a laugh. "You were so sweet, too."

Skye is sitting in her bunk on the bus, typing on her laptop.

"Mission brief in five," Coulson says, knocking on the door.

"Okay," Skye mumbles.

"Katherine Shane?" Coulson asks, reading the file off of Skye's laptop.

"Do you know her?" Skye asks, looking interested.

"We ran a few OPs together in the '90s," Coulson tells Skye. "Smart, resourceful. Had a soft spot for Truffaut movies."

"Easy there, charm school," Skye says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "According to these files, Agent Shane could be my mom," Skye suddenly looks excited.

"Even if Shane was the Agent who dropped you off at the orphanage, it doesn't mean she's your mother."

"I started looking into all the female agents active when I was born," Skye says and Coulson hums. "Needle, haystack, I know. But then I factored in age and marital status, and then I built a program to narrow down the field."

"You're still looking at a long road," Coulson tells Skye gently.

"Well, it would be a lot shorter if I could access more files," Skye tells the agent. "Maybe you could remove my internet nanny?" she then asks. "I'm talking about my tracking bracelet," she clarifies, shaking her wrist.

"I got that," Coulson says, looking down at the brunette.

"So you'll take it off?" Skye asks.

"No, but I asked May to look into SHIELD's more restricted files," Coulson replies.

"Uh, I was kind of hoping to keep this private," Skye murmurs.

"Agent May specializes in private," Coulson tells her gently. "Let's go," Coulson says, walking out of the little room.

. . .

"At 0800 hours, three men infiltrated the Havenworth Federal Penitentiary," Coulson tells the others - Fitz, Simmons, Ward, May, and Skye.

"Infultrated? More like cannon-balled," Skye says softly.

"They were in and out in less than two minutes," Coulson goes on. "Left no prints at the scene, but we do have one lead."

Coulson swipes up, and the computer beeps, and there is an image projected on the screen.

"Centipede," Ward says, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Seems they salvaged some of their research from Hong Kong," Coulson tells the group.

"So we were right," Simmons says, and Fitz turns to look at his friend. "Chan's platelets solved their combustion problem. Now they can create super soldiers with no fear of explosion."

"Maybe don't get so excited about it," Fitz murmurs to Simmons.

"Two of Centipede's labs have been destroyed, but they keep popping back up," Coulson says. "Now they have at least three of these guys, maybe more."

"Who did they break out?" May asks, her brow furrowing.

"Edison Po, former Marine," Coulson replies. "Expert in tactics and rapid response. He fell off the grid in '08, reappeared eighteen months ago at a diner in Boston."

"Where he stabbed a friend's eyes out," Ward grumbles.

"With a steak knife, then finished his meal," Coulson finishes, glancing at Ward.

"That's funny. Po doesn't look crazy," Skye remarks and everyone looks at her.

"I'm kidding," Skye says, looking exasperated. "The guy is a walking mug shot."

"Which means he shouldn't be too hard to track down," Coulson agrees. "Finding Po and these Centipede soldiers is a top priority for SHIELD. We'll be running point, but we won't be working alone," Coulson tells the others.

"What team did HQ send for backup?" Ward asks, looking suspicious.

"Not a team -" Coulson says, his lips twitching. "Two people. One who is skilled in combat - trained by SHIELD's finest. And one who can help us fight fire with fire -" Coulson begins.

"Somebody we worked with before?" Skye asks.

"Not exactly," Coulson says.

. . .

Mike Peterson exits the SHIELD vehicle, another figure who looks like she's being harassed by a blond archer and a redhead nearby.

"Don't make me flatten you, Clinty," the younger of the three says, pointing at the man and the archer backs off, looking slightly horrified.

"Bye, you," the redhead grumbles, pulling her former apprentice into a hug.

"Nat!" the younger woman complains. "You're squishing my head!"

"This was a bad idea," May comments, looking between the two figures - the young woman and Mike Peterson.

Natasha Romanoff hands the younger woman a backpack and the women softens, hugging her former mentor one more time before hurrying off to join Mike.

The young woman turns, grinning at Mike, and the older man just shakes his head, amusement evident in his gaze.

"Agent Coulson, Agent May," Mike says, nodding respectfully to the older agents, but the woman just grins.

"Agent Coulson, at your service," the younger Agent Coulson says, faking a serious tone and her father shakes his head.

May just walks away and the elder Coulson turns to Mike.

"Last time you saw here, you threw her into a brick wall," Coulson reminds the super-soldier.

"Right," Mike says, looking uncomfortable. "First time around, I wasn't who I wanted to be," Mike tells the elder Coulson, "but now I get it. Having all this - it's a privilege. And training to be an agent, working with SHIELD, it's me trying to do better, trying to be better," he pauses. "I just need you to give me a shot."

"Everyone deserves a second chance," Coulson says, stepping forward. "But let me be clear - there will not be a third."

Mike dips his head, "Understood, sir."

"Good," Coulson says, glancing at the younger Coulson and turning around; Agent Coulson gets the feeling like she should follow.

. . .

"It's not good. At all," Ward says grimly to the three younger people in the room - Simmons, Fitz, and Skye. "The guy was literally a ticking time bomb - literally."

"HQ wouldn't have sent him if he was still combustible," Fitz reasons. "They must've found a way to stabilize him somehow."

"What about this other person they're sending in. Coulson said he was trained by SHIELD's finest, and yet none of us know who it is?" he questions. "Just saying, this could easily go sideways. Seriously, the last time we saw Peterson, he was a raging homicidal maniac -" Ward pauses, the other three looking behind him. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?" Ward asks.

"Mr. Peterson, this is Agent Grant Ward," Coulson says, and the others wonder why Coulson hadn't introduced the pretty young woman standing behind him. "He's the man who shot you at Union Station." Ward looks uncomfortable and an amused expression flashes across the new woman's face. "Fitz-Simmons," the two scientists wave at the super-soldier, "designed the weapon he used, and I think you remember -" Coulson gestures to Skye.

"Kidnap victim," Skye says, looking happy and the unknown woman is slightly confused.

Mike chuckles. "You joined SHIELD?" he asks.

"Yeah. Turns out, guys in suits - not so bad," Skye says with a grin.

"Look, I know Union Station could have gone another way," Mike says, looking uncomfortable again. "Another team might not have let me out of there alive. I owe you - all of you."

"That's bygones and water under a distant bridge far away," Skye says and unknown woman fixes her gaze on the brunette, studying her, and Skye looks back, her lips twitching in a smile. "How's your son?" Skye asks, turning back to Mike.

"Still with my sister. He thinks I'm working construction, but he's good, happy," Mike answers, smiling.

"So, what do we have?" Coulson asks.

"An unintroduced agent," the new woman says and there is a laugh from everyone in the room.

"Right," Coulson says, glaring at the younger woman. "This is (Y/n) Coulson, my daughter."

The other agents cast their gazes onto the tall young woman and (Y/n) looks unenthuiastically at her father.

"So, what do we have?" Coulson asks again.

"Not much on Po," Sky replies, tearing her eyes off (Y/n). "I checked his previously known addresses and old military contacts - came up empty."

"We've been looking for where Po might be on the outside," Coulson tells them, (Y/n) leaning against the doorway. "Let's look at his life on the inside - at the prison. See if that gets us any leads. Anything on the Centipede soldiers?"

"We found a facial recog match on one of them," Simmons says and (Y/n) fixes her gaze on the British woman.

"Name's Brian Hayward," Ward says, pressing a button on the debriefing table. "Stationed in Afghanistan for three years, then fell off the radar when he got back."

"Only living relative - sister, Laura -" Skye begins and (Y/n) pipes up.

"I know a Laura," (Y/n) says and Coulson glares at his daughter as the others laugh.

Skye shakes her head, looking amused, before continuing, "Sophomore at the University of Ohio."

"She's our best shot at finding Hayward," the Elder Coulson says, glancing at the board. "You and I will go talk to her," he nods to Ward. "Have May set a course for Cleveland."

Coulson points at (Y/n) and Mike. "Follow," he says.

"Bye friends," (Y/n) says with a wave, her gaze resting on Skye.

. . .

"Hey," Skye says, scrolling through her laptop, Agent May walking up to the brunette, her normal scowl on her face. "Coulson told me you were helping to, you know, find my long-lost folks, so thanks," Skye says, and (Y/n) remains in the shadows, not wanting to intrude. "I'm glad you're in on this with me. It means a lot."

May scowls even more and Skye swallows thickly.

(Y/n) winces as May says some harsh things to Skye. May leaves Skye alone and (Y/n) steps out of the shadows.

"Hey," (Y/n) says gently and Skye looks up. "Don't take what May said to heart, okay?"

Skye meets (Y/n)'s eyes, and then nods.

"So what did you find?" (Y/n) asks.

. . .

Skye leads (Y/n) and May into the debriefing room.

"Po only had one visitor during his prison stint - her," Skye says and (Y/n) narrows her eyes at the screen.

"Recognize the outfit?" Skye asks. "Miles said a girl in a flowered dress asked him to hack SHIELD. This could be the same girl."

"Can we hear the conversation?" (Y/n) asks Skye.

"That's the bummer," Skye replies. "There was no audio, but it's not a total loss. I was able to use SHIELD's lip-reading program, because we have one of those," Skye chuckles.

"It's so cool, right?" (Y/n) asks.

Skye catches May's scowl and continues, "It didn't work on the girl because she never looks up at the camera, but Po did - once - and it caught this."

Skye presses a button and, "The Clairvoyant doesn't not like to be touched," comes from the screen.

"I wrote that down, so we don't have to hear that again - ever," Skye says and (Y/n) looks disgusted.

"The Clairvoyant," May says thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Skye says, furrowing her brow. "Does that mean anything to you?"

(Y/n) shakes her head, "But it means something to them - to Po and whoever that woman is."

"Her name's Raina," says a voice and Mike Peterson walks into the room.

"You know her?" Skye asks Mike.

"Yeah, she recruited me for Centipede, came up to me at the hospital where I did my back therapy out of the blue," Mike pauses. "Told me she could change my life."

. . .

An hour or so later, Skye finds (Y/n) by the loading doors of the BUS, the young woman attacking a punching bag.

"Time to suit up," Skye says and (Y/n) looks up, wiping the sweat off her forehead.

"Cool," (Y/n) says, jogging up the stairs. She passes Skye, shooting the brunette a grin, and Skye's cheeks flush.

. . .

(Y/n) suits up in her SHIELD uniform before meeting the others in the loading dock. Her SHIELD uniform was a Royal blue, but was almost exactly like her old mentor - Natasha's - SHIELD uniform, with light blue highlights running down the arms and legs.

"I think it's rather smart," Simmons remarks, looking at Mike's combat suit.

"How does it feel?" Fitz asks.

"Feels good. Comfortable," Mike replies.

"Having powers is cheating, but the suit's pretty cool," Ward remarks.

(Y/n) steps off the last stair, her combat boots making a thunking sound as she steps onto the floor, and Skye turns to look at her.

"Right, now that everyone's here," Coulson glares bemusedly at his daughter. "Hayward's cellphone has been traced to an abandoned factory about eight miles from here."

"We'll go in quiet. Do minimal damage to the facility and the people inside," May tells the others as (Y/n) pulls out her electric batons from her backpack, sliding them up the sleeves of her suit into the little sheaths against her wrists.

Ward, May, you'll go in through the west entrance. Mr. Peterson and I will enter through the loading dock," Coulson tells the group.

"So I guess you're my partner?" (Y/n) says, looking at Skye.

Coulson nods. "You and Skye will go through the main entrance."

(Y/n) dips her head.

"We're doing this just us?" Skye asks. "We've been playing whack-a-mole with these guys since Ward first picked me out of my van. Shouldn't big SHIELD be sending in backup?" she asks.

"Trust me, they already did," Coulson says, looking pointedly at his Avenger daughter. "They sent a super-soldier and an Avenger."

"An Avenger who has to pop an Ibuprofen after every fight," (Y/n) grumbles.

"Let's move," May says, leading Ward from the BUS.

"Take this," Coulson tosses (Y/n) a gun.

"Is the famous Fitz-Simmons ICER?" (Y/n) asks, studying the craftsmanship of the gun. "I'm impressed. It's just the right weight." (Y/n) glances appreciatively at the two scientists. "It's been a while since I've seen a gun this nice. I might be stealing it."

Fitz-Simmons glance at each other then grin at the Avenger.

"Enough fangirling," Coulson says and (Y/n) rolls her eyes.

"All right. All right," (Y/n) replies. "Come on, Skye."

. . .

"Are we alone here?" Coulson asks the group.

"It seems so," (Y/n) answers. "Fitz, dial Hayward's number."

There is a moment's pause, then the sound of a phone dialing.

(Y/n) freezes in front of one of the storage containers.

(Y/n) hears a cellphone ringing and she holds a finger to her mouth so Skye would be quiet.

Flicking her wrists, the batons slide out of their sheaths.

(Y/n) takes the two separate pieces, locking them together.

(Y/n) readies her batons, as the doors to the storage container fly off the hinges.

"Uh, (Y/n), Skye, you've got company," Fitz tells the two women.

"I'd noticed," (Y/n) replies, advancing on Hayward.

The soldier places his hands on the storage container and flings it towards (Y/n) and Skye.

Skye flinches but (Y/n) tackles Skye, pushing her out of the way. (Y/n) rolls, landing on her feet, and Skye, on the ground, levels her own ICER, firing at the soldier.

The soldier falls to the ground and (Y/n) pulls Skye to her feet. Looking down at the soldier, the two women see the dendrotoxin veins leaving his face. Hayward blinks, his eyes refocusing.

"That usually packs a bigger punch," Skye comments, her and (Y/n) stepping back as Hayward rises to his feet.

(Y/n) runs towards the soldier, smacking him across the forehead, and then in the stomach with the other end of the now staff, flooring the soldier with her mentor's favorite move.

"We're heading your way," Coulson tells his daughter.

"Who's doing this?" (Y/n) asks the fallen soldier.

"I don't tell anyone. I promise," the soldier says through gritted teeth.

There is a tiny spark, and the light behind the soldier's eyes goes out.

. . .

"I'm so glad you're here," Simmons greets Dr. Garner. "Especially since it's been well documented that powers can lead to psychological volatility. Not that Skye or (Y/n) are showing any signs. Their vitals currently are steady."

"May I?" Garner asks, looking at the iMac on the desk.

"So, it might be wise to do pharmacological evaluations," Simmons advises. "Dulling Skye's emotions could lessen the destructiveness of her powers - a-a stopgap measure."

"I should probably meet both of them before writing a prescription," Garner says sternly, looking at Simmons with a frown.

"I'll take you to them," May tells her ex-husband

"I appreciate the extensive and thorough debrief, Agent Simmons," Garner says, turning away from Simmons.

. . .

"Are you kidding me? A shrink?" Skye asks, (Y/n) sitting next to her on the cot as usual, a frown evident on the Avenger's face.

"It's not personal," May tells the brunette.

"Hell, it's not personal. It's a shrink," Skye argues and (Y/n) places a gentle hand on Skye's knee.

"It's standard procedure for anyo -" May begins.

Skye cuts her off, "No, I know, but we're not just on the Index. We're also SHIELD agents."

"Exactly. So you know it's non-negotiable," May argues right back.

Skye scoffs, shaking her head.

"Andrew is good, and he's done this before," May says, her tone softening.

"So have I. I grew up in the system," Skye replies. "I've been through enough of these to know that I hate them."

"You'll like this one," May tells Skye.

"Yeah, how do you know that?" Skye replies, focusing her gaze on (Y/n)'s hand resting on her knee.

"Because I was married to him," May answers and Skye looks up, her eyes wide with shock.

"I'm going to make us something to eat," (Y/n) tells Skye once May leaves. "I'm starving," (Y/n) leans over, pressing a soft kiss to Skye's cheek before standing up and walking over to the door. Opening the door, she steps aside to let Andrew into the house.

"Hello, (Y/n)," Andrew greet the young woman.

"Hey," (Y/n) replies with a short wave before leaving the room and making her way into the kitchen inside the Playground.

. . .

(Y/n) looks up from her pan as she notices the pots and pans rattling on the wall.

Skye! she thinks, throwing the hot pan into the sink and unknowingly shifting into a panther, and darting out of the room.

(Y/n)'s powerful shoulder muscles bunch and stretch as she speeds up, a black blur as she streaks past the labs.

(Y/n) charges up the loading doors and up to Skye's room, shifting back into herself.

"Skye! You need to wake up!" (Y/n) exclaims, gently shaking Skye's shoulder.

Skye starts, fixing her gaze on (Y/n)'s (E/c) eyes but then she looks at the door as Dr. Garner, May, Fitz, and Simmons burst into the room.

"Hey. Look at me," (Y/n) reaches out a hand, gently moving Skye's face to look her in the eye. "You need to stop this," (Y/n) kneels down and to her relief, Skye keeps her eyes on (Y/n)'s.

"If she needs a sedative . . ." Simmons begins, but May glares at the scientist.

"You can do it Skye. Just focus," (Y/n) whispers, gazing into Skye's brown eyes.

Skye exhales slowly and the shaking stops.

"No, no. It's good. It's good. It's stopping," Fitz tells Simmons.

Dr. Garner and May exchange a look before fixing their gazes on (Y/n), whose hand is resting on Skye's knee now.

"I'm going to stay," Garner says.

"Come on. Everybody out," May nods.

'Love you,' (Y/n) mouths as she leaves the room, looking back at Skye, and the brunette relaxes, smiling softly.

"May," comes a voice and May looks at her watch, a projection of Coulson appears in her hand. "We need backup."

. . .

Skye breathes deeply, looking at her bio-meter watch. "Under seventy," Skye says, taking another breath.

"How are you doing that?" Garner asks.

"May taught me," Skye replies. "You focus on a single point, let everything else become noise disappearing in the background."

"Except it doesn't disappear you're pushing it aside," Garner says, putting his hands on his hips. Which is why, when you were dreaming, the tremors started." Skye swallows thickly. "What were you dreaming about?" Garner asks.

"I don't remember," Skye replies, her cheeks darkening.

"You're seeming defensive," Garner says, frowning.

"Because you keep pushing," Skye argues.

"Because whatever you were feeling was strong enough to shake this entire plane," Garner replies, his brows furrowing.

"Well, I don't know, so let's move on," Skye says, her eyes watery. "How about you show me an inkblot, and I tell you about me and my girlfriend's first time?" Skye asks, leaning forward. The moment she says it though, she regrets it. Their first time had been magical, and Skye had never felt so loved that night.

Garner chuckles. "Humor. So that's your thing. Well, that's an effective way to avoid thinking about how monumentally painful your life is right now."

"Good pep talk," Skye says through gritted teeth. "Thanks," Skye frowns, her brows furrowing.

"Sarcasm. Same purpose - avoidance strategy," Garner says.

"What am I avoiding, exactly?" Skye asks, leaning forward and crossing her legs criss-cross-applesauce on her and (Y/n)'s shared bed.

"The truth," Garner says. "That - not just you, but your girlfriend too - are different now, that you have abilities, your abilities triggered by pain, and either you face that or you don't sleep again."

Skye swallows thickly, her gaze falling on the door, wishing that (Y/n) would walk through the door; wishing that (Y/n) would set her hand on her knee like she always did when Skye was feeling scared or nervous; wishing that (Y/n) would walk through with a carefully picked tub of salted caramel ice cream and two spoons.

Skye turns back to Dr. Garner. "I dreamed I was on a mission, looking through the scope of my rifle. The next thing I knew, I was on the other side. The rifle was trained on me.

"Pretty on point - going form being an agent to a -" Garner begins

"Yeah, to being on the Index," Skye interupts. "And I know SHIELD's policy for people on the Index."

There's a rumbling.

"I have executed that policy," Skye continues.

"Okay. Skye, I need you to stop," Garner says, looking around at the shaking walls. "Just calm down. Take a breath."

"Wait. The room is shaking," Skye realizes.

"Right," Garner replies, leaning forward in his chair. "Which is why I need you to breathe."

"No, this isn't me. I'm not doing this," Skye says, pursing her lips.

Garner looks around before moving out of the room.

(Y/n) enters the room a moment later holding two spoons and a tub of salted caramel ice cream.

Skye gazes softly at (Y/n) as (Y/n) comes over to sit beside her on their shared bed.

"Dad needed backup," (Y/n) tells Skye as she hands her girlfriend a spoon, then cracking open the tub of ice cream.

Skye leans affectionately against (Y/n), digging her spoon into the carton and making airplane noises like she would to a baby, poking (Y/n)'s lips with the spoon.

(Y/n)'s shoulder shake with silent laughter, and she opens her mouth, eating the spoonful off Skye's spoon.

(Y/n) takes her own spoon, scooping out another bite. She moves it towards Skye's lips. When Skye opens her mouth, (Y/n) steals the bite.

Skye giggles this time, her head falling on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

. . .

"That not-talking thing you do - not okay when we were married, but definitely not okay," Dr. Garner scolds his ex-wife.

"Not okay is Skye's lunatic father leading Coulson into a trap. Civilians could be hurt. I acted quickly," May says, her tone hardening.

"And me and Skye? We do what?" Garner asks, furrowing his brow.

May scoffs. "Same as if we were were on base," May says. "Stay in the cage. Continue your evaluation."

"That's so not going to happen," Skye says, and the two exs turn to fix their gazes on the two young women.

May's eyes flick down to Skye and (Y/n)'s interlocked pinkies and Skye's slightly relaxed expression.

"This is not a negotiation, Skye," May fixes her gaze back on Skye's eyes, which had narrowed, her relaxed expression leaving her face. "You're staying on the BUS."

Skye walks over to the debriefing table, leaving (Y/n) standing in the doorway.

"If Coulson needs backup -" Skye begins.

May cuts her off. "He'll have it. We don't need you."

"Yes, you do. My father's involved," Skye argues, her eyes narrowing. "And for better or worse, I matter to him, and we can use that."

"May, we can help," (Y/n) says, moving over to stand beside Skye.

"Having contact with your father is a bad idea," Garner says, furrowing his eyebrows. "If you can't control your feelings -"

"I'll ice myself," Skye interupts.

Garner frowns.

"Look. You put me on the Index. You're doing my intake assessment. How about we let my Dad know?" Skye asks.

"Okay," May says after a moment, but then she fixes her gaze on (Y/n).

. . .

"We want everyone to know what you do to people like us," Cal says, his voice echoing through the silent stadium. "And we want you to stop before you do it to her."

"Talking about her?" (Y/n) says through gritted teeth, pushing Skye forward, her unloaded handgun pressed to the side of Skye's neck.

"You monster," Cal turns to (Y/n), his brow furrowing.

(Y/n)," Coulson breathes, looking at his daughter in disbelief.

"Daisy," Cal says, gazing at his daughter. "What have they done to you?"

"We put her on the Index," May says, coming up and pressing her unloaded handgun into the small of Skye's back. "Now we decide - contain her or put her down." May shoves the gun into Skye's back again. "Your call."

"Tell me they didn't hurt you," Cal says, stepping forward to gaze into his daughter's watery eyes.

"Talk to me, not her," (Y/n) presses the gun into Skye's neck, hating herself for being so harsh, but she knows she has to keep up the facade.

"Now, you let these people go, or your daughter dies," May says, shoving the gun into Skye's back for the third time.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. I can't lose you again," Cal whispers. "Don't you see what they do? You've been changed. And it scares the hell out of them. I think it's wonderful." Skye swallows thickly. "I can help. So, tell me. What's your thing?" he asks. "I mean, I was hoping it was wings."

"Talk to me, not her," May growls.

"You chose them," Cal glares at (Y/n), then Coulson, his eyes full of disdain. "You threatened to kill me, your own father. You didn't know any better. They raised you. They brainwashed you. You won't kill her," Cal says, turning away. "Though, the truth is, you're capable of such things. That's what I'm trying to teach this whole damn town. I don't even know if they're listening. Maybe they'll listen to you," Cal hands the microphone to a man beside him.

The man with the microphone exhales deeply, but a blue energy field surrounds Cal and takes him away.

"Skye," Garner says, running over to the brunette. "Come on. Come on."

"(Y/n), go with them," May gives (Y/n) a slight nudge. "You're the only one who can keep her calm."

(Y/n) takes Skye's hand in her own, pulling her along.

Skye's breathing stutters as she watches Coulson and May fight Cal's companions.

Skye breathes deeply and the stadium begins to rumble.

Everyone looks at her and (Y/n) drops Skye's hand, clutching her left wrist.

The rumbling stops and (Y/n) looks over at Skye's hands and lower arms which were darkening with bruises.

Skye's vision goes blurry and (Y/n) moves behind Skye to catch her as she fell.

(Y/n) hits the ground, her wrist searing with pain, but Skye lands safely in her lap.

. . .

"You're awake," Simmons says, sighing with relief.

Skye looks around, looking startled and slightly scared as she tries to sit up.

"You're probably feeling a little drowsy," Simmons says, her voice soft. "We gave you something to help you sleep." Skye sits up, looking at her bruised hands.

"Why do I have these bruises?" Skye asks, her gaze finding (Y/n) sitting in a chair, her left wrist resting on the table, Fitz gently running his fingers down (Y/n)'s wrist before he leaves the room.

"I ran some tests," Simmons says. "The bruising was caused by capillary ruptures in your arms. X-rays showed more than seventy-five hairline fractures from your clavicle to your fingers."

"I . . . I don't understand," Skye stutters, Fitz returning to the room with a black velcro cast. He tightly wraps (Y/n)'s wrist with the cast, (Y/n) gritting her teeth.

"You weren't stopping your powers, Skye," Garner tells her. "You were . . . directing them inward."

Skye lets out a shaky breath, blinking back her tears.

(Y/n) runs her own fingers down her fractured wrist.

A guilty looking Skye meets (Y/n)'s gaze and Skye can see (Y/n)'s love and worry reflected there, along with pain.

"What am I supposed to do?" Skye asks.

"I made the casts from compression microfibers to help contain the shaking, minimize the damage," Simmons leans forward and (Y/n) narrows her eyes angrily.

"That's not what she means, Simmons," May says before she focuses her gaze gently on Skye. "We'll figure this out, Skye."

. . .

(Y/n) lies down on Skye's stomach, letting out soft kitten purrs that sooth Skye back to sleep, her bruised fingers gently brushing (Y/n)'s orange fur.

(Y/n) had realized that when using her powers, it was more helpful if she knew a lot about the animal she was going to change into.

. . .

"Well, the bruising has started to fade," Simmons says, looking at Skye's arm. (Y/n) is sitting close to Skye, (Y/n)'s fractured wrist resting on Skye's lower thigh, rubbing it with a thumb. "though I'm afraid these stress fractures will take a bit more time to heal."

"Great. Tried to go Zen to keep my powers in check only to find myself -" Skye lets out a soft yelp as he tries to pull her 'casts' back onto her arms "- back on the D.L."

"The down low?" both (Y/n) and Fitz ask in unison.

"The disabled list," Skye says, nudging (Y/n) with a knee.

"Oh, yeah," (Y/n) says, looking a little embarrassed.

"That makes more sense," Fitz agrees

"Yeah, and now I'm all . . . " Skye studies her bruised hands.

"You know, it could just be growing pains - from the new powers," Fitz says, trying to reassure Skye.

"It's okay, Fitz," Skye says, gently closing her fists. "You don't have to put a positive spin on this."

"I'm not doing that. I would never patronize the -" the three women look up at him. "Well, the - Things change, that's what I'm saying. So, maybe if you can learn to control this, then . . . You could have Avengers-level powers," Fitz says, looking at Skye. "Something like Captain America, even."

"I'd say more Thor-ish powers," (Y/n) corrects. "Thor's the God of Thunder. Tremors got, well, tremors. Both elemental based powers."

"I think it best we keep in mind the destructive capabilities of Skye's powers," Simmons says. "If there is an Avengers equivalent, right now, I'm afraid it's the Hulk."

(Y/n) turns her gaze on Simmons, an eyebrow raised.

"Well, Hulk saved the world, last I checked," Fitz says.

"You're absolutely right," Simmons agrees. "But given the choice, I believe Bruce Banner would not hesitate to cure himself once and for all."

"Actually," (Y/n) says, meeting Simmons's gaze. "Bruce is  trying to find out a way to make himself and the Hulk the same being. Just because something is powerful, doesn't mean it's dangerous. Steve Rogers, for example, is a super-solder, but he's as gentle as a mouse. People have the capacity to choose who or what they want to be, Simmons."

"Well then, maybe we should be glad that Bruce hasn't tried to cure himself then," Fitz says.

"Oh, Fitz -" Simmons goes to say.

"Don't 'oh, Fitz,' me," Fitz retorts and the BUS begins to shake.

(Y/n) lets her uninjured hand's fingers brush soothingly up and down Skye's arm.

The rumbling stops as Skye fixes her gaze on (Y/n)'s gentle, loving gaze.

"Sorry, Skye. It isn't really about you," Simmons says apologetically.

"I'm pretty sure it is," Skye says, frowning. "We'll go back to our cage," Skye says, sliding out of the the booth, (Y/n) following closely.

Fitz and Simmons watch (Y/n) and Skye closely. They watch as (Y/n)'s uninjured hand brushes one of Skye's bruised hand with a gentleness neither of the two had seen before.

Word Count: 7454 words

Skye / Daisy Johnson Taglist:

@imapotato

@confusinggemini612

[southerneldritch]

-A Year Later, Misha-

The smoke rose in a thick line from the burning embers of the tip of the cigarette, an off brand from the shop in town. Misha drew in a deep and long drag as he looked out across the night sky above the cold southern expanse of the Tronador valley. As he went further up the mountain, it was nice to look back towards the small lights of Puerto Varas, where he had received the intel that pointed him up this impressively cold mountain. Misha was no stranger to cold, but with how hot it was in the town this August he hadn’t expected the trek to plunge him into frigid temperatures. Nevertheless, with his collar lifted and another smoke lit, he marched forward.

The night was getting colder and the path, if you could call it one, was more than likely made entirely by wayward goats without intention or significance. Santino knew better than to give Misha bad intel, especially with something as important as this, but still there was a nagging at the back of Misha’s mind that this could be a trap. 

He’d had a few difficult tussles since he left the comfort of the states to pursue what truth he had seen, what memories had been returned to him. Briefly, he considered the nightmare of New Orleans and what he’d had to do with the good Doctor. The sight of what that man had become, what that man committed to before slipping under the floodwaters of the ill-gotten city was still clear in his mind. Misha liked that his mind felt less like a mystery than before, but he was torn when he thought of the life he had built in Avenyork, the friends….friend he had made. 

After another long drag of the cigarette, Misha found himself spotting the low light of a small cabin tucked into the mountainside. “Finally. I hope they have a fire going” he muttered to himself as he trudged on. Arriving at the small cabin, he could hear some music playing from inside. It sounded Russian. With a firm knock he stood out in the cold for a moment before the music fell silent and the door was cracked open. Dark brown eyes stared out from the warmth of the structure. “¿Sí, Qué quieres?”

“¿Oleg está aquí?” Misha responded. There was a slight look of confusion on the face of the man holding the door.

“Hablas español mejor que Oleg” He smiled and opened the door wider, gesturing for Misha to step inside. 

“lo hago pero no lo prefiero.” Misha smirked as he stepped through the doorway, adding “¿Habla usted Inglés?”

“Si, but is not as good. But Oleg prefer it too.” The man, short in stature, shut the door behind Misha and led him to a chair at a table in the middle of the room. Misha could smell some sort of soup or stew being made on the fireplace and there was a small phonograph player on a small table to the side. “Oleg tried to make me learn Russian, HA” he laughed “Not happen”

“Russian is not easy language to master. Don’t worry my english is very good.” Misha sat down roughly, tired as he was. “Where is Oleg?” His eyes drifted around the room and saw a small bed tucked in the corner and a single door into the back room.

“He went to gather last few ingredients for stew” The man sat down across from Misha “Mi nombre es Mateo, ehhh” A pause “My name, Mateo. You?” His clothes were a bit large for his build and he seemed calm, despite a stranger banging on his door at this late hour in the mountains. 

“Misha” Misha stated as he absorbed the room, gathering as much as he could. “And how did Oleg come to find you?”

“Oh as most. The people in town. They know my skills” He smiled and folded his fingers together. His nails were clean and bright yet something dark was under them. “And what is Oleg to you?”

Misha paused and considered the question. “Old friends,” adding, “How long do you think he’ll be?” He kept his eyes on swivel as he watched Mateo’s every move. 

“He not be much longer” Mateo smiled wide, teeth looking wet. “Last ingredients are most important.” He gestured towards the pot next to the fireplace. 

“Yes.” There was a pause in the room. The cold of the outdoors permeated everything despite the roaring fire. “The final touches are always important.” Before the pause could go on much longer, Misha asked, “So I heard music as I approached. Shall we put some on while we wait for Oleg?”

“YES!” Mateo exclaimed, his voice almost heavy with excitement. “Please go crank up the record” he half laughed “Oleg brought very good”. Misha stood and made his way towards the phonograph. It was an old thing that looked worse for the wear, and there on the pad was an old Russian record. The crank made an awful noise as he turned it. The creaking, clanking and the sound of the spring tightening was a mixture of bizzare and otherworldly sounds that caused the hairs on Misha’s neck to stand up on end. 

As Mateo reached the last click of the player, Misha noticed an imperial Russian coat on the floor by the fireplace. Heavy outerwear that would work well in the growing cold outside the house. A coat Oleg would not have left without care. Misha’s stomach turned to sand and there were alarm bells going off as he felt his muscles tightened without thinking to do so. 

“So Oleg?” Misha spoke as the record wurred to life with the sounds of a Russian folk tune, he turned back towards Mateo and regretted his decision immediately. Mateo with wide open eyes was looking directly at Misha, though he had not turned his body, only his head which was situated facing almost entirely the wrong direction. His mouth looked as if it had broken free and his head cocked backwards as a horrific guttural sound of nightmares filled the small cabin. Misha reached for his pistol as Mateo’s form folded and ripped and slid off of the large creature now flinging itself at him. His gun had only gotten out of the holster before the creature was on top of him. Slamming Misha down hard, the gun slipped from his hand. His head was spinning but his training kicked in harder than ever. The snarling maw of the grotesque thing was dripping down onto him as he kicked his heel back and slammed it hard into the beast. The creature folded back and shrieked. It grasped at its side that was bleeding a thick red ichor.

“Piece of Shit!” Misha exclaimed as he rolled over and tapped his heel again, the blood stained blade retracting into the side of his boot. Tumbling to his feet next to his revolver and snatching it up to look towards the creature writhing. Drawing a deep breath with a mixture of words under his breath Misha steadied his pistol on the shadowed and dripping beast. The upbeat tunes of the Russian folk music punctuated the snarl of the thing as it whipped around to face Misha.

“YOU ARE TOO LATE FOR FRIEND '' The voice spilled from various holes around the thing. With sounds of gravel being forced through flesh, the tone still somehow sounded like the small man of Mateo, even if the creature had very few traces of his flesh sticking to its dripping form. Within a second it lept towards Misha and without a second guess the gun belched fire. The small piece of metal tore through the creature, though it was not enough to stop its energy. Slamming down in front of him and bringing a thunderously hard slam into his side, the creature sent Misha hurling into the wall at the back of the shack. Wood splintered as the low light of the cabin was lost.  

Misha woke, lying inside the small back room, “Uhhhghhh.” He let  a moan escape before sitting up. The bodies of curious travellers and seekers of information alike were strung up and stored around the room. Likely as some sort of food source. “Oh Oleg,” he muttered as he eyed the opening now splintered through the wall into the main room of the cabin. “I guess you didn’t come as prepared as you should have.” Misha began to unload the revolver and slips his hand into an interior pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a few special looking cartridges with emblazoned symbols upon the shells. Before he was able to load them, the mass of the creature barges through, up, over and towards him.

“YOU SOON DEAD NEW RUSSIAN!” The creature gurgled forward with a sense of pained anger. While the previous strikes may not have been lethal, they certainly hurt. It clearly was angry now. Seeing it close the distance with its previous speed, Misha abandoned loading the gun and braced himself instead. No amount of training can steel one against the purely physical blows of a wretched beast. Misha found himself tumbling back out of the hole his body had just made in the wall. He managed to land on his feet and was able to load the special rounds.

“Not quite yet you piece of SHIT!” He called out mocking the creature as the last round click into the cylinder and he snapped the gun shut. The hammer set, he began to speak softly as the chamber emitted a soft glow, faint but there. “I’m not done with you!” He exclaimed as he saw the twisted gleam of the eyes of the creature peer over the hole in the wall.

Releasing a growling shriek the creature retorted, “YOU DIE NOW OTHERS ARE FOOD ENOUGH!!!” as it launched over the broken timbers and slammed foot after foot, hand after hand towards Misha. Its jaws unhinged as it lept but before it bit down into the flesh of this painful nuisance, Misha dropped down, dodging the thing and letting loose two shots directly point blank into its belly. Hellish green and blue fire erupted from the wounds as large bulbs exploded around the impact zones. The creature cried out and slammed into, then through, the outer wall out into the cold snow of the mountainside. It let out a weak chitter of pain and confusion.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here Oleg.” Misha slowly stepped over the rubble of the wall and towards the thing. It’s body convulsing and folding, bones twisting inside its loose skin. “But this thing won't hurt anyone else.” Misha stood over it and let loose a loud single shot through what could best be described as its ‘head’. A few moments of the bright burn of green and blue light and the echo of the shot through the mountains, and Misha was alone. 

New snow began to fall silently. He flipped open his notebook to a page full of names. He crossed out the last name on the page, ‘Oleg Fedorov.’ The steam of his breath was thick as he let out a long long sigh. With a fresh cigarette in his lips, he glanced at the Verum Private Detective badge paper clipped into his notebook. He looked into the cold night. 

Softly, to the silence, he says, “I think I miss home.” 

(by J. Daily)

[harmonyindark245]

Secrets [5]

Summary: King's Archeron's kingdom is made up of secrets, which include both betrayal and treason. When the Prince of Velaris and his Inner Circle visit the kingdom, these secrets start revealing themselves. How will these affect the 3 Archeron Princesses, who themselves have a very deadly secret?

AN: All characters belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Warnings: Slight Mature Language

Word Count - 1.2k

Another short chapter. From now on, I’ll hopefully be posting a chapter on Tuesdays and Saturdays.

Hope you all enjoy!

Masterlist

A loud banging sound on the door woke Nesta up. She groaned and sat up to see Elain sprawled beside her on the bed and apparently, some time in the middle of the night, Feyre had fallen onto the floor. 

Nesta’s head was pounding and the sunlight hurt her eyes.  And the banging on the door was certainly not helping.

“Ugh! Someone stop that wretched sound! I feel as if my head is going to explode!” Feyre groaned from the floor. 

Elain huffed and elegantly got up. She turned to look at both Nesta and Feyre and shook her head in disappointment. “You shouldn’t have drunk an entire bottle when you knew it would kill you the next morning.” 

Feyre gasped dramatically and Nesta glared at Elain. “You drank the same as we did.” She said blandly.

Elain nodded her head. “Yes, yes I did. However, I know how to handle my liquor. I’ve had tons of practice.” Suddenly, the entire atmosphere in the room went down. Elain instantly averted her eyes, as if she realised what she was saying. 

“Oh, Elain, it has nothing to do with practice.” Feyre said, trying to brighten the mood. “ You’re just fancier than us.” She was still sprawled on the floor. 

“And how does being fancy have anything to do with this?” Nesta asked her with eyebrows raised. 

Feyre got up and shot an angry look towards the door, “Fancy people know how to properly behave in front of people. Whereas people like us, dear Nesta, don’t give a rat’s ass about what people think.”

Elain giggled as Feyre stumbled onto the bed. She moved towards the door and opened it a bit, speaking to the person outside softly. Nesta held her head and cursed herself for drinking so much the previous night. 

The sisters had bonded over whiskey and the talk of idiotic men who thought they could own them. Nesta had already told Lord Thomas that she was not interested. Elain did not want to be with Prince Lucien at all and had contemplated delaying the answer as Prince Rhysand was also there, but they all knew she wasn’t really interested in Prince Rhysand.

Feyre had remained silent though. She had just said that she would think about it. Nesta hated that she couldn’t do anything for her sister. They had never gotten along well only because they were too similar. It was one of the things Nesta regretted the most. Recently, they had been on better terms, unfortunately, Feyre had distanced herself once again, all due to Tamlin. If it were Nesta’s choice, she would have gotten rid of him the first day he had demeaned them.

Elain closed the door and stood in front of the bed with mocking eyes. She grinned as she said. “It seems that dear father has called for us in his meeting room, instantly.” 

Nesta scowled at Elain as Feyre fell back onto the floor, groaning. “Oh, fuck.”

----------------------------

Elain was smiling. Brightly. A bit too much than normal, but no one would’ve noticed any difference. Princess Elain was only known for smiles and kindness. No one knew about the girl who had once been so depressed, she had taken to liquor and frequent visits to opium dens. But she was over that now. At least she thought so. 

Behind her, Nesta was walking slowly holding onto the wall and Feyre was stumbling, muttering curses every now and then. Elain giggled a bit. 

Suddenly, the royal chamber's door was opened by the royal soldiers. Elain walked at the head of the group and moved into the meeting room. It had been made in such a way that no one could hear a word from outside. 

In the room Elain saw the three men standing in front of her father. 

Rhys looked bored and was in some form of gear. Azriel and Cassian both looked alert and were completely in gear with leathers and daggers. They all had an aura of darkness around them. Elain considered them as dark knights in shining armour.

As soon as they heard the princesses enter, they all looked towards them. Elain’s father looked towards them as well. He regarded Elain with a nod and then looked back at Feyre and Nesta, who were stumbling and slouching, respectively.

She saw the three men shoot amused looks in their directions while her father just narrowed his eyes at them. He then capped his hands together, the sound echoing through the room. Feyre and Nesta instantly stood up straight in attention and eyes widened. The three of them moved forward and knelt in front of their father in greeting. 

When they got up and moved back, the king stood up. “First things first,” He announced and pointed towards Elain, “Princess Elain, you shall not marry Prince Lucien and Princess Feyre,” He then pointed towards Feyre, “You shall not consider the Captain’s proposal.” 

----------------------------

Feyre’s jaw dropped down. What did her father mean when he said that she should not consider Tamlin’s proposal? And how did he even know in the first place? Feyre thought. 

The King smiled at her. “I have a few spies here and there.” From her side, Cassian started coughing. 

“Is this because Prince Rhysand has to choose one of us?” Feyre sputtered. 

The King shook his head slowly, “Not at all. Infact, his main motive to be here isn’t even related to marriage.”

“Then why is he here? Why are they here?” Nesta said from the back, silently observing the three men, her gaze lingering on Cassian. 

The King looked at her with narrowed eyes. “They’re here to protect you.”

All three sisters widened her eyes. Nesta was the one who spoke up. “Protect us? As in one man for each?” 

Cassian spoke up from the side. “Yes, Princess Nesta. You get to play damsel in distress.” 

Nesta scowled at him. Feyre looked at her father as she said, “We can protect ourselves, very well, father. There is no need for someone else to be handed the task.” 

The King looked at her. “Feyre, I know you can protect yourself, but you need them to help you.” Feyre understood what message had been hidden in that statement. She nodded and backed away.

When she looked at her sisters, she saw from their faces that they had understood as well. 

“Father, who will be appointed to whom?” Elain asked softly, looking down at her sandals. Feyre felt a surge of nausea wave over her.

The King sat back down on his throne and waved his hand in the sky as he declared the pairs. 

“Princess Nesta will be with the Spymaster, Azriel.

Princess Elain will be with Prince Rhysand.

And Feyre will be with General Cassian.”

Feyre turned towards a potted plant and heaved into it, expelling all the alcohol from the previous night.

----------------------------

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[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.2)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 4147 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two... Ladybug learnt her kitty's secret identity, invented a new language, and threw her yoyo off the Eiffel Tower. Her word vomit reminded our dear, sweet Adrien of someone, but true to form, he just couldn't figure out who. Will LB find her yoyo? Will Golden Boy get a clue? Will a half-reveal make even a shred of difference? Or are these lovelorn dorks just beyond help at this point? Read on to find out!

---

Chapter Two

Ladybug plopped onto her balcony, the planks squeaking beneath her feet. She latched her yoyo around her waist and stole a glance over the ledge, finding closed curtains and an empty street. No witnesses to her arrival.

At least something was going right this evening.

In hindsight, finding her yoyo had by far been the easiest part of the night. She'd found it dangling from the roof of a horse-themed carousel, the ride glowing like a yellow beacon to anyone near the Eiffel Tower after dark. Thankfully, it'd been too high for just anyone to reach.

But with her super agility?

Not a problem.

Ladybug hurried to the skylight hatch, fixed into the balcony floor, only to squeak as she stubbed her toe on a potted plant, then stumbled over another. Both were new additions, and easily overlooked at the best of times. Tonight, they were basically two bullseyes for her unrivalled clumsiness.

"S-Sorry, Sunny," she stuttered, glancing at a single, yellow flower. She turned to a cluster of bright purple ones. "You – You too, Patty."

She yanked the hatch open and dropped onto her bed, the glass shuddering as the door thumped shut above her. A desk lamp cast its glow upon her lean frame, highlighting her silhouette as she stumbled down the ladder with about as much grace as a potato.

"Spots off…"

Those two words, usually full of quiet confidence, instead shook in tandem with the rest of her.

In a flash of pink, Marinette stood where Ladybug once had, and Tikki emerged at her side. Her powers might've just been the only reason her legs hadn't liquified sooner, for she instantly sunk to the wooden floor.

With a quiet gasp, Tikki swooped to her aid. "Marinette?" she said, waving a tiny hand over her chosen's vacant eyes. "Marinette, it's going to be okay!"

Marinette remained silent, save for the long, croaky groan that slipped through her lips.

A frown filled Tikki's face. Like magma below a dormant volcano, a whole chamber of thoughts bubbled and boiled beneath Marinette's skin, ready to explode. Whatever she was staring at, she wasn't truly seeing it.

Tikki had expected as much—and knew there was more to come.

"This whole time," Marinette eventually breathed, more to herself than her kwami. "Chat Noir… has been Adrien." The phrase squeezed through her lips, as though that fact hadn't quite rooted itself in her brain. "Adrien—my Adrien."

No, he wasn't hers anymore.

In fact, he never had been.

Her throat closed, throbbing and aching, as though an unseen hand had snaked itself around her neck and refused to let go.

"This," Marinette choked, "isn't a disaster." Tears blurred her bedroom, but refused to fall. "This… is the apocalypse!" She flew to her feet, gripping her scalp as she started to pace. "Adrien is Chat Noir. He's always been Chat Noir. He's been my partner… this whole time!" She gasped, the gravity of those words slowly sinking in. "Oh my gosh, I've been rejecting Adrien… for Adrien… this whole time!" Her eyes shot wider. "No, even worse than that. I've been pushing Adrien away. I've been telling him I'm in love with someone else! And after being in love with me for so long, he's actually given up and moved on – to Kagami!" She released her grip on her scalp to instead cover her face, hiding a wounded look. "How can I possibly face him, Tikki?"

Before the kwami had even opened her mouth, Marinette peeled her hands from her face to reveal an entirely new look; one that shined with purpose and promise. "Wait, how silly of me. I don't have to face him. I can just start a new life!" She pressed her palms together, her face brightening. "Yeah. I'll sell my designs, save up some money, change my name to Bridgette and learn to juggle five – no, six – pineapples." Her plan played out in her head like a filmstrip, foolproof. "Then I can join a travelling circus, leave this whole mess behind me and—"

"Marinette," Tikki cried, flapping her hands out in front of the girl in question. "You're being silly! You can't—"

"You're right," said Marinette, a line etching between her brows. "I can't juggle to save my life—I'm way too clumsy!" She launched a triumphant finger in the air. "I know! I'll grow a beard. I'll become Bridgette, The Bearded Lady – yeah, that has a nice ring to it – and then the circus will have to let me—"

"Marinette!" The weight of Tikki's tone had her screeching to a halt, her plans crashing around her. "Don't you think you're overreacting a little?"

"Tikki!" Marinette shrieked, worry clouding her features. "I'm already a complete mess around Adrien – and now Chat Noir too. How am I supposed to save Paris like this?" She dragged herself to her desk and slumped into her hot pink revolving chair. "Not to mention he and Kagami are a thing now. And I've been hanging out with Luka—"

Luka…

An hour ago, the mere thought of the blue-haired boy sparked a light in her eyes, a rising joy in her chest, a fluttering in her stomach.

Now, her heart dropped like lead.

Maybe Master Fu had been wrong about her. She'd led Hawk Moth right to him, and that failure was the only reason she'd become the Guardian. What if tonight was her second mistake? What if learning Chat Noir's identity had only made things worse?

For a fleeting moment, she realised Tikki had already known Chat Noir's identity. Throughout her decision-making process – in which she'd weighed the pros and cons of knowing Chat's identity to her little, red companion – Tikki had known and hadn't once nudged her one way or the other. If she’d thought this was a disaster waiting to happen, surely she would've said so. Did Tikki think she could handle this?

The pang in her chest faded, if only a little.

Yet, tears swelled behind her eyes, only kept at bay by a few well-timed blinks. "I thought," she murmured, her chin meeting her chest, "I'd finally accepted that Adrien would never be more than just a friend. I thought I was moving on, but"—her fists shook in her lap—"now that I know we had a chance together, I… I don't know what to think…"

"Okay," Tikki said, rubbing her neck with a sheepish smile. "Maybe overreacting was the wrong way to put it." She settled on the desk, its white paint stark against her crimson skin. "Yes, Adrien's the one who's been fighting by your side this whole time, but he's still the same Chat Noir he was before. The only difference now is that you know who he is."

"That's exactly the problem, Tikki!" She slid a few inches down the back of her chair, its squeaks faint to her ears. "The fact that Adrien is Chat Noir only makes things worse!"

Tikki tilted her head, seeking further elaboration.

With a sigh, Marinette straightened where she sat, rooting her feet firmly on the floor. "You remember Chat Blanc, don't you?" Her eyes sunk to her lap, where her thumbs circled each other in an endless loop. She lost herself in vile visions of crumbling statues, a world of rubble, and a pair of icy blue eyes—as chilling as an arctic blizzard.

Chat Blanc's words, dripping with malice, bounced about her brain like a razor-studded pinball. "Things were purrfect until Hawk Moth found out about everything." She could still hear the soft clink of his claws as he’d crept along iron scraps of the Eiffel Tower, eyes peeled for his prey. "Once the cat is outta the bag, it's only a matter of time until everyone knows. It was our love that did this to the world, M'Lady!"

Marinette's eyes squeezed shut, willing away the living nightmare.

Such attempts were in vain.

Instead, she was clad in red and black latex, and Chat Blanc stood tall across an immense, iron beam. She was trapped and he knew it. He skulked closer, white light surging at his fingertips, his body framed by a city of ruins. "You know that by merging our Miraculous together we'd be granted one wish, right? Any wish we wanted." Desperation had clouded her vision, her eyes darting left, right, left again—searching for an escape and finding none. He'd drawn closer still, ready to destroy her with a single touch. "Well my wish would be to fix everything, so we could be in love again…"

Again…

That single word screamed in Marinette's ears, refusing to be ignored.

"The simple truth is you don't love me anymore," Chat Blanc had later cried, his voice thick with grief, "so I might as well destroy you, me, our memories… everything!"

That final word echoed through Marinette's mind, like she was hearing it again for the first time. Her hands curled into fists, trembling in her lap, colour draining from her knuckles. Even now, those tormented cries – Adrien's cries – rattled her to the core.

So lost.

So broken.

So devoid of hope.

How could she possibly risk putting him through that kind of pain again?

What if this time it was her that became a brittle statue beneath a sea of ruins, turned to dust by the slightest touch?

Wiped from existence by a single mistake.

Her mistake.

A mounting weight clamped down on her chest and in that moment, she choked down a sob that threatened to spew forth. "Tikki, if our love caused all of that…" Her lips curled and shook, a knot twisting her stomach. "If it brought about the end of the world…" Finally, tears tumbled freely from her eyes, dotting her lap and dying her pants a darker shade of pink. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed, each one racking her shoulders. "I… I don't think I can ever tell him who I am, Tikki. And I never thought it would hurt this much!"

Tikki's eyes creased. "Everything's going to work out, Marinette." She glided onto her shoulder and patted it lightly. "You just need to give yourself some time to let this all sink in, okay?"

"I… I know." Her words came out low and shaky. "Hawk Moth targets people who feel"—a sob shook her shoulders—"like there's no way to fix their problem." She sucked in a breath, only just stifling another sob, and released a wobbly sigh shortly after. "But what can I do, Tikki? I'm just so confused!"

“You'll figure things out, Marinette.” Tikki beamed at her. "You always do."

---

For the rest of the night, she somehow kept the tears at bay. That might've been, in part, because her parents had soon returned from a date, raving about the delicious meals they'd just had and the quick, yet cheery service. Any other night, the hopeless romantic in her would've absorbed their every merry word. Tonight, however, while they'd distracted her a little, she'd still been so out of sorts they’d later popped their heads through her bedroom hatch, questions at the ready.

"Oh, I'm just tired," Marinette insisted, resorting to the same lame excuse she'd used on Chat. By this point, she wasn’t exactly lying. "Actually, I was just about to get ready for bed."

So she did.

And from one mundane task to the next, a new realisation would force its way into her racing mind.

"Oh my gosh, Tikki!" she shrieked, a baby pink hairbrush clasped between her fingers. "I've kissed Adrien – twice!" Her hand flew to her lips, only for a pained grunt to leave them as her hairbrush greeted her face.

…

"No wonder," Marinette garbled through a mouthful of toothpaste, "Adwien shounded sho mush li' Chat in 'at movie." She spat into her bedroom sink and rinsed out her mouth. "He was voicing himself!" Her hand slapped her forehead. "That's why he stuttered so much when I said he sounded almost exactly like the real Chat Noir!"

…

A gasp escaped her lips as she hopped around the room, struggling to shove a leg through her pale pink pyjama pants. "Oh man, Tikki!" She stumbled into the nearest wall, grunting from the pain. "Remember that time Adrien said what a knightmare? That's totally something Chat Noir would say." She thumped her head against the wall she'd just greeted. "Duh! It was so obvious!"

…

"Tomorrow's Friday!" Marinette shrieked, clambering into bed. "You know what that means? A joint patrol! With Adrien!" She dragged her hands down her face. "Disaster!"

…

Marinette burst upright in bed, her blankets hugging her lean frame. "The day after tomorrow is Saturday." She turned to Tikki. "And isn't Alya having people over for video games – including Adrien?" She placed a finger to her lips, considering the situation for a moment longer. "Nahhh. I doubt his dad will let him come." She almost hoped for that very scenario, and that made her feel terrible.

…

The lights were off and yet, as she'd expected, her mind was still reeling from the evening's events. "Hold up," she called into the dark, hearing Tikki straighten on the pillow beside her. "The day after Saturday is Sunday. And I'm meant to go to the movies – with Luka!" Her brain was a scrambled mess, bouncing between two modes – repressed tears and unholy screeching. "How am I supposed to hang out with Luka when all I can think about right now is Adrien?" She chewed at her lower lip. "That doesn't seem very fair on Luka, does it?"

"Marinette," Tikki yawned, "it's very late."

Marinette squinted into the darkness, faintly making out her kwami's tiny silhouette. She looked to be rubbing her eyes.

"I'm sure," Tikki murmured, "you'll think up a solution once you've had a good night's rest. Being tired never helps an anxious mind."

Marinette sighed. "You're probably right." She fluffed up Tikki's pillow, then her own, and slumped against it. "Good night, Tikki."

"Sweet dreams, Marinette."

---

A ghostly voice sang out her name.

Her eyes eased open.

Moonlight flooded through the skylight hatch above, fixing on her like a spotlight.

"Marineeette," the intruder sang again.

She shot straight in bed, hairs prickling on her neck. Her eyes darted every which way, as she peered over her blanket, out into the darkness that shrouded the space beyond her bed.

Her name came again, this time as a feral hiss.

Marinette's stomach coiled. Her muscles ached, adrenaline rushing through her veins, preparing her for the worst.

A black paw slithered out from the shadows, its claws clutching the foot of the bed frame. "There you are!" Another paw followed, tearing the end of her bedspread, and two cat-like eyes emerged, glowing green, framed by a mask as dark as the room around it. An eerie grin stretched his lips far wider than humanly possible. "Do you wanna know my secret, Marinette?" snarled Chat Noir, twitching and jerking as he dragged himself toward her like a possessed China doll, "I'm in love with a girl and her name is Kagami!"

Marinette jolted awake, a screech hurdling from her throat. Her eyes dashed around a room that this time, she saw quite clearly despite the dark.

In an instant, Tikki was hovering straight ahead. "Marinette," she cried, alarm riddled through every syllable. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?!"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean—" Marinette forced a smile and scooped her kwami up in her palms. "It – It was just a bad dream," she insisted, and pecked Tikki's tiny cheek. "Nothing to worry about."

Even in the low light, she could see that Tikki wasn't buying it. "But your hands… They're shaking!"

Marinette drew her kwami close, nuzzling her briefly. "I know you're worried, but trust me… I'll be fine." She ignored the pointed look Tikki gave as she placed the little kwami on the pillow beside her. "It's like you said." She yawned, slumping into her pillow. "I'll figure this out."

She had to.

Her eyes slid shut, but she hardly managed one more wink of sleep after that.

---

The morning sun soaked Marinette with its warmth, its rays spilling over the rooftop of Collège Françoise Dupont. Her eyes – brimming with focus – darted right, left and right again, as she tiptoed up the school steps.

These last twelve hours, her brain had been torturing her. And naturally, it had chosen now of all times to remind her of the day a film crew had broadcasted her bedroom – more specifically, her bedroom walls – for all of France to see.

For Adrien to see.

Pink grazed her cheeks.

The morning after, she'd failed to enter school undetected.

This time would be different.

Today, she was the epitome of stealth.

And failing that, she was also late—on purpose, for once.

After all, it's not like Adrien could strike up a conversation with her if she was late, ergo she'd have no chance to rouse suspicion with her word vomit. This time, her plan was foolproof. She was sure of it.

The familiar ring of a bell echoed out into the street, where morning traffic rumbled. She heard a groan from the hefty, oak doors at the top of the stairs.

"Wait!" Marinette called, stumbling up the steps. "Wait! I'm almost there!" She squeezed through the doors just in time, seeing the school groundsman step back with wide eyes. "Made it," she breathed, gripping her knees with a sigh of relief.

A couple of doors on the second story clicked shut. Students had already flowed into their respective classrooms, leaving the courtyard empty. There'd been no akuma attacks this morning either, so Adrien had no reason to be late.

"Perfect."

Determination filled her face as she threw herself against the nearest wall. She slunk around the edge of the courtyard, over to the locker room swing doors, remaining unseen. That is, if you didn't count the school groundsman, who watched on with a quirk of his brow and a tilt of his balding head.

Other than that, she was practically invisible.

With a triumphant grin, Marinette shoved the swing doors aside, expecting rows of lockers to fill her vision.

Instead, she was greeted by a grunt and a pair of familiar green eyes.

She'd shoved the doors, all right.

Straight into Adrien's face.

Straight into Chat Noir's face.

The universe hated her. True or false?

Horror tainted her features, putting his pained expression to shame. "Kill me," she muttered, watching as he gingerly rubbed his nose, blinking incessantly.

Adrien looked up at her. "Hm? What was that?"

Marinette went rigid, clinging to the straps of her backpack. "Uhh! I said excuse me! No—sorry!" She shifted from one foot to the other and back again, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah! Sorry! That's what I vent—meant!"

"Don't worry, Marinette." He showed a small smile as he placed a hand on her shoulder, his ring in full view. Her insides flipped at the sight of it. "Trust me, I've been through worse."

Had he said that twelve hours ago, she would've been intrigued. Now, she knew exactly what he meant. If there was one guy in Paris who could take a beating, it was Chat Noir.

Her fingers toyed with the bottom of her black cardigan, the events of last night replaying in her mind like a humiliating home video. "I'm so clorry—err, clumsy. And sorry. I'm so sorry!" She spared a moment to inspect his face; it looked as flawless as ever, but she still had to ask, "Are you gay—" She zapped upright. "Okay!" she screamed, "I meant okay! Are you okay? Uhh – Not that there's anything wrong with being gay. I'd still love – I mean, like you – just the gay—way you are!" Her face must've looked like a stop sign by now. "Not – Not that I think you are gay. I mean, there's salami—pastrami—Kagami!"

Marinette's stomach soured at the reminder of the girl who held his affections. She could just feel a frown emerging as she tugged her backpack closer, itching to dump its contents into her locker.

Adrien tilted his head, confusion swirling in his stare. Only then did she realise his eyebags, dark and puffy, might've just rivalled her own.

Guilt hissed accusations in her ear.

She was the one responsible for them.

She just knew it.

"I'm… I'm okay, Marinette," Adrien stammered, lurching her back to reality. He scratched his cheek, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. "I'm just, uhh…" When he looked back at her, he smiled, though she didn't miss it falter. "I didn't sleep too well, but that's not your fault."

"Yeahhh," she drawled, "I mean no! No, it's not." She turned away to slap herself, hoping it'd help her to regain some sense—emphasis on some.

"Hey," Adrien said, his tone much lighter.

Marinette stood stiff as a plank as she re-faced him, at first thinking he planned to call her out for slapping herself. His smile said otherwise.

"I know I've said this before," he continued, that soft smile growing, "but your hair still looks really pretty when it's down."

"Wait, what?" She reached for her pigtails and instead found loose strands. Oh great. Not only had she forgotten to style her hair this morning. She'd forgotten to even brush it. If she'd looked like a stop sign before, she must've looked like a dang fire truck by now.

Marinette rushed her fingers through her hair, wishing she could jam her head in the nearest locker. "Oh, I… uhh… slept in." She smoothed her hands over her scalp. "I – uhh – yeah. I actually had a bad sleep too! I must've – erm – forgotten to brush���I mean, tie up my hair. Y'know… from the no-sleep." She giggled, peering up at him from through her dark fringe.

Adrien laughed into his hand. It was reserved, refined, careful—nothing like the snickers, smirks and guffaws of his alter ego. "Well," he said, bringing a hand to his bangs, "how about we match?" He ruffled his hair, flashed a grin, and suddenly, all she saw was Chat Noir.

Somehow, it put her at ease… if only for a second.

She smiled—small, but genuine. "I've… never seen your hair like that." It wasn't a total lie. "It suits you, Adrien."

For some reason, that comment had him glowing. "You really think so?" His grin only grew and, in that moment, ladybugs fluttered in her chest. "Thank you, Marinette!"

"No problem, Chadrien."

Marinette froze.

"Adrien," she screeched, stooping her head low in apology. "That's what I meant! Not – uhh – that other thing." A nervous giggle escaped her as she glanced over his shoulder, where her locker awaited her. "Boy, am I tired, huh? 'Cause I have absolutely no idea where that came from!" His lips parted, but her gasp cut him off. "Oh no!" she cried, clasping her hair. "The well—shell—bell rung, like, five minutes ago!"

There was a spark of realisation in Adrien's eyes. "Oh," he faltered, glancing at the exit over her shoulders. "Well, how about I wait for you outside?" His smile was softer again. "It's probably better to interrupt class once rather than twice, right?"

Marinette stilled, taking in his smile. She could already hear the onslaught of questions Alya would send her way if they arrived to class together—late. "Oh, no no no no!" she said, waving her hands like a maniac. "I mean, you… you don't have to." She gave a quiet giggle. "You grow—err, go first. I don't mind being the one to interrupt the second time."

"Please." Adrien held up his own hand far more gracefully. "I insist."

Fighting back a grimace, Marinette nodded stiffly, as though the motion pained her. Not far off, if she was honest. "I'll smell—err, see you outside then." She stepped to her left, but he stepped the same way.

"Sorry," they said in unison.

Marinette dipped her head, pink pinching her cheeks, and lumbered around him to her locker. The doors swung shut behind her, announcing that she was alone.

Immediately, she smacked her head against her locker, over and over, like a broken record. Maybe she'd finally – literally – knock some sense into herself.

She'd probably be here a while.

"Well," Tikki said, peeking up from Marinette's pink side bag, "that could've been worse."

Marinette stopped to glance down at her kwami and the strained smile she wore. That smile said the one thing Tikki didn't: it could've gone a lot better too.

"I knew the first half of our conversation was going suspiciously well," Marinette muttered, pouting.

Tikki arched a brow. "You think it went well?" She went taut at the mortified look her owner sent her. "I mean, yeah – it went so well!"

Marinette threw her head back and let out a throaty groan.

[oldtowrs]

TO RUN AWAY - GENERAL HUX

PROMPT: could you write something with hux where he and reader escape the first order bc everything has gone bad? thank you!

SUMMARY: post!tlj. kylo ren has rejoined the light, phasma is dead, the first order gone. all that's left is armitage hux and the reader. and rather than falling victim to the first order and it's doom, they decide to run.

A/N: wooh, two fics in a day!

WARNINGS: war obviously

WORDS: ~1.8k

Sirens sounded and the red light of the ship’s warning systems flashed as “full system failure” blared on the PA system. The bridge had been filled with officers but when they realized that this was the end of the First Order, they fled and filled every escape pod, in hopes they would escape with their lives. 

Even Kylo had fled, looking for a quick escape. He and the Jedi Rey, who had convinced Kylo to rejoin the light, took his TIE-fighter and rejoined the Resistance ships. Phasma had been killed. 

The only remaining life on the Finalizer was General Armitage Hux and you, his right-hand admiral and the love of his life. 

“What do we do, Armitage?” 

He looked out the windows of the Bridge Tower and then down to you. He saw fear swimming in your eyes and it was then he realized. He realized the Order had taken everything, ever since he was a child. The Order had been all he’d ever known, and it had consumed him. The Order had taken every choice, every freedom and every luxury from him. 

The only choice he had ever made was the choice to love you, to allow you to get close to him, to give you his heart and every bit of him that came with it. 

Armitage loved you, but now you two were going to die there, in space, with no one to remember you. 

A final light blinked on and off on one of the control panels controlling the ship’s main hangar. He realized it signaled there was one last ship left in the bay. Kylo’s ship. 

And then it hit him.

“We leave. We run to some far off planet and we live the rest of our lives in peace. Together,” he said, confidently. 

Suddenly, everything seemed to click into place.

“Look,” Armitage said, pointing to that last light, that blinking beacon of hope. “It’s Ren’s command ship. It wasn’t taken because only him and I know how to completely bypass its security. It’s big enough for both of us and it has enough fuel to get us out of this system. If we hurry, perhaps we’ll have a chance.”

“Kriff, Armie, I love you.” You sighed, and the next thing Armitage registered was your lips on his and your arms around his neck. His heart sighed a gasp of relief and swelled with his love for you. All he could think to do was kiss you back in the brief moment in which he still could before you pulled away, a new sense of hope and excitement invigorating you. 

“Now, what do we need to do?”

“We only have 15 minutes, roughly, to escape before the last of the ship’s shield will break down. I need to shut down the security protocols, which will take a moment. You need to run down to our chambers and grab Milli, enough provisions for a week, a few changes of clothes and anything else you may see fit. Don’t take long and don’t bring anything that isn’t valuable or necessary,” Armitage explained. 

“Got it, General,” you said with a wink and a wide smile on your lips. You stood straight at attention and saluted him playfully. 

“Love, there’s no more need for that. It’s all over,” he said, a hint of a smile in his words. 

“It is,” you agreed, a soft grin playing about your lips, “but you’ll always be the general of my heart.” And with that, you turned and ran off through the doors connecting the bridge to the rest of the ship.  

A blush rose to the ginger’s faintly freckled cheeks and he smiled faintly, his gloved hand reaching up to his cheek to feel the heat radiating from them and then to the breast pocket inside his great coat. He felt a ring of metal within and it calmed his nerves, knowing it was still there, knowing that you were still with him. 

The ship shook and sparks flew from the rapidly decaying parts of the bridge’s ceilings as more rebel ships continued their attack on the Finalizer, bringing him reeling back to reality. Please let this work, Armitage thought desperately. 

-

The Finalizer exploded and it shook Armitage to his core. He looked back and his heart ached as he watched bits and pieces of all he had ever known explode into oblivion and burn. Stars twinkled in the inky backdrop and despite the explosion, Armitage saw them as little beacons signaling hope and promise from afar. 

He looked to you, lovely and beautiful you, as you gazed back at the explosion. Worry was etched into the softness of your face, and Armitage wished he could brush away the pain and anxiousness with a myriad of kisses. He watched the light from the explosion flicker on your face as it mixed with the red tint of the ship’s interior lighting, giving you a glow that made the oxygen in his lungs disappear like an “I love you” murmured into the silence of the night. 

Armitage looked at you and felt his heart flutter. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn like the debris of the Finalizer. He removed the silver band from his great coat and held it in his ungloved palm. His thin fingers wrapped protectively around it as if it was his very heart which he held and not a simple piece of metal. 

Armitage thought of all that was you and his heart warmed like the planets of the Beta Proxima galaxy as they danced around their bright and burning star. His heart warmed, but he realized that the Rebellion could shoot their ship down in an instant and it would be the end of them. He wanted this moment to be special, but he might not have any other time. 

And so he took a deep breath as if to gather his courage. 

“Y/N, love,” he said, trying to find his voice.

“Yeah, Armie?” you said, worry in your voice.

“I know right now isn’t ideal, but I figure all that’s ahead of us is uncertain and I don’t know if I’ll have any other time to do this. I love you and I want to spend all the days I have left with you. I don’t care if I die tomorrow or in 50 years, I want to be with you when I do.”

Armitage watched tears form in your eyes and he reached across the consoles to grasp your hand and bring it to his bruised lips. He held the ring out to you and looked into your eyes hopefully. 

“Will you marry me, my darling?”

In an instant, you had reached out to him and wrapped your arms around his neck and all he could feel was the fire burning in his heart as your soft lips met his. He felt all the love in the universe pour into his soul through that kiss and he knew his answer.

Your kiss ended but Armitage could still feel your lips brushing delicately against his as an “Of course, my Armie” was murmured into the space between you two. 

He parted from you, taking in all that was you as you admired the simple, yet perfect band on your finger. 

But then, a shot of red passed the windows of the ship, and Armitage knew the Resistance was upon them.

“We’ve got to go,” Armitage said, his hands flying to the controls in an instant, pressing buttons and flipping switches in the familiar way he used to back at the academy and in his training. 

“Got that right,” you said, mirroring his actions. “Do we have enough fuel to jump into hyperdrive?”

“Just enough, but that means that we’ll have to land on a planet in the system we land in. Only that system,” Armitage said, weighing the options. 

“Better choose wisely then,” you said, punching in coordinates. “The Solaris system? It's our best bet. Small, not well known, but sustainable and peaceful all the same.”

Armitage placed his hand on the lever, preparing to jump into hyperspace, before he looked at you, love burning in his eyes and in his heart. “As long as you’re with me,” he said, his Arkanisian accent slipping through ever so slightly, “anywhere is perfect.

You smiled brilliantly and, together, you pulled the levers and steeled your nerves as the ship’s hyperdrive kicked in, stretching the tiny white stars in the sky into long streams of blue that characterized hyperspace. 

A small sigh left your lips as you looked over to your ginger general, admiring the small scowl of concentration as he guided the ship through the alternate dimension. It’s all behind us, you thought. The Order, the Resistance, the fighting and the pain. It’s all gone. And a life of love ahead. 

-

Sun streamed through the window in the kitchen of your small but cozy house and a small meow sounded as you felt the orange tabby rub herself against your leg. You walked over to the window, where a few plants resided in small clay pots. Their leaves unfurled as you drew nearer, making you smile. It was like their little welcome and it never failed to fascinate you. Taking a cup from the cabinets, you filled it with water and poured small amounts into the pots, making the plants shiver. 

You smiled and looked beyond their curling leaves to the gardens beyond. There you saw your Armitage leaning back in a chair, surrounded by tall grass, reading an old book he had found interesting and bought in the nearest town. The sun shown in his red hair and a content smile seemed to grace his plump lips, ones that no longer bore the cracks and the bruises the First Order had given him. For once your Armitage was content and happy. 

Wanting to enjoy the presence of the sun on your skin and your husband, you tugged your boots on and ran out to meet him. Gravel crunched under your soles as you walked down the little pathway leading from the house to the small alcove in the tall grasses in which he sat.

Armitage looked up to find you walking toward him with a big smile as the wind blew through your hair and the lovely sundress he had bought you a month or so ago, the small flowers on it dancing in the wind. The sun that shone through a nearby tree warmed your skin and gave you a golden glow that made Armitage’s heart flutter. 

My angel, he thought as he marked his page and set down his book.

“Hello,” your cheery voice called, chipper and beautiful as always. 

“Hello, love,” Armitage replied, holding out his arms for you to come sit in his lap. You complied happily, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck, pressing short, sweet kisses there. A lovely giggle echoed in the warm air as the sun warmed your upturned face. 

Armitage laughed quietly into the curve of your shoulder at the lovely noise. “I’m so glad we chose to run, my darling,” he said. 

“Me too, Armie,” you replied, smiling down at him. “Me too.”

[notbang]

rebecca bunch - five times she got that reference

Send me a five times prompt and I’ll try and write you a ficlet!

I briefly entertained the delusion that this wasn’t going to be R/N but I think we all know what I’m about son.

Five times Rebecca got that [Harry Potter] reference (and one time she didn’t)

1.

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask. This apartment is kinda small, yet you seem to have a series of large pieces of furniture and equipment on rotation that I don’t understand how you store.”

Rebecca’s staring bemusedly at the rowing machine planted obstructively in front of Nathaniel’s sofa. Last time she was here it had been the longest table for two she’s ever seen in her life but she doesn’t bother wondering what they’re going to do for dinner, not yet. If she’s perfectly honest she’s having a hard enough time focusing on the conversation she just started when he’s standing in front of her like that, sweaty and shirtless and muscles rippling when he moves.

“What was the question?” he teases.

“Dude, seriously. One day you’re a five star restaurant, the next you’re a gym. Where does this stuff come from? Where does it go? Do you have, like, a Mary Poppins bag in your closet that I don’t know about?”

“I like to think of it as more of a Room of Requirement,” he says, smirking down at her. At her ongoing raised eyebrows he elaborates, “Storage space. The building has storage space. I pay a little extra. You know how I feel about clutter.”

It’s true—she does.

“Well that makes sense, I suppose. Although a Room of Requirement does sound very handy. Follow-up question—who moves said equipment in and out when you feel like a change?”

“House elves?” he offers. “Definitely house elves.”

“Hmm. You know, I’m pretty sure the house elves had a different name for the Room of Requirement,” she murmurs, stepping closer.

“Really,” he says, slinging his towel around his neck and mirroring her movement until they’re all but pressed up against each other. “You’ll have to enlighten me. I don’t recall.”

“Uh-huh. The Come-and-Go Room,” she explains, and the complete and utter shamelessness with which she stares him down and delivers the innuendo makes his toes curl.

“Just to clarify,” he begins, because he knows he can be obtuse sometimes, “you want to see my storage room. So that we can have sex in it.”

Rebecca blinks at him.

“Wow. Actually, no. I was just trying to decide if there was a safe way for us to fuck on the rowing machine, but that kind of seemed like an accident waiting to happen so your idea sounds way better. Count me in.”

Luckily, the table’s as sturdy as it is long.

2.

Things are getting heated during an impromptu make-out session on his bed when he says it; Rebecca’s sprawled out enticingly beneath him on top of the covers, hair adorably tousled and cheeks charmingly flushed as her knees squeeze together with wanting at his sides. They’re still fully clothed at this point but he’s definitely starting to have other plans, hands smoothing down her hips and slipping under the edge of her bunched-up skirt to press tantalisingly at her thighs.

It takes her a hazy moment to register his comment but when she does she pushes back at him with a hand on his chest, smothering a laugh.

“Hang on a second. I’m sorry, did you… did you just refer to my vagina as the Sorting Hat?”

Nathaniel ducks his head with an abashed huff. Maybe a week into a relationship—if that’s even what they’re doing here, he’s still not entirely sure—is a little early to be making things weird.

“I think so? Was that too much? It kind of just… came out. I can dial it back a little.”

“No,” Rebecca says, eyes widening as she arches against him. “No, that’s… strangely kind of doing it for me. Keep going. What else you got?”

He lifts his head to look at her better, searching her eyes to make sure she’s serious before resuming the languid slanting of his hips against hers.

“Yeah? I mean there’s the classics. You know, let me open your Chamber of Secrets. So I can… Slyther-in.”

He dips closer to her ear and drops his voice on the last word, his tone low and silky in a way that prickles hot along her skin and peppers goosebumps standing to attention along her forearms.

“Oh, yeah—that’s a good one,” she agrees, somewhat breathlessly. Her fingers thread through his hair, expression turning mischievous as she pushes purposefully down on his head. “But I hope you know Parseltongue, because I gotta warn you—this time there’s an entrance fee.”

He groans as he slides willingly down the mattress, taking her underwear with him, more than happy to pay the toll.  

3.

Nathaniel’s cautious when he follows her into her bedroom, still stunned into silence from the intensity of her most recent outburst. He’s keenly aware that he’s somehow failed to give her something she wants—not for the first time and probably not for the last—and the tidal wave of nauseous inadequacy roils hard in his stomach.

Sometimes he thinks she feels things strongly enough for the both of them, but that’s not how this is supposed to work.

She’s curled up in a determined ball beneath the covers, back to the doorway and him by extension, and he thinks her anger might have dissipated by now but he keeps his movements tentative as he takes off his tie, watch and belt before sliding up the bed behind her. She tenses when he tucks his chin into her neck but then her breath leaves her in a heavy sigh and she relaxes somewhat, shoulders slumping against him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I have the emotional range of a teaspoon,” he murmurs in her ear, smoothing her hair back, and Rebecca can’t help it, she fucking melts.

“Oh god,” she sniffs, shaking her head. “No. Nope. Uh-uh. There’s no way that just worked on me.”

She twists in the sheets until she’s facing him, eyes wide and damp. There’s no smugness in his expression, though—only chagrin and sincerity—and she brings her hand up to her face to chew on her thumb nail.

“I’m sorry I exploded,” she says quietly. “Maybe we can call it even.”

If he’s a teaspoon then Rebecca’s a ladle, a saucepan, a bowl. A mess of a melting pot, of endless conflicting emotions in constant danger of bubbling over, but he’d like to think he’s learning how to help her keep it at a simmer, even if he doesn’t always succeed.

4.

Rebecca can’t help but shut her eyes and smile at the sound of the supply closet door closing behind her, taking a deep breath before she turns to find Nathaniel studying her, an infuriating smirk already twitching on his lips.

“Hey,” she says lightly.

“Hey.”

They’ve done this enough times now that they crash together like clockwork; her arms around his neck, forcing him down towards her as he tugs her blouse free from her waistband. She wonders absently if this is ever going to start feeling like a broken record because it surprisingly hasn’t yet, her mouth still determinedly drawn to his, limbs still listless to tangle and intertwine.

He looks like a deviant school boy—blue eyes blown wide, hair mussed, cheeks ruddy, white collar rumpled and tie twisted off to the side—and she tells him as much, tells him how he looks like he’s asking for trouble as she trembles at the touch of his fingers sliding beneath her shirt at bare skin.

He pauses, quirking a brow, voice low and searing right through her, like lava.

“Oh, I solemnly swear—I am up to no good,” he mutters, jutting his chin, looking down through hooded eyes at her and god, she hates it sometimes but damn if that doesn’t do it for her.

She shoves him roughly down onto some boxes, impatient, hiking her skirt up to straddle him.

“Is that a wand in your robes, Mr Plimpton, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Oh, c’mon—I know you can do better than that,” he goads with a teasing frown.

She narrows her eyes, rolling her hips and taking satisfaction in the way he swallows and digs his fingers into her flesh as she shifts against him. He tries to still her but she manages to override his grip on her thighs.

“Hmm,” she continues, feigning deep contemplation. “Let me see. Seven and a half inches. Sequoia. Slightly springy. Excellent for charms.”

He laughs into her mouth as she leans forward to kiss him.

“Better.”

Her hands dip below his waistline to investigate, and their capacity for puns is for the most part lost there.

“This was the last time,” she says, after, still panting as she smooths down her skirt.

“The last time,” he echoes. “Mischief managed.”

“Mischief well and truly managed,” she agrees, hand hovering on the door handle as she waits for him to finish tucking in his shirt.

5.

Sometimes she doesn’t quite manage to catch herself quickly enough and suddenly she’s dreaming about timelines; about the endless alternate versions of herself from parallel universes, about any number of Rebeccas that could have stopped some point along the way and just fucking waited, and all the versions of him that would have happily waited with her.

And because each new iteration is still disastrously and inherently her, they make any number of the same mistakes in countless combinations but at the tail end of it it’s always still the two of them—drawn back together as hopelessly and as clumsily as moths, orbiting unquestioningly around each other’s light. She’s still not entirely convinced she deserves love yet but she can’t help but look at all their broken pieces and think maybe, just maybe, they’ve done enough that they deserve each other.

There’s a version that’s closer to her than all the others, that mirrors every meticulous mistake she’s ever made bar one.

“You honestly still want me?” she sniffs, disbelieving on his doorstep, self-deprecating self-awareness the price she’s had to pay for progress in all of this. “After everything?”

“Even after all this time,” he agrees, disarmingly earnest even as his eyes flicker down towards her mouth. “I meant what I said, Rebecca. It’s always been about you. Always.”

She laughs, sobs and moans into his mouth at that, desperate and helpless and feeling too much but she doesn’t do it this time, doesn’t turn and run away, no matter how terrified that leaves her.

All she had to do was stay—

There’s a knock at the door and she startles, room sharpening and shifting back into focus around her, forcing her back to reality with the painful clarity of an office that now belongs solely to her, shared only with the space where his desk once sat perfectly snug against hers.

(+1)

He knocks on the door gently.

“Rebecca? Are you okay in there?” He pauses for moment then adds, “Do you want your toothbrush?”

There’s a beat before the door swings open and she’s standing in front of him, eyes a little red and expression suspicious as she shifts back and forth on the soles of her feet.

“What? What do you mean, do I want my toothbrush?” She sniffs and scrubs the back of her hand across her nose. “That doesn’t even make sense. I was already in the bathroom. And why would I want my toothbrush, anyway? That’s stupid. You’re stupid.”

Nathaniel widens his eyes, ignoring her petulance.

“Did—did I just make a Harry Potter reference you didn’t get? Did I just out-master the master?”

“What? No,” Rebecca says quickly, scowling.

“I definitely did. You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

He watches as her gaze slides away from his as she turns his words over in her head, scrambling to make sense of him and prove him wrong. He thinks it might be vaguely ringing a bell for her but she’s not entirely sure, and he feels an odd mix of arrogance and relief at the fact that in her confusion she no longer seems as upset as she did before.

They’re still working it out, this thing that they’re doing—Mona’s moved on and out of his life but she still hangs heavy between them sometimes, the evidence of eight months plus spent trying to get Rebecca out of his head and his heart still achingly apparent, his apartment like an archaeological dig site of the mould he’d tried so unsuccessfully to fit his life in to. It had been easy enough when they were measuring out their moments in the supply closet; back then she’d been making excuses about stationery, not stumbling across the remnants of another woman’s toiletries in his medicine cabinet or noticing the ways his morning routine had changed to factor in another person.

“That was barely a reference,” Rebecca says eventually, tone still sulky. “It doesn’t count. Your allusion was not fully realised and therefore did not make sense given the context.”

“Oh, I am good,” he self-congratulates, rolling his shoulders, determined to lighten the mood.

He moves away from her towards the couch and is thankful when she begrudgingly follows, slipping her hand back inside the bathroom to switch off the light before she joins him. She keeps her distance, back against the opposite arm, but after a minute or so she sighs and swings her feet up, sliding them unceremoniously into his lap.

“So you got me,” she says flatly. “Why the toothbrush line?”

“Hermione’s parents are dentists,” he says, shrugging. “I always just kind of inferred it as a comfort thing. Like she brushes her teeth when she’s upset, and thought Harry might want to do the same.”

Rebecca stares at him, brows raised, for a moment—this ridiculous sentimental nerd sitting across from her, masquerading as a no-nonsense lawyer.

“Well, who needs dental hygiene to cheer them up when they’ve got you and your literary insights, huh?” she settles on eventually.

He thinks they might just be able to pull this whole damn mess of a thing off. He’s getting better at talking her down.

[the-desolated-quill]

The Big Bang - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Well I suppose it’s not the worst finale I’ve ever seen, but that’s not saying much.

The Big Bang continues where The Pandorica Opens left off. The Doctor is locked inside the Pandorica, Rory’s killed Amy, River Song is trapped inside the exploding TARDIS and the whole of reality is collapsing in on itself. The only hope for the entire universe is a little girl who still believes in stars... or at least that’s what it says on the back of the box. In reality little Amelia doesn’t really get to do much before promptly getting erased about halfway through as though a hook just yanked her off stage. But, nevertheless, the opening few minutes in the alternate reality is very engaging. I particularly liked the gag about Richard Dawkins and star cults.

From there we get some timey, wimey hijinks from the Doctor with his mop and fez, which was pretty fun (this is the one and only time you’ll ever hear me refer to the words ‘wibbly, wobbly, timey, wimey’ in a positive light), and then Arthur Darvill excels himself in the scene where the Doctor claims Amy isn’t more important than the whole universe and Rory responds by punching him square in the face. This is then followed by a really powerful scene where Rory vows to guard the Pandorica while it heals Amy for 2000 years. Darvill’s really come a long way since his wooden acting days in The Vampires Of Venice.

Unfortunately, from there, it all goes a bit tits up.

As tragic and emotional as Rory’s sacrifice is, it’s all undermined when less than a few minutes after we’ve learnt he perished during WW2 whilst protecting the Pandorica, he suddenly shows up again out of the blue in a security guard uniform. Same goes for the Doctor’s death. Both could have been used to help raise the stakes. In fact what would have been really cool is if River Song died too and it was left up to Amy to work out how to save the universe. Maybe have her fly the Pandorica into the heart of the explosion and reboot the universe. Remember, on the back of the DVD box, it says that Amy is the universe’s last remaining hope. Moffat could have capitalised on that fully, but no. Amy is really little more than a plot device at this stage (just like every other female character Moffat has ever written). Even the Doctor’s final speech before he disappears into Moffat’s crack (okay that’s the last time I’ll use that joke. I promise) is tainted somewhat because we’re not really seeing an emotional goodbye to a companion he loves and respects, but rather the Doctor implanting trigger phrases into Amy’s head in order to save his own skin.

And don’t get me started on the logic holes. If an exploding TARDIS could cause the destruction of the whole of space and time, why in God’s name would the Time Lords ever let it out of the fucking garage? And what about the Pandorica? First it’s a prison, then it can bring people back from the dead, then it’s a stasis chamber and finally it’s a universe factory. This is Moffat at his absolute worst, changing the rules constantly to suit whatever the plot requires. (Also what was the point of that stone Dalek? A collapsing universe is threatening enough. Certainly more frightening than a ranting pepper pot. The poor Dalek was pretty much the gooseberry in this episode). And I suppose I could talk about the dodgy science behind jumpstarting the second Big Bang and how it’s impossible to create matter from nothing, and that even if you do succeed in creating the second Big Bang, the uncertainty principle means there’s no guarantee the universe will turn out the same way, but that way lies madness, so I won’t bother.

By far and away the biggest crime Moffat commits in The Big Bang is the total lack of empathy. It’s as though Moffat is incapable of depicting or even comprehending basic human emotion. There are some legitimately powerful scenes in this episode, but they’re all undermined by the way Moffat handles them. Rory’s sacrifice and the Doctor’s death could have been incredibly moving, but then they’re swiftly reversed. The Doctor’s goodbye is ruined by the ‘something old, something blue’ trigger phrase bollocks. Even the realisation that Amy’s parents were erased by the cracks is pretty much just glossed over (also Amy’s house is too big because two people are living in it when there should be three? Bullshit!). All these emotional tragedies are happening all over the place, but Moffat is too busy trying to show the audience how clever he is rather than actually exploring the emotional impact of these tragedies.

And nowhere is this more apparent than in the final scenes.

Amy and Rory’s wedding day. In a way this is what the whole of Series 5 has been building up to, but we don’t get a single scene of them getting back together or making their vows or anything. Instead the focus is exclusively on Amy remembering the Doctor back into existence and tying up all the loose ends (Quick side note, in a universe where the Doctor never existed, how come the human race isn’t enslaved to numerous alien invaders right now?). And when the Doctor does magically return, Amy doesn’t react in a believable or empathetic way. Instead she just reverts back to her flirty, sassy way (because that’s the one character trait she’s been assigned) and keeps trying to snog the Doctor on her wedding day. Seriously, does Moffat want me to hate her? I’m all in favour of strong female characters, but it is possible to show strength without treating your romantic partner like shit. Poor Rory.

The Pandorica Opens and The Big Bang have their moments, but the Series 5 finale (and Series 5 as a whole for that matter) doesn’t quite live up to its full potential because of a showrunner who’s more preoccupied with showing us his so called ‘genius’ rather than telling an emotional and compelling narrative.

And if you think it’s bad now, wait until you see Series 6...

[grimmtaless]

The Soldier & The Spartan

i just wanted to give a shout out to @dyde21 hes sorta motivated me to do this (thanks i guess).  this is my first ever attempt at any kind of story so i hope y'all like it. also i saw this idea as prompt cant remember who posted it, but this story idea wasn't mine from the get go, but i loved the idea so much i had to write it. 

quick summery- jaune is a ww1 solder who’s thrown back to ancient   Greece and meets a demi-god named Pyrrha. war, romance and a beginner attempt at pot awates.

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 1

The Soldier

   Jaune woke to the rhythmic sound of the Birtha guns pounding the German lines. The shelling has been going on all night, but only now had the bombardment moved to his sector. Each shell made a shaking in the ground that could only compared to an earthquake. Every time a shell exploded a little bit of the earth from his low ceiling would sprinkle down onto his face and his mouth.

     Over the last 2 years Jaune had learned to sleep through even the roughest of shelling, but inhaling bits of dirt drove him to wake up in a fit of coughing. When his coughing subsided he realized it was almost time of his watch, so he saw no point of trying to sleep any longer. He  begrudgingly got up and headed out of his small mud-hole he called a bunker. The time he expected was 2 in the morning. He had only slept for about an hour and he guessed he’d only get 1 hour of sleep the next night.

    As he walked down the trench to his post he grabbed the tin cup that he left out the evening before to catch rain water hoping to make tea when he got to his post. He slowly sloshed through the mud, he looked up into the night sky hoping to see the glint of stars or the pale glow of the moon but all he could see was the blackish gray of the rain clouds that persistently covered the sky. He got to his lookout post and he set the cup on a little burner to heat up the water. As Jaune waited for the water to come to a boil he took out a small packet of tea and waited to mix it all together. Once his tea was made he stood at his lookout sipping his tea and contemplating how he had gotten himself into to this pointless and bloody war.

“I just had to defend my homeland” he muttered before sipping some worm tea. Jaune had lived in America all his life but his parents were from France. He had been attending college to major in history with a minor in ancient Greek. When he heard that the Germans had attacked his fatherland he dropped everything and rushed over to Britain to join their expeditionary force going to be shipped off to aid his ancestral homeland. His delusions of grandeur blinded him but he soon realized what war was like. He spent the next two years in various trenches fighting the Germans.

He hated war, he hated killing, he hated every moment in this damn trench. He was fighting for a homeland he’d never lived in, for people he never knew, and for a cause he didn't  even knew. He hated war, but he knew what he was doing was considered honorable and that the side he fought for was the side of “good”, or so everyone he meet said.

“Sgt. Arc” his superior shouted. Jaune could tell captain Winchester was on one of his moods again. Sir Cardin Winchester was a pompis British officer who for some reason had it out for jaune. Every chance the Captain got he would chew Jaune out. Be it for a poorly a shaven face or the poor excuse for tea that Jaune made. Cardin thought their was no place for some American kid in his professional army.

“Yes Cpt” Jaune spat out  as he snapped to attention. He hated having to deal with Cardin he made him feel like a fool.

“WHY THE HELL ARE YOU COOKING. If those bloody Huns see the light from that burner we will catch hell in the form of shelling.”

“Sir I was just making some tea to wake me up…”

“ I don't care what you were doing just blow out that damned flame and keep a sharp eye out. There's been talk of a German attack floating around the line and I don't like it.” As if a god was listening to the exchange a loud screech was heard followed by an ear bursting change in presser. The next thing Jaune knew he was buried in a heap of dirt. His ears ringing, his body aching, and his wits scattered.

He slowly started to dig himself out of the dirt that covered his body. The concussive force that he felt had disoriented him and he had to peace his thoughts together.

There was an explosion...did a shell hit us?… It was close to me… I got to move i have to get ready for an attack.!

He quickened his pace and was soon free from his prison of dirt and mud. He stood up and surveyed the surrounding land. The little trench that he stood in was now a curator. His original lookout pit had only been a few yards away from the blast and somehow he’d been flung into the dirt by the shear force of the explosion.

As Jaune stood in awe of his miraculous survival he was spun around by Cpt Winchester who was as covered in filth and blood. He was shouting at him and saying something but the only thing Jaune could hear was an intense ringing noise. Thankfully Jaune slowly started to recover his hearing.

“GET READY FOR AN ATTA…” juanes hearing was fading in and out of ringing “THEIR LAUNCHING FLAI…” his hearing went out once more before he heard the last order his superior barked “JAUNE LISTEN, GRAB YOUR RIFLE AND COVER THIS AREA” with his last orders given Winchester turned and limped off down the trench barking orders and grabbing a revolver.

Jaune now fully aware of himself and his surroundings; realized what was going on and feverishly started to look for his Enfield rifle. He dug through the mud and grim looking for his lifeline and his only way to fight the incoming Germans. He soon found what he was looking for. A rifle with a worn beech wood stock that held in it his key to survival. He picked it up; the whole rifle was covered in a fresh coating of mud. He pulled the bolt back and made sure the bore was unobstructed by mud or debris once he was satisfied he pushed the bolt forward and chambered a new round.

He ran to part of the trench that wasn't destroyed and got in a position to repel the enemy. He waited for a line of soldiers to appear. He waited for what seemed like hours. He could tell the Germans had started to shell their lines lucky he was never the target. His heart pounded in his chest. His sweat dripping off his chin and brow. His mind racing and preparing himself for the fast approaching fight.

This was not his first battle. He had gone through the motions before. He knew to expect the sound of his friends dying, the sound of rifle fire, and explosions of grenades and bombs. He knew the pain of being shoot, he had received a round to the shoulder during his first encounter with the enemy 2 years earlier. He knew it was ether him or the poor sap marching towards him.. He knew he had to kill again.

Killing was something Jaune appold and wished he never had to do. Every time he took a life part of his soul would die with the soldier that he killed. He remembered the exact number of men that fell to his rifle. He was up to 22 a number he constantly prayed would never increase. Sadly he knew it had to if he wished to see the dawn of the next day.

Soon he saw the line of German soldiers calmly walking in his direction. They were no more than 100 yards out. Their gray uniforms illuminated by the steady stream of flairs. Jaune shouldered his rifle ready to fire. He set his sight on a young conscript directly in front of him, however before he could fire he heard the sound of a vickers gun and the young sap that his rifle was ready to kill fell along with 5 other of his comrades. As if the sound of the vickers was an order to charge the Germans surged forward shouting.

Jaune started to fire his rifle at whatever he could get his sights on. Each time his sights got close to a figure clad in gray he squeezed the trigger. The recoil jolted through his body and he chambered another round. He soon exhausted all the ammunition in his magazine. He crouched behind cover of the trench so that he could reload. The pulled out 2 stripper clips from a punch at his waist and loaded his gun. He soon popped back up and fired off a round. This time his aim was true and a gray figure fell to the ground.

As the fighting carried on Jaune could tell the defenses were faltering. Every German hun they fell another one would take his place. Jaune himself had already killed another 5 solders. But as the Germans crept closer it became harder to find an opening. Every time he reviled himself to fire another round the Germans would pepper the land around him with bullets forcing Jaune to take cover again.    

Some time had passed since the assault had commenced. He was tired and sore. He had used all his backup ammo all that remained was the ten rounds in his rifle. Jaune could tell his actions were useless and that he should pull back when he heard “ARC..ARC” over the sound of bullets and explosions. Cpt WInchester was calling him from down the trench. Jaune guessed that Cardin was near the Machine gun nest.

“ARC GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE. MAKE IT QUICK” the urgency in his voice grabbed Jaunes attention and he quickly started heading down the trench towards the sound of his Cpts voice.

. As he ran through the trenches he could fully see the extent of their losses. Bodies scattered the narrow passageway. Men were still screaming in pain as they clutched the part of their body that was bleeding while the rest were dead and would only serve as food for the buzzards. Only a few soldiers were still standing all whom were starting to retreat down various passageways.

Soon he made it to the dug out and found his commanding officer sitting at on the wall with his hands  covering his chest.

“Jaune” his voice was calm reassuring  “I've called for our line to pull back but we need to provide some cover for them. I would do myself but it looks like my tickets been punched” as he stated this he lifted his hands to reveal a massive cavity that presented his entrails to the open air. Cardin started to laugh as he laid his hands over his wound

“Jaune you have to do this; everyone else is either dead or has already left, it's up to you to ensure they get back alive” Jaune was in complete shock. He knew that their defenses were being hammered but he didn't expect the line to be virtually wiped out.

“Cpt if I stay I will die”

“Yea… yea you will, but in doing so you will save the lives of our allies. Oh and don't worry I'm going to be right here dying right along with you” with the new weight on Jaunes shoulders he knew he must do as his superior said. He crawled up to the massive gun. The 2 original operators lay dead at the base. Jaune looked at the bodies and recognized the figure beside the gun as Pvt Russell. He moved Russell’s and the gunners body aside and took up the gun and started to fire short bursts into the advancing horde of Huns.

As he fired he could tell he had slowed the advance. His enemies were crouching behind what ever cover they could find to protect them from the new threat. They only popped out to take potshots at Juanes little bunker. Each round Jaune could hear hit the sandbags or the earth behind him

“ ILS NE PASSERONT PAS” Jaune shouted out in his parents tongue. His gun fired another burst into the field of Germans. As he prepared to fire another burst he felt the familiar pain of a bullet ripping into his flesh. He fell back onto the ground as he gripped his left shoulder while blood poured out of the thumb sized hole.

“Shit Jaune you still alive”  Winchester leaned over not being able to crawl over to Jaune.

“Yea I'm fine” Jaune was able to sputter out as he got back up to the gun and fired another burst. Every few shots Jaune would look behind him to ensure no German had snuck up behind them.

“Hey blonde I’ll cover the back just focus on what's in front” Cardin sputtered out. He then revealed his revolver being kept under his leg. He raised it and kept up pointed at the entrance. With the new insurance of not being shot in the back Jaune upped his firing rate. Soon heard the click of the gun indicating that there was a jam. As Jaune leaned forward to cycle the gun another round found its mark in his right arm.

Blood sprang from his arm as he screamed in pain. The pain was something he had never experienced before. It was different from when he was shot in the shoulder the pain was more intense. It burned like hell and bleed profusely. In a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding grasped the base of his forearm but it did little to stop the pain or the flow of blood.

He quickly gathered his wits and grabbed the bolt of the gun to free up the jam, but when he attempted to pull it back, the bolt stuck tight. He looked down to see the bullet that had shredded his arm had buried itself inside the Vickers gun. His machine-gun was gone, his Cpt was fading fast, and Jaune knew he was going to die.

“Oi Cpt you still alive” Jaune shouted as he drug himself to his superiors position on the wall.

“Yea but I'm not going to last much longer how about yourself”

“I'm doing better than you” Jaune posed then asked a question that had burned in him sense he met Cardin.

“Why do you hate me” it was an odd question especially when both men were facing their mortality.

“A young idiot like yourself has no right to be out on this killing-field. You should be at school learning how to prevent shit like this from ever happening. I mean come on you only a ki…” he was interrupted as a German charged through the door. Cardin dropped the intruder with a quick pull of the trigger but was too slow to prevent  another German from following his comrade in. the German soldier quickly shot Cardin finally ending his suffering,

Jaune shot, falling the enemy. He was now alone there was no one left. He was surrounded by the enemy. With only a rifle and a pistol. Soon he could hear the Germans outsides, he knew he was going to die soon. Another German soldier charged in but Jaune was ready he put 2 in his attackers chest.

The outside erupted with shouts and then all was quiet. Jaune did not know what was about to happen but he could guess it wasn't going to be good. He was right.

“British soldier come out with your hands up” a German shouted with a heavy accent

“Come and get me you pigs” Jaune spat. He raised his rifle and fired 3 rounds through the open door to get his point across. After a few seconds of silence 2 more soldiers cropped to the door but were killed by juane and his last rifle rounds. He dropped his Enfield and drew his revolver and readied himself for the next assault.

Instead of a straight on attack the German soldiers fired freely into room from a safe distance. 2 more rounds hit Jaune. 1 in his thigh and the other hit his helmet knocking hit off his head revealing the moppy golden locks of hair.  

“Come on you Flachwichser is that the best you can do, I'm still alive” Jaune could barely say anything the pain consumed his entire being. The pain in his shoulder had turned to being a dull and numb feeling while his arm and leg burned with a new intensity. He knew he was near death, there was no way he could hold them off any longer. He thought might as well get them to due their last attack but nothing came.

An eerie calm settled. It remained that way for a few precious seconds then Jaune saw the grenade that was thrown into the little room. It seemed the Germans no longer wanted to charge in guns blazing. Jaune saw the flat gray steel clump land at his outstretched feet. he closed his eyes accepting his fate and waiting for his life to end. He had now killed 45 men (he thought) and he knew this was his retribution. He was calm. Then the blast and all went black.

Jaune knew he had died or at least he thought he had. He actually couldn't tell, should he be able to feel his heart pumping, should he feel the rise and fall of his chest. Certainly he should not feel all if this if he had died. However, his shoulder was no longer numb and the areas where the bullets had struck him no longer burned. It felt like he had never been shot in the first place only in death should one feel the pain of the mortal world. Jaune was stumped he could not tell if he’d died or not. His body was no longer cold his body was warm and felt like he was basking under a worm sun. Then he realized his eyes were shut.

As Jaune opened his eyes, his retinas were flooded with a bright sunny sky.

“I'm most definitely dead” he mumbled to himself there was no way that the hell hole he was once in had turned to a worm sunny field over the span of a black out. Finally, when he had finished concluding that he was in fact dead he realized there was a large spear tip pressed against his neck.

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so yea that my first chapter more is on its way but it will take a while. yea i know it was sorta dark but i promise that it will get more light hearted as we go. if you saw any grammatical mistakes feel free to msg and tell where i f’ed up at( that would really help)

next chapters about a curtain red spartan .