#the way Mack clutches his sleeves down over his hands

[cxplqnce]

Deke Shaw - Nothing Stopping You

Requested by Anon: After a year apart, Deke is brought back to SHIELD, causing the dormant feelings you felt for him to resurface.

Thank you so much for the request! Hope you like it!

Word Count: 830

Masterlist

“Mack!” You called down the hallway as you ran up to the director, trying to get his attention. “How is he?” You asked as you caught up to him.

Mack sighed, “He’s in surgery; he’ll be okay.” He replied, referring to Deke – who he had just rescued from fake Coulson.

You nodded, “And you? You good, boss?”

“I’m okay, yeah. Why?” You scoffed, slapping his arm. Mack’s face contorted as he grabbed his arm, “What was that for?”

“How could you not tell me that you were going to see him, or maybe how you were bringing him back here?” You yelled, thankfully no agents were around to see your outburst of emotion over Deke, your close friend – although you secretly hoped for more. You didn’t really like him when you first met him but after he accidently appeared in your time, you had grown to like him and eventually love him but he left before you had a chance to confess how you felt.

Mack sighed, “I didn’t you to be unfocused.”

“Like you with Yo-yo.” You replied, crossing your arms over your chest. Mack gave you a look, prompting you to put your hands up in surrender, “Just, a little warning would be nice.”

---------

You had tried your very best to avoid Deke from that point on, you didn’t really want to run into him and get all flustered and you were still trying to figure out how you felt and what you wanted to say to him. You weren’t sure whether or not you actually wanted to tell him how you felt because you didn’t think he felt the same.

“Y/N!” You heard as you wandered the halls of the Lighthouse. You took a look behind you and saw Deke, healed from his injuries, jogging towards you so you put on a fake smile and turned around. “Hey, I haven’t seen you since I’ve been back… or, you know, since I left.”

You nodded, “Yeah, Mack tells me you’re like a tech billionaire now. That’s interesting.”

A wide smile appeared on his face as he continued to wave his arms around, “Yeah, it is interesting, isn’t it? You know I was actually working on this new piece of tech tha-”

“Deke.” You interrupted, smiling slightly, “That’s great and everything but I have work to do, so I’m gonna have to go now… so, yeah.” You trailed off, leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway, as you turned the corner.

“That was harsh.” Daisy commented, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, clutching your heart with your hand as you calmed down.

“Seriously, Dais? You almost gave me a heart attack!” You exclaimed, leaning on the wall opposite Daisy, “What did you mean, ‘harsh’? Were you listening to my conversation with Deke.”

Daisy chuckled, “Of course I was; watching you guys dance around each other is the most entertainment I’ll get in this base.” Your brows furrowed as you adjusted your position, “You like him, he likes you but neither of you will say anything. It’s entertaining but kind of sad.”

“Thanks.” You said, sarcastically, before going back to her previous point. “You think he likes me back?”

“I know he does.

---------

You heard yourself knocking on Deke’s door before your felt yourself doing it. You heard Deke rustling around and moving towards the door. No going back now.

“Hey, Y/N. You need something?” Deke asked after opening the door to his very messy room.

You took a deep breath, “Can we talk?” Deke nodded in reply, pulling the door open enough to let you in before closing it behind you both. You made room on his couch to sit down, Deke following your movements.

“What did you want to talk about?” He asked, turning to face you.

“I wanted to tell you before you left last year but I chickened out but then I had a talk with Daisy and I guess I decided to actually do it but now I’m kind of unsure on whether I should actually say it.” You rambled, pulling at your sleeves, not daring to make eye contact with him. “I really like you, Deke… As more than a friend.” You uttered, turning your face to look at him and just now realising how close you were.

Deke wasn’t sure what to say. The girl he had been in love with for a year and a half was finally admitting that she felt the same way. “I like you to… like that, I mean, more than a friend. Like, I really want to kiss you right now.”

“There’s nothing stopping you.” You whispered, leaning closer to him and pressing your lips against his. The kiss was short and sweet and soft. It felt like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together at long last. When you finally came up for air, your faces both displayed big dorky grins and you knew you had found your person.

A/N: Hope you enjoy! Follow my instagram @cxplqnce :) also I take requests if you have any - for any of the fandoms on my masterlist and some others! :)

[the-hidden-writer]

An Odd Family Tree

A series of snippets from the lives of the FitzSimmons family, set post 7x13. Also, the series of events that leads up to the birth of their grandson.

Available to read on AO3 and FF.net.

Comments make my day!

Chapter 10: Wedding

Coulson was the first to arrive. After Jemma and Fitz had pitched the idea of his LMD-self officiating the wedding to Bobbi and Hunter, they had immediately been on board. He’d arrived one week early so that they could run through the ceremony so that everything could go smoothly on the big day.

Hunter and Bobbi had offered to be the ones to meet him at the airport. After the initial shock at seeing the fact that he hadn’t aged since they last saw him all those years ago, they’d rushed forwards to hug him. Hunter almost cried. Coulson was incredibly shocked himself, and the taxi ride back to the cottage was full of impossible stories that must have confused the poor driver.

Alya had been waiting in the garden for them. She stood up when the taxi pulled up their rocky driveway and had greeted her uncle with a warm hug. Fitz and Jemma watched on from the front door, with Jemma resting her head on her husband’s shoulder as they both tried not to cry. Coulson had congratulated them in the form of extremely out-of-date dad jokes, and nobody would have it any other way.

The wedding rehearsal went perfectly.

Next came Daisy and Sousa. They’d arrived a day earlier than expected as a surprise. It had been Jemma who’d opened the door, and she’d immediately reverted back to her ten-year-old self and had squealed with excitement. She and Daisy embraced straight away and refused to let each other go until they’d had a good minute or so of hugging.

When Alya came to investigate the commotion from the top of the stairs, she’d let out a similar sort of noise to her mother. She raced down the stairs, calling out “Uncle Dan!”. Daniel, who had gone back to using his cane since his prosthetic had started throwing him slightly off-balance, had laughed heartily as his niece proceeded to almost squeeze the life out of him. Her favourite Aunt didn’t escape this treatment, because the moment Jemma let go of her, Alya pounced on Daisy like a fox.

Daisy was over the moon when Hunter and Bobbi dramatically revealed themselves. Dear Sousa was beyond confused.

Davis arrived with Piper two days before the wedding. Though Piper had a broken arm, the also-strangely-young Davis was taking care of her like his life depended on it. Piper was sick and tired of the constant attention. The others felt relieved and reassured that neither of them had changed one bit.

Hunter wanted to experiment with Davis through the medium of extremely-dangerous pranks. Fitz practically had to tackle him to stop him from throwing a butter knife at the back of his head.

Late on the night before the wedding, Mack and Flint arrived. Though they both wanted to come much earlier, both were caught up in SHIELD business. Mack had a mountain’s worth of paperwork and missions to organize, and Flint was one of SHIELD’s top field agents.

Mack had cried upon seeing Fitz and Jemma in person after so, so long. He was still able to pick up a very reluctant Fitz, before doing the same to a less-reluctant Alya.

He’d bawled like a baby when Bobbi and Hunter walked in. At first he’d frozen, and said their names like he didn’t dare to even hope. They’d walked closer, and the reunited trio had shared a beautiful moment of hugging each other with tears rolling down all three of their cheeks.

Even later that night, Mack joined Fitz and Hunter to sit down and watch a football game they’d taped.

And then tomorrow arrived.

Alya had begun to hyperventilate, and Jemma had held her in her arms, whispering to her reassuringly until she felt ready to get ready. They’d picked out the perfect dress weeks in advance. It was simple, plain and white, but had subtle, delicate details that made it stand out like one in a million- just like Alya. It had soft, floral lacing around the waist and a wavy pattern towards the bottom. The sleeves were covered with translucent silk. Alya suddenly looked like the princess Jemma and Fitz had always believed she was.

Daisy had offered to do her hair and makeup. Alya’s hair was relatively short, but that didn’t stop her aunt from twisting and curling it and adding various clips and grips and making it impossibly beautiful. There wasn’t much makeup, as per the bride’s request, but even the lightest powder and lipstick were added to make her ready.

The ride to the woodland venue was the hardest part. Alya sat squashed between her parents who were desperately trying and failing not to weep. She placed a graceful hand on each of their legs and squeezed it comfortingly. Her parents immediately did the same to her.

Because they were more than her parents. They were her best friends. They were her life. They were her everything.

When they’d arrived, the driver had to repeatedly tell the trio to not be late since the couple was too busy kissing their daughter’s hands over and over.

Alya apologised for them and they finally exited the car.

When it was time for the ceremony to begin, it was Fitz that got cold feet. He tried so hard to think of the reasons that he disliked Owen, but his mind had gone blank. He couldn’t think of a single excuse to blame the situation on, he’d worn a suit and everything, and he knew that everyone was waiting for him.

He silently looked up at his daughter with a pleading expression. Alya wiped away his tears with her finger. And then they did the one thing he’d yearned for and dreaded for so many years.

He walked her down the aisle.

Jemma, Bobbi and Hunter sat at the front, all with watery eyes transfixed on them. Coulson stood under the arch at the end with the biggest smile on his face. Daisy was trying her best not to cry, clutching Daniel’s hand under the table. Piper and Davis looked like they were having the time of their lives. Flint and May (when did she arrive?) looked so happy for them. Mack was openly dabbing at his eyes. And Owen…

Owen looked surprisingly dapper in a suit. Forget Fitz, it was even harder trying to imagine the scruffy boy Owen in a suit. But the man had cleaned himself up amazingly, was wearing a stunning black suit (that looked a size too big on him) and had his green eyes locked on Alya.

Those green eyes had shone when they reached the altar. He’d smiled at Fitz, but Fitz was shaking. He couldn’t give away his daughter, especially not to Owen.

But then he turned and saw his team, his family all looking at him expectantly.

And after one final kiss on Alya's hand, he gave it to Owen.

He sat down slowly and immediately linked hands with his wife.

Coulson began his speech.

“We are gathered here today for the momentous occasion of the marriage of two wonderful people, Alya Fitz-Simmons and Owen Shaw. One could say that their union was written in the stars given their heritage, but these are two souls that are truly in love.”

Alya and Owen stared at each other with utter adoration in their eyes.

“If anyone has any reason for these two to not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Nobody spoke up, though Jemma had to hold down Fitz’s knee to stop him from jumping up.

“In that case, onto the vows. Alya?”

Alya took a deep breath. “It was my Dad who first introduced us, but Owen you have slowly become my life. It was your pure, unparalleled determination that I fell for, and even before our first date, I think I’d realised that you are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I promise to always do my best for you. No matter what.”

Owen’s voice was uncharacteristically nervous. “Alya, I… you’re such an amazing person. It’s so hard for me to wrap my head around, that someone as perfect as you could even like someone like me. You’re so smart, and I’m just a dumb traveller. And now we’re getting married. I love you, Alya, and I promise to always love and protect you as much as I can.”

Coulson asked for the rings, and the best man (one of Owen’s American friends) handed the matching set over.

It was once the rings were on the fingers, the couple had kissed, and the applause had died down that Jemma and Fitz both broke down into tears and were instantly engulfed in hugs and reassurance from their old teammates in what was the hardest moment of their entire, already challenged lives.

[1-800-gaygentsofshield]

Skimmons College Roommate AU

The soft strums of the guitar wake the teenager up in the middle of the night, making her roll over in bed and smile. Daisy and Jemma met on the very first day of college open house, both of them being equally nervous but excited at the new opportunity. The pair have been roommates for the last three years, counting down the days until they can get out of this place. They have to be there for a total of seven years so they still have four more to go. A soft smile tugs on Jemmas lips as she lets her arm rest on her forehead, the rustling of the sheets interrupting the guitar being played through the walls. Daisys strums were slower than the original song, giving Jemma the image of her sitting on her bed and lazily playing the guitar. It happens almost twice a week where Jemma wakes up to her roommates gentle strumming, on rare nights, accompanied by vocals. Tonight is one of these rare nights. The 2 am guitar playing happens so frequently, Jemma has become accustomed to the noise, the gentle strums reassuring her that her roommate is there. Tonight she could tell Daisy couldn’t sleep just by the way the notes sound. The way Daisys fingers sleepily run across the strings, her voice rougher than normal but still angelic as always.

“I still remember, third of December, me in your sweater, you said it looked better, on me, than it did you. Only if you knew, how much I liked you..” Daisys voice comes flowing through the walls and Jemma cant help but sing along softly. The walls separating their rooms are thin as hell so she’s guessing Daisy can hear her too.

“But I watch your eyes, as she walks by. What a sight for sore eyes. Brighter than a blue sky..She's got you mesmerized, while I die..” Jemma softly sings along, turning to face the wall.

Daisy’s sitting on her bed, her legs propped up, guitar in lap, and back pressed up against the wall. She sang the first part with her eyes closed, the cords to the song coming as a second nature to her. She soon heard her roommates voice, rough and raspy from sleep but still smooth like silk come through the walls. A smile cracks on Daisys lips as she continues singing, pressing her back up more against the wall.

“Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half, as pretty. You gave her your sweater. “It's just polyester,” but you like her better..Wish I were Heather.”

They continue the song, both of them becoming more awake as the song progressed.

“Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half as pretty. You gave her your sweater. “It's just polyester,” but you like her better. Wish I were..” As the song ended Daisy’s voice got gentle, letting Jemma take over partly, just happy in the moment. The hacker slowly stopped strumming and she heard the rustling of sheets coming from Jemmas room, followed by the soft pads of footsteps on the floor. The tiny scientist slowly opens the door to Daisys room and steps in, watching as the brunette puts away her guitar. “Hey.” Jemma whispers softly, walking over to the hacker and sitting down on her bed. “Whats keeping you up?” The Brit asks, immediately reading the other girl like a book. 

With everyone else the hacker has walls and facades, burying her emotions deep inside, but not with Jemma Simmons. Simmons is the only person Daisy is vulnerable around, wearing her heart on her sleeve ever since Jemma comforted when she cried over her ex and got wasted, held her hair back the morning after, gave her painkillers and ate takeout with her all day two years ago. That was the day Daisy realized that Jemma cared deeply for her, willing to push aside her important studies just to eat sauce covered noodles with her all day and well into the night. The two are inseparable and it would be a good guess if someone thought that they were a couple. 

“I dont know, I just can’t sleep. I tried the milk and honey technique, your sleepy tea, everything. So, I just resorted to strumming and the song popped into my head.” Daisy shrugs, leaning back onto the wall and looking over to her best friend. “Its camomile tea darling, come here.” Jemma laughs softly, laying the both of them down and turning off the desk lights. Sometimes the pair cuddle when they’ve had a hard day or they cant sleep, finding comfort in each other at the end of the day..as friends..of course. Daisys arm gently wrap around the smaller girls shoulders and sighs contently, letting herself sink into the darkness. Jemmas arms wrap around Daisys torso and pulls herself close, becoming a little space heater for the taller girl. “Goodnight Jems.” Daisy whispers, already drifting off to sleep. The brit smiles sleepily and pulls herself closer, “Goodnight Daisy.”

-

“Daisy! Pizza!” Jemma giggles, her hair tied up into a messy ponytail. She walks over to the table in their shared space while eating a piece of pizza, a wide smile on her face as she’s equipped with a slice of pizza in one hand and the box in the other. She’s wearing comfy pajama shorts underneath Daisys large Stanford sweater, the oversized sleeves bunched up near her wrists. Todays a study, relax, and chill out day for the pair. “Pizza? Yess thank you Jems.” Daisy groans, a small smile on her face as she gets up from the desk and moving some of their books aside. “Mmhm, you almost done studying?” The brit hums, placing the pizza box on the table as she continues to eat the slice shes holding. “Almost. We’re almost there.” Daisy nods her head, simultaneously grabbing a dirty t-shirt off the ground and throwing it into the laundry basket as she answers. Shes wearing her glasses which Jemma likes so much paired with a black shirt and grey sweatpants, her dark brown hair flowing down her shoulders. The hacker grabs a piece and groans softly as she eats it, her eyes rolling back. “Mmm, thank you Jems. So good.” She smiles and Jemma cant stop herself from laughing. “Its the same place and order each time.” The brit says and Daisy shrugs, plopping down on the couch and pulling Jemma down next to her. They spend the day reviewing notes with their legs intertwined, eating pizza and drinking coffee (or tea in Jemmas case) as they study the hours away.

-

Winter. Winter means mid terms. Mid terms mean late night studying. Late night studying means lack of sleep. Lack of sleep means sleepy Jemma and Daisy. And, sleepy Jemma and Daisy means coffee shop adventures.

They’re both bundled up in warm winter clothing as they walk down the sidewalk, Jemma clutching onto her bag filled with books with one hand and the other intertwined with Daisys in the hackers pocket. As the year progresses the line between friends and lovers started to blur between the two, Jemma spending more nights cuddled up against Daisy than in her own bed, the touches becoming more prominent and lingering. Thats why the pair didnt question it when their hands intertwined with each others almost immediately after they left the place. So, when their hands started to get cold, Daisy put their intertwined hands into her coat pocket without exchanging any words.

They walk into the small campus coffee shop with a smile on both of their faces, the warm cafe air engulfing them. Daisy looks over to her tiny scientist and cant help but blush, watching the tips of Simmons ears and the tip of her nose turn red from the cold. “It’s freezing out there.” Jemma mumbles, walking in step with Daisy towards the register.

They get their coffee and tea and sit down at a window table, their bags set by their feet. “Another winter, another midterm.” Daisy mumbles, sipping on her coffee as she watches the smiling Brit across from her. “That means another christmas together and another spring break at your parents lake house.” Jemma smiles and Daisy nods, realizing that it’s become a routine. They’d rotate each holiday, for thanksgiving, it would be spent at Daisy’s house with Phil and May and for Christmas, it would be spent with Jemmas parents. For spring break they’d usually spend it with Bobbi, Mack, Fitz, Hunter, and Yo-Yo at Philinda’s lake house or take a road trip with just the two of them in Daisy’s van. They do everything together. “We should bring alcohol if we go to the lake house this year.” The hacker hums and Jemma nods her head, gently intertwining their hands on the table. “We should, Hunter would have a blast with Fitz.” The brit giggles and Daisy decides that it’s her favorite sound in the world.

They finish their drinks and toss their cups, re-securing their layers over themselves before stepping out into the cold. As soon as they step out Daisy reaches and holds Jemmas hand, putting them back into her pocket with a smile on her face.

-

“To spring break!” Hunter calls, all of them sitting on the house boat lake. “To spring break!” They call back, all of them sipping their beers in their hands. It’s the first day of spring break and they’re all in swimsuits and swim trunks, everything already set up from last years break. It’s currently mid-day so it’s hot as hell, the cooler open and filled with ice and alcohol. “I’m going swimming.” Mack claps his hands, standing up and diving off the porch into the water. Fitz soon follows, sliding off the porch into the lake rather than diving. “So, hows the school year going so far?” Hunter asks, his arm wrapped around Bobbi as yo-yo digs into the snacks. “Good, I’m glad that it’s over soon.” Jemma replies, sitting down close to Daisy. The hacker pouts and gently grabs the Brits waist playfully, “But Jems, that means that you won’t be with me.” Daisy whines, making Jemma turn around a smile at her. “Oh Daisy, don’t pretend that we don’t spend all of our time together in the summer.” She says, slapping Daisy’s shoulder playfully. “Still.” The hacker pouts before smiling, sipping on her beer as the sun warms them up.

-

Later they all swim in the lake, floating on the tubes and sitting on the ledge in the water. It’s a lazy vibe in the air with the music playing and the heat surrounding them, all of them fully relaxed. Currently Daisy is dragging Simmons towards a small strip of grass sandwitched between the lake and trees. It’s an area at the side of the house, still close to the lake, but hidden from sight of their friends. “It keeps getting better each time.” Jemma hums, wearing a red bikini while Daisy wears a light blue one. “I know, I’m suprised Hunter and Bobbi haven’t gone off and fucked yet.” The hacker says nonchalantly, earning a small slap on the arm. “Daisy!” Jemma scolds playfully, a smile present on her face. “What?” Daisy laughs, closing the space between them a bit. Her hands come up to gently grab Jemmas waist, taking in slow in case she read all of the signs wrong. To her relief Jemma doesn’t pull away, instead, the Brits hands slowly come up to hold onto Daisy’s biceps. “Tell me if I’m wrong but I think that we have a thing.” Daisy whispers softly, leaning in a bit. She pulls her sunglasses up onto the top of her head and rasises an eyebrow, looking at the smaller girl. “You’re not wrong.” Jemma says softly, feeling her back being gently pressed up against the house wall. “Can I..?” Daisy asks, leaning in just a bit more. The brit nods and leans in, closing the space between them. The kiss is slow and soft, their heartbeats speeding up. Daisy slowly pulls away with a wide smile on her face, backing away from the Brit a bit because she assumes Jemma wants to take it slow. She’s wrong. The biochemist grabs her wrist and pulls her back into the kiss, this time locking lips as her arms snake around Daisy’s neck. The taller girls hands immediately latch onto Jemmas waist as they kiss with more passion than before, no longer tentative and questioning. Jemmas hand comes up and slowly intertwined with Daisy’s hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss. They kiss for what feels like forver, fingertips exploring gently and hands intertwined with hair. “Skimmons get over here!” Bobbi calls, bringing them back down to reality that they’re outside and their friends are there. Jemma plants one more kiss on Daisy’s lips, promising that there’s more to come, before pulling away fully. They make their way back to the group and hop back into the water, sharing a tube together. “Skimmons? What’s that?” Daisy asks Bobbi, Jemma and her own legs laid across each other. “It’s like a ship name. We got it from before, when you went by Skye. Skye and Simmons equals Simmons.” Bobbi explains and the girls nod, giving each other a high five. “Skimmons!” They laugh, earning laughs from the group. Hunter throws them all beers from the dock and holds up his for another toast, “To college and booze!” He says and everyone laughs, calling back. “To college and booze!”

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, anerdykat

February 14- Brock Rumlow/Trip/Skye. I'll leave first words up to the author, but I'd love for it to start in San Juan and Brock to have been working UC for Fury, spying on Whitehall, for @anerdykat

Written by @ozhawkauthor 

Brock knew everything was going to shit when Agent 33 called in from Vancouver to let them know she’d failed to capture Raina. Whitehall was seriously pissed off SHIELD thwarted his brainwashed agent.

“She got a tracker on the bitch, at least,” Whitehall said, looking at his phone and the moving dot on it. “I’m sending Ward to retrieve her. Go with him, Rumlow; take a quinjet squadron and shoot Coulson out of the sky if he tries to resist.”

“Sir,” Brock said, with a nod of his head, turning on his heel and getting out of there quick-time.

Shit, shit, shit. I need to get in touch with Fury!

There was no time. Fury was somewhere in Europe and he only had time to send a quick text and hope Fury would have time to pass it on to Coulson before they intercepted the Bus.

He’d mind the mission a lot less if he didn’t have to take orders from that backstabbing little prick Ward, too. There was something seriously creepy and disturbed about that guy, and Rumlow had spent a decade undercover in Hydra dealing with bastards who’d sell their own mother for advancement.

And that didn’t even touch on that wacko Doctor Zabo dude and the freaky as fuck Obelisk thing Whitehall was trying to weaponize.

Hydra out of the shadows were way worse than Hydra undercover, and literally nobody knew that better than Brock Rumlow.

At least, by virtue of the fact most of Hydra’s foot soldiers had been taking orders from him for years, he was able to commandeer a single-seat quinjet and take command of the flight part of the mission. He might have to blow his cover, but nobody was going to be blowing Coulson and his team out of the sky while he had weapons at his fingertips.

“Agent Ward’s brought out two women, Commander Rumlow,” one of the former STRIKE agents he’d sent onto the Bus with Ward advised him on a private channel.

“Say what? Who’s the other one?” Rumlow frowned at his flight displays.

“Ward called her Skye.”

It meant nothing to Rumlow, apart from someone else he needed to try and get out of Hydra’s clutches alive. With Ward’s jet detached from the Bus, he punched buttons fast, bringing up a different channel again.

“Director Coulson,” he rapped out. “This is Agent Two One. Repeat, this is Agent Two One. Come in.”

“Coulson’s busy, Two One,” a female voice said after a moment of endless silence.

“That you, May? I’m flight lead on the quinjet squadron alongside you. We have orders to shoot you down. Advise your tactic.”

He waited, knowing any moment now Ward would give the order, and if he didn’t, Whitehall would order it done. May knew what had to be done; if she could come up with an escape plan which didn’t involve him blowing his cover by shooting the other quinjets down, she’d give it to him.

“Stay covered, Five Five,” May said. “We have operational cloak. I’ll switch it on and blow flares and chaff when you take a shot.”

Risky, but it would leave his cover intact, and he’d need it if he was going to prevent whatever the hell Whitehall had in mind down in Puerto Rico. Damn that weird Nazi bastard anyway: he was so paranoid he wouldn’t share even the smallest snippets of information. Spying on him was more nerve-wracking than fighting Steve Rogers in an elevator.

“Now,” he said when the moment came, having already reserved for himself the right to take the shot.

It would take a team of forensic videographers weeks to figure out that the shot he took never made an actual connection, and by the time they even started looking, hopefully he’d have killed Whitehall, Ward, Zabo and every other maniac who thought themselves somehow superior to the rest of humanity just because they lacked a moral code.

“It’s done, sir,” he reported to Whitehall over the radio.

“Good. Now get your ass back here, Rumlow. We’ve work to do.”

“Sir,” he acknowledged, turning the quinjet and pushing it to full power, sparing a brief glance to the shimmer over the sea far below that marked the cloaked Bus.

Hurry the fuck up, Coulson. I don’t think I can do this alone.

* * *

He hadn’t met Raina before, and there was something very odd about her, he thought, as black eyes fixed on him for a long moment before she looked away. The other girl Ward had dragged off the Bus was just a scrap of a thing, not much more than a teenager he thought at first glance, but the rage in her eyes as she looked around made him reassess. She was dangerous, and probably unpredictable, and Grant Ward didn’t have nearly as good a read on her as he thought. Deliberately, Rumlow stepped between Ward and the door, forcing the taller man to stop in his tracks.

“Out of my way,” Ward snapped.

“I think you’d best recall just who you’re talking to,” Rumlow said, his voice soft and silky. “You don’t give me orders, now or ever. Or would you care to go a few rounds on the mat, to remind you who I am?”

Ward paled and shifted his weight just slightly, leaning away from Rumlow, but Skye noticed. Her eyes flicked back to Rumlow, narrowed assessingly. He wished he had some way to let her know he was on her side.

Maybe sticking a knife in Ward’s guts would do the job.

* * *

As it turned out, Skye was ahead of him, because he delayed to shoot Whitehall, though the Doctor fled when he realized Rumlow had turned. She used a gun, though. One of Ward’s own, unless Brock missed his guess. He gave her an approving nod even as he relieved her of it, before bending to check on Ward.

“Not bad. Next time, aim to the right.”

Skye’s eyes widened as he released the safety and put two rounds into Ward’s forehead, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

“Never leave live enemies behind you,” Rumlow advised her. “They have a terrible habit of making a comeback to haunt you later. Don’t you watch horror movies?”

She shook her head, looking wide-eyed from the cooling corpse back to him.

“I wish I had more time to teach you, but I don’t. Raina’s gone down into the tunnels and I have to stop her. Go to this address. Coulson’ll find you there.” He tried to push a card into her fingers, but she resisted, something dawning on her lips that might almost have been a tremulous smile.

“I can’t,” she said softly.

He was so focussed, the words didn’t really register. “You have to. I can’t keep you safe and save the world at the same time, sweetheart.”

“I’m not leaving you, not now that I’ve found you. Trip’s here somewhere too, I can feel him close, and he’ll want to meet you.” She pushed up the sleeve of her black top to show words scribbled on the inside of her forearm.

Rumlow stared. “Well, fuck,” he said finally, and Skye’s smile widened.

“Later, if we survive.” Grabbing his free hand, she pulled. “Come on. We have to stop Raina!”

Stunned, he followed along after her for a few moments, until they got out into the hallway and found Coulson standing over Whitehall’s body with a gun in his hand.

“Oh, nice work, DC,” Skye said.

“Not my work.” Coulson looked at Rumlow with a raised eyebrow, his gaze tracking down to his hand joined with Skye’s. “Agent 21.”

“Sir. We’ve got a problem down below…”

“We’ve got more than one,” Coulson said grimly.

* * *

Even with Coulson’s orders added to Brock’s pleas, Skye refused to leave with Coulson.

“Trip’s down in those tunnels. I can feel it. And I’m the only person apart from Raina who can definitely touch the Obelisk without turning to stone. There’s no way I’m leaving it with her.”

Coulson met Brock’s eyes, and a small shake of his head told him what he was pretty sure he already knew; Skye wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“Come on, then.” With a sigh, he handed her back the gun she’d shot Ward with. “Remember what I said - next time, aim for center mass.”

“Got it.” Her hands were steady as she accepted the gun, and he looked back at Coulson.

“Get everyone out you can, Director. We’ll take care of the problem down below.”

“Good luck,” was all Coulson said, before he ran one way and they went the other, heading for the hole the Hydra agents had succeeded in cutting into the tunnels below before Brock killed them.

“There are a lot of dead Hydra people lying around,” Skye noted as they stepped onto the winch lift and Brock hit the button. “Your work?”

“They’re no loss to humanity, trust me. Sick bastards, the lot of them.”

They had to stand close together on the lift, and he was intensely aware of Skye, of her slight size and the scent of her hair, sweet and somehow spicy at the same time.

“So, Agent 21?” Skye looked up at Brock quizzically.

“Three times cooler and better looking than James Bond,” Brock responded automatically, and Skye choked on a giggle.

“I was wondering what your actual name is.”

“Oh.” Abashed, he shut his eyes briefly. “Brock Rumlow. And you’re Skye…?”

“Just Skye.” She looked away, lips pursed.

“And you mentioned Trip?” He was dying to know if that was their third, if this ‘Trip’ and Skye were already bonded - the way she’d said she could feel Trip under the city seemed to indicate it.

“Antoine Triplett.” Her smile returned, sunshine in the darkness of the ancient underground city. “Don’t speak to him until we’re out of here, okay?”

He blinked, and then realized what she meant. “Because if I don’t, that means we survive. Or at least, that he and I do.”

“Which is a good guarantee to have, right now. This place is really fucking spooky.”

It was as spooky as anything he’d ever seen, and considering some of the shit he’d seen with SHIELD and Hydra, that was really saying something. Rounding a corner, they came across a massive black man standing stock still in the middle of the corridor.

“Mack!” Skye gasped, running forward. The big man seemed to be in a catatonic state, hands hanging lax at his sides, his eyes far away. Skye’s jaw clenched. “We’ll come back for you, okay?”

They could hear noises up ahead now, ran faster, and then Skye shouted “Trip!”

Brock saw him then, a lean black man, handsome and strong, with a face which looked as though it smiled easily but right now was drawn in an expression of worry.

“Skye!” He looked askance at Brock. “Who’s this?”

Don’t speak, don’t speak… Brock clenched his jaw so hard he heard his teeth squeak. He should have asked Skye what his words were. She must know.

“Agent 21,” Skye said with a quick grin. “Three times cooler and better looking than James Bond.”

Trip’s expression was hilarious, but he shook it off. “That way to the chamber at the center of the labyrinth,” he pointed.

“Raina’s down here with the Obelisk. We have to stop her.”

A weird, unearthly music seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere; Brock clutched at his head, noticing that although Skye reacted the same way, Trip didn’t seem able to hear it.

“What the hell is that?” Skye gasped.

“What?” Trip asked, staring at her, and Brock decided he should risk speaking.

“If he can’t hear it, I don’t think he should go in. Tell him to stay with your friend Mack and we’ll come back for him,” he told Skye, carefully not looking at Trip.

“He’s our soulmate, don’t speak to him, do as he says,” Skye said hurriedly, and Trip’s eyes went very wide.

Brock couldn’t resist. Taking a step forward, he grabbed Trip by the back of the neck and planted one swift kiss on his lips before winking at him and taking off running again.

They slipped into the chamber just as the stone doors were grinding shut, finding Raina with a beatific smile on her face and the Obelisk on a pedestal.

“You.” Raina’s smile disappeared as she saw Brock. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

She didn’t appear armed, but he still moved between her and Skye, raising his gun. “Sorry to disappoint you and all.”

“That won’t work down here. Something about the city stops it.” Raina nodded at his gun.

“Good thing I brought backup weapons.” He drew the long knife he kept in his right boot and kept moving towards Raina, intent on killing her for her part in this whole deadly mess.

“Brock.” Skye’s voice stopped him in his tracks, and he looked around to follow her gaze to the Obelisk, splitting open to reveal a core of glowing blue crystals.

That unearthly music seemed to intensify as a mist started to pour off the crystals, and instinctively he moved back. He’d seen all sorts of ugly chemical exposure in his career, and nothing that bright a blue could possibly be conducive to his health.

“Brock!” Skye screamed this time, and he saw to his horror that a weird stone was beginning to creep over her skin. Trying to take a step towards her, he looked down and saw the stone climbing his own legs.

This isn’t good, was all he had time to think before the stone covered him entirely and the world went dark and still.

* * *

Seeing her newly-found soulmate turn to stone right in front of her eyes was even more horrifying than turning to stone herself, Skye thought afterwards, as the stone shattered away from her body, but then she saw him breaking free of his own stony prison, cloaked in some sort of light so bright it hurt to look at him. In that bright light she saw one last horrifying glimpse of Raina, spiked and scaled, before the transformed woman fled the chamber and Rumlow reached Skye with a single leap, the light around him somehow fading out as he seized her in his arms.

“Are you all right?” he demanded, and she clung to him desperately, feeling curiously grounded by the solid strength of his arms closing around her.

“I feel weird.” It felt as though her skin was buzzing somehow, and the earth was definitely trembling under their feet.

“We gotta get out of here.”

The Obelisk had closed back up, and Skye lunged forward instinctively to snatch it up, wrapping it in her jacket and hugging it close to her side. “We can’t leave it here!”

The ground was seriously shaking under Brock’s feet, but strangely as Skye ran to his side, the trembling seemed to still, although he could still see cracks zig-zagging up the walls.

“We gotta get out of here,” he said urgently. She was staring at him, and he frowned. “What?”

“You’re glowing.” She waved a hand at him, and he frowned, looking down at his hands. There was indeed a shimmery golden light under his skin.

“Okay, that’s kind of freaky,” he said, and as he spoke, the light brightened, and the low roar of the earthquake deepened, though he and Skye were still standing on still ground at the centre of it all.

“Time to bail,” Brock made the snap decision that everything else was going to have to wait until later, and Skye nodded.

As they ran back through the tunnels, they came across Trip and Mack. Mack was walking, or rather staggering, one arm slung across Trip’s shoulders. Without even thinking about it, Brock grabbed Mack’s other arm to help, gesturing to Skye to lead the way.

At the winch lift, it was clear they couldn’t all go up together.

“You take Mack first,” Trip told Skye. She got a mulish look on her face and opened her mouth, but Brock immediately backed Trip up.

“He’s right. Weight distribution. Heaviest and lightest go together. That means you and the big fella. He’s hurt, besides, needs medical attention. Get him topside, Agent.”

The note of authority in his voice had her moving, at least, stepping grudgingly onto the platform.

“Don’t know what you think I can do if he falls,” she muttered, but she hooked her arms around Mack and hung on firmly.

“Just don’t forget to send it back down for us,” Trip called as the pair ascended.

Left alone, Brock and Trip stared at each other.

“So,” Trip said after a moment, “hello there.”

Brock grinned. “That was the best you could come up with?”

“Any clever lines I might have managed were knocked right out of my head when you came back glowing.”

“I was hoping it might have been the kiss that knocked you senseless.” Brock grinned and Trip grinned back.

“That? Nah. Wouldn’t even call that a kiss. You’ll have to try a lot harder to impress me.”

It was definitely a challenge, and one Brock was more than happy to accept. They were kissing passionately when the winch came back down, and they were still kissing as it carried them back up.

[naceisonthecase]

Perspective

Hey, @fyeah-marvel it’s your Secret Santa!! I loved working on your gift and I really hope you like it. Merry belated Christmas and Happy New Year!!

Prompt: Family fluff, post season 5 including Deke *it’s more heartwarming than fluffy tho*

Word Count: 1909 

It had been over an hour since it had started to snow and it didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon. Inside, the perfectly concealed cabin the heat from the crackling fire made the storm outside nearly obsolete. Jemma was busy in the kitchen finishing off preparing tea. She placed a third mug on the tray along with a saucer of milk, a small bowl of sugar and a teapot of freshly brewed tea before carrying it towards the lounge.

Pausing in the doorway, she watched Fitz. His feet were kicked up on the coffee table and his head was bent over his tablet. He looked deep in thought, his thumb and index finger resting on his lip and cheek as he read. This Fitz had missed quite a lot and his return had been a major adjustment on the both of them and for the rest of the team. Looking down she saw the ring encircled around her finger and sighed. They had needed this getaway she reminded herself— for longer than she cared to admit. Using the door frame to balance the tray, Jemma wiggled the ring off her finger and dropped it into the pocket of her jumper. She took a deep breath.

“Tea’s ready!” She beamed, entering the lounge.

Fitz powered off his tablet and straightening up tossed it gently beside him on the sofa. He began to reach for a mug but stopped, hand hovering over the handle for a moment. “Who's that there third mug for?” He questioned, pointing to the collection of mugs arranged on the tray in front of him.

As if on cue, the front door burst open and Deke stumbled into the cabin covered head to toe in winter gear.

“Looks like you found the place alright.”

“Would’ve been easier without all this cloaking business.”

“You know why it needed to be cloaked.” Jemma replied, moving to help Deke out of his jacket. “In any case,” She went on, hanging the jacket on a hook. “You’re just in time for tea.”

Deke walked across the room and settled down on the sofa next to Fitz, who had been giving him the stink eye the entire time. Waking up unexpectedly in the present day feeling as if the last six months had been a complete waste and finding out you had a grandson, who had come back from the future from a chapter of your life that you, the current you, had planned on helping to solve. It was very unsettling. And now this twenty-something year old grandson was sitting there beside him acting completely nonchalant as Jemma handed him a steaming mug.

“So, what have you two lovebirds been up to? Conceived my mom yet?”

Jemma and Fitz exchanged an uneasy look. “So, how is everyone back at base?” Jemma asked turning back to Deke, quite happy to change the subject.

Deke was scooping spoonfuls of sugar into his drink. “Uh, everyone’s — good. Coulson and May are still off on their little excursion. Haven’t heard too much from them. Elena, Daisy and Mack are putting up holiday decorations. Daisy’s now glad her powers are back in working,” he paused, looking over at Fitz who had tensed up beside him, “order.” He took a large gulp of his tea, coughing on the too hot beverage. “That there’s hot.” He said placing his mug back on the table, forcing his coughs into laughter.

Jemma placed a hand on Fitz’s leg and gave it a small squeeze hoping it would help calm him. They hadn’t outright told him what had happened, but Daisy had been keeping him at arms length and it wasn’t long until he knew something was up. He knew what had happened with Daisy wasn’t his doing but that didn’t stop him from feeling horrible for betraying his friends trust. It was another reason they needed this time away, taking the time to regroup before rejoining the team.

Fitz moved from her touch. “I think I need some fresh air.” He said, pushing himself up off the sofa and headed to wear his jacket hung on the hook next to Deke’s. He quickly shrugged into it and stuffed his feet into his boots. And he was out, the door quietly closing behind him, before Jemma or Deke could find any words to stop him.

Deke sat blinking after him for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, as he muddled over the short conversation. Then he stood from the sofa and paced around the lounge, muttering under his breath. “I shouldn’t‘ve come.” He said, loud enough for Jemma to hear. He hit his stockinged foot against the sideboard in frustration, his quiet mumbles turning into a not so quiet string of curses. Jemma turned her attention from the closed door to Deke who was now sitting on the arm of an armchair, rubbing at his sore foot. She rushed to his side, sitting next to him she placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t take any of that too personally, Deke. It’s honestly none of your fault.”

“Sure felt like it was.” Deke said to his foot.

Jemma sighed. “He’s been — we’ve all been through a lot and he just needs a little time. I have an idea,” Jemma said before getting off the armchair and disappearing into the kitchen.

Deke heard the click of the fridge opening and shutting and Jemma returned with something wrapped in parchment paper.

“Made this just in case.” Jemma handed over the package to Deke, who gave it a curious whiff and folded a corner over to peek inside.

“A sandwich?”

“The way to your grandad’s heart is through his stomach. It also helps him open up about what’s going on up there.” Jemma said, tapping the side of her head to emphasize her point. “Talk to him.” Jemma urged.

Deke got back into his winter gear, with the sandwich tucked safely in his jacket pocket, and ventured back into the winter wonderland. Luckily, the storm had begun to blow over. Fitz was sitting on a snow covered bench not far from the cabin, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked into the distance beyond the cloaked cabin. He turned watching Deke approach.

“Uh, Jemma said this was for you.” Deke said, taking the sandwich out of his pocket to hand to Fitz and jammed his hand back into his pocket. Fitz unwrapped the sandwich it as soon as it was in his hands and took a bite, sighing happily as he chewed (“Prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella. Mmm, with just a hint of pesto aioli”).

“Well, I’ll just sit here while you eat then.” Deke said, sitting down on the empty part of the bench, his hands still deep in his pocket.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, the sounds of Fitz chewing and the occasional chirp of a bird the only sounds that were heard.

“Never really knew my dad. He was a deadbeat so I wasn’t missing out on much.” Deke said after a while, taking a hand out of a pocket to casually itch at the side of his face before putting it right back in again. “Oh well, makes it kinda cool that I get to know you I guess.”

“My old man wasn’t the best either.” Fitz said, surprising Deke. “Left when I was ten. Honestly, it terrifies me that I’ll turn out like him.” He paused, playing with the edge of the sandwich parchment. “Even more so that I already have.”

“Are you kidding me?” Deke said. “You are nothing like your father. Not now, not ever. You should’ve heard the stories my mom told me about you. The way she spoke about you you’d think you were some kind of super parent.”

Fitz screwed his eyebrows together and looked at Deke, not knowing if he should truly believe someone he just met. He had never thought of himself as a parent, had promised to himself a long time ago to not have kids so there would be no fear in repeating that cycle. That was before Jemma. Before Deke had annoyingly proclaimed with his very existence that he hadn’t followed through with that promise.

“Here,” Deke reached back into his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Fitz. “Think of it as part one of your Christmas gift.” He stood from the bench. “Good talk.” He added with a small smile and started heading back towards the cabin.

Fitz unfolded the paper. It was a faded photograph of himself, a little greyer around the edges, holding a little girl no more than five years old a perfect mix of him and Jemma clutching a stuffed monkey to her chest. They were in some kind of lab and he was pointing at something out of the frame while beaming at the little girl who was staring in amazement at whatever he was showing her. Fitz turned the photo over and transcribed in writing he instantly knew was Jemma’s it read ‘Daddy showing Peggy May his latest project — her own TARDIS’. He turned the picture back around and stared at his face, he looked the happiest he’d ever been.

Deke had trudged halfway back to the cabin when something cold and hard hit the back of his neck. “Hey! What was that?” He asked, turning around.

Fitz had stood up from the bench and was grinning back at Deke. “Hey, laddie ever had a snowball fight?”

“A snow ball what?”

“Come, let me show you how to make the perfect snowball. I was loads better than Jemma back at the Academy, let her win. But don’t tell her that.”

Two hours later it was growing dark and they both ventured back into the cabin soaked and freezing but happy.

“You two had a good talk I see” Jemma said smiling as she gathered up blankets for the both of them.

“It was decent.” Fitz remarked, clapping Deke on the back heading to grab a shortbread cookie and a fresh mug of tea Jemma had laid out before collapsing onto the sofa with a sigh.

“Hey, Jemma!” Deke said, falling onto the couch beside Fitz. “Next snowball fight you should join us.”

Jemma sat on the other side of Fitz. “That sounds like a lot of fun.” She took her freshly poured mug of tea and took a sip.

“Fitz said he was letting you win at the Academy.” Jemma was choking on her tea from the statement, even though she’d had that inkling for years. Deke shoved a cookie into his mouth and grabbed for another. “He has some awesome tricks up his sleeves.” He glanced at Fitz, who had slumped into the sofa cushions, covering his face with a hand. “Or, sorry physics.”

Even after the photograph and the snowball fight Deke was still his same old annoying self. Fitz too knew it didn’t solve everything for himself — he still had to return to the team feeling as if he’d broken someone’s trust, the Framework had still happened and there was still so much from after his time in jail that he didn’t understand. But Deke did help him with one thing. Seeing that little girl in the photo proved that despite everything they had gone through he and Jemma would be alright. And for right now that was enough.

[razzledazzlewaffle]

Philinda + 70. “H-How long have you been standing there?” bc let the angst ROLLETH

(@bookofuncommonprayer  you want angst? you’ll get angst.)

The last time he’d died it’d been quick.

The last time, she hadn’t had time to prepare. He’d died and she’d turned even colder than she’d already been, something she never thought would’ve been possible. And then, suddenly, he hadn’t been dead. When Fury had came to her door to deliver the news, she’d been the typical ice queen. The agent. Mission heard, mission taken.

But ever since that moment, since that moment she’d seen his back for the first time since before the funeral, nothing had been ice anymore.

A part of her was deathly afraid for his sake. And a another part of her, the selfish part, was deathly afraid for her own. Ever since he’d been alive again, her ice had been melting. She had a team, a family, now, and she was well aware that it was all thanks to him. What would she be once he wasn’t there anymore? She’d go back to her cubicle, to her structured and impossibly lonely existence. Once he’d stop living, she knew she’d stop living right beside him.

He was not allowed to die.

He didn’t own much. He barely owned anything. Some money, an apartment in New York, his mother’s home. A little sum of money he’d saved up. Lola. A mountain of collectibles. It was nothing, really. And once he went over his wealth, he realized how little he really had. How little he would leave behind. How few people who even knew his previous funeral wouldn’t be his only one.

The team would get everything. Fitzsimmons would get his mother’s home. Daisy would get the apartment. Mack would get Lola. Yoyo would get his money for building new arms. Deke would get to go through the rest and take what he wanted and leave the things he didn’t want to Piper (he was still a little pissed at her for the whole betrayal thing).

And May…

He stopped, pen in hand, mid-sentence.

He had no idea. He had no idea about what to leave her. Nothing was enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

He wrote her a message on a piece of paper, put in an envelope, wrote ‘May’ on it and attached it to the will. Then he got up and pulled out the secret compartment in his desk.

It wouldn’t be enough. But nothing ever would be.

He was hiding something from her. Of course he was, he was dying and he refused to tell her anything, refused to share his fears, his wishes, his… But there was something else, too. He hadn’t looked her in the eyes for a couple of days now and she knew.

She took a deep breath.

He would be so angry with her. He’d probably hate her. But it didn’t matter. Right now, it didn’t matter at all.

She bit her lip and busted in the door.

He stopped in the doorway, and once his brain has registered what he was seeing, he lowered his gun.

His office looked like a crime scene. Every drawer was pulled out, every cabinet opened. Papers and files were laying all over the floor.

May was sitting in a corner, with empty eyes, clutching a paper tightly in her hands.

His heart stopped. No, no, no, don’t say it’s the… No, no, no, please, no….

He walked into the room and put the gun on his desk. The he walked as close to her as he dared and sat down.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

His voice was barely a whisper and she didn’t react.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“What the fuck is this, Phil?” She turned to him, her shoulders tight and the words spitted out through gritted teeth.

He didn’t dare to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Stop!” She threw the will on the ground and the noise made him jump in his skin. “Stop with that bullshit, Phil! Just stop!” She was shaking from head to toe. “I don’t want your fucking apologizes.” She was fuming, he could feel all the way to his corner. “You were hiding things from me. You haven’t stopped hiding things from me and now-” She picked up the papers again. “Now I find this.”

He looked at her. “I’m…” He stopped himself just in time and tried to find the right words. “I was thinking about what to leave you but nothing seemed to be enough so I just…”

She stared at him for half a second and then she let out a little laugh. “You think that’s it? You think my feelings are hurt because I’m not included in your will?” She paused. “I don’t give a damn about your will, Coulson.”

He knew he shouldn’t ask. “What- What is it then?”

She stood up. He was quickly to follow. He wanted to be on her level in case she would start kicking his ass.

She crossed her arms. “You left me a letter.”

He froze. “You read that?!”

“It was dedicated to me.”

Anger started rising up in his chest. “It was very clearly stated that the letter should remain unopened until my lawyer comes and goes over everything-”

“You think I care?”

He mumbled half into the ground. “Well, obviously not, and I shouldn’t be surprised, since you have no respect for institutions or…”

“What was that?” He looked up and she was close. Real close. He could feel her breath on his face. He was surprised it hadn’t burned him up. Or made a move to kill him.

“You had no right to do that.”

He blinked at her, dumbfounded. “What?”

Her breathing was short and her pupils dilated, her body stiff and rigid. “You had no right to write that to me and only let me read it after-”

He pushed back. “What? After I’m gone?” He shook his head and smiled. “You know what, May, I’m getting a little tired of you telling me how I should handle my death or the aftermath. It’s my death. It’s me who has to leave everything behind, it’s me who has to leave-” He leaned in closer. “-every…” His head was pounding. “-single…” His arms were vibrating and three seconds from striking out. “-person…” His hot cheeks turned cold with his tears. “-in…”

They were so close now, their foreheads were almost touching. He continued. She took a step back. “-this world…” He took another step, she backed up. “-that I…” He took three steps and she folded. “-care…” Her back hit the wall. “…about.”

She was completely still. Her nonchalance made the fire inside him grow tenfold. “The letter is not yours to read yet! You’re not dying! It’s not you who’s dying, May!” He grabbed her by her shoulders with shaking hands and threw her back into the wall. “It-” Grabbed her closer. “-is..” Threw her back. “-not…” Grabbed her, threw her. “-YOU.”

“Let her go.”

He stopped in his tracks. 

Daisy stood by the desk, his gun in her hand, pointing at his chest.

He woke up from his trance, his hands on May’s shoulders softening. “H-How long have you been standing there?”

Daisy took a firmer grip on the gun. “Long enough. Back away, Coulson.”

He took a step back with legs that would barely support him. He didn’t even have a chance to look at May before she was gone out the door.

His knees turned to jello and he slid down to the floor.  What had he done? What had he done?

He felt a warm body against his, hands soothing his trembling limbs. “Schh, Coulson. It’ll be okay.” Daisy leaned her head against his arm and he felt his sleeve getting wet. He himself was hulking like a child, snot flying everywhere.

“I…”

“Schhh, Coulson. It’ll be okay.”

They sat like that for what felt like hours, both of their bodies twitching of the crying.

When they stilled, Daisy took a firmer grip on his arm. “That letter… “ She paused. “You wrote that you love her, didn’t you?”

Yes. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough. Nothing ever would be.

[modern-victoria]

As swift as this is love

Chapter seventeen of my Fantasy Quakerider au.

Read it on ao3.

Author’s note: I'm back from the dead AKA exams!! I'm so sorry for the long wait (see it like some kind of midseason hiatus ;) ) but I'm back now, and will be trying to update again on a regular schedule.

I changed the ratings after @ao3commentoftheday's very informative posts about tagging and archive warnings. I changed it to mature due to the violence scenes I write. Just to be sure. Though there won't be any explicit sexual scenes (I can't write them).

A big thank you to @whistlingwindtree for supporting me and being an awesome human being :)

Also thank you to @mouth-of-god-fist-of-bone for the spotify playlist 'medieval music' by Derek Fiechter. It got me back into the mood for writing this story.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting on this story while I was away, it made me not want to quit this story!!

 Daisy sat fidgeting before her old vanity table, her new chamber occupied by Robbie, making Jemma sigh exasperated behind her. Looking apologetic through the mirror at her friend, who was trying to pin her hair down in an updo and her short hair making it definitely more difficult, she placed her hands on her knees.

 “Longer hair would have been easier,” Jemma mumbled, but smiled kindly at her friend. “But it suits you.”

 “I know you’ll make me look as beautiful as I can.”

 “Nonsense, Daisy, you don’t need me to do that. I’m sure Robbie agrees that even in your dirty training clothes you look as regal as ever.”

 “Why bring Robbie in this conversation?” Daisy felt her cheeks flush at the thought of him.

 “Well, I’m not blind.”

 “What does that mean?”

 “I see the way you look at him.” Jemma pinned a lock of hair down, then added, “I see the way he looks at you.”

 “We’re friends.”

 “You’re married.”

 “Not by choice!” Daisy defended herself, while her whole face heated up.

 “Oh, and it’s so bad?” Jemma stopped pinning her hair down to put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow.

 “Well, no.” Daisy answered quietly. She tilted her face down, suddenly feeling terrified of the feelings she harboured inside. Jemma, quickly understanding her sudden change of mood, moved to Daisy’s side. Crouching down next to her chair, she placed a hand on top of Daisy’s.

 “Your love is not cursed.”

 Daisy looked at Jemma’s hand resting on top of hers, then tilted her face upwards. Looking at Jemma through hazy eyes, she smiled sadly. She always knew what to say.

 “I’m afraid, Jemma.”

 “I know. It is scary.”

 Daisy’s cheeks turned wet from a few tears that had escaped.

 “But it is also wonderful,” Jemma said softly, wiping her friend’s tears away with her thumb. Daisy slid her arms around Jemma and hugged her fiercely.

 “Ouch,” Jemma croaked in her neck, “remember, you’ve been training. Hold back your strength a bit, would you?”

 Daisy laughed, but apologised, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. Jemma rose back up from the ground, continuing her work on Daisy’s hair. She smiled brightly through the mirror.

 “Don’t ever apologize for your strength.”

 “Thank you, Jemma.”

 “You’re welcome, Daisy.”

 After finally securing every strand of Daisy’s hair with a pin, Jemma was done. Both girls admired her work in the mirror. Daisy lightly touched the nape of her neck, some strands of baby hairs tickling her fingers.

 “It’s been a while since I’ve worn it all up.” She said, fully expecting no response. They both knew what Daisy meant.

 “Now, the Queen had a dress made especially for you. I think you’ll like it.” Jemma gushed, and from the wooden wardrobe she uncovered a beautiful baby blue dress, ornate with intricate lacing. Daisy gasped as she marveled at the sight.

 “Come on, put it on!” Jemma said as the first trumpets resounded from outside, signaling the arrival of the first guests.

 “How are they here, already? The ball doesn’t start until later!” Daisy wondered out loud.

 “There are families that have journeyed a long time to come here. They are staying a few days longer as guests.”

 “First time I hear of it.” She said, peering outside at the multitude of colourful and glittering carriages. Then she swiveled around, feeling giddy for the first time in forever to try on her dress. At the back of her mind there was still a little voice that reminded her, that all was not well, Garrett and his men were still out there, but she decided that for one night she deserved a break.

 With the help of Jemma, she was in her dress in a matter of seconds. She stroke the soft material with her fingers, admiring how the fabric flowed through her mirror, completely oblivious to the knock at her door.

 “Flower?” Daisy spun around at the voice of her mother behind her. Melinda looked like the Queen she was, a navy blue dress outlined her slender silhouette, little crystals sewn throughout the fabric, flecked like delicate constellations. She stood tall, something clutched in her hands.

 “Mother,” Daisy grinned, “Thank you for the dress!”

 “I knew you’d like it.” she smiled back. Something tugged at Daisy’s heart, a memory of simpler times, mingled with warm sunny days and laughter in meadows. Her mother and father looking younger, yet sporting wrinkles, but a different, softer kind. Mack’s words rang through her head. There had never been peace. She had been spared of all the malevolence of the world by her parents.

 “It’s more me than any other dress I’ve ever worn”, she said as she threaded her fingers through the lace of her bodice.

 “Not yet.”

 Daisy looked up at her mother, brows knitted together in confusion, then her eyes dropped to what was in the Queen’s hands.

 “Your father and I wanted to have you this.” Melinda said, taking a few steps to her daughter and offering it to her. Daisy took the box in her hands and tentatively traced the wooden scenes carved on top of it with the pads of her fingers. Reaching the lock, she opened it slowly to reveal two long silver bracelets, resembling the armguards Bobbi typically wore.

 “Fitz helped make them. He’s a wonder, that boy,” the Queen turned, directing the last part at Jemma, who casted her face down, hiding the fact that she was blushing furiously.

 “We’re sorry that it took such a long time to understand that though you’re a princess, you’re a warrior first and foremost.” reaching over to her daughter’s face, she brushed her palm over Daisy’s cheek. “We were fools to expect anything else. You are my daughter after all,” she echoed. Daisy eyes widened at the silent admission.

 “You?” she wondered out loud.

 “How else do you think your father ended up in love with me?”

 Daisy threw her arms around her mother, forgetting for that moment that she was still the Queen, and hugged her fiercely, reveling in the warmth that her mother brought. Pulling away, Melinda soothed the wrinkles out of her dress, chastising Daisy, though her tone was soft and loving.

 “Now put these on and go downstairs. The guests are waiting!”

 ---

 As he walked down the stairs leading to the ballroom, thousands guests travelling miles to congratulate Daisy and him, his gaze landed on the staircase opposite him, more specifically, on the person descending it.

 The hem of her blue dress flowed over the marble steps, her fingers, delicate yet rough from handling a sword, clutched the fabric, lifting it slightly up so she wouldn’t tumble down the stairs, but it was her face that caught Robbie’s attention each time. He followed her neck and jawline, now uncovered by her pinned-up hair, to her almond shaped eyes, smiling as they both reached down the first staircase and she noticed him. They both turned to the last staircase that would lead them to the ballroom floor.

 He offered her his arm, and she slid hers around his, laying her hand on his forearm. He eyed the silver bracelets curiously. She spotted his gaze and said, “A present from my parents, they match my sword, don’t you think?”

 He nodded, his eyes lingering on her face, her eyes glinting with delight. Together they reached the ballroom floor, where every guest took a few steps backwards to make room for the royal couple, silence befalling the room. A few maidens blushed as they walked past them. Roberto Reyes had been a mystery, almost no one could put a face to the name of the Earl of Darkhold before. Now he was walking a few feet from them. He was handsome, but no one could deny that the true wonder of this evening was Princess Daisy. Last time anyone had seen her, a few years ago, she was carefree, her long hair tumbling down in waves past her shoulders, pretty, but not as beautiful as now. She held herself straight, chin up, her toned arms could be seen through the fine lace on her sleeves, the kindness in her eyes gone. Instead, there was something else, something much more precious, much more softer, though nobody could name it.

 “Princess Daisy and Prince Roberto of Zephyr!” An announcer exclaimed, futile, because though no one had an idea of how they would look, they knew the moment they descended the stairs that they were them. Their names and the stories linked to them fit them perfectly.

 “Please,” Daisy began, her voice loud and unwavering, “continue!”

 The music picked up again, a harmony of harps, violins and other instruments inviting everyone to dance. Daisy looked around, admiring the smiles everyone wore. At the back of the room, she noticed Jemma, wearing a pretty pink gown, twirling around with Fitz, who looked dashing too.

 A hand was offered to her, freckled and rough. She didn’t recognise it, though it belonged to someone who’s face she’d recognise everywhere. Curious, how one can spend so much time with someone else, without ever noticing their hands, although in her defense, he was rather fond of his leather gloves.

 Gently, Daisy took his hands, her whole body buzzing with sparks. Every fiber in her igniting at the skin-to-skin contact. She snapped her eyes to his, wondering if he experienced this sensory overload too. He was still staring at their adjoined hands.

 “Shall we?”

 He led them to the dancefloor, their hands still clasped together. He stood there shyly, suddenly unsure of what to do. She brought their hands up to the side, placing her other hand on his shoulder. At her reassuring smile, he slid his hand around her waist. Daisy inhaled sharply at the feel of the warm pressure on her back.

 The sounds around them disappeared, the anger inside Daisy subsided, and the voice at the back of Robbie’s mind finally shut up. Only the music floated to their ears, leading them in their dance, and the warmth of where their hands touched each other made them melt. Daisy walls melted like fire to ice. Robbie’s walls crumbled down like an earthquake. Both of them, in this moment, were at their purest and rawest, swirling across the ballroom floor.

 The song ended, and so did their dance. Daisy pulled away from him in one quick motion. With flushed cheeks, she thanked him for the dance and then disappeared in the crowd, leaving a bewildered Robbie behind her.

 Robbie stood frozen, though every cell felt like it was on fire. He flexed his hand, as if her hand had left an impression there, while he stared at her as she disappeared between the laughing and dancing guests. Finally, he got back to his senses, feeling every gaze upon him as he looked lost in the middle of the dance floor. He swiftly entered the mass of people, setting on finding his brother.

 Passing by a large window overlooking the sea, now a dark abyss by cause of the night, only a few light spots reflecting the full moon, he stopped to stare at it.

     His body hit the ground. He heard his ribs crack on impact with the hard soil. His breath becoming more shallow and difficult. The only thoughts running through his head were of his brother, lying mere feet from him. He tried, tried to stand up, walk over to him and help. He couldn’t. The darkness seduced him and he felt himself caving in.  

 He turned to look at the crowd. Laughter. Clinking of glasses. Heels hitting the marble floor. All those sounds reverberated through his skull. All of a sudden painful. He turned back to the window, trying to drown out the sounds with his own memories.

     A voice. Sweet, melodic, but poisonous. Wake up. Wake up! He clawed at the darkness swarming his vision, but it was futile. He slipped into the abyss, his last thought how he failed Gabe.  

 Robbie could feel himself becoming restless. He did not know why the voice inside was hissing, trashing against the restraints Robbie had put him in so he’d stay at the back of his mind. From the corner of his eye, he saw all the bright colours of all the gowns and suits, blinding him with the vibrancy. He needed to get away.

 Pushing past everyone, Robbie strode away from the ballroom, desperate to find a spot where he could calm down. He couldn’t lose control. Not here. Not now.

 As he trashed through the doors, he found himself in a dimly-lit hallway. The flickering torches casted shadows on the walls, dancing with the muted music. He brought his hands to his face and took a deep breath.

 He heard the door behind him open, the orchestra’s melody floating freely to him.

 “Robbie?”

 She sounded caring. Sometimes he forgot what he was when she said his name. Sometimes he actually believed he was Robbie, just like she thought. Better she not know the truth.

 “Yeah?” He turned around and there she was. The shadows dancing around her, like she was some kind of ethereal being and they were worshipping her. Lucky them. He was not worthy to worship her.

 “Are you okay?” She stepped closer.

 “Just tired.”

 “I don’t think they need us anymore. Do you want to go to our room?”

 He knew it wasn’t an invitation. He kept telling himself that. She was too good. He had seen it. But in that moment, he couldn’t be alone. It wasn’t love. It was a desperate need that had risen from years of loneliness. He nodded.

 “Come.” She took his hand and led him through her palace. After a few turns and spiral staircases he recognised the hallway their room was in. The door was right behind the corner. He felt himself walk faster, desperate to reach the familiar surroundings of their chamber. The one that smelt like lavender and vanilla. The one that smelt like her, though he’d never say it out loud. It would calm him down. But the more steps he took, the more his nerves were igniting, his muscles clenching and the voice in his head raging.

     Do you want to avenge your brother?  

 He rounded the corner first. Bells started ringing throughout the castle. An excruciating pain screamed from his gut as he stared into cold blue eyes, belonging to a burnt and blistered face. His hands flew to his stomach, where they came into contact with a warm and sticky fluid. He was bleeding. His vision swam, his body going cold.

     Do you want to avenge your death?  

 He dropped to his knees as he heard Daisy cry his name out. It faded as he slipped into darkness. Darkness. There it was again.

     Yes. More than anything, yes.  

Chapter sixteen - Chapter eighteen

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ this one’s for myself, but also for @jadehendrixmusic who asked on a convo between me and @marvelthismarvelthat that this be written. Enjoy the PAIN but srsly have I told you how much I love Daisy mcfreaking Johnson. This also fills @aosadvent2017 prompt “hope”

“We can’t change the future,” he reminded her. “We couldn’t then and we can’t now. But they did get one thing wrong.”

The real story of how and why Daisy Johnson broke apart the Earth.

Read on AO3 (~2300wd). Rated T. Rshps: Daisy-centric, Daisy & the Team, Daisy & Fitz. Angst with a Happy(ish?) Ending. MCD and I’m not f*ckin around w that

Destroyer of Worlds

In the end, Daisy thought, she should have seen it coming.

She’d felt it for a while, somewhere deep inside herself.

The knowledge that she would bury her friends.

-

For a while they managed to stick together as the world collapsed into chaos around them. They clung to each other, looked after each other so well it almost felt like they were the last real people left on Earth. But of course, there was only so much that seven people could do against an alien dictatorship and soon enough, things started to spiral beyond their control.

Coulson was the first to go, in a fiery, guns-blazing, one-against-the-world sacrifice to buy time while Daisy and Elena escaped, and rescued a mob of Inhumans from the Kree cells.

A little while after that, Jemma’s mysterious immunity to one of the Kree’s favourite pathogens attracted the wrong sort of attention from their leaders. She was captured and – after flatly refusing to cooperate, whether willingly or under duress - experimented on, before finally being released. Delirious with her newly regained freedom, she had sprinted full-tilt for that shadowy corner of the world that the team now called home, until she’d realised - and stumbled and fallen and ploughed into the dirt with the shock of it – that the only reason they would have let her go was because they’d won. She’d contracted something. Something dangerous. Something that could wipe out the resistance.

So she’d run the opposite direction instead, and died alone.

May lasted a little longer than that. She was getting old by the time she went. Her eyes clouded with cataracts and she walked with a permanent limp, her legs and knees having been destroyed and re-knitted so many times. She remained a key strategist in their little band of resistance until the end, and died in as much peace as anyone could afford these days, surrounded by most of the remaining people that loved her.

It was funny, Daisy mused, the way that people used ‘funny’ for things that were not funny at all – like how she was sure that May would have preferred Coulson’s end, and he hers.

Still, the rest of them soldiered on.

-

And then there was Fitz.

His was a slow death, and one of the hardest as the dwindling resistance lost perhaps its truest believer. It started with a painful arthritis - in his hands at first, which was cruel enough, and then it spread to his shoulders, his back, his knees. Still, he refused to stop working; building panel after panel, machine after machine, engines and life support systems and generators and UV light-towers for growing food, and all manner of things that Daisy and even Mack did not fully recognise or understand. As per the policy they’d developed in case of capture, nobody had a clear idea of what all this was supposed to mean, not even the people working on it, until the day Fitz died.

That day, Daisy was curled up in a chair by his bedside as he slept, trying to resist the urge to chew on the sleeve of her jacket. She had asked not to be disturbed, feeling much less the hardy resistance leader their followers knew, and much more the lost girl about to watch one of her best friends disappear before her very eyes.

Fitz mumbled something, incoherent, and Daisy threw herself forward, falling to her knees at his bedside. He smiled – amused, apparently, by her dramatics, as if he wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “’s just what happens when you breathe in metal dust all day, ‘n don’t eat anything, and-“

He cut himself off, his words lost in a barrage of coughing, and Daisy poured him a glass of water. She couldn’t tell if her hands were shaking or if it was the water in the glass itself, but she got it to him eventually and the coughing calmed. She helped rearrange his pillow so that he could sit up, but Fitz batted her away, too tired for the effort. Almost too tired to keep his eyes open. His whole body ached, even as he smiled ruefully over at Daisy.

“Not long now,” he said, his voice croaking with an age he hadn’t lived yet.

She clutched his hand fiercely. “Mack – just wait for Mack. He’s coming in from scouting. He’ll be here soon.”

“That’ll be nice.”

His body shook – once, violently - as if it was about to launch into another coughing fit, but was too tired to manage it. The end was coming faster than he thought it would, and though it hurt to push her away, he had to claw past Daisy to pull open a nearby drawer. He pushed a notebook into her hands. Frowning in confusion, she pulled out more papers from the drawer. On one of them was an illustration of a massive space station. Daisy’s jaw slackened.

“This is what you’ve been building?”

“The Lighthouse,” Fitz confirmed. “That’s what it was called, right?”

“Yeah. The one in – the one in space, after I…” Daisy frowned, piecing things together slowly. “Wait. You don’t think –“

“It’s big enough for several thousand people. Mack’s been helping me make shuttles, too. We’ve been sending bits and pieces into space. It’s nearly ready.”

“Ready? For what? I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do,” Fitz pointed out. He reached out again and Daisy gave him her hand. His squeeze was not as strong as it once had been, and his skin felt papery and odd, but it was still his hand. It still felt warm. With horror, she thought about how this might be the last time she’d ever feel that warmth. But Fitz needed to tell her something, so Daisy looked into his eyes, and saw in them why he had been such a believer. The wonder and the inevitability of the universe.

“We can’t change the future,” he reminded her, his voice soft but steady, and full of conviction. “We couldn’t then and we can’t now. We bought ourselves a little time, with a lot of lives, and here we are. But they did get one thing wrong.”

He smiled.

“You’re Daisy Johnson, and you’re going to save us all.”

-

Those words echoed in Daisy’s mind for hours. Days. They were a lot to live up to – as were the eyes of the gathering crowd, who had fled here from, as far as Daisy could tell, all over the world. Some of them still managed to have such hope that it almost broke her heart at the same time as filling it. Most of them, though, looked to her: the last hope, for humanity and Inhumanity alike.

“Don’t let me fail them,” she whispered. She was not sure to whom. Mack, standing a few feet away, directing refugees about their final missions on Earth? The ghost of Fitz or Jemma or Coulson or May, who she longed to guide her through this? Maybe herself. That’s all she had left, really.

Not long now.

The ground seemed to beat beneath her, as if it could feel the anticipation thrumming through her veins. The crowd buzzed, scared and hopeful, curious and heartbroken. The prospect of spending the next few days in tiny shuttles in the unknown vacuum of space was not an inviting one, but it was better than the alternative: the Kree were turning more and more Inhumans – there were even rumours of mind and blood control – and those pockets of resistance that had made it this far were being snuffed out one by one. As far as Daisy had managed to discover – and as Fitz had probably already known – this was the last one.

Before her sat the last shuttle of the 10-stage interstellar evacuation mission to save humanity.

The SS Hope, Fitz had called it.

That’s why they’d decided to launch it last: in case it pulled a Challenger and blasted itself out of the sky. Nothing killed a revolution like Hope literally going down in flames.

Fortunately - as could always be expected of Fitz and Mack’s work – the other shuttles had all taken off harmlessly and were well on their way up to the Lighthouse. The last of the remaining civilians were walking up the gangplank of the Hope when Elena appeared at Daisy’s side.

Daisy clenched her fist.

“They’re here,” Elena reported.

She’d seen this coming too. Felt it, in the vibrations on the ground: armies, marching. This being their last chance – life or death - they’d be coming after the dregs of the resistance with everything they had.

“We’re ready,” Mack announced, marching down from the gangplank with a determined expression. “Everyone’s strapped in, ready to go.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got company,” Daisy informed him grimly. He frowned, at her, then at Elena, who he knew had been out scouting before. The shotgun axe came down from his back, and he cocked it.

“Where?”

Elena nodded her head in the direction they would have to go, and Mack nodded with determination. To Daisy, he said –

“Get that bird off the ground,”

- and with that he was gone, following Elena to face the firing lines. Two of them against an army would never last long, but for them this had always been where it was going to end. Humanity’s last line of defence. Death so that others may live. Not the worst way to go, all things considered.

Which brings us back to Daisy.

It was with a heaviness in her heart that she signalled for the last pilot to take off. She received his solemn final salute with a stiff upper lip and turned her attention to the task ahead. It was all up to her now and these precious, last few seconds were where she would make her final stand. They were oh-so-close now, and she knew what she had to do.

Daisy lifted her head, proud, feeling the heat on her face and the rush of the air from the engines of the last shuttle lifting off. She reached out after it, feeling its vibrations in the air; feeling her blood sing with the frequency that would get humanity to freedom. A smile touched her lips as she farewelled the ship – after all, maybe she couldn’t literally change the future, but who would have thought that one day she, a scrappy orphan raised in a van, would become this?

Kneeling slowly, Daisy put her outstretched hand on the precious earth. She dug her fingers into its surface and reached down into it with her mind, feeling the frequencies of rock and magma and shifting plates. She reached further than she ever had before, pushing through the nosebleed and the headache, downward and outward until she could hear the running river; the grass crushed underfoot; the kickback of pistols and the falling of bodies in battle not far away. She felt – with a violence she had not expected; so powerful it was as if she could see it – Mack’s body crash to the ground as the immense odds finally overwhelmed him. She was hardly aware of her own self, her own heart breaking, the tears on her own face, with her consciousness spread so wide across the world, but she knew it hurt. And when she felt the hummingbird heartbeat that was Elena die it was if strings were being cut inside her.

Maybe they were.

The last strings holding Daisy to this world were gone. Overwhelmed with the pain and Elena’s scream when Mack was cut down and the dissonant screaming of the earth she screamed too and the world shifted. Rocks cracked and split, magma trembled and fissures broke open – not just at her feet but all across the country. Kree ships were blasted out of the sky. Cracks opened in the earth that swallowed trees and buildings. Her body hummed with all the frequencies of a dying world and Daisy watched herself be lifted into the air, pulling all the threads together into a reluctant, tumultuous harmony. She hit a note, somewhere in there, and all of a sudden it didn’t hurt. It felt like diving into a pool of water; slow and smooth, and she could watch the world collapse around her in slow motion, untouched.

Drifting above the apocalypse, Daisy remembered that once the Asgardian, Sif, had claimed she would be transformed into a Kree weapon; a drone, marching at their beck and call – or worse, a believer in their empire. The Kree themselves had been pretty excited about that too. And Deke, and the others on the Lighthouse fifty-odd years from now, had believed it too, or some version of it anyway. That she’d destroyed their world. Only she knew… she, and the ones who had come before her… that it was not so simple.

She was Quake. Destroyer of Worlds.

Yet, even as the tectonic plates of the Earth cracked and burst by her will, like a glass still in the motion of breaking, she had crushed that name into the dust. There was hardly anything left to destroy. Only enough for one hell of a scorched-earth campaign as the Hope escaped the atmosphere, sailing humanity onto their next sanctuary – and their next challenge.

Those few Kree who had somehow managed to cross the burning, exploding Earth approached Daisy. They looked small, and greedy, and far too confident for the likes of her. Could they not see what she had become?

She was Daisy Johnson. Saviour of Humanity.

And like an opera singer breaking a glass, she waited until the perfect moment to let go the note she’d been holding onto. The harmony shattered, and all the discord of this dying world unleashed at once. It ripped through her fragile human-esque body, and through the Kree, and through the Earth, and the whole planet finally splintered around them.

Daisy died with a bloody, victorious smile upon her face.

[clairenovaking]

"things you said at 1 am" this is literally perfect for phillinda. We all know that Phill doesnt sleep and May would have probably stayed up with him

Their world fell apart and came back together, as it always did.

AIDA and the Superior were dead, dragged to the depths of wherever by Robbie. The framework was destroyed, Mack and Elena both home, though deeply hurting. Fitz and Simmons were on a plane, on their way to Jemma’s parent’s home for a much-needed retreat.

But Phil and Melinda were at the Playground, overseeing the repair of their home. A few of the rooms below hadn’t been damaged, and they’d moved any uncharred belongings they’d found into the handful of rooms- Daisy had agreed to stay and help as well, claiming one of the rooms- Mack and Elena in another. It left Phil and Melinda the choice of either sharing a bed, or Phil sleeping on the floor.

Within moments, Melinda had stated neither of their backs could take the floor anymore, and that she slept on the right. Melinda used the small attached bathroom first, and Phil quickly changed into a pair of Mack’s sweats that had survived and an old Academy t-shirt that had been down in one of the un-disturbed gyms.

Melinda exits the bathroom in a pair of what must be Daisy’s sleep shorts, and a long-sleeved shirt that dwarfs her- it takes him only moments to piece together it’s an old one of his that he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago. He swallows heavily, the weight of the kiss he still hadn’t told her about pressing against his heart.

He goes to brush his teeth, and when he returns, Melinda’s curled up, back to him, the lights already dimmed. Phil swallows hard and slides under the covers- they’re already warm with Melinda’s body heat, and he fights the urge the touch her back lightly like he wants to.

The hours inch along, and sleep refuses to come. It hasn’t come easily in years, and even more so lately, the ache of searching for Melinda driving him to the point where exhaustion didn’t touch him anymore. He tosses and turns until finally he just lays on his back, counting ceiling tiles.

“You’re a shit bed mate,” he nearly jumps out of his skin at Melinda’s soft voice, coughing to cover the yelp he almost lets out.

“I can sleep on the floor,” his voice is so much more tired than he means it to be, and Melinda’s hand is warm on his elbow.

“I didn’t tell you to leave,” she says in way of answer, and she doesn’t take her hand away, and his emotions feel like a bunch of tangled wires, crossing over one another and short-circuiting.

There’s a long silence between Phil finally speaks, unable to hold in the words clogging his throat.

“I kissed the robot,” the confession is hoarse, torn from his lungs, but the relief at the secret finally being out in the open makes him feel like he can properly breathe again. There’s a pause, and a beat, and Melinda’s hand squeezes his elbow.

“I know. Daisy told me,” she whispers, and there is unmistakable amusement in her voice that he can’t understand. “I was waiting to see how long it would take you to tell me.”

Phil is unable to do anything but gape at her, confusion flooding his system, and Melinda- unexpectedly- laughs. It’s a low, musical thing, plucking at the cords of his heartstrings.

“I’m not mad, Phil,” she murmurs, and her breath is warm through the fabric of his shirt as she settles into his side, chin on his shoulder. “You couldn’t know- not when she was simply displaying more courage than I ever have.”

Her palm smooths over his scar through his shirt, warm and solid and grounding.

“I wanted to believe I could be what made you that happy,” he finally whispers, shame tinging his voice, and he feels her shake her head against him, clutching him a little tighter.

“You could,” she whispers, before she swallows. “You do.”

His heart stops at her soft whisper, and tentatively, he lifts a hand until it’s twined in her thick curls, thumb stroking the base of her skull. She gave a soft moan, arching into his side before she buried her face in his neck, arm around his waist.

“I love you,” the words aren’t necessary, but he has to say them, and the shiver Melinda gives against him settles whatever nerves remained in his gut.

“I know,” she whispers back, kissing his shoulder. “Me too.”

Between the soothing motion of her fingers over his scar and the feeling of her hair around his fingers, Phil is lethargic and suddenly exhausted, the weight of the last weeks piling on top of him until his eyelids are too heavy to keep open any longer.

Melinda settles against him, kissing his jaw, and sleep tugs him under for the first time in too long.

[knightrepentant]

Just Good Business pt.1

The Courser’s body lay twitching and mangled upon the floor, scorch marks from laser blasts marring every wall, spent bullet casings bouncing off the Fallen’s boots as he turned from the battle scene. The final door creaked open, and he breathed deeply the rush of air that followed. It still held the sour tang of rads, but after the frantic roar of laser pistols and the snapping of his rifle, the smoke and the blood, after that it was the sweetest thing he’d ever smelled. One hand shielded his eyes from a floodlight’s sickly glare, and eventually the light faded to reveal the Boston cityscape unfurling before him. The sun rested like a loose coal upon the horizon, staining the clouds with amber, but the wind was cool and carried with it the scent of the sea.

               “Now that’s something you don’t see every day,” Limping and bruised, but still smiling, MacCready joined him on the observation deck. “Almost makes up for not getting any caps outta this,” he set his rifle on the floor and walked to the very edge. The Fallen’s heart jumped for a moment, but MacCready simply eased himself to the floor with a pained grunt, his legs dangling over a drop that made The Fallen’s head spin to think of it. He left his rifle, sword, bag of grenades, ammo belt, revolver, 10mm and their last Molotov next to the first rifle and went to sit beside his friend. It wasn’t until he bent down that pain roared all across his chest and abdomen, up one arm and down his right thigh. His gasp made MacCready chuckle and pat his shoulder, “Yeah you took a hell of a beating, gonna need patching up on the way back to the Drive-In.”

               “So will you, can’t believe you tried to sock that thing in the face.” MacCready flexed his bleeding fingers,

               “Yeah, not my smartest move. I think it pissed him off, though, and we’re talking about a Courser here.” The Fallen grinned weakly,

               “Definitely an achievement. But then he threw you over the railing, and I…”

               “Aw, you were worried about me!” A gentle punch hit the Fallen’s shoulder, “But hey, I know how to land, so no harm done.” They sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing out at the fading landscape.

               “Thanks, for doin’ this with me, Mack. Two hundred caps probably didn’t cover huntin’ down a Courser.”

               “What? I don’t give a sh-I mean, I don’t really care about the caps. You went with me to Med-Tek, smashed through all those ferals to get the cure for Duncan. I owed you for that, still do. You were the only person in the Commonwealth who’d even talk to me, besides Daisy.”

               “So you aren’t mad that I wrangled a discount out of you a year ago? Because I honestly didn’t have two-hundred-and-fifty caps on me then. Hell, I didn’t have a clue what I was doin’.” MacCready clapped a hand on his shoulder, carefully,

               “I get it, can’t have been fun, leaving that green and perfect life and waking up to this trash heap.” The Fallen looked down at his burnt and bloody hands,

               “It wasn’t, not at first. But then I met Piper, and Nick and Preston, Curie, even Hancock, and you. Comin’ out of that vault alone, I was goin’ out of my mind.” MacCready’s hand squeezed his shoulder,

               “Then you’re in good company, at least.” The Fallen tried to laugh, but pain lanced through him and turned it into a groan through gritted teeth. A hand riddled with innumerable tiny scars pressed into his chest, “Okay, time to get moving. I’m not carrying you down those stairs if you pass out.” MacCready looped the Fallen’s arm over his shoulders and the pair of them struggled to their feet.

“You would, though.” The Fallen tried his best to smile, “bit like a soldier, am I right?” Deep blue eyes snapped around to meet his, really blue eyes. But MacCready said nothing, and their descent was made in pregnant, restless silence.

The dusk sky was ravaged in red and black smog and threaded with rad-lightning.

“Shi-shoot, radstorm, masks on. Their ‘masks’ were actually just neckerchiefs that they just pulled up over their faces. The Fallen was walking upright now, his Pip-Boy held high in front of him to pierce the choking darkness. MacCready was close behind him, so much so that the Fallen could feel his ragged breathing,

“Mack, you okay?”

“Leg’s killing me, and keep your voice down. I don’t wanna get up close and personal with a ghoul pack in these woods.” Boston centre was disappearing behind the hill now, and around them was nothing but dead and twisted trees, and the murk wallowing between. The Fallen heard a family of crows shuffling high above and felt his fingers flicker instinctively to the rifle trigger. Ahead, an angular silhouette loomed atop a rise.

Some old pylon, rusted and swathed in ivy, offered meagre shelter from the winds. MacCready sat slumped against a toppled sign marked ‘DANGER – HIGH VOLTAGE’ until the Fallen returned with his arms full of dead wood. “It’s a risk making a fire, but right now I just wanna be warm.” The Fallen piled the kindling high and began patting his pockets, to no avail,

“Shit. Mack, you got a light?” A silver lighter tumbled across the gap into his hand and soon their small shelter basked in a sphere of orange light. The Fallen lit a cigarette off of a smouldering branch, took a long drag, and then passed it over. MacCready blew a long plume of smoke up into the cloud of embers dancing above the flames,

“Thought you didn’t smoke,” he said, flashing a look of mocking admonition, “’not a healthy lifestyle’ or something like that.” The Fallen limped over to sit beside him, plucked the cigarette from MacCready’s mouth and stole a drag,

“Yeah, well, today’s a special occasion. Now I’m one step closer to gettin’ my son back, I don’t care how many clockwork men the Institute throws at us.”

“I hear that. Shaun’s lucky to have a dad like you.” MacCready scuffed at the dirt with one foot, “Luckier’n my son, anyw…”

“Hey…hey! Thought we said no more of that kinda talk.” The Fallen got up to squat in front of his friend, “You got dealt a crap hand, in the kingdom of crappy hands, and you made it work. We got the cure from Med-Tek and come sunrise it’ll be on its way to Duncan, lotta folks woulda waved him goodbye and then kept on walkin’, Mack. So no more beatin’ yourself down, deal?” He proffered the cigarette. MacCready almost met his gaze as he reached for it, but when the ash flared at its end he saw the glow reflected in those ocean-blue eyes. The merc gave the slightest nod, “well, alright. And speakin’ of special occasions, I reckon this is as good a time as any to show you somethin’ really special.” He pulled up his pack and began rummaging in a secure pocket, muttering under his breath, until a triumphant hand pulled free towards the sky. “Check it out,” he held out a stout bottle full of rich amber liquor. MacCready took it and struggled through the writing that remained,

“Forester…Whisky?”

“Yup, and the best mind you, pre-war, not the cats-piss they call whisky these days.” MacCready smiled and handed the bottle back, 

“245-year-old liquor does sound good right about now,”

“No finer way to get drunk, and no man I’d rather get drunk with,” the Fallen raised the bottle in a mock toast, only to gasp in pain and clutch at his side. MacCready was on his feet in an instant, rescuing the bottle from falling and propping the Fallen against the fallen pylon. He pulled the Fallen’s duster back to reveal a dark stain running from armpit to waist,

“How the heck didn’t you notice this?! Sit…just sit down a moment, while I get…get the…” the Fallen growled in pain as he hit the grass,

“The red case in my pack, nicked a bunch of vac-sealed bandages from Med-Tek, should be enough for both of us.” As MacCready scattered the pack’s contents in his search, the Fallen tried to shrug off his coat, which only sent another ripple of pain across his back. Reaching over to pull his arm from its sleeve met with the same result and he sagged, “Mack. Mack I can’t…”

“Hang on, Sam. hang on, I got…stop fidgeting,” The coat was carefully slid from his shoulders, “Shirt too. I think it’s bad.” His fingers slipped on the shirt buttons, the Fallen could hear his own ragged breathing as he fought for what seemed an eternity to undo each one. Then the shirt was off, and “Oh god…” was all MacCready managed. Somehow, the shirt had been keeping the pain at bay, but now exposure to the cold brought it rushing in. His muscles felt taut, knotted and on fire all at once. Looking down, the Fallen saw a maddening tapestry of purple and black spread across his chest, abs, left shoulder and left arm, and a weeping wound in his left side. He was shaking now,

“Mack…” But MacCready was already working, he’d found the silver tin Curie had given him. Inside was a clear ointment, he’d only half-understood her explanation of how she’d made it but as MacCready started applying it, a cold even sharper than the wind, he found he didn’t mind. It stung terribly for a moment as it covered the laceration, but that quickly faded to blessed numbness. A sigh gusted from his lungs, which only burned a little bit now,

“Fuck me, that’s good.” MacCready gave a nervous chuckle,

“Yeah, well that’s Curie’s handiwork not mine,”

“I dunno, you seem to be doin’ fine to me,” another blue glance, hands slowing in their work for just a moment,

“Done, how’s it feel?” the Fallen cautiously flexed his arms and rolled his left shoulder back,

“Curie knows her stuff, barely twinges. Bandages now.” Fresh from vac-seal, the strips were a pristine white and soft against his skin. MacCready was less frantic now, his hands deft but unhurried,

“Arm up,” the Fallen obliged, and MacCready wound and wound the bandage tight.

“You’d have been a great medic, y’know,” the Fallen said softly as his friend pulled the knot taut. MacCready made a sound that could’ve been scorn, or amusement,

“I’m way better at shooting people than patching ‘em up, but I’ll do both if it keeps your crazy head on your shoulders.” The Fallen just shook his head with a grin,

“Thanks. Now, coat off, shirt off.” MacCready’s duster crackled as he pulled it away, “Geez, dude, when’s the last time you aired this thing out? It was startin’ to become part of you,” the Fallen tossed it over a girder and leaned forward,

“Hey, I can do my own buttons…”

“Hush now, the doctor is workin’.” MacCready snorted, then winced. The Fallen took up the tin of salve and began spreading it over the bouquet of bruises up MacCready’s right side, across his chest. MacCready’s sigh of relief was cut short, “Yeah, still got your stomach to do, that Courser nearly punched a hole through you. Kneel up, Mack.”

He obliged, and the Fallen carried on. Hands made rough by clutching a rifle felt smooth beneath the salve, the Fallen’s fingers getting tangled in his belly hair made MacCready look up. Eyes, soft as silk at times, unbending as steel at others, blinked slowly up at him, then darted away. “Just have to wrap you up now.” The Fallen worked with precise, gentle movements. He noted every old scar, every nick in the skin without really thinking about it. MacCready had muscle but it was all lean and tough, wiry but solid. He stepped back, “Good as new, eh? Now,” he snatched up the whiskey bottle, “we get to the good part.”

“OHHH, THEY CALL ME THE WANDERER…THE WANDERER…I ROAM AROUND, AROUND, AROUND, AROUND…!” Two voices bellowed a tone-deaf accompaniment to Diamond City Radio’s greatest hits. The Fallen’s Pip-Boy was propped up on a tree stump at max volume, while two bandaged lunatics staggered and bounced in rings around the campfire. MacCready’s hat clung to his head a jaunty angle, threatening to abandon ship as he tilted his head back to take another gulp of liquor, “I ROAM FROM TOWN TO TOWN…” The Fallen took a swig from the bottle, “LIVIN’ LIFE, WITHOUT A CARE…” Their laughter, reminiscent of drunken hyenas, echoed off the skeletal trees, “I’M AS HAPPY AS A CLOWN…!” The Fallen had one arm around MacCready’s waist as they jumped to the beat, the other swung the bottle high overhead. He brought it down for another gulp as MacCready pulled his hair from in front of his eyes. The Fallen made up his mind. MacCready met him halfway, arms pulling tight, pulling him close. Travis’ stuttering voice blurred into the background as their kiss deepened. The Fallen’s fingers pushed droplets of sweat down MacCready’s back, hands exploring faded scars on his stomach, grasping at his backside... 

The old bottle fell on its side in the grass.