clearascountryair replied to your post âthat fic research feel when you start going on actual university...â
I FEEL THIS SO HARD. It's so frustrating, especially when I'm writing period pieces. My Victorian AU is temporarily on hold because some train things don't quite work with the plot and it's STRESSING ME OUT
Hey, Iâve been looking up train things too! Schedules and stuff, where stations are, etc. Not Victorian things, thank goodness, because I think that would kill me so I definitely appreciate your pain. Iâm currently bothered because my fic requires at least one train ride but it would be easier to just...drive the distance in the car...because getting on the train requires driving about 8 miles in the opposite direction I need to go just to get on said train. But I think I can come up with a good excuse for it. I think.
agent-85 replied to your post âthat fic research feel when you start going on actual university...â
I feel this.
GOTTA HAVE THOSE ACCURATE DETAILS.
unproductivepeanut replied to your post âthat fic research feel when you start going on actual university...â
I went on Google Maps to find places for characters in mine, and then also looked up the names of doctors, vets, etc in the area...
Oh I have been on Rightmove looking up flats once I got my median salaries locked down and figured out how much they could swing a month on rent. Then I got on Google Maps to find a suitable public place for a Major Plot Event to happen because Iâm going to have to refer to the area by name, and Iâm going to be back on Google Maps soon because Iâll need to reference landmarks around the city. Fortunately for me, I love looking at real estate and maps. :D :D
(Currently mired down in how UK academic staff ranking works)
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Rani! I have a fic prompt, if you don't mind? Jemma asking Fitz: "Are you still mine?"
I never mind for youuuu! :) hereâs a healthy dose of angst, haha. just what the doctor ordered? *cries about Fitzsimmons forever*
Up on AO3! Beginning below:
âââ-
Fitz thinks of all the evenings he longed for her, ashamed of both his lust and his love. He can still feel the ache he buried so deeply within himself it became part of his genetic makeup. He remembers lying on his bed in a cramped bunk, the quiet whir of the plane bleaching to white noise, thinking: I love you and I want you to be happy, even if itâs not with me. He remembers the traitorous prayer, washing over him each night as he faded into sleep, when he was at his most vulnerable and could no longer fight it: But please, please love me back.
He thinks of this and wonders how he could have been so naĂŻve. Heâd had so little experience of the world; he didnât know it was possible to share a bed with someone you loved with your whole heart and still feel empty and alone. He didnât know it was possible to receive everything youâd ever wished for, only to watch yourself slowly tear it all to shreds.
Maybe things would be different if they werenât in some mysterious space prison. Maybe on Earth there could be therapy and indefinite leave to a cottage in Perthshire. He imagines it, sometimes, when he feels he deserves the extra punishment. Jemma would smileâlike she used to, not this small brittle expression she gives him now, as if heâll shatter at any moment.
Here theyâve all been separated. He hears murmurings from the guards occasionally, a whispered mention of âCoulsonâ or a sneering, contemptuous âLittle Ms. Quake.â A part of him canât wait until theyâre free and Daisy makes their captors pay, but mostly he keeps his head down and hands Jemma the tools she needs.
As far as he can tell, the menial labor they do only serves to keep this ship/station/rock thing in space. Still, he canât help the tremors that run through him at the idea that his work, however inconsequential, could be supporting something horrible and he has no idea. He had refused, at first, which landed him in solitary confinement with no food or water until Jemma had been allowed in his cell to beg.
âWeâre just keeping ourselves alive,â sheâd said. âI canât find any evidence that what weâre doing in the lab is hurting anyone.â
At his silence she had grabbed his hand. âI promise, and if Iâm wrong itâll be my burden to bear.â
And when he still didnât respond, she had forced him to look at her and she had cried. âYou canât do this to me,â she said. âYou canât kill yourself like this.â
So now his days follow a steady, unvarying rhythm heâs never before experienced: a shrill, station-wide alarm in the morning, a quick shower, toast and butter with Jemma and a ridiculous number of guards, mindless work in the lab, a thirty-minute lunch break, rotations to fix a keyboard or the wiring in a door panel, dinner with Jemma and a second group of guards, and then lights out in their room.
He has the side of the bed near the wall, and every night he curls as far away from her as he can manage. During the day, they work together seamlessly. Sometimes they even joke, and sometimes he looks at her and for half a second believes theyâre back home in their lab, happy and in love, before everything fell apart.
But at night their bodies are too close and heâs never felt more alone. She cries when she thinks heâs asleep, silently, her body barely moving.
He wants to extend a hand and touch her. He wants to hold her and tell her everything will be okay. But he would be lying, and at any rate, heâs lost the right. So he listens to her cry and bites down on his knuckles, hard, to keep himself from reaching for her. Eventually, her shaking subsides into the tortured breathing of her nightmares, and he lets sleep force him under as well.
Every morning he wakes before her to find himself tangled up in her limbs, as if heâs drowning and sheâs his life raft, and he hates himself for it.
Maybe an unpopular opinion, but The Dancing Men is my fave. :)
Mine too! I mean, thereâsÂ
brotp
banter and sarcasm
Academy FS *and* SciOps FS leading into show FS
secret codes
audience participation
I really need to go back and finish it up. I have it all planned out, so it really comes down to my lacking inspiration on the puzzles. Iâll get back to it one day! I promise!
Prompt: Jemma saying Fitzâs name and Fitz telling her how good it is to hear it.
Requested by @agent-85
This didnât come out quite like I expected. Hope you still like it!
The way they looked at him â he hated it. It was just like when he came out of his coma, dealing with his hypoxia.
They all treated him like he was ⌠broken.
More than that, they treated him like they didnât ⌠know him anymore. He couldnât even remember them saying his name. They werenât personal, they werenât warming.
They tiptoed around him, avoided any words or concepts they might see as a trigger, and Daisy ⌠she flinched at his touch.
He deserved it â from all of them â but what Fitz didnât understand was how after everything he put them through, they somehow still forgave him. Forgiveness or not though, they still treated him like he was a cracked window â ready to shatter at any moment.
Everyone, except Jemma.
All she did was hold him. She hardly even spoke, knowing neither of them ever needed words for communication. Fitz expected Jemma to be revolted by the sight of him â yet, instead, she wouldnât let him out of her sight.
He didnât deserve it. He didnât deserve any of it. Leopold was a man of hate and rage and murder. He didnât deserve to be loved by someone so ⌠delicate, and loving, and perfect.
But how she was acting, he knew Jemma would argue his ear off, him even mentioning the idea that she belonged with someone less ⌠corrupt.
Fitz was hunched over in a seat by the medical equipment, Jemma by his side. The world was falling apart around them, Ophelia and AIDA or whatever he should call her now after him. After all of them.
She wanted him dead.
He didnât blame her.
Jemma tightened her grip on his arm, and Fitz looked up, watching her face. âFitz,â she started, and suddenly his heart felt like it sank down into his stomach. âThereâs something I want to talk to you about,â
Fitz.
He almost forgot what it was like to be called that name. His name.
A name he was starting to think he should only reserve for Jemma herself.
Fitz interrupted her to say, âCan you say that again?â
âUm,â Jemmaâs brow creased as she said, âThereâs something I want to talk to you-â
âNo, no not that. Before that.â
He straightened his spine, never breaking eye contact. Jemma was in awe; he hadnât really looked her in the eyes since before everything. She missed seeing the ocean in his irises, his every emotion speaking volumes just through his eyes. She missed him.
âFitz?â she finally said, more as a question than anything.
Fitzâs face lit up, tears pooling his eyes again, a broken smile covering his features. âYeah,â he let out a shaky breath. âThat.â
Jemmaâs distorted face of confusion softened into a look of remorse, yet still a gentle smile over her lips. âOh FitzâŚâ She pulled him into her embrace, her eyes closed tight, trying to keep anymore tears from coming out.
âI guess I neverâŚâ Fitz muttered into her shoulder, his arms tight around her. âI missed hearing it.â He exhaled, his hold on her becoming even more firm. âI missed hearing you say it.â
Jemma let out a chuckle, âYou know, I once was told that your name seemed to be my favorite word.â Fitz breathed out a chuckle. Jemma pulled him back so she could meet his gaze again. She felt a tinge of pain when he seemed to avoid her eyes â but she understood. She softly placed her hand on the side of his face as she finished. âThey were right.â
Fitzâs eyes lifted, rejoining hers. He shook his head, grabbing her hand from his cheek, and said, âIt shouldnât be.â
âI donât know,â she shrugged, intertwining her fingers in his. âI donât think I could think of a better word to ever say.â
âJemma,â he watched their hands, his thumb tracing her knuckles. âI donât⌠I donât deserve ââ
âFitz,â he looked up immediately, tears stinging his eyes. Jemma gave him a warm, loving smile. âThat man in the Framework? He may not deserve anything â but you, Fitz, you of all people deserve forgiveness.â
He wagged his head, his neck craning over as he detangled his hand from hers. âItâs you I donât deserve, Jemma.â
She grabbed his hand, before he could take them away from her reach. âThatâs the most absurd thing Iâve heard all day.â She laughed a little. âAnd I heard Talbot threaten Daisy.â
He laughed, against his better judgment. âHow can you stand the sight of me?â
âWell, you may not realize this, but youâre actually extremely attractive.â
He looked up at her, smirk on his face. âJemma,â
âBecause, Fitz,â she sighed, scooting closer to him so that their legs touched. âYouâre my favorite word. Youâre my everything. I love you, and I ⌠well, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. With Leopold James Fitz. The man who would cross universes just to save his friends. The man who would create or do anything to protect people.â
âWhat youâre saying is Iâm reckless,â
âWhat Iâm saying is you have a heart of gold, a heart I love. You only want to make the world a better place, Fitz, and thereâs nothing wrong with that.â
âIâŚâ he sighed. âI shot you.â
âYeah, well, in your defense, I did shoot your dad.â
Fitz scoffed, his head lowering again. âYeah, good riddens.â
They were quiet for a moment, and Jemma decided to be bold again â and mention it. âFitz,â He didnât look up, he said nothing, but he grabbed her hand in response- intertwining their hands once more. This gave her hope. âI started to say earlier, I wanted to talk to you about something,â
His eyes linked to hers. âAnything.â
She shouldnât mention it. Not now.
He was so unsure about their future, though. Maybe this would be a boost of encouragement he needed.
âI donât know, I just, Iâm not sure how to say this but-â
He stopped her, his mind clearly thinking back to before. âDid you say you wanted to spend the rest of your life with ⌠with me?â
A smile broke out over Jemmaâs face, a laugh escaping her. âYou heard that, huh?â He looked hopeful, but he also looked ⌠almost devastated. Jemma felt her heart race. Â
âJemma, IâŚâ
âFitz, just listen.â She shrugged a little, grasping his hands with more devotion. âThese past weeks have made me realize that I want nothing more than to be able to say your name for as long as I live, say your name to you, and-â
âYou want to get married?â
Jemma let out an exasperated breath. âYou didnât just listen.â
âSorry,â he bowed his head over, then looked back up. âYou want to be called Jemma Fitz?â
Jemma beamed. âWell, we could always hyphenate our name, butâŚâ She laid a hand on his cheek. âYes. It is my favorite word, after all.â
âAfter everything Iâve done? Everything youâve seen me do?â
âThat doesnât matter, Fitz. None of it does.â Both of her hands were on both sides of his face now, her eyes searching his. âYou really think that I care so little for you that I would just leave you, after everything weâve been through? My feelings will never change.â
Fitz returned her stare, his soft blue eyes piercing anyoneâs soul. Before Jemma knew it, his lips were on hers, their mouths fitting together like two pieces to a puzzle. Her hands ran through his hair, his arms wrapping around her waist. They lost themselves in each other, only pulling apart to gasp a breath.
Jemma leaned her forehead to his, watching their hands as he held hers. He lifted her knuckles to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to her skin. âYou know I could never⌠I could never love anyone but you, right?â
Jemmaâs eyes fluttered, her head tilting back to see his eyes. âI know.â She kissed him softly before saying, âThereâs only room in my heart for you, too.â He furrowed his brows. âI mightâve been listening, before AIDA ⌠lost it.â
A look of almost relief swept over him. Then, they were quiet in each otherâs presence. He held her hands, swiping her fingers with his thumbs.
âCould you ⌠could you say it again?â He asked, his voice soft.
At first Jemma didnât know what he meant, but seeing his face â she knew. âFitz,â she let out a content sigh. âI love you, Fitz.â
He clamped his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to hers again. âI love you, too, Jemma.â He let out an amused chuckle. âI like the sound of that. Jemma FItz.â
Jemma grinned, everything finally feeling like they might just be okay after all. âI donât know, I think I like Jemma Fitzsimmons better.â
Fitz gave her hand a squeeze, pressing a kiss on her temple. âPerfect.â
Hey, Amy! How about 7. Things you said while we were driving?
7. Things you said while we were driving. Non-SHIELD AU.
---
âTurn left up ahead, and the driveway will be on the right.â
Fitz tightened his grip on the steering wheel. âMy right or your right?â
Jemma chuckled from the passenger seat, and if he dared glance away from the road, he knew heâd see her rolling her eyes. âWeâre facing the same direction, Fitz, so Iâd say itâs both of our rights.â
He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, then let it out slowly. âI knew that. Of course. Iâm just a little bit--â
âDiscombobulated? Panicked? Completely out of your head with worry about--â
â--meeting your parents for the first time. Yes. To all of those.â The only driveway in sight was a long, winding one with an intimidating brick mansion looming at the top of it. With a grimace, Fitz pulled the car into it and killed the engine.
âFitz.â Jemma slid her hand over his on the steering wheel, gently prying his fingers loose to twine with her own. He still didnât look at her, his eyes pinned on the house up ahead. âFitz,â she repeated. He swallowed thickly. âFitz!â
âYeah, thatâs-- hi,â he said lamely, finally tearing his eyes away from the house to look at his girlfriend of six weeks. Her smile was soft, and he somehow managed to match it with one of his own. He felt at least 5% less anxious.
âMy parents are going to adore you.â
He exhaled through his nose again. âHow do you know that?â
Jemma squeezed his hand, then let go, reaching up instead to cup the back of his neck and scratch her fingertips through his curls. âBecause Iâm their progeny. And while there is quite a bit of debate about nature versus nurture-- how much of a role do genetics play in things like taste, preferences, et cetera?â Her eyes lit up as she spoke, and he knew that if he let her, sheâd go on and on and theyâd be late for dinner. As much as he loved it when she got worked up about science, he didnât relish the idea of showing up to meet her family 45 minutes behind schedule. âIn fact, I was just reading a fascinating study in which researchers at Cambridge--â
âJemma?â
She blinked at him, regaining her focus. âRight. As I was saying-- theyâre my parents, and theyâll adore you just as I adore you.â
Fitz let out a breathy laugh in spite of himself, looking down at his hands in his lap. âYou do?â
âQuite right I do,â she said, her thumb grazing his earlobe, making him suppress a shiver. âI canât seem to help myself. And thatâs how I know my parents are going to feel the same way.â
âBecause of genetics?â He met her eyes again, and she smiled in a way that made hers crinkle at the corners, a smile heâd come to love already.
âBecause of genetics. And not least of all, because theyâd be utter fools not to.â
He felt another 5% of his worry slipping away, and she settled back into her seat, letting her hands drop to her lap.
âWeâd better get inside,â he said, reaching for the door handle.
âFitz?â He turned to look at her, noting her raised eyebrows and the amusement on her face. She nodded toward the house. âMaybe we could pull up the driveway just a bit more.â
He peered out the windshield to see that her parentsâ house was still rather far away-- heâd parked the car just inside the mouth of the drive. Flushing, he turned the key in the ignition and began to creep forward.
âSorry,â he muttered. âHope theyâre not watching from the front window. Theyâllâve thought theyâve got some kind of strange prowler on their hands.â
Jemmaâs laugh rang out, the sound a balm to his worried heart. âWell, youâre my strange prowler, a strange prowler theyâd be fools not to love. Remember?â She grinned at him. âGenetics.â
By the way Jemmaâs parents kept exchanging knowing looks across the table as the dinner progressed, Fitz later had to admit, she may have been right.
Send me one of these prompts for a possible minific!
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Headcanon: your closet is basically a magic wardrobe that transports you to can heaven.
You mean con heaven? :D I mean it is basically filled with nothing but all of my Jemma and Amy Pond clothes, and thereâs a big box in that back corner filled with cosplay bits and bobs, and all the shoes and boots Iâve acquired through cosplay (why do I have so many pairs of boots???) so yeah I guess you are pretty much right! The only thing my closet do is transport me straight to DragonCon, which is a definite buzzkill. Boo.