#aosficnet

[florchis]

Hanging from the fire stairs

[AO3] {Staticquake, rated M, 2300w}

Summary: When they put an end to their fake relationship, Lincoln never expected them to jump straight into secret relationship territory.

Notes: Happy blogversary, @tomatobookworm! It is a delight to share a fandom with you. This is also a fill for my @mcukinkbingo card, square: wearing a condom.

Sneak-Peek:

“...fine, I will wait on the fire stairs. But this is the only time!”

“Only time, I swear.” She promises, once again on her feet, and with all seriousness, she offers him her right pinky to close the pact.

It is cold outside after being pulled out of her couch and her arms so suddenly, but with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Lincoln bites back a laugh when he hears Daisy opening the door to their friend.

“Jemma, you are an embarrassment to all Millenials! You don’t show up at people’s doorsteps without sending a text first!”

#aosficnet #aosfic #staticquake #daisy johnson #lincoln campbell #aos #my stuff #florchis writes things

[besidemethewholedamntime]

they danced by the light of the moon

because canon never gifted me with them actually slow dancing, so I wrote them slow dancing as many times as I could make plausible :p it was a journey but we got there in the end. I hope you enjoy!

Summary:

"Their first dance is at the Academy.

It’s not really dancing, per se. It could be dancing, it should be dancing, but what they are doing is most definitely not. Jemma is rigid, attempting to execute the steps as though they were the steps of a mathematical equation and not a waltz. Fitz is loose-limbed, gangly, and his attempts to pass his partner forward in the progressives look more as though he is attempting to send her into orbit."

Six times that Fitzsimmons try to slow dance, and the one time that they manage to get it right.

{Read on Ao3}

or read a little bit below!

Their first dance is at the Academy.

It’s not really dancing, per se. It could be dancing, it should be dancing, but what they are doing is most definitely not. Jemma is rigid, attempting to execute the steps as though they were the steps of a mathematical equation and not a waltz. Fitz is loose-limbed, gangly, and his attempts to pass his partner forward in the progressives look more as though he is attempting to send her into orbit.

Their instructor, already frustrated at trying to corral the mixed group of cadets into learning this skill for the upcoming ball amidst waves of protestation, pairs them together in the hope that they’ll balance each other out. You should never have been apart, is what he grumbles as he walks off. Only bad things happen.

It seems bad things can happen when they are together, also. Psychic connection they may have, but apparently it doesn’t extend to the dancefloor. Jemma grips too tightly to Fitz’s arm and leaves the marks of her fingernails behind. Fitz’s attempts to spin her leave her arm almost ripped from its socket.

“How can you be so bad at this?” She hisses, after one particularly violent twirl. “It’s practically just physics.”

“Oh well excuse me,” he blusters, trying not to think about them being the closest they’ve ever been in the six months they’ve known each other. He glares at the nails in his bicep instead. “You’re the one that’s trying to steer me about the place like I’m a bloody car, Simmons. I’m a person.”

{Read the rest on Ao3}

#aosficnet #fitzsimmons #aos #fitzsimmons fics #fanfic by moi #oh my gosh this was a journey and a half #i have lost sleep over this fic #completely my own fault but still #i'm just such a sucker for slow dancing #and this was originally only meant to be parts 5 and 6 but it ended up being a whole thing #and then i tried to make them really short but part 2 got so long and i really liked part 2 #plus part 6 totally got away from me but i had so much fun with it #i loved this fic but i'm strangely happy to post it and be done with it #anywho #i hope you enjoy!

[ink-blot-angel]

you’re only young once, my loved one 

Whatever reaction Jemma was expecting, it certainly wasn't the look of confusion on her daughter's face. "Mama," Alya says slowly. "Who's May?"

"Oh!" exclaims Jemma. "Melinda — your Auntie Minda."

"Why do you call her May and not M'inda?"

In which kids ask the darndest things, like why Alya's mother has a different name for her favorite aunt. Canon-compliant, post-series finale.

I've read a lot of people found it weird that Jemma called May by her last name in the finale flashforward, but I thought it was lovely and said a lot about how much closer they've gotten ever since.

Here's a little headcanon (fix-it?) about how it may have developed since the show decided to just skip all that... and naturally, I couldn't resist making little parallels. ;)

Read on Ao3

#type: fic #agents of shield #marvel's agents of shield #aos fic #aosficnet #aos fanfic #ao3 #melinda may #jemma simmons #alya fitzsimmons #post-finale #fix-it of sorts

[daisymayjohnson]

Hot Chocolate

A coffeeshop Philindaisy au!

“Daisy, baby, stop please,” Melinda called out as her five-year-old daughter started skipping ahead on the sidewalk, halting with a pout right before a stoplight. 

“Don’t cross the street without me, alright?” Melinda chastised. Daisy frowned and started bouncing in place, waiting impatiently for her mother to catch up so they could cross. “But you’re so slow,” she complained, dragging out the word dramatically.

Melinda chuckled and took her daughter’s hand before allowing Daisy to drag her across the street. “Wow, you really want that hot chocolate, don’t you.”

“You promised, Mommy!” Daisy exclaimed. “‘Cos I was good at the lib-ary.”

“Library, honey.”

“Lib-ary.”

Melinda sighed and smiled at her daughter swinging their arms back and forth. Once they reached the sidewalk, she let go of her mother’s hand and started skipping ahead.

“Baby, hold on. You passed the cafe.”

Daisy frowned and whirled around as Melinda checked with Google Maps to make sure she was in the right place before stopping in front of a cozy cafe. “In here,” Melinda prompted, holding the glass door open for her daughter and following her inside.

Lined with vines and string lights, the atmosphere of the cafe was cozy and warm, with a smell of coffee and citrus filling the air. Seeing no line, Daisy bounded up to the front counter, pouting when she was too short to see over it. She reached her tiny hands up and tapped them on the top of the counter impatiently.

A man in a black apron and wire-rimmed glasses came out from the back area wiping his hands on a towel, grinning as he saw little fingers trailing the edge of the marble. “Hello, little one,” he said kindly, leaning on the counter and then looking up to Melinda. “Welcome to Bright Bites. I’m Phil; I’ll be helping you today. What’s her name?”

Melinda felt her breath catch as she met the bright blue eyes, but quickly covered it up with a light cough before smiling brightly. “Hello. Her name’s Daisy. I’m Melinda,” she supplied, before realizing that he’d only asked for her daughter’s name. She quickly covered up her words by asking, “You’re the manager?”

“Owner, actually,” he answered brightly. “I gave the kids that work here the day off; they could use it. Finals week for universities, you know.” Melinda sighed internally. She hoped she hadn’t offended him by assuming he wasn’t the owner. She probably hadn’t, but still. “What would you like?”

“A hot chocolate, please,” Daisy piped up, standing on her tippy toes so that her eyes were peeking up at Phil. She smiled happily. “You’re pretty.” 

Phil chuckled as he started making Daisy her hot chocolate. “Thank you very much,” he answered, visibly amused. 

Melinda had to agree with her daughter’s blunt and unfiltered compliment. In truth, he was pretty. He had blue eyes that sparkled and a smile that lit up the room- Damn, she was getting sappy, and she didn’t like it. She hadn’t been cheesy about a man like this in years. She must’ve been getting old and soft.

“And for you?”

Melinda shook her head. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“She don’t drink coffee!” Daisy confirmed.

“We have tea,” he suggested, and his smile was so earnest that she returned it and shrugged. “Sure, thanks.”

“Let me guess… you’d like a hibiscus tea?” he asked, filling up a mug with hot chocolate.

“Yes, please,” she answered, a little surprised that he guessed her favorite tea. Daisy was too. 

“Are you a mind reader? Mommy drinks hib- hib- hibissus every day.” Daisy stumbled a little over the words before grinning widely at Phil.

READ THE REST ON AO3 <3

#philinda #aos fic net #aosficnet2 #aosficnet #philinda fic #philindaisy #philindaisy fic #philinda fics #phil coulson #melinda may #daisy johnson #daisy johnson fic #daisyjohnsonedit #kid daisy johnson #aosauaugust

[sinkingsidewalks]

things not found

3k, T rated, set early S7, character study

Read on AO3

I. Arrival of the Birds

When she thinks back to the girl who stepped off the plane in America, walked through the doors of the Academy, the image curls in the back of her throat. It’s the not quite nausea of gravity pulling when the Zephyr takes off. Milk curdling in a saucepan on the stovetop just a second before she can tend it. A two day old sunburn that still aches against sticky sheets when she lays on her back.

She was so small – no shorter than she is now – and brittle and young. She remembers the suitcase – too large for her – and the handsome blond that hefted it up the dorm stairs when he saw her yanking it up, banging, step by step, by the handle. Her hands shook and her palms sweat and she shrunk even further when he smiled at her. It aches, like the first day of a cold, before you know you’re really sick, but she can’t shy away from it.

She thinks of the dorm room that was so small it felt like it curled around her and the wide open lecture halls she gave presentations to without a hint of a tremble in her fingertips and talking so fast no one could understand her words but not being able to shape them properly around her ideas anyway.

Now when she speaks it’s pitch perfect, like she’s running from a script, perfectly memorized, so vivid she can read it behind her eyes like her Chem textbook after three weeks of studying for her A levels. Every word structured in the paragraphs and sentences of a finished essay – fact, evidence; statement, correlation. Her voice doesn’t shiver, it’s too cold, or shake; her words don’t wander away from her, hardly even when she talks to Fitz.

She hadn’t always been prim and proper, she was the kind of child who raced her bike through mud puddles and spent hours digging in the garden with her Gran, but the older everyone got around her, as she passed placement tests and evaluations and left her peer group behind, the more mature she had to be. By the time she reached America it was a well-worn habit, a cozy knit sweater that shielded her against the wind, and now it’s a mask that only slips in the stormiest of weather.

Read the rest on AO3

#fanfic #fanfiction #aos #fitzsimmons #7x01 #fstag #fsfic #aosficnet2 #aosficnet #agents of shield #jemma simmons #Daisy Johnson #leo fitz #aos fanfic #aos 7x01 #this one is maybe terrible i do apologize

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ At long last; a *very* belated Roaring Twenties Rarepair Exchange gift for the amazing @bobbimorseisbisexual (lazyfish), who prompted “Scis & Spies + Regency AU".

This fic was inspired by the show Gentleman Jack, which is technically set in the Georgian era but it's pretty close! It’s also the longest thing I’ve written in like a year, and my first ever S&S fic! Though it may not be apparent from the appalling lateness, I had a great time writing this; I hope you enjoy it too <3

Rated T. Mostly fluffy. Relationships: Scis & Spies (Bobbi x Simmons x Fitz x Hunter, polyamory)

Read on AO3 (3800wd)

The Jacks and the Gentlemen

Barbara Elizabeth Morse was a woman of a peculiar kind. She always had been.

Ever since she had developed the capacity to loathe things, for example, Barbara had loathed her name; in particular, the foremost. But the fact that she insisted on being addressed as “Bobbi” instead was merely the first in a long line of deviations she took from the expected norm of her assigned sex so that by young adulthood, she had permanently marked herself as quite the oddity.

Growing up, Bobbi had no interest in the banal niceties expected of a woman of her station, and less than none in frills and petticoats or tending house. Even learning the arts and languages and traipsing around her family’s estate on horseback became dull and boring after a time. What was the point after all, Bobbi reasoned, of broadening one’s horizons if one was only permitted to gaze at them from the safety and mundanity of one’s lace-curtained bedroom window? What was the point of developing a sharp mind if it was allowed only to consume and perform as it had been told? It was a gilded cage to be sure, but a cage nonetheless, and so Bobbi dedicated much of her life to spreading her wings and flying free of it.

To this end – and despite much protest from her hand-wringing family - Bobbi left the comforting cloister of her estate and travelled the world; whereupon she discovered and indulged in many a fascination that had been denied her for so much of her young life. She experimented with tailored coats and hats, trousers, cravats… She studied science and medicine, biology, strategy… She delighted in romantic challenge and chase and left many a heart broken in her wake. She was even married for a time, to a disgruntled British naval officer, but it didn’t stick. Few things did as, quite the opposite of bored, Bobbi became rather restless; all but consumed by the need to discover what the world held in store for her.

When came the news that she had to return home, it was devastating. Without the benefit of hindsight, it hardly seemed to Bobbi that there could be a new and equally enticing journey about to begin. Yet, she had never been one to be cowed by things not going her way, and so she held her head high – a little too high, perhaps, when she insisted upon driving the carriage home herself; fearing, not that she would admit it, that her recently-returned nightmares of the carriage walls closing in around her would finally come true.

Bobbi endured the talk of her home town with as much dignity as she could muster – and as both a woman of high class and exceeding stoicism, that amount was not insignificant. Still, she could not entirely pretend, to herself at least, that it did not bother her; the way they all seemed to talk about her as though she was the small one, the poorly achieving one, having done nothing with her life but travel and dabble in knowledge after knowledge. Even the ones she thought might understand seemed to be hopeful that her return was a sign she was ready to settle down, and the more times this was insinuated, the more Bobbi wanted to cut off her own hair, denounce all civilisation, and steal away into the night. She had the skills and the courage to do it now. The only thing stopping her was the need to rebuild her estate before her family’s finances collapsed entirely and left a few dozen good people out of work and home.

… Although, if she were being completely honest, it did not hurt matters that she had also been invited for tea with the newest and most curious of her neighbours, one Miss Jemma Anne Simmons.

Miss Simmons was a pretty young woman, but her arrival was making a splash in the papers as much for her scientific mind as for her elusive inventor fiancé, and her appearance of apparently Shakespearean beauty. So, as much as Bobbi had been weighed down by tired social occasion after tired social occasion with the socialites that flittered through town on the ever-changing wealth of this new age of industrialisation, she had a feeling in her gut that this one was going to be different.

That feeling certainly was not nerves, Bobbi insisted to herself as she stepped over the threshold of the Fitz-Simmons house – and then again, as she was announced and ushered into the parlour, to find Jemma in all the resplendent glory the papers had promised. The woman seemed delicate, refined, and delightfully feminine in all the ways Bobbi knew she herself was not and Bobbi – who had always been a rather brash sort – felt herself oddly humbled by Jemma’s smile.

“Good afternoon,” Jemma greeted, “it’s Barbara, isn’t it?”

Bobbi couldn’t help but cringe. “Please,” she requested, “call me Bobbi.”

“Oh yes, of course. My apologies.” Jemma curtsied a little – and was that a blush? “It’s lovely to have you, Bobbi. Would you care for some tea? Of if you would prefer, I can send for coffee…”

She reached for the bell, but Bobbi raised a hand to stop her.

“Tea would be wonderful,” she agreed. “Young Hyson, if you have it - black, with no sugar. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Jemma nodded, and began to pour. And yes, that was definitely a blush. Bobbi was even feeling a whisper of her own as Jemma added – as if she was trying to hide how desperately she wished Bobbi to acquiesce –

“I wonder if we might take tea outside this afternoon. I’ve been positively beleaguered with meetings today and I must see to my plants.”

A woman after her own heart. Bobbi smiled.

“Of course. We should stretch our legs after all.”

“Then it is decided.”

Bobbi’s heart dared to flutter in her chest as Jemma’s cautious hostess’ smile erupted into a beaming grin. The woman took hold of her skirts – revealing boots much like Bobbi’s own, rather than slippers that might have matched her otherwise refined ensemble – and took off out of the parlour door with great gusto. Finding herself drawn to follow, this time undeniably by more than her botanist’s interest alone, Bobbi strode after Jemma as best she could while reeling at her own spoonishness.

As they traipsed across the lawn, Bobbi marvelled in the delight Jemma seemed take at being out of doors, and drank in the prelude to the greenhouse – half snatched away by the wind though it was – with which the other woman was regaling her. Bobbi found herself entranced by Jemma’s spirited expression; the way she revelled in the trials and tribulations of seeking and transporting her large collection of exotics, unfazed even as the wind began to pull locks of her perfect hair from its arrangement and blow them unceremoniously into her face. And then –

“Oh, excuse me, Bobbi,” Jemma pleaded, and her expression narrowed into a scolding sort of glare. Bobbi followed the line of it and saw a ladder propped against the side of what appeared to be a disused chicken coop, and a figure hunched atop the rickety roof in an overcoat and goggles, fixing some contraption or other to the highest point of the pitch.

“Ho, Fitz!” Jemma hollered, as the figure lost hold of a tool and it fell to the dirt. He cursed.

“That’s Fitz?” Bobbi blurted. “Your Fitz?”

“You sound surprised,” Jemma noted.

“I meant no offence, it’s just – I’ve met quite a few of these entrepreneurial types and generally they’re rather… obnoxious.”

Jemma scoffed. “Oh, believe me: he’s plenty obnoxious.”

Resolute, she handed her cup of tea to Bobbi, hitched her skirt up a little higher with both hands and made a bee-line for the chicken coop, until she was close enough that her boots were in the muck.

“Fitz!” she called again.

“Yes, love?”

Fitz’s head jerked up at the call, and he saw her and Bobbi and apparently not the loose tile on which he had stepped. Before he could do any more than yelp in surprise, he had slipped and fallen flat on his back, coughing and spluttering and winded. His curls looked madder than ever as he lay there in resignation, and spat a soiled feather from his pouting mouth.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma lamented. She locked an arm with her fiancé and hauled him out of the sludge. “I told you to wait until Mack could come down and help with all this.”

“Mack and I are building the mechanical milling machine,” Fitz corrected. “This is a sonic fox repellent. It’s just a prototype but – Oh, sorry. I’m Fitz, by the way. Leopold Fitz, technically, but please don’t call me that.”

“Barbara Morse, technically,” Bobbi greeted. “But please don’t call me that either. I prefer Bobbi. Sonic fox repellent, you say? Let me know if it works – I might have to purchase a couple for myself.”

“Well, uh, thank you, but um –“

“But Mack will be here any minute, dear,” Jemma interrupted, waving Fitz toward the house. “Go and clean up now. Go! Honestly.”

“Yes, dear.” Fitz rolled his eyes, but smiled at his fussing fiancé as he retreated toward the house. Jemma slogged the rest of the way to the chicken coop and retrieved the screwdriver he had dropped, setting it on a step of the nearby ladder in case he went looking for it later. Bobbi looked on with nought to do but hold the two teacups steady, and she was a little surprised to find that despite what perhaps should have been a heart-wrenching reality check - to discover that the most recent object of her affection was indeed happy with someone else - Bobbi felt nothing but delight. No jealousy, no despair. And, if anything, a redoubled sense of yearning.

“Sorry about him,” Jemma apologised as she returned to Bobbi’s side to fetch her tea. “He’s a lovely man, really, and very intelligent, but he’s not accustomed to being complimented by beautiful women.”

“Well, with you around you think he’d be used to it by now.”

Jemma laughed, and raised an eyebrow as she took a sip. “Careful, Ms. Morse, you’ll give a lady ideas.”

The delivery of it was coquettish, light-hearted, but still Bobbi couldn’t help feeling that she’d crossed a line. She thought of poor sweet Fitz, and her heart sunk.

“I- I’m sorry, Miss Simmons. I meant nothing of it. Just that… Mr Fitz is a very lucky man.”

Seeing that she had sent Bobbi skittering, Jemma hurried to backtrack so emphatically that she almost spilled her tea.

“Oh, please! No need to apologise, it is all in good spirit – It was I who misspoke without the proper context. You see, Bobbi – may I still call you Bobbi? – your reputation precedes you in this regard but perhaps mine does not. Oh, dear.” Flustered, Jemma paused to gather herself and suddenly wished very dearly for a side table on which to deposit the lukewarm, useless beverage in her hands. “You see, I have been known to uh, entertain the attentions of the fairer sex myself. Not only am I not in the slightest offended by your perfectly innocent compliment, but I- I’m afraid I must confess I’d rather hoped you were being flirtatious.”

Bobbi gaped. “But… Fitz? I couldn’t. You’re engaged. It’s- it would be-”

“Fitz and I have an understanding,” Jemma clarified. At least, she phrased it like it was a clarification, but Bobbi only stumbled deeper into her confusion. She’d only seen the pair interact for a few odd minutes and already the connection was clear.

“He doesn’t- He’s not in love with you?” That man? Are you sure? Perhaps she would have to rethink her own calibration for stoicism if he had managed to keep that a secret.

Jemma shook her head.

“I’m not explaining this right. It never comes out simply, does it?” She clicked her tongue, tutting to herself as if musing on a new location for a particular pot, and not resolving the several short circuits sparking off inside Bobbi’s mind right now. It seemed like hours before she finally began again to explain:

“Fitz and I have been friends for the longest time,” she said. “As we grew and discovered that each of us had rather taken to those of our own sex we thought, if we were to live and love as our true selves well then, why not make it a marriage of convenience? Of course, he went and fell in love with me, didn’t he – and I him, do not misunderstand me: by some very blessed coincidence, we are very much in love. But our arrangement still stands. Fitz would not take offence in the slightest if you and I were to… explore any possibilities that may… arise.”

“…Right.”

“I can see that you need some more time to process,” Jemma observed. “Well, if I haven’t scared you off entirely – let’s say no more of it, for now. Come. Let me show you the greenhouse.”

They said no more of it for the rest of the afternoon, and for several days after that. They wrote little notes back and forth, about tea and chickens and foxes and plants, and very much not about the other topic of the day. Jemma waited for Bobbi to broach it and Bobbi – despite thinking about the arrangement with increasing regularity as time went on – dared not. The exact reason for it eluded her; did she fear that perhaps she had misread something, and that Jemma had not in fact, meant what she had said after all? Did she fear being the other woman – as she had been asked and offered many a time by men and women alike who did not have such an arrangement with their partners? Or did she fear the opposite instead; that she had finally found someone as unusual and brilliant and queer in every way as she herself was? Perhaps even two someones?

No doubt, there was some combination of all three tangled up in this knot in her chest, but it was the latter that kept Bobbi going to her desk in the middle of the night, pulling out a pen and paper, and not… quite… putting… the words down.

Or putting them down, and crossing them out.

Or putting them down, and throwing them in the fire.

As she watched the pages curl and blacken, Bobbi could taste the bitter memory of the last time she’d found herself in such a position. She had few regrets in her life, but one of them was that day; the day she’d let (or rather, driven) her former husband’s last words to her fall into the fire. There had been a lot more anger involved that time around, she recalled, and no shortage of jabbing at sparks with the fire iron, to make sure she’d got every last bit. This time, it felt like a step in the wrong direction. Like she was waiting to release the breath she was holding, or for the knot in her chest to untie and it never would.

I fear I must, were the last words she could discern now, from the letter she had burnt. She reached for the poker with a tremor in her fingers, and gritted her teeth. One good jab, and it would all be over. Then again, there was a blank spot just there. She could save it, if she were careful – and quick, as the words were already shrinking before her eyes.

I fear I  

I fear

Fear  

And then they were gone. And her breath was still caught in her chest but she lifted her head. She may have burned her bridges with the Midshipman after all, but she could still remember that infuriatingly rakish daredevil smile of his.

“Come on, love,” he used to like challenging her. “A little fear is nothing to be afraid of.”

It was something that had always bound them; the rush of taking risks, the revelling in new horizons. It was every reason she had to have left her home in the first place; perhaps that was what had made their relationship last so long, despite the warning signs. And as Bobbi reflected upon this image of herself, kneeling at her hearth, clutching a fire poker with a shaking hand at some unearthly hour in the morning - and not for the first time at that - she had to laugh. This was exactly the reason Hunter had broken up with her and after all this time she had to admit, the limey was right: as much as she purported to be bold and confident, to love a challenge, she was a coward when it came to affairs of the heart.

But Bobbi was no fool. She knew regret, and she knew the value of a wasted opportunity. She had regretted leaving Hunter enough times in her life thus far; she dared not waste such an opportunity again.

So she stood, and reached for her coat. Never mind the nightgown, never mind ringing for Davis; Bobbi figured, she could tack a horse herself just as quickly and if she didn’t take action now the fear might just get the better of her. Perhaps the boots, though, rather than these flimsy slippers – yes, she should take the boots.

She pulled them on in a fluster, hopping in through the stable door, and tacked up in the dark as fast as her fingers remembered how. Of course, she could walk to the Fitzsimmons’ – they were only next door after all, just a little ways down the road - but it was far too late at night for that, and God forbid it would give her too much time to think.

Fortunately, Belle was fleet of foot and it was not long at all before she was clattering up the FitzSimmons’ driveway, her heart in her throat. There was a carriage she did not recognise in a nearby pen. Did they have a guest? Should she turn back? Belle whinnied low as if warning her, and Bobbi swallowed her fear once again. If she did turn back, no doubt she would find herself achingly alone by the fireplace for many more nights in her life, and as much as she treasured her independence, she didn’t want it to be like that. Not when it didn’t have to be.

Bobbi slid from the saddle, and as she tied Belle to a nearby post she spared a thought of gratitude that she had decided to wear boots for a little relief against the chilled and dewy cobblestones. With a deep breath, she approached the threshold, and knocked, and rang the bell.

Seconds passed, and though she counted them along their way they still somehow felt like minutes. Like hours. Bobbi watched every breath steam in front of her and after the third she closed her eyes and reluctantly wondered what it would be like to just give in to the dread, and forget the whole thing.

Just as she was on the knife’s edge of giving up, however, the door opened a crack.

It was Fitz, with his soft curls and his shirt loose and dishevelled, and upon recognising the figure who stood at his door, a rather bewildered expression.

“Jemma, dear,” he called, “I think- I think it’s for you.”

And so Jemma came to the door as well, and looked Bobbi up and down. A frown crossed her features, concerned and curious, as she ushered Bobbi inside.

“Are you alright?” she wondered. “I… hadn’t heard from you.”

“I know.” Bobbi bounced on the spot. With adrenaline keeping her blood pumping, she hadn’t realised it was quite so cold. “I know. It’s my fault. I meant to tell you so- so many things. I was flattered- I am flattered. Exceedingly so. I just…”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” Jemma assured her. “I should never have sprung something so… unconventional on you like that!”

“But being unconventional is why I like you.” It blurted out with no restraint, and Bobbi felt her heart warm when Jemma smiled. “And it’s not the- the arrangement itself that worries me. I suppose I thought you were mocking me; that you might not have been taking me seriously.”

“Bobbi.” Jemma looked her square in the eyes, and very deliberately reached out a hand to take hers. “We were very serious – and still are, if you’ll have us.”

Fitz nodded his agreement earnestly, and at last, Bobbi felt the knot in her chest begin to untie.

“Well then,“ she confessed, “I suppose my answer is yes.”

Jemma beamed, and clapped in delight.

“Wonderful!” she cried. “Won’t you come in for a drink to celebrate?”

“Certainly,” Bobbi agreed. The fear was fading much faster than she had anticipated, and she smiled at her companions with genuine warmth in her heart. “I would love a brandy, if you have it.”

“I’ll pour you a glass,” Fitz said, and scoffed. “If Hunter hasn’t taken the last drop.”

“If- who?”

Bobbi stammered, and let Jemma and Fitz usher her into the lounge without protest, with hardly a thought as she checked back over what she had heard. Surely it couldn’t be…

“Where’ve you been, lovelies?”

That voice, she knew it. The spinning, slightly drunken dance he was doing as he poured himself a glass. Even that scruffy beard, and the medallion of St Anthony that gleamed on a leather thong around his neck as he turned away from the fireplace and back toward the door - Bobbi couldn’t see it from this far away but she knew, she knew that’s what it was.

Apparently, he knew her just as quickly too, as he froze mid-dance and mid-pour and stared. Not too long ago, he would have made a snide comment to try and to get a rise out of her – speak of the devil? she could imagine he would say - and a rise she would gladly have given him. But this time he simply… stared.

“Uh…” Fitz wondered from the sidelines. “Do you two know each other?”

Jemma elbowed him, and hissed for him to hush, but it barely registered to Bobbi. She was too busy watching Hunter, waiting for him to burst the bubble of nostalgia and rose-coloured glasses she had no doubt shaded him with. Any second now.

Instead, he smiled, and held the last glass of the brandy out to her.

“It’s good to see you, Bob,” he said.

“It’s good to see you too.”

#aosfic #scis & spies #agents of shield #aosficnet #roaring 20s rarepair exchange #marvel #polyamory #clara's fic tag

[jemmafitzsimmons]

HELLO FITZSIMMONS SHIPPERS!

It may seem a bit early, but it’s almost that time of year again! Since last year’s exchange went so well, Stephanie (@eclecticmuses) and I are once again hosting this year’s FitzSimmons Secret Santa Exchange. 

We wanted to give you all plenty of time to work on your gifts, so we’re opening up sign-ups now to start the process. (I also have a new job, so I don’t have nearly as much free time as last year.) 

We will be using the tag #fitzsimmonssecretsanta for all of our posts regarding the exchange, so look out for announcements. You will also be using that tag when you post your gifts.

Important Dates:

Sign-ups are open until FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11TH AT MIDNIGHT PST.

Participants will be notified of their assignments on SUNDAY, OCTOBER 20TH.

The first posting day for gifts is on THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26TH. This gives you at least 2 MONTHS to work on your gift. A few weeks before December 26th, you will sign up to select a posting day so we can stagger the gifts throughout the week.

Read more to learn how you can participate in the Secret Santa Exchange!

In participating in the Secret Santa exchange, you will create a fanwork for your assigned giftee. This can consist of fanfiction, gifs, graphics, moodboards, aesthetics, fanmixes, fanvids, fanart, or any other creation. Fic must be at least 1000 words in length, and all gifts must be complete when posted (unless you plan to stagger out fic chapters).

Participants must follow these rules of the exchange:

Send in your entry form no later than FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11TH AT MIDNIGHT PST.

Reblog this post to spread the word!

Create an original gift for your giftee following their prompt, preferences, and the guidelines of the exchange. Your gift must be at least 1000 words or an equivalent amount of effort in another medium.

Keep your ask box open with Anon turned on.

Send your giftee anonymous asks at least once a week (questions, compliments, quotes, whatever you like!).

Post your gift and reveal your identity to your giftee on your selected posting day!

To sign up for the exchange, please fill out the entry form below and email it to [email protected] (that’s ‘what light tastes like’ without spaces, my old url ✨) You will receive a confirmation email within 48 hours. If you do not receive one, please message me. 

TUMBLR USERNAME: (please specify if you plan to change your url during the holidays so we can find you!) YOUR PROMPT: PROMPT PREFERENCE (FOR WHAT YOU WILL CREATE):* broad prompt, specific prompt, or no preference YOUR FANDOM TALENTS: (what can you create for your giftee?) PREFERENCES: (for what you would like to receive AND what you would be willing to create - ex: I would like to receive a fic with smut, but I will not write smut for my giftee.)

SMUT:

WARD/WILL/AIDA:

MENTIONS OF TRAUMATIC CANON EVENTS: (4x15, 4x20, 5x14, 5x22, etc.)

OTHER PREFERENCES FOR WHAT YOU WOULD NOT LIKE TO GIVE/RECEIVE: (type of fanwork, triggers, issues, genres, tropes, etc.)

*This was brought to my attention during the last exchange, so this is a new option. This simply asks you to choose the type of prompt you would like to be assigned. Broad prompt example: ‘fake dating’ or 'Christmas in Scotland.’ Specific prompt example: ‘fs and deke are kidnapped and need to be rescued by the team to make it home for the holidays.’ If you have questions about this section, feel free to message me. 

When filling out the entry form, please be as specific as possible. This helps us to best match people up, as well as ensures that you receive a gift that you’ll love! If you receive your assignment and still have questions about creating your gift, we recommend that you send your giftee anonymous asks for clarification.

If something comes up and you can no longer participate, please let us know ASAP. In the past, we’ve had participants disappear from tumblr, so we really want to ensure that everyone that signs up will receive a gift.

We’ll post more details about assignments and how to post your gifts at a later date. If you have any questions, feel free to message me or send me an ask.

❄️GOOD LUCK AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS! ❄️

#fitzsimmons #fitzsimmonssecretsanta #fstag #aosficnet #agents of shield #mine

[aosficnet2]

As 2019 draws to a close, we wanted to communicate that in the new year,  @whistlingwindtree​ will be stepping down as mod to finish her master’s program. 

If you are interested in assisting the AoS Ficnet 2 team, please reach out to @whistlingwindtree​ so we can plan a smooth transition to a new lead moderator! 

Duties include (but are not limited to!)

Ensuring all fics are queued in a timely manner

Executing/hosting fanfic events (once a Quarter on average)

Be available on our Discord server

Please note: You do not have to be a fanfic writer to be a mod! Just love Agents of SHIELD fanfic and our lovely fandom!

#aosficnet #aosficnet2 #looking for a new mod #signal boost this please!

[springmagpies]

Disney Magic

Summary: Seeing their friend overwhelmed with work, Daisy and Bobbi convince Jemma to come with them to Disneyland. Little did they know that their idea and a little Disney magic would lead their friend to Fitz.

Part of Promptober! @aosficnet2​

Read it here on A03!

#promptober2019 #aosficnet #earth vs space #team earth aos #fitzsimmons #fluff #humor #Maggie’s fics

[queen-of-love-and-beauty]

Tripping Up

An Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D fan fiction - Rated E

Trip has a bit of a puppy crush on Agent May, and just like a puppy he is eager to play and please.

#agents of s.h.i.e.l.d #melinda may #antoine triplett #aosficnet #aosficnet2 #my fics #the stupid algorithm got the othee post and blocked it 🙄

[bobbiamorse]

surrounded but still alone: a scis and spies fic

Summary: A Hollywood AU. This chapter: Bobbi (almost) runs into Hunter, and finally comes clean to Jemma... about one thing, at least.

Sneak Peek:

The Port of Los Angeles wasn’t nearly as glamorous as her photographer had hoped, but Bobbi could’ve told him that from the beginning. Most photographers weren’t in the business of listening to models, though. Bobbi was just there to sit still, look pretty, and be the canvas onto which he threw his paints. He had wanted as blank a canvas as possible, too - she was wearing all white and the plainest makeup imaginable. Bobbi was beginning to regret booking the job, because anyone who thought glamor could be pulled from the port and a nude lip wasn’t worth it. She sighed. If Fitz were here, he’d probably have better ideas about what to do to make this shoot more than a total waste of time.

Read it on Ao3!

#surrounded but still alone #scis and spies #aosficnet

[florchis]

Out of the pan and into the fire

[AO3] {Tripkaraina, rated T, 3k}

Summary: When Daniel Whitehall asks her for the Obelisk, Raina knows exactly who is going to help her get out of this tight situation. What she wasn't expecting was Agent Triplett to ask her to rescue someone else with him in return.

Notes: Happy Multiamory May! Written for @apathbacktoyou prompt: "How do you know you're right about this?". See the Masterpost for this month here. The next story goes up next Saturday!

Sneak-Peek:

Trip hesitates, and Raina leans forward, eager to listen to what he is not sure he should tell her, despite her general annoyance. Fishing for leverage is something she has almost forgotten how to turn off.

“There is someone else inside who needs our help.” He is not smiling anymore, which is interesting because Raina can imagine him smiling while jumping out of a plane. “We won’t leave without her.”

#aosfic #aosficnet #tripkaraina #raina #antoine tirplett #kara lynn palamas #aos #my stuff #florchis writes things #multiamory may

[ink-blot-angel]

Melinda & Andrew | The Time Traveler’s Wife

“I wouldn’t change a thing. You’re still the center of the best moments of my life.”

The extraordinary love story of Melinda May and Andrew Garner, who met when she was six and he forty-nine, and got married when she was thirty and he twenty-nine.

When Dr. Andrew Garner opens Jiaying Johnson’s ledger and undergoes Terrigenesis, he unlocks the Inhuman ability to travel through time. Though his gift is beyond his control, he often finds himself pulled towards significant moments in the past and occasionally the future, with one constant presence in his life — his wife, Melinda.

for @aosficnet2​‘s AoS AU August: Your Favourite Book

#type: photoset #type: au #aosficnet #aosficnet2 #aosaugust #auaugust #agents of shield #melinda may #andrew garner #meldrew #teammaygarner #the time traveler's wife #aosauaugust

[apathbacktoyou]

After centuries of careful scheming, Kasius has finally secured the throne for himself.

As the new king of hell, all he’s missing is a queen.

And he already has his eye on the perfect woman to rule at his side: Sinara, better known as War, the most formidable of the Four Horsemen.

for @aosficnet2‘s promtober challenge (day 28: hell)

#aosficnet #kasinara #earth vs space #team space aos #its like. a bible au i guess lmao #makingstuff

[marvelthismarvelthat]

the lucky ones

word count: 1612

summary: with Sarge injured and chained to a hospital bed, daisy finally gets a chance to talk to him but isn't prepared for what he has to say.

a/n: an angsty one shot inspired by sarge's line about how izel stole his family and his memories of them. also, we totally agree sarge’s not dead right? 

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

“Oh. It’s you. Great, of course they sent in the annoying one.” Sarge smiled at her, still tugging on his restraints, disdain evident in the way he looked at her. “I guess I should just be glad they didn’t send Smiles again, the bullet holes still hurt.”

Daisy rolled her eyes, unceremoniously flopping onto the chair next to his bed, feeling the exhaustion of the recent fight seeping into her bones.  “What do you know about Izel?”

“No preamble? Damn.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “What? You think just because you killed a few shirke in one go, I’m going to want to be your friend and spill my guts?”

Daisy smiled, faking sickeningly sweet as obviously as she could muster. She hated this man more than she could put into words. She hated that she had to be here.  “No, but I think I’m the best you got right now. Paxton and Jaco are dead, Snowball hates your guts. You have no team left. And if you couldn’t stop Izel with four people helping you, what makes you think you can do it on your own?”

Sarge’s jaw snapped shut, the muscle straining as he grit his teeth.

“That’s what I thought. Now talk to me. You tell us about everything and maybe we’ll let you in on finishing Izel.”

Sarge stared at her, clearly contemplating his next move, his eyes missing all the warmth that Coulson’s had held, before he gave a slight nod.

[continue reading on Ao3]

#aosficnet2 #aosficnet #aos fic #daisyphil #<--- but like the platonic/familial daisyphil #alina does the writing thing

[theclaravoyant]

marvel femslash of your choice + broken glass for the mini fic prompts (pretty plz)

AN ~ thanks for the prompt (from this list - requests welcome)! I decided to write for Skimmons (Daisy x Jemma from AOS) bc I haven’t for ages! hope you like it

tw: injury, drug references (daisy is high on painkillers at the beginning)

hurt/comfort, rated t

-

When the ramp to the Quinjet lowered, Jemma Simmons had become accustomed to waiting for emergencies, samples, or – fortunately, more commonly of late - a (usually brief, sometimes sweaty) kiss from Daisy on her way through to the debriefing. Today however, what she received was somehow none of the above.

Daisy stumbled down the ramp in her catsuit, leaning heavily on Mack for support until she was a few steps away from Jemma – enough to make it from his arms to hers without falling. Jemma caught her, and screwed up her nose.

“What is that smell?”

“Badassssry,” Daisy replied, slurring horrifically, before leaning in for a kiss.

“Burning rubber,” Mack corrected, as Jemma nudged her sloppy girlfriend away.

“Ow!” Daisy yelped. Mack cringed.

“Oh no, what’s wrong?” Jemma frowned. She hadn’t noticed it before, with the black catsuit, but there was blood on Daisy’s clothes. And something sharp. “Daisy, are you okay?”

“Feel good,” Daisy garbled. “Mack gave me some drugs. Is good.”

“It’s just a little bit of glass and pebbles,” Mack clarified. “I got the worst of it out. The rest is just a flesh wound. I may have overestimated on the morphine.”

“How did it happen?”

“Jumped out a window,” Daisy said. “Kinda got thrown into a, uh, road.”

She held out one hand, and slapped it with the other. Jemma cringed. She hoped one of those didn’t represent herself.

“Come on, babe,” she beckoned. “Let’s get some rest, hm? And get the rest of that glass out of you.”

“’Kay.”

None too happy about the pain in her side, the kiss she’d been denied, or the frustration – albeit fond frustration - emanating from Mack, Daisy pouted and hooked an arm around Jemma’s. It wasn’t all bad though; they went straight to Daisy’s bunk, and nobody disturbed them while Jemma helped her undress, slowly and gently cleared out and cleaned her wound, and redressed it. By the time she was done, the morphine high was fading and the genuine exhaustion was starting to catch up with Daisy.

“Okay,” Jemma announced, letting Daisy’s new soft, clean cotton shirt fall over the bandages, “all done. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I promise. Just a flesh wound. And a bit of a headache.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Jemma promised – which, in Daisy’s words, seemed to be her answer to everything, but especially headaches. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Probably should.”

“I’ll get some crackers and spread, and a little fruit if I can find it.”

“Mm. You’re the best.” Daisy smiled as her stomach grumbled, and covered her tired eyes with a heavy arm. Jemma smiled fondly as she moved toward the door, but she was pulled back again by another request.

“Jems?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have my kiss now?”

Jemma returned to Daisy’s bedside, her only reply being a soft, loving, and grateful press of the lips.

#skimmons #skimmonsfic #bioquake #aosficnet #aosfemslash #agents of shield #clara's fic tag #Anonymous #ask me stuff