#''it's not his fault! he was programmed to be afraid of flying!'' ''ah but YOU were the programmer...'' soooooo real

[heartbeetz]

Ohhh but it DOES start with the "Bonnie is scared of flying and she programmed KᎥtt to be the same way" thing. Real as fuck. Me tooooooo. Everyone stay on the ground.

[katzuyas]

lighter, better, fuller

here’s my piece for acts of devotion in the languages of love in the @heartbeatszine! you can still get the full zine (it’s free, but donations to charity: water are still welcome!!) so pls make sure you check it out and the nsfw one as well

St. Petersburg is... dark.

Yuuri wakes up in the darkness of early morning to Victor's soft breathing next to him and turns over to watch his fiancé's sleeping face for just a moment – in the blissful silence; when Victor can't talk, can't smile, can't tell him all of the embarrassingly sweet things he always does. They go through their morning routines with only the dim kitchen light on, take a run in a greying hush of dawn, and when they leave for the rink it's still gloomy outside.

The hours they spend on the ice are the brightest of the day: the overhead reflectors that make the frozen surface almost blinding are harsh in comparison to the warm, yellow glow of the street lamps that are turned on almost always, it seems. After a while Yuuri gets used to that, too. For a bit, every day, Yuuri craves the feeling of sunlight on his skin, but once they leave the sports complex he's reminded yet again that it's all just a hopeless dream. The sun has risen and set while they were cooped up inside and the dark sky greets them yet again when Yuuri looks up.

He sighs.

"Tired?" Victor asks, smiling a little as if it's his fault.

It is. Yuuri sourly thinks back to the last ten flying sit spins he had to suffer through just because Victor was in one of his hard-to-please coach moods. He shakes his head though, and takes the hand Victor offers without hesitation.

"Just a little drained," he replies, stepping close until their shoulders bump together. "It's so dark again."

Victor hums softly. "I miss the summer we've spent in Hasetsu."

He turns to Yuuri then and gives him one of those heart-shaped smiles that make Yuuri all warm and weak – he feels that now, too.

"Your eyes look so beautiful in the sunlight," Victor adds.

He's shameless and coquettish, and Yuuri knows he must be blushing by how hard his face burns, even as the cold wind blows over his cheeks. He ducks his head back into his scarf like a turtle. Victor chuckles softly at his embarrassment and leans over to press a kiss against the side of Yuuri's head.

He's awful, Yuuri thinks to himself. Awfully sweet. I love him.

"Let's go home," he says out loud.

Yuuri squeezes Victor's hand instead of replying to the compliment with the plethora of things he loves about Victor in summer: like the freckles that show on his pale skin, the red splotches of sunburn when he forgets to put on sunscreen, or that adorable wrinkle Victor's nose gets when he's trying to brush all the sand out of his hair...

"I want a hot bath. My hip is a little bruised," Yuuri adds. His hip does hurt a bit, but it's mostly an excuse for– "Your knees could use some care, too. I've noticed your face when you landed the last couple of flips. You should rest properly today, I'll take Makka for a walk later. But bath first."

"Are you offering we take it together?" Victor asks, face aglow. "Because I'd love to! It could be our very own little onsen if we make enough steam."

Yuuri smiles at that. "Sure."

It's not even remotely similar: the bathroom is too different and the tub is a little uncomfortable for two, but they don't mention it. Victor massages Yuuri's feet while Yuuri's almost dozing on an elbow propped on the edge of the tub – almost, because he's too busy watching Victor.

He looks soft. With the steam from the bath curling his damp hair and the candlelight giving his skin a warmth that even the flush on his cheeks couldn't; Victor looks tender and loving, and Yuuri's heart aches for some reason.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" Yuuri mumbles before he can even think about what he's saying or why he's saying it out loud.

The words just slip from his slack mouth and startle Victor into looking up at his face. Victor's confused for a second longer, but then the expression melts, only to be replaced with a smile that's equally adoring and chiding.

God, Yuuri loves him.

"That's my line," Victor tells him.

The corners of Yuuri's mouth quirk at that and he turns to hide it in his arm. Victor notices anyway. He always does. There isn’t a smile that Yuuri can hide from him and he isn’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. Victor’s own smile grows, while the touch of his fingers on Yuuri's left foot changes into something more playful. They slide over the arch of his foot, up a little, light, and stop to draw small circles over the ankle. It tickles, but Yuuri lets it be.

"I know what you did," Yuuri says suddenly. And as suddenly as the words come, he shifts in the tub.

He pulls his leg out of Victor's grasp and lifts himself up, sloshing the water over the edge in the process. Neither of them care at the moment, though. Yuuri slides between Victor's legs, which part for him without even asking, and rests his hands on Victor's shoulders. He sits back on his knees to bring their faces closer aware of how Victor eyes his every move. Yuuri gives him a smile that Victor easily returns.

It's comfortable and easy, and Yuuri feels safe enough to say:

"You were so beautiful when I first saw you," he starts. One of his hands lifts to Victor's cheek, thumb running over the pretty blush that found a home there. "You were so beautiful every time I saw you, you know. It was intimidating. I felt like I could never compare, like no one could ever compare."

Victor opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but Yuuri puts a finger to his lips and that's that.

"When you came to Hasetsu for me, you were even more beautiful than I realized, but..." Yuuri bites his lip and thinks over the words he wants to say for a second before he decides to say them anyway. "I think it was around the Cup of China that I began to realize that you weren't really that beautiful."

There's a flash of surprise on Victor's face and his eyebrows lift a little. Yuuri leans closer to kiss one of them. He pulls back and smiles at Victor reassuringly.

"A pretty face, amazing body, your artistry on the ice," Yuuri lists. "That's what I thought made you beautiful, before. But in China I realized that wasn't it, you know?"

"Was it that argument?" Victor asks, arms coming to wrap around Yuuri's waist like he's afraid he'll move away. "That changed your mind?"

Yuuri nods. "That, yes. And what you did after, too."

Victor's face looks a little sour, so Yuuri smiles at him again.

"It's not what you think," he says. "You're still beautiful to me, Victor. Now more than any time before. Do you know why?" Victor shakes his head and Yuuri continues: "Because it's not about any of the charms and faces you put on, but about who you really are, here."

Yuuri touches a hand to Victor's chest, right over his heart.

"The way you get angry at me when I mess up. The way your tears fall when you let me hold you when you feel sad. The smiles you give Yurio when you think he doesn't see you looking so proud when he skates a perfect program. Your kindness, your compassion, your drive to motivate everyone, your refusal to accept that I could be anything less than what you believe me to be capable of..."

It's a little hard to speak when Yuuri feels his throat close up, but he swallows and keeps on talking, because at this point it's imperative that he makes Victor understand that it's not his body Yuuri fell in love with – it's his spirit.

"You have such a beautiful soul, Victor Nikiforov. I couldn't help falling for you. It's really quite unfair," Yuuri finishes with a tiny teasing smile that melts into a fond curl of lips when he sees the tears glistening in Victor's eyes.

Ah, now Yuuri feels like crying, too.

"I love you," he says again, just because it's easy now that he's talked so much. "With all my heart. Thank you for being in my life."

Victor's hands are shaking when he takes one of Yuuri's and presses kisses to it without words. Yuuri feels the hitches of his breath on his wet skin. He runs his free hand through Victor's damp hair and leans forward to leave a kiss on the top of his head, right in the little whorl.

"Really now," Victor gives a small laugh that sounds wet and choked. "How did I get so lucky to have you?"

"It wasn't luck," Yuuri tells him. "You were just yourself."

"Yuuri," Victor breathes and it sounds like he wants to say something else, but can't.

He pulls Yuuri close and hugs him tight. The position is uncomfortable and Yuuri's knees begin to hurt from the way he’s kneeling, but he doesn't say a word. He leans his weight against Victor and wraps his arms around Victor's shoulders. Their hearts align, joined together on the same wavelength of beats.

"I love you," Victor whispers into Yuuri's neck. "God, I love you more than life itself."

Yuuri pulls back a bit to look him in the eye. There's a light there that isn't a reflection of the candle flames – it's far more special than that. It's love, and life, and together they're locked in the blue of Victor's eyes; the perfect prison that Yuuri never wants to leave.

He kisses Victor softly and Victor kisses back. Slow and gentle, the touch of wet lips against his.

Yuuri doesn't need to say anything more. I love you, he thinks to himself again when Victor's head tilts to accommodate him better.

"Let's get out of the tub," Yuuri says out loud when they part. "I'll take care of your knees for you."

Victor laughs softly. "You spoil me, my sweet Yuuri."

Yuuri only smiles at that and dives in for one more kiss.

"I'm happy to," he tells Victor, lips hovering against lips. "Let me?"

His touch is gentle that night, caring and paired with kisses. It's way past their usual bedtime when they succumb to sleep, but before his mind shuts off, Yuuri has one more thought.

The world outside is dark and it will be so even when he wakes, but in this house, with this man – with Victor, his Victor – it feels just a little bit lighter. And better. And fuller. Ah.

[jemmafitzsimmons]

The role reversal no one asked for!  Since Jemma was unaware of all the action happening in 4x07, I wanted to take a crack at what it would be like for that to happen to Fitz. 

4x09 AU where Fitz hits his head a bit harder, so he doesn’t wake up until after Mack destroys AIDA. Angst and hurt/comfort ensues.

Read on AO3 or below!

The only sound in the room is the steady beat of a heart monitor. Slowly stirring, Fitz feels the pleasant and familiar sensation of someone holding his hand. Not just someone. Her. What’s not so pleasant is the heavy throbbing feeling coming from the back of his head, causing his thoughts to blur from one to the next. Why am I in the med bay? What the hell happened? Is Jemma okay?

The person at his side must notice a change in his breathing, as she squeezes his hand and places another hand gently on his shoulder. “Fitz?” she says softly.

The bright lights in the room prevent him from cracking his eyes open no more than a sliver. Squeezing her hand back, he swallows and takes in a few deep breaths. “Jemma?” he whispers.

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s good to see you awake.” Her voice is soft, tender. She moves her hand from his shoulder to his forehead, stroking gently. The only thing alerting him that this isn’t a dream is the sour feeling in his gut. Something happened, and he’s afraid to know what.

He squints, trying to take in his surroundings. “Hey,” he says groggily. Looking down at his chest, he sees the pale blue of a hospital gown. He also notices they’re alone, and in a rather small isolated room, so he assumes his condition is not entirely serious. Still, confusion washes over him.

She scoots her chair closer to his bed. “Do you remember anything?”

“Not really. Last thing I remember was…uh…heading over to Radcliffe’s to wipe AIDA’s hard drive.” He tries to sit up, but a sharp ache in the back of his head causes his to flinch. “Ah.”

“Easy. You hit your head pretty hard.”

“What?”

“AIDA, she…she pushed you through a glass door in Radcliffe’s lab.”

“What?”

She squeezes his forearm. “You’re okay. Only a concussion, but nothing too serious. They’re mainly keeping you here for observation. You’ll probably be sore for a few days.”

Fitz’s head begins to spin as he tries to concentrate on her words. AIDA. Pushed through a glass door. A concussion. What the hell happened while I was out? He shakes his head through his confusion. “What…what did she do? Why would she do that?” he asks.

“It appears she figured out how to rewire her programming.”

Realization hits him hard in the chest. The conversation from the director’s office floods him memory, where they argued back and forth about the possibility of AIDA becoming dangerous. Mack was right. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “The Darkhold.”

She nods. “That’s what we believe. Seems like it corrupted her, gave her the ability to think and act freely somehow.”

He looks around the room, attempting to look through the windows that lead to the rest of the med bay. He knows Jemma’s safe, except for the prominent bruise on her forehead that he’ll ask her about later, but he doesn’t see any of his other team members. “Did she hurt anyone else?” Waiting in silence, he watches as she shifts her eyes to her lap. Her expression tells him all he needs to know, but he still needs to hear her say it. “Jemma?”

Biting her lip, she finally looks up to meet his eyes again. “She killed Nathanson,” she says slowly.

Killed. No. No no no no…

“And injured some agents as well.”

But she was meant to protect…

“But Mack took care of it.”

This stops his frantic train of thought. He looks up to meet her eyes. “Took care of it. What do you mean?” he asks, emphasizing each word carefully.

She pauses again and looks down. A wave of sorrow progresses its way across her face. He can’t prepare himself for the blow she’s about to deliver. “He decapitated her with his shotgun axe.”

Hesitantly, he looks down in his lap, stunned by her statement. A silent “oh” is all he manages.

But she was meant to protect…

“We tried to stop her, Fitz. Daisy, the Director, and I just got back from our mission to find the base’s power shut down, and she was completely controlling our network. Even the Quinjets.” As she continues, she moves her hand to his shoulder, slowly tracing her thumb back and forth in a motion he’s done too often to comfort her. “She was looking for the Darkhold, obviously. But thank goodness we developed that backup server when we did!”

Light makes it way back to her eyes. He gives her credit for trying to stay positive, but he has to admit that it’s doing little to help adjust the mood.

“I got that up and running with Radcliffe while everyone else tracked AIDA down. She did get her hands on the Darkhold, until Mack, well…”

“Right. Got it.”

As much as he wants to hide his hurt feelings, knowing how much pain AIDA brought to his team and to his relationship with Jemma, he can feel the anguish already spreading across his face. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. AIDA was meant to help their team, to protect them. To protect her. That was his only motivation for getting attached. And now, everything has blown up in his face. And he wasn’t even there. If only he had just been there, he could have tried to recalibrate AIDA’s programming, maybe reason with the team that’s she’s not actually a threat. But he wasn’t. Instead, he was knocked out cold without a clue as to what was going on.

Pressing his lips together, he attempts to formulate his thoughts into words. “It’s all my fault,” he settles on.

“Fitz.”

“No, Mack was right, I should have seen this coming. I…I should have persuaded Radcliffe to stop the project when I had the chance. Or at least rethink it. And if not, I should have been there, to help you guys get control of her. Then maybe we wouldn’t have had to destroy her—”

“Hey, hey, stop. None of that.” She moves herself closer so their foreheads are nearly touching. The feeling of her breath so close to his face calms him through his distress.

She uses the back of her fingers to stroke his cheek. “It’s not your fault she read the Darkhold. She needed to in order to get you back from that other dimension. And there’s nothing you could have done today. She overpowered everyone at Radcliffe’s, not just you. No one stood a chance against her. I know you wish you could have been there today, and I wish you were, but we handled it, and it’s over.” She lifts her head to place a light kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” she whispers.

He shakes his head gently. “I don’t like this. Being in the dark, and waking up to catastrophe.”

“You’re telling me.” She lets out a short huff.

It takes him half a second to understand her response. Of course. How could he be so thick? Of course she knows what it’s like being in the dark. He tends to push that day as far back in his memory as possible. The day that he thought they lost each other. Again. After so much, they nearly lost each other, and she didn’t even know he was gone. And what a way to go out. Being sucked into a sea of darkness with no explanation. He can only imagine how helpless she felt that day, and he doesn't even want to think about the kind of pain she would have felt if he hadn't made his way back to her.

Thinking of this moment and her feelings helps him to notice a slight shift in her expression. Despite delivering the news that they found a way to stop AIDA, there’s something still troubling her behind her eyes.

“What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“No,” she scoffs, letting her hand fly to whisk away his question. But he knows her better than that. It will eat away at her from the inside unless she lets it out in the open. He pulls on her arm to bring her closer to his bedside, not letting her get away with her silence. He gives her a pleading look, noticing her eyes beginning to mist over.

Finally, she gives in. “I mean, yes. But, it doesn’t concern you. It’s just about Senator Nadeer and her brother Vijay.”

“No, of course it does. Hey. Whatever concerns you concerns me. What happened?”

Letting out a long sigh, she returns her hands to his, holding onto him for support. “We found him. He was actually alive, and safe, for the most part. We tried to get him to come with us, but his sister was too convincing. I let him down, Fitz. We don’t know where they are, or what she’s planning to do with him, but there’s this feeling in the pit of my stomach that’s telling me that’s he’s not safe. She’s working with the Watchdogs…”

Her face crumbles at her last word and she lets her head fall onto their pile of hands as she quietly breaks down. He hates to see her like this. She’s so clever and strong, and she cares so much. All he wants is for her to see how much good she does instead of focusing on what she can’t do. He reaches out to run his fingers through her hair to sooth her as much as he can, letting her weep in silence for a few moments.

It isn’t until she lifts her head back up that he speaks. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. We always do. This isn’t the end of our search him. We’ll keep looking, see if we can get Coulson and Mack on board.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says, nodding in agreement. “I’m sorry. Just one of those days.”

“Don’t apologize. From your story, it sounds like you played a pretty heavy role in stopping AIDA today. And I know you want to, but…you can’t do everything.”

“I know.” Wiping her hands across her cheeks to catch any stray tears, she shifts to move back into her chair, but Fitz prevents this by pulling on her arm.

“Come here,” he whispers.

“What?”

He does his best to shift to the side of the bed and pats the space next to him.

“Fitz, you were thrown through a glass door. The last thing you need is someone sleeping on top of you.”

“Not on top of me, but next to me should be fine. You’re not going to be sleeping alone after a day like this. Not on my watch.”

She hesitates for a half second before giving him a soft smile. “Oh, alright, then.”

She takes off her shoes and gently moves onto the bed, slipping her legs underneath the blanket. Curling on her side to snuggle as close to him as possible, she links her arm through his and rests her head on his pillow.

“Let me know if you want me to move,” she tells him softly.

“I will.”

After a few moments of laying in silence, she’s already fast asleep, exhaustion finally taking over, the steady rise and fall of her chest calming Fitz through his heavy emotions from the day. As much as he wants to move on from AIDA, he can’t fight the feeling of wanting to know why she malfunctioned. She didn’t show any signs of a change when she assisted them in stopping Eli Morrow. So what triggered this change in her? And why now? An ache starts to make its way from his neck all the way up to his forehead. Whether it’s from his injury or his troubling thoughts, he doesn’t know, so he decides to focus on the feeling of Jemma's hand clutching his arm and of her steady breath tickling his cheek from where she lays next to him. She may not be okay, but she’s alive, and that’s enough to ease him back into a dreamless sleep. His feelings can wait for the morning.

He never tells her to move.