highlights from the terrible fanfic my friends wrote sophomore year of college:

If you are ever thinking about posting a mean comment on a fanfic: Don’t. 

It’s all Elementary: Chapter 6

“Ms. Simmons, did you tell my daughter that she has magic powers?”

Simmons looked up from her spot in the teacher’s lounge, utterly confused. “What, sir?”

“Skye has informed me that you gave her ‘scientific proof’ that she ‘is magic’,” Coulson said, using overly exaggerated air quotes. 

“Oh,” Jemma sighed. “Yes, well, Skye seems to think that whatever she draws comes true. Obviously, there is no true basis for this... though I can see where she got confused since Fitz and I are engaged, which, clearly, we did not decide solely based on our students’ drawings and, really, I had hoped my lesson on experiments and hypotheses would have properly established that-”she paused. “No, sir. I did not give Skye scientific proof that she has special powers.”

“I woke up with this taped to my Captain America alarm clock this morning,” Principal Coulson held up a drawing. “Skye says this means she can stay up ‘extra late’ and go to your ‘chicken party’,” again Coulson used air quotes. 

“Oh, does she mean my hen night? Well, isn’t that adorable,” Jemma smiled. “I’ll talk to her after class and sort everything out. Don’t worry, sir.” 

For my job, I have to go through college catalogs and schedules. I just found this course:

THIS SOUNDS LIKE AN EPIC FANFIC NOT A CLASS ALSO OMG SOMEONE WRITE THIS PLEASE.

Six months. Six months of stolen kisses in the break room, the occasional double date with their respective best friends, and countless inquiries from small children (the best of which, Jemma was fairly positive, was when one of the five year-old’s asked if Mr. Fitz kept his face ‘prickly’ because that’s what happens to boys when they have a girlfriend. Fitz took this as a sign he should shave. Jemma told him not to). A summer of working together on articles about classroom learning techniques and marathoning Doctor Who. Getting Jemma’s science classroom ready and preparing for new students. And, of course, co-babysitting, from time to time. 

Yes, Jemma had never been happier, she thought, daydreaming while she cleaned up after a thrilling (and messy) class that involved both first graders and earthworms. 

Which was when Skye barreled into the room. “I’ve decided to marry Trip,” she announced. 

“Antoine Triplett? I thought you were getting married to Grant Ward?” Jemma asked. 

Skye shook her head. “It turns out he has cooties. But Trip loves me. And he gave me pink flowers.”

Jemma looked over from her desk. The little girl was simply nodding, as though what she said was a big deal. 

“Pink flowers means you are engaged.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” Jemma said, trying to keep her tone serious. “It must be an American custom.”

Skye nodded. “They were for pretend. Cause only grownups give each other real flowers and get married for serious,” she paused. “What was it like when you got married to Mr. Fitz?”

Jemma practically choked. “We arent. Skye, sweetheart, we’ve only been dating for six months. We aren’t married. Not even engaged.” 

Skye thought about this for a moment. “You mean, Mr. Fitz hasn’t given you pink flowers yet?”

“Definitely not.” 

Skye’s little brow furrowed, as though she was thinking this over, before heading straight out of the room. And walking to Fitz’ class. 

“Mr. Fitz,” she started. “I need to teach you about flowers.”

“Hello, sir,” Jemma said, walking into the house. “Where’s Mary Sue? I can’t wait to spend time with my favorite little rascal. You know,” she continued, her voice softer, “the last time I was over she taught me how to dismantle the school’s internet security settings. For fun. I wasn’t sure whether to be worried or impressed.”

Which was when the little girl came barreling into the room, running straight for her father’s arms. Without missing a beat, he caught her and spun in a circle. When he put her back down, the little girl looked very seriously at Simmons and said, “Jemma.”

“Mary Sue,” Jemma responded, her voice just as serious. 

“It’s Skye now,” she corrected. “Daddy’s putting through the adoption papers and he said I get to have a new name. Because now I’m a Coulson. So I said I don’t like Mary Sue, that’s what they called me at the orphanage. And daddy calls me his sky and his stars. So I told him I want to be Skye now.” 

“That’s a beautiful name,” Jemma smiled. She glanced over at her boss, trying to gage his feelings on the matter. But he was far too busy staring at his daughter with a look of absolute adoration. 

“Miss Simmons, you know where everything is. I won’t really have access to my phone tonight, but I’m sure there won’t be any troubles. And Skye,” he turned to face his daughter, “be good for your babysitters. I’ll be back past your bedtime, so sweet dreams and I love you most.” 

The door had already closed when Jemma managed to ask, “Babysitters?”

“I’m very happy for her. A vice principal position, over at the academy of all places. Ms. Weaver definitely deserves it. It just... complicates matters.” Jemma looked around the break room, as to confirm that they were the only two there. “Because, of course, I’ll get the position. Who else has the qualifications to teach science to the entire school? Fitz will probably be crushed. I know he has his eyes on the job. I can’t help it that vice principal May adores me, and, of course, principal Coulson thinks of me like family. I babysit his foster daughter, Mary Sue, sometimes.”

Bobbi laughed. “Ah, trouble in paradise. I can just see it. Intense competition. You two will stop talking. I’ll have to console you with bottles and bottles of wine.” 

Jemma bit her lip. “This isn’t going to go well, is it?”

“Pure chaos,” Bobbi answered. 

Over in the play yard, though, a very different conversation was going on. 

“So, you’re going for the science job, right?” Hunter asked, his eyes trained on a very intense game of football (proper, thank you very much) that he was technically supposed to reffing. 

“Jemma’s much more qualified. She deserves it. Actually, um. I was thinking,” Fitz uncrumpled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Maybe. Maybe the kids are right.”

“Don’t do it. Women are hell.”

“You’re engaged to Bobbi,” Fitz pointed out. 

“Exactly,” Hunter said. He looked at the picture. “It does look like you though, mate. I wish you luck.”

Fitz just smiled weakly and looked back at the picture.  

Hi, I’ve decided to post complete and utter trash to help us all get through the pre-aos finale stress. 

*disclaimer: we made this with our fanfic writing game. basically, you have five minutes to write a chapter. you get three prompt cards for each chapter. all the prompts are absurd. general chaos ensues. you’re welcome. i’m sorry.*