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unstoppableforcce · 4 years

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what we do now that it’s over ( 2 )

alt title: imma make it my own kind of canon. cowards.

finnpoe ! soft and angsty ! this episode ft. a Fight ! and some Kes and Rey as Rebellion super fans.

also, TROS spoilers, obvi - r.e.

Everything had always been so easy with Poe.

Since the day they met, on the star destroyer, pulling him from his cell and ripping his helmet off, since the first second they met eye to eye, it had been so easy. He knew he could trust him; he knew from that second and he had never thought twice about it.

And he hoped he could be the same for him, until now, he honestly believed he was. But something was wrong, and Poe had gone silent, and all Finn could do was watch from the sidelines as he quietly filled with pain from within.

After a short half hour of small talk with his dad, all of them standing around the counter, letting the conversation flow freely, Kes chastised his knee and requested they move to the table to continue. Poe used that as his escape, citing the Metwe or whatever the fruit was his father had mentioned earlier and disappearing out the door just as the sun hid behind the horizon.

Rey and Kes easily dipped into old war stories, citing the similarities between young Luke, Han, and Leia and the older versions they were more familiar with. But Finn couldn’t get into it, not when Poe was acting so off.

When Kes got up to check the stew, Rey finally turned back to him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder and snapping him back from his more distant thoughts.

“You okay?” She smiled softly, everything about her disposition so soft.

All he could do was nod, his throat a bit dry, a cough needed to clear it. And he thought that would be the end of it, but she didn’t concede so easily. She just waited, patiently, watching him try to avoid her stare the entire time.

All he could do was shrug, what was he head to say?

“You should go check on him.”

She could see right through him, she had always been able to. The only lie he ever managed was telling her was when the first met, that he worked for the resistance, but she only believed him because she wanted to. He couldn’t fool her anymore.

“Yeah.” He sighed, giving her a nod and getting to his feet, thankful to be able to quietly slip out passed Kes with his back turned. Not that he would mind, he was just as interested in hearing about the Jedi from Rey as she was from him.

Moonlight did little to light the land away from the lights along the porch, once passed the beast enclosures, it took Finn several blinks to be able to make out any moving shapes, a couple more to be able to make out Poe by the towering tree.

He tried to minimize his presence as soon as he spotted him. He had expected him to be burdened by the work but if anything, he looked more at peace than he had since they got into the house to begin with. Finn couldn’t help but notice that his disposition had changed as soon as he saw his father, and he was slightly back to normal now that he was away from him.

Whatever was going on, Rey was right, he could in no way understand it yet.

“You just going to stand there and watch?” Poe smirked out over his shoulder, hopping down from the branch, landing heavy on his feet and kneeling down with arms out to keep balance, a sling of fruit around his chest.

“You didn’t look like you needed any help.” The words shot out of his mouth comfortably, banter had always come naturally for whatever reason between the two of them.

“Yeah well.” He kept his smirk as he made it back to standing straight up. One hand filed through the pouch, grabbing out a small blue fruit, just the size of his palm, and tossed it Finn.

But it was dark, he could barely make it out as it flew his way, catching it in the last second, eliciting a hearty chuckle from Poe.

“You eat these fruits?” Finn asked, walking closer as Poe picked up all his equipment, still laughing.

“I could eat like six a day as a kid.” He smiled, motioning them back towards the house. “Nowadays, I think I prefer it fermented, it's a good drink.”

Finn brought it to his face, took a sniff and laughed at the idea of it.

“It’s not going to hurt you-”

“It smells like dirt.”

“It’s a farm, everything smells like dirt.” Poe countered, stopping halfway there and using his vague gravitational field around Finn to keep him close. “Give it to me.”

Finn didn’t so much relinquish it as Poe just took it from him, taking it straight to his lips and biting a hole into it, some of the juices trailing in the stubble lightly coating his face. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, trying to excuse the watering in his mouth as hunger, explaining it had been a long journey in the argument he was having with himself.

“See. Safe.” He pushed it back to Finn and he accepted, taking a smaller bite out of the same bit mark and continuing behind Poe as he walked.

It was good. Nothing to climb a towering tree for in his opinion but it was good.

“You come out here for a reason?” Poe spared him a look, discarding his tools by the smaller barn.

Did he? To check on him, but that wasn’t much of an answer, certainly not one he could admit to straight out.

“You were just taking a long time, wanted to see if the wild Yavin beasts had gotten you.”

Poe stifled a chuckle, working the sling off his body to tie into a sack.

“I’m safe, don’t worry.”

But Finn caught his arm, keeping them outside, just far enough from the porch for a minute longer.

“I am a little worried though, you know.” He spoke directly to his feet, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Poe nodded, wiping his face and giving a silent shrug. “I’m fine, really.”

“You can talk to me, Poe…”

He knew that, he nodded because he knew that. And just like Finn, he had never doubted it. But something kept his throat welded shut, kept everything he had repressed for so many years down where he thought it belonged, inside and quiet.

There was so much he wanted to say, he just couldn’t find the voice to say it.

“I think my dad’s got dinner, so you know…” He gestured back to the house; Finn had no choice but to follow.

Rey and Kes were standing around the counter when the entered, pouring stew by the ladle-full into the bowls laid out there. Kes sighed when he caught sight of his filthy son, smacking him on the back affectionately and laughing. “I didn’t mean tonight but thank you.”

“I figure you had a laundry list for me tomorrow.” He sighed, laying the bag on the counter and waiting around with everyone else for Kes to finish rationing the delicious smelling stew.

“I offered to take Rey out to the Force tree but I haven’t been able to make the hike in a while, maybe it’s better if you do.” He added and they all nodded in agreement. “Let’s eat, I want to hear more stories.”

And stories he heard.

Whatever had changed between them, everything flowed easier. There was no tension like there had been before between Poe and Kes, everything had settled down.

It was only when Poe stood up to take the bowls and Finn followed to help, leaving Kes and Rey at the table, did it begin to fall off the wagon.

Neither of them caught what Rey had asked, but Finn couldn’t imagine she would have done it purposefully if she knew what would happen.

“Shara was a magnificent woman-”

Poe’s hand slipped on the bowl he scrubbed, dropping it with a clatter to the bottom of the sink. Finn was right by his side, drying the dishes, but even he almost dropped the spoon in his hand when he saw Poe’s shoulders tense up, the likes of which he had never seen to this extent.

Kes didn’t notice the intricacies of his son’s reaction the way Finn had, or even the way Rey had, the bowl clattering having caught her attention briefly before Kes continued on.

“I fought on the ground with Han Solo, I knew good pilots, but there was nothing like her. The heart, the tenacity-”

Poe had to shut the water off, reaching to the side to snatch the towel from Finn’s hands before he could even protest, wiping his hands down and pulling back from the sink. Kes continued on.

“Everything about her-”

He pulled back entirely, wiping his brow with the towel before tossing it aside and tearing off past Finn. If he noticed him standing there, he didn’t make it seem like he did, he barely missed shoulder checking him as he squeezed out of the kitchen, back out onto the porch, and judging by his heavy steps on the stairs, back out into the garden.

Kes didn’t even notice, even as both Rey and Finn shared a look of concern with each other, disconnected from his story, he continued to ramble on.

Finn set the last bowl down and muttered a quick, “excuse me” before taking off after him, back out to where he found him before, not wasting any time allowing his eyes to adjust before he searched the darkness for him.

“Poe?” He called out. No response.

He tried again, more desperate this time as he made it past the beasts and looked around. “Poe?”

He nearly tripped over him, catching sight of him sat on the ground, just at the end of the barn, on a bale of some sort of food for the beasts nearby, head in his hands.

“Poe…”

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that-”

It wasn’t a chuckle this time, it was a scoff that fell from Poe’s lips, strained but still there. “And yet you keep asking-”

“I’m just trying to help-”

“Well don’t.” He finally looked up at him, tears of hot desperation in his eyes, breaking from his lash line to drip down his cheeks. He used to sleeve to wipe them away as quickly as they formed, but Finn spotted them immediately. “I’m fine.”

“We came back here to slow down and you haven’t caught your breath once since we’ve been here-”

“I can breathe just fine-”

“You just stormed out of the kitchen-”

“I’m fine, Finn, really I’m-”

“You don’t have to be fine anymore, Poe.” He finally sighed out, kneeling down in front of where he sat, still avoiding his eye contact, and laid his hand as gently as he could on his knee. Poe didn’t pull away, so he left it there, massaging a gentle circle with his thumb. “The war is over, and you can slow down…”

Poe held his breath, unable to focus on anything else besides the light pressure he could feel over the knee of his pants, Finn’s finger dragging around, circle after circle. Even the humid weather and the probable plethora of bug bites he was sustaining fell to the wayside as Finn held his position right in front of him.

He couldn’t really hear him once he started, he figured whatever he said, he was making a point, but even his brain wasn’t working well enough to process it. Everything was flowing through his brain at a mile a minute, emotions he hadn’t allowed out in years and ones he had only come to realize recently.

His breath finally caught up to him, he sucked it in and let his chest fill with it.

He couldn’t let it out. Not now, not yet. He wasn’t ready for that.

“I’m fine, Finn, go back inside.” He huffed, slowly dragging both hands over his legs to meet Finn’s grip and softly push it away. “I’m fine.”

Finn wasn’t sure if he was saying it to himself or to him, the way the whisper fell out of his breath and Finn’s relatively close proximity, it could go either way. Whichever it was, he pulled back and nodded. He didn’t agree, but Poe wasn’t looking for an agreement.

“Just…” Poe sighed, standing and pacing around him, further from the house. Finn stood to meet him, but he still took two steps away and raised his hands to keep them at distance from one another. “Just, go back inside. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t. He was so far from fine that he couldn’t even see how hard he was fronting, and how painfully it was failing.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone, I don’t think-”

“It’s my farm Finn, I’ve got it.”

That wasn’t what he meant. It wasn’t the wild beasts, the foreign fauna or flora that he was worried about. It was his own head. He knew what it was like to put on a helmet and hide it all away, what that ever-present stress could do to the body for extended periods of time. He knew better than anyone.

But there was no argument to be made, Poe turned around and headed off deeper into the darkness, the last clear shadow of him Finn could make out was him hitting himself on the side of the head.

They couldn’t stay here, not if it was going to destroy him like this. He needed to tell him that. But he waited, he walked back to the porch and sat on the small chair at the bottom of the stairs and he waited to tell him just that when he got back.

He waited for most of the night. Eventually the subtle hum to the jungle and the warm air lulled him off to sleep, he had been so exhausted, he should’ve known he would have never been able to stay up much later than that.

It was the worst sleep he had ever gotten, he felt sick the entire time and he knew it wasn’t the stew, but Poe.

#stormpilot #finnpoe #tros spoilers #rey skywalker #rey #post tros #A Long Trip Home #also come and talk to me guys #my ask is always open #i love star wars and honestly #i need an outlet so come talk #also i know no one reads this series but whatever #i like it

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chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky · 5 years

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Lindseyyyy is it too late for this? lol I wish you would write a fic where it took so long for the gang to figure out Clarke wasn’t Clarke, that when she did return(maybe saved herself somehow—I’m such a sucker for your fics when C is her own friggin’ savior tyvm 🙌🏽 lol) major angst ensues. Sorry, I’m feeling lots today😬😂☺️

Looooooove! No, no! Not too late - I’m having way too much fun with it!

Clarke felt everything.

She felt the moment her breathing slowed, when her brain started toshut off. It was excruciating and terrifying, and something she wouldn’t wishon anyone. Then, she had to watch her body be used for horrifying acts, againsther own people, against her family,without them realizing it.

Perhaps that’s where they were. Where she stood with everyone. Theycouldn’t put it together, they couldn’t separate who she was from whatthey did. There were days when she wanted to give up – to succumb to the hellthat became her mind as she was locked away. But then… then she thought of whatshe would say to them if she had another chance. How she would approach itdifferently, how she would lean forward with herself, no longer keeping peopleat arm’s lengths.

So when she can see the horror in their expressions, Josephine still incontrol, Clarke knows she has to do something. She has to save them, even if itmeans saving them from herself.

“No,” Bellamy breathes, taking a step away from her. “I-It can’t be.”

Josephine tilts her head in a murderous way. “Is it really so hard tobelieve, Bellamy? That she’s gone?”

“You’re lying!” Murphy spits to Bellamy’s left. “Clarke is one toughbitch who wouldn’t be taken out by someone as pathetic as you. You can’t kill—”

“A cockroach?” Josephine asks. “Sure you can, John. You just have to paralyzeit.”

Bellamy’s expression is one that Clarke wishes she never had to see.The heartbreak. The despair. She’s seen it before – even worse, she’s seen itdirected at her – and all she wantsto do is cry out. But she knows he can’t hear her, he can’t see her. He can’tsee how she’s fought to get back to him, to back to all of them, only to be behindglass. It’s as if she is back atMount Weather, but she never escaped.

“No,” Bellamy swallows. “No, Clarke can’t be—”

“Dead?” Josephine taunts. “I assure you, she can. Because this is allmine.” Josephine gestures to Clarke’s body. “It was kinda a drag at first, butI learned that I can get over all the baggage if people listen to me all thetime. I mean, you guys bitch so much,I don’t know how she hasn’t just murdered you all yet because it makes life somuch easier, but you know. C’est la vie.”

“Josie,” Russell warns behind her. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m right and I should say it.” Josephine says, gesturing at them. “They’vebeen super annoying.”

Bellamy still looks at her as if she’s shot him. His eyes are widerthan Clarke has ever seen them and they glisten.

“Actually, I think turning them into – what do you call it,nightbloods? Super catchy, not going to lie,” Josephine says. “And then we justbreed them so we can bring all the primes back. And just keep them so we canhave endless nightbloods and we’ll live forever. It’s the perfect plan.”

“Josie!” Russell exclaims, eyes wide. “That is sociopathic. We can’t—”

“Actually, I wasn’t asking.” Josephine says, nodding to guards behindhim.

“Hail Josephine, hallowed be her name.” People say behind her, theireyes glazed over.

“Josephine!” Russell cries when people restrain him. “This is not whatwe agreed on!”

“No, but as usual, I need to make the decisions because yours are soweak.” Josephine sighs. “Tie them up. We’ll start the procedures immediately.”

Clarke watches in horror. She wants to scream. So wants to reach out tothem. “I bore it so they didn’t have to. I killed so they didn’t have to. I did everything so they didn’t have to!”Clarke screams. She puts her hands on her head. “I didn’t want to do it. I didn’twant to do it!”

Clarke takes her hands off her head. “I just want to protect them. It’swhat I’ve always wanted.”

Josephine flicks her fingers. “Bring them—”

She stops.

Everyone stares at her as she looks around. “My lady, everythingalright?” Someone asks.

“I—”

Clarke knows.

She never wanted more blood on her hands. She never wanted to killanother person. But they are too important. They are all so important.

Clarke will not apologize forsaving those she loves.

Everything comes back in pieces. It’s like someone turned a television,but the signal isn’t fully available. It’s fuzzy and in pieces, and at onepoint she feels something sharp against her back. It feels like she’s drowning –her head hurts, her body hurts, and she can’t breathe.

When she comes to, people are surrounding her. She’s vaguely aware ofsomething wet on the back of her neck. Her head lolls on the ground and someoneprops her up. “Josephine!” They cry. “Josephine, please!”

Clarke’s eyes flit open, her body trembling.

“Josephine!”

“Try again.” Clarke manages, her cheeks dragging across the ground asshe tries to stabilize herself.

People recoil.

Clarke brings her hands in front of her, hoisting herself on herforearms. “Clarke?”

Clarke moves her head to the noise, seeing Bellamy’s face yards away. “Bellamy?”She breathes, her lower lip trembling.

His face breaks into something mixed between relief and sorrow. “Oh mygod, Clarke.”

There’s a few clicks and Clarke looks up to see weapons pointed at herheads. “What have you done with Josephine?” Someone asks. A piece of metal ispressed against her head. “What have you done?”

Clarke brings her hands to the back of her neck. Her fingers are wetwith blood. Open flesh.

Clarke rummages around until her hands scramble against the Mind Drivethat’s on the ground next to her. She grabs it, taking it in her fingers. “Takenback what’s mine.”

No one stops her when she stands to her feet.

Clarke steadies.

She stands in the center of everyone, still. Sure. Her family is off tothe left, Russell and his on the right. The people of Sanctum filling inbetween.

She stands.

Mind Drive in hand, Clarke looks at her family. She sees the pain ontheir faces. Losing her and regaining her all at once.

Her body doesn’t quite feel like her own. It’s foreign and strange.Like putting on an outfit that you haven’t tried in years. It doesn’t fitright.

The guards blink and stare at Clarke. “W-What?” Someone asks, staringwhere Clarke is. “H-How are you… they are gods. They are immortal!”

Clarke shakes her head. “No.” She responds. “They are humans, just likeyou. Just like us. The only difference is, we try to save each other.” Shemoves and places a hand on one of the Sanctums’ guards faces. “The differenceis, we don’t take each other’s lives under the guise of faith.”

***

It ends like it started.

Quietly.

Except instead of being paralyzed, Clarke is surrounded by a bubble.People who are afraid to talk to her, people who are afraid that she isn’t her.Clarke learns to ignore it, settling back into the loneliness she was used to.

“What are you planning on doing with Russell?” Clarke asks, barginginto a meeting where everyone is circled. A few people jump. Someone even movesaway from her. Clarke would be lying to herself if she said it didn’t hurt, soshe looks to the ground.

“Why?” Emori asks suspiciously.

“I’d like to speak with him.” Clarke answers. “And I’d like to takeresponsibility of him.”

“Sounds like something Josephine would say—”

“I wish you would treat me like I hurt you on purpose.” Clarke states,her eyes watering. “I never wanted to hurt you.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “Doesn’tmatter, though, right? All I do is apologize and then do it again.”

Raven recoils. “Clarke, I—” she clears her throat. “This is different,someone stole a body, you didn’t have a choice—”

“And I did before? It was the only choice.” Clarke asks, shutting her eyes. She hears Bellamy’s intake of breath. “I was told youguys or Mount Weather, I chose you guys. I was told Grounders or you guys, Ichose you guys. I was told you guys or the City of Light and I chose you guys.Enough.”

Clarke clears her throat. “I am no longer going to apologize for savingthe ones I love. And I wish you would stop asking me to.”

Clarke turns to leave, whirling around. “Clarke,” Bellamy reaches outand grabs her arm. “I—” He looks around to the room. “I can’t believe I wasn’tthere again.”

She closes her eyes. When she does that for sleep, she sees thenightmare. When she opens them, the nightmares remain. “It’s not your fault,”Clarke says, blinking. “I would never put that on you.”

He shakes her head. “You don’t have to bear it anymore. That’s why I’mhere. We can bear it.”

“Bellamy, I—”

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.” Bellamy insists. “I’m here for you, do you understand? I’m here.”

Clarke pauses. His words reverberate again and again, and it clicks.

The world is so lonely. It doesn’t mean you have to be alone.

Clarke sucks in a breath. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moving throughout Sanctum, she moves quickly so no one can stop her.She doesn’t stop until she’s at Russell’s cell, trying to find the anger towardhim she expected.

He’s crumpled against the cell, his hair disheveled and clothes dirty. Whenhe catches her eye, he scoffs. “Come to finish the job?”

Clarke doesn’t respond. Instead, she looks to the guard, who gives herthe key. Unlocking the cell, Clarke moves toward him. “I understand your pain.”She states, eyes watering. “People leaving before you’re ready for them to doso. People leaving because of decisions youmade. I understand.”

Whatever Russell expected Clarke to say, it clearly wasn’t that. Hestares at her, eyes incredulous, but doesn’t respond.

Kneeling in front of him, Clarke places a hand on his knee. “I used tobe afraid of dying. That I would die young. It seemed like I was destined forit, you know? So much had happened. You cannot prevent death from happens. Itis all around us. It is like air. The people we love, they leave us. Peoplenever realize being left behind is so painful.”

Clarke moves in front of him. “I realize, I’m afraid of dying alone.Surrounded by nothing but my demons. The faces of those I killed. Of those Icouldn’t save.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m not afraid of death, Russell.”

Sucking in a breath, Clarke smiles at him. “I realize that you havenever had to face death. You’ve been postponing it for so long, I thought youmay like some company. Because I wouldn’t want to die alone. I can’t imagineyou would want to either.”

Clarke pulls something out of her pocket and shows it to him. Russell’seyes widen. “I am to be publicly executed for my crimes.”

Shaking her head, Clarke says, “Not if you don’t want to. And if you’reafraid, I’m here for you.”

Russell stares at the pill in her hands. She’d grabbed it in the lab duringone of her lucid moments, ready to take Josephine out if it meant the end ofher. He takes it from her, holding it close. “Clarke—”

“I know.”

Russell squeezes his eyes shut. “I just wanted to make up for theeclipse. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“I know.”

Because she does.

“I’m here.” Clarke says as he places the pill in his mouth. “I’m here,so you don’t have to be scared.” She reaches out and grabs his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” Russell asks. “I-I killed you, I took yourbody.”

“You don’t have to apologize for trying to save the ones you love tome.” Clarke says, eyes watering. “You never had to face death before. There wasalways another body, another host. This is uncharted territory. I’m not sayingwhat you did was right. But I’m here for you anyways. Because I’d like to thinkin the grand scheme of things, we’re not alone.”

“You’re not.”

Clarke frowns at Russell’s statement as he slumps against her shoulder.His weight grows heavier against her. She looks up to see a throng of people standingoutside the cell. Bellamy, Murphy, Jordan, Raven, Madi, Emori and Echo. Theyall stand before her as she holds Russell’s hand. “Don’t be afraid. We’re hereto help you.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.” Russell states, his words slow.

She squeezes her eyes shut and a tear streams down her cheek. “Don’t beafraid, I have you.”

Staring ahead at the people she always called family, Clarke takes abreath. “In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next.Safe passage in your travels, until our final journey to the ground.” Clarkelocks eyes with Bellamy, who stares at her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. “Maywe meet again.”

Bellamy closes his eyes. He mouths it, as if just for her.

“May we meet again.”

#the 100 #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #prompts #clarke griffin #russell lightbourne #bellamy blake #drabbles #Lindsey writes things #I think this got a little weird #but it was really sad to write honestly #i love you dear anon!#you are so lovely! <3 <3 <3

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thelastarchangelaskblog · 5 years

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Prelude to Our Archangels’ Debut

This is a draft (definitely not proofread) and probably has typos and weird sentences but someone asked for something sweet and simple because they were having a bad day. They left the specifics up to me so I just kind of ran with it and ended up with...this.

This being what could be technically a prelude to Seventh Year on the MCU side of things. This is short (if about 2,000 words is short?) but it’s going to be expanded and turned into something longer. (SOMEONE REMIND ME IF I FORGET). But it’s supposed to be short and sweet! The expanded version would...be neither of those things because angst IS going to creep in and I was trying my best to make this non-angsty.

This is non-angsty. Mostly. Ehhh.

Hope you enjoy! The completed version will at some point go up on on AO3. Just not now. Because this is only a bit.

“Think fast!”

Despite the command, there really wasn’t any thinking involved as Tony quickly stepped to the side, allowing for a glowing arrow to slam into the stone wall beside his head. There was a note attached to the arrow head. What was even more impressive was that it was the stone wall that splintered on contact, not the arrow.

Tony reached out and pulled the arrow out, noting the slight fizzing as the Grace embedded in the arrow interacted with his own. He pulled the note off, finding it to be a handwritten and personally drawn Happy Birthday card. The artwork looked like Steve’s.

The arrow disappeared into the ether the moment Tony let it go. “It’s not my birthday,” he pointed out, looking up to his assembled friends.

“Semantics!” Clint declared, flicking a finger over his bowstring. “We missed, like, a billion of them so let us make it up you!”

“It wasn’t actually a billion—”

“Technicalities,” Clint interrupted, giving Tony a hard look. “Besides, you’ve had more than a billion birthdays by now so it does count!”

“We didn’t know him then,” Natasha said.

“It still counts!”

“So why haven’t you celebrated all of my birthdays that you missed?”

Clint frowned. “We can do that, too.”

Natasha sighed. “Please don’t.”

“Eh, your loss.” Clint shrugged, then turned back to Tony. “Hey, get a load of this!” He demonstrated his bow, which glimmered faintly with Grace. The quiver on his back that was filled with arrows glowed similarly. “I know you’ve got a fancy sword and all but I didn’t really think that would work with me so I pulled this out!”

“That is definitely neat.” Tony could remember the days when he’d been responsible for designing Clint’s fancier arrows. “You’re not going to be limited by tech anymore when it comes to what your arrows can do.”

“I know!” Beaming, Clint let his bow and arrows dissipate. “Steve’s got a shield, but he’s kind of set on clinging to the one you had in your room—”

“Because that’s my shield, Clint,” Steve said, sounding exasperated.

“But not as cool as a shield made out of angel energy, is it?” Clint waved a dismissive hand. “Natasha’s got her stingers and a gun if she wants. Pepper hasn’t actually pulled anything out—”

“It would be a filing cabinet,” Pepper said dryly.

“—Rhodey tricked himself out in a suit of armor—”

“Damn right I did,” Rhodey said, pleased.

“—Bruce did…something funny with hands.” Clint turned to squint at Bruce.

Bruce shrugged. “Hulk smash,” he offered wryly.

“And James got a sniper rifle,” Clint concluded, nodding towards James, who shrugged as well. “I think we gave Balthazar a headache.”

“I’m sure,” Tony said, amused. “Was he saying it wasn’t possible?”

“That and something about feathers.”

The feathers made sense. His friends didn’t have wings like Tony’s siblings, who didn’t have wings like how humans would see them as. But because his friends were humans and only had a single impression of wings as being from birds, their Grace reflected this. Their wings were bird-shaped and even had feathery outlines if one squinted.

“He’s not going to be the only one confused,” Tony said. “You guys are human mixed with angel – but still mostly human. You’re going to do things differently, and that’s the point.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great and all, but let’s get back to the party.” Clint gestured to the room and the large banner displayed overhead that read HAPPY UN-BIRTHDAY. “You’re going to be heading out soon, right?”

Tony sobered at the reminder of what they had to do. “Yeah.”

Rhodey approached him, slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders just like old times. “But I’m sure we’ve got time for a party, yeah? I owe you one for everything I’ve missed. And while the last one looked wild, you looked a little down.”

Tony jolted a little as Rhodey’s wings brushed against his own, as his Grace mixed with Rhodey’s soul that wasn’t just a soul anymore. It was a feeling he’d have to get used to and he was so grateful that he had the opportunity now.

“We don’t have a cake,” Bruce said, sounding apologetic.

“We don’t have a cake because we can make a cake,” Clint said impatiently.

“I don’t think we want to go that route—”

Clint narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers. A cake materialized on the table that was set up to the side.

It did look like a good cake. If one disregarded how it was vaguely insubstantial and see-through.

“I don’t think you have the whole ‘materializing food’ bit down yet,” Tony said.

Frowning, Clint snapped his fingers again. The cake disappeared, only to be replaced one that looked even more insubstantial. It was also floating slightly.

“It looks nice?” Tony offered, grinning.

“Shut up,” Clint muttered, narrowing his eyes and rubbing his fingers together. “I can do this—”

This ensuing snap did create a solid cake, but it promptly swallowed everything in its orbit and proceeded to do the same to the floor before Tony quickly dispelled it.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you don’t experiment with materializing things in occupied settings,” Tony said, bending over to inspect the missing pieces of the floor. It didn’t take much effort to fix that so Thor wouldn’t look disappointed in him. “You made it so solid that it turned into a black hole.”

“Balthazar didn’t say that would happen.” Clint sounded aggrieved.

“Balthazar didn’t know that would happen because no angel has ever accidentally created a black hole.” Tony put up his hands when Clint glared at him. “To be fair, we didn’t actually have to learn how to do things like this; it all came naturally.”

“Well, that’s Clint,” Rhodey said, sounding like he was hiding a laugh. “But he’s right in that we need a cake.” With an intensely focused expression, he snapped his fingers.

The cake that appeared on the remaining table in the room was definitely solid, coated in chocolate icing, and looked positively mouthwatering.

“No fair,” Clint muttered. “How’d you get it right?”

“Because I’m that good.” Rhodey sounded smug.

“Because you kept telling Balthazar ‘one more time’ until you managed a solid cake,” Pepper said, unimpressed.

“And that.”

Steve was already cutting the cake, putting it on some of the fancy Asgardian plates that someone had provided the Avengers. He handed it to Tony with a small grin.

“Happy Birthday,” he said. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be there for the last so many.”

Tony took the plate, returning Steve’s grin with a small smile. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but I think we could have done something more. Something that wouldn’t have meant you thinking we were gone.”

Tony nudged Steve’s shoulder with the edge of the plate. “Hey. Not your fault, okay? It wasn’t any of your faults but my Dad’s. I know firsthand that once He gets—” He stopped, realizing that wasn’t the right tense. Sighing, he continued, “I know firsthand that once He got an idea in His head, it wasn’t possible to change it. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

“I still feel like maybe we could have talked to Him more,” Steve said, frowning down at Tony’s plate. “Just…something. Maybe we could have convinced Him to let you know—”

“Ha.” Samael’s voice was a surprise. Ne appeared on the table, sitting next to the cake with one leg pulled up to nir chest. “Listen to Tony there, okay? There wasn’t anything you could have done. None of us ever had any luck convincing Him once He was set on something. So stop it.” Ne pulled our nir own knife and cut a slice, dumping it on a plate. “And Happy Birthday, old man.” Sam was grinning slyly.

Tony pointed his fork at her. “You know damn well it’s not my birthday.”

“Every day is an un-birthday,” Sam shot back cheerfully. “Now take the first bite or Dummy’s going to have my head.”

Grinning lightly, Tony bit into the cake.

It…tasted like molecules.

Now, even nowadays, if Tony wasn’t paying attention, he could slip and only end up tasting molecules. It took a little effort (but less than it had with his old vessel) to focus on the physical sensations and sink into what his human vessel felt.

But this cake?

There wasn’t any other flavor associated with it. It was literally molecules.

“It’s…great.” Tony managed to swallow the bite. “Definitely solid.”

“Why do you have Dummy-face on?” Rhodey asked, squinting at Tony.

Tony wondered how quickly he could get rid of his slice; Sam was already eyeing hers suspiciously. “I do not have a Dummy-face.”

“Yes, you do. It’s that one right there.”

“I have no such face.”

“It’s the face where you’re trying your best to pretend like you’re not dying even though he switched the—”

“What’s a Dummy-face?” Dummy asked, cutting Rhodey off. His oldest had appeared behind Sam and was peering at the cake curiously.

Rhodey switched gears so quickly it was amazing. “It’s when your dad’s super proud of you! What are you doing here?”

“I heard there was a party.” Dummy glanced at Tony, who wasn’t sure what kind of face he was making other than a oh shit one. “Oh, that face. It means he likes your cooking.”

Rhodey shot Tony an affronted stare.

Tony averted his gaze guiltily, poking at the rest of his cake with a fork.

To the side, Steve was making a peculiar face as he swallowed his own mouthful and Bruce was inspecting the cake very closely. Pepper had politely taken a small bite and then set her plate down. Clint had gagged and spat his mouthful out on the plate; Natasha just carefully slid her plate to the side. James hadn’t even taken a plate and was looking rather pleased about that decision.

“This tastes like atoms,” You said, fork in his mouth. “I didn’t know something could taste like atoms.”

Butterfingers had her head cocked to the side. “It tastes like someone put together all the elements of a cake but forgot the flavor…”

Dummy had nothing to say but his face spoke worlds.

“It tastes like atoms?” Rhodey stole Tony’s fork and took a bite. He made a face like he’d sucked on a sour lemon. “Oh my God. Tony, why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was a solid first rate effort?” Tony shrugged, then dumped the cake somewhere to be forgotten about. “Hey, at least you got the form down.”

“But now we still don’t have a cake.” Rhodey sounded disgruntled.

“That’s fine – I can make one—”

“Nope!” Sam made the rest of Rhodey’s cake vanish with a quick hand gesture. “You’re not doing anything! Birthday boy doesn’t bake the cake! That’s the rule!”

Dummy brightened. “Ooh, I can—”

“Nah, my turn!” Sam snapped her fingers, and a large, multilayered cake appeared in the spot Rhodey’s cake had been in. “Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and a surprise.” She was grinning. “And, no, I’m not telling you which layer is which.”

“Is the surprise mint?” Butterfingers asked. “It better not be mint.”

“It’s not mint. What do you take me for? A heathen?”

“It’s meat,” Clint guessed, already picking up a large knife.

Sam shot him a look. “Okay, seriously? Meat? Do I look like Uncle?”

“Hey,” Tony protested. “Since when did I ever make a meat-flavored cake?”

“You made meatball cupcakes,” James said. “You made meatball cupcakes that looked like sweet cupcakes and didn’t tell anyone. Do you have any idea what my tastebuds thought that day?”

“You liked them.”

“After I got over the sensation of biting into a cupcake and getting something savory, yes.”

“It’s not meat,” Sam said, flicking a slice over to Tony. “And it’s not mint.”

“Pistachio,” Butterfingers stated.

Sam made a face. “Who makes a pistachio flavored cake? Who?”

Bruce coughed, raising a hand.

“Fine, I’ll give you that given you turn green.” Sam paused, poked at a slice, and then gave the now green cake to Bruce. “Pistachio.” She shot a glance to Tony. “Are you going to eat it or not? It doesn’t taste like molecules!”

Tony took a bite before anyone else could speak. This one definitely tasted like chocolate and like a cake. He gave Sam a thumbs up.

“We should’ve put candles on it,” Clint said, looking down at his slice. “Just…a billion candles.”

“You have no idea how many candles that is,” Natasha said. “You couldn’t fit a billion candles on a cake.”

“We’re angels now; we totally could.”

“You’d just make another black hole.”

“Oh God, you’re never going to let me live that down.”

“Definitely not.”

“Oh hell,” James said off to the side, making a face. “It’s coconut. That’s what it is. Sam, you made an entire layer out of coconut. What the hell.”

Ignoring Sam’s laughter and James’s cursing, Tony closed his eyes as he took another bite of his cake. This time he didn’t jump as Rhodey’s wings brushed against his.

“You all right, Tones?” Rhodey’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah.” Tony opened his eyes, grinning at Rhodey. “I’m fantastic.”

#i have nothing against mint-flavored cakes #i think #i do not like coconut though #or pistachio #my writing #prelude to seventh year #i guess that's a title?#tony stark #gabriel

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mcgonnagle · 5 years

Text

Happy happy birthday to my fellow fangirl, EdWin squad companion and amazing friend @winryofresembool !!🤗🎉 A super long time ago you gave out this sort of prompt to write something based on the topic of Ed‘s leather pants, and I do keep my promises^^ (And if you’re wondering why it turns serious and angsty about halfway through I DON‘T KNOW EITHER)

Anyway, I hope you have a wonderful day and a year filled with lots of chocolate (both the cake kind and the EdWin kind xD❤️❤️)

It was the stupid pants.

More precisely, it was Granny finally forcing the boys to clean out the suitcases that had been sitting in the corner of their room for weeks.

But really, it was stupid, infuriating Edward Elric, who never in his life seemed to throw anything away. Because why in the world would he still have a pair of leather pants at the bottom of his suitcase, when to the best of her knowledge, he hadn’t worn those since they’d split up that day in Briggs?

And maybe she should have known better than saying out loud how small they seemed now, but noone besides that idiot could have somehow twisted that into her calling him short. Which apparently he now had to somehow disprove by putting on clothes that were never ever going to fit-

„Brother, it’s really not necessary“ Al sighed next to her on the bed.

She’d been helping him look through the clothes he’d brought from Central, sorting out the ones he‘d already grown out of. Al had lamented the loss of the first shirts he‘d picked out for himself in more than five years, but honestly, she was glad she’d never seen him in those. It was still scary to look at him sometimes, as if he’d be blown away in the slightest breeze like a dandelion seed-

„I‘ll show you! Just you wait-“ Ed finished pulling up the stupid pants with a grunt, and admittedly, they came up quite short on the ankles.

They were also very tight higher up.

Ed didn’t seem to care though, or was willing to ignore it for the time being as he turned around with a grand flourish. The effect was slightly ruined by his struggle to stay upright.

Winry snorted, and she could hear Al shake his head with a long-suffering sigh, muttering something like „Oh, Brother“.

„What are y‘all laughing for? Shut up, I‘m taller than you-“

He kept wriggling around, apparently trying and failing to pull up the zipper with-

Her tongue caught behind her palate.

It wasn’t like- she’d seen Ed in underwear countless times, hell she’d seen him naked after his surgeries, and it wasn’t something she’d ever given a second thought too-

She knew she loved him of course, had even admitted it out loud to Granny, but there was still something profoundly embarrassing about realizing that your childhood friend had a nice ass. Like really, really nice.

Winry could feel her cheeks grow hot, and bit the inside of her lip, hard.

She forced herself to look away, focusing instead on evading the foot he kept waving around in front of their faces, presumably to show off that he had indeed outgrown the stupid leather pants.

It was a beautiful foot, if she did say so herself, with the new suspension system she’d installed three weeks ago shining through at the heel, smelling slightly of Brautmeier‘s Best Machine Oil, now that the idiot finally remembered to properly take c-

Was that?- Was that actually?

„Edward Elric, why the hell is there a huge dent on your dorsal plate?! What did you do?“

He stopped whatever height-related rant he‘d been yabbering until now, and gulped slightly. Then he narrowed his eyes at her.

„Well if anything it’s your Granny’s fault, that old hag has been a total slavedriver and wouldn’t shut up about the roof leaking in the workshop-“

„Ed you absolute moron, we all told you to take it easy with your arm, and you keep insisting on doing everything on your own-“

She forced herself to take a deep breath and slowly unclenched her fists.

„Well what happened? Did your hand spasm again and you dropped the hammer?“

His eyes widened for a second before turning dark.

„So what if I dropped the hammer? My leg works fine. And you know what? My arm is fine too, I punched the literal incarnation of God in the face with this arm, so I think I can handle a fucking roof-“

She could vaguely hear Al struggling to get off the bed (at what point had she stood up?), telling her and Ed to please calm down, but the blood rushing in her ears seemed to drown out every other sound and if she could just make that bloody idiot see reason for one second-

„Well you obviously can’t handle a fucking roof, not if you’re damaging your automail while y-“

„See this is why I don’t tell you things, you’re always freaking out about the tiniest things! You’re-“

He stopped himself when he saw her blinking away tears, which only made her more angry.

„You’re such an idiot“, she shouted, and cursed her voice for sounding so screechy. She whirled around, and left the door rattling in its hinges on her way out.

Al could sort through the rest of his shirts himself. Hopefully.

Or maybe that stupid brother of his could do something useful for once, that didn’t result in him ruining her automail, and hurting himself, and-

She gripped the wrench in her pocket tightly, and imagined herself giving Ed a good, hard whack on the head.

She turned to the workshop, in need of a distraction, and started with the first thing on this week‘s list, which was measuring and recutting parts for an arm they‘d upgrade in four days.

It was a good arm, an interesting project because she could combine the lighter alloy she worked with at Garfield‘s with her earlier designs-

It was still not quite enough to get her mind to stop thinking about stupid, nerve-racking Edward Elric.

For all of his patience with Al‘s slow recovery, he remained just as reckless and prickly with his own as he had been at eleven.

Maybe it was frustration after they’d beaten all those impossible odds, or maybe he just didn’t want Al to see that the arm he‘d sacrificed himself for wasn’t working perfectly; whatever the reason, Ed‘s arm was a taboo topic and it annoyed her to no end.

The metal grinder was whirring loudly in her ears, and so she didn’t notice the knocking until it was accompanied by a particularly loud clang of metal against metal and Ed‘s irritated voice calling „C‘mon Winry don’t be a bitch, I‘m trying to apologize here.“

She shut the machine off and set her goggles aside.

„Sorry, I didn‘t hear you. Come in.“

The door opened and closed while she began to clear her work table.

She could see him shift his weight from one foot to the other out of the corner of her eye.

„I‘m sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean that- what I said. I‘m sorry.“

„It’s okay. I guess I overreacted a bit.“

„Would you- would you consider fixing my leg? I mean, it still works and all, but it ain‘t that pretty I guess-“

Winry gestured to the chair next to her. „Sit down, take off your pants, you know the- wait“.

She threw the screwdriver into the closest drawer (even if that one was for measuring instruments, technically-well nevermind) and hated, hated how her breath hitched in her throat.

„Why in the world are you still wearing those damn pants?“

His face turned red and he looked away. „I- couldn’t get them off“, he mumbled, waving vaguely with his right hand for emphasis. Oh.

„And Al refused to help me! He said it was my own stupid fault, and that I should go beg for your mercy or whatever-“

„Of course I‘ll help you! Just uhh- can you hold up your boxers if I pull?“

„Umm- yeah sure.“ His cheeks were flaming when she knelt down in front of him, his eyes fixated on the anatomy posters on the wall.

„Okay, so I‘ll just-“

„Uhuh.“

„Right.“ She could feel her ears growing hot, and bit her lip. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, you‘ve helped your patients with this a thousand times. The fact that this is Ed should make it easier, if anything.

By the times she‘d managed to peel the pants off down to knee height, her lip was bleeding, and Ed‘s forehead was covered in sweat. Also he seemed to be mumbling something incoherent.

„Look, the hardest part is done. I think it’s easiest for the rest if you sit down, Ed. Ed?“

„-lium, Calcium, Scandium-“

„ED!“ She added a slight punch to his side for good measure, and he blinked at her.

„Uhh yeah.“ They hobbled over to the chair together, her supporting his shoulder.

„Why did you put them on anyway? I mean-“ Ed sat down with a grunt,and she rolled her eyes.

„I mean, you know that you‘ve grown since last year. You knew that these pants wouldn’t fit you. So why-“ she finally managed to pull the last piece over his feet, and threw the damn thing on his lap.

„Why did you do it?“

He leant back on the chair, crossing his arms behind his head and avoiding her eyes.

„I guess I had to prove to myself that I really can’t be the Fullmetal alchemist anymore“, he answered finally, his mouth pulled into a crooked smile.

„Because your pants are now too short?“ She raised her eyebrows.

„Well, I always made them myself, so it actually- ugh I don’t know, damnit Winry, they were a part of it too, my pants, my jacket, my boots, my coat- never got that one back from Mrs. Bradley now that I think about it-

I know it’s kinda pathetic, but I guess I had to really see it again-“

„It’s not pathetic“, she replied, careful to keep her voice neutral, and hopefully keep her face from pulling into any weird grimaces.

„Well I obviously can’t wear them anymore, so maybe I should give them to some kid in the village, someone who can appreciate my edgy-“

„ I don’t know, or you could keep them for your kids someday.“

Damnit, why had she said that? Her head was spinning as if she’d just gotten off of Rush Valleys most terrible rollercoaster, and Ed‘s face was rapidly approaching tomato colour.

„Win-ry“, he choked, and this clearly was a discussion for later, way, way into the future-

„Forget I said that! What I meant to say-“ was there something she’d meant to say? Well, she had better think of something fast-

„Don’t call yourself pathetic. Please. You gave up something really important to you, even if we got Al back. If I had to give up automail- I guess I would feel very lost for a while.“

„But I‘m not lost! After all those years I‘m finally back home, right, this is everything we wanted, and I‘m happy, I am, it’s just-“

He was breathing hard, fingers clenched around his knees so tight the knuckles shone white.

Their eyes met, for a second, and then he looked away again, lips pressed into a thin line.

„I guess I never imagined myself becoming this useless“.

„Ed you’re not-“

„I know, I know. And I‘d do it all again, obviously, because in exchange I got Al, and my friends, and y-“

His ears turned red again. He raised up his right arm, clenching and unclenching his hand, and she caught herself waiting for the familiar click-click-click of her first automail.

„It’s just, I started alchemy when I was five. First it was just fun, and then Mom liked it, and then I thought I had to get her back, and then I had to get Al‘s body-

Point is, I‘m not good at anything else. I don’t know anything besides alchemy, I can’t even figure out how to fix a stupid roof-“

„Will you shut up about the damn roof? I‘ll fix it tomorrow, if it bothers you that much-“

„More like it bothers Granny that much“, she heard him mutter-

„-and about the alchemy thing, I guess you just have to decide what you want to do with your life now. Not your mom, not what you have to do.“

She touched his jaw lightly, crouching down to meet his eyes.

„Just because you can’t do physical transmutations anymore doesn’t mean you stop being an alchemy freak though.“

His eyebrow twitched. Then the corner of his mouth.

„That’s rich coming from you. Damn gearhead.“

„Speaking of“, she lifted herself back up, „I still have to fix that foot of yours. You’re a walking disgrace to Rockbell automail right now.“

He snorted, probably about to spout some smartass remark, but she sent him a withering glare.

He wisely decided to shut up.

„Thank you, Win“, he mumbled amidst the clanking of her hammer.

„Seriously. I owe you one.“

You could wear those pants again. Get Al to adjust the size-

Out loud, she said: „Don’t worry about it. We’re all home now. That’s what counts. We have time to figure things out, right?“

#edward elric #Winry Rockbell #edxwin #my writing #fma #fmab

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freigaeist · 7 years

Note

namseok for no.11 and if you make it the usual amount of angsty i'm gonna cry.... just saying..... ily bea 💜

anja my dude my bestest my love, i’ll really try not to make it the usual amount of angst! i can do happy!!! i can do fun i can do this!!! /cracks knucklesupdate: i tried cried and am so, so sorry but ilu2

send me a ship and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic

11 things you said when you were drunk (namseok)

hoseok is woken up by the feeling of a headache working through his head with the intensity of a jackhammer. his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and he is in need of painkillers and a shitload of water. telling by the ache of his legs and arms and the growl of his tummy he should maybe just get a new meat shell.

when he tries to get up his skull is being pierced, or at least it feels like it and he groans and presses his hands over his face carefully, his fingers damp and his body too hot, sweaty sheets curled around him, strangling him.

“oh my god-”

“-you’re awake! good then, i guess”, a low voice hums from somewhere above and his dizzy, tired thoughts (accompanied by a shrill tinnitus) are convinced it’s god he’s talking to before he remembers the last person he was with.

“hey noodles, mind sharin’ some water?”, hoseok croaks and reaches out blindly, eyes still closed against the bright light of a sunny day reaching through the window of what he supposes must be namjoon’s room, telling by the scent and the softness of the mattress underneath his tensed and exhausted body. namjoon gives him what he asks for, cool bottle a pleasure to his sweaty palm and he downs it within seconds, sighing loudly when done and throwing it in the general direction of the trash bin (and hears the satisfying rustle of the plastic bag shortly after).

a minute or two he lays there, forearm over his face, sprawled out on namjoon’s bed and he hears namjoon’s body shifting on the floor besides the bed. his friend is quiet, too quiet, he can tell though being hungover and still dizzy. so he turns his head with a frown, blinks down at namjoon and studies his face through irritated slits.

“hey!” he nudges namjoon’s knee, let’s his wrist stay there, balancing shakingly. his hand feels too heavy, his arm even more. namjoon looks up, all doe-eyed and pouting. that is unusual for him, except when he’s pretending - which he is right now.

oh shit.

“you’re quiet. did somethin’ happen yesterday?”, hoseok asks. his voice is hoarse and the faint sting in his throat tells him he must’ve been really loud yesterday. or worse. he hopes he just sung along too enthusiastically. namjoon shakes his head wildly, grins not broad but actually strained and since it doesn’t reach his eyes they stay wide open and give his expression a somewhat psychotic undertone.

“nope!”, he answers then, popping the last syllable and though hoseok’s frown deepens and he tilts his head to get a better look at the other namjoon doesn’t falter, just continues staring. which makes it very obvious to hoseok that something’s off; namjoon is one of the worst liars he knows but then again try fooling jung hoseok.

“you’re lying”, he deadpans and coughs out a laugh, sitting up with a heavy groan before he sits cross-legged and face to face with namjoon, staring at his every mimic and gesture. his thoughts are still a spiral downwards, faint memories a colorful blur but his observational skills are as sharp as always. namjoon presses his lips together, puts a hand on his neck as a poor excuse to lower his eyes and hoseok tilts his head slightly to the side.

“joon-ah, tell me. right now, or i’m gonna-”

“-you were, like, super drunk, okay? i don’t blame you, i really don’t!”, it bursts out of namjoon, he even raises his palms in a defending manner and once again blinks up at hoseok with wide eyes, tousled hair and one ear still red from where he slept on it like death itself, giving him an even more child-like, innocent appearance. hoseok thinks about that, or at least tries to, and pinches the bridge of his nose to numb the everlasting headache. inhaling deeply he tries to bring back any kind of memory of the former evening and night but there’s just the faint throb of the skull-piercing pain and a blur of colors, scents and noises mixing together to something far too psychedelic and fucked up for past-drunk hoseok and his confused and seemingly slightly scared friend.

“ ‘kay, cool. super drunk. what else we got?”, hoseok asks and doesn’t know if he really wants to know. does he? nonetheless, namjoon obediently answers, voice loud and jumpy:

“you- you said some things and man, it’s cool! nothing nasty, just as i dragged you home-”

“-you what? how drunk-”, hoseok interrupts annoyed.

“-yeah, i gave you a piggyback actually and-”, namjoon tries to continue.“-what the fuck! what the fucking-”, hoseok interrupts again, voice growing shrill.

“-watch your profanity!”

“why’d you have to gimme a piggyback? dude, how gone was i?”, hoseok asks, voice not quieter but less hysteric. not that he minds being dragged on namjoon’s slender form but how did he even, honestly. the guy is a walking disaster on two legs without holding up another weight close to his, all muscles and energy, on top of his clumsy bean sticks.

at that namjoon shrugs, kind of exaggerating, pulling a face of pure distress and desperately gesturing around with his hands and hoseok can see that he almost hits long, slender fingers against the bed frame. hoseok just groans again, presses one hand over his face and waves the other dismissively at whatever namjoon wants to say because he already knows.

“fine, get it, i get it! super gone, ‘kay!”, he murmurs defeatedly, brushing a hand through his hair he looks at namjoon’s bashful and overly attentive face again and wants to punch him in said face a bit.

“but what’s that face for. what did i say”, he asks in a deadpan voice, not even raising it in the end quizzically like asking but more like demanding an answer, very well aware of his drunken self spreading everything that swims and buzzes through his brain immediately by yelling it out into the world - or trying to tell whoever happens to be next to him at that given moment. namjoon opens his mouth, pauses, looks around in a call for help. he has a finger raised and points it at hoseok absentmindedly and seems very desperate to find a halfway okay and acceptable way to describe whatever it was that hoseok did and said last night.

hoseok’s insides curl into nervous snakes, clenching his fists he bumps them against his knees and a low and impatient hum grows in his throat, turning into a whiny and high-pitched noise, his voice wavering until he reaches out and shoves namjoon’s shoulder who grunts and falls back a little before opening his mouth.

“it’s actually kind of hard to replicate our dialogue. more of a monologue, though. your monologue, that is”, namjoon rambles and his hands are doing this nervous thing again where they fling around in vague gestures, tangled in his hair, resting on his neck, tapping against the curve of his jaw, his lips every now and then. it drives hoseok crazy and he wants to both slap namjoon’s hands down and hold them tight so namjoon can’t use them to distract his gaze and busy himself and yell at namjoon to finally spit it out.

“i swear to god if you don’t tell me-”

“-you don’t remember anything?”, namjoon desperately asks, loudly over hoseok and blinks up at him and when hoseok shakes his head he presses his lips together in defeat, dimples drawing deep and averting his eyes again he scratches his right brow before he sighs deeply.

“okay, fine. so, we were at the club, and then at another, we met a few people and you wouldn’t stop dancing-”

“-which is so unusual!”

“-please don’t interrupt me. it’s hard enough to try to tell you this without you commenting on everything!”“i’m super nervous, of course i’d comment on everything!”“i know your nervous behaviors, hobi, but please.”

“sometimes i want to choke you. no hard feelings!”, hoseok chirps sarcastically but gestures namjoon to continue and mimics locking his mouth, throwing away an imaginary key. his insides are still a mixture of iron pressing him into the mattress and jelly making him want to move all of his limbs at once, throw up and additionally maybe jump out of the window, he can’t stand the tension in the air, surrounding and suffocating them.

“so, we’re there and we both drink far too much, okay?”

“we’ve been there a gazillion-”

“-what did i say about interruptions!”

“continue, my dearest friend”, hoseok sighs and actually presses his palms over his mouth. namjoon rolls his eyes at that, swallows and scratches his lower back, eyes darting around in a search for the right words.

“it was just really weird? you were in a kind of sentimental mood, you know? it was round about two blocks from here when you suddenly sat down and didn’t wanted to go on anymore”, namjoon starts again and hoseok’s neck and shoulders tense. when he tries to picture the situation the image becomes more clear in his head, he thinks his memory is coming back, this is not a picture his mind makes up to underline and visualize a story.

there’s his arm around namjoon’s neck though the other is way taller than him but he always manages to pull him down to his level. he thinks he remembers namjoon’s army coat against his leather jacket, namjoon’s side pressed against his and a pained groan when hoseok tugs at him too abruptly, hears his own laughter throbbing inside of his head. okay, that’s fine.

“why did i sit down”, hoseok asks slowly and namjoon avoids his piercing gaze.

“i don’t know, you just said you wouldn’t go any further and that i have to carry you”, namjoon mutters and hoseok feels his ears getting red and a nervous laughter bubbling in his chest, leaving his throat loud and obnoxious.

“hah, why would i- but you carried me?”

“well i was tired and you were super drunk and i wanted us home and safe and-”

“joon-ah.”

“yeah, i convinced you that a piggyback is just as cool as being carried bridal style”, namjoon coughs out and lifts a hand to wipe his nose, actually hiding a lopsided smile. the burn of hoseok’s ears spreads onto his neck.

“are you serious, i did not-”

“yeah, you did. but i somehow managed to get you on my back and-”

“-oh god, no! wait”, hoseok exclaims, almost yells and covers his eyes, shakes his head like he wants to get rid of the image when it blossoms behind closes eyes.

there he sits, on the ground seemingly, the perspective ant-like and his hands reaching out towards namjoon who is bent forward in front of hoseok, a wasted and anxious expression on his face, lit up by streetlights grotesquely.

“did i make grabby hands at you?”, hoseok asks coyly and when namjoon doesn’t answer he peakes through his fingers and sees namjoon suppressing a smile by biting his lower lip and nodding slowly, looking up in amusement yet very carefully.

“you did make grabby hands, yeah. pretty cute. you remember?”

“i think i do. wish i would not”, hoseok mutters and rests his head in his hands, elbows steadied on his knees as the memories come crashing in.

he thinks he was hanging off namjoon’s back with loose limbs, arms dangling around his neck, his right cheek pressed to namjoon’s left and his legs softly kicking at the long, clumsy bean sticks carrying him ever so often. hoseok thinks he remembers that his belly was a warm, swirling mess that felt good and that his chest was bubbling and even warmer and feeling even better. his cheeks ache and maybe that is because he was grinning like an idiot the whole time, wasn’t he?

“and you said something about how i smelled good which i didn’t believe because we were just coming out of the club and everything was smoke and club and shit. but you insisted and i know better than to fight with an intoxicated hoseok”, namjoon finishes causally and hoseok hears his own voice ringing inside of his head, too loud and words slurring, hot breath against namjoon’s neck smelling like jägermeister and his head throbbing and flashes of what seems like electricity in his memory lighting up the scene but that was probably just cars passing by.

“you smell sooo good, joon-ah, sososo SO good! very, very good! i love your smell, joon-ahhh! you smell-”

“-jesus, joseph and maria, i know, ho- shit, oh crap, you’re so fuckin’ heavy i’m gonna pass the fuck out! stop fuckin’ rubbing your face into mine, dude, i’m gonna fall over, shit fuck for fucks- fucking fuckery!”

namjoon has that habit of swearing very intensely and creatively as soon as alcoholic liquid hits his tongue and he didn’t disappoint this time, hoseok still hears his angry growls and breathy swears as lively as possible.

“uhm, do you remember what you said close to home? and, uhh, here?”, namjoon asks quietly, watching hoseok’s face going through different changes of emotions that come to an halt at something close to disgust, terror and embarrassment. he snaps out of it and blinks at namjoon over his hands, palms pressed together with fingers ghosting over his mouth as if he’s praying. for a complete loss of memory of the last night, probably.

the low hum that leaves his throat softly could be understood as “no” and namjoon nods, disappointment washing over his face and it’s that kind of expression that makes hoseok’s insides squirm painfully. his heart skips a beat and he wants to reach out to namjoon, his fingers are twitching but he presses them against his lips again, spreading them, hearing his knuckles protest lightly.

wasn’t it always like that? he really wants to reach out, unsure what his fingers want to do and would end up doing but it’s an urge he can hardly suppress and another reason why he isn’t around as often anymore. namjoon is his friend since forever and he doesn’t want to make namjoon uncomfortable, things between them stiff and awkward.

but things are stiff and awkward right now, namjoon is keeping words in the back of this throat that once belonged to hoseok. he spit them out, let them stumble out and now namjoon has to carry the burden of whatever he said and forgot. now namjoon feels bad about telling hoseok when it was him who said things he probably meant but didn’t want the insignificantly younger to hear, things he doesn’t want him to know.

hoseok is feeling sick, he wants to throw up just to release that guilt pressing down onto his stomach but knows it wouldn’t solve anything. so instead he reaches out, fingers ghosting over namjoon’s bleached hair and tips pressing against his oily forehead, shoving lightly. namjoon whines softly, his lashes flutter and he closes his eyes when his head rolls back onto his shoulders again. there’s those little wrinkles on his chin as he purses his lips, pouting. he looks soft and tired and vulnerable and hoseok’s heart aches a little bit, throbbing heavily.

“namjoon-ah, please tell me what i said. i gotta know”, he pleas quietly, voice wavering in annoyance but soft undertone comforting. namjoon releases a heavy breath through his nose, rubs at his eyes with one hand, fingers and thumb pressing into his skin. he continues doing that whilst mumbling an answer: “well, the things you said.. it’s more about how you said them? like i said, you were super emotional and it hit me kinda hard? first of you told me you loved me more often than usual, okay?”

hoseok swallows around the lump building in his throat and though his ribcage tightens he shrugs it off with another laughter, just as loud and obnoxious as the first.

“dude, we say that all the time-”

“-i know but it felt weird? not wrong but the way you said it..”

“hey, unlike other people-”, he coughs and let’s it sound like kim seokjin in between, “-i’m not a performance major slash acting student but let me have my moments!”, hoseok brushes it off, his neck and ears heating up too fast, his throat still tight, his voice overly loud in his ears. namjoon just looks at him and suddenly he seems like he has lived through five of their lifespans combined, with his fingers resting against his jaw he appears nothing but disbelieving.

hoseok’s strained smile falters and dies on his lips and he blinks once, twice before sucking in a breath and holding it just to feel the lack of oxygen making him feel even worse physically for a reason other than his conflicted emotions and the swirl of uncertain numbing coherent thoughts. he just looks at namjoon as namjoon looks at him and because hoseok is slouched over, with his elbows resting on his knees, and namjoon sitting on the ground cross-legged yet still tall they’re kinda even.

and it is so easy for hoseok to read namjoon. whilst namjoon is studying books hoseok kept studying people and he just reads in between the lines, studies the wrinkles between namjoon’s brows and the curve of his lips and the different depths of his dimples and he just knows. but at this very moment hoseok feels like looking at a book about a species he doesn’t know in a language not known to mankind and he swallows at the sting of the distance that forms between them. if hoseok would lift up his hand he could easily pull namjoon into some awkward but reassuring half-hug, laugh it off, say something along the lines how stupid they’re being and that they should just get back to normal and that he’s sorry - but he doesn’t.

hoseok doesn’t and namjoon doesn’t do anything either and hoseok feels that namjoon is reaching out to him, that he’s very carefully, tenderly but also precisely with the certain of a surgeon is pressing his finger onto hoseok’s softest spot that he hid so well. and it’s so hard not to waver and fall apart under namjoon’s tired and questioning, pleading gaze that he feels it physically and it’s more exhausting than any choreography, babysitting his younger cousins, running after the bus and night’s out dancing and drinking will ever be.

and he’s foolish to feel relief when namjoon lowers his eyes once again because namjoon’s favored weapon is still his words and how easy they seem to find him, sliding off his tongue artistically and spot-on, mustering to hide even the sharpest needles and venomous knives in candy cotton and soft silk.

“you know what hit me the hardest, hoseok? you said.. you really said that, and your voice, it was so soft i wish you’d remember”, namjoon begins and he actually huffs out a laugh at that, shaking his head he rubs at his jaw furiously and hoseok cringes inside and hates himself because that is definitely not a good sign, one of namjoon’s gestures of uncertain and how he must fight with himself internally.

“namjoon. please”, hoseok whispers, voice too soft and hoarse at the same time and the tension feels so thick that he can’t fidget around anymore, it’s handcuffing him and he sits there unmoving and practically waits for death to come and tear him apart, take him away.

“you said”, namjoon begins and his voice is suddenly very loud and vehement and hoseok feels the vibration of emotion trying to break the steadiness more than he hears it though it is audible; namjoon’s voice shakes ever so slightly, “you said you want to grow old with me.”

hoseok wants to swallow but his throat is too tight. he wants to lick his lips but his jaw is clenched and his nostrils dilate as he tries to get oxygen into his system, he won’t open his mouth. if he does he’ll cry and he can’t, he simply can’t. neither is he blinking because his eyes are burning and he can’t move an inch, his spine feels twisted, is aching and his stomach is so heavy he thinks it pulls him right through the mattress deep down under. he just looks at namjoon who looks at him again and his eyes are so goddamn huge, they’re so huge, almost round and there’s so much swimming in these orbs and his full lips are slightly agape and his chin is doing that wrinkly thing again and hoseok wants to curl himself around namjoon to protect him - but how to protect namjoon when the enemy is hoseok himself?

i want to grow old with you.

hoseok thinks he remembers saying that, he feels his dry tongue twitching at that comfortably like it said those words already and he wants to die. it’s not big, beautiful and breath-taking words that belong on cinema screens but it’s so intimate and tender, so specific. he knows his drunk self, has seen videos and has scared people away with how much of an emotional train wreck he becomes. but never ever did he think it was possible to hit namjoon with his emotional baggage, with this shitload of burning hot affection and twisting cold uncertain pulsing inside of his chest whenever he just thinks about the younger. but he did and he wants to die.

grow old with me.

hoseok’s lips part and he sucks in a heavy breath, raises trembling fingers to shield his face and releases a shuddering breath. he has to explain himself, he has to say something, anything to make things right again and put namjoon’s feet back onto even ground because he still looks at hoseok like he’s lost somewhere between the hysterical shouts of i love you and the last sleepily sighed grow old with me.

“look, namjoon-”

“-is it true?”, namjoon asks and his voice his high and thin with timidity and hoseok looks at him, startled. namjoon’s face, however, is the opposite; there’s a stern frown sitting on his face and he’s pressing his lips together, leaning forward and he seems almost like he’s threatening hoseok to tell the truth. the latter lets out a huff that isn’t anywhere close to a laughter and wets his lips, blinks against the burn covering his eyes.

“i guess”, he then answers quietly, watching namjoon’s every move. namjoon’s lashes flutter before he nods slowly, pondering.

“i mean-”, hoseok hurriedly speaks up again, voice loud and shrill breaking through the faint throbbing in his chest, the tinnitus in his head, “-i mean, sure we wanna grow old with each other, you’re one of my bestest friends!”

namjoon’s face falters and it’s one of the ugliest and saddest things hoseok ever had to witness and his insides curl around, his bones crunching under the weight of guilt dripping down on hoseok like hot, fluid iron and he chokes out something between a laughter and a groan at what he did.

“yeah, i guess”, namjoon murmurs and his voice is hollow and it’s not strong enough to hold any kind of sincerity. a few seconds, maybe half a minute passes in which hoseok sits very still and his head is really loud and yelling awful things at him, his throat and ribcage are being held way too tightly by some evil force. and he feels so bad for making namjoon feel bad, he wants to reach out but he’s an elephant standing in a castle of class and his every move and raise of his voice could break everything into shards.

but namjoon is lowering his head, bringing out a long arm and steadying himself as he gets up and there’s a shadow on his face that isn’t drawn by the physics of light and hoseok’s heart throbs and aches. his body reacts faster than his mind so he finally reaches out and wraps his fingers around namjoon’s wrist.

“i’ll get you something to eat-”

“-wait! i don’t wanna grow old with you”, hoseok nothing but shouts and it echoes from the walls that seem too close and namjoon looks down at him with wide eyes. then his mouth is standing wide open and an expression of confusion and hurt is washing over his features.

“you don’t want to- hoseok, what the-”

“shit no! i didn’t mean it like that, i’m sorry, i want to grow old with you, hell, i want it so much - but not as a friend”, hoseok finishes breathlessly, his voice is so full of emotions that is wavers and gets stuck in his throat too many times but hoseok keeps staring at namjoon and from the way namjoon’s eyes light up and his lips twitch he understands, right?

and hoseok dares to interpret the glint in namjoons eyes, washing over his face and making it glow and hoseok’s heart ache in the most pleasant way, as hope. he feeds off that hope and it enables him to open his mouth again.

“namjoon-ah, i never told you and i’m- i’m so sorry but i don’t wanna grow old with you like that. i mean, of course i want, god i want that so badly, but i also want to share a home with you and like, own two cats and a dog and maybe a fancy bath tub and-”

“-and share a bed, maybe”, namjoon quietly butts in, voice soft but no longer uncertain as he looks down at hoseok and his expression makes hoseok’s bones melt; there’s that upwards curl in the corners of his mouth and his eyes growing smaller, grin spreading pressing them into adorable little crescents and namjoon looks so overly fond that hoseok feels his throat tighten and there’s something bursting inside of his chest.

“and share a bed, that would be dope. maybe go to museums together-”

“-and hold hands and whilst you stare at the art i’d only stare at you.”

“you cheesy asshole, i hate you so much!”

and hoseok’s tongue feels too clumsy and too heavy to form any words but there’s no need to because namjoon understands. just like hoseok reads namjoon’s body language like it’s his mother tongue namjoon speaks hoseok fluently, with all the rambles and too many hollow words, he filters through them and his head magically manages to find a sense without hoseok having to explain himself.

so when hoseok chokes out “i hate you, i hate you so much oh my god”, he just leans down and and wraps his long, slender arms around hoseok’s shaking form and when the first sob breaks out it’s muffled by namjoon’s shoulder and he shoves and presses himself onto hoseok and the bed carefully so they’re sitting there with limbs entangled and hoseok shivering against namjoon’s steady form. his damp, cold fingers stroke over hoseok’s warm, quivering back and he hums sweet little nothings.

“there, there”, he goes.

“i really, r-really ha- hate you”, sniffs hoseok, hot tears stinging in his eyes and dampening namjoon’s neck and shoulder.

“no, you don't”, namjoon murmurs bemused and rubs his ear against hoseok’s, his stubble into the other’s cheek bone.

“i really don’t, i love you so much, oh my god”, hoseok cries out and he literally wraps himself around the taller, ankles locking behind namjoon’s back, his muscles tensing and he doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

eventually hoseok’s shaking and shivering finds an end, the thrill being stroked out by namjoon’s long fingers and whispers of comfort, low voice tired but warm and full. he’s able to withdraw, leaning back a bit he rubs his face over his own sleeve and then looks at namjoon with bleary eyes and the corners of his mouth still quirking downwards.

“i’m sorry for not bein’ honest with you, i just- didn’t know what to do”, he says, voice still heavy with tears and wavering ever so slightly but namjoon just smiles softly and his eyes twinkle so sweetly as his dimples press into his cheeks and hoseok really wants to kiss namjoon.

“it’s okay. but hey, hobi?”, he asks and suddenly looks very serious so hoseok is feeling the thrill of a nervous buzz trying to move every inch of his body.

“mh?”“grow old with me.”“are you fucking-”“-yes. please grow old with me, for real!”,namjoon nods and he sounds so certain, the curve of his smile is so warm and his eyes so tender and hoseok wants to cry again.

“yes. oh god, yes, please”, hoseok chokes out and this mixture of a laughter and a cry feels weird in his throat but the aftermath is those familiar bubbles rising in his chest, exploding in his throat and he wants to kiss namjoon so badly, he still can’t believe his luck, he still doesn’t trust his karma but here he is, the boy he loves and admires right in his arms and he wants to kiss namjoon but he doesn’t.

but when laughter bubble out of his vibrating, slender and energetic form namjoon leans forward and catches the giggles right from his lips so hoseok really doesn’t have to worry anyways.

#namseok #btswriters #bts fanfic #ksjknj #uhhh listen i needed how much three days?? and i'm so sorry anja ;_____; but here we go #and namseok are really the kings of talking and acting around things it's ridiculous?? this was an interesting study #on both their characters and their dynamics to me waow #it was fun but it also seem like absolute jibberish to me now saduaodsias #the struggles of a non-native speaker sighs #long post #anja <3 #94er #beas pen #answered

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7fics · 7 years

Note

Mark comes out as non binary and Jackson wonders how he ever saw them as anything but. Super romantic.

warnings: lots of nature metaphors that include mentions of drowning/insects + there are a few angsty bits even though this is mostly romantic but i promise they end up okay!!

author: phi

word count: 1.9k

a/n: whoo another new writer w their first fill ! (that’s me,, i’m th new writer,,,, hi) anyways!! this was such a sweet prompt n idk if i made this as romantic as u wanted me 2 but i hope u like it regardless !!! this was so so fun to write n i look forward to filling more prompts :’))

to be honest, no one really saw it coming.

that was probably one of the most unnerving aspects; group meetings were really little more than excuses for lonely members to force everyone to spend time together and talk about their feelings, two things that mark had never seemed to be too fond of initiating. in fact, in the years that they had all known each other, jackson can only count a handful of times when mark had called for a group meeting, and most of it had been because the oldest boy had bought everyone ice cream.

they’re settled around a few couches, and where they’d normally be a haphazard mess of limbs and laughter, a layer of static has covered their legs, every brush of skin against skin electrifying. no one speaks up, all eyes trained carefully on the floor, not quite daring to watch the oldest boy until he speaks.

“i, um,” mark coughs, shifting, and jackson knows he appreciates everyone’s distance, “i wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

paranoia, thick and sticky, drips down jackson’s throat; his tongue is weighed down, all too heavy in his mouth. a hundred butterflies carve a pathway from his stomach into his head, each flutter of wings another fear, another worry. a swallowtail, all vibrant yellows and sharp blues, leaves behind a trail of what if he’s leaving the group?

his stomach twists, empty of every insect and caterpillar that mark has given him over the years.

“please just say it.” bambam says, and jackson has to blink to focus on the way bambam’s expression wavers, every hesitant flicker of doubt a reflection of jackson’s own thoughts. it makes the butterflies still, even if only for a moment; jackson isn’t the only one here, he isn’t the only one who cares about mark and the group. stop being selfish, he chides himself, and reaches over to squeeze bambam’s hand. the younger boy doesn’t acknowledge the gesture, but his leg stops bouncing, and that’s all the reassurance that jackson needs.

mark still looks as uncomfortable as ever, tense and distant; even if everyone else wasn’t purposefully avoiding his eyes, jackson figures it wouldn’t do much to smooth the edges of the older boy’s shoulders.

“uh,” jaebum cuts in, and jackson can’t help but feel like there’s something frantic in the way that jaebum chances a glance at mark, “he’s not leaving the group.”

he says it like he’s sure of it, like he already knows what mark’s going to say, and as the rest of the group dissolves into a bundle of murmurs and relief, something uncomfortable settles against jackson’s ribs. he should know better than to think he’d be the first person that mark would come to to talk about something, but leaves, green and always new, rest along his ribs with every breath. it makes sense that mark would talk to jaebum; they’re the oldest members, and jaebum’s the leader. in fact, confiding in jaebum is probably the best option that any of them have, but that doesn’t stop the seasons in his chest from turning every plant into something too burnt to be recognizable.

silence returns to the gaps between their bodies, too cold and too close. it’s stifling, but mark must be drowning in it, washed over with layers and layers of quiet until mark is swallowed whole. jackson wishes he could reach out and do something, lean forward and pull mark out from under the waves, but there’s seaweed, green and ugly, wrapped around his legs that makes him think jaebum should be helping mark instead.

it’s a selfish, horribly jealous thought, one that makes jackson wince; he swallows it down alongside seawater and his pride, reaching out to press a hand against mark’s leg. the action isn’t much, but jackson doesn’t know any other way to express every current of emotion inside his chest, so he settles on rubbing what he hopes is a soothing circle against mark’s thigh and hoping that mark understands.

jinyoung clears his throat, and jackson is struck with how composed the other boy is; it’s not something unusual, not when jackson has helped the younger boy rehearse for dramas and acceptances and business meetings, but it’s a new face in an old place, and it catches him off guard. they’re never like this in the dorms, never so distant from each other and from themselves.

“don’t think too much about it,” jinyoung suggests, “just say what you want to say and you’ll be done.”

a few breaths, struggling past the crest of a wave, and then mark speaks up.

“i’m nonbinary.” mark manages, and the room falls back into silence.

“oh, uh.” bambam says eloquently, and jackson’s head is swept underwater. he doesn’t even know what that word means, not when it’s only one phrase out of thousands thrown at him from the glaring brightness of his phone day after day. (maybe though, maybe if he knew it was something relevant to mark, he would’ve looked into it more. okay, he definitely would’ve, but whatever.)

“non- what?” youngjae blinks, voice echoing across the wooden floors and thin walls. he doesn’t sound shocked or upset, just confused, and jackson hopes that mark can tell, because that’s exactly what the rest of them feel.

“i’m not a guy.” mark fumbles with the edge of their shirt, always just a few sizes too big. a few pages on urbandictionary, a ridiculously long post on tumblr, flicker through the back of his mind, unkempt and unrestrained. a night spent awake, poring over internet confessions and confused fans and strangers, and jackson is finally starting to piece together what mark is trying to say.

he should be relieved, because he thought mark was going to say something life shattering (like that they had been harboring a secret hatred for jackson and/or organic tea), but jackson can’t quite find it in himself to be relieved.

instead, he finds himself thinking about every single time mark has ever hinted that they’re not quite so snug in the gender binary, every time that jackson just wasn’t paying attention or didn’t look closely enough.

he can barely make out the rest of the group’s chatter, a chorus of questions on names and pronouns and clothes and preferences; every carefully worded concern a cover over time and incidents where jackson should’ve known.

a flood of memories; a flinch after one of the members called them hyung, a shy smile at the group’s growing collection of silly wigs and over-the-top feminine clothes, the handful of times that they had called the other members oppa without the usual teasing lilt. there had been so, so many signs, carefully handcrafted and glaringly obvious, and jackson honestly wonders how he never saw mark differently.

there are silly questions and serious concerns and as the rest of the group does everything they can to understand mark, jackson vaguely realizes that mark is becoming a little more comfortable, cheeks flushed as they try and answer each and every question as best as they can. bambam and jaebum, god bless their hearts, do their fair share of explanations whenever mark starts to stumble over their words.

the entire situation finally starts to actually register in his head a few moments later when mark starts to try and explain their preferences, jackson’s brain snapping back to hear the eldest speak up,

“i’m just not quite a guy.” mark shuffles, biting their lip as they try to piece together what they’re thinking with what they’re feeling, a feat that makes jackson want to stand up and applaud. “like, sometimes it’s okay, and most of the time it’s fine, but sometimes it’s just not.”

“so you’re okay with still be calling mark,” jinyoung says slowly, always so, so gentle with his words, “do you want to use any other pronouns? at least at the dorms?”

mark blinks a little at that, like they hadn’t quite expected that sort of prospect to be brought up so early on, but they nod a bit, shyly and softly and somehow really, really cutely. (jackson is in awe. how could someone do something so mundane and yet still look like an angel?)

“they and them is good.” mark manages, and when yugyeom pipes up with an enthusiastic yell of support, mark hides their grin under the collar of their shirt, crimson tints only just visible on the tips of their ears. jackson is struck all over again with how beautiful mark is; it’s a fact that the other members know well, something that by now, even mark has grown to accept, but sometimes mark just goes around and looks the way they do and acts the way they do and jackson is just left in awe.

“wait-” bambam pipes up to add his own question, but he’s quickly cut off with another uncertain exclamation from youngjae, and when mark is left struggling to reply, jaebum steps in to try and help.

everyone dissolves into another collective rush of confusion, jinyoung audibly groaning over yugyeom’s complaints that do you even listen, hyung? and jackson is left reduced to another explosion of insects, swarming alongside his bones in a mess of wings and questions. he’s not even sure if he can place the individual thoughts sputtering around his head, instead stuck leaning back in his seat, overwhelmed. he doesn’t even realize how uncharacteristically silent he’s been until he hears a small cough.

“jackson?” mark mumbles, the younger boy’s name an anxious question on their lips. it’s enough to bring jackson back to reality startlingly fast; mark’s voice always grabs jackson’s attention, even when their hesitance tries to hold them back.

jackson’s eyes are caught, ridiculously fixated on the reticence in mark’s smile, an awkward and unsure upturn of lips that never ceases to make jackson’s heart stop. even when his head is spinning, all it takes is a glance from mark’s direction, and suddenly gravity finds him again.

“are you okay?” mark asks, but jackson can hear the underlying, are we okay?

he nods, so abruptly he’s surprised that he doesn’t give himself whiplash, but the smile that spreads across his face is natural.

“i love you.” he mouths, and mark giggles a little, that same cute giggle that makes their eyes crinkle and their face squish a bit in the silliest and most beautiful way possible. it’s not something that jackson can describe quite right, an image much better suited to photographs and museums and the inside of jackson’s wallet (although he still refuses to admit that he bought nearly a dozen of their own albums in order to get mark’s photocard ‘for safe keeping’). as the rest of the group continues to yell and argue in the way that they always do, mark practically glowing from their spot separate from the chaos, jackson can feel something gentle tugging inside his chest. it feels an awful lot like mark’s hand, warm and familiar against jackson’s heart, so he follows.

#got7 #markson #character:mark #character:jackson #author:phi #genre:romance #genre:fluff #genre:angst

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