#i feel a little better now and i think everything mig hit be okay. we will see if i go insane. i very well might. but i know i have months | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catboymingi · 4 years

Text

bittersweet

navi/masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: angst, fluff; best friends to strangers to enemies to lovers

word count: 7.7k

warnings: self harm, mental illness, suicidal thoughts (though no behaviour described in detail at all), addiction (alcoholism to be precise), language

a/n: this one’s heavy... also this is heavily based on personal experience so don’t come jumping at me for inaccuracies thank u - also the links during the story take you to the same song as the first link, but they have the swedish og lyrics on hover (sorry mobile users)

när jag var liten kändes alltid som att det var du och jag mot skiten / så jag ville att vi skulle göra allt tillsammans / men jag märkte tydligt att du ville nånting annat / behandlade mig sämst / vi var bara ungar - when i was small it always felt like it was you and me against the world / so i wanted us to do everything together / but i noticed clearly that you wanted something else / treated me worst / we were just kids

you had no idea what happened. you’d been so close with mingi ever since you moved, him being the first friend you’d made in the new school, and eight-year-old you really appreciated him. he fought off the bullies for you, he was always there, but suddenly he wasn’t. you were in high school, and everything had been as always, until it wasn’t. until he started avoiding you like you had a deadly and contagious disease, like you’d killed his parents. he hated you and you had no idea why, had no idea why your best friend suddenly decided that some random people he’d barely ever talked to before were a better company than you, who’d been with him through thick and thin for the past decade. saying that you were heartbroken was an understatement.

it took you so long to get back on track after the day mingi had started avoiding you, hating you, but eventually, you managed to do it. you banned all thoughts of him from your head, deleted all messages, pictures, and other traces of him you had on your phone and got rid of all physical memories, too. your parents knew you weren’t okay, and they were so relieved when you asked them if you could set something on fire in the backyard, because it finally seemed like you were getting closer to healing. it had been months, and they’d been worried for your life, but they had no idea how to get your now ex-best friend to reach out to you. they couldn’t call him up and just tell him that he needed to talk to you before you killed yourself, even though they wished they could.

by the time you started university you were almost back to normal, the only outward signs of what you’d gone through being the scars covering your arms and your refusal to drink alcohol, at all. you got obsessed with your major, studying to become a therapist so that you could maybe, hopefully help people feel understood and okay when they were in a similar situation to the one you’d been in. this passion made you the best of your year, acing all exams because every free minute was spent on revising the materials and taking on extra projects and doing all you could to keep yourself busy.

but you weren’t okay, not actually. the worry was still there, the fear, and it was the reason why you hadn’t made a single friend even when the fourth semester of university was almost over already. it was after a particularly hard exam (that of course you’d aced again) that you, for the first time since your other half had left, agreed to go out with someone, a random dude from your course that you’d consequently ignored up to that point who invited you to some maths major’s party.

“it’s gonna be fun, and we deserve some fun after that fucking hell of an exam” was how he had convinced you, and you decided that it couldn’t hurt.

what you didn’t know then yet, however, was that he’d ditch you the second you’d taken off your jacket at the party that same evening, saying that if he’d known that you were a nutcase he’d never have asked you out.

“you’re hot but that’s just not what i wanna put up with.” and that from a psychology major. great.

the evening got worse when you found out whose party this was. you didn’t even know that mingi went to the same uni as you, and he’d obviously moved out of his parents’ house by now, so the address didn’t ring a bell, either. it was first when you saw him that you realised. and everything came crashing down on you again, all the things you’d convinced yourself you were over. and even though you’d promised yourself you’d never touch alcohol again, not even cough medicine including it, you broke that promise now, going straight for the hard liquor. that seemed to impress the horny idiots around you, how you downed it without even flinching, and because you didn’t care about what you should and shouldn’t do right now you let the first one to make a move touch you up and down, making out with you (which had effectively stolen your first kiss from you, but what did it even matter anymore?) and whispering to your ear just how hot you were. you didn’t care for him, but you knew that the one you cared for couldn’t give fewer shits about you. you were tired of being alone, of being hurt, of being lonely, and you just wanted to forget. so you let this dude whose name you didn’t know and didn’t care to know make out with you on the kitchen counter, because by now there was no way your situation could get any worse anymore, anyway.

your lack of interest seemingly didn’t stay hidden to him, though, so at some point he left you with a displeased grunt. it was obvious he’d expected a little more excitement from you, and now he was looking for the next drunk girl he could get to fuck him. you didn’t care. you got some more alcohol, pushing every thought of your parents as far away as you could, because you knew they’d be so disappointed. they’d always cared, but it hadn’t changed anything for you. the one you needed to care didn’t even notice how you were slipping. you’d be surprised if he’d even known that you got hospitalised after graduation.

but now you were here, in his house, and you hated it, hated him, hated yourself. you wanted to get out, to disappear before he’d ever even notice you’d been there in the first place, so you stole a bottle of whatever was closest to you and left the house.

it was embarrassing that you weren’t even drunk yet. you had no idea how much you’d drunk, but you barely felt tipsy. so when the one you wanted to leave you alone the most came outside after you, you had to deal with the emotions that that caused in you entirely sober.

“the fuck do you want?” you hadn’t expected yourself to be able to be angry at him when you’d get to talk to him again. you’d expected yourself to cry, to break down and beg for him to come back, but maybe at least that the alcohol saved you from.

“i want to check up on you. since when do you drink?”

you hated him. you fucking hated him more than anything else you’d ever hated, except for maybe yourself, and you hated that he thought he had the right to check up on you now when he was the reason you were even in this state at all.

“let’s see. i think you last talked to me on the fifteenth of january, two years ago? so it’s gotta be the sixteenth.” maybe it wasn’t fair to confront him with the effects of what he did like this, but it hadn’t been fair of him to leave you hanging like this either. he deserved this, deserved to know what the fuck he’d done to you. that he’d destroyed the happy, passionate, excited you that you’d been, replacing her with a bitter, suicidal bitch with trust issues through the roof.

“why?” he seemed confused, and you wanted to spit in his face. you wanted to punch him. you wanted anything but to have to talk to him.

“take a wild fucking guess.” and with those words you turned on your heel, leaving him with his emotions as you left with the bottle of alcohol that wouldn’t make it to the next morning.

you were slipping again. picked up all the bad habits you’d had, barely getting sleep because you still had to study, were still obsessed with getting the best grades, but now also had unhealthy habits to feed, so there wasn’t a lot of time left for sleep. it didn’t matter, though - why sleep if you’d only have nightmares either way?

luckily you didn’t see mingi again after that night. that was, until he’d somehow figured out your major, your classes, your schedule, and was waiting for you in front of your classroom after your last class for the day. you tried to bolt, but he grabbed your wrist instinctively to keep you from running away. when you yelped out in pain, though, he let go as if he’d just burned himself. until now he hadn’t even noticed what you looked like. but now that he did, it broke his heart.

“what do you want now? want to fuck me up again? because i can do that by myself now, thank you very much.” your voice shot daggers at him, and he looked like a hit puppy. what made this worse was that he knew you were right.

“please talk to me. i brought vodka.” he didn’t intend to give it to you, but you didn’t have to know that. and his weak bribing worked, which only made him feel even more awful. just how fucking hurt did you have to be to talk to him, the guy you very obviously hated, just because he offered you free booze?

“come.” and you did, followed him to a park near uni you knew was notorious for getting fucked or wasted, and you intended to keep up this reputation as you sat down next to him.

“alcohol.” it wasn’t even a question, you just demanded the bottle, but he wasn’t about to comply.

“first you talk to me.”

the angry glare you gave him could have killed him had you kept it up for longer than a couple seconds, but you sighed in frustration and looked away.

“fine then, talk. but this vodka better be damn good.”

he didn’t know how to start, though. ran his hands through his hair and shifted constantly and looked everywhere but at you. but then, finally, he got his shit together.

“what happened to you?” his eyes were fixed on your arms, the arms whose skin was a lot smoother and healthier the last time he’d seen it, and his voice was soft, almost as if he cared. maybe it was because of that that your reply held less sharpness than the past ones had.

“what do you think?” and his heart broke. he didn’t want it to be him, he didn’t want this to be because of him, he didn’t want to be at fault for so much pain and suffering.

“it’s me.” and when you nodded he wished someone’d beat him up, hard and good, just so he’d feel at least some pain as a payback for all the pain he’d caused you.

your voice was surprisingly soft when you continued, and you didn’t even know why yourself.

“it’s nothing big. i just… slipped, i guess. had a really hard time. i don’t even know what happened to make you hate me like that, and that got to me. like, we didn’t argue or anything, so it wasn’t like i had a reason to stop caring about you. it just felt like without you nothing mattered.”

you sounded calm, collected, but voicing it like this brought back all the hurt, and you just really wanted the alcohol now. you grabbed around him in order to retrieve the bottle from his bag, but he caged you in a hug, effectively making you unable to move.

“it’s a big deal. fuck, y/n, look at you. how is this not a big deal? you can’t even talk to me without getting wasted.”

and even though he was right you hated how it sounded like that was your fault, not his. you hated how it sounded like you were weak for this when he had no idea what the fuck you’d been through these past two years. it made you angry.

“and you’re better? straight up ignoring me for however long it took me to get the hint like some pussy instead of talking to me? we used to be best friends, for fuck’s sake!” you tried to hide your heartbrokenness behind this anger, and once more the person who used to always be there to hold you when you needed it let go of you as if you’d burned him. not even now could he man up.

“you know what? fuck this. fuck your vodka and fuck you. don’t fucking talk to me again. as i said, i’m fucking my life up enough without you there to aid in the process.” and you tried to get up, but he grabbed you by your waist, not wanting to hurt you but refusing to let you go in this state when he hadn’t even gotten to talk to you yet. it was selfish, he knew it was, but he wanted to explain himself. he didn’t know if it’d help you, but he needed the closure. he needed you to know why he’d acted like that and then decide if you still wanted to hate him.

“i’m not letting go”, he said as you struggled in his grip, “not until you’ve listened.”

“i don’t fucking want to hear it!” now you were yelling, and it was only because everyone else in this park was too busy or too knocked out to fully comprehend what was happening that he wasn’t getting his ass beat by a stranger coming to your aid.

“you’re going to listen. you know i’m stronger.” this was an asshole move. it was a massive asshole move, using his strength against you to keep you trapped with him. but your state had him throw out any ethical concerns he otherwise would’ve had, instead pulling you into his lap and holding you tightly.

“then fucking talk and get this over with.” your body had gone slack in his arms, because you knew struggling against him wasn’t going to work. your voice still held the same sharpness to it though. you really hated him.

“you act like i didn’t have a reason”, he started quietly, covering your mouth with his hand when you tried to interrupt him. “but i did. the fuck do you think i felt when you kept being better at everything than me? everything was easy for you, you just went with your feeling, and i was doing awful but i kept trying even though it was hard as shit and you didn’t even notice. you went out to meet people and have a good time while i was sitting home alone trying to keep up. you didn’t even care. i told you i couldn’t join and every single time you just said ‘okay, another time then!’. you didn’t notice how much i missed you. and i got sick and tired of being the only one that’s missing their best friend.”

you listened to what he said and couldn’t believe he was serious right now. he completely broke you because you didn’t spend enough time with him?

“what the fuck, mingi. what the fuck. you wrecked me because you were sulky about me not being around 24/7? let go of me right now or i’m going to break your nose, you know i will.” he knew you would, so he did as you told him to, but not without trying to defend himself.

“it wasn’t that, it was that you never even tried to make follow-up plans! you kept going out with other friends, friends that didn’t have to spend all their nights home studying. you just replaced me.”

“and you didn’t think to fucking talk to me about it? i missed you like crazy, you fucking asshole, but i went out with others because i knew you had to study and because i didn’t want to keep you from that. because i dared to care more about your success than about what i wanted. and then you just dumped me, one day to the next, without an explanation, because you thought i didn’t care? does breaking off all other social contacts look like not caring to you? do hospitalisations look like not caring to you? does this”, you motioned to yourself, “look like not caring to you? i knew you were a coward, but back then i thought it was cute. now i just think it’s pathetic.” you all but spat those last words at his face, and he knew you were right. he knew all that now, but back then he’d been so scared of losing you that he forced himself to lose you. fucking idiotic.

“you act like it didn’t hurt me, too.”

“you sure didn’t act like it when you started fucking around with some people you’d never even talked to right after you decided ignoring me was the way to go!” you were crying now, crying and screaming at him, and you despised yourself for the vulnerability you were showing.

“give me the vodka, mingi.” but he didn’t. and when you tried to grab it he took the bag from you, leaving you staring into the air.

“give me the fucking vodka or i’m gonna leave right now and get my own. and then you’re never gonna see me again.”

but instead of handing you the bottle he all but jumped up, wrapping his arms around you tightly and sounding so incredibly desperate that you felt your anger vanish at his next words.

“please don’t- please don’t do that. please don’t kill yourself. hate me, break my nose, whatever, but please don’t go like that. i can’t handle it. i’m nothing without you.”

and it was now that he started crying, tears soaking the fabric on your shoulder, shaking as if there was an earthquake inside of him that would make him fall to shambles any second. you hadn’t even realised that you might have implied what he obviously thought you meant - what you meant was that this time you’d be the one to ignore him, pretending he didn’t even exist. but his reaction to potentially losing you in a whole new way made you think that maybe, he cared.

“i’m not going to kill myself over you, butthead.” and while your words held a similar level of sharpness to them as they had before, your voice was much softer, calmer - you patted his hands that were linked together in front of your stomach to keep you from leaving, trying to comfort him for whatever reason. he didn’t deserve it, and you were still so angry at him, but he’d been your best friend, your other half, and you still didn’t like to see him suffer like this, even though the part in you that wanted him to feel all the pain you’d felt wouldn’t agree.

“i don’t want to lose you again”, he whimpered against your shoulder. “i never want to lose you again.”

“so what’s your plan? i’m never gonna forget what you did, mingi, i’m never gonna forget how as soon as i start getting happy you come back, crashing into my life as if nothing had happened. i’m never going to let anyone hold me back again.”

“i’m not going to hold you back”, he pleadingly spoke into your skin, “i’m not going to message you, i’m not going to ask to meet up, i’m not going to wait in front of your class, nothing. i’ll only be there when you ask me to.”

“and you think that’d help? having me do all the work again, having me beg for your attention again? you think that’s even remotely what i want?” you weren’t angry at him, because it seemed like he was saying this for you, but you were frustrated. he still didn’t seem to understand at all what you wanted from him, what you’d wanted from him ever since he started ignoring you. you wanted him to fight for you, not vice versa.

“then let me fight for you. let me do the work. i’ll do anything, just please give me another chance. one very last chance. and please… stop all this.” you didn’t need to see him to know what he meant.

“that’s not how it works. i can’t just stop like that when i started. and you’re not gonna be able to fix me, if you think that.”

“i know, of course not, but… please try. it’s summer break soon. maybe then you could… i don’t know what you could. do something. i want to be there for you.”

you didn’t want to give in to him. you didn’t want to believe him. you wanted to keep being angry, you wanted to keep hating him, you didn’t want to risk the same kind of heartbreak you’d felt the first time he left. but this was mingi. and even though you refused to admit it even to yourself, you still missed him like crazy.

“let go.” and he did, hesitantly, but he did as you told him to.

“look at me. look me in the eyes and tell me you know what that’s gonna mean. tell me that you’ll be there when i’m in rehab and can’t go places and i’m angry as shit and hate everything and everyone and mainly you because you made me go to that stupid place. tell me you’ll be there when i relapse, not just once but so many times, and that you won’t get angry. tell me that you fucking know what it means, that you know you won’t be a priority, that there’s gonna be days where i won’t want to hear from you at all. tell me that you know you’re gonna have to fight for me, and tell me that you will. and if you can’t tell me that, let me leave right now to spare both of us the pain because it’s just gonna be a waste of time otherwise.”

“i’ll be there. every single day, or like. whenever i’m allowed to, i don’t know how rehab works. and when i can’t be there i’ll call you and text you, even if you hate me. i’ll hold you until you don’t hate me anymore. even if i have to spend the entire day holding you that’s how it is. i don’t fucking care what i’ll have to do, i’ll do it all. i miss you.” with those last words he pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly as he whispered a silent ‘please’ into your hair. and you didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to get your hopes up, but part of you was still so soft for him. so, even though your mind was screaming at you to tell him to fuck off, your heart won, your heart made you wrap your arms around him and hold on tight.

“if you fuck up i’m breaking your legs.”

“if i fuck up i’m breaking them myself.” he knew this was his last chance. he knew that if he messed up now he’d be losing you forever, and that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

his hands were rubbing up and down your back, as gentle as you remembered him to be, while you were standing there and hugging and trying to calm down. you’d missed him so incredibly much and you wished you could stay in that moment forever.

“how are you feeling?” he could feel you were shaking slightly in his arms, though he wasn’t sure why. it could be the cool air, it could be the emotions running through you, it could be something he didn’t even want to think about. but either way he knew you should probably leave.

“it’s all so fucking much. i’m still pissed at you, but i guess i’m also glad that you’re here. and i’m fucking horrified.”

your shaking was most definitely at least partly owed to your emotional state, because it got worse now, you grabbing his t-shirt and clinging on to it for dear life.

“what are you scared of?” he sounded so fucking soft and calm and you wanted to crawl into his shirt and hide there and never leave for the real world ever again. you wanted him to keep you safe and to protect you because life and the things that were coming for you were scarier than you wanted to admit.

“you. rehab. my parents are gonna be so fucking hurt when i have to go back. fuck, i want the vodka.” but to your surprise you didn’t move to get it, you didn’t try to leave mingi’s embrace.

“you’re staying the night at my place”, he informed you, and you looked up at him in surprise.

“this talk was long overdue, but to be honest even i could use some vodka right now. i don’t want to imagine how you’re feeling, but i know i’m not gonna leave you alone in that state. no won’t count.”

“you know you won’t be able to just make me stop like that?”, you asked, wanting to be sure he didn’t have some weird saviour complex that made him think that just because he was there all your problems would suddenly vanish. but he seemed to know, even though he wished that was how it worked.

“not forever, but tonight’s a good start. i just want to be with you right now.” and even though you really wanted to get drunk you wanted to spend the night with mingi more, something that surprised you, especially considering how you’d just told him he wouldn’t be able to make you stop.

“i’m not going back there yet though, so if anything we’ll go to my place”, was the compromise you offered, and he gladly accepted. he held your hand almost the entire way, refusing to not be touching you in some way now that he might get you back, and this was less awkward than having his arm around your shoulders, which he’d tried first.

your apartment was a mess, you knew it was, but instead of judging you the tall male just kicked whatever trash you’d left on the floor out of the way to make his way to your bed, where he intended to spend the rest of the day and the entire night. he wrapped his arms around you as soon as you’d settled next to him, pulling you close like he used to when you were younger.

“i’m so sorry for all this”, he whispered, “so so fucking sorry.” and even though you’d somewhat sorted what had happened in the past, this was the first time he actually apologised. you hadn’t known how much you needed to hear him apologise until he did, whining out slightly as you pressed yourself closer against him. you wanted him to keep talking, keep apologising, keep promising that he wasn’t going to leave. but he was quiet after that, so instead of his comforting words your thoughts filled the silence in your head.

“keep talking before i get up”, you told him, the choice of words making it sound like a threat but the pleading way you said it making it clear that you were all but begging him. and he complied, luckily he complied, because you wouldn’t be able to keep your thoughts away for much longer.

“i missed you every day. it wasn’t fun to sit at lunch without you, or be in class, or do anything, really. i know it’s my fault, but back then i expected you to fight more, and when you just stopped trying after a while i thought i was right, even though you tried to talk to me every day for like two weeks and every single time i just straight up acted like i didn’t even hear you. i have no idea what i expected you to do, actually. sing me a love song in front of my window?” he chuckled a little, though it sounded somewhat bitter.

“i think that’s what i was secretly hoping for, if i’m real. not a love song, maybe, but some kinda confession. but instead of opening my mouth myself i just hoped that you’d get the hint i never even dropped. guess i really am a coward, huh?” he was running a hand through your hair, gently scratching your scalp whenever he dragged his fingers down because back then you’d liked that and he hoped you still did.

“you’re an idiot”, you mumbled, though his somewhat-confession made you feel all weird inside. you’d liked him back then, too, but admittedly he hadn’t been the only coward. and before you’d ever had the chance to gather the courage to confess he’d cut you off.

“i know. i don’t think i’ve ever done anything more stupid than that. and now i’ve wasted my chance and have to live with the fact that i’ll die without ever having gotten to kiss you. it’s my own fault, though.” there was a hint of playful resignation in his tone, as if this confession was more to get it off his chest than it was for him to actually confess to you - as if it hadn’t even occurred to him that you might feel the same way.

“just do it now.”

he hadn’t expected that, surprise apparent when he asked: “can i?”, and you knew you should say no, you shouldn’t be doing this, you shouldn’t be in your bed with mingi so close and telling him to kiss you, but you’d missed him, and you were hurt and happy and desperate, and you just wanted to feel loved. and though this didn’t have to be love, this didn’t have to mean as much as you wanted it to, you could pretend. you wanted to pretend, so you didn’t say ‘no’ as you should, but ‘yes’ as you wanted.

and he did it, leaning in to press his lips against yours but not moving any more until you hadn’t pulled away even after a few seconds. then he actually kissed you, his one thumb stroking your cheek while the other was fondling with some strands of hair at the back of your head. and you knew your breath was gross, still reeking of the alcohol you’d drunk earlier that day, but mingi didn’t care. you were warm and soft against him and you were there and he’d take whatever he could get from you, even if it was vodka breath.

you didn’t want him to pull away, because you feared that once he did your world would come crashing down again and he’d tell you that now his curiosity was stilled and this should remain a one-time thing.

and you feared that you’d been right about this being a one-time thing, because he apologised as soon as he broke the kiss. but he didn’t apologise for what you thought he’d apologise for.

“i shouldn’t have done that. not like this. fuck, i just took advantage of this entire situation, i’m so sorry. fuck. feel free to break my nose.”

“don’t break my heart and i won’t break your bones. deal?” the big smile he gave you was so easy to see even though it was starting to get dark outside now, and you felt a small smile tug at the corners of your own mouth. he was here, and he’d kissed you, and maybe he’d do it again. maybe you’d finally be able to be okay again, actually okay, really okay.

“i promise.” he pulled your head into his chest, resuming to run his fingers through your hair and telling you sweet nothings.

“you’re so beautiful. so kind and so strong, such a fighter. i’m so glad i’m here right now, so grateful you let me, and i’m never going to leave again, ever. i’m here now, and you won’t have to be alone anymore. i’ll try to make it right, all the things i did wrong. i’m sorry. but i’m with you now.”

you were pretty certain he wasn’t even thinking much about what he was saying, just saying anything that was on his mind, as much for you as for himself. but even if it wasn’t for you that he was saying all this, it still helped you, comforted you, gave you some hope. one thing you had to clear up, though.

“we’re not a thing”, you murmured into his chest, though the way you were clinging to him betrayed your words, showed how much you wanted to be. “we’re not a thing because you don’t know anything. you can’t play a video game on easy and then enter the world championship and think you’ll win. i can’t talk to you for a single day and then think it’d work out.”

and mingi got it. he knew that this was a decision that had to be made logically, not based on what he wanted in that moment. but that didn’t mean he was just going to give up like this. he told you he’d fight for you, and he would.

“talk to me more, then. i told you i’m not going to leave.”

“you say that now.” there was sadness in your voice, resignation. “but it’s different when i’m shitfaced. when i’m crying my eyes out because recovery is hard and i don’t want to anymore. when i call you at 3 in the morning begging you to come over and check on me and make sure i’m not dying because i’m scared i went too deep this time. when i tell you i hate you even though you didn’t do shit just because i need someone to take my anger out on. none of this shit is pretty or romantic and the sooner you realise that, the better.”

“i’m going to be there.” he didn’t say more and you were glad about that, because even though you’d been the one to bring all this up you didn’t want to talk about it, you just wanted to be held and comforted and protected. and he did, he held you until you fell asleep, and was still holding you when you woke up the next morning.

it was weird to be back with mingi. it was familiar but completely different, and it was hard, as you’d told him it’d be. but he kept his promise, even though it hurt to see you struggle and in pain, he was there when you needed him and he was there when you didn’t. he was there to hold you when you called your parents to tell them you had to go back to rehab, and he was there to calm your nerves the day before you left, force-feeding you snacks to keep your mouth busy because by now he’d learned the signs of when you really craved alcohol and while he learned that the most he could usually do was to make sure you didn’t drink yourself into a coma that night he made sure you didn’t drink at all, because you were going to rehab the next day and he wanted you to have decent starting conditions and he knew you wanted that, too, and a hangover was the worst starting condition you could possibly have. he was there to kiss you that night, because even though you’d been the one to tell him to not try anything until he’d proven he meant it the snacks just didn’t do it and you needed something else in your mouth. he knew it was just your desperation that had made you beg him to please kiss you, but he did, he was there as he’d promised, even when it hurt like this. he was there to hold you when you cried into his chest after, promising you that it would be okay and that he would be right there the entire time and when you got back, too.

he was there the next day when you clung on to his hand with a force that could probably break his fingers sooner or later, horrified of entering the building in front of you. he was there to hold you in place when you tried to bolt as soon as they started the admission process, he was there to tell you that he was so proud of you and to promise you that it would be okay. he was there to call you that night, relieved that you were allowed to, and he was there to talk you through all your fears. he was there a week later, when you were first allowed to get visitors, with a rather big teddy bear wearing one of his shirts and a self-made card that read “one week sober!”, small celebratory drawings all over.

“i wanted to bring a cake, but they don’t do that with people that just started. you’ll get one at the one month mark though, pinky promise.” you linked your pinky with his for maybe two seconds before you threw yourself into his arms, clinging on to him as if your life depended on it.

“please take me home. please just take me home”, pleaded into his shoulder repeatedly, like a mantra, and he held you so tight.

“it’s worth it, my strong little angel, it’s okay. i promise.” he was rubbing up and down your back comfortingly, continuously saying how proud he was until you let go just enough to look into his face and see the warmth in his eyes.

“you’re going to stay right here until they kick you out”, you ordered, though what you were actually doing was begging him to please not leave you alone until he had to. you felt like the odd one out here, the only alcoholic still in their twenties, and their early twenties at that. the only other person roughly your age was a guy with an anxiety disorder that looked at you like you were the filth of the earth, and that didn’t exactly make you want to talk to him. you missed mingi, you missed seeing him, and having to watch the other patients be able to go out and meet people outside the therapy times when in your state you’d have to stay until the staff could be certain you weren’t going to relapse only made it worse.

“they’ll have to drag me out by the ears”, he reassured you, and finally you smiled, a genuine smile that made his heart hurt a little less.

“call this one mingi”, pointing to the teddy bear that had been discarded when you’d flung yourself into his arms, “and pretend he’s me. not as good as the real deal, but at least he’s wearing my t-shirt.”

“butthead.” but you looked at him with, as he hoped, the same feelings he had for you, which showed him that he’d chosen a good gift.

he brought you a small gift whenever he came by, and after bothering the nurses continuously (which resulted in them begging the staff in charge of your unit to please let him get his way) he was allowed to bring you food, though only in sealed packages which they checked closely for both the ingredients and even the slightest chance of him having managed to put alcohol in. it was somewhat of a hassle, but the way your expression brightened when he brought you your favourite cereal from when you were 12 and which you’d stopped eating by age 15 because it was ‘for children’ was definitely worth it. things still weren’t easy, especially with how cut off you felt from the outside world, and there had been several nights where you’d screamed at mingi on the phone about how much you hated him for having caused all this and then being cut off by the nurses because your phone time was over before you’d had a chance to tell him that you were sorry for screaming like this, but he never got upset with you for that. instead, he texted you an apology to see after dinner, along with telling you how proud he was. and he stayed, as he’d promised you.

your one month of sobriety was the day you were discharged, because you’d been doing surprisingly well and because you’d managed to convince your responsible treatment team that you’d do better if you didn’t feel so alone and cut off, if you had the chance to do things rather than sit in the hospital all day and overthink your situation. you had an outpatient treatment plan and when you’d told mingi about being dismissed he kindly but sternly told you that he’d kick your ass into next monday if you didn’t follow it. and now he was here, picking you up both from the facility and from the ground, twirling you around as soon as you were in his arms. you’d agreed that you’d spend the first few days at his place, so that’s where he brought you now.

the tall male carried the few things you had with you into his flat while you stood next to the car, taking a little while to get used to the thought of being a part of the outside world again. you were glad mingi was there, because while you were so happy to be out it was still scary to know that now it was up to you alone whether you relapsed or not.

you were delighted to see that he’d kept his promise about the one month mark-cake, because while it wasn’t exactly pretty you soon found out that it made up for that in taste, and also because it was so sweet and thoughtful. it seemed like he’d prepared a little party for you, with one of those silly ‘welcome home’ banners hanging in the living room and colourful plastic cups on the table, next to various kinds of juice and soda. you had no idea how, but he’d even managed to organise strawberry soda, something that you hadn’t seen in stores in ages.

“butthead.” you didn’t know how else to react to all this. it was so much, so unnecessarily much that you didn’t know whether to cry with happiness or to smack him because this probably took a lot of time and money. you decided that calling him butthead again would be a good compromise.

“angel”, he grinned at you, entirely unbothered by your (admittedly weak) insult. then his expression turned serious, walking over to stand right next to you with a few long steps before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a hug.

“i’m so glad you’re back, you know that? i missed you like crazy.”

“i missed you too. don’t let go.”

he wasn’t planning on doing that anyway. he’d be so stupid if he did. and he’d be so stupid if he didn’t tell you how he felt.

“i love you. i love you i love you i love you. now break my nose for being a butthead.”

“be my butthead and i’ll consider leaving your bones intact.” you tried to play it cool, but your heart was beating so hard you feared it would jump out of your chest, and this time you could be 100% sure that it wasn’t withdrawals. it was just mingi, the boy who’d kept his promise to be there, the boy who’d helped you piece yourself back together in some way again. the boy who wanted to be with you even though the way you’d pieced yourself back together was so far from who he’d known before you shattered. it was mingi, the boy whom you loved back.

“so the b in bf stands for butthead? that’s what you’re saying?” he was teasing you, just a little, but it was okay because you could tell he was just nervous and scared that he might have misunderstood you and was trying to mask that through his joke.

“or maybe it stands for big beautiful boyfriend, you decide.”

“i’ll take the boyfriend! i’ll take the boyfriend. please let me be your boyfriend.” looking at you pleadingly, though also somewhat excited, and you knew you’d never let him go again.

“then you’re my big beautiful boyfriend. what am i?”

you were expecting him to joke, but he didn’t. he was entirely serious when he said: “you’re my world.”

and this seriousness overwhelmed you just a little bit, so that you were left speechless. and he continued.

“you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen. you’re my strong little angel.”

“you’re not supposed to be so sweet, i don’t know how to handle it”, you whined out, but he just smiled down at you, taking in every detail of your face.

“get used to it.” you knew you wouldn’t ever get used to it, you knew you wouldn’t ever get enough of him telling you sweet things like that. maybe you’d get better at reacting over time, though. but since right now you were very much not good at reacting yet, you said something that maybe wasn’t the most appropriate reaction to his sweet-talking you.

“you know i still hate you though, right?” even though your voice gave away that you didn’t, far from.

“makes for a great enemies to lovers storyline”, he teased, smiling down at you with entire galaxies in his eyes.

“just kiss me, butthead.”

it didn’t take more than a few seconds before he did. he kissed you slowly, because you had all the time in the world, thumb tracing all your features while your hands were wrapped around his neck. and while your first kisses had been bitter with alcohol and desperation, this one was sweet with cake and love.

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rabble-dabble · 4 years

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The Cancer King's Court ~ The Rightful Heir

This version of Feferi Peixes hails from a timeline where Karkat went to Eridan’s planet to drag him away from killing all the angels so he can actually help the team. Once there, he gets injured by one of the angels and Eridan kills him for being a mutant. Eridan reports the death, claiming the angels did it, so now the team needs a new leader.

Feferi steps up, ready to guide the group as best as she can. She… hits a few stumbling blocks. Vriska doesn’t really care and just does what she wants, leading to some friction when Feferi tries to make her play nice. This is not helped by her blowing off Terezi’s advice on how to deal with Vriska.

Feferi is well intentioned, but she has the same problem Karkat had: an “I’m right, you’re wrong” attitude. But, unlike Karkat, a Blood player who knows how to get people to get along, Feferi doesn’t have that same charismatic chutzpah. Karkat owned the room and dominated the conversation, he made people follow him. Feferi tries, but she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She just lacks the perspective he had to understand and work with the others.

This manifests in various ways. She tries to protect Tavros because he’s the weakest member of the team, but she ends up coddling him, coming across as condescending and making him less effective. She tries to shut down the Sollux and Eridan rivalry by making them go on missions together, but she just ends up making them both more angry at each other. She tries to help Terezi with her blindness, but Terezi already has that in lock and feels insulted that Fef thinks she needs help with it in the first place. And so on.

Feferi goes God-Tier to try and get a handle on things, but, by then, it’s too little to late. Most the team has left to win the game on their own, so people start dying pretty quickly. Eventually, it’s discovered that Karkat was supposed to be the one to find the ectobiology labs, to which Eridan lets slip this little gem:

“oh, please. the mutant probably wwould'vve screwwed it up anywways.

”……)(ow did you know )(e was a mutant?“

Eridan spills the beans and Feferi kills him in a rage, quietly berating herself for ever putting up with him to begin with.

With little choice left, Feferi turns to the Horrorterrors, pleading with them for the chance to fix this doomed timeline. They agree to help, thanks to her being the favorite of Gl'bgolyb, but they can’t really do much. What they can do is let her into the dreambubbles so she can search across Paradox Space for an answer. There, she comes across the Cancer King. The two talk for a while. Feferi apologizes for messing everything up in his absence, claiming Karkat’s the better leader, but Karkat dismisses this and points out how he himself has fucked up. Karkat explains his mission and asks her to join him, explaining that he can fix her timeline once he takes control of the narrative. Feferi reluctantly agrees.

Feferi takes awhile to adjust to the Court’s modus operandi. What they’re doing to people is simply horrifying and she’s almost disturbed enough to quit on the spot the first time she sees the King absorb a crowd of people. It’s only under the reassurance that all this can be undone once Karkat controls the narrative that she sticks around, but she’s still reluctant to go on any missions.

Aradia, Terezi, Tavros, and the rest comfort her, understanding where she’s coming from. The Holy Prince tries, but, well, Feferi has had her fill with Eridans recently. Gamzee takes it upon himself to “enlighten” her.

Slowly but surely, he nudges her into the Court’s line of thinking. The quicker we get the power we need, the faster we can get this done, and the sooner we can undo all the damage. It’s like ripping off a band-aid. So, Feferi eventually agrees to gather a sacrifice. She gathers a group of god-tiers together for Karkat to suck the life force out of. She’s… still horrified and disgusted by what she’s done and she isolates herself to think about it for a bit. Again, Eridan approaches her and offers to let her just fight against the Condescension’s forces. Feferi agrees, happy to distance herself from the “dirty work” of the Court.

She and Eridan bond over time and, eventually, Eridan confids his past to her.

“W)(ale, your Feferi mig)(t not forgive you… but I do.”

Feferi also takes the time to buddy up with the other troll members of the Court, hoping to get to know them better so she could apologize to her friends back in her own timeline.

On the field, Feferi is the team healer. She keeps her comrades going when they’re fighting a losing battles and keeps Gamzee’s cult in top shape. That said, she’s usually alongside Eridan in the battlefield, becoming one half of an unstoppable duo that the Condescension’s army slowly learns to fear. Even with her compassion in tact and her loyalties split, Feferi proves herself to be The Rightful Heir to the Condescension’s Throne.

okay one FUCK YOU FOR KILLING KARKAT that’s an instant heart hurty for me

two, feferi learning about how it just Isn’t That Easy to lead a team and that Karkat’s leadership (if it was that even) was an essential point just because it kept everyone together is *CHEF’S KISS*

okay your art

feferi that looks SAD but like a matured sort of “heir” to the throne - I kinda digged into the homestuck symbolism (if you can see it) but kept it to her “theme” while still just trying to make it stylish

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dface · 5 years

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5 times peter found new mentors + the 1 time he has his old one back

chapter four : bucky

Three months after Tony's funeral, Peter gets lost in Queens.

He's following an old patrol path he used to take, back when Tony gifted him his first Spider-Man suit. KAREN guides him through Manhattan– passing the Tower long enough to say hi to Wanda– and then down through Brooklyn, where he stops two separate bank robberies. He's feeling pretty confident, and so decides to ignore the slip-ups.

KAREN, however, doesn't let him off that easily.

"Peter, I've noticed the few close calls you've had on this patrol," she says– and Peter knows she's an A.I., but he swears she sounds like she’s scolding him. He flips in mid-air to impress a few kids walking down the street underneath him, his enhanced hearing picking up their gasps of excitement.

"I dunno what you mean, KAREN, I feel great," he says. He runs along the side of a skyscraper, arms pumping. The streets below are especially busy today, swarms of people pushing through each other, crossing in front of honking cars. Peter hadn't thought of how many people must have moved into the city after the blip until he got back to his regular life. Even Midtown high is packed with new faces, new teachers, new inside jokes Peter doesn't understand. He feels his anxiety rise every time he steps outside– but not when he puts on the suit. When he is Spider-Man, everything is back to normal.

KAREN seems to disagree.

"I've logged five separate incidents of near-accidents, most often because of miscalculated aim."

Peter lands on a rooftop and tries to ignore the fact that he doesn't remember if it’s new or old.

"KAREN, I'm fine. New York is just different since the blip. People rebuilt and then we all… came back." His throat feels oddly dry, but he shakes it off. "Anyway, it's not important. I'm fine. Hey, do you think the two robberies were connected?"

There is a moment where Peter thinks KAREN is going to keep pushing– he braces himself to shut her off manually– but then several videos from today's bank robbery attempts start playing within his eyeline.

"The cameras picked up a similar image on the clothing of each set of robbers." Both videos zoom in and pause on a spot on the robber's jacket sleeve– a skull wearing a pirate hat. Peter squints.

"KAREN, are we dealing with pirates?"

"I cannot confirm anything at this current moment."

He laughs and shoots a web at the building across the street.

"Scan the city, see if there are any other cameras picking up that same symbol. I have a feeling these pirates aren't done… looking for treasure."

"Very funny, Peter."

"Thank you, KAREN, I try my best." Peter takes a deep breath and jumps. For a horrifying moment, he is weightless and freefalling, and suddenly he can't remember if he shot a web, did he even hit the right building, is it even there anymore–

And then the web pulls tight and he is yanked back up, flying through the air. Any feelings of fear are pushed out of his mind as KAREN starts pulling up grainy images of the pirate symbol, now in a different location.

"A few men wearing the symbol were caught on camera outside of a corner store on 63rd and Booth Street, approximately seventeen minutes ago."

Peter tries to picture the corner store in that area, the path he should take to get there– and comes up blank. He stops on another rooftop, looking around at the buildings and streets closest to him. For a second, everything looks wildly different, so much so that he can't place himself.

"Hey," he starts, trying desperately to stay calm, "can you remind me of how to get there?"

KAREN doesn't say anything, just pulls up the route in Peter's vision, a cool blue line.

"Thanks, K," he says, immediately more relaxed. It's not unnatural to get confused– New York is a big city! Specifically ignoring the little voice that reminds him that he used to know Brooklyn like the back of his hand, Peter takes off.

He’s a few blocks away when KAREN brings up footage from inside the bank, guns going off with flashes of light.

“Shots fired at the bank on 68th and BLANK. Four robbers, all armed.”

“On my way!” Peter shoots a web out to the old hotel on 73rd– and his webbing goes soaring through the air, connecting with nothing. He drops like a stone, his breath punching out of him in replacement of a scream. He’s done this before, misjudged his aim, so why can’t he shoot a new web and save himself? The ground grows closer and he stays rigid, trapped in a body of stone.

Right before he lands on the pavement a web shoots out automatically, finding purchase on the streetlamp beside him. His arm yanks with the force of it, pain shooting up from his fingers through his shoulder. This time he lets out a strangled cry, his vision whiting out with pain.

He falls to his knees, cradling his arm. His shoulder feels wrong, bones rubbing together like tectonic plates. He knows, somewhere within the painful haze, that it’s dislocated.

“The robbers have taken control of the bank, Peter.”

In his mind, Peter can see the clock ticking. He grits his teeth and pulls his injured arm forward, shouting as it clicks back into place. He leans against the wall, catching his breath.

“KAREN, update.”

“It’ll be close, but we can still get to them.”

Peter starts to run. He tries to keep his injured arm tucked close to his chest but every movement jostles it, sending stinging pains across his shoulder and chest. He shoots a web with his other hand, but his balance is off and he hits the building wall, inhaling through clenched teeth.

"I can't swing," he tells KAREN, "show me the best route on foot." Once again, her silence is louder than anything she could've said.

By the time he gets to the bank, gasping for air, the place is cleared out. Cop cars are already pulling up, sirens too loud for Peter’s ears.

“Searching for any sign nearby,” KAREN says, but at this point Peter can barely stand.

"I can't," he says. Guilt rises in his throat like bile. He turns away before the cops spot him, ducking into the nearest alley.

Swinging back proves once again to be difficult. His shoulder is weirdly stiff, making his dominant arm unusable. He shoots webs with his other hand, bumping clumsily on buildings, wincing when he lands too hard. A few people call up to him, concerned, but he's too embarrassed to stop and ask for help– he's supposed to be a superhero.

He finally finds where he originally fell and lets himself drop to the sidewalk. The area is thankfully empty, giving him the space to stare at the empty patch of sand where the hotel once stood. There's a chain link fence surrounding the block, a sign on the front advertising a new set of apartments coming within the year.

"What…?" he asks, and KAREN seems to know what he needs. A running list of info pops up on the left side of his monitor.

"The hotel was demolished almost three years ago, after it violated the 2020 health code laws."

Peter blinks. The pain from his shoulder seems to spread across his chest. In his head he pictures the last time he passed the old hotel, using it as a springboard when chasing a hijacked police car. It was less than a year ago in his mind– no, it was six years ago, the voice in his head reminds him, right before you died. Spider-Man died, and the city moved on.

"Peter, there are civilians approaching," KAREN warns, and Peter realizes he's still standing in the middle of the sidewalk, hugging his injured arm to his chest, head spinning.

"Spider-man, are you okay?"

Peter feels a hand land hard on his injured shoulder. Reacting instinctively, he pulls away and shoots a web out to the nearest building, pulling himself up out of the growing crowd of concerned civilians. He makes it another block before his chest is too tight, unable to get enough air to keep swinging, and crumbles on a rusty fire escape. His mind is moving too fast, feeding fear into his heart.

How can you be trusted to protect people if you don't even know where you are?

"KAREN, engage Time-Out protocol," he says, voice cracking. He is damp with sweat underneath the suit, trembling in matching rhythm to the ringing of the phone.

"Kid, what's up?" A voice says, and if Peter concentrates, he can make himself believe Tony is on the other side of the line. He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines the red and gold suit hovering in the air in front of him, the mask flipping up to show Tony's furrowed brow, his gentle tone–

"Kid, you there?" Sam says, and the concern that shines through is not the same, but it's still solid, there for Peter to latch onto.

"Having a little trouble," he gasps, "on a patrol."

"Do you need backup?"

Peter thinks about the robbery he couldn't stop, of the broken glass by the window and the smell of blood he had tried so hard to ignore.

"Some bad guys got away," he said.

I wanted you to be better, Tony had said, disappointed. He gave his life for the world, and Peter couldn't keep up with three amateur criminals holding up a TD bank. His stomach hurts.

"Why don't you swing by my place, come and talk about it in person?" Sam sounds sincere, too sincere for what Peter deserves. "Come on, kid. Maybe Bucky will let you pick the movie."

Peter ignores the voice that tries to get him to make an excuse.

"I'm on my way," he says.

He's been to Sam and Bucky's apartment a few times in the past month– mostly to chat with Sam. It's surprisingly helpful to talk to someone who understands, who's been through what he has and worse. Peter hadn't noticed the looks of horror May had on her face when he talked to her until they didn't show up in Sam's expression.

He ends up riding on top of the train over to Brooklyn. With his arm still throbbing and guilt's fist still clenched around his lungs, Peter doesn't really feel like he deserves to swing around as Queen's favorite hero. The more he thinks about it– about the bodies from the bank that might now be moving to a morgue, to the cash of innocents stuffed in stolen bags– the more he realizes he might not deserve the title at all.

By the time he is climbing up the side of Sam and Bucky's apartment building, he's got a speech prepared in his mind. With Sam being the new Captain of the team, Peter assumes that's who he has to talk to in order to give up his position. Still clutching his injured arm close to his chest, he crawls clumsily through the window– and then freezes. Bucky looks over at him from his spot on the couch.

"Oh," Peter says, his mask retracting. He had forgotten Sam said Bucky was going to be home, lost in his resignation speech planning. Most of the times Peter stops by, Bucky is there. For the most part he stays out of their way, preferring to be alone– Sam says he’s still getting back pieces of himself. Peter is, of course, curious to ask– but never works up the nerve.

"Hey," Bucky says, raising his hand. "Sam said you’d be swinging by. He got called out for a Cap-related thing, but he should be back soon."

Peter's chest grows tight all over again. He can't tell Bucky, a man who was once a ruthless, fearless killer. It's embarrassing enough to have to admit it at all.

"Oh, sorry, I thought Sam was here, I can go," Peter says, stumbling back towards the window.

Bucky's eyes narrow.

"He'll be back in ten minutes," he says, leaning forward. "What's wrong with your arm?"

Peter shrugs, and then winces.

"Um, got hurt on patrol– but it's fine, I've already put it back in the socket, so–"

"Did you dislocate it?" Bucky asks.

Peter blinks. This is the longest conversation they've ever had.

"Yeah, I almost fell but then KAREN shot out a web for me–"

"Who's KAREN?"

"The A.I. in my suit." Peter is starting to regret coming by at all. "You know what, I'll just talk to Sam tomorrow at the Tower or something, it's really not a big deal anyway–"

"If your shoulder was dislocated, you need to put it in a sling," Bucky interrupts, standing. Peter backs up until he hits the wall. Bucky, who had started towards him, slows to a stop.

"I'm really okay," Peter says, but it comes out weak. Bucky is frowning at him, scanning him like he has X-ray vision– but his eyes are soft, tender, like he's seeing someone he cares about reflected in Peter's pain. They have a brief, silent conversation. Peter is reminded of all of the times Bucky had his back during a battle, the way he'd hold out his hand for Peter to grab, lifting him from the ground. He lets the tension seep from his skin, exhaling.

"You look like you're about to pass out. Sit."

The couch is old and lived in, melding to Peter's form as he sinks down. Bucky pads out of the room, only to come back moments later with a first aid kit and a black sling. He crouches in front of Peter and gestures at him.

"Can you retract your suit so I can get to your shoulder?" he asks, when Peter stares at him.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry," he stammers, as the tech recedes.

"It's okay," Bucky says, his voice softer than Peter's ever heard. He makes quick work of Peter's shoulder, wrapping tape around to keep it from shifting, sliding the sling strap over Peter's head, tightening it until Peter promises it feels comfortable. Once the pressure is off of his shoulder, Peter feels like he can breathe a little better.

"Thank you," he says.

Bucky nods, sitting on the couch beside him. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the TV still playing some baking show in the background. Then Bucky clears his throat.

"So, what happened today?" he asks, and any slight amount of relief Peter felt from Bucky fixing his shoulder vanishes as his throat constricts.

"Um," he chokes out, "I, uh." His brain stutters like a record skipping on a scratch. He tries to come up with a lie, something easy enough to make convincing– but his mind is blank, save for the memory of falling with no web to grip, his body frozen in fear.

"Peter, did something happen?"

Peter remembers the video KAREN showed him, the grainy footage of gunshots being fired into the ceiling, into the crowd. He imagines what he could have stopped if he had gotten there in time.

"I don't think I can be Spider-Man anymore," he says, and it feels like he's ripped his own heart out. He can feel Bucky staring at him, but can't make himself meet his eye.

"Is it the pressure of it?" Bucky asks, and tears spring up almost immediately. Peter doesn't want to admit it, and yet he feels the confession rise up in him anyway, crawling up his throat, pushing past clenched teeth.

"I'm not good enough to be a superhero," he says, flinching at the truth of it.

There is a moment of silence, in which Peter seriously considers throwing himself out of the window. If he just heads back home, there's a chance that Bucky won't bring this up with Sam, and then they won't have to talk like this ever again–

"What do you mean, you aren't good enough?" Bucky asks. Peter shifts in his spot on the couch.

"The city is just so different than what I remember. I keep getting lost, which never used to happen before. I mean, in the beginning, yeah– but once I was used to patrolling, I could go basically anywhere without even thinking about it. But since I've been back, it's like my world has been flipped upside down, and I don't know–" he takes a deep breath, and allows the worry that's been haunting his dreams slip out.

"I mean, how am I supposed to be the 'Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man' if I don't even know my own city?" Peter realizes he’s crying, big fat tears that slip from his chin and land on his hands. He flushes, tucking his chin to his chest.

"I'm sorry, I know you don't like–"

"Did Sam tell you about how Hydra kept me alive through the years?"

Peter sneaks a glance at Bucky. He's staring at the windows past the television, his eyes dark.

"N-no, he didn't."

Bucky sighs, dropping his gaze to his hands, interlaced, metal against flesh.

"They kept me in this thing called a cryostasis chamber. It would lower my body temperature, basically freeze me until they needed me when there was a mission. Every time I woke up, the world had made itself over. I was constantly seeing things that hadn't been invented when they put me under, and having to adapt to it all. It's overwhelming."

Peter looks up at him.

“So what do you do?” Fear makes his voice wobble in his throat.

Bucky looks at him the way he did before, like Peter is something fragile and young. Peter remembers, with a start, that Bucky is over one hundred years old.

"You take it one day at a time," Bucky says with a tired smile. "The world is large and unknown, but you don't have to take it all on every morning. Just focus on what you can handle, taking in just a little bit more each day."

Peter nods. The guilt that had been crushing his windpipe has lessened to a faint pressure, which feels more manageable. Bucky leans over, bumping into his arm.

"It also helps to check in with friends, let them help if that's what you need. You did good, calling Sam– and you could call me too, if you want, I mean–" Bucky cuts himself up, scratching his head, looking away. A smile tugs at the corners of Peter's mouth.

"I'm not great with words," Bucky says, "But we could jog some mornings, around the city. Maybe start relearning the grid, one village at a time."

And that does it– the grin spreads slow, like sun peeking out behind the clouds.

"That would be great," Peter says, fighting the urge to reach over and hug him.

The window flies open in front of them, and moments later Sam somersaults in, his wings folding into his suit. He walks towards Peter immediately, eyes on the sling.

"Are you hurt? Should we go to the tower?"

"Calm down, Mom, we handled it–" Bucky says. Sam shoots him a glare before returning his focus to Peter.

"Seriously, Bugboy. You good?"

Peter laughs.

"Yeah, yeah– I'm good."

check out my Ao3 !

#my writing #marvel #mcu #peter parker #bucky barnes #sam wilson #tony stark #peter and his trusty sidekick karen !!#this was one of my favorites to write #marvel fic #mcu fic #writing in the deep

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halloweennut · 5 years

Text

Hireath, Part 5

One more part after this one. I can’t write fight scenes.

As Elena planned, her, Mateo, and Gabe set off early the next morning. By horse it would have been four days, but by jacquin it was shortened to half a day. Skylar was only more than happy to provide his wings, and Migs had sent the fastest flyers.

“So what’s the plan, Princessa?” Skylar asked, flying through the morning clouds, just barely tinged orange in the light.

“Fly in, stop Chatana and Ash, rescue Esteban, bring the three of them to justice,” Elena replied succinctly. “Provided there isn’t any more treachery or plot twists.”

“There won’t be this time, Elena,” Mateo said. “We’re readier than ever.”

“Let’s end this once and for all,” Gabe added. Elena nodded in agreement, and turned her view to the horizon. They flew over village and plain, river and valley until finally reaching the mountains and the cave Maricruz and Rosita had been trapped in. Despite never being inside of it, the sight made Elena feel cold. Forty years for her had been hell, and the idea of being trapped anywhere or for any longer almost made her ill.

“We’re getting close,” Skylar said. “Socanos is only a few miles ahead.”

“Let’s go down lower. I don’t want them to see us coming,” Elena ordered. Skylar nodded, and gestured to the other two to drop down, just above the tree line. The pyramid of Socanos rose from the jungle, a beacon of weathered stone against the sky and trees. “There it is!”

“Let’s get to ground and travel by foot from here,” Gabe called to Elena. She nodded, and the group landed in a smaller clearing a few hundred yards off from the Maruvian site. “Are we ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Elena said. Her scepter was steady in her hand. “Let’s end this.”

The three began their walk forward, the jaquins close at hand in case the need for a quick get away was necessary. Eventually, the jungle broke, leading into the main plaza of Socanos. The statues and remaining buildings were overgrown with plants, reclaiming them for the earth. Straight ahead down main avenue laid the temple. It’s painted facades were faded and chipped, and some of its sculptural elements were near stripped down between looters and time. They made their way up to it, hiding behind the buildings on the sides of the path to avoid being seen. Reaching the base, they quickly, but quietly, crept up, ears and eyes open for any sign of trouble.

The inside of the pyramid was dim. Few rays of light entered from the ceiling through cracks or man-made openings from centuries past. They made their way through, looking through each atrium for any signs of life.

“Where are they?” Gabe hissed. “If they’ve moved already-”

“We still have one more room,” Mateo replied. “Maybe we’ll find something.”

“Hopefully,” Elena added as they entered the last atrium. It was dark, but they just made out a shape on the form. She raised her scepter. “Glow.”

The room was filled with light and Elena’s stomach was filled with dread. The shape on the ground was the prone form of Esteban. He was battered, hit with god knew how many spells, and his staff laid feet away from him. She gasped and ran over to him, gently shaking him.

“Esteban? Esteban, wake up!” she near shouted. He opened his eyes in a flash, but didn’t move anything else except frantically blink and move his eyes. “What-”

“A paralysis spell,” Mateo replied. “It’ll take a while for me to undo it, depending on when it was cast. At least it wasn’t a statue spell.”

Elena looked down at the frantic eyes, and watched as his jaw twitched. He looked like he was forcing himself to move. “E-elena-”

His voice was forced, quiet and hoarse from days of misuse. He continued, but his voice dropped to a hiss.

“What? Esteban, what happened?” Elena asked, leaning closer. Esteban only looked panicked, but tried again.

“Tr-tra-trap,” he managed to croak. His eyes left her’s to look behind her, pupils near pinpoints.

“Well, well, well. Aren’t family reunions just so touching?” Ash said snidely as she and Chatana approached. “Perfect timing. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“The moment we saw those Oracles on that horse, we knew Esteban sent them to you,” Chatana continued. “It was only a matter of time before you came to us.”

“Can you believe Esteban still trusts you, still wants to be your family, after everything you’ve both done to each other?” Ash laughed. “It’s pitiful, really. But that’s what your family is: pitiful.”

“Enough!” Elena shouted, dress going orange. She raised her scepter towards them. “This ends now.”

Ash chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

Rosie couldn’t focus on the cards in front of her. Luisa was teaching them conquian, but she didn’t have the patience to sit still for it in general, let alone when Elena had gone to Socanos. She had been watching periodically through the day to see where they were, but stopped looking when she saw that they reached the pyramid. She didn’t want to see anything else until everyone was back in Avalor. And she did mean everyone.

“Rosie, mijita, it’s your turn,” Luisa prodded. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah,” Isa agreed. “It can take a little while to get into. We don’t mind.”

“No, it’s okay,” Rosie replied, replacing the hem of her new vest with her cards. “I don’t think I could even do anything else right now.”

“Next round, we’ll put your sister into rotation too,” Luisa said. “Won’t that be fun?”

“Probably,” she replied. Rosie stared at her card - she thought it was a good one - and placed it down. “If we can pull her from the window.”

Maricruz was curled up in the window across the room, staring in the direction Elena and her friends had gone. Rosie knew it was for two reasons: one, they hadn’t seen the outside for so long, the most average tree was refreshing, and two, she wanted to be the first one to see them come home, especially since she was too afraid to look at the future’s possible truths. Esteban’s jacket and a small needle were in her lab, but her sister’s hands were still, halfway through a row of tiny, slightly unsteady stitches.

“Can I take a quick break?” she asked.

“Of course,” Luisa said. “Isa takes a bit on her turns anyway.”

“It’s strategy!”

Rosie smiled and slipped down from her chair, running over to her sister. It was so much faster doing so in a pair of leggings instead of skirt! She stopped next to her sister, gently touching her elbow. Mari looked down at her.

“Done with the game already?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Rosie shook her head. She climbed up to sit next to her, holding her hand and looked down at the jacket. “He’ll be okay, and he’ll tell you that your stitches are uneven but good.”

Mari cracked a sad smile at that. “I’m just out of practice is all...hopefully he’ll say that the thought was lovely, and he’ll keep it in a box in his closet to remember by while wearing a nicer one. Dark blue wool with silver embroidery would be nice, I think.”

“I like the red!” Rosie pouted. “He can wear that one on special occasions.”

“Alright,” Mari replied. Rosie leaned forward, hugging her sister tight. “No sad thoughts, okay? Only hopeful ones. Everything will be okay.”

Rosie nodded against her shoulder before letting go and heading back over to the table. Mari smiled at the three before picking the needle up again. She knew that she would focus better if she knew what would happen, if she just dared to look….

Elena tried to keep her rage in check as she dodged blast after blast from Ash, sending her own blazes towards her as Mateo and Chatana butt heads and Gabe and two of the jaquins helped from the ground and air. Skylar had dragged Esteban to the side, out of the fight to protect him until the paralysis spell wore off.

“I won’t let you do any more damage, Ash!” Elena shouted. “My kingdom, my home, my family- have all suffered because of your actions!”

“And your dear cousin’s, Elena,” Ash replied. “Don’t forget that either.”

Elena grit her teeth, biting back a shout of ‘I know!’ as she fired the next blast. This one finally made contacted, just getting her legs. Ash fell with a shout of pain, tamborita flying from her hand. Elena approached, scepter aimed, ready to seal the malvago in crystal and be done with her reign of terror.

“This ends!” Elena said coldly, dress near venomously orange. “No more-”

Miles away and an hour earlier, an oracle looked ahead as cards were being played.

Mateo pushed Pili away from him and sent another boqato towards the sorceress. The weasel hissed and lunged for his ankles, only to be grabbed by the scruff.

“Not today!” Gabe said, tossing him to one of the jaquins. Pili shouted in protest as he was caught in a set of paws. The other jaquin was going after Chatana, biting after her wings. She stopped short and dropped like a stone, and the jaquin careened into the wall, and crumpled like a rag doll to the floor.

“BOQATO!” Mateo shouted, sending the spell towards her. She smirked and dodged, flying just below the blast and swooped towards the two. Chatana knocked the two of them to the ground with a sharp snap of her wings before going up high. She watched as Ash was taken out and Elena approached.

“C’mon, Esteban!” Skylar shook his charge. “We could use that teleporting nonsense right about now!”

“I’m trying!” Esteban managed to hiss. Skylar looked up, and moved to leave his side.

“Try harder and fast!”

Esteban followed his gaze up, watching Chatana zero in on Elena. “No-”

“Elena! Elena look out!” Mateo shouted.

Elena barely had the time to turn before she saw the spell in Chatana’s hands. Esteban barely had the strength to stand, let alone run. But somehow he did, stumbling towards his staff and clumsily grabbing it. He slammed it on the ground.

Elena shouted, holding up her hands to block herself and felt herself go flying to the ground, but not from a magic blast. There was the sound of a body hitting stone and a sickening crack of something breaking. She knew it wasn’t her - her racing heart told her that she was very much still alive. She sat up, wincing at her scraped palms as she grabbed her scepter. Elena turned to find the source of what pushed her away, and didn’t realize the cry she heard came from her when she saw what had.

An oracle cried out and fell to the ground, much to the panic of the others near her.

Esteban awoke, eyes bleary. He winced in pain, trying to hold back his groans. He felt like hell warmed over. His arm was bandaged and wrapped in a sling to his chest, and his entire middle was wrapped up tight with bandages. He could feel every cut and bruise on him, and he felt extremely weak. Esteban looked around, blinking in the dim light of what he was shocked to see was his room in the palace. He wanted to sob, but the act hurt him preemptively. He settled back onto his pillows, never again to take them for granted, and finally noticed other figures in his room.

Elena was leaning on the side of the bed, asleep and looking exhausted still, and Isa leaned against her. Her scepter laid over his bureau. On the small loveseat, Gabe and Mateo were asleep, propping each other up. His abuela had taken the chair next to his bedside, draped with a spare blanket. He instinctively knew that his abuelo was probably running the castle, but would replace his wife when she woke up. And at his right hand, two little oracles were fast asleep. Mari’s cheeks were tear-stained, and Rosie looked as tired as he felt, even when asleep. Esteban let a tear fall as he sighed in relief for the first time in weeks.

Tomorrow would come, and he would deal with it then, but for now…He was home, he was finally home and not alone. Those were the only thoughts he had on his mind as he finally drifted back to sleep.

#elena of avalor

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all-of-the-imagines-for-eve · 6 years

Text

Forget About It ~ Sweet Pea (Part 2)

A/n: Double post because I’m in LOVE with this. Wow it feels good to be back! Not my gif.

Word Count: 3816

MASTERLIST

'Cause I feel like a bad joke. Walk the tight rope to hold on to you. Was it real? Or a love scene, from a bad dream? I don't think I can forget about it...

"We don’t even know who you stand with! ...Us, or them? You can’t be half a Serpent. Even your boy’s kid sister picked a side. Against the North Siders, even."

"Maybe not ALL North Siders are a complete waste."

"Who said she’s a North Sider anymore?"

Jughead and I had both ignored the back and forth musing between Sweet Pea and Fangs but the words hung over my head, becoming more tangible and real and prodding and harder to ignore each and every day I spent with Jughead and the Serpents. That process quickened even more when Jughead went headlong into the trials.

Hotdog was taking to me well. We got into the habit of cuddling up to each other on the floor. Midst everything else, that was one of the great things. I didn’t need Sweet Pea’s presence and comfort anymore, which gave room for me to simply want it. We hung out and talked and got to know each other past my nonsensical craving. He became a person, not a drug. A smile and a laugh with a name. I started to notice things. How bright his smile was, no matter the setting of the room. How smooth and deep his voice was. How undeniably handsome he was. How he was good with kids - the one or two times I’d seen him with them - and how good with Hotdog he was. He was so good. To everyone and everything.

The day Toni came to warn Jughead about the last trial was tense. I moved outside the second it got serious, wrestling with Hotdog. It was my absolute favorite thing to do. He was a big dog but he was gentle too. Even when I got him all rowdy and hyper he was still well trained and old enough to immediately step back and stop when I showed signs of strain or pain. Toni found me on the ground, dirty and pinned by Hotdog who was slobbering me up with kisses as I shrieked and giggled and tried to hide from his wet love. Toni shooed the dog, offering me her hand to help me to my feet. I took it. Once I was up I used to my shirt to wipe my face. When I was done, her serious expression wiped my smile away. "What’s up Toni?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

She looked at me a few more seconds before drawing herself up to her full height, still barely reaching my chin. "Seems this house is full of people who aren’t sure. People I can’t be sure about." I rose an eyebrow. "Are you a North Sider, Y/n?" I swallowed, my mood instantly darkening. Hotdog moved to my side, his nose nudging my hand as he sensed my distress. Toni seemed to grow more angry at the sight as I pet him, accepting his comfort. "You take shelter and seek comfort here but... can we trust you? Can I trust you not to break my best friend’s heart?"

My eyes widened and I blushed. "There’s nothing going on between me and Sweet Pea."

It was her turn to raise the questioning eyebrow and I swallowed. "I never said I was talking about Sweet Pea." My eyes fell. We both knew what I'd said was a lie. Even since the night we’d met we’d been growingsteadily and quickly closer. It was obvious that I had developed some kind of crush on him and he had become protective of me at the very least. I always had the horrible feeling that he saw me as a little sister he had to watch, but what Toni was insinuating undoubtedly made my heart beat faster. The prospect of him crushing on me in return...

Toni stepped closer and despite the height difference I stepped back, intimidated. "Don’t hurt him." She said it like a warning, an unspoken, ‘or I’ll hurt you’ added to the end that I could see in her eyes and body. I nodded, swallowing, and she walked away.

Things got complicated after that. I was suddenly aware of the effect I was leaving on the Serpents. I couldn’t stay, I knew that. Eventually I had to go home. Archie seemed to be a lot better and my dad was missing me. I was missing my dad too. South Side had become a second home, full of a bunch of friendly faces and safe corners and happy moments, unlike the dredged and tainted North Side I’d left behind where the only person I could always count on to make me feel happy was my dad. I wasn’t close to Veronica except through Archie and now that we were on not talking terms, I didn’t want anything to do with either of them. Betty I’d miss, but living with Jughead meant I’d see her occasionally. Kevin and I weren’t really all that close but he might be a face I would think about when I wondered what the North Side kids were up to. I could ask Betty for updates, though. I could visit my dad on weekends. I’m sure I could even get a job and start pulling my weight around the Jones’, not just cooking food and taking care of Hotdog and keeping things tidy. But those were long term plans. Those were moving out and being gone plans. Where would they lead?

Would I join the Serpents? Go to South Side High? Would I disgrace my whole life in the North Side because my brother had cracked and pointed a gun at some Serpents I didn’t even know at the time? Would I put my dad through losing me before I was even 18 to the dangers of the South Side and it’s life style just because of Archie?

On the other hand, could I bring myself to forgive Archie if I went back? Would we ever be as we used to be, or would I always be in this middle space? Too Serpent to be North Side, too North Side to be a Serpent?

No, Sweet Pea had made it clear. I had to pick a side eventually. Was it worth shoving a wedge in mine and my dad’s relationship to seek the freedom and happiness I had unexpectedly found with a gang that should hate me?

But, above all, if I did stay... would it be for Sweet Pea? Was this a pick and choose between Sweet Pea and my dad or was I oversimplifying it?

To summarize, I had a lot of questions and a lot of reason to be asking them. I was unsure on a lot of levels and it drove me away from Sweet Pea. My confusions and worrying and overthinking made me draw back. In my attempt not to hurt him, I drove a knife into his gut and twisted. Toni shot endless glares at me and the rest of the Serpents were starting to catch on too. Sitting close and quiet whispers and stolen stares and brief flirting turned to a solid cold shoulder as I internally panicked and it was hurting everyone around me. They’d started to trust me. Started to count me as one of their own in spirit, even if I didn’t have the tattoo and the jacket.

Now it seemed that I would be running home to the North Side with my tail between my legs.

Damnit why couldn’t this be easier?!

As if hearing my silent frustrated yell into the void of the mental universe, my brother showed up and did what he always does- he lost his temper and ran his mouth. And suddenly Jughead wasn’t blocking Sweet Pea from Archie, he was blocking ME.

"Are you friends with these thugs?" He spat.

"Are you joining the Serpents?" He asked, as if accusing.

"These were he people who attacked me!"

Each time I was there to argue.

"Don’t call them thugs!" or "Attacked you? It was a consensual fight!"

Archie kept blowing me off, straight up ignoring me. My hands were already clenched into fists when it happened. Jughead asked why he came and Archie said the one thing that tipped me off. "I came to tell you to stay away from Betty. She doesn’t want to see you anymore."

I moved to Jughead's side, my shoulder brushing his, and he started after a second, his face hardening in resolve. We both knew that was total shit. "Screw you," Jughead snapped. "I just saw Betty yesterday she..." he cut off, drifting. "She was fine-"

"No, dude," Archie cut in. "She’s been wanting to break up with you for weeks. "She’s been agonizing over it. Since you crossed the dark side. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it."

I nudged Jug again, supporting him. Helping him. He blinked, thinking. "So she sent you?" Jughead scoffed. "Betty would never do that!"

Archie took a step forward. "If you don’t believe me then call her! And feel free to tell her you’re a Serpent now, too. Bet she’ll love that." He took a step forward and Jug took a step back. We were side by side now and I was staring my brother down, angry and hurt because I knew how this was killing Jughead, who had become my best friend. "She knew where you were headed, Jughead. Okay, we all did. And she knows you can’t be with them and with her. I mean, come on, man." He shook his head." You know it too."

There was a moment of silence where Archie looked at me and I felt his words hit me on a more personal level. His message was to both of us. I felt my own eyes water as Jughead managed, “Tell Betty I got the message." His voice was wet and shaky, sounding how my heart felt.

"Yeah," Archie mumbled, voice quiet and gravely now. He looked at me. "Come on, Y/n let’s go home. There’s been enough of this nonsense."

So my time had come. Just like that I felt each and every pair of eyes that belonged to a person within what seemed a mile radius trained on me. This was my cue. My cue to leave and escape and run away. My cue to ditch the Serpents and return as the North Sider they dreaded I was.... And maybe I would have if Archie had just come to me. Maybe I would have given in and put my head back in the sand and closed my eyes to the horrors happening around me.

But something had just snapped inside of me and there was no going back now. "No," I answered firmly, my voice strong even though it was quiet. Even Jughead's eyes bore into me now.

Archie scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I get it, you made your point. I’m done with the Red Circle stuff, okay? Just come home. Dad and Vegas miss you." He sighed. "I miss you." I shook my head and he grunted in frustration, that anger from before coming back. "Y/n you’re a North Sider stop acting like you’re tough just because you want to make a point!"

I snapped. My hands flattened against his chest and I shoved with all my might, stepping into it. He tumbled back, eyes widening as he almost lost his balance. Jughead didn’t move to stop me. No one was holding me back. "North Siders are so stupid! And shallow! And... TERRIBLE!" I screamed, getting in his face. He was stunned speechless. "You look at someone different than you and don’t understand them so you write them off. You do it with your own! The popular attack the nerds, the straights attack the gays. Cheryl Blossom attacks everyone because she’s got issues and you all just let her because to actually do something to change how she is would mean putting in work to help her and you’re all too self absorbed to do anything about it! The LAST decent North Sider my age just broke up with her boyfriend because he joined a family of genuinely good people you all know NOTHING about. You don’t care about his reason or thinking or anything, you’re too STUCK on your own wants and needs and preferences. You’re so SELFISH!" I shoved him again but this time he was ready, catching my wrists and shoving back so that I stumbled. He was a lot stronger than me.

Sweet Pea moved forward behind me but Jughead caught him. "Let her fight her own fights." They both stilled.

Archie didn’t like that. Didn’t like the protective way Sweet Pea looked at me. Didn’t like me fighting my own fights. Didn’t like me fighting him. So he didn’t the only thing he knew how to do. He lashed out. "You think these people care about you at all?" It was like he’d slapped me in the face. I froze, staring at him with wide eyes. "You’re just a North Sider to them, Y/n! You don’t live on the South Side! And even if you did move in, you don’t actually know them. What they grew up going through and the life style they’re used to leading. This will all be new and dangerous to you. You have to adapt and change. They could never accept the real you. The you that sits on your bed at home because you’re tired from talking to people alone. The shy, reserved, quiet you that’s scared to raise your hand in class even though you know the answer because you get anxiety when you’re called on like a kid who took a cookie they weren’t allowed to have. You’re small and scared by everything. You’ve depended on me from day one and now you’re just running to the closest big man to protect you now that you’ve deemed me unsafe for whatever reason. They’ll ditch you so fast Y/n-"

"For no reason?" I asked in a low voice. Our eyes met and all his anger was gone instantly. It was like a movie was laying in front of us, showing the events clearly. We both saw it so easily that it was like we were watching it in each other’s eyes. "The night you completely lost your shit, I watched the big brother I looked up to for everything turn into a gun toting psychopath temping people to attack him and then threatening lives when they answered the call. Then you realized you fucked up and LEFT me. Alone, at night, terrified and shaken and about to have an anxiety attack. Those people you put in danger? Those people you shrug off as trouble, as thugs? THOSE were the people who were there for me when I had no where else to go because I was terrified of going home to a brother I was afraid of." My eyes watered as we stared each other down. My knuckles were curled tight, colored white, and shaking.

Jughead put his hand on my shoulder to calm me after a long pause of brother-sister face off. "I think you should go Archie. You’ve made your point." Archie swallowed and then pushed past me and Jug, into the crowd of Serpents and back home to the North Side.

There were no cheers. No relieved sighs or smiles. I’d chosen the South Side. But I was a wreck. Archie’s words had trashed me and they didn’t even have to see my face to know. They wanted to reach out and comfort me I could practically feel Sweet Pea itching to move. But no. All that came was silence, heavy and long.

Finally, mercifully, Jughead turned to face everyone. "What?" He snapped. "Did you enjoy the show?"

Sweet Pea didn’t even pause in his reply. "Show hasn’t even started yet."

The rest of the day I stayed in the trailer, in Jug’s room. I didn’t talk not once, and only came out to watch Jughead go through the last trial. I winced and curled away from the group as they beat him up, each getting in their own hit. Each time made me hurt as if they were hitting me, but I knew that Jughead’s pain was far worse. Finally Sweet Pea got his punch, brass knuckles glinting under the moonlight. Jughead was on the ground and I gasped. But then, like the Jughead I had come to know since living with him in the South Side, he stood up, spit blood, and almost seemed to smile. Toni put an arm around me as we both watched Sweet Pea offer his hand. Toni smiled and Jug took it and it felt like the whole South Side let loose the breath it had been holding. I was there when he got his tattoo and then I was gone, outside the trailer as Toni and Jughead talked inside. When it grew very late and Toni hadn’t come out, I sighed, hanging my head. They’d had tension since day one and I hated it. I hated it because I knew he loved Betty and that meant that Toni deserved better.

Sweet Pea found me falling asleep against the side of the trailer. He sat down next to me. "Hey." I hummed in response and he chuckled. His arm fell around my shoulders and he tugged me against him. He was so warm compared to the night chill that I curled into him, pulling my knees up a bit. "I was just gonna let you be. Toni and Fangs told me to let you cool off. But... I couldn’t sleep. Are you okay?" I sighed heavily and he nodded. "Thought so." He paused. "Jughead lock you out?"

I smiled at his protective tone. "He. Toni. Inside. I needed air."

My mumbles seemed to get to him as he nodded, letting me know he understood. "Want to come to mine then?"

Leaning away so he could see my face, I smiled. "I would love that."

His smile matched mine. He stood, pausing as I went to struggle to my feet before he laughed quietly, leaning down and scooping me up bridal style. I grunted in protest but didn’t fight him, pressing against him instead because GOD he was warm. He walked in quiet for a while before he spoke. "You know, what he said. It’s all wrong. You see the North Side like we do. I’ve seen it since I first met you. You’ve always been so protective and appreciative of us. You defended us, wrote off your brother. I wouldn’t have blamed you for going back. That’s your whole life... but you didn’t. I’ve asked a few of the guys. Fangs and Toni like you. They’re glad you’re sticking around. And we all know Jughead has a mega soft spot for you. I can’t exactly speak for everyone but I can say that there are Serpents who will have your back. And then the rest will have our backs, so really the whole family is behind you."

Eyes closed, I hummed. My hand flattened against his chest. "Thanks, Sweets. I needed to hear that." Under my hand, his heartbeat quickened when I used the pet name. The rest of the fairly short walk was quiet. He took me inside and to his bed this time. He set me down, pulling the covers over me. "Sorry I took your bed," I apologized.

He chuckled. "I don’t mind. Goodnight."

"Night." I was dead asleep too fast to even create another thought, and so the day ended peacefully and happy with me safe and warm and feeling absolutely wonderful...

Of course it couldn’t last long. Jughead worked on transferring me to South Side high and it was surprisingly smooth and easy. My father signed the papers after a call where I told him my plan about visiting on weekends and sticking close to Jughead’s side. After I told him about everything Archie had said, the friends I was making, and how much Jug was hurting and how much I was helping (because even Jug had admitted that I was helping by sticking around and actively cheering him up and said I wasn’t allowed to sleepover anywhere else anymore because he missed my breakfast making) just in general, he agreed that I was needed much more where I was. For Jug and myself.

My first day at South Side High, Sweet Pea was my guide. He walked around with his arm around my shoulders, his eyes tearing down everyone who even dared to glance my way in a shady or questionable way. He actually pulled me into his lap during lunch and no one said anything about it. I was enjoying the attention from him and generally being back into our flirty little back and forth.

My first day at South Side High, I joined Jughead’s newspaper thing because I was a great editor and an okay writer if need be. I waited at Sweet Pea’s locker with said boy while he turned the entry into the teacher in charge of the newspaper. I was excited for the publishing we had both talked about and worked hard over, perfecting to both of our standards. It was guaranteed a winner.

My first day at South Side High was pleasant even though the school was pretty crap. I found myself briefly wishing I could bring better learning conditions to the kids there because people like Sweet Pea and Toni and Fangs, who were smart and actually would try it they were given the opportunity, deserves the opportunity to try. It seemed all of Riverdale had spray painted them a general loss and I didn’t approve of it.

My first day at South Side high, Sweet Pea not-so-jokingly called, “See you later, Princess,” as I blushed. Seconds before all Hell broke lose and the brief moment of peace and contentedness shattered into chaos. The halls flooded with officers and I watched my fellow students and my friends get chased and pinned down. The sound of Sweet Pea’s fist slamming on the locker seemed to echo in my brain as I was tripped and pinned, a knee digging into my back. I cried out and Sweet Pea screamed my name and we were all dragged away as I watched my brother - of ALL people - watch with Jughead as I was carted off to wherever they were taking us like I was any other student.

My first day of South Side High taught me what it meant to be a kid on the South Side. It taught me what it meant to be a Serpent, as Toni scrambled to my side, barring me from the shifty kids in the cell with me. It taught me the Not Fun part of the life I had chosen. And it fueled me, my hard eyes turning to Toni as we shared a look of half outrage and half surrender. There was nothing we could do. But still. I was a South Side kid now. And I still wasn’t going to change it.

That was reason enough for Toni to smile.

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