#tw; suicidal thoughts mention

[raphaelapproves]

Today, focus was a precious commodity and I ended up behind at work so did not get the chance to post the conversation as promised.

But now, here we are, the "conversation"--and I do use that term loosely--that I had with an Astarion girlie.

Allow me to set the scene.

This happened on a video where a streamer was, I assume, HORRIFIED to find that if she just self-insert played the game with answers she would give--SHOCK!--Gale was the companion who liked her the most. I can't imagine why.

Anyway, the comments section was the predictable Gale-bashing. Some in good fun. Most of it not. And I'm me, so I just couldn't help myself, because I see too much of my younger self [ who still tried to engage with people and connect but didn't know how ] in Gale, so I responded to a couple of comments. This was the one that prompted this little meeting of the... well, one mind and then whatever the other person was operating with. Must have been a different Operating System, because it sure didn't make sense to me.

It is below the cut, as are my thoughts because it turned into a long post as, apparently, I had many thoughts.

Astarion Girlie [ henceforth AG ]: THEN HE CAN GO SUCK OFF LETTO II ON ARRAKIS CUZ I AM NOT HERE FOR GALE'S SEXIST A$$ 😤

Me: First: how is Gale sexist? Second: and yet you're okay with Astarion [ NOTE: the username had something to do with what Astarion could do for them, so I made an educated guess ] who is canonically racist, knowingly lured people to their deaths, and was fine with condemning the world for himself???

AG: are you serious??? 🤣 Gale mansplains EVERYTHING to the women around him including magic to other magic-user, uses coercion as a flirting tactic, & slvt-shames Tav if you're romancing someone else.

Me: Wow. There is so much wrong with that. 1) Tell me you don't have an autistic friend without telling me. 2) He explains to EVERYONE not just women. 3) Genuinely? What coercion? 4) He just tells you -- He isn't for an open relationship [ says he wishes you had asked him first which is y'know healthy? ] and asks you to choose, then says he wishes you well if you don't choose him.

AG: have you considered touching grass?

Me: This is such an intelligent rebuttal. Brava! So insightful and useful to a debate. Have you considered maybe listening to others without belitting them because you can't have a friendly discussion?

AG: 1) all of my friends are auDHD and so am i. you're an ableist joke. 😘 2) now you're gale-splaining his sexism 😂 3) i'm not interested in continuing with someone as clearly unwell as you are, bye!

Me: I AM autistic, friend. 2) It's not sexism if he's literally explaining his special interest to EVERYONE regardless of sex. 3) Again, quite mature. Thank you. 👏👏👏

I am just. How??? can anyone be so ??? I do not even have a word for it. It baffles me.

Astarion has canonically done terrible things, would canonically do many even more terrible if not swayed from it, and yet Gale??? is the one with whom they have a problem??? And they can't even logic their own argument???

As someone who is autistic and has been a victim of continued mental and emotional abuse from someone who always wanted to play the victim card and as someone who was always given the excuse "well they're not well and you know it, so you just have to deal with it and don't argue" when they're going out of their way to make your life hell and trying to frame you as their own personal villain, up to and including gaslighting you to the point of nearly two decades of depression, making you feel like you were broken and the worst human being in the world, and having you contemplating things you shouldn't, and them lying to others about things that happened or things that were said to get you in trouble, I get very, very tired of the mentality I see so much around the crazed Astarion Girlies of excusing everything he has ever done and being unable to even acknowledge a single flaw and attacking anyone who does say anything.

I have and continue to live that, have been and continue to be on the other side of it having to suffer because someone else wasn't held accountable, and I am Tired. [ At least now, thanks to my best friend in the entire world, I can see it for what it is and I'm in at least a better place now mentally, 98% of the time. ]

[ NOTE: This is NOT against the Astarion writers I have seen on here. Please do not misunderstand. The Astarion writers I follow on here are the only reason I can still even marginally like the character at this point. He is fascinating. He is multi-faceted. It's one of the things I love to see explored by those who I follow. It is always interesting to see people write complex and even morally difficult characters because that, too, is a form of understanding humanity. It's one of the things I love exploring with my anti-heroes and villains. In Baldur's Gate, that would include characters like Raphael, Gortash, Dirge, etc. So please know I am not hating on any Astarion writers! Everyone I follow is amazing! ]

But when you bring up those character flaws and morally difficult things that does make the character so complex and multi-faceted, these are the responses you get:

Astarion is a victim!

Yes, that is true. But Gortash who, let's be honest, at least doesn't fully know what he's doing is wrong [ you pass the insight checks and what not/narration tells you/the VA tells you that he thinks he's doing the right thing for himself and for the city, etc. and with the way he was raised, what example did he have to the contrary but I've already gone on that rant HERE ] is to the smallest degree even less culpable in my mind than Astarion, and he doesn't get a pass the way Astarion does? And he certainly shouldn't. He isn't absolved. He is doing terrible things whether he can fully rationalize it or not with his understanding of life.

Astarion though, acknowledges on multiple occasions, gives excuses, justifies his actions at every turn while still knowing that what he's doing and planning to do is wrong. And it's heavily implied that he really wasn't all that great of a person BEFORE Cazador either [ that is not to say that he deserved what happened either, just to clarify ]. But the point is Astarion did, at one point, having come from what seems an affluent family, have a knowledge of right and wrong and still made decisions that he made, even before Cazador and after once he was free.

Cazador made him do those things! Yes, he did, but that excuse stopped the moment Cazador's control was no longer an issue. He had free will and a knowledge of right and wrong, and he made the decisions he made.

But it was a habit by then! It was what he learned to survive!

And that coupled with the knowledge of right and wrong goes only so far as the moment you choose to knowingly make your trauma someone else's. Cazador wasn't going to force him to do the Ascension ritual and pay 7,000 souls for his own betterment. "Because after 200 years of SHIT, PURE SHIT, I think I deserve better." A paraphrase, but I think I caught the most important parts. He knew it was wrong, he acknowledges it and immediately tries to justify himself, and is still quite willing to do it. Literally, if he kills you by draining your blood, he acts like nothing ever happened and then tries to sweep it under the rug with Tav if they continue to be upset about it by telling them there's no reason to be.

And yet, we have a problem with Gale, who can be or come across as condescending at times, but I think you can hardly call a man sexist who made his girlfriend his entire personality--since she was the goddess of his SPECIAL INTEREST--and continues to put her word above even his own life, prioritize her forgiveness over his continued existence and who takes such great interest in literally everything Lae'zel has to say about the Astral Plane and her people. We have a problem with a man who is honest about his comfort zone? Who loves your PC even if you become a mindflayer? Who only takes issue with you when you do something morally bad? Who literally gives you approval points for anything even remotely resembling a good choice? Who feels like he doesn't even deserve a place in the world and would gladly give himself up for any one of his companions?

He's always harassing me for items!!!! AND HE GOT MAD WHEN I WOULDN'T GIVE THEM TO HIM!!!

The count is THREE and you can give the man the most trash items you have and he still thanks you and tells you that he will repay your kindness because he knows what such sacrifice means. He is thanking you--just as he gets mad at you if you don't--because he literally has a ticking bomb in his chest that would kill not only HIM if it de-stabilized and exploded, but also anyone within the vicinity.

Well he betrayed Mystra!!!

He tried to get on equal footing with someone he loved, to share in something he loved with the person who embodied it. Was he overly ambitious? Absolutely. [ And honestly, tell me it's not Gifted Kid Syndrome -coded to assume that he could do this impossible thing. ] Did it cost him? Yes. And then Mystra, who could have fixed it and didn't cast him off. And he still prayed to her. And took all of the blame on himself, despite the fact that Mystra shares more than a little responsibility for what transpired. [ I.E. all of the Origin PCs have been victims in this game, in some way or another, and some if not all of them to power imbalances in relationships. Why does anyone think Gale is the one exception? ]

HE'S MANSPLAINING TO ME!!!

He is literally telling you all about his special interest and probably assuming that you don't know much about it, or at least not as much as him, because he was literally a Chosen of Mystra and an Archmage. Again, can he be condescending and huffy at times? Yes. He absolutely can. Call it a character flaw. Everyone has them, but you know what? His doesn't condemn anyone to death, so why are we up at arms?

HE DOESN'T WANT ME TO SEE OTHER PEOPLE!!!

And that is his prerogative and he's straightforward and honest with you about it. He tells you--if you already started flirting with or seeing someone--that he wishes you had the courtesy to tell him first [ which, IS IN FACT the healthy way to go about a relationship of that nature, just as shown with Halsin insisting you ask your partner first ]--but if you choose the other person, he wishes you both well, usually gives some compliment to the other person, and then continues to treat you well as long as you weren't rude and demeaning to him during or after the fact.

So why???? Is so much of the fanbase SO AGGRESSIVELY against Gale? But Astarion is uwu Babygirl and can do no wrong? What about defending Gale makes me "so unwell", but how DARE anyone rightfully criticize even the smallest thing about Astarion because [ insert extensive list of reasons why none of that should matter ].

That he is a victim, that he's pretty, that his VA has a great voice and personality, et cetera, does not excuse that Astarion has knowingly done terrible things both against and within his will and will do so again without hesitation if he helps him, particularly if your Durge or Tav doesn't try or manage to sway him.

Make this make sense to me, because I certainly cannot seem to make it do so.

I've said it before with that Gortash post I linked above and I said it on a similar post for Zevlor and somewhere that I was talking about Minthara and Nere, but the double standards within a loud portion of this fanbase--even within the game itself and among the people who worked on it--is not one of its better qualities.

[ghostvibesonly]

wait odysseus is suicidal wait he was really gonna end his life the way he ended the infant’s wait the only people who’ve called him ody are those who hurt him badly/betrayed him wait “let me close my eyes” parallels penelope and telemachus begging him to “keep your eyes open” wait wait calypso was trying to talk him down and “stay in my open arms” unintentionally triggered the memories/hauntings of polites, eurylochus, his mom, etc wait wait athena held baby telemachus wait wait athena is dead?? wait wait wait

[dykedvonte]

Curly not immediately punishing Jimmy for assaulting Anya is something I don’t think a lot of people are viewing in the complex context for Curly as the superior to both of them and closest confidante they had.

Like I am in no way saying he didn’t under react or fail Anya by not being harsh or direct with Jimmy but it really is the case that he really couldn’t. Imagine being stuck in such a confined space with very little areas to genuinely hold someone if they commit a crime. It’s not like this was an event that occurred before they departed or that they have easy communication with The Pony Express to ask for how to proceed when something like this arises. Not to mention, Jimmy’s relative power in relation to Anya as the co-pilot and second in command, he has the knowledge and access to do something to her had Curly directly punished him in this setting.

They were also Curly’s friends. It’s not just the case of him mediating something between his subordinates but people he is personally invested in don’t want to see spiral further in Anya’s case while also not wanting believe his friend go that bad in Jimmy’s actions. They were both suicidal and Curly putting Jimmy’s stability first is both out of bias but also the fact he’s aware at some level Jimmy is a danger to himself and others if not constantly placated. Combined with the fact he was in denial or just not piecing together what Anya said it’s hard to say what he buying time for and what he had treat as urgent. This isn’t even saying he doesn’t care about Anya but he’s not going jump to the worst conclusions about his friends even if part of him acknowledges the evidence saying so. It’s a complicated thing but he’s still human and needed to process it on top of trying to keep a ship that already took on a lot of water from further sinking, metaphorically.

I just personally think that while Curly failed Anya, it was a scenario where there wasn’t much he could do to the best thing by her safely and like Jimmy, we are underestimating what a good leader would do in a very fragile and tense situation like he was in. By the time he may have been ready and had a plan, things were much too late.

[pedroslittlelady]

Just You & Me, Darlin'

joel miller x f!reader (18+)

A/N: OMG Okay, I'm actually doing this! I'm posting something for the first time in over 4 years and I'm super nervous. Pedro Pascal just has me by the titties, and so do all of you wonderful writers and artists I've been so inspired by, so here is my little contribution 🫣💕

You can also read this on my ao3 if you prefer 😊

summary: When Tommy returns to the QZ without you, Joel is both terrified and furious but he’s determined to get you back safe no matter what.

tags/warnings: 18+ Explicit | Minors Do Not Interact Please! no use of y/n, boston qz, fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of suicidal thoughts, slight exhibitionism, explicit smut, unprotected piv, no description of female reader, other than joel can pick you up and kinda implied age gap, squirting, emotional sex, unbeta'd, use of pet names (sweetheart, baby, darlin', baby girl). oh and you're both super in love so :) I think that's it.

word count: 5.9k

Joel’s heart was fluttering within his chest, nerves and excitement flooding him as he made his way up the steps of his apartment building. If all had gone well, you were due back from the week-long smuggling run outside of the QZ today, and he had been stuck on work duty for most of it. 

He hadn’t been able to go with you since someone had needed to stay back and protect their store of goods and ration cards from being stolen in their absence, they’d learned this the hard way. 

And in his mind he’d drawn the short straw.

Joel would much rather be out there with you than stuck here wondering if you were okay. Here, he was unable to do anything if something went wrong but he knew you, the little hell-raiser that you were could definitely handle yourself. 

The both of you had agreed when you first started sleeping together that it shouldn’t mess with the business, it gave you all a more comfortable life in the QZ than most got to have after all. 

Even after falling hard for one another following the sharing of your past within whispered cuddles post sex, you both still tried to keep the business professional and that meant trusting one another to watch your own and your partners’ backs. 

As he entered his apartment he was surprised to see Tommy sitting on his couch with his head in his hands. 

Joel’s stomach dropped at the sight, he already knew something was wrong. Heart breaking into a gallop against his sternum he quickly scanned the apartment, the open layout giving him a view of the whole room and you were nowhere in sight.

Joel's hands tightened into fists, his jaw tensing in anger and fear as he focused his intense gaze on his little brother who was now worrying his lip.

“Where is she,” Joel stated more than questioned in his deep southern timbre, his voice thick with emotion. Anger, fear, anguish and dread were all suddenly clogging up his throat. He swallowed to keep it contained, needing to keep his head on straight right now.

“I don’t know brother,” Tommy responded, guilt and slight fear painted his features as he looked up at his older brother.

“The hell do you mean you don’t know?” Joel growled as he prowled closer to his brother who quickly stood from his slumped position. “I trusted you to watch her back, to keep her safe for me!” Joel couldn’t control himself, the emotions from the thought of losing you, of never seeing you again were too much to handle and he grabbed his brother by the neck of his jacket and shook him.

“The deal went bad! Me and Tess got separated from her!” Tommy quickly explained, his hands gripping onto Joel's shaking wrists. “We tried to find her but… shit man, things are more fucked up out there than ever. We were hoping she’d made it back here.”

Joel pushed his brother away from him, afraid he would start swinging. Rage and fear consumed him, tightening his heaving chest as he ran his hands through his greying hair. He quickly stalked over to his weapons stash beneath the floorboards while vile images of you being scared and hurt, being taken by sex traffickers and all manner of other atrocities he’d seen and heard about over all his years surviving in this hell were flooding his mind.

If it was the last thing he did, he’d find you himself and bring you home. The thought of never finding you was unspeakable and he quickly pushed that horrible scenario out of his mind. But then another took its ugly place as he quickly grabbed his go bag; what if he found you dead or dying?

Well that would be the end, wouldn’t it?

He paused before looking at his little brother, standing before him paler than he’d seen him in a long time. Exhaustion was dragging Tommy down and Joel knew that he and Tess had done the best they could to find you; they loved you too.

“I’ll find her and bring her back,” Joel stated.

“I’ll come with-”

“No… thank you, but no. You're exhausted, you’ll just slow me down. If I don’t come back… then I…,” Joel trailed off as he watched anguish and fear become apparent on his little brother's face.

“Joel. Don’t. Please, brother,” Tommy begged, already knowing where Joel’s head was at.

“I can’t…” Joel felt his voice break as tears flooded his vision, blurring the image of his baby brother walking towards him. 

Next thing Joel knew, his brother's arms were around him and Joel let himself feel the rare embrace for just a moment. He and his brother had never been the most affectionate with each other even before the outbreak, so the fact his brother was hugging him so tightly told him Tommy knew exactly what you meant to him. How could he not, with how blatant the two of you were with your lovesick need for each other. You had become his whole world, a quick spiral into passionate need that seemed to drive the two of you from the very moment you became one when he took you on that dirty warehouse floor three years earlier.

His head dipped to Tommy’s shoulder as silent tears rolled down his cheeks and into his patchy beard, into that place where you always kissed him, as if that spot had been made just for you. A place to kiss and lick and nibble like you loved to do when you both were intimate, which was basically whenever you were in the same room as one another, everyone else be damned.

Would Joel ever feel that again? Had you both made all the memories together that you ever would? The last time he saw you flashed in his mind, replacing the ugly panicked images from before. You’d smiled up at him, arms wrapped around one another, foreheads pressed together as you whispered your ‘see you laters’ - never ‘goodbyes’ - to each other, while Tess and Tommy looked on and rolled their eyes in annoyance at your overt pda.

The Joel of before had never been one for public displays of affection, to the point where one woman had broken things off with him because she’d said he was cold, that he didn’t care enough about her. He’d realised later on that she had probably been right. More conscious of how much affection he was giving in front of others than he should have been.

Now though, with you these last few years? Joel didn’t give a single fuck what people thought of how he held your hand, kissed you, sat you on his lap as he made deals with all kinds of people. He loved when you’d do the same, when you would kiss him in that spot that was surely made purely for your mouth while you rolled your hips against his hardening cock. The greedy eyes of lowlifes watching on in pure jealousy of how unashamed you were with showing everyone how wanton you could get for him. His precious little hell-raiser.

Shit, he’d fucked you outside before and hadn’t cared who’d heard. It had actually turned him on to know the residents had heard your desperate and lustful cries as you let him take you from behind in an alleyway between two apartment buildings. Anyone could’ve looked out and seen how Joel Miller got to have you be his, the most vicious beauty in all of Boston, submitting to him, belonging to him.

Joel quickly pulled away from Tommy before he got too emotional about how this day had turned into a fucking real life nightmare. 

As he strode towards his apartment door with his go bag on his back and his weapons tucked away on his person, he rubbed the tears from his eyes and face. He couldn’t look back at Tommy so he roughly pulled open the door and walked out with a quickly uttered, “see you brother.”

While descending to street level Joel struggled to get his emotions under control. It had been a long time since he had cried, since he had felt this scared and helpless, but he pushed through and began to formulate a plan on how he would get out of the QZ through a smuggler tunnel they had created two years ago. Then he would find you so he could bring you home, safe and sound.

There was no other option he would let himself consider from here on out, he needed to focus on his current mission.

Joel steeled himself as he walked out of the apartment building and turned right to head to the closest smuggling route out of the QZ. As he looked up to assess his surroundings he was stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of you standing in front of him.

His eyes widened in shock as you stood before him, a shaky vulnerable look on your pretty as sin face. Joel choked on your name in disbelief and before he knew it his hands were grasping your cheeks and his lips were crushing against yours in a desperate kiss.

He pulled away from your tight embrace to quickly gasp, “What the hell happened, baby?” Before he kissed you again and again and again. So relieved to feel you alive and whole in his arms once more.

But then worry clouded his mind; the look on your face as you saw him notice you replayed in his mind.

Joel once again pulled away from the desperate kisses you both were sharing to truly look into your wide teary eyes.

“Are… are you okay, sweetheart? Are you hurt? Let me see you,” Joel pleaded in a vulnerable whisper. He reluctantly pulled further away so he could assess you until you spoke for the first time since your reunion.

“I’m okay Joel, baby. I’m okay I promise!” You gasped as Joel began to pull up your sleeves and the hem of your shirt to see your slightly bruised and cut skin, clearly searching for a fatal wound like a bite that he thankfully would not find.

“Joel!” You shouted to get his attention, uncaring of the passers-by on the busy street taking notice of your desperate interaction.

Joel stopped his searching as you placed your hands on his cheeks and gave a soft smile when you saw the fear in his eyes recede into a warm relieved look of love that always made your chest flutter in unbelievable happiness, like butterflies bursting with life within you. You had never expected to get to this point with anyone, let alone the cold standoffish brute Joel Miller who had barely seemed to tolerate you the first few weeks after your initial meeting. 

To have this big, dangerous, sometimes scary but protective man look at you like you were his whole world was intoxicating. No wonder you could never keep your hands off of him. 

It had started after the first time you’d fucked, and that’s all it had been meant to be. A desperate fuck after a near death experience, both of you alone and thankful to be alive. You had exchanged no words but a heady look and before you’d known what was happening he was kissing into your mouth before pinning you onto the hard dirty floor and fucking you silly.

You knew he’d been sleeping with Tess at the time, although it wasn’t serious, and you had slipped into Tommy’s bed once or twice, but for years you had respected Joel’s leadership and strength, and of course enjoyed admiring how handsome he really was, but you both had never been particularly close, until then.

After, you had both agreed it wouldn’t happen again. You reluctantly agreed with him even though your legs had felt like jelly after the best orgasms you’d ever been given, having never before been fucked like Joel Miller liked to fuck. 

It happened again of course, the very next night when you took a chance and slipped into his room and cot. He hadn’t said a thing against it, only a cocky, “can’t get enough huh, hell-raiser?” 

After you sucked him to full hardness he’d let you ride him as fast or slow as you wanted while he just watched you. In the wake of your first orgasm Joel had snapped and took control once more by putting you on your back and practically folding you in half. He’d fucked you so hard you’d screamed your pleasure, so loud you had only realised afterward that Tommy and Tess must have been 100% aware of what was happening. But you’d come so hard you’d squirted all over Joel and made a complete mess, but you had seen in Joel’s eyes how much he’d absolutely loved it.

There was no talk of it never happening again after that, only an acknowledgement that business came first. A few months into your arrangement he began cuddling you after sex, asking you not to leave his bed in the sweetest whisper against the back of your head. You had agreed, threading your fingers through his and nodding with a simple, “yes Joel.”

And you hadn’t left, you both barely let the other out of your lovesick sight as you basically moved in with him. Tess and Tommy quickly moved out so they didn’t have to listen to the both of you ‘fucking every goddamn day.’

“I’m fine baby, I promise. Okay?” You kissed Joel softly bringing you back to the present, his arms tightening around you.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if… fuck, I thought you were-” Joel was crushing you against him, lips brushing yours as he spoke. A tremble was in his voice, one you’ve come to know more over the years as he opened up to you about things from his past.

“I’m right here darlin’, right where I’m supposed to be,” you gently spoke while running your hands through his salt and pepper curls. The action always calmed him down.

“I love you so goddamn much, hell-raiser.” Joel smiled against your lips before kissing you again. You chuckled, feeling tears gather in your eyes at the silly pet name he’d given you after your first chaotic introduction years ago which involved you wielding a couple molotov cocktails. The first of many pet names he graced you with, but definitely your favourite.

“I love you too, big guy.”

Your back gently hit the apartment building as Joel increased the pressure of your kisses, a desperation taking over you both as the feeling of being reunited after a close call washed over you once again.

Joel hiked your leg up and ground his hardened cock against your rapidly soaking pussy making you gasp at the sting of pain the suddenness of your arousal wrought as it travelled deep into your rapidly warming core.

“Joel,” you panted into his mouth as he licked at your tongue before sucking it into his mouth with a growl of need you felt emanating from his belly which was pressed tight against yours.

“Fuck, need inside your tight little cunt right now, darlin’,” Joel rumbled before he hastily began to undo your jeans, his lips carving a wet path across your cheek and down your tilting neck. He bit you quick and hard there, marking you; claiming you. You gasped, your arousal seeping from your desperately empty channel and trickling into your panties as you tilted your hips against his rock hard cock.

Joel slipped his thick fingers into your wet slit making you moan into his mouth.

“Get a room,” you heard someone mutter as they walked past. Joel growled before pulling away to glare fiercely at the man who suddenly blanched before quickly scurrying away at the sight of Joel hovering over you with a murderous look in his eyes. 

You giggled at the interaction, drawing his attention back to you, his eyes softening at your mischievous smirk.

“Take me to bed, big guy. Remind me who I belong to,” you murmured before biting your lower lip in anticipation as Joel's eyes turned blacker than the deepest cavern within the fathomless ocean.

He grabbed you by the back of the neck and began to steer you back into the apartment building and up the stairs. You could feel his eyes on your ass before a slap landed there making you squeak excitedly. “Hurry the fuck up, darlin’,” Joel growled with a squeeze to your right cheek making you skip up the stairs quicker, panties practically drenched now.

The next second he was pushing open your apartment door, throwing off his bag and flipping you around to face him so he could kiss you hungrily once more. His thick tongue probed every part of your mouth, overwhelming you. You whimpered, your hands caressing through his hair to scratch gently at his scalp.

His grip on your thighs suddenly let you know what he was about to do and you braced your hands on his broad shoulders as he quickly hoisted you up, your legs wrapping around his hips. You both groaned and panted into one another's mouth at the feel of being pressed together.

You stilled when you heard the clearing of a throat. Joel groaned in annoyance as your lips separated wetly.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Tommy said before covering a slight laugh with a cough, Joel glowered. “But I’m really glad you're okay, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Tommy. I appreciate it.” You smiled, so glad to see him safe and sound too. You told him this and questioned where Tess was and he informed you that she was just fine also.

“I just wanted to say-” Tommy started to speak.

“Enough said,” Joel growled. “Talk later. We're busy, brother.” Joel raised his brows clearly unabashed at being caught in this position by his baby brother.

“Jeez, alright lover boy-” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“I swear to God Tommy if you don’t get the fuck out of here now I’ll-”

“Okay okay! We’ll catch up later, Christ.” Tommy shook his head but you could see he wasn’t truly annoyed by the relieved look on his face.

As Tommy made his way to the door, a smirk was painted on his handsome face. Joel just pierced him with a frustrated and grumpy glare, you couldn’t help but snort softly while still being held up in his strong arms.

“See you later Tommy, and tell Tess thanks as well when you see her,” you quickly uttered before you forgot all about Tess and Tommy in just a few seconds.

“Will do, sweetheart. See you later. You too, Romeo.” Tommy laughed before darting out the door as fast as he could once he’d heard Joel’s growl of annoyance.

“C’mon baby,” you murmured in his ear before sucking the lobe into your mouth bringing his attention back to you, his eyes softening once more. “Need to feel your big cock inside me, I feel so empty.” You pouted playfully even though you could still feel some of the adrenaline and fear from your near miss swarming inside you. 

You had very nearly not made it home to him and that thought made your heart jump and your hold on your lover tighten. You didn’t know if you could hold back on the avalanche of feeling you knew was headed your way.

“Poor baby,” Joel responded as he carried you to your bed and laid you down, his back not being able to hold you up for much longer, not if he was going to fuck you like you both needed after today. “Don’t you worry darlin’, I got you.”

Joel stood before you and began to remove the various weapons from his body, his dark intense gaze never leaving you as you began to writhe in need.

“Hurry Joel,” you whimpered, a desperation taking over now that you weren’t in his arms anymore. You felt tears gather in your eyes at just how lucky you were to be back here with him, safe and sound. You couldn’t hold back a hiccupping sob threatening to escape you.

Joel took notice and quickly hovered over you, one hand on your hip, the other palming your cheek and wiping a tear away. “You're okay now, baby. I got you.” He kissed your forehead and you could hear him inhale your scent as he did.

“Joel.” You murmured, feeling a little overwhelmed. You needed to release these emotions, and Joel was the best at giving you just what you needed, what you both needed.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Joel murmured, his own gaze tear filled meeting yours before he pressed his lips to yours for a desperate kiss. You struggled to keep up with his kisses at first but then he was scraping his teeth down your jaw and sucking on your neck.

You bucked your hips up against him, his leg slipping between yours so you could grind on him. You whimpered, needing his bare skin to be slick against yours as you once again fitted together so perfectly. 

You needed the intimacy and the vulnerability of being beneath his broad form as he fucked you deep and hard, imprinting himself within you forever.

As if Joel had read your mind, he pulled back from nuzzling between your breasts, his big strong hands grasped the collar of your shirt and ripped it down the middle in one go.

You gasped at the action, at the grimace of need on his face as he began to manhandle you in a desperate need to get you naked beneath him. You unhooked your bra as he roughly pulled down your jeans and panties in one go, snarling in annoyance when your boots hampered his mission.

As soon as you were bare Joel was back on the bed and spreading your legs up and wide so he could see your perfectly soaked little cunt fluttering needily around nothing. Fuckin’ Heaven right there, he thought to himself as he dragged his eyes up your heaving belly and chest to see you biting your lip, small hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

“Please Joel, want you naked against me,” you practically begged, pupils blown out, eyes still glistening. He knew from your reaction something had scared you, probably a moment of terror in thinking you weren’t going to make it back to him in one piece or at all. The idea of that being a very real possibility that could have happened shook him to his core and he quickly tore off his clothes, not wanting to be away from your touch for longer than necessary.

He began to kiss every scrape and bruise as he made his way up your chest. Soon his eyes were looking deep into your soft gaze, your arms and legs wrapping around him and he knew he was finally home. He brushed his nose along yours, both his hands tunnelling into your pretty hair as he gazed down at you.

“You and me, darlin’, that’s all I need. Just you, I fuckin’ love you, you drive me goddamn insane with it, you know that?” His gaze was soft but intense, his words rumbled out of his pouty lips.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your own hands rubbing his back soothingly before sliding up his neck and into his hair. “But I feel the same.”

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’. You’re the best thing that's happened to me in a really long time. Just scares the hell outta me,” he nearly choked on his words before burying his face into the sexy slope of your neck, inhaling your heavenly scent. “Can’t lose you, baby.”

“I’m right here, not losing me, Joel,” you responded softly before kissing his scarred temple.

Joel slowly lowered his hips as he lifted his head to kiss you, his weeping cock covering your pussy, soaking him even further. Normally Joel would prepare you, stretch you with his thick fingers and make you come on his tongue but from the way you were mewling and moving against him he knew you both needed to become one right now. Besides, you had told him plenty of times how you liked the slight pain his cock created when it stretched your little hole open, the  girth of him too wide to fit comfortably at first.

You both angled your hips, well versed in the best way to slot together hands free. Your breath hitched when the crown of his twitching cock popped inside you.

“So fuckin’ tight and wet for me, baby girl.”

“Joel,” you whimpered against his lips before your hips pushed against him, sliding more of him within your aching heat.

He stared into your watery eyes as he gripped your hip with a bruising grasp and began to push into your tightness. He loved watching the way your mouth opened into a little ‘o’ shape and the space between your brows creased cutely in pain.

“Takin’ my cock so well, you precious little fuckin’ thing,” Joel growled as he bottomed out causing you to gasp. Your perfect cunt clenching around him was like nothing he’d ever felt before. 

Your breasts heaved against his chest as he let you adjust to the stretch of him for a moment. But he had little patience right now, so he soon pulled back making you whimper sweetly and he kissed into your mouth soothingly before he moved his hand to the back of your neck and held it tightly.

Pulling back from the kiss he quickly punched his hips down and forward, slamming deep inside you and causing your body to jolt from the force, his hands holding you steady. You weren’t going anywhere.

The squeak you let out was choked off when he did it again, and again. The soundtrack to your desperate love making became the wet slapping of skin on skin, the gasps of pleasure and the cries of pain as you melded together as one. Sweaty skin sliding against hardened nipples and harsh gasps were shared as he rhythmically pounded you into the mattress

“Joel, Joel, oh God Joel don’t stop!” you pleaded wide eyes staring up at his fervent expression as he gazed down at you.

“Fuck! That’s it baby, take my cock.” Joel grimaced in pleasure.

“Please, baby. Go faster!” You yelped as his hips smacked against you, his heavy balls soaked from your arousal.

He granted your plea, arching his back so he could suck on your tight nipples, hands grasping under and over your shoulders as he began to piston sharply within you, pulling you onto his thick cock.

“Yes yes yes, gonna come,” you suddenly gasped and Joel knew it was true by how your tight little pussy started fluttering around his shaft, sucking him deep.

“Come all over me, baby girl,” he whispered against your parted lips, sweat building between you as you both moved in sync, chasing that beautiful euphoria he always granted you.

You had been feeling it build within you so deeply, you knew you were about to crest that tremendous wave of pleasure you associated with Joel and how he always spoiled you rotten when you made love. It hit deep and sharp, making you arch your back and cry out against his lips as your pussy clutched so tightly to him, never wanting him to stop or leave your most vulnerable place that he always cherished.

It caught your breath as you ascended into ecstasy, all you could do was whimper against his plush lips as you came. His hips stuttered as you tightened, unable to keep up the pace at how tightly you were grasping at him. Nails scraping his back, legs spreading further, toes curling against his thick thighs.

“Good girl, baby,” he practically whimpered as you came around him. “That’s my good girl. Fuck, I love you,” Joel growled while he quickened his pace again, the ache in his lower back completely ignored. He sat up a bit, lifted your legs so they fell over the bend in his elbows before planting his hands on the bed.

You were practically folded in half, completely dazed from that intense orgasm as he manoeuvred you however he liked. You loved when he treated you like his precious little fuck doll. 

“Oh my God, baby,” you gasped, just watching as his hulking form rose above you, his dark desperate eyes dragging from your own eyes to your bouncing breasts as he started pumping his cock into you once more. The generous crown of his cock repeatedly hit that amorous spot deep inside you that only Joel could locate.

His stare was fixated on where you were joined together as he continued to thrust, slowing a little to admire it. “Sweet little pussy is creaming all over my dick, fuck!” Joel couldn’t take his eyes away from it, your abused hole flushed with arousal and soaked with your mingling desire. “God damn, baby girl. You can really take some cock, huh?”

All you could do was whimper at the vision he made above you, greedy lustful stare focused on your needy hole stretched around the wide circumference of his wet cock pumping inside you. The broad expanse of his tanned slick shoulders, the strength of his hands as they wrapped his calloused fingers around your hips, angling them perfectly. He sat up, his knees bracketing your ass and you quickly pressed your hands up behind you knowing exactly what was coming. Your heart jumped in your chest, you loved to watch him above you like this; using you, loving you so deeply and harshly.

“Gonna cum so deep inside your cunt, baby girl. Never gonna be rid of me,” Joel growled before rolling his hips into you, knowingly hitting that special place inside you that usually had you squirting all over him. 

He never forgot that moment you’d shared with one another. Only your second time together and he had given it to you so good it was probably one of his proudest moments, his ego getting a huge boost that had been well needed at the time. 

You had been so shocked and loud, you’d practically screamed at the sensation, shivering so vulnerably beneath him afterward it had stuck deep inside his chest afterward. It had pushed him to coo to you softly at your little whimpers, telling you that you were okay, that you had been so sexy and beautiful for him.

His hips were rolling and thrusting into you making you moan and stare up at him in awe. This man was all fucking yours.

“Mine, Joel. You’re mine.”

“Yeah, baby. All yours, this cock is all yours. And who does this pussy belong to, hmm?” he questioned with a smirk as he stared down into your wide eyes as his hips picked up the pace, you continuing to reciprocate his movements like a well choreographed dance.

“Yours, my pussy’s all yours. No one else's, baby.”

“Good girl,” Joel praised before leaning over  you, his pretty lips pressing into yours, widening your mouth and swiping his tongue against yours as your pussy flooded his cock and balls creating a slapping sound that made you whimper and blush.

“Always so fuckin’ wet for me. Ain’t ya, sweetheart,” Joel groaned. “Fuckin’ love you.”

“Love you too, now fill me up, baby. Please!” You gasped against him, your foreheads now pressed against one another, mouths sharing harsh breaths. 

You braced against the headboard with one hand while moving the other to his curly hair desperately seeking purchase as your arousal grew once more. Core warming and tightening in an impending orgasm and when he shifted your position so he could press against your clit and urethra with his fingers your stomach jumped, knowing exactly what he wanted from you.

“Oh Joel,” you whined.

“Yeah baby, drench me please,” Joel encouraged and you began to flutter around the precise pumping of his twitching cock within your sensitive walls.

It hit you suddenly, your back arched with a quick scream of pleasure and the overstimulation that you associated with squirting. Joel groaned in pleasure as you burst with feeling.

“Atta fuckin’ girl, baby! That’s it, shit I’m gonna come,” Joel gasped as you soaked him, a vision beneath him, sweat slicked tits bouncing, mouth agape in a shout of intense pleasure and eyes practically rolling into the back of your head.

Joel's hips stuttered, his balls tightening even more as he felt his pleasure travel from deep within his core, up to the swollen tip of his cock. “Fuck, baby,” Joel whimpered into your neck as he began to spurt his come deep into your womb, hips stuttering and grinding against yours with the need to stuff you full of his cum.

“Yes, Joel,” you whimpered as you felt him empty himself within you. You nudged his head as he did, wanting to see his handsome face in pleasure. He lifted and looked down at you, cum still spilling, overflowing you and trickling down your ass. “That’s it, baby. Fill me up good. I want all your cum,” you whispered softly as you gazed up at him. His face was so vulnerable and needy in that moment you couldn’t help but clench around him once more.

His balls had emptied with each ejection of his cum inside you, hips finally stilling as his cock became oversensitized to the stimulation still happening.

“Easy, baby girl. Easy.” Joel chuckled as he fell against you, completely spent before kissing you so softly that your heart jumped. “You think I can go again at my age?”

“You think I can go again after that?” You giggled breathily, completely satisfied. The impending avalanche of emotions purged from you in pleasure by your lover.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t doubt yourself.” Joel rubbed his nose against yours affectionately, a small grin on his face, eyes as soft as chocolate ice-cream.

“Then you don’t doubt yourself either.”

“I know my limits and my back is shot, darlin',” Joel grumbled in annoyance, his softly grinning face turning so grumpily pouty you couldn’t help but melt, you loved that you got to see this side of him that he unveiled to no one else but you. He really was all yours.

“Oh, poor baby,” you whispered to him before nudging him to the side so he could rest flat on the mattress, his softened dick slipping out of you with a flood of his cum which tickled your still trembling thighs. You definitely planned on giving him another back massage as soon as you both got some sleep, he had fucked you so perfectly; hard and loving. He certainly deserved it. “Rest now, we’re together and that’s all that matters.”

Joel sighed as he settled into the admittedly uncomfortable bed, but with you snuggling up against his chest he had no complaints.

“I don’t want you goin’ out there without me anymore, okay? Fuck the business, you’re more important.”

You looked up at him “As long as you don’t go out there without me either, we’re more important,” you agreed with a sigh of relief.

“Just you and me, darlin’. That’s all I need,” Joel assured you.

You snuggled deeper into his strong arms, a warm sense of safety and love blanketing your heart as his arms tightened and his lips kissed the top of your head with a mumbled, “Love you, hell-raiser.”

You kissed his chest before replying, “Love you too, big guy.”

A/N: Thank you to any of you who made it to the end of this, I hope you enjoyed it! Please consider reblogging and/or commenting to help this little story of mine find new readers💕😘

[candiewrapper]

tw // mention of suicide

window thoughts

[outragedslime]

the night shift

[calitsnow]

Let's talk about why Hong Lu’s left eye (his jade) is getting dimmer and what are the powers and characteristics of Jia Baoyu's jade in Dream of the Red Chamber.

Today, I would like to discuss Dante’s mysterious phrase about Hong Lu, taking the opportunity to explore the jade of Jia Baoyu in more detail, especially its powers and the influence it exerts over Jia Baoyu. Here is the structure of the discussion:

Does the light of Hong Lu symbolize his break from his false reality?

Does the light of Hong Lu symbolize the end of his journey and his will to "live"?

The appearance of Jia Baoyu's jade and its powers + their loss and how they are regained

Its connection with Jia Baoyu

Brief conclusion

Does the light of Hong Lu symbolize his break from his false reality?

In Canto VII, a phrase from Dante naturally captured the attention of all Hong Lu theorists. Dante observes the following thing about Hong Lu’s eye:

"I noticed that the light in Hong Lu's left eye was growing dimmer, like light fading away as it sinks into the depths of the dark waters…"

But what does this mean? To answer that, we must first determine what this light signifies before interpreting its disappearance. For that, we need to consider the dialogue preceding Dante’s remark—the words of Hong Lu himself when he speaks about the sparkling in Don Quixote’s eyes:

"Isn't Don Quixote the most lucid one out of all of us?" "Her eyes, Dante. Always twinkling like two bright stars. They're so fascinating."

To Hong Lu, the glow in the eyes seems to be linked to clarity of mind and awareness. To him, Don Quixote is the most lucid of all because her eyes twinkle like two bright stars. Yet we know this is inaccurate, as Don Quixote is immersed in the illusion she created by erasing her memory at this point. So, it’s reasonable to suspect that Hong Lu's interpretation might be flawed.

This is also consistent with what we know about Hong Lu. Despite his frequent insightful observations and quick understanding of reality, his judgment can sometimes be clouded by his upbringing. After all, one of the first things we learn about him is that his view of the world and his interpretations can be distorted by his sheltered life.

Are we, therefore, dealing with a case where Hong Lu’s upbringing prevents him from perceiving the truth?

Don Quixote’s reality is an illusion, much like Hong Lu’s appears to be. But because he sees his form of reality reflected in Don Quixote’s, he can only conclude that Don Quixote’s twinkling eyes are an expression of clarity when it might actually be the opposite. This could foreshadow Hong Lu’s arc of breaking away from his past, family, and conditioning, realizing that what he associates with reality might be a lie, simply because he didn’t know any better.

After all, Dulcinea connects the term "naive" with Don Quixote’s twinkling eyes, (and "naive" is the adjective used for Hong Lu):

"I almost prefer that naive look from earlier. I still hated your eyes, twinkling or not, but…"

To clarify what “naive” implies, I like relying on The Walking Dead 4’s definition: Naive means you think a certain way because you don’t know the way it really is.

I find this perfectly matches how naivety is understood in the world of Limbus Company, even if we cannot be certain of that. But if we accept that this definition applies to “naive” in Project moon’s world, then being naive implies both innocence—almost childlike—and living in a lie or denial of reality.

Additionally, the emphasis on the sparkles might support the theory of the moonstone, or that Hong Lu is connected to the abnormality Yang, as it involves disregarding reality (to avoid mental breakdown). But we are not here to talk about that.

Thus, if Hong Lu is mistaken, and the twinkling represents disillusionment and denial of reality, then the more Hong Lu's eye sparkles, the more he’s immersed in illusion, a false sense of truth.

So, the first reason Hong Lu’s eye is dimming could be that he’s beginning to realize his reality wasn’t true, symbolizing the start of his awakening. After all, even Vergilius reacted with « … » to Hong Lu’s remark so it could mean that he knows that Hong Lu is in the wrong.

So, if the glow represents the jade influences on Hong Lu’s mental state and perception of reality, then the dimming of his jade’s light might signify that he’s starting to break free from this mental crutch. However this is not what I believe in…

Does the light of Hong Lu symbolize the end of his journey and his will to "live"?

What bothers me is that Dante describes the dimming of Hong Lu’s eye light in a rather pessimistic, almost fatalistic way, as though Hong Lu is fading along with his jade's light, loosing himself:

"I noticed that the light in Hong Lu's left eye was growing dimmer, like light fading away as it sinks into the depths of the dark waters…"

So, if this dimming light is a symbol of breaking free from an illusion why does Dante describe this so negatively with an emphasis on the idea of loosing Hong Lu? Maybe because, it is indeed a bad omen.

According to what Dulcinea says, Don Quixote's eyes were empty of light before when she was Sancho, this absence of twinkling at the time seems to be linked to the fact that Don Quixote/Sancho does not really believe in life and has already suffered too much from the latter. Dad Quixote then offers her a new life and hopes to bring those stars into her eyes by giving her a new family and then inviting her to participate in her adventures with him.

If we follow this analysis, then the light in Hong Lu’s eye equals his will to live and optimism about the future. So if this light is fading, does that mean Hong Lu is beginning to lose the will to live?

Well, yes, I think so... but in a very specific way.

Hear me out, Hong Lu’s eye is dimming because he’s aware his journey is nearing its end, that 7 of the 12 sinners have already regained their golden boughs, and that he may be the next:

Hong Lu’s day is ending, and it is reflected in his eye. I would even go so far as to say Hong Lu, in some way (without being aware of it), equates his return home with the end of his life (this life of new experiences and in the City, and this life with freedom).

So, this take is much more of a speculation than the last one, but if we stick with the idea that twinkling = will to live (forward) then Hong Lu started his journey in a new world with a bright eye with expectations and a desire to live new experiences, but he knows that one day he will have to return home, he knows that his journey will end one day and therefore it is normal that the closer Hong Lu gets to his golden bough moment the more the light of his eye fades, since this will be the end of his "new experiences".

Which could also echo Hong Lu's suicidal tendencies.

But then, why does Hong Lu’s eye produce sparks during Bloodfiend Hunter, Liu Story, and Yurodivy Story?

And it is now, that I would like to propose something. What if we separated the glow of Hong Lu’s eye and the sparks it produces: What if these two manifestations relate to different things? If Hong Lu’s glow reflects his mental state, then perhaps the sparks represent an effect of his jade’s power.

This leads me to discuss Jia Baoyu’s jade, both to support this analysis and to share information about the stone and its powers for those who might not have time to read the novel.

The appearance of Jia Baoyu's jade and its powers + their loss and how they are regained

In Chapter 8, Jia Baoyu’s jade is described as follows:

The size of a sparrow egg (about 22.5 mm)

Shining like a bright coppery cloud

Smooth and lustrous like marbled cream.

On the jade’s face is inscribed:

"Precious Gem of Spiritual Perception (also called Precious Jade of Spiritual Understanding). If thou wilt lose me not and never forget me, Eternal life and constant luck will be with thee!"

This means the stone is a talisman of protection and happiness. If Baoyu (or whoever holds it) keeps it close and never forgets it, they will be blessed with a long, prosperous life.

The reverse side reads:

"To exorcize evil spirits and the accessory visitations; to cure predestined sickness; to prognosticate weal and woe."

This inscription highlights the jade’s protective power: it can ward off evil, cure illness, and predict fortune or disaster. It is both a magical and prophetic object.

This ability is confirmed again in chapter 25 when a Taoist priest says:

“In your family, you have readily at hand a precious thing, the like of which is rare to find in the world. It possesses the virtue of alleviating the ailment, so why need you inquire about remedies?”

It is then revealed that it appears that the jade has lost some of its powers due to the dissipated life Baoyu has led; it has been polluted by music, lust, the pursuit of wealth, and other worldly distractions.

The monk then fix the jade and recites a poem reflecting the spiritual journey of the jade, as well as Baoyu's. In it, we are told:

The jade was once bound neither by heaven nor earth, existing in a state of spiritual purity undisturbed by human emotions (joy or sorrow).

However, upon entering the human world, it was exposed to disturbances. The jade is now tarnished by material elements ("the traces of powder and rouge stains"), symbolizing the carnal pleasures and temptations to which Baoyu has succumbed.

Finally, the monk predicts that, although the jade is currently trapped ("caged like a duck"), it will awaken from its "slumber," and once it fulfills its destiny, it will be freed.

[Little paranthesis]

I find the sentence used by the mond really interesting : "House bars both day and night encage thee like a duck" because it is really fitting for (yes Jia Baoyu but also) Hong's Lu's situation, especially with the use of the word "house".

[End of the little paranthesis]

Its connection with Jia Baoyu

The jade and Baoyu are interconnected and can be seen as one and the same, with each influencing the other. For instance, Baoyu's mood and emotions affect the appearance of the jade (its brightness), and the presence of the jade impacts Jia Baoyu's mental state (its absence renders him completely witless/foolish).

At one point in the novel, Jia Baoyu's jade shines particularly brightly when he believes he will marry Lin Daiyu (when he will actually marry Xue Baochai). This strong light seems to be triggered by Jia Baoyu aligning with his spiritual destiny.

All of this to say that even in the novel the glow of Jia Baoyu’s jade can mean several things at the time.

Brief conclusion

Returning to Hong Lu, I wonder if Project Moon has separated the manifestation of the jade's powers from the expression of its alignment with Hong Lu’s mental state: therefore, when there are small sparks, it indicates that his jade’s powers are manifesting, while the varying intensity of light would reflect a part of his mental state.

It would suggest that Hong Lu, as an individual, is gradually disappearing, maybe renouncing to his will, becoming a puppet entirely under his family's control. Indeed, when Jia Baoyu loses his jade and becomes completely foolish, his behavior shows that he is controllable and malleable; he is so witless that he cannot act independently and only repeats what he is told.

However, I can’t complete this analysis without mentioning that Jia Baoyu’s jade also loses its shine due to worldly influences, like music, lust, the pursuit of wealth, and other earthly distractions. So, does the city’s dark and horrific environment tarnish Hong Lu's jade?

Well, the issue is that, although the city is an apocalyptic world grounded in reality, it can’t truly be described as an environment where Hong Lu experiences lust or wealth, the false pleasures of life; which are what tarnish the jade in DOTRC.

On the contrary, he lives more of a life that Jia Baoyu begins to envy at one point in the novel because it is a life free from the obligations and facades imposed on him by his family. Therefore, what he is currently experiencing should not affect the brightness of his eye.

So, after all this blabla, I think that Hong Lu’s eye is gradually getting dimmer as the end of Hong Lu's journey approaches, which signifies the end of his new experiences and his return to a life of wealth but also to a life with his family and to how things used to be.

We could see this light fading away as an hourglass where the sand is slowly falling down but little by little there will be no more remaining sand at the top.

I fear that when this happens, by going back home, Hong Lu will lose all individuality and will, becoming docile and obedient as he seems to have always been at home. And he is accepting this and it is because he is accepting this that his eye is getting dimmer, it is reflecting Hong Lu’s decline.

I think that during Hong Lu’s Canto, one of the biggest challenges will not only be to retrieve the golden bough but also to convince Hong Lu to leave with us. It’s almost certain that when we reach his home, Hong Lu won’t be able to leave with us because, his family won’t allow it, and above all, he won’t want to either because he’ll convince himself that he can't and that his little trip is over.

I’d like to finish by saying that Hong Lu’s Rose Hunter EGO Corrosion could really be linked to this because we can see that Hong Lu in his corrosion has a hangman’s like rope around his neck, formed by his horse’s reins.

Even if I want to analyse Hong Lu’s EGOs in another post I will just say that for me it is the symbol that Hong Lu is dependent of his (determined) fate and the will of the narrative (his family) even if it has to equal to his death (literally or figuratively or mentally we don’t know). I think it also means that even if Hong Lu believe being in control of his actions and decisions, in reality he is just following the lead of « his horse », the one conducting him, deciding where he is going — and so I think following his family’s wishes.

Voilà, thank you for reading!

[ianthine-ichor]

I had an ask for this story but it was sadly eaten by the Tumblr gods 😔

So for the anon who asked for John Price x Reader who comes to him years later after a bad breakup because they are in danger, this one's for you!

John Price x Reader ~ All I Have is You

Summary: You come running back to John years after a nasty break-up in hopes of finding some help out of a horrible situation.

Word count:: 6.5k

Tw in tags

John's life could never be simple. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many loose ends he pulled together by the skin of his teeth. There always managed to be something he let lay dormant, something he let fall to the wayside just long enough for it to maybe even slip his mind. And damn near every time it did, it came back with a vengeance.

However, of all the things he knew would come back to haunt him, you were what he expected least of all.

He had believed you a long dead part of his life, a piece of himself better numbed in alcohol than thought about. A face he'd spent endless nights trying to forget the smile of, endless partners failing to take your stead. He'd long since conceded to that aspect of himself being buried, hardly remedied by the ‘I love you’ that would fall from whoever had been his most recent escape from the icy cold of his bed.

But then, on a day like any other in this silent little place he'd given up trying to make feel like any sort of home, he'd opened the door to your unmistakable features.

He didn't know what to feel in the years of silence that seemed to pass. His mind and muscles tore themselves apart trying to find what reaction seemed appropriate. A part of himself didn't believe it, a similar part almost reached out to hold you, and another felt infuriated. He wasn't sure if it was because even so close you felt like light years away or if it was because he wanted to slam the door in your face for daring to ever come back. And for a moment, however small, he seriously considered the latter of the two.

But then you spoke. And suddenly whatever amount of spine had led him to the thought melted like butter.

“I need to talk. I know I have no right to ask but…” you paused, your voice softer than he thinks he's ever heard you speak. There might have even been a quiver in it, but he could hardly believe such a sound could come from the person who had once held together his broken pieces like you'd been solving him your entire life.

“I need your help” your chin raises and you meet his gaze, his skin flashing with the familiarity in how your eyes narrowed and your face snarled. It's hard to take your attempt at strength seriously with how feigned of an attempt it was. He says nothing and just the same he watches as you crumble. Your eyes avert, your hands twitch, your body leans away from him.

He hardly recognizes you.

But he steps aside all the same, a nod inviting you in as he keeps his vow of silence. You almost hesitate, but step in soon enough. Like a long lost ritual you kick your shoes off at the door, hanging your jacket and bristling as the light cold leaves your skin. He notes how you don't let him out of your sight but he can't tell why your eyes burn as much as they do.

Eventually he leads you to the kitchen. He wonders if you notice the empty frames. He wonders if you even care to look.

Like some twisted version of an old dream, you take your spot at the table where you used to sit. And before he even realizes what he's doing he's perking coffee, his eyes turning to you.

“Coffee?” He asks, but he isn't even sure why he does. Looking at you would be enough of an answer. You looked like you hadn't slept in months. You nod anyway.

He pretends to forget how you make your coffee. Out of spite? Anger? Frustration? It doesn't matter. He simply couldn't find the energy to put into someone whose presence made his heart find an old pace that left him biting his tongue at the bittersweet taste. Either way you get your coffee and he somehow finds the energy to sit across from you.

“You wanted to speak. Speak” his words come out harsher than he means them yet he doesn't find regret settling in his chest. Only minor annoyance as he watches you almost recoil from him, your drink pulled to your chest. Your eyes seem to search around for a moment, as if the words you needed so badly to speak would simply appear in front of you. He remembers how he used to find it sweet and can only react by biting his tongue harder.

“You haven't changed much” you begin. He can't help the grimace he shows as the annoyance in his chest grows. He catches how you straighten up under it.

“And you have” he answers back. You say nothing for a long moment and he isn't sure if he offended you or not. But he watches as you take a deep breath, your face hardening in a way he doesn't like.

“I know this isn't exactly…great for you. But it isn't for me either-”

“Why’d you leave?” the words slip out of his mouth before they had even been a thought in his head. Yet where he expected a look of anger or annoyance of your own, you only pause. And soon after, your look manages to grow colder.

“Because you didn't love me anymore” you answer back succinctly, calmly. He feels rage bloom in his chest at the words.

“Bullshit” he mutters through gritted teeth. He doesn't catch the sudden grip you hold on your cup and the way you slightly shake. But other than that you don't break.

“I must have phrased that wrong” there's a tone in your voice, an inflection of something horrible on your tongue.

“You did a piss poor job of making me feel like I was anything other than your fucking bed warmer” your words fall like acid on him. They soak through his marrow and into his bloodstream and become him. And his body rejects it just as quickly.

“You knew the type’a job I had when you met me” his voice is low and restrained as he tries to hold himself back

“It had nothing to do with your work-”

“Well what the bloody hell did it have to do with then!?” He stands, his hands slamming on the table as you immediately flinch away.

“Sit-!” You yell almost instinctively, the only thing he catches is the sudden terror in your tone. You take a stilted breath before speaking again.

“Sit down…please” your voice is much calmer but it does a horrible job at hiding the hitch in your voice or how your subtle shaking suddenly isn't so subtle. The strange demeanor stuns him for a moment, long enough for his flash of frustration to cool back to a simmer. There's a horrible feeling that crawls up his spine at your reaction, this gnawing, biting disgust that rips through him in a way he can't quite explain. He listens despite its elusive source or how he hates the way your eyes are locked on his every movement.

A horrible quiet passes that only further smothers the flames that had grown in his chest. You both hardly took any sips of your coffee as you seemed focused on your breathing and he was focused on loosening the sudden tightness of his muscles. Soon enough he spoke again, though he wasn't about to attempt that conversation again, as unsatisfied as he was by your answer.

“Why are you here?” He asks and this time he finds that his voice is weaker than he'd have liked it; betraying the words that he had meant to sting.

Yet despite that, he watches as your breath pauses and your grip tightens. How had you managed to grow even more tense?

“I don't have anyone else left” you answered, your eyes finally missing him, flickering away for what was barely a single moment. In spite of how hard he fought against it the painful beating in his chest left him worried. He tried not to show it. He hoped he hid it well enough for you not to notice.

The silence seemed to get to you. That or his stare had. Either way you continued.

“I just need somewhere to stay. Just a few months. I’ll figure it out by then and be gone. Just long enough to get some cash together” you try to explain and finally he spots something familiar in you. But it is not a part of you he once knew that he sees. No, he spots something else.

“You’re running from something” he interjects at his realization, your movements freezing at his accusation. You don't seem shocked so much as worried. He hated that you would ever even try to hide the fact from him.

“Yeah um…I am- but it's- it's complicated okay? I just need somewhere to stay-”

“Is it someone?” He questioned, your words lips closing into quiet once more. It stings a strange part of his soul that you seemed so unwilling to tell him outright.

“...It doesn't matter” you finally speak and he hides how his fists tighten. He hates that he cares at all. He hates that he can't help it.

Your plea for shelter lingers in the air for moments longer than either of you cared for. You couldn't handle the quiet of that for long.

“I don't have much, but I'll give you what I can. I'll get a job and pay you back I-”

“No” he shut you down immediately. Your face fell, the desperation of your gaze fixed on him.

“You can stay and I don't need your money” he clarifies and despite the lack of smile, your relief is more than visible.

“Thank you. I promise I'll be gone as quickly as I can get everything in order” you try to instill any sort of confidence that you would be of little bother, that he would hardly notice you here at all.

He couldn't help but feel his stomach fall to his feet at the words.

-

The first month you stayed had been…surreal, to say the least. For the most part the two of you did pretty well with avoiding each other. For moments of the day he would even wonder if that had been some weird fever dream. You? At his door? After so long? It all just felt so strange. Stranger yet that the circumstances were all but ideal. He thought about asking further, about pushing for what it was that led you here and why you had even been running in the first place. But he found that his tongue nearly died in his mouth every time he saw you around. It almost didn't feel real.

And despite the cold that still ran up his spine, the emptiness that found refuge in his chest, the blood that sat heavy in his veins; despite it all…

You still felt like home.

Yet you were still so far out of reach. Words seemed like complicated equations, conversations like rocket science. His words never left the way he wanted them to, his tone always the wrong amount of harsh. And with the way your eyes tracked his presence when he was around, almost unwavering from him…it all just felt so hard to explain. Something had changed, of course it had. It had been years since you two had last seen each other and it had hardly ended on good terms. Still, there was something so wrong here. Something in the way you ever so slightly leaned from him, or the way your eyes flickered to the closest door, or how it all seemed so familiar in a way that wasn't like home. In a way that was more like the warzones he'd grown so accustomed to.

And he could just see it, that fight in your eyes. That twitchiness that you had never had around him before. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Why. Why. Why. Why. What were you fighting and why did it almost feel like it was him?

It was horrible, the way that question had finally been answered.

The front door had slammed open, startling him from the dinner he had been making and setting every one of his senses aflame. It slammed shut before he had even made it to the hall and when he had he could hardly bring himself to swallow the scene.

You stood pushing on the door like it would hold damn near the whole world at bay. With how violently you were shaking he almost wished it would. Your hiccups and sniffles filled the air as you tried and failed about a hundred times to turn the lock. Your clothes were disheveled, your jacket gone and your shirt caked in dirt and…

No, no that wasn't…

“Y/n?” He hardly even remembered opening his mouth before your name fell out. Quiet and worried in a way he hadn't meant to show.

When your head snapped to him all of his insides twisted in a sickly mess. Features he remembered days of leaving soft kisses on were now warped by deep bruises and bleeding wounds. Your eyes wide and glossy, your skin a mix of blood and tears. Your breath had hitched as if any movement would turn him against you. He couldn't help but feel worse at the notion. He moves. Just one simple step closer.

And suddenly it's as if a dam breaks. Your murmuring words he can't understand, a panic on your face he hadn't seen in all of the time he's known you. You yell and thrash and he can't tell if you even know what you're doing, he can't tell if you even see him anymore. His body almost acts on instinct as he quickly grabs the nearest cloth near him before making his way to you. He places the cloth in your hand, your body flinching in a way that makes him hesitate a moment before he guides you to cover your bleeding nose.

“You gotta breathe” he mutters, no longer attempting to cover the look of confused worry that covers him. You seem to try, but a bloody nose makes that a little difficult. In the meantime he guides you to the bathroom, sitting you down as he fishes out a medkit. You stop talking altogether at that point, going eerily silent.

And it stays that way as he wipes away the blood and around deeply forming bruises. It stays as he cleans the wounds and makes sure your nose isn't broken. It stays when the peroxide hits your skin and when the bandages cover them. It's a horrible, false silence. A silence so loud his ears ring, though that could have just as well been the adrenaline leaving his veins. For a while he's fine with it, for a while it's better than the terror-filled panic, for a while it's better than the way you stared and twitched and sobbed.

But then you get a look in your eye. A dangerous look. A look he's seen too many times in his line of work. And suddenly the quiet isn't so safe anymore.

“Still with me there?” He asks in an attempt to gain your attention. To his relief your eyes flick to him and nod. He doesn't quite like how quickly they had turned cold again. In fact he's sure he hates it.

“What happened?” He finally asks and watches how the distant look in your eyes dissolves. Your lips quiver as you try desperately to hold onto a calm that wasn't coming. Your hands grip tightly onto a bloodied paper towel in your hands.

“I-” your voice cracks and you clear your throat. Your eyes avoid him like a simple glance would kill you.

“It's complicated I-” the panic in your voice rises again.

“I have to go- John I have to go-”

“Now hold on” his hand lands on yours, your body tensing under his touch. He can't help but feel sickened at the thought of you scared of him.

“Whatever happened, I promise it's safe, alright? No one's getting in here. You're safe. Just…” he pauses for a moment, his eyes showing his hesitation before he, as gently as he's ever done anything in his life, he places your hand to his chest. Your fingers flatten against him, familiar and comforting, as he lets out a deep breath.

“Just breathe” he almost pleads, something he finds himself regretting almost immediately. Yet despite feeling that he was doing a horrible job, it seemed to calm you all the same. Much to his relief you managed a few deep breaths, your hand still pressed on his heartbeat that he forced to slow.

He is surprised, after all of this, to hear a faint laugh fall from your lips. Quiet and saddened yes, but a laugh nonetheless. And he couldn't have felt more ridiculous than at that moment.

“What?” Or perhaps it seems he could, his dumbfoundedness not hidden in the tone of his voice. It isn't hard for you to wipe the smile from your face, if it had even really been a smile at all.

“Nothing I just…I remember when I had to do this for you” your tone is bittersweet.

“I never thought I'd be on the other side” your voice is breathless and strained, a certain feeling behind it he couldn't quite place. He finds himself snickering along as the once painful memory hits him. He would agree. He never imagined someone strong enough to pull him back to reality could ever need him to do the same.

“Yeah…world's got a fucked up way of making circles” he replies and you give a half-hearted attempt at agreement. And it seems that a moment too soon you pull away and he feels almost as if you take his heartbeat with you.

“Yeah…Yeah, it does…” you murmur, a sentiment far too true found in the quiet whisper. There is almost silence until you speak again.

“I'm sorry” the apology falls in a way not meant to ever leave you. The sound was as sorrowful as seeing a bird stripped of its wings. An act against nature, a horrible twisting of what should be.

“I’m sorry” you break again, though this time you don't shatter so much as you crumble. And he knows then that those words aren't for him. That he hated how they sounded coming from you, how they weren't what he wanted, how he could only wish you'd take them back so that he didn't have to feel the hole in his chest trying to carve its way through his skin.

And how useless he felt then, sat in front of your broken state knowing that you had once done the same with him. How utterly and completely he knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe this looming, horrible terror that was held so deep in your eyes he could only see a warped reflection of himself in them.

And he simply couldn't handle it. He felt weak, hopeless, useless. But what was there to do? He had never seen you so truly pained, he had only ever known the other side of this situation.

So he did the only thing he could. He pulled you close, slow and cautious, before the both of you crashed into one another. Hands that had twitched at his mere presence now held him as tightly as the shirt on his back. As if, should you let go, you'd be cast adrift again into the crimson rapids. And he could only hold just as tightly, hoping that if he just held on tight enough that the falling parts of you would stay, that he might save even a single piece from the agony you were lost in a sea of.

You two stayed like that for a long while, hardly caring about that time that passed. At some point, so overtaken by the exhaustion of your endless bouts of tears and the near-death experience you'd just endured, you'd passed out in his arms.

And like some cruel twisting of a memory he held dear, he carried you to bed. He tried not to glance too much at your features, the cuts and bruises sending sickening waves through him, as he laid you down. He took a shaky breath as he covered you in a blanket, taking care to be quiet as he left the room.

In the absence of your presence there was only rage.

A fire unlike any he had felt struck him like lightning, a burning hatred at who could have ever done this to you. His feet moved but his mind was preoccupied with who and why and- god why didn't you just tell him what happened? What could have ever led to this?! What had you done? Who had you upset?

The thoughts plagued his mind as he set up his spot on the couch. Yet when the pillows had been laid and the blanket placed, he could not find it in himself to rest. He could only pace and snarl and burn with such a horrible feeling. How dare they. How dare they. How could anyone do this to you? To his-...

It was only those final words that managed to slow his thoughts, a sinking feeling resting in his chest.

Not his. You were not his. Not for a long while, not anymore…

But there was no hiding the fire in his skin. No denying how deeply he held you, how desperately he wished to never let go again. He could only curse whatever higher power could hear him. Curse them for ever doing this to either of you. Of ever letting him know your name.

It was a horrible pain to want so desperately to have you back, but there was no pain worse than you returning in broken pieces. Worse yet to know that, maybe, had he done things differently, you might not have left his arms to shatter against a world he could have protected you from. To know that he failed.

He lit a cigar with a shaky hand. He knew then that there would be no sleeping tonight.

-

Your eyes were heavy as they opened, protesting against your attempts to wake up. You thought, in your groggy state, that it might be better to never open them again, to give in to what they demanded from you. To close them a final time.

But it was only a passing thought in your utterly exhausted state. A whisper held at the back of your mind just waiting for the moment that it might scream itself into existence. But not today. Not now, at least.

And so you forced them open, a groan halfheartedly falling from your lips as you pushed away the comfort of infinite dark. You managed enough strength to sit up, regretting it almost immediately when a dull pain burned your side. You would have been confused, maybe even a little worried, if not for the returning throbs of the many cuts along your face and arms that swiftly and brutally remind you of yesterday.

So close. You had been so close to the end. You were lucky to have made it out alive. It was honestly a miracle you had.

Cornered, like an animal. You remembered the feeling well. Trapped right where you didn't want to be. It was like he could smell your terror as he bared his wolfish teeth in the warm street light. A wicked smile, one that scorched itself into an unhealthy scar upon you. Never to be forgotten, a thing of nightmares.

You had run as far as you could go, lungs empty and feet sore, your hands covered in the warmth of your own blood as you tried to hold even just a part of yourself together, to manage to escape through the skin of your teeth once more. You had done it before, but a second time was surely a test of fate.

You had been lucky, then, that a bus was passing by. It shouldn't have been there so late so far out of town. But by some higher being or just through the world's sick way of fucking with you it was. You had never been so relieved to be met with headlights in your life; you practically screamed in relief as you waved it down. Your hunter was as scared as a doe in them, slithering off into the shadows like the coward you knew him as. The driver, a woman in her forties, looked horrified at the state of you. But you had brushed off her panic and worry and told her to simply drive. You were thankful the bus was empty. You couldn't have handled anyone else's questions in your utter panic.

You had only been a five-minute drive from salvation, from the home you had long since abandoned, only to return to in your time of need. Five minutes.

He must have known. Someone might have told him or you might have mentioned John in one of your many pain-filled benders. It didn't matter. He knew where you were, and it seemed his patience had only grown thinner. You were sure now that he would not stop with breaking you under his iron grip, but utterly destroying you.

All at once these thoughts hit you, flooding your mind with panic and worry. You're breathing shallowed as your mind falls down this path, stopping only when the end of the memory comes to mind.

John…

You tried to move him from your mind, to rid yourself of the sinking feeling that came when you thought of how quickly he had jumped to help you, even after years of silence and weeks of ignoring each other. You try not to think of his attempts at gentle touch, calloused battle-worn hands not quite built for the kindness he was showing. You remove from your mind how he held your hand to him, how it seemed like no time had passed from when you left with how quickly he knew what would truly calm you. And most of all, you try to remove the feeling of his arms around you, desperate and worried and familiar and home. You try, as little as that means nowadays.

You deduce that sitting in silence isn't the best way to distract you from these things, and so you finally stand from the bed, noting only then that you don't remember falling asleep here. But you let that slip your mind as well. You prefer the static buzz of being busy over thinking too much about any of this. It only made things harder.

So your feet moved without you, intimately familiar with the halls and doors and light switches. After all, it had been your home, once upon a lifetime ago.

You hardly stagger as you make your way to the kitchen, accustomed to the constant lull of pain in the back of your mind. A whisper of its own, and one you realized it better to ignore.

You are close to allowing the static buzz to take over, close to numbing and leaving your brain on autopilot. Close to the preferable numbness. So very close. But upon taking a step into the kitchen, you are met with a sight so twistedly familiar you are shocked back into yourself.

John sat at the table, two plates laid out and coffee poured. A quaint scene, an old one. A memory from a different time, faded and aged and different in ways that leave you sick. Because he didn't stare with the complete adoration of a man in love, nor did his eyes avert, distracted and tired, as they had on the day you had left him here. But instead they tear through you. Locked on you the second you entered. It amazed you how his eyes of crystal blue, so similar to that of a frozen storm, could burn through you so easily.

You think for a moment that this is it. That he's going to kick you out with only a final meal and that you are going to be thrown to the starved wolf you knew lurked just outside. You prepared yourself to plead, to apologize, to ask for any bit of mercy he might show you. After all, you had lost your dignity a long time ago, and it wouldn't be the first time you had begged for your life.

But then, as if the elements of himself collided, the fire in his eyes cooled to a warm glow. Soft and familiar and warm, warm, warm.

You almost wished then that he'd return to his fiery glare.

“Sit, love” It isn't a command as much as a quiet plea, his voice is soft and calm and maybe even worried, a rare combination for him. It's a sound so foreign now that you almost don't trust it. His expression falls further as you hesitate.

“I just wanna talk” he tried to explain, to give you any reason to trust him. It works, though only barely. You take a hesitant seat across from him.

The smell of the food hits your nose and only then do you realize you hadn't eaten last night. The waft of coffee only seems to make things worse as it reminds you of how tired you are.

“We can eat first” you can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but either way you take the opportunity. You were too weak to deny how much you needed this right now. You would regret it later, you were sure, but for right now you would allow yourself this small indulgence.

And so it was quiet, absent the sound of forks hitting plates. Quiet in a way that you weren't sure if you liked or despised. You wondered if it even mattered.

It was a few bites in and halfway through your coffee that he spoke again.

“I saw a butterfly this morning” his words cut the silence in a way that baffles you out of the static once more. Out of your head and your thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest.

“Oh?” You respond almost too naturally, almost too much like you used to. If it weren't for the heaviness in your voice, you might have even forgotten that this wasn't like it used to be.

“Yeah. Should’ve seen it. It had all your favorite colors” his words are almost light in spite of the tense atmosphere and, despite it all, it manages the smallest smile from you.

“I’m sure it was beautiful” you reply and watch as the look on his face changes. You can't quite read it, a strange softness is all you can take from it. But there never fails to be that lingering sadness there. That worry. That pain you can't quite bring yourself to address. And so you look away, your eyes turned down to your food once more.

The silence that follows threatens to suffocate the two of you, drown you in this horrible replication of better times, and punish you for daring to seek even this small comfort. And so, knowing that there is only one way this will go, he finally asks.

“What happened last night?” You feel your throat tighten almost immediately, not daring to pick up your fork when the weight of that question falls atop you. You find it hard to give him an answer, let alone one that might satisfy him.

“I…It’s…” you struggle and hope that maybe you might just disappear, that maybe all of this was some horrible nightmare you'd wake from. But as seconds passed it became clear it wasn't. Clearer still that you had to give him an answer after what he'd seen.

“It's complicated” you try to explain but you knew the moment the words fell that they wouldn't be enough. You think that maybe he'll be angry at this, that he'll slam the table like he had before and demand a better explanation. But a glance shows that his expression only deepens in its worry.

“Then explain it to me” he pleads once more. It was a rare day he ever pleaded, begged, or even so much as asked for something. Rarer yet that it's genuine. Your mouth goes dry and silence remains. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

“Love-” his hand reached for yours and the contact shocks every nerve in your body. You flinch away from him, regretting it a moment later when his worry turns to pain on his face. He retracts his hand with the most hesitance you've ever seen from him; a man so usually sure of himself.

“I just need to know what's happening. I-...” he falters, another rare sight. He takes a shaky breath.

“I won't hurt you” those words come out stronger than the rest, as truthful as he could have possibly made them. And, despite its softness, it seems to tear apart the very walls you had built to keep you safe.

But safe from what, exactly? When the wolf lays outside, and this place is your final sanctuary, what does that make him? You weren't quite sure, but somehow you knew that whatever this was, it felt…well it felt familiar at least. A devil you knew well enough to find some comfort in the warmth of.

Your head turns away, arms held against you in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself. You think, for a moment, that you might run from here. That you might leave everything behind in the wake of the words that threaten to leave your tongue.

But he wants the truth. And who are you to deny him it? It couldn't make things much worse than they already are.

“Where do you even want me to start?” You ask him, voice hollow and cold and empty. There was no more of yourself to give than a story. You wondered if the sacrifice would even matter.

“Wherever you need to” he answers back, his shoulders squared: tense. You had half a mind to comfort him, but you doubt it would've helped. So, with a deep breath that does very little to calm your nerves, you finally answer him.

“When I left I didn't want to start over, but I didn't want to see you again either. So I moved a few towns over” you started, your voice detached from yourself, like it came from someone else entirely.

“A few months later I met someone. He had been so kind at first. Loving, attentive. He made me feel like I existed in the world again. Made me feel wanted” your words murmur and a snarl forms, even talking about it makes you sick.

“I was stupid, blinded, didn't pay attention. Didn't care, really…” you pause, your hands indenting into your skin as if to keep you where you sat, as if to stop you from fading from here.

“I married him” your words come out much more mournful than you mean to, your snarl nothing more than a quivered lip now. You had married that monster.

You didn't have to glance at John to know the look on his face. Anger, rage, a twisted form of jealousy. It was a knife to his back, you imagine, that you might have married another man before he had ever put a ring on your finger. But you weren't quite sure you cared anymore. After all, it wasn't you who had been so cold to him those final days you were together.

“I didn't realize who he was until then. He'd always been…rough. Arrogant, quick-tempered, prone to violence. But I guess I just thought that he wouldn't ever treat me like that. That I was different. That he loved me” your words shake and you do your best to pull those broken strings together. To steel yourself. To not be so pathetic.

“I was wrong…” you allow yourself the pain of those three words and in so scar your heart further as you admit it. He had never loved you.

“I tried to get away, I tried to start over again, but he wouldn't let me leave. I can't get a job without him finding me, can't get a place to stay, can't start over. I thought maybe if I came here, maybe if my name wasn't on anything, maybe if I was careful enough then I could figure it out…I was wrong about that too” you curse yourself when tears sting at you. You do your best to hide it, to disappear in front of his own eyes. But there was only so much you could do. Hiding from him had never been your strong suit.

John feels…well he doesn't quite know. A mixture of everything horrible, he thinks. He can't stand how your eyes avoid him as the words fall, how with each passing word he can only find regret. Regret that he hadn't held you closer, that he hadn't kept you safe. And he hates that the consequences don't fall to him, that he wasn't the one burned, that instead he watches you crumble and break and shatter. He had loved you, he had always loved you. That hole in his heart, that void you filled. Ripped from him and torn apart as swiftly as a flower in a stormy ocean. He hardly had the mind to blame you anymore, hardly had the heart to. He could do nothing but blame himself and the cruel creature he could hardly call human. The one who had dared to lay a finger on you. The one he could imagine tearing apart with his bare hands.

There are questions that circle his brain, words that travel from the top of his head and almost meet his tongue. ‘What’s his name?’ ‘Where can I find him?’ ‘How long had this been happening?’ ‘Why hadn't you said something sooner?’

He lets out a shallow breath, his eyes closing in thought for only a short moment before he stands. The sound of the chair startles you into watching him once more. His steps are slow, and deliberate, as they make their way towards you. You lean away for a moment, as you had since you'd gotten here, but it calms as you watch him. His movement is predictable; safe.

And soon, just as slow and just as softly, his hands fall on your face as they had hundreds of times before. Calloused but warm, a softness he only ever found with you. He is gentle along your bruises, careful with them. You can't look from him now, eyes searing through him. But he had nothing to hide, and so he stared back.

“We're gonna figure this out” he speaks to you, words like comforting slashes against your soul in how they tear your emotions from you. Your attempts to hide were all but vain now, tears falling freely and only barely held from a sob. Your breaths shake as your eyes close into the comfort, hands falling onto his as if he might just slip away. He presses a kiss, hesitant yet desperate against the crown of your head.

“He ain't ever hurting you again” his words are a promise as he mumbles them against your skin before placing his head against yours. You make no attempt to pull away, instead finding that a broken smile falls on your lips, one of utter relief. Somehow you find a will to speak.

“I missed you”

-

Potential part two? Maybe? Probably? Definitely?

[crumb]

The palpable excitement benson shows on the drive to the diner after leaving burgers burgers burgers doesnt read as a gleeful reaction to his crimes but more like the cheerful relief that can sometimes manifest itself before someone commits suicide. I really do think benson knew as soon as he started smoking his cigarette and untucking his work shirt what was going to happen and he had already made the decision of how things would go. He knew where it would end, though maybe not how long exactly it would last or the circumstances, but i think he knew it would eventually end up with him dead. He had accepted his fate before even shooting Chris, Jess, and Hardy. That’s also why instead of driving straight out of town when he had several opportunities to do so, he instead drove in circles waiting for the clock to run out. Yes, he wanted to help Randy and “fix” him but i also think he used that as an excuse to kill time before things reached their inevitable conclusion.

However, i also think there’s a chance that sometime between the school and him leaving Ms. Beard’s bathroom he might have reconsidered some things but Ms. Beard realising his connection to Shepard’s death upended any possibility of an attempt to get away from the town. I think that’s why he seems particularly aggravated about Ms. Beard and then Marsha, etc. i think he had changed his mind and thought it might be worth running but then everything collapsed in on them right as he was making further plans to elongate his time with Randy. He then had to accept his fate once again after having already done so that morning and then changing his mind sometime during the day. Him mentioning “moving to the city” or whatever he said wasn’t him just bullshitting. I think he had started to really believe he might be able to escape after “fixing” Randy.

[furiousgoldfish]

I wrote a very pained, depressive and dark post, even maybe too dark for this blog, but I ultimately decided to publish it, just because this pain has always been invisible in me, and I want to be able to say something. If you're going to read it, there's a lot of mention of death and contemplation of suicide in it, and a lot of painful emotion. Maybe someone will resonate with it and find words to describe their own pain. I also want to note that even though every word of it is true, I am most of the time completely dissociated from this, I'm not actively thinking it, and it came out now because my parents are actively trying to find me and disrupting the life I've tried to make for myself.

What my parents did to me is worse than death, they erased me. When I escaped I didn't know who I was, I had no hope to survive, I didn't think I was worth anything, I felt ashamed to even exist. I was suicidal, i thought I'd be dead within a month even if I don't do it myself. I didn't think I had it in me to survive, to be alive, to be anything. I was a less than a ghost, I didn't even have memories to remember of who I once was because there was no warm memories, only violence, blame, guilt, shame, pain, terror. I was supposed to be a person, and they put me in a state where I knew nothing about being a person, only property and a target, it was my entire life. I was told I deserved this, I was a monster, there was never anything else that is correct to do to me, but hurt me. I thought it was my job to be endlessly harmed. They knew I was suicidal and didn't stop. The only reason I didn't kill myself was the dissociative disorder that functioned like a suicide prevention measure, I physically could not have done it because I have been split into pieces and one of the pieces prevented me from doing it. I would have died otherwise.

What would a quick violent death be compared to this? A fucking blessing. I was slowly tortured until I was willing to kill myself in order to end it. They didn't want to dirty their hands with my murder, they planned on torturing me until I did it to myself. I had an intense drive to survive despite everything, and even that was getting erased. My basic instincts were being erased by the amount of pain I was in. My personality was gone, I didn't even have a personality, it was all overwhelmed by pain and desperation to both survive and end it all, I walked trough life looking death in the face the entire time, it felt so close, so close to me, like it would claim me any second, but I had to stay stoic, calm, me staring down death had to be invisible, I couldn't let it show. It shouldn't have mattered to anyone what I was experiencing. I was torn between life and death, stuck in constant anticipation of it and it couldn't have mattered.

Take a person, any person, imagine them having a life, family, friends, interests, hobbies, desires, dreams, loved ones, support, community. Now imagine that same person isolated, everything stripped away from them, and them being hurt until they can no longer remember anything they wanted to live for. Even their basic instinct to survive is stripped frm them as pain is too large for them to be able to sustain themselves, there's no longer anything in this person's life worth living for, nothing they remember about who they were, no warm thought they can think about themselves, and they're repeatedly told they deserve this, they've wanted this. Until there's nothing of them left.

That was me, but from the start. I didn't get to experience having a life, family, loved ones, interests, dreams, community, or any of that first, I didn't get to know how it was to have any of that! From the very start it was pain and being told that this is all there is, and that I'm stupid for ever thinking there would be anything more to life, that it is in fact, only terror and death and I'm a weakling for not taking it better, everyone else is dealing with this just fine. Shame and guilt were the only traits I could have, I didn't know anything further about me. Nobody knew me because nobody saw me being abused. Nobody could know I was worthless, it had to be my private hell. I would have to live only to the point where it was decided that it was enough and I had to die, or until the point where I couldn't take it anymore and take my own life, even though I so strongly didn't want to, even that basic desire was tempered with and overwritten by pain.

Who would want a life like that? Life of not only being aware that nobody cares about you, but everyone around you is willing to inflict pain on you until you wish to die, but can't. Where crying and screaming is forbidden even when you can't breathe from the amount of pain you're in; you're not even allowed to cry out. You fight with yourself every day on how badly you want to die and why you can't, and it doesn't help, you get lost in magical thinking in order to escape from the hell you're in, but you're brutally reminded of it every time you interact with anyone, when they find you hiding under the bed and dreaming. You don't even know that you're supposed to have loved ones, be safe, be unharmed, that life is supposed to be different, that you're not alive only to be a target, that you're worth anything. You don't even know that you're supposed to have more freedom in life than to choose the manner and time of your death, this is all that's dealt to you. And now, live, see how far you can get before you die. Would anyone choose that? Would anyone decide to be born into a life like that? Wouldn't you choose not to exist at all rather than be put trough that? To be erased and then having to keep on living while thinking you in fact, deserve death, and should do it yourself, and you know if you do die, it won't matter, just like your life didn't? Because people around you regularly nearly kill you and then laugh about it like it was a funny joke? They humiliate you for how ugly you look close to death? You're scared that your last moment will be humiliation for how unseemly your corpse looks and you're hoping you'd be able to die alone, to not be berated as you're dying.

Death is nothing to me compared to this. Waiting to die is worse than death. Endless anticipation of pain is worse than death. Having everything about you erased by pain is worse. Not knowing anything about yourself except that you are incredibly shameful existence and that you need to feel guilty all of the time, is worse. Watching people around you receive care and warmth while you're stuck watching death in the face silently, pretending it's not happening, and trying to not have anyone's attention on yourself because someone noticing means more pain, more shame and guilt. It's worse. Kill me any fucking day. But this will always be worse. Every time I face the reality of my life I wish I had died in the womb, at childbirth, I wish I had died when I was 1, 2, 3, 5, 10, 12, any time before I experienced all this. It would have been so much less pain. It would have been so much easier on me.

And I've already given up on ever having a place in anyone's heart, because at this point, I don't have it in me to make people love me. I have nothing about me that is other people find worth caring for, I made peace with it. There will be no loved ones, and thats fine. But at least then I should get to live my life alone the way I want it. I should find joy in being who I found I am, and doing what I want to do. I should get to do things that give me a little bit of pleasure and enjoyment, and I should be safe, and death should no longer come knocking at my door, staring me down like I owe it something. If I can't even have that, then to hell with everything. What is the fucking point of anything if all my life is a continued slow torture until I can no longer bear it. I have nobody to bear it for, nobody would be harmed by my death. But I also don't deserve to die, because I want to live, and this should be mine. Who the fuck dares to try and take this away from me again. I want to fucking explode. If I have to make my own justice then how do I do it. I literally just want to live. And I see other people having at least that much secured for them. Why can't I at least have that much. I am seriously asking for the bare fucking minimum.

[lover-of-mine]

Okay, so, I'm fully aware of the platform I accidentally created with the whole network, and I love being the place people come for information and a good laugh about the madness. But I am a person. I am also only one person. I get a whole lot of asks in a day, I try to answer as many as I can but sometimes my life gets in the way and sometimes the things I'm getting kill my vibe and make me less inclined to sit through my inbox for hours. I filter as much as I can, sometimes the sheer volume of asks filter things too. I'm just the messenger. I'm not gonna let you use me to rage bait because I'm the one who takes the heat for it. Is my name attached to the asks. I don't condone with what's been happening, the blogs who take things too far or whoever it was who wrote that fic. I don't know who wrote it, if it was an angry buddie shipper or a disturbed bucktommy one or someone outside of the mess who wants to have fun putting us against each other, but I know that I don't want anything to do with that individual or individuals. But to act like they somehow speak for the whole buddie fandom is messed up. To expect every buddie fan to public denounce them is messed up. Unfortunately, there has always been fucked up fics posted to ao3. Are we gonna chase down everyone who wrote fics where Chim is abusive towards Maddie, or where Eddie is Buck's Doug, or the very disturbing Ana bashing fics that include shit ranging from her kidnapping Chris to her raping Buck too then? We've seen a bt shipper say that Eddie should kill himself because Ryan's experience would make the scene realistic, but I never expected anyone to apologize for her behavior because I know she's not the norm and she's the only one responsible for the shit she says. No one here speaks for anyone. But dissecting why a character acts the way he does when he has a canon past of bigotry does not give anyone the right to say that the only reason something disturbing is happening is because I said something mean about Tommy. That fic is fucked up. But the only person responsible for it is whoever wrote it. If I knew who that was, trust me, I would be putting them on blast, but I don't. Some of you need to get off your high horse. No one can control fandom, and a witch hunt just because someone found a burner account that may or may not be responsible for shit and attacking everyone because they are being followed by them is not it. It's not gonna solve anything. To try and make anyone who said something negative about Tommy responsible is not it. I'm a real person. I know y'all only see a hockey player's picture and a 5sos song url, but I'm a person. I am not a newspaper and I'm also not the spokesperson for the buddie fandom who needs to make a statement about these awful things happening. I'm not the one creating the unsafe space. My shit is properly tagged, I stay in my blog, I don't go chasing people I don't agree with just to pick a fight. But y'all do love dragging me into shit I have nothing to do with. What happened is fucked but can we stop blaming the whole fandom for the actions of a very small portion of it?

[cokoweee]

Drops this and runs far far away 🏃‍♀️💨

Tw for suicidal thoughts and attempt

~

Donatello woke up in the medbay. An IV was hooked to his vein, shifting slightly as he flexed his arm. He groaned, rubbing a hand against the top of his head. A fine layer of fuzz brushed over his fingertips.

Was he growing hair? That was… bizarre. He was pretty sure that hadn’t been there yesterday. But then again, he’d been pretty much catatonic for nearly a month. He ran his fingers through the fuzz once more just to be sure. Sure enough, a thin layer covered his head.

There were more pressing matters though. Like how on earth had his twin appeared to him last night? He had no idea how any of the Hamato ghost stuff worked. He could search for his dads scrolls.

Or

He could join his brothers.

It was a perfect idea. He would see them again and then he would be ok. He would feel whole. There was no one here to miss him anyway.

He stood up quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping goat in the corner as he unhooked himself from the IV. He softly padded his way to the medicine cabinet, face set in a grim determination. He reached inside and snagged the first thing he saw.

A bottle of ibuprofen? Perfect.

A stolen bottle of Norco? Even better.

He grabbed both and reached to the side to take a small daisy cup and fill it with water. He took another daisy cup and opened the bottles. Slowly emptying both, painstakingly taking the effort to make no noise, he swirled the pills around the cup with his finger.

He stared at it blankly. The cup was nearly full, but not quite. Was he really going to do this? He reached up again to grab a large bottle of NyQuill as well as a few unlabeled bottles. He emptied the water cup and filled it to the brim with the ni quill before topping off the drug cocktail cup with a healthy dose of pain meds.

He moved the cup in his hand, listening to the sound it made. Would it be the last he ever heard? Falling asleep to never wake up again? Or would he die slowly and painfully like his brothers had, listening to himself take his last breath?

He raised his eyes to the sleeping figure in the corner. A twinge if something aches in his chest as he watches the alchemist's chest rise and fall. He was going to single handedly leave him without a family.

But it was better this way. Better to be out of his hair than to live as a disappointment. He tipped both cups in his mouth at once, swallowing quickly and headed back to his cot.

He expected to feel something. But he just felt numb. There was no remorse, no guilt, no regret. He’d expected at least one of those. He’d never wanted to die before the invasion. But he had no one -nothing- to live for.

Voices hissed around him. They were not his own. He shook slightly as they screamed at him to wake up Drax. He didn’t want to. He wanted to see his brothers. He didn’t want to deal with this.

The room took on a hazy edge. Colors shifted together as his lungs sluggishly forced air in and out. It felt like something was pressing down on his chest, keeping him from breathing. His stomach hurt. He didn’t really like that part. The haze shifted slowly to darkness, covering his vision completely.

His heart raced. He could still feel things. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

He panicked. His lungs hurt. He didn’t want to hurt. He just wanted to see his brother. He just-

“What did you do to yourself boy?” Draxum spoke with a hushed voice, a clear urgency behind it.

When he gave no answer, he was forced on his side. A tube stuck down his throat. He gagged, but Draxum forced the tube further. He still couldn’t breathe.

Fat tears leaked from his closed eyes. He didn’t want to die like this. But he didn’t want to live like this either.

Sounds floated around him as he laid there, tears leaking pathetically from his face. He shook violently, whether it was from the tube in his throat or his crying he had no clue. He messed up.

The tube was pulled from his mouth. He gagged again, heaving slightly, but nothing came up.

“You don’t have anything in your stomach right now.” Draxum explained slowly. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

His eyelids fluttered open after a beat. He looked up shakily to see Draxum staring at him in disbelief. He looked away, his face heating in shame. What was he supposed to do now? Tell him thank you? It wouldn’t be genuine. A part of him wanted to wait for him to go to bed and find another way- an easier way- to see his brothers, one Draxum couldn’t save him from. Another part of him wished he had never even attempted to do this. He knew his brothers would be upset if they knew he had tried.

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. He meant to tell him thank you anyway. But a small warbled chirp came out instead. Childish and fearful. He chirped again, unable to find his words. Draxum just looked at him, a pitiful expression on his face. He warbled another chirp, letting it fall into a sob that raked his entire body.

Draxum pulled him close, sheltering his body from the rest of the medbay. He bleated a soft melody back to him, his hand rubbing circles over his bare shell. He didn’t want to dwell on the fact that someone was here caring for him. Loving him and making sure that he was ok. That he was wrong in his assumption that no one cared. That there was someone that cared about him. That wanted him safe.

He was exhausted. He slumped against his fathers chest, tears mixing with his exposed fur and clung to him. He let himself be rocked back and forth gently as he fell asleep.

He would find an easier way to see his brothers.

~

Donatello shuffled his feet over the floor, a blanket wrapped around him like a cape. He needed this, he reminded himself.

He’d tried everything. Listening to music louder than his own thoughts. But somehow his own head was louder than anything his speakers could produce. He still put it on though, focusing on that instead of the whispers in his head.

He’d welded his brother's rooms shut so he wouldn’t think about how they would stay empty forever. But now he had nothing left of his brothers. Not to mention, he was a danger to the only person who still cared about him he had left.

He needed a way to stop it.

He stopped outside the spare train car Draxum had been using for the past week. He needed this, he reminded himself.

Draxum had cleared the house of anything he could use to harm himself. Knives disappeared from the kitchen, the bathroom and med bay had been raided for any leftover medications. He was out of options.

He dragged his feet across the floor as he walked in. The alchemist was at his desk, mixing together a tincture for him. He wondered if it was the one to help him to sleep at night, or the one that would knock him out when he had another inevitable episode. He hoped it wasn’t the second, he had a fix for that.

“Yes? What would you like?” He murmured, not looking up from his work.

“I have a way to stop the episodes.”

Draxum’s head rose from the desk, his face painting a clear picture of his doubt.

He shuffled on his feet again, pulling the blueprints from beneath the blanket and handing them wordlessly to the goat. He took them quickly and frowned as his eyes skimmed the page.

“You’re joking right? This isn’t sustainable in any way.”

He shook his head. “I almost blew up the house the other day.” He countered quickly. “And the week before I fried everything within a mile radius of me. And- and the week before that I- I, ya know. I need a way to control it and now I have it.”

“It’s inhumane is what it is.”

“Oh, and when have you ever cared about being humane?”

“I will not attach a shocking device to my only living son.” He said firmly, planting his hoof to the floor.

He could have said a lot of things at that moment. That he was not his son. That Draxum was not his father. That he had tried to kill him on multiple occasions. That the only reason he was even here was because his dad seemed to have a fond spot for him. But he didn’t. He needed a way to make it work.

“There has to be something else you could do. Something else you want?” He questioned slowly.

“I want my brothers back.” He spat. “I want my dad and sister back. But I can’t have that can I?” He growled, ignoring the flash of fear in the alchemist's face as his ninpo flared protectively.

“You don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to have the voices of your dead family in your head. You don’t get what it’s like to never have that stop. You don’t get what it’s like to see them only to have them disappear. You don’t get what it’s like to lose control of yourself, the-the one thing that still connects you to your family still. To know that you can’t control it.

“I need it.” He quavered, not caring that he was practically begging. “I can’t live like this anymore. I feel like I’m going insane and I don’t -I don’t know any other way to fix it. What do I need to do to convince you? I’ll do anything. Anything.”

The goat stared at him as he sank to the ground, curling the blanket around himself and tightening into a ball. He had that stupid pitting look on his face again. It made him want to throw things. He wasn’t a child. He knew what he was doing, he didn’t have to be treated like a fragile little doll.

“Lower the voltage and set a limit.” He responded after a beat.

“Of course yeah yeah I’ll do that.” He breathed, letting some of the tension fall from his body. “It’s a yes then?”

“Only because I believe it will help you in the long run.” He said, running a hand over his face.

~

Donnie opened his eyes. His face was pressed against the smooth surface of the chair Draxum had used. It was wildly uncomfortable. He moved a hand to push himself up blinking slowly.

His back felt stiff. He sat up to stretch when a hand pushed him back down.

“Let’s take it slow, yeah?”

The hand moved to his bottom of his back, another reaching for his hand. He accepted the hand and carefully sat up. Something twinged in his shell and he stretched. He hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

He sat for a moment, eyes raking over the room. Other than the occasional shuffle from his goat father, there was no sound. His head was silent. There were no voices telling him what to do, what to think. A laugh bubbled up from his chest.

It was quiet.

~

I love taking source material and blowing it way out of proportion

Anyway that’s all for this so, au revoir

-writing anon 🤡

I still have to edit the not angsty fic

AT THIS POINT U WRITIMG THE PARTS I CANT AHDHEHAYAHFHWOAHDHW

Tw/cw will DEFINETLY be put but AUGHH RAAUUGHGARARARARARARARRA

Part 2

[uncanny-tranny]

Something that actually helped me feel less suicidal was accepting that I will likely always be suicidal. That sounds counterproductive to some, but I felt so guilty about having it "so good," yet still being suicidal. I felt guilty for what I felt, and I felt selfish for going through so much and being affected by it in a stigmatized way. Now that I accepted this part of myself instead of shoving it away, I appreciate the things that make me want to live. I do want to live, but I also want to change my circumstances to make my life easier, even if it won't magically change my deeper feelings.

Sometimes, you will never stop being suicidal, and you know what? You are allowed to make your peace with that without stopping the emotions or without demonizing yourself or being demonized for it. This might not help everyone, but I always think offering different modes of thought and different ways of seeing to be beneficial in making sure we actually take care of suicidal people in non-stigmatizing and compassionate ways.

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i can't believe i've reached a point of my life when suicidal thoughts visit me and my brain immediately goes "this is ridiculous. stop right now" and i do stop like sorry bro this really wasn't very cool of me

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 43: Genetic Warfare

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

April, Casey, and Bishop arrive in the records room. They use Chaplin's key card to enter in and find it devoid of any lifeforms, human or mutant or robotic. They're there pretty early, they didn't expect the others to arrive for a while anyway.

"Well, might as well start looking for what we need," April groans. "...Uh, what are we looking for? A hard-drive?"

"It will look like a little black box," Bishop says, hobbling over to a series of locked drawers. "It'll have two USB ports on the side, and a red light on the top."

Bishop takes a fire extinguisher from the wall and smashes the locks with it, breaking the cabinet drawers open and rummaging through them. They mostly have papers and files, but a few of them contain some hardware that looks interesting...

"And what if we can't find it?" Casey asks, already going towards a second set of cabinets to look through.

"Then I guess we'll have to find a new device and redownload everything we can..."

"How long will that take?" April asks.

"It could take several hours," Bishop sighs. "So pray we find that drive."

April and Casey start searching the drawers one by one. They get almost halfway through the entire room of cabinets and drawers, slowly losing hope of ever finding the drive until Raph and Mikey arrive.

"Hey, guys!" Mikey greets cherrily. "How's it going?"

"Mikey!" April screams, rushing over and jumping on top of Raph in order to hug Mikey.

He meets her halfway and slides down Raph's chest like a snake, slithering around her shoulders in a hug as April laughs and tears up with joy.

"I was so worried about you! Are the others okay? I saw you guys get carted away by the TCRI or the EPF or whatever at the other place and -- what the heck happened to your arms?!"

Mikey pulls his arms back and looks away from his big sister.

"Nuthin'!" he says quickly, crawling back onto Raphael's shoulders. "It's fine..."

Casey immediately comes over to inspect, looking at Mikey's forearms for a moment before shifting his attention to Raph.

"What happened?" he asks the eldest, hoping he'll tell him.

"We ran into a... 'thing'," Raph shrugs, not exactly sure what to call Ms. Campbell. "It's fine, I took care of it."

"Thing?" Bishop questions. "Care to clarify?"

"Just a robot," Mikey says, resting atop his perch. "I think she said her name was 'Ms. Campbell'. Raph's ninpo clones busted her up though, she's gone for good."

Both April and Bishop heave a sigh of relief when they hear that. Casey raises an eyebrow in question, but before he can vocalize said question, everyone's favourite genius runs in carrying a ninpo-hologram shopping cart filled with their weapons.

"Y'all I've arrived!" he states hurriedly. "And I brought our stuff!"

Raph hoots with satisfaction as he grabs his sai and spins them in his hands, exercising them just a bit before he stuffs them in his belt.

"Thanks, man!"

"No problem," Donnie says, though he seems somewhat agitated.

Raph notices the way Donnie scratches at his arm wraps, and that small section of frost and freezer burn was definitely not there before they split up...

Mikey notices those odd details too, and scoots from one pair of turtle shoulders to the other, clinging onto Donnie in an attempt to comfort him. Donnie pats his leg in assurance, as if to say he's fine. Mikey can tell he's not. But he'll have to talk with him about it later.

"Where's Leo?" Casey asks. "He should be here by now with Professor Honeycutt."

"The tracker says they're on their way down now," Donnie states, lifting up his wrist tech and showing it off. "Any minute. Meanwhile, what are we looking for, or what do I have to hack?"

"We were looking for Bishop's hard drive -- a small black box with a red light," April juts in. "It should be in here, but if it isn't... then we have a lot of work to do."

"Oh please," Donnie scoffs, cracking his knuckles. "You just require the delicate touch of a genius."

Casey chuckles softly to himself as Donnie leaps into a swivel chair and starts typing away on a nearby computer.

"We might not need your services if I can just find the hard drive," Bishop grumbles, digging through to the bottom of yet another drawer.

"Pish-posh, dear man!" Donnie scolds. "I am uncharacteristically at your disposal! Besides, I need to scrub the security feed of our presence here anyway. Just tell me what to hack and I'll do it! ...Oh, I do however need a physical hard disk, though."

"ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜᴄʜ, ɪꜰ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ," a tinny voice states from behind.

The group turn to see Leo hobbling into the room, leaning on a small robot with glowing eyes.

"Leo!" Mikey cheers, hopping down from Donnie's shoulders and jumping over to his final brother. "Are you okay?"

"Just winded," Leo chuckles. "I had... uh... a rough time getting the doc."

Mikey stares in shock at Leo, who looks fine for the most part... except for the dark redd staining his hands and half of his forearms.

"...Who's blood is that?" Raph asks in a hushed and horrified voice. "...And where... is the doc?"

"ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ," the little robot waves, chuckling nervously. "ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ɪꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋ. ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, ɪᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ."

Casey steps closer and gapes at the robot half his size.

"...Professor?" he whispers. "This is not at all what I thought you'd look like."

Honeycutt sighs sadly and nods.

"ᴜɴᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴀʙʟᴇ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍꜱᴛᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴏᴄᴄᴜʀʀᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅʀᴀꜱᴛɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ --"

He freezes when he sees a bruised and beaten Bishop, staring down at the mini mecha in shock and pained grief.

"....Doc?" Bishop asks, nearly dropping to his knees. "What did they do to you...?"

"I-it was my fault," Leo stammers, eyes filling with tears. "I went to get him, but one of the scientists cornered us with a laser gun, and -- she shot -- and I couldn't fix the wound, so I -- I just saw the little robot and he said he was trying to do -- what I mean is, I -- I --"

Leo hyperventilates as he tries to explain, the sticky blood drying on his hands terrifies him, he can't stop shaking. And he was supposed to be a hero, the World's Greatest Ninja™, but he couldn't save one life? Not only that, he had to have that life sacrifice itself to save him? Useless, weak, pathetic, wretched little pest --

Leo can almost see the fury and seething anger building up inside Agent Bishop. The devastation of losing your one and only friend can kill you. Leo wouldn't blame him if he hated him and his brothers for the rest of their lives, dedicated himself to eradicating the teenage mutant ninja turtles from that day on, or all mutants in general. This was the perfect villain origin story, and it was all Leo's fault --

"No, no -- it wasn't your fault, kid," Bishop sighs, his eyes watering as he looks up at the terrified teen. "This isn't on you. You shouldn't have even been here..."

"B-but it was --"

"ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴜʟᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰɪɴɴ ᴅɪᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ," Honeycutt interrupts. "ꜱʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ… ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴀᴠᴇꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴜɢʜᴇꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴜᴘ."

The agent stands up and stares down at the kid -- who in reality is only just a little bit shorter than him, but in this moment Leo feels two feet tall. And it shows. Bishop places a hand on his shoulder and manages a small, thin smile.

"You did your best. You saved him... sort of."

"ʜᴇ'ꜱ ʀɪɢʜᴛ," Honeycutt buzzes. "ɪ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴜʟꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴛᴇᴄʜɴɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ, ᴛʜᴀɴ��ꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ!"

Leo sniffles, trying to hide his sobs. He goes to wipe his face before remembering the blood still staining his hands.

"You're okay, kid," Bishop soothes. "We're all okay. Stop holding the weight of the world on your shoulders, it's only going to pin you to the ground."

Leo shakes and nods, reluctantly wiping his face on his shoulder. He feels something hold his arm gently -- long claws that belong to the most loving creature in the world, in his humble opinion. He hears Mikey churr softly at his side. He leans over and rests his cheek atop his little brother's head.

"Okay... Okay. Thanks," Leo mumbles.

"ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ, ʟᴇᴏ," Honeycutt responds.

"Anytime. That's what heroes do, yeah?"

Leo turns to see if Raph made a face at the statement like he usually does. The phrase has become something of a cringe inside joke at this point between them. The eldest smirks and rolls his eyes.

"We should get you cleaned up," April mentions, walking over to Leo and taking him by the elbow. "Bishop, do you know if there's a bathroom nearby or something?"

"There should be one down the hall," the agent answers. "Though I'm not actually sure. I never got the tour of this holmes hotel of a laboratory."

"ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱɴᴀɢ ᴀ ꜱᴄʜᴇᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜɪʟᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴜɢɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴄʀɪ," Honeycutt states. "ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ʙᴀᴛʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ, ɪꜰ ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ."

"Thanks, 'Fugitoid'," Leo jokes shakily. "We'll be back in a sec."

"ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴʟᴏᴀᴅꜱ," Honeycutt says, walking over to Donnie. "ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ!"

"Great," Donnie says quickly, creating a ninpo cable that connects between the servers and the robot. "This should only take a few minutes, then!"

"I'll identify the files we need," Bishop nods, standing over by Donnie's side.

"And I'll scrub it all for any proof of Mikey and my family," Donnie adds, refusing to get up before he's wiped out the computers.

"Great," Leo grunts. "We'll be back before you can say -- wait, where's Cassandra??"

.

.

.

Abigail heaves deeply as she rushes into the lab, her heart burning in her chest, her stomach churning sickly. She slaps her hand over her mouth in a meager attempt to keep from retching. It fails, and she snatches the first trash bucket she can find and purges desperately into it. Sweat pours down her face and mixes with her tears as she slams the door behind her and takes a beat, analyzing the room before going back to her mad dash.

She has to pack.

She just killed a man. A colleague. A friend...

All because he wanted to protect a kid didn't have the spine to keep quiet.

Dr. Abigail Finn runs to her desk and swipes her arm over it, shoving her belongings into a large tote bag before going to her laptop computer and frantically unplugging it. Then plugging it back in and quickly scanning it for any kind of spyware or tracking tech. The EPF would do something like that, saying it was 'for their protection' or 'in eventuality of an emergency'. She's not a tech wiz like Chaplin or Honeycutt were. Timothy wasn't an expert by any means, but at least he understood IT and how laptops worked! Abigail was... average, at best. She cared more about biology than computer-ology!!

She doesn't have time for this. She shuts off the location-sharing option and puts the device on airplane mode, hoping that will be enough for now. She unpluggs the laptop and shoves it into her tote --

"Leaving so soon?"

Dr. Finn's head shoots up in momentary terror. There is a young woman leaning in the doorway, wearing what looks like a unitard. In one hand she holds a white face mask, in the other she twiddles with a hockey stick.

"Who... the #3%$ are you?" Abigail asks, heaving heavily as she tries to calm herself down. "Are you... you're with those turtle kids, aren’t you?"

"Yep," she answers, a great big scum-eating grin on her face. "Name's Cassandra Jones. Who might you be?"

"None of your business," Abigail snaps angrily. "Now get out of my way before I call security."

Abigail reaches for the phone on her desk, but before she can even grab it, three ninja stars land sharply in the wood, two creating a formation around the phone to keep her hands away, and the third snapping the cord.

Dr. Finn jolts back, her hand presses firmly against her chest as she yelps.

"Why did you do that?!" she yells. "What is wrong with you?!"

Cass chuckles before stepping inside the room and closing the door behind her.

"You're one of the big-shot brainiacs that experimented on the little guy, right?"

Abigail's face goes white.

"See, I consider those turtles my family now. And they were my only family, for a while. The family tree's grown since then. But they're still a big and important part of my life, and anyone who steps up to them --" Cass swings her hockey stick dramatically, sliding one foot back and preparing herself for battle. "-- has to step to me, too."

"Th-this is insane," Abigail stammers. "I'll call the police!"

"We already did that," Cass nods. "Don't worry. They'll be here at some point to cart you away."

"I'm not going down for this," Finn grits. "I'm not going to be the fall guy for this place! Do you have any idea who I am, what I know?! I'm the smartest person alive now, I can redefine genetics and rewrite the next generation!"

"Funny thing," Cass says, placing her mask over her face. "I don't care."

Cassandra leaps forwards and waves her hand, and another array of throwing stars fly at Dr. Finn. She gasps and ducks under the desk just before the stars can pin her to the wall.

She sees the blaster she'd had earlier, which she'd stuffed into the tote bag. Dr. Finn prepares herself. One, two, three --!

Abigail slides out from under the desk and begins firing at random. Cassandra darts back and forth like a graceful butterfly.... a butterfly who was raised by mad hornets, of course. Her movements are fast and agile, Abigail can hardly keep up.

"Is that the best you can do??" she jeers. "I faced more obstacles in the Foot's training course for toddlers!"

Cassandra finds a paperweight from the desk on the opposite side of the room, picks it up and whacks it hard with her hockey stick.

"Kyaah!!!"

It soars, the projectile heading straight for Abigail's weapon. It hits right in the barrel of the blaster, cracking it horribly and crunching Dr. Finn's hand in the process. She drops the weapon, yelling in pain.

"GUTS BITS!!" Cass shouts loudly, as she runs up and kicks the woman in the stomach.

She sends Dr. Finn reeling and crashing into the wall with a grunt, her head thrown back and slamming into the drywall as well. Dr. Finn goes limp for a moment, her body held up only by Cass's foot keeping her pinned in place against the wall.

Cassandra lets her slide to the ground slowly, the scientist groaning as her head rolls from side to side as she tries to get her bearings. Cass steps to the severed phone on the desk behind her and takes the cord to restrain Dr. Finn.

"I do not tolerate enemies," Cass says. "Especially enemies of the Hamato clan. They are my family."

"Cass!"

"Mom!"

"You okay?! What happened?!"

Cassandra turns around, seeing several figures in the doorway, examining the now destroyed room. It's April, her future son, and Agent Bishop. Cass lifts up her mask to reveal the biggest and proudest grin ever.

"I have detained the enemy!" she says, gesturing to the half-conscious geneticist who is still dizzy on the floor.

"That's Dr. Abigail Finn!" April points, rushing over to examine her.

"Finn?" Bishop almost retches when he says her name. "She's the one who killed -- or, tried to kill the Professor..."

Dr. Finn slowly starts to come to once again, looking around as she groans from her massive headache and slight concussion.

"W....what...?"

She glances up to see the group surrounding her. She glares at each one of them until she sees April, and her expression softens.

"You...?"

"Yep, me," April says with a smirk. "You got April O'Neiled, suckah!"

"That's not a thing," Casey Jones chuckles.

"I was gonna make it a thing."

"No, it needs to die."

"What, so you two can have the whole 'Casey Jones' thing, but I can't have an April O'Neil thing --"

"Okay kids, play fair," Bishop interrupts, crouching on the ground to inspect Dr. Finn. "You look like you could use some company. How about we talk about your statement for the authorities?"

.

.

.

Leo returns alone from the bathroom, his hands now washed and cleaned thoroughly. April had helped him find his way there before going back to join the manhunt for Cassandra. Donnie and Honeycutt are talking quietly as the files continue their download. Mikey and Raphael are conversing amongst themselves as well. Good, he knows what everyone is up to and where most of them are... They're okay... They're okay...

Leo walks in and sits down in a corner, heaving a heavy sigh as he lets himself... semi-relax.

He doesn't dare relax all the way. Not yet.

But he can't stay standing either. He's just... winded. That's the best way to put it. He's still pumped up with adrenaline, his anxiety probably won't diminish until the next day, or more likely the next week, and the mission is far from over. But still... he's reached his limit for the day, he thinks. His mutated warrior genes make it so that injuries never last, especially small ones. But dang, if that electro-shock didn't hit him with the punk tactics --

Wait, what was he thinking about...?

...Oh yeah, the injuries.....

It's getting hard to focus properly. He's just so tired.

Leo looks down at his hands. He cleaned them for like, ten minutes, it feels like. He's not sure he got all the blood, though. There's an inkling that there's still some blood trapped under his nails...

The thought of when he first saw Mikey again after the rescue randomly enters his mind... how Mikey looked so much more feral than he does now, somehow. His talons were unkempt and sharp and jagged, days worth of dried blood crusted beneath the nails.

Leo swallows. He hides his hands under his thighs as he sits, waiting for something to happen.

It's weird, having only just a few days ago admitted that he wanted to die, wanted to pay for all the pain he caused. Funny how that wish would have come true if it weren't for Professor Fugitoid Honeycomb over there...

It's not funny at all.

It's mind-numbingly painful.

It could have been Leo.

Maybe it should have been Leo.

Why is it that everytime he tries to be a hero and make things right, someone else gets hurt? Why does the universe constantly want to torture him with the teasing of death, only to recast the role of the martyr at the last moment?? Karai, Raph, Mikey, the Professor -- who's next? Who is Leo going to kill next??

Leo gasps for air (he hadn't realized he wasn't breathing properly) once he feels a weight pressed against his chest.

Mikey, Leo's own personal weighted blanket slash emotional support brother. He's pressed himself against Leo's chest, letting his heartbeat ground him and bring him back to reality. However sucky reality is, it's better than the crap-show going on in Leo's mind.

"Thanks, Miguel," Leo whispers, stroking his brother's head softly.

"S'okay," Mikey whispers back. "Just figured... you looked like someone who needed to remember you're loved."

"I know," Leo nods, hugging Mikey. "I know."

"Okay," Donnie proclaims slowly. "It looks as though we may be finished with the downloads. The Professor here says it should only take a few minutes at most, and we should get going."

"Are you sure?" Leo asks, staring at the robot. "I mean, is it safe to --"

"ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰɪɴᴇ, ʟᴇᴏ," Zayton interjects, lifting his three-fingered robot hand to stop him from arguing. "ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏʏꜱ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. ʙɪꜱʜᴏᴘ ɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀᴘʀɪʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀꜱᴇʏ, ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ. ɪ'ʟʟ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ. ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏᴜʀ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀᴇ."

"You're sure you're sure?" Raph repeats.

"ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ꜰɪɴᴇ," he reiterates. "ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ."

"Alrighty then, Fugitoid," Leo jokes. "We'll get lost. Come on, guys, let's head out..."

.

.

.

The lab is silent.

Eerily silent.

Despite the chaos happening from behind a single door. A single door that hides a soundproof room of trapdoors and hidden entrances that reveal mutated creatures that lost their minds and are slowly, painfully dying. A single door that houses those released creatures which all want a chance at destroying the liquified remains of an equally insane man. A single door that is bolted shut. And yet...

A soft, low squishing sound breaks the unearthly silence.

Green slime starts oozing from under the door, squeezing and slipping out with desperation. Something resembling what might have once been an eyeball manages to pop out. Another eye. A gelatinous nose, and a mouth, which groans and moans and shouts as it struggles to pull itself out from under the meager crack of space between the door and the floor.

Dr. Rod Timothy manages to pull half of his torso and a portion of his arms out. He pauses, gasping and gurgling with exhaustion. He's almost free...

"Aₗₘₒₛₜ tₕₑᵣe… ₐₗₘoₛᵗ…!" he squirms, wriggling a bit more before a shadow crosses his path, causing him to pause. "Wₕₒ…? ᴼₕ! Yₒᵤ! I-ᴵ ₜhᵒᵤgₕₜ yᵒu wᵉᵣₑ… dᵉaᵈ…?"

Timothy stares in shock at the creature before him.

"Wₕₐₜ… ₕaᵖₚₑₙed ₜₒ ʸᵒᵘ..?!" he asks in horror.

The monster steps away momentarily to search the tables for a specific weapon.

"Y-yₒu… ʸoᵤ ₕₐᵥe ₜᵒ ₕₑₗₚ ᵐe!" Timothy begs. "ᴾₗeₐₛₑ! ᵀh⁻ᵗₕₑ ₘᵤₜₐₜᵢₒₙ ₋₋ I ᵈidₙ'ₜ wᵃₙₜ ₜₕᵢₛ!"

The monster finds what he's been looking for on the table and walks back over to Timothy.

"W-wₐᵢₜ, wₕₐₜ ₐᵣₑ yₒᵤ dₒᵢₙg?" he asks, watching as the monster holds a frost gun point-blank to Timothy's slime-ridden face. "Yᵒu cₐₙ't ₋₋ ₙo, ⁿᵒ, no! NO!! ₚₗeₐₛₑ! Dₒₙ'ₜ dₒ ₜₕiˢ, I --"

The monster fires, a blast of icy air blows over the slime monster, freezing him almost instantly. His face and head are stuck, etched in permanent pain and agony, a tortured ice sculpture.

The monster lifts up a foot, and brings it crashing down on the mutagen man's frozen head, crushing it completely. The rest of the slime fizzles out.

Now, to finish off the rest...

Prev || Next

[irondad-defensesquad]

I Need Some Sleep

Also on AO3! TRIGGER WARNINGS - past character death, grief/mourning, and suicidal thoughts. DO NOT SHIP PETER AND TONY. P/ROSHIP DNI.

“Boss, I’m detecting activity in the Spider-Man suit.”

Tony stops whatever he’s doing to focus on the screen, which gives off a small Spider-Man sign. The man checks the time – it’s three in the morning.

“What the hell is he up to,” Tony mutters under his breath, intrigued. “Any injuries, FRI?”

“None detected.”

That’s good, he supposes. He just hopes the kid isn’t goofing off with the suit on a school night. But something tells Tony that is probably not the case. When he opens the Baby Monitor, nothing is going on, apparently. He just sees… New York City up from a building. Besides two bouncing, uneasy legs going back and forth. Everything is quiet.

“You’ve been very quiet, Peter,” Karen points out. “Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”

“It’s okay. I don’t wanna bother him.”

Tony’s annoyed frown immediately disappears once hearing the utter defeat in the kid’s voice.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t be bothering him if you wanted to talk,” Karen reassures him.

Peter sighs. “Can I just… talk to you instead?”

“Of course, Peter. What’s on your mind?”

The teen is quiet again. In the meantime, Tony sees how Peter’s patrol has gone today. According to the Baby Monitor, nothing went wrong. Same counts for the previous patrols. However, it seems that Peter hasn’t been sleeping adequately.

“I know you… probably don’t think about it, but…” Peter hesitates. “Do you ever think about dying?”

Tony freezes, attention back to the live screen.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Karen replies, unsure as far as A.Is are concerned. “Do you?”

Peter might lean in a bit to look down. It’s… quite high from up there.

“Sometimes.”

Perhaps reading Tony’s mind, F.R.I.D.A.Y. is preparing the Iron Man suit, but he doesn’t act for now. He wants to hear more from Peter. He wants to understand so he can help.

“Y’know, Karen,” the boy speaks up again, “I think my aunt hates me.”

“Why?”

“I’m the reason my uncle is gone.”

Tony tenses. He has never heard Peter talk more openly about his deceased uncle. He never brings that up with Tony, even if his guilt is always there.

“I was such a brat to him, and then I couldn’t even say sorry. I was too late,” Peter reveals, bitter. “So imagine how it must be for Aunt May to look at me every single day and be reminded that this stupid kid killed her husband.”

“Peter, you didn’t kill him.”

The boy’s heartbeats quicken in rage.

“... why didn’t that guy shoot me, then?”

Karen doesn’t reply.

Peter boils.

“WHY DIDN’T HE SHOOT ME?!”

He growls and sobs at the same time. Like he doesn’t want to cry and the fact there are tears coming out is angering him. As if he doesn’t deserve to cry.

Tony doesn’t realize he’s also crying until he sees a teardrop on his desk.

He’s never heard Peter this furious before. Least of all towards himself.

Goodness, he’s just a kid.

Before that rage can take over Peter – because Tony certainly knows what this kind of rage does if left unchecked –, the billionaire takes a deep breath, and says, “FRI, call the kid, will ya?” He dries his own face as well.

“Incoming call from Tony Stark,” Karen notifies.

“Wait, Karen, no, DON’T–”

Peter can’t stop the call even if he tries.

“Kid?” Tony says.

“Um. Hi. H-Hi, Mr. Stark.” Peter uncovers half of his face to dry his tears. He can’t hide his vulnerability.

“Hi. What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Y-Yeah, sure. Totally…”

“Couldn’t sleep or something?”

Peter sniffs. “Uh… how come you’re not mad at me using the suit at this hour?”

“I thought I’d check on you. You don’t look so good, kiddo.”

“Wait…” the kid frowns. “Did you… hear what I said to Karen just now?”

Tony can’t really hide his heartbroken expression, so Peter immediately groans.

“Oh, right, how could I forget about the Baby Monitor,” he hisses to himself.

“Kid, it’s fine, I’m not angry. You just wanted to talk to someone, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want you to hear all that.”

“I know it’s hard, bud. But how long have you been bottling it up?”

Peter inhales angrily and doesn’t respond.

“Is your aunt home?” Tony asks instead.

“No. Night shift.”

Tony hums. “And what’ve you been up to?”

“Nothing.”

They grow silent. Neither hang up.

“... I kinda had a bad dream,” Peter admits.

“Yeah?”

“It was a mess, I can’t really explain it… but I remember seeing my uncle. I haven’t dreamed about him in a while. Things were fine, until they weren’t. He was bleeding in my arms again and he said, ‘why didn’t you say sorry? Why didn’t you say you loved me? Did I make you this miserable?’. And he was gone again.”

Tony listens.

“I hate that… that it can’t just be a nightmare,” Peter vents. “I hate waking up and not running to him and hugging him like I used to. And I hate that he won’t wake me in the morning with a kiss on my forehead and call me for breakfast. Why can’t he be here with me? Things would be so much… easier. But they won’t be ever again. I’m never going to see him again. My aunt won’t see him again. And it’s all my fault.”

The way Peter hugs his own knees…

It’s clear he doesn’t want to be alone.

“Hey, kid,” Tony calls, “do you want me to come over there?”

“What? Why?”

“You need someone right now, kiddo. And I don’t want you to be alone tonight.”

“B-But aren’t you busy?”

“I could never be too busy for you.”

There’s a dim but hopeful light in Peter’s eyes. Yet it seems to fade almost instantly.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but it might sound like, “I don’t want to hurt you, too.”

Tony smiles for him. “Of course.”

Peter looks at him like a lost puppy.

“Just give me… fifteen minutes and I’ll be there,” Tony tells him. “Okay?”

“Yeah… okay.”

When Tony summons his suit…

“Actually,” Peter clears his throat, “could we go eat somewhere? Like the Waffle House or something?” He sighs. “Sorry, that was dumb.”

“No, no, not dumb at all. You hungry?”

“A little, yeah.”

“I could use a bite, too.”

“Oh, okay, great.”

“Okay, I’m on my way. You wanna keep talking to me?”

Peter contemplates. “Actually, I think I’ll be fine, Mr. Stark.”

“You sure?” Tony asks concernedly.

“Yeah. I know you’ll come,” Peter smiles for the first time in this exchange.

He really trusts Tony with his life…

“Alright. If you need me, don’t hesitate to call me again, okay?” Tony insists.

Peter nods, certain. “Okay.”

Tony wants to cry.

“I’ll see you soon, Peter.”

“Okay, see ya, Mr. Stark.”

“Bye.”

The call ends.

Tony sighs deeply.

When he gets to that building, Peter is looking up, readily expecting him to arrive. Tony takes him to the Waffle House, and no one bats an eye at Iron Man and Spider-Man just hanging out there at nearly 4 AM.

Peter isn’t very talkative today, so Tony does most of the talking for him, not that he minds it.

He doesn’t see Peter’s face here since he has to keep his identity secret, but Peter does look a little better now.

Tony already lets May know he’s with Peter, and he takes the boy home. They arrange it so Peter won’t need to go to school tomorrow.

And most importantly, Tony makes sure Peter doesn’t wake up to the empty apartment tonight.

He glances at the old pictures while Peter takes a shower. Tony might sit on Peter’s bed. There’s actually an Iron Man poster on the wall that he never saw before. Peter probably hides that kind of stuff from Tony.

In fact, the red-faced teen immediately removes the poster when he gets back. That gets a laugh out of Tony.

After that, Peter lies in bed, looking wide awake despite his exhausted eyes.

Tony joins in. Peter looks surprised but he doesn’t protest.

They stare at the ceiling. Peter will glance at Tony every now and then.

“... How about a story?” Tony suggests, seeing the insomnia taking control over them.

“Like what? I have no idea what books are lying around…”

“No, no, I’ll tell you my stories. They’re obviously more interesting.”

Peter scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“Oh, is that a challenge? What if I told you the Avengers’ biggest secrets?”

“Really?!” Peter suddenly fanboys.

Tony snickers, knowing that would catch his attention. Peter looks like a little boy.

The man tells him all kinds of stories, mostly how awful they were as roommates.

Peter is already asleep when Tony starts reminiscing about the Avengers’ departure, and the fact he hasn’t seen any of them in forever.

And how empty the Compound can be when Tony wakes up after a bad dream.

…

Peter’s breaths are there to remind him he’s not alone tonight.

Tony grins, giving him a light forehead kiss so as to not wake him.

“... thanks, kid,” he whispers. “For everything.”