[RYSLIG] IC Inbox

[beatemall]

< BadMachine2004 > — normal handle
< KidArachnid > — used for hero work
< Sunflower > — anonymous posting

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[heyunderoos]

[His ears pin back against his skull before he fluffs up somewhat. Pointing at Miles as he speaks. He's hurt by the lasing out, but doesn't leave.]

I don't have to be your Peter to care, Miles! [He tries to stand a little taller, but it doesn't completely work.] We're friends, Miles! I'm worried about you! I want to know what is going on! Trying to carry that weight by yourself doesn't help!

[beatemall]

[He bristles further, pulling back, shoulders squared. For a moment, he looks very near to throwing a punch—detached hands balling into seething fists at his sides—but he doesn't.]

You can't do anything, Peter! No one can! [Miles throws his arms from his sides, gesturing around them.] Is there someone who can make me wake up from this fucking nightmare place?! No! For fuck sakes, Pete— I died, I-I killed!

[And in an instant, all of the rage is gone. In an instant, the will to fight leaves him, and his shoulders round down.]

Spider-Man's a murderer, Peter.

[heyunderoos]

[The most reaction Peter seems to give at the threat of a punch is his ears flattening against his skull, but he doesn't move. He is steady, just waiting on Miles.

Peter is quiet as Miles finds his voice, his words softening the pooka's expression. The frustration he's carrying easing.]

Miles... [He reaches out to touch the other teenager's arm gently. He wishes he had something perfect to say, something that made everything better.

But things aren't that simple.

When are they ever that simple?] I'm sorry. [It feels hollow to say, worse than 'it gets better'.] I know that doesn't mean much of anything. I'm sorry all of this is happening, that you're stuck here.

Miles, we're all murderers here. We can't stop that, we can't pretend it's fine, or perfect, but we can't let it kill us either.

[beatemall]

[Anger shifts and gives way to something else. An indescribable pain underlying shock and disbelief.]

You're sorry? [Miles parrots, his tone incredulous, pitched higher as his hands come to his hand and catch in his dense curls.] So what you- you just accept it? That's it, huh??

[There's no escape. Not from Ryslig, not from hurting people, hurting his friends. He wants to cry so badly, his entire face scrunching up with a furrow brow and narrowed eyes, his lip quivering even—and still they won't come. What he could give to just be able to cry again.]

Can't you see how fucked up that is?! You're just giving up on, o-on helping people, then?!

[heyunderoos]

[Peter is calm, far calmer than Miles. The anger from earlier has snuffed out for now, softened back into worry. He is a steady stone against the current of grief sweeping Miles away.]

Miles. [His voice is gentle, even if his point is sharp. A reminder that the weight of survival is a noose around all of their necks.

He steps forward into Mile's space, shifting into a human shape to be about even with the younger teen.] I know it's fucked up. I'm exceedingly aware it is. That never stops being obvious, no matter how comfortable people get here.

Until we can actually stop the fog from twisting us into this, we need to help where we can. We need to be here for each other. We need to help as much as we can. Even if we can't- stop everything, we're still helping. We're still Spider-Man. We just need to redefine what it means to be Spider-Man. Even if it's not pretty, or perfect, or what we want.

[He hesitates, just reaching out to rest a hand against Mile's shoulder, brows pinching together.]

I was unhappy enough, I tried fighting the gods with an artifact I found. I studied it, I thought I knew what I was doing... It didn't work how I planned, I ended up hurting more people in the process.