#he'd only know what he'd heard around hyperion

[frenziedslashers]

Hey! I was wondering if you had your writing requests open and if so if I could request a Timothy Lawrence x Male reader who was hired to be his body guard. If you only do head canon lists thats alright! But if you write one shots it could be something along the lines of the reader gets injured taking a hit for Tim and gets rather confused when Timothy gets concerned for his safety despite just doing his job. This may be incoherent I am very tired but thank you in advance!

The Body Guard;;

A/N: Yes, I can definitely write this for you, thank you for the ask!! Glad to see another Timothy enjoyer on my blog :)) Sorry if this isn't the best. I am trying to get back into the groove of writing!

Pairing: Timothy Lawrence x Reader

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, gun shot wound, male reader

He had no reason for a body guard, whatsoever. Sure, he was Jack's doppelgänger, but that's just it. He was nothing but a doppelgänger. In Jack's eyes, hell, in everyones eyes. He was replaceable. If he got shot that was on him and Jack could make a new body double. Yet, he was assigned you.

Timothy of course wasn't complaining when he met you. He didn't do a lot of talking when he met you. You intimidated him, to say the least. From your personality that Lawrence grew to love. To your appearance that he just couldn't get enough of. Everything about you was perfect, amazing.

You were handsome, and he was starstruck.

Weeks went by, even months and you were there with him everyday. Soon enough Timothy was an open book to you. Telling him everything that he could. Without risking getting in trouble by Hyperion, of course.

"I used to have freckles, you know?" He'd tell you, and his face would flush red under his mask when you revealed that he was probably adorable. He wasn't one hundred percent sure if you were being serious, or if you were being sarcastic. He took it as a flirtatious compliment, either way.

Nothing special ever happened at the Casino, so of course Timothy grew bored. He'd seek you for amusement. Some days you wondered why when there wasn't much for you to do besides protect him from the threats that ran around the casino. Such as the psycho's and bandits that ran to and fro.

"One day, if I ever get out of here, that is. I want us to go somewhere far away. Maybe to a moon on the outskirts of the system, where we can visit." Timothy day dreamt aloud, and you smiled. "Are you saying you want to run away with me?" You asked, and you broke into a smile at how flustered he grew. His gaze diverting from yours. The way he curled in on himself in the chair that he sat on.

"What? No! I mean, would you want to?" You smiled, pondering his nervous question. "I'd like to, if I don't get hired to watch anyone else." Timothy only nodded, reaching up to run his hand through his hair. "Right, right. Wouldn't want to take you from your job," you only nodded. You wished there was a way to help him escape this hell of his.

A few weeks later is when the accident happened. The two of you were running through the halls of the casino from a group of bandits that decided they wanted to pick a fight with you both. Typically they minded their own business, but today was not one of those days.

"What did we do?" Timothy asked in a panic, racing ahead of you as you turned to fire a shot at the psycho that neared the both of you. Timothy turning his head in time to watch the bandit go flying back with the force of the bullet in his chest. Blood splattering on the floor and wall beside it. It was truly horrific, but he was sadly used to it. Nearly as much as you were.

"I'd say we look too much like a meal to them," you shouted back, grabbing Timothy by the arms while tossing him to the side. Throwing the man behind a slot machine before you took a hit from the bullet that nearly hit him.

Timothy heard your shout no matter how hard you tried to suppress the noise. His eyes wide in terror.

"You're hit!" No shit.

You didn't say anything back. You only held your arm while taking cover beside the worrying male. Reaching for a grenade in your pocket before deploying it. "Cover your ears!" You yelled while shielding him yet again with your body.

The grand took out most of the bandits. Leaving you and Timothy with only a few more to wipe out - which wasn't too difficult. Once they were gone, Timothy was tugging you back towards his hide out.

"Tim, I'm fine," you snarled, but he was stubborn. Just as stubborn as you were. "You're not fine, you're bleeding and can hardly move your arm!" He snarled back, and you only rolled your eyes in defeat as he drug you to his bed. Grabbing some bandages on the way over.

"I've been shot before, you know? You think this is my first rodeo?" You asked, and he snorted. "Yeah, and I've been shot too. So I know that leaving it to fester isn't a good idea, bucko." He shot back with a chuckle. You only sighed with a nod in response. He was right, he always was it seemed like.

"So," He started in when it felt silent between the both of you. Helping you out of your shirt so he could get to the wound better. He never did seem to like the silence. He always got anxious, and nervous when it fell quiet. Especially when he was in predicaments that made him rather nervous anyways, like the one right now. Where he was so close to you that he could feel your body heat. The fact that you were just in the bullet proof vest under your shirt and jacket now was just the icing on the cake. A part of him wished you were shot in the chest just so he could see you without it. His eyes lingering while his hands held your arm.

"So?" You repeated when all he did was stare. IF anything, catching him staring at you like that fed your confidence that he might have some sort of attraction for you as well. "So uhm" he cleared his throat, "Where else have you been shot before?" He asked, chewing on his bottom lip as he wiped the blood from your arm. Taking note of the exit wound on the back. Doing his best not to hurt you in the process. Though you still winced and hissed when he touched your arm just right.

"A lot of places," you huffed out while he dabbed at the agitated skin. "I've got a nasty scar on my stomach, been shot in the back, my legs, been cut up by knives and shrapnel." You uttered, and he nodded. "Jeez, and I thought I had bad luck," he chuckled, and you nodded. "Thought you said you got shot before?" You questioned, and he sighed. "I did, but only twice, and I have the threat of my face or hand exploding." He chuckled, and you nodded.

"I'm sorry," He spoke, and you furrowed you brows, but quickly understood when he drenched your wound in alcohol with gauze. "Shit!" You hissed, and he pursed his lips with a worried brow. "I'm sorry, I know it hurts," he stammered, his hand growing a little shaky as he worked. Finally able to inject you with health serum after the wound was properly cleaned. Placing a bandage over top of it in order to help it heal properly. The serum only speeding up the process.

"Guess I need a better shield," you tried to joke, but Timothy hardly laughed at that. Only staring at where the bandage was placed now.

"I'm real sorry," he muttered, and you tilted your head. A little confused why he was repeating his apologies. "What for?" "For getting you into this mess! I don't deserve a body guard. Hell, I don't deserve having someone look out for me! I should have been the one who got shot," he spoke with distress. You only frowned at his words. You hated when he thought this way.

"Timothy, it's my job. If it wasn't you, it'd be someone else I was protecting. You do deserve having someone look after you. You don't deserve to be alone," you spoke, doing your best to get through to him, but it only seemed to make him more upset. "I just don't want to lose you," he muttered. Looking up at you with glossy eyes. "I can't be alone. Not again, not ever. Having you here is the only thing that keeps me sane. I was terrified when you got shot, I thought," he sighed, "I thought I was going to have to live here alone, with nothing but my thoughts and the idiots that run around here!" He snapped, and you smiled faintly at his ramble. Though you understood his worry, it was quite endearing hearing him say such things.

"Well, you won't lose me," he looked back over at you. "We're running away together, remember?" You asked, and he felt his face flush. thankful the masks as there to hide it. "I was hoping you forgot about that..." You snickered, reaching out to place a hand on his thigh. "How could I?"

[leerentouls]

the good life

A brief snapeshot of Angel's life on Sanctuary.

i just wanted to write something and i have ideas but ough... writing's hard 3 and also im sick rn. rip. also! shocker, but i'm writing during the day...??!?!?!?! usually it's at like. 3 in the morning LOL also shoutout to MoodiestMags love the Rise to Grace series o7 <3 cw for mention of suicide

there's some stuff i wanted to mention in this ficlet - like the difference/similarity between Lilith + Angel wrt eridium addiction, and Moxxi and/or Roland at all (or a bit more) - but alas :'3 maybe in another ficlet or so

"Hey Angel, pass me that wrench?"

"Sure."

Angel's half-there in the moment, delving deep into code for additional defences for Sanctuary, but she still grabs the tool Gaige asks for and waves it in the other girl's direction.

"Thanks."

"Yep."

Six months and still Angel doesn't feel totally comfortable here. Mostly, but then, occasionally, she'd catch a glimpse of someone looking at her. Hyperion's Siren, she'd heard from one of the residents, and she'd never wanted to rid herself of her own face as much as she did then. She understands it, and it was more out of surprise then condemnation, but...

Then there was Lilith. And Mordecai and Brick. And Tiny Tina. And- to be honest... everyone. Everyone. Every Vault Hunter, every resident, everyone who knew of Handsome Jack-

But it's not like they go out of their way to make her feel unwelcome. Anymore.

Angel backs out of the code, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. Progress has been made, she reminds herself; people don't quite regard her with such revulsion or contempt anymore (but they remember), and people talk to her, whether resident or Crimson Raider.

(She almost wishes Tim was here. She feels bad about that. She could fix it, if she just talks about it.)

DT beeps, and Angel hears Gaige shift out from where she was fixing up. She knows what's next; it's familiar now.

"You OK, Angel?"

"Yeah," she replies, rote. "Overthinking. You know."

She flinches when Gaige reaches out to rub her shoulder in comfort. A flinch, or trying to shrug her off, Angel could call it either-or, and for whatever reason: her father's ghost hangs over her shoulder like when he would try to calm or restrain her, and that's why she's flinching or rejecting this comfort, or perhaps because she doesn't deserve it, at least not yet. It's been a hard and steep hill to climb in such a short time.

Gaige isn't to be deterred, so wraps an arm around Angel's shoulders fully, pulling her into an awkward side hug. Angel acquiesces.

(She thinks of Tim's face in the shuttle.)

"You wanna come with me next time?"

"Vault Hunting?"

"Yeah! Or just hunting."

"Oh! Yeah, actually, I'd like to get out for a bit, whenever you go next."

(Her voice, cool: He's on his way to kidnap your Siren, sir.)

"Cool," Gaige says, grinning and playfully punching Angel's shoulder. The Siren fakes a pained groan. They both re-settle into the groove: code and machinery, side-by-side. Angel keeps a half a mind fantasizing about Vault Hunting for the pure joy of treasure-hunting, rather than as a means of exerting control over a planet's people. They're not even here of their own will, usually: prisoners or children of them, or deserted here. It's not their fault. Ah, c'mon now, back to the joy of hunting for fun.

(At the precise point where Handsome Jack could only deal with so many interferences at once, so he had Tim posted on the Jackpot. He'd live - for a time, at least.)

It'd be cool to see everyone in action while also being on the same playing field, instead of watching from "above". There again, Angel would be too busy keeping up to actually watch them. But it'd be cool all the same - being part of the team (so long as she doesn't fuck anything up, or not too badly), and proving her worth.

... Or just proving her potential as a Vault Hunter. Angel nods to herself; yes, potential. Maya said that her worth is more than what she can do for other people, that she is inherently worth being respected as another person. That was nice.

(He'd even outlive Handsome Jack.)

... Maybe... maybe after this next outing, whenever that is, she might mention Tim and the Jackpot. Moxxi'd be interested, she thinks.

(But not her.)

It's not a bad life here. She hopes to make it up to Tim.

[strongfuck]

Sleeping at Last - Saturn, Venus, and 9

first of all you are so evil for suggesting sleeping at last to me, every single song i have heard from them has always driven me to misery (i don't actually think you're evil, i'm just IN PAIN OVER RHYS FEELINGS)

Who am I to say what any of this means I have been sleepwalking Since I was fourteen now as I write my song I retrace my steps honestly, it’s easier To let myself forget Still, I check my vital signs Choked up, I realize I’ve been less than half myself For more than half my life

Nine is making me go insane thinking about how Rhys felt he HAD to succeed at Hyperion or else he'd have wasted whole years of his life being there

So show me what to do To restart this heart of mine How do I forgive myself For losing so much time?

and how after the events of tftbl he tries to be more of himself. sure, he's never ENTIRELY himself 24/7-- but what is a sense of self, anyway? and how do you know that you're always true?-- but he's certainly more than he was when he was at hyperion. he gets to pursue his own interests. he gets to do good with tech just like he's wanted

To know and love ourselves and others well Is the most difficult and meaningful Work we’ll ever do

and considering he takes the time to get to know the people of promethea in canon-- the ordinary people that he chooses to protect, btw-- he's so aware that there are humans around him. that they aren't just population numbers. and as he gets to be more "rhys-like" in his everyday and starts to feel more comfortable in his skin, he feels genuine affection and duty for the people he's decided to dedicate himself to. man is literally the only CEO ever to choose protecting his company and his planet over seeking out a vault in the vault-obsessed borderlands, and i think that's significant

I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again I tried to write it down, but I could never find a pen I'd give anything to hear you say it one more time That the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes

also GOD Saturn makes me think about Rhys missing his friends-- his friends who gave him the tools to realise he has worth outside being a hyperion stooge-- and how alone he is now as Atlas' CEO, because nobody around him knows him as Just Rhys any more, nor are they really interested in the "man behind the moustache", so to speak

With shortness of breath I'll try to explain the infinite And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist

and like-- the fact that he's dedicated himself to making a planet better? he fucking revived a planet that was worse than pandora and turned it into "the most advanced planet in the galaxy" in FIVE YEARS. he opened a vault and not only made atlas thrive with it, but also poured it back into the planet that atlas had forsaken. COME ON

I was a billion little pieces 'Til you pulled me into focus Astronomy in reverse It was me who was discovered

and VENUS, oh my GOD, this is rhys falling in love and i'm never going to forgive you for making me think about this in context of him. my tears are watering as i'm writing this even, lmao. there's something so innocent about love grounding him; rhys spends so much time with his head in the stars, thinking about the future and how to make things better for others, that taking a moment to stop and just... consider his own happiness? to consider the happiness given to him by another? is so quiet and gentle, every time

thanks anon. shit hurts

[doom-dreaming]

The Sound of Silence

The gifts of a Vault aren't always appreciated.

(WARNINGS: Suicide, Major Character Death, Vomiting) (Note: This ties into a larger Borderlands fic I have in the works, albeit with a different ending.)

Read it on Ao3 here!

******

“FIONA!”

The gunshot echoed off the surrounding cliffs, ringing in Rhys’ ears. She seemed so far away, caught between his eyes and the barrel of the shotgun. A second seemed like an hour as the bullet sliced through the heavy air. Rhys couldn’t look away. He just stood there, feeling frozen, cold, like all the blood had left his body. She was going to die. Fiona, a Vault Hunter, his friend, his lover...was milliseconds from death.

He could see her twisting away, trying to dodge, but she wasn’t going to make it. He knew it was futile, to reach out to her, to scream her name again, as if that would somehow save her. He did it anyway. Why couldn’t he have been closer? Pushed her out of the way? Taken the bullet himself? No, he was helpless to do anything but watch. The slowly-advancing bullet would bury itself into her skull, directly between her eyes. Those beautiful green eyes. And then she’d be gone. Dead.

Something foreign welled up within him, filling his veins with heat. She didn’t deserve to go out like this. Not now, not ever. He wasn’t going to let that happen. As soon as this thought was firmly anchored in his brain, time suddenly seemed to catch up with itself. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, feel his muscles straining as he stretched across the sand toward her.

And that’s when it happened. All at once. A sharp crack, louder than the gunshot, ricocheted off the stone walls of the canyon. The ground between Fiona and the gunner trembled, then exploded, tossing up a dervish of sand. Fiona was thrown to the side from the force of the blast, and Rhys watched as the bullet whistled harmlessly past her ear. The man holding the shotgun stumbled backward with a grunt, but didn’t lose his balance. Horror and anger boiled in Rhys’ blood as the gunner steadied himself and lined up another shot at Fiona, now lying dazed and defenseless in the dirt.

With a scream that felt like it shredded his vocal cords, Rhys sprinted toward the other man. Instantly, the gun’s muzzle swung around, level with his chest, and Rhys raised his left hand in reflexive defense, even though he knew it would do nothing to stop a bullet. Only he proved himself wrong because the shot never came. As soon as he opened his palm, a wave of piercing heat lanced down his arm and half a second later, hell broke loose. A ripple of energy pulsed across the short distance separating Rhys from his almost certain death, hitting the gunner with a blinding flash of light. Electricity crackled, filling the air with the sharp scent of ozone and smoke.

And then it was over. No light, no supercharged air…no gunman. Rhys stared at the ground where the man had stood. There was no body. No blood. Only a thin sheet of glass in the sand and a few dissipating wisps of smoke. Rhys’ chest was tight, his head was swimming, he felt so nauseous. The world spun in front of his eyes as the heat in his arm ebbed away, leaving behind an equally painful cold. It felt like liquid nitrogen was being injected into his veins. Burning and freezing simultaneously.

He was barely aware of Fiona muttering “what the hell” before he crashed to his knees and pitched forward, throwing up a paste of half-digested drakefruit. God, it hurt. Everything hurt.

Footsteps crunched toward him. “What did you do?!” Fiona demanded. “What the hell just happened?!”

He could only shake his head as his stomach flipped again, forcing hot, bitter acid up his throat. He gagged, spitting it out onto the sand, gasping for breath. “I...don’t know...I think I...killed him…”

Fiona knelt down and ran her fingers over the glass. “Well, whatever that was, it was hot enough to do this…” She stared at him, then pointed. “Look, Rhys.”

He glanced down at his chest. Brilliant blue glowed back at him.

“I’ve got to take you to Sanctuary. Now.”

There was absolutely no sound from beyond the door. Even the air in the hallway seemed motionless. She reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly. “Rhys...?” The hinges creaked as she pushed the door open, loud amidst the silence. The room on the other side was dark, and she could barely make out a shape slumped against the far wall. A waft of stale air hit her, dusty and sour. She grimaced.

“Rhys? Hey...” She focused on the familiar silhouette, trying not to stare at the faintly-glowing patterns pulsing across his skin. “Lilith and Maya said...” She trailed off, choked by the sudden lump rising in her throat, and wished her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dim light.

To say he looked bad would have been a terrible understatement. No, he looked dead. His clothes, normally so clean and precise, were rumpled, haphazard, and stained. His skin was ashen, his hair was tangled and unwashed, his lips were chapped and cracking. His eyes seemed to have sunk into his skull and he stared straight ahead with an unfocused, glazed expression, as if he wasn’t aware of her presence at all.

She swallowed, taking a step closer.

In a sudden flurry of motion, he was on his feet, backing away. His eyes, now focused, were wild, glinting in the low light, darting around the room. From her, to the door, back to her.

“Rhys...?”

He just shook his head frantically.

She held out her hands to him. “Rhys, it’s okay—”

“D-d-don’t. P-please.” His voice was hoarse, his breathing labored. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? You saved my life...” She started forward again. “Why would you—”

“S-stop, please, just—just stop,” he pleaded, still shaking his head and backing away from her. “Fiona, p-please...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Please...please...”

Her gut clenched as he looked up at her, desperation evident in his eyes. “I...don’t get it,” she admitted softly.

Rhys forced out something between a laugh and a sob, but didn’t offer any other answer; just kept shaking his head. After a long minute, he drew in a ragged breath and broke the tense silence. “I can’t control it.” He raised his left hand; slowly, looking at it with distant eyes.

Fiona could only watch, mesmerized by the erratic flashes of bright blue that twisted down her lover’s arm.

“Can’t control it,” he repeated, softer, more to himself.

“But aren’t—”

“NO! You don’t get it.”

The change of tone was enough to snap her out of whatever daze she’d fallen into. He was staring directly at her, and for the first time, she felt something cold creep into her chest at the sight of his mismatched eyes. The intensity and focus unnerved her. He looked...dangerous. Feral.

Yet it passed in an instant. Almost so quickly that she wasn’t sure she’d actually seen it.

“You know about Jack’s daughter,” he began, voice soft, once again watching his arm with that far-off expression. “She was a Siren, too. You know what she did?” He glanced up at her briefly. “She killed her own mother. When she was just a little girl. Because she couldn’t control what she had!”

Just like that, the edge was back and Fiona found that she was the one stepping away this time.

“You saw what happened to him. The man who...” He cut himself off with another strange noise. “There wasn’t even enough of him left to leave a bloodstain...” Again, he made eye contact, but it wasn’t like before. All Fiona could see this time was pain. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

“It won’t, Rhys—”

“You don’t know that!” he barked. “You...you can’t p-possibly know t-that.” He took a few shaky steps backward and collapsed against the wall. “I’m s-sure Angel loved her m-mother...a-and yet...that wasn’t enough t-to keep it from happening, was it!? Sh-she killed...” He dissolved into tears before he could finish the sentence, sliding back down to the floor.

Fiona drifted across the room, falling weakly onto a couch, feeling totally helpless for only the second time in her life. Only this time was somehow worse than the first. The man she loved was literally falling to pieces right in front of her and so far, she hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it, despite being here, with him, capable and willing. Lilith had said he hadn’t eaten since that incident out in the Badlands. That had been three days ago.

“Rhys.”

Nothing but sobbing.

“You’re going to end up killing yourself,” she whispered.

“S-so let it h-happen,” was the broken mumble. “You’d a-all be b-better off...”

She drew in a sharp breath. “You have to help me understand. Please.”

He blinked up at her, tears glistening on his face.

“When Helios crashed, people died. What makes one man so different from all—”

“Because it was me,” he cut in. His voice was surprisingly level. “Helios was Jack’s fault. But that man out there in the desert? I was responsible for that. I…vaporized him. I didn’t even have to touch him! It’s inside me, and I don’t want it—”

“He was trying to kill me, Rhys!” she countered, standing again. “You weren’t going to let that happen! You were protecting me!”

“I don’t want this!” he screamed. “It hurts, okay?! It feels like I have acid in my veins and I would gladly bleed myself dry just to make it stop—” He doubled over onto his hands and knees with a moan, gagging up nothing but raw air and bile.

Fiona couldn’t watch. She shut her eyes and waited until the coughing stopped to open them again. “Tell me how I can help.”

He didn’t answer for a long time. Just stayed there on the floor, shaking, sobbing, looking so small. “You can leave.”

“I’m not leaving—”

“Fiona...p-please.”

She shook her head firmly. “I know you think there’s no way out of this, but you’re not doing yourself any favors by—”

“I already told you!” Hysteria was starting to creep into his voice. “You’re not safe around me!”

“I am not going to leave you here like this—”

“Get out!”

“I love you, Rhys!”

“GET. OUT!”

A hush fell over the room as they stared at each other. That same animalistic intensity was back in his tear-stained eyes, but this time, it didn’t scare her. It broke her heart. He truly thought he was taking care of her. Slowly, she backed toward the door. He didn’t say anything, just watched her go.

The click of the latch was too loud in the quiet and she simply stood there, her heart pounding against her ribs. She'd never seen him in so much pain before. And what made it worse was the fact that it wasn't only physical pain. This was deeper. This was something she couldn't heal. She was losing him because he hadn't wanted to lose her.

Setting her jaw, she turned back, grabbing the doorknob. She couldn’t let him do this to himself. They hadn’t come all this way to—

The knob wouldn’t turn. "Rhys?! Rhys!" She tried again. Still stuck. “Dammit, Rhys, I won’t let you do this! I’m going to get Lilith!”

There was no answer. Even his crying had quieted. However, she heard one last hitched sob before a deafening gunshot pierced through the thick air. When her ears stopped ringing, all she could hear was silence.

****** Tag List: @corpseyb0nes @afterthedreamer @mischiefsilvertongue @marigold-magpie @tricerathotss @vanderlinde-exe @ayilachan @zipp0flare @luxury-of-insanity @omgzakoko

[fatedtragedie]

His sword met hers, his eyes narrowing as she met his strike. The sound echoing around them as if the battle had faded away.

"You've been practicing - you got better."

He stepped forward trying to press his advantage - to force her to yield when he felt the marks flare around them. The room had gone silent and he stepped away, the indifferent mask slipping free. He let his own sword drop and looked to the ceiling, to the swirling mosaic on the walls.

"Thank the gods, thank Mother. I -"

He looked back at her reaching for her, that mischievous smile he had only ever shown her.

"I wouldn't want to ruin your pretty new dress Rhiannon."

Hyperion had frozen, his blood pounding so loud he barely heard whatever the fae said. He moved screaming as fae moved to block him. He cut at them felling him with his sword and magic. He met his sister's eyes.

"You can't be that delusional Rhiannon. Father's body isn't even that cold. Whatever dalliance you both had in the past - you can't think he'd make a good king."

Balthazar eyes narrowed at Hyperion. His mouth thinning as he took in the soldiers who'd tried to defend him, to save him. His people would accept her, they'd accept who he chose.

The only reason they hadn't bowed to her was because she hadn't spoken yet.

"I suggest we let Rhiannon let her make own decisions Hyperion. You -"

"Fuck you. I will never forget this for as long as you live - neither will our people. You invaded, you killed, what right do you have to our throne? To our lands?"

Balthazar turned back to Rhiannon, his fingers twitched. He wanted to touch her, to apologize for all of this. He hadn't realized just how deep his feelings for had run - maybe that's why he hadn't bothered to warn her of the attack.

"Whatever right My Queen gives me I imagine right Edmund?"

Edmund jerked from where he'd been staring at the fallen fae by Hyperion's feet. He looked paled had he lost someone he'd lover? Balthazar truly hoped that wasn't the case. He swallowed and finally turned to him and Rhiannon. He bowed to them both and looked to him.

"Yes Your Grace you are correct."

//right into the thick of it!!//

The sound of the swords cleaning against one another, she knew that she couldn’t back down from this, despite all the hurt she’ll cause.

“Learned from the best after all.”

She matched his step, knowing full well that he could make her yield and she couldn't step back. Only then when the marks flared, did she step back, looking up before her shoulders tensed. If this was their mother, she was really in trouble.

When she hears his voice however, she allows a small smile to grace her own face.

“As if you wouldn’t just replace it, Balthazar.”

Rhiannon moved closer to the man that she had fallen for, the man she loved as she turned to face her brother. Finally, the mask had to come down, even if it was only for this moment, looking into Hyperion’s eyes.

“You know that I have always seen it, Hyperion. Even if I didn’t have a dalliance as you call it, Balthazar can and will be a good king. It’s only you who can’t see that.”

The fighting needed to end, even if her brother hated her for this, something needed to be done. She could easily curse the land, but she won’t follow that dark path.

There had to be something more.

She is annoyed however, all the bloodshed could have been avoided if she had known of the attack.

“I am my own person, the both of you and I believe I can speak for myself.”

“Our people will understand, as they have always understood. Hyperion. This land, the people, both the fae and the witches, need to be cared for by one of their own.”

What better than a fae and a witch to rule together? Her eyes looked up at Balthazar, there was so much she wanted to say. That she had hoped better, that it didn’t need to come to a fight, but this was the right way to unite them all.

Hearing Edmund’s words only sealed the deal of what was going to happen. Hyperion needed to accept this and let go. For all of their sakes this has to end. “Brother, you know I would never do anything if I didn’t know it would all work out.”

[border-spam]

Leech Lord : Jak-Knife

JK belongs to / is written by / designed by @godkingsanointed​

“That Bandit’s a ghostwalker, my God-King. You don’t want ‘em here, trust me. Sometimes dead clans leave corpses behind that aren’t straight in the head enough to know that’s what they are... Crawl across the plains looking for somewhere else to belong, looking for a new family clan ‘cause all that’s left of theirs are Rakk picked bones. Seen plenty over the years, and they trail bad luck behind ‘em like a disease. That one’s marked like a Hellion, those got slag-burned into the ground by Atlas back in Old Haven. Your majesties weren’t here when that happened, but we were, and I remember. Leave them to me, the scout teams always need fresh meat for replacements.

They won’t stay alive long enough to be a concern.”

- Mouthpiece

Whether death follows JK or they sprint after it in pursuit is something they’ve never really been sure of. It could be either - some great predator snapping at their heels while they grew up in a Bandit clan that wasn’t kind to the small and gentle, or a force they are drawn to effortlessly like the migratory animals that follow Pandora’s monsoon seasons.

Could be either.

Could be both.

Same outcome they figure, so why would it matter.

They'd been a kid when it happened, well, a kid to anyone not a Bandit. In that life 16 years old is more than enough to run with a raid party, adult enough to work yourself to the bone, to show you can earn your keep when your brother is "useless" and you've got to be worth 2 bellies of food or watch as one of you goes hungry. Jak-Knife and Gutpunch, one a runt squinting up from under a stolen warrior's mask crafted for someone twice their size, the other a gentle giant born into a life that no aspect of their soul suited. They'd protected him, them with their little body and dull pocketknife versus the sometimes cruelty of a clan who's survival was based around only the fittest, only the strong staying part of it.

Not evil, just living as was needed. Pandora is harsh, there is no room for softness if you want to stay alive on her rocky flats, that's just the way things are. Nature isn't cruel, it simply is.

They were 16 when the Lance came.

16 years they'd lasted in the Hellions, till the day the gates of Old Haven had been opened for the Crimson Lance's money carriers. They'd done their job, they'd cleared the town at the request of the white Siren, been promised a home for the clan, a place to belong, and in the end, their payment came in bullets sprayed from Atlas gun barrels.

By the time JK had woken up and tried to heave Gutpunch's corpse off their back from where he'd shielded them, it had been two days. Groggy and confused, they'd panicked, desperately trying to scrabble out from under his bulk as the remaining Lance stopped piling bodies to burn and ran towards the sound of gunfire outside the gates.

Vault Hunters. Worse than the lance.

They couldn't take him with them, he couldn't move now, but they couldn't leave him like this, not a brother. Not when he was all they had who'd understood when they'd try and explain why their meat was wrong, how the flesh didn't sit right, when he was who would help them tighten rags around their chest and listen as they ground their overly developed canines and growled to the stars at night when it got too heavy to bear. They couldn't leave him behind after a life together, so they took his mask. Scrabbled at the bindings and peeled the effigy from what was left of his head. They realised as it separated from flesh that it had been all that was holding the remnants of skull together... but this was his face. The meat under it was Gutpunch, but the mask... they'd wear it now. He'd still be with them.

Jak-Knife had ran from the massacre of Old Haven on shaky legs, ducking as bullets whistled through the air around them as Crimson Lance and Vault Hunters traded fire in panicked waves. No hits, not directly, but a spray of Slag from a barrel ruptured by a narrow miss had sliced across their right, thick and acrid in the air as it burned through skin and into muscle. There had been no time to feel the pain, no time to stop, JK had run till their feet bled and the weight of Pandora's inky night blanketed them in exhaustion they couldn't fight any longer.

They'd started to stumble forward once they stirred in the morning. Like Mouthpiece said, a ghostwalker. No clan, no brother, no belonging. They walked and didn't stop for a long time.

Walked to New Haven, to the walls outside the town and a woman with her own terribly scarred face masking a heart softer than others would guess. Not a home there, not really, but allowed stay. A kid is a kid, even when wearing the blood-streaked mask of a Bandit. She couldn't turn them away.

They were 18 when Hyperion came.

Ran again amidst the screams to do so, ran into the wastes of Pandora and a world that made more sense to them than the town being torn apart behind them. Missed her though, Pierce. She'd been kind. A lot of those people had been kind, and now they were dead. Hyperion, Atlas, same thing. Just monsters lead by monsters.

They'd walked to the Slabs, to a jovial King who mocked their size with a tone that both bristled their muscle and left them feeling... welcome. Not a home there either, not really, but there had been jobs to run and food to earn. They'd been allowed stay, and so they did. Stil a Hellion though, still Slag-burned and covered in their clan's flame emblems and splashes of neon across their gear.... still wearing Gutpunch's blood coated mask.

The Slab king had heaved himself into their cramped sleeping quarters one night and whispered that there was a funeral for her soon, Pierce. They could go if they wanted, he'd whispered from under that massive helm. Told them with a gentleness they'd never heard before that he understood loss, having things you loved taken away from you for no reason bar cruelty. That he remembered Old Haven and wished he didn't. That they should go. They'd be welcome there.

So JK had walked again, out of Thousand Cut's Slab fortress and to a somber funeral in the icy fields of Three horns that was filled with Crimson Raiders - a mix of Vault Hunters and ex Lance, and stood in memorial amidst people that made the blood under their skin burn, all to show the respect she'd earned to a woman who'd treated them like a human.

A merc now they figured, easier than being a wanderer and Sanctuary needed mercs. Found themselves in the bar some nights, wary eyes glaring from mismatched lenses as they sat silently at corner tables while watching the rest of the loud patrons, back against a wall and a clear exit always planned.

She'd noticed. She liked big 'n mysterious. Liked how her flirtations rolled off them and were replied to with genuine questions about her. Quiet, gentle-voiced comments about the drinks, how well she played her marks, how clever that gunbelt around her thigh was positioned for quick access if she needed to control a situation with more than just her looks.

Moxx liked this one, and a friendship slowly bloomed into something beautiful.

It had been her who had put their name forward when the leaders of the Raiders had become concerned over the darkness slowly seeping across Pandora's horizon, of the bizarre war cries of fanatics leading raids on smaller Bandit camps and shanty towns...

The "Children of the Vault" was a name being passed through hushed whispers in slums and rot-dives, and Lilith had rolled "Calypso" across her tongue enough times when reading scout reports to know the taste it was leaving behind wasn't anything good. They wanted an in, and what better spy to infiltrate a Bandit cult than a Bandit. Someone who understood clan hierarchy, who could report back in words she could understand from a viewpoint she could never see.

JK had been... wary. To say the least. The Raiders weren't friends, they'd filled their ranks with ex Crimson Lance like they hadn't committed atrocities, they mowed down Pandora's natives like mad Skags who needed extermination, and Krieg...

They all knew of Krieg. Everyone had seen how he'd been really treated. JK certainly had, but they also knew Krieg had been one foot into the great hunger, that he'd been so close to the flood that he'd spoken in half Psycho-cant and half Bandit, and tore at his skin to sate the itch of the song that the mad ones screamed about. That the raiders would let him burn alive in a fury if it meant a successful mission, and they couldn't help but wonder how respected he'd really been. Some kind of mix between respect and pity they figured, mocked behind his back as "Just another Psycho", someone who got the job done even if he limped back covered in blood and bullet holes, but was whispered about as needing to be watched.

He had been called a Raider, and yet - masks like his and JKs covered the command room's wall like trophies. Murderers of their clans walked Sanctuaries halls and narrowed untrusting eyes even at Krieg's hulking silhouette as he passed. It wasn't right, and JK struggled to feel as welcome as the others insisted they were now that they had a use.

But they'd taken the job, because Moxxi said they should and Moxxi was clever, Moxxi cared about them and wanted to see them be happy, so they'd agreed. She had whispered in an accent they’d learned from long nights in her company was for real things and not her act, that this would help people, that the COV was worrying her more than she was concerned about getting intel to Lilith, and they'd nodded in agreement.

Bandits don't congregate, Bandits don't merge clans under one banner... they wanted to know what this beast clawing into Pandora's soil was capable of. They'd heard the rumours like everyone else, twin Sirens apparently. Bullshit, everyone knew Sirens were women and there were only 6. Jack had hammered that information through Bandit clans and across Pandora's E-Com network clear enough. These were obviously frauds using trickery to control those eager to believe, wouldn't be the first time a Siren cult had used Bandit clans as a personal army, and JK had felt roiling disgust at the realisation what they were agreeing to do for Lilith? Just another shade of the exact same thing.

Funny, wasn't it. Very funny.

So they'd walked out of Sanctuary and towards the hub of the birthing COV.

They'd been 20 when they had first seen a real God.

The Holy City didn't exist yet, just a pile of rickety buildings thrown up by worshippers that surrounded an old Dahl fortress bleaching slowly in Pandora's sun. They called it "The Cathedral", but it looked like the crumbling bones of some great dead thing jutting from the red sands like a cracked skull. Maybe those were the same thing, JK had thought. A cathedral, and a beast of the flood. Both seemed like something that should be worshipped to them. They liked this place.

Neon paint and rusty metal spines were everywhere among the shantytown, raucous laughter cut through the clang of metal, and the air itself was heavy with an unmistakable stink of unwashed bodies and leather. They felt it so quickly as they'd crunched through the dirt paths that split the weaving rows of scrapped together tents, making their way to the recruitment line. A fleeting tickle of a sensation that hadn't filled their belly in so long. That this was like...

home.

The twins themselves were cagey and difficult to pull usable intel about. They gave sermons from the crumbling balconies of the fortress to the swathes of screaming acolytes below, too far for JK to get a clear eye on them but dressed like Sirens at least. Swirling loops of pacifying blue along the woman, and the man... jagged lines and curved whorls of a vicious red they'd never seen on any living or dead Witch. He was off. That one was wrong, and his sister made her agreement on that clear enough in how she acted next to him. She was the star, she was in the limelight, and he was relegated to a place behind her when she spoke to her worshippers and basked in their screeched worship. Odd for a "God-King" to be left in shadows, they'd thought.

Odd indeed.

They reported back to Lilith in Sanctuary whenever the opportunity arose to leave the growing "City", cult movement, basic info on what they could see as a blossoming threat to raiders, and it was always met with sneers of disgust and pity. Monsters, she'd sighed. Just using the bandits as fodder. JK's eyes flicked to the masks decorating the trophy wall behind her.

"Whatever you say, commander".

Mouthpiece had kept his word. Fully aware of what had happened to JK's clan and uncomfortable with seeing something he believed to be a walking curse among the COV's war parties, he'd purposefully sent them on suicide runs with some of the less physically capable recruits. "Trial by fire" he saw it as, simple logic when it came to survival on Pandora. Let the weak earn their place - if they die, they die. That's the law of the land, and losing the soft only leaves the clan stronger. Except, JK' scout parties just kept coming back. It had seemed almost a fluke the first couple of times, scouts didn't last long after all, but as it repeated again, and again, Mouthpiece and higher members of the raid parties began to notice.

A combination of Hellion war training and their years of working side by side with their brother had left an understanding of why having others watch your back was more beneficial than only caring about your own neck, especially when you weren't as big as the next guy. JK was a survivor, they'd never been willing to lay down and die so the rest of the clan could be down a "weak link", and their knife-edge instincts merged with a care for the other scouts not usually seen amongst Bandits meant they were teaching the team. Unifying them as a group who responded to signal whistles, barked cant, warcries that triggered defence formations and eyes on flanks. They were leading without being called a leader, and as that first year slowly ticked by, they were being noticed.

Sharp eyes that scrutinised numbers and statistics were watching the growing ratio of successful raids to lost bodies from the recessed shadows of the looming Cathedral while Jak-Knife trained and barked orders at recruits in the garrison that sprawled in the white hot sunlight below, and eventually, the day came where the God-King knew their name.

They'd stood shoulder to shoulder with their boys as they lined facing the burning light at Mouthpiece's demand. The mask lenses had done barely anything to block out Pandora's vicious sun as he'd approached, and they'd shuddered at the warchief's hissed warning to show due respect, or die where they stood. He wasn't accepting of failure, they knew that from the hushed whispers that spread across the camp at night. He expected perfection, and word from within the now sprawling architecture of the growing Cathedral was that neither twin took insult lightly. She sucked the life out of the undeserving and he, well, he supposedly just ripped heretics clean apart.

Father Troy had been all sharp angles and gaunt bone as he'd stopped his slow pace in front of them and hunched to lean down to their eye level. They'd realised how wrong they'd been about his appearance as the heavy furs that splayed across his shoulders like a mantle blotted out the sun behind him and framed his jagged silhouette in light.

Tyreen wasn't short.

Troy was a monster.

It had been hard to pick up on his scale when they'd only seen him next to his sister, they'd just figured she was a smaller woman and him a tall man, but the reality of his size was beyond intimidating now that they could see with frightening intimacy that the scrapped together prosthetic that he held at his side so effortlessly was as long as they were tall.

A glint of gold teeth through a smile they'd thought more Skag than human snapped them out of their shock, and he'd congratulated them. Thanked the "Jak-Knife" he'd been watching so closely for their excellent work on the field, waved the disturbingly proportioned metal claws of his arm towards their team and praised their group promotion, slathered honey-thick words from a barbed tongue about how they'd be blessed by being the honour guard for a God now - a fine reward for their outstanding work... yes?

The others had gasped in stuttered praise and whimpered thanks while Jk had nodded respectfully, knowing damn well that Calypso wasn't really asking at all.

The newly titled vanguard escorted him everywhere, and that meant a shift in JK's life within the blossoming city that they could not have prepared for. They no longer slept on bare ground when not visiting Sanctuary for updates, they were brought into the twin's cathedral, were able to see its glory with their own eyes for the first time. The inside wasn't anything like the still decrepit outer walls surrounded by scaffolding that workers scurried across like ants, it was like nothing Jak-Knife had ever seen.

A bastion of worship, vast cavernous stone halls spread with clan banners in colours they'd almost forgotten, neon blazing lights framing sprawling stained glass windows depicting Saints and Clergy who's names they'd heard but never put a face to.

Ur-Aurum, scowling from under heavy brows, framed in monochrome and gold. Coins and bullets pouring from his open palms.

Ur-Machina, sharp and vibrant in reds and coppers, oil-stained hands resting gently on the slab of gilded war tech she rested daintily against.

Ur-Vendit, pristine in parallel lines and perfect angles, sneering through a swathe of shining colours as numbers and cash totals ran like ivy through the window's frame.

And something new that had been being assembled along the great hall when they first entered, a half-finished window titled "Oracle" - just the fine lines of lead and a great, staring eye all that they could make out as they followed the priest irritably urging the vanguard group to hurry as they were lead to their chambers.

For the first time they had experienced, JK not only belonged, but they were envied. Their gear was decorated, armour and weapons upgraded at the Father's blessing, and the titles that came with the role were impossible to avoid, whispered in reverence by warriors who would have spat at their feet only a few years ago.

God-King's chosen, God-King's first, God-King's hand, the nods of respect passed to them by warlords like Mouthpiece in passing filled their chest with pride under the weight of its binder, and the trips back to Sanctuary became... harder.

For all they had achieved within the now monstrous in scale COV, the Raiders saw them no differently than they had when they'd first sat alone in Moxxi's. They were still a Bandit, and nothing more. JK was side-eyed, muttered about, treated like an outsider who needed to earn their keep by passing on intel they were risking their life for, all while in the back of their mind being more than aware that they could have this place raised to the ground with a damn WORD. Lilith didn't understand what it meant to be as close to Calypso as they were, that they were beginning to earn his ear.

She wasn't aware that a fucking God cared about their opinion enough to ask for it on long technical rides or when escorting him between meetings, to her, and to the rest of the Raiders, they were still simply a lost native behind a mask that was being handed scraps of decency by people better than them - and the strain of that reality was difficult to ignore. Moxxi tried her best, always there to console and remind them she valued who they were, the beautiful mind they had shared with her in tender moments and long intimate conversations over the last few years, but the insult burned in their gut still.

They weren't just Jak-Knife. They were the God King's chosen, and they were betraying someone who valued them to share internal information on Saints and departments, cashflow and raids, with people who willingly partnered with the Crimson Lance, people who just plain did not seem to understand who they were, what they had earned through sacrifice and blood shed.

But Troy? The longer they spent around Troy the more his own mask began to slip, and the harder it came to see him as any form of enemy. The blessed Father couldn't hide his weak spells or the times illness left him barely able to stand from a bodyguard who was at his side almost every waking moment, there was no way to do so regardless of how much he clearly wished there was. JK saw everything... the spasms, the fainting, heard the whistling of weak lungs when in silence next to the damaged God, saw the black circles under his eyes that the expertly applied makeup he wore could hide at a distance. He'd been aggressive about it at first, vicious and hurtful in his reactions when they'd try and assist, but over time, as they made clear that the mockery and pity he was expecting was not going to come, he'd softened. He'd thanked Jak-Knife one night as they scraped together a fire on the salt flats to chase the bitter cold away and keep their king warm.

A God had looked at them with ice blue eyes that reminded them of a face they could no longer remember, and whispered genuine appreciation for them. How could they continue to betray him. How could they hurt him for people who didn't even count JK as human?

They saw a delicate and sickly side of one of the twin God's that felt wrong to share with the raiders, that left a bad taste in their mouth to discuss with Lilith, so they simply didn't. The rationalised that the raiders did not need to know about the self-doubt or painful loss JK saw crack through Troy's facade in private, the raiders didn't need an update on how one of the twins wasn't healthy, that he could struggle sometimes to get to his feet before an audience, or would need a discreet support from the solid weight of their muscle next to his spindly frame after some events.

Lilith didn't need to know it, and as time passed, JK found they were beginning to keep secrets. Little ones at first, justified under the intel not being valuable, but the ease of witholding useful data only increased. Their position, the growing camaraderie with the COV's grunts and militia, the respect in the eyes of worshippers who looked to the Vanguard all fed into the slow realisation that their loyalty simple did not belong to the Vault Hunters, it was to Moxxi, who loved them. It was to Troy, who every day became closer to the memory of Gutpunch they'd try and visualise on lonely nights, see his crooked smile and cool eyes flicker across a face they could no longer place.

The closer JK got with the man behind the King's mask, the harder it became to give over information to the raiders that had any real tactical value...

And that had been Troy's plan, ever since the day he'd discreetly planted a tracker on them while they'd squinted against the blinding sunlight to first look into the face of a God.

[ernmark]

Does Rita actively try to help Juno through his depression and intrusive thoughts? If so could you please show us some instances where she does?

She definitely tries to make an effort at it.

We don’t see it much in Season 1, in part because we don’t see all that much of Rita in general, and in part because Juno’s depression isn’t quite as major of a theme, and partly because Juno’s got something that he’s actively working toward during the entire season that keeps him too busy to get too preoccupied inside his own head.

In Season 2, though, he’s so much worse than he was before. 

RITA: Boss, you been different since your eye blew up, realdifferent— You’re cranky all the time now! I mean, you were always cranky, but thisis different! (Kitty-Cat Caper)

And right away there’s evidence that she’s tried to help him through it, spinning a pretty horrific physical mutilation into something more lighthearted and at least somewhat positive:

RITA: ...you justshowed up with an eyepatch one day and after I was so worried about you cuz youdisappeared but you said it was okay so I thought okay maybe we can dress upand buy a little beakmonkey like all the pirates get in the movies— 

Rita’s been giving him his time and space for six months without pushing him for an explanation or even to act beyond his capabilities. And that’s her trying to help him with his depression.

And this scene itself? When he gets physically violent and smashes her stuff, she doesn’t cower-- she calls him on his bullshit and holds him accountable, and that also is her helping him through it. 

And she is holding him accountable, not rubbing his face in it. She’s calling him out because she’s hurt, but also because she cares. And she’s not blaming him for not trying hard enough or whatever. She understands that there are extenuating circumstances. She’s not taking it personally, which is... just so very nice, I gotta say. 

JUNO: Rita…It’sjust a dry spell. That’s all.

RITA: That’s theproblem, Boss. You always get like this when you don’t have a case.

And once he concedes, she forgives him and immediately suggests that he get some sleep, and offers to help him get back on his feet.

JUNO: I…yeah, sure. I guess.

RITA: Well, I’m gladyou seen the error of your ways. Now go take a little nap in your office andI’ll call you just as soon as the next case comes through the door.

When he’s anxious about his abilities, she builds him up and encourages him:

RITA: Boss, you can do it! I know you can do it! You’re Juno Steel, remember? The winner of the HCPD’s Sharpshootin’ contest three years in a row!

When he’s caught in a spiral, she tries to help him logic his way out of it:

JUNO: Hey, Rita?Cancel that order for a new case. I’m feeling under the weather today.

RITA: What! But MistaSteel, you can’t! You gotta take a new case! You gotta helppeople!

JUNO: They don’twant the kind of help they’d get from me, Rita. I haven’t done anything goodfor anyone in months.

RITA: Of course youhave! You got Mick outta all that trouble with that shark!

JUNO: Thatwas a loan shark, Rita. I paid him.

RITA: Well,you got Cassandra Kanagawa off Mars, didn’t you?

JUNO: Thatwas you.

RITA: Well, it wasyour idea! And… and… hey, because of you, Billie Navarro is dead!

JUNO: That’ssupposed to make me feel better?

RITA: She was a realmean lady, Mista Steel. I’m sure it makes… someone feel better?

And again at the end of the episode:

RITA: Hey…what’s the matter, Boss?

JUNO: Nothingyou can fix.

RITA: But… we won!It was just the case you were waitin’ for, exciting and life-threatening, andit even ended with some real nice fireworks! It’s everything you coulda askedfor, and Ms. King is safe now, ain’t she?

JUNO: I’llsee you tomorrow, Rita.

RITA: Well… alright,Mista Steel. You’ll feel better after you sleep a little. You gotta. I know youwill.

Notice how it just doesn’t get any footholds?

We keep seeing her do this stuff throughout the season, but it never really takes, does it?

She’s not the only one who does this stuff, either. Mick and Peter are also pretty awesome at being supportive of their depressed little lady, but more often than not it doesn’t land. When they offer him space, when they offer him positivity, when they offer him solidarity, when they offer him reality-- sometimes they can derail his spirals, but there’s only so much that they can really do to help him.

And that comes back to a sad reality that’s talked about at the end of the season:

But it never worked -- none of the people he'd ever helped had stayed helped -- because you can't force someone else into it. Because getting better's always on you. It has to be. And that doesn't mean you're alone, doesn't mean you can't lean on others when you get tired or ask for directions when you get lost, but... Getting better's a long road. And if you want to go down it, you have to start walking. (Man of the Future)

Juno has to make that decision over and over again: in the FreeDomer’s compound, in the desert, in the Cerberus Province, and inside his own head. 

And after he’s made that decision, Rita keeps doing the exact same stuff she’s been doing, but for the very first time he’s actually responding to it.

When she calls him out (via the THEIA bot) for leaving her behind, he realizes and acknowledges his wrongdoing and apologizes. 

THEIA: Cuz maybe then she should disappear for weeks instead. Not say anything. Cuz that would definitely make you less worried. And not way more worried. Ain't that right. Boss?JUNO: Oh. I… What did I do? Rita, I’m… sorry. I’m so, so sorry. (Long Way Home)

And just like before, after she’s aired her grievances, she hugs him and forgives him. 

JUNO: I... Uh... I'm sorry, Rita. I'm just... So sorry. It won't happen again... Rita?

SOUND: RITA TACKLE-HUGS HIM.

RITA: I missed you, Boss. I was real worried.

JUNO: I know. I hear you. For once. And I missed you too, Rita. Really.

And when he does misstep, she reassures him that she’s still on his side, even after he’s been called out.

RITA: And besides, Boss...(SHE HUGS HIM)JUNO: (GETS HUGGED)RITA:I ain't goin' nowhere. (Man of the Future)

And she keeps calling him out. 

RITA: Mista Steel, how come you're bein' so mean to your second-best friend!JUNO: Because he's a chump, Rita. I always knew he was a chump but it's still disappointing to find out just how true that is.RITA: Oh, come on, Boss--JUNO: You "oh come on!" Sorry. I'm just... disappointed. I really thought that he'd have the answer, or at least that... Ramses wouldn't sucker him, too. Like he did me.RITA: Aw, Boss...JUNO: Either way, I don't think Mercury's gonna help us with this one. And we only have... Twenty-one hours left. We've gotta keep moving.RITA: But first...?JUNO: "But first" nothing! All of Oldtown, hell, probably all of Hyperion's on the line, and you want to "but first" about my loser friend? No! Hell no! ...Yeah, wow, that sounded pretty bad, huh?RITA: Mmmhmm.JUNO: I should probably just... apologize. 

I’d like to point out here that she’s not being mean or nitpicky here-- she’s helping him not be an asshole and push his loved ones away. She’s recognizing that this is a behavior pattern that he falls into when he’s scared and self-loathing, but it doesn’t excuse him being cruel to the people around him. 

And because Juno’s in a place where he wants to get better, he’s accepting this as constructive criticism, rather than a personal attack or evidence that he’s a terrible person. 

Rita also acts as a point of calm to ground Juno through his own panic/depression spirals:

JUNO: This is a nightmare… A billion to one chance... oh god damn it, this is a nightmare…!RITA: I can do CPR, Mista Steel. You just tell me when he’s breathin’, okay?

And again:

JUNO: A bad spot! Me? After all the times I've scraped you off the sidewalk, Mercury, you're really gonna stand there and tell me that you were worried I was gonna put you in a bad spot?!RITA: Mista Steel.JUNO: What?RITA: I'm almost there. Okay? It's almost done.JUNO: Right. Right, almost... done. Thanks, Rita.RITA: No problem, Boss.

And again, when he’s starting to voice some intrusive thoughts:

JUNO: I told you I'd change. Hell of a lot that was worth. Maybe the Theia was onto something. One bad choice and all your progress is gone. Maybe the reason it was so terrifying was because it was right.RITA: No, Mista Steel, I think it was probably scary because it brainwashed your best friend and then threw him through a door at you.

Notably, she also helps Mick calm down from a panic spiral:

MICK: Me and...?! What, did I already do something wrong? Ohhhhhh I knew I shouldn’ta switched those two chairs when I moved in! They said this place was gonna be fit to my specifications exactly, and then I came in and saw the chairs and I went, “hey, maybe they’ll look better this way,” and they didn’t! And now they’re gonna kick me out of Newtown, aren’t they?!RITA: No, Mista Mercury. We ain’t gonna kick you out. An’ we can help you move the chairs back if you really want. (Man of the Future)

Also notably, even now, she’s powerless to help Juno if he’s not in a headspace where he is willing to be helped. Which is why she’s ineffective when THEIA Mick gets under Juno’s skin:

MICK: One weak day. That's all I'm saying, Jay. Your punishment for one weak day could be to lose fifteen years of progress. You could go back to feeling how you did after you were booted out of the HCPD. You might feel fine now, but...

RITA: He wouldn't! You don't have to listen to him, Mista Steel, you're better'n that now in a million ways, and I wouldn't letcha anyway, and--

And again here:

MICK: Puck Falco, that's right. Where are they now?

JUNO: I don't know. We... fell out of touch.

MICK: Heard that one before, am I right?

RITA: Mista Steel, this is all wrong! Diamond was gone before you left the HCPD and Detective Falco just transferred to another planet and--

I’ve gotta say, she’s really good at handling him when he lets her. I suspect that she’s developed a lot of these skills over the course of fifteen years being his friend, and this latest dark period is largely her exercising every skill she’s got in her arsenal to try and help him.