#and in the end I think he keeps a lot of stuff to himself

[curlybiter]

nsfw curly headcanons

whaddup mouthwash nation i don't normally make posts but i was sick in bed thinking abt curly all day n i got inspired by other ppl's hc posts on here ☺️ so im throwing my hat in the pile.. these are kinda disorganized but the first part is curly x long-distance reader (reader doesn't work on the tulpar), second half is more general stuff.

this post features; afab reader, cunnilingus, masturbation, various other things

when he's single it's pretty easy to get in his pants but it's embarrassingly easy for him to catch feelings for ppl he sleeps w. nd once that happens it's OVER he can't even Look at anybody else bro he is Dedicated

during hauls when he can't be with u it's rlly hard for him to get u out of his mind, esp when he's working bc there's no immediate outlet .. under normal circumstances he doesn't rlly masturbate that often, but when hes away from u it's a lot more common^^; just whenever he can get some privacy alone tbh. he prob does smth rlly lame like look at a picture of u while he does it LMFAOOOOAOA

he gets rlly pent up in the week or so before he gets home especially... once he finally gets home to u he can keep himself in check in public + around others, but once u two are alone at home he's all over u for basically the rest of the night DJFKG hope u dont have work the next day

100% service top no question. nothing turns him on more than your pleasure. he's fine w piv sex if that's what u want but honestly i think he rlly prefers to give oral/handjobs/etc. he'll make sure u cum at Least once before he gets any, especially!! when he's just got back from a haul. he likes to put off his own satisfaction as long as possible bc he tends to fall asleep after he cums but he doesnt want the night to end so quickly^^;

after hes finished getting u off he likes to hold u for awhile while u calm down.. n then he'll let u do whatever u like to him^^ i think he likes when u touch him the most, but really as long as you're enjoying it he's not too picky abt how u get him off

honestly he prob cums pretty fast bc he stays turned on for so long w/o stimulation, but he likes it when u edge him a little bit (not too much tho!)

i honestly don't think he's that much of a talker, esp while receiving. he gets too into it to form coherent words. u can try dirty talking him but u won't get much more than an enthusiastic nod or a whispered "yes" .. oh but he does love saying yes to you::3

THIS MAN WHIMPERS BTW. esp if u pull his hair while he's eating u out, it drives him crazy😭

very much an oral fixation kinda guy, he likes putting your fingers in his mouth, kissing, biting, licking, marking, anywhere he can get to but mainly ur neck/chest

SAYS I LOVE YOU DURING SEX IDC‼️ he melts if u say it too..

reaaaally really likes it when u take charge n tell him what to do, he'll follow ur every word

also into body worship, both receiving and giving. he works hard on his physique! tell him he's beautiful!! (he also thinks your body is perfect and will appreciate it at any opportunity ofc)

he is addictedddd to your voice n it's a big reason why he's so into pleasing you over himself, he lives to hear you whimper n gasp and moan for him. doesn't matter if ur loud or quiet, he loves ur voice bc it's yours

he also really likes to watch your expressions to see how he's doing, and because he thinks you look beautiful writhing under him, but!!!! he'd understand if u were a shy type who gets embarrassed easily, n he'd hide his face in ur neck or vice versa so he cant see u^^ he'd prob just verbally check on u a liiiiitle more often::3

[freedelusionshere]

A lot of The Bear is about how individualism as “excellence” is destructive and tears people down and that working in community builds you up and encourages growth. And that there are natural cycles to things, all kinds of births and deaths along the way. Everyone is still becoming and the idea of “the best” is extractive and encourages scarcity and competition.

Chef David used to be the best. The Michelin star stuff is fleeting; what Chef Terry wants in the end is not what she wanted in her 20s and she calls it quits.

Carmy talks about this in Legacy to Marcus and Syd, but isn’t bold enough to say he’s already been doing this with Syd. Marcus and Tina flourishing creatively. How they handled Ebra and brought in Chi-Chi and his crew. Richie’s glow up and Sweeps getting training.

It’s almost like Carmy’s apologizing for his behavior in S3 and describing a vision of something that is already happening he doesn’t let himself see. Because Syd brings it home later when she asks him regarding the Ever funeral if he realized while it was happening at the time and how great it was. And he answers no (Richie: trapped in a prison of his own design).

When she says in Apologies he’s hard to keep up with, he says he’s been doing it longer, and she says that’s not what she’s talking about. I think this is a big factor in why she wants to leave. He’s made it about himself instead of all of them. He spent money in the same way recklessly.

Turning the ship around is him abandoning that philosophy he’s carried with him from Empire.

You see in flashback Chef Terry encourage Carmy as an artist and send him to Copenhagen to try to nourish another part of himself (that’s also why you know Luca is good and Shapiro is bad news because Luca doesn’t get jealous of Carmy’s skill, Shapiro does).

But Carmy has a wound and being the “best” is to show Mikey, his mom, all of them. Because Donna does the same solo act in Fishes. He focuses on Lee in flashback telling Mikey he’s nothing. So Carmy becomes a somebody and loses a part of himself.

This is what I think Shapiro is offering Syd right now. The money, the accolades, and also to give away part of herself in trade.

So I hope S4 is Carmy finally turning it around and giving Syd what he promised to do with her in S1 and Syd resisting leaving for something that’s not going to allow her to value people like she’s been able to do at The Bear.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

what do you think killers hygiene habits would be? like, given that he lives with mare constantly in survival mode, not even being able to sleep sometimes, and considering that he tends to, well, ignore some basic needs like food etc. i remember when you said he wouldmake sure all his stuff is organized or something like that, but its more about order than hygiene right? idk if skeletons need to do that at all, it would be more relevant in human ver. so if he was a human/ or he would need to maintain his hygiene as a skeleton, how would he do that (if he actually would)? maybe it would vary depending on his stage? im really interested in your opinion on that, but ofc answer only if u want to :3

I do think a lot of this will depend on the exact conditions Nightmare keeps him in, what exactly is allowed and available to Killer, and what exactly is expected of him. This will vary depending on the Nightmare interpretation, and i have no clue about if this type of thing is touched on in Dreamtale canon.

It’s not really touched on in Killer’s canon either—on the exact environment and conditions Nightmare has him in, other then that it’s a castle, Killer reports to him after every mission, and Killer rarely ever actually is shown in the castle.

Does the castle have things like food, working water, a place to sleep, a shower? Is Killer allowed access to any of these things? Is it a limited thing—does he ever have to do or say something to earn access to basic needs? Is he only allowed to shower at certain times, or does he have to do something that pleased Nightmare to earn it?

Or alternatively, does Nightmare want his subordinates to present themselves a certain way? Does he expect a certain degree of good hygiene?

Primarily, Killer’s hygiene habits will center around what keeps Nightmare happy—which means less inconvenience for him. However, Killer’s past with Chara isn’t easily shaken: especially if you go with the royal etiquette idea.

He’d want to present some form of being put together around Nightmare, both because he has to and out of instinct left over from with Chara. And you’d definitely see him trying to put more effort in if something reminds him of Chara or triggers his conditioning.

It’d be minimal and inconsistent, mostly because Killer himself likely doesn’t feel much drive to do or care for these types of things when in Stage 2, due to his apathy.

If you go with the idea that his goop seeps from cracks or joints and causes stiffness when it dries, he’d habitually make sure to clean the bones of the body to remain functional and not useless and inconvenient.

He’d probably go long periods of time without changing his clothes or shoes (considering his shoes seem to even have holes in them in his canon and are often untied), but he does seem to take care to clean everything whenever he ends up covered in dirt and blood.

I doubt he’d really feel very motivated to earn access to things like a shower or food—but more than that, he’d feel extremely uncomfortable with the idea of admitting in any way that he needs or wants something.

So even if he wants to take a shower or brush his teeth, he won’t do or say anything that makes it obvious that he needs or wants that—he’d either sit in his discomfort until Nightmare allows it, or find a way to make it seem like Nightmare’s idea to allow him access to those things.

He doesn’t feel the urge to take care of this body he’s in, viewing it as not really his, and because he doesn’t feel the urge, he doesn’t do it. Not unless some external factor calls for it, or he notices that having a certain level of a maintained appearance would help him control others’ perceptions of him.

He’d probably do things like adjust his clothing frequently, brush off dirt, wash his hands and face when he takes care of and cleans his weapons—especially if he feels Chara’s disapproval bearing down on him, their eyes as if judging him—but it’d mostly be less a conscious choice and more a drilled in habit.

I doubt hygiene would truly be a priority for Killer unless it’s a priority for Nightmare. And even then he does it out of obligation, because he has to, because it’s expected of him. Not because he cares about himself or his body, and if anything, he probably views the body’s needs as largely inconvenient and a waste of his energy. Like a prison holding him back from his purpose.

As a human, you’d probably see an almost sickly complexion, heavy eye bags. He probably often seems on the edge of just falling asleep, although you’re unlikely to tell if he’s actually fallen asleep or not, due to the whole sleeping with one eye open thing. Which would likely lead to dry, itchy, red rimmed eyes.

His hair is probably often messy in that it gets tangled due to overwork, so he probably keeps it in a bun if it’s long enough until he can attend to it (or is told to), or if the long hair becomes a hindrance, he’d probably chop it shorter with whatever sharp object can do the job. It probably looks lifeless, limp, and thin if he’s not been able to keep a steady upkeep.

He’d probably look like he has a lifeless worn out appearance, his eyes likely look hazy and possibly his pupils dilated. He’s probably missing a few teeth actually, or has some cracked and chipped teeth; not only due to lack of access to care, but due to the constant everyday violence of his work. His nails are probably chipped, and if he hasn’t been able to clean up, there may be grime like dirt, blood, and dust underneath them.

Due to his goop, his clothing is likely to always have a degree of being stained, which is why probably why he’d be more inclined to wearing black shirts and turtlenecks and long sleeves; hides the goop and hides parts of his body, which he doesn’t think is worthy of care or upkeep. His hands and palms are likely to have some scarring as well.

And yeah, this does likely mean a sense of body odor—and torn, wrinkled, or ill fitting clothing, if he’s even able change his clothes at all.

A lot of this may be easily missed, simply because of the way Killer either subconsciously carries himself or because he overcompensates whenever he’s able (like, in the scrubbing skin red and bones raw type of way, either out of a desire for pain or control or just needing to be clean in Stage 2, or a sense of disgust and shame in Stage 1), though.

I do feel that in a more canon adjacent story—where it’s just nightmare and killer, no other bad sanses, no one else to have to maintain and control a certain image for—unless this is something Nightmare specifically harps on, Killer wouldn’t really care about his appearance or his hygiene or his odor beyond what’s expected, allows functionality or serves a purpose, and what Chara used to want from him. Is often too worn out and tired to do much besides sleep—often having to choose between sleep or hygiene before the next mission. Sleep is always more ideal.

In this type of story, i think he’d start caring a lot more about his appearance whenever he starts valuing Color. Because he wants validation, and he wants Color to notice him.

So things like Color expressing concern about his hygiene and health or being happy that Killer’s taking better care of himself, even if not excessively, would read more like Color likes when Killer presents himself a certain way to him, and that’s a way to gain his approval, attention, and validation and leads to a fragile sense of self worth temporarily. I don’t know I just like the idea that killer wants to feel pretty, or that he wants someone like color to see him as pretty.

[not-poignant]

Excerpt from chapter 101 of Underline the Black:

‘The thing is… Well. It’s so overwhelming for the people with me. James could only do this two or three times a year. Perhaps in being so restricted, I became used to taking it further, more often. I’m sure my instincts know it might not happen again for six months.’ ‘Yeah,’ Efnisien said softly. ‘So. I mean, that sucks too. For you. I don’t enjoy doing it for three days straight. Mostly because I actually kind of lost my mind a bit and stopped paying attention to a lot of it.’ Wouldn’t you want that? Gary thought, confused. Efnisien cleared his throat a few times, and Gary brought the water bottle over again, giving him small sips. Efnisien still didn’t seem interested in taking the bottle for himself. And once he was done drinking, he pressed his face into Gary’s chest like he was hiding for a moment. Then, he took a breath and turned outwards once more, looking at the open window. ‘If it’s like that every time,’ Efnisien said, ‘I could maybe do it five or six times a year. If it was only for one night, then maybe twice a month? If we could do other stuff as well in between?’ Gary didn’t know what to say for long moments, absently cupping Efnisien’s face and keeping it close to his chest. That seemed…far too generous. He was certain no peak alpha – except for maybe someone hyper-controlled and on the lower end of the ardolphogen spectrum like Augus – had ever been offered something like that. Possibly peak alphas just took it from others. But what Efnisien suggested was something Gary had always assumed was an impossibility. He used to be jealous of betas who could have penetrative sex every day, if they wanted to. And while this wasn’t every day, it was a far cry from anything he’d ever known. ‘You need time to think it through,’ Gary said, even as a part of him cried out to accept the offer.

[gunnrblze]

I'd like to know a naughty Elias thought that you haven't told us…👀🙏🏼

May I suggest nasty old man pervert Elias?👁️ (im sorry in advance lmfao)

Retired Elias or something who attempts to find something to fill his days with now that he isn’t barking orders and what not, tending to the shit he swore he’d never miss, but now does.

At first he takes the time to relax, but he’s a fast paced man, that gets boring quickly. He’s not quite made to just laze around. Not on his own, at least.

Enter you, somehow. He meets you, gets to know you, and bless his heart, he’s obsessed.

The man is older now, early 50s aren’t too kind on one’s lower back. So when you’re over at his house one day and he asks you to bend over for him, pick something up he dropped, of course you oblige.

Except he’s not quite the average 50 year old. In better shape than a lot of people with less years weighing on them. But the way your ass fills out your pants is almost too good to be true. The smile on your face and the way your shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of your lower back has him acting as if he’s never seen a woman before.

He asks if you’d help grab some stuff out of the attic with him-old photos of his boys you’d wanted to see-and watches the way your neck slicks with a sheen of sweat from the warmth upstairs. Plucks a box from a shelf with ease as he silently imagines licking it off your neck, the sound that’d come out of your delicate throat if he were to trail his tongue down between your legs. He’d lick up every square inch of you, if only you’d ask…

He’s aware of what he’s doing, but his poor dick has started to think for him again now that you’re around. He’s not a young soldier anymore, can’t get it up to the mere sight of just anything.

But you’re not just any other sight.

He almost wants to beg to be let out of retirement, instead of being let out of his cage like some old dog. An old dog who’s got you keeping him company, you sweet thing.

You help cook dinner with him, he pours you a glass of wine and himself a bourbon. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he shamelessly stares at you, smiles every time your tipsy giggles and hiccups get the best of you. He watches your lips wrap around a fork and tries not to wonder how they’d feel kissing down his chest, nipping and biting all over.

Your mark is left on him otherwise though, that’s for sure. He puts on a boring old movie for the two of you two watch after dinner and lets you cuddle into his side, a heavy arm slung around you. He revels in it -poor guy doesn’t get anything like this anymore, nothing as breathtaking as you- keeps you wrapped up, massages a hand over your hip, enjoys that little squirm you do. Would you squirm the same way if he slid his fingers inside of you and massaged those tight walls, too?

And your scent only lingers on that shirt you left in his bathroom after he accidentally splashed water on you while washing dishes… leaving you no choice but to change into one of his. He didn’t mind letting you borrow one, darling. He didn’t mind you forgetting to change out of it either.

And when you go home at the end of the night, giving him a peck on the cheek and flashing that sweet smile, it’s more than enough.

He only waits long enough to ensure you pull out of his driveway safely before he snags that shirt from the bathroom (if he stored it under the sink after you left it there, being the reason you forgot all about it in the first place, well that’s on him) and heads to his bedroom.

Just the thought has his worn out cock swelling up faster than he thought possible these days. Damn near ripping his belt buckle open, shoving his cargos down as he sprawls out on his duvet, all he has to imagine is your pretty little self.

A hand wrapped around his length, squeezing and stroking and groaning into your soft shirt, clenched in his fist and near trembling…he figured heaven may be real after all.

He inhales your scent, burying his face in the fabric while he touches himself. Just picturing the sight of you in his t shirt from earlier, had him panting and moaning into the quiet of his room. Truly a dog, if there ever were one.

He’d groan your name without a care, unable to help the way he imagined your pussy wrapped around him instead. How your tits would bounce if you rode him. He let himself pretend it was okay, you’d never know after all, just enamored with the nice older man whose company you enjoyed. He was so sweet to you, too. Couldn’t help but come back for more.

Cum splattered all over his lower stomach from where his shirt had lifted, he kept tugging his softening cock, wincing at the sensitivity. Near pleading for you, as if you were still there.

He could feel almost feel your lips ghosting over his cheek again, feel the warmth of your body pressed to his side. All he wanted to do was stare into your sparkling eyes and ruin you just enough to gloss them over a bit.

For now though, Elias would suffice for the soft sound of your voice as you called him, letting him know you’d gotten home, but asking if you’d left that shirt lying around…?

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

RANDOM Headcanons: Buying make-up shenanigans

Warnings ⚠ none

Includes: Price, Soap, Ghost, Alejandro, Andre, Konig, Gaz, Horangi, Nikolai

Has "can figure everything out" attitude and confidently enters a store just to get lost in it.

Browses for hours, gets mad when he can't decide, then gets distracted by another item. Rinse and repeat.

The cycle continues until he snatches a sales person, or a manager suspects him of stealing, asks tons of questions, ends up buying himself lipgloss (smells like coconut)

There is just too much stuff in the store, it gets him overwhelmed.

Tries to tactically question you about makeup, gives up and snoops through your bags.

Eventually buys some more "stuff" (gets himself different smelling lipbalms and lipglosses) and gets you something you already have.

Admits what he was doing and drags you back to the store with him.

Bonus: The sales people there are sweating upon his arrival. Even the trainee learnt the makeup brands, just by staying next to Price and listening as he asks his question. And he asks, asks questions - even about the ingredients.

Baby boy loves sparkles and the smell of makeup. The salesmen don't like him that much.

He knows what you like, however he is not permitted to shop alone. Why? His toxic trait is that: he buys in bulk.

You learnt that the hard way, after he came home with 27 eyeshadow pallets.

Expiration dates who?

Has a mascara from 7 years ago. Refuses to throw it away. Only does so, after you show him a documentary about eye infection.

Please take a moment to envision how tall and scary he looks in the makeup aisle, standing behind you like a creepy statue, dull on black, with his balaclava. I just giggled.

Insist on paying for everything ( didn't say anything about Price, because there is no insisting - he just pays. Ghost, at least pretends he will let you pay.)

Despises the blackhead mask. Did it once, regretted his life choices.

Experimenting king.

He is the dude who will visit a store, several times, no matter where he is at and buy whatever is new, shiny and cool.

Loves giving you his makeup finds and watching you apply/wear them.

Plays with your brushes a lot. ( They are just so soft and fluffy)

Bonus: Buys skincare for you and the team. Forces his team in spa day retreats.

Definitely knows what to buy.

He knows your makeup, especially if you live together.

Gets lost in the brushes sections and touches everything fluffy. (Don't let him shop with Soap)

Smells everything and if he wants to try something new, buys whatever smells best.

Compares prices online, if a salesperson is mean to him, buys the cheaper stuff and returns back to the store. (Petty boy)

Prefers more matte and glossy options, rather than sparkles.

You already know imma gonna say it. But if you think people get scared of Ghost in a store, you should see them around König.

Can he wear civilian clothes and no mask. Yes. Does he. Sometimes. If he feels like it.

You reassure every sales person that he is with you and he is no a threat.

König in a makeup store is like a kid around new shiny things. Touches everything.

Wants to buy everything.

"No, I don't need this" and "Put it back" are your go to phrases.

Does not enter tight stores after a shelf incident.

If you shop for hours he may make friends with the staff and even help them with the heavy lifting. (lil show-off 👑)

Gets shifty easily, so you better have Horangi nearby or be located near a food court.

Steals shit. Not because he has to, but because he can.

Definitely goes shopping alone, or uses you as a mule for his stolen goods.

Absolute creature when it comes to makeup sponges. Tiny, squishy and come in different shapes and colors.

Has a collection of them.

Sample king (loves free shit, espcially of expensive products), but has a deep appreciation of the tiny samples. Keeps them as another collection.

Lost af

Buys whatever the makeup girl tells him to buy.

He will try to figure out your makeup, after trying solo shopping and will buy some stuff. Not incompetent at all.

Hates the stores. Sales people continuously snuck up on him and talk. Nikolai is not a fan.

Sorry, but he has a special place saved for hatred for every store where he has to socialize.

Has enough opinions on products to need any external ones.

Will buy you makeup as a gift, but that's it.

Don't drag him to a store, ever.

Makeup judge. Buys only brands he trusts and ignores the rest.

Goes with you and glares at the sales people, who try to make you buy more products.

Buys his lipbalm at a grocery store to avoid sales pitches.

Huge on skin care and hair products, which he orders online.

Loves when people stare at you at the store, always puts a hand around your waist. "Yup,she is with me" attitude (one of the main reasons on why he shops with you)

[heterosexualomegaverse]

Personal top favorite fics on ao3 of all time

- living's just a waste of death by author tothendoftheline

Best Political Animals fanfic out there. I consider it the canon ending. I think all my longest comments ever I posted on ao3 were on this fic. It's a mostly canon compliant detailed exploration of what TJ's life would actually be like. How his (childhood) trauma effected him. His time as a white house kid, his sexuality, his addictions. It starts pre-canon and goes on long after canon has ended. TJ starts working on himself, his relationships with his family change, he gets new friends (kinda). Idk if I'm selling it well but I love it so much.

- Known Associates by author Thingswithwings

Fic that made me ship Steve and Rhodey lol. Though Steve calls him Jim. Was rereading it yesterday and damn its so good. an (I think) realistic depiction of queer life in the 1930's and 1940's then the movie plot happens and Steve is in 2012 and now has to figure out what/ who he is in this century. Also got a plot about kinda being experimented on and turned into super soldiers.

- The Barnes Files by author PaintedDoe

Bucky Barnes' therapy sessions in transcript format. (can you tell I love character studies)

- Flawed Perfection by author Squiggles13

Also part of a series but I haven't read the other parts yet. This one also mostly starts as Bucky going to therapy but then the tfatws plot happens but changed to be way better.

- Teach Me by author stucktogether

Steve/Bucky college au. Steve things he's straight but can't seem to keep his eyes off of Bucky. It's isn't until they've fooled around a half dozen times or so that he things he may just be bisexual. This Bucky's also got some deep lore.

- Treading water by author sparkagrace

SteveBucky olympic swimmers au where they were childhood friends that got separated at 12 but reunited at the olympics, except Bucky's presence brings back a lot of feelings that Steve can't deal with. This one gets real angsty. It has a sequel that is even more angsty.

- (A series) 'Til the End of the Line by author ohstars

SteveBucky with marvel canon except what if they were gay. Until endgame where shit is changed a lot cuz you know the time-travel staying in the past obviously doesn't happen. It does go on after that. They finally come out to the team (cuz they were closeted to whole time with Sam being the only one who knows) They have kids together, get married and then there is some time travel shenanigans and a lot of stuff until they both die of old age.

- The Island Man by author Amber_Skye

What if Steve Rogers was never found in the ice and got rescued by shield, but instead got out himself, but still only in 2012? And no one believes he is actually Steve Rogers Captain America? He ends up homeless doubting his own mind. Maybe he really isn't Steve Rogers? Maybe he really is crazy

anyway idk why I wrote this. I just wanted to list some of my faves. didn't really put a lot of thought into this, it's late and I'm tired.

[misc-obeyme]

do you think solomon felt guilty for taking so long (season 2) to tell mc he was immortal? the hints were there and no one was subtle about it, so it's easy to assume that mc already knew or guessed the truth, but it takes so long for him to say it clearly. feels like a good source of angst, especially since he finally tells them in the reaper's cave

Okay so I had to go back and re-read this part, which is in Lesson 36-3 for anyone who wishes to play through that part again.

But here is the relevant moment:

He seems so casual about it. In fact, right before this if you choose something like wait how is that possible his response is this:

Now. I think this could be read two different ways. You could see all this as Solomon being like, obviously this is no big deal. If you take it at face value, he seems rather unbothered by the whole thing and doesn’t seem to mind telling you what happened and that he’s immortal.

However. I do think that Solomon does this thing where he acts really casually about stuff when he actually feels something more deeply, especially when everyone else is there. In this moment, all the demon brothers are present and they already know this fact about him. So maybe he was not trying to hide it, but not bringing it up to MC on purpose. But when they’re all there, he can’t exactly deny it, so he decides to act as though it’s no big deal. He almost glosses over this and directly after they have this short revelation, they get back to the task at hand (finding Beel’s candle).

So while I think there probably isn’t anything deeper to this instance in the actual story, I DO think there’s plenty of room for reader interpretation. (To be clear, I don’t think there was anything deeper to this moment in season two of the OG, but there certainly seems to be more about the Solomon immortality piece in general, especially in Nightbringer. I think it might be very relevant to the NB plot.)

And the fact of the matter is, currently MC is NOT immortal.

This is an issue that’s present for all the characters, but it has a really heavy impact for Solomon specifically, imo. This is because he’s HUMAN. He isn’t naturally immortal, he should have died long ago. And not only that, but he’s going to live on indefinitely. And all his fellow humans live short lives and die, leaving him perpetually alone.

It’s painful. Imagine always losing everyone you’ve ever loved. Always being the one still lingering after they’re all gone. Imagine being careful to never get too close to anyone because you don’t want to suffer through the pain of losing them later. Imagine knowing about the Devildom and the Celestial Realm and magic and sorcerers with such a deep understanding, but never being able to share it with anyone. Those that do join you in the study of magic will never be at your level because they die too soon. The only friends you can count on having for any decent length of time are demons or angels - beings that can’t understand your very existence.

Nobody can tell me that all of this isn’t something that Solomon thinks about. That maybe this is one of the things he tries to forget about by throwing himself into research. That this is one of the things that plagues his racing mind when he’s trying to sleep.

Then imagine along comes another human who might almost be on your level. Someone who has the potential to understand you in a way nobody else ever has. Someone you’re inexplicably drawn to, someone you can’t help but fall in love with, someone who’s still mortal. Someone you’ll inevitably lose like you’ve always lost everyone else before.

Do I think he felt guilty? Yes. The game plays it off as a sort of quirk about him, but the implications are so heavy that I just headcanon my own thoughts about it. And I think that Solomon would try to stay in that place of ignorance for as long as possible. He likely felt bad about obscuring this fact from MC - again, not lying about it or even really going out of his way to hide it, but just… not telling them.

However, I think that he felt a lot worse about what that truth means for him and for MC.

Oh dear I may have gotten carried away. Listen, you asked for angst and I have thoughts about this lol.

Lemme leave you with one last thing, though. I completely forgot he said this:

LOOOOOL. I dunno about you guys, but I refer to him as an old man all the time. I’m pretty sure we do that collectively as a fandom, so the fact that he straight up said not to do that way back in season two of the OG made me CACKLE. I’m sorry Solomon, but calling you an old man/grandpa/peepaw/etc is too much fun. It’s okay, Lucifer and Simeon get called those things, too lol. It’s a compliment, I swear.

[hinamie]

I'll give them shelter like you've done for me

[fidgetspringer-art]

✦ Linger ✦

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D

[vaugarde]

man i do not feel like doing my final project for my animal literature class and the reason why makes me feel like a bad person

[dutybcrne]

The way finishing watching the new pe.rcy ja.ckson ep with my little sister has given me Hella Muse for Abyss!kae and Abyss Princess!Lumi

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,816 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

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It’s warm outside. 

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas. 

You’d take anything over Texas. 

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end. 

But at what cost? 

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.” 

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them. 

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.” 

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely. 

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice. 

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours. 

You can’t. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him. 

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets. 

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer. 

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together. 

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill. 

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did, how we left you there. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are. 

That doesn't make things hurt any less. 

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller. 

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.” 

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas. 

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand. 

If, not when. 

Maybe they're finally getting the message. 

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you. 

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He says. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench. 

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk. 

It hurts. 

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once. 

This feels like torture. 

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself. 

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking. 

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating. 

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.” 

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out. 

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...” 

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you. 

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either. 

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.” 

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says. 

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning. 

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.” 

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy. 

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder. 

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing. 

Sometimes you don’t want to. 

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury. 

What if the rest of your life is like this? 

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears. 

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain. 

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better. 

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. 

You’re so tired of being like this. 

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route. 

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door. 

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car. 

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack. 

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident. 

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what. 

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.” 

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks. 

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.” 

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.” 

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat. 

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back. 

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.” 

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.” 

“And on top of everything that happened...” 

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.” 

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.” 

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.” 

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.” 

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.” 

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.” 

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.” 

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs. 

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.” 

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.” 

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.” 

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.” 

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.” 

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston. 

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane. 

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by. 

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror. 

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows. 

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.” 

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks. 

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.” 

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says. 

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life. 

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time. 

She'll be there every step of the way. 

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone. 

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.” 

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.” 

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.” 

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.” 

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road. 

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse. 

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse. 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better. 

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better. 

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious. 

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer. 

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort. 

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground. 

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.” 

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly. 

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain. 

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago. 

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them. 

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil. 

How far you still have to go. 

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it. 

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.  

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway. 

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside. 

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?” 

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says. 

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says. 

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean. 

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door. 

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated. 

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room. 

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile. 

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint. 

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.” 

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight. 

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door. 

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now. 

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse. 

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.” 

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get. 

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her. 

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile. 

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.” 

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything. 

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.” 

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks? 

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean. 

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.” 

You can hear it. 

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things. 

No. 

You’d know that sound anywhere. 

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to. 

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning. 

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want. 

No. 

You need to do this. 

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment. 

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe. 

In and out. 

Nice and slow. 

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest. 

No. 

You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick. 

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center. 

You can do it here. 

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day. 

No. 

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse. 

You need to know. 

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning. 

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you. 

How easily you could slip away, though. 

Well...in theory. 

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state? 

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have? 

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well. 

He could be waiting right outside the door. 

No. 

They’d know. 

They’d protect you. 

They failed. 

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door. 

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright. 

You have to know. 

You have to be certain. 

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you. 

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

You can smell it. 

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found. 

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home. 

How simple life was back then. How easy life was. 

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again. 

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas. 

Anything is better than Texas. 

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch. 

You can see it. 

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care. 

You can’t care. 

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week. 

Only a week. 

So much has happened in a week. 

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You needed certainty. You needed to know. 

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it. 

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea. 

NEXT ->

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[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 3

Finally getting a tiny bit of Bruce's monologue!! And uh oh, looks like you've gotta clock in!

As the car began to move, you couldn't help but feel a growing sense of panic. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on you. You tried your best to focus on anything but the Waynes, your mind desperately attempting to process what just happened in the parking lot. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. It was then that Damian decided to break the awkward silence.

“Father, what is the meaning of bringing her along with us?” Damian spoke curtly, disdain marring his voice when mentioning you.

As much as you disliked him as well, he had a point. Why the hell are you sitting here with them?

Bruce glanced at Damian. Truth be told, he didn't quite know why. While you were his child, one out of the only two biological children he had, he had never really had the time or care to acknowledge you. You coming into his life abruptly disturbed everything, so he paid you no mind. He’ll admit, it wasn't fair of him to do so, but he had bigger things to worry about. He was tired, and a child that wasn't involved with his night business, who did not understand what his life of vigilantism took out of him, would never understand the sacrifices that he's had to make. It wasn't until seeing you on the football field, happy, talking to your friends and acting in a way he'd never seen you do, he'd begun to realize what he missed. 

When did you get so tall? He could have sworn you were no taller than his waist. And when did you join the cheerleading team? And who was that girl throwing her arm around you? Who was that boy? Gods, just how much has he missed? 

But he couldn't say all of that. So instead he just replied, “She's a part of this family, Damian and she needed a ride back home.”

He could feel Cassandra’s knowing stare, she could read him better than anybody and she knew the inner turmoil brewing in his heart. That's coupled with Stephanie’s smirk and Dick’s predatory grin. Jason grunted in response, clearly not pleased with the arrangement. Lastly, he could see the disbelief on your face, as if you couldn't believe you'd even be considered part of this family. And he’s mostly to blame. 

He internally sighed. He'd have to work on that. You were his daughter. His. It was his job to keep you safe and happy. It was his job to make sure you felt loved. And right now? He was no better than Jannet and Jack Drake leaving poor Tim to fend for himself. But that would all soon change, starting with himself and his children.

You on the other hand were still reeling from Bruce’s words. “Family”? Is he fucking kidding or what?

Dick, always the one to break the tension with his charm, spoke up next. "Hey, (Y/n), when did you become a cheerleader? I didn't know you were into that sort of stuff." Dick said with that condescending tone.

Your eyes twitched. You did not like his tone.

“That's none of your business Dick.” You shot back before you could even think.

Everyone looked your way. Whoops, that was your bad. 

It was Jasons turn to get upset, “Watch your fucking mouth.” He growled, ever possessive over his older brother.

You immediately froze up, offering a quick and quiet apology before retreating into your own head. Jason–Jason scared you more than any of the others. You knew about his pit rage, you knew about the bloody and beaten bodies he's left in the wake of his rage. You knew he’d never dream of hurting his family, the pit often aiding in his possessive tendencies over the rest of the bats but– you weren't family. And you'd hate to be on the receiving end of Jason’s wrath.

If anyone had continued talking to you, you wouldn’t know. The sound around you was muffled like your head was filled with cotton and you could feel yourself shaking. You wanted out. Now. Thankfully, the rest of the ride was mostly quiet. Sure, everyone would occasionally turn their eyes towards you, making you shrink further in on yourself, but you were almost at the manor. The vehicle barely came to a stop before you were throwing yourself out the door and into the manor. You bid Alfred a quick “goodbye” and “thank you” before bolting up the stairs and into your room. 

You locked the door, not that anyone would bother coming up to your room, but still it gave you security nonetheless. You stripped and hopped into the shower, the soreness in your body now making itself known. God it was gonna suck tomorrow. Why? Because it was Friday today, that meant tomorrow would be Saturday, and that meant that you'd have to go to work at the ass crack of dawn, 5 am. Plus, you didn't even have your bike, so you’d have to rely on Alfred to take you and bring you back. Great.

So with a heavy heart and heavy limbs, you tucked yourself into bed ready for the worst sleep of your life. 

You wake up to the grating sound of your iphone alarm, as you groggily get up to brush your teeth, shower and get ready for the long day ahead. Making your way down for a cup of coffee, sleep still in your eyes, you fail to notice the looming figure of Tim Drake already sipping his own coffee. It was dark downstairs and you were still fighting off exhaustion from the day before, so who could blame you for not seeing the corner of the cabinet. Before you knew it, you were hunched over on the floor grabbing your pinkie toe in pain. 

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, that hurt! Holy shit, kill yourself, kill yourself! Who the fuck puts a cabinet there, oh my god.” You wailed in pain, cursing at the damn cabinet. You’d blame it on delirium and exhaustion. Honestly, it was an expected crashout.

You laid pathetically on the floor for a couple of more seconds before you heard a monotone, disinterested voice make itself known.

“Are you done now?” Tim says from behind you.

You yelp in surprise, before clumsily scrambling up and turning around. And there he was, sitting at the counter, coffee in hand and an almost (dare you say) amused look on his face. You blanche. Shit, how long has he been sitting there? Oh god, please don't say he’s witnessed the entirety of your embarrassing crashout? 

And as if reading your mind, he cryptically answers, “Yes, I've been here this entire time.” All while sipping his coffee as his calculating eyes scarily bore into your figure.

You don't know what to say, embarrassed out of your mind, so you just apologize. 

“Right–um, sorry about that. I’m just tryna get some coffee. I'll be out your way.” You hastily say before turning, tail tucked back towards the coffee pot. 

You could still feel the weight of Tim’s stare on you but you're too tired and embarrassed to care. You pour yourself a big cup of straight up black coffee and proceed to chug it while walking towards the sink. After finishing it, you proceeded to gag for a few seconds, the bitter taste still permeating your mouth. God you hated the taste of black coffee, but you’d do whatever it takes to not fall asleep on the job. You discard your cup into the sink before you decide to find Alfred, it was 4:37 am and you needed to clock in by 5:00 am or else your ass was grass. You conveniently ignore Tim who has watched all of your misfortune happen this morning. He doesn't say anything when you leave the dining/kitchen area, just eerily watches. 

God, he made you nervous.

Anyways, your quest to find Alfred was short lived as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere, Damian in tow (you could feel the scar on your face burning). Great, was everyone up at this ungodly hour or was it just them two? You avoided the heat of Damian’s glare as you relayed to Alfred your predicament, apologizing profusely since you did ask him last minute. He simply smiled at you, letting you know that “it is never a hindrance when you need something Master (Y/n).” You smiled back in relief, thanking him once more as Alfred got ready to drop you off.

But of course, Damian just had to break the silence. 

“What could you possibly need to do at this hour? Alfred has better things to do other than encouraging your galavanting.” Damian spoke sharply.

You just sighed, “Not that it's any of your business, but I have work.”You don't offer any more information as your hand unknowingly caresses the scarred tissue on your face. 

Damian’s eyes draw to your face at the movement, seemingly fixated on the scar he left on you. He doesn’t think much of it, but sometimes, something green and dangerous purrs inside of him. Yes, his mark. It was his mark on your face. As much as he hated you, you were his only other blood-sibling no matter how weak and useless you were. He had bested you, and usually would pay you no mind, you knew your place and would typically remain docile. But recently you’ve been showing a new abrasive side, one he is not particularly fond of.

He’d have to talk to father about it.

Silence permeates the air as he doesnt bother to dignify your disrespect with a response. You’re saved when Alfred comes back with keys, both you and him rushing to whatever vehicle he's pulled out from the large, large selection of coveted cars Bruce owns. Looks like it's a BMW today. You practically throw yourself in, as Alfred speeds away to the cafe you work at. You arrive at work in record speed, bidding Alfred a “goodbye” before rushing to throw your apron on and clock in. 

You’re greeted by the one other person working your shift, Matheo. He’s a sweet boy, very soft-spoken and mostly sticks in the back near the kitchen to bake the pastries while you work the register. Of course he comes and helps with drink orders when it's particularly busy, he’s too kind to leave you to fend for yourself. Regardless, you have a pretty straight forward agreement, which is what spells your doom. It was a regular Saturday shift, with the pilate moms coming in, middle schoolers loitering, and the occasional customer with an attitude. Everything was fine and dandy till three familiar faces walk in.

You were ever the busy body, finishing one last drink before yelling out a quick “I’ll help y’all shortly!”, to whoever just walked in. You quickly rush over to the register, not even bothering to look up from the register.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait! Now what can I get you?” You said in your regular customer service voice.

“Well, well, well, turns out you were right Dami, she does work here.” A chillingly familiar voice jests.

You freeze, slowly looking up only to be met with Dick smiling at you. It was not a kind smile, no, there was something dangerous about it. Behind him, you could see the familiar figures of Cassandra and Damian. What the hell are they doing here? God, you should have never mentioned anything to Damian, now you had to deal with this.

“R–right, what can I get you?” You shakily say, putting back on your customer service persona. 

Dick’s smile grows, his teeth now visible, almost as if he was baring his teeth. Danger. Something inside you screamed.

“I’ll just have a vanilla cold brew, extra cold foam. Dami, Cass, what do you want?” Dick grinns.

“Tch, I don't want anything from this place.” Damian says, uninterested.

“Cass?” Dick asks, looking at her.

She comes up to the register, giving Dick a one-off-glance. Worryingly, her eyes seem to be fixated on you. She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, holding immensely uncomfortable eye contact with you before relaying her order.

“Just a caramel latte.” Cass says, still looking down at you.

You frantically fill in their orders on the register.

“Will that be all?” You ask. You hoped that was all, you didn't want them spending another minute talking to you.

Dick says a quick cheerful “no” before you ring them up and get started with the two drinks. It doesn't take too much time before you’re calling out their names to come get their drinks. You hope they leave right after. But of course, nothing goes according to your wishes as they grab their drinks and seat themselves at a table. Great.

The minutes after result in further disaster. After a couple of more customers, a lady comes up to you, face already molded into a scowl with a half empty drink in her hand. Oh great, a “karen”.

“Hello ma’am, how can I help you?” You kindly say.

“You! I need a refund. Right. Now!” The lady booms, wagging her finger in your face.

“A refund, right, is there a reason you’re requesting a refund?” 

“A reason!? You made my drink wrong and I want my money back!”

“Please correct me if i'm wrong, but I believe you ordered a double mocha cappuccino, correct?” You ask slowly.

“Yes, that's what I ordered! Why are you asking me all these questions?!”

“Sorry ma’am, but that is the drink I gave you. Is there something specifically wrong with the drink?”

“The drink that you gave me is wrong, you made it wrong! It doesn't taste anything like regular coffee!”

“Oh, well sometimes different cafes use different recipes for the same drink, i think maybe that's why–”

“–Well I don't care! I want a refund!”

You could feel eyes on you as the other patrons start to notice the commotion brewing.

“Ma’am, i'm so sorry but i can't give you a refund, you’ve already drank half the drink. If you would have let me know sooner, I could've remade it for you, but–I'm sorry ma’am I can't give you that refund.”

“Are you serious! Why I never!? It's always bitches like you who try scamming people out of their money!”

“Ma'am, I'm really sorry, it's the company policy. I just work here–” You gently say, trying to calm her down.

“–Go to hell you bitch!” Is all you hear before you’re doused in the face with warm coffee. 

You just stand there is shock, blinking through the coffee. There's no way that just happened. Theo, comes out having heard the commotion (albeit a little too late), only to be met with the sight of you covered in coffee.

“Oh my gosh (Y/n)! I should have come sooner, are you okay?”

“Peachy.” You say, voice audibly watery and cracking.

“I'll take care of everything up here, you go take some time in the back. Clean up or honestly if you don't feel like it, just rest in the back–”

“–It's okay Theo, I–I just need a couple of minutes. I'm fine.”

He gives you a quizzical stare.

“I'm fine. I promise.” You smile, although you could feel your eyes starting to water. 

You hastily walk off to the break room and proceed to cry for a good 2 minutes before deciding to start cleaning yourself up. You do your best to get the coffee that's dried into hair out while wiping down your now sicky arms and face. Changing your apron gets rid of most of the mess, but your shirt underneath still has a couple of large patches of coffee. Sighing, you tidy yourself up as much as possible before heading back to the counter, Theo worriedly waiting for you. You just shoot him a thumbs up and let him know that it’s okay for him to retreat back to the kitchen; he lingers for a moment, hesitant to leave you alone, but drudges back regardless.

There are eyes on you. You look up perturbed, only to find Dick, Cass, and Damian still sitting at their table, sharp stares pinned on your figure. They saw all that happen, didn't they? You mentally cringed. 

Checking your watch, you realize that there are still four more hours left on your shift. Great, that's great–just another four more hours, which is technically thirty minutes eight times, which is technically fifteen minutes sixteen times–and you’ve lost it. Jesus you were losing your mind, which was understandable (honestly you're surprised it hasn't happened sooner) during one of the worst shifts of your life.

It’s fine. You got this. Just four more hours, and you can have your “Mental Breakdown Part Ⅱ™”.

Tag-list!!:

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[aroxis]

Sorry but no, it's not as clear cut as "Geto saw him as human, the rest saw him as weapon." and it's also, not about shipping. Geto focused on Gojo's humanity, the rest saw him as The Strongest. Since you don't read the manga, I'm not going to spoil anything, but there are many instances where it's pretty obvious that without his power and status Gojo doesn't occupy the same space in everyone else's life. Gojo himself felt that people tried to understand and reach out to him but the sheer distance between their level and his made it inherently impossible.

Nanami, Megumi, and Utahime you didn't pick her but I should mention would be some of the worst examples if you want to talk about people who liked him. JJK fans have a tendency to not read what's on the page and project some typical tropes onto them like 'everyone's annoyed by the goofy guy but they secretly like him', but the manga is not trying to do that. Those 3 specifically did not like him all that much. When Nanami says he doesn't respect Gojo, that's what you're supposed to learn, not that he "likes him but is too grumpy to admit it" but that he's Gojo's coworker who has to deal with him sometimes. Nanami was also the one who wanted their missions to go to Gojo instead when they were teens, Gege's shown you that for a reason. When Megumi says he's grateful to Gojo, that's because he is, he's contractually obligated to fulfill his duty towards Gojo Dad Gojo's cute but could not be further from canon. When Utahime says she hates Gojo, she means it, he's an ass to her just like he's an ass to almost everyone and he gets away with it for obvious reasons. Yuuta and Yuuji respect him, especially Yuuta who's definitely the closest to Gojo as recent developments confirm. It's not a random pick either as Yuuta's one of the four special grades and Gojo's biased towards extremely strong people. Yuuji is someone who likes everyone anyway and he's the puppy boy protagonist, if his love and respect for Gojo was of that much importance Gege would have made that known via more unique interactions. As for Shoko, she thought of herself as Gojo's friend and she had faith in his ability to win till the end, but Gojo didn't think the same. Does that make Gojo wrong? Maybe, he did know that they cared in their way, but it's obvious why guy like him would feel that he can't relate to them. Same way it's him who only thought of Suguru as his friend, his only friend. Sometimes you'll have to try to put yourself in his shoes, you'll see that Sukuna was a better candidate for people who could truly relate to him.

There's a world of difference between "I have to coexist with this person whether I like them/ hate them/ feel neutral about them." and "I genuinely like this person." When Suguru's said to be the only one who didn't see him as a weapon it's because 1) The Question that changed the trajectory of Gojo's life and 2) the role Gojo has in others' life is primarily as the guy everyone can depend on, the guy who'll clean up their messes, the guy who'll save the day. It's why the next arc is about the cast rescuing Gojo and not about them trying to defeat the villains themselves. When asked what they thought about Gojo their conclusive statement was, "He's the strongest." and if you want a parallel, when Suguru was asked about Gojo he called him his friend. Why was that word never used for anyone else, not even Shoko? It's not a baseless shippy claim, it's just how they're written. There's also the fact that Gojo treated himself like a weapon but I'm kinda tired TT

"when geto died, gojo lost the only person who saw him as more than a weapon" did we watch the same show. like, genuinely-- was gojo satoru not loved by his students and by his friends.