#i can't tell if i'm blah about this chapter because it sucks

[diluclover300]

Just One Week (1)

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Also posted on my ao3 account: diluclover300

CHAPTER INDEX:

I H8 U

My Kinda Fun

Balance

{S] Awake

Eggs and Rice

Wait, but I'm broke

Couple's Discount

CHAPTER 1: I H8 U

...

Ha. Ha. You roll your eyes, arms crossed before they unfold again. The elevator opens and you're back at the lobby of the building again. Ha. Ha. 

You hate this place. Normal was so ordinary. So predictable. So boring. Blah!

Whatever, whatever, whatever. You just want to go home already. It's been a long day at work. 

You walk, as the general population does, because even though you're special, and so different, you're human before any of that bull crap. Genetically, you're a programmed sheep. Mentally, you stick out like a sore thumb. 

And you walk with the help of wired earbuds, ones that you grabbed at the nearest department store. You understand why people can't leave the house without these babies. They're so convenient, a socially accepted escape from the real world. 

Selfishly, as it should be, you're listening to the same sickly sweet, syrupy-lyric filled song. Generic, yet so stupid catchy that even a zombie would dumbly mumble it in its sleep. With it's unintelligible voice, muddy and groggy as it lowly moans the melody. Like pure mush, frothing with spit. 

Love. Love. Love. A boyband, the popular one you've loved since highschool, is singing about what sells— sex. Oh, baby. I want you. I love you. Give me all of you. Kiss me until I can't breath, wrap me with your heat. 

You understand the gist of it, don't you? Because you certainly do. 

Bouncy, your steps are, almost preppy that you feel like everyone else. You suppose that's fine for now. You're forcibly, undeniably put into a swarm of people. People that will always be like you. Vise versa. It's the way of life. 

Same old. 

Beep. Your lanyard scans across the kind of thing you'd see in a new-york subway. Too bad you're across the globe in Japan, in some remote town, so you don't live miles away from the famous–or was it infamous– you don't know, times square. Boring. 

You suck in a hefty amount of hair, and it's humiliating when you push the door that so politely–and obviously— asks to be pulled. Wow. You turn back to confirm that no one has just seen you do that. But you're suddenly biting back another heap of cringe mixed with embarrassment when you realize that someone behind you blankly stares at you. Probably to hurry up so that they could get out too.

"Oops." You laugh, but they don't. "Sorry about–"

"Are you going to open that door?"

"Oh, uh, yes. I am."

Right. You pull the handle of the door that you've touched thousands of times.

The breeze hits you and as physics do, your hair whips across your face, sprawling over your dry, cracked lips. You push on, steps now long strides. You're fighting with the wind and it's terrible. 

Welp. That was life. Mother nature wasn't, never was, kind to you. 

Another idiotic event, another "let's make a fool out of Y/N" moment. You fold your arms underneath the crevice of your chest, that white button up so thin you're sure that you've developed hypothermia in the last few minutes you've been walking. 

Another sigh. Then you realize it looks hopeless, and stupid. Then you wipe your cheek, holding your lips together and realize that looks equally awkward. Damn. 

Incident after incident. Mistake after mistake. Everything feels like a math equation, and it's all adding up to make you look a fool. 

At least nothing too terrible happened today.

Then, as if it was clockwork, an ominous feeling began to settle in the depths of your heart. As if your instincts were telling you to run. 

You don't. Your hopes of a normal day, your suspicions of having a great day are so terribly...

Wrong. You look up and see the face that you don't want to see. The face that looks back at you like a mirror, the face who's lips turn up into a slight smile. The face who's glasses tip down his rather long, yet socially accepted nose. The face who's eyes are freakishly blue, who's eyes would receive the predictable comparison– "Hey, your eyes look just like the sky."

This can't be real.

This can't be happening.

Maybe today wasn't destined to be a good day, but there was no way in hell, no way that things could go this south.

A bad day was when you got in trouble during work, when someone's kid spilled your burning hot coffee all over your new white clothes. Bad was when...

Bad was when Gojo Satoru wasn't here. 

Terrible was when he was. 

"Hi." He holds his hand up, palm open, fingers spread into a wave. "It's been a while."

Your chest tightens, air contracting the thing like a damn accordion. He's definitely a fair distance from you, standing beneath the trees, far from the stairs leading up to the building behind you both. Traffic bustles a couple more feet away, and that same song, on repeat, buzzes in your ear like a mosquito.

Love. You seem to feel everything but that at the sight of his face. 

"Gojo." The breeze slaps against your skin, stinging as it leaves it's harsh marks. Your fingers travel down to the hems of your skirt, and you fidget with the cloth. 

You're anxious, not as you envisioned the hundreds of other times you mulled over this sort of situation. Instead of holding your head up high, you're cowering, heart wrenching, the lines you so carefully wrote, seared into your mind escaping your tongue. 

"Gojo?" Ha. Ha. Real funny, you think as he mocks you. 

It makes you angry. Why did he, how did he have, how was he not– where was his shame? After five years? Did he just realize you were gone after all this time? 

You don't want to ask, but you do.

"Why are you–"

"What happened to Satoru? Don't be so formal. It's only been five years."

"The name disgusts me."

You're silent as he steps forward, a bouquet of flowers tucked underneath his armpit. He's decked out in all black, not that you care, or that it's any different from how he was a few years back. If anything, he's the exact same. Unchanged. 

It makes your blood boil. 

"Ah. Look at you. You've changed."

He chides, crouching down as if he's trying to taunt a child. You bite back the strange croak in your throat.

"Your turn. What about me? Say something." 

No. Please. "Don't do this to me." 

His lips, as if pulled by a set of strings, ghost a smile. Those eyes exposed, bare through those glasses as they reflect the pathetic image of you. Your expression which tries to hard to look expressionless. The scrunch of your eyebrows as you look down at him. 

No, he's looking down on you. Even though it should be the opposite. 

"You look the same." It's robotic, the usual cadence of your voice he so remembers void of emotion. 

It's true. He does. 

"Oh? You're cold. So cold." He tilts his head, a strand of hair falling in between his eyes as he gives you a slight pout. 

And, you? You're not the same as you were before. 

"I know." You step back. "People tell me that all the time."

You feel so... so...

Was pathetic the right word? It didn't even do the situation justice.

Wow. Honestly, you never wanted to admit this, but you've always imagined this sort of thing happening. A reunion, to put it simply and you'd always imagine such witty responses, such great comebacks. 

However, you're no different from everyone else. Not underneath the umbrella of fear. However, you're not even shielded from those raindrops of confrontation.

You're soaked. The umbrella's defective. You can't bring yourself to say the words you practiced, to put an end to the tortuous fire in your heart. 

Because as much as you want to hear those answers, you're afraid of the void that lies beneath them. 

"Is that something to brag about these days?" He straightens up, the plastic lining of the bouquet crinkling. 

You shrug as answer, but your eyes stick onto the floor like a piece of gum. They've rolled out of their sockets, breeze guiding them along the concrete. 

Satoru whistles for a moment, eyes careful as they study your figure. 

A white button up shirt, tucked into a pencil skirt, glasses that usually wouldn't suit you because you were the contact lens type, flats because he could never imagine you walking down a flight of stairs in heels. 

Though you've fallen to the inevitable concept of change, you're still...

Oh. He's forgot to mention that you've been listening to music this whole time. It's noticeable now. Partly because you're wearing wired headphones, and partly because he can hear the faintest bit of singing coming from your direction. 

"Whatcha listening to?" 

You peek up, and for the first time in years, he's properly– no, you're making eye contact with him. 

"It's the new XXX song. Do you remember when I..."

What the hell? 

He never tried to stop you back then. 

Why would he remember a single thing about you?

"Nevermind." You look away, and he swears he sees the faintest film of water pooling against your eyes. "You wouldn't know."

Yeah. You're the same as ever. 

"Oh. You still like that group?"

You nod, and he swears he can see the faint image of you from highschool. Nodding along to the sound of your mp3 player, busted around the corners as it rests on the edge of your desk, threatening to fall. And when it did, he'd usually catch it before pulling out your earbuds. 

Then you'd grumble at him, call him a "bastard" or a "piece of shit". And he'd laugh, loud enough that people would turn their heads. 

Weird. A wave of nostalgia hits him. 

"Ha." The thought of it makes him snicker. God. He was such an asshole. "Haha."

Look at how the tables turned. It's painful that you're so rough around the edges now. You're barely smiling, and now there's an offended look trespassing your lips and eyes. 

You're angry again. So angry that the image of your smile is trampled on, dirtied by a frown. 

It's like throwing away a perfectly good slice of cake.

Satoru decides he hates it. The look of it is sickening, the thought of it is unappetizing, the existence of it is...

"What are you–"

"Come back to Jujutsu High and help me teach." 

As he expects, and the revelation behind it frustrates him, you've gone completely unresponsive. What he's realized is that you're just existing through your life. 

You've been wasting time. And now you're just going to ignore him. No matter how right he is. 

"Y/N. Can you hear me?"

You don't answer for a long while, slowly ripping out each earbud as you stuff it into the pocket of your shirt. The question, the request is... it's...

Disgustingly selfish. Did he only think for himself? Did he only care for himself?

Of course he did. Of course he did. 

He's Gojo Satoru. 

"Why did you come here? Go home." 

"For you. Come back and be a Jujutsu sorcerer again–" He doesn't waste a singular second, as if he was reading off a script to some terrible horror movie. 

You feel sick. 

"No." You spit out. "You don't know what I want, you can't tell me what to do either."

You want to laugh, you can't believe all this bullshit.

You can't believe that after all the trouble you went through to fit in, you're going back to square one. Like a baby trying to learn how to walk all over again.

All the trouble you went through to convince yourself that you were still special despite being so, despite living so normally now.

All the trouble you went through to ignore those cursed spirits.

All those sacrifices you made, those risks you took. 

You can't believe that it's all going down the drain like this, like your struggles are the water to someone else's shower. 

Could you be easily discarded like that? Like trash? 

Wrong. Incorrect. Wrong. Nothing could be more... wrong.

No, you're different. Important. Nothing like trash. Incomparable. If there was a mold, you'd break it. If there was an expectation, you'd exceed it. If there was...

If there was...

There's nothing because he... he's...

Gojo Satoru is stepping on your sob story like it's a  piece of gum, smearing it with the sole of his shoe. 

He tries to intervene with your peace, picking apart at your facade, your play-pretend act of tranquility. 

"I know what you want–"

You don't even give him the chance to finish. 

"It's been five years."

He knows. You don't have to remind him that it's been that long. 

"So?"

"You don't know a thing about me, Gojo."

"I do." He steps forward. "And what do those people back there know about you?" Then he points back at your workplace. 

You grimace, aware that what you're about to say is an obvious, a bitter lie. He knows it too, but you say it anyway. 

"They know a lot about me." You bite back, desperately trying to save face. "So much more than you do."

When you force that out, it dawns on you. The fact that you have to lie about something so insignificant to prove that you're doing just fine to some asshole you haven't seen in five years. 

"Like what? Your favorite member in that stupid boyband?"

"They're not stupid! Okay? They're– They're...!" You stumble over your words, voice coming out louder than you anticipate. 

Damn it. Now everyone around you is staring like a bunch of sheep, the same kind back at work, relishing in an argument– no, a conversation – that they had no rightful part in. 

"They don't know anything about you, do they?" He whispers, a pitiful expression on his face when he sees how worked up you've gotten. "Be honest with me then. What do you want?"

"Honest? You want me to be honest?"

"Well, yes. I'd like that."

"Fine then. I want to fight you right now because I hate you."

"Sure."

"You make me sick."

"Okay."

"I want to–"

"I already said okay."

...

#fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #eventual smut #eventual romance #romance #angst #drama #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

[sherylhooper]

You know what? This is for the fucking idiots who call us delusional and make fun of us about how we don't read jjk manga and can't understand facts and only they can.

Have you all read a book or two in your life??? Have you even had to write a review for the book? Do you even know what good book is?

Or do you all just simple take whatever the author puts on your plate and say "thank you" instead of looking at it with criticism??

YOU DON'T GET TO JUDGE MANGAKA BECAUSE THIS IS STILL THEIR WRITING, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.

Yeah, NOT SHIT!! This maybe their writing but sometimes it still sucks!! And we, who can clearly see this, and aren't satisfied with all the stupid plot/battle, etc. are allowed to call it out.

Just because someone writes something and you read it doesn't mean that everything they write is great!!

People criticize classical books and authors all the time and if we criticize Gege Akutami, we are ungratefull? JUST BECAUSE WE DON'T TAKE WHATEVER HE GIVES US WITH A THANK YOU, LIKE A BEGGAR??

I know some of you don't have enough brain cells to use to think logically, but have you even read anything else besides Shounen Manga? Or is this the limit you all are capable of?

This 5-6 months and chapters have no meaning to the plot besides making Sukuna even more overpowered!!

Gojo, who? Kashimo, who? Exactly!! Nothing!! Gojo's whole character was violated in ch 236!

This Sukuna dickriding from both Gojo and Kashimo (from Gege) got really boring really quickly!

I'm so sorry that some of you trully can't even understand what bad writing is!

"Just because something didn't go the way you wanted, doesn't mean it's bad writing" - do you all have any other argument besides this against us? But what should I expect from people who don't know what "show don't tell" means.

You are the same AOT fans who were "thankfull" for Isayama and his bullshit ending, with Armin thanking Eren for mass genocide and Eren whining about Mikasa and whole Ymir having stockholm syndrome, were bashing us who didn't like the ending!!

Read a fucking good book or two besides the trash Colleen Hoover books or whatever booktok throws your way, so you can develop a thinking brain and not let it rot in your skull.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #jjk 238 #fuck this bullshit #you people are only satisfied if main character wins every single possible battle #can't even understand that main characyer ≠ strongest character #Benimaru was treated better in Fire Force than Gojo #gege when i catch you gege

[bloodgulchblog]

Armor by John Steakley, pt 2

The whole middle section of Armor sucks ass and I won't apologize for saying it.

You guys saw me talk about the front end of this novel. It's... not great, but it's interesting enough for a person to be curious about where it's going, especially if you are already a fan of the Big Man In Armor Punches Things In Space family of products.

We meet Felix. He has weird emotional problems. He goes through horrors. He punches ants.

Then the whole thing swan dives right off a cliff.

The middle section of Armor is told in the first person by notorious space pirate Jack Crow. (We never actually find out much about why he's such a cool and notorious space pirate, everyone just talks about how cool he is.)

Jack Crow escapes from prison, hitches a ride with another space pirate, and gets offered a Business Opportunity: He can have his own small ship, for a price. The space pirate he's riding with desperately needs fuel for his freshly stolen military spaceship, and can't get it from anywhere because nobody wants (for obvious reasons) to have anything to do with a mutineer. Jack is supposed to go down to a remote research outpost, charm his way in, and use his inside position to lower their defenses so the pirate can come in and take what he needs. Meanwhile, the owner of the planet (a drunk named Lewis) has lots of antics about fishing and drinking.

Jack's obnoxious to read, but being in first person kind of helps excuse some of Steakley's writing quirks I found annoying. But once he hits the research outpost, this whole thing drags miserably. For chapters and chapters. The characters are neither interesting enough to delve deeply in, nor enjoyable enough to want to spend remotely as much time with them as we are forced to. The worst is definitely the relationship between Jack and an administrator named Karen, who keeps coming back to Jack for rough sex and confides in him about her history of sexual abuse and Jack just goes "welp" and they keep doing that.

Toward the end of this section, the two key people at the research outpost involve Jack in plugging their brains into the mission logs of (gasp) a suit of Scout armor from the ant war.

It turns out to be Felix's suit.

The characters psychoanalyze Felix's response to trauma in the most hamfisted way possible, telling us how amazing and frustratingly resilient he is as he goes on drop after drop, blah blah blah blah.

Then finally, mercifully, we get to go back to Felix himself. And the last Felix section is... also not amazing literature, but it's interesting again.

I'm so close to done with this book I'm so close-

#not halo #armor by john steakley

[shatteringzimmermann]

Part 11

Parts One & Two  /  Part Three  /  Part Four  /  Part Five  /  Part Six  /  Part Seven  /   Part Eight  /   Part Nine  /  Part Ten  / 

NGL i’m not super sold on this section. It’ll probably be either heavily edited before going up on AO3 or deleted all-together. TW anxiety/concussion stuff

It took three days until Jack could go into his bathroom without the nightlight setting off a migraine. Eric had to help a few times, much to his horror, and Jack made sure to turn on the water while he peed because he knew Eric waited just outside the door, listening in case he fell. It was too early in the relationship (was it even a relationship yet?) for learning each other’s bathroom habits.

 “I don’t have regular ol’ job,” Eric had said when Jack worried about the days he spent in bed. “I work from home every day anyway so as long as I tweet once a day no one will think I’m dead and right now, that’s good enough.”

He’d cooked them brunch the first day Jack managed to be in his kitchen. All the curtains were closed until only narrow beams of light brightened the space. Omelets and biscuits, the latter of which Jack was quickly realizing was a new favorite food. He’d eaten one layer by layer as Eric cooked. Shitty had been delighted to come home from class to find leftovers waiting in the fridge for him.

 The Falconers had two away games and won them both. Jack breathed a bit easier after the first game, a matchup with the Bruins. Teams that close to each other always formed intense rivalries and he’d dreaded not being on the ice with Marty and Tater. But a win was a win no matter who was on the ice. Or if a rebounded shot had ricocheted off the leg of a Bruins player and bounced into the goal. A win was a win.

 Over glasses of orange juice Eric scrolled through Jack’s phone and read him well-wishing texts and emails. He pulled out his own phone and talked about tweets and tags and reblogs. Jack pretended his headache returned and Eric pushed his phone away, brows creased with concern. Jack wanted to scoop Eric from his stool and carry him to the couch, to hold him tight like in that last dream.

 Instead he stole both phones from the counter top and stuffed them into the couch as quickly as he could. Eric was laughing too hard to stop him even though Jack was clumsy enough still that it took much longer than it should have. His phone had a thick rubbery case but Eric’s was protection-less and slippery in his fingers so he’d been extra careful.

 They sat on the couch for a few hours as Eric read 1776 aloud. As the time passed Jack found himself leaning more and more towards the man he was so convinced was just a dream but every time their shoulders nearly brushed Eric would shift away.

 Jack pushed the coffee table away with his foot and slid onto the floor. Eric paused in his reading. Waving him on, Jack sat in the figure-four position and began to stretch. If Eric wasn’t going to let him touch him then he was going to listen. He couldn’t help that he was drawn to brushing against Eric. He would have to keep himself away even though it felt like the scrape of a knife on a dinner plate.

 Eric finished the chapter. He marked the spot with the scrap of paper Jack usually used and set the book on the empty couch cushion beside him. “How are you doin’?”

 Jack shrugged. “That first night was rough but overall I’ve felt better than I did during my last concussion.”

 “You don’t feel upset about missin’ games?”

 Jack shrugged again and then felt stupid. Who shrugs that many times in a conversation? “Eh, yeah, but I’ve learned the hard way about taking care of myself. A few weeks of games isn’t worth my safety or my life.”

 “My dad could take some points from you. He’s of the belief that the Player’s Safety Commission over exaggerates the danger of concussions. Says they’re tryin’ to make the game so weak MooMaw could play.”

 Switching outstretched legs, Jack frowned. “Is he really ignoring all the research?”

 “He’s been coachin’ football since he graduated his high school team. He’s a bit set in his ways.”

 “Yeah, but there are even players who have talked about how post concussive syndrome and how it’s wrecked their lives-”

 Eric held his hand up. “You’re preachin’ to the choir.”

  Eric cooked dinner while Jack slipped back into the nearly black bedroom to rest. Jack’s appetite hadn’t even partially returned so he picked at most of his plate before Eric shooed him off. He lay in bed and drifted in and out of work, the sound of Eric typing on his computer drifting through the cracked door.

 They’d unplugged the clock that sat on his bedside table. The neon green light had burned even though his closed eyes but now Jack wished it worked. He’d know when Shitty was going to be back or he’d know when there would be a game on.

 He rolled over. Pressing his palm against the cool, empty space where Eric had spent the last several nights. He understood Eric’s hesitations. He did, really, and he’d back off on the touching. He just didn’t necessarily like the hesitations.

  Jack had four things in his life that he knew were true: His parents loved him. Shitty loved him. His team had his back, no matter what. Hockey was his number one love.

 He felt a fifth truth forming the past few days. Eric (Richard, he’d learned during one late sleepless night chat) Bittle was important. Jack didn’t know how yet, if Eric would let them be more or if they’d just be friends, but those dreams had brought them together for a reason.

 Eric smiled when Jack emerged. It was toothy and free and Jack wanted to do whatever it took to make him do it again. He crossed the cold tile floor and sat on the barstool across from him, his hands firmly tucked under his legs. Shitty was snoring so loudly it was surprising he hadn’t woken himself up yet.

 “Can’t sleep?” Eric asked. He hit a few buttons on his computer and then closed the lid.  He’d lit several candles and left them burning in the center of the counter. The firelight darkened and brightened Eric’s hair, hid and showcased the freckles across his nose. Jack felt his breath disappear from his lungs. He searched Eric’s face with hungry eyes, mentally cataloguing every inch of him. His fingers pressed hard into the soft padding but he didn’t move them.

 Eric tilted his head to the side. His lips pursed into something between a smirk and a grin. Jack had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from leaning over the wide countertop and kissing him.

 “Jack?” The amusement was still evident in Eric’s voice but concern laced his voice.

 He cleared his throat. “Eh, yeah. Hi.”

 “It’s nearly three.”

 Jack’s eyebrows rose. “Aren’t you tired?”

 “Aren’t you?”

 Jack shrugged- god, Jack, enough with the shrugging- but said no. “I think I’ve slept enough the last few days that I’m gonna stay up the next week.”

 Eric shook his head the tiniest bit. He stood and offered Jack his hand. Without thinking about it Jack went around the edge of the counter, taking his warm hand. “Do you have any more of that sleepy tea?” he asked. He began to walk back to their- Jack’s bedroom, Jack falling into step beside him.

 “Yeah, eh, I think so.”

 Less than ten minutes later Jack was sitting in bed clutching a half-empty mug of warm tea. Eric was beside him with his own mug, talking quietly about how he and his MooMaw came up with the recipe when Eric was young. The kitchen candles were blown out save the one Eric brought into the bedroom.

 Eric finished his tea first. He put the mug on his bedside table and flopped down on his back, arms spread wide. One hand hung off the edge of the bed and the other arm was pressed against Jack’s leg. Jack quickly chugged the rest of his drink and turned away to put his mug down, hiding his blush. Eric moved his arm as Jack slid down until his head was on the pillows.

 He was expecting Eric to pull away again so Jack turned away, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it over the side of the bed. When he lay on his back Eric was watching him, the earlier amusement on his face gone.

 “Sorry, I normally don’t sleep with one on. I’ve been really hot at night with it on. I can put it back-”

 “Oh hush. You should be comfortable. Don’t worry about anythin’ but that.”

 “But-”

 “It doesn’t bother me, Jack.” His words were quiet but still cut through the growing fog in Jack’s head. He reached over and brushed the tips of his fingers over the back of Jack’s hand.

 His heart pounded at the touch. Eric’s face was mostly in shadow and unreadable. It remained that way when Jack turned onto his side facing him, and laced their hands together.

 The silence in the room was heavy. Breathable but malleable, depending on what came next. The tea began to weigh on Jack’s eyelids but he forced them open. The distant Eric was gone and the warm, open, I’m –right-here Eric was in his bed. He didn’t want to miss these moments.

 “How come you’re fine with me touching you now but you weren’t earlier? When we were on the couch?” He hadn’t meant to ask it. He was going to respect boundaries and limits. He was.

 Eric played with Jack’s fingers. “Can you blame me for not wanting to get used to something I might not get to have for real?”

 His words rang in Jack’s ears, sounding loaded and false and just…wrong. “How come this is okay?” He wiggled their hands. His mind raced as he tried to figure out why what Eric said bothered him.

 “I-” Eric sighed. “Two reasons. One, I know how important it is to be comfortable when you’re healin’ so I’m here to make sure you’re doin’ okay and aren’t over exertin’ yourself. As for the second…don’t  be makin’ fun of me for this, but if we’re lyin’ down and gettin’ ready to sleep, I can pretend it’s one of our dreams.

  In daylight things get…messier. More real.” He avoided Jack’s eyes. “Now, I know how stupid I’m soundin’ but it’s workin’ so far so I’d appreciate any cruel opinions not bein’ voiced.”

 Jack protested. “Eric, do you seriously think I’m going to be cruel to you?”

 He wrinkled his nose. “Lord, even my momma doesn’t call me that. And honestly? No. I don’t think that, but I shouldn’t be relyin’ on my gut for major life decisions. I need talkin’ and trust and all the other important stuff.”

 “I think you talk enough for both of us,” Jack chirped.

 “Ha. Ha. Ha,” Eric said dryly.

 “As for the other part,” he said, wrapping his fingers firmly around Eric’s and bringing his hand to his mouth. As he brushed his lips across each of his knuckles Eric’s mouth parted with a quiet gasp.  “Don’t you know you already have it?”

 In the dim light Eric blushed. “Lord, you keep harpin’ on this.”

 Jack’s heart squeezed. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to force anything on you, I just don’t understand.” He inhaled as quietly as he could, held for four, and exhaled. Eric noticed and sat up. His movements dislodged the blankets from his chest.

 “Darlin’, you haven’t done a thing wrong, okay? None of this apologizin’.” Eric hauled himself out of bed and filled the empty glass in the bathroom. Jack sat up in bed, the blankets falling away from his bare chest, and took the offered glass and pills. He swallowed them easily. When he handed the glass back to Eric he saw the hunger and longing in Eric’s eyes. They stared at each other for what felt like minutes until Eric broke away. He was muttering under his breath when he put the empty glass on his bedside table and slid under the covers. Jack couldn’t hear what it was.

 Maybe he was regretting coming over to wait on Jack hand and foot. Maybe he regretted ever saying his name in that dream. Maybe he regretted ever moving to Providence because now he knew Jack and would see his face on promo material throughout the city. He was never going to be able to get away from Jack no matter how this ended. Maybe he didn’t know how to say that so he was just waiting here until he figured it out.

 Maybe.

 Maybe.

 Maybe.

 Jack had spent enough time fraying at the edge to know what a too-close spiral felt like. He glanced at Eric, who was curled on his side facing Jack with his eyes shut.

 Tell him?

 Don’t tell him?

 Tell- no- don’t- don’t show him all the fragments of your heart because that’s how people get cut and don’t want to come back or help him clean it up. Why should someone stick around to love a heart that’s more in pieces than not? He’d repaired much of it himself, using tape and Elmer’s glue and what tiny bits of forgiveness he could manage but so much of himself was shattered beyond repair.

 “Brah.” A hand, large and rough-skinned, rested on his shoulder. “You’re sitting in bed at home. It’s….it’s almost four in the morning. You’re safe.”

 There was something in Jack’s hand. When he squeezed it, it squeezed back. Person. Who, though, no clue.

 Jack just held on.

#omgcp #omg check please #check please #zimbits #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #i can't tell if i'm blah about this chapter because it sucks #or if i'm blah about this chapter because i'm blah #just get the first draft down and make it pretty later #anna is lame

[lehouxnap2]

Vent fic/

The way im telling myself to not do it.

Just don't make a comment on a good fic I've read.

Why? Because i'm going to be mean about it, unintentionally.

The fic was good, specially the first chapter, where i was so close to add it to my fav fics collections and make a fanart, share it everywhere and repeat how good it was.

But the same way it was good, it was... questionable, the second chapter just....

Ruined it.

And just because I didn't like it, it doesn't mean it's bad. The writing was good, the story was great, the characters were there. But

The ideology of it all? The final message? How old are you? Are you a fourteen years old edgy teen?

See? That type of comments come out of me, and I don't want to sound so upset about the fic. Because I was, but I don't think the author deserves that. An annoying little reader who disagrees.

So I'm going to drop my comment here.

The fic was, edgily stupid. And sad

It was a jeanmarco fic, old.

Speaking of old, the amount of times the author, or more like, 'Marco' repeated how old they were all the time it made want to punch him in the face, we fucking get it, you are old!

I can't fathom how the first and second chapter were written by the same person, because it really feels like it wasn't. So many... inconsistencies.

At first, Marco wasn't happy where he was, and sounded deeply in love, to suddendly all of that take a turn of 180° and find himself 'better' in that shitty place with shitty people and not loving Jean anymore.

My problem wasn't where things were going, it hit me hard knowing i wasn't going to get a happy ending, but i can accept that. My problem laid on Marco's point of view of life and love. And ... his sudden change. It was just too fast.

Way too fast for my liking, way too fast for me to feel anything for Marco. And this is where the writer takes the reward of "Congratulations! You actually made me dislike Marco, you made me want to wish nothing for him and constantly pissing me off". I've read fics where Marco was a total cunt, and I never ever disliked him, so this truly takes the price.

And I don't mean this in a bad way. Because, I repeat, it was good writing. Marco just happened to be, the kind of person i cannot stand. Having a big cold cold heart. And edgy thoughts.

I myself have edgy thoughts, I'm a nihilist afterall, I do think life is meaningless, but the thing i never do, is telling others how things work or how things should be. Because that's fucking annoying and pretentious. (A reminder that this is just my rant and not a 'the truth' statement)

There was a part where Marco said "Jean is well". Jean, this same Jean who barely kept it together, having mental breakdowns, and having a really horrible and traumatizing past, and broke half his house out of anger at himself, apparently is doing "well". Thank you Marco, for being so considerate.

I didn't want to be so specific with the plot. But fuck it.

The author kept repeating the story was about letting go.

And, that's not what I felt. It didn't felt like both of them tried to do something and then realizing it wasn't working, so they both let go of the past and their dying love.

It felt more like Marco had a sudden change of heart, because he took a decision out of a whim, being totally unresponsible for playing with Jean's heart. I'm glad at the end Eren insulted him, it was indeed fucking stupid. And to think I was myself cheering when it happened because, again, the inconsistency!

When it happened, Marco sounded so sure of himself, nervous but happy, he cried out of joy, because the dream he longed for so long finally happened. To suddendly the next chapter start with a "no, i don't want this".

Why would you write an scene so beautiful, and with joy, with a new start ahead, getting away of your homophobic parents, only to scrap all of that so sudden?

Because it was edgy, because life sucks, love is not real, and blah blah blah. Seriously though, you can say those things without sounding like a scratched cassette from a 2000's emo band.

And omg, the thing about the parents pissed me off. Marco felt "loved" by his parents because they sended him a voice message. Your homophobic parents that saw you with disgust your whole life suddendly love you because you won't be there to cook for them. Good job Marco! Fuck Jean who only went through with his life thinking he'll see you again, and only coming back to that shitty town to take you out of it.

I just kept thinking "well, this is not going to work as a relationship, can you atleast live together as friends?" He didn't have to comeback, but for some reason he did. Or atleast, the author didn't gave me any reason. What was the reason??

Turns out, Marco was all about Jean this, Jean that, for later be like "Oh Jean, i forgot about you long time ago lol"

Yeah, hmmmm that inconsistency love ❤ Like I said. The first chapter felt so different from the second that I didn't recognize Marco, it was totally different, and more cold than he already was. By not liking puppies!! How dare you xD

I wouldn't say Marco was 100% cold, but everytime he cried it felt like he was crying for his sorry ass, than for the whole situation with Jean. For not doing the "logical thing with his emotions". Oh stfu! There's no logic on emotions, everyone knows that you fucking dumbass 🤣

Alright, I'm over my rant. I really wish i could say all this to the writer but I don't know if fic writers take this type of criticism.

#kind of pissed at myself for leaving kudos #but like i said #it was writing #a good jeanmarco fic. i guess #i just didn't like it #my opinion #fanfics #rant

[irepookie]

INFINITY

Summary: QUEEN AU where Rog (aka Rowan Queen) is young single dad struggling to make it into music industry.

Warnings: Fluff, Fluff, Fluff, and swearing.

Word Count: 1926

Okay so this is the closest picture I could find to Row's state in the next two chapters:

Chapter 2: PIPER

Row has a lot questions to ask himself, and he knows it's on only his own future at stake, but also The Prune's, who may be getting a name.

Of all the things Rowan Queen might have aspired to be, -a Rockstar, a Roger Taylor level drummer...- a 19 year old solo dad wasn't amongst them.

All he knew was that since he had first held that small Wrinkly being and her eyes had met his, she had stolen a part of him, and that the only way to feel completed again was being with her.

Ridiculously sappy, he knew.

"But that's what makes best parents" Callie, the nurse who had introduced them assured him one day when he confessed his thoughts out loud, while he watched her sponge bath the infant "Don't feel stupid, or embarrassed for feeling that way, Row. In fact, that's exactly how it should be. Always. And those fathers who deny it or fight that connection, end up estranged from their kids as they grow up. Take it from a daughter who hasn't seen her father in 5 years"

But, alas, there he was, living between his flat and the Hospital's newborn aisle, because he just couldn't get that one girl out his head, despite don't knowing how he had come to this.

"Well I haven't seen mine in 9"

"And that scares you, don't it?"

He gasped, and nodded slowly.

"Is better having no father figure at all than having a bad one. Just like I think your Prune is luckier having one brave dad than a coward mom"

"And two fit parents?" He asked, eyes flicking to the untouched pile of adoption papers

"Well that's the ideal situation, isn't it? But the weight always ends up relaying more on the mother, you know? The father always steps back, because society still thinks it's more acceptable for us women to raise the children because, of course, we have deeper connection with 'em for carrying them around for nine months and blah blah blah." She got the towel and handed it to him before laying the squirming 2 day old In his arms.

He carefully wrapped it around her and sat down so he wouldn't drop her, then started to stroke her soft delicate skin with the towel.

"But that's bullshit." Callie continued "That's an excuse you men came up with to sneak out from changing nappies. But I believe you guys are just as capable of taking care of children as us. And that you might be the ultimate proof of it." She gathered her hair in a ponytail, and smiled at father and daughter, as Row was now

leaning back on the rocking chair with the Prune, -as all the staff had begun to call her- laid on his bare chest.

"So forget whatever prejudices you have. This kid needs you, she doesn't know nothing about what's going on, she misses her little warm oven, the voice she was so used to hear and that she'll never hear again because that world has left her behind the first chance she got and she's very confused.

But also, She doesn't know about gender stereotypes, or that she's a girl. But she knows you're here. And her instincts tell her you're safety, and warmth, and love. Sure, I'm around a lot too, but soon you'll be discharged and everything she'll have will be you. A d then she'll grow up and will be forever grateful for everything you will have done for her"

The teen nodded, taking in all the words but remaining silent. Quiet moments like this -when she was calm and content- were quite meaningful.

"I just want the best for her. And I'm not sure I am"

"Well, from where I'm standing, you're pretty much up there. Nobody gets her to settle down as quickly as you do. That has to mean something, right? Newborns have this amazing instinct of detecting sources of love and protection. And you are hers. She trusts you: trust yourself"

Days went by, and Row found himself getting up early in order to go back to hospital. At home he was restless, as questions filled his head.

Was she better off with him?

Was he ready?

How could Callie be so much more sure about the whole thing than he was?

What if be wasn't good enough

What if mom was right?

Why did he want to become a dad in the first place?

Should he just sign those papers before it was too late and forget the whole thing?

The sixth day, he made his way to the hospital as usual, but something felt off. What it was? He couldn't put a finger on it, so he shrugged it off and entered the NICU area where she was.

"Hey, lovely one, look at you, a bit bigger each day" he cooed at his yet unnamed daughter, as he put his hand through the incubator hole to let her know his ore6 "So strong and so beautiful" he smiled brightly as her small hand closed around his finger.

"Yes, this way please" he heard a male voice and turned his eyes to see a doctor and a man and a woman who were probably in their thirties

"Oh my gosh she's so tiny!" The woman exclaimed, walking towards the glass

"Who are you?" Row asked, stepping defensively in front of her before she could reach the baby.

"You must be Rowan Queen?" The man held his hand out "We're the adopting couple..."

"What?" He basically slapped it away "No! Who told you she's in for adoption?"

"Mister, you signed the adoption papers" the Doctor said

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did. Here" the doctor looked through the pile of papers on his hands and showed him.

He snatched the file from him. That was his signature but he didn't remember signing anything. He may have doubts about being a dad, but Callie was right, the little prune and him needed each other. They belonged together And he wasn't gonna give her away. The only way was through.

"There must be a mistake. She's not up for adoption"

"Err... Yes she is" the man said

"No she's not! I should know better than you, huh?"

"We've heard about the mother. So sad. But babies need their mommys, don't they?" The woman cooed from the other side of the incubator

"You can't take her" if looks could kill, Row would have murdered her right then and there.

"Mister..."

"No! He's my daughter!"

"Sir, signing this you gave up your parental rights"

"And what the hell does that even mean?"

"Legally, she's not yours anymore"

"But I don't remember signing anything!"

"But this is your signature"

"Yes. But I... I didn't mean it"

The woman scoffed "Well you clearly did."

"Mind your fucking business!" He snapped, before turning to the doctor "Look, I really don't know how my signature is there but I need you to... I don't know, forget it, okay?"

"Forget it?"

"Yes! Whatever that stupid paper says, I'm keeping her. And I will do everything you want me to"

"Sorry. There's nothing we can do about it now. You could take this to court but... It's a lost cause"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"A 19 year old against a healthy, stable marriage?" He used the same arguments mom had

"But I'm her dad..." His voice quivered, as his baby started to cry.

"Don't worry sweetheart. Mommy and Daddy are here now" the woman said "Our Judy"

"Judy? What the fuck, you're not naming her Judy!"

"What we do with our daughter is our business, sir" the woman said "Now please, leave us alone"

"No! She's not Judy. She's my prune, I'm gonna prove to all of you fuckers wrong, because I can fucking do this if I want you. Not because I wanted to at first, or because I can't have my own kid like you; she's my own kid and she belongs with me. And I may not be a middle upper class, or drive a goddamn Mercedes, or have a huge house and a stable boring job at whatever office. And she may not have a goddamn mother, or her own room. So what? She has me. Because I'm the one who's been here for the whole bloody week worrying about her. Not you, not her mother. So fuck off and choose another kid!"

Two men who Row hadn't even seen arrive took him, as he fought and called his crying daughter "PIPER! PIPER! DADDY WILL GET YOU! I'M YOUR DAD, DON'T FORGET!"

Then he woke up with a jolt in that same hospital room, as his newborn baby awoke too beside him

He quickly sat up and leaned over to place a hand on her tummy, to check that she was real, letting out a sigh of relief when feeling her warm skin

It had been just a dream. Well, a nightmare rather than a dream. But she was there, safe next to him

"Hey, baby girl. Yes, hello darling. You had a good night? Gave trouble to the nurses?" he asked, stroking her torso "Are we hungry?" He offered his little finger,and she began to suck on it as response, which made him chuckle. "Alright, I'll call so they get us a bottle okay?"

3 minutes later, he was sitting on the green rocking chair, Baby Prune on his bare chest -because apparently skin to skin helped parents and kiddos bond or whatever- as he gave her the bottle.

He had to admit, ever since he had learned how to properly hold her, he looked forward to feeding, because he had grown to love these little moments, and by the end of them, be always felt closer and more in love with that tiny, wrinkled human being which he had helped make.

Who was a part of him somehow, and who he couldn't imagine his life without despite having only known her for 6 days.

She was so amazing. So mesmerizing. With her clear grey eyes and her peachy skin, and her adorable ears.

He just couldn't get his eyes off her.

"You're gonna come home with me in a couple days, and..." He realized he hadn't really thought about a plan. He had just moved out mom's, and the apartment was still empty. He'd have to start getting stuff. But anyway "... And we'll figure something out. I'm not gonna renounce to you. No ma'am. You've got me. And I've got you. And I'll look after you and make sure you're always happy and safe and... loved. I fucking love you so damn much and I don't even know how did this happen. I mean you're not even a week old and you've already turned my life upside down just by bloody existing. You can't even understand what I'm saying. But here I am, making all this plans and Shit... I, who never thinks ahead, who never knows his future beyond what meal he's gonna get. But I... Damn. Do you babies have like special powers or something? Do you like... Is it a defensive instinct? Like you manage to make us go nuts about you by casting a spell it whatever so we'll stay enchanted? Because this is fucking ridiculous."

She finished the bottle and he put it aside.

"Speaking about plans, we can't keep calling you Baby Prune. We're gonna have to choose a name. A pretty unique gorgeous name for a special, perfect little princess like you. So, let's see" he changed his hold on her so they were face to face. Something the nurses had called.. ? He wasn't really sure but he had got hand on it "Yes, hello" he smiled helplessly at the sight of her "Baby girl. Baby girl" he cooed absentmindedly as he analysed her features

Then he remembered his dream. He had called her Piper. He wasn't even sure if he had heard that name before but he liked it. It was original, cool, rare enough people would associate it with her but not awful, like other names he had heard.

"Piper" he whispered, tasting the word while contemplating her face. It sounded good to him. "Piper Queen" he said, a bit louder this time as her tiny hand closed around a strand of his blonde hair. "You like that? Piper?"

She just blinked, but he interpreted it as an affirmative answer

"It's settled, then. Piper. Pips for short." He smiled, and brought her back to his bare chest so he could lull her back to sleep with his rambling, which had worked the previous times.

"My Piper" he kissed her head and began to rub her back "I'm so scared honestly. I won't lie to ya, I have no idea what I'm doing but you can rely on me. I'm good at improvising so I'll figure it out. Don't worry. But you gotta take it easy, hm? If you have a bit of patience, it'll be just fine. And about this?" He reached for the papers -which were unsigned- and ripped them off "Fuck it. Just fuck it."

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

A big Hola to my dear fellow @definitely-darcy whose kind review and attention to detail has made gain confidence in this.

So, I've written this one in different bits which I've had to tie up together. Hope you guys like it.

That's about it, really. Please comment and let me know what you think (always nice and constructively).

Xx

~Pookie

#bohemian rhapsody #queen band #roger taylor #infinity fic #queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen #queen fandom #queen au #single dad! roger taylor #roger taylor daughter #roger taylor baby #ben hardy! roger taylor #irepookie #lil'prune

[joleen1234]

Heaven in Hiding - Chapter 26

We pulled up to Alexandria and stopped all our trucks infront. Eugene stood up on the main truck and made his speech asking for this all to end. When Rick didn't Comply we watched as the ducked. Waiting for the explosions to happen. They never did. We knew about them and we had people on the inside. The Trash People held their guns toward Rick and his people. Negan, Dwight and I got out of our truck and walked to Eugene. Ricks face was priceless as he watched his plan fail right before his eyes.

"You ever here of that stupid little prick names Rick who thought he knew shit but didn't know shit and got everyone he gave a shit about killed? It's about you." He did with a smirk.

"You all should put your guns down." I said as Negan looked to Rick.

"No one drops anything." Rick said then turned to the Trash Lady.

"You push me and you push me Rick. You just tried to blow us up right? I get me. My people. But Eugene. He's one of yours ain't he?" My back against the wheel of the truck watching Negan do his thing. My gun held to my side ready if I needed to use it. "Dwight. Simon. Chop chop." And with that they hopped up and started to unhook the casket we had. I walked over to Negan and took a breath. I followed him as he walked around back and hopped up. I stayed on the ground as he started. "So you don't like Eugene anymore. But you gotta like Sasha." He spoke as all eyes and ears were on him. He demanded the guns they found. Lemonade. Pool table. Blah blah. Parts of his speech I tuned out as I watched their facial expressions.

"You suck ass Rick. You really do. I don't wanna kill her. But that's exactly what you're gonna make me do!"

"Let me see her." Rick said looking down at us.

"Alright. Give me a second. Gonna have to get her up to speed. She can't hear shit in this thing." He tapped the casket with Lucille. "Sash. Your not gonna believe this shit." She said as he opened the casket slightly.

“Holy mother fucker!" He shouted as Sasha came out and knocked him to the ground. I pulled the knife from the thigh holster and ran under the truck and grabbed Sasha from on top of Negan and tossed her to the side. She turned somehow in the casket. Negan got up and grabbed my arm pulling me away from her as she got one of our guys. We made out way way to Simon and I started shooting at them with him. "Plan B it is." Negan said full of anger. I knew he didn't want Sasha to get hurt and now she died somehow. And what's worse is she turned when he promised to keep her safe in there. I knew he was pissed. I ducked in time before a bullet went whizzing past my face. I took a breath and peaked back out to shoot back. I felt Negan pull at my arm and motion for me to follow him. Under the cover of the trucks we snuck in the back of the community as the Trash People and the rest of our guys took care of crowd control. The gunfire calmed down quickly and we walked to the back to see Simon had already got Carl. He was kneeling as Rick was being brought over by the Trash Lady. Rick was made to kneel next to his son. I stood with Simon and Dwight as Negan did his thing. He discussed a deal with the Trash Lady for a while. Not backing down and she eventually agreed to his terms.

"Oh Rick. This is just going to make you sad. Broken. You're going to wish you were dead." Negan started as he walked toward them, Lucille swinging back and forth. He really was a great speaker. He knew the right buttons to push and the best points to aid in his ideals. "I gotta tell you Rick. If I had a kid, I'd want him to be just like your kid. Which makes this so much harder." I looked toward Dwight, then Simon. Was this plan B? To ruin Rick by killing his son? A woman's shrill scream broke my chain of thought. A loud thud echoed through the area and Rick looked over. Was it that woman he was always with?

"Now. I'm gonna kill Carl. I'm gonna make it once nice hard swing. Try to do this in one because I like him." Negan said as he was face to face with Rick. This isn't what I wanted. I didn't want to see Negan have to kill this kid that I knew he really cared about.

"You can do it right in front of me. You can take my hands. I told you. I'm gonna kill you. All of you. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I will." Rick said making Negans face turn to a scowl. He held his anger back and let out a throaty chuckle as he stood up. I watched as Negan pulled back ready to swing and I heard a loud growl coming from the right of me. Before I could react a tiger leaped by me, past Negan and to the savior standing next to him.

My eyes fixated on the tiger as it ripped Jeff's face apart, I couldn't look away. I couldn't move. I was frozen. It felt like minutes had past but it was surly only seconds. I felt a rough yank at my arm as Negan literally dragged me back with him. I shook my head as I came back to reality and started to run. We got behind a car and Simon and I started shooting from behind it.

"A fucking Tiger." Negan cursed as he looked over. "Holy shit. The Widows alive. Fucking hell. You taste that? It's the taste of shit." Negan shouted in frustration. I ran out of bullets and ducked down to reload. Before I could put the clip in I was pulled away. "Keep moving and keep your fucking head down Doll." Negan said frantically as we ran toward the trucks. I felt a hot stinging sensation in my left arm but ignored it. Negan ripped the door open to the truck and pretty much threw me in. Simon got in on my left and Negan to my right. Before I knew it we were driving. I let out a sigh of relief and put my head back, the gunfire quieting down.

"Prudence. You okay?" I heard Simon ask.

"Yeah. Why?" I asked.

"You're arms bleeding."

----------------

Negan turned to Prue and pulled her left arm out toward him. She winced and looked down. Negan swallowed hard as he noticed the gunshot on the top part of her left arm. There wasn't an exit wound so that meant the bullet was still in there. It was starting to bleed a lot and she looked up to him for reassurance.

"I-I didn't notice it." She stuttered in panic. "It doesn't hurt."

"That's cause you're in shock Doll." Negan said as he looked to Simon. He nodded and started driving faster. "Just try to stay calm. The more you panic the more you bleed." She shook her head and looked down at the wound.

It was starting to bleed a lot more and Negan could tell she was beginning to panic. Her chest started to rise and fall quickly and her breathing got shallow. Negan took his scarf off and used it as a tourniquet, tying it tightly just above the gunshot. She let out a yelp as he tightened it. Negan knew how tricky gunshots could be. For all he knew it had hit an artery or done some major interior damage.

"I-it's starting to hurt." She mumbled as she tried to breath through the pain. God, this was killing Negan. Seeing her get hurt like this because of all this bullshit. He cupped her chin and rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

"We'll be there before you know it Darlin'. Just hang tight."

He was right. Simon had drove top speeds back to the Sanctuary, getting there in record time. He radioed for the doctor to be ready for a gunshot wound so she could get help as soon as they got there. The truck stopped and Negan picked her up bridal style and made he was to the infirmary. Prue resting her head against his chest and gripping onto his now bloody shirt with her right hand. She was loosing more blood and starting to drift in and out of consciousness.

"Prue. We're almost there. Stay awake." Negans voice getting nervous.

"Hmm." She responded. She was still awake enough to respond. That was good. Negan burst into the infirmary and placed her the the bed that was set up. The Dr.Carson got right to it as he examined her arm.

"There no exit to this and you can see the bullet is in there. Good news. It doesn't look to have hit anything major. After I get it out I should be able to stitcher her up and she'll be fine." A sigh of relief escaped Negans lips as he nodded. "Bad news. We don't have anything to numb the pain. So you're going to have to hold her down."

"Hold her down?"

"Yes sir. She seems like the feisty type."

"You have no idea." Negan stood next to her, arms on her shoulders. Dr.Carson got his tools together and put a pair of microscopic glasses. The second he started to dig for it Prue let out a loud scream. She tried to get up but Negan was holding her down. A string of curses escaped her lips as the doctors tried to get the bullet.

"It seems to have broken up inside here. I have to make sure I get every fragment out or she could get an infection."

"Fuck you!" Prue growled with gritted teeth as the doctor pulled another piece out. Seeing Prue in this pain. Negan wanted to kill whoever did this. Shoot at him. His men. But go after the one thing that means the most to him. His Queen. That crossed the line and this meant war.

------------

My mouth dry from shouting and screaming as I laid back against Negans chest. The doctor had cleaned and stitched me up. He put gauze around it and stood up.

"Alright. You're good to go." He told me.

"Awesome." I said sarcastically. "So I'm good to go back to my work right?" I asked with my now horse voice.

"Well, Id take it easy. No heavy lifting. Avoid strenuous activities for a few days. That sort of thing. Other then That you can continue as normal."

"Thanks." I said with a nod as he left the clean himself up. I tilted my head back and looked up to Negan. "Hear that? No strenuous activities." I joked but got no response.

"You just got fucking shot Prue." Negan said stone faced.

"Yeahhh. But I feel just fine now." I lied as I hopped off the bed. My vision went blurry and before I knew it my legs collapsed and I felt two strong arms wrap around me. I blinked a few times and looked up to see a very annoyed Negan.

"You lost a lot of blood. You can't be moving around like that." Negan helped me back up and put his arm around my waist. "I'm taking you to my room."

"What. No. I want to go to my room." I whined.

"You'll fucking sneak out if you're in your room." I pouted. He was right.

"I'll still sneak out." I mumbled as he helped me walk.

"Not if I put guards at the door when I'm not there babysittin ya." He smirked. I let out an exaggerated sigh.

"I just need some food and I'll be fine. I'm sure a lot of good stuff is gonna happen after that shit Rick pulled today. I want to help. I want to make them fucking pay."

"As hot as that is Prue you still need to rest. I'll fill you in when I get back to the room."

"Fine." I agreed. He wasn't going to let up and my arm really did hurt a lot. It was still throbbing and hurt any time I moved even a finger. This pain better pass because I don't know how long I can keep up the whole it doesn't hurt act.

——————————

Tag List:

@scifi-bi

@coralpoppa

@thepockyfreak

@jessiellong1987

@little-big-mac

@lovesjdm

@ask-kakashihatake

@zoesmama2024

@collette04

@fariesandwanderlust

@warriorqueen1991

@negana-harleen

@heyitscam99

@negansdirtygirl22

#negan x prue #heaven in hiding #negan fanfic #negan x oc #negan imagine #negan fic #twd negan #the walking dead negan #negan #negan fanfiction

[cozy-rosey-posey]

An Old Friend

Genre: Fanfiction (chapter story)

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Willa Dagger (OC), general supernatural cast

Pairing: READ AND FIND OUT ITS MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE 😉

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: language, sexual conduct, violence, angst, HEARTBREAK

Prologue

The bell rang out, signaling class change. I sighed and got out of my desk. I walked out of the classroom, already tired of all of this educational crap. My hair swayed behind me and catcalls blew through the halls. I smirked a little, knowing that I already had this school wrapped around my finger. 
 I got to my next class and everybody was standing against the wall. My eyebrows flew up as my eyes flickered from the students to the desks. "Please stand against the wall, Miss..." the teacher trailed off, his eyes raking down my body. I held back a disgusted look.
 "Dagger," I answered, "The name's Dagger." Some students snickered, and the teacher smirked.
 "Dagger?" he asked, "What's your real name?" I glared at him and took a few steps into the classroom and closer to him.
 "Willa Dagger," I said, offering my hand and a deadly stare. He flinched lightly. "Nice to meet you," I said in a dangerous yet quiet voice. He gulped.
 I made my way to the wall and stood next to a random person. "O-okay..." the teacher said, still a little shaken by my first impression, "Uh... I will be assigning seats. Um... When I call your name, you will sit in the seat I have provided you... Stevens," he continued to call out names until he called mine. "Since your last names seem to correspond, I will have Miss Dagger... and Mister Winchester sit here."
 I walked to the desk he spoke of in the back. I sat in the very corner, letting 'Winchester' sit in the other. He sat down, and I noticed how unbelievably attractive he was. He wore a brown shirt, an unbuttoned plaid shirt, and a leather jacket... Seriously dude, aren't you hot enough already? Hanging around his neck was a strange looking necklace. His hair was brown, and his eyes were a pretty green color. Overall, he was extremely tappable. 
 The teacher began explaining this and that, blah blah blah while I doodled on a piece of paper. "Pst," I heard someone whisper. I ignored it, hoping whoever it was, they were talking to some else. "Pst!" they continued, "Hey, Dagger."
 I looked up to see the boy in front of me smirking. "What?" I snapped, annoyed. He may have been attractive, but that didn't make him any less desperate.
 "How about you and I get out of here?" he offered, winking flirtatiously at me. I looked around the room for a moment. 
 "Uh..." I paused, "How about no." I said sassily. His smirked widened and he glanced down. Then, I realized I was leaning over the desk, my chest pressed to it. I cleared my throat, sitting up and glaring at him.
 "Come on," he whispered, "Just a little seven minutes in heaven?" He reached to stroke my cheek with his finger. I opened my mouth to say something, but someone beat me to it.
 "She said no, dude." I looked to my right and saw Winchester glaring at him. 
 The guy in front of me glared, "Was I talking to you, newbie?" I bit my lip and sunk down in my chair. I could have easily taken that dude myself. I didn't really need some 'knight in shining armor' to save the day. 
 "Maybe not, but it also seems like Dagger here doesn't want to talk to you either," he responded. He glanced to me and I looked to my desk. Most of the time, I was quite courageous. I kind of had to, what with the family business. But I told myself I wasn't going to get into the whole 'boy crazy' thing this time. Not this school. My grades already suck, the last thing I need is another distraction. 
 "What makes you think she wants to talk to you?" the guy in front of me asked. Winchester glanced to me again, this time his eyes lingering. I nodded.
 I cleared my throat, "I'll talk to him," I glared at the guy in front of me. He glared at Winchester then turned back around.
 


 "Hey, Willa!" I looked back and smiled. Dean ran towards me, his regular leather jacket flying behind him as I walked down the football field. Dean and I had gotten closer since the first time we met. Originally, I insisted that I'd have nothing to do with him, but... Well, he changed my mind. I know I shouldn't make ties with people -- I'm just going to leave anyways. But, honestly, I can't help being friends with Dean. He and his brother (whom he introduced me to) were just so... Kind to me.
 "Hey, Dean!" I laughed as he caught up with me, breathless. "Are you okay?" I giggled. He nodded, sputtering incoherent words as he tried to catch his breath.
 "I just-... I wanted to..." he grunted, his hands on his knees. He stood up and swallowed, "Ugh... I wanted to ask you something." I giggled at his unfitness. 
 "Shoot," I smiled. He started to fidget, fixing his jacket and cracking his knuckles in nerves. My eyebrows furrowed. He's never like this. He's always so carefree and... Well, cocky. "Are you okay?" I asked him, a ghost of a smile on my lips, "What do you need to ask me?"
 "U-uh..." he stuttered... Dean Winchester stuttered. Never thought I'd see the day. "Well... I-I was wondering if... If you wanted to um.... I was wondering if..."
 "Dean," I laughed, "Just ask! There's nothing to be nervous about!" He looked down a little and I instinctively reached to grab the bottom of the sleeve of his jacket, grabbing his hand. His hand tensed for a moment before he held my hand.
 He sighed, "This is a lot harder than usual," he mumbled, "Uh... Okay, well... I was wondering... If you wanted to go catch a movie?... Maybe tonight? Or some other time, it-it doesn't matter to me. Whenever you want to, you know... Or if you don't want to at all, that's- that's fine, I-"
 I giggled, "Of course, Dean," I responded, smiling like a fool, "I would love to go to the movies with you." He stopped blabbering and blinked.
 "R-really?" he asked, a big smile on his lips. I nodded and stood on the tips of my toes, kissing his cheek.
 


 AC/DC played lightly through my speakers as Dean and I laid in my bed, just talking. I played with his fingers as I listened to his voice. "Hmmm...." I thought of a good question to ask. We were playing any question. "How many times have you ever... Drank?"
 "Drank?" he chuckled, looking down at me, "As in... Alcohol?" I nodded and he chuckled again. "Um... Quite a few times," he laughed. I smiled a little, playing with his bracelet. "Uh... Have you ever..." then I saw his famous smirk spread across his lips, "Have you ever given a lap dance?"
 I laughed, rolling over and hiding my blushing face in his side, "No... I have never and may never give a lap dance," I replied, making sure to enunciate 'may'.
 "May, huh?" he smirked, "So could I change that to a 'yes, I have given a lap dance'?" he teased. I stretched up, putting my lips near his ear.
 "Maybe you could." I bit my lip, retracting back, giggling. He was silent for a few moments and I glanced up, seeing his eyes were wide. 
 He looked back down to me and his lips were attached to mine. My fingers ran through his hair, tugging lightly. I pulled away a little and his lips followed mine for moment. I bit my lip, looking down. His hand found my hair and he started playing with it as my eyelids grew heavy.
 


 "Hey, do you know where Dean is?" I asked one of Dean's friends. He shook his head, apologizing. "Have you seen Dean?" I asked another. 
 "Sorry, Willa," he said and turned back to the girl he was flirting with. I huffed and made my way to my next class.

 The final bell rang, and I trudged out of the class room. I hadn't seen Dean all today and it sucked because I had to tell him that I was leaving.
 I walked to the office, my messenger bag bouncing behind me. "Excuse me?" I asked the secretary. She looked up, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. "Um..." I walked further into the office, putting my hands on her desk and leaning on it slightly, "Do you know if Dean Winchester was here today?"
 She gave me a sympathetic look, "Honey, he transferred to another school." My mouth opened to say something, but then I registered what she said.
 I felt my heart shatter and could practically hear it too. "Oh..." I said quietly, "Um... Th-thank you..." I stumbled out of the office and walked out of the building in a daze. I suppose I shouldn't be so broken up. I was going to tell him that I was leaving anyways but... He just... Left. He didn't say goodbye. He didn't say that he'd miss me... Or that he loved me like I recently found out about him. That's right. The great Willa Dagger has fallen in love. But now... He's gone.

CHAPTER ONE IS UP ON QUOTEV! LINK DOWN BELOW!

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