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l-egionaire · 3 years

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Owl House Fanfic - Can't Hurt Her

"Ha-ha! Not fast enough Luz-er!"

"Give it back!"

Luz's cries fell on deaf ears as the large jock she'd been running at tossed her Azura novel over her head and into the waiting arms of the cheerleader standing at the other end of the hall. Around them, a crowd of students laughed as Luz turned around and raced towards the cheerleader.

The whole mess had started just a few minutes ago. Luz had been walking through the halls, her face deep in the latest Good Witch Azura book. She'd saved up for a month to get the special edition with the maps of Azura's home and exclusive wraparound cover art. Unfortunately, Luz had been so wrapped up in reading that she hadn't been paying attention to where she was walking and accidentally bumped into someone, causing her to fall to the ground. She looked up and, to her horror, saw that the person she’d walked into was Allison Greer. Head cheerleader, most popular girl in school, and person who delighted in picking on her at every opportunity. Behind her was her usual entourage of jocks, cheerleaders, and other assorted cool kids.

Allison gave Luz her usual “your existence is bothering me” glare. “Watch where you’re going, Noceda.”

Hoping to avoid yet another humiliating encounter with the girl, Luz muttered out an apology and quickly scrambled to pick up her things that had fallen to the floor. But before she could pick up her new Azura book, Allison snatched it up.

"Hey!"

Allison flipped open the book and rifled through the pages. "Jeeze, is this the kind of nerdy junk you’re always looking at?” In an overly dramatic and sarcastic tone she recited “Azura swept Hecate into her arms, her trembling fingers sweeping the hair out of Hecate’s face so that she could see her deep blue eyes. 'Oh Hecate! I’m so glad that you’re alright! I couldn’t bear to imagine life without you!' Allison and her friends all laughed. “Really riveting.”

Luz sighed, used to this kind of thing by now. “Can I just have it back please?”

Unfortunately for Luz, Allison’s face got the smirk she always had when she was about to do something mean.

“Aw but I’m not done reading it. Although, it might be easier without this lame cover.” Allison used her manicured nails to begin scratching the cover off the book.

Luz panicked. “Stop!” She ran at Allison to try and take her book back but Allison noticed and threw the book over to one of the jocks near her causing Luz to turn around and go towards him instead.

This led to the humiliating game of back and forth Luz was currently engaged in. The crowd had gathered after a few minutes to indulge in her embarrassment.

After charging the jock once more, only for him to chuck the book to Allison, Luz finally stopped in the middle area between them and cried to the cheerleader. “Please! Just give me my book back.”

Allison looked at her for a moment before sighing. “Fine.”

Luz’s chest filled with glee. She ignored the sound of the crowd groaning in disappointment and walked straight to Allison, her hands outstretched. “Thank you!”

But, rather than return the book to Luz, Allison once again gave her her signature evil smirk. Her eyes then locked on to something behind her.

“You know Noceda, I’ve got to admit. After only reading a few pages of this lame book, it seems like garbage. So...I’d say it belongs in the trash!”

With one last strong throw, Allison hurled the book into an arc in the air until it landed into an open garbage can.

Luz cried out in shock, “No!” She bolted to the trashcan and hurled herself halfway into it, clawing through the trash to find her lost novel. After a few seconds, her hand found the books spine. But before she could pull herself out, she felt someone grab hold of her legs, lift them up, and stuffing her fully into the trash can before putting the lid on top of the can, leaving Luz surrounded by stink and trash.

Even from inside the can Luz could hear the rest of the students laughing at her.

"Well, that's two pieces of garbage that got thrown away." She heard Allison say.

Luz trudged down the street, garbage juice soaked into her clothes and tears running down her face.

After managing to pull herself out of the garbage, Luz had unfortunately run into the school principal. She'd tried to explain what had happened with Allison but, as usual, he didn't believe her and assumed Luz had gone dumpster diving to look for elves or something else strange she usually did. So he'd sent her home to change out of her dirty, smelly clothes. And worst of all, her brand new Azura book was ruined!

Beneath the sadness, humiliation, and pain Luz had stored up from today, one other emotion bubbled to the top.

Rage.

She couldn't do this anymore. She'd tried hard to ignore the bullying and just make the best of her school days but this was the last straw. She was going to call her mom, tell her what happened and she'd…..do something. Tell the principal to believe her? Pull her out of school? She didn't know. All Luz knew was that she couldn't keep pretending things were okay at school. She had to come clean.

Soon, Luz arrived at her house. She unlocked and opened the door only for her eyes to widen in shock at the sight of her mom sitting asleep upright on the couch, her head laid back and drool leaking from her mouth.

Luz walked over and gently shook her mother's arm. "Mamá?

Camila immediately shot awake and blinked tiredly around her before noticing Luz. "Whah!? Oh, ugh, I'm sorry Mija."

"Are you okay? What are you doing home so early?"

"Oh, I'm just tired. I've been working so much this week that I've barely gotten any sleep. " Camila stood up from the couch and yawned before slouching over. "And after I accidentally brought a doctor a baked potatoe instead if the replacement spleen he needed he may have suggested I go home and get some rest.

Luz let out a small chuckle but then actually noticed how worn out her mother was. There were heavy bags under her eyes, her whole body sagged with exhaustion. Even her voice sounded haggard and weary.

"Mamá, are you sure you're okay?" Luz asked worriedly.

"Si, Si, I'm fine. But, what are you doing home so early?" Camila rubbed her eyes then looked at Luz again. She then seemed to notice the stains on her clothes. "What happened?" She then sniffed the air, cringed and held her nose. "And why do you smell so bad?"

Luz suddenly remembered what had happened and clenched her fists. This was perfect. She'd been planning to just call her mom at work but now she could tell her to her face-

And make her have to deal with even more.

That took the wind out of Luz's sails. She once again looked at her mother and took in her still lingering signs of exhaustion.

Her mamá had already been pushing herself so hard at work to bring home money and keep a roof over their heads. And now Luz was going to make her have to deal with her problems too?

Luz sighed internally and plastered a sheepish smile onto her face.

"Oh that. I, uh, dropped my new Azura book into the trash so I went into the trashcan to get it back."

Camila groaned. "Luz, I've told you before. You can't go rummaging through the garbage! Now look at you. You got your school clothes ruined. "

Luz laughed weakly, struggling to keep her false grin. "Heh, heh, sorry mom. I just...couldn't help myself. You know how I am."

#The Owl House #Owl House #ToH #luz noceda #toh luz #luz owl house #camila noceda #the owl house camilia #camila owl house #fanfic #fanfiction #owl house fanfiction

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queenofcats17 · 5 years

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Unraveled by Timothy Lawrence

I’ve never written anything in the Borderlands fandom, but I saw this post by @0pixer and I guess I’m writing it

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Timothy Lawrence’s life has significantly improved now that Jack is dead and he’s managed to get a job that doesn’t involve killing people. He’s very done with killing people. Rhys has given him a job at ATLAS doing...Well, his official job has something to do with media relations or something. Mostly he makes weird videos where he goes weirdly in-depth about various subjects. Usually books. Sometimes movies. Once he deconstructed a Bunkers and Badasses campaign with the help of Rhys and Vaughn. He’s gained quite a following.

Today, his video opens as it often does, with Tim standing in front of a black background which he may or may not pin pieces of paper to in some strange string board. He’s grown his hair out a bit since joining Atlas, and his ginger hair has started to come back along with his freckles. Today he’s wearing a sweater with a cartoon cat on it.

“As you all probably know, I have an English degree. Before I started working for Jack, I went to school for English. I was going to be a writer.” Tim’s expression is some mix of irritated and existential wondering who his life had ended up this way.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat and continues. “I have an English degree. And today I’m going to use it. To take apart this awful romance novel!” He holds up a book with a giant grin. It looks like something you’d pick up at the drug store and has a stylized illustration of Handsome Jack and a swooning damsel on the front.

“I’m going to tear this apart.” The glee is readily apparent on Tim’s face. He looks absolutely ecstatic to destroy this book, both figuratively and literally. Because he will be burning this once the segment is over. “Despite being told that this is a bad idea and it’s just a book, I’m going to do this anyway!”

“As if we could stop you.” Sasha’s voice comes from off-screen. Tim disregards this, his smile widening.

“Vaughn and Fiona found this while scavenging the charred remains of Helios for supplies.” Tim opens the book, flipping through a few pages. “They were just going to burn it for fuel, but then Fiona read a few pages and it was so bad she brought it back so we could all laugh at it.” He starts giggling in anticipation.

“I kind of remember Jack having these things produced, but, well,” he pauses and lets out an undignified snort. “He had a lot of shitty propaganda produced. I’m pretty sure Rhys owned all of it.”

“I did not!” Rhys’ indignant voice comes from behind the camera.

“Bro, half the stuff in our apartment was Handsome Jack merch.” Vaughn’s voice comes from behind the camera as well. There’s a huff, presumably from Rhys.

“Alright, fine, but I didn’t have that.”

“Well, as an expert on all things Handsome Jack, you wanna tell us how the Jack in this masterpiece measures up to the real thing?” Tim asks with an innocent smile.

“Why would I know?” Rhys asks. “You were the one who worked with him!”

“But you were the one who had him in your head,” Vaughn says. “Oh, I never really asked, but did he see your dick? I always kind of wondered if he did and he made any comments or-” There’s a muffled screaming sound from off-screen, presumably Rhys yelling into a pillow.

“Anyway, let’s move on~,” Tim says in a sing-song voice. “So. First off, what is the plot of this book?” His expression grows comically grim. “That’s very important to talk about if we’re going to tear this thing apart.”

There are various stifled giggles and snorts as the others in the room try to keep themselves together.

“The book follows Felicia, an accountant from Atlas who gets sent to Pandora by her,” he pauses and flips to a page. “‘Horrible heartless bastards of bosses’.”

“Definitely not biased.” Fiona snorts derisively.

“Why would you even suggest that?” Sasha gasps, although it’s clear she’s trying to fight back laughter.

“Felicia has been sent to Pandora to deliver an important document, but she’s a delicate flower who isn’t suited to Pandora’s harsh climate and inhabitants. She can’t survive in this awful awful world.” Tim continues to summarize the book as if it isn’t propaganda disguised as a trashy romance novel. “Almost as soon as she touches down on the planet, bandits kidnap her, sure that her employers will pay handsomely to have her back. But they abandon her to the locals! Felicia is lost in despair until...” He looks dramatically up at the camera. “She’s rescued by none other than Handsome Jack!”

There’s a dramatic gong crash, followed by a panicked yelp.

“Warn me before you do that!” Rhys’ muffled voice hisses.

“Sorry,” Vaughn whispers back.

“Both Jack and Felicia are wary of each other, they are from rival companies after all, but Jack cannot let a defenseless woman suffer in the company of bandits.” Tim bites back a condescending laugh as his showman act starts to break. “So he kills all the bandits, which might be the only thing in this book that actually seems plausible. Anyway, after he kills all the bandits he takes Felicia back to Helios. There’s a lot of that whole enemies to lovers trope, along with Atlas trying to convince Felicia to secretly spy on Jack, but in the end, they fall in love and have a lot of sex. Very very in-depth sex. More in-depth than I am comfortable reading.”

“Is the sex accurate?” Sasha asks. Almost immediately, Tim goes bright red.

“Fuck! I don’t...I don’t know!” He stammers. “It’s not like I watched him have sex!”

“So he didn’t make you have sex for him or anything?” Fiona asks. “I thought he’d have at least one person he made you take his place for. He seems like the kind of asshole who’d do that.”

“He didn’t want me ruining his reputation,” Tim mumbles, still partially hiding behind the book. “He thought I’d get nervous and freeze up. Which, uh, I...I did do a few times.” He quickly shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “But that’s beside the point. The point is, this is an awful book! Not only is the grammar awful, but the story structure doesn’t even make that much sense.”

He puts the book down, dragging in a box with a bunch of pieces of paper inside.

“I’ve written down my complaints,” he starts tacking up pieces of paper on the board with thumbtacks. “Firstly, how did Atlas manage to contact Felicia again after she gets onto Helios? They say in the book that all her Atlas tech is destroyed and go into great pains to describe how the bandits discarded her personal belongings and ripped off her clothes. There’s no way they’d even know she was alive, especially with how many precautions Jack takes to keep people from knowing she’s there. And they don’t even give any explanation for how Atlas figures out she’s on Helios! Second, why on Earth would Jack bring a woman he didn’t even know onto Helios? Sure, he thinks with his dick most of the time, but he didn’t get to be CEO of Hyperion by accident. Do you have any idea how paranoid he was? I couldn’t even take a piss in peace the whole time I worked for him...”

The next few minutes are filled up with Tim picking apart every inaccuracy and issue with the book, with a healthy dose of him complaining about what a dick Jack had been to work for. No one stops him A good portion of his rant is also taken up by him talking at length about how this was not how sex worked.

“Has this person ever had sex? Because this is not how it works. I can count on one hand the number of sexual encounters I’ve had, but none of it was ever like this. I mean, for fuck’s sake! I don’t think this person has ever even seen a vagina, much less tried to bring the owner pleasure!”

The more notes he tacks up on the board, the more disheveled he gets. His sweater is quickly discarded, his hair comes out of its ponytail, and his shirt becomes untucked. Sasha and Fiona can be heard laughing uproariously at various points throughout the video.

“Also! The creatures!” Tim jabs a finger into another note. “This author has obviously never spent any time on Pandora because neither varkids nor skags act anything like this!” He turns briefly away from the board, gesturing to someone offscreen. “Joining me to talk about these inaccuracies is Sir Alistair Hammerlock, whose sister I am both very attracted to and incredibly afraid of!”

“I would very much prefer not to speak of my sister.” Sir Hammerlock walks in, looking a tad uncomfortable. “Saying her name tends to summon her. Like some sort of witch.”

“Then let’s talk about skags and varkids and how they’ll kill you!” Tim says brightly, with an almost unhinged smile.

“Well, that is something I’m more comfortable with.”

Sir Hammerlock launches into a speech about the finer points of skag and varkid biology and behavior. Not all of it is relevant to Tim’s critiques. Most of it is not relevant to Tim’s critiques. But it gives Tim some time to collect himself and look less like an insane professor. And Sir Hammerlock seems so delighted to be talking about the fauna of Pandora.

“In conclusion,” Tim says when Sir Hammerlock has finished. “Please don’t try any of what you read in this book. You will die. Painfully. Probably screaming.”

“Yes. Quite.” Sir Hammerlock nods, glancing at the notes Tim has tacked up and Tim’s still rather disheveled appearance. “I’ll be seeing myself out.”

“We’ll be sending your payment in the mail!” Vaughn calls after him. Tim turns his gaze back to the camera, gleeful and giddy once more.

“This book is so bad.” He giggles. “I hate it so much. Which is what makes this next part even better.”

“Should I get out the trashcan?” Sasha asks.

“Yes. It is time.” Tim’s smile grows. Sasha appears with a large metal trash bin, which she deposits in front of Tim. Tim drops the book into the trash bin and Fiona appears to squirt some sort of liquid inside. It’s quickly clear that this liquid was lighter fluid, as when Tim strikes a match and drops it into the trashcan a pillar of flame shoots up.

“The evil has been cleansed!” Tim cackles, sounding eerily like Jack. He’s illuminated eerily by the raging flames and actually looks a bit menacing. The camera cuts off after this, presumably so that they can put out the fire.

#borderlands #fanfiction #timothy lawrence #rhys the company man #vaughn the money man #sasha the kid sister #fiona the con artist #sir hammerlock

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sterekchub · 6 years

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Part 1.

A/N: I’m really sorry. This got SO far away from me and....yeah.

OCTOBER:

Legend has it that that the Being created the Gods and Goddesses to bring balance to the newly created Earth. Heaven was split into two groups – the Virtues and Sins. The God of Giving and the Goddess of Greed. The Goddess of Moderation and the God of Gluttony. Chastity and Lust. Forgiveness and Wrath. Truth and Heresy. Peace and Violence. One day, Greed decided she wanted total dominion over the Earth. Joined by the other Sins, they tried to overthrow the Virtues.

As punishment, the Being cast the Sins out of Heaven. Unable to destroy immortal beings, they were sentenced to their own domain in the Circles of Hell. The Sins would be cursed for all eternity, unable to partake in their own sins, only able to watch over other sinning souls.

Once every hundred years, on All Hallows Eve, the Sins can cross from the Circles of Hell into limbo into the mortal world. Only by possessing a kindred soul can the Sins stay in the mortal world for twelve lunar cycles, before returning to - .

The last word got smeared out by a large blob of ketchup.

“Shit!” Stiles hurriedly grabbed a napkin to clean off the offending strain. He only succeeded in turning the majority of the page a dull red. Shrugging, he stuffed another handful of fries in his mouth, marking the page down as he did so with a blue sticky note, indicating a true myth, rather than a “myth likely to be factual.”

“How’s it going?” Scott stopped and sniffed the air. “Your room reeks like a drive-thru. Have you been eating fast food all week?”

Stiles waved a fry at him. “Hey, this is all brain food. Deaton gave me all these books and I think half of them are all nonsense. Werewolves and banshees and wendigoes are one thing, Gods and circles of Hell are just made up stories.”

“Have time to take a break and catch a movie? It’s the Halloween double-feature: Scream and Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“Hell yes, Dude!”

***

NOVEMBER:

Two weeks after Halloween, Stiles finally caved and went to see Deaton. It took a while to explain his problem. He wasn’t being possessed like he had been before. There were no periods of time he couldn’t remember, no second voice in his head influencing his decisions. He wasn’t watching helplessly as someone else controlled his body. There was, however, something in his head constantly suggesting foods, regardless if he had just eaten or not. Stiles would eat his usual Chinese take-out order and suddenly find himself desperately craving pizza, his mind buzzing and unable to focus on anything else.

Deaton, as his usual expressive self, didn’t say a word until Stiles was finished his explanation. Then he pulled out the book Stiles had been pouring over weeks ago and opened to the ketchup-stained, blue tagged page.

“Are you kidding me? I thought it was a myth.”

“Most of the supernatural world is a myth.”

“So I’m possessed by an immortal being. Again.”

Deaton nodded. “Gluttony is not malicious in nature. The Sins only possess humans to ah – live vicariously through them. It cannot control you. Likely it will seek to share and intensify any of you experiences, not try to manipulate you into new ones.”

Stiles’ stomach grumbled. “Really?’

‘It can offer suggestions and perhaps forceful persuasions but aside from the cravings, it holds no actual power.”

“Great. So I’m a demon’s personal eating machine.”

“You could try fighting it. It will only last a year. It may be beneficial. Typically Demon possession does offer the host with extra strength and stamina to ensure their health.”

“Wonderful.”

***

DECEMBER

Stiles had never been happier to have a job that allowed him to work from home. It turned out the trick to keep the cravings down was to either eat a lot at once, or be constantly snacking. So long as Stiles kept munching on things every few minutes, he could actually focus on his work, rather than focusing on his next meal. It had taken him a few weeks of trying to fight against the constant grumbling of his stomach and fleeing images of food running across his head, but finally Stiles had gotten into the swing of living with a Gluttony Demon residing in his head.

It started with Oreos. Stiles had pulled open his desk drawer to finish off the last row of Oreos, needing something sweet after his afternoon of munching on chips. Apparently, finishing those off wasn’t enough and Stiles found himself compelled to run to the store for more. Stiles felt a thrill of excitement that definitely did not belong to him when he saw just how many varieties the stored offered. Stiles supposed that, not having tasted food in a hundred years, the choices of the 21st century were overwhelming.

One of everything went into his basket, Oreos thins, mini, double-stuffed, golden, birthday cake, mega stuffed, mint, red velvet, cinnamon bun, lemon, mystery flavored, peanut butter, chocolate, chocolate hazelnut, chocolate peanut-butter, brownie batter, apple pie, fudge covered, and completely unnecessarily, regular. Stiles gave the Demon credit – he wasn’t picky and wanted to be very thorough in his attempts to try everything possible.

The boxes were finished by the end of the week. It really wasn’t a hardship. Stiles always had a big sweet tooth. Plus, who didn’t love Oreos? He tried not to think about how it took a few seconds longer to force his button his pants on Sunday. Or about how his normal junk-food cravings were becoming alarming frequent and a staple of his daily diet. Stiles’ always had a fast metabolism. For the amount of pizza and cafeteria food Stiles ate during college, he only had put on the freshman fifteen. So he could handle a few hundred Oreos. No problem.

“It’s really not that bad,” he told his father one night on the phone. “It’s an excuse to eat anything I want.”

“You have always been a model of restraint,” John replied sarcastically.

“Someone had to keep the unhealthy stuff away from you.”

‘Just take care of yourself, kid. And don’t call me when you get stuck in a doorway.”

“Haha. It’s under control, Dad. Don’t worry.”

***

JANUARY

Things were becoming less “under control” when the Demon had gone through all the possible snacks Stiles could think of and progressed to wanting full meals. Multiple meals. Several times a day. It was becoming increasingly frustrating to try and work on his novel. He was either focused on what he was going to eat or was sleepily watching dumb videos online as he fell into a food coma. Optimistically, he told himself it was just a phase. Last month it had been snacks, this month it was meals, next month maybe it would be fruit or salads or something.

Currently, he was laying on his couch, polishing off the last of his Chinese takeout order, with reruns of some HGTV show playing in the background. He really did feel like a glutton when he ate like this. He should have stopped a container of sweet and sour pork and five egg rolls ago, but he had kept going. It was hard to tell if the cravings were the Demon in his head or the subconscious need to finish everything. Just to see if he could. Just to feel the weight of having his gut filled, swollen and protruding over his waistband, forcing him to take a few more bites of food, pushing the final egg roll into his mouth before leaning back against the couch with a soft moan of relief. He closed his eyes, listening to woman on television debating what house she wanted. He nodded off before finding out what house she picked, an arm resting over his belly.

Stiles dreamed of pizza. He was in the pizza parlor, sitting at a lone table in the center of the restaurant. Servers stood around him, each offering him different slices, acting like he was some grand judge on a food competition, insisting he had to try them all before he made his decision. Stiles was reaching for piece after piece, stuffing them into his mouth impossibly fast while his belly started to push out in front of him. Another couples of pizza slices, or maybe entire pizza’s later, his stomach knocked over the table in front of him as it kept growing in size…

He woke up with a start and reached for his phone. He already had the pizza place on speed dial.

“Thank you for calling Charlie’s Pizza. What can I get for you?”

“A medium meat lover’s pizza and an order of wings.”

“Is that it?”

“Ye – ” Another craving hit him. Stiles rubbed his still full belly and added resignedly. “ – and an order of breadsticks. And garlic bread.”

‘Your total will $21.27. See you in a half-hour.”

***

FEBRUARY

“Look, I get it. I’m getting fat and turning into a pig. You don’t need to bring me my – my daily feed or whatever!”

Derek stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You! I know you’ve been having the pack cook for me! Even Jackson dropped food off. From his personal chef!”

Derek set the bag of carefully packaged food he was holding on the counter. “We figured you were getting sick of takeout.”

“I can cook for myself.”

“You haven’t been cooking.”

“And how do you know that?” Stiles asked angrily. “Busy stalking me but couldn’t be bothered to actually say ‘Hi, Stiles, want to do something?’ Or do you just get a laugh watching me do nothing all day but eat alone?”

“I can tell by the trashcan overflowing with take-out containers, Stiles. Don’t blame me for this. I’ve been texting you. Scott has been texting you. You’ve ignored everyone.”

Stiles shoulders sagged in defeat. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought I could handle this.”

Derek pulled the younger man against him, burying his face in the Stiles’ neck. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Big Guy.” He wrapped his arms tighter around Derek. “I do appreciate the food.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be eating only junk-food.”

“Yes, Dad,” Stiles said playfully. “I make sure I’m eating vegetables.”

“Fried vegetables don’t count.”

“They sort of count.”

Derek growled. Stiles stayed still for a few more minutes, content to just be in Derek’s reassuring embrace for a while longer.

“Hey, Der. What if – what it I don’t really mind this?”

There was no answer for a few seconds. Derek merely stiffened, then pulled pack enough to press a gentle kiss to Stiles’ lips. “It’s okay.”

“And I don’t mind getting to eat so much.”

“Okay.”

“And maybe I like being this heavy.”

“Okay.”

Stiles swatted him on the arm. “Forget how to use words again?”

“Ever think I don’t mind either?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank god.” Stiles squirmed out of Derek’s grip and started pulling Tupperware containers out of the bag. “Because I’m starving.”

“Wasting away.” Derek agreed.

Stiles response was lost behind the food he had already started shoveling in his mouth. “This is amazing. Have I ever said that you’re my favorite person?”

“Hmm. Nope. Never came up. Good thing we aren’t dating, or anything.”

“Ass. But I forgive you for making this amazing food.”

“They’re my mother’s recipes. I don’t know if I got them quite right, but I thought you might want something new.”

“Any free food is good food. My entire paycheck has been going to food and new jeans.”

“You know I can pay – ”

“ I am not being the sugar baby in this relationship.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” Stiles grinned. He tossed the empty container into the sink and grabbed a second one. “Sorry, I’d offer you some but –” Stiles gestured to his protruding middle. There was a clear few inches of pale skin sticking out from under his shirt. Time to size up. Again. “Unless you want to hear this complaining all night, I need all the food I can get.”

The food Derek had brought was sufficient enough to keep Stiles’ stomach from growling through the night. In the early hours of the morning, before Stiles was even awake, his stomach started rumbling. Derek left him a stack of pancakes and bacon. Next to the plate was a credit card with a scribbled note: Use it. Please.

***

MARCH (Sorry for Derek and Stiles both being a little bad about respecting each other’s privacy in this section. Not that either of them mind…)

Derek never had a very interesting browser history. He had left it open on his computer, which was just unfairly asking for someone to take a quick peek. Stiles felt mildly guilty about it, comforted only by telling himself Derek eavesdropped on most his conversations and always pointed out when he was lying. Granted, Derek couldn’t exactly lose his werewolf abilities, but still, boundaries. Stiles considered it even.

The browser history had, unsurprisingly, nothing interesting. A few recipes, a couple of monster lore searches, a least once a week a visit to his credit card statement… That seemed unusual. Derek didn’t even have that card on him; it was the one he had left for Stiles (which he had reluctantly agreed to use after a few arguments. Stiles wasn’t a starving artist per say, but nor was he independently wealthy).

Now it seemed like an even trade off. His boyfriend pays for his food and then – Stiles grinned. Really, it was a miracle Derek hadn’t gotten possessed by the Lust demon. There must be a level of hell reserved for getting off this many times to their boyfriend, without telling them….

Stiles was still sitting in front of the computer when Derek came back to the loft. “So, worried I’m spending too much money, or just very interested in how much I’ve been eating?”

Derek turned so red Stiles was concerned he had forgot how to breath for a few moments. “I can explain.”

“That you’ve been getting off to how much food I’ve ordered? That’s pretty kinky, Derek.” He lifted up the hem of his shirt, letting his belly wobble out. It took up a considerable amount of space in his lap now. “I’d say you like thinking about how fat I’m getting.”

“Jesus, Stiles, I can’t pay my bills without being turned on. Do you know how many times you’ve ordered food in the past month?

Stiles grinned wider. “Just think that isn’t all I’ve eaten. I’ve been putting groceries on my card, and Lydia dropped off some pies and Mrs. McCall made the best mac&cheese casseroles for me….”

“I know,” Derek groaned. “Look at this, Stiles.” He knelt in front of Stiles, lifting his belly up, struggling to undo the button of his jeans, before letting it thud back into his lap jiggling. “You haven’t – stopped – eating.”

“Can’t help it. A glutton has to eat. ‘M getting so fat, Derek.” “Can’t believe how much food you order in a day. How much does it take to fill this belly now, Stiles?

“Why don’t - ah” Stiles moaned, leaning further back in his chair as Derek started mouthing at Stiles’ sensitive underbelly. “Why don’t you order some food and I’ll show you.”

#I have no excuse for this.#fat!Stiles #day6 #chubtober #sorry this is barely edited...

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brightbeautifulthings · 6 years

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Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

"'Don't you see? I'm not the spirit of any age. I'm at odds with everything and always have been! I have never belonged anywhere with anyone at any time!' 'But Louis,' he said softly. 'This is the very spirit of your age. Don't you see that? Everyone else feels as you feel. Your fall from grace and faith has been the fall of a century.'"

Year Read: 2018

Rating: 3/5

Context: I vaguely remember trying to read this once when I was younger and giving up on it for the slow pace and dense descriptions. I've seen the movie many times, and despite my general dislike of Tom Cruise, I think it's a great adaptation (and possibly one of the best performances of his career). This Halloween-month, I resolved to get through it once and for all, since The Vampire Chronicles have long been some of my dad's favorite books. This year, he finally gave in and read the first Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter novel after years of listening to my mom and me rave about them, so it only seems fair that I read one of his favorites. (Spoiler alert: I'm still Team Anita.) Actual spoilers will be clearly marked. Trigger warnings: blood, death, and endless brooding from the world's most reluctant vampire.

About: After more than two centuries of living (such as it is) as a vampire, Louis has consented to tell the story of his long life. At first disbelieving and then enraptured, the boy recording it listens to the gruesome tale with shock and fear. The story chronicles Louis's brief human life in the 1700's in New Orleans to his descent into immortality at the hands of the violent and erratic vampire, Lestat. Their relationship far from easy, however, Lestat soon makes a third vampire, Claudia, forever trapping her in a child's body. The three live as an uneasy but happy family for decades, but Lestat's villainy and Claudia's rage at being forever helpless constantly threaten their peace. Before long, Louis and Claudia flee to Europe in search of other vampires, but their quest may lead them into more danger than they've ever faced.

Thoughts: I empathize with my younger self, since this is not an easy novel to get through. Even before I consciously acknowledged things like "pace", I could tell that it moved at the speed of a glacier. It wallows in Louis's life before vampirism and those early days with Lestat for entirely too long, and Louis isn't the most exciting of narrators. He spends most of his time staring at things with his cool vampire eyes and hating himself for being a killer. In hindsight, maybe this is what the world of vampire fiction needed to spur it on its way to Twilight, TrueBlood, and The Vampire Diaries. Interview is the mother of all of them, and it's perhaps the first time we're given the opportunity to understand them, to see the story from their perspective. However, there's no mistaking the fact that Rice's vampires are still monsters who kill innocents every night. A vampire narrator who regrets the blood he spills might be the necessary middle-ground between remorseless monster Dracula and vampire love interest Stefan Salvatore. The story doesn't really pick up until Claudia joins them, and her love for Louis is matched only by her hatred of Lestat. Unlike the directionless Louis, Claudia has agency, and her ruthless efforts to achieve her goals (kill Lestat, find other vampires) prompt the story forward.

I like the characters more in theory than on the page. It's difficult to see how Lestat turns out to be the main character for much of the series, since he's painted mostly as a villain in this story. He's a trashcan fire with a gleeful disregard for human life, but he's not without depth or regret when it comes to his family. Claudia's situation is fascinating as she struggles to come to terms with the fact that she'll never age, and her bitterness makes her even colder and more ruthless than Lestat. Louis is more difficult. His whining, brooding, and pointless spirals of introspection (that far too frequently disrupt the narrative for no apparent reason) are difficult to get past. (Sorry, Lestat momentarily took over my keyboard?) His devotion to Claudia is probably the most interesting thing about him. I'm about 90% sure that none of the vampires in this book are sexual, otherwise it would lead to some seriously questionable moments between Louis and Claudia, as well as a young human boy later on. He keeps using the word "lover" to refer to her, and I'm like... not literally, right? ...Right? On the other hand, two gay vampire dads raising their vampire daughter is probably the cutest image in the book. I can see why LGBTQ fans latched onto the series, but Lestat and Louis's relationship is one aspect I wish we'd seen more developed. If it's there, it's almost all subtext.

While the title states plainly that there's an interview, I was expecting it as a framing story, perhaps in the first and last chapters where we see Louis with the unnamed listener. To my dismay, the entirety of the novel is the interview, with frequent interruptions from the boy and side commentary by Louis. Literally all the narrative is dialogue of him speaking. These asides add nothing to the story and contribute to its already slow pace. The world-building could also use some work, but that's in part due to Lestat's insistence on secrecy. We know very little about vampires--what can kill them, what powers they might have--because Lestat won't tell Louis or Claudia anything. Whatever we learn about them, we learn by seeing it happen rather than having it explained, and it's frustrating. I have so much sympathy for Claudia when she dumps that diva bitch into a swamp.

The last fifth of the novel gets extremely tense, and if I hadn't already seen the movie, I think I would have been more furious about the outcome. Like the boy recording the story, I can't help feeling that it doesn't/can't end like that. Louis is finally moved to action for the first time in the novel, but I have misgivings about his motivation for that. On a character level, it's utterly justified and even kind of satisfying, but I'll go into that more after the spoilers. While the ending provides closure on Louis's story, it's somewhat open-ended for the rest of the cast. I didn't totally enjoy this book (and, indeed, in the middle I despaired of getting through it), but I'm planning to read at least one or two more in the series before I make up my mind whether to finish it.

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS. TURN BACK BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.

I suspect I would have been bawling at Claudia's death if I hadn't been expecting it. Like everything else, it's more immediate and suspenseful in the film than the novel, since Louis isn't actually there for it. I dislike the fact that Louis's character development is motivated by the death of the only female character in the novel though. Women have been dying in fiction to motivate men's personal growth for centuries, and I was expecting better for Claudia, who's such a powerhouse otherwise. The idea that Armand thought Louis could eventually forgive him for her death is laughable; he clearly doesn't know his vampire companion very well or seriously underestimated the bond they had. I’m looking forward to Armand having his own book about as much as I’m looking forward to re-reading the dreaded Memnoch the Devil, assuming I get that far.

#book review #interview with the vampire #anne rice #the vampire chronicles #vampire fiction #horror fiction #3/5 #rating: 3/5 #2018

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juliaramirezauthor · 2 years

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Chapter One

Hilda Bjorn was even more stunning in person than she was on the back of her graphic novels. The right half of her long blonde hair was braided close to her head and her blue eyes shimmered like she was seeing something out of the ordinary. My face flushed, remembering my wildly curly afro that made me ninety percent hair. I inherited it from my mother. On her, it looked gorgeous and exotic. On me, it just made me more of an outcast. I longed for alabaster skin like hers but was stuck with terra cotta. Did she already hate me like everyone else did? “M-my mother is a writer,” I said, as though that made any difference to her. At least she stopped staring at me. “I want to be an artist like you.”

She smiled. “Do you have sketches?” I nervously reached in my bookbag for my sketchbook, showing her drawings I showed no one else. “They’re pretty good,” she noted. “You have a bright future in front of you.”

I laughed awkwardly. “Th-thanks.”

“Who should I make it out to?”

I forgot my name for a second, then recovered. “Moira,” I said finally. “Moira Grey.”

She scribbled my name onto the first page in silver marker, along with a note I wanted to save for later. “Now get back to school,” she told me with a wink.

Of course, she knew I didn’t belong there. I was small and lacked the confidence someone who had finished school possessed. I nodded, not able to find my voice. Someone cleared their throat and I stepped out of line, casting one last look in her direction before shuffling off.

For a moment I just stood there, away from the crowd but close enough that I could still see her. She was signing her name, smiling, and I wondered what she was telling everyone else. Did they also have dreams of being an artist like her? Was she giving everyone the same words of encouragement? I can’t keep stalking her. I walked to the front of the bookstore, stopping in my tracks as I caught sight of the terrible storm that formed during her signing. The sky was darker than it was an hour ago, rain pelting down on everyone who either pulled out umbrellas or retreated inside the nearest store. Great. Normally I liked this kind of weather. I felt invigorated. But today I had nothing to shield myself from it. I tucked my book into my jacket, zipping it up for safekeeping as I walked into Union Square. Please rain, don’t ruin my book.

I stood under an awning, wondering if the school would still call my mother if I went back during second period. It’s not like anyone really cares. They mark me absent all the time when I’m sitting right in front of them—the sound of crying pulled me out of my head. A little red-haired girl stood in front of me, sobbing into her hands while she was being drenched in rain. No one approached her. There was no one to soothe her hysterics.

I took a deep breath, shooting out into the rain. “Where are your parents?” I asked—to which she cried louder. “Are you lost?”

She nodded, running into my arms and clinging onto my sleeve.

“Where was the last place you saw them?” I pressed, letting her pull me farther down the street and eventually into an alley where there was nothing save for trashcans and the smell of urine.

The girl continued pulling me until she reached the end of the alley where a fence blocked the way to the other side. Danger flooded my veins as I realized I had just followed a stranger into an alley. Albeit a little girl. “Why don’t we go back to the street?”

The girl turned to me, her head tilting to the side. Fear jolted through my body. I backed up, my back hitting the fence. This is freaky… I racked my brain for some way to get her to come to the main street with me but anxiety kept me silent. Finally, I found the nerve to speak. “Why don’t we look for your parents?” I suggested, my voice shaking towards the end. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was freezing or if she was just acting that strangely. She hunched over, her skin peeling off, revealing a leathery body that reeked of rotting meat and vinegar. The girl became nothing but bits of red hair and bloodied freckled skin at the beast’s feet that it trampled as it shoved its ugly face into mine. W-what? She just… no. this can’t be real. No sound passed my lips; I couldn’t do anything but tremble. “Where is it?” it growled at me, its breath making my skin crawl. The fence dug into my skin. “Where is the gem?”

My mind was racing, terror mixed with shock caused my mouth to stutter as finally a sentence got through. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

It foamed at the mouth, dripping into acidic pools at my feet. I tried to back up, but the fence dug into my skin. There was nowhere to go. “Where is it?”

Thunder crackled overhead; rain soaked into my bones. Something stirred in me, pushing back the overwhelming fear radiating within. My back straightened; my eyes narrowed. A sudden tingle emanated from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, all accompanied by a low hum. I shut my eyes, afraid to see more of the monster. When I opened them again; I felt the lightning in my hands. Without warning it escaped my hands, barreling through the beast and creating a hole through its chest. My hands were shaking, unsure of what I’d just done. It was a monster…right? Not a little girl. My skin turned a sickly pale shade as it turned into ash before me. Each breath I took came out fast and broken. My throat felt like it was going to close on me at any moment. I dared to look down, finding my hands still crackling with electricity. No. This can’t be real. Things like this just don’t happen to people like me. Did I imagine it all? Was I going crazy? I must be.

My graphic novel fell out of my jacket during the attack and into a puddle on the ground. I grabbed it, escaping the alley before someone else found me or saw the scraps of little girl left on the ground.

I needed to talk to someone. My hands were still buzzing. I could hear it even as they rested at my side. It was so loud; it was a wonder no one took notice. I shoved them into my jacket pocket, refusing to believe that I had produced lightning.

I needed to go home. Sure, my mother would be angry about me skipping class, but the worst that could happen to me was a month of being grounded. I’d have to wash the dishes for a while, but it was better than running into another… thing. Maybe she could tell me what was going on. No. I couldn’t tell her. She’d think I was crazy—I thought I was crazy.

During the train ride back to Brooklyn, I listed out the things I knew for certain. One: I skipped school to get my graphic novel signed. Two: it’s raining. Three: a little girl turned into a monster that tried to kill me. That didn’t sound any less crazy than when I first thought it. I glanced down at my hands that I was trying to hide from strangers who couldn’t care less about the noise they emitted. That was the great thing about New York. Everyone was so wrapped up in their own lives; a girl with electric hands didn’t even appear on their radar. It couldn’t have been my imagination. I was actually in that alley, facing off with a monster. But who would believe me? Maybe if I showed my mother my hands, she’d understand. Still, she used to think I was a weaver of tall tales. All because I would draw an emerald gem with a kingdom trapped inside of it. She used to say that I would tell her all about the people who lived there, like it was a real place. I had long since stopped talking about that imaginary world. It was bad enough I didn’t fit in with the Hispanic or white community; I didn’t want to be more of a reject by talking about things that didn’t exist.

When I got off the train, I walked carefully towards our brownstone. The rain was still coming down hard and my hands were crackly, evaporating water in a low hiss of steam. I looked up to the sky, feeling energy course through me like I had just downed four cans of Red Bull. When I reached the walk-up, I rethought telling my mother what had happened in Union Square. I wasn’t sure she’d believe me. Showing her my hands would probably resolve the matter, but something deep inside of me said I shouldn’t tell a soul about this. I needed time to figure this out. That’s it! Time.

I burst through the door. If my mother was there waiting for me, I would tell her everything. But she wasn’t. She was in her office, typing her next novel. Noise cancelling headphones blocked the sound of me swinging open the door and slipping past her and into my room. She wouldn’t notice I was home until she took a break—which hardly happened. I laid back on my bed, scanning over my hands, which were still humming with electricity. How do I get it to stop?

I wanted to talk to my mother, but I didn’t want to bother her. She would stop what she was doing. She would pay attention to me. But I wasn’t sure I wanted that. Whatever just happened had to be in my head. This had to be the beginning of some horrible mental illness. I’m sick. I have to be sick. That’s the only thing that made sense anymore.

I opened the graphic novel I got signed, finally reading the note Hilda Bjorn left for me. It said: walk straight home. What an odd message to leave someone. Did she know what would happen with the little girl? She told stories of Norse gods, and one character she depicted could control lightning and thunder. I flipped through the book to refresh my memory. His name was Thor.

I laid on my side, more exhausted than I thought I was. All the energy I had while walking through the storm and fighting for my life against—I didn’t know what—seemed to dissipate and I dropped the book on the floor, my eyes shutting as I tried to fight to keep them open. Before I knew it, I was asleep.

My mother tapped on my shoulder, the smell of her famous arroz con gandules seeping down the hall. “Moira,” she called, and I shot up, checking my hands. But there was nothing. No electricity. No anything. Was it a dream? “How was school?”

I shrugged. “Alright.” I answered her in English and she gave me a sour face.

“I made dinner,” she continued in Spanish. “Tonight we’re celebrating.”

I slipped into our mother tongue, earning me a grin of approval. I don’t get too much practice outside of our house. She, however, was born and raised in Puerto Rico so she didn’t need the practice like I did. “Celebrating what?”

She threw herself on my bed. “I met my deadline!”

“Was there ever any doubt?”

Her eyes scanned around my room, looking over the art I hung on the walls. “You know,” she started, “You’re getting better every day.”

“Really?”

She nodded, reaching for a sketch pinned to white wall. It was a castle suspended in the sky. Her expression changed to one of guilt. “Moira,” she said, her voice soft yet uneasy. She spoke her next words in English. “I got a letter in the mail. You’ve been accepted to Ingvar Academy.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a school for people… like you.”

“Like me?” I pressed. She sat up, reaching for me but I pulled away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she blurted. “Moira, it’s a good school. That’s it.”

My lips pressed together. “Where is it?”

“Washington state.”

“So you’re sending me away?” Tears brimmed my eyes.

She shook her head. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

My mother looked pained like she was torn between two paths. Finally, she nodded. “You don’t have to go,” she decided as she stood up, switching back to Spanish. “Now come and eat.”

When I woke, it was in the living room with the T.V playing early morning cartoons. My mother must have covered me with a blanket while I was asleep. She probably thought I had a long day at school. I looked down at my hands. They were normal. Was it all a dream? Did I just imagine that beast? The electricity? It was like nothing happened to them, like they didn’t just wield lightning. Maybe they didn’t. I was so nervous about meeting Hilda Bjorn that maybe I just imagined everything. Now it was time to return to my life. No monstrous little girls, no lightning, and definitely no way I would tell anyone about my insane delusions.

I dressed in my uniform, looking myself over in the mirror. I was small—even for a sixth-grader. My plaid skirt was longer than the other girls because I didn’t roll it up by the waist. I kept it at my knees with my blouse tucked into it. It was chilly; I put on my dark blue blazer. A girl once told me it made me look like the poster child for wearing your uniform correctly. I wondered what the uniform was at Ingvar Academy. I shook the thought out of my head.

School was just a place that allowed everyone who might be on the streets causing trouble for their parents, a controlled environment that allowed them to pinpoint their aggression on each other. Or me—because that was usually how it worked. When I reached the academy, my anxiety was already at its peak. I could barely breathe and I couldn’t express how much I didn’t want to be there.

I tried to disappear in the crowd of students getting off the bus. Still, she found me. Tabitha Brown, wearing her uniform like she couldn’t afford clothes that actually fit her. She had matured over the summer, looking less like a sixth-grader and more like she belonged in high school or as someone’s trophy wife. She hung around Kyle North—a trust fund baby with nothing to prove to anyone. “Look who it is,” Tabitha proclaimed. “The minority.”

I tried to keep my head down as if that would warrant less of a verbal attack. Kyle was next. “How does it feel to be the school’s charity case—half-breed?”

There were no fully ethnic students at this academy. I was the closest they came to accepting other races. And that’s only because my father was white and my skin wasn’t too dark. Every once in a while, they allowed someone like me into their elite society to fill their minority quota. I wouldn’t dare tell my mother, who worked hard to pay for private school tuition, that I wanted to quit. She would understand. That was the terrible part. I didn’t want to be understood. I wanted things to change. But they never would, so I kept my head down and kept walking. I was compliant. And that meant not making a fuss, waves, or whatever it was people that mattered made. People like me were better left unnoticed, invisible.

Tabitha hopped down from her spot on the wall, cutting in front of me. “Why are you so serious half-breed?”

I tried not to look her in the eyes. As if that would make her disappear. Kyle wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “She doesn’t like to be called a half-breed,” he said, bringing his face close to mine so I could smell his winter fresh gum. “Do you—half-breed?”

I tried to shrug out from under his grasp. “You’re bothering her, Kyle.” Tabitha pretended to scold him, but I could hear a smile in her voice.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked me, his lips brushing against my ear. I wanted to tell him that of course he was bothering me. They both were. But that wouldn’t stop them. “How about a smile?”

Tabitha laughed obnoxiously loud. “She doesn’t smile—you know that.”

“Is that true?” Kyle pressed, pinching my cheeks lightly, so that blood rushed to them. “You don’t smile?”

“Please,” I said, my voice trembling. “Leave me alone.”

“Speak up,” Tabitha said, pushing my shoulder.

I swallowed, wanting to tell her not to touch me. What was the use? The teachers monitoring the students outside looked the other way. Kids will be kids.

Kyle released me, shoving me towards Tabitha. “I don’t want to touch her,” she said, moving out of the way and watching me stumble past her. “She might curse me with her ugly hair.”

I kept moving, afraid to turn back and become more of a target. Finally, I made it to my locker, but before I opened it up, a girl with strawberry blonde hair pushed me against it. “Watch where you’re going, half-breed.” I didn’t think anyone knew my name. To them, I was just the school’s half-breed.

I pulled my books from the locker, anger rising in me. The lights flickered above, pausing everyone’s conversation and wondering if there was something wrong with them. I didn’t really care about the lights but it stopped people from talking about me so maybe it was a good thing.

Mr. Ambrose was my science teacher and the first adult face I saw for the day. He was a creep. Everyone thought it. He did skirt-length checks, but he never really said anything about the girls who clearly didn’t pass. He just smiled and told them to go to their seats like he secretly approved of their defiance. I scoffed on my way as he leaned into Tabitha like she was whispering a secret for only his ears when in reality she was asking for an extension on the project he assigned. He was the type of person to ask a student if they came there often.

I found my seat by the window. It was a primo spot, and I might not have gotten it if my last name was different. I pulled out my graphic novel, reading until the bell rang. In Hilda’s tales, there weren’t any nobodies, only heroes. They protected their homes and voiced up against wrongdoings. Basically, the complete opposite of me. Still, it was still fun to escape my world for a bit. “Class has started Moira,” Mr. Ambrose announced, seeing me with my fingers on my novel. I wanted to tell him I was putting it away, but it didn’t matter. He was just as bad as the students—maybe worse because they still have time to grow out of being a bad person. He wasn’t changing, too set in his ways. I nodded, finishing putting the novel in my backpack. “Nice of you to join the real world,” he said, earning snickers from my classmates. I liked to think that the class wasn’t laughing because it was funny to pick on me but because, if they didn’t, he would go just as hard on them as he was on me. They knew not to make enemies because most people in this school will continue onto the high school attached to the opposite end of the junior high. It was a big game that the students had to play if they were going to get letters of recommendation when they finished high school. Most of the kids that went there were dead set on an ivy league like the ones their parents went to. I didn’t really care about Harvard or Yale, I had my sights set on the Rhode Island School of Design. I wanted to be an artist like Hilda Bjorn. I wanted to help stories come to life. That was why I sketched whenever I had the time. I was perfecting my craft, becoming someone that would look back on these school days and laugh because the world wasn’t as vicious as they made it out to be.

Feelings of inadequacy swirled in my mind. Like in the alley, my hands buzzed again. The lights flickered in the classroom, stirring commotion among the students. I looked down at my tingling fingers. This time I knew for certain it was because of me.

#writing #female writers #writers on tumblr #writerslife #booksbooksbooks #chapter #middle grade #norse gods #norse mythology #book #writing community #norse polytheism #norse #powers #super powers

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onkeywritings · 7 years

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The Show Must Go On

Rating: PG-15

Warnings: Mentions of … uhm, murders, yeah.

“Come on Jinki, I need the script by Monday!”

Jinki growls at the woman in front of him. She’s tapping her finger impatiently on his table.

“And don’t forget that you have a book signing tomorrow and one again on Friday and that you have a meeting with the proof reader on Thursday along with a meeting with the graphic designer for the front page of this one. Do you even have a title for it yet?”

Jinki glares at the woman and stands from the table.

“Where are you going?” she asks, her finger stops tapping the wood as she glares at his back. Jinki can feel the annoyance fill the room, but his frustrating is far greater than his publisher’s right now.

“I’m leaving so I can write.”

With those words he leaves her alone in the large office.

Jinki used to like his job. When he was a teenager he would have given everything to become what he has become today but it doesn’t come without a prize.

Ever since his first hit novel 5 years ago, he has been working hard to write the sequels and interacting with his readers to promote his image. Jinki can’t count the books he has written his signature in so far and he can’t remember all the things he has rehearsed and said in interviews.

What inspires you? How do you create your characters? Any good ideas on how to plan a story?

Jinki can’t count the workshops he has been on for young writers, he can’t remember the stories he has read as judges on amateur writing contests.

And despite all the things Jinki has achieved, there is nothing he wants to do more than throw his computer out of the window, burn all the rewritten pages, all the edited notes and the destroy the career other people would kill to have.

It’s 3 AM, his eyes are burning and he’s going insane. The blue artificial light from his computer is the only light in the large living room and Jinki is still stuck in the middle of his latest romance novel.

Staring at the blank pages is stupid, though. It doesn’t help him write and the words are still there, still stuck with the frustration of giving without ever getting.

He slams his fist into the table, the cup of tea spilling over, unfortunately not hitting his computer and destroying it. The hot liquid drips off the edge of the table, onto his socketed feet and Jinki feels the slight burn through the fabric as it becomes wet and the heat reaches his skin. He feels numb while the words of his publisher repeats in his mind.

“Jinki! You should’ve slept!” his publisher hisses from beside him before she turns to the line of excited young adults with their copy of his latest romance novel.

“Hello!” she says with a fake smile and a sweet voice, very unlike that she speaks to him in.

Jinki just stares at the young people, the ones he writes about when he writes his books; the ones that looks sweetly at one another, clearly in love; he ones who cast shy glances towards him, shy to be in his company.

He observes the ones who distances themselves from the crowd as if it embarrasses them to be here and the ones that tries not to look jealously at the couples.

He notices it all and knows why he writes his characters and why they’re popular. He observes and makes mental notes and remembers the small things and that’s what made him popular to begin with, that’s what got the public’s attention.

That is why he is Lee Jinki and that is why he sits in front of a line of young people wanting to get his signature on the book he has written.

“I love your book so much! Rose is so easy to relate to,” a girl says and sighs dreamily when she hands over her book. Jinki takes it with a smile, opens it to the front page and looks at her with his charming smile that usually blinds people.

“I’m happy to hear,” he says in a sweet voice. “What’s your name?”

The girl blushes slightly and mumbles her name out loud. Minseo. She points towards a boy further away that rests against a wall.

“That’s my younger brother Minho. He acts like it’s the worst when I say he resembles Jonathan,” she says and references the jealous second lead. Jinki laughs heartily for her sake and tells her to take good care of her brother instead of mocking him.

Minseo just shrugs and thanks him once again. Jinki lets his gaze over the pair of siblings once they leave the book signing before he turns to the next girl in line and signs her book as well.

It’s the insanity that shows up again at midnight, the craving of something Jinki was never meant to have, the longing after something he was never meant to get.

He stares at the web browser, searches his name again and again and finds nothing. There are no discussions, no guesses. No nothing. There is just him, a lonely author, searching his name on the internet and all he finds is professional praise and nothing.

Jinki slams his computer closed and breaks the screen in the process. It’s good all the same.

“You what?!” his publisher spits when Jinki tells her he wants to take a break. “Nonsense! You’re finishing this book before we talk about breaks. How far are you anyway? Oh, he’s here! Jinki, meet Kim Kibum, graphic designer and the artist to create the front page of your next book. I think he has some ideas already, let’s go talk. You can deny or approve of them.”

She pushes Jinki into the meeting room and then sends the other man a smile before she makes a gesture that invites him inside the room as well.

Jinki takes his place at the end of the table and starts picking at the skin on his fingers. He has a loose cuticle and it’s annoying him. He doesn’t listen to Kim Kibum as the other man relays his ideas.

Jinki pulls at the cuticle until he pulls too hard and his fingers starts bleeding. He’s staring at the blood, almost mesmerised at the sight, almost inspired to write. Jinki’s publisher is the one that interrupt Kim Kibum to address Jinki and his bleeding finger instead.

“Will you take this seriously?” she asks and presses a paper towel hard against his finger. Jinki doesn’t feel the pain, fascinated with the way the blood stains the white paper.

“I’m sorry,” he says and gets up from his seat. He takes one look at the design that’s on display. “It looks good. You’ll have to excuse me.”

And then he leaves the room.

Jinki stares at the no longer blank side in a new word document. It has nothing to do with the romance novel he’s writing and he shouldn’t really have bothered with writing it considering how tight his schedule is but Jinki doesn’t care because this is art.

This is the best thing he has ever written, the description of the blood seductive and the physical pain irresistible. He should’ve become a crime writer instead of romance.

But Jinki hadn’t known and romance had been easy. Romance had been easy until he had been removed from his life, his dreams and his world. Jinki lets his finger caress the cracked screen and smiles wickedly.

His publisher is not happy when she finds him on Friday before his book signing. Jinki doesn’t care. He tells her about his change of plans and she whips him over the head with a bundle of papers.

“Nobody wants to read crime novels, Jinki. You’re a YA author, stop daydreaming. You’re good at what you do. Give me that new novel everybody is waiting for instead of writing descriptions of blood.”

Jinki ignores her and turns to the first in line. It’s a teenaged girl with a younger boy by her side. The girl smiles to what Jinki considers her younger brother.

“Hand him the book, Jonghyun,” she says and the young boy looks towards the ground, his cheeks an embarrassing red. She looks at Jinki and giggles a little. “I’m sorry. My brother read your book and he wants to get your signature. He’s very much in love with Rose.”

Jonghyun, the young boy, frowns and whines at his sister. The girl just laughs.

“I’m not in love with Rose,” he mumbles when he hands Jinki the book shyly.

Jinki sends him a smile and addresses the book to Kim Jonghyun and when he hands it back, he winks.

“It’s okay if you’re in love with Asher too.”

Jonghyun blushes tomato-red and crushes his book against his chest before he hurries off, his sister following him with a laugh.

It catches his eyes when he passes. It shines like a diamond, right in his periphery, begging for his attention. And when Jinki lifts it from the trash can and removes the banana peel he recognises it as his own novel. It’s stained with coffee and smells a little of vomit but Jinki still turns it in his hands.

He can feel the anger rise in him, the hard work that has gone to waste, thrown away like it belongs in the garbage. He opens the front page and looks at his smeared hand writing where something has spilled onto the book.

The pages are torn a little but it doesn’t look like it has been enjoyed. It just look destroyed, utterly ruined.

To Minseo it says. I hope you enjoy and you meet your one and only like Rose.

Jinki wrecks his mind to find Minseo; he goes through the catalogue of young readers he has seen in the past days, links names he hardly remember to faces that are slightly blurred by his memory.

He continues until he finds the memory of a girl and a her younger brother leaned against the wall.

I love your book! his memory says. I love it so much! I love your book! So easy to relate to. I love it!

Jinki stares at the copy he has signed less than a week ago and how it has become nothing but mere trash. Love is just as strong a word as hate but Jinki hates his readers in this instance.

Jinki doesn’t really plan anything. The whiskey burns his oesophagus and heats his body as he sits in his large couch and downs the golden liquor. The only thing on his mind is his book that was left in a trashcan, abandoned to rot among the rest of the trash of this world.

Jinki never considered himself worthy of the fame but he’s not that bad. Dammit, he’s not that bad of an author.

He empties the glass and throws it against the wall where it breaks into a million crystal pieces on the floor.

The night is insane and the weather is cold and Jinki shouldn’t be standing in front of a villa he has never seen before. He’s in a part of Seoul he has never been before and he doesn’t really know how he got here.

He’s drunk but he couldn’t care less as he fumbles with his pockets and turns them inside out. His hair sticks out in mess and he’s standing underneath the streetlights, observing the sleeping house.

“So, I was thinking…” someone says and Jinki turns around to look at Kim Kibum, the graphic designer. He has a headache and a cold and it’s all his own fault for staying up so late, getting drunk, observing sleeping houses.

He still hasn’t finished the manuscript for his publisher and he doesn’t want to deal with the fox-like designer that wants to know if he wants roses or bluebells on the cover.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about the cover and you can do whatever you want.”

Jinki glares at the man as he passes him and lifts his tea to his lips, just to burn his tongue on the boiling water.

Jinki needs sleep. Jinki needs clarity. Jinki really needs sleep but his mind is keeping him awake, his doubts, his fear and his annoyance driving him crazy.

He has been searching the book forums, just to find that a new writer, one of those he might have advised in the past, just wrote their hit novel as well, has become wildly popular. Jinki wants that too. He wants to find results of his works as well.

He turns around in his bed, the darkness creating visions he doesn’t want yet they seem so appealing, almost too appealing. Jinki is insane. Jinki is sleep deprived.

“Who’s Lee Jinki?” a voice asks. “Oh! The YA author. No, I didn’t read his works. I’ve heard they’re good, though. I couldn’t find much feedback on them ever since he wrote Mystery Lover so I didn’t think he published more. Haha, no, you must be crazy.”

They laugh and Jinki breaks the pencil in his hand with strength he didn’t know he possessed. There it is. Nobody knows him, nobody cares about him. His publisher lies to him, his readers lie to him. Everybody lies to him. Jinki is not good. He shouldn’t be where he is.

Whatever it was the world saw in Mystery Lover was not enough to take him here, it was not enough to bring him what he wants the most - feedback.

He leaves the broken pencil on the table as he gets up and leaves the room with a sigh.

The flames lick against the sky, the smoke clouding everything else. There are people screaming and sirens howling in the night sky as the fire fighters do their best to combat the fire.

Jinki leaves the chaos and goes back home.

He sits in front of his computer and he writes. The words flow as he lets the experience onto paper, as he lets his characters react the way the family had when they’d noticed their youngest son missing, his screaming drowning in the flames. Dead. They’re all dead inside.

What Jinki has lost, other’s must lose too.

So he writes and he writes and when Monday comes and he hands in the manuscript to a crime novel called Burn Baby, Burn, his publisher almost cries while she scolds him for rewriting everything they had planned. Jinki stands by his manuscript, though.

One would have thought that a young adult author turned crime author wouldn’t have had a chance, but the public loves Burn Baby, Burn.

They love it so much that Jinki sits up day and night and wonders what to do next. The feedback rises for a month before it all dies down again and the nights once again become insanity and loneliness and an unhealthy longing, an obsession with the only thing he can’t have.

So Jinki drinks the whiskey and leaves in the night air to find people that can cure him, that can possibly satisfy his longing, but there’s nobody there. The clubs are loud and dirty and the young people are dancing with only one intention.

Jinki has sex with a young boy that night, he isn’t even sure whether or not the other is of legal age, but he doesn’t care. Jinki doesn’t care about anything.

“Guess who I fucked last night,” a tall, young man says to a girl and she shrugs and lights up her cigarette before she inhales. The boy reaches out towards the lit cigarette and takes it from the girl. “That YA author that wrote … hum, whatever it was, really. I never read that shit but still. Who would’ve guessed he was gay?”

He laughs out loud and the girl steals her cigarette back.

“You’re such a whore, Taemin. How many famous people have you fucked by now?” she asks and Taemin starts counting on his fingers before he gives up.

Jinki listens in on their conversation, fire burning in his veins. A mindless fuck that had been unsatisfying and yet he has become another notch in a bedpost, another semi-famous person to add to a collection.

He’s still someone who people don’t remember, someone nobody cares enough about. He stands in the shadows of the club, waiting for the boy to emerge again.

Jinki can’t recognise himself but this helps, this works.

When the boy says goodbye to the girl, Jinki follows him. He follows the young boy down the narrow streets and past the river. He speeds up when the street lights become farther apart and in a moment of insanity he wraps his hands around the boy’s neck and presses.

He can feel his hands press into fabric and constrict airways. He barely feels the blows he’s given, too occupied with the feeling of slowly taking away what was taken from him.

When Jinki lets go the boy falls to the ground, forgotten and alone. Jinki leaves him and goes back home.

Two weeks later he hands in the manuscript to his second crime novel Null and Void.

Null and Void is everything Jinki wants it to become. His publisher is overjoyed, forgetting her previous misery now that he’s once again earning big money with his books and now that he’s finally writing again.

It takes a month before it wears off again but Jinki is too far gone by now.

The night has overtaken him completely and he can’t write without the inspiration, without taking from the world what is taken from him every time he’s forgotten, every time he’s left alone in the dust, in the trash can like he belongs with the garbage.

Jinki wants to remove everything on his way, wants to become the most successful of all. Jinki is hellbent on his path now and there is nothing that stands in his way.

“Mr. Lee, can I ask something?” Kim Kibum asks and Jinki lifts his eyebrow as he pours boiling water into his cup of tea. The water turns a golden brown, it looks a little like whiskey if it wasn’t because of the small leaves floating around and the steam rising towards the ceiling.

“No,” he says. Kim Kibum sighs and stands against the counter, preventing Jinki from leaving. Jinki throws the tea bag into the trash can like people throw his books there and looks at the other man.

“I really need to understand where you get your inspiration from so I can follow you in the covers I make for your books,” he says. Jinki doesn’t think it’s any of his business where he gets his inspiration.

Instead he takes a step around Kibum and gently tilts his cup of tea so the water spills onto Kibum’s arm and burns him.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry!” Jinki says when Kibum yells at the burn and as he leaves the office kitchen, Jinki smirks to himself. Nosy people get burnt.

“Can you believe I read that?” a boy says to another boy. It’s a starry night and the moon is illuminating the play ground they’re on. The other boy snorts and shakes his head.

“No, not really Jjong,” he says and leans against the other boy’s shoulder. Their hands are linked, secrets in the night.

Jinki observes them and knows they’re talking about him. He knows it because they’re mocking him, mocking his works. They’re laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Jinki steps closer to them, the sand cracking under his feet but neither of the two boys notice, too caught up in their own love. Jinki waits under the slide, observes them while they continue their banter and their hidden displays of affection.

It isn’t until they kiss that he sneaks up on them. With a knife in hand, blinded by hatred and success, he slices one of their necks. The other boy soon notices something is wrong in their kiss as the dying boy coughs up blood. The hot liquid spills from the wound on his neck and when he looks up and gets eye contact with Jinki, Jinki sends him a smile, tilts his head, lifts the gun and shoots.

Pull the Trigger wins the literature award.

Kim Kibum doesn’t stop bothering him and Jinki doesn’t stop his murders. How he hasn’t gotten caught yet is beyond his understanding but he enjoys the momentary fame he gets every time he published a new crime story.

Author of the Year, Bestselling Crime Author.

Author Lee Jinki - a journey from young love to thrilling crimes.

They’re only temporary fixes, however. All his awards and the times his name are mentioned are only there briefly before he remembers the books in the trash can, the mocking laughter and the sneers. He remembers it all and he can’t deal, can’t accept it. Jinki is not that bad.

He sees young authors rise up and die out again. He watches them bow to the pressure and Jinki rises above them all because his insanity needs nothing but motivation, needs nothing but a memory to continue on.

He corners Kibum in the meeting room one evening after a discussion on the new website. Jinki hasn’t been a part of the discussion but that’s not important. What is important, however, is that Kibum has started to ignore him, has started to avoid Jinki. He has heard Kibum talk fondly of other authors, joke with the newcomers and he doesn’t like it.

Jinki wants that. Jinki wants the recognition.

Kibum looks up, eyes looking directly through Jinki. Jinki stares back at him.

“My inspiration,” he starts but Kibum interrupts him.

“I know. I know what you do, how you write.”

Jinki doesn’t blink but just continues to stare at the other man.

The mirror he sees in Kibum’s eyes are reflecting his own insanity back at him. He can see it and how it affects him, see how wild the look in his own eyes are.

There, in front of Kibum, stands a man who has left his humanity behind long ago in an attempt to stay remembered, in an attempt to gain recognition. Jinki smirks and lifts an eyebrow.

There, in front of Kibum, stands a man that has finally reached success.

“I’ve saved the best for you,” he says. Kibum coughs and starts shivering. He looks up in fear and Jinki just lifts the cup of tea to his lips.

When Kibum’s eyes widen, his body is already shutting down. Jinki walks closer and sinks down beside him as Kibum falls against the floor and does his best to breathe and call for help.

“A shame the burn wasn’t enough to teach you a lesson.”

Jinki rises to his feet as Kibum’s eyes close and when he leaves the room, he lifts the cup of tea to his lips. Jinki has the world.

Guess Who is his last book.

#shinee #fic #onkey #mine #onew #key #angst #murders #pg-15 #lee jinki #kim kibum #poor everybody #authorau #which is kind of not an au #anyway

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astrellate · 7 years

Text

CRLN: Chapter 1- Arrival

There's more to the first-year class at Beacon Academy than teams RWBY and JNPR. Carran Lowell, Rosaria Belmonte, Lydia Laroche, and Nereus Asturias have been grouped together to form Team Cerulean, better known as Team CRLN.

A/N: And I rise from the dead to write a completely self-indulgent RWBY fanfiction alongside my boyfriend.

Short little disclaimer here- I haven't written OC driven fanfiction since I was about twelve, so bear with me if this turns into a giant trainwreck, okay?

Read on: Ao3 or FF.net

Team CRLN Character Appearances:

Carran Lowell- A tall young man with pale skin, gray eyes, and short black hair. He wears a black bowler hat, a black vest, a tucked in white button up shirt, black pants, black combat boots, and a black knee-length coat. He occasionally wears a black cloak with a hood.

Rosaria Belmonte- A young woman of average height with chin length brown hair, tan skin, and brown eyes. She wears a tucked in white button up shirt, a red pleated skirt, brown combat boots, and a black trenchcoat.

Lydia Laroche- A young woman of average height with shoulder length curly brown hair, dark skin, and purple eyes. She wears a sleeveless purple dress, which is held up by a v-neck strap at the neck. The dress cuts off below the knee. She also wears a black, pirate style coat with silver buttons and black heel boots.

Nereus Asturias- A tall young man with short, curly brown hair. He also has blue-green eyes and tan skin. He wears a blue military style coat, a blue turtleneck, gray pants, and brown boots.

There were apparently multiple ways to get oneself placed upon an airship bound for Beacon Academy. Apparently, protecting a village outside the kingdom from a Grimm attack was one way to do it. However, it wasn't as if he could complain about the current situation. Being a hunter did happen to line up with his particular set of skills. He’d always been rather handy with a sword, for instance.

Carran took a moment to mark his page before looking up to observe his surroundings once again. As he suspected, not much had changed since his last glance upward. The brunette who had lent him the book he was currently reading was still seated to his right, completely absorbed with another novel. Towards the back, a blonde girl and a black haired girl were chattering, both practically on the verge of shouting as they conversed. There was also the other girl with the black coat, who was barely concealing her nerves. As it was, her shifting eyes easily gave her away. There was also the blond hovering by the trashcan and the brunet staring out the window, along with a half dozen other individuals that Carran was paying slight attention to.

“Do you like the book so far?”

Carran placed the voice immediately. It was the brunette again, the one with the black trenchcoat and the red skirt.

“Yeah. It's interesting.” Which wasn't a lie. The book did interest him, which was why he hadn't immediately dropped it back into the girl's lap.

“What part are you at?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

He shrugged. “Just started. I'm only a few pages in.”

“Ah.” With that, she let the conversation drop, turning her head back down in favor of returning to her book. Carran waited for her to speak again, but she said nothing, only moving to turn a page.

Carran turned his attention back towards the general populace of the ship. The only thing that had changed was the news report, which had switched from a report about Roman Torchwick to a report on a Faunus protest. Trying to listen to the report immediately proved difficult once the brunet with the blue coat sat down next to him.

“So, do you always wear the suit?”

Carran resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah. It's comfortable.”

“Isn't it hard to fight in though?” the brunet asked. “Aren't you worried about getting it dirty or something?”

“No and no,” Carran responded. “Again, it's comfortable.”

The brunet stared at him. “You're weird.”

“Yes.”

The brunet shook his head, a smile forming on his lips. He began to speak again, but was cut off by a soft whir from the screen, cutting off the Faunus report. A blonde woman appeared on the screen, with her hands behind her back. The brunette beside Carran looked up, marking her page as the blonde began to speak.

“Hello and welcome to Beacon,” she said, in a tone that made Carran immediately suspect that the message had been recorded beforehand.

“Who's that?” The blonde by the window asked.

“My name is Glynda Goodwitch,” the blonde on screen continued, as if she had never been interrupted.

“Oh.”

“You are among a privileged few who have received the honor of being selected to attend this prestigious academy,” Glynda continued. “Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace and as future hunters and huntresses, it is your duty to uphold it. You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task and now it is our turn to provide you with the knowledge and the training to protect our world.”

With that, her image faded offscreen, drawing murmurs of excitement from the crowd.

“Looks like we've arrived,” the brunet beside Carran said, nodding towards the people crowded by the windows that were admiring the view. “You gonna go look?”

Carran shook his head.

The brunet shrugged, standing up to leave. “Fair enough. Nice to meet you, by the way. Maybe I'll see you on campus sometime?”

“Maybe.”

The boy smiled and left, but doubled back a few seconds later, looking rather sheepish. “Uh, I didn't catch your name.”

“Carran.”

“Just Carran?” he asked, smirking slightly.

Carran resisted the urge to throw the book he was holding at the brunet. “Carran Lowell.”

“Ah, okay. My name’s Nereus Asturias.”

Nereus waited for Carran to speak, but Carran only nodded in response.

“Well, cya around!” With that, Nereus left, moving back towards his spot by the windows, stumbling a bit as the ship angled itself downwards. Carran chuckled slightly before directing his attention back towards the brunette beside him, who was once again completely absorbed in her novel.

He placed the book she had lent him on top of the open one in her lap. “Here.”

She looked up. “Huh?”

“We're landing,” Carran replied, nodding towards the windows. “I don't think you want me to keep this.”

It took another moment for his words to sink in before she responded. “Oh, right! You can hang onto it if you want,” she said, looking a tad embarrassed. “Just give it back to me when you're done, okay?”

Carran shook his head. “It's fine. I'd rather not be responsible for someone else's belongings.”

“Oh,” the brunette responded, sounding more flustered than before. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Carran said, but his agreement proved to be unnecessary; the girl had become distracted by the blond with the armour racing past, looking rather green. She cringed as the boy began to retch into the trash can, and continued to look rather uncomfortable as the vomiting continued.

“Are you okay?” Carran asked.

“Yeah,” the girl responded, the look persisting on her face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she repeated, not sounding fine at all.

The ship continued to descend, drawing more people to the windows to admire the view. The brunette fell victim to the spell as well, averting her eyes away from Carran to gaze at the academy, which was quickly drawing into view.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” the brunette said, almost at a whisper.

Carran only nodded in response. There was no further conversation between them; the brunette’s attention was diverted by Nereus introducing himself, prompting a conversation between them that lasted until they disembarked.

It wasn't until the brunette vanished into the crowd that Carran realized that he never learned her name.

#amelia writes #crln #rwby fanfiction #rwby #rwby oc #and here we go

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