jin-c-stories - Tumblr blog

[jin-c-stories]

I am terrible, but I've wanted to hang out in my local library for years, but can't bring my anxious butt to leave the house for anything except food.

Or just go to browse and hang out! I promise it will be inspiring :)

[jin-c-stories]

In case you haven't gotten your dose of stupid yet, here is a drawing. My friend accidentally capitalized Crowd in his short story I'm editing, and I was like Crowd, an organization of crows in disguise. So here we have the journalist of the Nevermore newspaper.

And ignore the Turner family at the bottom. Turnip and his little sister Carrot are in a band called the vegetables.

[jin-c-stories]

Very Brief Guide to [tumblr], for Reddit refugees

Shit You Must Do Right Fucking Now:

Change your profile picture, blog header, and title to something other than the defaults. Do it right now. You will be mistaken for a bot otherwise, and blocked.

Go into Settings -> Dashboard, scroll down to Preferences, and turn off the options in the picture. This will get rid of most of the algorithmic stuff.

Turn off Tumblr Live. You have to snooze it once every 7 days for some stupid reason. It's hosted through another company and will steal your data if you use it.

Go to your blog settings (under the little person menu) and turn off these two settings:

Turn off infinite scroll (lags the site) and turn on timestamps on posts, in the same menu as Preferences.

Basic Features of the Site:

Reblogs drive the entire site. If you'd upvote something on Reddit, you'd reblog it on Tumblr. You can add text, images, or tags to a reblog, but you're not required to.

The dashboard is the equivalent to your Reddit feed, and contains the posts of all the people you follow, with the newest at the top

You can send an ask to someone, and it'll appear in their askbox for them to answer. You can receive them too, or turn off the settings if you don't want.

Tags aren't actually used for finding stuff (search function is dogshit), but are more for categorizing. People also talk in tags. Because Tumblr is weird, you can't use quotation marks (") or commas in them without fucking it up

You can filter both tags and phrases under Account Settings; doing this will put a filter over a post that contains them, which you'll have to click through to see the post itself. Useful for avoiding hate speech or blocking out annoying stuff

You can make polls in posts. Here's one now.

Likes are useless. They literally do fuck-all except send a notification to the OP.

Stuff Tumblr Does That Other Sites Don't:

Very old posts (I'm talking from like 2012) often circulate on this site. There's no such thing as a post being "too old" to reblog

Blocking is highly encouraged; you can block someone for any reason. Even for just being annoying.

If you and someone else are following each other, you are mutuals. Mutuals are fucking awesome and are treasured like friends. Mutuals are a thing on other sites but Tumblr treats em differently.

You can screenshot someone's tags if you like them and add them to a reblog. This is called "peer review"

Sometimes someone will find a blog and go through it and like/reblog a bunch of posts. This is totally fine and not "creepy" like it is seen as on other sites.

Tumblr jokes often rely on Continuing The Bit and a "yes, and?" attitude. Goncharov is probably the best example of this.

We are fucking infested with bots. They will either have totally blank profiles or be filled with porn. Block and report on sight.

Censorship is pretty lax here. I can say "I want to brutally stab Elon Musk to death and watch him bleed out in front of a crowd" and nobody gives a shit.

General Etiquette:

Don't try to do epic clapbacks here, you'll probably just get laughed at or blocked. If someone is bugging you or spouting bigoted bullshit, block them.

Reblog art!!! Artists often struggle to gain traction on here; reblogging will give them a boost.

Not every reblog needs a comment or tag in it

You can go all out with tagging your stuff to organize it, or you can just leave it all blank. Someone might ask "hey, can you tag these posts as [x]?" and you can decide if you want to do that or not. It's generally polite to oblige, but "no" is still reasonable.

Avoid discourse like the plague. Filter it, block people who start it, scroll past it when you see it. Just don't get involved in it. Ever.

Don't put fandom tags or jokes on someone's posts about serious matters or personal shit

You're responsible for curating your own dashboard; if you complain about constantly seeing stuff you don't like, that's probably on you. Don't be afraid to unfollow.

Follower count doesn't matter much here and you don't have to make yours known if you don't want to.

Reblog, don't repost. Reblogging keeps the credit and doesn't "steal" engagement like Twitter retweets.

If someone likes something a LOT, they might reblog it like 30 times in a row. This is normal

Having a post blow up is actually kinda a bad thing, since it floods your notifications. There's a sort of in-joke about how having a big post is awful and people jokingly try to stop their own posts from blowing up, often in vain.

Tips:

Get XKit Rewritten if you're on desktop, it's a really helpful extension

In the little drop-down menu next to the 'Post now' button you can either save a draft, schedule a post, or add it to your queue. The queue lets you post things in order at a certain interval, which you can change. It's good for spreading stuff out over time.

You can use Shift+R to quickly reblog stuff and Shift+Q to queue!

Filter your notifications under Activity - you can also see some neat graphs

Find each other! If you want your old Reddit communities to stick together, seek out other refugees and follow them.

Have fun on [tumblr], everyone!

[jin-c-stories]

Writing prompt

Write yourself as a villian. What is your backstory, what is it you are passionate about, what makes you "bad"?

[jin-c-stories]

Butterfly Love

Dear mom,

I know it is a parent's instinct to turn all their child's flaws into loveable traits. But after washing and mending my overalls for the 5th time that week you had to finally admit, I was troublesome.

The beautiful Saturday afternoon sun was filtering through the tree behind our house into my bedroom. I hated being grounded. It wasn't even my fault! Those boys had paid me five bucks to climb that tree, I didn't know there was a sparrow nest there. With an angry sparrow mama.

I heard the sound of your sewing machine from your craft room. I knew you were mending the new hole in my favorite pair of overalls. The shadow of a butterfly passed over the horse trading cards I laid out. Confused I looked up towards the window. Right. You thought I loved butterflies and made me mesh curtains with embroidered butterflies. I groaned falling to my side. Butterflies are so girly, and I'm not girly.

The sewing stops. Sitting up I looked to my bedroom door. Scissors snipped, footsteps approached. My yellow bedroom door is covered in butterflies that you and I painted. "Alright Jin." The door opens. Your fiery hair is pulled back into a ponytail but a few wild strands refuse to summit. "I have finally patched the last holes in these, and look," you held them up, "I even found these cute butterfly patches. They are just perfect to hide all the seams"

Your face lit up, outshining the spring sunlight. I try to mirror your look of excitement. "Oh my gosh mom, those are so cute. Thank you."

You handed them to me. "I hope you will be more careful and not rip any of them off, but if you do I can sew it back on. Well go ahead and try them on." They were cute, and looked adorable with my pink butterfly shirt. I hated pink, I hated cute, but I smile, you loved it. "Awe, you look beautiful. Stay right there while I get the camera!"

Dear mom,

It didn't snow. I almost wish it had. My hand drifts over the butterflies we painted 5 years ago. I wonder how long it will take for all your little touches to fade. Dad didn't do cute, he did work. He always did work.

Auntie looked at me funny when I placed a little butterfly patch in your casket, but your friends knew. They even gave me a little river stone to paint a butterfly on, to leave at your grave. I don't know if I will yet. It feels so wrong to be creative without you here. We did these things together, but I guess I will have to do it eventually.

Dear mom,

I tried to fit into those overalls today. It must look funny watching my fat, teenage self attempt to pull them on, they wouldn't even pull up past my thighs. I'm sorry, in my attempt I opened one of the holes you sewed over, and one of the butterflies fell off. I tried to sew it back on but it looks weird.

Dad is really into motorcycles and got me a denim vest. He said it is biker culture to sew patches on to represent your personality. With it he got a few patches things like a bomb, playing cards, and the German cross. Since I can't wear the overalls I was going to sew the butterflies onto it, but it doesn't match my style, I also don't want to ruin the overalls. I guess I will have to let go of them eventually anyways.

Dear mom,

I got into college! The college campus is far from home but that's fine since dad and his new wife kicked me out anyways. While going through my things I found the denim vest covered in your butterfly patches. It doesn't fit me anymore, and most of the butterflies are faded but if I mix them with other butterflies patches they could look cute on my back pack. Or another jacket. I haven't decided yet.

In the pile of my old junk I also found your body pillow, the big blue one you got when you shared a bed with my brother and I. Dad wanted to throw it out but I took it with me so ha he can, well you know. My sewing professor said she can help me turn it into a quilt for my sewing final. It will make a cute present to my brother, he misses you more than either of us will ever know.

Dear mom,

I was telling the story of how you loved butterflies. The person I was talking to is a mother, the entire time she had this strange smile on her face. She thought it was a beautiful story. We started talking because she thought the butterfly jacket didn't go well with my black grim reaper t-shirt.

When I got home and went over the story again to myself I realized, you didn't care about butterflies. You were just excited that I loved them. It could have been anything, even horses, and you would still have had that same enthusiasm. Thank you for loving me like that.

Love, your daughter.

[jin-c-stories]

A Conversation With Death

Hey! I was in a reflective mood the other night and wrote this. It's not based on my religious believes but is just a fun story.

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A Conversation With Death

Everything before me was dark. I stepped into it, walking further into the darkness. Behind me was a bright light. It felt right to move on. I was ready. 

A person was in that darkness. His face remained neutral as I approached. “Are you Death?” I asked.

“Is that who you think I am?”

Giving the question some thought I answered. “Not entirely, but I can’t be sure.” The absolute darkness in the distance was unchanging, but my human eyes caused shadows to dance and play. Teasing me with their games. “Are you the Devil, or God?”

“Do you believe me to be either?”

“No.” His energy was becoming more familiar to me the longer I talked to him. I had known him my whole existence. “Does that mean Heaven and Hell aren’t real?”

“What do you believe?”

I smiled. “I’ve never believed in them. The whole ‘your actions will be harshly judged,’ and ‘Hell is a hot place where you watch your skin melt off, Heaven is a place made of gold where everyone lives like celebrities’ never sat right with me.”

“What do you want Heaven to look like?”

Galaxies sparked at my fingertips. A book twirled from the nothing. “Infinite knowledge. Seeing everything from a perspective I couldn't imagine. That doesn’t feel fair to me though. Knowledge should be something earned, not given.” The book disappeared as a smile grew on my face. “Watch it be an existence that I can’t even fathom yet.”

“That’s not what you really believe.”

“No, it’s not.” I tapped colors into the void that quickly faded. A child’s happy squeal echoed. “Mama, mama!” My socks slide on the kitchen tiles. By some miracle I stayed up right. 

“Hey Jinny.” My mother greeted me. 

“Look what I did!”

“Did you draw this?”

I nodded. 

“Awe, it's so pretty, thank you.”

“You’re welcome!”

I had forgotten this moment. My mother’s smile as she hung my picture on the fridge. Later I would find all those pictures neatly organized in a couple filing bins.

“To me, this would be Heaven. Living in my past for all of eternity.” The scene faded leaving us in darkness again. 

“Some would see this as Hell.” My old friend responded. 

“It is.” We sat in silence for what only felt like a second, but was likely an eternity. If time could even reach us out here. “Do you also greet dinosaurs?” 

He looked at me perplexed. 

“I mean if you greet all souls that die that would mean you’ve seen dinosaurs, dogs, and other animals right?”

A small laugh escaped the ancient being. “Yes, I have.”

“But you don’t greet them as a human. After all, humans are a more recent phenomenon. If I had been a triceratops would you have greeted me as one of my own kind?”

“That is what I did, isn’t it?”

“It was.” I smile. Turning back I study the light I came from. “I have a lot more to learn before I come back here.”

“You do.”

I turned back to him. “I was probably the easiest soul you convinced to go back, wasn’t I?”

He remained silent.

Taking that as my cue to leave I stepped towards the light.

“May I ask you one last question before you go?”

I glanced back at him, hoping he would stop me. “Yes, of course.”

“What do you believe the afterlife really is, and my role in it?”

The void stared at me from behind him. From it came whisperings from a life nearly forgotten, but that I already knew. “You are a guard. You stand on the edge of nothing to guide lost souls back to the last paradise. The last of what used to be many. When I come back I will try to create another, I promise. This time we will get it right, we humans may be destructive but I know we can do better than our predecessors.”

He nodded. “Me too.” His eyes were filled with hope. “Until the next time we meet, farewell.” 

I walked alone into the light, prepared to learn all I could, for the next time I met with death.

[jin-c-stories]

Writing Prompt

I don’t know what it is but I’ve been thinking a lot about fairies and Grimm fairy tales. So here is another fairy focused writing prompt.

You’ve been in pain for a while, but the doctors and your parents blew it off as “typical woman pains”. Now you are an adult and decided to go see a specialist. Those “typical woman pains” was the last symptom of an uncurable illness that has left you baren. You don’t mind though, you weren’t really sure how you felt about having kids. Taking this as a blessing in disguise you are currently sitting in a fairy circle ready to sell your first born.

[jin-c-stories]

Writing Prompt

I know, I said I don’t normally do writing prompts but here we are. 

To become a wizard you have to make a deal with a fae folk. After a week of things going missing from under your pillow you accidentally make a deal with the tooth fairy.

Bonus brownies if you add that you (the wizard) is actually leaving gifts as a way to flirt with the tooth fairy. 

Please let me know if you take this on I would love to read it.

[jin-c-stories]

Tales of My Youth: Night Walker

Hey guys! I know it has been a while but here is a short that is part truth mixed with fantasy and the over imagination of a 7 year old. I am going over old memories and photos with family along with my many diaries and remembered a night I thought I heard someone following me on my night walk. So enjoy the image of 7 year old me being terrified. Also I promise I am working on Super Shorts but I am taking a break to do more world building, plot outlining, and character development. I will let you know when I am done with that.

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I’ve been an insomniac for as long as I can remember. When my dad was home I would sit with him and watch TV until I fell asleep. When he was out of town I would go for night walks. I was always careful about my night walks, listening to the reports from the local mom patrol. 

One summer day the mom patrol was talking about a homeless man throwing rocks at children at the city park. That whole day none of us were allowed to go out. I waited until long after dark when the light from my mother’s room finally went out.

Quickly dressing I grabbed a baseball bat and snuck out. I breathed in the cool night air, greeted the moon and stars then started my way down the familiar roads. The night was mine, the streets I usually had to share became my kingdom in the dark. 

As usual I let my heart lead me. The pavement turned into dirt and the houses became more distant. Grass rose on either side of the road until it was far above my head. 

I turned the corner facing a dangerous Y in the road. I stopped to decide which way to go when I heard an extra set of footsteps behind me. Terrified and unsure exactly what I heard I took the path that led back into town. 

The sound is repeating itself in my mind as I try to figure out what exactly it was. An echo? No, it sounded nothing like my light 7 year old food steps. An animal? No, those were definitely human steps. My hands started to shake where they gripped the bat. The footsteps unmistakably followed me. My house was coming up, I couldn’t go home. The idea of all the things this stranger could do to my family convinced me to walk past. 

I walked down the street that became a dirt trail. The warm glow from the street lights faded leaving only the moon to guide my way. 

In the distance I caught sight of my destination. It was a small shack we weren’t allowed to go near because the mom patrol said a coyote pack had claimed the structor. I got close enough to hear the creatures stirring inside.

With a deep breath I stopped. The footsteps quickly scrambled into the nearby sage brush. I turned facing the empty path. “Git out here!” I demanded the darkness with no answer. “Stop hiding, I know you’re there!”

This time a tall ragged man stepped out onto the road. The smell of rotten eggs almost made me gag. He smiled at me with yellow teen and stared at me with his unusual yellow eyes. He stepped towards me. Before he could do anything else I struck him with my bat. He fell forward into the earth. Over and over I beat him with my bat.

I stopped when I heard the coyote’s surrounding me. Shaken by what I had done I took off. The creatures of the night watched me as I washed the blood from my face and bat in a neighbor’s yard. Once I got home I stripped out my stained clothes and gave them a shallow grave in the backyard. 

The next morning I waited for news of the murder to be passed through the grapevine but there was nothing. I listened closely to the mom patrol spreading the small town gossip waiting for the day the body was found. All the while my consciousness was being eaten up by guilt. Before another day of silence could pass I made the hike to the hollow shack.

The trail was very different in the sunlight. There were deep scars from the decades of four wheelers and trucks that had come before me. I stopped at the spot where the unspeakable crime happened and found no evidence of that night. I jogged to the hovel but the ceiling had caved in probably years before. I ran home, my mom attempted to stop me but I had to know. With my bare hands I dug up my clothes that were clean except for the dirt. 

I still go out for night walks. I greet the night sky and the other creatures of the night. But from that night on I gave the night more respect and paid close attention to the sounds around me.

[jin-c-stories]

Why is it I only feel like writing at 11pm? I mean I would love to sit down and write at 1pm but I never get anything done, then I stay up until 2 or 3 am like a vampire or a demon with insomnia. https://www.instagram.com/p/COKFHeNhlom/?igshid=19xdxcazwnnrh

[jin-c-stories]

Thank you so much for this creative ask!

We strive to encourage everyone, no matter their identity, where they come from and who they are, to join us in battle.

The fight for LGBTQ+ rights is a global movement; and we can only win by standing together as one.

Join us and stay proud, always!

[jin-c-stories]

Valerie Friedrich

Valerie Friedrich

Most babies are born into loving homes with loving parents. Even if they had little, usually parents will do all they can for the small defenseless being. Valerie Friedrich was never a normal child.

Her parents were growing apart, she was the last hope for their marriage. Before she could walk she knew the sounds of her parents’ arguments, had memorized every word, every pose like a line in a play. Finally, one day the fighting stopped.

When asked Valerie would say she didn’t have a father, in her mind her mother asexually pooped baby Val out like a bird. Birds reproduce asexually, right? It didn’t matter because her mom didn’t need a dead weight dragging her back, but even as a child she understood life would not be easy.

Their cobblestone apartment in Brooklyn was too small, but all they could afford. Hunger pangs came and went, but she never complained. She recognized how hard her mother worked to make ends meet. All that hard work meant that most of the time Valerie was left on her own.

She doesn’t exactly remember how it happened, but slowly the child spent less and less time at home. “What’s the point in going home, no one is going to be there?” The eight-year-old thought while exploring the streets.

A rhythmic thumb came towards her, drawing her attention. She turned to see the leather clad group of bikers riding on slick black and chrome motorcycles. Something about them scared yet excited her. The motorcycles passed and turned out of sight, but Valerie raced after them.

Following their music led her to a bar, all the beautiful bikes lined up outside. She marveled at them, daring herself to touch them.

A firm hand lifted the scrawny eight-year-old by the back of her shirt. “And what do you think you’re doing?” Panic gripped the child as she tried to pull away from him, but his grasp was stronger than her panic. He laughed and kneeled down “It’s okay, little spitfire.” As he released her, she took off into the afternoon. Her initial terror didn’t keep her away for long.

The next day she crept up to the cycles and gently ran her finger across the chromed logo. “At least ye got a good eye.” She whirled around, nearly knocking over the bike, but the man caught it with raised eyebrows. “Careful there, Spitfire.”

He smelled of booze, cigarettes, leather, and beard gel. Val was about to turn and run again, but a spark of kindness in his eyes made her hesitate.

“They call me Whiskey, what’s your name?”

Her silent, murderous look made him laugh. “Valerie.” She spat out after making a tough decision. Though her tone was polite, her stance screamed distrust.

Whiskey didn’t normally like kids. They were loud, annoying, and self-centered, but the eight-year-old with choppy, greasy blonde hair with a fight in her hazel eyes reminded the aged biker of someone long gone. “Well, it is nice to meet you, Valerie. Would you like to ride the motorbike?”

The biker bar biker bar became her second home, and the bikers became her family. Despite being scrawny and small, Valerie had a fight in her. Running around, she found a way to always covered in cuts and bruises. Even though they were a big part of her life, she never told her mom about them. She barely saw her mother at all.

It was almost 3am, but Valerie didn’t notice as she climbed the steps to their apartment. The neighbors were fighting again; she heard glass breaking. Probably a plate against their wall, Val thought. The twelve-year-old ignored it as she opened the door to the apartment she and her mother shared. The living room light was on as well as the kitchen light, though she was certain that she had turned them off before she left. “Val?” There at the kitchen table was her mom was sitting looking worried and tired.

“Hey mom, what are you doing up?”

“Me? What are you doing staying out so late, you are to be home at nine?”

She sighed and set her bag down on the couch, shrugging. “I was out with my friends.”

Her mom glared. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when you weren’t here? I brought home pizza so that we could celebrate my new promotion, but you weren’t even here.”

Valerie perked up at the mention of her mother’s promotion and food. She came into the kitchen taking a piece of cold pizza. “Congrats on the promotion, and thanks for the food.”

“Oh my God, Val, you look like you were rolling around in the gutter. And what are you wearing?”

The adolescent looked down at herself. Her oversized leather jacket had some dried blood on it, it has also been a couple of days since she had changed her clothes. Tomorrow she was going to find some quarters to take to the laundromat.

But it was too late to be having this conversation with anyone. She was tired and just wanted to sleep. Her mom also looked exhausted, pinching her eyebrows together. “Is this because I haven’t been around?” Val didn’t know how to answer, so she stood there quietly eating the cold pizza. “Things are going to change around here. With this new promotion I will be home more.”

She was home more, a lot more. It drove Valerie crazy. Then there was her new boyfriend to deal with. When her mom was around, he would pretend to love and care for Val, but as soon as she left he would hit and yell at the teen.

It made the teenager spend even less time at home. Whiskey seemed to understand and always offered her his couch. Then the bar owner, Larry, finally gave in, giving her a bedroom above the bar.

Everything began passing by in a blur. The next thing she knew, it was her seventeenth birthday. She was drunk and alone in the bar bathroom. Her breath smelled of blood and vomit. Her hazel eyes met in the mirror. She had grown into her leather jacket that was still covered in dry blood, not all of it hers. A bandage hand gently came up, poking at a new bruise on her jaw, but she noticed her black eye, almost completely healed.

Without thinking, she ripped the dirty bandaid off her face to look at a cut she got on her cheek. It had already scabbed over but was showing signs of infection. With a sigh, she cleaned it and placed a new bandaid over it. The rumble of motorcycles echoed through the bar like thunder. In the mirror, her eyes lit up. The boys were back.

The dirty bar was almost empty, but everyone inside glanced at the door as the engines came to an idle. Soon the door burst open as the gruff group came in.

A large redheaded man they called the Irishman glared at one of the new members in the corner. “What did you do?” The Irishman bellowed at the young man.

Confused, Val glanced over at the young adult who had been trying to hit on her since he joined their little group. He dared shrug at their leader. “I don’t know what you mean, old man.” He boldly dismissed the glare.

Whiskey was missing. Valerie looked out the window, but he wasn’t with them. “Where’s Whiskey?” She asked, knowing that he only rode with them. Looking at the smaller man with black hair called Hammer, he only looked away. “He was with you, wasn’t he?”

“Whiskey is in the hospital, thanks to what this piece of shit did.” The redhead yelled, standing by the pool table, practically fuming. “Go ahead, why don’t you tell Spitfire what you did.”

Valerie glanced at the boy, confusion, sadness, and anger all washing over her. “What did you do?” It came out more of an accusation than she meant.

She was now standing in front of their table waiting for an explanation. The boy in question only glared at her. “I did what no one else here had the balls to do and made a lot of money while doing it.”

To the older men like the Irishman, Hammer, and Whiskey the gang was more about being a family and riding motorcycles than dealing drugs, and fighting with rival gangs. They never cared about turf or what the other gangs did as long as it wasn’t at the bar. But some of the younger members only cared about making money, which meant dealing drugs and getting mixed up in turf wars. Valerie didn’t need to know which gang he pissed off or who he killed to know what he had done.

Her hands were shaking, her vision blurred, anger settled over her. These guys took her in, took him in, and this is how he repays them. She started pounding her fists on the table without even thinking. Pain shot up her arm, the table beneath them in splitters.

Stepping back, she almost blacked out from the pain in her hands and arms, but she could clearly tell what she did. The boys look at her with a mixture of horror and shock that she feels. The Irishman came up, placing a hand on her shoulder and letting out a long whistle.

The nurse and doctor at the ER asked her what happened, but nobody answered them. Her mom came rushing in looking at Hammer and the Irishman confused before looking at Valerie, who now had casts on both her hands and wrists. Val had several broken bones in both hands. She didn’t answer her mother’s questions; she didn’t want to.

The Irishman came in as they were getting ready to leave. “Whiskey’s up now if ya want to see him.”

“My daughter wants nothing more to do with your gang. Come Val.” But Valerie didn’t move. “Valerie, we are leaving now.” She glanced at the looming redhead.

He led them through the hospital corridors. Her mother a couple steps behind them planned out her rant. He held the door open for Val when they reached the room. From the hospital bed, the tough as nails biker looked small and weak. He lit up when he saw Valerie. “Hey there, little Spitfire. The Irishman told me what cha did to ol’ Larry’s table. Ya should’ve hit that boy in the face instead of ruining a good table.”

She laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Trust me next time I will. Once the spooks take these things off.” She held up her casts for him.

“Damn ya really did a number on ya self this time, didn’t cha.”

“Yeah, but I am still better off than you.”

He filled the room with laughter that turned into a cough. His doctor filled the doorway like a shadow with a forced smile. “I’ll see ya back in the bar once I’ve served my time here, kay?”

She nodded and left with her mother, which was a tense, silent car ride. In all honesty, she expected her mother to understand why she hung out with the biker group, but she didn’t. What did she expect Val to do all day, sit at home, alone for eighteen years? With them she was never alone and unlike her mother they looked out for her, they cared about her.

But like most people, her mother couldn’t see past their exterior. It was weird to shower every day, but with the casts and being grounded, it forced the teen to live by her mother’s rules. Valerie decided she hated the sickly sweet scent of flowers and missed the dirt, grime, oil, and smoke of the bar.

On top of everything else, there was her mother’s fiancé. He glared and shot venom at the teen every chance he got. But because of her mother’s doting, he didn’t get many chances.

Getting the casts off was like getting out of jail. Though her hands were still sore, she was ready to get out again. Her mother had other plans. Still grounded, they would not leave Valerie home alone. Which meant being alone with her fiancé while her mother was at work.

They were having a glaring contest from across the living room. Her mother had just left. In fact, they hadn’t even gotten the chance to lock the door yet when he started a glaring match. She knew he mentioned sending her to boarding school, though no one has talked to her about it. “Freak, do you even care about your mother?” he spat.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, unlike you.”

“At least I am here your dad couldn’t even be bothered to stay.”

“Actually, I don’t have a father. My mother found me digging through her garbage and thought I would make a good pet.”

He snarled at her. “You joke, but you are actually a burden, just like he was. If you actually loved her, you would leave.”

“Rrright,” Valerie started sarcastically, “because she wouldn’t be worried sick about me. Jesus, how dense are you?”

“Bitch!” He moved to stand threateningly above her.

“Ass.” She shot back.

He hit her, which wasn’t a surprise even if he behaved he would find an excuse. Only now Valerie could fight back. She glared at him with a new fire in her red eyes. Before he could step back in fear, she punched him as hard as she could.

She felt his skull crack, his blood poured onto the floor, but it was the sound he made that had her calling the police. He screamed and gurgled for breath. Panic made her voice shrill as she begged the ambulance to hurry. He was dying, and it was her fault. Staring at her bruising fist and all the blood had her packing and then running.

Guilt flooded her sense of judgement and direction. Panic carried her until dusk when it dropped her off at the edge of the city. She sat down by the small highway watching the sunset, unsure if her mom’s fiancé was okay. The image of him on their living room floor was scary, the thought that she did that was even scarier. Don’t show fear, she reminded herself, raining it in.

The rattling of an old truck came to a halt on the road beside her. She turned to watch the window roll down, revealing a kind looking older couple. “Need a lift.” The husband asked.

Not trusting her voice, she only stood and nodded, trying to hide her hands.

“I can take ya as far as DC.” He said, opening the door for her.

“That’s far enough.”

[jin-c-stories]

SuperBlurb #1

Real Ghosts

    Why any sane person would want to go outside in that weather was beyond him. Outside rain pounded against the windows and the wind howled trying to outshine Van’s video game. Psh mother nature would have to summon a volcano and a hurricane to silence his game time. Welding the power of the TV remote, Van turned up the volume. Take that stormy night.

    All the other teens had gone shopping, leaving the Flame Master alone to do as he liked. Illuminated by the glow of the TV he jumped. A shadow had moved beside him. The girl, wearing all black drifted into the kitchen shattering his sense of security.

    Mori White, the creepiest teen hero in the Clubhouse. Van glared at the door she disappeared into. She claimed to be a necromancer, that she can see and speak with the dead. No one has believed it. The current theory is telekinesis combined with grief for her dead family and foster brother. Koa mentioned something about electricity and magnets. For a kid genius, he never made much sense. 

    Behind him the elevator dinged, signaling the return of the others. The doors opened revealing Luka holding all of the groceries with his bo staff, and Valerie holding a sleeping Emma. Together they made an odd group. Luka, an ex-Russian assassin, Emma the small Korean child that followed Luka everywhere, and Valerie the biker chick from New York City. At least he was sure Valerie was from New York, but she would beat him to a pulp if he dared ask. 

    She looked very uncomfortable holding a sleeping toddler and as soon as the doors were open she took off down the hallway towards their bedrooms. “Be careful with her,” Luka called after them before sighing. He glanced at Van then moved towards the kitchen. “Did anything bad happen while we were out?”

    “Nope, just Mori.” He said under his breath.

    “She didn’t do anything did she?”

    “No, she’s just weird. She gives me the willies. With her gray eyes and talk of the dead. At least she’s kinda dressed like a normal person for once.” 

    Luka raised an eyebrow at the younger teen. “Come on Van. I know she’s strange but we should give her a chance. She wants to do good.”

“I know but still-”  a scream echoed from the kitchen. Luka dropped the groceries as they rushed in. The room was noticeably colder than the living room had been. Mori kneeled double over on the floor whispering in an unknown language. 

    Van had heard it before, a couple days ago, when he was trying to scare her. This was different, before it was almost like listening to a song or a prayer, but now she was shaking clutching onto the words like a smothering flame to dry wood. “Get out!” She howled in a voice that wasn’t entirely hers.

    “Mori, what’s wrong?” Luka asked, taking a careful step forward.

    She sat up letting out a breathless laugh, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. “Air in my lungs again. This body is mine!” A violent cough rippled through her. The lights above them flickered. “You grip to a life that is no longer yours. Your hate and anger have consumed you, that is why you linger here. You have to let it go and move on. You deserve peace.”

    All the lights went out plunging them into darkness. Van lifted his hand and a shaky flame tried to fight the darkness but his fear snuffed out the light. Shadows moved around the room. The shadow of a large man moved past them. Van backed up, ready to book it. 

A single light spilled into the room searching until it landed on Van. He blinked and tried to block the light with his hand. It was Luka holding a flashlight. “Van, what happened? Where’s Mori?” 

Van blinked a couple of times but shrugged. He moved towards Luka as the light cut through the darkness. A ghastly white pig standing on the counter screamed at them.

The boys jumped. Luka quickly waved the light and found Mori lying on the floor. Van saw the shimmer of a boy standing over her. He whispered to her, urging her to wake up. Van recognized him as IceMan, his idol, and Mori’s spirit guide. Soon he began to fade. 

Luka carefully lifted Mori off the ground and carried her to her room. In the hallway, Valerie stood looking pale and in shock. As soon as she saw Mori, realization washed over her and she followed them. “What in the hell was that?” She harshly whispered. 

Once Mori was on her bed Luka ran his hand over his face. “She can… No, those were hallucinations. They had to be, ghosts don’t exist.”

“Luka, I don’t think those were hallucinations. I saw a thing, almost human. It asked me where its legs were.” Val said. 

“So what, she can really see ghosts?”

“And temporarily bring them back.” Van corrected.

The older teen looked like he was going to be sick. “That’s not natural. When people die they’re gone, there’s no going back. If she’s gained the ability to change that then it’s not okay. She needs to stop, or leave.”

“What?” Van looked at Luka confused.

“It’s evil. Not illegal, but what she is doing is wrong and we need to prevent it from going further.”

“Do you seriously think she enjoys seeing dead people? It was something she was born with and it has been a big help to us. She uses her abilities to help people despite how hard it is on her. You can’t kick her out for something she can’t control. You were a former assassin who helped kill people, you have no room to judge her for.”

Everyone went quiet for what felt like hours. Finally, Luka spoke. “I’m sorry. This is just a lot to take in. But you’re right, again I’m so sorry.” With that, he left and Val soon followed.

A groggy voice came from the bed. “Thank you.” It was Mori.

“Yeah, just give them time.” Van then left leaving the necromancer alone.

[jin-c-stories]

The next SuperShort story is up. Follow Van and Mori into the sewers as they try and scare eachother but run into a serious bug problem.

[jin-c-stories]

I don't normally do visual art like this but decided to do a page for Mori White aka Friday from my SuperShort series. You can find her story and others on my blog. The stickers were by a wonderful artist on etsy called Julie Fitzgerald Art, but I wanted to add a few characters from her story. https://www.instagram.com/p/CM1DJhfLWCr/?igshid=kq5jqiy9wz3s

[jin-c-stories]

Writing Prompt

I don’t normally do writing prompts but after trying to explain how waking up before the sun makes me physically ill I got this little gem for my prompt box.

Moring Vs Night: The morning and the night are real gods and those chosen by one is given many gifts, but also a curse. As a night chosen child every morning is a constant struggle as THE Morning attempts to assassinate you. 

[jin-c-stories]

For a demon strapped to a chair in the cellar of a church, I felt great. My white shirt was stained with my own blood where my captor tried stabbing me with a holy blade. Above me, he stared. His beautiful blue eyes filled with rage, those gorgeous blond curls plastered to his forehead. I hope he is getting enough water, it is very hot down here. 

Something cold and wet is splashed onto my face. I am startled until I realize it is just holy water. “Why isn’t this working? You’re a demon, hell spawn!” My stunning Stefan shouts at me.

I can’t help but giggle. “Yup, see I even have a sexy pair of horns. But, um, can you hurry this up I have to get ready for the carnival.”

“What carnival?”

“The one the church is hosting. We are raising money for the Jones family, their son, Billy, was in a terrible accident. So we are hosting the carnival to help pay for their medical expenses.”

Stefan massaged his brow line while looking confused. “Demons aren’t supposed to raise money for poor families.”

“Oh. Well, they should. It’s fun and just a nice thing to do. Would you like to join us?”

“No, I would never join a monster like you!”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean okay?”

“If you don’t want to come you don’t have to. You are making me fashionably late though.”

“No, no, no! You are supposed to try and force your will upon me with your mind control powers! Then I use my superior will and the help of God to block you out of my mind.”

“Oh, why would I do that?”

The demon hunter gave an audible groan. “What kind of ducking demon are you?”

I winced. “There is no need for that kind of language. I actually don’t remember what kind of demon I am. It’s been a couple of centuries since I have used my powers.”

Stefan glared at me, crossed himself, then crossed me. With the holy water in one hand, he began praying. “By the powers of the son, the father, and the holy ghost, I demand you, Melvin-”

“Sorry to interrupt but my real name is Melior. You’re welcomed to continue calling me Melvin since it is easier to remember. But your prayer will only work if you call me Melior.”

The silence that followed was tense. “Are you stupid?” He finally asked me.

“No, I’m just trying to be helpful. Speaking of which, do you think you can untie me? I am going to be late and I promised I would run one of the games.”

After taking a deep breath the defeated hunter looked at me. “Alright, fine we can pick this up later.”

“Thank you!” Stefan looked upset as he untied me. His brow crease made me feel bad. “Actually, can we pick this up again tomorrow, possibly over dinner? My treat.”

His cheeks turned a beautiful rose color. “Uh, yeah. That would be-” he cleared his throat. “That would be great.”

You are a demon that has had several failed attempts on your life by demon hunters. No matter how they use their holy powers they cannot harm you and as a result they consider you extremely powerful. In truth, the holy powers don’t harm you for the simple reason that you aren’t actually evil.