Fat Schmidt Novels & Stories

As if my existence was the inconvenience. "Look, look at you Annabel," he said, flat like I meant nothing "I can't even point out the correct word to describe you" Then Lennon's voice floated over, sweet as something rotten dipped in sugar. "I think the word you're looking for is fat, Alpha, I'm I right sis." The hall went absolutely silent. Aldric's face cleared. He seized on it the way a drowning man seizes a rope. "She's a fat cow," he said. Simply. Cleanly. Like he was reading something off a list. "I'm not taking a fat cow as my Luna. Neither will I take her into my bed."

I picked it up slowly, unfolded it, and the moment I recognized the handwriting my entire body went cold. I knew that careful, looping script anywhere. I'd seen it on supply lists and chore assignments for three years, always given to me with a smile sharp enough to cut. Tyla's handwriting. The note was short. Four words, written with the same casual cruelty I remembered from every interaction I'd ever had with her. THIS ISN’T OVER, FATSO! My hand started shaking before I even realized it. I looked around the room slowly, at the windows I hadn't checked, at the door I hadn't locked, at the warm and beautiful space someone had just turned into something that felt violated in seconds.

“I’m just thankful to you.” “Black. I’m Black.” Black sat beside Grey and unbuttoned his shirt. “Done.” Blackarlito Munteriru Fufu C. Quizo—Black—was the middle child and the only son among three siblings. He was a famous model, gifted with looks that could make anyone kneel. His eyes were striking, his nose well-defined, and his smile could make people say yes to whatever he wanted. He was tall, with a perfectly built physique. “My pants. Please, man,” Grey ordered.