Pulp Fiction: Jules Novels & Stories

Voices. Soft at first. Muffled. Two. Maybe three. One low and serious. The other more relaxed, sarcastic even. Jules rose slowly, creeping to the window, knife pressed to her thigh. She peeked through the grime and saw them — one man, tall, rugged, carrying a rifle and walking with the kind of posture that screamed ex - college student. The other had dark curls, a limp, and a familiar smirk. Her heart stopped. Niko. Of all people.

Something between humor and madness. Jules frowned, her eyes narrowing as she watched his back in the dim light. "What's funny?” she asked, taking a chance. “I thought you'd be grateful." His voice was low, almost a growl. Then he turned around, his expression in between anger and amusement—or was it hurt? Jules couldn't tell. “I thought you'd be grateful for everything I've been doing for you." He stepped closer. Jules fought to hold his gaze. “I helped you Jules, I helped you get out of everything you went through and I decided to go out of my way to make sure the one person who hurt you got what was coming for him."

After being dropped off at Bane’s Coffee and Books, the small coffee shop where Paisley worked, I took a moment to release the tension in my shoulders. That woman was terrifying on many levels, and only a few of them were physical. The bell rang when I pulled open the glass door. “Pay’s!” A young woman shouted from behind the counter. “Hey Jules.” I waved back and gathered my apron. Juliet was in Paisley’s graduating class and the two seemed to be close friends- at least, from what I’d gathered over working at Bane’s the last few days. Jules had long auburn hair styled in waves with tips of dyed blonde ends almost in flame-like fashion. Everything about her screamed teenage rebellion from th

It was proof that his skull really had been cracked open. By this point, Jules had already lost consciousness. However, his body kept repeating the same motion. With a final thump, he fell heavily on the arena floor. The audience let out a collective gasp. Jules was probably the first person to prostrate himself to death. And he was supposed to be the top expert in Southia! "Did… did he really die?" "How could he not be dead? His brain plasma is leaking out!" "He was so determined too. What a shame."

Jules’s hand gripping the back of Rio’s neck, shoving him toward the floor, breath hot with the promise to “mark him.” They’d fought like animals that night — neither elegant nor clean. Jules’s strikes were ruthless, aiming to wound and humiliate. Rio’s were methodical, aiming to end it. And in the end, Jules had been the one on the ground, his jaw bleeding, his pride torn open. He hadn’t come back after that. Until now. “You’re a long way from Le Sang Vert,” Rio said flatly. “Places change,” Jules replied, eyes glinting. “People too.”

By evening, I found myself pulling up outside Jules’ house in one of Lucien’s Lamborghinis, the engine purring low enough to attract attention from half the neighborhood. The second Jules stepped outside, I rolled down the window quickly. “Get in before your dad sees this and starts interrogating my entire bloodline,” I warned. “Too late,” Jules muttered while hurrying toward the car. “That man thinks every expensive vehicle belongs to organized crime.” She slipped into the passenger seat and— Wow. I stared for a full second. Jules had gone all out. Dark fitted pants hugged her legs perfectly while her partially unbuttoned black shirt exposed just enough skin to feel dangerous without trying

"Whoops!" "So, this drunk fuck dangles them over the table and declares he'll only give them back if she can beat him. BF gives him the evil eye and ups the ante, saying that she'll only play him if they play with vodka." "Oh shit, I see where this is going." "Everyone gets quiet and they roll to see who goes first. Jules managed to stop closest to the line, and then proceeded to drop one shot after another on this guy. He dutifully drank each one, but was almost green by the last ball. Jules grabbed his wrist when he went for the last shot and drank it for him, and the place went completely nuts."

The three dots danced on the screen. Declan: why? what happened? Jules: just went to a guys place to get my cherry popped and he refused to put a condom on Declan: what???? tell me you didn’t do it Jules: of course I didn’t Declan: remind me again how this is my fault Jules: you told me to find a rando to fuck and I did and now I have no money for food He sent a GIF of someone tilting their head in confusion.

He looked at Phoenix, then at Brianna, his face a mask of horror. “What…what have I done?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Then, as the shock wore off, a cold, calculating look returned to his eyes. He pointed the gun at Brianna again. “Now, it’s your turn,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. Before he could fire, a waitress, a middle-aged woman with a heart of gold and a surprisingly strong arm, slammed a heavy cast-iron skillet down on Jules’ head. Jules crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Regis continued, “Even if you are not my descendent, you still have the White family’s blood flowing through your veins.” When Jules stood up, he was about three meters away from Regis. He bowed deeply in his direction. He said, “Thank you, Father! The winner takes it all! This time, I will admit my defeat!” As soon as the words fell, Jules directly took out a seemingly very delicate dagger from his pocket and plunged it into his own chest. Spurt! Fresh blood spurted out of Jules’s mouth, and finally, he fell to the ground with a painful expression on his face.