Entry tags:

que lastima pero adios by magneticwave

Fandom: TEEN WOLF
Pairing: Erica Reyes, Erica/Boyd
Length: 13,795
Author on LJ: [livejournal.com profile] magneticwave
Author Website: At AO3
Why this must be read: This is a character-study of Erica and it's a damn good one. It centers on Erica and her family before the bite as much as it does *after* her transformation. I love her family, I love the books that she reads, I love how she took her fate into her own hands and did her best to improve her situation.

I *don't* like that she slams Scott's intelligence. In fact, when I started picking the fics that I would rec this month I deliberately excluded every single fic that intimated that Scott was less than intelligent, but I couldn't do it here. In this particular case, I look at it as Erica trying to make herself feel a little bit better by belittling someone else. Is this the right thing to do? No, of course not, but she's a *kid* and kids make mistakes.

The fact that she even wakes up the next morning tells her that the bite has taken. The overwhelming rush of sensation that follows communicates in wide swaths of narration that it wasn’t a dream; from her place in bed, with her bedroom door open, she can hear the individual drops of water collect in the base of the filter and drip drip drip out of the coffeemaker. She can smell her father’s chest expand, the muscle fibers stretching and relaxing as he idly flips through the newspaper at the kitchen table.

Erica rolls out of bed and her body is a revelation. The energy of the shift has burned through the fat deposits and acne scars and she stares at herself in the bathroom mirror, touching her chin with disbelieving fingers, as she whispers, “This cannot be possible.” The last time Erica read a book featuring this kind of transformation, she was eleven and gullible. She’s Hermione on the night of the Yule Ball, permanently Sleekeazied. She’s Ragnall, without the emotional complexity of an idiot husband.

“Me cago en la puta,” spits Erica’s mother when Erica walks into the kitchen, choking on her coffee. “Cita?”

“I’m feeling better,” Erica tells her. “Can I go to school today?” If she books it, she can probably make it in time for lunch and her afternoon classes.

“Have you been exercising, baby?” her mother asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously. It looks like they’re going to have that conversation about the rock wall after all; but Erica heads her off with a bit of hand-waving about salads for lunch and it’s not as if Erica’s mother can dispute the physical evidence before her eyes. Erica, who has never before willingly gone to class when she could stay home and read in bed all day, plays the I’m going to fail if I miss any more school card with ruthless abandon and her mother finally accedes, grudgingly, if Erica promises to come home and rest immediately afterwards.

“Of course,” Erica promises, threading her fingers together behind her back. “Um, can I borrow something to wear?”


que lastima pero adios