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camryndaytona · 5 years ago

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Cassandra Clare

Cassandra Clare is one of the most popular and successful young adult authors of today, however, a huge percentage of her fans have no idea of her past where she was know more for her bullying than her writing. I started this as a post on my “You Should Know” instagram, but eventually it got way too big and I had to create a post for it as well.

Terms to Know

Big Name Fan

Or “BNF” is an old term mostly used during the early 2000s, before ff.net or AO3.

They were the biggest names in fandom, producing the most popular art or fanfics.

Getting on the wrong side of a BNF could lock you out from the entire fandom, as you would be blocked from any forum they (or they friends) moderated.

The Inner Circle

In the early 2000s the Harry Potter fandom was essentially ruled by the Inner Circle.

Although most of the Inner Circle changed constantly due to fandom drama and scandals, one member stayed for almost it’s entire duration: Cassie Claire

ff.net

Fanfiction.net

One of the early and most popular sites for hosting fanfiction.

The Draco Trilogy

Draco Dormiens

Author’s Summary: When an accident in Potions class turns Harry into Draco and Draco into Harry, each is trapped playing the part of the other. Romance, mistaken identities, Really Cunning Plans, evil bake sales, a love triangle, and snogs galore.

Draco Sinister

Author’s Summary: When Hermione is kidnapped, Harry and Draco must team up to rescue her from a thousand-year-old evil that threatens the entire wizarding world. Cursed demon swords, love potions, time travel, dementors, flying dragons, Draco wears leather, and everybody dies at least once. Except when they don’t.

It is notable for being the source of the Draco in Leather Pants trope as well as the catalyst for the Cassandra Claire plagiarism wank.

Draco Veritas

Author’s Summary: The sequel to Draco Sinister, featuring winter at Hogwarts, snogging, Quidditch, mysterious things and Rhysenn Malfoy.

Why was the Trilogy so popular?

As most people in fandom probably know, there’s usually two subsets of shippers: gay and straight (please note that, back in the early 2000s, there was still a lot of homophobia, and the heterosexual ships were undeniably more popular for that reason).

Since The Draco Trilogy had both Draco/Hermione and a lot of Harry/Draco subtext, fans of both ships flocked to the fic.

The Plagiarism

Although she’d done it all along, it wasn’t until the second fanfic, Draco Sinister, that fans began to catch on. What was “it?”

Cassie including a lot of quotations from other work. And I mean a LOT. She lifted entire conversations and paragraphs from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Black Adder, Red Dwarf, and Terry Pratchett. At first she didn’t even mention this “inspiration,” so everyone assumed that this wit was all hers.

Once she was called out, she put a standard disclaimer at the top of her work, which was worded to imply that she might have borrowed a few, small quotes here and there, not that she was taking paragraphs and scenes. When she was called out for her continued plagiarism she switched to claiming that she “forgot” what her sources were.

Finally a former fan called Avocado got tired of it and reported her to ff.net. Within a day her works were taken down.

Predictably the fandom melted down over this and accusations began to fly. Cassie used her status as a BNF to ban anyone mildly critical of her from any message board or mailing list. A friend of Cassie’s claimed to be a real life lawyer and harrassed young fans with seemingly legal threats. There are even threats of people calling the police in an early form of “swatting.” Cassie tried to get a “hater” kicked out of university for “hacking” her and a REAL lawyer had to be involved before Cassie admitting to making it all up.

After all that began to die down, as she was working on the third installment of the trilogy, Cassie began accusing her friend and fellow BNF, Aja, of plagiarizing her. When that failed to incite the anger she wanted against Aja, Cassie began to claim that Aja was posting leaked spoilers for the Draco Trilogy. This infighting between the two lead to the collapse of The Inner Circle.

Laptop Gate

Although the third part of the Trilogy wasn’t as popular as the first two, due to the plagiarism scandal, it still racked up a ton of views when she began posting it. So when there was a potential threat to the continuation of the saga, readers were horrified.

This potential threat was a break in and the loss of Cassie’s computer.

Almost immediately after the robbery was announced Cassie’s lawyer friend (who was also her roommate) popped up again. This time, they were raising money to replace the laptops of Cassie and her roommates that had been stolen in the break in. Any extra money from the fundraiser would go to some vaguely mentioned charity.

Divisive comments poured in.

Some people expressed frustration that more “meaningful” fundraisers (like someone who had lost everything in a fire) didn’t get anywhere near as much attention and support.

Fans were even less happy when no proof was provided of either the break in or the charitable donation of excess funds (which was reported to be over $10,000).

When called out they changed the subject and posted links to another fan that was also fundraising (although they never posted any charity before or after, even when asked to do so the lawyer friend claimed to be “too busy” to share a link).

Published Works

After enjoying her celebrity as the Queen of Fanfiction, it’s no surprise that Cassie decided to venture into actual, original published works.

Except they weren’t that original, because it’s Cassie and she really, really seems to like “borrowing” from herself and others.

Let’s start with some name changes

Cassie

Cassandra Claire (with an i) is her fanfiction name

Cassandra Clare (without an i) is her published name

You may be surprised by how well this name change suited her. For a long time, before exposes began to be posted, you could google her published name without finding out about her history in fandom. Additionally, some of her victims from her fanfic days read her published books without realizing who the author actually was (until they started to recognize the quotes and paragraphs that she’d lifted straight from her fanfiction)

Her Writing

“Mortal Instruments” is Cassie’s Ginny/Ron incest romance fanfiction.

“The Mortal Instruments” is Cassie’s published work, about two fake siblings who fall in love with each other.

Similarities to Harry Potter

Now I haven’t read Mortal Instruments or The Mortal Instruments so I’ll let someone who has read them both do some explaining:

When I opened the book, I knew that Clary was Ginny. Alec was Harry. Isabelle was Clare’s version of Blaise (who back then was not officially male or female, and could therefore be interpreted by fandom either way). Valentine was a strange mixture of Lucius and Voldemort. And Jace, of course, was undeniably Draco.

Jace is so Draco, in fact, that it’s impossible to see him as his own character. The way Clare characterizes Jace is the exact same way she characterized her Draco. They share lines (the ones she didn’t steal from Buffy, of course), they share nervous tics, they share appearances, and they even share memories. The second I read the scene in which Jace tells Clary the story about the boy and the falcon, I felt an unpleasant jolt of recognition: that story is one Draco tells in one of the Draco Trilogy installments. I couldn’t remember which one. I couldn’t even remember who Draco told it to (Harry? Ginny? Hermione?). But I knew it was if not word for word taken from her fanfiction, it was very, very close.

Yikes. That’s a lot of similarities.

The same person I quoted about went on to say that the fanfiction was still much better than her published work, and that she’d rather re-read the fanfic than the non-fanfic.

Sherrilyn Kenyon and Dark Hunters

Almost immediately after The Mortal Instruments (the non-fanfic one) became popular, Sherrilyn Kenyon slapped it with a lawsuit for copying her urban fantasy series, Dark Hunters.

Kenyon fans attacked Claire fans, Cassie’s history was brought to light, and Cassie got to pull out her favorite argument “you hate me because I’m Jewish.” Which is interesting, because I’ve been working on this for two weeks, and I only just learned that she’s Jewish when I read about her accusing others of anti-Semitism.

Now as Cassie apologists will tell you, Kenyon did ultimately lose that suit, but it’s really, really starting to get repetitive over here.

I’ll borrow a quote from Ryan Givens, “If you meet an asshole in the morning, you met an asshole. If you meet assholes all day, you’re the asshole.” Or in this case, maybe you’re the plagiarist.

Common Questions

Has Cassie apologized for this?

She did occasionally

Has Cassie changed?

My opinion is no. She’s not.

Let’s see, as the “Queen of YA Literature” she has:

used Copy Right strikes to prevent people from calling out problematic passages in her books

sent her fans after critics

posted a hilariously ironic blog about cyber bullying

attacked her OWN FANS because they didn’t like the ending of a book

currently complains about people posting her real name (which is Judith Rumelt, in case you wanted to know) despite her own history of publishing people’s actual phone numbers online

Calls critics anti-Semetic while having this quote in her book

Claims that she was threatened when someone called her friend an “ignorant duck”

Loves Token Minorities

Wrote a questionable almost rape

My Thoughts

I don’t like Cassie.

I really don’t.

And look, I’m not saying that Cassie is a narcissist, but here’s a fun little saying called The Narcissist’s Prayer:

That didn’t happen. And if it did, it wasn’t that bad. And if it was, that’s not a big deal. And if it is, that’s not my fault. And if it was, I didn’t mean it. And if I did… You deserved it.

Does any of that sound familiar, because it should. It’s basically Cassie’s text book responce of “avoid admitting fault until there’s too much proof, say I didn’t do it on purpose, blame someone else, claim to be the victim, find another person to accuse of drama.”

Now I’m going to again quote from ProblematicYA because I absolutely love their writing. In this quote, they’re talking about how all of Cassie’s books, even those set in different times or cities, follow the same pattern. Non-Shadowhunter meets Shadowhunter (who is basically Draco).

So what’s really my problem? My problem is the fact that Cassandra Clare is a marginally talented writer who has one story and one cast of characters up her sleeve, and yet somehow she’s sold millions and millions of books based on this. My problem is the fact that Cassandra Clare’s Mortal Instruments series was partially copied from her fanfiction trilogy, which copied a plethora of other authors, not even including J.K. Rowling, who provided her with the characters, premise, and setting for her beloved trilogy. My problem is the fact that Cassandra Clare is in the authorly equivalent of a time loop, and has come full circle. My problem is the fact that Cassandra Clare is, in essence, writing fanfiction of her own work, and it is getting published and she is getting paid bank for it, when other far more original and talented authors are getting absolutely nothing for their hard work. I may despise Stephenie Meyer and the world she’s created, but at least Twilight and its accompanying works are her own original product; at least she deserves to reap the benefits of the crazy fandom she’s inspired.

Look. I don’t believe in dredging up ancient history just to hurt people. Shit we did when we were teens shouldn’t be held against us as adults. People grow and change a lot from what they were as teens.

But bitch, you actually have to GROW AND CHANGE. And Cassie hasn’t.

Also, try actually apologizing for what you’ve done instead of silencing critics.

Sources and More Information

As always, I love, love, love fanlore and I linked to many of their articles throughout this post.

A user on the HobbyDrama subreddit made a great write up called The Cassandra Cla(i)re Saga.

ProblematicYA wrote several amazing articles on the subject:

Why I Have A Problem With Cassandra Clare and Why You Should Too

anti-bullying ya queen cassandra clare is a massive bully. water also wet.

They also have an entire tag dedicated to Cassie

Alli6 wrote Things you should Know

Cassandra Clare, Rape Culture, and the Oft-Forgotten Metaphor by The Book Lantern.

SnarkTheater also has pages of things tagged as Cassie Claire, including chapter by chapter break downs of the books.

source http://camryndaytona.com/2020/06/cassandra-clare?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=cassandra-clare

#my blog

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jaybug-jabbers · 4 years ago

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All-Glitch Pokemon Blue Run Pt11: On the Road to Glitch City

June,

If you plan on experimenting further with hybrids, please inform me first. One wrong step and you could wind up with an entire box of hybrids by mistake, everyone a huge, fused mess. That said, I’m glad you find utility with your new Parasect.

On to a new topic, there’s a very exciting new destination I have in mind for you. Tell me . . . have you ever heard of Glitch City?

In Fuscia City, there is a gateway to this place. I’m attaching directions you’ll need to follow in order to get there. I’d like you to explore and try to create a map of this place. Very little is known about Glitch City, and what secrets it might hold. Be sure to watch your step and keep your wits about you.

-Professor Gingko

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Professor,

After I cleared the Snorlax out of the path and reached Fuscia City, I followed your instructions. I entered the Safari Zone, then saved the data on my Glitchdex and rebooted the system, and went back to the Safari Zone’s main gate. I have no idea how the man working the front counter didn’t recognize me, as he only let me in a few minutes ago. I also can’t begin to imagine how he was trying to charge me for entering the park when I was already inside. But I poliely declined his offer to charge me for re-entering the park, and so he guided me instead to the exit.

Once out and on my own, I poisoned the sole pokemon in my party and then took 499 steps as you described, and ended my final step hopping over a ledge. Just as you predicted, the Safari Zone man intterupted me to drag me back to their central gate. They apologized for the confusion, and told me that my allotted time had passed and my Safari Zone game was now complete. You were right-- the staff here are pretty incompetent, as it turns out.

But I did not leave their front gate immediately. Instead, I waited until my poor pokemon fainted from poisoning, as you told me to. Then I felt the familiar blackness descend upon my consciousness as I blacked out in sympathy for my own pokemon.

As unpleasant as all that was, when I woke up again, it was with the newfound powers you predicted I would have: the ability to walk through walls. This wasn’t like before, with the glitch item you called “Rival’s Effect.” This was far more powerful. I could walk anywhere, without limits. It was crazy! How could messing about with the incompetent staff at the Safari Zone lead to the ability to walk through walls?

I wandered for quite some time in this state, until I ended up back in Cerulean City. I have to say, with this new ability, some discoveries were pretty disappointing.

Bill’s Garden, for example. I heard the locals whisper all sorts of rumors about it, about the place being huge and lush and absolutely filled with rare pokemon. I even heard one person claim Bill had a private runway and a jet parked back there, which he used to fly to exotic cities full of powerful, rare pokemon. Yet . . . when I snuck back there, all I found was a very small and almost barren backyard.

That said, not all discoveries were disappointments. Because as I was exploring Cerulean, I came across the very thing you wished me to find: Glitch City.

My starting point was right here, beside the Nugget Bridge. All I did was begin walking right. And kept walking. After a nice long jog across plain rock and dirt, I reached some water; the moment I did, I began to jog south. And, with enough walking, I finally reached the city.

The city was full of vast tracts of what I guessed were apartment complexes, spanning for what seemed like miles. However, I could not enter these buildings, as they were all locked up tight; and there was nobody to be found. Glitch City seemed to be an enormous ghost town. Growing among the flowers were strange plants that looked like letters or numbers, and the paths and roads were often torn up. I would sometimes come across small pools of water, and other times I would find cave entrances, but the caves were sadly always blocked with rocks, preventing my access.

I would even, at times, find patches of taller grass growing. Now, you would expect that in a place like Glitch City, it would be teeming with glitch pokemon. Indeed, I might even guess the origin of all glitch pokemon might be this place. Yet, when I searched the tall grass and fished in the pools of water, and I did encounter pokemon, they were all seemingly normal. I captured them just fine, but they seemed no different from the ordinary, everyday pokemon you can find. Considering their twisted, distorted surroundings, and the almost haunted looking landscape, that felt very counter-intuitive.

I began to make a map as you suggested while I travelled, and I soon realized that Glitch City is absolutely enormous. What’s more, it’s incredibly easy to get lost there. The land will even sometimes shift and mutate on its own. Despite this fact, I am sending you my best attempt at a map. Just follow this link here. It meant snapping many, many photos, but the end result should give you an idea of what Glitch City looks like. As you can tell, the sheer number of buildings is incredible. Glitch City is a packed metropolis, only occasionally interrupted by ponds, plantlife, caves, and the fields of strange numbers.

Yet I still cannot find any people living in this expansive city. I don’t know what to make of it. Do you have any ideas about this, Professor? Where might I find the locals of this place-- and the glitch pokemon, for that matter?

-June

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June,

I must praise you for your efforts in mapping out the Glitch City you have explored. The map is both detailed and very extensive. Excellent work.

What we know of Glitch City is that it can be found when there is a disturbance in our universe. When you passed through that disturbance near the Nugget Bridge, you ended up in a parallell universe of sorts. I cannot say where the denizens of that universe are and why their city seems abandoned, but I can tell you there are multiple Glitch Cities that can be found. The one you explored is but one of many.

If you’d like to find some people who seem to be native to a glitchy universe, though, I might have a solution for you. Instead of finding them in a Glitch City, you might find them in our world, after performing the Ditto Trick. I will send further details for you soon, but for now, I recommend finishing your Glitch City explorations.

-Professor Gingko

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Professor,

Thanks for the insight. Actually, I have something else to report now.

I teleported back to somewhere familiar and began a new exploration, still with my walk through walls ability. I just had to return to Pallet Town and see something for myself.

The last time I tried to reach the fields of grass outside of Pallet Town’s walls, I had passed out. I wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. Instead, I went to this point in Viridian City. Then I passed through this wooden fence and walked south.

And I did it. I was in the fields. For some reason, approaching from this direction was a lot safer. I have to say, though, there wasn’t actually anything all that scary out there. The pokemon in the grass were the usual low-level Pidgeys and Rattatas and such. All the same, it felt good to finally know for sure.

But then I decided to walk east. And things got a little weird. As I walked east, I found a town . . . exactly like Pallet Town.

There was nobody there. It was just an exact clone of my home. Down to the very last brick, just entirely empty. I can’t begin to explain how creepy it felt. Why was there a ghost town out here that looked exactly like Pallet Town? I kept walking right and found another one . . . and then another one. Each town seemed to be shifted up a little as I walked through them, but otherwise, they were all exactly the same.

Are these . . . parallel universes, like you said, Professor? If so, what happened to the people?

-June

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End Notes

* How to set up the Walk-Through-Walls glitch

* Detailed video about walking out of bounds

* You can also access a Wrong Warp Glitch City by wasting your Safari Zone steps on a route with no valid ‘warp 4′ points, and thus immerge from the Safari Zone gate into a glitched version of that route. This is a bit easier to set up than the WtW version, but it also means you’re very limited in how much you can move around.

Click for the next part of the series!

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Dec 6, 2019.

#pokemon #glitch pokemon #pokemon glitching #glitch run #mycontent #pokemon playthroughs

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bcdrawsandwrites · 6 years ago

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Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo !

Reminder that I am still accepting prompts for this! Check out my initial post for the guidelines. Also note the current bingo card on this post–the things I mark with crossbones are completed prompts, and ones with a single bone are ones that have been requested, but not written yet.

(Fics are also posted to AO3 and FFN, but please just use the links in my blog desc to get to those ‘cuz I’m too tired to make links for them.)

Aaand here’s our next prompt, submitted by BookwormGal (who does not have a Tumblr). Beware, this one gets a bit... brutal.

Prompt: Setting a Broken Bone Characters: Héctor, Chicharrón

A metallic groan filled the air, waking Héctor up from his daze. He wasn’t sure what time it was, or even what day it was, but he was very quickly aware of the overwhelming pain in his leg. In the dim light of the holding cell, he could see the scotch tape barely clinging to the two broken portions of his left tibia, the larger bone in his lower leg—the tape had lost most of its adhesiveness a day or so ago, and he was frankly amazed it had lasted this long. With a tired moan, he turned in his cot, trying to shift the broken leg to a more comfortable position, only to belatedly realize why that was a bad idea. The two broken ends scraped against each other, and his voice pitched up into a shriek that quickly tapered off.

He’d done quite enough screaming over the past few… days, or however long it had been since Dia de Muertos.

Not long enough, given he wouldn’t be able to try again until next year. Ay.

Past the heavy cell door, he could hear hushed voices, followed by a faint clinking. It was too hard to think past the pain, so he thought nothing of it until the door creaked open.

Lifting himself up on his elbow, he blinked at the two guards who stared down at him. They were looking from his face and back to his injured leg, the older one of them frowning and the younger one wincing. The first leaned over to his partner, trying to whisper to her, but Héctor caught what he was saying anyway: “You see what I mean?”

“Hola,” Héctor said, forcing a tired smile. “Can I help you, señor y señora?”

“Uh… no,” the younger guard said, glancing away briefly. “We’re just here to tell you that you’re free to go.”

“…Go? Right now?” He reached up to scratch his dirty wig, eyes narrowing as he tried to think past the fog of pain. Had it really been… a month? Was that how long he’d been here? That was how long he was supposed to be here, he was pretty sure. Or maybe the corrections officer had been exaggerating?

“We’re letting you out early, Rivera,” the older guard said, pulling his hands behind his back. “Under normal circumstances you’d carry out the full sentence, but…”

“You need a doctor,” the younger guard blurted out. “Seriously. We can’t keep you here in this state.”

Oh. A doctor, huh? Aside from the fact that he wasn’t particularly keen on a man he didn’t know rearranging his bones…

He lay back down in his cot, snatching his hat from the floor and setting it over his face, smiling sadly. “Well, it’s a nice thought,” he said, managing a laugh, “but that sort of thing costs money that I don’t have.”

“Regardless, she’s right. We really can’t keep you here like this, and frankly, we don’t want to.”

“Can’t imagine why.” He resisted the urge to wiggle the foot on his bad leg in demonstration. Of course, he could guess what they were talking about—he wasn’t exactly deaf to the pained sounds he was making. Or maybe they could just feel sorry for him, but he doubted it.

“Basta.” He heard the guard’s bones clatter in what was probably an exasperated gesture. “You’re free to go, Rivera. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Sí,” Héctor replied, with no small amount of bitterness. “Just give me a moment to hop on up.” In truth, he wasn’t exactly upset about being let out early, but… if they were actually concerned about his well-being, they might have done something to help him with his leg.

At least they hadn’t made him deal with those awful cuffs—the ones that had some sort of magic in them that locked one’s bones together. He usually had to deal with those things to keep him from pulling himself apart to slip through the bars, but this time they hadn’t bothered—not like he could get anywhere with a snapped tibia.

Biting his lip, he re-adjusted his hat and carefully eased himself up into a sitting position, staring down at the two halves of his left tibia. Hm, this would be a challenge. He reached down to peel off the remainder of the tape first, which should have been an easy task. Most of it wasn’t sticky anymore to begin with, having quickly gotten covered in dust and ash, but as he pulled it away a small part caught against the jagged crack in the bone, and he jumped in his seat with a startled yelp.

“D-do you need help, Señor Rivera?” the younger guard stammered, and he gazed up at them.

The female guard was new—mid-to-late twenties, it looked like, possibly even recently-dead, given he hadn’t seen her before. Her hair was in a long, dark braid that went past her waist, and she didn’t wear lipstick. She stood oddly tall compared to the other guard—Juan, he recalled the name suddenly. Juan was big and stocky (or as stocky as a skeleton could be), but not much in the height department, whereas this girl looked like she might be barely shorter than Héctor. She kept looking from her partner and back to him, and Héctor couldn’t tell if she was uncomfortable with the situation in general, or just uncomfortable with him.

Probably the latter. No one felt comfortable around the dusty old souls from the shanties.

“I’ll manage,” he grumbled finally, tossing the wad of tape away and looking down at his leg again. He wasn’t going to put weight on his tibia—he wasn’t sure if he could wreck his bones permanently, and he didn’t want to find out. So… he’d have to be a little more creative. At first he almost tried to grab for half of his tibia, but it wasn’t set right, and trying to pull it off that way would be disastrous. Instead he plucked off his kneecap, ignoring the sounds of disgust from the guards, grabbed the bottom half of his broken tibia with one hand, and with his other hand carefully eased his already-loose fibula off of his leg. The bottom half of the tibia, no longer connected to anything, came loose, and Héctor set it to his other side, wincing when he placed it on the bed. Next came the upper half, which he gently tugged away and set next to its mate, before reassembling the rest of his leg.

With his femur and kneecap connected to the fibula, which was connected to his foot, that should give him… some support, right?

“Wh… what is he doing,” the younger guard whispered, not quite quiet enough for Héctor to miss it.

“What I can,” Héctor replied simply, pressing his hands into either side of his cot as he eased himself to his feet. He kept most of his weight on his good leg and braced one hand against the wall. Even then, his bad leg was already wobbling. The fibula was definitely not made to bear weight by itself, but maybe it would last him until he got to Shantytown. He pulled his hand away from the wall, and, when he didn’t immediately fall, forced a smile. “See? You can learn to make due when—”

Pop.

Héctor flailed as he tried to lean toward the wall again a second too late, and quickly loosened his joints as his body tipped over on its left side. A few bones were knocked out of place at the impact, but were otherwise unharmed, and he grumbled as he willed himself back together, careful to keep the tibia away. Right, he’d forgotten that fibula didn’t like to stay in place anymore.

“Enough of this,” Juan growled, grabbing Héctor by the arm and hoisting him up. “Yolanda, you take his other side.”

The female guard—Yolanda, evidently—shot Héctor an apologetic look as she took his other arm, lifting it around her shoulders. Hesitantly she glanced over at the broken tibia sitting on the cot, and reached down to pick up one of the pieces, looking like someone who had to pick up a particularly filthy piece of trash.

Héctor immediately shuddered, clenching his teeth. “Ay, be careful with that—!” he whined, and Yolanda responded by tucking the broken bone under her free arm, and doing the same with the other half, thankfully keeping the broken ends away from each other.

So here he was, being hoisted by two guards out of the holding cell early, with his tibia being carried by one of the guards and rubbing against itself.

It was going to be one of those days.

Keeping his head down and his hat shading his face, Héctor let himself be dragged out of the building, biting his metaphorical tongue against the “friendly” jeers a few of the workers there threw at him: “Ah, there he is!” “Ey, gotta keep yourself together.” “That was some show on Dia de Muertos! Could’a used more fireworks, though.” “Tough luck, huh? Maybe next year, amigo!”

Yes, maybe next year he would cross so he didn’t have to stick around to hear their estúpido unfunny jokes. But finally he was out of the building and out onto the streets, and Juan shrugged him off of his shoulders. “All right. You can head on home, now.”

“What?” Héctor blurted, snapping his head up to give the guard an incredulous look. “You’re just gonna leave me here like this?”

“This is the Department of Family Reunions, not a transportation service. The gondola station’s two blocks away, trolley is three.”

“Ah, sí, let me just walk over there on my one leg!” he snarled, but the guard had already turned away and was walking up the steps. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he turned to the other officer, who was looking away. “What? Aren’t you gonna leave, too?”

“Uh, well.” Yolanda re-adjusted her grip on his broken tibia, causing him to hiss at the mild pain. “My shift ends in…”—she glanced at her watch—“six minutes anyway. I… I can help you get to the station, if… if you…”

“So you don’t have leaving a pobre soul like me to fend for himself on your conscience?” he muttered, and immediately winced when he realized he’d said it aloud. “I… lo siento. Yes. I would… like that.”

Seeming to ignore his earlier comment, she gave him a look over, her gaze lingering on his bad leg (the fibula barely clinging to his femur and kneecap) before she pulled him a little closer. “Be careful,” she said, and began walking. “Where is it you need to get to?”

Rattling off the tower address and the station that would take him the closest to his section of Shantytown (and it was never close), Héctor put the rest of his focus on keeping his bad leg from falling apart again. That fibula did not want to stay connected, and if he moved his leg just wrong, it was going to come apart again.

“You’re sure I can’t take you to a doctor, señor?” Yolanda asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“No,” he said quickly, staring down at the cobblestone beneath his bare feet. “I don’t have the money, and anyway, they don’t…” Realization struck him, and and he shut his eyes as a numbness filled the void where his stomach once was. “They don’t… treat people who can’t heal.”

The guard went silent after that, and Héctor resumed his focus on keeping his leg from falling apart, or trying to. Don’t think about it right now, he told himself as the numbness slowly began to morph into something more dangerous that would not help him right now. It may still be okay. They can probably still do something for you back home. There are people there worse than you, and they get through, right? You’ll be okay.

“Señor?”

Blinking, Héctor shook himself out of his thoughts and found himself staring down at his solitary foot.

…Wait…

“You… seem to have dropped something back there.”

Ay, this was going to be a long day.

It took a few tries to get his fibula reconnected with the rest of his leg, but they managed, and Yolanda continued to walk him down to the gondola station. They reached it without incident, and Héctor dug through his pouch to scrounge up the coins necessary to pay for the trip, relieved he had enough for that, at least.

“Gracias,” he murmured to the girl as she helped him onto the bench in the little car and handed him the two halves of his tibia. But when she turned around to head out, he blinked. “Are you not coming?”

“No, sorry, señor,” she said, not turning to face him. “I… I need to get home to my family.”

“Ah.” Wish I could say the same. “Adiós, then.”

Unsurprisingly, the other passengers in the gondola seemed to be keeping their distance from him, some of them practically sitting on top of each other to avoid getting too close. The ones across from him deliberately looked away, or stole glances at his leg or his disconnected bones when they thought he wouldn’t notice. It was something he should probably be used to by this point, after so many decades of bearing dusty, yellowed bones and tattered clothes, but some part of him still ached at the thought that he’d become someone that no one wanted to be around.

Not even his family.

Heaving a shaking sigh, he tipped his hat to shadow his face, so he could at least pretend to not notice their stares.

While it was nice to rest his bad leg for a while, at least, the break was short-lived, and the gondola came to its final stop. Héctor stayed put, letting everyone else shuffle out around him so there wouldn’t be any witnesses to the spectacle of him trying to get out on one leg. As he waited, he stared down at his fibula, wondering if he could coax it to stay in place somehow. He had no more tape on him, however (he’d only grabbed as much as he could from the correction officer’s desk before being incarcerated), and not a lot of time before the conductor threw him out. He wrung his hands for a moment before catching a glimpse of his right sleeve—the worn suit had been damaged during his crossing attempt, some of the fabric toward the end hanging in shreds. Having no better ideas, he quickly tore off a strip of the fabric and got to work tying it around the end of his femur and his loose fibula.

Hopefully it would hold, at least until he got to Shantytown. There was nothing else he could do.

With one hand clutching the two halves of his broken tibia close to his chest, he used his other hand to push himself up off his seat, his left leg wobbling. The movement immediately felt wrong—the fibula was not meant to bear weight without the aid of the tibia—but he kept as much weight on his other leg as he could, and began limping.

People waiting the board the gondola immediately backed away upon seeing him, and he ignored them, trying to act like it was the most normal thing for a half-lame skeleton to be limping around and carrying his own broken bones with him. It wasn’t an easy feat when his leg left like it would give out beneath him with every step, but he kept it up anyway, at least until he got past the crowds. It was still a long walk to get to Shantytown from here, and in this condition, it would take even longer.

Héctor found himself getting worn out quickly, and hobbled over to lean against the wall of a building with the intent of resting until he caught his breath. Unfortunately the shop owner had other ideas, and poked his head through the doorway to ask Héctor to not loiter. Héctor could only mumble an apology as he shuffled away, too tired to put up a fight this time.

For some distance he carried on like that, limping down the gradually sloping streets and stopping to rest where he could. Occasionally people would openly stare at him and whisper to each other, but he was beyond caring at this point. Even with his efforts to put most of his weight on his good leg, his left fibula was aching something terrible, and his energy was near-spent by the time he was halfway to Shantytown. He couldn’t very well sleep on the side of the street, in front of one of these buildings—not unless he wanted to get arrested again—or fall asleep in an alley and risk falling prey to petty thieves, so he had to force himself to keep moving.

At one point his foot caught against an uneven cobblestone, and with a wave of blinding panic he realized he was about to slam his already-broken tibia into the street. Twisting himself around on his spine, he managed to turn his front half around, clutching his tibia to his chest for dear life and falling hard on his shoulder. The fall still hurt a bit, dislodging a few bones, but he’d prevented himself from ruining his leg any more than it already was, so at least he had that.

Taking a moment to catch his breath as his panic ebbed away, he called his bones back. He made it to his knees, and, not thinking, tried to push himself up on his bad leg. The pressure sent a jolt of pain through his fibula, and for a terrifying moment he thought the thin bone would snap. But it held, and he eased his leg back down.

As Héctor fought to stand up again, part of him wished someone would see his struggle and help him. But fewer people came down this low on the tower, and those who did walked in a wide arc around him, sparing him a glance, if anything. At the same time, he almost wished no one were here at all, so they wouldn’t have to see him in such a ridiculous predicament. Those who saw him were probably wondering what on earth he’d done to land himself in such a terrible position, and that was a question he didn’t want to explain the answer to.

It took him far longer than it should have to right himself, but he managed, and with a more pronounced limp he resumed his trek down to the shanties. Under his breath he nearly cursed the guard who had simply dumped him on the street when his screams had gotten too grating to listen to. It’s better than staying in there, though, he reminded himself, and the anger reluctantly ebbed away. They could have just made you stay there with your broken leg. And aside from that… they weren’t the ones at fault in the first place.

That would be the idiota who thought that attempting to rocket himself over the bridge via fireworks was a viable plan.

Ay, that would be something to explain to his Shantytown family. People didn’t usually ask questions there, but they might this time given the state he was coming home in. Ah, yeah, the fireworks. Turns out they don’t make good transportation. But they do have a tendency to blow off your limbs if you stand too close. Who knew, right?

A chuckle escaped his throat, only to be cut off by a gasp as his left leg gave out beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground. He wasn’t able to twist himself around this time, and his tibia was caught between his body and the hard cobblestone ground.

All that existed was pain. If Héctor were capable of thinking beyond the current agony, he would have found the pain comparable to what he’d felt the moment he’d realized his tibia was not in one piece.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there before he gradually became aware of a strange barking noise accompanied by an insectoid buzzing and distant footfalls, which he could just barely make out over what sounded like a hoarse scream nearby.

…Oh. That last part was him, wasn’t it?

Choking, he pushed himself up on his arm, wearily raising his head to see a sky-blue and neon-orange alebrije flying toward him—one that looked like a fox with ears as big as its body, and buzzing dragonfly wings carrying it through the air. It was strangely familiar, and suddenly he recalled that one of his primos back in Shantytown had an alebrije like that. But that would mean—!

“Héctor? Cousin Héctor?!”

Héctor wheezed out a laugh and let his head drop, facing the cobblestone below him. “Hola, Primo Lorenzo,” he said, lifting his head again and cocking a brow bone as the man got closer. The alebrije, meanwhile, landed next to him and began sniffing him over, its breath almost ticklish against him. “Good to see you out and about.”

“Where have you been, cousin?!” Lorenzo cried, hurrying closer. His sombrero, tied around his neck, was flailing behind him. “Did you get yourself arrested again? Why are you—Dios mio.” He stumbled, drawing back with an alarmed hiss.

“Ah, it’s, uh… not as bad as it looks.” Héctor gave a sheepish grin, but it must not’ve been enough to convince his primo, who was looking him over in horror.

Quickly Lorenzo’s widened eyes narrowed into a glare as he clenched his fists. “Who did this to you? Who do I gotta send Lola after, huh?”

Héctor looked askance at the little fox alebrije that was now nosing his cheekbone, tickling his face with her whiskers. “Looks like you’ve already sent her after the one responsible, primo.”

Lorenzo looked him over again before heaving a deep sigh, frame wilting. “Come on, let’s get you home.” Stooping down, he grasped Héctor’s hand and eased him to his feet.

Biting back a moan as the pain flared in all parts of his broken leg, Héctor shut his eyes, leaning to his right side. “Gracias,” he breathed, clutching the two halves of his tibia to his chest. He waited, expecting his primo to wrap his arm around his shoulders to help him limp back to Shantytown.

Instead, there was a moment of silence before Lorenzo spoke: “Uh-uh.” And suddenly Héctor was lifted off his feet and scooped up into the man’s arms.

“¡¿Que?!” Héctor blurted, opening his eyes to find himself being carried in the direction of the shanties. “Oye, what are you doing?!”

“You’re not walking like that,” Lorenzo said with a firm shake of his head. “Wouldn’t make it down two steps.”

…Ah. Right. The stairs. He’d forgotten about those. “Fair enough,” he muttered, settling himself in his primo’s arms. Meanwhile, Lola buzzed around him, whimpering in concern. He wondered if Lorenzo would ever ask him what happened, but the man remained quiet, at least until they got to the stairs (in a shockingly short length of time, he thought—at the rate Héctor had been going, it might have taken him another hour or so).

“Heh, thought I was going to go play for tips this evening,” Lorenzo said, shaking his head. “Guess there’s always tomorrow.”

“Do they still come near you?” Héctor glanced toward him; Lorenzo’s bones were only in slightly better condition than his own, though he had a crack through the bottom of his right eye socket.

“Sometimes,” he replied, glancing over Héctor’s ribs so he could see the steps beneath him. “If I can play good enough, sometimes they don’t notice just how yellow my bones are.” He glanced back at Héctor as he stepped down to the first landing. “You should try it sometime, cousin.”

Thinking about playing music again made a heavy weight settle in his chest cavity. “No gracias, primo.”

“Eh. Suit yourself.” With that, Lorenzo kept quiet as he continued carrying Héctor down the rickety staircase, concentrating on not falling off or through the rotten wood. But finally they reached the gates to Shantytown, and Héctor twitched his good leg.

“Set me down,” he whispered, “por favor. I…” I don’t want anyone seeing me like this. “…I think I can walk now.”

“You sure?”

“Sí. Please.”

Shrugging, Lorenzo eased Héctor down to his feet, but kept an arm around his shoulder. Héctor could accept that, throwing his own arm around his primo and grinning like they’d just been having a fun conversation. No need to worry the others, after all.

As they limped into town, immediately it came to life with the joyful cries of the nearly-forgotten. “Cousin Héctor!” a few souls shouted, waving enthusiastically, and he called out their names in return. “Where you been, cousin?” called another.

“Out and about?” He tried to shrug as best as he could. “You know, got to keep up with the plans, heh. Get ready for next year!” It wasn’t entirely a lie—when he’d been able to think around his pain, he had been contemplating potential new plans for next year. And he had been out and about. Primo Lorenzo was giving him a look, but he only grinned back, glancing pointedly in the direction of his shack.

“What’s that you’re carrying?” Tía Chelo asked, taking a few steps closer, and Héctor flinched, tugging it partially under his jacket.

“Nothing, nothing!” he said frantically, contemplating whether or not he should just scramble away from Lorenzo and bolt to his shack. “Just, uh…”

“Are you limping?” one tío asked, also stepping closer. “What’s—eEEEAGH!”

Héctor shut his eyes, gritting his teeth. Here we go.

“What happened to your leg?!”

“Pobrecito cousin! Are you carrying your—?”

“When did this happen?”

Dios, he didn’t want to answer any of this right now. But he held up his free hand, grinning as best as he could as he faced the growing crowd of souls. “Hey, estas bien! I can barely feel it. You don’t need to worry about me, eh, primos?”

“You’ve been gone for two days, Héctor!”

“It doesn’t hurt?! I broke my pinky toe last month and could hardly walk!”

“Is your fibula tied to your femur? ¿Estas loco?”

“¡Apártense!” a harsh voice cut through the crowd, and a few souls moved out of the way. “What’re you all gawking at?”

Héctor flinched, fighting the childish urge to duck behind Primo Lorenzo as a familiar figure hobbled to the front of the crowd. “Hola, Chicharrón,” he said, voice small.

Chicharrón looked him up and down, eying his mangled leg and shattered tibia. Quickly he made the connection, and his usual scowl deepened.

Héctor felt his non-existent guts sink. He knew what was going to happen next, and braced himself.

To his surprise, Chicharrón turned around, hobbling back toward his bungalow. “Well, bring him over,” he called over his shoulder.

…Okay, so he was probably saving it for later, then. Wouldn’t be the first time this had happened. Héctor looked cautiously at Lorenzo, who only shrugged and began to help Héctor across the boardwalk to Chicharrón’s house. A couple souls followed while the rest stared. Their looks may have been ones of sympathy, but Héctor would rather they not look at him at all.

As they entered the bungalow, Chicharrón immediately began digging through his shelves and piles. “Set him in the hammock,” he grumbled, tossing a shoebox full of socks behind him, “and make sure he stays there.”

Héctor frowned. “It’s all right, Cheech. I can get in myself,” he said, moving to get away from Lorenzo so he could prove it.

“No, you can’t.” The old man glanced over his shoulder, nodding at the two souls that had come with them—probably Estefan and Manuel, if he were to guess without looking.

Before he could check, they were both suddenly at either side of him, hooking their arms under his in a way that reminded him a little too much of the security guards back at the bridge. But they weren’t rough, at least, and glancing to either side of him (his guesses had been correct), he found them looking away, their expressions a mix of sympathy and unease. “Wh-what’s with all this, Cheech? You’re just gonna duct tape it back together, aren’t you?” He looked frantically around the house, clutching his tibia as close to his body as he could. “You… have duct tape, right?”

“Mmm, nope, not this time,” came Chicharrón’s grumble from the other side of the house. A cascade of items crashed down at his side as he continued his search, unperturbed. “Leather n’ glue will have to do, and a splint until it sets.”

“Uh… well, that… still sounds doable. If you give it over to me, I could… probably do it,” Héctor offered as his tíos gently lifted him into the hammock. Said hammock was full of junk, and he grimaced, pulling a violin bow out from beneath him as he tried to make himself comfortable. “I mean, not like last time, with my… arm.” His left hand reached over to rub said arm, over the tape and leather that held the fragmented end in place. “I-I’ve got both hands free this time!”

Finally Chicharrón turned to face him, straightening his back. “So set it.”

Héctor blanched, looking down from his tibia and back to Chicharrón. “What, right now?” When the old man’s expression didn’t change, Héctor attempted a smile, the corners of it strained. “What’s the rush? I was just going to head back home and take a nap, first—I mean, not like I’ve got anywhere to—”

Chicharrón marched up to the hammock, his cane stamping against the floor, and held out several strips of leather and a can of glue. “Set it.”

Stepping forward, Lorenzo held out a hand. “Cheech—”

Chicharrón shot a glare at Lorenzo, and waited until he backed off before looking back to Héctor.

Swallowing, Héctor reached out with a shaking hand to take the items, looking from the leather and back to his tibia. It’s… it shouldn’t be that hard, he thought, setting the leather and glue aside and taking one half of his bone in his left hand. Just putting two pieces back together. He bit his lip as he held out the two pieces of bone, trying to ignore that his tíos and primo were all turning away. I’ve done crazier stuff to try to cross the bridge. Trembling, he turned the two halves of the bone in what he guessed was the right angle, and—

The two broken fragments bumped against each other, and Héctor shrieked. Moments later, he could barely hear Chicharrón’s voice over his daze: “Now you see? Lorenzo, take those things over here. Estefan, bring me the rest of his leg. Manny, give him this, and hold him down.”

Before he could ask what was going on, a bottle was held out to him. He took it without question, tipping it back to pour some of its contents down his throat, some of it splashing against his face when his left leg was very suddenly tugged off below the femur. Shortly afterward the bottle was taken from him, and his two tíos stood slightly behind him and off to either side of the hammock, each with their hands over his shoulders.

“Idiota,” Chicharrón grumbled from the other side of the bungalow, and Héctor shut his eyes to keep himself from looking in the old man’s direction. “When we get broke, we don’t get fixed, and you go off with your estúpido plans and…”

“Cousin Héctor,” Lorenzo said over Cheech’s grumbling, hurrying to the hammock, “have you thought about your plan for next year?”

Héctor eyed him. “Why are you asking me n—”

Pain briefly shot through his absent leg, and his voice hiked up into a yelp, his entire body bucking as his tíos forced him back down. His femur swung around uselessly while his right leg kicked a jar of buttons and a very broken accordion out of the hammock.

“Sí, you were saying you were getting ready earlier,” Estefan said, his voice a little too loud.

Héctor shut his eyes, his hands clinging to either side of the hammock in a death grip. “I-I don’t know yet, the f-fireworks didn’t work this yeeEEAAAAGH—”

“Fireworks?!” Chicharrón growled, and Héctor could only give a pained moan in reply.

“Okay, but what else can you try?” Lorenzo prodded, then waited for a response. “Cousin?”

Feeling like he would throw up if he tried to answer, Héctor only turned his head away, facing the sound of the water lapping the docks outside the house. There was a sudden but light pressure against his chest, and he gasped, looking up into the face of a tiny, big-eared fox. Instinctively he reached out to pet her, and tried to make his mind formulate words. “A-al… alebrije?” he offered, and hissed as he felt something cold between the two halves of his tibia. Lola tipped her ears back at the sound, but didn’t move away, and he kept his focus on her. “C-could… dress as an alebrije, and… and they’d… let me… pass…?”

Behind him came a few soft, but genuine, laughs. “How do you plan to do that, cousin?”

“I… I think Ceci was using some glowy paint—nnngh!” He gritted his teeth, kicking out with his good leg as he felt his bad one get twisted slightly. “Use the—glowy paint, and—”

Chicharrón gave a frustrated cry. “Lorenzo, get over here!”

Héctor could feel them holding his tibia together while something was wrapped around it, binding to it with cold, sticky glue that made him shudder. “C-could rearrange my bones, a-and look like… an alebrije… M-maybe some other costume work…” He shifted, trying to turn to grin up at his tíos. “You think it might work?”

Manuel cocked a brow bone. “Estas loco, cousin. Maybe, though.”

“Heh, un poco,” he mumbled, settling back into the hammock. Whatever they were doing to his leg didn’t seem to hurt quite so much now, and he felt like he could ignore it, maybe if he just shut his eyes again for a little while…

It didn’t feel like long, however, before his leg was suddenly shoved back against his femur. Yelping, he sat bolt upright, the hammock swaying beneath him, and looked around. Lola was sleeping off to his side, and on the other side of the bungalow, he could see his primo and two tíos talking quietly. But then where was—

He glanced back to the left and nearly leapt out of the hammock in surprise to see Chicharrón standing there, scowling at him. “Normally I’d ask you to get outta here, but unless you want your leg to snap like a twig again, lie down. Gotta let the glue set for twenty-four hours.”

“...Gracias, Cheech,” he muttered, lying back into the hammock.

Chicharrón grunted, hobbling back over to a spot that Héctor couldn’t see. Meanwhile, Héctor looked down at his leg, inspecting it: a few long strips of leather had been wrapped around it and held with glue, which he could still see faint glimmers of. But over all that, a splint had been tied to his leg with a few more strips of leather and what appeared to be several strips of a charred fabric. It looked... blue? Purple? Something like that. Sort of like his—

Blinking, he looked to his right arm, only to find the sleeve had been cut off. “Wha—hey!” he cried, turning his head to look for Chicharrón and finding him off to the right behind his hammock. “You wrecked my suit!”

“That sleeve was in shreds anyway,” Chicharrón said with a shrug. “Don’t think you’re missing much.”

“Quite the fashion statement!” Manuel called from the other side of the shack. Héctor was almost offended, but his tío gave him a good-natured grin—a real one, not like the ones the people in the Department of Family Reunions gave him. “Maybe you’ll set a new trend.”

Héctor snorted, settling himself back into his hammock and shaking his head. “Ah, yes. The just-recently-blown-yourself-up look. Sure it’ll be... explosively popular, eh?”

The others broke into laughter, while he was pretty sure he could hear Cheech rolling his eyes before shouting: “I’ll dump that hammock out into the water for the next one, Héctor!”

Lorenzo stepped up closer to Chicharrón, smiling. “Why’s that, Cheech? You don’t think it’ll take off?”

An empty bottle crashed at Lorenzo’s feet, and Lola’s head shot up from where she lay at Héctor’s side. But Lorenzo only laughed, and she settled back down, tucking her face against Héctor’s ribcage. Héctor smiled, resting his hand on her head as he glanced back down at his broken leg.

It still hurt a lot, and he wasn’t sure how well he was going to walk after this. On top of that, he had another failed Dia de Muertos behind him, but...

Glass clinked nearby, and Héctor craned his neck to see Chicharrón taking a swig from a new bottle before passing it over to the others. The bottle was passed around until Lorenzo handed it off to Héctor, who took it with no small amount of gratitude, tipping it back. He probably drank more than Cheech would’ve liked, but it was enough to make him too drowsy to care.

He leaned back in the hammock as conversation resumed around him, still warm and friendly in spite of Chicharrón’s occasional grumbles—so different from the harsh voice of the security officer, the mocking voices from the Department of Family Reunions, or the suspicious whispers of the people in the upper parts of the city. It didn’t sound much different from any other day in the shanties, but it was comforting in the way only Shantytown could be.

The sloshing of the water outside and the sound of the voices around him faded and blurred into a pleasant murmur as Héctor shut his eyes.

He didn’t have much else going for him, but right now, his Shantytown family was enough.

#hector rivera #chicharron #coco #pixar coco #coco spoilers #fanfic #my writing #GOSH this one took forever to write #next up... time to work on the next chapter of Neither Can You!

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