#but how's he gonna escape an entire REALITY designed to keep him prisoner as the blank passive Perfect Victim???

[fernsnouveau]

I did not want Adrien and his abuse survivor arc to be reduced to a secondary tug-war object in a conflict that's actually all about Maribug and Lila, which is now what's going to happen if it ever does come up, now that Adrien was forcibly ejected out of his own character arc when it was actually happening.

So now that the season 5 finale has aired, and Adrien still didn't get to find out anything about his father, I've been seeing people theorize that Adrien will learn everything next season, but that he'll be learning it from Lila.

While I do think that that outcome would be better than him never learning anything, I don't think it would be satisfying either, and for a few reasons.

A) If Adrien isn't going to learn about Gabriel's true nature on his own, he should at least learn it from his Marinette, Emilie (or is she Amilie now?), or Natalie.

He should be told with kindness, and I believe that the people who claim to love him have a responsibility to be honest with him. Hearing it from anyone else, Lila especially, will hurt him more. Could be good for the drama of it all, I guess, but I don't want drama for drama's sake, I want character growth.

B) Lila being the one to tell him anything could be, intentionally or unintentionally, the show continuing to frame his learning the truth as a bad thing, as it would be portrayed as an act of cruelty and manipulation from an enemy, while his family and girlfriend, the people "with his best interest at heart", would be framed as in the right for having kept secrets, because "See, see?? Look how much the truth hurt him!"

C) Adrien learning anything after his father is dead and gone denies him the chance to confront him, or stand up for himself in any meaningful capacity, which gives him, and us the audience, no real closure.

What is Adrien supposed to do once he knows? Cataclysm a statue, while he has to mull over everything he would have said to him, knowing that there's no one to say it to? Or just ignore it, pretend it doesn't matter? Just say "all's well that ends well" even though everything around him is based on a lie?

Or maybe he just never finds out.

No matter where they go from here, I honestly just won't be satisfied. To me, i think the window for Adrien's true Good End is closed.

[slytherflynn]

Old and New | Pt I

Blaise Zabini x muggle!reader

word count: 1971

summary: y/n is new to France on a study abroad trip. Blaise is visiting France post-Hogwarts. rags to riches story of an unfortunate muggle falling for a complicated, ridiculously wealthy person who just so happens to also be a powerful Wizard.

a/n: this started with an idea, became a moodboard, then became an entire fleshed out fic! I thought it would be short but my brain had other ideas. enjoy! note: I did write this from my personal perspective in life. as a result it is not very inclusive. I plan to change that with my next fics, I’ve just been having a really hard time lately and have been writing a lot of comfort fics and/or self-inserts to escape from irl bc irl is rly shitty for me rn

It’s a brand-new start, in a brand-new apartment, in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country... an ocean away from home. I can bring Tacoma to France, right? At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself. Study abroad is fucking... scary. I kinda regret it. It’s a good opportunity and for someone who doesn’t travel, it should be a fun experience. But I’m currently having an anxiety attack over taking out the garbage, so I’m not sure my positive self-talk is working.

I look out the window of my top floor apartment, wait until someone finally finishes walking down the stairs, and run out my door - I nearly trip about five times going down the spiral of death, my arms feel like jelly thanks to perpetually pushing my garbage deeper in to avoid this trip, and I swing with all my might to hurl my garbage bag into the trash compacting dumpster - only it hits the bottom lip and falls to the ground, splitting open.

“Great!” I say, sarcastically, “First they send my luggage to the wrong location, then they try to say my passport isn’t valid because my apartment was a temporary address, then I’m greeted with a fridge full of rotting food and no power, then I’m bitten up by fleas and now - I just- fuck. Why can’t I just- do anything- right-“ I cut myself off when I hear a screen door slide and blink a couple times to erase the threat of tears that had been creeping up on me while I ranted.

When I look up, I see a tall, dark-skinned guy about my age - handsome. He’s wearing a suit, and expensive jewelry. Combine that with the fact he’s living in the apartment building next to me, which is worth more than my life just for one month of rent, and I put together that he’s probably rich beyond belief. I quickly look away, not wanting to stare. I silently pick up my garbage, piece by piece. As I work, I feel eyes drilling holes in the back of my head. I ignore it. It continues, and I still ignore it as I finally shove my ripped garbage bag in the compactor and slam the door shut. I hear a slight jump up above, and chuckle to myself.

I zoom back up the stairs and almost make it to the top, but I trip 5 stairs away from my door - and fall, hard. Body laid out flat hard. Cheek scraped and stinging from the metal grating on the stairs, hard. Lost the goddamned slide that caught on the stair, and can see it gradually falling, bouncing and rolling down the stairs, hard. I lift my head and see blood on the stair. I feel it running down my face. All I can think is that this really fucking hurts. The tears come, a combination of pain and frustration, and I pick myself up and stumble my way into my apartment, completely forgetting about the attractive rich boy who just watched me be a danger and inconvenience to myself.

I rush to the kitchen and grab a roll of paper towels, and run to the bathroom, I see the markings in the mirror and can tell it will leave a sizeable scar. Do I need stitches? I don’t know. Anyway, I start dabbing at everything and blood is still oozing out of every nook and cranny, to my displeasure. I’m about to start bandaging my face when I hear a knock on my door. “Fucking Christ!” I mutter to myself as I slap a wad of paper towels on my face and sulkily go to fling open my door.

I’m not sure who I’m expecting, but to see the same rich guy on my doorstep, slide in hand, probably wasn’t it. “Hey, um, I saw what happened, and I thought you might want your shoe back.” His accent sounds very British - I was expecting it to sound more like a snooty Frenchman’s.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” I say flatly.

As my muscles twitch to begin closing the door, he says, “Would you like some help cleaning that up? I have certifications to give medical aid... and stitches. My name’s Blaise, by the way.”

Doctor, maybe? Probably. “Sure,” I say, opening the door wider and standing back so the blood doesn’t drip on his suit. “I’m y/n.”

A few minutes later we’re in my bathroom, me sitting on the toilet, him sitting on the bathtub as he helps me fix my face. “So, Mademoiselle y/n,” He asks, “Do you find yourself in these predicaments very often?”

“Which one? Poverty, flea bitten, or bloody?” I say.

“I suppose whichever you’d like to think I was referring to.”

“Well, in *that* case - I’m usually caught unawares in all kinds of predicaments - though I’d say self-injury due to clumsiness is an uncommon one. And do you usually find yourself in predicaments requiring you to treat someone’s wounds?”

“I used to, though now it’s only on the occasion.”

“Sounds like an improvement,” I note. “I won’t guarantee it, but I think I’ll get the hang of walking up the stairs soon enough, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind it if I did worry about you once or twice more. Why were you running? It seemed like you wanted to get away from something. Does your garbage compactor smell that disturbing?”

“It doesn’t smell great,” I admit, “But truth be told, I’m not a fan of human interaction. It’s scary. Especially when everything is new to me.”

“How long have you been In France?”

“A few days, just enough to get myself physically settled.”

“I see. And you are from America?”

“Mhm. Let me guess, my accent gave it away.”

“And the slang, I’ve yet to hear someone from France use certain terms that you seem to favor.”

“Oh, most of my slang is specific to my city, not just my country.”

“Your city?”

“Yea, Tacoma. It’s near Seattle, if you know where that is. Tacoma’s better, though.”

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there. My mother is a fashion designer, but she only travels where there’s inspiration or a business deal.” So that’s how he gets the expensive clothes. The rest of the money too, probably.

“Must be nice, having a handmade closet.” I muse. “Not that I care for having any more clothes than I brought. They’re pretty reliable, if I do say so myself.”

He laughs. “Yes, well, if the blood stains don’t come out of your jumpsuit you might need a new one. They shouldn’t be too difficult to remove, though.”

“Yea, I’ll just dump a bucket of Oxi-Clean on it and call it a day. That is, if any stores nearby have it.” I frown, realizing I have no clue if France carries any of the products I usually get. This is gonna suck. Hopefully the internet has some answers so I don’t have to ask anyone for help.

“Why don’t I take your jumpsuit back with me? Save you the trip. Believe it or not, I used to have chronic nosebleeds, so I know a thing or two about stain removal.” Blaise offers.

I smile, only just. “Well, if you insist. But I love this jumpsuit practically more than myself, so I expect it back right away!”

He returns the smile. “A fan of fashion? You ought to meet my mother.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure your mom would despise me - I only own seven jumpsuits and some athleisure for going on runs.” I pause, then tack on: “Oh, and some fuzzy pajamas for when I’m sick.”

Blaise cocks a brow at me. “And when you’re not sick?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I grin mischievously.

A wave of recognition graces his eyes, and he very quickly looks away, I assume for being flustered.

“You Americans, always so scandalous.” He tsks in mock scorn.

“That’s what we’re known for, is it not?” I say cheekily, “Beer, boobs and gun barrels. And all the other problems that come with that, but that’s a can of worms I am not looking to open today.”

He ties off his handiwork, and says, “It looks like my job is finished, other than stealing your jumpsuit off your back to fix it. I can wait in the other room, if you’d like?”

“Um, yea, that works. Lemme just, grab my next jumpsuit. Gonna have to do laundry early, I suppose-“

“I can wash your jumpsuit for you. I’m pretty good at reading labels, if I do say so myself.” He jokes.

“Oh?” I say, “Then you must be a real genius! Who taught you, Einstein?”

“No, but it was another white-haired, eccentric man, so you’re not that far off.”

“When all teachers are like that it’s kind of impossible not to hit relatively close to the mark.” I remark, then change clothes as quickly as I can, tossing the dirty outfit into a trusty plastic bag and tying it shut.

When I walk out to the living room, Blaise is toying with one of my sculptures. He’s definitely been meandering and lurking around. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, at which he jumps. “You’re rather skittish, Blaise.”

“And you’re rather quiet on your feet, y/n.” He observes. “But yes, I quite like your eclectic style. If only you had an apartment that let your customization shine. Something more minimalist.”

“Yes, well, it’s something I’ll forever dream of and likely never accomplish. I don’t suspect I’m going to be someone leaving the income level I was born into.” I say, just a little bit cynical.

“And why is that?” He asks.

“Because most people don’t, and the ones who do are the ones who make money. My career isn’t going to make me money.” I reply.

“So why did you pick it?”

I sigh. “Because somebody has to care about the people like me. The politicians don’t, the middle class don’t, and the rich are hell bent on keeping us there so they can have factory workers and have people going straight to prison after they graduate because we’re all desperate and miserable.”

He frowns. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s reality. And I don’t want to be like the people who get rich and stop caring because all they see is the wage difference and pretend it’s justified so they don’t have to feel complicit in the system.” I look him in the eye, my face grim. “Not all luck is by chance. Most of it is by design.”

He nods. “I understand, in a way.”

“Everyone does.” I say. “But understanding in a way and caring enough to do something about it are two different things.” I look away from him when I see his posture change. “I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s impossible not to notice the wealth gap between us when you’re wearing designer clothes and living in what looks like a mansion and I’m living in a building made in like 1900 with no elevator. It’s just the way things are, though.”

“I know.” He says quietly, thoughtfully. “I’d better get going. Your clothes?” He reaches out tentatively for the bag I’m still holding.

“Oh. Right.” I say, handing it to him. Our fingers brush against each other slightly, and it sends chills down my spine. He heads to the door while I’m rooted to the spot, collecting myself.

“I look forward to seeing you again, y/n.” He nods, meeting my eyes with a rather changed expression.

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I ask, not quite sure which answer I’m expecting.

He smiles, only just. “As soon as I am able.” Seconds later, he’s out the door, and I’m alone in my dingy ass apartment. How in the fuck did any of that just happen?

[nitkat360]

What the hell is this?

Captain has seen many things in her life. Some of those are accidentally liberating an entire civilization from a dictatorship, throwing hands of her former mentor, witnessing a planet being torn into shreds from a powerful empire right before her eyes and traveling another universe and that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Now that she holds something that might call her crazy. Half of the ship was a bit of a mess most of her crewmates are beaten into a pulp or injured all because Rick had to catch a young girl, who was responsible for that said mess who was now struggling to escape from a well timed bubble trap from astra who was also bit banged up from the unexpected surprise attack from the girl and the purple Slimebiote. Speaking from that said slimebiote astra just placed it on her Captain's hand as she holds it dumbfoundedly as the small snot creature tries to escape from her grasp.

“YOU BETTER NOT HURT OOZMA, YOU FOUR EYED MONSTER ONCE I GET OUT OF HERE I'M GONNA-” the girl who is trapped yelled at the mutated osmosian looking worried for her slime friend.

“Kendrix, please be careful!” The slime warned the girl who is apparently called kendrix.

‘Oozma so that’s her name….’ She looked at Astra wanting an explanation. “Care to explain, what in the actual fuck happened here while I was gone?” Crosses her arms as her tail moves a bit.

The mechanical lady rolled her optics “This girl broke into the ship looking for something, when Rick found her. She…well reacted accordingly as she stroke him down and well…everything went to shit captain” Stared at her prisoner then looked at the Kentucky fried Rick, being treated by a very annoyed Rolly who was patching him up “for one second can’t you once stopped and think everytime you go to a fight?!”

“Sh-she started it!!”

“Celestial sapiens, Rick one of these days you are going to get yourself killed for this!”

She rolled her eyes as she placed her attention again to Oozma “umm Oozma right? Listen we are not going to hurt you and kendrix alright?” She said with a reassuring voice “Just because we’re pirates, that doesn’t mean we’re low lives. Listen if you guys can explain yourselves, maybe we can help you guys out. That sounds good?”

The slimebiote thinks about this ‘What if she’s trying to betray us…no that can’t be true despite her appearance, she seems to be very trustworthy and honest…’

“‘Well yes…we need assistance, but first Release kendrix than we can explain ourselves”

“Alright, then sounds like a deal Astra let her go looks like they are not exactly bad as we thought”

Astra nods and with a waves her hand, the bubble pops dropping the the girl as she rushes to get her slimebiote back, She swipes her from Captians hand without warning.

“Oozma are you ok?! Did she hurted you!?”

“No! No! Little one, I am alright they seem to be not as bad as we expected” she looks at Captain and Astra “we might need to explain what we are looking for as the rumors says, they have the knowledge of a certain weapon that we are looking for”

She raises her eyebrow “what kind of weapon you two are looking for?”

Kendrix glaced at her with a serious look “a weapon that can destroy the anilargg and any machine that can manipulate reality itself without consequences, it was crafted by celestial sapiens for those who is worthy of the blade. I’m looking for it so I can…take someone down”

‘Oh’

“Well i have good news and bad news…the good news is ya found it!” She takes her blade out of its handle as she showed it to the duo as it was formed like a lightsaber right in front of them.

Kendrix was shocked, so the rumors of the weapon is true after all she couldn’t help but look somewhat amazed of it, it’s design was simple in her opinion.

“But...the bad news is that in order for you to use the weapon…you have to kill the current holder so if you want my space sword your going to have to kill me first” she spoke in a very serious tone “kill me and you’ll have the blade, unless you need my assistance of the thing you wanted to do...Or… Paradox sended you here for something, regarding space and time because, if he did that multiverse hopping bastard is going to get himself shanked!!”

Kendrix was surprised that these pirates knew about paradox in the first place, but looks like this is going to be easy.

“Looks like you knew that old man well good news I don’t work with him, he’ll I’m just here to get my revenge on eon!”

Captain was curious about that last statement. “Eon, looks like you come to the right people to fuck someone up, so tell me Kenny-“

“Kendrix!”

“Whatever, looks like we have something in common so what’s your Deal with him?”

She didn’t looked at her, while oozma looks concerned

“Let’s just say….I want to make him pay and you?”

“Screwed over a friend of mine and us but before you leave, mind that you can clean up the mess you made?” She points out the mess that Kendrix obviously made

“And you would of just asked us and this would make our lives very easy” she manifested a mop and a bucked and pointed at the mess she made

Kendrix groans in annoyance as she picked up the mop and started to clean up the mess but before she can start cleaning she looks at Captain.

“How did you know, I’m from another universe and eon?”

Captian sighed “I don’t remember slimebiotes being a very light purple and you wielding a purple functioning omnitrix that can made Albedo’s look like a toy and let’s just say he tried to kill me before”

“Oh” She started to clean up

Captian looked at Astra with a very tired look.

“Keep an eye on her, and make sure she doesn’t to anything stupid or any trouble, but I bet that slimebiote can keep an eye on her but just to be sure, I’m getting a drink”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll make sure that girl behaves”

“Good. because this is going to be a long day…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh boy looks like cappy is going to be a trip

This is actually a sequel of the Astra and kendrix sketch a while back!! I wanted to do a continuation of it at somepoint and now there it is!!

@gritsandbrits ‘s ocs Kendrix and oozma!

I hope I wrote well for your ocs this is a gift for all of the good that you done and brought so much joy!

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 73.7

The Battalion reunite.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Government of Doom Part 7

           Pepito’s bare feet pap against the metal floor as he races down the glowing red hallway, alarms blaring. He grumbles angrily, “I can’t believe they threw out my boots and shirt. Those boots were expensive! And that tank top was designed specifically so my wings wouldn’t rip through my shirts anymore. Augh, dammit! If they wrecked my guitar, I will destroy this whole facility!”

           He arrives at one of the elevators in the circular corridor and starts to hit the button, when the doors open to Shmee. He’s holding Squee’s bag over his head with Pepito’s guitar and Gaz’s hammer sticking out of it.

           “Shmee?” Pepito exclaims.

           “Ah, good,” the bear grunts and tips the bag forward, causing the guitar and hammer to fall into Pepito’s arms. “You take those.”

           “Oh, thanks. I was just coming to get this,” he says as he hangs his guitar off his back and rests the hammer on his shoulder. “Where’s Squee?”

           “I’m on my way to him now,” Shmee replies as he starts trotting down the hall. Pepito follows at his side. “He called me so he must be okay. Or in grave danger.”

           “There’s never really an in-between for him,” Pepito remarks, “you’re sure he’s on this floor?”

           “Positive.”

           “Then maybe the others are too. After what’s happened to me, I can only imagine what these sickos are doing to Zim and Tak.”            “Yes, you look like you’ve been through a lot,” Shmee comments, eyeing the scorch marks wrapping around Pepito’s chest and arms. “Why don’t you look for them and when I find Squee, we’ll come back for you.”

           “Alright, I’ll start looking,” Pepito nods.

           Shmee nods back before picking up the pace and dashing down the hall. Pepito stops and watches him leave before looking back and forth at the multiple large doors lining the walls.

           “But…where do I start?”

           Meanwhile, on the other side of the circle, Johnny, Skoodge, Mimi, and the Night Terrors exit an elevator. They look up and down the hall before Skoodge points at a white door smaller than the fortified ones nearby.

           “That one. The guard said the prisoners are behind the smaller door,” he says.

           The door is electronically locked but that’s easily dealt with by Reverend Meat punching it off the hinges. Inside is a hallway with metal doors lining the walls, along with four armed guards.

           “Whoops,” Eff squeaks and everyone ducks out of the doorway as the guards start firing.

           “Mimi?” Skoodge questions hopefully.

           “Fine,” she groans and steps into the doorway. The bullets ting harmlessly off her metal body as she lifts her large arm and fires a large, red beam from her palm. It reduces the guards to dust.

           “Nice,” D-boy comments and everyone walks in.

           “Ugh, there are dozens of doors,” Nny groans, “it’ll take forever to open them all.”

           “I am detecting only four presences in this room,” Mimi states.

           “Just four?” Skoodge questions.

           “Show me,” Nny orders.

           Mimi points out the doors that are apparently holding prisoners. One by one, Reverend Meat punches through them. Behind the first is Dib, then Gaz, then Tenna, and finally Devi.

           “Took you guys long enough,” Devi remarks as she walks out.

           “You’re lucky I’m helping you at all,” Nny retorts but they both smile jokingly at each other.

           “Where are the others?” Dib asks.

           “We thought they were here,” Skoodge replies.

           “That guard lied to us,” Nny snarls.

           “Well, he didn’t exactly lie,” Sickness points out.

           “Then where’s Squee?”            “He must be somewhere around here,” Eff says, “we’ll find him.”            “Mimi, can you tell?” Skoodge asks.

           “This facility is quite large,” she replies, “my sensors can only cover about half this floor and I sense many presences. Wait!” She suddenly perks up, her eyes widening. “My master!”

           Without warning, she flies out of the hall and back into the main corridor.

           “Hey, Mimi!” Skoodge exclaims.

           “Wait up!” Dib cries as everyone chases after her.

           Meanwhile, Pepito has decided to just pick the closest door at random, and blasts it open. What he sees inside stops him in his tracks.

           In the middle of the room is an operating table, and strapped to it is a real-life mermaid. She gasps painfully as a scientist stands over her, scraping scales off her long tail.

          “Hey! Who the-!” the scientist starts to bark but Pepito blasts him without a second thought, knocking him out, and hurries to the mermaid’s side.

           “Oh boy,” he hisses nervously as he looks her over. She’s got very fish-like eyes- round and black- but they’re filled with exhaustion and pain as she looks at Pepito. Her fingers are clearly supposed to be webbed, but the webbing has been cut away. There are three gills on both sides of her abdomen where humans have their ribcage, but they’ve been cut up. Her mouth would be full of thin fangs but many have been removed. Most of the scales have been scrapped off her tail and the fin at the end is chopped up.

           She makes gasping noises as her damaged gills weakly rise and fall. Pepito spots a small aquarium filled with water in the corner of the room. It’s nowhere near big enough to hold her comfortably but it’s clearly where they’ve been keeping her.

           “Okay, just-just hang on,” Pepito says and quickly removes her bounds. After scooping her up as gently as he can manage, he hurries across the room to the aquarium. She immediately scrambles out of his arms and into the water, sighing heavily. Her shoulders and head can’t even fit inside but she seems a little better now.

           “You okay?” Pepito asks.

           She looks at him, smiling weakly, and makes an odd gurgling noise.

           “I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins, “okay, I need to find my friends. Just stay here- well, I guess you can’t really go anywhere. But we’ll come back for you once we’re ready to leave.”

           She sits up as he runs out the door and stares after him in awe.

           Pepito hurries across the hall and blasts open another door. This one leads to a much smaller room with only a computer and a small window in the wall to the right. There’s another scientist typing on the computer as she observes something through the window, but she immediately stops when Pepito walks in.

           “Wha-what!” she exclaims.

           “Beat it,” he barks, pointing to the hall. “Oh, and there’s a scientist in the other room, knocked out. You should help them.”

           She doesn’t argue and races past as Pepito approaches the window. It’s looking into a large, mostly empty room. In the middle of the room is a thick, metal gate. On the right side of the gate is a griffon and on the other side are four baby hippogriffs. They all look thin, malnourished, and have lost much of their feathers. The hippogriffs are crying as they claw at the gate, struggling to reach their parent who paws back weakly.

           “I let that scientist off too easy,” Pepito snarls and blasts the prison door.

           Despite his weakness, the griffon immediately rears up, spreading his wings and crowing as he scrapes the floor with his talons.

           “Easy,” Pepito coos, crouching in front of him and raising his hands. “I’m here to help.”

           He rests his hand on the gate and melts a hole just big enough for the babies. Immediately they rush through, chirping with delight as the griffon caws and lowers his head, nuzzling them.

           Pepito smiles warmly as he watches them before leaving. He exits the lab and looks up and down the hall, at the many doors that no doubt are holding prisoners just like these ones.

           He sighs heavily and rubs his horns. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

           Meanwhile, at the other end of the long hall, Squee is thinking much the same thing as he leans against the wall. He just freed a fourth room of charging station prisoners- the last one, thankfully. They were all witches, vampires, and werewolves who have been here for who knows how long.

           He takes a deep breath as he stands up and stretches. No time to relax. He’s gotta find his friends now.

           “Speaking of, where is-?” he starts to ask when he spots something coming down the hall.

           “Squee!” Shmee shouts.

           “Shmee!” Squee exclaims, dropping to his knees to catch the bear. “You made it! I was starting to worry.”

           “Nothing could keep me from you,” Shmee says, “are you okay?”

           “I mean, I’m not too bad, considering,” he shrugs and stands up. “Although, maybe you should leave this plane of existence now that you’re with me. I need what little energy I have left.”            “Right,” he nods, his consciousness retreating back to Squee’s private spot in reality. Squee rests him on his head as he lifts his bag onto his shoulder and starts down the hall.

           “I ran into Pepito earlier,” Shmee says.

           “You did? Is he okay?” Squee asks worriedly.

           “He’s fine, for the most part,” he replies, “he’s farther down the hall, looking for Zim and Tak.”

           “Oh, good,” he sighs, “I’d better catch up.”            He starts to run when he hears a large group of footsteps coming from behind. He spins around to an approaching group of guards in armored body suits.

           “That’s him!” one of them shouts, pointing at Squee. “The escaped prisoner!”

           “Uh oh,” Squee squeaks and reaches into his bag. He tosses out a Sleepy Bomb and activates his rocket wheelies, zipping backwards as the grenade goes off.

           “Good thing those suits aren’t airtight,” Shmee comments as they leave behind the coughing guards to drop to the floor, unconscious.

           Further down the hall, locked in one of the labs, Zim bites his lips as he struggles not to scream. Having finished removing all the items from his PAK, Doctor Mackey has decided to test the sensitivity of Zim’s antennae. And they are quite sensitive. Just the slightest pinch from the robotic clamps has Zim convulsing.

           In the testing room, Mackey is enjoying the show. He’s starting to make it a game: how much pressure can he apply to make the alien scream, without crushing the antennae entirely? Zim is too proud to make it easy, but just how long can he hold out?

           Mackey’s suddenly interrupted when the hallway door is blasted apart. He whips around as Pepito walks in and immediately falls to his knees.

           “I knew it,” he whimpers hopelessly, “I knew the alien’s threats were true! Augh, I should’ve just evacuated when the alarm started! Please, don’t hurt me! Just take him! Just-!”

           Before he can finish, Pepito picks him up by the collar and knees him in the stomach. Mackey gags as he slumps to the floor.

           “You’re lucky that’s all you get,” Pepito snarls as he walks by and blasts the door leading into Zim’s prison.

           Zim pants heavily as he hangs his head. With his antennae trapped in the clamps, he couldn’t hear the commotion caused by Pepito, but he’s starting to wonder what’s going on. It’s been a couple minutes since they squeezed.

           A pair of feet steps into Zim’s vision and he weakly looks up at Pepito’s worried face.

           Zim grins. “What took you so long.”

          Pepito smiles back and quickly begins removing Zim’s restraints. As soon as his arms are free, Zim’s legs give out underneath him but Pepito quickly catches him.

           “You gonna be okay?” he asks.

           “Reattach my PAK,” Zim orders.

           Pepito quickly obliges. The wires slink into the PAK as he pushes it flush up against Zim’s back. Then, the spider legs burst out and scoop up all the items that were removed, bringing them back inside.

           Zim pushes Pepito’s arms aside and stands on his own, taking a deep breath as he stretches and faces him. “Of course I’m okay.”

           Pepito smiles and the two of them hurry out of the lab. Doctor Mackey must’ve crawled away because he’s nowhere to be seen.

            Zim stops as they enter the hall and gets a look at the many destroyed doors.

           “You’ve been busy,” he comments.

           “Trying to find you and Tak,” Pepito says, “there are lots of other prisoners here.”

           “And you broke yourself out.”

           “Well, I wasn’t gonna wait for someone to do it for me,” he grins cheekily.

           Zim grumbles as Pepito blasts through another door, interrupting Doctor Nel. She shrieks as she falls backwards before pulling a pistol out of her coat.

           “Get away!” she cries. But before she can aim, Zim’s spider legs knock it out of her hands and slam her against the wall. He and Pepito rush by as she slumps to the floor, and Pepito blasts the prison door.

           “Tak-!” he starts to shout but is interrupted when Tak rips through her restraints with her metal arm. She reattaches her PAK and stomps out the door.

           Nel groans as she weakly lifts her head to see Tak approaching her. But before she can do anything, two of Tak’s spider legs stab through Nel’s shoulders. She screams as she’s lifted off the floor. Tak lets her hang there for a second, struggling like a fly in a spider’s web, before slicing her apart with her other two spider legs. When there’s nothing left but mush on the floor, she retracts her appendages and heads for the door.

           She stops just before exiting and looks back at Zim and Pepito, who stare at her in shock.

           “You guys coming or what?” she says.

           “Uh…yeah, yeah let’s go,” they both nod and follow her into the hall. Before they even have a chance to look around, they hear something like an excited squeal and are immediately knocked to the ground by a small but tremendous force.

           “Guys!” Squee cries as he lies on top of them.

           “Urgh…Squee?” Zim questions.

           “Squee!” Pepito cheers and hugs him tight.

           “I’m so glad you’re okay!” Squee exclaims.

           “Yeah, yeah, so are we,” Tak groans, “can you get off of us now?”

           “Oh, sorry,” he says and quickly helps them to their feet.

           “So what now?” Tak asks.

           “We gotta find the others,” Squee replies.

           “Right, but where do we begin?”

           “I’ve been blasting my way down this hall for like an hour,” Pepito says, pointing down the hall at the destroyed doors.

           “I don’t know if they’ll be in the same area,” Squee muses, “this… ‘Director’ only seems interested in paranormal creatures, or people with paranormal powers. Dib, Gaz, Devi, and Tenna are full humans. But I don’t know how he’d feel about Nny.”

           “Let’s just find the leader and beat it out of him,” Zim orders, punching his fist.

           “We don’t know how to find him either,” Pepito points out.

           “Wait, hear that?” Tak asks. Everyone’s quiet for a second and hears rabid footsteps coming from behind.

           “Guards!” Squee exclaims.

           “Get ready,” Zim demands.

           Everyone readies their weapons and waits for the guards to turn the rounded corner. What they see instead is a flying SIR unit, followed by all their friends frantically trying to keep up.

           “Mimi?” Tak questions.

           “Dib! Gaz!” Zim and Pepito exclaim.

           “Nny!” Squee cries.

           “Guys!” Dib and Gaz shout as their group tries to stop, only for Zim and others to jump into them. They all fall to the floor, a mess of happy hugs and excited babbling.

           “You’re all okay!” Dib exclaims.

           “More or less,” Squee shrugs.

           “You look exhausted,” Devi comments.

           “You’re all hurt,” Tenna points out.

           “What’d they do to you?” Johnny snarls.

           “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Pepito grins.

           “How are the Night Terrors here?” Squee asks.

           “I brought them,” Johnny replies, “when those useless agents couldn’t catch me.”

           “Yeah, we’re here to save all of you,” Reverend Meat says.

           “Although, you seem to be doing a fine job of that yourselves,” Sickness comments.

           “You can give me my hammer now,” Gaz says to Pepito.

           “Gladly. It weighs a ton,” he grunts, handing it to her.

           “Oh, Dib,” Squee says and takes his bracelet out of his bag. “Here, I got your glove.”

           “Oh, thanks,” Dib replies as he takes it.

           “Alright, alright, alright,” Zim booms and stands up. “Now that we’re all together, there’s only one thing left to do. Find the leader and make him pay!”

           “I agree,” Tak growls.

           “Wait, Zim,” Squee says, “this place is full of other prisoners like us. We can’t just leave them.”

           “Squee’s right,” Pepito agrees, “I already freed a bunch of creatures that were being experimented on and tortured. We have to help them.”

           “Ugh, fine,” Zim groans, “first we’ll free all the prisoners and get them outside safely. Agreed?”

           “Yeah!” the others cheer.

           “Alright, prison break,” Eff grins and rubs his hands together. They all start to hurry down the hall, except for Dib. He stays still, staring at the floor.

           “Dib?” Squee questions as everyone stops and looks back at him. “You okay?”

           “…he’s just like me…” Dib mumbles.

           “Who?” Pepito questions.

           “The Director,” he replies, clenching his fists. “He’s just like how I used to be. Wanting to know everything about the supernatural, wanting to find them and study them, even at the cost of their lives. Not understanding that…the Earth is their home too.”

           “Aw, Dib,” Squee says with concern. “Even if that is true, you’re not like that now. All you wanna do is help people. You don’t try to hurt these creatures for no reason.”

           “Squee’s right,” Johnny grunts, “if you hate the way you used to be, that means you’ve grown.”

           “Exactly,” Zim says as he steps up in front Dib and squeezes his shoulder. “So pick yourself up and pull yourself together. We got an entire facility of prisoners to liberate.”

           Dib stares at him with surprise before looking down at his bracelet. He slips it onto his wrist and activates his power glove, clenching his fist. “Let’s do it.”

           “Yeah!” everyone cheers.

[finding-the-path-to-your-heart]

Humanity

So remember when I said I wanted to fuck around and write that RevFinder Fic? Well, Uh. I kinda did and didn’t? I sorta just ended up writing about how the two would feel about the other human legends as a whole!The movie thing was  inspired by @zimtdraws so go check them out!

Words : 3k Characters : ...Pretty much all the Legends but mainly Revenant/Pathfinder Summary : Revenant, the Newest legend of the group, is asked to go find Pathfinder for movie night - in the process, he ends up finding a lot more than just where he’s hiding.

The Apex Complex was a mystery at the best of times. Seemingly springing up out of nowhere, it soon had a reputation as housing some of the most dangerous criminals, skilled soldiers and smartest engineers in the outlands. Nobody was allowed in, or out without the right clearance, and even then, the only way to get inside was via a huge dropship that would land and depart at regular intervals. Rumours were plentiful; was it secretly a huge testing facility to create the ultimate legend? A prison to keep the legends away from the population while they weren't trying to kill each other? Some kind of secret government coverup to hide the truth behind the entirety of the Apex games? There were even speculations that it was some kind of joint operation with Aliens. In reality though, unless you were one of the legends, you'd never find out about the dark activities that took place behind the high walls of the sprawling Complex...

 WHAM

 The head of the axe buried itself millimetres from the head of the speed-junkie, arms full of knives, ranging from intricately carved to plain and ordinary, a sharp yelp of surprise escaping Octavio Silva's - better known as Octane -  mouth followed by a bubbling laugh as he took off into a sprint, followed by the deep, grating breathing of Bloodhound, eyes flared and glowing as they round the corner and pull their axe out of the wall, only to point it towards the fleeing thief "You will bring those back, Octavio! My weapons exist for the hunt, not your insane stunts!" They let out a low growl, sprinting after the laughing figure and disappearing from view. In another room, 4 different images of the same figure, all wearing the same baggy jeans and loose jacket, pose together in front of a trio sitting on the couch; Ajay Chey, Makoa Gibraltar and Natalie Paquette, all trying to figure out what exactly they were looking at. Makoa was the first one to speak, shrugging after a moment of looking at the other two "Uh... Friday the 13th?"

 "Friday the?!-" 3 of the copies vanish after one of them turns to look at the trio, arms crossed as Elliott Witt stands to look at the three on the couch "C’mon! Les Misera-Misre-Mis- That French musical! Really you guys?" Ajay rolls her eyes, pointing one of the drumsticks she'd been idly tapping on the couch towards the now-pouting figure "T'be fair, NONE of those poses looked like you were singing. Dying, maybe, but not singing" laughter spills from the other two soon after, echoing throughout the living room and bringing a smile back onto the face of the engineer who falls back onto the couch, jabbing a finger towards the medic "Alright, let's see you do better!"

"Alright, I will!"

As she's getting up to start, a loud crash sounds out in the complex - followed immediately after by a loud, thundering "SILVA!" In the unmistakable voice of the complex's resident 'Mad Scientist'. Ajay sighs, rubbing her temples and giving the others an apologetic look "Sorry guys. Guess I'm on Octavio duty until Caustic stops threatening to use him as a lab rat" she turns, jogging out of the room with a yell of "OCTAVIO YOU DUMBASS! GET'CHA ASS OVER HERE!", her footsteps soon fading away.

A door swings open elsewhere in the house with a group of four walking back inside; Tae Joon Park, better known as Crypto, Anita Williams, Renee Blasey and, most curiously, Revenant, the newest member of the legends. Between them, they carry about a dozen bags, with 2 of them supported on Crypto's drone, his hands planted firmly in his pockets. Anita groans, rolling her shoulders and making her way toward the communal kitchen, the others following behind "I swear, if Witt tells me I've got the wrong type of cereal again, I'm gonna pour him an entire box and make him eat the whole thing. There's like 80 different types!" This draws a chuckle from the shorter figure beside her, Renee brushing some of the hair out of her face and setting two bags down on the counter "Oh, please. It's not like he's the only one with a particular quirk - you're the one who snacks on one type of ration bars and nothing else." She smirks, before Crypto navigates the drone over and sets the bags down "Frankly, I'm just surprised at how lax the security was in a store that big. I feel like we probably could have walked out with most of this and nobody would have raised an eyebrow." Anita shoots him a look and he raises both hands out of his pockets in protest "Just because we could didn't mean I did. Besides, if anyone is shifty, it's our newest addition over here" he glances toward the towering figure, as Revenant sets down his bags on the table, glaring across at the other 3 "Alright. I've done what you asked, now are you going to tell me why I bothered entertaining the thought?" A glance between the three ends with Renee leaning on the counter "Easy. It's movie night, and the new guy always picks the movie their first time. We just didn't tell you because we figured you'd say it was pointless" she smirks, the Simulacrum narrowing his eyes. "You'd be right. I have no interest in indulging this pointless activity. Unless there's anything else you want to bother me with, I'll be leaving." He turns, only for Anita to tap him in the shoulder "Yeah, actually. There's something else you can do. Crypto said he saw Pathfinder up on the roof and none of us really have a good way of getting up there besides Octane's bounce pads - and we banned those after the last incident. If you can grab him for movie night, we'll refrain from bothering you for as long as you want."

The figure grumbles for a moment before turning and walking away, muttering "Fine" under his breath as the doors to the complex slide open once more, allowing him access to the outside. The others, having watched him go, soon begin to move food into the numerous fridges and cupboards, avoiding the fridge with a padlock and a biohazard symbol on it. One cupboard opens to reveal over a dozen boxes of cereal, Renee slotting in another one and putting a post-it note to designate it as the newest one. Energy drinks, quick meals, ingredients of all shapes and sizes, all put in their respective places in companionable silence, besides the occasional correction from Anita. When it was done, the three look at each other awkwardly for a moment, before Crypto raises a hand "I'll see you all later tonight. Till then." Before quickly heading off, leaving Anita and Renee face to face - there's a pause as the two both try and figure out what to say, before Anita nods, and the two head their separate ways, with the latter yelling out "Movie night, tonight! I better see all your asses in the main room at twenty-one hundred or you're not getting to pick your own snacks!"

 A slow, steady clanking echoes across the outside of the complex as the Simulacra makes their way up to the top of the main building, clawed hands finding enough purchase in the various nooks and crannies to support themselves until they were able to pull themselves up to the roof, where the blue robot was sitting, looking down through a skylight - one that looked into the main room of the building. From there, it was easy to see the trio still playing charades, Ajay sitting down a smoldering, injured Octavio and patching up several gashes and burn marks. Caustic and Bloodhound stand off to the side, glaring at the grinning daredevil - one, similarly smoking, holding the remains of a gas barrel with a large gash along the side, a smashed breaker in his other hand, the other holding the numerous knives that had been taken, several of which were melted. It was even easy enough to see the more independent legends - Renee leaning against the wall and watching the interaction with a smirk, Crypto sitting in another chair in the room and fiddling with his datapad, Anita flipping over a number pad in the corner which read 'Days since last Stunt' back to 0. Soon enough, Octavio is handed a broom, and trash bag and escorted out of the room by Caustic, head hung low dramatically as he trudges out. Bloodhound examines their ruined knives before shaking their head, walking out of the room as well. All the while, Pathfinder and Revenant watch quietly, the former of the two seemingly only noticing the latter once the room settled down once more, perking up as his face shifts to that bright yellow smile

"Oh! Revenant! What're you doing up here, friend?"

"I'm not your friend. I just came here because the others told me to get you."

"Oh, really? I'm sorry to have caused them trouble! Thanks for letting me know, friend!"

Either the robot hadn't heard him the first time, or simply hadn't acknowledged it, being called 'Friend' by this walking toaster grated on Revenant's nerves.

"I'm not your friend." He takes a moment, pausing before looking down at the skylight "What're you even doing up here, anyway?"

The robot takes a moment, looking down at the skylight again with a question mark on his chest, before looking back up "I'm trying to figure out what it means to be a human"

The Simulacrum was taken aback by the response. So taken aback, in fact, that all he can utter is "Why?"

The robot continues on "Well, it all started with Dr Caustic wanted my help with some experiments because I didn't have 'Useless Human Morality'. Then Octane wanted me to try out a new stunt, because he said he needed someone without ‘Human Limitations’…and then Bangalore told me that she liked having me on the team because I didn’t crack under pressure like a human would…and, well, it got me thinking; what is a human?”

A brief silence passes over the roof before the Simulacra sits down on the same jutting out piece of roof that Pathfinder was, lifting a hand up in front of him and examining the cruel metallic talons that made up his hand before looking off to the side as the massive city that surrounded the complex. So many humans. So many useless wastes of time. “I can tell you what a human is. A human is a waste of space. They’re annoying. Pitiful. Emotional. They brag and boast and fight, all to prove among themselves who’s superior in these useless competitions – and for what? So that they can live more of their frivolous lives killing and plaguing the world with their existence, so they can spend credits on pointless trinkets and useless objects that will end up as little more than scrap metal and forgotten junk within a few decades. But most of all, they’re weak – their body are fragile so they cover themselves in armour, their ability to kill is lacklustre at best, so they invent weapons to do the killing for them, and they claim that their intelligence is what puts them at the top of a food chain when most of them aren’t even smart enough to know how pathetic they really are!” all the while, Revenant has been leaning steadily further and further forwards, looking down towards the skylight and the group playing charades below – a group that’s now expanded out to include most of the legends, with Caustic in the centre holding what looks like a remarkable realistic skull out and monologuing silently to it. “I mean, look at them! Even now, when they could be training, refining themselves, getting even MARGINALLY more useful, they’re doing THIS!” they snarl, gripping the piece of the roof so hard that it splinters and cracks under his grip, before slamming his feet onto the ground and standing up, forcefully enough that Mirage looks up at the sight above him, eyes widening and face going pale at the sight of the two robots looking down at the group from above. He seems to make some kind of excuse, quickly leaving the room and disappearing from view.

Revenant stands, back to the skylight, staring down at his hand, twitching and trembling with barely contained rage after working himself into a state. His hand turns, looking at the symbol of Hammond robotics on the back, eyes flaring up for a moment before a voice cuts through the miasma of rage that’d be clouding his head. “Are you okay, Friend?”

Revenant turns, eyes flaring up again, turning towards Pathfinder looking towards him with a question mark on his chest, before he runs a hand back over his head and takes a moment, letting out a deep sigh “I’m done with this conversation.” He turns, making to leave before Pathfinder speaks once again. “I don’t agree with you, friend.” Revenant pauses. The robot was so usually accepting of what other people said and believed, that it was actually rather uncommon for him to disagree with anyone – and this had caught his attention. He crosses his arms, walking back over and looking down at Pathfinder without sitting down, disdain in his gaze. “And why’s that?” Pathfinder’s eye turns back towards the people below, all laughing as Octane has removed both of his legs, crawling dramatically across the ground towards Bloodhound, who’s holding a long pole in one of their hands. The face on Pathfinder’s chest shifts to a smile as he turns to look back towards Revenant “I think Humans are much more than all of that. I don’t think you’re wrong – humans are weak and pathetic sometimes, but they can be strong in ways that I can’t! Gibraltar makes everyone around him feel happy and safe, Octane makes people laugh all the time, and Lifeline understands how to make people feel better when they’re sad – I can’t do any of that, and I think that’s a kind of strength!” Revenant makes to interrupt, but he continues “I train a lot of the time with shooting and grappling, but I don’t think I’d be anywhere near as strong if I didn’t have the others as my friends! They make me want to be better, and I want to be better for them right back! If they help me, it’s only fair I help them too. Sure, Humans aren’t strong, they’re fragile and weak, but…they don’t make fun of me for being cold and tough…and they don’t make fun of you, either! Neither of us are humans, but…most of the time, they act like we are, even though they don’t have to!” He turns, looking back towards the humans down below, swinging his legs slowly as he does so “I might not know who my creator is, but…if they want to treat me as a human, then I know who my family is, and they’re all the people who make me want to keep fighting!” his screen lights up in an exclamation mark and he turns towards revenant excitedly, grabbing his hands as he stands up “That’s it! Being human isn’t about having skin or organs or making silly decisions. It’s about caring about people, what they think, how they feel! Human isn’t a thing, it’s a way you think, and I think I can be just as human as the rest of them…with enough practice, at least. Maybe you could teach me, friend?”

A moment of silence hangs in the air, confusion written across Revenant’s face as he looks at the robot quizzically “Why on earth would you want me to try and teach you how to be human? Look at me, do I look any more human than you are?” “No, but that doesn’t matter! Human is caring about people, and with how much you spoke about them needing to be stronger, smarter and more useful, it sounds like you care about the people down there a whole lot!”

A moment of realisation flickers across the face of the Simulacrum, as he turns his gaze down towards the group once more. This…Pathfinder was right, for once. Why did he care so much about these meatbags? They were weak. Pitiful. Pathetic…and yet, they were honest, brutally so. From ritualistic hunting to mad science, none of them had made any attempt to hide who they were, and none of them had treated him any differently than the others around them. To them, he wasn’t some twisted abomination of steel and plastic, pretending to be a person, he was just…another Legend. Looking down, the light of the setting sun casts his reflection in the skylight, showing – for the first time in a long time – a human face, looking so, so very tired, wrapped in his shemagh, smiling weakly.

“I’m going to be going back down now. Are you coming, friend?” He’s snapped out of his staring by Pathfinder once more, currently in the process of dropping down off the side of the building, before nodding and dropping down with him, making his way back inside of the building alongside the azure robot, right as there’s a call of “Mamma Mia!” a laugh, and subsequent cheer that fills the room as the two performing in the middle collapse down. Bangalore turns, hearing the two walking back inside and smiling, turning towards Revenant and nodding her head “Thanks. You didn’t have to  do that, but you did, so…as promised, we’ll all leave you alone for the rest of the night. We’ll be in here, so you won’t have to worry about us disturbing you as long as you don’t come in” She turns around, heading back to the group before she’s stopped by his voice

“Wait. Would it…be alright if I joined you all for Movie Night?” Revenant asks, looking away, uncertainty written across his face before Bangalore laughs, grinning and patting his back, shoving him forwards until he’s standing in front of the group, confusion written across most of their faces – and fear across one – before she turns to the group “Our newest Legend here wants to be part of Movie Night – but I figure, if he wants to prove that he’s seriously interested, he should show us how good he is at acting, first!” what started as confusion soon turns into laughter, before a cheer of approval rings out, the tall, lanky figure standing in the middle of the room, confused for a moment before a faint smile crosses that skeletal face, dropping into a pose in the middle of the room and listening to the others starting to guess.

And were anyone to look into the room, they would see not a simulacra, but a human, a smile across his face as he rebuffs the various attempts made by the other people in the room, trying to guess what his gangly limbs and hard-to-read expression were trying to represent – they’d see something that looked less like a collection of killers, criminals and monsters, and something more closely resembling a family. An odd family, of course, but a family nonetheless.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Emily's Awakening, Part Three

Following a jolt and abrupt halt in her uncontrolled flight, Emily shot through the air and tumbled forward. Immense heat, so fiery that it threatened her skin to blister, made way to flames licking at her nude body, triggering a visceral response; making animal instincts flare up and drive her to new heights of exertion.

She rolled after hitting the ground, stumbling back onto her feet only to run yet farther—only forward—liberating every aspect of the clashing realities and letting this hell burn to the ground with its own flame.

Running, sprinting, up until she stopped sensing her body itself. Until her entire being had become this valley of fire.

A scent of sulfur and something that reminded her of blood or rust—iron—hit her nostrils like a freight train. The heat that accompanied it was out of this world, radiating from a floor made out of red hot cast iron—but it did not hurt Emily.

She stood before a maze and in the center of that maze stood Emily. Or rather, a glowing image, a reflection of herself, lit and radiating with the dim light of that calm blue flame, contrasting the crimson glow of the inferno and lava all around.

Emily finally paused, finding that she didn’t need to catch her breath. Instead, a strange calm filled her. Smoke billowed out from between her lips even though her last cigarette felt like it had burnt down an eternity ago. Fire burnt on her skin—no, it burnt from her skin, escaping through the pores from her blood within—a raging fire. Her skin had lost all semblance of flesh, now made of pure, living iron.

The other Emily—the other one who stood in the center of the labyrinthine pattern of glowing lines—she beckoned Iron Emily to herself. Blue Flame Emily’s blue light glimmered, glowing in a steady counterbalance to Iron Emily’s red-hot rage.

Focus.

Focus.

“What the jailer does not know, is that they are just another prisoner,” Emily whispered. To herself or to anything within the infinity around her; none of that mattered. Recalling Wise Man’s words helped her calm down.

All that mattered was that her mind still functioned and the words emerged from her core, like the whisper and crackle of a flame, like the mantra that heralded an anchor being cast into the water. It didn’t sound or feel like her self anymore, but it was—unmistakably so. Even more her self now than ever before.

Reborn.

No—something was missing. Something crucial. She was still in the process of rebirth.

Iron Emily approached Blue Flame Emily. Her consciousness trailed behind her by half a step, always following, all entities connected by silver threads but remaining out of sync and catching up in a blur.

The fires would meet. Together they would burn brighter than any color.

A beacon of blinding light.

The moment Iron Emily stepped onto the pattern of the maze to cross the floor, a shock wave jolted through her body and an unseen force pushed her back. She could feel the iron of her feet melting into the searing-hot stone of the maze, making her steps weigh a million tons and slowing her advance.

“Wake up,” Iron Emily said to Emily. The words poured out like smoke, smooth and toxic. She was not appealing to a dreaming self, nor was she urging Emily to wake up from a nightmare. Emily was telling Emily to focus—to shed all things that still held her back.

The first thing that weighed her down was a glimpse of another reality—another timeline? Another dimension? A place where Emily sat inside the bright white confines of a psych ward, rocking back and forth and withdrawn from reality altogether, failing to cope with the horrors of being abducted and raped by monsters posing as human beings.

That image loomed behind her like a dark shadow. That alternate existence and everything else behind her—there lied madness.

Only two ways left to go: to turn back and surrender herself to insanity, or to wander the infernal maze and embrace her destiny.

Iron Emily struggled to move, finally lifting a foot and taking her first step into the circular maze. A familiar presence blinked into existence—felt but not seen, then heard but not felt.

“Gay Chris,” as they always called him back in the day. One of her best friends. He stood, leaning against one of the fiery rocks on the edge of the maze, giving off a casual air and unfazed by this surreal hellscape.

“You always rant about all the shit that’s wrong with the world, but what the fuck are you doing about it but ranting? Shut the fuck up if you’re not going to do anything about it,” he said, repeating the words that had inspired Emily to become the truth-seeker she was now.

Even his expression mirrored the one on his face from that decade past—annoyed by his stoned friend’s idiotic tirades. When it clicked for Emily. When she steered her life in a new direction, one in which she would change the world, and the one in which she became a jaded journalist.

“I won’t shut the fuck up,” she replied, now smiling. Originally, she had been taken aback by his words. Now she knew the purpose she had found, the things she had done, and all the things she still wanted to do. “At least I’m fucking doing something now. Can you say the same for yourself, designing graphics for stupid little video games over in Montreal, motherfucker?”

“She won’t be silenced, son,” Detective Tanner said. The law man had appeared behind Iron Emily, seemingly out of nowhere, born from this fiery hell.

Chris chuckled and his skin melted, sloughing off like pudding. The chuckling gurgled and exploded into a bellowing, booming laughter, growing in volume. From the hideous molten flesh emerged a demonic figure, showing its true form.

Emily’s madness.

“Sure, keep acting tough, little girl. Cuffed to the curtain rod while the Grinning Man sinks the blade into your back,” the demon said.

Iron Emily squinted, pushing back the memories of her trauma. But there would be no avoiding them here. She could feel the infernal fires burning away all uncertainty, peeling away the layers of her flesh like the skin of an onion till all that was left was the stark realities underneath, and the core of who she truly was.

Thing being, Emily was not afraid of that anymore. She was not afraid of her true self. She knew her flaws, her weaknesses, all the rough edges and the inconsistencies that she believed to burden the world around her with.

Part of her true self was this thing—this demon—and she felt no shame about it. No regrets. She was more in tune with who she was than ever before. She remembered it from her drug trip in Rodney’s basement. And here it was again, haunting her.

She let her gaze sweep back and forth between Tanner and the demonic entity that had worn Gay Chris as a disguise.

“What the fuck do I call you?”

“Tanner,” said the entity looking like Detective Tanner.

“Okay. And you? You’re not Chris anymore,” she said, nodding at the demon. “Here’s your chance to pick a cool name, because I sure as hell am gonna give you a dumb one just to piss you off.”

The demon cackled and growled, “I am what lurks at the bottom of each glass of booze you drown yourself in.”

“Alright. Suit yourself, asshole. I dub thee Stinky Jim.”

This also amused the demon, prompting more mad cackling.

A sense of uneasiness returned. It reminded her of the presence of the Grinning Man. Always behind her, closing in for the kill. Murder in the eyes, just watching her.

Emily dared to shoot a glance over her shoulder, peeking at the infernal madness behind her, raging at the edges of the maze. From it emerged Hal, carrying the studio camera, approaching her.

“Clever, Emily. Now show us how much of a ‘highly-functioning alcoholic’ you really are. Not sure you ever managed to pull off that magic trick, you dumb bitch,” he sneered, keeping the camera trained on her. The red light on the camera flashed menacingly, matching the beat of the all-devouring madness, beating to the pulse of this Pandemonium.

Stinky Jim cackled more at this, and melted into a puddle of searing-hot lava on the floor. Emily chose to ignore Fake-Evil Hal and look straight ahead.

Kept her eyes on Blue Flame Emily.

Still she could feel the camera, hovering right behind her. Watching her every move. Some part of her knew this was her own insanity, a part of herself that was judging her, testing her. Prodding her with every single bad memory, and exposing everything she thought or desired.

Fake-Evil Hal reminded her of her self-destructive, self-hating streak.

“You have to keep going,” Tanner said. Emily wanted to imagine that she reminded him of her father, but Tanner didn’t. If anything, he reminded her of what she imagined a father figure to be like, and what such a man would do now. “You got this,” he added on cue.

“Are you really Tanner?” she asked him. Because while everything and everybody else felt like manifestations of her self, Tanner’s presence felt so—off. Out of place.

He turned and pointed to the wall behind him. Instead of the obsidian and granite that comprised the solid structures within this fiery hell, he stood within the confines of his office at the precinct.

A red yarn connected pins on the corkboard there, drawing lines between different photos, maps, and pink Post-it notes. She remembered this “paranoia wall” of his quite well.

“It’s not paranoia when they’re really out to get ya,” he reiterated. “This shit sandwich is made in the top echelons,” he told her, tapping the Post-its with question marks at the head of the maze-like map he had created. She knew what he meant: that it went all the way up to the police chief. “I’ll do what I can, but you need to be careful.”

A presence neared, heavy with malice. As both Emily and Tanner turned in unison to gaze upon its visage, more of the projection of the detective and his office overlapped with the fiery maze. Through the milky obscuring glass on his office door, silhouettes approached. Shadows. Nebulous, faceless, and evil.

Converging on Tanner.

“You gotta go. Never give up,” Tanner said.

Emily wanted to tell him that things would be different now, but the moment she turned to tell him so, Tanner and his office transformed into ashes, like thin sheets of paper burning up in a flash. The violent winds of the inferno swept the ashes away, scattering them in every direction, and absorbing the embers like they never existed in the first place.

Tanner was gone and a pang of guilt hit Iron Emily in the gut.

He was right, she had to go. She strained and tried to lift her legs, but her feet had fused with the smooth stone ground beneath her.

“Welcome to the Emily show, where everybody is rooting for everybody else—yelling at the screen and hoping to see you fail. Because you’re such a vile piece of shit,” Fake-Evil Hal said, still behind her, a presence holding the camera. “Did I say everybody? Hah, don’t let it get to your head. Nobody likes you, and nobody’s watching. You’re the only viewer, you self-loathing, self-involved whore.”

Emily took a deep breath and exhaled more smoke. She flipped Fake-Evil Hal the bird without even turning around or giving him the satisfaction.

Then she pushed forward, pulling her limbs with all her might. Taking one difficult step at a time, her iron legs thudding against the accursed stone with tremendous weight as she made her way into the maze.

Blue Flame Emily looked so close, but felt so far. So infinitely far away. Every step Iron Emily took, the stone ignited and burned beneath her feet, threatening to melt her down and swallow the molten metal that her body had transformed into.

Roaring jets of bright white flames shot forth from the lines of the maze. Where the walls of this labyrinth had only occupied an imaginary space, now deadly fire forced Emily to wander through its forlorn paths.

“Only you can walk this path,” Miranda’s words echoed in her thoughts.

And walk she would.

Thick clouds of ashes and flames exploded from the walls of the maze, dragging deadly fog through the fiery corridors. Iron Emily felt the heat inherent, so hot that it would singe all her hair. But she had not a single hair on her body because iron made up her entire being now.

Even with this invulnerability to the fire, she instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes from the toxic cloud of suffocating ashes. She could breathe smoke but held her breath as if it mattered. Every step she took to move forward she made in complete blindness.

When she dared to open her eyes, the world had changed again.

Unlike in the maze, the smoke she exhaled was born from a lit cigarette. Emily let her hand holding the cigarette lazily droop off the side of the bed in which she now lay. Sweat and the smell of sex clung to her and she glowed. So did the man next to her, with whom her legs were entangled. The legs of her love: Julian.

Just like she remembered, he smiled at her when he plucked the cigarette from between her fingers and snuffed it out in a glass of water.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t need those anymore if it was just that good?” he asked.

The maze faded quickly from the forefront of Emily’s mind and made way for a warm, soft feeling throughout her entire being. It crept across her face, stretching her lips into a warm smile.

“Maybe it just wasn’t that good,” she whispered coyly.

She rolled over and rested her head on his chest, tracing the lines of his arm with the tip of her index finger.

He chuckled and gingerly brushed strands of her hair aside, then fondled the curve of her ear and the back of her neck with his hand. They both radiated with heat—not that of fire and destruction, but a heat of passion and deep-rooted love.

She remembered this night. You don’t forget the ones in which the sex you had stands out as some of the best you ever had. But the inferno and the madness that had brought her back here still lingered, chipping away at the back of her mind.

Even in reality, she found Julian’s apartment incredible. Living there as long as she had always made her think she was dreaming. It never quite matched where she came from and where she imagined to be going in life. And alas, it existed only in a short-lived bubble of time, a sweet memory sandwiched in between harrowing experiences.

One wall of the spacious bedroom consisted of glass, beyond which a twinkling sea of lights sprawled across the horizon of a nightly sky—the skyline of Los Angeles sparkled in warm colors, fuzzy and distant.

Lost in this moment when it had been a reality, Emily wanted to lose herself in it again. Never again, she believed, would she experience a comfort like this in her life. She drank in Julian’s scent, basked in his warmth, and swam in a sea of harmonious bliss.

This was her home.

“I can’t wait till we get married,” he said. He rested his palm against her lower back, hot and soothing at the same time.

And there it was again—the madness, chipping away, scratching at the back of her consciousness. Reminding her that this was not real.

She exhaled sharply through her nostrils but lingered where she lay. She turned her head to gaze dreamily into the tiny orange lights of the skyline, to rest her ear on his chest and listen to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat.

Emily savored this memory and place for as long as she could before replying.

“I’m so sorry, Julian, but that isn’t real. You never said that. I was going to propose to you before Kathryn Shaw killed you.”

She hugged him tightly, holding close to him.

“None of this is real.”

The bedroom door opened. Julian entered, wearing the jogging clothing she had gotten him for his birthday, darkened around the neck and pits where the fabric had soaked up sweat. No less attractive, he brandished a feeble smile as he blinked and looked upon Emily from across the room. His eyes were wet with sadness and concern—and longing. The smile faded from his face once his gaze shifted from her to the Julian she lay with on the bed, upon which he squinted.

The Julian by the door instantly felt more real to her.

“You can’t fool her. She is too strong for that,” Real Julian said.

She pushed herself up, away from False Julian. This one smiled back at her, but his smile had an almost sinister air about it now. His body lost all definition and melted down into a pile of gray ooze, bubbling goo that seeped into the sheets of the bed and vanished entirely, leaving only sweaty stains. Emily felt like she should have been more startled at this, but everything made perfect sense here.

By the time Real Julian had approached, she sat up straight on the edge of the bed. When he cradled her cheeks in his hands, her eyes welled up with tears, blurring her vision of him. With the soft light and her sights a mess, he looked an angel.

How fitting, she thought. Just like the memories blur.

But he wiped the tears away with his thumbs and knelt by her side to match her eye level.

“You have to carry on. Continue on. Only you can walk this path, and only you can do this,” he said. And every word resonated with that sense of natural strength inherent in his being. Everything good about him that she remembered and cherished.

A lump formed in Emily’s throat and tightened, making it harder to hold back the tears, and impossible to say anything.

“I will always be with you,” he said.

His warm, genuine smile forced the sparkling tears from his own eyes.

Before Emily could answer, she had to gulp, rid herself of that lump in her throat. It was the most painful thing to swallow, because she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. Tears rolled down her cheeks like pure little pearls of sorrow.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her close and then melded with her—passed into her, like a ghost, dissolving as they merged. Real Julian became one with her and the warmth that she had always felt in the memories of him filled her, making her soul hum and her essence scintillate. She glowed with light—constant, like a lantern, and soothing; unlike the violently flickering flames of her rage. They flashed in a blue light for a brief moment.

“Goodbye, Julian,” she said, breaking the words as she choked on them.

“This is no goodbye,” he said. His voice was everywhere and nowhere. It didn’t exist, yet it came from deep within. “You will always have me by your side.”

With the tears fully streaming from her weary eyes, she wiped them with her entire forearm, sobbing in silence and this strangely comforting solitude. When she looked down upon her nude body, it was iron again, with her hand clad in the strange gauntlet.

She rose from her seat on the bed’s side, shot one last longing glance at the skyline of Los Angeles—reminiscing on how this represented the one short phase in her life during which she truly knew happiness—and made her way to the bedroom door.

Just twisting the doorknob and pulling lightly on it, a gust of mighty wind blew it wide open, nearly knocking her back, and a flurry of ash and embers flowed through. Flames licked around the edges of the frame, incinerating everything and devouring this place of solace. Rather than succumbing to despair, Iron Emily shielded herself with the gauntlet and marched through, continuing through the fiery walls of the maze.

Her limbs weighed heavier than before, as if she had to grow stronger just to lift her legs and press on. Where she had been moving effortlessly through Julian’s bedroom, she now felt the weight of the iron in her soul, threatening to stop her in her tracks.

“You have to carry on,” Julian’s words echoed in her mind, feeding the pure flames of her will.

And she did, groaning as it took more and more out of her essence to stride forth, doubly so when the walls flared up, trying to discourage her from continuing and instead whispering to her; luring her into a false sense of security, promising an escape that the self-destructive madness behind her might offer. With the growing flames of the maze’s walls, another cloud of thick black smoke billowed out from them and engulfed her whole.

The tears had long dried—burned away by the searing heat. When the plumes parted and her vision cleared, she gazed upon her family life. Times growing up, ghostly rooms taking shape and dissolving before her eyes as she continued to wander through the maze without ever taking a wrong turn or even considering to turn back.

Here, she argued with Willow. There she played with Hannah. Being the middle child of three sisters always had been a mixture of blessing and curse. Willow, older, strong and aloof, always daddy’s favorite. Hannah, younger, sweet and doe-eyed, always pampered and cut some slack. Young Emily had to settle on the hand-me-downs from Willow but never had to feel the jealousy towards Hannah that Willow felt. Teenage Emily was cut no slack, expected to excel wherever Willow failed, and be a perfect example for Hannah.

Little Emily woke up in a panic from a nightmare and wandered into the living room. Dark, save the cold blue glow from the television set on the stand that her father was staring into. Tears streaked down Little Emily’s eyes as she approached him and told him about her bad dream. Mom was out of town on work.

Black rings of exhaustion lined Dad’s eyes from the long hours at work he had put behind him—from the time before he started his own hardware store—and he put most of his attention into the news on TV. Her repeated attempts to earn some comfort or calm from him only added to his annoyance with her that night, gnawing at his patience.

He slapped her. Stunned her. Told her he was too tired for this. Had an apology written on his face, but said nothing to that effect. She cried and went back to bed, alone, sobbing in solitude. He never did apologize, though that was the only time he ever hit her—and to Emily’s knowledge, hit anybody in his family.

Unlike in her raw memories, she suddenly heard a whisper. A thought. Then more, reaching her through the ether. These thoughts were not her own, but her father’s, forming in Iron Emily’s mind like speech, “Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that. Should I say something? I’ll apologize tomorrow. I mean, she really should respect me and leave me alone when I tell her to. God, she looks so miserable and pathetic. I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

Maybe things would have been different back then, had she known his thoughts. Iron Emily then wondered if hearing her thoughts was not just the madness catching up to her.

Iron Emily hardened and pulled her legs up, taking one step after another with renewed vigor, finding yet greater strength to continue. Nothing would be easy—nothing ever was. Though she vowed to not forget those who helped or loved her, she would expect no help from anybody. She left the sobbing Little Emily behind, the little girl who had strangely grown from this bit of trauma.

At a party her mother was hosting, Young Teenage Emily kept telling Mom that she didn’t want to play the guitar. A bunch of grown-up friends of Mom whom Emily didn’t particularly like were there, staring awkwardly and trying to not interfere with the minor drama unfolding.

Sure, Young Teenage Emily could play the guitar a little bit. But despite being a heavy metal enthusiast, she had never really gotten into it. Instead of going to all the lessons her parents paid for, she would rather hang out with Gay Chris, Carlos, Rodney, and Jimmy—getting high and talking about politics and philosophy with the average stoner’s depth of a shallow pond.

She could play a few chords, a few riffs, and had a shaky grasp on rendering some common songs. Just capable enough to softly play a couple of pieces on her acoustic guitar.

Mom haranguing her to perform something she neither wanted to nor thought she was particularly good at embarrassed her deeply, let alone in front of all these people she didn’t even know or give two shits about.

“Mom, come on. No.”

“You’re so talented, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mom hissed at her.

“I don’t wanna. I’m not even warmed up.”

“Come on, Emily, I believe in you.”

“No! I’m not going to play the stupid fucking guitar, alright?” Young Teenage Emily exploded, and Iron Emily could almost lip-sync it word for word; with that outburst having burnt itself into her memory.

Everybody stared. Someone bit their lip in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. Someone else almost cleared their throat, then changed their mind as to not draw attention to themselves.

Young Teenage Emily stormed out of the room. She went to her own room, brooded and paced for a few minutes, then climbed out of her window and went to hang out with her friends.

Iron Emily, however, witnessed what happened after Young Teenage Emily had left the scene.

Was this her imagination? The madness of this maze and her crumbling mind now manifesting in these scenarios, filling in the blanks? Or was the unfettered power of this place bleeding through reality, piercing the veil of time and space and showing her something that Young Teenage Emily had never seen?

Her mother went to the nearest couple and complained about her.

“I just don’t know what to do about her anymore. We tried everything to raise her right, but she started listening to heavy metal and smoking, and I think her friends are just a bad influence on her,” she said.

The guests did not contradict her. They nodded with their awkward, fake smiles, not trying to feed the fires of this conflict or take part in it in any way.

“She is always so angry, and explodes like that all the time. I think we really need to get her into counseling. Or therapy,” her mother said, shaking her head, explaining the situation to yet other guests.

The guests all tried to duck away from this conversation, growing uncomfortable. Emily could hear their thoughts; knew they wanted nothing to do with any of this. Disgust and rage welled up in the heart of Iron Emily, who silently and invisibly watched this unfold.

Foreign memories and minds broadcast their thoughts into her own consciousness; it was the only explanation. She couldn’t just be imagining this.

“You can change this,” Stinky Jim said from behind Iron Emily. He chortled, smoky and sinister. “You can make her pay.”

“For what?” Iron Emily asked. “She’s not all wrong.”

Stinky Jim cackled, “Oh, just wait, then. It’s going to get even better now.”

The guests were not impressed. Emily’s mom didn’t seem to understand that those nearby just wanted this awkward situation to end. They would nod and smile but those smiles were strained and their participation and compassion feigned. Some of them wanted to leave the party.

“She talked her older sister out of her relationship with her boyfriend and into lesbianism,” her mother lied, shaking her head with a theatrical sigh.

“The fuck,” Iron Emily growled. Her teeth screeched like a fork on the chalkboard as she ground them together as a result of the anger welling up in her gut.

Stinky Jim’s cackling erupted into full-blown laughter.

“She wasn’t even twelve years old when she started shoplifting. And that was after we caught her stealing toys from other kids. We did all we could, but she just—she never listens. There’s only so much you can do to raise a kid right, right?” her mother lied.

She kept inventing things to make Emily look bad and garner pity from her friends. Those same friends averted their eyes, exchanged nervous glances, and paid less and less attention to her; not engaging and only causing Emily’s mother to pile more and more brazen lies on top.

“She stole our car when she could barely reach the gas pedals and gave us quite the headache when we had to foot the bill for repairs.”

“The police brought her home one night and let her off easy, you know how it is.”

“I think she tried heroin.”

Stinky Jim’s laughter swelled to ever greater volume each time she lied about misdeeds Emily never committed. All the while, Iron Emily’s insides boiled. She refused to let the rage take control any longer. What if her mind could slice through space and time and change this? Stop this bullshit? But what if that obliterated her mother’s mind? The minds of her guests? Her morals clashed with her wrath.

“You have sworn to expose the truth. You could do that right here and now if you put your mind to it. You have real power now. Even greater power than you’re willing to embrace. You can punish liars. Just gotta use your head,” Stinky Jim said, egging Iron Emily on. He stoked the fires of wrath in the depth of her being. Part of her wanted to give in and test the limitations of her power; wanted to make her mom pay for doing this.

But Iron Emily gathered herself. Breathed. Focused. Took control over the rage. Just like the old homeless man told her to. She wanted so badly to lash out, but she had to get out of this. She remembered where she truly was: inside the fiery maze. Not in this moment.

She would let it slide. The realities of future times slid into being, overlapping and overlaying this scenery.

Nowadays, Emily visited her mother regularly. Mom would talk about conspiracy theories after her long combined shifts of dog sitting, working at her backwater supermarket, and work in a retirement home. Emily would take the time to debunk or confirm whatever nonsense she had picked up from the yellow press and Facebook.

Maybe their relationship would transform, now that Iron Emily knew of this day and what horrible things her mother had said about her in her absence. Still, she wondered if any of this was even real.

Stinky Jim laughed and didn’t even need to say anything.

Iron Emily knew this was real. Realities clashing, connecting; she stood in an intersection of worlds.

The imagery faded away like smoke being dragged away by a gust of wind. As it cleared, only more imagery unfolded beyond it: places Emily had never been. Moments of minds that never reached her, thoughts that bounced around in her skull.

Her mom sat alone in the glow of a TV set in a dark room, when Emily’s exposé on the human trafficking ring aired on national television. She sat up in surprise when she saw Emily on screen, personally delivering some statements, followed by voice-over narration for the segment.

Surprise. Pride. Mom was proud of her now. She cried tears of joy and she was proud of what her little girl had become: exposing those monsters, cracking the veil wide open and revealing those injustices for all to see. She wiped her tears and could not stop listening and watching. The content of the exposé upset her; learning of the personal fates of individual victims—such as Tran—caused her mother to feel sick. But above all the emotional upheaval lingered a profound happiness and pride over her daughter’s accomplishment.

Not only her mother felt this way. As the fiery winds carried embers and whisked away these images as well, they revealed a room in which her father, Sean, sat on the couch next to his second wife, Christine. They, too, watched TV and saw the same exposé airing on national TV.

He stared into the glow of the device, wide-eyed and surprised. His mind swam in the same place: proud of his daughter’s achievement. Sean also regretted how little contact they still had and for the first time in his life, realized how much of that had been on him.

By contrast, Christine’s thoughts circled in different, darker places. She saw Emily’s success on clear display on the television and only wondered how she could help her biological daughter to be more successful than Emily. These pieces of thoughts and feelings did not just reach Emily’s being like spoken words, intercepted by her mind, but they took more tangible forms.

Stinky Jim’s laughter had long gone silent. Though Iron Emily felt his presence, his quiet only spelled out a tense anticipation. A curiosity. Emily stood on the precipice of discovering something new, and the demon of madness could hardly wait to see her experience that breakthrough.

She tasted Christine’s personal vice. Sour and bitter and artificial and unsatisfying, like sucking on a piece of plastic-covered cardboard. Christine’s pride burned brightly, and Emily tasted it as clearly as the aftertaste of coffee and cigarettes clinging to her tongue.

Christine got up in a huff and switched the TV off.

“Enough of that,” she told Sean.

“What if you could burn that nonsense right out of her?” asked Stinky Jim.

Iron Emily shook her head and shut her eyes.

Smoke and fire tore through this memory, tearing Emily away from the insights it delivered. When she opened her eyes again, the memories of her parents had made way for the inferno of the labyrinth once more. Iron Emily had seen enough, anyway. Daddy, for whom she was never good enough, was proud of her. She dismissed the spark of defiance that threatened to arise in her, and decided to embrace this little victory for what it was. She would hold onto that.

Emily could have touched their minds, changed their being, but decided against it.

The smoke billowed past her and violent winds fought her progression. Still she continued on, one deliberate step after another. Every time, the heat threatened to melt her, she forced her legs to lift and take another step, yet again.

“You’re not special,” said the demon behind her. “You’re no better than anybody else, sitting on your high horse. You and your stupid moral high grounds. Fictions you cling onto to make yourself feel better when all you’re doing is looking down on the rest of the shit-stains that populate the world around you. You probably think you’re so great for not using your newfound mojo, not reaching into their petty little human minds and wrenching around in there. So noble I could puke. So responsible. But let’s see just how long that lasts.”

With a thunderclap, a torrent of flames exploded outwards, cascading through the maze’s corridors towards Emily. She braced herself, leaning into the massive weight of her iron body. She clutched her hand in front of her—the iron gauntlet—it pierced her mind, cutting through every thought when she closed her eyes. Always there, even when she tried not to think about it. Now shielding her from these infernal forces.

The maze took her to another place.

“Let’s see who you really are when you stare into the abyss,” growled the demon.

After a double take, Iron Emily knew she stood in Starkford Penitentiary. A different part of it; a section she had never seen with her own two eyes—the mess hall where the inmates ate.

Kathryn Shaw sat in between other women, all of them dressed in their bright orange jumpsuits. The woman who had murdered Julian with a two-by-four. She ate from her tray, stuffing her face; a face deformed by too much plastic surgery.

Julian’s murderer didn’t look like she had aged a day. Iron Emily realized that this must have been some time after she had gone to the prison to get answers from Kathryn. Probably a good deal after, or she would have still been a sporting a black eye or two from when Emily lost her mind and attacked her.

Iron Emily cringed as a sea of thoughts and emotions crashed in on her from every direction. The minds of all the inmates and guards here washed over her, drowning her in waves of despair and contempt and surrender and negativity. The tempest of emotions clouded her with such intensity that her own rage towards Kathryn Shaw had no room to well up again.

“You know you can do more than just read minds, right? You can reach into them and clutch. Grab. Tear. Squeeze. Rend,” said the demon. His growls came through gritted teeth. Emily could hear the sadistic grin growing on his face without even looking at him. “You can kill with a thought, little girl. Just think hard enough and focus your mind like a blade. One precise thought, sharp like a guillotine’s edge. That’s all it takes.”

Iron Emily focused. The world froze for a split second and she pushed all the thoughts back. The chatter, like a million radios running different programs all at the same time, all went silent. Even Stinky Jim choked, unable to taunt her any more for now. All minds blocked out at once—all but one. The screech of microphone feedback died down and all she heard was a faint whisper, coming from Kathryn’s direction. The only thoughts Emily was curious about now.

Sadness.

It hit her like a truck, overwhelming her senses, making her light-headed and dizzy. Iron Emily didn’t feel tethered in place by her iron body at all any more, rather as light as a feather, like she teetered back and forth and nearly fell down.

Stinky Jim’s claws gingerly clutched her by her shoulders and helped her stay standing.

“Why would I kill her now?” Emily asked. It took her a moment until it dawned on her: the same sadistic grin she sensed to be forming on the demon’s maw was now plastered across her own lips. “She’s right where she belongs. Getting what she fucking deserves. Rotting in prison for the rest of her life. Justice isn’t served if I kill her now. Being a husk and withering away in prison would be the right punishment for this crazy bitch. Fuck her.”

The sadness made way to imagery. Emily could see the movie playing in Kathryn’s mind; glimpses of her own little world. A bizarre fantasy that defied all semblance of reality.

Full-on delusions. Kathryn saw herself getting out of prison soon. She had fooled herself into thinking she was some sort of A-list celebrity. Had all the famous directors lined up, ready to talk to her once she was out of here. She would be even more famous than before going into the slammer. Her private army of lawyers would get her out long before she had served her full sentence. Make a mint off of an autobiography book deal, too.

Julian wasn’t dead in Kathryn’s little fantasy world, either. Part of why she’d get out so easily.

Sure, none of it was real. But Kathryn believed it with all her heart and soul.

Stinky Jim roared with laughter.

“Justice, huh? Ten years later, she’ll still be happy in her blissful little make-believe castle. And where will you be?” he asked, egging her on. “Kill her, killer. I know you’ve got it in you.”

Emily rocked back and forth in the padded cell. Iron Emily screamed and willed that image away. Nobody in the mess hall heard the scream. They just carried on with their lives, lips smacking as they ate the slop served up as meals.

“Fuck this. And fuck you, Stinky Jim. Killing Kathryn serves no one,” Iron Emily cursed. The inner fire of defiance exploded outwards, wreathed her in fire. She spoke in multiple menacing voices when she added, “I am being reborn now. And this is what I was meant to do—reveal the truth.”

Iron Emily focused. She breathed fire, like a dragon. Holding out her hand, the gauntlet around her fist was real. She unfurled her fingers, marveling at their claw-like shape. She focused harder, and the world breathed her, sucking her towards Kathryn, pulling her through a vortex of intertwining realities. Iron Emily stood behind Kathryn and reached into her mind with the gauntlet-clad hand.

She tasted the pride in Kathryn’s mind, for it tasted the same bitter disgusting plastic way that Christine’s vice shared. With the gauntlet, she gripped at the barriers inside of Kathryn’s brain with all her might—taking hold of the prison bars and expensive doors and beautiful illusions that Kathryn Shaw had erected around her core self to protect her mind from the horrors she had inflicted and the horror that she had become.

The gauntlet clenched shut into a fist. Crushed, shattering glass and mortar, bending steel like it was nothing. Iron Emily tore away at the walls of Kathryn’s delusions, peeling them back until Julian’s murderer could glimpse reality for just one moment.

She was here for murdering Julian Stone. She was serving a life sentence in Starkford Penitentiary. Her career was over. Her cell mate hated her. One of the cooks probably spit in her food. Her life was hell, and all of it was her own making.

Emily didn’t even need to construct these thoughts. They all came pouring in on their own, the stark and cruel weight of reality crashing inside like a lake flowing in through a breaking dam.

Kathryn’s fork dropped into her food tray. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. The harsh truths of the world outside the fantasy she had created caught up with her.

Iron Emily wept tears of fire and sealed the illusion again. Just a glimpse. Just enough to make her suffer for a brief moment. Just enough to make her pay. But it rang hollow. It gave Iron Emily no satisfaction. Kathryn’s evident suffering even filled Emily with a short pang of guilt. She shrugged it off and screamed into the void again, getting no response from anybody in the prison.

Only Stinky Jim responded—with more sadistic laughter. The inmates and guards all melted away, transforming into smoke and embers. They spiraled upwards until the fiery walls of the maze subsumed them all, and Iron Emily was surrounded by the inferno again.

“How the fuck was that better than killing her? You heartless bitch,” the demon said. “Can’t wait to see what crimes against humanity you’re capable of committing.”

Iron Emily ignored him and swiveled, struggling to find her way through the firestorm. Her heart beat faster when she gazed upon Blue Flame Emily, an unsteady beacon shining out from the center of the maze. The flames grew larger and obscured that vision, but Iron Emily had seen her clearly enough to know: she had gotten much closer. Halfway there.

She refused to be the Emily in that padded cell. She refused to give up now. Just thinking that, realizing that—it filled her with new vigor. Her soul flared up with newfound determination. The next steps she took to brave the maze came much easier; each one of them much lighter than the last.

She would make it. She would see what destiny had in store for her.

—Submitted by Wratts

[scullysexual]

titanic au | multichapter-au | au | multiple parts | historical au | msr | mature | ao3 | 10/13 | @today-in-fic​​ | 

For Mulder, a wealthy English-bred socialite who’s had everything given to him since birth, the Titanic is shipping him off to a prison, a life he no longer wishes for or wants. For Scully, an Irish stranger from the lower class, it offers a new life, a future she can truly envision in America. What if the universe put them on the same path to achieve those dreams at the cost of life? 

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

A JEWEL BENEATH THE MOONLIGHT: CHAPTER TEN.

The water is surely climbing its way up now, people will be making their way to the top deck, people will be running by this room.

But Scully has yet to hear a thing. No one’s came down this corridor. What’s even along this corridor aside from this office and maybe a few storage closets?

She glances outside the porthole, to water. Scully could see out of this earlier, just along the water’s surface.

This is bad.

In one last hopeless plea that someone is near enough to hear her, she bangs the chain against the pipe, screaming as loud as she can.

“Can someone help me!”

Still, there’s not a soul around.

And where is Mulder?

Probably on a lifeboat, sailing away from any danger, a nasty voice far back in her mind answers. Scully shakes the bitter noise away. She has to focus on herself before this gets very bad.

She tries everything in that moment; scrunching her hand up to see if they’ll fit through the holes, hanging her weight off the chain to see if it’ll break, but the chain is solid metal, the bracelets made well enough that nobody but a magician could get out of them. And Scully is no magician.

She slumps against the pipe, wrists aching, hands hurting.

“This is bad,” she says, her eyes closing in defeat.

Her heart freezes when she hears the faint sound of water sloshing. Eyes opening quicker than they closed, she watches the water begin to creep in from beneath the door.

“Shit,” she cries, immediately moving her arms to the top of the pipe and beginning to climb as more water slips in.

It moves at a speed despite the pressure, in minutes this room will be swimming.

In a desperate attempt, Scully tries breaking the cuffs again, beating them, metal against metal.

The water slowly begins to rise, dislodging the furniture from its place in the room. In minutes this entire room will be submerged, Scully with it.

“Come on…come on…” she repeats as a mantra, the banging of metal, her cries, and the sound of water the only noise to be heard throughout the corridor.

Until.

Scully! Scully!

At first she’s unsure if she’s heard it right, yet relief spreads through her all the same.

There’s only one person in the entire of Titanic to call her by her last name.

Mulder.

The water now approaching her knees, Scully climbs onto the table, the buoyancy will keep her afloat for much longer.

“…Scully!”

“Mulder!” she shouts back in response. “Mulder, I’m in here!”

Her eyes stay fixed on the door that’s just partially open, praying the incoming water keeps it that way.

“Scully…” she hears Mulder call again but it sounds further away.

“Mulder, I need you to follow my voice!” she calls back, trying to guide him to her. “Just follow my voice and keep shouting!”

“Scully!”

Good, it sounds near now.

“Keep moving forward, Mulder. There’s an open door, I’m in here!”

She sits on the desk now, floating above the water that still continues to rise. As she looks around for something Mulder can use to break the handcuffs, it’s the first time she notices the slight tilt in the room. If her geography is correct, the front of the ship will go down first. They need to get to the back.

“Scully!”

Mulder stands in the doorway, as real as this sinking is, and Scully finally allows the hope for survival to return. Relief floods through her as her body finally relaxes.

“Mulder…”

He pushes various bits of furniture out of the way, coming to a stop in front of her.

Instantly she feels his lips descend onto hers. Scully melts into the kiss, comforted by the fact that she now isn’t alone in this watery hell.

She lets them kiss for a bit longer before allowing reality to set back in.

They pull away, foreheads falling against each other. Scully allows herself this moment to just draw strength from Mulder, to finally understand that she’s no longer alone, that for now it’s the two of them.

She briefly lets the fear go.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I should of,” Mulder whispers and Scully smiles slightly, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry about that now.” She lifts her head up, shaking her still handcuffed hands. “You need to find a key or something.”

The water is a lot deeper now, almost up to Mulder’s chest. Scully doesn’t even want to think of where it’ll come up for her.

“A key, right.” Mulder moves away from her, headed towards the key cabinet and throwing open the doors. “What colour was it?”

“Brass, I think.”

“Brass…brass…There’s no brass key!”

The panic begins to set in again. Her eyes dart about the room, looking for anything that can be used to break the cuffs. She spins around, losing the buoyancy of the table in her rush to find something, yelping as the cold water brushes against her leg as she fights not to fall in.

Mulder is there, grasping a hand out and steading the table, allowing Scully to regain her balance.

Slower this time, Scully continues to look around the room. As she scans past the door, something red catches her eye.

An axe.

“There!” she shouts, pointing towards the door. “The axe.” Mulder follows her point, seeing what she sees then quickly turns back to her.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

The room continues to fill, getting deeper and deeper as time is wasted.

“Yes!” Scully all but cries. “Go!”

Her eyes do not move from Mulder as he paddles his way out of the room, breaking the glass with his fists and yanking the axe from its case. He re-enters, axe in hand and Scully prepares herself, spreads her arms as much as she can with what little leeway the chain gives her.

“Go on,” she encourages, biting down on the panic and nerves. If this goes wrong, this is going to hurt.

Mulder looks straight into her eyes, asking, “You trust me?”

For some insane reason she does, she really does. “Yes, I trust you.”

He nods, poises the axe in the air and swings. At the last second Scully shuts her eyes, preparing herself for the pain and the blood.

The axe collides with the chain, breaking the metal in half and lodging itself within the pipe.

Scully can’t believe it, he did it. She opens her eyes, catches Mulder’s equally surprised expression. Now free, she pulls him into her, hugging and thanking him over and over again. His arms fold around her, holding her tight against him.

“We need to go,” he says pulling away.

He’s right, they don’t have long and they have four decks to climb up before they can get on a lifeboat.

Mulder helps her down into the water and Scully has never felt cold like it- it burns her nerves, stabbing every place imaginable.

“Shit!” she cries, how the hell has Mulder been standing in this for so long?

“I know, come on.” He grabs onto her hand and Scully notices she can’t touch the floor without going under. She tries to remain calm, to not let that panic overwhelm her. Just keep hold of Mulder and once they are off E-Deck they should be safe.

Grasping hold of Mulder’s hand, Scully half swims-half paddles her way out of the office.

“Shit, the exits blocked,” she hears Mulder say above the torrent of water bursting through the door at the end of the corridor. She sees it too, a wave of pressured water that would kill them alone.

The lights flicker above, the electricity struggling to stay one against the onslaught of ice-cold water, combined with the creaking as Titanic struggles to withstand the added weight, it makes for an incredibly eerie setting.

“Come on, there’s got to be another way out,” Scully shouts above the waves. She takes the lead, heading in the opposite direction and into the darkness ahead.

 It’s a labyrinth. A maze of cabins and storage rooms. Whoever designed the Titanic never intended for it to be an easy escape.

Scully sighs in frustration at yet another dead end and to make matters worse they were still on E-Deck.

“This is stupid!” she cries, kicking the door and sighing once more in frustration.

“You hear that?” Mulder asks.

Scully stops huffing and puffing for a moment to listen.

“This way. Go down there and to you’re left, now…Stop running! You’re not allowed to run down the corridors! This way, Miss.”

A smile begins spreading across Scully’s face, never has she been more happy to near another’s voice. She moves towards the door, pressing her ear against it.

“There’s a corridor on the other side of this door,” she says and Mulder nods.

Still, there is one more issue.

“So how do we get through it?”

Mulder smiles, “I just broke metal, woods gonna be no issue for me.”

Scully watches as Mulder repeatedly slams his shoulder against the wooden door.

“That’s White Starline Property,” she says, a smirk across her face. There’s no humour in it really.

“Don’t you start, as well.”

It takes a few more slams of the shoulder, Scully helping out towards the end but eventually the wood snaps and they both fall through to the other corridor.

Briskly, they start fast-walking their way to an exit. Down the corridor and to the left, as the man said.

“Oi!” A voice behind them shouts, different to the one earlier. “That’s White Starline Property, you’ll have to pay for that, you know.” It was funnier when Scully said it because she hadn’t meant it like this imbecile shouting at them.

Ever in sync, Mulder and Scully spin at the same time, both huffing out an annoyed Shut up! to the boy-steward. They don’t wait to gauge the lad’s reaction before they’re turning the corridor to…

A mob of third class passengers.

“We just want a chance, for god’s sake, let us through!” an Irish man shouts at the top of his lungs. He and a few others occupy the very front of the rally, many of the other passengers egging them on as they shout at the stewards on the other side of the gate.

Bastards have locked the gates, Scully realises.

“Count on the Irish to start a riot,” Mulder jokes though his worry at their current situation sweeps through as he looks around for another way out.

“I think this time it’s justified,” says Scully, also looking for another way free. In the corner stands a mother and her two children. The boy tugs against his mother’s coat.

Scully doesn’t hear what the lad asks but hears the mother response.

“Soon. There just getting the first class people onto the boats, and then they’ll be starting with us.”

Scully’s heart breaks in two at the false hope. She wonders what one would say in this situation, what she would say if she had children. Lie like this woman has or tell the truth? That they’re not getting out any time soon.

Her attention is diverted when she hears a familiar voice shout through the crowd.

“Aye, you just want to safe the first class bastards, forget about the poor stuck at the bottom, you slimy gits!”

Relief floods through her at the sound of Charlie’s voice. He’s alive.

For now.

She watches the red-headed boy push away from the gate and force his way through the crowd. Defeated and hopeless, Scully reaches out to him.

“Charlie!”

Immediately, the boy perks up at the sound of his voice. He spies her instantly, running the last couple of steps towards them.

“Dana.” He collapses into her embrace instantly, no longer needing to be the riot-leader and can just be the younger brother sourcing comfort from his older sister in a time of panic.

“It’s no use, Dee,” Charlie says against her. “There not letting anyone through.”

Still hugging her brother, Scully looks anxiously towards Mulder. Reading her request just simply through her look, Mulder jostles his way through the people. Scully ends her embrace, brushing past Charlie to follow Mulder up the stairs.

“You have to wait your turn,” one of the stewards say. “They’re not ready for you to board yet.”

“You have to let us through,” Mulder says, speaking over their script. “These people deserve a chance to live.”

“You have to wait your turn, they’re not ready for you yet.”

“Jesus Christ, man!” Scully speaks up, angered by the handling of this situation. “There’s women and children down here!”

But the steward refuses to deviate from his script. His constant conscending voice riles Scully. She grasps her fingers around the gate’s bars and furiously shakes them, making her anger known to the stewards and people around them. She doesn’t even bother to listen to their Now stop that, or we won’t let you through at all respond before she’s launching herself down the stairs.

“See, it’s hopeless,” says Charlie.

Scully wasn’t prepared to die by being handcuffed to a pipe, and she isn’t prepared to die stuck behind a gate. Adrenaline and anger surging through her, she looks around for some implement to use to break all the steward’s faces when she finds something better.

“Charlie, help me with this bench,” she instructs, bending to grasp the bench.

“You cannae be serious, Dana?” Charlie says, his eyes wide with shock at his sister’s irrationalism.

“Do you want to live?”

Charlie does as he’s told, gaining a hold on the bench. A few others around them, including the first Irish to shout before, realises what they are planning to do and all pitch in to help, grabbing the middle.

“Ready,” says Scully. “One…two…three…” Together, the four of them rip the bench from the floor. Using all her strength, Scully positions the bench to her chest, ready to ram it against the gate.

The stewards realise what their doing, her eyes widening with shock as the insistent stewards yells at them to stop and put that bench down. They ignore him, and all together bash the bench against the gate as the stewards make a run for it. People cheer them on, Mulder keeps the path clear as they ram the bench into the gate twice more before the flimsy metal snaps and a hole is created.

They begin jumping through. Mulder helps Scully over and they run through D-Deck. They run for their lives.

[vore-scientist]

In Which Sophia Makes Some New Friends

A tale of the Mystic Woods

(read the other stories/comics here, and all posts related to Mystic Woods can be found here)

THIS IS A DIRECT SEQUEL TO THIS STORY

Content warnings: No actual vore in this story, sorry! But discussion of both safe and fatal (I tried to make it humorous/light hearted, it makes sense). Also GT cuddles at the end ;) 

---

Sophia paced around Yonah’s desk. After the unfortunate encounter with the meddlesome prince, Yonah had wandered off to get a healing potion. That was fine, while she waited she admired all the little things on the desk, and the books in languages that she had only begun to learn to read, but that someday she would be fluent in.

“Yonah?” came a voice. “Hey Yonah, you there?”

It was a man’s voice, and it was near. Sophia froze and looked around. The mirror, the small mirror on Yonah’s desk! She ran to it, and saw in it the face of what could only be another wizard.

The man had a red and black mustache, kind green eyes, a big floppy wizard’s hat, and beautiful yellow and blue wizard’s robes, which were accented with silver and black. His hands were behind his back and he was looking around expectantly, until he saw Sophia, and he startled, but recovered fast.

“Sayyyyyyy! You’re not Yonah!” said the man, smiling with suspicion, “Who are you?”

“I’m, I’m Princess Sophia of the Kingdom of Orr!” she declared without thinking. Then a terrible thought struck her, what if this man in the mirror was an evil wizard. Those existed! A continent to the west had an entire Society of Wizards who were always up to some evil.

“A princess...” then the man grinned like an idiot, “WAIT A PRINCESS? No shit!”

His face turned away and he shouted at someone out of view, “SHOSH! HEY SHOSH! YONAH WENT AND KIDNAPPED A PRINCESS!”

“HE DID WHAT! YOU BETTER NOT BE FUCKING WITH ME MICA!”

“IM SERIOUS COME TO THE MIRROR!”

A moment later a woman, also wearing a wizard’s hat appeared next to Mica and gasped. “oh dear gods that’s a princess alright!” Except for her ruby red lipstick, she had no makeup on, but she had numerous facial piercings. She had wild brown hair and large oval spectacles that made her green-brown eyes appear buggy.

Sophia fidgeted with her gown, she wasn’t some spectacle to be gawked at by whoever these people were. She wished she wasn’t in a blood spattered nightgown. She wished that Yonah was here.

“And who,” said Sophia, as sweet as she could, “are you?”

“Oh how terribly rude of us!” said Mica, still smiling, “I’m Mica, Mica Cohen! And this is Shoshana Jaffe, we’re friends of Yonah and we were hoping to talk to him,”

Sophia was stunned “Yonah has friends!?”

Mica and Shoshana burst out laughing.

“Yes dear girl, he has friends,” said Shoshana, “you can’t stay sane in a prison without them.”

“I’ve been here for two months! How have I not heard of you?” Sophia was planning to chew Yonah out about this when he felt better. What else was he hiding. Probably a lot, wizards liked their secrets... But why would he hide friends from her! How many more friends did he have?

“You mean you’re serious. Yonah hasn’t mentioned us?” Shoshana looked genuinely hurt.

“No! until now I thought he was a sad lonely man!”

The wizards laughed again.

“Well he’s not sad” said Shoshana, “angry more like, but not anymore than your average firewitch.”

“Nor is he really a man, kinda, half a man,” said Mica, thoughtfully.

“Lonely, well now, we wish we could visit more often, he is kinda stuck in one place.”

/Yeah, you can thank my dad for that/ thought Sophia. But thought it was better not to mention Yonah’s semi-house arrest sentence was handed down by her father.

“But now you’re there! This is so wonderful!” said Shoshana with glee, before turning serious, “unless, you’re lying and you’re a giant slayer, disguised as a princess.”

“What?”

“Whose blood are you currently wearing?” she narrowed her eyes.

What an odd way to phrase that, “it’s, well it’s Yonah’s but”

Shoshana raised an eyebrow, something about her presence, even through a mirror grew dark and threatening. Mica remained bright, if scared.

“Um, well you see, there was an incident this morning, with a prince, and…”

She told them what happened. They were a good audience, gasping and cheering at all the right places, and they didn’t interrupt her. Until she got to the part where Yonah ate the prince. They both looked a little green.

“He, ate the prince?” Mica’s voice shook. He and Shoshana exchanged worried looks.

Uh oh. Guess Yonah’s friends didn’t know. Too late now.

“Y-yes, but he spit him out! He ran off after that.” They relaxed, a bit, but continued to look at her suspiciously.

“And then you called” Sophia ended lamely, “that’s it!”

“And the blood?” Shoshana hadn’t noticed that Sophia failed to explain it.

In reality Sophia just forgot.

“Yonah’s… insides got roughed up by the prince’s armor and I ended up in the line of fire when he coughed”

She looked up from her gown to see the two wizard staring past her. Shoshana grinned wickedly.

“Ah, Yonah, Sophia here has been telling us all about your adventure from not moments ago!”

/“SHE WHAT!”/ cried Yonah. Except, as the words made it to his lips a stabbing pain in his throat stopped him, closing his airways as he coughed himself catatonic. So instead he just sat down and stared at the mirror through a slightly teary haze.

“Yonah, this young woman says that you’re a man-eating giant now! Can you lend credence to this? Has our Yonah truly become the monster that the professors said he would? Yonah, eater of men, kidnapper of princesses!” the sarcasm heavy in Shoshana’s voice.

No. no no no no no. no NO. This was not happening. This day was so crappy to begin with.

“He’s not denying it, so it must be true!” Mica said, matter a factly.

This wasn’t at all how he expected this to go down. He had kept his instances of “man-eating” hidden from his friends, sure that they would never speak to him again if they found out that he’d ever eaten a human.

But… they weren’t mad.

Didn’t matter. Getting teased about it was almost worse. He rubbed the moisture from his eyes.

“It’s not like you go around hunting humans” said Mica before getting serious “and it’s not like you were keeping this hidden while in school. You weren’t, right? You didn’t eat anyone at school? Was tasting us not enough?”

For the first time, Mica and Shoshana looked genuinely worried. Maybe they HAD been wrong about Yonah.

“No, No. I-I didnt eat anyone.” said Yonah, his voice high and quiet, he looked scared, “typically, giants only eat those who break into their houses, to steal or to kill” he recited. They’d heard the line before.

And regardless, the school was never his home, Of course he wasn’t ever interested in eating his fellow students. Tasting them was another matter, plenty of them smelled incredible. His friends did and still do occasionally allow him a taste, just to tease him.

Up until Sophia he wouldn’t have even dared to eat them! It was too dangerous. A thief he could risk swallowing and spitting back up before they died. Standard procedure to shock and punish them. And a Slayer’s life was forfeit. When they failed and escaped they usually returned and one way or another someone would end up dead.

“What about professors? I feel like some of them deserve to be eaten” Mica continued, all previous concern now gone, he was back to antagonizing.

“N-no, I just said that-“ but apparently Mica wasn’t listening and Yonah’s interjections fell upon uncaring ears.

“Like Professor Thuorbir! What a prick.” said Mica.

“I think he was also a giant slayer!” said Shoshana, her voice containing energy that Mica’s didn’t even come close to, “you should totally eat him, he’s still an asshole. Fucker rejected my research proposal for a third time!”

Gods this was not happening. Yonah put his now burning face into his hands.

“I’m not gonna eat Mr.Thuorbir,” Yonah managed to say through is stupor. Though he silently agreed that the man certainly deserved it, regardless of giant slaying. His head was buzzing.

Mica looked at Shoshana incredulously

“Shosh, that was because your proposal was to research a spell that would have turned the entire Mystic Woods PINK, down to the littlest ant! None of the professors would have approved that” he said before turning to Sophia. “The one before that, she wanted to propose researching a spell that would give the caster dominion over all bees. All of them. Knowing full well that attempting godhood is ILLEGAL.”

Sophia giggled and tried to imagine her father’s kingdom becoming a uniform shade of pink. Oh dear. Maybe she should tell her father, in case Shoshana actually attempted it.

“Well, just because they don’t want an army of bees” said Shoshana, nose in the air, arms crossed. “And it wasn’t a proposal to actually do it, just to design a spell that could.”

“I hate you both, you know that,” said Yonah.

“We know you mean love!” said Shoshana.

“Anyways, it can’t have really happened,” said Shoshana. “Not the way you said it did at the very least.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Yonah.

Mica looked at her in shock, he had clearly believed the story. This wouldn’t be the first time Shoshana had gone along with a ridiculous farce just for the drama of it, but as far as he knew, Yonah hadn’t spoken to Shoshana that recently, not without him present. And Yonah’s pain was real, his embarrassment was real.

Shoshana sighed and rubbed at her glasses.

“You don’t believe-“ Sophia started to say

“Oh I believe he’s eaten people. Comes with the territory at this point. But you’re” she eyed Yonah, “You’re kind of, too small to swallow a person whole, right? You’d have to, oh I don’t know, rip into them with your teeth like they were a prime rib.”

/Ugh, what a great image, thanks Shosh/ thought Yonah.

“It’s not really worth trying to claim the prince survived for our benefit. If eating people was a dealbreaker we wouldn’t be friends with dragons or ogres or that Sphinx that guards the gates to the tunnels of-“

“Yonah did swallow the prince whole!” Sophia wasn’t about to let the wizards think she had lied, “And yes, he’s killed a few assholes that way but he let the prince live! And thieves too! He eats them all the time but always lets them go!” She was almost shouting now, “And! And Yonah swallows me all the time! And if you haven’t noticed, I’m in one piece.”

All eyes were on her and everyone was silent, no one moved or blinked, but Yonah’s face became scarlet. Sophia played with her dress in her hands, and looked up at Yonah.

“Um, was I not supposed to tell them that?” she squeaked out.

“Yonah HaEsh, how could you!?” Shoshana yelled, no longer playful, “eat a princess!? You could kill her! She’s not a knight or a giant slayer! What on earth were you thinking? So we need to rescue her from you?”

Yonah’s embarrassment had turned to anger as his hair started to smoke and the roots glowed orange. He was breathing sharp breaths, seething with anger, until one got caught sending him into a into another coughing fit and onto the floor. Sophia took the opportunity to rectify her mistake.

But there was no need. Shoshana has gone white.

“Oh dear, I think I overdid it!”

“You think? Now Yonah thinks we hate him! Next time don’t seem so serious,” Mica chided her. Shoshana muttered something about wasting her skills and addressed Sophia again.

“But seriously, how!” she said, “How does he physically manage to swallow a person whole? And you said he eats you all the time! How the fuck has he managed to avoid fucking up and killing you or the thieves!” color had returned to her face. No longer bothered by Yonah’s plight, even though she had caused it. Mica shot her a death glare.

“Oh like you weren’t thinking the same thing!”

Mica sighed. “I was but I have the manners not to voice it. We could have called back tomorrow. But it’s too late now.”

They both looked at Sophia expectantly.

“Oh um, well, the thieves he just spits up real quick but myself... Yonah, enchanted me, so that he can’t hurt me” Sophia explained everything as Yonah wheezed in the background, still on the floor, but no longer in danger of coughing up a lung.

Shoshana’s eyes sparkled with greed. Mica was deep in thought.

“Wait are you sure this was an enchantment, because it sounds like curse.” Mica finally said.

“Well,” said Sophia, “the difference is a matter of perspective isn’t it.”

Which was true. One could see gems falling from ones mouth when one talked as a blessing, until everyone in the kingdom wanted you as their piggy bank and your voice was hoarse from being made to talk non stop and the economy is ruined by your gem contributions. Then it’s a curse. Becoming a glass statue would be a curse, but that’s not how it worked.

“That must have been an expensive procedure,” said Mica.

“It was, but he got the money from my dad,” Sophia made the last few words harsh and final. She was still bitter that her dad had instructed and funded Yonah to traumatize her into running back home. Jokes on him, it hadn’t worked and Yonah was her friend now! Showed him!

“He managed to only cast half a curse! He could publish with a trick like that” she said thoughtfully, but with a touch of envy.

“There would be a problem with rational,” Mica pointed out, “he would have to invent a fake reason! He can’t say he did it so he could eat one specific person and not worry about them dying!”

Shoshana nodded and laughed.

“To answer your other question, I don't know how he does it, because you’re right, by all means he shouldn’t. But even he doesn’t know.” Sophia said, the wizards were disappointed. Sophia tried to brighten their mood by suggesting they investigate it. They considered this with great pleasure.

“I’m just unable to picture it,” She was talking to Sophia again. “I-“ she shuddered with wicked glee as she had a new thought. “ Yes, I’d like to see it for myself. I don’t suppose, since it was your idea to research this, that you would be willing to give us a demonstration?”

That surprised both Sophia and Mica, but Mica’s grin said that he liked that idea.

Now it was Sophia’s turn to go red. Sophia rubbed her back of her head. Let someone watch? Having just seen Yonah eat the prince, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Yonah’s friends to see it. Even if they had joked about him giving into his more monstrous heritage. Sophia had seen it. That side of him did exist. But it had been her idea. She regretted planting the idea in their stupid wizard brains.

“I’ll, consider it, but Yonah’s in no condition right now.”

“Oh of course not dear! Just call us or something, there’s not rush,” Shoshana winked, “especially if it’s a regular occurrence, plenty of opportunities to observe.”

Yes, Sophia was realizing that about the thieves as well. She wondered how regular they were too, and if she could get involved in thief catching. 

Shaking badly, Yonah got up from the floor, pulling himself up to his stool. His face was very red, and his eyes glistened, tears steaming up his face.

Sophia turned to him “They’re over it, I explained it, you can stop being such a big baby and extinguish yourself”

Yonah glared at her but his head stopped smoldering and his eyes were back to brown.

“I think,” he wheezed, “I think I need to lie down, let the healing drought actually take effect.”

“Yonah darling you do look awful, we’ll get out of your hair, but don’t think we are done talking about this! Next time I expect a demonstration!” said Shoshana “goodbye Princess Sophia it was an absolute pleasure meeting your highness!” and before Mica could say a word she waved a hand in front of the mirror, turning it back to a normally mirror.

“Thank you Mirror” Sophia said, placing a hand on the golden edge. It made a small hum of acknowledgement.

“Come on let’s get you to bed,” Sophia looked up at the disheveled and gaunt wizard who picked her up and held her close to his chest as he walked back to his room. The sun had been up for an only hour yet the day felt like it was already over. He needed a nap.

He released Sophia onto the night stand, took off his hat, did not take off his slightly blood stained night robe, and collapsed face forward on the bed, breathing heavily.

Sophia sighed and climbed down the nightstand and using the still loose bed sheets, climbed onto the bed and onto Yonah. He didn’t protest, or make any sign that he knew she was there, but he had to know.

“Hey, you did good today, and your friends still love you, and I’m still your friend. I don’t think you made friends with that prince but he seemed like a dick so who cares.”

A painful chuckle shook from beneath her as Yonah rolled onto his back, Sophia scrambling to keep up with the rotation. Sitting on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. he brought his hand up to pet Sophia gently. His hand was warm and rough, and Sophia leaned into it, tickling his palm.

She fell asleep like that, Yonah’s warm hand of a weighted blanket.

Yonah had one last panicked thought before sleep took him.

/Had Shosh said DEMONSTRATION?/

[Thanks for reading! please reblog!]

[codylabs]

Shifting Sands Chapter 4: Council of Nightmares

Chapters: One Two Three Four

Long ago, before they imprisoned ███████, before these creatures had ever arrived on her world, while she was still with him, something had happened. She never had a way to know before, but now she realized:

She was pregnant.

The scientists hadn’t noticed it yet, but it was only a matter of time. They’d been watching her closely ever since she’d killed Dr. &R/\BJ, and there was no chance the child could escape their scrutiny for long. She could feel the egg growing inside her, taking up space, taking up nutrients, and more of both with every passing day. Soon they would notice. And when she gave birth, then they would do something about it… Take it, kill it, clone it…

She couldn’t let that happen. She had to do something…

Perhaps if she could get out of the tube, she could pass the egg early, and somehow get it inside one of the scientists; then the child could complete the rest of its development away from their testing, then eat him from the inside, and then… No, no, that wouldn’t work. Soon as it burst out, they would just quarantine and take it…

She could begin shapeshifting so rapidly and so frequently that they couldn’t track or detect its growth… No, she’d still have to give birth eventually, and then they’d take it…

No.

No, this is no place to have a child.

So she morphed and slimmed the umbilical link she shared with the child, to limit its nutrients and oxygen. With its growth stunted, her child’s only method of survival was to instinctively form a hardened shell, and go into a state of deep dormancy.

One day, she would break down the shell and allow it to grow again. But not now. Not soon.

For now, her baby would fight for its life, just as she was.

They would survive.

   “███████ wake up!” She awoke in the middle of the night to see Dr. cl;**4 rushing into the lab, his breath coming fast and ragged, and a wild smile on his young face. “It’s time, ███████! It’s really time!”

“What? What’s happening?” She sat up.

“A mutiny!” He explained. “A mutiny! It’s finally happening, we’re finally doing it!”

“Really?!?”

“Yes! The metalheads organized it; they’re going to saw through the bulkheads to the bridge, the mice are going to disable the power systems, and it looks like we’ll actually be able to get control from the Captain! ███████, you’re gonna be going home!”

“T-that’s great! What do you need me to do?”

“Uh… Okay.” Dr. cl;**4 reached into his coat and produced an ID card. “Do you think you can mimic Dr. Zlfo]n’s voice and tentacleprints well enough to fool a computer?”

She took on the head scientist’s form, and showed him the patterns on the limbs.

“Wow… Okay, great! Awesome!” Now cl;**4 fished around his lab coat for the key to her containment tube. “There’s a chance that the command crew could improvise the life support systems into a defensive weapon; increasing or decreasing the air temperature and pressure, pumping in toxic gases, forming violent vortices, that sort of thing. But Dr. Zlfo]n has authorization to access the life support controls in sector 18. So it would really help us if you went in there and locked down all the air-handling systems on the ship. Would you do that? I’ll be there to walk you through it…”

“I can do that!”

“Thanks so much, ███████!” He opened the tube.

She killed him.

Then she drug the body with her out of the lab. When she found a quiet place, she cut open his body to examine the muscles and bones and nerves, see how the tentacles were structured and how the ligaments lay with the bones. In short order, she memorized and mimicked these same designs in her own body, so that any future attempts at mimicry would have flawless accuracy. Now that cl;**4’s body had exhausted its usefulness, she sealed it in an airtight storage locker, so that nobody would ever discover what happened to him.

And then, while the mutiny filled the ship with chaos and confusion around her, she began to explore. She traveled the length, breadth, and circumference of the ship, learning the way the engines were laid out, the location of crucial components, the positions of passenger dorms, testing sectors, cargo bays, the routes through and hiding spaces within the network of life support tubes that linked everything… She learned many things.

However, after an hour or so, the sounds of fighting died down and security drones returned to their normal patrols, indicating that the mutiny had been successfully quelled. She returned to her tube as well, locked it shut and destroyed the key, so that there was no evidence that anything ever happened.

In the morning, the tired and weary scientists continued about their ordinary work in a defeated way. Nobody mentioned the mutiny, nobody brought up new plans, nobody stepped out of line once. And nobody asked where cl;**4 was. They must all think that he’d been killed in the fighting, which was just as well, really.

As for her, she’d learned everything her plans required.

Now all she had to do was wait for the prophet’s vision to come true. Once the ship crashed, her designs would come to fruition.

And until then, she and her child would survive.

   The months stretched on into years.

Elsewhere in the ship, she sensed tensions rising even further. The mutiny had been broken, but its causes had not. She heard the men speak more and more often of strange nightmares and visions. She watched the scientists lose their tempers and yell at each other over small matters. And sometimes, away down the halls, she heard voices crying out in insane, mad rants. Prophecies they sounded like, prophecies of warning and doom and damnation, like they’d all become prophets themselves in these dark days.

The people around her were getting crazy. And as she paced her tube for the thousandth time, she felt herself joining them, ever so slowly. She played little games with herself now, where she fought imaginary enemies, and sought to outwit them and kill them and devour them. The enemies she imagined for herself were always terrible and deadly, yet she always found a way to win…

This madness– She was imprisoned, even within her cage, imprisoned by the walls of her own mind and sanity, the walls that kept her imagination inside her head, kept insisting on the impossibility of her thoughts and dreams and ideas, limiting her mind and stealing her hope… Late one night, her last thought before sleep was a powerful, burning desire to be free of this prison.

And then, in her dreams, something else entirely appeared.

“WELL HEY THERE, HOURGLASS! WHAT’S NEW WITH YOU? ROUGH LIFE, AM I RIGHT?”

She frowned up at her new visitor. She’d seen many strange creatures before, but nothing at all like this… This was a level beyond and contrary to anything she’d ever imagined. Something different, something illogical, something far, far worse. Something from beyond. “…Who are you?” She asked the visitor.

“WHO, ME? WHY I’M A TALENT SCOUT!”

“…For who?” She frowned.

“FOR ME!”

She thought about that for a moment. “…And what do you want?”

“AHH HAHAHAHAHA I’LL GET RIGHT TO THE POINT THEN! THING IS LADY, I’VE BEEN PUTTING TOGETHER A GANG OF FREAKS AND KILLERS, OUTCASTS FROM ALL THE LANDS OF REALITY, AND WE’RE FIXING TO SET UP A UNIVERSE OF OUR OWN! UNLIMITED POWER, GODLIKE STATUS, THE SHATTERING OF MORTAL SHACKLES, THAT SORT OF THING! IT’S A PARTY TO END ALL PARTIES, ALMOST A BILLION YEARS PROPHECIED! I SAW YOU IN HERE, AND THOUGHT I’D MOSEY ON OVER AND ASK IF YOU’D LIKE TO GET IN ON THE ACTION? YOU’D FIT RIGHT IN, I SWEAR!”

“I see.” She nodded slowly. “…Why me?”

“WHY NOT? HAVE YOU SEEN THE REST OF THE CREW? THOSE SECULAR DULLARDS COULDN’T FIND THEIR CLOACA WITH BOTH TENTILLUM! THEIR LITTLE MINDS COULDN’T HANDLE THREE MINUTES OF THE PARTY I HAVE PLANNED! BUT YOU… YOU’RE A SPECIAL CASE, AIN’T YA, HOURGLASS? IN THE TIME I’VE WATCHED YOU, YOU’VE KILLED EIGHT PEOPLE, HALF-STRANGLED YOUR OWN UNBORN BABY, AND NEVER ONCE TOLD THE TRUTH TO ANYONE! THAT’S THE KINDA BAGGAGE I’M LOOKING FOR IN A BUSINESS PARTNER!”

“Oh…?” He seemed to know quite a lot about her; more than she’d like. So she went along. “And what would a ‘partnership’ involve…?”

“OH, NOT MUCH, AT LEAST FOR NOW! THE QUESTION YOU SHOULD BE ASKING IS WHAT I CAN DO FOR YOU!”

“…And what can you do for me?”

“GIVE YOU FREEDOM!”

“I’ll get out of this tube regardless. I have plans.”

“AND HOW LONG WILL YOURS TAKE? SOONER OR LATER THEY’RE GONNA NOTICE YOUR LITTLE ‘SURPRISE’, AND WHAT’S TO STOP THEM FROM EUTHANIZING ONE OR BOTH OF YOU AT THE FIRST SIGN OF TROUBLE? BUT ME? I’M THE ONE PULLING STRINGS AROUND HERE, GORGEOUS. I COULD KEEP YOU SAFE.”

“What do you want from me in return?”

“HEYHEYHEY I WASN’T THROUGH WITH MY HALF YET! FREEDOM FROM THIS TUBE IS ONLY THE FIRST STEP! THE REST INVOLVES FREEDOM FROM YOUR OWN LINEAR DESTINY! FREEDOM FROM FINITY! FREEDOM FROM SANITY AND LOGIC ITSELF! IMAGINE SINGULAR POWER TO SHAPE AND FOLD A FACTORIAL NUMBER OF DIMENSIONS! INFLUENCE OVER TIME, AND THE POWER TO MAKE ANYONE WHO EVER WRONGED YOU SUFFER FOR ETERNITY! ALL AT THE SNAP OF A FINGER!”

“That’s what you want to do for me?”

“I DON’T THINK I STUTTERED PRINCESS! I’M OFFERING YOU GODDESSHOOD ON A PLATTER, AND ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS PROMISE ME ONE ITTY-BITTY FAVOR! HOW’S IT SOUND?”

The being extended his hand. It sparkled with cold flame.

“…Are you hitting on me?”

“THAT WOULD BE A HOOT, WOULDN’T IT!”

She considered this for a moment, then extended her own hand. “Very well.” She agreed. “Ensure the safety of me and my child, and then give me the power of a god. In return, I promise to be your ally for eternity, and do anything you ask.”

“IT’S A DEAL!!!”

But just before the deal was sealed, the being snatched his hand away. The cold fire extinguished, and he floated off, as his eye probed her carefully and slowly.

“YOU KNOW WHAT LADY? DEAL’S OFF! I CAN TELL WHEN I’M BEING LIED TO.”

“Hmm?”

“TIME GETS AWAY FROM YOU, HOURGLASS! ENJOY THE CRASH!”

And she woke up.

What an odd dream.

Later that day, it finally happened: they discovered her child. They didn’t kill it, or take it, or harm it, but they ran their tests, and they gave into paranoid ramblings as they spent the rest of the day yelling at each other.

And she realized that sanity wasn’t a prison. Sanity was a fortress. Sanity was the strength she needed to stand on her own, and their madness was a wallowing pit of weakness which she regarded from a higher ground. Sanity was another step on the road she took to goddesshood in her own insidious way. She didn’t need to hoodwink some eldritch horror. She was indestructible. She was strong. She was ███████. She needed no one else.

Life goes on. Survival goes on. And they would do it alone.

   “███████, you asked for me?”

“Oracle, there is a being here. A being in my dreams. Do you know of what I speak?”

The oracle’s eyes darkened. “I do.”

“What do you know of it?”

The oracle hesitated. And when she spoke, it was with a haunting, slow tone of voice. “Sixty degrees that come in threes. Watches from within birch trees. Saw his own dimension burn, misses home and can’t return. Says he’s happy, he’s a liar; blame the arson for the fire. If he wants to shirk the blame, he’ll have to invoke its name. One way to absolve his crime, a different form, a different time…”

The lyric hung in the air, when for a moment it seemed as if all the crazy echoing sounds in the ship grew still and quiet to listen. ███████ considered the words, then smiled and asked rhetorically. “Is there anything more charming than an inscrutable mystery?”

To which the oracle answered with a gentle smile, her voice once again casual. “There is not.”

She chuckled, and crossed her arms. “…Will this… Being… Be the cause of the ship’s destruction?”

“Not the cause, but I do not doubt he plays a part in its instigation…” The oracle shrugged. “We have entered his territory. He has been given a certain power over us.”

“A power which can be broken by sanity.” ███████ pointed out.

“A power which feeds on insanity.” The oracle corrected her. “But may only be broken by prayer. You are more defenseless than you know…” The oracle turned to exit the lab, but turned and spoke over her shoulder before she crossed the threshold. “It is not too late for the Captain to turn back. And it is not too late for you.”

“…Why should I believe you?” She blurted. “God would surely not be stupid enough to trust me with something as dangerous as truth.”

“He loves you too much to offer you less. You have only to bow and be healed.”

“I shall never bow.”

“And I am stupid enough to hope.”

And the oracle left.

“I shall not bow.” She solemnly promised herself again, in the silence that followed her absence. “I shall survive.”

[ofvellichorandverbosity]

champagne problems - ch. 1

The humidity felt sticky on her skin, but Cam didn’t seem to notice. She had never been one for the details of a situation--or well, some situations. She was quick to call out the mistakes in an engineering formula or point to the structural flaws in a design--little things like that never slipped by her. The world of science and numbers had a rhythm all on its own, something that the blonde had always seemed to find her groove in. 

Relationships though...well, those were another story. 

“So that’s when I said ‘BOOM’! You looking for this?” A large pair of fists slammed on the table, causing the flatware to jump a few inches in the air with surprise. Blinking back her focus on the man in front of her, Cam smiled politely, trying to figure out when she should say that repeating a story from a Marvel movie wasn’t impressive when you’ve seen said movie six times. 

Apparently, she didn’t need to say anything, because a dark cloud passed over his face and his brows knitted in frustration. “Were you even listening? God, it’s always the same with you blondes--head in the clouds, too ditzy to spend five minutes listening to someone else’s story.” His breath came out rushed and he glared into her soul.

Correction: his glare tried to stare into her soul. There had to be a soul there in the first place--one thing that Camryn Ross was pretty sure she no longer had. 

Maybe she never had one--that wouldn’t surprise her. She’d never been the best with connecting to folks. The dark, tortured brand wasn’t something that just happened overnight. She’d spent a long time crafting this persona, even before she’d met….

No. She had a rule and she’d be damned if she’d break it, especially in front of man baby and his fragile ego. 

Her eyes lifted to meet his, her own gaze icy cold. “If it’s always the same with us blondes, why do you keep picking us?” 

He twisted his lip, obviously surprised that she’d chosen to engage in his insult. “Well, you might be stupid but y’all are a pretty good lay.” 

Cam rolled her eyes, a sigh of disgust passed through her lips. “God, men are such pigs. Is that really all you think about? I should have known--men like you only have one brain and Lord knows it’s not located on your shoulders.” 

The man learned forward, his perfectly swoopy hair starting to come loose from his gel prison. “Listen here, bitch. I have a degree from Harvard, you’d better believe I’ve got more intelligence in my left pinky than you do in your whole body.” He sneered. 

“So they’re just giving those away now?” She raised her brow, taking a piece of her bread and ripping off a piece casually. She popped it in her mouth and scrunched her nose. “Hm, maybe I should get in line.”

A manicured finger appeared in front of her nose. “You’re lucky I even went on this date with you--your brother begged me to take you out, since no one else wants you. Can’t imagine why--you’re such a peach.” 

As bored as Cam was attempting to act (a sure fire way to piss off preppy boys with big bank accounts), she couldn’t deny his words stung deeply. She knew Charlie probably hadn’t begged this asshole to take her out but she knew he had asked him a few times. He was worried about her--fine. Whatever. But did his worry have to come with a douchecanoe and no oar? And did this guy have to say the truth so loudly?

“Oh, aren’t you a charmer.” She scrunched her nose  as she took a sip of water. “It’s true what they say about southern gentleman--such ladies men.” She pushed herself from the table and placed her napkin on the plate. “Does your momma know you talk to women like this?

“But you’re right. Lucky me, for I got to sit in front of the biggest jerk this side of the Mississippi for an hour as he talked about nothing but himself--including a terribly plagiarized version of the War Machine story from Avengers: Age of Ultron.” His face turned ashen and she just shrugged. “Yeah, I noticed. You aren’t sly, y’know. Lucky me, for I got to listen to you insult my intelligence, my appearance and I guess my datability. As if being interesting to assholes like you is what I live for. So yeah, consider me a fuckin’ lottery winner.”

She moved toward the exit, sending the waitress an apology and slipping her a 20 for her time. She didn’t need this man to feel whole, Cam reminded herself. She was just fine on her own--she had been for years. Men like him--their perfect, flawless face, their lined pockets of glittering gold, their expensive educations and fancy pants jobs and unattainable secret rules--they were nothing but trouble.  Big, fat, stupid, I-told-you-so trouble. 

And heartbreak. 

As she reached the door of her 2002 Jeep Wrangler--her pride and joy, fixed up from the junkyard all on her own--another hand wrapped around the handle and she looked up. 

“Cam, seriously. How many guys are you gonna keep putting up with before you tell your brother to stop meddling?” 

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she looked back at Sawyer--her best friend, her trusted confidant, and her favorite underpaid date security detail. Not that, in all honesty, Cam really needed a security guard. She was more than capable of getting wayward men flat on their back--and not in the fun kind of way. But Sawyer had insisted that he hang by, if only to crack jokes on the whole car ride home. Something about the way he was so pushy about this idea made Cam think that he knew more about herself than she did--but she didn’t feel like digging around in that garden. 

“Have you tried telling Charlie to stop doing anything? It’s like asking a pig to fly--it cannot be done. He’d just get all wiggy and start being more intense about the whole thing. At least this way he can say he tried before he dies of a premature death due to his worry over me.” Cam shoved him out of the way and opened the door. “Now, are you getting in or walking?”

In a flash, Sawyer was next to her in the car--his face a mix of amusement and annoyance. “Cam, please tell me you know you can do better than Harvard Hack over there. That man was as interesting as a piece of rotting flotsam on Myrtle. Even if he is pretty.” Sawyer had this tendency to use marine terms in everyday life--but she supposed she couldn’t blame him. Unlike her, he’d found a job that aligned with his passions. How could she be mad that he was living his dream?

“Yeah yeah yeah--now let’s go before Trust Fund Baby gets it in his mind to start screaming at me. I don’t need a repeat of the last guy.” 

“What happened to him?”

“Turns out a black eye doesn’t go well with linen suits.” The engine reeved and they tore out of the parking lot, leaving the awful man huffing over his own rejection.

“Violence isn’t the answer, C.” Sawyer chastised softly and she cackled loudly. 

“No, but alcohol is a solution.” She tilted her head to the bright neon sign on Sawyer’s side of the street. Pulling into a parking spot, she hopped out of the Jeep and ran a hand through her hair. “Now, let’s solve this problem, shall we?” A resigned groan fell from Sawyer’s lips as she tugged him along. 

Cam loved dive bars--she loved the smell, the feel, the stories that were etched into the exposed beams. Perhaps it wasn’t completely true that Cam was bad at relationships--she had always been close with Karla, the local bartender. She was a good listener, and while Cam never said anything she would tell another person--she got the impression that if she ever did, Karla wouldn’t judge her. Maybe. 

“Well there you are--I was beginning to get worried. My regular not showing up on Two For Tuesdays? I was ready to call up the sheriff to put a warrant on you.” Karla winked as she slid two shots her way--whiskey, of course. If Cam was going to play the part of a tormented individual, nothing better to stoke those demons than some Jack Daniels. 

“Wouldn’t be the first, babe.” She winked and shot the amber liquid back. She didn’t used to drink whiskey. In fact, she wouldn’t be caught dead drinking anything that wasn’t clear or fruit flavored. But reality bit her in the ass in a real way and suddenly she preferred the burn of the alcohol to the searing pain of a heart ache. 

“How you can do that astounds me. That shit is nasty.” Sawyer shook his head, sipping his pina colada with a little dance. Sawyer had never much cared about what people thought of him--especially if he liked something. Why refuse yourself something you enjoy just because someone else doesn’t? That’s silly. He’d often remind her, through slurred words after his fifth pina. He had a point, Cam knew that. But also--some opinions weren’t meant to be challenged.

“It’s not hard.” In fact, it’s more appealing than alternative. “You just don’t think about it.” Any of it. You don’t think about the burn, you don’t think about the smoky aftertaste.  Not about the way his blue eyes reflected candlelight perfectly or the way his nose wiggles when he was particularly amused.  Definitely not how his laugh was so effervescent that you could pick it out in the middle of a crowd---

Cam nearly dropped her shot glass straight on the ground, but Sawyer caught it just in time. “Cam?”

No, no no no. Her breathing became shallow and she felt her entire body shrink back into herself as she heard the laugh again. No, no--this is just me imagining this. There’s no--no way…

“Vodka Martini, please.” The voice was as smooth as she had remembered it and Cam willed herself to keep her back toward the man. Sawyer looked ready to open his mouth again and without thinking, the blonde kicked him hard. She placed her finger up to her lips and motioned slightly to the man. He was confused--and in a large amount of pain--but he stayed quiet. 

“And another whiskey for the lady--though in a past life it would have been a sex on the beach, no?” 

The color drained from her face and she closed her eyes. If this was a nightmare, it was time for her to wake up. Slowly, she turned her body to face him, her entire brain on high alert. 

“Camryn Ross.” He said her name softly, gently--and if she wasn’t mistaken, a hint of reverence? Her heart hammered in her chest as she searched desperately for words. 

As she opened her mouth, though, words were not what came out. Instead, it was the contents of her meal and the whiskey shot she took earlier. All over the bar, the barstools and--worst of all--his shoes. 

Oh fuck. She cursed. Now that was an intro. 

[glapplebloom]

Welcome to Chrysalary, the sequel to Sombruary. And with it comes my review of a Canterlot Wedding and how it officially happened in the GLAB Timeline.

You know how it goes so I’ll just go to the highlights.

Yes, it was shocking that our little Bookworm who didn’t have a clue on how Friendship works happen to have a Babysitter and BBBFF that were practically her best friends. A plot hole about her lack of understanding, but my headcanon for why she never told her friends is simple: she did. We just didn’t need to see it.

Fluttershy: Please, your Highness. We all saw that Twilight was upset.

Rainbow Dash: But we thought that the thing she was worrying about wasn't worth worrying about.

Applejack: So when she ran off all worked up, not a single one of us tried to stop her.

Rarity: As Twilight's good friends, we should have taken her feelings seriously and been there for her!

For those who forgot, these lines came from Lesson Zero: the third episode of Season 2. The first new lesson the girls had to learn of the Season. Now what in this episode did the girls do when they saw Twilight was worried about the situation?

Applejack: Think maybe you're bein' just a tiny bit possessive of your brother?

Rest of main cast: Uh-huh.

This is my biggest problem. They completely forgotten the lesson of the third episode of this very season and once again allowed Twilight to make a fool of herself instead of trying to stop her. This is my biggest issue of the entire episode. If I had it my way, instead of not bothering with Twilight, they try to stop her and play along.

Together, they see the things and each one dismisses it because of Bridezillas. And after failing to convince Twilight, they suggest that she goes to see Shining Armor privately. When talking to him, Chrysalis shows up and takes away Twilight. The next day when the girls ask about Twilight, Shining Armor (under mind control) would say that it didn’t went well and Twilight decided to not show up. Boom. No problem and the rest of the episode can remain the same.

The first time Celestia fails (on show). The first time the idea of her being an all powerful being begins to unravel. I am a feats kind of guy. While Scaling is useful at times, I prefer direct feats over assumptions. Celestia being an all powerful being because she can move the sun and the moon is an assumption.

It has been shown that Unicorns could also move them, suggesting that either Unicorn magic is powerful in general or (the most realistic thing) the sun and moon are not the same as Earth’s. And this scene begins Celestia’s downward fall from grace.

Now that the issues with the episode are done, time to talk about Queen Chrysalis. Her reveal definitely improved the story as it showed Twilight’s paranoia being correct. Her design as well as the Changelings were awesome. But over the years, I’ve began to look at her plan to invade Canterlot a lot more critically.

First, her plan was to pretend to be Cadance and marry Shining Armor. Interesting plan and would be a good starting point. But how come she acts like a snob. The few she controls wouldn’t notice and the majority of attendants probably don’t know her well. But I’m pretty sure Celestia would know Cadance wouldn’t be acting the way Chrysalis was adding.

So to distract Celestia, she warned of an invasion being planned. With Celestia and Luna distracted, she can continue to pretend to be Cadance while the only one who would notice things would no longer notice her. And with her mind controlled husband in control of the Shield spell, she has control of when it opens or closes and may have even a small opening in a blind spot to have the invasion started early.

Wait, she didn’t just turn off the shield as soon as it was revealed? Why? If Shining Armor can make the shield, he should have the power to turn it off as well. Well, as long as no one figures out she’s a fake then there is no problem. In fact, she just gotten everyone to distrust Twilight.

Wait, what are you doing? Why on Earth are you keeping Twilight in the same place you kept the real Cadance?!? You just gave her the evidence to prove she was right and if she escapes (which she does) she is gonna use it to out you (which she does). 

Okay, ignoring those snafus, your army is in Canterlot, you defeated Celestia and the Elements of Harmony are under your control. Twilight manages to get Cadance and Shining Armor together. Now seeing one of your prisoners escaping, you would immediately capture them and not give them a chance to do anything. Wait, what are you saying?

Queen Chrysalis: [laughing] What good would that do? My changelings already roam free.

Shining Armor: No! My power is useless now. I don't have the strength to repel them.

Princess Cadance: My love will give you strength.

Queen Chrysalis: [chuckling] What a lovely but absolutely ridiculous sentiment.

Let’s count how many ways this is a stupid move. 1- The Power of Love is something that feeds you. Laugh all you want, but you can drown in water and choke on a piece of food. 2- She knows the Power of Love is powerful. It was that same power she fed off of that gave her the strength to defeat Celestia. By now she knows that it is indeed powerful. 3- She continues to leave Cadance free when she could use this time to escape to get help or probably a weapon or (what really happens) use the Power of Love against her.

Death Battle had Lara Croft Vs Nathan Drake recently. A lot of people were thinking Drake was gonna win for the combination of his skills and his luck. But in the end, as they said, luck can run dry. Chrysalis’ entire invasion plan relied pretty much on luck. If she actually planned things out more carefully, maybe she would have been successful. But as is, she is a very ineffective villain. 

Now for how it fits in actual canon. The beginning has the adults summoned to do the roles. But in reality, it was a distraction to get the Green Lantern to Canterlot. She is introduced to Shining Armor and asked to help out with the guard work. Since both Celestia and GLAB are distracted, no one notices Cadance acting weird because no one notices.

Spike, still thinking he’s going to do the bachelor party, goes to Shining Armor’s home to talk about it. Instead, he finds the capture pod of the real Cadance. With the prison the main timeline have for her being occupied with Nightmare Moon at the time, this was the only place she could contain her.

Before the wedding can begin, Spike comes in to tell GLAB and the others the situation. Wondering what it was, GLAB prepares to go find out what Spike is talking about when Chrysalis attacks. She then reveals herself, attacks Celestia, and gets Shining Armor to break the shield. 

Just in time, GLAB creates a shield of her own. With her previous shield time being just a few minutes ago, she is at half power with Chrysalis attacking. She tells the others to free Cadance and try to figure out a way to take care of everything.

So while Spike and the girls go to Cadance, GLAB has to keep the shield up and fight off Chrysalis. She is Alicorn level so normally GLAB would be able to beat her. But to keep the Changeling Army at bay, defend and attack Chrysalis and protect the civilians from the fight itself, she is losing power fast. It also didn’t help that Chrysalis had a boost in power from feeding off Shining Armor.

The Girls and Spike free Cadance from her prison and wonder how are they gonna stop all this. Cadance then wish to see Shining Armor. They bring her back to Shining Armor in the final minutes of GLAB’s Power. Cadance frees Shining from his control and recreates the real ending. Then the wedding goes as plan and everything returns to normal.

That is how the Canterlot Wedding played out in the GLAB Timeline.

[how2to18]

IN THE WORLD of Maurice Carlos Ruffin’s We Cast a Shadow, an expensive cosmetic surgery is increasingly popular — one that promises to remove all markers of Blackness from the patient — to whiten the skin, whittle the nose, and thin the lips. Like the plastic surgery of our world, the early adopters are celebrities. The narrator tells us that the poster child of the procedure, a ubiquitous pop star, “had been a black girl from Baltimore. Now she looked more or less like a Greek woman.”

The novel’s setting is the American Deep South in the near future — an America that has become even more unsafe for people of color. The “de-melanization procedure” is just one of the hydra-headed manifestations of racism in this future, and it becomes the narrator’s dream for his biracial son. The narrator becomes obsessed with his son’s birthmark, “his stain.” As his son grows, the narrator watches in terror as “the birthmark colored from wheat to sienna to umber, the hard hue of my own husk, as if a shard of myself were emerging from him.”

The narrator fears, above all, that his son will be seen as a Black man, just like him, in a world he knows to be “a centrifuge that patiently waits to separate my Nigel from his basic human dignity.” This riotous novel details the farcical lengths this father will go to in order to afford the surgery and save his son from the fate of Blackness while simultaneously hiding his mission from his wife. The novel straddles many modes of storytelling — adventure story, family drama, political satire — but it shines because of the jocular voice of the narrator, a man who, Ruffin says, became his unlikely “tour guide in American history.”

¤

JOSELYN TAKACS: What was the seed of the novel, and where did it come from?

MAURICE CARLOS RUFFIN: I think any writer is trying to decipher the code of what is happening in our society. So certainly for me, it was seeing racialized incidents in America — events like the death of Michael Brown, and later Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Rekia Boyd, Tamir Rice, and so many other people. I was trying to figure out why these things keep happening, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Once I figured out who this character was and what he cared about most, the rest fell into place.

When did the birthmark come into play? 

I believe a lot of things exist subconsciously as you’re writing. In an earlier draft of the novel, the son had a sickness that wasn’t a birthmark. But just before I started writing the novel, I had taken a literature course, American literature from the 1860s, and I was reminded of this story I’d read, “The Birth-Mark” by Nathaniel Hawthorne. This, in turn, reminded me of Toni Morrison’s Sula — Morrison has a lot of symbolism attached to Sula’s own birthmark in the novel. I saw that this child would have something similar to that, and it would become a center of the plot and of the book.

It becomes such a compelling allegory for how people of color are treated in America.

Yeah. For people of color, and especially Black folks, oftentimes just existing is criminalized, pathologized. I think you can see in the novel, the various characters, including the secondary characters, have different attitudes about how they pathologize “Otherness.” I think the birthmark is just a way of making this succinct and direct.

You can tell that you’re having some fun as you’re writing this. I wrote down some lines that I just thought were hilarious. Like, “In my thinking, the entire south beyond my hometown was just one sprawling countryside of ectoplasmic Colonel Sanderses on horseback chasing runaway spirits until the Rapture. Hardly my idea of a refreshing getaway.” 

Oh yeah. And it’s the narrator. He definitely deals with a lot of his pain through humor. Sometimes it’s sarcastic. Sometimes it’s direct humor. But I think that that’s his honest way of observing what’s going on without letting it destroy him. Some parts of the book can get very heavy, and he sort of leans away from it.

I also think it’s so significant how you portray generational responses, or strategies, for coping with racial inequity. The narrator’s parents were activists, but the narrator wants to assimilate. The narrator’s grandfather had his own mode of moving through the world.

I think that made sense to me naturally because in my own life I’ve had the pleasure of watching different generations of people respond to oppression. We’ve all had to respond to America as it existed at a given time. In the grandfather’s voice, you can hear the frustration of spending 99 years of his life, and he hasn’t seen enough change. It’s really hurt him, you know?

I feel like my parents’ generation as well as young folks now have very specific ideas about the necessity of direct action, mobilizing, going out and protesting to get attention paid to what was going on. My generation was one that was more laid back, thinking, “We’re making progress. We’re just gonna push in these strategic areas to improve things.”

I will say that I admire people now in their 20s and their teens even because they have this mentality, for the most part, of self-love, and not allowing yourself to be destroyed by these stereotypical ideas. The narrator’s son, Nigel, is fortunate to have this mindset, his mom has this mindset, and it’s the idea that people had in the 1960s, in the Black Power movement that “Black is Beautiful.” You know, “Don’t let anybody tell you just because you have dark skin and a broad nose and thick lips that you’re not one of God’s beautiful creations.”

Speaking of the Black Panther movement, there is an activist group, ADZE, who start out organizing for the benefit of the community, only to be labeled as terrorists by the government. I recognize some similarities between them and the Black Panthers. What role do they play in the novel?

The narrator really wants to avoid the fight as much as he can, so there had to be somebody in his reality who was fighting directly — going on the offense. There is a great history of nonviolent resistance in America, but there’s also a history of violent resistance as well. I think it was important to represent the idea that sometimes you’ve got to go out and fight. Literally go out and fight to protect yourself. Early in the book, as one of the characters points out, ADZE never does anything to hurt anybody. It’s just their presence that creates a panic. Where people were frightened, they run away, and in the process, people get hurt. I think Blackness can be so frightening based on ideas provided by the media. And sometimes the government has not been very judicious in how they react to what they see as instigators.

As I was doing research for the book, I was reading about farming techniques on the African continent, and one of the things I came across was this tool called an adze, which was used for thousands of years throughout Africa, the Near East, and the Middle East. When I saw that, it sort of clicked. I thought, “There is gonna be this group that is opposing what’s going on —tilling the soil to make a better crop, so to speak.” Then I thought, “That’s a good name for it.” Meanwhile, here in New Orleans, I kept seeing graffiti tags saying that same word. I can’t remember if I saw the tags first or read about the tool first, but I kept thinking about resistance, and for some people, graffiti is a type of resistance.

The women, like the narrator’s wife and mother, seem like a moral center of the book. Were you conscious of this while writing?

The women in this book, especially Mama, play a huge role in tipping us off on where the narrator has lost his way. Maybe it’s difficult to portray what’s historically a stereotype of the strong Black woman character, but I will tell you that as a man raised by a wonderful mother and a grandmother — you know, I had my father in the picture as well — that the strength of those women and my Aunties and others in my life was real. I see it so much.

The father in the novel, however, is not in the picture. He has been locked away in a prison called Liberia. I wondered if the prison had some relation to Angola Prison in Louisiana? 

In terms of the naming conventions, I wanted the place names in the novel to have multiple levels of resonance. We have Angola Prison here in Louisiana. Until very recently, we were the most incarcerated state in the nation — we’re number two right now, which is still not that great. The prison complex within this state just gobbles up young Black men and women.

The history of Liberia as a country, for whatever reason, is not taught all that much to people in America, Black or white. Liberia was founded as a nation for Black folks to free themselves. The premise was, “If you want to escape this racism, go to Liberia and live as a person with complete self-hood.” And the idea to have a prison named after this place that’s designed to be free — there’s a clear irony to it.

Many things that happen in the book are echoes of things that have happened in the past. In the novel, there’s the Dreadlock Ordinance, where they cut off Black men’s hair when they go to prison, which is directly related to the ordinance in the 1800s to forcibly cut the queue of Chinese people, which was a sign of personal respect in their culture to have that hair. They would say, “Well, you’re Chinese, obviously you’re dirty, we’re going to cut this off.” This sort of cruelty that has existed throughout US history toward people who are “Othered.” It became a part of the way that I use words in the novel.

In the future world in the novel, American society is sliding backward, becoming more racist. You describe a process gaining popularity among people of color: de-melanization, or “a scrub.” Where did that come from? 

If you’re a person of color in America, you pretty quickly realize how heartbreaking it will be for you. And so, a lot of people of color have different strategies for how to defy that danger, whether it’s standing up and protesting, or writing about it, like I do. And I think that for some people throughout history, there have been different ways to assimilate. I hadn’t really noticed, for example, that many Black performers in the 20th century, men in particular, straightened their hair. I’m thinking of Nat King Cole and Little Richard, but I could go on and on. We see celebrities like Michael Jackson who’ve had their skin lightened. We’re getting to the point where, with CRISPR, we can change genes. There’s this film Gattaca starring Ethan Hawke where, in the future, if you’re not this genetically perfect person, you don’t have any rights in that society. Those ideas were colliding in my mind.

I should say that there’s a thread of Black American literature from satire to straight literary fiction that encompasses this. There’s George Schuyler’s Black No More and Charles Chesnutt’s short stories and many other pieces by Black authors that have touched on this idea of fitting in however you can, whether it be through technology or magic, or whatever.

Yeah, I’m thinking of Nella Larsen’s Passing too.

Yes, totally.

Why set the novel in the American Deep South in the future and call it “the City”?

I thought that, when the setting is very specific, you can discount it. Like, “Oh this is set in rural Alabama? Well, obviously, that’s just how they are there.” Even outing myself, you know, because I’m from the South. [Laughs.] I’ve had this idea throughout my own life that the South is clearly so much worse when it comes to racial justice, but by thinking that, I was ignoring the works of people like Richard Wright, who would say, “Look, in the South Side of Chicago, it was just as bad.” Maybe there wasn’t hunched-up slaves, but you can see how, through housing policy, and the way people were treated economically, these systems were designed to disenfranchise people of color.

From sea to shining sea, or in the Deep South — as you’re reading, you can imagine this happening in your own neighborhood. 

What was hard for you when you were writing this? Were any sections of the book that were particularly challenging to write?

I saved the backstory of the book — the narrator’s father’s story and the racial history of this alternate reality — for last because it was painful to write about. And then there is a period in the narrator’s past, which is almost our present, when there were riots going on. People have asked me, “Did you predict this would happen?” I wrote this before the 2016 election. Since then, we’ve had Charlottesville and these guys with their tiki torches, and Mother Emanuel Church where nine African Americans were shot. My response was, “No, I didn’t know. But I do know, based on our history, that they tend to happen.” It’s baked into our American cake. These events will come back until we’ve finally addressed them in a real way. And we haven’t done that.

To ask, then, an impossible question — how do we reckon with this as a society?

I’ve said this many times recently because I think it’s important to state. I love America. I love our ideals. The more that I think about my own ancestors who were activists and protestors, who fought for their rights, it makes me proud that in this country we’re not being shot for our ability to state our case. I think one of the great failings of the country is in education. We don’t teach our kids detailed and difficult history. In Germany, those kids learn about the Nazi era, and they made a decision as a culture to avoid repeating those mistakes by making sure those kids know exactly what happened and why it was wrong to best avoid repeating that. In America, the story often is, we had slavery and then we fixed it. Obviously, when you see the things that have happened in recent years, you go, “Well, if we fixed it, how are these things happening now?” The answer is we haven’t fixed it, and we haven’t addressed racial injustice.

What I’d like to happen is for readers, after reading this book, to be at least curious to acquire knowledge they don’t have now. I don’t care what side of the blue-red spectrum you’re on. I don’t care what news shows you watch. But I do hope that you take a moment and go out and find a book by an author you wouldn’t normally read about race in America and about American history.

I wonder what you learned about yourself or about Blackness or about the world at large. Did you feel a change as you were writing, or when you were finished?

No one has asked me that. Now I’ve heard other African Americans say — and I’ve heard Africans from the African continent say the exact same thing — if you grow up in a community where most of the people in your life are Black, you experience a lot less racism than you would in other circumstances. I grew up in New Orleans East, which is pretty much an all Black and Vietnamese community. It’s a huge area, like 30 percent of the land mass of the city. I went to Black schools, Black restaurants, Black hospitals, and so for a lot of my early life, I really didn’t see a lot of the ugliness that people see in big cities for example.

By the time I got to this book, this narrator became a tour guide of American history for me, as well as the present-day responses to racism — either creating it or fighting it. I can honestly say that by making this character, communicating with him, coming to understand him very deeply, I learned a lot of things that I wouldn’t have learned about. For example, I read Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow, which I probably wouldn’t have read without this narrator. She’s talking about mass incarceration. At the time, this was a niche idea that a lot of people weren’t very clear on, aside from a few people who were playing close attention. I’m one of those folks now as a result of my narrator.

You know, sometimes hanging with this narrator would be depressing, so it was important that he had this sense of humor. I feel like he gave me tools and strategies for dealing with what I’ve seen in America today.

¤

Joselyn Takacs is a writer, teacher, and PhD candidate at University of Southern California.

The post De-Melanization Procedure: A Conversation with Maurice Carlos Ruffin appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books http://bit.ly/2WTzn1O via IFTTT