Kris Ivy

“This is bull crap!” I shouted. “I’m tired! I don’t have the energy for this!”

“Genie,” Quentin said. “Please stop telling the swarm of yaoguai how weak you are right now.”

“I don’t want to deal with you!” I hollered at the demons from afar. “Screw everything! Evil wins, are you happy?”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo

“When the last days were upon me, and the ugly trifles of existence began to drive me to madness like the small drops of water that torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their victim’s body, I loved the irradiate refuge of sleep. In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly sought in life, and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods. After a while, as the days of waking became less and less bearable from their greyness and sameness, I would often drift in opiate peace through the valley and the shadowy groves, and wonder how I might seize them for my eternal dwelling-place, so that I need no more crawl back to a dull world stript of interest and new colours... for doubt and secrecy are the lure of lures, and no new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace.”
― H. P. Lovecraft, The H.P. Lovecraft Collection: Classic Tales of Cosmic Horror

“I let the divine being leave first and gave him a few minutes to do whatever it was he needed to do to get back to Heaven. It seemed polite, though I’d only made that rule up in my head.

When I stepped out of the shack, Quentin was there by the roadside, waiting for me.

“Have a nice chat?”

I knew his peevish tone was his usual allergic reaction to Erlang Shen, but for some reason I didn’t field it well today.

“Yeah, we really connected on an emotional level,” I snapped. “I promised to turn into a stick for him.”

That was perhaps the weirdest, most hyper-targeted dig I’d ever leveled at someone, but boy did it work. Quentin looked like I’d broken him in half and left him on the curb for pickup. He was completely silent the entire trip back to civilization.

He didn’t call or text me that night either”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo

“Quentin and I crawled outside the building and flopped onto the grass. I was bleeding from a gash across my forehead that he promised would seal itself and disappear within minutes, as long as I didn’t die first. With the way I felt, we’d have to wait and see.

Quentin grabbed his own fingers and pulled, relocating his joints. The popping noise made me want to vomit.

“Dear god,” I croaked. “How did . . . why was that . . . so hard?”

“He was an identical copy of me,” Quentin said. He spat a bloody tooth out to the side. “What were you expecting, a pushover?”

I watched his blood sink into the ground and sprout a little daisy with perfect white petals. Whatever. I was beyond surprise when it came to Quentin at this point.”
― F.C. Yee, The Epic Crush of Genie Lo