Whenever I listen to piano music, I always have to mentally slap myself for not taking lessons when I was a kid or having the faith in myself to try learning now.
...
Such a feckless dope.
"Even the butterfly's wing could make a hurricane
Even the slightest shift will change the vector's shape
A little faith could bring the mountain down
Even the smallest voice could silence the crowd
Quiet, quiet
Quiet, quiet
Could be so loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
I hear the chorus of a million dreams
Who die on paradise's streets
Here is a war within, without
I believe in their doubt
Quiet could be so loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So loud
So do I act or do I pray
Push on the wall or walk away
Point a finger or turn the question round
Remain silent or shout
In a spiral effect the building will come down
If not this way then how
If not this way then how
How
So loud
So loud
So loud (Quiet)
So loud
So loud
So loud (Quiet)
So loud
So loud
Could be so loud"
A friend of mine used to listen to Sleater-Kinney almost religiously.
I never understood it.
I think I do now.
...
Why do I have to be so slow sometimes?
...
I know I posted this in April's Monthlies but... I keep watching it whenever I need a little boost (so damn effective by the way) and thought Rose deserved her very own post.
I could listen to her dismiss scripts all. freaking. day.
It makes me so happy...
in case you don't know it's called blue blazes (or aoi honoo) and it's about going to art school in the 80s pic.twitter.com/1T3Vi6KvB8— Hannah B (@hblumenreich) May 3, 2019
Oh.
Yeah.
That's art school.
Especially the screaming.
And the running.
...
WHY DO YOU SHOW ME THESE CURSED THINGS, TWITTER?
WHY?!
He's released four songs.
They've been on repeat since yesterday.
And I don't see that changing anytime soon.
anime
art
charlie
fan art
gifs
illustration
life
literature
lyrics
monthlies
movies
music
printmaking
quotes
score
tattoo
toys
tv
video
webcomics
april
Things I enjoyed in the month of April:
Amanda Bouchet's, A Promise of Fire:
Everyone knows I love the Kate Daniels series.
I harp on about it enough.
Because I love her and I get chatty about the things I love.
(And I won't be stopping anytime soon. Sorry, not sorry? Totally not sorry)
So, you'd think finding a book that is basically Kate and Curran in ye olde godly times would piss me off.
Why would I want to read a book that's pretty much the same as something I see as Urban Fantasy perfection?
...
Because now there's two of her!
Double the surly, violent, magic-laced fun.
And the writing's just as good.
Maybe a little more direct with the romance but as if I'm going to complain about that, being the soppy bastard I am these days.
(I'm so gross, someone should stop me... Don't you dare stop me)
The characters are just as damn lovable, maybe more so because Kate's lot are, well, a bit standoffish and bitey even though they unquestionably love the feral squirrel?
(Which doesn't mean I love them any less but come on people, sometimes my girl needs a good hugging just like the next reluctant, eternally pissed off Chosen One)
It's the whole Shifter thing. Too many hormones racing around their furry bodies.
But the Beta Team?
Oh, the Beta Team.
They remind me so much of the Inner Circle from my beloved ACoTaR's series.
(My love is true and infinite and it will gross you out)
They just accept Cat straight away and tease her mercilessly...
I find Flynn and Kato in the refectory. They greet me with raised eyebrows since I haven't had breakfast with them in a while.
"No food in the castle?" Kato asks.
"Food's better here," I say, sitting gingerly.
Flynn hands me his juice, which he never drinks. "Fight with Griffin?"
I choke on the sip I was taking. "Not exactly."
"You've got rosy cheeks this morning." Flynn's forehead creases as he studies me a little too hard. He means I'm blushing kalaberry red.
"And a suck mark on your neck," Kato adds, leaning in for a better look.
I shove his chin, pushing him back. "Don't mess with me. I can punch again now, and it might actually hurt."
...even though she can literally melt people.
I think they might even love her more because she can melt people.
He squeezes my hand, but I can't squeeze back.
"Sleepy," I mumble.
Kato pats my head, and Flynn holds my hand, Carver whistles a tribal tune, and with them close by, I'm not as afraid of the dark."
And that's the kind of squishy bro-love I'm all about.
Then there's Cat herself.
Lovely, poison-tongued,completely mildly feral, Cat.
What can I say?
She's a tempestuous brat and I love her.
Apparently satisfied, the warlord steps closer. "Now that that's settled, you're coming with me."
I snort, stepping back. "Never in a billion suns. Not even if Zeus showed up as a swan and tried to peck me in your direction. I wouldn't go with you even if my other option was Hades dragging me to the Underworld for an eternal threesome with Persephone."
I don't know how many times I'll say it, because I don't think I'll ever be over it, but mouthy women?
Life.
Frickin'.
Blood.
!
She may not be my beloved, Kate but damn, she's close.
So close.
Throw her together with a squishy, overgrown, alpha-warlord with a heart of fucking Midas gold and I'm just done.
Completely done.
Ruined for everything else.
I may as well hole up in a cave and let my soppy heart consume me from the inside out.
All the push and pull (Cat's doing a lot of this, when she's really thinking this), and sniping and barking (hateful, vocal foreplay is also my lifeblood. More please), and palpable goddamn sexual tension?
Yeah, consider me the walking wounded because these two slaaaaaayed me.
"I would have come for you."
Leaning down, he lightly drops his forehead against mine. "I won't let anything happen to you."
"Never promise things you can't deliver," I whisper.
"I can try."
"Don't go, Cat." Griffin's mouth never leaves my skin, his breath a warm whisper. "Please."
"You're my life now."
"Live together, or die trying."
Yup.
I'm dead.
Excuse me while I recover from THIS SQUISHY NONSENSE!
.............................................
"Shoo! Or I'll give all of you black eyes."
Kaia frowns. "Are you supposed to threaten us?" She turns to Griffin, flouncing prettily in her seat. "Is Cat supposed to threaten us?"
He nods. "It means she likes you."
Everyone knows I love the Kate Daniels series.
I harp on about it enough.
Because I love her and I get chatty about the things I love.
(And I won't be stopping anytime soon. Sorry, not sorry? Totally not sorry)
So, you'd think finding a book that is basically Kate and Curran in ye olde godly times would piss me off.
Why would I want to read a book that's pretty much the same as something I see as Urban Fantasy perfection?
...
Because now there's two of her!
Double the surly, violent, magic-laced fun.
And the writing's just as good.
Maybe a little more direct with the romance but as if I'm going to complain about that, being the soppy bastard I am these days.
(I'm so gross, someone should stop me... Don't you dare stop me)
The characters are just as damn lovable, maybe more so because Kate's lot are, well, a bit standoffish and bitey even though they unquestionably love the feral squirrel?
(Which doesn't mean I love them any less but come on people, sometimes my girl needs a good hugging just like the next reluctant, eternally pissed off Chosen One)
It's the whole Shifter thing. Too many hormones racing around their furry bodies.
But the Beta Team?
Oh, the Beta Team.
They remind me so much of the Inner Circle from my beloved ACoTaR's series.
(My love is true and infinite and it will gross you out)
They just accept Cat straight away and tease her mercilessly...
I find Flynn and Kato in the refectory. They greet me with raised eyebrows since I haven't had breakfast with them in a while.
"No food in the castle?" Kato asks.
"Food's better here," I say, sitting gingerly.
Flynn hands me his juice, which he never drinks. "Fight with Griffin?"
I choke on the sip I was taking. "Not exactly."
"You've got rosy cheeks this morning." Flynn's forehead creases as he studies me a little too hard. He means I'm blushing kalaberry red.
"And a suck mark on your neck," Kato adds, leaning in for a better look.
I shove his chin, pushing him back. "Don't mess with me. I can punch again now, and it might actually hurt."
...even though she can literally melt people.
I think they might even love her more because she can melt people.
He squeezes my hand, but I can't squeeze back.
"Sleepy," I mumble.
Kato pats my head, and Flynn holds my hand, Carver whistles a tribal tune, and with them close by, I'm not as afraid of the dark."
And that's the kind of squishy bro-love I'm all about.
Then there's Cat herself.
Lovely, poison-tongued,
What can I say?
She's a tempestuous brat and I love her.
Apparently satisfied, the warlord steps closer. "Now that that's settled, you're coming with me."
I snort, stepping back. "Never in a billion suns. Not even if Zeus showed up as a swan and tried to peck me in your direction. I wouldn't go with you even if my other option was Hades dragging me to the Underworld for an eternal threesome with Persephone."
I don't know how many times I'll say it, because I don't think I'll ever be over it, but mouthy women?
Life.
Frickin'.
Blood.
!
She may not be my beloved, Kate but damn, she's close.
So close.
Throw her together with a squishy, overgrown, alpha-warlord with a heart of fucking Midas gold and I'm just done.
Completely done.
Ruined for everything else.
I may as well hole up in a cave and let my soppy heart consume me from the inside out.
All the push and pull (Cat's doing a lot of this, when she's really thinking this), and sniping and barking (hateful, vocal foreplay is also my lifeblood. More please), and palpable goddamn sexual tension?
Yeah, consider me the walking wounded because these two slaaaaaayed me.
"I would have come for you."
Leaning down, he lightly drops his forehead against mine. "I won't let anything happen to you."
"Never promise things you can't deliver," I whisper.
"I can try."
"Don't go, Cat." Griffin's mouth never leaves my skin, his breath a warm whisper. "Please."
"You're my life now."
"Live together, or die trying."
Yup.
I'm dead.
Excuse me while I recover from THIS SQUISHY NONSENSE!
.............................................
Noooooooooo:
Delort, how dare you?
Delort, how dare you?
I fucking love this show.
And I fucking love Nico Delort.
The combination is... brain-wrinkling.
.............................................
Holly Black's, The Lost Sisters:
"Let’s start with a love story. Or maybe it’s another horror story. It seems like the difference is mostly in where the ending comes."
I feel like I needed this story.
I needed to understand why Taryn would betray her sister, Jude so unforgivably.
I have sisters.
I couldn't do what Taryn did and I've done plenty of stupid things because of boys in the past.
Sure, I'm not a fictional human raised in the mercurial society of the Fae, but some things you just don't do.
Especially to someone you shared a womb with, who's shielded you from the worst of your persecutors, who's changed themselves irrevocably in order to so.
You just don't.
Or you do and you end up like Taryn, writing apology letters in your head to a sister who may never forgive you, who you're too afraid to even ask for said forgiveness because there's more than a chance it won't be granted.
But the saddest part of Taryn's story isn't necessarily that she traded her sister, her best friend, her literal other half, for a fairy boy who uses her solely to invoke chaos because it gets him off.
No.
What's even sadder?
She thinks this is her only choice because she's a human girl, in a fairy land, and what else are women in these stories but a victim to be utilised.
"Fairy tales are full of girls who wait, who endure, who suffer. Good girls. Obedient girls. Girls who crush nettles until their hands bleed. Girls who haul water for witches. Girls who wander through deserts or sleep in ashes or make homes for transformed brothers in the woods. Girls without hands, without eyes, without the power of speech, without any power at all. But then a prince rides up and sees the girl and finds her beautiful. Beautiful, not despite her suffering, but because of it."
"Let’s start with a love story. Or maybe it’s another horror story. It seems like the difference is mostly in where the ending comes."
I feel like I needed this story.
I needed to understand why Taryn would betray her sister, Jude so unforgivably.
I have sisters.
I couldn't do what Taryn did and I've done plenty of stupid things because of boys in the past.
Sure, I'm not a fictional human raised in the mercurial society of the Fae, but some things you just don't do.
Especially to someone you shared a womb with, who's shielded you from the worst of your persecutors, who's changed themselves irrevocably in order to so.
You just don't.
Or you do and you end up like Taryn, writing apology letters in your head to a sister who may never forgive you, who you're too afraid to even ask for said forgiveness because there's more than a chance it won't be granted.
But the saddest part of Taryn's story isn't necessarily that she traded her sister, her best friend, her literal other half, for a fairy boy who uses her solely to invoke chaos because it gets him off.
No.
What's even sadder?
She thinks this is her only choice because she's a human girl, in a fairy land, and what else are women in these stories but a victim to be utilised.
"Fairy tales are full of girls who wait, who endure, who suffer. Good girls. Obedient girls. Girls who crush nettles until their hands bleed. Girls who haul water for witches. Girls who wander through deserts or sleep in ashes or make homes for transformed brothers in the woods. Girls without hands, without eyes, without the power of speech, without any power at all. But then a prince rides up and sees the girl and finds her beautiful. Beautiful, not despite her suffering, but because of it."
This doesn't excuse what she did.
Jude didn't do this.
She wouldn't.
But not all of us are Judes.
Not all of us are that brave.
We aren't weak but we aren't strong.
We don't even know how to fight back.
And I hope Jude sees that and shows her how.
Because Taryn isn't a villain.
What she did certainly was but she isn't.
She's human.
We fuck up.
Sometimes terribly.
It's as simple as that.
"That's your problem in a nutshell. You're judgemental. Everyone makes mistakes. They trust the wrong people. They fall in love. Not you, though. And that's why it's so hard to ask you for forgiveness.
But I am. Asking. I mean, I am going to ask. I am going to try to explain how it happened and how sorry I am."
"You're going to forgive me. You have to."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Jude didn't do this.
She wouldn't.
But not all of us are Judes.
Not all of us are that brave.
We aren't weak but we aren't strong.
We don't even know how to fight back.
And I hope Jude sees that and shows her how.
Because Taryn isn't a villain.
What she did certainly was but she isn't.
She's human.
We fuck up.
Sometimes terribly.
It's as simple as that.
"That's your problem in a nutshell. You're judgemental. Everyone makes mistakes. They trust the wrong people. They fall in love. Not you, though. And that's why it's so hard to ask you for forgiveness.
But I am. Asking. I mean, I am going to ask. I am going to try to explain how it happened and how sorry I am."
"You're going to forgive me. You have to."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
.............................................
Any and all of Mio aka. cochlea1313's tattoos:
Any and all of Mio aka. cochlea1313's tattoos:
.............................................
The saga of Louise's Body Is Falling the Fuck Apart continues:
Last month I thought I had back problems.
And I do, but I'm almost completely sure the culprit of all the painful fuckery I'm experiencing is my jawbone.
Or TMJ for short.
The Temporomandibular Joint is where your jaw is hinged to your skull.
And when that hinge and the surrounding muscles are misaligned or under stress it causes all of this bodily fucking nonsense:
» Pain in the jaw muscles
» Pain in the neck and shoulders
» Chronic headaches
» Jaw muscle stiffness
» Limited movement or locking of the jaw
» Ear pain, pressure, fullness, ringing in the ears (tinnitus)
» Painful clicking, popping or grating in the jaw joint when opening or closing the mouth
» A bite that feels "off"
» Dizziness
» Vision problems
I have 9/10 of these symptoms.
9 out of 10!
And as far as I can gather, there isn't a hell of lot of help for TMJ disorders other than facial exercises, stretching/yoga for the rest of the body (see: above video which makes me feel so fucking floaty once it's over) and quite possibly an obscenely expensive mouthguard to help with Bruxism (teeth grinding, most commonly done at night...which I also fucking do!).
Oh, and relaxing.
...
I hate being told to relax.
It's too fucking hard and my body instantly goes rigid because it's a contrary airhead.
Blarghhh.
The human body is an amazing fucking travesty.
...
You wanna know the best part, though?
My allergies are going crazy (odd because usually I'm an end of Summer hay fever sufferer) and every single time I sneeze (which is so goddamn often right now) it feels like I'm wearing one of those harnesses parents wrestle their kids into.
You know the ones?
The beast leashes.
Which is so fucking weird, by the way.
Don't collar your children, for fuck's sake!
I know they're tiny savages who are a constant flight risk with the attention spans of gin-soaked goldfish but just y'know, cool it and lose the weird master/canine look?
And maybe, I don't know, hold your kid's eternally-sticky-with-unknown-substances hand?!
They're not fucking, Fido.
Christ.
...
Anyway.
Yeah.
Barbaric kiddy harness.
But, y'know, on the inside?
And when I sneeze, it feels like the Hulk's giving it a sharp tug while laughing his fucking green head off, and I want to die...
(Sneezes shouldn't be followed by that many curse words... even I'm shocked by what comes out of my mouth and I could make Malcolm Tucker blush with my vocabulary...)
This neck/shoulder routine keeps the Hulk at bay though:
Truly, this helps so much.
The series of shoulder stretches right at the beginning are full on instant release.
The first time I did them I audibly groaned in relief.
And I don't think that's ever happened with stretching before.
I do this every night just to feel that blessed fucking relief.
(I skipped a night and I was so sore the next day. Note to self: don't skip, you lazy jerk)
And a few weeks in, the pain isn't gone but it's definitely muted to the point of almost being gone.
...
I'm calling that a win!
But the verdant asshole is still lurking.
He's always lurking.
Waiting to spine-punch me into a wonky pretzel shape solely for his amusement.
...
Bloody oversized Succulent.
(Gif by Stephanie Shank)
A NOTE OF WARNING:
This is what happens when you have weak wrists and suck at Downward Dog:
Fuck you, Tendonitis.
Fuck you hard in the bone shaft.
ANOTHER NOTE OF WARNING:
Get a yoga mat.
I don't have one yet and I'm covered in bruises.
C O V E R E D.
.............................................
Crescent City: House of Earth and Blood:
"Half-Fae, half-human Bryce Quinlan loves her life. By day, she works for an antiquities dealer, selling barely legal magical artifacts, and by night, she parties with her friends, savoring every pleasure Lunathion—otherwise known as Crescent City— has to offer. But it all comes crumbling down when a ruthless murder shakes the very foundations of the city—and Bryce’s world.
Two years later, her job has become a dead end, and she now seeks only blissful oblivion in the city’s most notorious nightclubs. But when the murderer attacks again, Bryce finds herself dragged into the investigation and paired with an infamous Fallen angel whose own brutal past haunts his every step.
Hunt Athalar, personal assassin for the Archangels, wants nothing to do with Bryce Quinlan, despite being ordered to protect her. She stands for everything he once rebelled against and seems more interested in partying than solving the murder, no matter how close to home it might hit. But Hunt soon realizes there’s far more to Bryce than meets the eye—and that he’s going to have to find a way to work with her if they want to solve this case.
As Bryce and Hunt race to untangle the mystery, they have no way of knowing the threads they tug ripple through the underbelly of the city, across warring continents, and down to the darkest levels of Hel, where things that have been sleeping for millennia are beginning to stir..."
I use this gif way too much but when it comes to m'lady, Maas...
.............................................
Rake:
So good.
So, so good.
What is it about a deplorable, immoral, horndog, Keats-spouting anti-hero that just charms the fuck out of me?
Seriously, what is it?
I should hate a character like Cleaver Greene, known to his ex-wife (the magnificent, Wendy) as El Fucko and Senator Fuckwit.
Names so fitting they aren't even insulting.
He's this selfish, self-destructive, overgrown man-child that generally thinks with his dick first.
...
But I love him.
I do.
I adore this hedonistic piece of gutter-waste, who just so happens to have the world's best shit-eating grin, and I'm not even sorry about it!
Such a fuck-knuckle.
So, so good.
What is it about a deplorable, immoral, horndog, Keats-spouting anti-hero that just charms the fuck out of me?
Seriously, what is it?
I should hate a character like Cleaver Greene, known to his ex-wife (the magnificent, Wendy) as El Fucko and Senator Fuckwit.
Names so fitting they aren't even insulting.
He's this selfish, self-destructive, overgrown man-child that generally thinks with his dick first.
...
But I love him.
I do.
I adore this hedonistic piece of gutter-waste, who just so happens to have the world's best shit-eating grin, and I'm not even sorry about it!
Such a fuck-knuckle.
.............................................
The entire internet getting schooled by this little queen of fucking everything:
"Don't listen to boys!"
— chris evans (@notcapnamerica) April 5, 2019
Yes, ma'am.
.............................................
George Paul Miller's, Vivid Lux- New Moon:
So simple.
So lovely.
So would be mine if I had the monies.
I fucking love printmaking.
The time and patience that goes into producing a single image is bewildering and you don't even see the end result until you've printed the damn thing.
But there's a degree of pleasure in that.
In the not knowing.
Half the fun of making art is stumbling upon happy accidents.
An ink blot here, a fingerprint there (sometimes paw-shaped because if you own a cat and make art, they will need to be involved; it's the law of nosy felines everywhere), a rogue scuff in the linework.
They all contribute to the effect a piece of art can have.
And every print will come out differently.
Vivid Lux - New Moon wouldn't be the same without its incomplete border.
It just wouldn't.
That missing ink is somehow integral, wholly accidental, and absolutely wonderful.
Art is lovely.
George Paul Miller's, Vivid Lux- New Moon:
So simple.
So lovely.
So would be mine if I had the monies.
I fucking love printmaking.
The time and patience that goes into producing a single image is bewildering and you don't even see the end result until you've printed the damn thing.
But there's a degree of pleasure in that.
In the not knowing.
Half the fun of making art is stumbling upon happy accidents.
An ink blot here, a fingerprint there (sometimes paw-shaped because if you own a cat and make art, they will need to be involved; it's the law of nosy felines everywhere), a rogue scuff in the linework.
They all contribute to the effect a piece of art can have.
And every print will come out differently.
Vivid Lux - New Moon wouldn't be the same without its incomplete border.
It just wouldn't.
That missing ink is somehow integral, wholly accidental, and absolutely wonderful.
Art is lovely.
.............................................
This is the softest show.
So soft.
Soft, soft, soft.
Did I mention how soft it is?
Because... softttt.
I have a deep love for Australia and its sense of humour.
Possibly because it matches so closely to Britain's.
And Please Like Me is no exception.
It takes the most fundamental facets of being human, the joy and hardships and everything in between, and doesn't try to make them anything but what they are.
No embellishments.
No explaining away the truth.
No excuses.
Just life and all its wonderful, mundane weirdness.
And it does it with this, I'm going to say it again, achingly soft humour.
Even when the characters are being mean to each other (which is 80% of the show) it's done in a way that you can still feel the immense amount of love shared between them.
Which is something I very much relate to.
There's a surefire way of knowing I like/love you, and it's if I'm calling you names.
If I'm proclaiming you a thundering fuckface, it means you're one of my most beloved people.
I can't explain it but it's true, just ask my sisters and all the heinous things I call them on a daily basis.
And you get an abundance of this barbaric form of affection in Please Like Me.
And it's lovely.
So lovely.
Everything about it is lovely.
I mean, how could you not love a show with lines like this in it:
I have only one quibble.
Yes, a quibble.
There was only one season and three episodes with this beautiful cinnamon roll of a human:
So soft.
Soft, soft, soft.
Did I mention how soft it is?
Because... softttt.
I have a deep love for Australia and its sense of humour.
Possibly because it matches so closely to Britain's.
And Please Like Me is no exception.
It takes the most fundamental facets of being human, the joy and hardships and everything in between, and doesn't try to make them anything but what they are.
No embellishments.
No explaining away the truth.
No excuses.
Just life and all its wonderful, mundane weirdness.
And it does it with this, I'm going to say it again, achingly soft humour.
Even when the characters are being mean to each other (which is 80% of the show) it's done in a way that you can still feel the immense amount of love shared between them.
Which is something I very much relate to.
There's a surefire way of knowing I like/love you, and it's if I'm calling you names.
If I'm proclaiming you a thundering fuckface, it means you're one of my most beloved people.
I can't explain it but it's true, just ask my sisters and all the heinous things I call them on a daily basis.
And you get an abundance of this barbaric form of affection in Please Like Me.
And it's lovely.
So lovely.
Everything about it is lovely.
I mean, how could you not love a show with lines like this in it:
You'd have to be mad, right?
Yes, a quibble.
There was only one season and three episodes with this beautiful cinnamon roll of a human:
Totally unacceptable.
Even if we did earn a Keegan Joyce (who's also in Rake being a very different character; very, very different) in his place and he was just as much of a cinnamon roll but...
Geoffrey...
...
HE'S TOO PURE FOR THIS WORLD, AND I KNOW THEY'RE WRONG FOR EACH OTHER BUT GODDAMNIT!
MY SHIP WAS CUT SHORT AND I AM NOT OKAY WITH IT!
...
Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to rewatch the show immediately because it's just that damn good and I have many feelings that need to be directed somewhere.
.............................................
.............................................
Ilona Andrews', Magic Gifts:
One day.
One bloody day.
Kate and Curran will get through dinner without bloodshed.
...
Okay, they totally won't and it'll always be fun reading them not fill their bellies with awesome sounding food (why you gotta be so descriptive Ilona? Why? It's makes me so hungry, damnit) but hell, Team Andrews, you've gotta let my ship eat!
Speaking of ships.
Very dangerous things.
Huge potential for desiccating your heart like a member of the Avengers at any given moment.
And sometimes that's not even down to the writer:
→ Heartlessly killing one of them off
→ Deciding to ship them with a totally different character
→ Character assassinating them so the ship no longer makes sense
→ Just not writing the ship you so desperately want even if it makes no sense to anybody but you...
No.
Sometimes it can actually be getting your longtime thirsted after ship together.
For some reason it can totally kill the love.
Like being taunted with a gift, a majorly awesome sounding gift, waiting years for it... and then it's a satsuma.
...
No offence to satsumas but THEY'RE NOT WHAT I SOLD MY SOPPY SOUL FOR, AUTHORPERSON!
I demand the love!
And when it isn't delivered?
It sucks.
Oh man, does it suck.
But luckily, Team Andrews don't suck.
And the Kate/Curran ship is sailing strong and bickery and with the right amount of routinely-perving-on-each-other-because-they're-just-as-thirsty-as-I-am that I require.
Case:
'I glanced at Curran in the driver's seat. Even at rest, like he was now, relaxed and driving, he emanated a kind of coiled power. He was built to kill, his body a blend of hard, powerful muscle and supple quickness, and something in the way he carried himself telegraphed a shocking potential for violence and a willingness to use it. He seemed to occupy a much larger space than his body actually did and he was impossible to ignore. The promise of violence he carried used to scare me, so I'd bait him until some of it came out, the same way people afraid of heights would rock climb to cure themselves. Now I just accepted him, the way he accepted my need to sleep with a sword under my bed.
Curran caught me looking. He flexed, letting the carved muscles bulge on his arms, and winked. "Hey, baby."
I cracked up.'
In point:
'I pulled the band off my still-damp braid and slid my fingers through it, unravelling the hair. Curran's gaze snagged on my hands. He focused on my fingers like a cat on a piece of foil pulled by string. I shook my head and my hair fell over my shoulders in a long dark wave. There we go. Now we were both private in public.
Tiny gold sparks danced in Curran's gray irises. He was thinking dirty thoughts and the wicked edge in his smile made me want to slide over next to him and touch him.
We had to wait. I was pretty sure that having hot sex on the floor of Arirang would get us banned for life. Then again, might be worth it.'
Hormone-addled monsters.
Their gross mush-for-brains-for-each-other behaviour isn't solely why I love them so very much, though.
Nope, that'd be boring.
It's that they're such a good team.
Even when they're thunking each other over the head with rather colourful insults to see who can out alpha the other, they're still such a good team.
I swear to all things supernatural I got goosebumps, actual goosebumps, when this happened:
'Oh crap. I pulled Slayer from the sheath on my back. Sensing the undead, the pale blade of the enchanted saber glowed, sending wisps of white vapor into the air.
The dull carmine glow of vampire irises flared into vivid scarlet. Shit. The restaurant had just updated its menu with fresh human.
Flesh boiled on Curran's arms. Bone grew, muscle twisted like slick ropes, skin sheathed his new body and sprouted fur. Enormous claws slid from Curran's new fingers.
The vampires rose off their haunches.
Curran stood up next to me in his warrior form, nearly eight feet of steel-hard muscle.'
!
Nothing more satisfying than your beloved ship proudly standing next to each other in the face of snarly evil and powering. the. fuck. up.
Except maybe when they team up to torment their best friend for the sheer fun of it:
'Curran and I looked at each other.
"He's trying to get rid of us," I said.
"You think he's planning a coup?" Curran wondered.
"I hope so." I turned to Jim. "Is there any chance you'd overthrow the tyrannical Beast Lord and his psychotic Consort?"
"Yeah, I want a vacation," Curran said.
Jim leaned toward me and said in a lowered voice, "You couldn't pay me enough. This is your mess, you deal with it. I have enough on my plate."
He walked away.
"Too bad," Curran said.
"I don't know, I think we could convince him to seize the reins of power."
Curran shook his head. "Nah. He's too smart for that." '
Ugh.
These two.
They kill me.
With their petulance, and devotion, and propensity to fall into playful bouts of violence (they're supernatural, it'sbasically foreplay) because they love each other to the point of distraction:
'Generally, tackling someone from behind is very effective, because the person doesn't know you're coming.
However, after being tackled a dozen times, the victim becomes accustomed to it. Which is why when Curran made a grab for me, I danced aside and tripped him. He grabbed my arm, then we did some rolling on the floor, and I ended up on top of him, our noses about an inch apart.
He grinned. "You're jealous."
I considered it. "No. But when you stared at that woman like she was made of diamonds, it didn't feel very good."
"I stared at her because she smelled strange."
"Strange how?"
"She smelled like rock dust. Very strong dry smell." Curran put his arms around me. "I love it when you get all fussy and possessive."
"I never get fussy and possessive."
He grinned, showing his teeth. His face was practically glowing. "So you're cool if I go over and chat her up?"
"Sure. Are you cool if I go and chat up that sexy werewolf on the third floor?"
He went from casual and funny to deadly serious in half a blink. "What sexy werewolf?"
I laughed.
Curran's eyes focused. He was concentrating on something.
"You're taking a mental inventory of all the people working on the third floor, aren't you?"
His expression went blank. I'd hit the nail on the head.
I slid off him and put my head on his biceps. The shaggy carpet was nice and comfortable under my back.
"Is it Jordan?"
"I just picked a random floor," I told him. "You're nuts, you know that?"
He put his arm around me. "Look who's talking." '
Yeah.
I'm a goner.
A disgusting, swoony, heart-swelling goner.
And I'll never apologise.
I should probably be focusing on the story and not how gross I am for my ship but... I love their love to the point of it being putrid and cannot be stopped?
...
The story, though?
This one was goooood.
Elfin bitches, a charmed, killer choker and cannibalistic Norse creature features?
Yes, yes and fuck yes!
At 100 pages, this story shouldn't be so satisfying and well written but as I said, Team Andrews do not suck.
They so don't suck.
Sucking isn't even remotely possible for these two.
And I want more.
And there is more.
I just have to keep pacing myself because that more will end and I'm going to be fucking devastated and unbearable to deal with when it does.
...
The perils of the book series.
I'd say it wasn't worth the agony but that'd be a dirty, dirty lie.
A bonus: My new favourite thing is Curran and his relationship with footwear.
'Curran leaned toward me. "I have to dress up and meet with those corpse fuckers once every three months and be civil while we're eating at the same table. You can deal with the Guild."
"You dress up? Wow, I had no idea that putting on your formal sweatpants was such a huge burden."
"Kate," Curran snarled. "They're not sweatpants, they are slacks and they have a belt. I have to wear shoes with fucking laces in them." '
Such a mood.
Ilona Andrews', Magic Gifts:
(My copy is found nestled at the back of the next book in the Kate Daniels series, Gunmetal Magic - an Andrea standalone if anyone's wondering)
One day.
One bloody day.
Kate and Curran will get through dinner without bloodshed.
...
Okay, they totally won't and it'll always be fun reading them not fill their bellies with awesome sounding food (why you gotta be so descriptive Ilona? Why? It's makes me so hungry, damnit) but hell, Team Andrews, you've gotta let my ship eat!
Speaking of ships.
Very dangerous things.
Huge potential for desiccating your heart like a member of the Avengers at any given moment.
And sometimes that's not even down to the writer:
→ Heartlessly killing one of them off
→ Deciding to ship them with a totally different character
→ Character assassinating them so the ship no longer makes sense
→ Just not writing the ship you so desperately want even if it makes no sense to anybody but you...
No.
Sometimes it can actually be getting your longtime thirsted after ship together.
For some reason it can totally kill the love.
Like being taunted with a gift, a majorly awesome sounding gift, waiting years for it... and then it's a satsuma.
...
No offence to satsumas but THEY'RE NOT WHAT I SOLD MY SOPPY SOUL FOR, AUTHORPERSON!
I demand the love!
And when it isn't delivered?
It sucks.
Oh man, does it suck.
But luckily, Team Andrews don't suck.
And the Kate/Curran ship is sailing strong and bickery and with the right amount of routinely-perving-on-each-other-because-they're-just-as-thirsty-as-I-am that I require.
Case:
'I glanced at Curran in the driver's seat. Even at rest, like he was now, relaxed and driving, he emanated a kind of coiled power. He was built to kill, his body a blend of hard, powerful muscle and supple quickness, and something in the way he carried himself telegraphed a shocking potential for violence and a willingness to use it. He seemed to occupy a much larger space than his body actually did and he was impossible to ignore. The promise of violence he carried used to scare me, so I'd bait him until some of it came out, the same way people afraid of heights would rock climb to cure themselves. Now I just accepted him, the way he accepted my need to sleep with a sword under my bed.
Curran caught me looking. He flexed, letting the carved muscles bulge on his arms, and winked. "Hey, baby."
I cracked up.'
In point:
'I pulled the band off my still-damp braid and slid my fingers through it, unravelling the hair. Curran's gaze snagged on my hands. He focused on my fingers like a cat on a piece of foil pulled by string. I shook my head and my hair fell over my shoulders in a long dark wave. There we go. Now we were both private in public.
Tiny gold sparks danced in Curran's gray irises. He was thinking dirty thoughts and the wicked edge in his smile made me want to slide over next to him and touch him.
We had to wait. I was pretty sure that having hot sex on the floor of Arirang would get us banned for life. Then again, might be worth it.'
Hormone-addled monsters.
Their gross mush-for-brains-for-each-other behaviour isn't solely why I love them so very much, though.
Nope, that'd be boring.
It's that they're such a good team.
Even when they're thunking each other over the head with rather colourful insults to see who can out alpha the other, they're still such a good team.
I swear to all things supernatural I got goosebumps, actual goosebumps, when this happened:
'Oh crap. I pulled Slayer from the sheath on my back. Sensing the undead, the pale blade of the enchanted saber glowed, sending wisps of white vapor into the air.
The dull carmine glow of vampire irises flared into vivid scarlet. Shit. The restaurant had just updated its menu with fresh human.
Flesh boiled on Curran's arms. Bone grew, muscle twisted like slick ropes, skin sheathed his new body and sprouted fur. Enormous claws slid from Curran's new fingers.
The vampires rose off their haunches.
Curran stood up next to me in his warrior form, nearly eight feet of steel-hard muscle.'
!
Nothing more satisfying than your beloved ship proudly standing next to each other in the face of snarly evil and powering. the. fuck. up.
'Curran and I looked at each other.
"He's trying to get rid of us," I said.
"You think he's planning a coup?" Curran wondered.
"I hope so." I turned to Jim. "Is there any chance you'd overthrow the tyrannical Beast Lord and his psychotic Consort?"
"Yeah, I want a vacation," Curran said.
Jim leaned toward me and said in a lowered voice, "You couldn't pay me enough. This is your mess, you deal with it. I have enough on my plate."
He walked away.
"Too bad," Curran said.
"I don't know, I think we could convince him to seize the reins of power."
Curran shook his head. "Nah. He's too smart for that." '
Ugh.
These two.
They kill me.
With their petulance, and devotion, and propensity to fall into playful bouts of violence (they're supernatural, it's
'Generally, tackling someone from behind is very effective, because the person doesn't know you're coming.
However, after being tackled a dozen times, the victim becomes accustomed to it. Which is why when Curran made a grab for me, I danced aside and tripped him. He grabbed my arm, then we did some rolling on the floor, and I ended up on top of him, our noses about an inch apart.
He grinned. "You're jealous."
I considered it. "No. But when you stared at that woman like she was made of diamonds, it didn't feel very good."
"I stared at her because she smelled strange."
"Strange how?"
"She smelled like rock dust. Very strong dry smell." Curran put his arms around me. "I love it when you get all fussy and possessive."
"I never get fussy and possessive."
He grinned, showing his teeth. His face was practically glowing. "So you're cool if I go over and chat her up?"
"Sure. Are you cool if I go and chat up that sexy werewolf on the third floor?"
He went from casual and funny to deadly serious in half a blink. "What sexy werewolf?"
I laughed.
Curran's eyes focused. He was concentrating on something.
"You're taking a mental inventory of all the people working on the third floor, aren't you?"
His expression went blank. I'd hit the nail on the head.
I slid off him and put my head on his biceps. The shaggy carpet was nice and comfortable under my back.
"Is it Jordan?"
"I just picked a random floor," I told him. "You're nuts, you know that?"
He put his arm around me. "Look who's talking." '
Yeah.
I'm a goner.
A disgusting, swoony, heart-swelling goner.
And I'll never apologise.
I should probably be focusing on the story and not how gross I am for my ship but... I love their love to the point of it being putrid and cannot be stopped?
...
The story, though?
This one was goooood.
Elfin bitches, a charmed, killer choker and cannibalistic Norse creature features?
Yes, yes and fuck yes!
At 100 pages, this story shouldn't be so satisfying and well written but as I said, Team Andrews do not suck.
They so don't suck.
Sucking isn't even remotely possible for these two.
And I want more.
And there is more.
I just have to keep pacing myself because that more will end and I'm going to be fucking devastated and unbearable to deal with when it does.
...
The perils of the book series.
I'd say it wasn't worth the agony but that'd be a dirty, dirty lie.
A bonus: My new favourite thing is Curran and his relationship with footwear.
'Curran leaned toward me. "I have to dress up and meet with those corpse fuckers once every three months and be civil while we're eating at the same table. You can deal with the Guild."
"You dress up? Wow, I had no idea that putting on your formal sweatpants was such a huge burden."
"Kate," Curran snarled. "They're not sweatpants, they are slacks and they have a belt. I have to wear shoes with fucking laces in them." '
Such a mood.
.............................................
My Hinkleville Snoozy mug:
Problem is, now I want them all:
.............................................
Hmm.
I didn't love this.
Which is confusing because:
✓ It looked right; definitely had that autumnal glow I felt whilst reading it.
✓ The casting was a bit wonky, apart from Matthew Goode (see last March's monthlies for my somewhat hormonal reaction to that man and the casting of him), but no major complaints here.
✓ The sets were beautiful and mostly how I imagined (especially Diana's childhood home; it was like they ripped it from my brainpan).
✓ The acting wasn't horrible, not wonderful but better than I was expecting?
✓ They kept almost all of the moments I got giddy over in the book.
✓ The magic was how I imagined it (if a bit dodgy in the effects department but, first season, they can fix that).
✓ The pacing was perfect; Discovery should have a languorous quality to it and they certainly nailed that.
But...
I think it was just too short.
8 episodes, 45 minutes long.
And the book is just shy of 600 pages.
...
That's just not enough time to fit in everything necessary to the story's development.
And this is a story that develops.
You don't get handed things easily.
You learn along the way with Diana and Matthew.
The relationship between them is insta-lovey (which I've decided I tolerate in supernaturals but not humans because it's gross and weird and yuck, stop it, you have no magical excuse for your icky "wanna bone but let's call it love" behaviour) but somehow in the show it's not as believable as in the book.
Because they have more time.
(In actuality it happens over a few weeks but it feels longer and that feeling was missing)
It grows and changes and it's lovely.
The show just made me cringe a bit, if I'm honest.
I still liked it though.
And I want more.
I'm just sort of lazily disappointed.
But... then there's Matthew Goode's shoulders and my ovaries are compromised and I can't seem to care?:
Yeah, yeah, I know, "put your hormones away, you wreck of a human".
...
NEVER!
On a less perverted note...
Some of the score is just lovely and I'm a sucker for a good score:
I didn't love this.
Which is confusing because:
✓ It looked right; definitely had that autumnal glow I felt whilst reading it.
✓ The casting was a bit wonky, apart from Matthew Goode (see last March's monthlies for my somewhat hormonal reaction to that man and the casting of him), but no major complaints here.
✓ The sets were beautiful and mostly how I imagined (especially Diana's childhood home; it was like they ripped it from my brainpan).
✓ The acting wasn't horrible, not wonderful but better than I was expecting?
✓ They kept almost all of the moments I got giddy over in the book.
✓ The magic was how I imagined it (if a bit dodgy in the effects department but, first season, they can fix that).
✓ The pacing was perfect; Discovery should have a languorous quality to it and they certainly nailed that.
But...
I think it was just too short.
8 episodes, 45 minutes long.
And the book is just shy of 600 pages.
...
That's just not enough time to fit in everything necessary to the story's development.
And this is a story that develops.
You don't get handed things easily.
You learn along the way with Diana and Matthew.
The relationship between them is insta-lovey (which I've decided I tolerate in supernaturals but not humans because it's gross and weird and yuck, stop it, you have no magical excuse for your icky "wanna bone but let's call it love" behaviour) but somehow in the show it's not as believable as in the book.
Because they have more time.
(In actuality it happens over a few weeks but it feels longer and that feeling was missing)
It grows and changes and it's lovely.
I still liked it though.
And I want more.
I'm just sort of lazily disappointed.
But... then there's Matthew Goode's shoulders and my ovaries are compromised and I can't seem to care?:
Yeah, yeah, I know, "put your hormones away, you wreck of a human".
...
NEVER!
On a less perverted note...
Some of the score is just lovely and I'm a sucker for a good score:
.............................................
I think I can safely say we are all Talia in this situation:
The map: Canada— Talia Hibbert 🦑 (@TaliaHibbert) April 8, 2019
My brain: Canadia!
.............................................
My sister keeps coming into my room and dismembering my Fiery:
I live with a savage.
Totally regretting not having Chilly Down on when I filmed this...
.............................................
.............................................
Ben Aaronovitch's, Broken Homes:
I didn't actually enjoy this one all that much.
Which sucks because... Peter.
Lovely, Peter.
And lovely Nightingale.
And fascinating Molly.
Who are all still just as lovely and fascinating.
But the story (or lack thereof) just wasn't working for me this time around.
And I think it's because it was building up to this line...
"That wasn't part of the deal."
...and the utter fucking devastation it would cause me.
Why, Aaronovitch?
WHY?!
I thought we were wizard buddies...
On a happy note: Orion just picked up the Rivers of London series for an additional four books, which will bring us to 11 books (including novellas) in total.
This makes me so very happy.
And so very scared for my heart.
You cruel, wicked man, Aaronovitch.
Don't you end this badly.
Don't you even dare!
Update: The series is being adapted for tv!
I posted about it here, because I forgot I'd written this part of the monthlies and I was overwhelmed with feelings.
Oh so many feelings...
.............................................
... don't you tease me!
Is this the next Hugh D'Ambry book or are we branching out into the extended family?
...
Ilona?
...
Gordon?
...
ANYBODY?!
.............................................
The fluff-head sits like a human:
That's my boy.
The fluff-head sits like a human:
First time I've seen him do this and he seemed to be really enjoying myself.
How could I possibly know that?
...
I think it was the heavily baked expression he was rocking and the fact that he didn't even try to bite me when I scritched his nose for more than 5 seconds.
Highly suspicious behaviour.
Here he is in his more natural "if you fucking boop my nose one more fucking time I'm going to slice your fucking face off" state:
That's my boy.
.............................................
I love the Draw This In Your Style trend.
It's essentially how you start being an artist.
You copy.
And then you adapt.
.............................................
Leigh Bardugo continuing to be the queen that we all need:
This is beautiful and I'm always happy to see Nina drawn as I wrote her—round and gorgeous. I'm blown away by all of the work @DianaDworak has created. Just a gentle reminder that when we communicate with artists we can do it with kindness. https://t.co/H3tsBgU9X8— Leigh Bardugo (@LBardugo) April 10, 2019
Anyway, I realize my voice may not carry over all of the other messages you're receiving. I won't pretend that I don't still struggle with this shit myself. But just know "fat girl kicks ass, finds love" is not a myth.— Leigh Bardugo (@LBardugo) April 10, 2019
It feels so good to be a woman right now.
.............................................
I think just about everyone is glued to Nathan W. Pyle's webcomic, Strange Planet at the moment:
And this one hit me so hard!
And this one hit me so hard!
.............................................
I cannot even begin to explain how much I love Christine McConnell and her Curious Creations.
Creepy baked goods? Depraved muppets? A glorious female with Morticia Addams-esque, swoon-worthy talent?
Check, check and holy mother of check!
And they goddamned cancelled her.
...
You all suck and I am furious.
I'm going to miss this dirtbag so much:
Creepy baked goods? Depraved muppets? A glorious female with Morticia Addams-esque, swoon-worthy talent?
Check, check and holy mother of check!
And they goddamned cancelled her.
...
You all suck and I am furious.
I'm going to miss this dirtbag so much:
.............................................
Peter S. Beagle's, The Last Unicorn:
There was one line from this that stuck with me and held true to the end:
"Take me with you, for laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you."
Because, absolutely.
"Take me with you."
Wherever the Unicorn went, every inch of her journey, I wanted to follow.
I wanted to see what she saw, feel what she felt, experience what she experienced.
I wanted her joy and her terror, her resignation and her spite, her beauty and her wonder.
I wanted it all.
Because...
"Take me with you."
Please...
"Take me with you."
This is the most beautiful story.
Bonus unicorn content by the talented Ang ladies:
.............................................
The second and final season of Fleabag:
If you want to watch a show that's painfully smart, gloriously female, emotionally gutting and excruciatingly funny?
Watch Fleabag.
It'll ruin you but it'll be worth every second.
Phoebe Waller-Bridge is everything and I am in love with her face.
And the ending.
Oh god, the ending.
She's too wonderful.
It makes me so nervous.
Can someone Weird Science me a P. W-B?
But tiny?
Like my very own foul-mouthed, booze-guzzling, hormonally-savaged Thumbelina?
No?
...
Fuckers.
But tiny?
Like my very own foul-mouthed, booze-guzzling, hormonally-savaged Thumbelina?
No?
...
Fuckers.
.............................................
ROWELL!:
.............................................
Michael Moorcock's, Blood: A Southern Fantasy:
"Remember!" she called, as she followed him up the narrow ladders towards the bridge. "It is only a matter of scale and experience. You are not a fraction of the whole. You are a version of the whole! Time will seem to eddy and stall. This is scale. Everything is sentient, but scale alters perception. The time of a tree is not your time." It was as if she shouted to him all she had meant to teach him before this moment. "To the snail the foot which comes from nowhere and crushes him is as natural a disaster as a hurricane; it cannot be appealed to and is impossible to anticipate. The time of a star is not our time. Equity is the natural condition of the multiverse. There are things to fear in the colour fields, but not the fields themselves! Remember, Sam, we are God in miniature!"
Oof.
This isn't my usual brand of fantasy.
This falls more in the camp of William Gibson in the days of Neuromancer, Iain Banks at his most metaphysical, and J. G. Ballard bringing readers to their knees with his truly fucking terrifying vision of our inevitable dystopian future.
And perhaps a little of Alan Gibson's spectral fantasy thrown in for good measure.
All of these writers unfurl their stories with a certain... language, lingo, patois.
And as much as we might try, we'll never understand it.
It's near impossible.
It veers almost into the realms of nonsense poetry.
And it's extremely frustrating, but wholly engrossing at the same time.
It pulls you along in a sort of bewildered stupor, and it doesn't matter that you're essentially deaf and dumb (but certainly not blind) to this strange world these writers have created.
You accept it.
You embrace it.
You follow it.
If you were to ask me what Blood is about, I don't think I could answer you.
It's too cerebral, or beyond my capabilities of understanding, or perhaps it's just self-indulgent crap.
Who knows?
I don't, however, think the latter is the case, here.
I may have spent the majority of the book confused and groaning internally (sometimes externally; apologies to anyone in my general vicinity at the time) about the amount of metaphysics and moral philosophising I was being "made" to process, but at the heart of it, I was enjoying myself.
I wasn't reading out of my normal OCD need to finish every book I start.
I wanted to see what happened.
I needed to see what happened.
For me that's a sign of, perhaps not a good, but most certainly a compelling story.
...
I still don't know what it's about though.
Apart from maybe:
Love
Obsession
Morality
Mortality
Endurance
Idealism
Existentialism
Faith
Destiny
Empiricism
Mysticism
So many fucking "isms" and quite possibly nothing at all.
Which is perhaps the beauty of it.
Blood is more of an experiment in an idea; a speculation on existence, rather than a story with a beginning, middle and end.
It doesn't have to make sense.
It just has to be.
Like hearing a foreign language and not possessing the fluency to understand the words but knowing, innately knowing, and embracing the beauty in it.
That's what Blood is.
Or at least what Blood is to me.
And at the very least?
It wins the "Best Named Spaceship" award with, the Linear Bee.
...
I don't know why but that just kills me.
I want to name something the Linear Bee.
Scratch that.
I need to name something the Linear Bee.
...
There's a fair chance a kitten in my future will be dubbed with this particular moniker and...
I'm sorry, future kitten.
I'm so, so sorry.
Bonus:
This is very much how I see the "colour" in the Biloxi Fault:
Thank you James Jean for being so bloody talented.
"Remember!" she called, as she followed him up the narrow ladders towards the bridge. "It is only a matter of scale and experience. You are not a fraction of the whole. You are a version of the whole! Time will seem to eddy and stall. This is scale. Everything is sentient, but scale alters perception. The time of a tree is not your time." It was as if she shouted to him all she had meant to teach him before this moment. "To the snail the foot which comes from nowhere and crushes him is as natural a disaster as a hurricane; it cannot be appealed to and is impossible to anticipate. The time of a star is not our time. Equity is the natural condition of the multiverse. There are things to fear in the colour fields, but not the fields themselves! Remember, Sam, we are God in miniature!"
Oof.
This isn't my usual brand of fantasy.
This falls more in the camp of William Gibson in the days of Neuromancer, Iain Banks at his most metaphysical, and J. G. Ballard bringing readers to their knees with his truly fucking terrifying vision of our inevitable dystopian future.
And perhaps a little of Alan Gibson's spectral fantasy thrown in for good measure.
All of these writers unfurl their stories with a certain... language, lingo, patois.
And as much as we might try, we'll never understand it.
It's near impossible.
It veers almost into the realms of nonsense poetry.
And it's extremely frustrating, but wholly engrossing at the same time.
It pulls you along in a sort of bewildered stupor, and it doesn't matter that you're essentially deaf and dumb (but certainly not blind) to this strange world these writers have created.
You accept it.
You embrace it.
You follow it.
If you were to ask me what Blood is about, I don't think I could answer you.
It's too cerebral, or beyond my capabilities of understanding, or perhaps it's just self-indulgent crap.
Who knows?
I don't, however, think the latter is the case, here.
I may have spent the majority of the book confused and groaning internally (sometimes externally; apologies to anyone in my general vicinity at the time) about the amount of metaphysics and moral philosophising I was being "made" to process, but at the heart of it, I was enjoying myself.
I wasn't reading out of my normal OCD need to finish every book I start.
I wanted to see what happened.
I needed to see what happened.
For me that's a sign of, perhaps not a good, but most certainly a compelling story.
...
I still don't know what it's about though.
Apart from maybe:
Love
Obsession
Morality
Mortality
Endurance
Idealism
Existentialism
Faith
Destiny
Empiricism
Mysticism
So many fucking "isms" and quite possibly nothing at all.
Which is perhaps the beauty of it.
Blood is more of an experiment in an idea; a speculation on existence, rather than a story with a beginning, middle and end.
It doesn't have to make sense.
It just has to be.
Like hearing a foreign language and not possessing the fluency to understand the words but knowing, innately knowing, and embracing the beauty in it.
That's what Blood is.
Or at least what Blood is to me.
And at the very least?
It wins the "Best Named Spaceship" award with, the Linear Bee.
...
I don't know why but that just kills me.
I want to name something the Linear Bee.
Scratch that.
I need to name something the Linear Bee.
...
There's a fair chance a kitten in my future will be dubbed with this particular moniker and...
I'm sorry, future kitten.
I'm so, so sorry.
Bonus:
This is very much how I see the "colour" in the Biloxi Fault:
Thank you James Jean for being so bloody talented.
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I could use all the adjectives but it would still come down to this one:
Beautiful
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Kristen Callihan's, Firelight:
I read this at the same time as Blood and it was just the fluffy balm I needed to soothe my achy, metaphysics-filled brainpan at the end of the day.
(How do people actually study this stuff and not break out into sporadic bouts of crosseyed sobbing?)
It had all the right ingredients:
✓ Victorian London
(Not an era I spend much time in but I wish I did. Hi Penny Dreadful, I miss you...)
✓ Supernaturals
✓ A murder mystery
✓ A masked villain
✓ A feisty, smart, emotionally free heroine with a kickass power
✓ A brooding, self-sacrificing hero with the softest underbelly
✓ Smutty times
(This is now required; YA can bite me but it probably wouldn't because it isn't the lusty wench I need!)
✓ A descriptive landscape I could almost feel, taste
✓ A new ship to fawn over
✓ Bloody lovely dialogue
✓ HEA
Yup.
All I needed.
My brain is nice and sated.
Good gods, I love fictional fluff.
The only thing I didn't like is that each book in the series is a new couple.
Which wouldn't usually bother me but... my ship... my lovely ship...
I read this at the same time as Blood and it was just the fluffy balm I needed to soothe my achy, metaphysics-filled brainpan at the end of the day.
(How do people actually study this stuff and not break out into sporadic bouts of crosseyed sobbing?)
It had all the right ingredients:
✓ Victorian London
(Not an era I spend much time in but I wish I did. Hi Penny Dreadful, I miss you...)
✓ Supernaturals
✓ A murder mystery
✓ A masked villain
✓ A feisty, smart, emotionally free heroine with a kickass power
✓ A brooding, self-sacrificing hero with the softest underbelly
✓ Smutty times
(This is now required; YA can bite me but it probably wouldn't because it isn't the lusty wench I need!)
✓ A descriptive landscape I could almost feel, taste
✓ A new ship to fawn over
✓ Bloody lovely dialogue
✓ HEA
Yup.
All I needed.
My brain is nice and sated.
Good gods, I love fictional fluff.
The only thing I didn't like is that each book in the series is a new couple.
Which wouldn't usually bother me but... my ship... my lovely ship...
Saying that, however, I think I'm really going to enjoy Callihan's, Darkest London series.
I mean, what's not to love?
Supernatural beings solving crime and falling in love in dark, creepy, aesthetically pleasing Victorian times?
...
...
I'd apologise but at this point, would you expect anything less?
I mean, what's not to love?
Supernatural beings solving crime and falling in love in dark, creepy, aesthetically pleasing Victorian times?
...
...
I'd apologise but at this point, would you expect anything less?
.............................................
Roshani Chokshi's description of herself in this wolf-based interview:
.............................................
Bonus very super important material:
how could i forget.. here is also a dorky lil interaction i drew 😅 pic.twitter.com/B4p2N0x7Bg— em (shop open ❤️) (@rudebeetle) April 22, 2019
...
.............................................
.............................................
WHAT?
NO!
MORE!:
NO!
MORE!:
pink in the night pic.twitter.com/an1JfLevo4— ⭐️εunnie⭐️ (@eunnieboo) April 15, 2019
I am not equipped for this level of cute...
Do yourself a favour and listen to the song it's inspired by while looking at it:
Well... I'm ruined, how about you?
.............................................
Still Life:
I post scenes from Ana Godis' mini masterpiece way too often but when she does shit like this, what else am I supposed to do?!
I post scenes from Ana Godis' mini masterpiece way too often but when she does shit like this, what else am I supposed to do?!
.............................................
You're fucking adorable and I cannot handle it.
.............................................
Samantha Mash's ode to Dany and her dragons:
She's threatening to release this as a print.
...
I'm okay, it's cool, I'm not waiting with bated fucking breath or anything.
...
She threatened.
She released.
I failed to control myself and now have my very own dragons winging their way to me.
Goddamnit, self control, where the fuck did you scamper off to?
She's threatening to release this as a print.
...
I'm okay, it's cool, I'm not waiting with bated fucking breath or anything.
...
She threatened.
She released.
I failed to control myself and now have my very own dragons winging their way to me.
Goddamnit, self control, where the fuck did you scamper off to?
.............................................
LOOK AWAY!:
The Awkward Yeti kills me on a daily basis.
ACoTaR:
LOOK AWAY!:
The Awkward Yeti kills me on a daily basis.
.............................................
ACoTaR:
We are so thrilled to be bringing a collector’s edition of A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES by Sarah J. Maas to shelves later this year! Out November 5, 2019 and up for preorder now! pic.twitter.com/8LKpZhKJhQ— BloomsburyUS Kids/YA (@bloomsburykids) April 16, 2019
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