december

January 01, 2020


Things I enjoyed in the month of December:


L. L. McKinney's, A Dream So Dark:

"I am Alice Kingston.

 And I am afraid.

 But fear cannot stop me."

This is not my favourite Alice re-telling.
That honour always, always, goes to Frank Beddor's, The Looking Glass Wars.
It was the first Alice re-telling I'd ever read and it burrowed it's frumious Bandersnatch claws into me and never let go.
To this day, I've yet to find another to usurp its place.
A Dream So Dark, though?
A firm second.
A firm equal second with Christina Henry's, Alice ← not the gorefest I was hoping for but I dined quite happily on the arterial spray I was served.
And this is after being gravely disappointed by the first in the series, A Blade So Black.
As I said in my review, there just wasn't any meat to the story.
It had all the right elements:

Kick ass heroine
Vivid world building
Humour
Fight scenes that held true in my imagination
(Why are fight scenes so fucking confusing to read? Is it me? Or do they just not make any viable bloody sense?)
A familiar but new take on the Alice legend
Yet another Hatter to adore
(Although, his accent does veer into the realms of a bit dodgy at times. Oh, America, you'll get our lingo down one day)
A villain to loathe
And a little romance

 ...
A recipe for a good time, yes?
But for some reason it just didn't work for me.
Also, there's a love triangle and I fucking abhor love triangles
And in the sequel it's somehow turned into a love quadrangle.
...
Ughhhhh, excuse me while I vibrate with nauseated rage.
If I could erase this trope, I'd whip out my magic eraser right this fucking second - sounds dirtier than expected; I stand by it - but alas.

Anyway.
Gross, overly complex relationships aside.
I fucking loved this time around with McKinney's, Alice.
All that story-meat I was hungry for?
Right here.
As if she'd been storing it up just to lure me back in, fatten me up and roast me for dinner.
...
And it worked.
Stick a fork in me.
I love her Alice. I love her truly.
She's a bit of a grump but y'know, hormones; and brave, oh so brave.
I'd totally let her fend off Wonderlandian Nightmares while I cheer her on behind a fluffy, scaly dragon-type (not a Jaberwocky) creature ←  they have these in this Wonderland, they're called Furies, and... I'm totally behind it, bring on all the fluffy dragons with puppy sensibilities.
...
Don't judge my cowardice.
Not everybody's born with awesome powers that allow us to shoot daggers of light from our fingertips.
...
Oh, bite me.

Back to Alice.
She's a great character.
A kid but not juvenile in her kiddishness.
A little bit of a mess but there if you need her. Before you need her.
Determined and not too damn shabby with a sword - yet another feisty female for me to adore, woe is me.
And she fits in McKinney's version of Wonderland.
I've read a few Wonderland retellings where the original story and the new elements don't mesh.
And it's distracting.
So distracting.
But McKinney manages to weave present day America with the timeless realm of Wonderland.
Sailor Moon cosplaying meets trees of candy floss flavoured like meat.
...
Sounds ridiculous... actually, does it?
It doesn't even matter because it works.
It works so fucking well.
And I'm so glad the sequel finally got me into this series because, y'know, the Alice of it all.
Even if there's only one more book to go, it's going to be a ridiculous amount of fun seeing where McKinney's going to take this next.
I just need one thing, though.
For the love of my sanity, please let that love quadrangle monstrosity be sorted out without too much YA bullshit?

Sidenote: Nicknames.
Alice's childhood nickname is Baby Moon.
Because she's been obsessed with Sailor Moon since she was a kid and parents do awesome shit like this sometimes.
(My childhood nickname feels more like my name than my given one does)
...
Nicknames.
So hard to get right and so obvious when they're done wrong.
Baby Moon is exactly right.
It couldn't be more Alice if it tried.
I don't know how you did it, McKinney but well done.
(I can hear exactly how Julia Roberts sounds saying this line. Exactly. Fucking love Pretty Woman)

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Luis Bolivar:


A post shared by Luis Bolivar (@luisl4nd) on

...

Also, the Archie-style illustration is so fucking beautiful I could cry milkshake fucking tears.

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Daybreak:

So... I was a goner as soon as all growed up mini Sam Winchester uttered the name of his love interest.
...
Sam Dean.
...
SHE'S CALLED SAM DEAN.
...

I'm okay.
I'm fine.
My Supernatural-loving heart isn't turning into a ball of demon ichor.
Nuh uh.
Not at all.
...

And that's just the start of the cult referencing in this murder-happy zombie apocalypse.
Lets name but a few:

 Mad Max
The Warriors
The Walking Dead
Love Actually
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
Dawn of the Dead
Breaking Bad
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Game of Thrones
Throne of Blood
The Breakfast Club
The Lord of the Rings
Star Wars

I'm sure there's more.
But really, those alone would be enough to seal the deal with my cult reference-loving heart.
And it's funny!
So fucking funny, and violent - do not get too attached to anyone in this show, the writers really aren't shy about offing people.
But it's always fucking spectacular when they do.

Although, there's this one death, and I just... I... How could you, Daybreak?
How could you?

Ugh, it's so good, though.
I demand everybody watch it.
If only for my favourite part.
This most beauteous creature:


She goes by the name of Ms. Crumble.
Her finger puppet Barbie heads are her most trusted confidants.
If you've got a wicked infection, her and her wriggly friends will help you out.
And she definitely won't eat you.
Definitely...

...

Update:

 They cancelled it.
They cancelled another of my fucking shows:

Netflix, you're the fucking worst.

I guess I'm watching this on repeat with hate in my heart, then.

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Oh, god, every time he giggles I just... I lose it.
It's almost sickening how bloody cute he is.

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My year in music:



Gotta be honest, listening back to this year has made me so fucking happy.
San Scout?
Tamino?
Sam Fender?
It's been a damn fine year.

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Rewatching old favourites:
The Big Easy

 I don't know why Dennis Quaid's painfully bad Cajun accent is so fucking endearing but it is.
Don't ask me to explain this madness.
It is what it is.
Also that Ellen Barkin is a complete babe in this.
It's just facts.


Comfort and Joy

My Dad loves this movie.
So he made me watch it.
...
He was right.
And I would absolutely try deep fried ice cream.
Because I'm Scottish and we'll deep fry anything.
Let me put forth this evidence from The Avengers:

...

Hands up if you've eaten deep fried pizza...

...
More than once.

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Patricia Briggs', Iron Kissed:

That's my girl.
Three words.
Technically four.
 But three words playing on repeat whilst the last few lines of Iron Kissed filtered into my memory banks.
Because sweet Mercy Thompson, my girl indeed.

This bloody book.
 It nearly broke me.
It's the third in the Mercy series, fifth in the Mercyverse, and probably stuffed with more high jinx than the first three/five combined - impressive seeing as Mercy isn't short on calamitous situations.
My girl attracts trouble.
Lots of trouble.
And that's part of why I love her.
That and the verbal snark she whiplashes the inhabitants of Kennewick, Washington with on a daily basis.
I love my surly girl.
I can't believe I thought for one second I wouldn't.
Bad brain.
Idiot brain.
We always fall for the curmudgeonly-softie-chosen-one.
It is written
It is law.
And Mercy's no exception.
Y'know that saying?:


 She's beauty.
She's grace.
She'll punch you in the face.
In, yet again, threes, that's Mercy Thompson.
She's tough and soft and loyal, so fucking loyal it gets her hurt.
They hurt her in this book, in so many ways, and it was fucking horrible to read.
My heart pounded so hard through a particularly fucked up scene featuring a Kelpie with a wicked case of the munchies.
And it pounded with an increasingly vicious tempo during the dénouement of the mystery hounding our protagonist this time around.
Fuck, that was a horrendous few pages.
I'm surprised my heart didn't vibrate itself out of my chest cavity to wander off to some happy, fluffy place where my fictional loves don't get the shit kicked out of them by life.
(gif by MUXXI)

...
Thinking about it, though...
Briggs compromised my heart's structural integrity in the previous book as well.
...
I call conspiracy!
And long may it be plotted!
But maybe with a little less savagery!
...
There's only so much I can take, Briggs.

But hey, I can compromise.
How about you keep slinging those squishy moments between Mercy and her alpha-mallow, Adam and I'll forgive a little mutual sadomasochism.
Okay?
Deal?
...
FUCK.
Sidenote:

It's "widely" known how much I abhor the love triangle trope.
I proclaimed it at the top of this month's Monthlies.
Because it's gross.
I hate it.
Make it stop already.
...
Briggs made me read three Mercy books with a love triangle.
And it was... not horrible.
BUT.
It doesn't mean I'm okay with it.
And she didn't make me suffer too long anyway.
Somehow, some-bloody-how, this Urban Fantasy queen managed to write my favourite ever dissolution of the beastly triangle trope.
But how?
She did it with mutuality and a little huffiness but so much fucking love.
...
Goddamnit, Briggs.
My heart is so not okay right now.
(gif by MUXXI)

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Rosa, Terry and Gina are particularly on point.

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Dark season 2:

I'm still kinda reeling, so I'm going to let Kenneth do the talking for me:

The next season is the show's last and I. am. freaking. out.
And it won't be here until somewhere in the middle of next year.
...
I'm too impatient for this shit.
Where's my time travel suitcase, huh?
Wheeeeeere?

Little note:

 The show hops between three different eras in time.
It's very confusing.
But I love, love, love, love the way they alert you to the change with the simple, but universally known, sound of the clicking of a pocket watch.
(If you don't know that sound, you're too fucking young, begone from this place, demon)
It's so clever and effective.
I'm still bloody confused, though.
This is show is just... it's just...

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I need more of these.
At the very least a Pam and a Jim.
And maybe a Darryl.
And an Angela.
Fuck it, the whole cast, please?

Bonus Utopia:

I definitely need to re-watch this.

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Patricia Briggs', Bone Crossed: 

...
HOW IS THIS GETTING BETTER WITH EVERY BOOK?!
...
It's perverse.
...

I love it so fucking much.
And I honestly wasn't expecting to, especially after my lukewarm reception to the first in the series. But that's Mercy for you.
You might not want to love her, and she might not want you to love her back, but it's pretty much inevitable.
What with her quick-wit, unshakable loyalty and general all-round badassness, it's hard not to love her to teeny tiny I-could-use-you-as-cupcake-sprinkles pieces.
She's just really fucking loveable.
And I'm not saying she's surpassed my one true Urban Fantasy love, miss Kate "were you fond of that kneecap?" Daniels.
But it's close. So close it makes me a little giddy, and a lot desperate for a crossover story.
My ladies need to hang out, kick butt, and grouse over their growly mates.
It would be awesome.
And I need it.
I need it so bad.
Is it likely to ever happen?
Probably not, especially now Kate's series is over (fingers eternally crossed for more stories), but a girl can dream, and dream I shall.

But back in reality I get to read both my kick-ass ladies simultaneously and with a ferocity I can't muster for most other things.
And Bone Crossed was a hard read.
Bad things happened in the previous book.
Really fucking bad things.
And they happened to Mercy.
...
I don't like it when things hurt my girl.
And they really hurt her.
Which made me twitchy.
And nervous.
What if Patricia Briggs didn't devote enough time and care to the aftereffects of said trauma?
What if she simply ignored it and had our heroine soldier on because she's tough?
...
Tough doesn't mean invulnerable.
No, no and hell no.
But even worse, what if she let the hyperbole monster loose and character assassinated our awesome heroine, and in turn make a mockery of a very real and very damaging violation.
...
I don't know why I thought all of these things.
I love Patricia Briggs' writing.
It's smart and fun and subtle.
And this isn't the first time she's written about one of women's greatest and prevalent fears.
There's no way she'd fuck it up.
I really don't know why I was worried.
I'm an idiot, basically.
And Briggs did me proud.
She's a measured writer, she doesn't use any words that aren't completely necessary and she wields them at her leisure.
Her treatment of Mercy post-trauma is exactly what I hoped for, and even more-so the way she wrote Mercy's companions treatment of her.
There's no unnecessary pushing or forcing to "just get over it", instead there are panic attacks, flinches at simple touches, and internal self-flagellation.
But there's also limitless support, slow touches, hot chocolate and love.
A love that isn't verbose or showy, it just is.


"Thank you for making the tough calls, for giving me time." I stood up and walked to him, leaning against him and pressing my face against his shoulder. "Thank you for loving me."
His arms closed around me, pressing flesh painfully hard against bone. Love hurts like that sometimes.
...
Again, I don't know why I was worried.
And again, I'm an idiot.
But a proud idiot.
It's probably weird to be proud of a fictional character you've essentially adopted for your own, but I am.
I'm so fucking proud of Mercy in this book.
She's changed but she's not broken.
She's still my girl.
But there's still work to be done, as there ought to be.
...
This is how you do it, author people.
Take note.

Do you know what makes this even better, though?
The story and world-building and character development are getting better and better with each story.
You'd expect this of a series.
Otherwise why write more than one book?
But it doesn't always work out that way.
Some authors don't seem to know how to expand their story and it's heartbreaking for a reader when the first/second/third book's snuffled its way into your idiot-organ and then the story stalls completely.
That sucks.
Big time.
But Briggs isn't like that.
She's a damn fine writer, and rapidly becoming one of my most beloved.
Thus why I can't last more than two books before i'm crawling heartsick back to her for more, more, more of Mercy Thompson and her shifter brood.

See: further down for irrefutable evidence of this.

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I asked for all of these Robert E. McGinnis editions for Christmas.
Because there was no possible way I couldn't ask for all of them for Christmas.

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Sophie Robin:

Oh!
I just got slapped in the face with nostalgia.
The original Pete's Dragon anyone?

Ps. I'm buying the shit out of this when Robin makes good on her screen print promise.

Pps. She's wise, so very wise:


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The grand Buffy re-watch:

It may have its problems.
And it may worsen over the seasons.
(Although the final season is more like the Buffy I fell in love with and the final two episodes are fucking immense)
But damn it all to hell, it'll probably always be my favourite tv show of all time.
And I still know all the words to every song in Once More with Feeling.
Super proud of that, to be honest.

And I was all geared up to re-watch Angel but Amazon removed it from Prime.
I mean, sure, I've got the dvds but still.

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I haven't even read this series but I want them.
If only Mountford had illustrated the Mirrorworld series.
I could totally justify adding them to my increasingly intimidating collection, then.

It still irks me that I wasn't aware of his existence when he released this special edition Buffy print:

...

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Patricia Briggs', Roses in Winter:

"You are mine, darling. I'll keep you safe."


Apparently this has been the month of Mercy.
I couldn't help myself, she's just so damn readable.
I finish one book, fully intend to move on but inevitably find myself back with my coyote queen.
It's witchcraft, and I'm quite happy being ensorcelled, to be honest.
Because there's something I've noticed about Patricia Briggs' writing.
She knows how to give her characters distinctive voices.
Take this short set in the spinoff series, Alpha & Omega.
It centres around a centuries old werewolf who's convinced that because he's the near the end of his very long life, he'll turn feral and hurt the people he cares for and many, many more.
Valid reaction; in Briggs' shifter lore this is an almost inescapable occurrence when the wolf senses their time is up.
I hope this isn't the case with Asil, I like him muchly.
But still, Asil is maybe my 9th? 10th? POV in the series and each one has read completely differently.
No repeats.
No irksomely similar dialogue.
Each character's voice is entirely their own.
I don't actually know how authors do that, especially in a long running series but I do know it always stuns me when it's done so... discreetly.
There aren't a lot of loud characters to be found in the Mercy series, perhaps because of the level of control Briggs' supernaturals need to maintain to stay, well, non-murdersome.
It's an incredibly quiet read, even when there's viscera flying around the place.
And you acutely feel that in the character of Asil.
He's old.
Very old.
And he doesn't speak with the same urgency as most of the main characters do.
He's patient.
Thoughtful.
Sombre.
You can feel it in the way he's written, you can feel that longing for it all to be over, but with an edge of reluctance for the very same thing.
In this short he's by chance charged with the care of a young werewolf (previously mentioned but unseen in Blood Bound) who can't control her shift, in large part because she was changed into a werewolf at a too young age (13) and out of the care of a Pack who could teach her their ways.
In the Mercyverse, shifters who can't control their shift are put to death.
It's a safety thing.
And Asil can't bear it.
But even in his despair and rage, he's still in no rush to act carelessly with, well, anyone.
But particularly Kara.


 Trust me.
He coaxes her with stories and magic roses and time.
He gives her time.
Perhaps because he's had so much of it.
And you can feel that too.
His timelessness.
His weariness.

This short is exactly 40 pages long.
That's a chapter in some books.
Briggs gives you everything in those 40 pages and it's just enough.
It's perfect in fact.
She doesn't rush, she doesn't raise her voice.
She gives you a glimpse of what it might feel to be just that old, to be that tired and to love so very much.
Beautiful.
Roses in Winter is beautiful.

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

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Daffodil:

If you aren't eternally traumatised by Artax, then you are officially dead inside.
It's been 36 years and I'm still fucked up over it.

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Goblin Queen:

This Sarah Williams cosplay by Miiza Hime is just...

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Brianne Neumann:

Oooooooh.

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I'm for real dying.

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Little Bear in his box:

How to chill a Squishhead out during Christmas insanity prep?
Find a box.
Place said box close to where you are/whatever you're doing.
Stay very, very still.
Watch as a stressed out feral soot sprite clambers into his new bed and proceeds to sigh and wriggle for the proceeding future.
...
I love this many-named monster so damn much.
Especially when he makes this charming face:

Isn't he beautiful?

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A post shared by tono (@rt0no) on


A post shared by tono (@rt0no) on


A post shared by tono (@rt0no) on

Have I posted tono's work before?
If not, I apologise because you've been missing out on the soft domestic adventures of a girl and her crocodile.
(The shadows in the first illustration straight up destroy me)
But it's all good.
You're in the cuddly croc club now.
No need to thank me for making your life complete or anything.

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Absolute:

Can confirm.
Tested it out.
Born and bred in Scotland and I hadn't clocked how liberally we do this.
Or how effective it is.
If you ever need a lesson in the Brits ability to utterly shred you with words, watch The Thick of It:

Glorious.
For some reason it's the Twix comment that gets me, though.

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A post shared by Natalia Lubieniecka Textilart (@mysouldesignart) on

Is textile art some form of sorcery?
Because this shit can't be made by the norms.
There must be witchcraft involved.
Surely?

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The Good Place season 4, part 1:

...
BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

Part 2, you better get your sweet ash on over here, tout suite.
...
And then prepare for my uncontrollable misery once it's over forever.
Fair warning, it'll be the Thunderdome of sobfests.

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This is wounding my soul:

So much time fucking up angles with inaccurate rulers and I could be doing this?!

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It me:

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Robert Pattinson's ceaselessly entertaining reactions to the mess known as Twilight:

This boy.
This fucking boy.

I'm completely cool with him being the new Batman.
Even if it sucks, we'll at least have his running commentary on how much it sucked and how embarrassed he is by his own performance.
...
Self-deprecation, gets me every single time.
⬇︎

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Pingu?:

Every year, my sister makes a Christmas Cake.
It's so boozy you can smell it from inside the tin, an entire room away ← this is only a mild exaggeration.
It's awesome.
And I totally don't steal marzipan from the edges like some sugar-baked gremlin.
Nuh uh, no way, not I.

I always look forward to how she's going to decorate it, though.
This is my favourite.
Of all time.
And I forced her to make that igloo.
And to cover it in glitter.
Which backfired because she then covered me in glitter for suggesting a certain terrifying penguin was needed to complete the scene.
...
The first rule of dealing with Crafty people, do not piss them off when they're wielding pots of shimmery shit.
You will regret it.
You will be sneezing glitter for the rest of the day.

But at least there's cake.
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