First a lullaby.
Now this.
They make me puke anime hearts.
Disgusting.
If ever there was a song to murder walk to.
Musical boys trolling me with immaculate, sulky water songs.
...
...
"In an effort to provide direct support to healthcare providers working on the frontline of the pandemic, we're releasing a brand-new track called "PDLIF" on digital services today. 100% of proceeds will be directed to Direct Relief, a humanitarian aid organization working to protect workers and patients alike. It is an unexpected season for, well, an unexpected season."
Donate, here or here.
Goddamnit, Henson.
Trying to hold my shit together right now and you release this into the world.
Are you trying to make me ugly cry?
animation
art
charlie
digital art
fan art
gifs
illustration
literature
monthlies
movies
music
paper art
quotes
sculpture
short film
stop motion
tv
video
webcomics
words
march
April 01, 2020
Things I enjoyed in the month of March:
Adam smiled. "I'd give you a hand up—but we'd better have Warren look at your ribs first. One punctured lung is enough."
I'd been keeping an eye on Henry throughout the fight. I glanced at him just as he stepped onto the mat.
"Alpha," he called. "I chal—"
He never got the whole word out—because I drew my foster father's SIG and shot him in the throat before he could.
For a split second everyone stared at him, as if they couldn't figure out where all that blood had come from.
"Stop the bleeding," I said. Though I made no move to do it myself. The rat could die for all I cared. "That was a lead bullet. He'll be fine." Though he wouldn't be talking—or challenging Adam—for a while. "When he's stable, put him in the holding cell, where he can't do any more harm."
Adam looked at me. "Trust you to bring a gun to a fistfight," he said with every evidence of admiration. Then he looked at his pack. Our pack. "What she said," he told them.
It's almost redundant at this point to keep professing my undying love for this series.
But how can I keep quiet when my leading lady goes all gunslinger on insubordinate werewolf ass?
All casual-like.
What kind of unfeeling monster would I be to not gush endlessly over the incontrovertible badass that is Mercedes Athena Thompson.
Who would even think that I, the queen? of emotional verbal vomit, could possibly keep her mouth shut about such a fine specimen of literary heroine?
No one, that's who.
So, prepare yourselves, things are about to get uncomfortably gushy.
...
I think I have a heroine "type".
It's developed over the years.
Especially since inebriating myself in female-led Fantasy for the past decade.
It started with soft, snarly, YA Daria sympathisers and evolved into soft, snarly, foul-mouthed, virtuously violent full-grown women with more baggage than Grand Central fucking Station ← honestly the only place I could think of with a metric fuck-tonne of luggage.
And apparently that's my type.
Which is not all that surprising; I'm damn sure that'd be my character profile if I was turned into fiction. Minus the athleticism. You can put the girl in the fiction but you can't take the sloth out of the... wait, what?
You know what I mean.
Or maybe you don't.
Either way, Mercy and my coven of kick-ass fictional ladies already exist for me to gush over so I don't have to put the effort into defeating all those supernatural fuck-knuckles myself, quipping hard while I do so.
Or do not, in this case.
The sloth in me appreciates this greatly.
And Mercy is a prime example of kick-ass, fuck-knuckle-defeating heroine.
She's surly, she's loving, she's a crack shot, she's self-sacrificing to the end and she's a mean cookie baker.
...
I'm a cheap date, though.
She could just hand me the baked goods and I'd love her Princess Bride style.
Twue wuv, fire swamp, as you wish and everything.
A bit like her shifter mate, Adam, who, one plate of chocolate chip cookies later decided she was going to be his girl - with her unwavering consent; no toxic masculinity here - let the wooing commence.
Adam:
Someone knocked on the back door.
He pushed back the chair and had to pause. The wolf was angry that someone had breached his inner sanctuary. Not even his pack had been brave enough these past few days to approach him in his home.
By the time he stalked into the kitchen, he had it mostly under control. He jerked open the back door and expected to see one of his wolves. But it was Mercy.
She didn't look cheerful—but then, she seldom did when she had to come over and talk to him. She was tough and independent and not at all happy to have him interfere in any way with that independence. It had been a long time since someone had bossed him around the way she did—and he liked it. More than a wolf who'd been Alpha for twenty years ought to like it.
She smelled of burnt car oil, jasmine from the shampoo she'd been using that month, and chocolate. Or maybe that last was the cookies on the plate she handed him.
"Here," she said stiffly. And he realized it was shyness that pinched in the corner of her mouth. "Chocolate usually helps me regain my balance when life kicks me in the teeth."
She didn't wait for him to say anything, just turned around and walked back to her house.
He took the cookies back to the office with him. After a few minutes, he ate one. Chocolate, thick and dark, spread across his tongue, its bitterness alleviated by a sinful amount of brown sugar and vanilla. He'd forgotten to eat and hadn't realized it.
But it wasn't the chocolate or the food that made him feel better. It was Mercy's kindness to someone she viewed as her enemy. And right at that moment, he realized something. She would never love him for what he could do for her.
He ate another cookie before getting up to make himself dinner."
Mercy:
I remembered feeling stupid standing on his back porch with a plate of cookies for a man whose life had just gone down in the flames of a nasty divorce. He hadn't said anything when he answered the door—so I'd assumed that he'd thought it stupid, too. I'd gone back home as fast as I could without running.
I had no idea that it had helped. Nor that he saw me as tough and capable. Funny, I'd always thought I looked weak to the werewolves.
Adam:
"Do you know how much I love you?"
The power of good baking and shifter instincts, you can't knock it.
Or you can if you're Mercy because it took years prior to our first meeting with her in Moon Called and four books in for their relationship to be a sure thing.
But that's my stubborn as fuck girl.
You can't push her around, and if you try, she'll throw a wrench at your head.
Not the good wrenches, though.
She's got a business to run.
Honestly.
There was movement to my right, and I snuck a quick glance to see Zee and Gabriel coming out the garage door. They must have gone back around. Zee had a crowbar in one hand and held it like another man might hold a sword. Gabriel had—
"Zee," I squeaked. "Tell him to put the torque wrench back and grab something that won't cost me five hundred dollars if he hits someone with it."
"Won't cost five hundred," said Zee, but as I glanced over again, he nodded at the white-faced Gabriel, who looked at what he held as if he'd never seen it before. The boy slipped back into the garage as Zee said, "It wouldn't break it—you'd just have to get it recalibrated."
"We have a whole garage worth of tools—pry bars, tire irons, and even a hammer or two. There's got to be something better than my torque wrench he could have grabbed."
Mercedes Thompson, defender of expensive mechanic tools and melter of alpha-mallow shifter hearts.
Not all shifter hearts that is, however.
80% of Silver Borne is spent with Mercy, Adam and few of their nearest and dearest fending off prejudice, resentment and outright bigotry from shifters within their pack.
Because Mercy isn't a wolf.
She's a coyote.
And people suck.
People will always suck, no matter where you go.
And when those sucky people happen to have supernatural powers?
Bad shit.
Bad shit happens.
If I had to deal with only the mate bond between Adam and me, it would be easier. But he'd made me pack, too, and when the link worked as it was supposed to, I could feel all of them there, with me. And with that bond, apparently, they could suck energy from me and make me fight with their Alpha.
Alone in my head, it was easy to look back and see how it had happened—a nudge here, a push there. I would do a great deal to keep Adam from being hurt, but not endanger an innocent—and I have never in my life given anyone the silent treatment. Anyone who offends me deserves to hear exactly how they trespassed—or needs to be lulled into a false sense of security before the sneak attack when they aren't paying attention. But silence had been Adam's ex-wife's weapon of choice.
Whoever had worked on me was trying to drive us apart.
So who had it been? The whole pack? Part of the pack? Was it deliberate—or more that the whole pack hated me and was trying to force me away? Most important of all, to me anyway, was: how did I stop it from ever happening again?
This should've made me furious, and it did, but actually, I not so much enjoyed, but appreciated the tension between Mercy and her newly acquired pack mates.
In no uncertain terms do I want her chosen family to see her as an unworthy infiltrator.
I love her; why would I want her to feel pain?
But shifters are volatile, highly emotional creatures, at least in the Mercyverse, and if there'd been absolutely no conflict with her not only being the Alpha's mate - the highest ranking female; the co-boss, essentially - but of a completely different species, it wouldn't have rung true.
As terrible as that is.
But people are people.
Even if they can turn furry on command.
There was bound to be prejudice and oh boy, was it rampant.
Burnt flesh and fights to the death rampant.
But as I've said many times before, Mercy Thompson takes no shit and neither does her mate, or the people within the pack who actually love her and see her for the feral cinnamon roll that she is.
My will broke at the sound of his voice, and my head turned with as much inevitability as a sunflower turning its face to the sun.
Adam was in a three-piece suit with a Mickey Mouse tie his daughter had bought him for Christmas—and he managed to look much, much more dangerous than the man on the ground. I'd known he would come, even after this morning's conversation.
I'd hurt him, and still he'd come when the security cameras he had posted all over the place at my garage told him I was in trouble. I'd never doubted for a minute that he would come; Adam is staunch and true, like the tin soldier in the old children's story.
Those people make my heart happy.
"Do you know who this is? Can you feel how worried she is for you?"
"Mary Jo," I said. And once he pointed it out to me, I could feel it, too. Could feel that she was looking for me, running on four feet to use her nose to its best advantage. She wasn't hot on the trail—and I had the impression of miles traveled and miles to go stretching out both ways in weary infinity.
Long may they continue to fight by her side against embittered bumble-fucks and creepy, power hungry Fae.
That's right, I accidentally read another book about the Fae.
That's five in a row.
...
I'm telling you, they're real and they're after me.
In fiction.
Where I'm most vulnerable.
...
Fucking Fae.
Lots of things scare me—like vampires, for instance. Since I've become more intimately acquainted with them, they scare me even more than they used to. I know that they can kill me. But I've killed one and helped to kill two others.
The fae . . .
In the most terrifying horror films, you never see what is killing people. I know that's because the unknown is far scarier than anything some makeup and special-effects person can come up with. The fae are like that, their true faces concealed behind other forms—and designed to blend in with the human race and hide what they truly are.
This sweet-faced person who looked like someone's grandmother might be one of those who ate children who were lost in the woods, or drowned young men who trespassed in her forest. Of course, it was possible that she might be one of the lesser or gentler fae—just as she looked. But I didn't think so.
I'm smarter than Snow White: I wouldn't be eating any apples she gave me.
It's cool, though, I can deal with a little Fae stalking because I've been waiting for this particular story to play out since reading the Mercyverse short, Silver way back in July of last year.
The story is essentially the origin of Samuel Cornick, the son of the head alpha of the North American shifter packs (Mercy's pseudo father figure), and Mercy's ex... something.
He's very old.
And very tired.
And very alone.
Throughout the series, after a frosty start, I've warmed up to Samuel completely - due in large part to his devotion to Mercy.
He'd do anything for her. He protects her without diminishing her. He loves her. She loves him back with equal ferocity.
But they aren't for each other.
He knows it, she does too; and they have probably the most satisfying resolution of realising this that I've ever had the pleasure to read.
(It involves using grown up words and actually talking to each other. Amazing, I know)
But that lack of connection is why in book five we find this big-hearted, mallowy, stalwart man searching for a way to end it all.
Not because Mercy isn't his mate but because no one seems to be and he's tired of being alone.
When you're as old he - think pre-Christianity old - and desperate for a family that doesn't seem to be forthcoming, can you really blame him?
Which is why as soon as I realised this book was about the Fae, I knew there was a chance Patricia Briggs was going to spare my pitiful heart from utter ruination.
Because in Silver, Samuel meets Ariana (Old Welsh for silver), the daughter of a Fae forest Lord and court Lady.
It's love at first sight and all that schmaltzy crap which somehow isn't schmaltzy at all because Briggs is a fucking brilliant writer.
"You saved her," I told him. "And you loved her."
"She didn't know, did she?" said Jesse, sounding as caught up in the story as Ariana had been. "You doctored her up, and she fell for you—and you couldn't tell her what you were. That's really romantic, Doc."
"And tragic," said Zee sourly.
But it gets fucked up, as so many literary romances do, and they're ripped apart.
She grabbed Samuel's sweatshirt and looked up at him in utter astonishment. "Samuel?"
He stepped away from her, but stopped short of pulling the shirt from her grasp. "I can't give you space unless you let me go," he told her.
"Samuel?" she said, and, though it hadn't caught my notice before, I realized that her voice had changed sometime in the middle of her panic attack and sounded way too young for the late-middle-age face she wore. It was also lightly accented, some combination of British and Welsh or a related language. "I thought . . . I looked but I never could find you. You just disappeared and left me nothing. Not a shirt or a name."
[...]
"I scared you," he said starkly.
She gave him a half smile but clenched her hands. "Well, yes. But it seems I scared you worse because you ran away for . . . a very, very long time, Samuel."
He looked away from her gaze—the most dominant werewolf in the Tri-Cities, and he couldn't meet her gaze. Didn't he see that even if he scared her, she still wanted him?
Silver Borne brings them together again and I just... I needed this so much.
"Hello, Ari. It's been a few centuries."
I needed a happy beginning for Samuel because reading him for the past few books has been painful.
His sorrow practically seeping out of the pages, absorbing into my fingertips, straight to my nervous system.
And now?
Now he's tentatively happy.
With someone who deserves him as much as he deserves them.
"I meant to thank you for Samuel," Bran said.
I shook my head. "It wasn't me. It was Ariana—have you seen them together? Aren't they cute?" Ariana wasn't at Adam's house, though Samuel was. She wasn't quite up to bearing a pack of werewolves celebrating madly. Samuel had talked about her for twenty minutes, though.
...
[insert dreamy happy sigh]
To think, I almost gave up on this series.
Thank Selene, I listened to my gut.
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I Am Not Okay with This:
I wasn't hugely into the show.
I need a little more than simply smooshing together Carrie, Stranger Things, The End of the F***ing World and seeing what weird shit will pop out.
This fan art by Man Luo, though?
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Justified season 4+5:
I always wait too long between seasons to watch this.
It's so stupid.
Because it's so fucking good.
It's the kind of show that makes me whisper-shout at the screen, Ooooh! Femoral! Femoral! ← makes sense in context.
I'd watch it alone for the rampant homoeroticism between Timothy Olyphant and Walton Goggins.
Their flirt-game is basically a food group at this point.
And I don't know why but I live for Olyphant lackadaisically shooting anything he fucking feels like.
Maybe it's some primordial hunter gatherer shit.
Honestly, I could give a shit.
I'm just going to enjoy it for the remaining season before it's all over.
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Lip Comarella:
Sometimes you are the village, sometimes you are the avalanche. #mood #Procreate #maxpack pic.twitter.com/MjQyrlp9DL— Lip Comarella (@LipComarella) February 23, 2020
Its nice , its calm, maybe little warm.#Procreate painting the misty Austrian hills. pic.twitter.com/X0xgA4nBWs— Lip Comarella (@LipComarella) December 25, 2019
Another NYC moment of mine. pic.twitter.com/byxHJ15GkA— Lip Comarella (@LipComarella) November 20, 2019
Hmm.
It's my mood swings anthropomorphised.
It's my mood swings anthropomorphised.
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When the sugar cube dropped.
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It's Alive! with Brad:
I might be slightly obsessed with the Bon Appétit test kitchen.
Last month my cooking crush began with Claire "Half-Sour" Saffitz and her Gourmet Makes.
And now it's the giant, fermentation-obsessed nerd that is Brad Leone.
His show, It's Alive! with Brad Leone is one of the dorkiest things I've seen since the 90s, and the dork was super strong during that decade.
I can't even properly express how ridiculous it is but oh, it's got charm.
Most of which comes from the bear-man in question.
Have you ever watched a puppy try to make Kombucha?
No?
I hadn't either until I watched this series.
Still doesn't make me want to ingest the yeasty abomination but I'll happily watch an easily distracted Jersey puppy make a batch of it.
Watch:
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I own two Em Allen prints.
It'll never be enough.
It'll never be enough.
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Sara Hagale aka. shagey:
The existential dread is goddamn near palpable.
I feel this shit in my bones.
How do you put so much anguish in so few lines?
Huh?
What fuckery witchcraft is this?
Because dose me up, Satan.
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Murder or menstruation?
Here's some flowers while you make up your mind:
Here's some flowers while you make up your mind:
🌷 trash 🌷 pic.twitter.com/WlBNjO0SCS— ✨🔪choo™🔪✨ (@chootalks) February 7, 2020
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Bit harsh but fucking hilarious.
I love Robin McKinley.
I've actually read this book; Goodreads says so.
...
I have no recollection of doing so.
My memory function is a bucket with no base.
I've actually read this book; Goodreads says so.
...
I have no recollection of doing so.
My memory function is a bucket with no base.
.............................................
Little Thunder:
Food never should be on the ground.— Little Thunder 門小雷 (@littlethunderr) March 12, 2020
食物不會放在地上。 pic.twitter.com/PMgAMnPLaV
— Little Thunder 門小雷 (@littlethunderr) February 15, 2020
任何可以用嚟畫畫嘅媒材，我都鍾意，各自有獨特同好玩之處。iPad係近日嘅新玩具，每日都練習一下。#iPadpro #procreate #Procreate_LittleThunder pic.twitter.com/p6okJSD718— Little Thunder 門小雷 (@littlethunderr) December 9, 2019
If you haven't licked peanut butter or chocolate or any spillable food off your knees before then you're a less clumsy creature than I.
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Charlie Wagers' design for the recently disbanded mewithoutYou, even more so.
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As they watched, the chilling clouds parted, revealing a patch of brilliant sky. They both stared—stars were a rare sight in winter. Ryder knew he should be moved. "Yulla says that when the Goddess made the world she threw the stars into the sky like a casting, and that the witches of old could read a person's destiny in the stars the same way they read the bones."
"Any star tries to tell me my destiny, I will wrench it from the sky."
Skyla laughed at that. "Of course you will."
"Any star tries to tell me my destiny, I will wrench it from the sky."
Skyla laughed at that. "Of course you will."
I've been procrastinating with this review.
In large part because I don't have a hell of a lot to say.
Not because I didn't enjoy it; I did.
Not because there aren't many things to be said for the language, the world-building, the magic, the characters; there are.
And not because I don't want to tell you how much I enjoyed this; quite a lot, to be honest.
But because sometimes my brain gets stupid and stuck on an idea.
When I first started reading Witchlanders, I almost instantly experienced that hopeful, prickling Spidey-sense feeling that maybe, just maybe, I'd found the answer to my endless search for something to replace a book series I love, miss terribly, and think of far too often.
The Old Kingdom (or The Abhorsen) series by Garth Nix.
(My favourite being the fourth in the series, Clariel. It's the most painful of them all, of course. I still haven't forgiven Mr. Nix)
...
This wasn't the case.
And that disappointment affected my dedication to the story taking place in front of me because I so desperately wanted it to be the one.
And it should have been.
In the space of 400 pages (probably more like 200; large font in my edition), Lena Coakley paints a vibrant, cruel, earthily magical landscape for her story of occult nuns, elementally made monsters and soul-bound songsters to, at her will, run riot in.
Her world felt like the Abhorsen world.
Ryder knew he should stop singing and bolt for the caves, but now that he'd started, he couldn't make his tongue stop moving. Everything had become bright and blinding—the snow, the trees, the stones, the purple clouds. It was if a skin had been peeled off his eyes and he was seeing the world for the first time in all its frightening beauty. He didn't want to see it. He hadn't asked for this. Skyla wanted magic, not him. There was too much to know. The snowflakes falling languidly around him all had names. Why couldn't he stop singing, for Aata's sake?
Ancient, terrifying in its beauty, and yawning.
Like great jaws arching up from the Hadean depths of the earth to take an assured and fated bite.
And bite it did.
No one leaves this book unscathed.
There's murder and heartbreak, bad parenting and familial betrayal, cultism, jingoism, spite and ignorance.
And hate.
So much hate because of a story of old held onto by traditionalists and bigots.
...
Sound familiar?
Tale as old as time and all that shit.
So, it's all there.
The drama, the characterisation, the believable history of the magic, the land, the people.
Witchlanders has all the right ingredients and it sucked me in, made its mark but unfortunately left me wanting more.
Because aside from being damned with my somewhat biased comparisons to The Old Kingdom pentalogy, it has one fatal flaw.
...
It isn't a series.
It should be a series.
Three books at the very least.
There is so much to be experienced here.
A veritable glut of potential storylines Coakley could draw us into.
And I can only hope that perhaps one day she might let us travel them with her.
Because I did enjoy this story.
It's why I'm so annoyed.
I'm essentially the literary version of hangry and I want more, dammit!
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I can't remember the last time I watched a competition show and the person I wanted to win actually won.
...
Finally!
So many dick jokes this year, though...
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Of course there's a word for this.
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I never knew Animal Crossing was so stressful:
My hamster was a chaotic asshole as well.
Also, LuxieGames losing her gaming shit on the internet continues to be one of my favourite things.
This game is taking YEARS off of my life. pic.twitter.com/vkmcPZMzDG— LuxieGames (@LuxieGames) March 27, 2020
My hamster was a chaotic asshole as well.
Also, LuxieGames losing her gaming shit on the internet continues to be one of my favourite things.
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Logan:
I'm three years late to the party but who the hell cares because damn.
Damn, damn, damnnnn.
Hands down, favourite X-Men movie, ever.
Quite possibly because this is balls to the wall violent with nary a dorky mutant in sight.
Oh, and the arterial spray.
Pretty, pretty arterial spray.
I'm three years late to the party but who the hell cares because damn.
Damn, damn, damnnnn.
Hands down, favourite X-Men movie, ever.
Quite possibly because this is balls to the wall violent with nary a dorky mutant in sight.
Oh, and the arterial spray.
Pretty, pretty arterial spray.
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...
How?!
How?!
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Emergency crown:
My sister discovered the crown I have stashed under my sofa “for emergencies” and this both delighted and vexed her, like everything I do— Megan Rebekah (@_meggybread) February 1, 2020
Felt this one in my bones for some reason.
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Ilona Andrews', Magic Breaks:
Something fluttered inside me and I realized it was hope. I wanted to live. I wanted Curran to survive this. I thought of him. I thought of Julie. Of Derek and Ascanio. Of Andrea and Raphael. Of Jim. I wanted to bring Robert back to Thomas. I wanted Christopher to smile again and tell me he was trying to remember how to fly.
Death is forever. Death is nothing. But to save a life, that's everything. My mother understood this and now I finally did, too.
Voron had a purpose for me, but it was his purpose, not mine. [...] I was done living for someone else's purpose. I had to live for mine. I had people to protect.
Intense.
Chaotic.
Harrowing.
Joyful.
These are the words that immediately come to mind after finishing my seventh foray into House Andrews' post-apocalyptic Atlanta.
Because when the world's on fire, why not read about a fictional one that at least has the decency to be swamped with magic, shifters, and Mordred-esque super-villains?
It wasn't on purpose, though.
It was just time to get back to my girl and her furry betrothed.
And do you know what House Andrews did almost immediately?
They separated them.
...
For half the book.
...
I died a little inside.
There may have been some internal cursing.
And some external.
But I'm not stupid, I know my authors, they lay this agonising fuckery on us unsuspecting readers for a reason - not simply to drive us out of our tiny minds; although I think they might enjoy that just a tiny bit ... Sadists.
The reason being to make us understand, truly understand, that this ship we're so invested in?
Solid as a were-lion's behind.
Nothing short of death is going to tear these two apart - although I'm sure my hard-headed, idiot OTP would find a way around that.
Even if thousands of miles separate them, they'll still find a way to team up and break your face for trying to fuck with them.
Curran pushed through the door. His blond hair looked longer than it had before he left for North Carolina. Heavy stubble sheathed his jaw. He also hadn't shaved in a couple of weeks. Blood splattered his clothes, some of it old, some new.
He landed next to me. I put my arms around him and kissed him. The taste of him against my tongue was magic. He kissed me back and held me against him. "Did you eat?"
"I did. It tastes much better than the feast Hugh was offering."
"I'll break his neck," Curran whispered, his voice vibrating with so much menace that I almost winced. The muscles on Curran's arms hardened with tension. He was probably picturing killing Hugh in his head. I wouldn't want to be Hugh D'Ambray at this point. Between me and Curran, his prognosis for a long life didn't look good.
[...]
He stroked my shoulder and kissed my hair. I leaned against him. It felt so good just to know he was here.
"You can have one more nap and then I'll carry you," he said.
"I might manage a walk."
"That would be good, but if not, I've got you."
I wrapped my arms around him again. There were things I wanted to say, but I didn't know how. He'd crossed half of the country, broken into an impenetrable prison, and found me against all odds. There were no words to explain to him how I felt about that.
"I love you," I told him. There. Nice and simple. "I knew you would find me."
He smiled at me. "I would never stop looking."
And he wouldn't. He would've kept going until he found me. I had no doubt of that.
For this, I can forgive the separation anxiety I endured, because it did its job.
I was in before but now I'm all in.
No matter what's thrown at them in the remainder of the series, I know nothing's going to destroy my ship.
Fuck with it, breach its walls, shake it loose a little but not end it.
I can almost taste the happy ending in sight.
But there is most definitely a shit storm headed their way.
We've spent seven books getting to know the main players, being drip fed Kate's heritage, acquainting ourselves with her world and the monstrous creatures who routinely try to squish her like a foul-mouthed bug.
And monstrous they have most certainly been.
We've been treated to Norse, Egyptian, Celtic and Hindu gods, ancient zombie knights, flying jellyfish of inordinate size, an airborne palace filled with rabid winged shifters, a certain infamous hellhound, The Morrígan herself, and a very pissed off auntie.
It's been a goddamn riot.
Not once have I been bored.
And this time around we were graced with a Wendigo.
(Did you know Wendigo are a Canadian myth? ... Canadian! Adorable)
My only experience with this particular creature is through Hannibal, wherein the eponymous cannibal is portrayed at times as a hybrid of both man and stag. Bathed in blood by snowy moonlight.
It's very beautiful and allegorical.
Kate's ravening beast, however? Not so much.
The only way I can describe it is, well... you know in Labyrinth when they finally make it to the gates of Goblin City and have to get by a giant, metal guard with a goblin piloting it from the inside?
Yeah?
Well, imagine that but even bigger, fleshy and troll-like, really pissed off, ravenous and carrying a jellybean human inside for purposes unknown - probably the original human before cannibalism occurred, but I'm just guessing.
That is what chased our heroine and her cohorts down the streets of Atlanta while she rode a mammoth donkey named Cuddles in one of the best chase scenes/battles my brain's had the privilege to process."A wendigo," Robert whispered next to me.
"Run!" I sprinted. "Ruuuuun!"
We charged down the street. My cracked ribs set my side on fire. Speed was our best chance. There was no place to hide on Garbage Road. We didn't have the numbers or the means to kill it, and every second we spent fighting would cost us time we didn't have.
[...]
"Faster, faster!" Robert snarled.
I couldn't go any faster. I glanced over my shoulder. The wendigo was closing the gap.
[...]
The wendigo opened its jaws and let out another scream. It was barely two hundred yards away.
I grabbed Cuddles's reins and pulled her, trying to get her up the trash slope. Cuddles brayed and stopped dead.
Robert grabbed the reins next to me and pulled. "Come on."
Derek slid off the saddle and screamed, "Stop, you moron!"
I whipped around.
Ascanio was running toward the wendigo, his knives out.
No, no, no, you stupid idiot!
My body had moved before my mind realized I was running after him.
The wendigo paused, scooped something from the trash, and shoved it into its mouth. The huge teeth scissored and a piece of a wooden beam fell from its mouth, sheared clean.
Ascanio leaped and carved at the wendigo's legs, his knives a whirlwind. The creature howled.
I sprinted so fast, I was almost flying.
Ascanio whirled around the wendigo's legs like a dervish, slicing and cutting. Pink blood sprayed the trash piles. The wendigo's left ankle gave out and he dropped to one knee.
Run faster, damn it. I had to run faster.
Ascanio backed up towards me to avoid being crushed. The wendigo's hand snapped, shockingly fast, and closed about the boy. He jerked him up and smashed the bouda against the ground.
Oh no.
[...]
A furry shape leaped from the right above me, sailing through the air, arms raised, a tomahawk in his right hand. Derek landed on the wendigo's face and carved at its neck with his axe.
[...]
Robert cut and gouged his way to the wendigo's back. Bright human blood stained his fur. The alpha of the were-rats sliced the translucent flesh, planted his feet, bent down, locked his fingers on an exposed rib, and pulled. Bone broke. He tossed the rib out, shoved his hand into the hole, pulled a handful of organ tissue out, and hurled it into the night.
I scrambled the wendigo's human-looking heart with my blade. I minced its liver. I hacked its lungs into bloody paste. I severed its arteries. Pink, almost transparent blood sprayed me again and again, its taste burning on my lips.
[...]
The ululating howls of the Iron Dogs floated behind us, constant now, like an eerie, bone-chilling din.
[...]
We made a sharp left. The howls chased us, louder and louder. The street rolled out in front of us, completely empty. Ten more blocks to the Order.
[...]
Hoofbeats. I turned.
Hugh rounded the corner. He was riding a huge black horse. A dozen men and women rode with him.
[...]
We wouldn't make it. I stopped and turned to face the Iron Dogs, unsheathing my sword. Hugh wanted me. Hugh would get me. Be careful what you wish for.
"Down!" Mauro boomed behind me.
I dropped to the ground. The air whined as half a dozen arrows flew above my head and bit into the asphalt, falling feet short of Hugh's horse.
The bolts pulsed once with bright blue. The night exploded.
...
I love this series so fucking much.
And that's the truncated version. It just keeps getting worse and worse from there.
From inner power struggles, to watery near death experiences, to Hugh D'Ambray making the transition from sass-tacular Loki-esque annoyance I crave all the page time with to the cruelest, most petulant motherfucker in the all the land.
"What is it you want from me, Hugh?"
"Short term, I'd like you to say my name with a please attached to it. I'd like to walk into Jester Park with you on my arm."
Jester Park, Iowa. Once a park in Des Moines, and now one of my father's retreats.
"Long term, I want to win. And I will win, Kate. You'll put up a good fight, but eventually you'll be sleeping in my bed and fighting with me back to back. We'll be good together. I promise you."
"What part of no don't you understand?"
"The part where I don't get what I want. You need to be taught your place. It's not at the Keep."
Something inside me snapped. "And you're going to teach me where my place is?"
"Yes."
Time for a reality check, Hugh.
No means no, D'Ambray.
Live it, learn it, fucking choke on it.
...
I hate him.
I hate his stupid, pretty guts.
I hope Kate and her Furry Majesty chop him into tiny pieces and feed him to Grendel as an afternoon snack.
...
But goddamn, he's a magnificent villain.
When not being a misogynistic cock-stand, he's funny and cutting, and it's damn entertaining when he plays with his prey, but most of all, the most appealing part, is that Hugh D'Ambray is having an absolute ball.
Toying with Kate and murdering her friends is the most fun he's had in decades.
And what's the recipe for a quality villain?
Zero fucks to be had and a whole load of unabashed glee.
...
Fuck it. I hate him but I love him so much.
Curse you, House Andrews; you skew my morals.
"Hugh is [Roland's] warlord. Think of him as a huge unstoppable wrecking ball. Where Roland points, Hugh smashes. Right now Roland is pointing at the pack. He has fought shapeshifters in the past and they kicked his ass, so he wants to nip you in the bud. Hugh is here to smash you. Would you like to know exactly what Hugh thinks of you? He thinks you're dogs."
Robert bared his teeth.
"If he can't make you sit, he has no use for you. He will put you down—child, elderly, pregnant, doesn't matter—and treat himself to an extra beer at dinner to celebrate a job well down. He can't be bribed, he can't be reasoned with, and he is damn near impossible to kill. Curran broke his back and threw him into a fire that had melted solid stone. But here he is."
I paused to grab a breath. "Hugh and I were trained by the same person. I'm better than he is. In a one-on-one fight, I'll kill him and he knows it. He wants me, my sword, and my magic. While we were at the Black Sea, he showed me a room full of shapeshifters and told me he would slaughter every single one of them for a chance to have dinner with me."
Desandra shrugged. "That's kind of hot. In a sick way."
I ignored her.
...
My morals have never been so happy to be skewed.
If it was at all possible, I would send out a mental plea to every author/director/screenwriter to, for the love all that's fictional, let the stoic, broody, world domination obsessed big bad die a very real, totally not fictitious, death.
Give me the Spikes of the world, not the Angeluses.
And give me their Escher-esque prisons while you're at it.
Visually, the Kate Daniels series is mind-blowing, utterly insane, and grotesquely beautiful.
But nothing quite compares to Mishmar; the vampire-infested, inescapable labyrinth of chaotic rooms Kate's father forged to drop his problems in and watch scurry for their lives.
I've been inside many an oubliette in my literary time and they've all been claustrophobic and horrifying but Mishmar? Mishmar is a whole other level.
Formed through Papa Daniels' ability to magically appropriate any building he takes a fancy to and fuse with as many other structures he chooses to create something akin to a twisted Crystal Maze.
When not being a misogynistic cock-stand, he's funny and cutting, and it's damn entertaining when he plays with his prey, but most of all, the most appealing part, is that Hugh D'Ambray is having an absolute ball.
Toying with Kate and murdering her friends is the most fun he's had in decades.
And what's the recipe for a quality villain?
Zero fucks to be had and a whole load of unabashed glee.
...
Fuck it. I hate him but I love him so much.
Curse you, House Andrews; you skew my morals.
"Hugh is [Roland's] warlord. Think of him as a huge unstoppable wrecking ball. Where Roland points, Hugh smashes. Right now Roland is pointing at the pack. He has fought shapeshifters in the past and they kicked his ass, so he wants to nip you in the bud. Hugh is here to smash you. Would you like to know exactly what Hugh thinks of you? He thinks you're dogs."
Robert bared his teeth.
"If he can't make you sit, he has no use for you. He will put you down—child, elderly, pregnant, doesn't matter—and treat himself to an extra beer at dinner to celebrate a job well down. He can't be bribed, he can't be reasoned with, and he is damn near impossible to kill. Curran broke his back and threw him into a fire that had melted solid stone. But here he is."
I paused to grab a breath. "Hugh and I were trained by the same person. I'm better than he is. In a one-on-one fight, I'll kill him and he knows it. He wants me, my sword, and my magic. While we were at the Black Sea, he showed me a room full of shapeshifters and told me he would slaughter every single one of them for a chance to have dinner with me."
Desandra shrugged. "That's kind of hot. In a sick way."
I ignored her.
...
My morals have never been so happy to be skewed.
If it was at all possible, I would send out a mental plea to every author/director/screenwriter to, for the love all that's fictional, let the stoic, broody, world domination obsessed big bad die a very real, totally not fictitious, death.
Give me the Spikes of the world, not the Angeluses.
And give me their Escher-esque prisons while you're at it.
Visually, the Kate Daniels series is mind-blowing, utterly insane, and grotesquely beautiful.
But nothing quite compares to Mishmar; the vampire-infested, inescapable labyrinth of chaotic rooms Kate's father forged to drop his problems in and watch scurry for their lives.
I've been inside many an oubliette in my literary time and they've all been claustrophobic and horrifying but Mishmar? Mishmar is a whole other level.
Formed through Papa Daniels' ability to magically appropriate any building he takes a fancy to and fuse with as many other structures he chooses to create something akin to a twisted Crystal Maze.
If the Crystal Maze was deadly and swarming with a horde of vampires who haven't had dinner in a while instead of the gloriously flamboyant Richard O'Brien and his Mumsey.
"We're in Mishmar."
Roland's tower prison. I only knew what Voron told me of it. When the business district of Omaha fell, my father had bought the rubble from the impoverished city. He had taken colossal chunks of fallen skyscrapers, two, three, four stories tall, pulled them into a remote field somewhere in Iowa, and piled them onto each other into a huge tower, held together by magic and encircled by a wall. It was a vicious place, an ever-changing labyrinth, where exits sealed themselves and walls took on new shapes. Feral vampires roamed here. Things for which nobody had any name because they had no right to exist hunted here. There was no escape from Mishmar. Nobody ever got out.
[...]
Filthy rooms, crumbling chairs, floors that made no sense, one moment a luxury high-rise, the next a ruin, then a hospital . . . Sometimes icy cold, sometimes sweltering hot. One room housed a pile of rotting corpses slithering with huge snakes. Another had an imaginary floor. The floor was there, we could see it, but when Thomas stepped on it, he went completely through. Robert caught him and pulled him out, but not before the rat alpha got a glimpse of what was under the floor. He wouldn't say what it was. He just had this wild look on his half-rat, half-human face, backed away, and took off in the same direction we had come from. It took us ten minutes to catch up with him.
At one point we'd reached a hole in the side of the building and one by one stuck our heads out of it. The breath of cold, fresh air was like manna from heaven. We were high above the ground. I saw a piece of ground. I saw a piece of a sky, a distant field of snow, and then a giant reptilian-looking bird swooped down and tried to claw my face off with its talons. Thanks, Roland. Much appreciated.
Breathing wasn't an option whilst reading this part of the story.
To be honest, breathing wasn't much of an option full stop.
But even while fighting for their lives in various hellscapes of both her father and his lapdog's making, the humour and camaraderie held true.
What's Kate without her short temper and quick wit when she's on the very precipice of snuffing it?
Hugh leaned forward, looked at me, and said in a quiet conversational tone, "Do you ever just get bored at these things and want to punch someone?"
"Punch any of mine, and I'll break your arm off and beat you to death with it."
[...]
Hugh grinned. "That's my girl."
What's the Beast Lord without his particular brand of interrogation?
I brushed my fingers along his stubbled cheek gently. "Did you have a failure of control, Your Furriness?"
"No," Curran said. "I was perfectly in control."
Across the room, Robert shook his head. "He was holding Jennifer up a foot off the ground the whole time he questioned her."
"Did you strangle the wolf alpha?" Not that she didn't deserve it.
Curran grimaced. "Of course not. I needed information. After I put her face in my mouth, we agreed that it was in her best interests to tell me what I wanted to know."
What's Kate without her bestie's ability to tease her mercilessly?
"I've blown my cover," I told him. "Now every weirdo with a drop of power will be coming over to investigate."
"It's like you had a coming-out party," Andrea said. "You've been presented to polite society, except now everybody wants to kill you."
"Spare me."
"Kate Daniels, a debutante." Andrea grinned.
"It's not funny."
"It's hilarious." The smile slid off Andrea's face and she vomited on the snow.
"Karma," I told her.
Her pseudo-son's smart mouth that'll get him thumped one day?
"Where are we going?" Desandra asked.
"We're going to Blue Ribbon Stables," I said. "It's the closest place to rent a horse."
"Why?" Desandra asked.
"Because I can't keep up with you on foot," I said.
"And she runs like a rhino," Derek added. "You can hear her a mile away."
Traitor. "I thought you had my back?"
"I do," Derek said. "The rhino running is nice. Makes it easy to keep track of you. If I ever lose you, I just have to listen and there you are."
And Kate and Curran's puke-worthy love that I would unquestionably die for?
The bunnycat looked at me with its round green eyes and purred.
I rose and turned. "Got it."
The beam collapsed under my feet and we plunged down. My stomach tried to jump out of my mouth. The rope jerked, burning my ribs, and I hung suspended over the sheer drop, the bunnycat snuggled in my arms. The beam crashed to the ground with a loud clang, gouging the crumbling pavement.
The rope rotated slightly. The bunnycat purred, oblivious. Across the ruined city, the sun was rolling toward the horizon, turning the sky orange in its wake. I was alive. How about that? I just had to stay that way.
"Okay, pull me up."
The rope didn't move.
"Ascanio?" What was it now? Did he see a butterfly and get distracted?
The rope slid up, as fast as if wound by a winch. I shot upward. What the . . . ?
I cleared the edge and found myself face to face with Curran.
Oh boy.
He held the rope up with one hand, muscles bulging on his arm under his sweatshirt. No strain showed on Curran's face. It's good to be the baddest shapeshifter in the city. Behind him Ascanio stood very still, pretending to be invisible.
Curran's gray eyes laughed at me. The Beast Lord reached out and touched my nose with his finger. "Boop."
...
BOOP?!
How did I survive this book?
I'm not entirely sure I did.
I haven't been able to start anything new since I finished.
I don't want to start anything new, which is just the weirdest thing ever.
I think my brain's still processing.
Because this really did feel like the book.
The power stance.
The declaration of war.
The big old fuck you to daddy dearest.
Speaking of which... what the bloody fuck?!
We finally get to see just how powerful Kate can be; the true measure of her magic:
I opened my mouth. "Hesaad." Mine.
The power word tore from me, cracking like a whip. The navigators' resistance vanished. The Master of the Dead in front of me got to his feet and pressed himself flat against the left wall. The vampires streamed to me [...] circled me, forming an undead maelstrom around my feet.
[...]
I pushed with my power and the vampiric heads surrounding me exploded. Undead blood flooded the floor. I raised my left arm and sliced across it with Sarrat. My blood streamed down, mixing with the dark ruby liquid by my feet. My magic shot through the undead blood like fire down a detonation cord. The undead blood streamed to me, pliant and obedient. It curved around my feet, coating my clothes, slid over my arms, and drained down Sarrat, widening the blade as it coated the saber in crimson.
"TAKE YOUR PLACE."
"No."
The blood armor surged up, sheathing my body. The image of me wearing a crown burst and shattered.
[...]
My blood armor crumbled into dust. Words appeared on my hands and arms, strange words written in dark ink. The air around me turned red. The ceiling above me exploded. My body bent back, my arms opened wide, my back arched. The building swayed, shaking. Below me, people crouched by the walls, trying to hide from my power.
The magic inside me erupted. My voice rolled like the sound of an enormous bell.
"HESAAD." MINE.
How she would use that magic to protect the people she loves and the people who can't protect themselves.
How she would die for them, no hesitation.
She won't let the sperm donor win.
And what does dear old dad do?
He...
He makes her... cookies.
...
Cookies!
I can't explain why that's so disturbing, you kind of have to experience it but trust me, it's beyond disturbing, it's fucking terrifying.
...
Why do there have to be so few books left in the series?!
I can't read this any slower than I am.
I made it four months before I had to get another fix the last time, I can't manage any longer than that.
It'd kill me.
But any faster and it'll all be over.
Forever.
...
Rock, meet hard place.
...
Okay, time for a distraction until the literary gods answer my prayers and House Andrews at least write a new series in the same world.
Maybe with Julie, Derek and Ascanio.
That'd be nice, wouldn't it House Andrews?
WOULDN'T IT?
...
...
What the...
The literary gods...
They listened...
(If you haven't read the last in the series, don't read this. ... Or do because you kinda-sorta-vaguely already know what's going to happen in the end and you'll do anything for a Kate Daniels fix. Anything ← I'm this one, if you haven't figured that out already)
Not exactly what I asked for but way more than I ever expected.
...
Am I magic now?
Can I make authors do my bidding?
And when do I get more?
You can't tease me like that, House Andrews.
You just can't...
Oh god, I'm going to be insufferable now.
...
Oh look, part two:
(I warned before, but do NOT read this if you don't want spoiled. It's a major spoiler that I'm fine knowing because I knew it'd happen anyway but seriously, this is a biggie. Step the fuck back)
I love my new superpower.
.............................................
Dory Whynot:
(Why have I never thought of just adding paper for edits? ... Why am so stupid?! Art school? You were useless. Thank fuck for the internet)
The first image is the epitome of dreamy.
Exactly how I imagine Crowley sees Aziraphale in his head.
Exactly how I imagine Crowley sees Aziraphale in his head.
My soft ineffable boys.
.............................................
The Notting Hill bench scene did things to me.
Putrid, heart melty things.
Can Dan Levy and Noah Reid recreate all the classic rom-com moments?
Can that be a thing?
.............................................
Putrid, heart melty things.
Can Dan Levy and Noah Reid recreate all the classic rom-com moments?
Can that be a thing?
.............................................
.............................................
So... I'm obsessed with these idiots.
Episode three is hilarious.
I want pizza.
Watch:
YouTube
Amazon
Bon Appétit
.............................................
Goblin boy thinks he's a hermit crab:
You really wouldn't know he's a mercurial prick in a fluff suit.
Goblin boy thinks he's a hermit crab:
Ain't he handsome?
You really wouldn't know he's a mercurial prick in a fluff suit.
Bonus: He had a cold a couple of weeks ago and sneezed so hard he scared himself.
...
You have not lived until you've seen the post-choo frantic scurry of an oversized feline.
You just haven't.
.............................................
Some Daffodil and Applesauce to brighten your day:
Daffodil: Applesauce comes over pic.twitter.com/FuZxhMmHP3— Smallbu Animation (@SmallBuStudio) March 21, 2020
.............................................
Vexed Spring Onion (scallion) is ruining my life.
Anthropomorphised foodstuffs make me so happy
(Ps. What is this anime? I need to see it)
.............................................
Space Hamster Quartet:
— ブルーハムハム (@THEBLUEHAMHAM) December 23, 2019
小さなビートボクサー#小さな音楽隊 pic.twitter.com/V3ObprjqrI— ブルーハムハム (@THEBLUEHAMHAM) March 6, 2020
小さなキーボディスト#小さな音楽隊 pic.twitter.com/ZI63DVdkqa— ブルーハムハム (@THEBLUEHAMHAM) February 22, 2020
— ブルーハムハム (@THEBLUEHAMHAM) December 23, 2019
三輪車ドライビング#小さな音楽隊 pic.twitter.com/7m4Zk2x9qV— ブルーハムハム (@THEBLUEHAMHAM) January 19, 2020
小さなトライアングル奏者#小さな音楽隊 pic.twitter.com/VP6iF0gsLd— ブルーハムハム (@THEBLUEHAMHAM) January 8, 2020
My brain is so basic.
Why don't aqua space hammies play music in my head?
Why don't aqua space hammies play music in my head?
.............................................
D&D:
I don't play D&D.
I'll probably never play D&D unless someone physically makes me.
But I want this set of dice.
Y'know, just to ogle.
'Cause look how pretty.
...
D&D:
Same set in the morning light. You guys really came through with the names. Officially naming this set Ronsel courtesy of @snibbits Thanks for all your suggestions! Whose ready for more? #heftydice #dungeonsanddragons #d20 #dice #dnd #dnd5e #diceporn #ttrpg #tabletopgames pic.twitter.com/8fpAxpWs76— Hefty Dice (@HeftyDice) January 27, 2020
I don't play D&D.
I'll probably never play D&D unless someone physically makes me.
But I want this set of dice.
Y'know, just to ogle.
'Cause look how pretty.
.............................................
...
The fizzy gummy worm craving is real and alive and un-fucking-available.
Groan.
.............................................
Chaima's review of M. L. Rio's, If We Were Villains:
I couldn't form words after finishing this dark collegiate wonder.
Luckily, Chaima can do it for me. For everyone.
...
Read the fucking book.
And then this fanfic (thank you, Chaima. My bleeding chest cavity is eternally grateful for the rec) by helloearthlings that we all needed and deserved after that fucker of an ending:
.............................................
...
.............................................
I
AM
IN
LOVE
...
LOOK AT HOW CUTE THEY ARE.
LOOK AT THEMMMMM:
I'm no longer in control of my emotions.
I've watched this twice.
I'm on my third watch, now.
I need the second season, yesterday.
Why did I watch this so soon?
Why am I so stupid?
And look at the title sequence:
This shit is criminal.
Who said they could violate my heart like this, huh?
It burns.
It burns so good.
...
...
...
...
I'm checking out, no sense is going to be made while I'm in this state.
Let's fan art instead:
BEASTARS ☆ pic.twitter.com/4XsAzGo57N— TERRIBLE ANIMAL (@terribleanimal_) March 27, 2020
do you care for them #BEASTARS ☆ pic.twitter.com/EISL1D2Vrc— TERRIBLE ANIMAL (@terribleanimal_) March 27, 2020
BEASTARS ☆ pic.twitter.com/tfDZqJP5ft— TERRIBLE ANIMAL (@terribleanimal_) March 27, 2020
— 🍭GAMUBEAR🍬 @ Paying off Nook debt 💸💸💸 (@_gamubear) October 18, 2019
cutests 🐺🐰 #beastars pic.twitter.com/S8wYebu99s— kit banana royale (@yuritchka) March 23, 2020
— Tacco (@Forschart) March 23, 2020
— Tacco (@Forschart) March 18, 2020
Lisa Forsch aka. Tacco
I watched Beastars and I’m soft pic.twitter.com/svKqqIbFS6— Jazzy ✨ (@JazzysArt) March 15, 2020
— Bee🐝🐛🌿✨ (@Beebeediboop) March 19, 2020
Haru and Legosi have a pretty interesting dynamic going on, I like their relationship. Read the #Beastars manga from start to finish just to see how it progresses #digitalart pic.twitter.com/kZuX44wIpC— Pon Ponwell (@PonwellArt) November 21, 2019
Beastars is honestly one of the better manga I've ever read. Characters are well written and fleshed out, story is interesting all the way and designs are awesome yet simple. I'm glad it became popular, cause it deserves it. #beastars #digitalart pic.twitter.com/RuSpyBoX9y— Pon Ponwell (@PonwellArt) November 15, 2019
Shy guy and flower girl 🌸 #BEASTARS pic.twitter.com/3zOzyR0oHL— UshiMooshi (@UshiMooshi) October 27, 2019
I now need to read all the graphic novels.
And covet all things Beastars.
Like this Legoshi figurine:
...
This sad sack wolf has ruined my fucking life.
And don't get me started on his tempestuous bunny rabbit.
Don't even.
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