Things I enjoyed in the month of July:
Ilona Andrews', Magic Shifts:
"All hands, fall in!" a woman roared across the lot, somewhere behind the lizard horde. "Form a perimeter! Melee to the front! I want a mage here and a mage there. Light them up. Archers, form up on mages. Give me intersecting fields of fire. Act like you've been to a party before."
A foot. Another foot. We kept going. My breathing evened out. My mind cataloged the injuries and ignored them. Grendel bled but he still fought, ripping into reptilian bodies. The horde tightened the ring around us. They were keying on Grendel now, judging him the easier target. They wouldn't get my dog as long as I breathed.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder. Twenty yards to the Guild. They would be a hard twenty yards. I was about to throw up again.
A lizard crashed in front of me, its body broken.
To the right the reptilian bodies flew up and aside, as if bulldozed. Someone strong and very motivated was tearing down the battlefield.
"What the hell is that?" Alix said.
"That's my honey-bunny."
Curran burst into the open, a seven-and-a-half-foot-tall monster clothed in steel muscle and gray fur. Faint stripes crossed his limbs like dark whip marks. Blood dripped from his clawed hands. On the left side, a patch of his skin was missing, muscle exposed and raw.
He grabbed the nearest lizard, twisted it with a loud snap, and tossed it aside. "Hey, baby."
"Hi." I beheaded a lizard. "Where are the kids?"
"With the MSDU." He dismembered a beast with a quick swipe of his claws. "You're having all this fun without me."
"I'm not doing much. Just having tea and cookies." I cut another lizard. "Thinking deep thoughts." I love you.
"Then I'll join you."
He loved me, too.
For once, I think I'm going to keep this review fairly brief.
And not because this episode in the saga of Kate Daniels beats the shit out evil and quips magnificently while doing so isn't worthy of my usual Kate-fuelled amorist verbiage - because it absolutely is.
But because this is my favourite in the series.
Unequivocally.
I have loved every single book so far.
Every single one.
For me, they are the height of Urban Fantasy: intelligent, beautifully researched and applied, overflowing with an entire cast of complex, fascinating characters - you could write spin-offs for just about anyone in the KD world; it's exciting and unexpected with every book, and even though the world-building is firmly set in one place, the landscape evolves every damn time.
And we all know I need a little romance in there to keep my shipping needs sated: Kate and Curran are my number one ship... equal with a few others but don't tell them that. Kate likes to poke people with her ichor-laced sword and His Furriness puts people's heads in his mouth as an intimidation tactic.
...
I'm 70% afraid of my lunatic cat. Enough said.
Threatened mastication aside, or as a direct result, the Kate Daniels series is perfect Urban Fantasy.
And. it. keeps. getting. better.
Which is how, on book eight, I've found myself trying to reason whether it's legal to marry a book.
Because I want to make this thing official.
Lock it down.
Put a ring dust jacket on it.
My love is real, it is unstoppable, and it shall not be quelled.
And I don't want to spoil it for any potential readers by divulging its ooey-gooey insides.
That, and perfect books make me stupid.
I don't know why but I can't reviews stories I love with any degree of coherence.
It's a problem.
Hence, the potentially short-ish review.
(Pay close to attention to that potentially)
...
Anyway.
What makes book eight so damn special it renders me mute?
Ho, boy.
Shall I make a list?
I think I'll make a list.
It'll keep the verbosity to a minimum.
...
Yeah, even I'm laughing.
A love letter in staccato
1. Domesticity: the Daniels/Lennarts now reside in suburbia. With human neighbours. And milk deliveries.
...
Let this quote demonstrate why their new living situation brings me so much joy:
I made my way into the kitchen just in time to see Curran, already showered, pull a pot of stew Julie must've made from the coal oven. Grendel, our freakishly large black attack poodle, sprawled on the rug, cleaning a big bone. He wagged his tail at me and went back to stripping shreds of meat. Julie set out the bowls for dinner.
"Did you see the mailman while doing your rounds yesterday?" I asked.
Curran's face turned carefully blank. "Yes, I did."
"Did you do anything to scare him?"
"I was perfectly friendly."
"Mm-hm." Please continue with your nice story. Non-judgemental.
"He was putting things into the mailbox. I was passing by and I said, 'Hello, nice night.' And then I smiled. He jumped into his truck and slammed the door."
"Rude!" Julie volunteered.
"I let it pass," Curran said. "We're new to the neighborhood."
The former Beast Lord, a kind and magnanimous neighbor. 'So you sneaked up behind him, startled him by speaking, and when he turned around and saw a six-hundred-pound talking lion, you showed him your teeth?"
"I don't think that's what happened," Curran said.
"That's exactly what happened, Your Furriness." I laughed, pulling off my boots.
...
Domestic Curran might be my favourite thing.
2. New monsters: I won't tell you what the big bad is this time around but I will tell you it's crazy epic.
Craaaaaazy epic.
And a personal mythological favourite of mine.
The craziest part is that we don't even really see the big bad in question.
A brief, power-infused glimpse in an enforced vision and nothing else.
An entire book with countless fucked up battles which left us with over-blooded vampires, partially beheaded giants, a seriously wounded Kate, and regenerating creatures that just refused to kick the bucket.
And all of them conduits for a very pissed off... nope, still not outing Kate's latest nemesis.
You'll just have to read to find out.
But trust me, it's worth it.
If only for a certain transformative experience undergone by a new character by the name of Mitchell.
...
3. Daddy dearest: I'm going straight to literary hell for this but... I really like Kate's evil dad.
...
Let me explain.
...
House-Andrews-are-fantastic-at-writing-villains-and-I-can't-help-myself-but-like-them.
...
I can hear the pitchforks and torches, already.
The morality police are building my pyre as I speak.
Which is a little flattering, to be honest; I've always wanted to be a witch, but my nose just doesn't wiggle like that.
And the witches of supernatural Atlanta definitely don't like Kate's Mordred-esque progenitor.
But I do.
I like him so much.
And it's all House Andrews' fault.
Damn you, writers of charming, mass-murdering, scary bastards.
Damn you for making me like someone I should despise.
But, y'know, keep at it because I'm really enjoying this villain crush I've got going.
He's older than existence and he orders onion rings, for god's sake.
Onion rings.
...
It's fucking adorable.
4. There's a first for everything: Kate's mortality. I've never been worried before. She's essentially a sort of/kinda/ish Demi-god. Why would I be worried?
...
Magic Shifts got me worried.
Kate's been mortally wounded before. Blood and guts spilling out like a jack o'lantern. But never like this.
The magic wave ended. The lizards fell as one.
The headache exploded in my skull as if someone had poured gasoline on my brain and set it on fire inside my head. Wetness slid from my ears and I realized it was blood.
"Kate?" Curran turned human in a blink.
"My head hurts."
"I can't understand you." His face turned frantic. "What's wrong?"
"My head hurts." I knew I was saying it. I could hear my voice. I just couldn't make out the words.
"Medic!" Curran roared.
The agony in my head drowned out all else. I sank to my knees and slid to the ground. The world went silent except for the pounding of my own pulse.
Never with the potential to really kick the bucket.
"What is it, baby?"
I finally squeezed the word out. "Home."
A muscle in his face jerked. "No, baby. We can't go home. Doolittle will take good care of you. You just have to hold on until the magic starts."
"Home."
"It will be okay."
I had to make him understand.
"She's getting too agitated," Sam said.
"It will be fine," Curran told me. "You're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you."
My eyes felt wet. Curran's face turned pale.
"Home."
"We can't go home right now. We'll go as soon as you're better."
The wetness was running down my cheeks now in hot streaks. "Have to go home."
Curran's face was terrible. Pain twisted his mouth and he forced it down, his face calm again, but I knew. I saw it. If I made him understand, he would take me home.
"Don't cry," he whispered.
"Please," I begged. "Please."
"What's so important about home?"
I opened my mouth. My voice was so weak. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me to him.
"Want . . . to die at home."
Never hurt enough to get through the defences of the her stoic honey-bunny.
The door closed behind Doolittle. For a moment nothing happened, and then Curran's pose shifted. Tension gripped his spine and his shoulders. He looked like a man backed into a corner, outnumbered and injured, resigned to his fate, but grimly determined to stand his ground. His face was neutral like a mask, but his eyes weren't. They brimmed with pain and fear.
Oh, Curran.
It tried to bend him, and he wasn't used to bending. He didn't know how and he was fighting it, but whatever anxiety churned inside him now was slowly winning. It would drag him down and crush him. All of his power, will, and explosive strength meant nothing and he knew it. He look like a man at he deathbed of someone he loved.
That someone was me.
Never so badly wounded she might be changed forever.
"Kate," Julie asked, her voice small.
"Mm-hm?"
"You do remember me, don't you? You don't have amnesia?"
Oh, Julie. I turned on my foot and hugged her. She leaned against me, limp.
"Do you remember when I took you to Pelican Point? You ate shrimp and cried."
She sniffled.
"And when we bought the owl?" I said. "The woman wanted thirty bucks for it, and then, when we got home, I had to fight with you to wash it?"
"Yes," she said.
"Even if I had amnesia, I would still remember that I love you."
She hugged me once, squeezing me tight, and let go.
...
Kate scared the crap out me in this book.
And I have feeling it's only going to get worse.
5. Vulnerability: since book one, Kate has been impenetrable. Sealed up tight. Closed for business.
No one was getting through her very necessary defences.
But throughout the series, those defences have been slowly, lovingly chipped away at.
By Julie, her adoptive kid.
By Curran, her furry life partner.
By Derek, her beloved "babysitter".
Her attack poodle, Grendel, the roller in of filth.
Andrea, her ride or die bitch.
And many, many others.
But it wasn't until this book that Kate's true vulnerability wasn't under her complete control.
Those necessary walls she built? Shattered. Clawed to pieces by numerous fuzzy shifters.
And now they're down.
They don't make her any less the Ass Kicker, Curran so fondly and goadingly calls her.
It's just the first time she's let those feelings out in the open.
For the characters and the readers.
We're gifted Kate's inner monologue, so we know everything she feels and hides from everyone else.
But not this time.
This time it was on full display, for everyone to see, not just us.
With the support she's longed for since forever.
"Your pulse is speeding up."
I just had to pick a shapeshifter. "Apparently dark narrow tunnels leading deep underground don't agree with me."
He wrapped his arms around me. I stopped. My heart was hammering against my ribs. What the hell was wrong with me?
Curran kissed my hair. His voice was a quiet warm whisper in my ear. "This isn't Mishmar."
Memories cascaded through my mind like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. Being trapping in a tunnel filled with water, clinging to the metal grate, holding Ghastek's head so he wouldn't drown, running through the dark passageways while hundreds of undead chased us . . .
Curran's voice cut through it, calm and reassuring. "We aren't trapped. It's just a hole in the dirt."
I inhaled deeply, leaning on him. Breathing from the bottom of your lungs short-circuited anxiety, and so I breathed slowly, trying to get my exhales to last longer than my inhales, and stood wrapped in him.
My pulse slowed. The odd uncomfortable panic was still there, but it receded far enough that I could keep a lid on it. I squeezed his hand. "I'm good."
He let me go and I pushed my way through, trying to speed up.
And some grab-assing.
Very essential part of corralling an emotionally compromised Kate.
The tunnel narrowed. My shoulders brushed the dirt. Great. The anxiety hammered at me. I concentrated on my breathing, slow and deep.
A minute passed. Another.
Just keep moving. Keep moving. It will end.
It will end.
It felt like we'd been underground for eternity. It had to be at least thirty minutes.
It had to end . . .
How far did this damn tunnel go?
A hand rested on the small of my back and slid down.
"Did you just grab my butt?" I whispered.
"What?"
"Curran!"
"Yes?" I could hear controlled laughter in his voice.
Unbelievable. I sped up. "We're tracking ghouls and you're grabbing my butt."
"I always make sure to pay attention to important things."
"Sure you do."
"Besides, if the tunnel collapses, I won't get to do it again."
"You won't get to do it again anyway. I can't even see Derek anymore. He probably heard about your butt-grabbing and decided to give us some space.
"Maybe you move too slow."
Argh.
"You should try making more noise as you walk, too." Curran suggested. "Maybe the ghouls will mistake you for a small underground elephant and run off."
"When we get out of here, I'll kick you."
"You'll try."
...
Calming Kate Down 101:
Distract her with pointed idiocy and mock her light-footedness.
Works every time.
6. A Family chosen: Kate is a product of continuing trauma. Her father's an omnipotent, self-appointed god who tried to murder her at birth. Her mother was murdered by him whilst trying to prevent the almost-filicide. And she was entrusted to an unfeeling, ensorcelled warlord who taught her to kill before she could even hold a sword.
She doesn't trust people. She doesn't let them in. She's a sharp edge and she has a job to do.
Until Curran Lennart, the former Beast Lord of Atlanta.
One meeting in a dark alley where she pulled on death's whiskers by uttering three fateful words:
Here, kitty, kitty.
And a family was born.
A family she chose and chose her back.
And it makes my heart so stupidly happy it almost makes me sick.
Almost.
But absolutely not because she's fucking deserves it.
She deserves people looking out for her and having her back.
She deserves a home of her own, where her family can be safe.
She deserves a little domesticity.
She deserves the giant tub her and her leonine fiancé get to laze around in after a hard day at the monster-murdering office.
She deserves someone who, if something happened to her, would look after her kid because they love them just as much as she does.
"What if she doesn't pull through? [...] What if she never comes home? What would I . . . I won't have anybody . . ."
"You will have me. She will come home, but if she doesn't, I will still be there." Curran said. "We are family. You will always have a place in my house. I won't abandon you. If something happens to me, Andrea and Raphael will step up. Derek will always be there for you. You have people, Julie. You are not alone."
Kate deserves the best life.
With people who choose to be with her in it.
And she got them.
She got a whole pack of them.
...
End of letter.
...
Supernatural Atlanta is my promised land.
This book feels like home.
Like Kate's home.
Her true home.
And this review is still way too long, so I'm shutting up now because I don't know if I'm even making sense anymore.
Because as I said: books I love flood my brain with too many endorphins and essentially anaesthetise the part of my brain that's capable of forming coherent sentences.
That little smudge of grey matter is floating in a pool doughnut somewhere, sipping on a milkshake and watching its stories, happy as a brain-clam.
...
I think I made my nonsensical point.
Now I've got to wait four years before I read the next in the series because halfway through reading Magic Shifts I realised there's only three books left.
...
This genuinely stresses me out.
I can't even begin to explain how much.
What the fuck am going to to do without these supernatural idiots?
And because House Andrews are fine and good:
...
January 12th, 2021, we've a date, you and I.
Ps. Found this on the kitchen table:
Is it too much to hope they're Kate fans and named their tree slaying company after her monster slaying company?
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FANGS is officially over:
And I am sad.
But it's coming out in hardback, and it's frighteningly pretty, and I'm going to rub my grubby mitts all over it in October:
Ps. My favourite episode.
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Have I stopped singing this?
No, I have not.
Will I stop singing this most accurate of jams?
No, I will not.
Lowkey fuck 2020
I don't know about everybody else
But I think that I am kinda done
Can we just get to 2021, please?
Lowkey fuck 2020
Also, this song about anxiety:
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I can thank my pater for this find.
He spotted Jackson's work in the Scottish Design Exchange (Glasgow, Buchanan Galleries; if you're interested) and promptly bought me a Potter pin to adorn, well, whatever the hell I wanted.
I chose my trusty backpack.
Here he is, looking as wonderfully feckless as ever:
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— ᴰʳ.ᴍᴏʀɪᴄᴋʏ (@mmoriqomm) May 27, 2020
These sad sack toys are endorphin-ing me and I'm okay with it.
I'm really okay with it.
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...
I watched this too fucking fast.
It's so smart and gross.
I love these dirtbags.
Sidenote: I am obsessed with Ilana Glazer's face.
And her everything.
What an absolute goddess.
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I haven't even seen AHS: Apocalypse yet and I'm ob-sessed with this.
A testament to how much I love Vargas' art.
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Why do cats act so weird?:
Reassurance that my cat is just your regular weirdo with a few bonus... let's call them idiosyncrasies.
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Kim aka. chem_doodles:
This is fan art for The Foxhole Court series.
Which I haven't read yet.
I've been planning to.
This just sealed the motherfucking deal.
...
chem_doodles has mad fan art powers.
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most likely to make a sex tape?
— lilithsaur (@lilithsaur) July 11, 2020
It's just... it's just so true.
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Well, this was wholesome as shit.
And randomly narrated by John McEnroe.
Which was weirdly delightful.
I, in no way, miss being a teenager.
Not even a tiny bit.
Yuck.
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This article by Brittany Carlson for Ramona:
...
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When words are formed from mythology, I instantly like them more.
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Karl James Mountford's Song Jacket Playlist series:
I just want Mountford to design dust jackets for all my books.
Even the ones I hate.
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Outlander season 5:
The tv equivalent of the finest of comfort foods.
It's sweet.
It's squishy.
It's kinda bad for you.
Which is why it's so. damn. satisfying.
Even with the questionable ending to this particular season.
If you've watched it, you know what I'm referring to.
I don't know how I feel about it.
I can't stop thinking about it.
It's driving me slightly crazy.
But the newest member of the cast is helping with that:
...
And I thought I couldn't love this mildly rubbish schmaltz-fest more.
Idiot.
I wish it was still in Scotland, though.
Logically, I know it's North Carolina being filmed in Scotland, but I miss the show being set in Scotland.
My home.
It was so comforting to see a landscape familiar to me without having to know the specific town/city/random hillscape.
Plus, how often do places like Perth get featured in primetime tv?
PERTH!
The tiny city that's borne witness to countless hours of my life happily perusing the spines of the local Waterstones' wealth of novels.
And the subsequent dithering over which books to put back from the armload I'm joyfully being weighed down by.
Bookshops are my baseline of a good city.
I prefer them dark, musty and creepily comforting; but I'll take what I can get.
And hey, look at what my land just did:
I'm actually proud of my nation for once.
Weird.
It totally won't last.
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A visitor:
I love Bullfinches.
I wait to see them every year.
I've never been this close before.
And apparently they're opium fiends.
...
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Menstruation is not dirty.
It does not make you dirty.
Anyone who says otherwise doesn't deserve the ovary they came from.
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It me:
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People have been asking about this video. I had to take it down originally because my manager at d*sn*y told me to “or else”.
— Ronnie Gross (@ronniegrossjr) July 7, 2020
Enjoy. pic.twitter.com/prEyehxIHA
I just... I completely lost it.
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It's weird to find strangers on the internet this adorable, isn't it?
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Performance porn
That's the best way I've seen it described.
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I watched Angel-A years and year ago.
It was so French.
So pretty.
So weird.
So Luc Besson.
So, of course I loved it.
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...
Seeing as the beer plague has stolen The Great British Bake Off from us this year, could we just have Joey Batey's Feral Bake Off instead?
Update:
Good news Bake Off fans: the show is two weeks back into production at a secret location, and will return to the telly later this year. https://t.co/prhRU0PQGp
— Jake Kanter (@Jake_Kanter) July 22, 2020
...
I genuinely don't know how this going to work with all the restrictions but my brain lit up like Christmas tree on acid sprinkles when I saw this, so...
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Carrie L. aka. cisforfrechfry:
Quiet, genuine expressions of love are hard to find amidst the maelstrom of attention seekers on the internet, but when you do find them, it's the sweetest thing.
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Bananas:
This has been fucking with me since I read it.
(gif by daylightpotato)
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Queen of, queen of, queens of queens:
I posted this already outwith the Monthlies but it's my favourite song of July, so...
(Mrzyk & Moriceau for The Avalanches', The Subway)
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Seanan McGuire's, Rosemary and Rue:
My name is October Christine Daye; I live in a city by the sea where the fog paints the early morning, parking is more precious than gold, and Kelpies wait for the unwary on street corners. Neither of the worlds I live in is quite mine, but no one can take them away from me.
I'm going to say it.
Here goes.
Drumroll, please.
...
Female-led Urban Fantasy is my favourite genre.
...
Sorry, other genres, and sub-genres, and sub-sub-genres; the smart-mouthed ladies of UF are my happy place.
Especially when they're underdogs.
I squeed - loudly - internally when I realised October "Toby" Daye, the protagonist of Rosemary and Rue, was a Daoine Sidhe changeling with a seemingly very watered down level of power.
No high Fae abilities for this leading lady. Nope, nope, nope. Just good old worked at talent, moral fibre, and a heavy dose of intuition.
And I love that.
I love when the chosen one is special without being supernaturally special.
It's why I have so much affection for Harry Potter as a character ... because he's a bit useless.
Nowhere near the finest wizard in his class, let alone history.
Chosen by the flip of a coin.
Just a kid with a destiny who does the best he can with what he's got.
Just like the rest of us.
Just like Toby Daye.
And Toby's kind of a mess.
Scratch that.
Toby's a total mess, but she gets the job done and she gets it done well.
If a little... bloodily.
In all honesty, this is the first Urban Fantasy book I've read where the protagonist seemed truly killable.
Not just easily injured, but undeniably killable.
Normally, I can trust my protagonists to be capable of winning a fight and losing perhaps a little plasma in the process. It's inevitable when you're being hunted by all supernatural sundry that you'll roughhouse now and then.
But Toby?
Christ, Toby.
She went the extra mile and she did it messily.
This book was soaked in her blood.
Soaked.
Dripping from my fingers and staining the air.
I may as well have been splashing around in a pool of it, making blood-angels, for all she kept inside her body.
...
Fuck.
I've never seen a heroine bleed this much.
I've never worried a heroine wouldn't stop bleeding this much.
And mother of fuck was it stressful.
My anxiety was through the roof every time someone stabbed her, shot at her, poisoned her with iron, ad fucking infinitum.
But it was worth every anxious second because even when Toby's bleeding to death, she's still fucking delightful.
I have a checklist of qualities I require in my UF heroines:
✓ Snarky but squishy inside
✓ Hair trigger grump-setting
✓ Outward intolerance for flirty assholes (inwardly relishing every second)
✓ Intelligent without being a dick about it
✓ Handy with a weapon
✓ Tomboyish (but not necessary)
✓ Constantly underestimated (love when that comes back to bite the underestimater on the ass)
✓ Foul-mouthed (again, not necessary but I, being a curse-happy monster myself, enjoy when my leading ladies are too)
✓ Awkwardly kind
Toby checks all these boxes.
She's not my beloved Kate Daniels - my perfect woman; apple pie baking skills a weirdly expected sweetener to her throat-punching charms - but in some ways she's more relatable.
More human.
Because what Toby lacks in power, she makes up for in her complete lack of arrogance.
She knows who she is, she knows her skillset, she knows she's probably going to get herself killed sooner rather than not.
But she does the hard shit, anyway.
That isn't a new quality in any heroine, Kate does this ... actually, all my UF heroines do this, but it feels the most genuine coming from Toby because there's no grand power backing her up.
She really is "just" some average half-Fae doing her best and helping out the helpless in the process.
...
That's my kryptonite, right there.
An underdog with a heart of gold?
Uhm, swoon.
I'm sure it won't stay that way for long, though; you can't feasibly keep your protagonist that fallible for an ongoing series without their luck running out.
She's not a Cait Sidhe (cat Fae), after all.
Speaking of which.
Tybalt.
...
The King of cats.
...
What a dick.
...
I love him so much.
I ship him and Toby already.
Hard.
Their playground love us killing me:
Two green circles flashed in the dark. I yelped, jumping backward and pressing myself against the wall.
"And may I wish a very good morning to you, too, October." The voice was amused, underscored by a chuckle like thick cream. 'What happened? Did the prettiest little princess miss her carriage home?"
"Tybalt," I said, surprise dissolving into disgust. I straightened. "Don't sneak up on me like that."
[...]
Even in the dim light of the alley, I could pick out the darker bands of brown that streaked his short-cropped, slightly tousled hair, mimicking a tabby's coat. His eyes were narrowed, but I knew that if I could see them, they'd be green, split by cat-slit pupils. Add all that to skin like ivory and the sort of face that winds up on magazine covers, and it's no wonder that Tybalt's looks get him a long way with a lot of people. Not with me. That doesn't mean I haven't noticed them—the man is basically walking sex appeal—but I'm not dumb enough to do anything more than look. Even when I was interacting with Faerie of my own free will, I only looked when I was sure he couldn't see me. Some games are too dangerous to play.
"But you're so easy to sneak up on."
[...]
His smile broadened, displaying the tips of oversized canines. "Maybe I should make it a hobby. That might give you something to look forward to."
"You could get yourself hurt that way."
If the threat bothered him, he didn't show it. He just smirked. "Is that so?"
[...]
"I do adore the costume. What are you these days, a maidservant? A charwoman in one of these glass towers?" Tybalt tilted his head to the side, studying me. "The trousers fail to flatter, but the blouse is sufficiently gauzy."
"Ha ha," I said, pulling my coat closed and folding my arms over my chest. I was blushing, much as I didn't want to be. Bastard.
[...]
I reddened further. "Did I miss the announcement that today was 'mock Toby' day?"
"Don't be silly. That's every day."
...
I'm sorry, but how am I meant to not ship this?
They hate each other. But he actively seeks her out. And she describes him as the embodiment of sex. And they hate-flirt so hard they clearly want to bone it out until the end of time.
...
Yeah, okay, I'll sit here and not completely lose my mind over them.
While I'm at it, I'll stay perfectly calm over the whole 90's aesthetic Maguire dropped us into, shall I?
I'll not completely lose my shit over the fact that I can practically taste the Grunge rolling off the pages. That it may as well be soundtracked by The Smashing Pumpkins (because Today is goddamn iconic and just Toby's style), Skunk Anansie (for when Toby's super pissed off and underestimated), and Mazzy Star (for the Fae; who else?).
I'll remain calm that this book is only 90% set in the era of the glorious unwashed and yet carries the aesthetic through into the next decade.
My favourite aesthetic.
The aesthetic no one sets their world building in.
No one.
...
Yeah, I'm toooootally fine.
I didn't dress everyone in my head and make a playlist to fit every scene.
No siree, because this girl is super chill.
...
The super chill really fucked me, there, didn't it?
Fine.
I'm over the fairy hills, deep underground, and joyously plastered on goblin wine.
Just call me the Queen of Gossamer and Plaid, and be done with it.
If a crown is included, then I'm cool with that too.
...
I wasn't this ridiculous while I was reading it, I swear on Danu's flower bed.
I just love the Fae.
(There's so many of the diaphanous brats and they're all the worst and I want to drown. myself. in. them)
And grunge.
And putting them together is an endorphin blast my brain just cannot handle.
Not to mention the contrast of ethereal monsters in an urban setting.
Early 2000s San Francisco + grunge Fae sleuthing + a snarky heroine =
This is my drug of choice.
I want more.
The delivery man is currently holding book two hostage because the universe hates me.
...
Fuck my non-fairy life.
But rejoice! A new UF series for me to obsess over.
...
And I was the idiot who wasn't going to start a new series any time soon.
Pffft.
...
I don't think I know how to review books anymore...
But the postie finally gave up the goods, so there's that.
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The Big C rewatch:
I didn't forget how caustically wonderful Laura Linney is in this, I just didn't remember how fucking spectacular it is to watch her flip off the grim reaper.
And generally anyone who gets in her motherfuckin' way.
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Kamshilina's work reminds me so much of Tove Jansson's.
Not so much in style but in feeling.
A quiet, nostalgic feeling.
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😍 Paul Rudd playing Westley in The Princess Bride 😍 pic.twitter.com/OJOuJjezU6
— Rachel Paige (@rachmeetsworld) July 10, 2020
...
Be still my PB loving heart.
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Matthew Roby aka. Pickled Circus:
(gif by Ben Chen)
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Geralt of Rivia builds a computer:
Okay, I know.
One of the hottest people alive does something nerdy in a hard-at-work tank top.
...
It's a classic thirst trap.
And I'm its willing captive.
But look at him.
LOOK at this beautiful dork puppy.
Look at his arms...
...
 |
Speaking of The Witcher:
My boys are in love.
Go on and tell me otherwise:
This.
This is their dynamic:
The brooding goth boy and the overstimulated drama club baby who loves him.
Beautiful...
Pps. Female Geralt:
...
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The being is fictional. My anger is real:
My sister found me in Strange Planet form.
This is my truest self.
Grumpy puddum and all.
Sometimes I worry I care more for fictional people than I do in the flesh humans.
...
But only sometimes.
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