"October Christine Daye―my dearest little fish―you are probably going to die horribly one day in the process of doing something you feel is absolutely necessary, and can be done by no one else. Given that this limits our time together in a way that is quite unfair, I feel that patience has ceased to be a future, and has instead become an indulgence. I dislike indulgences. They have their place upon the stage, but all they really do past a certain point is pad the scene."
My frown deepened. "You're being flowery again, Tybalt. You know it's a little hard for my non-Shakespearean-era brain to follow when you do that, right?"
"I do. But some questions are difficult for me to gram without becoming somewhat, ah, 'flowery.' " Tybalt sighed, running a hand through his hair and putting his stripes into brief disarray. "I am aware that my position is a difficult.I believe it is one we can work around if we are so motivated and I am more that motivated. And so . . . October, will you marry me?:
I blinked. I blinked again. And then, slowly, without any conscious intent, I began to smile. the smile grew until my lips hurt. Tybalt was watching me anxiously. It occurred to me that I should probably say something before he really started to freak out.
"Yes," I said, in a small voice.
Tybalt blinked. Then he started smiling, too. "Yes?"
"Yes. I'll marry you. Yes." I laughed disbelievingly. "I . . . yes."
"Yes!" Tybalt pounced on me, driving me back down into the blankets. I wrapped my arms around him. He kissed me, and I kissed him back, and everything else in the world ceased to matter, at least for a little while.
My babiesssssssss!
I generally couldn't give a damn about marriage in reality, other than everyone having an equal right to it, but in fiction? When my blorbos take the on-paper commitment leap? And it's as perfectly executed as above?
I am puddle, watch me dissolve.
It's ridiculous but true, completely contradictory but I can't help myself; behind this curmudgeonly goblin façade lurks a sobbing softie who cheers audibly when the ultimate level of entwined blorbo-ness has been reached, and I've been waiting for Toby and Tybalt to get there since book one.
(You can't have two main characters bicker that much without my entire being crying out: I CHOO-CHOO-CHOOSE YOU!)
And I don't need them to get hitched, I'd be happy - like with all my other ships - for them to remain unwed but unwaveringly together (it'd be fucking refreshing at this point, there should be waaaay more representation for "unconventional" relationship types) for the rest of the series (long may it continue), but... I'm gonna get real, here:
FAE WEDDINGS ARE THE BEST WEDDINGS.
Give me pomp, give me glitter, give me ambrosia-laced wine, give me revelry.
If it doesn't end with a bacchanal, it hasn't been done right.
There's a small hitch, however, because thinking of Toby and Tybalt, there's a fair chance they'll a) ditch the traditional nuptials for a small affair with close friends (May as maid of honour, of course), b) it'll result in bloodshed (probably Toby's), and c) have at least one mortal-enemy-gatecrasher intent on murder and mayhem (there's a long list, it could be anyone at this point).
It's simply the way things go for my beloved Toby and her feline paramour, they can't even go on a successful date without disaster occurring, but if that's what has to happen for them to get their HFN (I'd say HEA, but I don't want an after, I want to read this until I shuffle off this mortal coil. ... Or find a door to Faerie where an enchanted library is knowingly slumbering in wait to be my new abode. Whichever comes first, but I know which I'd prefer...) I'm more than willing to forgo a big, splashy celebration and settle for cake (coffee flavoured, because Toby, and looking something like this) and a good old fashioned knees up.
Just as long as it happens, and one or t'other of them doesn't get kidnapped by something with a taste for Fae bones and are spirited away into a pocket realm of Faerie, resulting in one half of T² having to fetch them back.
...
That's exactly what's going to happen, isn't it?
...
What?
I can want two things simultaneously, I contain multitudes.
One of which is freaking out over everything that went down in The Winter Long.
I lied when I said that all I cared about was their engagement and impending nuptials, lied my face off, because I cannot even begin to tally up the number of squeaking freak outs I had with every piece of new information slapshotted into my brain whilst reading this book.
I don't have enough fingers.
I don't have enough brain.
(Or capabilities when it comes maths. Numbers, why so hard?)
But I do have adjectives.
Let's list a few to chronicle the current state of affairs in Sir October Daye's on-page life:
🥀 Revelatory
🥀 Game-changing
🥀 Familial-arily (not my best fake word, but it does the job) fucked
🥀 Witholding
🥀 Riddlesome
🥀 Bloody
(although, that's fairly standard for Toby)
And that's just to name a few.
But I believe there's only one word that can encapsulate everything that occurred, a particular favourite of mine, the portmanteau of all portmanteaus, the descriptively unmatched:
🥀 Clusterfuck
The pace of a Toby McGuire story is swift and unforgiving, it waits for no creature, you must simply hold your breath and hope to hell your lungs hold out 'til the end (like you're on the Shadow Roads, frostbite and everything), and The Winter Long is no different.
With endless chapters of plot reveals, shocking betrayals, and shocking non-betrayals, there's scarcely a moment to process just how vastly Toby's life is forcibly changed in a matter of a few days.
Let's count the ways:
(Who uses lists to review when their brain's the consistency of pudding? I do, I do!)
🌹 Evening Winterrose isn't dead, she's also a Firstborn, and a major see you next Tuesday
🌹 Simon Torquill is Toby's step-dad and not the worst?
🌹 Luna, Toby's more-mother-than-her-own-mother hates her now and isn't shy about showing it
🌹 TOBY HAS A HALF-SISTER?!
🌹 Sylvester knew all of the above and didn't tell her
🌹 The Luidaeg isn't indestructible and I don't care for it
🌹 Toby can yeet other people's magic back at them, plus slice through those spells like sturdy cobwebs
🌹 And raise the freaking dead!
That's a lot for one changeling to process in just under four hundred pages, that's a lot for me to process, and they're all things that alter the narrative of the Toby series irrevocably:
❄️ If Simon only committed his crimes because he was under a geas, what does that mean for his relationship with Toby? (When he wakes up, obviously, which I feel is going to be sooner rather than later?)
❄️ If Toby can not only use other people's powers, but use them as weapons against them, does that mean she's far more powerful than a changeling could possibly be?
❄️ And does that mean she's not a changeling at all? (I've honestly always thought she was more since the very beginning)
❄️ Therefore, is Simon actually her biological father? (I'm highly suspicious about this. Highly)
❄️ If the Firstborns have that much influence over their offspring, does that imply the one's present in the series (Luidaeg, Amandine) are actively not bespelling their kin? And what of the ones not present? Is there the potential for an uprising? For war?
❄️ Why exactly did Evening Winterrose want Toby dead specifically? It's no secret she's disgusted by changelings, but to single Toby out feels like there's something more to it. What's the it? Why does it always lead back to Toby?
❄️ How many of the Fae are under geasa that could potentially get Toby killed?
❄️ Now that Toby's changed Rayseline's blood, and when she wakes up from elf-shot, what will that mean for her standing in the series?
❄️ And what the fuck is Sylvester's deal?
Big questions, HUGE, and not an answer in sight.
And you'd think that's what would be plaguing me right now, wouldn't you? All these untethered plot lines fluttering beckoningly in the fictional wind, like siren calls humming melodically within the weakest part of my brain.
But it isn't, they aren't.
I have a bigger issue scratching at my soft tissue, squatting uncomfortably on my chest, and that's just how sad and revealing The Winter Long was.
Toby is one of those characters that you know doesn't value themselves, that will put even the most undeserving ahead of herself because she's a hero, a decent being to her very core, honourable to the point of detriment to herself.
These type of characters are immeasurably attractive to me, mostly because of the vast size of their hearts, and I've taken comfort throughout the series knowing and witnessing that although Toby might not count her worth in any measure, those around her would raze the earth to the ground to keep her by their side. They have razed the earth, and will continue to do so.
"I have to try."
"I would never ask you not to try," [Tybalt] said quietly. "I only need you to tell me what I can do to help you."
I smiled a little. "Just hold me up when my legs give out."
"My dear, that is something I will always be here to do."
At least, that's what I thought until this chapter in Toby's story, until the betrayals started tallying up, all of which stem, disappointingly, from the Torquills.
Evening's betrayal was a knock to Toby's system, and discovering Simon is perhaps not the villain she'd believe him to be all along was jarring to say the least, but for the last few books the unravelling of Toby's relationship with Sylvester and Luna has been particularly painful to watch.
She wasn't blessed with a perfect childhood, her father (at least I think he's her father!) died young, and her mother is literally away with the fairies, stranded inside some fog of grief she can't escape, and before that cold and unfeeling towards Toby throughout her formative years.
An idyllic, fairy tale-esque upbringing it was not, but she always had the Torquills, Sylvester and Luna, her liege and lady, but better acknowledged as her surrogate parents who raised her when biology failed. She always had them to love her, protect her, stand with her.
Without another word, [Sylvester] stepped forward and folded me into a hug. I made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a sob and simply let him hold me, enjoying the safety and comfort of his arms. I lost my mortal father when I was seven years old. Sylvester had been the closest thing ever since.
At least that's how it seemed, because after Sylvester's betrayal in Chimes of Midnight, and the increasing secrets he's keeping from Toby for reasons entirely unknown, and with very little remorse, his standing as her surrogate father is in real danger of collapsing entirely.
"Why do you keep secrets from me, Sylvester? You've been the closest thing I've had to a father for most of my life. I would have died for you. I almost did die for you, more than once. And you kept things from me, and those things keep getting the people I care about hurt. Hurt bad, in some cases. Why?"
He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said again.
I waited almost a minute before I realized he was done: that was all he intended to say. My eyes widened. "That's it? You're sorry? Nothing else? No reasons or justifications or explanations? Just 'I'm sorry' and we're done?"
"Yes," he said, raising his chin. "I'm sorry I hurt you. It was never my intent. But I don't feel any need to justify myself."
I stared at him. "Maybe you don't," I said finally. "Maybe that's the only answer you have to give me. But oak and ash, I'd hoped for more."
This moment really did shock me; of all the people in Toby's life, Sylvester felt stalwart, unshakeable in his devotion to her, and perhaps there's a perfectly good reason for keeping her in the dark (again, I'll have to read on to find out) but I can't help but shake the feeling that ultimately, when it truly came to it, Sylvester wouldn't step up for her, like a true father would.
That... that fucking hurts.
There are infinite reasons why Toby deserves that kind of love, why she deserves it from Sylvester and Luna (who I can understand the snide, cold behaviour from, even if it makes me want to throw things against the wall) especially, one being that from the off Toby has held them in a place of unwavering love, has done everything in her power to fight for them, save them, clear up their messes, and most importantly, be a daughter anyone would be proud to have and asked for nothing in return, not even their love.
And what do they do at the first sign of trouble, when she makes a terrible but necessary choice? One casts her aside like trash, the other betrays her in increments, death by a thousand untruths.
This isn't how the people who love you should behave, not when all you've done is show your loyalty and devotion to them, this isn't what Toby deserves, and there's this terrible feeling in the crook of my chest that feels this is the beginning of the end for her relationship with the Torquills.
The pain was bad. The fact that I didn't want to be with my liege was worse. The was a chasm between us that had never been there before, and I didn't know how to cross it. From the way he was looking at me, neither did Sylvester.
I have complete faith in Seanan McGuire's storytelling, she's woven a narrative so compelling and unexpected since the first Toby book, drawing me in with lovable characters and world-building I feel inexplicably at home in that I have no doubt that there's a reason she's rending Toby and her chosen parents apart, but it still hurts.
[Luna] narrowed her eyes as she pulled the key out of the air and slapped it into my open palm. "I hope this is everything you think it's going to be, because it has cost you more than you can know."
"If you mean I'm no longer in your good graces, Your Grace, I've known that for a while." I pocketed the key. "Love you can spend like currency isn't really love."
Really, really hurts.
The only thing I can take comfort in is the fact that Toby, without intending to, has built her own family with Tybalt, Quentin, May, Raj, and the Luidaeg.
Tybalt was the man of my dreams. Quentin was the son I'd never been give the chance to have.
[...]
"They were my boys and they loved me, and I needed to be care with them if I ever wanted to be worthy of them.
Partner, son, sister, nephew, aunt.
Her man, her boys, her literal other half, and her blood.
Tybalt put an arm around me, and I leaned close, grateful for his warmth.
"I won't claim never to have lied to you, but I have not lied to you since we decided to try taking this relationship seriously," he said quietly. "I love you. Lying to you would be a mistreatment of what that love means."
I laughed, a cold, jagged sound. "None of the other people who say they love me seem to feel that way."
"Then they were not very good at loving."
It's a generous, warm, playful little family of six, that cares for each other without secrets, or conditions, or acknowledgment of rank, and I wouldn't strip her from it for anything.
Maybe I had lost the family I'd counted one when I was a child; maybe Sylvester wasn't the man I'd always thought he was, maybe Evening was my enemy, maybe Luna and I would never make peace with each other. All of that was terrible, and yet I wouldn't have taken back what I had if I'd somehow been granted the power. I was building something better.
Now, let's see what fuckery comes next, because I have an inkling we're only getting started.
Ps. Does anyone else fail to review with anything else but their feels and forgo plot entirely the further they get into a series?
Just me?
Pps. Toby having Scottish heritage brings me much joy.
She had an accent. Since when did my mother have an accent? She sounded Scottish, rolling her r's and burring her t's in a sweet, lilting rhythm.
She's never had an accent, I thought fiercely. The scene took on a red tint as I resisted it. Accents don't just disappear. Don't lie to me, Simon. Don't you dare.
I can't. Not here, not in the blood. The thought was wistful, and almost intrusive in its immediacy. This was no memory: this was Simon answering me without saying a word. Her accent faded, and then she put it aside like a toy she no longer wanted to play with. Centuries and the desire not to stand out as foreign when walking among the humans will work wonders on even the deepest habits. But when I first loved her, when she was Amandine of no particular family line, she was born in Scotland, and raised there for the better part of her youth.
Strange how I don't feel much for my country, but as soon as a character I love shares my homeland?
I don't know what's wrong my brain but I didn't connect with this at all.
I glommed all over the comics, consistently fangirled over the movie since the moment it came out (hello, comfort watch), but this?
I felt nothinggggggg.
It was cute, and cool seeing Ramona's perspective on her evil exes (the Roxie episode was especially cute, and Tod and Wallace? Adorable), but it all felt a little... pointless?
A ridiculously pretty piece of pointlessness that I maybe have to rewatch just in case my brain was in "reject" mode and it's actually brilliant and I just couldn't see it, but maybe, perhaps, possibly still entirely pointless?
I don't know, I've been in a weird mood.
Don't watch shit you're excited about when you're deep in your feels, it rarely ends well.
I know I post House Andrews articles all the time, what can I say, I'm a little obsessed with them, but if you're a reader who's caught wind of the latest review scandal on Goodreads perpetrated by almost debut author, Cait Corrain, then my author parents, yet again, have politely and respectfully explained why you shouldn't stomp on your fellow creatives to reach the top, even out of fear.
(If you're unaware of milady Benjaminsen this is your signal to rectify that)
To every author, please employ REAL artists for your cover art like Saft does, not a robot, not a lazy sack of crap who thinks using AI is harmless while they profit off hours of backbreaking work to produce shiny, soulless forgeries.
Let's keep this short and sweet, if you're looking for the literary equivalent of a Mocha served in a bowl mug with a cloud of vanilla whipped cream artfully dolloped atop in the shape of an Almiraj, mini marshmallows circling like a squishy corona and dusted with premium cocoa powder, this is the short for you.
He barfs every time he "accidentally" kills someone.
I dismissed this series when it first came out, labelled it as yet another Dexter-esque, pity/murder-fest (I liked Dexter but it was a messy as fuck show that could've been brilliant), and didn't bother watching it even though I've always liked Penn Badgely(one day I'll actually rent Greetings from Tim Buckley. One day).
And then in typical me fashion, I put it on in an I've watched and rewatched everything else, and my brain needs occupied, lest the dark tunnel of dreary, anxious thoughts beckons me down its depressive length state of mind, and discovered it is indeed a pity/murder-fest, but so. much. better.
Because it knows it's ridiculous. It knows Joe's a "nice guy" Patrick Bateman who thinks he's a sweater boy intellectual and how clichéd and hilarious that is. It knows exactly how to ham it up and draw you in even as you ask yourself: is this for real?
That's why it's brilliant, and funny, and predictable in the best way.
And I almost missed out on it!
A PSA for the people like me:
Watch everything. Even if it looks dumb as fuck. You might just find a tv love.
I cannot explain how joyous it is to see Kaley Cuoco released from incel tv prison and set free to be fucking feral.
She is the definition of crazy cute in this movie and if you don't fall in love with her immediately, then I I truly worry about your ability to love at all.
Her perfect, deranged little face:
I now must devour everything she's done since her incarceration because it all looks fucking epic:
It's been six years since If We Were Villainscame out, three since I read it and completely fell apart - that ending, fuck, but it feels like an eternity.
Of waiting and waiting to see what Rio will come up with next to ruin my life.
These rare, iridescent beauties showed up the night before Christmas.
I would've missed them if my mum hadn't (gently) dragged me outside into the cold and demanded I look up (thanks Mum!).
Apparently they form when the sunrise/sunset diffracts as it passes around the tiny ice particles on the clouds from the underneath and create this pearlescent, oil slick effect.
And though they may be pretty, they're actually very dangerous to our atmosphere because they deplete the ozone layer, that nifty bubble that keeps us chugging along on our floating ball in the universe.
...
Planet Earth is wild.
I didn't take any video because I'm a moron, but here's some footage from Cleethorpes in England taken the day before our rainbow clouds appeared:
"I have many names, and I cannot tell you which of them is true, [...] But your leader calls me 'Nimue,' and so that is my name, to you."
The more Seanan McGuire grants me time to spend in the Luidaeg's company, the sheer vastness of her heart becomes apparent.
While her siblings, the Firstborn fae, lavish in their infamous cruelty, gleefully epitomising the creatures whispered down the centuries as warnings to humans to never step in a fairy ring, take fruit from goblin men at their own peril, and for the love of Maeve, never, ever, give the fae their true name, the Luidaeg stands apart.
She's just as ethereally powerful, just as formidable, and likes to riddle with the best of them for her own enjoyment, but her capacity for love far outweighs her brethren, defies her natural maliciousness, and makes her an entirely different beast altogether. Her love for Toby alone casts her in a separate shade of light, not even her own mother loves Toby the way the Luidaeg seems to, and thus why Luidaeg/Antigone/Viviane/Nimue, whichever of her monikers, is such a compelling character.
You never know entirely where you stand with her, not because she's evil or intent on doing harm (she could, though, if the mood struck her), but because she's this impossibly powerful creature who holds herself apart in nature and physicality, never giving whole truths but cursedly honest, who'll never turn Toby way, or anyone in need of help. She'll make a show of it, hex you for bothering her and send you way with a threat and a glare, but she'll dismiss you with a solution, whereas her siblings would enslave you merely for breathing.
It's not normal Fae behaviour, and I've always wondered why she's like this.
Why she birthed a whole species of her own, loved and parented them with no remittance other than honouring the life they were given, instead of breaking her bloodline apart for amusement.
Why she lives in supposed squalor and hides herself away from the tangled webs of fae society.
Why she dampens her power when she's arguably the most powerful of all.
Why, why, why?
As of yet, I have very few answers, but these snippets of her past that Seanan keeps leaving like mermaid scale breadcrumbs are painting a clearer picture of the burdens the Luidaeg keeps, the future she's preparing Toby for, and why family means so much to her.
Why she'd betray her fellow Firstborns and defy her parents to save the merlins, humans with a tiny percentage of fae blood.
Why this holds so much significance for what happens next.
And why, she may act the curmudgeonly, heartless sea witch, but really she's the softest of the bunch.
It breaks my heart how soft she is, how much she's willing to sacrifice, and what that might mean for her future in the series.
Please don't take her from me, Seanan, I beg of you.
Or if you have to, at the very least, can we explore her connections with the Arthur myth before it happens?
The moment I saw Brocéliande(is this were she, Evening, and Luidaeg ended up a the end of The Winter Long?), my brain spasmed slightly, I haven't seen that word since readingRobert Holdstock's, Mythago Wood series - one I'll eternally be annoyed at myself for reading out of order, and that I really need to finish some day. Being a series hopper is both a comfort and a pain in the ass.
And the idea that it's home to the Luidaeg, or Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, is something that makes so much sense and brings me unquantifiable joy.
Of course the Fae are speckled amidst the old folk tales spoken down history, from greek myths, to norse gods, to campfire stories.
Of course the Luidaeg would be Nimue, great grandmother to Emrys, aka. Merlin, where the merlins take their namesake.
Of course it's all connected.
And it makes me wonder: what if Toby, my Toby, coffee-slugging, eye-rolling, lovable squish bear with a penchant for bleeding everywhere Toby, is the once and future king? Or the fae equivalent?
I'm vibrating with the need to know, and for the Arthurian aspect of Seanan's narrative twisting to come more into play.
And for us to finally know what significance the Hope Chests truly hold.
So... I've watched this three times in the space of two weeks.
Why did no one tell me there was a queer retelling of Pride and Prejudice and it's fucking adorable?!
And why is no one talking about it more?!
It's perfect, with the right amount of pointed, queer social commentary masquerading as forked-tongue wit, sexual chemistry cinder-sparking off the screen, the casting of each character sublimely on point (the Bennet sisters especially), and all set in the beyond gorgeous setting of Fire Island.
Whoever did the PR for this movie needs fired because it deserved and deserves all the attention!
I'm so mad!
And it isn't even out on dvd so I can horde it like the needs-a-physical-copy-of-the-precious-things goblin that I am!
Streaming has ruined my dvd collection. Ruined it.
Go watch this immediately! I demand it!
!
Also, speaking of gatekeeping, why did no one tell me Zane Phillips existed?
The author parents have written a Christmas themed serial starring everybody's favourite Kate Daniels side character, Roman the Black Volhv.
We're only two episodes in and Roman's got his Eeyore slippers on, there's glitter and cookies and strange creatures everywhere, and a tinsel-bound mystery is afoot.
![Red, White & Royal Blue: Why you should give it two hours of your time [no spoilers] : r/boyslove](https://preview.redd.it/red-white-royal-blue-why-you-should-give-it-two-hours-of-v0-q8yhyranm1ib1.gif?width=540&auto=webp&s=fa7619e0d690723a2c8ee2cd9ebad21b64172aa3)
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