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november





Things I enjoyed in the month of November:








Ilona Andrews', Magic Triumphs:

"I've seen Neig's army. He has thousands of warriors. Enough to overrun the city and murder every single person who lives here. In his lair, a horde of yeddimur is waiting. He takes an offering of newborns and then he poisons them with his venom until they turn into those creatures. He told me that they are primitive and filthy beasts who know only rage and hunger and who eat their own. He says this is the true nature of humanity. He is worse than you are, Father. You seek to rule. He wants to exterminate us. [...] I have no allies. I'm alone. It's just me and the city. No help is coming. But I'm the In-Shinar and I won't bow to a dragon. I will fight for humanity even if nobody stands with me. I am Sharratum here. I'm responsible for this city. I won't dishonor my blood and my family. [...] Neimheadh is coming for us in three days. Atlanta will fall. We will die. Then you'll follow, Father. Make your peace."


I don't know how to write this.
How do you write about the thing that saved your brain, for the very last time?
How do you do it justice, and without crying into your sleeve every second paragraph because it's goodbye, and you're not ready, and you'll never be ready?
...
Evidently, you sob into the above-mentioned sleeve for a solid five minutes, acknowledge the soak, accept the future soakings, don't even bother to wipe your face, and you begin.


The Kate Daniels series was first published in 2007, I didn't start it until 2018, the year this, the final book, came out.
It had been sitting in my room for a few years by then, bought in a routine fit of book hoarding madness, calmly waiting to be read.
I'd glance at it here and there, debating whether to perform the first, uncharted leafing open of the pages, but my gut, for some reason, would always veer in a different direction, and I always follow my gut.
Little did I know what was waiting for me, how my tastes in Fantasy would expand, how I'd feel a little bit safer in the world because of it, but my gut did, it was simply waiting for the right moment.
I'd just finished the last book in the A Court of Thorns and Roses tetralogy - coincidentally, the other series that saved my brain - and I was bereft; I'd lost the world I'd greedily escaped into every night, to be anywhere but alone inside my thoughts for just a fucking moment. It was gone and my safe haven gone with it.
So, I did what I always do when stranded in literary purgatory: circled my way around my books, touching spines, and skimming blurbs, waiting for that little spark of ah, yes, you're the one.
It's not a foolproof system, I've been duped by some doozies in the past, but I'm pretty fucking excellent at sourcing amazing books - humble brag? Nah, full on brag; if Ace Books ever needed an arrogant, fantasy-loving little shit to choose their next titles, I'd volunteer as fucking tribute in a heartbeat because they'd be lucky to have me ... okay, that was a douchebag brag, I'll settle my ego down a little from now on - so my success rate is kind of astronomical. ← instant ego fail.
But sometimes it's something a little bit more, a little bit divine, fated, preordained; like Thoth had a hand in getting me there, at just the right time.
I can't remember exactly how deep my depression was back in 2018, but I do remember the hunger with which I devoured Magic Bites, how desperate I was for that world instead of my own - somewhat telling seeing as it's set in an apocalyptic, monster-ravaged Atlanta instead of the sleepy corner of Scotland I was nestled in.
I feel that yearning endless amounts with fiction, for the simple reason of it being more exciting, filled with unfathomable things, beings, places to experience, and clear solutions to the problems the characters within are battling.
Beginning, middle, end.
If you're an Eeyore type who's deeply in love with literature, then you know what I mean.
How satisfying that clear cut procession of events can be for someone in constant inner trauma.
Magic Bites gave me that snippet of peace; it roused a chamber of my brain that had been suffocated by how broken I'd felt for so long, it returned it to me and opened avenues to many more stories of the same ilk.
(If you're into fantasy, specifically Urban Fantasy, Ace Books should be your first port of call, their repertoire is outstanding)
And Magic Bites isn't even the best one (Magic Strikes will always be my favourite); for ten books and a few short story/novella/spinoff interludes, we've followed Kate through every adventure, every battle, every testing of her wills by His Furriness.
We've been by her side, experiencing each hurtful, joyful moment and finally come to the end.
It was taxing and brutal and heart-wrenching, joyful and absurd and funny as hell.
And totally not what I expected.
Since very early on in the series, we've known Kate's father is coming for her; to kill her? Train her? Crown her? It's never been entirely clear.
But he's Roland aka. Nimrod, builder of towers, an ancient self-made god with a desire to "better" civilisation by wiping them out and starting again.
He's everything a god in possession of a lifetime of devout followers should be: you look at him and you feel nothing but undying devotion, he's the centre of your universe and you'll do anything for him, anything to keep his love.
And people do, because he's radiant with beneficence and promises of a better, ineffable something.
He leads, you follow.
Just not Kate, and not Curran; they feel the pull but they know who he is, what he can do, and they won't back down.
Defiance of the gods has always been met with brutal punishment and Roland is no different.
He's the villain of the story, so it would make sense for the final book to be solely a battle between Kate and her father.
That's what I thought I wanted but here's the lovely thing about this series, it never gives me what I think want, it gives me something infinitely better.
Instead of pitching a bloody, book-long battle that would in the longterm fracture a part of Kate she'd never heal if she were to win or lose, a new villain was brought in.
I say "new" but actually he's ancient and has been gunning for Roland's bloodline thousands of years before Kate was even born.
At long last, House Andrews gave us a dragon.


Neig of the skies. Neig the unkillable. Neig the mighty.


...

A bonafide treasure hoarding, regally arrogant, bigger than an Antonov An-225 Mriya (thanks google, my knowledge of metal death-birds is somewhat lacking) dragon.
And he's giving Kate two options: submit and be his queen (he flashed her his junk and everything; real smooth), or watch as he burns the world.


"Let's summarize. You sent me a box of ashes with a knife and a rose in it."
"Yes," He shifted into English, too, but it didn't help. His voice filled the space, deep and overpowering.
"What am I supposed to do with it? What does it mean? Is it a gift?"
He paused. "I see. You don't understand."
"I don't. Enlighten me."
"The world is mine. It had a brief reprieve, but now I've returned. Much has changed."
"Go on."
"I will need a queen."
I raised my eyebrow at him.
"I'm offering you a crown. Sit by my side and share in my power. Be my guide in the new age."
"And if I don't?"
Amber flashed in his eyes. "I'll burn your world."
"You need to work on your proposal delivery. First come flowers and gifts, then dating, and only then, offers of marriage."
He fixed me with his stare, a hard, unblinking gaze. "You're mocking me."
"You're a pretty bright boy, aren't you?" I quoted the line from the old story. He wouldn't get it, but I thought it was funny.
"You don't understand what I'm offering."
"How exactly did you think this proposal would go? 'Hi, here I am, I murdered a bunch of people in a horrible way, marry me or I'll burn everything down.' Who would agree to it? You're not someone to marry. You're a threat to eliminate."
[...]
"You hate your father," he said. "Everyone knows it. People whisper of it.:
"I also love my father."
"Families are complicated. I loved my father, but I killed him and took his land. I'm giving you the chance to do the same. I need a guide to your world. You can be my queen. You are brimming with magic. I can taste it."
He leaned down next to me. The smoke from his mouth brushed my cheek. My skin crawled.
"Our children would be powerful beyond measure. They would be kings and queens."
"I'm already married, and I already have a child."
"Keep him. Keep your husband as a plaything." His deep voice rolled over my skin. "I will help you kill your father. We will rule the world together."
"And what happens to Atlanta?"
He touched my hair. "The city is yours to do with as you wish. A wedding gift, if you like. I only require the slaves."
"The slaves?"
"The humans. We can bargain, if you want. How many do you wish to keep? I will give you the pretty ones."
"Ugh. You're really inhuman."
"Riches, power, the pleasure of conquest, pleasures of the flesh, pleasures of the mind. What is it you want, Kate Lennart?"
"To cut off your head."


Dragons are always such drama queens.
Don't touch my gold! Don't complain when I demand virgin sacrifices! Don't get antsy when I eat your children for elevenses!
I repeat: drama queens.
But there's the whole fire-breathing thing so you gotta take them seriously, even more so when they have fuzzy, feral mutants in tow and an army twenty times the size of your own.

Can you say completely fucked?
It's a battle Kate just can't win, not on her own, but when has that ever stopped my girl?
Never.
She's a hard head and a big heart, and no fucker's taking her home from her, not without a fight.
So, that's what we do for four hundred odd pages: we prepare.
Instead of spending those pages in the trenches, wading through the horrors of war, House Andrews took us back to the way it used to be in the first few books of the series:


🗡 Kate gets a call.
🗡 Kate hunts down a monster.
🗡 Kate begrudgingly accepts Curran's help.
(The grudge is gone, now, but the bicker-flirting remains)
🗡 Kate gets good and bloody.
🗡 Kate goes home and cuddles Grendel, her mutant poodle/hellhound.
(Now expanded to her husband and kid, as well; it's one big fuzzy pile up and I. Want. In)


It's a format I deeply love and take an intense amount of satisfaction from (though I hate procedural tv shows - weird) and I couldn't have been happier to end up back there for the finale of the series.
Instead of a battle, we spent time with Kate, Curran, and Conlan (I love the baby, I love him so much), being a family, taking pleasure in the happy, mundane moments together between being threatened, hunted, and generally pestered by every supernatural in Atlanta.


Curran and Derek were holding two furry bodies. Teddy Jo and I were locking manacles on their feet. Julie had doused the street with gasoline and set it on fire, holding the hose ready in case it got out of control. And Conlan presided over it all from his high chair in the doorway of the office, completely naked, with a hard eaten turkey leg in his hand and plastic bowl on his head. He saw Doolittle and waved the turkey leg at him.
"Baddadda!"
Why me?


The norm, then.
And it was so nice.


"I changed my mind," I said. "Instead of sparring, let's go and take a nice long bath while the kid is asleep."
"Mmm." His expression took on a speculative tint.
"Although with our luck, he'll wake up as we go up the stairs."
"I'll carry you," he told me. "It will be quieter."
"No, it won't."
"You stomp like a rhino."
"I glide like a silent killer."
His eyes shone. "A cute rhino."
"Cute?"
"Mm-hm."
"See, now you've sealed your fate. I'll have to kill you . . ."
He kissed me. It started tender and warm, like wandering through a dark, cold night and finding a warm fire. I sank into it, seduced by the promise of love and warmth, and suddenly it deepened, growing hot, hotter, scorching. His hand slipped into my hair. I leaned against him, eager for the heat . . .
"Get a room!" George called from across the street.
Damn it. We broke apart. Out of the corner of my eye I saw George drop a trash bag into the can. She was grinning.
Golden sparks shone in Curran's eyes, so bright his eyes flowed. Well, how about that?
"We are going upstairs and taking that bath," he said. "I'm not too proud to beg."
Neither was I, and if he kissed me again, he would find that out. "What if our son wake up and starts banging on the bathroom door while we're busy in the tub?"
"I'll threaten to wash him, and he'll go right back to sleep."
He took my hand, kissed my fingers, and we went upstairs.


SO fucking nice; instead of endless chapters of trauma, trauma, trauma, we simply got to be together, with side characters popping in here and there, watching the connected dots start to make sense.
This is how Kate and Curran's end should always have gone and of course House Andrews delivered.
But that's not to say it wasn't tense as fuck watching it all unfold.
I will admit, when we found out Kate was pregnant at the end of Magic Binds, I was both elated and extremely worried.
Not because motherhood and babies bother me, but because I didn't want it take over who Kate is.
Selfishly, I didn't want to spend an entire book with her pregnant, or dealing with a newborn.
Why?
Honestly, because I like watching Kate point her sword at people and do them bodily harm, and that's a little difficult when you're carrying a space-hopper in your belly, or trying to soothe a human jellybean through teething.
Which is why I'm SO happy we time-jumped after the prologue to Conlan being thirteen months, and more developed than your average jellybean because of those pesky shapeshifter genes.


I ran upstairs, opened the door, and nearly collided with my son. Conlan grinned at me. He had my dark hair and Curran's gray eyes. He also had Curran's sense of humor, which was driving me crazy. Conlan started walking early, at ten months, which was typical of shapeshifter children, and now he was running at full speed. His favorite games included running away from me, hiding under various pieces of furniture, and knocking stuff off  of horizontal surfaces. Bonus points if the object broke.


SO happy.
And I'm an idiot, anyway, did I really think Kate couldn't handle motherhood? That she couldn't defend her family and territory just because she happened to have spawned? Was I thinking about some other less capable heroine?
Clearly, because Kate? She's got this covered.
(And Curran, of course, he's no deadbeat dad)
It showed a part of her that makes a lot of sense, because what is Kate if not a protector? A nurturer? We've seen it every time she's taken a job and gotten way more invested than she should: with Julie, where it wasn't even a question of whether she'd take her in, become her mother, she just was her mother.
Derek and Ascanio; they're her boys, no matter the distance or circumstances.
And we're now seeing that with Conlan.
And honestly, those moments between them were some of my favourites.
Him doing his best Curran impression and stealth-creeping up behind her at every opportunity, having the age old food battle that toddlers are past masters at, wrangling his fuzzy, little cub body when he finally shifts and discovers bouncing on the bed at obscene hours in the morning is the best thing ever!
(I did appreciate that his first shift freaked her out initially; I mean, he went hunting with Curran in the forest behind their house almost immediately, caught a mouse and ate it ... you'd be a little freaked out too)


The problem with having a son who'd discovered he was a shapeshifter was twofold. First, Conlan was a hyperactive toddler. Second, lions are cat, and cats like pouncing. They especially like pouncing on their happily sleeping parents and then bouncing up and down on the bed, flexing their claws.
"It's six . . ." bounce "in the morning." Bounce. "I thought . . ." bounce "you hunted . . . in the evening."
"We're . . ." bounce "adaptable." Bounce. "Lions . . . are . . . crepuscular . . . active in . . . twilight."
"Can we . . . make him . . . less active?"
Curran grabbed Conlan and pinned him down. "Stop annoying your mother."
"Rawrarawara!"


Those moments, those natural, mundane moments were so obscenely cute and I spent most of the book waiting for the next one to happen.


One minute later we sat on the bed, staring at a plate on the floor with two chocolate chip cookies and a small puddle of honey.
"I don't think you understand the whole predatory cat thing," Andrew informed me.
"He likes honey."
We sat in silence.
"This isn't working," I growled.
Her eyes sparkled. "You should try calling, 'Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.'"
"I will kill you and nobody will find your body."
She chuckled.
Another minute. Sounds of muffled chewing came from under the bed.
"He's eating something. What could he be chewing under there?"
Andrew frowned. "Electric cords. Old tissues. Dead bugs."
Kate Lennart, mother of the year. What do you feed your son? Dead bugs he found under the bed, of course. I jumped off the bed. "We need to get him out now."
Andrea rolled her eyes. "Have I told your that you're a helicopter parent?"
"I'm going to be the Wrath of Hell parent in a minute." I crouched by the bed. "You lift, I grab."
"Okay." Andrea gripped the edge of the massive bed and jerked it up like it weighed nothing. A black lion cub the size of a small Chow Chow darted toward her. I lunged for him and missed. He snarled and locked his teeth on Andrea's shin.
"Ow!"
"Don't drop the bed on my kid!"
I grabbed Conlan by the scruff of his neck and yanked him back."
"Get him off my leg!" Andrea howled.
I slid my arm under Conlan's furry throat and squeezed, sinking steel into my voice. "Let go. Let go right now."
Andrea snarled and the noise that came from her throat was pure hyena. I squeezed harder, applying a choke hold. Conlan released the bite and gasped. I rolled out of the way, moving my son so I landed on top of him, and Andrea dropped the bed. The floor shuddered.
A red stain spread through her jeans.
"Your son bit me!"
"Sorry."
Conlan bucked under me. I held tight.
"He bit me!" She pointed at her leg.
"He can't help it. You smell like hyena, and you're scary."
"I'm not scary. I'm nice! I've babysat him like twenty times. I gave him ice cream! Ungrateful brat!"
The brat gave up on trying to throw me off and went flat on the floor. I got up. Conlan shook himself. He looked just like a lion cub. His fur was black and velvety soft, with faint smoky stripes, and his ears were round and fluffy. He blinked at me and twitched his ears. I cracked up.
"He's adorable," Andrea said. "I'm still pissed off, but he is so fluffy. Baby B used to be that fluffy."
"Rawr Rawr," Conlan told her.
I reached out and popped him on the nose with my fingers. "No."
He recoiled like a chastised kitten and blinked.
"You bit Aunt Andrea. We don't bite our friends."
Conlan noticed the plate and wandered over to it. A pink tongue slid out of his mouth. He licked the honey.
"Now I've seen everything," Andrea said.


...

Because everyone loves Conlan.
Big, tough, supernatural badasses were reduced to soppy-eyed idiots at the sight of him.


He stepped over the magic boundary and froze, his gaze fixed on Conlan. A moment passed. Luther sputtered and pointed.
"Yes, it's a human infant," I told him."
"Give!"
"I'll let you hold him if you swear by Merlin's beard." Because it would be funny.
"By Merlin's bears, whatever, give."
I handed Conlan to him. Luther took him, carefully, as if my son were made of glass. Conlan stared at him with his big gray eyes.
"Hello, there," Luther said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Aren't you a wonder?"
The wonder farted.
I laughed.


...

Even Grendel can't resist his tiny, tyrannical, fuzzy charms:


A door swung open. My son stumbled in, still in half-form. Relief washed over me. I hadn't realized I had been that worried.
Grendel got off his pillow, his tail wagging. Conlan shuffled over to the mutant poodle and crawled onto Grendel's pillow. the big black dog flopped next to him. Conlan hugged Grendel and closed his eyes.
Curran followed, still in human form but without shoes. He must've shifted into a lion, then shifted back and put his clothes on.
"Did you have fun?" I asked.
"Yes, we did." Curran grinned. "Our son is a shapeshifter."
He was so happy. I almost laughed.
"Your son is a freak of nature," Andrea offered, munching on a slice of bread. "It's not natural for a toddler to have a half-form."
"He's a prodigy," Curran told her.
The prodigy made a quiet whistling sound. He was snoring. Grendel lay perfectly still, panting, his eyes shining, a generally acting like being hugged by a sleeping monster-child was his highest aspiration in life and now that dream had been fulfilled.


...

It was endlessly amusing, if I'm honest.
But no one could beat the way Kate and Curran look at their son, and the depths they'll go to keep him safe.


"[...] How bad was the fight?"
"It wasn't bad."
"Don't bullshit me," he said quietly. "You went to the Casino."
"I got scared. She said she would kill our son and eat him. I bashed her face in. It was overkill."
He reached over and squeezed my hand.
"Curran, he can't cloak. Ever since he turned, he's been shining like a star. And I was so used to having him with me, it didn't even occur to me that he can be tracked. That's how she found us. I put our kid in danger."
"It's okay." He squeezed my hand again. "You protected him. You will always protect him. You're his mother. They would have to kill both of us to get to him. Think about it."
They would have to go through the two of us. Many had tried before, and all of them had failed. Even my father.
"We've got this," he said. "We'll kill them all."
Our son snored in his car seat without a care in the world. As he should.
Curran was right. We would kill them all.


And truly, I think it made Kate a better fighter.
For a while now she's had more than herself to worry about, but none of those people have been a baby, who may have supernatural abilities (blood claws, blood claws!), but is still just a baby.
The stakes are higher and she can't falter.


"Ranar kair." Come to me.
Magic ripped from me like a tidal wave. The arches rained sahanu, my power tearing them out of their hidey holes and throwing them to the ground. I saw familiar faces in the split second. Gust, pale, green hair, air magic, twin swords; Carolina, seven feet tall, brown-skinned, chain mail, hammer, muscles like a champion weight-builder; Arsenic, bright red hair, wrapped in diaphanous cloth like a mummy, poisonous to the touch. Fourteen sahanu. They had all come for my son. All except Razer.
I sliced the back of my left forearm and slammed the cut against the side of the building. My blood shot out in a hair-thin stream, running along the walls, across the open spaces of the arches, across the bricks and holes until touched itself, completing the circle. A translucent red wall burst into existence and vanished, the blood ward sealing itself.
One of the sahanu, a lean dark-haired man, leaped, aiming to escape through one of the arches, and fell back from the ward. The assassins turned toward me. They finally realized the truth: they were trapped in here with me.
"There is no escape." I crushed the vamp's mind. Its skull exploded. The undead blood surged out of it, obeying my call, mixing with my own.
"Don't let her don the armor!" Carolina screamed.
They charged me.
I vomited a power word. "Osanda!"
They crashed to the ground. Carolina tried to crawl to me, but my magic clamped her down.
They mist of undead blood settled over me, flowing, shaped by my will, turning into armor. It coated my arms, my stomach, my back, impenetrable but flexible, the color of a ruby, the color of my blood. The mist congealed on Sarrat, forming a blood edge. I felt all my chains fall away. All the brakes were gone.
The drained vamp fell next to me. I charged.
The first sahanu tried to counter and I cut him in half with one swing. Carolina came at me, swinging her hammer. I sidestepped and cut off her arm at the elbow. She screamed, and I added a second mouth across her navel to put her down. A woman stabbed my back with her spear. A jolt of pain ripped through me as the armor absorbed the impact. I spun and beheaded her.
Gust dropped from above, diving with his blades.
I spat a focused blast of magic at him. "Hessad." Mine.
His mind broke under the pressure like a cracked walnut. He landed, mine before his feet touched the ground.
"Amehe," I ordered, sending a sharp arrow of power through him. Obey.
In front of me Arsenic spat a power word. I flattened my magic into a shield and it glanced off. "Kill!" I told Gust.
The green-haired sahanu sprinting at Arsenic, his twin blades raised for the kill. The other assassin twisted out of the way, sprouting spikes on his arm.
Gust whirled like a dervish. The spikes pierces him in the same moment he buried his left sword in Arsenic's chest. They sank to the ground together, but I was already moving. The world faded to the vivid precision of battle. Every moment mattered. Every step counted. There was no other place like it. This was my calling. This was what I did, and I danced through the battlefield, through the spray of blood and boiling magic, the sword of my grandmother's bones singing a song as it bridged life an death.
I cut them to pieces. I disembowelled and maimed. They would never again scare my son.
The last sahanu collapsed.
The ground at my feet was bloody. Pieces of human bodies littered it.
I turned around.
The knights stood on the street, their faces wearing identical expressions: eyebrows raised, eyes wide ion, mouth a tense half-open slash across the face. Fear.


...

I'm not gonna lie, that was hot.
Kate going full Mama Lion?
Damn.
And I think the message there was: Touch my fucking child and die fucking horribly.
...
Hot.
I love seeing her like this, I love seeing her with one thousand percent belief in herself.
To me, at least, she's never seemed completely at ease in her own skin, her innate abilities, or her place in the world.
How could she when her father murdered her mother, her siblings, tried to murder her, too?
How could she when she'd been stolen away by a brainwashed protector and trained to kill since infancy?
How could she be anything but a skittish, untrusting lone wolf, doing her best to suppress any of her father's power, lest she follow in dear old dad's genocidal footsteps?
Even when her and Curran finally got together, when she built a family for herself, the ease she has in this final book wasn't there; she's still fighting every second not to become her father.
But now? After Conlan? She knows she'd never sacrifice her child for absolute power, for anything.
You can see it in the decisions she makes, the way she takes control in situations without fearing she'll take it too far, how she can place her child in the arms of a piloted vampire because she knows she's got this; nobody's touching her or her kid.


[Razer] was clutching my son to him, pointing the tip of his dagger at Conan's neck. The dagger gleamed with silver.
Sarrat smoked in my hand. I snapped my magic like a whip, activating the long-distance ward that would lock him in. He's have to break it to leave the street, and I had a lot more magic than he did.
Curran shifted. An eight-foot nightmare rose next to me, a meld of human and lion distilled into a thing of power and speed, designed to do only one thing: kill. A huge Kodiak, bleeding from a gash on its head, tore out of George's house.
Hugh moved to the right of me, a sword in his hand. Next to him Elara stepped forward. Dali stalked to the left of Curran. Derek and Julie sprinted to us from Derek's house. A trio of vampires burst from the other end of the street, cutting off his exit. More werebears poured out of George's place.
Razer look up. Christopher swooped over his head, blood-red wings spread wide.
My aunt burst into existence next me.
"Give us the child," Curran said, his voice a low growl.
Razer clenched to him and bared his long, sharp teeth. Fae teeth, made to strip flesh off human bones. My son was looking at me, his huge eyes wide and scared.
"Give us the child, and I'll let your live," I told him.
Razer looked left, then right. There was nowhere to go. He was caught in a ring of snarling fangs, glowing eyes, and steel.
"Don't be an idiot," Hugh said. "Give us the kid."
"I hold the cards," Razer rasped. He flicked the dagger and cut Conlan's cheek. Blood swelled, the edge of the wound turning duct-tape gray—the virus dying.
I would kill him.
Everyone snarled.
"Stay back!" Razer barked.
Conlan swiped at the blood, saw it on his hand . . . His lip trembled. He sucked in a lungful of air and screamed.
"Shut up!" Razer snarled into his face.
Conlan's eyes went wide and flashed with hot, furious gold. His inhuman body tore. A demonic half-lion, half-child burst out. The blood snapped from his wound, forming red blades over his claws. Conlan raked Razer's face, ripping bloody gashes in the flesh. His claws caught Razer's left eye and tore it out of the socket. The fae howled and caught it reflexively into his hand. Conlan kicked free and dashed to me. I caught him in my arms and hugged him.
The whole thing took less than a second.
My son had just made blood claws. He's made claws out of his own blood.
Blood claws.
The street had gone so silent, you could hear people breathing.
Curran surged forward.
My aunt softly praised Conlan. "Such a gifted child," she cooed. "Such a talented little prince."
The little nightmare smiled at Erra, showing all his teeth. He struggled to say something and changed back into a human. "Gama."
"Grandma is so proud," Erra told him.
"That's my boy," I made my voice happy and light.
Conlan hugged my neck. "Bad."
Razer was screaming because Curran had pulled his left arm off.
"Yes, bad. Look at Daddy ripping the bad man to pieces. Go Daddy!"
Conlan clapped his hands.
Curran snapped Razer's spine with a loud crack, then twisted off the fan's head.
"Look, Daddy killed him dead. All dead."
Conlan giggled.
Dali was staring at me with a look of pure horror.
"I don't want him to have nightmare that the bad man is going to get him," I told her. "This way he knows his daddy killed him."
Curran stood over Razer's ruined corpse and roared.
"Rawrawrawr," human Conlan said.
"That's right," I said.
"What happened to not wanting to traumatise him?" a vampire asked in Ghastek's voice.
"I gave up," I told him. "We are a family of monsters and he's our child. People will always try to kill him and we will always protect him. He better get used to it."


And this might be a weird thing to admit but... I love that Kate enjoys killing.
...
Killing bad guys, that is.
(I'm actually not that fussed, morality's not really a thing in fiction)
I didn't realise until it was acknowledged in this final story that yes, Kate's a killer, she's spectacular at it, and she's not plagued with guilt over it.
...
Big fucking deal.
I didn't know how much I wanted that acknowledgement of joy in their work from a Fantasy heroine with blood on their hands.
So often it's all about the morality of it all, whether it's okay to kill to survive, broody, brood, brood, brood.
It's revelatory to not only have the heroine completely at ease with it but no one else questioning whether it's okay or not.
Kate kills, she's good at it, get over it.
She'll certainly think it through before she sticks you with the pointy end, but you threaten innocent people, her people, even bad people on the right side of a greater enemy? Lights out, idiot.
She's a lot like Hugh that way.
Ah, Hugh.
The sarky, sweater-boy anti-villain of my dreams.
He doesn't even appear until a third of the way through and yet he and the missus steal the show with their usual flair.


The front door burst open. Hugh d'Ambray strode inside, huge in a cloak and the black armor of the Iron Dogs. A beautiful woman followed him. She wore a blue dress and her hair was unnaturally white.
I'd left my sword in the parking lot. That was okay. I'd take him apart with my bare hands.
Julie squeezed in behind them.
My mind took a second to process the fact that Julie wasn't trying to stab him in the back. In fact, she looked like she . . . Like they came in together. Like she went and got him.
Why me? Why? I couldn't take much more of this; I really couldn't.
D'Ambray raised a big bag and emptied it over the table. Metal clattered onto the wood: a skull in a helmet, a pair of daggers, amulets, photographs of Pictish symbols tattooed on human skin. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't dump a rotting corpse on us.
The tape went completely silent.
"I've come to help you with your dragon problem," he said.
Nick turned the color of an eggplant. Next to me, Curran had gone completely still.
"Well?" Hugh grinned. "Don't all of you thank me at once."
The white haired woman smiled and gave us a little wave. "Please excuse him. He forgets his manners sometimes. My name is Elara. You may know me as the White Warlock. I've heard so much about you. It's so nice to meet all of you. I'm Hugh's wife."
The world stood on its hands and kicked me in the face.


...

Fuck, I love them.
But like I was with Kate, I worried over who Hugh would be now that he's no longer under Roland's thrall.
We'd seen his softening and remorse begin in Iron and Magic, his relationship with Elara giving him permission to not only repent but to love without conditions.
It's not a complete turnaround from the Hugh we first met in Magic Strikes, he's still the shit-stirring, next level flirt-game champion with insane murdery skills we know and love but he's not a closed wall any more.
Somebody needs help? He'll offer it. If there's another way to fix a situation without causing a bloodbath? He'll definitely consider it.
And if his pseudo baby sister needs his assistance? It's not even a question, he's there with as much as he can offer.


I set my mug on the table a little too hard, and it made a thud. [Curran and Hugh] looked at me. "Honestly, Hugh, why the fuck are you here?"
"I told you," he said. "I have a castle to protect. With a town attached to it. A thousand civilians: bakers, smiths, potion brewers. Kids. Elderly. We are not set up for a long-term siege. If Neig goes through you, he will swing toward us. He has a score to settle."
Elara put down her fork. "My husband has trouble communicating his feelings, so I may have to translate for him. He feels guilt. He remembers everything he has done, the people he killed, and the lives he ruined. It gnaws at him and it's ripping him apart. There are times he doesn't sleep for several days. He works himself into exhaustion trying to protect us, and he blames himself for every death and injury. He left our castle and our people and came here, because you need him. You are in critical danger. He can't change the past, but he can alter the future, and if you let him, he will do everything in his power to help. He isn't trying to win your forgiveness. He is here to atone, because it's the right thing to do. I'm here because I love him. This is very difficult for him and I didn't want him to face it alone."
The table fell quiet.
I looked at Hugh. He looked back at me. There was a sharp pain in his eyes. My father had done his damage, tossed him away like garbage, yet here he was, trying to right lifetimes of wrong, and somehow I was the key to it. I felt it. It was like a live wire connecting us.
"I'm sorry about Mishmar," he said. "I'm sorry about the knights, the castle, all of it."
Sitting here was excruciating. I wanted to fall through the floor.
Silence stretched.
If I slammed the door in his face now, I would be just like my father. Hugh was the closest thing to a brother I had. We were both raised by Voron under Roland's shadow. We were both trained to kill and expected to obey without question. We both would've done anything for out "father's" approval. We were both found wanting by Roland, each of us a disappointment. He had no use for us unless we served him.
If it weren't for my mother's sacrifice, I would be Hugh now, sitting here, waiting for a crumb of kindness from someone I'd hurt.
The silence was unbearable now.
"I have a comatose dragon in my basement," I said. "He fought Neig and he might know something that can help us. We've been trying to bring him back to life, but nothing has worked. Could you please take a look?"
Hugh nodded. "I can."
"Thank you," I got up. "I'll show you were he is."


That isn't the Hugh of before and I thought it might make him appear too softened, but instead it made him a far more interesting character, and the way he and Kate now interact, like proper siblings with play fights instead real fights, will go down in history as one of my all-time favourite things.


Someone knocked on the front door.
"It's open!" I called.
[...]
Hugh opened the door and held it for his wife. She walked in and entered the kitchen. Another dress, this one a pale lavender. He hair, braided and pinned on her head, was so light, it almost seemed to glow. There was something slightly regal about Elara. Something magic too, but she kept it hidden deep inside, and if I tried to pry, she'd feel it. What the heck was she?
Hugh leaned against the wall, big, dark, the happy-to-kill you psychopath I remembered. I handed him a stack of plates. "Make yourself useful."
He winked at me.
I swiped a knife off the island threw it. It sprouted from the wall an inch from his nose. "You'll need cutlery," I told him. "Second drawer on your right."

...

"All of [Roland's] children turn on him eventually," I said.
"I was never his child."
I rolled my eyes. "He raised you, he taught you, he encouraged you."
"He fucked with my head."
"He fucks with everyone's head. Your more than most. For all it matters, you're his son. You're fucked up enough to be."
He barked a short laugh.
"Fact it," I told him. "We are damaged siblings."
[...]
Some pair we are," Hugh said.
"Mm-hm. Sitting here all sad on the porch, while a dragon is invading and our dad is having a midlife crisis with golden chariots. . ."
Hugh grinned.


Fuck Roland, these two are family.
Kate, Hugh, Curran, Elara, Julie, Derek, Conlan, Andrea, Raphael, Ascanio, Baby B, Jim, Dali, Barabas, Christopher, and so on, and so on, and on, and on.
That's what Kate built.
Roland can keep his towers and his creepy devotees, she's got something infinitely better.
Including a husband who'll nom on animal gods and sprout wings to better prepare himself for war.


My husband jumped. His human skin tore. Magic punched me, like the first ray of sunrise coming over the horizon. Fur spilled out, a whole cloud of it, black and huge. A colossal lion smashed into the boar.
I blinked. No, the giant lion was still there.
What the hell? What in the bloody . . . How?
He was as big as Moccus, solid black, a majestic mane floating in the wind, sparking with streaks of magic.
What . . .
The lion opened his jaws, fangs glinting in the sun, and plunged them into Moccus's neck. The boar and the lion rolled. The ground trembled.
[...]
Curran raised his huge head. His mouth was bloody. He staggered back from the corpse, a huge nightmarish beast, too big to be real.
[...]
A strange contortion gripped the lion's body. He arched his back, then jerked his head to the sky. His great maw gaped open. The sun reflected on his fangs, which were longer than my legs. He roared, his eyes blazing with gold. A nimbus of pale silver twisted around him, crackling with violent energy. Two protrusions burst from his back. He snarled, and the protrusions unfolded into black wings.
That's it. I'm done.


...

There's coming out of left field and then there's Curran fucking Lennart.
He surprised the fuck out of me, and initially, I was pissed.
It's an inescapable part of the infrastructure of Kate's post-apocalyptic Atlanta that gods cannot exist on earth's plain without a huge flare in magic, something that hasn't occurred in a very long time.
So, Curran becoming a god comes with the consequence of him potentially disappearing when the tech goes back up.
...
Leaving Kate and his son.
...
Disappearing for who knows how long, possibly forever.
...
Excuse me while I find a newspaper roll big enough to bop a lion god on the nose with.
...
FUCK.
I swear to Chernobog, these two and their well-meaning, life or death secrets will be the end of me.

Here lies a shipper, who had apoplexy every time her idiot ship did something idiotic.

Logically, I knew it'd be okay, if House Andrews were going to evict Curran they would've done it before now, but still, the stress.


"You're a god. You're no longer human. You're no longer human. Your thoughts and your behavior are no longer your own. With all of the things my screwed up family has done, they've always steered clear of godhood like it was on fire. And you, you jumped into the flames. You've lost your humanity, Curran. You don't control yourself anymore. You are controlled by the faith of the people who pray to you. What happened when the magic wave ends? What if you disappear?"
He opened his mouth.
I sat up. "I just want to know why. Conlan and I weren't enough for you? What did you want?"
"Power," he said.
"I thought you loved us."
"I love you more than anything."
"I understand if I wasn't enough. It's fucked up, but I get it. But you have a responsibility to your son. How could you?"
I didn't look at him.
"Why the White Warlock?" he asked.
"What?"
"Why do you need the White Warlock?"
Ah. The best defense is a good offence. "The witches and I need her for the ritual to weaken my father and put him into a coma. For it to work, we need something to channel the collective power of the Covens. I can't be that person. My power is too different, but she can."
"And what happens if the ritual fails?"
"Who snitched?"
He sighed. "Nobody. I saw it in your eyes when we fought your father. How about your responsibility as a wife and mother? What about that?"
"What about it?"
"You'll kill yourself. Or you'll kill him and that will kill you. Either way, you're going to leave me and our son. Do you think Conlan will care that your sacrificed yourself? Is it going to comfort him when he's crying because you're not there?"
"He'll be alive to cry. You'll be alive. That's all I care about. My dad and I are bound. As long as one of us lives, the other does, too. Do you think I want this?" I turned to him. "I would do anything for just a little more time. Ten years. Five. One. Any time at all to be with you both. But he is coming. He already tried to kill Conlan. The only way to keep him safe is to take my father out of the equation."
"Roland won't be the only enemy Conlan will have."
"Yes, but right now he is the worst. I don't want to do it, Curran. I'm not looking forward to it. But if I have to die so our son can live, so my father is stopped, then I'll kill that sonovabitch, even if I die too."
"I gathered," he said, his voice dry."
"If I have to do it, don't try to stop me."
He reached out and took my hand. I let him.
"I won't stop you," he said. "It's your life. It's your choice what you do with it. I've tried to stop you from doing things in the past, and it's never worked. It's pointless. You will do what you will do."
I had expected a fight. This was too easy.
He gave me his Beast Lord stare. "But if I agree to this, you have to accept that I will do everything in my power to make sure things don't go that far."
"Including becoming a god."
"Including that. I needed an upgrade. This was the only way to get it."
"But you're not you, Curran."
He grinned, showing me his teeth. "Still me."
"Bullshit. Have you see Barabas's face? What happens when shapeshifters start worshipping you?"
"They won't have the chance. It's all coming to a head one way or another." He said it with an awful finality.
There was no way back from godhood. It was terminal. It would eat at him, slowly but surely, gradually changing him until the man I loved disappeared. He knew it, and he went through with it anyway.
He had done it for me. He'd given up his free will so I would survive. Oh, Curran.
If we somehow survived, I would stay with him forever, living for the glimpses of my old Curran in the god.
"What happens when the tech hits?"
"Nothing will happen. Erra has been gauging my divinity. There isn't enough to make a god yet. I'll be fine."
He pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me, and inhaled my scent. "I'll never let you go."
I put my face into the crook of his neck. "You have to."
"No." He kissed my hair. "You and me, Kate. We're forever. Conlan will grow up and go his own way, and you and I will still be here, squabbling over who is going to save whom."
He held me while I cried quietly into his shoulder and wished with everything I had for a life I wasn't going to get. What good is immortality if the people you love can't be there with you?
For the first time in my life, I wished magic had never come.


...

These two idiots? They're my idiots. We've been through stuff, okay? They're my favourite ship, probably of all time, and neither one of them gets to even hint at leaving the other.

And yet.
Ugh, did I mention the stress?
Unparalleled.
Was it worth it for the twist?

Twists often go right over my head, and thinking back, the hints weren't even all that subtle, but I'm such a dummy that yet again, I missed it.
(Who's shocked?)
But it worked in my favour because it blew my twist-blind mind.
You know that aha! moment that occurs when a story comes together and your entire brain's flooded with satisfaction-endorphins?
That was the end of Magic Triumphs.
Everything fell exactly into place, at exactly the right time, and gave me an ending I perhaps didn't expect but one I one thousand percent needed.
And I really needed it.
I couldn't leave this series without knowing my people were okay.
Thankfully, I didn't have to.


I kissed my husband. We sat together on the porch and watched our son play with fireflies.
"We should have another," Curran said.
I smiled at him. "Maybe."
"Don't you want a little girl?"
"I do. Once Conlan grows up a little. We have time now, right?"
Curran grinned at me. "All the time in the world."


There always comes a point in a review when my thoughts start to falter, and it's normally when we're coming to the close of the story.
How much do I want to say? How much will it affect those who haven't read it yet if I reveal too much? Do I even want to go into the minutiae of the final battle?
And in this case, I don't.
I don't want to recount the thrill of war, the rightness of Kate and Hugh fighting back to back (chills, honest to the gods, chills), the coordination of Kate's army and how well they protect each other, fight beside one another.
I don't want to detail Kate's sacrifice, Curran's sacrifice, Neig's defeat, and Roland's inevitable betrayal.
I don't want to explain how it all came good in the end.
Instead, I want to hold those moments inside, just for me, untainted by over-analysing, or other reader's opinions.
I've waited ten books for this moment.
Ten, beloved adventures with characters I couldn't possibly feel more for.
This was the culmination of all the hurt, love, and terrible jokes (I love those terrible jokes; Kate using a vampire as a hole punch will live rent free in my brain for the rest of eternity) House Andrews kindly nourished us with over eleven wonderful years.


I turned back to the kitchen and called out, "Saiman is here and he wants to help us for free."
Derek clamped his hadn't to his chest and dropped to the floor.
"Oh gods!" Julie waved her hands. "Hide the children. The Apocalypse is coming. The werewolves are fainting!"
Saiman spared them a single glance. "They were perfectly reasonable before. This is the result of prolonged exposure and proves my theory."
"And what would that be?"
"You're contagious."


And I just want to bask in it for a bit.
Are there things I would change? Yes. As much as I loved the format and pacing of the story, I did miss more quality time with Julie and Derek, but with their spinoff being one book in, I'm not overly mad about it; I know there's more to come from them, and Ascanio. Where the fuck was Ascanio is this entire book?! *strangled noises*
Was the red herring of Jim and Dali's possible defection to Roland's side inconceivable and a little insulting to the fanbase? Hard yes, it would never happen and we all knew it, but the satisfaction of their loyalty in the end was almost worth the unbelievable plot device.
Would I have liked to spend about a thousand more hours with Erra's grumpy ass? ... I pledge allegiance to the Rose of Tigris.
There are definitely things I would change and add to this story.
But I think my main wish would simply be more time.
The Kate Daniels books have never been lengthy, four hundred (with wiggle room) pages at most, all in Mass Market Paperback size.
I purposefully read them at a snail's pace because I could finish them in a night. One big gulp and onto the next.
But I love this world and staying there for as long as possible has been my number one priority, thus why I made the entire series last three bloody years.
It still wasn't enough time; I want more and I think I always will.
I wasn't being hyperbolic when I said this series saved my brain.
Depression has plagued me for over a decade, and throughout it literature has been my most steadfast companion, the keystone to hold all my fragile pieces together.
It's an easy idea to dismiss, that the ephemeral time spent reading a story could possibly hold those dark shadows at bay.
None of it's real, it can't hold you close like a loved one, or balance you the way antidepressants can!
But it can. It did. And it does.
There's a reason that the moment I finished this story, I clutched it to my chest and sobbed like the world was ending.
Because it's the truest form of escapism, and for me, a way to feel all those big emotions I can't let myself feel fully in reality, because they'll crush me.
Books are adventure, and friendship, love, laughter, the impossible made possible.
A safe haven.
Kate and her band of fuzzy dearests have been my port in a very rocky storm for a very long time, and I'm going to miss them terribly.
It hurts to know that I'm done and I'm heartbroken to say goodbye but it's a bit like the end of Labyrinth, isn't it?


https://labyrinthisthebest.tumblr.com/post/98227766469/should-need-us


Andddddd now I've gotta cry some more, pine miserably for the next books in the Julie and Hugh spinoffs (and the first in the elusive Roman spinoff WHICH WILL PROBABLY NEVER HAPPEN), and start another of their long-running series before I completely dissolve into a puddle of ooey gooey feels.
So long and thanks for all the shifters, House Andrews, it's been awesome.



Ps. This moment:


The soldiers still kept coming.
To the left Barabas looked at Christopher, then at the lines of soldiers. Christopher's face was calm, but the muscles on his bare arms were bunched up, tense.
"Will you marry me?" Barabas asked, still looking at the army flooding the field.
"Yes," Christopher said.
Barabas turned to him. Christopher leaned in and they kissed.


...


.............................................














Endlessly watching Ulya Stuzhuk make it look as easy as breathing:













I don't... I can't... WHAT?!


.............................................

















I never thought there'd be a chance in hell that any adaptation of Cyrano de Bergerac could overtake my love of Steve Martin's foray into catfishing but uh, Dinklage as the secret love letterer?


.............................................








The last illustration was soundtracked by Everybody Wants to Rule the World.
Has anything ever felt so right?

.............................................















So fucking charming.
My face hurts from smiling.
Everything hurts.
I loved it.
Totally loved it.
I didn't think anyone could do the time anomaly trope again and surprise the fuck out of me.
But ope! Here it is.
It is adapted by Lev Grossman from a Lev Grossman short story and I fucking love his writing so... surprise really shouldn't be an emotion I'm feeling right now but again... surprise, motherfuckers!
And where did Kyle Allen come from, by the way?
How is he real?
Look at this puppy!
#the map of tiny perfect things from なに

Argh, contact endorphin high and I don't where to put all these feelings!


.............................................


















I don't ship these two even a little bit in the books or movies but leave them in them in hands of fan artists and I'm a simping little miscreant.


.............................................














Squid Game fanart:


Paulina Palacios






Bichi Mao






Sam Yang





Christina Zhang



Stephanie Mai



Muzenik



Stumpy




Sergio Mancinelli




sleeptlk



Kevin Hong



Fira



Seline Abanto



Courtney Normandin



Honestly?
The show was cool, I liked it, but I was basically raised on Battle Royale, The Running Man, The Cube, and Series 7: The Contenders so this didn't really hit the way it seemed to for the rest of the planet.
The fanart, though?


I do still kinda feel like Ketnipz in a sea of gamers, though:



Cute little blorb-squid.

.............................................

















I'm an easy weeper, it's not difficult to set off my tear ducts but fuck, The Fall drains all the moisture from my body.
These two are just...
I'm gonna need a minute.
miss congeniality falling GIFs - Primo GIF - Latest Animated GIFs
Tumblr: Image


.............................................















I mean... it's terrible but so pretty in that bright, yet neutral, shiny early 2000s way.
And, y'know, Heath Ledger.

https://nerd4music.tumblr.com/post/72674771767



It was baby-faced, sweater-boy Charlie Cox that really had my attention, though:
#charlie cox from Mister Jim Bob Spock

Precious little duck boy.


.............................................

















Look at this precious angel.
Also getting very strong The Cat Returns vibes:
#* from Kiki's Delivery


.............................................














Linnea aka. Feefal:










I've always fancied a bestiary, and these would make insanely pretty entries.


Tumblr: Image


.............................................














Smallbu Animation's, Frog Ennui:



...
Stop it.
Never a more dramatic frog seen since Charo in Thumbelina.

Iconic.


.............................................















...
I'LL NEVER FORGIVE!
...
But this was awesome, so I'll forgive a little bit.

And a little bit more...

And infinitely so:


.............................................














A little Hocus Pocus:


Stephanie Pepper



Ann Marcellino


And some more because Marcellino's style and content hits all my happy places:







Bonus Taryn Knight looking suspicously witchy:





.............................................

















I've lost all semblance of organisation.
Did I post this last month?
Should I check?
Nah.
Look at it, it's worthy of a second posting.


.............................................














C*nt:



...


.............................................















Hated unilaterally by my kin, adored by me.
But this type of storytelling is my Achilles' heel (fun facts about this myth, here).
An odyssey staged in ethereal vignettes, dressed in muted coleopteran tones, scored by tenebrous, choral soothsayers.
Dev Patel Fire GIF by A24

It's surreal and hard to reach.

A fever dream you either fall into or battle your way to escape from.

I loved it.
I loved it so much, but I understand its inaccessibility, why it's a quintessential Marmite movie.
Fog Mist GIF by A24

But this is where I live in the arts.
In the wyrd and the whispered.
David Lowery Movie GIF by A24


Couple'a fanarts:


Steffi Walthall



eleheba



Dave Stokes



Arja Salvini



Juan Gómez Cabello



Dani A.C.







.............................................














He shine:



Those pointy little ears.


If you turn the volume up, you can just catch two little piglet purrs.
I swear he's Chernobog on holiday.
Fuzzy idiot has no idea what's he about.



.............................................

















Is there anything cuter in the 'verse than BMO?
#beemopost from Hello! I am Beemo!

Could someone please put this on a streaming service so I can watch more, pleaseeeeee?
The boxset's too expensive and I need quality BMO-time like this:


.............................................


















Too afraid to watch the live action series right now, so i'mma gonna look at this pretty fanart instead.
Funny Gifs : cowboy bebop GIF - VSGIF.com


.............................................

Kristen Callihan's, Shadowdance:

The sound of Talent's teeth grinding filled the room. "I was under the impression Mistress Chase was here in a clerical capacity."
"You hoped," Mary corrected. "Otherwise, I have grave concerns regarding your propensity for jumping to conclusions."
Talent leaned his weight on the table as his gaze bore into her. "Keep baiting me, Chase, and you'll find out what else I have a propensity for."
She leaned in as well, until they faced each other like dogs in a pit ring. "I am quaking in my knickers."
"There you go, mentioning your knickers." His mouth slanted, and his eyes gleamed dark green. "What I cannot discern is if you only do so to me, or if you want the whole of the SOS to be thinking about them."
"Why Master Talent, are you trying to tell me that you think about my knickers?"
His lips pinched so tight that she had to bite back a grin. A low growl rumbled from the vicinity of his chest.


This was the balm I needed after finishing Magic Triumphs.
The woeful, embryonic creature I'd become after turning the last page needed Kristen Callihan's steampunk Victorian London to gently nudge my heart in the ass and assure it that everything will be just fine, all you need are some supernatural idiots bickering because they're resentfully in love, while they hunt down a copycat serial killer with a penchant for paranormal blood; now get up, you dramatic bitch, and drink your Urban Fantasy medicine like a good little fangirl.
...
I didn't drink, I guzzled.
Callihan's Darkest London series has become a very happy, safe place for me.
Whenever I'm in need of comfort, I'm always assured she'll play by the rules and not knock my heart around like it's a toy in an arcade claw game.
She delivers the goods, and she delivers them damn well.
Shadowdance might just be my favourite yet:


☂︎ Supernatural creatures in stuffy Victorian garb
☂︎ Enemies to lovers trope with extra hate-flirting sprinkles
☂︎ A new and bombastically extra villain to enjoy and despise
☂︎ A level of steampunk I can enjoy without drowning in clickety-clackety exposition
☂︎ Unstilted conversation (I can't do true-to-the-period dialogue; the stuffiness makes my eyes roll too far back into my head)
☂︎ Sex. More specifically, sex without flowery euphemisms.

...
Historical sex scenes normally make me want to bury myself under a pile of crinoline and laugh my ass off.
Heaving bosoms and throbbing members have that effect on me but Callihan just kinda bypasses all that prudish shit and lets her characters bang it out with the doors thrown wide and the curtains dramatically pulled open.
And I appreciate that.
That and the way they liberally tell each other to go fuck themselves on a chapterly basis.
Fuck is a very old word, historical authors, you're allowed to use it at your leisure; the anachronism police won't come for you.
Or they will, I don't know anything about history, I just know that Kristen Callihan's take on steampunked Victorian London is my ideal version of it.
It's cutting, romantic, funny, gruesome, atmospheric, and wholly satisfying.
Akin to Penny Dreadful and Carnival Row.
In fact, Vanessa Ives and Ethan Chandler are who I envisioned while reading Mary Chase and Jack Talent verbally shred each other to pieces and then shred some other things.
Tumblr: Image

The way the spar with each other to hold back their demons.

How their trauma and otherness keeps them separate from the world but binds them together.
#pennydreadfuledit from Mashiara

How they break each other.

And eventually heal each other.
#penny dreadful from Jamie Dornan

Yeah, I could read these two go to war on and for each other for a very, very long time.
#penny dreadful from to see a world in a grain of sand

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So many reasons this should be devoured whole, regurgitated, and the process restarted, but someone finally acknowledging that Furbies are SATAN'S FUZZY HELL SPAWN:

And this glorious, boss-eyed lump:


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...

SOON.




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Sorry, can't talk, I think I bust a rib.
Watch this dark business instead:


ape


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It's been a while.
I thought Channel 4 had broken its appeal.
Turns out I just needed a Giuseppe, a Crystelle, and a Chigs to make cake chaotically wonderful again.
And my beloved Noel, of course:
Bake Off Hello GIF by The Great British Bake Off


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"Spanish or vanish."

...
Unhinged and delightful.


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Legion season 1 and 2.5:
(Disney+ subscription ended just when things were getting super weird(er)! Argh!)

My favourite thing about this? And there are many things, but my favourite?
How very un-X-Men-y it is.
All that dorkiness necessary to the overall tone of the franchise has been neatly tucked away in favour of something a) more interesting and b) seriously fucking surreal.
You can't watch this with half your attention, the time-jumps, memory-skips, dream sequences, and brain inceptions  alone make it near impossible to follow along unless you just kinda float in the phantasmic stew of it all.
And then?
It's a fucking symphony.

And then there's Aubrey Plaza.
Sweet baby Jesus, what a woman:
Cast majority legion GIF on GIFER - by Kigabar
Dragon Rider


Ps. Season two's scored by Noah Hawley and Jeff Russo and it's insane.
On repeat.
In who knows how many different dimensions.




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...


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Mlem:



The internet really is a steaming cesspool of humanity's worst fucking traits, but without it this wouldn't exist.


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Rebeca Puebla aka. SubversiveGirl:



A beautiful rendition of the infamous short film that nearly made me vomit in a Duncan of Jordanstone lecture theatre.

And I was not the only one.
...

Art school's weird.
Art's even weirder.


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icandrawthingz


I miss their feral energy so much.

Thank fuck Holly Black's writing more.

I don't even mind if it's not Jardan-based, I just want back inside Faerie.

https://cardaans.tumblr.com/post/189253307477/please-jude


A little cameo wouldn't go amiss, though...


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Thank the doggy overlords for Noodle.
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