Abigail Barnette's Blog, page 18

Jealous Haters Book Club: Crave, chapter 7: Something Really Freaking Wicked This Way Comes

CW: mention of rape tropes

Yes, I’m a lax blogger. It’s been since AUGUST since I posted a Crave recap. But in my defense, I was off finding myself and shit like that.

Hey. People have been giving book deals for less. I was finding myself for free.

Let’s rock and roll on into this chapter, which is a lovely change of pace from reading A Court of Thorns and Roses over on my Patreon. That’s like getting hit in the face with a tennis racket wrapped in barbed wire and rape every time I open the Kindle app on my computer.

SPEAKING OF KINDLES: Massive thank you to Lorne Kates, who is sending me a Kindle to replace mine, which fucking vanished into the ether at some point. Thank you, Lorne, for allowing me to continue my frantic binge of blue alien peenus books without having to stare at a computer or phone screen to do it.

Now, let’s get into this recap!

Since it’s been a long time since we were all together, we last left Grace at the mercy of two guys, Marc and Quinn, and there was some division of thought re: whether they were going to throw her into the snow or, to borrow a quote from ACOTAR, “or worse.” I was of the opinion that, since every single YA book since Twilight seemingly requires the heroine to be nearly gang-raped, that was what happened here. I am pleased to report that I (and anyone who was leaning toward that same opinion), was wrong. They weren’t planning to Or Worse her.

But, we’ll get there.

Grace tries to run from the guys, but Marc grabs her.

He yanks me hard against him—my back to his front—and wraps his arms around me as I start to struggle in earnest.

This only sticks out at me because such a similar scenario just happened in an ACOTAR recap, in which the main character is nearly gang Or Worsed, and is described as fighting with them a little bit before it’s noted that she struggles “in earnest.” To me, that implied that before the “in earnest,” she was just kinda half-heartedly struggling. It’s so weird to see the same phrasing pop up in this scene in Crave. Like, did we have a reason to doubt the veracity of Grace’s struggling?

Why does “struggle in earnest” as a phrase show up so much in everything? Now that I’ve seen it twice, so close together, I’m like…is that a common phrase? Have I read that before? It feels like I’ve read that before. I’m sure I have.

How come it’s never struck me as this weird before? Do I have a disease?

Grace realizes she’s outmatched physically and warns them that she’ll scream.

“Go ahead,” he tells me as he wrestles me toward the front door Quinn is conveniently holding open for him. “No one will care.”

Two things: Okay, so, they were going to just throw her outside, and also, why doesn’t this school have security? Don’t most boarding schools have security at night so kids aren’t sneaking out and shit?

Grace head-butts Marc in the chin, then bites him.

He yelps and jerks, and his forearm slams against my mouth. It hurts, has the metallic taste of blood pooling in my mouth.

I know they’re vampires. You know they’re vampires. I’m excited to see how this accidental blood-drinking thing plays out.

I can’t let them get me out the door; I can’t. I’m dressed in nothing but a hoodie and a pair of fleece pants, and it’s no more than ten degrees out there. With my thin California blood, I won’t last more than fifteen minutes without getting frostbite or hypothermia—if I’m lucky.

So, here’s where I start to take issue with the danger posed by being thrown outside. I’ll mention a fix for this later but for now, I’ve got to correct a few things. First of all, where you’re from doesn’t affect how fast you’ll get hypothermia. If you’re from California and you’re exposed to 10ºF, you’re gonna wish you were dead really fast but you probably won’t be dead any faster than someone born in Norway. She’s wearing a hoodie, fleece pants, and Converse shoes; not gear to go hiking in but it’s not like they’re throwing her out there in her underwear. The real danger would be getting those items wet since unless they’re wool they’re not going to continue providing warmth after they’ve gotten wet. But in ten degrees, unless you’ve been plunged into a body of water or the windchill is considerably lower than ten degrees, chances are you’ve got a good half hour, forty minutes to find a door to get back inside.

So, yeah, this reads as something really dire when I’m looking at and going, “wtf, hoodie, fleece pants, converse…that’s what I wear to brush off my car before I put on real pants to leave the house.”

Granted, Grace doesn’t know this. She’s just experienced true cold for the first time, so I’m sure it absolutely feels like she’s fighting for her life. For the reader, though, the stakes could have been raised considerably. What if this scene took place near, idk, some balcony doors? So she thinks they intend to throw her over or they at least pretend they’re going to (which could also lead to her, you know, going over)? That’s just a random thought that could have upped the ante here. I’m sure kids from Florida and Arizona and such read that ten degrees and go, “My god! She’ll freeze instantly!” but kids from Minnesota and Alaska are probably like, “That’s shorts-wearing weather.”

So, yeah. I propose that this scene could have had her in danger that was slightly direr, but at the end of the day, we’re still in a situation where she’s being overpowered by random teen boys, and that’s enough.

Suddenly, the guys go flying into walls, thrown by some unseen force.

I twist to the right, trying to decide my best bet to get away, and that’s when I run straight into a solid wall of muscle.

Shit. There are three of them now?

Look at that. Look at how, unlike in some books, the heroine doesn’t immediately think, “Oh, thank god, the muscles are here to save me!”

It’s as he’s pulling me toward him that I get my first good look at his face and realize that it’s Jaxon.

I don’t know whether I should be relieved or even more afraid.

Yes! Thank you! She doesn’t think, oh wow, he’s so hot and he’s obviously rescuing me. She’s afraid of the guy who acted weird to her earlier and backed her into things. And now’s he’s in the mix with these dudes that are trying to hurt her.

Jaxon puts himself between Grace and her attackers and asks the dudes if they have a problem.

“No problem,” Marc says with a forced chuckle. “We were just getting to know the new girl.”

“Is that what they call attempted murder these days? Getting to know someone?”

Why is this always the exchange that always happens always? Come on, now.

Quinn, who was thrown into a vase just moments before, tells Jaxon that they didn’t intend to hurt her.

He sounds a lot whinier than he did a few minutes ago, when it was just them and me. But he’s not slurring his words or anything, so I guess the vase must not have done him too much damage. “We were just going to toss her outside for a few minutes.”

“Yeah,” Marc adds. “It was just a joke. No big deal.”

It was a dickhole joke to make, and Jaxon isn’t gonna let them slide. He tells him that they “know the rules.”

I’m not sure what rules he’s talking about—or why he sounds like he’s personally in charge of enforcing them—but his words have Quinn and Marc cowering that much more. Not to mention looking a little sick to their stomachs.

I’m not sure why she’s wondering what rules they’re talking about. Schools have rules and I don’t think it’s necessarily unreasonable to expect her to make the connection between “the rules” and normal rules every school has about bullying and physically attacking other students. This is a missed opportunity; wouldn’t it have been hilarious if Grace had thought oh, great, he’s a tattle-tale?

The guys tell Jaxon that they just came back from a run and they didn’t intend for things to go as far as they did. But Jaxon says:

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” He half turns, holds out a hand to me.

I’m gonna need a minute here. I’m not used to male love interests in YA books not immediately treating the heroine like she’s his property. I might have a little lie down to recover from the shock.

I shouldn’t take it. Every ounce of self-defense training I’ve ever had says I should run. That I should take the reprieve he—Jaxon—is offering and make a mad dash for my room.

Grace, I hereby grant you the title of Least Obnoxious Main Character we’ve ever had in the Jealous Haters Book Club.

But there’s a look of such intense rage simmering beneath his obsidian gaze, and I instinctively know he’s turned to offer me his hand in an effort to keep the guys from seeing it. I don’t know why; I just know he doesn’t want them to realize how upset he is. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t want them figuring out how upset he is on my behalf.

The obsidian eyes thing is really throwing me because how many people are out there with truly black eyes? Not dark, dark brown. Like the irises are completely black? And I’m sorry, but this is a world where the normal pop culture stuff seems to exist, up to and including Harry Styles, so…

I’m sorry, I’m just still bewildered that she hasn’t gone, oh weird, he has totally black demon eyes and he lives in this castle where people run around outside in the cold while wearing just inside clothes, I wonder if he’s a vampire?

Is it just me who would immediately jump to that conclusion having seen the mysterious, scarred dude with the fully black eyes throwing these strong dudes around like rag dolls?

Either way, he saved me tonight, and I owe him. I hold his gaze, telling him with a look that I’ll keep his secret.

I like that this implies that she might say something like, “check out this loser! He has feelings!” if he hadn’t just saved her.

And then I do what he is silently asking and step forward. I don’t take his hand—that’s a little too much after what he said and did earlier—but I move forward, knowing that Jaxon won’t let Marc or Quinn do anything else to me.

IS THAT AN ACKNOWLEDGEMENT THAT A MALE LOVE INTEREST ISN’T ABSOLVED OF PAST SHITTY BEHAVIOR JUST BECAUSE HE DID THE DECENT THING AND STEPPED IN TO HELP SOMEONE WHO WAS HELPLESS?!

I might legitimately pass out.

Some of you have mentioned in the comments that I’m gonna hate this book because it’s just as bad as Twilight in terms of creepiness and abusive hero-ness. Maybe my standards are fundamentally broken and tossed down the basement stairs by an uncaring universe in which young women are told that men express their love through violence and intimidation, but so far I’m seeing those tropes addressed with little things like that excerpt above.

It’s god damn refreshing, but also intensely frustrating; it shows that so many books could be measurably improved by the addition of just a few words.

“We’re sorry, Grace.” Marc speaks first. “That was totally uncool of us. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

Wow, what a huge misunderstanding. How could you have possibly known that cornering and grabbing Grace, then refusing to let her go while she fought you, would have been a scary experience for her?

And Grace is on the same page as I am:

I don’t say anything, because I’m sure as hell not going to tell them what they did to me was okay. And I’m not brave enough to tell them to go to hell, even with Jaxon acting as my shield. So I do the only thing I can do. I stare stonily at them and will their farce of an apology to be over so I can finally go back to my room.

IS THAT A FEMALE CHARACTER ACKNOWLEDGING THAT SHE’S NOT BRAVE?! I mean, I’m not saying Grace isn’t brave. It’s pretty fucking brave to get up and keep living every day after everything she’s going through. But if this were any of the other heroines we’ve read about, she would whimper and cling to the male love interest, then snap, “go to hell!” with a trembling voice and later the reader would be told how very, very brave she is.

But then Quinn uses a really weird excuse.

“The moon is doing its thing, so…”

Jesus fucking Christ, they’re werewolves, aren’t they? This is a vampires vs. werewolves book but they’re all in a magic school, isn’t it?

That’s the best they’ve got? The moon is doing its thing? I have no idea what that means, and honestly, I don’t care.

Okay, no, no, no, Grace. You were doing so well. This should set off a least an alarm jingle bell. Who blames shit on the moon?

Jaxon tells the guys it isn’t over, and they’re afraid enough of him to take off.

For long seconds, he doesn’t say anything, just looks me over from head to toe, his dark eyes cataloging every inch of me. Not going to lie. It makes me a little uncomfortable. Not in the same way that Quinn and Marc made me uncomfortable, like they were looking for a weakness to exploit. It’s more a wow, did it suddenly get hot in here and why oh why am I wearing my oldest, most raggedy pair of pajama bottoms kind of uncomfortable.

Thank you, Dearest Author, for indicating that it’s a different kind of uncomfortable. Maybe that’s the issue I’ve been having with books for the past ten years: authors just aren’t taking the time to specify that there’s uncomfortable due to danger and uncomfortable due to obvious attraction that one can’t figure out how to respond to. One of those things is not like the other, but boy has the trend been to ignore that and confuse fear and intimidation with instant arousal. Grace even thinks that she’s not sure how she feels about that difference, but at least she acknowledges that there is a difference.

“I’m fine,” I answer, even though I’m not sure it’s true. What kind of place is this where people try to shove you outside to die as a prank?

The vampire vs. werewolf academy of hodge-podge and pastiche.

Look, just because it’s good doesn’t mean it isn’t derivative as hell. But as I’ve stated before, that’s not the author’s fault. This feels very much like the other “ideas” the publisher of this book has and presents to authors. Like, “Roswell, but make it Twilight.” I can very much see this being a case of, “You know what would be cool? If we smashed all the popular vampire YA of the ’00s and early ’10s together.

Thank god, she god a competent writer to do it. This time.

Jaxon asks Grace if she’s okay and she’s like, yeah, and he’s like, eh…doesn’t seem like it. He promises that the guys won’t bother her again, and she thanks him for helping her.

His brows go up and, if possible, his eyes go even darker in the dim light. “Is that what you think I did?”

IDK, is it possible? Because I can’t imagine something getting much darker than BLACK.

He shakes his head, gives a little laugh that has my heart stuttering in my chest. “You have no idea, do you?”

“No idea of what?”

“That I just made you a pawn in a game you can’t begin to understand.”

Maybe Entangled should have put a chess piece on the cover of the book. Oh, shit, I think someone else already did that.

I…hope chess doesn’t figure prominently in this book as a metaphor. I mean, they met over a chessboard, now he’s talking about her being a pawn. I used to think that was a pretty good analogy that we’ve all been walking around making all these years, but then the pandemic happened and I couldn’t go to therapy and I had a lot of time on my hands, and let’s just say now I understand why that saying makes no sense and utterly devalues the role of the pawn in a strong middle game.

And no, I haven’t watched The Queen’s Gambit yet so everyone who knows I’m into chess can stop haranguing me about it. I wanna play chess, not watch other people playing chess.

Unless it’s a FIDE tournament.

I don’t want to watch fictional people playing chess.

Where was I?

“You think this is a game?” I ask, incredulous.

“I know exactly what this is. Do you?”

She doesn’t. Be a pal and show her your fangs so we can all get on the same page here.

There’s some more looking at her and “brooding silence” before Jaxon notes that Grace is bleeding. She thinks it’s from getting hit in the cheek while struggling with Marc.

“Not there.” He lifts his hand to my mouth and gently—so gently I can barely feel him—brushes his thumb across my lower lip. “Here.” He holds his thumb up, and in the dim light, I can just see the smear of blood glistening on his skin.

“Oh, gross!” I reach to wipe away the blood. “Let me—”

He laughs, cutting me off. Then brings his thumb to his lips and—holding my gaze with his own—sticks his thumb in his mouth and slowly sucks off the blood.

This is gonna be a suuuuuuuuuuuper weird move if he turns out to not be a vampire.

It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and I don’t even know why.

Possibly because vampire movies just don’t exist in the world this book inhabits? Or should that make it more off-putting?

Maybe it’s the way his eyes heat up the second he tastes my blood.

Maybe it’s the little noise he makes as he swallows.

Or maybe it’s the fact that that swipe of his thumb across my lips, followed by that lift of it to his own lips feels more intimate than any kiss I’ve ever shared with another boy.

How much blood is on his hand that he has to swallow it?

But three cheers, again, for Grace not being this totally inexperienced little wallflower.

Jaxon goes full Cullen and tells Grace she should go to her room right. now.

“And I strongly suggest that after midnight, you stay in your room where you belong.”

“Stay in my—” I bristle at what he’s implying. “Are you saying I’m responsible for what happened tonight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not. They should both have better control.”

GRACE. COME. ON.

This kid with fully black eyes, who can throw people across rooms, just made a sexy noise while tasting your blood. You just talked to two dudes who were like LOL the moon is making us violent. Please. I beg of you. Please connect some motherfucking dots here.

It’s a weird way of saying they shouldn’t go around trying to murder people, and I start to ask him about it.

You’re right, Grace. It’s a very weird way of putting it. Just like all-black eyes and tasting blood and blaming shit on the moon is very weird.

I mean, I blame shit on the moon all the time. But I’ve worked in nursing homes and hospitals. That shit is REAL there.

“But I warned you before that you need to be careful here. This isn’t like your old high school.”

“How do you know what my old high school was like?”

“I don’t,” he says with a smirk. “But I can guarantee it’s nothing like Katmere Academy.”

Grace argues with him that he can’t possibly know that, but come on. Come on, Grace. He knows your last school wasn’t a boarding school in a castle carved into the side of an Alaskan mountain.

Remember earlier, when they first met, and Jaxon backed Grace up against the table and got way too close to her and made her feel weird and uncomfortable? A very similar thing happens again, except:

And just like earlier, I know it should make me uncomfortable. But it doesn’t. It just makes me burn. And this time, when my knees shake, it has nothing to do with fear.

Do you know why I buy the “he’s so sexy and dangerous and looming over me and it’s getting me horny” here and not earlier in the book?

Because here, it’s earned.

She knows he’s not really going to hurt her. Not because she sees his scar and knows, somehow, that deep, deep down, he’s just a coal-black dove with a beautifully broken wing for her to mend. This time, she knows he’s not going to hurt her because he not only intervened to prevent her from being harmed but did so without portraying her as his property. He outright demanded Marc and Quinn treat her with respect when he told them not to apologize to him, but to her.

If he had been like, “No one touches her, she’s mine!” or something? I’d be furious and trying to summon the upper body strength to chuck this computer through a window (I am desperately out of shape). Or, if she had the thought that oh, he rescued her but maybe he’s more dangerous than they are and she’s so frightened of him, etc. But through this entire exchange, the author is very careful to avoid confusing “dangerous and scary” with “sexy and sexier.”

For a second, just a second, I think he’s going to kiss me. But then he leans in farther, past my mouth, until his lips are all but pressed up against my ear. And I get the strange sense that he’s smelling me just like Marc and Quinn had, although it has an entirely different effect on me.

Again, this is earned. It’s not like the books I’ve angrily DNFed, the ones where the difference between the violence of the bad guys and the violence of the good guy are different just because the author makes the heroine state it outright. It makes sense for Grace to think, hey, this is much different, because we know that Jaxon isn’t going to hurt her and we also know that he hasn’t made some grandiose claim over her like when The Doctor steps up to the alien bad guy and is all, “Earth is protected…BY ME,” and I’m like, look, you….don’t speak for all of us, because you had the chance to kill Hitler and instead you threw him in a cupboard. Get back into space and have some adventures, but don’t pretend we’re dating.

What I’m saying is, Jaxon managed to save her without scaring her more than the scary he rescued her from, without speaking on her behalf or suggesting that if they mess with her, they’re messing with him because she’s his property.

Jaxon and Grace have this body-pressed-against-each-other moment and then:

“You need to go,” he repeats, voice even lower, rougher than before.

“Now?” I demand, incredulous.

“Right now.” He nods to the staircase, and somehow I find myself moving toward it, though I never make a conscious decision to do so. “Go straight to your room and lock the door.”

Ooh, is she being compelled through some kind of thrall? Thrall is like, my favorite vampire power.

Even if it does make consent kinda dubious. But it also means you’d really, really have to trust a vampire to be around one. And what’s more romantic than trust?

“I thought you said I don’t have to worry about Marc or Quinn anymore?” I ask over my shoulder.

“You don’t.”

“Well then, why do I need to—?” I break off when I realize that I’m talking to myself. Because again, Jaxon is gone.

Not a huge fan of the “stay away if you know what’s good for you” dynamic of girl-meets-creature romances, but what are you gonna do, right? It’s gotta be in there. They’re monsters. You can’t fully pull their teeth.

The chapter ends with Grace wondering when she’ll see Jaxon again, which isn’t the strongest hook but how else are you going to end a chapter with this much relationship establishment right at the end of it?

A lot of you have warned me that I’m going to eventually hate this book. And that’s fair; I’m only 13% in (I know, I know, I gotta get more frequent with the recaps!). And I’m not buying the marketing Entangled did to make this “the feminist Twilight” this early in the game. But so far, I really do enjoy this and the writing is so much better than some of the other, more popular paranormal romance YA that’s currently shitting on the shelves out there. God, I’m so glad we’re hanging with Grace now, instead of Rory.

The bar cannot be lowered. The bar has hit the magma core of the earth.

This is a short post because honestly, there’s not a lot to say about this other than, “well, that’s predictable.” Because it has never been a surprise to see shitty people’s shitness ignored in favor of cash. It’s just how the world works and I think we’re all pretty comfortable with stating that as a blanket truth, right?

Jamie McGuire’s Beautiful Disaster is getting a movie adaptation.

I’m not sure if that news has been officially announced by McGuire because I’m not a QAnon conspiracy theorist so I don’t follow her on Parler, but I got a DM from a true MVP that included these screenshots:

Back when she was still on Twitter, McGuire tweeted the following:

McGuire’s text reads, “Look who’s reading Beautiful Disaster… Director/writer Roger Kumble. Just wrapped the After We Collided movie. Maybe let him know how you’d feel about a BD movie? #gofam #timetogetexcited” above a tweet she’s quoted from Roger Kumble, in which he’s apparently listing books he’s reading right now.

And whoa, hey, look what ole Roger is up to:

As my source kindly highlighted here, “Untitled Roger Kumble Project” is a feature film going into production in Bulgaria in October, 2021. And it sounds…familiar. I mean, the synopsis is, “Allie plans to spend college buried in books, but those plans go out the window when she meets Davis Molloy, an amateur bare-knuckle boxer and college campus charmer.” So, has Kumble ripped off McGuire’s magnum opus?

No. You see, Kumble is no newcomer to Hollywood. He directed his first film, Cruel Intentions (yes, that Cruel Intentions) in 1999. So, surely he’s aware that certain unsavory connections to “Untitled Roger Kumble Project” could make it difficult to cast or distribute.

For example, the fact that his source material was written by an anti-vaccine, election-fraud-conspiracy-peddling Parler princess who has:

Defended U.S. terrorist Kyle Rittenhouse and stated that she would “riot” if he’s not cleared of all chargesFat shamed a child on FacebookWhole-throatedly agreed with J.K. Rowling’s stance on transgender womenPosted a Facebook status lamenting the death of Ahmad Arbery on her publicly facing author profile while agreeing with Candace Owen’s take that Arbery was shot for being a criminalMade “Trump Cult Aunt” her online brand

McGuire is basically Kimberly Guilfoyle with a fading publishing career and worse plastic surgery. But Beautiful Disaster will be a movie.

You know. The book with the title that was tattooed on one of the January 6th insurgents. The book by the author who’s on the side of the people who tried to assassinate our former vice president and a whole bunch of congress members.

I’m sorry to be the one to bring this news to you, Trout Nation. I ask only that you don’t hate watch the damn thing when it comes out on Netflix or whatever. Because the algorithm won’t know that you’re hate watching it. And you’ll be putting money in the pocket of someone who’s already tried to run for an elected position once before. You might just be funding her next campaign.

This Viral BookTok Recommendation Is Better Than It Should Be (Part One)

CW: Rape

I have little patience for books that “go viral,” especially on a platform like TikTok, where the readers by and large seem to care more about whether or not the cover is going to look good on their bookshelf ringed with white Christmas lights than about whatever is in the actual text. For example, one of the big BookTok sensations was that Maas rip-off, From Barf and Ass, that turned out to be racist, anti-semitic, straight-up qanon propaganda written by a thieving, plagiarizing, list-gaming, review-buying, way-too-flattering-to-the-point-of-catfishing-selfie-posting cunt whose name escapes me.

But weirdly, two BookTok recs that I picked up solely to revel in what I assumed would be head-on garbage truck collisions, turned out to be way, way better than they should have been.

Yes. I am talking about the blue alien two-pronged dick book and the minotaur jack-off story.

Look. You know me. You know that I say what I think about stuff. Like, see the above lying, two-faced, fugly cunt reference. Remember, the new policy is “if I think it, I say it.” No brakes. So, I’m not blowing smoke up your collective asses here.

These books are, against all reason and logic…REALLY GOOD. But be advised, this is not a spoiler-free review.

In this post, let’s talk about the blue alien peeeeeeeenus. Ruby DIxon’s Ice Planet Barbarians.

During the days of Alexa Riley and the KU scam squad, I was super suspicious of Ruby. First, because she’s a pen name for an author who, at the time, at least, associated closely with Alexa Riley and other KU scammers. I was keeping track of releases from about four authors at that time because of their associations with known scammers and the pace of their releases. But while the pattern of Alexa Riley’s releases ultimately proved them to be straight-up cons, I eventually concluded that “Ruby” and her other pen name were just quick writers.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t ready to laugh my ass off at how bad a book called Ice Planet Barbarians, from a series that includes a novella with the title Ice, Ice Babies, absolutely had to be.

Reader: I consumed the first three in two days.

So, let me break it down for you: book one, Ice Planet Barbarians (seen above with its nifty new cover from Berkley) opens with the heroine, Georgie, getting scooped up by violent, horrible aliens who are collecting young, fertile human females and transporting them like livestock. Some of them are frozen in stasis chambers, but Georgie and some others are shoved in a cell with a bucket to shit in and nothing else in the way of survival. When Georgie rallies the non-stasised women to attack their captors, the aliens dump their cargo on a planet that the human women refer to as “Not-Hoth.” They’re discovered by sexy blue aliens who live primitive lives in caves…and whose species is on the verge of extinction due to their lack of fertile females.

“This sounds like something I could read on Literotica, Jenny,” you may be thinking. And to be fair to the writers over at Literotica, yeah. Because there is excellent science-fiction erotica on there, too. But there’s a reason why those stories are well-written, and that’s because, just like Ruby Dixon, the authors are clearly not writing these stories for other people. The moment I started Ice Planet Barbarians, I recognized that it was written by someone familiar with and who enjoys the science fiction genre and who wrote this story entirely for herself. The fact that enough people enjoyed it to make it go viral? That’s just a bonus.

The worldbuilding in this series is incredible. I remained somewhat skeptical about the idea of these savage blue aliens running around their native planet like Avatar. I was thinking, oh great, this is one of those books where “blue people” are stand-ins for indigenous people so that white ladies can get their racist rocks off now that historical romances of that ilk are looked down upon. I was pleasantly surprised to learn, in the well-paced unfolding of details, that the Sa-Khui aren’t native to the planet at all. They’re actually the survivors of a spaceship crash who have been stranded on the hostile, barren planet for generations.

This series has, thus far, subverted all of my expectations. I thought for sure there would be an “evil” woman of the tribe who tried to “steal” what rightfully belongs to the white heroine. Instead, there’s an unhappily mated Sa-Khui female who, yes, tries to lure a Sa-Khui male away from a human woman, and the heroine is understanding and feels bad for her but still establishes boundaries.

When they crash landed on the planet and were found by the Sa-Khui, I was like, “Here we go. Time to get rapey.” Nope. The Sa-Khui not only respect the human women and welcome them into their society, (in the second book, Barbarian Alien, the heroine becomes a hunter with the larger, stronger males because they recognize her skill) but the punishment for endangering a female is steep: banishment to the frozen wastes of Not-Hoth, away from the protection of the tribe. They don’t just need the women to breed for them, and they don’t infantilize them. When female characters offer suggestions in emergency situations, they don’t have to fight to have their voices heard. And when one Sa-Khui doesn’t “resonate” (a mating signal caused by a parasite all residents of Not-Hoth need to survive– I told you, the worldbuilding is fantastic) with the human woman he falls for? He tries to respectfully court her and doesn’t care if they never get the urge to merge.

So, what about these blue weiners we’ve heard about? Well, the big, scary, super muscular and literally horny aliens? They have big, scary, super cocks with a little bonus, a “spur” that hits all the right spots in whatever position they choose. Especially doggy-style, which the Sa-Khui can’t do with their own species because they have tails.

That’s right. They can dp, solo, with a human.

I do have to say that one trope that remained, one I really hate, didn’t get subverted in the first three books. After a somewhat graphic gang-rape by the kidnapper aliens, one of the women is traumatized beyond her capacity to function and then eventually becomes a casualty of the planet. That was a bummer, because like, the rape could have just not been in the book at all. If you want to raise the stakes, it doesn’t have to be one of those “killed…or worse” scenarios. And if I had stopped there (which I almost did), I would have missed out on a really inventive set of love stories, so it’s a shame that Dixon included it.

If you hate baby books, you probably won’t enjoy these as much as I did, since the concept of “resonating” makes everybody want to procreate, but if you’ve got even a slight breeding kink and you’re into sexing up aliens with weird cocks? You’re gonna want to check these out. Are they extremely cis and straight and white? Absolutely; I can’t remember even one not-white woman being mentioned (that’s not to say I didn’t just miss the description as I speed devoured these like raspberry zingers), and the concept of males and females and breeding always skews to the cis. But so does a lot of science fiction, mostly written by men, and definitely not this inventive or sex-positive. In general? I take what the fuck I can get from science fiction erotica.

I’m only recommending the first three books at the moment, though, because those are the ones I’ve read and liked. I’ve read the first four, but the fourth one was a no for me. I just didn’t care for the hero and I thought the heroine’s motivation to stay with him was unconvincing after what we’d learned about the Sa-Khui in the other books.

But that’s not going to stop me from reading the rest of them. I’m going to keep on with the series until I start having nightmares about drowning in a vat of blue dicks. It’s for sure not going to stop me from snatching up the companion novellas. Or from getting the signed special edition paperback that Berkley is releasing, because in this one, shining, beautiful moment, in this unlikely cosmic accident, an author whose work went viral and snagged a traditional publishing contract actually deserved it.

Check back for my review of the minotaur hand-job book because I will have all sorts of stuff to say about that, too. Boy howdy, am I gonna have stuff to say about that.

STATE OF THE TROUT: Chaotic Creativity Proving More Chaotic Than Previously Expected

Time for an update, all you weirdos and beautiful freak-outs!

Remember back in July when I wrote and co-directed a music revue? Well, that has now rolled into co-directing a children’s theater musical. My co-director, musical director, choreographer, and I were all in Chicago together, so we know and have worked with each other before. In fact, my musical director and I first met when we were both in the BROADWAY WORLD REGIONAL THEATER AWARD NOMINATED WAR PAINT. Just wanted to throw that in there, every day until I die.

Before I start spilling details about it here, I have to check and make sure what I’m allowed to talk about this early in the process, but the auditions and callbacks are finished and only one staff member has threatened to resign so things are actually going really well for a community theater production!

However, this means an adjustment in my schedule that I was not anticipating, so as of right now, Queen of Hell is delayed so I can focus on the Patreon and our blog features here.

I’ll also be temporarily suspending regular additions to the merch shop because the only time I’ve had to draw lately has been focused on sets and puppets and projection images. But I did add two new items, Keep Calm and Capybara, which is a non-Trout Nation related design (I just like animals), and the shirt that I would have liked to have had ready during the Olympics but I was sidelined by quality/proof issues: Scamlympics. You, too, can walk around wearing the infamous “Las Vegas Olympian” comment, with my favorite parts highlighted in red.

Those might have been the only things I needed to mention. Oh, and if you’re not subscribed to my YouTube channel yet, help me out and subscribe? I’m trying to reach 1,000 subscribers so I can stream from my phone and finally do Fitshaced Fortuneteller again.

Jealous Haters Book Club: Crave, Chapter 6, “No, I Really Don’t Want to Build a Snowman”

CW: threatened rape

The chapter titles are beginning to wear on me, I gotta admit. Really starting to grind me down. And you’ll see why at the end of this chapter.

In other news, I’m still reading Tracy Wolff’s other book, Royal Treatment. It’s not an epically long book or anything, but the Dune trailer came out and I remembered I wanted to reread that before the movie came out and then I steamrolled right into Dune Messiah and Children of Dune and I binged those.

That’s how I describe reading straight through a book all at once. Because usually, I read the way people watch tv shows. A few chapters here, a few chapters there. And it’s not that Royal Treatment isn’t a good book or enjoyable. It’s just not in the genre I’m interested in reading right now. But still, I see no evidence that Wolff’s of the McGuire/James/Glines school of abuse-me-until-I-love-you.

That said, I have a little bit of an issue with some stuff in this chapter.

Grace wakes up with a perfect description of altitude sickness:

I wake up slowly, head fuzzy and body as heavy as stone.

She’s also doing that thing where you wake up and have no idea where you are, which is also common with altitude sickness.

I sit up, trying to ignore the unfamiliar howls and roars—and even the occasional animalistic scream—in the distance.

I feel like if you’re in a big ass stone castle and you’re still hearing animals outside, you’d get that there’s something kinda off about the place? She thinks she’s freaked out because she’s a city girl and makes herself feel better knowing that there’s a “giant castle wall” protecting her but come on, Grace. You’re smarter than this.

But it wasn’t the animal screeching that woke her up.

But once I banish thoughts of my old life, it isn’t Alaska that woke me up at—I glance at the clock—3:23 in the morning. And it’s not Alaska that’s keeping me awake.

You’ll never guess what it is.

It’s him.

Jaxon Vega.

Look, we all knew it was going to go into obsessive teen love because it’s YA and teens are the audience this book is meant for. When I was a teenager, the obsessive teen love thing was my absolute favorite, too.

But like, why this dude? He’s a total dick. She even describes feeling “angry and confused and hurting.” Why lose sleep over a boy who leaves you feeling that way after one interaction?

Yet when I close my eyes, I can still see him so perfectly. His clenched jaw. The thin scar that runs the length of his face. The black ice of his eyes that lets me see for a second—just a second—that he knows as much about pain as I do. Maybe more.

He got his face cut. You lost your parents and had to move to Alaska.

It’s that pain I think of most as I sit here in the dark. That pain that makes me worry for him when I shouldn’t give a damn one way or the other.

No, baby. It’s your pain making you worry about him. It gives you something better to focus on. Grace has been developed as having gained a deeper emotional intelligence after the deaths of her parents, but she’s still a kid, so this isn’t something I’m expecting her to realize. Still, it’s frustrating to not be able to reach into this book and go, “NO! NO YOU GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM AND YOU THINK ABOUT A NICE BOY OR SOMEONE ON TV!”

I wonder how he got that scar. However it happened, it had to have been awful. Terrifying. Traumatic. Devastating.

I hope we find out he got it in a waterslide accident.

So, whenever Jaxon enters the chat, the tone of the writing becomes so uneven. For example:

Macy said he was angsty…does that mean he treats everyone the way he treated me? And if so, why? Because he’s just a jerk? Or because he’s in so much pain that the only way he can handle it is to make everyone afraid of him so that he can keep them at a distance? Or do people see his scar and his scowl and decide to keep their distance all on their own?

That paragraph just feels too on-the-nose for how the story’s been written so far. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is that seems to throw it off. It’s like, a litany of excuses for his behavior… I wish I wasn’t concussed so I could properly explain myself. It just doesn’t feel like the Grace we’ve been reading about. Especially since she goes from that analysis to this:

It’s an awful thought but one I can totally relate to. Not the people being afraid of me part but definitely the people keeping their distance part.

It’s possible that this is a case of how an adult has detached from teen thinking. Because it’s hard to remember what it was like to be a teenager sometimes, especially since as a teenager you’re already overestimating your emotional maturity.

But again. I have a  concussion. If you know what I’m talking about and can verbalize it better, please do so in the comments.

Grace sends some texts she forgot to send to Heather when she first arrived safely and tries to go back to sleep, but she can’t really fall asleep.

And suddenly it’s right there. All the thoughts I’d shoved aside for the past forty-eight hours, just to get through leaving. Just to get here. My parents, leaving San Diego and my friends, that ridiculous airplane ride into Healy. Macy’s expectations for our friendship, the way Jaxon looked at me and then didn’t look at me, the things he said to me. The ridiculous amount of clothes I have to wear here to keep warm. The fact that I’m essentially trapped in this castle by the cold…

It all kind of melds together into one great big carousel of fear and regret, whirling through my brain. No thoughts are clear, no images stand out from any of the others—only an overwhelming feeling of impending doom.

I wish I could excerpt the whole panic attack she has. It’s incredibly written. I’m not sure I’ve read one that has been so accurate. If you’re interested in seeing an example of showing, not telling? It’s in here.

I know I should stay where I am—this castle is gigantic, and I have no idea where anything is—but I’m smart enough to know if I stay here staring at the ceiling, I’m going to end up having a full-blown panic attack.

This is another accurate thing. A PTSD coping method is to become aware of your surroundings so you don’t kind of get sucked back into your head and/or have flashbacks. If exploring the castle is going to help put her back into her body and make her aware that she’s in the present, good for her for recognizing that.

I really love how front and center PTSD is in this book, but I’m disappointed that it never gets specifically named. That’s the only complaint I have about the mental health depictions in here.

Grace is surprised to find that the castle is dark because she’s used to seeing places leave lights on for safety reasons.

Like just enough light to see imaginary shadows sweeping along the corridors dim.

Because of this, she considers going back to her room but then she’s like, no, it’s going to be worse in the room with my panic attack. Then something happens that really tickled me:

Like just enough light to see imaginary shadows sweeping along the corridors dim.

Isn’t that great? This is the kind of detail that authors from my generation tend to struggle with in YA. Every now and then, you’ll see scenes where kids are in situations where you’d go, why not just use your phone for that, or why not get on the internet and look it up? Stuff like kids going to the school library to look stuff up, not because they live in Sunnydale but because the author was thinking about their own high school experience, where the library was the only source of information. This is the kind of attention to detail I’m looking for, that’s missing in a lot of really popular YA.

So, there’s some pretty standard magic school exploring, I won’t go into all of that, but the point is that, very, very like Forks High School, there are outbuildings where some classes are held, but most are in the main building.

Grace finds a tapestry of the Northern Lights and she thinks:

I’ve always wanted to see them, and somehow, in all the pain and worry about moving to Alaska, I totally forgot that I’ll pretty much have a front-row seat out here.

Now, because she’s from California, she’s unaware that they’re not just happening all the time and decides, hey, this is a bucket list item, I’m going to go see if I can find them. She finds the doors to a courtyard, they blow open, and:

And in walk two guys wearing nothing but old-school concert T-shirts, jeans, and lace-up boots. No jackets, no sweaters, no hoodies, even. Just ripped jeans, Mötley Crüe, and Timberlands. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen, and for a second, I can’t help wondering if this castle—like Hogwarts—comes equipped with its very own ghosts. Ones who died at an eighties rock concert.

Though I realize the point I’m supposed to be getting here is that they’re walking in from the Alaska cold but when I first read “wearing nothing but” I truly did not expect for the rest of the sentence to describe them as fully clothed.

I guess basically she’s run into the cast of The Lost Boys here because they immediately start spouting predictable lines straight out of a cheesy teen movie:

“Well, well, well. Looks like we made it back just in time,” says the taller of the two guys. He’s got warm copper skin, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and a black nose ring right through his septum. “What are you doing out of bed, Grace?”

Grace is like, how do they know my name, and then she’s like, whoa, why is this guy literally sniffing me?

GRACE. GRACE. THEY ARE VAMPIRES GRACE.

Because the guys give her the creeps, she tells them she was just getting some water. The other guy asks her if she found any.

It seems like an innocuous enough question, except he’s walking toward me as he asks it, getting into my personal space until I have to decide whether to stand my ground or back up.

She ultimately goes with, “back up” and starts slowly moving away from them, saying she’s going to bed.

“Before we even have a chance to get to know you? That doesn’t seem very polite, does it, Marc?” the short-haired one asks.

This is another example of the at times uneven writing I’m noticing. That line could have been from literally any other book or movie in which the female protagonist is being menaced by men. It’s like, okay, we get it, her virtue is in danger.

“It doesn’t, no,” Marc answers, and now he’s really close, too. “Especially since Foster’s been up our asses about you for weeks now.”

Grace is like, wait, what are you talking about, and then we find out:

“It means we’ve had three different meetings about you, all warning us to be on our best behavior. It’s annoying as hell. Right, Quinn?”

So, her uncle, who is so afraid that she won’t feel welcome or safe at the school due to the students who live there, had three separate meetings with the student body to point out who she is and that she’s vulnerable. No, that sounds like a great situation to walk into, vampires or not. Everyone loves being a stranger showing up to a place where the people are already completely over your existence.

Another thing that disappoints me here is how we learned their names. If they’re actively planning to hurt Grace, why are they giving her their names? That doesn’t make any sense.

Quinn yanks her hair like a toddler and Grace feels more and more uneasy about these guys. IDK, Grace, what is it about them that makes you think they might be dangerous? The fact that they’re reading their lines aloud from the Evil Rapist High School Bully Handbook?

But there’s trouble here. I can feel it, just like I can feel the barely leashed violence rolling off these guys in waves. It’s like they’re desperate to hurt someone, desperate to rip someone apart. I don’t want that someone to be me.

This is why I get frustrated sometimes with this book. It’s not a terrible book. Yes, parts of it are clearly inspired by other properties (if you’re familiar with Twilight, you know exactly how the rest of this part of the story is gonna go), but the writing is overall really sharp. Until it’s not. Again, I wonder how much of this was tinkered with after Wolff wrote it because the description of how Grace can sense the potential for violence is perfect, but then you plunk into a big ole pile of eye-rolls.

“What do you think, Grace?” Marc sneers. “You think you can handle Alaska? Because I’m pretty sure it’s going to naturally unselect you pretty damn quick.”

That is where I would 100% die because I would instantly be like, “That’s not how natural selection works.”

No, seriously, I believe that my cause of death will be listed as “semantics.”

She tells them that she doesn’t want any trouble, and they’re like, do we look like trouble, and I put my brain on autopilot because I’ve seen a billion iterations of this scene before. Grace even notices the similarities:

Part of me thinks I must be dreaming, because this feels like a scene out of every teen movie ever, where the school bullies decide to gang up on the new kid just to show her who’s boss.

God, I hope Wolff added that line in response to an editor’s suggestion earlier in the scene.

Then the guys are like, hey, have you seen snow before?

“I saw plenty of snow on the way up here.”

“On the back of a snowmobile? That doesn’t count, does it, Quinn?”

Man, these kids love using each other’s names. It’s so convenient for the reader, who is meeting them for the first time.

True Story: the name thing is a pet peeve my friend Bronwyn Green and I have in common. I will tell her about this chapter like so: “Hey, BRONWYN, do you know what’s kind of bothering me about this book I’m reading, BRONWYN?” She will reply, “No, JENNY, what is bothering you about this book, JENNY?” and that will be all that needs to be said.

“No.” Quinn shakes his head with a snarl that shows an awful lot of teeth. “You definitely need to get closer. Show us what you can do.”

“What I can do?” I have no idea what they’re talking about.

“I mean, it’s obvious you’ve got something going on.” This time, when he breathes in, I’m sure Marc is smelling me. “I just can’t quite figure out what it is, yet.”

Okay, so Grace has some kind of power. Noted, Marc.

He shifts, braces himself, and that’s when it hits me. What they’re planning on doing. And just how much danger I’m really in.

That’s the chapter hook, and it rolls straight into my “these chapter titles are pointless and jarring” argument. Grace realizes she’s about to get raped. I know it doesn’t say “rape” in the book. It never says “rape” in the book. But everyone knows that’s what’s at stake when a defenseless girl in a piece of media geared toward young women is surrounded by leering men. It’s no different than in real life.

And the way this experience is summed up by a chapter title is with a reference to Frozen.

I don’t think I need to explain why using cutesy pop culture references before scenes where a woman is threatened with rape is off-putting. You get it. The author and editor should have gotten it, too.

CONCUSSED!

A few days ago, I forget how long now (see title of post) I was awakened at five in the morning, pretty sure I’d been shot in the leg.

Which would be absurd because I’m not important enough to be the first assassination on somebody’s morning schedule.

I woke up in horrible pain, wondering what the hell happened. My first thought was maybe our ceiling fan fell, or that raccoon that’s always on the roof found a soft spot and crashed through. I groped my way to the end of the bed in the dark, confused, wondering if I was about to be attacked by a similarly confused raccoon. And just as I was leaning over, my forehead and orbital bone met the skull of a pit bull in full zoomies.

Zoomies, if you have never owned a dog, is a phenomenon that occurs when a dog rids itself of extraneous energy by running at full speed with no regard for its own safety or the safety of the people who are just trying to sleep because it’s five in the ding dang morning. Pit bulls run around 20-25mph and their heads are like basketballs made of concrete.

Reader, I saw stars. Within a few hours, it was clear that I had a concussion.

The thing is, this is my third concussion, the second in five years. Every progressive concussion is worse than the last, which I had heard before, but since my first concussion happened when I was fifteen or something, so when I got my second one, I had forgotten what the first one was like. Now, having them back to back, I have a comparison.

PROTECT YOUR HEADS.

Not that I think my Trout Nation friends aren’t smart enough to not split their melons. It’s taken me about three hours to get to this point in this post. I can only think for about twenty minutes at a time before I get intensely car sick. This includes watching movies, reading a book, having a conversation, basically anything other than just staring off into space.

CONCUSSIONS ARE BORING AS FUCK.

So, in summation: pit bulls aren’t dangerous because they’ll attack you, they’re dangerous because they pick ridiculous times to do goofy things, concussions are boring, and wear a helmet even when you’re sleeping because you don’t know when a raccoon is gonna crash through your ceiling.

It happens. I’m waiting.

Wear a helmet.

The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter Eight

Need to catch up?

What is The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp? The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: PrologueThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter OneThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter TwoThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter ThreeThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter FourThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter Five The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter SixThe Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp: Chapter Seven

Raised voices shattered the peace of the night, but Marcaeus no longer hoped for peace. At least, not until the Fates snipped every last thread of the Trasket dynasty.

Perhaps, not every one.

He hadn’t made up his mind on that particular point, yet.

Judging by the argument happening in the tholos behind him, Chariclo had.

“You cannot ask this of him, Chiron!” The thunder of toppling waves provided the musical accompaniment to Chariclo’s fury.

“I didn’t ask him. It was his idea!” Chiron retorted, but his wife’s wrath proved great enough to drown out any protest.

“You meddle in the affairs of the Gods!” Another violent blast of punishing sea proved this already tiresome argument was far from over.

It wouldn’t change the outcome. Far from it. Chiron’s resolve might weaken in the face of his mate’s anger, but no tender feelings could move Marcaeus now. He’d made up his mind with regards to this course of action, so there was no reason to doubt it.

He vaguely sensed someone approaching the rise of plush silver grass he rested upon but he didn’t move. There was no danger here, inside Chiron’s temple.

“Are you hiding?”

Marcaeus opened his eyes at the voice. “I was attempting to transport my mind elsewhere.”

He sat up to face Chiron’s daughter, Melanippe. Like her father, she tended to stand with her arms crossed. Like her mother, her entire form was made of the sea, which somewhat affected the visibility of the gesture.

Marcaeus was familiar enough with Melanippe’s body to recognize the posture right away. “Who are you here to scold? Me, or your parents?”

“All three of you.” She sat on the grass beside him. He assumed his human glamor to mimic her two crossed legs.

“Ugh! You look so strange that way.” She gave him a shove and her gaze wandered downward. “Though I see you’ve been quite generous with this form.”

He chuckled and shifted back. “I kept things proportionate.”

Melanippe curled herself against his side, nestling her head in the crook of his foreleg. “You flatter yourself.”

Marcaeus toyed idly with a strand of seaweed that floated close to the surface of her hair. Where Chariclo shimmered like the clear blue Aegean, Melinappe was the forbidding, deep green of the night sea at storm, even at her calmest. The form suited her; her practical nature controlled the tempest within. She wouldn’t let her sentimentality stop her from questioning him, even if she wouldn’t like the answers. “Are you really going to join with the human?”

“Unfortunately.” He wished they could discuss anything else. “I am sorry.”

“I understand. You’re committed to healing the mortal world.”

Her easy acceptance of his decision stung. “You might behave as though this troubles you at least a little.”

She tipped her face up, blinking her large, pupiless black eyes. “Marcaeus, I accepted a long time ago that you would never be mine.”

“I am yours,” he protested. “No matter what that cursed Oracle says.”

She laughed as though he’d told a joke. “Do you really believe you’re wiser than the Oracle? Not that we ever needed to consult them in the first place. I’ve known the truth of our relationship for a long time. You may hold me close to your heart, but I doubt anyone will ever truly claim you.”

There was no point in arguing against the truth. “If anyone could, it would be you.”

“That’s not what the Oracle said.” She dipped her head but couldn’t hide her fond smile. “But I know you believe it’s true. That’s  enough for me.”

The Oracle. If things could be damned in Elysia, Marcaeus would curse them now.

How had Melanippe convinced him to seek the Oracle’s counsel in the first place? He wished they never had. They’d entered the temple seeking wisdom and confirmation that the Fates had braided their threads of life together so tightly, the bond would never be broken.

They’d left broken, themselves.

He studied her face silently, for as long as he could bear. Since that day, no matter how many had passed, Melanippe’s presence always brought him back to that awful day, the only time he’d ever seen her weep. Though Chariclo and Chiron had both assured him that Melanippe had accepted the Oracle’s vision of her future–a future that Marcaeus would not occupy–he still blamed himself for wounding her.

Pottery crashed in Chiron and Chariclo’s tholos.

“Are you certain you aren’t devastated that we won’t be joined by Hera?” Marcaeus quipped.

“”Such a union sounds so peaceful.” Melannipe struggled to say in seriousness before they both dissolved into laughter.

Too loudly. 

Chariclo called, “Daughter? Are you eavesdropping?”

Melanippe got to her feet, and Marcaeus flicked water from his hair.

“No, Mother,” she called. “Marcaeus was eavesdropping. I was just keeping him company.”

Chariclo emerged from her chamber and glided across the moon-kissed grass toward them. “Marcaeus,” she began, stopping with her watery hands clasped against her breast. “Can we not dissuade you from this folly?”

“I didn’t come to dissuade him,” Melanippe interjected.

Chariclo’s clear, blue eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”

“Melanippe and I discussed it.”. He couldn’t resist adding, “At a civil volume.”

“You must excuse me for being so concerned about the happiness of my daughter and my husband’s protegee!”

“He would never have been happy with me, mother.” Melanippe didn’t need to shout to silence her mother. “Besides, you know that the Fates will not bind us.”

“The Fates can swallow their own eye, for all I care!” Chariclo snapped back.

Marcaeus noted the way Melanippe’s fists curled, not a movement of violence but one of resolve. Perhaps this proof of her sadness and frustration should have comforted him. His eyes did not tread such shallow waters. He wished, not for the first time, that he could take her pain away.

“My happiness doesn’t matter.” Marcaeus wondered if he should have those words painted somewhere in his office, to remind him daily. “We can’t let the demon realm gain control of the mortal world.”

All three of them knew it, but Marcaeus assumed it was more difficult to watch one’s child face heartbreak than to endure it one’s self. He wouldn’t begrudge Chariclo her anger. Nor Melinappe’s, should it manifest.

“There was no no promise between your daughter and I,” he said gently. “I think she’ll agree that I never led her on.”

Melanippe nodded before he’d finished speaking. “I have no desire to be with someone who would not be happy with ame. And I would loathe myself if the mortal realm fell into peril because of my hurt feelings.”

Chariclo studied them both, as if deciding whether two naughty children lied to her. “A joining can always be reversed,” she stated finally. She narrowed her eyes and turned away. “I’ll intrude upon your goodbyes no longer.” 

As she glided away, she paused to call back, “Oh, and remember, Hera requires a night and a day of chastity before you petition her. Enjoy your evening.“

Marcaeus stepped behind Melannipe and leaned down, lowering his voice and carefully watching to be certain they were once again alone. “I forgot the chastity part. I wish I could give you a proper goodbye.”

“Is that truly the only farewell scenario you’re capable of imagining?” She drifted away toward the fountain, sighing, “Centaurs.”

“What else could I leave you to remember me by?” he teased.

She pretended to consider. “A constellation? Nyx would charge you your weight in ambrosia, but it would be a fitting tribute to all the good times we’ve shared.”

“I could rearrange the stars completely and hardly match the splendor of our night on Olympus after Hephaestus’ birthday.”

They fell into a somber quiet, Melanippe circling the fountain slowly. Her fingertips trailed along the dry lip of the basin, wetting it in their wake. “I know what you can leave me with.” Her voice quivered. “Tonight, spend the last of our time together pretending things are exactly the way they used to be.”

“When? Before I became a C.E.O?” What an astonishingly silly sentence.

“No. Before that. When you were still my  father’s student.” She made another pass around the fountain to reclaim the bits of herself she’d left on the stone.

“Ah, before we were brave enough to look each other in the eye.” That shy fondness was centuries away from them, now.

Melanippe played along in their bittersweet game of memories. “Well, you’d been warned not to concern yourself with me.”

“And you’d been warned about what young Centaurs are like.”

A pang pierced Marcaeus’s heart. His eyes met Melanippe’s, and as a cosmic veil fell between them, they knew. This was the moment that the Oracle had predicted. The Fates had finally severed the last of the thread between the lovers he and Melanippe used to be.

She turned away first, wiping bursts of sand from her eyes as though he would not see them. “What is she like?”

Marcaeus did her the kindness of returning her light, conversational tone. “I don’t know. What little time I’ve spent with her, she’s as insufferable as many of her kind. Unable to see past their needs and wants, willing to do anything, no matter how desperate, to get what they believe they deserve.”

“Be kind to her. She’s a mortal. They have so much fear because their lives are too short.” 

Melanippe’s generosity toward the mortal condition reminded him uncomfortably of Fiona and her own generosity of spirit. “She falls victim to another human failing. She cares too much.”

“First, she’s selfish, and now she’s too caring?” Melanippe’s tide had somehow turned against him in the conversation. “She was loyal to her friend. She used the only tool at her disposal. Aren’t you doing the same?”

Marcaeus raised a brow. “And what do you know of her loyalty?”

“What? You’re not the only one capable of eavesdropping,” Melannipe observed without remorse. The roiling sea within her calmed; without her waves and currents, stillness erased some of her features. 

Marcaeus remembered long nights lying awake, her sleeping form coating him like dew.

“Mortal hearts are fragile,” she warned softly. “And they fall too easily. Don’t let this woman dash hers to pieces over you.”

“What happens to her heart is of no concern to me.” Not when he had to cut Melanippe’s apart because of the human’s actions.

“You have never been cruel.” Melanippe flowed toward him, rising on a tidal surge to stand at his impressive height. “It was your kindness that captured my heart. Not your ruthlessness. Don’t lose yourself, my love. If I can’t keep the heart that won mine, at least, tend it in my absence?”

“I’ll try.” It was the strongest vow he could make. “Every hour I spend with humanity infects me with their materialism and greed.”

“Then you might consider looking for the best of humanity, instead of the worst.” Melanippe receded. “And you might learn something from this human. You’re angry now, but you’ll see the good in her. You’ll see that her loyalty to her friends is not a failure.”

Melanippe studied his face for a long moment, the moon above reflecting off the darkened sea glass of her eyes. “I would stay by your side now,  but you need time to think. This won’t be a successful–or pleasant–endeavor if you spend every moment you’re together resenting her. Use this time to find your patience.”

“I will try,” he reiterated, leaning on the last word.

A mischievous shimmer enveloped her form and another surge washed her against him and over him. He couldn’t control his shudder of pleasure and heard the musical drip-drop of her laughter behind him.

“Enjoy your chastity and self-reflection,” she said, giggles punctuating her sentence.

He turned to watch her go, the moonlight playing off her waves until she blended into the darkness, leaving him alone with memories he would rather not let go.

New video, new merch, short update

Howdy! Still hard at work on a bajillion different projects at once over here, but I took some time out of my busy schedule to torment myself with the game that traumatized and inspired a generation of children to say, “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just keep living where I am.” And today, I am sharing that with you:

Please enjoy the adventures of the Butt family and many, many references to the Donner Party.

Also, if you’ve been waiting to see your favorite Jealous Haters Book Club selection immortalized on merchandise, this month I’ve added two new designs, “Pidge” and “#1 Most Jealous (for 24 hours)” to Troutmart. These were the designs that got bumped from June after the proofs didn’t come back in a way I was happy with. Now they’re fine and I highly recommend the “Pidge” throw pillow. Be aware that one of August’s designs will also be an homage to my favorite book about people randomly meeting Carrot Top, so if you want one but can only get one or only want one, wait until August to see if you like that design more because I don’t want to bait and switch you. But I’m having such a good time drawing these between frantically scribbling a thousand different stories all at once in many notebooks that I am most assuredly not looking forward to typing up.

On that note, more The Business Centaur’s Virgin Temp will be here tomorrow, after I obsessively make sure I have all the Ancient Greek names spelled correctly.

I Love This Book(s)

I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m a total fangirl weirdo when it comes to the stories written by Leanna Renee Hieber. I’ve posted about her Strangely Beautiful series, but she’s also written the Magic Most Foul series, The Eterna Files, The Spectral City and the Dark Nest Chronicles. 

I have to admit, I haven’t read Dark Nest Chronicles yet, but that didn’t cause me any trouble reading her new series set in the same world. Time Immemorial is a trilogy of novellas that tie all of Hieber’s tales together with a hell of a concept: her starship captain, Liz Marlowe, is living numerous lives in various time periods, concurrently. As she bops between various lifetimes, interacting with characters from Hieber’s other works, Liz is accompanied by a friend who has reincarnated over and over, interacting with Liz’s parallel past-present lives.

In other words, Hieber has written a series of novellas about a kind of Clara-Oswald-Kwisatz-Haderach who ties the Hieberverse together in the space opera universe she co-created with Thom Truelove. So, gaslamp space opera?

In other, other words: you’ve never read anything like this.

Lizzie Marlowe had as many missions as she had lives.

A masterful tale of multiple timelines; one woman, split between four lives…

Elizabeth Marlowe has always known she was different—even from others with psychic abilities. She doesn’t merely glimpse past or future lives, she lives multiple lives concurrently. She is L’Bet, a druid priestess holding out against the Roman invasion. She is Lizzie, a headstrong Victorian plumbing the depths of both science and Spiritualism. She is Beth, a Royal Air Force pilot fighting in World War II. And she is Captain Liz, a starship commander forging a path through the stars.

But being different comes with danger. Liz is determined to make it on her own, hiding her unusual ability from all but one trusted companion in each life. Yet, she is haunted by an ominous warning from her old mentor, Saire: Someday they’ll fear you. People fear what they cannot understand, and it is only a matter of time before those with psychic powers are targeted for their difference. When that happens, Liz will have to choose between her life of independence and saving the community she rejected long ago.

Return to the world of Leanna Renee Hieber’s Dark Nest trilogy with the start of a new series that spans eras and galaxies!

 

A tale of psychic powers and those who fear them; one woman, stalked by an enemy across the threads of time…

Captain Liz Marlowe has just learned of a horrific Homeworld plot to eradicate the Psychically Augmented population. Though her crew managed to rescue one survivor from the lonely desolation of space, the danger isn’t over yet. In fact, confidential documents from the Homeworld council reveal that Liz is in even more danger than she thought. For Liz has a power that may be the key to erasing the psychic population once and for all … the power of existing throughout time.

Elizabeth Marlowe is aware of living in four eras at once. And in each life—from druidic priestess to starship captain—she nurtures a special connection to the threads of power that crisscross the planet: ley lines. In times of danger she has always been able to draw on the power of these lines and hide herself within them. But recently something has soured the Earth’s beautiful music. Elizabeth is haunted by an eerie dissonance that warns of an encroaching enemy, who seems to be pursuing her throughout each life. And she cannot hide forever. Elizabeth will have to open her heart to new allies and prepare to confront her greatest enemy if there is to be any hope for the survival of her people—and herself.

 

The third installment releases in July, only on Scribd, from Bryant Street Publishing, but you can get the first two now. And if you’re more into audiobooks, good news: Leanna is a real-deal actress (which is a little weird when you know her IRL and she just randomly shows up in the Will Ferrel movie you’re watching) and you can hear her narrating all three titles, also available only on Scribd!

STATE OF THE TROUT: Why have I been so busy edition

I’ve been a little busy lately. I wanted to get another set of Jealous Haters merch out for yous all, but I didn’t like the way one of the proofs turned out so they’re getting a re-design and release in July. It will be worth the wait, Jealous Disasters and Handbooks for Haters. I haven’t forgotten yous all. But here’s the stuff I’ve been busy with.

Reason #1:

On the condition that my brother and sister get their cat spayed, I agreed to foster these beasts. Which quickly turned into, “I will keep two of these.” From L-R, that’s Frankenstein, Dracula, and Ed. Obviously, Frankenstein and Dracula are mine. Once Ed is old enough (they’re eight weeks old now, we got them at six weeks because Momma cat peaced out on the whole parenting thing), he’ll live with Baba. In the meantime, all three of them are here, to the bone-chilling terror of our largest pit bull, who trembles and flees any time we open the porch door because one of them hissed at her once and she has yet to recover.

Reason #2

I went on my annual U.P. writing retreat where, unfortunately, I spent most of the time in agonizing pain and missed out on seeing my friend’s new baby. But I did get more writing done than I usually do at home, and I always use that week as a benchmark to figure out how my publishing schedule is gonna go for the rest of the year. I feel like BARRING ANY POTENTIAL BREAKDOWNS CAN I GO ONE GODDAMN YEAR WITHOUT A MENTAL HEALTH CRISIS, I’ll be releasing both Queen of Hell and the rewritten version of In The Blood on Halloween. Because I’m spooky like that.

 

Reason #3

You ever get a chance to do something you’ve always dreamed about but never had the chance to do? And then you get the chance and you throw literally everything else in your life to one side because this is all that matters until July 9, 2021? Well, that’s what happened to me. I got the chance to write a musical revue. It’s free, it’s outdoors, and it’s with my very favorite theater family, Center Stage in Kalamazoo, MI. If you live in the SW Michigan area and you’d like to see a show on the 9th, 10th, or 11th of July after a year of no theater, you can get ticket info here!   

So, that’s what’s been going on lately. Check back this week for a rec/review of a really great series from one of my most favorite authors, Leanna Renee Hieber, and possibly other stuff. I’m not 100% sure that my ass is unkicked yet from the trip.