Untamed, by P. C. Cast and Kristin Cast

Standard warnings apply. On that topic, I will take the time to copy out a typical moment of hilarious well-meaningness:

Jack and Damien are together. Hello. They’re gay. My friends and I, along with anyone who’s not narrow-minded and utterly judgmental, are cool with that.

I forgot to mention that vampyres may choose new names when they become fledglings. Jack is Jack Twist. Yes. From Brokeback Mountain . I thought the names could not possibly get more on-the-nose until a new possible love interest is introduced. He is named Stark. After the character played by James Dean in Rebel without a Cause.

In the department of shouldn’t-work-but-somehow-does, I reluctantly found myself liking Stark. He has a huge rowdy dog when all other vampyres like cats, he has the very cool power of shooting arrows that never miss even if they have to teleport in order to hit their targets, and he has some excellent angst which I won’t spoil.

This book takes the most cracktastic elements of previous ones and makes them even more cracktastic. Actual dialogue:

“Stevie Rae, honey, let me be clear that I’m not judging, but you didn’t eat a street person or anything like that after you caught on fire, did you?”

I also like that the characters, while plausibly driven by teenage hormones and emotions, generally behave in a sensible manner and try to clear up any stupid misunderstandings. And if undead creatures are doomed to lurk in tunnels, eventually they'll start fixing up the tunnels and trying to get net access down there. (I would if I was undead!)

( Spoilers awaken ancient angels )

Untamed (House of Night, Book 4)

Yuletide recs (yes, really)

While we're all waiting for Yuletide with varying degrees of impatience, anticipatory glee, and/or terror, I thought I'd link to a few Yuletide stories I haven't recced before, either because I didn't come across them until after the annual frenzy died down or because I spaced out. Feel free to do the same on your own LJs!

You can't comment at the source because the archive is closed, but if you enjoy, you could bookmark and comment later.

The Journey West, by Oyce. How Monkey comes to America, inspired by Neil Gaiman's American Gods but not requiring familiarity with the source. A short but disproportionately powerful story.

They tell Monkey "no women" because women mean soft curves and children and roots, women mean hundreds of monkeys running 'round free. Monkey does not multiply, not as much as he could, but Monkey does not die and leave. They forget Monkey was born of stone, not womb, they forget Monkey creates new monkeys from handfuls of fur, chewed up and spat out.

Waste Our Lights in Vain, by Nifra Idril: A gorgeously written and sensual prose Romeo and Juliet story, focusing on Mercutio and his feelings for Romeo. I must say that I have always agreed with the author that Romeo is a bit of a lightweight compared the awesomeness that is Mercutio (or, for that matter, Juliet.)

There is a door inside Mercutio, in the shape of Romeo. It blows with the wind; open and shut, open and shut.

Training: A Hands-On Manual, by Aspidistra. A clever James Bond story which runs with the premise that "James Bond" is a job title, not a person.

A James Bond always found an excuse to wear a tuxedo at least once per mission.

Fiddler's Went A'Courtin', by Merlin Missy. One of those Yuletide perennials, the lovely story in response to a who'd-a-thunk-it prompt, in this case a Sandman request of "Can you pair Gilbert (Fiddler's Green, the personification of a garden paradise) with Rose Walker (a human)?" There's lots of romantic imagery but no sex.

Beside his feet, he incarnates a single rose bush. Life as an occasionally anthropomorphic personification of an imaginary land means not having a particularly subtle subconscious.

The Bruise Around the Wound, by Rana Eros. A creepy retelling of "Rapunzel," with lush imagery and sexual overtones reminiscent of Angela Carter.

Madame Dorgosky's daughter is Tiny Tilly, the current main attraction of Calloway's Calamitous Creatures and Catastrophical Curiosities. Aubergine has seen her show. Tiny Tilly is perhaps the size of a large man's thumb, exquisitely beautiful, and possessed of a booming, operatic soprano of a voice.

A House in his Head, by JMTorres. This well-written and smart story explores the twisty knots of love/slavery/mind control/free will in C. J. Cherryh's Cyteen, and, like the relationships it depicts, is both touching and incredibly disturbing. (No violence or overt abuse.)

This is what Justin looks like. Justin is three years old, the same age as you. Justin is a CIT. You are going to live with Justin. His father will be your Supervisor, and you will obey your Supervisor, but you will always be loyal to Justin.

Listen to me, Grant, because this is very important. You are for Justin. You were made to be Justin's companion. You will be loyal to Justin. You will protect Justin. You will love Justin.

Scarce Any Man, by Atalan. Harriet before she meets Peter: the little things that eat the soul.

Harriet pushed open the kitchen door carefully, balancing the tray on one hand. (Well, it was a baking sheet, actually, because what use was owning a tea tray when people were drinking out of any old thing? She would have liked one all the same, but it was the sort of thing Philip hated - he'd smile that rather condescending smile and make some clever remark about how she was a poor excuse for modern woman. Harriet privately thought that possession of a tea tray said less about one's bourgeois leanings than about the impracticality of juggling two mugs, a glass tumbler, and a bottle of not-terribly expensive champagne - but she was rather tired of rows, and lately even stupid things like tea trays had been known to provoke them, so she held her tongue.)

Sefirot, by Loligo. Angel Sanctuary. A universe in a handful of words. I can't figure out how to excerpt this and it probably doesn't make sense unless you know the canon (and is spoilery for the canon, though possibly incomprehensibly so if you're not already spoiled), but it is gorgeous.

Yuletide recs (yes, really)

While we're all waiting for Yuletide with varying degrees of impatience, anticipatory glee, and/or terror, I thought I'd link to a few Yuletide stories I haven't recced before, either because I didn't come across them until after the annual frenzy died down or because I spaced out. Feel free to do the same on your own LJs!

You can't comment at the source because the archive is closed, but if you enjoy, you could bookmark and comment later.

The Journey West, by Oyce. How Monkey comes to America, inspired by Neil Gaiman's American Gods but not requiring familiarity with the source. A short but disproportionately powerful story.

They tell Monkey "no women" because women mean soft curves and children and roots, women mean hundreds of monkeys running 'round free. Monkey does not multiply, not as much as he could, but Monkey does not die and leave. They forget Monkey was born of stone, not womb, they forget Monkey creates new monkeys from handfuls of fur, chewed up and spat out.

Waste Our Lights in Vain, by Nifra Idril: A gorgeously written and sensual prose Romeo and Juliet story, focusing on Mercutio and his feelings for Romeo. I must say that I have always agreed with the author that Romeo is a bit of a lightweight compared the awesomeness that is Mercutio (or, for that matter, Juliet.)

There is a door inside Mercutio, in the shape of Romeo. It blows with the wind; open and shut, open and shut.

Training: A Hands-On Manual, by Aspidistra. A clever James Bond story which runs with the premise that "James Bond" is a job title, not a person.

A James Bond always found an excuse to wear a tuxedo at least once per mission.

Fiddler's Went A'Courtin', by Merlin Missy. One of those Yuletide perennials, the lovely story in response to a who'd-a-thunk-it prompt, in this case a Sandman request of "Can you pair Gilbert (Fiddler's Green, the personification of a garden paradise) with Rose Walker (a human)?" There's lots of romantic imagery but no sex.

Beside his feet, he incarnates a single rose bush. Life as an occasionally anthropomorphic personification of an imaginary land means not having a particularly subtle subconscious.

The Bruise Around the Wound, by Rana Eros. A creepy retelling of "Rapunzel," with lush imagery and sexual overtones reminiscent of Angela Carter.

Madame Dorgosky's daughter is Tiny Tilly, the current main attraction of Calloway's Calamitous Creatures and Catastrophical Curiosities. Aubergine has seen her show. Tiny Tilly is perhaps the size of a large man's thumb, exquisitely beautiful, and possessed of a booming, operatic soprano of a voice.

A House in his Head, by JMTorres. This well-written and smart story explores the twisty knots of love/slavery/mind control/free will in C. J. Cherryh's Cyteen, and, like the relationships it depicts, is both touching and incredibly disturbing. (No violence or overt abuse.)

This is what Justin looks like. Justin is three years old, the same age as you. Justin is a CIT. You are going to live with Justin. His father will be your Supervisor, and you will obey your Supervisor, but you will always be loyal to Justin.

Listen to me, Grant, because this is very important. You are for Justin. You were made to be Justin's companion. You will be loyal to Justin. You will protect Justin. You will love Justin.

Scarce Any Man, by Atalan. Harriet before she meets Peter: the little things that eat the soul.

Harriet pushed open the kitchen door carefully, balancing the tray on one hand. (Well, it was a baking sheet, actually, because what use was owning a tea tray when people were drinking out of any old thing? She would have liked one all the same, but it was the sort of thing Philip hated - he'd smile that rather condescending smile and make some clever remark about how she was a poor excuse for modern woman. Harriet privately thought that possession of a tea tray said less about one's bourgeois leanings than about the impracticality of juggling two mugs, a glass tumbler, and a bottle of not-terribly expensive champagne - but she was rather tired of rows, and lately even stupid things like tea trays had been known to provoke them, so she held her tongue.)

Sefirot, by Loligo. Angel Sanctuary. A universe in a handful of words. I can't figure out how to excerpt this and it probably doesn't make sense unless you know the canon (and is spoilery for the canon, though possibly incomprehensibly so if you're not already spoiled), but it is gorgeous.