This is the story of how a broken power outlet causes significant emotional damage to my roommate, while also somehow causing the dryer to stop functioning and the hot water to disappear.

Are you ready for this drama? You’re not ready for this drama.


Last weekend my good-friend-roommate and I did tons of housecleaning things and were super duper fuckin’ productive. Part of that process was moving The Freezer into its final resting place in the the back hallway closet. I call it The Freezer with Capital Letters because it is a Demon which has plagued our apartment for about 8 months now with its seductive calls of extra storage space – if only we would unbury it from the storage porch, bleach the mold off the inside, and roll it through the ENTIRE apartment to be put away into the back hallway closet. Which we did. Finally.

Only to find that the power outlet DIDN’T WORK.

T.H.E. I.R.O.N.Y.

So I was like, ok, time to write to the maintenance dude and give him a laundry list of some stuff. Lightbulbs I didn’t feel like changing, outlet not working, wonky steps, etc. And I did. I then sent the same list of things to our house chat, to let the other roommates (there are 4 of us total) know that I had written to said maintenance dude, and that the maintenance dude’s repair guy would be coming on Tuesday.

(Maintenance dude is not our favorite person, and kind of useless, and I often have to blackmail him by cc’ing the landlord whenever we have issues.)

That was Monday morning.

Monday afternoon, completely unrelated to the maintenance issues, I get a frantic message from my sister asking if she can stay the night on my couch because OMG, SHE HAD A JOB INTERVIEW THE NEXT DAY.

And I was like, sure of course, ossum, omg jobz! Jobz are the shit! Do you want to work remote from my place before/after interview? If yes, beware incoming repair dude.

And she was like, COOL I’LL SEE YOU IN 4 HOURS (because she had to drive down, she’s relocating, blah blah).


Tuesday rolls around and it is seemingly normal. (Darn you Tuesday and your sheep’s clothing!) I get a couple of messages from the sister saying “repair dude arrived” “repair dude have question about x” “repair dude has gone away”

Cool, that was painless! (silly me, I know.)

Tuesday night, we get home late because sister and I have dinner and then proceed to go visit our friend’s cat (not a euphemism) and move around all his shit while he is traveling, because we are good friends (assholes). And like cats. And also sister was celebrating because job interview WENT WELL, and also oh yeah, she’s moving down here in 2 weeks.

OMG CRAZY how excite!!! Yes!

So we get home at like I dunno, 7:30 or something? It was later than it should have been for her to leave back for home so she could make it to current job the next day. And so I was like YOU MUST LEAVE. BAI. And I kick her out. (I literally shoved her into her vehicle while also hugging her at the same time and closed the door on her.)

As I’m coming back inside I’m also like “Look, we have a front porch light again! Awesome!” Checked that the freezer was plugged in and working. It was! Amazing!


We can now make ice. For the housewarming party that is happening in 5 days. JOY.

And whatever, I go to bed because I am TIRED. Which of course means I proceed to talk to my mother for like 2 hours on the phone before I pass the fuck out.

Then I wake up!

We have reached Wednesday. And it is 6:45 in the fucking morning.

And I have a message from Good Friend Roommate A saying, “So we don’t have hot water and the dryer isn’t working, and Roommate B knew this yesterday, but didn’t tell me until 11:30 last night, as I was pulling my still-wet clothing out of the dryer. She also said that she didn’t say anything because AND I QUOTE ‘she wasn’t sure if not having hot water or a working dryer counted as problematic’?!?!?!”

HECKING HECK. And also, what? This train of thinking from Roommate B does not strike me as particularly groovy, but I can’t quite wrap my head around it because it is 6:45 IN THE FUCKING MORNING.

So there I am, bleary eyed and HECKING all over the place, as I go down to the basement and check the breakers. No problems. HECK AGAIN.

I text the house chat so that Roommate C also knows we don’t have hot water, and I’m a biiiiit on the tired and grumpy side, and my message maaaayyy have come off a little harsh because I was like “DUH THESE ARE PROBLEMS, NOW WE MUST FIX THEM. WHY WOULD YOU THINK THEY ARE NOT. COME ON PEOPLE.”

I then email the maintenance guy again at now 7am on Wednesday morning. Who writes back very quickly and says that the repair guy will be back over that morning to work on the steps, and would also check on the water sitch. I was impressed that he was awake at 7am and answering emails.

Which is like the only impressive thing he’s ever done since we’ve lived there. (This guy is not a gem, let me tell you, and I email him instead of calling because I want all of our communication in writing.)

Pleased that he responded so quickly, I take myself a fast whore bath in very cold water. (pits, tits, and clits, ya’ll) I can at the very least not stank up the office, even if I am grumpy as hell.

By the time I am dressed and fumbling for my shoes, Roommate A is also awake and out of the bathroom, so we chat grumpily for a few minutes and decide to walk in to work together since neither of us can take showers, which throws off our whole schedule. (Some people drink coffee, some people eat breakfast. We take showers, and then have coffee in the office.)

We rehash her conversation with Roommate B and I’m like “wtf?” and she’s like “IKNORIGHT?” And so we go downstairs in high fucking spirits.

(that statement is ironical, ya’ll)

Roommate C is sitting at the table – all she knows at this point is that we don’t have hot water or a functioning dryer, but that the guy is coming to fix it. So we start to explain what happened, insomuch as we know, and Roommate A kinda blurts out “Well if Roommate B had told us yesterday…” in a really pissy tone. AND THEN Roommate B comes FLYING out of her room and is just like “LOOK, I KNOW YOU’RE IRRITATED, BUT I MADE A COMMAND DECISION NOT TO SAY ANYTHING.”

And we were like “Yeah, WE KNOW, and we’re trying to parse that out because it was a BAD DECISION. Also, calm the fuck down, wtf?”

And so then she says “Well I thought you would blame me for breaking it if I told you!”

And we were like WAT. Such confuse.

“You…thought we would blame you for breaking the dryer?”

“Yeah, and the hot water heater. I felt SO HELPLESS yesterday when the repair guy was here and I couldn’t answer any of his questions! I don’t even know where the water heater IS!”

“You…Wait, seriously? You thought we would blame you for breaking the water heater WHEN YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE IT IS?! My god woman, have a cuppa chill the fuck out.”

And then we proceeded to spend 20 minutes talking her down off an emotional ledge. And to explain that we reaaaally don’t care who broke what. Ever. We just want it fixed. And that it was SUPER IRRATIONAL of her to think that we would blame her for breaking ANYTHING when a) SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE BOILER IS and b) THERE WAS A REPAIR GUY IN THERE YESTERDAY DICKING WITH THE ELECTRICAL.

SIDENOTE: It is ALWAYS a good idea to know where the water boiler and the circuit breakers are when you move into a new apartment. If your landlord won’t show you, fire his ass, and show yourself around. Empowerment + House Care 101.

Anyway, back to irrationality – Roommate B was busy postulating about how useless she felt when she had no idea what was going on when the repair guy was there and how she couldn’t answer any of his questions and how she couldn’t show him where anything was.

And I’m sitting there thinking, I texted you the whole damn thing? He was there to repair the light in the back steps – so show him where the back steps are?

Also he had a print out of my email with all the things listed that needed repairing. Which he showed her. So use the damn email?

Also, my SISTER, who DOESN’T LIVE THERE and got a 30 SECOND EXPLANATION THE NIGHT BEFORE had answered all of his questions?


It was so mind-boggling that it threw Roommate A and I off for the entire day. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the logic of “I feel helpless and therefore I’m going to pretend the situation doesn’t exist until someone else discovers it because maybe it will then go away”.

Possibly because I am “an intimidating bitch who gets shit done”, but whatever.

We’ve since reached the conclusion that she has been in some bad housing situations prior to this and just doesn’t know what to do in a situation with actual responsible adults. Which is super sad, and don’t worry, we are going to sit down with her and address this because AS STATED, we are fucking adults. Also because we do like her and want her to feel comfortable in her own house, because you should always feel comfortable in your own house, and blah irrationality is DUMB.

So that was Part 1. And gets us through Wednesday morning.


We continue, because NOW we have to fix the problem of not having a working dryer or hot water. And we haven’t yet identified the source of the problem, though we know it’s not the roommate (cough, hack, that was a joke), and there has been a postulation that it’s either electrical or gas-related, though we don’t know why they would be messing with the gas. (SPOILER ALERT: IT’S THE GAS.)

On top of EVERYTHING ELSE, Wednesday turned into THE DAY OF EVERYONE’S EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWNS, and I wound up fielding some intense emotional problems from various friends and people at work ALL DAY LONG.

Needless to say, I had already been tired and grumpy when I GOT to work, let alone now that it was 3:30 and I still hadn’t heard back from the maintenance guy after emailing him again that morning.

About 4pm I get a call from a mystery number on my cell and I’m like “maybe it’s the repair guy?” so I pick up. No.

It’s the gas guy?

Gas guy: “Hello! I’m almost to your house to turn the gas back on!”
Me, mentally: OOOHhhhhh, that explains a lot, but also doesn’t?
Me: “Ok, cool! Why are you calling me?”
GG: “Is there someone there to let me in?”
“Well can you get there to let me in?”
“No? I’m at work. Did -useless maintenance guy- contact you? Do you have his number?”
“Oh, yeah! Richard? Yeah, he didn’t pick up.”
“No idea who Richard is…” (Our guy’s name is something else, and our guy’s guy’s name is also something else. We still, days later, do not know who Richard is/was.)
“Oh. hunh, well…..I can come back later if you want?”
“YES. LET’S DO THAT. Can you come by after 6?”

I then call our maintenance guy to give him an update, and possibly to find out who Richard is – it goes to voicemail, and I’m like, Fuck This Guy, because it has been A Day, and I do not have time to be doing his job for him.

Keep in mind, Maintenance Guy did not tell us anything about gas people being around our building, and the only day we agreed for anyone to be in/near/around the house was Tuesday. Which it is was not.

Also, for those of you being like “Why didn’t you ask the gas guy why the gas was off?!?!” – Look, I was real tired at that point, ok? It made sense to me that the problems were caused by gas being off, and it made sense that the gas guy was coming to fix said problems. That was as far as I got in my exhausted mental state.

Also, it wasn’t until just now, writing this post, that I realized the gas guy probably had my cell # to begin with because my name is on the gas account, and not because our maintenance guy gave it to him. Which is just all kinds of lucky for us. Because seriously, fuck that guy and his inability to plan or hand out the right phone #!

ANYWAY, about an hour later, after this phone call with the Gas Guy, I’m on my commute home, and I get an email from Maintenance Dude saying “Looks like tomorrow for hot water. The gas company came and changed out your meter yesterday (Tuesday) and because nobody was home they didn’t turn the gas back on.”

FIRST OF ALL, there were TWO PEOPLE home on Tuesday.

SECOND OF ALL, they didn’t even call me then?!


(They can’t. Maintenance Guy is a dipshit and didn’t tell us they would be there.)

So I read this, and I am like fuck that noise, and I call the Gas Guy back. He is STILL ON HIS WAY (a good thing!), and will be there in twenty minutes.

Like I said, Maintenance Guy is a DIPSHIT, and I was busy doing his job for him.


Turns out I can.


Gas Guy also explains that every 7 years, gas companies are legally required to change out the meters. And I’m like cool, sounds like good safety procedures – don’t they notify people when they do that?

And he’s like of course they do! You get letters! And then you’re supposed to call the number on the letter and make an appointment!

And I’m like, ah, I understand COMPLETELY now. The mystery is solved – our Landlord (who we adore) got the letter and handed it to the Useless Human Being Maintenance Guy and said “make the appointment”. And Maintenance Guy, being useless, didn’t bother to CHECK WITH THE TENANTS to let them know this would be happening. And probably just ASSUMED one of us would be there.

On top of that, there is a very good chance that the gas people knocked on the door when Roommate B was in the shower. And I know this is probably the case because remember, she took a cold shower in the afternoon? Because she complained about not having hot water? And my sister wouldn’t have heard it because that was about the time she would have left for her interview.



To wrap this all up, Thursday morning at about 8:20 I get an email from Useless saying “who will be home today to let the gas company in?” 

To which I replied, NO ONE YA DINK, WE TOOK CARE OF IT OURSELVES. Only much more polite, because I am, in fact, capable of empathy and professionalism, despite this blog’s example to the contrary.

To which I got ONE FURTHER REPLY, where I find out that Useless Maintenance Guy’s repair guy (who is not named Richard), wound up in a car accident, and so Useless was not sure when Not-Ricard will be over to rip up the back steps (which needed replacing, but are in no way related to the gas problem or the non-working electrical outlet which started this whole mess). (Yeah, remember that outlet? That was a fucking LIFETIME ago, wasn’t it?)

So while I hope that Not-Richard is ok and recovers well, we still need the back steps replaced, but also now we have hot water again.

And that is the SAGA from the last 48 hours, and I hope you were entertained, and remember that Gaslighting is Bad, unless it’s for the purposes of creating hot water and dryers that dry.

THE END. fuck.


Stuff of Legends

The story you’re about to read is a short fiction based on a Twitter conversation involving two really awesome people, a podcast fan who made a stunning piece of fake cover art, and a really amused writer (me). You can check out all of these people here: @ReadingGPodcast, @MalloryOMeara, @BreaGrant, @PurpleBirdGirl

Without further ado, I give you:




Mallory was reading about dead people. An occupational hazard, (demon hunting required a rather hefty amount of constant research), but one she was rather fond of. It certainly beat stitching yourself up after a fight, washing blood out of clothing–or fighting with baristas who could never spell your name right. Picking up a cup labeled something in the vicinity of “Mallard”, she heaved a sigh.

“Couldn’t have gone with ‘Melody’ at least? It’s really not that hard to spell…” she trailed off, eyes drifting from mis-labeled MagicBRU cup back to her page in Scary Shelley: Bored or Brilliant? A look at the Madame behind the Monsters.

Someone jostled her elbow as she stepped away from the counter, book propelling itself unexpectedly into her glasses. She squawked indignantly and kicked the guy in the shin as she slipped through the crowd. Joining Brea, she set her book down, temporarily, to rub the sting out of her nose.

“500 pages of discursive narration on the greatest monster war in history, and I can’t make it through 3 lines before someone interrupts me.”

“Sex scene?” Brea inquired gravely, sipping sedately at some remarkably frothy blue-foamed concoction.

“No, that was last chapter when she lost her virginity on her mother’s gravestone. Pretty hot, that. She’s trying to find a supplier for body parts right now. Byron won’t build himself, apparently.”

She paused, slurping at her coffee, grimacing when the foam turned an alarming shade of yellow, grew little foam arms, and attempted to crawl over the rim of the cup and escape. Jamming the lid on, and ignoring the tiny middle finger that thrust itself through the drinking hole, Mallory eyed Brea reproachfully.

“Remind me why we’re here again? I could have had the new Dragonccino from Coffee Cauldron…”

“Coffee Cauldron’s too crowded on drink release days..?”


“It’s really entertaining to have my food fight back?” Brea expertly wrestled her muffin out of the hands of her flailing blue foamaccino and popped a bite in her mouth.


“Got it! We’re really into tables that are too small for any normal sized person?”

“That one feels strangely accurate, but I think I’m going to have to go with ‘no’ one more time.”

Mallory picked up her book, smoothed a crumpled page corner and went back to reading. If Brea said anymore, Mallory didn’t hear. She was utterly absorbed in the description of Mary Shelley’s first laboratory, and her increasingly beautiful-yet-gory attempts to create the perfect man. Perhaps ‘perfect partner’ might be a better choice of words. The utter disappointment that had been ‘Byron the poet’ still hung like a pall over many of Mary’s fans. And Frank, well…What was there to say about such a brilliant flame-out? Elsa, though, now she was a monster worth remembering.

Brea shifted slightly in her seat. Their mark was here. She noted the fine cut of his sleeves, the careful turn down of his collar. Spellwork. He was packing some heavy juice under all that starch. She eyed the tiny dangling cross at his ear, the chain of a heavy amulet peaking out from under his collar.  They’d have to take him down fast and quiet and hope that amulet wasn’t death-triggered. Er, re-death? Second death? What did you call it when a vampire finally stopped functioning as ‘alive’?

Not that Brea had anything against vampires–this one had just poked his toe across the wrong line and gotten slated for rebuke. Unfortunately for him, ‘rebuke’ didn’t require him to be alive, (er, undead? Functional on his second life.), it merely required him to be present. Necromancers were handy that way. From the cut of his cloth and the amulet, Brea was guessing he was well aware of his situation. She nudged Mallory under the table.

“Mal,” she said softly, watching the vampire from under her lashes while sipping at her foamaccino again. She succeeded in not having her eye poked out by the blue monster in her cup, but only barely. Fucking magic beans.

Mallory remained oblivious to all of this, sedately blowing away the tiny foam hands reaching for her nostrils before sipping casually at her drink. She turned the page, eyes laser focused.

The vampire made it to the front of the line, retrieved a coffee, (“No, I do not want any fucking foam on mine, you stupid human twat! Double pump of blood, black.”), and was just trying to slap a lid on it, when the entire contents of the cinnamon jar on the condiments counter somehow up-ended themselves all over his shirt-front. (“Da fuck?!”)

Brea casually twitched her fingers again and his cup squirted out of his hands, adding a rather artistic splash of hot liquid down the front of his designer slacks. Brea could never understand how vampires managed to wear absolutely everything designer when blood stains were a constant threat.

Swifter than any of the human staff, Brea was at his side with a towel murmuring helpful words, (“Oh I’m so sorry! What a terrible thing to happen to such beautiful pants! I hate it when things like that happen to me–Can I buy you another coffee?”), and generally patting in the general area of his crotch. To any casual observers, it looked like she was a flunky feeling up a potential new Master, when in reality she was expertly searching him for weapons. He was surprisingly well endowed, despite hot-liquid pain and shrinkage, and Brea hastily attempted to avoid actually jostling his Johnson. No need for him to get too interested in her.

The vampire in question snarled, dabbed ineffectively at his now ruined outfit, glared down at Brea and declared gallantly, “Fuck off, feeding tube, I’m not interested!”

Brea pressed forward, batted her eyes, stared earnestly up at him and murmured, “Oh but I am,” and promptly handcuffed him.

“By the way, you’re under arrest. The Re-Death Penalty is in effect. You can come with me quietly, or I can stake you and drag your pansy ass out of here. Your choice.”

“Da fuck?!” the vampire replied intelligently, holding up his wrists to stare in uncomprehending disgust at the silver bracelets now decorating his pallid forearms. Seriously nonplussed at his situation, he growled deep in his throat, and grabbed Brea roughly by the front of her shirt.

I don’t think so,” he snarled into her face.

Completely calm, Brea kneed him in the nuts, then elbowed him in the face with a swift upward jab. She neatly hooked his ankle, sending him into an ungainly crumple on the floor. Hand on hip, she looked down at him, eyebrows raised.

“Now look,” she said. “If I have to drag you out of here as a permanent corpse I will, but I just got my nails done, and I’d really prefer it if you’d walk out on your own all polite-like. Bodies are heavy.”

She nudged him with her toe.

“What’s it to be, then?”

The vampire coughed, probably choking on the eddies of cinnamon still drifting in the air. He held up his hands in surrender, after first unclenching them from his privates.

“You’re right, you’re right. Ok, that was dumb, I’m a moron. I’ll go with you quietly. But first, do you think you could do me a favor?”

Brea curled her lip at him. He slitted his eyes up at her.

“It’s a small thing, really, just hold this.”

A knife appeared from thin air and he struck swift as a snake towards her. His legs rolled up, attempting to sweep her off balance. Equally as swift, Brea jumped straight up, avoiding knife and leg sweep, before landing in the now empty space where a vampire used to be. Super-human speed and momentum propelling him into a crouch, the unfortunate fanger was still no match for Brea. Her foot found his face in a jarring crunch.

“Bluuhh, oov OT oo be IDDING meeee!” wailed a now broken-nosed bloodsucker. He looked positively primordial with rivulets of deep scarlet flowing over his chin. Brea felt sorry for his shirt. Versace should just not be treated that way.

Darting a glance around the room, Brea noted the few remaining bystanders. The staff had been quick to waive them away from the violence, grab as much of the free standing displays as they could carry, and retreat behind the counter. She sniffed in disdain–she wouldn’t have gotten so much as a drop of sweat on their precious beans.

“Fucking company shares, my ass,” she muttered, watching them watch her with wide eyes. She flicked her wrist, unsheathing a two foot long beauty of a stake. Rowan wood etched with silver runes, magic forged, harder than steel, and fucking terrifying when you saw it bearing down on you. She called it “Regards”. Mallory called it “Fangy McGee”. There was just no winning sometimes.

Striding forward, Brea thrust her Regards with expert skill through the enchanted layers of the vampire’s clothing, through the ribcage, and out the other side. She heard the enchantments on his clothing fizzle against her stake. He’d had no chance, really. She tried to feel bad about it as she removed her Regards, watching his body crumple to the floor for the second time that day.

“Well shit.” One of her nails had chipped. Examining her manicure and wondering about the possibilities of enchanting nail polish, she had just turned around to retrieve Mallory when the body at her feet made an odd gurgling noise. She looked down.

“…aaooowwwuuuhhhh…” wheezed a very not-dead vampire. “…that hurt…”

“Well shit.”

Brea knelt, knee on the vampire’s chest, and thrust Regards through his chest a second time. He stopped twitching. Her mouth twitched, frowning. How had she missed the first time? She shook off her failure and stood.

A strange gurgling noise froze her in place. The vampire was laughing.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

He flipped her the bird. With both hands, still handcuffed.

Brea huffed, eyed Regards closely while checking the runes for wear. She glanced at the vampire. The holes in his chest were slowly closing. He really looked terrible, all blood splattered and covered in wasted coffee. His wheezing was easing, and his laughter was growing. He reached up and popped his broken nose back into place with a wince. He grinned, teeth covered in blood.

“Might want to run now, little witch,” he muttered, still slightly phlegmy.

“What, from you? I don’t think so. I’ve got zero problem beating the crap out of you all the way back to the office. It’ll be a good workout.”

He laughed again, choked on phlegm, rolled over to cough it out, still laughing.

“Not from me, corpse-poker! Not from me!” He slapped the floor in his merriment, cuffs clinging against the tile. He wheezed and laughed and choked and chortled, and Brea was thoroughly confused until he paused long enough to mutter, “Augh, not you too!” as a black stain seeped through his shirt about the height where an amulet might hang.

“I do not get paid enough for this shit!” he complained, rolling onto his back as a black cloud enveloped him, spreading rapidly into the air and thrusting up towards the ceiling. It condensed, a shadow within a shadow, and glowing red eyes made of flame appeared in the general vicinity of where a head should be. A mouth opened, also full of flame.

“Are you done yet, Miss Witch? I’d really like to clean up now if that’s oka—HECATE’S PANTIES!

A slightly rumpled and very put-upon MagicBRU Manager dropped the mop he’d been holding and dove back through the divider. A klaxon went off, a gate slammed down around the counter, and a very beleaguered manager started chain smoking as he stepped out the back entrance, phone already pressed to his ear, insurance company on speed dial. They better not cut his shares because of this.

A primordial shriek ripped through the cafe.

Brea felt the heat of the thing’s breath slap her in the face. It smelled like every bonfire she’d ever been to, only a thousand times more dangerous.

“Malloryyyyyyyyyyy!” she said, voice wavering only slightly in worry. She backed slowly, thrusting tables out of the way as she went.

The thing shrieked again.

“MALL – OR – Y!” Brea hollered.

“What?” muttered a pre-occupied Mallory, still nose-deep in her book. Laser-like focus wasn’t an exaggeration.

Brea did a few acrobatic maneuvers as the Thing swiped at her with giant claws made of smoke.


Mallory’s head snapped up, annoyed look on her face.

“Well where did you see them la–OH.”

She sighed. Always on the last page of a chapter!

Standing, Mallory waved her book out of existence with a flick of her fingers, jumped up onto her chair, and tapped her glasses. Color rippled in the frames, shimmering over her head and down her hair. (No glitter this time–she was getting better!) Pentagrams sprang up in her field of vision, highlighting the Soot Demon’s weak spots. Given that it was made of soot, there weren’t any, so the whole thing was targeted instead. She snorted.

Reaching behind her back, Mallory swept her hands forward, manifesting her own weapons– a pair of enormous silver guns etched in purple neon runes. The runes were for power, the neon was just for style. Plus it matched her hair. She did like to be coordinated. Brea might be the pointy-objects specialist, but when it came to blowing things up? That was Mallory’s specialty. She called this pair “Manners”.

“HEY UGLY!” she shouted, “I think you need some Manners!”

She pulled the trigger.

Magic bullets ripped themselves free from the barrels, scattering with machine-gun enthusiasm towards the target.

Brea flipped and scampered until she was standing next to Mallory.

“Tell me again why my plan to abduct the douche in a dark alley was a bad plan??” Mallory asked, voice raised to be heard over the bullets and screaming creature.

“We’re just following orders, Mal!” Brea complained.

“Yeah, yeah, and cheese is made on the moon.”

The soot demon gave an almighty roar and exploded into a huge cloud that filled the front half of the coffee shop. It grew dense, and Mallory’s glasses showed her the windows cracking as the demon puffed up even more. She paused in her firing.

“Well that’s not good,” she said, swinging her guns together, merging them into a two-handed grenade launcher.

“Are you sure?!” Brea asked, eyes wide. The last time Mallory had used The Compensator, they’d lost hunting privileges for a month.

“Keep the way clear, B,” Mallory said, slowly walking backwards, edging towards the shop counter. She rapidly drew runes on the Compensator’s barrel, firing a distracting lights show at the demon, keeping it distracted while they retreated. They reached the counter. The demon kept chasing sparks, shrieking and snarling and boiling in and out of itself.

“B, my coffee’s cold. I need a new one.”

Brea looked at Mallory.

“Say whatnow?”

“I need a foamaccino! STAT!”

“You’re joking, right?”


Brea frantically waved at the coffee counter, slapping the spell away from the security gate. She jiggered it up and slipped under.

“Freaking Hecatities!” she muttered, flopping ungracefully off the other side. She picked herself up with a huff and ran to the milk foamer.

“You DO have a plan, right?” she hollered over her shoulder, rapidly coaxing milk to heat up and foam while she slapped the beans into place for the drip.

“Uh, mostly?” Mallory shouted back, grimacing as the front windows finally gave way and exploded into the street. She could hear people screaming, and cars honked as commotion ensued. The Soot Demon gave a low growl and turned towards the windows.

“Oh no, you do NOT!” Mallory muttered, and her next grenade launched a magical net. She’d rigged it with a wind rune so that all the strands produced a stream of air blowing inwards. The soot demon roared, finding his progress towards dinner more than a little impeded. Suctioned and stuck, (stucktioned?), it screamed in frustration, tendrils pushing at the limits of the net.

Mallory planted her feet, lines of power running down her boots to dig into the floor. She grabbed the end of the net in a glowing fistful. The Compensator was slung over her shoulder, momentarily relieved of duty.

“Any time, B!”

Brea grabbed the finished drink, leaping up onto the counter. She stamped her foot and shouted, “UP!”. The security gate slammed back into the ceiling, tiny chunks of plaster raining down on Brea’s head. Ignoring her dust bath, she hopped down next to Mallory.

“Now what?” she asked, holding an exceedingly frothy cup.

Mallory held out her hand for the cup. She took a nice long sip. She sighed.

“Good latte,” she muttered. Brea watched her with narrowed eyes, arms crossed.

The foam at the top of the cup turned an alarming, lurid shade of acid green and snapped sharp, foamy teeth in the direction of Mallory’s face. Mallory smiled. She looked at Brea.

“Increase Water Spell.”


“Cast it.”

She dropped the net and threw the foam monster in a neat arc, watching it grow big-Big-BIGGER as Brea hastily sized it up with her spell. The soot demon spread itself under the on-coming deluge. The foam monster bubbled its pleasure at being freed from its tiny confines and dove enthusiastically at the soot demon. The two amorphous masses shrieked, bubbled, and rolled until eventually they both collapsed in a hissing puddle on the floor.

Mallory made a strange hissing noise, drawing her thumb across her throat to kill the magic. The foam monster died instantly. All movement on the floor stopped. Both witches craned forward, searching for any sign of the soot demon. A tiny squeak, followed by an even tinier sneeze drew their attention to the shadows under a fallen table.

“Awwww, there he is!” Mallory cooed enthusiastically. “Brea! Look how cute he is! I’m gonna–”


“–keep him!” She lean forward and gently coerced the tiny puffball of soot out from under the table. “C’mere little guy! C’mere! Oh my gawwwwd! You are so CUTE! Hey now, no biting, that’s not polite! Here, chew on this..” Fingers waggled and the promised sparking chew toy appeared. She cupped the soot ball, waggling the chew toy between its teeth, looking at Brea with big, big eyes.

“Pleeeaaaasssseeeeee, Brea??!”

Brea sighed.

“FINE. He can stay in the kitchen stove.”

“YES!” Mallory fist pumped the air enthusiastically. “I think I’m gonna call him Calcifer!”

Brea rolled her eyes. She looked around at the demolished cafe guiltily. Mallory caught her glance.

“Oh come on, Brea! They have insurance.

Brea looked at Mallory indignantly and sniffed. Mallory tucked her new pet close and sighed.


She unhooked The Compensator and held it out to Brea. A few traced runes and one large explosion later and the girls stood outside watching the cafe put itself back together.

“Did you have to make the explosion so loud, Mal?”

“Obviously, B. Obviously. Playing by the rules is only worth it for the explosions.”

Brea sighed.

“Can we go to the library now?” Mallory asked, petting the fuzzy head of her now sleeping soot demon.

“No, the blood-sucker got away.”

Mallory sighed.

“And also, I really did lose my reading glasses…” Brea looked sheepish.

“Oh B, they’re right here,” Mallory tapped Brea’s head, reading glasses manifesting and slipping down onto Brea’s nose.

“Hecate’s Panties!” Brea exploded. “Have they been there the whole time?!”

“Well, yeah since I spelled them so you wouldn’t lose them again.”

“Oh.” Brea slowly broke into a grin. “Thanks, Mal.”

“Well duh. Now let’s go hunt down this douche-feratu.”

“Nice. Very inspired.”

“Yes, I thought so.”

The banter continued as the witches sauntered down the sidewalk, Mallory attempting to hold her soot demon in one hand and pull her book out with the other, Brea guiding her around people and objects and also wishing she’d thought to bring a book. They left no trace of their adventure, except for the sound of emergency sirens wailing behind them.


A few blocks over, in a dark alley, a tired, dirty, and very battered vampire coaxed a new victim into the shadows. He wore an old amulet, faceted and beautiful. A crack ran across one of the facets. The other 6 glowed slightly.

“Wotsis that?” slurred a heavily glamoured bus boy he’d snatched from behind a garbage bin.

“The stuff of legends,” murmured the vampire. He smoothed the collar away from the boy’s neck. “Now shut up and give me your soul.”

“Ok,” sighed the boy, smiling dreamily. “Can I haz a kiss first?”

The vampire smiled.







1-  MagicBRU or Magic Beans R-Us: The largest supplier of caffeinated beverages worldwide, or so they claimed. They did clear a tidy profit of well over 8.3 million annually, but since a good portion of that profit was quietly ignored by various governments, (actual magic bean smuggling did WONDERS for agricultural subsidies), no one was really sure how much was coffee related. Regardless, they made one hell of a cappuccino.

2- Coffee Cauldron, MagicBRU’s largest rival in the bean biz, briefly went by the name “Black Cauldron”, but swiftly changed the name after a disastrous incident involving frogs and kidnapped wizards. They also stopped making the coffee in actual cauldrons. The Metropolitan Society for Antiquated Witchcraft was, however, delighted by the sudden donation of several thousand cauldrons of note. They named the new display wing “Macbeth’s Kitchen”.

3- Oh Byron–While many lauded him for his romanticism and works of incredible poetry, to Mary he remained merely a stain on her glorious career of monster-making. She gave him beauty, intelligence, philosophy; Offered him the world and herself, and he threw it all away for poetry. To say she was disappointed was putting it lightly. Some theories even believe he was the impetus behind her desire to destroy all of mankind. Of course, we must note here that when Mary Shelley used the word “mankind” she literally meant all of men. Her intention was to remake the world in the image of women, and she very nearly did. One has to wonder what the world would be like if she and Elsa had succeeded in their goals.



In-game dialogue (paraphrased):

Finch grapples with [bad guy] at the railing of the airship. He manages to get off a shot, just as they are both forced over the edge. Finch and [bad guy] tumble over the edge of the airship. You hear a splash just before fading into unconsciousness.


My outraged cry was heard by no one, and echoed uselessly against the white walls of my apartment. My eyes kept searching the game page for a back button, wanting desperately to change that last mouse click, and try to save my in-game hubby. Falling off the side of an airship was such an undignified way to go, and I was suddenly embarrassed that I’d completely missed every single Sherlock Holmes reference earlier in the game, else I might have avoided this disaster. I guess that’s what I get for being only 82% perceptive.


( I’d claim those “P”s stood for “Pragmatic” and “Perceptive”, but really I just mucked up entering my name, and wound up with 2 middle initials. )

 What was I playing, you ask?

That would be A Study in Steampunk: Choice by Gaslight. A “277,000 word epic interactive mystery novel”. Or, as I was starting to think of it in my head, the “WHERE IS THE BACK BUTTON?!” game. The player (me) would be presented with a scenario, given choices as to how to react to said scenario, and then the game would move the story forward based upon the player’s choice. Sounds simple enough, and follows the same basic premise as most cut scenes and dialogue interactions from other video games—or so you think.

Let me give you an example of this game’s diabolical design:


Most games would let you choose an option, see what happens, and if you didn’t like it, you could simply retry that section of the game in an effort to beat the bad guy. But *this* game, oooh no. *This* game makes you reap the consequences of your actions—no do-overs, no retries, unless you want to completely restart the game with a new character…Which is how I found myself, 3 chapters in, accidentally gay-married to my work-partner flat-mate.

I should probably explain that the game starts you out as a male character, and then helpfully provides opportunities for romancing “men, women, both, or neither!”, as you see fit. Granted, out of the 3+ options I’d had for romance so far, I actually like my flat-mate best out of all of them, and would have pursued him whether I been made a male or female character. So I suppose it wasn’t all that bad when my nervous mouse-tapping habit got the better of me, and decided to make my in-game life a bit more interesting by selecting “yes” to his wedding proposal.

But I still really should have seen the airship death coming.

Poor bloke.

The game author had laid everything out so nicely for me, I really had no excuse:

  • I was a doctor, a crack-shot marksman, and an army vet.
  • My work-partner and flat-mate, Finch, was *extremely perceptive*, to the point of knowing your vocation from the callouses on your fingertips.
  • The super-secret bad guy we were chasing was named “The Professor”.
  • At one point, the game offered me the chance to romance a sweet, practical, and brave girl who happened to be the daughter of an army captain.
  • We were fighting a boss-battle in a high-up locale.

I’m sure there were plenty of other, smaller, references that I’ve completely glossed over.

But what I really want to know is why this diabolical mental-torture-device-of-a-game decided to get my hopes up for having a truly wonderful, elicit, in-game romance, and then KILLED MY LOVER barely half a chapter later!

It burns my biscuits!

I mean, after saving his ass like 4 times in the game, (including one really daring rescue where I killed 4 men, tied up a 5th, and then dumped us both in the river before dragging his mostly unconscious ass to the hospital), I just really hope that Sherlock reference better hold true, and he better damn well come back from the dead, because I put in a lot of effort into accidentally romancing that dude!

Ranting aside, I’m having a brilliant time. Aside from wanting to reincarnate my elicit lover, I would wish for 2 things added to the game:

  • A chapter map, so you can go back and replay any chapter after you’ve beaten it the first time.
  • The ability to make multiple characters so that you can play through with whichever moral-standard you feel like using that day. (I mean really, there are just some days when you *need* to be chaotic evil!)

I suppose that I should probably mention that I’m the sort of person who never plays video games. (Unless you count the few times in a group setting where we took bets on how quickly I could die, or watched as I managed to massacre my own teammates.)(The record, fyi, for fastest death is under 6 seconds—I dropped and stepped on my own grenade, and not on purpose.) (Seriously, there are reasons I don’t play video games.) So the fact that I’m playing this game at all means that it has to be pretty good. And that’s likely not at all influenced by my spending most of my pocket change on books. No, that definitely has nothing at all to do with my interest in a literary-styled non-animated choices-only propelled game. Nothing at all.

Now that I’ve figured out the whole Sherlock thing, I guarantee the game will change completely until once again, someone I love dangles on the edge of a precipice, (or in the clawed hands of a giant mech), and too late I will realize that it’s been hinting at this outcome for the last 4 chapters, but I’m only 82% perceptive and only 35% quick, and OOPS, they’re dead!


But darnit, I’m so ready for this shit. Bring it!

I will see your challenge, “Choice by Gaslight”, and raise you one slightly-inept-yet-occasionally-lucky accidental-mouse-clicking white-girl-in-control round of play!

Stay tuned for Holly Plays a Video Game, Part 2: Will I Ever Fall In Love Again?!


You can find another review of “A Study in Steampunk” HERE

Game is available on STEAM for between $2.99 – $3.99

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Ladies, Gentledudes, and Those Who Have Yet to Make Up Their Minds!

It has perforce been required of me to create a spectacle involving music and the language of Doge.

Therefore, I am most please-ed to announce the creation of SUCHMUSICWOW, an all Doge, all the time, music review blog site.

Please to check it out, and potentially tweet, comment, share, and otherwise spread it like a virus.



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BOOK REVIEW: “The Magicians” by Lev Grossman


I have two words: Unmitigated Disaster.


In fact, to call it that might almost be an understatement. I will never understand how some books wind up on the bestseller lists.

Let me be clear: If you like self-hating characters thrust into an urban fantasy with no satisfying resolution and stolen plot ideas, then this is *totally* the book for you. If that’s not your thing, then I would steer clear of Grossman’s novel.

It’s entirely possible that the second and third books in the series will somewhat redeem the first, but since I cannot get over how much I disliked The Magicians, I will never read them. Darn.

Now, I don’t dislike this book because it’s a dark urban fantasy where people die and never achieve their dreams. Oh, no. I like a grimdark novel as much as the next GOT fan—probably more so. Seriously: add sex, and murder, and as much mayhem as you want. I don’t care if the princess gets rescued, or the kingdom gets saved, or if every hero in the bunch dies. I just want *something* to happen. Potentially something *interesting*. And I want it to happen in an *interesting* and *entertaining* fashion. That’s one of the reasons why I read books—to be entertained. Even if it’s dark, serious entertainment.

Instead, I was bored.


And it wasn’t even an accounting manual!

merida-headdesk1I was bored at 30 pages in, and I was still bored at 150 pages. But I kept reading because the little voice in the back of my head kept going “It has to get better…”

Next time, I’ll listen to the little voice.


wrongAccording to Wikipedia, a review by The A.V. Club, (a non-satirical offshoot of The Onion), stated the theme of the book to be “a sad dream of what it means to want something badly and never fully reach it”. (Quoted here.) So I suppose looking at that, then this book definitely lives up to its ideals. I should applaud Grossman—I wanted something to happen, and something never did, which essentially turned me into one of his always-complaining characters.

But only briefly, because after this review, I will be done thinking about The Magicians, and will move on to something much more interesting…which Grossmans’ poor characters will never be able to do.



Let me also mention Grossman’s blatant thievery of C.S. Lewis’s Narnia.

3aa26ec9d96343d1fb218d2db43c757b27454faf910160ae4394eaa0bfe8a06dC.S. Lewis is a true magician of words, and it was really sad to see someone using a fan-fictionalized version of his creations in such an uncreative and (need I really say it?) boring way.

I’m honestly surprised Lev Grossman’s agents weren’t slapped with a million copyright infringement suits, but I suppose that’s today’s world: Anything can get published as a ‘new thing’, as long as you change a few names, draw a new map, and maybe introduce one new plot device.

Takes me right back to the days of Twilight and 50 Shades…

ecacaa9bec0642dfe7d936036914257a6c63c96aae1ccbe0ed772e62d47c52b4But setting aside the boringness and the truly uncreative use of Narnia’s lands, I think the thing that bothered me most about this book was that Grossman felt the need to wax-on for over 300 pages about how, when you have the ability to accomplish anything, you have nothing left to accomplish. I’m wondering where the rationality is in that theory, and how that wound up being the theoretical consensus of every magician in Grossman’s entire universe.

These kids had no guide, no common sense, and no desire to find either.

They were given a truly sad and pathetic existence, wasted the very intellect their author inscribed them with, and left every reader depressed about it.



Shit, I’d rather read Selfish by Kim K than have to re-read Grossman’s horror story. And I don’t even like plastic surgery novels. (har har)

And so maybe I’m being a bit dramatic. But you know what?

I’m not boring!


For book suggestions and a ridiculously long reading list, check me out on Goodreads HERE.

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sense8_headerFinally, a sci-fi show that’s not afraid of tackling sex and gender issues! With a positive representation of the LGBT community, boundary pushing mental orgies, and openly gay main characters (including a lovely trans mtf lady), it makes the Wachowskis’ strange obsession with filming birthing mothers almost forgivable. (Seriously, who wants to look at a stretched, bloody vagina with a baby’s mushy head poking through it?)

Speaking of the Wachowskis, Sense8 is the clear next step on the podium of their work. It combines Cloud Atlas’ twisted and confusing plot devices with V for Vendetta’s startling alacrity to depict government conspiracies around every corner. Add a dash of Matrix-like multiple realities, and you’ve got an idea of what you’ll see in Season 1. Now, if we can ignore Straczynski’s prolific character exposition, the show is actually pretty good. In my opinion, it spends a little too much time defining the individual stories of each character. I mean, when you have upwards of ten main characters, it does take time to develop their backstories, but usually simpler is better when you already have a plot involving 8 psychically linked people trying to avoid a government conspiracy.

Let’s take a quick look at our 8 mentally-intertwined (and slightly incestuous) siblings: I really enjoyed the variety of characters, and the high quantity of strong females. The quality of their relationships with one another makes me hopeful for humanity. Here is a group of basically decent people, (Wolfgang doesn’t turn trigger happy until close to the end of the season), who stick up for each other regardless of race, gender, religion, or sexual orientation. You can’t ask for a better overall message than that!



SUN BAK: She is definitely my favorite! She is one sexy, smart, badass chica! Those Muay-Thai moves of hers would fit right in in any Van Damme or Jackie Chan flick. I loved every serious-faced second of on-screen Sun time.


“I take allllll that emotion, and I push it down into my fists.”

CAPHEUS: I love Capheus’ attitude and respect for family. His sunny disposition and sensible optimism made me smile every time he came onscreen. And the Van Damme Van—I mean, who couldn’t love that??

“Van Damme always comes back!”

NOMI: I *love* the fact that Sense8’s character roster included a badass trans woman. This show took a brave step in the direction of positive LGBT community portrayals. Using Nomi’s character to illuminate and target some serious discrimination issues against the LGBT community was a pleasing change in the attitude of major network PR. I suppose we really shouldn’t be surprised at this exceptionally modern viewpoint, given the proclivities of one Lana Wachowski. (Previously, the Wachowskis used to be known as the Wachowski Brothers, until “Larry” underwent the change to “Lana”.) Still, it was nice to see.

“The real violence, the violence I realized was unforgivable, is the violence we do to ourselves when we’re too afraid to be who we really are.”

WOLFGANG: Oh. My. Gawd. Excuse me while I fangirl out a moment. I’m fairly certain Max Riemelt is one of the sexiest men on television, and not just because he isn’t shy about showing off his pecker on screen. That scowly face of his is just so cute when he gets all serious and gangsta! Gotta love that sex-appeal factor. His interplay with Kala makes me so happy—“Oh god, you are a demon!”.

“He’s my brother. And not by something as accidental as blood. By something much stronger.

By choice.”

LITO: Speaking of sexy men….Between Lito and his boyfriend Hernando, I’m not sure who’s sexier. Add in Daniela’s ass, and holy cow! That’s one heck of a trio of hotsimama! But anyway, Lito’s character is kind of hilarious. I mean, Latino Soap Opera star? You can’t get more dramatically awesome than that. And Those Pants! I seriously cannot get over Those Pants…They’re so tight, it makes me wonder how he fits all his junk in there. If you watch closely enough, you can actually see that they make him walk funny. Epic.

“We will all be judged by the courage of our hearts.”

KALA: Tina Desai is such a beautiful girl! I loved watching her in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and I loved seeing her again in Sense8. Kala’s character is so sweet, and her clothes are GORGEOUS!!! One of her dresses has become the object of a future sewing project for me, because I just cannot get over how fabulous it is. But I think what I loved best about Kala was her sweet nature. She’s the Belle to Wolfgang’s Beast, and the gentle conscience of the siblings. I really enjoyed her monologue about science and faith being intermingled.

“My love for science doesn’t preclude my faith. It’s only that science is another language we use to talk to about the same miracles that faith talks about.”

“But one language makes sense, one doesn’t…”

“Sense? Like quantum physics? Like a particle that can be here, and not be? Or sense like gravity? A force no one knows why it exists. Only that, if it didn’t exist…if there wasn’t this mysterious attraction, this pull between objects…none of this would exist either.”

“Thank god for gravity.”


Next to Sun’s badassery, Kala’s intellectualism and gentleness makes her my other favorite character.

“Oh my god! You *are* a demon!”

WILL: Cute. Hoo-RA, Chicago Police! Buuuuuut, a little lack-luster in the character department. He basically seems to be there to bring the team together when Riley needs help. I’ll admit his handcuff picking skills are handy, but hey, anyone can learn that from a 5 minute youtube video, or a kink 101 class… His one redeeming moment is that interchange between himself and Lito in the last episode. (“Do I know you?” “We had sex.” “Uhhmmmm…” “It was special.” “Ah…”)

“But it’s such a nice car!”

RILEY: Oh, that poor, poor broken girl. Quel dramatique! Our little emo dj… Well, I think we can make a pretty good guess that she’ll be the one to give birth to the new sensate in future episodes. The mother motif that runs through her script is so strong, I’m surprised it didn’t slap me upside the head while I was watching the show. Despite that, I think she’s almost as inconsequential a character as Will. (Again, her biggest moment is in the season finale when she becomes the target of rescue.) I’ll be interested to see how her character develops through the next season, but I’m hoping they’ll give her a bit more personality, and maybe some backbone.



While I enjoyed the show, the only episode that truly wowed me was the season finale. I think I may have kept watching the series waiting for that moment when the team would come together and start using their powers effectively, with panache. It was gratifying to see it happen. Finally. After 12 episodes. Despite the drawn out and convoluted story development, I think that Sense8 does a fantastic job of bringing up important gender-related social issues in a positive light. Because of that, I give it a 8/10 rating. If I were just basing my rating on plot, character development, and script, it would be a 7-7.5/10. Still very good, but not the best show I’ve ever seen. There’s room for improvement in future seasons, and it definitely has potential for becoming a mind blowing series. I think the writer(s) just need to be careful about putting too much detail into the script. With 8+ main characters, simpler is better.

For another highly funny take on the show, here’s a link to UPROXX’s “Confessions of A Sense8 Viewer Who Has No Idea What Is Happening So Far”. It’s seriously funny, and points out the script prevarications and character confusion which lowered my score down to a 7-7.5. Enjoy!

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Attack of the Blocktopus

(Blocktopus: That’s “cock-blocking-octopus”. And by “cock” I mean “pen”. Obviously.)

octopus mechanicus~“Start a blog,” she said…

“It’ll be fun!” she said……to herself, without thinking it through.

Because oh my lordy! How many freaking blog topics there are to choose from! I mean sure, if someone says “Hey, write me a food blog”, or “Hey, do me a daily Tumblr on funny looking mammoths!”, then it’s ok because there’s something to focus on. But, give me free reign to write anything about anything? Dude, that’s just trouble in the making.

It’s like my brain explodes into this more-than-eight-legged ADHD squidling with an attention span shinier than a squirrel on crack. I wind up with the worst case of writer’s block–due to an overload of inspiration, rather than a lack of it–and the whole time I feel like I’ve got mental whiplash from the number of potential writing topics. Talk about your mental cases, eh?

And you’d think that making a grab bag of choices would be the simplest solution to the problem, right? Of course! But, no. Because the second I start to write a list of blog topics, the Blocktopus goes silent. Tentacled bastard.

This is the point where I revert to my old-school poetry days, and carry around a tiny notebook, into which gets scribbled any random, emo thing that pops into my head, Blocktopus or no, until I’ve got enough of a list to start with. It takes weeks, and the list is always terrible.

Lucky for me, I’m stubborn. And crafty. And eventually I will work through every one of my dumb starter list of topics until the ideas start flowing, and the Blocktopus realizes the ink cloud didn’t quite work the way it thought it would, and then you’ll see me sitting in front of my computer muttering things like “No, Ahab, I will not buy you a new spear gun! Go sit in your boat and be quiet!”

So for everyone out there suffering from their own version of Blocktopus Syndrome, keep on! You’ll know you’ve reached the “stubborn success” phase when you start yelling at mythical characters from books you’ve never actually read…

To everyone else? Enjoy the ride! It’s not every day you get inked by a mental, tentacled freak. ;D


Authorious Cephalopodus


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