Welcome back to Reading the Weird‚ in which we get girl cooties all over weird fiction‚ cosmic horror‚ and Lovecraftiana—from its historical roots through its most recent branches. This week‚ we continue Max Gladstone’s Last Exit with Chapters 23-24. The novel was first published in 2022. Spoilers ahead!   “You and me‚ we’re gonna ride the whirlwind all the way to Hell or Oz.” The first time Zelda followed Sal into the Medicine Wheel‚ she didn’t believe Sal’s contention that the place felt “completely normal.” Now Zelda understands. Though from inside the Wheel seems to stretch on forever—wouldn’t it be stranger not to see everything‚ not to be able to “greet every being face to face and name it in its own tongue”? Above her‚ the sky births stars‚ golden webs‚ three moons “full‚ new‚ gravid‚ and gone.” She’s larger here‚ unfolded. Her strides cross leagues‚ and she soon approaches the Wheel’s center and the fixed light of the northern Bear. Vertigo-sickened‚ she stares down “a pit four hundred and thirty light years deep” to a tri-star system. Another step plunges her into storm: a rage of wind‚ lightning and thunder‚ music and whale-shapes surging through the dark. Once she thought the storm came from outside‚ from the rot. Instead the storm lives here‚ as if “the weight of so much spin‚ of so many different worlds and might-have-beens‚ created this vortex.” Ten years before‚ a voice on the Wheel-wind asked “What do you seek?” Zelda answered‚ for “it to be okay.” The answer: “Child‚ it never is.” Still‚ she reached Sal and dragged her from the Wheel nearly frozen‚ arm shredded as if by a barbed-wire hand. Ten years later she turns her spin against the storm of “grief‚ hunger‚ blame‚” and her skin is too scar-armored for the storm to defeat her. Show me the way‚ she demands‚ and—the storm stops‚ so abruptly that she falls. A hand reaches toward her—Sal sits in the eye of the storm‚ not the sky-tall fire-and-shadow Sal but “Sal‚ before she was lost. Sal‚ before Zelda failed.” Zelda struggles to figure out how this can be and how to say something that won’t mess things up. Sal speaks Zelda’s name‚ and they simply embrace. Everything Zelda’s reading about time travel tells her it’s dangerous to answer Sal’s: “How long?” She answers anyway. “Am I…” Sal asks. Is she dead? No‚ Zelda says‚ as she’s always insisted. Zelda got scared‚ Sal says. But everyone gets scared‚ including the Sal Zelda thought so fearless. Zelda’s impulse now is to tell Sal to leave and never think of her again. Instead she tells Sal that she never stopped loving her. Sal replies that she loves Zelda. They’re in this together‚ and Sal won’t let go if Zelda doesn’t. It’s not our choice‚ Zelda wants to say. Out there is a great hungry darkness‚ and love won’t “blunt its teeth.” “I’m scared right now‚” Sal says. And why not‚ with the eye of the storm closing in. Zelda clings to Sal‚ silently begging the moment to be forever‚ for them not to have to face what comes next‚ ten years back. Don’t let Zelda fail‚ don’t let Sal change‚ let them stay together‚ holding each other. *** Ramon wakes to a storm that shakes the Challenger. Zelda should have warned him it was coming‚ but she always meant to enter the Wheel alone‚ didn’t she? The Challenger responds I told you so. Ramon can’t trust anyone out here‚ it insists‚ and he’d rather have his cozy life back home than the truth. Zelda knows he’s not fit to follow her. Does he think he can help her now‚ struggling in the tempest inside the Wheel? No‚ says the Challenger: “she wins or dies. That’s America.” Nevertheless‚ he struggles into the Wheel and lets his knack lead him one step at a time to Zelda. He had faith once in his power to fix things. He had faith Zelda would always know what to do. Now he believes if there’s a cosmic design‚ only a “vast and utterly alien consciousness” could apprehend it. That said‚ there’s some gravity to it all that led them together by the intent of will‚ care‚ love. He finds Zelda and carries her out along a stone-delineated spoke. Emerging from the Wheel‚ he steps into dawnlight. The sky’s clear‚ the Challenger half-covered in drifted sand. Three riders approach on dead horses: two women and‚ unmistakable‚ “the bulk of Ish.” *** Ten years before‚ after Zelda pulled Sal from the Medicine Wheel‚ they huddled in one sleeping bag‚ Zelda desperate to warm her lover. Sal was like ice‚ but even asleep she smiled‚ happy. Zelda lay awake‚ wondering if their capital-Q Quest would ever lead to an end: the treasure‚ the grail. The crossroads was still far away‚ if it existed at all outside their needs and desires. The night silence was broken by the jingling of silver bells‚ too melodious to belong in the rotting alts. Zelda looked toward their ashed-over campfire where the air twisted as if someone was hitching in. What appeared was a woman in white on a white horse. The woman was about Zelda’s age‚ and she fixed on Zelda a wise‚ gentle smile. “Do not be afraid‚” she said. “Long have I sought you‚ and we have much to do.” This Week’s Metrics Fighting the Cowboy: Continued creation of Terra Preta in the Amazon. If you don’t know about Terra Preta‚ you’re one of today’s lucky 10‚000! Libronomicon: Is there advice to the reader in Zelda’s wish to pause time with Sal alive “like a sentence is when you close the book and put it down and never read the next”? Weirdbuilding: Zelda may be genre-savvy about time travel‚ but that doesn’t make her behave any differently when talking to Younger Sal. Madness Takes Its Toll: Zelda has faced the cracks in the world before‚ and “the madness there.” So she’s very sure she can make her way through the storm within the wheel‚ and make it “bow to her.” I’m not sure that’s how any of this works.   Anne’s Commentary In Chapter 23‚ Ramon confronts home truths about the human intellect’s limitations in grasping the core nature of the cosmos‚ its “logic or justice”: If there was a design to it all‚ a way the pieces fit‚ the consciousness that could apprehend it would look vast and utterly alien to his own‚ all wrong damn angles and higher dimensions‚ the kind of math professors said that even geniuses would understand for at most fifteen minutes in their whole career‚ and in those fifteen minutes the question was‚ how fast can you type. I tried to type fast enough to record my insights from our first trip inside the Medicine Wheel‚ which epiphanies lasted for roughly five microseconds—I’m no higher (or even lower) mathematician. Nor am I a vast wrong-angled consciousness‚ fun though that might be. But since I did type down my impressions‚ I include them below. Is the Wheel singular but omnipresent across all worlds by some trick of the altiverse‚ or is it plural‚ each world/alt having its own Wheel? Or is the Wheel neither singular nor plural but both? Say there’s One Wheel to Rule Them All‚ if ruling is what the Wheel even does. We could think of an omnipresent Wheel as having a site-specific iteration in each alt. I first visualized an infinitely expansive Sphere. Its interior holds the One True Reality (OTR). On its surface‚ percolated from the OTR‚ are an infinite number of bubbles or buds‚ each a discrete world/alt/possibility. All buds remain connected to the Sphere and communicate with the OTR interior. Or to stick with the Wheel metaphor. Picture an infinitely large wagon wheel‚ with an infinite number of spokes radiating from the central hub to the outer rim. The hub would represent the One True Reality‚ the rim (like the surface of the Sphere) an interface with the Not-Cosmos (see below.) The spokes‚ then‚ are analogous to the Sphere buds‚ site-specific iterations of the OTR‚ one per world/alt/possibility. All the spokes connect to and communicate with the OTR hub. Beyond the surface of the Sphere or the rim of the Wheel is the Not-Cosmos‚ call it a second OTR. This would be the Outside‚ the Realm of Rot—maybe the home of that utterly alien consciousness Ramon supposes capable of apprehending the design of it all. As it’s in contact with Sphere-Skin and Wheel-Rim‚ the Outside can infect their bud/spoke iterations; via these iterations‚ the Outside could conceivably infect the Sphere-Interior and Wheel-Hub. Which would suck. Or would it? We’re not sure the Outside is Totally Evil. In the end‚ Sal experienced it as ecstatic revelation…. Maybe I didn’t type fast enough after all‚ because I bogged down in confuddlement at this point.  What are Zelda’s impressions of the internal anatomy of the Wheel? First‚ that its interior is as big as the world. Second‚ that her vision expands not only to encompass its expanse but to see every being in it. Third‚ that she herself expands as if bursting free from a larval shell. It’s a euphoric experience until she nears the center of the Wheel. There a “pit” descends light years to a triple-star system—the actual location of the alt where she and Ramon are camped‚ or of the alt she needs to find? Her sense of normality becomes a crushing sense of alienation‚ and she plunges into storm. She used to think the storm came from outside the Wheel. Now she realizes the storm “lives” in the Wheel‚ a vortex manifested from all the grief and spent spin of ruined worlds. With the road-scars accumulated over ten years‚ Zelda’s sufficiently armored to fight through the storm to the very center of the Wheel. The Wheel‚ she’s believed‚ is the same in every alt‚ every point of time. This trip in‚ she leaps to a new comprehension of the Wheel as infinitely layered. Other worlds exist within the storm-vortex‚ but they’re “written” in languages she doesn’t know‚ scribbles without meaning. The language that she can read‚ the heart of Zelda’s Wheel‚ is Sal—unchanged‚ unlost‚ unfailed. It’s as if the Wheel‚ having asked what Zelda seeks‚ provides it. Zelda wants it to be okay‚ and “okay” for her is Sal‚ dauntless. Chapter 23 ends in story present. Chapter 24 opens in story past: Having rescued Sal from the Wheel‚ Zelda is clueless about their next step forward‚ unsure the crossroads even exist. It’s time for the cavalry to gallop in‚ right? No‚ nothing so noisily dramatic. Scratch the bugles; ethereal silver bells will do. Scratch the troop of lathered horses; a single horse‚ immaculately white‚ will do‚ ridden by a very Galadriel of a white-clad woman‚ young but ages-wise‚ immune to all earthly stainage. She even speaks in high-fantasy fashion‚ eschewing “I’ve been looking for you guys forever” to “Long have I sought you.” The princess‚ I presume! It looks like the White-Hat Cowboy has a counter in the White Lady of Elsinore‚ on a White Palfrey to boot! It remains only for those Whales cruising the Wheel-Storm to be White‚ proper avatars of natural/supernatural Malice or at least Indifference. Yes.   Ruthanna’s Commentary The Wheel is present in every alt. The wheel is a gorgeous inversion of the eldritch: it’s everyday experience that feels uncanny when compared to the all-encompassing perceptions within. The wheel’s spokes point to north stars‚ personal or astronomical. There are a lot of things in this book that claim to represent the really real; only the Wheel makes a persuasive case. Which is ironic since it’s one of the few things that doesn’t take on anthropomorphic form to argue for itself. This is the first point at which it’s really struck me‚ for example‚ that the Challenger’s voice isn’t just Ramon’s internal monologue‚ but an actual entity in its own right—possibly the Cowboy. Or at least a near relation: what’s as American as guns‚ if not cars? Which puts a whole new light on the Challenger’s insistence that Only The Road Is Real. On this read‚ those claims are less Ramon’s own self-doubt and self-sabotage‚ and more the negging that keeps him in an abusive relationship with a genius machina. What happens‚ I wonder‚ when Ish’s firearm meets up with Ramon’s vehicle? I wonder a lot of things‚ in fact. Maybe it’s the inevitable result of spending a chapter in close proximity to the heart of the really real: it’s increasingly obvious how much I don’t know. For example: In a place where all times are one time‚ are temporal paradoxes actually a thing we need to worry about? If so‚ did we just get one? Why does Zelda insist Older Sal is being tortured‚ given that Older Sal seems pretty happy (if pointy) whenever we encounter her? Are we about to learn the deal with Elsinore? If the gang really did make up the Crossroads‚ does that mean they aren’t there? (If the U.S. really did make up the nightmare alts‚ does that mean you wake up after getting eaten by a cannibal zombie? I suspect no‚ on both counts.) If Zelda planned “so much to do” with the woman in white ten years ago‚ what happened after that? And if that woman’s the Princess‚ what’s she been up to this past decade? And et cetera. This is a master class in peeling away layers of assumption: from the reader‚ from the characters‚ from the genre(s). I know less than I thought I did at the beginning‚ but that’s the beginning of wisdom‚ right? No one ever says what the completion of wisdom involves. Probably more not-knowing‚ grumble. This is such a big part of what Zelda and Sal struggle with: both are afraid to admit to not-knowing‚ and both want desperately for the other to deserve her pedestal. There would be real potential for a mature relationship there‚ someday‚ if they hadn’t tumbled into the sort of adventure that makes pedestals plausible. And so here’s Sal‚ sitting at the heart of the Wheel‚ torn in a tug-of-war between Zelda and Zelda. And here’s Zelda‚ torn by desire for Sal-who-was and fear/desire/repulsion for Sal-who-is. An endless moebius strip of mutual tug-of-war‚ drawing the universe forward. Zelda feels a kinship with the Wheel‚ caught in a storm of grief. This seems both accurate and arrogant. The heart of reality is grieving for apocalyptic loss: not some nightmare-alt but the bone-foundation that the Cowboy seeks to deny and celebrate all at once. Survivors building in the ashes‚ making space amid those who did the burning‚ isn’t as cinematic as Mad Max stitchmouths—but it’s what every one of those nightmares is built to elide. Zelda doesn’t fully grasp it even walking the storm. Maybe none of them grasp it—or they wouldn’t be so anxious to pull each other back from the center. After all how else‚ other than turning a wheel‚ are a gang of adventurers likely to finally make a revolution?   Next week‚ Nadia Bulkin’s “Seven Minutes in Heaven” asks why one world survives while the next one over dies—a pressing question for any alt-rider. You can find it in Nick Mamatas’ Wonder and Glory Forever anthology. Ruthanna Emrys is the author of A Half-Built Garden and the Innsmouth Legacy series‚ including Winter Tide and Deep Roots. You can find some of her fiction‚ weird and otherwise‚ on Tor.com‚ most recently “The Word of Flesh and Soul.” Ruthanna is online on Twitter and Patreon and on Mastodon as r_emrys@wandering.shop‚ and offline in a mysterious manor house with her large‚ chaotic household—mostly mammalian—outside Washington DC. Anne M. Pillsworth’s short story “The Madonna of the Abattoir” appears on Tor.com. Her young adult Mythos novel‚ Summoned‚ is available from Tor Teen along with sequel Fathomless. She lives in Edgewood‚ a Victorian trolley car suburb of Providence‚ Rhode Island‚ uncomfortably near Joseph Curwen’s underground laboratory. The post Into This World We’re Thrown: Max Gladstone’s Last Exit (Part 12) appeared first on Reactor.

Godzilla Minus One has made over $50 million at the U.S. box office‚ no small feat for the Japanese monster movie from Toho International and the film’s director‚ writer‚ and VFX supervisor Takashi Yamazaki. Its success has led to a limited release of a black-and-white version of the film‚ cleverly called Godzilla Minus One/Minus Color‚ which will play in the U.S. for just one week. The movie’s success has much to do with it being perhaps one of the best kaiju movies ever made. Our own Leah Schnelbach said the film was so good they couldn’t believe it‚ adding that it’s a movie where “honest engagement with PTSD is balanced perfectly with some of the most terrifying kaiju attacks I’ve ever seen.” We can now see this film via a new lens (and you can see a snippet of this new lens in the teaser trailer above). According to Yamazaki‚ it was the original version’s success that paved the way for this black-and-white one. “I was very happy that the North American audience embraced Godzilla Minus One and gave us positive feedback such as ‘it was incredible!’ ‘it was scary!’ and ‘it made me cry!’ And now I am very pleased to be able to release a black-and-white version for North America as well‚” he said in a statement. “Godzilla Minus One/Minus Color will bring a new and visceral experience to audiences and I hope they will tremble with a new kind of terror!” Takashi also explained the process for making Minus Color. “Our colorist took the time and care to go through a very meticulous and complex process‚” he said. “The black-and-white images make Godzilla look very realistic and documentary-like‚ which leads to even more fear. Even though we have seen Godzilla Minus One many times‚ we felt that something completely different appeared here—and it’s very scary! So this is not only for those who liked Godzilla Minus One but also those who are seeing it for the first time—they should definitely see this black-and-white version. Especially the scene at the beginning where Godzilla appears in the night—it is so terrifying that it made my knees shake!” Godzilla Minus One/Minus Color will be in theaters for one week starting on January 26‚ 2024. The post Godzilla Minus One Black-And-White Version to Hit Theaters for One Week appeared first on Reactor.

Shesheshen has made a mistake fatal to all monsters: she’s fallen in love. We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Someone You Can Build a Nest In by John Wiswell‚ a creepy‚ charming monster-slaying fantasy romance publishing with DAW on April 2. Shesheshen has made a mistake fatal to all monsters: she’s fallen in love. Shesheshen is a shapeshifter‚ who happily resides as an amorphous lump at the bottom of a ruined manor. When her rest is interrupted by hunters intent on murdering her‚ she constructs a body from the remains of past meals: a metal chain for a backbone‚ borrowed bones for limbs‚ and a bear trap as an extra mouth. However‚ the hunters chase Shesheshen out of her home and off a cliff. Badly hurt‚ she’s found and nursed back to health by Homily‚ a warm-hearted human‚ who has mistaken Shesheshen as a fellow human. Homily is kind and nurturing and would make an excellent co-parent: an ideal place to lay Shesheshen’s eggs so their young could devour Homily from the inside out. But as they grow close‚ she realizes humans don’t think about love that way. Shesheshen hates keeping her identity secret from Homily‚ but just as she’s about to confess‚ Homily reveals why she’s in the area: she’s hunting a shapeshifting monster that supposedly cursed her family. Has Shesheshen seen it anywhere? Eating her girlfriend isn’t an option. Shesheshen didn’t curse anyone‚ but to give herself and Homily a chance at happiness‚ she has to figure out why Homily’s twisted family thinks she did. As the hunt for the monster becomes increasingly deadly‚ Shesheshen must unearth the truth quickly‚ or soon both of their lives will be at risk. And the bigger challenge remains: surviving her toxic in-laws long enough to learn to build a life with‚ rather than in‚ the love of her life.     Each year when Shesheshen hibernated‚ she dreamed of her childhood nest. Oh‚ the warmth of it. A warmth unlike anything in the adult world‚ soft and pliable heat keeping her and her siblings alive. In that warmth‚ they were fed raw life. Her father’s ribs‚ rich in marrow‚ cracking delicately in their mouths‚ and providing the first feast of their lives. His fat deposits were generous‚ and his entrails sheltered them from the cruel winter elements. If Shesheshen could have spent her entire life inside the nest of his remains‚ she would have. But all childhoods end. Hers ended when one of her sisters bit off Shesheshen’s left heel. Her siblings matured too quickly and hungered for more than their father. Shesheshen had to defend herself using jagged fragments of their father’s pelvis—his final and most gracious gift. The assault was a gift from her siblings‚ too‚ for she spent a week dining on their savory carcasses. Mourning wasn’t natural to her. She missed the succulence of her siblings for some time‚ and had the errant moment of nostalgia for sharing their body heat. Little of her prey was memorable. Of her mother‚ she only remembered her wide maw and the artificial steel fangs she’d worn. Still‚ Shesheshen would always miss the nest that her father had made out of himself. He had been a good parent‚ and a better setting. Buy the Book Someone You Can Build a Nest In Buy Book icon-close Someone You Can Build a Nest In Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget Nothing matched that nest. These ruins were little more than an unloved cave. Where weather had caved in the ceiling‚ ornery spruce trees grew and plugged up the gaps. Poison ivy and spiderwebs were the few decorations‚ overgrowing everything architects had once achieved. Deep beneath the ruins lay an underground hot spring that some aspiring human had connected to a bathing room. Nowadays the chamber was flooded with humid murk‚ gone brackish and amniotic from Shesheshen’s excretions. It was nearly opaque down in the waters. They were a refreshing place to hibernate through winter seasons. Yet noises had roused her prematurely. Her lair had unwelcome visitors again. They did not even wipe their shoes. She heard them before she saw them. The water of the hot spring stretched into so many cracks in the building’s foundations. Sounds from all ends of the property traveled through the network of water‚ alerting Shesheshen when something worse than a bear was coming. “Good gods‚ above and below. Rourke? Do you smell that?” “Yeah. Like death without the sulfur. This is no wyrm.” There were two visitors. Both human men‚ with two feet each‚ trampling over the weeds at her threshold. They paused in the foyer‚ snuffling and fighting with their gorges. Her foyer opened to many hallways‚ and one would lead them to Shesheshen. It was fortunate they didn’t know which one. She had to act before that changed. The one called Rourke said‚ “Malik‚ don’t pass out on me. Put your mask on.” “I’m fine‚” the one called Malik said. “The contract is for a wyrm. Could it be an eastern wyrm? From the Al-Jawi Empire?” “Those smell like burned bread. This just stinks of infection. I’m telling you‚ whatever is in this place isn’t a wyrm.” The one called Malik spat upon the floor. He didn’t clean up after himself. “Then what is it?” The one called Rourke muffled his coughing‚ probably behind a fist. “I’m not sure. But we need priests. At least three of them.” Shesheshen liked priests. They tasted righteous. “Did I hear you two mention priests?” Shesheshen had thought there were two. She was wrong—distracted and foggy-headed from having her hibernation interrupted. Whoever had yelled was a third voice‚ matched by the clank of heavy armor heading into her foyer. She listened carefully around his footfalls; the noise of his gear was cacophonous‚ but she believed this third man was the last. The one called Malik said‚ “Sire Wulfyre‚ from certain environmental details we have reason to believe we need religious assistance—” “For the last time‚” the third man interrupted‚ “my family is not employing the entire region. You said you were experts. Experts don’t need to hire bonus people. That’s the point of expertise. You want priests now? Do you two hunt monsters or just pray at them?” The one called Rourke said‚ “Sire Wulfyre‚ you’re not going to want to come in here yet. The odor is overpowering.” “Don’t tell me what to do. I’ve slain lords. The Wulfyres have killed off wyrms since—” His words dissolved into wet choking sounds. The metal plates of his armor clicked musically‚ as though he was bending over. This third man was definitely retching. She hoped he had a helmet on so it painted the inside. It would serve him right for trespassing. The name ‘Wulfyre’ was familiar‚ too—a family who claimed some ownership over her lair and occasionally sent killers after her. She’d never actually met a Wulfyre before. She was in no mood to meet one now. Rourke said‚ “We warned you about the odor.” Sire Wulfyre said‚ “Next time come outside and warn me. Give me one of your breathing masks.” Malik said‚ “This is sensitive equipment.” Sire Wulfyre said‚ “Equipment my family is paying for. Now find this wyrm and kill it before I go looking for monster hunters who actually hunt.” Listening to all their words was exhausting. They were so noisy for professional killers. Any self-respecting hunters would’ve used the element of surprise. Why‚ if Shesheshen had been cold-blooded enough to kill people as a source of income‚ she would’ve slipped in here while she slept and poisoned the pool with rosemary and lye so she’d die in her sleep. But Shesheshen was not a monster hunter. She was prey. Three armed visitors‚ and she was still weak from hibernation. From the weakness in her flesh‚ she ought not have roused for weeks. Tensing her soft tissues made them tremble as though threatening to liquefy. She didn’t have the strength for a great battle today. She had to do something‚ and soon. These murderers couldn’t be allowed to find her room and corner her. They’d do something awful like set the place on fire or collapse it atop her. She opened pockets in her flesh and took in her first real breath of the season. The air was stale and frigid‚ making it feel as though icicles were forming along her innards. She shuddered‚ using the air to puff out her body‚ and emerged from her pool. Water streamed from the many lumps of her body‚ gone loose from weeks of slumber. The water sloshed across the stone floor‚ until she wholly emerged. All that submersion in water left her flesh sodden. She took a step‚ and collapsed against the nearest wall. It was always tricky‚ getting the hang of being conscious again. Hopefully the monster hunters hadn’t heard that. It would be embarrassing to die in this state. Most bones that she kept inside herself during hibernation digested down to nothing. Her kind did not naturally have many solid internal structures‚ just as the hermit crabs on the north beaches naturally lacked shells. They had to scavenge. Her mother had worn prosthetic steel fangs to compensate when she hunted. That one memory of her mother taught Shesheshen the importance of keeping tools around. Along the floor of the bathing room lay iron rods and dense stones‚ which she’d left out last season. She rolled across them‚ letting them cut through external layers of her flesh with a sting that felt like waking up. Her innards squeezed those rods and stones‚ aligning them into a loose skeletal structure. A steel chain once used to bind her now made an excellent spinal column‚ flexible without breaking when catapults lobbed debris at her. Inside her chest‚ where humans put their lungs‚ she placed an open bear trap. It was her prized skeletal possession. It did not trap bears anymore. Instead‚ she kept it as a secret pair of jaws‚ for when people needed to be bitten. The harder ends of her makeshift bones tore apart her insides‚ and her poor tissues had to generate cartilage and tendons to adjust. It was an ache that left her shuddering against the wall. Was this how getting older felt? Wulfyre was louder now‚ audible through the limestone walls and down her hallway. He hollered‚ “I want the wyrm slain before Mother reaches the countryside. Do you know how upsetting it would be for her to encounter that thing? Of course you can’t. Now you say you don’t even know what it is.” Malik’s voice was softer. Shesheshen had to strain to hear him. “The creature has left many markings in the stone that could be claws or teeth‚ and we haven’t found any droppings yet. We’re still investigating.” “Father died fighting this thing‚ so I can promise you my family knows what it is. It’s a wyrm.” That was a familiar word. Shesheshen had been called a wyrm many times‚ often by startled hunters. She’d also heard drakes‚ harpies‚ qilins‚ kappas‚ and giraffes called wyrms. In her experience‚ it was an epithet for whatever thing greedy humans wanted dead and were too afraid to kill themselves. “Wyrm or not‚” Rourke said‚ “if you really want this thing dead‚ there is only one way to go about it. To purge it and harm it enough to slay it‚ you’re going to need to burn this lair to the ground.” “Oh‚ yes. I’ll just burn a stone building. Thank goodness I hired professional advice.” “It could be tucked anywhere in here. With enough oil‚ fire will find it.” “This place is my family’s ancestral home. Of course you don’t care about the priceless heirlooms being destroyed. But I hired you to bring me the wyrm’s blood. One of you two can read‚ can’t you? It’s in your contract. Mother wants its heart. We can’t exactly bring her a heart that’s burned up.” Malik said‚ “Perhaps we should talk strategy in private.” The Wulfyre kept ranting. “No strategies that include broiling it. If you want to get paid‚ you’re slitting it open over a vase. Mother was very clear: blood‚ not fire.” Well‚ this was interesting. The Wulfyre family was going to be disappointed when they learned she didn’t have blood. She didn’t have one of those pesky mammalian circulatory systems. Rourke said‚ “You’re not paying us enough to die in here.” “Go on‚ then. Breach the contract. Then you’ll be outlaws. Let’s see how much business you get with Mother and L’État Bon hunting you.” Malik whispered like a man who didn’t know how to whisper. “Rourke. Come on. We have rosemary oil. Locals swear it works.” Then there was the rustle of leather being pulled off of blades. Rourke said‚ “How much rosemary do we have?” That made Shesheshen grip the limestone bricks of her wall. These people had rosemary oil? She cursed out of multiple orifices. These monster hunters had done their research. One of the things she couldn’t tolerate was rosemary. Once a local girl had candied it and fooled her into eating it‚ and Shesheshen pissed bile for a week. As it was‚ her flesh struggled to keep her aloft on her makeshift bones. She needed to eat and gather strength. A fight would not go pleasantly. The last thing she wanted to wake up to was dying. Getting older had given her wiles. While the humans chatted about how best to kill her‚ she went through some growing pains and formed two relatively passable legs. She hobbled for a while‚ convincing herself that these knees and ankles mostly worked. On a rack beside the door was a set of wigs she’d made from the scalps that people hadn’t been using anymore. She selected a wig of sooty black hair for her disguise. Then she added a red riding hood; it was a leftover possession of a bygone occupant of the lair‚ from back when this building had been a castle or brothel or whatever humans enjoyed. As her innards churned to form an esophageal passage‚ she wrapped the red garment around herself‚ pulling the hood low to hide how little of a face she had. It was an old role. By shifting her body mass within the cloak‚ she gave the illusion of a lithe frame. The belled-out bottom of the cloak gave her plenty of room to hide most of her body mass. She had passed as a human on plenty of excursions when she was at full strength. Doing so depleted from hibernation was a gamble. Shesheshen pushed downward on the door as she opened it‚ so that the wooden door scraped along the stone landing. The sound stung her ears‚ and if it bothered her‚ it was likely to make these men soil themselves. Part of the plot was announcing herself in advance. She ran with wet feet slapping the floor‚ loud as she could be. They would know something was headed in their direction‚ and they would be ready for a nightmare. What they got was a girl’s harried face poking out from under a red riding hood‚ gloved hands flailing. She turned as frightened a face as she could on them—it was easy to make‚ since they made three frightened faces at her. All three of the murderers she’d eavesdropped upon stood in her foyer. Two of them wore practical leather gear and chain mail‚ with awkward half-masks over their mouths and noses. One man was much younger‚ shaped like a barrel that had grown arms‚ with several jeweled piercings in his ears. The other was a withered old root of a man with tufts of gray hair sticking out of every spot on his uniform‚ and eyes the green of pine needles. These two must have been Malik and Rourke‚ standing in front‚ each holding polearms with their blades pointed down the hall at her. They protected the third man. The third man hid behind them‚ wearing golden plate armor all the way up to his throat. Who wore gold for defense? It wasn’t holy‚ it was terribly heavy‚ and it was one of the softest metals Shesheshen had ever bitten. His chestplate was molded to have the likeness of nipples and rippling abdominal muscles. Parts of her salivated at the thought of crushing that chestplate. At his hip‚ he held some kind of crossbow at a bad angle‚ more likely to hit one of his underlings than her. Well‚ it was easy to pick out which one was Wulfyre. Shesheshen said‚ “Sires and masters. Thank the good gods‚ above and below‚ that you came. The wyrm could wake at any moment. Please‚ keep your voices quiet or we’ll all be skinned alive.” She kept her own voice soft‚ since a whisper was easier to fake than a full-throated human voice. It took quite some concentration to keep a vocal passage open and functional like this. It would be easier once she consumed one from a person. Perhaps one of the hunters would donate. The older hunter‚ Rourke‚ lowered his polearm. “What are you doing here‚ lass? The townsfolk said no one has approached this lair in years.” “Sire‚” Shesheshen said. “The wyrm has kept me in darkness so long that I have no memory of when it kidnapped me. It held me in one of the lower chambers of this place.” The younger hunter‚ Malik‚ made a holy sign in front of himself‚ then asked‚ “It held you?” Rourke said‚ “I thought anyone abducted by this thing would’ve been consumed before it went to hibernate.” Well‚ the old hunter was right about that. Shesheshen never left food in the cupboard before hibernation. If you did‚ the remains spoiled and attracted scavengers. Scavengers were a nuisance when you were trying to regenerate. She mimicked Malik’s holy sign with one hand‚ then resumed clutching her cloak. For some reason‚ clutching at clothing was a classic human sign of being pathetic. In her experience‚ clothing never ran away from you even when a monster literally ate your head. “Sires‚ the wyrm spares my life for my songs. It can only slumber when I sing to it the dark songs of distant lands. I know not where these verses come from‚ and they chill me to my core. Yet if it wakes‚ it will destroy the village with its ravenous appetite.” “Your squeaky voice?” said the man in gold‚ definitely Wulfyre. “I guess a hellbound monster would have shitty taste in music.” Both monster hunters shot glares at their employer. Yet those glares were gone before Wulfyre saw them. Hedged sincerity. A classic human trait. Malik asked‚ “What is your name‚ madame?” Shesheshen pondered. “Roislin.” It was a plausible Engmarese name. Someone she’d eaten had probably had it. Rourke said‚ “Roislin. My name is Eoghan Rourke‚ and this is my partner‚ Nasser Akkad Malik. Our employer here is Catharsis Wulfyre‚ son of the Baroness. We have seen so much pain that monsters have created in this world. Nobody should be left alone with a beast so unholy and wretched. Come with us. We’ve got water and honeycomb in our wagon. Right‚ Malik?” “That’s right‚” Malik said‚ holding out a hand for her. “We’ll get you out of here. You’ll be in town by tomorrow.” Town was the last place she wanted to go. It was full of wretched humans‚ precisely the kind that hired monster hunters in the first place. What she needed was rest and isolation. Adding more squeak to her voice‚ she said‚ “Sires‚ if we flee together‚ then the wyrm will be on us before we reach the second hill. She knows my scent above all at this point. Instead‚ I need you to retrieve me a weapon.” Wulfyre was the one to say‚ “A weapon?” “Please. On the northernmost island of Engmar‚ in the west‚ there grows a flowering plant that the locals call summoner’s jaw. It is the only herb the beast fears. It can rend her skin and make her husk wither. A curse from the good gods‚ above and below. If you can collect it‚ I can keep her slumbering until you return‚ and we can be free.” Actually‚ she was not even mildly allergic to summoner’s jaw. Merchants called it a remedy for minor cuts and bruises. However‚ Engmar was multiple nations away. By the time these would-be murderers finished their trip‚ she would be fully rested‚ fed‚ and ready to deal with them. If she got lucky‚ they’d spread the rumor of her one weakness so that later hunters would make the same mistake. Malik said‚ “I’ve heard of summoner’s jaw. It’s used for medicinal purposes. Stands to reason that devils would be weak to medicine.” Rourke lowered his mask‚ then unstrapped his bowl helmet and held it over his chest. “Roislin‚ I am also from Engmar. I have traveled the world many years‚ and seen many cultures. To stay in this cave‚ singing a monster to sleep‚ in the hopes we will find its bane? You are the bravest hero I have ever encountered.” “Fuck off.” Catharsis Wulfyre barged between the two monster hunters‚ causing Rourke to drop his helmet. It clanged off the floor‚ and Wulfyre kicked it so that it skidded out through the entrance of the lair. “I’m not riding around the countryside until my ball hairs turn gray looking for magic weeds. Mother is paying you to kill the thing this week. It cannot be alive when she arrives.” Malik said‚ “Sire‚ this herb is the key to slaying your monster.” “You don’t hire locksmiths to find a key. You hire them to pick open the lock‚” Wulfyre said‚ spinning the cap off a jug as he went. He doused his breastplate and gauntlets in a viscous fluid. It puddled beneath him‚ on the floor at the end of the hallway. “Tie this girl up. Let’s go.” Rourke paused in the pursuit of his helmet. “Tie her up? She’s an innocent.” “She’s one of those virgins that wyrms love eating so much. On top of that‚ we know the monster likes her voice. It’ll crawl out of its shithole if we have the right bait. That bait isn’t a plant. Bait needs to squirm.” Wulfyre bustled along the hall‚ coming straight for Shesheshen. The oil from the jug dulled the shine of his armor. Malik raced after him‚ grabbing the man’s gold-plated bicep. Malik said‚ “Wait‚ wait. There has to be another way.” From the exit‚ Rourke said‚ “We’re in over our heads here. Unidentifiable monster. Unfamiliar ground. We need whatever advantages we can get to kill it.” Malik said‚ “Like the summoner’s jaw.” Wulfyre held up his gauntleted fingers‚ oil dripping between them. “We don’t need summoner’s jaw when we already know rosemary works on the thing. It’s not going to eat me with this much of the stuff.” This had to slow down. Shesheshen tried to shrink into the adjacent hallway‚ while pushing a few of the sharper stones inside her body toward the surface‚ readying claws. “Sires‚ your voices. If you rouse the monster‚ no one will be safe.” Wulfyre batted Malik’s hand away. “My family has slain wyrms this way for generations. Leave a useless commoner out where the monster can smell them‚ and when the monster comes out for a snack‚ we get the drop on it. Slit this thing’s belly‚ get the blood‚ and you two can spend the rest of your lives trying to spend all the money you just made.” Malik’s feet slowed. He wasn’t chasing his employer anymore. “No.” Wulfyre said‚ “My family is paying. I’m giving the orders‚ or you’re becoming wanted men. Which would you prefer?” How Shesheshen wanted one of the hunters to stop this. For one of them to stand up for common sense‚ if not for the rights of a young damsel. A damsel who had offered them a perfectly good reason to get lost for a few weeks. But humans never stood up for the right thing. They stood around feeling uncomfortable‚ and later pretended that feeling uncomfortable meant they were virtuous. Now Malik stood to one side‚ only slightly obstructing Wulfyre’s path. Surely he’d feel awful about this tomorrow when he was spending his blood money‚ before running off with his partner to the next kill. And they called her monstrous. There was a way to salvage this without fighting them and getting killed. She started‚ “Sires‚ perhaps there is summoner’s jaw in Underlook Forest‚ to the south of here. It is where Papa and I first made sight of the monster‚ and Papa said he thought he saw its peculiar color in the brush. It could be why the monster so seldom hunts there. Less than a day’s travel. You could—” Catharsis Wulfyre’s hand felt like winter had abruptly returned and fallen exclusively over Shesheshen’s face. His gauntlet dug into her flesh‚ squeezing her mouth closed. He said‚ “That’ll shut her up. Get some chains.” Worse than the metal or his strength was the chilling burn. While Shesheshen had no sense of smell‚ her flesh tasted the rosemary‚ making her hide bubble up‚ boils rising everywhere the oil made contact. Her eyes fled deep inside her head to protect from that hideous pain. It was so awful that the urge to vomit overcame her. She opened up her throat and chest cavity‚ and vomited the wide-open bear trap at him. It clanged shut‚ the noise echoing throughout the hallway‚ cutting off Wulfyre’s shriek—as well as his right hand. Her bear trap had been too enthusiastic‚ biting straight through gold and bone alike‚ severing his hand between its jaws. Wulfyre clutched at his mangled forearm. “Fuck! Fucking gods‚ help me!” Shesheshen spat the trap and hand away‚ not wanting another taste of rosemary. Every spot where the rosemary oil had scalded her continued to crack and corrupt. She had to tear the skin off her own face and neck‚ screeching as she forcibly shed onto the floor. Stray juices poured from the wounds. Pain made her lose coherence‚ so that the bonerods in her body jutted out and punctured her hide‚ knocking bricks from the walls in her flailing. She hoped she beheaded one of these damned self-important mammals. By the time she could see clearly again‚ Rourke was gone. He’d fled as fast as a ghost that smelled reason in the air. Malik remained‚ bobbing around Wulfyre‚ trying to wrap cloth around the stump of the man’s arm as he guided his employer to the exit. It was a gusher of a wound‚ painting the floor with rich crimson. Catharsis Wulfyre kicked one boot between Malik’s legs‚ snagged a knee‚ and tripped him to the floor. Malik went straight down‚ his skull making a heavy report against the stone floor. Wulfyre stepped over his fallen henchman and kept going for the sunlight of the exit. He kept his mauled arm elevated‚ left hand trying to squeeze metal plates and apply some pressure. Gore still streamed out‚ painting his expensive armor with his own insides. “Mother will come for you‚ you fish-drowner! You’re going to be a trophy!” In the middle of his cursing‚ he stepped on a puddle of rosemary he’d left on the floor when he’d decided to baste himself. One heavy boot landed with a mild splish sound. Before he could raise the other leg in stride‚ he slipped. All several hundred pounds of man and gear veered across the corner of the hall‚ and he went straight down on his back. Then there were two unwanted people on Shesheshen’s floor. She let strands of her flesh dangle free of the cloak‚ the ends dragging on the floor until they found stones. She braced herself with the rods inside them. The stones served as decent feet‚ but could be repurposed into flails. Her bulk swelled with each step‚ lumbering over the two intruders. She was fantasizing about cracking Wulfyre’s armor like the shell of a lobster when he reached down with his remaining hand. Before she could leap on him‚ there was the thunking sound of his crossbow. The bolt hit her high in the chest‚ near where the bear trap had been lodged. Now that was all raw tissue‚ so soft that the bolt pierced deeply through her innards. Its tip pricked the hide of her back. Wulfyre said‚ “Right in your heart.” Much as she didn’t have blood‚ she did not have a heart. She looked forward to ingesting this man’s soon enough. She grabbed the end of the crossbow bolt‚ which was unusually thick. A jerk did nothing to free it‚ and gave her seven smaller stings‚ where hooks from the bolt must have lodged inside her. She commanded her inner tissues to relax and release it. Instead‚ they went feverishly rigid. Her meat seized up and refused to obey her. It was going to be a nuisance digging that thing out of herself. She needed to get her strength up. Fortunately‚ she had these two humans over for breakfast. “Not today!” It was the rusty voice of the elder monster hunter‚ Rourke. The old man ran into the hall with a torch burning orange in the air. He waved it wildly as he came at her. “About time‚” said Wulfyre‚ trying and failing to roll to his knees. That armor looked disgustingly heavy. He raised his arms at Rourke. “Get me out of here.” Rourke ran to Wulfyre—then past him‚ and to Malik. He caught the younger man under the armpits‚ holding the torch in front of both of their bodies as he lugged him to the exit. They were both lucky that she was still getting her footing and fighting this contraption lodged in her chest. They would escape. While Catharsis Wulfyre bellowed about broken contracts and what he’d do to their testicles‚ Shesheshen straightened up. If those monster hunters returned with proper weaponry‚ she needed to be ready. She formed two thick tentacles and wrapped them around the base of the crossbow bolt. Jerking it made her knees weaken‚ and half her frame quivered from the pain. It hurt like a week of starvation jammed into one instant. What had they poisoned her with? Wulfyre tried to sit up‚ and his ornate breastplate stopped him. That was what he got for wearing golden armor in the likeness of abdominals. Still he sneered up at her. He turned those strong cheekbones and his blond stubble up at her and said‚ “At least you’re dying with me. The Wulfyres never forget.” Those were not the words of a worthy father. They were the words of breakfast.   Excerpted from Someone You Can Build a Nest In‚ copyright © 2024 by John Wiswell. The post Read an Excerpt From Someone You Can Build a Nest In appeared first on Reactor.

The much anticipated Alien series in the works at FX is set to start filming this year in Thailand‚ and showrunner Noah Hawley‚ who has worked on other FX shows such as Legion and Fargo‚ has plans for the series to go beyond one season. In a recent interview with Collider‚ Hawley shared that FX wanted his Alien prequel‚ which takes place on Earth at the same time as the events in Prometheus‚ to be a show with multiple seasons rather than a limited series stint. The network’s desire aligned with Hawley’s‚ who said that his idea for Alien had a three-part structure. “I knew that [FX’s] desire was for a recurring series‚ not a limited series [for Alien]‚ and I had an idea that I was excited about‚ that I could see the escalation of it from one year to another‚” Hawley said. “That’s where we ended up not pitching them having a bible or pitching them blow-by-blow‚ but saying‚ ‘Big picture: this is the first movement‚ this is the second movement‚ and we’re ultimately going here.’” How many seasons Hawley has in mind isn’t clear from this statement‚ though the three movements he describes suggest at least three seasons. It also means that the writer-director has a clear end in mind for the show. We still don’t have a firm release date for the long-gestating series‚ though we do know that Timothy Olphant has been tapped to star along with Sydney Chandler‚ Essie Davis‚ and Alex Lawther. With production officially underway‚ however‚ there’s a good chance we’ll see the Alien series on FX sometime in early 2025. The post Noah Hawley (and FX) Wants Their Alien Series to Span Several Seasons appeared first on Reactor.

David F. Sandberg‚ the director behind the two Shazam! films and Annabelle: Creation‚ is teaming up once again with Annabelle writer‚ Gary Dauberman‚ to adapt the 2015 PlayStation horror video game Until Dawn. According to The Hollywood Reporter‚ Sandberg has signed on with Screen Gems and PlayStation Productions (both owned by Sony) to direct the film‚ with Daubman‚ whose previous credits also include It‚ The Nun‚ and the upcoming live-action Gargoyles series‚ taking a pass on a script written by Blair Butler. Until Dawn follows eight people trying to stay alive on Blackwood Mountain‚ a place they revisit after two of their friends died there the year before. The player can control all eight people in the game‚ and all eight have the potential to die as play unfolds‚ depending on what decisions the player makes. In the game‚ Rami Malek (pictured above)‚ Hayden Panettiere‚ Meaghan Martin‚ Brett Dalton‚ Jordan Fisher‚ Nichole Bloom‚ and Peter Stormare voice-acted and provided motion capture for their characters. It received high critical praise and was nominated for several gaming awards‚ including a British Academy Games Awards win for best original property. We don’t know much about the movie adaptation yet‚ other than it will be an “R-rated love letter to the horror genre‚” according to THR‚ and that it will have an ensemble cast. We also don’t know if any of the actors in the video game will reprise their roles in the film‚ but we’ll likely get some casting news once the project gears up to start filming. The post Until Dawn Video Game Getting Film Adaptation From Team Behind Annabelle: Creation appeared first on Reactor.

Time to finish up Part Two‚ Cosmere Chickens! Are you ready? Because Paige and I are ready! So ready! Right Paige?  Paige: Beyond ready! Lyn: Let’s not belabor the point and dive right in then‚ shall we? (Non-)Spoiler warning: This week’s article has no spoilers from other Cosmere works. Read on fearlessly‚ chickens! Trigger warnings: War‚ revolution‚ beheading Last time on Elantris: Conspiracy Theories… Hrathen runs into Dilaf‚ who hints that maybe not everything is going according to Hrathen’s plans… meanwhile‚ Raoden and Galladon are still playing dress-up‚ but at least their charade has gained them more than a sword-cut on the cheek—Raoden talks Roial into inviting him along to their next Secret Meeting. Chapter Essentials POV Character(s): Sarene‚ Raoden‚ Hrathen Discussion Chapter 53 L: From the Annotations: I hereby dub this chapter the official start of the Brandon Avalanche! Let the rejoicing begin. L: Hooboy. Here we go. P: I’ve been waiting so long for this! “Has Roial gone mad?” Sarene asked. “What if that cursed Dula is a spy?” “A spy for whom?” Kaloo asked. L: Okay‚ I have to say‚ I really love Raoden-Kaloo. He’s cracking me up. P: He really seems to be enjoying this particular charade. Despite her insistences that he not prepare dinner‚ Kiin had obviously been unable to let this many people congregate without giving them something to eat. L: Brandon really has quite a lot of lovable characters in this book. Not that he doesn’t always‚ of course‚ it’s just nice to see in a debut novel like this. P: I’ve seen people say how contrived this group is compared to‚ say‚ Kelsier’s crew. But I adore Raoden’s friends! “The resistance only survives because the Fjordells are too lazy to chase it out of the swamps.” Shuden frowned. “I thought they were hiding in the caves of the Duladen Steppes.” “There are several pockets of them‚” Kaloo said smoothly‚ though Sarene detected a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. L: Gee‚ Raoden‚ if only you’d come clean about your identity you wouldn’t have to do all this lying and risk getting caught! P: Nobody seems to notice but our dear‚ mistrustful princess. Sarene shook her head. “If we give Shu-Dereth that kind of foothold in Arelon‚ we’ll never be free of it.” “It’s only a religion‚ Sarene‚” Ahan said. “I think we should focus on real problems.” L: “Only” a religion‚ indeed. How many wars have been fought over religions in the real world‚ again? Oh‚ right… P: Seriously‚ Ahan is daft. L: Well‚ considering what he pulls later in the chapter‚ maybe this is calculated daftness. Maybe. “Besides‚” Kaloo noted‚ “I don’t think you want to throw this country into war. I’ve seen what a bloody revolution can do to a nation—it breaks the people’s spirit to fight one another. The men in the Elantris City Guard might be fools‚ but they are still your countrymen. Their blood would be on your hands.” L: Okay‚ 1: Good point‚ but 2: Careful there‚ Raoden. You’re falling out of character… P: He is‚ isn’t he? Starting to sound like Spirit a bit there‚ Raoden. “Assassinating Telrii would solve a lot of problems.” The room fell quiet. Sarene felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she studied the men. They knew what she knew. She had determined long before the meeting began that this was the only way. “Ah‚ one man’s death to save a nation‚” Kaloo whispered. L: A hard choice‚ indeed. We all know what a certain old man on Roshar would say about this… P: The good of the many‚ and such. Sarene’s brow furrowed; she almost had it. There was something familiar about his words… L: Raoden’s let his guard down and Sarene’s about to pounce! P: Eeeee! I love this part! He looked into her shocked‚ wide eyes‚ and knew that she knew. Somehow‚ despite their short time together‚ she had recognized him when his best friends could not. Uh-oh‚ he thought to himself. L: ::snicker:: P: Uh-oh‚ indeed. He all but proclaimed himself to be Raoden. “Why did you lie to me?” Spirit smiled. “Oh‚ and you’re going to try and tell me it wasn’t more fun this way?” L: If I were Sarene‚ I’d have punched him again for that one‚ lack of healing or no. P: He did have quite a good time with it. I had no idea you were that good an actor. I hated you!” “It’s nice to feel appreciated‚” Spirit said‚ letting his arms wrap around her. L: ::wistful sigh:: FINALLY. P: ::swoon:: Why risk coming out into Kae?” “To find you‚” he said. She smiled. That was the right answer. L: He’s such a charmer. P: Indeed‚ he is. And he’s quite taken with his bride. L: And who can blame him? They’re perfect for one another. Except for all of his deception‚ of course. “I assumed that these men would stop meeting after I left.” Sarene shook herself from the trance of being lost in those eyes. “What was that you just said? After you left…?” L: YES YES YES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD FINALLY. P: And was that a slip or did he intend to say it? L: A slip‚ I think. My theory is that being around his old friends again was just too much for him. When you’re in such a familiar and comfortable environment‚ with people you trust‚ keeping up an act like Raoden has been doing is much more difficult than it would have been if he were surrounded by strangers. The natural inclination would be to fall back into old speech patterns and routines. “We need to go back in. But … let’s just say I have something else I need to tell you‚ once the meeting is through and we can speak more privately.” L: Ugh. No! This is almost as bad as “we’ll talk when all this is over” in a horror movie. P: And Ned Stark telling Jon he’d tell him about Jon’s mother when Ned saw him again. Oops. L: I’m STILL not over that. P: Me neither. ::sigh:: It was not Ahan she found standing in the doorway. Instead she was confronted by a group of armed soldiers with a well-dressed man at their front. King Telrii. L: Of course. Someone had to betray them‚ and Ahan was the most likely culprit. P: Snake. Telrii snapped his fingers‚ and a soldier stepped forward and rammed his sword directly into Duke Roial’s belly. Roial gasped‚ then crumpled with a moan. L: Noooooooooo not the likable older mentor figure! P: I have such a soft spot for Roial!! L: (warning: dark joke incoming) Roial had quite a soft spot‚ too. And Telrii’s soldiers found it. “Interesting you should mention usurpers‚ Duke Telrii‚” a voice said from across the table. “I was under the impression that the throne belonged to Iadon’s family.” L: Ooooooooooooooooooooooh here we go! P: In this corner we have Raoden! The rightful King of Arelon! Raoden. Sarene felt numb. She stared at the man Spirit‚ wondering who he was‚ and if she had ever really known him. L: About time! P: Yeeessss! “Do not cry‚ my boy‚” Roial said. “Your return is blessed. You cannot save this tired old body‚ but you can save the kingdom. I will die in peace‚ knowing you are here to protect it.” L: Awww. It’s a shame‚ Roial really is a sweet old man and a great character. Poor Raoden‚ unable to save him. (And here’s Brandon with his penchant for protagonists who just can’t save the lives of the people they love. Not that this is unique in the genre or even in fiction in general‚ of course‚ as it’s a good way for the hero to lose things and to up the stakes without actually killing the hero themselves… but still‚ those Kaladin similarities are striking‚ aren’t they?) P: Truly striking. And heartbreaking. Killing Roial hurts. Chapter 54 The rumors said that Prince Raoden had returned from the grave. Hrathen sat‚ dumbfounded‚ behind his desk. L: Didn’t plan for that eventuality‚ didja‚ Hrathen? P: Who would have? Of course‚ he doesn’t believe it‚ thinking that Sarene must have found a look-alike to impersonate Raoden. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to convince Telrii to at least draft a warrant of execution. It would ease the aristocratic minds if they were able to read such a document. … Telrii refused to see him. L: I love how he still thinks that he’s got any sway here at all. He keeps trying to stick his nose into Telrii’s business‚ and Telrii just keeps slamming the door shut on him. P: Hrathen has a hard time understanding why anyone wouldn’t just give into him because he’s such a big shot. The tapestries were in flames‚ and men struggled desperately in the close confines. Several guards lay dead at the far doorway. Some wore the brown and yellow of the Elantris City Guard. The others were in silver and blue—the colors of Count Eondel’s legion. L: Here comes the cavalry! P: Get them‚ Eondel! Telrii’s headless corpse fell at Count Eondel’s feet. The count regarded it with grim eyes‚ then collapsed himself‚ holding a wound in his side. L: Well. That escalated quickly. (Here’s how I imagine Hrathen for this scene.) P: That is absolutely the correct gif. So much for avoiding a bloody change in power. L: And the bloodshed’s only just beginning‚ because Fjorden’s on the way… P: Ohhh nooo…   We’ll be leaving further speculation and discussion to you in the comments‚ and hope to join you there! Next week‚ we’ll be back with Part Three. Paige resides in New Mexico‚ of course. Between work and school and the SA5 beta read‚ she’s trying to work on book 3 of a YA/Crossover trilogy with just a hint of the supernatural. Links to her other writing are available in her profile. Lyndsey lives in Connecticut. She’s a professional actress and makes magic wands for a living. If you enjoy queer protagonists‚ snarky humor‚ and don’t mind some salty language‚ check out book 1 of her fantasy series. Follow her on Facebook or TikTok! The post Elantris Reread: Chapters Fifty-Three and Fifty-Four appeared first on Reactor.

News Big Bad: Christopher Landon in Talks to Direct Adaptation of Horror Short Story By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on January 18‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed More From Big Bad See All Posts News Academy Awards Here Are the Genre Films That Scored 2024 Oscar Nominations By Vanessa Armstrong January 23‚ 2024 News sci-fi tv Traveling to Outer Space Will Mess Up Your Mind‚ According to Constellation Trailer By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News Jurassic Park Welcome to Even More Jurassic Park: New Jurassic World Movie in the Works at Universal By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News Fountain of Youth Film Picks Up Natalie Portman‚ John Krasinski and Eiza González By Vanessa Armstrong January 19‚ 2024 icon-left-caret Caret See All Posts Christopher Landon‚ the writer-director behind horror films like Happy Death Day (pictured above) and Freaky‚ has a potential new project lined up after his departure from Scream VII. According to The Hollywood Reporter‚ Landon is in negotiations with Lionsgate‚ who is working on an adaptation of the Chandler Baker’s “Big Bad.” The short story appeared in the 2023 Audible-only anthology‚ Creature Feature‚ which also features tales by Grady Hendrix‚ Joe Hill‚ Josh Malerman‚ Paul Tremblay‚ and Jason Mott. Audible’s logline for “Big Bad” describes the story as follows: “For a family trying to make an isolated farmhouse into a home‚ fear and rage are getting harder to control.” That fear and rage phrase is a reference to werewolves‚ a beloved horror staple. Whether it’s the family members themselves turning into werewolves (is the call coming from inside the house?) or werewolves on the outside trying to murder the family‚ the threat isn’t revealed from the logline‚ so you’ll have to listen to the story yourself to find out where the lycanthropes lie. If Landon signs on to direct‚ this project will be the first one for him after leaving Scream VII late last year. The next sequel in the immensely popular Scream franchise has become enshrouded in controversy after news broke in November 2023 that neither Melissa Barrera nor Jenna Ortega would be returning for the film. The adaption of “Big Bad” is still in its early days‚ so no news yet on casting‚ much less when the movie will scare its way to a theater near you. The post <;i>;Big Bad<;/i>;: Christopher Landon in Talks to Direct Adaptation of Horror Short Story appeared first on Reactor.

If you had told me‚ twelve years ago‚ that I would be just now getting around to The Night Circus‚ I definitely would have laughed. Maybe even snorted. It’s one of those books everyone was reading at the time‚ and now it’s one of those books seemingly everyone has read. I’ve been carrying a copy around for so long that I don’t have even the faintest memory of where I got it; only this week‚ when I finally cracked it open‚ did I discover that it’s autographed to someone else. Everything about this specific copy of this book is a mystery to me‚ including why I haven’t read it yet. So I started‚ the other night‚ and was four or five chapters in before I looked up to realize it was bedtime. How does this happen? How is it that sometimes‚ a book that’s clearly meant for a reader takes so long to find them? There is no answer to this question‚ of course. Books come to us when they come‚ and it’s either their time or it’s not. It’s very hard to manifest the precisely perfect moment in which to read a given book‚ though every so often‚ it can be done. You can pick just the right book for a trip‚ for a vacation‚ for a long weekend of doing little else; you can decide you’re going to drink the same cocktails as a character or eat your way through their meals or do any number of things to manifest a story’s world around you. You can build the perfect moment‚ but you have to have some idea what it is. And you have to have the time and inclination to design it‚ rather than taking the moment that you get. Still‚ sometimes the books are late. Or early. Or just off. A friend and I were talking recently about The Secret History‚ a book I still haven’t read but have‚ for at least a decade‚ intended to. She said that most people she knows who first read it as adults hated it. (Did I take this as a challenge? Only slightly.) Those who read it younger‚ on the other hand‚ are passionate. Another friend has told me more than once that you have to read The Secret History in the wintertime. Maybe this cold‚ dark‚ gloomy start of the year is exactly my time—or exactly the book’s time. What I’ve come to think is that every book has its just-right time‚ but that time is different for every reader. And it’s not finite or single‚ not in most cases‚ anyway—and it’s not necessary. (Sometimes reading against the grain‚ the wrong book at the wrong time‚ is in its own strange way perfectly right.). Sometimes the only time it’s fun to read a book is when everyone else is reading it‚ when the vibes are jubilant and communal‚ when you’re part of something bigger. Sometimes there are books you read once‚ at a precise moment‚ and can never read again—the associated feelings are too big‚ too heavy‚ too messy‚ too much to revisit on a casual reread. But mostly‚ I think‚ you can find the moment for a book. This is why I keep a list of the books I don’t finish. It’s not a forever breakup (except when it is). It’s just a break. I tried to read Victor LaValle’s The Changeling at the wrong moment; I struggled through 100 pages‚ admiring the prose but feeling like I couldn’t open the door to the heart of the book‚ and set it aside. It wasn’t my time with that book‚ not yet. I started rereading Shadow and Bone‚ thinking this time I’d finish the series‚ but got lured away by the promise of something new. But I might still go back to Ravka‚ later. Timing is everything and timing is nothing; you never know what will land in your lap‚ or cross your feed‚ at any moment. It took me almost a year to read Alexander Chee’s How to Write An Autobiographical Novel—not because I didn’t love it‚ but because as soon as I started it‚ I knew I wasn’t ready for it to be over. I moved it from one year’s spreadsheet to the next‚ and kept going‚ slow and steady. When you are a fast reader‚ a person who wants to read everything‚ now‚ immediately‚ that is something to relish—a book that absolutely insists you slow down‚ living by its time rather than your own. I know that not everyone thinks constantly about what they’re reading when‚ and how it fits into the grand scheme of their reading life‚ or into the lineup of everything else they’ve ever read. But those patterns are there‚ all the same; those books we skip or linger over‚ the ones that come back‚ years later‚ looking shiny in a whole new way. I think about it because I write about books‚ but I also think about it because I’m a magpie‚ always distracted by something new and shiny‚ and because I’m a generalist in many ways. I grew up on and still read a mountain of SFF‚ but I go through phases: emotionally devastating YA novels; really specific nonfiction about rituals or neighborhoods; literary fiction of the “women figuring their shit out‚ or not” bent; and my own kind of bookish comfort food‚ like fairytales rewritten and retold. If I don’t pay attention‚ I can slide into a little genre oubliette of some design or another. And I want to keep moving around‚ broadening the circle. Every book has its right time‚ but only if you’re looking for it in the first place. This year‚ I am trying—trying!—to alternate old and new. Writing about books means there is always something new I should be reading. But there is also always something old that I should understand—there are always books whose moment I might have thought slid past me‚ but it didn’t‚ or books I just never saw before. Or books like The Night Circus‚ which sat right in front of me‚ waiting. What has it never been the right time for you to read? What is it just the right time for‚ right now? Originally published January 2023. Molly Templeton lives and writes in Oregon‚ and spends as much time as possible in the woods. Sometimes she talks about books on Twitter. The post Every Book in the Right Time appeared first on Reactor.

News Minecraft Movie Adds More A-Listers to Cast‚ Including Kate McKinnon and Jemaine Clement By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on January 18‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed More From adaptations See All Posts News Academy Awards Here Are the Genre Films That Scored 2024 Oscar Nominations By Vanessa Armstrong January 23‚ 2024 News sci-fi tv Traveling to Outer Space Will Mess Up Your Mind‚ According to Constellation Trailer By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News Jurassic Park Welcome to Even More Jurassic Park: New Jurassic World Movie in the Works at Universal By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News Fountain of Youth Film Picks Up Natalie Portman‚ John Krasinski and Eiza González By Vanessa Armstrong January 19‚ 2024 icon-left-caret Caret See All Posts The casting announcements for the upcoming movie adaptation of Minecraft may cause more than one block-shaped eyebrow to lift. In addition to Jason Momoa and Jack Black (the latter of whom is reportedly playing the game’s main character‚ Minecraft Steve)‚ the film has tapped several other actors known for their comedic prowess. According to Deadline‚ the film will also include Jennifer Coolidge (The White Lotus‚ Legally Blonde)‚ Kate McKinnon (pictured above in Barbie)‚ Jemaine Clement (Flight of the Conchords)‚ Emma Myers (the titular character’s roomie in Wednesday)‚ Danielle Brooks (Peacemaker)‚ and the young Sebastian Eugene Hansen. This concoction of actors begs speculation about what the plot of Minecraft will be. Will the young Hansen‚ who plays a boy named Henry‚ become sucked into the block-shaped Minecraft world? If Black is playing Minecraft Steve‚ who the heck is Momoa playing? And what will these movie stars look like on-screen‚ given most of them are likely from the universe of Minecraft‚ where everything is made out of blocks? The movie is currently filming in New Zealand‚ but we don’t know much about the plot yet. Director Jared Hess (Napoleon Dynamite‚ Nacho Libre) has said‚ however‚ that he’s trying to “avoid an ‘Ugly Sonic’ situation‚” and that‚ “I just can’t disappoint the 10-year-olds‚ or they’re going to murder us.” He added‚ “Trying to adapt something that doesn’t have a story—it’s an open sandbox game… I like the challenge. There’s got to be a fun‚ ridiculous movie here. And there is.” Minecraft is set to premiere in theaters on April 4‚ 2025. The post <;i>;Minecraft Movie<;/i>; Adds More A-Listers to Cast‚ Including Kate McKinnon and Jemaine Clement appeared first on Reactor.

Rereads and Rewatches Terry Pratchett Terry Pratchett Book Club: Where’s My Cow? By Emmet Asher-Perrin | Published on January 19‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed The cover says it’s a picture book for “people of all sizes‚” and I wish there were more of those‚ honestly. Summary We are reading Where’s My Cow? through the vantage point of Young Sam and his father (less young Sam). The story begins with the similar framing we’re given in Thud! explaining that Sam Vimes is sure to be home at six o’clock every evening to read Sam his book. Sam Vimes reads the book‚ and we’re told how well he does the various noises for all the animals—a lovely bit of meta-commentary within the story itself. But Vimes knows that the story is silly‚ and tells Young Sam that the subject of the book should report their lost cow to the City Watch. He thinks there should be a different version of the book that more accurately reflects his son’s experiences in the city where he’s growing up—not the country that he’s never seen. The very next night‚ he makes up a new version of book‚ about the reader looking for his father. He meets all sorts of strange folk though the city and learns their funny catchphrases. Suddenly‚ Sybil enters the room‚ wanting to be sure that Vimes isn’t getting Young Sam too excited. Sam pretends to go back to the regular version of the text. When Sybil has gone‚ Vimes finishes the story with the subject of the tale finding his daddy‚ who arrests people in the name of the law. Then he tucks Young Sam in and bids him goodnight. Commentary The picture book version of Where’s My Cow? is illustrated by Melvyn Grant‚ and it’s those illustrations that really make the whole exercise worth it. There are three distinct styles at play within the artwork: the illustrations from the original book itself‚ which are simple line drawings; the world outside‚ which is rendered more realistically‚ but also drab in color; and Sam’s nursery‚ which is also rendered in a realistic fashion‚ but full of color and light and anthropomorphized movement of inanimate objects. By the end of the story‚ all these styles combine on each page in an avalanche of movement and silliness. There’s the additional enjoyment of seeing various Discworld characters so fully rendered: Vetinari‚ Dibbler‚ Detritus‚ and so on. (And Sybil‚ my beloved‚ with her looming figure‚ so commanding and affectionate at the same time.) You can even see Gaspode with Foul Ole Ron. And then there’s the meta-fun of seeing the cover of the book inside the book itself as you’re reading the book. So you are being made into the snake eating its own tail‚ as it were. You’re participating in circle. Buy the Book Where's My Cow? Terry Pratchett Buy Book icon-close Where's My Cow? Terry Pratchett Buy this book from: Barnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget The movement within Sam’s nursery is perfectly indicative of the imagination of childhood and how alive our surroundings can seem when we’re very young and imbue anything with a personality. We’ve got a family dragon following them around‚ but Sam’s toys are alive‚ and so are his books‚ and all the furniture as well. Even the paint on the walls comes to life. On the last page‚ we can see that Sam’s toys are going to sleep along with him—but that painting with the flowers above his crib is still looking awfully three-dimensional‚ popping out of its frame. Probably because that’s always how Sam perceives it. Vimes is very clearly based on Pete Postlethwaite‚ which Pratchett always insisted was the Sam Vimes in his head. Grant gets a lot of mileage out of that by both being a great illustrator and having a great subject. Postlethwaite was a very expressive fellow‚ after all. Ultimately‚ however‚ this is a book about exactly what Vimes would want it to be about: a father enjoying time with his son. Every page is plastered with images of them together‚ having fun and making each other laugh. Because some things are important‚ as he says. And if you happen to read it to your own kids (or share it with people you care for)‚ you can participate in that ritual as well. Asides and little thoughts: Melvyn Grant has done illustrations for plenty of books‚ but his most interesting credits are definitely his Iron Maiden album covers. He did five of them‚ including Fear of the Dark. There’s an illustration of Pratchett on the wall of Sam’s nursery (you can see him on the last page)‚ which would make him one of Sybil’s relatives presumably within the story? I wonder which one… Okay‚ but I posit that if Pete Postlethwaite was the person Pratchett envisioned for Vimes and he is no longer with us‚ the logical successor to that mantle is Christopher Eccleston. (It’s difficult because they’re both too tall to my mind‚ but Eccleston is still the right fit from Postlethwaite.) Pratchettisms: “Your cow will be found. If if has been impersonating other animals‚ it may be arrested. It you are a stupid person‚ do not look for your cow yourself. Never try to milk a chicken. It hardly ever works.” Next week we’ll start Making Money! We’ll read Chapters 1-3. The post Terry Pratchett Book Club: <;i>;Where’s My Cow?<;/i>; appeared first on Reactor.