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Making Childermass

That’s the original and only image I had to use for reference.  As you can see it was pretty small, and I took liberties with colours and slightly exaggerated some of the angles and his eyes.  I hope you all like it as much as I loved painting it!  J.x

Time for Memories

The Prose Dealer - Chapter 6.

Archive of our own

Fanfiction.net

Summary: The TARDIS is being mischievous and switches Clara’s room with one the Doctor uses to store old mementos Clara stumbles upon a strange book that turns out to be the Gallifreyian version of a family photo album (Think family photos similar to the “Gallifrey Falls No More” portrait.) The Doctor walks in as she’s looking at it at first he’s upset, but Clara somehow gets him to tell her about the people in the pictures. For the first time since he ended the Time War the Doctor really opens up and talks about his family back on Gallifrey. Just make something up, I’m craving some details about the Doctor’s past

A.N.:  AllonsyIdjits: I tried my best, I don’t know how it came out. It felt a bit of a blasphemy to make up details of the Doctor’s past, so I actually remained as vague as I could. I hope you like it anyway. Sorry again for the long delay.


After the events of Trenzalore, Clara and the TARDIS had come to a sort of understanding. It was a silent agreement of reciprocal tolerance which had grown to what Clara might even describe as friendship. In fact, the TARDIS even let Clara fly her - under the Doctor’s supervision of course. But, since they were both control freaks, it was also a competitive friendship. Every now and again the TARDIS felt the need to show Clara who’s boss, and to do so she usually dislocated her bedroom.

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This is still a thing! Although I say that like people aren’t buying the book ( THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU ALL I JUST WANT TO HUG YOUR HEADS)

….aaaaand almost out of presale paperbacks so if you want I suggest you hurry😀

I’ll also have some at the book launch party ( TBA very very soon)

This is literally one long advert. I could tell a joke but I’m horribl–

KNOCK KNOCK!
(who’s there)
ORANGE!
(orange who)
ORANGE YOU GLAD I CAME!….out with a book? 😂😂😂

#TheHaloOfAmaris #UrbanFiction #ScienceFiction #AMBW #books #Amazon #bookquotes #booknerd #goodreads #fiction #booklover #blackwomenwriters #blackwomenwriting #blacksciencefiction #book #AggiePride #Tumblr #angels #fantasy #nephilim #Fayetteville Durham

A simple sign hangs over the bare entrance. The restaurant teeters on the edge of Buti’s piazza, before the road turns up into the monte and the olive trees that grow in twists. Sophisticates come from miles around to dine, the shine of their mustard Ferraris and Lamborghinis dull in the shadow of the castelo, a hulking ruin of the Medici days. Ask a local what the restaurant’s like and they’ll turn their lips down at the edges and shrug. We don’t go there they say. They like La Grotta, built around a giant and ancient stone, or Tormento, where the food is rustic. They smear raw pork sausage on soft bread and the wild boar in the tagliatelle tastes of iron and old blood. The locals have great contempt for the foams and post-modernism they hear happens in the restaurant they don’t go to. But there’s a secret: they do go. Sometimes. They admit it grudgingly, collars turned up to the chill from the rush of mountain water moving under the piazza, sloshing through tarnished metal grates. Thursdays, they say. That’s when the chef, a local himself, turns the kitchen over to his aging mama, a Nonna. A grandmother. She cooks the traditional food that sustained the hills for twenty generations. There’s no rainbow of luxury autos in the lot on Thursdays. No foams on the plate. Locals walk the crooked roads to eat the food they know, the food that makes them feel immortal. It’s the food we like, one said, plumes of smoke rising from his mouth like myth.

{I won’t often write about restaurants. The kind of hunger that matters to me isn’t the kind that’s satisfied by chefs and waiters and commerce. This post is an exception, and inspired by an episode of Chef’s Table about chef Massimo Bottura, available on Netflix}
THE CRICKET HUNTER

A careful look at the dustrider’s rifle reveals that it was once the body of a dragonfly. Its tail has been hollowed into a long barrel, and its mandibles are now the trigger of a complex firing mechanism. Discs have been carved from its transparent wings and arranged in parallel to serve a scope’s function. As it slides off his shoulder, the thick knots of its former exoskeleton are firm in his hands.

He crawls along the edge of a fern’s frond, skin painted in a camouflage of mud and chlorophyll. Its stem bobs in the wind, but his grip is firm as he pulls himself forward. There’s a bull cricket down below, thick with protein, signaling to the rest of the forest with lean, tender legs. He’s already imagining those bugchops sizzling on the skillet as he stuffs two galvanized poppyseeds into the bolt action.

He locks his ankles together and hangs from the frond’s end, pulling it almost still with his weight alone. The cricket cannot hear his approach, for it is too distracted by its own music-making. He takes aim, and the patterns in the dragonfly wings align around a spot just behind the eyes of his prey. He’s almost ready to pull the trigger, just as soon as he stops swaying.

Of course, he cannot hear over the cricket’s song either. It is for this reason that he fails to notice the hornets descending upon him from above.

http://www.northofreality.com/tales/2015/6/1/the-cricket-hunter

Mon Ange.

Les printemps passent. J’ai oublié ton nom. Était-ce Marion? Je ne me souviens que de ta silhouette, ton visage juvénile, était-ce en 1993? Un jour où il faisait trop chaud, je t’observais du coin de l’oeil, tes yeux bleus océan me transperçant le cœur. Je me souviens. Je me souviens à présent. Marie. Tes cigarettes fines comme toi, ta coupe de champagne synonyme de bonheur éphémère. Et pourtant, pourtant tout ton être semblait transpirer la tristesse, les bleus à l’âme. Ton regard vague, fuyant, fixant l’horizon et les bateaux aux voiles blanches. L’espace d’un instant, avant même de te parler, je savais pertinemment que nous partagions déjà ce même mal-être, ce je ne sais quoi qui te prends à la gorge dès le réveil et qui ne te lâche pas. Ce désespoir mêlé à une rage adolescente. Je t’ai invité pour une cigarette. Tu n’as pas daigné me répondre. Tu as caché tes yeux magnifiques derrière tes lunettes de soleil. Alors moi, impertinent, je me suis assis face à toi. Et je ne le regrette pas. Tu m’as rendu à la vie. Tu m’as dit futile lorsque je t’ai proposé de t’offrir des fleurs alors que l’on ne se connaissait pas. Mon dieu que je me suis senti con, blessé dans mon orgueil de jeune mâle soit disant dominant. Nous sommes resté un quart d’heure l’un face à l’autre à ne rien dire mais tu ne t’es pas esquivée. Tu as recommandé du champagne et j’ai pris un spiritueux. Les vagues s’écrasaient sur la digue, en de larges tubes à l’écume flanelle. Tu m’as alors avoué que tu préférais ça à la Méditerranée. Je ne pouvais te contredire. Ton parfum m’ensorcelait, un goût de Molinard mêlé à l’odeur du tabac. Maintenant je peux te le dire. Tu es celle qui m’a fait le plus mal. Et j’ai tellement adoré ça que j’ai envie de recommencer.

Clochards Célestes.

Clubbing [Luke Hemmings One Shot].

A/N: Luke Hemmings One Shot. Yup, I’m writing 5SOS fan fiction now! :) 

Luke/OC, hope you enjoy - sorry for any mistakes, I have checked this over. Also, thank you guys for responding so well to my other stories, (original and fan fiction), you’re amazing! 


Elizabeth sat on her bed, staring up incredulously at her best friend, Aria, as if she had grown two heads.

No,” Elizabeth snapped, shaking her head, “no, no, no! I hate parties and I especially hate clubbing. I’m not coming.”

“Oh, come on, please!” Aria begged, smiling sweetly, “it’ll be fun. Plus there’s a group of us going, it’ll be perfectly safe and my cousin has the car anyway.”

“No,” Elizabeth shook her head again, running a hand through her coopery auburn hair, “I came here with you to relax, not to get drunk.”

Rolling her warm brown eyes, Aria groaned, “come on Elizabeth, don’t be such a killjoy.”

I’m not!” Elizabeth snapped, narrowing her green eyes at her friend, “I just don’t like clubs. You can go, I’m not stopping you.”

“Oh come on Lizzy,” Aria sighed, sitting next to her annoyed friend, “it won’t be any fun without you.”

Elizabeth sighed, standing up, “no I don’t want to go. You can’t force me.”

Aria smirked, “I can try. Plus, what will you do anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth shrugged, “I’ll read. I’ll go to the beach.”

Aria groaned, falling back onto Elizabeth’s bed, “I did not bring you all the way to Australia so you could read. You can do that at home.”

Aria’s cousin Emma lived in Australia with her husband. Emma had served in the military, where she met her husband and after their time was up, they married and moved to Australia, where they now run a rehabilitation centre for soldiers. Emma had invited Aria over for the summer and seen as Aria’s parents were busy, she bought along her best friend, Elizabeth.

“I know I can, but –

Aria sat up, pouting, “please, please just come along and if you want to leave, we can come home early, I promise. I won’t leave your side and neither with Jace. We’ll all be together.”

“Aria, you’ve known Jace for years, he’s Emma’s best friend and he knows you so well. I don’t. I’d feel out of place,” Elizabeth said, pushing her hair into a pony tail.

“Lizzy, it’ll be fine. Plus there are more of us going – you can always get to know them as well. You liked Kathy, remember? We met her the other day, Jace’s girlfriend,” Aria smiled, standing up, “I just want you to have fun.”

Elizabeth sighed, “I am having fun. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I know,” Aria said, her eyes glazing over, “it’s just since your accident…I want you to have everything you want.”

Elizabeth smiled, hugging her friend, “you’re an idiot you know that. But I love you regardless. Look, I’m fine. I’m getting better. I’m not having as many nightmares and I’m having fun, I really am.”

Aria nodded, “I know but –

“If I come with you this one time, you promise me I’ll never have to go again?” Elizabeth cut Aria off, smirking slightly.

Aria couldn’t have smiled wider as she pulled her slightly taller friend in for a hug, “we’re going to have so much fun, I promise.”


Elizabeth looked at her reflection, unsure of how she looked. She hated dressing up and going to parties, she would much rather sit at home in a top and pair of shorts, reading her favourite book. She wasn’t much of an alcohol, dancing crazy kind of person.

“You look great!” Aria smiled from behind her, “trust me. You look lovely.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, muttering, “you have to say that, you’re my best friend.”

Aria laughed and went to find a cardigan to take with her, leaving Elizabeth at the mirror. Aria had curled her hair and made her wear a vintage, knee length creamy white floral dress with a white cardigan and pretty shoes. Clutching her bag, Elizabeth groaned, wishing she had just said she would stay at home, instead of caving.

“You ready?” Aria asked, from the passageway. Cursing herself, Elizabeth left the room and walked out to her best friend, who was dressed in a nice, classy violet dress and heels.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Well too bad, we’re going.”


 Immediately upon entering the club with Aria, Emma, Jace, Kathy and Emma’s husband, Tom, Elizabeth wanted to turn back and go home. The music was dreadfully loud, not even the kind she liked, people were dancing everywhere and suddenly, Elizabeth felt herself shrinking smaller and smaller into herself. She hated crowed places but it was too late to turn back now, Aria dragged her by her arm to a table in the corner, a little away from the crowd.

“See, it’s not so bad,” Aria smiled as the group sat down. Elizabeth just stared at her, wondering if she could turn her friend into a frog for saying such an obvious lie to her face.

“Uh huh, sure,” Elizabeth muttered, knowing that this would be a long night.

She couldn’t have been more right. Aria was up and dancing with the group, all of them drinking apart from Emma who was driving them home. Elizabeth on the other hand was having a terrible time. She had danced a little and drank (against her will, because Aria forced her) some alcohol, but she was not having a good time. Her head was pounding because of the loud music and the bright lights were hurting her eyes. Sighing, she checked her phone, it was now eleven o’clock and she had been sitting there for about two hours.

Getting up, she moved past the mass of bodies and finally reached the doors, opening them and taking a deep breath as a wave of air blew in her face, cooling her down. Feeling much better as the breeze ticked her cheeks, Elizabeth relaxed against Emma’s car, checking her phone again. Seeing that it was so late, she knew her friends back home would not be awake, she put her phone away. The cool air made her feel a lot more relaxed and seemed to ease her bitter mood.

Climbing up into Emma’s Land Rover (which had the open back); Elizabeth leaned against the cool metal of the car and looked up at the night sky. After about fifteen minutes, the club’s doors opened and out came someone who made Elizabeth gape. How had she missed him earlier, she had been sitting there long enough to memorise the club’s menu but she hadn’t noticed him?! Elizabeth just stared at him; he was dressed in black, ripped jeans, converses and a red plaid shirt. She couldn’t believe it was him; she blinked a few times to check that her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Nope, it was him, blonde hair, blue eyes, lip ring and all. Noticing her gaze, he looked up from his phone, which in turn made Elizabeth blush like an idiot, turning away, cursing herself.

Chuckling, he spoke up, “don’t like clubbing?”

Elizabeth’s head snapped up, noticing that he was walking towards her now, until he was right next to the car. Thinking she should probably do something, she shook her head.

“Nope, my friend dragged me along,” Elizabeth sighed, shrugging, trying to act causal, despite her heart pounding and the excitement building up inside her.

“Ah right,” he laughed, “well, how about you come back inside, with me? Or I could stay out here, keep you company?”

Elizabeth’s heart was drumming faster and faster in her chest, as her eyes grew wider, “no, no, I don’t want to take you away from your friends.”

“Nah, it’s alright, they won’t mind,” he smiled, climbing in next to her.

“I’m Luke,” he smiled, extending his hand towards her.

“I know,” Elizabeth laughed, “I love your music and my name’s Elizabeth.”

Perhaps, clubbing isn’t so bad, after all.

BENTHICA

Benthica is the underworld’s most prestigious seafood restaurant. It is located on the opposite side of the planet’s surface from the Marianas Trench, and is constructed from bricks of black water that have crystallized from the sheer pressure of the ocean’s depths. Strange, luminous creatures can be seen swimming through walls that are otherwise solid for everyone else present. Among them is the nameless child of Hades and Charybdis, who is prophesied to someday be the death of Poseidon.

The menu is often menacing to ex-mortals who are not yet accustomed to their bottomless stomachs. The most popular item is a seared narwhal steak skewered between chunks of jackfruit by the beast’s own tusk. Others prefer the dolphin tongue tartare made with raw dodo eggs. For dessert, one might order their charcoal-fired licorice brûlée, which is served inside a toasted sea anemone husk. Savory black marshmallows are offered on the side for dipping.

Reservations at Benthica are booked solid for the next three centuries. Oracles who have seen it in their dreams sometimes walk into the ocean and let themselves sink, just so that they can ensure their place on the waiting list.

http://www.northofreality.com/tales/2015/5/31/benthica

Another Opinion...

I feel like Clintasha is Clintasha without it being sexual-Clintasha. You know? Like, they’re friends. Best friends. They’re still Clintasha. It exists. But it’s a brotp to me. Some people want them together so bad that they don’t even consider Mrs. Barton and the children. They’ll say “it’s just fiction”. But then I raise the question, if it’s just fiction then why does it rile you up so bad that they’re not together? After all, it’s just fiction.

lat.ms
Carnegie Medals go to Anthony Doerr, Bryan Stevenson
Anthony Doerr has been awarded the Carnegie Medal for Fiction for his bestselling novel "All the Light We Cannot See." Bryan Stevenson was awarded the Carnegie Medal for Nonfiction for his book on his experience with inequities in the American criminal justice system, "Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption." Carnegie Medal winners each receive $5,000.
By Los Angeles Times
10

“We’ve all got a dark side.  I’m not entirely sure ours is the kind of story where the hero survives.”


                                                                thelinkbooks

The Link is an upcoming series by Jen Stacey about the blurring of lines between the living, the dead, and all the things in-between.