#armchair doctor who story editor

[paulgadzikowski]

[Image description: Preview panel for the comic strip at the link below. Mr. Spock of Star Trek and the Doctor, dandy incarnation, of Doctor Who stand talking at Spock's science station on the Enterprise bridge. Spock is saying, "… The self-destruction of the ancient advanced tech device destroyed the Kzinti which allowed Lt. Uhura, Lt. Sulu, and myself to escape." The Doctor is saying, "You realize, of course, that you were living through the events of Niven's The Soft Weapon, as adapted to your fiction plane." Unfortunately there are not image descriptions at the main Hero Of Three Faces site. End description.] 

The Hero of Three Faces is fanfiction crossovers, but it’s comic strips with stick figures, but they’re triangles. Preview panel only. Click here for full cartoon. Or see the on-site navigation tutorial. Or see this blog’s FAQ, or my archive tumblog’s FAQ. Cartoons may contain unmarked spoilers. Cartoons linked from Tumblr 10:00 (Central US time) daily are the previous day’s new update and the posts are pinned to the top of this blog. Cartoons linked from Tumblr 22:00 daily are from the archive and the posts are pinned only during annual summer hiatus of new updates.

Thanks for reading.

[dcbbw]

Hazy Shades of Winter

Happy 2023, tumblrs! Or as I like to say, “Welcome to 2020-3,” which means Year 3 of the Year 2020. The FIRST DAY of the NEW YEAR, I tested positive for Covid. For the second time within a year. I’m grateful both cases have been relatively mild, and I remain (somewhat) functional.

My first fic for 2020-3 is a collection of drabbles comprised of the many Winter OTP asks sent to me by the lovely @neotericthemis​. I could’ve made it easy on myself and simply answered Person A/Person B, but I’m extra and frankly, I wondered if I could make coherent, cohesive stories from the asks … and here we are.

Not beta’d, and it’s mostly written, proofed and edited by Covid. You’ve been warned. MS Editor rates this story 99% error-free. Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors.

I hope all who read this enjoy it. THANK YOU to those who comment, like, and/or reblog; it is appreciated more than you will ever know.

Pairings in this story (these stories): Liam x Riley; Liam x Maxwell

Rating is M for Mature (it’s me, and better to err on the side of caution)

All characters (except Fric and Frac) belong to Pixelberry

Song Inspo: Silent Night, DRM

Word Count:4,779 

Discontent Liam x Riley

Who wants to cosy up to the fire?

Who wants a kiss under the mistletoe?

Who is bad at ice skating and keeps falling on their butt?

The doors to the monarchs’ private suite quietly shut behind the King as he entered the darkened quarters. A fire burned in the hearth, embers popping and hissing as the blaze consumed the logs. The heat warded off the chill from the snow and ice outside.

It was a centuries-old palace; windows were drafty despite upgrades to the heating units.

His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and his gaze found Mara dozing fitfully in a wingback armchair. As he silently padded across the carpet, he saw his wife’s prone form on the settee in his peripheral vision.

Her white satin sleeping gown was yellowed by the firelight; a blanket was bunched at her feet. Her soft snores reminded him of a kitten purring.

Mara started at feeling the gentle shove upon her shoulder; her eyes blinked open, and she looked sheepishly at her employer. Liam reassured her with a small smile.

“You’re fine,” he whispered. He tilted his head in his wife’s direction. “Did Riley eat tonight?”

The sentry nodded affirmatively. When she spoke, her tone was hushed. “Pasta. She made sure a plate was put aside for you. It’s in the refrigerator.”

“What did she … drink?” His voice tripped over the last word.

“Wine. Just one bottle tonight.”

Liam nodded slowly, staring at a sleeping Riley before speaking. “You go get some sleep, Mara. I’m here now.”

Mara stiffly rose from her seat. “I’ll put the alarm on my way out.”

“Thank you,” the King replied as he made his way to the sofa, removing shoes and jacket along the way.

He paused to pull the throw up over Riley’s body before settling into a corner of the divan, gently lifting his Queen’s head so it now rested in his lap. January moonlight eked through partially closed curtains as his gaze trained on the fire.

There was a time when Riley would be the first one awake, dressed, and ready to indulge in outdoor winter sports, particularly ice skating despite the fact she was terrible at it. She would hit Liam over his head with pillows until he grudgingly woke up and joined her and their friends at the pond on the North Lawn.

Her eyes would widen with fright as she wobbled and stumbled onto the ice; they would fill with rueful acceptance and laughter when she inevitably fell. But they would close in blessed relief when Liam’s strong arms wrapped around her, steadying her balance as he guided them around the lake.

Now, she fretted that all the falls contributed to her infertility, despite assurances from doctors and her husband that it wasn’t true.

Christmas was their favorite holiday. Riley liked to say winter was a time of rest and rejuvenation; that the world slowed down and people were kinder, gentler when the nights were the longest. Of all her duties as Queen, her favorite project was the annual holiday decorating of the Grand Foyers at both the Palace and Valtoria. She hung mistletoe beneath every doorway, and over their bed as not-so-subtle hints to her husband to kiss her.

As if he needed reminders.

On Christmas Eve, she would enter their bedchambers naked and covered in faux mistletoe; the sun would be rising before Liam removed all the green leaves from her body.

His fingers idly combed through her hair as he recalled that his Queen had not hung one mistletoe over the holiday season. Liam could not remember the last time he and his wife had touched each other intimately.

God, he missed her.

He sighed as his gaze shifted from the fire to Riley’s profile. She looked … peaceful in repose. There was no worry, no stress, no tension in sleep. He removed his fingers from her hair, pressed a kiss to the index and middle fingers, and lay the digits against her cheek.

At least she still enjoyed sitting by a fire. They could continue to share that, at least.

“Liam?” Riley stirred slightly.

“I’m here, love,” he answered quietly.

He expected her to leave; rise up, grab a bottle of gin, and sweep into her chambers in an effort to avoid the fact she had a husband, that they had a marriage.

But she didn’t.

“The fire’s lovely, isn’t it?” she murmured sleepily as she continued to lay her head in his lap.

“It is. Do you need another blanket?” he asked, the back of his fingers idly stroking her cheek.

She shook her head slightly. “No.”

“Do you wish to retire to your quarters?”

A pause. “Can we just stay here?”

Liam released a silent sigh of relief. “Of course, love.”

 Object of Affection Liam x Riley (Mermaids)

Who still believes in Santa?

Who is the best gift giver?

Who wants to go caroling?

“Lady Riley, why aren’t you ready?” Liam demanded indignantly.

He stood in her common area, wearing a tuxedo and a top hat. His hands were on his hips, and a frown downturned his lips.

“Ready for what? And why are you dressed that way?” Riley questioned as she rummaged in her refrigerator. She let out a triumphant cry as she pulled out a carton of Lythikos nog.

“Caroling! Every year, the reigning monarch, along with their family and closest friends, go caroling the week before Christmas along the Stormholt Historic District. I put it on your calendar!”

Riley drank her nog directly from the carton, wiping away the left-behind creamy mustache from her upper lip with the back of her hand. Her eyes went between Liam and looking down at her outfit: blue yoga pants, a sleeveless white tee shirt that read: Peace. Love. Bubblegum.; fuzzy pink slipper socks were on her feet. Her hair was a frizzy afro.

“I never got the calendar invite. You can check for yourself,” she shrugged.

Liam began to pace the rooms, clearly agitated. “This is TRADITION, and you are treating it so … so nonchalantly! As Queen, you will be expected to …”

“You forget, me marrying you was MY idea! NOT yours. I realize the expectations. I am telling you, I received nada from you or your people,” Riley retorted as she disappeared into her bedroom.

“Where are you going now?” Liam demanded angrily.

“To get ready!” Riley snapped.

Liam tossed his hat onto a nearby chair before picking up his betrothed’s phone. “May I check your calendar?” he called out.

“I don’t care,” Riley replied before the sound of the shower turning on filled the space.

Liam’s brow furrowed as he pulled up Riley’s outlook. Obviously, she stayed logged in as it opened immediately. His eyes quickly scanned the list of correspondence: Regina, Madeleine, himself, her assistant. He tapped the calendar icon; December 18 was empty.

The frown between his brows deepened. Liam had personally sent the invitation on December 1; he hadn’t had time to follow-up with Riley on her confirmation. End-of-year was a busy time for governance, and he had been busy meeting with duchy leaders regarding finances, trade agreements, and a military alliance amongst many pressing issues.

Did he somehow overlook her invitation?

“Do I need to carry a candle and a book, like Charles Dickens?” Riley’s question interrupted his wonderings.

He looked up, and his eyes widened in wonder and delight. His fiancée stood before him in a high-necked, green velvet maxi dress adorned with white sequined snowflakes. Her hair was an upsweep of glossy brown curls. Sensibly heeled dark brown boots adorned her feet and disappeared beneath the skirt of her frock.

“You look utterly gorgeous,” Liam praised as he bowed to kiss the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” Riley blushed.

“Is the car waiting downstairs?” Riley asked as Liam helped wrap a white, woolen cloak about her body.

“We’ll be arriving by horse-drawn carriage,” Liam corrected.

“You know what would be a better tradition? A live Christmas Eve concert at Bossina Cathedral broadcast to all Cordonia so no citizen is or feels left out.”

Liam paused to stare thoughtfully at Riley. “That is definitely something to consider.”

“I’m on the Holiday Planning Committee. I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.”

In the carriage, the couple made small talk.

“What were your plans this evening if not for caroling?” Liam inquired as he held Riley’s gloved hand in his.

“Hanging Christmas lights inside my rooms. Santa has to know where to find me now since I didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

“I believe Santa knows where to find all the good boys and girls.”

“And we’re back to: I need him to know where to find me!” Riley chuckled.

“I’m happy to help you with the Christmas lights if you’d like,” Liam offered, his eyes glued on her profile.

Riley looked at him skeptically. “My people will call your people.”

They settled into comfortable silence, relishing in the scenery and each other’s company. Liam’s thoughts were focused on his Christmas present to Riley.

Her engagement ring. Her new one. One given out of want and respect, not duty and obligation.

The carriage slowed as they reached their destination, Stormholt Square.

“Will there be bathroom breaks?”

“Shopkeepers provide us with refreshments such as hot cider, hot cocoa, fudge, treats. We are also welcome to utilize their facilities.”

“Thank God,” Riley muttered as she prepared to open her door.

Before she could pull the handle, the door was swung open; before her was the Duchess of Lythikos, her red hair hidden beneath a black Russian fur hat, and her svelte figure encased in a chic red coat.  Her Grace’s expression swiftly changed from delight to one of bewildered confusion; Riley saw thinly veiled consternation creep into Olivia’s green eyes.

And in that moment, Riley knew exactly what had happened to her calendar invite.

SGL x Riley B. (DC AU)

Who makes the other hot chocolate?

Who listens to Christmas music way too early?

Who puts up the Christmas lights?

“Voila! Chocolate chip Belgian waffles and caramel hot chocolate!” Liam announced with a wink as he placed a plate and mug before Riley.

Riley’s brown eyes rolled as she took in Liam wearing a snowman onesie, complete with a jaunty red scarf around his neck and a black top hat on the hood, but grew appreciative when she saw the food.

“Why are we dressed this way for breakfast?” she questioned as she pushed the sleeves of her Grinch onesie further up her arms. Riley was messy with syrup, and she liked her waffles with lots of butter and syrup.

“Tis the SEASON!” Liam explained as if it were obvious, before blowing on his cup of cocoa.

Riley looked around as she chewed her waffle; it was delicious. Liam had made them with buttermilk and vanilla.

The sounds of Ella Fitzgerald singing Christmas carols filled the apartment. A six-foot-tall tree stood in a corner of the dining area, decorated with garland, balls, and various ornaments collected over the years. Every window in Liam’s apartment was framed with twinkling Christmas lights. An inflatable reindeer stood watch on the fire escape.

“Liam, you’ve done a great job decorating, but don’t you think it’s a little … much?” she asked.

Liam looked at Riley as if she had slapped him. “THAT right there is why you’re the Grinch, Riley B.! I never figured you to be a Scrooge!”

“And I never thought you were a psycho!”

“I like Christmas, okay?”

“IT’S VETERAN’S DAY! I get it … Christmas is special, for good reason. But celebrating early detracts from the holidays that precede it and makes Christmas less special when it arrives!”

Liam shoved a forkful of waffles into his mouth. “What’s wrong with invoking the spirit that Christmas brings a little earlier? People are kinder, more generous, and just BETTER human beings at Christmas!”

“Then become a Catholic and celebrate December 25 through January 6!”

Riley held out her empty plate. “More, please.”

Liam’s eyes widened in an almost comical manner. “You just called me a psycho and told me to join an organized religion simply because I LIKE CHRISTMAS!” He shook his head resolutely. “No more waffles for YOU!”

Riley set her empty plate down slowly. “I … I didn’t say THAT!”

“But you did!” Liam argued.

“Not LIKE THAT!” Riley protested.

“YES, like that! Those words were said with intent, Riley B. Whether it was specific or general can be debated. But you spoke them with a clear intent.”

He sliced more waffle, then glanced over at her mug. “Drink your cocoa before it gets cold.”

He watched Riley lift her cup before resuming the conversation.

“My wishing to celebrate Christmas earlier is no different than a person celebrating their birthday the entire birth month. Does that somehow lessen the significance of the actual birth date?”

Riley shook her head. “It isn’t the same!”

“Why isn’t it? Tell me HOW, using your own argument, that the person celebrating their birthday all month doesn’t detract from another’s actual birthday in the same month?”

“YOU are celebrating Christmas SIX WEEKS early! You aren’t even in the birthday month!”

Liam smirked. “Christmas is a SEASON, in addition to a day. Can you tell me when the season starts?”

Riley was nonplussed. She bit her lip as she thought.

“Christmas SEASON officially begins the day after Thanksgiving and ends January 2; therefore, I’m only two weeks early, not six. Even with that, I’m still a week behind the big-box retailers.”

“Did you … did you just go Lawyer Liam on me to defend decorating early for Christmas?” Riley asked as she sipped more hot chocolate. “While dressed as a snowman?”

Liam slid from his stool to turn the waffle maker on. He tossed the red scarf over his shoulder before looking back at Riley and giving her a big wink.

“Yup!”

UnRomance Liam x Riley (The 9 ½ Weeks AU)

Who is excited for trimming the Christmas Tree?

Who wraps the presents?

Who wants to build a snowman?

I stand naked before the plate glass window wall in my dining room, watching snow fall into the East River.

“Liam, wake up!” my mother excitedly shakes me awake.

I rub my eyes and scrunch my nose, trying to wake up. It’s Christmas morning, which normally means I would already be awake, but I had stayed up late wrapping mom’s presents.

“It’s snowing! On Christmas Day!” she exclaims in a hushed whisper.

My eyes fly open; my bare feet thump heavily across the wooden floor as I race to the window. My nose presses against cold glass as I watch thick, white flakes fall to join the inches already accumulated on the ground. Our neighborhood is a quiet sea of untouched white crystals.

I turn to look at her, happiness and excitement both in my face and voice. “Mama, can we go out in it?”

She giggles as she rakes her fingers through my sleep-tousled hair. “Of course! Why do you think I woke you up?”

“YAY!” I jump up and down. “We’ll build a snowman?”

She nods in agreement. “Get showered and dressed. Breakfast soon.”

I sip cautiously at the hot black coffee in my mug as I turn from the window and walk through the living room. There is a short Christmas tree standing in one of the corners, no more than four feet tall. Riley put it there. I don’t celebrate the holidays.

“There will be NO TREE, Riley! I have told you REPEATEDLY I DO.NOT.CELEBRATE. ANY. HOLIDAY! You are free to go home to decorate and celebrate as you see fit!”

“You put up that ceramic tabletop tree! A TREE IS A TREE!”

“You need to go home,” I respond quietly. “You have no idea how to respect wishes or boundaries.”

Fear leaps in her eyes at being told to go home. “It’s just a tree. I’ll make sure it’s a small one. PLEASE??”

“I will have nothing to do with it OR this Christmas bullshit you INSIST on bringing to MY house!

She nods sadly. “It’s just a tree,” she whispers.

It’s an artificial one, pre-lit. Lights of red, green, and white twinkle against silver tinsel and golden-colored balls. There are three gifts beneath it: two are in gift bags. They are to me from Riley.

The third is wrapped in comic paper. It’s my mother’s favorite perfume. I bought it for her every year when she was alive. I have brought it for her every year since.

I climb the stairs that lead to the upper floor; I enter the dark, quiet study and sit behind my desk, contemplating what I’m about to do. I don’t turn on the computer or the television. Instead, I place my mug on the desk and rise, making my way towards the closet.

I thrust my arm inside to pull out a shopping bag; it’s filled with wrapping paper and Riley’s gifts. They’re not Christmas gifts; I don’t celebrate the holiday. She’ll merely receive them on Christmas Day.

I carry it all to the desk and begin neatly cover the purchases with silver wrapping, carefully cutting paper, and folding and tucking in corners. The sky lightens as I work; the snow continues to fall. I place the boxes into the bag and return to the closet.

I rummage on the upper shelf, my hand finding what I seek: a newspaper-wrapped ceramic angel holding a sparkly star. I place her atop the gifts and carry bag and mug back downstairs with me. The bag goes beneath the tree, and I carefully unwrap and place my mother’s angel atop it.

I walk into the kitchen, pour the dregs of my coffee down the drain, and check the refrigerator for breakfast ingredients. I slowly head for my bedroom, enjoying the dimness and silence. When I enter, I see a robed Riley clutching a panel of blackout curtain in one hand, her face so close to the glass I’d wager her nose is pressed against it. She turns when she hears me, her face alight with a joyous smile.

“Liam! It’s snowing! On Christmas Day!” she gushes happily.

I stare at her, wanting to tell her to stop being such a child, and to get back in bed.

But I don’t.

She doesn’t know that there is a present for her beneath the Christmas tree. She doesn’t know that I am preparing one of her favorite breakfasts this morning: French crepes, bacon, and matcha latte.

All she knows is that it’s snowing on Christmas morning, and that she’s with me.

I allow her to be happy and enjoy this moment.

I see myself in her.

“Breakfast soon,” I promise as I climb beneath the covers, turning my back to her and the window.

 Riam

Who puts up the Christmas lights?

Who hits up Black Friday sales?

Who starts a snowball fight?

“Get back here, you little heathen!” Riley ordered, just before tripping over one of her sons’ toys and faceplanting into the plush carpeting of the boys’ nursery.

Her firstborn, Frac, stopped running when he heard her fall; he stopped and turned, then burst into laughter at seeing his mother felled like a tree.

He pointed a chubby finger at Riley, chanting, “Heevin”.

His mother closed her eyes and slowly counted to 10. It was too early for the emotional damage being inflicted upon her by the tiny humans she helped create.

“You cannot say ‘heathen’ around dada, do you understand?”

“Dada heevin! Dada heevin!” Frac laughed.

Fric, his identical twin and the youngest by three minutes, toddled around Riley and was repeatedly poking his finger into one of her butt cheeks, prominently outlined through her flannel nightgown due to a gigantic wedgie.

“Mama butt!”

“Oh, dear LORD! Stop touching it, little boy!” Riley huffed as she gently smacked Fric’s hand off her.

Frac hurriedly joined his brother, and the boys clambered onto Riley’s back, knocking her back to the floor before she could fully stand; the pair rocked back and forth and bounced up and down on their mother, tiny fingers gripping her gown while shrieking with laughter as they alternated between saying, “Horthee” and “Heevin butt.”

A brisk knock on the door preceded a freshly dressed Liam’s entry; his greeting died on his lips as he took in the scene before him:

His wife face down on the floor, flailing her legs and pounding her fists against the floor, yelling, “STOP THAT!”; a section of her nightgown was bunched between her butt cheeks.

His sons, naked except for diapers, using Riley for horseback rides, while yelling something that sounded suspiciously like horse’s heathen butt.

“Francis! Jonathan!” Liam addressed his sons by their Christian names in a firm tone as he strode towards his family.

The boys abruptly halted their movements, turning their heads almost guiltily. Bright, guileless smiles wreathed their faces when they saw their father.

“DADA!” They scrambled off their mother and ran to Liam.

The King squatted so he was eye-level with his sons. “What were you doing to your mother?” he demanded.

“Mama heevin,” Frac stated as if that explained everything.

“They tried to KILL ME, Liam.” Riley moaned dramatically as she rolled over onto her back. “They are implementing their plan of world domination, and I’m the test subject!”

Liam wagged an index finger before the twins’ faces. “Your mother is NOT a heathen, and we will continue this discussion,” he promised.

The twins looked at each other with startled eyes. “Oh, oh!” they said in unison before scampering off to their bedroom.

Liam chuckled as he stretched out beside his wife. “What did we do before those two came along?”

“Have peace, quiet, allll the food, and not live in fear for our lives.” Riley threw her forearm across her brow.

Liam turned his head so his eyes could take in Riley’s profile. “Do you want to try for another one?”

Riley turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Yes,” she answered softly.

Their hands reached for the other’s, and they lay in relative quiet for a few moments.

“We need to head to Valtoria before the storm comes,” Liam stated.

The royal family would be spending the Christmas/New Year holiday season at the Queen’s duchy as they did every year. This winter season, Valtoria was experiencing significant snowfall and with more accumulation expected all week, it appeared there would be a white Christmas.

“Gladys informed me yesterday that all the orphanages received their packages from “Santa”, so that’s good. And multiple deliveries were made to the Great House from online shippers, so guessing my Black Friday purchases arrived as well.”

“You weren’t the only one to take advantage of lower prices and free shipping, love,” Liam reminded her.

“Did you use my Prime account?” Riley demanded.

“Did you use my credit card?” her husband countered.

Silence. “Maybe.”

Liam laughed quietly as he moved closer to Riley. “Then we’re even.”

“We need to leave within the next hour if we’re going to arrive before more precipitation. Maybe we can take the boys out in the snow before it gets too heavy.”

“Judging by what I walked in on, it’s going to take you that long to get them clothed.”

“You dress them, I’ll order breakfast to go and get ready. Make sure to put them in their reindeer snowsuits.”

Liam’s brow knit. “Love, where did our children learn words like heathen and butt?”

Riley shook her head. “No idea. Maybe those Mickey Mouse cartoons they watch.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “I think you do know.”

“You can’t prove that!”

“But I can settle it. Snowball fight in Valtoria.”

“Heathens versus Butts? You’re on!” Riley accepted the challenge as Liam helped her from the floor. “Just so you know, I’m the heathen.”

Liam eyed her posterior admiringly as she made her way to the door. “It’s looking like a butt from here.”

The Queen stuck out her tongue before disappearing through the doorway.

Writer’s Choice (Laxwell)

Who wants to see the Christmas parade?

Who throws the Christmas party?

Who makes homemade gifts?

“This is going to be the BEST Christmas EVER!” Maxwell announced delightedly as he tucked into his lunch.

The Duke of Valtoria, Liam Rys, stared dubiously across the table at his lover before reaching for dressing to pour over his salad. “It’s going to be such a whirlwind! I much prefer a slower-paced, quieter holiday.”

“New Year’s will be quiet. Just us,” Maxwell promised.

“Thank goodness. I don’t want any wild parties, Max!”

“We got the Beaumont Bash, Holiday Edition scheduled on the 23rd. No one will have recuperated enough for another one so soon.”

“Then on Christmas Day, I’m Grand Marshal of the Valtorian Christmas Parade,” Liam added.

“I’ll be front row, and I’ll walk the entire parade route with you. You won’t be alone.”

Liam chuckled as he sliced into his grilled chicken. “With rumors of the entire duchy attending, I would hope not!”

“Your constituents love you.”

Liam shook his head. “They didn’t when I raised the tax rate.”

“Sales tax! By only 3%, and it’s still the lowest in all of Cordonia. Besides, if they don’t, I do,” Maxwell looked up from his plate to bat his eyes at Liam.

“And I love you more,” Liam smiled fondly at the young Lord.

“Y’know, I was thinking … since Christmas Day is going to be jam-packed with the Parade and family dinners, maybe we could exchange gifts Christmas Eve,” Maxwell suggested as he ladled gravy onto his mashed potatoes.

Liam’s eyes widened appreciatively over the rim of his wineglass. “Excellent idea, love!”

“I can’t wait for you to see your present!”

Liam’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is it a peacock?”

Maxwell raised an eyebrow, his expression giving away nothing. “I’m not telling.”

“Max, if you got me a PEACOCK … you KNOW I’m allergic!”

“Is that what you’re calling being a scaredy-cat nowadays?” Maxwell teased.

Liam bunched up his cloth napkin and lobbed it at his boyfriend. It harmlessly bounced off Maxwell’s hair and onto the carpet. “No peacocks!” Liam warned.

Maxwell grinned to himself. He most definitely had not gotten Liam a peacock, but there was a puppy. A Corgi, rescued from the local animal shelter. That was gift number one.

Gift number two spoke to Liam’s sentiment; it was a pinboard, handcrafted by Maxwell himself. With the help of the Great House’s staff.

It was made of cork, wood that had been painted in Cordonian blue, and macrame rope. Maxwell put a lot of thought into what would go onto the board: peacock feathers; a photo of Queen Eleanor and baby Liam; the ticket stubs from their first U2 concert; a copy of his letter to Liam on their second anniversary; glitter; a picture of Liam the day of his coronation as Duke of Valtoria, wearing his coronet and carrying a shield decorated with the Valtorian coat of arms; a stock photo of two clinking beer bottles, and a photo of their mothers at a tea party, grinning conspiratorially at each other over tea cups.

He hoped Liam liked it.

Liam, across the table, was finishing his meal debating if he should get a refund on Maxwell’s gift. The second-born to the throne was now absolutely convinced that he was getting a peacock for Christmas.

His gift to Maxwell was a two-week trip to France next summer. They would be attending the Peacock Society’s annual electronic dance music festival in Paris. Max would be upset that the Peacock Society had nothing to do with actual peafowl, but in-person attendance at an actual festival would make up for that.

After the three-day festival, the pair would be off to hike the Pyrenees Mountains.

The trip they never got to take.

“WHAT?” Maxwell exclaimed as he reached for more chicken and potatoes. “I feel you watching me!”

“Good! Because I am going to KEEP watching you, every day until Christmas Eve.”

“Well, let me make it worth your while, …” Maxwell pulled his sweater over his head, exposing his muscled bare chest, hippo tattoo, and rippled abs.

He winked at Liam before eating a forkful of chicken and salad.

The Duke audibly gulped before licking his suddenly dry lips. “Please, continue,” he urged.

“If I do that, I’m giving you your present early,” Maxwell protested with a sly grin.

Liam had risen from his seat and was pulling Maxwell from his. “I’ll still want it on Christmas Eve.”

“But the surprise!” Maxwell mock protested as he willingly let Liam lead him towards their bedroom.

“You’ll think of something between now and then.”

Tagging:  @jared2612​ @ao719​  @marietrinmimi​ @merridithsmiscellany-blog​ @queenjilian​ @indiacater​ @kingliam2019​ @bebepac​ @liamxs-world​ @mom2000aggie​ @liamrhysstalker2020​  @neotericthemis​ @twinkleallnight​ @umccall71​ @superharriet​  @busywoman​ @gabesmommie1130​ @tessa-liam​ @phoenixrising0308​ @beezm​ @gardeningourmet​ @lovingchoices14​ @foreverethereal123​ @mainstreetreader​ @angelasscribbles​ @lady-calypso​ @emkay512​ @jovialyouthmusic​ @princessleac1​ @charlotteg234​ @queenrileyrose​ @alj4890​ @yourfavaquarius111​ @motorcitymademadame​ @queenmiarys​  @choicesficwriterscreations​ @burnsoslow​

[scotianostra]

On 14th January 2016, the Scottish screenwriter, television producer and journalisRobert Banks Stewart died.

Many Doctor Who fans will remember Robert fondly as the creator of the Zygons.

Edinburgh-born Robert Stewart left school at age fifteen and parlayed his skill into a series of newspaper jobs. His career was interrupted by his National Service, during which he was part of Field Marshal Montgomery's staff. Stewart also began writing plays, and worked for the BBC as a radio commentator for Scottish football matches. He finally left the newspaper industry to serve as a foreign correspondent for Illustrated magazine, prompting a move to London. Stewart was twice married and twice divorced; his first wife bore a daughter, while he had three sons with his second wife, Helen.

When his job with Illustrated came to an end in the late Fifties, Stewart joined the Rank Organisation, initially as a story editor on Interpol Calling. He was soon providing scripts for the programme as well, and he began writing prolifically on shows like Danger Man, Ghost Squad and The Saint, as well as several editions of The Edgar Wallace Mystery Theatre. Stewart's first commission for the BBC came on a 1962 episode of Dr Finlay's Casebook. It was at this stage that he adopted “Robert Banks Stewart” as his professional name, in order to distinguish him from similarly-named writers; Banks was his mother's maiden name. He was also approached to develop ideas for Doctor Who during its formative stages in 1963, though nothing came of this.

The latter part of the Sixties saw Stewart write for everything from The Avengers to Adam Adamant Lives! to Callan. He was a script editor on Armchair Theatre, and earned his first credit as a producer on Intrigue. At the end of the decade, he travelled to Australia to produce and write for Riptide, until issues with the local labour unions prompted him to return to the UK.

In the early Seventies, Stewart wrote for shows like Jason King, Arthur Of The Britons, The Legend Of Robin Hood and Sutherland's Law, while script editing Harriet's Back In Town and Van Der Valk. In the middle of the decade, he developed three serials for Doctor Who, all featuring Tom Baker's Fourth Doctor. Stewart invented the Zygons for  Terror Of The Zygons- set in his native Scotland -- and then the Krynoids for The Seeds Of Doom. He had written most of the storyline for “The Foe From The Future” when Thames Television hired him to script edit Rooms and Armchair Thriller

The producer of Doctor Who during Stewart's time on the show was Philip Hinchcliffe, who subsequently moved to Target. When Hinchcliffe was preparing to leave the police drama, he suggested that Stewart take over, only for Target to be cancelled altogether. Instead, Stewart created two very popular series in a similar vein: first Shoestring, starring Trevor Eve, and then Bergerac with John Nettles. After an unhappy spell in the mid-Eighties as the executive producer of drama for London Weekend Television, Stewart returned to the BBC to produce Lovejoy and develop Call Me Mister. He rounded off the decade as the producer of Hannay and Storyboard.

The Nineties began with Stewart producing another hit, as he helped to launch Catherine Zeta-Jones' career with The Darling Buds Of May. He went on to produce another of his own creations, Moon And Son, before working on McCallum for Philip Hinchcliffe, who was now the Controller of Drama for Scottish Television. Stewart's final scriptwriting credit was for My Uncle Silas at the start of the new millennium. Although he was keen to continue working in television, Stewart was frustrated to find his age a barrier in securing work. Instead, he adapted an unsuccessful television pitch into a novel: The Hurricane's Tail was released by Kaleidoscope Publishing in 2012. Stewart followed it with his 2015 autobiography, To Put You In The Picture, from Miwk Publishing.

Robert Banks Stewart succumbed to cancer just three months later, on this day in 2016 hw was 84.

[twilightzonecloseup]

1.02a Wordplay

Director: Wes Craven

Writer: Rockne S. O’Bannon

Cinematographer: Bradford May

Summary:

After pulling a late night to study a new medical supply line that his company is selling, Bill Lowery (Robert Klein) wakes up in an armchair in his living room, tucked in with his study binders by his caring wife, Kathy (Annie Potts). As the family goes through their typical morning routine, Bill finds out that their son, Donnie,  is showing signs of the flu and is mildly confused when his wife says that the doctor filling in for their regular pediatrician is called “Dr. Bumper.” Bill heads to work, but stops to greet his neighbor (Robert Downey), who happily tells Bill that his pet “encyclopedia” successfully gave birth to a litter of nine. At the office, struggling to keep up with his clients and all of the new products he’s meant to hawk, the communication stumbling blocks keep on coming. When Bill heads home for lunch, his wife confirms that he didn’t mishear anything and that the typical word for a midday meal is, in fact, “dinosaur.” Bill tries his hardest to make it through the day, but quicker and quicker his ability to comprehend English degrades. In a single conversation with the office secretary, he goes from “Mr. Lowery” to “Mr. Thunder.” Distressed, he retreats home early but is met with his panicking wife. Donnie’s illness has taken a bad turn and they rush him to the hospital. Bill has to rely entirely on Kathy by this point to communicate with the hospital staff. Bill and Kathy wait desperately to see if their son is going to pull through, while the linguistic barrier that has suddenly cut Bill off from the rest of the world looms in the backs of their minds. Thankfully, Donnie is going to be okay and the Lowerys are able to go home to what is probably the quietest and strangest dinner of their lives. Bill then makes his way to Donnie’s room, where he pulls out a learn-to-read book, mirroring how he ended the previous day, but this time with a more momentous assignment facing him.

Closing Narration: 

“A question trembles in the silence: why did this remarkable thing happen to this perfectly ordinary man? It may not matter why the world shifted so drastically for him. Existence is slippery at the best of times. What does matter is that Bill Lowery isn't ordinary. He's one of us—a man determined to prevail in the world that was, and the world that is, or the world that will be...in the Twilight Zone."

More about Wordplay:

Wordplay started out as an unsolicited script that Rockne S. O’Bannon was shopping around early in his TV writing career. The strength of the script got him the job of Story Editor for the series. And a strong script it was! 

Wordplay has a fantastic build from a mundane occurrence escalating to a preternatural level. The way Philip DeGuere, TZ ‘85’s showrunner described Wordplay was that the story captured a feeling of everyone being in on something that you’re not, and not finding any way out of it. That’s a sound strategy for creating a suspenseful story, but the emphasis on the humanity of the characters involved make Wordplay especially effective. O’Bannon, Craven, and the cast created a lived-in world for the Lowerys. Even though the story is told in such a short amount of time, Bill and Kathy are clearly in tune without any histrionics or romance overselling their care for one another to the viewer. The segment communicates to us how comfortable their domestic situation is through little touches like Kathy covering Bill up when he fell asleep working or the moment when they rush Donnie into the emergency room, and Bill so quickly defers to Kathy when he can’t communicate to the nurse. You feel how much they trust and rely on one another. This is communicated subtly (often not using words, haha!) but the tension of this life being ruined by this sudden-onset aphasia is more deeply felt. Klein is cast against type here, but he truly knocks this performance out of the park.

Wordplay feels like more of a departure from TZ ‘59 than the previous two stories, but the underlying experience that DeGuere pointed out is certainly familiar. Based on that principle, the first original TZ episode that came to mind to pair it with is Mirror Image (S1E21), but I’d love to hear if it evoked any other stories for you! Maybe Sounds and Silences (S5E27), but inverted to be about a likable character in a happy marriage?

Side note, but as someone with auditory processing disorder, I wonder if O’Bannon might also have it, because things like “fasten stepdad” and “Hinge Thunder” pretty precisely capture how I mishear things. It’s not always prisencolinensinainciusol. 

Before seeing this installment, I was already aware of Rockne S. O’Bannon because of Farscape (1999), but it was news to me that he also created Alien Nation (1989) and seaQuest DSV (1993). Like, how was I not aware that so many shows I loved in my childhood were the brainchild of this one guy?! Anyhow, it was very cool to look back at O’Bannon’s start in TV speculative fiction with the knowledge of what a huge creative force he would be in the following decades. I haven’t seen the show O’Bannon is currently working on, Evil (2019), but that also seems very up my alley! If you’ve seen it, let me know what you think! Is it worth checking out?

✨Support✨

[heroofthreefaces]

Preview panel only. Click here for full cartoon.   Or see the on-site navigation tutorial.   Cartoons may contain unmarked spoilers.   Cartoons linked at 10:00 Central US are new. Cartoons at 22:00 are from the archive. Thanks for reading.

[Image  description: Preview panel of the cartoon at the link. Ace of Doctor Who, Indiana Jones of Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade, and the Doctor, seventh incarnation, stand talking. Ace is saying, “We found the Grail in 1933. And Excalibur in 1989, plus or minus.” Indiana turns to the Doctor and says, “In 1933?” The Doctor says, “Yes yes, the same events as on your fiction-plane but they happened to us.” Indiana says, “You ... and your dad?” The Doctor says, “Not exactly.” Unfortunately there  are not image descriptions at the main Hero Of Three Faces site. End  description.]

[grlffithsgay]

Since Nikolai is my favorite character in bsd, I was looking into the author's work and life and I discovered that he was actually gay!!!

There's very little information about it, but I found part of his diary in a collection of LGBTQ+ Russian short stories. Apparently, people mistook his diary for fiction and published it. But, as the editor of the collection said himself, it's obviously part of a larger, personal diary. It's very explicit and emotional so, probably, the entire thing was destroyed. However, what we have is enough to conclude that he was truly in love with this man, Vielhorsky, who died one year after they met.

I decided to transcribe it and post it here, not because I think it has anything to do with the character, but because I believe it's a important prove that gay people exist since, well... forever, and that love is real. It was back in the 1800s and it still is nowadays.

So, with no more delaying, here it goes:

NIGHTS AT THE VILLA

They were sweet and tormenting, those sleepless nights. He sat, ill, in the armchair. I was with him. Sleep dared not touch my eyes. Silently and involuntarily, it seems, it respected the sanctity of my vigil. Its was so sweet to sit near him, to look at him. For two nights already we have been saying "thou" to each other. How much closer he has become to me since then! He sat there just as before, meek, quiet, and resigned. Good God! With what joy, with what happiness I would have taken his illness upon myself! And if my death could restore him to health, with what readiness I would have rushed toward it!

* * *

I did not stay with him last night. I had finally decided to stay home and sleep. Oh, how base, how vile that night and my despicable sleep were! I slept poorly, even though I had been without sleep for almost a week. I was tormented by the thought of him. I kept imagining him, imploring and reproachful. I saw him with the eyes of my soul. I hastened to come early to him and felt like a criminal as I went. From his bed he saw me. He smiled with his usual angel's smile. He offered his hand. He pressed mine lovingly.

"Traitor." he said, "You betrayed me."

"My angel," I said, "Forgive me. I myself suffered with your suffering. I was in torment all night. My rest brought me no repose. Forgive me!"

My meek one! He pressed my hand. How fully rewarded I was for the suffering that the stupidly spent night had brought me!

"My head is weary," he said. I began to fan him with a laurel branch. "Ah, how fresh and good," he said. His words were then... what were they? What would I have not given, what earthly goods, those despicable, those vile, those disgusting goods... no, they are not worth mentioning. You into whose hands will fall -if they will fall- those incoherent, fleebe lines, pallid expressions of my emotions, you will understand me. Otherwise they will not fall into your hands. You will understand how repulsive the entire heap of treasures and honors is that attracts those wooden dolls which are called people. Oh, with what joy, with what anger I could have trampled underfoot and squashed everything that is bestowed by the mighty scepter of the Tsar of the North, if I only knew that this would buy a smile that indicated the slightest relief in his face.

"Why did you prepare such a bad month of May for me?" He said to me, awakening in his armchair and hearing the wind beyond the window-panes that wafted the aroma of the blossoming wild jasmine and white acacia, which mingled with the whirling rose petals.

* * *

At ten o'clock I went down to see him. I had left him there hours before to get some rest, to prepare [something] to him, to afford him some variety, so my arrival would give him more pleasure. I went down to him at ten o'clock. He had been alone for more than one hour. His visitors had long since left. The dejection of boredom showed on his face. He saw me. Waved his hand slightly.

"My savior." He said to me. They still sound in my ears, those words.

"My angel! Did you miss me?"

"Oh, how I missed you." He replied.

I kissed him on the shoulder. He offered his cheek. We kissed; he was still pressing my hand.

He did not like going to bed and hardly ever did. He preferred his armchair and the sitting position. That night the doctor ordered him to rest. He stood up reluctantly and, leaning on my shoulder, moved to his bed.

My darling! He weary glance, his brightly colored jacket, his slow steps- I can see it all, it is all before my eyes.

He whispered in my ear, leaning on my shoulder and glancing at the bed: "Now I'm a ruined man."

"We will remain in bed for only half an hour," I said to him, "and then we'll go back to your armchair".

I watched you, my precious, tender flower! All the time when you were sleeping or merely dozing in you bed or armchair, I followed your movements and your moments, bound to you by some incomprehensible force.

How strangely new my life was then and, at the same time, I discerned in it a repetition of something distant, something that once actually was. But it seems hard to give an idea of it: there returned to me a fresh, fleeting fragment of my youth, that time when a youthful soul seeks fraternal friendship with those of one's age, a decidedly juvenile friendship, full of sweet, almost infantile trifles and mutual show of tokens of tender attachment; the time when it is sweet to gaze into each other's eyes, when your entire being is ready to offer sacrifices, which are usually not even necessary. And all those feelings, sweet, youthful, fresh - alas! Inhabitants of a vanishing world - all these feelings returned to me. Good Lord! What for? I watched you, my precious, tender flower. Did this fresh breath of youth waft upon me only so that I might suddenly and irrevocably sink into even greater and more deadening coldness of feelings, so that I might become all at once older by a decade, so that I might see my vanishing life with even greater despair and hopelessness? Thus does a dying fire send its flames up into the air, so that it might illuminate with its flickering the somber walls and then disappear forever.

Source: Out Of The Blue, Kevin Moss.

[livingmybestchemistrylife]

Introduction

So where to begin, I guess the start?

I’m from a small town, where everyone knows everyone and their business. That town also just happens to be in a small country (Scotland), and is half way between our two major cities. My mum and her family are from Glasgow, one of those major cities so naturally I spent a generous chunk of my childhood in and around the beautifully mundane and surreal city.

I was always a ‘high flyer’ at school, and it was always a big focus in my life - it was always there when everyone asked about test results, it affected the books I read and more recently my mental health but more on that later. Along with the ‘high flyer’ badge came the expectations and dreams.

From the age of fifteen I was set on doing medicine at university and going on to be a doctor. I found a friend in someone just like me, he’s still one of my best friends now, and we did all our research and prep for applying to uni together. We went to open days, went on extra courses to help us pass mandatory aptitude tests and most importantly, we were there to support each other through the bulls**t that is an application to medical school. He’s another high flyer, and he did so well that he got into medical school and is still plugging away at it 3 years later! Me, not so much. I struggled with the aptitude tests from the word ‘go’. It ended up being the main reason I didn’t get into a medicine course. I didn’t need to do an aptitude test to get into my backup course - biomedical sciences.

The idea was to start on the biomedical sciences course and then internally transfer to medicine, I had spoken to various admissions teams and they said that it would be totally fine to do that. On the first day, in the first lecture, the head of the course said: “Don’t think that you can transfer to medicine. Even with outstanding grades, it is near impossible to do.” My heart sank so far down into my stomach that I felt unwell for the rest of the day. My flat mates, who I’d only met two days before when we moved in to the halls of residence (or halls for short), said I was sheet white when I got back to the flat that afternoon.

I tried my hardest to make the best of a not too good situation. I had worked hard enough at school to advance straight into second year of the course - bad idea. Everyone forms friendships in first year, it was hard to go into a lecture theatre knowing no one and seeing people come in and sit down while talking about their weekends and ideas for essays and projects they worked on together. I was like a little island, I made a handful of acquaintances rather than friends. We only spoke to each other when it was beneficial for us ie about assignments. I had never felt so alone in the world, and then my Grampa got sick.

My Grampa (my mum’s dad) was the bee’s knees. He was the one person I always looked up to when I was little. He was a gentle giant, and a smart man with uncompromising morals. I’m a big fan of doing charity and community work, I’ve been told I inherited that from him. I used to visit him at least once a week, there was even a time I lived with him and my grandma. He hadn’t had the best time of it health-wise, diabetic and prone to heart attacks but he kept up with his meds and regular check ups so it wouldn’t get any worse. Things started to change when I was 10. He started to forget things a bit more - not big things to start with - and his posture started to change, he always sat up really straight in his armchair but he had started to slouch a little. A few years go by and he starts to struggle to recognise people and is a lot more irritable and raises his voice more (remember I said gentle giant, wouldn’t breathe on a fly if it would harm it). He had dementia, linked to his diabetes and heart problems. My grandma struggled with looking after him at home, she is physically tiny so she couldn’t carry him around the house or up stairs. So he was moved to a care home where he stayed for a few years, still visited him as often as I could but with school and then uni and work piling up, that got more difficult. He got an infection in October 2018, a month after I started at university. His body did eventually fight it off but it left him very weak. He made it through one more Christmas. He passed away that January. I knew my mum was visiting him, and I had messaged asking how he was and he had only just gone.

I wasn’t the same after that, I wasn’t ‘okay’ for at least six months. I bombed all my exams at uni and had to resit them. I wasn’t enjoying the classes I was doing, and I was grieving - I wasn’t taking in information because my head was too full of emotions and questions.

After resitting my exams and passing the year, I took the bold step of telling my tutor and year head that I wouldn’t be returning next semester. I needed to take some time for me to figure out what I wanted for me, not what anyone else wanted or what they thought I might like. I was dead sure I was going to do what I needed to do. It was a completely selfish decision and that’s a good thing. I needed to start looking out for me and have my own back again. I had given so much of myself to other people, I was stretched thinner than the skin of a taught drum. I was like the rainbow fish from the kids book, I gave away some of my sparkle but it wasn’t healthy for me in the end. I wasn’t happy like the rainbow fish.

I worked two jobs I loved, visited uni open days on my own and did hundreds of hours of research. Being on my own wasn’t so bad anymore, I was more comfortable in my own company than anyone else’s, so why not enjoy it? I took myself to an open day to see a few science courses on a whim (biomedical sciences might’ve been bad but I still loved other sciences) and drifted into the chemistry information lecture. It was like being in another world. It was so friendly and had everything I needed that biomedical sciences didn’t.

I cried a lot that day. I felt a persistent little tug on my heartstrings and I knew that I was where I was meant to be. I was overwhelmed with the sensation you got as a kid, when you were setting off on an adventure and the serenity that comes with returning home after being away for a long time. And I felt it all at once. I don’t think I had known pure joy properly as an adult until that day.

The rest is history from there. I wrote my application, with my parents helping as editors, and asked the most wonderful teacher I know to give me a reference. Mrs P has written references for me for every application I made while I was at school and helped me through some of the most difficult experiences of my life at school and I know I could never thank her enough.

So here starts the interesting part of the story, this new chapter and beyond, and I can’t wait to begin. I’m determined to enjoy this next part of my life and keep track of what could be the most amazing and formative years.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

Oxygen

[courtesan-of-garage]

Can it wait? [Ethan Ramsey x f!MC x Harper Emery(?)]

Author’s note: Hello precious mutuals! IT’S ME, AGAIN! I’m happy to present you short story I’ve written lately. @queenkaneko was my editor, since I’m not english native speaker, THANK YOU LADY <3 As always, at least for me, it is pure fluff, so, enjoy! also sorry for not putting ‘keep reading’ link but I think I broke tumblr somehow and it doesn’t work

Ethan was sitting there, in his favorite uskea armchair, talking on his phone.

‘... No, he doesn’t like blue and won’t enjoy azure decoration.’

‘Who are you talking to?’

You asked innocently, even though you already know the answer. Naveen’s birthday was getting close and that’s all that Ethan has thought about lately. And of course, there is this one particular woman in the entire hospital that wants to help him with organising a surprise party.

He puts his mobile away for a second, just to answer your question.

‘Harper, we need to coordinate a few things about reception’

Of course. Harper. Emery.

It’s not like you hate each other, no, more like… You are not a fan of her and she is not a fan of you. You can admit that she is amazing surgeon, probably one of the most skilled in  Boston, if not in the country. She is a role model when it comes to being doctor, but you still can’t forget about her hostility and all the words that were said in the operating room the other day. They are still ringing in your ears when you pass her in the hospital hall. ‘All I can do is use your mistake to show your fellow doctors that rules exist for a reason and that every decision has a cost.’

Mrs Martinez’s case was closed for a while now, everything was coming back to normal after your ethics hearing, you were proven innocent. Things between you and Ethan have never been better, since he stopped being your boss your relationship had quickly found the chance to break into bloom. You were sure about his feelings, you knew that you mean the world to him and he made you the happiest woman in the universe, that’s for sure.

Yet, you are still not good with the situation, where he is talking with his ex about balloons colors.

You are not the jealous type, not an impulsive one, but you can feel it grow inside you, urgent need to draw his attention away from this phone call. You don’t know where it comes from, it’s like different person has taken control over your body. You sneak behind him and put your hands on his shoulders, starting to stroke them gently. It always works. You’ve never seen him rejecting giving in to your touch, no matter what he was doing, your hands on his arms have never failed.

 At least, not until now.

 ‘Harper, no, wait, give me a moment’ he said, as he pulled his mobile against his chest, turning his head up and speaking ‘Rookie, can it wait? I’m kind of busy right now. After all that Naveen has been through, we want this birthday to be perfect, okay?’.

He sent you one quick smile before going back to his conversation. You raised your hands in defeat, disbelief painting on your face. You’ve just simply left the room, biting your lip, trying to restrain your fury.

***

After finishing conversation with Emery, exhausting one, to be honest (who knew that choosing a flavor of cake could be so tiring?) you took a few deep breaths before standing up and going to another room, where Rookie was sitting. You felt in your bones that you’d started another world war, with that ‘I’m kind of busy right now’, she has been so touchy and irritable lately. Not to mention that you chose talking with your ex over her and her craving for your attention. Yes, definitely world war is coming.

She sits behind her desk, furiously typing something on her laptop. You knock lightly on the door frame, but she doesn’t even look in your direction, ignoring you completely. You sigh loudly and start to come her way, stealing her own trick, trying to get behind her and put your hands on her shoulder, but before you can do this you can hear her saying ‘Can it wait? I’m kind of busy right now.’

The corner of your lips raised slightly; Of course, fierce and stubborn. But wasn’t it why you adored her so much? Maybe lately these features are much more intensified, but that’s how true love works - you are together and you support each other, no matter what.

Instead of listening to her demand, you start to talk, your voice gentle and quiet.

‘Look, I’m well aware that Emery is not your favorite person right now, but I don’t really think she is the problem here. You’ve been acting…’ you search for the most adequate word, but no matter what you choose, she is still going to react, well, emotionally, that’s for sure. ‘...a little bit different lately. So it made me think a little… I need you to stay calm, please, but I need to ask you this question. When was the last time when you got your period?’

World war is here, officially.

She picked herself rapidly up, her eyes were two flaming gems now, burning holes in your head.

‘So, first you are ignoring me because you are talking with your ex, and now you have nerve to tell me that I’m overreacting and it’s all my hormones fault? The audacity.’

You try to stop her, but she is much faster than you, already running away, sobbing loudly and then you hear slam of the bathroom door. You chuckle, all you want now is to see her face once she realises what’s going on.

***

You are standing on your bedroom doorstep, Ethan is lying on the bed, reading something, wide smile dancing on his lips. You clear your throat and he is turning his gaze to you, god, you are so embarrassed with your behavior before, but his eyes so warm and understanding, encourage you to speak.

‘I think… I think I may be pregnant.’

[hankguogh]

10 Chinese webnovels I highly recommend

Chinese webnovels are getting popular around the world, this genre of novels is also called Light Novel because of its short chapter size and editing work.As a veteran reader, I have been reading Chinese webnovels for more than 15 years,including most of all genres,such as wuxia,fantasy,romance ... Some of them have really impressed to me,and today I'm very glad to recommend you 10 Chinese webnovels that have been translated to English.I think they are all of pretty good quality.

1.Night Ranger

This fantasy novel has 819 chapters and it is completed now on webnovel.com its original chinese edition has 2.01 million views.

Source:webnovel.com Synopsis: Legendary player Marvin transmigrated to the eve of the Great Calamity. This was the end of the fourth era, all gods joined hands to destroy the Universe Magic Pool. The fourth Fate Tablet had begun maturing and all gods, demons, legends, devils, liches, dragons and other legendary creatures were appearing one after the other. In order to protect his loved ones, Marvin has no other choice but to delve into the shadows. This is the story of a young ranger growing into the Ruler of the Night during the Chaos Era.

2.Godly Stay-Home Dad

This novel has been updated to Chapter 116 on tapread.com (one chapter each day).And now it ranks top 1 among all novels on tapread,very worth reading.

Source:tapread.com Synopsis: After immortality cultivation, he transforms into a daddy. Then he begins to carve out a new field where he opens a restaurant. In his spare time, he would like to compose songs and flirts with his wife ... Let’s see how this immortal daddy plays the city.

3.Martial God Asura

It is an ongoing Chinese web novel by “Kindhearted Bee” with 2900+ chapters. This novel is currently being translated by Yang Wenli (YWL) and flowerbridgetoo (FBT) has translated the first 3 volumes (Chapters 1-1004). On the wuxiaworld website, it is listed in the “Xuan Huan” category and “Eastern Fantasy” as the subcategory.

Source:wuxiaworld.com Synopsis: Regarding potential—even if you are not considered a genius, you can still learn Mysterious Techniques and martial skills. Anyone can be enlightened without a master. Regarding strength—despite having a myriad of artifacts, you may not defeat my army of World Spirits. Who am I? All of the world’s living perceives me as Asura, but I was ignorant to such a thing. I thus ascend to be the Martial God as Asura.

4.Reincarnation - The Divine Doctor and Stay-at-home Dad

This kind of stay-home dad novel is my favorite genre,lol. This novel is also an ongoing one. check it on Tapread.com.

Source:tapread.com Synopsis: As an ordinary human being on the earth, Tang Long was brought to the Cultivation World by a lost immortal, and relying on his amazing talent, he made it to one of the five emperors in that world. However, struck by Thunder of Nine Heavens, he lost his life. It was lucky for him to rebirth in the human world as an intern who was named Qin Haodong. With his excellent medical skills, he became a divine doctor of traditional Chinese medicine and a father of a baby girl, whose mother was as pretty as a fairy. The little girl even asked him to find more lovers. What a cute girl...

5.Trial Marriage Husband: Need to Work Hard

The novel is currently top 1 translation power ranking on webnovel.com now.Highly recommended!

Source:webnovel.com Synopsis: The night before their wedding, her fiancee ran off with his mistress. Out of frustration, she grabbed the man standing in front of the Civil Affairs Office, "President Mo, your bride has not arrived and my groom has run away...May I suggest we get married?" Before marriage, she said, "Even if we were to share the same bed, nothing would happen between us!" After marriage, he said, "If we don't try, how would we know?"

6.The General’s Genius Daughter

Source:tapread.com Synopsis: In her previous life, the woman that her husband cheated on dug out her beautiful eyes, told her that her child was not her husband’s and then tortured her to death. Her six years old son, Tiantian, was harmed by the adulterer while her parents were brutally murdered... Hua Qiyue woke up again and found out that she was now in the body of a famous general’s daughter, who shared the same first name as her. However, she discovered that the body was a useless one as her Qi veins were blocked! Since the heaven did give her another chance of life, she promised herself to destroy the life of her cheating husband, torture the home wrecker, seek revenge and save her son! By accident, she discovered a handsome devil inside her jade gourd and was forced to acknowledge him as her master. What troubled her more was that her first appearance in the public caused her to be surrounded by numerous handsome men such as the cool and mysterious Prince Nan, her cruel but strong master Tianpi, and the kind and graceful Medical Saint... Tianyuan continent was the continent of Qi Art and Spirit Summoning Art... Watch how Hua Qiyue master the two Arts, defeat her rivals and solve one mystery after another...

7.The Love Riots

Very popular on wattpad,editor's choice,the only one in my recommendation list isn't Chinese novel.

Source:wattpad.com Synopsis: Chitralekha Menon, or Chitra as she prefers, is an editor at Delhi Belly, a weekly lifestyle magazine. She lives alone in a flat and enjoys a cosmopolitan life that the city offers. Her days are spent going to the old parts of the town for interviews with interesting but unknown personalities. She loves reading books in her favourite armchair with a cup of cutting chai and discussing Indian politics. One day fate leads her to meet Zahir Hosain, a Political Science teacher, who emanates peace and enigma. She watches him with fascination as he works for an NGO and cares for his students so deeply. However, she realizes that life is not a bed of roses when she has to fight at every turn for her love as the society she lives in becomes more and more radical by the day. After all, does this society have a place for a Hindu woman who has fallen for a Muslim man? Together, Chitra and Zahir embark on an emotional and disastrous journey that takes sudden turns, keeping them on their toes and out of breath.

8.Sweet Chief Secretary

Source:tapread.com Synopsis: The first master in Shen’s refused female secretary to maintain his image. The girl lost her job and crashed into a luxury car of the second master in Shen’s, so she could only work as his secretary to repay the debt. The second master would emerge in the headlines of entertainment news every two or three days due to his gossip!In addition to help him at work, his secretary had to deal with his rotten tidbits?

9.The Medical Guru

Source:tapread.com Synopsis: He was the youngest guru of martial arts as well as the perfect Mr. McDreamy of the most girls. He had mysterious absolute touch, clear-sighted observation ability and various outstanding talents. But now, he was just an ordinary freshman in University of Jiangjing Chinese Medicine, who wanted to learn Chinese Medicine, see patients, and get into a relationship with a girl in a low-key way. However, in a Mid-Autumn Festival party, he was forced to put on a performance, which shocked the whole audience. The shiny and wonderful university life began from then on. In the university, he met a beautiful and smart School Beauty Jiang Miaoyu who shook his heart slightly. But the road of love was never smooth, even to a perfect hero. He also met a kind and friendly teacher Dr. Shen who discovered his excellent technique and gave him a chance to practice. Besides, his three lovely and interesting roommates were indispensable in his life, although sometimes they looked a little awkward. But this young hero’s life was not always full of happiness without a hitch, some trouble still appeared from time to time. The domineering and imperious President of the Students’ Union Li Qingshi purposely made difficulties for him repeatedly. The stubborn and hardworking martial arts practitioner Chen Cong often challenged him in different ways. Just because of these extraordinary personalities around him, this young hero’s road of struggle looked so amazing...

10.Super Urban Master

Source:tapread.com Synopsis: A good-for-nothing man wrote a closed book furiously and ran away from home on the wedding night as he was humiliated by his Kung Fu wife. Unfortunately, he suffered a car accident, but it turned to be a blessing. He swallowed the soul that passed through the outer world, thus obtained superb medical skills and martial arts. Later on，he embarked on the road of counterattacks, and was committed to his great dreams.

Well, above are my recommendations, although some of them didn't get good translations,that doesn't affect its quality at all.As a reader, I'm always passinate about Chinese web novels,and I hope you guys could like my recommendations!

[doctorwhonews]

Derrick Sherwin 1936 - 2018

Latest from the news site: Former Doctor Who producer Derrick Sherwin, the man responsible for creating UNIT, has died at the age of 82. Derrick Sherwin worked on Doctor Who in many capacities, writing scripts, producing the series for the transition between the second and third Doctor, and even appearing in once scene, playing a Car Park Attendant in the 1970 story Spearhead from Space. His most lasting legacy was creating the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce or UNIT for the 1968 story The Invasion. UNIT, helmed by Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, was an essential component for the Third Doctor's tenure, with its influence reaching as far as the Twelfth Doctor. Sherwin was born in 1936 in the Buckinghamshire town of High Wycombe, just west of London. His early work was in the theatre, but he quickly moved into television appearing in the 1958 show Duty Bound. Over the next ten years, he had a steady series of small roles appearing in dramas such as Here Lies Miss Sabry, The Edgar Wallace Mystery Theatre, United! and Armchair Theatre. His first contact with Doctor Who came when he joined as Assistant Script Editor to help the incumbent Peter Bryant who was preparing to take over as producer. It was a baptism of fire as he was immediately charged with rescuing a number of scripts which were not ready for production. He told Doctor Who Magazine. It was just before Christmas, and I was landed with a great pile of scripts that had to go into production immediately after the holiday break. The director had sent them back and said he wouldn’t do them. Pat Troughton had thrown a wobbly – they really were appalling! That set the pattern for the first three months. It was a real baptism of fire. He took over as Script Editor for the 1968 story The Dominators and later that year had the chance to write his own story from scratch. The result was The Invasion, the Cybermen story that set up the pattern for the series for much of the next five years. Sherwin felt the series had become too fantastical, with different monsters every week. He wanted to give the series a more grounded approach and saw as his inspiration the 1950's Quatermass stories. To help achieve that he took a character created for the story The Web of Fear, Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart, promoted him to Brigadier, and created UNIT around him. I sat down and wrote a couple of pages about this special task force, specifically with members from all nations, which had been set up to investigate funny things happening in space or the possibility of UFO’s or whatever. It was basically an army intelligence unit with special powers and, on some occasions, special weapons. Sherwin took over of producer for the last Patrick Troughton story, The War Games and was responsible for casting the third Doctor Jon Pertwee and overseeing the series move from Black and White to Colour. He left the series after Spearhead in Space He moved onto produce the series Paul Temple and later The Man Outside and Perils of Pendragon In the 1980's, when Doctor Who was under threat of cancellation from the BBC he offered to buy the franchise from the BBC and produce it independently. I wrote to Michael Grade and said ‘Look, obviously the BBC can’t afford to do this and doesn’t know where to go with it, so I will take it off your hands, produce it independently, finance it independently, and sell it back to you as a package’. He turned me down, saying that he’d got plans for the series. Then, when Grade left, I wrote to Peter Cregeen about it. So I offered to buy ‘Doctor Who’ out twice! Derrick Sherwin died last week after a long illness. Doctor Who News http://www.doctorwhonews.net/2018/10/derrick-sherwin-1936-2018.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[woods2006gal]

Chapter 30 - Don't Stop Me Now

“Have you spoken to Oliver,” Dr. Specter asks. She was sitting in the armchair she always sat in when with a patient. Her current patient was sitting in the armchair across from her. Zoey had certainly changed in the months she had been away from Metropolis.

Zoey shifts. She runs a hand over her skirt. “No. He is still avoiding me. But I have seen the numerous paparazzi photos of Oliver stumbling out of clubs or bars with random women. I like to stay out of editorial decisions.”

“But you’ve been using your ownership of The Daily Planet to keep those photos and the stories from being published.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Partly to protect Oliver. Mostly to protect myself. The past eight months have been hard enough. I don’t need the world knowing that my husband left me. My life is no one’s business. My personal tragedies is not entertainment for the masses.”

“I’ve read that the Arts and Culture section of the Daily Planet has gotten rid of gossip columnists.”

“We did. I did the same thing at the Star City Observer. I told my editors that we need to focus on arts and culture. Not the personal lives of celebrities. Other people can cover that.”

“How did that go down?”

“At first, no one was happy. But since we’re getting exclusive interviews with top celebrities everyone has changed their tune.”

“Are you ready to go back to work? Back to school?”

Zoey lightly smiles. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

~*~

News of Zoey’s return had quickly spread throughout the Daily Planet. With his latest run in with Oliver in mind, Clark makes his way up to Zoey’s office. Lois was out of town, sent on an assignment to cover a UN conference in Japan. He raises a fist to knock on the door, but it opens. “Clark,” Zoey brightly greets. “I was just going to go looking for you. I have a story.” Zoey wraps a hand around his bicep and leads him away from the office. “Apparently, Tess Mercer is in the hospital. Due to a nervous breakdown.”

Clark frowns. “Tess isn’t the type to have a nervous breakdown.”

“Exactly. Which is why we’re going to pay a visit to her in the hospital.”

Clark sighs. He wanted to talk to her about Oliver and how he had gotten worse since Jimmy’s death. Oliver had been on a downward spiral for months. “Zoey, have you talked with Oliver lately?”

Zoey freezes. She knew questions about Oliver would pop up. She was hoping that it would take longer before someone asked. At the same time she was thankful that it had been Clark who asked. “If you know where my husband is or what he is doing, I’d love to know. He hasn’t spoken to me since the end of February.”

Clark stares at her. That was the first time he had heard of Zoey and Oliver having problems. Whenever he asked about her, Oliver would just say that she was doing fine and focused on her recovery. “He’s in a bad place. He could really use you there.”

“I have tried, Clark, but he just ignores me. There’s nothing I can do.”

“You could’ve come back to Metropolis earlier.”

“You know what, I’ll go and see what’s going on with Tess by myself,” Zoey coldly says. “I’m sure there’s a cat up a tree or something that you can go save.” She turns and walks away. The last thing she wanted or desired was having to defend the choices she had made over the past eight months.

~*~

Zoey frowns as she listens to Dr. Alexis Grey on the phone. Alexis had been one Zoey’s doctors while she was in the hospital. It had been during those three weeks where Zoey had struck up a friendship with the young doctor.

Zoey glances at the young, dirty blonde doctor as she examines the read outs from the various machines connected to her. “Is it true that one of the residents in your year gave three nurses crabs,” she asks.

Alexis raises an eyebrow. “How did you hear that?”

“Sometimes the nurse on the night shift will leave the door open. And they gossip a little too loud. Which is fine. There’s no TV and I’ve already finished three of the Outlander novels. So…I’m a little bored.”

Alexis glances in the hallway before turning back to Zoey. “It’s Dr. Jackson.”

“No! The hot guy with the piercing blue eyes?”

“Yep.”

“He came in with Dr. Reese the other day to do a consult on my scars. He did seem a little fidgety. But I figured it was more because I asked Dr. Reese about getting a boob lift.”

“He has crabs. He spent a couple of days trying to use the shampoo to get rid of it. But it didn’t work. He had to shave all the hair off all over his body.”

“Maybe he won’t sleep around anymore.”

“All the nurses have been giving him the stink eye. Dr. Reese warned him about sleeping with the nurses, but he didn’t listen. So, now he’s having to change some bedpans.”

Zoey laughs. “It’s a real life episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

“Wait, Tess was infected with something,” Zoey asks, leaning back in her chair. Her office was on the top floor of the Daily Planet building. “Any idea what it was?”

“None. We sent samples to the CDC for testing. But we’re having to quarantine the entire hospital. Thirty more people have come down with the exact same symptoms.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep. Anyway, I look forward to having drinks Friday. I could really use a girls night out.”

“Me too.”

Zoey hangs up her phone and walks out of her office. She needed to find a reporter who may have contacts at the CDC. This was a story that she knew could put the Planet on the path towards winning a Pulitzer. No one at the Daily Planet had won one in over twenty years and Zoey was determined to change that.

Zoey steps off the elevator and into the basement bullpen of the Daily Planet. She spots someone hunched over their desk and bee lines towards them. “I have a lead on a major story,” she says. The reporter jumps up from their desk. Their skin was grey; eyes bloodshot. Black ooze came from their mouth. Zoey quickly moves back. She grabs an umbrella and smacks the reporter across in the face, knocking them down and rendering them unconscious.

“Zoey!” Zoey turns and sees Clark rushing towards her. He looks at the unconscious reporter, then at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Zoey answers. “Apparently, whatever Tess has, well, it’s spread.”

“It’s an airborne virus,” Clark answers.

“Explains how so many people caught it so quickly at the hospital. They’ve had to go into quarantine.”

“Do you think they’ve quarantined the city?”

“It would make sense. But they would need to have a way to test who has the zombie virus before they turn into one.”

“I don’t think anyone is actually a zombie, Zoey.”

Zoey shrugs. “You got another name,” she argues, walking over to the unconscious reporter. “He was asleep when I came down here. Then when he woke up he was a zombie.”

“Same thing happened to Tess. She was asleep. When she woke up, she became one of them.”

There’s a crash in the hallway and they quickly make their way out of the bullpen. They find a body on the ground and Oliver standing over it, with a shotgun. Zoey tenses. It was the first time in months she had seen him. Oliver stares at her. “I didn’t realize you were back in town, Zo,” he tells her. He had bags under his eyes and three days worth of growth on his face.

“I got in last night,” Zoey angrily answers. “I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up. And the next thing I know is that somehow we’re in Shaun of the fucking dead.”

Clark clears his throat. “It looks like this thing incubates when people are sleeping.”

Zoey glances at her watch. It was almost three in the morning. She hadn’t realized until then how fast the day had actually passed. “There’s only a few hours until people start getting up to go to work,” she tells Clark. “If everyone is a zombie then rush hour is going to really suck.”

“Someone’s got to go for help,” Clark replies. He pushes both Zoey and Oliver towards the elevator. “Get in. You’ll both be safe.”

Zoey sighs, but doesn’t try to fight him. She knew that she wouldn’t win anyway. Through at that moment, she wanted to be no where near Oliver. “Clark,” Zoey calls out. “Good luck.” He nods and the elevator doors close.

~*~

“It’s been over an hour, Zo,” Oliver says, breaking the tense silence that had been in the elevator with them since Clark had left. He had been sitting on the floor for the majority of the time; the shot gun lying next to him. Zoey, however, had remained standing; staring at the gold doors and ignoring him. “I know your feet are killing you, so just sit down.”

“I’m fine,” Zoey replies. He was right. Her feet were killing her. She wanted nothing more than to sit down and kick off the four inch heels she wore. But she refused to do so. She refused to let him see how much he was affecting her at that moment. “Why are you here?”

“I was looking for Tess,” Oliver answers.

“You’re a few blocks west of the building where she works.”

“She’s been sniffing around here since you left.”

“I know. And she’s asked numerous times about a merger.”

“Tess should know that you want nothing to do with LuthorCorp.”

“She keeps asking and I keep telling her the same answer. No.”

“Everyone knows who you would merge with if given the chance.”

Zoey finally looks at him. She hadn’t missed what he actually meant. She knew about the rumors that had started swirling. That their marriage was over and she was leaving Oliver for Bruce. Never mind the fact that she hadn’t seen Bruce in over two years and they mostly kept in touch through email. She turns away from him and punches the button to open the elevator doors open. She refused to let him insult her.

Oliver scrambles up. He grabs her arm as she starts to step out of the elevator and yanks her back in. She struggles in his grasp; trying to get away. Her back hits the elevator wall. She was trapped between the wall and his chest. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. She could feel the heat radiating from him.

Oliver leans down and kisses her. It wasn’t something he had ever planned on doing. But the moment he had touched her, everything had changed. He felt as if something inside of him had suddenly ignited. For Zoey, she was more confused than ever. Months of him not talking to her, of ignoring her, and after spending an hour together, he was kissing her. She knows that she should push him away; that she should tell of how much he has hurt her these past few months. Except, for the random part of her mind that reminds her of the sudden appearance of zombies. The part of her that says if she’s going die in a real life horror film, she should enjoy a small moment of happiness.

Oliver’s lips trail down her neck. “Fuck, Zo,” he mutters when her hands make quick work of his jeans. He lifts her up and her legs wrap around his waist. The black lace thong she was wearing is ripped off. He slams into her.

Zoey lets out a moan. She wasn’t going to deny that she had missed this. She had missed the feel of him pressed against her; inside of her. She presses her lips against his when she orgasms. She clenches down on him and he quickly follows with his own. “Ollie,” she softly moans.

A silence settles over them. Neither one of them knowing what this encounter meant. She unwraps her legs around from around his waist and he sets her down. Each of them set about straightening their appearance. Zoey sighs, picking up her ripped panties. She shoves them into the pocket of her skirt.

A thought suddenly occurs to her. Zoey turns to Oliver. “Why exactly were you looking for Tess?”

“To confront her about tracking me.”

Zoey frowns. She knew Tess and Oliver had dated in the past. And that their relationship ended when Tess caught Oliver cheating on her. She shakes her head. If Tess was tracking Oliver, then she didn’t want to be a part of it.

“Why did you come back?”

Zoey looks at him. “You.” She punches the button for the floor that her office sat on and the elevator moves up. The elevator doors open and she grabs her heels before stepping off. Oliver stands there for a moment, then follows after her.

Don’t stop me now I’m having such a good time I’m having a ball Don’t stop me now If you wanna have a good time Just give me a call

Don’t stop me now ‘Cause I’m having a good time Don’t stop me now Yes I’m having a good time I don’t want to stop at all, yeah!

[paulgadzikowski]

[Image description: Preview panel for the comic strip at the link. Sallah of Raiders of the Lost Ark and the Doctor, third incarnation, of Doctor Who stand talking on a balcony in Cairo. Sallah is saying, “They’re all fools, except one. The one they only call Sahib.” The Doctor says, “Of course. Arabic for Master.” Unfortunately there are not image descriptions at the main Hero of Three Faces site. End description.]

The Hero of Three Faces is fanfiction crossovers, but it’s comic strips with stick figures, but they’re triangles. Preview panel only. Click here for full cartoon. Or see the on-site navigation tutorial. Or see this blog’s FAQ, or my archive tumblog’s FAQ. Cartoons may contain unmarked spoilers. Cartoons linked from Tumblr 10:00 (Central US time) daily are the previous day’s new update and the posts are pinned to the top of this blog. Cartoons linked from Tumblr 22:00 daily are from the archive and the posts are pinned only during annual summer hiatus of new updates.

[xo-mchanzo-blog]

crimson and gold chapter one

Chapter Title: Vampire’s Kiss Rating: Explicit Summary: Jesse McCree is a failing newspaper editor whose life has been thrown into turmoil by the addition of Lord Hanzo Shimada, nobleman and vampire hunter. When debutante Angela Ziegler is attacked by a vampire in front of McCree, they are saved by Genji Shimada, a man with his own deadly secret. Suddenly, McCree's reality is dangerous and frightening...

The sky is inky black, rich and beautiful, sprinkled with silver stars. Morning is a long way off, and the pavement is already frosted with deadly ice. Jesse McCree is bundled up in his greatcoat, a cheroot dangling from his frozen lips. Silently, he curses the fact that he hasn’t been able to afford the purchase of a new scarf. His worn boots tread silently across the ice as he makes his journey home from the newspaper offices.

He has been working late again. In the two weeks since the paper ran the sensationalist story about Lord Shimada, and then ran an apology the very next day, readership has risen a small amount. It is not enough, but it is promising.

Jesse wonders where Shimada is tonight, and blushes involuntarily in the darkness. He remembers the taste of Shimada’s brief kiss. However, too much vampire hysteria around London will encourage them to be reckless. It puts me in danger. McCree remembers Hanzo’s words with a shiver; even in the freezing, empty night, it is almost impossible to imagine that these words were true, and yet he can’t forget the scars on the nobleman’s beautiful neck.

A carriage rolls past. Jesse breathes his last from the cheroot and crushes it beneath his boot. The offices are a good thirty minute walk from his home, but it has always seemed pointless paying for any form of transportation. McCree has grown very used to living a frugal existence. No wonder Hanzo Shimada has not been in touch; what interest could a scruffy newspaper editor hold for a titled, handsome gentleman? Jesse laughs aloud at himself, reaching up to drag his fingers through the stubble on his face.

Ahead, around a corner, there is a loud crash and the squealing of horses. Jesse McCree freezes for only an instant before setting off at a run. A carriage crash in these icy conditions is hardly surprising, but could be incredibly dangerous.

A scream shatters the night. It is a sound filled with such dreadful terror that it makes the blood run cold in Jesse’s veins.

He rounds the corner, his boots skidding helplessly on the ice. In a small alley, the carriage has flipped onto its side. The horses lie dead, a surprising amount of blood coating their slick bodies. There is no sign of the coachman.

A figure in black is standing on the side of the carriage, his back turned to McCree, who watches as the stranger takes hold of the door and tears it off effortlessly, like a boy tearing paper. Something tight and icy knots in Jesse’s stomach, and he tries to shout out, but the words die in his throat.

The scream comes again; it is coming from the woman in the carriage. The stranger bends down and lifts her roughly, pulling her out into the moonlight. Jesse recognises her, but cannot remember her name; her face is twisted in terror as she looks up at the man who has her by the shoulders.

“Let go of her!” Jesse yells, finding his voice.

The stranger lets out an unnatural snarl, and to Jesse’s horror, he flings the woman roughly down to the ground, where she lies still. The man turns around. His black eyes are set in an ivory face. His chin is smudged with blood. An eerie smile twists his lips, revealing elongated fangs.

“Fuck,” Jesse mumbles, thinking suddenly of Hanzo. This is a vampire, and Jesse is not armed.

The creature leaps nimbly from the carriage, closing the distance between them with ease. It is wearing a ragged shirt and black trousers with no jacket. Jesse thinks ridiculously for a moment that it must be freezing before long, lethally strong fingers wrap around his throat. The creature is shorter than McCree, but that is clearly not going to make a difference.

“You should have kept walking,” it growls, with that terrifying smile.

Jesse chances a punch to the stomach. The creature grunts but its grip does not waver, and with its free hand it strikes Jesse across the face. The punishing blow makes Jesse see stars, and he feels the broken skin left by the thing’s brutal nails.

“Let go of him!” The woman has dragged herself to her feet. The creature turns to face her, its fingers still cruelly crushing McCree’s throat. Her green evening dress is filthy from the ground, and there is blood on her lip from her collision with the ground. Some of her yellow hair has come loose and is framing her face. “You wanted me,” she continues, her voice shaking. “You wanted my… my jewels, I presume, or…”

Surely it has to be obvious to her that it isn’t jewels this thing wants; it wants blood.

“Get out of here, you little fool!” Jesse grinds out, the words painful and costing precious air.

The creature laughs then, and it is the worst sound Jesse has ever heard. Those black eyes glitter gleefully, first at the woman, and then at Jesse. The fingers around his throat loosen suddenly and Jesse takes a deep, delicious breath of the frozen air before there is white hot pain.

The vampire has bitten him. Its jaws are locked onto his throat, those fangs lodged into his flesh. He is horribly aware of the blood being drained, and he pushes uselessly against the monster.

The woman throws herself at it, shrieking. Her arms wrap around its shoulders as she tries to drag it off Jesse’s throat. The vampire releases its jaw, and Jesse lets out a grateful whimper he will be ashamed of later. The vampire grabs the woman by her hair and throws her, face-first, against the side of the carriage. There is a horribly loud crunch and the woman is still.

“Don’t…” Jesse grinds out, and he takes a step towards her. His legs are weak and he stumbles to his knees. Helplessly, he reaches for her body, only for the creature to grab him by his hair and jerk him backwards, back towards those teeth…

“Wrexford!” A new voice fills the air. It is strong, loud and powerful. McCree struggles to see over his shoulder and makes out a dark-haired figure in a black cloak.

“Hanzo…” Jesse mumbles.

The vampire lets out a growl, and releases Jesse. The newcomer and the vampire are on each other, a blur of motion and blood. The vampire is thrown over the carriage, and the man leaps agilely over it, tackling the creature.

As the sound of their fight rages on, a symphony of growling and tearing, Jesse crawls over to the woman. She is small as he lifts her gently and feels for a pulse in her delicate throat. She is alive, but the pulse is weak. There is blood and the beginnings of a black bruise on her temple. A bloody gash crosses down one cheek, cutting across her eyelid.

The sound of fighting stops and there are brisk footsteps. The newcomer appears and squats down before them. It isn’t Hanzo, but this man has more than a passing resemblance to him. He has intense green eyes. Jesse, finally coming back to his senses, realises with an uncomfortable shiver that the fight with the vampire hasn’t even creased this man’s shirt.

“Does she live?” the man asks.

“Yes… but she is badly hurt,” Jesse replies, and the words come out weakly.

“As are you,” the man responds seriously, cocking his head and looking at the wounds on Jesse’s throat. “It is not wise for either of you to seek a doctor, although I won’t try to stop you if you wish it. I can help you.”

Something- some important knowledge about this man- is lurking on the edge’s of Jesse’s mind, but in his weakened state he cannot reach for it. All he can think of is Hanzo, and how this man reminds him of the nobleman. He finds himself nodding.

“My rooms are near here,” he manages to say. “We could go there.”

“An excellent idea, my dear fellow,” the man says, standing up lightly. “Can you walk?”

Even if he had lost a leg, Jesse would be far too proud to ask for help. He nods. “Of course. Yes. She cannot, though.”

The man bends down and lifts the woman in his arms, holding her bridal-style. He looks down at her ruined face for a moment and his eyes close briefly. Then he looks back at Jesse, who is pushing himself to his feet.

“Follow me,” Jesse says.

They make the short journey in silence, Jesse concentrating fully on not collapsing. Luckily, they do not encounter a soul in the street. They must make a grim tableau; an immaculately-dressed, handsome gentleman clutching a bloodied, unconscious lady in his arms, following a limping and injured newspaper editor. Jesse can feel blood flowing down from his throat. It is hot and sticky.

The building Jesse lives in is run-down and enormous. There are four floors, but nobody lives here apart from Jesse, who rents the top floor. He unlocks the door to the back staircase with trembling hands and they climb the stairs.

At the top, Jesse clutches onto the wall. The climb has taken the last of his energy, and he is ashamed when he stumbles to the floor. The gentleman sweeps past him into Jesse’s home. There is a soft thump as he places the woman down on the bed and comes back out for Jesse, lifting him with a strength that cannot be human.

Jesse is placed upon an armchair and allows his eyes to close for a moment. He hears the man muttering to himself.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Jesse says. He knows he doesn’t have the ability to protect her- or himself.

“You have my word as a gentleman,” the man responds. Jesse opens his eyes to see the man bending down by the fire. He moves his long fingers across the dry wood in the stove and a flame suddenly ignites there.

Jesse cries out. The man stands up and looks at him with inscrutable green eyes. He unfastens his cloak and drapes it across the cluttered desk before heading back to the bed. The orange glow from the fire casts a sickly light on the woman.

The man feels her throat, closing his eyes briefly.

“Don’t bite her,” Jesse says. He is losing a lot of blood. He touches his coat and his hand comes away wet. “Don’t make her take your blood.” He can’t remember where the words are coming from. Everything is hazy.

The man looks at him suddenly. His dark eyebrows are raised. “How do you know-?”

“You’re Genji Shimada,” Jesse manages. “You’re a vampire.”

Then he loses consciousness.

*

“How could you be so careless?” The quiet, angry words are hissed in a familiar voice.

Jesse opens his eyes. He is still in the chair, but his coat has been removed. He reaches up to his neck gingerly to feel a thick bandage on the wound. Whoever cleaned it- Genji Shimada, he supposes- has removed his shirt as well. It is probably ruined.

“I hardly had a choice,” Genji snaps. The voices are coming from the hallway just beyond the door to Jesse’s home. “Wrexford slipped away from me. By the time I caught him with him, he had killed her horses and her coachman.”

“He would have killed her, too, if not for this man you apparently came home with.”

“I saved them both,” Genji replies, and the words are petulant.

“She can be convinced that the truth isn’t what she believes it to be. This man, on the other hand- your note said he knows what you are? Impossible. He was bitten. What are we to do about that, brother?”

There are footsteps and then, cast in the golden light of the fading fire, Hanzo Shimada steps into Jesse’s room. His dark eyes widen at the sight of the newspaper editor, who raises his hand in welcome.

“Jesse,” Hanzo breathes. He crosses the room and falls to his knees before the editor, reaching for his throat in a familiar way. One gloved hand curls around Jesse’s chin, tilting it out of the way, while the other one inspects the bandage.

“Lord Shimada,” Jesse says. He is suddenly very aware of the fact that he is sitting shirtless. He breathes in the scent of the nobleman, who is looking now into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Hanzo whispers.

“Hardly your fault,” Jesse replies, then pauses. “Is it?”

Hanzo’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t respond.

“You know this man?” Genji asks, and Hanzo lets go of Jesse, springing to his feet.

“This is Jesse McCree, the newspaper editor to whom we both owe thanks.”

“Let’s skip these formalities,” Jesse says, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily. “I was bitten by a vampire. What is going to happen to me?”

“Nothing. You must take their blood, remember?” Hanzo replies gently. “You merely need to rest.”

“What about the girl?” Jesse asks, looking towards the bed.

She is lying beneath his threadbare quilt, half her face completely covered in white bandage. She is still unconscious. Her silky blonde hair fans out in a puddle on Jesse’s pillows.

“She will live,” Genji says in a thick voice, and Hanzo looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “The injuries she has on her face, though… I am uncertain if they will heal well.”

“This is not your fault,” Hanzo says, but there is a lack of conviction in his words.

“Dawn approaches,” Genji sighs.

“You must take her to her home. Leave her where she will be quickly found. Press a memory into her- alter the truth. She was mugged. Badly injured. She cannot remember what happened after that.”

“You can do that?” Jesse asks, mouth agape as he stares at Genji. “Influence people’s minds?”

The young vampire doesn’t smile. “Did it not strike you as odd that you were so acquiescent last night? You led me home despite the fact I was clearly a dangerous man.”

McCree frowns, an icy sensation settling in his stomach. “Do you know where this woman lives?”

“This is Miss Angela Ziegler,” Hanzo says.

Jesse finally knows how he is aware of her; she is a debutante. The newspaper has mentioned her a couple of times.

“I will take her,” Genji says gently. He crosses the room and lifts her again. She doesn’t stir. Genji crosses to the desk and lifts his discarded cloak, which he drapes over the delicate woman. He walks over to the door before pausing and looking back at Jesse. “Mister McCree, I am in your debt,” he says, then vanishes into the darkness.

Jesse is painfully aware that he is now alone with Hanzo Shimada. His rooms look shabby and untidy in the firelight, and he blushes as he looks around. He has never invited anyone up here.

“I confess I am very relieved you are not more badly injured,” Hanzo says suddenly. Jesse looks back at him to see those dark eyes fixed on him, not on the state of Jesse’s living conditions. “I am so sorry you have been caught up in this.”

There are a thousand things Jesse wants to say, wants to ask, but all that comes tumbling out his mouth is, “I need a rum.”

“Yes- of course.”

Hanzo sweeps over the dusty sideboard and lifts a smeared bottle of rum, opening it and pouring a measure into a chipped glass. Jesse watches in agonising discomfort, unable to believe that this nobleman is serving him in his own home.

“You don’t have to- Lord Shimada-”

“We are past that, surely?” Hanzo smiles, offering the glass to Jesse.

Jesse looks down at the glass. His fingers tremble as he takes it from Hanzo. He feels like his world has been turned on its head, but standing in front of this man, he isn’t sure he minds.

“I’m glad to see you again,” he says honestly.

“I intended to visit you before now, I promise,” Hanzo replies. “It has been busy, though… they are testing me at the moment. Genji and I have had a lot to do.”

Jesse drains the rum in one mouthful. He is suddenly exhausted. Hanzo reaches out and places his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, steering him towards the bed.

“You must rest, Jesse,” he says.

“I have so many questions-”

“Of course you do,” Hanzo replies softly. “But you must sleep. I shall return this evening, if you wish? We can discuss everything then.”

“This evening. Yes.”

Jesse lies down, sleep already tugging him into blessed oblivion. Hanzo squeezes his hand and smiles down at him. Words bubble up in Jesse’s throat but he is too tired to speak, and he closes his eyes.

[laraslandlockedblues]

Writer Asks

Writer Asks

tagged by @a-shakespearean-in-paris Thank you, doll! xx

1. How many works in progress do you have?

I’m not even going to try to count all of them. A lot. I have a horrible habit of starting stories and getting distracted/discouraged. In my actual fiction that I write? Several started and uncomplete. In my fan fiction right now? I have 6:

Eye of the Storm, my super long DA:I novelization of mage Trevelyan/Cullen

Hero Worship, the one shot that spiraled into a super fun M!Hawke/F!Trevelyan super smutty love story

The Sun and The Moon, my fun little fluffy, smutty, slightly angsty take on my F!Hawke/Fenris pairing that’s in EotS

Moments Passed, an AU about a Cullen that gets sent to the Ostwick Circle instead of Kirkwall and meets and falls in love with a young Evelyn while there. Honestly, that’s been my favorite thing to write recently. It’s been a fun challenge

Rehabilitation, which I started with a case of insomnia last night because I just have no impulse control. It’s a modern AU of a rehab bound Cullen with lyrium withdrawal, being taken care of by a healer/doctor Evelyn. I promise it’ll be short. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.

Ride or Die, my Shakarian pairing through ME3. I need to get back into my mindset for the two of them so I can finish it. I’ve gotten too distracted by DA lore I need to remind myself about ME stuff before I do.

2. Do you/would you write fan fiction?

I didn’t think I would, or at least - I never thought I would actually share it. I always treated fan fiction as a writing exercise, like a way to get back into the habit and at least be getting words down about anything at all. However, I started reading fan fiction more frequently and realized there was nothing to lose by getting mine out there to see what the response was to my writing style. I never expected the responses I’ve gotten, and all I can say is you miss 100% of the chances you don’t take. Plus, fan fiction is a ton of fun. Way more than I ever thought it would be.

3. Do you prefer paper books or ebooks?

I love both. However, since I love traveling/do it frequently - I’m going to have to say ebooks. Just because I love being able to bring several options/most of my library with me. No more packing several large books for one trip because I’m worried I’ll finish the one I brought and not have anything else to do on a flight. Nothing will ever compare to the smell of paper books, though, or wandering a bookstore. <3

4. When did you start writing?

I’m not sure there’s a time I haven’t written. I wasn’t one of those kids who wrote plays or short stories for my family to act out or read, because even then I didn’t like sharing my work, but I’ve always written. I have journals spanning from early childhood on of just ridiculous stories and thoughts because even then I had a journal buying habit. I’ve always had an incredibly overactive imagination and literally the only thing that calms it down is writing everything down and getting it out of my head.

5. Do you trust anyone to see your writing?

There was a time my answer was hell no, unless it was an academic paper. I’m that asshole who could write a long essay a few hours before class and still get an A on it, so I didn’t mind having people read those. My fiction though I always kept close to the vest - until very recently. I finally let my husband read some of my writing, which was the most stressful hour of my life. He got out a pen and immediately started marking things like he was an editor. I drank way too much wine watching him do that. But he had a great response to it, and it actually helped me break out of my shell a little.

After that I realized maybe sharing it wouldn’t be so bad, because you can’t get feedback if no one reads it. Posting fan fiction has been my way of doing that, which is funny. I’m freer sharing it with strangers than anyone who knows me. The only two people who actually know me who’ve read my work are my BFF and my SO.

6. Where is your favorite place to write?

A desk with a view, a table on a patio on a cool day, a comfy couch or plush armchair. Somewhere with my music on, no other sounds except maybe a fire or rain, with a good beverage nearby (coffee, tea, wine, just something)

7. Favorite book as a child?

Tough one! Harry Potter series for sure, The Two Princesses of Bamarre, and Nancy Drew

8. Writing for fun or publication?

Right now for fun/practice but the eventual goal is publication. Once I can get back into my actual fictions.

9. Have you taken any writing classes?

I’ve taken writing classes that were required in college/grade school. Scriptwriting because it was part of my degree (I recommend it, too, it’s an interesting style of writing, and forces you to be concise). Otherwise, I’m mostly self-taught/natural (ugh that sounds douchey, sorry), with just practice and reading/analyzing literature under my belt.

10. What inspired you to write?

A love of literature but also just the fact that I always have stories playing in my head. Always. I have too many that are desperate to get out, and I feel so happy when I actually write them down and get them out of my head. Plus, now, sharing them is a fun motivation - it’s like, here’s this idea/scene that I had in my head, and now you can see it just like I did by reading what I wrote. I love that.

I’m not sure if I’m tagging people who have been tagged, but:

@robinapril @xxinquisiladyxx @calihippie4 @childrenofdestinylove @annorarutherford @andaran-atish-an

[jessicakehoe]

Who on The Internet Can You Trust to Give You Truthful Beauty Reviews?

Last year, cult favourite skincare brand Sunday Riley settled an investigation with the U.S. Federal Trade Commission (FTC) after it was revealed that the company’s employees had been posting fake positive reviews of its products on Sephora’s website to help boost sales. 

In October 2018, a former employee shared a leaked email from the company on Reddit that encouraged employees to write positive reviews and disapprove negative ones. “We need to make sure the reviews for clients stay positive and help generate confidence in the products,” read the directive. “If you notice someone saying things like I didn’t like ‘x’ about it, write a review that says the opposite.” The email went viral after a screenshot was also shared by social media watchdog Estée Laundry, which is considered the beauty industry’s version of Diet Prada. In the end, the FTC banned the company from posting fake reviews but didn’t impose any fines. 

Given how much consumers rely on product reviews—a seemingly sacred space for getting honest feedback—this social media snafu invites the question “Whom should people trust in the beauty industry?” In an age where consumers value authenticity and demand transparency, the proliferation of fake product reviews and “sponcon” has created a certain level of mistrust. Add to that a few self-styled experts with questionable or no credentials and you’ve got a murky landscape that’s difficult to navigate for the average beauty consumer. 

It’s precisely this environment that has given rise to Estée Laundry. The anonymous beauty collective is made up of friends working in the industry who were tired of the lack of transparency, inauthenticity and accountability. The account has garnered over 150,000 followers, including beauty editors, influencers, industry professionals and even celebrities like Victoria Beckham, who has her own namesake beauty brand. Arriving on the beauty scene with guns blazing, Estée Laundry has called out copycats, shady practices and the lack of diversity and inclusivity. It has also built a community of active users known as “Laundrites” who aren’t afraid to voice their opinions. 

Similarly, Reddit, where the email from Sunday Riley was first leaked, is another online community where beauty lovers converge to dole out and solicit advice for any skincare concern under the sun. The subreddit r/SkincareAddiction has over 1.1 million users with threads on sunscreen, skincare concerns, skincare routine order and more and is overseen by 10 moderators. While the community has been a literal skin saver for many, sound advice isn’t always guaranteed (even though the subreddit’s rules state: “Don’t ask for or hand out medical diagnoses. We are not doctors, so we can’t diagnose your skin condition”).

Reddit can be a mixed bag, says Michelle Wong, a science educator from Sydney, Australia, and the founder of Lab Muffin, a website that uses science to debunk beauty myths. A former moderator for the subreddit, she explains: “On the one hand, it’s quite good because you have an up-vote system. You can check into how reliable they’ve been in the past. On the other hand, there is an element of groupthink there. The things that get voted up may not necessarily be correct because it’s a majority-rules sort of situation.” 

“A lot of people have influence who in the past never would have. They’re creating little niches for themselves, which is great, but it’s also a detriment when it comes to your health if they claim to be experts but have no real training in a field.”

– Dr. Shereene Idriss

The popularity of Reddit and Estée Laundry also demonstrates how people are seeking out beauty information and advice from different sources than they once did. A decade ago, you might have seen a dermatologist or consulted the pages of a magazine. Today, you could be getting advice from a YouTube star or Gwyneth Paltrow. More importantly, just as social media has democratized the beauty landscape and made information more easily accessible, it has also given rise to armchair experts. 

“A lot of people have influence who in the past never would have,” says Dr. Shereene Idriss, a board-certified dermatologist in New York City. “They’re creating little niches for themselves, which is great, but it’s also a detriment when it comes to your health if they claim to be experts but have no real training in a field.” 

At her practice, Idriss has met people who use sunscreen pills as a form of sun protection and have turned to DIY fillers after watching a YouTube video—neither of which are recommended. “People come in repeating false information,” she says. “I had someone who got a sewing needle and decided to do a deeper microdermabrasion on her face, which gave her a really bad infection.” 

Tired of the misinformation she was hearing about skincare and cosmetic procedures, Idriss started #PillowTalkDerm. What began as an occasional Instagram story to educate her audience turned into a YouTube channel because of its popularity. And while dermatologists are not always easily accessible, Idriss is an example of how some have made their way onto social media to share their expertise and connect with an audience who wants to make sense of all the noise.

The desire to combat myths in beauty is what also compelled Wong to start Lab Muffin about nine years ago. “It really annoyed me,” she says. “I was seeing a lot of debunking of myths in the medical sphere, but I wasn’t seeing it in beauty. I thought it would be a great way to reach out to people and try to change the landscape a bit.” While the beauty scene has changed considerably, some of the same myths persist, says Wong; she’s tackling them along with new ones that have cropped up with the rise of clean beauty and the greenwashing that comes with it.

While it’s getting harder to sort fact from fiction in the beauty world, there are people—and brands—in the industry who are trying to keep it real with their honesty or expertise. Beauty is a powerful multi-billion-dollar industry, but at the end of the day, it’s consumers who get the last word—and breaking their trust is bad business all around.

Looking for more beauty pros and influencers who pride themselves on being brutally honest? Here’s five people you can trust to give you truthful beauty reviews:

Image courtesy of harper collins canada

Image via Instagram/@yanash

Image via Instagram/@ssssamanthaa

1/5

Caroline Hirons

This facialist and published author of Skincare: The Ultimate No-Nonsense Guide isn’t afraid to call out beauty BS with her frank takes and skincare knowledge.

2/5

Yana Sheptovetskaya of Gel Cream

Former magazine editor Yana Sheptovetskaya, known as “the anti-influencer,” shares her honest product reviews and steers clear of ads and sponsored content on her feed.

3/5

Sali Hughes

The beauty columnist for The Guardian offers a guide to the best beauty products; she has also published two tomes: Pretty Honest and Pretty Iconic.

4/5

Samantha Ravndahl

The Canadian beauty YouTuber and influencer is known for her candour and doesn’t accept PR samples, calling them “incredibly wasteful.”

5/5

Stephen Alain Ko

This Toronto-based cosmetic chemist and formulator brings a science-based perspective to beauty products and keeps his followers and readers of his blog, KindofStephen.com, on top of beauty-industry news.

The post Who on The Internet Can You Trust to Give You Truthful Beauty Reviews? appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

Who on The Internet Can You Trust to Give You Truthful Beauty Reviews? published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

[heroofthreefaces]

Preview panel only. Click here for full cartoon. Or see the on-site navigation tutorial. Cartoons may contain unmarked spoilers. A cartoon linked at 10:00 Central US is new. A cartoon linked at 22:00 is from the archive. Thanks for reading.

[Image description: Preview panel of the cartoon at the link. Sallah of Raiders of the Lost Ark and the Doctor, third incarnation, of Doctor Who stand talking on a balcony in Cairo. Sallah is saying, “They’re all fools, except one. The one they only call Sahib.” The Doctor says, “Of course. Arabic for Master.” Unfortunately there are not image descriptions at the main Hero Of Three Faces site. End description.]

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