#driving instructor tara

[itpldrivinginstructor]

Car Instructor Near Me at Driving Instructor Tara

Do you need a car instructor in your area? Driving Instructor Tara offers expert, personalized driving lessons to help you build confidence and master the road. With a patient and professional approach, Tara will teach you the skills you need to drive safely. Start your journey today by booking your lessons!

For More Details Driving Instructor Tara

☎️ Phone: 07960 939 939

📬 Mail: Tarawxm@gmail.com

💻 Website: drivinginstructortara.co.uk

📍 Address: Wrexham, UK, LL11 1BE

[itpldrivingstructor]

Wrexham's Premier Driving Lessons

Meet Tara, your dedicated driving instructor committed to shaping confident and responsible drivers. With a wealth of experience and a patient demeanor, Tara tailors each lesson to individual needs, focusing on fundamental skills, road safety, and building the confidence needed for a lifetime of successful driving. Her approach goes beyond just passing the test; it's about instilling a deep understanding of responsible driving habits. Whether you're a beginner or looking to refine your skills, Tara's guidance ensures a positive and empowering learning experience, making her the ideal partner on your journey to becoming a proficient and safe driver.

Contact:-

07960939939

Tarawxham@gmail.com

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

As she dances her way out of his grasp all to easily, Gale’s brows raise in surprise. But he catches on to her mischief all too quickly - and his gaze turns predatory as he watches her. Dark eyes and hungry smile.

Some of the enthusiasm fizzles when she asks about his past. Gale huffs a soft sigh, his gaze turning away momentarily - out the window and towards the horizen.

“I did have a library. I had quite a lot of things.” His tone is a bit wistful as he replies. But he’s quick to mask it with a light-heartedness, “But - like my books- that’s all ancient history.”

He knows she wants in. Wants to know him.

And Gale... he feels the ache in his chest like a sharp twist.

He clears his throat softly. He dons the mantle of an instructor, straightening his posture, squaring his shoulders.

“Tara is my familiar, yes,” Gale confirms with a smile, glancing to the tressym in question, who meets his gaze with a mrrp. His eyes move back to Doe with a soft grin. “I’d be happy to help you work towards masting a summon!”

He considers her for a soft moment, hand cradling his chin as he thinks.

“You strike me as having some familiarity with magic,” he postulates, “But it’s always good to start with the basics.”

Gale prowls to her side, before sliding behind her, pulling her back against his chest. He slides his hands down her arms until his hands are over top of hers. With a gentle grip, he guides her hands to hover in front of her chest, cupped inward as if holding a large ball.

From beside her ear, Gale begins a soft, diligent instruction.

“The first step to mastering the magic within and without is to know how to channel energy. Close your eyes, and focus your attention to this space between your hands,” his tone is sure and confident as he explains. Gale's hands are warm against her skin, save for the cool metal of his rings, and his slender fingers keep her hands in position. “Focus on feeling only here. Tune everything else out. When you feel it - describe it. Exactly how it feels for you.”

-G.D.

Doe grins, savouring being nestled in his grip for a few moments before focusing her mind. She breathes into the sensation, feeling an expanse- not the expanse of air, but the expanse of a storm. Her arms tingle with energy, her throat seeming to open as though in a shock of water, her heart thrumming. She can feel Gale shift as he holds her and it's like sunlight glancing off the ocean; she holds between her hands the essence of something untamable. Thunder rolls in her bones, lightning crackles at her fingertips- at least it feels like it. And the lash of rain, hard and cleansing between her palms, into a grey, furious ocean.

She gasps, laughs at the feeling, then leans back against Gale's chest, her eyes closed so as to better harness the energy in her hands.

'It's like a storm,' she says through a smile. 'Like... a raging ocean and the driving rain and thunder moving between my hands, and lightning. It's invigorating and thrilling. Wild, even. Hahah! It's like... like I've been lit up. Like it's alive.'

She is delighted, astonished that that came from within her. 'Gale-!' Her tone is one of wonder as she opens her eyes. She wants to turn to him, to share how it feels, to kiss the storm into his lungs, but she steels herself and furrows her brow instead in concentration. 'Okay, focus,' she says more to herself than to him, barely a murmur. She can feel the energy thrashing against the borders of her hands. 'What's next?'

[aonoexpat]

Moving on

19-06-2023

It's official: I'll be heading to Te Waipounamu, Aotearoa's South island, in two weeks! I've booked a spot on the Bluebridge ferry that will take me and Elrond across Raukawa Moana, from Te Whanganui-a-tara to Waitohi. I'm not sure where I'll be going from there, and I don't intend to make plans. It will be just me and the road, which is both extremely exciting and a little daunting.

In the meantime I've been working on Elrond. I had a small list of repairs and improvements that grew bigger with every hatch I lifted. Whenever I fixed a minor thing, I discovered at least two more problem areas. For example, the brakes had felt a little off in the test ride, so my friend and I jacked up the car and leaked excess air out of the brake fluid. When testing the brakes again after that they felt better, but we discovered the parking brake pads were worn out, and during another brake test the bed fell over and broke. I found out the solar panel was actually not giving any charge at all, and the head unit needed professional replacement instead of the backyard DIY job I had hoped it would be. Brought the car to a car electrician (colloquially known as an 'auto sparky'), who proceeded take two full weeks to install the head unit and fix a headlight I wasn't aware needed fixing, then discovered the internal speakers were blown, replaced them, but in the process broke the plastic door covers. It's an exhausting and sometimes quite frustrating process, but I do feel like I'm getting to know Elrond inside and out through it. By now I've installed a new solar panel on the roof and have almost finished fixing the bed. After that there's only some minor repairs left that can be pushed back to a later date (and a cheaper town). I'm very excited to finally get to turn it into my own little home for the next however many months!

If you're wondering how you glue a solar panel to the top of a van, this was our method:

Today I took Elrond up to Petone, where I stocked up on goodies for the upcoming trip in The Dutch Shop, which offers a delightful hit of nostalgia:

I drove there all alone, and I feel like I'm rapidly growing more and more confident on the road, which I'm frankly really proud of. I'm still nervous to get behind the wheel (I do believe my driving instructor did a real number on me in that regard), but it's getting a lot better already. Driving on the left feels like second nature now, and it really helps that there aren't nearly as many bikes on the road here as at home. Don't get me wrong, I will never bash a bike-friendly traffic situation, but for somebody who easily gets stressed out and overwhelmed while driving this is quite a relief. I still took wrong turns at least three times in the span of ten minutes, but it's nice to find that that's easily solved by calmly making a turn somewhere and getting back on track. There's nobody next to me now to tell me that was wrong, or dumb, or a waste of time. It's just me and the huge pink teddy bear I bought to be my travel buddy, and he's real chill! (Will get a better photo soon, also jury's still out on a name, my inbox is open for suggestions xxx)

In other news, I have moved back into my friends' house for the remainder of my stay in Te Whanganui-a-tara. As I described in an earlier post, the house I was in wasn't great. Things reached a bit of a boiling point for me when I was violently woken up by our elderly neighbour banging her fists on my window in the morning because my housemate had parked his car in front of her driveway and she couldn't leave for work. Combine that with the unsettling amount of strangers he would let into the house, the absolute inability of everybody else to do any cleaning whatsoever and the unrelenting noises in the middle of the night, and you'll understand why I decided to stop waiting for the van to be ready and just put the room up for grabs on Facebook. It took a couple of weeks but I found a new tenant for the room. Assuming everything would be settled, I packed up my stuff and left on the agreed upon date. However, the new tenant suddenly pulled out at the very last minute, leaving the house with a gap in the rent. The previously mentioned housemate proceeded to bombard me with aggressive messages and e-mails, insisting I continue paying rent for a room I was no longer inhabiting, or there would be legal consequences. This was both hilarious, because the property manager of the house had been so neglectful as to never send me a contract during the past 2 months so there isn't a single legal document with my signature on it, and very uncomfortable, because I'm not used to confrontation. My friend was kind enough to take my phone from me and message him to, and I quote, "fuck off". I don't think I've ever said that to anyone and meant it, so it was quite the experience to get away with it. Luckily the other housemates were very understanding and agreed I didn't have to pay anything, and wished me fun on my trip. I'm glad to be out of there, and still a bit shaken. This is the second time in four months I've had to stand up for myself and be met with such aggression, and it's unpleasant. But I'm sure it'll leave me more equipped for the next time.

As a fun finish to this post, here's a video of one of Te Whanganui-a-tara's many spectacular "water features", aka broken pipes due to constantly shifting tectonic plates that the municipality simply cannot keep up with:

And!! My friends alerted me the other day to a pair of humpback whales that had swum into the harbour, so we went to look at them. My camera would never have been able to capture them, but luckily theirs did:

It's pretty mind-blowing that this just happens on a regular day in these parts. I felt super lucky to be there and catch a glimpse of them, even if it was from a distance!

[drivinginstrutortara]

Are you looking for an exciting and challenging position as a driving instructor in the Wrexham area? Drivers Tara is currently looking for enthusiastic and committed individuals to work as driving instructors in the UK. If you're excited about teaching people how to drive, then this could be the perfect opportunity for you! We offer a competitive salary, excellent benefits, and a fun and challenging work environment.

[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 14

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,966

Warnings: Lactation kink, fingering, nipping.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt​. This fulfills my lactation kink square.

In the warm sunlight streaming through your window, you can feel Spencer’s arm fitting snugly around your waist, holding you close. As you begin to stir, you realize he’s already awake too. Since it’s a weekend day, you have no plans, aside from taking care of the adorable time-vampire that is Charlotte Magnolia Reid. “So what are we doing today, handsome?” You mumble, the words barely decipherable to your own ears.

Spencer kisses the back of your hair before nuzzling his nose into the side of your neck. It tickles and sends you into a fit of laughter that ends up with you laying on top of him. “We aren’t doing anything,” he says with a glint in his eyes. “But you are.”

“What?”

Is it mom brain fog? Have you forgotten something you had planned?

When Spencer clocks your quizzical look, he laughs. “I have a surprise for you. You have to be ready by 11 AM.”

Spencer playfully smacks your ass when you get up before following you to the bathroom, where you get in one of your rare shower quickies. And Charlotte hasn’t woken up yet! Rejoice! She’s not sleeping through the night just yet, but she’s down to only waking up once or occasionally twice.

While you dry your hair, Spencer gets Charlotte, who finally begins to stir. They pass the bathroom and you sneak a kiss to your baby’s cheek. “I’ll be right there for feeding!” You cry out from the tiled walls.

“There’s a bottle left in the refrigerator, I got it!”

Since you have no idea where you’ll be going, you put on minimal makeup and then walk outside to where Spencer’s feeding Charlotte on the couch, talking to her about the people passing by on the street below - making up stories about them. “Babe, I don’t know where I’m going so what do I wear?”

“Wear one of my graphic tees and your most comfortable pair of leggings.”

With your instructions, you slip into your bedroom and get dressed. Spencer’s shirt is a tad too tight considering the girls are still big, but it’s good enough and the next few hours pass without any major incidents aside from a bit of spit up on Spencer’s pajama shirt.

As you’re rocking Charlotte to a mid-morning nap, there’s a knock at the door. “I’ve got it,” Spencer replies when he sees you go to get up.

Emily, Tara, Penelope and JJ are plowing inside in a matter of seconds, cooing over ‘little baby genius Reid.’ “Good god,” Tara says softly. “She’s so beautiful. How do you two not stare at her every second of every day?”

Sometimes it’s difficult, with her soft brown hair like her father’s and big beautiful eyes the same color as yours. “Well, some days, we do exactly that, and other days she doesn’t want to sleep or she’s sick and driving me crazy, so then I normally see the inside of the pillow into which I’m screaming,” you say quickly, flashing them a cheesy grin.

JJ snorts. It’s been a while, but she remembers the feeling well. “Did Spence tell you what we’re doing today?”

Shaking your head, you glance toward where Spencer’s standing in the kitchen, gathering ingredients together that seem to be for tonight’s dinner. “Paint and wine class,” he says proudly. “After I saw you painting Charlotte’s nursery, I knew it had to be done eventually.”

“Aww, you’re so romantic, I love you.” You swoon and run to kiss him, blushing as the girls ooh and ahh over Spencer’s sweet gesture. He’s your everything in every way. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Spencer takes her from your arms and looks down to talk to her, shaking her little hand with his fingers. “We’ll be okay, right? You won’t kill me?”

Laughing, you grab your purse off the counter and give him another kiss before leaving with the girls. It’s been ages.

--

Thankfully, Dr. Obel cleared you a while ago for the occasional cup of coffee or glass of wine, despite still breastfeeding, so you nurse the hell out of a glass of red at the painting party. Besides you, Emily, Tara, JJ and Penelope, there are four other women there that know each other and are much less animated. In other circumstances, you might feel bad about being so loud and laughing like a maniac, but you haven’t had a girls’ day out in months, so fuck it.

At these classes, they always have someone teaching and a specific painting is chosen ahead of time. After a while of listening to the instructor, you paint what she’s painting, but at your speed and adding little flourishes here and there. While most of the ladies have basic paintings (because admittedly they’d rather be drinking than painting), you end up with something you’re really happy with.

Shadowed pine trees sit on a moonlit lake, stars, trees and the moon alike mirrored in the lake’s surface in a myriad of colors. Bob Ross is one of your biggest influences when it comes to painting, and by the end, it feels like you’ve done him proud. “Damn, Y/N!” Emily says, taking the last sip of her third (and last) glass of wine. “Spencer said you could paint, but that’s fucking spectacular!”

All the ladies, and even the instructor, praise your work. At first, you deny it and tell them it’s not all that, but eventually you allow yourself the praise. Something you’re working on. “Ladies, this was amazing. Can we make this like an every other month thing? Every third month?”

“Hell, yea,” Penelope says, quickly picking up one of the hors d'oeuvres and shoving it into her mouth. “Man, thith iz gud.”

“Sewiously, I ‘eed the recipe,” Tara replies with her mouth equally full.

The subway ride back to your apartment is filled with random girl talk and lots of baby talk. Everyone wants to know Charlotte’s milestones and to see every single picture you’ve ever taken, which is already a lot given she’s less than a year.

Upstairs, you all walk in just as Charlotte needs a diaper change. When Emily and Tara offer to take dirty diaper detail, you just smile and sink into the couch. You’re not about to argue with just a little extra time off mom duty.

“Well, this was amazing,” JJ says, running her finger down Charlotte’s cheek. “You guys need anything? All set on food and stuff?”

“Yea, JJ,” Spencer replies. “We’re all good. For now.”

Once the ladies leave, you gather Charlotte close to your chest and lift your shirt. The time away refueled your batteries and you sigh happily when she begins to eat.

“Have a good time?” Spencer asks. You point back to the painting which is propped against the wall near the door. “That’s beautiful!”

“Thanks, babe. And thanks for the surprise. It was really nice to have a girls’ day.”

Spencer’s hand sits around your shoulder, his fingers slipping delicately into your hair. “I’m glad you had a good time. I have my girls right here.”

“Did you two fare okay?”

He nods and you both sit in silence for a moment. You lean into him, content and relaxed. The peaceful atmosphere allows your mind to wander and when you mind wanders, it tends to walk into dirty territory; today is no different. “Hey, Spence, I have what might seem like a weird question.”

“Shoot.”

“Have you ever thought about you know, maybe doing that wonderful thing you do with your hands while getting a firsthand taste of breast milk?”

Immediately, his pants tighten. “I hate the fact that it has been a consistent thought since your  boobs grew, yea. Definitely thought about it. Like I don’t wanna sit here and have you feed me or anything, but like...a little taste? Yea.”

“Wanna maybe give it a go later?”

A smile is all the answer you need.

---

Later that night, once Charlotte is finally asleep, you and Spencer practically trip into your bedroom, peeling off clothing like you’re in a nudist colony.

Spencer groans appreciatively when you jump into his arms and peel off your shirt and bra. He carries you toward the bed and plops you down onto the mattress unceremoniously, laughing as he wriggles you out of your leggings.

When he descends upon you, eyes hungry and hands frenzied, your smile fades into a lust-filled gaze that has Spencer nipping at your neck and chin and lips. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he mumbles against you, honeyed voice running deliciously up your spine. For a moment you get in your head; you don’t feel gorgeous as of late, still a ways away from your pre-baby body, but Spencer snuffs that thought out of your head. “Stop thinking and feel.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He slithers his way down your body and licks a stripe up your slit with a flattened tongue, moaning at your taste before slipping two fingers into your sodden pussy. “So wet for me already?”

“Always for you, Sir.”

Spreading your legs with his hands, he crawls back up, nipping and biting and sucking at any and every patch of skin that pleases him. And all you have to do is lay back and enjoy it and he calls you his good girl.

When he latches onto your nipple, the tug on your breast is similar but the feeling is altogether different. The way he rolls his tongue over your nipple causes you to arch into him, gathering his hair in your hand and pushing him closer. Every time he nips at your nipples, bringing them to taut peaks, it shoots straight to your core and you buck into his hand. “So wet, Sir.”

“Does this get you off, love?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Excuse you,” he says, immediately stilling his fingers.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels wrong. Taboo.”

“And that gets you off?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“My dirty girl.”

Switching from nipple to nipple, never leaving one untouched for too long, his fingers stroke at that sensitive spot inside you. You buck down into his hand and reach between you, slipping your hands into his pants to stroke softly at his hardening cock. “Come for me, Y/N,” he breathes, his palm sitting heavily on your clit. “I want you to come for me.”

His words ignite a fire inside you, white hot light bursting before your eyes as he latches onto your nipple one last time. “Fuck, Sir,” you laugh shakily, stroking his cock harder and faster. “Now, come for me. I need to see you.”

Spencer bites down on your lower lip and pulls away, hissing through clenched teeth as his orgasm starts to roll over him. “That’s it, baby. Harder. Keep going.”

All you can hear over the sound of your movements, wet and slick and rough, is the rolling growl that leaves Spencer’s mouth when he comes in your hand and over both your stomachs. “Shit.”

“Have fun?”

“Yes,” he laughs, exhaustedly collapsing at your side. “You feeling okay? You were getting in your head for a second. I could feel it.”

“Yea, still having body issues. But I’m working on it.”

“I have an exercise for you to do. Not physical,” he says quickly. “A self love one. Every morning when we get up, I want you to look in the mirror and say one thing you like about yourself. You can start with things that aren’t physical and then work up to physical.”

A sleepy, content smile spreads across your face. This is the dynamic you always wanted - someone you could rely on in every single way. Even at your lowest, your craziest, your most overwhelmed, Spencer is there for you, telling you how beautiful you are as you drift off in his arms.

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn​ @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid​ @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1​ @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid​ @lazynoodledragon​ @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97​ @grace-superpowers​ @softestlavender​ @ssa-dr-ladylock​ @drprettyboy​ @patricks-fabulous-face​ @tearosaria​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @marvels-gurl​ 

[voidstilesplease]

baby, let’s go home

part two

iii.

Theo is eleven when Stiles finally opens up to them. It's not surprising that it's Tara who gets to him first. She's always liked Stiles and strives to persuade words and reactions out of him anytime possible, although it was out of sympathy at the beginning. Gradually, she develops genuine care and sees Stiles as a younger brother as days, months, and years drag on. Soon, two years is up, and it takes them that long to hear the boy laugh.

It's during a movie night, the rare ones when both adult Raekens are home. They're watching Goblet of Fire, and while Tara and Stiles have their eyes on the television, they're visibly distracted as the girl leans and whispers things to Stiles now and then. The boy's eyes look alive and alight with her words. His lips are twitching in one of his rare smiles. When one of the characters gets turned into a ferret by a one-eyed teacher, it happens. Stiles bursts out in a fit of giggles at whatever Tara has said.

It gives everyone a moment's pause, even Tara. Stiles doesn't notice the astonishment in their faces or merely disregards. And then, Tara beams and tells him something again. Stiles bobs his head readily as his pale cheeks and entire disposition bloom in vibrant colors at once. Theo's parents exchange ecstatic glances, and then Theo's mother leans over to them, laughing.

"Well, you two seem to be having fun," She comments, shooting her gaze back and forth between Tara and Stiles. Theo has never seen her mother so delighted in his life.

Stiles doesn't resign back to his passive demeanor. Instead, he chuckles and confesses, "Tara and I have been talking about how Theodore is a muggle Draco Malfoy."

Theo whirls his head sharply, brows furrowed in a deep scowl, "I'm most certainly not,"

Tara points a finger to him, snickering, "That's what a muggle Draco Malfoy would say,"

Theo throws a pillow in her direction, but she pays no mind as she and Stiles press closer to whisper to each other again, conspiratorial. Stiles laughs about three more times before the movie finishes. As they walk to Theo's bedroom, he notices the significant lightness in Stiles's steps, like he knows there won't be a nightmare, for once. Theo doesn't even feel bad that it's at his expense that Stiles finally comes out of his cocoon.

~•~

The next weekend, Theo's parents are home again and excitedly announce that they're going out to the zoo, the park, the ice rink, the pizza, and the ice cream parlor as family.

Stiles glazes over at the word for a second -delaying, pondering, before his face splits to a wide-open expression, his eyes smiling with his mouth.

It's like the end of a two-year storm.

~•~

At school, he starts participating, and it's no wonder to discover Stiles is smart. Teachers are startled the first time they see his hand coming up to volunteer an answer. Other students also start talking to him again, and he doesn't shut them out anymore. He waves at Theo when they pass each other in the corridor. Stiles's lunch table starts filling with people, and Theo sometimes shares with them, too. It's a turnabout from his previous outcast status. Theo thinks he fits right into the light. He's too bright to stay in the shadows. 

He even manages to befriend one of the nastiest boys in their school - Jackson Whittemore. He's a bully, and even Theo dislikes him. He's certainly made fun of Stiles. But when Jackson freezes in front of the chalkboard, panicking over his assigned equation, Stiles quietly whispers to him the solution before turning back to his seat.

Stiles spends lunch partially to assist Jackson in his maths since then.

"He crushed my dad's badge when we were in 4th grade," Stiles tells Theo one evening, as they lay belly-down on the carpeted floor of their room. It's not Theo's bedroom any longer, and he doesn't want it to be. They're answering homework under the soft glow of their lamp.

Theo remembers that day: Stiles in an empty room, hunched down like he bore the weight of the world with his dad's crooked police badge in between tight fingers.

He looks at the side of Stiles's face, frowning. "Then why are you friends?"

Stiles only shrugs, biting on the end of his pencil. He doesn't turn his attention from the book. "I understand him,"

He doesn't elaborate, but Theo learns what Stiles meant, anyway. They have gym class together, and Jackson gets into a fight with the meek kid, McCall. He's not as unassuming as they thought.

"I'm just saying," Jackson is sneering, face in an ugly twist. "Stop brooding because your drunk father left. You should be thankful. It's a good riddance."

Scott doesn't perceive it well. He takes three strides and pulls Jackson by the collar. Almost everyone is astounded; Scott has never been violent. He's asthmatic and kind of stumbles on his own feet.

Stiles stands alert at the altercation, hurrying to get in between the two. Theo follows, hissing and groaning, unable to stop Stiles from intermediating.

"Scott," Stiles begins in a soothing voice, eyes level on the livid boy. "Scott, please let go. Jackson, stop flaring your nostrils, Jesus."

Theo cranes his neck around, trying to catch sight of the gym instructor. Of all the times he could be gone, he chooses now.

Scott only has eyes on Jackson. He's heaving from barely-held rage. "Mind your business," he grits out, sparing Stiles a glare, then darting back to Jackson. "It's easy for you two. You don't have parents. You're only living off the charity of others."

Theo double-takes, looking at the McCall kid in silent horror. Jackson snarls indignantly at his low-blow remark, but Stiles freezes, mouth agape. He steps back, dazed, letting their other classmates take his place, and he turns to leave. Theo hurries after him, ignoring the whistle of the coach as he arrives on the scene.

Theo finds Stiles on the waiting bench. He's bent down, clasping his hands together, attention lost to the gravel below. His bag is haphazardly lying on the pavement beside him. It's still class hours technically, but it's last period, anyway. He doesn't worry about missing the last twenty minutes of gym class. Theo takes a seat to his right unobtrusively, looking at the empty driving lane.

No words exchanged for a while; Theo doesn't know how to comfort people. He's not good with words, but he can be around. Then, Stiles looks up to him.

"I'm not even adopted," he tells Theo matter-of-factly. "I'm just a stranger living off the mercy of your parents."

Theo wants to disagree. He knows for a fact that neither his parents nor he and Tara feel sorry for him anymore. Stiles is family. Theo's words get lost, however, in the pool of rich gold receding to obscurity.

Stiles's lips smirk, but his eyes tell a different story.

"It's okay," Stiles's long lashes are damp. "You don't have to say anything." He drops his head again, squeezing his eyes close. "I just want to go home."

~•~

title from: Hold On by Chord Overstreet

[itpldrivinginstructor]

Honing Your Skills: Top-Rated Driving Schools Near You

Learning to drive is an exciting milestone but can also feel overwhelming. With so many driving schools in your area, choosing the right one can be challenging. This blog post is here to help! We'll explore some of the top-rated driving schools near you, including Driving Instructor Tara.

Finding the Perfect Fit

Driving schools near me come in all shapes and sizes, each with a unique approach and offerings. When making your choice, take into account the following important factors:

Reputation: Look for schools with a proven track record of success. Check online reviews and testimonials to see what past students have to say about their experience. If Driving Instructor Tara has a strong online presence with positive reviews, that's a good sign!

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For More Details Driving Instructor Tara

☎️ Phone: 07960 939 939 📬 Mail: Tarawxm@gmail.com 💻 Website: drivinginstructortara.co.uk 📍 Address: Wrexham, UK, LL11 1BE

[itpldrivingstructor]

Wrexham Driving Lessons: Mastering the Road to Success

[rahirah]

Okay, I KNOW you've reblogged that "DVD commentary" meme at some point in your life, so: would you like to do DVD commentary on the opening scene of "My Baby Is A Centerfold"? (Or less detailed commentary on the whole "My Baby Is A Centerfold"?)

My Baby Is A Centerfold DVD Commentary

I wrote this story in 2004, fifteen years ago, so fair warning, I don't recall a lot of the minutiae that went through my head when I was writing it. However, I will do my best!

This was one of the first short stories I wrote set in the same universe as my novel series. I wrote it for the Summer of Spike community over on Livejournal – Summer of Spike was, I believe, the first of the "seasonal" fic communities, and inspired a lot of imitators (including Seasonal Spuffy and Summer of Giles, which are still going to this day) but it only lasted for a couple of rounds. Anyway, someone had recently asked me what happened to the Trio in my 'verse. I already knew that the Trio had started their careers as criminal masterminds while the events of Necessary Evils were going on, and that after NE ends, Warren would try enslaving Katrina in pretty much the same way, Katrina would end up dead, and Warren would try to frame Buffy. Buffy being in a very different frame of mind by this point in my 'verse, while she initially panics at the thought that she accidentally killed someone, Spike and Dawn are able to convince her to investigate first. And of course they discover that Katrina's been dead for several hours, so they call the police and that's when Terminal Line takes place, and Buffy makes first contact with Detective Nguyen, who becomes a recurring NPC and eventually the captain of the Sunnydale PD and is instrumental in Buffy's plan to bring the supernatural out in the open and ANYWAY.

For this story I wanted to do a lighthearted buddy cop sort of thing with Spike and Dawn, and it occurred to me that the Trio would have had to have set up their spy camera system, but since they all got arrested after the Katrina incident, they never had the chance to do anything with the footage. And in my 'verse, some of that footage would have been pretty racy. So what would happen if Buffy and Spike found out about it? The story pretty much wrote itself from there.

I could tell something was wrong the minute I walked in the door. The house had that too-quiet thundercloud feeling about it, and it wasn't just because of the blackout curtains. Buffy was still at the rink, Tara was at her summer job, and Willow was probably asleep (she's not as much of an early riser as Spike is). Normally this means an afternoon of bad TV and junk food with Spike, but the TV wasn't on. Spike always has the TV on.

So this story takes place between Necessary Evils and A Parliament of Monsters, when Spike has moved in with Buffy and Dawn, and Willow and Tara are renting the Summers's basement. It always bugged me that the characters on the show only had to worry about work when the plot required it. When the writers get bored, Buffy can suddenly support a dozen people on a starting school counselor's salary. So while I try not to make a huge deal of it in my 'verse, I do a lot of thinking about how everyone supports themselves. Especially people like Tara, who's sure as hell not getting any money from her family. And with Buffy I wanted to give her a day job that A) she would enjoy, and B) would be flexible with regard to slaying. Which is how she became a skating instructor.

When Spike moved in there was a whole big reshuffling thing, like musical chairs with bedrooms, and Spike ended up getting my old room as an office for Bloody Vengeance Inc., the demon-hunting business he and Anya started. I figured he was probably holed up in there downloading porn or something. Never overlook an opportunity to collect blackmail material is my motto. I dumped my library books on the couch and snuck upstairs with super-Slayer's-sister stealth, which wouldn't do me any good at all if Spike was actually, like, paying attention to his super-keen vampire hearing. Which apparently he wasn't, since I got all the way upstairs without a single physically impossible threat bellowed in my direction.

I had an argument about this with another fic writer once – she felt that Spike threatening Dawn with physical harm was abusive and horrible, and Dawn would be traumatized for life. I pointed out that A) it's canon that Spike does this when he's worried about Dawn's safety, and B) even if you're not a soulless vampire, it's really common for fear in a de facto parental unit to express itself as anger, C) does anyone seriously believe that Spike would ever follow through on any of those over the top threats? Seriously? And D) Dawn canonically blows off said threats and does not appear to actually feel threatened in the slightest. We ended up agreeing to disagree.

Spike was in the office, all right--I could see his hair glowing in the light of the computer monitor. I couldn't see what he was looking at, but whatever it was, it must have been really good, 'cause his eyeballs were practically SuperGlued to the screen. Or maybe really bad, because he looked horrified, not turned on. OK, what horrified William the Bloody? Besides the prospect of squiring Buffy to "Fantasy On Ice?" This I had to see. I rounded Spike's desk and peered over his shoulder. "Hey, mister, you got feelthy pictures?"

If it was Willow? Two clicks of a mouse's tail and whatever was in that window would be closed, password protected, PGP-encrypted, and accessible only through an FTP server in Outer Mongolia. Spike's way better with technology than some vampires I could name, but when he's taken by surprise he still resorts to more primitive methods. He scrambled around in his chair with the panicky flail of a cat falling off a windowsill and slapped a hand across my eyes. "Don't look!" he ordered, about half an octave higher than usual.

This story is full of early 2000s-computer jargon. It's not quite as dated as the show itself, but I give it the ol' college try.

Which meant it was a moral imperative for me to put some of that self-defense training he'd been giving me into practice and kick him in the shins--oh, come on, you'd have done it, too. "Fuck!" Spike yelled. He grabbed for his ankle, overbalanced, and banged his head on the edge of the desk as his chair rolled out from under him. He crashed to the floor, leaving me with a free-and-clear view of the computer.

For someone who's been accused of writing the Everybody Loves Spike Show, I sure have him behave like an idiot a lot.

Now, I want to make it real clear that I'm a sixteen-year-old of the world. I know all about the birds and the bees and the vampires. I've even done a little buzzing myself. And of course I know that my sister and Spike have--well, 'having sex' is way too tame for what they do. Anyway, I know all about The Sex in theory. I also know how sausages are made, in theory. That doesn't mean I'm panting for an up-close at the gooey details of either process. Especially when it involves a grainy RealPlayer file of my very naked sister bouncing up and down on my very naked best-friend-and-platonic-lust-object in Barbie's S&M Playhouse.

I may have written this whole story just to have an excuse to use the term "Barbie's S&M Playhouse."

I may have said something. It may have been 'gleep.' Luckily for my retinas, at that minute Spike lunged up over the edge of the desk and put his fist through the screen. The monitor exploded in a shower of pretty green sparks, and Spike stood there glaring at it all clenchy-jawed and snarly, breathing hard through his teeth. He turned the glare on me. "I swear by all that's unholy, Bit, the next time you sneak up on me like that I'm going to put you in a two-by-three box without benefit of hacksaw!"

Monitors! With! TUBES!!!

I glared right back--no way was he going to make this my fault. "How was I supposed to know you were watching Vampire Pervert Theater 3000?" I snapped. "I thought you were just watching NORMAL porn! Jeez, Spike, if you and Buffy are gonna to videotape your stay in the Satellite of Love, at least--"

I had another discussion with a beta about whether or not Spike would download porn. My argument was "He's a guy." 

Spike vamped out and hurled the monitor clean off the desk and into the wall with a roar (and when I say 'roar,' I don't mean 'loud yell,' I mean 'roar') of "WE DIDN'T BLOODY WELL TAPE IT!"

Wow. I never knew monitors were made up of that many pieces. "You mean you taped it without telling her?" I squeaked.

"NO!" Spike flexed his computer-punching hand (bloody knuckles, shards of glass, v. sexy) and shook off the lumpies. "Someone soon-to-be-departed did! I've never seen the sodding thing before in my life!" He looked really bewildered underneath the homicidal fury.

It's really very interesting to go back and compare Early Barbverse Spike to Late Barbverse Spike in terms of what progress he makes (or doesn't make) in controlling his temper over the course of the series. Hopefully I make the progression believable.

"OK, where did you find it?" I asked. I didn't exactly want to say so, but it occurred to me that maybe Buffy had taped it without telling him. Buffy may play it all Sandra Dee on the outside, but on the inside? Pure Gypsy Rose Lee. She had to keep it all bottled up during The Angel Years, and during The Riley Years she had to be really careful not to break him, and now, well--Exhibit A, currently lying in ten zillion pieces on the floor. "Was the file just sitting on your hard drive, or...?"

Spike looked super-guilty all of a sudden. His head ducked down between his shoulders, vampire ninja turtle style. "Mighthaveclickedonalinksomethin'boutSlayers," he mumbled.

"In other words, you were surfing for Slayer porn?" I folded my arms and settled in for some primo foot-tapping. "Don't you get enough of that at home?"

The interesting thing about the Buffyverse is that the supernatural ISN'T really a secret. Tons of people know about it. It's just no one admits to knowing about it. Which makes my Buffy's job a lot easier when she decides to drag it out of the closet. Which is a roundabout way of saying, if you know where to look, of course there would be Slayer fetish websites.

"I was not! I just...happened on it, like, looking for something else!" Spike is the world's second worst liar (Willow is the winner and still champeen) and he could see I wasn't buying it. "And anyway, it's a bloody good thing I did! Christ knows how long that's been out there for any spotty little deviant with their mum's credit card number to--" His eyes went Inuyasha-huge as fresh horror overtook him. "How long has it been out there?"

Barbverse Dawn is a Sesshumaru fangirl for sure.

"I'm more worried about who the cameraman was," I said. Spiders walked up my spine for a second. "I mean, that was your bedroom, right?"

Two seconds later we burst in through the door of Mom's old room, now Buffy and Spike's House of Ill Repute. I dove for the closet and Spike ripped open the door of the big old mahogany wardrobe he'd dragged over from the crypt. (But he didn't go inside, because as everyone knows, it's very foolish to shut yourself inside a wardrobe.) I stared at the crush of cute tops and kicky boots, ooh, I bet Buffy won't miss this one, she hasn't worn it in weeks... "How many shoes does she OWN?" I pulled a box free and the whole Leaning Tower Of Gucci collapsed on me.

My fic is usually a game of Spot the Narnia Reference

"Stop larking about," Spike growled, grabbing my feebly waving hand and yanking me out of the sea of footwear. "By the angle it's got to be around here somewhere..." He did one of those effortless vampire leaps and chinned himself on the top of the wardrobe, peering over the facade of wooden curlicues on the top. "Got the bastard!" He snaked one arm over the rim and jerked something small and black free, and dropped back to the floor with a thump. "What the hell...?"

It was a tiny, palm-sized camera with a little antenna sticking out of the top. Witness the creepiness. "I'm freaking out here," I said, plopping down on the bed. "Someone actually broke into our house and hid that up there!"

Spike snarled and closed his fist, and the camera joined the monitor in Electronics Heaven before I could yell, "Wait, that's evidence!"

"Not any more, it's not."

"It could lead us back to whoever planted it," I said impatiently. "We could have woken Willow up and had her...I don't know, do something technical."

This is why Spike needs Dawn around. She's the criminal mastermind in the family.

"Point." Spike shoved his lower lip out and scowled. "If there's one, there may be more. In fact, there's got to be."

I blinked. "How can you tell?"

He looked guilty and embarrassed again. "Ah, well, you see, the web site said...

For a guy supposedly unable to feel remorse, Spike does guilty and embarrassed very well.

*****

"Oh, as they say, my God." Xander stared at the tiny repeating clip with sick fascination. "'The Hottest Slayer in a Century Meets The Coolest Vampire Ever, and Guess Who Gets Staked! Sizzling Action With Cold, Dead Seed!' And this is just the teaser. You can order a whole DVD, only $49.99. Hours of fun for the whole family."

I am pretty sure that Jonathan got Andrew to write that advertising copy.

"Well, I must say both of you have excellent technique," Anya said with an approving nod. "And Spike has a large and well-formed penis, though personally I prefer circumcised men. But I can certainly understand why you're upset if you're not getting your rightful share of the profits."

"Spike, could you cool it with the growly noises?" Willow asked, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "It's distracting. OK, there's definitely more cameras... six at least. The Magic Box, the skating rink, Spike's crypt...this one's dead... Directory, directory, who's got the root directory...hah! Xander, hand me that Unicode list."

I actually researched what all Willow would have had to do to hack into and take over the camera network. I've forgotten it all now, but for about five minutes there, my skilz were l33t.

"What I still don't get is why someone bothered to break into our house and plant cameras," I said from the opposite end of the dining room table. I was staying as far away from follow-the-bouncing-Buffy as possible. "Especially considering Spike would have ripped their heads off if he'd caught them, and Buffy would have gotten REALLY mean. If you want to make a sex film, why not just go over to one of the frat houses on campus and hire a couple of college students?"

"I hate to say it, Dawnie, but I don't think they were making a porn film." Xander tore himself away from Willow's laptop. "This is surveillance camera footage. Someone's been spying on Buffy, and the porn film is just a happy byproduct."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Willow muttered. She picked up one of the larger camera fragments with a pair of tweezers. "Look, it's all dusty, and the battery pack was dead. This hasn't worked for weeks, maybe months. Do we have any toner cartridges we could break open? I think we could use the toner as fingerprint powder, and if whoever installed these left any prints, and if Spike didn't smudge them all up with his macho camera-crushing..."

This was back when printer cartridges had loose toner in them.  I had just come off working for a place where we bough giant bags of loose toner and refilled our own cartridges because it was cheaper, and by God, that stuff got EVERYWHERE.

"Oh, right, blame the victim," Spike groused. "Christ, I need a fag." He stomped over to the kitchen door, and I got up and followed him out to the back porch, which was in shadow at this time of day. He lit a cigarette and stood there puffing furiously, all formal and stiff, and it weirded me out. I mean, Spike doesn't just walk or stand or sit. Spike struts and lounges and sprawls and tucks his thumbs in his belt all "Hi, I'm Spike, and this is my crotch!"

On the other hand, somewhere underneath Spike, Vampire Sex God, is still a guy who grew up when ankles were an erogenous zone. "Spike...are you OK?"

"Didn't want you to see that," he said at last. "Not right. Not proper."

He looked absolutely miserable. Any other time I'd have patted his shoulder, but I figured I'd better roll my eyes instead. I leaned against the side of the house, ultra-cool and sophisticated and untroubled by the certain knowledge of Naked Spike a mere two layers of cloth away. "It's OK. Honest. It's not like I've never seen a naked guy before--"

So in my verse, as in canon, Dawn had a crush on Spike. And she knows perfectly well that Spike's in love with her sister, and doesn't see her that way. And she loves her sister, and wants her to be happy, and she doesn't want to be (as she puts it in another story) "pathetic" about it. So she's tried very hard to squash her crush down and pretend it doesn't exist. But sometimes...

That was a mistake. Spike went yellow-eyed, achieving zero to over-protective in six seconds. "And just who the hell--"

"You and Xander, dope, when we all went skinny dipping after that clambake. Get your mind out of the gutter." Of course vague glimpses of guy-parts decently veiled by darkness and ice-cold seawater and didn't quite, uh, measure up to, well, let's just say I'm going to be comparing my future boyfriends to Spike in more ways than one, but you know, I wasn't going to let this be weird. Spike is a total hottie, and maybe, just maybe there have been a few daydreams. Detailed daydreams. With a sound track and special effects. But there are hotties all over the planet, and not all that many guys you can talk to about important stuff like whether or not you really existed before two years ago, and whether the monks that created you remembered to add a standard-issue soul to the mix, and how incredibly annoying older sisters can be. "On second thought, I'm deeply traumatized. I think I might get over it if you talked Buffy into letting me get my navel pierced."

Spike stared at me, various bits of him twitching. "Dawn--"

I patted his shoulder, because I could. "You're gonna be inhaling filter in a minute. Let's go inside."

When we got back inside, Willow had bit and pieces of camera wired up to the laptop. "Curiouser and curiouser," she said. "The server this camera was supposed to send information to doesn't exist any longer, or at least, it's not turned on. The web site's on a regular commercial server, and the domain name's registered to Horatio Hellpop--pseudonym much? Good news, it looks like the site's only been up for a couple of days--" She broke into a triumphant grin. "We're in!"

"What're you waiting for, then?" Spike doesn't usually use his sire-to-minion voice on Willow, but he was using it now. "Take it down!"

It's not relevant to the tale at hand, so I don't belabor it here, but this Willow is a vampire with a soul. It's a long story.

"Patience, Grasshopper." Willow typed a few more cryptic strings of symbols into the laptop. "Bad news, it's going to take me a few hours to find out who the owner really is. I'll have to hack into Paypal to get his bank account info and track IP addresses and stuff."

I did not research what it would take to hack into Paypal. I have my limits.

Spike began pacing back and forth, tense and borderline vampy, looking like he really, really wanted to kill something. Or someone. "And in that time this berk could run off a hundred more copies and pass 'em out to friends as door prizes."

"Or keep them and sell fifty-seven of them to the list of people I'm downloading now," Willow said. "OK. I've disabled the site and changed the passwords, so no one will be able to order any more." She cracked her knuckles. "Give me six hours and I can clean out Larry Flynt Junior's bank account, ruin his credit history, and send anonymous tips to Donald Rumsfeld that he's a terrorist child pornographer." Willow's a little less scary without her magic, but really? Not by that much. She looked around. "Not that I would ever do anything like that."

I mean really. "Hacker" may be a 90s cliche, but I still wouldn't want one mad at me.

Spike snatched the list of names and credit card numbers off the printer and squinted at it. "Bloody hell. There's addresses all the way from Juneau to Key West." He looked at the list again, and smiled. Need I say it wasn't a very nice smile? "I think it's time to pay a visit to the locals. Could be some of them have an idea who they're ordering from. Harris, you want to take out the rest of those cameras, and--" He turned to Willow. "Will, when Buffy gets home, for God's sake don't let her suss out anything's wrong. If she finds out about this..."

My Spike still needs glasses, but is too vain to wear them. I have a number of canonical justifications for this headcanon.

All of us shuddered in unison. If Buffy found out there would be an explosion of thermonuclear proportions. Spike grabbed his motorcycle jacket and blanket and headed for the front door, and I leaped to my feet and ran after him. "Wait up! I'm going with you!"

He scowled at me. "I think not. You're going to stay here, and distract your sister like a good little minor."

"Uh-uh." I used all of my hey-Dawnie's-tall-now height to advantage. "Look, Spike, all this stuff getting out does to you is make you mad. If Buffy finds out, she's going to be..." I floundered for a minute. " Humiliated, and nobody humiliates my sister except me. I'm gonna go with you, and we're gonna find out who did it and...and... kick their butts with pointy-toed shoes."

Spike glared, but it was the old I-disapprove-on-principle-but-you're-all-right,-Niblet glare, and I knew he'd be caving in ten, nine, eight... "Move yer girly arse, then," he said with an unconvincing growl. "We've got villains to apprehend."

I scooted for the DeSoto before he could change his mind. Maybe he thought that it would be a good idea to have someone soul-having around when he was this mad, just in case. Or maybe, and I really prefer this version, he just wanted a partner in crime because it's more fun that way. Spike flung the blanket over his head and copied my dash for the car, and we flung ourselves into the DeSoto's dark interior just as Spike was beginning to sizzle. "You come along, you mind what I tell you, yeah? I say stay in the car, you stay in the car. I say you run, you run. I say you take that fucking pathetic excuse for music out of the CD player and toss it out the window--"

"--and I ignore you like always," I said cheerfully, turning up the Jennifer Lopez.

"Fine. If anyone dies tonight, it's on your head. Some things are beyond any self-respecting vampire's endurance." Spike slammed into reverse and backed out of the driveway with a screech of tires. I grabbed the door handle. Driving with Spike is always a character-building experience, and today was no exception. "First on the hit parade?"

I scanned the list. "Vernon Blakely, 1583 East Beechwood. What are we gonna say to Mr. Blakely when we get there?"

Spike gazed out through the little clean space in the windshield, obviously pondering which limb he should rip off first, and peeled out like there was a mob with torches after us. "Improvisation is a virtue, Bit."

I had absolutely no idea how they would get the DVDs back. The next several scenes are just me letting the characters take the reins and do whatever the hell they wanted to.

**********

Spike was smoking gently beneath his blanket when the shade-deficient door of 1583 East Beechwood opened to our urgent hammering, and a middle-aged guy with thinning red hair and freckles and a pot belly opened it and blinked at us. He looked like Mr. Weasley gone to seed. "Mr. Blakely?" I said with my brightest, shiniest smile.

The Blakely looked from me to Spike, and the contrast seemed to produce some kind of cognitive dissonance on his part. "Can I... have we met?"

"Only in spirit." Spike leaned heavily against the doorframe, with a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring, but which made him look like he was sporting fangs even when he wasn't. Spike isn't a big guy--in fact, he's on the smallish side, but he's got, you know, muscles. And this air of being able to rip your liver out. Also did I mention the muscles? "I'm given to understand you made a purchase recently from...ah..." He glanced surreptitiously at the paper in his hand. "...Mad Genius Productions?"

Mr. Blakely looked at me, dubious, and at Spike, nervous. "What of it? If I'd done anything like that, which I didn't."

"We're from the, uh, department of quality control," I chirped. "The DVDs are..."

"Radioactive," Spike put in. "Rot your goolies off just like that. " I gave him an elbow-jab.

"Defective," I said firmly. "Glitches. Pixelization. It's criminal the kind of shoddy merchandise we put out. We're recalling them and giving you a replacement at absolutely no charge!"

Spike held up a jewel case and flashed it under Blakely's nose. "Director's cut. Added scenes. 40% more filth for the price."

Suspicion was gathering in Mr. Blakely's watery blue eyes. "Hey, you're that guy from the video," he said.

Spike heaved a melodramatic sigh. "All right, all right, as you've twisted my arm, I'll autograph it for you."

I honestly did not expect him to say that, but somehow there I was, typing it.

The watery eyes brightened. "Really?"

Five minutes later we were dashing for the car again, with the confused Mr. Blakely waving us goodbye. "So what's he going to do when he discovers he's been suckered for a bootleg copy of J-Lo's latest?" I asked, as we tore away from the curb.

"Long as it's got some bint with her tits hanging out on the cover, I doubt he'll notice the difference." Spike grinned. "There'd just better be some hitting involved in the next one."

**********

"I don't believe there's any such thing as a Department of Quality Control," Mr. Angusson said, looking us up and down. "What the hell kind of scam are you pulling?"

"All we want to do is to replace--" I started.

"Look, missy, I bought that DVD nice and legal, and I don't give a crap if whatever goombah and his girlfriend put on plastic fangs to do it is having second thoughts now. So you and your boyfriend just toddle off and--"

"HEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPP!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "HE'S SHOWING ME HIS THING! IT'S ALL GROSS AND PURPLE AND--"

I didn't expect Dawn to do that, either. And yet!

Angusson disappeared and reappeared in two seconds flat, chucking the DVD at our heads.

"Better," Spike said as we tore out yet again. "But I'm still feeling a lack in the hitting things area."

Mr. Fishbein retreated a step from the threshold. "I'm not giving you anything, and I'm not letting you in," he quavered. "What do you think I am, stupid? You're a vampire!"

Honestly, it's Sunnydale. SOMEONE has to get it.

Spike rolled his eyes. He's learned from the masters. "Oh, bollocks, you don't really believe--"

"Oh, yeah?" Fishbein challenged. "Step through that door!"

I stepped through the door, grabbed Fishbein's hand and gave him a good hard yank, right across the threshold and into Spike's waiting fist.

"What was that?," Spike caroled, drawing back for another punch. "Come on in and have a cuppa, Spike? Better repeat it, I'm a touch deaf in that ear."

"That was unnecessarily bloody," I said as we hopped into the car and stepped on the gas, one DVD richer.

"He'll live," Spike said dismissively. "Probably. Next?"

**********

I figured I had to give Spike SOME violence, or he'd get mopey.

"Can you see--?" I hissed, trying to get a better view through the front window. It was getting dark, and I was out of practice at sneaking around not-really-abandoned buildings. Spike shushed me and crept around to the door. I peered through the sad straggly thevetia hedge, cupping my hands against the dirty glass. The place was just crawling with innnnnnteresting monsters, all huddled around a crappy old black and white TV. There's some law against demons watching flatscreen color, apparently.

"Oh, my God, are they really...you know....doing it?" The Gorthesch demon bumped a couple of Fyarls further down on the couch and plunged a scaly paw into the bowl of popcorn as they all stared at the flickering screen. "With a Slayer? I mean, I heard about it, but I didn't think even a vampire could sink that low."

"Real vampires don't," the lone vampire in the crowd protested, voice dripping disgust. "Maybe great big Slayer-whipped pussies do, but--"

"Shut up!" came a chorus of squeaky, growly, and croaky voices. Despite the complaints, everyone seemed to like the show. There were tongues hanging out. At least, I hope they were tongues.

"Yeah, it's just gettin' to the good part," a Syvithis demon whispered.

"Oooh! The one with the pommel horse?"

"No, where the Slayer goes down on him in the graveyard and he--"

I actually wrote a PWP detailing all the scenes in The Spuffy Sex Tape. An edited-down version eventually got incorporated into A Parliament of Monsters, when Angelus gets a hold of one of the copies that Spike and Dawn aren't able to track down in this story.

The front door imploded with a crash, splinters flying everywhere, and Spike strode into the room over the wreckage, a gleam in his eye and a really, really big axe slung over one shoulder. He surveyed the assortment of demons with a grin almost as big as the axe and about twice as vicious, ran his tongue over his teeth and and tucked his free thumb in his belt loop, fingers splayed over the merchandise. Just like old times. "Looks like you're right, mate," he said. "We are just getting to the good part."

**********

"OK, I take it back," I said as we headed for home. "THAT was unnecessarily bloody." It was after midnight, and we'd collected twenty-two DVDs, broken and entered fifteen houses and/or lairs, killed or maimed eight demons, broken five human fingers accidentally-on-purpose, and signed two autographs. Spike had definitely achieved his hitting things quota, and it was a safe bet that no one in Sunnydale would be mentioning Spike and Buffy's brief but eventful movie career in public any time soon.

"All right, p'raps the railroad spike was a bit much, but a bloke gets nostalgic." Spike stretched, all luxurious and satisfied, and lit up a fresh cig, trailing smoke out the window. He had a black eye and a split lip and a scrape right across the place where his cheekbone goes all knife-edgy, and the stretching made things creak inside that probably weren't supposed to creak, but he was in a much, much better mood. "He'll grow a new head."

Where did Spike get a railroad spike on short notice? I have no idea. He's just resourceful that way.

"If you say so," I said, a bit dubious. "Doesn't that only happen when you cut the old one off?"

"So it'll take a bit longer." Spike bounced a little in his seat, all hepped up on the old ultra-violence. "Still haven't found the bastard who's selling the things, though. Must be a bleeding criminal mastermind if--" I Wanna Be Sedated beebled from the cell phone in his pocket. (Like I said, a lot better with technology than some vampires I can name. He can even program it, though considering the songs he picks, sometimes we wish he couldn't.) He grabbed the phone one-handed and didn't slow down even a bit as he zipped through freeway traffic. (Well, he is evil.) "Yeh? You must be joking. You must be--fuck. That little--I'll tear his soddin' head off! Yeh, I know. I'll just bruise him a little." He clicked the phone off and stuffed it back in his pocket, spun the wheel and zigged across four lanes of traffic towards the off-ramp, leaving a chorus of screeching brakes behind us. "After I tear his soddin' head off."

"Where are we going?" I yelled.

Spike hunched over the wheel, eyes grim. "Off to see the wizard."

We pulled up in front of one of the cruddy lease-by-the-month apartment buildings over by the UC Sunnydale campus. Maybe it was the same one Dad and I stayed at when he came down from L.A. to take care of Buffy's estate that time she was dead--the second time, I mean, not the first time. Some of the grease spots in the parking lot looked familiar.

It just struck me as I was describing the building that it was almost identical to the one I'd described in Necessary Evils, so I thought I'd better lampshade it.

"Apartment 42B, Will says." Spike sucked in his cheeks and narrowed his eyes, scoping out the disintegrating stucco overhead. "There at the end." He slapped his hands together and bounded towards the stairs like he was scaling Everest. I followed like I was scaling a rickety stepladder. (Hey, lack of supernatural stamina here. I was getting pretty darned tired.) The lights were on in 42B, and we paused outside the door, which was painted in barf-making 80s turquoise. Spike pounded on it with one fist. "Open up! Land shark!"

I heard some rustling and thumping noises inside, and a crash like a bookcase falling over. "Go away!" a strangely familiar voice yelled. "You can't get in here anyway!"

"Yeh? Maybe not, but I can stand out here till you starve to death. Or set the building on fire, or...uh..." Spike paced the catwalk for a second, smoking like a fiend, which I guess is appropriate. I was pretty sure the fire thing was a bluff, since Spike's not usually one for indirect mayhem. He's got the whole hitting things fetish, after all. Then his eyes lit up and he grinned. "Maybe I can't walk through your door, but there's nothing says I can't kick it down and send in my terrible mute minion, Paco." He whirled around and unleashed one of his shitkicker boots at the door. BANG! The whole building shuddered (which sounds impressive, but considering it was probably made out of pressboard and Kleenex, isn't so much). WHAM! A hinge sprung and the doorframe cracked. I buffed my nails and waited--obviously Spike was holding back.

I don't know why more vampires don't do things like this.

"I'm gonna lose my deposit!" the voice inside wailed.

"My heart bleeds. Oh, wait, no it doesn't. Open up, or--"

The door flew open, or tried to (Spike had knocked it kind of cattywompus, and it stuck halfway.) A face peered out, pale and pear-shaped and nervous under slept-in dark hair. Behind it was a barren little studio apartment littered with pizza boxes, comic books, and boxes of DVDs and padded mailers. There was practically no furniture except a mattress and a desk with a pretty sweet computer and home studio setup.

My hand shot out and I grabbed Pasty-face by the ear and pulled, hard. "Jonathan?!" I yipped. Jonathan squirmed and batted at me, but I dug my nails in. "YOU'RE the criminal mastermind?"

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" he yelled. "Let me go, don't let him kill me, I didn't mean to, it's not my fault!"

"Oh, for God's sake, quit whining," I snapped, letting go. "Spike hasn't even touched you."

Spike took a drag on his cigarette, peeled himself off the railing and sort of glided over, all slouchy and menacing, with the angle of the floodlights leaving black caverns where his eyes should be. Jonathan squinched in on himself. "You just don't learn, do you?" Spike asked, soft and pee-your-pants scary. "How long've you had those cameras on us?"

Jonathan backed away with a panicky shuffle. "They're not mine! They were Warren's, and they haven't worked since the police confiscated all his computer stuff! Honest! I just happened to have some files I'd saved for, for--"

"Wanking material?" Spike asked, excessively sarcastic.

"Research!" Jonathan reached the wall and sat down very abruptly. "I didn't mean anything by it! All I wanted was to raise some money so Warren and Andrew could get a better lawyer! Someone who knows about demon-related cases, like Goldberg & Osbourne, or Wolfram & Hart. I didn't think you'd ever find out, and I'm really, really, really sorry, please don't kill me, please, please, PLEASE don't kill me--"

Goldberg & Osbourne is a real law firm in Phoenix, AZ, known for being sleazy ambulance-chasers. A joke that only I ever got.

"Didn't mean anything by dragging a lady's reputation in the dirt?" Spike roared (and again, by roared, I mean, well, roared). He grabbed Jonathan by his Robotech jammies and hauled him up nose-to-nose--Jonathan's one of the few guys Spike can look down on. "Well, maybe I won't mean anything when I rip your balls off and stuff them in your eye sockets, how's that?"

"Why?" I asked, grabbing Spike's arm. I realized I'd been wanting to ask that question for a long time. "Why, Jonathan? I mean, I get Warren and whatsisface--they had grudges against Buffy, but you used to be--" Well, not her friend, not really. "She saved your life! You gave her the Class Protector award! She let you off the hook when she turned Warren over to the cops--you were an accessory to murder, Jonathan, and she let you go! I don't get it. Why are you helping them?"

Jonathan yanked his pajama top out of Spike's grip and pulled himself up like he'd taken a dose of Insta-Spine. "Because they're my friends," he said, very simply, meeting Spike's yellowing eyes head-on. "And I know they're not much, but they're all I've got. Whatever else happens, you've got to stand by your friends, right? Or what's the point?" He sighed, squared his shoulders, and looked up at Spike with a little smile. "It's a fair cop. I guess you'd better do whatever it is you're going to do."

I wanted Jonathan to redeem himself a little bit, kinda?

Spike stood there looking at Jonathan, head cocked in the His Master's Voice pose he gets when he's trying really, really hard to figure out the motivations of the souled. And I knew what was going through his head. Spike was looking for a reason not to kill him.

See, Spike doesn't have a soul. He doesn't do good stuff because it's right. He can't. He's not wired that way, as he puts it. But he can do good stuff if there's a reason--like if it helps him somehow, or makes someone he loves happy. Or if it makes him feel, for a minute, like he's a man and not a monster, which is a feeling he really likes. And that's the cool thing about Spike, the thing I really love about him, and I think probably the thing Buffy loves too: not the cheekbones or the attitude or the mad combat skilz or what's under those jeans, but that he does like that feeling, and so Spike looks for those reasons. Looks real hard. Harder, I think sometimes, than some people with souls.

I'm just sayin'.

"Right," he said at last. And he hauled off and punched Jonathan right in the nose.

"YEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOW!" Jonathan fell over, clutching his face, and gore splattered everywhere. "By dose! You broge by dose!"

But still, well, evil.

"Just be glad that's all I've broke," Spike said. He wiped his knuckles on his t-shirt instead of licking the blood off, which was a pretty big compliment, really. Congratulations, Jonathan, you've graduated to Not-Food! "Christ, where's the fun in beating the shit out of a pathetic little wibbling sod like you?" He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket (that's another moderately cool thing about Spike: he carries pocket handkerchiefs) and tossed it to Jonathan. "Grab the goods, Bit. It's time to call it a night."

Jonathan sat there snorfling blood into the hanky while I ferried the DVDs and Jonathan's hard drive out to Spike--I figured Willow could check it out for contraband and return it, so we weren't stealing it exactly. As we started down the stairs with the last armload, Spike turned back to Jonathan, almost amiable. "Word to the wise. I don't forget what your friends put Buffy through. If you want to do your pals a real favor, maybe you ought to remember that while I'm out here, and they're safe in stir, no one's likely to get eaten accidental-like, eh?"

Now this! At the time that I wrote this, I had NO IDEA that Warren would come back and cause trouble later, and that Spike would, in fact, end up eating him. Indeed, by the time I wrote "The Lesser of Two Evils," I had completely forgotten that I'd written this line, and when I stumbled upon it when re-reading a couple of years later, it was this totally serendipitous piece of foreshadowing. Sometimes writing is so cool!

Jonathan stared at him, and nodded a little. And we left.

**********

It was past two o'clock when we got home. We locked the DVDs in the trunk of the DeSoto, which had been the closet for a lot of other skeletons in its day, and after a short consultation on how to best avoid Ordeal By Buffy, we strolled into the house as if we were coming in from a late patrol and nothing in the universe was wrong.

Willow was still tapping away at her laptop in the dining room. "I'm just tracking down the copies on eBay," she whispered, "and sending out fake cease and desist orders from Mad Genius Productions. Buffy's in bed. She doesn't suspect a thing." She noted our alarmed glances and added, a bit huffily, "Don't worry, Xander took care of the the subterfuge part. Did you get him?"

"Yeh, he's got." Spike rolled his head and rubbed back of his neck. "Battle of the ages. Christ, I'm glad that's done with." He eyed our crumpled list of victims thoughtfully. "Wonder if I could fake a business trip to Juneau."

"Don't press your luck," Willow said drily.

"Someday I'm going to sire someone with a minimum of respect for their elders," Spike growled.

Willow grinned, smug. "And they'll bore you so much you'll stake them inside forty-eight hours. Shoo. Buffy's waiting for you."

So we headed for the stairs, and as I put my foot on the first step, I heard Spike heave a big sigh behind me. "Thanks, Bit. Couldn't have managed without you." When I looked back, he was staring at the toes of his boots, all awkward and embarrassed. "I just hope this hasn't... hasn't..."

"Spike, I'll always think of you as my brother." I waited two beats, and added with a perfectly straight face, "My brother with the enormous schlong."

I got three whole steps before Spike came after me and chased me all the way upstairs.

This story is the second of three I wrote ("The Road to Byzantium" and "A Dark and Stormy Night" are numbers one and three) which has Dawn moving on from her crush and into a more grown-up friendship with Spike as a major theme, and hopefully it works. And they all lived happily ever after, at least until I got another idea!

[drivinginstrutortara]

If you have any questions about learning to drive or want to get started in or around the Wrexham area right away contact Driving Instructor Tara to get going and pass your test!

[herawell]

Ruma (Ramayana): Cardinal Virtues meme

Thanks to @avani008 for coming up with this meme! Due to RL, I’m not taking any requests right now, but I thought I’d do this for a few of my faves.

Prudence

fools rush in | a stitch in time | hard times for dreamers | tact ( or lack thereof) | silence is the most powerful scream | foresight/telepathy/psychic AU

“Your footwork is wrong,” Ruma says to her nephew severely as she oversees his dancing practice.

“The right foot forward instead of the left is a small enough mistake,” the Crown Prince of Kishkindha drawls, “that I highly doubt I will disgrace my clan by it.”

“And yet if you noticed a flaw in your archery stance, or how you wield your sword, you would correct it at once before you repeat it and it becomes habit, would you not?”

“But dancing is so complicated!” Angad bursts out. “How could I possibly master it when the instructor comes by only for half an hour every week?”

“Then I can help you,” Ruma says simply. Angad smiles readily at this offer, and she marvels at how easily he fits under her heart, and that she ever despaired of being barren.

Temperance

a secret indulgence | in vino veritas | hold the reins | the mark of a child | a virtue in those who can afford it | crossover*

Her syali Tara wears the mantle of queenship so well that Ruma feels like a child next to her. She tries to be just as wise and kind, but for all her efforts, her insights never seem to be as incisive, her charity never as well-received by the populace. Tara assures her that time will hone her capability, while Sugriva boldly lies and says that she is the finest queen to ever grace Kishkindha. But it’s Vali who brings her the most comfort, by saying that she serves the vanara kingdom with whatever gifts she already possesses, and that is enough for anyone.

Courage

no sin greater than inaction | mastery of fear, not absence of fear | dulce et decorum est | faint heart never won fair lady | the last laugh laughs best | fairy tale/myth AU

There once was a maiden fair, with the body of a monkey but the grace of a dancer, who lived in a fine castle with a husband who loved her. But a cruel king took the castle by storm and exiled her lord from the land and locked the lady up in the highest tower. There the maiden wept bitter tears in what had once been her home, for by a twist of fate, her jailer looked just like her husband, and now even her happy memories were tarnished. Her tears fell from her window, to the ground where a briar sprouted in soil where nothing had grown for years. Though she could not see it, on the briar bloomed roses as bright and red as any that were ever seen, and though she could not know it, out of them would be strung the garland that would bring her back to her husband.

Justice

what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander | laws are spider webs | judge jury and executioner | each man makes his own prison | two sides to every story | noir/detective AU

There are those who whisper in the months following Sugriva’s reinstatement that he is a murderer and a usurper, especially when preparations for the wall take its toll on the populace. He was the elder brother and the rightful king, the naysayers sneer. Who had very good reason to suspect his younger brother of a plot and exile him. Which is where you come in, O Younger Queen. But for your imprisonment and your plight, Lord Ram would have had no reason to interfere in the affairs of another country. So truly, your dishonor was what brought about the great alliance.

Ruma rages, of course. She seeks out every scholar, every man of the law she can meet and is shocked when every single one of them confirms the whispers. Dharma is an incomprehensible mantle, and in the end it only drives Ruma deeper into her cups.

[pauldeckerus]

The Top 200 Things I’m Thankful For This Thanksgiving

Today is a big holiday in the US; it’s a day where we take time off to celebrate all the things we’re thankful for. We get together with family; over-eat a traditional Thanksgiving Day meal, and then we watch football until we pass out. It’s just about a perfect day.

I got up this morning feeling especially grateful for the many blessings I enjoy all year long, and I wanted to take a few minutes to share the things I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving Day. I believe counting your blessings is one of the best things a person can do (and that this list of 200 is only a start, is a real blessing to me for sure).

Here they are, (in no particular order):

I’m thankful….

1. that I got to marry the girl of my dreams (it’ll be 30-years this coming September)

2. for Keurig Coffee Makers

3. for little hole-in-the-wall restaurants

4. for having a big brother I could always look up to

5. that she said “yes!”

6. for the “Skip” button on YouTube ads 

7. when I hear the ringtone that lets me know my son is texting us

8. for Seinfeld reruns 

9. that I learned how to use Photoshop and Lightroom

10. for lazy Saturday mornings when we just chill

11. for Saturday College Football games and that our son chose a big football school (#rolltide!)

12. for Hulu and Netflix and Amazon Prime

13. for Maggie the Wonderdog

14. for how happy Maki the SuperDog makes my wife

15. for that first cup of coffee in the morning

16. that my wife got us a Latte maker

17. for big greasy double-cheeseburgers served in restaurants whose cleanliness is so suspect that my wife would never eat there.

18. for anytime I drive up to our house, and see our son’s truck sitting out front

19. that first morning hug from my wifey

20. that the Buc’s miserable season is mercifully almost over

21. that this year the Patriot’s aren’t as good as they usually are

22. for any chilly day here in Florida

23. for my daughter’s wonderful sense of humor

24. when my daughter shares her drawings with me

25. for CoffeeMate individual creamers

26. that my son was born with the built-in love of helping and looking out for other people

27. for the text my son just sent us as I’m writing this that brought tears to my eyes 

28. for my daughter’s laugh

29. for all the family traditions that my wife fosters and we all lover

30. that our kids get to attend great schools

31. for Dunkin Donut’s drive-thru in the morning, and that they’ll make your coffee just the way you like it

32. for Terry White

33. for the kind people who read my blog each day

34. for all the little things

35. for our cozy couch for watching TV

36. for Logic Pro X (the wonderful recording studio software on my Mac)

37. for Pizza, and the fine people who deliver them. 

38. for mornings where Maggie doesn’t bark at other children and parents in the car line

39. that my son is such a faithful person by nature

40. for Sunday night’s texting my buddy Jeff Revell as we watch ‘The Walking Dead’ together, while 1,000 miles apart

41. for our tradition of watching “Love Actually” again every Christmas

42. for living so close to Disney World

43. for how awesome my wife is at planning trips

44. for being married to such an amazing cook

45. for a really comfy bed pillow

46. for Rick and Susan Sammon

47. for all my guitars

48. for beautiful offices for us to work in each day

49. to have Jessica, Kim and Cindy work on my books

50. that people actually buy my books, which lets me keep writing them

51. for the smell of my wife’s cooking when I walk in the door

52. for times when just my daughter and I get to go out to lunch

53. for Moose and Sharon

54. for Dave, Peter, and Glyn 

55. for having such a wonderful mother and father growing up. 

56. for being able to play musical instruments

57. for having mentors whose wisdom and whip-cracking have helped immeasurably throughout my life

58. for Jeanne Jilleba who helps me so much each day

59. for having a great relationship with my mother and father-in-law

60. for having a mother-in-law who stepped in for my own mother when she passed away

61. for the trips my brother and I take together once a year

62. to Delta, their SkyClub, and all the upgrades I get each year

63. to Erik Kuna for being my friend

64. for all the folks who come out to my seminars each year.

65. that I still get to work with my friend Ted Waitt

66. for Levi, and Sally and Dianne for caring so much about our members

67. for Chris, Susie, Karen and Pam – I’m lucky to work with them

68. for my wife’s beautiful smile

69. for how my son always shares new songs he finds with me

70. for all the times my wife texts me a heart emoji

71. for somebody’s else’s fries

72. for how my friend Dave Clayton’s texts always make me laugh out loud

73. that my kids know they are loved completely and unconditionally 

74. for my Pastor and friend Douglas Poole

75. for Victoria’s sweet texts, and for what a joy she is

76. that I get to drive a car each day that makes driving a joy

77. for really good air conditioning

78. that I get to use such great camera and lighting gear

79. for Google’s news app on my phone

80. for my great Web team; Adam, Aaron, Yo, and Curt 

81. for everybody who checked on my wifey when she got in an accident

82. for black t-shirts with logos on them

83. for Dave Black, Kristy Sherk, Lindsay Adler and Peter Hurley, 

84. for the beautiful baby grand piano Kalebra bought for my birthday 20+ years ago

85. that I’ve been able to be a part of the Photoshop World conference all these years

86. for when great ideas pop in my head, and for being able to move on when it turns out some of them aren’t as great as I thought

87. for all my friends who came to the rescue

88. for the pretty drive to work in the mornings

89. for Juan, Steve, Jason and Christina

90. that my daughter and our niece are such great friends

91. that my son loves so many different kinds of music (everything from classic rock to Sinatra to rap to metal)

92. for all the times my big brother helped me, and guided me, when I was growing up.

93. for my apple watch and all the reminders it gives me

94. for weekends and days off

95. for the smell of coffee brewing

96. for Margie, Angela, Jacque, John and Rachel

97. for Maxx Hammond for being such a great friend to my son all these years, and for being an important part of our family

98. for comfortable shoes

99. for having a friend like Manny

100. for loving every minute with my family

101. for the men and women of our military 

102. for Julie, Kleber, Heidi and Cheryl

103. for the little Blackstar tube amp sitting on my desk

104. anytime I get to go to New York City

105. for our dear friend and partner Jean A.

106. for James Taylor

107. for all the awesome texts I’m getting from friends today

108. that my daughter still cares that I bake my special “Christmas Cookies” each year when we put up the tree (and I’m grateful she thinks Pillsbury mean ‘special’).

109. my guardian angel 

110. for bagels with cream cheese

111. for Larry Tiefenbrunn

112. for first responders

113. that my camera bag has four wheels

114. for Viktor and Ron

115. for Larry Becker, Rob Sylvan, and Dave Williams

116. for my friends Chicky Nando, and Big Mike, and Cathy B, and Mimo

117. for all the stuff in Erik’s backpack (since he always has that thing I need that I forgot to bring)

118. for waking up feeling great in the morning!

119. for Joe and Annie

120. that our dog Maki has a best friend in our son’s dog Nami

121. for beautiful clouds when I’m shooting a sunrise

122. for a yummy breakfast after a sunrise shoot

123. for my wife’s homemade chocolate-chip pancakes

124. for the sound of my wife’s voice

125. for mornings when I get up early and get a bunch of stuff done and I look up and it’s only 8:15 am

126. for landings in London

127. the quiet time my wife and I share with our coffee in the mornings before the kids wake up

128. My MacBook Pro and how much easier it makes my business life each day

129. for forgiveness 

130. that I realize what a privileged, blessed life I lead, and to whom I owe the thanks

131. that I start each day getting centered reading the Bible and daily devotionals

132. for how my daughter is always dancing

133. for the night’s where our family gets together to play games

134. for when we all lay on the floor, looking up and debate how tall the ceiling is in our living room

135. for our holiday trips to Disney’s Hollywood Studios

136. for cheese. Any kind of cheese. Even if it dispenses from a can

137. that somebody kept reading even though we’re down to number 137

138. that we have doggie treats when we really need them

139. for breakfasts at First Watch

140. for Carmine’s on W. 44th Street

141. for all the awesome instructors I get to work with

142. for empty middle seats

143. for my iPad and all the awesome apps, like the Kindle Reader

144. for the Texture app so I can read all my favorite magazines on my iPad

145. that I get to make new friends along the way

146. that people come to my workshops and I get to make new friends

147. for everyone who has stuck up for me in an online forum

148. for all the people who helped me along the way, and who may be gone, but are not forgotten

149. for the great companies and partners who sponsor The Grid

150. that I get to do a weekly live photography show and have such wonderful photographers as guests

151. for my Platypod Ultra

152. that my employees have a long weekend this weekend

153. for my lunch this week with an old friend

154. that we work so close to one of the best Cuban restaurants 

155. for Tara our awesome official Chilis server for over 10-years now

156. for how happy fresh flowers make my wife

157. to see how happy it makes Kalebra when we all eat our vegetables at dinner

158. for a beautiful yard for the doggos to run in. 

159. for Sundays when I sleep in really late

160. that my son left his awesome drum kit here so I can play it

161. that my old rock band from high-school still gets together to play our high-school reunion party

162. that I live in a very sunny place

163. for Google search

164. for every time my wife is cooking and says “I’m trying something different tonight.” It always leads to a delicious meal!

165. that I always remember our anniversary

166. that our family makes birthdays really special for each other

167. that we have a photographic art gallery and that we get to celebrate our member’s work there

168. that I have such a great art director for my shoots in Kalebra

169. for William C. Miller, my high school band director, who taught us more than music.

170. that I was born and raised here

171. for Deb, John, Bob, Sam, and all my friends in Boston

172. for the Sci-Fi Drive-In Theatre restaurant 

173. for Frank Doorhof

174. for all the summers in Sarasota at the beach when I was growing up

175. for getting to board early

176. for Larry Grace, Ed Buice, and Rob Foldy

177. for Superchargers

178. for when the dogs realize it was just a random sound and stop barking

179. for all the live concerts, Broadway shows, and performances I’ve experienced

180. for my wife’s guardian angel, who has been working overtime lately

181. for Zephyrhills bottled spring water

182. for the times my brother and I get to play golf

183. for the Genius Bar in the Apple Store 

184. for Chili’s chips and salsa

185. for now thoughtful my wife is

186. for afternoon’s at the movies

187. for the times when I could think of the perfect gift

188. for all the people who participate in my Worldwide Photo Walk and for the joy it brings me to see their smiling faces in their group shots

189. for everyone who has donated to the Springs of Hope Kenya orphanage

190. for all the wonderful gifts I treasure that Kalebra has gotten me over the years

191. for all my friends at Canon USA

192. for everybody who follows me on social media, and shares a kind word or says something nice about one of my images.

193. for every handmade birthday card my daughter has made for me

194. that my son is a way better version of me

195. for all the times when my wife knows exactly what to say and how to say it

196. that people are kind when they point out my typos on my blog

197. that I love to drive

198. that I still get to play with Scotty and Tony in a band. 

199. for how easy it was to come up with 200 things I’m grateful for

200. for God, and His Son Jesus Christ, for leading me to the woman of my dreams, for blessing us with such amazing children, for allowing me to make a living doing something I truly love, for always being there when I need Him, for blessing me with a wonderful, fulfilling, and happy life, and such a warm, loving family to share it with.

Here’s wishing you a Thanksgiving full of family, food, gratitude for our many blessings, and I hope your team wins this weekend unless you’re playing Alabama! #rolltide!

All my best, 

-Scott

The post The Top 200 Things I’m Thankful For This Thanksgiving appeared first on Scott Kelby's Photoshop Insider.

from Photography News https://scottkelby.com/the-top-200-things-im-thankful-for-this-thanksgiving/

[tigermike]

*** Medal of Honor Monday! 🇺🇸🇺🇸 ***

On this day in 1918, a hero engages in an action that would earn him the Medal of Honor. Then-Gunnery Sergeant Louis Cukela was a Marine who was awarded the Medal by both the United States Army and the United States Navy.

“Much of what has been written about [Cukela] fails to survive the close scrutiny of official records,” USMC Lt. Col. Merrill L. Bartlett concludes, “but enough remains to support the contention that he was one of the most unusual characters to wear forest green during [the World War I era]."

Cukela was an immigrant who came to the States in 1913. Legend has it that he once served in the Serbian Army but was forced to flee after a duel with a fellow officer. The tale is in keeping with Cukela’s colorful personality, but there is no documentation to support the story.

Either way, Cukela enlisted in the Army shortly after he arrived in the States, and he served in the Army from 1914-1916. He was honorably discharged from the Army and soon signed up for the Marines instead.

Cukela’s broken English would prompt many funny moments during his service, as when he accidentally reprimanded a subordinate sharply: “Next time I send damn fool, I go myself.”

Needless to say, the phrase became a bit of a punchline afterwards.

Yet Cukela’s intense dedication was his most notable characteristic. On one occasion towards the end of his career, he was working on a problem in infantry tactics with an Army instructor.

Cukela thought an attack was warranted. The Army instructor though withdrawing and establishing a defense was better. “I am Cukela. I attack,” the feisty Marine responded. He tapped his Medal. “How you think I get this?”

Likewise, legendary Marine Chesty Puller remembered serving with Cukela in Haiti. At the time, Cukela scoffed at the notion of night marches and daytime sleeping. “No real man can sleep in the day,” he declared. “I will hunt the enemy.”

No one could figure out how he managed to keep up with both his own daylight searches and the official nighttime actions that week.

Cukela’s Medal of Honor action came much earlier, of course, as he served in France during World War I. On July 18, 1918, his company was advancing through the Forest de Retz near Viller-Cottertes, France. They were suddenly faced with strong resistance from an enemy strong point.

Cukela leapt into action. He was being pelted with heavy fire and his fellow Marines were yelling warnings at him. He ignored both, naturally, and advanced toward the enemy alone.

“He succeeded in getting behind the enemy position,” his Army Medal citation describes, “and rushed a machine-gun emplacement, killing or driving off the crew with his bayonet. With German hand grenades he then bombed out the remaining portion of the strong point, capturing four men and two damaged machine guns.”

His bravery made him one of the few to receive two Medals for the same action.

Cukela went on to serve as a Marine in Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and at Quantico, Virginia, among other assignments. He retired in 1940 but was called back to active duty just before the United States entered World War II. By the time he was placed on the inactive retired list in 1946, he had attained the rank of Major.

A journalist interviewed Cukela a few months after World War I had come to an end. How did he feel about serving his adopted country?

“Of course I am glad to see Serbia restored,” Cukela said, “just as I am glad to see Belgium and Northern France restored. But as for me, I have only one country and I love only one country, and that is the country whose uniform I wear today and which I want to wear whenever she needs me again.”

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