#no one ask me how many assignments have been pushed past the event horizon into the point of no return lmao

[wander-wren]

my most useful talent is my ability to push shit off until the last possible minute, and then find a New last possible minute. deadlines are arbitrary and i will bend them to my will

#bird noises #actually adhd #procrastination central babey #i had an assignment due friday. it is now technically tuesday. in theory i can still push it off to thursday buttt i rlly shouldnt lol #we’ll see #no one ask me how many assignments have been pushed past the event horizon into the point of no return lmao #i said i was good at making new deadlines i never said i followed those ones either

[spuffybot]

Walk Me to the Graveyard

Summary: Buffy walks through the graveyard alone at night, contemplating the past few months following the fall of Sunnydale. She reflects on her relationship with Spike, her friendships, and her future before receiving a shocking phone call.

Characters: Buffy, Willow, Dawn, Spike (mentions of Giles, Xander, Andrew, Kennedy, Faith, Wood, Angel, and Fred)

Warnings: Some adult language

Word Count: 4515

Author’s notes: If you read this, thank you. I’ve been chipping away at it for the past few weeks and I’m just glad I was able to finish something I started. “Ghostface” is a reference to the Scream movies, which Sarah Michelle Gellar had a cameo in. The high tea spot with the egg shaped bathrooms is Sketch, a place I didn’t get to visit this year due to the pandemic. I hope you all have a safe holiday season and new year. Hopefully I’ll finish the second part of this story in 2021.

Walk Me to the Graveyard (part 1)

Buffy’s joints creaked as she stood up from her crouched position. She’d been staking out this grave (no pun intended) for hours and dawn was slowly approaching. In the last few minutes the air had started to change, and she could hear the telltale rustling of birds in the trees. If this vampire was going to rise, it wouldn’t be tonight.

Stretching her arms up over her head, she rolled out her stiff shoulders, feeling strangely relieved by the lack of action.

Buffy had been coming to this cemetery every couple of nights for weeks, sniffing out even the barest hint of vampire activity. Technically she could have assigned graveyard duty to any of the Potentials, but she craved the silence and the normalcy of the activity.

She chuckled to herself. How far she’d come that she could relish a few hours of graveyard haunting and call it normal. If only her sixteen-year-old self could see her now.

The truth was she was tired. After the fall of Sunnydale, she’d been fueled by an insatiable need to just keep moving. Giles had suggested they hole up in LA and take refuge with Angel Investigations, but Buffy refused. She wanted to get started on rebuilding as soon as possible. They couldn’t afford to waste time in LA, on Angel’s turf, killing time as his sidekicks while thousands of girls woke up with powers they couldn’t explain. So instead the Scoobies had moved to London, taking on the role of de-facto Watchers Council. They’d rounded up the few surviving members of the former Council and had started reaching out to as many activated Potentials as possible.

They recruited the ones they could and provided support (emotional and financial) to the ones they couldn’t. It was rewarding and it kept her mind off things.

Things like telling a man she loved him only to have him choose death over a future with her.

Buffy kicked a crumbling headstone, cursing when she stubbed her toe.

She knew that wasn’t fair. Spike died saving the world. It was a sacrifice she’d made more than once, and she knew how much she resented the people she left behind for not understanding the weight of that choice. She didn’t want to sully the memory of his heroics with her bitterness. She just couldn’t help it. Besides, focusing on missing Spike was easier than accepting she didn’t know how to function now that she wasn’t the “one girl in all the world.” The irony of having an identity crisis over getting the one thing she’d always thought she wanted was not lost on her. She should be grateful that she wasn’t the only Slayer. Grateful that her future was finally hers to shape. Instead she just felt lost.

It didn’t help that everyone around her was adjusting to this new life and mission like they were born to it. Dawn was training to be a Watcher, and frankly, they needed as many as they could get. The Slayer to Watcher ratio had been drastically tipped and it was only a matter of time before things got out of control.

Faith and Wood had stayed behind in America, taking up shop at the Hellmouth in Cleveland. It was weird to think of Faith as the reigning defender of the Hellmouth, but it felt right. With Wood by her side she would stay grounded and on track. He understood the mission better than most.

Giles was in his glory. He’d vetted the surviving Watchers, firing some gleefully and taking others under his wing. Between them they’d established a kind of Watchers Hogwarts, training Watchers by day and guiding Potential Slayers on field missions by night. He was happy, which was something she’d never really seen him be before. Their relationship had taken a hit in the last few years and while she wasn’t ready to forgive him for everything, she didn’t begrudge him his success. Her Watcher had floundered ever since he was fired, unable to find purpose while she and her friends had grown up around him. Seeing as she suddenly found herself in a similar position it was hard not to understand how he’d gone off track. Besides, she’d lost enough people to know she wasn’t going to lose anymore. She’d fix things with Giles, eventually. For now, she’d just settle for on the same continent and on polite speaking terms. 

Xander and Andrew led the Potential Identification and Retrieval Taskforce. They came up with the name. Obviously. They spent their days traveling the world, chasing down leads and giving their best “join team save the world” sales pitch to scared and angry girls.

Buffy smiled thinking about them. The last time they’d video chatted, Xander had looked better than she’d seen him in years. He’d lost the chip on his shoulder that he’d been carrying since they graduated high school. For the first time in his life he was the best person for the job, and he knew it. Trustworthiness and warmth radiated from him and his knowledge of tactics and the cost of the fight lent him an authenticity the girls were drawn to. He never bullshitted or misled them, but he did inspire them. Like he’d inspired all of the Scoobies over the years to keep on fighting.

The sun was starting to peak over the horizon, and a misty fog enveloped the graveyard. She knew she was dawdling but she couldn’t bring herself to rush home. The alarms would be ringing any second now, Potentials and Watchers scrambling to the mess hall for breakfast before a day of study and training.

Technically she didn’t have any classes to teach until the afternoon, but Giles liked the staff to be present in the morning. He said it communicated solidarity and responsibility. Personally, she thought Dawn had just made him watch the Harry Potter movies one too many times.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she let it go to voicemail. It was either Willow calling to say she had another hit on the Potential alert locator spell or Giles calling to ask where she was.

Either way it could wait.

She just wanted to be in the quiet for a little bit longer.

That’s what she missed the most about Spike. Having someone she could be in the quiet with. He had always seemed to know what she needed, anticipating her every mood and desire.

She’d never met anyone she could just be alone with before him. He never expected anything of her other than to just be. In this chaotic mess of a life she now led she craved his company and his silence. Since she couldn’t have that she came to the cemetery. The dead kept her company in a way the living never could. The occasional scuffle with a vampire didn’t hurt either. The familiar comfort of a stake in her pocket, grave dust on her shoes, her breath quickening for the thrill of the kill, reminding her that even though everything had changed, some things never would.

Her phone buzzed again.

She frowned, wondering why she couldn’t even get a few hours of peace before the sun was fully risen.

Flipping it open she saw two missed calls from a number she didn’t recognize. No voicemail.

It was probably someone trying to sell her something.

Technically her phone was spelled against telemarketers, but magic was fickle. If someone really needed to reach her, they would call the office and leave a message with her secretary.

God. How had she ended up here?

When they’d first arrived in London she’d panicked. Back in California it had seemed so clear. Get to London, find the Watchers, find the Potentials, save the world. Simple.

Except once they arrived there had been bureaucracy and red tape to get through. The surviving Watchers had needed convincing and playing nice with morons wasn’t Buffy’s strong suit. After one particularly eventful meeting that ended with some snide British dude’s head slamming into a wall Giles and Willow had pushed her to take a back seat on the negotiations. Much to everyone’s shock, she listened.

As soon as she stopped leading she felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. Without meetings and planning sessions to fill her days she’d found herself wandering the streets of London with Dawn, playing tourist.

They were having high tea at this ridiculous spot with baby pink furniture and weird egg-shaped toilets when it hit her. She could walk away. The Hellmouth was gone, and there were more than enough Slayers to pick up the slack. Her friends would be disappointed but eventually they would understand. As she sat there watching Dawn sample pastries, no fear of imminent death getting in the way of her fun, Buffy couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like. This could be their every day.

They could finish out the summer backpacking through Europe then head home to America to finish school and settle down. She was pretty sure she’d heard somewhere that there were hardly any vampires in New Jersey.

She was so wrapped up in the fantasy that she almost missed what Dawn said as they were walking home to their flat.

“Sorry, what with the what now?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I said, it’s crazy how there’s this whole world out here and no one was helping keep it safe before.”

“Ummm excuse me, Slayer here, has saved the world, a lot. Even got a nice shiny headstone for my troubles.”

“Obviously but...you were always in Sunnydale. And sure, most of the big bad world endy guys ended up there too but...what about all the other regular level baddies hurting everyday people? I mean, look at them all.”

Dawn stopped and looked around, forcing Buffy to take it all in. The couples strolling along, groups of friends, kids in strollers. The street was flooded with people going about their day. As soon as that sun went down, they’d be joined by all the things that went bump in the night.

“I just think it’s kind of amazing what we’re about to do. For the first time we’ll be able to protect people all over the world. These people will have a chance like they’ve never had before. Like everyone in Sunnydale got because you were around. We can give that to them. I’m just...glad.”

Buffy’s heart warmed even as dreams of running away slipped from her grasp. Dawn was right. This was her calling. She’d find a way to live with it. Normalcy would never be available to her and the sooner she embraced that, the sooner she could start working towards happiness.

At least that’s what Willow was always saying.

Willow who saw a therapist three times a week and a substance abuse counselor twice a week.

After the battle she and Kennedy had parted ways. Their relationship had run its course and Kennedy wasn’t interested in staying on Team Scooby. Instead she took her slaying act on the road, traveling town to town looking for monsters to hunt and people to save. Occasionally she’d run into a Potential and send a heads up their way. She seemed happy. Everyone seemed happy. Buffy just couldn’t seem to find her groove.

Ironically, Willow was the only one to notice how out of sorts Buffy was. Maybe it was all the therapy or maybe it was just that she was more herself than she’d been in a long time, but Willow had become Buffy’s sole confidant these past few months. If she thought about it too much she knew she’d cry. It hadn’t occurred to her how much she’d missed her best friend until she got her back.

At first when Willow tried to reach out, Buffy had been cold and distant. Willow understood, even writing Buffy a letter to explain that she respected her need for distance after the way she had torched their friendship and Buffy’s trust. The letter had melted something in Buffy’s heart. It was the first time Willow had really acknowledged the fact that their sisterhood had been a casualty of Willow’s addiction.

The first time they sat down for coffee together felt like coming home. Willow seemed lighter, more like the girl Buffy had met her sophomore year of high school than the all-powerful Wicca she had come to know lately. She seemed shy, hesitant to take too much from Buffy, a reticence that allowed her to give more than she had intended to when she agreed to meet.

By their third coffee date it was clear that they were going to push through this. When a third turned into a fourth and fifth they decided to just make it a standing girl’s night. Every Tuesday for the rest of their lives.

Last Tuesday they’d finally broached the subject of Spike. Buffy had been dreading this, afraid to pick at the scab only to be met with judgment and condemnation. She wasn’t sure their renewed friendship could handle it. As much as she loved having Will back, Spike was a sensitive spot and she was afraid of how she’d react if Willow said something she didn’t like.

“Buffy, I tried to end the world. What’s a little bumpin of the uglies between former enemies compared to that? I am judgement free Willow of the no judgies zone.”

Willows face scrunched up like it did sometimes when she was trying to find the right words, her nose crinkling and her eyes rolling skyward.

“I just want you to be ok. And if that means loads of tasty mochas and squishy details about Spike sex, I am all ears. I’ve even got marshmallows.”

Buffy saw the sincerity on her friends face and felt something crack deep inside her. She’d been prepared for judgment at worst and stoic acceptance at best. Being met with such openness and warmth took her by surprise and she found she couldn’t hold back anymore. Her eyes welled up and before she could reign it in and full body sobs shook her.

As she cried, Willow rubbed her back and let her get it all out, careful to avoid pushing her to talk. It was exactly what she’d needed to be able to open up.

And open up she did. It was like the levies broke and all the confusion and hurt came pouring out. She told Willow about what happened in the Hellmouth. About her last days with Spike, how he supported her and strengthened her when no one else could, or would. This last part she said without any venom, all her anger and resentment at Willow long gone.

She even spoke about their last night together. How they’d made love in the basement, on that shitty cot. The first and only time they’d ever been truly intimate, Buffy’s walls fully down, her heart totally exposed.

“I know having sex with someone isn’t like, a big deal or anything. Especially when you’ve had sex as many times as we did.”

Buffy cringed as the words left her mouth. The familiar guilt over her physical affair with Spike flaring up.

“No!” Willow exclaimed.

“Buffy no. It is a big deal. It’s like, the biggest of deals. You and sex haven’t exactly had the most copacetic relationship, no offense.”

She smiled apologetically, eliciting a soft laugh from Buffy despite the anxiety that was clenching her gut.

“If you let yourself feel something good with Spike, even just that one time, it’s important. Special. You shouldn’t downplay that. He loved you and you let him show it to you. It’s romantic.”

At that Buffy really laughed.

“God Will. Spike. Romantic.”

Willow laughed too.

“You know...it’s not that weird. Remember when he kidnapped me and Xander? He wanted me to do a love spell for Drusilla. I think he’s always had a romantic streak. In a weird, murdery, vampire kinda way”

Buffy shook her head in amusement.

“Did I ever tell you Spike was a poet when he was human?”

Willows eye widened, and her hands flew to cover her cackling laugh.

“A poet? Oh my gosh. That’s...that’s too good.”

Buffy took a sip of her mocha, relishing the warm caffeinated goodness before adding, “he would kill me for telling you this but, the best part is the whole “William the Bloody” thing? That’s because he had a reputation for being such a terrible poet.”

At that Willow dissolved into full on giggles, hands clutching her stomach

“Ugggggh ok ok, I’m done laughing. Promise. Also why is that so cute? That’s so cute. Little Spike the poet.”

Buffy sighed. “The thing is Spike has this immense capacity for love. Even as a violent serial killer he was still driven by love. It scared me. That he was so willing to throw himself headfirst into love without a shadow of doubt. I’ve never...I’ve never been like that.”

She looked up at Willow, trying to read her reaction. The witch just nodded encouragingly for her to go on.

“I just...I told Giles once that I didn’t know if I could love. I was worried I was broken, like all the slaying made me cold and loveless or something.”

“Buffy, no,” Willow cut in, but Buffy held up a hand to stop her.

“I know it’s not true. I died to save Dawn, to save all of you, weeks after I said that.” Buffy’s eyes filled up again but this time she swallowed it down and wiped them clean.

“He really loved me Will. And I don’t know that I was in love with him but that last night we spent together...I kind of thought that I could be, someday. You know? I wanted him to know that. To know that there was a chance for us. I figured we’d have all the time in the world after...”

Buffy trailed off, suddenly tired. She didn’t need to explain the rest. How Spike had died, believing she’d never love him. How all the time she thought she’d have to figure out if she could evaporated in a burst of fire and ash.

—————————

She’d reached the cemetery gates just as the sun broke through the horizon. Her car was covered in dew, glistening in the hazy morning light.

She still couldn’t believe she had learned how to drive. And on the wrong side of the road! Her mom would die of shock if she were still around.

The thought of Joyce made her wistful. If only her mom could see her now. In her heart Buffy new her mom would be proud of the choices she’d made. She’d encourage her to let go of the past and focus on the future. She’d be overjoyed to know that Buffy had a future now. Sure, it still involved a massive amount of slayage but for the first time in a long time, the fate of the world didn’t rest solely on her shoulders. Her mom would tell her to embrace that and to live this new life to the fullest.

I’m trying mom.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time Buffy yanked it out in annoyance and flipped it open.

“What do you want?”

The silence on the other end only ticked her off more. If it was so important for someone to call her three times before she’d even had a cup of tea they could freaking respond when she finally picked up.

“Hello? I’m hanging up in three seconds if you don’t get all un-ghostface on me and just tell me what you want.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Her annoyance bled to curiosity and she willed herself to be patient.

Infusing her voice with a level of calm she didn’t feel, she asked “Do you need help or something? I don’t know how you got this line if you’re not part of Scooby Central but…you got me.”

The silence eked on for seconds that felt like minutes before the caller sighed. Buffy’s pulse shot up, anticipation making her antsy. She shuffled from foot to foot, fighting her instinct to hang up. If this was a Potential calling for help she needed to wait it out.

Finally, a voice broke through the silence.

“Slayer?”

Buffy dropped the phone on the ground, her fingers losing the ability to function along with her brain, which had gone fuzzy and staticky at the sound of the all too familiar voice on the other end of the line.

She stared down at her phone, the call still connected, wondering if she had fallen asleep somehow.

A muffled “bloody hell” came out of the fallen phone, causing Buffy to gasp and jump back. She crouched down low, getting as close to the phone as she could without actually picking it back up.

“Shit. SHIT. Spike?”

The muttering and cursing stopped.

“Slayer…yea. It’s a long story. But yea.”

Buffy felt her limbs turn to jelly and she sat down on the cold gravel, her head falling into her hands. A sob bubbled up from her chest, turning into a laugh that she couldn’t control. She giggled for a solid minute before gingerly picking her phone up and pressing it to her ear.

“How? You better explain yourself right now.” Her voice was edged with steel, anxiety and adrenaline giving way to nervous anger. If this was someone’s idea of a sick joke she was going to get murdery.

She could almost hear Spike roll his eyes.

“Good god woman, can’t I come back to life without brassing you off?”

She bit her lip to stop a smile, not willing to let hope overrule a protective layer of skepticism.

Rocking back on her heels Buffy gulped down the crisp morning air, willing her body to calm down so she could take stock of the situation. Her dead ex sort of boyfriend was calling her…she looked at the phone number quickly…from LA. Ok. She could handle this. She was the Slayer, queen of things that go bump in the night and let’s face it, this wasn’t her first ex to come back from the great beyond. If Angel could do it…Angel.

“Spike, why are you calling me from LA?”

He sighed again and she could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, a grimace on his face as he debated the best way to tell her what was going on.

Despite the rush of anger, her heart warmed at the thought.

“Eh look, I said it was complicated. I just thought it was right. Telling you I was alive. Thought you should know is all.”

Whatever ice had melted in her heart immediately froze back up. No way was Spike going to call her from beyond the grave and then immediately get shady and secretive.

“So, is that your weird dodgy British way of saying you’re not going to tell me why you’re calling me from LA? Where Angel lives? Are you with Angel?”

She heard Spike mutter something to himself that sounded an awful lot like “bloody bint”. She rolled her eyes and stood up, pacing the lot in an attempt to keep her temper in check.

“Yea. Alright yea.”

His voice had changed, his accent becoming sharper, and she knew he was starting to get worked up.

“I’m in LA and I’m with Angel. If you want to talk to him you can damn well call him yourself. I don’t know what I was thinking. Bloke comes back as a sodding ghost, gets himself corporealized by a nice scientist bird and calls his girl up and she wants to know about Angel. Figures.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, not even bothering to interrupt his tirade. She knew he’d run out of steam eventually.

“Are you finished?”

Spike sighed again and Buffy felt the fight go out of her. She sat down on the hood of her car, overwhelmed by the emotions swirling within.

“Yea Slayer. I’m finished.”

Buffy’s shoulders slumped and she laid back, gazing up at the sky. It was going to be a cloudy day.

“How?”

“That’s the million-dollar question love. Seems no one can answer it.”

“Wait.” Buffy sat up; brow furrowed in concentration as she started to put together the various odd things Spike had said so far.

“You were a ghost?”

She tried to picture that. Spike all floaty and haunty. The image made her chuckle, which she quickly tried to suppress.

“Yea, yea, yea, laugh it up. I don’t know if I was a ghost. I was a something. Couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel. Just trapped at bloody Wolfram & Hart with your beloved Prince of Brooding.”

“Wolf ram and what now?”

“It doesn’t matter. Done what I set to do. You know. Guess I’ll let you get back to it then.”

Buffy felt white hot anger burning in her chest. Did he really think he was going to call her up, say hey, and then leave? Maybe forever? Who did he think he was?

“Fine,” she spat out.

“Fine,” came Spike’s huffy reply.

They’d reached a stalemate and Buffy did the only thing she could think of doing.

She hung up.

She stuffed the phone in her pocket, unlocking the car door and sliding into the front seat. She stared out the frosted windshield for a moment before screaming at the top of her lungs. When that didn’t calm the storm she felt brewing inside she slammed her hands repeatedly into the steering wheel. The metal and leather began to crunch and warp under the weight of her blows but she didn’t care. She felt like someone had set her insides on fire. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry, couldn’t do anything but scream and rage into the void.

Eventually she ran out of steam. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed but her throat was raw. Rubbing her face she switched into Slayer mode. Something was up and she was going to get to the bottom of it. Cagey Spike and his caginess be damned.

She forwarded the number he’d called her from to Willow and Andrew. Between the two of them they’d be able to trace it and dig up some dirt on where Spike was. As for how he got there, she was going to need boots on the ground. Luckily Kennedy had last checked in from Arizona a couple of days ago. She couldn’t be far from there and she owed Buffy more than one favor. She might not be Spike’s biggest fan, but she would do some recon and get Buffy the answers she needed. Once she knew what was going on, she could show up in LA and punch Spike and Angel in the face herself.

Buffy felt calmer. She had a plan. It wasn’t perfect but it was a start.

She’d let Spike get away once before. This time would be different. She didn’t know why or how but it seemed the Powers That Be had given her a second chance.

She wouldn’t waste it.

—end—

#spuffy #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #spuffy fanfic #buffy and spike #slayer #vampire #fanfic #buffy #sarah michelle gellar #spike and buffy #otp #reflective #btvs #james marsters #spike #writing #spuffy fanfiction #buffy fanfic

[mercyparkgirl]

the roommate

Pairing: Logan x MC (implied)

Warnings: angst, ptsd

Word Count: ~1835

Summary: Set after the events of Ride or Die, my MC (Ellie Wheeler) adjusts to her new life, from the perspective of herself and her roomate, Sophie.

Notes: So... this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written! Always been too nervous to post but with @rodappreciationweek I figured why not. Hope you enjoy!

_________________________

sophia.

My roommate’s name was Ellie, from Los Angeles. We only texted a little before move-in day at Langston, and I really hoped we would get along. My older brother had told me horror stories about his freshman roommate, some of which I believed, most which I guessed he made up to scare me. Still, those stories had taken root in my mind and I found myself with a little more than first-day anxiety as mom fussed over the fitted bed sheet and position of the throw pillows in my new room. 

“Hi” a soft voice spoke from the door and I turned around quickly to greet the girl in the doorway. Her hair was pulled back and I squealed as I noticed her Langston sweatshirt, gesturing at the identical one I was wearing. She laughed at that, and to her surprise I launched forward to give her a hug. She only tensed for a moment before hugging me back, and with the ice seemingly broken we settled comfortably into unpacking and setting up the room.

I felt definitively uncool as my mom chattered on and on, immediately conscious of the fact that Ellie apparently didn’t need her mom to make her bed for her. I caught her a couple of times smiling softly at my mom with a longing look in her eyes I couldn’t quite place and I wondered what she thought of me. 

Ellie certainly didn’t seem to have as much stuff as I did, and certainly not my plant habit that was rapidly turning into an addiction. The only thing she set on her desk was a framed photograph which she removed from a box full of tissue paper with great care, running a hand quickly over the glass before setting it down. I snuck a look at it as I pushed a succulent into her hands, insisting that she have something else to liven up her side of the room.

She and an unusually attractive boy, both dressed in formal attire, stared fiercely into the camera as if daring someone to oppose them, his arm wrapped protectively around her. His eyes were dark and powerful, while hers were full of a righteous fury and passion that seemed both completely out of place and extraordinarily natural on her features.

Ellie and I spent that night and the next few weeks getting to know each other. We bonded over both being from the West Coast, though Tacoma is very different from LA. She was smart, though she had the air of a student who wasn’t used to being surrounded by people at her level. We had no classes together but it was easy to fall into the rhythm of studying together in the library or student union building every night. I was so lucky to have her for the transition to college, and I hoped she felt the same.

She wanted stories about my siblings, my parents, the plays I’d been in during middle school, and I was more than happy to talk without realizing that I was learning very little about her in return. Still, I managed to pick up on some things. She spun her charm bracelet when she got excited about something, and fiddled with some strange object on a chain around her neck when she thought no one was looking, a far-away look on her face. 

For a girl who owned so many leather jackets and an apparently very impressive car (The only thing I care about less than cars are the Kardashians and essential oils) she was surprisingly sweet and funny, enough that I was shocked the first time I saw her in short sleeves.

“Is that a real tattoo?” I exclaimed, not giving her time to answer. “That is so cool. I really wanted one when I was 16 and my sister told me she’d poke me with a needle for free. What is it? A wolf? Badass. Do you have a whole pack of them?”

She laughed and pulled a jacket on. “It’s a lone wolf, I’m afraid. Ran away from its pack.”

I’m a light sleeper which I always considered a curse in a house full of noisy siblings, but I was glad of it the first time I woke up in the middle of the night to a scream, sleepily flicking on the light to see her writhing in her bed. I threw back the covers and sat down on her bed, gently shaking her shoulder until she woke up gasping, nails digging into my arm. For just a moment I swore I could see the ghosts of great flames in her eyes, fading back into embers as she realized where she was. 

I wrapped my arms around her and she sat still for a few long moments before squeezing my arm and standing up. 

“I think… I think I’m going to go for a drive. Thank you Soph.” I wanted to wait up for her but I fell asleep on top of my sheets. 

The nightmares happened again, and then again. Some nights she would just curl back into the blankets, or open the window before falling back to sleep. 

And some nights she would grab the keys from her nightstand and leave without a word. I’d be asleep before she came home, or maybe she never came back to bed those nights. Maybe she drove until the morning sun stretched her fingers above the horizon and began her slow crawl to the other side.

ellie.

When I left LA, it felt like the ending of a story. The closing of a book. But I’m starting to realize life doesn’t work like that. Nobody gets happy endings or tidy conclusions. Life just… keeps going. And it’s up to us whether we can stay afloat or get lost in the riptide, losing ourselves in the memories and regrets. 

Don’t get me wrong, nothing could take away the magic of stepping out of my car at the place I had dreamed about since I was old enough to dream, completely and terrifyingly on my own. No curfew, no explanations needed. I could reinvent myself. It would be a brand new start. But as I subconsciously ran a hand over the smooth hood of my Widow I remembered the first time I had seen her, sleek and dangerous and mine in Kaneko’s shop, how the leather of the seats smelled like home, and I knew forgetting wasn’t an option. And maybe I didn’t want it to be.

I had never shared a room with anyone, unless you count sleepovers with Riya or the week I spent in Logan’s loft above the shop. But Sophia made it feel like I’d been missing out. She was kind and open and welcoming from the moment I stepped in the room. She was brilliant, too, even for Langston standards which were far above what I was used to at Mar Vista Prep. I quickly realized that there would be little time to fully appreciate the lack of parental control given my heavy workload. 

I had a couple classes with Ingrid and was surprised by how happy I was to see her. I needed to get out of LA but it would always be the place I was from and she represented a piece of my past. A reminder of a time in my life that I might have convinced myself never really happened if not for her. We were friendly and the fun kind of competitive, but didn’t hang out much outside of class, though I felt that either one of us would be happy to if the other one asked. I made a lot of acquaintances very quickly, a few of which turned tentatively into friends, but I mostly hung out with Soph when I wasn’t in class.

My dad and I talked nearly every day for the first couple weeks, which gradually turned into every weekend. We never talked for long, classes were “going well”, work was “busy”. I loved him, of course, but I found it hard to shake the image of him pointing a gun at the man I loved, face tight with bitter fury. 

I knew Colt was still in LA, and I hesitantly tried to inquire about the specifics of my dad’s latest assignments. He must have figured what my real question was because he got quiet for a moment then said “I think it’s best if we don’t talk about that. Best to leave it in the past.”

I didn’t mention it again, or ask about Mona which had been my next idea. But it was hard to leave Logan in the past when I’d spent so much time seeing him as my future. I texted his number a couple times even though I knew he’d no longer have it, pitiful ‘I love you’s when I felt so lonely it was hard to breathe. 

At night my fingers would trace the places his had until the memories of his rough hands on my body were blurred with my own and I was no longer sure if he had ever touched me at all. If not for the spark plug I wore around my neck and the picture of us at prom I kept next to a succulent Soph had given me, I wouldn’t be sure he ever existed at all. 

I was ok most of the time and on occasion, I wasn’t. I cried sometimes and I didn’t even know why. I grew to fear lying in bed because the thoughts threatened to crush me, my brain forcing myself to relive every moment of that spring and asking me what I should have done differently. And when I finally, finally got to sleep I had nightmares. 

Jason looming over me, larger than life, hands reaching out as my feet stuck to the ground, my car nowhere to be seen. Or a blazing inferno on the bridge, Colt’s screams of pain and grief pounding in my ears, his face twisted in an agony I could have prevented. Kaneko’s voice a whisper in my skull “Once you’ve made your choice it is made. You hold true until the end.” 

The fire from the explosion spreads, higher and farther than I remember it, the flames taking Jason’s shape, and my father’s, consuming me completely until I wake up, sweating and throat hoarse with Sophia’s soft hands on my shoulder. 

Sometimes I can get back to sleep, but sometimes I know I won’t be able to. On those nights I grab my keys and run down to my Widow, no jacket so I can feel the wind on as much of my body as possible. At that hour the streets are sleepy and I can make it to the freeway in 10 minutes. And as the lights passing by turn into stars, spinning above my head, I drive. And in that moment I can hear their laughter, their whoops and cheers. In that moment, as I fly into the night... I’m not alone. 

#RoDaw #rod #ride or die #choices rod #rod choices #playchoices #choices #logan x mc #pixelberry #pixelberry choices #fanfic #choices fanfic #fanfiction #choices fanfiction #logan #rod logan

[camille-marshall-blog]

Challenge #7

Alternately Titled: Getting Cane-did

a/n: Nihao, kumusta, hello~! I know that I said that I’ll be posting three fics for the weekend but I think I’ll be posting four. As you all probably know- I am the worst when it comes to wrapping everything up in just 4500 words- IT’S HARD OKAY(?) lol. So this fic will have a follow up fic posted soon (maybe tomorrow..? or tonight depends if I can finish my supposed school work tonight) Anyway, yeah this fic is really about Marshall and her internal thoughts during the caning. I loved writing this fic because of the actual internal conflict and suffering that Marshall faces and well... more of that stuff here.  So yeah lol. I hope you enjoy Marshall’s lowkey suffering. Also s/o to Grace and Claire for working on such bomb ass Nate and Mal fics for the caning because HOLY SHIT the drama and the dialogues were hella great. 11/10 love the drama. Okay yeah, enjoy! Do I even need to warn you guys about cursing anymore? (3570 words)

It’s been getting harder to sleep these past few nights.

My dreams were ridden with the same situation, the sound of the alarm, the chaos of the palace, the same faces. The same things that wake me up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, keeping me up for the rest of the night.

It’s been a few days since the rebel attack, but I haven’t managed to have a good night’s sleep ever since. Tonight, I wake up from the same dream- this time clutching my temple. I had dreamt that I was the one shot, not Kramer. I shake my head, reminding myself that it was only just a dream.

Going back to sleep is not an option, knowing that I’ll end up dreaming the same things. I hated how many times I’ve relived the situation. I wish it didn’t affect me as much as it did right now, but these were my ghosts. I had to live with them.

I spend the next few hours sitting on my balcony, clutching a book in my hands and waiting to see the sun rise. The lack of sleep has been taking its toll on me, the heaviness of my bones was a clear sign, the dull ache in the back of my head, the tiredness that plagued me.

Maybe it wasn’t only the attack that was plaguing my thoughts right now. I mean, Venus had been eliminated a few days ago, and my heart had hurt so much as I hugged her before she left. I lost my best friend, and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t having some separation anxiety from the beauty guru. A part of me felt like I needed her to be around me, she made me feel more confident in myself when she was around. Now, it I’ve never felt anymore lonely.

My maids comes bursting into my room a few minutes after the light starts to break over the horizon. They’re in a frenzy as they pull me back into my room.

Angelica starts giving instructions to Peggy and Eliza as they start scrambling around the room, and I blink in confusion at the frenzied pace of my maids.

“What’s happening?” I ask Angelica as she makes me take a seat at my vanity.

“They found a rebel, Miss.” Peggy informs me, brushing my bed hair.

“What?!” I yell, looking at Peggy. “Wait, then why are you all here? What’s with this?”

“There’s going to be a caning, a public caning.” Angelica says deadpan- wiping my face with a moist towelette. “We don’t have much time. We have to get ready you ready.”

A caning? Perhaps that was a better punishment than an execution… but still, a public caning?

I let my maids drag me to my closet, fussing over which of my dresses was appropriate for an event like that. How much black I had in my closet was ridiculous. My maids have always joked that I always looked like I was prepared for someone’s funeral… well, it’s not my fault that I preferred the color. I’d stop wearing the color when they invent a darker color. My maids continue doing their job, I allow them to prepare to dress me and put some minimal make up and soon enough I look like I was dressed like I was headed for a funeral.

My feet slip into my slides, my bandaged ankle still lightly throbbing every time I walked. Eliza gives my choice of foot wear a disapproving look, but there’s nothing we could do about it.

The news of the caning did bring a somber mood in everyone. A knock on my door signals that my escort had arrived, a guard assigned to assist me. Dr. Granger said that I needed someone to help me walk around, just someone for me to help me with tricky things like going down the stairs and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure that the guard served a second purpose though, to prevent me from running away again.

To my surprise, it’s Officer Gutierrez waiting by my door this morning and he offers me his arm before we start walking.

Gutierrez was Kramer’s classmate, a fellow Fort Lauper graduate too- I couldn’t imagine what went through his head when news of Kramer’s death had reached him.

Gutierrez was the first one to speak among us.

“We’re headed to the side of the palace, the part that’s closer to the east entrance.” he informs me as he starts assisting me on the stairs- holding my hand as I took one step at a time.

“The rebel… it was an inside job, wasn’t it?” I ask, recalling what I had heard from the report I had heard the day of the attack.

“It was… but,” Gutierrez shifts his eyes away, a look of doubt in them.

I raise an eyebrow as I take one last step down the staircase, “but what?”

Gutierrez shakes his head, something still troubling him. “Nothing.”

That’s suspicious, I shake my head- deciding not to push through with my questions. The two of us walk the rest of the way in silence, though I could tell that Gutierrez was obviously uncomfortable. What was so wrong about catching a rebel? Wasn’t that a win for us? A chance to give justice to those who have died during the attack? Gutierrez ushers me outside and a bolt of anxiety shoots through me as I hear the sounds of a crowd gathering behind the palace gates, as well as the sight of a good number of people allowed to enter through the gates. Gutierrez brings me to a certain area of the crowd, tells me that this was where the Selected are supposed to watch. He gives one last glance to the raised stage before bowing and leaving me standing there, unsure of what all his fuss was about.

Rebellion was wrong. The rebel was getting what he deserved. A caning sent a message to everyone, punishment. Hammurabi’s law. Eye for an eye.

The government, the military, the country’s national defense were stronger than anything, anyone who dared to threaten it. That was the message.

The sound of the crowd dulls out as a man dressed like an executioner steps up to the stage, and I could only hear his voice ring throughout the space.

“Charles Flynn!” his voice echoes menacingly, “a member of the palace kitchen staff was found attempting to bring down the monarchy with his fellow rebels.”

I nod, hanging on every word. 

Charles Flynn. 

That’s the name of the bastard who unleashed hell on the palace. I keep my eyes trained on the stage, feeling a sense of resentment against him already. Traitor.

“Mr. Flynn has broken his loyalty to the country and the monarchy. His disgusting actions have shown his real intentions. He is found guilty of treason against Illéa!”

The crowd seems to roar too, anger in their cries from outside the gates. The enmity of everyone clearly creating at atmosphere that was so full of hatred you could choke on it. My eyes shift to the other raised platform, where the Schreaves watched- clad in all black. The queen was beside King Spencer and I gaze upon the king’s steely expression, an unforgiving expression that reminded me so much of Nate when he had gotten angry the other night. I then see Nate standing there, looking obviously uncomfortable, eyes moving everywhere- wearing a more unsure version of King Spencer’s expression.

I wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and squeeze his hand, whisper to him how he needed to stop looking that way, tell him that things like this needed to be done- that this was the ugly side of his job. Everyone’s job had an ugly side. A future king like Nate needed to be reminded that, but most of all- I think he needed to be assured that things were necessary to be the leader I knew Nate could be.

Suddenly, the crowd’s yells grow louder as I see a figure hobbling to the stage where the masked announcer stands- and I feel my heart drop.

That was Charles Flynn?

The rebel looked like he couldn’t weigh 100 pounds soaking wet, he was nothing but a teenager, a child. How could he be a rebel?

I narrow my eyes on the kid, searching his face for something, anything that reminded me of the rebel I had faced off. There was nothing common between them, save for the blood on his shirt. Charles Flynn’s face was not the face of a rebel, heck- that kid looked like he’d apologize for burning my morning toast. The crier continued his speech, and I was suddenly understanding the look of concern Nate had on his face, why Officer Gutierrez seemed so antsy discussing about the rebel.

The mental image of a child like Charles Flynn being brutalized with canes was not a pretty picture to imagine.

I ball my hands into fists, though. I remind myself that Charles Flynn was a rebel- if he was found guilty by the king. If the king, my commander-in-chief, had found him guilty, then I, a soldier, should accept his orders.

“This is a crime punishable by death! But in his mercy, King Spencer had decided to spare this traitor’s life. Long Live King Spencer!”

The child was a traitor, I remind myself. I should not hold any sympathy for a rebel. Charles Flynn had made Kramer’s death possible. He should find himself lucky that the king had not ordered an execution, he should find himself lucky that his fate was not the same as his fellow rebels. Long Live King Spencer. I thought bitterfully.

Still, my heart was beating wildly as I watched the rebel’s hands strapped to some device- palms to the sky. This boy looked only about 15.. 16 years old? Was that the face of some kind of spy? My instincts were yelling at me to stop directing such harsh thoughts to the child.

“Charles Flynn, you are hereby stripped of your caste. You are the lowest of the low. You are an Eight and sentenced to prison for further questioning!” No wonder they’re keeping him alive.

I keep my eyes on Charles Flynn’s face, noticing his eyes trained to the direction of the stage... where the Schreaves stood. Who was he looking at?

“And to inflict upon you the shame and pain you have brought upon this proud country, you will be publicly caned with fifteen strikes. May your many scars remind you of your many sins!” The growing rage of the crowd was starting to unsettle me.

I stop myself again, stopped myself from trying to be so sympathetic to the rebel. Sympathy will get us no where with this rebel situation, sympathy did not stop people getting killed in rebel attacks.

But sympathy was what I feel when I see the canes being drawn from their buckets of water. I felt Charles Flynn’s pain as I hear his anguished cries when the canes had struck down on his hands for the first blow. I ball my fists to my sides even harder, feeling the slight pain from my nails against my palms as I clutched my fist. This was necessary, This was the verdict of King Spencer, these were his orders. I could not disagree with the king, I had to respect his decisions.

It was my duty as a soldier.

Nothing tore me apart than that thought. I look at the people bringing the canes down on the kid. My thoughts drift over to the masked men striking Charles Flynn’s hands.

They were doing their duty.

Then it hits me, makes me wonder if I could do the same thing as them if I were given orders to. I have killed a rebel, but more out of self-defense than what was ordered to me. If I had been ordered to cane someone, would I do it?

The answer is clear in my head.

I would not.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reacting to this public torture. I couldn’t agree with this, Spencer be god fucking damned. No one deserved to be treated this way.

Rebels, soldiers, guards, queens, kings.

No one in this world deserved punishment and pain like this, I realize. Then I notice a sudden movement from the stage with the Schreaves, a blur of black jumping the railings and shrieking out Charles Flynn’s name. The royals themselves were yelling things I couldn’t quite make out thanks to the deafening crowd. All I could hear was Queen Aubrey, the usually serene and calm Queen Aubrey, screaming Princes Mallory’s name. Nate was yelling something too. King Spencer seems to have broken his stoic mask, pushing a guard to chase after the figure running to Charles Flynn.

What in Elton John’s good name was happening?

I watch Princess Mal run to the stage, screaming “CHARLIE!” and the pieces seem to click together. Charles Flynn was looking at Mal a while ago.

Oh… Oh.. Well, holy shit- this was a revelation.

Just about as Mal was about to reach the stage, a guard slams her to the ground- stopping her from reaching him. The morning sunlight allowed everyone close enough to see the tears streaming down the princess’ face. She was screaming profanities I thought never existed in her vocabulary at the guard as he grabbed her. Her cries caught Charles Flynn’s attention though, sharing a look with the princess before another set of blows were dealt on his bleeding palms. Mal and Charles Flynn seemed to have something shared between them, I could tell that. There was something there, perhaps a mutual care for each other. The things you do for the people you care about.

My eyes widen when another figure jumps the railings- my heart almost fucking stops… this time it was Nate.

I watch the crown prince run to the stage and jump on it, going to his sister.

This time, it was my turn to yell his name.

“NATE!” I felt my breath catch in my throat seeing Nate on the stage, seeing him so close to those men holding those canes. Nate get off that stage. I don’t know what those men would do to him for his obvious act of protesting against this.

I wanted to scream his name, push past the crowd and fucking tackle Nate down from that stage. He needed to be away from that danger, someone needed to get him off that stage.

Fear, I felt fear overcome me as he stood on that stage. What the hell was this boy doing? I was frozen in fear of what could happen to Nate. Oh my god, what would Spencer do to him? They could hurt him, I couldn’t let that happen. Nate please get off that stage. I was choking up in fear, unknowingly tearing up as my feet drag me to the railing, pressing myself against the bars. Wasn’t Nate aware of how dangerous a situation he was in? I tried to stay close enough, just in case something happened- I’d be there.

“Stop,” I hear Nate yell and I hold my breath like everyone else in the crowd.

Everything went silent, except for the sound of Mal’s incoherent screaming and crying as she was held back from reaching Charles Flynn.

“What's the point of this? Is this what's expected of a king?” Nate’s voice echoes throughout the entire space. Everyone was listening to him now, and right there.. I saw him transform from a scared boy to a man who spoke with a conviction that commanded everyone’s attention. That didn’t stop me from still fearing for his safety, it made me even more worried. Fools who run their mouths too much could wind up dead. But I saw him, the courage he musters with every word he said.

Nate looks to the king, and the king looked pissed off. Good lord, please don’t hurt him. I silently pleaded in my thoughts and tried to think of things rationally. The king couldn’t hurt his own son. But the anger in the king’s eyes made me fear the worst, gripping the bars with my hands tightly- anticipating what the next move was going to be. If Spencer even thought of laying a hand on Nate…

“If that's the case, I don't want it.” My jaw drops when those words come out of Nate’s mouth. For Christ’s sake Nate…

But I get it, I understand where he’s coming from when I hear the sound of the canes on Charles Flynn’s palms. This was the sound of terror, it was barbaric. This was not order- this was cruelty. I understood where Nate was coming from- his eyes usually gave everything away. The prince I knew often cared deeply for everyone around him, his kindness was one of his best traits- his selflessness was admirable, but equally frustrating.

His ability to empathize with others, his sympathy- his heart- was a quality that I loved about him because by being around him, well… the warmth of his spirit melted my the walls of ice I had built to protect myself from being emotionally attached to people.  

The fearlessness of his stance against the king made him shine like a beacon of hope. I understand where he’s coming from.

“Why are you encouraging this, Why are you enjoying this? You’re literally watching a boy get tortured. He’s a kid.” Nate threw questions at the crowd with such disgust.

I was born to protect other people, the need to was incessant, but a need that made me want to be in the military in the first place. However, I’d rather give up my rank, my officership, my station to protect people from being an absent minded monster who just followed orders, like the ones bringing the canes down against the limp Charles Flynn… but wait.. another realization comes to me.

There could always be more people wearing those masks and holding those canes. Those men, striking the rebel… they were just following orders- if they stopped… there’d be always be more people thinking that they were just doing their duties. This injustice would continue, torture like this… it would happen again- because they were the king’s orders.

If I left my job… If Nate would leave being prince… who’s to say that the same thing won’t happen when Quinn’s on the throne? When Brooks is on the throne? 

If we wanted to change the way things were… we couldn’t run away from them- we had to make sure that we change things ourselves.

I don’t think being just a pilot in the air force could help me change things.

Later, I needed to tell Nate this later.

“End this.” Nate yells to the direction of his parents, staring off his own father. I felt fear overcome me, scared of what Spencer would do to Nate again. What if he ordered the masked men to hit Nate?

Thankfully, after a silent beat… Spencer speaks up. “That's enough.”

I breath a sigh of relief as the barbaric torture on the rebel ends, and the masked torturers drag him away. The king wears a stoic face as he commands the crowd to disperse, but I turn to Nate’s direction- keeping an eye on him. He’s safe, I remind myself as I watch him walk away with Mallory in Brooks’ arms.

After Nate goes back into the palace, I do too. I was concerned for Nate, his well-being, I knew I needed to talk to him soon. So I walk quickly back to my room, enduring the pain of brisk walking on my sprain. I reach my desk, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen to write a quick note.

Natalie, we need to talk. Meet me up at the rooftop when you're free.

- Marshall Camille

It was time to talk.

#ch marshall #selectionoc #marshall fics #challenges #((damn will I ever give Marshall a break?)) #((the answer is no)) #((the girl shall suffer more)) #((what do I mean by that? you'll see.. soon *wink wink*)) #*evil laughter*

[marisa-writes]

My pals Natasha @wokeuptired and Naureen @wildestdreamsfics tagged me to share the nine best books I read this year. Straight up: all I read this year was romance, something I hadn’t done in many years. But after picking up K.M. Jackson’s To Me I Wed off the shelf at my local Target this summer and falling head over heels for Lily and Vin, I began discussing romance novels with my good friend RJ @boricuamermaid / @madminniefics. Turned out RJ was well-aquainted with the genre and opened my world up to some new books by authors who are women of color that write about people of color, and since the representation of POC in fiction is a passion of mine, I was over the moon about this discovery.

Below the cut, you’ll find my long-winded descriptions for each of the novels pictured (nothing too spoilery, I just…suck at writing quick little blurbs). If romance is your thing and you end up deciding to check any of these out, drop me a line once you’re finished so we can discuss!

I’m not going to tag anyone because I don’t know who hasn’t been tagged at this point, but if you’ve read books this year and you want to share, do it and tag me so I can see!

To Me I Wed by K.M. Jackson - aside from RJ, I have this book to thank for sending me plummeting back into the world of romance novels. I was at Target when I spied this book on the shelf, and after reading the description, I was intrigued. To Me I Wed is the second book in K.M. Jackson’s ‘Unconventional Brides’ series, but it was the first of the series that I read, which might contribute to why it’s my favorite. It centers around Lily Perry, an event planner who, after watching her many sisters take the plunge, reads an article about a woman who decides to marry herself, and Lily thinks it’s a splendid idea. She’s a successful woman; why should she wait for a man to define her happiness? Vincent “Vin” Caro, however, the handsome chef and restaurant owner who Lily shared a memorable series of kisses with on the beach a year prior, thinks it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard when Lily asks to use his restaurant as her venue - especially considering he hasn’t quite let go of that time on the beach, and to be honest, neither has Lily. Between Vin and Lily’s undeniable chemistry, Vin’s grief and Lily’s stubbornness, and Lily’s unforgettable grandmother, Mama Dee, I loved this book from start to finish and have read it since the first time I picked it up this summer, oh…three times now, I think?

Forbidden by Beverly Jenkins - I didn’t think I’d really be interested in historical romance, but the premise behind this book intrigued me so much, I had to give it a read. In Forbidden, Eddy Carmichael sets off to achieve her dream of opening her own restaurant, but her plans are thwarted when she’s robbed and abandoned in the middle of a desert. Fortune finds her when she’s rescued by Rhine Fontaine, a successful saloon owner whose African descent is masked by his fair skin, and he lives his life passing as a White man. This, of course, has suited Rhine just fine since leaving behind a past he’d rather not relive, but when Eddy comes into the picture, he begins to think that being truthful about who he is might be more than worth the risk.

Take the Lead by Alexis Daria - Along the vein of Dancing with the Stars, Take the Lead centers around a celebrity-meets-professional dance competition show called The Dance Off. Gina Morales is one of the series’ professional dancers, and in her fifth season with the show, she gets paired up with Stone Nielson, an Alaskan survivalist from a reality television show called Living Wild. For such a large and gruff man, Stone is quiet and reserved, but Gina is determined to turn the season into a win - despite the series’ determination to push Stone and Gina into the narrative of the season’s showmance. While faking a romance for the cameras is sure to help them with the votes, it goes against everything Gina stands for. She’s determined to win on her terms without compromising her integrity, but when Stone turns out to be more than he seems, and that old pesky thing called chemistry gets in the way, well…things get complicated.

Love On My Mind by Tracey Livesay - I read the third book in this series, Love Will Always Remember, first before realizing it was the third book in a series and backtracking to Love On My Mind, which is the first novel. In Love on My Mind, Chelsea Grant, a PR rep, is assigned to revamp the image of a reluctant tech mogul named Adam Bennett after the disaster that was his last press conference for his company, Computronix. With the announcement of Adam’s latest life-changing tech gadget on the horizon, Chelsea is hired by Computronix’s COO, Michael Black, to prepare Adam for the next press conference, but Adam’s reluctance to be “changed” by a PR rep means that Chelsea has to find a way to work herself into his life and offer him assistance without clueing him in to her profession. This, of course, presents a challenge as the pair of them grow closer and Chelsea learns more about Adam and why he is the way he is…and withholding the truth behind her sudden appearance in his life becomes harder and harder to do as it threatens to unravel everything building between them. Now, romance novels are quite well-known for their steamy sex scenes, and there’s a scene in this book between Adam and Chelsea…with windows…and…I had to text RJ and screech about it. We’re still collectively screeching about it. So. Good.

Vivid by Beverly Jenkins - after reading several of her novels this summer, I can say with great certainty that I have grown to enjoy historical romance more than I anticipated thanks to Beverly Jenkins. In Vivid, Grayson Grove mayor Nate Grayson is in for a shock when the town’s new doctor, Dr. V. Lancaster, shows up and is to his great surprise, Dr. Viveca Lancaster - a woman. Nate is stubborn and set in his thinking that men are the most fit to be doctors, and Vivid’s femininity goes against everything he believes about one’s capability to carry out the duties required. Vivid, however, well-educated and entirely fit for the position, is full of spirit and determination and has her heart set on changing Nate’s mind as well as the mind of every backwards-thinking citizen in Grayson Grove as she works to prove herself worthy of being their physician despite their misconceptions about her gender.

Along Came Love by Tracey Livesay - the second in its series, Along Came Love focuses on India Shaw, the foster sister and best friend of Chelsea Grant from Love On My Mind. Indi lands herself in jail after a stupid decision goes south and the only person she can call on for help is Michael Black, COO of Computronix and best friend to Chelsea’s beau and reigning tech mogul, Adam Bennett. The thing is, Mike’s kind of the last person Indi wants to call, considering there was a little weekend fling that happened between them and she sort of dipped out on him. Oh, yeah, and she’s pregnant with his child. As Mike learns of Indi’s pregnancy, he fights to keep her in his life while she contemplates what to do next - their unexpected reunion shaking up Mike’s long-term goals as well as Indi’s short-term ones as it becomes quite apparent to the two of them that despite how wrong they might seem for each other, the chemistry that drummed up that weekend fling hasn’t gone away, not even a little bit. Like with Love On My Mind, there was a scene in this book that just about did me in, and RJ and I are still screeching about that one, too.

Jewel by Beverly Jenkins - Jewel returns readers to Grayson Grove, this time to focus on Eli Grayson, cousin of Nate Grayson from Vivid. Still feeling the sting that has come from the closing of his newspaper, Eli is thrilled when he learns of a man who wants to help him revive it - that is, until he learns there’s a catch: this man offering his help only invests his time and money into men who are married. Eli is…friendly with women, you could say, having earned himself the title of “The Colored Casanova of Cass County,” but a married man he is not. So in order to gain the man’s trust, he begs a favor from townswoman Jewel Crowley - he asks her to pretend to be his wife, just long enough to gain approval and financial backing for his newspaper. Of course, when do these things ever go as planned? Suddenly, Eli and Jewel are swept into a marriage of convenience (or is it?) and there’s also some mystery and murder to be found as someone from Eli’s past breezes back into town, bringing a world of trouble with them. I couldn’t put this one down.

Wrong to Need You by Alisha Rai - this novel is the second in Alisha Rai’s ‘Forbidden Hearts’ series, and while the first novel did a great job of setting up the mystery and intrigue regarding the Chandler and Kane families and the hearty history surrounding their once-joined venture, a successful grocery store chain called C&O, the second book pulls readers in deeper as it sets its sights on Jackson Kane and Sadia Ahmed. Chased away by the accusatory eyes of a town convinced that he set the flagship C&O store ablaze in a fit of rage, Jackson warily returns to town to check on his recently-returned twin sister, Livvy. And…well, he also sticks around long enough to look in on Sadia, his childhood best friend, who he’s been in love with since they were young. Sadia, who is a single mother now to Jackson’s nephew, Kareem. Sadia, who is the widow of Jackson’s older brother, Paul. Jackson’s unexpected return stirs up many feelings for Sadia, especially considering she’s been sending him email messages for years and he’s never responded to a single one. But Jackson harbors culinary skills beyond her wildest dreams and his family’s diner that’s been left under her care is in desperate need of a new chef, so when he offers to help her out until she finds a replacement, she reluctantly agrees. There are more Chandler/Kane secrets to uncover in the second novel - like the truth behind that fire set at the flagship C&O - as well as a story of reconnection between two people who always should’ve been more than friends, and I really enjoyed it. 

Breathless by Beverly Jenkins - all right, so nearly half of the books in my top nine are written by Beverly Jenkins, and I have absolutely no regrets. The woman has been writing romance novels for over twenty years and she’s good at it. Those are just the facts. Breathless takes place some time after Forbidden and centers around Rhine and Eddy’s eldest niece, Portia Carmichael. Portia’s making a life for herself as manager of the hotel her aunt and uncle now own in Arizona, and unlike her sister Regan, she has no plans to marry, determined to open her own bookkeeping business one day. So instead of being courted, she spends her time dodging her many suitors until Kenton Randolph, an old friend of Rhine’s, comes blowing through town. Portia’s never been too keen on men, her mother’s history with them leaving her with a sour taste in her mouth, but with the reappearance of Kent in her life and his promises of passion, there’s a good chance she might end up changing her mind.

All of these books are available to read through both iBooks and Kindle, if you’re interested. Happy reading, my friends!

#I know most of these covers are downright cheesy haha #but I thoroughly enjoyed reading all of these books #thanks for tagging me friends! #book recs

[rudra-writes]

The Jeweled Collar (Part 5)

Part of a roleplay story with Telurin’s player. Back at their inn room, Pallas discovers a jeweled collar Telurin made for him to wear. (Advisory for some themes of consensual dom/sub kink in this story.)

Pallas gladly crawls up to lay upon Telurin's chest, grateful for the undead draenei's coolness against his overheated skin. His breathing evens out into something more regular, and he relaxes into the death knight's touches, so gentle after the firmness of what they had just done. His long white tail twines around the death knight's when he feels it moving to loop around.

Surrendering himself to Telurin's whims in this fashion had been an intense experience and offering of trust for the priest, pushing him to the edge of anything he had ever before attempted in intimacy. Thinking back on everything they had just done causes Pallas to feel emotional -- He's so in love with Telurin, every part of him, even his habits and the things that could be construed as flaws. How fortunate he is to be so fiercely desired and craved by his beloved.

When Telurin works apart the clasp and takes the collar off, Pallas rises on his hands, raising his face to kiss and lick at the death knight's lips, his chin and the tip of his nose. He raises a thin hand to cup Tel's jaw, adoration visible in his eyes.

Telurin looks sated, relaxed and content, and his hands come around to the Anchorite’s back in support as he kisses Pallas in return, a pleased smile pulling up his lips.

"Any concerns?" The death knight asks, looking into Pallas’s eyes directly and sincerely. "I was easy on you for this first time, but I still do not want you to feel you cannot voice your desires or that you have no control over what happens, Kechare."

Pallas raises his head from kissing Telurin's upper lip, meeting the death knight's gaze. His white brows raise a little; this is something he didn't realize. "I can tell you what I'd like?" he asks, "When I'm wearing your collar?"

"You may ask." Telurin replies with a slight frown. "But you must know that when that collar is on, my word is final. You would be better served speaking with me before, when we can discuss what it is you would prefer."

The priest understands that this presumably must be done within the context of Tel being a Dom, meaning he, Pallas, asks for what he wants. He nods, blushing again. "I think I understand. Thank you."

Pallas closes his eyes, snuggling up against Telurin as if there were nowhere else he'd rather be. Even with the current mood as pleasant and floaty as it is, Pallas finds he wishes he knew more about Telurin. He is almost tragically in love with the death knight, yet still knows little about the other man's past.

After they had both rested in the night darkness for a time, Pallas's voice comes again. "I would like to learn more about you," the Anchorite says to Telurin. "I know so little about your life, and where you come from."

He waits before saying more, knowing that Tel's past is a long-standing sensitive issue, and not wanting to pressure him.

Telurin is silent for some time after Pallas's request, his fingers moving methodically up and down the Anchorite’s back, his tail flicking back and forth at the tip as he thinks. He's more inclined to answer now, when he and Pallas have just been intimate and are still relaxed against each other. After a moment he sighs, and brings his hand up to cup Pallas's cheek. "What do you what to know?" He says wearily. "There's too much of my life to tell the whole tale from start to finish."

Pallas looks back at Telurin in the dark.

"I would like to know who you were." He reaches out a hand to stroke down the death knight's neck, studying his expression. His eyes unfocus, and when the Anchorite next speaks, it's within Tel's mind.

-You can show me in visual pictures, instead of words, if you would like. If you can imagine it. I'm able to see such things in my mind, if they are willingly shared.-

Pallas's eyes focus on Telurin's face again, looking curiously at his beloved Knight. "Do you want to try it?" he asks verbally in a quiet voice. Although not sexual, the priest realizes that to share a memory in the way he is asking is a very intimate act. He isn't certain if the death knight will acquiesce.

Telurin snorts, and Pallas may think it's a dismissal until he uses the same method to voice his reply. The Anchorite had left enough of a mental connection that the death knight can use it to speak in the same manner.

-You forget how old I am, little one.- He sends as he smirks. His mental voice is amused, and he reaches up to stroke Pallas’s hair as he continues. -And the sort of Anchorite that came to fetch you at my behalf.- Speaking in this way is a richer method of communication, with meaning layered over and into the words, so that in addition to the words, Pallas also gets that Telurin is talking about Belaar, that the older Anchorite is well accomplished in this sort of communication, as well as Telurin's ease with the method of memory transfer. That he has used it casually with Belaar in the past.

-Belaar was a contemporary of my parents, back on Argus.- and that simple phrase contains within it glimpses of Belaar, Telurin's Belaar, through the millennia they had known each other. How they had spent many evenings in discussion while playing Draenic chess, about anything from Telurin's current assignment to more personal matters. Telurin had trusted Belaar with his life and his mind, and the other man had never betrayed that trust.

-I was a vindicator, once. In charge of a small group, a specialized reconnaissance and first contact team. We were very good at it.- He's being modest, Telurin's 'small group' was a highly desirable post to have, and the handful of times he had lost a member there were many who had sought to be their replacement.

-You've met Telrii, who's so like her mother. We were a close-knit team, they all took to the twins like they were their own. Telrii and her brother never wanted for playmates and babysitters.- The images come now of the twins’ mother, Telurin's wife, Meyruu, and their whirlwind romance, how Telurin was enamored with her and how she had been perfect in his eyes, could do no wrong. His thoughts turn like storm clouds on the horizon.

-Her death, the death of Belaar, the Belaar of our timeline, it was the beginning of the end. It started the events that would eventually lead to my decision to help in the North, and my own death.- Even as long ago as it was, the grief in these words, as well as the starkness that is sent, with no pictures or shared memories, are telling that the death knight is still affected by the events.

-I trust this is enough to sate your curiosity?- His tone is tight, and he lets nothing extra leak through with his question.

Some of the people and events Telurin describes to Pallas, in the dream theater for two of mental pictures and words, are things he had some knowledge of. Others fill in gaps in his understanding like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and still others are completely new.

-Belaar,- Pallas thinks to himself, the full extent of the elder Anchorite's relationship to the once-Vindicator now apparent. To the priest, this is a revelation of grief. What greater tragedy could exist than to lose one's bonded in heart and mind?

-A Vindicator of a small group... Was he a Hand? He lost his family, all except Telrii... He still grieves for everything he has lost. His grief must be profound.-

Even without sharing a single detail of his own death and rebirth, Pallas's colorful imagination unhelpfully supplies its own version of these events: The screams and cries for mercy of the humans he cut down while his mind was glamoured. A lost, lone-wolf Telurin wandering the frozen wastes in blood hunger and confusion after being mentally set free, with not a single friend. The looks and words of horror and disgust from the populace he once gave his entire long life to protect. The Ebon Blade is the only group who might accept him, yet most are morally ambiguous, and all of them terrifying, regardless of their original race.

-My star,- Pallas thinks to himself, keeping his own thoughts private, -How greatly you have suffered. Is there nothing I may do to alleviate this terrible grief.-

It's all too much, and Pallas's eyes moisten as he lays on the bed at Telurin's side. He knows the death knight doesn't want pity, and wouldn't want him to cry. The Anchorite wipes stray tears away with a sniffle.

-It is enough.- Pallas answers Telurin's query.

Telurin catches Pallas's hand before he can reach his face and uses his thumb to brush away the stray tears rolling down the Anchorite’s face. His own expression is unchanged by the memories, having both lived through them and being accustomed to keeping his grief in check.

"Sa, sa, kechaare." He murmurs, "It was a long time ago. No need for tears on my behalf."

Pallas looks up at Telurin's face when the other man brushes away his tears with his thumb. This small gesture is a comfort, and the Anchorite calms down, rubbing the back of Tel's hand in gratitude. He nods slightly, signifying that he is all right now.

Pallas shuffles closer to go to sleep, laying his head down on Telurin's chest. He wraps his thin arms and legs lightly around the death knight's cooler body and entwines their tails, and closes his eyes. If left undisturbed, he passes out quickly to recuperate.

#draenei #Pallas #Telurin

[sprinkles-us]

HW 9

The observer effect.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDmi8SnxURM

The first few minute have nothing to do with anything so skip ahead. Once the speaker decides to breach the actual topic he talks about how the act of observing something changes it. He talks about how in experimentation, when a scientist expects to find something they usually do. For everything that happens to us we assign a positive or negative value to the event. This seems a lot like the power of positive thinking to me. Also I know from past research that a random number counter can be affected by the act of observing it. There is also Young’s double slit experiment. In my opinion this guy has only began to understand the topic of the observer affect. Dude does not know what linear means. He says linear and then proceeds to draw a zig zagged line. Talks about the advantage principle but does not define it or go into great detail. A watched pot will not boil is an idiom that comes to mind in relation to this phenomenon.

This was a terrible video. 

 The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQKELOE9eY4

You can never simultaneously know the exact position and exact speed of an object. the act of measuring an object changes its speed and vice versa. happens because everything acts as a particle and a wave at the same time. Particle exist in a single space at a single time. waves are disturbances in space. wavelength is related to its velocity. short wavelength = fast. 

This was a good video that contained a lot of good information. 

 Quantum Tunneling

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTodS8hkSDg

First talks about the conservation of energy. an object rolled down a hill cannot go any higher up the other side than the height it was originally dropped from. the video talks about how the rules of the conservation of energy change at the quantum level. This is an analogy not an explanation. 

Bad video. Does not actually explain anything about what quantum tunneling is. 

 The Butterfly Effect

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JsD5Mz9eQY

Small causes can have large effects. a butterfly flapping its wings could create a tornado on the other side of the world say the speaker. Was initially applied to the weather, economics… a small change at one place can result in large differences in a different state. talks about sensitive dependence. a way of describing the accumulate effect over time of very small actions in complex systems. Talks about the sound of thunder book. The limitations of predicting systems. Talks about time travel and the affect the butterfly affect could have on the future. Talks about Adolph hitler and how things would be different if he had been accepted into art school. The affect takes time. 

In my opinion this was a good video. using back to the future instead of the movie as an example of the butterfly effect nagged me a little. Too easy I guess. 

  External perturbations

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALk1jLooZro

This is the closet video I could find on the topic. 

Talks about Keplar and how planets move around the sun. the deviations from the perfectly elliptical pathways are called perturbations. Was used to form the causal laws. Also called newtons synthesis. Talks about the three laws of motion. The planets pull each other towards each other when they come too close to each other when going around the sun. The attraction causes a deviation in the planets perfectly eleptical path called a perturbation. 

I thought this was a informative video.

 Existentialism 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_tgqj9MU8M

Grabbed my attention right off the bat by using a phrase I have heard many times but never rely knew what it meant, the quintessential existentialist. Talks about 2 scientist whos names I cannot pronounce. existence precedes essence. we have to create our own lives and self. God does not exist and neither does destiny. we are condemned to be free. we have an absolute responsibility to ourselves. asking why we are living is an existential crisis. we struggle to find genuine meaning for our existence. we are free but the world is absurd. There is no purpose to life. Living is the purpose of life. it is the responsibility to make the right choices for ourselves. 

I liked this video. 

 The care horizon

 I cannot find a vido on this or even a definition. 

2.

I do not think the observer effect can be applied to the colonization of the moon. I guess one could argue that the act of actively observing people trying to colonize the moon could change the results. I'm just not sure how. Maybe if enough people were observing the effort then it would come to fruition more quickly. 

I guess the hisenburg uncertainty principle can be applied to the rockets flying to the moon. They have a position and a speed but according to the heisenburg uncertainty principle you can only know one of them. 

I am not sure how one would apply quantum tunneling to the colonization of the moon. From what I understand the only way to “view” the phenomena of quantum tunneling is to be working with subatomic particles. The colonization of the moon will mostly deal with objects larger than an atom. 

The butterfly effect can be applied to the colonization of the moon. The act of colonizing the moon will most definitely have huge affects on the world as a whole. For starters other countries might not like the idea of a single county or even a group of them controlling the moon. The act of colonizing the moon could start a conflict or even a war. 

I guess you could apply external perturbations to the colonization of the moon. Seeing as how we will probably have to put satellites into the moons orbit before the colonization process can begin, we will have to calculate any changes in our satalites orbit, or perturbations, in order to not crash or be released from our satalite position. 

I guess Existentialism can be applied to the colonization of the moon. if we our solely responsable for our own existence than it is our duty to push the limits of that existance. We are limited by our perception of the world around us. 

3.

Topic = the colonization of earths moon. 

5 years from todays date = we are beginning to discuss the idea of colonizing the moon. 

10 years from todays date = We have formed alliances with other countries to form the foundation of the new moon colony. 

20 years from todays date = Setbacks occur we go to war with another country. or a disease breaks out that stalls us out. 

50 years from todays date = we have overcome the setbacks and are once again looking to colonize the moon. 

100 years from todays date = we have successfully put into orbit a set of space stations that will be used as the staging ground for the moons colonization. 

200 years from todays date = we have built permanent structures beneath the moons surface and are close to unlocking the secrets of artificial gravity. 

1000 years from todays date = we now understand how to make artificial gravity and the moon is a fabulous new society full of happy colonist. 

10000 years from todays date = The human race has been in a war with lifeforms from another star who want to stop the human race from expanding its borders. 

1 million years from todays date = I would like to believe that by this point we will have become at least a type 3 civilization and have spread out among the stars. But I know in my heart this will never come to pass. More likely our race will have fizzled out long before this point. 

4.

Link did not work but I found one on youtube. 

Link = https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zMAiGcDHG8

Talks about how the singularity could replace consciousness. Talks about the humans rise above the other animals. Humans ponder the meaning of life. Humans are not the tool making animal but the animal who can spread its cognitive ability to the outside world, like reading and writing. Cognitive outsourcing. I believe what this man is alluding to is the day in which human kind merges with machines and in turn begin to share their consciousness with one another. When enough people merge together a singularity is formed. One conscious many bodies. All becomes one. And one become all. 

5.

It is my opinion that the colonization of the moon will cause a great upheaval across the world. Maybe not at first but it will definitely come to be. The temptation to use the moon as a base for military operations will be great. In fact, the very idea that one country or a group of countries being able to achieve this goal is probably enough to cause mass paranoia and strife. I would like to believe that as a race we would come together in order to quell this strife, but alas experience leads me to doubt. We will have to create an entire new system of governess in order to achieve our dream of colonizing the moon. Or we will have to fight for the right to colonize the moon. But before that can happen there will be a lot of work to do. We must first either learn how to create artificial gravity or we have to learn how to remove our brains from our body to be installed into one more suitable for space travel. If that proves to be too difficult, we could construct humanoid avatars, controlled by humans back on earth, that can withstand the harsh conditions of space. These avatars can then be used to colonize celestial bodies other than our own. Perhaps even prep them for our habitation. In the end we will either have to make the moon, or at least our moon base, more human friendly, or we will have to make our bodies more resistant to spaces wrath. 

6.

Will begin by talking about our previous adventures into space as well as the moon.

then I will discuss the geography of the moon. 

Next I will talk about the political restraints keeping us from colonizing the moon. 

Then I will talk about the physical condition of outer space as well as one the moon. 

Next I will discuss the human body and how it functions on earth vs in space. 

then I will talk about adapting the human body to space. 

I will next discuss the limitations of transporting items to the moon. 

Next I will discuss what will we will need to take with us to survive. 

then I will discuss how we will get water and food on the moon. 

Will discuss how we will have to harvest building materials from the moon. 

Will begin to discuss possible solutions to the problems preventing us from colonizing the moon. 

Next I will talk about how the moon can be used as a weapon. 

Then I will talk about how technology will work in low gravity. 

I will discuss what types of foods they will take with them. 

I will then discuss basic human nutritional requirements. 

I will discuss how the colonist will defend themselves from the harsh conditions of space. 

I will discuss dison spheres and type 1-3 civilizations. 

Next we will talk about potential challenges. 

Then I will talk about how the colonization of the moon will affect the earth. 

I will conclude with my thoughts on whether or not colonizing the moon is actually feasible.