#at what point is the mail mostly junk

[messier51]

thinking again about digital pollution, information/expectation overwhelm, the right to privacy, bodily autonomy--but also mental autonomy, in a society that mythologized the "great man" individual that aims to devalue any individual effort at the skill and creativity level for the sake of....digital pollution (and money)

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 10 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After just two days back home, Bradley takes you on a second date. He wants more, and you don't seem to mind when he can't keep his hands and lips to himself.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, Bradley being boyfriend material

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

"Shit."

It had been such a long time since Bradley wore anything other than a flight suit, a khaki uniform or gym clothes, he had no idea what he was supposed to wear to dinner tonight. You mentioned weeks ago you thought Italian food sounded nice for a second date, and he agreed wholeheartedly. He managed to snag a table for the two of you at Salvatore's, and he was absolutely prepared to drop over five hundred bucks, but his clothing was becoming a situation.

After spending the entire day with you yesterday, Saturday morning was a bit of a reality check. He was trying to work through three loads of laundry while he sorted through a box of mail. There was nothing sweet in there like the packages you and your class sent to him while he was deployed. It was mostly bills that had already been automatically paid online, mortgage statements, and junk. Then he started folding laundry, somehow expecting some articles of clothing that weren't threadbare tee shirts or tropical print button downs to jump out at him.

"Why don't you have normal clothing?" he asked himself as he picked up his phone now that it was late enough to text you. He wanted to make sure you were okay with grabbing a drink before the dinner reservation which wasn't until 7:45. But when he unlocked his phone, instead of zero new messages, he found a picture you sent seven minutes ago. 

"Oh my god," he groaned softly, dropping onto his bed next to some unfolded laundry. You were in your own bed wearing his favorite sweatshirt and a bright smile.

Good morning, Handsome. Last night felt like a dream, but your sweatshirt is real, so it must have happened.

He scrambled to write back, clothing crisis forgotten. God, he wanted to be in that bed in the worst way. Things would definitely get out of hand pretty quickly, but he knew those first few kisses would be the sweetest things. After last night at the beach, waiting for a few more dates was going to be the challenge of his life, but he wanted you to know he was in this for the long haul. Especially after you mentioned that you thought he may have ghosted you.

Hey, Gorgeous. My sweatshirt looks way better on you than it ever did on me. Did you sleep in it?

He hit send and then wished he hadn't asked that question. He sounded like a horny twenty year old. It was bad enough that he had to practically beg you to go inside your apartment last night while you were kissing his neck, but he didn't want to embarrass himself.

Of course I did. It smells like you. The only thing better would be having you in my bed, too...

How the hell was he supposed to wait until this evening to see you? He tossed his phone aside. His blood felt like it was on fire, and he was sweating. Never before had he wanted to move this fast from a first date to making things official. But he knew you. He'd been working up to this point for months. And the Thai dinner with Prosecco on the beach wasn't really a first date. That felt closer to a reunion with a girlfriend than anything else. The only thing missing for that to have been true was a sleepover instead of him taking you home for the night. 

He was too many steps ahead right now. You hadn't yet done the drive down to Coronado from Mira Mesa for yourself, but he already caught himself wondering if you'd consider moving in with him in the future. "You need to relax," he ground out through gritted teeth. "You'll scare her away." He cracked his neck and forced himself to fold a stack of underwear before picking up his phone to reply.

I don't want to rush things, but your bed does look very comfortable. I'm confident we could get cozy there... You're making me blush. I need to get this conversation back on track. Cocktails before dinner at Salvatore's? I'll pick you up at 5:30?

A few minutes later, you responded with a photo of you still all snuggled up in bed, smiling and giving him a thumbs up in his shirt.

--------------------------

"Just in case," you muttered, making sure your bedding was straightened and your room was tidy. You left Bradley's TOP GUN sweatshirt folded on your pillow, but you certainly wouldn't mind having the man himself in your bed tonight. Your fingers and toes tingled when you thought about it. You bit your lip and scooped up his shirt, inhaling his scent one more time before you realized he would be here any minute.

When he knocked on your door, you set it back on your pillow and glanced at yourself in the mirror as you bounced past it. Cocktails and dinner at Salvatore's would have been a major splurge for a night out for you, but Bradley selected the restaurant. All you did was mention Italian food, and he really ran with it. You'd have been happy with some pizza and breadsticks, simply excited he remembered you mentioned Italian food at all, but this called for your littlest black dress and your brightest red lipstick. 

"I'm coming!" you called, going as fast as you could in your black heels, giggling at the double meaning. You had to compose yourself before you could open the door, and when you did, you were met with the actual man of your dreams.

"Hey, Gorgeous." Bradley's crooked little smile faltered a bit as his gaze slid down from your eyes to your lips, but he didn't stop there. He was shamelessly checking you out as a pretty shade of pink crept up into his cheeks, and you did a slow turn for him. 

Your skin felt warm as you met his eyes after doing a full circle. His lips were parted as you whispered, "Hi," and reached for his hand. As soon as your skin met his, he pulled you closer to him. "Bradley." His lips were on yours as he backed you up into your apartment until you softly met the wall behind you. He was big and warm, and you were holding his left hand while his right one came up to your face.

He broke the kiss by tipping your chin up so you were looking at him. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he crooned softly. Your lipstick was smudged along his mouth, and his tongue darted out to taste it before he said, "I'm fucking crazy about you."

His rough thumb dragged along your bottom lip as you said, "And you've never even seen me dispose of a spider for you."

"Baby," he rasped. "I'd probably propose."

A shocked giggle escaped you, and his crooked grin was back as he kept you there against your wall with your door wide open. You reached up and ran your fingers along the collar of his oxford shirt before tugging on the fabric until his lips were on yours again. You let your head tip back against the wall as he devoured you, tasting your lips, tongue and teeth before his forehead came to rest gently on yours.

"You know," you gasped, trying to catch your breath, "I thought all your emails were sweet and romantic."

He chuckled as he pulled away from you. "I was hoping I was doing okay in person, too."

You shrugged playfully and tried to spin out of his grasp, but his hand was still wrapped up in yours. He followed you to your coffee table so you could grab your purse as you casually told him, "You're even better in person than I thought you'd be."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, pulling you close again. "You like my stupid looking clothes and how I can eat three meals for dinner?"

He was so endearing, you didn't know how to handle him. So you kissed him again and whispered, "I like all of it." You let your fingers trail along his shirt buttons as you said, "You look nice in this, but I can already tell you're more comfortable in your colorful Aloha shirts and jeans. And I love that you can eat three meals for dinner, because we ended up sharing everything last night."

"Let's go," he coaxed, leading you toward your door. "I'll let you pick whatever you want to try at Salvatore's. I don't usually like sharing my food, but there's just something about you, Gorgeous. You make me feel comfortable."

-------------------------

You tried to tell Bradley twice that he still had some of your lipstick smudged on his face, but he just shrugged and said, "Good," in response both times. If he didn't mind, then neither did you. It couldn't be any more obvious that he was with you when the exact color that was on your lips was also on his. You listened to him hum along to the retro oldies station as he merged onto the coastal highway while you took a minute to fix up your own smudged lipstick.

He grinned over at you as you put your makeup away and said, "Come on, Baby. If you didn't want it on my face, then you wouldn't be putting more on your lips."

Every time he made a bold statement like that, you wanted to cancel dinner altogether and take him to your bedroom. "I never said I didn't want it on your face. It looks good." 

He reached out blindly for your hand, and you grabbed his immediately. "You did tell me you wanted me to kiss you as soon as I saw you."

"Yeah," you muttered. "Don't stop doing that." You knew things with him were going to get physical pretty quickly, but you'd never been quite this attracted to someone before. You drew little shapes on his palm as you asked, "How was your first night back in your own bed after so many months away?"

He groaned softly. "Epic. Fantastic. I don't fit very well in an extra long twin bed."

"No, I would imagine you don't," you said with a laugh as you watched him drive his Bronco in the evening sunlight.

He licked his lips and grinned as he said, "Would have been better if you were there though."

The eruption of butterflies in your belly left you biting your lip. You wanted to respond, but you needed to be able to make it through dinner before you were hanging off of him again like you were last night. That's when he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles, treating you to his mustache there. "Feel like getting a drink or two in the lounge first? Maybe a bottle of wine?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, ready to go anywhere he took you. As soon as he parked, he jogged around to help you down, letting you slide against his body with your hands on his shoulders. You wobbled a bit in your shoes, but he kept you steady.

"You good?" he asked as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck as his arm wrapped around your waist.

"So good," you promised. "Never better."

Bradley kept his hand right there on your hip as he led you along the sidewalk toward the restaurant. The lounge was packed; this was definitely a popular weekend date night locale. Couples filled the space with noisy conversation, but you could hear Bradley perfectly as his lips found your ear when he said, "There's an empty stool at the far end of the bar." He gave your hip a little squeeze as you headed for it, and he leaned on the bar next to you. "Why don't you pick out a bottle of wine or whatever you want? I'll go let the hostess know we'll be hanging out in the lounge."

When you agreed, he kissed your lips like the two of you had been at this for years, not just since yesterday. You weren't the only one who watched him walk away in his snug pants and Oxford shirt that somehow showed off his biceps. He was just that good looking. When you saw him without a shirt on, you'd probably faint and need him to revive you. When the bartender came over, you were chuckling to yourself at the idea of having sex with Bradley while he kept his shirt on to save you from that fate.

"Can I get you a drink?"

You looked at him in a daze, realizing you meant to choose a bottle of wine. You blurted out what kind you liked best, and with a nod and a smile, he turned to fill your request. And that's when you finally looked at the menu and realized the bottle was more than a hundred and fifty dollars.

"Oh shit." But it was too late. He had already opened it and was heading your way with it. You scrambled in your purse for your wallet, cringing at the idea of Bradley seeing the bill when you could have simply ordered a cocktail instead. Just as the bartender was pouring out a bit of the wine for you to try, you found your credit card successfully. And that was also when Bradley came back.

"They'll come get us when our table's ready," he said. "I told them it would be easy to find me since my date is the most beautiful woman in the restaurant." He watched the bartender pick up a second glass and said, "Oh perfect, you found some wine that you like."

You nodded and tried your best to pass your credit card across the bar undetected with your hand covering it. "I sure did."

Bradley's eyes followed your hand as he took a sip of the wine. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you told him, picking up your own glass with your other hand. You tasted the wine and nodded at the bartender, and then he filled up both glasses while Bradley reached for your credit card.

"That's not necessary, Gorgeous. You can put that away."

You waited until the bartender walked off before you shook your head. "Let me pay for the wine. I was distracted and just picked a random bottle before I looked at the price, and then it was too late because he already had it opened. It's expensive."

Bradley looked completely unfazed as he eased your card from your hand and tucked it back into your wallet. "I don't care about that."

"I do," you said softly in your embarrassment. "I don't want you to think that's what I expected."

Bradley laughed in response. "First of all, I would never think that. And second, I was on that aircraft carrier for so long, and this wine tastes so good, and you look so pretty... I don't even want to tell you how much I'd be willing to pay for that bottle of wine and our dinner."

You simultaneously felt better and a little warm. "Okay, fine. But next time we go out for dinner, we're getting burgers from In-N-Out, and I'm paying."

His smile grew as you sipped your wine which really was quite good. "So that means you want to go out again?"

You rolled your eyes up at him where he stood, his hand brushing your knee where it was crossed over your other leg. "I'm about to make an In-N-Out reservation right now."

"Perfect," he replied. "Which night? I have to work late a few days next week to get caught up on everything I missed while I was away."

"You're ridiculous," you told him with a laugh. "How about Wednesday?"

His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress as he said, "Wednesday's good. You also need to let me know when I can visit your classroom again." His words were so sweet, and his gaze was sincere, but the feel of his fingertips inching along your skin above your knee was something else. 

You set your glass down next to your purse and reached for his hand, letting his fingers slip underneath your dress as you met his brown eyes. When he teased your skin with his rough hands, you reached for his shirt, and Bradley came willingly. Salvatore's didn't provide the two of you with the same level of privacy as the beach last night had, but you didn't really care, and he didn't seem to either.

-----------------------------

You had the softest skin. How was he supposed to keep his hands off you? And that red lipstick made your little pout when he teased you even more delectable than he could have imagined. And he'd been doing plenty of imagining for the last few months. He'd imagined you in a variety of scenarios with him, but so far being with you in person surpassed everything his vivid thoughts came up with.

When he mentioned visiting you at work, you treated him to the silky soft feel of your skin, and then you literally grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged until he was kissing you. Oh god, he was never going to recover from this. He had to wrap his hand around the middle of your thigh to keep himself from going any further as you moaned softly into his mouth. He was absolutely starving and a little dizzy from the wine, but he was thinking about skipping dinner in favor of the solitude of the Bronco right now.

"Mr. Bradshaw?"

Your tongue was slowly tasting his when you jerked away from him as the hostess strolled over. Embarrassed, you turned toward the bar as Bradley grunted in response at the young woman who told him the table was ready for the two of you. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing, because feeling you up in the middle of the crowded lounge wasn't something he'd feel good about later. At least not on the second date. He'd bring you back here in a few months and see if the two of you even made it to dinner.

With a smile, he reached for your free hand after you picked up your glass. You halfway hid your face against his bicep as the hostess picked up the bottle and led the way through the lounge and into the restaurant. Bradley kissed your forehead and murmured, "If I could keep my hands off of you, this wouldn't be a problem."

You peered up at him through your lashes. "Hanging out on your couch alone is sounding better and better."

"Fuck," he groaned softly as you released his hand and took a seat at the table set for two which was overlooking the bay. Bradley pushed your chair in, and his thumbs met your bare arms. He took a few deep breaths before taking the seat opposite yours and accepted one of the menus as he listened to the specials while he looked at your face. He muttered some sort of response, and then the two of you were alone.

You emptied the remainder of the wine between his glass and yours, and then Bradley watched you lick a little droplet from your thumb as you smiled at him. "So which three dinners are you planning on ordering tonight?"

It took him a second to realize that he was holding an open menu even though he hadn't looked at it once. He cleared his throat and said, "Definitely some homemade spaghetti and meatballs. The last time I ate spaghetti, it was overcooked and sad, and I had to go back to my bunk and think about you to make myself feel better." You covered your mouth with one hand while you laughed, and it was the most charming thing he'd ever seen. "I'm so serious, Gorgeous. I got a plate of soggy noodles, and literally the only thing that made it better was imagining you teaching your class about military grade jets and aviation."

Your pretty eyes were glittering as you told him, "I keep extending my lessons on the topic, and you are completely to blame for that. After the first time you responded to us, my students asked about you every single day. They are completely enamored with you."

"Yeah? Just them? Or you too?" He knew his words were reminiscent of the way you'd tried to blame it on your kids when you asked him to send you a picture so you could see what he looked like.

"Hmm." You pretended to peruse your menu. "I'm thinking about the ravioli. Or maybe the penne with vodka sauce." Your foot tapped his leg beneath the table, and he had to fight the urge to reach under and touch your skin again. You were teasing him in every way right now, and he was absolutely loving it. When the waiter dropped off glasses of water and some freshly baked bread, he asked if you wanted anything else to drink.

"You want another bottle of wine, Gorgeous?" Bradley asked, deciding to tease you right back.

"Absolutely not," you told him, looking at him like he had two heads before kindly telling the waiter, "No, thank you."

He was still laughing when he picked up a piece of bread. "So we'll get spaghetti, penne and ravioli?"

"You don't have to order what I want," you told him, your foot still running along his calf while your expression dripped with innocence.

"No. I want to though." It was kind of fun spoiling you with something as simple as dinner. Vanessa would have made a comment by now about how much she hated the slightly kitschy, over the top restaurant, even if the food was supposed to be immaculate. You didn't seem to mind one bit that he ordered three massive entrees and intended to finish whatever you didn't. Vanessa always got embarrassed, but all you said was that you were excited to try all three.

There was never a lull in conversation. You actually listened to Bradley when he was talking, and he could have listened to you all night.

"So you know how last night I mentioned... that I'd never really thought about dating someone in the military who deploys for work?"

"Yeah," Bradley rasped, not sure he loved where the conversation was heading.

You looked a little apprehensive as you said, "I was thinking about it more last night after you dropped me off." 

"And?"

You kind of shrugged and said, "I think I'd actually be okay with it, as long as it's you. It almost feels like we got some big, scary thing out of the way already, you know? And I could always write to you, because I kind of loved doing that. And yes, Bradley, I am also completely enamored with you."

It was almost a shame that the food arrived then, because as you started to cut into an enormous ravioli, all he could think to say was, "I'm completely enamored with you, too."

-----------------------------

You were so full from dinner, you didn't know how Bradley could walk. He ate at least two times what you did, and then he insisted on ordering a piece of cheesecake. When you caught sight of the bill, you tried not to gasp, because it was more than you spend on groceries for a whole month. But he handed over his credit card and signed his name without even breaking conversation with you. And now you were discreetly grabbing a handful of mints on your way out of the restaurant as he held your hand.

It was late, and you knew he was still tired. He mentioned briefly that he had a lot of chores to do this week amidst some late nights at work, but you didn't know how you'd be able to wait until Wednesday to see him again. When he started up the Bronco and headed in the direction of your apartment, your mind flooded with questions, but he asked you one first.

"I already have plans tomorrow, but I don't think I can wait until Wednesday to see you again. What time do you usually get to school?"

"7:20."

"Okay. And what kind of coffee do you like?"

You couldn't stop smiling as you told him what you usually ordered on the rare occasion you had time to stop at Starbucks. You kind of already felt like he was spoiling you.

"Have you memorized everything I've ever told you?"

"Yep," he replied, his handsome smile evident in the street lights. "And I've gotta say, you're one of a kind, Gorgeous."

You honestly didn't want the ride to end. The fact that there was no buffer of traffic to add to the twenty minute drive made you pout a little bit. Bradley's deep voice layered over the music playing on the radio while he held your hand was intoxicating, but you made a disappointed sound as he parked in front of your building.

When he released your hand to kill the engine in the near darkness, all you could see was his handsome profile. "You thought the drive would be too much for me," you whispered. "But when I'm in the car with you, I don't want it to end."

He cleared his throat and softly said, "Well, we don't have to get out quite yet if you don't want to."

Your pout turned into a grin as you unbuckled your seatbelt. "I can tell you still need to catch up on some sleep. I don't want to keep you out too late, Bradley."

He chuckled and undid his own seatbelt. "Why don't you come a little closer and say my name again."

As you eased yourself onto your hands and knees, you scooted across the seat and whispered, "Bradley," with a little laugh.

"Closer?" he asked, and you crawled over to him until you were able to kiss his cheek.

"Bradley."

He turned his head so his lips met yours, and he whispered, "Closer," against your mouth.

You were immediately in his lap, your hands resting on his chest as the steering wheel met your lower back. Your lips found his scarred cheek just like last night, and you kissed your way along his mustache and the side of his nose. You let your hands drift slowly down over his abs until they met the leather of his belt, and you whispered his name one more time.

His big hands closed around your wrists as he groaned, "You really love teasing me."

You nodded and said, "I really do," as he guided your hands up to his shoulders and around his neck.

"You're really good at it, Baby. All those pictures of you in your bed are enough to get a man through a deployment and then promptly kill him once he's on dry land if he can't touch you immediately."

He kissed the inside of your arm, and you scooted your body a little closer to his. "You can touch me." Your words elicited a deep groan as he slid his big hands along your bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kissed your lips, swiping his tongue against yours as his fingers trailed down your sides. You almost cried out when his thumbs grazed the sides of your breasts before he gently squeezed your waist and your hips.

You could invite him to stay over. You didn't think he'd turn you down if you did. But all you could manage to say was, "Bradley," between kisses.

He tipped his head back against the headrest and whispered, "I love the way that sounds." His eyes were glittering in the darkness as he looked at your face and your body, and you remembered his text message from earlier.

I don't want to rush things

It was hard for you to remember that yesterday in your classroom was the first time you touched him. The first time you heard his voice in person. As much as you wanted to lean in close and ask him to stay, instead you kissed his ear and said, "You promised me movie night on your couch. When?"

"Friday?" he asked, kissing along your neck. "Let me end the week with my Gorgeous girl?"

"Yes."

You were afraid you were going to melt right out onto the pavement when he opened his door, but he helped you down and kept his arm wrapped around you. Bradley walked a half step behind you in the darkness all the way to your apartment. While there was no expectation that he was going to join you inside, you ended up pinned against your door, because it didn't seem like he was quite ready to leave yet either. 

He was eager. You could feel it as his lips found your neck again. He smiled against you as he whispered your name in that deep raspy voice. "Since you don't like surprises, I'm telling you right now that you should expect to see me in the parking lot at your school on Monday morning. Sound okay?"

"Oh god, yes," you whined as he released you. There were so many things you wanted to tell him as he put a foot of space between your bodies, really giving you a chance to see his pink cheeks and the way he was breathing deeply. You blurted out, "I'm falling so hard for you."

His crooked little grin was back as he nodded at your door. "Lock it behind you. And when you get in bed, in my sweatshirt, send me another selfie."

"I will," you promised, and you did exactly what he said. A minute after you texted the photo, you got a message back from him.

I think I'm falling even harder.

-----------------------

I'm so obsessed with them. She was so concerned about that bottle of wine! And he really wasn't lol. Coffee and burgers and a couch date coming up. This story will be 18+ soon. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 11

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@marve2014

@furiousladyking

[jmdbjk]

All things Walmart, poo, ticks and inspiration...

Spoiler alert but to hell with it, I know y'all have watched it all already.

Things I cannot relate to and will never happen to me:

• Pushing my cart down the snack aisle at Walmart and running into Jungkook searching for Tostitos and a sponge.

• Going out to the mailbox to gather the day's junk mail and two guys on a Harley drive by and wave at me and me not know it was Jimin and Jungkook.

• Hiking through the forest and not realizing that guy way up ahead swatting at mosquitoes is Jimin.

• Enjoying my lobster mac & cheese at a restaurant and not know Jungkook is discreetly (not so discreetly) staring at my food trying to decide if he wants to order what I'm having.

I didn't have time today to spend on this like I wanted to and I feel like everyone has already talked about the finer points they're most interested in so I'm going to just drop a few things that made ME laugh, smile and cherish the fact they even started this thing, this show. Episode 3 will be here tomorrow night (for me) so I don't want to delay this anymore so I'll be brief for Ep. 2.

Saturday, July 15:

They left the campsite and Jungkook got to ride the motorcycle. Jimin said he looked like a proper American.

They stopped at a park and hiked a trail. Jimin fought mosquitoes. It was brutal. I've seen people worried about ticks. And snakes. Jimin pointed out a spider on a tree. Jungkook fantasized about alligators. Tick inspections occurred all around later on I hope.

We didn't see the transition from woods to marina. Maybe they had to make a bathroom stop for Jimin. Or urgent care to get him some meds. Who knows. Poor thing was suffering.

On the yacht, Jimin was still feeling puny but he tried. He ate though he knew he was risking it all.

He horsed around with Jungkook with the beast still rolling around in his guts.

I really wasn't expecting so much poop talk during Are You Sure but here we are.

I think this summed up the yacht trip. Especially after how it all started with the excursion being leaked by the boat captain himself. Perhaps the editors did this on purpose.

FYI those concentric ripples in the images are my camera trying to capture the screen in a different frequency than the monitor refreshes or some tech mumbo jumbo. Apologies and please ignore. It's Disney's fault for not letting us screen cap using an app.

I think Jungkook was looking for ticks. He would take something like that seriously, don't you think?

But Jimin mostly slept on the yacht. He had a rough night before. They still salvaged what they could and they still seemed to enjoy the experience.

A trip to Walmart. On the way they have one of those rambling conversations where Jungkook, who is not the most talkative type, decides to talk Jimin's ear off. They talked about making music and what drives them personally in their choices about their work.

We'll visit that thought again in a minute....

The whole Walmart visit is surreal to me. I go to Walmart at least once a week so to see Jimin and Jungkook browsing the aisles just blows my mind. NEVER did I EVER dream I'd see them looking for bacon at WALMART.

They look just like anyone else pushing their shopping cart going down the cereal aisle past the boxes of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Sugar Pops.

Jimin was a tad testy when JK disappeared. He even cussed him out. HAHAHAHAHAAA. BEEN THERE DONE THAT!!!

I know Jimin-ssi, why are men like that? I swear to god...

I saw someone say this sums up their dynamic perfectly: Jimin calculating in his mind how to work the self-check out while Jungkook does the helicopter cam above him.

You gotta give it to Walmart though, they do know their customer. The self check out is pretty self-explanatory.

The content of their cart:

TWO boxes of Twinkies???? And both Prego AND Ragu...

Getting to the AirBnb accommodations. Cooking. Chilling out before bedtime and Jimin lets Jungkook hear Who.

Horsing around in bed. You know, all these years, I've wondered how they keep the toothpaste spit inside their mouths while brushing their teeth? We've seen them brushing their teeth backstage, in the bathroom, walking around the green room, outside practicing choreo... HOW DO THEY NOT DROOL ALL OVER THEIR CUSTOM MADE OUTFITS? And now wrestling on the bed...

Waking up, JK and his frosted flakes. Jokes about abandoning Jimin...more horsing around on the bed. And then they doze off again. I know they did. Hard to tell but Jungkook is glued to Jimin's back.

Jimin gets to ride on the back of the Harley with JK. It starts to rain. I guess they were bringing it back to the rental place.

Going back to the store for a sponge.

I think Jimin was feeling much better. Looked like he slept better.

We see the Army who said they met Jimin and Jungkook last year. When I first heard about it I thought how lucky and random and what kind of stars need to align for that to happen??? What a great experience!!! When will it be our turn???

And then the next idea for Run BTS (the show)... hide and seek while shopping for specific ingredients to cook with and the twist is they're in a foreign country. WORLD TOUR RUN BTS!!! BIGHIT I HAVE IDEAS!!!! LISTEN TO ME!!!!

Its raining, dancing in the rain as they exit the store. They leave in the Jeep and head back to the house to eat their pizza.

Army in Connecticut won in life.

Then they start their journey back to NYC (I'm assuming) so Jungkook can go on to London and Jimin can head back to Korea. They stop one more time for lobster rolls and lobster mac & cheese.

That's when we see Jungkook contradict himself...

In the Jeep just a little while ago you said nothing inspired you. Was it the rain or the beer that was inspiring you? Or was it the head full of new memories and ideas about the next trip that were swirling around in there?

By the end of this trip, they are back in sync.

Their closing interview: JK wants to keep doing this until they're 50, 12 more seasons! JK said "practice being better variety show entertainers so the two of us can continue doing this" as motivation to continue doing this type of thing way into the future. Jimin found humor in that. And that's where we fade to black.

And during the credits, Jimin is eating again, spicy ramen, possibly the next day. Apparently his stomach is back in order as he readies to fly back home.

What a trip.

Deeper thoughts:

Jimin and Jungkook wanted to spend time together. We knew that. It didn't seem to happen when it could have. They even said so in the Jeep. But JK concluded the discussion succinctly:

Finally.

Finally they were spending quality time together. Though their talk was brief, we have no idea if there was more to it before or after what we saw of it. The editors showed us that much enough to explain the situation and why it had not happened. The end result of it all was: finally.

Finally, after wanting this. Finally, after saying we would. Finally... doing something together that we loved doing before and we've wanted to do again. Finally.

Jimin pushed for it. He knew. He made it happen. Finally.

They are two distinct personalities and their journeys through this solo era leading up to their enlistment were different.

Jimin is a leader and doer. He is the initiator. Jimin said if he hadn't pushed for this show to happen it would not have gotten done.

There were a few moments in these first two episodes where Jimin brought up MS. Jungkook didn't seem thrilled to talk about it.

They truly didn't know what they were going to film for this show. They got in the car and started to make it up as they went. I can see how that would be awkward.

They don't understand that just them being themselves is what we want to see. They don't have to try to make something happen. Its the spontaneous moments that make the best content (see kayak dump and Walmart trip). Maybe Jimin was more in tune with this than Jungkook was but he is the one who turns on a live and sits there and watches Netflix while eating chicken. They had to get back in sync and they did.

So the first episode was a little slow, a little cautious, a little quiet. Reserved. That first day they were finding their groove, getting 're-acquainted' if you will, finding the slots and spaces in each other that fit and feel the most comfortable to them. You could see them relax as the day wore on.

But, they still had challenges. JK's head cold. Jimin's stomach bug. You want some TMI's? Watch Jimin run to the bathroom for the fifth time.

We may see a little bit of this quiet re-acquainting when BTS does its first group live next year. And yes, I am 100% confident we will see this first live shortly after Jimin and Jungkook are discharged. We will see them in a way we've never seen before.

After both episodes... my conclusion is we saw about 2 hours out of the roughly 3 or three and a half days Jimin and Jungkook were together. Thursday evening, July 13 through Sunday evening, July 16. I'm not exactly sure when JK left for London but Jimin went back to Korea on July 17.

I wonder if the plan was to create hour long episodes or if there was so much they wanted to show the episodes just ended up being that long. They could have easily hidden Jimin's stomach issues from us. They could have edited a lot of it down. But in making the episodes this long, they showed more and more of their dynamic in play.

I didn't put everything into this post that I wanted to but we've got six more episodes coming and I still haven't had time to watch Run Jin.

Hashtags arent working... I'll add them later.

[yourpalmickeymouse]

Hola, Mickey! I was curious, what type of archetype do ya' think ya' fit when it comes to stressful situations? Are you the type to go with the flow and be mostly laid-back and deal with it, or are you the type to freak out and try to fix everything as quick as possible? Somewhere in-between, perhaps? I myself need control of every situation. 😅 Of course, it's impossible to box anybody, so maybe you don't see yourself as neither. Have a lovely day. :)

(i hope I did this right, I *just* stumbled upon this blog, lol)

Hiya butimnogirlstoy,

What a funny coincidence, Minnie and I were just talkin' about this. She actually made quite the interestin' observation 'bout me. 🤔

Accordin' to her, sometimes when a small issue appears that in retrospect isn't really that big of a deal, I guess I sorta freak out 'bout them. She mentioned the time when the Public Works Department changed the day for trash pickup from Friday to Monday. She said that it was all I could talk 'bout for a month and I was frantically callin' the Department office and pacin' all 'round my house. 🤷

Though honestly I don't think I was really stressin' out much. I mean I kinda had this whole system when I took out the trash on Friday and the new date sorta changed that. Also they didn't really release notice 'bout the change in an effective way. They sent an email that could very easily have gone in the junk mail or most people would have missed if they don't check their mail much. They really should've have sent actual mail to our physical mailboxes and even then they probably should have held a vote so that we, the citizens of Mouseton, could share our thoughts on the-

Oh 😅

Maybe she does have a point.

But that wasn't all she said. She also said that whenever a big problem comes up that should be very stressful for the average person, like dealin' with very violent villains, I actually handle it very well. She says that I sorta get into this "locked-in" mode and put all my energy into handlin' the problem and seem to not let the threat of danger bother me. I mean, I guess she may be right 'bout that. A lot of people say that I'm very brave, but I feel like I just do what needs to be done.

Minnie did however add that she actually worries more about me in these situations. Apparently, I have a hard time knowin' my limits and keep gettin' into more and more threatenin' situations. To be honest, it can be hard to reflect on these moments because I don't really remember what I'm thinkin' during them. I guess in some way that helps me be able to handle these tough situations... But I don't know if that's a good thing.

Well, I hope that answers your question!

- M.M.

[separatist-apologist]

What A Time To Be Alive

I just need someone to hold me, even though you don't even know me

Summary: The prompt was: Modern AU where Lucien is a tiktoker who posts POVs and Elain always wants to duet them to be the love interest he’s talking to but she doesn’t bc how could he ever be interested in a girl like her… UNTIL SHE DOES

Note: Big thanks AND dedicated to @ablogofbipanic who thought she could give me unwritable prompts. I'll write anything.

Read on AO3

-

Elain Archeron recognized that deck. Recognized the parking lot below and, when the camera zoomed out for a moment, recognized the white coup sitting in a patch of hot California sun. That was her apartment complex broadcast to an audience of one point two million people. 

And her upstairs neighbor filming another tiktok. 

Jackinthefox. Everyone thought his name read Jack, but Elain knew his name was actually Lucien Vanserra given how often his mail was shoved into her slot. Mostly junk coupled with the occasional energy bill. Lucien, with his sun kissed, golden brown skin and auburn hair that fell past his shoulders. She’d caught him in the basement gym once, lifting weights in a shirt so loose she could see all the carved muscle just beneath. 

She’d started working out at night to avoid him. 

It seemed Elain couldn’t avoid him on tiktok, though. No matter how quickly she swiped through his videos on her feed, they always came back. Look at me, they seemed to demand. Look at how handsome I am.

Yeah, yeah. Lucien was absurdly good looking, a fact he must have been well aware of. To his credit, he didn’t react to the thirst comments people left for him like other tiktokkers. And he always kept his shirt on, which honestly was a crime. If the women following him learned what lurked beneath, they’d riot. 

Lucien did dance, occasionally, though always to 90’s boybands—Elain liked those videos best, not that she’d ever admit it. What Lucien did, primarily, were POV’s to popular television shows. Usually the Office, though he did a fair amount of New Girl, too. And women practically lined up to duet him, hoping to be the Jim to his Pam. 

While Lucien had exploded in popularity during quarantine, Elain had a more modest following of ten thousand people following her for her aesthetic baking videos. And while Elain had a good time baking bread in cute aprons in front of her window, what she secretly wanted was to duet Lucien back.

She didn’t have the guts. What was worse, she thought, was duetting him, being ignored, and having to give him his mail when it was inevitably put in her box again. He’d know she had a crush on him and probably laugh behind her back.

Or maybe not—but Elain didn’t dare risk it. Not when she had one of the last affordable and nice units left in California. Close to the beach, within walking distance of her favorite grocery store…and with the hot, upstairs neighbor. 

It was hot that day, which made going to the store a miserable venture. Elain was making lemon bars and had run out of nearly everything. If there was a hell, surely it was hauling massive canvas bags of flour, sugar, and lemons in the California heat. By the time she reached her building, Elain was drenched in sweat. In the distance, she could hear the screaming laughter of children in the pool, and the smell of chlorine blew in on a rubber and asphalt scented breeze. 

She just wanted to get inside the cold building, to park herself naked in front of a fan, and stay there until winter arrived.

Elain went to yank open the glass door and drag herself up the flight of stairs to her unit. She fumbled with the metal handle, hot beneath the sun and her sweaty fingers.

“I’ve got it,” called a familiar, masculine voice. Honeyed and deep, rich and warm like the day she was so desperate to flee, Lucien Vanserra must have had one of the nicest voices she’d ever heard. A moment later he’d wedged his towering frame in the door so she could slip past. Lucien’s russet colored eyes slid to the bags hanging from her shoulders.

“Want help?” he asked, reaching for one of the straps.

Elain tried to protest— “No, I’ve got it—”

But he’d already taken two bags in one hand like it was nothing to him. He reached for the other two and suddenly Elain was freed of her obligations. She knew he saw how she exhaled with relief, a smile quirking over his full lips. Lucien was in another loose tanktop and basketball shorts. 

Like herself, Lucien was slick with sweat, which made her feel a little better. They were both disgusting, which somehow put them on equal footing. 

“What are you baking today?” he asked with a sidelong glance. Elain’s eyebrows shot skyward. She followed him up the purple carpeted steps, a relic from some mythical time period in which purple carpet made sense. Though, it did add a certain charm to the otherwise beige, fingerprint stained walls. 

“What do you know about my baking?” Elain asked, hoping she sounded appropriately flirty and not breathless with wonder. 

“I know that I tried those cranberry bars you posted last week and they turned out like shit.”

“That sounds like user error,” she replied, trying so hard not to grin. He watched her videos? Elain could have died. 

“Oh, if definitely was,” he said cheerfully, keeping easy pace with her. “They tasted good, though. What are you making today?”

She swore those eyes of his looked hungry. “Lemon bars.”

Still, he grinned. “Can’t wait to fuck those up, too.”

She could have invited him in. As they reached the landing and her door a mere three steps away, Elain could have asked Lucien to help her bake. Lord knew he would have looked great on camera, even if no one ever saw her face on tiktok. They had to follow her on instagram for that. Still, Lucien’s hands were big and broad and her mostly female audience probably would have liked seeing them as much as Elain liked watching him hold her groceries. 

She didn’t invite him in. The words got tangled in her throat, jumbled so when she dug her keys out of her pocket, she heard herself say, “Well…thank you for the help.” “Anytime,” Lucien replied smoothly, handing her the bags without complaint. He didn’t look around her to try and get a glimpse of her apartment, nor did he offer to come in and help. Elain appreciated that so much, though it was truly a low bar in terms of not being pushy.

“Catch you around,” he said with a wink, turning back for the steps. Elain admired the shifting muscles of his back for a moment—just until he rounded the corner. His thundering steps seemed to clear her head, if only a little.

He was just being neighborly. Friendly.

He watched her videos. 

The first thing she did the second she got inside was whip out her phone. And sure enough, buried in her notifications, was Lucien Vanserra quietly liking months of baking videos. How many had he made? All those months of agonizing about dueting him while he was liking all her videos and making her recipes…Elain felt giddy.

She felt like pulling out her ring light, after showering and carefully applying her make up, and dueting his latest video.

New Girl.

Elain loved New Girl.

LUCIEN:

Flopped on his couch, phone on the coffee table, Lucien replayed the afternoon in his mind. He’d been looking for an excuse to talk to Elain for the better part of a year. Ever since her sourdough video popped up on his for you page. He’d been in a dark place then—a new transplant to California for grad school, lonely and now quarantined before he’d had the chance to make new friends. Lucien had never felt so isolated in his life. His whole life was on the east coast, and even if he’d wanted to drop out and go home, there were no flights to take him.

He sure as shit wasn’t making that drive, either. So Lucien did what everyone else did, and began mindlessly scrolling tiktok. He’d recognized the kitchen those delicate hands worked in, and though it made him feel a little creepy, he’d followed the link in her bio to her instagram page only to find the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his entire life living directly beneath him.

Lucien had tried to stage several run-ins with her. At the gym, in the parking lot, even at the pool though it was closed. Elain had never taken the bait. In fact, she barely looked at him at all. Lucien supposed, with a face as beautiful as hers, he simply didn’t register. That didn’t stop him from trying.

And when he couldn’t make conversation with her in person, Lucien turned back to the internet. He ordered a ring light off amazon and made his first video, hoping she’d see it like he’d seen hers. He’d heard her watching New Girl through the vents so he knew she liked it. 

After a year, though, Lucien was starting to think it was time to give up on Elain Archeron. Maybe she had a boyfriend. Maybe he wasn’t her type. Hell, maybe she didn’t even like men. They were still in lockdown, still only supposed to go out for essentials, and maybe Elain didn’t want to risk getting sick on his account.

Lucien had sworn he was going to give up. His titkok had blown up by that point—surely she must have seen him at least once. Must have realized he was her neighbor. She could have liked one of his videos if she’d wanted, and she hadn’t.

All that changed with a little ding of his phone. Lucien reached for it, replaying walking her up to her apartment. She’d looked so good, with her golden brown curls stuck to her sweaty forehead, and how the heat had caused the yellow of her strappy sundress to conform to her tan skin. Lucien had forced his eyes forward and his mind anywhere but how she might look beneath him, just as sweat soaked and flushed. How those little, panting breaths might feel against his neck and fuck he had been so close to asking if she wanted help baking before he’d retreated, half hard just from the nearness of her.

He needed to think about something else. Lucien picked up his phone, illuminated in the last pinky rays of daylight pouring through the sliding glass of his balcony doors. Flipping open his phone, Lucien’s heart leapt into his throat.

Areyoubreadyforit dueted your video!

Lucien’s hands all but shook as he watched. She’d changed into a pretty blue top—or dress, he couldn’t tell—and lipsynced through the words, talking to him. Gorgeous, like always, bright eyed and confessing her pretend feelings for him through the medium of a POV video. 

Be cool, he told himself even as he slipped on his shoes. Don’t do anything stupid.

Famous last words as Lucien went outside into the dry heat for the escape ladder that would take him straight down to the parking lot.

Or her deck, a floor below. 

This is charming, he told himself, well aware he was skirting the line of crazed upstairs stalker. Why not go down the hall and knock on her front door? It was too late—the minute his feet hit the wood, Elain Archeron looked up from the kitchen. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, cheeks covered in a light dusting of flour. 

Lucien raised his hand and mouthed, hey.

Elain came to the door, wiping her hands on a pretty pink and white dotted apron. “Hey,” she said, clearly surprised. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied. What Lucien really wanted to say was I like you, but that felt too much given he was standing on her deck like a maniac all because she’d dueted one video. “I ah—I came to see if you wanted any help. With your bars, I mean.”

“Oh,” she murmured, her eyes sweeping over his body. He’d showered after the gym, and still he felt self conscious as he pressed a hand to his stomach through the white fabric of his shirt. “I was actually about to make dinner.”

Lucien’s stomach fell for only a moment as Elain added, “Do you like chicken?”

“I love chicken,” he replied, unwilling to admit he would have eaten trash if she offered it. “Anything to watch the famous Elain Archeron cook.”

Pink stained her cheeks. “Hardly. I think it’s you who is famous, right?”

Lucien followed her into her apartment. The set up was the same—a living room that opened into a kitchen, and a hall that he knew would lead to both a bedroom and a bathroom. Every night, she laid just beneath him. 

Maybe tonight, too, if he was lucky. That seemed distinctly like pushing things and yet Lucien still hoped as he closed the door behind him. 

“Hardly,” he said, flashing her a smile. She didn’t realize all those followers were merely a monument to his crush on her. Elain glanced over her shoulder, still in the blue dress from the video. 

“I guess you saw my duet?” 

Her blush was so pretty. Lucien could do nothing but follow after her and try and keep his jaw off the floor. Did she know? Did Elain have any clue the effect she had on him merely by existing? That he wanted to wipe the flour off her face with his tongue? 

“It was cute,” he said, bracing his elbows against the counter so he could watch. She wasn’t lying about the chicken—she was currently tying twine around an entire bird she’d seasoned rather nicely. “What took you so long?”

She scoffed. “It was the first interesting video you’d made all year.”

So she had seen them. Lucien’s heart was pounding in his chest. Oh god, oh god, oh god— “Tell me what interests you so I can better curate your experience.”

“I liked the Backstreet Boys videos,” she said, the pretty menace.

“Yeah? And if I make them again, are you going to dance with me?”

Her whole face was flaming red. Elain ducked, sliding her pan into the oven as she said, “I don’t know the steps.”

“I can teach you.” Fuck, Lucien could teach her anything she wanted to know—the steps to cheesy 90’s boy band music, how he liked to be kissed— 

“I’ll bet you could,” she replied, those eyes cutting right through him. “Did you come down here to hit on me?”

“That depends,” Lucien grinned back, letting his gaze slide to her mouth. “Do you find it charming or creepy?”

Elain angled her chin as she contemplated. “Charming,” she declared with a pretty smile. Fuck Lucien had to fist his hands at his sides to keep himself casual and in place. 

Leaned against the laminate counter, Lucien didn’t dare let his eyes drift below her neck though he fucking wanted to really look at her. 

“Does it count as a date if you do all the cooking?”

Elain exhaled a puff of air. “Do you want this to be a date?”

God, Lucien wanted nothing else. He offered her what he prayed was a roguish smile. “Yeah, actually.”

She hesitated. “For…for content?”

“Because I’ve had a pathetic crush on you ever since I moved in,” he replied easily. There was no way in hell he was going to let her think his interest was about titkok fame. One day Lucien would be a lawyer, his tiktoks a blurry memory—his hobby when the world had shut down and nothing more. He had no interest in being an influencer or an actor. 

His interest was standing directly in front of him wearing a blue sundress and smeared in flour. 

“Oh,” she murmured, her face pink again. “I guess this could be a date. I do have some wine I got from Costco.”

“My favorite,” he lied—again, Lucien would have drank sewer water if she was offering. “I can plan the next date, make it more romantic.”

“Next date?” she teased, pulling out two wine glasses. “You’re awfully confident.”

Lucien only shrugged, at a loss for words. “Hedging my bets.”

Elain offered him a glass of red and when Lucien took a drink, he could hear his older brothers sneering words in his head—grape drink—Eris called anything under one hundred dollars that.

The alcohol took some of the edge off his nerves. Elain was closer than she’d ever been willingly, standing in front of him with that glass pressed to her lips. Lucien wanted to be it, wanted to know what it felt like to have her touch him like that. 

“That’s awfully bold,” she said, her voice light and breathless. Fuck fuck fuck.

Lucien set his glass to her nice, round table before he dared a step closer. She was so much shorter than him, would have to lean up on her tiptoes to kiss him if she wanted. God how he hoped she wanted to. 

“Isn’t the saying fortune favors the bold?” he murmured, brushing a curl from her cheek. Her skin was so soft, so warm beneath his fingertips. “Maybe it’ll favor me, too.”

Elain looked up through dark, thick lashes. “That was corny.”

He cocked his head as she dared a step toward him and oh my god, this was happening. Lucien didn’t dare breathe when she angled her chin, her thick cascade of hair falling down her shoulders. Eyes bright with invitation. All he had to do was not fuck this up. Just one kiss, which was more than he’d had for an entire year, despite wanting her that long. 

“All that matters is that my corny line worked,” he replied, reaching for her cheek. Lucien threaded his fingers through her hair before lowering himself to her. She surged upward, meeting him in the middle for what he thought was the most perfect first kiss in the history of first kisses. She smelled like rosemary and tasted like sugared lemon. Her mouth was soft, her fingers curling against his biceps as she reached for something to steady herself.

It was over far too quickly. Lucien wanted to yank her against him. To haul her up on the table and declare she was the only meal he was interested in. Already, his body was far tighter than he would have liked—all the blood he needed to form sentences was currently rushing to his cock. 

Elain smiled as she lowered herself back to the ground. “So uh…dinner?”

Lucien’s eyes nearly rolled back into his skull at the breathless way she said those words.

“I’m yours to command,” he said stupidly. “Tell me where you want me.”

He didn’t miss how her eyes darted toward the hall. He’d go, if she told him to. Lucien would lay flat on the bed and let her do every depraved thing she was thinking of—he’d thank her for it, even. Lucien didn’t care what it was, as long as they were both naked and— “Bread?” she was saying, though she, too, sounded far away.

“Yeah,” he replied, praying she didn’t look down at his shorts. “Whatever you want.”

ELAIN:

Whatever you want. 

What she wanted was for Lucien Vanserra to take off his shirt and let her lick the line between his abs straight to his— “How is this?” he asked, pulling out a loaf pan of bread he’d been working on.

“It’s good,” she lied. It was sagging in the middle, but not a bad first try given they were both distracted. It had been one polite kiss. One kiss. 

One kiss where he’d cupped her whole face in the palm of his hands. Now she knew he smelled like sunshine and woodsy smoke and how his arms felt beneath her fingers. It was too much knowledge for her small kitchen and her overactive imagination. Lucien was being perfectly polite, unaware that Elain was trying to figure out how to get him into her bedroom. 

Did she just ask? Did she say, hey Lucien, do you want to have sex with me—

What happened if he said no? Elain didn’t think she could stand the rejection after that kiss. She wouldn't just have to move out of her building, but the whole state if she wanted to escape him. While she carved the chicken, Lucien refilled their wine glasses and set the table, glancing over at her surreptitiously. Likely wondering why she was acting so strange. 

Lucien had a talent for keeping the conversation going which Elain immensely appreciated. She didn’t have to think about what to say—not when he so effortlessly had a comeback for everything she said. He maintained eye contact and somehow managed to be funny and laid back and charming.

She should have sent him home. He was dangerous. Elain had the distinct feeling that a man like Lucien Vanserra could very easily ruin her life. Which was why, when dinner was over and a third glass of wine seemed ruinous, Elain meant to say, You should probably go home.

But what she actually said was, “Do you want to stay and watch a movie?”

Lucien’s eyes gleamed. “Of course.”

God, he knew. He knew what she was trying to do when he slid off his tennis shoes and padded to the couch, one strong arm slung over the back of the white sofa. “Something scary,” he told her when she began scrolling, so close her arm was brushing his chest.

“Subtle,” she joked, daring to look up at him. That was a mistake. Lucien’s expression seemed to burn, lips parted as though that were the only way for him to get in enough oxygen. She felt the same—worse, maybe, when his fingers gripped her chin gently, tilting her face toward him.

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle,” he said, his mouth brushing hers. “In fact, I’d like to be a lot less subtle. Skip the movie and ask me to stay with you tonight.”

“What about the second date?” she asked, afraid if she slept with him, he’d go back to ignoring her.

“We’ll start when we wake up. I was thinking a picnic,” he panted, his thick, long hair forming a curtain around them. 

“You’re just saying that so I’ll invite you into the bedroom.”

Lucien smiled, his eyes fluttering shut. “You have no idea, Elain. Absolutely no idea how long I’ve been trying to get your attention.”

“How long?” she challenged, wondering why she was still dragging this out. All she wanted was to kiss him again. Longer, this time. Long enough all her good sense evaporated beneath the heat of his body. 

“When did I create that account, again?” he asked. She opened her mouth to call him a liar and Lucien pressed his advantage. This kiss was not like before. There was no hesitance, not tentative, polite pressing of the lips. Lucien knew he had her—or, perhaps he was afraid she’d come to her senses and he needed to take what he could before that happened.

All Elain knew was one moment she’d been about to speak and the next his mouth was slanted against her own. One of his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his lap before Elain could protest.

As if she would have. Elain was too quick to straddle his waist, well aware she was in a dress and the only thing keeping her from being fully bare against him was a thin strip of cotton already wet from the kiss before. Not that Lucien seemed to be faring much better given the moment she was seated against him, she could feel his own erection poking up through his shorts. 

Good, she thought with delight. Arms wrapped around his neck, Elain kissed him like she, too, was never going to get another shot at him. His tongue swept into her mouth, pulling the most embarrassing, unexpected moan from her throat.

Beneath her, Lucien seemed to buck unintentionally. He held her tighter, pushing her against him until his straining cock was lined up with her perfectly. It was experimental, to roll her hips against his shorts. Just to see what would happen if she did. 

Lucien groaned. Loud and sweet, right into her mouth, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress in an attempt to get her to do it again. It had been so long since Elain had kissed anyone—even before quarantine and the pandemic, Elain hadn’t been with anyone since she’d broken up with her ex. 

It was good, the taste of him in her mouth and his hands on her body. Knowing he wanted her, had wanted her maybe as long as she’d wanted him. That they were in this little hell together, desperate and needy. Elain arched again, rubbing herself against the hard slap of his body until Lucien pulled his mouth off her.

“Elain, Elain have mercy. Please,” he panted, sweeping his thumbs over her cheeks as he gulped down air. “You’re going to make me come if you keep that up.”

She didn’t believe him, rolling against his erection again. Lucien threw his head back, moaning while his back arched up off the couch. He was so absurdly hot, so ridiculously sexy. She yanked at his shirt, lifting it over his chest and throwing it to the floor.

“Maybe I want you to come,” she replied, hands gliding down the muscular planes of his body. 

Lucien’s dark eyes fell on her and in one smooth, fluid motion, he had them both on their feet.

Well, he was on his feet. She was in his arms while he strode purposefully through her apartment to her bedroom.

“How do you know where I sleep?” she asked when he tossed her to the rosy duvet. 

He angled his head toward the ceiling. “Same layout. How many nights have you laid just below me, touching that pretty pussy of yours, Elain?”

“Almost as many as I’ve touched myself thinking about you,” she dared to reply. Lucien doubled over, hands gripping the edge of the bed frame to steady himself. She gestured toward her nightstand, determined that her night with Lucien would live up to how she’d imagined it. “Would you like to see?”

He groaned again. “Yes. Show me.”

Elain sat up, eyes never leaving Lucien’s face as she reached behind her for the zipper. She had to stand to shimmy out of her dress, noting how white his knuckles were. He was clearly holding to the wood for dear life, which made stripping all the more fun. The wine helped with her nerves, leaving her own hands steady as she removed her bra and then so, so slowly, pulled her underwear to her ankles.

“Fucking christ,” he whispered, breathing through his nose like a wild, near feral animal. 

“Don’t move,” she reminded him as she laid herself back out on the bed. She’d get herself mostly there, she told herself. Spreading apart her thighs, Elain let Lucien see her fully unclothed just like she’d imagined.

“What’s in the drawer?” he asked when she raked her nails lightly over her parted legs.

“Things that vibrate. Do I need one?” she asked him, thinking she likely did.

“Not tonight,” he whispered, his gaze fully on her pussy. “I have other ideas.”

Elain’s fingers slid through the wetness coating her skin and Lucien whimpered. “What ideas?” she asked, rubbing slow circles over her clit. In truth, she rarely touched herself like this, preferring the ease of vibrating toys. It was fun to tease him, though. To see his obvious want written all over his face. To see the straining bulge in his shorts. 

Lucien, as if reading her mind, yanked them off over his hips, kicking them onto the floor without looking. It was Elain’s turn to whimper at the sight of his large, thick cock now held in his equally large hand. 

He pumped himself once, unaware of the thrill of arousal that spiked through her. She understood how a little grinding could bring him so close to the edge. If he kept stroking himself, she was likely to come, too. The sight of his muscular body, how his cock seemed big despite his hands, how hungry his eyes were was all too much. 

“What ideas, Lucien?” she asked again, still drawing lazy circles around that swollen nub of flesh. Lucien came closer and closer still, until he was at the side of the bed. Lifting his body onto the mattress with one powerful thigh, straddling her stomach so his cock nestled between her bare breasts.

“Fuck, Elain,” he whispered, thrusting up between the valley of skin. She pressed them together, using her fingers still sticky from her own arousal to tease the slick head of his erection. 

Their eyes met. “Do you have a condom, Lucien?”

He groaned. That was a no.

“Upstairs,” he said, thrusting again and again, slowly, clearly doing so for the view. She could have scooted a few inches and found his cock in her mouth. It was so tempting, and yet the moment she began to readjust herself, Lucien was swinging his body off of hers and throwing his shorts back on.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice ragged.

A second later, he was gone. No shirt, no shoes. Her door slammed shut as he raced back upstairs. Elain heard him thudding inelegantly overhead, heard his door slam, and then a second later he was back.

“Hard to fucking run like this,” he panted, ripping his shorts off again. Elain reached for him, wanting to kiss him as he tossed several foiled packets to the bed but Lucien fell to his knees loud enough the people below her likely heard, grabbed her by the knees, and dragged her right to the edge.

Without preamble, his mouth was on her and Elain understood why he’d said no to the vibrating toys. “Oh, god,” she moaned, the sound echoed by his own appreciative groan. Elain had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep herself silent even as she pressed her thighs around her face, ankles crossed behind his head. 

Lucien’s tongue was far better than her fingers, than any toy she could possibly own. Lucien licked with expert, unyielding precision and when one of his fingers slid into her body, Elain was wrecked. Grinding into him with shameless abandon. She’d never been so easy like this, so unconcerned about being sexy versus just chasing pleasure. 

Lucien pumped one, and then two, before finally working a third finger into her. Stretching her open to take him, she knew, though in truth Elain didn’t care so long as he kept rubbing that spot just inside her body and kept licking her clit. 

Elain couldn’t remember the last time a man had gotten her off. Had one ever? Graysen hadn’t, which had necessitated the toys. She could use them while he fucked her, which Gray had preferred. And Elain didn’t mind that—really, she didn’t—but sometimes a little effort would have been nice. 

Maybe it was unfair to compare her ex to Lucien, but Gray had never eaten her out like this. There was a desperation to Lucien, like he needed to do this perfectly—like he’d never see her again and this was his only chance.

If he always ate pussy like this, he could see her whenever he wanted. 

There was nothing elegant about the way she came. Clamped tight around his fingers, riding his face as she split apart, her body arching so hard off the bed she heard her spine crack. Elain scrambled back, gulping down air while Lucien licked himself clean of her before chasing her up the bed.

Their mouths collided, messy and rough in a clash of teeth and tongues. She could feel him between her legs, torturing himself by rubbing the head of his cock through her slick arousal. All she had to do was spread herself a little wider and he’d be inside her. She wanted him in her, wanted to know what it was like to share a body, to have him. 

Elain shoved him, ignoring that the taste of her pussy was now in her own mouth.

“My turn,” she whispered. 

LUCIEN: 

He was dreaming. That was the only thing that made sense to him because otherwise he was living in a reality in which Elain Archeron was naked. Naked and pushing him to the bed, where he was also naked and hanging on a razors edge. A condom was going to do absolutely nothing to save him. The second he was buried in her, he knew it was all over. Lucien had been too close on the couch just kissing her.

Usually, going down on his partner tempered some of his arousal. With Elain, it has only made things worse. Flat on his back while Elain and licked and sucked her way down his chest, Lucien knew he was ruined.

He felt her reach across the bed, searching for one of the condoms he’d hastily grabbed. It was optimistic to take a handful and yet he’d gotten this far, hadn’t he? Why not hope he’d get to fuck her the entirety of the night. That maybe he hadn’t brought enough, even, and would make another trip upstairs. 

Maybe this time he’d bring her with him, just so he could go down on her in his own bed, too. Lucien was certain his sheets could be improved by her pussy smeared across the fabric. For now, Lucien was happy to watch Elain settle between his legs and rip the corner of the gold foil packet.

Lucien gathered up her hair. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” he whispered, thinking he ought to say something appreciative. Thank you for fucking me, I might be in love with you now didn’t seem like the right thing. 

Elain looked up at him just as her fingers curled around the base of his cock. Did he think he was somehow owning this experience? That he was exuding confidence? Lucien practically whimpered at her touch, his hips arching off the bed.

She smiled. “Do you taste as good as you look?” she asked in that sweet voice of hers. God, she had been sent to kill him.

What a way to go.

“Find out,” he said in a voice that was decidedly not his. Whoever that man was, he sounded like he had a modicum of control, which Lucien absolutely no longer possessed. Maybe it would be smart to come, he rationalized. Maybe he should have taken a minute upstairs and finished himself and come back with the kind of stamina women boasted about.

Maybe— “Holy shit,” he choked, gripping her hair tight without meaning to. Elain sucked him into her mouth, unnoticed as he agonized over what to do next. The sight was obscene, her pink lips wrapped around the skin of his throbbing erection. She slid nearly half way before she gagged, widening her jaw to take in a breath of air. Lucien nearly came from the sight of her tongue peeking from her lips, of her hand gripping him so tight she must have felt his erratic, pounding heart. 

“Baby,” he tried, unsure what he was even trying to accomplish. Lucien could die happy at the sight of Elain’s bobbing head, of her soft, wet mouth working over him with the kind of enthusiasm he had only once dreamed of. “It’s too much.”

That was true, at least. His whole body was so tight, was buzzing with anticipation. He was buzzing, practically electric. 

“You’re going to make me come,” he whispered, trying one last time to get her off him. It hadn’t been a minute and she was going to laugh and call all her friends and tell them how quickly he’d come in her mouth.

Elain hummed, pulling him back to the present. “Come,” she said. A trail of her own saliva connected those swollen lips to his cock and fuck he almost did. He quite liked her telling him what to do, now that he thought about it. Elain took him back in her mouth, squeezed her fingers tight. One, two—

Lucien came with a rough gasp of air. She’d ripped that orgasm out of him and when he jerked his ups upward, unable to avoid the instinctual desperation to bury himself deeper, Elain let him pour himself into her throat. 

Lucien groaned again when Elain wiped her chin with the back of her hand. 

“I think that makes us even,” she said primly, sitting up on her heels.

He gaped for a second, still leaking come onto his stomach. Was she serious? 

“Get on your hands and knees,” he growled. It was the only thing he could think to say that wasn’t thank you, I love you— which, again, seemed like the wrong thing to tell her. 

“Are you going to spank me?” she teased, though Elain did exactly as he asked. Lucien’s eyes rolled upward at the sight of her heart shaped ass wiggling right in front of him. 

He ignored the condom she’d begun to open, unsure if it was safe to use it. It took three seconds to roll it over his erection and another to bring his palm stinging against her ass cheek.

Elain gasped. She hadn’t expected him to do that. Lucien hadn’t either, but she’d put the idea in his head and Lucien couldn’t resist. 

“Are you going to be my good girl?” he asked her. Say yes, say yes, say yes—

“What if I’m not?” she replied. Lucien didn’t know, though he lined himself him up that pretty, wet pussy of hers and pushed himself in an inch. The soft, warm heat of her body nearly made him come again.

He was so fucked. “My good girl gets to come on my cock. And my bad girl gets her ass spanked until she’s raw.”

Elain didn’t hesitate. “I’m your good girl.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck— Lucien buried himself inside her with a mighty stroke, using her hip to pull her back roughly. Elain moaned, squeezed so tight around him she might have been his own skin. For the first time in his life, Lucien thanked God for the condom. It was the only thing that kept him from becoming a mindless, rutting animal behind her. 

“Are you going to come for me?” he asked, slowly pulling himself out. Lucien would remember this moment until he died. On his death bed, thinking not of a life well lived, but his hands on Elain Archeron’s ass, spreading her apart while his cock vanished into her perfect pussy. 

“Make me,” she replied, half challenge, half plea. Maybe he should have asked for one of the toys in her bedside table, just to ensure his success. This was fine, he told himself. He’d put her on his back if he had to, and if that failed, he’d just go back down on her.

Actually, that seemed like an incredible idea. He nearly proposed it when Elain moaned, shifting to her forearms and changing the angle. Lucien gasped, suddenly deeper than he’d been before. Fuuuuuuuuuuck. 

“Do you like that?” he asked. It was a genuine question. He thrust again, the head of his cock brushing against something distinctly soft. He knew that spot—he’d had his fingers on it not five minutes before.

“Yes,” she panted. Perfect, he told himself. Keep his strokes steady and deep and he’d have her shaking around him in no time.

Though, just to be sure, Lucien snaked a hand around them for her clit. That made her moan, made her pulse around him which Lucien liked more than he’d ever admit. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he said, unsure what he was even saying. His mind was repeating out a rhythm—stroke, rub, stroke, rub, stroke, rub— 

“My good girl takes my cock so well,” he continued, babbling out words as he tried to hold back his own desperate need to come. Again. It seemed important to call her his good girl, to plant that seed in her head so when they woke in the morning and he bypassed all the social niceties to ask her to be his girlfriend, it seemed normal.

Natural, even. 

Elain had her face buried in her pillows, her hands pulling at her sheets until she’d pulled the corners off.

“Come for me, baby,” Lucien ordered, praying she would. He wasn’t above begging if he had to. “Come on my cock, let me see—”

She was loud enough to disturb the neighbors, not that Lucien cared. The sound speared straight into his balls, breathless and high pitched and needy.

His name, he realized. She’d screamed his name like that.

“Fuck, Elain—”

He couldn’t get another word out, not when his own orgasm ripped through him. Lucien couldn’t think, his eyes blurred black at the edges. When he did manage to look around, his eyes landed on the clock.

He felt like he’d been fucking her for hours. He’d managed twenty solid minutes. She’d come both times, though, which felt like a win all the same.

Lucien discarded the condom gingerly in the bathroom trash, giving her a moment to process what had happened alone. If she wanted him to leave, he’d go though he might also get on his knees and beg. That was a very real possibility, too. 

When he padded back into the dark room, Elain was under the blankets. The corner was flopped to the side in what he hoped was invitation. She smiled when she saw him, pulling him toward her without a word. Lucien tumbled into the bed, gathering her into his arms. Her hair smelled like honey, her body like sweat and to his relief, Elain was naked beneath the covers. 

“Let's make lemon bars in the morning,” he whispered. Elain twisted to look at him. It was clear she expected him to take off. 

“Okay,” she agreed, her brown eyes wide and shining. “And then what?”

“We have our picnic, don’t we?” Lucien didn’t mention he fully intended to fuck her in the grass. That could be a fun little surprise for later, after he’d convinced her to put on another one of those strappy little sundresses. 

Elain burrowed her head in the crook of his arm. “Good.”

“I’m not done with you, you know,” he said, though in truth he could use some water and a thirty minute nap. 

“I know you’re not, Lucien,” she said, trailing her finger over his stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Neither was he. 

[builder051]

NaNo day 1: There isn't even a den in this apartment!

Chasing Ghosts

Warnings for drug use, badly behaved college students, sickness/gore, very tiny allusion to eating disorders (blink and you'll miss it), mentions of politics, references to war (Operation Iraqi Freedom) and associated violence, strong language, and references to criminals/violent crime

_________________

James is used to the walk by now. Every Tuesday when his academic day is finished, he traipses around the University's man-made lake and sculpture garden as he makes his way to student housing. James tries not to seethe with discontent and forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He's being helpful. He's being a good big brother. He is not angry at Tasha for neglecting to submit a mail forwarding request.

James doesn't need to know the apartment number; the pile of damp-looking envelopes and sales ads on the doormat make his destination visible all the way down the block. He wonders for a moment what Tasha's would-be neighbors might think. She's slobbish and self-centered to the point of true oblivion? If James is honest, the description isn't far off. He just happens to love the little turd and can't help his instinct of automatic forgiveness, hence his dedication to clean up the studio and continue the charade that it's inhabited. Tasha's much safer living in James's spare room, but he hates to think of the consequences that will come if a protective service worker comes knocking at Tasha's technical address.

Shaking his head, James scoops up the paper and newsprint. It's mostly grocery store coupons and political flyers destined for the recycling bin. When Tasha eats, it's Steve's home cooking, and in the political realm, her opinion is already clear. She probably doesn't know half the candidates on the ballot, but James has heard her say that she'd rather vote for "the girl" instead of "the troll."

Tucking the junk mail under his prosthetic arm, James fumbles the apartment's key out of his pocket and into the lock. When it doesn't make the telltale click, his brow furrows. Anxiety prickles down his spine. James is sure he locked up after last week's tending. He trusts his paranoia more than his memory. He tries to think of legitimate reasons for the door to be open. Maybe maintenance? Someone to fix the plumbing? But James can't hold onto it as an option. It must be someone unwelcome. An intruder. An ax murderer. A terrorist planting a bomb.

As James tentatively turns the knob and eases the door open, it finally processes that the apartment's just unlocked. There are no signs of a forced entry. The lock doesn't even look picked, but it’s still far from reassuring.

James automatically jumps to worst-case scenario. The break-in must be premeditated. He thinks of careful surveillance and copied keys. Tasha might not notice a stalker. She's vulnerable. And now in desperate need of protection from what could be a serial killer. James just hopes he can head the guy off before he realized where Tasha actually lives.

The door momentarily sticks; the pile of unopened mail that’s made it through the slot over the last week makes crumpling and shredding sounds as James forces it open. So much for stealth. But this situation calls for a soldier, not a sniper. James squares his shoulders, shoves the door inward as far as it can go, and calls out in a clear, if not threatening, tone.

“Sergeant James Barnes, U.S. Army. If anyone’s in here, make yourself known.”

James’s nose is hit with the scent of smoke. Maybe a tinge of something chemical? He wills it not to be a bomb.

A throaty cough comes from deep within the apartment’s interior, along with a soft, “The fuck?”

Is it Tasha? James’s head is filled with white noise, and his hearing aids only increase the volume of the tinnitus. Whomever it is sounds impaired. Bound and gagged?

“Step out where I can see you. Hold your hands above your head.” James goes for his thigh holster, but of course it’s not there. He settles for holding his keys out like a many-bladed knife. The pieces of mail spill from under James’s arm as he brings his prosthetic hand under the other for support.

“Jamie?” A swath of frizzy red curls appears over the arm of the sofa. “Ugh.” Tasha’s pale face comes into view, her pointed chin dug into the upholstery.

James wants to sag with relief. He recognizes the thick smoky odor as cannabis, accompanied by the bitterness of bodily fluids. He can’t lose his nerve yet, though. Tasha still might not be alone.

“Anyone else?” James easily maintains his authoritative tone. “Clear the building.”

“Jamie, seriously, what the fuck?” Tasha’s eyes crinkle around the edges as she squints at him.

“Are you here of your own free will?”

“Yeah…?” Tasha raises an eyebrow. “Shut the door. You’re making it all bright.” She speaks the last sentence with a very familiar whine. As far as proof of identity goes, that’s definitely the ticket.

“Are you here of your own free will? Nobody is forcing you to be here?”

“Uh…no.” Tasha blinks slowly. “Shut the damn door, will you?” Her voice cracks, and Tasha’s head disappears, and she retches painfully.

James dutifully closes the door. A catalogue and a few credit card offers catch at the door jamb and tumble back out to the front stoop, and James suddenly remembers his original mission of sorting and recycling. He’ll get back to it. Tasha’s wellbeing is the priority, and from what he's seen so far, he has a feeling she's south of the mark.

James isn’t comfortable putting his keys away yet, but he folds them int a less threatening fist, which he grips so tightly the metallic points and ridges indent themselves into the pads of his fingers. He takes a breath to steady himself. Threat avoided, James thinks. Mission complete. He can drop his militaristic pretence for recon and rescue. Tasha does better with a more sensitive touch. If only he could be sure his body will behave.

The essence of marijuana becomes stronger as James steps into the apartment's tiny living area. His eyes burn and his head starts to buzz as if he's taking a joint himself. "Hey," he says quietly, stepping out of parade rest and into a more casual stance.

Tasha's bent double; she sits on the couch with her feet on the floor her torso draped down between her knees. She spits into a small bathroom trash bin, then raises bloodshot eyes to meet James's.

"Not feeling that great?" James asks. He kneels and steadies the bin for her.

"Nah." Tasha shakes her head, then squeezes her eyes closed and snuffles. She seems to notice James's vice-like grip on his keys as she uses the sleeve of her t-shirt to wipe her nose. "You, like, gonna stab me or something?" she asks hoarsely. "I'm not doing anything illegal."

James chooses his words carefully. "I was making sure no one was doing something illegal to you."

"By calling a bomb threat?" Tasha slumps back into the couch cushions. "I was tripping really good. Did you want me to start hallucinating desert rats or something? I hate it when the other side is all creepy."

Tasha's not one to respect anything, but James wishes she could see the situation from his side. Well, actually he doesn't; the 19-year-old has enough to deal with without wartime flashbacks to boot. James swallows his annoyance. This time is for helping Tasha after all. Postal pickup, sober friend. Same difference.

"Let me guess." James takes the slightest peek into the bin. "Robatussin and..." He pauses to think. The red fluid is easy enough to read. The green, though... "Bile from the deepest depths?" He greatly doubts Tasha would have blenderized spinach in her system.

"Bingo." Tasha slowly brings her arm around her head and leans toward her horizontal position again. "But your timing sucks. I have at least another hour before the pretty pictures go away, and you will not subject me to a moving vehicle in the meantime."

Seeing as Steve's currently at swim practice, the only available mode of transport is the city bus. James decides not to drop the news.

"You can stay put," he concedes, but he sits back on his knees and straightens his spine. "But we have to talk."

"I promise I'll never, ever do it again." Tasha doesn't bother to open her eyes.

"Hey, you're supposed to listen first."

Tasha puts a hand over her upward-facing ear.

"Stop." James folds Tasha's arm back down to her side, then gently prode her with a thumb between her eyebrows. "Seriously."

"Ok, what." Tasha gives him a glare, but her eyes gloss over almost immediately.

"This place reeks of weed," James states.

"It's a fucking college dorm." Tasha's whine is back. "It was like that before I moved in. Or, well, you know."

James doubts it, but again, he lets Tasha's words fly, leaving no meaning behind. "How often are you coming in here to smoke?"

"I don't know. Once? I guess?" Tasha's voice is thin and watery.

James nudges the bin a bit closer to Tasha's leg. She dry retches a few times, then brings up a trickle of pink-tinged spit once she's well over the trash can.

"I don't believe you," James says in all seriousness. "Are you going to your classes? You're going to flunk out if all you do is hole up and get high." He can't stop himself from going on. "Or is this where you go on Friday nights in your tube tops and high heels? Is there alcohol in here? Do you, like, have people over?"

"God, Jamie." Tasha wraps her arms around her stomach and gulps.

Guilt begins to sicken James's own gut. Is he being too direct? It's always a careful balance to strike; too lax, and she'll ignore him. Too harsh and she'll spite him. James wishes he still had the ability to hear his own tone.

Tasha looks like she's about to cry, but she doesn't. She just vomits again, then cringes. "Cherry," she mumbles. "What is a fucking cherry? Do these people actually eat fruit?" She shoots an accusatory look at a the smashed boxt halfway under the sofa. James recognizes it as the packaging from the Robatussin.

"Tash." James won't stop until he gets some actual answers. "Tell me you're not hosting intoxicated orgies in here."

Tasha takes a long time to spit and wipe her lips on the back of her hand. "If I did that, there'd be no carpet."

It's a valid point. The low-pile beige running wall-to-wall is as clean as its last shampooing. James considers. Tilts his head to the side. "Ok. I'll give you that."

"Gee, thanks."

"But are you cutting class? How often--?"

"You're being kind of an idiot," Tasha says with remarkable patience. "How many days in a row can you hit up without becoming a permanent benzo zombie?"

James struggles to hold the upper hand. They have an unspoken agreement not to talk about James's usage. He's a grown ass adult with his own legal prescription. The fact that Tasha's a grown ass adult as well with her own ID to buy over-the-counter hallucinogens isn't supposed to be in the same league.

James sighs. "Yeah. Fine. I get it."

"Do you now?" Tasha murmurs. She's heading toward unconsciousness again. "If you need somewhere to, you know, convalesce. The door's open."

"Hmm." James finds his keys and rattles them close to Tasha's face. "About that. I expected this place to be empty, but then the door was unlocked."

"So you went into ninja mode?" Tasha laughs, as if James's militaristic behavior was just a party trick.

"That's not actually funny." James's expression goes hard. "I can't stop once that switch turns in my brain. You know that."

"If you've got oxy on you, there's plenty of room." Tasha waves vaguely at the opposite end of the couch."

"You are not making this place into a drug den. It's, what, 400 square feet? There isn't even a den in this apartment." James laughs as well, but it's cold and incredulous.

"Well, I'm going back to lights and colors," Tasha says decidedly. She looks to the bin, then seems to decide she's done evacuating stomach contents. She flops back to lie on her side and lets her eyelids slide shut.

James gives it one last try. "I'd rather you do this at home. It's all legal; I really don't care. Just, safety, you know?"

"Sure." Tasha lets out a deep, peaceful breath. "Or you could just stay here."

There's no hope in moving her now, and James's inner vigilante hasn't completely gone back into hibernation. "I'll stay," he acquiesces. "But just for today." He turns back to the entryway.

"But-" Tasha points again to the couch. "Where are you going?"

James stoops and gathers the mess of mail into two great handfuls. "Entertainment," he says simply, then taps a few envelopes on the top of Tasha's head.

James sits on the couch, crosses one leg over the other, and begins to sort. He peruses the Walgreens mailing, but puts it directly into the discard pile as soon as he sees the perforated coupons offering half-price cold and flu medications.

[wolverineblues]

5, 8, 10, 24, 38, 48

5. what’s the last album you listened to?

Believe Nothing by Hawg Jaw! 90s sludge metal sounding type stuff :)

8. if you could choose one language to instantly be fluent in, which one would you pick?

aside from spanish which i am somewhat fluent in (beside english), for practical reasons, probably Vietnamese! and just for the hell of it, Irish Gaelic

10. what was your dream job as a child and is it anything like your current job?

i dont really recall if my dream job as a kid was any different from my dream job now (an artist). the area of art i want to be in has definitely changed through the years though... as for my current job, its at a certain hardware store, so, pretty different lol. i do use my knowledge of art (mostly color theory tbh) to help customers decide on which products to get though so, there is that!

24. do you collect anything unusual?

mmm not really? i've always wanted to collect animal bones and like. older firearms (like those 1800s revolvers) and other weaponry though (mostly blades). i just dont have the space. the weirdest things at this point is probably junk mail and receipts lol

38. what’s your favourite big cat species?

probably tigers! it was cheetahs as a kid though. i still have a soft spot for them

48. if you could pick one craft to instantly be good at, which one would it be?

metalworking or woodworking would be so cool, leaning more toward metalworking tho

[nightmare-the-cat]

Crimson Wings III

Hunter becomes Lucifer’s equivalent of a secretary, using a Rune Stone (old time hell newspaper/mail dispenser) and the radio to keep up with current goings on-with all the facts he can gather.

…………

There had been a rather important change in Lucifer’s routine as of late.

“Sir-I have the daily report ready, if you’re ready for it”

The voice was timid, but it was a far cry better than the complete silence they’d started with. Lucifer chuckled and turned in his seat, current project in hand, to find Hunter waiting stiffly for permission to begin.

With just a little hand wave, all the tension in his shoulders melted away, and the little blonde began his self-assigned daily report once more.

“Okay, so starting with what you seemed to care about most from previous reports, here is an update regarding the discovery of that dead Exorcist after the latest Extermination-its been released that only a severed head had been recovered, no sign of a body, so I suppose now we know why the next Extermination is in four months instead of ten” Hunter hummed, pacing back and fourth with a little bit of flourish. “Your daughters hotel on the edge of Pride has another confirmed resident-side note, the amount of disrespect towards her in the media is borderline disturbing-and that, quote, “off brand shithole” Loo Loo Land in Greed has burned down-“

The report continued on for the next ten minutes, Hunter always starting with what Lucifer would deem most important or relevant, then going down a list of things that could be of note, all ended with the flimsy “gossip” and “business” sections that were mostly there for Hunters sake.

At the end of the report, Lucifer stuck the finished rubber duck on Hunters head, this one stylized to look like a Blue Jay, another little habit they’d gotten into.

“Nope, Flapjack wasn’t one of those either-but it’s a decent guess” the blonde hummed with a smile, retrieving the little bird from his head and carefully placing it on the “Incorrect Guess” shelf, right below a tiny outcrop labeled “Flapjack”. “Shall I move on to your mail? We’ve finally reached the end of our catch-up summaries-and there’s even a few messages for today”

“Of course” Lucifer hummed, taking note of how far to the right the latest guess was placed, before gathering up his cup of lukewarm tea and settling back down. “I’m sure the Goetia are going off on me for ignoring them”

“Well, you’re half right. But for a start, last months mail-all of it was junk, but there’s some things of interest-phony ransoms via some imp mafia, a report from a hell incident on earth involving Beelzejuice and… a fish, and some tabloids speculating about possible relations between an imp and one of the big seven-nothing new there” the boy hummed, quickly moving down the scroll. “Onto current events-I’ve managed to get you off the list of all those junk adverts someone signed you up for, as today was free and clear!”

“Ah, what would I have done without you?” Lucifer chuckled, to which Hunter cackled, turning to face the king of hell with amusement.

“Been buried alive like I was when you finally checked your Rune Stone-that’s what” the boy hummed, before turning back to his list, ignorant of the proud smile that was sent his way. “Now-there are some demands here from the Ars Goetia for a formal party….”

…………

Another perk of having Hunter as a (self-appointed) sort of secretary around the manor was that the boy brought up a lot of good points about the current state of hell. For instance, despite his discomfort with voicing his personal opinions on political matters, he was not afraid to speak up if he felt something needed to be addressed.

In this case, it was more like something that needed to be checked up on.

“So, I’ve gathered you haven’t been checking in on the other major sins since… seven years ago, approximately?”

It wasn’t too out of the blue of a question-Hunter sometimes dictated Lucifer’s mail responses due to his insane speed-writing skills, not to mention his rifling and summation of all the unread mail from the last five years. Nowadays he did his secretarial work in the corner of Lucifer’s study, both from Lucifer’s own insistence, and the logical idea that he could ask relevant questions without feeling like he was intruding on something.

“Mm-yeah, pretty much. Lilith was more invested in keeping the Sins in check, though” Lucifer hummed, gently sculpting a crest on his current little red-breasted rubber-robin-duck. “They’re mostly kind of…. How to put this appropriately…. Assholes?”

“And… you don’t think it’s a BAD idea to leave the other rings of hell to their own devices? Unchecked?” Hunter questioned, which gave Lucifer pause. “Far be it from me to tell you what should be done, but I DO have experience in managing a similar political climate-even if the prophet-king in charge was an obsessive control freak-and leaving the only people who can challenge your power to their own devices can have pretty… INTENSE, consequences”

For the second time that day, Lucifer turned to look at Hunter, who had a rather strained expression on his face.

“Okay” Lucifer said slowly, filing that disturbing bit of information away for later. It was screaming “cult” vibes and he was NOT liking it-but Hunter did have a point that needed to be addressed. “What do you propose I do now?”

“Well, for starters, a voluntary meeting within the next month-it will tell you which sins are power hungry boot lickers, curious about your motives, or legitimately loyal to you. It’s enough prep time for me to make the manor look presentable, but soon enough that it will only be a priority for sins who care” the blonde explained, quickly scribbling down a little chart with the crests of the other sins and a timetable. “Then, once we know who’s interested, and you casually talk about whatever policies you want to enforce, we make a second, mandatory meeting date at a later time for ALL sins- including an escort for those who try to blow it off-and make ironclad proclamations about what codes of conduct the sins need to follow going forward-and appropriate consequences for code violations”

It was very apparent Hunter had been thinking on this for a while. If Lucifer was honest, it sounded like a fair and reasonable plan of action, gouging out supporters before making non-negotiable laws. It also gave those who held support a voice before the laws would be solidified.

This wasn’t just “political experience”, this was political EXPERTISE-at least in a climate similar to hell. The ramifications of that made Lucifer squirm a little on the inside. Hunter himself had admitted he died young-like, MINOR young, what kind of person had put a BOY in charge of a government? He didn’t know-but if he ever found the sinner responsible, it would not be a pretty execution.

“I’ll admit-this is a good plan, and you have a point about my negligence in keeping the sins in line” Lucifer hummed, slinking up to the boy and giving the little chart a look over. Hunter flinched when Lucifer then cupped the side of his face, the side with that scar, but didn’t pull away. “This… “political experience” you speak of… were you given any power of your own over others?”

“Oh, heavens no. My title was mostly just that-a title. I had no real power-just a name to be respected” the blonde admitted, trying to look away, but Lucifer held his head in place. “…I was an errand boy at best. My opinion held no weight. Anything I brought up to improve political relations was thrown out. I was a figurehead-and that was it, though I didn’t realize it until….”

Hunter went silent, and Lucifer let him look away this time, hand moving to the boys armored shoulder instead.

He never questioned the choice of armor on a sinner before, but…

It didn’t bode well for what this boys life experience had been.

“Well, you’re here with me now, and I think you have a good head on your shoulders” Lucifer chuckled, ruffling the boys hair before summoning up a little manifesto of his own. “Now, why don’t we start planning a little shindig for our impending guests? If we want to reclaim some order in hell, it’s best to have a warm welcome waiting for them!”

[waywardxrhea]

Part Twenty-Three: 27/16

[slow burn romance between Steve Rogers and SHIELD agent Emma Baker]

Warnings: 18+, contains humor, fluff, mental health, family trauma, romance, angst, language, violence, (potentially smut later on).

installment list

Word count: 1.9k

Emma doesn't celebrate her birthday, but Sam insists that this year be different.

One day in late November, Emma is curled up in a blanket sitting at the kitchen island doing research with Sam and Maria. The three of them are looking more into Ant-Man and what he ended up doing with the tech he stole from them.

"How did you tell Steve you knew about this Ant-Man guy again?" Maria asks Sam.

"I told him that we were doing research much like we are right now and found him," Sam replies.

"I still have the footage you know if you want to show him someday," Emma teases.

"If you show him that, you'll have to show him you getting your ass beat too," he tells her. "Oh, and shooting me out of the sky."

"Samuel, you told me to do that!"

"And I thank you for your effort in saving my ass, but it still happened."

Maria puts a hand up and says, "Will you two stop your bickering and look at what I found?"

The two of them peer over to her laptop as she turns it around. On the screen, they see a kid in a red hoodie and mask fighting criminals in Queens. Emma is the first to speak, asking, "Who is that?"

"He calls himself Spider-Man apparently," Maria replies, pointing at the title of the video.

"What's he do?"

"Well in the more popular videos he is stopping petty criminals from stealing bikes and food, sometimes from hurting or assaulting people on the streets, but mostly he seems to help old ladies cross the road and give directions around Queens."

"He sounds like a nice kid, why does he interest us though?" Emma asks.

Sam had turned his attention to his own laptop while they were talking and brought up a second video. After watching it, he turns the screen to them and says, "Because of this."

On the screen, the kid lifts a car with one hand like it was nothing so he could get someone's skateboard out from under it. Emma's jaw drops as she whispers, "Oh wow, that's why." She pauses for a second, watching the kid, and then she adds on, "That kid's gotta be stronger than Steve."

"No doubt," Maria agrees.

"There's no way, look how scrawny he is," Sam says while watching another video of the Spider-Man.

"Looks can be deceiving Sam, remember how tiny Lang was when he kicked your ass?"

"You know what Emma," he says while laughing.

"Why aren't we moving to get him on board for the Avengers?" Emma asks Maria.

"Well all of this is relatively new, he just surfaced a week or so ago, so we need more time to gather data on him. We don't want to spook the poor kid," Maria tells her. "I have told Tony though, so he'll keep an eye on him if we end up needing him."

Sam nods and turns his laptop to himself again. "Let's take a break for a bit, this seems like a good stopping point for now."

"You just want to figure out how that kid does that," Maria teases while closing her laptop and getting up to get a drink.

"And you would be absolutely right."

While they take a break, Emma takes the opportunity to check her emails and clear out the junk mail. As Maria comes back to the island, she tells her, "Emma, you really need to put a program on your laptop so you don't get all that junk."

"I do have one on my work account, just not my personal one," she replies while clicking through some emails and deleting them.

One of the emails she clicks on explodes confetti on her screen, and it catches Sam's eye, bringing his attention away from the Spider-Man videos. "What's that about?"

"Oh, nothing, just junk mail," Emma replies casually.

Sam leans closer and sees the words on the screen before shouting, "Emma that isn't junk, it says happy birthday! When was your birthday? Also, how do I not know your birthday?"

"It was yesterday, and you don't know because it isn't a big deal, okay?"

Sam's jaw drops and he looks at Maria, asking, "Did you know it was her birthday yesterday?"

"Yeah, why do you think the two of us went out for sushi?" she asks as casually as Emma did.

"I told you we didn't even have to do that, Maria," Emma tells her as she continues scrolling on her laptop.

Sam looks between them and asks "Why are you two so nonchalant about not celebrating Emma's birthday?"

Emma shrugs and replies, "It's just another trip around the sun. I never celebrated growing up. Even with my grandparents, I only had four birthdays with them before I moved out when I was 18. I haven't really celebrated since."

"You're telling me you haven't celebrated your birthday in like..." he pauses and does the math before exclaiming, "nine years!?"

"Sam, keep your voice down," Emma tells him, "it's not a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal," Sam says.

At that moment Steve pops his head into the kitchen to see what the commotion was about, asking, "What's a big deal? Did you guys find any leads?"

"That's not important right now, what's important is-" Sam tries to say, but Emma interrupts him.

"That we found another enhanced individual in New York!"

"That's not important right now!" Sam interjects. "Steve, yesterday was Emma's birthday and she refuses to celebrate."

"Because like I said it isn't a big deal," Emma says, jumping off the stool she was sitting on to grab a drink from the fridge.

She grabs a drink and starts to walk out of the kitchen area when Steve says, "Let us at least get you a cake."

Emma stops walking and sighs. She can't help but smile at Steve's gesture, so she replies, "Fine, but only because I like cake."

Steve smiles and the two of them head out to the garage before heading into town to get a cake. While driving there, Steve asks Emma, "So why don't you celebrate your birthday? I never even knew when it was until all of SHIELD's files were leaked. I never brought it up though because you never did."

"Oh, so you checked my SHIELD file?" Emma asks in a teasing tone.

Steve chuckles, replying, "Yes I did, but it was to protect you. I wanted to make sure if there was anything in there someone could use against you I would know about it. For your safety."

Emma smiles and replies, "My hero."

"I'll always have your back, Em," Steve tells her with a smile. "Now tell me about this enhanced individual you guys found out about." Emma nods and dives into the story about what they saw on Spider-Man while they drive to a nearby town to look for a cake.

When they get to the town with a cute little downtown area filled with shops, Steve parks the car and the two of them set out to find a bakery. After walking down the street a bit, Emma hugs her arms to her body. When they left she neglected to grab a jacket because she thought she could handle the cold. Steve sees this and takes his jacket off to wrap around Emma's shoulders. He smiles as he pretends not to see the blush on her cheeks at the gesture. "Steve, you don't have to, I can tough it out," Emma tells him after regaining her composure.

"It takes a bit for me to get cold, you need it more than I do, Em. Now let's get moving, I think I see a bakery sign up ahead."

Emma nods and tells him "Thank you" before they both continue their walk down the sidewalk. The smell of Steve's cologne on the jacket surrounds Emma and she pulls the fabric closer to her body to stay warm. She had never wanted to be in Steve's arms more than she did at that moment.

When they get to the shop, Steve holds open the door for Emma and they make their way into the small storefront. The smell of baked goods hangs in the air and Emma closes her eyes to fully enjoy the scent. When Emma reopens her eyes, they are met with a case filled with cakes of all sizes and colors. She crouches down and admires them like a kid. From behind the counter, a little old woman asks, "What can I do for you kids?"

"We're looking for a birthday cake," Steve tells the woman. "Preferably white chocolate raspberry if you have it."

Emma looks up at Steve and smiles. "You remembered my favorite cake flavor."

"How could I forget? You made it for me when I first got off the ice, it was fantastic."

Emma smiles even more, and the woman looks between the two and says, "I have just the thing. This one right here in the middle. Now, what do you two lovebirds want the frosting to say?"

Both of their cheeks become tinted red at the question and they both refuse to look at each other as Steve manages to get out the words, "Happy birthday Emma."

The woman nods and smiles at the two of them. "Here, try a sample of some of my other pastries. They're delicious."

"Thank you," Emma tells her as she takes the small tray.

They sit down at the two-person table in the corner of the store and try the pastries. "These are really good," Steve says, avoiding the subject of the two of them as a couple.

Emma nods as she pops a piece of croissant into her mouth. After she finishes it, she looks out the window and notices little flurries of snow start to fall. "Oh look!"

Steve is distracted for a second by the whimsy in her eyes before finally looking out the window at the snow falling. "The snow's really beautiful in a small town like this. Back home in Brooklyn it just isn't the same."

"I know what you mean," Emma replies with a nod. "Growing up we moved around to many small towns like this. The wintertime was my favorite because of the snow. When I moved to the city, like you said, it just wasn't the same."

After Emma says this, the little woman comes up to them with the cake, opening the box to show them the beautiful writing on top. "It's wonderful, thank you," Emma tells her.

"You're welcome. Happy birthday, sweetie." Emma smiles as Steve pays the woman and they head for the door. The little woman waves to them as she calls out, "You two be safe out there."

"Thank you, ma'am, we will," Steve tells her as he holds the door open for Emma who carries the cake.

The two carefully make their way to the car, making sure not to fall on the accumulating ice. They get back to the car and Emma buckles the cake box into the backseat before getting into the front. When she settles into the seat and cranks up the heater, she looks at Steve and says, "Thank you. For all of this."

"Anytime," he tells her as she puts the car into gear to head back to the compound to celebrate Emma's birthday with the rest of the team.

a/n: the fluff!! I cry lol

also the intention with the chapter title was inspired by 30/90 from Tick… Tick… Boom! so we’ll add that song here too!

link to the next part

[endlesstwanted]

Sundays Were What For?

Just posted a sequel to my multi soulmate AU ficlet Butterfly Marks and How To Find Them! This one was written for the @domaystic day 15 prompt — Junkmail, the @blackwidowbingo prompt — “I work harder than everyone in this entire place.” and the @marvelrarepairbingo Spring Fling Bingo 2023 prompt — Yay we survived sex (NSFW card #2).

Read on Ao3!

Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Pairing: Bruce Banner/Jane Foster/Natasha Romanov

Tags: Soulmates AU, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Natasha-centric

Summary: Natasha didn’t know that the word soulmate meant “getting rid of the junk mail on a Sunday afternoon”, but in the end, she wouldn’t change it for anything.

Wordcount: 1,055

Excerpt:

“Well, I had nothing better to do. And it was junk mail mostly,” she gestures to the full box of paper. “But you two have some letters; I put them on the dining table.” “That’s so nice of you, babe,” Jane kisses her head. “I can’t help but be sorry you had to do it all by yourself.” “It’s over now, at least. I’ve too survived the afternoon,” with a chuckle, Natasha turns enough to be able to caress Bruce’s face, watching how he melts under her touch. “I think I deserve a kiss or something now,” she then points out, turning back to Jane. Her boyfriend and girlfriend exchange a look, taking too long that it makes Natasha think she’s only getting some teasing before dinner time.

[how-ai-help-digital-marketers]

How Does AI Help Digital Marketers?

What Is AI?

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is a software technology that mimics human intelligence in problem-solving, decision-making, and recognizing patterns. Unlike humans, AI performs advanced tasks in processing various amounts of data, data collection, data analysis, machine learning, and deep learning. Let's have a look on how AI is useful for digital marketers.

Examples Of Artificial Intelligence

AI has been a game changer in various fields and is already making a huge impact in everyday life.

Common examples of AI are,

Self-Driving Cars: Autonomous cars are loaded with sensors that constantly monitor everything going around in the car. It uses AI to think and function like humans with combined technologies of Image Recognition, Computer Vision & Deep Learning.

Spam Filters: Spam Filters use AI to filter junk mail and send them directly to the trash/spam folder.

Netflix: Netflix is one of the most popular entertainment channels across the world. It effectively uses AI to improve productivity by giving personalized recommendations based on previous searches and preferences.

Google Translate: Google Translate converts one language to another using the machine learning function of AI.

Facial Recognition: Phones, Laptops, and PCs use face filters to detect and identify facial features for security access. It has been used in highly secured areas in various fields.

Digital Assistant: Digital assistants like Siri, and Alexa use AI to help users set timers, Reminders, making phone calls, and more.

AI In Digital Marketing

In General, Digital Marketing is the form of advertising through digital platforms/technologies to connect with the customers for promoting products and services.

Incorporating AI in digital marketing, helps us to get customer insights and behaviors by collecting vast amounts of data so that the customers will get relevant content based on their choices on site which eventually helps the business to achieve its goals.

How Marketers Are Using AI In Digital Marketing?

Content Creation

AI is mostly used by marketers for content creation. It is money and time-efficient. Chat GPT is the most commonly used AI tool for generating content in recent times. That's why it is called an AI Generative tool.

However, we can't completely rely on AI for the content of an entire project/blog or whatever. It can be used for catchy headlines, captions, social media posts, and getting key points. We have to use it in the appropriate platform along with our creativity.

Forecasting Sales

One of the great uses of AI is predictive analysis. AI predicts the sales from the outcomes of the campaigns and it helps the marketers to run better campaigns to increase the sales.

Chat Bots

Chatbots have been used in marketing for several years. It can solve all consumer queries quickly, answer repeated questions by using a Natural language process, and suggest products or services that match customer preferences which leads to better customer Support and satisfaction.   

Data Analytics

Data Analytics is one of the main uses of AI. Gathering data from all the sources helps marketers understand customers' purchases, preferences, engagement on the page, and more.

SEO                           

Artificial Intelligence has a huge potential in search engine optimization. Search engines use bots to crawl and index web pages to rank them, analyze website traffic, and identify related Keywords that can improve search engine ranking.

Email Marketing

AI can create nurturing emails for marketing and analyze the past email history and performance. It also sends automated emails depending on the customer's behavior.

Media Buying

AI provides recommendations on your ad and makes you target the right audience to improve performance.

Google Ads uses AI which is useful in the auction process.

Here are some other amazing examples of AI in digital marketing. Have a look at this to get some idea and inspiration.

Tools Used In AI Digital Marketing

There are so many marketing tools that help marketers to perform various functions from content generation and automated tasks to SEO.

Jasper - This tool is used for generating and optimizing content.

Midjourney- Converts natural language into images

Surfer SEO - This tool analyzes our page against other pages in the SERP using on-page cloud optimization.

Many Chat - Using NLP, it provides customer service on social platforms like WhatsApp.

Examples Of AI In Real-Time Applications

Netflix

Netflix uses viewers' history to determine the personalized recommendations of movies or TV shows. For example, if a user watches an actor movie or a specific genre movie, it keeps showing recommendations of that criteria. AI performs this technique through data and predictive analysis.

Amazon

Amazon uses AI for forecasting sales and data analysis. In Amazon with predictive analysis, it recommends products to determine if a customer is about to make a purchase or not. This enables the marketing team to determine which products to prioritize first for each customer, allowing them to execute a product campaign that boosts sales and the ROI of marketing campaigns.

Dream Host

Dream Host is a business name generator app that helps users to create unique business names using the provided input keywords, it also checks the availability of the domain. Artificial intelligence techniques perform these functions.

Social Media

Social media plays a vital role when it comes to marketing. Apps like Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter use AI in their way for customer-friendly services.

Facebook uses AI to filter spam or hateful comments. It also has a translator which automatically converts the content into our desired language.

Instagram uses AI to show us relevant content or posts on the Explore page based on our previous likes, follows, and comments.

Pros Of AI In Digital Marketing

When it comes to technology, there will always be pros and cons. Below we will see both the advantages and disadvantages of using AI for digital marketers.

ROI

The main purpose of using AI for digital marketers is to increase ROI and run campaigns that are very easy to track. It also helps to identify the correct media channel. This will help the marketing team save time and money, make them work more productively and increase profits.

Increase In Productivity

AI automates a variety of jobs to enable us to use our time and efforts for more challenging and logical thinking tasks.

Improve Customer Relationships

AI helps the marketing team to improve the customer relationship by automating the product campaign which makes the customer purchase the product and make personalized recommendations based on the previous purchase helps in re-purchase and improves the relationship with the company.

Cons Of AI In Digital Marketing

Privacy

Customers value privacy very much as everything digitalized these days requires cookies and history for future preferences and suggestions.

Content Quality And Inaccuracy

AI technologies operate solely based on their training, resulting in inaccurate data constituting them, and they display predictions, results, and decisions of low quality and inaccuracy.

AI tools are great in so many ways but it is very important to know how to fit AI’s role into the business and career goals. It's not enough to know how to use AI, it's very important to have a deep dive into the basics of AI functions and whether it produces enough leads and productivity.

Along with AI, it is essential to focus on some soft skills that will complement the professional skills in AI-driven marketing.

Strategic Thinking

Creativity

Agile Thinking

Innovation

Along with the skills, if we incorporate Artificial Intelligence into the correct place and know its limitations, it's not replacing the role of marketers just yet.

[frogsandfries]

Getting out of the house today was kinda nice. It was nice to work in my sketchbook somewhere other than the living room or office. We picked up some stuff for the house--we had to leave a couple things at the store because I didn't know if they'd fit in my bag. They wouldn't have. I got some regular shading brushes and decided to try some brushes that are meant for gluing. I looked for the mermaid paper, like what I used for my enamel pin board.

They didn't have any. I saw a book recently on reddit that used a paper like that and I was inspired.

I got a bunch of lineworks inked today, so that was pretty cool.

I wish this city catered more to the arts. It's so hard to find like, cool papers for book making or--like, I asked the cashier at Michael's if they had Derwent colored pencils. He didn't think so. I mean, even if the next city over had a Blick or like, even a Utrecht, anything!

Anyway, I guess I should get some sleep. Looks like I'm sleeping alone again, for the second time this week.....I can't stay up all night playing video games--I can't even stay up all night working on my graphic novel. I have to try to stay mostly diurnal.

Speaking of which, between the medication, the apple cider vinegar, and the kombucha (and maybe finally upping my SSRI), I've felt a lot better--my digestion is closer to normal than it's been since I moved to New Mexico, I haven't had the same need to nap. I do feel a little guilty though: I feel like I've been given permission by several doctors to indulge my ARFID, and whenever I try to mention disordered eating, I feel like it gets completely blown off..... So I'm just over here patting myself guiltily on the back for feeling hungry most of the day...... which is probably fine? Eat less, poop less?

Like....... when does disordered eating become a problem? When I'm so used to living that way, that I'm down to 125 pounds somehow? When I'm clearly wasting away?? When I'm too fat to take the bus?? Honestly it's fucked up: I tell doctor after doctor that I would just rather choose not to eat and because I'm obese....... that's like, not concerning?? I'm not over here bingeing, I'm really not. I think being given basically permission to indulge my disordered eating will make it easy to lose the weight but...... it's not okay to willingly, easily choose hunger..... and I know this? But I'm being told..... it is? I mean, I guess luckily, I have been forced to face that it is disordered eating and as such, I've been working on overriding it. Perhaps to my detriment, as it would turn out..... Anyway.

It'd be nice to take my headphones and my sketchbook and just go hang out tomorrow, maybe at the library or a favored café. That'd be cool. I'd also love to get ahold of just a ton of cool end papers and fabrics for book binding.

I'm also starting to collect decent paper, mostly from our junk mail, so I can add it to my paper making hoard. At some point, I'll probably start by shredding it, and eventually I can pulp-ify it, dehydrate that for later, and so on. I want to make at least a sketchbook worth of paper and there are a bunch of paper making tools that I don't have: a frame and deckle, screen of any sort, a tub for the water, cloths for drying the paper, blender for blending the pulp........ probably other stuff. And I mean, I'm always complaining about how plain my paper is. As much as I scoffed about adding shaved crayon to my paper, I could grind up some water color and maybe dust that over my paper for example.

Thinking about making paper reminds me of experimenting with papier mache clay, when I would do an initial blend of my paper shreds, wring that out and crumble it, leave it to dry and then soak it back down and blend it again. I think that's really how I'm going to get a finer paper like I want.

I'm clearly obsessed with almost every aspect of bookbinding.

[adventuresinclientservice]

Why bother with direct marketing?

Years ago my colleagues Simon Sinek and Tony Gomes were running an agency called Sinek/Gomes – yes, this is the Simon of Start With Why fame; a check of their bios reveals both of them have selective amnesia when it comes to their then-partnership – but they also moonlighted as adjunct professors at Columbia University, teaching in its graduate program on Strategic Communications.  I at the time was, to my eternal regret, CEO of Rapp’s New York office.  

At some point they reached out, asking me if I would lead a session on direct marketing, so on the appointed day and hour I dutifully made my way uptown to Columbia’s Morningside Heights campus.

“What makes you think I’m from New York?”

Now mostly supplanted and largely superseded by web-based initiatives, direct response marketing still very much mattered in the early aughts, especially those initiatives that addressed individual clients, customers, and prospects by name.  Except, of course, when you misspelled the names of recipients, which was beyond calamitous.

Wanting to make and reinforce this point, I had an oversize mailing envelope mocked up with Simon’s name and address on it, with one small adjustment: I added an “e” to Simon’s name, turning him into “Simone.”

I recall Simone – oops, I mean Simon -- being none too happy about this sudden change in gender, but it drew a few laughs from listeners, and I was able to make my point:  get the names right and you’re golden; get them wrong and recipients will never forget or forgive, holding the brand, the company, the product/service forever responsible, accountable, and to blame.  Instead of reinforcing what you are trying to sell, you erode it, often damaging it beyond salvation.

Blowing it on names right certainly isn’t the only thing you can screw up; witness an email I received from Nathalie Schallier, who works at Onyx Media:

“Hey Robert - I see you’re based in New York ....

“Was wondering if you’re interested to hearing how I can create 15 on brand social media posts for Solomon Strategic? The posts will be written and designed according to your preferences, so they match your tone of voice perfectly.”

I wrote back:

“What makes you think I’m based in New York, Nathalie?”

A week-plus goes by without a reply.

Why Direct matters.

In the previous, 20th century analog, ink-on-paper days, personalizing a piece of mail was a complicated, time-consuming, and expensive task, one those of us in direct marketing took seriously, knowing how damaging it would be if we butchered names or other easy-to-know facts.  In the current 21st century digital environment, personalization is a whole lot easier to achieve, and yet I see email after email that is little more than discardable junk, Nathalie Schallier’s delete-able garbage among them.

In case this didn’t register the first time, let me repeat that the worst thing you can do is get recipients’ names wrong.

The second worst thing you can do is get details of their life/work wrong.

It has been ten-plus years since I called Manhattan home.  Anyone who spends 30 seconds looking into my background will see I am a Napa resident.  Hello, Nathalie Schallier, I’m writing about you:  you couldn’t bother to check before you carpet-bombed me and others with your unsolicited pitch?

The best, most strategically and technically sound digital marketers are not the Nathalie Schalliers of the world; they are pros who cut their teeth in Direct, knowing better than most how not to create discardable junk email.  

I’m done ranting, but if one of you asks, “What’s direct marketing?” I already know the battle I’m fighting is lost.

[proxiessoftware]

Proxy Servers For On The Internet Safety And Security Software

If you access this site directly with your computer system, underhanded individuals can ruin your pc and have a field day with your personal information. They can install programs that you never planned to download and install, track your IP address, spy on your surfing practices (and start to bombard you with junk e-mail, solicitations, and all types of nasty spam), as well as even check your computer system activities to much better target you with their plans. A Proxy can spare you from this. As soon as you are linked to the Proxy, your IP address is hidden. This is called "confidential surfing" and by surfing in this manner, you can feel confident that all of your information, surfing behaviors, and IP address are untraceable. There are different sorts of Proxies as well as they all have different features as well as capabilities. As pointed out over, you can download and install as well as install a Proxy program that connects you to another computer's port. This is referred to as: Proxy Software.

Another sort of Proxy is the Web Based Proxy. These are without a doubt the most usual and prominent. To utilize a Web Based Proxy, you do not need to download and install or mount added software or applications. Just check out the website and enter the URL that you would like to watch. By using this type of Proxy, you will certainly bypass a straight connection with the intended website as well as see the website under the Web Based Proxies IP address. A few of the advantages of using Web Based Proxies consist of: the ability to browse the web by switching off particular applications, eliminate cookies, eliminate scripts, as well as disable banners and also ads. Many individuals concur that Web Based Proxies are the simplest and also most efficient to use. There are however issues with Web Based Proxies. To start, if you are using an internet based proxy to bypass security, the safety system will at some point crawl into your background as well as block the real proxy web site. No one will ever before recognize what web sites you actually surfed via it, it will certainly be obstructed from additional usage. Additionally, you might not surf safe web pages through the proxy. Protect web pages recognize that you are surfing via a proxy and simply do not let you go into.

Open Proxies are Proxy Servers that have been exposed to the general public. An open proxy is various from an internet based proxy because you receive simply an IP Address which you have to enter into your web browsers setups. If you are seeking to utilize a proxy to bypass network safety and security, you are out of luck. Safety programs (mostly those that are set up in school as well as job networks) block you from changing your web browsers setups. Utilizing an open proxy is much less secure than using an internet based proxy, however it does give you much more flexibility. Open proxies are generally made use of internationally for prohibited task while web based proxies are made use of for bypassing network security software. Intend to find and utilize a trusted proxy server, Check out the regularly updated checklist of fast, safe and also tested proxy solutions at buy usa proxies. Using an open proxy additionally has risks. Those that mean to track the tasks of Internet web surfers may leave a Proxy open intentionally. The problem occurs because you have no idea who left the Proxy open, or why they did. Government officials often leave Open Proxies as catches for individuals utilizing them for prohibited activities.The simplest method to tell if a Proxy is closed or open is whether or not you attach to the Proxy via one IP address or a number of. Additionally, try to find proxies that require a username as well as password to make certain that they are closed.

Proxies provide lots of advantages. For those that desire to surf the internet without being afraid that their actions are being kept an eye on, seen, or that their personal privacy is being infringed upon, Proxies are an essential tool in providing that protection and also subsequent satisfaction. Making use of a proxy is a great way to see to it that you are surfing with the protection as well as anonymity that you require.To sum up, proxies are the "center male" between you and also your location. Open up Proxies are not extremely safe however are more convenient and give more flexibility than internet based proxies do. A Web Based Proxy is a proxy set up on a website. Although it might be much less convenient surfing through an additional internet site, it is much more safe and also practical. Generally, open proxies are used worldwide to perform unlawfully task or to mask ones IP to one from the United States. Internet Based Proxies are utilized to unblock internet sites via institution as well as job computer systems.

[patheticdarling]

Monsters Are Real

   Summary: Reader’s dark past comes back to haunt her at the BAU. Will Spencer and the rest of the team be able to save her before it’s too late?

   Warnings: lots of usual CM violence/mentions of blood/beatings/kidnapping/torture/mentions of relationship abuse (mental, physical, sexual, etc)/mentions of sex/ i really love writing angst, i’m sorry lol

   Word Count: 3963

*NOT MY GIF*

     "Mails here!" Morgan called out as he helped Garcia set a large box of papers and packages on the desk. Everyone walked over, grabbing their mail and sorting through it, finding mostly junk mail and things like that.

     "Hey, Spence. Look's like there's a package addressed to you," J.J. lifted a small cardboard box, handing it over to Spencer.

     Spencer muttered thanks to J.J. before looking over the gift, "Huh, that's weird," he muttered.

     "What is?" Emily asked.

     "There's no name or return address. I wasn't expecting anything either," Spencer answered, tearing open the box, revealing a random VHS tape labeled: Y/N's Movie.

     "Oooh, is that a present from Y/N?" Garcia lifted her eyebrows.

     "She didn't come in for work today, why would she send you something and not be here to watch you open it?" Emily asked, laughing awkwardly.

     "Should we go to my office and find out why?" Garcia smirked. Everyone nodded eagerly, following Garcia to her monitors.

     "I don't think I'm ready to watch an L/N, Reid sex tape this early in the morning," Morgan chuckled. Reid hitting him on the arm. Garcia entered the tape, everyone smiling in anticipation as the video was cueing up. Suddenly a video flickered onto the screen.

     "What is that?" Emily squinted at the screen, the rest of the team leaning in to get a better look as well.

    "Is that...Y/N?" Garcia's voice shook.

    "Oh my God," J.J. muttered. Everyone finally realizing just what they were looking at.

    "I-Is she tied up?" Morgan asked. There you were, tied to a chair as blood dripped from a gash above your eyebrow and what appeared to be a fractured nose. The room was dark and the only noise being your slow, hard breathing and the sound of your blood hitting the floor.

    Spencer's breathing was ragged and his words were hitched in his throat and he swallowed hard, "No, no that can't be. I-I was just with her last night. W-We watched a movie at her apartment and ate dinner, then we-" Reid stopped, "I-I left," he finished drily, "I left her alone, vulnerable."

    Morgan turned and made Reid face him and away from the screen, holding his shoulders, "Kid, you gotta calm down. Do you remember anything else from last night? Any of her neighbors acting off?" Spencer tried hard to focus on the events of last night, his mind continuing to replay the video of you, "Reid, come on you gotta focus. J.J., go get Hotch and Rossi." J.J. nodded before rushing out of the room. "Were they any people you didn't recognize? Any unfamiliar cars?"

    Spencer snapped back all of a sudden, "T-There was a car. I'd never seen it before and Y/N looked nervous around it. When I asked her why she told me it just gave her this feeling and we just went straight inside."

    "Was the car still there when you left?" Emily asked.

    "N-No, but I remember there were empty beer cans and food wrappers left from where the car was. I was gonna pick it up but it was late and I wanted to get home so I could go to sleep," Spencer remembered.

    "Okay, good good." Morgan encouraged.

    J.J. finally returned with Hotch and Rossi, "What's the situation?" Hotch asked.

    "Um, Y-Y/N, she's all tied up and b-bloody," Garcia mumbled, pointing over to the monitor.

    "How the hell are we even watching this?" Rossi asked, frustrated already.

    "Reid got sent the tape, we all just assumed it was Y/N playing a prank," Emily answered, Reid still shaken up.

    "We're going over everything Spence and Y/N did last night," J.J. interjected.

    "Reid says he remembers a weird car parked outside of Y/N's building. A dark brown 2006 Honda Accord, no plates," Morgan explained.

    "That's gotta be our guy. Garcia, can you pull up the security feed from outside of Y/N's building?" Rossi asked. No answer. "Garcia?"

    "Oh my God," her voice shook.

    "What is it?" Everyone turned to the screens. Someone had walked into the room with you, dressed in all black with a hood covering their face.

    "Garcia, do something!" Reid yelled.

   "I-I can't, Reid, it's a VHS. There's basically no electronic component. I-I’m sorry," Garcia's hands shook as tears built in her eyes. 

   Everyone watched as the unsub approached you, pulling your head back harshly by your hair, you let out a cry of pain in return.

    "Are you ready to listen to me now?" the unsub spoke roughly.

    "You go to hell," you spat back.

    "Tsk tsk, that wasn't the answer I was looking for," the unsub chuckled evilly, before reaching his hand back, the back of it striking your face. The team bracing as he did so again and again and again.

    "Turn it off," Spencer spoke harshly.

   "Reid, you know we can't do that," Hotch answered.

    "I said turn it off!" Reid yelled, lunging towards the computer, Morgan rushing over to stop him. Spencer fell onto Morgan, sobbing harshly as they both sank to the floor.

    "It's okay, Kid, it's gonna be okay," Morgan hushed him. The rest of the team tearing up at both sights.

    "Guys," Rossi redirected everyone's attention back to the screen.

    The unsub yanked your hair back again, "I told you, Y/N. I told you that I'd come back for you, didn't I?"

    "You guys heard that too, right?" Rossi asked.

    "Yeah, he said her name," J.J. bit her lip nervously.

    "What? What does that mean?" Garcia asked, wiping her eyes.

    "He knows her," Hotch responded.

    "W-Who would do that to our sweet Y/N? She...she's one of the best people I've ever met. W-Who?" Garcia sniffled, her eyes darting between the team and the screen.

    "That's what we need to find out, let's get started." Hotch instructed, "Garcia, can you get a timestamp for the video?"

    "Um, yeah. Give me a sec," Garcia typed furiously, "It's from today, starting at around 3 am."

    "Reid, what time did you leave her house?" Hotch asked, Spencer, continued to stare at his feet, "Reid?" Hotch snapped. Reid blinked a few times before focusing on what Hotch was saying, "If you feel like you can't work then I have to take you off the case. So, tell me, can you work?"

    Spencer took a deep breath before nodding, "I-I can work," his voice shook.

    "Alright, let's go," Hotch nodded, leading everyone to the briefing room.

    "First things first, I know that we all care deeply about Y/N, some more than others," Hotch shot an apologetic look to Reid, "But we have to look at this like we would any other case. And I know it's gonna be hard but we can't be biased with this and we can't let our feelings cloud our judgment. Is that understood?" Everyone nodded in agreement, "So, what do we all know about Y/N outside of work?"

    "She's pretty quiet, I don't think she has anyone else besides us," Emily started.

    "Prentiss is right. We all know she was a foster kid, we've been her only real family," J.J. continued.

    "Has anyone noticed anything different about her behavior? Even the smallest thing?" Hotch asked. Everyone pondered, nothing immediate coming to mind in regards to your behavior.

    "She hasn't been eating as much," Morgan finally spoke up.

    "What?" Spencer asked, his brow furrowed, "What do you mean she hasn't been eating?"

    "During lunch breaks, she'll just push around her food. Maybe take a couple of small bites. When I first noticed it, I asked her if she was okay and she said she just wasn't hungry or that she had a big breakfast," Morgan explained.

    "No, that can't be. Y/N hates breakfast, she always settles for coffee and maybe some toast or a bagel." Reid answered, "That's why she always gets a big lunch."

    "Morgan, when did that start?" Rossi asked.

    "Maybe a week or so ago," he answered.

    "Garcia, can you check any current events that may have made Y/N uneasy or cause some sort of negative effect?" Rossi turned to Penelope who nodded before typing furiously.

    "O-Oh gosh," she muttered, "U-um.."

    "Penelope, what is it?" J.J. asked as Garcia looked at her screen visibly uncomfortable.

   "You guys remember Y/N's ex, right? Kyle Murphy? The one with the bad temper," Garcia explained.

    "Bad temper is a nice way to put it,” Emily scoffed, “The guy beat Y/N to a pulp for years before we arrested him.”

    "What about him, Garcia?" Morgan asked.

    "He...he was just released from prison a week ago," Garcia muttered.

    "What?!" Spencer exploded, "Why weren't we notified?!"

    "I-I don't know," Garcia's voice shook as she continued typing furiously, "He was granted parole and they let him out on good behavior. Since when do women beaters get good behavior releases?"

    "Garcia, send us his address," Hotch nodded, everyone, filing out of the door.

    "Sent to your phones!" she called as you all ran to the cars. Morgan, Reid, and J.J. were in one car while Rossi, Hotch, and Emily rode in the other.

    "I can't believe I didn't notice there was something wrong sooner," Spencer mumbled to himself.

    J.J. turned around from the passenger seat, taking her friend's hand, "Spence, it's not your fault. None of us knew anything."

    "Morgan did. Not that it's his fault. But I was blinded by my happiness that I didn't even notice she was acting different," Spencer sniffled.

    "Hey, if anything, we all were. We were happy that the two of you were finally happy," J.J. gave him a reassuring smile.

   "What if she can't forgive me?"

    "She will, Kid. Don't worry about that," Morgan interjected.

    J.J.'s phone rang, "Yeah, Garcia?" she answered, "Yeah, ok. Thanks." she hung up, looking rather uncomfortable.

    "What'd she say?" Morgan asked.

    "She remembered what Reid had said earlier about the car and turns out a dark brown 2006 Honda Accord was bought from the nearby impound the night Kyle was released. Problem is that it was never registered and bought all in cash so we can't track it," J.J. explained. Spencer fidgeted in his seat, picking at the cuffs of his shirt.

    "Hey, Reid," Morgan called, Reid not bringing himself to look at his friend, "We're gonna find her, don't worry." Spencer nodded hesitantly. 

   Everyone arrived at Kyle's apartment, Emily knocked politely once before Morgan kicked down the door furiously. 

   "FBI! Kyle Murphy!" Kyle sat on his couch, smirking smugly as he turned to face the team, scratches covered his face as he had an ice pack pressed to a growing bruise on his cheekbone.

   "I'm glad you got my gift, Dr. Reid," Kyle smirked. Spencer didn't hesitate to grab him by the collar and pin him against the nearby wall.

    "Where is she?!" Spencer yelled. "Where is she, you bastard?!" Spencer continued yelling, hitting Kyle's head against the wall.

    "Reid, come on," Rossi tried pulling him off, Spencer's eyes fixed in a deadly gaze, "Kid, let him go. If you do this, we'll never find her."

  Rossi and now Morgan continued to try pulling him off, he finally let go and took some steps back. Morgan not bothering to be gentle as he tightened the cuffs around Kyle’s wrists. 

    Emily came out of the bedroom, "She's not here, guys."

    "You're never gonna find her. Well, not in time anyway," Kyle smirked.

    "Come on, you," Rossi and Morgan dragged him out of the door, throwing him in the car harshly. Reid was about to board the same car.

    "You're going with Rossi and J.J.," Hotch stepped in front of him.

    "What? No, I'm riding back with him. I need to talk to him," Spencer argued, attempting to push by Hotch. 

    "No, you're not,” Hotch blocking his way once again, “You're riding back with J.J. and Rossi. Emily, Morgan, and I will ride with him." Spencer tried to push past him, Hotch stopping him, "That's an order, Reid." Spencer huffed before making his way over to J.J. and Rossi’s car.

    "Trust us, it's more for his safety, Spence," J.J. reassured as they all climbed into the SUV. 

    "Not that we care that much but we kind of like having you on the team and not suspended," Rossi tried to lighten the mood. 

   Everyone let out a lighthearted chuckle. Spencer stared out the window as they drove in silence back to Quantico. Rossi and Morgan were the first to try to interrogate him. But he insisted he'd only talk to Spencer, Hotch wasn't fond of the idea and neither was the rest of the team. Emily and Hotch tried next. Nothing but the same request. J.J. and Emily. Nothing. Rossi and Hotch. Nothing. Morgan and J.J. Nothing. They tried it all and nothing would persuade him differently. Finally, Hotch decided to send both Reid and Morgan in so that Morgan could be there if anything went wrong.

   “You promise to keep your head? You can’t let him get to you, Reid,” Hotch explained as Spencer readied himself. 

   Reid nodded, “Understood.” 

   “Good luck,” Emily gave Spencer’s should a squeeze before him and Morgan headed into the interrogation room. 

    "Aww, finally. Spencer. I've been waiting for you," Kyle smirked.

    "Shut the hell up," Morgan snapped, "Where is she, Murphy?" Spencer tried his best to refrain himself from doing anything stupid as he stood in the corner of the room.

  "Hey, Spencer? How's Y/N?" Kyle tried to ask. Spencer refusing to answer as he avoided Kyle’s gaze. "She still a clean freak? Yeah, I remember, every Thursday she'd deep clean the house. Used to get upset when I got home from work and walked on the carpets with my boots. I worked in construction. But she found out that it wasn't a good idea to raise her voice at me."

  "Kyle, just tell us where she is and maybe we can work something out," Morgan trying to regain his attention away from Reid.

  "Thursdays, her favorite day. Mine? Saturday. Saturdays were our designated date night, a chance for us to go out and not be so caught up in work. Mmm, I used to love when we'd get home from the movies or dinner. Y/N knew exactly what she was supposed to do next. She'd get undressed first, then she'd undress me. She'd lead us to the bedroom. Then," Kyle stopped, chuckling to himself, "Ugh," he moaned as he licked his lips, "Does she do it for you too, Dr. Reid? That little moan when you first put it in-"

    Suddenly Reid threw the table against the wall and Kyle's neck was tight in his grasp as he pinned him to the wall, "I will kill you," Spencer hissed, "I swear to God-" Morgan finally was able to pry him away, Hotch and Rossi coming in to pull him out of the room.

    "What happened to having yourself under control? I thought you said you could work this case, professionally," Hotch scorned.

    "I," Reid let out a shaky breath, "I couldn't stand there and just hear him talk about her like that."

    "Reid, he is a suspect. We can't just beat him. We aren't gonna get anything out of him that way besides maybe an aggravated assault charge," Rossi explained, trying to establish some calm.

    "Hey, Doc! Where'd you go?”  Kyle cackled from the other side of the glass, “I didn't hit a nerve, did I!?"

  "Let me go back in there. He thinks he can get to me," Spencer begged.

   "He already has. Reid, we can't risk this anymore. Not with Y/N's life on the line," Hotch answered.

  "Aaron, the Kid might be right. This scumbag didn't even breathe until Reid came in. He's the key, we have to let him." Rossi interjected.

    Hotch took a moment to ponder it over, "Fine. But Rossi is going in with you too." Rossi and Spencer nodded before stepping back into the interrogation room.

    "Hiya Doc. That was fun," Kyle smirked, Spencer tried his best to look away, "Oh come on, we got our blood pumping a bit. Now, let's talk business. You want Y/N, I want Y/N. So, what are we gonna do about that?"

    "You're never going to have her," Spencer hissed.

    "Oh, but I already do. You did watch the video, right? Tsk tsk, still has a mouth on her. Even after all those years of correcting her. She's always been stubborn."

    "Correcting her?” Rossi scoffed, “You beat her, Kyle. Beat her until she had no self-worth, no self-esteem." 

    "I loved her." Kyle snapped.

    "No!" Spencer slammed his hands on the table, "You abused her! Mentally, physically! You beat her so bad that she had not one ounce of self-respect left in her body. You did that Kyle! And I saved her, we saved her. She's a better person now. Stronger. And now, she's stronger than you."

   Kyle stirred angrily in his seat, scoffing, “You don’t know jack shit.”

    "That's why you haven't broken her yet. That's why you're so upset." Morgan laughed, "Y/N's not afraid of you anymore. She loves Reid and that's why she'll never go back to you. Ever."

    "Hmm, even if that were true, none of it is gonna save poor Y/N now, is it? She's gone. You're never finding her. And you can't hold me here forever. We're leaving the minute I get out of these cuffs." Kyle smirked, "Well fought, Doc," he turned to Spencer, "But we both know she was meant to be with me, a real man."

   Spencer’s jaw clenched, his fists balling. Rossi stood, preparing to stop him, “I swear to God, I will-”

    "Guys!" J.J. burst through the door, "We found her. We found Y/N." she smiled, "Hotch and Emily brought her back, she's in the briefing room with them and Garcia now."

    "What?" Rossi asked, Spencer's face lit up and he didn't hesitate to sprint out the door to found you.

    "NO! How?!" Kyle fought against his handcuffs.

    "We overheard Kyle talking about how he used to work in construction so Emily and I had Garcia look up some of his old job sites and see which ones he could keep Y/N at without there being a chance of anyone finding her,” J.J. explained, “He had her at some abandoned shoe factory that's scheduled to be turned into a new mini-mall. It was one of the last jobs he was scheduled to work before we arrested him." Her relieved smile turning into a deadly glare as she looked over at a steaming Kyle

    Rossi chuckled, "You lose," he scoffed before they all left Kyle alone as he tried to get out of his extra tight restraints.

    "Y/N!" you heard Spencer's distant voice as Garcia handed you a cup of chamomile tea. Reid stopped as he looked at you. Your hands were shaky and you had a bandage over the huge gash on your forehead, a blanket wrapped around you. "C-Can I hug you?" Spencer asked.

    You nodded before being completely engulfed in Spencer's warmly familiar scent of coffee and old books, "Spencer," you whispered, practically melting in his gentle touch.

     "I-I'm so sorry, Y/N. I'm so so sorry for ever letting you out of my sight. I-I don't know what I'd do with myself if something happened to you and it was because of my ignorance," Spencer whispered as he kissed your head.

    "It's ok," you sniffled, "It's over. I'm here."

    "Are you alright?" he pulled back, looking you over.

    "Just a few minor things. Some cuts and bruises, nothing worth worrying over anymore," you responded, placing a reassuring hand on his worried face, "Seriously, Reid, I'm fine, honey."

   He nuzzled his face into your hand, "I know, I just, I was scared. Really scared, scared I'd never see you again or-"

   "Hey," you cut him off, "You are not getting rid of me that easily, Dr. Reid." you smiled at him reassuringly. He smiled back before bringing you into a soft peck, you nearly fainted as his lips touched yours. 

   You took a deep breath, "I wanna see him."

  "What? No way, Y/N you are in no condition to-" Reid started.

  "Stop, I'm fine. I-I need to do this. I need to be able to face him, alone. I can't live in constant fear that he's gonna be there to ruin any chance I'll have at happiness. Spencer, please." you begged.

    Spencer took a moment then nodded reluctantly, "On one condition."

    "What?" you asked.

    "He even attempts to threaten you, I'm going in there."

    You smiled, touched at his statement but nearly frightened at his cold demeanor, "Don't worry, it'll be alright." You took a deep breath before they all escorted you to the room Kyle was still being held in.

   “Y/N, are you sure you want to do this?” Emily asked as you stood on the other side of the double-sided glass. 

  You took a quick look at Kyle’s scowling face, you tried your best to shake off the churning of your stomach, “I have to. I can’t let him think I’m afraid of him.”

   You moved to open the door, Spencer gently grasping your wrist, “You need me, I’m right here.”

   You nodded before Spencer hesitantly let go of your wrist. You took one last deep breath before pushing the door open. 

    "Well, this is a rather pleasant surprise, to say the least," Kyle smirked, his eyes wide.

    "Kyle," you cleared your throat as you sat down across from him.

   "Y/N, well don't you just look ravishing," he looked you up and down, hungrily. You crossed your arms, attempting to shield yourself from his revolting gaze, "What brings you here, babydoll?"

    "I-I wanted to come to see you,” you answered. 

   "Really?” Kyle leaned back in his chair, “And why's that, doll?"

    "I don't know. I just know I needed to."

   "You miss me?" he smirked, you didn't budge, "Oh, come on, the Doc's not here. You can be honest."

    "No, Kyle, I don't miss you."

    "Well, isn't that just heartbreaking?" he chuckled, "So, why did you really want to see me?"

    "Well, I think there comes a day when every little girl needs to face her monsters. So, that she won't be a little girl any longer. You happened to be my monster, Kyle. So, here I am." Kyle was about to speak, "But," you cut him off, "I also wanted to thank you."

   "Aww, I'm touched. Are you thanking me for all those happy years we got to have with one another?"

   "No, Kyle. I'm thanking you for helping me realize that I deserve far better and I always have,” you answered, confidently, “Without you and your constant abuse, I wouldn't have been able to confide in my team, more specifically Spencer," you smiled to yourself as you heard Kyle grunt in anger, "And without you, I wouldn't have been able to fall as deeply in love with him as I have. You, Kyle, are the one to thank for my absolute and undeniable happiness. So, thank you Kyle Murphy." you smiled as you leaned across the table.

 He stirred angrily, “You’re pathetic.”

  "No, Kyle,” you shook your head, “You’re the pathetic one. Enjoy prison you bastard," you smirked before leaving the room, hearing him swear furiously under his breath.

  You took a deep breath, as you leaned back onto the door, collecting yourself. Your team smiling proudly at what you had just accomplished. 

   Spencer approached you, taking your hand, “I’m so proud of you, Y/N,” he placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

[rudemaidenswrite]

Cash Prize

Part 5- The End

By: @pusantheamazonian     Not beta’d.

This took longer to write than expected. 😐 

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

tag list: @slasherenthusiast​

What. Have. You. Done.

You don't know if you have been blessed or cursed. After the events from Michael's birthday. He's more… possessive. If that's the right word. He doesn't let you out of his sight. Even at work now you can feel his eyes. You're pretty sure it's only when you are sleeping does he leave you alone, but that's only to pursue his blood lust. If he had his way he would be murdering people while keeping you pinned to the mattress.

That's only the tip of the iceberg. You've noticed, well definitely noticed he's become physically assertive. From cuddling to unspeakables as if he has to have a hand on you at all times. Making you question if he thinks you're going to disappear. You're not going to do that to him. Hell it would be fucking rude and a death sentence to do so since you instigated this relationship.

"What the?" Stepping out of the shower confused. Where the fuck are your clothes? You had put them on the counter. "Damn it Michael."

The sneaky bastard must have come in and taken them. Fine two can play that game. Grabbing one of his black shirts you put it on. The shirt skirts just above your knees and the collar has already slipped off one shoulder. You needed to do laundry anyways. He'll just have to deal with you wearing his shirt until then. 

Laundry basket in hand you search each room for dirty laundry. The random pieces of clothing scattered across the place is ridiculous. How can a man with so little clothing have clothes everywhere? Grabbing the hand towel off the stove. You’re grabbed from behind by a set of familiar arms.

“Michael where did you put my clothes?” Chuckling, you set the basket on the counter. He responds by pulling you closer. A hand slowly slides up your thigh. 

"W-what are you doing?" It is too early for his nonsense but his boldness never ceases to surprise you. He doesn't stop, his hand dips inside the front of your panties. Immediately teasing you.

"I-I need … to start the laundry." Gasping you need him to wait a few minutes. Or else you won't have any clothes for work tomorrow. He holds you tighter, keeping you pressed against him. Rocking his hips as you squirm. 

“Michael!” Grabbing his wrists, you hold back a whine. Through the latex of his mask buried in your neck. His hot breath is loud in your ear.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Freezing you stare in horror at the door. Who in the hell is knocking on your door? Michael must be thinking the same thing because you feel the shift in his demeanor as he lets go and heads to the door.

Shit.

Quickly maneuvering around him, you're able to cut him off at the door. 

“Wait! Just let me check who it is.” Whispering you don't want to compromise anything by letting the person know he’s here. Lord forbid that it is the police or Loomis. You watch him fidget, opening and closing his hands quickly. Huffing he agrees for the moment.

Cracking the door open. You leave the chain attached and stay mostly hidden behind the door. "Can I help you?"

"Hi. Some of your mail got mixed with mine." The man smiles. He hands you two envelopes.

"Oh! Thank you." Grabbing the envelopes you can tell that it's just junk mail. Why didn't he just stuff it in your mailbox? There's no point in hand delivering unless you're trying to be nosey. 

"I'm Tim by the way. Just moved in downstairs." He explains just a tad too excitedly.

"Welcome to the building but you'll have to excuse me." Forcing a smile you slowly close the door.

Watching the man through the peephole and observing you. This man has no right to be speaking to you. There's something about the way he is looking at you. It fuels his blood lust and something primal. You belong to him and no one else. Why did you smile at that stranger? Apparently you and the whole building need a reminder about who you belong to.

Waking up something is odd. Why are you lying in an empty bed? Slightly confused about what's happening. Michael doesn't usually make a lot of sounds if any. So of course when there's several thuds in a row you're curious. 

"Michael, what's with all the racket? It's almost two in the morning." Yawning, you rub your sore hips. Stumbling down the hall slightly annoyed. You were starting to dream about making a snowman out of cotton candy. 

Flipping on the kitchen light. You're surprised but not by the scene. Michael is choking a guy with one hand. He acknowledges you with a slight head tilt while the man gurgles. Pathetically trying to undo Michael’s grasp. 

"Nope I'm not even going to acknowledge this. I'm going back to bed." You flip the light back off and walk away. Closing the bedroom door you realize that the guy he’s choking is the neighbor you talked to earlier. Meaning either two scenarios happened. Michael coaxed him up here or he broke in. If you are being realistic about it, option two is the obvious answer. That in itself is unsettling. Time to snuggle up in blankets and block those thoughts out.

You don't really know how long it was but you knew it was over when Michael climbed back into bed, koala gripping you under the covers.

"That body better not be here in the morning." His arms squeeze tighter. "Good and thank you." You don't want to think of what would have happened if Michael hadn't been here. Snuggling closer you sigh drifting back to sleep, stealing his body heat.

~

"You want me to call him?" Confused, this is not how you thought your evening was going to go. You just wanted to relax on the couch after work. But he’s cornered you with a plan. A plan that you are grasping the air for. All you can make out is that you are going to be bait for Loomis. 

"Okay but I'm doing it from a payphone." Sighing you shove the crumpled business card into your pocket. Annoyed that you have to put your shoes back on and make the trek down the street. 

Huddled in the phone booth you hope this is the right number. The way Michael crushed the card makes it difficult to read the number. But the number went through and it’s ringing. After three rings the line is picked up.

"Dr. Loomis?"

"Yes." His voice is exasperated. 

"You had visited me asking if I have seen anything since the contest with the Horror Lover's club. I'm not sure but I think someone is following me." You try to sound worried so that he takes interest. Making sure not explicitly say your name. So that it can't be traced back to you. 

“Yes! Miss Y/N. What has been happening to make you think that?” You hear him perk up with his question.

“Well when I-”

*Crash*

Screaming, glass is shattering all around you. Glancing up Michael has punched through a window pane and ripped the telephone cord from the box.

“What the hell was that?” Irritated, you scowl at him. Shaking off the splintered glass.  Ignoring the question grabs you by the arm pulling you out of the phone booth. 

~

Just as he planned Loomis showed up with back up. Watching from the window you see the cop car park on the street. One single cop exits the car with Loomis. The poor bastard shouldn't have gone to work. 

“Okay they’re here. Where do you want me?” Turning, you face Michael. He hasn't left your side since you two arrived at the Meyer’s house. 

A hand grabbing your wrist. He pulls you into what used to be the dining room. Maneuvering you closer to the broken table.

Staring at him you wait for his next move. You know that he wants Loomis to think that you have been kidnapped. But being unconscious is the best way to do that. And you know that Michael knows you're horrible at fake sleeping. From the couple of times you tried it with him. Feeling the hesitation you know this is no time to procrastinate. Loomis is outside. It's now or never.

Grabbing his hand you pull it up. Gently setting it on your neck, giving him complete control. Giving him your complete trust. 

"It's okay."

Without hesitation the hand tightens. Slowly cutting off your airway. Black spots are forming in your vision. Gasping you hold on to his coveralls as it gets harder to breathe. As your knees buckle, his arm wraps tightly around your waist. Supporting all of your weight as you lose consciousness. Tilting his head as he examines you. You are still so strange to him. He arranges you so that you're leaning against the broken table.

Creaking of the porch floor boards reminds him of his surroundings. The plan to end Loomis once and for all has begun.

"You search upstairs. I'll search down here." Loomis whispers gesturing up the stairs. Watching the officer slump up the stairs. "Remember if you find the girl alive. Grab her and run."

In the darkness he waits. It's obvious that the police man doesn't know who he is or believes Loomis. Silently following him, a snap of the neck and he easily disposed of the policeman. 

Loomis searches room to room slowly not wanting to miss any detail or unnatural surprises. Startled Loomis rushes in, seeing the body, harshly shaking the shoulders. "Y/N! Y/N! Wake up!" 

"Uh... what?" Coming to feels like waking up from a bad nap. “Dr. Loomis?”

“Thank God. Come on Y/N we have to get out of here.” 

He helps you up before pulling out a gun. Panicking, you don't know if Michael prepared for a gun.

“What's going to happen?” You hold onto the back of his trench coat. Preparing to improvise it if the situation calls for it. 

“We’re going to go to the front door then you are going to run down the street for help. Call the police and tell them that Dr. Loomis said to send back up.” Whispering, he starts to guide you back to the door. 

“O-Okay.” Not paying attention you bump into him. “Dr. Loomis?” Looking up you see Michael blocking the doorway. 

“Michael she has nothing to do with this. You will leave her alone.” In a serious tone Loomis tries to order Michael around while pushing you backwards. 

Taking that as your que; grabbing the broken board you're prepared to follow Michael's plan. Holding it ready like a bet, you contemplate your life in a brief state of panic. 

Are you really willing to be an accomplice in murder? Technically speaking you already are. Are you prepared to spend the rest of your life with Michael? However long it may be due to his blood lust. Do you actually love him or just obsessively infatuated with him because he hasn't abandoned you? You could always abandon him and help Loomis. Pretend that you know nothing about him and these past months never existed. Claiming you're just a foolish girl caught in the crossfire. But could you live with yourself with that knowledge? You are sure that he hasn't opened up to anyone else but you. Showing you the conflicting dual sides of his personality.

No.

You made your decision. You decided that cold morning on the sidewalk.

"No he's not!"  Screaming, you swing the board as hard as you can. Smashing it against Loomis's head. All you heard was Loomis yell something about him being evil and it triggered something inside you.

The man topples to the ground and the gun skids across the room. You run after the gun, almost tripping over the loose floor boards. Picking the gun up you hide behind Michael.

"What are you doing?!"

"You are an asshole!" Shouting back, it slips out. 

"You're helping him? He's a demon!" Loomis yells, face turning red. 

How dare he speak to you. Irritated with Loomis he needs to deal with him quickly so that he doesn't hurt you. But the voices want this to be a slow painful revenge. 

One handedly Michael picks Loomis up by the shirt and flings him at the wall. He ricochets off it and there's blood everywhere. Shivering the blood is starting to make you nauseated. It's too much at one time and too fresh.

Time to get you out of here. He knows you're getting uncomfortable now, he saw that grossed out shiver. This revenge is something he doesn't want you to see but Loomis needs to stay put.

Michael turns you around to face the wall. Patting your head before returning to Loomis. But you can still hear his screams of pain and the unnatural squelch. 

Jumping at the touch. Michael holds your hand, leading you out of the room. 

"Where are we going? What if he escapes?" Worried you know Loomis is not dead. You can hear sounds coming from him. You can't help but think of all the bad things that will happen if he escapes. Tugging on his sleeve you need to get Michael’s attention but he ignores all of your attempts.

Confused, you don't know why he's led you to the basement. Honestly you didn't know there was a basement. In the corner there's a rusty metal cabinet. The door creaks as he opens it, pulling you with him as he enters it.

"Michael, where are we going? I can't see anything." Whinnying everything has gone dark but you two are still moving. The cabinet was a fake and he’s led you somewhere new. A blinding light makes you scrunch your eyes. Refocusing Michael is holding a lantern waiting for you to adjust. It looks like a stone tunnel.

With a nod he continues down the tunnel. You wonder if this is an old service tunnel of some type. It's too big to be a sewer. Right?  In the silence all you can hear is the sound of your own footsteps. Slightly concerned Michael keeps a steady pace, not slowing or looking at you.

“Do you know where we are going? We’ve been walking for a while.” Concerned you don't know where you are. On que he stops at a ladder and releases your hand. 

“Here?” Staring back at him you wonder what's going on in head. But there's no indication of anything right now.

Sighing you get closer to the ladder. Realizing you still have the gun in your hand you should probably disarm it before climbing this rickety ladder. Gun pointed at the floor, you eject the magazine and stick it in your back pocket. Pulling the slide back and locking it. You quickly flip the gun upside down emptying the chamber as one bullet falls into your palm. Releasing the slide you stick the loose bullet in one pocket and tuck the gun in your waistband.

"Dad used to take me to the gun range." Explaining you watch the curious head tilt. 

“Well, be careful. I’ll see you later.” Fidgeting you smooth out a wrinkle on his chest. You're worried for so many reasons but this isn't about you. Smiling, you head up the ladder watching light fade behind you. The sooner you leave the sooner he will return. You struggle for a minute with the lid but once it gives up it's easy to slide off. Climbing out of the manhole and placing the lid back. You're standing in the alley behind your apartment building. 

"Son of a bitch. Kudos to him for finding a way to sneak around town." Chuckling, you head inside. Cause fuck it, you’re ordering pizza this day has you exhausted. 

You’re curiously intrigued on how Michael will act when he returns. He just got rid of his arch nemesis, the possibilities are endless.

It's almost one am when he returns. Crawling through the window with blood stains on his coveralls. There you are. Waiting for him on the couch with a smile. In his black shirt with a brand new bag of oreos. You didn't leave him, you stayed and waited. A deep guttural sound rumbles from his chest. He doesn't know which one he wants to demolish first. But you wearing his shirt makes the decision for him. Closing the window, the cookies will be there in the morning.