#Awareness to Conversion Funnel

[marketing-insider-group]

How to Build a Content Marketing Funnel with Blog Posts - Marketing Insider Group

Learn how to create engaging content that guides buyers through the content marketing funnel, from awareness to action.

[escapenevolve]

From Clicks to Cash: Cracking the Digital Funnel

🚀 Ever wondered how brands turn your casual scroll into 'Take my money!' moments? 🤔 Say hello to the Digital Marketing Funnel! From sparking interest to sealing the deal (and keeping you coming back for more), it’s all about strategy. Ready to funnel yo

Alright, let’s be real. If you’ve ever clicked on a sneaker ad and ended up with a $300 pair of running shoes you didn’t need, congratulations—you’ve been through the Digital Marketing Funnel. The funnel isn’t just some fancy diagram marketers throw around to sound smart; it’s the holy grail of converting strangers into loyal customers. And today, we’re going to break it down in a way that even…

[manufacturerbusiness]

Website: https://www.manufacturer.com/

Address: 4154 Glenview Drive, Corpus Christi, TX 78476

Phone: 361-544-4567

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Business Email: infoshanto@gmail.com

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Seven

Eddie cradles his can of Coke, sipping slowly. He’s trying not to be aware that there is not a single drop of alcohol here; he’s failing miserably. He’s also trying not to blame himself, but it feels like everyone else here is being punished for his fuck up.

It’s sunny and warm, everyone else rocking tee shirts and shorts, enjoying the weather, while Eddie wraps his hoodie around himself even tighter, convincing himself that he’s chilled.

Eddie slithers lower down in the fancy garden lounger he’s got half tilted back; he’s watching two pups chase each other around in clumsy circles at the other end of the yard. He’s vaguely mortified that he doesn’t actually know which one of them is Gareth’s kid.

Eddie wants to curl up and disappear when Gareth comes and sits next to him, offering a plate. There’s a burger on it, and considering Jeff’s on the grill, it’s a damn good looking burger. Eddie’s stomach turns over at the sight of it. “Don’t worry, I didn’t bother getting you any of the green stuff.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says vaguely, haunted by Steve’s not there frown, “I would have, you know, maybe a couple of carrot sticks or something.”

“Oh I’ll-”

“No. No. I’ll go in a bit,” Gareth sits back down, an uncertain look on his face, which makes Eddie feel even more shit. Gareth isn’t his fucking servant, and the guys treating him like he’s made out of glass is getting really old really quick, “you guys can drink, you know, if you want to,” Eddie offers, as an apology.

“Nah, we don’t really anyway, because of the pups,” he seems genuine enough, “and...I mean it just felt kind of harsh, I guess.”

Eddie shrugs, “I’m going to have to get used to it at some point right?”

“Yeah, totally. But it doesn’t have to be today.”

They sit in silence for a while, just people watching. It’s only a small group; Gareth’s mate who keeps giving Eddie the side eye when she thinks he isn’t watching. Jeff and his girlfriend. Chrissy. Jeff’s sister and her mate, plus Gareth’s Mom is around somewhere, Eddie’s pretty sure.

A few people have said hello to him, made polite conversation. It’s all so stilted and awkward and Eddie is already wondering how soon he can ask Chrissy to take him home again.

It’s quietly kind of devastating; Eddie had been really looking forward to this.

Eddie bites the bullet, “which one is Arlo?”

Both pups are vaguely the same age, and Eddie can’t remember seeing Arlo properly since he was basically a new born. He looked like a pink potato, so impossible to work it out from that.

“Blue shirt,” Gareth answers, “also the fucking loud one,” Gareth chuckles.

Eddie joins in, chuckling even though it’s not funny, not really. He can hear both pups squealing with joy from here. Until one of them falls over, and then the squealing turns upset and Gareth’s getting up to retrieve his pup. He ambles over, the pup just took a tumble on the grass, so he isn’t hurt, and Gareth doesn’t move with any urgency, simply scooping his pup up.

A kiss on each knee and a loud raspberry blown on a tummy and the pup is off again, like nothing happened at all.

Eddie manages a mouthful of his burger. It’s as good as it looks, and the moment he’s chewing he realizes he’s actually hungry. After a couple of mouthfuls he actually feels a little better.

“You get anywhere with the lyrics?” Gareth asks as he sits back down.

Eddie had read through everything the guys had given him, some of it good, some of it great, but as usual all of it disjointed and in need of a lot of structuring. Not to mention the actual music.

None of it has spoken to him though. He used to just look at words and the tune would come to him. Just kind of...appear, from some unknown place. Eddie’s written complete songs in an afternoon before, feeling like he wasn’t really involved, merely the delivery system for something that was being dragged from somewhere deep inside himself. Something that simply floated onto the page, funneled through Eddie’s hands and into his messy pigeon scratch.

Eddie with nothing but his guitar and a pen, creating something that spoke to literally hundreds of thousands of people.

He hasn’t lost the music, he’s pretty sure...he just doesn’t know how to get it to come back. Like a wayward pet that Eddie’s abused and neglected one too many times.

Eddie is struck vaguely by the image of his inspiration, his talent, being something like a cat. Maybe it’s gone off and moved in with a neighbor who feeds it better stuff than Eddie ever did. Maybe it’s purring up a tuney storm somewhere, for some kind old lady who dispenses tuna and has no idea what she has.

He’s pretty sure Steve would have some advice on the matter. Steve isn’t here though. Eddie wonders vaguely if he’s ever even going to see Steve ever again.

“I’ve read through it all. Some really good stuff in there...maybe I could bring it to the studio and we could have a little play?”

“You haven't written anything, have you?”

“Not a thing.”

Gareth snorts a laugh, and it kind of feels a little better, a little more natural, “okay. But don’t put any pressure on yourself okay, I guess these things take time and...you’re still getting better, you know?”

“Right. Sure.”

“How was that?” Chrissy asks, not looking at him. He’s glad she’s not looking at him, considering she’s driving, but, still.

“Yeah. It...well it was fucking awkward.”

“Uh hu, saw you got talking to Gar though.”

“Yeah. Yeah that felt better. They’re...they’re being so good about all this and I don’t know what to do with that, you know? It’d be so much easier if they were just...fucking angry with me. All this understanding is...it’s not right.” He’s not even angry. He’s not anything really. He feels like his insides have been scraped out.

“It’s because they actually like you,” Chrissy tells him, “fuck knows why,” she mumbles after.

Eddie sinks down in his seat, arms crossed tight. He decides to spend the rest of the journey staring out of the window.

“What?” Eddie squints up at Chrissy.

“The nurse is here to do a blood draw, it’s been a week since your rut, they want to check on you.”

“Oh,” Eddie scrubs at his face, manages to drag himself upright and flop on the edge of the bed for a second, gathering himself.

He doesn’t put it together until he’s slumped his way into the kitchen. It’s Robin. Steve’s best friend.

She already has her stuff laid out on the counter, a cushion from the couch ready to support Eddie’s arm. Chrissy faffs with the coffee machine, “how do you take it?”

Robin responds with what Eddie is sure is an illegal amount of sugar and creamer. He just shrugs to himself, taking his seat, Chrissy sliding him a coffee too.

“Okay, you know the drill right?” Robin asks as she tightens the elastic thingy around the top of Eddie’s arm.

Eddie holds his arm out, braced on the pillow, making a fist and giving a couple of squeezes. Robin mumbles something about a small scratch, and everyone waits quietly while Robin fills four little blood thingies up before deftly removing the needle and replacing it with a plaster. She ditches her gloves, downs her coffee, and then washes her hands and her mug at the sink.

She packs her things away, Chrissy’s phone rings and she heads out the French doors onto the deck to answer it.

Eddie takes the chance, “I’ll see you out.”

Robin finishes packing all her bits and bobs away in her cool box looking thing, “sure, thanks.”

Eddie calls himself plenty of names on the way to the door, Robin trailing behind. Thinks about how Steve is nothing to do with him. He’s stupid for asking. What’s the point of asking, even, it doesn’t change anything. It’s polite, no, it’s fine, he could ask? No, it’s weird and pointless-

Eddie’s so deep in his own thoughts Robin’s out the door and he nearly misses his chance, he’s landed on being pretty sure he definitely shouldn’t ask, but it slips out without his permission, “how’s Steve?”

She shrugs smiling, “yeah pretty good thanks, I’ll tell him you were asking after him,” and then she’s gone, getting in her little car and heading off down the drive. Eddie doesn’t know what he even expected. He doesn’t understand why he even cares. Steve’s a dick.

Eddie was just being polite, or whatever.

Part Nine

[hvnlygrl]

hii!! Can you do JJ

where they were at a kegger and she drank alot so he had to carry her home and change her but he sees that she's wearing a pad and then he asks kie for help and then wtv

⌞ DON’T WORRY ⌝

જ⁀➴ pairing | jj maybank x fem!reader

જ⁀➴ word count | 1.9k

જ⁀➴ warnings | fluff, drinking and smoking, unconscious/extremely drunk reader, sweet jj, drinking then driving (not drunk driving), period talk, mention of toxic shock syndrome.

જ⁀➴ synopsis | after you have a few too many at the kegger, jj brings you home and takes care of you for the night. however, he needs kie’s help when he realizes he has no idea what to do for a girl on her period.

જ⁀➴ notes | this is so sweet i can literally just imagine his face when he realizes 😭

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even though you told jj on the way to the kegger that your plan for the night was to get so fucked up you could barely walk, he was still shocked to see you down beer after beer. whether you chugged from a funnel or shotgunned, he watched you intently. he was drinking too, but not nearly as much, and his tolerance was a lot higher than yours was. 

jj knew that being your boyfriend meant that he had to stay alert to be sure that nobody, whether they were a kook, pogue or touron, gave you any trouble throughout the night. though, he also knew that everyone was fully aware that you were his girl, and they would be complete idiots to put themself in that position. 

you shot jj a half smile and a drunken wink as you beckoned him over to the edge of the treeline, gar pack in hand. he knew that there were two rolled blunts in that pack, two that he rolled before you left the house tonight. he grinned as he excused himself from the conversation with john b, following you over to your top-secret hiding spot. it was an old pump-shed a few hundred feet from where the kegger took place, hidden in the woods. he walks in, settles in next to you on the ground and pulls the lighter from his pocket. 

you scoot closer to him, pulling your phone from your back pocket as you pull up spotify. “let’s set the mood,” you joke, wiggling your eyebrows at him not-so-seductively. 

he laughs, shaking his head at you, “you havin’ fun, baby?” 

“i’m having so much fun,” you’re not slurring but he can tell just by the sound of your voice that you’re getting fairly drunk. “i’m so excited for this blunt,” you squeal, rubbing your hands together like some cartoon villain. 

“well, let’s get this party started then,” jj retorts, flashing his signature grin at you. he roasts the end of the blunt in the flame for a few moments before bringing it up to his lips, puffing on it a few times until it begins burning evenly. he always took the first hit, though he would never admit that this was the reason, because he needed to be sure that it wasn’t laced. he bought from the same guy every time, but after hearing all the horror stories, he just couldn’t take the risk with you. to him, his life was expendable and yours needed to be protected at all costs. 

you watch him closely, completely unaware of the silent sacrifice, admiring his features under the mixture of the moonlight coming through the broken roof and the flame of the lighter. he takes a few hits, holding them in for a bit before exhaling them. on the last hit, he holds it, swishing the smoke around in his mouth before letting it out as a ghost, pulling it back in expertly. 

you take the blunt from between his fingers, taking your own hits. you do a few ghosts before working on blowing o’s, the milky clouds flowing perfectly in the breezeless shed. 

by the end of the blunt, you’re feeling pretty crossfaded. fade into you by mazzy star begins playing from your phone, a soft gasp flying from your lips as you stand up. “dance with me.” 

“what?” jj questions with a laugh.

“c’mon, jj, dance with me!” you beckon him aggressively, clapping happily when he finally stands up. 

you wrap your hands around the back of his neck, resting them there comfortably as he lets his hands grip your waist gently. the two of you sway back and forth to the beat as you sing softly. he can’t help but adore you in this moment, seeing you so full of light and happiness, completely unbothered by anything and everything else. he knows that the only thing going through your head is being with him, and he can’t help but be totally in love with you. 

when the song ends, he gives you a soft kiss, letting his forehead rest against yours as the next song begins playing. in this moment, it's just the two of you, and that’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“you ready to go back soon?” you ask after a few minutes, “i told sarah i’d take some shots with her at the waterline.” 

he nods, “sure, whenever you’re ready, babe. i’ll probably go grab john b and pope to smoke this other blunt if that’s cool.” 

you shrug, “it’s your weed, babe, do whatever you want,” you give him a smile, leaning up to kiss him one more time. the kiss is interrupted by your phone ringing, sarah’s name and picture popping up on the screen. “shit, that’s sarah,” you pull away, answering it. “what’s up sare-bear!” 

“where are you? i wanna take these shots, and i’ll take them without you if you don’t hurry your ass up,” you can tell just by her tone that she’s joking, but the threat does kick you into high gear. 

“don’t you dare! i’m coming, i’ll be there in a sec,” you reply, matching her tone before you hang up. “gotta go, babe!” you give him another kiss before darting out of the shed, running to the meeting spot you and sarah had agreed on. 

kie is sitting next to sarah on the sand when you arrive, both of them giving you a look that screams you better not have been screwing. 

“we were smoking,” you reply to the silent comments, crossing your fingers over your heart, “scouts honor.” 

“whatever,” sarah shrugs jokingly, “let’s get it!” 

you each take turns clinking the shots together before downing them, laughing and telling stories from the last few days. 

you lose track of how much alcohol you’ve consumed, but that mixed with the blunt you smoked with jj earlier has you reeling in place. “y’all,” you begin, words slurred and eyes glossy, “i think i’m fucked.” 

sarah’s as drunk as you are, giggling at the statement, “me too, girlfriend, me too.” 

kiara, on the other hand is significantly more sober than you both, letting out a soft laugh as she hands you her water bottle. “drink up,” she orders, playing mother yet again. “i’ll go find your boyfriends.” 

when she steps away, you and sarah laugh, drawing images in the sand. “ugh, i needed this,” sarah slurs at you. 

“me too,” you nod, eyelids heavy and brain foggy, “it’s so nice to just not have to give a shit for a night.” 

“right?!” sarah exclaims. she rests her head on your shoulder, and you lean your own against the top of her head. “i love girls night.” 

“so real,” you laugh, “you’re like my sister, y’know?” 

“really?” she lifts her head to look at you, drunken tears welling at her waterline, “that means so much, y/n, you’re like the coolest person i know.” 

“yea, really, you and kie are the sisters i always wanted that i never got to have growing up,” you affirm, “you guys are everything to me. i got your back no matter what, y’know that right?”

“yea, i know, don’t worry,” sarah nods, “i got your back too, no matter what girl.” 

kiara returns, john b and jj in tow. jj lets out a soft laugh at the sight of the two of you before moving in front of you, hands extended, “you ready to go home?” 

you nod, reaching your hands out to meet his as he pulls you up. the sudden movement has you feeling dizzy for a moment, sending you stumbling into his chest, “woah.” 

“oh yeah, definitely time to get you home, my girl,” he nods, giving you as much assistance as you need to stumble back to the van. he’s far from drunk as he helps you into the passenger seat of your own car. once he’s got you settled in, he moves around to the driver’s seat, starting the car and setting the air to the way he knows you like best. 

it’s a five minute drive back to your house. by the time you make it home, you’re falling all over yourself, unable to see or walk straight. jj’s right by your side, guiding you up the front steps and through the house. you’re more than half asleep, hardly conscious when he gets you to the bedroom. he lies you down on your side of the bed, moving to your dresser to grab comfier clothes for you to sleep in. he runs to the bathroom for makeup wipes, knowing you’d be pissed if you woke up in the same makeup from last night. 

jj starts the process by wiping off your makeup as best as he can. once he’s satisfied with that, or pretty sure you’ll be satisfied with it in the morning, he moves to change your clothes. first he pulls of your shoes and socks, knowing how annoyed you get by sleeping in socks. then he pulls the crop top over your head, sliding a big t-shirt on in its place. after he’s got your shirt situated, he unhooks your bra and pulls your arms through the straps, pulling it out from under the shirt the same way he’d seen you do a million times. the last step is getting you out of your jeans. he unbuttons and unzips them before shimmying them down your legs and throwing them as close to the hamper as he can get them. he’s about to put your favorite pair of sleep shorts on when he notices the wings of a pad sticking out from your underwear. he bites at his lip, unsure of what to do. 

jj doesn’t have the first idea about what to do for a girl on their period in that regard, but he knows that he can’t just leave you like that. he’s heard kiara’s rants about toxic shock syndrome a million times and he has no clue if leaving it for that long would make you sick. kiara, he realizes. he pulls out his phone, dials her number and waits for her to pick up. 

“what’s up, jj? everything okay?” she replies, still with pope at the kegger. “how’s y/n?”

“she’s sleeping,” he responds, “look, i hate to ask you this, but she’s like passed out right now and she’s got a pad on. i don’t know what to do, i don’t wanna leave her like this-” 

kiara cuts him off with a soft laugh, “i’ll be there in a few, hang tight.” 

jj sighs a breath of relief, “oh, thank god. thank you so much, kie, i owe you one.” 

“no problem,” she laughs, “see you in a sec.” 

jj waits patiently until kiara gets there, quickly letting her in and sending her to the bedroom. he waits in the living room, watching instagram reels as he waits for her to do whatever she needs to do, completely relieved that she knows what to do. 

she makes her way to the living room after a few minutes, “got her all clean and tucked in.” 

“thank you so much, kie, seriously, i had no idea what to do,” he rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“no worries,” she shrugs it off, “just girls helping girls. you know i’m all about that.” 

“true that,” he laughs, giving her a quick goodbye as she makes her way out to her car. he goes back to the bedroom, sliding in next to you after putting your phone on the charger on your nightstand. he also took the courtesy of bringing your trashcan to the side of the bed just in case. 

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hvnlygrl 2025 ©️

taglist — @rubiehart @sarahsangelicdoll @baebankz

[stottlemorgan]

Temptation

Pairing: Low Honour Arthur Morgan x Catholic Female Reader. Summary: You've been sweet on Arthur for a little while, and unbeknownst to you, he is also fighting to supress his own feelings. Written in a headcanon-ish format. Word count: 1k. Tags: 18+ Smut, male masturbation, religious themes/language/etc, naïve-ish (more so hopeful) reader, Arthur being a meanie! Author's Note: Kind of tempted to write a little fic based on this dynamic where he finally snaps, idk!! I find it super interesting to explore!! Pictures from Pinterest (Arthur pic by blub). Photos are to set a vibe, not to represent Reader fully x Ao3 Link.

Your face is always ablush around Arthur, your eyes awkwardly flitting over his form, refraining from looking for too long, desperately evading the blooming warmth in your stomach, funnelling the energy into your chores.

He's well aware of your naïve, girlish cupidity, and he's also aware of the trifling glimmer of enjoyment that threatens to grow beneath the iron gate of his ribcage each time you try to engage with him. It only exacerbates his nasty demeanour towards you.

He rolls his eyes in response your hopeful words, shakes his head at your gentle prayers before bed yet listens until the end - the vision of you knelt at the edge of the overlook, hands clasped together, ankles crossed, eyes closed, hair pinned back, yet another allurement in this wretched life to resist debauching.

You're always so kind to him in the face of his constant louring, his biting remarks, his disregard for your personal space, his lack of respect for you and everyone around him. "How are you today, Mister Morgan?" "Fine. Though you leavin' me alone'd be an improvement."

"Anything I can help you with, Mister Morgan?" "Shuttin' up'd be mighty helpful."

Even when he pushes past you to slop stew onto his plate, he's met with a quick, shaky "Sorry, Mister Morgan." and you patiently watch and wait for him to finish. He can practically feel you trembling behind him, yet you don't leave.

"Might you escort me into town, Mister Morgan?" He finds himself grunting out a "Fine." with a mighty glower, but doesn't talk to you at all the whole ride there.

On the nights that he is in camp, he watches you from across the campfire, rolling his tongue about his mouth, biting down on it. You make attempts to coax him into conversation but his bitter retorts wane your efforts. It doesn't take long for him to retreat to his tent, nursing his vexation with alcohol and a vacant stare.

"Goodnight and God bless you, Mister Morgan." You say in passing on the way to your tent, your dress billowing behind you, a book pressed to your chest.

He fails to respond, a sardonic warped inkling of belief circling about his head. Perhaps God does exist and dropped you into his path just to torment him, to show him just how repulsive and utterly wrong he is and will forever be.

Perhaps God wanted him storming to the far edge of camp that night, jaw set, shoulders painfully tense; his mind aswirl with frustration and rum as he furiously unbuttoned his pants. As he spat into his hand. As he gripped the trunk of a tree with one hand and plunged the other into his trousers, desperate to squeeze the gormless ache for you from his cock. As he groaned and growled parts of your name hotly out into the cool hues of yet another lonely night. As his slick skin burned under the speed of his strokes, just needing it, you, gone. As he fell to his knees with a rasping sigh, spilling warmly over his fist, his head bowed, the closest he'd ever come to prayer.

A few days later, you find yourself almost rendered into a stupor at the sight of Arthur crouching down next to you as you kneel at the edge of the overlook. You offer him a smile, and you sit up a little, eager at this advancement in what you'd always dared to call 'friendship' despite his distaste for it,

"Lord be with you this beautiful mornin', Mister Morgan."

He rolls his eyes with a tip of his head, sighing, "Yeah, mornin'." The words are strained as he trains his gaze on the mountains across the river. His tone melts into a sarcastic lilt, his eyes narrowed,

"Hangin' 'round with us mustn't be somethin' your ol' Father is too proud of, hm?" Come on, girl, crack a little. You just look up at him, with that infuriating mixture of softness and nerves in your expression.

"We're all children of the Lord, Mister Morgan. You may be lost, but you may find your way."

Arthur sours further, "'Course you'd say that."

You bow your head, "'Course I would..." You trail off, and a moment later, your hand comes into view, your golden cross necklace carefully wrapped around your fingers, glinting in the sunlight, dangling afore his face. Your voice is sweet and understanding, setting Arthur's stomach aboil with a nauseating irritation. "The Lord is thy shepherd, Mister Morgan. Open your heart and he may guide you onto the path of redemption. It's one I know well."

He huffs, a familiar pang of self-loathing slithering up through his gut and spouting from his lips in a harsh grunt.

You whimper as he snatches your necklace from you, the delicate chain breaking with a snap. He clutches the cross, so tightly that you wonder if it's cutting into his palm. The jerking force causes your hand to knock into his chest and you quickly recoil, your palm settling against your own chest, where the cross usually rested. The backs of your fingers tingle where they had met his waistcoat and you feel blood rush fervently to your chest and face.

"You 'n' your damned faith." He snarls, "There ain't nothin' to believe in in this world. You're as lost as the rest of us."

"I understand your-" You start but cut off with a flinch and a gentle gasp when he wrenches himself up from the ground and strides away with an "Oh, shut up."

Your gaze lags over the grass prickling up from where his heavy feet had trudged through it before snagging on the shimmering chain of your necklace still grasped firmly in his hand.

This outburst brings him one step closer to giving in, one small step closer to ruining you, dragging you down into the dirt; leaving you to lie alongside every other person he's left in the wake of his destruction, including himself.

[marketing-insider-group]

Understanding Full-Funnel Marketing in Paid Media Advertising - Marketing Insider Group

Learn how full-funnel marketing in paid media guides potential customers from awareness to conversion while maximizing your ad spend efficiency.

[love-lilacs]

what a cruel summer! | tyler owens x reader (18+)

Tyler laughs. That deep, clear rumble that sends every girl swooning into his arms. You aren’t immune to its charm from your spot, a roiling envy settling in your stomach as you turn away from where you had been watching them out of the corner of your eye.

You can’t be jealous. You just can’t.

No matter what this feels like. 

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI. drinking. porn w some plot??? smut. unprotected pnv (wrap it before you tap it pls). oral, f receiving. spanking. dirty talk. no use of y/n. fwb relationship and feewings.

word count: 5.1k

The heat of Oklahoma is only bearable because of the storms that pass through, with their cold fronts and sweet smelling rain, creating rotating funnels of wind for you to chase with your friends. 

That, and Tyler Owens. 

It wasn’t meant to be this serious, which is why you keep telling each other that it isn't. You almost exclusively dance only with each other because you’re the only two that are only ones who aren’t clumsy and like doing it, sneaking into each others rooms for sex but staying overnight because it’s easier than sneaking back to your respective beds. Tyler insists you ride with him in his truck because you have an uncanny ability for reading the radar and navigating, not because he’ll push to get as close to the cell as possible so that you can get the perfect shot for your journals.

It’s not serious, but when he holds you close and spins you around the floor of whatever sticky dive bar you’re in, it sure feels that way. 

It felt that way when some guy put his cowboy hat on your head, taking it back only after Tyler snatched it from your head, pulling you backwards into his chest while drawling that the guy had picked the wrong girl. 

It feels that way on the odd day off in some hotel pool when you’re perched on his shoulders after another winning round of chicken fight and his short nails are digging into your thighs while you tangle your hand in his hair. The image of your thighs around his head border on too much to handle while he cheers you on- “Atta girl!”

“I’m getting another round.” You say to no one, well aware that your friends are deep in a debate about who was stupider in today’s chase and will not hear you. They don’t notice that Tyler has been gone for the better half of 15 minutes, laughing and charming the young female bartender. She can’t be much younger than you, but has on one of those tiny blank tank tops that make boobs look like gravity is a suggestion. That paired with low pigtails that the middle-aged men at the end the bar are drooling over; you’ve decided you can’t possibly compete with her. You step up to the spot only a few spots down from Tyler and the girl, desperately trying to make eye-contact with the other bartender for a refill.

You’re just close enough to hear their conversation as he tells her about the tornado you had chased earlier that day.

“That must be so scary.” She gushes, resting her chin in her hand, “You’re so brave. I could never do that.”

Tyler laughs. That deep, clear rumble that sends every girl swooning into his arms. You aren’t immune to its charm from your spot, a roiling envy settling in your stomach as you turn away from where you had been watching them out of the corner of your eye.

You can’t be jealous. You just can’t.

No matter what this feels like. 

“Another one, miss?” The older bartender asks. You nod, “and a shot of Jack,” placing a few bills on the counter as he prepares your drinks. 

“Is that your team in the corner over there?” She asks. Their two voices are growing nearer to you. You trace your finger down a grain in the wood, wincing at the stickiness that follows you as your drinks are placed in front of you. You down the shot before you can think too hard about it, the bittersweet liquid burning down your throat.

“Yup. Best in the damn south. And this-” Tyler claps a hand on your shoulder causing you to jump back into his chest. His stupidly firm, warm and comforting chest. 

“This is my wingman. My partner. Don’t know what I’d do without her guiding me.” Tyler’s hand slips down your middle, tucking you firmly into his side. 

You look up meet his gaze, hoping your face is as steely and sharp as the mask you desperately want to wear. “Probably drive straight into a tornado and die.” You deadpan, wrapping your lips around your straw and raising your eyebrows. 

“Without you darlin,’ I don’t think I’d be getting anywhere near any one of ‘em.” Tyler grins down at you, squeezing your waist as he pulls you closer to his side. “Nice meetin’ ya, Bailey! See ya ‘round.” That’s all the goodbye he affords her as he guides you back to the group with his hand on your lower back. 

“She seemed nice.” You say, trying to keep the bitterness out of your tone. You fail. 

Tyler laughs, clearly bemused by the whole situation. 

“She’s alright. Why? You jealous, darlin’?” Tyler stops, tugging your belt loops to face him. The sudden movement combined with your tipsiness makes you stumble, placing a hand on his pec to steady yourself. 

You set your jaw as you snatch your hand away as if burned, glaring up at him. “Never.” 

“Well then, you won’t have an issue with me asking her to dance? Her shift is over soon.”

Your free hand clenches into a fist, squeezing tightly as you shake your head. 

“No?” Tyler asks, a knowing look on his face. Mouth quirking up at the side, in that stupidly charming way. 

“No.” You repeat, turning on your heel and walking back to your table. When you sip from your drink, he’s talking to Bailey again and she steps out to the dancefloor as he guides her around. The men from the end of the bar watch as they do so, jealousy clear on their faces. You’re sure it must be clear on your own too, taking another larger sip and wincing. The bartender made you a double. Not that you’re complaining as you suck it down quickly. “Let’s do shots!” You exclaim to the group, grabbing Kate’s arm. A resounding ‘yes!’ is heard from around you and two of the guys head to the bar, returning with enough shots for everyone to have two.

Tyler is peering over Bailey’s head curiously, watching as you knock both back in quick succession. Tequila. Your personal nemesis. You cannot bring yourself to care. “Let’s dance!” You giggle to Kate and Lily, dragging them to a spot on the dancefloor opposite of Tyler. They oblige you easily, moving to the beat. As the night crawls on and the music gets louder, you’re fed shot after shot until Kate has you hanging off of her left side and Lilly clutching her right hand. Tyler has long since abandoned Bailey, choosing to stand with the guys and watching you move with a smile on his handsome face. All it does is make you sad. 

“Alright, party girls. Come on, last call is coming up and we should get back.” Tyler has appeared in front of you, the rest of the guys in tow. 

“Aw!” You pout, stepping away from Kate and looking up at him. “But I’m not done! And you can’t leave Bailey!” You sing her name bitterly, wrinkling your nose and spinning, maintaining eye contact as best you can. You’re warm and swaying, much lighter than earlier. You manage to ruin your own mood when you face him again, shocked that he would still be in front of you. Your brows furrow and lips form a pout. 

Tyler sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you, guiding you out of the bar. “‘M not interested in Bailey, sweetheart. I like you.” 

“You can’t say things like that.” You insist as the cool night air hits your body. One of your friend’s cars is in front of you, backseat door open and engine running. 

“Like what?” Tyler asks, carefully turning you to face him. Concern is written on his face while he hands rest on your hips. A thumb rubs back and forth on the skin where your shirt has ridden up.

“Like sweetheart, especially after you’ve spent your night flirting with another girl.”

“I wasn’t flirting.” Tyler insists, “I wouldn’t do that to y-” He cuts himself off, “I wasn’t flirting with her.” He insists quietly, cheeks going pink.

You scoff, pushing off of him and into the backseat. “Could’ve fooled me.” You call as you buckle in your seatbelt. Tyler sighs dejectedly as he closes the door behind you. With only Lily in the backseat with you, the world suddenly feels a lot less steady in the dark car. You don’t realize you’re crying until you’re on some unlit back road towards the hotel, sniffling softly as tears fall down your face. 

Lily says your name once, then twice until you look at her. You’re sure you’re eyes are red and puffy. Concern is written on her face. “Are you okay?”

You nod, wiping furiously at your cheeks. “M’fine.” You blubber, crossing your arms as another cascade of tears leak down. 

Tyler says your name from up front this time. “We’re almost back, okay?”

“Okay.” You sob, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You run to escape from the team’s prying eyes in the lobby, not catching Tyler’s gaze as he assures them;  “I’ll check in on her.” as you rush past the closed pool, desperately searching your pocket for the room key. Only when the green light flashes and you shut the door behind you do you allow yourself to gasp for air. 

30 minutes later, you’re wrapped in a soft blanket, watching a rerun of an HGTV episode, putting sour candy after candy on your tongue. You can’t bear to look Tyler in the eyes, can't bear to face Lily and Kate’s comforting text messages inquiring about your well being. 

A knock interrupts your sulking. Expecting it to be someone from the team you ignore it, not wanting to face the music. But it comes again, louder this time, and you mute the TV.

Creeping up slowly, you reach for your phone and the nearest potential weapon- your textbook on Differential Equations in Chemistry from a summer class you’re taking. Your name is called from outside the door before you can stand on your tiptoes to peer through the peephole. Even though you recognize the voice, you check anyways. Standing sheepishly with his hands in his pockets is Tyler. 

“Can we talk?” Tyler asks, raising his hand to knock again, “I know you’re mad, darlin’, but I-”

You open the door before he can finish speaking, taking a moment to bask in his startled gaze. You look him up and down. He’s changed his clothes since the bar, sporting a backwards cap and too-small gray t-shirt he’s had since you were freshmen in college. You try to ignore the way his biceps bulge and strain against the sleeves when he adjusts the stupidly attractive hat. 

“I’m not mad.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest, hoping he doesn’t realize its his shirt that you donned. Based on the way his gaze flicks down to where your breasts are pushed up against the logo and quirks his eyebrow ever so slightly, you know he does. 

“Had me fooled, then.” He stares you down, waiting for a response. You stare back, a silent battle between the two of you on who will fold first. Begrudgingly, you concede, stepping aside for him to pass and enter the tiny room. You think he’s going to comment on the mess you’ve made; in your frustration after the chase, you left your clothes in a heap on the floor next to your damp towels from the shower and the candy bag on the unmade bed. 

“You’re a bad liar.” Tyler teases lightly with his usual lopsided grin on his face. 

To anyone else, he looks relaxed and nonchalant. You know him better. Based on the way his thumb is fiddling with his belt loop, you know he’s walking on eggshells around you. You shrug, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling your shirt down to cover more of your bare thighs.

His sullen face, half shadowed by the lamp in the corner, follows the movement. His throat bobs as he steps towards you.

“I’m sorry.” Tyler confesses, stepping towards you.

You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t have danced with her.”

You raise an eyebrow, waving a dramatic hand for him to continue. 

“And I shouldn't have said what I did to you.” He steps again, falling to his knees. Carefully spreading your thighs, he looks up at you and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. 

“And?” You ask as he traces from your knee to the edge of the shirt leaving goosebumps in its wake, never once breaking eye contact with you. 

“Jesus woman, you’re the smartest, prettiest girl I’ve ever met and I will never doubt you again. We men are nothing compared to you.” Tyler recites, causing your smile to finally break away. You laugh, cupping his cheek as he grins too, green eyes following your movement.

“Good.” You lean down, pressing your forehead to his. Tyler closes the distance quickly, pressing a tiny kiss to your lips, unable to resist. 

“She wasn’t interesting either.” Tyler admits, trailing lazy kisses up and down your legs. You hum in response, carding your hand through his sandy locks. “Too sulky.” He quotes, not stopping his movements as he gets closer to those pitiful excuse for sleep shorts you like to wear. He presses his hand against your stomach, pushing gently until you fall backwards onto the bed. 

“Oh?” You ask, voice choked. 

“Mmm. I like you so much more. But don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna fix this.” 

“Fix it?”

“Can’t have my girl mad at me.”

My girl. 

If he didn’t have your head spinning, you’d jerk up and demand exactly what that meant. 

But Tyler does, as always, as he pushes the shirt up to expose a bit of your stomach.

Tyler rises slightly, kissing at the waistband.

“Not mad anymore.” You sigh, fisting a hand in his hair. “Was a bit disappointed, maybe.”

You feel him smile against you stomach, knowing better. But he doesn’t say anything.

“Didn’t get dinner before we left.” Tyler mumbles, more to himself as he hooks his fingers in the shorts. 

“You must be hungry.” You muse breathlessly, lifting your hips to help him.

Tyler’s eyes darken, pupils blown as he leans forward to kiss your bare, soaking core. 

“Starving.” He agrees, eyes only on you. Then he leans forward, pressing his tongue flat and licking a fat stripe up your pussy. 

The action has you crying out desperately, tightening your grip on his hair as his fingers tease at your weeping hole.

“Can’t believe I’m so lucky.” Tyler murmurs, watching carefully as he inserts one finger. You clench around him, moaning desperately “got you, pretty baby, waiting for me, in my shirt, no panties. Don’t deserve her.”

“No.” You gasp as he presses another finger. “Maybe not after today.” 

“Absolutely not.” Tyler agrees, curling his fingers experimentally. “Gotta make it up to her.”

Tyler repeats the motion a couple times watching intently until you keen forward. He surges towards you, wrapping his lips around your clit, tonguing at the little bud with his usual fervor. 

You moan loudly, pulling his head closer to you as you throw your head backwards on the messy bed, arching your back as you pull him closer, closer, closer. 

 “That’s my girl.” Tyler grunts into your core, “Is my pussy gonna come for me?”

You cry out head wobbling in a desperate ‘yes.’

“That’s right. My girl, my pussy. My sweet cunt. Who makes you feel this good?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he repeats his motions, holding you just on the edge of coming. His arm brands across your hips, holding you in place and preventing you from squirming to get the friction you need to push you over the edge.

Tyler pulls his fingers halfway from your soaking cunt, inhaling sharply as you clench, desperately trying to pull him back in.

“Baby,” He reminds gently, toying at your clit with his thumb, “who makes you feel this good?”

Your body jolts at the featherlight touch, “You, Tyler!” You cry out, and he nods. 

“That’s my girl.” He wraps his mouth around you again, working you closer to your high as your thighs shake and breaths come quicker. Flames lick at your skin, threatening to consume you whole. The icy cold room cannot compare to Tyler’s mouth, not when he’s working you just like this. When it hits, your orgasm surrounds you like a supernova, heat covering your skin despite the overworked air conditioner blowing cool air towards your bare body. Starbursts of white bloom behind your eyelids as you thrash, desperately grinding into Tyler’s face to ride out your high.

Tyler lets you use him, grinding your pussy into his face and drinking up your orgasm, working you until you carefully pull him away, muttering “sensitive.” His chin is shiny, slick with your release and the smile he sports can only be described as smug. Tyler wraps an arm around your center, sighing as you pull him on top of you. 

You’re dimly aware of the TV casting a blue glow over the two of you as you reach for his belt, undoing it carefully.

“I really am sorry.” Tyler catches your hand, emerald eyes boring into yours. Sadness is reserved in them, touch tentative as he raises your wrist to his mouth and presses a kiss to the soft skin there. The action is so endearing you nearly want to cry.

“I know.” You pull your hand from his, running a thumb over his mouth and pulling his lip down. His tongue darts out, touching your fingertip ever so slightly. You continue your movement until you brush the scruff of his chin. You lean up to kiss him chastely. “So am I.”

Looking down at you, he’s a work of art. Face flushed and damp strands of hair hanging over his forehead, likely from a shower. That hat he was wearing is somewhere on the bedsheets of this shitty motel room. He smells strongly of cedar and pine, shrouding you in the world’s most comforting blanket. Tyler lets his body sink lower to cover you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. You comb your fingers through his hair, ignoring the way the cool metal of his belt buckle is digging into your thigh. Wet kisses are being placed along your skin in between murmurs and praise you can’t quite make out. 

This doesn’t feel like friends. 

You want to say as much and the sentiment is mirrored in his eyes when he opens them, hovering above you on his forearms.

But you don’t, instead whispering “can I?” as you trail your touch from his pecs to his abs, lifting his shirt and running your fingers along that light trail of hair just above his belt. 

Tyler nods. “Please, sweetheart.”

You peel your shirts from your bodies first, taking a moment to marvel at his chest as you always do, grazing your teeth across his nipple just to make him shiver. His jeans come next and you take your time unfastening them. He ungracefully kicks them off, boxers following seconds later. Tyler lowers himself fully on top of you again, careful not to let his weight crush you.

Not that you would mind if he did. 

The kisses he offers are far from filthy, instead tender and gentle, as if you’d disappear if he wasn’t careful. You can faintly taste yourself on his lips, a blush rising in your cheeks at the thought. He cups your face delicately, calloused hands rough against your soft skin.

When you reach down to grasp him, he hisses, pressing his face into your neck . 

”Shit, sweetheart.” Tyler gasps out as you trace your fingers gently over a thick vein,. “‘M not gonna last long.”

“I don’t need you to.” You mutter into his collarbone, sinking your teeth into his smooth skin and brushing a thumb over his swollen tip. Precum smears with your thumb’s movement and he groans again, hiding his face lower in your chest and messily kissing the tops of your breasts.

You continue moving your hand, drinking in his gasps and moans with pride. Finally, you guide him to your dripping heat. You gasp and he moans long and pretty when you drag his tip through your heat. The first press of his 

The stretch is something you’ll never get used to, nails digging into your shoulders as Tyler drags his lips over your cheek. “So good.” He gasps and you nod fervently, catching you lips against his. You dig your nails into his shoulders, rolling your hips once. Tyler takes his cue, pulling out slowly, watching your needy cunt grip his thick cock. When he bottoms out again, it punches a high pitched breath from your lungs. He maintains the slow, bruising pace, arms bracketing your head as he pounds your poor pussy. Every thrust hits deeper, fat tip bullying that spongy spot you can never quite reach on your own. 

Every nerve on your body is alight, hot and burning. All you can possibly conjure from your fucked-out mind is his name. Clearly, Tyler isn’t not far off from your state with the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. 

You clench around him, lips catching in a messy kiss that can hardly be counted as such. Panting against each other’s mouths like you’ve just ran a mile. To call it a kiss would be an insult to the romantics attached to the word. It’s messy, dirty, and downright nasty. It’s hot. 

Tyler shifts, angle changing ever-so-slightly, but the movement causes his pelvis to brush against your neglected clit. 

“There?” Tyler asks as you cry out. He trails his hand down to where your bodies meet, watching the way your cunt grips his cock, wet from every thrust into your tight pussy. His fingers circle your clit and you gasp sharply, nodding eagerly and throwing your head back. “‘S fuckin’ hot.” 

“Good girl,” Tyler murmurs, “This little cunt is gon’ come for me again, ain’t it? Can feel the way you’re gripping me. ‘S like heaven.” 

The world around you grows dull. The roof could rip off of this dingy place, rain pouring on your skin, but all you could know is the way Tyler feels against you. The way his voice coaxes you closer to your high. The way his breath fans your cheek when you come, thrusts slowing as you ride out your orgasm, clenching around him. Your senses dull as all you can feel is the way his body presses to you. When you open your eyes again, Tyler is still sheathed inside of you, pressing butterfly kisses across your cheeks. You meet his concerned gaze, and something akin to a challenge seeds itself in your brain. 

With one movement, you’re pushing him off and out of you, flipping him onto his back and straddling his thighs. Tyler’s gaze is wide as he watches you, those emerald eyes nearly black from arousal and astonishment. 

His hands find themselves gripping your thighs as you rub your pulsing pussy up his length. Tyler groans again. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

You lean down, pressing his tip into your cunt again as you whisper into his ear. ���But what a way to go, huh cowboy?”

Tyler thrusts up into you, fully inside you once again. A smirk toys at your lips as you swivel your hips around him. His gaze makes you feel powerful as you begin to ride him. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, alternating between shallow thrusts to meet your body and letting you fully take control, as if overcome by the picture in front of him.

Your eyes catch on something near your knee and the corner of your lip quirks up as you reach for it. Tyler’s hat, the one abandoned however long ago is resting backwards on your head. The too-big accessory falling over your face with every bounce.

“Fuck.” Tyler huffs, gripping your ass so tightly you’re sure he’s going to leave bruises. “You really are my girl, ain’t ya?”

You nod, a wolfish grin spreading on his face at  “Atta girl. Prove it.”

So you do, fully intending to ride him within an inch of his life. His hips meet yours with every thrust, the sound of skin hitting skin not deterring either of you. Neither does the noises spilling from your mouths. Each sound of his is music to your ears, pride surging in your chest at the knowledge that you pull those sounds from him. They may not know now, but if anyone walks by your room, there is no doubt that they would understand exactly what is going on behind that closed door. 

Still, your movements never cease as flames paint your skin, too lost in pleasure to even think about the exhausted ache blooming in your thighs. A particularly hard trust has your head tipping back with a guttural moan. Two orgasms in has left you sensitive and leaking, but Tyler doesn’t hesitate, reaching up to cup your breasts and thumbing over a nipple. Your hand reaches down to rub at your swollen and forgotten clit, easing the ache from the lack of simulation. 

He looks at you in awe, as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky, painting every constellation with your hands. As he can’t believe you’re real. There’s no way. He can’t look at you like that. Like there’s something more, like you’re something special, not without promising you something. 

This doesn’t feel like just friends. 

You don’t have time to focus on the intruding thoughts, shaking them away as you brace your hands on his chest and riding him faster, harder. Desperate to feel him, make him feel as good as he’s made you feel. Desperate to be closer. 

Tyler yanks you down to meet his lips, tugging your hair and taking control as he sets a fast pace, chasing his own high. 

“Can I-?”

“Inside me, Owens.” You order, biting at his eat and tugging slightly at his blonde strands.

Tyler has a habit of clutching you tightly when he comes, bodies pressed so tightly together that nothing could possibly separate you. Ribbons of white coat your walls as he comes with a shout, thrusting sloppily as he rides out his own high. When he finally comes to a stop, you clench around him teasingly, knowing he’s still sensitive from his orgasm. A curse spills from his lips as he slips from your weeping cunt. You don’t know how long you stay there, curling on top of him with his hat still atop your head. Tyler brushes his fingers over your back, tracing invisible pictures as the air conditioner whirs in the background. Your own fingers draw up and down his collarbone. There’s a scar on his bicep from some brush with debris after a storm. A soft kiss to the skin there has a shaky breath tearing from his lungs. Somewhere in there, you doze off, only stirring when Tyler carefully moves you off of him and tucking you into a pillow. Your eyelids flutter open, a sinking feeling settling as your stomach as Tyler leans over you, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I’ll be right back.”

You know he means it, returning in his plaid boxers with a wet washcloth to clean the remains of your sex from your inner thighs. You catch the scent of your lavender lotion being rubbed onto your legs, stifling a soft sigh into your pillow. A kiss followed tap to your hip has you sitting up, silently taking the t-shirt he offers you- his shirt. The same one he wore into your room. It’s silent as he feeds the fabric over your head and through your arms. Your eyes meet his, and he looks suddenly shy and sheepish, as if this isn’t a dance you’ve danced a million times. 

This time is different, you both know that. 

“Can I stay?” Is what he asks, looking for permission before settling into his routine. You know he’ll lay on his back before turning on his side and tucking you into him. 

Still, its a question this time, waiting for your answer. Tyler is ready to go and pretend this never happened if you would just say the words.

As if you ever would.

You shake your head, patting the spot next to you. “Yeah.” You swallow as you slide your legs under the covers. “You should stay.”

You can’t remember the last time Tyler looked so relieved. 

When you wake up to a warm body pressed against yours, it takes a moment for last night’s memories to trickle in. Your body aches deliciously, brain somehow clear despite the copious amounts of alcohol you consumed the night before. Tyler breathes quietly behind you, clutching your waist as if you’ll slip away like sand if he loosens his grip. His exhales tickle your ear and you squirm backwards into his grasp, desperate to be closer closer closer.  

“Mornin’.” Tyler murmurs in that deep voice of his. “You sleep okay?”

Your eyes close again, finding his hand and intertwining your fingers. “Mhmm. You?”

Tyler hums in agreement, turning you gently to face him. His arm is tucked under his head, bicep flexing deliciously as he studies you. A question is written on his face, searching for something in your eyes, maybe regret. 

He must not find it though, because he quietly clears his throat. “So about last night…”

You shake your head cutting him off in a feeble attempt to restrain your smile, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle as he mirrors your expression. There isn’t anything more that needs to be said, any questions answered simply by meeting the other’s gaze. Without words, it suddenly all makes sense. 

You aren’t sure who moves first, lurching into each other with such vigor that your noses collide before your lips meet and your bodies tangle into the messy sheets as one.

This is most definitely not just friends. But you were never that in the first place, were you? 

Seems you both knew that.

[sanitationnation]

Day 1: A Rough Start for Chris’s new Career

Bright and early this morning, I arrived at Headquarters, City Wide Leisure Management inc. Walking into the place it feels like an old jail. The hallways were dark wet and dirty. The training was set in a basement that had been converted into a makeshift classroom. As I stepped inside, I couldn’t help but notice my fellow trainees—most of them were Latino men with rugged, weathered and easy propositions. Their confident chatter in Spanish and the ease with which they carried themselves made me feel even more out of place.

After a brief introduction, we all had our ID pictures taken.

Standing there, I put on my uniform for the first time, acutely aware of the bold “TRAINEE” printed on the back. Every time I caught a glimpse of it in the mirror, a pang of embarrassment shot through me. Here I was, fresh out of college with a degree in environmental science, reduced to wearing a label that felt more like a mark of inadequacy than a stepping stone.

The classroom session was short but intense. We were shown the basics of chemical handling—nothing more than a crash course on how not to harm ourselves while on the job. The lessons were purely procedural, with little to no discussion of the environmental passion that once fueled my studies. I felt like I had been funneled into a world that was entirely detached from what I’d envisioned for my future.

Shortly after our ‘chemical training’ , Tom—the co-owner and instructor—rounded us up and loaded us into a van. Our destination was a graffiti removal site by the riverside. As we drove, the hum of conversation revealed more of the cultural differences between us. While my fellow trainees joked and exchanged tips in rapid Spanish, I struggled to keep up, feeling the weight of a language barrier and my own inexperience.

Once at the site, the real work began. Under the scorching heat, I found myself picking up trash and removing graffiti with a sense of deep embarrassment. Every sweep of the broom reminded me that I was not part of this world, and every call in Spanish I couldn’t understand deepened the isolation I felt. I smelt like shit man, the sun is bright, the uniform tight, when is this training going to end??

By 3p.m., I was released, utterly exhausted and with a heavy realization: im sure NPS park rangers have to do the same things? Whats a little bit of manuel labour. We’ll get through this training one hot disgusting day at a time.

Is this really my future?

[frodothefair]

The United States of Fanfiction vs. Project 2025

Hello, friends!

I happen to be passionate about free speech, and fandom in particular, and since I've been seeing a number of posts to the tune of "Project 2025 is going to ban (and potentially criminalize) fanfiction," I’ve decided to take a deep dive into the issue over the last 24 hours. I’ve done a decent amount of research between other tasks, and I've asked my spouse – who is more politically aware than I am – to explain an embarrassing number of things to me like I'm five. The following is a result of my efforts, and it pertains to Project 2025 as it may affect freedom of speech as well as fandom.

This is not a diagnostic, or a clairvoyant look. I will get some things wrong, and so will anyone else who attempts to predict the future. But feel free to conversate with me, correct me, and contribute your own takes.

The tl/dr version of this article is as follows:

Project 2025 is an ethos and a "wish list" put out by a conservative think tank. It is not a law, a bill, or any kind of concrete action.

No content will become illegal that isn't already.

The IS a concrete law called KOSA that's been making its way through the federal legislature for the last 2-3 years. It is meant to require for-profit platforms (aka not AO3, but yes Tumblr) to funnel certain "harmful" content away from their users who are minors. If you support free speech and the actual safety of kids online, you should OPPOSE this bill. That is a concrete thing you can do. But again, no content is suddenly being outlawed or banned.

For those who want to know more, without further ado... Brace yourselves, this is going to be long.

Unsurprisingly, there seems to be a decent amount of misinformation on this issue.

I'll say right off the bat -- Project 2025 is a huge problem and it is scary, because it aims to dismantle a lot of the freedoms and government structures we take for granted. 

But here is what Project 2025 ISN'T.

It is NOT a law, and it is NOT a bill. 

Rather, it is a broad, 900-page "wish list" put out by an ultra-conservative think tank called The Heritage Foundation, which has existed since the 80's. A lot of actual conservatives consider it frankly crazy. 

There are a number of staff from Trump's first administration who have joined The Heritage Foundation over the past several years. At least one of those people, Trump has hired back. Outside of that, he has gone back and forth about his views on Project 2025, as he does on most things. 

Now, what are think tanks? They're exactly what they sound like. They think. And they put out really long documents aimed at influencing policymaking. They do not actually make the policies, but they aspire to carve their ideological pathways into the minds of those who do.

Now, how are laws actually made? Laws are proposed in the House of Representatives or the senate. By representatives and senators. They then take a really long time and a lot of back and forth to pass. The president, his cabinet, and various other stakeholders such as think tanks and lobbyists (people with lots of money who make it their business to hassle lawmakers) can influence the legislative process. Then, once laws get passed after much trial and tribulation, they may get challenged in various courts as unconstitutional. Trump in particular can influence the legislative process by appointing judges who will make decisions aligning with his ideology. (Think what he has done to the Supreme Court).

Now, back to Project 2025, the section everyone in fandom seems to be worried about runs as follows:

"Pornography, manifested today in the omnipresent propagation of transgender ideology and sexualization of children, for instance, is not a political Gordian knot inextricably binding up disparate claims about free speech, property rights, sexual liberation, and child welfare. It has no claim to First Amendment protection. Its purveyors are child predators and misogynistic exploiters of women. Their product is as addictive as any illicit drug and as psychologically destructive as any crime. Pornography should be outlawed. The people who produce and distribute it should be imprisoned. Educators and public librarians who purvey it should be classed as registered sex offenders. And telecommunications and technology firms that facilitate its spread should be shuttered."

Take note of the language. Its tone is that of incendiary rhetoric, not law. It tells its readers (which it assumes are Trump loyalists) that the end-goal is a total crackdown on pornography – whatever it decides that is. But these pie-in-the-sky discursive acrobatics simply don’t land. They are a what without any semblance of a how. And while that vagueness is inherently terrifying (because a lack of firm definitions always suits those in power), please do not lose sight of the fact that the Project 2025 lays out Napoleonic plans without any hint at how they will be accomplished. 

Law, and actual legal documents go into excruciating detail as to who, what, when, where, and how will be affected. They make at least some attempt to describe what is and isn’t under a law's jurisdiction. 

While Project 2025 indeed sets an frightening ethos, it does not give a blueprint. What is lost in the terrifying vision it proposes is how hard it would be to implement their ideas on the mass scale they are proposing.

That being said, we absolutely need to be vigilant for any initiatives that align with those views. Because chances are, if we do nothing, the freedoms will erode gradually, similar to a "frog in the pot" phenomenon, where the temperature goes up one degree at a time until the frog is cooked. 

There are concrete things to worry about. And some of them are lost in the blinding Mercury effect that is Project 2025. One of them in particular already has a head start.

I am talking of course about KOSA (the Kids Online Safety Act), which is making its way through the federal legislature and has been... for the last 2-3 years. Many people have identified it as a "Censorship Bill in Disguise" that mandates for-profit websites to "protect" their underage users from certain "harmful" material. 

What does this mean in practice? That is tech companies are aware that a user is a minor (there is some info floating around that this will be done by government ID's, but that's not actually written into the law), then they will be required to funnel certain material away from them. ***Specifically, algorithms and other design elements will not be allowed to suggest certain content to minors, though that content will still be hostable and searchable.***

The obvious problem is that what's "harmful" may be broadly defined, and there is concern that kids will not be able to access information about LBGTQ+, mental health, reproductive rights, etc. 

But again, here's what NOT happening. Unlike the language of Project 2025, nothing is being criminalized for creators. In other words, no, you will not go to jail for writing fanfiction, and fanfiction will not be illegal, no matter what it’s about. Nothing that is of an "adult" nature will actually be illegal that isn't already. The law is a mandate on the tech companies to funnel it away from their underage users. ***Importantly, they are not required to delete or "block" any content -- they just can't suggest it or push it to underage users via algorithms or other "design features." Of course, this is easier said than done, and the tech companies may in fact short-circuit compliance by changing their TOS to avoid hosting certain material to begin with, and they may still delete content, and no, none of this is good or even "not that bad," but this does not translate to an automatic, blanket ban.***

Critically, as the proposed KOSA law is written now, nonprofits like AO3 are exempt. But tumblr is not, tiktok is not, instagram is not. So fandom will be affected, but not universally.

(That is, AO3 is exempt for now. There is a bill in progress called HR 9495 that would allow the government to strip organizations of their nonprofit status without any due process - that's scary too).

But here's the other thing. KOSA has been around since 2022, and it keeps getting blocked and rewritten in Congress. It was endorsed by Joe Biden himself -- way before Trump, before Project 2025, before all of it! In the most recent session of the House of Representatives, it stalled again before the House went on recess for the election. There is a decent amount of opposition to KOSA from the tech lobby (unsurprising) as well as from Republicans themselves, who fear that it will block kids from seeing anti-abortion rhetoric (ironic).

However, the KOSA example gives an idea of how slow the legislative bodies are to get things done. It also highlights the difference between Project 2025's extremist and incendiary language, and what is actually happening and how it happens.

So: what can we do?

The most concrete thing you can do right now is to work to stop KOSA. Part of the reason why it didn’t pass the first two times was because people protested. To this end, you may call your representatives, email them, write to them, protest peacefully if you want to. This bill is actually dangerous, and a wolf in sheep's clothing, because "protect the children" is always an easy sell to someone who's not looking closely. And you can click here to fill out a form opposing it: https://www.stopkosa.com/ 

But there is more!

KEEP CREATING!! We are all fundamentally creative people. Creativity awakens the senses. We will not find victory by being numb and leaving creative energy on the table. So draw. Compose. Hit publish. Hit send. And hit one another up when you’re feeling down, or when you think that your friends might need a good hello. And to my fellow writers, KEEP DYING! KEEP WRITING IT DOWN! (That’s the words of CK Williams, by the way). We are the multitude, and the more we make our voices heard the harder it is for those who would silence us to pretend it will be easy.

I’ll leave you with a few quotes from a famously bizarre French philosopher whose works Mr. Nisilë and I I ran into in college. His name was Gilles Deleuze, and he very much believed that corrupted power only works when the people on the bottom give up by giving way.

“A concept is a brick. It can be used to build a courthouse of reason. Or it can be thrown through the window.”

“If you're trapped in the dream of the Other, you're f-cked.”

“Bring something incomprehensible into the world!”

“Writing has nothing to do with meaning. It has to do with land-surveying and cartography, including the mapping of countries yet to come.”

@possiblyreallyme (You wanted to get tagged, I believe?)

[moonshinemagpie]

It's been almost 7 months since ive used goodreads and bookstagram, and it's wild how I've lost that itchy, compulsive urge to share what im reading with the internet for likes and views

Now i kind of feel the opposite; I dont want to tell anyone but my friends what im reading because it feels private and personal

I didnt stop using book social media because I was trying to get rid of that urge; i dont think i was even fully aware of the urge. But it's interesting that it happened.

Also unexpected is how completely my reading habits have changed. Like, most of the books ive read this year were written before 1899, versus me reading only 1 or 2 classics a year for the last five years or so. Ive spent hardly any money on books this year, and normally I'd have spent hundreds of dollars by now. Im fine reading library books and old ugly paperbacks that cost $1.

It's weird in retrospect that i fully understood GR is operated as a funnel to direct ppl to Amazon purchase pages, and Instagram is a primary marketing platform for all Big 5 publishers, and yet im surprised my consumption habits were being so impacted? Like how is that surprising, yet it is

I dont feel the urge to speed read and move on so that i have new books to share on Insta or add to my Goodreads goal tracker. Ive been reading Ovid's Metamorphoses for the last 8 weeks and it's no one's business and im in no rush.

& ive gotten way weirder with it than i ever would have before? I'm reading my way through 4 different translations spanning the 16th century to the 2020s. I'm not even sure why tbh; just that I like Ovid and I wanted to dig deeper and im not in a hurry to be done.

I feel like im getting to know the translators through their translations, and Ovid feels so real Ive dreamt multiple times that we've shared the same dinner table. I notice metamorphosis as a theme in so much else i read and watch now. The earliest translation im reading (Arthur Golding) influenced Shakespeare, and ive never read a book that i knew shakespeare also read and liked before. It's fun.

I dipped onto GR briefly in May to see reviews of one particular translation of Metamorphoses that I have strong opinions on, and I realized GR clumps every single translation together onto one web page (theyre considered separate editions, not separate books), which makes the website a useless place to discuss the stories.

I found a 1-star review by someone who said she didnt enjoy any of the stories because they were repetitive and boring, and she rushed through the book so that she could say she's read it, and she's now glad to have moved on, although she's bewildered this book is a classic.

I probably would have read Metamorphoses that way last year, or any other year of my adulthood. The individual stories themselves arent riveting; it's the layers of translations, the packed genius of Ovid's Latin (which i need companion books to break down for me, yet another way of slowing down my reading), and this ongoing conversation through the millennia on everything from gender and sex to empire to exile that makes it so immensely rewarding for me.

Truly have not felt less rushed as a reader since high school. Magical things are happening. But im going to stop talking about it now because it's no one's business.

[pizzafishandchips]

Not bad.

Heinrix appraises the board before him with an intense seriousness that, were an outsider to happen upon him, they might assume he was contemplating something of an equally serious matter, such as his inquisitorial duties. But he’s all business when he reaches forward and slowly moves one of his pieces. Calculations and strategy continuously tumble and shift behind his grey eyes as he awaits his opponent’s next move.

Selene is casually reclined in her chair, her cheek resting into her hand as her eyes dart around the board. She drums her fingers against the table, then quickly makes her move before turning her gaze back to the man sitting across from her.

She’s not a bad player by any means, Heinrix has learned. She’s still a novice, but the Rogue Trader possesses a natural grasp of tactics that he knows will serve her well as she gains more experience. Up to this point, he’s won most of their more serious games, but he can tell she’s steadily improving.

Not that he particularly cares about winning. He could be losing every game and he’d still enjoy playing with her.

In spite of his intense concentration, he can still sense her gaze on him, and Heinrix can’t help but look up. As usual, something about the way she looks at him makes his stomach flutter; a playful smirk dances at the edge of her lips, and her eyes are solely focused on him, as if he’s the only thing in the room worthy of her attention.

“Lord Captain? Is something the matter?”

“Not really,” she replies, her smile growing. “Just thinking about how adorable you look when you’re thinking hard about something.”

A blush creeps up his neck, threatening to bloom across his face. While he doesn’t need to resort to biomancy to tamp it down, he still turns away to clear his throat as he tries to retain his composure. “I’m… flattered, Lord Captain. But I would suggest you focus more of your attention to the board. Remember what I mentioned before about being aware of board state.”

The smile she wears to answer him with is almost blinding. “Of course, Master van Calox.”

It continues like this. Somehow, she can still hold her own in spite of dividing her focus between playing and conversation. Meanwhile, Heinrix slowly loses ground. At first, the regicide games were a way to both engage in something he actually liked and an excuse to spend time with her, but lately it feels as though he uses the game as a distraction from her in the middle of sessions. Selene somehow always finds a way to slip past his defenses; the way she leans forward when he speaks, the little, seemingly trivial questions she asks that somehow always gives him pause.

Damn you, von Valancius.

She’s charming, he finally admits to himself, undoubtedly so. He’s known for a while, but it’s significantly harder to resist when they’re alone together like this. Heinrix once again tries to funnel all his attention to the board; if he focuses on the game, he won’t have to think about her. And if he doesn’t think about her, he won’t think about the alluring way she looks up at him through her eyelashes, or how her hand dangles off the side of the chair in such a way that would make it so easy for him to reach over and hold.

Yet when he scrambles to take stock and behold the position of his pieces, something feels off. Hadn’t that piece been in a different square before? Was that other piece always there? He’d been distracted enough that he can’t verify his memories like he usually can; shaking his head, he makes his next move. He’s probably just still rattled by Selene’s presence.

But the inquisitorial agent’s instincts are not so easily thrown off. He keeps noticing it, pieces placed in positions that hinder his strategies, yet the differences are so slight he can’t be sure if he’s remembering correctly. It happens so gradually: something slightly shifted here, then a few turns later, something else feels off.

“Something wrong?”

His brow is thoroughly furrowed at this point. Selene’s expression is the same it ever was, unassuming yet inviting. It doesn’t look like she’s noticed anything wrong.

“No, everything’s fine. I’m just… thinking of my next move. You’ve improved quite a bit, Your Ladyship. You’re backing me into a corner.”

She smiles at him, the same smile that makes his heart race just a little faster… And yet. And yet, he can’t shake the feeling that something about it feels off.

He sits up, honed in. Turn by turn, he scrutinizes the board. Piece by piece, move by move. With the intensity he would reserve when dissecting a confession, Heinrix analyzes their game, determined to solve the mystery.

And he finds it. Selene speaks, something he only halfheartedly pays attention to, and when his eyes dart back to the table between them he sees movement, so subtle and quick he might have otherwise missed it. Heinrix’s hand shoots out, snatching his opponent’s wrist and stopping her from reaching for a piece she absolutely is not allowed to move.

They freeze, and their eyes lock. Heinrix raises an eyebrow at her. “You were not losing so badly for you to need to resort to such tactics, Lord Captain.”

To his surprise, she laughs. Her eyes glimmer with mirth, and he suddenly realizes that the two of them had been playing completely different games. “I’m flattered you think so highly of my skill level, as misguided as it might be.”

“You sell yourself short, my lady.”

“In some ways, perhaps. But in others…”

Without prompting, she begins moving the pieces. He moves to help her, assuming she intends to completely refresh the board, but is shocked once more as she recreates a board state from the middle of their game, one he assumed from before she enacted her little sleight of hand.

Selene gestures. “You caught me in the middle of my schemes, Heinrix. I would not deny you a chance at a rightful win.”

“And you will keep your hands to yourself this time?”

His tone is far from stern, amused as he is at her antics. She holds her hands up in mock surrender, palms open. “Always where you can see them, Interrogator. I promise.” She leans in, giving him a playfully accusatory look. “Though, for the record, you did let me get away with that for eight turns before you actually caught me. Perhaps you’re losing your touch.”

“Well… I suppose we’ll have to play again and find out, won’t we?”

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Fourth of July

Description: You & the team go see the fireworks for the fourth of July, you have a trauma response to the loud noise.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: PTSD, blood mention

A/N: Repost :)

“What are the odds that this is the second holiday in a row that a case hasn’t come in?” Rossi mused excitedly.  

The entire team was huddled in a circle in the bullpen, waiting for Emily to finish up some last minute paperwork before heading out as a group for the night. 

Spencer’s finger shot up in the air. “Statistically speaking–”

“Nope,” Rossi cut him off sharply. “It was a rhetorical question, genius.”

Spencer’s mouth fell shut, but a smile lingered on his lips.  

You felt Luke shift from behind you, where you leaned between his legs as he sat perched on his own desk. “No, c’mon,” he chuckled. “I wanna know the statistics!”  

You shook your head, rolling your eyes playfully. Your boyfriend was always so interested in whatever random facts Spencer was spewing out.

Reid raised his eyebrows at Rossi, as if to say, see? I told you I was interesting, but before he could actually finish his tidbit, Emily walked out of her office with all her things gathered in her hand. 

“Who’s ready for some fireworks?” she asked excitedly. 

Everyone but you cheered. 

Ever since you’d gotten back from your tour in Iraq, you’d been uneasy around loud noises. It was nothing you weren’t aware of, and certainly nothing out of the ordinary for someone who had seen combat. But it also wasn’t something that you’d told Luke about yet. You planned to, of course, just like you planned on sharing practically everything with him… eventually. But Iraq wasn’t something you could ever talk about with ease, and you knew that disclosing your fears would involve a conversation about why you had them in the first place. 

That’s why you found yourself agreeing to join the rest of the team’s Fourth of July plans when Garcia had invited you and Luke earlier that week. 

“Sounds fun,” you had lied straight through your teeth. You’d been dreading it ever since. 

But Luke would be there. His safe arms would no doubt be wrapped around you, much like they were now. And you planned on funneling all your energy into focusing on the way that felt, rather than the chaos and noise around you. 

The team planned on watching the fireworks on the riverbend downtown. They’d be set off across the water, giving you all a perfect view. Garcia promised greasy food from vendors and other sweet treats throughout the night. You kept trying to convince yourself that it wouldn’t all be bad. You just had to concentrate on not flinching everytime a firework popped off.  

You rode with Luke, your fingers laced together and resting on the center console as he navigated through traffic. The rest of the team would meet you guys there. You thought you were doing a fair job at concealing your anxiety as you made small talk with him during the short ride. He showed no inclination of knowing about the knots tying themselves tighter and tighter inside your stomach. 

There were a lot more people at the river than you’d originally anticipated. But Luke easily managed to find a parking spot, and the two of you waited by the trunk of his car until the rest of the team arrived.  

Emily, Tara, Garcia Spencer, and Rossi all rode together. They were the first to find a spot right next to yours and join the two of you. Next, JJ and Will filed in, with no kids for the evening. Lastly, Matt and Kristy arrived, hand in hand with matching smiles on their faces.  

You were like a big, giant, extended family weaving your way through the crowd of people. There were vendors and food trucks lines along the riverbend. Kids ran around with sticks of cotton candy and sparklers. 

You found a spot amidst the crowd to lay down the blanket. It almost felt like a picnic when you all sat down. You sat in front of Luke, a foot or so away, rummaging through your bag for your phone. You let out a gasp when you felt his hands grip your hips and pull you backwards, between his legs, your back against his chest.  

He leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek. You smiled into his touch, appreciating how safe and secure you always felt in his arms. If you could stay like this all night, you just might be okay. 

The sun started to set across the riverbed, leaving in its wake a brilliantly pink and purple sky. For a while, you just stayed like that, Luke’s arms coiled around you, your head leaned back and resting on his chest, watching the violet hues from the sunset fade into darkness. 

“I can’t believe you’ve lived in Virginia all this time and have never seen the fireworks here,” Garcia gawked at Spencer. He was sitting on the blanket, his arms behind him as he leaned back.   

“I’m not a big fireworks guy,” Spencer shrugged. “I don’t see the appeal.”

“Well you’ve been going to the wrong fireworks shows then, because this is going to blow your freakishly smart mind,” Garcia promised. 

Luke shifted behind you, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Where can I get one of those?” Luke asked, intrigued as he sees a small boy run by with a cone of chocolate ice cream. 

“Ice cream truck’s this way,” Garcia grinned, pointing her finger to the array of food trucks parked about 50 yards away. “Follow me.”

You instantly felt the absence of Luke’s arms when he stood up. It left you cold and shivering. 

“Want anything, baby?” he asked, looking down at you.  

You shook your head apprehensively. 

“I’ll be right back.”

You smiled up at him. You weren’t sure if it was to reassure him or yourself that you’d be okay while he was gone. 

The air was brisk and Luke still wasn’t back when the first firework went off. 

You saw it shoot up into the air, a vibrant white streak of color contrasting with the night sky, before it actually popped. But no amount of planning could have prepared you for the sound. It was deafening and loud and it made your entire body go rigid with fear.  

You looked around and you could see that you weren’t in Iraq. So why did the night air feel so hot and dry? Why did the soft blanket beneath your legs suddenly feel coarse and sandy? 

You had zoned out enough to not be ready for the second firework to pop off. When it did, the sound made you jump. And instantly, you were transported back to the desert. In your mind you could see, clear as day, the rest of your squad ducking behind the army truck beside you. You’ve got your gun clutched to your chest while bullets whizzed all around you, making it hard to concentrate. The loud sound of gunfire ringing in your ears was all consuming.  You didn’t recognize the man crouched next to you. You barely even noticed him until his scream interrupted the steady sound of gunfire. When you looked over, his hand was pressed against his stomach, his eyes looking down at the fresh bullet hole in his abdomen. The diameter of blood on his uniform expanded rapidly. 

“No, no, no–” you gasped, throwing your gun down to help him apply pressure to the wound. Your hands were shaking so violently, you could barely trust them to help, but you had to try. 

“P-please,” his words were clouded by the blood that was spilling out from his mouth. “Please help me.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” you told him, your voice wavering.  

He let out a choppy exhale, blood spraying out of his lips. It was like you both knew it wasn’t true. 

Someone was yelling your name, it sounds like your Lieutenant. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man beneath you. You were scared that the second you looked away, he’d be gone. 

You heard your name again, but this time, it sounded closer, and the voice is softer– more familiar. It was accompanied by a hand shaking your shoulder. 

When you turned your head, hopeful that someone was finally here to help, you were surprised to see Spencer’s face gazing back at you. You blinked harshly and when you opened your eyes again, the sand was gone.  

There was no man bleeding in your lap, no gunfire, no war.  

Just Spencer’s worried gaze. 

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, trying not to draw the attention of anyone else.  

Your heart was racing, so much so that you think if you looked down, you could see it beating underneath your own skin. There was adrenaline and fear rushing through your veins. But instead of telling him the truth, you just nodded.  

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, your mouth dry. “I ju-just, I don’t feel good.” 

It was a bad excuse, and one that Spencer clearly didn’t buy. But you needed a reason to get out of there. So, confused, dazed, and panicked, you stood up from the blanket and hurried off in the direction you thought was safety. 

…

Luke made his way back to the blanket, laughing at something Garcia had said. 

“Keep it up with all this ice cream and soon enough you won't be able to chase criminals.”

He faked being offended. 

But when he made his way back to the rest of the team, he was startled to see that you weren’t there. Before Luke could ask, Spencer was standing up and walking towards him and Garcia. 

“Hey,” he said discreetly. “Y/N took off, like- just a few minutes ago. I asked if she was okay, but she just said she didn’t feel good. I don’t know- she didn’t look okay,” he admitted.  

“Was she sick?” Luke asked, instantly worried. 

Spencer shrugged, “She looked out of it- really spooked. I tried to keep my eye on her, but I lost her in the crowd.”  

Reid pointed towards the massive gathering of people. “It looked like she was heading towards the cars,” he told Luke. 

Without hesitating, Luke just nodded, handing his ice cream to a concerned-looking Garcia, before spinning on his feet and following in the direction that Reid was pointing.  

He pushed against the crowd of people, keeping his eyes peeled only for you.  Only when he got to the parking lot did Luke’s shoulders relax even the slightest. From across the lot, he saw his truck, and a small figure leaning over near it that could only be you. 

Luke exhaled, relieved that he at least was able to find you, before walking closer. 

As he approached, he quickly realized that something was wrong. You were doubled over, your hands resting on your knees. At first, Luke thought you were getting sick, but as he got closer, he heard the unmistakable sound of your muffled cries. 

That made him pick up his pace. 

“Hey-” he said. “What’re you doing over here?” But there was no indication that you even heard him. Instead, you let out a shaky sob and stumbled on your feet. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he hurried over, reaching out to steady you. 

As soon as his hand landed on your hip you whipped around, standing up straight while your entire body flinched at the contact. The sharp gesture caused Luke to pull away, momentarily shocked. 

But when he saw your face, eyes red rimmed and tears streaming down your face, his chest tightened. As a veteran, he’d seen this kind of dazed and panicked look before. He just had no idea he’d ever see it from you. 

“L-Luke?” you said, like you couldn’t quite believe it was him. 

He cautiously nodded, not wanting to make any more sudden movements that would startle you. “It’s me, baby. It’s just me.”

The affirmation was all you needed to rush over to him. At first he was rigid when you collided with his chest, your arms wrapping around his back craving the safety of his embrace.  

He placed a gentle hand on your back, and once he realized you weren’t going to flinch again, he wound his arms all the way around you tightly. 

For a while, neither one of you said anything. You clung to him like your life depended on it and Luke just held you reassuringly, knowing that was exactly what you needed. 

It wasn’t until he heard you mumble something into his chest that he even considered letting go. 

“What?” he asked, leaning back so that he could look down at you.  

“He bled out-” you repeated. “Right in my lap.”

Luke didn’t have to ask you for clarification. And even though he knew very little about your time in Iraq, he understood. “Was it the fireworks?” he asked gently, rubbing his hands up and down your shivering arms. 

You nodded slowly, still not meeting his gaze. 

“Loud noises in general trigger it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked sympathetically. He felt so guilty for encouraging you to attend such a loud event. Had he had any idea loud noises were a trigger for you, he would have insisted you spend the Fourth of July curled up on the couch with takeout instead. 

You rubbed your wet eyes with the palms of your hands, unable to imagine how pathetic you looked to Luke right now. “I-I have a hard time talking about it.”

Luke nodded, urging you to continue. 

“I have a hard time talking about Iraq, so I-I didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Oh baby,” he sighed. He pulled you into his chest once again, this time his chin resting on top of your head comfortingly. You were consumed entirely by his embrace, and the shaking that had been wracking your entire body was finally starting to ease. 

“I thought I’d be okay,” you admitted into his chest. “But as soon as you left it just was too much.”

You heard Luke sigh into your hair before pulling back. He held you out in front of him, his two arms placed securely on your arms. His brown eyes stared captivatingly into yours. “You can always tell me these things, okay?” he insisted.  “I want you to, because I understand.  I don’t like loud noises either. I’ve been dreading this all week. I only agreed to come because I thought you’d want to.”

It felt like a relief to finally let out a light chuckle. “Are you serious?” you asked him in disbelief. 

He nodded, returning the smile. 

“So you would’ve been happy just staying home tonight?”

“I would’ve preferred it,” he said through a chuckle. 

You scoffed. “Well that would’ve saved me a lot of embarrassment.”

“Next year, yeah?”

You nodded, once again falling into his arms, this time with much greater ease. You were amazed at how quickly he was able to calm you down. 

“I feel safer when you’re around,” you admitted. 

You felt his arms tighten around you before he said, “Well lucky for you, I’m not going anywhere.”

[bardicindignation]

Ok so, starting this off by saying Marisha did awesome and that was sone of the juiciest rp I've seen on cr and I'm living for it.

But also, if I'm remembering right Orym was never aware of the "plan" to use the funnel for the sword. He was a little ways off with it planted in the ground, one of the Hells (I think it might have actually been Launda which is...interesting) mentioned absorbing it either the harness. That was when Ashton was like 'this is a question and this is permission' meaning they were gonna need to talk to Orym abt it first. I don't think that conversation was ever broached.

This wasn't Orym deciding something at odds with anything that the group had expressed to him, but Laudna was reacting to it like it was.

(Also, she at no point actually apologized)

[first-digi-add]

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With the right performance marketing agency, your business can unlock exponential growth.

Conclusion

If you’re looking to scale your business using high-impact ad platforms like Google & Meta, your success starts with choosing the best digital marketing company in Pune. First DigiAdd combines performance strategy, local market insights, and result-driven execution to give your brand the momentum it needs.