#urgent need for regulation

[trans-yllz]

crazy that one of the symptoms of withdrawal from my medication can apparently be Seizures and no one thought hey maybe we should bump this pa to top priority until I started calling them about it every single day

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Two

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You and Azriel are struggling with the aftermath of your heated argument. Unfortunately, you both cope in very different ways.

Warnings: angst! (with a side of some friendship fluff)

Word Count: 5.2k

Part One | Series Masterlist | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The room reeked of stale arrogance and cold stone— like it always did.

You could handle Keir alone. Azriel knew that. You did, too. But that didn’t make it easy. Az’s presence was enough to silence Keir’s snide remarks with a single look. Without him here, Keir was running his mouth like a common court gossip, his words dripping with the kind of entitlement that made your skin crawl.

He was droning on now, his voice a low hum in your ears like the buzzing of a persistent, uncatchable fly; rattling demands, complaints, thinly veiled insults. It was always like this.

You were barely listening. 

Your mind kept drifting to Az, to the conversation the night before. 

Your chest simmered with a new emotion every time you replayed it. Anger, disappointment, betrayal. You weren’t sure which stung more: his sharp tone, the way he’d dismissed you, or the bitter fact that you’d never had Azriel talk to you like that before.

Where was he now, anyway? What had Selene needed so urgently that he’d decided official court matters could wait? Somewhere far more comfortable than this gods-forsaken pit, you were sure.

“…and the resources we’re requesting are more than reasonable, given the sacrifices we’ve made to maintain this arrangement.”

Keir’s voice sliced through your spiraling thoughts, slick, self-satisfied, and grating. He had quite the punchable features, you observed. How had he lasted this long without a good deck to the face?

“If Rhysand truly values his court,” Keir continued, a mocking edge creeping into his tone, “and not just his little city, then perhaps he should send someone who understands the importance of negotiation.”

Your mind jumped again—to Azriel, to the way he’d looked at you like you were the one who’d crossed the line. You couldn’t figure out where you’d gone wrong. Was it the mention of Elain? That small, stillness you’d felt in him? You hadn’t intended it to be a jab, hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty. You were concerned. Your approach was good-natured. Or, at least you’d thought so. 

Keir’s voice drifted in and out of focus as you stared at him, boredom spreading through you, a dull throb in your chest. You were ready to leave. Ready to escape the suffocating air of the room. You were annoyed at yourself, too, if you were being honest. Here you were, seething, ungrounded in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be, simply because of a five-minute argument. A spat. 

Usually, during these meetings, Azriel helped you regulate your dislike for Keir. When the male’s mere existence stirred memories of his cruelty to Mor, Azriel’s presence would be a steadying hand at the small of your back, a quiet reminder to keep your temper in check.

But he wasn’t there. And your thoughts were all over the place. And Keir only wanted to talk to Azriel—why did everyone need him so suddenly?

“Your attempts at diplomacy are largely symbolic. A pretty face to soften the High Lord’s more… aggressive tactics. And, well, without the Spymaster— ”

Something snapped inside you. That diplomatic part of you, the skills you’d fought tooth and nail for, had perfected over centuries, crumbled completely.

“Shut up!”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap. The two males beside him stiffened, their hands twitching toward their weapons.

“For the love of the Mother,” you said through gritted teeth, “Shut. Up.” 

Keir’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second before he recovered, his features twisting with irritation— with offense, with shock. “Excuse me, girl?”

You stood slowly, your chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. You knew you should grimace, should feel some pang of guilt for letting your temper get the better of you. This wasn’t what you were here to do. This wasn’t how you tended to be.

But you didn’t care.

You were tired, irritated, and in desperate need of a drink, a joint, or someone to hit in the face.

“Do you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?” you said, gesturing sharply with your hands. “Or do you enjoy the sound of your own idiocy too much to notice how pathetic you sound?”

Keir’s eyes narrowed, his smirk returning, like he enjoyed your bite. Found a worthy opponent, even. “Careful,” he said, his voice low, threatening. “You’re out of line.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You’d give Mor a tight hug this week, praise her once more for being able to survive seventeen years under the suffocating arrogance of a male like Keir.

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” you snapped. “You are not some untouchable ruler. You leech off the power Rhysand allows you to have. Do not forget that.”

Keir’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white where they gripped the arms of his chair. One of his soldiers shifted slightly, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. You turned your glare on him.

“Try it,” you said coldly. “I dare you. Lay a hand on me, and you’ll find out just how thin your leash really is. Do you think Rhysand wouldn’t love an excuse to raze this pathetic little agreement to the ground? You think Morrigan wouldn’t personally take that sword and shove it somewhere creative? Trust me, they’re looking for an excuse.”

Keir inhaled sharply as he stood slowly, placing his palms on the table before him and leaning forward with a snarl. The gleam in his eyes was predatory, animalistic. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes.” You mirrored him, placing your palms on the table and leaning forward, still holding his gaze tight.  “Would you like to see if I’m bluffing?”

Silence blanketed the room as Keir stared at you. You could see it in his eyes—the horror of recognizing that you might actually be his equal. Or worse, his superior. He was struggling with how to approach the situation, how to balance his newfound realization with the need to maintain authority in front of his males.

After a long moment, Keir shifted his gaze to his men and motioned for them to stand down. Their hands dropped, spines stiffening like statues at his sides.

You took the silence as your answer.

“That might be the smartest move you’ve ever made,” you said with an amused hum. Straightening, you brushed your hands off and smiled. “The Spymaster will be back next week to negotiate terms about resources. Pray he’s in a better mood than I am.”

A sense of satisfaction bloomed in your chest as you turned to leave. It felt good to finally tell him off—Lord knew it had been coming for centuries. You’d been biting it back at every meeting, every forced smile, every empty negotiation. It had been far more tame than you’d liked, but it was something, at least. A small victory. 

The relief washed over you for a fleeting moment before it began to slip away, replaced by that familiar unease, the stirring of anger still simmering beneath the surface.

You knew why.

Keir wasn’t the male you were truly mad at. 

At least, not in the way that made your heart ache. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You’d barely gotten out of the bath and dressed when there was a soft knock at your door. You let out a deep sigh, running your hands along your face before walking into the bedroom proper, feeling the slight chill of the air against your still-damp skin.

The thought of Azriel hit you almost instantly, your body tensing at the possibility. After all, it was just the two of you living in the townhome, and it was late—no one else was expected. As much as part of you wanted to see him—to curse him out, maybe, or pull an apology from him, you weren’t sure—a bigger part of you just wanted to sit alone. To wallow in the strange self-pity that had bloomed in your stomach since the meeting with Keir.

“Go away, Azriel. I don’t want to t-”

Your gaze landed on Mor instead. She stood in the doorway, hands behind her back, a small smile on her lips.

“Good thing I’m not Azriel,” she said, stepping forward. Her familiar perfume drifted through the room. “I’m much more attractive.”

You stifled a laugh despite yourself, the corners of your mouth tugging into a reluctant smile. Mor had always been infuriatingly good at that—chipping away at your mood, no matter how sour. Tonight, she looked less mischievous than usual, wearing a simpler gown—still stunning, but more comfortable.

“What are you doing here?”

Mor’s presence instantly lightened the weight on your chest, even just slightly, but a glimmer of disappointment sparkled in your chest, threaded through your ribs and refused to leave. Part of you had hoped it was Azriel at your door. Even if you’d have sent him away with biting remarks, at least he would’ve tried. At least he would’ve been there.

“I heard through the grapevine that there was a messy meeting in the Hewn City.”

Your stomach twisted. Shit. Keir had worked much faster than you’d thought. You wondered, briefly, how long it had taken for him to go run and complain— had he waited an hour? Perhaps two?

You grimaced, offering a sheepish smile. “Oh, right. That,” you drawled. “Is Rhys mad?”

“Not at you,” she replied. “He’s mad he missed it. I am, too.”

A grin tugged at her lips, and it wasn’t long before identical ones broke across both of your faces. You looked down, scuffing the carpet with your toe. “I don’t know what got into me.”

Mor snorted. “My father got into you.”

You looked up and raised a brow. She shot you an unimpressed look, the kind that would usually mean you were inconveniencing her with your childish humor. But there was amusement in her eyes, glinting like sunlight on glass. She wanted to laugh.

“You know what I meant,” Mor grumbled, lips twitching again. “Keir tends to bring out the worst in everyone.”

You nodded at that, tucking a loose stand of hair behind your ear. “I know I tell you this all the time,” you said, “But gods am I sorry you had to grow up with him.”

Mo shrugged, waving it off with a dismissive hand. The other stayed behind her back. “Character development and all that,” she said breezily. “Anyway, I have something for you.”

“If it’s wine, I think I’ll pass.”

She shook her head and brought her hand around, revealing a small to-go box. It was unmistakable—the kind used by your favorite bakery, all the way in the Day Court. 

“Ta-da,” she sang.

Your chest warmed at the sight. Slowly, you took the offering, running your fingers along the box’s edges. When you looked back at her, she was watching you with a tender smile—the kind only Morrigan could give. It wasn’t the playful smirk or sharp grin she wore for the world. 

“What's this for?”

Mor tilted her head. “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours. I thought you could use some comfort treats. And company.”

Your heart swelled. You’d told her and Elain little of the fight with Azriel when they’d sought you out, pacing outside your door until they decided you were ready. Elain had apologized profusely, saying she hadn’t meant to spark the argument when she suggested you talk to him. You’d assured her there was no apology needed—not from her, at least. She’d only sped up the inevitable: the realization that Azriel didn’t seem to value your opinion the way you so often valued his.

Mor wrapped an arm around your shoulders, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “I also did bring wine. It’s downstairs. We can sit, talk—and if Azriel comes home, I’ll make sure he doesn’t hear us. Or see us.”

You let Mor guide you downstairs, where she opened a bottle of wine and drew you into a conversation—a deliberate distraction about her and Emerie, about apartment hunting and her attempts at civility with Nesta. You listened as best as you could, grateful for the reprieve, and even forced yourself to savor the dessert she’d brought.

It was as good as you remembered. That was something, at least. Azriel hadn’t managed to ruin that, despite the bitter taste your argument had left behind.

Mor waited about half an hour before gently steering the conversation where she really wanted it to go: what happened with you and Az, how you were feeling.

The problem was, you couldn’t quite put your finger on why you were so upset. You told Mor the things you knew for certain: that it was unfair for Azriel to assume he knew what you were going to say, that he hadn’t given you—his best friend for centuries—a chance to speak or express your concern. That he hadn’t trusted you enough to even hear you out. Mor nodded along, agreeing that Azriel had been out of line, that it was unlike him to take someone else’s word over yours so easily.

But even as she agreed with you, it didn’t ease the pressure in your chest. It wasn’t just about him being unfair or dismissive. There was something deeper, something you hadn’t yet figured out how to say. Something else about it that bothered you so deeply. 

Maybe it was the way he’d so easily twisted your intentions, the way he’d looked at you as if you were an inconvenience, made you feel like every word you’d spoken had been some elaborate ruse. Like your concern wasn’t genuine. Like the years you’d spent knowing him, understanding him, recognizing the subtle shifts in his behavior, didn’t matter at all. You were just finding a convenient excuse to meddle, to dig your claws into his relationship, sabotage what he had so you could steal him away in the middle of the night. 

It was possible you were being a little overdramatic. And you’d definitely emphasized his words in your retelling to Mor, but it didn’t change the intent. What he’d said. What he’d believed. To imply that after everything, you couldn’t be a good friend to him. That you couldn’t care without an ulterior motive.

He hadn’t even tried to talk to you since. Not a word, not a glance. You tried to reason with yourself—it had only been a day. Maybe he needed time to cool off, to think. Maybe he was as confused as you were, unsure of how things had spiraled so fast. Maybe this silence was just him giving you space.

But a part of you didn’t think that was true. There was a possibility that his silence wasn’t for your sake—it was for his. Because he didn’t think he owed you anything.

That thought was the worst of all.  That he didn’t even care.

And you were furious, too, that Azriel had tipped you so completely off balance, that these feelings had bled into your lashing out at Keir. The memory of it was already clawing at you, leaving a faint sting of embarrassment. You knew it would follow you like a stray dog, nipping at your heels. You’d gotten emotional. You—the Night Court’s ever-diplomatic emissary—had been anything but.

You were certain you’d care more about it in a few days, when you had the energy to think clearly.

“Y/n?”

You blinked, startled out of your daze, suddenly aware of how tightly your fingers had curled around the small fork in your hand.

“Hm?”

Mor gave you a sympathetic smile. “I think you should get some rest,” she said, crouching down in front of you.

You hadn’t realized you’d ended up on the floor, leaning against the table—a habit you fell into when you were upset, like grounding yourself by sinking as close to the earth as possible. Mor extended a hand, helping you up with that steady, no-nonsense kind of care only she could offer.

She started tidying up without asking, brushing away crumbs and organizing the small mess you’d both made. Her eyes flicked to the pastry box on the table. “Are you gonna finish this? Or do you want me to toss it?”

You glanced down, confused, at the small leftover piece in the box. That was strange. You usually devoured these, barely leaving crumbs, let alone a full bite. For a moment, you thought nothing of it.

And then it clicked. It was instinct, an old habit of sorts—leaving a bite for Azriel to try.

You bit back a disappointed sigh. What had once been second nature, something you did without thinking, now felt deeply embarrassing. Sickening. Too intimate, like a little girl with a crush.

“Toss it,” you said quickly, your voice tight, sharper than intended.

Mor didn’t comment, simply folded the box closed and tossed it into the trash. Before she left, she pulled you into a hug, warm and unhurried.

“It’s okay to focus on the anger right now,” she murmured into your hair. “If nothing else makes sense, you’re entitled to it. I think you’re a few centuries overdue.”

You let out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah,” you replied, the word heavy on your tongue. “I think I have a few more remarks left in me.”

Mor grinned as she stepped back, smoothing her hands over your arms before heading for the door. “Atta girl. Make him miserable.”

You lingered on her words as you climbed the stairs.

A grudge sounded great. It sounded righteous. It sounded like something you could do—at least for now, until your feelings settled.

Lucien really was better than you. He’d endured so much, and somehow, he still found room for forgiveness, a way to let Azriel off the hook.

But you didn’t want to let this go. Not yet.

You’d given Azriel centuries of friendship, of loyalty and unwavering support, and he hadn’t even deemed you worthy of the benefit of the doubt. Maybe later, you could be like Lucien, could forgive Azriel for his shortcomings and his idiocy.

Not tonight.

You curled up in bed, willing yourself to embrace the cold, sharp edges of your anger. But, despite your best efforts, that wasn’t what stayed.

The sadness did.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel didn’t apologize. 

Not verbally, at least. It was a habit born in the aftermath of the first war, when he’d been forced to reckon with who he’d become, the things he’d done as Spymaster.

He’d learned quickly that some things were too heavy to face, too raw to acknowledge. Easier to tuck them away, seal them behind his silence. Apologies came with a price he couldn’t play. Because if he started apologizing for those things—acts born of desperation, of blind obedience to a High Lord who demanded it—he’d never stop. He’d be drowning in it for centuries.

So he didn’t. He wouldn’t. And if he refused to apologize for the horrors of his past—if the shame and pain of it were too much—then he had to be consistent. If he didn’t do it then, he couldn’t do it now. Not even for the people he loved.

Instead, he accepted the damage he caused. Accepted that he’d make mistakes. That he’d hurt people.

He stored those moments away in the ever-growing, aching place inside him that proved how unlovable he was—how destined he was to hurt the people he cared for most. How inevitable his failures were.

On the worst days, when the silence felt unbearable, he’d reach for those memories, let them remind him of who he truly was. He’d sit with them, twist them into hatred—at himself, at his failure, at the fact he couldn’t change it. He could never seem to stop.

But Azriel loved his family. He truly did. He’d die for them. He’d commit every horrible act over and over if that was what was needed to ensure their safety. So he usually found other ways to apologize.

This time, though, Azriel felt… embarrassed. Ashamed, even. Humiliated. He’d acted like a child, reckless and unthinking, had been dismissive of someone he loved.

He valued the females in his life, respected them deeply. And usually, for them, he could set aside his twisted need to avoid apologies. Instantly.

You and him had argued before—fought, even. It was bound to happen over centuries. But it had never been like this. This felt different. Everyone knew.

He wanted to apologize the night it happened. But he couldn’t. He’d gone too far. He told himself that his apology needed to be big enough to make up for it. 

All week, the memory looped in his mind, relentless and punishing. The second the accusation left his lips, regret had consumed him—an instant, choking thing. Even his shadows had recoiled, letting out a sound that might’ve been a gasp. But the worst part, the part that kept him up at night, was your face.

Your features had twisted into something he’d never seen before. Not in all the centuries you’d been by his side. Something like offense. Or maybe, Azriel thought bitterly, something worse. He’d convinced himself it was disgust. Pure, unfiltered disgust.

It bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Azriel was used to people being upset with him. It came with the territory—his silence, his sharp edges, the anger he carried like armor. He could be difficult; he knew that. Could be impulsive, cold, quick to anger. Over centuries, he’d learned to live with it, to endure the way disappointment settled in others’ eyes when he pushed too far.  But it never suffocated him like this.

He had disappointed you. You were angry, disgusted by the accusation he'd thrown your way—why had he done that?

Selene's words lingered in his mind, over and over, such meaningless, small words. They’d burrowed themselves deep, driven him borderline mad. He couldn’t figure out why.

It made him itch, made him unsettled in a way that didn’t make sense. He had assumed that itch meant the words bothered him—something about them, something he couldn't quite grasp—and that had gotten under his skin, gnawing at him.

He’d been avoiding you since that night.  It was easy, despite the fact that you were the only two in the house. After all, you had been avoiding him too.

He was being a coward. He knew it. Avoiding you when he knew damn well he needed to find you, get you alone, and apologize. Profusely. Repeat it until there was some hope of undoing the damage. But avoidance was easier. Safer.

It was what he was best at.

The thought of apologizing only for you to turn him away, for you to look at him with disgust, with anger, was more than he could stomach. And he'd convinced himself that that was the most likely scenario—and it would be valid. Completely, utterly valid.

So, he did what he did best: he retreated into himself. Into Selene.

But a few days had passed, and now the ache in Azriel’s chest was gaping. Raw. Unbearable. He couldn’t breathe.

The guilt had started before the sun rose, creeping up Azriel’s spine as he pulled away from Selene’s warm embrace. She’d stirred when he slipped out of bed, her lips parted to protest, but he hadn’t stayed to hear her argument. It wasn’t comfortable—none of it. Not the weight in his chest, not the way his shadows murmured disapproval like a broken melody on repeat.

He needed to be here—at family brunch. He wanted to be here. And for the first time in days, his shadows seemed content with a decision he’d made. Thank the gods for that.

The house was full by time he arrived. He didn’t need his shadows to tell him. He could hear their laughter from the doorway, could smell the pull of a sweet feast. Rhysand was the first to notice his presence, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. 

“Look who decided to join after all.”

Az didn’t reply, not in the way he usually did. Instead, his gaze immediately found you, his breath stalling as he caught the subtle stiffening of your shoulders. You didn’t turn. You didn’t so much as glance back.

Mor, seated beside you, did. Her brown eyes flitted from you to him, a semi-scowl in her expression as she turned her gaze to Emerie on her left, dismissing Azriel entirely.

Another person he’d probably have to apologize to.

Az swallowed, his shadows tugging at him like restless children, desperate to curl around you, to offer something—comfort, perhaps, or a plea for forgiveness he hadn’t yet put into words. But you still didn’t move.

Clearing his throat, Azriel finally said, “I’m sorry I’m late.” 

It was Feyre who responded, casting a quick glance towards you before offering Azriel a smile. “No worries, Az. We’re glad you’re here.”

That was a lie. But the chatter began once more, anyways. 

Az moved forward, gaze flicking to the one empty chair at the table— the chair beside you. Just as he reached for it, your head snapped up, eyes meeting his for the first time in days. 

“Are you sure you want to sit there?”

Azriel froze. “What?”

You tilted your head at him, eyes narrowing in a way he hadn’t quite seen before—a look that was, if he was being honest, downright unnerving. But then, just as quickly, the emotion fell away, replaced by something sharper, crueler, and laced with exaggerated concern. “What if I’m overcome with lust and expose myself to you?”

From across the table, Cassian choked violently on his drink, Nesta muttering something under her breath as she thumped his back.

Azriel closed his eyes for a brief second, forcing a steady inhale before lowering himself into the chair anyway. He could feel his shadows retreating reluctantly, curling tighter against him, sharing his discomfort. Only when the conversation resumed once more did Az lean closer to you, dropping his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Can we talk?”

“I don’t know, can we? Did Selene give you permission?”

Azriel clenched his jaw, willing himself to take another deep inhale. Before he could pull a response, your face shifted into something exaggerated, all false excitement and mock sweetness. “Don’t tell me I’m being considered as your third? Oh gods. Should I throw myself at you now, or—?”

“Y/n, come on,” Az murmured, his voice tight— pleading. “Please.”

For a beat, Azriel thought you were mulling it over, almost expected to see your face soften like he was used to. But it didn’t. 

 “Rhys,” you said, your voice carrying as you turned to the High Lord. “Would you like to tell Azriel what to expect during his meeting with Keir next week? He’d like to know.”

Az’s stomach twisted at the sound of his name—not Az, but Azriel. Cold. Formal. Foreign. He hated the way it sounded coming from you, devoid of the warmth or familiarity he’d always taken for granted, like he was a stranger. Had he truly made you that angry in the span of a few minutes? 

This, Az thought bitterly, was why he opted to never speak unless it was needed.

Rhys nodded, though his gaze flickered between you and Azriel with something like caution. Before Azriel could protest, or even try to get another word in, you turned to Mor, engaging her in conversation as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all.

The rest of the meal passed in a strange limbo. It wasn’t hostile—if anything, it felt painfully normal. Conversations swirled around the table. Laughter floated between bites of food— and his shadows had danced whenever the sound of yours had reached them.

Azriel was willing to admit that, with the situation aside, he’d missed this—missed his family. The time spent with Selene lately had only highlighted how much he craved the sense of home that these moments brought. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize for his absence.

He’d been nervous to disrupt what he and Selene had, even if “alright” was the only word he could muster to describe it. It wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t love—but it was... something. It could develop into something. Right?

But as good as the meal could’ve been, your silence weighed on him like a stone. You ignored him completely. No more snark, no insults, not even a glance. It got to the point where he wanted a petty remark, wanted you to look at him and tell him exactly how stupid he’d been. Usually, you were vocal when you were angry. Confrontational. He’d seen it over centuries, the way your fury blazed as brightly as you. You didn’t let things stew. You didn’t let him stew.

Why were you so quiet now? Why weren’t you yelling at him, demanding answers, or throwing his mistakes back at him like daggers?

Why had you accepted him—and his stupidity—with the same quiet resignation as that night?

It was worse. It was so much worse. Your anger felt different with him. And he hated it.

When the meal ended, Azriel stayed seated, watching as the others began to leave. He watched as you leaned down to Nyx, your hand brushing the baby’s cheek with such tender care it made his chest ache. Feyre’s expression softened at the sight, and you smiled at her and Rhys, thanking them for the meal before leaving with Mor, Emerie, Cassian, and Nesta.

None of the females spared him a glance. Cassian offered him a small, apologetic smile. He wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Thank the gods Amren wasn’t here. Small blessings, Az supposed.

He sighed, clearing his plate and bringing it to the kitchen. He rinsed it, the sound of water doing nothing to drown out the weight in his chest, and when he turned to leave, Rhys was there, Nyx balanced on one arm.

“Good luck, brother,” Rhys said. Az didn’t bother asking what he meant. He already knew.

The wistful, pitying smile Rhys wore was infuriating. The amused gleam in his violet eyes was worse. Rhys looked almost... grateful, as if relieved it wasn’t his head on the chopping block.

“A fight with the one member of our family collectively loved by everyone else,” Rhys mused, shaking his head. “Phew. You’ve made an enemy of a pack of vicious, beautiful wolves.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Rhys shifted his attention to Nyx.

“Can you say, ‘Uncle Az is screwed?’” He cooed. Nyx babbled nonsensically, waving a tiny fist, and Rhys grinned. “Yeah, he’s gonna have to grovel, huh?”

Azriel glared, his shadows bristling as he brushed past him with an unamused glare. Rhys’s laughter followed him down the hall.

Must grovel, his shadows repeated, Grovel. Apologize. Admit.

Whatever the hell that meant.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Part Three

authors note:

me trying to write reader and getting sad that shes lowkey gaslighting herself and downplaying her emotions bc she cares about az: ☹️

me writing az as someone who just accepts he hurts people and doesnt realize he can like...just apologize: 😒

me knowing this angst is gonna be so fun:🥰

anyways thank you for reading!! i've already written a lot more, so expect 2-3 more parts! <3 (i have their makeup written😏) every comment or ask yall leave gets me so inspired

but until then... how long do yall think its gonna take for them to talk? tehehe

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore @m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking

@tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey

@inkedinshadows @mellowmusings @paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch

azriel tag list 🫶🏻:

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder @mortqlprojections @ushijima-stits

@honethatty12 @chillymountsjess @velaris-avatar-formula1 @idkitsem @kazbrkker

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

so: masking: good, unequivocally. please mask and please educate others on why they should mask to make the world safer for immune compromised people to participate in.

however: masking is not my policy focus and it shouldn't be yours, either. masking is a very good mitigation against droplet-born illnesses and a slightly less effective (but still very good) mitigation against airborne illnesses, but its place in the pyramid of mitigation demands is pretty low, for several reasons:

it's an individual mitigation, not a systemic one. the best mitigations to make public life more accessible affect everyone without distributing the majority of the effort among individuals (who may not be able to comply, may not have access to education on how to comply, or may be actively malicious).

it's a post-hoc mitigation, or to put it another way, it's a band-aid over the underlying problem. even if it was possible to enforce, universal masking still wouldn't address the underlying problem that it is dangerous for sick people and immune compromised people to be in the same public locations to begin with. this is a solvable problem! we have created the societal conditions for this problem!

here are my policy focuses:

upgraded air filtration and ventilation systems for all public buildings. appropriate ventilation should be just as bog-standard as appropriately clean running water. an indoor venue without a ventilation system capable of performing 5 complete air changes per hour should be like encountering a public restroom without any sinks or hand sanitizer stations whatsoever.

enforced paid sick leave for all employees until 3-5 days without symptoms. the vast majority of respiratory and food-borne illnesses circulate through industry sectors where employees come into work while experiencing symptoms. a taco bell worker should never be making food while experiencing strep throat symptoms, even without a strep diagnosis.

enforced virtual schooling options for sick students. the other vast majority of respiratory and food-borne illnesses circulate through schools. the proximity of so many kids and teenagers together indoors (with little to no proper ventilation and high levels of physical activity) means that if even one person comes to school sick, hundreds will be infected in the following few days. those students will most likely infect their parents as well. allowing students to complete all readings and coursework through sites like blackboard or compass while sick will cut down massively on disease transmission.

accessible testing for everyone. not just for COVID; if there's a test for any contagious illness capable of being performed outside of lab conditions, there should be a regulated option for performing that test at home (similar to COVID rapid tests). if a test can only be performed under lab conditions, there should be a government-subsidized program to provide free of charge testing to anyone who needs it, through urgent cares and pharmacies.

the last thing to note is that these things stack; upgraded ventilation systems in all public buildings mean that students and employees get sick less often to begin with, making it less burdensome for students and employees to be absent due to sickness, and making it more likely that sick individuals will choose to stay home themselves (since it's not so costly for them).

masking is great! keep masking! please use masking as a rhetorical "this is what we can do as individuals to make public life safer while we're pushing for drastic policy changes," and don't get complacent in either direction--don't assume that masking is all you need to do or an acceptable forever-solution, and equally, don't fall prey to thinking that pushing for policy change "makes up" for not masking in public. it's not a game with scores and sides; masking is a material thing you can do to help the individual people you interact with one by one, and policy changes are what's going to make the entirety of public life safer for all immune compromised people.

[cinamonangel]

comforting you to sleep (x fem!)

a/n: don't like the trope or character? don't read. no need for hate! dni if cheesy love isn't your thing.

warnings: insomnia, kisses, cuddly stuff, fluff and some angst, not proofread.

Hiccup heard you tossing and turning, looking at you from his bed across the room. You two shared a hut due to "moving islands" but you both didn't mind. He just noticed how sleepless you were the last few nights.

You groan and push the blankets off your body, just to pull them back over again...doing this a few times before being still for a few minutes. But you go back and forth between comfortable to uncomfortable, and you were slowly loosing it.

"H-hey, y/n..." Hiccup muttered nervously. You glance at him from across the room, seeing his innocent, concerned expression. "What?" You ask, slight irritation raiding your voice. But you weren't mad at him, just yourself.

Hiccup sat up from his bed and walked over to yours, standing still nearby so be wouldn't invade your personal space. "Need help- with sleeping?"

You look up at Hiccup before glancing down at your bed, seeming a little shameful as you had ruined your sleep schedule enough to drive you mad and keep the one boy you loved awake all hours of the night.

"Please~" you plea. Hiccups heart breaks at the sound of your voice breaking with desperation.

He nodded quickly and sympathetically, trying to make it better for you. He knew how you were feeling; when he was a baby, he did the same things.

Hiccup pulled the covers down to slide into bed with you, putting them back over the two of you gently, tucking you in with ease in his movements. He's not as urgent as he usually is.

"Need anything else, hun?" Hiccup asked, his voice soft with a whisper. So gentle, that even the smallest sound makes you feel warm inside. As if you could fall asleep right now.

You turn on your side and put your cheek against his shoulder, looking at him through your lashes. He smiled and ran his hand through your hair, putting it behind your ear.

"Hmm?" Hiccup hummed, nudging to the question he had asked you. You nod slowly, "hold me?"

Without questions, without hesitation, Hiccup wrapped his arms around you and pushed you against him. The warmth of his body made you more relaxed, and he felt the weight of your body ease into him with each moment.

He knew you were stressed and having a hard time properly resting. He shushed you, hummed to you, and even rocked you a little until your eyes got heavy.

"You're my best girl, you know that?" Hiccup kisses your forehead and runs his hand up and down your hip. You nuzzle into his neck and breath in the deep musk of his hair, it was soothing. "No, Hiccup. I always thought I was trouble on your behalf?"

Hiccup chuckles quietly, "you're not wrong there...still my best girl, though."

He held you close to him until your breathing slowed down and your body heat regulated to his. He still held you, but he also gave you some space. Watching you as you slept, he felt as though he didn't need any. He loved how beautiful you looked, even when you were exhausted.

struggling with sleep lately. if you are too, I am sorry <3

୨୧

[princessbrunette]

daddy!johnb should have known there was a meltdown inbound from puppy!reader when she was being irritable with everyone. pup was always a ray of sunshine.

you’d been snappy with him towards the end of your day spent running about with the pogues, and when pulled up on it — your boyfriend pulling you to the back of the group walking back to the twinkie, a hand firmly on your lower back, as he mutters a low “hey, clip the attitude okay? this isn’t you.” you only responded with an agitated whine. maybe that’s when he should have checked in.

you explode in the twinkie not twenty minutes later after some more tsking from your boyfriend, pushing him away suddenly and raising your voice in the back of the car where he sat with you, luckily letting pope drive the crew home this time. “theres too much noise and i’m cold and wet and tired!” you erupt, shoving at him in the backseat, loud enough to earn an awkward side eye from kiara in the seat directly infront.

“alright, okay, hey — look at me.” the older boy croons, gripping you until you still in his grasp, letting out a few agitated sobs into his chest. he sighs, eyes all soft and sad that you’d probably feel guilty about if you saw. reluctantly, you claw your way out to look up at him urgently, like you were desperate for some answers. he melts.

meanwhile, sensing your little meltdown in the backseat the group get a little quieter out of respect— jj turning the radio up just a little bit to create a wall between the chatter and the two of you. you relax just a little bit in his grip.

“no need to freak out on me, okay?” his eyes are wide and yours are teary, breathing all heavy. he notices, placing a warm palm on your chest. “first of all, we’re gonna breathe.”

you follow his instructions — in and out, until your breathing pattern is somewhat regulated. he doesn’t take his eyes off you the whole time, john b was good like that. eye contact was his forte.

“okay, next problem. hit me.” he shrugs one shoulder and you shrink a little. “use your words, sweetheart. daddy’s listening, i just wanna help.”

“my clothes are wet.” you verbalise and he nods proudly before holding up a finger and lurching over the backseat to reach for one of his spare shirts he keeps in there for his days spent on the road. showing you, he then pulls it over your head and helps you take off your damp blue crop top beneath, tossing it into the back. he unclips your bikini top too, throwing it with the shirt whilst maintaining your dignity.

you sit, slumped and sleepy — looking a lot more comfortable and he guides your cheek with his finger to look at him once more.

“hey, what else?” he urges and you blink. before you can respond, you yawn. “okay.” he nods.

pulling you onto his lap in the backseat, john b stretches out as best as he could— rubbing your back up and down and leaning his lips down to your ear.

“so we got roughly… one hour left of this journey? i want you to take a nap. right here, bubba.” he holds you tightly, and you can’t help let out a few relieved sniffles— the long day having caught up to you big time. he was so attentive, it made you wonder what you did to deserve it. “i know sweet girl. everybody has days like these, okay?”

“even you daddy?” you rasp tiredly.

“oh yeah. especially me. big time.” he jests, before rocking you lightly to sleep in the quiet van.

[star-anise]

Currently getting my socks clean blown off by Rethinking Narcissism, by Dr. Craig Malkin. Which I found, in a roundabout way, from this video on Midsommar, grief, and narcissism.

Tonight I woke up from a nap and accidentally took my morning meds, so I'm going to be up for a few hours because of the meth. In place of sleep, I'll try to roughly sum up some basic ideas proposed by the research the book is based on:

That traits of "narcissism" like entitlement, grandiosity, and feeling special are not inherently toxic. There are times and places they are appropriate and beneficial. If you show up at a hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest, you should not sit and wait to be seen after people with earaches and coughs. (Actually, medical systems are designed to prioritize people with more urgent needs, and you qualify under that system. You are special and are deserving of different treatment than those others, which is why making your needs known, even insisting on it if you're not listened to appropriately the first time, is an extremely good idea. It keeps you from bleeding to death on the floor, and keeps the hospital from getting its pants sued off by your heirs.)

It is more useful to view "narcissism" not as an inherent immutable personality trait, but as a cluster of coping mechanisms. As previously stated, there are times they are exactly the right coping mechanism for the job. However, people we call "narcissists" tend to cling to these ones even when they become detrimental to themselves and others, often because they lack other ways of regulating their emotions and getting their needs met. And that is something they can change, if a person is willing to put in sincere and difficult work. It is not usually fast change; it's a matter of years, not weeks. But a skillbuilding approach turned Borderline Personality Disorder from an immutable curse to a fully treatable (though not quickly treatable) condition, and there's a lot of hope that it can do the same for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Meanwhile, there's an opposite end to the narcissism spectrum, and it is also pathological and destructive to hang out there all the time. It's an aversion, or even a resistance, to expecting yourself or other people to treat your own feelings, thoughts, ideas, needs, or preferences as important. For Greek mythology reasons, its proposed name is Echoism.

Unfortunately, because most of the damage echoism does is, by its very nature, localized to its sufferer and their own personal relationships, its downsides aren't often talked about. In fact, it's often seen as an ideal moral state, a kind of altruism or saintliness everyone should strive for. As a pathological coping mechanism a person is trapped in, though, it's often more a fear-based reflex than a conscious and deliberate attempt to achieve some real and specific good. It's not actually as beneficial as being able to recognize your needs, desires, positive aspects, and areas of competence or excellence, and bring them forward in your relationships with other people and yourself.

To me this has all been a cross between a gut-punch and a cool, sweet drink of water. There have been other ways to describe echoism over the years, but this feels like the most concise and useful one I've seen in ages.

It specifically puts its pin down in the middle of the moral debate a lot of people struggle with—"What right do I have to put myself forward? What hope do I have of being seen and accepted? Isn't it better not to burden anybody else?"—and says that the problem is not feeling in touch with either side of the equation, but specifically, the inability to move from one part of the spectrum to another when it's merited by circumstances.

When I was a child, I thought Echoism was the answer. It was my ideal. I thought it was what would get me the love and acceptance I wanted, and would keep me safe from the pain of rejection or not being understood. I had no idea it would actually, in fact, be the primary cause of alienation and loneliness for the rest of my life.

Now I'm so deeply thankful I couldn't fully achieve it, in practical terms. As hard as I tried to erase myself, there were always things I loved too much to suppress. I still found ways to express and discover myself in the books I read, the stories I wrote, the intellectual work of school and the experience of pursuing hobbies I loved, my ambitions to be helpful even when they demanded I stop being selfless, and the relationships where I felt safe enough to experience love and acceptance even if I didn't think I deserved them.

There's this question I found a while back that echoed in my bones: Who am I allowed to be around you? Because that's what I felt like, as a child. If I wanted to engage with other people and minimize my risk of harm, it was my job to bend into a pretzel and fit the shape they wanted. And thank god, thank god, thank god, I couldn't fully do it. Despite everything, there were parts of me too strong and bright to lop off completely to get my arms and legs inside the carriage. I was able to take care of myself and let them grow in secret until I found social places I could let them out again. Despite myself, I found ways to grow and thrive, well beyond the trauma that said I shouldn't have.

[forevergulag]

Hi, sorry for the stupid ask, but how is China not capitalist?

There are two main points of criticism (beyond pointless idealist posturing and philistinism) that supposedly confirm china as capitalist, which i will criticize individually. they are:

The People's Republic of China has capitalists:

Socialism is defined as the dictatorship of the proletariat, a transitionary stage to communism, a classless society. a proletarian depends on the private property of a bourgeois to survive, they must sell their labor power to the capitalist, and the capitalist buys the labor-power and sells the products of labor made on his private property. thus, a proletarian cannot exist without a capitalist, and vice-versa. the capitalist-proletarian social relation is a dialectic.

Socialism transfers political power (the state) into the hands of the proletariat, making them the ruling class, and making the bourgeois into an oppressed class. it does not materially change the social relations of production between proletarian and capitalist, and proletarians, in order to be proletarians, must be exploited through sale of their labor-power.

The substitution of Socialism for capitalism will not be a single, world-convulsing act, but a process of gradual change, however rapid as compared with the present time [01]. The nationalization of the great industries and trusts will effect no fundamental change in capitalism, for certain industries are even now nationalized; the fundamental change will lie only in the fact that the power of the state will be at the disposal of the working class. The great contrast between the new proletarian supremacy and the former capitalist supremacy will manifest itself immediately, not in a deliberate revolution of the mode of production, but in vast cultural measures — promotion of education, care of the public health, aid for poverty and suffering — by which the new society must make up for the neglects of capitalism. Although we are unable to say to what extent private production will at once be replaced by social production — certainly not completely — yet it is certain that the vigorously executed measures for the promotion of the welfare of great masses of the people will form the basis of the new economic development. Kautsky has already shown how the simplest, most necessary and, to every worker, immediately urgent measure for the checking of poverty, namely, bounteous provision by the state for the unemployed, strikes at the very roots of capitalism; it will be one of the most effective levers for putting a speedy end to private production undertaken for the sake of profit.

Socialism and Anarchism, Anton Pannekoek

2. The People's Republic of China has state-capitalist partnership, i.e. state capitalism

Often gestured towards (incorrectly) by left-communists as the end-all be-all proving actually existing socialism, especially that of the PRC to be "secretly capitalist in nature", state capitalism is simply an organizational measure of a socialist state to grow the means of production.

It entails, for the most part (as policy will change according the material conditions and needs of a country):

a. The encouragement and even funding of capitalists and their enterprises, especially so in rural and undeveloped areas,

b. in the case of the prc, a joint management of capitalist enterprises by capitalists and state officials

c. the close mediation and regulation of capitalists by the proletarian state

d. again, such as in the prc, the encouragement of foreign finance capitalists to invest their capital into the country, to be hijacked for the proletariat's own interests.

state capitalism served to rejuvenate a nearly non-existent post imperialist war proletariat in the USSR, even after a great mistake in which an attempt to immediately switch to a communist mode of production occurred, allowed the PRC to become as powerful as it is now, and more. it is just a policy of a socialist state.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Squish Time

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, mental health

Summary: Sometimes there is only one way to regulate your nervous system and that is squish time.

Notes: In honour of my anxiety disorder and the fact that sometimes I just want a hockey player to squish me into a mattress to help my brain regulate itself. 👍

2 fics in one day? More likely than you think.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You've had anxiety for as long as you can remember, more of your life had been spent worrying about seemingly silly little things, adrenaline buzzing through your system, than not. It's something you've learnt to deal with and over the years, the work you've put in has made it less of an issue. You have your mechanisms to minimise it, to cope, to enjoy your life and keep panic attacks to a minimum but that doesn't mean that they don't ever happen. Sometimes they happen without any explanation, like your body has been storing up anxiety for a random moment.

It hits you slowly, a winding sort of buzzing through your veins like a thousand bees have decided to make their way into your body and start an orchestra or brass band. It's a familiar but unpleasant sensation that has you wandering around the apartment hands tapping any surface you find in an attempt to expell the sudden burst of adrenaline.

Your heart races, palpitations that feel so strong in your chest that you're certain your heart wants to leap out of your chest and run halfway across the world. Sounds feel dull, deadened like you're underwater, a muffled sense of everything being distant, not there, not with you, taking over. Then the sick feeling hits, like you might be sick at any moment, queasiness hitting you just to add to the other issues. Despite it all, you try to manage it on your own, even knowing Quinn is a room over, you don't want to bother him. Instead you pace and pace and pace even as you struggle to breathe.

It's your pacing, the sound of your feet urgently moving back and forth, around in circles that has Quinn popping his head out of the bedroom where he'd been sorting laundry.

Green eyes assess you, trailing from head to toe. You're biting your lip so hard he's certain you're going to break skin, while your entire body is shaking as you pace, like you've drunk 4 redbulls in quick success or just run a marathon. But it's the way you cycle through various stimms, fingers tapping together in rhythm to try and ground yourself, as your chest heaves in an attempt to get more air in your lungs that really tips him off.

"You okay, baby?"

Your reaction is instant, a sharp turn towards him, eyes wide, head shaking back and forth as tears well in your eyes like you might just cry the Niagra Falls. You look so fucking fragile and he hates it more than anything.

"Okay, okay, c'mere..." He's over to you in three long strides, pulling you tight against his chest, pressing your face into him. You're shaking so hard that it feels like you're a phone on vibrate, like you might blow away in the wind.

It's not everyday you get like this, a rare occurance more so lately, but Quinn's seen it enough to know his options, the sorts of things that do and don't help. Sometimes it just takes his arms around you, a tight grip, as his hands rub paths up and down your back. Sometimes merely the sense of being held for a few moments, the smell of his cologne and the beat of his heart under your ear is enough to ground you.

He can sense that today that's not enough. The way you shake doesn't let up, not even after two minutes of him holding you, there's this calm collectedness to him that hits. A sense that there's a problem, he needs to find a solution and he needs to do so without panicking. Call it his background as a big brother or maybe just being captain of the Canucks, but he sets his own worry aside, his own panic bricked up into a little room.

"You need squish time?" Quinn's voice would be loud to anyone else, heck its loud to his own ears, but muffled to you. He knows how the panic muffles everything for you, the way sounds are quieter, duller, you've told him time and time again that you feel deaf when you're in a panic, so he forces his voice louder to accommodate.

The instant you nod your head, he's moving you to the bedroom, shoving laundry on the floor, not worrying about the mess and helping you to lie on the bed on your back. He's careful to pop pillows under your head and neck for support. There's very little preamble, no real hesitation before he's crawling all 180 pounds of himself up and over you, flopping down ontop of you like a living weighted blanket.

The first time you'd asked for squish time he'd been terrified that he'd hurt you. That you're shallow breathing would be made worse by him compressing you into the mattress, but over time he'd learnt that it was needed sometimes. There was some sort of natural reset that happened to your body when he laid on top of you, a sort of nervous system do over that helped you to ground yourself when all else failed. Squish time was like the fail safe.

For you it was grounding, all encompassing, to feel the weight of Quinn ontop of you in that moment, the way the mattress rose to meet you, the sensation of the blankets under you, his clothes atop you. The weight of him pressing down until you felt surrounded by Quinn. It helped you to calm yourself, so you were thankful in that moment for the 180 pounds of hockey player squishing you, the way your arms wrapped around his waist, the sensation of his hoodie under your fingertips. You were thankful for the way the smell of his cologne and your laundry detergent surrounded you, how you could feel your breaths pushing up against his chest, the resistance calming, the way his face pressed into the crook of your neck like he could use his entire body to shield you from the outside world.

Each breath you took underneath him helped, each moment of being squashed was grounding. You found it easier to focus on the fact you were there, you were safe, you were okay. Each moment drained the adrenaline from your system like Quinn had opened the bee hive to let the swarm of bees escape your bloodstream. Like he'd physically removed the adrenaline himself.

Quinn doesn't even consider moving until he can feel your entire body go boneless, relaxed, till your breaths are even and slow. Even then he just lifts his head to look at you, arms bracketing either side of your head.

"Better?" You look exhausted, in the way you usually do after a panic attack, the influx of adrenaline having worn off and leaving you completely drained.

"Mmm, much better, thank you." You blink at him almost sleepily, but your smile is thankful, Quinn can't help but push forward and press a lazy kiss to your cheek, still keeping most of his weight on you.

"Don't need to thank me, baby, it's what i'm here for. 'm always going to look after you." He means it. He's pretty sure he has 2 goals in life: play good hockey and look after you. The latter he hopes he does for his entire life, it never feels like a chore to help you, he enjoys doing it. He likes that he can calm you down from a panic and that he knows how to make you smile after a long day. You make him feel needed, wanted.

"Can we just lie like this for a little longer?"

"Course. No rush, baby." Quinn settles himself back down on you, face pressed into your neck as your own does the same to him. The two of you lie like that for a while, until the weight of him stops being comforting and becomes a little too claustraphobic and constricting.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The reason you can’t buy a car is the same reason that your health insurer let hackers dox you

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

In 2017, Equifax suffered the worst data-breach in world history, leaking the deep, nonconsensual dossiers it had compiled on 148m Americans and 15m Britons, (and 19k Canadians) into the world, to form an immortal, undeletable reservoir of kompromat and premade identity-theft kits:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2017_Equifax_data_breach

Equifax knew the breach was coming. It wasn't just that their top execs liquidated their stock in Equifax before the announcement of the breach – it was also that they ignored years of increasingly urgent warnings from IT staff about the problems with their server security.

Things didn't improve after the breach. Indeed, the 2017 Equifax breach was the starting gun for a string of more breaches, because Equifax's servers didn't just have one fubared system – it was composed of pure, refined fubar. After one group of hackers breached the main Equifax system, other groups breached other Equifax systems, over and over, and over:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/equifax-password-username-admin-lawsuit-201118316.html

Doesn't this remind you of Boeing? It reminds me of Boeing. The spectacular 737 Max failures in 2018 weren't the end of the scandal. They weren't even the scandal's start – they were the tipping point, the moment in which a long history of lethally defective planes "breached" from the world of aviation wonks and into the wider public consciousness:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_accidents_and_incidents_involving_the_Boeing_737

Just like with Equifax, the 737 Max disasters tipped Boeing into a string of increasingly grim catastrophes. Each fresh disaster landed with the grim inevitability of your general contractor texting you that he's just opened up your ceiling and discovered that all your joists had rotted out – and that he won't be able to deal with that until he deals with the termites he found last week, and that they'll have to wait until he gets to the cracks in the foundation slab from the week before, and that those will have to wait until he gets to the asbestos he just discovered in the walls.

Drip, drip, drip, as you realize that the most expensive thing you own – which is also the thing you had hoped to shelter for the rest of your life – isn't even a teardown, it's just a pure liability. Even if you razed the structure, you couldn't start over, because the soil is full of PCBs. It's not a toxic asset, because it's not an asset. It's just toxic.

Equifax isn't just a company: it's infrastructure. It started out as an engine for racial, political and sexual discrimination, paying snoops to collect gossip from nosy neighbors, which was assembled into vast warehouses full of binders that told bank officers which loan applicants should be denied for being queer, or leftists, or, you know, Black:

https://jacobin.com/2017/09/equifax-retail-credit-company-discrimination-loans

This witch-hunts-as-a-service morphed into an official part of the economy, the backbone of the credit industry, with a license to secretly destroy your life with haphazardly assembled "facts" about your life that you had the most minimal, grudging right to appeal (or even see). Turns out there are a lot of customers for this kind of service, and the capital markets showered Equifax with the cash needed to buy almost all of its rivals, in mergers that were waved through by a generation of Reaganomics-sedated antitrust regulators.

There's a direct line from that acquisition spree to the Equifax breach(es). First of all, companies like Equifax were early adopters of technology. They're a database company, so they were the crash-test dummies for ever generation of database. These bug-riddled, heavily patched systems were overlaid with subsequent layers of new tech, with new defects to be patched and then overlaid with the next generation.

These systems are intrinsically fragile, because things fall apart at the seams, and these systems are all seams. They are tech-debt personified. Now, every kind of enterprise will eventually reach this state if it keeps going long enough, but the early digitizers are the bow-wave of that coming infopocalypse, both because they got there first and because the bottom tiers of their systems are composed of layers of punchcards and COBOL, crumbling under the geological stresses of seventy years of subsequent technology.

The single best account of this phenomenon is the British Library's postmortem of their ransomware attack, which is also in the running for "best hard-eyed assessment of how fucked things are":

https://www.bl.uk/home/british-library-cyber-incident-review-8-march-2024.pdf

There's a reason libraries, cities, insurance companies, and other giant institutions keep getting breached: they started accumulating tech debt before anyone else, so they've got more asbestos in the walls, more sagging joists, more foundation cracks and more termites.

That was the starting point for Equifax – a company with a massive tech debt that it would struggle to pay down under the most ideal circumstances.

Then, Equifax deliberately made this situation infinitely worse through a series of mergers in which it bought dozens of other companies that all had their own version of this problem, and duct-taped their failing, fucked up IT systems to its own. The more seams an IT system has, the more brittle and insecure it is. Equifax deliberately added so many seams that you need to be able to visualized additional spatial dimensions to grasp them – they had fractal seams.

But wait, there's more! The reason to merge with your competitors is to create a monopoly position, and the value of a monopoly position is that it makes a company too big to fail, which makes it too big to jail, which makes it too big to care. Each Equifax acquisition took a piece off the game board, making it that much harder to replace Equifax if it fucked up. That, in turn, made it harder to punish Equifax if it fucked up. And that meant that Equifax didn't have to care if it fucked up.

Which is why the increasingly desperate pleas for more resources to shore up Equifax's crumbling IT and security infrastructure went unheeded. Top management could see that they were steaming directly into an iceberg, but they also knew that they had a guaranteed spot on the lifeboats, and that someone else would be responsible for fishing the dead passengers out of the sea. Why turn the wheel?

That's what happened to Boeing, too: the company acquired new layers of technical complexity by merging with rivals (principally McDonnell-Douglas), and then starved the departments that would have to deal with that complexity because it was being managed by execs whose driving passion was to run a company that was too big to care. Those execs then added more complexity by chasing lower costs by firing unionized, competent, senior staff and replacing them with untrained scabs in jurisdictions chosen for their lax labor and environmental enforcement regimes.

(The biggest difference was that Boeing once had a useful, high-quality product, whereas Equifax started off as an irredeemably terrible, if efficient, discrimination machine, and grew to become an equally terrible, but also ferociously incompetent, enterprise.)

This is the American story of the past four decades: accumulate tech debt, merge to monopoly, exponentially compound your tech debt by combining barely functional IT systems. Every corporate behemoth is locked in a race between the eventual discovery of its irreparable structural defects and its ability to become so enmeshed in our lives that we have to assume the costs of fixing those defects. It's a contest between "too rotten to stand" and "too big to care."

Remember last February, when we all discovered that there was a company called Change Healthcare, and that they were key to processing virtually every prescription filled in America? Remember how we discovered this? Change was hacked, went down, ransomed, and no one could fill a scrip in America for more than a week, until they paid the hackers $22m in Bitcoin?

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2024_Change_Healthcare_ransomware_attack

How did we end up with Change Healthcare as the linchpin of the entire American prescription system? Well, first Unitedhealthcare became the largest health insurer in America by buying all its competitors in a series of mergers that comatose antitrust regulators failed to block. Then it combined all those other companies' IT systems into a cosmic-scale dog's breakfast that barely ran. Then it bought Change and used its monopoly power to ensure that every Rx ran through Change's servers, which were part of that asbestos-filled, termite-infested, crack-foundationed, sag-joisted teardown. Then, it got hacked.

United's execs are the kind of execs on a relentless quest to be too big to care, and so they don't care. Which is why their they had to subsequently announce that they had suffered a breach that turned the complete medical histories of one third of Americans into immortal Darknet kompromat that is – even now – being combined with breach data from Equifax and force-fed to the slaves in Cambodia and Laos's pig-butchering factories:

https://www.cnn.com/2024/05/01/politics/data-stolen-healthcare-hack/index.html

Those slaves are beaten, tortured, and punitively raped in compounds to force them to drain the life's savings of everyone in Canada, Australia, Singapore, the UK and Europe. Remember that they are downstream of the forseeable, inevitable IT failures of companies that set out to be too big to care that this was going to happen.

Failures like Ticketmaster's, which flushed 500 million users' personal information into the identity-theft mills just last month. Ticketmaster, you'll recall, grew to its current scale through (you guessed it), a series of mergers en route to "too big to care" status, that resulted in its IT systems being combined with those of Ticketron, Live Nation, and dozens of others:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/05/31/business/ticketmaster-hack-data-breach.html

But enough about that. Let's go car-shopping!

Good luck with that. There's a company you've never heard. It's called CDK Global. They provide "dealer management software." They are a monopolist. They got that way after being bought by a private equity fund called Brookfield. You can't complete a car purchase without their systems, and their systems have been hacked. No one can buy a car:

https://www.cnn.com/2024/06/27/business/cdk-global-cyber-attack-update/index.html

Writing for his BIG newsletter, Matt Stoller tells the all-too-familiar story of how CDK Global filled the walls of the nation's auto-dealers with the IT equivalent of termites and asbestos, and lays the blame where it belongs: with a legal and economics establishment that wanted it this way:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/a-supreme-court-justice-is-why-you

The CDK story follows the Equifax/Boeing/Change Healthcare/Ticketmaster pattern, but with an important difference. As CDK was amassing its monopoly power, one of its execs, Dan McCray, told a competitor, Authenticom founder Steve Cottrell that if he didn't sell to CDK that he would "fucking destroy" Authenticom by illegally colluding with the number two dealer management company Reynolds.

Rather than selling out, Cottrell blew the whistle, using Cottrell's own words to convince a district court that CDK had violated antitrust law. The court agreed, and ordered CDK and Reynolds – who controlled 90% of the market – to continue to allow Authenticom to participate in the DMS market.

Dealers cheered this on: CDK/Reynolds had been steadily hiking prices, while ingesting dealer data and using it to gouge the dealers on additional services, while denying dealers access to their own data. The services that Authenticom provided for $35/month cost $735/month from CDK/Reynolds (they justified this price hike by saying they needed the additional funds to cover the costs of increased information security!).

CDK/Reynolds appealed the judgment to the 7th Circuit, where a panel of economists weighed in. As Stoller writes, this panel included monopoly's most notorious (and well-compensated) cheerleader, Frank Easterbrook, and the "legendary" Democrat Diane Wood. They argued for CDK/Reynolds, demanding that the court release them from their obligations to share the market with Authenticom:

https://caselaw.findlaw.com/court/us-7th-circuit/1879150.html

The 7th Circuit bought the argument, overturning the lower court and paving the way for the CDK/Reynolds monopoly, which is how we ended up with one company's objectively shitty IT systems interwoven into the sale of every car, which meant that when Russian hackers looked at that crosseyed, it split wide open, allowing them to halt auto sales nationwide. What happens next is a near-certainty: CDK will pay a multimillion dollar ransom, and the hackers will reward them by breaching the personal details of everyone who's ever bought a car, and the slaves in Cambodian pig-butchering compounds will get a fresh supply of kompromat.

But on the plus side, the need to pay these huge ransoms is key to ensuring liquidity in the cryptocurrency markets, because ransoms are now the only nondiscretionary liability that can only be settled in crypto:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

When the 7th Circuit set up every American car owner to be pig-butchered, they cited one of the most important cases in antitrust history: the 2004 unanimous Supreme Court decision in Verizon v Trinko:

https://www.oyez.org/cases/2003/02-682

Trinko was a case about whether antitrust law could force Verizon, a telcoms monopolist, to share its lines with competitors, something it had been ordered to do and then cheated on. The decision was written by Antonin Scalia, and without it, Big Tech would never have been able to form. Scalia and Trinko gave us the modern, too-big-to-care versions of Google, Meta, Apple, Microsoft and the other tech baronies.

In his Trinko opinion, Scalia said that "possessing monopoly power" and "charging monopoly prices" was "not unlawful" – rather, it was "an important element of the free-market system." Scalia – writing on behalf of a unanimous court! – said that fighting monopolists "may lessen the incentive for the monopolist…to invest in those economically beneficial facilities."

In other words, in order to prevent monopolists from being too big to care, we have to let them have monopolies. No wonder Trinko is the Zelig of shitty antitrust rulings, from the decision to dismiss the antitrust case against Facebook and Apple's defense in its own ongoing case:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/documents/cases/073_2021.06.28_mtd_order_memo.pdf

Trinko is the origin node of too big to care. It's the reason that our whole economy is now composed of "infrastructure" that is made of splitting seams, asbestos, termites and dry rot. It's the reason that the entire automotive sector became dependent on companies like Reynolds, whose billionaire owner intentionally and illegally destroyed evidence of his company's crimes, before going on to commit the largest tax fraud in American history:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/billionaire-robert-brockman-accused-of-biggest-tax-fraud-in-u-s-history-dies-at-81-11660226505

Trinko begs companies to become too big to care. It ensures that they will exponentially increase their IT debt while becoming structurally important to whole swathes of the US economy. It guarantees that they will underinvest in IT security. It is the soil in which pig butchering grew.

It's why you can't buy a car.

Now, I am fond of quoting Stein's Law at moments like this: "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." As Stoller writes, after two decades of unchallenged rule, Trinko is looking awfully shaky. It was substantially narrowed in 2023 by the 10th Circuit, which had been briefed by Biden's antitrust division:

https://law.justia.com/cases/federal/appellate-courts/ca10/22-1164/22-1164-2023-08-21.html

And the cases of 2024 have something going for them that Trinko lacked in 2004: evidence of what a fucking disaster Trinko is. The wrongness of Trinko is so increasingly undeniable that there's a chance it will be overturned.

But it won't go down easy. As Stoller writes, Trinko didn't emerge from a vacuum: the economic theories that underpinned it come from some of the heroes of orthodox economics, like Joseph Schumpeter, who is positively worshipped. Schumpeter was antitrust's OG hater, who wrote extensively that antitrust law didn't need to exist because any harmful monopoly would be overturned by an inevitable market process dictated by iron laws of economics.

Schumpeter wrote that monopolies could only be sustained by "alertness and energy" – that there would never be a monopoly so secure that its owner became too big to care. But he went further, insisting that the promise of attaining a monopoly was key to investment in great new things, because monopolists had the economic power that let them plan and execute great feats of innovation.

The idea that monopolies are benevolent dictators has pervaded our economic tale for decades. Even today, critics who deplore Facebook and Google do so on the basis that they do not wield their power wisely (say, to stamp out harassment or disinformation). When confronted with the possibility of breaking up these companies or replacing them with smaller platforms, those critics recoil, insisting that without Big Tech's scale, no one will ever have the power to accomplish their goals:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/18/urban-wildlife-interface/#combustible-walled-gardens

But they misunderstand the relationship between corporate power and corporate conduct. The reason corporations accumulate power is so that they can be insulated from the consequences of the harms they wreak upon the rest of us. They don't inflict those harms out of sadism: rather, they do so in order to externalize the costs of running a good system, reaping the profits of scale while we pay its costs.

The only reason to accumulate corporate power is to grow too big to care. Any corporation that amasses enough power that it need not care about us will not care about it. You can't fix Facebook by replacing Zuck with a good unelected social media czar with total power over billions of peoples' lives. We need to abolish Zuck, not fix Zuck.

Zuck is not exceptional: there were a million sociopaths whom investors would have funded to monopolistic dominance if he had balked. A monopoly like Facebook has a Zuck-shaped hole at the top of its org chart, and only someone Zuck-shaped will ever fit through that hole.

Our whole economy is now composed of companies with sociopath-shaped holes at the tops of their org chart. The reason these companies can only be run by sociopaths is the same reason that they have become infrastructure that is crumbling due to sociopathic neglect. The reckless disregard for the risk of combining companies is the source of the market power these companies accumulated, and the market power let them neglect their systems to the point of collapse.

This is the system that Schumpeter, and Easterbrook, and Wood, and Scalia – and the entire Supreme Court of 2004 – set out to make. The fact that you can't buy a car is a feature, not a bug. The pig-butcherers, wallowing in an ocean of breach data, are a feature, not a bug. The point of the system was what it did: create unimaginable wealth for a tiny cohort of the worst people on Earth without regard to the collapse this would provoke, or the plight of those of us trapped and suffocating in the rubble.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/28/dealer-management-software/#antonin-scalia-stole-your-car

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[afriblaq]

Kenya has reportedly taken steps to withdraw from the World Health Organization (WHO), with a government representative emphasizing the urgent need to safeguard the nation’s health sovereignty and protect its citizens from what he described as covert agendas.

The representative accused the WHO of allegedly administering a disguised population control vaccine during a past tetanus immunization campaign. According to the claim, the vaccine given to women was not a standard tetanus shot but a fertility-regulating version purportedly designed to trigger immune responses against a critical pregnancy hormone—potentially leading to infertility and miscarriages.

In a public statement, the speaker asserted: “The WHO launched a tetanus eradication campaign, but the vaccine used was not an ordinary tetanus vaccine. It was a fertility-regulating version. When injected, it prompts the body to produce antibodies against a pregnancy hormone, effectively rendering women sterile.”

Citing a noticeable increase in infertility among young couples, the official is urging a complete and immediate withdrawal from the WHO, stating that Kenya can no longer afford to rely on the organization for its public health initiatives.

@emp.press

A longer version of the video was posted here. It shows Kenyan Gynaecologist Wahome Ngare addressing the president of Uganda, Yoweri Museveni, on why African countries cannot trust the WHO.

[ghostlycamil4]

Hii!! Can u pls write a masked reader where no one in the class has seen her face before but one day she finally reveals it and Bakugo just goes like “oh damn they’re pretty” or smth so he falls for her thankiess 💕

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝐻𝑒'𝑠 𝐼𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐷𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝐾𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝐼𝑡 𝑌𝑒𝑡

thank you for being patient with this one, i was trying to find the right quirk that would actually explain why she wears the mask... plus i really wanted that soft, vulnerable moment with her and bakugo to hit just right.

Quirk: Solar Light Reaction.

Her skin absorbs solar energy uncontrollably. If exposed to sunlight, her body begins to overload with energy, leading to pain, fever, or even involuntary explosions. The mask and her full-body suit help regulate this energy and prevent an overload.

Context: Bakugo and Y/n were paired for a special training exercise against a pro hero.

The fight was so intense that Y/n had to push her quirk to the limit. She unleashed a massive amount of energy to secure the victory… but it left her completely drained.

Right after the match ended, she collapsed unconscious in front of everyone.

Recovery Girl walked out, hands clasped behind her back. When she saw him there, so still, she looked at him over her glasses with a raised brow.

"Ah, Bakugo. Something wrong?"

He took half a second to react.

"Tch... No. Nothing. Just…" he cleared his throat, turning his face slightly. "Is she okay?"

She looked at him with a mix of tenderness and restrained surprise. Then she nodded, without losing that look in her eyes that said she’d noticed everything.

"She’s stable. Still unconscious, but no major damage. What she did out there was reckless," she said with a sigh. Then, studying him. "You can go in if you want. Just don’t go yelling and wake her up."

And without waiting for an answer, she walked off down the hallway.

He didn’t move right away. He looked at the open door. Took a deep breath.

And then stepped inside.

Lying on a cot, covered in a blue hospital gown, no trace of her hero costume. Her hair—that was always tied up or hidden under the mask—fell loose over the pillow, messy, wild. He stared at it, confused, like he couldn’t match it with the image he knew.

He took a step.

Then another.

Each one slower than the last.

He didn’t know why, but it felt like he was intruding on something intimate. Like he shouldn’t be there. Like what he was about to see… wasn’t meant for him.

But then he saw you.

Your face. Full. For the first time.

And all the noise in his head went silent.

You weren’t just pretty. No. That wasn’t it. There was something in the way your features rested, in how your slightly parted lips breathed slow, in how your skin, now free from the pressure of hiding, looked so fucking perfect.

And your face… your face was a secret the whole damn world was missing out on.

"Shit… " he muttered under his breath, like a thought that slipped out by accident.

And then, you opened your eyes.

Quick. Instinctive. Like his presence had triggered a reflex.

Your gaze caught his immediately. He flinched a little, took a step back, but couldn’t look away from your eyes.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. Your voice was hoarse from sleep, but firm. Direct.

Bakugo swallowed hard.

He had no answer.

Not a single useful word in his head.

He could only think about what he’d just seen. What he was still seeing.

Your eyes widened. Your hand flew to your face, like you could still hide in time.

"Where is it? Where’s my mask?!" you asked, urgently. You looked around, uneasy, like you felt exposed.

And then he spoke. Almost without thinking.

"Why? You don’t need it."

The tone was rough, but it didn’t sound like a command. More like a complaint. Like it wasn’t fair that you wanted to hide again.

You tried to sit up, pushing with your other hand, but the IV in your arm stopped you. You winced, frustrated. Not from pain, but from helplessness.

"For fuck’s sake, you’re gonna hurt yourself! You crazy or what?!" he suddenly snapped, stepping closer.

Reluctantly, yeah. You lay back down slowly. Though now you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Your cheeks, flushed. And he noticed.

And then, he thought out loud.

"You’re… really damn pretty."

The silence that followed was thick.

Your face changed immediately.

"Excuse me?!" you snapped, turning toward him with annoyance. Your brows furrowed and the blush on your cheeks deepened.

He stared at you a moment more and finally stepped back. He turned toward the door, but just before crossing it, he spoke again:

"You look better without the damn mask. Get used to hearing it."

And then he left.

No dramatics. No extra words.

And you stayed there, heart pounding like your body was soaking up light… of another kind.

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[realstrap]

06/22/2024

Help my partner, a black disabled lesbian, get their meds!!!

Hey yall this is very urgent, my partner @800-dick-pics has run out of their medication that they use to regulate their chronic pain and seizures. I do not get paid for another 5 days and we have no money to spare

We need this by the end of the day if possible, without their medication they're susceptible to repeatedly seizures and bouts of chronic pain which is very dangerous!!

$120 needed, anything helps!!

CA: $sleepyhen or $lezsalt

VM: wildwotko

Dm 4 PP

[somaliapearls]

a raging hurricane

(part 2 of “a quiet storm”)

Top Gun masterlist

part 1

✈️ jake “hangman” seresin x fem!reader

genre: romance, angst, emotional resolution

wc: 4.3k

summary: Your and Jake’s relationship begins to unfold…

warnings: Strong emotional themes, sexual tension, smut!!, slow-burn payoff, fluff, vulnerable confessions, mentions of past intimacy, future-talk, established relationship feels.

a/n: “Better Man” by Leon Bridges

The kiss deepened before either of you had time to second-guess it.

Jake’s hands gripped your waist like he was scared you’d disappear. His lips were warm and urgent, like he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he ever admitted. Your back hit the wall behind you, and you let out a gasp when he pinned you there, breath ragged, lips dragging down to your jaw.

It wasn’t just heat—it was heartache. Desire threaded with all the things neither of you had the guts to say when you were sober and surrounded by rules.

“You have no idea,” he whispered against your neck, “how long I’ve wanted this again.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging gently, grounding yourself as your chest heaved with something that felt dangerously like emotion.

“Jake…” you breathed.

“I know,” he said quietly, eyes meeting yours again. “I know it’s messy. But I can’t keep pretending that kiss didn’t mean something.”

You wanted to argue. Wanted to throw up every wall you’d ever built between you. But all that came out was a soft, “It did.”

His expression changed—just a flicker—but it was enough to undo you.

Jake kissed you again, slower this time. Less desperate. More deliberate.

Like he was memorizing the moment.

You let it happen. Because whatever this was, you weren’t ready to let go of it either.

⸻

Sometime Later

You hadn’t meant to end up on the couch with him, curled against his side under one of the base’s regulation throw blankets. But after the kiss—after several kisses—you’d both needed a moment to breathe.

Jake had pulled away first, brushing his thumb over your lower lip like he couldn’t believe he’d finally kissed you again. You’d expected him to crack a joke. To say something cocky. But instead, he’d just held you.

Silently. Like he didn’t trust himself to speak without ruining it.

Now, your head was on his shoulder, one of his hands resting lightly on your thigh. The air between you had calmed—less heat, more gravity. Like the eye of a storm had settled between you.

“I didn’t plan this,” he murmured into the stillness.

You tilted your head, voice soft. “Plan what?”

“This. You. Us.” Jake gave a small, humorless laugh. “I’ve been chasing everything else so hard—rank, recognition, wins—but none of it’s ever stuck. You did. And I hate that it took me this long to admit it.”

You stared at him, your chest twisting. Jake Seresin wasn’t the type to get emotional. Not like this. Not without meaning every word.

You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. “Then stop running from it.”

He looked over at you, green eyes full of something dangerously close to hope. “You serious?”

“I don’t kiss people I don’t care about,” you whispered. “Even when it’s a bad idea.”

Jake smirked faintly. “And I’ve always been your worst idea, huh?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You still are.”

He leaned in slowly, brushing his lips against your forehead with a softness that felt almost too intimate to bear. “Then let me prove I can be your best one too.”

You knew it was a risk. You’d known it since the moment he’d walked into the room. But you’d never been one to back down from a risk.

Jake’s lips were soft but insistent against yours, and you couldn’t help but respond. The heat between the two of you was immediate, electric. It felt like every touch, every breath, was amplifying the tension that had been building for far too long.

You moaned into the kiss, unable to help yourself as Jake’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging slightly, and you shivered at the sensation. It was exhilarating, thrilling, and it felt like everything you’d been denying yourself for so long.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Jake whispered against your lips, his voice husky. “About you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you pressed yourself closer to him. “So have I,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Jake’s grip on your waist tightened, his lips moving to your neck, trailing kisses along your skin. It felt incredible—the way his mouth moved over you, the heat of his touch, the desperation in his movements. It was like every moment you’d denied yourself, every time you’d told yourself no, was being made up for now.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your collarbone, his hand sliding up to cup your breast. The touch was electric, and you arched into it, needing more. Jake’s hand moved to the buttons of your shirt, undoing them slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every second.

When your shirt fell open, Jake’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire. He looked at you like he was starving, like you were everything he’d ever wanted. The intensity of it was overwhelming, and for a moment, all you could do was stand there, caught in his gaze.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of your bra. “I can’t believe you’re here with me.”

You couldn’t respond. All you could do was feel—feel the heat of his touch, feel the way your body responded to him, feel the years of tension and desire finally reaching a breaking point.

Jake’s hand slid behind your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. When he pulled it away, he let out a low groan, his eyes roaming over your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth.

The sensation was incredible—his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, his teeth grazing lightly, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You moaned, your hands fisting in his hair, holding him close as he worshiped your breasts with his mouth.

It felt so good, so right, like everything else had just melted away and all that was left was the two of you, lost in this moment of pure desire. You couldn’t think; you could only feel—feel his touch, feel his lips, feel the heat building between your legs.

Jake’s hands moved to your pants, undoing the button and zipper with deft fingers. When his hand slid into your panties, you gasped, your legs nearly giving way beneath you.

“You’re so wet,” Jake murmured, his finger sliding through your slick folds. “So ready for me.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All you could do was nod, needing him to touch you more, to never stop. Jake’s fingers were magic, finding your clit and circling it slowly, teasingly, before sliding lower to push inside you.

The feeling of him stretching you, filling you, was indescribable. You moaned, pressing yourself against his hand, needing more. Jake added another finger, his thumb finding your clit again, and you felt yourself climbing higher and higher, the pleasure building with every stroke.

“Jake,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m… I’m close.”

He looked up at you, his eyes blazing with desire. “I know,” he said, his fingers moving faster, harder. “Let go. I want to see you come apart.”

And with that, you did. The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling you under. You cried out, your body shaking as Jake continued to stroke you through it, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you finally came down, Jake pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to taste you. The sight of it was so erotic that you felt yourself growing aroused all over again.

“You taste amazing,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “But I want more. I want all of you.”

You nodded, unable to speak, as Jake quickly undid his own pants, pushing them down just enough to free his erection. He was hard, so hard, and the sight of him made your mouth water.

Jake pulled you closer, his tip brushing against your wet folds. “I need you,” he said, his voice raw. “I need to be inside you.”

“Yes,” you breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lifted you up.

He entered you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely. You gasped at the feeling, at the stretch of him inside you. It felt incredible, perfect, like nothing you’d ever felt before.

Jake started to move, his thrusts slow at first but growing faster, harder, as his control slipped. You clung to him, your arms around his neck, your legs tight around his waist, as he pounded into you.

It was intense, passionate, all-consuming. Every thrust felt like it was touching a part of you that had never been touched before. Jake’s lips found yours again, kissing you deeply as he took you right there against the wall.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Jake growled against your lips. “Wanted you. Needed you.”

You couldn’t form words, couldn’t do anything but moan and cling to him as he drove into you again and again. The pleasure was building again, faster this time, more intense.

“Come for me,” Jake whispered, his voice strained. “Come with me.”

And as if on command, you did. Your orgasm hit you hard, making you cry out as you clenched around him. Jake followed soon after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he found his release inside you.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Jake held you close, his forehead resting against yours. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just holding each other as you both caught your breath.

“That was…” Jake started, trailing off as he searched for words.

You nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It was.”

Jake pulled out of you slowly, setting you down gently before tucking himself back into his pants. You fixed your clothes too, though your fingers felt numb, your whole body still buzzing from what had just happened.

“So,” Jake said, breaking the silence. He looked at you, a small smile playing at his lips. “We should probably talk about this, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a little giddy. “Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

But for now, you were just content to be there with him, to feel the warmth of his body next to yours, to know that whatever this was, it was real, and it was finally out in the open.

Later That Night

You didn’t sleep much.

Not for lack of trying—Jake had offered to leave, had even stood to go once, but the way your hand clutched at his shirt told him everything he needed to know. Instead, he stayed. Curled behind you on the narrow couch, one arm tucked under your neck, the other draped protectively over your waist.

Neither of you said anything.

Because in that quiet, tangled moment, words felt unnecessary.

But you both felt it.

The shift.

The realization that whatever you’d been tiptoeing around for so long wasn’t going away.

⸻

The Next Morning

You woke first. Jake’s chest was warm against your back, his breathing deep and even. Your heart thudded as you took in the view—the faint scruff on his jaw, the bare skin of his shoulder where the blanket had slipped, the way he looked peaceful in a way you rarely saw him.

And it scared you how badly you wanted this.

Wanted him.

You slipped out of his grasp carefully, feet cold against the tile floor. You didn’t go far—just into the hallway, where the reality of morning light felt like a slap.

Because what now?

What happened after the kiss? After the almosts?

You barely had time to think before the door cracked behind you and Jake stepped out, still shirtless, hair a rumpled mess, sleep in his eyes.

He squinted at you. “You ran off.”

You crossed your arms, unsure what to say. “Just needed a minute.”

Jake nodded slowly, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. This feels real.”

“It is.”

You looked up at him, finally voicing the fear that had been gnawing at your edges all night. “And if we ruin it?”

Jake reached out, hand curling gently around yours. “Then we rebuild it. Together.”

You stared at him.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like running.

You just nodded, fingers tightening around his.

The silence in your room wasn’t heavy—it was soft. Comforting. Like the kind that settles after a storm has passed.

Jake sat at the edge of your bed, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. His shoulders rose and fell slowly, like he was trying to find the words before he lost his nerve.

You stood by the window, arms wrapped around yourself, watching the morning sun wash over the base. You could still feel his warmth on your skin, the imprint of him in your bed, but the weight in the air wasn’t about lust anymore.

It was about everything that came after.

“I’ve loved you since before Vegas,” Jake said finally, voice low but steady.

You turned slowly, heart stumbling at the raw honesty in his tone.

He looked up at you then, eyes clearer than you’d ever seen them. “I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d run. I thought I’d screw it up. Hell, maybe I still will. But I’m tired of pretending that night was just a fluke. It wasn’t. You weren’t.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I didn’t say anything either,” you admitted. “I thought if I gave it time, the feeling would go away.”

Jake gave a bitter smile. “Did it?”

“No,” you whispered. “It got worse.”

That admission cracked something open. He stood, closing the space between you slowly, giving you time to back away—but you didn’t. His hands found your waist, grounding you, like he needed to touch you just to be sure this was real.

“I never knew how to want something that wasn’t flying,” he said quietly. “But then you came along. And suddenly it wasn’t the sky I was chasing anymore.”

You leaned your forehead against his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin and warmth and something safer than anything you’d known in years.

“I’m scared, Jake,” you confessed.

“I am too,” he said. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

⸻

Weeks Later

It didn’t happen overnight. The relationship took root in quiet moments—late-night dinners in the mess hall, his hand on your knee during briefings, your voice in his ear after a rough flight.

People noticed. Of course they did.

Hangman—Jake Seresin—wasn’t exactly subtle.

But neither of you cared anymore.

You weren’t sneaking around. You weren’t hiding. You were building.

One night, months into the new normal, you came home to find him sitting on the floor of your apartment, back against the couch, guitar in his lap. He looked up as you entered, that soft smile he saved just for you already tugging at his mouth.

“Playin’ for someone?” you asked, dropping your keys and toeing off your boots.

Jake shook his head. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” you teased, flopping down beside him.

He strummed once—lightly, almost absentminded. Then he set the guitar aside and pulled you between his legs, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking about the future,” he said, fingers curling lightly over your ribs. “About flying. About us.”

Your pulse kicked up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “I want to build something real with you. Something that doesn’t depend on where we’re stationed or who’s deploying next. I want… I want a home.”

You turned in his arms, meeting his eyes.

Jake Seresin wasn’t perfect. He was proud and reckless and had a tendency to push buttons just to see if he could. But he showed up. Over and over again.

You reached up and touched his cheek. “Then let’s build it.”

⸻

Six Months Later

You stood in front of a mirror, heart hammering, smoothing down the simple white satin of your dress.

It wasn’t a traditional ceremony. No frills. No pews. Just you, Jake, and a few of your closest people standing under the open sky on a patch of coastal grass where you’d once watched him fly.

Phoenix zipped the back of your dress and gave your shoulders a squeeze. “You ready, Mrs. Seresin?”

You smiled, nerves twisting into something brighter. “I think I’ve been ready for him since Vegas.”

She grinned and pulled you into a hug. “Go knock him dead.”

⸻

Outside, Jake stood with his hands in his pockets, looking unfairly good in his dress whites. His eyes found you the second you stepped into view, and the world seemed to fall away.

No more fear. No more maybe. No more almost.

Just this.

Just him.

Just forever.

⸻

The Wedding

Jake had never looked at anything the way he looked at you walking toward him—like you were something sacred. Something his heart recognized before his mind could name it.

You wore no veil. No train. Just a simple white dress and a quiet, tearful smile that knocked the air from his lungs.

He was shaking when you took his hand.

“Hi,” you whispered, barely holding it together.

Jake chuckled, eyes shining. “Hey, darlin’. You look like a damn dream.”

The officiant spoke, but neither of you really heard it. Your whole world was wrapped up in each other—in the way your fingers interlaced like you were two puzzle pieces meant to fit, and in the unspoken vows already written into the way you looked at each other.

When it came time for the real vows, Jake took a breath, steadied himself, and began.

“I thought I was gonna fly solo for the rest of my life,” he said, voice thick. “That was the plan—stay untouchable, never get too close, always leave the door cracked so I could get out easy. Then you crashed through every wall I had without asking permission.”

You smiled, tears falling freely now.

“I never expected to fall in love with someone who’d hold my ego in check, challenge me, and still believe in me when I didn’t deserve it. But I did. And I do. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. You’re my home. And I’m never leaving it.”

You exhaled a shaky breath and laughed softly, wiping your cheeks.

Your vows came slower, broken up by emotion.

“I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to keep people at arm’s length, scared that if I let someone in, they’d leave or change or ruin the peace I finally found. But then you… you came in loud, all charm and cockiness, and somehow underneath it all was this quiet, steady strength I didn’t expect.”

Jake’s eyes never left yours. Not once.

“You made me feel safe to be messy. To be real. And you loved me not in spite of the hard parts—but because of them. I don’t want perfection with you. I want mornings and late-night talks and hard days we get through together. I want forever with you, Jake.”

Neither of you remembered the exact words the officiant said after that, only that you were suddenly being told to kiss your husband.

And Jake didn’t wait.

His hands cupped your face like you were fragile, like this moment would break if he rushed it—and he kissed you slowly, reverently. The world fell away again, and this time, it stayed gone.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered.

“Good,” you said. “I’ve got plans for us.”

⸻

Later That Night

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in navy and soft gold. You were barefoot on a porch at the little beachside inn you’d chosen for your quiet honeymoon. Waves crashed gently below.

Jake stepped out behind you, arms slipping around your waist, lips brushing your neck.

“Mrs. Seresin,” he murmured, teasing. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

You leaned into him, laughing softly. “You’ll survive.”

His hands slid down your arms, turning you to face him. You looked up at him in the dark—still Jake, still cocky and complicated and loyal to the bone. But softer now, too. Centered.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I want all of it with you.”

You smiled and took his hand, leading him back inside, where candles flickered low and the air was full of quiet promise.

“You know what I’m gonna love most about being married to you?”

“Hm?” you asked, sleepy and warm against him.

“That every time I fly, I get to come home to you.”

Your heart ached in the best way.

“You always have,” you whispered. “Even before today.”

Jake kissed your forehead and pulled you close. “I’ll never stop choosing you.”

Your wedding night was a slow burn of desire, the kind that starts in your toes and creeps up through your body until you’re trembling with need. You’d waited so long for this moment, for the chance to truly be alone with him, and now that it was here, you couldn’t quite believe it.

Jake stood in front of you, his tuxedo abandoned in favor of a simple white shirt and black trousers. His eyes were dark with hunger as he watched you, drinking in the sight of you in your lacy white lingerie. You felt a shiver run down your spine under his gaze, anticipation building in your core.

He reached for you then, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you close. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension coiled in his muscles.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “About peeling this lace off you, about tasting every inch of your skin.”

You whimpered, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Jake,” you breathed. “Please.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His mouth crashed down on yours, hot and demanding, as his hands began to explore your body. You moaned into the kiss, arching into his touch, desperate for more.

Jake broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he growled. “So perfect.”

His hands found the clasp of your bra, undoing it with practiced ease. The lace fell away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on.

Jake’s mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking and licking while his fingers pinched and rolled the other. The sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Jake,” you gasped. “Oh god, that feels so good.”

He didn’t stop, his mouth working your breasts until you were a writhing mess beneath him. Then, slowly, torturously, he began to kiss his way down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel as he went.

By the time he reached the edge of your panties, you were trembling with need. Jake could see it, could feel it in the way your thighs quivered beneath his touch.

“Look at you,” he murmured, nipping at the lace. “So wet for me already.”

You whimpered, pushing your hips up towards his mouth. “Please,” you begged. “I need you.”

Jake didn’t make you wait any longer. With one swift movement, he tore your panties away, leaving you completely bare before him. His breath ghosted over your slick folds, and you nearly came undone right then and there.

“Hangman,” you moaned, using his call sign in a way you never had before. It seemed fitting, somehow, for this moment when you were both so exposed, so vulnerable.

His tongue flicked out, tasting you for the first time. You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure surged through you. Jake growled against your skin, his hands gripping your thighs as he devoured you.

It didn’t take long for him to find your clit, sucking it into his mouth as he slid two fingers inside you. You were tight, hot, and so fucking wet for him. Jake’s cock throbbed at the feel of you clenching around his fingers, but he forced himself to focus on you, on bringing you to the edge.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “Let me taste you.”

His words, combined with the relentless movement of his fingers and the suction of his mouth, sent you spiraling over the edge. You came hard, crying out his name as your body shook with the force of your orgasm.

Jake didn’t stop, drawing out your pleasure until you were begging him to stop, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding your body. Only then did he relent, pulling back to look up at you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing his way back up your body. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep, hungry kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it only made you hotter, needier.

“My turn,” you whispered against his lips, pushing him onto his back.

Jake raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this bold side of you. “Whatever you want, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and husky.

You smiled, a slow, seductive curve of your lips. Then, with deliberate slowness, you began to unbutton his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest inch by tantalizing inch. Jake watched you, his breathing growing heavier as you worked your way down to his waistband.

Once the shirt was gone, you turned your attention to his trousers, undoing them with deft fingers. Jake lifted his hips to help you, his cock straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs.

You didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath. As soon as his pants were out of the way, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his underwear and pulled them down, freeing his erection.

Jake groaned at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, your breasts swaying gently as you moved. He reached for you, but you shook your head, pressing his hands back against the bed.

“Not yet,” you said, your voice a sultry purr. “This is my time.”

Jake nodded, though his hips jerked involuntarily at the sound of your voice, at the sight of your pink tongue darting out to wet your lips.

You leaned down, your breath fanning over the head of his cock. Jake’s whole body tensed in anticipation, his fingers curling into the sheets.

The first touch of your lips was almost too much. Jake’s hips surged up, seeking more of your mouth, but you held him down, keeping control.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. “Your mouth feels incredible.”

You didn’t respond, too focused on the task at hand. You took him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length, your hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Jake was losing it, his hips moving in time with your strokes, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Darlin’,” he panted. “You gotta stop. I’m gonna come.”

You pulled back then, releasing him with a soft pop. “Not yet,” you whispered, straddling his waist. “I want to come with you.”

Jake’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you sank down onto his cock. You were so wet, so ready for him, that you took him all in one smooth motion, both of you crying out at the sensation.

“God,” Jake gritted out, his fingers digging into your skin. “You feel so fucking good.”

You began to move then, rising up and sinking back down, setting a slow, torturous pace. Jake’s hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect rhythm.

With each thrust, you could feel him hitting deeper, touching places inside you that made you see stars.

It didn’t take long before you were both on the edge, bodies straining together, sweat-slicked skin sliding against skin. Jake reached between you, his thumb finding your clit as you rode him.

“Come with me,” he growled, his hips snapping up to meet yours. “Now.”

The combination of his cock filling you and his thumb on your clit was too much. You came with a scream, your body clamping down on his as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Jake followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his release.

You collapsed on top of him then, both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing. Jake’s arms came around you, holding you close as you came down from the high.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “That was…”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah.”

Jake chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “I think we’re gonna have a really great marriage.”

⸻

Six Months Later

The apartment was a little cramped, the baby room was still a work in progress, and Jake had nearly burned dinner trying to multitask, but it didn’t matter.

He stood in the kitchen, holding you from behind as you stared at the ultrasound picture on the fridge, your hand resting over his.

“I still can’t believe we made a human,” he muttered, grinning into your hair.

“I can,” you teased. “I mean, we had a lot of practice.”

Jake chuckled and kissed your temple. “You sure you’re okay with me still flying?”

You turned in his arms, grounding him with your eyes. “I married a pilot. I knew what I was signing up for. As long as you keep coming home, we’re good.”

He cupped your cheek, gaze soft. “Always.”

⸻

Epilogue: Years Later

The sky above the backyard was streaked with pink and orange. A little girl with green eyes and your nose was running barefoot through the grass, giggling as Jake chased after her, pretending to be a monster.

You watched from the porch, pregnant with your second, heart full to the brim.

Jake scooped your daughter into his arms, twirling her until she shrieked with delight.

Then he looked at you—the same way he had on your wedding day, and every day since. Like you were everything.

And you were.

He came over, breathless, flushed from laughing, and kissed you slow.

“Still flying high, Hangman?” you teased.

He rested his forehead against yours. “Only when I’m with you, darlin’.”

The end.

[savemyfamilyy]

Share, support, and donate please 🙏

I look for a safe place for my parents to be safe from death 💔

Hello my friends , I am Ayat , I have been living in Egypt for the past sex months.

Today, I am reaching out to you with a heavy heart, urgently seeking help. My dear parents, Atef Yousef Mahdi, aged 75, and Sanaa Abdelraheem Mahdi, aged 60, are currently stranded in Gaza, where the ongoing conflict poses an immediate threat to their lives. I am asking for your support to help secure their safety and to provide them with the essential resources they urgently need in these extremely difficult circumstances.

My family and I were forced to flee our home under relentless bombing, leaving behind all our possessions, clothes, and even our money. In desperate conditions, we journeyed southward from northern Gaza, hoping to find safety there or a way to escape to a secure location.

My father recently suffered an injury to his foot, making it very difficult to obtain the necessary medical assistance for him. He struggled to walk again, despite also suffering from diabetes and high blood pressure, which require several medications to regulate his blood pressure and manage his ability to urinate. His difficulty in walking adds to these challenges.My father is in great pain, and your support could help us secure the proper treatment he urgently needs.

My mother is struggling to make a living by selling small pieces of candy and a few homemade pastries to the children in the tents, in order to afford food amidst the severe price hikes due to the scarcity of proper food and clean water.

I need your support and solidarity so that I can reunite with my parents, or at the very least, provide them with a safe place and the food they need to survive during this difficult time. Thank you so much for your help and support. Please share this post as much as possible so I can help them. Thank you.

[thedigitalbard]

Hello everyone. I want to share another family's campaign with you. Today I want to share the story of Haya and her family. She is a dentist, and a mother to three boys, Jameel, Bahaa, and Youssef. After fleeing genocide in Gaza, they are currently taking refuge in Egypt.

This campaign was shared by @/bilal-salah0 here. This is an urgent request. Haya's campaign has not received a single donation in 2 months. Youssef is only 7 years old and has fallen into a diabetic coma. He suffers from type 1 diabetes, a severe vitamin D deficiency, and kidney and liver dysfunction. Haya needs your support to purchase a pump to regulate Youssef's diabetes. This is very expensive, and they don't have the funds to afford it. Please do whatever you can to support Haya and her family. Share this post. Donate if you can. You can follow Haya @haya-jouda-1.

€1,238 / €25,000

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[princessbrunette]

feel like bunny!reader would get so deep in subspace cause rafe was gone all day that she is BEGGING HIM to put the pink bunny tail plug in and he’s just like 😟😟

౨ৎ🐰 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

rafe is instantly on edge when he arrives home and hears you sniffling.

he had been handling business all day, going from investor to investor, meeting to meeting. he didn’t like that he had to leave you alone, and not because you missed having eachother around, no — he was a grown man, he could handle that. he didn’t like not being around incase something happened to you. he’d get so paranoid that sometimes he’d even send topper, or someone of the same genre to check on you, make sure everything was okay at tannyhill.

the sound of you sniffling sadly made alarm bells ring in his head, and he set down his briefcase of money and pushed his way into your bedroom— nearly jumping when you ran straight into him in the doorway, manicured nails struggling to keep ahold on his shirt.

“hey, talk. why are you crying?” he pulls you back urgently, needing to get to the nitty gritty of the problem so that he could fix it as fast as possible. if someone had made you cry, he would be out that door in a moments notice.

“couldn’t— couldn’t do it!” you warble, now pressing your wet cheek to his chest for comfort. he peels you away, hands on your shoulders as he frowns.

“do what? i need details here, kid— m’not a mind reader.”

you let out another cry and force yourself to stand back, pointing pathetically towards the bed. on his sheets lays your buttplug, the pink fluffy tail of it a lonesome puff on the large sleeping space with the metal end lubed up, sat alone. “want it in.” when you speak next, your voice rasps brokenly, projecting you no more above a whisper. his shoulders relax as he exhales, the slight panic of seeing you so upset leaving him.

“you know you really scared me, dumbass. get on the bed. on your belly.” he flicks his arm out in a point before pinching at his nose bridge, letting you scramble to lay on your front with your dress flipped up. he lazily drops onto one knee on the mattress, your body bouncing slightly with his weight and he yanks your dress higher. “you couldn’t get it in? that’s the problem?” he lifts the plug, inspecting it before pulling your ass cheek apart, tapping your thigh. “c’mon, open these.” he adds in a murmur and you oblige, still sniffling as you spread your legs on request.

“s’too hard.” you continue to cry, frustrated with your attempts.

“okay, okay. relax, yeah? you—you got me now, daddies here.” you feel the cool plug press to your puckered hole and you squirm with a mewl, not expecting it. “relax, i said.” he presses a spare hand to your lower back and you do, but you cry all the same.

as soon as he pushes it in, you go limp— letting out a sleepy hum as he makes sure it’s in properly. “there. jesus, all that fuss for what, huh?”

you sniff, pushing up shakily onto your hands as you try and help yourself up. “just needed—”

“just needed daddy to get you right, yeah i know. do everything around here, don’t i?” you hear his tone lighten up just a tad, pulling your elbow so you wind up on his chest, head resting beneath his chin. he doesn’t say anything for a bit, just lets your breathing regulate.

“gotta stop scaring me like that, alright? when you cry i—i don’t know what to think.”

“sorry, just can’t think properly when i miss you.” you slur, rubbing your cheek against him as if collecting his warmth.

“mm,” he hums and the rumble is deep against your ear. “thats that fuckin’ bunny brain right there. right?” he taps the side of your head with the back of his knuckle like he’s knocking and you nod. “lucky i do all the thinking for the two of us so shit always works out.”

౨ৎ🐰 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ