#Expert Traffic Control

[labormaxphoenix]

Effective traffic control is essential for managing vehicle and pedestrian flow, particularly in high-traffic areas and construction zones. By employing professional traffic control services, you can prevent accidents, reduce congestion, and maintain order. Whether it's for roadworks, special events, or emergency situations, skilled traffic controllers use advanced techniques and equipment to ensure safety and minimize disruptions.

[no-passaran]

Genocide experts warn that India is about to genocide the Shompen people

Who are the Shompen?

The Shompen are an indigenous culture that lives in the Great Nicobar Island, which is nowadays owned by India. The Shompen and their ancestors are believed to have been living in this island for around 10,000 years. Like other tribes in the nearby islands, the Shompen are isolated from the rest of the world, as they chose to be left alone, with the exception of a few members who occasionally take part in exchanges with foreigners and go on quarantine before returning to their tribe. There are between 100 and 400 Shompen people, who are hunter-gatherers and nomadic agricultors and rely on their island's rainforest for survival.

Why is there risk of genocide?

India has announced a huge construction mega-project that will completely change the Great Nicobar Island to turn it into "the Hong Kong of India".

Nowadays, the island has 8,500 inhabitants, and over 95% of its surface is made up of national parks, protected forests and tribal reserve areas. Much of the island is covered by the Great Nicobar Biosphere Reserve, described by UNESCO as covering “unique and threatened tropical evergreen forest ecosystems. It is home to very rich ecosystems, including 650 species of angiosperms, ferns, gymnosperms, and bryophytes, among others. In terms of fauna, there are over 1800 species, some of which are endemic to this area. It has one of the best-preserved tropical rain forests in the world.”

The Indian project aims to destroy this natural environment to create an international shipping terminal with the capacity to handle 14.2 million TEUs (unit of cargo capacity), an international airport that will handle a peak hour traffic of 4,000 passengers and that will be used as a joint civilian-military airport under the control of the Indian Navy, a gas and solar power plant, a military base, an industrial park, and townships aimed at bringing in tourism, including commercial, industrial and residential zones as well as other tourism-related activities.

This project means the destruction of the island's pristine rainforests, as it involves cutting down over 852,000 trees and endangers the local fauna such as leatherback turtles, saltwater crocodiles, Nicobar crab-eating macaque and migratory birds. The erosion resulting from deforestation will be huge in this highly-seismic area. Experts also warn about the effects that this project will have on local flora and fauna as a result of pollution from the terminal project, coastal surface runoff, ballasts from ships, physical collisions with ships, coastal construction, oil spills, etc.

The indigenous people are not only affected because their environment and food source will be destroyed. On top of this, the demographic change will be a catastrophe for them. After the creation of this project, the Great Nicobar Island -which now has 8,500 inhabitants- will receive a population of 650,000 settlers. Remember that the Shompen and Nicobarese people who live on this island are isolated, which means they do not have an immune system that can resist outsider illnesses. Academics believe they could die of disease if they come in contact with outsiders (think of the arrival of Europeans to the Americas after Christopher Columbus and the way that common European illnesses were lethal for indigenous Americans with no immunization against them).

And on top of all of this, the project might destroy the environment and the indigenous people just to turn out to be useless and sooner or later be abandoned. The naturalist Uday Mondal explains that “after all the destruction, the financial viability of the project remains questionable as all the construction material will have to be shipped to this remote island and it will have to compete with already well-established ports.” However, this project is important to India because they want to use the island as a military and commercial post to stop China's expansion in the region, since the Nicobar islands are located on one of the world's busiest sea routes.

Last year, 70 former government officials and ambassadors wrote to the Indian president saying the project would “virtually destroy the unique ecology of this island and the habitat of vulnerable tribal groups”. India's response has been to say that the indigenous tribes will be relocated "if needed", but that doesn't solve the problem. As a spokesperson for human rights group Survival International said: “The Shompen are nomadic and have clearly defined territories. Four of their semi-permanent settlements are set to be directly devastated by the project, along with their southern hunting and foraging territories. The Shompen will undoubtedly try to move away from the area destroyed, but there will be little space for them to go. To avoid a genocide, this deadly mega-project must be scrapped.”

On 7 February 2024, 39 scholars from 13 countries published an open letter to the Indian president warning that “If the project goes ahead, even in a limited form, we believe it will be a death sentence for the Shompen, tantamount to the international crime of genocide.”

How to help

The NGO Survival International has launched this campaign:

From this site, you just need to add your name and email and you will send an email to India's Tribal Affairs Minister and to the companies currently vying to build the first stage of the project.

Share it with your friends and acquittances and on social media.

Sources:

India’s plan for untouched Nicobar isles will be ‘death sentence’ for isolated tribe, 7 Feb 2024. The Guardian.

‘It will destroy them’: Indian mega-development could cause ‘genocide’ and ‘ecocide’, says charity, 8 Feb 2024. Geographical.

Genocide experts call on India's government to scrap the Great Nicobar mega-project, Feb 2024. Survival International.

The container terminal that could sink the Great Nicobar Island, 20 July 2022. Mongabay.

[Maps] Environmental path cleared for Great Nicobar mega project, 10 Oct 2022. Mongabay.

[batboyblog]

April 1st is Election Day

Are you feeling sick, depressed, angry, outraged and all the other bad feelings about Donald Trump and Elon Musk this March? WELL FUCKO! its time to get to work, the first major test of the resistance to Trump-Musk is this April first! two special elections to the US House in Florida and a Supreme Court election in Wisconsin.

Florida's 1st and 6th Congressional Districts are having special elections on April 1st.

Right now the House of Representatives is 218 Republicans to 215 Democrats, flip these two seats, its 218-217, one vote away from being able to hold Trump and Musk accountable, and there are lots of Republican Congresspeople in their 70s and 80s.

The First Congressional District used to be well know sex criminal Matt Gaetz' district till he resigned hoping that'd mean The House wouldn't release a report on all his sex crimes, but the House released it anyways and Matt didn't get to be Trump's Attorney General. Any ways Trump endorsed Republican Jimmy Patronis, an ally of Ron DeSantis, which pretty much closed the Republican primary.

The Democrat is named Gay Valimont where ever you live in the US you can phone bank, if you live in Florida, or southern Georgia, Alabama, or Mississippi PLEASE! for the love of GOD! find time this month, one weekend to knock doors, and if you have a spare dollar, maybe don't buy something off Amazon? give it to the cause?

Give Volunteer Events

The Sixth Congressional District used to be Michael Waltz' seat till he resigned to be Trump's National Security Adviser, you know that gross bullying of Ukraine's President Zelensky? Waltz was definitely a part of planning that little show.

Any ways Trump endorsed well known lunatic Randy Fine to be the Republican nominee. Fine's not even in Congress and he's already threatening Democratic members he doesn't like.

The Democratic nominee is teacher Joshua Weil You can phone bank from anywhere and like I said if you live in Florida or southern Georgia please please give of your time and knock some doors. If you have a dollar to spare it'll go a long way.

Give Volunteer/Events

These will both be up hill fights, they are normally very safe Republican seats. However, these are not normal times, Musk and his DOGE are about as popular with the public as an untreated STI. Musk is firing veterans, and military spouses from their jobs, cutting back the VA, and Social Security, firing park rangers, air traffic controllers, nuclear weapon experts, civilian workers from the Defense department, Trump is purging the FBI and other law enforcement agencies. These are all things traditional Republican voters do not like. So you (and I) all have a chance to tell them all about it. No matter what happens on April 1st I don't want a single Florida voter to not know about these elections and how important they are.

Wisconsin!

Every bit as important as the special elections in Florida and maybe more so for the people of Wisconsin, Wisconsin is having an election for a Supreme Court Justice. The Wisconsin Supreme Court is right now 4-3 liberal to conservative. Liberal Justice Ann Walsh Bradley is retiring and the election will elect her replacement for a 10 year term.

Right now a case is before the Wisconsin Supreme Court to decide if the state should ban abortions under an 1849 law. If Conservatives flip this seat they will ban abortion in the state

The Conservative candidate Brad Schimel has made clear in very sexist language that banning abortion is a top issue for him. What's more Schimel is endorsed by Elon Musk. Musk is pouring MILLIONS of dollars into this race, it's the most expensive Judicial race in Wisconsin History thanks to Elon Musk and likely one of the most expensive judicial elections in American history. This is your chance to go head to head with Elon Musk and kick his ass.

The Liberal in the race, Susan Crawford, is endorsed by all the liberals on the court, the Wisconsin Democratic Party, and dozens of unions including the teacher's union. She's promising to keep abortion legal and to stand up to oligarchs like Musk.

If you live anywhere in Wisconsin this election is about you and your future and the next 10 years of your state, please volunteer. All of us can phone bank or postcard write from anywhere, And if you're in Minnesota, Illinois, Iowa, or Michigan's UP and you want to make Musk sad? find a weekend this month to go to Wisconsin and knock some doors.

Give Volunteer Events

Where ever you are you can and should make a difference, even if it's just to share this post to help it reach someone else. Its time to stop feeling bad and start fighting back.

[damlahayal]

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[vettelsvee]

THIS IS MUCH BETTER THAN DRIVING | Sebastian Vettel

Red Bull (2011) Sebastian Vettel x Female best friend, Red Bull race engineer intern!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb helping you to improve your driving skills ends up in you both teasing each other and him teaching you how to masturbate (and then you beg him to eat you out) ↳ Part of HISTORY SERIES

WORD COUNT: 5133

WARNINGS: Smut (guided masturbation with Seb teaching how to do it, and oral sex, female receiving and teasing of male receiving at the end), curse words, lots and lots of teasing and sexual tension. Also a bit fluffy with Seb being a golden retriever :)

VEE'S NOTES: Seb content from Race of Champions has me over the moon. I'm not going thought a nice time in uni and my personal life and overall feel like a failure not gonna lie, but here I am! Apologies for not having updated in quite a long time but didn't feel in the mood to do so and didn't have time as well, so hope you like this one <3 ↳ TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You had a feeling long before Seb came to your house that he wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. However, it wasn’t until you saw how effortlessly he blended in not just with your family, but also with Hanna, his ex girlfriend, when you all met up at Heppenheim before leaving for Hungary, that you realized you didn’t want to waste a single second away from the Red Bull driver.

That’s why, when he decided, almost impulsively, to take a flight at the beginning of August with just a suitcase, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You were in complete shock when you saw Seb standing at your front door, unable to believe he had traveled all the way to your country without telling you. More than that, you had no idea how he managed to keep it a secret, just so he could spend almost a month by your side. Your uncles reacted in a similar way, though not as positively.

If it hadn’t been for your aunt allowing him to stay in your room, without caring that you’d be sharing the same bed, your uncle would have undoubtedly sent him to a hotel since he had made it very clear that his house was not one.

During the nearly month-long stay at the Y/L/N household in Linz, the plan remained intact, though with small adjustments along the way. Weekly trips to the cinema became a routine. You both started acting like a couple, even if you weren’t one… yet. Grocery shopping together almost every day, looking after your younger sister as if she was your own daughter...

And then there was the driving test. Seb somehow convinced you to take the practical exam before your theory license expired. You had agreed, reluctantly, but only under one condition: he would be the one to teach you.

And so, there you were. The roles reversed. You, behind the wheel. Sebastian Vettel, Formula 1 world champion chasing his second championship, in the passenger seat, giving you instructions and trying to stay patient. But judging by the way the car jerked every time you overcorrected in the practice lot, it was obvious: you worked much better the other way around, giving him instructions on the radio during Grand Prix weekends.

You were good at a lot of things. Driving just wasn’t one of them.

“Why the fuck does the car keep stalling?!”

The frustrated hits against the steering wheel, along with the sudden brake, made Seb grip the headrest of his seat as if that would somehow help him.

“Relax, Y/N. You just need to release the clutch a little more smoothly, not so abruptly,” he corrected you, hoping he was right. “Rushing it won’t make the car go any faster.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, expert,” you huffed, restarting the engine.

It was almost funny how you were in an empty street at the very end of your homwtown with barely any people or traffic, yet you were still more nervous than you should be, losing the self-control you always claimed to have.

You had no idea what you were going to do in two days when you had to take the test with the examiner sitting behind your driving instructor.

“I don’t get why this is so complicated,” you nodded toward the uphill road in front of you. “You make it look so easy…”

“With the Red Bull car or my regular one?”

“Both,” you confirmed. “God, I’m so clumsy…”

He barely held back a laugh because, despite your frustration, you looked adorable. And, at the same time, the whole situation felt too surreal to be real.

He knew you could do it. You just needed to trust yourself a little more.

“You’ll get better with practice. Practice makes perfect. Besides, the driving test is just a formality: passing doesn’t mean you actually know how to drive,” he added.

“Are you telling me that if I somehow pass next Thursday, they’ll give me a license to drive alone, even though I don’t really know how?”

“Well, if you say it that way…”

“Then what’s the point of all this?” you muttered. “Are you going to keep driving with me until I do everything right?”

He told you with a low voice that yes, even though he was really thinking no. And, secretly, hoping that you’d manage to stop correctly at the stop sign on the hill.

“Listen, Seb,” you called, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “If I do this correctly, you owe me a kiss,” you motioned toward the stop sign.

He raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement flashing across his face.

He would give you whatever you wanted if you did it right. And if you didn’t… 

Well, he’d still give it to you.

“Seriously, Y/N? Exchanging a proper start for a kiss?”

“What did you expect then, a million euros?”

Seb didn’t answer because, honestly, he had expected a different kind of suggestion… but it’s not like he didn’t like the one you proposed.

“Sounds good to me,” he finally answered.

“Is that all you’re going to say? I’m sure you thought I’d suggest not just a kiss but a full session of undetermined length.”

Even with your eyes still fixed on the road, the playful glint in them was undeniable, and the way your cheeks were turning red only confirmed the obvious: you were starting to tease him.

“Oh, I already took that for granted. That was always going to happen after dinner, sweetheart. It’s been our routine every night…”

“Since we first tried it at the cinema a week ago,” you finished for him.

You continued driving, and this time, without a trace of nerves or stalls, you ascended the hill effortlessly.

You pressed the brake, turned to face him, and a knowing smile curled on your lips.

“Looks like you really have everything under control now,” he acknowledged, making your smile widen even more.

“So… are you going to give me my kiss?”

Tilting his head slightly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned toward you, slow yet eager. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and with your hands gripping your seat, you closed the remaining space between you.

What caught you completely off guard was that he ended the kiss before either of you truly wanted to.

“That’s it? you asked, a little disappointed. “I thought I deserved a little… more.”

And just like that, playful you was back at it again.

“Oh, yeah? And how much more are we talking about?” Seb asked, mimicking your voice.

“Not too much. Just enough to prove to me that driving fast cars isn’t the only thing you’re good at.”

The driver raised an eyebrow, pretending not to know where you were going with this. You shot him a mischievous smile, one that told him you wanted something more. Something that maybe, just maybe… you weren’t quite ready for yet.

Or at least, Seb didn’t think you were.

“Why don’t we head back home, sunshine?” you suggested.

You were bored of driving around in circles. He probably was too, but your sudden suggestion caught him off guard. He glanced at his phone, checking the time, and deep down, it made sense. It was almost 7 PM, dinnertime. And you never, ever, delayed a meal.

“Sure, but let me drive,” Seb declared. There was no way in hell he was letting you take the wheel for the trip back.

“No,” you stated firmly. “I have to pass the test.”

“And you think driving illegally is the best idea you’ve ever had? Being risky is going to help you pass?”

“Yes.”

Y/N Y/L/N, of course, the queen of stubbornness.

He eventually gave in, albeit reluctantly, already knowing it was a terrible idea.

And, of course, it was.

Every turn you took, every straight path you followed, kept him on high alert. The streets were narrow, probably too narrow for someone with almost no driving experience. His fingers clutched the edge of his seat, though he tried his best to appear unfazed. The last thing he wanted was to show any fear, but every small jolt you made caused one in him as well.

“Do it right, Y/N,” he said when you ignored a yield sign, nearly colliding with an oncoming car.

The distressed sigh you let out told him he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. But it was the sharp gasp you let out when you scraped the side mirror of the car next to you, followed by an irritating screeching noise, that sent Seb into full-blown panic mode.

“Seb!”

Without a second thought, he unbuckled and jumped out, yanking open the driver’s side door. You were frozen, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, if you weren’t already in one.

“Y/N, calm down. It’s okay”, 

Yeah, sure, as if a girl without a driver’s license damaging someone else’s car was totally fine. 

“You need to get out of the car, sweetheart,” Seb told you with steady voice, calming his nerves.

Shaking, sniffling, and wiping at the steady stream of tears falling down your face, you barely seemed to process his words. He forced himself to stay calm as he gently unbuckled your seatbelt, his hands steadying yours as they trembled uncontrollably.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured, guiding you to the passenger seat. “Buckle up. It’s okay, alright? We’re going home.”

The alarm was still blaring, and the panic hadn’t left your face. He knew he had to act fast, and although what he was about to do wasn’t exactly the right thing, it was the only solution he could think of at the moment.

He silently promised himself he’d come back tomorrow to pay for the damages, pretending that he had been the one responsible for them.

Once he was seated behind the wheel, he wasted no time getting the car moving, maybe a little too fast, because in a matter of minutes you were back home.

“Seb, I’m going to jail!” you wailed as you stumbled out of the car. “They’re going to fail me when they find out what happened!”

“Hey, don’t be like that, you’re not going to jail, and you’re not failing any test,” Seb reassured, stepping beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It was just a small mistake. Better now than during the actual test.”

You nodded through your sobs, and he could only pray that your uncle wouldn’t be too mad about the scratches on his car because, as far as everyone else was concerned, Sebastian Vettel had been the one driving your uncle’s car the entire time.

"Darling, everyone makes mistakes," he continued, "and the important thing is that you learn from them. You're not going to jail for breaking a mirror, okay?" You nodded again. "We probably just need to talk to the car’s owner and that's it, really"

"What owner of what car do you need to talk to, Vettel?"

The door swung open abruptly, revealing Hans Y/L/N, your uncle, standing with his arms crossed and a completely serious expression. You started to hesitate, stepping closer to me in a rather suggestive way, making it more than clear that you were guilty of something.

"It was my fault, Mr. Y/L/N," Seb answered quickly. "I accidentally hit a car's mirror," he began lying, "and no matter how much we've searched, we haven't found the owner. Tomorrow, I'll go and take responsibility for the damage, and I'll also take the car to the shop to get the scratches fixed," he explained.

Your uncle gave him an unfriendly look. He raised his eyebrow, and if there was one thing Seb'd learned these past few days, it was that said gesture meant an interrogation was about to begin.

"So, you decided to play Brian O’Conner from those Vin Diesel movies Amelie’s obsessed with, huh? What exactly were you doing with my car? Or, better yet, inside my car?"

"We were just heading home, sir. I had no other intention beyond taking your niece for a drive around the town."

"And you don’t have other intentions that include to fuck her? Because that's often what your looks suggest."

You tensed beside him. Deep down, you knew that comment hadn’t been meant to be mean, but at the same time it annoyed Seb that he had made it.

Johanna, your aunt, appeared on the scene, and you both couldn't do anything but mentally thank her for showing up before Seb said something inappropriate.

"Leave the kids alone, Hans. Sebastian is not like that with my Y/N," the woman stated, shooting daggers at her husband as she positioned herself between you both. "Now, are you two hungry?"

"God, yes," Seb answered.

"No. I'm going to bed."

With that final sentence following his, you lowered your head and silently headed upstairs directly to your room.

"What's wrong with her now?" your uncle motioned toward the path you had just taken.

"She had a bad day," Seb replied, ignoring Hans' tone. "Would it be possible for me to take Y/N’s dinner up to her room?" Then, he hesitantly asked your aunt.

She nodded understandingly and quickly began placing two plates of mashed potatoes, boiled sausages, peas, a few pieces of bread and utensils on a tray.

"Don’t do anything crazy, Vettel," your uncle told Seb, calmly r. "The mashed potatoes are for eating, not for smearing all over my niece and then—"

"Hans, that's enough!"

Seb climbed the stairs with the dinner tray in hand, worried about you and hoping you weren’t hearing the argument your aunt and uncle had started in the kitchen.

When he knocked on your door, you opened it. Your expression was something Seb couldn't quite define, but it was definitely different from before. It was more… happy. You eagerly closed the door, and as soon as he set the food down on your desk and turned back to ask if you were okay, you threw yourself at him.

You started kissing Seb like your life depended on it. This was the first time your kisses didn’t show love. This time, they were something else. Lust and the desire to take a step forward in your still unofficial relationship were what made you be devouring each other hungrily, as if your lives depended on it.

"But weren’t you…?" Seb tried to ask, pulling back slightly.

"The only sadness I faked was not being able to kiss you like we just did before," you stated. "I wanted this, not a fucking argument about a broken mirror with my crazy old uncle."

Seb started wondering what was behind that confidence you had suddenly gained in just minutes.

Carefully, Seb pressed you against the wall. His hands moved from your face to your waist, beginning to explore up and down. Yours remained on the German’s chest, but as soon as he started sucking on your neck, they left that position and went straight to his hair, playing with it. Uncontrollable moans escaped your lips, growing faster and louder, and Seb had no choice but to not just ask but beg you to be quiet. 

You couldn’t get caught in the act, especially not after today's little accident.

He could see how your nipples, previously hidden, were already visible behind the fabric of your dress. Seb kissed you again to now focus on your breasts. He massaged them slowly, almost to torture you, and with the tip of his forefingers he ran the aureole of each one of them and then went on to stimulate your nipples even more.

“God, Seb, don't stop... Go on… Don’t you dare to stop…”

With gasping sighs, like your breathing, your pleas made Seb want to make you his. To lay you down on the bed, climb on top of you to position his member at your entrance and take you slowly, leisurely, making you at last one in the way he had been wanting so much lately. 

However, Seb knew you weren't ready for that yet.

“We have to stop, babe,” he whispered, abandoning what heI was doing to focus solely on looking at you. “I want you to be sure about this. I don't want our first time…”

“Seb, I am. I need you to fuck me,” you interrupted, clearly begging him for it.

Hearing you talk so dirty made Seb feel the size of my cock grow dizzily under his boxer shorts. He had never heard you talk like that, and he was more than convinced that he had just unlocked a new guilty pleasure from you.

“Please, Sebastian, fuck me….”

Seb tried to think rationally, but it was becoming increasingly impossible. He couldn't do it; not when he felt that she you not yet recovered from all you had been through after dating Mark, and were getting carried away with excitement.

Your eyes were fixed on his, and all they gave off was desire. You could have sworn Seb’s showed the same thing. He wanted, more than anyone, for you to take the next step, but one of you had to keep it cool so as not to hurt the other. 

It hurt him, for the most part, to know that you were behaving that way because you felt you owed it to him for your previous reaction when you arrived home.

Anyway, that made you try to think as fast as he could, looking for the most viable alternative. Seb knew you had to explore each other little by little, and that was supposed to suit you....

There, the idea that he considered to be the idea had just popped into his mind.

Carefully, Seb pulled you away from him. With your hair disheveled, but still beautiful, and with your arms crossed and your face unfriendly, you stood next to the bed. Your eyes threw what seemed to be invisible knives at Seb. He ignored that, and positioned himself on your bed so that his back was completely against the headboard and your legs were spread wide enough for you to sit between them.

“Sit here,” he spoke to you as calmly as he could while controlling his excitement and taking off at the same time his shirt and belt since he couldn't stand the heat anymore.

He didn't seem to understand what you had said, so you repeated it again to him:

“I want you to fuck me, Sebastian, not play games to keep me entertained,” you replied, not seeming to understand what he was getting at.

Seb didn't answer you because I knew that, if he did, you would end up getting into a quarrel in which both of you would come out badly: you, for having spoken badly to Seb for no reason, and him for having made you feel uncomfortable when the only thing he want was, precisely, the opposite.

“Will you let me give you a blowjob at least?” you suggested again as if you felt it was a way to pay for something.

Again, no answer from his side. Instead, he simply tried not to say yes and just avoided making eye contact with you as he repositioned himself a little better.

“Seb, please…”

“We have time for everything, love, so you don't want to be in a hurry to try to please me or do other things,” he explained. “Sit here between my legs, please.”

As he thought, you had regretted it. The calm tone of his voice caused you to uncross your arms and change your expression to a more relaxed one. Seb could have sworn it was a very happy one. You ended up positioning yourself where he told you, dropping backwards onto his chest and trying your best to not hurt him. 

“Are you wearing underwear?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Could you take it off for me, love? “

Without answering him, knowing exactly what he was referring to, you arched your back slightly and took your panties off, letting them drop to the floor shyly. Then, you leaned back against Seb and, him, carefully, spread your legs a little.

“I need you to stand up a little more, honey,” he said, and you did exactly that.” Now, give me your hand.”

“Why…?” you questioned, sounding a bit insecure.

“I'm going to teach you how to pleasure yourself so that when I can't pleasure you, which I hope is never, you can do it for me.”

Seb’s confession left you with no words. You raised your head to look at him, probably not very convinced of what he had just told you.

“There's no need for this, Seb. What happened before was just…”

“I know you want to do this as much as I do, Y/N, but I want you to do it before I do it to you,” Seb interrupted you. “But really, if you want us to stop all you have to do is tell me.

You said nothing else. Shyly, you gave Seb your left hand and, as soon as he took it, he left a kiss on the top as he squeezed it tightly. He left another on you forehead, and he heard you catch your breath as you began to gently direct it below your stomach.

“Seb, can I stay dressed?” you blurted out of nowhere.

Seb knew why you had just said that, and he couldn't help but feel bad for you. 

“Sure, yeah, whatever makes you feel more comfortable darling,” he replied, trying not to break down because it hurt him to see you so insecure. “I'm always going to respect your boundaries, Y/N. Really, if you don't want to do this...”

“No,” you cut him off, stroking his cheek. ”I want to. I want to be yours in every way, and this is one of them. It's just that..”

“It's just what, Y/N?”

“Forget it…”

After that last word, he again sought approval in your gaze. With a nod, Seb brought your hands to the inside of your pussy and began to gently run your fingertips over the labia majora.

“My advice is to start here first. Little by little…”

“And no hurry,” you finished for him.

“Exactly. Once you think the time is right, move on to the labia minora, which is this,” Seb then ran your fingers over the outer area of your intimacy, a soft moan coming out of your mouth. “Give yourself love, find what you like, and from there, play with yourself however you want.”

For the next few minutes he changed rhythms, directions, and he would even go so far as to say Seb tried new things he thought you might like for when we had more contact.

His index finger, though really both of yours, went all at once to your clit, which already seemed to be a little swollen with excitement.

“This little guy is becoming your newest best friend, alright?” 

Your gasping moan gave him the reason and enough encouragement to start massaging it slowly and torturously.

“This is what will give you the most pleasure,” Seb explained, trying to increase the rhythm a little. “When you have stimulated the previous areas, go to this one.”

“And can't I go to this one directly?” you asked curiously, playing with your innocence.

“You can, but you won't be as wet as you are now.”

Seb put aside the rubbing to the spot to run it lightly over your pussy, which was wetter than he was expecting.

“See? This is what playing with you has done to you, love,”he told you.

“And can't I do it any other way?”

“Of course. There are a thousand more ways to make you cum, Y/N,” both of your fingers returned to the bundle of nerves. The speed increased, and your gasping breaths began to take over. ”Trust me when I’ll be showing you every single one of the ways when I make you cum.”

You shared no more words. You simply confined yourselves to your very own pleasure. 

Seb’s movements were faster, and also slower. The squeeze to the clit went from more to less, the other way around, and you traced so many geometric shapes on it that you were sure you even made some of them up.

Seb felt his dick getting more and more bigger, and he knew that was only going to have more than consequences, but he didn't give a fuck in that moment.

He just wanted to make you cum and make you feel in ways you probably didn’t feel like while dating Mark.

Your moans turned to screaming whispers in a low tone. You couldn’t stop moaning Seb’s name, and you felt like you were about to pass out. He knew you would go further when, with your free arm, you reached around Seb’s neck and tried to grab his hair, but failed in the attempt because you arched your back too much from the pleasure. All Seb could do was kiss you in the meantime to silence your upcoming moans, who almost made you scream.  

The moment you cummed and moaned loudly his name, between kisses, he knew he had made the right decision.

“Fuck, Seb…” was all you could say as you recovered.

“Did you like it? Did we do it right?”

“Is this... having an orgasm? I didn’t have the same ones with… you know.”

The embarrassment with which you wanted to know that made Seb want to hug you. He ended up doing so because deep down, you had him on your feet.

He was crazy over you, and moments like these made him crazy about waiting for the right moment to ask you the question.

“Yes, that's having an orgasm,” he confirmed.

You stood in front of Seb, sitting cross-legged, looking at him as if you wanted to tell him something. Then, you shook your head and hid your face behind your hands, a bit ashamed of the thoughts you were having.

“What's the matter, honey?” Seb asked, pulling your hands away and making you look at him.

“I'm so embarrassed to ask you this, but... do you think you could do it now... with your mouth?”

“You don't even have to ask me that, love. I'm here to do whatever you want. I thought you already knew that.”

Seb placed a chaste kiss on your lips. He got off the bed and, carefully, laid you down and gently dragged you so that your legs fell over the edge of the surface. Seb began to leave a trail of kisses on your inner thighs, and your sighs became like music to his ears once again.

Seb noticed how you incorporated a bit, using your elbows as a foothold to see everything.

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is tell me, okay?”

You nodded and didn't have to tell him anything else.

Seb wrapped his arms around your legs and ran his tongue over her pussy without previous warning, catching you completely off guard. He noticed how his nose brushed your clit as his tongue was centered on your entrance.

His name, once again, came out of your mouth without any warning, and he loved that.

He devoted himself entirely to devouring you with increasing eagerness, opening and closing his mouth as he filled you with pleasure. Seb massaged your entrance with his tongue. He sucked your bundle of nerves between the strokes of, in that moment, the various letters of the alphabet over it, and did his best not to add his fingers to the equation because it had been enough discovering for that day, and he wanted to take things step by step with you.

Your back arched rather aggressively, and Seb even had to place one of his hands on your lower stomach to keep you on the mattress.

“That's right, babe. You're doing great.”

After leaving you a small kiss where his hand was placed, Seb went back to my work.

Now, his gaze held yours as he ate you like it was a once in a lifetime luxury. Seb could feel that you were just about to cum, and that only made him self-impose an increase in speed.

Seb decided to only move his lips and tongue quickly, focusing exclusively on your clit. You grabbed his hair and pulled his locks, then placed the palm of your hand on his head and brought it even closer, if possible, to your pussy.

No words needed. Seb quickly took the hint. He gripped your waist tightly as he kept your legs from closing, and continued his work.

He looked at you again, his eyes begging, aiming you to cum, to squeal, whatever you wanted, if you wanted to, not caring about what your family thought of what we were doing if they heard you both.

“My God, Sebastian Vettel!”

After those words, writhing as Seb never imagined you would despite being subjected to his grip, he felt your orgasm taking you over.

Seb took the remains of your cum, enjoying the first taste of it. The same happened to you when he kissed you. You tasted yourself for the first time as well and seemed to enjoy it. You got drunk a few nights ago, so you ended up spilling to Seb that Webber had never done anything to please you like what Vettel just did to you, and it was the same with the few guys you hooked up with for a few months.

After sharing a few more kisses, Seb got up and took you by your waist carefully, making you both collapse on the bed. Most of your clothes were still on, and you didn't have, nor did you feel, the need to get rid of them because your intimacy went far beyond your bodies being just one.

“Have these two been good enough for being the first ones?” he wanted to know, referring to the orgasms. He put an arm under your body and almost forced you to snuggle into his chest.

“Good enough?” you lifted your head, staring at himself while putting your lips together. “This is much better than driving, Seb.”

“Does that mean you want to do it again some other time? Or what...?”

“It means it's your turn now,” you declared, sitting up and positioning yourself on your knees between Seb’s legs, playing with the edge of his pants. "Then, we can repeat as many times as you want. The night is long, sunshine, so let me make you feel good now. Don’t I deserve it after being a very, bad girl today?”

[xo-codbby]

when the two hour journey back from a failed mission had all five of you on edge, especially with you as the driver 🤭

price usually was the one to drive but he'd been caught in a bomb that had been too close, catching the shrapnel in his thigh and arm preventing him from using it too much. luckily he'd been fine, gaz and ghost safely removed the debris and bandaged him up. but now it meant that you were the next designated driver, not trusting gaz/soap especially simon to make it to the barracks safely. and poor price was all too stressed, brows furrowed as he rubbed the back his neck slightly in dire need of his bed and a drink

so it left him in the back seat with soap and gaz

soap who's absolutely restless and fuming and gaz who's brooding, eyes ticking when soap keeps squirming, "jesus just stay fuckin still for one fuckin sECOND!" "what tha FUCK did you just say??"

so now you have a brawl taking place and your hands are clenched so tightly around the wheel you're contemplating dumping them all on the side of the road and driving off

"enough! can you both just stop" you snap back lugging the empty gum container at them, it hitting the back of soap's head and bouncing off of gaz's forehead. cue another few grumbles as they finally separate, muttering curses and scowls

price decides to sit in the middle of them, to ease their tension and play mediator,"no more fighting lads. you're grown men. act like it" "i am! he's started it" "fuckin' boot licker"

unfortunately price's beautiful broad frame blocks the mirror and you need to see behind the car. so it leaves you back with the decision you hated

"gaz d'you mind sitting back in the middle?" "i do mind" "but-" "i. do. mind."

ego has absolutely crumbled 6 feet under from your comment, already on top of a failed mission it doesn't seem to be kyle's day at all. price sighs heavily, one minor inconvenience away from calling laswell and transferring to a new team as he grabs the back of gaz's top and pulls him back in the middle. soap is busy snickering away in his seat, thumping the back of his comrade's shoulder

"aye that's not so bad. plenty o'birds go fer tha small men" "yeah, you'd know from experience"

another fight breaks out and this time price steps in, snapping at them both. watching both seargents fall into their respectful seats after getting an earful from the captain with a matching glare

and ghost? oh, he's sitting all cute in the passenger seat like the little princess he is <3<3<3

that is, until he's suddenly become an expert driving instructor. telling you not to go too fast/watching out for the cars, "hey hey, watch out for the stop sign-" "coming from the same guy who almost crashed us in the heli several times??" "still got your arse from point a to b so what's the issue?"

and then soap has the bright idea to start pissing off the lieutenant, leaning forwards behind his seat as he starts sticking his fingers into ghost's ears

learns his lesson very promptly when said finger is grabbed and bent at an awkward angle threatening to break

it's silent for a moment as you drive, taking out a soft breath finally. it's then very quickly broken before ghost complains, moving in his seat annoyed

"you got any snacks? m'starvin" doesn't wait for an answer, already rifling through the glove compartment. pulls out a snickers bar brown eyes glinting, turning behind his seat to eat it and show off to the three in the back "oi you share some with me", "greedy bastard, give some over", "where did you get that??"

you have to stop at the convenience store to appease the rest of them

but at least the driver has full control of the aux and you play your own songs, a beautiful symphony of groans and complaints around you. but hey, it's nothing the music can't drown out

and finally it's quiet after an hour and half, turning around in your seat when you're in traffic. price is asleep, arms crossed over his chest, head leaning slightly with his bucket hat falling half off. kyle's head is on price's good thigh breathing softly as he remains relatively still eyes closed peacefully. soap is pressed into his back snoring softly, a very active sleeper you've learnt throughout your time being with the 141. and simon's head rests delicately on centre console, breathing gently as his balaclava is pushed up around his nose fast asleep.

with all four men finally knocked out you thank the universe, as you continue to drive a little gentle this time all the way back to base

not before taking a sneaky pic for memories, of course ♡

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Sam Gustin at The Nation:

President Trump’s suggestion last month that the tragic Potomac air crash was somehow the fault of disabled federal air traffic controllers was appalling—but it should have come as no surprise. Trump’s contempt for people with disabilities has been well documented, and it’s that animus, combined with the accelerating MAGA assault on diversity throughout the United States, that has disability rights advocates preparing to defend decades worth of hard-won protections. One month into his presidency, Trump has unleashed a government-wide attack on people with disabilities, from anti-diversity executive orders to proposed special-education rollbacks to threats to slash programs like Medicaid that are lifelines for disabled people across the country. If successful, these actions could have catastrophic consequences for millions of Americans, according to disability rights experts. “This is a crisis for the disability community, and the threat is extremely serious,” Maria Town, president and CEO of the American Association of People with Disabilities, told The Nation. “These changes have the potential to erode decades of progress that the disability community has fought tooth and nail to achieve.”

Within 48 hours of taking office, Trump signed two executive orders targeting what he called “illegal” diversity programs—commonly referred to as DEI or DEIA—in both the federal government and the private sector. Trump and his MAGA minions claim that these programs, which promote the worthy goals of diversity, equity, inclusion, and accessibility throughout American society, discriminate against, well, them, and so they should be abolished. At a time when Elon Musk and his DOGE henchmen are racing to “delete” entire federal agencies and fire thousands of government workers, diversity programs have become a convenient target for the drastic budget reductions that Trump seeks—under the bogus guise of “waste, fraud, and abuse”—in order to cut more taxes for rich people and corporations. Hence the MAGA/DOGE crusade to demonize and scapegoat diversity programs for all kinds of calamities, from plane crashes to wildfires to train derailments. Thus far, most of the focus on Trump’s diversity rollback has been on “DEI,” but it’s the “A”—for “accessibility”—that has alarmed disability rights advocates.

“The hard-fought-for acceptance of people with disabilities in society is compromised every time Trump uses DEIA as a bogeyman for everything that’s wrong in society,” said Michael Rembis, a professor of history at the University of Buffalo and director of its Center for Disability Studies. “This purge of federal employees is in part designed to remove people who are perceived to be unproductive for both racist and ableist reasons from the federal government.”

The Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law by President George H.W. Bush in 1990. Trump’s anti-diversity executive orders roll back more than three decades of US policy since then——including executive orders signed by Clinton, Obama, George W. Bush and Biden—aimed at bringing more people with disabilities into the federal workforce and the private sector. From hiring and job training to career development and workplace accommodation, these policies have given many disabled people new opportunities to thrive, and a new sense of dignity after generations of mistreatment in American society, from ostracization to institutionalization to forced sterilization. Those advances are now at risk, and the impacts are already being felt nationwide, as funding cuts loom for community organizations that provide crucial services and support systems for disabled people, from home modification to job coaching to transportation and personal attendant services. “We’ve heard from many organizations across the country that are having to think about cutting their staff, reducing their services, or even closing their doors,” said Town. Disability rights advocates warn that Trump’s anti-diversity executive orders are just a prelude to even more draconian attacks. For example, Trump’s avowed goal to eliminate the Department of Education could jeopardize special-education programs for roughly 7.5 million students—15 percent of the US student population. Trump’s plan to cut billions in grants issued by the National Institutes of Health threatens long-term research and development focused on life-saving—and life-improving—treatments for millions of Americans. And, of course, any cuts to Social Security, Medicare, and particularly Medicaid—and let’s face it, the GOP wants to eliminate or privatize these programs altogether—will disproportionately affect millions of disabled people who rely on the programs to survive.

[...] The Trump administration’s assault on government policies and programs that benefit disabled people is not just a scheme hatched in the bowels of The Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 anti-government boiler room—although it is that, too. It’s also the natural evolution of Trump’s long-standing prejudice against people with disabilities. Trump’s disdain for disabled people is well known, from mocking reporter Serge Kovaleski and insulting wounded veterans to reportedly telling a relative with a disabled son that “maybe those kinds of people should just die.”

[...] It’s no secret that Trump is obsessed with genetics, as demonstrated by his preoccupation with bloodlines and frequent comments about “good” genes, “bad” genes, “low IQ individuals,” immigrants “poisoning the blood” of America, and other bigoted remarks. In 1988, Trump famously told Oprah Winfrey that people must have “the right genes” to become rich. Since then, he has repeatedly compared his family to purebred “racehorses.” In 2020, Trump again invoked the “racehorse” theory to assure a mostly white Midwestern audience that “you have good genes in Minnesota.” And just last year, he intimated—outrageously—that immigrants commit murder because “it’s in their genes.”

[...] It’s worth noting that disabled people were among the earliest victims of the Holocaust, condemned to death by a Nazi program called Aktion T4, which involved the systematic murder of some 300,000 people in psychiatric hospitals in Germany, Austria, and elsewhere in Europe. Stramondo doesn’t expect anything remotely like that to happen in the United States, but he pointed out that sterilization and murder aren’t the only ways to advance eugenic goals. “You can practice and enforce eugenic ideologies that result in lots of people suffering and even dying just by doing something like eliminating Medicaid,” he said.

The Nation reports on Donald Trump’s attacks on DEIA polices and its impact on persons with disabilities, which goes along with his long record of ableism.

[sanerontheinside]

On the basis of my own comment, "I fully missed this because I cannot handle the news except in ‘weekly postmortem’ format", I've decided to do a write-up of everything I've been reading about the crash over Washington, D.C.

If this isn't the sort of posting you'd like to see from me in the future, please feel free to block "#the post mortem". I'm not sure how many of these I have in me, but if I ever find myself struck by the fancy to do another, that is the tag I will be using.

I'd also like to thank Canary (canary_lux on Discord) for help gathering, scanning, and organizing sources, and for their insight on flight training.

Throughout this write-up, I will refer to the current president by number of term (45 or 47), mostly to differentiate policies enacted during his first term from the present.

Intro

On the night of Wednesday, 1/29/25, 67 people died in a collision between an American Airlines passenger aircraft and a military Blackhawk helicopter. This tragedy was immediately followed by outcry and the usual hunt for someone to hold accountable. This was also the first fatal air crash involving a US airline since 2009—a 16-year safety record.

While it’s tempting to assign blame to various politicians, parties, and policies for the accident—and in fact many do (FAA blames trump, trump blames DEI, FAA, Biden in particular and democrats in general, etc.)—sole political ownership cannot be assigned. The initial outcry drew attention to a hiring freeze for air traffic controllers, and to curt dismissal of FAA personnel, but the problem has been brewing for far longer.

This post mortem seeks to provide some context for the incident at Reagan National Airport by looking back at policies of the last two presidential terms, as well as the reality of local air traffic in Washington, D.C.

.

The Shortage

Before addressing the current shortage of air traffic controllers, it is important to note that since the accident all reports indicate the air traffic controller on duty that night gave proper instructions.

Both planes and military aircraft are equipped with Automatic Dependent Surveillance-Broadcast (ADS-B), but this system is suppressed at low altitudes because of the high likelihood of false alerts. At last reporting, the Blackhawk was at an altitude of 375 ft. For helicopters, the permitted flight ceiling over Washington, D.C. is 200ft.

With that established, however, there is still value in drawing attention to the national shortage of air traffic controllers (henceforward ATC's).

In 2021, the US Bureau of Statistics ranked air traffic control as the 4th most stressful job among all. The position has a high employee turnover rate due to transfers, resignations, removals, deaths, and attrition. An ATC's skills are unique, and costly to replace both in money and time, as candidates go through 2-3 years of training and must pass a rigorous exam.

During the COVID 19 pandemic, lockdowns drove down the volume of daily flights, putting many air traffic controllers out of a job. Agencies worldwide let go of trainees, stopped hiring, and stopped training new hires. In many cases, academies closed outright. Many air traffic controllers were offered early retirement.

Once travel restrictions were lifted, demand bounced back—and the aviation industry suddenly faced a bottleneck. A 2 or 3 year one, in fact. Flights haven't really bounced back perfectly since the pandemic; many airports experience serious delays—not least because they don't have enough ATC's.

In June 2023, the DoT inspector general reported that 77% of air traffic control facilities were understaffed. In December 2023, after a series of high profile near-misses, the FAA named a panel of experts to address air traffic controller fatigue. Reuters reported that air traffic controllers work mandatory overtime and 6-day weeks.

The FAA's response to these findings was to appoint a three-member panel to "examine how the latest science on sleep needs and fatigue considerations could be applied to controller work requirements and scheduling" until more personnel could be hired. Furthermore, the FAA Reauthorisation Act of 2024 expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

Unfortunately, the near-misses and flight delays are likely to continue under recent policy changes.

.

The Policy of 45

The main reason for addressing the shortage itself at the top of this write-up is that a lot of early outcry held the 47th President's recent hiring freezes, cuts, and firings responsible for the accident.

Context is critical. Obviously, trump’s hiring freeze in no way helps this issue, and neither does the dismissal of people in leadership positions. Even the panel he dismissed was the Aviation Security Advisory Committee, which is geared towards TSA operations moreso than air traffic control.

But on the ground, it's probably his policies as 45 that did the most lasting damage.

In 2018, the proposed budget cut funds to the DoT by 13%, or $2.4 billion. The proposal eliminated funding for the Essential Air Service, a program that guaranteed continued commercial air service to small communities in the US which would not otherwise be profitable. Air traffic control would also be privatized under the proposal.

This 2018 post by Democracy Forward provides a good summary of 45's policies. (It's also an interesting read if you've been following the recent changes in regulation of airline fees. In brief, the struggle to regulate fees and accessibility has been ongoing since before 2013, and trump's policies are unsurprisingly airline company-friendly.)

By contrast, in 2021 the proposed budget for the FAA included $11.4 billion (increase of $432 million from FY21) to oversee the safety of civil aviation, and to provide for the operation, maintenance, communications, and logistical support of the air traffic control and air navigation systems. There were additional requests totalling over $8 billion to improve airfield infrastructure and grants for Aviation Workforce Development programs.

The final 2021 budget, the American Rescue Plan Act of 2021, passed with $15 billion for airlines and airline contractors for a third extension of Payroll Support Program which would otherwise have expired at the end of March 2021. The extension prevented the furlough of more than 27,000 aviation employees. There was an additional $8 billion for U.S. airports.

As a result of 45's budget cuts, the FAA was forced to lay off many people. “He slashed our budget and a lot of people, including myself, were laid off. So, we’re just waiting to see what programs will continue,” a longtime FAA contractor, rehired under the Biden administration, told What A Day.

Former House Transportation and Infrastructure Chair Peter DeFazio also notes, "The unnecessary government shutdown [in 2019] shut down the Aviation Academy, and a number of people did not come back after the academy closed down." He cites this as a crucial interruption that was then followed by a yearlong closure due to the lockdown.

.

Congested Airspace

In his interview with Politico, DeFazio puts Congress front and center: "Every senator in particular wants a nonstop flight to and from wherever they live. As you saw, [Kansas Sen.] Jerry Moran said this was a flight which he had encouraged or otherwise supported. The last FAA bill, [Texas Sen.] Ted Cruz said he needed a direct flight to [San Antonio], so he engaged in a lengthy battle."

The bill referenced here is S. 1939, the FAA Reauthorization Act of 2024, which contained many positive items. This was the bill that required air carriers to provide a full refund for a cancelled or significantly delayed flight; it expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

This bill also increased the number of daily round-trip flights allowed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport (DCA), despite protests from the airport authority. (Though it should be noted that the new flights added to the airport's schedule by this bill have not yet been fully implemented.)

DeFazio has words for the military, as well: "And it’s one thing, when there’s an urgent need or a security issue, to move people by military helicopter to the White House or from one base to another in the D.C. area. It’s another to do it for convenience for generals and “very important people” who don’t want to sit in traffic. […] for training, they should be doing that in the hours when there are way fewer flights coming into National Airport."

The flight rules over Washington, D.C. are very complex, developed to manage civilian, military, and government traffic. It is simultaneously the most restricted and the most congested airspace in the country. Pilots have been complaining about the complexity of flight rules for years.

This stretch of the Potomac in particular is designated a Special Flight Restricted Area. In the words of Senator Tammy Duckworth (D-IL), "You don't get to fly in that without additional flight training." All crew members aboard the Blackhawk were experienced, having logged 500-1000 hours. Transcripts of the air traffic control instructions and responses from the pilots in the minutes before the accident show that the Blackhawk crew twice confirmed visual of the plane with the ATC, including approximately 25 seconds before impact.

But in multiple stories published since the crash, there are quotes from pilots who had similar experiences in that area, and recall near-misses with passenger aircraft coming in to the same runway. One retired Army National Guard helicopter pilot recalls that he lost sight of the jet in the city lights and descended to an altitude of 50 feet to avoid collision with an unseen flight. There are at least two reports of near-misses under very similar conditions from 2013 and 2015.

.

The Post Mortem

The President's flurry of executive orders, hiring and funding freezes, have dominated the news cycle for the last 12 days. There isn't currently evidence to support that various budget and staffing cuts, including those attempted by 47 two days before the accident, directly contributed to the incident on January 29th.

However, cutting personnel, funding, and abolishing positions once vacated will increase the risk of accidents going forward. Many US government services have not recovered from the combination of 45's policies and effects of the pandemic. They are presently in a state where funding and personnel cuts will result in direct consequences to the American people, and likely very quickly.

As for the Washington, D.C. crash itself, it is indeed a tragic loss of life. In all likelihood, it could have been prevented by appropriate response to prior near-misses, addressing concerns voiced by pilots and professionals, or perhaps a less entitled Senate.

.

Sources

https://webcf.waybackmachine.org/web/20250120173159/https://simpleflying.com/us-atc-shortage-analysis/

https://www.reuters.com/business/aerospace-defense/panel-review-us-air-traffic-controller-fatigue-after-near-miss-incidents-2023-12-20/

https://www.tumblr.com/gunsandfireandshit/774138773393063936?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/huffy-the-bicycle-slayer/774137554059575296?source=share

https://democracyforward.org/work/sidebar-airlines-and-the-trump-administration/ (published 2018, edited 2022)

https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2025/01/31/defazio-plane-crash-blame-00201767

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2018_United_States_federal_budget

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Rescue_Plan_Act_of_2021

https://phys.org/news/2017-06-pros-cons-privatizing-air-traffic.html

https://www.tsa.gov/sites/default/files/asac-charter-september-2022.pdf

https://www.wdsu.com/article/pilots-worried-dc-airspace-crash/63626297

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/experts-ask-why-black-hawk-helicopter-may-have-been-flying-above-allowed-altitude/

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/tammy-duckworth-american-airlines-crash/

https://commons.erau.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1910&context=jaaer

[amysnotdeadyet]

Good Steve

Another! And then I have to go cook dinner. Stupid reality.

My darling @newtypeshadow asked for a somewhat complicated Steddie from Stranger Things plot, so she gets 555 words.

If there was one thing Eddie Munson was known for — besides shredding on the guitar — it was being protective of his boyfriend. Corroded Coffin were big enough that when they got outed the subsequent dip in record sales didn't tank their careers.

The metal scene was all about people living their lives outside of social conventions, after all.

Eddie did a cover of Judas Priest's "Breaking the Law" to open every concert that tour. Steve came along the way he always did. Instead of hanging with the other WAGs, he wore a staff shirt and assisted everywhere backstage. He'd learned a ton of useful skills in his years touring with them, and was always happy to help.

It took new guys some time to figure that out, though.

"Why the fuck is he here?" asked the guy who would be known as Bad Steve for the duration of his employment. He was a lighting expert of some renown, but he'd been caught in traffic on the way to the gig, so Steve had started setup while they waited.

"You're late," said Nate through the headset.

Steve emerged from beneath the boards already talking. "They need to solder #17, it's just not connecting." He turned to Bad Steve with a charming, boyish grin. "Oh, hey! I'm Steve, happy to lend a hand."

"You're Munson's boytoy." Bad Steve, unfortunately, had not muted his headset.

A dark 'ooooh' went through the line from several sources.

Steve's expression shuttered. "Check it or don't, but don't blame me if it goes out. Chart's over there."

Eddie came crashing into the booth, looking like a hot mess. "Stevie, baby, I need your touch."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You need me to do your eyeliner again because you smudged it already."

"Yep," said Eddie. "Oh, and Bad Steve, do consider who might be listening, hm?"

Steve let Eddie put his hands in the back pocket of his admittedly small jeans shorts, not even bothering to glance back to where Bad Steve was fuming.

A few hours later, when #17 had been soldered and the show was underway, Bad Steve got to see why Eddie's Steve was the favorite.

A nazi punk managed to get onstage while security was breaking up a fight elsewhere, and Steve flew out of wings with fire in his eyes to tackle the guy before he got past the monitors. Long legs pinned the guy's back to the floor, and he palmed the guy's head like a basketball, leaning in to say something there was no mic to pick up.

The guy tried to get up and got his face slammed into the stage for his trouble, Steve clearly in control even when the punk tried to swipe with a switchblade. The knife clattered away as Steve brought his own arm down on the guy's hand, smashing it into the monitor with a crunching sound and the screech of feedback.

The rest of security finally arrived to confiscate the knife and the nazi. Steve let him up, holding his own hands out while they hauled him away.

At that point, no one could blame Eddie for the scorching kiss that followed.

"Well," said Eddie into the mic, once Steve was safely offstage. "That was fuckin' hot, right?"

The cheers that followed were almost as deafening as the music.

[mariacallous]

Next year will be Big Tech’s finale. Critique of Big Tech is now common sense, voiced by a motley spectrum that unites opposing political parties, mainstream pundits, and even tech titans such as the VC powerhouse Y Combinator, which is singing in harmony with giants like a16z in proclaiming fealty to “little tech” against the centralized power of incumbents.

Why the fall from grace? One reason is that the collateral consequences of the current Big Tech business model are too obvious to ignore. The list is old hat by now: centralization, surveillance, information control. It goes on, and it’s not hypothetical. Concentrating such vast power in a few hands does not lead to good things. No, it leads to things like the CrowdStrike outage of mid-2024, when corner-cutting by Microsoft led to critical infrastructure—from hospitals to banks to traffic systems—failing globally for an extended period.

Another reason Big Tech is set to falter in 2025 is that the frothy AI market, on which Big Tech bet big, is beginning to lose its fizz. Major money, like Goldman Sachs and Sequoia Capital, is worried. They went public recently with their concerns about the disconnect between the billions required to create and use large-scale AI, and the weak market fit and tepid returns where the rubber meets the AI business-model road.

It doesn’t help that the public and regulators are waking up to AI’s reliance on, and generation of, sensitive data at a time when the appetite for privacy has never been higher—as evidenced, for one, by Signal’s persistent user growth. AI, on the other hand, generally erodes privacy. We saw this in June when Microsoft announced Recall, a product that would, I kid you not, screenshot everything you do on your device so an AI system could give you “perfect memory” of what you were doing on your computer (Doomscrolling? Porn-watching?). The system required the capture of those sensitive images—which would not exist otherwise—in order to work.

Happily, these factors aren’t just liquefying the ground below Big Tech’s dominance. They’re also powering bold visions for alternatives that stop tinkering at the edges of the monopoly tech paradigm, and work to design and build actually democratic, independent, open, and transparent tech. Imagine!

For example, initiatives in Europe are exploring independent core tech infrastructure, with convenings of open source developers, scholars of governance, and experts on the political economy of the tech industry.

And just as the money people are joining in critique, they’re also exploring investments in new paradigms. A crop of tech investors are developing models of funding for mission alignment, focusing on tech that rejects surveillance, social control, and all the bullshit. One exciting model I’ve been discussing with some of these investors would combine traditional VC incentives (fund that one unicorn > scale > acquisition > get rich) with a commitment to resource tech’s open, nonprofit critical infrastructure with a percent of their fund. Not as investment, but as a contribution to maintaining the bedrock on which a healthy tech ecosystem can exist (and maybe get them and their limited partners a tax break).

Such support could—and I believe should—be supplemented by state capital. The amount of money needed is simply too vast if we’re going to do this properly. To give an example closer to home, developing and maintaining Signal costs around $50 million a year, which is very lean for tech. Projects such as the Sovereign Tech Fund in Germany point a path forward—they are a vehicle to distribute state funds to core open source infrastructures, but they are governed wholly independently, and create a buffer between the efforts they fund and the state.

Just as composting makes nutrients from necrosis, in 2025, Big Tech’s end will be the beginning of a new and vibrant ecosystem. The smart, actually cool, genuinely interested people will once again have their moment, getting the resources and clearance to design and (re)build a tech ecosystem that is actually innovative and built for benefit, not just profit and control. MAY IT BE EVER THUS!

[demigod-shenanigans]

The choiceless hope in grief (chapter seven)

“What is the meaning of this? I do not believe you were invited to join us.”  Leo’s eyes remained firmly glued to the ground as he spoke. “I’ve come to make a request.” Someone laughed. “Oh, that one’s bold. If he wasn’t a Hephaestus kid, I might just like him.” “I’m not asking for my sake,” Leo continued, ignoring the other god—Ares, he assumed, given the little context he had. He took a shaky breath, gathering every ounce of courage still left in his body, then finally looked up to face the king of the gods. “I want to gamble my own life for the life of Jason Grace.” “You’d dare to speak my impertinent son’s name in my presence?” Zeus asked, voice like a thunderstorm. The curious, almost amused look had vanished from his face. His eyes were bright and dangerous as lightning. “Your role in Gaia’s defeat is the only reason I will spare your life. We should have struck you down when you defied death, but we did not. Leave and be satisfied with that mercy.” Leo had had a script for this conversation. He’d practiced what he would say several times. He’d accounted for the fact that the gods might not agree to what he wanted immediately. He’d imagined himself begging in the dirt if necessary.  But Zeus’ words—his casual dismissal of everything that Jason had been—had Leo physically fuming. He was the son of the god of forges, and there was liquid fire in his veins. His fear evaporated in an instant, replaced by white-hot rage.  If he had been thinking, he probably would not have done what he did next. Thing was, though: Leo wasn’t thinking. Not even a little bit. 

Rating: Teen and Up

Chapter Word Count: 8.4k

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Chapter 7: Leo quits his job

“As your friend, I think I’m supposed to tell you this is a terrible idea,” Percy said from the driver’s seat of his parents’ beat-up Prius.

Full disclosure: Leo had wanted to just take a taxi from the airport to the Empire State Building. But his first attempt at that had gotten him covered in monster dust, and he’d figured a second attempt might be pushing his luck.

Speaking of pushing his luck: the way Leo’s life was going, he’d obviously done something to severely piss off Tyche at some point, though he had no idea what. Was a six year old cheating at Parcheesi something she took personally?

Whatever the case, he’d reluctantly IMed Percy, keeping the details vague aside from the fact that he needed someone to pick him up. Of course, upon being picked up, Percy had asked for a destination. Leo had given him an address a few blocks away from the Empire State Building, but, well… Percy wasn’t stupid, so Leo had (albeit reluctantly) told him the plan.

As anxious as he was about any of his friends knowing, Percy wasn’t Nico. Reckless plans—especially those that included giving the gods a piece of your mind—were sort of Percy’s brand.

He just hoped it wouldn’t backfire on him now.

“If you think it’s such a terrible idea, why are you going along with it?” Leo asked, staring intensely out into New York’s awful afternoon traffic. He wasn’t going to let Percy stop him, either. He’d jump out of a moving car if he had to. It wouldn’t be the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

“Hey, I’m not judging. I’m basically the demigod expert on terrible ideas at this point, and in my experience, they tend to go better if you’ve got friends ready to charge into trouble with you.” Percy was clearly trying to say it in a light-hearted way, but he looked too upset for that to really work. “Besides, I’m used to our lives being dangerous. I’m used to bullshit errand quests. But between what happened to Jason and what went down at Camp Jupiter… I’ve hit my limit on what I can tolerate.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Leo drummed his fingers against the dashboard, trying to calm himself. He had zero desire to light Percy’s car on fire, but his flames were much harder to control when he was upset. “It still doesn’t feel real, sometimes.”

The fact that so many of the Camp Jupiter demigods had been killed still made his knees buckle whenever he thought about it. To know that none of their parents had bothered to intervene… It made him feel sick to the stomach.

It was even worse knowing he couldn’t fix it. That he couldn’t fix most things in a way that mattered.

Calypso said this was one of his problems—that he treated everything like a machine that needed repairs when some things weren’t meant to be fixed that way, and sometimes all you could do was accept there wasn’t a fix and find a way to move forward.

He’d tried. But sitting in a circle and talking about his feelings wouldn’t make Jason being gone okay. It wouldn’t make the memory of Piper sobbing into his shoulder go away. It wouldn’t take away the guilt pooling in Leo’s stomach in every waking moment, the shitty prophecy that had sentenced him or Jason to death echoing in his mind. Was it the fact that Leo didn’t stay dead long enough that had killed his best friend? Was that why he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye?

“I thought I could change things when I was sixteen.” Percy’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. Leo made himself look away. “And I did, a little. But way too much stayed the same. I’m glad you’re doing this for Jason. He needs someone in his corner, and it’s obviously not going to be his dad.”

“I’m not sure he would be glad, honestly.” Leo tried to laugh, but it rang hollow. It always did these days. “Disagreeing with the Fates isn’t really something a sensible person does.”

Percy grinned. “Well, that’s what they need us for.” 

“Exactly.”

Leo had spent his whole life having to come to terms with things that happened to and around him, and he was tired. He was sick of losing people. He was sick of them all being footnotes in someone else’s story, pawns to be sacrificed and taken off the board at a moment’s notice. 

He couldn’t change the world, as much as he wanted to. Even asking for a chance to get Jason back was a long shot. But he had to at least try.  ~~~~

Standing in front of the giant elevators of the Empire State Building, Leo was glad he wasn’t alone. Percy had talked his way past the security guard and gotten the key off him with such practiced ease that it really made one wonder just how many times he’d had to do this before. 

Was that a big three kids thing? Jason had never mentioned being summoned to go up there, so probably not. Maybe just a Percy thing, then.

“Just so you know, me being there might not be a point in your favor for most of the gods,” Percy warned, holding the keys out towards Leo. “I can wait down here, if you want.”

“Nah. I’d rather have backup. It’ll be nice for the gods to have someone to glare at who isn’t me. Besides, there needs to be a witness to my murder aside from deities, otherwise I’ll end up on Olympus Unsolved or something,” he joked, nervously fidgeting with his tool belt. 

The elevator welcomed them in with a ding that didn’t nearly feel ominous enough for the occasion, in Leo’s expert opinion. It even played ridiculous elevator music.

Bad enough that Leo was willingly walking to what would most likely be his execution. He did not need shitty theme music to boot.

For 600 floors, the elevator ride didn’t take nearly as long as Leo had expected. It probably helped that elevators for gods didn’t bother to stop on all the different floors to pick up tourists. 

He didn’t feel even remotely ready when another ding sounded and the doors slid open.

Leo took a step out onto a stone walkway. He was suddenly very glad he didn’t share the same fear of heights so many of his siblings had told him about, because the walkway in question was suspended in mid-air and had no visible supports.

Leo was thankful that the path came with railings, because that made it feel slightly less like one misstep would turn him into a skydiver—minus the parachute.

On the plus side, you got a very nice aerial view of Manhattan from up here, and unlike on his trip to Aeolus’ palace, this wasn’t a bridge Leo thought himself capable of melting.

Bad thought. Leo tried to push away the memory of falling and being caught by a pair of strong arms. The feeling of the winds swirling around him. It should have been terrifying—their weird ups and downs that had almost been like bungee jumping. Jason should have been angry at him for messing up and melting the bridge. But Jason had just held him, and Leo had clung to his jacket, thoughts and heart racing but weirdly not nearly as afraid as he should have been. He’d made a mess, but he’d known even then that Jason would never let him fall.

If he fell now…

“You okay?” Percy asked sympathetically. “Sorry, I know you’re usually fine with heights, but I probably still should have warned you.” 

“It’s fine.” Leo shrugged, putting on his best ‘everything is great’-expression while he failed to beat his memories off with a stick. Jason had always smelled faintly of ozone, like an oncoming storm. This close to the clouds, everything smelled like him. It wasn’t helping. “The view is pretty impressive.”

“Yeah. Also kind of terrifying. I’ve fallen to my death enough for several lifetimes, thanks.” Percy patted the handrails. “I’m so glad Annabeth had these put in.”

“They’re new?” Leo cringed imagining the bridge without them. “Yikes. They really value demigod safety up here, don’t they?”

Percy snorted. “No kidding.”

“Well, let’s keep moving,” Leo decided, like their delay hadn’t been his fault. “We don’t have all day.”

Mount Olympus was impressive as hell, Leo could admit that much. They followed the skybridge onto the edge of a giant mountain city that was made up of fancy palaces and temples and beautiful gardens as far as the eye could see.

As used as Leo was to godly weirdness, the fact that all this existed right above New York and so few people knew wouldn’t quite compute. 

On any other day, he might have spent hours staring at the buildings. Annabeth had clearly poured a lot of work and love into the redesign—he was friends with the person who’d designed this place, how bizarre was that? 

But right now, Leo barely had the brain space to pay attention to any of the architecture. The gorgeous buildings and giant statues weren’t important—or, more accurately, they were only important in the sense that they were intimidating and made him feel small. The beauty of it all was a minor sticking point in comparison. His brain was vibrating at rapid speeds, thinking about Jason and the Underworld and everything he wanted and needed to say to the gods. Everything he’d been working on for the past month came down to this.

It seemed weirdly fitting to be up here today of all days. It was June 21st—the day of the summer solstice, marking the one year anniversary of their journey on the Argo II.

The city seemed to stretch on forever. There were a lot of stairs. Leo supposed he should have expected that, given the Mount part of Mount Olympus, but if you asked him, there had been no need to take it quite so literally.

A few curious citizens came out to watch them as they ascended the stairs to the palace of the gods. Nymphs, mostly, though a few of them might have been minor gods that Leo didn’t recognize. There were so many of them that even after more than a year of this, he still struggled to keep them all straight. He had no idea how Jason did it.

The elevator doors that had seemed so huge to Leo before seemed like they’d make okay pet doors for the palace of the gods. The scale of this thing was ridiculous. Like walking into a hall filled with gods wasn’t intimidating enough by itself, you got to feel like a bug about to be squashed before you even got the pleasure of seeing the shoe that would do the squashing.

The building seemed to ask what Leo had been thinking, walking up here. Who was he to ask the gods for anything?

“You good?” Percy asked, patting his shoulder encouragingly. “I know it can be a lot the first time. You get used to it.”

Leo stared at him, baffled. “Okay seriously, how many times have you been up here?”

“A couple.” Percy shrugged. “Kind of comes with the job. But hey, you know how I am, and they haven’t killed me yet, so I think your chances are pretty decent.”

“Well, clearly we’ve got different job descriptions. Also, you underestimate my ability to make people hate me on sight,” Leo only half-joked.

“Eh, when you’re not possessed and firing ballistas, I’m sure your first impressions are decent,” Percy replied, going along with Leo’s joking tone with practiced ease. 

Leo cringed at the memory of their first interaction.

“Right! And I didn’t bring anything I could fire at the gods with, so as long as I don’t go for spontaneous combustion, we should probably be good.” 

He felt physically ill. His hands were clammy with sweat. It brought him back to the school play he’d signed up for at age seven—he’d been so excited and rehearsed a million times, but the morning of the performance he couldn’t remember any of his lines and felt too nauseous to eat. If it hadn’t been for his mom coaching him through his jitters and then calling him in sick so they could spend the morning at the machine shop, him fiddling with one of his little projects until he felt better, he probably wouldn’t have gone.

And yeah, Leo had forgotten some of his lines, but he’d skillfully bullshitted his way through these parts and his mom had beamed at him the whole time, her eyes gleaming with pride. He still remembered how embarrassed he’d been at her cheering from the crowd when they’d bowed, so loudly that some of the people around her had given her strange looks.

He could have used a few good mom cheers right now. But his mom wasn’t here, so he supposed he’d have to settle for Percy joking about one of Leo’s worst hits in an attempt to make him feel less anxious.

It wasn’t helping much—or at all, really—but he appreciated the attempt.

“You ready?”

“To figure out the fastest way to get myself squashed by a bunch of gods?” Leo joked, but he squared his shoulders. He was going to do this. He had to. It didn’t matter that he was terrified. Some things were too important to run from. “Born ready.”

The door swung open before Leo could stop to wonder if they were meant to knock. The second he and Percy entered, the chatter in the throne room died. Thirteen pairs of eyes stared down at them.

Thirteen! That was good. Leo hadn’t been sure if Hades would be up here. If he hadn’t been, that might have made things even more difficult than they were already bound to be—in that case, he might have traipsed halfway through the Underworld with the permission of the remaining council of the gods (assuming they’d grant it), only for Hades to deny him then. Now that wouldn’t be a problem—his plan would either be endorsed or shut down where he stood.

As exciting as it was that things were going semi-well in theory, Leo felt unnerved by the fact that thirteen gods, all twenty feet in size, were staring down at him. Looking at them almost made him yearn to be dealing with a good old-fashioned monster attack instead. At least with those, you knew what you were in for. This situation felt far more unpredictable.

“Kneel,” a voice boomed, and Leo knew it was Zeus without having to look. He did as he was told, and could see Percy doing the same thing beside him. “What is the meaning of this? I do not believe you were invited to join us.” 

Leo’s eyes remained firmly glued to the ground as he spoke. “I’ve come to make a request.”

Someone laughed. “Oh, that one’s bold. If he wasn’t a Hephaestus kid, I might just like him.”

“I’m not asking for my sake,” Leo continued, ignoring the other god—Ares, he assumed, given the little context he had. He took a shaky breath, gathering every ounce of courage still left in his body, then finally looked up to face the king of the gods. “I want to gamble my own life for the life of Jason Grace.”

“You’d dare to speak my impertinent son’s name in my presence?” Zeus asked, voice like a thunderstorm. The curious, almost amused look had vanished from his face. His eyes were bright and dangerous as lightning. “Your role in Gaia’s defeat is the only reason I will spare your life. We should have struck you down when you defied death, but we did not. Leave and be satisfied with that mercy.”

Leo had had a script for this conversation. He’d practiced what he would say several times. He’d accounted for the fact that the gods might not agree to what he wanted immediately. He’d imagined himself begging in the dirt if necessary. 

But Zeus’ words—his casual dismissal of everything that Jason had been—had Leo physically fuming. He was the son of the god of forges, and there was liquid fire in his veins. His fear evaporated in an instant, replaced by white-hot rage. 

If he had been thinking, he probably would not have done what he did next. Thing was, though: Leo wasn’t thinking. Not even a little bit. 

He’d reached a point in his life where he was so far past thinking that he couldn’t even see it in the rearview mirror.

There had been rational thoughts inside his head at one point, but they’d vacated the premises somewhere between him blowing himself up and Jason’s death. There was a vortex in his chest where his heart should have been.

And this—the gods sitting around with all that power, none of them caring enough to protect their kids when it mattered—made his blood boil. 

The fact that Zeus acted like deciding not to kill Leo after he’d saved all of their asses was some kind of gracious favor made him want to burn this entire palace to the ground.

“Be satisfied?” he asked, with a defiance that surprised even him. “Are you kidding me? We saved you, and, what, this is it? Tough shit, have a nice afterlife? After everything we’ve lost and everything we’ve been through, I’m supposed to pretend it doesn’t bother me? I should be grateful for my life going to Tartarus because hey, at least you guys get to boss us around for a few more centuries? And Jason is the least impertinent person on the planet. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“If my son had valued his life, perhaps he should have chosen his words more wisely.” Zeus scowled. “Though I’m beginning to think it’s his friends that he chose poorly. This is your final warning, child. My patience is waning quickly. Leave while I’m still willing to let you.”

Leo’s mind reeled as he grasped what the king of the gods was really saying.

“You let Jason die. You wanted this.” He moved to stand, determined to showcase all the pitiful five foot six of his height. His body was rapidly overheating, smoke curling from his ears as his thoughts raced. When Thalia died, Zeus had turned her into a tree to save her. When Jason died, Jupiter hadn’t even lifted a finger, despite the fact that Jason had dedicated his whole life to serving the gods from the moment he’d arrived at Camp Jupiter. Despite the fact that they’d just saved the world a few months before. And Leo had thought that was, what, a coincidence? Jason had just so happened to die on Jupiter’s day off? Gods, he was an idiot. “Did he use up all of your good will when he said just punishing Apollo wouldn’t fix the issue? Was that when you decided if he’d defy you for Apollo’s sake, he might as well die to teach Apollo a lesson? Jason lived his whole life for the gods, and that’s all it took to nullify all of that? One moment where he wasn’t the perfect picture of obedience? What is wrong with you?”

“Leo,” Percy warned, in the same gentle tone Leo’s mother had used when he was about to get himself into serious trouble.

That was when he knew he’d gone too far. Percy’s understanding of what was okay to say to the gods was so fucked that if he thought something crossed the line, they were as good as dead.

Leo usually realized these things too late—when his big mouth had already earned him a black eye and a broken nose.

Except this time, he wasn’t just signing his own death warrant. Zeus already wasn’t Percy’s biggest fan. What had Leo been thinking, putting him in danger like that? 

He went cold with horror. His fire died. But the damage was done. Why did his flames always end up burning the people he cared about down with him?

Zeus lifted his lightning bolt, and yep, they were screwed.

Forget Tartarus. Piper would kill Leo for dying, and then Annabeth would hunt down his ghost and murder him again for getting Percy killed. That was way worse than whatever torture the Underworld could have in store for him.

Lightning never struck. Before Leo could think to mutter a desperate apology or construct a lightning arrester on the spot, a twenty foot tall figure appeared in front of him and Percy, shielding them from harm.

Leo half-expected to see his dad when he looked up, but what he saw instead shocked him even more than the sight of his absent father suddenly deciding to step up after almost seventeen years would have. Instead of looking at Hephaestus, Leo found himself staring at the back of the woman who’d put him into a furnace as a baby.

“You will not touch them,” the queen of the gods said, arms outstretched. 

Leo mouthed what the fuck at Percy, but his friend looked even more shocked than Leo felt. He had the expression of someone who was worried his brain might melt out of his ears.

“Move, woman. Do not force me to invoke your vows,” Zeus bellowed.

Hera didn’t even flinch.

“After everything you’ve done, you would speak to me of vows?” She sounded like she wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. “You forget yourself, husband. You forget I’m not just the goddess of marriage. I may have been an imperfect goddess of family in the past, but I remain the goddess of family all the same. You will not harm my grandson.”

It took a moment for Leo to register that she was talking about him. He assumed it was a symbolic thing—Hera strategically linking her position to her godly domain to strengthen it—but after everything that had happened and the role she had played in his life, the queen of the gods referring to him as family as she stood before him and Percy to protect them still rattled Leo to his core.

“You dare-” Zeus bellowed, but Hera interrupted him.

“Does the boy speak the truth? Did you let my champion die? Did you break another vow you made me?” Zeus remained quiet, which Hera apparently decided was answer enough. “Here is what we will do. To honor Leo’s role in saving us, we hear the foolish, brave child out. There will be no more insolence from him.” She directed a warning glare at Leo. “At the end of this, we will decide as a council what to do with him. All in favor?”

Slowly, Leo could see a few hands raise past Hera’s giant form.

Finally, Hera moved to take her seat at her husband’s side again, her head held high.

The whole atmosphere in the throne room had changed. Zeus still had lightning crackling in his beard and his face was twisted with anger, but he didn’t seem to be considering frying Leo or Percy anymore, at least for the moment. Hephaestus was wide-eyed. Apollo was grinning, though he was quick to wipe the expression off his face when his father glanced his way.

“Well?” Hera nodded his way. “Speak, little hero.”

“Right.” Leo took a deep breath. His heart was still racing. He’d gone so far off-script that he was struggling to remember any of the things he’d spent so long memorizing. In his defense, near-death experiences and spontaneous grandparent adoptions tended to throw most people slightly off their game. “I’m not asking for you to just revive Jason. I know that’s not how it works. All I’m asking for is a chance to lead him out of the Underworld myself.”

“You’re thinking of Orpheus and Eurydice,” Hades deduced. 

Leo bowed his head to the god of death respectfully. “I’ll agree to the same rules. Please just let me try.”

Hades shook his head. “If we just let every hero who has lost someone get them back from the Underworld, it will unbalance death itself. The result would be Chaos, and she may be the most dangerous one out of all of us.”

“I understand that,” Leo said, desperately trying to remember any of the things he’d wanted to say and failing miserably.

“Leo isn’t just anyone, though,” Percy interjected. Apparently he’d finally shaken himself out of his haze. That he even still wanted to help after Leo had almost earned him a lightning bolt to the face was honestly kind of a miracle. Then again, Percy’s fatal flaw was his unwavering loyalty towards his friends. Apparently Leo was still a part of that group, despite all of his epic screwups. “He’s a hero of Olympus, isn’t he? He didn’t just help win the war with Gaia—he was the deciding factor. It was his plan and his willingness to sacrifice his life that defeated her. He also remedied the situation with Calypso that you swore on the River Styx you would fix.”

Leo didn’t think he deserved nearly as much credit for the Calypso stuff as he was getting after everything that had happened, but that was kind of beside the point right now.

“Your son makes a surprisingly reasonable point,” another goddess—Leo assumed it was Athena due to context clues like the giant owl sitting on her shoulder—very begrudgingly said in Poseidon’s direction.

“You made promises to me that you didn’t keep. You still didn’t claim a whole bunch of your kids, and you spend even more time ignoring your Roman children than you do us. So many of them died.” Percy’s voice was quavering. Some of the gods had the decency to look ashamed, though Zeus remained unmoved. “What’s a chance to save a single life in return for everything we’ve sacrificed? Leo isn’t asking for much. Let him try.”

“The matter isn’t quite as simple as you make it out to be, I’m afraid.” Apollo did not seem pleased to have to be the one to break the news. “Even if we allow him to resurrect Jason, and even if he should succeed, one of them might just die again. The Fates did not intend for both storm and fire to live.”

Leo’s heart dropped hearing the confirmation for the thing he’d feared most—that his own survival had been the thing that ensured Jason’s death. Sure, Zeus had let it happen, but if the Fates hadn’t predestined one of them for death, he probably wouldn’t have had it quite so easy.

As much as it ached to think about this, Leo didn’t let it discourage him for too long. He’d been prepared for this. It was the main reason why he’d needed to come up here—why he hadn’t simply waltzed into the Underworld and just begged Hades and Persephone for a chance to take Jason back with him like Orpheus had.

He nodded appreciatively at Percy, then steeled himself and took over again.

“Well, if I try this and fail, the Fates can have both of us. They did seem pretty eager to have the matching set, so I bet that sounds good to them. They’ve got excellent chances. The whole thing about Orpheus’ story is that he failed, isn’t it?” Tempting fate was stupid. Tempting all three Fates at once was so unbelievably idiotic that someone would need to invent a whole new word for it. “If I fail, I’ll pass on into Asphodel without protest, and you never have to deal with me again. But if I succeed, you find a way to release us from the prophecy. No more dead storm or fire. You’ll let us live out our lives in as much peace as can be expected for the average demigod. All I’m asking for is a chance, however slim it might be.”

For a moment, the throne room was silent as everyone seemed to process what he’d said. Then, the first person spoke up.

“I don’t think that’s a terribly unreasonable request. Besides, I love Orpheus and Eurydice. It’s such a touching love story.”

It was a woman’s voice, speaking in a sweet tone that made an unpleasant shiver ran down Leo’s spine.

When he looked at her, he knew immediately the goddess had to be Aphrodite. She had an otherworldly kind of beauty to her—a glow he didn’t quite understand. For a brief, confusing moment, her appearance seemed to flicker, like she couldn’t quite decide what face she wanted to wear today. Her hair shifted in length and color. Her features seemed to change with it.

When Leo blinked and looked right at her, her appearance settled into a steady image—short, blonde hair and light eyes, the color of which he couldn’t quite determine due to the fact that the light kept reflecting off her glasses.

Why a goddess would wear glasses, Leo had absolutely no idea. One would think vision correction should be the easiest thing in the world when you were a deity. Who knew, though. Maybe she didn’t have insurance, so the only thing she’d gotten was the sanitizing snake.

She didn’t look anything like Piper, which was strange considering she was Piper’s mom—but he supposed it was more complicated than that, with the gods’ abilities to take on whatever appearance they wanted. Still, there was something strikingly familiar about her appearance that Leo couldn’t quite place.

“Thanks?” he said quietly. Gods, he missed Piper. He’d never properly interacted with her mom before, and doing it without her present was weird.

“Besides, leaving Jason in the Underworld would be a bit of a waste, doesn’t it? He made Piper’s love life terribly interesting,” Aphrodite continued, smiling. “My darling girl has always been so full of love. She was very sweet in her promise to refuse tradition and not break a heart. Like she wasn’t breaking her own heart as she made that oath. Like his heart was ever hers to break.”

She was looking at Leo like she could see right through him—and well, being the goddess of love and all, she probably could.

Under different circumstances, he might have worried about flushing, but currently he was too busy trying to keep his anger under control.

Interesting. He thought about Piper sobbing into his shoulder, talking about how weird things between her and Jason had been before he’d died. Talking about how confused she’d been, and how much she’d hurt him when she’d stopped being confused, and how now she could never make it right. Because regardless of everything else, he’d been her friend, and she’d cared, and she was so afraid he hadn’t known that, at the end. 

Like figuring out you were queer wasn’t complicated enough without the Gods’ bullshit.

Piper had been to Tartarus and back over all this, and all her mom had to say about it was that it had been interesting.

Leo wanted to light Aphrodite’s hair on fire.

Unfortunately, she actually seemed to be thinking about supporting his cause, if for completely fucked up reasons, so torching her maybe wouldn’t be the best course of action right now. He’d already pissed off the king of the gods. As tempting as it was, starting a fight with the goddess of love on top of that, potentially dooming himself and Percy for the second time today, to the point where even Hera couldn’t save them, was unfortunately off the table.

He promised himself at that moment that if he made it back, he’d set a new record for the world’s longest hug—once Piper was done punching him for pulling this stunt, that was.

“You’d let me try, then?” he asked, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice. His hands were sparking, but considering the circumstances, Leo thought himself the epitome of restraint. 

This was the most infuriating conversation he’d ever been a part of.

“Love, in its rawest forms, is brave and reckless and self-destructive. It’s two souls so thoroughly intertwined with one another that if one ceases, the other cannot help but unravel along with it. It’s dying to ensure someone else will live on. It’s taking great risks knowing you’re unlikely to succeed, but wanting to believe there’s a chance that you might. Sometimes the world changes for it. Sometimes everyone involved dies tragic deaths. But that the love is there matters, even when it doesn’t change a thing. I’ve never been able to resist these types of stories.” She beamed at him. “The two of you have always been so beautifully eager to fall on your own sword for each other. You remind me a bit of Pyramus and Thisbe, actually. Wonderful pair. Delightfully bloody ending.” 

Leo had a sudden, awful understanding for what Ares saw in his best friend’s mom, which was not an understanding he’d ever had much of a desire to reach.

“Personally hoping for a little less death this time around, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.” 

He bit his lip a second too late, wondering if that counted as insolence and Zeus had permission to nuke him now.

Hera didn’t look thrilled, but Aphrodite just quirked an eyebrow in amusement.

“I like hope in my love stories. The tragedies are never any fun without it.”

On that delightful note, Ares chimed in, seeming utterly disinterested. “If the kid wants to get himself killed, I say we let him.”

Right. He didn’t put it like that, but he’d never ruin his girlfriend’s fun. Besides, he had no love for Hephaestus, which, if Leo had to guess, made the thought of one of his kids dying for Aphrodite’s entertainment even more appealing. 

Well, that made two votes in his favor, at least. Potentially three, assuming Hera was still on his side.

He turned to his father, who he’d seen, what, all of three times in his life? He understood things weren’t easy, and that Hephaestus struggled with living beings just as much as Leo did, but the radio silence between them ever since the war with Gaia hadn’t exactly helped how disgruntled he felt with the gods in general. 

“Dad?” he said shakily. “You said you care about me. That you cared about my mom. I don’t know if you meant that. I can’t fix what happened to her. Give me a chance to fix this.”

“I suppose if that’s really what you want…” Hephaestus seemed a little lost, but did smile at Leo. “Machines always work best when they’re well-balanced. Sometimes the parts you need are in inconvenient places. Why, it’s not like I’ve never had to go into the Underworld to collect a piece of machinery I’d dropped down the wrong chute.”

Leo almost cracked a smile. He couldn’t imagine a world where him and his dad were actually close, but he did feel understood in their matching tendency to use machine metaphors.

…at least he hoped it was a metaphor, rather than his father assuming Jason was some sort of automaton Leo had lost track of and that had wandered off into the Underworld without his permission.

He shook his head, deciding not to think about that one too hard.

Athena sighed. “If there is any lesson to be learned from the second Titan war, it’s that there has to be a balance between sacrifice and gain. We cannot simply expect loyalty from children that rarely so much as see our faces. We should have honored all that was lost to defeat Gaia, and we failed to do so at the time. That mistake needs to be amended. Leo has fulfilled the role the Fates placed on him admirably. If this is the reward he chooses, I do not think it wise to deny him.”

Note to self: if Leo survived this, he desperately needed to ask someone what the hell had happened during the second Titan war. He’d heard some things, sure, but all of it had been pretty vague, and he’d been too busy trying to prepare for his own battles to care that much about dusty old stories from the previous summers.

Either way, real convenient for Athena to point this out now, rather than when Camp Jupiter had desperately needed help from its deities. Leo wondered if she’d considered those losses necessary, even strategic—if teaching Apollo whatever lessons he’d learned as a human had been worth so many lives. 

The thought made Leo feel sick.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths and move past this. He couldn’t ask for more if he wanted any chance to have Jason back. That wasn’t how the gods operated. As much as Leo wanted to, he couldn’t change their world. But he promised himself that if he lived past this, he’d find a way to make a difference—to do something meaningful to help other demigods, even if it was on a small scale. If their parents would not look out for them, they had to look out for each other instead.

Percy was glowering at his dad from across the room, and that seemed to be working just fine. Leo sort of wondered if he should have brought more of his friends to glare at their parents, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t work this well with the other gods.

Poseidon shrugged. “I despise agreeing with Athena, but I suppose she makes a valid point for once.”

They looked like they wanted to start squabbling, but before they could, Leo had already turned his attention to the next god.

“Apollo?” He didn’t have to make his case there. Glaring worked just fine. Apollo seemed to remember their last conversation vividly.

Good.

“I broke a promise I made to the River Styx. Jason suffered the consequences.” That was all it was. In the end, Jason’s life had been a toll paid for someone else’s mistake. Whether Leo or Apollo or Zeus or all of them were to blame didn’t really matter. The end result remained the same: Jason was gone, through no fault of his own. “I understand that we cannot just disrupt the natural flow of life and death, but this isn’t unprecedented. Leo deserves to have this shot. Besides, I can’t speak for his ability to make music, but he makes wonderful musical instruments.”

That was quite the change in tune from his waffling about how Jason had chosen his path and blah blah blah back at the Waystation. The reminder that Leo had been Jason’s best friend while Apollo had known him for all of a day—which was all the time it had taken him to get Jason killed—and that it was therefore a pretty bold claim for him to try and tell Leo what Jason would have wanted must have stuck.

Artemis just gave him a nod, quick and decisive. “My lieutenant helped my brother when he required it. It would not be just for me to deny hers in turn.”

And one by one, the other deities nodded their assent. Most of them seemed fairly disinterested in the matter, honestly—what was one more demigod life lost or gained when there were so many of them?

It was frustrating, but as long as they agreed, their disinterest was just fine with Leo.

Mr D—who Leo had never actually met in his Greek form before despite his role as their camp director—looked at him for a moment longer than was comfortable. 

“I’m not sure you’re in the right state of mind to enter an agreement like this.” Leo was about the protest, but then Dionysus shrugged. “But I’m the god of wine, not the god of good advice, so who am I to talk you out of this? Do try not to die, though. Di Angelo’s been making good progress lately, and it would be quite unfortunate if your death were to screw it up.”

Leo barely kept himself from rolling his eyes.

In the end, the only gods who had remained silent were Hera, Zeus and Hades. Leo assumed Hera was waiting for everyone else to speak so she could conclude this meeting. There was no way he was getting Zeus’ vote, but Leo didn’t really care for it either way. Unless council votes had to be unanimous, which he doubted, he didn’t need Zeus’ vote.

Hades was a problem, though. Even if every other god had been in agreement to cut Jason and Leo loose from their fate, it would all be in vain if Hades didn’t agree to actually let Leo take Jason’s soul.

Briefly, Leo considered kneeling again, but he’d been standing for so long that that would’ve felt ridiculous now, and he didn’t want to risk pissing off all the other gods he hadn’t kneeled to.

He figured it best to address the god of the Underworld directly. “Lord Hades, is there anything I can do to convince you? I know Orpheus’ music was important to the original story. If that’s what it takes-” Leo started, already sweating at the thought of having to lay his emotions bare to the whole council of the gods, even though he’d known from the beginning that he might have to.

Percy cringed next to him, possibly remembering the shower songs Piper had teased Leo about.

“Nothing like that. You will need your music soon enough, but not for this,” Hades interrupted him, less malicious than Leo had expected. “But I need to be sure you understand what you’re asking, child. You must trust your friend to follow where you lead. You must have faith. The strength of your bond must be sufficient. Otherwise, your doubts will doom you both.”

Leo’s heart was hammering in his chest.

“I’m awesome. Jason’s my best friend. Of course he’ll follow me,” he said, though his mouth felt dry. “And then I just don’t turn until we’re both standing in the sunlight again, right? Easy. I can totally do this.”

It was incredible that he sounded as confident as he did, considering the fact that he, well… wasn’t.

Could he trust Jason to follow him? Jason was the leader. He was the one people followed. Leo wasn’t Piper, either—he didn’t have her enchanting voice or her ability to lie and de-escalate her way out of situations. If she’d asked Jason to follow her, her charmspeak alone probably would have been enough to convince him. She’d have known for sure he was there, even if she couldn’t see him. 

Leo was just the fire guy—the trusty sidekick who provided funny quips and then died in act two to motivate the real hero. And he hadn’t even gotten that part right.

What reason would Jason have to follow him when all Leo did was fuck things up?

Thankfully, Hades continued before Leo had the chance to get even more up in his head about it. Pro tip: when you were relieved the god of the dead was addressing you, that was probably a bad sign.

“You know that, even if you succeed, it will be a temporary victory. Thanatos will eventually reclaim you both. Death is inevitable for mortals.”

“Of course I know that,” Leo said. “I know a few years, a few decades, are nothing to the gods. But they’re an eternity for us. They’re all any of us have.”

“And still you’d gamble your years for his. You’d gamble your afterlife. Even knowing that, once you die, you would have an eternity with him.”

“Only if he never chooses rebirth. Jason’s so stupid heroic that he might.” Leo had thought about that option a lot in the last few days as he worked up the courage to call Nico. He’d run the different scenarios through his head until he felt ill. Thought about the fact that he had no guarantee he’d even make it to Elysium when he died, and that, if he did, there was a chance Jason wouldn’t be there anymore by the time it happened. “I can’t risk that. I don’t want the chance of an afterlife with him if it means having to live my whole life without him.”

It was more honestly than he’d been aiming for. 

“Ah, love makes us so courageous and so very foolish.” Aphrodite looked downright gleeful. “You know this, don’t you, Hades?”

Hades sighed and bowed his head. “Very well. Then, with the assent of my family, I will honor your request, young demigod.”

“It’s decided, then,” Hera announced, folding her hands in her lap. “Should Leo succeed, we do what he asks. We release fire and storm from the Fates’ decree.”

Zeus looked seriously displeased with this outcome. “We cannot-”

“We can and we will. The council majority has overruled your objection,” Hera interrupted, furious. She rose from her throne once more, her image flickering. Zeus had apparently upset her so much that she was shifting into her Juno aspect. Talk about serious marital problems. Yikes. “You promised Jason’s life to me. The final word on this matter will not be yours.”

Leo hated that they talked about Jason like he’d been nothing but a bargaining chip. To see everything that Jason had been—his kindness and the way he laughed and the way he always seemed to think of other people before he stopped to consider what it was he wanted—reduced to an argument between two gods that desperately needed the contact information of the Greek goddess of divorce.

At least one of them seemed to have some genuine care for Jason buried somewhere deep within her.

Leo hadn’t initially given much thought to the way Hera was dressed. As a child, he’d only ever known her in a widow’s dress and black shawl. It occurred to him belatedly that whenever he’d encountered Hera after figuring out she was a goddess, she’d been dressed in white.

She was dressed in black now—a dress and veil fit for a funeral.

Leo wasn’t sure he wanted this—to feel any sort of sympathy for the woman who’d made him play with knives when he was three and given him a rattlesnake for one of his birthdays. But a part of him was just glad Jason had at least one parent that seemed bothered by his untimely death, even if that parent was his meddling step-mom.

Zeus scowled down at Leo like he wanted to smite him very badly, but Hera was staring daggers at her husband, maybe daring him to get rid of another one of her chosen heroes and seeing what would happen. 

Leo wasn’t sure if it was this that did it, or if even Zeus realized going against the whole council and being the only one who actively vetoed a chance at reviving his son made him look like a bit of a dick.

“Fine,” he spat, looking at Leo like he was a bug he’d graciously decided to refrain from squashing. “Try. But do not take this as a gift, child. Most likely, all you will achieve is your own death. And even if you were to somehow succeed, you are never to set foot on Mount Olympus again.”

Leo almost laughed. Right, because after all the shit that’d happened to him, he wanted to be here.

“Done. I swear on the River Styx that after this is over, I will never bother any of you again. I won’t ask for any more miracles, and I’m definitely not doing any more godly quests. I’m through with this.”

It felt like a win to him more than anything—like finally handing in his two-weeks notice at a miserable job with no benefits or pay and truly abominable work conditions. He was through with the gods. If they needed another human sacrifice for some battle they refused to fight themselves, they’d need to find someone else. Leo would be an idiot hero for his friends, and for absolutely no one else ever again.

“That’s the matter settled, then. You may come find me at my palace,” Hades said. With that—possibly to show off he really was Nico’s dad with their mutual love for dramatic exits—he rose from his throne and vanished into shadow.

Apollo clapped his hands. “Well, I suppose this means you’ll need a prophecy. Luckily for you-”

Leo immediately stopped him with a gesture of his own. “I’m good, actually.”

“Excuse me?” Apollo looked at him, clearly confused.

“Your last few prophecies are what got us into this mess. I don’t need you or the Fates or anyone else telling me I’m destined to fuck this up.”

“You know, just because you don’t hear the prophecy doesn’t mean-” the god tried, but Leo didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t care. If I mess this up, I need it to be my screwup, okay? Can you at least give me that?”

“I-” Apollo sighed, but then he nodded. “I suppose I can, if it’s really what you want.”

“Can I ask for something else, though?” Leo looked straight at the god, finally letting the implications of everything wash over him. He’d succeeded in his pleas. Meaning he could have Jason back if he succeeded. Meaning if he didn’t succeed, Leo had just signed his own death sentence and would never see Jason or Piper or any of his other friends again. “If I fail, can we please skip the part where Orpheus’ severed head spent a whole bunch of time as an oracle? I do not want my legacy to be traumatizing a bunch of demigods. Thanks.”

Leo had already had one run-in with the maenads, and that had been one too many, in his completely unbiased opinion. He’d much rather explode himself again than pull an actual Orpheus and get ripped limb from limb. He still shuddered at the memory of the poor drakon he’d watched the nymphs descend upon.

“Oh, absolutely.” Apollo held up his hands. “I don’t do severed head oracles anymore. They went out of style centuries ago. People tend to find them creepy. Terrible for branding.”

“Great! That’s all I’m asking.” Leo grinned. He bowed his head once to his father and once to Juno, who still hadn’t changed back to her Hera aspect. Stubborn defiance of her husband, maybe. “Thanks for giving me this shot. I’m not going to waste it.”

He wanted to mean that, more than anything.

———

Notes:

Fun fact number one: this is the second-longest chapter of the fic! This is, in parts, because there was just no good place to split this chapter.

Fun fact number two: I did, at one point, joke I’d have to rename this chapter to “Leo tries really hard to get himself struck by lightning”. For obvious reasons.

I find the contrast between Nico and Percy finding out Leo’s plan extremely funny lmao (that’s what I meant with the different chapter beginnings in the last chapter). Something something Nico who knows the kind of grief Leo is experiencing and just how destructive it can be vs. Percy who waltzed into the Underworld at age 12 to get his mom back and whose fatal flaw is loyalty so of course he‘s gonna go yell at the gods with Leo because he asked.

Also, someone’s finally managed to piss off Zeus worse than Percy. It was bound to happen eventually <3

Hera specifically stepping in to bat for Leo is very heavily influenced by her grieving Jason at the end of ToN. Their relationship wasn’t easy, nor was she anywhere close to the perfect step-mom/patron goddess in canon, but unlike his father, she did genuinely care for Jason.

And I know technically even the gods cannot change fate, but since Hera semi-canonically cut Frank lose from the firewood his life was tied to, therefore effectively also changing his fate, I think I’m allowed to take some creative liberties here. These are special circumstances.

Oh, and before I forget: massive shoutout to my dear friend Juno for reading over this chapter ahead of time and trying to help exorcise my anxiety demons <3 This was my first ever time properly dealing with the gods, and I’m not gonna lie, it was a struggle. I do like how a lot of the scenes came out, but it’s definitely one of the chapters I’m the most anxious about (I say this like I’m not anxious about posting every week, lmao), so comments are extra appreciated this time!

Thank you so much for reading!!

Tag List: @poppitron360 @lilyfrey @lady-silkwing @intenebrisobscurat @manygeese @ann-rex @jvneseries

[chosos-mascara]

𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

800 words, sukuna and reader are fwb, reader tells their true feelings. yuuji is sukuna's little brother. totally self indulgent. no smut, only fluff, though cause of the nature of their relationship, i'm saying mdni

Friends with benefits had been a wordless agreement between yourself and Sukuna. He hadn't cared for a relationship, and you hadn't wanted to commit to anything - so after a few hookups, your situation had become more of a practiced exchange. 

This would often consist of a text on a weekend when his brother would be out of the house, or you'd request his presence after a particularly grueling day at work. It would always be a simple exchange, a ding of phone with the phrase 'you busy?', requiring only a 'yours or mine?' in response. The first few months this had gone smoothly, with the frequency picking up a little in subsequent season, and slowing again in summer, when Yuuji would be home from school. 

You'd missed his availability, though appreciated the 'no ties' end of the agreement you'd set. This was Sukuna, and you were sure not too fall too hard for him, even if you'd started dosing off beside him, or using his shower just to come home and smell like his shampoo - but you weren't in love with him. 

He'd never asked you over before he'd been home himself, though after he'd found himself close to quitting his job, followed by being stuck in traffic, he'd sent his text without anticipating that you might be arriving first. You'd knocked over his apartment door, ready to be pulled in and pushed up against a wall, though when meeting a slightly shorter version of himself, a lack of tattoos etched over skin, you were left with wide eyes like a deer in headlights. 

"Uh," You stammered, anxiously shuffling on the spot. "Is Sukuna home?" 

The boy looks to be about sixteen, and with his eerily similar appearance to the man you'd spent countless nights beneath, you'd assumed him to be Yuuji. He shook his head, though opened the door wider.  "Wanna wait for him?" 

Taking a moment to think, you considered whether intruding on Sukuna's family life would be appropriate for the loose friendship you'd had. Though, the part of you that had wished to grow much closer to him had been stronger than your logic, and you'd instead taken a step inside his apartment, trailing behind his little brother to join him in the lounge. 

Yuuji had thrown himself onto the couch, a guitar hero controller propped up beside him.  "Wanna play?" He'd offered the plastic to you, and you'd taken it with reluctance.  "I used to play this in college." Your voice was timid, your stature awkward, though you'd scrolled through the songs and picked one you'd known best. Yuuji had side-eyed you when you'd selected 'expert', though said nothing. 

At first, you were a little rusty, though with time, you were hitting notes well and holding a streak. He'd applauded you on a solo, and watched intently at the remainder of the song. You hadn't noticed through your own passion that Sukuna had come home, and had stood behind you with an arm over the other. 

"What're you doing?" 

His voice startled both you and his brother, a sheepish look on Yuuji's face as Sukuna's attention had diverted to him, brown eyes narrowed.  "You shouldn't let strangers into the house." The terminology he'd used had hurt you, though you'd said nothing through fear. Would this cause a rift between you? 

"Choso said you were seeing someone-"  "Choso doesn't know shit." Quick to shut him down, Sukuna looks back to you, the controller now on the floor as you stood. He hadn't needed to direct you, simply turning to walk toward his own room as you'd followed like a lost puppy, anxiously awaiting your lecture. 

"If Yuuji's home, you can't come here." Sukuna had spoken once the door behind him had been closed, bringing a finger to forehead. He'd still been wearing his office clothes, the white button-up rolled to forearm. 

"I'm sorry." Your voice had wavered, heart sinking within chest as you'd looked toward his floor. "I just thought-" You cut yourself off, shaking head. "I just thought we'd been seeing each other a while-"  "We're not seeing each other. We're just fucking."  "Right." If you'd lifted your gaze, you would've exposed the pooling tears in your eyes, so you'd remained still. 

"I just-" Mentally scolding yourself, despite your brain screaming at you to stop, you could only follow your heart. "I would like to see you." 

You hold your breath as you await his response, a shaky exhale once a few moments had passed. You finally remove your eyes from the rug, looking to watch his expression. You'd pictured anger or disgust, though you were met with a soft gaze, his chest rising, and then falling. 

"Okay." He'd spoken the word slowly as if to convince himself, and your chest tightened. "I'll take you out this weekend. But, I don't want you talking to Yuuji yet-"  He'd paused when you'd thrown your arms out widely, wrapping them over his torso. It had been too broad for your hands to meet behind his back, though you'd held onto him tightly nonetheless. 

[dertaglichedan]

The midair collision between an American Airlines passenger jet and an Army Blackhawk helicopter over the nation’s capital was preceded by months of harrowing near misses at airports across America, as well as increasingly shrill warnings that the nation’s air traffic control and safety system is stretched to the limit.

Just 14 months before Wednesday night’s fatal mishap near Ronald Reagan National Airport, the Federal Aviation Administration received a safety expert report that warned America’s air traffic control system is suffering from quality control issues and staffing shortages that put safety at risk.

That report warned that “challenges, in the areas of process integrity, staffing, and facilities, equipment, and technology, all have ties to inadequate, inconsistent funding. Together, these challenges contribute to increased safety risk and should be regarded as incident precursor."

The November 2023 report also warned that personnel shortages among air traffic controllers were forcing people to work longer hours and make sudden last-minute changes to flight plans that increased risks.

“Overtime is at a historically high level and increasing,” the report warned. “High rates of overtime for extended periods introduces risk into the NAS. Several associated issues include absenteeism, lower productivity and fatigue.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

On Feb. 8, Colette Delawalla, a graduate student in psychology at Emory University, nervously announced to the online world that she was planning a national protest in defense of science. “I’ve never done this before, but we gotta be the change we want to see in the world,” she wrote in a post on Bluesky, a social media platform.

A team of scientists quickly coalesced around her and formed a plan: a rally on the National Mall, satellite protests across the country, March 7. They threw together a website so rudimentary, initially, that visitors had to type the “www” manually, or else the web address raised an error. Within days, the (improved) site received so much traffic that it crashed.

The event, dubbed Stand Up For Science, is something of a revitalization of the March for Science that took place in cities around the world in April 2017, not long into President Trump’s first term. But this time, in a greatly sharpened political climate and a post-Covid world, the protests are being organized by a completely different team, and with a distinct vision.

“The spirit of it is the same,” Ms. Delawalla said. But, she added, “now we are in a position of being on defense as opposed to offense.”

Many of the threats that mobilized scientists during the first Trump administration, such as the widespread deletion of federal databases and deep slashes to the science budget, never came to pass. But this time, within weeks of the presidential inauguration, Mr. Trump has already reshaped much of the federal scientific enterprise, which funds a significant chunk of academic research.

Often through executive orders, his administration has terminated funding for global health programs, fired disease screeners at the nation’s borders, gutted climate policy and attempted to suspend funding for nuclear protection. More than a thousand workers across federal science agencies, including the National Park Service, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institutes of Health, have been laid off. Robert F. Kennedy Jr., widely seen as a vaccine skeptic, is now the health secretary.

Some scientific associations applauded Mr. Trump’s swift appointment of Michael Kratsios, an expert in technology policy, to the position of science adviser, rather than leaving the position vacant for more than a year, as he did during his first term.

The tradition of science activism stretches back through the environmental movement of the 1960s to the antinuclear protests at the end of World War II. “Historically, when scientists’ interests and livelihoods are threatened, they mobilize,” said Scott Frickel, a sociologist at Brown University who studies the relationship between science and society.

[notwiselybuttoowell]

The aviation industry is “failing dramatically” in its efforts to tackle its role in the climate crisis, according to a newly formed group of aviation professionals.

They say they are torn between their passion for flying and their concern for the planet and are calling for a fundamental transition of the industry, including controlling flight numbers.

The group, Call Aviation to Action, says the industry is overly optimistic about emissions-cutting technology and trapped in a business model that demands ever-growing flight numbers. The lack of significant climate action from the industry risks it being destroyed, the group says, as heavy regulation from outside will become necessary as the climate crisis intensifies.

Due to their international nature, carbon dioxide emissions from aviation are excluded from the national plans that countries submit to the UN’s climate body. Instead, the UN’s aviation body, the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO), is tasked with tackling the planet-heating gases.

Bockstael said: “My view is ICAO have been failing dramatically on that responsibility, because the only thing it came up with after eight years of discussion is the Corsia scheme, which is nothing more than carbon offsets for the growth of aviation above a certain threshold, exporting your problem to another industry.” The scheme has been criticised as “unambitious and problematic” and has yet to require any airline to use a carbon credit.

He said: “If we do not act, by 2050 aviation emissions will be about a quarter of all human-caused emissions – that will be really a very shameful position.

The Guardian has previously been contacted by numerous aviation professionals concerned about the climate crisis but who felt unable to speak publicly.

Flying causes more CO2 emissions than any other form of transport per mile and is dominated by rich passengers, with 1% of the world’s population responsible for 50% of aviation emissions. The industry’s climate plans are rated “critically insufficient” by Climate Action Tracker.

ICAO forecasts a doubling of passenger numbers by 2042, and the industry argues that more efficient aircraft, sustainable fuels and Corsia can control CO2 emissions. The ICAO has been accused of having been captured by the industry, the Guardian reported in February.

Independent experts say the feasible scale of measures to cut aviation emissions is extremely unlikely to compensate for such a doubling in traffic, with, for example, fuel-efficiency improvements now stalling. The CEO of Qatar Airways called the airline industry’s emissions goals a “PR exercise” in 2023.

The Call Aviation to Action group said the industry should set targets for absolute emissions cuts in line with science-based CO2 budgets and stop “lobbying against climate policies”. The industry should also acknowledge that managing global demand for flights in a fair way is part of the solution, it said.

Bockstael said the cost of emissions-cutting technologies would increase the price of flying but that additional measures, such as flight or carbon taxes, could be needed to keep passenger numbers at sustainable levels. Such constraints on demand must be fair, he said, offering equitable access to flying in developing countries and addressing heavy frequent flyers in rich nations.

Finlay Asher, an aerospace engineer and member of Safe Landing, said: “As an engineer, what really excites me is that the Call Aviation to Action proposals would lead to a new golden age of innovation. Our industry is in need of an upgrade: new aircraft designs, new forms of zero-carbon power and new airport layouts to support these. The research, development and operation of this new air transport system will not only create more jobs but also make flying greener, cleaner, quieter and more accessible to society.”

[apenitentialprayer]

an 1842 portrait of Cardinal Luigi Lambruschini (x). Today (May 12th, 2025) marks the 171st anniversary of his death.

In the 1830's the British government was on a crusade to suppress the African slave trade. […] By 1838 Lord Palmerston, the British foreign secretary, was growing impatient. Slaves were still being shipped by the thousands from Africa to Cuba and Brazil. Consequently, he looked to the United States and the Papacy for help. [...] Palmerston had more reason for optimism with regard to the Papacy. In 1815 Pope Pius VII had issued a brief condemning the slave trade in response to an appeal from the British foreign secretary, Lord Castlereagh. In July, 1839, Thomas Aubin, the British consul in Florence, wrote to the pope's secretary of state, Cardinal Luigi Lambruschini, asking for a declaration from the Holy See. Aubin noted that the British had been working for years to suppress the trade. While most European countries had willingly co-operated with them, the British had trouble with certain countries which were "in spiritual communion with the Holy See." Aubin was sure that a public declaration on this subject by the pope would be "most advantageous to the cause of humanity and would render a great honor to the Roman government."

When Gregory learned of Aubin's letter, he decided to put the matter before the cardinals who served in the Congregation for Extraordinary Ecclesiastical Affairs. […] To assist the other cardinals in their deliberations, Lambruschini drew up a lengthy memorandum on the subject. In his report, he sharply criticized the British government for its long record of hostility towards the Holy See. Considering these tensions, he declared that it would be neither "convenient" nor "useful" for the pope to make any allusion to the British if he were to issue a letter.

Lambrushini also noted that there were many defenders of slavery and the slave trade in the Church who could offer a host of reasons to justify them. Among other points, they would make reference to Abraham and Jacob and other patriarchs owning slaves; to St. Paul's counsel to slaves to obey their masters; and to the Council of Gangra (330) and other councils which appeared to affirm the legitimacy of slavery and the slave trade. None of these claims impressed him much: "All of these arguments tending to excuse or justify slavery and the trafficking of Negroes have their responses, and have been refuted by the expert writers and theologians."

Lambruschini felt that the time was propitious for the pope to issue a new statement. Arguing that Pope Gregory should draw on the writings of his predecessors, he provided the pope and the cardinals with the copies of relevant papal pronouncements and the Holy Office statements dating back to the 1400's. He also took up the sensitive matter of whom the pope should address. At the time, neither Spain nor Portugal nor any of the Latin American republics had diplomatic relations with the Holy See. [Note 15: "All these countries were controlled by liberal, anticlerical regimes"]. If a letter were directed to the rulers of these states, there was a good chance it would never be published. He noted that a letter could be sent to the bishops of these nations, but he feared such a move would antagonize the political leaders.

When the cardinals met with the pope, they agreed that he should issue a public declaration on the slave trade: it would not be directed to any person or nation in particular, and no reference would be made to Great Britain's role in it. A letter was promptly drafted by one of the cardinals and edited by the pope. In the final version, Gregory noted that due to the Church's influence, "there were no slaves allowed amongst the great majority of the Christian nations" in the Middle Ages. Subsequently, however, Christians, motivated by sheer greed, began to traffic in Indians and Negroes. This trade had been repeatedly condemned by the Holy See. He listed five of his predecessors who had forbidden it: Pius II (1462), Paul III (1537), Urban VIII (1639), Benedict XIV (1741), and Pius VII (1815). As the practice was still widespread among Christians he felt obligated to add his voice to those of the earlier popes and "vehemently admonish . . . that none henceforth dare to subject to slavery, unjustly persecute, or despoil of their goods, Indians, negroes, or other classes of men." Lay Catholics were informed that they would face excommunication if they disobeyed, and clergy, too, were sternly warned not to oppose this teaching. [...] In December 1839, Pope Gregory XVI issued In Supremo[.]

John Quinn ("'Three Cheers for the Abolitionist Pope!': American Reaction to Gregory XVI's Condemnation of the Slave Trade, 1840-1860"). Bolded emphases added.