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sparrows4bats · 14 days ago

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Wayne Farm AU Part 2

The Unicorn Incident starts like any other day. Bruce is trying to convince his son to leave his state of the art farm to go to school. He is failing.

Damian had been up all night with his pet tiger, Bianca. She was apparently feeling sad, and cuddles were the only solution.

Bruce had a heart attack when he got back from patrol to see Damians room empty and had Zeta Tubed to the farm.

(He had relented and outfitted the Cave at the farm with a zeta tube, bat computer, and small arsenal of emergency supplies. He's still not sure how Talia built an actual underground cave and then filled it with bats. He's a little upset that she bought the farm in the first place, but there is now another safe place for his children to go in case of emergency, so it's fine! Really! Also, Talia refuses to take it back)

He has a further heart attack when he finds him asleep with a fully grown tiger tucked firmly around him like a living blanket.

When he goes to wake his child up, he gets judgemental looks from the Tiger! She even growls at him when he dares to gently shake Damian awake.

His sleepy youngest son refuses to leave his tiger or his farm, and Bruce feels himself start to give in due to his pout and drowsy cuteness.

It does not help that Damian could have a PhD. by now if Bruce hadn't wanted him to socialise with people his own age who aren't superheros.

He considers getting Alfred to come and intervene, but Alfred takes great joy in Bruce dealing with his children's stubbornness as payback for the many tantrums and grey hairs Bruce caused the butler as a child.

Damian is debating the ethics and effectiveness of the American school system and how it has not been meaningfully innovated since the industrial revolution when something catches Bruce's eye.

Behind Damian and the judgemental tiger, there is a flash of white just outside the boundary of the enclosure.

Damian notices his gaze shift and stops arguing to turn around.

"Is that a unicorn?"

Bruce feels any hope he had for the day leave his body. "I think so." He looks at his transfixed child and dreads his next question."Is it yours?"

"No."

"Damian."

"Father."

"Did you get a unicorn and fail to inform me?"

"No, father, but I do have space in the stable if they require a home."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because we know nothing about it or where it even came from."

Damian looks over at the unicorn, who is happily munching on the wildflowers that Damian had grown around the farm to encourage the bee population. "They seem content."

"No. I am calling Constantine, and I'm sure we can find out where they belong and return them to their natural habitat." Bruce reasons.

Something in his wording must get through to his son because Damian nods and starts to leave the enclosure with Bruce following behind.

Bruce manages to get through to Constantine on the fourth try while he watches Damian inch closer and closer to the unicorn.

The warlock sounds like he just woke up, but after a few terse orders, a portal opens and a dishevelled John Constantine walks through, smoking a cigarette and glaring.

"Good morning to you." He grunts.

"Thank you for coming." Batman bites outs.

"Didn't give much of a choice now, did you? I expect a favour for waking me up, by the way."

Bruce glares harder and grunts.

"What can I do for you Batsy?"

"Get rid of it."

"What?"

"The unicorn, get rid of it. Now."

They are interrupted by said unicorn walking forward to Damians outstretched hand.

The boy gasps in delight when the mythical beast allows him to pet it. Its large head bent towards the child like an oversized dog.

"Shite. Well, no can do, I'm afraid."

"Explain." Bruce fights the urge to yank Damian back, away from the potential threat.

"Unicorns are stubborn, annoying, bastards. They keep themselves hidden from most of the world and usually have to be summoned through some heavy duty rituals to appear in this realm of existence."

"Then how did it end up here?" Bruce grits his teeth as his son leads the unicorn towards the stable to get it some food. It follows him happily.

The warlock is suddenly grinning at him. "The unicorn appears and basically chooses a person, someone they feel a connection to. Some think it's linked to purity of heart, but that's bullshit made up to sell t-shirts."

"Is it dangerous?!"

"No, not especially. It's like having a large magical stray cat. You can try to separate them, but Unicorns will just teleport back to their chosen person. Treat it well, and it looks like your little Robin will have a friend for life."

"No, get rid of it!"

"You try to convince an extradimensional horse with an attitude problem to leave his new human pet and then come talk to me." John Constantine looks delighted now. Bruce resists the urge to strangle him. Barely.

"It's looks like you have the space, at least," the sorcerer indicates to the meadows that surround them. "I thought you lived in a gothic castle or something. This doesn't really feel like your scen- is that a tiger?" The English man stops to stare at Bianca.

"It's not mine, it's robins."

"The kid has a farm? and a tiger?"

"They were a gift from his mother."

John looks at the Batman frown and starts laughing uncontrollably. "You mean to tell me that in the game of divorced parents, the great Batman is losing!"

"Shut it!" Bruce's order but that seems to make the man laugh harder.

"Father! The unicorn has requested to stay here, I have accepted this honour and, as such, need to acquire a few materials to ensure his care."

"Robin, that's not a good idea." Bruce tries to reason only to get interrupted by Damian stomping his foot.

"Fine, then I shall ask Mother. She is quite adept at finding magical items. She did so with Goliath ."

"Do not call your mother!"

John is looking between them like it's a tennis match. Bruce wants to wipe the grin off his face, badly.

Damian looks him imploringly. "So I can keep her?" The unicorn is standing behind his son using him as a scratching post.

Bruce wants to say no, force John Constantine to banish the damn unicorn away from Gotham but Damian is smiling as he pets his new friend.

He looks so happy and at peace that Bruce knows he is going to cave soon.

The unicorn takes the opportunity to mess up Damian hair while he giggles.

Bruce has never heard his son giggle before.

"Fine. But you have to go to school, no arguments."

"Thank you!" Damian actually separates from the magic horse to hug him, Bruce embraces him as enjoys the rare moment of affection.

Until John Constantine buts in. "Aww now isn't this lovely. So touching, huh Bats."

"Leave if youre not going to be helpful." Bruce orders over his sons head.

The warlock has a shit eating as he addresses Damian. "But I can help Unicorns prefer certain food and plants. I can get you a few books Robin."

"That would be much appreciated, Mr Constantine. As I have you here, is there anything you know about Dragons?"

"Dragons?"

"I have a Dragon and a Dragon bat both seem content, but I wish to provide them with more stimulation."

"Alright then, can I see them? Can't promise I'll be any help though ' John looks genuinely intrigued as Damian leads him on a tour of his farm, Bruce has a bad feeling about how quickly Damian takes to the magic user.

He is proved correct when a few weeks later, after John Constantine starts dropping off magical Strays, much to Damians delight.

Bruce is sure he is doing it to annoy him, and it is unfortunately working. He loses it after the gryphon shows up and starts racing with Goliath and Wiggles through the sky.

The Justice League is very confused why Batman is so murderous and John is so gleeful.

Luckily for the Hellblazer, Jon Kent replaces him on the top of Bruce's shit list soon enough.

#wayne farm au #damian wayne #batfamily #batfam #batman #supersons #dc comics #bruce wayne #john constantine #jondami #damijon

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

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Moonlight Waves

Yan Alien Human Guy Person + Jellyfish Hybrid Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None, pure fluff

“If you put some thought into it…The ocean and space have a lot in common.”

Vast, boundless frontiers- Depths and reach never to be fully unveiled to the eyes of man. All imposing surfaces blanketing both heaven and earth. Two opposing bodies that on nights just like this might align, conjoined by midnight and the luminous orb mirrored upon them both. The full moon was a blessed companion for those who found themselves alone on eves similar to this- Solace and guidance found in her radiance.

“Whelp- Guess it's time to throw myself.”

Wiser folk have said desperate times call for desperate measures- While there were lesser extremes he could have gone to, this seemed like the quickest solution to their predicament. Twenty-four years on this planet and they had still yet to conquer the strenuous feat that was learning how to swim. His mothers were gentle in their upbringing- Apparently too gentle as they never pressured their child into braving the horrors of the swimming pool. On one hand, the biggest factor to their child's fear may have been the fact that it was their neighbor’s pool - and it'd be quite difficult to explain the eerie glow to their toddler's tears and the stains they left on clothing.

They were fine with it early on, but as he grew - Alien realized how much he was missing out on being unable to swim. Most humans know how to swim by their age anyway which would give less credit to his claims of an earth born and raised member of the population….Which they were regardless of whether or not they knew how to swim.

Alien squares his shoulders, testing the binds of numerous weights anchoring various parts of their body. Unsatisfied with the distribution, he plucks a stone from the moist sand surrounding his legs - unfastening the velcro of their right breast pocket and adding it to the collection. A horde of trinkets ranging from shells to stones to a couple marbles crowded each pocket from the vest they wore down to the swimming trunks they purchased for the occasion. So what if his body was more buoyant than the average human being- requiring additional weight to avoid floating off into the endless sea. Alien had always been a scrawny person-

“That should be enough- Wait…Is that?”

Srounging for more space to stuff the final stone, a gentle glow envelopes their fingertips following a faint- snap! Alien pushes the rocks and shells aside, wrestling the shining band from beneath them with minimal effort.

*Jackpot! I thought I used all of these already. With this baby on, I'm definitely ready for this. Wish me luck up here!”

Alien gazes up at the moon as they slip the glow-stick bracelet onto their arm. It's the last thing they see as their legs carry the rest of them towards the end of the cliff. Had it not been a full moon or the sky so clear- tonight may have gone different for them. They could've swallowed their pride, and went to bed with intentions to sign up for the nearest swim class come morning. Realistically, Alien knew he'd never go through with that plan, but it was nice in theory. Safer too-

Head lost in the cloudless sky, Alien yelps as the ground is swept from beneath them - their screams swiftly snuffed by gallons of water as they're dragged into a plummet off the cliff's edge. Their body connects with the sea, pockets of air bubbling to the surface from the force at which they collide. The oxygen escaping him would have been alarming - had they any need for it. Whether they could hold their breath or their biology simply skipped the stage where their lungs depended on air was a secret they'd take to the grave.

Sinking fast, Alien realizes what some might call a flaw in their ingenious plan.

Perhaps, just maybe, they potentially added too much weight for them to claw their way back to the surface.

…

Ah well.

Since they're already down here, there's no harm in exploring. Hard to see much beyond the gleam of their jewelry dangling freely around their wrist, but they dig the vibe of it all - drifting weightlessly without aim or reason. The deeper they dove, the brighter the natural fluorescence of their skeleton bled through their skin. Alien had heard of a condition that made people's skin slightly yellow before. Surely the green glow of their bones had to be in the same family. The shine widens their range of sight. By now, it was hard to decipher which way they were facing. The moon had long since faded from view….

Oh, wait. There it is..

….

Is it?

Stranging their eyes through the blackened depths of the ocean, Alien can clearly make something out miles away from them - shrouded by a halo of light. It almost mimics their guideless descent - floating off course before gradually aligning itself in a mostly linear ascent towards them. That alone was enough evidence whatever they were looking at was not the moon. The fluctuation of its surface and the four, almost crescent shaped markings atop only served as further proof. Inch by inch, as the space between them grew narrow, Alien could make out more of its features. Flowing tendrils, a pair of arms floating freely at its sides, a face adorned with a dopey smile.

Face to face, the near angelic like figure raises one of its hands - waving its fingers at the unfamiliar face within its territory. Alien’s eyes tighten from the phosphorescence of the creature's skin. Ignoring the sting, Alien lifts his own hand, mirroring the entity’s motions. The corners of its smile peak higher upon its face, head following the dim glow of their bracelet. The lightly draws focus to the stones bulging from his pockets. The creature's grin falters into tight lipped confusion.

“Hey…Hey!”

Alien struggles to make a sound as its hands paw at the straps of their pockets. Successfully tearing the sleeve open, the creature yanks out every rock, every shell- It pauses briefly to marvel at the eye of the marbles in Alien's pocket before shoving them beneath the cap of their head as they continue. Depleting their vest of its contents was all it took to send Alien on their upwards rise towards the surface. The angel waves again before swimming its way to the top, gliding gracefully as a true angel would through the sky. It grabs onto Alien's wrist, tugging him along with them as he apparently took too long for their liking.

Alien could only watch on in awe as the darkness peeled away - moonlight adding on to the ethereal, otherworldly glimmer that was this being and its flesh. Could this be Alien's first encounter with an extraterrestrial? There was no possible way a creature of this radiance was from earth. They just couldn't be-

The creature releases their hold on Alien's wrist as they breach air. Alien finds himself searching for their touch, and another item he appeared to be missing. The angel, the only term Alien found fit for them, wandered towards the shore without him- back facing the sand as they spun a glowing band around their finger. Alien channels the knowledge of every training video they viewed before their trip as they doggy paddle in the general direction of the shore. Thankfully, there was still enough weight in their shorts to keep them perfectly balanced between drifting off and going under.

The energy is depleted from their very soul by the time they reach their destination. The angel sits with its lower half still bathed by the oncoming tide, rolling a marble through the crystalized sand. It throws its arm into the air as Alien appears.

The angel waves. Alien, running on fumes and the strange heartache that would come from not reciprocating their kind gesture- waves back.

The angel helps Alien sit upright, returning the marbles they had borrowed back into the land dweller’s pocket from which they can. Alien fishes out of the marble they saw the angel toy with and gives it back to them.

“Keep that one… So- you got a name?”

The angel’s mouth falls open in a “O” of both surprise and honor at the present. They brush the sand smooth before rolling the marble through it once more. Inspecting their craft, Alien can make out letters the further along the angel continues.

“Y/n? That's your name?”

You clap your hands in praise, sound and ferocity increased by the wetness of your palms. Cute.

“You, uh, come here often?”

The point of your finger towards the water states the obvious fact that you live here. A murmur akin to laughter slips past your lips at that one.

“You got me there… The sea’s pretty big, though. What I'm asking is can I see you again?”

You tap a finger to your chin in thought, head dipping towards the bracelet now hanging from your own wrist. You point to it, hope and wonder present in your grin.

“You like the bracelet? You can keep that too. I can bring you more if that's what you're asking.”

Clapping again, you latch onto Alien's side - merging your fingers with theirs as you hold them both to the sky. Moonlight pours through your skin and theirs, transparency muddled by the existence of their bones. Your head falls to their chest- a whisper so quiet they almost missed it.

“Like me…”

They're glad that they didn't.

#alien my oc #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere fluff #yandere drabble

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satanicbard · 17 days ago

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As a person who studies Psychology and Sociology, it's just concerning watching any sort of feminist or leftist discourse. I didn't expect we'd be straight up using conservative phrases so soon. "These people are born bad," "We need to stop coddling kids and toughen them up," "do your own research." I mean, we've already reached a point of using "young men" in the way the news uses it to describe a 12-year-old black kid who was murdered by cops.

As we know, Martin Luther King Jr.'s success was in being rude and uneducated, whilst also refusing to offer solutions or to educate! So many people say "white men" when they are often describing boys under 18, a lot of whom are coloured. I'm curious if they do this because they're genuinely ignorant or intentionally othering.

Labelling theory (severely simplified) tells us that constantly telling a population, "You're a criminal," will internalize this belief of their self-worth and be criminals.

4th wave feminism tells us that the patriarchy harms men too, and women have a hand in reinforcing the patriarchy. It's not like bell hooks is some fancy new speaker, these ideas are 25 years old! Thats plenty of time for any self-respecting progressive to learn about. So why does it feel like literally no one knows or respects her ideas?

Worst thing, Gen X (average age 45~) and Gen Alpha (average age 7~), are moving right the fastest. So midlife crisis and barely teens AT BEST.

In the end, people offer no solutions on purpose. It reinforces their belief that everything is fucked and they're poor progressives against the machine. It lets them feel like rebels in a dystopian movie, when in fact they're bystanders allowing fascists to win. Just because you reframe your complicity in fascism and the patriarchy as "leftist suffering" doesn't make it any less complicit.

Here's a kindergarten-level solution, since it seems we need it, practice basic empathy for people. Including those you don't agree with. Understanding why people do bad things is extremely useful. It allows for both intervention and preventive measures.

#leftism #feminism #politics #mental health #men #progressives #yeah its all fucked

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loki-god-of-mischief-13 · 4 months ago

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I never knew the Bibas family but,

When I look at the pictures of Kfir and Ariel I see my little brother when he was their ages.

I see a baby I know who’s only a little younger than Kfir.

I see the kids I teach in Ariel, he looks like he could have very well fit in that class.

I see the faces my mom and moms I know on Shiri.

The Jewish population isn’t large, but we are so connected. It’s something gentiles may not understand. I feel connected to Jews who I haven’t even met. When I look at the faces of the people taken or killed by Hamas I see my cousins in them grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, I see my brothers in them, I see my Jewish friends and I see myself in them.

I am filled with so much anger, but mostly grief and sadness.

On October 7th the Nova festival, a sight I went to, it was one of the biggest attacks that day, it was a musical festival for peace. Some people there were working to try to bring peace to Israel and Palestine, they were part of charities and groups. It was Simchat Torah a happy festival, but it ended in tragedy, with many of those advocating for peace killed or kidnapped.

I do not hate Palestinians, I do not wish death on civilians, I want peace. I want this war to end, for the people to come home, peace and safety for both Israel and Palestine. Even though this is a sad day, I have hope, I have hope for the two state solution and for peace

#jumblr #israel #am yisrael chai #bring them home now #May their memories be a blessing #Palestine #free palestine from hamas #two state solution #fuck hamas #bibas family #kfir bibas #ariel bibas #shiri bibas

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blackstarlineage · 4 months ago

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Black Parenting from a Garveyite Perspective: Raising a Physically, Mentally, and Economically Empowered Generation

From a Garveyite perspective, parenting is not just about raising children—it is about nation-building. Marcus Garvey believed that the survival and liberation of Black people depended on how the next generation was trained, educated, and prepared for self-reliance. This means that Black parents have a sacred duty to raise strong, disciplined, self-sufficient, and Pan-African-minded children who can continue the fight for global Black empowerment.

However, today, many Black families face challenges caused by centuries of systemic oppression, miseducation, and economic exploitation, making it difficult to pass down Garvey’s principles. The failure to properly prepare Black children for independence has led to cycles of dependency, confusion, and weakness that prevent true liberation.

This analysis will explore:

The role of physical discipline and structure in Garveyite parenting.

The importance of instilling self-reliance and economic independence in Black children.

Why Black parents must raise their children with an African-centered identity.

How modern influences (media, school systems, and Western ideologies) weaken Black parenting.

The Garveyite solution to rebuilding Black family structures for true empowerment.

1. The Role of Physical Discipline and Structure in Garveyite Parenting

Discipline, structure, and responsibility are essential in Garveyite parenting. A weak and undisciplined generation cannot lead a revolution, which is why Garvey believed in raising strong-willed, courageous, and self-controlled Black children.

A. Black Children Must Be Raised for Leadership, Not Servitude

The Western world conditions Black children to be obedient workers, not self-sufficient leaders.

Black parents must train their children to think critically, take responsibility, and reject laziness and dependency.

This requires strong parental guidance, discipline, and clear expectations from a young age.

Example: Garvey’s own mother, Sarah Jane Richards, raised him with strict discipline and a sense of duty, shaping him into a leader.

B. The Decline of Strong Parenting and the Rise of Western “Softness”

Many Black parents have adopted European parenting styles that promote excessive leniency, entitlement, and emotional weakness.

Modern Western culture discourages physical discipline, labelling it as “abuse,” while white society continues to use institutional discipline (prisons, policing, military training) to control Black populations.

Without strong discipline at home, Black children grow up unprepared for the real world and fall into criminal, economic, or social traps designed by white supremacy.

Example: Studies show that Black boys raised without firm discipline and strong father figures are more likely to end up in the prison system, dead, or economically disadvantaged.

Key Takeaway: Garveyite parenting requires structure, discipline, and responsibility—raising children to be leaders, not victims.

2. Teaching Black Children Self-Reliance and Economic Independence

Garveyism teaches that Black people must own and control their own wealth, yet many Black families fail to pass down economic education to their children.

A. Black Parents Must Teach Economic Survival Early

Most Black children are raised to become workers for white-owned businesses instead of entrepreneurs and investors.

Garveyite parenting requires that children learn financial literacy, business skills, and self-reliance from an early age.

Black parents must reject the culture of excessive consumerism (spending on designer brands, entertainment, and materialism) and teach wealth-building strategies.

Example: The Jewish, Chinese, and Indian communities prioritize economic education and family wealth-building, while Black communities often focus on short-term spending rather than long-term ownership.

B. The Lack of Black-Owned Institutions and the Generational Wealth Gap

Most Black children grow up without seeing Black-owned banks, businesses, or institutions, making them mentally conditioned to depend on white-owned systems.

Black parents must expose their children to successful Black entrepreneurs, investors, and leaders who prove that self-reliance is possible.

Example: Marcus Garvey built the Negro Factories Corporation and Black Star Line to show Black people they could own and operate their own industries—a lesson that must be passed down.

Key Takeaway: Black parents must prepare their children to be job creators, not job seekers. Economic independence starts at home.

3. Raising Children with an African-Centered Identity

Western education systems indoctrinate Black children to see themselves as inferior, which is why Garveyism demands that Black parents take control of their children’s cultural education.

A. The Importance of Teaching African History and Pride

Many Black children do not know their history beyond slavery because schools deliberately erase African civilizations, heroes, and contributions.

Black parents must counteract this by educating their children about African greatness, Pan-Africanism, and revolutionary Black leaders.

A child who knows their roots can not be mentally enslaved.

Example: Garvey established the Negro World newspaper and UNIA youth programs to educate Black children about their heritage and global struggle.

B. Rejecting European Beauty Standards and Cultural Conditioning

Many Black parents fail to teach their children to love their natural African features, leading to self-hate and colorism.

The media bombards Black youth with white beauty standards, making them reject their natural skin, hair, and African identity.

Black parents must actively reinforce self-love, African beauty, and pride in Blackness from childhood.

Example: The Natural Hair Movement and African fashion revival are examples of Black parents pushing back against European beauty norms.

Key Takeaway: If Black children do not know their history and identity, they will forever be slaves to Western definitions of success and beauty.

4. The Threat of Media and Western Education on Black Parenting

Garvey understood that Black children’s minds are being shaped by white-controlled institutions, including:

Schools that teach false history and discourage Black children from embracing their own culture.

Media that promotes negative stereotypes of Black people, leading to internalized self-hate and destructive behavior.

Social media and entertainment that push hyper-consumerism, promiscuity, violence, and superficial values.

Example: Many Black parents allow hip-hop, Hollywood, and white-washed education systems to raise their children instead of teaching them African-centered values at home.

Key Takeaway: Black parents must control the messages their children receive, or white supremacy will do it for them.

5. The Garveyite Solution to Black Parenting and Nation-Building

To reverse the decline of strong Black parenting, Garveyism provides the following solutions:

Establish Black homeschooling networks – Remove Black children from white-controlled education and teach them the truth.

Strengthen Black family structures – Promote stable Black marriages, fatherhood, and community-based child-rearing.

Teach economic empowerment from childhood – Give children real financial education, entrepreneurship skills, and wealth-building knowledge.

Reject Western culture’s negative influences – Control media exposure, reinforce African values, and protect Black children from harmful ideologies.

Raise Black children to be Pan-African revolutionaries – Train them to fight for Black self-determination, just as Garvey’s UNIA trained youth in leadership.

Final Takeaway: Garveyite parenting is about building warriors, not weaklings. If Black parents do not prepare their children for power, white supremacy will prepare them for failure.

Conclusion: Parenting is Nation-Building

Marcus Garvey’s vision of a strong, united Black nation depends on how Black parents raise their children. Without disciplined, self-reliant, and Pan-African-minded youth, Black people will remain at the mercy of white oppression.

The future of Black power begins at home.

As Garvey said:

"The man who is not able to develop and use his mind is bound to be the slave of the other man who uses his mind."

The time to reclaim Black parenting as a revolutionary act is NOW.

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argumate · 4 months ago

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there are a few reasons for why someone might wish to reduce the level of immigration rather than increase it:

it's illegal to build housing, so there will be nowhere for them to live -- this is a valid concern! a society where it is illegal or very costly to build housing will have difficulties with immigration, and population growth in general, new family formation, seniors downsizing, people living closer to their jobs, in fact there will be many problems; please consider legalising the construction of housing immediately, it makes everything so much easier.

we don't have enough schools/hospitals/trains for more people -- similar to a housing shortage this is a valid concern and has a similar solution: build more infrastructure! if you have a shortage of vital infrastructure and an inability to construct more then that will be a constant drag on growth regardless of immigration.

immigrants reduce wages -- this is a complicated one as it gets tangled up in so many different hypotheses:

immigrants that are not allowed to work may work illegally and accept low wages without complaint as they fear deportation, while immigrants that have rights may demand higher wages.

population increase does not automatically lower wages as people consume as well as work (wages rose faster in the 1960s despite population growth being high).

if immigrants reduce wages, why doesn't that lower prices? if lower wages flow through to higher corporate profits then that suggests issues with market concentration and lack of competition that are independent of immigration.

many industries have gatekeeping bottlenecks that prevent new workers from joining in order to keep wages high, like healthcare (which often leads to a two tier system where e.g. nurses might be paid less than doctors if they aren't protected by the same guild).

immigrants require too much public support -- another complicated one if you believe that immigrants work too much for too little, since this idea suggests that immigrants import excess consumption instead of excess production; of course it's possible that young immigrants work hard and don't consume much in the way of healthcare while older immigrants work less and consume more healthcare, so both assertions could be true simultaneously depending on which immigrants you are talking about (in practice I don't think it's the case that immigrants or their descendants consume noticeably more public support than non-immigrants).

immigrants might be axe murderers -- unclear whether this belief relies on immigrants having committed axe murders in the past or planning to commit them in the future, but with crime rates at historic lows it seems that axe murders fluctuate due to reasons that are not tied to immigration levels (and there are so many candidates to choose from: social policy, incarceration rates, abortion access, lead in the petrol, war and mass mobilisation, availability of mobile phones and the internet, dozens more hypotheses).

immigrants might make people racist -- this sounds funny but it's true that due to the way people get tribal (and unfortunate media incentives) if any immigrant does turn out to be an axe murderer then it will potentially prejudice popular opinion against all immigrants, much like the way if a serial killer turns out to be a middle aged man it justifies treating all middle aged men as serial killers, etc.

I'm ignoring the overtly racist reasons why someone might want to constrain immigration as those are unpleasant; there are obviously a lot of covertly or implicitly racist reasons but I think it's better to take them at face value first.

I believe there are strong moral and economic arguments in favour of what you might call a "let people do what the fuck they want" policy towards immigration, and that most of the challenges to adopting this relate to self-inflicted own goals where a society shoots itself in the dick by making it impossible to build housing where people want to live, or impossible to build power stations, or impossible to build train lines, and then laments the lack of the infrastructure necessary for life; we don't have to do this, and we could all be a lot richer if we just stopped choosing not to be.

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reasonsforhope · 6 months ago

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Article

The number of children dying under five years of age declined by two thirds over the past two decades in Southern Asia, according to new mortality estimates released by UNICEF, the World Health Organization (WHO), the United Nations Population Division and the World Bank Group. Southern Asia includes nine countries: Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Iran, Maldives, Nepal, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka.

The report reveals that the number of child deaths under 5 years of age decreased from 5 million in 1990 to 1.3 million in 2022. The report also shows that Southern Asia’s under five mortality rate, or the probability that a child would die before five years of age, reduced by 72 per cent since 1990, and 62 per cent since 2000.

“We have made heartening progress to save millions of children’s lives since 1990. These aren’t just numbers on a page – these are children’s lives saved, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. This success is largely due to investments in trained health workers, improvements in newborn care, treatment of childhood illnesses and vaccinations for children against deadly diseases,” said Sanjay Wijesekera, UNICEF Regional Director for Southern Asia. “This progress shows us that change is possible. These lives saved are testament to the engagement and will of governments, local organizations, health care professionals such as skilled birth attendants, parents, and families to save the most vulnerable children.” ...

Despite this progress, however, much more needs to be done...

The report also reveals that progress among countries is uneven. Three countries (Iran, Sri Lanka and Maldives) have achieved the SDG 2030 target for under five child mortality reduction and four are on track to meet the target (India, Bangladesh, Bhutan and Nepal). For example, Bangladesh’s neonatal mortality rate decreased from 66 deaths per 1,000 live births in 1990, to 17 deaths per 1,000 live births in 2022.

However, in Pakistan and Afghanistan, urgent action is required to accelerate their annual rates of reduction substantially to meet 2030 targets...

“We call on governments across the region to invest in simple solutions such as having trained birth attendants at every birth, ensuring that all newborns have essential care, better care of small and sick newborn babies, medicines, clean water, electricity, and vaccines to save lives. Every child has the right to healthcare.”

-via UNICEF, March 14, 2024

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angeldoll2000 · 2 years ago

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Blessed Be The Fruit

Soft!Dark!Sergeant!Tommy Shelby x Maiden!Reader

Word Count: +1,620

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Hints of misogyny, Loss of virginity, Mild gore (blood), Cunnilingus, Mentions of past kidnapping.

Author's Notes: This is a one shot. It's a fanfiction that has a few ideas from the handmaiden’s tale that are altered cause it's my fic lol.

As the population decreases, the government has no choice but to intervene. Every citizen is now required to marry past a certain age. Those who were part of the military or government, were given a registry of approved wives to choose from. Often the families of the women were forced to participate. Yours was one of them. It was a week after you turned twenty when an officer knocked on your parents' door. He will inform you of the news. A husband has finally chosen you.

You read the profile of your soon-to-be husband, Sergeant Tommy Shelby. He'd served in the British army for a few years, returning home as a decorated solider. His first wife had been murdered, the second divorced. Your eyes rake down the list. A widower who'd been married twice. He'd lost his youngest daughter to an illness, his first son in a local gang's crossfire. Charlie is his last remaining heir. He can't risk losing him, what Tommy needs now is a spare.

You remember your earlier days of scouting. Should any family find themselves under bankruptcy, their daughters will be forced into the draft. A law passed by the government to decrease the poverty line. You along with the other women were kidnapped and forced to attend months of dreadful etiquette classes.

Training you on how to walk, talk, behave, and care for the home. In simpler terms, you had to learn how to sell yourself as someone interesting enough to marry. You were a brand, put on display for any eligible bachelors. Only at the graduation ceremony did you feel relieved. Finally allowed to return home.

Every family that had been in the registry was part of the working class. They'd been forcibly placed in the registry because of debt or bankruptcy. It was the government's solution to decrease the amount of poverty. Their daughters would be used as sacrificial lambs. Otherwise, they'd be rounded up and forced into imprisonment, or worse. How could you say no with such a severe punishment?

He has given you a week. A week to come with him willingly or face the consequences. It rained on the day of the wedding, the ceremony itself was cut short by how dangerous the weather became. Your now husband wastes no time dragging you away and into a car. He wastes time returning home. Tommy led the way to the bedroom. There were certain things to expect on your wedding night. A contract that now legally binds you to him.

There is a list of conditions that the each of you were to follow. One being him taking care of you and your family, as long as you promise to give him an heir. However, many it would be. There was one last thing to seal the contract, marriage consummation. Mandatory by law, punishable by imprisonment. You remember the advice given by the elderly women who worked for the registry program. As soon as you spot the bed, covered in white sheets, your breathing hitches.

Tommy faces away from you, stripping himself of his coat. You remove each strap and let the dress slip off. You approach the bed, now splayed in only a white lace set, relaxing on your side. You tilt your head. Now gazing at your new husband with a playful smirk. If only he knew what was going on inside that little head of yours. How badly you wanted to break free.

A happy husband means an easy life.

That's what the elders had taught you. He turns around, taken aback by your sudden eagerness. His cold eyes rake your figure. He starts to approach the bed. Your seductive expression starts to crack. You find yourself now trapped under his cold, hard gaze. Still, there was too much at stake.

Appeasing your husband is what keeps the house in order.

This wasn't just a marriage consummation, it's a test to see if your husband wants to keep you. Everyone you love and care for will pay for one mistake, and that terrifies you.

A good wife must tend to all his needs.

That's when he gave the orders, "Present," to which you immediately began removing the rest of your garments. A procedure all the wives had practiced for. You feel a calloused hand holding your hip in place. Both hands digging into the soft blankets below. It takes everything in you not to burst into tears. Because good wives hide their pain well. He spits into the palm of his hand, spreading the slick on his length. He starts to pump himself, tugging on his cock a few times. But only enough to get it hard.

Tommy doesn't want to waste any more time. He presses his tip against your entrance, dragging it up and down your slit. He spits at your entrance before pushing in. Tears form in the corners of your eyes. You held back a scream, digging your nails into the bed. He places an arm to each side, shifting his bodyweight against yours. A grunt of discomfort broke from your lips. It felt like he was breaking you in.

There's only one thing that Tommy needs from you. Tonight, he's going to make sure it happens. If not, then he'll breed you every day until you take. He doesn't want to stop from there, no. You'll give him another one, then another after that. As many as he can make from that tight cunt of yours. Just the thought of it has him moaning, "Fuck...so good for me...my wife..." he juts his hips, finding a rhythm, "You will obey me," he fastens his pace, with both hands now grabbing your hips in a firm grip, "Your only job is to give me an heir," Tommy starts to lose himself in the pleasure.

It had been a while since he's had a good fuck. His brows furrow from how hard you were squeezing him, "Fuck...such a tight cunt..." he groans, he hovers over your naked form. His body heat spreading to your back. A thick wall of muscle traps you against the bed. He growls in your ear, "It's going to be like this every day...every day until this womb gives me an heir," a promise he's going to make sure comes true.

Tommy's grunts became louder as he was close. Sweat trickles from his body to yours, the intensity of it reduced you to a whining mess. He splays his body flush against yours. A stray of curse words escapes his lips, "Fuck...fuck so good...so good for me..." he dips his head in the crook of your neck, muffling one last moan before bottoming out. He doesn't remove himself, no. Tommy kept you plugged with his spunk. He pushes his length in as far as it could go before pulling out.

He flips over right next to you to catch his breath. When he hears sniffling, he turns his head. What made his little wife upset? He turns you over. Your eyes are red, there are tear tracks that trailed down each cheek. Spit had dribbled down your chin and onto the bed. Tommy had a gift for reading people. It was obvious you were trying to keep a plain expression. He hovers over you now with a stern look on his face. Tommy is determined to find the source of your worries.

That's when he felt it, the small wet patch on the bedding. Blots of crimson were in stark contrast to the white sheets below. You cower under his gaze. Frozen by fear yet still, you try to please him. But Tommy could see it clearly, and he wouldn't have it. He reaches below your knees, pulling you closer towards him. He lifts your lower half, until your bare slit is close enough to his mouth.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar sensation has you gasping. Tommy flattens his tongue against your core, dragging it up and down your slit. He takes his time, suckling and kissing at your sex. Practically smothering himself in it as he thrusts his tongue inside your spent cunt. You press a palm flat against your mouth, muffling any whimpers that would escape. Now this wasn't something you were prepared for.

Tommy wraps his lips around that bundle of nerves you whine. Your hole twitches with need, he'll fix that. Tommy slowly stretches the now slick opening, collecting any slickness he would need. He latches his mouth around your bud while thrusting his fingers in and out. Faster and faster, until a wave of pleasure has you arching your back. A gush of arousal splashes his chin, but he doesn't stop. Not even after you're pumping at his fingers in a vice grip. He keeps thrusting them at a rapid pace, until you've come undone again. He retreats from your drenched sex with a triumphant 'huff'.

You were exhausted, trying your best to catch breath. All you could do was stare at Tommy though hooded eyelids. He's sporting a cocky smirk, "I'm sorry dear wife," he interwinds his fingers with yours, holding them in place, "Do you forgive me?" licking up the slick on his lips. A flush of pink is spread across his face and ears. His icy blues are now overpowered by the large iris'. You could only give a faint nod, too tired to react as he pulls you in.

There the two of you lay, sprawled naked across the bed sheets. Your head against his chest as he brushes his hands though the locks. Tommy lets you rest for now. He sighs, "understanding now that you weren't a willing participant. All for the sake of 'societal standards'. He won't give you a harder life than it already had been. "Blessed be the fruit," he announces, marking the end of the night.

#dark!tommy shelby #dark!tommy shelby x reader #dark!tommy shelby x you #reader #reader insert #dark!fic #dark!fanfic #dark!fanfiction #dark!smut #dark fic #dark fanfic #dark fanfiction #dark smut

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holy-puckslibrary · 1 year ago

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— 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬.

pairing(s) — dilf!ERIK JOHNSON x ex-nanny!wife!reader (established); REESE JOHNSON (oc) x ex-nanny!stepmom!reader (platonic / familial)

wc — 4.7k synopsis — family weekend forces reese’s worlds to collide. results are… mixed note — i just really love reese. that's it :) and how dilfy does mr johnson look in that gif good lord

the nanny (series masterlist) | main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — age gap relationship (erik and the reader, established), vulgar college boys with no respect, busy-bodies who cannot mind their own beeswax, possessive!erik, pregnant!reader (not discussed in detail), sweet bby reese in peril :(

REESE JOHNSON has a problem.

It’s the sort of anxiety-trodden predicament that could’ve been soothed into nothingness had he spoken up sooner. He didn’t because he couldn’t. That was part of the problem.

And now it’s too late—for solutions or comfort.

The teen, now a second-semester freshman at the University of Denver, had long since adjusted to the heightened scrutiny of his family in the early days of your relationship with his father. Everyone online had to throw in their two cents on the “illicit affair.” Even people who didn’t give a shit about hockey (evidenced by their inability to name a single team) felt they had a right to weasel their way in. While irritating and uncomfortable, the harsh reads didn’t bother him for too long because Reese knew the truth.

He also knew how unnecessarily ruthless people could be when they had a screen to hide behind. The son of a prominent figure in professional sports, Reese knew people stared at him through a very particular lens. It veered toward a rosy sheen every so often, but mostly it was smudged glass. Like a fish tank whose walls were muddy with the greasy impressions spectators left behind. Strangers offering commentary on his father’s life, and by extension his too, was part of the gig.

Frankly, the aftermath wasn’t much different than before. Only the subject matter changed. If it wasn’t thinly veiled insults about Erik’s waning career or his prior inability to keep a girlfriend, it was overly critical evaluations of Reese’s prowess or lack thereof and, unsurprisingly, comparisons between father and son. Without fail, the verbiage and tone implied competition, hinting that their healthy bond was only a bit of showmanship to hide the rocky resentment beneath.

This weekend is different. Sure, his teammates and friends had already gotten ample face-time with both of his parents, as well as his kid sister, but never all at once. Though they all did their best to coordinate, busy schedules rendered a revolving cheering section for Reese Johnson.

This weekend—family weekend—will change that. By some stroke of luck (or a cruel twist of fate, the jury's still out on that one), everyone would be here… together. And that’s not to say he isn’t grateful for their effort or that he isn’t excited because he is. Reese is thrilled to share this new slice of life with his loved ones. It’s just that…

Reese knows how it looks when they venture out into the world.

Not that his dad is exactly old or even old-looking. In the same way you aren’t questionably young. Still, the age difference is noticeable. Before you were more than a nanny to the Johnsons (if you were ever just a nanny to begin with), it was easier for on-lookers to assess the dynamic, and still, albeit seldomly, they would drum up gossip. Things got remarkably more awkward, though, after his father finally plucked up the courage to propose, and increased tenfold once Erik had a gold band to match. It was as if the wedding ushered in the open season on Johnsons.

More times than he cared to count, Reese found himself cupping Josie’s ears to keep his little sister from hearing jeering crowds calling their dad an old pervert and you a shameless gold-digger. No one’s had to explain what a “sugar daddy” is (or why it's the first thing that auto-populates when you plug ‘Erik Johnson’ into Google), but the burden would’ve fallen on Reese if he hadn’t left her in the car while he ran in to grab a takeout order last summer.

But Erik’s eldest isn’t just worried about his family existing outside the warmth and safety of their insulated bubble. His sleepless nights are filled with fear. Fear of the pain and sadness he’ll undoubtedly feel about it all now that he sees you less as his friend and more as a maternal figure.

Reese’s always been protective; it's led to many a fight with his own father and, sometimes, his own sister. He’s the first to rush to your aid and the strongest force in your defense. The habit, however, strengthened when his perspective shifted as swiftly as flipping a switch.

Suddenly, you weren’t just his dad’s girlfriend or the person who made him pancakes in the morning. Or the savior who dropped off his English paper because he was in such a hurry he left it on the printer. You were a confidant, someone he called for when he was in a bad spot or when he wanted to see the latest mind-numbingly bad action flick. When he asked his date to prom, it was you he wanted help from. When Reese was sick, your home remedies worked better than anything store-bought or concocted by his dad. When practice ran over, he could count on you to wait up with his dinner hot and ready, the rest of the house already fast asleep.

For the first time since he could remember, the Dad-shaped gap wasn’t devastating. It hurt like a bitch, but it was bearable because he had another adult—another parent—he could rely on. In every sense of the word, you were his mom.

And no one wants to hear disgusting lies about their mom.

However, Reese hasn’t called you that yet. At least, not to your face. In passing to his childhood friends or when referring to you with Josie, sure, and once or twice over the phone with Erik, but when he calls for you, he uses your first name like he's still your “nanny-kid.” But it's not for a lack of trying. It’s just that every time he thinks he’s worked up the nerve, the three letters catch in his throat like molasses, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

Moments like those are the rare few he wishes he were Josie instead of himself. His jovial spitfire of a sister never missed a chance. During her lunch block with classmates, on the phone with their extended family, to strangers at Avs games, or on the sidewalk, the moniker slipped off Josie Johnson’s tongue like water down a slide. Their dad liked to poke fun, warning her to be careful so as not to wear it out from overuse.

Maybe it was the sister snuggled in your stomach that tightened his throat. The baby that could and would call you “Mom” with little effort beyond mastering the string of sound. The baby that would grow up not knowing you as anything besides her mother. It was a shade of ownership Reese felt hesitant to touch. No matter how desperately he yearned to.

The closest he’s come is penning in the title beneath your name on the lanyard that’ll hang from your neck for upcoming festivities. It was a small gesture. Still, it felt like too much and not enough all at once.

Reese is caught between wanting to honor the bond and all you’ve done with the accurate label and the fear of explicitly acknowledging it stirs in his chest. At least in this limbo of sorts, as cumbersome as it's become, Reese can have what he’s always wanted and keep you in his life without risking capsizing the boat with an awkward declaration. It’s an uneasy compromise, but it's the devil he knows. At least he knows what and when to feed it.

Reese hates that he’s letting his worries dictate his life. It's just… hard. No one tells kids how to navigate gaining a new parent or any of the baggage that unique situation carries. No one tells kids how to trust the position’s new occupant not to follow in their predecessor’s footsteps. In his heart, Reese knows you won’t run. But knowing that doesn’t shut down the nagging voice in the back of his mind. The one that drones on like a broken record, telling him that the burden of the word, knotted with his expectations, will be his family’s unraveling.

He couldn’t do that to Josie. To his dad. Or to you and the little sister you’re carrying.

So, he’ll stomach it. For how long, Reese isn’t sure. But, for now, he’ll stand on the outskirts of the minefield, bidding time.

"Johnson! Your whole family's coming, right?" Kody, a junior defenseman from Fort Collins, yanks Reese from his downward spiral.

The last place he wants to be right now is out in the world. The last thing he needs is to cannonball himself back into the fishbowl. Even if the phantom audience never spoke to him, sometimes their heavy attention pushing into his back was enough to send Reese reeling.

But he made a promise to make more of an effort. To be more social, to have more fun—to take life a little less seriously.

In his mind, if he was at school to learn and play hockey, there was little room to wiggle. Sure, Reese has had his fair share of adolescent recklessness and could lean toward boyish immaturity at times, but at his core, he was a rule-follower. A responsibility fiend with a penchant for playing the white knight. A stickler for structure. When given the choice between a teenage dream and a full-grown reality, the freshman chose the latter nine times out of ten.

Reese Johnson’s moral compass weighs down his back pocket; he feels most at peace when things fit neatly into their proper boxes. Good and bad, black and white. One or the other, never both.

Stress and anxiety exacerbate his mental rigidity. And he’s been so fucking far from zen lately.

Reese would’ve broken the stupid promise if it’d been made to anyone besides you. So, when a few of the upperclassmen on the team appeared at his dorm with an invitation to get pizza, he begrudgingly accepted.

It isn’t so bad. Far from awful this far. Definitely not the worst way to spend an evening. His teammates were alright enough guys, and their girlfriends weren’t as callous as he’d expected. Reese just found it hard to connect with them, a situation that couldn’t be more different than his previous team experience.

With his childhood friends, it all clicked. Fell into place without much real effort from any of them. There was an awkward period, but it ended within the first month and, honestly, had more to do with prepubescent cringe than anything.

An entire semester came and went, and Reese still felt like an outsider. When he looked out onto the ice, he saw a sea of strangers. They had different interests, different priorities. Inside jokes he wasn’t in on. Ones he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in on. Even their sense of decorum was foreign. He was well-acquainted with profanity and vulgar jibes, but Reese’s neck still occasionally heats at their… colorful chirps.

But maybe this will be a good step, Reese thinks to himself as he clears the nerves from his throat, making room for an answer to Kody’s question.

“Uh, yeah. My parents and my little sister,” he nods. The blip of quiet that follows coaxes out further details. “They’re going to skip the mixer-campout thing tomorrow night because of the baby, but they’ll be at the student fair and our scrimmage the next day.”

It feels odd to talk about his family. The words, somehow both intensely personal and casual at the same time, taste funny on his tongue. Reese’s stomach clenches, suddenly too aware that he’s never really had to do this before, the small talk. Back home, everyone knows everyone. There’s little to talk about by way of mundane facts because there’s no need; it would be incredibly redundant. His friends from home wouldn’t think to ask if his family was coming, nor would they nudge him to share their schedule. They’d just know.

Reese is aware that this is a silly thing to get worked up over, or even care about at all. He knows it’s part of the process. Part of making new friends is letting them know you. Telling them about yourself and your life, and all the people in your life. Especially the ones you love. Offering up bits of yourself in exchange for bits of them. Still, it's unsettling. Like he’s inviting a group of strangers to pass judgment on his unconventional family.

No one’s said anything, but Reese already feels defensive.

And rightly so, he’d soon find.

"That was quick."

Lane, a senior forward from some beach town in California, draws first blood. The quip seems innocuous, but the shit-eating grin undermines any plausible deniability. Even without his smug expression, they probably would’ve understood the implication lurking below the surface anyway.

It isn’t the isolated comment that burns the tips of Reese’s ears. It’s the fact that he’s never spoken about the circumstances or the timeline of your relationship with his father. Reese hasn’t tried to hide anything, but he certainly hasn’t been forthcoming either. For all they knew, you could’ve been Josie’s biological mother. A long shot, but feasible enough if you didn't know any better.

But somehow, this kid from out of state knew. Knew that, by “traditional” standards, it was a little soon for his parents to be welcoming a new life.

"Can you blame him? Hot young thing at your beck and call?” Kent, a sophomore from outside of Toronto, cuts in before Reese can.

The lecherous glint in the winger’s tone makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t need to look up from his half-eaten slice of Hawaiian to know his mouth matches Lane’s.

“Fuck, dude. I would've knocked her up before she dragged me down the aisle. But, I've heard Viagra massacres your swimmers, so maybe that wasn’t in the cards for Ol’ Johnson.”

The group, crowded around a hodgepodge of tables, descends into a fit of snickers and profanity.

Reese contemplates leaving until a manicured hand gently squeezes his arm. Callahan Graham blinks up at him, a sweet smile tight on her rosy mouth. Callahan “Callie” Graham, Lane’s on-again-off-again girlfriend of three years. They’re “off” right now, if he’s remembering correctly. Not that it matters. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Reese’s chin dips in gratitude.

From across the table, Callie’s roommate, Greer, pipes up over the commotion. “I hope I'm as cute as she is when I'm pregnant."

"Me too," Bree, one of the other girlfriends, sighs dreamily into her Diet Coke. "I couldn't believe how pretty she looked the last time she brought Josie to watch you play, Reese. If I was pregnant and holding down a two-kid fort by all by myself for most of the year, I know I'd look it. But I guess that’s just another perk of true love, isn’t it? Beauty in spite of it all.”

Kent snorts. “True love…right.”

Reese’s molars pinch together. Beneath the table, he picks at his nails. It hurts, but it's the distraction he needs right now.

"It's not like being a trophy wife is a real job anyway, so I'm sure that helps. Just lie back and spread those pretty—"

Reese’s fist finishes Lane’s sentence. As badly as he wants to put it through the douchebag’s face, he (thankfully) had the foresight to direct his anger downward. It was the succinct thwack! of his hand against the table that cut the lewd thought off prematurely.

Reese is a striking juxtaposition; hardened jaw, sharp eyes, pinched mouth—silent. Only his chest moves. Shallowly, the accent on the exhalations.

For a moment, everything is still. It’s nice. While it lasts.

Kody is the one to crack the ill-fated stalemate. Trepidation peeking through the tiny cracks in his smooth confidence, he approaches like a hunter would an agitated deer, “Loosen up, Reese. We're just having fun. And, if anything, it's a compliment."

Reese openly glares, unconvinced.

Kody persists, deadset on being the one to subdue the beast. “Come on, even you have to admit your dad's locked down a fuckin’ tenner. A real win for Team Geriatric, I’d say. You should be proud of him, kid.”

This isn’t the first time someone’s prodded Reese about your physical appearance. He wasn’t blind. He knew you were attractive, but you’d never entered that part of his brain before. Ever. It's as if his subconscious preemptively locked you away in the same box as his dad and kid sister, or any other family member. But they weren’t asking if he thought you were pretty, not really.

The omnipresent “They” wanted to know if he thought you were attractive the way he thought Pedro Pascal or Olivia Rodrigo was attractive. They wanted to know if he felt the way his dad felt about you. They’re probing for a twisted scandal, a sick taboo love triangle. As if they weren’t already gorging themselves on the age difference or the boss/employee origin story.

They wanted more. They always wanted more. They wanted to take one of the best parts about Reese’s life and fuck it up.

His teammates are proving themselves no different than the losers populating Twitter.

“She ever read to you a story before bed?” Lane again.

Then Kent, in quick succession. “Tuck you in nice and tight, and come running when you had a nightmare?”

There’s barely enough time between the two to squeeze in a meager answer. Though Reese surmises that’s by design.

Innuendos are funnier when they have a single target in the audience to fly over. At least, to people with cheap senses of humor. Easy laughs are no accomplishment when they weaponize the feelings of an innocent bystander. Even in his anger, Reese wouldn’t have humored them with a doe-eyed reply of feigned ignorance. It wasn't earned.

“If I got to spend all of high school being coddled by a rocket, I'd still be milking that shit. Maybe if you had, she would've fucked you instead of your dad."

Reese’s brow shrinks to a contemptuous pinch. It wouldn’t take much for him to be reacquainted with his dinner; it’s already halfway there.

As he looks over at Kody, he loses what little hope he had that he’d find a place in this friend group. He hasn’t found his people yet, on the team or in general, but Reese is certain they’re not sitting around him tonight.

"How far along's your mom?" Callie seizes the conversation knowingly.

Briefly, her pale eyes slice pointedly in the direction of her… whatever Lane is to her, and then back to Reese, warmth restored.

"Uh, almost seven months? But Josie and I were both late, so Dad thinks we'll have to wait until the end of summer until she's here. Maybe they’ll share a birthday.”

"She?" one of the freshman girls squeals, clutching her companion’s forearm in excitement.

"Yeah," Reese says bashfully, head dipping to conceal the grin tugging the corners of his mouth. The meat of his cheeks ache with joy. “Two sisters."

"I give Johnson Sr. six months before he puts the moves on Nanny 2.0,” Lane’s whisper pierces the lukewarm calm that settled the table at his… Callie’s hand.

She kicks his shin. Hard.

"You really think the old timer's game is that reliable?" Kent picks up the slack between open-mouth chews.

And Kody is not far behind, “He's decently famous and moderately rich. That was enough the first time, so why wouldn't it work for the second? Or, Junior, maybe this next one can be yours—if you pull your head out of your ass in time, that is."

Reese is done. Has met—no, exceeded his limit. He doesn’t have to sit here and take this. Yeah, it would be better for the locker-room culture if he stuck around, but a boost in morale wasn’t worth the decimation of his pride.

His goodbye is simple but effective. The deafening screeeeech! of his chair sliding back on the linoleum.

The sidewalk is blurry beneath his feet as he trudges back to safety. Whether it's the tears’ fault or how quickly he’s running, Reese can’t be sure. All he knows is that he needs to be as far away from them as possible.

He needs… he needs…

Reese’s fingers tremble defiantly while he fishes for his phone. He continues to fight with them, shoving his key into the door and pushing it open with the other as he scrolls through the call log. He slams the world out and hits the green icon.

“Reese? Are you okay?” your groggy, but no less sweet voice flits through his phone.

Only two rings.

Reese’s shoulders melt, comforted by the familiar warmth of what home sounds like. But his mouth remains frozen, stuck.

You allow a few beats of silence to lapse, giving him ample space to answer if he is able and wants to before speaking again. “Do we need to come up tonight?”

He blinks, attempting to wash away the salty film over his eyes to read the clock above his desk. 1:37 AM, the angry red letters read.

Guilt seeps into the mix of nasty emotions monopolizing his body. The acidic cocktail begins its ascent of his tender throat.

You shouldn’t be up right now. Not this late, not when his sister’s made you an insomniac for so much of your pregnancy. Not because someone was mean to him.

Reese feels like an asshole. An inconsiderate asshole bothering you with his problems in the middle of the night, knowing you’re already sacrificing your weekend for him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry for waking you and the baby, and probably Dad, too. I—It's nothing, really. It can wait. We can talk about it when it's not, y’know, the middle of the night.”

“Reese, no one sets off the alarm on my Bullshit Radar faster than you do. You wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t urgent. Talk to me, Reeses Pieces. You know I won’t be able to go back to sleep knowing you’re not alright.”

Reeses Pieces. The nickname, said with such casual affection, is like a magic wand.

“Uh— I-I, um… I had a, um, a r-really bad night… and I— and I just really needed to hear y-your voice, Mom.”

It slips out. Slips free. It just… slips into the mix with all the other words like it belongs there, too. And it does. It feels right. Reese feels a twinge of satisfaction. Regardless of the circumstances (and the night he’s had), it happened.

It finally happened.

The floor crumbles a little and gentle flames lick at Reese’s cheeks. His phone feels as though it's floating up and away from his clammy palm. He’s telling his fingers to tighten their grip, to hold on. They hesitate, and when they finally decide to obey, it only makes matters worse. He fumbles, nearly dropping his phone to the floor. The elephant easing down onto his chest is making it hard to focus, to think, to listen.

“Reese? Did I lose you, bub?”

He blinks himself out of the daze. “Hmm? No, I—I, sorry. I’m here.”

“Oh, Reesey. I was just saying I was glad you called then. I mean, I always love it when you call. Even when it’s to tell me you sent your Airpods through the washing machine. Again.”

Reese barks out a phlegmy laugh.

Note to self: the rice hack only works the first time you let your electronics go for a swim.

Second note to self: this reaction—this non-reaction is better than any teary blubbering or callous rejection. Normalcy doesn’t require a reaction.

“You can always, always call me. Especially when you’re having a rough time. Even when it's the middle of the night. My main priority in life is making sure you’re safe and happy, you and JoJo. And the peanut sitting on my bladder. And the 6’4 blanket-hog snoring like a hacksaw beside me.”

“Maybe we should get Dad a sleep study coupon for his birthday,” Reese teases.

He feels better now. You, and finally being courageous enough to be vulnerable, was the medicine. Reese feels lighter than he has since you dropped him off in September.

You snort. “I’ll gladly pay to see your dad covered in wires. But, as much as I love laughing at his expense when he’s none-the-wiser, that's not why you called. Spill it.”

He does. The spiel tumbles out like an overdue avalanche, and Reese hardly realizes how quickly he’d been talking until he finishes with burning lungs. You listened patiently, letting him get it all out without interruption. You were good about that, knowing when someone needed room to rant more than they needed interjections with guidance or commentary. Reese usually fell in the first category, tonight being no exception.

“…I just don’t get why they found it so funny. Or why they even thought to say it in the first place. It's so...gross.”

He listens to you sigh and knows you’re doing it through your teeth. You’re probably massaging the waves of frustration between your eyebrows, nose scrunched. Josie calls it your ‘Dragon Face’ because of the way frustration contorts your features, but Reese adopted the term into his own lexicon because it almost always appeared when someone threatened the safety of your family. Like him, you’re generous with your protection. Fierce without delay.

“Because you aren’t them, Reese. You’ve always had a strong sense of right and wrong, respectful and not. And you’re rarely swept up by group-think, if ever. Those things may feel like a curse right now, but I promise they’ll be superpowers one day.”

“I wish I could fast-forward to that day. This sucks,” he groans, tossing himself backward onto his twin bed.

“It does suck. Majorly. Still, even if you had time travel in your vast arsenal of powers, I’d tell you to stay put, Reese. Part of college is learning how to deal with immature people, building up a tolerance for their bullshit as you grow stronger and more confident in yourself.”

“But I’m not strong. I ran away crying like a little baby,” Reese croaks into his pillow. A warm saltiness tickles his eyelashes.

“You removed yourself from a bad situation, and you let yourself feel your feelings in the present tense. Those are both huge wins in my book,” you counter.

Your voice is louder now, stronger. Like coaxing Reese—coaxing your son out of a pit of self-pity breathed all the energy you lacked for the better part of a year back into you. The subtle shift whittles away some of his earlier guilt.

“It takes guts to do that, Reese. Most people spend years trying to learn what you did instinctively. Some people never learn to do it at all. And don’t tell anyone, but I’d put money on Kody, Lane, and Kent being some people.”

Reese snorts. “I know you’re right, but I think what’s actually bugging me is that you guys’ll be subjected to that shit this weekend. It’s one thing for them to say it to me, but it’s another to say it to you or in front of JoJo. I hate that people care so much about us and our business that they can’t keep their mouths shut. If you don’t feel comfortable coming now, I would totally understand. Fuck, if I were you, I’d never visit again. Maybe I could come home this weekend instead?”

“Reese, as sweet as that is, the only thing that’ll stop me from coming this weekend is early labor, not chauvinist pigs.”

“You shouldn’t even have to hear it, though. And besides, won’t smiting college kids stress the baby out?” Reese asks, worry tearing through his voice despite the lighter tone.

“Do you honestly think your dad will let them get more than a couple words out?” you ask through an airy chuckle.

For the second time tonight, someone else speaks before Reese can.

Erik’s voice is muffled and gravelly, but the protective bite—the very same one that took hold of Reese at dinner and you just moments ago—is loud, “They’ll keep their mouths shut if they want to keep whatever teeth they have left.”

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fearfulfertility · 7 months ago

Text

CLASSIFIED OPERATION SUMMARY

DRC, Planning & Evaluation Office, Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Date Initiated: [REDACTED]

From: Assistant Director [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

To: Director [REDACTED]

Subject: Operation Overdue

Background

Paternity Compound 110 exceeded maximum capacity due to an influx of high-multiparity surrogates and operational delays due to the ongoing [REDACTED] in the Philadelphia metropolitan area. Overcrowding led to strained medical staff and diminished care standards.

Operation Overdue was launched to mitigate these risks. It was a cross-country air transport initiative intended to distribute surrogates to Paternity Compound 133 in Portland, far below occupancy capacity. This initiative required covert execution to avoid public attention and ensure all surrogates reached their destination intact.

Paternity Compound 110 (Philadelphia)

Paternity Compound 110 is an aging and overcrowded facility located in a repurposed commercial structure in Philadelphia. Designed to house a maximum of [REDACTED] surrogates, it currently holds over [REDACTED] (20% over capacity), leading to severe resource strain and cramped conditions. Despite its deteriorating infrastructure, the compound remains operational due to its proximity to a high-fertility urban population, ensuring a steady influx of conscripts.

Paternity Compound 133 (Portland)

Paternity Compound 133 is a modern, state-of-the-art facility in a remote area outside Portland. It is designed to accommodate up to 1,000 surrogates and boasts cutting-edge medical technology and advanced monitoring systems. However, its location in a region with a lower urban population has led to concerns about underutilization, with only a sporadic influx of conscripts to fill its capacity.

Transport Details

Stage 1: Ground Transfer

Surrogates were loaded into climate-controlled transport vehicles with hydraulic lifts to accommodate limited mobility.

Vehicles were disguised as commercial cargo containers to minimize civilian interference.

Stage 2: Cross-Country Airlift

[REDACTED] cargo planes were requisitioned from [REDACTED] for the operation. Each aircraft was retrofitted with cushioned flat beds, oxygen units, and onboard medical stations.

Medical personnel monitored surrogates for complications, administering sedatives to those exhibiting distress or restlessness.

“Flying cargo is one thing. Flying this cargo? Another beast entirely. I could hear the medical staff scrambling in the back every time we hit turbulence. It wasn’t until we touched down that I realized how close we came to disaster.” - [REDACTED], Pilot

Stage 3: Arrival & Integration at Compound 133

Surrogates were offloaded and delivered to their assigned wards, where medical personnel assessed their condition.

Immediate hormonal stabilizers were administered to counteract the physical strain caused by altitude changes and prolonged immobility.

Mobility & Transport Constraints

Issue

Many surrogates, especially those late term (+25 days), were unable to walk or sit upright due to the size and weight of their pregnancies. The average weight of surrogates and supporting equipment was over [REDACTED] lbs, +300 lbs average surrogate weight, 489 lbs max weight transported.

Solution

Specialized equipment, such as reinforced stretchers, forklifts for heavier surrogates, and bariatric wheelchairs, was employed to move surrogates from Compound 110 onto the planes. Stretchers were secured in a palletized format inside the aircraft to maximize space.

“The forklift crew had a hell of a time loading the bigger ones. You’d think they were moving industrial machinery, not people. One was so massive they had to be rolled onto the stretcher like a beached whale. It wasn’t pretty.” - Anonymous Ground Technician

Issue

While the standard [REDACTED]-type plane has a cargo capacity of approximately [REDACTED] lbs and an internal volume of [REDACTED] cubic feet, the vehicles needed retrofitting to accommodate the unique needs of heavily pregnant surrogates. This included safety measures for turbulence and environmental controls to maintain appropriate temperature and pressure levels.

Solution

The [REDACTED]-class plane could transport [REDACTED] surrogates per flight with DRC modifications.

Planes were equipped with mobile dividers so that if surrogates suffered complications, they could be rapidly isolated from view for treatment or birth. Climate control systems were enhanced to maintain a stable environment and portable restroom facilities were added for staff use (surrogates were catheterized to avoid the need for movement).

“They told me this was for my own good, but I can barely breathe in here. Every bump in the air made it feel like my belly was going to burst. I just want this to end—I don’t care where we’re going.” - Surrogate S110-523-Q

Key Incidents

Mid-Transport Medical Emergency

During the flight, Surrogate S110-399-Q, pregnant with septendecuplets (17), began exhibiting severe respiratory distress. Initial symptoms included difficulty breathing, chest tightness, and visible [REDACTED]. Onboard medical personnel swiftly administered oxygen and sedatives to stabilize, but within minutes, signs of early labor emerged, prompting the emergency medical team to prepare for an in-flight delivery.

The medical team worked tirelessly to assist the surrogate as he delivered all 17 fetuses before arrival in Portland. Each newborn was immediately evaluated for viability and determined to be stable. As expected, the surrogate's vital signs rapidly declined following the final birth, and he succumbed to [REDACTED] failure.

"I’ve never seen anyone that big in my life. I couldn’t stop staring. His belly was so massive it looked like it was about to split open. When he started struggling to breathe, the medical staff was all over him, but the sounds he made… it was like he was suffocating under his own weight..." - Surrogate S110-403-I, Observed Situation

Public Visibility Concerns

Several bystanders filmed the convoy and uploaded clips online during the ground transfer stage. DRC Cyber Security immediately intervened, scrubbing social media platforms and issuing cease-and-desist orders to content creators.

Surrogate Stuck in Chair

One surrogate, pregnant with octodecuplets (18), experienced significant growth during the flight, reportedly due to hormonal surges and fluid retention. Upon landing, the crew discovered that the surrogate had become physically wedged in his reinforced seat due to his expanded abdomen and swollen extremities. Extraction required the partial disassembly of the seat and the use of specialized equipment to free him.

“I wasn’t even surprised anymore. His belly was literally spilling over the armrests. That’s when you realize these missions aren’t just logistical—they’re borderline impossible.” - Anonymous Transport Specialist

Behavioral Issues

Three surrogates attempted to resist boarding at Paternity Compound 110, citing fears about the unknown destination and poor treatment. They were sedated on-site and securely transported.

Post-Operation Notes

Total Surrogates Transported: [REDACTED]

Surrogates Expired En Route: [REDACTED]

Fetuses Delivered During Operation: [REDACTED]

While operational challenges were anticipated, the results align with DRC efficiency standards. The use of modified cargo planes and specialized medical protocols ensured the safe delivery of most surrogates despite several complications during transit.

Additional safeguards are required to manage the physical strain of long-term pregnancy during extended transport. Enhancing hormonal regulation pre-flight may mitigate extreme growth events.

Stronger sedation measures, particularly during boarding, will reduce incidents of resistance and streamline pre-departure logistics.

Transport plans must minimize exposure to the public. Future operations should prioritize routes and timing to limit interaction with civilian populations.

Conclusion

Operation Overdue underscores the complexities of large-scale surrogate relocation efforts and demonstrates the DRC’s capacity to execute such operations precisely and adaptively. Lessons learned during this mission will inform future strategies, ensuring the continued success of critical population sustainability initiatives.

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

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