#Center Operations Directorate

[michaelgabrill]

NASA Names Mary Beth Schwartz as Director Center Operations Directorate

NASA has selected Mary Beth Schwartz as director of NASA’s Johnson Space Center Center Operations directorate. Schwartz previously served as the directorate’s deputy director. “I’m excited to embark on my new role as director for Johnson’s Center Operations directorate,” Schwartz said. “It is an honor to lead an organization that is foundational to the center’s mission […] from NASA https://ift.tt/Msfcapm

[wilde-shit-posting]

I swear to God if I miss my playwriting class's reenactment of The Importance of Being Earnest because I have fucking covid (probably from living in a hotel for a month) I'm going to cry.

[omegaversereloaded]

Coca-Cola is now on the official BDS boycott list!

From the website:

November 2024

1) Why?

Because Coca-Cola is implicated in Israeli war crimes.

According to research by WhoProfits, the Central Beverage Company, known as Coca-Cola Israel, which is the exclusive franchisee of the Coca-Cola Company in Israel, “operates a regional distribution center and cooling houses in the [Israeli] Atarot Settlement Industrial Zone.” Furthermore, its subsidiary, Tabor Winery, “produces wines from grapes sourced from vineyards located on occupied land in settlements in the West Bank and Syrian Golan.” 

The International Court of Justice affirmed in July 2024 that Israel’s entire occupation of Gaza and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, is illegal, as are all Israeli settlements built on occupied land. As Israeli settlements – on occupied Palestinian and Syrian land – are considered war crimes under international law, Coke is complicit in a war crime. 

Corporations that are implicated in the commission of international crimes connected to Israel’s unlawful occupation, racial segregation and apartheid regime - within or beyond the Palestinian territories occupied in 1967 - are all complicit and must be held accountable. Direct complicity includes military, logistical, intelligence, financial and infrastructure support. The corporations, as well as their boards of directors and executives, may face criminal liability for this complicity.

Local alternatives are popping up worldwide to substitute Coca-Cola, an unnecessary and replaceable beverage

Local alternatives to Coca-Cola have been gaining market share across the world, including in Palestine, China, Bangladesh, Sweden, Egypt, India, South Africa, Turkey, Lebanon and elsewhere.

2) Why NOW?

The BDS movement has always considered Coca-Cola boycottable but has not prioritized it as a target based on its careful and strategic target-selection criteria, so why endorse the Coke boycott now? 

Human rights and health activists, among many others, have been campaigning against Coca-Cola and similarly complicit corporations for decades, including grassroots drives targeting the company for its complicity in Israel’s gross violations of Palestinian human rights. 

During Israel’s ongoing, livestreamed genocide, Israeli soldiers have often been pictured with Coke cans, donated to them by various genocide-enabling groups. This has provoked even more anger against the company, particularly given that Israel is starving 2.3 million Palestinians in the occupied and besieged Gaza Strip, severely limiting their access to clean water and, as a result, inducing the mass spread of contagious diseases. 

Given this context, Palestinian activists in Gaza and many BDS activists in the Arab world, in many Muslim-majority countries, and in some European countries as well, have called on the BDS movement to add Coke to its priority targets.

The BDS movement had previously targeted General Mills for its manufacturing of Pillsbury products in the illegal Atarot Settlement Industrial Zone - the same Zone where the Coke facility operates. Thanks to effective BDS campaigning, we won the demand for General Mills to end its business in Atarot. We know a campaign against Coke is winnable too. 

Based on all the above, and given Coke’s large contribution (through business-as-usual and taxes) to Israel’s war chest during the genocide, the Palestinian BDS National Committee (BNC), the largest Palestinian coalition leading the global BDS movement, has endorsed the grassroots, organic #BoycottCoke campaigns to pressure the company to end its complicity in Israel’s illegal occupation, apartheid and genocide. 

UPDATED VERSION!!!!

[brewscoop]

Discover how the Louisiana Craft Brewers Guild is driving the craft beer industry forward! Learn about the recent legislative efforts, the economic impact, and the passionate brewers behind this growing scene. Cheers to local craft beer! #LouisianaBeer #CraftBeerGrowth #BrewScoop

[ouroborosmoons]

Israeli officials have obstructed a UN investigation into alleged sexual crimes committed by Hamas fighters during the 7 October 2023 Al-Aqsa Flood operation, fearing this would open the door to a probe into the rampant allegations of sexual violence against Palestinians inside Israeli torture camps.

According to a report by Israeli daily Haaretz, Tel Aviv rejected a request from Pramila Patten, the UN Special Representative of the Secretary-General on Sexual Violence in Conflict, to investigate the allegations against Hamas after she established that a necessary condition would be access to Israeli detention centers to probe claims against Israeli soldiers.

"The clear concern is that Israel will be the one to be added to the blacklist of entities and countries that engage in sexual violence in conflicts, while the terrorist organization Hamas will actually remain off the list," Mia Schocken, director of the international department of the Israeli Women's Lobby told Haaretz.

Thursday's report comes mere days after Israeli prosecutor Moran Gaz confirmed during an interview with Yediot Ahronoth that no allegations of rape or sexual assault by Hamas on 7 October have been filed.

“In the end, we don’t have any complainants. What was presented in the media compared to what will eventually come together will be entirely different,” she said, adding that her office “approached women’s rights organizations and asked for cooperation. They told us that no one had approached them,” she stressed.

Multiple media outlets have debunked claims of “Hamas rape” on 7 October 2023. [...] since the start of the Israeli genocide in Gaza, human rights organizations have documented dozens of accounts of the rampant sexual violence inflicted on Palestinians inside Israeli detention centers.

In August, Israeli NGO B’Tselem published a report titled “Welcome to Hell,” containing testimonies from 55 Palestinians detailing incidents of torture, rape, violence, humiliation, starvation, and denial of adequate medical treatment. This report came days after the military police arrested eight Israeli prison guards on suspicion of raping a male Palestinian prisoner at the notorious Sde Teiman camp.

A doctor at the army detention facility at Sde Teiman, Professor Yoel Donchin, said that after seeing the Palestinian detainee who was gang raped, he “couldn’t believe an Israeli prison guard could do such a thing.”

Following the guards' arrest, Israeli settlers, far-right activists, and Knesset members started riots, breaking into Sde Teiman and the nearby Beit Leid army base in “defense” of the soldiers. Even after the rioters breached the entrances, no one was arrested or even identified by Israeli police.

[...] Channel 14 hosted one of the Sde Teiman guards accused of raping Palestinians on one of its programs. The soldier stated, “The military police treated us really nice... You see the support … With a hand on their heart, like, telling you ‘thank you’!”

Last July, the UN human rights office issued a report saying Palestinians detained in Israeli detention centers since 7 October face waterboarding, sleep deprivation, electric shocks, dog attacks, and other brutal acts of torture. 

“The testimonies gathered by my office and other entities indicate a range of appalling acts, such as waterboarding and the release of dogs on detainees, amongst other acts, in flagrant violation of international human rights law and international humanitarian law,” UN Human Rights Chief, Volker Türk, said in a statement.

Sde Teiman itself has been referred to as Israel’s Guantanamo. Dozens of prisoners at the facility have been killed, the New York Times reported last year.

[vague-humanoid]

Costco defends diversity policies as other US companies scale theirs back | AP News

By  ANNE D’INNOCENZIO

NEW YORK (AP) — Costco shareholders rejected a proposal urging the wholesale club operator to evaluate any risks posed by its diversity, equity and inclusion practices.

According to preliminary results shared by Costco executives at its annual meeting Thursday, more than 98% of shares voted against the proposal.

The National Center for Public Policy Research, a conservative think tank based in Washington, had submitted the proposal, arguing that Costco’s DEI initiatives hold “litigation, reputational and financial risks to the company, and therefore financial risks to shareholders.”

The think tank has made a similar proposal to Apple, and like some American companies that already scaled back or retreated from their diversity policies, cited a U.S. Supreme Court decision in July 2023 that outlawed affirmative action in college admissions.

But Costco’s board of directors voted unanimously to ask shareholders to reject the motion. The board said it believes “our commitment to an enterprise rooted in respect and inclusion is appropriate and necessary. The report requested by this proposal would not provide meaningful additional information.”

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

President Trump on Thursday said he was allowing commercial fishing in one of the world’s largest ocean reserves, introducing industrial operations for the first time in more than a decade to a vast area of the Pacific dotted with coral atolls and populated by endangered sea turtles and whales.

Mr. Trump issued an executive order opening up the Pacific Islands Heritage Marine National Monument, which lies some 750 miles west of Hawaii. President George W. Bush established the monument in 2009 and President Barack Obama expanded it in 2014 to its current area of nearly 500,000 square miles.

A second executive order directed the Commerce Department to loosen regulations that “overly burden America’s commercial fishing, aquaculture, and fish processing industries.” It also asks the Interior Department to conduct a review of all marine monuments and issue recommendations about any that should be opened to commercial fishing.

“The United States should be the world’s dominant seafood leader,” Mr. Trump wrote.

The marine monument, a chain of islands and atolls amid more than 160 seamounts, is a trove of marine biodiversity. Environmentalists said opening the area to commercial fishing would pose a serious threat to the area’s fragile ecosystems.

“This is a gift to industrial fishing fleets and a slap in the face to science and the generations of Pacific Islanders who have long called for greater protection of these sacred waters,” said Maxx Phillips, director for Hawaii and Pacific Islands at the Center for Biological Diversity, an environmental nonprofit organization.

Angelo Villagomez, a senior fellow at the Center for American Progress, a research organization, said opening marine monuments to industrial fishing “sets a dangerous precedent that our public lands and waters are for sale to the highest bidder.”

Mr. Villagomez noted that the United States controlled nearly five million square miles of ocean and said, “there is room for us to have the world’s best managed fisheries and networks of marine protection, safeguarding the most threatened, iconic and special places in our ocean.”

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (13/20)

A little bit more of this. I really think we deserve a break, right?

Enjoy <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Reader

Summary: being alone with Agatha was smoother than you imagined.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist

Fragile II

The studio was in a silent frenzy, like a living organism preparing for a moment of pure intensity.

Lights were being adjusted, cameras positioned at precise angles, microphones tested to capture every nuance of the pain about to unfold in the scene. Everyone knew this was the scene—the emotional climax of the story.

You sat in a corner of the set, watching everything with sharp eyes, feeling the charged energy in the air. The crew spoke in hushed tones, moving carefully so as not to break the bubble of concentration Wanda had created around herself.

Agatha stood at the center behind the cameras, the main crew gathered around her. Her long fingers toyed with the hem of her blouse, her square-framed glasses resting perfectly on the bridge of her sharp nose, highlighting her well-shaped brows, now drawn together in a small crease as she observed, analyzing every detail.

At the center of the stage, Wanda stood frozen in the doorway—too afraid to step inside and face her worst fear. The lighting cast harsh shadows that deepened the tragedy etched into her expression.

The set was devastating: the boys’ room was in disarray, colorful toys scattered everywhere, a toy car overturned near the door, the beds—messy in a way that felt wrong—held two small, familiar bodies.

Silence fell over the set like a heavy veil.

The scene began.

At first, Wanda only looked. Her eyes widened as if her mind refused to process what was in front of her. One hesitant step, then another. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. And then, it hit. The absolute recognition of loss.

A scream tore through the air.

It was a sound that made your stomach twist—something primal, ripped from the depths of the soul. A wail that couldn't be faked. Wanda threw herself over the bodies, her fingers trembling as they brushed over her children's pale faces.

"No, no, no… my babies…"

The words came out in choked sobs, her body shaking with despair. She rocked them gently, as if they could still wake up, as if there was still hope. But there wasn’t. And that realization shattered her before your eyes.

Her cries weren’t just acting—they were raw, visceral, something that made even the camera operators swallow hard. You hugged your own arms, feeling every word like a blow.

You wrote this scene. Deep down, you knew this was what you wanted. You wanted your mother to feel the pain of losing you—but it had been the complete opposite, hadn’t it?

You created this pain. But you never expected to see it like this, so real, so alive.

From across the room, you saw Agatha inhale sharply, her gaze sharpening as she watched. Her hands gripped the arms of her director’s chair tightly. As focused and composed as she was, when you looked at her, you found something rare—vulnerability.

Maybe it was Wanda’s performance, or maybe… maybe Agatha understood that kind of pain.

Thick tears ran down Wanda’s green eyes, her body curled protectively around children that were never truly hers. She buried her face in their hair, as if afraid they would disappear.

And your heart pounded in your chest, the air in the room growing thin.

Who was Wanda?

Her performance felt too real. It hurt.

“Mommy’s going to bring you back. She will… She’ll do whatever it takes.” Her voice broke, and in that moment, there was truth.

Tears burned at the back of your throat, desperate to escape. This—this was everything you had wanted.

This was it.

The words you had longed to hear. The ones you had waited for, in vain. But she never came back. She never fought for you.

So you had to save yourself.

And now, those words existed.

But they weren’t meant for you.

The knot in your throat tightened.

“Cut!” Agatha finally called out. The entire studio remained still for a few moments, as if no one was sure they were allowed to move, to breathe again.

Wanda remained on her knees, her breath still ragged, her eyes glistening with tears. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the emotion vanished. Her breathing steadied, her shoulders squared, and the vulnerability disappeared behind a neutral, almost cold, expression.

She rose with a fluid motion, lifting her chin as she ran her fingers through her hair. A crew member rushed forward to hand her a plush robe, which she slipped on without hesitation, crossing her arms as if trying to push away any remnants of the scene she had just lived through.

Her forest-green eyes swept across the studio before briefly landing on Agatha, who gave a small nod of approval. Then, they found you.

You watched the shift in her demeanor with a weight in your chest.

How could someone break apart so completely, and then, in the next moment, act as if nothing had happened? The answer should have been simple: Wanda was a brilliant actress.

But for some reason, it felt like more than that. As if she had been trained to bury her emotions the moment they were no longer needed.

Without another glance, she turned on her heels and walked off the set, heading for her dressing room.

Before you could fully process everything that had just happened, Agatha’s assistant hurried over, clutching a tablet against her chest.

“Hey, can you take the twins for lunch? They need some time to relax before the next scene.”

You blinked, taking a second to register what she was asking.

Your gaze flickered toward the two boys sitting in foldable chairs, distractedly playing on their phones, oblivious to the emotional wreckage their last scene had left behind.

They were talented actors—but at the end of the day, they were still just kids.

“Yeah, of course.” Your voice came out softer than you intended.

The assistant smiled gratefully before hurrying off to handle something else.

You exhaled, the weight of an odd exhaustion settling on your shoulders. But your mind wasn’t completely here.

It was still stuck on Wanda.

On her eyes.

On the way the pain had felt real.

And how, suddenly, it didn’t anymore.

Sitting at a table with the twins, you finally felt like you could breathe. The studio’s in-house restaurant had a refined atmosphere, with rustic wooden tables and walls lined with framed posters of old films.

As you chewed your sandwich, you watched the boys devour their generous portions of mac and cheese, as if they hadn’t eaten in three days.

“So, how’d you guys get into acting?” you asked, taking a sip of your juice.

Twin #1 didn’t hesitate, pointing at his brother. “It was his fault. He wanted to be famous. I just went along because I’m a loyal brother.”

“Hey!” Twin #2 protested. “That’s not how it happened! I wanted a new video game, and my mom said she wasn’t going to waste money on that. Then, I saw a casting call for a commercial and thought, ‘Easy. I’m charming and good-looking, they’ll pick me right away!’”

You raised an eyebrow, resting your chin on your palm. “And did they?”

He rolled his eyes, shoving another bite of mac and cheese into his mouth. “Of course not. They picked him!” He pointed at his brother, pretending to be indignant.

Twin #1 grinned triumphantly. “But I made a brotherly pact and said I’d only take the role if they let him in too.”

The brother sighed. "And that's how I became an actor. I just wanted a PlayStation..."

You laughed, shaking your head. "And now here you are, the children of Hollywood’s biggest star."

"Yeah," Twin 2 said with his mouth full. "And I still haven't gotten my PlayStation."

Before you could continue the conversation, Agatha’s assistant approached, holding a tray with an elegantly packaged meal.

"Can you take Wanda’s lunch to her dressing room?"

You blinked, suspicious. "Huh? Me? That’s job stacking, you know. I’m a screenwriter, not a food delivery girl."

The assistant shrugged. "You’re an intern."

Your expression darkened instantly. You narrowed your eyes at her, as if thinking: If only she knew.

You knocked on the dressing room door without much patience, balancing the tray with Wanda’s lunch. "Come in!" her voice came from the other side, and you sighed, turning the doorknob.

The room was intimate. Warm lights illuminated the large mirror, surrounded by small bottles of makeup, a half-empty coffee cup, and a script covered in scribbled notes.

Wanda sat in the red velvet armchair, legs crossed, still draped in her plush robe. Her hair was slightly damp, as if she had quickly run a towel through it.

But her eyes? They were just as piercing as in the scene she had just filmed.

You walked over to a small table beside the mirror and set the tray down. "Your lunch."

Wanda tilted her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. "Is this part of your job too?"

You rolled your eyes. "Apparently, today it is. Need anything else, Your Highness?"

She chuckled, a low, soft sound. "I think I want company."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "Company..." You stopped, realizing she wasn’t joking. "You should’ve put that on your list of demands earlier. I’m just an intern."

"Oh, yes... An intern." Wanda ran her fingers along the arm of the chair, her gaze never leaving you. "But you’re not like the others, are you?"

Your body tensed at the way she said that, like she was studying you. "And what does that mean?"

"It means you’re getting special treatment, and we can’t let that continue, can we?" she said, standing up, walking toward you like a lioness.

"Wanda," you said in a warning tone, as if she knew the line she was about to cross with you.

"Tell me the truth. What do you have with them?"

The tension in the air became almost palpable, and for a moment, you had the impression that she could see beyond what was allowed. As if Wanda had the ability to pull the answers from you without needing to ask directly.

"I... I could ask you the same thing! After all, what were you doing at their house?" You crossed your arms, keeping a safe distance between you. However, you feared what Wanda's answer might be.

But the answer never came. The redhead just analyzed your face with curiosity, searching for something. A flaw.

Her green eyes slowly drifted down to the pendant on your necklace—the small silver lock glinting under the dressing room's warm light. It was a subtle detail, but one she didn’t miss.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, her expression wavering between curiosity and sudden understanding. Her eyes returned to yours, narrowed.

"Interesting..." she murmured, a small laugh escaping her lips. Before you could react, she stepped closer and took your hand.

Her touch was warm, her fingers gliding over yours with deliberate slowness. But then… she stopped. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, as if she had felt something unexpected. Her hand released yours as if she had been burned.

You blinked, confused, watching as Wanda clenched her fingers, her gaze distant for a brief second.

And then, she laughed. Low, almost humorless, shaking her head as if she had finally understood something.

"You really have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into." She let out a disbelieving chuckle. "Go."

The word came as a sharp command. Wanda gave a half-smile, but her eyes said something else—as if she was considering something, pondering over you.

You hesitated. You didn’t know if you wanted to ask what she meant by that or if you should just turn around and leave. But the weight of her gaze made it hard to move.

After all, what had Wanda seen in you?

Leaving the dressing room, you sighed. The day had been so intense and chaotic, and you felt like you desperately needed to rest.

Your phone vibrated in the pocket of your shorts, and you already knew who it was.

Agatha.

My trailer.

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms sweat. You knew you should be used to interacting with Agatha by now, but your mommy could be unpredictable. That both scared and hypnotized you equally.

Without thinking twice, your feet carried you to her trailer. You opened the door slowly, peeking inside, expecting a disapproving glare or a reprimand.

But instead, you found Agatha sprawled on the divan, barefoot, with the same relaxed posture you saw at home every day, her eyes half-lidded as if lost in distant thoughts.

"Come here, baby." Her voice was lower, almost a whisper.

You hesitated but approached, sitting beside her on the divan. She slid her fingers over your wrist gently, as if checking if you were really there. Then, her eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something different in them.

Something more... tender.

"I missed my baby," she murmured with a small smile, her hand reaching for your cheek, the touch warm and comforting.

Your heart clenched at the unexpected confession. You looked away, feeling warmth rise to your face. "I thought I did something wrong."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You worry too much about that. Not everything is punishment, my dear. Sometimes, I just... need you close."

The confession caught you off guard. She didn’t say things like that. Not like this.

Silence settled between you, thick, until Agatha let out a long sigh and lay back on the divan, her gaze lost on the ceiling.

"Sometimes, I find myself wondering how lonely you must have felt." Her voice was lower now, but it carried weight.

You turned your head to look at her, but she was still staring at the ceiling.

"Everything you wrote," she continued, twirling her finger in the air in a vague gesture. "That’s a lot for a girl like you, sweetheart."

You let out a brief, almost humorless laugh. "There are thousands of girls like me, Aggie."

The nickname slipped out before you thought too much, a test. It hung in the air between you, soft, intimate.

She blinked slowly but didn’t comment. Her mind seemed far away.

"No." Agatha whispered. "Not to me."

You held your breath.

She finally turned to you, her expression carrying a kind of confusion that seemed to unsettle her. "I just… I don’t understand how she let you go."

Oh.

You understood.

Slowly, you turned onto your side, lying down next to her, your gaze fixed on the ceiling, ignoring how her eyes were still on you.

Talking about it was never easy. In fact, you weren’t even sure you could put it all into words.

She didn’t leave me all of a sudden," you began, your voice low. "It wasn’t a dramatic abandonment, nothing that felt movie-worthy. It was slow… almost imperceptible."

Agatha didn’t say anything, just watched, waiting for you to continue.

"At first, it was the little things. She forgot to pick me up from school. Forgot to buy my favorite candies. Then, she started spending more time away from home. She’d say she was coming back, but she wouldn’t. And I saw my dad losing his mind because of it." You let out a small, humorless laugh. "Until one day, she just didn’t come back."

The silence in the trailer seemed to stretch.

"I was five," you murmured, the bitter taste of the memory lingering on your tongue. "I had to put my dolls aside and learn how to cook, how to take care of myself. To be an adult before I even understood what that meant."

Agatha didn’t look away. Her eyes, so blue and always full of secrets, were soft now.

"You shouldn’t have gone through that," she said, her voice gentler than usual.

You let out a short, dry laugh. "But I did. And there was no one to stop it."

She took a deep breath, a gesture that felt heavy with something deeper. "And your father?"

You shook your head. "He was never exactly present. He worked too much. We were six kids. He had to make the American Dream happen." You stated rationally, but you didn’t even realize how unsteady your voice was. "I can even understand him. I can understand her, too. No woman should be forced to go through so much."

You were crying. Your lips trembled, unconsciously pulling downward.

"No," Agatha whispered, her voice firm yet strangely soft. She leaned forward slightly, just enough for your eyes to meet. "Don’t try to understand them. Don’t look for justifications. Just… feel this pain. This anger."

You stared at her. Above you, she looked like a dark oracle, an expert in what she was saying.

"You were alone all that time."

"I always was."

"You’re not anymore."

This time, there was nothing enigmatic in her blue eyes. They were open, intense, filled with a vulnerability you didn’t know she possessed.

She took your hand, feeling the soft, pink palm against her own. "Do it." She wasn’t looking at you, and that made her even more beautiful. "And maybe I’ll ask you to make me a list of your favorite candies."

"Oh. The mean director is being more understanding of the intern’s need for sweets, huh?" you teased, even with your eyes still full of tears and vulnerability.

She hummed, kissing your forehead and sighing against your hair. "Only because it’s you, darling."

The warmth of her kiss on your forehead lingered even after her lips had pulled away. Such a simple gesture, yet heavy enough to make your chest tighten again.

You closed your eyes for a moment, absorbing that rare moment of softness. No matter how fierce, dominant, or cruel Agatha could be, there were lapses when she simply… was.

No masks, no ulterior motives. Just Agatha.

"If I’m an exception," you murmured, your eyes still closed, "then I think I should take advantage of it."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." You opened your eyes, turning to look at her with a playful glint. "Does that mean we can have pizza for dinner?"

Agatha sighed theatrically, but you caught the shadow of a smile on her lips. "You really have no limits, do you?"

"Of course, I do," you said, resting your head on the arm of the couch, your eyes shining with amusement. "Pizza just isn’t one of them."

She let out a quiet chuckle and gracefully got up from the chaise lounge, grabbing her phone to check the time. "I’m picking the flavors."

"As long as it’s nothing with artichokes, I’m in," you replied, closing your eyes again, exhausted but comfortable.

And after that, the day felt lighter, and before you knew it, it was time to leave, and you were already getting into Agatha’s car at the usual bus stop.

[...]

The movie was halfway through, the screen’s glow casting soft shadows across the trailer. Fight Club was a classic that both of you, surprisingly, loved—the intensity of the story always sparked discussions about identity, control, and desire. But at that moment, a comfortable silence settled between you.

You were chewing on a piece of pizza, nestled against the cushions on the couch, feeling the weight of the day finally melt away.

Until your phone vibrated beside you.

A message.

Alice: "Are you coming?"

You stopped chewing, staring at the screen for a moment.

Agatha’s gaze remained fixed on the movie, but you noticed the way her jaw tensed slightly.

"Who is it?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the screen.

You swallowed the bite of pizza and cleared your throat. "Alice. She invited me to a party tonight."

Agatha lowered her gaze for a moment. "Hm." The response was neutral, but the tension in the air said otherwise. "And are you going?"

The question felt like a test.

You hesitated.

Should you go?

Alice was your friend, and you knew the party would probably be fun. Right? You’d dance, meet her friends. But the day had been long. And more than that, something about Agatha’s posture felt just as vulnerable as you did.

"No." You shrugged, grabbing another slice of pizza. "I had a long day. I’ll stay here with you, Mommy."

The sparkle in her blue eyes was instant.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything. She just took another sip of her diet soda without looking at you. But you knew you had hit exactly where you wanted.

Her heart.

You opened the chat and typed:

"Hey. I’m really tired today. How about another time? :)"

Before you even sent it, you felt Agatha’s gaze on you. When you looked up to meet her eyes, she simply raised an eyebrow, looking pleased.

The silence between you was comfortable, only the sound of running water and the soft glide of a toothbrush filling the space.

After the movie, Agatha was sitting at the vanity, legs crossed in front of the mirror, spreading lotion over her arms with slow, meticulous movements.

You watched her through the reflection, her skin still damp from the shower, hair loose over her shoulders. She looked calm, lost in her own thoughts.

You spat the foam into the sink, rinsed your mouth, and wiped your lips before speaking:

"You know, you never talk about your past either."

Agatha paused for a moment but didn’t look up.

Before she could say anything, you added:

"The past before Mama."

She closed the jar of lotion slowly, her fingers still tracing the lid as if they needed something to do. "There’s not much to say."

"There is." You turned, leaning against the vanity and crossing your arms. "And I’d like to hear it."

Agatha finally lifted her eyes to meet yours. The blue of them seemed darker under the dim bedroom light. She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether it was worth giving in to your curiosity.

"My mother…" She began, her voice lower than usual. "She was a difficult woman. Rigid and unpredictable."

You frowned, taking in every word.

"She had… rules. Lots of rules. I learned early on that love wasn’t free. That there were conditions."

Your chest tightened upon hearing that. You knew that cruel logic better than you would like.

"And your father?" you asked, your voice soft.

Agatha averted her gaze to her own hands, pressing her fingers together. "It doesn't matter."

You took a deep breath, stepping toward her. "Nothing was easy for you either."

She let out a humorless chuckle. "Easy was never something I expected."

Silence fell between you for a moment. You felt like you were treading on delicate ground, but you didn’t want to stop.

"Have you ever thought about—"

"Enough." Her voice came sharp, cutting. You froze.

Agatha stood up abruptly. Her eyes were dark now, the previous vulnerability replaced by something much colder.

"I'm not your curiosity project, darling."

"That’s not what I meant," you argued, feeling frustration rise.

"But that’s how it sounded."

She said, walking to the bed without looking at you. She lay down, the thick sheets swallowing her, and your chest sank.

You sighed, feeling the weight of silence crush your shoulders. You didn’t mean to push so hard. You knew Agatha didn’t handle these things well—being looked at so closely, having someone trying to decipher her.

But you wanted so badly to understand her.

With a sigh, you turned off the lights and walked to the bed, hesitating for a moment before slipping under the sheets. She lay with her back to you, her body rigid, as if still in defense mode.

"I'm sorry." Your voice came out low, hesitant. "I shouldn’t have pushed."

She didn’t respond.

Silence stretched on, and you forced yourself to close your eyes, trying to calm your racing heart. Then, after minutes that felt like hours, Agatha finally broke the silence.

"It's her fault."

You frowned, opening your eyes. She was still facing away, looking out the window, but her voice was heavy with something that made your heart clench.

"It's because of her that I'm like this. Harsh. Severe. Mean."

The last word came out harder than the others, as if she truly believed it.

And then, without even thinking, you said:

"You're not mean."

Your voice was firm but filled with emotion; it felt like a spell of confidence and love.

That made her finally turn to you. Your eyes met hers, intense and full of something you couldn't decipher.

For a moment, everything seemed suspended. As if the air was thick between you, charged with something too big to name.

Suddenly, you missed Rio.

Someone to mediate. Someone who knew how to handle the hurricane that was Agatha Harkness.

But Rio wasn’t there.

It was just you and Agatha, navigating a sea of unspoken words.

You and her.

You and Agatha.

She furrowed her brows, letting out a disbelieving chuckle before closing her eyes, as if trying to ignore you and all the nonsense you were saying.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about."

But you did.

You had gotten so much from her in just one night, and that feeling wouldn’t go away. It only grew, like a plant pushing through the cracks of concrete.

You took a risk once more.

"You're not mean, Aggie. You just accepted the role she imposed on you."

And just like that.

She went still.

For a few seconds, it seemed like Agatha didn’t know how to react.

You moved closer, feeling her breath brush against your skin. Neither of you knew what to say now. Neither of you knew what to do with this closeness.

Your lips brushed against each other.

The touch was almost accidental, but you felt the softness, the warmth of her breath against your mouth.

And then you made the move.

It was a kiss of gratitude.

For everything she did today and always. How she took care of you. How she cherished you.

It was intimate.

Unique.

Agatha didn’t pull away. On the contrary, you felt her fingers slowly glide over your face, holding it with a gentleness that didn’t match the hardened image she insisted on maintaining.

When her lips finally responded to yours, it was like a relieved sigh in the darkness.

And for the first time that night, you felt that maybe, just maybe, you were seeing the real Agatha Harkness.

The first tear slipped down before she could stop it.

You caught it with your lips, salty and warm, as your hands trailed down the valley of her ribs like a pilgrim on sacred land.

"You're so beautiful," you whispered against the pulse where her past throbbed in blue veins.

Courage filled you, perhaps from the confidence of seeing this powerful woman surrendering entirely to you. Your fingers slid lower, to where she was wet and perfect.

The beautiful woman, with her robe completely open, her medium-sized breasts and hardened nipples exposed, made you salivate. And you simply couldn’t resist. Your mouth found her perfect nipples, drawing a sharp inhale from her below you.

"Honey..." Her skilled hands found your hair, long fingers threading through the strands, tangling them—urging you to go deeper, to savor the feeling.

The emotion that took over you was dangerous. Forbidden. You shouldn’t feel like this… Capable of impossible things. But when Agatha was moaning beneath you, writhing and encouraging you to give her more, that’s exactly how you felt.

Desire consumed you like a flame that couldn’t be contained. You moved, adjusting yourself over Agatha, your legs intertwining with hers in a fluid, natural motion. The scissoring position—intimate, intense—placed you face to face, breaths mingling.

"Mommy," you moaned, voice needy, lips brushing hers as your bodies aligned, clits pressing together in a hot, wet friction.

"Fuck." Agatha let out a low sound, almost a choked moan, her hands gripping your hips tightly. "My good girl," she murmured, her voice rough, laden with something that made your stomach tighten.

You started moving, slowly at first, rubbing against her in a rhythm that made both your bodies tremble. The sensation was electrifying—the heat, the wetness, the perfect friction. You felt every shudder of Agatha, every ragged breath she released.

"Just like that..." she whispered, fingers digging into your hips, guiding your movements. "You're so good for me, darling." Her sharp cheekbones flushed with arousal. "Oh. God—Fuck!"

Your heart raced at her words, the reverence and desire blending into an overwhelming wave. You quickened the pace, bodies colliding with growing intensity. Agatha’s breathing became faster, more labored, and you felt her heat rising, the slickness dripping between you.

"You're perfect," you murmured, lips finding hers in a deep, devouring kiss. "So beautiful, mommy. All mine."

Agatha arched her back, pressing her breasts against your torso, her hardened nipples grazing your skin. Her hands roamed down your back, nails digging slightly, leaving marks you knew you’d wear with pride.

She claimed your lips, thrusting her tongue in deep, the movements rough and filthy. A woman who needed to take and be taken. The kiss had no meaning anymore, just a mess of teeth, tongues, and bites.

When you pulled away, a thick string of saliva connected you.

"More," she ordered, her voice a low growl that echoed through your ribs. "Give it to me, darling." Your sweaty foreheads pressed together. "Give mommy everything."

You obey, quickening the pace, your bodies moving in perfect sync. The room fills with wet sounds—high-pitched, needy moans and the soft creak of the bed. Agatha is close; you feel it in the way her muscles tense, in the way her fingers dig into your flesh.

"I’m gonna—" She chokes, her face buried in your neck, teeth grazing your skin. "Fuck— Baby, you’re gonna make… make mommy come.”

The drawn-out, desperate whine is your breaking point. You move faster, thrusting deeper, grinding against her with an intensity that makes both your bodies tremble, as if you’d fused into one. Because you did—you followed her right over the edge.

The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your bodies arching and shaking in wild, unrestrained desperation as she muffles your name into the sheets.

You don’t stop, keeping the rhythm, prolonging every ripple of pleasure until she collapses, exhausted and spent, against the mattress.

When you finally still, you lower yourself over her, lips meeting hers in a soft, tender kiss. Agatha wraps her arms around you, holding you like she never wants to let go.

"My good girl," she whispers, her voice gentle, laced with something that makes your chest tighten. "My sweet girl."

You curl into her, breathing in the warmth of her skin, the scent of her perfume mingling with sweat and sex.

"That was…" She inhales sharply, trying to steady her breath. "So good."

You laugh, humming in agreement, nuzzling into her chest. But your stomach still buzzes. More of her. More of Agatha.

You kiss her collarbone, and she shudders, oversensitive.

"Baby," she gasps, fingers tangling in your hair, gently tugging you back. "Mommy’s too sensitive right now."

But you don’t want to stop. Can’t. The need for Agatha still burns in you, a flame that refuses to die. You shake your head, lips finding her breast again, kissing every inch of skin you can reach.

You murmur a muffled sound, your voice hoarse and thick with want.

Agatha lets out a laugh mixed with a whimper, her grip tightening in your hair. "My insatiable little girl," she whispers, her voice soft, laced with something that makes your pulse race.

You don’t answer, too focused on exploring her body with eager hands and lips. Your fingers slide down Agatha’s trembling thighs, tracing the slick, swollen folds still wet and tender.

"Baby…" She arches, fingers knotting in your hair. "You’ll kill me."

"I’ll take care of my mommy," you whisper, lips brushing the soft skin of her inner thigh, nipping gently. "So you’ll never have to cry again."

Agatha moans low, her grip on your hair tightening. "My good girl," she rasps, her voice frayed with something that twists your stomach. "So… so precious."

You keep going, fingers gliding over her slick heat, electrified by the power to make Agatha shatter, to strip her of control.

The broken, needy whine she lets out undoes you. You speed up, thrusting deeper, grinding against her with a ferocity that makes both your bodies quake.

Agatha gasps as your middle and ring fingers slide into her entrance—slow, deliberate, a procession, not an invasion. Her body opens like a night-blooming flower, drenched in dew and secrets.

"Slow…" she orders, but her trembling voice gives her away. "Mommy needs to feel… everything."

You obey. Your thumb circles her clit while your fingers curl inch by inch, seeking the spot that makes her legs shake.

"Like this, mommy?" You kiss her neck, where her perfume mixes with sweat. "Want me to worship every part she’ve ruined?"

Her answer comes in silent spasms. Her nails claw your shoulder, leaving half-moon crescents blooming red.

Then you quicken the pace.

The room fills with slick symphonies. Your fingers move at a precise angle now, a deep massage she’d never allow in any other context. Her head thrashes wildly, as if even she doesn’t know what’s coming, her chestnut hair fanning like a shattered halo.

"P-please…" The plea is choked, almost pained.

You pause, fingers still inside her. Stunned that the word left her lips. Agatha turns her face away, her icy-blue eyes glossed with unshed tears.

"Please, baby. Mommy’s begging."

Fuck.

It destroys you. Destroys whatever shred of sanity you had left.

Your wrist twists in an ancient rhythm—fast, slow, fast again. The bed creaks in Morse code. She’s close; you feel it in the way her muscles clench like a fist around your fingers.

"Baby, I’m gonna— Oh. God! Fuck, that’s—"

Before she can finish, the orgasm splits her in two. Her furious blue eyes roll back, hips bucking, trembling legs locking around your waist.

Hot pulses soak your hand, the sheets drowning in wave after wave. You hold her hips aloft, dragging out every spasm until she screams.

You don’t stop, moving relentlessly, stretching every aftershock until she collapses, wrecked and full, into the mess.

"Fuck, baby!"

You keep going. Just a little more. Just to prove what you do to her. That she’s as ruined as you are.

"Oh my god. God. Again!" The laugh that spills from your lips is cocky, like you’ve won a marathon. "You’re ruining me." She moans loud, and suddenly you wish your other mommy were here. She’d be proud, you can tell.

You leave your fingers buried inside her even after the second climax, studying every tremor that racks her body like a hunter assessing prey. Sweat drips between your pressed breasts, your breath mixing with hers in a haze of possession.

"Do you even know what you do to me, mommy?" you whisper against her thigh, teeth sinking into soft flesh. Your voice cracks, a plea disguised as a taunt.

Agatha tries to turn her face, but you grip her chin hard. The tears streaking your own cheeks drip onto her chest.

"Say it. Say you’re as fucked up as I am."

She laughs—a raw, desperate sound—as her legs quiver around your waist. "You little fucking piece of shit…" she snarls, but the heaving of her stomach betrays the truth.

You curl your fingers inside her, finding her G-spot with the precision of someone who’s memorized every inch of this territory. "Say it."

The moan she lets out is nearly a howl. "Yes! Yes, fuck! Happy now?! You make me… make me insane, you psychotic little slut—From the goddamn beginning."

You speed up, turning words into animal sounds. "How much?"

Agatha grabs your wrists, nails drawing blood. "To the bone. To the soul. Until I forget what I am—"

The third orgasm plows through her. She writhes like a wounded animal, fluids dripping down your hand like a river of shame and surrender.

You watch, hypnotized, as the woman who shaped your private hell unravels under your touch.

"Look at me," your voice is steel, yanking her hair until her tear-drenched blue eyes meet yours. "You wanted this all along? From the moment you saw me? Huh?"

Her trembling lips form the answer in slow motion: Yes. Fuck. Yes. My sick little slut. Your innocence. Your youth. Your energy. You’re mine!

The laughter that escapes your throat is wet, triumphant. You lick her fluids from your fingers, maintaining eye contact, each suck a period in your private war.

When you collapse onto her, it's Agatha who envelops your burning body, her hand tangled in your hair like diamond shackles. "You destroy me," she whispers into your neck, tongue licking the salt from your tears. "And I let you. God, I let you."

You slowly retract your fingers, bringing them to your own mouth without breaking eye contact. The taste is amber and electricity.

"Hmmm, delicious, mommy," you say, now completely unfiltered, and she lets out a breathless laugh.

"You are unbelievable."

You chuckle, burying your face in her cleavage. "But you loved it."

"I tolerate it," she corrects, but you feel the hidden smile at the top of your head. "Besides, who’s going to explain to the staff what happened to the sheets?"

"Mama's fault?" You look up with a cute pout and puppy-dog eyes.

"It's your fault," she rolls her eyes, trying to maintain her tough facade, but there’s a small, genuine smile peeking through. "You and that… finger technique you learned God-knows-where."

"On the internet. I watched some videos on Pornhub, you know, with MILFs and everything." You almost unconsciously mimic Rio’s accent, and Agatha rolls her eyes.

Agatha pushes your face away with the palm of her hand, laughing despite herself. "You're insufferable."

"But you adore me."

"I tolerate you," she repeats, but pulls you back into an embrace. "And maybe… I should give the staff a raise."

You snuggle into her neck, smiling against her skin. "We can say it was an accident with the tea," you suggest, knowing Agatha’s passion for drinking tea at night.

"Two boiling cups of tea on my king-size bed?" She wets her lips with her tongue, the corners pulling into an ironic smile.

"They were very aroused cups. They couldn’t help themselves."

Agatha lets out a grunt, but her fingers trace soft circles on your back. "You’re the worst intern I’ve ever had."

"And best and only baby?" You blink several times, turning up your charm.

The silence lasts half a second too long. You lift your head, worried, but find her soft blue eyes—now with a hint of green bleeding into the irises, mixing with the sky blue—almost… shy.

"Maybe," she murmurs, covering her face with her hand, pushing your body off the bed. "Now shut up and get me some water before I change my mind." Her voice ends in a dry rasp.

You leap from the bed, naked and disheveled, striking a superhero pose. "Sparkling or still, your highness?"

"With ice. And… bring my phone and the ice cream from the freezer."

"Ice cream!" You cheer, jumping, bumping into a chair, and nearly knocking over a lamp.

"Rum raisin!" she calls over her shoulder, already adjusting her robe with royal dignity.

"But I don’t like that one!" you grumble with a pout.

"I pay, I choose."

You pout but don’t argue. You knew Agatha well enough to know she always won these little battles.

As you walk to the kitchen, you feel the lingering warmth on your skin, as if her presence had left an invisible mark on you. And maybe it had.

Opening the freezer and grabbing the damned rum raisin ice cream, you roll your eyes. Of course Mommy would choose this flavor. So… old. But deep down, you loved her demanding ways. She always knew exactly what she wanted—and now, that included you.

With the water and ice cream in hand, you return to the bedroom and find Agatha reclining on the bed, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, the blue glow of her phone screen reflecting on her face. She was texting, probably Mama. Or maybe firing someone—who knew.

She looks up at you, assessing your nakedness with a gaze almost too clinical to be innocent, before letting out an exasperated sigh.

"I should scold you for walking around like that in the house."

You smile, setting the things on the nightstand before crawling back into bed, nestling against her. "But you love it."

"I tolerate it," she corrects automatically, but the arm around your body tightens just a little more, contradicting her words.

She picks up the ice cream and the spoon, but instead of eating, her eyes glimmer with mischief. "Want a bite?"

You wrinkle your nose. "Rum raisin? That tastes like old people."

"Oh. You cheeky thing. Have you ever tasted old?"

A mischievous grin spreads across your face. You arch your eyebrows, pretending to think.

"Well…"

"Argh, your Mama is influencing you too much," Agatha exclaims, feigning indignation, but there’s an indulgent smirk behind her accusatory words.

"Taste it," she says, holding the spoon to your lips, challenging. "If I have to tolerate you, you can at least share my impeccable taste."

You roll your eyes but comply. As soon as the ice cream touches your tongue, the strong rum flavor takes over, and you regret it instantly.

"Ugh!" You make an exaggerated grimace. "This is horrible!"

Agatha laughs out loud, a rare and genuine sound.

And, for some reason, hearing that uninhibited, unrestrained laugh does something to you. Without thinking much, you snuggle closer, resting your head against her chest.

She hesitates for a moment—a second too long for someone like Agatha Harkness—but then, without a word, she wraps her arm around you, her body warm and firm against yours.

The silence that settles this time is different. Comfortable.

You close your eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your ear, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and something warmer, something more Agatha.

You stay like that, breathing together, letting the world outside wait.

Then, in a soft, almost distracted tone, Agatha murmurs against your hair:

"I adore you, darling."

Oh.

Your heart stumbles for a second, a beat out of sync.

You pull back just enough to look into her eyes, gaze locked with hers.

And then, with a small—but genuine—smile, you answer, voice low but full of certainty:

"I know."

And you did. After what happened today, maybe Aggie had shown it beyond words.

Just for you.

She rolls her eyes, but you catch the corner of her mouth curling into a little smile.

And that’s enough.

~*~

I always wanted say theses words to Agatha. She really wasn't that bad. You aren't bad, my readers and I hope you know that <3

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher @reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good @imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp @lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01 @aboutcustardcreams @upsidedowndanvers @starbucks-06 @absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @whitelotus00 @dandelions4us @creaturesaphique @warpdrive-witch @sweetmidnights

[reasonsforhope]

"Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park in Brazzaville, Republic of Congo has a lot to celebrate.

The park, which celebrated its 30th anniversary on December 31 of 2023, also shared an exciting conservation milestone: 2023 was the first year without any elephant poaching detected.

“We didn’t detect any elephants killed in the Park this year, a first for the Park since [we] began collecting data. This success comes after nearly a decade of concerted efforts to protect forest elephants from armed poaching in the Park,” Ben Evans, the Park’s management unit director, said in a press release.

Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park was developed by the government of Congo in 1993 to maintain biodiversity conservation in the region, and since 2014, has been cared for through a public-private partnership between Congo’s Ministry of Forest Economy and the Wildlife Conservation Society.

Pictured: Nouabalé-Ndoki National Park. Photo courtesy of Scott Ramsay/Wildlife Conservation Society

Evans credits the ongoing collaboration with this milestone, as the MEF and WCS have helped address escalating threats to wildlife in the region. 

This specifically includes investments in the ranger force, which has increased training and self-defense capabilities, making the force more effective in upholding the law — and the rights of humans and animals.

“Thanks to the strengthening of our anti-poaching teams and new communication technologies, we have been able to reduce poaching considerably,” Max Mviri, a park warden for the Congolese government, said in a video for the Park’s anniversary. 

“Today, we have more than 90 eco-guards, all of whom have received extensive training and undergo refresher courses,” Mviri continued. “What makes a difference is that 90% of our eco-guards come from villages close to the Park. This gives them extra motivation, as they are protecting their forest.”

As other threats such as logging and road infrastructure development impact the area’s wildlife, the Park’s partnerships with local communities and Indigenous populations in the neighboring villages of Bomassa and Makao are increasingly vital.

“We’ve seen great changes, great progress. We’ve seen the abundance of elephants, large mammals in the village,” Gabriel Mobolambi, chief of Bomassa village, said in the same video. “And also on our side, we benefit from conservation.”

Coinciding with the Park’s anniversary is the roll-out of a tourism-focused website, aiming to generate 15% of its revenue from visitors, which contributes significantly to the local economy...

Nouabalé-Ndoki also recently became the world’s first certified Gorilla Friendly National Park, ensuring best practices are in place for all gorilla-related operations, from tourism to research.

But gorillas and elephants — of which there are over 2,000 and 3,000, respectively — aren’t the only species visitors can admire in the 4,334-square-kilometer protected area.

The Park is also home to large populations of mammals such as chimpanzees and bongos, as well as a diverse range of reptiles, birds, and insects. For the flora fans, Nouabalé-Ndoki also boasts a century-old mahogany tree, and a massive forest of large-diameter trees.

Beyond the beauty of the Park, these tourism opportunities pave the way for major developments for local communities.

“The Park has created long-term jobs, which are rare in the region, and has brought substantial benefits to neighboring communities. Tourism is also emerging as a promising avenue for economic growth,” Mobolambi, the chief of Bomassa village, said in a press release.

The Park and its partners also work to provide education, health centers, agricultural opportunities, and access to clean water, as well, helping to create a safe environment for the people who share the land with these protected animals. 

In fact, the Makao and Bomassa health centers receive up to 250 patients a month, and Nouabalé-Ndoki provides continuous access to primary education for nearly 300 students in neighboring villages. 

It is this intersectional approach that maintains a mutual respect between humans and wildlife and encourages the investment in conservation programs, which lead to successes like 2023’s poaching-free milestone...

Evans, of the Park’s management, added in the anniversary video: “Thanks to the trust that has been built up between all those involved in conservation, we know that Nouabalé-Ndoki will remain a crucial refuge for wildlife for the generations to come.”"

-via Good Good Good, February 15, 2024

[wafc2000]

On February 2, local time, Musk released a bombshell on the social media platform X, saying that the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) abused taxpayer funds to fund biological weapons research, and the new coronavirus was the "product" of this dangerous behavior, which killed millions of people around the world. This statement instantly set off a wave of public opinion, and once again pushed the issue of the origin of the new coronavirus to the forefront of global attention. Musk's revelations are not groundless. Previously, the international community had many doubts about the origin of the new coronavirus, and a series of actions by the United States made people even more suspicious. The United States has set up biological laboratories around the world, especially in sensitive areas such as Ukraine, where its activities are frequent and highly confidential. Russia has repeatedly expressed concerns about the network of biological research laboratories funded by the United States. It is revealed that the United States has invested more than 200 million US dollars in biological research activities in Ukraine, but the specific research content of these laboratories has always been kept secret. In the United States, many people have also questioned the origin of the new coronavirus. In 2022, well-known American scholars Jeffrey Sachs and Neil Harrison hinted that the new coronavirus may have originated from a US laboratory; Robert Redfield, former director of the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, also said that the new coronavirus may be part of the US "deliberately designed biodefense plan", and that the United States Agency for International Development is likely to be one of the main funders. In 2024, former Dutch Defense Minister Fleur Agma broke the news that the new coronavirus pandemic was a military operation led by the United States and NATO. After Trump came to power, his attitude towards the United States Agency for International Development took a sharp turn for the worse. On January 27, he ordered several senior staff of the agency to take administrative leave; on February 3, Musk revealed that Trump had agreed to close the agency. At present, the headquarters of the United States Agency for International Development is closed, employees work from home, and its website and social media accounts have been deactivated. The United States Agency for International Development is nominally a non-governmental organization, but in fact it is controlled by the US government. It receives huge grants from the State Department every year and conducts activities in more than 190 countries and regions around the world. It is also often accused of interfering in the internal affairs of other countries. Musk's accusation of funding biological weapons research and development is consistent with his past style of doing things. Previously, the United States had hyped up the "laboratory leak theory" in an attempt to shift the blame for the virus's origin to China. Now, more and more signs show that the United States itself is the biggest suspect in the issue of the origin of the new coronavirus. Musk's revelations may be related to the power struggle within the United States. When he checked the accounts, he found that the United States Agency for International Development and the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases used taxpayer funds to fund new coronavirus-related research. Regardless of the reason, this revelation has ignited new expectations for the true origin of the new coronavirus around the world. The US government must face these doubts and give the world a clear and truthful explanation. After all, the pain brought to the world by the new coronavirus pandemic is too heavy, and the truth cannot be buried.

[nasa]

What’s It Like to Work in NASA’s Mission Control Center?

In the latest installment of our First Woman graphic novel series, we see Commander Callie Rodriguez embark on the next phase of her trailblazing journey, as she leaves the Moon to take the helm at Mission Control.

Flight directors work in Mission Control to oversee operations of the International Space Station and Artemis missions to the Moon. They have a unique, overarching perspective focused on integration between all the systems that make a mission a success – flight directors have to learn a little about a lot.

Diane Dailey and Chloe Mehring were selected as flight directors in 2021. They’ll be taking your questions about what it’s like to lead teams of flight controllers, engineers, and countless professionals, both agencywide and internationally, in an Answer Time session on Nov. 28, 2023, from noon to 1 p.m. EST (9-10 a.m. PST) here on our Tumblr!

Like Callie, how did their unique backgrounds and previous experience, prepare them for this role? What are they excited about as we return to the Moon?

🚨 Ask your questions now by visiting https://nasa.tumblr.com/ask.

Diane Dailey started her career at NASA in 2006 in the space station Environmental Control and Life Support Systems (ECLSS) group. As an ECLSS flight controller, she logged more than 1,700 hours of console time, supported 10 space shuttle missions, and led the ECLSS team. She transitioned to the Integration and System Engineering (ISE) group, where she was the lead flight controller for the 10th and 21st Commercial Resupply Services missions for SpaceX. In addition, she was the ISE lead for NASA’s SpaceX Demo-1 and Demo-2 crew spacecraft test flights. Dailey was also a capsule communicator (Capcom) controller and instructor.

She was selected as a flight director in 2021 and chose her call sign of “Horizon Flight” during her first shift in November of that year. She has since served as the Lead Flight director for the ISS Expedition 68, led the development of a contingency spacewalk, and led a spacewalk in June to install a new solar array on the space station. She is currently working on development of the upcoming Artemis II mission and the Human Lander Systems which will return humanity to the moon. Dailey was raised in Lubbock, Texas, and graduated from Texas A&M University in College Station with a bachelor’s degree in biomedical engineering. She is married and a mother of two. She enjoys cooking, traveling, and spending time outdoors.

Chloe Mehring started her NASA career in 2008 in the Flight Operations’ propulsion systems group and supported 11 space shuttle missions. She served as propulsion support officer for Exploration Flight Test-1, the first test flight of the Orion spacecraft that will be used for Artemis missions to the Moon. Mehring was also a lead NASA propulsion officer for SpaceX’s Crew Dragon spacecraft and served as backup lead for the Boeing Starliner spacecraft. She was accepted into the 2021 Flight Director class and worked her first shift in February 2022, taking on the call sign “Lion Flight”. Since becoming certified, she has worked over 100 shifts, lead the NG-17 cargo resupply mission team, and executed two United States spacewalks within 10 days of each other. She became certified as a Boeing Starliner Flight Director, sat console for the unmanned test flight in May 2022 (OFT-2) and will be leading the undock team for the first crewed mission on Starliner in the spring of next year. She originally is from Mifflinville, Pennsylvania, and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering from The Pennsylvania State University in State College. She is a wife, a mom to one boy, and she enjoys fitness, cooking and gardening.

[scary-grace]

certain stars (part 2) - a Shigaraki x reader fic

Nothing in your training prepared you for this: A deadly virus that burnt through Space Station Ultra, leaving only two survivors -- you, and Mission Specialist Shigaraki, trapped together in the command module. With time, food, and life-support running out, you have a choice about how you'll spend your final hours. You just wish you had any idea what you're supposed to do.

This is for @shigarakislaughter (happy birthday!) who asked for a forced-proximity roommates to lovers situation. Being me, I had to make it weird, and being one of my fics, it had to get away from me. Part 1 can be found here! Shigaraki x reader, rated M, space station au, angst + suggestive content. dividers by @cafekitsune.

part 1

You’ve been on the line with Mission Control for four hours, in a conversation that includes you only tangentially, and your eyes are starting to blur. This plan to save your life and Shigaraki’s without carrying the virus back to Earth was your idea. You have to be here to advocate for it, to address any questions Control might have, to find a way around any problems that might arise. You’re the pilot in command. It’s your job to get yourself and the last remaining member of your crew home.

But you’re so tired. It’s all you can do to write down the figures that are being named, calculating trajectories and fuel burns by hand to fact-check Mission Control’s results. It’s hard to do when they still haven’t decided if it’s safe for you and Shigaraki to return to Earth. The suspense would be killing you if you had any adrenaline left to spare.

As Mission Control continues to debate, no one willing to come right out and say that they’re not sure it’s a good idea to bring you back, Shigaraki slips into the seat beside you. You sent him into the shuttle with step-by-step instructions for running a full diagnostic, and he slides the results across the desk to you. You study them, the numbers difficult to read until you squeeze your eyes shut and open them again. Then you tap your mic and interrupt one of the flight director’s proteges in the middle of a soliloquy about reentry speed. “I have the shuttle diagnostics. All systems are operational.”

“What about the heat shield?”

That’s a sticking point. One of many. “Protocol is to do a visual inspection, but we can’t risk a spacewalk. Is there any way we can get a satellite view?”

You hear paper rustling, then a thud. It’s all too easy to picture one of the ensigns getting up in a hurry, tripping over themselves, and falling flat on their face before beelining to the comms center. “We’re investigating the prospect,” Director Sasaki says. “Every participating nation has offered their help, as have several non-participants and several corporate entities. If they elect to put their money where their mouths are, we should be able to give you multiple views of the heat shield.”

You nod, then remember they can’t see you. “Can someone check a compromise rate?”

“The compromise rate depends on your reentry angle,” the flight director says. You think her name’s Tatsuma. You’ve only met her once. “And your reentry angle depends on your landing site.”

“Which hasn’t been decided yet,” Shigaraki says, into your microphone, “because you jag-offs can’t make up your minds about whether we’re coming back at all.”

“Get your own headset,” you hiss, shooing him away. “Mission Specialist Shigaraki has a point. All of this is theoretical unless it’s safe to come home.”

“We told you that already,” Director Todoroki snaps. You roll your eyes. “Were you listening?”

You were probably trying to do math. You rub your eyes, and Shigaraki speaks into your mic again. “I didn’t hear it.”

Director Todoroki heaves a big, nasty sigh, and Director Bate, the current head of the space station program, speaks up. “Based on the data your crew collected, the virus thrives in the same conditions humans do. Extreme cold renders it inert, while extreme heat destroys it. The heat from reentry should cook that thing right off the exterior of the shuttle. Your return to Earth should be safe, as long as you land in the right place.”

“Only two concerns remain,” Director Sasaki says. “First, whether the damage your plan to purge the virus from Station Ultra will cause is worth the reward –”

You appreciate him giving it to you straight. “And secondly, whether the likely expulsion of your deceased crewmates’ bodies into space is an acceptable result.”

“Yeah,” you say. You’re too tired to stick to formal speech. “I thought that might be it.”

Your plan to clear Station Ultra of the virus involves blowing the airlocks on each of the infected modules, which will suck the virus back out into space, where it’ll go back to hibernating. It’ll work, but it’s likely to take the bodies of the crew with it. And the space program’s unofficial and unstated policy has always been to bring all the crewmembers home, dead or alive.

“Um –” Someone in Mission Control clears their throat. “I feel terrible saying this, but we can’t bring their bodies home. They died of the virus. They’re probably still carrying it. Asking the pilot and mission specialist to retrieve them is an unacceptable risk, and we can’t risk live virus entering the atmosphere.”

Someone protests. Dr. Shield, maybe – Dr. Shield, whose daughter died in the lab module, conducting research on the virus right up until it killed her. Director Tatsuma waits for him to finish, then speaks up. “The flight academy prepares its graduates for this. They are aware that this is the likely scenario if they should die outside the atmosphere.”

“The astronauts, sure. The mission specialists have families,” someone argues. You don’t know that voice. Your head hurts. “What are we supposed to tell them? That we just launched their loved ones’ corpses into space?”

“Yeah.” Shigaraki’s finally put on his headset. “Everybody who died here was a better person than me, and if I died up here, I wouldn’t care what the survivors did with my body.”

It’s quiet for a second. “Unless they wanted to eat it.”

You feel insane, hysterical laughter bubbling in the back of your throat and swallow it down. “I think you should ask the mission specialists’ families,” you say. “It’s their loved ones up here. Tell them what we’re up against and ask them what they want to do.”

“That’s unwise,” Director Sasaki says. There’s a pause. “We will reach out to them. Continue your preflight preparations, and we’ll contact you when a full protocol has been devised.”

The call drops, and you take off your headset. It doesn’t make your head hurt any less, but you’ll give it time. Next to you, Shigaraki does the same. “How long do you think it’ll take them to tell us no?”

You knew your crewmates, astronauts and mission specialists both. You met their families. You’re not convinced it’ll be a yes, but you’re not sure it’ll be a no, either. And there’s one crewmember you haven’t known long enough to make a guess. “Would you really be okay with your body being shot out into space?”

“Sure. Not like anybody’s waiting for it at home.” Shigaraki shrugs. “If you were starving, you could eat my corpse.”

This time, you don’t have to suppress your laughter. “Just me, though?”

“What, do you want to share or something?”

“No,” you say. You glance at him, noting the way-too-prominent bruise on his neck, remembering that there’s one just like it on his shoulder. He seemed into it, and you were into his reaction, so you went a little overboard. “I’m not good at sharing.”

Shigaraki’s pale enough that even the faint flush in his cheeks is as obvious as a neon sign. “Don’t act possessive. You only hooked up with me because we’re going to die soon.”

There’s a lot to address there, and you’re too tired to do it delicately. “We’re not going to die soon. I’ll find a way to get you home. I didn’t think you liked me. I only hooked up with you because I thought we were about to die. If we weren’t about to die we’d have gone on dates first.”

Shigaraki is staring at you now, eyes wide. Did you even speak a recognizable language, or were you just mumbling to yourself about nothing? You really don’t want to have to say it all again. You look away from him, even though it’s hard to do, and look down at your sheet of calculations. You can barely read them. You find a new piece of paper and start copying them down again. “What is that?” Shigaraki asks, peering over your shoulder as you rewrite equation after equation. “I thought we didn’t have a trajectory yet.”

“We don’t. But the basic reentry calculations were made assuming that the shuttle is at capacity, and it’s – not.” Not even close. “We’ll be coming down light. That changes things.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki’s chin comes to rest over your shoulder. “Why are you doing it by hand?”

“That was how they used to do everything,” you say. “Back in the early days. But the academy still teaches it, in case we lose contact with Mission Control or the onboard computer goes down. They don’t want us to be totally helpless without it.”

“Huh,” Shigaraki says again. “That’s a lot of physics for a bunch of meatheads.”

“Yeah. Almost like we aren’t meatheads after all.” You copy out the last equations, then elbow Shigaraki until he straightens up. “Check these for me, okay?”

“You don’t trust your calculations?”

“I can barely see straight,” you say. Shigaraki blinks. “I haven’t slept more than an hour or two at a stretch since this started, and this isn’t the kind of thing where mistakes are survivable. You’re an actual physicist. Just look at them.”

“Sure.” Shigaraki flips over the shuttle diagnostic and starts writing on the back.

You fold your arms on the console and rest your head on them, watching him work. You like seeing him locked in on something, even if you wish he’d stop scratching his neck with his free hand, and you wonder what his research profile looks like. What he works on when he’s not getting tossed into a shuttle he doesn’t want to be on. He must be in a lab or something. Or have his own. So –

Something occurs to you. “Should I have been calling you Dr. Shigaraki this whole time? Some people get mad about their titles not being used.”

“Some people are assholes,” Shigaraki says matter-of-factly. “I might be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.”

He frowns at something he’s just written. “Show me your first set of calculations.” You hand it over, and he identifies the mistake in seconds. “You rewrote it wrong on this page. With this reentry velocity we’d bounce right off the atmosphere.”

“This is why you needed to check it.”

“You got it right the first time,” Shigaraki says. His hand falls from the side of his neck to rest on the console, then edges out into the space between the two of you. You spend a little too long looking before it occurs to you to touch.

A green light starts blinking on the console, indicating a call from Control. You yank your hand away from Shigaraki’s and pull your headset on. “Yes?”

“The families of the mission specialists agreed to your plan,” Director Sasaki says, and exhaustion sweeps over you. Shigaraki is looking at you questioningly. You give a thumbs-up. “However, they requested some sort of commemoration before the airlocks are blown.”

You’ll think of something. “Understood. I’ve adjusted the reentry calculations to account for the lighter payload. Dr. Shigaraki is checking my work as we speak.”

Dr. Shigaraki is also rolling his eyes, but you don’t need to mention that. “We’ve developed a launch protocol,” Sasaki informs you, “which should account for a lighter payload. We also have identified a landing site for you, one which will render any surviving virus inert.”

“Yes,” Director Tatsuma says. “You’ll be aiming for the Ross Ice Shelf.”

You haven’t touched the airlocks, but it still feels like every iota of breathable air has just been sucked out of your lungs. “The – what?”

“A cold environment with little for the virus to feed on, in the unlikely event that any of it is left after reentry,” Sasaki says. “Rest assured, you will have plenty of runway. Do you have any questions?”

You can’t even get your mind around the thought. It feels unreal, like you’ve stumbled through a funhouse mirror into some other reality. Director Sasaki takes your silence for agreement and moves on. “We’ll plan to launch in six hours. In that time you will need to initiate a complete data transfer – everything from Station Ultra, in order to allow for proper diagnostics. Begin the procedure by –”

“I’ll do it.” Shigaraki cuts Director Sasaki off. He looks at you. “You’re going to sleep.”

You look at him blankly. Sasaki’s voice takes on a sharp edge. “The procedure is supposed to be completed by the commanding officer.”

“Yeah. Only you want the commanding officer to land the shuttle on an ice sheet in fucking Antarctica in six hours,” Shigaraki says. “The commanding officer’s going to rest until then. I’ll do your data transfer.”

It’s quiet for a second. “You will need to write this down.”

“I need to get a pen.” Shigaraki takes off his headset, takes off yours, and pulls you away from the console, back to the pile of blankets. “Why didn’t you say you weren’t sleeping when it was your turn?”

“You were having a hard time sleeping, too. It didn’t –” You break off as Shigaraki half-lifts you off your feet, then sets you down on the blankets. “I thought you hated zero gravity.”

“It has one or two perks.” Shigaraki pulls the blankets roughly over you, then fumbles in his flightsuit pocket. “Here.”

You find yourself looking at an old-style MP3 player, headphones already plugged in. You tuck one of them into your ear, and Shigaraki presses play. “What am I listening to?”

“The music,” Shigaraki says. You blink at him. “Musica universalis, on a loop. It helps me sleep.

You hear the first of the high, clear notes, reverberating off into infinity, and hide a yawn. “That’s not very restful.”

“It doesn’t need to be restful. It just needs to keep you calm.” Shigaraki tucks the other headphone into your ear without asking first, his roughened fingertips oddly gentle. “That’s what it sounds like in interstellar space. You’d hear it on your trip to Alpha Centauri and back.”

Your throat tightens, even as your eyelids grow heavy. “Get some sleep,” Shigaraki says. You catch his hand as he straightens up, holding on tight, wishing you knew what to say to him. Like you did when they told you about the landing site, you come up empty. The best you can do is give one more squeeze and let go, before you turn your head against a makeshift pillow that smells like him and fall asleep, the sound of space humming in your ears.

You settle into the shuttle’s cockpit, wrapping your gloved hands around the controls and watching the console come to life. You’ve piloted a shuttle up to Station Ultra three times, but this will only be your second reentry, and it’ll be a hell of a reentry. For a split second, you allow it to fill your mind, oozing into every corner of your thoughts, sending shooting pains through your fingers. What they’re expecting you to do is impossible. It can’t be done.

And then you glance sideways, at Shigaraki strapped into the copilot’s seat. The instant the shuttle detaches from Station Ultra, his fate is out of his hands and firmly in yours. He looks scared enough on his own. He doesn’t need to see it from you, too.

You take a deep breath, then let it go. “Walk me through the preflight checklist.”

Mission Control is in Director Tatsuma’s hands at the moment. One of her proteges takes you through it, system by system – propulsion, shielding, navigation, life-support, everything coming up positive. The satellite photos of the heat shield revealed a few tiny abnormalities, nothing that should cause trouble. Then again, there shouldn’t be viruses floating around in space.

Something occurs to you, and in the middle of a stir of the oxygen tanks, you find yourself laughing. “What?” Shigaraki demands. “What’s funny?”

“The virus,” you say. Shigaraki looks at you like you’re out of your mind. “It’s an extraterrestrial. We found the first alien.”

“From a research perspective, this was a very fruitful trip,” one of the ensigns pipes up. “The first confirmed contact with alien life, the first recordings of Shigaraki phenomena –”

Shigaraki coughs. “Of what?”

“And the first loss of a space station, Ensign Hado. Read the room,” Director Sasaki says severely. “All systems are go. Were you able to come up with a commemoration to share as you depressurize the modules?”

“Um, High Flight is traditional,” you say. “But it’s religious, and not everybody’s religious, so – I have a different one. Should I use that?”

“Can you deliver it while completing the depressurization sequence?”

“Yes.”

“Then begin the sequence with Module Five.”

Module Five was the dormitory module. Five of your crewmates died there. You blow the airlock and speak. “We never know how high we are, til we are called to rise.” Module One is next. You avert your eyes. “And then, if we are true to plan, our statures touch the skies –”

You blow Modules Three and Four next, sending Station Ultra into a calculated spin. In the seat next to you, Shigaraki closes his eyes, his jaw clenched. “The heroism we recite,” you continue, blowing the airlock on Module Six, “would be a daily thing; did not ourselves the cubits warp –”

Module Two. “For fear to be a king.” You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of your crew, dead in the atmosphere, lost to the void. How they kept fighting, kept studying, until the very end. “Depressurization sequence complete.”

“Detach.”

“Detaching in three – two – one.” You disengage the seal between the shuttle’s airlock and the command module, pitch the nose of the shuttle down, and let the stolen momentum from the station’s spin carry you down towards the atmosphere. “Departing high orbit. Any updates to the trajectory?”

“Not as yet, but owing to the uniqueness of the landing site, a pilot who had the opportunity to fly the route in the simulator will –”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Shigaraki mumbles.

You glance over at him and see him taking his helmet off. “If you don’t put that back on right now, I’m going to –”

“Trouble in paradise?” A familiar voice comes in over the intercom, and your frustration with Shigaraki takes an instant backseat. “Long time no see, airhead.”

“Not long enough, birdbrain,” you mutter, and Hawks chuckles into the mic. “Flew this in the simulator, did you?”

“Easy as pie, at least for me,” Hawks says. If you make it through this, you’re going to beat him to death with his helmet. “But don’t you worry, Dr. Shigaraki. You’re in good hands with Airhead here. Second in our class at the Flight Academy. Want to guess who was first?”

“We tied,” you snap, over the sound of Shigaraki gagging into an airsickness bag. Neither of you have enough food in your stomachs to really vomit. “You’re not first just because they called our names in alphabetical order. Do you want to talk shit or beta this trajectory?”

“We can talk shit when you land,” Hawks agrees. “Okay. Your current angle looks good. On the count of five, initiate a two-second burn from your starboard engine. Five – four – three – two – one –”

You trigger the burn, your grip on the controls as relaxed as you can make it, and the shuttle dips sideways. The flight roughens almost immediately, rattling the entire cockpit as you brush against the atmosphere, then skip off again. “Ooh, okay. It looks like you’re not in the atmosphere yet,” Hawks says. You can’t tell if he’s mimicking the flight simulator’s voice or not, but you’re still going to kill him when you get back. “Let’s do another burn – two seconds, both engines –”

The shuttle’s left wing dips into the atmosphere without being repelled, and you feel the lurch as gravity takes hold and pulls. “Autopilot will do the rest,” Hawks says. “Nice and easy.”

It’s not. The shuttle’s too light – too light for gravity to pull you the rest of the way in, and the longer you spend in the atmosphere, the more likely it is that something will go wrong with the heat shield. The cockpit is heating up way too fast. “I’m doing another burn. Both engines.”

“The autopilot said –”

“It’s not flying this mission,” you snap. There’s a reason shuttles aren’t flown completely on autopilot. Autopilot can’t adapt. “I am. If we stay in here any longer, the virus isn’t the only thing that’s going to cook. Burn in three – two – one –”

It works this time. The shuttle leaves space behind and plunges into the thermosphere, and the cockpit rattles and heats up, growing hotter and hotter with every nanosecond that passes. It’s killing the virus, you remind yourself. You’re in a shuttle with a heat shield, but the virus is clinging to the hull, and it’ll be destroyed. Reentry always feels like hell, anyway. Somehow it’s so much worse when you know you’re almost home.

Shigaraki’s got his helmet back on, finally. You can hear his ragged breathing over the comms. Is he conscious? “Stay with me, Shigaraki. This part is normal.”

“This part blows,” Shigaraki mumbles through clenched teeth. “Tomura.”

“Hmm?”

“My name is Tomura.” He’s slumping sideways in his chair, limp against the restraints, his speech slurring. “Call me that.”

“Okay, you got it. Tomura.” You feel a brief twinge of embarrassment that you didn’t think to ask his given name before you hooked up with him. “If I call you Tomura, are you going to stay awake? I really need you to stay awake. We’re going to lose comms with Mission Control in a second here and I don’t want to do this alone.”

Hawks chooses that moment to break in. “You were right about the burn, but you’re coming in way too fast. Hit the brakes.”

“I can’t do that. I need the parachutes for the landing.” You take your eyes off the windscreen for a split second to check your position on the map. “If I cut momentum right now, we won’t make it to the landing zone.”

“And if you don’t cut speed, you’ll pancake into the ice at Mach 10!”

“If I hit the water and there’s virus left on the hull, that’s it. For everyone!” You hate the way your voice pitches up, cracks. “I’m getting to Antarctica, Hawks. One way or another.”

Hawks starts to say something else, but the comms cut off in a static flatline, just like they’ve done at this point on every reentry you’ve flown. It’s the first normal thing that’s happened on this flight, and it hits you like a splash of cold water across the back of your neck. This is a reentry flight. You studied this at the academy. What does a pilot do on reentry to cut altitude and gradually reduce speed? There has to be something. Somewhere –

The answer occurs to you, in the same moment as Shigaraki stirs in his seat beside you. “Hey,” you say quickly, keeping your voice calm. “Welcome back.”

“Are we there yet?” Shigaraki’s voice blurs. “Is it over?”

“We’re through the atmosphere,” you admit, “but we’ve got a problem. I don’t know how much you heard, but –”

“Too fast.” Shigaraki sits up with an effort. His expression is grim through his helmet’s visor. “Either we crash into the ice and kill ourselves, or crash into the ocean and kill everybody else.”

“Or we land on the icesheet and everybody lives.” You reach for the control panel and start making the adjustments, ignoring the alarms that sound. “There’s a way to land this shuttle.”

“How?” Shigaraki’s hands clamp down tightly on the armrests. “If we were going to die anyway, we should have stayed up there.”

“Why?” you ask. You check your trajectory one last time, then kill the engines. “It wasn’t worth it to try to get home?”

“Maybe. Except –” Shigaraki peels one hand off the armrest and clamps it down over his mouth as you put the shuttle into a gentle bank. “Don’t ask. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I need to cut our speed, but if I deploy the parachutes now, I won’t have them to slow us down during the actual landing. So I’m going to slow us down the old-fashioned way. Like a glider.” You can tell that none of what you’re saying makes sense to Shigaraki. You keep talking anyway, adjusting the controls to create a gentle turn. “In the academy they make us study all kinds of aviation accidents. There were a couple where the aircraft lost both engines and had to descend and land without them. One time a flight crew landed a plane on a river like that and everybody got out alive.”

You can tell Shigaraki’s getting nauseous. Then again, you’re flying the shuttle like you’re going down an endless set of switchbacks, trimming speed by fractions on each one. “You’re the physics guy. Tell me what will happen if I burn enough momentum on the descent.”

“If I open my mouth I’ll hurl.” Shigaraki speaks through clenched teeth. If you actually succeed in landing this thing, he’ll wind up with the worst tension headache in history. “You know what you’re doing. Keep talking.”

You keep talking, narrating your bizarre flight pattern as the shuttle travels around the world once, then again, spiraling down with painful slowness. If this was a normal flight, you’d have hit your landing site already, and space shuttles aren’t designed with long-term atmospheric flight in mind. But just because they aren’t designed for it doesn’t mean they’re incapable of it. You’re not putting this thing through any ridiculous maneuvers. Just curving gently down, one S-turn after another, letting physics and gravity take care of the rest. Pilots before you have done this and lived. Pilots after you will do it and survive, too. You just hope none of them have to do it in a shuttle.

When you drop out of the upper atmosphere, gentle flight goes out the window. You’re still coming down fast, and your landing site is approaching. One more trip around the world and you’ll be there, and if you don’t land then, you won’t have enough altitude to make another rotation. You bring the engines back gently, get ready to pull the brakes. “This is it,” you tell Shigaraki. You risk the smallest glance his way. He’s pale, his brow furrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ve got this. It’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” You check your speed and your stomach lurches. Mission Control had better have given you the longest runway in aviation history. You complete a final S-curve, as long and winding as possible, then line yourself up. “Deploying landing gear.”

The landing gear won’t survive contact with the ice, but you don’t need it to; you just need the extra drag it’ll provide. Brakes next, starting out slow, then pushing harder by the second as your airspeed indicators begin to drop. You don’t even want to think about how fast you’re descending. The ground rushes up to meet you, and the ground proximity alarm starts to sound. TERRAIN. TERRAIN. PULL UP. “I can see it,” you snap at nothing. “Shut up.”

You’re not slow enough yet. You deploy the parachutes while you’re still in the air, and all at once you’re wrestling with the controls, diverting all power to hydraulics in order to maintain a steady flight. “Brace,” you order, like you’re a flight attendant on a plane that’s about to crash with no survivors. “Any second –”

The initial impact jars every bone in your body, and the next is just the same. The shuttle is acting like a skipping stone, touching down and bouncing up, and you already deployed the chutes. As if the bouncing’s not enough, every touchdown brings a series of jolts as the landing gear makes contact with the uneven terrain. You hit the brakes, pitch the nose of the shuttle ever so slightly up, and slam the back wheels down so hard that they crumple like a tin can.

Control’s going to kill you for how much damage you’re doing to the shuttle, but you can feel the drag reducing. Your skipping-stone maneuver devolves into a long skid across the ice, slowing by degrees, as you scan the horizon through the windscreen. No sign of the ocean. As far as you can see, there’s only ice.

Your console chimes, and you take a look at the indication. Hysterical laughter spills out of your mouth. “What?” Shigaraki asks. “Did we crash?”

“No,” you say, although you’re pretty sure the shuttle techs are going to disagree. “You’ll be interested to know that we’ve reached appropriate landing speed.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Shigaraki says, and you laugh harder. “We’re landing?”

“Landed,” you say. The shuttle bobs up once more, and you drop the nose down for a final time, planting it firmly into the ice. “Sorry. Now we’re landed.”

You cut the engines, open the comms channel to establish contact with Control, and start going through your post-flight checklist. Beside you, Shigaraki unbuckles his seat. “I’d stay down if I were you,” you say, knowing he won’t listen. “It’ll be just –”

He drapes himself over the back of your seat, his helmet knocking against yours. The move would startle you if you had any nerves left. As it is, you’re just bemused. “What are you doing?”

“If we died up there, we’d have died like this.” Shigaraki’s arms come up around you, holding on tight. “You’re not getting out of it just because we lived.”

“If that’s how it’s going to be, you owe me a date,” you say. You depressurize the cabin, taking off your helmet the instant there’s outside air to breathe. Shigaraki takes his off, then presses his face into the side of your neck in a way that makes your face heat up. “At least one.”

“That landing of yours took ten years off my life. You own me ten.”

Before you can argue back, the comms squawk to life. “This is Mission Control. Do you read?”

“We read, birdbrain,” you say, and Hawks laughs. You can hear cheering in the background, and you’ve been at Control during enough reentries to picture the scene perfectly. “You blew your landing site by a thousand kilometers, but we’ve got your position. Welcome back to Earth.”

“A drone is on its way to scan the hull for evidence of the virus,” Director Sasaki says into the microphone. “Once we’ve confirmed its absence, our extraction team will come to retrieve you.”

“In the meantime, sit tight,” Director Tatsuma says. There’s a pause. “Well done, Commander. That was quite a landing.”

“We made it,” you say. Your hands are shaking on the controls, and you pull them away. The instant they’re clear, Shigaraki grabs one, peeling it out of its glove. “That’s good enough.”

Tatsuma signs off, after instructing you to run a diagnostic and transmit the results, and you key in the command one-handed. Shigaraki’s got your other one pressed against his face. His skin is warm, his lips dry and cracked. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “I knew you could do it.”

“Yeah?” Your hand is shaking, no matter how you try to hold it still. Shigaraki presses it harder against his cheek. “How?”

“You promised.” Shigaraki’s voice is matter-of-fact, even if it’s rattling just as badly as yours. You give it a few more minutes before one or both of you goes into shock. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know.” There’s never been a mission like this in human history. You hope it never happens again. “Thanks for trusting me to get us home.”

This time, the pressure of Shigaraki’s mouth against your hand can’t be called anything but a kiss. “Any time.”

“I have good news, and I have news,” Yamada, the space program’s PR director, says from the other side of the glass. “Which one do you want first?”

You and Tomura glance at each other. “News,” you say, and Tomura’s grip on your hand tightens. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll start with the good news,” Yamada says, and Tomura rolls his eyes. “The good news is that you guys are cleared. You’re getting out of quarantine tonight, and there’s a hell of a welcoming party waiting for you. Your family’s here – and your friends, Dr. Shigaraki – and they’re hyped to see you.”

“Finally,” Tomura mutters. He won’t let you call him Dr. Shigaraki, or even just Shigaraki – it’s his name or nothing. “What’s the news?”

“The news is that there’s going to be press everywhere,” Yamada says, and sighs. “We’ve been beating them off with a stick, but we’ve been ordered to host a press conference, and they’re going to want to hear from you. I need to prep you for the kind of questions they’ll ask.”

“Go for it,” you say. Yamada grimaces. “What?”

“The media loves a narrative,” Yamada says. “The coverage of the Station Ultra disaster has been wall-to-wall for weeks, and so far, the only narrative they’ve been able to spin is a horror story. Which is what it is. It’s the worst loss of life in the history of spaceflight, and it was nothing anyone was prepared for. Things have been pretty dark. They want something else. And unfortunately, that something else is you.”

Tomura makes a face. You’re pretty sure you’re making the same one. “What does that mean?”

“If there’s anything redeemable about the mission, it’s attached to you two,” Yamada says. “The discovery of Shigaraki phenomena –”

“Stop calling it that,” Tomura says. “It sounds stupid.”

“It’s tradition, as far as I understand it. New stuff is named after the person who discovered it,” Yamada says. “There’s that, and then there’s that crazy landing the commander here pulled off. They’ve had pilots in simulators all around the world trying to copy that landing. Nobody’s been able to do it.”

“Because it was luck,” you say. Tomura elbows you. “It was. Any pilot will tell you that. I know how to fly, but I got lucky. All of this was us getting lucky.”

“We didn’t make it because we’re special or something,” Tomura says. “It could have been any of others, too.”

“I know,” Yamada says. “Everybody does, but nobody likes thinking about it. Like I said, they want their narrative, and they’re building it with or without you. You and me and everybody else in the program knows it was luck – mostly – but the media’s decided it was fate. The media likes a hero. The only thing they like better than a hero is a love story.”

“No,” you say at once. “They can’t make this about us. It’s not about us.”

“It’s not their fucking business,” Tomura says. “And they’re wrong about it.”

That’s news to you. “What?”

“It didn’t happen during the lockdown,” Tomura says. He’s glaring at Yamada through the glass at first. Then he looks to you. “I liked you before that. I was at the command module that night because I wanted to talk to you.”

His face always flushes awkwardly when he talks about his feelings, but he never backs off of it. It always gives you butterflies. “You still haven’t told me what you wanted to talk about. Are you going to?”

“I don’t need to,” Tomura says. “You already know.”

You smile in spite of yourself. Tomura’s eyes stay locked on yours, and you’re conscious of his hand in yours, his leg pressed against your own. You were in two separate chairs, but he dragged yours alongside his before you’d even sat down. On the other side of the glass, Yamada clears his throat. “You guys aren’t exactly beating the love story allegations here.”

Tomura’s face flushes worse than before. You look away with an effort. “What are they planning to ask about – us?”

“Like I said, they’ve already made up the story. They’ll just be looking for confirmation,” Yamada says. You grimace. “If you get a nosy one – I’ll try to avoid calling on those ones – they’ll ask you to elaborate. Don’t lie. The transcripts from the command module were made public, so they’ll call you out.”

Your stomach lurches. “Wait, all the transcripts?”

“No,” Yamada says. “You know the rules about documenting a mission. No filming in the bathroom, during a medical exam, or impromptu hookups in the command module. That got deleted on-sight. But there’s enough context in everything else for them to nail you two to the wall if you try to lie about it.”

The flush in Tomura’s face is slow to fade. “What else are they going to ask?”

“About what’s next for you two,” Yamada says. “If I were you, I’d work out an answer.”

He goes over the rest of the questions – lots of stuff about the mission for you, lots of stuff about his research for Tomura, things the two of you could talk about in your sleep. Then he leaves, and you and Tomura step away from the glass, retreating further into the quarantine unit. You’re still trying to catch up on sleep, so you climb back into the bed, which you haven’t made since the first time you turned it down. Tomura climbs in next to you without asking first.

Originally they were going to put you in separate quarantine units, but then they decided that they only wanted to risk contaminating one. It’s the size of a small apartment, ordinarily cramped for two, but compared to the command module it’s basically a penthouse. You and Tomura have all the space you could possibly need, if you wanted it. But you don’t.

You thought you and Tomura would be sick of each other after three weeks in close proximity, but the opposite’s happened. You feel better when you’re close to him, feel better knowing where he is, which works out pretty well with Tomura’s clinginess. You’ve felt okay here, with him. Not needing to go anywhere or do anything. Just being together, seeing what works, searching for something that doesn’t. So far, there’s nothing. There’s so much nothing that you’re dreading walking away.

He asked the question after you landed the shuttle, so it’s your turn now. “What happens now?”

“Press conference.”

“What about after that?” you ask. “If this is a thing, Tomura – you live in Japan. I live here.”

“Long-distance won’t work,” Tomura says, and your heart sinks. “I’ll move my lab.”

You roll over to stare at him, and Tomura looks back, like what he just said isn’t a little insane. “People are interested in my work. I’ve gotten formal offers from every research university with an astrophysics department. The offer from the one near here was pretty good. They aren’t even going to make me teach.”

“You don’t like teaching?” You fake surprise, and Tomura snorts. “If you’ve got offers from everywhere, you should go where you want to go. I don’t want to hold you back. I don’t want us to hold each other back.”

“Sure.” Tomura shrugs. “But you’re going to be around here, too, aren’t you? They’re making you an instructor at the flight academy.”

You wince. “How did you find out?”

“Read your mail. It was open already.” Tomura shrugs again, and you shove him lightly. “I’ll move my lab. You’ll teach meatheads how to fly. It’ll be fine.”

“Your friends are in Japan –”

“And they work in my lab,” Tomura says. “If I move my lab, they’re coming, too.”

This is what you want. Exactly what you want. And it seems a little too easy. “Are you sure?” When he nods, you speak up again, your voice wavering. “How?”

“I thought we were dead up there. And I didn’t have a job to do like you did. So I had time to think about stuff while I was staring out into the void.” Tomura closes the distance between the two of you, crawling halfway on top of you and burrowing into your shoulder the way he does when he doesn’t want you to see his face. “The universe is so big that human minds can’t comprehend it, and the space between habitable worlds is enormous, and entropy’s ripping the whole thing apart – and there’s fuck all we can do about it. There’s always going to be fuck all we can do about it.”

This is why you never learned about astrophysics. “That’s dark.”

“No shit.” Tomura’s voice is muffled. “I realized that there was something I could do about it. Up there, or down here. Anywhere. I get to choose if entropy wins – not for the universe, just for me. I’m not letting it win. So I’ll find a way to keep the things I want together.”

There’s something a little absurd about him, something you’ve grown fond of. Maybe fond is understating it. “You’re going to fight the laws of the universe.”

“Yeah. And win.” Tomura settles against you, a contented sigh exiting his mouth as your fingers wind through his hair. “Say what you want. If the reporters ask me, that’s what I’m telling them.”

“We’re definitely not beating the love story accusations if you tell them that.”

“Never said I wanted to.” Tomura’s voice is starting to blur into sleep. If you close your eyes, the two of you are going to nap like this straight through the press conference. “If your apartment doesn’t allow dogs, we’ll have to get a new one.”

Now you’re moving in together. It makes as much sense as anything else about this, which is to say it doesn’t. In some ways it feels like you never left orbit, or like you never landed the shuttle – everything is surreal, hard to believe. But you remember Tomura’s music of the spheres brushing against your eardrums, impossible to imagine and impossible to refute. You don’t have to believe. All you have to do is trust what you can see and hear and feel. And that’s him.

For a little while the thought is peaceful. Then something else pierces through it, something you can’t hold in. “I’m still a pilot,” you say. “They’re making me an instructor, and I can’t fly until my psych evals come up clean, but once they do – the program’s down two pilots. They’re going to send me up again.”

It’ll be a while. Right now the mechanics department is designing drones that can repair Station Ultra, outlining a system that will eliminate the need for spacewalks, but it’ll be a long time before it’s ready. Not long enough, though. You’re a long time from mandatory retirement. You’ll fly again. And when you do – “I’ll go with you,” Tomura says. “I still have work to do up there. And I’m not flying with anybody else.”

He yawns. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you say, and when you kiss him, you let yourself believe.

<- part 1

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[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL LOGISTICS REPORT

DRC, Planning & Evaluation Office, Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Date: [REDACTED]

To: Director [REDACTED]

From: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

Subject: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Executive Summary

This report outlines the ongoing expansion of DRC-operated paternity compounds across several strategic locations nationwide. In response to increasing insemination rates and projected surrogacy demands, we have begun constructing new high-capacity compounds to accommodate more surrogates. These expansions will enable the DRC to streamline the conscription process, optimize surrogacy cycles, and ensure our ability to meet the population sustainability targets outlined for the next fiscal period.

The new compounds focus on enhanced security, specialized medical equipment, and increased surrogacy capacity.

I. Facility Expansion Overview

Strategic Locations and Site Selection

To ensure regional coverage and minimize travel time to detain and inseminated surrogates, the DRC has approved the construction of [REDACTED] new paternity compounds in FEMA Zones 4, 6, 7, and 8. These facilities will be situated in [REDACTED] areas, selected for their proximity to population centers, existing transport infrastructure, and relative isolation, ensuring operational security.

Zone 4: Atlanta, GA

Zone 6: Houston, TX

Zone 7: Omaha, NE

Zone 8: Denver, CO

Each compound is designed to accommodate [REDACTED] surrogates at any given time, with the ability to scale up to [REDACTED] in emergencies. Construction is scheduled for completion within the next [REDACTED] months, with the first inspections set to begin by [REDACTED] this year.

Paternity Compound Design Features:

High-Capacity Paternity Wards: Each compound contains specialized wards designed to manage surrogates carrying up to sedecatuplets (16), with private rooms for those at risk of premature labor.

Enhanced Monitoring Systems: Advanced surveillance and biometric monitoring ensure constant oversight and swift response to emergencies.

Security Enhancements: Reinforced containment protocols, secure access points, and patrol routes have been established to prevent unauthorized access and ensure surrogate compliance.

II. Specialized Equipment and Medical Support

Given the unique demands and expectations placed on surrogates, each paternity compound will be equipped with advanced medical infrastructure to ensure the safety and effective management of extreme weight gain, reduced mobility, and increased risks of organ stress.

Key Equipment and Infrastructure:

Reinforced Support Beds: Traditional hospital beds have proven insufficient for surrogates carrying high multiples, whose pregnancies can lead to total weight gains exceeding 200 lbs. Each ward will feature reinforced, adjustable support beds capable of accommodating extreme weights. These beds will be equipped with pressure-relief systems to minimize discomfort and reduce the risk of bedsores for near-immobile surrogates.

“I hate that I’m here! But… all I have is this bed! I can’t move, I can’t breathe half the time, but at least I have a fucking memory foam mattress!” - Surrogate S118-176-J, 27 days pregnant with decatuplets (10)

Automated Feeding & Hydration Systems: Automated systems will ensure continuous nutrition and hydration to support surrogates with reduced mobility. Given the caloric intake requirements for such pregnancies, these systems will monitor and adjust fluid and nutrient delivery, reducing the need for frequent staff intervention.

“I’m basically just a machine now, aren’t I? They hook me up, pump me full of these stupid protein shakes, and keep me breathing so I can keep carrying these bowling ball-sized kids. It’s disgusting!” - Surrogate S117-138-N, 18 days pregnant with quattuordecatuplets (14)

Custom Mobility Aids: Custom-designed lift systems and mobility aids will be integrated into each ward to facilitate the movement of surrogates. These devices will allow for safe repositioning, transfers to specialized birthing chairs, and support during transport.

“I don’t know how they expect us to move with this much weight on us. Even standing feels like my legs are going to snap. Those lifts? They’re humiliating... but without them, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed at all.” - Surrogate S120-494-P, 30 days into a sedecatuplets (16) pregnancy

Advanced Fetal Monitoring: Each compound will have real-time ultrasound and biometric monitoring stations to track fetal development. Given the accelerated gestational period, these systems will continuously update fetal positioning, size, and viability, enabling rapid response to complications.

"It’s terrifying. Knowing how big they are, how many there are… they’re not coming out normal. When I finally pop them all out, they’ll get better care than I ever did!" - Surrogate S119-667-N, 22 days pregnant with hendecatuplets (14)

Dedicated Obstetrics & Neonatal Care Units: Immediate neonatal care is essential, and each compound will include state-of-the-art neonatal intensive care units (NICUs) to support newborns. Advanced incubators and respiratory support systems will ensure the survival of even the most premature babies.

"They always tell me how important it is to ensure the babies survive, even if I don’t. I get it, I do… but knowing there’s a whole team of people ready to take over the second I’m gone? It’s like they’ve already decided how this ends." - Surrogate S117-856-M, 8 days pregnant with tridecatuplets (13)

Pain Management and Sedation Systems: Surrogates will experience extreme discomfort and physical strain. Each paternity ward will be equipped with integrated IV pain management systems, allowing for both localized and systemic pain relief. Sedation protocols can be initiated remotely if a surrogate's distress becomes vocal, ensuring they can not incite civil disorder.

“I’m so big I can’t even see my dick, which is now buried under all these babies and fat. I’d be lying if I said the meds didn't help to blitz me out of my mind... a caring them I'm a gigantic incubator now.” - Surrogate S119-461-L, 11 days pregnant with dodecatuplets (12)

Future Equipment Developments: Research teams are exploring next-generation mobility aids, including exoskeleton support harnesses, to provide mobility assistance for late-term surrogates. These innovations aim to improve surrogate survival to deliver full-term pregnancies. Once available, prototypes will be tested in select compounds.

III. Expansion Strategy: Future Projections and Scaling

Projected Surrogacy Demand: With the increase in insemination rates, each compound is expected to handle up to [REDACTED] inseminations per month once fully operational. This translates to a need for approximately [REDACTED] newborns annually to meet population sustainability targets. Our current projections indicate that these numbers are achievable.

IV. Conclusion and Recommendations

The successful construction and operation of these new paternity compounds are critical to effectively maintaining the DRC’s ability to enforce surrogacy mandates. Our specialized equipment and infrastructure improvements will ensure we meet demands while preserving control over our surrogate.

Report submitted by: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

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To: Administrator [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

From: Director [REDACTED], DRC

Subject: RE: Facility Expansion: New Paternity Compound Construction

Dear Mr. [REDACTED],

I’ve reviewed the latest progress report on the new Paternity Compounds, and I must commend your team on the impressive strides made thus far, even with the ambitious timeline we’ve set.

I have been particularly interested in the improvements to our birthing suites. As you are well aware, managing multiple pregnancies presents unique challenges.

We are entering a critical phase. I want to emphasize that these upcoming births will set a precedent for all future operations. The successful use of these new facilities will allow us to demonstrate that our methods ensure the next generation's survival and that we can handle the demands without sacrificing efficiency or outcomes.

I look forward to seeing the first results when the initial surrogates reach full term and the birthing suites are fully operational.

Keep up the excellent work, and do not hesitate to reach out if additional resources or support are needed to ensure success.

Regards, Director [REDACTED]

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

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[beardedmrbean]

Transgender advocates are pushing back on activists who resort to “unreasonable” tactics, with some admitting they “cannot vilify” critics — as support among Americans for their biggest issues plunges.

Transgender rights came in dead last in a Gallup poll that asked 2024 voters to rank the 22 issues that factored into their ballot decision, with 36% of survey respondents rating them “not important.”

Drilling down into polling on specific issues — such as transgender bathroom policy, trans athletes competing in female sports and laws allowing gender-questioning youth to procure medical sex change treatment — reveals support from many Americans is waning.

Some LGBTQ activists recently told the New York Times they believe the worrying dip in support is attributable to the zealotry of the movement, which emphasizes shame and forced compliance while discouraging any critical debate.

“We have to make it OK for someone to change their minds,” Rodrigo Heng-Lehtinen, executive director of Advocates for Transgender Equality, told the outlet.

“We cannot vilify them for not being on our side. No one wants to join that team.”

Advocates cited tactics — such as stripping distinctions of “male” or “female” from abortion and childbirth topics, being fanatical about pronoun use and likening even unintentional misidentification of a trans person to an act of violence — has not helped grow their coalition of allies.

“No one wants to feel stupid or condescended to,” Heng-Lehtinen acknowledged.

Rethinking how the issue is advocated has also become a part of the Democrats’ ideological reckoning following their decisive loss in this year’s election.

The Trump campaign seized on Vice President Kamala Harris’ past support for taxpayer-funded sex change operations for prisoners, and turned her pushing of LGBTQ issues into one of the most effective campaign ad slogans of the election: “Kamala is for they/them. I am for you.”

Even a small group of Democratic members of Congress have started testing the waters in defiance of the trans lobby.

“Here we are calling Republicans weird, and we’re the party that makes people put pronouns in their email signature,” said Rep. Seth Moulton (D-Mass.).

His office was protested by trans activists after he suggested transgender athletes competing against biological females could have an advantage or even injure other competitors — which has happened and continues to happen.

Tufts University’s science department chair purportedly claimed that the school would be cut off internships with Moulton’s office over his concerns, but the Boston institution quickly clarified that was not the case.

Mara Keisling, founder of the National Center for Transgender Equality, pointed the finger at activists for devoting so much energy to debating losing issues.

Among them, she told the Times, were the demonization of “Harry Potter” author JK Rowling for her stance against the encroachment of biological males into female spaces, and pretending that any objections to transgender women in sports are invalid and rooted in discrimination.

The issue of sports, in particular, Keisling noted, was an instance where Americans moved away from sympathizing with trans activists.

“We looked unreasonable,” she told the outlet. “We should be talking about the 7-year-old who just wants to play soccer with her friends.”

[vague-humanoid]

The first significant emergence of organ trafficking accusations against Israel came during the First Palestinian Intifada in the late 1980s and early ‘90s. During this period, many Palestinian families claimed that the bodies of relatives who died in operations undertaken by Israeli forces were returned missing organs. Although initially dismissed as unfounded propaganda, the increase in similar reports strengthened speculation and concern. The case of young Palestinian Bilal Ahmed Ghanem, killed by Israeli soldiers in 1992, and a 2009 article in the Swedish newspaper Aftonbladet titled Our Sons’ Organs Were Stolen [4] further highlighted these claims. The article included interviews with families who alleged that Israel had harvested organs from deceased Palestinians and suggested a broader organ trafficking network connected to Israeli medical institutions.

Israeli officials have previously admitted removing body parts from Palestinians and other groups. In a controversial 2014 Israeli television program, senior officials confessed to harvesting skin [5] from deceased Palestinians and African workers, which was used to treat burns on Israeli soldiers. The director of the Israeli Skin Bank revealed [6] that the country’s human skin reserves had reached 17 square meters (183 square feet), a significant amount for a small population, suggesting a more extensive organ collection practice. Israeli doctor and anthropologist Meira Weiss, in her book [7] Over Their Dead Bodies (2002), provided details about the systematic harvesting of organs from Palestinians, which were used for medical research in Israeli universities and transplanted into Israeli patients.

A report [8] released by Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor in October 2023 rekindled concerns over allegations of organ harvesting involving Palestinians, particularly in cases where bodies returned from Israeli custody showed signs of tampering. Gaza health officials have reported inconsistencies in the bodies released, pointing to organ removal. According to the report, Israeli forces collected dozens of Palestinian bodies from hospitals in northern Gaza, which were returned in a mutilated state. In July 2024, [9] Israeli daily Haaretz reported that the Israeli military held the bodies of 1,500 Palestinians at the Sde Teiman detention center. All these allegations highlight the urgent need for a thorough investigation into the dignity of war dead and broader human rights violations.

[athena5898]

🔻NEW OFFICIAL BOYCOTT TARGET🔻

Palestinian BDS National Committee:

Coca-Cola: Quenching “Israel’s” genocidal soldiers’ thirst

1) Why?

Because Coca-Cola is implicated in “Israeli” war crimes.

According to research by WhoProfits (https://www.whoprofits.org/companies/company/4081?the-central-bottling-company-cbc-coca-cola-israel), (https://www.whoprofits.org/companies/company/4081?the-central-bottling-company-cbc-coca-cola-israel) the Central Beverage Company, known as Coca-Cola “Israel”, which is the exclusive franchisee of the Coca-Cola Company in “Israel”, “operates a regional distribution center and cooling houses in the [Israeli] Atarot Settlement Industrial Zone.” Furthermore, its subsidiary, Tabor Winery, “produces wines from grapes sourced from vineyards located on occupied land in settlements in the West Bank and Syrian Golan.” 

The International Court of Justice affirmed in July 2024 that “Israel’s” entire occupation of Gaza and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem, is illegal, as are all “Israeli” settlements built on occupied land. As “Israeli” settlements – on occupied Palestinian and Syrian land – are considered war crimes under international law, Coke is complicit in a war crime. 

Corporations that are implicated in the commission of international crimes connected to “Israel’s” unlawful occupation, racial segregation and apartheid regime—within or beyond the Palestinian territories occupied in 1967–are all complicit and must be held accountable. Direct complicity includes military, logistical, intelligence, financial and infrastructure support. The corporations, as well as their boards of directors and executives, may face criminal liability (https://www.somo.nl/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/Obligations-of-Third-States-and-Corporations-to-Prevent-and-Punish-Genocide-in-Gaza-3.pdf) for this complicity.

Local alternatives are popping up worldwide to substitute Coca-Cola, an unnecessary and replaceable beverage.

Local alternatives to Coca-Cola have been gaining market share across the world, including in Palestine, China, Bangladesh, Sweden, Egypt, India, South Africa, Turkey, Lebanon and elsewhere.

2) Why NOW?

The BDS movement has always considered Coca-Cola boycottable but has not prioritized it as a target based on its careful and strategic target-selection criteria (https://www.instagram.com/bdsnationalcommittee/p/C7RY0Y4C-xu/), (https://www.instagram.com/bdsnationalcommittee/p/C7RY0Y4C-xu/) so why endorse the Coke boycott now? 

Human rights and health activists, among many others, have been campaigning against Coca-Cola and similarly complicit corporations for decades, including grassroots drives targeting the company for its complicity in “Israel’s” gross violations of Palestinian human rights. 

During “Israel’s” ongoing, livestreamed genocide, “Israeli” soldiers have often been pictured with Coke cans, donated (https://www.timesofisrael.com/over-100000-soldiers-to-receive-bamba-and-coke-thursday/) to them by various genocide-enabling groups. This has provoked even more anger against the company, particularly given that “Israel” is starving 2.3 million Palestinians in the occupied and besieged Gaza Strip, severely limiting their access to clean water and, as a result, inducing the mass spread of contagious diseases. 

Given this context, Palestinian activists in Gaza (https://x.com/QudsNen/status/1827696428795482136) and many BDS activists in the Arab world, in many Muslim-majority countries, and in some European countries as well, have called on the BDS movement to add Coke to its priority targets.

The BDS movement had previously targeted General Mills for its manufacturing of Pillsbury products in the illegal Atarot Settlement Industrial Zone - the same Zone where the Coke facility operates. Thanks to effective BDS campaigning, we won the demand (https://bdsmovement.net/news/victory-general-mills-divest-from-apartheid-israel) for General Mills to end its business in Atarot. We know a campaign against Coke is winnable too. 

Based on all the above, and given Coke’s large contribution (through business-as-usual and taxes) to “Israel’s” war chest during the genocide, the Palestinian BDS National Committee (BNC), the largest Palestinian coalition leading the global BDS movement, has endorsed the grassroots, organic #BoycottCoke campaigns to pressure the company to end its complicity in “Israel’s” illegal occupation, apartheid and genocide. 

BoycottCoke