#intervenor

[ethanslaterupdates]

Ethan Slater filming Intervenors (April, 2021)

(See more pics of Ethan 📸)

[geeks-universe]

The Fallen pt. 5

Cooper Howard x F!Angel!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Warnings: smut, idk normal apocalypse type stuff

A/N: I’m not super happy with this chapter so I’m probably gonna edit it again later

Tag List: @lacontroller1991 @giggle-shade @tesha-i-guess @looneylooomis @pookiesnatcher @jayden-okayden @dovefeatheredraven @angelcritterz

Sometime during the night, when there were no doubts or fear, Cooper had pulled you closer into him, his chest firmly against your back, legs tangled in a mess of warmth.

Inevitably, when the memories of your long life crept in and dragged you from your peaceful slumber, you awoke to the smell of gunpowder and blood. Cooper’s arm was tight around your middle, holding you close, like he was afraid you’d slip away during the night.

You allowed yourself a brief moment, made longer by your own indulgence, where you let yourself feel.

Long gone were your doe eyes and breathless smiles. The world you inhabited required a steel stomach and an unbendable spine. For the past two centuries you’d denied yourself that spark, the bit of yourself that always felt so much- too much.

Your heart was a traitorous thing, had always been far too bright. Once, you’d prided yourself on that, on the love for others that was just so effortless.

You doubted yourself now, thought that maybe you didn’t even know what love was. Maybe you were just a sanctimonious asshole who didn’t care about others, just wanted to ride the high of moral superiority.

It was hard to think that, to view yourself as incapable of love, when the warm, even breaths of Cooper Howard on the back of your neck pumped fire through your veins.

Could it be possible, for you to feel affection- love- for him?

There was some amount of fondness, to be sure- something in the way your heart fluttered, your eyes gravitated to him.

But love?

You’d never been in love. You had loved before, many people in your life, but not romantically.

Not the kind that would put you on your knees.

“You look lost, sister.”

Amenadiel’s voice was deep, concerned.

You heaved a sigh, rolling out of Cooper’s arms. The corners of your lips turned down at the loss of him, body protesting your isolation.

“Twice in the same year, that has to be a record.”

The amusement in your voice wasn’t matched by your brother, his dark eyes trained on the man that’d been cuddled up to you for half the night.

“You should be careful,” he cautioned you, and though he kept his stature straight, you could see the worry in the tenseness of his arms, the tightening of his jaw.

You were his baby sister. Generally angels were unconcerned with the affairs of man- more spectator than intervenor. They remained in their realm, governing over humans only after they’d lived their mortal lives.

You, Lucifer, and Amenadiel were exceptions.

Three sides of the same coin, three siblings, three realms- heaven, hell, and earth.

“Since when have you ever cared about my choices?”

It was unfair, a poisonous comment from the lips of a little girl who was still bitter about the way life turned out.

Amenadiel had visited you, more so than any sibling. Granted, you and Lucifer had been given more than just proverbial prisons. After his return to hell, some years before the world turned to shit, he had been caught in a trap once again, unable to leave the confines of hell.

And you…

Well, your wings were tattered, brutal scars to remind you of what you were, but to never let you leave.

Clipped wings for a trapped bird.

“I’ve always cared.”

There was a softness there, in the way his eyes dropped. He was an undeniably intimidating man, but he’d always brought himself to your level when he spoke to you, almost scared of you seeing him as anything other than an overbearing, yet loving, big brother.

“Why are you here?”

The question wasn’t as venomous as the last, genuine curiosity momentarily winning out over an never ending feud.

“What happened to you?”

His question was so sudden, like he’d been holding onto it for a lifetime, waiting for the right time to get his answer.

“You were God’s Golden Warrior, his most fierce and compassionate child.”

An angry humor burned its way up your throat, culminating in something halfway between a laugh and a growl. Amenadiel, as patient as ever, let the rage light up your features.

“What happened?” You stood then, your full height not even nearing your brother’s, but there was no denying the spark of intimidation in your stance.

You’d been God’s Golden Warrior first, then Hell’s Champion.

Titles given not by privilege, but by prowess.

There were few who were capable of moving with such speed and precision as you. Your body and mind were weapons, capable of a destruction you never sought out.

Instead, you chose to be a healer, to let the divinity that flooded your veins be used for good.

You couldn’t heal now, not since the day the bombs fell- since you fell- and that bit of knowledge hurt worse than the disappointment on Amenadiel’s face, but just barely.

“Look at this place,” your voice rose with your anger, a sneer on your lips. “At them.”

Your brother did.

Guilt flashed in his eyes, followed by quiet acceptance.

“I watched this happen. We all watched this happen.”

It was so fucking hard to get Amenadiel to understand the thoughts that plagued your every move. Anger was easy, it shadowed the guilt and overwhelming sadness, like a rabid animal protecting its den.

Why couldn’t he see it? Why couldn’t any of them see it?

“We do not dictate their lives,” he reminded you sternly, his arms crossing over his chest.

Your heart squeezed at the image of him, at the same expression he’d given to you so many times in your youth, bewildered with your silly antics.

“No, we just let billions of people suffer for the mistakes of a few,” you muttered bitterly.

The air, nearly frozen in time with the power of Amenadiel, grew thick with an exhausted argument. For millennia it’d been like this, each visit ending in similar disappointment. Maybe the damage was irreparable, maybe you would never reconnect with him the way you once did.

“Don’t forget who you are.”

And with that, he was gone.

You were left to your own musings once more, time ticking by like normal once again.

His words shouldn’t have bothered you, shouldn’t have crawled deep into your skin and taken root in your chest, but they did.

Don’t forget who you are.

Your legs twitched, a reminder of the position you’d been in less than a day ago.

Cooper had dropped you to your knees and you’d just let him.

You’d let him take whatever pleasure he wanted from you, had let him pump his anger into you until he’d thrown his head back with his release.

Your thoughts simmered, then blistered, dissatisfaction rearing its head.

You were not his toy, his little plaything to use as he pleased.

That little display had been for his benefit, but it wasn’t who you were. If he wanted you, he’d have to earn you.

You were gone before either of your companions awoke, Maze following closely behind as you prepared some rations for Lucy and Cooper.

Food wasn’t something you’d had in a long time.

Truthfully, you didn’t need it. Without eating, you’d survive, just as unchanged as the past several thousand years- water too. However, it hurt.

You still felt hunger, thirst, just as a human did. It didn’t debilitate you, or even make you unwell, you just felt a constant pain, an ache you couldn’t consciously fill. Humans needed food and water to survive, to even stand a fighting chance.

So, you lived in that pain.

You sighed, holding out your palm with a little bit of spare canned meat for Maze. The dog took it graciously, scarfing down the humble portion.

Lucy and Maze were easier to understand and interact with. Honestly, they were a bit refreshing. Well, Lucy was, Maze was very much a good dog, but that was usually the case.

Good humans?

Well, those were in pretty short supply these days.

It was easy to understand though, and you gave humans a lot of grace. After all, this world was a hard place that took and took, relentless in its efforts to either strike you down or make you another monster in the cog of the apocalypse.

“That smells better than I thought anything on the surface could,” Lucy mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She sat up slowly, bringing her knees to her chest as you passed her the sad excuse for a meal.

“Eat up, it’ll be a long day,” you told her, scratching Maze’s chin as you lounged a little more comfortably.

The instinct to spread your wings stretched at your spine, tamped down only by the presence of your new friend.

She hummed contentedly, taking a few bites slowly, like she was both savoring the flavor and debating on asking a question.

It seemed her curiosity won out as she swallowed another bite.

“Where will you go after I find my dad?”

You let the inquiry hang in the air as you thought on it, idly tapping your fingers on the top of your knee. You hadn’t given it a lot of thought, too focused on trying to give someone a happiness you could never have.

Maybe it’d heal a piece of yourself in the process.

“I don’t really know,” you admitted slowly, cautiously.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Cooper stir. He was awake, even if he pretended not to be.

You wouldn’t call him out though. If he wanted to listen in, so be it.

“You could-“ she paused, shaking off a bit of dust before she continued. “If you wanted to, you could come with me to my vault.”

The control Cooper always had a desperate hold on reared out of his hands, his body shooting up as if he’d woken up in a startle. You didn’t answer Lucy, didn’t bother to tell her if only because you knew it’d drive Cooper mad.

And he looked particularly put out as he grabbed his own portion of the food.

Where Lucy was well mannered and talkative, Coop took exactly what he needed and didn’t bother with conversation.

You sighed, getting to your feet and slinging your pack back on.

“Now that everybody’s had their breakfast, let’s get moving.”

Lucy was quick to join you, worry and fear chewing at her with each day that passed by. There wasn’t much left to the journey, about a day and a half if you had to guess, but there was a fairly important stop you wanted to make first.

“We’re going to make a stop tonight,” you commented, not bothering to check if Coop was following as you started making your way away from your temporary camp.

“And then we’ll be there tomorrow?” Lucy confirmed.

Your nod was enough of a confirmation for her, and instead of leaving her to her own devices, to stew in the depths of her concern, you engaged in conversation with her.

It was unimportant, for the most part, just questions about her family and her interests.

She’d told you about her brother, Norm, who she clearly had a deep affection for. Then she talked about her dad, and how close they’d been.

It was so… normal. Mundane. Domestic.

Before the war, you weren’t as involved with humans. You’d always kept them at a bit of a distance, scared to engage.

(And considering the first time you’d really tangled yourself in human affairs they claimed you to be the daughter of Zeus, married you to a Spartan, then started an entire pointless war over the male ego- you weren’t quick to re-enter society.)

But, eventually, with the help of Lucifer, you’d made friends. Integrated yourself, if you will.

Life had been a dream then, loneliness chased away by your friends and family. Lucifer had Chloe and Rory, Amenadiel had Linda and Charlie. Maze tormented you daily with very painful sparring sessions. (With the utmost love in her heart, mind you.)

Then Lucifer had been forced to return to hell, chained to his responsibility in the afterlife. Not long after, the world went to shit and the friends you’d had were all whisked away in some form or fashion, to hell or to heaven, depending on if they were Team Lucifer or Amenadiel.

You’d recognized the faraway look in Cooper’s expression too, like her explanation of her life was forcing him to face his own past.

Briefly, you wondered what that looked like.

He hadn’t really told you anything about his family. Hell, before the past couple of weeks you hadn’t told him anything about yours either.

Then, before Lucy could ask too many questions about the state of your own family, you inquired about Maximus.

There was a sadness when she spoke of him, like the uncertainty of the situation was a death sentence.

And maybe it was.

The Wasteland had a habit of making people disappear. It was so easy to just drift away, become little more than a distant memory and an occasional anecdote while the world moved on.

The conversation was enough to keep you occupied, to distract you from the impending walk down nostalgia lane.

For the most part, it was just you and Lucy talking, Cooper still deep in thought over the events of the past day. It was better that way, though, easier to focus on meaningless conversation than the streets around you.

The closer you got, the more you recognized.

The streets were so different now, not teeming with life as they’d once been.

Lux.

Los Angeles had become little more than a husk of itself, shells of buildings littering the streets, the desert sweeping in from all sides. Many factions had laid claim to the ruins, had rebuilt the city with scraps.

Through it all though, Lux had stood.

It wasn’t in perfect condition, but it did maintain itself far better than nearly every other building.

Not that it was particularly surprising, there were many, many divine artifacts locked away, for the protection of others.

“What is this place?” Lucy broke the silence, a hand blocking out the harsh sun as she followed the building to the top.

“It used to be a nightclub,” you shrugged, your boots crunching on glass shards.

Most of the windows had been smashed out, and when you entered the front, you were unsurprised to find that it’d been trashed, then picked clean. Beyond the general structure of the bottom floor, there was little recognizable content left. Even the poles had been taken down, lost to some raid or another.

You could almost picture it, your mind tugging you back to a time you’d walked through the throngs of people, pressing your way to the elevator to meet your brother.

This time, there wasn’t a crowd, just your two companions following in a hushed silence.

“It works?” Lucy gestured to the open doors of the elevator that you’d stepped into, your hand tracing the buttons reverently.

“Yeah, it’ll work,” you promised, a thousand little moments echoing in the press of a button.

You typed in the code, the one Lucifer had used to protect his property prior to leaving, and the elevator whirred back at you.

If you wanted to get technical, it had been Chloe’s idea. She wasn’t interested in coming back to Lux after Lucy left, haunted by the memories. She knew she’d meet him again, one day- but until then, she tried to maintain some semblance of normal while honoring Lucifer.

Thus, you’d all decided that you’d take Lux, and in doing so, you could maintain the artifacts that your brother had collected. You’d agreed only after drowning every surface in bleach.

He might’ve settled down with Chloe eventually, but he’d more than likely defiled every inch of the penthouse before that.

The doors moved with a groan, shutting you and your small party in as it ascended to the place you’d once considered home. Your heart twinged, each whine of the machinery bringing you closer to familiarity.

“How’d you know all this, sweetheart?”

Cooper finally broke his silence, the same one he’d had for the majority of the day, to ask. You weren’t quite sure if you were thankful for it or not, comforted by his voice but also frustrated with his actions.

“This,” you tapped impatiently against the rusting bar, nodding your head as the elevator screeched to a halt, doors springing open slowly. “Was my brother’s place.”

The look Cooper gave you could best be described as suspicious. You looked like you were in your mid-twenties, and this club was very obviously from before the war over 200 years ago.

You ignored it, however, instead calming the pounding of your heart as you stepped into the penthouse your brother had made his home for many years.

The lights above clicked on, a generator long dormant still capable of producing electricity. You weren’t surprised, Lucifer had really spared no expense on this place, because he hated inconvenience.

It was largely untouched, a few smashed windows and a heavy layer of dust the only real mark of the passage of time. It was still, quiet, lifeless. Your fingers idly tapped on the keys of the piano, untuned notes reverberating in the space around you as a brief flicker of life passed through the space.

You’d loved here, had once reunited with your family and friends, had held them all close as the weight of years and years in isolation forced you to your knees. The note died, the memory too, and you stepped away, towards the well stocked bar that was mostly intact.

“Now that’s a bar,” Coop whistled lowly, picking up the nearest bottle and investigating.

“We can stay here for the night,” you told them, dropping your pack on the couch, dust swirling at the upheaval. “There’s only two rooms, but the couch is comfy.”

Lucy was walking the perimeter with curiosity, hands tracing over the luxurious items with interest. She’d never seen objects like this, surrounded by metal and conformity. Everything in the penthouse was unique and expensive, millennia of history blended into fashionable decor.

Maze followed suit, sniffing and investigating every corner and crevice of the abandoned penthouse.

The distinct sound of a fridge opening made you turn towards the bar and cringe.

“I’d just leave that closed,” you commented, a shiver of disgust involuntarily crawling down your spine.

“What in the hell is this?” Coop pulled out a very brightly colored goop, one that you’d been too horrified to even touch after Lucifer had left, and then the world had ended.

“It’s uh,” you cleared your throat. “Lube.”

Amusement twitched on the ghoul’s features as he cracked the old jar open.

“Please don’t,” you muttered, not bothering to watch the scene unfold.

He’d specially ordered it from some Korean sex store, claiming that it tasted like bubblegum and caused all “bits and bobs to tingle”.

You slipped back into your brother’s room, pushing aside the old painting to get into the vault. The thrum of divinity always grew in intensity near artifacts, but this specific one lit a fire in your chest.

Lucifer had felt a connection to the Blade of Death, and Amenadiel had always been affixed to the Key, but you…

You clicked the lock open- the combination was Chloe’s birthday- and reached out, power strumming in the air.

Your fingers closed around the Medallion of Life, the world righting itself a little more around you. The three divine artifacts that made up the Flaming Sword, the three children of God that made up the three realms- there was an unbreakable tether between you and the medallion, which you’d strung around your neck.

“What’s that?”

It was Lucy who asked, who had followed you into your brother's room.

“Family heirloom,” you said, tucking the medallion beneath your jumpsuit.

Her eyes slid to the bed, still perfectly made, gazing with longing. Exhaustion had hit your party hard, the long days of traveling with the lack of adequate rations and an overbearing sun had left your companions little more than a tangle of limbs at night.

“Have the bed,” you told her, turning to walk out of the room.

“Hey,” she interrupted the quiet gently, thoughtfully. “How is it possible? That your brother owned this place?”

You breathed out a sigh, pausing momentarily.

“I’m a lot older than I look.”

Cooper was still rifling around the bar when you returned, his hat perched precariously on a shelf. Maze had jumped onto the couch, satisfied with her assessment of the new space and now content to just doze off.

Your gazes met, and instead of offering him the second room- your room- you nodded your head in a gentle goodnight, and walked the familiar path to rest. Your fingertips traced the walls, nostalgia threatening to bubble up, to form tears in your eyes.

You wouldn’t let it, wouldn’t let memories drown you in sorrow.

Don’t forget who you are.

But you wanted to.

You wanted to be anything but that person, but the person who hurt when others did, who couldn’t stand to watch anyone in pain.

The door to your room creaked open, the bright colors faded to vignette, like an old film. It still looked relatively the same- closet full of color, books lining the wall, retired weapons collecting dust like trophies.

Your bed looked so warm and inviting, and as much as you wanted to fall into the sheets and sleep for a decade, you decided it was best to maintain some amount of hygiene.

You chucked your boots off, throwing them somewhere in the wide, open space. Your socks and jumpsuit were quick to follow, leaving you in just your bra and underwear.

The dresser drawers groaned with disuse, but opened with relative ease. You snagged an old t-shirt you’d stolen from some one night stand you didn’t bother remembering- the name of some old band plastered on the front in an eerie font- and a new pair of panties. Considering it’d been 200 years, you were surprised that they were in such good condition.

They smelled a little dusty and stale, but honestly, that was better than anything the Wasteland produced.

Just as you’d been about to slither into bed and sleep like the dead, the jingle of spurs sounded down the hallway, headed straight for you. Coop was slow, controlled, like he was having a conversation with himself on the walk over.

You listened intently, sitting on the edge of your bed as he decided whether he wanted to speak to you or not.

Slowly, with more caution than you’d ever seen from him, your door opened. The expression he wore was hesitant, and your heart squeezed at seeing some of the confidence in his swagger chipped away.

It struck you then, that you’d seen him play a similar role sometime back in his golden days. He’d been an apologetic cowboy, begging his lady love for forgiveness. She’d given it to him then, had confessed her undying love and then they’d rode off into the sunset, presumably to live happily ever after.

Not for the first time, you wondered if he saw the scene play in his head, if he remembered a time when all the bad disappeared with a shout of “cut”.

“What do you need?”

He shifted from foot to foot, an internal debate, before he took a step forward.

“The dog’s taking up the couch.”

A flimsy excuse. A real one, if it were you, but you knew he didn’t truly care about the comfort of Maze.

“And?”

You quirked a brow, not giving any grace. If he wanted something, he’d have to ask- nicely.

He sucked on his teeth, fingers running the brim of his hat.

“Really gonna make a man beg, sweetheart?“

“I usually do,” you met him with a pointed stare, leaning back on your elbows.

His gaze ran the length of your legs, drinking in the sight of your bare, smooth skin. Like a man possessed, he fell before you, dropped straight to his knees.

“I ain’t ever begged before,” he murmured, the tips of his fingers ghosting along your ankles. “Ain’t gonna start now.”

A smile tugged at your lips- slow and sweet, a woman who knew her worth.

“Not now,” you agreed with a hum, watching from beneath your lashes as he pressed the skin of your ankle to his lips, moving up a few inches before repeating the action. “But you will.”

A shiver ran the length of your spine when his touch reached the inside of your thigh, a smirk pulling on his mouth. He tugged at your underwear, sliding it down your legs at a torturous pace.

“Is that so?”

His breath was warm against your skin, the vibrations from his voice pressed against your legs. It was a sight to behold, him on his knees before you, worshipping each inch of yourself bared to him.

“Pretty as a peach,” he breathed, eyes drinking in the sight of your exposed cunt.

You hummed teasingly, the sound turning to a breathy moan of his name as he bit the soft flesh of your thigh.

“I’m not in the mood for games, Coop,” you told him, leveling him with an even stare.

He kept eye contact as he licked a long, hard stripe up your cunt. Your breath stuttered, muscles tensing at the sensation.

“Neither am I.”

You barely had time to register the words, to understand the insulation, before he pressed his face against you, his tongue flicking desperately against your clit.

You cursed, hands knocking the hat off his head as you grabbed onto the back of his neck, holding him there. Your back arched when he sucked, his teeth just barely scraping against your sensitive nub.

He was ravenous, his tongue finding a harsh rhythm against your clit, sucking up every drop of wetness you gave him like he’d been without water for a week. The pressure in your stomach unraveled, muscles straining under the building tension.

Your body sung, pleasure climbing higher and higher.

Coop pulled away, and you nearly sobbed at the loss of his mouth, before his fingers- somehow devoid of his gloves in the chaos- were pressing into you.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” his accent was thick, honeyed.

You had maybe a second before-

A wanton moan tore itself from your parted lips, his name a prayer on your lips as his other hand held you open, his tongue relentless against your slick heat.

His finger was pumping in and out of you, quickly joined by another as he stretched you open for him.

You were saying his name over and over now, pressure building with each swipe of his tongue or curl of his finger. You were pleading with him, at the edge of it all wanting to just plunge into your pleasure.

Your legs flexed, tried to close, but Cooper held them open as your chest fluttered. Each touch was fire, so hot your body burned in an inferno of your desire.

Cooper. Cooper. Fuck.

Unintelligible words fell from your lips, growing in volume as you fell into the feel of him, pleasure bursting through your veins. You might’ve screamed his name then, might’ve drew blood with your fingernails as he tongue fucked you through your orgasm.

It took you a moment to catch your breath, and another to realize he was crawling up your body, pride plastered in the smirk he wore.

You’d give it to him, that was one hell of an orgasm.

But, you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction. Not yet.

“Coop,” you warned, holding your hand against his chest.

The heart that beat beneath your palm was pounding with excitement.

“Darlin’,” he cooed the syllables, sweet as sugar.

If you were made of lesser stuff, you might’ve leaned into his touch, might’ve bunched his shirt in your fist and pressed your lips to his- but you weren’t, and you didn’t. Instead, you met his gaze, keeping him suspended above you.

You rocked to the side then, your leg wrapped around his middle while you flipped the both of you over, pinning him beneath you. It surprised him, the strength you displayed, so unlike when he’d had you on your knees.

You didn’t have to say anything then, didn’t even have to tell him what you were thinking. He could see it, could recognize the look in your eyes, and nodded.

He laid back, observing you above him. You wished you could tell what he was thinking, what caused the furrow of his now-gone brows.

A note floated between you, more joining with a skilled precision to create a beautiful melody.

A familiar melody.

Coop was already pushing you off him, feet pounding against the ground as you struggled to throw a pair of old sweatpants on. You were tripping over yourself, all uncoordinated limbs and excitable actions and you ran out the door and into the hallway, a few feet behind Coop.

He was already slinging insults, his gun cocked with a threat by the time you rounded the corner. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, couldn’t even see the worried expression on Lucy’s brow as you stared at the piano, the very same that had laid abandoned, silent, for 200 years.

There, in the center of the room, with a wide, devilish smile and a pristine suit, fingers sprawled across the keys, sat Lucifer.

[carriesthewind]

"Although hired as a consultant by Washington County in this case, Baird had a long-standing independent agenda: helping foster parents across Colorado succeed in intervening and permanently claiming the children they care for. Often working hand in hand with Tim Eirich, she has been called as an expert in, by her count, hundreds of child-welfare cases, and she sometimes evaluates visits between birth families and children without having met them. Baird would not say how many foster-parent intervenor cases she has participated in, but she can recall only a single instance in which she concluded that the intervenors should not keep the child. Thinking that particular couple would be weak adoptive parents, she told me, she simply filed no report."

"With the supply of adoptable babies dropping, foster children were becoming a “hot commodity,” he said, and he and his colleagues (among them Tim Eirich’s law partner Seth Grob) realized that attachment experts could be called into court to argue that foster children needed to remain with their foster parents in order to avoid a severed bond."

"The judge ruled in favor of Eirich’s clients, a social worker and a real-estate agent. “Court found [Baird’s] testimony credible. She has significant experience,” the judge said, adding approvingly that Baird’s analysis had “focused on primacy of attachment over cultural considerations.”"

"Was Baird’s method for evaluating these foster and birth families empirically tested? No, Baird answered: Her method is unpublished and unstandardized, and has remained “pretty much unchanged” since the 1980s. It doesn’t have those “standard validity and reliability things,” she admitted. “It’s not a scientific instrument.”

...

Had she considered or was she even aware of the cultural background of the birth family and child whom she was recommending permanently separating? (The case involved a baby girl of multiracial heritage.) Baird answered that babies have “never possessed” a cultural identity, and therefore are “not losing anything,” at their age, by being adopted. Although when such children grow up, she acknowledged, they might say to their now-adoptive parents, “Oh, I didn’t know we were related to the, you know, Pima tribe in northern California, or whatever the circumstances are.”

The Pima tribe is located in the Phoenix metropolitan area."

"We found that — leaving aside the question of whether attachment theory should even be used as an argument in these cases — Baird’s assessments of foster children’s relationships aren’t just unscientific. They barely touch the surface of a child’s life.

“I don’t know these children,” she testified in one 2017 case, adding, “I have not met anybody.” Still, she said, she “strongly” recommended that those children’s birth parents’ rights be permanently terminated and that the kids be adopted."

"She also regularly uses terms like “mirror neurons,” “neurotoxins,” “synapses,” “hormones,” and “encoded trauma in the central nervous system” to justify her conclusions about children’s family relationships. (Baird is not a neuroscientist.)"

______________________

The New Yorker article focuses on possible legislative solutions, but I think these articles point to something more pernicious and more difficult to address. Judges - in all kinds of cases - routinely give credence to professionals and "experts" who are biased, bigoted, and testify far outside their expertise (if they have any expertise at all). These professionals have credentials (like being a police officer or social worker) that are validated by institutional hierarchies. Their frequent systematized interaction with the legal system is mistaken as experience that makes their subjective beliefs more credible, when in truth they lack any objective expertise. They are considered credible and unbiased because they conform to, and validate, systems of hierarchical oppression, while the people they hurt - often poor, marginalized, and most frequently, not white - are viewed with inherent distrust.

The ProPublica article focuses primarily on Baird. I'm more concerned with the judges who believed her, who used her to justify funneling children away from their (safe and loving, but poorer and frequently browner) birth families. She was only able to do so much harm because of the the power given to her by courts, and the judges inside them.

The ProPublic article ends with the line, "This past fall, with Baird’s help, the foster parents were granted full custody of the baby girl through her 18th birthday." It names Baird as a force that led to the theft of this child. The passive voice hides the judge who made the ultimate decision.

[circeyoru]

I was thinking of a yandere jinwoo with a fem reader who's nerdy and kind of an intervenor of making hunter weapons like Kowalski from Madagascar XD

Sorry for the wait! This request is from long ago, but there were other stories that got my attention. But it's here now!

Maker of His Eyes = Requested

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Hunter Gear Maker!Reader]

Will be out in 15-20 minutes

My Works: MASTERLIST

[xhxhxhx]

I never publish anything unless I write directly into the editor, so I'm going to try that.

I.

I've been trying to write about the Supreme Court, but I've been finding it hard going.

For you, the important thing about the decisions of the Supreme Court is what you already know: the outcomes.

As a rule, you want outcomes consistent with your ideological commitments or, more rarely, your issue-level commitments. If you are a liberal, you want liberal outcomes. If a conservative, conservative outcomes. Nothing more.

You don't need to know much to know the outcomes. If you read the headline, the lede, or, in the extreme case, the syllabus, you know all you need to know. You take your normative standard, apply it to the facts of the case, and you have your judgment: It's liberal and good, or conservative and bad, or the reverse.

In the more exceptional case, you want outcomes consistent with some principle. Perhaps you're committed to a mixed and balanced constitution, to equilibrium. Depending on your mood, you may want to restrain the executive, or Congress, or perhaps even the Court. Keep everything checked and balanced.

In neither case do the details matter. To read the opinions, the briefs, to hear argument, to ponder the rule—the history, the rhetoric, the fine doctrine—is pointless. That first cut is all you need.

What else do you need?

II.

Let's try a different approach.

Every case has a question. Do you have to exhaust state administrative remedies before bringing 42 U.S.C. § 1983 claims in state court? Can a plaintiff, after removal to federal court, amend the federal questions out of their complaint and thereby defeat federal-question jurisdiction or supplemental jurisdiction?

If I want to give the right answer, it takes a good amount of work. To take the authorities, read them, think them through, work out the equities, put it all in order, write it up. It's work. It's interesting work. The reading, the thinking. It's pleasant. But then you get to the writing. And suddenly there's the terrible question:

Who cares?

Well, the court cares, obviously. They don't have to take these questions. They don't have to take any questions. Except, that is, the ones that come up from three-judge courts under 28 U.S.C. § 1253, or in their original jurisdiction under § 1251. But the Court has winnowed that down too, and even then they botch it.

But do you care? No, of course not. It is hard for me to even imagine why you would care. Do you have anything at stake in whether the United States, as an intervenor in a suit between states on the Court's original docket, can hold up a settlement? Even when the only interests at stake are derivative? No, of course not.

If you did care, it would be because your first or your second level normative framework would dispose of the question one way or another. Is it liberal to let the United States hold up the settlement? Then it's good. End of story. Case closed, as they say over here.

If anything, you need someone to explain to you why it's liberal, and how liberal it is, or, if you're sophisticated—and you're all very sophisticated, I'm sure—how it affects the constitutional settlement. That's news you can use.

But what you don't need is the shop talk. That is not rewarding, not stimulating. It is beneath you. That's why you hire lawyers, after all. You hire them so you don't have to read them.

If you did care, you would read the opinions, the briefs, the arguments. I wouldn't have anything to say to you then, either. Except, maybe, isn't this neat? But is it neat? No, of course not.

III.

So I'm puzzled.

I don't care, really, about whether an opinion is liberal or not, and I honestly feel defeated when that's the first and last question you have about it. I like the shop talk. I think it's neat.

You, of course, don't think it's neat. If you're sophisticated—and you're all very sophisticated, I'm sure—you know it's pretense. It's fiction. And whether you're sophisticated or not, you know it's boring. And I don't want to be boring.

And having nothing to say, I stay silent. And so I just keep reading, and thinking, and wishing we had something to talk about.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Chris Geidner at Law Dork:

The future of mifepristone access is up in the air on multiple fronts right now — just five months after the U.S. Supreme Court rejected a challenge to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s treatment of the medication abortion drug.

In June, a unanimous Supreme Court held that the private plaintiffs challenging the FDA’s rules surrounding mifepristone access lacked standing to bring their claims. At that point, the challenges had already been whittled down. They were not to the original approval of mifepristone itself but to the 2016-and-since changes to access of the drug, including allowing the mailing of the drug by ending the in-person dispensing requirement and increasing the gestational limits on when mifepristone can be used. Now, though, Donald Trump has won election to the presidency — and questions about what his new administration will do to federal policy surrounding the drug are front and center. Additionally, moves in recent weeks in existing litigation suggest that neither backers of the drug’s availability nor those seeking to restrict its access are willing to sit back and wait for the Trump administration to act. The result could be a flurry of litigation in the coming months, some all but forcing the Trump administration to quickly weigh in on the matter and, potentially, sending one or more questions back to the Supreme Court sooner rather than later.

Relevant to the mifepristone litigation, Trump has announced that former Florida Attorney General Pam Bondi is his nominee for attorney general, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is his nominee to run the Department of Health and Human Services, and Marty Makary is his nominee to run the FDA. Since the election, anti-abortion groups and activists have been “emboldened,” as The Washington Post reported, despite abortion protections passing almost everywhere they were on the ballot. There will be efforts to push the administration to adopt anti-abortion positions, but, beyond that, those same groups will be going to court regardless of what the new administration does. Although far-right groups like Project 2025 were advocating for a Trump administration to resurrect and use the 1873 Comstock Act to prevent mailing of mifepristone (and, potentially, any other “article or thing” used in an abortion, under reasoning I described in this article), neither Trump nor any of these key nominees have backed such a step. Although Bondi certainly identifies as “pro-life,” the primary case cited from her time as Florida attorney general is her 2016 defense of a Florida law requiring a 24-hour waiting period before a woman or other pregnant person could get an abortion. It is important to remember that she left office more than three years before Roe v. Wade was overturned. As such, limits in her arguments in the case don’t tell us — in either direction — what her views would be today.

[...]

Missouri, Kansas, and Idaho — the trio of states — filed a motion on Oct. 11 to amend their complaint in the case, basically, to add to it in light of new information and in the wake of the Supreme Court’s standing ruling. On Nov. 1, however, the Justice Department filed a motion to dismiss the case, as well as a memorandum of law supporting that and opposing the states’ request to amend their complaint because, the lawyers wrote, “Once Plaintiffs’ Complaint is dismissed, the separate Complaint filed by the three Intervenor States—the States of Missouri, Idaho, and Kansas (“the States”)—must likewise be dismissed. The Fifth Circuit has squarely held that intervention requires a jurisdictionally proper suit. Because this Court never had jurisdiction over Plaintiffs’ claims, it could not obtain jurisdiction over the States’ claims.“ Danco Laboratories, the maker of Mifiprex, filed a similar motion and argument.

[...]

Most important to all of this is what happens if Kacsmaryk rejects DOJ’s request or does not rule by Jan. 20. At that point, although Danco’s position isn’t likely to change, it is possible that DOJ and the FDA’s position in the case could change. If not dismissed by Jan. 20, then, it is very possible that this case could force the new Trump administration to very quickly weigh in on these questions about mifepristone access. Remarkably, that is not all. In a less closely watched case, a group of Democratic-led states sued the FDA in Washington to protect — and, in fact, expand — access to mifepristone. The case had been in a holding pattern while some Republican-led states unsuccessfully sought to intervene in the case, but it recently got going again. The Democratic-led states filed their motion for summary judgment in October, arguing that mifepristone should not be subject to “special restrictions” when “[i]t is even safer than such well-known drugs as Tylenol, Viagra, and insulin” that have no such restrictions.

[...] Most important to all of this is what happens if Kacsmaryk rejects DOJ’s request or does not rule by Jan. 20. At that point, although Danco’s position isn’t likely to change, it is possible that DOJ and the FDA’s position in the case could change. If not dismissed by Jan. 20, then, it is very possible that this case could force the new Trump administration to very quickly weigh in on these questions about mifepristone access. Remarkably, that is not all. In a less closely watched case, a group of Democratic-led states sued the FDA in Washington to protect — and, in fact, expand — access to mifepristone. The case had been in a holding pattern while some Republican-led states unsuccessfully sought to intervene in the case, but it recently got going again. The Democratic-led states filed their motion for summary judgment in October, arguing that mifepristone should not be subject to “special restrictions” when “[i]t is even safer than such well-known drugs as Tylenol, Viagra, and insulin” that have no such restrictions.

With Trump's win, the future of mifepristone could be more decisively settled this SCOTUS term or the next one.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

The fight over gun laws in Canada will see Alberta go to court against Ottawa as intervenors in half a dozen lawsuits against legislation that bans hundreds of models of firearms.

In September, the province made the application to intervene in six ongoing cases on non-constitutional issues.

That request was not opposed by the federal government, and on Wednesday, it was granted by the court.

“The federal firearms ban criminalizes hundreds of thousands of law-abiding Canadians who are in possession of firearms that the federal government has arbitrarily banned – simply because the ‘style’ of the firearm was deemed to be aesthetically displeasing by bureaucrats in Public Safety Canada," Alberta Justice Minister Tyler Shandro wrote in a news release.

"I am pleased that Alberta has been granted an opportunity to defend the tens of thousands of Albertans who are personally affected by this ban in a court of law.”

The Liberal government banned roughly 1,500 models and variants of firearms, including the AR-15 and Ruger Mini-14, through an order-in-council in May 2020 on the grounds they have no place in hunting or sport shooting. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada, @abpoli

[greekmythcomix]

Good Omens Victorian headcanon I came up with today:

Sometime between 1881 and 1886 (several decades after leaving Crowley in St James Park and a few years before his instruction in the Gavotte), Aziraphale goes on a daytrip to Southsea in Portsmouth to intercede in the case of a young doctor whose practice is failing and stop him abandoning his calling.

After his mission goes unintentionally and dramatically (and probably hilariously) awry, Aziraphale uses too many miracles in front of the doctor, giving him reason to confide in his new friend, Alfred Wilks Drayson, the president of the Portsmouth Literary and Scientific Society, and, at his suggestion, begin a series of investigations into the possibility of psychic phenomena and a lifelong belief in the supernatural and spiritualism.

Aziraphale is however successful in his mission: Dr Arthur Conan Doyle sells his first Sherlock Holmes mystery, A Study In Scarlet, to Ward Lock &Co. in November 1886, having used his mysterious intervenor as the basis for the character of… Dr Watson.

Also: Part of their meeting involves Conan Doyle blushing my brining up a new genre he’s interested in writing, detective fiction, and Aziraphale immediately gushing about Edgar Allen Poe and ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ and how great the character of C. Auguste Dupin is, which annoys Conan Doyle so much that he adds a bit to A Study in Scarlet where Holmes describes Dupin as “a very inferior fellow”.

Also: the mission goes so wrong it’s the reason Aziraphale later gets a gun licence.

Additional Fun Fact: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s son, Adrian, later wrote an additional Sherlock Holmes mystery called ‘The Adventure of the Dark Angels’… 🤔

The Two Fixed Points in a Changing Age’?! That’s somehow a Good Omens fanfic title right there.

(No it’s not a real Strand Magazine I know, but that title was too good!)

This headcanon partially inspired by @gargoyle-doyle ‘s posts about Neil Gaiman’s family having had a grocers in Portsmouth - (which for some reason I can’t link because paste isn’t working) and because I used to live round the corner from where Conan Doyle’s practice had been, and up the road from the Portsmouth Museum which has half an entire floor dedicated to Conan Doyle and Holmes.

[ethanslaterupdates]

Ethan Slater in Intervenors (2022)

(See more pics of Ethan 📸)

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Inside Climate News:

When Peter Else left the University of Arizona in 2005 to live in the San Pedro Valley full time, he planned to spend his retirement farming in one of the most ecologically intact landscapes left in southern Arizona, where the nearby river remains undammed and giant cactuses fill the space between the Galiuro and Rincon mountains. 

But Else, who previously directed the Tucson Area Agricultural Centers at the University of Arizona, soon found himself in the middle of one of the most consequential debates over developing green spaces for green energy. For nearly a decade, he has been fighting the SunZia project—a transmission line connecting 3,000 megawatts of clean energy generated by wind farms in New Mexico to the power grid. The transmission line was routed largely along highways in New Mexico and Arizona but detoured into the San Pedro Valley for roughly 50 miles, cutting through a landscape that for decades avoided most of the impacts of human development. Other routes identified by developers were deemed to have greater negative impacts by federal regulators, while the company said building along existing infrastructure was too costly.  

“I’ve never done anything like that before in my life,” Else said of becoming a citizen intervenor during the Arizona Corporation Commission’s (ACC) permitting process for SunZia, a role that allows citizens impacted by a project to directly participate in its permitting by providing sworn testimony and cross-examining witnesses. “I had no idea what I was getting into.” 

Fifteen years since the project was first proposed and nearly a decade after state regulators began reviewing the project, Else is still involved, suing the ACC, which regulates state utilities, over its issuing of a certificate of environmental compatibility (CEC) to SunZia. The suit argues that the development has fundamentally changed since it was narrowly approved in 2016 and no longer benefits Arizona. 

When SunZia was approved, the project planned to build two side-by-side power lines and connect to a planned substation in Bowie, Arizona. One of the lines built would be an alternating current line, enabling other energy projects in southern Arizona to connect to the grid, while the other would be a direct current line, which doesn’t easily allow for interconnection and is best used for sending large amounts of energy over long distances. But since Pattern Energy purchased the project in 2022, only the DC line is being built after the ACC agreed to separate the permits for both of the lines. The AC line currently lacks the funding to begin construction, and all of the project’s wind energy is slated to be sold in California, where it’s worth more. 

“As a matter of law, the Commission cannot approve a CEC when on one side of the balance is zero (no Arizona purchasers) or noneconomical power, and on the other side is environmental and ecological harm,” the lawsuit reads. “This is an independent reason to remand: the Commission must require Pattern to put on evidence of actual need in Arizona.”

Else’s lawsuit is just the latest in a series of challenges facing SunZia, the biggest renewable energy project in U.S. history, despite construction on the project having already begun. Fights over the development are playing out in state and federal courts. 

Transmission lines are vital to the energy grid and a major component of the transition away from fossil fuels. The lines send energy, often generated in remote places, over long distances, typically to major urban centers. But building them can be a long and tedious process, involving regulators from various states and federal agencies and the consultation and feedback of local and tribal communities, environmental groups and others. 

[lebuc]

aftermath

* this angel's wings inexplicably clipped;

walking streets now like a civilian

in shoes much too heavy for a jaunty gait or even a brisk pace.

they say that love lofts you to heights unimaginable

so it does - it did - enrapped in enfolding arms

embryonic with fluidic warmth, protective...calm

a stasis seemingly eternal, such was its time-bending motif.

alas - spring-wound clocks wind down eventually, always

with no intervenor turning the key.

then - time no longer ticks & tocks won't lock lovers

into a soul-solitary confinement soaring safely with each other,

waxing their wings without cease while the world in skyward gaze

once waved at them. * 3/23 - lebuc - aftermath

[uvsunspot]

MY HAMBURGER IS FIGHTING BACK DONT EAT ME WHERE ARE ALL THE COWBOYS!!!

ANTITRUST—E.D. Pa.: Philadelphia class certified, $2 million settlement approved in alleged Jiffy Lube no-poaching case, ( 2024)

By Justin Marcus Smith, J.D.

In approving the settlement, the court noted the risk that a national class might not be certified.

A final fairness hearing confirmed all grounds for granting final class certification and approval of a $2 million settlement in long-running “no poach” wage suppression litigation against Jiffy Lube International, Inc. (Jiffy Lube), held the federal district court in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The court approved the Jiffy Lube franchise employee plaintiffs’ requests for $500,000 as an award of attorney fees; $320,465 in litigation expenses; and, $68,132 for settlement administration expenses. The court also approved an incentive award of $5,000 for the named class representative. About 1,255 class members will receive an average remaining award of about $881.60. The court appeared to suggest that regional subclasses would have complicated the litigation and jeopardized the plaintiffs’ case. All circumstances considered, the court opined that the primary class counsel litigator obtained an “excellent recovery” for the finally approved Philadelphia area settlement class (Fuentes v. Jiffy Lube International, Inc., No. 2:18-cv-05174-AB (E.D. Pa. May 28, 2024)).

Jiffy Lube International, Inc., the largest chain of quick automotive oil changes chain in the United States, incorporated a clause into its franchise agreement prohibiting franchisees from soliciting or hiring employees from other Jiffy Lube franchises (the no-poach agreements). Fuentes, one such former franchise employee, filed a complaint against Jiffy Lube individually on behalf of a nationwide class.

After four years of litigation, Fuentes and Jiffy Lube moved for preliminary approval of their settlement on or about July 22, 2022, but only as to employees who worked at Jiffy Lube in the greater Philadelphia metro area. The court preliminarily certified that settlement class and preliminarily approved the Fuentes settlement on September 15, 2023. A plaintiff-intervenor who sought to pursue a nationwide class action against Jiffy Lube was subject to mandatory arbitration. The court also deemed a later proposed intervention, brought by a separate intervenor, but through the same attorney, as untimely and potentially prejudicial to settlement.

Fuentes now moved for class certification and final approval of the settlement. After conducting a fairness hearing, the court granted Fuentes’ motion for final class certification and approval of settlement. The court also granted Fuentes’ motion for attorney fees, expenses, and service award.

Certified class. The court certified the settlement class definition as consisting of all Jiffy Lube hourly employees who worked for at least 90 days for franchises located in the Philadelphia-Camden-Wilmington MSA. This definition comprised about 1,255 class members.

Cash settlement. The court reported that Jiffy Lube had already deposited $2 million into escrow for settlement distribution. After the subtraction of settlement administration expenses, taxes, fee and expense awards, and the service award, the $1,106,403 remainder is to be distributed to class members pro rata based on their estimated earnings working at Jiffy Lube franchisees during the class period. Class members are to be paid automatically. This means the average award will be about $881.60. The settlement administrator will withhold one-third as a proxy for taxable wages. Jiffy Lube will not have a reversionary interest in unclaimed funds. Any remainder will be subject to a second pro rata distribution to class members or, if too small to justify the cost of distribution, cy-près donation to a court-approved non-profit.

R. 23(a). The court held that the 1,255 putative class members satisfied R. 23(a) numerosity. Common questions of law and fact, including whether Jiffy Lube engaged in unlawful suppression of wages due to a “no poach” agreement between Jiffy Lube and its franchisees, meant that all class member claims satisfied the R. 23(a) commonality requirement. Claims and defenses of the representative parties were also typical of the class, satisfying the R. 23(a) typicality requirement.

The court also held Fuentes was an adequate representative of class interests. The Gibbs Law Group was class counsel and had been involved in the litigation since inception. The court concluded that Attorney Joshua L. Bloomfield is an experienced complex class action attorney who “vigorously” prosecuted the Philadelphia -area class claims. Fuentes was also a diligent class representative, as reflected by the lack of objections.

R. 23(b). The court concluded that the issue of whether the alleged “no poach” provision applied to every franchise agreement equally was common to all putative class members, as was the concomitant alleged injury of suppression of wages. The same issues, expertise, and proof applied to each class members, thereby satisfying R. 23(b) predominance.

Class members did not bring individual actions, where the likely successful payout would be under $2,000, thus confirming that the class action mechanism satisfied the superiority requirement. The proposed class members were also readily ascertainable, as defined, under R. 23(b).

With respect to the fairness of final approval, the court observed how the parties had participated in multiple formal and arms’ length settlement negotiations before the magistrate judge. The court concluded the presumption of fairness applied here.

Applying the Girsh factors, Girsh v. Jepson, 521 F.2d 153, 157 (3d Cir. 1975), the court noted the case had already been pending for over five years, so the complexity, expense, and likely duration of continuing it weighed heavily in favor of approving settlement. No class members filed objections or opt outs, so this also weighed in favor of approval. Both sides had a “strong grasp” of remaining legal hurdles, including the risk that a national class might not be certified, and the plaintiffs’ risk of failure at trial.

Regional subclasses, as previously sought by California intervenor Jimenez and would-be intervenor Hernandez, would have also required more time and expense, and again, an award of damages might not be guaranteed at trial. This also weighed in favor of settlement. It also was not clear whether the defendants could withstand a larger judgment, but the court concluded Jiffy Lube probably could, so this factor was neutral. The court concluded here that the settlement represented an “excellent recovery” for the settlement class and an “adequate overall recovery.”

Applying Prudential considerations, In re Prudential Insurance Co. America Sales Practice Litigation, 148 F.3d 283 (3d Cir. 1998), the court concluded class counsel was “able to make an informed decision about the probable outcome of a trial.” All class members had an opportunity to opt-out, and attorney’s fees were reasonable. These relevant Prudential considerations weighed in favor of settlement.

Given that the net award to class members would be $881.60, the lack of objections confirmed a substantial benefit to class members under In re Baby Products Antitrust Litigation, 708 F.3d 163 (3d Cir. 2013).

Attorney fees. The court approved class counsel request for $500,000 in attorney fees, $320,465 in litigation expenses, and $68,132 for settlement administration. Jiffy Lube was not directly liable for payment of the attorney fees. The court concluded the requested attorney fees, at 20% of recovery and 25% of the entire fund, were reasonable under the percentage-of-recovery method and the lodestar cross-check. The court considered that plaintiff’s counsel devoted over 3,000 hours to the case, and class counsel had advanced more than $300 thousand for litigation expenses. The court also noted that fee awards in the district generally range between 19% and 45% of the common fund. The court also approved a $5,000 incentive or service award for Fuentes.

The Case is No. 2:18-cv-05174-AB.

Rose Fulbright US LLP) for Jiffy Lube International, Inc.

Companies: Jiffy Lube International, Inc.

[electriccenturies]

I am being so incredibly fucking social lately and it feels kinda amazing?!? Also I kinda know what I want to do with my life a bit more; I think after this 1 year ASL and Deaf studies course I want to go into the Deafblind intervenor program :D I know a few people who really enjoy that work and I think it would suit me better than interpreting. This is the first time in my life I feel really set on what I want to do, it’s cool!!!

[ainews]

A recent report by the World Bank highlights the explosive nature of appellations for intervenors. Appellations, or legal indications of geographical origin for certain products, have become increasingly important in the global market. For many intervenors – political leaders, consumer protection agencies, and industry associations – appellations can present a difficult challenge.

At the heart of the issue lies a fundamental disagreement between two parties. On one side are industry companies that wish to use a certain product's origin to guard their corporate image, trademark, and branding, and on the other are those who believe in protecting regions and communities – including their cultures, environment, biodiversity, and other local characteristics.

The challenge for intervenors, then, is to find the best balance between these two positions. Some may favor stronger protection of regions and communities and support limiting the use of appellations, while others might argue that some use of appellations can help to foster global recognition and sustainability. It becomes especially difficult when appellations are used to denote geographical origin for the same product made in multiple countries.

The issue is further complicated by the fact that many of the regional communities at stake also have an economic interest in the appellations, as they often receive significant revenues from selling products within and outside their region. This can lead to an environment in which various levels of governments, stakeholders, and private companies all have an interest in the issue – and need to be negotiated with appropriately.

Intervenors, then, must find a way to strike a balance between competing interests while also recognizing the economic value of appellations and the potential effect they can have on regional businesses and cultural identities. It is a tough balancing act and one that stamps intervenors with a huge responsibility. With the world's supply chains becoming ever more complex and intertwined, appellations will only continue to grow in importance and complexity, making it essential that intervenors stay on top of the issue.