#public services suspended

[filosofablogger]

Asleep At The Wheel

What happens when a driver falls asleep at the wheel of the car he is driving?  Typically it results in an accident, possibly the loss of at least one life, maybe more.  Kevin McCarthy, hired to represent the 330 million people living in the United States, has fallen asleep at the proverbial wheel and is driving this train right toward a cliff – fiscal and otherwise. Intentionally. On…

[reasonsforhope]

"Research on a police diversion program implemented in 2014 shows a striking 91% reduction in in-school arrests over less than 10 years.

Across the United States, arrest rates for young people under age 18 have been declining for decades. However, the proportion of youth arrests associated with school incidents has increased.

According to the U.S. Department of Education, K–12 schools referred nearly 230,000 students to law enforcement during the school year that began in 2017. These referrals and the 54,321 reported school-based arrests that same year were mostly for minor misbehavior like marijuana possession, as opposed to more serious offenses like bringing a gun to school.

School-based arrests are one part of the school-to-prison pipeline, through which students—especially Black and Latine students and those with disabilities—are pushed out of their schools and into the legal system.

Getting caught up in the legal system has been linked to negative health, social, and academic outcomes, as well as increased risk for future arrest.

Given these negative consequences, public agencies in states like Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania have looked for ways to arrest fewer young people in schools. Philadelphia, in particular, has pioneered a successful effort to divert youth from the legal system.

Philadelphia Police School Diversion Program

In Philadelphia, police department leaders recognized that the city’s school district was its largest source of referrals for youth arrests. To address this issue, then–Deputy Police Commissioner Kevin Bethel developed and implemented a school-based, pre-arrest diversion initiative in partnership with the school district and the city’s department of human services. The program is called the Philadelphia Police School Diversion Program, and it officially launched in May 2014.

Mayor-elect Cherelle Parker named Bethel as her new police commissioner on Nov. 22, 2023.

Since the diversion program began, when police are called to schools in the city for offenses like marijuana possession or disorderly conduct, they cannot arrest the student involved if that student has no pending court case or history of adjudication. In juvenile court, an adjudication is similar to a conviction in criminal court.

Instead of being arrested, the diverted student remains in school, and school personnel decide how to respond to their behavior. For example, they might speak with the student, schedule a meeting with a parent, or suspend the student.

A social worker from the city also contacts the student’s family to arrange a home visit, where they assess youth and family needs. Then, the social worker makes referrals to no-cost community-based services. The student and their family choose whether to attend.

Our team—the Juvenile Justice Research and Reform Lab at Drexel University—evaluated the effectiveness of the diversion program as independent researchers not affiliated with the police department or school district. We published four research articles describing various ways the diversion program affected students, schools, and costs to the city.

Arrests Dropped

In our evaluation of the diversion program’s first five years, we reported that the annual number of school-based arrests in Philadelphia decreased by 84%: from nearly 1,600 in the school year beginning in 2013 to just 251 arrests in the school year beginning in 2018.

Since then, school district data indicates the annual number of school-based arrests in Philadelphia has continued to decline—dropping to just 147 arrests in the school year that began in 2022. That’s a 91% reduction from the year before the program started.

We also investigated the number of serious behavioral incidents recorded in the school district in the program’s first five years. Those fell as well, suggesting that the diversion program effectively reduced school-based arrests without compromising school safety.

Additionally, data showed that city social workers successfully contacted the families of 74% of students diverted through the program during its first five years. Nearly 90% of these families accepted at least one referral to community-based programming, which includes services like academic support, job skill development, and behavioral health counseling...

Long-Term Outcomes

To evaluate a longer follow-up period, we compared the 427 students diverted in the program’s first year to the group of 531 students arrested before the program began. Results showed arrested students were significantly more likely to be arrested again in the following five years...

Finally, a cost-benefit analysis revealed that the program saves taxpayers millions of dollars.

Based on its success in Philadelphia, several other cities and counties across Pennsylvania have begun replicating the Police School Diversion Program. These efforts could further contribute to a nationwide movement to safely keep kids in their communities and out of the legal system."

-via Yes! Magazine, December 5, 2023

[aixeko]

Hi good evening, morning or afternoon Aixeko. I was wondering if you could write an intersex Arlecchino x fem reader who spend their wedding night on the beach.

𓆩♡𓆪 “ DID I DREAM THAT WE DANCED FOREVER,

in a wish that we made together, on a night that I prayed would never end ” 𓆩♡𓆪

| Starring | Newly-wed Intersex-Service-Top!Arlecchino x Pillow princess?Reader

| Setting | Wedding night on the beach

| Scenario |  [ REQUESTED WORK | DRABBLE ] SMUT! With tooth rotting fluff. Pronouns are not used, only female anatomy is used. The children call the reader by the title “Mother.” Soft Arle. Skinny dip. Semi-Public love making. Aftercare. So fluffy it’s making me barf rainbow. Arle is mainly referred to as Peruere. Not really proofread.

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× My first request, had to prioritize this first over my current w.i.p arle fic lmao × This also reminded me of my first fic of Arle, which is the "Peruere" one, it's exactly how I imagine their wedding was like 🥹 Perhaps those who read it can take it as a little prequel to the fic × Anyway, I assumed you wanted smut from the intersex Arle part so here it is, no angst which is surprising. Hope you enjoy <3

[ Word count: 2240 ] | Art credit: Nuiilar on Twitter

The harmonious voices of the children's choir sound through the velvety night sky, their melodic tones blending in perfect unison with the tender moment unfolding before their very eyes. At the sight of their father dipping their mother for an intimate kiss, the children can't help but be sent into fits of gleeful excitement, ending their synchronized orchestration.

You all but chuckled at the audible jubilation; you could practically hear their eyes sparkling with enchantment as they cheered and clapped upon witnessing such a rare affectionate display between their parents. Even after the mandatory altar kiss, the kids were still bubbling over with joy, perhaps influenced by such an intense, delightful air of love.

The kiss lingered, time seemingly freezing in tune as if the world melted and revolved around you, suspending this tender moment to an everlasting core memory in a sea of recollection. Yet, with much reluctance, you were the first to break the magical spell laid upon her lips, pulling away despite your heart's yearning to savor the embrace just a little longer. After all, you were still in the presence of your children; you wouldn't want the situation to escalate to something much too inappropriate in a public setting.

You sense a slight disappointment from Arlecchino as your eyes open to absorb one another's souls once more. The edge of your lip twitches upward into a knowing smile, and Arlecchino, who notices it, can only shake her head in infinitesimal embarrassment at her sudden need to be as impossibly close as she can be to you.

You lean in close, hot breath trickling against her pierced earlobe as you whisper, "Quite eager are we now, my dearest, Peruere?"

Your voice is laced with playful teasing, yet your vocals do not reciprocate the soul; your body, betraying your hypocritical saying with the factuality of reality being that every fiber of your being is aching with desire for her; you can practically hear your heart racing like a dog off its leash, a clear evidence of your struggle to contain the passion that threatens to consume you whole.

The laughter in your throat burst out of its confinement as you saw a tint of red painting her cheeks. The infamous Knave, Arlecchino, the fourth of the Fatui Harbinger, a woman of near godly power and the Father of the House of the Hearth, whose shyness is one of a thousand lifetimes' worth of rarity, has fallen prey to your shenanigans. Despite the silliness of it all, a warmth envelops your heart in gratitude for having a chance to live in a lifetime where she, whose heart is covered in frost, can blaze in your presence.

The discordant atmosphere slowly faded to one of a gentle breeze, the moon rising to its fullest, symbolizing the dead of the night, where beauty arises in the silence of humanity. Under its moonlit gaze, you drag Arlecchino with you, grinning and laughing like the carefree days when the world was a simpler, less complicated place, one in which your shared young minds felt like their rulers.

Footprints imprint the sand, lasting mere seconds before being washed away by the shore like those traces have simply never existed. Reaching what seems to be the midway point of the enormous coastline, you release your hold on your lover to dance a few inches away, allowing your body to embrace nature's hug.

You let out a sigh of contentment, letting your arm remain outstretched while your eyes linger on the moon. A smile creeps upon your face at the familiarity of such a scene, more specifically the one who illustrates it similarly.

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" You questioned, turning to look at her with closed-eyed grins.

Arlecchino—Peruere, who had not once settled her gaze on where your perspective retained the attention of nods in agreement. Because once the world was obstructed by its blind spot, she had surveyed its scenery and details like an ancient book lost in the depths of falsehood. She had watched her world countless times, wondering how she had been so fortunate to stumble upon such treasure. How can someone like you allow someone like her to take your hand in a marriage vowed to withstand beyond life and death?

"My dear Pierre, are you alright? You seem to be in a daze of sorts."

Half worried and half-amused, you made your way to her, pressing a palm against her forehead to check if the woman had contracted a fever, knowing full well it was rare for such a thing to occur.

"My enchantress, had you not satiated yourself enough with this relentless amorousness?"

Arlecchino's words have you in light giggles; you had not intended for her to feel seduced by you, but it seems your obliviousness has added fuel to the caged flame since the next thing you can render is her lips against yours.

You're left stunted for a while before finally, your body relaxes within her embrace, returning her eager kiss with equal ferocity. You can feel the air in your lungs being drained lifelessly out of its source as if a vampire has wrapped its sharp fangs around your frail neck. You struggle to keep up with the intoxicating atmosphere, trying desperately to chase after her momentum while still maintaining a semblance of control to leave oxygen for breathing.

"Per—peruere—" You choked between the small gap of the kiss, barely allowing even a whisper; no longer are you able to stand in the same balance as hers.

Her ears luckily picked up on your pleas, and immediately she pulled away, allowing you to inhale and exhale in rapid motion in the sudden presence of oxygen once more. She's apologetically whispering countless expressions of regret to the point where her mother tongue and dialect slip into the mixture.

"No—no, it's okay. I-I'm fine now, just... I didn't expect you to be so pent up." 

At your own words, your eyes linger on the bottom half of her body, your point being proven further by the observation of the large bulge that is threatening to be released from confinement. Arlecchino didn't say anything, either out of shame or at a loss for words in the situation that she let advance despite her usual meticulous calculation of actions.

You mentally estimated the distance and the time that would be wasted in making your way to the resort and decided that the sea was much closer.

"Shall we dive into the sea? You look like you require some cooling, do you not, Peruere?"

You speak of teasing remarks whose tone is masked by an innocent facade, making sure to emphasize your point by allowing your body to press up close against her tall, defined stature, an arm around her neck, and another palming the growing arousal. Arlecchino finally registers the escalation of the situation and opts to play along with this little game of yours.

"We shall, my bride."

Without a moment of hesitation or an added explanation, your lover brought your lips against hers, all the while undressing you with practiced ease. You didn't protest her actions, mirroring them by both the kiss and the clothes, which were tossed to who knows where, but amidst the mayhem, you deliberately saved the most anticipated removal, her pants, for last to savor the tense sexual air a little longer.

The moment you have your hands on her zipper, Arlecchino lifts you by the knees, causing a gasp of shock to escape from your swollen lips. This moment of withdrawal allows you to see that she has not worn boxers the whole time and how truly ravenous her cock is with the way it stands tall, twitching.

She carries you into the cold water, and once inside, she leads you to a boulder, remaining silent throughout. This leaves you speechless, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, partly from a lack of words and partly from the freezing temperature.

"All talks with a lackluster action to speak for, and yet you still refuse to commence your needs when necessary; you have not changed once since we were kids."

Fiery energy erupted from Arlecchino's hands, casting a flame not strong enough to scorch you but one that emits gentle warmth throughout the cool surroundings. The burning fire danced harmlessly, its soft glow illuminating the dark space, creating an inviting scenery in contrast to the abyssal one. It paints your features with luminosity; such radiation makes both of your details more prominent for one another's enjoyment.

"Mn, sorry, love, it seems old habits die hard," you whisper, now in a much raspier and softer tone due to the recent past event that conspired.

This time, you take the initiative and lean in for a kiss. What sets this moment apart from the others in spite of the short range of time is that this is driven by a pure, heartfelt love that comes from the very core of your being—and you can tell it is the same situation for Peruere.

Through lidded eyes, you pull away slightly to consent to her entrance. "Go ahead, Pierre. I'm sure it's starting to hurt, and worry not; I promise you that I will mention any sort of discomfort," you murmur, your voice low with reassurance.

Peruere is hesitant as she presses you lightly against the smooth boulder—not that she doesn't have faith in your words—quite the opposite, really. She wouldn't admit it to you, but whenever it comes to lovemaking, the woman is absolutely restless; having you so close and so vulnerable is a core memory everlasting in her heart, yet she's afraid that one day she might accidentally hurt you in some way, somehow, pathetic, isn't it? She is so deeply in love with you that any brute force against you could practically kill her as well.

It wasn't until you pressed a soothing kiss against her temple that she obliged and inserted her throbbing member inside you, starting slow with just the tip. Regardless, a pleasured whimper betrayed your will, excitement coursing through your veins at her entry. This singular expression of enjoyment is all it takes for Peruere to continue, and sure enough, the full length of her consumes your wall like a perfect piece dug through a pile of unmatched pieces in a puzzle.

You arch your back, a hand covering your eyes as she begins to fasten the pace of thrust, a clear sign of a soon-to-be thrilling momentum and a now comfortable adjustment to a once ocean of anxiety.

"Ah...! Mmm... Just like that, Peruere—" Your voice hitched at the sudden intrusion of her mouth against your neck and the tip of her member pressing on your g-spot.

She elevates you higher against the stone, allowing her to be in position for a deeper reach within your core; meanwhile, her free hand uses its thumb to rub against your clitoris, and the added love marks all over your neck and collarbone have your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

It was only a matter of time before your body felt the sensitivity of the stimulation at its maximum, followed by a quickened heart rate, capricious breathing flow, and tension in the muscles around the pelvic area. Clear symptoms of your upcoming climax.

"Peruere—Please, Oh Archons! ... Don't stop!" You cry, practically clawing her back.

Peruere follows with your desperate plea, allowing her to do what she is best at by hitting your g-spot at the precise time, and she is quick to swallow your moans with a feverish kiss as you come to your long-awaited, blissful orgasm.

She keeps her cock inside, thrusting at a gentle and slow speed to prolong your enjoyment in exchange for her own needs. When you come back to your senses, your energy is practically nonexistent, at which point you feel guilt forming when you realize you won't be able to return her pleasure. Sensing your worries, she plants a kiss on your ear, whispering sweet nothings to ease your blameworthiness.

"Stress is not good for the heart, little dove. My pleasure does not account for the one I am rewarded with by seeing you in euphoria; now do not taint this moment with sorrow. Rest now; I will deal with everything."

A small smile curves at the edges of your mouth, a mental note in the back of your mind forming to thank her for this moment later. Safe and content with her, you fall prey to your exhaustion, resting in utter peace without worries, knowing your Peruere is here to protect you from the accursed world.

꧁ᬊᬁ𓆰𓆪ᬊ᭄꧂

When Arlecchino is sure you're comfortable and clean, she finally decides to take care of herself and opts to go for simple nightwear.

She sits on the edge of the bed, a tender expression consuming her face at your moonlit features in such tranquility. Even when you are not conscious, she still feels as if she is protected just by being near your presence, as if away from the judgment of the world where no name of the Knave or Arlecchino is mentioned, a world in which she is only known as Peruere by her one true soulmate.

Peruere, who grew up with nothing, finally has everything she ever wanted.

Arlecchino slips in under the cover, her arms engulfing your body in a protective cocoon.

With you,

Peruere has a reason to live. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ] × Am I slick? No, not all.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Since the Israeli genocide in the Gaza Strip started, I have been reviewing British media and its everyday items, such as the newspaper, phone, posters, and TV channels that seep into the public’s consciousness. Without the critical tools and education to puncture through their framing, we become complicit and easily intimidated. Some media outlets have gone as far as spreading misinformation, which surely would have been considered a hate crime in other contexts. Both the Daily Telegraph and The Times chose this misinformation as the headline for their October 11th issues. Although some (not all!) of those newspapers have already retracted their original false claims, the damage has already been done.   The Guardian chose to adorn its main headline for October 12th with the words ‘Israelis suspended between fear, grief and foreboding.’ The Daily Mail selected ‘The King Calls Them Terrorists, Why Can’t the BBC?’ Marching to the same beat, the Daily Telegraph opted to plaster the Royals’ condemnation of Hamas on its front pages. Survey the pages of the newspapers, and the stories eliciting support and empathy for Israel abound, making it clear who the perpetrators are and that vengeance against them is justified. Meanwhile, the Palestinians are only evoked through the register of terrorism and violence. Even those headlines, which are shy in their coverage of the Israeli genocide in Gaza, intentionally omit the perpetrators: the Israeli army and state. They are designed to neglect the root and cause of the violence: Israeli settler colonialism. By settler colonialism, we mean the gradual transfer of European Jews to the land of Palestine, the coercive displacement and dispossession of the indigenous Palestinian population, and the imposition of a coordinated and sustainable system that turns this displacement into a continuous process.  Western media relies on racial, gendered, and colonial tropes to describe the atrocities in Palestine. It instrumentalizes white female faces to elicit support for Israel. Such a tactic simultaneously serves racism, patriarchy, and colonialism. It relies on notions of white female ‘innocence’ and ‘victimhood’ to justify the continuous erasure of Palestine. In a headline by the Daily Telegraph about a British IDF female soldier, below, we are shown a smiling white female soldier wearing military attire and a keffiyeh on her head. Neither the photograph nor the article questions why a British citizen is justified in enlisting in a settler army elsewhere, let alone the same army that is committing genocide in the Gaza Strip. To the contrary, the article frames such enlisting as voluntary and dignified. These strategies bring to mind 9/11, Laura Bush, and the weaponization of white feminism in the service of imperialist and colonial expansion. Black and Brown feminist scholars and activists, including Lila Abu Lughod, bell hooks, Angela Davis, Audre Lorde amongst others, have long debunked and punctured through such strategies. It is this same white feminism that has been utilized by the media and governments to justify the intensification of Israeli brutality against the Palestinian residents of Gaza. 

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Saskatchewan Premier Scott Moe has announced his government’s intent to pass legislation invoking the notwithstanding clause aimed at his province’s high-school pronoun policy.

The notwithstanding clause is a constitutional tool that allows federal, provincial, and territorial legislatures to temporarily suspend certain Charter rights for a period of up to five years. If used, Saskatchewan joins a growing list of provinces that are resorting to the notwithstanding clause as a tool of first resort before courts have a chance to determine whether the action is constitutional or not. [...]

Saskatchewan’s use will not be the first time a minority population is targeted through the notwithstanding clause – Bill 21 in Quebec targets people in select public-service jobs who wear religious symbols. Saskatchewan’s approach is aimed at a minority youth population unable to vote. This application of the notwithstanding clause reveals more than ever a fundamental flaw in its design. By making elections the main accountability tool, the drafters abandoned the disenfranchised. People without the right to vote, whether new immigrants or youth, are left to the will of their fellow citizens, who are often apathetic or self-interested. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[the-jewel-catalogue]

Yellow Citrine Eden Flower Drops

Kate + Kiki’s

Kate Middleton owns a pair of Kiki McDonough’s Eden earrings set with a yellow citrine stone. The pretty earrings feature a floral stud encrusted with diamonds.

Kate’s worn the yellow gemstone earrings on three public occasions to date: the Wimbledon Ladies Final in 2022, at a Christmas Day church service in 2017 and at a Garden Party in Northern Ireland in 2016.

The pretty earrings feature a yellow citrine stone cut into a circle surrounded by diamonds. They’re suspended from a five-petal flower-shaped stud, also decorated with diamonds. The earrings are set in 18ct yellow gold.

[writing-for-marvel]

At Your Service (2)

Bodyguard!Steve Rogers x Diplomats Daughter!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1

Summary: True to his word, Steve makes up for leaving you high and dry the night before.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, semi public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, panties as a gag, dynamic where Steve is meant to be protecting reader and they catch feelings

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: as the winner of this poll, here is part 2 of my beloved bodyguard!Steve! A big thank you to both @flordeamatista who helped me come up with plot ideas for this second part and to @seitmai who provided the inspiration for me to continue with these two 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“You need to stop looking at me like that.”

You actually quite enjoy the desire filled gaze Steve hasn’t been able to break away from you all morning, but the introductory speech for your father you’re giving at tonight’s gala is getting the better of your nerves and any conversation with Steve always seems to lift the weight of the world off your chest, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment you get alone together.

Plus, you’ve been looking for an indirect, yet natural way to bring up the relations performed in his hotel room late last night since you were reunited with your bodyguard this morning.

“Like what?” He smiles at you cheekily in the mirror you’re getting ready in front of and your stomach somersaults in response - he knows exactly how he’s staring at you, but he’s baiting you to say it aloud.

“Like you’ve seen me swallow your cum.”

There’s more affection suspended in his baby blues than simply the carnal lust of having watched you perform the explicit act, but you’re not sure you’re ready to admit the implication of that to express the notion out loud.

Steve merely chuckles in his signature hearty way, that’s dangerously contagious and which makes you fight the corners of your mouth from upturning, not wanting to divulge the effect he has on you.

With those long legs of his, Steve takes a couple of slow, meaningful strides and he’s by your side, right where he belongs, eyes still boring into yours, but with him this close you can now see what you can only describe as a soft familiarity in them which you’ve never noticed before.

“But it was such a beautiful sight, how could I possibly think of anything else when I look at you?” He asks, maintaining eye contact through the mirror with a defiant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that makes you want to kiss him.

You want to tell him that attraction is not one sided, that if he hadn't been tasked with your security and wasn't being paid by your father to keep watch over you every minute of the day, you would have made a move on him much sooner. But a nagging disquiet prickles in your stomach and the words die at the back of your throat.

What if sexual attraction is all he feels? What if you’re misinterpreting these soft glances and his he doesn’t reciprocate the desperate yearning carving a hole in your chest you’ve spent the past month trying to convince yourself isn’t the feeling of falling in love with him?

The thought cracks the barricade you’re attempting to build around your heart, crumbling like an old stone castle wall.

To distract yourself from the uneasy pause in conversation, and the intense stare of those ocean blue eyes you have become accustomed to following your every move, but now feel are appraising your reaction, you break eye contact to locate your mothers locket on the vanity in front of you.

You fiddle with the latch under his gaze, unable to steady your hands sufficiently to exert your fine motor skills, which Steve seems to take notice of as he slowly extracts the delicate chain from your hands and fastens the clasp around your neck. His fingers brush the sensitive skin of the nape of your neck causing the small hairs to stand on end and a shiver to run down your spine. You watch in the mirror as he leans down and places a gentle kiss to where your neck curves into your shoulder, a buoyant, burning desire floats in your chest at the velvety feeling of his soft lips.

“Thank you.” You whisper hoarsely, mentally condemning yourself, you swear ‘thank you’ are the only two words you can say to the man who ensures your protection and unknowingly owns your heart.

Thank you for opening the door for me.

Thank you for protecting me with your life.

Thank you for fucking my throat last night.

You both turn to look at each other in the reflection of the mirror and a smile blooms on his face as soon as your eyes meet each others again.

“You’re welcome.” Steve imitates the low volume of your voice. The thought of his full, plump lips pressed on yours, being held by the two arms that have kept you safe for the past few months, as you were for a brief moment last night, distracts you from the sound of someone opening the door to the dressing room without notice.

“Ma’am, they’re ready for you.” One of the event organisers pokes her head in to hurry you along. Within a blink of an eye Steve has returned to his position by the far wall, standing tall, stoic and poised. The heat drawing up your back at his kiss is the only indication he had moments ago been standing so close.

Less than five minutes later you’re walking beside your father into a grand hall, a large crystal chandelier hanging from the centre of a 40 foot ceiling is complemented by stark white walls embellished with gold trim and framed paintings of major historical moments.

An ambassador from a small European country greets you before you have any further chance to look around. As typical, you’re treated like the naive, young daughter who has grown up so much since they’ve seen you last, even though you’re well into your twenties and hold multiple degrees in political science, economics and global studies.

A pawn in your fathers game.

Look pretty. Smile sweetly. And don’t open your mouth to debate politics which contradict policies he’s looking to implement.

You’re as useful as a decoration.

Steve’s job is to live a couple of steps behind you, but it’s too far. You want him close enough that you can feel body heat radiating from him. You want him next to you so you can reach for his hand. Close enough for him to kiss your neck again like he did in the dressing room.

He’s the one person who never fails to make you feel seen, as if you’re just as important, if not more so, than all the other diplomats and embassy officials in the room. But you suppose that’s just him doing his job, and you shouldn’t misconstrue his lust filled gaze and him being paid to keep you safe with valuing you more than for what you did for him in his bedroom last night.

You sense Steve’s broad presence behind you as you make your way onto the stage, hands uncontrollably shaking and chest tightening as you take in the crowded room of people whose attention is now solely focussed on you.

With a cough clearing the lump forming in your throat, and a quick glance to Steve who’s wearing an encouraging smile, you plaster on your best well rehearsed, feigned grin and begin your speech by telling the tale about how when you were five years old, your father would serenade you to sleep every night, no matter how busy he was or what international incident he was dealing with that day.

Your task is to make him appear as the doting father and formidable diplomat, even if it isn’t the truth. By now, you’ve practised this story enough to recite it word for word.

Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes the truth.

Steve offers you his calloused hand as you descend the steps off the stage, as you breathe a sigh of relief your involvement in the evening is over. Goosebumps race up your bare arm at his touch, a reaction Steve seems to take notice of, causing a small grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

Your stomach flips at being the reason for that smile, even if only in an accidental way.

The buffet table is your usual choice of post at events such as this, especially at the end of the evening when the decadent desserts are served. Your mother did used to say you had a sweet tooth.

You also always sneak a few servings to Steve too, even though he’s not meant to consume any of the food set out for the guests. Having smuggled enough sweets to him during his service, you know his favourites are the rich chocolate brownies and sour lemon meringues.

However, as all eyes in the room turn to your father as he takes over as speaker, rolling off an opening joke you’ve heard too many times to even consider feigning a laugh to, you instead make your way into the adjoining, wide hallway and bracing yourself against a wall.

No matter how many times you stand in front of an audience of that size, it never fails to make you want to throw up the entire contents of your stomach.

“You did a really great job.” Steve comments as he leans against the same wall you’re resting on. His typically stoic, brooding features soften when he gazes at you, the compliment exchanging the nauseated twisting of your stomach with nervous butterflies. “I couldn’t make a speech in front of that many people.”

The distance between you is agonising, he’s close enough that you can see the patterns in his blue irises, but not close enough to touch. Your fingers itch to feel any contact with him as you had the brief pleasure of as you walked off stage, but you refrain from doing so in public for fear of getting caught.

“Thank you.” Is all your brain can come up with to say when your stomach is fluttering at how soft his gaze is, how he seems to genuinely mean the accolade unlike when your father commends you a job well done.

You’ll have to resign yourself to those being the only two words you’ll ever be able to utter in his presence.

Steve’s eyes dart to the bathroom sign across the hallway, and with a smirk on his face, grabs your hand unexpectedly and pulls you towards it. You don’t even have a moment to savour the feel of his large hand engulfing yours, and how your fingers slot perfectly between his for once you’re inside the bathroom his hands move to cup your face and his lips crash onto yours.

Your mind is dizzy as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, rough hands pushing your dress up to find the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up onto the vanity beside the sink, your back pressed against the firm, smooth mirror.

“You’re so cute when you get all shy on me, even though you were gagging on my cock yesterday.” He mumbles as his lips trail down the column of your throat. “Want to finish what we started last night?” You respond with a shy smile and an enthusiastic nod.

Steve pushes the ends of your dress higher to reveal your black, lacy panties and smirks mischievously as he drops to his knees. The sight alone has you dripping.

He presses slow kisses along the inside of your thigh, starting at your knee and progressing higher each time - repayment for the similar, teasing action you subjected him to the night prior.

A whine falls from your lips as he places his next kiss on your covered pussy, humming at the feel of the soaking wet patch that’s formed from just a few kisses. Pulling your panties to the side, he repeats the action, a gasp leaving your lips as a new flood of wetness drips from your core at the sensation.

Steve’s strong hands force your legs to stay open as he dives in, tongue licking between your folds, lapping up your arousal, the taste of which only spurs him on. He starts out like a man starving, fueled by a complete fixation on needing to taste more of you, something he’s been dreaming about for months.

He alternates between suckling on your clit and finding a rhythm of swirling around your core. Just when his patterns become predictable, he changes his angle or position, finding new nerve endings to stimulate you didn’t even realise existed. When he rotates back to his plump lips suctioning around your clit, he unexpectedly slips a thick finger inside you, watching your face intently for your reaction.

“Fuck, Stevie!” You cry, head pulling back and thudding against the mirror, but you’re not concerned with the dull ache when what Steve is doing between your legs has pleasure shivering up your spine and winding tightly in the pit of your stomach.

“Princess, you need to keep quiet for me. Don’t want anyone out in the hall hearing.” Steve growls, torturously taking pause for a moment to pull your panties off completely. He circles your lips with his arousal coated finger, before allowing you to suck your sweetness off it. He kisses the remaining fluid from your lips, then, with a smirk, instructs you to open wide and improvises a gag by stuffing your panties in your mouth.

As his lips wrap around your clit again, constellations of stars flash behind your eyes, and the coil in your lower stomach winding ever tighter, ready to snap at any second. You can’t prevent the muffled moan resounding from your lips through the lace material of your panties and your fingers from gripping at Steve’s hair in an effort to ground yourself from floating off on a cloud of bliss.

“So sweet.” He hums, breath warm against your centre, the sound vibrating through your entire body. His tongue darts around your folds, learning which are your most sensitive areas, what motions cause you to keen and ensuring to replicate them.

When his fingers begin to trace your opening, gathering your slick, you know you’re teetering on the edge, pussy clenching around nothing, needing to be filled.

Your earth shattering end comes as soon as he thrusts those two fingers inside you while his lips tug on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs clasp around his head and toes curl as your thighs begin to quiver with pleasure surging up your spine, your moans quenched by the garment in your mouth.

Steve doesn’t abate licking up every drop you provide him, even though you're trembling through your prolonged orgasm, his grip on your thighs still bruisingly strong as you continue to mess his hair with your hold.

He smiles triumphantly at your blissed out form when you’re over the other side of your high, the bottom half of his face gleaming with a mixture of his saliva and your arousal.

“Told you I’d make it up to you for leaving last night.” Steve whispers, resting his forehead against yours as you catch your breath, slipping your panties discreetly into his jacket pocket. His smile turns soft as his large hands soothingly rub your bare thighs, squeezing slightly when he notices you enjoying the gesture.

You mentally note to take in how delicious he smells, like warm honey and mixed spices, and how his hot skin feels against your own, sending sparks shooting through you wherever his hands chose to rest, knowing at his usual distance you don’t get to appreciate either of these qualities.

His eyes look at you expectantly, as if he can’t quite find the strength to break away from you and he’s looking at you for any sign you want to push him away. It reminds you of how he looked at you when he asked you to stay in his bed last night, in that way that takes away all your air because of how much fondness is suspended in his eyes, and the words he proclaimed: you mean a lot more to me than just a quick fuck.

“As much as I want to stay here where it’s just you and me…” You reluctantly pose, and your heart squeezes at the look of disappointment which flashes over Steve’s features. “I think we should head back in there before someone starts asking questions.”

Steve steps out of the bathroom first, to look less suspicious, keeping a watchful eye outside while you readjust your dress, fix your hair and touch up your makeup the best you can after having mascara smudge underneath your eyes.

Walking back into the gala side by side, Steve’s fingers fiddle apprehensively with your own, as if to silently ask permission, before slotting perfectly into your hand. You glance up at him to find him already looking at you with that fondness which makes dormant butterflies come to life in your stomach and your cheeks burn as hot as the sun.

He holds on for as long as socially acceptable, while no one can see you, only letting go just prior to making your reappearance in the grand hall, falling into a step behind you, but ensuring to give your hand an affectionate squeeze first.

To be tagged in any potential additional instalments of this AU, please add yourself to the taglist here

At Your Service [Bodyguard!Steve Rogers] Taglist: @daemonslittlebitch @valhalla-kristin @crispysublimecupcake @wifeofbarnes @priya212 @highlyintelligentblonde @buckyseddie @erynnnn @nefelibatansoul @albinotigerpython @goldenharrysworld @supersanelyromantic @gothkitteh @misshale21 @happeevacationday @readreblogfics @ashenc-blog @redbarn1995 @missvelvetsstuff @broadwaybabe18 @calirindo @crazyunsexycool @alluringsirensworld @cevansswhore @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky @almosttoopizza @karla0506 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @nats-whore @barnesboo1967 @musicissmylife @acatwriteshere @buckets-and-trees @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @desert-fern @janineb86 @doasyoudesireandlive @kayden666 @razor-blayde @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @pointless-girl @otomefromtheheart @rebeccapineapple @aya-fay @ozwriterchick @deandreamernp @itvy5601 @marvelxlevram @fandomtrash5092 @corruptedcoffin

[fatehbaz]

[D]ebt and indebtedness [...] produc[e] forms of spatial enclosure [imprisonment] that do not rely on the spectacular [singular moments of blatant literal physical violence] but are, rather, achieved through temporal openings and foreclosures. To be clear, this frame does not obscure the many forms of carceral enclosure [...]: the prison, the checkpoint, the security wall. Historically, enclosure is understood as the privatization of land. But Wang extends the concept of enclosure to encompass time. Wang demonstrates that [...] mobility is policed through [...] an apparatus of punishment that solicits time as the form of spatial enclosure. [...]

[D]ebilitating infrastructures turn able bodies into a range of disabled bodies. [...] [C]heckpoints [...]; administrative bureaucratic apparatuses that stall and foreclose travel, mobility for work, [...] the capacity to move and change residences - baroque processes to apply for permits to travel [...], absence of public services such as postal delivery [...]; and finally [...] denial of resolution, suspension in the space of the indefinite [...]. In fact, slow death itself is literalized as the slowing down of life [...]. [Land] itself becomes simultaneously bigger - because it takes so long to get anywhere - and smaller, as transit becomes arduous [...] where it is so difficult to travel between areas without permits and identifications. Movement is suffocated. Distance is stretched and manipulated to create an entire population with mobility impairments. And yet space is shrunken, as people are held in place, rarely able to move far. [...]

---

Time itself is held hostage.

This is the slow aspect of slow death: slow death can entail a really slow life, too, a life that demands constant calibration of different speeds and the relation of speed to space. [...]

The suspended state of the indefinite, of waiting and waiting (it) out, wreaks multigenerational psychological and physical havoc. [...]

Time thus is the meter of power; it is one form that physical enclosure takes on. The cordoning of time through space contributes to an overall “lack of jurisdiction over the function of one’s own senses” (Schuller 2018: 74) endemic to the operation of colonial rule [...]. [T]his process entails several modes of temporal differentiation: withholding futurity, making impossible anything but a slowed (down) life, and immobilizing the body [...]. Julie Peteet (2008) calls the extraction of nonlabor time “stealing time” [...].

[T]he extraction of time [...] produce[s] a depleted and therefore compliant population so beholden to the logistics of the everyday that forms of connectivity, communing, and collective resistance are thwarted. The extraction of time functions as the transfer of “vital energy” [...], an extraction that recapitulates a long colonial history of mining bodies for their potentiality. [...]

Checkpoints ensure one is never sure of reaching work on time.

Fear of not getting to work then adds to the labor of getting to work; the checkpoints affectively expand labor time [...].

Bodies in line at checkpoints [...] [experience] the fractalizing of the emotive, cognitive, physiological capacities of bodies [...].It’s not just that bodies are too tired to resist but that the experience of the “constant state of uncertainty” becomes the condition of being. [...]

---

All text above by: Jasbir K. Puar. "Spatial Debilities: Slow Life and Carceral Capitalism in Palestine". South Atlantic Quarterly (2021) 120 (2), pages 393-414. Published April 2021. DOI at: doi dot org slash 10.1215/00382876-8916144 [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for criticism, teaching, commentary purposes.]

[mariacallous]

"I’m going to let him go wild on health,” former president Donald Trump said of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. at his Madison Square Garden rally in New York City this past weekend. “I’m going to let him go wild on the food. I’m going to let him go wild on the medicines.”

Kennedy, a former Democrat, suspended his presidential campaign in August and endorsed Trump. He has since launched the Make America Healthy Again campaign, an initiative focused on tackling chronic diseases that Trump has seemingly embraced in recent weeks. Given Kennedy’s anti-vaccination stance and conspiratorial leanings, some policy experts and former government officials are concerned about how his views could shape the nation’s health agenda.

Kennedy has long made false statements about the safety of vaccines and has touted disproven treatments for Covid-19, including ivermectin and hydroxychloroquine. On the campaign trail, he has railed against seed oils, blaming several chronic health conditions on their presence in processed foods.

How much influence Kennedy could have on national health policy will all depend on his role within a future Trump administration. Trump did not clarify his remarks at Sunday’s event, including what position he is considering Kennedy for. According to a CNN report that ran late Tuesday, Kennedy said Trump “promised him control of the public health agencies,” but in an email to WIRED on Wednesday, Steven Cheung, Trump’s campaign communications director, said that formal discussions of who will serve in a second Trump administration are premature.

Trump could be considering Kennedy to lead the Department of Health and Human Services, which has 80,000 federal employees, or one of the agencies within it, such as the Food and Drug Administration or the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. It would be a departure from his previous top health picks, who had lengthy government or public health careers. For instance, Alex Azar, Trump’s HHS secretary, was deputy HHS secretary under George W. Bush and an executive at drugmaker Eli Lilly. Scott Gottlieb, a physician and investor appointed as FDA commissioner under Trump, had previously worked for the FDA and had served on the boards of pharma and biotech companies.

When asked to elaborate on Kennedy’s health priorities, Amaryllis Fox Kennedy, the former candidate’s campaign director and daughter-in-law, told WIRED: “Bobby aims to end conflicts and corruption at the agencies, ensure all testing is undertaken by scientists who have no financial interest in the outcome, and all results of all trials are released to the public. The free market will take care of it from there.” (The National Institutes of Health already requires results of clinical trials funded by the agency to be published to a government database.)

Jerome Adams, US surgeon general under Trump and current executive director of health equity initiatives at Purdue University, says that even if Kennedy were tapped to lead HHS, the FDA, or the CDC, it’s unlikely that he would ascend to one of those roles due to his lack of medical training and controversial views on public health issues. “Congressional approval is required for these positions, and his stances could be a barrier,” Adams says.

If Republicans control the Senate after next week’s election, though, that calculus could change. “The GOP has generally fallen into line in terms of supporting candidates that President Trump does,” says Genevieve Kanter, associate professor of public policy at the University of Southern California.

If chosen to be FDA commissioner, Kennedy would control the agency’s budget and priorities and could have a sizable impact by installing lower-level appointees who are sympathetic to his worldview. While the FDA commissioner does not single-handedly approve or authorize new drugs, Kantner says outside political pressure can certainly influence that process. Kennedy could also appoint members to FDA advisory committees, panels of outside experts that make recommendations to the agency on drug approvals and other regulatory matters. The FDA often follows the recommendations of advisory committees when making decisions on new drug approvals, but not always.

The FDA can also choose to not enforce some rules in certain circumstances—what’s known as enforcement discretion. Given his support for dubious and unproven therapies, such as stem cells and hyperbaric oxygen, an FDA under Kennedy, for instance, could choose to not go after companies that market unapproved treatments.

“When we think of the kind of person we want to be head of HHS or be FDA commissioner, someone ‘going wild’ isn’t exactly the first trait that comes to mind,” Kanter says. “It wouldn’t ease the public’s concern that we would see more food safety incidents and adverse events from poorly regulated drugs and devices from a lax administration that is known for embracing unscientific theories.”

Kennedy wouldn’t have free rein though. Existing laws and regulations govern how the agency works, and a new FDA commissioner wouldn’t be able to get rid of those quickly. “If you’re dealing with regulatory issues that have been long-standing and have lots of precedent, it’s just not possible to turn some of those things around or dismiss them overnight,” says a past leader of the FDA, who requested anonymity so that they could speak freely.

Likewise, even in a leadership role at HHS or the CDC, Kennedy wouldn’t be able to easily affect vaccine policy. Vaccine recommendations are made by the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which comprises outside medical and public health experts. Georges Benjamin, executive director of the American Public Health Association, says Kennedy could try to stack that advisory committee with people who are sympathetic to his views on vaccination, but those members are chosen through a rigorous nomination process.

“He could certainly change policy that way, but it takes a while and it won't be a secret. There are ways in which the public can push back, including taking a case to court,” he says.

Kennendy could have influence in other ways beyond direct control of a public health agency. Trump could potentially bring Kennedy on as a White House adviser, which wouldn’t require approval by the Senate.

“Without congressional vetting and oversight, there is potential for unchecked impact. RFK's views could shape health policies, raising concerns about misinformation and harm,” Adams says.

Karoline Leavitt, national press secretary for the Trump campaign, told WIRED in an email that if reelected, Trump will establish a “special Presidential Commission of independent minds and will charge them with investigating what is causing the decades-long increase in chronic illnesses.” She did not say whether Kennedy would be chosen for that task force.

Kennedy has also been sizing himself up for another position in a potential Trump cabinet: agriculture secretary. A longtime environmental activist, Kennedy has promised to take on big farms and feedlots, reduce pesticides, and fix what he presents as a food system captured by corporate interests. “When Donald Trump gets me inside,” Kennedy said in a video shot outside the Department of Agriculture headquarters in Washington, DC, “it won’t be that way any more.”

This platform is a continuation of Kennedy’s long history as an antagonist against the agriculture industry. In 2018, Kennedy and a team of attorneys won an initial $289 million settlement against Monsanto, representing a groundskeeper who developed cancer after being soaked with a herbicide made by the agrochemical firm. He also attempted to sue the pig farming company Smithfield because of its production of hog manure, although that case was thrown out by a federal judge.

Kennedy’s past makes him an unlikely candidate for agriculture secretary, according to Daniel Glickman, who served in the role during Bill Clinton’s presidency. “It’s hard for me to imagine, given Trump’s traditional base in the heartlands, that he would pick somebody who was an advocate for breaking up large farms and breaking consolidated agriculture,” says Glickman.

Like top posts at HHS, the USDA secretary position would need to be confirmed by a Senate vote. “I don’t think [Kennedy] is a slam dunk,” says Glickman.

Trump’s pick for USDA chief during his first term was Sonny Perdue, a former governor of Georgia and founder of an agricultural trading company. Most agriculture secretaries either have a background in the industry or politics—two crucial constituencies for the person who will be in charge of a department that employs nearly 100,000 and is made up of 29 agencies, including forestry, conservation, and nutrition programs. “The difference between Sonny Perdue and Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. is like night and day,” says Glickman.

If Kennedy were to be confirmed as agriculture secretary, he might struggle to enact the most radical parts of his program. He is an outspoken critic of pesticides, but the USDA is generally not in charge of regulating those, says Dan Blaustein-Rejto, director of agriculture policy and research at the Breakthrough Institute. Rather, the EPA regulates pesticides with public health uses.

Although he may not be able to directly influence pesticide regulations, Kennedy has said he would try to “weaponize” other agencies against “chemical agriculture” by commissioning scientific research into the effects of pesticides. The USDA Agricultural Research Service has a nearly $2 billion discretionary budget for research into crops, livestocks, nutrition, food safety, and natural resources conservation.

There are other levers that an agriculture secretary could pull, says Blaustein-Rejto. The USDA is investing $3 billion through the partnership for climate-smart commodities—a scheme that’s supposed to make US agriculture more climate-friendly. A USDA chief might be able to put their thumb on their scale by influencing the selection criteria for these kinds of programs. The USDA also oversees the Commodity Credit Corporation (CCC), which has a $5 billion fund that it uses to support farm incomes and conservation programs, and to assist farmers hit by natural disasters. It’s possible that a USDA chief could influence how these CCC funds are distributed by the agency.

Kennedy has also argued that corporate interests have captured the US’s dietary guidelines, and he pledged to remove conflicts of interest from USDA groups that come up with dietary guidelines. US dietary guidelines are developed jointly by the USDA and HHS and are updated every five years, giving the agriculture secretary limited opportunities to influence any recommendations.

“If RFK is in a high-level policy role, I expect to see a lot more talk about ultra-processed foods, but I’m not sure what that would actually entail when it comes to the dietary guidelines,” says Blaustein-Rejto.

The experts WIRED spoke with largely think Kennedy’s more extreme positions will likely be constrained by bureaucracy. But the message that elevating a vocal vaccine skeptic and conspiracy theorist would send remains a serious concern ahead of a potential second Trump administration.

[what-the-flux]

At long last, I can post the finished art! I had been sitting on it for some weeks, waiting for the inspiration to hit to write a short piece to accompany it. Definitely recommend full viewing.

oOo ----------------------------------------------------- oOo

Glittering motes of dust hung suspended in waning late afternoon light shining through the skylights. The upper levels of the City-Beneath-The-Cube were lighter and airier than outsiders realized, but the walls, planters and walkways of planed and etched stone that went down many stories made the whole of the place feel like some kind of precision-wrought canyon dotted with workshops, passages and arcades where the locals and laborers bustled.

(continued under the cut)

Lorr still knew this place well, despite the many years separating his former life and younger self from his current one. It hadn’t changed much, the smells and the noise were the same but he noted that there were new, more effective safety railings in the Public Commons and that the local favorite dive, Pi’s had updated their signage (finally).

The bounty hunter rubbed a hand across his face, closing his eyes momentarily as he let his ears take over, picking up all the sounds surrounding him. He would need to move further away from the Commons to better filter the urban background static. Lorr had just sent out his hawk Deputy to scope out the area in case they got lucky and found their mark momentarily out in the open. Both he and Deputy were already familiar with her, so that wouldn’t be difficult. Problem was, it also meant she’d immediately recognize the hawk for who he was and what it meant as well. A part of Lorr secretly hoped she’d get tipped off early.

Why did I agree to this? It wasn’t the money, not this time. Am I trying to make a point? She nearly got us killed and then ran for it. But I know her. Knew her. I can’t just erase all this history just because of one incident, one indiscretion can I? Maybe this is how I have to get through to her.

He sighed inwardly and braced against his spear as he rose from a crouch, the movement preternaturally smooth and deliberate, like a predatory animal. He looked down from his high vantage as he faced the section of the Undercube that was known to the denizens as the Plexus. It was a network of tunnels, access ‘ports, antechambers, quarries and dwellings that confounded natural senses of direction. Less public-facing, much more closed in and easier to hide. Or lose a pursuer.

The slim asura made his way down the ledge he was using to survey, walking along a catwalk only just wide enough to admit a mid-sized labor golem at most. His ears twitched and he sniffed, feeling the minute air currents of a service tunnel cleverly tucked behind a cleft in the worked stone. Still not certain this was were his mark had proceeded but knowing it would get him into the center of the Plexus quicker, he decided to go for it anyway. Forced to stow his spear in such close quarters, he kept a hand on his dagger as he stalked forward into the passage, the inside only dimly lit by a track of dim yellow quartz-lights along the floor.

Infrared imaging on his monocle made it easy for him to get an idea of the topography of the inner workings of the maze of service tunnels he found himself in, but he was careful to not rely on it solely. He stopped every so often, using his eyes and ears but also a generous amount of intuition to pick the correct course. Chambers became somewhat larger and more spacious as he passed golem foundries, making his way steadily downward. He was becoming more aware that he knew where he was going, it was like retracing steps from his childhood back to the colorful yet rundown living warrens and slums that he grew up in.

She wouldn’t go all the way back there, would she? Lorr was starting to think it wasn’t just him that was trying to make some kind of point.

The smells and noise were subtly changing and it wasn’t long before he found himself in the center of the Plexus. Part bazaar, part manufactory, it acted as the working class nerve center and was a riot of activity, industrial clamor and smells.

He was certain of where he was going now. He didn’t know why exactly she came all the way down here where they had all met in the early days before the nonsense with the Whispers and fighting dragons happened, but he was determined to find where this chase ended. He’d get answers, and if it meant having to fail his mission and come back to his current boss empty handed, then so be it.

[octuscle]

Hotel room - Blue

Frederik hated Berlin. Chaotic. Dirty. Politically far left. Sexually promiscuous. And now it was Christopher Street Day. The city overflowed with fags running half-naked and some even completely naked through the city. Frederik couldn't wait until he was back in Munich. He was looking forward to the comfort of first class on the ICE train he was about to board. The platform at Berlin's main train station was crowded. It was Friday evening. Crowds of people were leaving, crowds of people were flooding the city. Thank God his train was leaving in ten minutes.

"Dear passengers, due to a technical defect in two signal boxes, rail traffic at Berlin Central Station is suspended for a short time. Trains in the direction of Hanover will run today only from and to Berlin Spandau. Train services in the direction of Hamburg and Munich will be completely suspended until further notice. We ask for your understanding."

There was a second of shock on the platform. Then crowds of people started moving frantically, storming rental car counters and the cab stand. People made phone calls or frantically tried to book flights on their cell phones. Frederik traveled a lot on business. He stayed in at least three different beds during the week. He knew what this situation meant: Find a hotel bed! Now! Because you won't get out of this juggernaut before morning. He had quickly phoned his regular hotels. No chance. All that was left were the hotel chains where he had gold or platinum status. After fifteen minutes, he had called all the four- and five-star hotels that came into consideration. Finally, he was recommended a hotel where, according to the internal system, there was still a room available. That would have been blocked for him. A three-star hotel near KaDeWe and Kurfürstendamm. Okay, better than nothing. There were no more cabs.

Frederik hated public transportation. His mood was correspondingly bad as he stood in the lobby of the hotel. Everything was decorated in rainbow colors. In front of him, a group of beefcakes in leather gear were just checking in. Behind him stood a skinhead, under whose bomber jacket a latex shirt shiny emphasized his six-pack. Frederik felt uncomfortable. Extremely uncomfortable. And when he was told that the room was wrongly blocked for him, his collar burst. He demanded this room, after all he was a Platinum customer and had a right to a room. The receptionist tried to explain to him that the guest who had been staying in the room had actually moved out. However, it was only because he had obviously ended up in the hospital with a bit much alcohol in his blood. A friend had just picked up the clothes and paid the bill, but housekeeping hadn't had a chance to do the room yet. And there would be no one else in the house at that time of day. However, given his status, they would fix it up first thing in the morning, and he could move into it at 08:00.

From behind the skinhead came forward. He had quite a suit fetish, Frederik was very welcome to spend the night with him. "Listen," Frederik pleaded with the gentleman at the front desk. "I don't care about the condition of the room. I just want my own bed and my own bathroom." After promising not to complain about anything, he got the door card. And Frederik hurried to get out of this den of iniquity.

The bed was not made. There were knotted condoms and tissues on the floor. There were still clothes in the closet that had been overlooked. Shower gel was still in the shower and there was still a razor. It smelled of sweat and sweetish perfume. Frederik didn't care about anything. He looked again after the status of the German Rail. Supposedly, trains should start running again at 07:00 in the morning. He set the alarm clock in his cell phone to 06:00, undressed and hung his clothes neatly in the closet. With a used towel, he wiped the shower, toilet and washstand. And fortunately, there was still a clean towel left for him to use. He lay down on the bed. The pillow smelled of the sweetish perfume. Slowly, he calmed down. And fell asleep.

At 04:00 his cell phone woke him up. He had received a new message. "Sweetie, how are you". And there were at least two dozen more messages and missed calls. What the hell!!! Darn it! Had he been drinking yesterday? Actually, no. But somehow he had a hangover. A glass of water might help. He went into the bathroom and ran the cold water and drank straight from the tap. Yes, that felt good. He washed his face with cold water and looked in the mirror.

FUUUCK! Frederik was 42 years old. He had once been athletic, but lately he had let himself go quite a bit. As a self-employed management consultant, he earned a lot of money and made a point of maintaining a well-groomed, discreet and conservative appearance. But what was that in the mirror!?!?!?!?

Shit, Freddy had really drunk a lot after arriving in Berlin yesterday. For a short time he had gone black before his eyes. But now it worked again. And in the name of Cher, Bette Midler and Zarah Leander: He wasn't here to sleep it off. Freddy put on his one-million-dollar smile and answered the last message with a selfie. And the subtext: "Honey Bear, I had to freshen up for a minute. Where are you?"

He quickly swapped the baggy shorts go his pink glitter hot pants, put on matching sneakers and pink chest harness and left the room. He didn't get far. In the elevator he met a skinhead whose upper body was in a shiny latex shirt. He was no longer completely sober. But he obviously thought Freddy was hot. And somehow the latex made Freddy horny. One blowjob more or less didn't matter anymore. His friends could wait a few more minutes for him.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Seth Mandel

A hideous article in the Washington Post goes out of its way to flaunt its disregard for journalistic ethics in the service of exacerbating the national anti-Semitism crisis. The piece itself is the reporting equivalent of corking the bat, filling an article with examples that undermine its thesis and hoping nobody looks inside.

The topic of the piece, written by Pranshu Verma, is the assertion that cancel culture is being applied to defenders of Hamas, so now cancel culture is bad. But the most objectionable part of the article is where Verma misrepresents an incident so egregiously that the credibility of the whole piece crumbles to dust.

To be clear, the rest of the article isn’t accurate either. For example, people weren’t being punished for “criticiz[ing] Israel,” as the headline declares, but usually for behavior such as destroying posters or chanting genocidal slogans and the like. Unfortunately, that sort of obfuscation is ubiquitous in media reporting on the aftermath of Hamas’s massacre on Oct. 7. The truly appalling part of the article is in the following excerpt:

Since Hamas attacked Israel on Oct. 7 and Israel responded by attacking Gaza, groups have poured resources into identifying people with opposing political beliefs, sometimes deploying aggressive publicity campaigns that have resulted in profound real-world consequences. Within weeks of Oct. 7, ‘doxing trucks’ prowled the campuses of Harvard, Columbia and Princeton, displaying the names and photos of students and professors who had signed statements declaring solidarity with Palestinians. In January, a Rutgers Law School student sued the university, alleging that he had faced discriminatory disciplinary action after sharing what he deemed ‘pro-Hamas’ messages from his classmates with school administrators.

So here’s how the Washington Post frames the Rutgers situation: Pro-Hamas people are having their lives ruined by Jews who highlight their public comments, and this Rutgers fellow is an example not only of that but of essentially doxxing. (Doxxing means to reveal personal identifying information that is either nonpublic or requires enough effort to find that it is, in a practical sense, nonpublic.)

Here’s what actually happened. Members of the Student Bar Association sent their group chat anti-Semitic and pro-Hamas messages after the Oct. 7 massacre, and an Orthodox Jewish law student in the chat, Yoel Ackerman, responded. He shared the messages with the Rutgers Jewish Law Students Association. For this, the law school opened disciplinary proceedings against Ackerman, with the law school dean telling her colleagues “we have a Jewish law student seeking to take and publish the names of those he deems to be supporting Hamas.” He was then subject to a Sovietesque impeachment hearing from the Student Bar Association. Ackerman, without receiving sufficient explanation, was berated for three hours in what amounted to administrative harassment. In order to dispense of their troublesome Jew, the SBA then moved to suspend its own constitution in order to expel Ackerman.

That’s when Rutgers University stepped in, and briefly suspended the SBA while it could sort out the mess that Hamas propagandists and their enthusiastic supporters among the deans had made of the school. The SBA was soon reinstated.

This, the Washington Post tells us, is an example of a Jew oppressing the poor gentile.

This is not biased reporting. It is Jew-baiting propaganda with a long and very disturbing history. The rest of the article, meanwhile, is biased reporting: Verma simply launders the exterminationist language of domestic extremists into legitimate criticism of a foreign government.

The whole article is science fiction. But the apology the paper owes Ackerman is very real.

[collapsedsquid]

Locked away in a classified safe on the White House grounds is a stack of papers crafted over decades with the hope that no one would ever use them. It lists the extraordinary powers a President may be authorized to use in the event of a nuclear attack or other massive catastrophe. Among the select few who have been granted access to the nation’s most closely held secrets, the pages are known as the Presidential Emergency Action Documents, or PEADs. Some simply call it the “Doomsday Book.” Over the decades, the book has come to include ready-made orders to suspend habeas corpus, the ancient and bedrock principle that those arrested appear before a judge, put parts of the country under military control, impose martial law, block Americans from traveling overseas, and restrict telecommunications, according to conversations with national security officials and analysis of documents obtained through Freedom of Information Act filings by the Brennan Center for Justice, a nonprofit law and policy institute. The public doesn’t know the extent of those presumed powers or the situations under which a President might claim the authority to deploy them. Successive administrations have refused to let Congress see the documents, arguing that they are confidential legal advice for the President. When Donald Trump was in the Oval Office, members of his national security staff actively worked to keep him from learning the full extent of these interpretations of presidential authority, concerned that he would abuse them. Now some former Trump advisors are raising the alarm about the dangers of Trump having access to the Doomsday Book in a second term. The former officials—which include Mark Harvey, who oversaw the Doomsday Book while on Trump’s National Security Council, and Miles Taylor, a former chief of staff for Trump’s Department of Homeland Security—worry that Trump would use the powers in situations that fall far short of the crises they were drafted to address. Trump has a history of testing the limits of presidential powers, and in a second term would be free of many of the guardrails that restricted his first one. The Supreme Court ruled in July that Presidents have partial immunity for official actions. Trump’s senior advisors have a plan to purge the federal service of people unwilling to carry out his orders. “He’s going to be surrounded by a set of people that would say, ‘You have the power to do this,’” says Harvey. “Frankly, if he says, ‘Yes,’ and there are people that go do it, what’s to stop him?”

Time Magazine warning the libs to be prepared for the Rex 84 FEMA camps

[alwaysbewoke]

A federal judge on Monday threw out a lawsuit by Elon Musk’s X that had targeted a watchdog group for its critical reports about hate speech on the social media platform. In a blistering 52-page order, the judge blasted X’s case as plainly punitive rather than about protecting the platform’s security and legal rights. “Sometimes it is unclear what is driving a litigation,” wrote District Judge Charles Breyer, of the US District Court for the Northern District of California, in the order’s opening lines. “Other times, a complaint is so unabashedly and vociferously about one thing that there can be no mistaking that purpose.” “This case represents the latter circumstance,” Breyer continued. “This case is about punishing the Defendants for their speech.” X’s lawsuit had accused the Center for Countering Digital Hate (CCDH) of violating the company’s terms of service when it studied, and then wrote about, hate speech on the platform following Musk’s takeover of Twitter in October 2022. X has blamed CCDH’s reports, which showcase the prevalence of hate speech on the platform, for amplifying brand safety concerns and driving advertisers away from the site. In the suit, X claimed that it had suffered tens of millions of dollars in damages from CCDH’s publications. CCDH is an international non-profit with offices in the UK and US. Because of its potential to destroy the watchdog group, the case has been widely viewed as a bellwether for research and accountability on X as Musk has welcomed back prominent white supremacists and others to the platform who had previously been suspended when the platform was still a publicly-traded company called Twitter.

[the-jewel-catalogue]

Mouawad Demi Parure

Personal Jewels 2/?

Unfortunately gifts are not usually publicized anymore but sometimes assumptions can be made.

In December 2011 for the Sun Military Awards, Catherine wore a diamond and ruby necklace with a matching bracelet. This set of jewels was made by Mouawad and is assumed to have been a wedding present to the Duchess. It’s giver is not known. The set hasn’t been worn since but last year for the Commonwealth Day Service at Westminster Abbey, Catherine wore for the first time the matching earrings for the set.

The necklace and earrings feature diamond circles with a modern style fringe from which are suspended ruby clusters in the shape of flowers. The bracelet consists of alternating diamond circles and ruby clusters.

~ British Royal Jewels IG

[valleyfthdolls]

"The bullies"- a group of gals who are social and rather popular among some groups, but are known to be highly defensive and somewhat abrasive. They hardly get along with boys. In the late 80s, a gang was formed at school of girls who had been bullied growing up; the gals' friend group is considered the spiritual successor to that gang.

Kashiko Murasaki- A generally social and bubbly girl who can become quite nasty when provoked. Always stays on top of the gossip; a frequent buyer of Info-chan's services. Keeps her "girlfriends" updated on happenings throughout the school.

Hana Daidaiyama- Though well-mannered and sociable in public, even reeling her "girlfriends" in, she is known to favor vulgarity and childishness with her friends. Believes she is "physically incapable" of taking an insult without retaliating.

Hoshiko Mizudori- Preaches the importance of positivity despite her pessimistic attitude and bitterness. Extremely protective of herself and her "girlfriends" and known to go after anyone who spites her with a vengeance. At her middle school, she got suspended for tearing a girl's hair out in retaliation for bullying her.

Kokoro Momoiro- The gentlest of her friend group, but does not have the heart to admonish her friends for their abrasiveness. She trusts and loves her "girlfriends", but fears herself and her friends becoming the bullies they were victims of growing up.

Musume Ronshaku- Her nickname means "daughter of a loanshark", but she's none the wiser to her doting father's predatory practices. A flashy gyaru who cares little for school and instead prefers to talk with her "girlfriends" and rebel. Known to be emotionally immature.