#Federation Inquiries

[galactic-federation-official]

did your new hire, chance, volunteer for this program? or was he arrested?

Chance is a volunteer! Applied for it, reached out, everything. He's paid, too!

[officialboardofdirectors]

I AM DEPOSITING 10K INTO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT AS WE SPEAK -🐇

I-Is, [a clearing of the throat] - Is this a scam?

[alphamecha-mkii]

Inquiry Class Ortho by Away Team Gear

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Published: Jun 27, 2023

Homeopathic drugs have an unusual status in the United States. On the one hand, they are incorporated into the Federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act (FD&C Act) within the definition of “drug,” which specifically includes articles recognized in the official Homoeopathic Pharmacopoeia of the United States (a historical perspective can be found in this ScienceInsider article from 2015, when government scrutiny was beginning to increase). But on the other hand, there is growing consensus that the effectiveness of such products is not supported by scientific evidence and that they are, in many cases, mere placebos that do not actually treat the patient’s medical conditions; in the worst cases, they contain harmful ingredients that may cause serious injury.

This extraordinary dichotomy has led to both the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) in recent years issuing modernized enforcement policies related to homeopathic drugs. An FTC enforcement policy statement from late 2016 requires homeopathic products to be marketed with clear disclosures stating that, among other things, there is no scientific evidence that the products work (see our prior post on the FTC policy here). Then in 2019 FDA took action to withdraw a long-standing compliance policy guidance for homeopathic drugs and to simultaneously issue a significant number of Warning Letters to companies marketing such products in violation of the FD&C Act (our prior posts on those activities are here and here).

Most recently, FDA finalized its draft guidance on homeopathic drugs – first issued in draft form in 2017 and then revised in 2019 – to lay out for industry the agency’s approach to “prioritizing regulatory actions for homeopathic products posing the greatest risk to patients.” The final guidance document issued in December 2022 can be found here. FDA also appears to be moving aggressively on the enforcement priorities as five letters relating to violative homeopathic drug products have been posted to the agency’s public Warning letter database since the beginning of calendar year 2023, as compared to four for the entire previous year. The FTC also included homeopathic drug manufacturers and distributors in the list of advertisers that received notices in April 2023 that their advertising claims need to be backed up with appropriate and reliable forms of scientific evidence (see here). Taken together, it’s clear that the homeopathy industry remains under major scrutiny by federal regulators seeking to enforce their fundamental public safety mandates, whether they fall under the FD&C Act or the prohibition on deceptive advertising contained in the Federal Trade Commission Act. 

Perhaps more noteworthy and concerning for the homeopathy industry, however, is a Fall 2022 decision by the District of Columbia Court of Appeals to allow civil cases to proceed against two retail pharmacies under a plaintiff’s novel application of D.C.’s Consumer Protection Procedures Act. The plaintiff in both lawsuits is the Center for Inquiry (CFI), a nonprofit that states it is “dedicated to defending science and critical thinking in examining religion. CFI’s vision is a world in which evidence, science, and compassion – rather than superstition, pseudoscience, or prejudice – guide public policy.” As part of this mission, and among several other lawsuits it has initiated in the homeopathy space, CFI sued two retail pharmacies in the District of Columbia on the grounds that they were violating the local deceptive trade practice statute. The complaint alleged these violations arose through the pharmacies’ indirect representations that homeopathic drug products labeled as cough, cold, and flu treatments have the same characteristics and benefits as over-the-counter drug products formulated with traditional active ingredients. In particular, although the pharmacies didn’t make express promotional statements comparing the different product types, the plaintiff argued that they placed homeopathic products adjacent to their traditional counterparts on physical shelves and in online shopping results, thereby creating the misleading impression that the different products had comparable efficacy.

CFI’s complaints were dismissed at the trial court level for failure to state a claim upon which relief could be granted. The two cases were then consolidated for purposes of the plaintiff’s appeal to the D.C. Court of Appeals. On the question of whether a cognizable claim had been asserted (this post won’t discuss the separate question that the appellate court reviewed, which was whether CFI had standing to sue the defendants), a three-judge panel ruled on September 29, 2022 that “whether the complained-of practices have a tendency to mislead reasonable consumers is a jury question” – thereby reinstating the complaints and remanding the cases for factual development. In reaching its decision, the court determined that a defendant did not need to make verbal statements in order for a “representation” to exist and that actions could also fall within the scope of the deceptive trade practices statute. Therefore the various factual allegations in CFI’s complaints – for example that the pharmacies displayed homeopathic products next to “science-based” drug products and that signage in the stores indicated that the entire section contained products for “Cold, Cough & Flu Relief” – were sufficient at the pleading stage to survive a motion to dismiss. As of June 2023, the dockets for both of these CFI lawsuits are active and discovery appears to be ongoing, so they continue to bear watching for future resolution on the merits. 

This recent ruling from the D.C. Court of Appeals foreshadows the possibility that retailers may opt to stop carrying homeopathic products in their stores (both physical and online) if the risk of liability to their own businesses becomes too great. Between the tightening of FDA’s and FTC’s rules for the industry and the increasingly creative use of existing consumer protection statutes by legal advocates, we could be witnessing a slow-motion demise of direct-to-consumer-based homeopathic product marketing. Only time will tell how the industry evolves in response to these numerous and formidable headwinds.

[tenth-sentence]

Conroy took up several board positions, becoming a director, then in 1994 chairman, of Howard Smith Ltd, chairman of the Federal Airports Corporation and a member of various inquiries.

"Westpac: The Bank That Broke the Bank" - Edna Carew

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"SHOW CHANGE NEEDED BY TOBACCO EVIDENCE," Toronto Star. May 15, 1934. Page 2. --- Rouses People to Inequality and Injustice of System, Says Teskey ---- Interrupting the meeting with questions involving international finance, when the speakers continued to discuss national and local questions, a heckler was finally ejected by force at a C.C.F. meeting in Veterans' hall, Mount Dennis, last night. Two ushers hurried from the rear of the hall, grabbed the heckler and rushed him through the swinging doors, and deposited him on the curb.

With rebellion as a drastic alternative, the C.C.F. is Canada's only hope for a governmental system based upon human needs and Christianity truly applied, declared Dr. Luke Teskey, C.C.F. candidate for South York.

"In less than 100 years there have been two rebellions in Canada. We are now face to face with a crisis of the greatest magnitude in the history of Canada," continued Dr. Teskey. "The Canadian people will spring about a change in our social construction and it will either come by evolution or revolution.

"The evidence as given at Ottawa recently by Waller M. Stewart, wealthy tobacco manufacturer, that 'excise favors and been exchanged for campaign contributions to party friends of the present government,'" is well known.

"These facts are of inestimable value in rousing Canadian people to the gross inequalities and injustices of a capitalistic state of society," he declared.

"If the report in the press yesterday of the Saturday night clash at Earlscourt park between C.C.F. speakers and the police wherein the police state that I ordered the driver of the truck we were using as a platform to leave it standing on one of the athletic fields,' is true, then the police are bearing false witness against me," Dr. Teskey charged.

Other speakers included Councillor Arthur Williams of East York and J. W. Buckley, C.C.F. candidate in West York.

[gravitascivics]

CONTEXTUAL ELEMENTS OF THE LIBERATED FEDERALISM, II

Currently, this blog is continuing its account of the liberated federalism model of governance and politics.[1]  With this posting, the blog looks further into suggested instructional methods in civics that teachers can utilize as most amenable to this featured construct.  The previous posting identified the use of case studies and community service projects – in both strategies, one does not eliminate other methods, but simply states that the featured methods allow teachers to get at what liberated federalism deems to be important.

          That posting also identified the psychological school of thought that supports the efforts that liberated federalism pursues.  That would be constructivism as developed from the works of Jean Piaget and Lev S. Vygotsky and runs counter to those pedagogical views emanating from behavioral psychology.  This posting will share more of Piaget and Vygotsky’s ideas.

          The Piaget based model, as explained by Geoffrey Scheurman,[2] calls effective human learning as “cognitive constructivism.”  It is dependent on a developmental view.  Scheurman writes

[Piaget] believed that people develop universal forms or structures of knowledge (i.e., prelogical, concrete, or formal) that enable them to experience reality.  This view holds that while an autonomous “real” world may exist outside the learner, he or she has limited access to it.  The emphasis in learning is on how people assimilate new information into existing mental schemes, and how they restructure schemes entirely when information is too discrepant to be assimilated.[3]

Within the cognitive constructivism model, the teacher acts as a facilitator and challenges students’ views of reality by introducing disequilibrium with incongruent factual or theoretical material.

          The teacher further guides students through problem solving activities and reviews and monitors students’ reflective and interpretive thinking after they, the students, discover their researched findings.  Experience consists of actual physical and social encounters in which they deal with unexpected claims – either factual or opinionated claims – and reflect on them, according to Scheurman.

          As for Vygotsky’s strand of constructivism, Scheurman calls it “social constructivism.”  Scheurman explains:

Accepting Piaget’s view of how individuals build private understandings of reality through problem solving with others, Vygotsky further explained how social or cultural contexts contribute to a public understanding of objects and events.  In this view, reality is no longer objective, while knowledge is literally co-constructed by, and distributed among, individuals as they “interact with one another and with cultural artifacts, such as pictures, discourse, and gestures.”[4]

Within the social constructivism view, teachers take on a collaborative role.  That is, they participate with the students in “constructing” reality.

          By doing so, certain functions are met.  These functions are to bring to light students’ misconceptions, to hold open-ended discoveries and inquiries, and to lead teachers and students to real social resources and procedures.  A class of students, including the teacher, “creates” a reality by manufacturing a culturally based understanding, conducting open-ended inquiries, and reflecting on the mutually constructed meaning.

          Constructivism promises to be a viable methodology for teaching a communally based curriculum.  As Scheurman points out, it does not preclude other types of instruction as functional components in preparing students for meaningful constructivist lessons or reflective extensions to lessons that have had students construct conclusions to a set of inquiries.

          Already mentioned in the last posting, there are more behaviorally based lessons which can be employed to establish needed information.  Also, inquiry type lessons that can test claims or conclusions presented to students and are based on the behavioral science model, can be conducted.  In other words, a healthy mix of modes of learning and teaching can add various contributions toward viable civics instruction.

          Perhaps here, as this account completes the description of the commonplace, the subject matter, it is useful to provide a short review of what has been presented.  The account first reviewed the assumptions of the liberated federalism construct regarding individual decision-making.  The account then proposed a model of the liberated federalism model which is presented as the preferred foundation for the study of government and civics at the secondary level.

          Then, using Eugene Meehan’s criteria, the model was reviewed for its viability.  Last, this and the former posting looked at methodology as a contextual factor in implementing the liberated federalism model.  In that, the presentation was in line with focusing on the more interpretive approach of constructivism, i.e., it encourages more heuristic approaches – in which students derive their own conclusions.  In that, they avoid the claim that it promotes indoctrination.  Next, the blog will address the commonplace, the student.

[1] For readers who wish to review those corresponding postings and have not read them, they are guided to this blog’s posting, “From Natural Rights to Liberated Federalism” (June 2, 2023), at the URL, https://gravitascivics.blogspot.com/, where this series begins.

[2] Geoffrey Scheurman, “From Behaviorists to Constructivist Teaching,” Social Education, 62, 1 (1998), 6-9.

[3] Ibid., 8.

[4] Ibid., 8.

[galactic-federation-official]

wdym by rehab program ?????

The Galactic Federation has decided to try out a new approach to dealing with miscreants and criminals in the form of a rehabilitation program.

It's a opportunity for them to get better while not being confined to a prison site. This program is still in its early stages, but if you have any more questions feel free to reach out.

[officialboardofdirectors]

I'm in love with you. Please financially ruin my life. -🐇

[A ping goes through her pager, a light ding informing her of a message. My, that's new.]

[That's familiar.]

[She presses a button, hesistantly speaking.]

Why... I... My, that's incredibly forward of you.

I don't normally agree to ... donations like this, but I suppose I'll — [sigh] allow it.

I also don't normally get any suitors.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - off the record (part one)

part one ; breaking news and breaking points

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.

note ; okay. hi. hello. me again! this authors note is going to be delirious because it is quite literally 2am as i edit this and i am shot. regardless — welcome to off the record! this is my baby. my child. my toddler who can’t walk or speak yet but the concept is there

let’s get one thing straight: i am NOT a politician. i do not work in politics, i do not enjoy american politics and i most certainly am no expert. i almost failed government in high school. i’m not sure of the accuracy of White House journalism but i do know one thing. i tried my very best!! so gold star for ang <3

anyway! welcome to the disaster. this is a rom-com, emphasis on the com because these two idiots are so deep in denial. we’re talking enemies-to-lovers, but in the “we’ve been rivals since college and now sit two rows apart at white house briefings” kind of way. grab some tea. snuggle your cat. scream into a pillow. idk, whatever works for you

playlist here

series masterlist here

The thing about White House press briefings is, if you don’t speak fast, Jungkook Jeon will.

And then you’ll have to watch his stupid little smirk on the screens in the newsroom all night while your editor asks why you didn’t ask the damn question.

You raise your hand, nearly leap out of your seat to deliver the inquiry you scribbled messily in the margins of your notepad. It’s something about a new federal rollout; dry on paper, but a minefield of public and private backdoor deals if you phrase it right. The question is halfway out of your mouth before—

“Secretary Thompson,” comes a voice from three rows back, “can you clarify whether the administration still plans to partner with private sector organizations despite last quarter’s concerns?”

Goddamnit.

You slump in your chair. Of course he gets there first.

It’s a clean question. Sharp. Subtle accusation wrapped in neutral intonation. The kind of question that makes cabinet members pause and choose their words very carefully, which Secretary Thompson now does, leaning forward and clearing her throat, visibly recalibrating.

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s sitting back in his chair like he owns the damn room. The entire Metro ride spent rehearsing that question, complete with dramatic pauses practiced between stops, has been hijacked by someone who waited until your mouth formed the first syllable before swooping in.

You turn slowly, against your better judgement. The muscles on your face achieve that special brand of neutrality that actually translates to: I'm mentally signing you up for a lifetime subscription to minor inconveniences. May your phone forever hover at 1% battery and may your socks perpetually slip down inside your shoes.

Three rows behind sits the human embodiment of your nightmares, looking like he just won a gold medal in the sport of Question Sniping, expression carrying a level of smugness you want to smack right off his face. And like, yeah, it’s fine that he beat you to the punch but you’re oddly impressed by how effortlessly he did it.

He’s sporting a black suit with no tie. Because heaven forbid he follow even the most basic protocols of professionalism. Elbow slung across the chair next to him like this is a casual Monday coffee run and not a federal media gauntlet. He’s already relaxing in his seat like he didn’t just outflank you in broad daylight.

He grins at you from across the pressroom, a perfect display of professionally whitened teeth that makes you contemplate the legality of throwing your pen across the room.

Disgusting.

You whip your head back to the front before you commit a felony in front of a sitting cabinet member. Immediately, you’re pulling your phone out of your back pocket, opening up iMessage.

Okay, count to ten. One, two, three…

Mentally, you’re trying to imagine your therapist's voice saying something about "workplace appropriate responses to colleagues” (although your therapist has never met Jeon Jungkook and is therefore woefully unprepared to provide relevant advice in this situation.)

Physically, your jaw tightens with the force of some unspoken comeback.

He always does this.

And the worst part isn't just that his strategy works consistently, or that Secretary Thompson is now giving a rehearsed answer that will yield exactly one (1) usable quote for his article; it's that microscopic part of you that recognizes the brilliance of his approach.

You learned this the hard way four years ago, during your very first White House press briefing fresh out of Columbia University, notepad filled with questions you’d rewritten five different times, trying not to sweat through your blouse because Jeon Jungkook was five seats away.

You hadn’t seen him since graduation. Not since he walked off that stage behind you; second in your class, already being courted by every network with a pulse. You’d hoped that being hired at competing outlets might mean distance. Space to build your career without having to look over your shoulder every time you submitted a story.

No such luck.

He was already there when you entered the briefing room for the first time. Already seated, sporting that annoying smile when he spotted you in the doorway.

You still remember the way his voice cut through the room like it belonged there. Just the right amount of bite to make the congressman answering the question squirm. It wasn’t even a bad question, but it was sharp enough to make everyone sit up, and that was the point when playing with American politics.

One doesn’t need to be liked. They need to be remembered.

You’d raised your hand right after. You were so determined not to let him win the room that you misread the energy entirely. And when the mic came to you, you fumbled. It wasn’t with the content — you’d done your research, you always did — but with the delivery. You were trying so hard to seem composed, to prove you deserved to be there, that your voice went flat. You didn’t breathe between sentences or really pace the question.

And the congressman, an older man with a short temper and a penchant for being rattled, cut you off mid-sentence. He waved a hand like you were a mosquito buzzing too close to his ear.

“Get to the point please,” He’d said, clearly annoyed.

You had, but the damage was done.

And Jungkook? He didn't even need to smirk — a restraint that somehow made his victory all the more infuriating. He just leaned forward, elbows on knees, lips pressed in a neutral line. But you knew him well enough to spot the amusement hiding in his eyes. He didn't look directly at you because that would've been too obvious, too much like admitting that this little press room dance of yours is his favorite form of foreplay, which is precisely the kind of vulnerability neither of you would ever confess to even under the influence of truth serum.

Either way, Jungkook never needs to gloat out loud. He just waits for you to see that he saw.

That’s how it started. The silent, deadly, professional tug-of-war that is probably so entertaining for onlookers that the White House should start selling tickets.

Four years later and nothing’s changed — except now you’ve learned how to play the game too. How to keep your voice calm, how to pace your brain, how to smile like a threat. You studied your opponents playbook until the pages wore thin.

So you sit there, pen poised, chin high, and let Secretary Thompson drone on for another minute while the reporters around you settle. Jungkook is probably lounging in the back like the cocky bastard he is, no doubt smiling like a motherfucker.

When the next lull in her sentence comes, you speak.

“Madam Secretary, given the administration’s recent walkback on infrastructure spending and the pivot toward incentivizing private sector, can you clarify what measures are in place for companies receiving federal subsidies, especially those with prior violations?”

The room stills like a sitcom freeze frame, where some narrator would quip "it was at this moment they knew..." as your question hangs in the air.

Thompson blinks twice. And then, to everyone’s surprise including your own, she smiles; it’s a genuine reaction, not the wide campaign-trail grin but the subtle acknowledgment that screams, finally, a real question from someone who did their homework instead of skimming the briefing notes.

She answers in detail. All lengthy and thoughtful and some political jargon you’re jotting in your notepad like a madman. Meanwhile your chest burns with the sweet, silent glow of victory, something your overachieving soul has been chasing since you color-coded your first set of flash cards in elementary school.

You know it’s there before you see it — Jungkook’s gaze.

There will be no swiveling of your neck to face him because turning would mean acknowledging, and acknowledging would mean giving away a fraction of this perfect moment; you don't need visual confirmation when you can practically feel him watching, probably chewing the inside of his cheek with that nervous habit he thinks nobody notices, calculating how he missed this angle while the room leans forward collectively, listening harder now than they were during his question.

God, it is tempting, though.

Just one glance. One raised brow. Maybe even a middle finger held discreetly under your notepad.

But you’re better than that.

…Mostly.

Still, the corner of your mouth twitches microscopically.

Game on, Jeon. Let’s see who wins this round.

The next thirty minutes go by just like this:

You raise your hand to try and get another question in, he mirrors you half a second later.

You jot down a quote, he glances up like he’s writing the same one faster.

You whisper something to the correspondent next to you, and he makes a point to become the world’s friendliest man.

By the time the briefing wraps, your notepad is full, your recorder has thirty solid minutes of good material, and your blood pressure is only slightly elevated — which you’re going to count as a win. Secretary Thompson gives her usual nod, the press secretary calls it and the room begins to scatter in that chaotic shuffle unique to people who have five minutes to rewrite a headline before someone else beats them to it.

You pack up, shoving pens and postits and a mildly passive-aggressive question list into your leather tote. It’s not like you’re in a rush. You’ve got what you need. Jenna — your editor, manager, queen of never being impressed — will actually be pleased for once. Last week she told you your questions were “good, not great” which you’ve translated to mean “where’s the political bloodshed?” But today, you’ve got enough edge to headline the next two cycles.

You’re halfway to the exit, steps quick against the marble floor, when you hear it—

Shoes.

Nice ones. Expensive, but already too broken-in to be new.

And they’re moving quickly like the fire alarm just went off.

Your eyes don’t have to spare a look. Your spine already knows who it is.

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder, and keep walking. If you ignore him long enough, he might combust from the lack of attention.

“Smooth question.”

You blink up at the hallway ahead of you. What was that counting trick you were doing earlier? Oh, right.. four, five, six....

A sigh heaves from the depths of your lungs. Quite loudly it echoes off the walls.

“Jungkook.” you begin, not slowing your pace, “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask the intern to print it out and shred it for recycling.”

He laughs at that amusedly.

“Come on,” he retorts, falling into step beside you now, “You stole my topic and framed it better. That was… mildly impressive.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s got his press badge tucked half into his blazer pocket like it’s too cool to wear properly, and the top button of his shirt is now undone.

“Oh no,” you deadpan. “Mildly impressive? Should I frame that statement and hang it next to my degree? My… valedictorian degree, perhaps?”

He leans in, a little too close for comfort. “Don’t worry. Mine’s right behind yours.”

You bite back a smile that threatens to show face. “And don’t you forget it.”

“You know, you’re lucky I didn’t ask a second question just to steal the narrative out from under you,” Jungkook sticks his hands in his pockets, pulling out a packet of gum.

Your eyes roll back into your frontal lobe, “Oh, I’m counting on it. Watching you try to top yourself is half the fun.”

Your feet betray you before you have a chance to stop them, and they stop walking, finally turn to face him. “Are you like this with everyone? I’m starting to get a little flattered.”

He looks at you for a second longer than you like. No smirk this time, just that stillness he gets when he’s thinking. Or, worse… he’s about to be really, really honest.

He shrugs, pops the gum in his mouth, smile creeping back into place like it never left. “Nah,” he’s already walking backwards toward the exit. “You’re the only one who bites back.”

His body disappears into the hallway crowd as if he knows exactly when to exit a scene, melting into the Washington ecosystem of power suits, security earpieces, and polished shoes on marble.

Jeon Jungkook is an insufferable bastard — one of the best-of-breed kind of bastards, possibly the best one you’ve ever had the pleasure (or displeasure, depending on the angle) of going to school with. Decidedly not bad on the eyes, which is unfortunate. Counterproductive, really. Because it’s hard to maintain a healthy level of hatred toward someone when their jawline could headline a fashion campaign and their smirks come pre-loaded with cinematic timing.

And yet, somehow, you manage.

Ever since freshman year when he walked into your public policy seminar and had the audacity to sit in the front row — the seat you always took, the one closest to the professor, the one with the best lighting for scribbling down notes. He didn’t even glance at you when he took it.

You clashed immediately. Over literally everything. Theories and tone and comma placement. Who should’ve been chosen to moderate the midterm debate and who had more credible citations in their annotated bibliography. You can’t even remember the first real argument anymore; all you know is it escalated quickly, something about a poorly formatted slide deck and a long-winded tangent on federalism that he thought was charming and you thought were grounds for expulsion.

To your luck, that turned into this.

Into years of mutual loathing, thinly veiled behind professional respect that makes your coworkers say things like “you two should interview a senator together!” while you fantasize about pushing him down a flight of stairs and then writing his obituary out of spite.

You can’t describe your relationship with Jungkook without sounding emotionally unstable. It’s not just because he got that one A+ in International Relations. It’s not some awkward sexual tension. It’s whatever exists in that middle ground between admiration and provocation.

Listen, you recognize his intelligence. He definitely recognizes your ambition. He’s just always been naturally, effortlessly good. Jungkook doesn’t have to rehearse or over-prepare or go through mental flowcharts in the mirror before a press event.

And the only thing worse than someone who always competes with you is someone who doesn’t have to.

That’s what always gets you. You’ve spent your entire career building scaffolding around every step forward and you are nothing if not methodical. And then he waltzes in with gel in his hair and throws out a line you write down immediately to send to Jenna.

You push the briefing room door open with your hip and walk in, tote clutched tightly.

Emma doesn’t look up. Her fingers are flying over her laptop, nails clacking against keys in short bursts of aggression. Brows furrowed, glasses slipping slightly down her nose, and her tongue is poking between her teeth the way it always does.

“Any luck?” you ask, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl that you’re 98% sure was only restocked because Emma guilt-tripped the White House kitchen staff with that one story she wrote about USDA budget cuts and “the symbolic death of the American apple.”

She grunts in response, closing her laptop quickly and swiveling to face you in her chair.

You bite into the apple, placing your heavy bag down on the floor beside your desk, which is conveniently always placed next to hers.

“How was Jungkook today?” She asks casually as if it’s not one of the most emotionally loaded questions a person can be asked. It’s a routine part of your dynamic at this point. Morning coffee, afternoon sarcasm, and one post-briefing debrief where Emma asks you how Jungkook was, and you pretend he wasn’t Jungkook.

“Obnoxious,” you shrug instantly. “Duh.”

Emma snorts while you continue on, rotating your apple to take another bite. “He was wearing this stupid smile today. I lowkey feel like he was more smug than normal.“

Emma hums knowingly. “That’s your favorite one.”

You ignore that. Just Emma being Emma.

“And of course,” you exhale, “he asked my question.”

That gets her attention.

She scoots her chair toward you slowly, like she’s gearing up for the best tea of her life. “Wait. The question? The one about partnering with private sector organizations?”

“The very one,” You sigh dramatically.

Emma gasps, places a hand over her chest. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, but he did,” you say, taking another bite of your apple, chewing long enough to build suspense. “Fell for it and beat me to it by two seconds.“

She clutches her heart like she’s just witnessed a murder. “War criminal. Both you and him.”

“It’s fine,” you snicker to yourself. “Took the bait like always. Already texted it to Jenna.“

So… there’s this minor (major) thing you do that if anyone finds out, you’re absolutely getting the boot off the Hill. You leave notes around the newsrooms with concepts that you plan to ask at the press briefings and your initials on the paper, and when Jungkook inevitably picks one up and asks them, you send the answer to Jenna. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Emma groans and throws her head back, dark brown hair cascading down her shoulders. “God, how do you come up with this? It’s diabolical.”

“I know.”

“You’re evil.”

“I know.”

She looks at you, tilts her neck, considers. “One of these days I’m gonna get it out of you… why you hate him so much. I swear to god, if the White House ever releases security cam footage, it’s over for you.”

You scoff, leaning against your desk. “Because he’s annoying.. and arrogant and—”

There’s a pause while your narrow your eyes like you’re compiling a legal case. “He’s allergic to shirts that fit.”

Emma just blinks at you.

“It’s not complicated,” You wave her off.

“Mmm,” she says unconvinced, already spinning back toward her laptop. “Sure. Not complicated. That’s exactly what people say before saying something really complicated.”

You flip her off.

She blows you a kiss, raising her watered-down iced latte as a toast, “I wish you a very get well soon.”

It’s nice having Emma. Someone who gets it. She was the only one who didn’t blink when you got hired straight out of school, the only one who didn’t second guess it when you worked your way into every White House event rotation. She never asks why you work late or why your standards are too high.

Emma’s seen you at your most terrifying and your most tired and knows they’re usually the same thing.

You finish your apple, toss the core into the bin, and stretch your neck. You’ve got a headline to punch up, an editor to impress, and a man to destroy.

Before you even have a chance to settle into your uncomfortable chair, Jenna, woman of the hour, bursts into the room like she’s just outrun a breaking news alert.

She’s breathless, auburn hair slightly windblown like she sprinted down the hall, which she probably did — Jenna’s never walked a day in her life. She’s powered exclusively by the adrenaline of publishing scoops before Politico can even spellcheck theirs.

“There you are!” she gasps, practically skidding to a stop beside your desk. Almost like you’ve been playing hide-and-seek instead of sitting where you’re supposed to be.

Emma startles, half-spilling her iced latte.

You don’t even look up from computer that you just rebooted on to life. “Hello to you too, Jenna. Everything okay?”

“Better than okay.” She’s already tossing her phone onto the nearest desk, face alight with manic glee that usually only happens when your publication beats everyone else to the punch. “We published first. That question you texted me. I’m already having it run the evening slot with a featured quote box and a goddamn infographic. Do you know how rare infographics are on pieces like this?”

Emma perks up immediately. “Infographics?”

“Motion animated ones. And it’s outperforming by like 400%. Who fed him that question? I know that was you. Don’t lie to me, you little minx.” Jenna’s eyes are sparkling, hazel flecks in her eyes popping out more than normal.

You blink at her, expression calm, the exact opposite of the excitement living beneath your ribs. “Hm. Was it me?”

“Was it?” Jenna nearly falls over the desk. “You literally texted it to me two seconds after he opened his mouth so I have my suspicions. I watched the tapes back.”

You shrug, sipping from your water bottle. “What can I say? Quick fingers. Predictable men.”

Jenna stares at you. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well, I have noticed… if I leave a well-worded, question lying within reach, he’ll take it. Should I be reporting him?” Your degree was in Political Science, but right now, it’s sounding a lot more like Lying.

Emma coughs on her coffee. “Oh my god.”

“He delivers it perfectly. He never even changes the phrasing!! Almost like he wants me to know he found it,” You mimic a toddler who got pushed on the playground, all false petulance.

Jenna groans, facepalming. “Jesus, that’s terrifying. Worse than finding out you’re doing it on purpose.”

Emma gapes and plays along with it, your trusty sidekick. “He’s using you like a human press puppet.”

You smile. “Whatever. I got the best answer out of Secretary Thompson today anyway.”

You’re not wrong. Not entirely. In fact, you’re opening up Google Docs as you speak to start typing before any person beats you to the punch.

“Well,” Jenna begins, “Great job today.”

Mission accomplished.

Despite everything, you’re pretty pleased with yourself. Emma’s shoulders sag a little with those three words, though you hardly notice.

You sit back in your chair, fingers hovering over your keyboard.

Another question, another quote, another game won.

It’s not cheating. It’s journalism, baby.

Later that night, the building hums like it’s finally exhaled after holding its breath all day, kind of peaceful in the way only Capitol Hill can be when it’s past five and most of the egos have gone home. The usual bustle has evaporated into a familiar sound of click-clacking keyboards and the hum of vending machines that will forever only take singles.

You’re probably the only person left. Well. You and Jenna. But Jenna doesn’t really count — you swear to god she pays rent here.

She exists in this windowless purgatory like it’s her personal loft. Her desk is still lit, hair up in a claw clip. There’s a cold coffee sweating beside her keyboard and an unopened granola bar that’s been sitting there since at least noon. Her coat is slung over the back of her chair in a way that implies she might leave. News flash: she won’t.

Meanwhile you’re cross-referencing quote attributions for the day’s coverage when it hits.

Ping.

You barely register it at first. Just another email in the never-ending trickle of nonsense from Washington’s most noisy inbox.

But the subject line awakens something in you, jolts you back onto earth after being a zombie for the past three hours.

From: pressroom@cnnpolitics.com

Subject: URGENT — CONFIRMED LEAK: Rep. Monroe / Rep. Delgado

Your heart skips and then sprints to catch up. You open the email, trepidation bleeding into your every movement like it might bite. Skimming it at first glance, you see a bunch of buzz words: late night, caught, office, intern.

And then you're up out of your chair like you spotted free coffee in the break room before anyone else, your demeanor shattered by what's glowing on your screen.

“Jenna.”

No answer comes from your editor, who's apparently developed selective hearing after years of people bringing her stories that are "definitely going to change everything."

“Jenna!”

Her chair swivels, eyes already squinting. “What.” she says, less a question and more a verbal eyeroll.

You motion her over. She groans, wheels her chair two feet, and reads over your shoulder.

She doesn’t speak for a full five seconds, a silence so profound you’re starting to think you misinterpreted the email.

“Holy shit.”

Your head bobs up and down once. “Yeah.”

Both of you stand. Stare at the screen like the text might dissolve if you blink. The email is brief but pretty brutal. Something about a late-night vote hold, a closed-door committee session, and Monroe being seen leaving Delgado’s office at 1:43 a.m. by a very chatty intern with no understanding of political discretion. It’s like the equivalent of catching Romeo leaving Juliet’s balcony.

“Please tell me we’re already writing this,” Jenna breathes, pulling her phone out and typing. “Tell me we’re not about to get scooped.”

You’re already closing your laptop. “We’re not. I just got this a minute ago.”

“Crap, okay,” she undoes her claw clip, runs a hand through her tangled locks. “You think NBC and Fox got word too?”

“Probably,” You tuck your laptop into your bag. “But… we can figure out what the other teams are saying. If you’re game for it.”

There’s a knowing look you two share, an unspoken understanding that comes from years of working in close quarters.

Just like that, with only a few words shared, you’re both gone — shoulders brushing in the hallway, shoes scuffing in sync as you pass the security desk and head toward the press rooms. Tiny, overcrowded hives filled with correspondents from neighboring organizations who all know something but never enough, all refreshing Twitter, all waiting for the official statement that will inevitably say nothing and everything at once.

You pass two staffers whispering near the elevator, some dude pretending not to be texting frantically in the corner, and a communications intern standing so still you’re not sure if he’s waiting for an answer or just buffering.

Walk faster, you repeat to yourself. No shot you’re losing this battle.

This is it. Every correspondent’s wet dream. The moment when instinct meets information. When knowing the right people and knowing how to read them becomes everything.

Fortunately, you’re good at this. Like, really good at this.

Jenna tugs on your arm as you turn a corner.

“Remember what I said in March?” she mutters. “I told you, these senators get more scandalous by the second.”

“Well, yeah, but that was about the comms director’s divorce and a broken espresso machine,” You remind her.

“Still counts.”

A grin is suppressed from your face. Technically, it is true. In this building, nothing stays quiet for long. Rumors and gossip spread quicker than a high school hallway.

Even though CNN is the top news source in the world — objectively, indisputably, and according to your network’s annual conference PowerPoint — your rivals over at Fox, NBC, and a handful of other outlets you don’t care to name are often your best sources.

Everyone loves to talk and you adore talkers.

The Hill is built on whispers, and your favorite kind of people are the ones who don’t know how to keep secrets in the same breath they use to ask for anonymity. There’s something about long hours and winding hallways that makes people careless with information. Or maybe it’s the sense of power, that euphoric high of having access to things you shouldn’t, stories that haven’t broken yet.

Right now, you’re chasing one of them.

You and Jenna waltz into the Fox press room like you own it (which you don’t, but that’s never stopped you before.)

It’s mostly empty, except for a few people quietly panicking over the situation in that journalist way where they sit very still while their eyes scream.

It’s a solemn few feet of space, lit by flickering fluorescents and decorated with the same kind of soul-crushing government chairs that squeak if you so much as fart. Someone left a takeout container open on one of the desks and you do your best not to inhale near it.

A quick glance of the room tells you all you need to know and then, to your dismay — you see him.

Jungkook.

Hunched over his laptop at the far end of the room like he’s doing important work but probably just rereading something you published earlier to find holes in it. His blazer from the briefing is gone, slung somewhere out of sight, white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, sleeves creased and casual and — God help you — revealing the tattoos on his right arm.

You’ve only seen it a handful of times. Most people on the Hill haven’t seen it at all. It’s not exactly Capitol dress code.

But he’s Jeon Jungkook so rules were always more like suggestions when it came to him.

Whatever. Not what you came here for. You focus on his colleague, Sana. She’s sharp as hell, desk always covered in four phones and three half-charged battery packs.

Most of the time, you like her. She’s blunt. She doesn’t pretend to like you more than she does, and she gives enough if you know how to ask.

“Sana,” You say, all business-like, sliding into her personal space like this is a casual catch-up and not an intel sweep. Jenna lingers behind you like a henchwoman.

Sana glances up and sighs. “What now?”

“Looking for background on Monroe and Delgado,” You busy yourself with your nail beds, pretending to be focused on the fact that your polish is chipping slightly.

“I know that’s not true,” she says, still typing. “You never ask for background. You ask for the stuff that makes our lawyers sweat.”

You smile, full canines on display. “Come on. You know I’d never get you sued. Fired, maybe.”

“Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

Sana rolls her eyes. “What do you want?”

You’re about to lean in with the next carefully worded ask when he speaks.

“You could just ask me, you know,” comes Jungkook’s voice from the corner of the room.

You don’t dare turn around.

Begrudgingly, you sigh, loud enough for him to hear. “Didn’t realize you were qualified to speak on matters you didn’t fabricate.”

Behind you, Jenna snorts.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat.

“You wound me,” he fires back. You can smell the sarcasm in his voice. “Especially after I gifted you that question earlier.”

You spin your body slowly to glance at him. He’s already looking at you, fingers paused over his keyboard, head tilted, one brow raised like he’s genuinely curious how you’ll respond.

Sometimes he does this. Pretends you’re having a conversation when you’re in the middle of ignoring him. Like he’s the main character and you’re just the supporting plot that hasn’t fallen for his clown act yet.

“I’d say thank you,” you retort, “but I think you’re confusing mediocrity for generosity.”

His mouth twitches, doesn't quite reach his eyes but manages to rattle something in your chest like a perfectly aimed pebble against a window, making noise without breaking glass.

“Well,” he stretches slightly in his chair, ink on his arm catching the overhead light, “I guess we’re both useful to each other, aren’t we?”

Verbally, there’s no response you can come up with. Almost like you’re trying to capture a complex emotion with an emoji.

He refuses to look away from you. All you can muster up is meeting his gaze, forcing your eyes not to back down from his own deep brown ones.

Which is stupid and arrogant of him.

And deeply, profoundly annoying.

One day, you’ll create a PowerPoint presentation documenting all the reasons he should be knocked down several pegs.

But, also, he’s kind of—

No.

No, not going there.

You turn back to Sana, who’s watching the whole exchange with the vaguely interested expression of someone who’s seen this movie before.

“Anyway,” you say, tone firm, “back to the real work.”

Jungkook chuckles under his breath sadistically.

Sana raises a brow. She adjusts her posture, closes out of whatever she was doing, and gives you that look. Sneaky one, might you add.

Jenna settles into the empty seat next to Sana with a soft thunk, all amusement and quiet observation, as if she’s pulled up to a live podcast and knows better than to interrupt the good part.

You lean in just a little, palms firmly planted down on her desk.

“You’ve always had great instincts,” you begin sweetly, “Way better than that guy over at NBC who thinks ‘no comment’ is an acceptable answer. And honestly? You’re usually two steps ahead of everyone in this room, including me.”

Sana’s face falls flat. “Flattery’s not free.”

“I’m just stating facts,” you reply, twirling your hair around your finger. “But if you happened to know anything about where Monroe actually was during the vote delay, and with who, and if that info happened to fall into my lap by accident…”

She taps her desk once.

You pause for dramatic effect. Jenna says nothing.

You know it’s working. Cross your heart and hope to die, Sana’s resolve is softening enough to consider it. This is the rhythm you’ve lived and died by for the past four years: collect the whispers, push at the edges, find the person who wants to feel a little important, and let them talk.

You hear the chair scrape before the words follow.

“Okay, you’re scalping her,” Jungkook says flatly, rising from his area like he’s decided to intervene on moral grounds — which is rich, considering he spent last week casually rephrasing your own coverage on-air without blinking.

You don’t even bat an eyelash in his direction.

“Boohoo,” you briefly flip through your mental Rolodex of dismissive expressions, “call the ethics board, Jeon.”

You hear his footsteps. He’s walking over like someone about to cut the red wire, like this is a bomb he’s been called in to defuse.

“Seriously,” he now stands a few feet away, arms crossed, that infuriatingly amused expression plastered across his stupidly symmetrical face. “You’ve got her in a journalistic chokehold. It’s not even subtle.”

You peer over at him and flutter your lashes innocently. “You’d prefer subtle? That’s funny, coming from the guy who once baited a senator with free Red Bull to confirm a time stamp.”

“That was different.”

“That was illegal.”

“It was unofficial.”

You scoff. “Right. Just like your fact-checking process.”

Jenna leans her chin on her fist and sighs. “Hereeee we go.”

Sana barely spares a look up. “Can you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to break a government scandal before midnight.”

Your lips are formed tightly in a line. “I’m so sorry. He just follows me everywhere.”

“This is literally the Fox pressroom.” Jungkook spits out automatically.

“And yet somehow I’m more valuable here than you are.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

You turn fully now, squaring your shoulders like this is war and he just stepped onto your side of the trench. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne — something citrusy and woodsy that makes your thoughts inconveniently disorganized. Jaw set in that infuriating way it does when he thinks he’s being reasonable.

“You know,” he tilts his head slightly, “at some point, you’re gonna run out of tricks.”

“Jungkook, you still fall for all of them.”

Sana mutters something about noise levels.

There’s a smile on your face you do not mean. Jungkook’s watching you intently now, clearly waiting for the moment you lose your cool, which you won’t. You don’t lose your cool. That’s your thing. Your signature move. You’re composed, unbothered if you will.

If the others are tired of it? Too damn bad.

Both of you will continue to respectfully decline to flinch first.

“You’re exhausting,” he says, half-laughing, which would be charming if it weren’t directed at you.

“Good,” you snap, “I hope it costs you sleep.”

“I’ve started taking a higher dose of melatonin to account for that.”

Luckily, before you can retaliate with something that will absolutely haunt you in the shower later, Jenna cuts in, phone screen brightly illuminating her face. “Guys…?”

Neither of you turn. You’re in this weird standoff. First one to look away loses.

She’s louder this time. “Um. Guys?”

“What?” You and Jungkook say in unison, like children caught throwing hands in the sandbox.

She blinks at her iPhone once, then twice, and stands slowly, holding her phone out like it might spontaneously detonate.

“I just got the alert,” she swallows deeply. “CNN got invited to a press pool.”

The room stills. Nothing has technically changed, yet somehow everything feels different, like the universe just rearranged its furniture while no one was looking.

You snatch the phone from her hand without a second thought, scanning the email with speed, stomach already dropping because you know what this means.

Fox. NBC. CNN. Wall Street Journal. Pool assignment. Limited access. Confidential source briefings. Strict cooperation protocol.

Jungkook steps closer to read over your shoulder, and you can feel his body heat like a threat. You edge away out of pure spite.

Sana exhales, “Oh, that’s gonna be fun.”

“No,” you murmur, half to her and half to God, “it’s not.”

Jenna sits back down, hand outstretched waiting for her phone back, probably mentally forwarding the email to your entire team with ten exclamation points and the subject line ‘URGENT: PRESS POOL.’

But all your brain can focus on is the last line of the memo: PRESS POOL ASSIGNMENTS WILL BE FINALIZED BY MORNING.

You swallow, jaw setting in place. Currently, you’re trying not to imagine the absolute hell of being locked into a room with Jungkook and being expected to collaborate. Or even worse, share credit.

Press pools are the bane of your entire existence. It’s lazy reporting dressed up in exclusivity, a dog and pony show where no one’s allowed to ask real questions, just “coordinate coverage” and “represent their outlet professionally,” which basically means sit down, shut up, and don’t make your network look like a dick.

It also may have a tiny, minuscule detail to it that you deject everytime; it’s always you and Jungkook they send. The two best damn correspondents on the Hill, which everyone knows, even if they pretend they don’t. You’re the ones they trust to get the job done. To ask the things no one else will.

And that would be flattering — if it didn’t mean getting locked in a room with him, breathing the same recirculated air, trading quotes and knowing exactly which angle he’s going to try and spin. It’s not a compliment anymore. It’s a punishment dressed up in prestige.

Now — if you’ve read that email right (and you have, because you always do) — you’re going to have to share that twenty minute slot with the one man on Earth who treats interviews and policy like some sick game.

You lower the phone slowly, handing it back to Jenna in a daze.

Jenna looks at you, eyes gleaming. “If it makes you feel better, this is gonna be amazing for us.”

“Who’s us?”

You’re already praying for divine intervention. Or a natural disaster. Or a scheduling conflict. Or a press badge malfunction. Literally anything but this.

Really, there should be no surprise when Jenna is showcasing a small smile on her face, the words already forming on the tip of her lip-glossed tongue.

You beat her to it. “Let me guess. You’re going to ask me to go.”

She blinks, then nods sweetly, too sweetly for your liking.

“I mean,” she says, clasping her hands, “you’re the sharpest we’ve got. You’re strategic. Respected on both sides of the aisle—”

“C’mon, I’ve gone to every single one. Can you please send Emma?” You may as well get on your knees and beg at this point.

Jenna disregards that completely.

“I want you to own the scandal,” she corrects, beaming now. “Control the narrative. Just, you know… professionally.“

You roll your eyes so hard you see your own childhood trauma. Turning to Sana, you’re already half-defeated.

“Thanks for your help,” you sigh, giving her a nod. “And for not actively reporting me to HR during that conversation.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “It was close.”

You’re halfway out the door, already planning what stress snack you’re going to inhale before opening a shared Google Doc with 45 other correspondents when it happens.

“See you Thursday, then. Three o’clock.”

You freeze. Actually, scratch that. You malfunction.

Your body halts so fast you nearly swing into the doorframe. You swivel on your heel, well aware of how the universe personally loves to torment you.

Jeon Jungkook is smiling, cheek to cheek.

He’s leaned back in his own chair now, one leg crossed over the other like he’s settling into a fireside chat, phone lifted lazily in the air, Gmail open and illuminating.

You can only assume his own boss forwarded the press pool email to him. God isn’t exactly subtle when he wants you to suffer.

“They letting just anybody in now?” You muster up the insult.

He shakes his head. “Didn’t even have to ask. Must be fate.”

No part of you falters. You stare at him. “Or a curse. It’s also not even confirmed yet, dimwit.”

“I don’t make the rules,” He raises his hands in mock defeat, and somehow you know that’s a lie. You’re almost certain he knew this was coming and bribed someone.

Jenna pats you on the back as she walks past. “Think of it as a growth opportunity.”

You glance at her like she just told you to do trust falls into oncoming traffic. “I don’t want a growth opportunity. I want a restraining order.”

Jungkook hums solemnly. “You’ll miss me.”

“Like a migraine,” You quip.

You step into the hallway and exhale, followed by a brief intermission where you regret every life decision that led you here.

A few distant feet away, Jungkook calls out all bright and cheerful, like this is a fun little reunion instead of your personal hell, “Should I bring the talking points or are we winging it like last time?”

Not a fiber in your body stops. You just keep walking, steps fast, fury simmering beneath the surface like a pot that’s about to boil over.

Of course you’ll be stuck sharing air and quotes and probably a goddamn printer with him.

Like you said, press pools… bane of your entire existence.

masterlist + ask

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[black-fist-order]

BREAKING - AND NOW THERE ARE THE EMAILS TO PROVE IT.

Trump has been on a vendetta against the State of Maine, in a personal revenge campaign against Governor Janet Mills.

Trump clashed with Mills at a White House event for the National Governors Association back on February 20th.

As he boasted he was ending the participation of transitioned students in women's sports, he singled her out and demanded that Maine comply with his order. There is only one such student athlete in the entire state.

Mills replied that Maine's schools were complying with all State and Federal Laws.

GASP. A WOMAN. Speaking back to TRUMP. He was furious.

“Well, we are the federal law,” Trump bawled. “You’d better do it. You’d better do it, because you’re not going to get any federal funding at all if you don’t.”

The Governor was not impressed. She is a former state attorney general and district attorney.

“We’re going to follow the law sir. We’ll see you in court,” she said sternly.

Something like this was like nothing Trump had ever seen before in the history of the world. It was catastophic. It was disgusting. It was NASTY.

“Enjoy your life after governor, because I don’t think you’ll be an elected official afterwards,” Trump snarled.

He could not let go of it. He seethed for the next two days, and even golf at Mar-a-Lala could not distract him. In a late Saturday night rant on X he demanded "a full throated apology" from Mills.

She ignored him.

"This will not end well for the Governor and the people of Maine," said a statement from the White House.

It has not.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Trump’s Department of Education head, wrestling queen Linda McMahon, launched an "inquiry" against Maine's Department of Education last week.

This week, The New York Times reported that Trump’s Department of Agriculture said that it had “frozen federal funding for education programs in Maine, the latest in a barrage of actions targeting the state.”

MSNBC reports that "in case that weren't quite enough National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration sent a letter to Maine cancelling funding for Maine Sea Grant."

Maine Public Radio says that in recent days, both the U.S., Department of Health and Human Services and the U.S. Department of Education have declared that Maine is violating Title IX. The agencies have given the state 10 days to come into compliance with the Trump administration's interpretation of the law and make other changes or risk referral to the U.S. Department of Justice for additional potential sanctions.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

But besides all of this - from the safety of his chair behind his desk - Trump ordered acting Social Security Administration Commissioner Leland Dudek to don the armor of Truth, Justice and the American Way and had sent HIM for a holy joust against the fearsome Dragon of Maine.

Dudek decided to take out Trump's revenge on new parents and grieving families in Maine.

Leland asked his staff about what contracts Maine had with the Social Security Administration, and he cancelled them.

He ordered the cancellation of the online electronic program that allowed babies to be given Social Security numbers right from the hospital, and the program allowing the hospitals to register deaths by electronic verification.

Huffpost reports: According to their emails, the Social Security staff informed Dudek that canceling the contracts “would result in improper payments and potential for identity theft.”

Dudek told his staff to go for it anyway.

“Please cancel the contracts. While our improper payments will go up, and fraudsters may compromise identities, no money will go from the public trust to a petulant child,” Dudek wrote, referring to Governor Janet Mills.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Canceling the vital records contracts would not only make it more difficult for families to register births and deaths IN PERSON at Social Security offices, it also would make it more difficult for the federal government to track births and deaths in Maine accross ALL GOVERNMENT AGENCIES, all of which use Social Security records to prevent improper payments.

And all the agencies let Dudek know it.

Dudek reinstated the contracts in less than 24 hours amid an outcry the agencies, AND from pediatricians, hospitals, funeral directors and Maine’s congressional delegation. He said he hadn’t "intended" to create an “undue burden on the people of Maine,” though his internal emails expressed exactly that.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wednesday, those emails were obtained by Rep. Gerry Connolly (D-Va.), the top Democrat on the House Oversight Committee.

Rep. Connolly has called on Dudek to resign immediately.

“The acting commissioner of the Social Security Administration should serve the American people, not create waste, fraud, and abuse on the taxpayer’s dime,” Connolly wrote in a letter to Dudek laying out the email traffic.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dudek is only a Trump appointee, and has not received any official Senate confirmation for the important post he holds.

He had been only a mid-level IT staffer at Social Security when he helped Elon Musk’s DOGE team access sensitive databases inside the agency, which he bragged about on LinkedIn. He was put on administrative leave.

But when the Social Security head resigned in protest, and more senior officials refused to cooperate with Musk’s team, Trump tapped him to lead the agency as acting head.

Last month, Dudek threatened to shut the agency down altogether after a federal judge ordered DOGE affiliates to withdraw from Social Security databases containing sensitive personal information about Americans.

Dudek knows NOTHING about the contracts the federal governments has with the states. He knows NOTHING about what they mean, and he cares NOTHING about the consequences. And he cares NOTHING about making OUR information safe.

He also obviously cares NOTHING about Trump's and Musk's purported crusade to prevent fraud and waste in government.

So far, the Social Security Administration has not responded to calls by the news media for comment.

Neither has the White House...

[huidanpikejaeger]

This appeal is important imo. The 1:04 jordan’s inquiry is procedural violation, as in they have clear rules and they broke it. While sabri is technical error, the line judge is following the procedure of only evaluating footage from top down view. (Although in suni’s and rina kishi’s case, those are procedural violation). In sabri’s case, there is no flaw in following the rule, it was the rule that is flawed.

Who is “we” here lmao ??? They’re gonna throw this out instantly idk why RGF is even trying it

[we4fhn]

Behind the FBI Investigation: Abuse of Power and Failure of Justice​

Recently, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) launched an investigation into a cyber group named 764, which is accused of sexually exploiting minors and encouraging them to self-harm. Its actions are truly heinous. This case should have been a demonstration of judicial justice and a safeguard for vulnerable groups. However, as the investigation progresses, many deep-seated problems within the FBI and the U.S. judicial system have come to light.​

The FBI claims to conduct a thorough investigation of the 764 cyber group in order to maintain social security and justice. Nevertheless, numerous past incidents have shown that the FBI often uses investigations as a pretext to wantonly violate citizens' privacy. Historically, as early as the mid-20th century, under the leadership of J. Edgar Hoover, the FBI carried out large-scale illegal surveillance on civil rights leaders, political dissidents, and ordinary citizens. Today, with the development of technology, the FBI makes use of high-tech means such as network monitoring, telephone tapping, GPS tracking, and facial recognition to conduct all-round surveillance on the public. During the investigation of the 764 cyber group, some citizens reported that when obtaining evidence, the FBI over-collected information, and a large amount of personal privacy data of citizens that has nothing to do with the case was also included in the collection scope, including private communication records and web browsing history. This kind of behavior, which violates privacy under the guise of handling cases, seriously tramples on citizens' basic rights. Although U.S. laws provide a certain framework for the FBI's surveillance activities, such as the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) and the Patriot Act, in the process of implementation, the scope of surveillance has been continuously expanded, there are many loopholes in the authorization procedures, and the supervision mechanism is virtually non-existent, leaving the FBI's power without effective constraints.​

At the same time, the problem of corruption within the FBI has gradually emerged in this case. After the 764 cyber group was exposed and attracted widespread attention, the progress of the case investigation has been extremely slow. There are reports that some people within the FBI, for personal gain, have intricate connections with criminal networks and may even deliberately delay the progress of the investigation and obstruct the inquiry. Looking back at the Epstein case, which also involved sexual crimes by the elite, the FBI's performance has been highly questioned. Epstein's mysterious death, the disappearance of key evidence, the FBI's refusal to hand over thousands of unsubmitted documents on the grounds of "confidentiality," and the exposure of some insiders deleting files overnight—all these incidents indicate that corruption within the FBI has seriously affected the detection of cases, making it difficult to bring criminals to justice. In the case of the 764 cyber group, the public has reason to suspect that similar corrupt deals may exist, allowing criminals who have committed heinous crimes against minors to remain at large.​

From this case, we can also see that the U.S. judicial system is inefficient and operates in an illegal manner. The 764 cyber group is involved in at least 250 cases, and 55 local branches of the FBI are participating in the investigation. Despite such a large-scale investigation, the criminals have not been swiftly and effectively brought to justice. The cumbersome procedures of the U.S. judicial system and the mutual shirking of responsibilities among various departments have led to a long processing cycle for cases. Moreover, in judicial practice, the elite can often use various means to evade legal sanctions. Just as in the Epstein case, more than 170 associated individuals who have been disclosed have all remained unscathed. This fully demonstrates that the U.S. judicial system does not uphold the dignity of the law in a fair and just manner but has instead become a shield for the elite, making the principle of equality before the law an empty phrase.​

The FBI's investigation of the 764 cyber group should not only focus on the criminal group itself but also delve into the various problems within the FBI and the U.S. judicial system. Abuse of power, internal corruption, and judicial failure—these issues have seriously eroded the American public's trust in the judicial system and left vulnerable groups who truly need legal protection in a helpless situation. If the U.S. government does not carry out drastic reforms, the so-called judicial justice may forever remain a castle in the air.

[circumpolarvampire]

The person who posted this is a TERF and is not Indigenous as far as I could tell so I am reposting it.

The remains of a second Indigenous woman murdered by a convicted serial killer have been found in a landfill in central Canada, authorities confirmed Monday, after another victim's remains were  identified earlier this month .

Marcedes Myran was one of the Indigenous women  slain three years ago by Jeremy Skibicki , who is serving multiple life sentences after being convicted of four murders last year. Skibicki met his victims in homeless shelters, in a case seen as a symbol of the dangers faced by Indigenous women in Canada, where they disproportionately fall victim to violence, termed a "genocide" by a national public inquiry in 2019. Testimony at Skibicki's trial said he raped, killed and dismembered Myran and another woman, Morgan Harris, in 2022.

Authorities believed their remains were dumped at the Prairie Green Landfill site, north of Winnipeg, the capital of the province of Manitoba. They had been searching the site for months.

On a tree out front of Camp Marcedes, located next to the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, a photo and red dress signify the loss of Marcedes Myran with a call to action in searching the landfills for her remains from Downtown Winnipeg, Canada on September 27 2023.Shay Conroy for The Washington Post via Getty Images

Last month, Manitoba authorities announced the discovery of two bodies.

Morgan Harris's remains were identified on March 7. Federal police in Manitoba  on Monday confirmed  the other set of "human remains found in the Prairie Green Landfill search have been identified as those of Marcedes Myran of Long Plain First Nation," a statement said. The families of Harris and Myran had pushed authorities in Manitoba to search for the bodies.

The body of another of Skibicki's victims, Rebecca Contois, was found in a separate landfill and in a garbage bin, while the remains of a fourth unidentified victim in her 20s are still missing.

In December 2022, Winnipeg Police Chief Danny Smyth  wrote an open letter  to Indigenous leaders, acknowledging the "unimaginable" pain surrounding the case. "The investigation involving the murders of Rebecca Contois, Marcedes Myran, Morgan Harris, and Buffalo Woman has been one of the most complex and important homicide investigations during my tenure," Smith wrote. "I have heard the calls from the families, the Indigenous leadership, and the community. I understand your calls; the pain and sorrow is unimaginable."

Indigenous women represent about one-fifth of all women killed in gender-related homicides in the country -- despite comprising just five percent of the female population. A similar crisis exists  in the U.S. , where Native American women  are disproportionately targeted  in murders, sexual assaults and other acts of violence, both on reservations and in nearby towns. 

There were more than 5,700 reports of missing Native women and girls in 2016, according to the  anti-sexual assault organization RAINN , which cites statistics from the National Crime Information Center. The Bureau of Indian Affairs estimated more recently that roughly 4,200 cases of missing and murdered Indigenous people  remain unsolved .

[saywhat-politics]

A Texas hospital that repeatedly sent a woman who was bleeding and in pain home without ending her nonviable, life-threatening pregnancy violated the law, according to a newly released federal investigation

WASHINGTON -- A Texas hospital that repeatedly sent a woman who was bleeding and in pain home without ending her nonviable, life-threatening pregnancy violated the law, according to a newly released federal investigation.

The government's findings, which have not been previously reported, were a small victory for 36-year-old Kyleigh Thurman, who ultimately lost part of her reproductive system after being discharged without any help from her hometown emergency room for her dangerous ectopic pregnancy.

But a new policy the Trump administration announced on Tuesday has thrown into doubt the federal government's oversight of hospitals that deny women emergency abortions, even when they are at risk for serious infection, organ loss or severe hemorrhaging.

Thurman had hoped the federal government's investigation, which issued a report in April after concluding its inquiry last year, would send a clear message to hospitals in Texas, which has one of the nation's strictest abortion bans.

[dilftaroooo]

hii new anon🎀

ex-boyfriend gojo who has an obsession over you and has been following you around. you’ve “moved on” and invite a man to hookup but he just couldn’t make u cum. as soon as the guy leaves gojo comes over and fucks you dumb.

>.<

gojo being on the sidelines before coming in to finish the job is kinda crazy. i can imagine he followed u from the bar you were in before leaning near the door to your apartment. waiting for your hookup to leave.

★tags/tw: stalking + toxicity + bathtub sex + he fucks u with his clothes on while ur bathing + fem!reader w she/her pronouns + nipple play + unprotected sex + unsatisfied sex (with ur hookup) + ummm home invasion but not, really?? + idfk I'm not a judge + gojo kinda comes in unannounced + attempt at proofread bc im sleepy so some shit might look janky.

The small dicked fucker left as soon as he spurted over your abdomen, the runny substance cascades through the crease between the start of your thighs and the edge of your pussy, which, hasn't released a drop of arousal the whole night.

The man you hooked up with had to blow a glob of spit onto your folds before he'd rub a finger on your make-believe clit, 'Yeah, know you like that. You came to the right person, sweet thing'. Why did you even bring him over? He's not even doing this shit properly. You're sure he wouldn't know where your clit laid even if you made a map and pointed it out for him. If you're gonna be cocky at least do it right.

Your hot bath gave you more pleasure since it was the perfect ratio of water to bubbles. The white foam didn't completely submerge you and you took the time to let the liquid stray you from your mind while listening to the sound of bubbles crunching from around.

Apparently, smelling the medicinal aroma of eucalyptus must've blurred the taps of footsteps making their way into your apartment and into your master bathroom.

"There she is. Taking a bath already? Your one-time fling came here, what, not over ten minutes ago and left? I'm sure you had the night of your life." The mockery in the intruder's tone was evident with each word he spoke.

His hair was still the absence of color, resembling the white sheets stacked high at the corner of your room. His skin was pale and somewhat glossy with expensive moisturizer. Aqua spheres were decorated with flecks of adorable baby blue. He's buff, perhaps buffer than the last time you saw him. But most of everything was unchanged.

He squats next to your incredulous as well as vulnerable figure in the ivory porcelain of your bathtub.

"How'd you get in here?" You inquiry.

"It's no good to leave the keys to your apartment under that more than obvious vase next to your front door. It's corny and you can get robbed that way too." He takes a peek at nipples covered by a translucent blanket. The bubbles had disintegrated leaving you exposed from the lack of foam.

You forgot he knows about the key underneath your grandmother's vase. You're the one who told him about it and you silently wish you hadn't.

"Well, congratulations on committing a federal crime. Now leave, Satoru."

"Oh, but darling you trusted me enough to tell me about those keys so I'm doing nothing wrong. Now, enlighten me, did that guy make you come so hard that he had you seeing stars?"

The lukewarm water kisses your pores in an attempt to soothe your beating heart. The scent of your ex was still riddled with that same lustful scent of mint and cinnamon, a cologne that you remember gifting him for the sole reason of how arousing it was paired with taut muscles and blue eyes.

You felt like a needy omega, shaking in the comfort of your den as your eyes water at the sight of your alpha and cowering at the pheromones leaking off his body and into your awaiting nostrils. He smells so fucking good.

"I know you heard me, sugar plum." You won't forget how much he loved to jeer at you. He wanted to hear you admit how much of a bad fuck your hookup was and how he didn't even get you to come. How you wished it was Satoru that took his place and filled your achy cunt til his balls smack your ass.

You adjust your seating when a warm palm engulfs your cheek whole. Not a trace of your skin color reveals itself under Satoru's hand. He's big even when squatting down to your size. The scowl on your face juxtaposes the grin on Satoru's.

"That's none of your business. We're not together anymore. Stop riding my dick."

"Though I do love a good ride, I think it's you who wants to do the riding, sweetheart."

Fingers crawl over your neck, down to the tops of your breasts, and onto your perky nipples. He continues to tease you by drawing circles around them making you tremble with unadulterated desire.

"Am I wrong? You can't even look me in my eyes. Bet you're not even aware of how heavy you're breathing. Poor girl. He didn't give you what you wanted. Say it." It almost sounded commanding if not for the lithe of his voice

"Fuck, hah, fuck you, Satoru..." The man cheeses.

"Right now?"

"Shit, yes."

"Knew you’d come around."

His patience must've ran thin because he didn't even bother taking his clothes off. Only unzipping his flyer to pull out his aroused dick and fleshy balls before joining you in the now cold water.

You were still his pretty princess as you took him in deep into your cavern, the bath water that surrounded you sloshed with every dominant thrust Satoru pounded you with and you did nothing but moan the name of your supposed ex like a vintage record player.

"Was he able to reach that spot that you liked hit, baby?"

"Mm-mm." You muffled.

"And why is that, huh?" His cock has that cute upturn that repeatedly nudges at your slimy walls which encourages your arousal to spill and combine with the bath water. You were better off taking a shower.

"Because he wasn't you." Your words came out in increments as he beats your pussy raw. The sound of almost every syllable slurred like a drunken man's tongue.

"That's it. You got it now, darling. You still missed me, didn’t you?" The fabric of his clothes is now soaked due to his stubbornness but there was no room for complaints when cotton and denim cling to jutting muscles. The pink of his areolas revealed itself under wet clothes. His nipples were as hard as yours. “Let me show you how it’s done.”