#bribery scheme

[rejectingrepublicans]

[republicansaredomesticterrorists]

[kazifatagar]

MACC Arrests Three Over Bribery in Citizenship Confirmation Scheme

The Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission (MACC) has arrested two Home Ministry officers and one civilian in Putrajaya for allegedly accepting bribes to expedite applications for citizenship confirmation (Pengesahan Taraf Warganegara, PTW).  MACC Arrests Three Over Bribery in Citizenship Confirmation Scheme The arrests, made between 1pm and 5pm yesterday, are part of ongoing investigations…

[jasminewilson143]

Charges have been framed against Gautam Adani along with seven others in the $265 m bribery case.

Charges have been framed against Gautam Adani along with seven others in the $265 m bribery case. While the world watched with its breath bated, a US prosecution indictment of Gautam Adani, a tycoon and the chairman of the Adani Group, dominated all the interest. Many are fascinated because of the gravity of charges and the names against whom these are brought. So here is the detailed look into…

[treesah]

I know yelling is bad so I generally avoid it, but my five-year-old son told me this morning—after I’d asked him three times, looking him in the eye, making sure that he was focused on me and could hear, to brush his teeth while I made him breakfast, only to have him NOT brush his teeth and play with his LEGOs instead, making us 10 minutes late for kindergarten and forcing me to put a black X through today’s Morning square on his sticker chart—that he doesn’t listen to me because he doesn’t usually think what I tell him to do is important, since when it is, I yell at him, like I did yesterday when he was about to run into the street at night wearing an all black-and-gray costume in front of an Escalade (which was, to the driver’s credit, going at an absolute crawl in deference to the trick-or-treaters) and I boomed “STOP!” at such a remarkable timbre and volume that every head within three houses of us swiveled to look at me. (Most of the time when I yell at him, it’s something along the lines of “stop” or “get down” or “no mouths.”)

“Well you seem to listen to Daddy most of the time,” I accuse, wondering if my son’s becoming a sexist already at such a young age.

“Daddy picks me up and makes me do stuff if I don’t start right away and I don’t like that because then I don’t get a chance to do it by myself,” he pouts.

My son’s only 40 pounds, but he’s almost 42 inches tall and wriggly, and my upper body strength is such that I cannot manhandle him as easily or as safely as my husband can. My only recourse is to be stricter with the Good Behavior sticker chart (split into Morning and Night for 14 days; each completed sticker chart is worth $25 banked or a single toy or book worth $25 or less—not including taxes—if used immediately).

But there you have it, from the mouth of babes: the most effective methods for ensuring timely toothbrushing compliance are yelling and physical manhandling.

[gwydionmisha]

Trump to Women: "I Will Be Your Protector" & Mark Robinson’s Wild Porn Messages | The Daily Show

NY Mayor Eric Adams Indicted in Turkey Bribery & Fraud Scheme | The Daily Show

[m-50a]

Trump BRIBERY SCHEME Surfaces as SECRET MEETING is Revealed

[green-butterfly-writes]

Little Thief (Part 2)

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Summary: Red Hood has a new informant, and nobody likes it. Two of the bats meet them. It’s not what they expected.

Trigger Warning for starvation and animal/child abuse. Read at your own risk.

Also, there is angst, but I promise it will get better soon 💚

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red Hood had a new informant. One he would not name. And nobody liked it. This mystery individual had given him the location of Cobblepot’s new scheme a month ago, a warning about a big bank robbery two weeks later, and a tip to look into what the Black Mask was doing five days ago. It was good information, but Batman (being paranoid as he was) didn’t trust it, and neither did anyone else. It was likely a trap, but Jason protected his informant with such passion that nobody could get anything out of him. At least, not until today.

Jason was out of commission for a week, and Gotham was in deep trouble. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and despite thoroughly examining every inch of every abandoned or rundown theme park, amusement center, and playground in Gotham, they hadn’t found a trace. It took a mix of bribery, black mail, threat of bodily harm and a significant amount of painkillers for Jason to agree to give them instructions on how to get the information they wanted. Which is how they ended up on a random rooftop with a bag of fast food.

~~~

Two figures made an unwelcome arrival at your designated meeting place. Instead of a single pair of feet softly falling on to the roof, and the air being filled with the familiar scent of sweat, gunpowder, and campfire cologne mixing with deep fried chicken, the wind sent a wave of overpowering floral detergent, mint shampoo, and citrus no-tear soap to assault your senses. The sounds of two individuals landing harshly on the roof stabbed at your sensitive ears, and even though the moonlight glowing from behind them obscured their appearances, you could price together who had intruded upon your night.

They both scanned the roof from their vantage point, and you crouched closer to the ground and leaned against the brick box that functioned as an access point to the roof, hoping the shadows would hide you long enough to make an escape plan. 

After seeming to confirm there was no human in sight, the taller of the two figures turned to examine the surrounding buildings, and the smaller crossed his arm over his chest and huffed.

“I don’t trust this,” the smaller one petulantly mumbled, quite enough you weren’t sure the man behind him could have heard, “Everything about this is suspicious, the secrecy, the location, the set up… who trades information for a burger of all things.”

“I heard you the first seven times Robin,” the taller of the two answered, dropping a familiar looking paper bag on the ground before arching into a handstand, “but this is the best — and currently the only — shot we got.” The words hung in the air for a moment before he added, “and it’s not a burger, Jay was very particular about that”

The boy huffed in frustration and looked ready to lose his temper, but with the cargo confirmed as food, your plans of a quick quiet escape were all but abandoned. Even with the smaller one — Robin — facing away momentarily to glare at his upside down companion, the temptation of food was just too strong. You hadn’t seen Red Hood in three days, nor had you eaten in just as many, and your stomach ached with need. Under better circumstances you could have dove between the two and stolen away with the food, but the past several days had been brutal, and every movement hurt. You opted to stay where you were, in hopes a better opening may present itself.

The taller of the two righted himself to his feet, and looked around at the surrounding building again, before lifting one hand to his ear, “you sure we got the right place? I don’t see anyone… no I checked, I’m sure. What do you want us to do,  just wait around? For what?! Yes… Yes! I understand that, but is this really — no, I promise. And who’s fault is that?…” he spoke heredity and harshly, and with all the standard Gotham street noise closer than it could be, it took you a moment to register the mumbling of another voice. You scooted closer in hopes of hearing the other side of the conversation, but due to a mix of pain and exhaustion, you stumbled, disturbing some of the debris around you, and while the taller of the two remained seemingly oblivious to your presence, Robin’s piercing eyes locked on you your location, still obscured in the shadows.

He grabbed hold of the sword on his back, and confidently stepped forward. You hesitated for a moment, before carefully extracting yourself from the dark, staying close to the ground in hopes of seeming as small as possible. Robin froze for a moment upon first impression, though his face was unreadable. He slowly sheathed his sword, and in turn you rose from the ground to stand. He took a soft step forwards, and you did not back away. He took another slow step towards you, lowering himself slightly, trying to appear less frightening, and in turn you made a small shuffle forward. By this point Nightwing had fallen silent, watching your careful dance with his companion. A delicate back and forth until you were three feet apart.

“What are you doing here thalabun?” he asked softly, more rhetorical than anything. You weren't sure how to answer the boy, how to explain your relationship with crime ally's guardian, so you stayed there, looking at him, examining is spiky hair and soft skin, familiarizing yourself with the citrusy smell that wafted off him, listening to his faint, controlled, rithmic breaths. 

“Give me the bag,” his voice was sharp and stern again, head aimed at his elder.

“No way,” came a swift response, “we need it for the informant, remember?”

“I'll only take a little, look at it!” Robin exclaimed gesturing to you, “plus we've been here for almost twenty minutes. I don’t think they’re coming.”

Nightwing seemed to mull it over, carefully examining you, before picking up the bag and launching it at a waiting Robin. Robin unwrapped the chicken sandwich, and pulled off a piece of the patty, tossing it at your feet, where you quickly lapped it up. Nightwing wandered over to where his partner was sitting on the ground and dropped beside him.

“Ok Robin. What's next? The informant is a no-show, and we still need to find the joker. Where else could he be?” they both sat in silence considering the question, pondering what — or rather where — they missed. A small, strangled ‘yip’ echoed into the damp cold of the night, and both vigilanties snapped their attention back to the fox. It yipped again, tail wagging, as if to say ask me. 

“You wouldn't happen to know where the joker is, would you?” Nightwing asked, almost sarcastically. He got a yip in response, and a head bob that resembled a nod. That made him pause…

“You do?” he repeated, beginning to doubt his vision and sanity. But as if to assure him of both, the creature repeated the gesture. “Could you show us?”

That… was a bit more difficult. Your body hurt and you were tired, three days of no food, little sleep, and constant harassment from kids, store owners, and wild animals alike had taken a toll. But you wanted to help. To be useful. At least to pay back the kind souls for feeding you, but also because doing good felt nice. And very little seemed to feel nice these days. So you summoned what strength you had, and launched yourself at them, leaping between, and landing on the hard floor with surprising grace. You pushed all your energy, all your hope, and strength, and thankfulness, into your legs so that they would go, go, GO!

You made it just short of the edge of the roof before your legs gave out and you were consumed. By darkens. By pain. Your back hurt, burning with every cut and bruise you had ever received. Your legs stung and ached. Your stomach clawed at your flesh begging to be filled or released from its prison. You were surrounded by darkness. Deep and unending, it was cold and quiet, yet all too loud, swallowing you, leaving you with nothing but pain. Everything hurt. So, so much. And you were alone, with no one to treat your wounds or hug your suffering heart. There was no warmth to reach for, no soft blankets or squishy stuffed animals. Just you, alone, cold, and in pain.

Two small, steady hands buried themselves beneath you, before carefully leaning you against something soft and sturdy. A kind hand shifted to run from the top of your head to the base of your tail, before repeating the motion. It was soothing, inside and out. Slowly the pain alleviated, and your breathing evened out. The dizzy feeling lifted, and you summoned all of your will power to crack open your eyes just a bit. You were met with the soft concern of Robin, worry visible even though the mask he wore. Robin’s steady breathing softly lifted you ever so slightly, and you focused to match his breathing: in and out, in and out. He smelled clean and strongly of oranges. It reminded you of the girls home you had lived in for six months before it was shut down for feeding the kids expired food. It was not a good place, but it was kinder than many others. You had missed the smell. 

“How about I carry you and you point to where we need to go?” he recommended softly, still running his hand down your spine. You basked in his warmth and soft touch for a moment longer, trying to regain your strength, before shifting in his hold and pointing at Gotham’s skyline. 

“That way?” You briefly nodded in confirmation, and both boys launched themselves off the roof and into the night air.

You had never seen Gotham from this perspective. Sure you climbed up fire escapes, and sat atop many buildings, but it was nothing like this. Nothing like soaring through the air, skyscrapers flying by. The way the wind licked freely at your hair reminded you for a moment of a trip you had taken with your mother long ago. She was driving on an empty dirt road, heading to the beach. The air was sunny and warm, the breeze swayed the trees in a methodical way, and your mother had let you stick your whole upper torso out the window. Distant street noises brought you back to reality, and looking down you saw the cars and people, they reminded you of Mr. Knox’s toy train display, the one that nobody but him was ever allowed to touch. They all looked so small from here. 

Eventually you all landed outside a junkyard with a broken front gate. You led them inside, between piles of broken cars and rubbish, around the sharp metal and spilled oil, all the way to a faded, rusty, ice cream truck. Its hood was dented, the paint was chipped, and it was missing its two back tires, but a distinctive, infuriating, familiar laugh radiated from the inside.

The two vigilantes exchanged a look, before Nightwing turned to you and held out a crinkled paper bag.

“I guess you were Hood's little informant,” he breathed out. You gladly accepted the payment, and retraced your steps out of the junkyard and into the concrete jungle of Gotham.

Once you were long out of view, and hidden in a grimy abandoned back alley, you softly plopped the bag on the ground. Your food was in a bag and wrapped in foil, you’d need thumbs to get it out. You didn’t like being in human form, not right now. You were skinny in both forms, but without the fur coat being a fox provided, the wind and cold seemed to sink right into your bones. It didn’t help that your small amount of clothing had definitely seen better days. But food is more important than momentary discomfort, so you shift, trading your tail and matted fur for arms and skin. 

You unwrap your chicken sandwich and sink in your teeth. The bread gives way softly, and a delicious crunch sounds as the lettuce brakes away into your mouth. The tomato bleeds its sweet juices onto your tongue, and as your mouth finally closes around the first bite of food you’ve had in days, you realize that by some miracle, despite the hour weight and cold conditions, the center of your crispy, chewy chicken patty was still warm. You barely finish chewing the first mouthful before taking a second, desperate for food and warmth.

You wonder if Red Hood is ok.

Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think 💚

Notes:

Nightwing and Robin intentionally landed loader than they normally would in hopes of alerting the informant they had arrived, since they were expecting a human.

Jason, on the other hand, always tries to be especially quiet when coming to meet you because he knows your ears are sensitive.

'thalabun' is fox in Arabic according to google translate. if this wrong please, please let me know, as I intend to use it with some consistency moving forward.

ALSO!! Illustration

tag list:

@4rachn3

Let me know if you want to be added 💚

[gghostwriter]

Have Your Cake

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer notices a change in you that he tries to address Trope: Comfort; Established relationship w.c: 1.8k Trigger warnings: tackles eating disorder and body dysmorphia a/n: this is a really hard topic I personally felt the need to write about (in a way to comfort myself.) Its very personal as I used my past eating disorder here so if its something you’re not comfortable with, please go skip ahead to another fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer wrapped the front ends of his coat tighter on his slender body. It did little to no good fending off the cool seasonal air of an October night. His scuffled loafers squeaking from his shuffling feet. 

The line at your favorite bakery was unsurprisingly long on a Tuesday evening. Every night, the shop sells their remaining pastries at a discount To lure innocent commuters, tired from a long day of pushing papers. He usually wasn’t one to give in to the notion of ‘treating yourself’—unless counting out his big spendings on first editions written in its original language.

He gave the cashier a slight smile before listing off his purchase, one slice of their decadent strawberry shortcake and another of their vanilla bean sponge cake—both your favorites. And both an integral part of his perfectly thought of scheme to solve a riddle.

Your mystery.

In simple layman’s terms, they were bribery of some sort.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, side stepping his way out from the throng of customers holding their own trays of pastries and back into the cold October air.

He blamed himself for not noticing the change in patterns early on. His attention otherwise preoccupied by the trauma from his time in prison and the stares that vary from judgement to pity that come from officers outside of the BAU.

No longer was he the shining, new prodigy once hailed to be, now he was just damaged goods. His downfall from grace was an adjustment.

His mind was another matter, all together—could no longer detect subtle shifts in behavior as fast as he used to.

Yes, there was really no one else to blame but himself.

As his long strides covered the way home, the moon shining down on the empty streets, Spencer thought back to the moment when he finally noticed you eating less and less.

———

You pulled down the cuffs of Spencer’s Caltech sweater, leaving only the tips of your fingers peeking through. Everything about it made you self-conscious. How it drapes down your shoulders differently from before. How it wraps around your body, sending shivers down your spine. And how it leaves the lower half of your plush thighs exposed for anyone to see—anyone to judge. 

You hated it.

You hated how hyper aware a single comment from a distant relative made you feel.

**

A voice from a distance called out your name causing you to look around the aisles of grocery and come face to face with an aunt, twice removed from your father’s side. 

“It is you!” She leaned in to kiss your cheek. Her choice of perfume, a sickly sweet artificial scent of oranges, wafting on your nose.

It made you want to gag.

A fake smile donned your face. “Oh, hi Auntie. What a surprise to see you back in Virginia.”

“Oh, I just flew in for my husband’s sister’s birthday. You know how we are, always booked and busy with events,” she waved her hand, the ostentatious diamond ring on her finger catching the light. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated college. You look so different now—more and more like your mother.”

“Thanks, I always did look like her,” you awkwardly laughed.

Her eyes traveled down to your feet and back up again, a tight grin on her face. It made her look vicious, condescending, causing you to catch your breath as she uttered the words that would repeat in your head like a commercial slogan you can’t get away from.

“But you were much prettier when you were thinner—” her eyebrow raised, cataloguing the items in your cart. “Might want to cut down on the carbs a little bit, sweetie.”

She poked a wound inside of you that never seemed to fully heal.

You thought you were better, all those years of talking to your therapist and changing your relationship with food for the better made you believe those dark days were behind you. But those spitting phrases veiled as words of care from a family member amplified the doubts once buried in the recesses of your mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was great seeing you, Auntie.”

**

The jiggling of keys brought you back to the present.

“Love, I’m home!”

You called back from the kitchen, finishing up plating tonight’s dinner—a fresh serving of Chicken Alfredo to share. “In here, Spence!”

With a saccharine smile on his tired but beautiful face, he wrapped his arms around your shoulder for a loving hug. His pillowy lips leaving trails of kisses from your temples, to your nose, to your cheeks, and finally landing on your awaiting lips. 

You giggled at his antics. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” another peck on the lips. “Dinner looks amazing. Thank you for cooking.”

“It’s no problem at all, you know how much I like to cook for you.”

He brought up a mystery package to showcase, eyes tracking every minuscule change on your face. “And I brought us some dessert! Your favorites from the bakery.” 

The smile on your face threatened to drop. “That’s—that’s great!”

———

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you all throughout dinner. One of the disadvantages of dating a man who earns his living by understanding human behavior and its changes—triggers, as he would like to call it, is never having the leisure of keeping a secret.

He means well, you‘d like to believe so, but that didn’t change the fact he knew something was bothering you. 

It made you feel like a riddle he wanted to solve. It made you want to scream and cry.

The only reprieve you could get was within the little confines of your shared bathroom, water beating down your back muffling the sobs that escaped from your tightly pressed lips.

Everything felt too much. 

The devil voices in your head listing off the calories each spoonful contains. The mathematical equation of how long you’d need to exercise to lose every unnecessary bite eaten over dinner. And the facade of keeping everything together—everything perfect.

You picked off the sides of your nails, already raw and starting to bleed. 

Maybe you shouldn’t eat breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Maybe you should walk the 15 minute commute from here to the office. It would take 30 minutes but that’s additional exerc—

“Love, is everything alright?” Spencer asked behind the locked bathroom door. 

You turned, turning off the shower, before hurriedly toweling off the droplets all over your hair and body. “Yes, I’m—I’m almost done!”

Swiveling around the dry area, you realized you forgot to bring in a change of clothes beyond a clean pair of underwear.

You sighed to yourself as you wrapped the towel around your chest. Still feeling uncomfortable and oddly naked even then. 

“Spence, there’s still some hot water left—are you okay?” You ask, having found him sitting on the edge of the bed with a distinct frown on his face. 

He stood up. Hands on your waist, shuffling both your bodies closer to one corner of bedroom.“It’s just—you know how much I deeply care for you, right?”

You slowly answered. “Yes, of course. I deeply care for you too.”

“So I have to ask, are you alright? Really alright?”

“Wha—what do you mean? Of course, I am—I’m completely fine,” you vehemently denied. The lump on your throat making you sound hysterical, even in your ears. If you couldn’t fool yourself, what chances were there that Spencer was fooled—none.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been eating smaller portions lately and you didn’t even take a bite of the cakes I brought home. You’ve also been going to the gym daily, instead of your usual five times a week. And you’ve started wearing my clothes more—not that it’s a problem. I love seeing you in my clothes but you’ve started to prefer baggy silhouettes rather than your usuals. It’s like you’re hiding your body. Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.” 

It was the soft tone in his voice mixed with his doe, teary eyes that caused you to break under pressure. Your shoulders shook as sobs that you’ve kept bottled up rose to the surface. It was a wave of emotions that battered through your dam of facade. 

“I hate how I look—I hate that I gained weight,” you cried out. “I hate how a relative pointed it out and how her words won’t leave my mind. I hate it, Spence. I loathe it all—the voices in my head whispering how I should keep track of every meal I eat in a notebook like I did before. Telling me to never go beyond a 800 calories per day, to workout two hours a day twice! It’s just—” you took a deep breath, vision blurring from tears. “—so exhausting and please, make it stop.”

Spencer hugged you tight to his chest, as if wanting to merge you two as one to take away all your pain and sorrow. Your hands creasing his white button down with a grip so tight. 

For a second, it felt liberating to let it all out. But the fleeting emotion had passed, leaving you with only shame from your admittance.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he detangled himself, enough to stare into your eyes. “Love, can I show you something?”

You nodded. He slowly turned you around, back against his chest, to face the full length mirror tucked in the corner. His eyes never leaving yours as his calloused fingers reached up to the tucked ends of the towel wrapped around your body. He tilted his head, asking for your permission to which you slowly nodded.

Your naked body was in full view. Your nails digging onto your palm as you catalogued every minuscule flaw there is—the additional flesh around your stomach and sides and your hips no longer as thin as they were before.

“Do you know what I see?” He softly asked.

You bit your lip before shutting your eyes close, unable to take what was right in front of you. “Me and how I gained weight?”

He placed a kiss on your temple. “No. I see a beautiful adult woman who has curves in all the right places—”

He laid a kiss on your cheek. “I see the love of my life in her full loving glory—”

He kissed the side of your neck. “I see my future wife who loves herself and all the changes that aging and our slowing metabolism entails—”

He placed one last kiss on your shoulder. “—I see you, and I love every piece of you. And I hope you love every part as much as I do.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[starkeymeow]

NOT SO BAD ; you and rafe absolutely despise each other in public but crush in secret. rafe is failing his humanities class & is assigned you as his tutor . . . maybe all it took for this relationship to form was just a bit of forced proximity and some time.

WAKING UP TO YOU ; you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO FOR LOVE? ; you become obsessively fixated on winning back your ex-boyfriend rafe, resorting to manipulative schemes—bribery, staged incidents, and calculated charm—to eliminate any threat to your reunion, believing you’re the only one who can truly protect him.

SUPER RICH KIDS ; trapped in a world of money, parties, and nothing real, you spend your nights with your boyfriend and your secrets with rafe who watches, waits, and wonders if the man who holds your hand knows about the one who holds your heart.

FORGET ME NOT ; after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

WATCHER OR PLAYER? ; in a high-stakes underground game where players complete dares for money and fame, a rising star and a reluctant newcomer are thrown together by the watchers’ obsession, only to discover that the game isn’t just entertainment, it’s a trap neither of them can escape.

SIBLINGPACK!READER ; blurbs about rafe & reader who has a bunch of siblings in the cut.

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME ; you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

main masterlist

[republicansaredomesticterrorists]

[us-cj]

From 2001 to 2005 there was an ongoing investigation into the Clinton Foundation. A Grand Jury had been impaneled. Governments from around the world had donated to the “Charity”. Yet, from 2001 to 2003 none of those “Donations” to the Clinton Foundation were declared. Now you would think that an honest investigator would be able to figure this out.

Look who took over this investigation in 2005, none other than James Comey. Coincidence? Guess who was transferred into the Internal Revenue Service to run the Tax Exemption Branch of the IRS? None other than, Lois Lerner. Isn’t that interesting?

But this is all just a series of strange coincidences, right? Guess who ran the Tax Division inside the Department of Justice from 2001 to 2005? None other than the Assistant Attorney General of the United States, Rod Rosenstein.

Guess who was the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation during this time frame? Another coincidence (just an anomaly in statistics and chances), but it was Robert Mueller.

What do all four casting characters have in common? They all were briefed and/or were front-line investigators into the Clinton Foundation Investigation. Another coincidence, right?

Fast forward to 2009. James Comey leaves the Justice Department to go and cash-in at Lockheed Martin. Hillary Clinton is running the State Department, official government business, on her own personal email server. The Uranium One “issue” comes to the attention of Hillary. Like all good public servants do, supposedly looking out for America’s best interest, she decides to support the decision and approve the sale of 20% of US Uranium to... the Russians. Now, you would think that this is a fairly straight up deal, except it wasn’t. America got absolutely nothing out of it.

However, prior to the sales approval, BILL CLINTON goes to Moscow, gets paid $500,000 for a one hour speech; then meets with Vladimir Putin at his home for a few hours. Ok, no big deal right? Well, not so fast, the FBI had a mole inside the money laundering and bribery scheme.

Robert Mueller was the FBI Director during this time frame. He even delivered a Uranium Sample to Moscow in 2009. Who was handling that case within the Justice Department out of the US Attorney’s Office in Maryland? None other than, Rod Rosenstein.

And what happened to the informant? The Department of Justice placed a gag order on him and threatened to lock him up if he spoke out about it.

How does 20% of the most strategic asset of the United States of America end up in Russian hands when the FBI has an informant, a mole providing inside information to the FBI on the criminal enterprise?

Very soon after; the sale was approved. $145 million dollars in “donations” made their way into the Clinton Foundation from entities directly connected to the Uranium One deal. Guess who was still at the Internal Revenue Service working the Charitable Division? None other than, Lois Lerner.

Ok, that’s all just another series of coincidences, nothing to see here, right? Let’s fast forward to 2015. Due to a series of tragic events in Benghazi and after the 9 “investigations” the House, Senate and at State Department, Trey Gowdy who was running the 10th investigation as Chairman of the Select Committee on Benghazi discovers that Hillary ran the State Department on an unclassified, unauthorized, outlaw personal email server. He also discovered that none of those emails had been turned over when she departed her “Public Service” as Secretary of State which was required by law. He also discovered that there was Top Secret information contained within her personally archived email.

Sparing you the State Departments cover up, the nostrums they floated, the delay tactics that were employed and the outright lies that were spewed forth from the necks of the Kerry State Department, we shall leave it with this, they did everything humanly possible to cover for Hillary.

Now this is amazing, guess who became FBI Director in 2013? James Comey, who secured 17 no bid contracts for his employer (Lockheed Martin) with the State Department and was rewarded with a $6 million dollar thank you present when he departed his employer? Amazing how all those no-bids just went right through at the State Department. Now he is the FBI Director in charge of the “Clinton Email Investigation” after of course his FBI Investigates the Lois Lerner “Matter” at the Internal Revenue Service and he exonerates her. Nope, couldn’t find any crimes there.

In April 2016, James Comey drafts an exoneration letter of Hillary Rodham Clinton. Meanwhile the DOJ is handing out immunity deals like candy. They didn’t even convene a Grand Jury! Like a lightning bolt of statistical impossibility, like a miracle from God himself, like the true “Gangsta” Comey is, James steps out into the cameras of an awaiting press conference on July 5th of 2016, and exonerates Hillary from any wrongdoing.

Do you see the pattern?

It goes on and on, Rosenstein becomes Assistant Attorney General, Comey gets fired based upon a letter by Rosenstein, Comey leaks government information to the press, Mueller is assigned to the Russian Investigation sham by Rosenstein to provide cover for decades of malfeasance within the FBI and DOJ and the story continues.

FISA abuse, political espionage pick a crime, any crime, chances are this group and a few others did it:

All the same players.

All compromised and conflicted.

All working fervently to NOT go to jail themselves.

All connected in one way or another to the Clinton's.

They are like battery acid; they corrode and corrupt everything they touch. How many lives have these two destroyed?

As of this writing, the Clinton Foundation, in its 20+ years of operation of being the largest International Charity Fraud in the history of mankind, has never been audited by the Internal Revenue Service. Let us not forget that Comey's brother works for DLA Piper, the law firm that does the Clinton Foundation's taxes.

The person that is the common denominator to all the crimes above and still doing her evil escape legal maneuvers at the top of the 3 Letter USA Agencies? Yes, that would be Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Let’s learn a little about Mrs. Lisa H. Barsoomian’s background. Lisa H. Barsoomian, an Attorney that graduated from Georgetown Law, is a protégé of James Comey and Robert Mueller. Barsoomian, with her boss R. Craig Lawrence, represented Bill Clinton in 1998. Lawrence also represented:

Robert Mueller 3 times,

James Comey 5 times,

Barack Obama 45 times,

Kathleen Sebelius 56 times,

Bill Clinton 40 times,

and Hillary Clinton 17 times.

Between 1998 and 2017, Barsoomian herself represented the FBI at least five times.

You may be saying to yourself, who cares about the work history of this Barsoomian woman? Apparently, someone does, because someone out there cares so much that they’ve “purged” all Barsoomian court documents for her Clinton representation in Hamburg vs. Clinton in 1998 and its appeal in 1999 from the DC District and Appeals Court dockets. Someone out there cares so much that even the internet has been “purged” of all information pertaining to Barsoomian.

Historically, this indicates that the individual is a protected CIA operative. Additionally, Lisa Barsoomian has specialized in opposing Freedom of Information Act requests on behalf of the intelligence community. Although, Barsoomian has been involved in hundreds of cases representing the DC Office of the US Attorney, her email address is LisaBarsoomian@NIH.gov. The NIH stands for National Institutes of Health. This is a tactic routinely used by the CIA to protect an operative by using another government organization to shield their activities. It’s a cover, so big deal right? What does one more attorney with ties to the US intelligence community really matter?

It deals with Trump and his recent tariffs on Chinese steel and aluminum imports, the border wall, DACA, everything coming out of California, the Uni-party unrelenting opposition to President Trump, the Clapper leaks, the Comey leaks, Attorney General Jeff Sessions recusal and subsequent 14 month nap with occasional forays into the marijuana legalization mix and last but not least Mueller’s never-ending investigation into collusion between the Trump team and the Russians.

Why does Barsoomian, CIA operative, merit any mention? Because she is Assistant Attorney General Rod

Rosenstein’s wife.

- Tom Tancredo/Team America

[sh4nksslvt]

King’s Helmet Mystery

What the hell is under King’s helmet? You're determined to find out. King’s patience? Running thin. Your schemes? Ridiculous. His reactions? Surprisingly flustered.

King X gn! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, ooc king, slight v!olence

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The day you joined the Beasts Pirates, you swore you’d never fall for anyone on the crew. They were all either terrifying, annoying, or both.

Then you saw King.

And more importantly—you saw his helmet.

It wasn’t love at first sight. No, it was curiosity. Burning, rabid, downright obsessive curiosity.

“Why do you always wear that helmet?” you had asked on day three of being around him.

King didn’t even look at you. “None of your business.”

So obviously, that meant game on.

Phase One: Casual Questions (Totally Not Interrogation)

You began with subtlety.

“Hey, King, don’t you get hot in that thing?” you asked, leaning on a crate next to him.

“I don’t feel it,” he replied flatly.

“Must be sweaty in there though.”

“No.”

“What if you get an itch?”

“I don’t.”

“…What if a bird poops on it?”

He turned his head slightly. “Why would a bird—?”

“Just saying. You’d never know. Could be walking around with mystery poop on your face all day.”

King walked away.

You followed.

Phase Two: Bribery

You slid a pristine box of limited-edition dango on the table.

“I’ll give you all of these if you just lift it. Half an inch. One second.”

“No.”

“I won’t even look!”

“You’ll look.”

“…You’re right, I would.”

King didn’t budge.

So you tried again with spicy sake, rare fruits, a handmade lava-resistant scarf, and even a knitted plush version of him that you personally stitched.

He didn’t even glance at them.

Though you did catch him later discreetly carrying the plush to his room.

Phase Three: Stealth Mission (Failed)

In the dead of night, you tiptoed through the dim corridors of Onigashima’s fortress. You had intel. King always removed his armor to sleep. You just needed a peek.

You pressed your ear against the sliding door of his room. Silent.

Then you slowly slid the door open and—

“Nice try,” King’s voice cut through the dark. You screamed.

He was still wearing the damn helmet in bed.

“I—okay, first off, do you SLEEP with that on?!”

“Yes.”

“…Do you shower with it?”

“Yes.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

King smirked under the helmet.

Or at least you imagined he did.

He always had that smug aura like he was eternally amused by your suffering.

You sulked for a week.

Phase Four: Drastic Measures

You made a PowerPoint presentation.

No, really.

You dragged King into the briefing room and stood in front of a projected slide that read “TOP 10 REASONS TO SHOW ME YOUR FACE (PLEASE).”

“I made charts,” you announced.

King just stood there, arms crossed, flames dancing on his back.

“Reason One: Friendship. Friends share secrets. Boom.”

“Not friends.”

“Okay, Reason Two: I’ve literally never told anyone your height, weight, wingspan, or bedtime even though I definitely know all of those things and could sell that info to fangirls.”

King tilted his head. “Do you have fangirls?”

You blinked. “We’re not talking about me.”

By Reason Six (“For Science!”) and Reason Nine (“Because I said pretty please”), King stood and left the room.

You considered it a soft win.

Phase Five: The Disguise Plan

You put on a replica of his armor.

“Guess what?” you said, stomping around dramatically. “I’m you now.”

King didn’t even look up from polishing his sword.

You strutted in front of him, wings flapping. “Look at me, I’m so cool. I’m scary. Ooooh, no one knows my face. I’ve got MYSTERIES.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“Thank you.”

He sighed. “You have work to do.”

“Oh? So does King! He needs to show me his face before I LOSE my mind.”

Still nothing.

But Sasaki did walk by and immediately drop his drink at the sight of you.

“Why are there two of them now?!”

King groaned.

You cackled.

Phase Six: Reverse Psychology (and Screaming)

“Y’know what?” you said over dinner one night, loud enough for the whole table to hear. “I don’t even care what King looks like. Probably has a dumb face.”

The whole table froze.

King looked up, one brow probably raised under the helmet.

“Maybe he’s got, like, two noses,” you continued, chomping down on a rice ball. “Or maybe it’s just all teeth. Like a shark. Disgusting.”

“Why are you so obsessed with him then?” Jack muttered.

“I’M NOT.”

You totally were.

“Maybe you’re just in love with him,” Queen teased.

You choked on your drink.

King stood up without a word and left the room.

You internally screamed.

Phase Seven: The Fluffy Flop

After months of trying, you finally gave up. You sat on a cliffside just beyond the fortress, legs dangling, wind whipping through your hair.

“I give up,” you sighed to no one. “Maybe he does have teeth for a face.”

“Doubt it.”

You yelped.

King landed next to you, wings folding.

You scooted a little.

“…Sorry if I annoyed you.”

“You do.”

You sighed.

But he stayed.

You sat in silence, watching the moonlight reflect off the water.

“…It’s not about hiding,” King said suddenly. “It’s about surviving.”

You turned your head, surprised.

“I don’t care what people think. But I care about what they do. Especially if they knew what I am.”

You stared at him.

And then, for once, you said nothing snarky. Just nodded. “Okay.”

The Day the Helmet Came Off

It was during a battle.

You got hit—hard—and thrown across the battlefield, crashing into debris.

Everything spun.

Then—flames.

You blinked up to see King standing over you, face uncovered, the pieces of his helmet cracked and steaming beside him.

“…Whoa,” you whispered.

He was beautiful.

Strong jaw, red markings, piercing golden eyes. Sharp, fierce. Yet soft. Not what you imagined.

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling beside you.

You blinked. “You—your face—”

“Don’t say anything.”

You nodded dumbly.

He helped you up, hand lingering on your waist longer than necessary.

You whispered, “Definitely not all teeth.”

King groaned.

.

.

.

He wore the helmet again the next day.

You didn’t push.

But when no one else was around, he lifted it just enough to let you see his eyes.

You grinned. “I knew you liked me.”

King rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He didn't move away.

Mission accomplished.

And you didn’t even need PowerPoint this time.

[cosmiccrushes]

Contract Negotiations

Lucanis X Rook || 2.8k words

Summary: Rook receives a surprising gift from Caterina Dellamorte. And an even more surprising confession from Lucanis.

on ao3 too

It had taken a measure of convincing- and bribery to stop for coffee- to get the First Talon to agree to play tour guide at his family estate. But since their mad dash through the sprawling Dellamorte home to save Caterina Dellamorte, Rook had been insatiably curious about the place Lucanis grew up in. 

Lucanis waves his hand at doorways lining the expansive hall. “We take formal meals in the grand dining room. More intimate affairs in the family dining room.” 

“There are multiple rooms to eat in?” Rook interrupts incredulously. Her life as a Shadow Dragon has never seen such splendor. She'd possessed a shallow understanding of the family wealth attached to the Crow, but she'd been woefully unprepared to step into this glittering world. It brought up uncomfortable memories of the ragged traveling cloak she'd been wearing the first time she ever met Lucanis. If this was the opulence of the famed assassins, could there be a place for a threadbare, lonely shadow? 

Rook isn't accustomed to questioning her place, her worth. And she hardly expects judgments from Lucanis. But what about his family? What about his grandmother? Caterina might be grateful for Rook's part in stopping her other grandson's schemes, but would she be as appeasing if Rook wanted a place at the new First Talon's side. 

That opened another matter entirely. In her heart, she knew Lucanis cared for her but it was always in a frustratingly restrained way. Did he hold back because of the demon trapped inside of him? Or because, in the end, it would be a Crow to take their place beside him?

“What is on your mind?” Lucanis asks, eyes fixed intently on her. 

She pastes a carefree smile on her face. “Just taking it all in.” She spins in a slow circle, her arms held wide. 

“And?” The faintest hint of apprehension tightens the line of his mouth. 

“You're rich!” She replies simply with a grin. 

“Indeed, we are, child.” A voice dipped in all the regality age affords replies. 

Rook turns, lightning quick, hand inching reflexively to the hilt of her sword. There, in a doorway, stands Caterina Dellamorte. “A word?” The woman asks, directing her question to Rook. Rook looks at Lucanis in alarm, but he's frowning at his grandmother. 

“I don't know-” He begins, but Caterina cuts him off with a raised hand.

She beckons to Rook to follow her into the sitting room she'd emerged from. “Come. You wait here.” The last bit is said to Lucanis before she disappears inside.

Rook shrugs at Lucanis as she passes him to follow Caterina. What is she to do, refuse to speak with the woman in her own home? Rook isn't even sure why she's feeling so nervous. This is hardly her first conversation with the Dellamorte matriarch. She'd certainly registered Caterina’s intimidating demeanor before, but Rook could be intimidating too. As Caterina gestured for her to shut the door and settle into the armchair across from her, Rook couldn't help the anxiety zipping across her skin saying this conversation was different. 

Caterina watches her with the discernable, intelligent eyes of a crow. Rook does her best not to squirm in her seat at the scrutiny, unsure if she is supposed to speak first or wait.

“I wanted to personally and privately thank you, Rook.” 

“Oh,” Rook says lamely, taken aback. “I'm glad I was able to help. I'm so sorry for what happened with Illario’s betrayal. I can't imagine how that must hurt.” 

A subtle twitch of Caterina’s lip, suggestive of a smile. “Yes, my grandson drove a blade deep with his actions. But,” she tilts her head thoughtfully at Rook. “That's not the grandson to which I referred.”

“Oh,” Rook says again, because apparently that's the only response she is now capable of. “Yes, of course. We had a contract. I break Lucanis free of the Ossuary and he provides his services in the hunt for the gods. I'm happy to provide our allies with support wherever I can.” 

Caterina nods slowly. “We benefit greatly from your aid.” Another pause, “But that is not the thanks to which I referred.” 

Rook doesn't know what to say and refuses to offer another lackluster “oh,” so she waits for Caterina to elaborate. 

“Learning that Lucanis had been forced to house a demon within him while in that prison was,” Caterina stares into the crackling fireplace. “A difficult poison to swallow.” 

“He's still Lucanis,” Rook interjects, defensively. Her hackles rising at any implication that Lucanis might be a monster, whether it came from his own grandmother or not. 

“No, he is not.” Caterina doesn't sound sad or angry. “However, I think that has less to do with the demon and-” She finally looks back at Rook. “Entirely to do with you.” 

Rook's cheeks warm with a blush she doesn't entirely understand. Perhaps it's because of the unmistakable smile curving Caterina's lips, like she knows a secret that would make most excellent tavern gossip.

“You have never treated my grandson as an abomination. Where I have failed him, you have not.” 

“I know I didn't know Lucanis before,” Rook says carefully. “And I know things get…complicated when demons get involved. But I know Lucanis now,” her voice takes on a steely edge. “And he is more than Spite. He is loyal and kind where it matters. He is passionate and steadfast, even when he's arguing with you about the best way to make coffee. He's brave, but not a bully. He kills people for a living, but he is not cruel.” Rook's cheeks blaze as she remembers herself. “He's a good man. Demon or no.” 

Caterina just keeps smiling that quiet, assuming smile. “You see my grandson for who he is. Including who he is now that Spite is there. Something I almost did not do. For that, I thank you.” Caterina bows her head towards Rook. Then she twists in her seat, picking up a long black box off the table beside her. She extends it to Rook. “I have a gift for you.” 

Rook takes it, setting it on her lap and lifting the lid. Her breath puffs out when she sees the most beautiful dagger nestled upon black velvet. “It's stunning.” She runs a finger down the flat side of the obsidian blade, marveling at the intricate, unmistakable crow feathers carved into the metal. The hilt, a gleaming silver. The cross guard, fashioned into spreading dragon wings. Rook’s blood warms as she realizes with a jolt that she's seen this dagger before, minus the dragon wings. She glances up quickly at Caterina. 

“I had it crafted to compliment Lucanis’. They will make a fine pair.” 

Rook's heart jumps into her throat. “A pair?” 

“The contract would require it.” Caterina says vexingly. 

“What contract-” Rook begins to question but Caterina turns back to the fire, waving Rook off in clear dismissal.

“If you'll excuse me, I must return to my musings.” 

Rook knows better than to press. She closes the lid over her new, confounding dagger and rises from her seat. Opening the sitting room door, she is met with Lucanis pacing back and forth in the hall. 

“What did she want?” Lucanis eyes the box in her hands warily. 

“To thank me,” Rook responds, dazedly. “She gave me a knife.” 

Something flickers through Lucanis’ eyes, then he's grabbing her hand, pulling her into another massive hallway. She fumbles to maintain a one-handed grip on the box, but says nothing. Lucanis’ urgency setting her on edge. Perhaps the dagger from Caterina was poisoned. Perhaps, even now, Crows were on their way to fulfill a contract for her life. Lucanis leads them up stone steps, emptying onto a balconied floor. He pulls her into one of the alcoves. A cozy space, two plush chairs and a low table. A stone-railed balcony looks down onto the hall below. 

“Show it to me,” Lucanis demands. 

Rook obliges, dropping the box on the table and removing the lid.

He rubs a hand over his jaw, shakes his head. “Mierda, that woman,” he mutters. 

“What is it?” 

“What did she say to you when she gave you this?” 

“Um,” Rook hesitates, embarrassment weighing down her tongue. “She said she crafted it to match yours. A pair. She said the contract would require it. But I have no idea what she's talking about. I haven't taken on another Crow deal.”

Lucanis stands stone still. “What was she thanking you for?” 

“You're being weird! Why are you being weird? What is going on?” Rook's frustration mounts at feeling like she's missing a vital piece of the last two conversations she's had.

Lucanis traces a finger over the dragon wing hilt. “It's an old Crow tradition. The exchanging of paired daggers when you are to be joined in contract.” 

“Oh, well that clears it all up then,” Rook says sarcastically. “I still have no idea what contract she expects me to partner up on.” 

Lucanis' eyes lock with hers, she detects the briefest glint of purple. Spite lingering out of sight. “Marriage.” Lucanis’ voice dips low and gruff over the word. 

Rook's lips part, opening and closing like a fish out of water. She knows her pupils must be blown wide in shock. “But you- We aren't- I'm-” She staggers to the balcony edge, leaning back against the stone for support. “Maker’s breath, did your grandmother just give me a betrothal gift!?” 

Lucanis steps in front of her. “I didn't know she was going to do that. I'm sorry.” 

Her heart drops at the apology. Caterina didn't talk to Lucanis about this. This wasn't even something Lucanis wanted. 

“It's okay. I just, never thought I'd learn about my own betrothal before actually being asked.” She laughs weakly, desperate to bring levity to perhaps the most humiliating moment of her life. 

“I wouldn't do that to you.” 

“Do what?” She frowns at the seriousness of Lucanis' tone. 

“Ask you for that kind of contract.”

“Oh, right. Well would you like to go ahead and just toss me over the balcony while we're at it?” Lucanis’ confused look spurs her on. “What have we been doing then? I'm not asking for a lifelong commitment but this,” she waves a hand between them. “I thought it meant something.” A biting laugh, chewed off and spit out. “But Maker, you look positively morose at the idea of being stuck with me.” 

Lucanis steps further into her space. “Is that what you think? That you are a mere dalliance I could easily move on from when all of this is over?” There's more challenge in his tone than she's ever heard from him. 

“What am I supposed to think, Lucanis? You keep me at arm's length. And I don’t need anything from you that you’re not able or ready to give, just you is enough. But I can’t stand here and pretend like that horrified look on your face doesn’t hurt.” 

He turns away then and she resigns herself to the heartbreak. But he doesn't leave. He picks up the dagger. “It is customary when one partner is not a Crow, for the partner's House to prepare the paired dagger for them. It marks their acceptance as an honorary Crow.” He holds it up between them. “I did not ask for this to be made. That does not mean that I don't long for it to exist.” 

Rook's blood is humming in her ears. “It does exist.” She says quietly.

“To be with me, I thought it would be selfish to ask. Because it's not just me. It will never be just me. Spite is here too.” 

Rook nods. “I know. And it doesn't bother me. It doesn't change how I feel about you.” 

Wordlessly, Lucanis unclasps the dagger strapped in the sheath on Rook's chest. He pulls it out, letting it drop into the empty box. Gently, reverently he slides the new dagger into place. 

“When this is over, when we've survived the gods, I will ask you if you still wish to wear this.” His hand stays tracing the hilt, fingers fluttering above her heart. “Is that an acceptable amendment to you?”

“It's a contract,” she whispers breathlessly. 

Hands grip under her thighs as Lucanis lifts her onto the balcony edge. She glances over her shoulder at the long fall to the polished floors below, at the Dellamorte estate drenched in splendor. Her hands loop around his neck.

“You wouldn't drop me, now would you? I was only joking about tossing me over.”

He keeps one hand wrapped around the curve of her thigh. The other one slides at a wickedly slow pace up the slope of her body. Her outline traced with his palm.  

He looks at her, eyes dark. “You'd be fine even if I did. A crow knows how to fly, after all.” He inclines his head towards the dagger now strapped to her chest. 

“Mmm, I don't know, I only just got those wings.” She exhales as he drags the tip of his nose up her neck. 

“You’re a fast learner. And dragons can fly too.” He nips at her jaw. “But no, I would not drop you.” His hand works into the hair at the base of her neck, drawing her head back as he holds her gaze. “You are the one thing I could not bear to let go.” 

He kisses her. It is a fierce, devouring thing. What Lucanis struggles to put into words, he says with twining tongues and clacking teeth. His hand drags down her neck, across her collarbone, over the swell of her breast. His fingers part her jacket, tug at the hem of her shirt, knuckles just grazing the flesh of her stomach. when he grunts sharply and pulls away. He wears the look Rook has come to learn means he's having an internal conversation with Spite.

“Spite? What does he want?” Her skin still scorches where Lucanis’ fingers trailed down her. 

Lucanis clenches his jaw. “You.” 

“He wants to talk to me?” 

A shake of Lucanis’ head. “No. He wants you. Like I want you.” 

“He wants…like…oh,” understanding washes over her. “Does that bother you?” She asks Lucanis attentively. 

“No,” he replies fast and quick. “But this is what I meant. Our emotions, they are…entangled.” 

“And? If it doesn't bother you…” She trails off.

“It doesn't. I know Spite would protect you with his– our– life. In this we are aligned. We will kill whatever gods we must to keep you safe. Spite will not hurt you. We have a new understanding between us. But,” his brows furrow. “Does it not bother you?” 

“No. Why should it? I know who and what you are, Lucanis.” 

“Because,” his voice is black silk slipping over her. “When I want you, a demon wants you.” He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “When I touch you, a demon touches you.” His finger glides from her ear, down her jaw, over her bottom lip. “When I kiss you…”

“A demon kisses me,” she says, breath shallow. Heat pools in her stomach as the implications of Lucanis’ words sink under her skin, alight her blood. 

“You have a right to understand what you are agreeing to let into your life…into your bed.” 

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “You think we'll make it all the way to my bed? You're rather optimistic about my level of restraint.” Still perched atop the balcony she wraps her legs around him, pulling him closer. “If you and Spite are aligned, well, then, I’d say the three of us have an understanding as well. You have nothing to protect me from, Lucanis. I have never been afraid of Spite. And no demon can keep me from you.” She flashes him an impish smirk. “Especially one who has your good example to learn from. Isn’t that right, Spite?”   

Lucanis’ eyes pulse purple, a demon agreeing to a bargain, then his lips crash hungrily into hers again. A blur of movement and she opens her eyes to find Lucanis', no- Spite’s, wings cocooning around her. 

Rook knew the acidic way Lucanis’ words could bend. Lucanis himself had spoken on how Spite’s feelings filtered through his own. She had not, however, considered that the same could be happening in reverse. But these wings wrapped around her…as if the demon was in agreement that she would never fall on either of their watches. It sends a thrill through her. Had Lucanis done that? Had his feelings for her shifted the very nature of Spite?  

As Lucanis presses her closer and Spite wraps his wings tighter, Rook thinks that– just as Lucanis is set on killing any god he needs to– she’d be willing to make a deal with any devil she must, if it meant she got to keep the Demon of Vyrantium and his Spite. 

[saywhat-politics]

A former FBI informant who fabricated a story about President Joe Biden and his son Hunter accepting bribes that became central to Republicans’ impeachment effort was sentenced Wednesday to six years in prison.

Alexander Smirnov pleaded guilty last month in Los Angeles federal court to tax evasion and lying to the FBI about the phony bribery scheme in what prosecutors say was an effort to influence the outcome of the 2020 presidential election.

[justbagworm]

You know that one post about how Bruce Wayne is desperately trying to get rid of his money, but everything he tries to throw it at always somehow winds up making him more money?

I just imagined a Danny Phantom-esque twist on it:

Imagine Lady Gotham, the City Spirit of the City of Gotham, is trying to help Batman. She doesn't really have the best grasp of that, though...

Like, consider what her reference material is. Her domain is a place that, at various times and in various canons, was cursed by witches, has miles of cursed caves under it, emits the madness tone, sits above a Lazarus Pit, is controlled by a council of murderous bird cosplayers, and collapsed after a literal plague weakened already-poor infrastructure around the same time that a catastrophic earthquake destroyed any and all ability to get into or out of the city. Not to mention Gotham's historically atrocious track record of bribery, blackmail, slander and libel, murder, etc, etc, etc.

So, suppose for whatever reason Lady Gotham takes a liking to Batman. Maybe by bringing criminals to justice he's setting ghosts to rest, or something. So, in return, she decides to help him. She notices that he has a habit of dumping exorbitant sums of money into charitable enterprises. With Lady Gotham's limited and deeply, deeply flawed pool of reference data, it would be fairly easy to make the assumption that Batman is attempting to somehow launder money or build illicit sources of income.

Thus, Bruce Wayne's drive to squander his wealth on charitable donations (a respectable enterprise) is foiled by a City Spirit who makes sure that those investments succeed and return to him sevenfold! Because isn't the Bat so cute when he's crying over tax paperwork?

Additionally, imagine the day Bruce finally kicks the bucket, he meets Lady Gotham on the other side. I imagine the conversation might go something like this:

Lady Gotham: Welcome to the afterlife! Congrats on your money laundering schemes, by the way! You have some mad skills! I hope you don't mind I helped out a little :3

Bruce Wayne, staring at an eldritch entity with a sense of deep, parental dread: What do you mean, money laundering?

For additional hijinks and flavor, you might also consider the concept that, since Bruce was born in Gotham, Lady Gotham has a stake in his soul, so she can help him from anywhere. Thus, decisions made as Batman also benefit Bruce Wayne. Suddenly, The Watchtower is affecting Bruce's tax writeoffs in a way that makes any accountant Bruce shows it to faint and forget they ever spoke to him...