#Special Chief Secretary

[27moremoons]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[blueiscoool]

4,000-Year-Old Tomb of Egyptian Royal Physician Found in Saqqara

Teti Neb Fu, a high-ranking physician during Pharaoh Pepi II's reign, held titles like Chief Dentist, Priest of Serket, and Director of Medicinal Plants.

In the southern region of the Saqqara archaeological site, a joint French-Swiss archaeological team made an important discovery uncovering the mastaba tomb of the royal physician Teti Neb Fu from the Old Kingdom, according to a statement by the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities.

This tomb, unearthed in the southern region of the archaeological site of Saqqara, known to contain the tombs of high-ranking officials from the Egyptian Old Kingdom, shows that medicine and magic were once equally revered, and expertise in both earned a long-dead physician to the pharaohs a place of honor among the ancient world’s most esteemed.

Dating back over 4,000 years to the reign of King Pepi II, this important find features exquisite carvings and vibrant artwork, including a painted false door and elaborate scenes depicting funeral offerings.

The sarcophagus found inside the tomb was also inscribed with the name of its occupant and his titles, according to the post. Because of the burial location in Saqqara, researchers knew he was important, but Teti Neb Fu’s official titles named him as the chief palace physician.

Teti Neb Fu, who held prestigious titles such as Chief Palace Physician, Chief Dentist, and Director of Medicinal Plants, also had a unique role as a “Magician” of the Goddess Serket, specializing in the treatment of venomous bites.

Additionally, he was known as the “Great Physician of Teeth” and “Director of Medicinal Plants”, suggesting that he led research and practical applications in the fields of dentistry and the use of therapeutic herbs.

Even though it had been looted in the past, the mastaba still has many of its ornamental features. The director of the archaeological mission, Dr. Philippe Collombert, said the walls are decorated with remarkable reliefs and inscriptions, including a complex frieze that displays the owner’s name and titles.

Among the most remarkable elements is the red-painted ceiling, which is intended to resemble granite blocks, a material commonly found in imposing buildings. The titles and name of the doctor are also written in the middle of the ceiling. An additional noteworthy discovery within the mastaba is a stone sarcophagus, which has hieroglyphic decorations inside that offer more information about Teti Neb Fu and his accomplishments.

Mohamed Ismail Khaled, secretary-general of Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities, emphasized the importance of this discovery, stating that the texts and drawings on the tomb’s walls unveil new insights into the daily life of the Old Kingdom.

This discovery strengthens Saqqara’s position as one of Egypt’s most important historical sites and contributes to its rich archaeological legacy.

Excavations in this area of Saqarra began in 2022, to unearth the graves of state employees for King Pepi who are buried near him and his wives, officials said.

By Oguz Buyukyildirim.

[panther-os]

beating my head against the walls in Latine

here's eight things that atp will have me immediately closing out of any fic, AleRudy edition:

1.

❌ "the los vaqueros"

ah yes the famed and feared las almas battalion of Mexican special forces. the the cowboys

✅ "los vaqueros"

✅ "the vaqueros"

2.

❌ "the los vaqueros base"

✅ "los vaqueros' base"

✅ "the vaqueros' base"

3.

❌ "corporal alejandro vargas and sergeant rodolfo parra/major rodolfo parra"

look, fuck the military as an institution and also fuck the devs for using American rank structure for members of the Mexican army but

it takes roughly 2 years in the army to advance to Corporal. the equivalent in the Mexican army is Cabo, and Google will not give me the requirements for it no matter how I ask

it takes 3-6 years to advance to Sergeant. From what I can tell, the Mexican equivalent is also Cabo (where Sargento Segundo is closer to Staff Sergeant)

it takes 10-12 years to advance to Major, the equivalent is Mayor (not the English word mayor like of a city, don't be like those white people)

it takes 22-24 years, a bachelor's degree, and officer school to become a Colonel and it takes 18-20 years and a whole mess of leadership courses nearly equivalent to a degree to become a Sergeant Major

put some goddamn respect on their names

✅ Colonel Alejandro Vargas and Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra

✅ Coronel Alejandro Vargas and Sargento Primero Rodolfo Parra

4.

❌ Fuerza Especiales

❌ Fuerzas Especiale

this is just not understanding Spanish grammar

✅ Fuerzas Especiales ("Special Forces")

❎ Fuerza Especial ("special force")

5.

❌ Sin Nombre ("without name")

Alejandro literally corrects Soap on this one in the game

✅ El Sin Nombre ("The Nameless")

6.

❌ "Alejandro Vargas, leader of Mexican Special Forces"

the leader of Mexican Special Forces is the Secretaría de la Defensa Nacional - the Secretary of Defense - and Fuerzas Especiales is composed of three brigades, 74 independent battalions (like Los Vaqueros), 36 amphibious special operations groups. Colonels command single brigades at most.

Alejandro is capable of leading Mexican Special Forces, but it would require him to retire from the field and get more of a desk job, with far more politics than I think he'd have patience for

✅ "Alejandro Vargas, leader of Los Vaqueros - a battalion of Fuerzas Especiales stationed in Las Almas"

7.

❎ "our ancestors, the Aztecs"

look, indigenous identity is weird sometimes and I don't know enough specifics about the culture around it in Mexico to have a solid opinion, but I'm also very fucking tired of people thinking the only indigenous groups in Mexico are the Nahua (Aztecs) and Maya. if they're on the Texas border and their families have always lived there, their heritage is most likely seven different Apache nations/language groups in a trench coat with some Spanish conquistador on the side. they're most likely not related to any famous indigenous chiefs or other figures, but it's very possible they can trace their Spanish ancestry back directly to nobility

for example, I am related to absolutely none well-known Tsalagi or Kwikipa people as far as I'm aware, but I am a direct descendant of the brother of King Ferdinand the Catholic, which also means I'm a direct descendant of the guy who started the Inquisition (and now I'm Jewish (and pro-Palestine for those who want to know) so take that, colonizer)

also while Bayardo is Mexicano, Alain is Cubano, please be respectful when talking about the actors or when in their instagram lives and just. don't make assumptions y'all

8.

❎ "Los Vaqueros" is a nickname from the people of Las Almas, the battalion's actual name that is on all the paperwork and dog tags is more likely numerical or describing their role/location - like "11th Battalion" or "The Borderline Battalion" or something like that. maybe even both, like "The 11th Border Battalion"

[todaysdocument]

Printed Copy of Choctaw Treaty of 1825

Record Group 75: Records of the Bureau of Indian AffairsSeries: Printed Copies of Ratified TreatiesFile Unit: January 20, 1825

James Monroe, President of the United States of America,

To all and singular to whom these presents shall come, Greeting:

Whereas a Treaty between the United States of America and the Choctaw Nation of Indians, was made and concluded, on the 20th day of January, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five, at the City of Washington, by Commissioners on the part of the United States, and certain Chiefs and Warriors of said tribe, which Treaty is in the words following, to wit:

Articles of a Convention made between John C. Calhoun, Secretary of War, being specially authorized therefor by the President of the United States; and the under-signed Chiefs and Head Man of the Choctaw Nation of Indians, duly authorized and empowered by said Nation, at the City of Washington, on the 20th day of January, in the year of our Lord 1825.

Whereas a Treaty of friendship and limits and accommodation having been entered into at Doake's Stand, on the 18th of October, in the year 1820, between Andrew Jackson and Thomas Hinds, Commissioners on the part of the United States, and the Chiefs and Warriors of the Choctaw Nation of Indians; and whereas the second article of the Treaty aforesaid provides for a cession of lands, west of the Mississippi, to the Choctaw Nation, in part satisfaction for lands ceded by said Nation to the United States, according to the first article of said treaty; And whereas, it being ascertained that the cession aforesaid embraces a large number of settlers, citizens of the United States; and it being the desire of the President of the United States to obviate all difficulties resulting therefrom, and, also, to adjust other matters in which both the United States and the Choctaw Nation are interested: the following articles have been agreed upon, and concluded, between John C. Calhoun, Secretary of War, specially authorized therefor by the President of the United States, on the one part, and the undersigned Delegates of the Choctaw Nation on the other part:

Article 1. The Choctaw Nation do hereby cede to the United States all that portion of the land ceded to them by the second article of the Treaty of Doak Stand, as foresaid, lying east of a line beginning on the Arkansas, one hundred paces east of Fort Smith, and running thence, due south, to Red River: it being understood that this line shall constitute, and remain, the permanent boundary between the United States and the [complete transcript at link]

[mariacallous]

When U.S. President Donald Trump posted on Truth Social, on Feb. 7, that he’d appointed “an amazing Chairman, DONALD J. TRUMP!” to the Kennedy Center, people responded with bafflement and jokes. When the president-cum-Kennedy Center chairman then appointed his loyalist follower Richard Grenell interim executive director and installed a MAGA-inspired board, the bafflement and gallows humor reached new highs.

But Trump’s takeover of a cultural institution should not just be a source of amusement, especially since the president has also promised to change the center’s programming. The moves put him in the company—historic and current—of tyrants, not auteurs.

Classical music is rarely front-page news, and the move took the Kennedy Center by complete surprise. The cultural center in Foggy Bottom, after all, hosts a leading symphony orchestra and a major opera company and is hardly a center of political fights.

The idea that Trump might be interested in its chairmanship had been on no one’s radar. In fact, so unexpected was the news that music aficionados on social media began asking which symphonies and operas the new chairman—noted for his love of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical Cats—might decide should be performed there, and whether he might decide to conduct them himself.

The jokes swiftly faded when, a few days later, Trump appointed Grenell the Kennedy Center’s interim executive director. The jokes fell completely silent when, on Feb. 12, the Kennedy Center announced its new trustees, installed to replace trustees fired by Trump. Those now installed on the board of trustees include Vice President J.D. Vance’s wife, Usha; Trump’s chief of staff, Susie Wiles; his deputy chief of staff, Dan Scavino; White House Presidential Personnel Director Sergio Gor; and Allison Lutnick, the wife of Trump’s secretary of commerce nominee, Howard Lutnick.

To be sure, the Kennedy Center’s board has always included a bipartisan political element; Democrats and Republicans have traditionally nominated half the board each. But this is different. Now every board member belongs to the Trump camp. The reconstituted board. “President Donald J. Trump was just unanimously elected Chairman of the Board of the prestigious Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. The President stated, ‘It is a Great Honor to be Chairman of The Kennedy Center, especially with this amazing Board of Trustees. We will make The Kennedy Center a very special and exciting place!’” he posted on Feb. 12.

This is a president who despises (or perhaps doesn’t know) high culture taking over a famed cultural center. And it’s not a silly game. In announcing his own appointment as chairman, Trump vowed the programming was going to change. He had heard about drag shows at the center. As a regular visitor there, I recall only countless opera performances and symphony concerts, as well as a lot of jazz and folk in the foyer, though the center has hosted the occasional drag event. Either way, Trump announced that “THIS WILL STOP. The Kennedy Center is an American Jewel, and must reflect the brightest STARS on its stage from all across our Nation. For the Kennedy Center, THE BEST IS YET TO COME!”

I’d hate to be alarmist, but the president of the United States is invoking the language of a certain German regime that, in the 1930s, banned what it labeled “Entartete Kunst,” degenerate art. The Nazis wanted German culture organized neatly under the government’s control. Soon after taking power, this regime made its preferences known to Germany’s myriad publicly funded theaters, opera houses, and concert halls. It also created the Reichskulturkammer (Reich Chamber of Culture), under which culture in Germany would operate; Joseph Goebbels was appointed the chamber’s president.

Soon German culture—for so long the envy of the world—became more and more constrained as practitioners and artistic products, especially books, were banned, while other practitioners, from conductors to painters, engaged in self-censorship or left the country. That’s how Thomas Mann ended up in Pacific Palisades. In his novel Mephisto, Klaus Mann—Thomas’s son—masterfully portrays the careerists who thrive in autocracies, while talent withers.

And the urge to control culture didn’t die with Goebbels and his ilk. Wanting to control culture is, in fact, the hallmark of authoritarian regimes. The Cold War was characterized by Eastern Bloc regimes’ attempts to govern all culture and, in the process, ensure that undesirable expressions of it were weeded out. Every novel Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote was at immediate risk of being banned, and the Russian author constantly faced the risk of imprisonment. In Czechoslovakia, Vaclav Havel was kept under constant surveillance and denied jobs worthy of his talent. The artists the regimes deemed acceptable, by contrast, were well-looked-after by the respective countries’ cultural organizations. Untold numbers of artists less known than Solzhenitsyn and Havel suffered the same fate.

Today, Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro continues this tradition. Until recently, countries around the world sought to emulate Venezuela’s El Sistema, a government-funded program that teaches scores of children to play instruments at a level previously thought unachievable. Not only have hundreds of Venezuelan children grown up to play in El Sistema’s many symphony orchestras, including the world-class National Children’s Symphony of Venezuela and Simón Bolívar Symphony Orchestra; many of the musicians have also been appointed to the world’s very best orchestras. The double-bass player Edicson Ruiz was hired by the Berlin Philharmonic, considered the world’s best symphony orchestra, while still in his teens. Listen to him here.

But Maduro couldn’t resist the urge to control the program. Now El Sistema is fraying, the inevitable result of political encroachment that has seen Maduro install his vice president and his son on El Sistema’s board and try to use El Sistema for propaganda purposes abroad. In 2017, after El Sistema’s most celebrated graduate, the conductor Gustavo Dudamel, wrote an op-ed voicing criticism against the regime’s brutal crackdown of pro-democracy protesters, Maduro canceled a planned U.S. tour by Dudamel and the National Children’s Symphony of Venezuela. Many El Sistema musicians in their late teens or early 20s have now found conservatory places or jobs abroad or are trying to do so.

On the other side of the spectrum are the political leaders who are passionate about the arts but would never dream of politicizing them, precisely because they understand that the arts will languish if put under political control. Helmut Schmidt, West Germany’s chancellor in the late ’70s and early ’80s, was a concert-level pianist. (Hear him play Mozart here.) If he’d decided he wanted to become chairman of the Berlin Philharmonic, it would have made a lot of sense. But he didn’t, because he knew that arts thrive only when separated from politics.

Trump has never considered himself an arts lover; indeed, he recently told a reporter on board Air Force One that he’s never attended a performance at the Kennedy Center. Even so, for the purported sake of protecting the arts, he’s putting himself in the company of Maduro, the Soviets, the Czechoslovak rulers, and Goebbels.

[christinesficrecs]

Hey Chrstine! Do you have any fics where Stiles and/or Derek work for the government in some capacity? (any government, not just the American one) Like, they're a policy guy or secretary of state or speech writer, or an assistant or bodyguard to someone like that? Thanks in advance.

Ooh. This is later than late. Sorry! But here are a few political au's. 🩷

A Strong Heart and a Nerve of Steel by  lupinus, uraneia | 21.2K

Stiles and Derek wake up married in Vegas. Well, they would have if it was legal.

In which Stiles is the president’s son, Derek is his bodyguard, and Papa President orders them to pretend to be in love for the sake of gay rights.

Bite Down Hard by  KuriKuri  | 25.7K

In which Secret Service Agent Derek Hale accidentally gets bonded to First Son Stiles Stilinski. Oops.

Never Did Run Smooth by  blacktofade, rarepairenabler | 34.2K

As the only son of King Stilinski, Stiles doesn’t have a lot of freedom, but he doesn’t let that stop him from traveling for days to the biggest festival of the season with a begrudging stranger, Derek.

Hale to the Chief by LadyLazarus | 14.4K

First Son Stiles Stilinski thought college back home in Beacon Hills would be the best thing ever.

That is, until he realized that he’d be stuck with Derek Hale as his roommate the entire year.

Big Block of Cheese Day by raktajinos | 14.4K | Mature

Derek Hale is the Executive Secretary to the President of the United States, Melissa McCall. His life is complicated by his on-again-off-again relationship with her son Stiles.

Politics of a Scandal by  qhuinn (tekla) | 17K

The one where Stiles is the hottest new media consultant in the business and Laura Hale desperately needs his services. She’s about to launch a campaign for Governor of California and her brother, Derek, is a media nightmare waiting to happen.

Taught by Experts by unpossible | 29K

“Let me get this straight,” Stiles says. “You’re going to be publicly dating someone else.”

Never a Hardship by Julibean19 | 27.6K

“Derek, meet Stiles, your new bodyguard,” Talia says.

Derek doesn’t get up. He’s frozen to his seat on the couch, staring at the man who will now be hounding his every step. “What’s a Stiles?” he asks dumbly, finally budging when his mother smacks him on the shoulder.

“That’s Chief Stiles to you,” his mother says, scolding him. Derek huffs in annoyance, wondering how this could possibly get worse. “Senior Chief Stilinski is a Navy SEAL, Special Operations Forces, and has been handpicked by me, out of several hundred options. You will treat him with respect and do what he says.”

“I’m a grown man, Madam President,” Derek says through clenched teeth. “You can’t expect me to listen to this guy. I don’t know anything about him.“

The Fixer and the First Son by ebjameston | 47.6K

“You want me to arrange a political marriage for your son?” Stiles repeats dumbly.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done this,” Talia Hale says, dark eyes twinkling over her impeccable blue pantsuit. “Senator Harvey and Elise’s match worked out perfectly, and they’re actually quite in love, from what I hear.”

“George Harvey was a little-known senatorial candidate from Kansas at the time, Madam President,” Stiles says slowly. “Your son – you, Mr. Hale,” he directs toward the man pacing tiny circles behind the president’s chair, “are the nation’s most eligible bachelor. Literally. I saw it on the cover of People.”

That Infamous Middle Ground by LadyDrace | 6.8K

Stiles is the spark that can get shit done when others can’t. Talia is President of the United States.

And Derek? Gets kidnapped.

It’s a lot more complicated than that, however.

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 4

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 4 - Socially Blocked

Little different chapter style. Hope you enjoy. Also, I have no beta so mistakes are all me.

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 4.8k

AO3

Chapter 3

You had joined Prentiss in her office several hours ago to go over the forensic evidence that had come in. Laptop balancing on your thighs, you compile the data and cross reference missing persons with the families that Lewis had been gently consoling until the lab techs worked their magic. This was your nightly ritual with the section chief since joining; identification and providing closure.

What you did during the day was follow her around like a fucking assistant. You were now well versed in FBI budgetary matters, regulatory concerns, and how long new policies would be put into practice. You knew there were countless mind-numbing meetings, but this was insane. Most of the meetings could be cut in half, be done over Zoom, or just not happen at all. Just fucking email one another.

Then there were piles upon piles of paperwork to sort, sign and scan and files to review sent by local law enforcement agencies asking for FBI assistance. Just briefly glimpsing some of the cases made you wonder how one could decide which case mattered more. Go after one psycho but let the less of a psycho go free for the state to handle? Some requests had to be denied general FBI involvement due to a jurisdiction juggling nightmare that needed to be sorted first.

If this was a section chief’s life, how the fuck did Brian survive being the director of the entire CIA?

The more pressing question on your mind was why Prentiss was doing her damnedest in limiting time between you and the rest of the team. Okay, yes, Prentiss didn’t know anything about you, and yes, it was difficult to delegate work to you without knowing all your capabilities, but being a special agent in the CIA meant something.

You just gave the BAU a ton of money! Least you could do something more than be a glorified secretary! Not like you expected time out in the field, you totally understood that was out of bounds, but it’s been three days like this, and it was getting on your nerves. Why were you familiarizing yourself with FBI manuals if all you were good for was be a gopher for Prentiss?

Day 1

1145

Prentiss had given you a quick tour of the bullpen leaving the conference room for last. When you enter, excited to present your sweet offerings, you saw the team was already standing and ready to break. Introductions were made quickly, with almost every team member thanking you for the food and grabbing something.

Luke grabbed a chocolate frosted long john with a grin. “Can’t wait to catch up with you when we get back!”

You blink. Back from … what?

JJ grabbed a handful of macarons with delight, already stuffing one in her mouth as she left. “Dis isz weally nice ov ya!” she said, covering her mouth to not accidentally spew crumbs at you.

Rossi was far more debonair and rounds the choices with an index finger before plucking out a glazed twist, flashing a smile. “Thanks, kid.”

You saw Garcia slipping out quickly without making eye contact.

The hell?!

You open your mouth to say more, but he looks apologetic. “We’ll talk more later. Gotta lot going on right now, but we’ll make time.”

At least Tara had the decency to stop for a few seconds to exchange simply pleasantries. “So nice to finally meet you! Rebecca says nothing but good things.”

You raise a brow and chuckle. “Really?”

Prentiss looks unconvinced as well.

She shrugs and steals a macaron. “Yes, for real. I’ve gotta lot of family interviews and sessions lined up today, but we’ll chat more later.”

Patting you on the shoulder, Tara starts to exit the conference room backwards, pointing at you with promise. “You’re gonna have to tell me all you can about that HSC* in Saxony. Later!”

You sigh with close eyes and your head falls back. These little tidbits were not helping without context for your new boss. Even before you open your eyes to look at Prentiss, you just know she is staring at you with contempt.

Yep. There it is. Just missing an eyeroll.

Without being asked, you take a seat at the table and shove the box towards Prentiss. “We were tailing ISIS members. One decided he could get away when we moved in and learned how very wrong he was about it.”

1315

Prentiss left you to read FBI procedural manuals while she went to meet the deputy director. She had thought it prudent to delay you two crossing paths for as long as possible considering he was not happy with either of you. It was nice to hear that you had something in common with Prentiss. The tiny scrap of connection was something, no matter how pitiful. And you knew Prentiss was happy to upset Bailey.

This leaves you alone for a short time and you decide to use it wisely and check in on Garcia. It was really bothering you why she ignored you earlier today. Yeah, the team was busy with the Sicarius case, but everyone else had acknowledged you as they hurried off. Surely the bold color choices of her ensemble meant she was outgoing and not shy. You didn’t even make polite eye contact.

So, you go by instinct and grab a few left over macarons and position them with purpose on a white paper plate before heading to what you learned was The Lair.

Aware of not barging in on a tech’s work, unless you wanted to have your head bit off, you knock and wait.

“Entrer!’ you hear through the door and smile.

You open the door and poke your head in with a playful grin. “Hey, Garcia.”

The flurry of typing abruptly stops and you see her stiffen. Your grin quickly falls into a frown.

“I’m sorry.” You fully move into the room, noting the same outlandish decor that matches Garcia’s clothing. “I hope I’m not bothering you?” you say hopefully.

“Nope!” She pops the p and goes back to typing. By a cursory glance on what was on the screens, yeah, you had no idea what she was working on.

Garcia said nothing more but the stiff body language and her outright ignoring you once again, made it clear you upset her. Pushing her at this moment would only cause the divide to widen. You barely know each other.

“Well, I saw you didn’t take any treats and brought them to you. Probably hard getting away while you’re …”

“Cataloging important data,” she said quickly, still not looking at you.

“Yeah, so …” you look around and see an open spot on the table to her right. You are careful to not move anything when you put the plate down next to a fuzzy neon green turtle. “Enjoy when you-“

“Hey Garica, I’m jus-“ Prentiss’ fond tone quickly dissolves to accusatory. “You’re supposed to be in my office.”

“And I took a break. That a problem?” you challenge, taking in Prentiss confident posture, hand out before her with the other in her suit pants pocket. She cut quite the authoritative figure.

Garcia keeps typing away but slower so she can concentrate on you and Prentiss.

“No, but I’d appreciate you leaving the team alone while they’re working.” The words sound like a suggestion, but the tone was an order.

“Yeah, sure,” you concede, again, not wanting to cause an unnecessary argument. But first, you bow to the back of Garcia sitting in her chair. “Bon appetit!”

You rise and move pass Prentiss, both of you locking gazes and it ticks you off you had to look away since you were the one leaving.

“Oh, darn it!” whimpers Garcia. “Why?!”

Alarmed, Prentiss walks over to her with concern. “What’s wrong, Penelope?”

With a deeply etched sullen look on her face, she shows Emily the plate you had left. It was a macaron smiley face. One eye was pink, the other blue, and the smile was purple. You chose the bright colors on purpose.

“Why'd she have to do something this cute?!” she complains. “I’m not supposed to like her!”

1750

You roll your head working out the stiffness that settles in your shoulders from being hunched over most of the day on Prentiss’ couch going over manuals and signing off on orientation documents. You had tried various positions to find any source of comfort once joints began to ache. You sat on your ass with feet on the floor, legs on the couch, cross one leg, then the other, then had to stretch them along the couch. Then you said fuck it and placed the laptop on the cushion and laid supine while working and then to top it off, you sat on the floor with the laptop on the couch like a desk not giving any fucks what Prentiss thought.

She offered the couch, not her desk, to work on, and you didn’t want to get all up in her business setting up shop across from her. She’d probably shoot you if you decided to leave for a desk in the bullpen. And oddly enough, when it appeared you were going to get up, she engaged in questions about what you were reading or if you had any concerns. All sterile and by the book, but with suspicious brown eyes trying to figure you out.

It was only day one and you were willing to play the game, not letting her get to you. All in all, it really was a typical first day of boring bullshit. Just without a cubicle.

Eh, you had suffered far worse with even more irate coworkers and direct supervisors. But this felt different. Maybe Brian was right and you weren’t made for the general population. And yes, that meant the people at Quantico.

You weren’t kidding that Prentiss was a legend when you made that quip. Faking her own death to protect that kid and her team was a brilliant self-sacrificing move that you deeply respected. Then as you dug deeper into the team’s background, you gained a deeper respect for the BAU’s work, dedication, and the trauma they’ve been through to keep the people of your country safe.

Of course, you honed in on Prentiss’ work since she was your superior. One assumed if you were CIA or former CIA everyone knew each other and that simply wasn’t the case. While Prentiss was infiltrating Doyle’s criminal organization, you were gathering intel in Afghanistan on al-Qa’ida's operations. You two worked very different operative circles.

Despite your specializations never intersecting professionally until now, on paper, you two should at least get along and have something to talk about then just … whatever this was in her office right now. You both were driven, intelligent women who were dedicated to the people on your team and would protect them at all costs. Your skill sets were complementary and overlapped with being seasoned international operatives, you spoke several languages, focused on counter terrorism, and were awarded many commendations for mission successes and demonstration of skill sets.

But here you are, sitting on the floor of her office like you were her kid finishing homework.

“You should probably head home.”  

You glance over your shoulder and scowl, seeing Prentiss was looking down at a file and not you.

“I don’t mind staying and catching up with all this. Same thing I’d be doing at the apartment. The lab reports are important to review ASAP.” You didn’t want to correct her about what home was and wasn’t.

You look at the files cluttering the desk and cross your lips in thought. “Need any help? Granted, I’m not savvy enough yet on all the FBI lingo but paperwork’s still a bitch however you cut it.”

That made her look up at you. She was motionless as she considered your proposal and your earnest face.

“Thank you, but no.” She looks down again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” After you salute, you stand up and stretch, hearing your knees pop. You then grab your laptop and manuals, tucking them under your arms securely.

Note to self, bring a backpack.

You are polite as you walk by, offering a nod she didn’t appear to see. “Night, Prentiss.”

She hums noncommittally but as you drag your eyes away from her desk, you notice something that provides a glimmer of hope.

On a napkin that had been tucked out of view near one of the file stacks was a half-eaten red macaron.

Day 2

0630

You came to Quantico early with a bottle of Diet Coke in hand and your black and grey backpack secure around both shoulders, ready to tackle the day before anyone else got here.

Yet you see a movement coming from Prentiss’ office window and have to stop. She was already here? You squint in thought and presume she had stayed late and came in early – basing this assumption on her work ethic and how every good leader worked themselves ragged on little sleep.

You down some more pop and climb the stairs to her office, gently knocking. She opens the door and you raise a brow at her because she was wearing yesterday’s clothes.

“What are you doing here?” she asks with surprise accusation.

“Wanted an early start. What’s your excuse?” you probe gently.

She thins her lips and steps aside as a silent invitation to come inside. “Sicarius.”

Prentiss didn’t have to say anything further for you to understand the unspoken. She had no one to go home to, so why worry about time and just bury herself in work. And by the time Prentiss realized what time it was, she might as well stay in her office and sleep. She probably had a change of clothing in the closet, and it was easy to freshen up in one of the locker rooms. It was a more productive use of her time than driving home to do the same thing and come right back here. Avoid all that traffic.

You should know. You’ve done it yourself many times.

“Fair enough,” you say without judgement as you drop your backpack on the couch. “Does the team know?”

She reaches for the white FBI seal decorated coffee mug on her desk and frowns. “Know what?”

“That you stay here sometimes.” You knock back several gulps of pop before setting the bottle down on the side table.

After a moment of consideration while sipping her coffee, she looks to you with a narrowing gaze. “No.”

You nod, understanding the silent request. “Secret’s safe with me.”

1233

You were grabbing a cup of coffee for an afternoon pick me up, when you hear slow purposeful footsteps coming closer.

“Like a little coffee with your cream there, kid?” Rossi jokes, coming to stand beside you.

You chuckle. “I do. Bonus if it’s French Vanilla.”

He regards you with wizened eyes, but you could tell he was exhausted with how often he blinks. “How long have you been CIA?”

Oh here we go.

“Long time.” It wasn’t a precise answer, but it also wasn’t a lie.

“Sounds like me and the FBI.” His eyes twinkle with mirth.

“Hey, I’m not that old,” you answer with a grin before taking a sip of coffee.

He laughs as you swallow and continue. “You know, it’s probably not a surprise I know your work, Mr. Writer.”

Rossi acknowledges with a nod. “No, this does not come as a surprise at all.”

You hum, nodding. “Broken Child was the first one I read. Though, I did follow your work with the Gideons closely.”

He smiles with delight. “Really?” Rossi pauses and gestures for you to follow him to continue this conversation elsewhere. You could tell he was fascinated by this. “How far back?”

“Oh, pretty far. As you know, your guys’ work wasn’t all BAU related.”

“True. The CIA did take part of our research for profiling training. And to use for psych evals on operatives.” He smiles. “Am I getting close?”

“Definitely warm.” You smile back. “It was part of my training.”

“You’ll have to tell me more.”

And just as things were becoming interesting with a non-Prentiss member of the BAU, she has to come and ruin it. It’s like the woman had a sixth sense when you were getting too close to one of her teammates.

“Hey, Dave. I need you in the conference room. JJ and Luke have an update on our unsub in Texas.”

“Right.” He holds out his hand, which you take, and he gently squeezes. “I look forward to continuing this later.”

Your smile was bright. Working with Rossi was a perk of agreeing to this. You never thought you’d have the chance to have face to face time with someone who wrote the blueprints for training you, again.

“Yeah, me too.”

He keeps your hand for a moment longer before letting go and looking at Prentiss. “You sure the kid can’t just listen in?”

You try not to look eager and utterly fail. You just know you got the sad puppy dog eyes going. Which, of course, doesn’t work on the leery section chief. “Whitlock has promised to help me with paperwork. Isn’t that right?”

Fucking hell! She’s using generosity from last night as an excuse to keep me busy. ARGH!

Of course, you���re not going to call her out on it as you really did offer to help and meant it. You manage to keep the disappointment hidden from your voice and raise your cup to her. “Indeed, I did.”

“You can start with scanning the reports on top of my desk calendar.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you salute carefully with your coffee hand and wander off.

As you are leaving, Rossi looks to Prentiss with a knowing look. “You do know she might be able to help us with the case. You just don’t want her to.”

Emily heard the unspoken question of why. “We barely know anything about her. I don’t need a wildcard fucking anything up.”

“Emily. Come on. She’s a seasoned CIA operative. We could pick her brain while she’s here instead of hiding her away in your office. Actually use her as a consultant.”

“You just like her because she read your books,” she fires back sarcastically.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point…”

1435

Whitlock: I hate this place

You were chatting with Brian on the CIA secure network on your laptop instead of your phone to avoid making Prentiss press as to what you were doing. You even silenced the chat notifications

Korogoth: It’s only the second day.

Whitlock: All I’m doing is reading and paperwork :(

Whitlock: Prentiss keeps socially blocking me!

Korogoth: What does that even mean?

Whitlock: I’m stuck in her office all day and when I need to go do something, she’s always up my ass. And when I’m free and have time to chat the team up, she magically shows up and stops it. It fucking sucks!

Whitlock: Stuffs coming in with the big case and I get to know nothing.

Whitlock: So all I do is read the FBI shit, which I know I need to do and scan in shit. I’m a over qualified secretary

Whitlock: UGH

Korogoth: Regretting it?

Whitlock: Yes

Whitlock: No

Whitlock: Maybe. Helping the families find closure is important tho.

Whitlock: And … I got to speak to Rossi for a sec

Korogoth: … and?

Whitlock: I told him I was a big fan :D

Korogoth: LOL really?

Whitlock: Why is that so funny?!

Whitlock: :P

Korogoth: What did you talk about?

Whitlock: That I read his books and papers.

Whitlock: With the Gideons

Korogoth: *facepalm*

Korogoth: Tread carefully missy.

Whitlock: ;)

Present Day

1145

JJ had returned earlier this morning with Luke and was now sitting with Garcia at her desk in the bullpen. They were focused on whatever was on Garcia’s computer and were animatedly discussing something about a message app behind a weather one.

You start to head over there but Prentiss comes in with Bailey and the deputy director makes a bee line right for you.

Ah, fuck.

You beat him to the introductions and hold out your hand towards him. “Hello Deputy Director Bailey. Special Agent Whitlock.”

“Yes, I know who you are.” He does not take your hand, and you curl it into a fist before dropping it. “I’m surprised it’s taken us this long to be formally introduced.” His tone was dripping with malice as he scrutinizes Prentiss.

Before Prentiss can react, you jump in to defend her. You hate high profile dickwards like him. “Well, there’s a lot going on with orientating me to FBI standards. Can’t go all CIA on your protocols.” You smile patronizingly. “Gotta be by the book, right?”

“Despite her unorthodox addition to the team, it’s prudent her training remains up to FBI standards,” Prentiss adds while Bailey attempts to stare you down.

He wasn’t even pathetically cute. Just … pathetic. The deputy director’s appearance was far too clean cut and pristine. He didn’t have that disgruntled tone that revealed years of field work that jaded an agent. There was no desensitized look in his eyes, just bureaucratic contempt.

“I’m glad to hear that. It takes months for an agent to go through training at Quantico, Whitlock. You wouldn’t want to diminish their hard work with the quick pass you’ve gotten.”

You smile sweetly.

What an asshole.

“We’re all on the same side, even though we’re on different teams, Deputy Director.” You lean forward with promise. “I won’t besmirch the good name of the FBI.”

Then your eyes drag over to Prentiss’ and soften. “I’m here to help.”

1345

You see the team assembled in the bullpen and have no idea what they’re talking about because you are in Prentiss’ office sorting paperwork. Your sincere invitation for Prentiss to trust you when Bailey was here was ignored.

1437

You are slowly dying inside sitting in on a budget meeting with Prentiss …

1634

… and then an advisory meeting with the DOJ. Too bad Rebecca wasn’t here but then that would be socializing.

You two chatted briefly after your first day and made a promise to properly catch up when you could. With your schedules, it’ll be difficult but with how things are going. Well, more her schedule than yours …

1930

You come back from your introspection that had occurred over the last few days and try to focus on the unfinished email you were drafting for Lewis. The problem is that the words remain blurry, and you are unable to concentrate to type the rest of your thoughts. Your thoughts are swimming around the fact that in the three days you have been at Quantico all you've been is snubbed by the woman currently ignoring you at her desk.

You close your laptop and rise to take a seat across from Prentiss. Her mouth hangs open, with what you presume would be a line of questioning as to where you were going to go, and instead found you seated before her. Your boldness took her by surprise.

“Ah, yes?” she asks cautiously. “Something wrong with the lab reports?”

She was well aware if you had an issue with the reports, you would have said something from the couch. As you have done before.

“No. Just, you.”

You know you should be more patient like Brian encouraged you to be. Let Prentiss take the lead and integrate you into the unit. But you weren’t stupid. You can read the room, and the room wanted you far away from the members of the BAU.

Prentiss straightens up with wide eyes at the audacity of your words. “Excuse me?”

“No, you’re not excused. Not unless you can tell me why you’re keeping me all to yourself,” you respond flippantly.

She licks the back of her bottom teeth before it drags along her lower lip. Oh yes, Prentiss is ready to throw down with you. You see how her pupils blow wide at being provoked and she caps her pen before her. “All right. You want to do this? Let’s do this.”

The pen drops, as does the pretense before you.

“I don’t know you. But I do know I can’t trust you. Anyone I can’t trust is a danger to my people and therefore, you get to stay the hell away from them.”

You throw your hands up in celebration. “Finally! A real conversation.” You lower your arms and lean back, resting a leg over the opposite knee. “I’m sorry I can’t be completely forthcoming about everything about me. But that’s not my call. My shit’s sealed for a reason but it’s not because I did anything illegal. I'm sure that's what you're worried about."

“Then why did you need a lawyer?” she presses.

Fuck.

“I can’t say.”

She shakes her head with displeasure. “Of course you can’t. Because good agents don't need help covering up their messes.”

“Oh come the fuck on, Prentiss. Wilson’s a good person. A good lawyer. She helped me because …” You grit your teeth because you need to collect your thoughts before you say too much. You inhale deeply and uncross your legs to lean forward, gesturing with open hands for understanding. “… because it was a call I had to make. Follow orders and have people die. Or I did what I did. Which I was absolved of, ya know. That's gotta count for something?"

Without knowing the exact circumstances of what you did, you weren’t sure if Prentiss would care or not. You could have disobeyed orders because they were truly the wrong call or your superior was compromised in some way, or this was a cover up because you fucked up. You are hoping that she thinks the former because of dropping Wilson’s name as a good person and lawyer. Which is all true!

You watch as she subtly shakes her head, at war with her thoughts. “But there’s nothing about you. You barely exist. I can’t just accept you if there's nothing to back up your claims. So, you’re a means to an end for me. For the BAU.”

Wow. Pretense is so gone now ...

“You know, I’ve been thinking of myself as your highly paid secretary, but hey,” you roll your eyes, “let’s go with CIA sugar mama.”

“See that,” she points at you with indignation. “That right there’s why I can't take you seriously. You’re fucking lack of respect. Making jokes that are way outta line.”

“Oh fuck you and your wine addiction.” Yeah, you went there, gesturing to the half empty bottle. The woman downed a one a night and that was only what you saw. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had more. “Least I use humor to mask the trauma of my past instead of drowning it with alcohol and work.”

“How dare you make fucking assumptions about me,” she snaps, voice raising to meet yours.

You audibly scoff and rise, Prentiss doing the same. “You’ve been doing it the whole time since we met, let alone profiling me. Which I get, since you don’t know shit about me. But at least I was trying to get along with you despite the fucking cold shoulder. I ain’t expecting to be best friends but you don’t need to be a bitch about the situation.”

You turn around to grab your things, knocking over several empty Diet Coke bottles that you balanced on the couch arm.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Leaving your delightful presence.” You stuff your backpack with your laptop and books. “I’ve had more than enough of this shit.”

You miss the moment of panic on Prentiss’ face since your back was turned. Her mind was reeling with the ramification of what this could mean. Are you leaving for good? If you weren’t working with the BAU on paper the contract would be in breach. Pride kept her from asking you to clarify as she watches you storm off and slam the door behind you.

Emily grits her teeth as she leans over her desk, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She gives up, the anxiety of the situation she finds herself in too much and pulls the top left drawer open of the desk to get the pack of cigarettes stashed there. She quickly lights up and takes a long drag off the cigarette, unable to fight her trembling lips as she blows the smoke free.

“Fuck…”

What was she doing to do?

*High Speed Chase

Chapter 5

[dustzvacuumcleaner]

🍣Today’s Special Menu✝️

Chop him! Broil him! Serve him! Crucify him!!!

No I didn’t intend to make this as a birthday art but I finished it on Jan 13th…

Well then Happy Birthday to our 23rd Governor of Ohio, 25th Secretary of the Treasury, 6th Chief Justice of the United States, Old Greenback on the one dollar bill, the fourth of the Trinity (no he’s not), the most handsome politician of the Civil War era who lost the presidential nomination three times, Mr. Salmon Portland Chase🍰

Also this is the original political cartoon💀💀

[dostoyevsky-official]

WASHINGTON, February 1, 2025. The American Petroleum Institute issued the following statement from President and CEO Mike Sommers on the Trump administration’s decision to impose tariffs on U.S. imports from Canada, Mexico and China. “Energy markets are highly integrated, and free and fair trade across our borders is critical for delivering affordable, reliable energy to U.S. consumers. We will continue to work with the Trump administration on full exclusions that protect energy affordability for consumers, expand the nation’s energy advantage and support American jobs.” The U.S. is by far the world's largest oil producer, but U.S. refineries—primarily in the Midwest—rely on Canadian crude to produce the gasoline, diesel and jet fuel that's critical for transportation, agriculture and American consumers. The U.S. is the largest market for Canadian crude oil exports and Mexico is the No. 1 destination for U.S. refined product exports. U.S. oil and natural gas exports to China totaled more than $14.4 billion in 2023 and are critical to reducing our trade deficit. (x)

///

Sommers has been a top aide to former House Speaker John Boehner. He previously worked as Boehner’s deputy chief of staff, policy director, legislative director, and press secretary. In 2005, Sommers left the Hill to work as a special assistant to President George W. Bush at the National Economic Council where he advised Bush on agriculture and trade policy. He returned to work for Boehner at Capitol Hill in early 2006. Bloomberg reported Sommers played a large role in fighting for the carried interest tax rule that worked to benefit large hedge fund managers. On the Trump Presidency, Sommers told Politico: “This administration has been defined so far by historic legislative, regulatory and foreign policy accomplishments interrupted by unfortunate distractions.” (x)

play stupid games, win stupid prizes

[alastor-simp-page]

Tell Me I'm Crazy

Stan Pines x OC (really just reader)

Trope: Enemies to Lovers, Con x Cop, ridiculous weird gravity falls stuff, etc.

Anyways, Stan Pines drives Officer Shepard insane and she does the same.

What little I’ve heard of Gravity Falls is that it's a sleepy town buried in Oregon state. All in all, an uneventful place with minimal crime, which is unfortunately what my job relies upon. So…as I tapped the steering wheel, speeding down an open road in Oregon country, I wondered: what is the point? Well, I know the point that Chief Thompson had drilled into my head for two straight hours. By the time, I’m sure he had even gotten to the meat of the information I probably, actually needed, I was slumped and done. 

So, here I am with the beautiful yet same sights streaming by over and over again. Redwoods, the occasional animal scurrying along somewhere within the woods. The sights that I kept hearing Rachel blabbering about for some odd minutes have grown quickly dull. I should’ve expected it. Sleepy town, in the middle of nowhere, for a favor. A favor, yeah. 

The favor being as much as I love them, Blubs and Durland going on honeymoon. Cute and all, the wedding was tedious as all weddings are. But you know, they’re happy. During the reception, the newly married grooms were already jabbering on about the next step in life: kids. Yikes. My car almost swerved across the solid yellow lines. Can’t do that, right? I rolled my eyes. I’m sure someone going about 200 miles would go speeding down on the dead road as I was crossing the line. 

Police officer. Yup, that’s what I am. The big bad rule follower with a baton and a loaded gun. The said loaded gun had been thrown in the backseat amongst the bags.

I chew the inside of my cheek as the first sign of civilization peeks over the canopy of trees: a water tower. Some pathetic attempt at vandalism is sprayed on the tower and surely committed by some bored teenager in this boring town. I squint at the amatuer graffiti drawn in stark red. A mushroom? I shrugged it off and my tired eyes peel back to the road once again. 

Gravity Falls. Blubs and Durland. Chief Thompson. Babysitting, that’s what this is. It isn’t unexpected. I’m young, inexperienced, called wide eyed by the seasoned smirking older officers. 

And look I’m not trying to be, you know, whatever the word is…ah, attention seeking but goddamn! It is not easy being a woman in the police force. Cuz you know, you get pawed off all the jobs no one else wants to do. 

My fingers tense on the steering wheel. Even that graduate, fresh out of police officer school, was on the drug bust. God, what even is his name again? John or Chad or something atypical of the new beloved newbie. I didn’t exactly get the same treatment in the office either. Fuck, was it two or three years ago? Cities of Angels they said. It’ll be swell, it’ll be progressive. So much for that. 

Because what have I been doing for the past two years of my miserable life? Wasting it away at a desk. Which is, of course, part of being a police officer but even then, it’s not everything. It’s a part of it. Where’s the action? Sure as well not being given to me. And yes, I’ve heard the speech a few million times in person and in my head when I’m hurling the shampoo at the wall, but every police officer is valued. In their own and special way, that same patronizing smile gleams at me in the rearview memory. A memory of every face that’s told me I’ve seen too many police movies. 

For fuck’s sake, I’m not a secretary. I went through the school same as everyone else and all I’m  asking for is to do…something. Anything for crying out loud. 

This is something. A nasty, petulant voice whispers unwelcomingly. It’s better than sitting at the desk. Another unwelcoming yet somewhat more cheerful, dreadfully cheerful voice chimes in. The collar of my shirt seems to be sticking to my shirt. Anger brews unhappily in my gut, spreading heat through my skin. 

Then my unfocused eyes catch something. A flash of color in a bleak misty world. I give the break a gentle tap and slow the pace of my car. Welcome to Gravity Falls! The faded welcome sign shimmers under the grey sky. It’s something. It’s something to do. A little hope lifts my heart despite the mood that’s settled within me. Maybe this is my first step to being taken seriously? Maybe this is a test? I blink. It’s a chance. A chance to prove myself to the Chief. Even if it isn’t a test, I’m alone. No, no, not alone. I’m the order within this town to sort whatever disorder there is. No Durland, no Blubs to tell me no. I have power over this town? Is that what this is? Or are they simply expecting nothing too serious to happen?

I should’ve done more research. But maybe I know enough? Minimal crime rate, a few things here and there. It’s just hillbillies and nature lovers and tourists. How bad can it be? And if something were to happen, which is unlikely, it’ll be easy. Easy to handle and easy to bring back to the Chief on the silver platter. Something to spin into something bigger than it is and maybe, just maybe prove myself. 

***

The office is almost too clean for a police station. However, it’s expected. Again, nothing happens in little old Gravity Falls. And of course, who would? The streets are clean, there seems to be an unusual amount of foot traffic (not the city type), and local businesses are bustling. It’s cute, adorable and endearing. As usual though, cute towns with little action usually get boring fast. 

The police station parking lot was a little cramped for my taste but bearable. At least, it doesn’t seem like I have to deal with other employees. Although…there was a lone car parked in the corner of the lot. And no, it didn’t look anything like the old cars buried in the junk or “abandoned” in other words. No, it was one of those badly made cars that sputtered every second, the seats were worn and it was way too claustrophobic. And is it creepy to check out someone’s car? No. Police officer status here. There’s no rules against peering into someone’s car. Except you may be called a creep. 

The only jail cell in the main office space looks rarely used. A few strange triangular symbols were scribbled on the brick wall. I leave it. I’m not a janitor, that’s for damn sure and it’s not technically my police station. I test out the chairs. Comfy enough. Extra spinny too which is a plus. 

The only plus is that unfortunately there’s only a single door in the whole small station which is locked. Not suspicious, but again my curiousness nags at me. I jingle the door a few times but the door doesn’t budge. I try to throw my body weight against it and again, nothing. I give up after a short while. I don't even have any idea how long I'll be here. I’ll figure it all out eventually. And my guess is it’s a file room or cleaning closet. However a young starry eyed child cried out it’s a supernatural mystery lying behind it: a vampire in his coffin or a cauldron simmering with a potion. I shake the thought from my hand and walk off.

I poke around which is only natural. Annoying for the people who own this place, yes. But are they here? No. And unfortunately for me, there’s nothing much to poke around in. It seems the majority of the budget for the police station was spent elsewhere. Which I learn makes sense. The desks are covered in what appears to be origami??? The shelves where there should be law related books are stacked to the brim with an obsessive amount of snow globes. The books which are supposed to be placed on the shelf are stacked in a dusty corner. A clutter of what appears to be a collage of couple selfies are covering the crime board at the center of the office. Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland sharing sparse and sweet kisses. 

 My eye twitches. What do they even do? 

The file room? Even in worse shape. Only about three file drawers are used and all of them are cases of roadkill??? Hell, at the beginning it seems the officers entertained murder mysteries involving the dead animals. Many remained unsolved (foreseeable). One was solved but went nowhere, of course, since how does that even hold up in court? No murders. No thievery. No arson. No nothing!

Either they aren’t doing their jobs or this may just be the most boringest town in the world. Which, of course, I’m stuck with for an unplanned period of time. I almost dialed the Chief’s number to figure out how long I have to stay here. I probably zoned out during that part. About four digits in, I snap my phone close. It’ll probably go to voicemail anyways. 

I’m by no means an expert cleaner but I do try to make this office, somewhat, presentable. And by, presentable I mean, professional. Not some recreational passion project bullshit center. I find a ring of keys in the drawer of the desk in the office. A little pride flag is dangling from the master key for the police station. I smile down at it before attaching it to my belt alongside my tazer and firearm. 

For a moment, my fingers linger over my weapons. Do I even need these? Despite my better efforts, I just tuck my jacket around them. I pin the sparkling sheriff star to my button up and take a seat. I spin for a bit, glancing up at the clock and then I lean back. My back cracks satisfyingly and I let out a little sigh. It had been a long drive. Sixteen hours in total with stops in between to nap in the car. I’ve done it more times than I’d like to.

I begin to drift off with even realizing it. 

***

I wake up to the smell of coffee. It’s soft and tangible, and it smells heavenly. My eyes slowly wink open to the fluorescent lights staring down at me. Greg, makes a good coffee but damn, he must’ve stepped up his game. I let out a little yawn, stretching out my arms and straightening my back. 

I blink, once then twice. Oh, shit, yeah. This isn’t the LA police department.. I’m in Gravity Falls. A groan slips past my lips but curiously enough the coffee smell persists. Was that smell before? A stale coffee smell would make sense but a fresh coffee smell? The smell drags me towards the source. I wander blindly, like a bear to honey through the thin halls. 

And then a sound stops me dead in my tracks. Not a sound but a hum. “Keep smiling through…” I stand lingeringly outside the threshold, listening keenly. That smell. That hum. By the tone of the voice, it must be man. Deep yet slightly lilted. 

An unease sets within me. 

I’m supposed to be alone. 

Continue reading here!

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Harrison Ray at MMFA:

Top Trump administration officials have appeared on Fox News 124 times since President Donald Trump was sworn in. At least one key nominated or appointed official appeared nearly every day of the past month. Trump's “border czar,” Thomas Homan, has been the most prominent administration official on the network, appearing 20 times in total, on over half of the days of the month. Counselor to the president Alina Habba (15 appearances), White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt (12), and deputy chief of staff Stephen Miller (11) were also prominently featured. Four of the 10 most-featured top officials were former Fox News employees: former contributor Homan, former Fox & Friends Weekend co-host Pete Hegseth (6 appearances), former contributor Michael Waltz (6), and former network host Sean Duffy (5). (Trump has tapped many other former Fox News employees to be part of his second administration.) President Donald Trump himself has also appeared on the network several times since inauguration, appearing 4 times in 2 multiepisode interviews on Hannity and 1 time on Special Report with Bret Baier.

Over the first month of Donald Trump's 2nd "Presidency", officials from the Trump Administration appeared on state-run GOP propaganda outlet Fox "News" 124 times.

[bullet-prooflove]

Send me a made-up fic title and I'll tell you what I would write to go with it...

You're My Angel, but Sometimes I Wish You Weren't, I Hate the Way They Walk All Over You

Tagging: @elefrog25-blog  @ineedbrainbleach  @secretsquirrelinc  @kmc1989

There is not a thing that Carlton doesn’t love about you. He loves waking up to you every morning, your body curled up against his. He loves the way that you sing whilst you make coffee in his kitchen despite the fact you’re tone deaf. He even loves those little hair thingies you leave all over his condo.

What he doesn’t love is the way you’re letting Interim Chief Trout walk all over you. You haven’t done any actual policework since he’s got here, instead he has you doing his filing, collecting his lunch, making his coffee.

You’re nothing more than an overqualified secretary.

Carlton hates it.

“Bunny.” He murmurs when he has you alone in the kitchen for a couple of minutes. “Baby, you gotta stick up for yourself.”

“I do that and he busts me back down to traffic.” You sigh as you stir three sugars into the steaming mug of coffee. “I’m just gonna have to wait him out.”

“Bunny…” Carlton chides and you give him the look.

“I’m not going to win here.” You remind him. “He’s Joe’s friend, he’s made it his mission to make my life miserable.”

Joe Medina, your ex-husband. Certified scumbag. He’s tried to reconcile recently.

“You decide to give Joe a second chance, maybe I decide to let you back into the field.” Trout had told you last week when he’d called you into your office.

“I’d rather eat glass.” You’d told him with an acidity in your tone that could corrode metal.

You’ve been knee deep in stop sign violations ever since because Trout’s decided he wants them organised by severity as opposed to date.

“Maybe I should talk to Joe, see if he can get Trout to ease up a little.” He offers, his hands coming to rest on his hips as he studied you.

“Joe doesn’t know about you.” You tell him, taking a sip from your cup of coffee.

“Oh.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I see.”

“No it’s not…”

But Carlton doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to consider the idea that maybe he’s been a distraction after the split, that maybe now you ex is back he’s no longer needed. After all, he left you, you didn’t leave him.

“No it’s fine, I get it.” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “We never said we were anything special right? Just two people having some fun in the nighttime.”

“Carlton…” You say but he’s already walking away because Carlton, he doesn’t need to hear anything else.

Clearly you meant more to him, than he ever did to you.

Love Carlton? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[darkmaga-returns]

Kash Patel, President-elect Donald Trump’s pick for FBI director, has released a list of 60 “deep state” adversaries he plans to target immediately when he begins his role next year.

The list, which includes President Joe Biden and network analysts, is detailed in his 2022 book Government Gangsters.

In the book’s appendix, titled “Members of the Executive Branch Deep State,” Patel lists those names alphabetically but acknowledges that the list is not exhaustive.

Patel said other “corrupt actors” could include Rep. Eric Swalwell (D-CA), Senator-elect Adam Schiff (D-CA), ex-congressman Paul Ryan, author of the Trump-Russia Steele Dossier Christopher Steele.

Patel also reassures the public he will be going after “the entire fake news mafia press corp.”

Here’s the list:

Michael Atkinson – Former inspector general of the intelligence community Lloyd Austin – Secretary of Defense under President Joe Biden Brian Auten – Supervisory intelligence analyst, FBI James Baker – Former general counsel for the FBI and Twitter executive Bill Barr – Former attorney general under Trump John Bolton – Former national security adviser under Trump Stephen Boyd – Former chief of legislative affairs, FBI Joe Biden – President of the United States John Brennan – Former CIA director under President Obama John Carlin – Former DOJ national security division head under Trump Eric Ciaramella – Former National Security Council staffer Pat Cipollone – Former White House counsel under Trump James Clapper – Former director of national intelligence under Obama Hillary Clinton – Former Secretary of State and presidential candidate James Comey – Former FBI director Elizabeth Dibble – Former deputy chief of mission, U.S. Embassy, London Mark Esper – Former Secretary of Defense under Trump Alyssa Farah – Former strategic communications director under Trump Evelyn Farkas – Former Pentagon official under Obama Sarah Isgur Flores – Former DOJ communications head under Trump Merrick Garland – Attorney General under Biden Stephanie Grisham – Former White House press secretary under Trump Kamala Harris – Vice President and former presidential candidate Gina Haspel – Former CIA director under Trump Fiona Hill – Former National Security Council staffer Curtis Heide – FBI agent Eric Holder – Former attorney general under Obama Robert Hur – Special counsel for Biden document investigation Cassidy Hutchinson – Former assistant to Trump Chief of Staff Mark Meadows Nina Jankowicz – Former head of Biden’s Disinformation Governance Board Lois Lerner – Former IRS official under Obama Loretta Lynch – Former attorney general under Obama Charles Kupperman – Former deputy national security adviser under Trump Gen. Kenneth McKenzie (Ret.) – Former CENTCOM commander Andrew McCabe – Former FBI deputy director Ryan McCarthy – Former Secretary of the Army under Trump Mary McCord – Former DOJ national security division head Denis McDonough – Former Obama chief of staff, current VA secretary Gen. Mark Milley (Ret.) – Former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Lisa Monaco – Deputy attorney general under Biden Robert Mueller – Former FBI director and Russiagate special counsel Bruce Ohr – Former DOJ official under Obama and Trump Nellie Ohr – Former CIA employee Lisa Page – Former FBI counsel Pat Philbin – Former deputy White House counsel under Trump John Podesta – Former Obama adviser, current Biden climate adviser Samantha Power – Former U.N. ambassador under Obama, current USAID administrator Bill Priestap – Former FBI counterintelligence chief Susan Rice – Former Obama national security adviser Rod Rosenstein – Former deputy attorney general under Trump Peter Strzok – Former FBI counterintelligence agent Jake Sullivan – National Security Adviser under Biden Michael Sussman – Former DNC lawyer Miles Taylor – Former DHS official under Trump Timothy Thibault – Former FBI agent Andrew Weissman – Mueller’s Russiagate deputy Alexander Vindman – Former National Security Council official Christopher Wray – Current FBI director under Trump and Biden Sally Yates – Former deputy attorney general under Obama Adam Schiff – Senator-elect and former House Intelligence Committee chairman

Earlier this month, Patel announced the “massive declassification” of troves of information ranging from the Jeffrey Epstein files to the “P Diddy” list.

Patel told Conservative podcast host Benny Johnson that releasing documents that implicate the Department of Justice and FBI for their illegal surveillance of over 250,000 Americans.

[littlejuicebox]

A Pocket Full of Rainbows, A Star Up My Sleeve (1950s AU) / Chapter 1: The Drive In

Click here to read on AO3.

Summary: It's 1957, and for the first time in his life, Astarion Ancunin is happy. He's a newlywed, his spouse, Gustav Adler, is the editor-in-chief of the city's second most prominent newspaper, and they play keeping up with the Atherwindes next door. They are picture-perfect domesticity. Or so it seems. Secrets Astarion has kept hidden from his spouse begin to surface around their first anniversary, and Gustav is left to wonder... who exactly did he marry?

Tags/Warnings: This one starts off with smut (light BDSM if you squint and tilt your head) in Chapter 1 so there's that. This longfic will have a lot of hurt/angst/comfort + mild gore + mentions of Astarion's past trauma. I will update with a warning if there is a significant concern in any chapter.

Notes: Special thanks to @leomonae for beta-reading and holding my hand while I write this entire thing that has taken hold of me body and soul. And special thanks to all the awesome supportive people on my discord server that have hyped me up enough to give me the courage to post this.

-----

Cigar smoke spirals out of the barely cracked mahogany door and into the newsroom as the editor-in-chief, Gustav Adler, finalizes the layout for this weekend’s edition of the Baldur’s Herald. He’s running late — he should have been halfway home, by now. His wife is going to be furious with him if they miss the beginning of the movie. 

But this story has a chance of finally getting the Baldur’s Herald ahead of the Baldur’s Gate Gazette; he has to get it just right. There is still more investigation to be done, of course, but no one can deny several missing persons and multiple eyewitness reports of a mindflayer in the lower city. It’s certainly enough to sell papers and promote intrigue. 

The paper had gotten a decent boost when he’d been promoted to editor-in-chief a few years ago. The promotion of an openly gay man – a half-drow, nonetheless – to the position had garnered quite a bit of attention. Good and bad, of course. But as the saying goes, all publicity is good publicity. 

In the Herald’s case, that had been true. The groundbreaking move had put the previously small paper on the map and quickly catapulted it to second place in the rankings, where it had been ever since. Tav was convinced it would only take one powerful story to overtake the Gazette; he felt confident the culmination of this story would be the one to do it. 

A rapid knock on the door pulls Gustav from his work as he takes another drag of his nearly finished cigar; his top investigator, Karlach, is leaning against the door jamb. 

“There’s been another mindflayer sighting. Dekarios is on the ground now, I’m on my way to meet him,” she says, her eyes alight with excitement. The tiefling had been chasing this story for weeks and finally had enough for her article to make the front page of this weekend’s issue.

“Excellent — I’ll be back in the office tomorrow morning, Kar. I expect an update then. I would go with you two, but the wife won’t forgive me if I cancel two weeks in a row,” Gustav responds as he extinguishes his cigar in the unfinished coffee that sat atop his desk all day. 

Karlach chuckles good-naturedly as she straightens from the doorframe and moves to put on the suit jacket she’d been holding in her hand. “Tell Astarion I said hello; and thank him again for mending this for me.” 

“Will do— oh, and Karlach, can you run this by the printers before you head out? It’s the final layout for the weekend edition,” the editor-in-chief says as he moves to exit his own office. He hands the mock-up to his journalist and heads out of the building for the night. In the parking lot, Gustav rushes to his car and hopes his wife isn’t too terribly upset with him for being a bit late.

Astarion had been Gustav’s secretary for nearly six months before he finally worked up the courage to ask the other man on a date. It was never easy for Tav, doing such a thing, although sexuality laws had changed in his early adulthood and it was common to see people just like him about the city nowadays.

He couldn’t have assumed Astarion was interested in men simply because he alternated between wearing suits and dresses – which had been, of course, one of the things that caught Tav’s attention and fascinated him early on. Astarion managed to look breathtaking in both; Gustav had never seen anything quite like him and spent more time than he should have admiring his secretary sitting just outside his office door. As it turned out, Astarion had been flirting with him for months; he had always worried he was misinterpreting the signals. 

It wasn’t until Karlach hassled him for a week that Tav finally broke down and asked Astarion to dinner. They dated for just under a year, and married as soon as they were legally allowed – all legal documentation still required assigned roles of husband and wife, and in the public sense, these designations were required across the board. They’d randomly assigned titles with the flip of a coin.

It seemed ridiculous, in the beginning. Bureaucracy and politics could be so short-sighted; the world never seemed to dot all its i's and cross all its t’s before moving on to the next agenda. In public, the couple always used the assigned titles; at first, this had been mostly to avoid confusion or ignorant comments. But then one night, Gustav had jokingly called Astarion his “wife” and it had instantly ignited something within his lover. He’d never seen his spouse so excited in bed until that moment. 

From then on, in public and in private, Astarion was his wife. The word just had different meanings depending on context. As an editor, Gustav could wholeheartedly appreciate the subtleties of the phrase; as a husband, he loved the effect the word had on his wife when they were in bed.

*

As Gustav pulls up to the brownstone townhouse he and Astarion share, he immediately notices the new gardenia shrubs and mulch surrounding the Atherwinde’s front stoop. A soft groan of annoyance escapes his lips; he’d planned to tend their own garden next weekend, but now he would have to move that project up. He was not about to let their annoying nextdoor neighbor, Edmund Atherwinde, throw subtle remarks at him for an entire week whenever they ran into one another while leaving for work. Gustav is almost certain Eddie waits to see when he comes out in the morning, just to harass him as they both climb into their Chevrolet Bel-Airs. Gustav’s is the most recent model; Eddie’s is last year’s model. Not that he’s comparing, of course.

He glances at his wristwatch; it’s twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to be home. They should still be able to eat dinner and make it to the drive-in. He grabs the bow-wrapped box from the backseat and then makes his way into the townhome.

A quick jangle of keys echoes through the short foyer before Gustav calls, “Astarion, I’m home!”

“You’re late,” a cool, clipped voice replies from the kitchen. “I’ve had to keep dinner warm in the oven for twenty minutes, Tav.” 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Gustav responds as he moves to join his wife. He presents the box to Astarion with a toothy smile and a wink. “But, perhaps this will make it up to you.” 

The scowl that had been painted across Astarion’s face soon pulls up into a grin as he takes the box from Tav. A quick tug of the black grosgrain ribbon reveals the present inside – a mink stole. A soft gasp escapes Astarion as he removes the fur shawl from the packaging and wraps it around his shoulders. 

“Gorgeous,” Gustav compliments as he admires his lover. “I think it will go well with the gown you plan on wearing for our anniversary dinner.”

“Of course it will, darling,” Astarion responds before lifting onto his toes and pressing a kiss against his husband’s cheek, right upon the old scar Gustav got back in his military days. “It’s beautiful, thank you. Now, dinner, dear– and we’d better hurry.”

*

Dinner was nothing to write home about. Astarion was a fair to middling cook nowadays – in the beginning of their marriage, he’d burnt nearly every meal he made. Almost a year later, he’d managed to get the hang of a few simple recipes. Gustav, to his credit, never complained. All his time in the military taught him to accept far meager offerings than his wife’s creations; if he could eat cold beans from an aluminum can, he could handle a slightly charred meatloaf. 

They made it to the drive in just as the last previews finished. Astarion had been exceptionally excited to see this film – a horror movie about vampires, of all things. Gustav was not particularly interested in the movie, but willingly endured for his wife’s happiness. Until, of course, Astarion pressed up against him a little over halfway through the film – an innocent reaction to the scene playing on screen – and gripped dangerously high on Gustav’s thigh. 

Desire immediately flared through Tav, and when he turned to look at his wife, he wanted nothing more than to smear the perfectly painted red lipstick on the other man’s lips. So he did.

They were locked in a passionate kiss for several minutes, the movie all but forgotten. Their tongues wrapped around one another in a familiar embrace, a comfortable dance the two of them had become accustomed to. It did not take long for Gustav to begin advancing eagerly upon his wife.

“You’re insatiable,” Astarion chuckles as his lover playfully nips into his neck. A delighted shiver ghosts up his spine.

“Can you blame me?” Gustav asks as his lips trail to his lover’s chest, just exposed by the neckline of Astarion’s collared dress. His tongue swirls along alabaster skin before a sly hand moves under the skirt hem. “You’re delicious… and I’d very much like to have a taste.” 

Gustav’s thick, purple-gray fingers run along the inside of Astarion’s pale, muscled thigh and travel all the way up to the edge of a sheer, nylon stocking. He quickly finds a garter strap, pulls, and releases the elastic band. Astarion jumps and gasps as the skin on his leg turns into gooseflesh; his husband palms insistently between his legs.

“S-surely you don’t mean here, Tav,” Astarion whispers, his legs spreading slightly, making more room to accommodate the hand teasing his hardening cock. But even as Astarion says it, he’s hoping his husband actually does mean here – the mere thought of such a scandalous act is causing arousal to dampen the front of his undergarments. 

“Mmh, and why not?” Gustav asks, already beginning to slide from his seat, down to the floorboard. He wanders his hand down under the seat and pushes it back as far as it will go. It isn’t much, but enough for him to comfortably kneel between Astarion’s legs. He brings his hands to his wife’s knees and slowly presses them open with a sly smile. 

“I…” Astarion tries to respond, his face suddenly feeling quite hot as a blush of both embarrassment and desire spreads across his skin. His mouth goes dry as he looks down at the man between his legs. Gustav is slowly pushing up the hem of Astarion’s skirt and peering up at his lover as he licks his lips. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He questions, cocking his head just slightly. When his wife doesn’t respond, he begins to lower Astarion’s skirt; his purple-gray hand is suddenly caught between slender, milky-white fingers.

“Keep going,” Astarion quietly urges before casting a glance out the window. They’re in the final row of the drive-in. Only one other car is in the same row as them, and the couple in that car are far too distracted by one another’s mouths to pay any mind to the two men.

Gustav hums happily as he unceremoniously lifts Astarion’s skirt and drops his head underneath; he’s greeted with a pale, leaking cock straining against a pair of sheer, silk panties. The sight causes his own cock to stir in his trousers. 

“Now be a good little wife and hold very, very still for me, baby,” Gustav commands with a final snap of Astarion’s garter strap. His wife gasps and squirms in his seat before obediently stilling. Tav doesn’t waste any more time with foreplay; his hands come under Astarion’s dress and quickly tear the underwear in two – he’ll buy a replacement pair later. Astarion’s cock springs proudly from its confines, bobbing slightly and begging to be sucked.

Tav brings both hands to the pale thighs on either side of his head as he pulls Astarion’s cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the head languidly, causing more pre-fluid to leak onto his tongue. The salty, musky taste makes his mouth water in delight. He’s certain he will never tire of tasting his wife.

A whimper escapes Astarion’s lips when his husband takes all of his length. Gustav’s warm, wet throat contracts around Astarion’s cock and then, much too soon, he retracts and begins to swirl his tongue around its pink, swollen head. Tav repeats this several times and each time his throat squeezes around Astarion, it takes everything within him to not buck upwards. His thighs are trembling. He so badly wants to move, to seek the heat of his lover’s mouth. But he wants to be a good wife, so he forces himself to obey the command. 

The excited keening becomes louder and more insistent the longer Gustav teases him. By now the movie is almost over, and Astarion is catching flashes of the end scene through blurred vision and panting breaths. He clamps his eyes shut as Gustav, once again, swallows him to the hilt. This time his husband holds the position and hums, both hands squeezing into Astarion’s thighs.

“Aah, Tav–” Astarion whimpers, his tone pleading, “Tav, please–” 

But Gustav retracts and his wife whines. He cannot help but smile at the neediness. He forces Astarion’s skirt up over his thighs, exposing his arousal-slicked face and his lover’s hard, weeping cock all at once. He peers up at his wife with a pleased smirk; Astarion meets him with half-hooded lids and blown pupils. 

“Already, baby? Really?” Gustav purrs, one hand coming to caress Astarion’s scrotum. He applies a light bit of pressure and admires the way pre-fluid dribbles from his lover’s desperate cock. His tongue darts out to slowly lap up the string of clear liquid running down Astarion’s shaft. “I don’t think I’ve worshiped my wife quite long enough.” 

Astarion impatiently squirms in his seat. He’d been doing a rather excellent job holding still until now, but the ache between his legs is growing increasingly insistent, and his husband has teased him long enough. When Gustav’s hands wrap around his cock he moans and his head falls back reflexively. The movie’s end credits are starting to roll. 

“Please, Gustav… I can’t– I can’t any longer, please–” Astarion begs, through sharp shaking breaths. His hips stutter forward insistently into the other man’s fists.

“Very well,” Gustav responds, and with little warning he drops his hands and takes all of Astarion in his mouth again. Pale fingers clutch into Tav’s cropped white hair, pulling slightly just at the nape of his neck. He hums his encouragement as he bobs his head up and down the length of his wife’s cock, covering it in saliva and spreading the growing amounts of pre-fluid dripping from its tip.

Gustav can tell by the breathy keening sounds his wife is making that he is close to release. His own cock is straining within his trousers – but that can wait until they get home. The first orgasm always leaves Astarion desperate for more, anyway. 

Tav swallows Astarion’s length once again, intentionally contracting his throat around the pale cock in his mouth. His wife bites back a moan and comes, hips thrusting up as warm seed spills down Tav’s throat. Astarion’s cock continues to pulse for a while longer, and Tav expertly swallows every last drop of his lover’s spend. 

When he feels the other man’s fingers retract from his hair, Gustav carefully pulls back and releases Astarion’s slowly softening cock. He swirls his tongue around the tip one last time, forcing a final whimper from his lover before easing back and placing a few kisses against Astarion’s thigh. 

“Darling,” Astarion pants as he runs his fingers through sweat-drenched curls. His lipstick is completely smeared across his face; he looks wrecked. “Take me home and make love to me.”

Gustav grins in response as he begins to climb back into the driver’s seat. Many of the cars in the lot have pulled away by now. “Anything for my beautiful wife.” 

*

They crash through the townhome door, a mess of half-removed clothing and desire. Astarion shoves Tav against the front entrance as soon as it shuts behind them and grinds himself along Tav’s thigh. The rotary phone in the living room is ringing, but they pay it no mind. 

Gustav quickly undoes the buttons of his wife’s dress and strips it from his body. He’s entirely naked underneath, save the garter belt and stockings – the ruined bits of underwear were left on the floorboard of the car. Astarion is undoing his husband’s belt buckle when the phone stops ringing; he moves to drop to his knees right in front of Tav, but he is quickly pulled back up.

“Not here on the tile, baby. It’s much too hard,” he murmurs as he guides his wife over to the carpeted living room. As soon as they’re in front of the couch, Astarion rips Tav’s trousers and undergarments off in one swift motion and then guides his husband to sit on the serpentine sofa. 

“Now, darling, let me repay you for earlier,” Astarion purrs as his hands teasingly slide up his lover’s purple thighs. He’s just about to take Gustav’s cock in his hands when the phone begins ringing again; it’s a sharp, shrill, distracting sound.

Gustav groans in irritation. He quickly leans over to pull the handset from the stand and uses a finger to hang up on the caller. He tosses the receiver haphazardly, leaving it off the hook so that the phone will not ring and interrupt him and his wife again. It’s well past ten at night; whoever is calling can wait until the morning and call back then.

He turns his attention back to Astarion and smiles. Then, he reaches out and brings two fingers under his wife’s chin before he gently presses upwards. They meet one another with a slow, gentle kiss. When Gustav retracts, Astarion is staring up at him in wide-eyed adoration.

“Now, where were we?” Gustav asks. Astarion chuckles in response before wrapping two pale hands around the cock in front of him; it’s already leaking in anticipation as he slowly strokes up and down the length.

“I think we were just getting to the good part, my love,” Astarion murmurs, peering up at his husband through hooded lids before dropping his head to take Gustav between a pair of lipstick-smeared lips.

The phone stays off the hook for the rest of the night. 

[mariacallous]

Trump’s pick for special envoy to Ukraine wants to force Ukrainians to negotiate with Russia by holding aid hostage.

President-elect Donald Trump on Wednesday announced he has selected retired Lt. Gen. Keith Kellogg to be his special envoy for Ukraine and Russia, a position focused on ending the two-year-long war. Kellogg previously served as both national security adviser to former Vice President Mike Pence and National Security Council chief of staff during Trump’s first term.  

“I am very pleased to nominate General Keith Kellogg to serve as Assistant to the President and Special Envoy for Ukraine and Russia” Trump wrote on Truth Social. “Keith has led a distinguished Military and Business career, including serving in highly sensitive National Security roles in my first Administration. He was with me right from the beginning! Together, we will secure PEACE THROUGH STRENGTH, and Make America, and the World, SAFE AGAIN!”

Last spring, Kellogg proposed forcing an ultimatum on Ukraine: Engage in peace talks in order to keep receiving aid. The plan, which was put forward with the help of Fred Fleitz, his successor as chief of staff at the National Security Council, would also force Russia to the negotiating table by agreeing to hold off on Ukraine’s admission to NATO. Under the plan, the cease-fire would take place along existing battle lines.

Kellogg’s views align well with an incoming administration that seems to have little interest in providing aid to Ukrainians, even as Russia is advancing through the country faster than ever.

Vice President–elect JD Vance is similarly opposed to more assistance. South Dakota Governor and Homeland Security secretary nominee Kristi Noem is opposed to more assistance as well, saying that the war is “Europe’s fight, not ours.”

[eretzyisrael]

by David Israel

A Pentagon official told Sky News in Arabic that the investigation being conducted by intelligence agencies in Washington into the leaking to Tehran documents of the IDF plan to strike Iran has begun to indicate “suspicion” of the involvement of a senior employee in the Pentagon.

The American official added that the employee suspected of leaking the documents is an American of Iranian origin named Ariane Tabatabai.

Ariane Tabatabai is an Iranian-American scholar of political science, writer, and senior policy advisor to the United States Department of Defense. After the Biden administration took office in January 2021, she joined the US negotiating team in nuclear negotiations with Iran. Between 2021 and 2022, she served as an advisor to Robert Malley, the chief promoter of pushing a deal with Iran at any cost.

Members of the US Congress, especially Republicans, have pointed out that Robert Malley was investigated after being suspected of having dealt with classified information without prior permission and of having secret contacts with Iranian figures.

Tablet Magazine accused Tabatabai of being an Iranian agent (High-Level Iranian Spy Ring Busted in Washington).

While awaiting the results of the official investigation, the official explained that the intelligence and armed services committees in Congress had been informed of this matter, especially since the suspect had a “top secret clearance that gives her the right to view highly classified information.”