we wuz lookin out the window - like we do - and i caw caw cawed - and a huge crow cawed back - and landed on the adjoining roof - and the kitty think i hav mad skillz - it was a beautiful thing
BREAKING: Evidence Emerges Showing Donald Trump Has Extensive Mafia Ties
Pulitzer Prize Winning investigative reporter David Cay Johnston discovered proof regarding Trump's mob ties that will blow your mind.
By Bipartisan Report

Pulitzer Prize Winning investigative reporter David Cay Johnston discussed his 27-year-long investigation into Donald Trump’s not-so-secret business affairs during an interview with CNN. In an article written for Politico, Johnson details facts regarding Trump’s mob ties that most mainstream media outlets have chosen to ignore.

‘Trump’s career has benefited from a decades-long and largely successful effort to limit and deflect law enforcement investigations into his dealings with top mobsters, organized crime associates, labour fixers, corrupt union leaders, con artists and even a one-time drug trafficker whom Trump retained as the head of his personal helicopter service.’

‘In Atlantic City, Trump built on property where mobsters controlled parts of the adjoining land needed for parking. He paid $1.1 million for about a 5,000-square-foot lot that had been bought five years earlier for just $195,000. The sellers were Salvy Testa and Frank Narducci Jr., a pair of hitmen for Atlantic City mob boss Nicky Scarfo who were known as the Young Executioners.’

According to Johnson, Trump “hired mobbed-up firms to erect Trump Tower and his Trump Plaza apartment building in Manhattan, including buying ostensibly overpriced concrete from a company controlled by mafia chieftains Anthony “Fat Tony” Salerno and Paul Castellano.”

So, instead of focusing on real-time problems and the extreme risk Donald Trump poses to the safety of the United States, mainstream media has chosen to focus on Trump’s circus acts that are likely a diversion set in place to distract voters from what’s really going on.

Back in March, a Chief Investigative Correspondent for Yahoo! News, Michael Isikoff, wrote a piece detailing Trump’s mob ties, and it too, went largely ignored.

Trump is quick to point fingers at Hillary Clinton over her email scandal, yet it’s blatantly clear he’s got bigger problems of his own to worry about.

As Johnston points out in his report:

‘No other candidate for the White House this year has anything close to Trump’s record of repeated social and business dealings with mobsters, swindlers, and other crooks.’

He told CNN:

‘Donald Trump has a long history of dealing with mobsters, big mobsters, drug-dealers and others.  For example, his personal helicopter pilot, Joseph Weichselbaum, was a major marijuana and cocaine trafficker.  Donald pleaded for leniency for him.’

‘By the way, Trump Tower was built not with steel gurgers like most high-rises, but concrete owned by S&A Concrete, owned by two of the biggest, most vicious mobsters in New York, Fat Tony Salem and Paul Castellano.’

These are the Donald Trump stories that need to be shared. Let’s turn away from the charade and delve deeper into the real issues, lest we have a sketchy, deceptive man taking over the White House this fall.

For continued experimentation, [head of MK-ULTRA Sidney] Gottlieb now decided to begin widespread testing on the urban poor: street people, prostitutes and other undesirables. He had two reasons: they were unlikely to complain, and there was, he believed, a higher potential that these people could handle untoward side-effects. To oversee this operation, Gottlieb turned to George Hunter White, whom we last encountered testing the marijuana truth drug [artificially concentrated THC] on Mafia muscle man Augusto Del Gracio. White had now gone back to work at the Narcotics Bureau in New York. […]

Gottlieb asked White to establish a CIA safehouse in New York, invite suitable subjects to party there, drug them covertly and then review their behavior. White rented two adjoining apartments at 81 Bedford Street in Greenwich Village. The cooperation of the Narcotics Bureau was secured by a deal whereby the bureau could use the apartments for drug stings during CIA downtime. White was guaranteed an unceasing flow of drink, all of it paid for by Gottlieb. The safehouse became a working lab for the CIA’s Technical Services Division, fitted out with two-way mirrors, listening devices and concealed cameras. Indeed, the house became a model for subsequent CIA interrogation facilities.

From the fall of 1953 to the late spring of the following year, White hosted a string of parties, inviting a stream of unsuspecting CIA subjects to Bedford Street, spiking their food and drink with chemicals such as sodium pentothal, Nembutal, THC and, of course, what White referred to as “the LSD surprise.”

–Alexander Cockburn and Jeffrey St. Clair, Whiteout: The CIA, Drugs and the Press

Hadn’t seen this before! My boys 😍

matthumphreyimages Tom Burke & Andrew Scott, backstage during ‘Design for Living’ at The Old Vic
One of my favourite backstage portraits of these two talented young actors when they worked on the brilliant production of 'Design For Living’ with Lisa Dillon. They had adjoining dressing rooms, which I wanted to somehow feature, but was struggling with the angle so had to jump up onto Andrew’s bed. I realised I was actually standing on his pillow, which they were laughing about. They had a very jovial light hearted energy - something I was also keen to capture. 🔻

Source: Matt Humphrey Instagram


Herzog De MeuronVitra Schaudepot, Weil am Rhein 2016. Photos © Julien Lanoo

“We adopted its prototypical house form, which we modelled in clay brick masonry like the immediately adjoining sawtooth factory building dating from 1963. Hence, both form and material are “indigenous” rather than “invented” and thereby meet the combined aims of exercising restraint, fulfilling the technical demands for furniture storage and presentation, and offering an unpretentious expression of function“

When we push open a door, we transform a place in a very insidious way. We offend its full extension, and introduce a disruptive and poorly proportioned obstacle. If you think about it carefully, there is nothing uglier than an open door. An open door introduces a break in the room, a sort of provincial interference, destroying the unity of space. In the adjoining room it creates a depression, an absolutely pointless gaping hole adrift in a section of wall that would have preferred to remain whole. In either case a door disrupts continuity, without offering anything in exchange other than freedom of movement, which could easily be ensured by another means. Sliding doors avoid such pitfalls and enhance space. Without affecting the balance of the room, they allow it to be transformed. When a sliding door is open, two areas communicate without offending each other. When it is closed, each regains its integrity. Sharing a reunion can occur without intrusion.
—  Muriel Barbery, The Elegance of the Hedgehog

The hotel Kyrie and Tristan agreed upon together was very decadent, very pristine, and very expensive. Tristan hid the price from Diedrik, feeling only mildly guilty about spending the small fortune for their trip when the hospital was out of operation, but he was confident that they would make the money back quickly. 

The suite was grand, with two adjoining bedrooms, two bathrooms (one with a large, jetted tub big enough to fit five people in), a living room area with a television and some kind of game console Tristan had never heard of, an extensive mini bar, and a small balcony. There were two twin beds in the smaller room, and a california king in the larger, and Tristan was pleased to see that the walls had been soundproofed. 

Diedrik still hadn’t spoken to him much in the last few days, and Tristan was beginning to feel discouraged. He had avoided the man as much as possible, except for a few brief and polite exchanges, usually at mealtimes with the family. It was lonely. 

After he’d tipped the bellboy, while the children were deciding which bed would be which, Tristan finally turned to Diedrik. “Listen, if I’m down at the park with the children and you and Kyrie are here enjoying each other or getting massages or something, and someone says ‘oh, what an adorable little girl, is this your daddy little girl?’ do I say yes? Do I say I’m the step father? Where do we stand on this?” 

What one of the Fisher Queens would have worn, Alberta Ferretti

The Fisher Queens were a legendary dynasty that ruled an equally legendary realm, the Realm of the Fisher Queens, in Essos. Their kingdom is said to have covered the lands adjoining the Silver Sea, a great inland sea located in what today is the Dothraki Sea, of which only three great lakes remain. They were one of the first civilizations of which there is any sort of record, even though these records are only legends transmitted through oral tradition, as their supposed existence predates written word.

ashie-babe  asked:

Can i get a scenario where Shiro's S/O has chronic nightmares and wake up in the middle of the night upset and shiro comforts her because he knows how it feels ?? thank u so much and keep up the great work ♥️

Shiro awoke to a muffled sob. He pushed himself out of your shared bed and scanned the room for you form after noticing that you were no longer next to him.

“Y/n?” He whispered.

The door of the adjoining bathroom opened up, almost hesitantly. You timidly walked into the room, flicking off the light switch, throwing the room onto darkness.

“Did I wake you?” You asked, stopping a few feet away from the foot of the bed.

“N-No,” Shiro said, stuttering when he saw a tear making the trek down to your jaw. 

“I think I’ll just go to the kitchen, try going back to sleep,” You said, crossing your arms, back hunched.

“Y/n, stay,” Shiro said, standing up.

He walked towards you and enveloped you in his arms. You pressed your face into your chest and he placed a kiss on your head.

“Nightmare?” He asked, as he pulled the both of you back towards the bed.

“Yeah,” You whispered, ducking your head as Shiro adjusted his arm around you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shiro inquired.

“I’d rather not, Shiro,” You replied, nuzzling your face into his neck.

“Okay, y/n,” Shiro said.

You mumbled a quiet ‘Thank you,’ and Shiro closed his eyes.

Ad Reinhardt  (American, 1913-1967)


Oil on canvas, 100.3 × 50.8 cm

© VG Bild-Kunst

Silence, timelessness, and concentration. Intense green and luminous violet pictorial elements hover radiantly in the centre of a dark ground. “The goal of art is art as art,” explained Ad Reinhardt laconically. He was not interested in a reciprocal interpenetration of art and life – the goal of many avant-gardists.

Keep reading

A Day Out

Type: Smut
Rating: Mature

Could you write a Brendon Urie (Panic! At The Disco) imagine? How about a day out with him, shopping, dinner, head back home and then a smut?

Brendon Urie imagine? Of him meeting your abusive ex and he wants you back? 

So I decided to combine the two requests and I hope you like how it turned out

I just come home from work and heaved a sigh of relief as I removed those God-be-damned heels. I made my way up to the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom with plans to just veg out. My boyfriend, on the other hand, had other plans. He came in from one of the other rooms just as I had gotten myself a towel and planted himself in my way. “Hi! What’re you doing?” He asked cheerfully. Before I could even open my mouth he spoke again, “Good because we’re going out!” He obviously assumed I was doing nothing, “Now change out of your work clothes and put on some jeans.” “Brendon, I just-” “Nope! No excuses! Now get changed.”

After putting on a black tee and my jeans on, I walked downstairs irritatedly and saw Brendon just standing there, smiling at me. I sighed inwardly knowing I couldn’t be mad at him for long. “So where are we going?” I asked as I reached him. “Out,” he stated and took my hand in his and pulled me to the car. “Out where exactly?” “Dinner.” I opened my mouth to say something else but stopped after thinking better of it. When we reached the restaurant, my jaw dropped. “Something wrong?” He asked as he looked to me. “I-i-it’s so fancy!” I stuttered out.” “I know. You don’t wanna eat here, do you?” “I have no problem eating here, Brendon. Its just, I’ve not dressed appropriately for a fancy restaurant, and neither are you.” I said after giving him a once over. “I know but whats the point of making memories with each other if we’re not gonna have fun? Now let’s go, I didn’t make a reservation for nothing.” He got out of the car and I followed. We got a table somewhere in the back that wasn’t too crowded and ordered something to drink. “How about we play a game?” “What kind of game?” I asked suspiciously. “A game where we make up stories  about all these people.their backstories, how they grew up, all that, y’know?” “Hmmm. Okay, since it’s your idea, why don’t you go first?”

“Sure. So see that guy over there?” He asked as he pointed to a short, chubby man who looked to be in his late 40’s. “Yeah. What about him?” “Well, I’d say he probably grew up in poverty and worked his way up the corporate ladder. And when he was, let’s just say 26, he got married and had 4 kids, all girls so he didn’t have an heir to his business. Now 20 years later, he’s ready to retire and eat caviar with his money.” I burst out laughing, “How creative.” “I know right,” he said smugly as he sat back in his chair. We spoke a bit more and then his phone rang. “I’ll be right okay. Don’t elope with anyone.” I rolled my eyes as I watched him go outside to answer the call but smiled as well before scrolling aimlessly through my phone. I heard the chair scrape back a while later, “That was-” I cut myself off as I looked up and gasped. “Hey, baby girl. Miss me?” He asked with that same sickening smirk he had whenever he had laid his hands on me.

Brendon’s P.O.V

I had just hung up from the call with my publicist when I had entered the restaurant and had seen someone sitting across (Y/N). It was obviously someone she wasn’t very fond of as she had a look of disgust on her face. I walked forward to end the conversation when (Y/N) threw her drink into his face. The next second, he’s out of his chair, his hand around her throat. I run the rest of the distance and pull him off of (Y/N) and punch him in the face. He staggers a bit and I notice I managed to knock out a few teeth. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and ready myself to knock him out when I feel (Y/N’s) hand on my arm. “Don’t you fucking ever touch her again!” I spat and threw him to the ground. I grabbed (Y/N’s) hand and pulled her out of the restaurant and into the car. I didn’t say anything throughout the entire drive because I was still furious at the bastard. I heard (Y/N) gasp right before I could pull into the driveway. When the car stopped and we both got out, she grabbed my arm and pulled me inside to our bedroom. She went into the bathroom and brought out the first aid kit. I looked at her dumbstruck but she said nothing. She sat next to me and took my hand in hers and only then I noticed that my knuckles were bleeding. :It’s gonna sting a bit.” she warned. I nodded and she dabbed the gauze onto my knuckles. “Fucking hell! you said a bit!” I yelled as I attempted to pry my fingers from her hands.She didn’t let go and then blew on my knuckles to cool them down a bit. “Better?” she asked with a smile. I nodded and looked at her throat, his finger marks were still there. “It doesn’t hurt.” She said as she noticed where my gaze was aimed, “It should be gone by the morning.” I looked up at her, “Why didn’t you let me kill him? What did he want?” “I don’t want you in jail,” she said boldly and then muttered the second part. “What?” “He wanted me back.” She said, a bit louder this time. “Well, serves him right, trying to get something that doesn’t belong to him.” She arched her eyebrow, in what I assumed was amusement, “Oh really?” “Yeah, really, you’re mine….You know I wouldn’t do what he did to you, right?” “I know.” She said as she leaned over to kiss me.

(Y/N’s) P.O.V

His arms wrapped around my waist and he pulled me onto his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. I eased him onto his back with me still on top and pulled out of the kiss to remove his shirt and he rolled us over. He kissed me again, harder this time, before nipping at my jaw and sucking my neck. I moaned softly which indicated he was close to my sweet spot. He knew this and sucked even harder at the sensitive skin. He pulled away momentarily to remove my t-shirt and then trailed kisses to the cups of my bra. I arched my back and he slipped his hands under to unclasp the bra and throw it across the room before his mouth latched on to my nipple and he used his thumb and forefinger to roll and pinch my other nipple in his hand. 

He used his free hand to trail down my tummy and to my jeans and deftly undid the button and the zip. His mouth followed the trail of his hand and stopped at my pelvis, making me buck my hips in anticipation. I could feel his smirk on my skin as he pushed my jeans and panties off my legs in one swift movement. He sat up, in between my legs and ran his forefinger up and down my slit. “So wet already.” He said as he flicked my clit. “Brendon, please!” I cried out as my body writhed under his touch. “Please what, babe?” “Fuck me!” “In a bit.” He said before his mouth went to my core and he thrust his tongue into me. I cried out as my hands grabbed at his hair in an attempt to pull him closer. He used his hand to rub my clit and I could feel my orgasm growing closer. Within seconds I came and he lapped it up before sitting up, “God! You’re delicious!” I pulled his face to mine and kissed him roughly. I pulled my face away slightly to look at him, “Fuck me now!” i said breathily, “With pleasure.” He said before thrusting into me. I moaned loudly as I gripped and scratched at his back. His face was in the crook of my neck, nibbling on the skin and cursing and moaning. With each thrust he moved faster and brought me even closer to the edge. We both reached our orgasms together and he fell on top of me. One sweaty body meshing with another, his head on my chest and his arms around my waist. “I love you.” He murmured. “I know. I love you too.” I murmured as i ran a hand through his hair and we had soon fallen asleep

A/N: I hope this was good, especially the smut and to the anon who requested abusive ex, i’m sorry if it wasn’t what you expected, if you’d like i can make a seperate one for you.

This is mine and the poem cannot have it

Little cousin, there is no comfort
to be had here; there is no comfort.
Close your eyes–the world will not
be right tomorrow, but today
will be done with. Little cousin,
I remember him laughing…

Little cousin, this year seems built
for grieving–one crying room
adjoined to another.
Every week we add a chamber
of people on their knees.

Little cousin whose compass rose
has risen with no mind to north
now upward is an option–
Little cousin, when the mirror
breaks around you and every step
is sharp to a barefoot girl–
it’s okay to wait for next week
to bring you a broom.
It’s okay to start sweeping.

Little boy playing harmonica,
a dirge in the corner, offscreen,
with eyes stained the saintly color
of holy water: Come Home.

[Lucissa + kitten]

Lucius pushed open the door to the room he shared with Narcissa and stepped inside. He heard the shower running in the adjoined bathroom, and he saw her nightgown lying out on the bed. He sighed, thoroughly relieved to be home, and shed his cloak, hanging it up on the rack along the wall before making his way to the bed and lying down. He closed his eyes, planning to rest for a few moments and clear his mind before undressing. Not ten seconds had passed, however, when he felt a slight shifting on the bed beside him followed by a slight tugging at his sleeve.

He opened his eyes a crack to see a small ball of fluff batting at his arm. He’d kept his word to Narcissa about getting a cat, and she’d chosen Artemis, a purebred Himalayan kitten who had far more energy than Lucius was prepared to handle while he felt so physically and mentally exhausted. The kitten glanced at his face and then back to his hand, evidently trying to capture his attention as she nipped at his fingers.

“I’m not going to play,” he said, closing his eyes once again. He doubted Artemis would understand him, but saying nothing to her felt awkward. The sound of the shower water ceased. For a moment, there was stillness, and he wondered if the cat had abandoned her efforts.

Then he felt a tug, and his eyes snapped open as he realized Artemis was playing with and attempting to eat his hair.

“Would you stop that, please?”

He scooted over, trying to move from her reach, but she followed, her tail swishing as she chased him. Lucius realized a moment too late that the cat probably thought he was playing and had wanted her to follow, and he sighed. He reached up to lift the kitten from the bed and set her on his chest, running a hand over her soft fur.

“There. Now please hold still.”

A melodic laugh drew his focus, and he glanced to the doorway to the bathroom to find Narcissa watching him with a smile. She was dressed in her robe, and her hair was still wet and hanging loose around her shoulders. Lucius didn’t know exactly what he’d expected, but he was fascinated by how easily she’d adapted to pregnancy, moving as gracefully as she always had even when the baby’s due date was approaching rapidly. Lucius would’ve thought the swell the child inhabited would be at least somewhat difficult around which to maneuver, but if Narcissa thought so, she didn’t show it. She started toward the bed.

“She likes you,” said Narcissa, nodding toward the kitten.

“Mhm.” Lucius attempted to fight back the smile that threatened his lips, but he failed. Artemis struggled in his grip, attempting to wriggle free in the direction of Narcissa. Lucius glanced from his wife to the cat. “Fine, go see your mother.” He released the kitten, who plodded across the bed to paw at Narcissa’s arm when she was close enough and then plop down onto the nightgown she’d been preparing to grab. Narcissa shook her head, still smiling at the little animal, and lifted Artemis into her arms, pulling the kitten to her shoulder.

Lucius planned to focus on the moments like this, when things were peaceful and happy. No matter what else was to come or what was happening with his father, at least he had Narcissa. And, apparently, a ball of fluff with whom he now had to compete for her attention.

[x, chapter 15]

Lecavalier, 1,500 miles from home, picked out his bunk in the four-boys-to-a-room dormitory [at Athol Murray College of Notre Dame]. A few minutes later, Richards, 11 days younger and 400 miles farther from home, dumped his stuff on the adjoining bed.
—  And so it began [x]
Date _ closed

Continued from Here


“Oh yeah.” He bounced out of the car and around to Thomas’s side.”So first to ancient worlds then to badly painted infants.” He leads the way up to the entrance and pays the admission, refusing to hear any protests from Thomas then looks around. “This way!” He reaches out and grabs his hand, pulling him toward the exhibit- though not too fast or hard, more like gentle tugging of their adjoined hands. 

July 14th 1798  saw the first United States’ Consulate to Scotland established in Edinburgh. The Consul was Harry Grant from South Carolina – an appropriate choice, considering that state’s strong Scottish heritage. The first known address for the Consulate was 1 James’ Place, adjoining Leith Links — the street now known as Links Gardens. Since 1951 the Consulate has been housed in number 3 Regent Terrace.


Botticelli in Esztergom Hungary

The question was for long time in the air: is the frescoes found on the walls of the once upon a time stuiolod of John Vitez can be really attributed to Sandro Botticelli.
It has recently been stated by the Hungaian government that new financial sources have been provided for the completion of the restoration of the medieval castle complex in Esztergom, in particular that of the early Gothic castle chapel and the adjoining spaces, which are decorated with frescoes. The 14th century frescoes of the chapel as well as the late 15th century frescoes of the so-called ‘Studiolo’ have been under restoration since 2000 - an impossibly long time. With the new funds, the end maybe is in sight - the chapel will be accessible again as early as next Spring, while the frescoes of the Studiolo will be on view again in 2015.

Recently, most attention has been given to these Renaissance frescoes, following the sensational claim made by restorer Zsuzsanna Wierdl and art historian Mária Prokopp in 2007 that the figure of Temperantia from a series of the Virtues was painted by the young Botticelli, who was in Hungary during the 1460s. Although disputed soon after the announcement, the authors keep repeating this claim, which has been published in various places - including the acts of the 2007 conference on Italy and Hungary in the Renaissance, held at Villa I Tatti in Florence. I reported on this claim and some response it received in an earlier post. According to an article published this week in Hungarian daily Népszabadság, the authors claim that their attribution of the fresco to Botticelli has gained acceptance and has not been refuted until now. In fact, they now believe that all surviving figures of the Virtues can be attributed to Botticelli.