palm grease


Born on this day: April 12, 1940 - Jazz musician and composer Herbie Hancock (born Herbert Jeffrey Hancock in Chicago, IL). Happy 77th Birthday, Herbie!!

samhain | by ark | les miserables | enjolras/grantaire | canon era, holiday hijinks, les amis de l’abc | 1.7k | part 1

Grantaire is ready at the appointed hour, dressed all in black as instructed. He is fastening on a rather sweeping black cape when a firm rap sounds at the door.

“Coming, coming,” he tells the door, and jams his feet into boots. “This had best be worth the mystery, Jean. I do not enjoy surprises. I am told it is a personal failing and added it to the list I keep of them.”

When he swings open the door, it is not to admit Jehan Prouvaire. All of his friends stand ringed behind the portal. All wear black, and some are masked. But he would know Courfeyrac’s fiery mane at a distance, and the glint of Enjolras’ golden curls even in pitchy darkness.

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One Dynamite Gal

For xiphoa because you started it.

Athena strode into the Emporium O’ Stuff, smirking to herself. Janey was busy setting up her welding supplies, the mask precariously balanced on the top of her head. The blonde hummed cheerfully as she adjusted the setting on her butane torch, completely oblivious to the world, at least until she heard familiar footfalls.

“Oh, hey, ‘Thena. Got a job today?”

“Mhm. I thought I’d drop by before I headed out.”

“That was sweet of ya, ‘Thena. I’m glad you stopped by.”

The gladiator shuffled her feet, pausing to find her words, eyes darting around the shop.

“Oh, and Janey… You’re one dynamite gal.”

She leaned in and gave the taller woman a peck on the cheek before turning on the ball of her foot, ducking out of the shop before the other woman could register the gesture. Janey reached up, her fingers brushing the spot where the gladiator kissed her, smudging a bit of grease on the spot.

“Did I miss somethin’?”

Realization hit her like a moonshot. She flung aside her welding mask, tripping over power cords as she scrambled to catch up to Athena. The ex-Lancer was leaning against the shop’s front, right next to the image of the junker, arms folded over her chest. A smirk lifted one corner of her lips when she spotted her girlfriend.

“One dynamite gal, eh?”

“It was the best I could think of.”

“I like it, ‘Thena. But you are not goin’ on a job without this.”

She cupped Athena’s face in her palms, smudging grease over her girlfriend’s high cheekbones as she drew the other woman in close. She pressed her lips against the gladiator’s and managed to slip in a little tongue before Athena broke contact, her cheeks flushing.

“I think all of Concordia saw that.”

“No worries. Moxxi’s done worse. And, Athena, you’re real sexy when you smile.”

“Don’t make me regret taking this job, Janey.”

“Not-uh, you’re goin’ to work, ‘Thena. I will happily wait for later.”

A lopsided little smile formed on Athena’s lips. The blonde grinned at her and turned back to her shop. There was definitely a bit of a spring to her step. It took the ex-assassin a good while to wipe the smile off of her face. No one wanted to see a smiling merc (excluding Janey, of course). 

And with such..
My dove, always have I
thought you wonderful, an angel crested light in this world of greased palms and half shades; only as time passed however did I see the purity which fills your heart and floats across your face; a childish glisten of excitement and enrapturing beauty pitter pattering across the tiles of my memories, just as you pitter patter to feel pillows, a twist and turn here with a squeeze and grin there; All the while holding the worlds gaze.

And you must know, ever will I support you in your endeavors and dreams, anything which makes your heart swim and grin is something I will fight for; I just beg you to forgive me for at times drowning your excitement in swimming pools of caution; I come from a place where loss and unexpected harmfuls have creased and crowned even my brightest of joys..and never do I wish them to befall you. Never do I wish to see your lips pout, and tears pour like rivers from your gentle face. Should those dark days come though, you will always have a shoulder to lay on; and a parallel husband who would move mountains to the moon should you ask it of him.

For while our relationship unconventional in ways; and layered beyond which prying eyes would ever understand, ever do I hope to be able to call you honeypoo in quiet noons. Ever do I hope to be able to lay my eyes across you and speak in memories only we can decipher. You are a person, a someone who I never want to let fly from my timeline. Never do I want to refer to you as a past-been, a dream of a past year that’s now cracked and jaded. You are too special, too precious; an irreplaceable gem of lifted passion which gives me hope for me, for you, and for the future.

Love you I do like
the stars love the sky, love you I do like the quiet hugs the bound walls of libraries. Love you I always will like the first blossom of spring, and the snow which kisses your cheeks. Love you I have more than ever which will be quantified. Love. Love is what I am for you.

Now I hope this night to sail like a comet across the sky, and be truthful and sweet like a berry ready to eat. I hope this night to be best, and I hope you rest.
And babe, I miss you already; more with every tick tock of the grandfather clock of my mind. Hold you close I wish I could, always and forever.

—  Casual Vacant #Much More; Here Pt. 2/2
Niaau ਨਿਆਉ


ਦਰਸਨਿ ਦੇਖਿਐ ਦਇਆ ਨ ਹੋਇ
dharasan dhekhiaai dhaeiaa na hoe ||
Beholding the sight of the petitioner, compassion is not aroused.

ਲਏ ਦਿਤੇ ਵਿਣੁ ਰਹੈ ਨ ਕੋਇ
le dhite viN rahai na koe ||
No one lives without give and take.

ਰਾਜਾ ਨਿਆਉ ਕਰੇ ਹਥਿ ਹੋਇ
raajaa niaau kare hathi hoe ||
The king administers justice only if his palm is greased.

ਕਹੈ ਖੁਦਾਇ ਨ ਮਾਨੈ ਕੋਇ॥੩॥
kahai khudhaae na maanai koe ||3||
No one is moved by the Name of God. ||3||

The Heroes Gambit

Juggling a long con, several disguises and a chance at revenge,  Vox Machina’s second casino night may turn out to be much more lucrative than the first

For the CritRole Reverse Bang, to match @curriebelle​‘s beautiful art

It turned out slightly longer than 2,000 words. For ease of reading it is also on AO3

The Luck’s Run casino was always bustling. In the five days she’d been staying there, she had yet to see it truly in a lull. Tonight, though, it seemed as if half Marquet was pressed together on the floor. The promise of a new performer and a duel in the fighting pits tomorrow encouraged all kinds of people to part with their hard won coin.

She, on the other hand, was afforded a little more breathing space. Being a high roller and a valued client kept a seat reserved for her at her favored game and a bouncer’s discouraging eye on the riff raff - which was part of why she looked up in surprise when someone pulled out the seat beside her.

“Is the Lady feeling favorable tonight?” the intruder asked, his accent smooth and sounding of somewhere far away.

He was handsome and pale, with aristocratic features and a shock of white hair that stood out starkly against his clothing. If his accent hadn’t marked him as an outsider, his clothing would have; no one in Marquet wore black in such a way. Next to his monochrome appearance, the vivid blood red of her dress stood out even more.

“Avandra’s blessings are fleeting this evening,” she replied evenly, unsure whether the strange man was worthy of her time. “The goddess’s favour comes and goes at no one’s will.”

“So it always is with gods. But it’s your favour I’m devoted to earning.” His smile was charming enough and despite her better judgement, she warmed a little.

“Devoted, hmm?”

“Of course.” He glanced at the table and back at her, his gaze pausing on the neckline of her dress just long enough to be flattering before he met her eyes again. “After all, if I wish to play, it seems I am at your mercy.”

She chuckled and shrugged the fur stole from her shoulders, leaving her decolletage invitingly bare. “I do like a man who knows his place.” Tipping her head just slightly toward the table and the poised dealer, she indicated he should sit. “For the moment though, you may as well join the game.”

She waited until he’d pulled out his chair before holding out a hand to stop him. “You have played before?”

Rather than pause, he simply took her hand in his own as he sat. “Played and won. Might I know your name? Or shall I simply refer to you as the Goddess of Beauty?

That was laying it on a little thick, but she permitted herself a small smile. “Countess Velora Whitewood of Kymal.”

The name rolled easily off Vex’s tongue after five days of constant use.

“I am Frederick,” Percy said as he bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles through the gloves that Vex had worn to hide her archer’s calluses. “Delighted to meet you.”

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madqueenalanna  asked:

Hi Butterfly! What can you tell me about divorce and separation in Westeros? Is there legal divorce, or merely parting ways like Doran and Mellario? Would it be more possible to obtain a divorce for smallfolk or, say, a minor knight, than it would for a high lord? Would it be a legal matter (that is, could the king authorize a divorce) or would it always have to go through the Faith? Thank you!

When discussing the subject, GRRM says that “divorce simply isn’t common” in Westeros, which suggests that it does exist, but is very rare and may have certain requirements that most unhappy marriages do not qualify for. (Or perhaps it may only exist in places less controlled by the Faith of the Seven, similar to how in our world the Catholic church prohibited divorce in medieval Europe, though it had existed in Roman times and among Jews, etc.) But at any rate, the word “divorce” has never been used in the books, so I have zero details to give you regarding laws and such on that matter, I’m afraid.

However, there are two other options. The first appears to be some form of legal separation or estrangement. We have the example of Doran and Mellario, where after she became unhappy in the marriage and couldn’t bear living with her husband anymore, she returned home to Norvos. Which added to her unhappiness, since she had to leave her children behind – which suggests that either a father’s rights count for more than a mother’s in Westeros, or that because Doran was Prince of Dorne and their children were his heirs, Mellario simply wasn’t allowed to take them with her. (And definitely not Quentyn, as he had been fostered away with the Yronwoods, which was the original source of her distress.) Which isn’t to say that they couldn’t visit later (as Quentyn wishes he had) or were otherwise not permitted to see her, but they couldn’t live in Norvos with her. Note that Doran and Mellario must maintain some form of contact (though it may not be financial as she may be independently wealthy), as he sent Andrey Dalt to serve her in Norvos for three years. Also note that while Doran and Mellario are well-known to be separated, they are still legally married, as Tywin rejects Doran as a possible new husband for Cersei due to the fact that Mellario is still alive. And further note that Doran has not taken a paramour, even though in Dorne probably nobody would blink if he did.

Another estranged couple we know of is Balon Greyjoy and his wife Alannys Harlaw. This came about because of Alannys’s deep depression after the death of her elder sons in Balon’s rebellion, and the sending away of her youngest, Theon, as a hostage afterwards. Her pain was briefly eased when she fostered some boys at Pyke, but eventually her madness increased and her health decreased, and she returned home to her sister and brother at Harlaw. We don’t know how formal a separation it was, or if it was only an estrangement because of her health, as none of their relatives really seem to talk about them in connection with each other; only that Asha was somewhat surprised that Alannys outlived her husband in the end. Also while Balon could take a salt wife (and definitely did when he was younger), it’s interesting that no present one is mentioned by anyone during the course of the books.

And one more estranged couple – actually, two estrangements, in one of the otherwise longest and reportedly happiest and most loving marriages in all of Westeros, that of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen and his sister-queen Alysanne. While they were married in 50 AC and Jaehaerys became a widower around 100 AC, they were recorded to have been married only forty-six years. The discrepancy is due to the years of their separations, in the First and Second Quarrels. We don’t know what caused the First Quarrel or when it happened, though it must have lasted about two years; but the Second Quarrel began in 92 AC after Jaehaerys passed over his granddaughter Rhaenys in the succession (and Alysanne said if he considered women of less use, then he didn’t need her either), and lasted until 94 AC when they were reconciled through the efforts of their daughter Septa Maegelle. Anyway, the fact that history books exclude the years of the Quarrels from the length of Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s marriage tells us that the estrangements must have been formal and legal separations of some kind, even if we don’t know the details as such. (GRRM will probably give more info in Fire and Blood, whenever that comes out.)

The other option to end a marriage is through an annulment. In the books, this is known as putting a marriage aside, or having it undone or dissolved, and legally means that it never happened at all. We actually have quite a lot of data for this:

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‘In every city where a kaiju has made landfall, there’s a guy like him: the guy who shows up just after the kaiju has gone down, greases palms, makes sure the authorities look the other way long enough for people- the right people- to get to work… And the godfather of that industry was Hannibal Chau.’

anonymous asked:

How useful are the cops to spies? If it's a big organization, I'm assuming they'd be more useful,because the spy organization has more resources and money to grease palms with,but what about compared to a lone spy,or even just a few spies?Let's say they have similar goals, but not much money-are the cops a help,or a hindrance?Is staying in one city a bad idea, or a good one? (I'd assume a bad idea, but let's say they're stuck or they need to keep that city theirs.)How much does being a spy cost?

How useful? For the spy, it depends on what they’re doing and where they are. For the police? No.

For a spy, local police can be useful, because they’re gathering information as part of their natural activities. If the spy can gain access to that information, then that’s free legwork. They can also be useful as an environmental hazard, for dealing with other spies or criminals. Simply pumping a couple rounds into the street and calling in the gunshots can get the police crawling all over a place. Which is one way to make life very unpleasant for a hostile agent.

That said, a spy has nothing to offer the police. In the US, anything a spy turned up would be inadmissible in a civilian court. Spies, by nature of their job, break the law on a regular basis. After all, this is their job.

Criminal investigations are highly scrutinized as part of the trial. You can’t just sneak in a, “and then a spy broke into his place, stole all this relevant evidence and gave it to us.” You need to establish a clear chain of evidence, from how the police learned of the evidence’s existence, to how they obtained it,and a physical record of everyone who handled it while in department custody.

A spy can break into his place, steal evidence, and then use it blackmail him. That’s different. But that doesn’t help the police at all.

Also, generally speaking, the cops aren’t going to be bribing people. While there is such a thing as a paid informant, these aren’t particularly valuable, and are prone to inventing information to get paid, rather than actually reporting what they see.

But, police, as part of an investigation? They’re not going to offer bribes. Threats and intimidation? Those are still on the table, and if they want to get someone talking they have a lot of coercive options. The courts frown on some of these, but ultimately, they have far cheaper means of getting people to open up than coughing up cash.

They might accept bribes to look the other way, depending on the officers, and where you’re talking about. But, that’s an entirely different situation.

A spy on the other hand, might have to resort to bribery to get the access they need. This is highly contextual, based on exactly who they’re interacting with, and what they’re trying to get. This can even include police. A spy might know a cop, who for $200 will plant drugs on a hostile agent, or give them a copy of the police report for the shooting last night. It really depends on what they need, and who can get them that.

As for mobility? That depends on the spy’s cover and what they’re doing. A spy who spends their days working as a foreign corespondent for a major media network, or as a consultant for a financial NGO could spend a lot of time on the road. One that runs a restaurant downtown, across the street from a foreign embassy might never leave town.

A spy who’s cover is working for the state department as a “security adviser” with diplomatic immunity could be anywhere in the world on any given day. 

How much it will cost is also going to be highly dependent on what your spy is doing. Really, there’s no way to generalize this. The monthly expenses of someone who is running a barber shop, with a surveillance suite upstairs is completely inconsistent with someone who has been in 15 different countries in the last 60 days for the WHO.


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Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #99

My friends—well, the few who are still alive—see me as the right person to call when they have to translate a 250 page volume from Enochian, want to find a quick and efficient method to kill creatures as diverse as Wendigos, White Ladies or Werewolves, or in need of some professional advice for summoning demons with minimal risk. That’s who I am, a Man of Letters, the intellectual of the batch, the brains (god, I hate this embarrassing nickname). I had no idea however, I was also perceived as some kind of authority when it came to reasoning with troubled teenagers because of everything I had lived through in my younger years. And, as surprising as it may seem, same goes for Dean, apparently.

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Hillary Clinton: You're With Her?

- Former Republican who has the audacity to question whether Bernie Sanders, who is more liberal than her, is actually a Democrat.
- Opposed marriage equality until 3 years ago and is now all of a sudden a civil rights “champion” in the eyes of her donors. In fact, her husband signed DOMA.
- Voted in favor of the Iraq War.
- Used the Sandy Hook Massacre as a political prop to disingenuously smear Bernie Sanders.
- Is “for the fight for 15” but only wants a $12 minimum wage.
- Was outspoken about how she opposed Obamacare in 2008 but now is all of a sudden all for it and LOOOVVVEEESSSS President Obama.
- Was FOR universal health care until her palms were greased by the health care industry. Now universal health care is “unrealistic”.
- Hillary Clinton once said “since when do democrats attack other democrats on Universal health care?” but constantly attacks Bernie Sanders on universal health care.
- Says we can’t afford free college and free health care but is okay with a trillion dollar unwinnable war.
- Won’t release her Goldman Sachs transcripts.
- Is gonna tell the big banks on Wall Street to “cut it out”.
- Received MILLIONS in speaking fees (bribes) for speeches given to big banks.
- Earned $27 million dollars in a single year yet is going to stick it to the 1%.
- Was cool with Obama’s immigration policy but now they’re “too harsh”.
- Is a self proclaimed progressive….and also also self proclaimed “moderate”.
- Blamed home buyers for the 2008 crash and NOT shady Wall Street practices. Then in 2015 blamed Wall Street.
- NAFTA? She was all for it. Fuck our jobs, right? Now states she was against it the whole time.

You’re With Her?

ANASTASIAOFRP makes a Masterlist - Words that have no English Translation - requested by anon

↳ As a native English speaker who speaks other languages, I find it difficult translating other languages to English, often finding that the word they use doesn’t quite exist in the English language.

Here is a list of (40) words in other languages that have no English Translation - but are explained to the best of an English speaker’s ability.

Labeled 1-40, includes the word, the native language of the word, and a description or translation of the word.

Enjoy under the cut.

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I’ll Be A Gun (And It’s You I’ll Come For) - Chapter 1

by Archetype_ElectraHeart // pepperpottsblogs

At first, Darcy thought she was hungover. The kind of epic, dry-mouth, gritty-eyed, pounding-headache type of hangover that she could usually blame on Clint or Tony.

But then she registered the tang of copper in her mouth and the cold, pocked surface of concrete under her shoulder and an odd, metallic weight on her ankle and reconsidered.

Darcy cracked open one eye and peeked around. Concrete cell, chain around her left ankle. No windows, single door.

All she could do was wait.


The next time Darcy woke up it was because someone had opened the door, which emitted a metallic screech.

Darcy was preparing a quip about greasing palms or oiling hinges when the man (in tac gear, fully armed, combat boots) produced a syringe and pressed it into her neck.

God. Damnit.


When Darcy came to again she was strapped into a medical chair (she tugged at the straps and bucked against them and had to conclude that they were, indeed, solid restraints) in a brightly lit and sterile-looking room. There was a tray of surgical instruments (sadly out of reach) to her right and an IV bag full of some weird blue substance labeled CPH4 (synth.) to her left.

She craned her neck around to get a better view of the room and spotted the skull-octopus nonsense that HYDRA had designed for a logo (and really could they not afford a better graphic artist?) on the back wall.

Darcy thought, for a moment, through the possibilities implied by her current situation and could come to only one conclusion.

I am royally fucked.

[DMMD Fic] Amusement (Noiz/Aoba)


Word count: 2,500

Summary: Written for my secret santa Aobaseragakii, with the prompt calling for an amusement park date. Takes place after Noiz’s good route.


    Aoba’s first thought when Noiz takes him to an amusement park is what will happen if Noiz sets off the metal detector–and how he’ll explain why. His second is that he’s not entirely sure he wants to go on a roller coaster with four loops.

     Mostly though, he dwells on the first. It’s enough of a burden on his mind when Noiz asks whether or not he’s excited. Aoba lets his thoughts tumble out in a not-quite-coherent way that leaves Noiz looking at him like his head is busted for one, two, three seconds before that dumb half-interested smirk curves his lips.

“Well if it’s a problem, I’m sure I can make them see it my way.”

“Okay first of all, I don’t know if you mean whipping it out, or greasing their palms with money,” Aoba starts, “And secondly, both of those will definitely get you kicked out before we even get in.”

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eruri week day 1 - post ACWNR

“It was the Titans. I know. Save it,” Levi’s anger softens and melts into despair as they ride back, sun sinking shamefacedly below the mountains. “It was the Titans, and you and I aren’t to blame. I get it.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Erwin brings his horse closer, dust stirring aggressively under their feet. “I was going to ask something. Why are you following me?“

“Why do you care?” Levi wipes the froth off his horses’ neck. “I won’t betray you or nothing. Don’t fret your ass about that.”

“But why?” Erwin crimps his mouth, frowns as his hair is whipped back by the dirty, hot wind. “Have you suddenly converted to the cause? Are my words so powerful?”

The cause? Levi cannot give less of a shit. The Titans, yes, he hates them and he will kill every one his eyes set upon but the cause? Humanity? When had he cared about anybody’s skin except his own when the consequences of caring were staining the battlefield behind him red with old blood and discarded heads. What damn cause did he care for? Why did he follow this man and his white horse and his serious eyes?

“I don’t know, damn it,” Levi grinds out his words like gravel. “Stop asking me.”


He’d gone to Sina for Levi’s arrest warrant to be revoked, threatened lives and lied, searched back woods and government facilities and storage ships. He’d saved Levi’s world a hundred times over. With every time he kneels to a noble and greases a palm he thinks of Levi’s unrelenting fury, his calculated precision in cutting out any threat.

“What were you doing down in Sina?” Levi asks. “You took so long, the trainees’ arses are itching.”

“My family lives in Sina.” Erwin tells the truth in order to not let Levi hear the barer truth. “My mother and sisters.”

It comes again, to Levi. The longing to be a follower.

“I’m tired,” he hums. Looks at the sweat on Erwin’s temples.

“Of? Of the Corps?”

“No.” Levi slumps down straight onto the floor, ugly and crumpled. “Of leading. Of being a leader. I’d led Farlan and Isabel. Captain Smith -”

“You’ll lead,” Erwin says too sincerely and he smiles sideways, looking at Levi with such raw affection that his chest tightens. “You’ll lead teams and squadrons. You’ll do it ever so well.” 

“Ah,” Levi says after a moment, composing himself and pressing hand upwards to the kneeling Erwin’s shoulder that offsets his cool tone. “we’ll see.”



Then, in the threshold of the bathroom with the knife lying still on the tile behind them, he’d held Levi’s arms by his sides, fought the urge to shake him. He’d wanted to ask that laundry list of questions used in school. Who, what, where, when, why. Erwin wanted to ask how Levi would have calmly watched his own face in the mirror as he prepared to take his own life, the same one he’d saved a hundred times over. He wanted to ask why, why, why would he do this to him (and the Corps!) to himself, to them?

“Please,” Levi said, before Erwin could get anything out. His eyes were pale and focused on his face. “let’s discuss this later.”

“Your friends are dead. And you wanted to join them, did you not?“

He watched Levi pick up the knife and lock it back in it’s sheathe. He watched Levi like he was a subtle, lethal thing.


Levi looks up at him, searching, untethered by the way Erwin kept his hands in the open space between them.

“I had to try, Erwin,” he whispers. “I owe them at least that.”

“No. Why?” Erwin grits his teeth and clenches his eyes shut. “Tell me why, that day -”


“You are never a cryptic man, Levi, tell me why.”

He remembers again, obliquely and out of context, kneeling below Levi on the bloody ground.

“I must know. Levi, I must know.” Erwin’s eyes are darting, flinty in the half-light. If he squints he could pretend he doesn’t know Levi. He is a murky figure, breathing shallowly.

“Because of you,” Levi starts, his mind catching like a dirty record. “Damn. because I wanted to follow you. You were all I saw, the damn sun rising behind you, like… like you took me out of something I had buried myself within. And my friends were dead and I was done for and all I could think of was that I had sliced your palm. So I followed you. It’s like if I drank poison, then coughed it back up - sickly sweet with a forever aftertaste. I taste your words every day. Because I tried to kill you, I tried to shit on your dreams and I didn’t give a fuck about your Corps and all you did was comfort me on that damn battlefield and you brought me home. I follow your damn corps only for you, you - and I forgot that today. You could have left me for dead a hundred times but you saved me. I should be dead, but you fucking…”

“Then follow me, Levi -” Erwin urges. The hottest flames are blue.

“For life,” Levi whispers.

“Remember that,” Erwin says. Levi grips his hand like an iron lifeline.