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witherby · 14 days ago

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SORRY IF THIS IS TOO LONG EL forgeting about my last idea since its kind of generic (this one is also but whateverrrrrhahahsg)

so you know Starfire is an alien right?(tamaranean) how about something where reader is a sort of alien too? (x damian too bc im starting to hyper fixate on him) and like they meet as Damian does patrolling/a mission, kind of how Dick and Star met!!

ill leave if up to there and if you like it!! ANYWAY HI EL!!

—🦈

HI SHARKY.

I was gonna finish writing the vampire!Jason prompt but I saw this and immediately fell into a fugue state instead. When I came out, it was with this. I hope you like it 🩷

Flight of Fancy

Damian Wayne x Winged!Reader

Featuring: language barriers (gibberish), a shoulder wound, and a kiss.

It had started out as a routine track-and-report mission. Damian was supposed to investigate the suspicious cargo shipments in Gotham Harbor, try to figure out what was being delivered, and come back to the Cave with his findings.

Tim's bet was human trafficking. Dick's was illegal arms dealing. Jason's was drugs. Damian guessed poaching. Bruce wanted them to stop making bets about what horrible thing of the week was going on and please focus on getting the task done.

(Bruce was just upset that he wasn't allowed to bet anymore because he kept winning.)

As the night drags on and the boredom starts to creep in, Damian wonders if the ship sitting on the loading dock is actually conducting legal business for once. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened, and it would mean less follow-up work to do.

"Red Robin," Damian mutters into his comm, "there's been no activity for three hours. I'm about to declare this endeavor a wasted one and return to base."

"Copy," Tim says in his ear. "There's no spooky stuff happening on the computer, either. Give it ten more minutes and then come back."

"Understood." Damian shifts on his perch — an unsurveilled roof of a tailoring shop — and casts his gaze along the area for the thousandth time that night.

Cold, choppy waters, devoid of any suspicious activity. Dock workers walking around and doing their jobs as they chatter and whistle amongst each other, devoid of any suspicious activity. The cargo ship that docked an hour ago, devoid of any suspicious —

Well. It wasn't suspicious until he realized that the distant ringing he's heard all night wasn't interference from the dinky, little radio one of the workers has been using to blast old, jazzy tunes, but a shrill crying noise coming from the ship. A normal person wouldn't even be able to detect it, but years of training with the League taught Damian to filter and identify any and all noises he picks up automatically.

"Red Robin. I've identified a potential trafficking situation. Stand by."

"Copy. Standing by," Tim says. "Ready to dispatch EMTs on your word and receive that fifty bucks when you get back."

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, grappling down the building and taking cover in the shadows, maneuvering his way around the harbor men and onto the ship without a sound.

The closer he gets, the louder the crying becomes. He can tell it's just one person making the sound, and that they seem to be locked in one of the titanium crates on the back of the ship. It's child's play to locate the right one and pop the lock open with the small hand laser from his tool bag.

The second it's gone the lid flies open, and Damian gets knocked down by someone he can only describe as ethereal.

You are a collection of stand-out features. Glowing, bright eyes. A wild mane of hair. Well-tailored, form fitting robes. And a huge, breathtaking pair of white wings, that unfurl from your back and shake out into their full width with barely a whisper of sound.

You're bleeding, Damian realizes belatedly. You're bleeding gold. It drips from a wound in your shoulder, running down the sleeve of your robe and soaking the fabric. Small beads trail down your fingertips and stain his chest where you're using your weight to pin him to the ground.

"Whoa," he mutters, because that's the only thing in his mind. Just. Whoa.

You furrow your brow and glare at him, muttering something in a dialect he doesn't understand. The confusion on his face must be evident, because you quickly become frustrated.

"Ira neshmi le-hyr!" You demand, waving the wrist of your other hand in his face, which has a LexCorp-branded tracking bracelet on it. There are faint scratch marks around the skin where you obviously tried to pry the device off.

"Robin? What's the situation? Am I dispatching EMT?" Tim's voice sounds in his ear, startling Damian into taking full stock of the situation again. He blinks a few times, picking up on bootsteps approaching his location, your increasing franticness from where you're knelt above him, and the riskiness of what he's about to do.

"No EMTs," Damian says, reaching for the handheld laser again. He holds it up for you to see, then gestures to your wrist.

You hesitate for only a moment, then offer him your arm and watch him slice the bracelet off and pocket it. With a quick sleight of band, he presses a tracker of his own into the sleeve of your robes, then urges you to get off him.

"Bad people are coming," he says, gesturing to the shadows of figures he can see getting closer. "You should come with me. I can get you somewhere safe."

You stare at him like you don't understand what he's saying. He lets out a frustrated sigh. There's no time for this.

"Me. You. Come with me. That way." He gestures to you, then himself, then points in the direction of the Bat Cave with urgency.

Your eyes dart to where he points, then you nod. He's about to try to figure out how to pantomime you tucking your wings in so you can sneak around better, but you stride forward, wrap your arms around his waist, and use them to take off into the air. Damian clings to you and yelps, drawing the attention of the men on the ship. There's a cacophony of shouting down below that quickly grows faint the farther away you fly.

"The package is escaping!! Someone call the boss!"

"Do we shoot it down?"

"No, you idiot! We need it alive! We'll track it down —"

The rest of their words are lost to the wind. Damian holds onto you with white knuckles and refuses to look down. It's too dark and too smoggy in Gotham to look up at the stars, so the only other thing to observe is you.

If he thought you were stunning on the ground, you're something else in the air. The wind pushes your hair around and out of your face, revealing small markings around your cheeks and eyes. The light your wings catch makes them almost glitter with every beat as you propel the two of you onward. Briefly, you travel over a more illuminated section of the city, which make your eyes look like little constellations.

He's utterly captivated.

"Nirr'm? Luola stesh?" You try to ask him, directing your gaze to him. Damian has no idea how to answer a question he can't understand, so he just points to the ground.

You scan around for a secluded spot to land and gently coast to the ground, setting him down. Damian locks his knees to keep them from buckling and takes several slow, deep breaths.

"I can't understand you," he says after a moment. You furrow your brows again. "And based on your expression, it's vice-versa."

"Robin, come in!" Tim says in his ear, and, oh, he'd forgotten that he stopped responding for ten minutes. "I'm tracking your location and it says you're four miles away from the harbor? What's your status? Do I need to send Batman in for backup?"

"Negative, do not send backup. Don't send EMTs, either."

"You said there was a trafficking situation?"

"Yeah," Damian says, "metahuman trafficking. Don't send anyone until I can figure out how to communicate that they wouldn't be a threat."

"Communicate? What, they don't speak any of the thousand languages you know?"

Damian doesn't respond.

"Oh, shit. Okay. Standing by."

While he'd been talking to Tim, you had inched your way closer and closer to Damian. When he focuses on you again, he almost flinches back after finding you less than a foot away. You perk up when you notice him give you attention and lift your hands up, curling them around his shoulders.

"Um," he mutters, "what are you doing?"

"De-ad'nin," you say, leaning closer. Your eyes don't leave his. "Hmnik?"

"I don't...I can't understand you," he says again. You're waiting for him to do something, he can tell that much. He just doesn't know what you want.

You lean in even more, practically sharing breath. Damian can feel his cheeks warming, but curiosity overwhelms the impropriety, so he doesn't move away. You seem to take this as some sort of permission.

Closing the gap, you press your mouth to his, and Damian freezes.

Soft, he thinks. Your lips are soft. His hands twitch at his sides as he fights the urge to grab your waist, but you have no such reservations as you press yourself practically flush against him and prod at the seam of his mouth with your tongue. A frankly embarrassing whine leaves him, but Damian relents and starts kissing you back with the same level of enthusiasm you show him. Even though his gloves, he can tell that your hair is ridiculously soft as he runs his fingers through it. He's briefly lost in a flurry of sensations, overwhelmed by you, and just when blood starts redirecting itself to other places, you pull away again and clear your throat.

"You helped me," you murmur, slowly and steadily, like you're testing out the words as you say them. "You set me free. Thank you."

"...you're...welcome?" Damian pants, his mind still a little gooey. "Wait, that's English. You're — did you kiss me to learn English?"

"I did," you smile. "I needed to convey my gratitude in your common tongue. I hope I didn't offend you."

Offend was definitely not the word to use. He gently pulls his hands from your hair, but you make no move to separate, so he settles them on your waist instead.

"You're wounded," he says, tipping his head in the direction of your shoulder. The bleeding has slowed, but not stopped. "Let me take you somewhere to get that wrapped."

"Take me where?" You ask. "Not back to the laboratory?"

"No." He doesn't know what lab you're talking about, but he knows he would never willingly put you back in Luthor's hands. "A cave. It has a medical ward where you can have that cut stitched closed."

You seem to give it some thought, idly playing with the hair at the nape of Damian's neck. It takes so much more effort than he anticipates not to melt into it. Your bare skin against his almost burns. You're exceptionally warm, near-feverish.

"Yes," you eventually agree. "You are..." You tilt your head as you search for the right words to use. "Trustworthy. I will go with you there."

Damian relaxes. He presses a finger to his comm.

"Red Robin, send the Batmobile to my location for extraction. I'm bringing the metahuman to the Batcave."

#el speaks #winged reader au #damian x reader #damian wayne x reader #🦈

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stumpyjoepete · 4 months ago

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Thinking a bit more about Megalopolis (see prev post). It's not really the case that the script is as disjointed or schizophrenic as my post makes it out to be. The central plot is pretty simple: an egotistical city planner has an ambitious and futuristic vision for redeveloping the city, and he butts heads with the Mayor and others who oppose him in this. He ultimately succeeds in building his utopian "megalopolis". Everyone is happy, the end.

And yet.

There's this... intense centrifugal force that prevents everything from cohering into a unified whole. It's like a puzzle where all the pieces are cut from the same picture, but upon closer inspection, no two pieces quite fit together. Or like that collection of nonsensical objects. A fork where the tines and the handle are connected by a chain. A watering can with the spout facing the wrong way. A quick glance leaves you confused, and that confusion is only deepened by further contemplation.

I think this is especially clear in the pseudo-intellectualism of the title cards, narration, monologues, and quotations/references:

Laurence Fishburne does this heavy-handed narration at the beginning and end of the movie (and several random points in between). And there are these associated title cards that look like they were made by applying an "Ancient Rome" theme to some PowerPoint slides. "Or will we too fall victim, like old Rome, to the insatiable appetite for power of a few men?" My brother in Christ, you are making a movie where the hero is named Cesar, and the happy ending is when he successfully pulls a Robert Moses. This is not a story about power corrupting or good intentions going awry. What are you doing???

Cesar Catilina interrupts Mayor Cicero's speech (where he is introducing a plan to build a casino) in order to lay out an early plan for "megalopolis", which is an ambitious and long-term alternative to the (short-term) casino plan. He prefaces his megalopolis pitch by reciting the Hamlet soliloquy. What exactly does Coppola think "To Be Or Not To Be" is about? He must thinks it means, "I am a dark and brooding bad-boy intellectual", since it's hard to see how "I'd like to kill myself, but I fear death" fits into an argument about the importance of long-term thinking in urban planning.

Cesar says several negative things about "civilization". "[Imagine] humanity as an old tree with one misguided branch called civilization... going nowhere." (Shot of notebook shows an illustration with 'war' and 'cruelty' offshoots from said branch.) "Emerson said the end of the human race will be that we'll eventually die of civilization." (Note: unsourced, probably fake quote.) "Civilization itself remains the great enemy of mankind." Umm... you're an urban planner! You're doing a high modernism. What exactly does it mean for you to call civilization the enemy? Is "megalopolis" somehow anti-civilization because it looks like a Georgia O'Keefe painting instead of a bunch of straight lines and right angles? Will the "war" and "cruelty" branches wither and die when buildings have labia?

Also, there's this amazing line read that completely inverts the meaning of a fake Marcus Aurelius quote (the quote was attributed to him by Tolstoy but is not actually something he said). "The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape... finding yourself in the ranks of the insane." Why did you put in that pause??? Fake Marcus Aurelius is turning in his grave! You're supposed to be fleeing FROM the ranks of the insane! I suppose this isn't really inconsistent with the characterization of Cesar, it's just such a fucking batshit thing to say.

All of the cargo-cult intellectualism listed above could perhaps be excused if the vision that the film is supposedly about had any content whatsoever. Or, alternatively, if the movie was about something more substantive, and the vacuous megalopolis vision took place off-screen in an epilogue, like the "happily ever after" of a children's story. But no! The movie repeatedly interrupts the plot to grab you by the shoulders and scream in your face: "I have a vision! For the future!". And then--now that it has your undivided attention--it shits the bed like a man who has just polished off an entire bag of sugar-free gummy bears and washed them down with a fistful of Ambien:

"Conversation isn't enough. It's the questions that lead it to the next step. But initially, you have to have a conversation. The city itself is immaterial, but they're talking about it for the first time. And it's not just about us talking about it. It's the need to talk about it. It's as urgent to us as air and water."

"Mr. Catalina, you said that as we jump into the future, we should do so unafraid. But what if when we do jump into the future, there is something to be afraid of?" "Well, there's nothing to be afraid of if you love, or have loved. It's an unstoppable force. It's unbreakable. It has no limits. It's within us. It's around us. And it's stretched throughout time. It's nothing you can touch. Yet it guides every decision that we make. But we do have the obligation to each other to ask questions of one another. What can we do? Is this society, is this way we're living, the only one that's available to us? And when we ask these questions, when there's a dialogue about them, that basically is a utopia."

After the revolution, we won't have conflicts anymore; we'll have dialogue instead. We won't have a need for the "jobs" and "sanitation" of "now"; we'll have the "imperishable" "dreams" of "forever". We won't have problems that need solving; we'll all be too busy asking each other questions. Now, if everyone could just shut up and get the hell out of the way and let Cesar implement his vision, then "everyone" will soon be "creating together, learning together, perfecting body and mind." A chorus of children's voices gradually morphing into Laurence Fishburne's, chanting, "One Earth, indivisible, with long life, education and justice for all." It's eschatological anti-politics made entirely from cotton candy. Please, for the love of God, stop making Adam Driver monologue at me! Let's get back to Aubrey Plaza stepping on horny fascist Shia LaBeouf!

The incoherence of Megalopolis's vision is compounded by how anachronistic its depiction of our fallen world is. There are some half-hearted (and ham-fisted) gestures in the Clodio sub-plot towards the dangers of Trumpian populism, but the script was first written in the 80's, and it's extremely obvious that Coppola is writing about New York City in the preceding several decades. The city's finances are in dire straights. (There's literally a "Ford Tells City: Drop Dead" reference!) The city is full of slums, the streets are full of crime, and the elites are all decadent. (For Coppola, decadence means that ladies are doing cocaine and smooching each other in the cluh-ub.) The main character is Neo-Roman Robert Moses, and the conflict of the film is about urban renewal. In case you, like Mr. Coppola, have not been made aware, slum clearance is not a major political issue in 2020's Manhattan.

Two thirds of the way through the movie, a falling Soviet satellite provides a deus ex machina, blowing up the financial district and clearing space for megalopolis to take its place. Ironically, a previous attempt to produce the film came to its abrupt end when two planes flew into some buildings in the financial district. Perhaps you heard about it. The financial backers of the film at the time considered Megalopolis's plot a bit too close to current events for comfort and withdrew their support.

But Coppola's depiction of Manhattan was already decades out of date by then. Moses stepped down in '60. Jacobs' book railing against urban renewal came out in '61. The Power Broker came out in '74. One presumes popular opinion of Robert Moses soured in the following years. The crisis of the city's finances that peaked in '75 was over by '81 when NYC balanced its budget and reentered the bond market. The crime wave of the 70's and 80's had receded by the year 2000. The demand for housing in NYC proper is as high as it ever has been, and it's only getting higher. Megalopolis imagines America as an incoherent mishmash of several decades of mid-century NYC, dressed up in the toga of the late Roman Republic, calling out for (Robert) Moses to part the slums and take us into a promised land that is literally beyond any description, and whose only concrete feature seems to be glowing people-movers.

A Robert Moses with the power to stop time, at that!

Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Cesar discovers he has the power to stop time in the opening scene of the film. I forgot because it's literally irrelevant to the plot. Time stops a few times, and then it starts back up again, and the events of the film just plod inexorably forward. For a movie as temporally dislocated as Metropolis, perhaps that's just as well.

#megalopolis

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

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The tax sharks are back and they’re coming for your home

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TODAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

One of my weirder and more rewarding hobbies is collecting definitions of "conservativism," and one of the jewels of that collection comes from Corey Robin's must-read book The Reactionary Mind:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Reactionary_Mind

Robin's definition of conservativism has enormous explanatory power and I'm always finding fresh ways in which it clarifies my understand of events in the world: a conservative is someone who believes that a minority of people were born to rule, and that everyone else was born to follow their rules, and that the world is in harmony when the born rulers are in charge.

This definition unifies the otherwise very odd grab-bag of ideologies that we identify with conservativism: a Christian Dominionist believes in the rule of Christians over others; a "men's rights advocate" thinks men should rule over women; a US imperialist thinks America should rule over the world; a white nationalist thinks white people should rule over racialized people; a libertarian believes in bosses dominating workers and a Hindu nationalist believes in Hindu domination over Muslims.

These people all disagree about who should be in charge, but they all agree that some people are ordained to rule, and that any "artificial" attempt to overturn the "natural" order throws society into chaos. This is the entire basis of the panic over DEI, and the brainless reflex to blame the Francis Scott Key bridge disaster on the possibility that someone had been unjustly promoted to ship's captain due to their membership in a disfavored racial group or gender.

This definition is also useful because it cleanly cleaves progressives from conservatives. If conservatives think there's a natural order in which the few dominate the many, progressivism is a belief in pluralism and inclusion, the idea that disparate perspectives and experiences all have something to contribute to society. Progressives see a world in which only a small number of people rise to public life, rarified professions, and cultural prominence and assume that this is terrible waste of the talents and contributions of people whose accidents of birth keep them from participating in the same way.

This is why progressives are committed to class mobility, broad access to education, and active programs to bring traditionally underrepresented groups into arenas that once excluded them. The "some are born to rule, and most to be ruled over" conservative credo rejects this as not just wrong, but dangerous, the kind of thing that leads to bridges being demolished by cargo ships.

The progressive reforms from the New Deal until the Reagan revolution were a series of efforts to broaden participation in every part of society by successively broader groups of people. A movement that started with inclusive housing and education for white men and votes for white women grew to encompass universal suffrage, racial struggles for equality, workplace protections for a widening group of people, rights for people with disabilities, truth and reconciliation with indigenous people and so on.

The conservative project of the past 40 years has been to reverse this: to return the great majority of us to the status of desperate, forelock-tugging plebs who know our places. Hence the return of child labor, the tradwife movement, and of course the attacks on labor unions and voting rights:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/06/the-end-of-the-road-to-serfdom/

Arguably the most potent symbol of this struggle is the fight over homes. The New Deal offered (some) working people a twofold path to prosperity: subsidized home-ownership and strong labor protections. This insulated (mostly white) workers from the two most potent threats to working peoples' lives and wellbeing: the cruel boss and the greedy landlord.

But the neoliberal era dispensed with labor rights, leaving the descendants of those lucky workers with just one tool for securing their American dream: home-ownership. As wages stagnated, your home – so essential to your ability to simply live – became your most important asset first, and a home second. So long as property values rose – and property taxes didn't – your home could be the backstop for debt-fueled consumption that filled the gap left by stagnating wages. Liquidating your family home might someday provide for your retirement, your kids' college loans and your emergency medical bills.

For conservatives who want to restore Gilded Age class rule, this was a very canny move. It pitted lucky workers with homes against their unlucky brethren – the more housing supply there was, the less your house was worth. The more protections tenants had, the less your house was worth. The more equitably municipal services (like schools) were distributed, the less your house was worth:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

And now that the long game is over, they're coming for your house. It started with the foreclosure epidemic after the 2008 financial crisis, first under GW Bush, but then in earnest under Obama, who accepted the advice of his Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner, who insisted that homeowners should be liquidated to "foam the runways" for the crashing banks:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/06/personnel-are-policy/#janice-eberly

Then there are scams like "We Buy Ugly Houses," a nationwide mass-fraud outfit that steals houses out from under elderly, vulnerable and desperate people:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/11/ugly-houses-ugly-truth/#homevestor

The more we lose our houses, the more single-family homes Wall Street gets to snap up and convert into slum properties, aslosh with a toxic stew of black mold, junk fees and eviction threats:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/08/wall-street-landlords/#the-new-slumlords

Now there's a new way for finance barons the steal our houses out from under us – or rather, a very old way that had lain dormant since the last time child labor was legal – "tax lien investing."

Across the country, counties and cities have programs that allow investment funds to buy up overdue tax-bills from homeowners in financial hardship. These "investors" are entitled to be paid the missing property taxes, and if the homeowner can't afford to make that payment, the "investor" gets to kick them out of their homes and take possession of them, for a tiny fraction of their value.

As Andrew Kahrl writes for The American Prospect, tax lien investing was common in the 19th century, until the fundamental ugliness of the business made it unattractive even to the robber barons of the day:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-04-26-investing-in-distress-tax-liens/

The "tax sharks" of Chicago and New York were deemed "too merciless" by their peers. One exec who got out of the business compared it to "picking pennies off a dead man’s eyes." The very idea of outsourcing municipal tax collection to merciless debt-hounds fell aroused public ire.

Today – as the conservative project to restore the "natural" order of the ruled and the ruled-over builds momentum – tax lien investing is attracting some of America's most rapacious investors – and they're making a killing. In Chicago, Alden Capital just spent a measly $1.75m to acquire the tax liens on 600 family homes in Cook County. They now get to charge escalating fees and penalties and usurious interest to those unlucky homeowners. Any homeowner that can't pay loses their home.

The first targets for tax-lien investing are the people who were the last people to benefit from the New Deal and its successors: Black and Latino families, elderly and disabled people and others who got the smallest share of America's experiment in shared prosperity are the first to lose the small slice of the American dream that they were grudgingly given.

This is the very definition of "structural racism." Redlining meant that families of color were shut out of the federal loan guarantees that benefited white workers. Rather than building intergenerational wealth, these families were forced to rent (building some other family's intergenerational wealth), and had a harder time saving for downpayments. That meant that they went into homeownership with "nontraditional" or "nonconforming" mortgages with higher interest rates and penalties, which made them more vulnerable to economic volatility, and thus more likely to fall behind on their taxes. Now that they're delinquent on their property taxes, they're in hock to a private equity fund that's charging them even more to live in their family home, and the second they fail to pay, they'll be evicted, rendered homeless and dispossessed of all the equity they built in their (former) home.

It's very on-brand for Alden Capital to be destroying the lives of Chicagoans. Alden is most notorious for buying up and destroying America's most beloved newspapers. It was Alden who bought up the Chicago Tribune, gutted its workforce, sold off its iconic downtown tower, and moved its few remaining reporters to an outer suburban, windowless brick building "the size of a Chipotle":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/16/sociopathic-monsters/#all-the-news-thats-fit-to-print

Before the ghastly hotel baroness Leona Helmsley went to prison for tax evasion, she famously said, "We don't pay taxes; only the little people pay taxes." Helmsley wasn't wrong – she was just a little ahead of schedule. As Propublica's IRS Files taught us, America's 400 richest people pay less tax than you do:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/13/for-the-little-people/#leona-helmsley-2022

When billionaires don't pay their taxes, they get to buy sports franchises. When poor people don't pay their taxes, billionaires get to steal their houses after paying the local government an insultingly small amount of money.

It's all going according to plan. We weren't meant to have houses, or job security, or retirement funds. We weren't meant to go to university, or even high school, and our kids were always supposed to be in harness at a local meat-packer or fast food kitchen, not wasting time with their high school chess club or sports team. They don't need high school: that's for the people who were born to rule. They – we – were meant to be ruled over.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/26/taxes-are-for-the-little-people/#alden-capital

#pluralistic #chicago #illinois #alden capital #the rents too damned high #debt #immiseration #chicago tribune #private equity #vulture capital #cook county #liens #tax evasion #taxes are for the little people #tax lien certificates #tax sharks #race #racial capitalism #predatory lending

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luxysims · 8 months ago

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Cargo pants - Men Essentials Collection

Hi! These are a cargo pants for the Men Essentials Collection 😊

I hope you like them! You have 10 swatches (different shades of denim). They are HQ compatible and can be found in the bottom section of the CAS.

DOWNLOAD [ EARLY ACCESS ] Public release june 22th

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azrielwingspan · 7 months ago

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RED SERPENT (Mob! Bucky x f!reader)

Summary: King and Queen of New York. The one who knows how to play the game, survives.

Warnings: Violence, mature content, sexual themes, foul language.

Disclaimer: I do not condone any of the actions written in this story.

You had always associated the colour blue with peace. Clear skies and vast oceans , their expanse making one seem insignificant. It grounded you and reminded you that there are greater forces at play.

That was a year ago.

Now, you associate the colour blue with James Bucky Buchanan Barnes.

King of New York.

The White Wolf.

Your husband.

Smoldering blue flames blazed in his eyes, all consuming and enrapturing. You were yet to figure out how they made you feel. For now, you watched as the steel blue gaze was directed at the man in front of him.

"This is the second time this month , Wilson. I'm going to give you a minute to explain." His tone indicated that he was anything but patient, brewing with explosive anger.

Sam Wilson was Bucky's head of security. His loyalty and discipline throughout the years was the only reason he was given time to explain himself. If it were anyone else, they'd be dead.

Reading the underlying threat in Bucky's words, Sam explained tensely, "There was a fire. Half the men were pulled to control it and the rest were reassigned. Whoever it was, struck then. The fire was the distraction."

A muscle ticked in Bucky's jaw as he restrained himself from lashing out. You sat by his side, ever the pretty wife, not moving an inch. Face devoid of any emotion, you leaned forward with feline like grace.

"Sam, how are you planning on luring the culprit?"

His eyes flicked to you, the slight relief passing through them not escaping your notice. You were far less intimidating than your darling husband. Albeit, far more venomous than anyone realized. One couldn't be married to a madman without having a certain...mental disposition.. as you liked to put it.

"We narrowed it down to Alexander Pierce. Haven't gotten the proof yet but his men's movements over the past few days suggest so."

"Interesting." you lean back in your seat, watching your husband from the corner of your eye. He seemed to calm down and collect his thoughts. Good.

That's how it had been over the past year. Bucky would lose his cool at the snap of a finger and you would garner attention in your direction to give him time to collect himself. A game. Every single moment of the day.

Power came to those who knew how to play the game.

"Did you deal with the police?" Bucky asked finally, his voice steady.

"Yeah, covered it up as a generator blast. Told our man in the department that we would deal with these fuckers on our own." Sam spat out, anger clouding his eyes.

Ugh, men. This was exactly what the other side wanted. Anger to cloud their vision.

Letting out a quiet sigh, you decided to intervene yet again. "Set up a bait."

Bucky's head finally snapped in your direction as you held back a smirk. You'd merely thrown a hint. They could build on it, couldn't they?

"That could work." Bucky said, his eyes roaming over your face. Turning back towards Sam, he continued "Another shipment scheduled a week from now. No product at all, just empty cargo. Increase security around the yard. Meanwhile, I'll redirect shipments and deal with the clients."

Sam nodded his head in agreement and stayed for a bit longer as the two smoothed out the plan. Not finding any reason to pipe in, you spent your time listening to them sipping on a glass of old fashioned.

After what seemed like hours, Sam finally left giving you a small nod in acknowledgement.

Silence ensued as Bucky got up with a groan and poured himself a glass of whisky.

Taking a sip, he smacked his lips before saying "You know the difference between you and me, Y/N?"

He took another sip of his whisky and flicked the glass with his other hand. “We’re drinking the same damn thing. The only difference is I like my whisky neat and you decorate it with fancy shit to make it seem more sophisticated.”

I scoff at his words, shaking my head in amusement. He continued on. “We’re the same, you and I. You hide behind a mask of false politeness and practised smiles. I don’t.”

“What is the point you’re trying to make, James?” you leaned your head back against the couch as the buzz from the alcohol settled into you.

“I must either be foolish or recklessly brave to have married a fucking serpent. You amaze me, Y/N.”

Letting out a genuine laugh at his choice of words , you tip back the rest of the drink, licking your lips as the bitterness leaves its mark behind. A warm hand encircles your hand partially as Bucky takes the glass from you and places it on the table.

Closing your eyes to lean your head back against the couch once more, you let your husbands cologne encompass you.

Let's get one thing clear.

You and Bucky weren't in love. No, this was purely transactional. You got along well , you were able to satisfy each others needs but love was an emotion that didn't come easy to either of you.

So, when his lips trailed soft kisses along your neck, the only emotion involved was lust. Letting out a soft sigh, your eyes still closed, you let yourself enjoy the feeling of his hands running across your body and his lips brushing underneath your jaw.

"You look devastating today." he whispered in your ear, nipping it lightly. Back slightly arching off the couch in pleasure, you turned your body towards his, looping your hands around his neck. "I hadn't noticed." you say breathlessly as his metal arm slips down the strap of your dress and your senses are at his mercy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping out of the steam bath, you put on a bath robe and start doing your skin care. Sleep was ready to take you under. Having sex with Bucky always tended to get you tired...not that you were complaining really.

Like he was summoned by your thoughts, Bucky walked into the bathroom with a somber face.

"What is it?" your hand was halfway to your face, focus honed in on your husband.

Not bothering to respond, he reached around you to grab the spare gun from the overhead cupboard.

"James."

No response yet again.

"JA--"

"Go to sleep." were the three words you got before he slammed the door to the bathroom and left you fuming in the silence of the house.

This. This was why you could never fall in love with him. No matter how good Bucky Barnes could fuck you, make you laugh and protect you, he would never respect you fully.

Soon.

Soon...this world would bow down to you.

Soon.

CHAPTER 2

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writers-potion · 9 months ago

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𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐚

The Aims of Nautical Fights

Sink the other ship

Methods: ram, set on fire, blow a hole in the hull

Typical Contexts: out-and-out warfare, especially in the ancient Mediterranean

Advantages: fast, no person-to-person fighting

Drawbacks: getting close eough to the other ship exposes own ship, mass murder of the crew, no chance to get their cargo and provisions.

2. Plunder the Other Ship

Methods: disable the ship - damage mast/oars and other methods of propulsion - board the ship, get cargo and kill the crew - sink ship.

Typical Contexts: piracy, privateering

Advantges: valuable cargo sold for profit, much-needed drinking water and food sustain own crew for a while longer, selected captives can be ransomed or sold as slaves.

Drawbacks: dangerous, need to get close enought to gain access to the ship, crew unlikely to surrender, ferocious combat which poses significant risk to own men.

3. Capture the Other Ship

Methods: Capture ship while causing minimal damage and keeping the crew alove - put own officers in charge - add enemy ship to own fleet or collect prize money from the government (the ship will get a new flad, renamed and refitted)

Typical contexts: 18th-19th C Europe (Regency period inclusive)

Advantages: minimal losses of life, humane, gaining a ship

Drawbacks: difficult to capture a ship iwhtou firs samaging it captains may take foolish risks in the hope of prize money, captive crew needs feeding, captive crew may munity.

Weapons

The ship's weapons:-

a ram at the bow - for driving into the hull of another ship. There's the danger of going down together if the ram gets stuck in the body of the other ship.

Artillery - hurling fire at enemy ships to bring them down.

Warships with carry canons.

The crew's weapons:-

Sailors will almost always carry multi-purposes knives which can turn quickly into weapons.

The swords used by marines were always slashing swords (for cutting, slashing, slicing, very sharp, with a lightly curving blade)

Cutlasses are most often associated with nautical combat.

Ship or Boat?

Consider the follow factors when differentiating between a ship and a boat:

the historical period (different periods have different definitions)

the vessel's size

vessel's weight (ships are heavier)

the purpose (fishing vessels, ferries and submarine are typically boats, regardless of size)

the number of masts (three or more masts is a ship)

the number of decks (with more than one deck, it's a ship)

the shape (flat bottom means its a boat)

where most activity takes place (if on deck - boat)

where the bessel travels (if on a river, probably a boat)

Avoid using the words "ship" and "boat interchangeably just to avoid repeating the same word. They are not synonyms!

Use words like vessel, ferry, schooner, the brigantine, cutter, crusier, etc.

Propulsion and Steering

A ship cannot stop, start, swerve and reverse rapidly like a car.

Wind power - high speed, enables long distances, doesn't require the vessel to carry fuel.

Can't move in the abscene of wind

Can't carry out speedy manoeuvres in a battle.

Felling the mast will cripple the entire ship.

Oars (rowing) - allow for greater manoeuvrability, rapid direction changes, and relaively quick starts and stops.

Doesn't achieve great speed and isn't suitable for long distances.

Steam - creates speed, doesn't depend on wind.

Requires carry coal, which limits the amount of cargo that the ship can carry.

Vessels felled with oil or nuclear power can travel faster and vaster distances.

However, they still can't stop, start, swerve and reverse as quickly as a car.

Space

The deck of a ship/boat is a limited space where fighters can fall overboard, climb up a mast, jump down, or leap onto another deck.

It may be full of obstacles: the masts, coiled rops, possible clutter, crates and barrels of cargo and provisions.

There may be livestock, chickens in cages and goats tethered to the mast, intended to provide fresh meat on the long voyage.

Atmosphere

A sea battle will have interesting sounds like roaring canons, crashing masts, splintering wood, panicked chickens, waves crashing against the hull, the wind whipping the sails, the splashing of men overboard.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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cargoshirts · 9 months ago

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Black Jute linen Cotton Shirt For Men

Get a Trendy and confident look with Black Jute linen Cotton Shirt For Men. Crafted with 100% pure linen this men's black slim fit casual shirt is perfect for summer.

This cotton black casual shirt for men comes with a button-down collar, curved hem, button placket, and full sleeves. Style this black plain linen shirt with blue jeans and sneakers for a dapper look.

This brand new black jute linen button-down shirt is available in all sizes M, L, XL, and XXL, choose one according to your body shape.

Black Jute Linen Shirt Description

A classic Premium plain shirt.

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Hand Wash - For detailed instructions- follow the wash-care label on the garment.

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#black shirt #shirts #shirt #black dresses #black shirts for men #black clothing collections #black full sleeve shirt for men #branded shirts for men #cargo shirts for men #cargo shirts

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ltwilliammowett · 4 months ago

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Joseph Thompson

Joseph Thompson (died 1719) was a pirate from Trinidad, Cuba and was one of the 209 pirates on New Providence who declared to Captain Vincent Pearse their intention to accept an offer of amnesty and pardon made in 1718. Together with Charles Vane and several others, he soon returned to piracy. After hiring an additional crew for his sloop Eagle, he captured and plundered several ships in the area. In December 1718, within sight of Port Royal, Thompson captured a ship called the Kingston, whose cargo was worth over £20,000. The ship owners complained to the Jamaican governor Nicholas Lawes, but there were no Royal Navy warships available.

Instead, Lawes commissioned two sloops in the harbour and promised them a share of the pirates' treasure in addition to the rewards King George had promised in his proclamation of September 1717 to combat piracy. The two sloops set sail before the end of the year and encountered the pirate ship and another captured vessel. The pirate ship under Captain Thompson hoisted a black flag and proceeded to attack.

Thompson's ship passed alongside one of the pirate raiders and ‘threw a large number of powder flasks, shells and stink cans into the ship, killing and wounding several and causing others to jump overboard. ‘The other pirate raider collected the survivors, whose accounts of the fight ‘so disheartened the men on board the other ship that they made their way back to Port Royal.’ Thompson's crew of 150 men, ‘bandits of all nations’, abandoned the remaining sailors in the Cayman Islands.

Jamaica's merchants again appealed to Lawes to take action against Thompson. Lawes, with the help of the merchants, commissioned four more sloops with 10 guns and 80 crew and, after refitting another sloop in Port Royal and the arrival of the fifth-rate frigate HMS Ludlow Castle, divided his forces to protect the arriving merchantmen and hunt down Thompson. Four of the sloops soon cornered Thompson's ship, killed him and salvaged the Kingston. Some of the surviving crew members were captured to await trial in Bermuda, where they were found guilty and hanged in 1720.

Little, Benerson (2010). Pirate Hunting: The Fight Against Pirates, Privateers, and Sea Raiders from Antiquity to the Present

Fox, E. T. (2014). Pirates In Their Own Words

Woodard, Colin (2008). The Republic of Pirates: Being the True and Surprising Story of the Caribbean Pirates and the Man Who Brought Them Down

#naval history #joseph thompson #1719 #pirate #pirate hunter #age of sail #pirate history

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moongumi · 2 months ago

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⁀➷ ∵ ❝country boy and his clown❞

⟶ phillip graves x oc/reader

⟶ cw. graves babygirl confused, funny banter, shadow boys, aloof OC, lots of jokes, third person <3

⟶ note. this is basically my little drabbles collection that will accumulate into a long story at some point about my OC Leech xd she's also the ones in all the other MW2 fics i've written

everyone likes that new girl. all the boys were drawn to her and graves can't believe the god damn sight of it all.

on the first mission the damn girl had her little portable gaming device, graves didn't catch what it was called. she whistled as she played whatever game on it. graves felt a fuckin' tick itching on his face from the clicking and tapping.

"shut that god damn thing off, fucking hell."

the girl sighs, putting it into her cargo pocket. "Sorry, Commander." she listens well, at the very least.

graves walks over to her and within an instant she stands up and salutes him. "What they call ya'?"

she's a new transfer, a sort of trade off with a friend. graves needed someone like her but her age was somewhat of an issue, not that young but maybe not old enough to know the ropes of an elite company.

"leech."

the fuck? grave left a migraine forming in his head now. "what?""

"leech, sir."

"got a backstory for that one?"

she laughs, "of course, i would never pick it myself. bit some guy's carotid off during my first deployment—i swear i didn't drink his blood though—"

"i didn't think that," graves sighs, pressing his fingers between his brows. "continue on then, sergeant."

"yup yup."

she catches on quick.

──────⊹⊱♝♜⊰⊹──────

"get this thing open!"

she sighs, tapping away at her little computer in her crouched form. "look boss, you've given me 2 seconds how about you give me 10 more seconds and maybe—oh, look it's open, you're welcome."

graves can see this girl making him lose his will to live. but he was no patient man and well, she was far too chill and nonchalant for this type of work.

when they get inside she's on the computer right away, jamming combinations of numbers and symbols to get what he wanted from this place.

"yikes, lots of porn on here."

graves almost snaps his neck turning to her. "what?"

"joking, got what we need." she pulls out the drive from the computer and pocketing it. she pulls her gun from her side back into her hands. "time to find out way out, commander."

──────⊹⊱♝♜⊰⊹──────

"i don't think i've met anyone more annoying." graves admits.

shadow 1-1 laughs, "boss, she's pretty cool and she's cute."

"she's funny, she said her callsign was because she ate a live lizard on the field—" shadow 1-2 mentions.

hes interrupted by 1-1, "wait what? she told me it's because she was sucking on her military ex-boyfriend's dick one time in the barracks and she accidentally cut off his foreskin."

"that's a fuckin' lie, if i've ever heard one."

1-1 takes offense, "yours sounds more fake than mine."

somehow this makes graves grab his head, what the hell has this girl been doing to my men. now it makes him doubt if the story she told him was even real.

she ponders, pursing her lips, "sir, i told you the real story—it's just fun telling all the boys different shit, they all go around tellin' each other the wrong thing and it's funny when they all get confused."

the girl looks around aimlessly, seemingly waiting for him to say something. "alright, you're dismissed. see you tomorrow, leech."

graves sighs in his office, the girl in front of him now dressed in a more business attire even if her skirt was far too short and the buttons her shirt were on wrong—the sheerness of that top too, jesus christ could she not afford a shirt didn't look like a piece of tissue? he could see her bra straps through the damn thing.

"are ya' lying?"

"maybe."

#phillip graves #graves fic #graves smut #graves mwii #graves x reader #graves x oc #cod oc #phillip graves fanfiction #graves fanfic #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves x oc

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jeffhardyjams · 2 months ago

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Love in the Time of Smackdown ꨄ

- jeff hardy x reader

(𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 - 7.5k +)

Description : After a thrilling match against Stacey Kibler, Y/N, a sassy and stylish WWE diva, catches the eye of Jeff Hardy. As they continue to cross paths around the ring, their tension builds until they share a flirtatious encounter while smoking a joint together. But things take a dramatic turn when Lita invites Y/N to hang out with her, Jeff, and Matt at Matt's house, where a night of beer pong and hard rock music leads to a steamy feud with Shannon Moore, Jeff's friend. What will happen next?

imagine : ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

WWF SMACKDOWN 6.12.2002

music : possum kingdom - toadies

It was a hot summer evening in 2002, and the wrestling world was buzzing with excitement. The air inside the arena was electric, charged with the adrenaline that only comes from a night of hard-fought battles. The crowd roared, a sea of bodies waving signs and wearing the colors of their favorite Superstars. You stood backstage, your heart racing in tandem with the sound of your entrance music blaring through the speakers. “Tonight’s match,” you thought, adjusting your gear and preparing for the imminent clash with the poised and formidable Stacy Keibler, “Tonight, it’s all or nothing.” The atmosphere was distinctly early 2000s—baggy cargo shorts, colorful tank tops, and the unmistakable scent of cheap cologne blended with sweat filled the air. Women and men alike were adorned with butterfly clips and jnco jeans, the style that defined a generation. You looked at yourself in the mirror�� your freshly curly hair tumbling around your shoulders, your own version of wrestle chic. With the flicker of a smile, you stepped onto the entrance ramp, ready to meet your destiny.

The match itself unfolded in a flurry of submission holds, near falls, and high-energy athleticism, perfectly choreographed chaos under the ring lights. You and Stacy, both formidable in their own rights, grappled fiercely, the crowd infusing energy into every slam and suplex. Hard-hitting moves learned from countless match-ups had them on the edge of their capabilities. The crowd gasped collectively when you executed a flawless tornado DDT, twisting through the air gracefully before crashing down on Stacy. One, two—Victory. The bell rang, and the audience erupted into frantic applause, chanting your name like a mantra. You rose to your feet, a triumphant smile on your face, bathed in the glow of the bright lights as sweat trickled down your brow.

Once backstage, the buzzing sounds of the crowd became muffled, lost beneath the raucous chatter of fellow Superstars. Yet, there was one presence that had started to feel as familiar to you as your own shadow—Jeff Hardy. Your encounters were less formal, sneaking glances at each other across the arena, the sly exchange of half-smiles. He was enthralling with his artful tattoos and kinetic energy—a colorful whirlwind. Swatches of purple and green painted his persona, and every time he soared through the air, a part of you wished it was you alongside him. Tonight was different. You could feel the weight of the unsaid conversations that haven’t happened around you . As you stepped outside for a moment of peace, you noticed the dimly lit corner of the parking lot where the stars burned brightly against the velvet sky.

As you lit up, you heard the door open behind you. It was Jeff, a sly grin spreading across his face. Your heart raced. You thought it could’ve been your boss or some shit.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of electricity run through your body. "Not at all," you replied, handing him the joint.

As you smoked together, the tension between you grew thicker. You couldn't help but notice the way Jeff's eyes seemed to bore into your soul, or the way his tattoos seemed to ripple beneath his skin. He was wearing a black tank top, his blonde hair messy and wet from his match. His colorful tattoos seemed to glow in the dim light, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of attraction.

"You're quite the wrestler," Jeff said, his voice dripping with admiration. "I've been watching you for a while now."

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest. "Thanks, Jeff. You're not so bad yourself."

The conversation flowed easily, with both of you discussing everything from wrestling to music to your shared love of tattoos. As the night wore on, you found yourself feeling more and more drawn to Jeff. You both separated after that though, as you both said your goodbyes after Jeff got a call from Matt telling him he was about to leave.

The next day, you woke up to your phone buzzed with a text from Lita. "Hey girl, want to hang out tonight? Matt and Jeff hosting a little party and we're going to play some beer pong & just get wasted or some shit. We can pick you up around 8?”

You couldn't resist the invitation and quickly texted her back. “Fucking of course. I’ll be ready around 8. xx “ You wanted to drink so bad and spend more time with Jeff so you spent hours getting ready, trying on different outfits and doing your hair and makeup. You finally settled on a black long tank top that curved around your waist and a sheer purple fishnet, your hair curled, a vibrant shade of cherry red. You added some low flare jeans and some short heel boots. You looked in the mirror, feeling a sense of confidence and excitement.

As you finished getting ready, you heard a knock at the door. It was Lita, Jeff, and Matt. They were all grinning from ear to ear, and you could tell that they were ready to get fucked up. Jeff was wearing a hot white Ed Hardy shirt with his hair half way up and a teal bandana wrapped around his forehead. He paired it along with cargo faded pants and a black belt.

"Heyy Y/N, you look fucking amazing," Lita said, giving you a hug. She was wearing a cheetah print tank top with leather purple cargo pants and her classic boots.

"Thanks, I was thinking of trying out a new look," you replied, striking a pose.

Jeff's eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the appreciation in his gaze. "You look damn good Y/N/N," he said, his voice low and husky.

Matt nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're definitely going to turn some heads tonight."

The four of you piled into Matt's car and headed to his house, where the party was already in full swing. As you walked in through the front door, you were greeted by the sound of hard rock music and the smell of beer.

Lita then grabbed your arm and pulled you over to the beer pong table. Which was located to side of Matt’s fireplace. “Okay, girl, it's time to finally get fucking drunk. Shotgun Coors Light with us" She laughed.

You didn’t even hesitate for a moment, and grabbed a beer from the cooler that was sitting on the floor of the fireplace. Jeff & Matt quickly followed and grabbed a beer too. You shotgunned it with Lita, Jeff, Matt, and their friend Shannon Moore who was already there.

As you lowered the beer, you caught Shannon's eye. He was wearing a black bandana, a Ed Hardy blue shirt and he looked a little drunk but he was hot to you.

"Yo Y/N, I'm Shannon," he said, his voice slurred a little. “I've heard a lot about you."

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest. "All good, I hope? If not I’d be fucking pissed" You quickly laughed after.

Shannon chuckled and put his hand on the side of your waist. "Definitely. You're quite the wrestler. I've been watching you for a while now. I see your little segments.”

As you talked, you couldn't help but notice Jeff watching you from across the room. His eyes seemed to be burning with intensity, and you could sense a growing jealousy.

"Hey, you wanna step outside and smoke a cig with me?" Shannon asked, his voice low and husky.

“Fuck yeah, I have a lighter.” You grinned. Feeling a sense of excitement. As you stepped outside, the crispy air from the night brushed your face. Shannon grabbed a Marlboro’s pack out of his pocket and grabbed two for both of you. You grabbed one he stuck out and proceeded to light it. The smoke curled around your face, and you felt a sense of relaxation wash over you.

"So, what do you like to do for fun?" Shannon asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and his mouth blowing out smoke.

You smiled, feeling a sense of mischief. "I like to fucking wrestle, of course. But I also love music and tattoos. I'm a bit of a tease, I guess."

Shannon laughed. "I can see that. You've got a bit of a wild streak, don't you?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of pride. "Yeah, I do. I like to live life on my own terms."

As you talked, you couldn't help but notice the way Shannon's eyes seemed to sparkle with attraction. You felt a sense of excitement, of danger. This was forbidden, but you couldn't resist. Shannon took a drag of the cig before blowing out the smoke and pausing to look at you. It grew silent.

Suddenly, Shannon leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. You felt a rush of excitement, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of unease. Jeff was storming towards you, his face twisted in anger.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

You stood up, feeling a surge of adrenaline. "Just having a little fun, Jeff. Don't be such a buzzkill."

Jeff's eyes flashed with anger, and he grabbed your arm, pulling you towards the stairs. "We need to talk," he growled.

As you stumbled upstairs, you could feel the tension between you building. Jeff opened Matt’s room which happened to be empty and Jeff pushed you against the wall, his eyes blazing with intensity.

"What's going on with you and Shannon?" he demanded. His hair now in front of his face a bit.

You smiled, feeling a sense of mischief. "Nothing, Jeff. Just a little harmless flirting."

Jeff's face twisted in anger, and he pushed you harder against the wall. "You can’t just go fucking around with Shannon. You're not going to do this, Y/N. You can’t just flirt with every guy in the room and then just walk away."

You felt a surge of adrenaline as Jeff's body pressed against yours. You knew that you should be scared, but you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement.

"Maybe I will," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeff's eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the desire in his gaze. "No, you're not," he said, his voice low and husky.

Without another word, Jeff pulled you into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and pulled you in with him.

As the water cascaded down around you, Jeff's lips crashed down on yours. You felt a rush of excitement as his tongue explored your mouth.

You kissed him back, feeling a sense of passion that you had never experienced before.

As you broke apart for air, Jeff's eyes locked onto yours. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction. "I've wanted you to," you replied, your voice husky.

Jeff grinned, and then he pulled you back in for another kiss. This time, it was more intense, more passionate.

You felt like you were melting into his arms, like you were a part of him.

Finally, Jeff pulled back and looked at you with a serious expression. "I want you, Y/N. I want you so bad."

You felt a surge of excitement at his words. "I want you too, Jeff," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Without another word, Jeff pulled you out of the shower and into the bedroom. You fell onto the bed together, your bodies entwined.

As you guys had sex, you felt a sense of passion and excitement that you had never experienced before. You knew that you and Jeff were meant to be together, and you couldn't wait to see what the future held.

As you lay there afterwards, Jeff's arms wrapped around you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You had never felt this way about anyone before, and you knew that you never would again.

Jeff's blonde hair was wet and messy, and his eyes were sparkling with happiness. "I'm so glad we did that," he said, his voice low and husky.

As you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that this was just the beginning.

"I guess this means I’m not forgetting about you" you said, smiling up at Jeff.

Jeff grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I guess not. But don't think this means I'm going to go easy on you in the ring too.”

You laughed, feeling a sense of excitement. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

As the sun began to rise the next morning, you lay in bed with Jeff, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. You knew that this was just the beginning of something amazing, something that would take you on a wild ride of emotions and passion.

And as you looked into Jeff's eyes, you knew that you were ready for whatever came next.

#2000s #jeff hardy #wwe #wwe fanfiction #2000s aesthetic #wwe x reader #jeff hardy x reader #x reader #wwe imagines #wwe smackdown #fanfic #fyp #fypシ

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toothachepng · 1 year ago

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Kiss me Animal

This has been in my drafts way too long with me very slowly updating it. I haven't written in a long time and this is honestly super self indulgent. I just need more plus size readers with Brian in my life

Warnings- Reader is described to have tits and cunt and is called pretty girl. P in V, praise kink, Brian definitely being ooc and a simp for soft chubby girls, fight me. I think that's it, I tried to make it friendly for all the plus sized girlies to read so if I missed any warnings or unfriendlies just lemme know :3

---------------

It'd been a long day

A really long fucking day, anything that could have went wrong absolutely did. Brian sighed as he kicked off his boots, the soles making a heavy thunk as they hit the wooden floor. He flopped back onto their old couch, arms resting on top of it as his head leaned back. A hand wiped down over his face as he let out a groan recalling all the events that had occurred today.

It was supposed to be a simple mission really, take out two people and wipe up any evidence the two had gathered. This sort of thing shouldn't have even required all three of them, and yet it was the messiest job they'd done in a long while. Tim triggered the back door alarm which could have worked in their favor if they had known where in the house the victims were, they didn't. A chair got taken to the back of Tim's head collectively knocking him out for a bit. Of all things Toby had to be threatened with was a blow torch, the fire of course freaking him out and causing him to stumble into Brian.

Another groan left the man as he shook his head, cringing at just how clumsy all three of them had been. Of course they did what needed to be done, but the drive back was tense as fuck with the other two being royally pissed off about how everything had gone down.

Brian was over the whole thing, wanting to just let it roll off his back and move on with his day. The blonde lazily sat up, throwing his hoodie off and onto a chair as he walked into the cabins little kitchenette. It was almost a surprise to see someone else there, forgetting for a quick moment that it wasn't just him and the other two men in the cabin anymore. He eyed you as you didn't seem to notice his presence, which wouldn't be the first time for Brian anyways. You'd been here for a few months, the operator unfortunately having taken a liking to you and directing you to their cabin of all areas.

Brian's eyes washed over your plump form, it looked like you had just rolled out of bed, hair unkempt and a loose t-shirt falling off your shoulder. His eyes went lower, a tight lil pair of black shorts were hugging your ass and chubby thighs. He hated those tiny little shorts, though you obviously seemed to love them since you wore them so God damn often. Maybe if you hadn't Brian would have talked to you more, no excuses for his mind or eyes to start wandering, though even he knew that was a lie. The man still couldn't hold conversation with you even when out doing work, and you wore cargo pants for fucks sake.

Brian looked off to the side, not wanting to be a creep as he cleared his throat to get your attention. It seemed like that was always his goal though, not wanting to appear as some sort of creep to you. It annoyed him to no end, he was the smooth talker out of their group, if they had to talk to a victim he was the first to go without a problem.

"Hey, how'd it go?". You didn't turn to face him as he walked up to the counter, pouring himself a mug of coffee. Glancing at your face, you almost looked annoyed with the slight pout and furrowed eyebrows.

"It uh, definitely could've gone better, the other two went out to go cool off from it actually". You looked over to him amused, sipping at your own mug with a nod, eyes slipping down him for a brief second before quickly looking away.

"You alright? Look like you been sleeping all day, and doesn't look like it was a good sleep". He let out a soft chuckle, at the grimace that came over your face with a shake of your head.

"Yeah I'm alright, though sleeping would've been much more accomplishing honestly". You sighed out while setting your mug in the sink. Brian raised an eyebrow at that, more accomplishing?

Watching you walk out of the kitchen, his eyes trailed down once again, before letting out a cough to himself and looking away.

This was usually how it went since you started staying with the three of them. Sure the two of you had held a few conversations late at night on the couch, but you just seemed to hold much longer talks with Tim and Toby, Tim of all people? Brian felt like he was honestly losing his touch. With a sigh he rolled onto his back, thick comforter shifting underneath him as he stared at the ceiling. His body shifted as his mind easily wandered to past images of your body, his hand going over his face at how easily worked up he seemed to be lately. Maybe he just needed a good fuck?

Though, when even was the last time he got laid? Too long apparantly as he groaned trying to remember before slipping a hand down his sweats. He let out a huff as he wrapped a fist around his half hard cock, immediately an image of those tiny black shorts coming to mind.

He swallowed thickly as he slowly pumped up and down, wetting his bottom lip as he imagined your soft thighs spilling out of fabric. How they dug into your flesh when you sat on the couch across from him. He loved how when you sat down the soft skin of your tummy bunched up over your hip and spilled out of whatever bottoms you had on. He let out a low groan, imagining how soft you'd feel against him, thumb running over the head of his cock, smearing the drip of precum over his member.

His head tilts back against the pillow, a soft wet slap being heard around the room. He let's out a grunt, imagining the jiggle of your ass as you ran in front of him, fuck if only co-

Knock, knock knock

Eyes snapped open at the light rap on his door, an annoyed low grunt leaving him as he tucked himself back into his sweats. Trudging to the door and opening it, about to give whoever it was a fuck off.

"H-hey, um sorry I know it's late."

The annoyed look on Brian's face quickly fell, suddenly aware of how his sweats hugged around his crotch he leaned himself away from the door frame as best as he could.

"Oh no don't worry about it, I wasn't asleep anyways. Did you need something?" He smiled down at you as calmly as he could trying to appear as relaxed as he could. He scanned your body as quickly as he could, fuck you had another pair of those damn shorts? Another color but it didn't matter, you were at his door in those tight lil things with a snug tank top on. He gulped slightly as he watched your chest rise and fall, watching how your flesh threatened to spill out over the fabric. How it hugged your soft sides and hips and waist and holy fuck he could see your hard nipples clearly through it.

"You have a bad staring problem, yknow that Brian?."

Hazel eyes snapped back up to your face that held a small smile. Brian felt his face heat up as he coughed into his fist.

"Fuck sorry, could you repeat yourself? Maybe I'm more tired than I thought". Playing it off with a chuckle as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

You looked up at him with an eyebrow raised, stepping closer to him and into the door frame.

"I'm not that oblivious, you know that right?" Your hand came up to rest on his chest with a playful smile. Brian had to stare at you for a few seconds, feeling the warmth of your hand on his bare skin had his head reeling.

The next few moments were a blur of you getting tugged into the bedroom, big hands gripping at the soft flesh on your hips. Your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into a kiss had Brian almost melting, pushing you against his door as he felt you up. Surprised as soft lips moved against his own excitedly.

It felt like Brian couldn't touch enough of you, wanting more of your soft flesh to squish between his fingers. A low groan left him as you tugged at his bottom lip, his hand pulling your thigh up to wrap around his hips. A shudder went through him as you ground yourself against his lap.

Lips trailed down your soft jaw and neck, his hands going lower to squeeze at your ass while he sucked just above your collar. The soft whimpers leaving your parted lips every time he sucked on your skin had him grinding himself back against you.

"Fuck pretty girl, don't know how long I've wanted to feel you like this." He pulled away from your marked neck. A hand was brought up to your face and he let out an amused hum at the warmth coming from your cheeks. You let out a little pant before smiling at him.

"I should've shown up at your door late at night a lot sooner then huh? I guess I just didn't ever wanna interrupt your lil one on one times with yourself." You had a sly smile as you scrunched your nose up at him. Brian dropped his head with a slight chuckle, quickly gripping your other thigh and hoisting you up. He let out a laugh at the the yelp that came out of you.

"What a fucking tease, you knew all this time and didn't even wanna help a guy out? Maybe I should just leave you high and dry tonight then." He gave you a serious stare but it was a fucking lie. There was no way Brian was gonna choose not to sink into your soft form and watch you come undone. Annoyingly you seemed to already know that as you smiled at him.

"Just take me to the bed already, we both know thats not happening".

Brian could have said something sarcastic but did as told anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed so you were perched on his lap all pretty. His hands couldn't help but find place on your soft hips, thick fingers sinking into the doughy skin. His fingers found the fabric of your shorts, tugging them down and off of you, a small smirk forming on his lips at the sight of the pretty little thong you had on underneath.

You rested your hands on his chest, gliding them up and down the bare skin before dragging down to the top of his sweatpants.

Brian had to hold back a groan as you shifted against him. A sigh leaving him as you held onto his shoulders, his own hands tugging you closer as you ground into him. Half lidded eyes glanced up to your face, lips parted and your eyes downcast as you watched yourself move against him.

He felt like he was a in a haze as he watched you, hands gripping onto you like they never wanted to let go. He brought a hand up to your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss your lips. Brian guided your hand back to his sweats, letting you tug them down to let his cock out. A sigh left him through his nose as you got right back to grinding against him, his cock catching on your damp panties every so often. A low chuckle goes through his chest at the sound of your whines, reaching a finger down to tug your panties aside. Rough hands gripped tightly onto your hips, beginning to guide your movements as his cock slid back and forth between your wet folds, the tip of his cock bumping against your clit every so often.

You found yourself on your back suddenly, head sinking down into a pillow as you blinked up at the blonde. It almost seemed predatory how he hovered over you, flushed lips panting as his eyes raked over your form. His hand almost smacks down onto your thigh with how rough he grips it, watching the fat squeeze through his fingers before moving your thighs apart and moving himself inbetween them.

Brian gulped as he watched your chest rise and fall underneath him, the way you looked laying there had his head racing with too many scenarios of everything he wanted to do to you.

"Please?". Just one word had him almost losing it, he'd imagined himself teasing you until you couldn't take it anymore countless times, but right now he couldn't seem to find the patience. Brian has to almost hold back a groan as he grips his cock, pushing it against your wet hole a few times before finally sinking in. The whine that leaves you has him huffing out a laugh as he catches his breath, grip tight on your hips as he lets you adjust.

It's truly a sight to see for Brian, thighs spread open around him, tank top bunched up on top of your soft tummy, the fabric stretched to the side and letting your tits almost spill out. He watched as your hands came up to paw at his chest, a lopsided grin forming on his lips as you mouthed his name. He didn't need anymore than that to start quickly putting into you, a grunt and a pant leaving him every few thrusts.

"Feel so soft under me pretty girl, fuck, just like I imagined." Rough hands squeezed at your thighs and hips, trailing up to your tummy despite the whines leaving you.

"Really don't understand how many times I've thought about fucking this soft cunt, so fuckin warm and tight and so god damn wet. Do you hear the filthy sounds your little cunt is making for me?." One of his hands left your thighs, coming up to grip your jaw in his hand so you could look up at him, smiling down at you like the cocky fuck he is. It felt like words were stuck in the back of your throat as he fucked you, your mouth opening a few times but no more than a moan leaving you. He grins with a harsh pant, hand leaving your jaw as it reaches down to suddenly tug at your nipple, a yelp leaving you.

"Oh I knew you could still talk, come on pumpkin, wanna hear you. Gotta use your big girl words for me."

The way he was talking to you was certainly doing something to you, talking in that sweet loving tone, his words drawn out, and yet it felt like he was mocking you. A louder moan leaves you as he moves to grip one of your thighs, holding it up against his hip so he can fuck into you deeper.

"Come on, tell me how it feels won't you baby?."

Fast pants and whimpers are leaving you before you can finally get your words to work. "S'feels good! Feels good Brian!."

He can't help but almost laugh at how whiny it comes out, rutting into you faster as he leans down against you.

"Aw atta girl, I knew you could do it pumpkin." The whine that leaves you before hiding your face into his shoulder is enough to make him finally laugh. Still gripping onto your thigh he slows down his pace, feeling himself getting worked up just a little too fast. He leans down just a bit more next to your ear, breathy voice the only other thing you can focus on other than his cock.

"You like when I call you sweet lil names huh sweetheart? Can't hide it with the cute sounds you make everytime I call you something. Is that all I need to do to get you to listen and talk to me hm? Call you baby, pumpkin or tell you just how good you are for me?."

Brian was really just rambling at this point, the slow drag of his cock slipping in and out of your warm cunt had his head feeling hazy. He was barely registering the way your nails slowly dug into his shoulders the more he talked.

"Don't worry baby, you can be my good girl every night." Finally leaning back up, he holds your cheek in his hand, taking a deep breath as he picks his pace back up again. He watches tears well up in your eyes, how warm your cheek is against his hand from embarrassment was going straight to his cock. His lips were on yours suddenly, the kiss messy and wet with drool seeping down your lips. Eyes were half lidded, watching the other before Brian pulled away, thumb coming up to swipe the drool back into your mouth. A heavy pant left him as he sunk his thumb into your mouth, resting it on your tongue as he groaned. He kept it there as his thrusts became short and quick.

"Need to feel you cum around me pretty girl, wanna watch you make a complete mess of yourself." Fingers slipped down in-between the both of you, two fingers coming down to your clit and rubbing in slow small circles. The arch in your back had him speeding up his fingers, grin never leaving his face as he watched your eyes screw shut.

"Fu-fuck, I-."

"Go ahead sweetheart, lemme feel you." Just one more sweet little name was all you needed apparently as you let out a whiny moan, thighs shuddering in his grasp. Both hands came to grip your waist as he grunted, quick curses leaving him before he was spilling into you.

Your hand ran over your forehead and layed above you as you panted, staring up at the ceiling as you listened to the blonde pant beside you. You glanced over at him, arm laying over his chest as he seemed to also be in a daze. Watching his Adams apple bob as he swallowed before glancing over at you too. The boyish smile that formed on his lips was enough for you as you smiled back.

----------------------------------------------------

Comments super appreciated cause I really wanna get back into writing, especially for marble hornets. Also yes this is set in an AU where they work for the operator, I'm sorry but it's easy and I'm dumb for them

#hoodie x reader #brian thomas x reader #marble hornets x reader #x chubby reader #x plus size reader #x reader #proxies x reader #marble hornets smut #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x chubby reader #creepypasta x plus size reader #yes ik they arent creepypasta but dont lie you know you bunch them together sometimes too LMAO

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witchezandwonderz · 2 months ago

Text

Forged in the Storm

Pairing: Finan x Reader

Request: from your prompt requests, can you do 24 with finan please?

Prompt list quote requested: “Your touch is like a blade, cutting through all my defences."

Likes, reblogs and comments are unbelievably appreciated :) requests are open.

The gulls screamed overhead, their cries sharp against the rhythmic crash of waves on the rocky shore. Finan pulled his cloak tighter against the salt-laden wind and squinted toward the cluster of timbered houses ahead. The village hugged the coastline like a ship bracing against a storm, its docks bustling with activity even in the chill of early morning.

He wore a proud grin for the entirety of the journey; after years of being loyal to Uhtred, he was finally sent on a lone mission, well, more similar to a lone errand. He had been given twenty men to accompany him. Uhtred preferred to have Finan by his side, for both protection and sanity services- he was his greatest friend. But, Uhtred got sick and tired of Finan badgering him about being ready to take the lead and collect the cargo for this round. Uhtred agreed as a way of shutting his dear friend up.

Finan, being Finan, did not recognise this and instead took it as being trusted, which he of course was. But the men did not appreciate quite how often Finan wanted to rub this in, and vocalised his authority roughly every thirty seconds.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Finan muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But then, neither do I.”

He adjusted the sword at his hip and trudged onward, his boots crunching over sand and pebbles. Uhtred’s orders had been clear: collect the cargo and ensure its safe return to Bebbanburg. Straightforward enough. Uhtred had specified who he had to ask for, and told him to refuse to deal with anyone else.

Finan scanned the area through squinted eyes, using one hand in an attempt to block out the invasive sun. There were many groups of both men and women plotted in each part of the fairly large landscape. Unsure of exactly who to approach for information, he decided on a group of broad shouldered men whom stood laughing and conversing.

“Scuse me gentlemen- I am looking for Y/N” Finan said, his voice carrying over the clamor. “I was told she runs this place.”

The man snorted, now turning and facing Finan directly. “You’re looking for Y/N? Is she expecting you?” He asked, wiping his hands on his tunic.

Finan raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully, I am here on business for Uhtred of Bebbanburg.” He announced proudly. The man did not seem as impressed as he grunted, and left. Finan assumed that he had gone to find the lady in question.

Finan was intrigued that these men answered to a woman. He did attempt to ask Uhtred about her but Uhtred did not seem very keen to convey any details and seemed amused, telling Finan to “just wait and see.”

Finan turned his head just as a figure emerged from between the towering stacks of lumber.

She strode toward him with deliberate steps, her dark braid swung lightly behind her, loose hair framing a face that was sharp yet achingly beautiful. Her sun-kissed skin glowed in the light, and her eyes—piercing, unyielding—locked onto him with a focus that made Finan’s pulse stumble.

She wasn’t what he had expected. Not at all. Now he understood Uhtred’s amusement.

Her tunic clung to her figure in ways that made it clear she wasn’t just a leader—she was a force of nature. A blade wrapped in silk, tempered by years of labor and loss. And as she approached, Finan realized he’d been staring too long. He cleared his throat, shaking off the momentary daze, and let a grin curve his lips.

“Are you Finan?” She asked, her expression lacked any emotion, and the tone in her voice matched.

“Aye,” he replied, tilting his head. “And you must be Y/N. Uhtred failed to mention you were—” His grin widened as he let his gaze sweep over her, deliberate but not disrespectful. “—a sight worth the journey.”

She arched a brow and tilted her head, unimpressed. “Is that how you plan to make an impression, Finan? Flattery and foolish grins?” She allowed a small smirk to appear.

Finan laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Only when they seem deserved. And, well, they do.”

Y/N showed a glint of amusement in her eyes.She crossed her arms and studied him, her gaze so steady it almost felt like a challenge.

“Uhtred sends you for cargo, and instead he delivers a jester,” she said dryly. “Well, come on then, let’s see how hard you can work.” She squeezed his bicep. “You should do.”

For once, Finan was caught off guard. He blinked, the warmth of her touch lingering longer than it should have, and then barked out a laugh. “You don’t waste time, do you?” he said, his grin returning. “If you wanted to get hands-on, lass, you only had to ask.”

His comment was wasted, he realised, when he looked up with a grin only to find that she had already walked away, and he was expected to follow.

Awkwardly, he walked briskly to try and catch up with her. The brisk walk gradually turned into a slight jog as she had also sped up.

“So, how long have you known Uhtred?” Finan pondered, attempting to create conversation. Y/N continued to look forward, unlike Finan whose eyes flickered from his path to her. She shrugged. “I am not sure, a long time. He knew my father.”

“Who was your father?” Finan probed.

“You would not know of him.” She replied, dismissively.

“I might know him.” He continued. At this point Y/N halted and turned to him, now looking at him.

“You do love to ask questions don’t you.” Finan grinned at her words. “Got you to look at me though, didn’t I.” He stated, proudly. A small smile played on her face before she shook it off and continued walking. “Come on, I’ll take you to meet my men.”

Finan looked in the distance, groups of exhausted looking men banded together as they moved boxes of cargo. Upon their arrival, Finan noticed that they all stopped at the sight of Y/N.

“Got them standing to attention I see.” Finan commented, Y/N let out a small chuckle and nodded before facing them all.

“This is Finan, him and his men are here to collect the cargo.” She announced before turning her attention back to him. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Gerald here, he will show you where to go.” Finan instantly felt somewhat let down that she would not be staying with him, but did not want to make this obvious, and instead resorting back to his normal jesting self.

“Well I hope to meet you again.” He called after her. He did not expect her to take notice of his words, but on the contrary, she paused and turned back to him.

“Are all of your men as needy as you?” Finan let out a low chuckle. “Nah, just me.” He winked, immediately regretting it. Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it and firmly turned, walking away once more.

“She has taken a liking to you.” Finan heard an unfamiliar voice murmur. He looked around and saw a small man. “You reckon?” The man nodded, “definitely, it took me a year to get a smile out of her and that was last week.” He paused to think before speaking again. “But now that I am thinking about it, maybe she smiled at someone else. Anyway, you’ll be over here with us.” The man gestured towards the left side of the ship.

Finans brows furrowed. “There must be a mistake, I am here to conduct my men, not do the heavy lifting.”

“I didn’t take you as someone who is scared of hard work.” Finan’s head turned to where he heard the newly familiar voice coming from. Y/N stood with her back resting on the ship, her arms folded in front of her and an amused look on her face. Finan felt instantly felt embarrassed, not a great first impression when trying to impress a beautiful woman.

“No m’lady, I just-“

“I am no lady, and you are no better than my men just because you were sent here by Uhtred.” Finan thought about how he should reply.

“You look like a lady to me.” The proud smirk that he wore when arriving made a grand reappearance.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but the short man that Finan had met moments before spoke up instead.

“Do not speak to her like that.” The short man said though gritted teeth, Finan looked down to see that his hands were bunched into fists.

“Have I pissed you off there, little fella?”

Y/N suppressed a laugh. “It is ok, Gerald, leave us.” Much to Gerald’s dismay, he plodded away at her command.

“Funny little man, isn’t he?” Finan laughed. Y/N, for the first time since meeting Finan, allowed herself to laugh in return.

Finan’s grin softened, his gaze fixed on her as though he’d just seen the sun break through a stormy sky. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice low enough that she almost didn’t hear him.

She raised an eyebrow, her laughter fading into curiosity. “There what is?”

“That laugh,” he said, leaning back against a nearby crate and crossing his arms. “I knew it had to be in there somewhere. You’ve got the look of someone who doesn’t let it out often enough.”

Y/N shrugged, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Life doesn’t give me much to laugh about, Finan.”

“Or maybe, you don’t let yourself laugh.”

Y/N’s expression shifted slightly, for the fifteenth time today (slight exaggeration) she opened her mouth to speak, and then stopped herself. She instead, looked away from his piercing eyes and down to the floor.

“Come on, we’ve got work to do and I want you to help me.”

Finan wanted to probe more, he wanted to ask her more questions, but he knew it was best not too. Not yet anyway. Instead, he followed her towards a small cabin near the ship. He couldn’t, however, stop himself from making one more small comment.

“Ya know, maybe it’s just because you didn’t have me in your life.” He murmured- he had initially intended for the words to come out, dripping with flirtatiousness and confidence but instead, they came out dripping with anxiousness.

Y/N’s head titled in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Finan coughed awkwardly. “When you said there’s nothing to laugh at, it’s because you didn’t have me in your life.”

“And you are in my life now, are you? After five minutes of knowing me?”

Finan grinned, “hopefully.”

Y/N couldn’t contain her laughter. She found it so easily normally to hold a serious stance, regardless of the person or situation. But this man, this random, handsome, Irish man found a way to break through her hard exterior in a matter of minutes. Finan stood proud as he watched her laugh, but also slightly offended that the thought of him in her laugh amused her so.

“Looks like you need a break to me,” Finan said, his voice low but laced with his usual charm. He leaned slightly closer, his hands resting easily on his belt. “Anywhere we can go?”

Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. For a moment, she simply stared at him, as though trying to decide whether he was serious—or if this was just another of his infamous jokes.

Finan held her gaze, his grin softening into something more genuine. He was fully aware of how bold he was being, but there was something about her that drew him in, something the stories hadn’t prepared him for. He had been expecting a hardened, distant woman—a storm in human form. Instead, in front of him stood someone who seemed… different. Sweet, with an unexpected softness in her expression, and eyes that seemed untouched by the cruelty of the world.

From that night onwards, the two of them grew closer and closer. Finan would sleep there, with her, night after night. In turn, making excuse after excuse to Uhtred and his friends, passing it off as “the prostitutes there are fantastic.”

When he could not sleep there night after night, he would travel back to her in secret. He became addicted to her. The more time he spent with her, the harder it became to ignore the truth. He wasn’t just addicted to her touch, her laugh, the way her eyes softened when she looked at him. He was addicted to the way she made him feel—like he was more than just a warrior, more than just Uhtred’s loyal right hand. With her, he could simply be Finan.

The pair knew of their feelings for each other, of course, but neither of them vocalised it- they refused. It was almost as if they were scared that if they said it out loud, they would both awake from their dreams.

One particularly frosty night, Finan lay on his back, his shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. His arm was draped lazily around her shoulders, holding her close as if letting her go wasn’t an option. Y/N clung to him, her cheek rested upon his neck, her breath tickling him ever so slightly with each exhale. They lay in silence, Y/N letting out a comfortable, happy hum every so often, and Finan repeatedly kissing her forehead, lightly.

“You have never told me about how you got all of these.” Y/N whispered, her finger gently tracing one of his many deep scars.

“They are just fights that I survived.” Finan murmured quietly. Y/N moved her head from his neck and propped herself up on his chest, now looking into his eyes.

“Yeah, but they must have been painful.” She said softly, planting a light kiss on his chest after she spoke.

His lips curved into a faint, crooked smile. “Aye, they did. But they don’t hurt anymore.” He paused, his dark eyes meeting hers in the dim firelight. “Not like this does.”

Y/N frowned slightly. “What do you mean? Am I hurting you?” Y/N panicked, moving her chin from his chest, thinking he had meant what he said literally.

He laughed. “No, love, not that.” Then he hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He had spent so much of his life building walls, keeping himself protected. But with her lying there, so close, those defenses felt like little more than paper.

“It’s you,” he said finally, his voice rougher than usual. “Your touch... it’s like a blade, cutting through all my defenses.”

Y/N looked offended and hurt, which was not what Finan had intended.

“Oh.” She said, now looking away. “Well, I’m sorry, I did not realise I was so annoying.” She began to try and get up. Finan lightly gripped her arm and pulled her back, planting a lingering kiss on her lips.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I mean.” He pondered for a moment. “I mean that I have never met a woman like you. I have never. I just.” He stumbled over his words, and in turn became angry at himself for not being mature enough to verbalise his emotions. “For gods sake, I love you.” The words tumbled.

“You love me?” She smirked, using her finger to swirl shapes on his chest. Finan tried to ignore her smug expression, for once in his life trying to keep the situation serious. “I’ve been trying to keep it to myself, trying not to scare you off. But it’s true. You’ve gotten under my skin, lass, and I can’t shake you even if I wanted to. And god help me, I don’t want to.”

He looked up at her, searching for a reaction. She stared at him, and he could not pin point her emotions at all from her lack of expression. He started to feel as if the ground was going to swallow him whole, and after that confession, he would have preferred it.

“Well then don’t shake it. Let me get under your skin.” She said, softly. “I love it. And I love you.” Her hand now cupped his cheek, as she stared at him, analysing all of his features.

His hand came up to cover hers where it rested on his cheek, holding it there as though he were afraid she might pull away. A slow, crooked smile spread across his lips, the kind that always made her heart skip a beat.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t even know what you’re getting yourself into.”

She laughed lightly, letting her chin rest on his chest once again. “Oh please, there are many people out there who would tell you the same about me.”

Finan shook his head. “Those people don’t know a thing about you. Not one thing.”

#the last kingdom #tlk fandom #tlk fanfic #last kingdom #finan fanfic #finan x reader #tlk finan #finan the last kingdom #finan the agile #finan #finan x oc

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tellmealittlelie · 8 months ago

Text

Ocean Deep - Chapter 1

Previous: Preface

TW: Mentions of assault, blood, injury and scientific experimentation of humanoid creatures.

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It was nearing dusk when the little schooner finally puttered into obscurity - no other boats in sight as far as the eye could see in all directions, and land was, at this point, a simple figment of imagination. They had been motoring forward since dawn, and now, just over thirteen hours later, the captain and his crew were absolutely sapped.

Two of the men, at their captain's orders, wheeled over their cargo to the side of the boat, leading the schooner to tip slightly to the side. The men cleared off the clutter on top of the container - a disguise if someone had met them before they had reached their destination, piles of boxes, hooks, bait and rods were cleared to the side and the spare sail that had acted as veil, was removed deftly and flung to the side.

The captain, a stout man, fumbled with his keys before unlatching the padlock and letting in a rush of air to the contents of the container. The captain tentatively peered inside, but seeing that the creature continued to lay unconscious, though, - most probably dead, or at the very least near death - he hummed to himself lazily.

It was a pretty little thing, or at least it used to, and it had certainly been quite useful to study, but now, his toy broken beyond repair, it was time to dispose of it, in the most convenient way possible. He unlatched the side of the box, letting one of the long walls drop down and allowing the blood tinged water to spill out and into the ocean, the creature following shortly after, the water pushing it out and down into the black depths.

He only let his crew a final moment of reprise before ordering everything to be placed exactly as it had been before and charting a course back to the mainland.

The creature was, as one of the men said to another, out of sight and therefore out of mind. The body would surely fit in with the others of the same species on the ocean floor and their actions would therefore never be traced back to them - and it was easier than burning the thing, lest a scale remain and cause people to start asking questions.

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As the body slowly sank to the bottom of the ocean, it left a slow trail of blood behind it, tainting the water above it a sickly pale pink. Luckily, no creature reached for the body, the sharp scent of chemicals leading them to swim away rather than closer to inspect the oddity.

However, not all creatures were repulsed, once the body was almost at the bottom of the ocean - where light was hard to come by - a ghostlike creature steadily approached the body with lightly veiled curiosity.

When he got a better view, he swam closer and after a moment tugged the body closer to him, noting the dull colorless sickly scales and the wounds littering it’s - his - body.

The ghost brought the man closer to his chest and after adjusting his new charge in his arms, took off back towards his den.

He wasn’t sure why, but something seemed to be calling for him to care for the man, to protect and heal his bruised and bloodied skin and brighten his scales to see their true color.

It was only a couple of minutes before he reached his den and he slipped past the barrier easily, before laying the man in a soft nest of collected human scraps; pieces of cloth and delicate seaweed latticework which made the nest homey and comfortable.

The ghost went and gathered his things from the shelves, keen eyes seeing easily in the dark. He slathered on a thick healing balm and then wrapped the wound up, quickly but effectively, with clean, thick strips of seaweed.

As he pulled away he finally noticed a plastic human cuff tightly wound around the man’s wrist. The ghost peered closer until he could read the black, uniforme writing spelling out: S141-OAP.

The ghost leaned back, he knew he was getting himself into something when he took the little merman back with him, but he had thought that he might be more use than problem to him - but now, maybe the baggage that this little thing was bringing along with him was more effort than what he would receive in compensation.

Ah, well, he wasn’t so cruel that he would toss out the bloke now, he would wait till he woke and if he was agreeable to work for him, perhaps he could stay a bit longer, if not, there was a door and he could get the hell out.

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