#why businessman property attach

[usmsgutterson]

Constantly- Jesper Fahey x gn! reader

Okay! This is a rare fic of mine that sort of follows post-ck canon and I think it’s a pretty good foothold for the Spring Break Fic-Athon. A lot of my fics will have hurt/comfort and then fluffy undertones and with this event, general feelings of contentment accidentally became a running theme lol. 

Fic type- this is mostly fluff! I love domesticity and my love for it is definitely communicated through this fic lol

Warnings-none

You grinned as you woke, finding yourself in the Henley that Jesper had worn the day before. You paused, waiting to either hear the sound of Jespers voice as he hummed or the sound of rain pelleting against your window. 

It was much to your delight that you heard both, the rain gently smattering against the window in typical Ketterdam fashion combined with Jesper as he spoke, the words having been ones that you couldn’t quite make out. 

You got up, pulling on a thin flannel that you’d purchased on a vacation to Novyi Zem in the years before, pulling on a different pair of sweatpants to the ones you’d gone to bed in for a bit more warmth without having to touch the heater. 

You proceeded down the steps of the home you’d bought in the Financial District, headed to the left and found yourself standing in the kitchen, silently watching Jesper and Colm as they talked. 

“Yeah, it’s been great,” Jesper said. “Married life, I mean. I could get used to this. I think I already have.” 

“Marriage isn’t for everyone, but everyone who it’s for finds it incredible,” Colm said with a smile. “Coffee on Saturdays, lazing about on Sundays. Knowing that you’re with someone who you love, someone who your heart never wants to let go of, it’s one of the best feelings out there, Jesper.” 

You proceeded in, wrapped your arms around Jespers shoulders for a moment, grinning as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Morning, love,” he said. 

“Hey,” you responded, grabbing a mug and feeling grateful that hot coffee had already been brewing on the pot. “Sorry I slept in.” 

“Wanted to surprise you with breakfast, so you’re fine,” Jesper said. “Da popped in for a visit. He’s staying at the Geldrenner this week. Told me he’s looking to close on a farm in the countryside, though he won’t tell with whom it is he’s making a deal.”

You shot Colm a knowing look. “Kaz Brekker?” 

Colm laughed incredulously. “How the fuck did you know?” 

You shrugged as you poured the coffee into your mug, topped off Colms. “You’re not the kind of guy who appreciates the criminal deal, but you don’t see Kaz as a criminal,” you said. 

“You, in spite of everything you witnessed back in the days of the Ice Court, think of him as a semi-legitimate businessman. Kaz probably found out when he overheard Jesper and I talking, or Inej heard and told him, that you were looking to buy a piece of farmland either with a house attached or one cheap enough that you could build one on the acreage. He’s definitely bought off a decently priced piece of land and has probably offered it to you at a rate that you can afford, or that Jesper and I can afford should you not be able to. Kaz is exactly what Matthias used to compare him to. A demon.” 

Colm laughed again. “You compare your own friend to a demon?”

“He is one,” you laughed. “He’s a demon who cares very begrudgingly, but he cares even still. Why do you want a piece of farmland in Ketterdam, anyway?”

“I was gonna buy it for you folks, as a wedding gift,” Colm said. “I am going to. I know it’s been three weeks since you got married, but you and Jesper talked about living off of the money you’d make from farming in the Geldrenner during the Ice Court days. Don’t know if it’s still your dream, but there ain’t no house on that property and I’m sure Kaz wouldn’t hate you if you sold it back to him.” 

Jesper met your gaze as you took a sip of coffee. “Still your dream, love?”

You laughed. “Of course. Still yours?” 

Jesper nodded. “I’d go anywhere with you. Yeah.” 

“Well, building a house will take two years, at minimum. Are you sure you can handle that?” Colm asked. “Do you have the finances?” 

“We split our Ice Court money to finance this, and Kaz has put us in on a few heists with payouts in the millions in the years since, so I think we’ll manage,” Jesper grinned. “We’ll adopt a few farm cats. Cats make good mousers, and they’re not too difficult to feed.” 

You grinned, pressed a kiss to Jespers cheekbone and tried not to let the contentment you felt grow overwhelming. 

You and Jesper had long discussed it, the idea of buying a plot of land and living off of it. You could grow wheat, turn that it into flour and sell it to bakeries. You could grow fruits to sell them at the markets. With the right plot of land, you could open a vineyard and have wine, bourbon, and kvas to sell to Kaz so that locally made alcohol filled the bottles that were then poured at the Slat and at the Crow Club. It was an idea that both of you liked, an idea that both of you had agreed to look into after your wedding.

It seemed Colm had beaten you to the idea, though. 

“Thanks, Da,” Jesper said. “Thank you so much. We appreciate this endlessly, and we’ll pay you back for it.”

“It’s a wedding gift!” Colm said. “No, you won’t pay me back for a fucking wedding gift, Jesper. I love you, and that’s why I’m doing this. I’m gonna finish my coffee, close a deal, and then have Kaz reach out to you with the location of the acreage I purchased.” 

You and Jesper both laughed at Colms insistence. “Thank you,” you said.

Colm shook his head. “You’re family, and if you want to retire in your twenties, like you are now, you feel free. I would’ve if I had the chance.” 

You took a sip of your coffee, let yourself feel true happiness. You had the life you wanted after so much time spent chasing it. It felt so good to be able to say that, and damn if you were going to enjoy it. 

-

The farmhouse had taken three years to be move-in ready, but, six years since Colm had bought you the land, as you stood in your own backyard with Nina, sipping water and trying to ignore the feeling of contentment as it built in your heart, you had to agree that it was worth it. Wylan was playing the flute, and you were drinking water outside as Jesper and Kaz talked with Inej and Hanne. 

“So, Ketterdam again, hm?” You asked. Nina laughed. 

“Missed it too much, and Hanne gets it. We’ll be long distance for a few months, but I--I missed the salt in the air.”

“And you totally didn’t miss a flute playing demo man, or a wraith, or a sharpshooter, or a very intimidating guy with a very terrible haircut, or even a certain person who’s an expert with a crossbow?” 

“I missed you guys too,” Nina laughed. “A lot, actually. If I have to hear about one more milestone through a letter I’ll stab someone, I fear. Speaking of milestones, hows the baby?” 

The baby who was upstairs, fast asleep. Aditi Inej Fahey, named for Jespers mother and the best friend you’d known since you were seventeen years old. 

“She sleeps all the fucking time. It’s insane. Jesper and I think the universe is trying to trick us into having a second kid,” you laughed. “We’ve agreed not to, but on the basis that we might get two babies who sleep all the time, we’ve been tempted.” 

“Kaz and Inej dealt with the same thing,” Nina laughed. “Oh, I’m glad they didn’t have another mini-Brekker, but imagine the chaos if they had. Kaz would have taught the kid how to pay their bills before they could talk.” 

You laughed, and not long thereafter, Kaz and Jesper joined your conversation where Inej and Hanne went to talk to Wylan. 

“I quite like the life we’ve got,” Jesper said. “It’s fucking perfect.” 

Kaz nodded his agreement. “When you least expect it, you turn around and suddenly, it feels like life is wonderful.”

You grinned. “So you don’t hate your house in the Financial District, then?”

Kaz shrugged. “It’s close enough to the Slat and the Crow Club. I work from home a lot now, too, so no. I hate it considerably less than I thought I would.” 

Jesper laughed. “Yeah. Soon enough, you’ll be buying a plot of land, building a house on it, and moving in. Farming brings in good money, and these houses are perfect for summer. The fields are good for get-togethers and vow-renewals, as has become apparent.” 

Kaz shrugged. “I would live on a big plot of land, sure, but I wouldn’t use that for farming. Big machines around can lead to fatal accidents, so I would rather not. Good for a walk, though, maybe a few strawberry bushes.”

“Strawberries are perfect in summer,” you nodded. “Get them onto a stove with some sugar and they make an excellent jam or syrup. Blueberries too.”

“Inej has tricked me into eating homemade jam. Pretty good stuff, honestly.” 

The conversation continued, and one by one, your friends left. First, it’d been Inej and Kaz, gone home to make sure that the Slat didn’t devolve into chaos and to see that Colm wasn’t too tired after he’d offered to babysit. Then it was Wylan, leaving with hugs and promises to meet up for breakfast in the following weeks. Nina and Hanne left last, exiting with kisses pressed to cheeks and tellings of excitement for Ninas return to Ketterdam.

Just like that, you and Jesper were alone in your house again, folding laundry and humming and mentioning bringing the flour that you’d gotten from the wheat and the kvas that you’d gotten from it, into the city. It was summer, and you would return to the city once more with the start of autumn. Seeing Kaz and Inej would grow frequent as you once again became bigger players and got decent paychecks from more than just the farming. 

You would laugh at Jespers jokes and have dinners with him, Inej, and Kaz. You would bond over how it’d begun to feel as though time was flying by, how it’d felt like that for the better part of a decade.

But, in that moment, as Jesper offered you his hand and you took it, as you danced in the light of the candle you’d lit on your coffee table, you found that you were so excited for life to keep on going, because it kept on going with Jesper. It kept on going with your friends, the people who made life worth it, the ones who’d mattered to you then and would always matter.

Jesper pressed his forehead against yours. “I will love you until I am rendered incapable of doing so,” Jesper whispered. “I love you constantly.” 

You grinned as Jespers arms wrapped around your waist, as yours rested on his shoulders, and your lips met, your response being communicated in just that kiss. 

Jesper loved you constantly, and in return, you loved him the same. You always would. 

[zedecksiew]

A gateway into a hell realm

VESTIBULE

A sandwich-board sign, solid gold: “Welcome 967th Great Race Participants!”

A statue of the Monkey King looms. Astride the staircase to the Mural Hall (pg xx), balls shining street-lamp bright—Brass Tower property glows fluorescent in their light.

Two gods guard the way. “The Tower is closed for a special occasion. Your invitation?”

+

“HORSE-HEAD”, DOOR GODDESS HD 5, as heavy armour, trident 2d8. Morale 12. Polearm arts, watching, running.

Decay is a racing horse. Hit by her trident, age d10 years.

Horse-head is a hell-deity, tricked by the Monkey King into servitude. You cannot sneak past. Try a bribe? She wants to taste horse meat. She will not know the difference.

+

“OX-FACE”, DOOR GOD HD 5, as heavy armour, trident 2d8. Morale 12. Polearm arts, goring, snoring.

Misfortune is a lumbering ox. Hit by his trident, fumble your next action.

Ox-face is a star-god, the Monkey King’s sworn bosom-brother. Hates Horse-head, and incorruptible—but 2-in-6 chance he is asleep at the job.

+++

("Two scary dumbasses guarding the way into the place you wanna go" is a trope I always seem to want to write into RPGs.

This is not even the first time I've used Horse-face and Ox-head in writing; they appear in this story, about a businessman's takeover of Hell—

A concept which itself got recycled in "Spy In The House Of Eth".

Guess I keep cannibalising myself? Maybe that's why I'm attached to the idea of the horse-headed hell god wanting to eat their namesake.)

+++

( Image sources: https://www.reddit.com/r/NatureIsFuckingLit/comments/creypw/the_blue_balls_of_a_vervet_monkey/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ox-Head_and_Horse-Face )

[rg-notes]

Who's the next Buffett?

For those of us who look up to Warren, it's an interesting question... so why not ask Buffett himself? Turns out, no surprise, it's already been asked... in 2010 Warren had dinner with Jay Z, and coming out of the dinner he said,

For a young person growing up, he's the guy to learn from.

So, the next question is what financial advice would Jay Z give a young person today.... in his words, with his experience, and his flavor. A few years ago I read J's book Decoded (highly recommended) and what I took away is the unique set of experiences that made Jay Z who he has become, not only as an artist but as an entrepreneur. Sadly, Jay Z has yet to write a finance book so I turned to my friend ChatGPT to pull together these insights and they don't disappoint.

"I'm not a businessman; I'm a business, man." - This famous line from Jay Z's song "Diamonds from Sierra Leone (Remix)" emphasizes the importance of investing in oneself and building a personal brand. Source: Genius.com.

"I'm a risk taker. I always try to go for the gusto. I've always been like that; in business, in music, and in life." - In a 2013 interview with Vanity Fair, Jay Z discusses his willingness to take calculated risks and pursue ambitious goals.

"Financial freedom my only hope, F**k livin' rich and dyin' broke" - In the song "Can I Live," Jay Z emphasizes the importance of saving and investing for the future, rather than living lavishly in the present. Source: Genius.com.

"I'm living proof that, yeah, you can be successful doing something you love." - In a 2013 interview with NPR, Jay Z encourages young people to pursue their passions and turn them into profitable careers.

"I'd rather die enormous than live dormant" - This famous line from Jay Z's song "Can I Live" encourages listeners to take risks and pursue their dreams, rather than settle for mediocrity. Source: Genius.com.

"My brands are an extension of me. They're close to me. It's not like running GM, where there's no emotional attachment." - In a 2010 interview with Forbes, Jay Z discusses the importance of investing in assets that align with one's personal values and interests.

"It's cool to have multiple sources of income because you never know which one is going to be a home run." - In a 2013 interview with Vanity Fair, Jay Z encourages young people to explore different avenues for generating income and building wealth.

"I'm a mirror to society because I'm a part of society. If you don't like what you see in me, then you don't like the society that we're living in." - In a 2010 interview with CNN, Jay Z discusses the role of networking and building relationships in achieving financial success.

"I'm hungry for knowledge. The whole thing is to learn every day, to get brighter and brighter. That's what this world is about." - In a 2010 interview with Forbes, Jay Z emphasizes the importance of continuous learning and personal growth, even in the face of financial success.

Jay Z has turned maybe the best music career of all time into one of the best business careers of all time by hyper-diversifying his portfolio. All while, as he said above, ensuring that his businesses are an extension of him and authentic to his brand and values. His businesses... also from ChatGPT...

Roc Nation - Jay Z founded this entertainment company in 2008, which includes a record label, talent agency, and music publishing division.

Tidal - In 2015, Jay Z acquired the music streaming service Tidal and relaunched it as a high-fidelity streaming platform. His stake was worth about $100 million.

Armand de Brignac - Jay Z owns a stake in this luxury champagne brand, which is estimated to be worth over $300 million.

Art collection - Jay Z has an extensive collection of art, including works by Picasso, Basquiat, and Warhol. The collection is estimated to be worth over $70 million.

Real estate - Jay Z owns multiple properties, including a $26 million mansion in the Hamptons and a $88 million mansion in Bel-Air, California.

Investments - Jay Z has made strategic investments in various companies, including Uber, JetSmarter, and Impossible Foods.

In my experience, ChatGPT has these values grossly understated. For example, Tidal was sold to Square for ~$300M and it was rumored that Jay Z owned 60%. Far more than the $100M stated above.

The mutual respect between Jay Z and Warren Buffett is also well known.

In an interview in 2010, Jay Z was asked about the business figures he looks up to, and he named Buffett as one of his top inspirations. He praised Buffett's long-term perspective and his ability to make smart investments based on sound principles.

Jay Z has also referenced Buffett in his lyrics. In his song "Family Feud" from his 2017 album "4:44", he raps, "I'll be damned if I drink some Belvedere while Puff got Ciroc / Y'all need to stop / It's like putting Warren Buffet in buildings with Trump."

The reference to Buffett in this verse is a comparison between two wealthy individuals with vastly different values and business practices. Buffett is known for his conservative investing strategy and philanthropic work, while Donald Trump, who was a real estate developer before entering politics, is known for his flashy lifestyle and controversial business practices.

Jay throws shade and respect in the same line. And while there is mutual respect between Jay Z and Warren Buffett, my guess is Warren hasn't listened to 4:44.

[rudrjobdesk]

कुर्की-जब्‍ती के दौरान बिजनेसमैन के घर से नोट गिनने वाली मशीन बरामद, पुलिस के भी उड़े होश

कुर्की-जब्‍ती के दौरान बिजनेसमैन के घर से नोट गिनने वाली मशीन बरामद, पुलिस के भी उड़े होश

राजगीर (नालंदा). बिहार के नालंदा जिले में एक चौंकाने वाला मामला सामने आया है. कोर्ट के आदेश पर स्‍थानीय पुलिस पूरे दलबल के साथ एक कारोबारी की संपत्ति कुर्क करने पहुंची थी. कुर्की-जब्‍ती करने की प्रक्रिया शुरू हुई तो कारोबारी के घर से सामान निकालकर उसकी लिस्‍ट बनाने का काम शुरू हुआ. पुलिस अधिकारी उस वक्‍त चौंक गए जब बिजनेसमैन के घर से नोट गिनने वाली मशीन बरामद की गई. इतना ही नहीं जब्‍ती की…

[hollyhomburg]

heat got you fucked up? better call a coochie truce. drink omega slick? yeah i call that coochie juice 🤪

Honestly though- I have this idea where maybe both she and Jimin are like molecular-biologists? and they’re both really curious to study heats and rut cycles and want to find more reliable ways of controlling heats and ruts than the medication that Doesn’t work for some of the population. they both set out wanting to help other omegas but maybe no one takes them seriously because they’re both omegas who want to study heats (queue sexual jokes from their alpha peers) 

Meanwhile, they both just understand a good 30% of the population just wants to know why heats feel so bad and how to control them better but because it's omega rights- it hasn’t been studied enough so their research is kinda stigmatized. they’re in their senior year when Jimin's heat dilemma hits and maybe they both recently read an article showing the correlation between slick eating and reduced heats and they set out to ‘test the hypothesis’ in actuality. 

And then Jimin is kinda intrigued why it worked? so he studies it and finds out that it’s not every omega slick that has the same properties and it depends on what kind of hormone receptors you have and like- you need to consume an omega’s slick that has the opposite receptors that you do in order for heat restriction to happen. 

And maybe their study gets boned when they both try to start grad school and their alpha advisor just won't fucking listen to them “look- you know i took a chance taking both of you on- but there's no way that the board will fund a study like this by two omegas, there simply isn't enough interest in the academic community or enough evidence that it would be a monetarily sound investment. Suppressants work just fine for most of the population” and by fine he means they result in cramps and irritability, weight gain, and emotional instability in omegas. what he means to say is that alphas don’t care about helping omegas miss heats- no- they want them to just have them and grin and bear it. Jimin and you read between the lines. 

and you both get drunk and angsty- and while Jimin really wants to get his phd- he’s also really fucking tired of academia constantly looking down their nose at them just because they’re omegas. and they’re both just like “fuck it- what if we just quit and start a business selling our slick to omegas to stop their heats” and they just kinda have this lightbulb moment and they realize that wait- with the right marketing that might be feasible. 

(please don’t imagine Jimin and the reader figuring out a way to attach a receptacle to a dildo that will slowly collect their slick, sitting on it every night facing each other, Jimin holding a vibrator to the m/c cunt, and the reader using a fleshlight on jimin to help him milk his prostate for slick. both edging each other on and staying hydrated to keep their slick production up, definitely don’t imagine the aftermath, Jimin checking to see how much they’ve both produced and teasing the m/c for how full her container is. both of their legs turned to jelly. After the first few weeks and picking the right sex toys they both learn how to make themselves squirt slick and then it really gets fun. Jimin and you both regularly pass out. and have to limit your ‘business nights’ to every other day because it’s just too much to do it every day. 

And maybe it starts kinda slow and then slowly they both start to make bank on it, and get several other donors- not only themselves on their website. and even after that- maybe a university actually approaches them to learn how to synthetically generate slick, but specifically their slick. and Jimin finally gets his PhD, but he’s much happier being a businessman then he would be as a professor. 

imagine him and the m/c meeting their old advistor- both dripping in the labors of their success, and Jimin eggs the professor on- “tell me again how it wouldn’t be financially feasible? you must have been talking about alpha knots- those are a dime a dozen, meanwhile, our slick is worth its weight in gold” 

Jimin and her patenting the method of clarifying it and distilling it down to something that doesn't taste like anything. so that only they can sell it legally- with medical board aproval. But still, there will always be some omegas who really want their slick to be ‘all-natural’ so Jimin and her still sell it and collect it the old fashion way, and it’s even more expensive than the laboratory version. 

and maybe- alphas start to catch onto it too. and they get very very regular orders from a trans omega whose alphas love the taste of both of their slick (ie- namgikook- kook whose the trans omega. He never liked being an alpha much and always favored being soft like an omega. Always knew he was one deep down- no matter the knot between his legs) 

And maybe they all start to form a very very close bond after jungkook sends them a letter saying thank you. how having real omega slick on hand really makes him feel like a real omega. Jungkook is really a sweet boy and his alphas are so so supportive, you agree to meet him in person. and maybe it’s weird to stare into the eyes of an alpha who knows what you taste like. And it's not like you didn’t know that occasionally some alphas buy your slick- but it's very different to know that they have nice hands like Yoongi does- or cute dimples like Namjoon does, or are so earnestly eager to talk about it like jungkook. 

[heartsofbeskar]

from the ashes

chapter six | read on AO3

din djarin x oc

WARNINGS: violence, swearing

WORDS: 3.2K

EXCERPT: He extended his other arm to her. Stepping as close as she could, she wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulders. The arm he had held out to her now circled her waist, pulling her even closer. She could feel every curve and edge of his armour through her clothes. His helmet turned towards her.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

PREV | NEXT

Ten couldn’t think of a better sound than the Ursa’s engines finally running again. Decidedly less strained than before, she thought. Though that may have just been wishful thinking.

They’d been sequestered on the asteroid for the better part of two standard weeks. The time they’d lost was valuable, but nothing compared to the time they’d lose if the Ursa bailed on them mid-flight.

On the surface, spending time with the Mandalorian was not too much different than spending time alone. He barely spoke unless he was spoken to, and moved around like a ghost, despite the heavy armour. But there was something … imposing about the man. Not threatening, but Ten could feel his presence in a room, sometimes even feel his eyes on her. It wholly unsettled her— not that she’d let him know that.

Much — well actually all — of their conversation in the recent days had centered around where the hell to go next. It was obvious an Imperial conspirator had inside knowledge of the job and that Ten and Mando were the ones working it. They had a list of contacts from Greef Karga who may have information; to seek out those contacts now would surely be suicide, for everyone involved.

“You feel sure about Ronhar Kraz?” Ten asked. The armoured man sat to her right nodded slowly. Kraz was a businessman who specialized in textiles and linen trade between the core and the Outer Rim. Seemingly benign, but he used those same textiles and linen to smuggle weapons during the days of the Empire. For both sides.

“It feels too obvious,” she mused. “Former weapons smuggler turned Imperial double agent. Why even attach your name onto this if so many people in the Outer Rim know you worked with the Empire?”

“You’re assuming a level of intelligence and foresight I don’t often attribute to Imps,” he said.

“That’s the mindset that gets you fucked over eventually,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Is that what happened to you?”

Ten turned her head sharply, glaring at him. “You should watch that metal mouth or I’ll find something that will bend beskar.”

She heard a short breathy noise she’d come to known as a laugh processed through his modulator.

They’d almost passed through the outer boundary of the asteroid field, so she focused on steering through the last of the rocks. An itch had settled under her skin in the past few days, an urge to go, go, go, escape the confines of this belt they’d found themselves unexpectedly marooned within. As much as she still dreaded getting tangled up in Empire business, she felt that coursing of adrenaline in her veins that had been escaping her for many months now. That thrill of her life being put on the line of her own volition.

That adrenaline spiked again as they were fired on.

—

“Shit!” Ten cursed, the ship veering sharply upon impact. Din reacted on instinct, seat spinning towards the weapons controls he’d made a point of committing to memory. “They must have followed our ion trail to the edge of the belt. Have the fuckers just been waiting here the whole time?”

Another hit struck them, almost sending Din flying into the viewport. As he lurched, his gaze locked on the ships in front of them, before Ten steered them quickly away in an evasive maneuver. The ships pursued. He wasn’t surprised he recognized the ships, but he was surprised that—

“Those are New Republic ships. That’ll be why we weren’t vapourized on sight.” He paused as he attempted to target lock the ships still following close behind. There were too many asteroids lingering in the belt’s gravitational pull for them to jump to hyperspace. He needed to buy time. “Are you wanted?”

Ten didn’t look at him as she pushed their speed, but he could somehow feel her rolling her eyes at him. “No, I’m not an idiot. Even if I was, the Ursa’s totally off register, there’s no way—”

“Torpedo approaching lower left engine exhaust,” he interrupted. Cursing again, she took them as far right as possible — and right towards a large asteroid. Din braced, but she slowed their speed enough to whip them quickly around its circumference. He had to admit she was an impressive pilot.

“Are you wanted?”

“...Yes.”

“Now why am I not surprised by—”

She was cut off by the incoming communication alarm. They exchanged glances before Ten reached forward and set off the acceptance switch.

“Unidentified vessel,” came the drone of a New Republic officer. “Cut your engines immediately and prepare for boarding.”

“And why the hell should we do that?” Ten snapped, taking them through a narrow gap between asteroids. Din rolled his eyes now beneath the helmet.

“You are wanted for the murder of Jula Lars. Cut your engines immediately and prepare to be taken into custody. Failure to comply can result in—”

Ten slammed her hand down on the controls and cut off the channel. Din noticed her other hand tightening on the steering gears, knuckles going white. The scars he knew to be there were barely visible.

“Those fuckers … do you have a target lock on the ships? I’m going to blast them from the fucking sky,” she snapped.

As lightly as he dared, Din placed a hand on her arm that was closest to him. “They’re only doing their job. Obviously the Imps put them on our tail. No one else knew we were there.”

“Oh and you’re now the sudden pacifist?” she turned her head to glare at him. It felt like ice began flowing through his veins.

“We don’t need to help create more victims to the Empire,” he said lowly. Something flashed in her eyes. She kept eye contact with him for as long as she dared before turning forward to continue steering.

“Fine,” was all she said. A pause. More shots volleying around them, missing the ship as it weaved. “Then we need to go to hyperspace. Now.”

“There’s still too many asteroids we could—”

“Then I guess you’re just going to have to trust me, Mandalorian,” she said, and she was already engaging, then ramping their speed and then— rocks flew past them as superliminal speeds as they were catapulted into hyperspace. Din held his breath the entire time, certain they were headed straight for a rock which, at these speeds, would vapourize them for sure.

He let it go when he realized they were clear. Looking beside him, he saw Ten staring at him, her scarred eyebrow raised. “I told you to trust me.”

He scoffed, still feeling on edge. “Set the course for Leotis IV.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

—

Ten landed the Ursa as discreetly as she could, a few kilometres out from the Kraz estate. Thankfully it didn’t seem the New Republic had any insight on where they were going, only where they had been. But there was no guessing how long that would last.

Mando was in the hold, already securing his blaster into his belt. She recognized a couple other models and … something that didn’t look like a blaster at all. Before she could get a longer look his cloak fell over it.

“Kraz’s estate only has minimum security in place. Security cameras, only two from the back, no motion sensors,” she said, opening up the weapons compartment.

“How do you know all this?” Mando asked, entering her field of view. She looked up from where she was sheathing throwing knives. She shrugged at him.

“You hunt people, I hunt information. It’s my business to know my way around prominent figure’s properties.” Reaching up, Ten finally grabbed her blaster from the top shelf it sat on. She knew she could very likely do this without it, but it would probably appease Mando.

“If he is working with the Empire, he may have increased his security since your latest information,” he noted. She nodded as she hung her own cloak around her shoulders.

“At least then it would make for a challenge,” she said, nodding her head towards the door.

They closed the distance from the Ursa on foot so as not to be seen by anyone on the grounds. The tree cover was just enough to hide it from view overhead. Mando seemed to want to take the walk in their usual state of silence, and Ten didn’t complain.

As they walked, Ten admired the foliage that seemed to grow at mostly knee height on this planet. It bloomed undisturbed in the gaps left by the trees, enjoying the unrestricted sunlight. The rays seemed to bounce off the petals which appeared in every colour.

It made her think of Yaim. The trees there had been much denser, and wider. But the air seemed to vibrate in the same way, the wind so delicate Ten could almost close her eyes and imagine it was tender fingers on her cheek.

She reached out, as she would always do when she was a girl, and felt that unwavering presence, its weight bearing down on her bones and her soul alike. But … less heavy than usual, which surprised her.

Finally, they reached the wall which indicated the edge of the property, It wasn’t high, maybe four or five metres by Ten’s estimation. The surface was uneven, and she grabbed a hold of the texture, testing it.

“This should work. If we can scale to the—” She was cut off by a sharp whizzing noise beside her. As she examined the grappling hook connected to his vambrace, she was absolutely sure he was smirking beneath the helmet. “Or we could do it that way.”

He extended his other arm to her. Stepping as close as she could, she wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulders. The arm he had held out to her now circled her waist, pulling her even closer. She could feel every curve and edge of his armour through her clothes. His helmet turned towards her.

“Hold on tight,” was all he said, and then they were rapidly ascending up, up, past the rough stones in the wall, until Mando swung them onto the top, which was thankfully flat. “You can let go now.”

“Right,” she breathed. Shaking her head, she turned towards the building now filling their view. As she’d planned, the route to the wall had taken them close to the back corner of the property. If her information was current, Kraz only had cameras facing his back and front entrances. “You’ve got a scope on that pulse rifle, right? Can you see the cameras on the back wall?”

Swinging the rifle around to rest on his shoulder, he wordlessly aimed at the building. Ten studied his stance from the corner of her eye. His feet were heavy, planted shoulder width apart. He didn’t sway as the wind picked up, a solid beskar statue in the foreign landscape.

Suddenly he fired once, then twice. Ten flinched at the unexpected noise. Finally, he spoke. “The cameras are taken care of.”

“A little warning next time?” Before he could respond, she flung herself from the wall. She braced herself on her hands as she landed, Mando dropping beside her a moment later. She held up a hand.

After a few beats of silence, she nodded at him. “Seems like they haven’t upgraded security after all,” she noted, moving towards the back entrance. As they got closer, she saw that the cameras were indeed demolished by the shots.

“Don’t suppose you know the interior blueprints as well?” Mando asked at her left shoulder.

“No,” she shook her head. “Those are usually harder to get a hold of. But I have been hired by many men like Kraz. They like to keep their personal offices in the back of buildings, it makes them feel safer for some reason. See that window?”

She gestured directly above them, where the largest window on the back facade sat. It was also the only window inset with what appeared to be rare minerals.

“I agree,” Mando said before she could finish. “That’s a good place to start. After you.”

Ten examined the back entrance, gliding her hand along the smooth edges of the metal. The locking mechanism blinked orange gently, and she recognized an optical scanner. But beneath that … a keyboard override, hidden under an unlocked panel. Perfect.

Taking one of her daggers from her belt, she was able to tear off the cover of the keypad box with her hands. Ten held the dagger up. It was one of her favourites. The handle was nondescript, simple, fitted perfectly to her grip. Its blade was stronger than any other she owned, and she strongly suspected it had been mixed with beskar, though she couldn’t be sure. Maybe she would ask the Mandalorian.

She pried under the edge of the keypad, battling metal on metal, leveraging with all her strength. Finally, as she expected, her metal won, and the bottom edge of the keypad popped off with a satisfying crack. She cut every wire she found lying underneath, one by one until—

The door slid open with a whirr as the orange light went dark.

“Would’ve been faster to shoot it open,” said Mando.

“And set off every alarm they have in this place.” She strode past him into the building. The cement walls echoed her footsteps, but there was no other sound bouncing off them. The overhead lights flickered slowly.

The hallway branched into a T shortly ahead of them, and her and Mando took to a side of the wall. Nodding, they inched over the corner, blasters drawn. Ten found a long corridor on her side, ending in a window. There were no doors. She spoke first, in a low tone.

“All clear here.”

“Here too.”

Relaxing marginally, she turned. The other direction appeared much the same, with another doorless hallway. Ten shrugged.

“Your choice is as good as mine.”

Mando wordlessly started down the hall to the right. She followed, pulling her hood over her head as she did. She ran her hand lightly along the wall. It was cold to the touch. She tightened her grip on her blaster.

A stairway emerged at the end of the hallway, and they followed silently. The next level was similar to the first, though featured more hallways going deeper into the building and an occasional linen draped on the wall. Finally, they came to a wide door, inlaid with the same mineral as the exterior window.

It was empty inside. A large wooden desk occupied much of the room, facing towards the ornate window. The sunlight streamed in freely, casting multicoloured shapes over the room. It reflected off Mando’s beskar as he approached the computer terminal on the desk.

“The communications log should give us enough information on whether he’s working with the Empire.” He called up a projected screen, gloved fingers running over the controls. “Should be … here. Most people don’t even restrict access. We can download it to look at on the ship.”

Ten nodded. She moved towards the window. Closer to it, she could see the small bubbles enclosed in the inlays. It felt rough. She wasn’t sure why she was so drawn to touch today, but it felt as if a live wire had been inserted beneath her skin, the smallest of currents lighting her nerves.

“Done,” came Mando’s modulated tone, pulling her attention. “We should go—”

Before he could finish, the latch clicked in the door. They both watched, unable to do anything, as the handle turned and the door opened fully.

A human man stood there, looking down at his holopad at first. Mando raised his blaster slowly. By the time the man looked up, it was directly in front of his face, and his eyes widened as he took the two of them in.

“W-who the hell are you?” he asked shakily. “You shouldn’t be in here, I …”

“We’re going to walk out of here,” Mando said calmly. “There’s no reason to panic. You’re going to stay in this office for five minutes, and then go about your day. Got it?”

The man’s eyes darted rapidly back and forth between them. Ten tried to soften her eyes, to urge him to listen. She wasn’t sure it worked.

Faster than either of them could react, he screamed out, tripping backwards over himself out of the office. Mando fired down into his leg and he collapsed, screaming more, but it was too late, the damage had been done.

As they sprinted out and away from the office, Ten could already hear the sound of boots echoing off the walls. They’d almost reached the stairs when a group of armed security burst out of a hallway in front of them. It was six on two and damn if Ten didn’t like those odds.

Blaster fire broke out almost immediately. Just as quickly, Ten lost track of Mando in the shuffle, but it didn’t matter.

She shot at the two men in front of her, electing for quantity over quality in her aim. She managed to hit one somewhere in the torso and he crumpled to the ground. After a number of other shots she hit the next man in the shoulder, which worked to her advantage. He dropped his blaster with a shout, but stayed on his feet.

Ten pulled two of the small knives from her belt. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she aimed before whipping it forehead. It spun in the air before hitting its mark, buried inside the man’s neck. He sputtered as he fell to his knees, then onto his face.

Spinning around, she saw Mando taking down a fifth officer behind her, two others already on the ground. She counted quickly.

“Where’s the sixth one?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mando grunted, dropping the officer to the ground. He raced toward the stairs and she followed.

It appeared they were mostly in the clear, the branch off to the door just ahead of them. Ten led ahead, turning the corner first.

She was met with a blaster pressed to her forehead. It was the sixth officer, her hands shaking as she pressed the barrel harder into the skin.

Ten couldn’t even consciously control her response. It didn’t matter that Mando stood just behind her.

Her hand reached up in front of her, gripping seemingly around nothing, pushing forward. She pulled on the invisible field which was always with her, calling on it. Slowly the barrel of the blaster moved away and so too did the officer, beginning to cough and sputter as her windpipe closed. Ten panted, squeezing tighter and higher, and now the officer was a good three metres in front of her, feet lifting off the ground, eyes rolling into her head. With a grunt, she quickly jerked her arm to the side, sending the officer flying into the wall. The crumpled figure on the ground didn’t move.

“You just …” came Mando’s voice behind her. She turned to look back at him. “You’re a Jedi.”

“We don’t have time for this but let’s get one thing straight. I am not a Jedi.”

[scotianostra]

RESIDENTS of a Borders gateway town are up in arms after their local Tory-run council ordered the removal of six Scotland flags from the high street.

 Popular with visitors to Coldstream, the Saltires have been flown in previous years without any issues by local businessman David Shepherd, who installs them each summer at his own cost to add a splash of colour to the town centre.

 They were put up again this year on July 31 to mark the town’s annual civil week, even though celebrations had to be cancelled due to Covid-19.

But Scottish Borders Council (SBC) has now ordered Shepherd to remove them after receiving a complaint that the flags are flying on council property.

 Shepherd said: “I’ve done it in previous years without complaint and there’s been no issues. I’ve never heard a negative comment before. The complaint seems to be that the flags are flying on council property. They told me data protection means they can’t say who complained. It sounds a bit political to me.”

 A gateway to Scotland, Coldstream lies on the north bank of the River Tweed and is known as the “first true border toon”. Motorists crossing the bridge are greeted by a “Scotland Welcomes You” sign.

 Shepherd’s six flags were again fixed to railings on the high street at the entrance to Henderson Park, which overlooks the Tweed with views across the Border into Northumberland. In previous years, Shepherd has had as many as 11 flags flying from the same spot.

 He added: “I did it again this year to add a bit of colour and identity to Coldstream – which is in Scotland after all – for civic week after townsfolk had to endure months of dealing with Covid.

 “Like in previous years, the flags, wood posts, paint, gold tops and installation were done entirely at my own cost. I have seen many people taking photos of them, presumably to mark their arrival to Coldstream and Scotland.

 “While I was taking them down, three other tourists were taking photos. The flags are not a political statement and are not there to offend in any way. I’ve been taken aback by the response. I expected a few comments, but I’ve had hundreds.”

 SNP councillor Donald Moffat, who lives in the town, said: “It is sad if someone has taken offence and ridiculous that they have been taken down. A lot of people are disappointed.

 “I know a lot of tourists expected to see the flag when they cross the bridge into Scotland. My wife is English and I have family and friends who loved seeing the flags when they come to visit. I don’t know what the explanation is.”

 The council ruling has been heavily criticised on Facebook.

 Bow Daniels posted: “I’m English and live here and they bring some colour to the town. There are some really pathetic people out there.”

 Gail Elliott described the decision as “unbelievable”, while Beth Scobie wrote: “What a sad world we are living in, especially the SBC. Shocking.”

 Sandra Hoy added: “I don’t understand why anyone would have a problem with them at all. It brightens the place up.”

 A Scottish Borders Council spokesperson said: “These flags were erected/attached to council property with no prior permission.

 “The council has therefore contacted the person involved and asked for them to be removed.”

[fullmetalscullyy]

a conspiracy theory - chapter 8

co-written by @snowdog49 and @jeanhaavoc

summary:  Detective Roy takes on a challenging task… To find Olivier Armstrong’s sword. However, he has a beautiful woman to distract him along the way. Will he, Jean, and Ed be able to find the sword in time, or will they succumb to the conspiracy?

warning: graphic depictions of violence

tags: conspiracy, pining, unresolved sexual tension, private detective au, royai, havolina, mystery, violence, modern au, coffee shops

rated: m | words: 3535

read on ao3

Monday morning came too soon. Sunday didn’t feel like it even existed. He’d been too caught up in thinking over this case that he didn’t manage to do much else. Not that Roy had much in the way of a social life in the first place, but most of the time at the weekend he could at least turn his brain off and unwind for a little bit.

This weekend was different. The realization that this case of a stolen sword ran deeper than they all thought was weighing on him. He couldn’t dismiss that thought from his mind no matter how much he tried to, or how much he wanted to. Too many things were being connected with his red strings, and it was looking like it would turn into a full-blown headache for him. Where had the easy job that was extremely well paid gone? Something as bizarre as a sword was breaking down his reputation, and it just made him even more determined and eager to find the damn thing.

It would have been easy for Roy to have called Rebecca and told her that Jean needed to do some investigating on his behalf so he could sleep, but it wouldn’t do him any good. It hadn’t left him alone yesterday, so anticipated it wouldn’t leave him be today either. If he was going to lose more sleep anyway, he may as well be productive with his time. Plus, he’d still be awake wondering what was going on at the office. As Jean said, he was married to his work. The blonde co-worker couldn’t be more right.

Roy’s hand hovered over his cup of coffee, staring at his computer. His baggy eyes blinked as they tried to make sense of what was on the screen. Jean was typing away as if Mondays didn’t bother him in the slightest. When he’d walked in with Rebecca earlier, he certainly looked like the cat had gotten the cream. Someone had a good weekend. Roy rolled his eye when he remembered how he and Rebecca talked about “later” when they were telling him about the dinner.

Rebecca was scrolling through what was on her screen, checking a piece of paper beside her as she went. Every now and then she’d note something down, and Roy observed her for a second, wishing he had that same level of productivity in his tired brain at that moment.

Then there was Edward, sat in his seat, with his feet on the desk and a newspaper in hand. The young man was reading away, concentrating intently on the words. His eyebrows had pulled together the more he read, developing into a deep frown. Whatever it was, Roy determined he didn’t like reading about it. And Roy never would have thought a tech-guy would like a physical paper so much, but Ed was always reading it.

Roy wanted to say something about the feet on the desk but wasn’t in the mood for an argument, and he was sure Rebecca was going to correct it once she noticed it. He sipped his coffee and leaned over his desk. “We need a napping room,” he mumbled.

“I’ve been saying that for years,” Jean added.

“No,” Rebecca corrected. “You said we needed a dark room.” She never once looked away from her computer screen.

“For pictures?” Ed peeked from behind the paper. He flicked the corner down so he could see over the top.

“Hangovers,” all three of them said in unison.

Ed nodded and went back to reading. “Not a bad idea,” he shrugged.

Roy put his coffee down and turned to look at his pictures. “I’m beginning to think that this is a joke on me somehow. That there was never a sword to begin with.” He sighed loudly and leaned back in his chair. “It’s got to be about blackmailing... a hostage… I don’t know.” He took another sip of his coffee. “What does the Armstrong family know that they don’t want us to know?” He rubbed his unshaven chin. “Why would they bother hiring me if they didn’t want to tell me everything?” he muttered darkly.

“Did you read this,” Ed yelled out, breaking the attention of everyone. “Fuckers are corrupt as all hell!”

Roy turned to get after him about his language but Ed dropped his feet to the ground, dropping the paper to his desk and pointed at it.

“There has been no mention of this passing until now,” Ed continued to rage. “They are just now putting it through the final voting stages to ratify it. The public needs to have some kind of knowledge of what’s going on! I swear that there is some freaking conspiracy behind this!” He hit the paper with the back of his hand.

Jean started to laugh in the background.

“Indoor voice, Edward,” Roy warned, but it fell on deaf ears.

“I’m serious,” Ed insisted loudly. “They are ratifying that this large plot of land can be sold for developing. It’s not like our country is going to be benefiting from the sale. It will go for base value, and that’s cheap compared to what private property sells for! But I swear that King Bradley is going to buy it up.” Ed shook his finger at the paper.

“You read the news?” Jean blinked, stopping typing. “You’re a kid.”

“Hey! I have to know what’s going on!” Edward protested.

“You could get it like the rest of the world and get online.” Jean pointed to his computer.

“Then why do we even get a physical paper delivered here?” he spat back.

“Who is selling the land?” Roy asked tiredly, interrupting their bickering. He was already annoyed by Edward’s loud outrage. Roy looked over to silently ask Jean if he knew anything about what Ed was talking about, but he just shrugged at Roy’s helpless and exasperated look. It was probably better they let Ed ride out his yelling.

“And what makes you think Bradley is going to snap it up?” Jean raised an eyebrow.

“This land was set aside years ago for the natural park system.” Ed was much calmer now as he began to explain, but the anger was still clear on his face. “But in the last year, they’ve been moving to say that it has potential resources on it,” he added, shooting the three of them a look. Even Rebecca had stopped typing now to listen to what Ed was saying.

“That rings a bell,” Jean muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair. It tipped back with him as he brought a hand to his chin in thought. He moved his head to study the ceiling as Ed continued to talk.

“The only resource I can even credit it being used for would be water,” Ed continued. “But no one has even mentioned that. If there were water on it, it wouldn’t be sold, it would have been absorbed into the government’s control. They like to have control over things like that.” Ed pointed to the paper. “Then this says that Senator Raven has been discussing the potential of the land! What do you want to bet that there have seen surveyors and geologists all over that area? Bradley is going to mine the fuck out of it!” he accused loudly.

“Calm down,” Roy lowered his hand. He took another drink. Maybe he needed a bit of whiskey in it. Ed was making good points but there should be a rule in the office that there was no politics talk until after noon. Especially on a Monday morning.

“They’re all thieves!” Ed sat back in his seat, crossing his arms. “I swear that Bradley is buying the senate. He’s got the money. He owns enough land and has the assets to buy the entire government.”

“So what,” Jean shrugged. His hand left his chin and his chair tipped back up. “He’s a businessman.” This was an obvious conclusion to all of them.

“That’s what lobbyists do.” Rebecca chipped in, agreeing with Jean.

“But that’s the thing,” Ed pointed to the paper. “Senator Raven has been pushing this bill really hard. Listen to this, ‘Senator Raven has firmly stood on the ground that the resources of the land could benefit not only the country but for private businesses as well.’” Ed panned his finger across the pages. “Then here it says, ‘Senator Raven has always been an advocate for private allotments of land to encourage the economic growth of this country.’ It says that Raven said, ‘The private property and small businesses is what makes this country prosper. If this land is to aid in the economic growth of Amestris, there should be no argument on publicizing it.’ Why would he be saying that? He’s not even saying what the land is being, or could be, used for. He’s avoiding that whole discussion. If he said it’s going to open up for water, or it has potential for residential growth, it’d be one thing, but there’s no point in selling the land if there’s no need for its use.”

“If it’s going residential, Yoki’s retail business could definitely thrive,” Jean rubbed his chin.

Ed shook his head adamantly. “It’s King Bradley. He’s donated so much money to Raven and his little followers that there’s no way that it’s not going to him. And Senator Raven just needs just a few more votes to get it through, but it looks like, according to the article, that Senator Marcoh has been opposing it. I bet it’s only an amount of time before the Bradley Empire gets to Marcoh too.” Ed chewed on his lip.

“When I talked to Marcoh at the party,” Jean remembered. “He was very adamant about the protection of government lands. It might be more about that than just the industrialization of some areas.”

Roy looked back up at the pictures. That was interesting. He stood, catching the red string attached to Marcoh’s name. It had been dangling free for a few days, unattached to anything. Glancing between Marcoh and Bradley’s photograph, Roy twirled the string in his fingers in contemplation. “Is there anything in there about the Armstrongs?”

Ed shook his head. “I hardly ever see that family in the news. They’re pretty private.”

“How would any of this even pertain to the case then?” Roy grumped.

Rebecca tutted and shook her head at his tone, but Roy ignored it. Maybe he needed more coffee.

"Why does this have to pertain to the case at all?" Jean looked over his shoulder at the standing Roy. "You're obsessing over this. Not everything in the world is tied into that damn case."

Roy muttered something back at him, staring at Marcoh's photo.

Ed shook the paper in front of Jean. “Look, there is a scandal here! Why are you guys not in an uproar?”

Roy scratched his unshaven cheek and stared at the pictures. He dropped Marcoh’s red string for now. “Who else is in the mining business? Is there anything else that the land has value in?”

“Marcoh pointed out that the soil would be very good for farming,” Jean interjected. “Something about the type of soil rivals the quality of the soil in the east, and a lot of people forget about that. Agriculture would certainly benefit the people of the country more, as well as our country’s trading. However, he’s more concerned about the land in general.”

Edward nodded. “Apart from that… No. It’s mostly hiking areas. It’s not far from town. The paper almost glorifies it, saying that it will bring jobs, but mining kills water sources. It shouldn’t even be done close to human habitation.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Jean frowned.

“How do you not?” Edward bit back.

Roy waved his hand irritably at the two. He sighed and gnawed on his lip.

There was a quiet pause before Edward spoke again. “You guys have heard about the conspiracy of their little boy’s club, right?” His tone was hushed as if he was sharing a deep secret.

Jean’s chair whined as he leaned forward in it. “There’s always word about that with any powerful group of people,” he dismissed, flicking his wrist in the air.

“No,” Ed shook his head. “There’s this private association that’s part of the elite of this country. They run the country behind the scenes.”

Roy didn’t stop looking at his pictures. It was all talk at this point and it had nothing to do with the case. He’d just go back to overthinking and wishing he was having better coffee with a certain lady rather than being in the office.

“It’s members are people like most of the senators, leaders of the country, and even big businessmen like Bradley.” Ed sat up in his chair and started to use his hands to talk. “There’s this building on the corner of Benson and 77th. Rumor is that’s the building they congregate in. They have evil worshipping ceremonies there, even dark magic has been speculated.”

Jean laughed. “Now it’s getting ridiculous.”

“Ed, come on now.” Rebecca was completely doubtful. “You’re a smart kid, then you come out with that?”

Ed didn't let up. “It gets mail, but no one knows what it is. Not even the mailman knows what it’s for.” Ed’s voice rose. “Why would it get mail if nothing was going on with it? Roy, let me go steal -”

“No,” he cut him off. “That doesn’t pertain to any of this. We’ve already discussed the legality of this company.”

Ed huffed and leaned back in his chair. “Supposedly this association was built by the Armstrongs. Do you think that it has anything to do with this?”

Jean and Rebecca looked at Roy. It sounded like he was trying to get Roy’s attention, and Roy wasn’t going to give it to him. “What would it have to do with the sword?” Roy asked, sounding bored of his conspiracy talk. One potential conspiracy was enough for Roy right now. He didn’t need two.

“It’s just a conspiracy, Kid.” Jean shrugged. “There’s always been talk, and there always will be. There’s no proof, and we have to have evidence to prove something one way or another.”

“I want to prove it,” Ed volunteered as he raised his hand. “It would open up questions and concerns about this country’s government that needed to be addressed years ago.”

“I’m going to need more coffee,” Roy rubbed his brow and stood up to go to the coffee pot.

Jean leaned on his arms on his desk. “You sure want to be a whistleblower? Do you know what happens to whistleblowers?” He drew his finger across his throat.

“Stop it,” Rebecca glared at Jean. “Ed’s not going to get killed for thinking that there's some conspiracy.”

“He will if he gets caught knowing things he shouldn’t know!” Jean quickly retorted.

“Look, while I was hanging out with Ling, even he said it was a thing,” Ed persisted. “He said that everyone is telling him to grow up but they won’t let him join their order.”

“He’s too young to be getting into that kind of politics,” Roy added. “That’s why they’re not letting him get involved.”

Ed scrunched his nose. “Come on, Roy, I’m bored. Let me investigate this, just for fun.”

Roy seriously debated it as he sat down heavily in his desk chair. He stared at the papers in front of him, weighing the pros and cons. It’d get Edward out and doing things. It wasn’t like he could get any real information on it anyway. “Okay,” he mumbled. “But no stealing mail,” he added sharply.

“I’m so going through the trash bin,” he grinned. Ed’s face lit up, just like it had when he saw Ling’s jet ski.

“Now that’s good detective work,” Jean complimented. “Do you know how many love letters I found doing that?”

Ed puffed out his chest, excited at his new task.

“You’re on your own,” Roy flicked his hand and like that Ed jumped up and marched out the door. “That was easy,” he groaned. He got up from his chair and looked at Yoki’s photo. “Olivier is already pissed off it’s taken this long. My reputation is slipping.”

Rebecca walked up behind him and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Hun. Maybe you’re thinking too hard. Maybe you need to take a step back?”

Roy shook his head. He needed it to be Wednesday. He needed better coffee. He wanted a distraction. His eyes looked back at the sword. The sheath was black, with golden bands and the Armstrong emblem… “Wait. That doesn’t look right.”

Roy turned quickly, slamming down in his seat and nearly spilling his cup of coffee.

Rebecca jumped at the sudden movement and shot Jean a surprised look. They both shrugged, and Roy heard Jean mutter something about ‘a beautiful mind is not always a sane one’. Roy didn’t care.

“Whatcha got there?” Rebecca inquired lightly, seemingly afraid of the box she was opening.

Roy scrolled through page after page of the Armstrong website, looking at the Armstrong crest. He got up, pulling the picture off the wall with force, popping the pin out of the board, letting it fall to roll back and forth on the ground. Collapsing back into his chair, his eyes darted from the pictures online to the picture of the sword. “They aren’t the same.” Roy turned violently to Jean, pointing to the sword. “This is not the crest of the Armstrong family.”

Jean got up to look over his shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe you’re not looking for her sword but another?”

Heart hammering inside of his chest, Roy’s eyes snapped back and forth. His gaze scrutinized every little detail, making sure he was correct. “I’m right,” he muttered to himself in disbelief. His heart leaped inside his chest. Adrenaline was coursing through him, excited at the prospect of finding something.

“What does that mean though?” Rebecca asked gently. Roy heard Jean nudge her behind him. “What?” she whispered defensively.

“No,” Roy interrupted them, reassuring Rebecca. “No, this is something. I’m sure it is.”

“Okay…” Rebecca’s voice was soothing and slow, sounding slightly concerned.

“Okay, what then?” Jean asked.

“I…” Roy bit his lip. There was something right on the top of his tongue, right on the edge of his mind, but it was just out of reach. He couldn’t get it out. “If this is not the Armstrong crest, it belongs to something or someone,” he reasoned. “If I do this....” He trailed off, muttering to himself.

Jean and Rebecca walked out from behind his desk, leaving Roy to mutter to himself as his mind whirred at a million miles a second.

The office and the outside world didn’t matter to Roy right now. He grabbed the photo he’d saved of the lost sword from the files on his computer. Opening the search engine, he reverse picture searched for it, hoping something may come up. If it didn’t appear, that didn’t matter. It may actually add to the theory forming in his mind…

No search results. Roy’s shoulders still slumped, but he threw them back not a moment later. Straightening his spine, he searched for the address Edward had given them for this “secret order”. It was listed as a derelict building. No name was attached to it. Why would a derelict building get mail?

Roy spun back around in his chair, eyeing photographs of each candidate for a possible suspect. They were headshots but showed the candidate sitting from the waist up, their hands folded upon their lap. He scanned their suits, looking for any kind of crest. The ties were all plain, so nothing on there. Governor Kremlin wore a pin, but it didn’t match the crest on Olivier’s sword. Squinting, Roy eyed each of their hands. Olivier wore no jewelry. Roy paused after his eyes moved over Bradley and Raven. They both wore rings. There was a clear crest on Raven’s ring, but Bradley’s was turned away from the camera. Marcoh had no ring, but Roy could see a pin on the lapel of his jacket. It had the same crest. Grabbing the photo of the sword, Roy confirmed that the crests were the same.

“Get Ed on the phone,” Roy called to the room.

“Any particular reason why?” Rebecca asked, phone already in her hand. “He’s not going to be pleased about being taken off his new job so soon.”

“He can keep digging through trash if that’s what his heart truly desires,” Roy dismissed, waving his hand as he scribbled his thoughts down on a scrap piece of paper. “I need him to meet up with Ling.”

“What have you got?” Jean asked knowingly.

“That’s definitely not the Armstrong crest on the sword,” Roy grinned at him. “But it does match a crest on a ring that Senator Raven is wearing. Considering how they’re best buds, I would bet Bradley’s ring has the same one on it too.”

Jean broke out into a wide smile.

“Get Edward and tell him to meet with Ling as soon as possible. He needs to speak to him about this.”

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Beneath the Stars

Title: Beneath the Stars Request:   Hi I was wondering if you could do a sam x reader where they’re on a hunt and to stop the monster they have to burn the place they are down and the reader gets trapped in the building and maybe even under some debris and Sam has to rescue them like partly angst partly fluff I just love your writing and wanted to see how you would take this on thnx ❣️ - @supernatural-02 Pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: fire?? some descriptions of injuries/pain?? some angst?? but with fluff as well. and maybe some mild swearing but i can’t really remember Word Count: 3,619

note: so this turned out a little longer than i expected, but i hope you like it! thank you so much for the request! also i’m super duper tired tonight so i won’t be completing any ship requests tonight - I’ll work on them tomorrow! :)

“So, get this - turns out O’Connor was cremated,” Sam declared, eyes glued to his laptop screen. You frowned, glancing up from your own research, whilst Dean scoffed in the corner.

“Great - what the hell is he attached to, then?” Dean muttered. “The dude was loaded, had estates all over the country - why is he here? Just sayin’, if I was a ghost, I wouldn’t be sticking around this piece of crap town if I could be in a mansion in LA.”

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and loosening his tie. As he and Dean began to bicker, you turned back to your laptop, continuing your research of the history of the house in question. It wasn’t spectacular - an abandoned two storey in rural Kansas, home to businessman Ross O’Connor, who died in “suspicious circumstances” in his own bed in 2014, aged forty. He’d been the last known resident of the property, and all seemed well until a few months ago, when interest was displayed in gentrifying the area. Every real estate agent who took on the house turned up dead a few days later, and what little evidence the three of you had managed to collect pointed you in O’Connor’s direction.

Your eyes skimmed the page, burning and strained from the blue light. While Sam and Dean had been in their FBI getups procuring as much intel as they were able, you’d been in the motel researching every lead they sent you. Their voices faded into the background now, nothing but a faint irritation as the words on the screen seemed to melt together. Your head hurt, and you vaguely wondered if you’d remembered to eat today. Sighing, you pulled away from the screen, slamming the lid shut.

“I’ve got nothing,” you declared. “I’m hungry, I’m exhausted, my head’s killing me. How about we head to bed and pick this up tomorrow?” you suggested, and the boys sighed, nodding their assent. As Dean headed for the shower, you laid on your bed, pressing your hands over your eyes in an attempt to block out the glaring fluorescent light. Stars bounced across your vision from the pressure, sparkling blue and yellow and red as they danced over your closed eyelids, lighting up the darkness as your eyes complained against your fingers. You felt the bed dip and glanced up to see Sam sitting at its foot. He offered you a small smile, though his eyes were warm with concern.

“Hey, you okay?”

You sighed. “Fine. I just feel like I’ve hit a wall,” you muttered, and the corner of his mouth twitched in sympathy.

“We’ll get there - we always do,” he assured you, moving to lay down next to you. You nodded, curling into his side as his arm circled your waist.

“Yeah, I know, but… it’s not just with the case. This, hunting, it’s all just… what are we working towards, Sammy? It’s not like we’re ever gonna get rid of all the monsters, so… what’s even the point?” you mumbled. Sam sighed, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah, I know. But… we’re helping people, Y/N. Once we finish this case, who knows how many lives we’ll have saved?” he asked.

“Sure, I guess… and then they’ll gentrify this place, up the real estate prices, then rich people will kick all the poor people out. How’s that for helping people?” you scoffed. “It doesn’t make sense - this O’Connor guy, wouldn’t he be all for that? Everything I’ve read about him makes him seem like a total dickwad who let money get to his head. I’m just not seeing any motive for preserving that stupid house,” you said, and Sam frowned.

“You’re right, it doesn’t make any sense,” he said slowly. “And what Dean said earlier… he’s got a point. What is there here that this guy is attached to? He only moved here a month before he died. Nothing in this case is making any sense. Maybe we’ve got it wrong,” he mused. You made a noise of discontent.

“Well, we can work that out in the morning,” you mumbled. “I’m exhausted.”

Sam smiled sympathetically, rubbing your back as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned into his warmth, his hard chest a far more appealing surface than the thin motel pillow. Your eyes fluttered as you struggled to keep them open, finding yourself focussing on the stars just visible through the tiny motel window. One thing had to be said for finding yourself in the middle of nowhere, even amidst the frustration of an unsolvable case - at least you could see the stars, see whole galaxies stretching across the sky, beautiful and glimmering and free. The stars faded into darkness as your eyes fell shut.

“Get some rest,” Sam urged, moving to run his fingers through your hair. “I love you,” he reminded you, and you smiled sleepily, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck and placing a soft kiss to the warm skin.

“Love you, too.”

---

It was barely 8 o’clock when Sam’s phone rang - another death. He sighed, alerting Dean as the two of them donned their FBI gear. You settled back in bed, computer in your lap as you continued to research. When Sam and Dean returned a few hours later, you glanced up hopefully, only to be met with downtrodden expressions and a heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush any flickers of hope you still held.

“No luck?” you asked, and Sam shook his head, shedding his jacket and collapsing next to you, glancing over your screen helplessly. You could smell the fresh air still clinging to his hair and clothes, taste the sweetness of the countryside on the breeze that crept inside when the door opened. His skin was flushed from the midday sun.

“Nope,” he affirmed. “How about on your end?”

You sighed. “Nothing.”

“Maybe we’re in over our heads,” Dean suggested glumly. “The amount of deaths must’ve dropped the place’s value by now - they’d be stupid to try and sell it now.”

“Dean!” Sam said sternly. “Those people - they had families, they deserve some kind of justice. Besides, someone might try to buy it in the fu-”

“Families…” you murmured, and Sam and Dean both glanced at you quizzically. You ignored them, brow creased and fingers hovering over your keyboard before you started typing frantically. Article after article arose, and you skimmed them quickly before searching past records. Slowly, the puzzle pieces fell into place. Sam and Dean’s trained their perplexed stares on you, but you hardly noticed - finally, it made sense!

“I’ve got it!” you declared. “Ross O’Connor - no record of him predates 1993. So, I did some digging… turns out, his name’s really Ross Miller. When he was nineteen he had a big blow up with his parents, moved out, even changed his name,” you informed them. Dean’s brow creased.

“So? What’s that have to do with the case?”

“I’m getting to that! So, I looked back at all the past owners of the house, and saw that the last owner before Ross was a woman named Carol Miller - must be his mother. House had been in her family since the fifties.”

Sam’s eyes lit up, and you kept talking. “Get this - Carol died of a heart attack, and six months later, her disowned son comes back into town and declares ownership of the house.”

“Okay… so, what, she left it to him in her will?”

You shook your head. “Nope - apparently, she left him out of her will entirely. He claimed he was forgotten, found himself a good lawyer, and must’ve had enough of a case to snag the old family home. I was right about what I said last night, about Ross being the kind of guy who’d want to make money out of the place. Looks like he was staying there while he helped sort out the finer details of a sales contract - he was the one who set up the plans to gentrify the area. But before it could go through…”

“He turns up dead under suspicious circumstances!” Sam finished, and you beamed, nodding.

“Yep! And wanna know the cherry on the cake? In an interview back in ‘08, Ross was asked about his family and said he and his parents had some disagreements over some property developments he’d proposed - I’m willing to bet that, as an aspiring young businessman, he saw the house might be of value and tried to get his mother to sell it-”

“Hence the blowout,” Sam murmured, and you nodded.

“So, what? His mum’s the spirit we’re looking for?” Dean demanded, and you nodded again.

“Yeah, I think so!”

“Great! Well, let’s just get to the cemetery and-”

“Yeah, that’s the thing - she was cremated too,” you said, eyes scanning your screen as you read the information to the boys. Dean groaned.

“Great. Perfect. So we’re in exactly the same place as before-”

“Not quite,” Sam objected. “Obviously the house was important to her - I wouldn’t be surprised if she was attached to it,” he remarked, and you nodded quickly.

“Exactly! So… what, we salt and burn the whole house?” you asked. Dean’s whole face brightened, and he closed his eyes, quietly pumping his fists in the air.

“Yes!” he hissed. “Flamethrower, here I come!”

---

“I can’t believe we’re actually committing arson,” you whispered, adrenaline levels high as the three of you snuck under the police tape and headed to the house, concealed beneath the cloak of night. It was almost two am, your only company the scattering of stars and the chirping of the crickets. Sam chuckled.

“Y/N, we’ve literally dug up graves and burned the bodies,” he reminded you.

“I know, I know, but this just feels different! Like, we’re literally burning down a house!” you exclaimed, and Sam chuckled again, the sound interrupting the sloshing in the gasoline can that was tight in his grip.

“I still can’t believe we’re not using the flamethrower,” Dean muttered, and Sam rolled his eyes as he picked the lock to the back door, ignoring his brother’s grumbling.

“Okay, she’s not going to go easy - everyone have iron bullets?” Sam checked as the door swung open. You nodded, hand finding the gun at your waist as you spread your fingers over the cold metal.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean confirmed. “Y/N, you go to the attic, Sam, second floor, I’ll cover ground,” he said, reiterating the plan the three of you had established in the warm safety of the motel. The words sounded different now as the night’s chill bit at your skin and whipped at your face, stealing the whispers from your lips and swallowing them into the shadows.

The three of you slunk into the house - Dean began to scatter salt and gasoline as you and Sam headed upstairs. You finished the attic quickly, heading down to help Sam finish off the second floor. Once the house was saturated, you held the box of matches.

“Okay. You get out, I’ll light up the house as I go down,” you told him. Sam frowned.

“I’ll stay with you - just to be safe.”

You paused, but nodded. Couldn’t hurt. You lit the first match, and that was when the ghost appeared.

She charged towards you, screaming in anger and managing to throw you into the staircase. You cried out, losing your hold on the match as Sam shot her with an iron bullet. She disappeared, but you knew it wouldn’t be for long.

“Let’s go!” Sam yelled, helping you quickly to your feet as you lit a match and tossed it to the attic. It caught quickly, and you were halfway down the stairs when you tossed another lit match on the second floor. It, too, caught quickly. You were readying your third match when you got to the bottom of the stairs, only to find a wall of flames licking up the hardwood floors and heading rapidly towards you.

Shit - the match you dropped earlier. This was bad.

You saw Sam’s jaw tense and his body stiffen as he scanned the situation, calmly planning your escape. His hand found yours, and you let yourself breathe - mistake. Smoke choked your lungs and you coughed, lifting your shirt to hold against your nose. Sam was quick to copy you, dropping your hand as he did so.

“This way!” he said, shouting over the flames now - the floor above you was starting to collapse, smoke obscuring your surroundings as the flames crackled and ate at the walls, the roof, the floor, chewing through the furniture and quickly heading towards the exits. You nodded, following him as he weaved through the flames, eyes focused solely on the front door - the only exit left.

The windows to your left blew out, raining shards of boiling glass over the two of you. Some found your skin, and you swore as you shook it off, struggling to breathe even through the cloth of your shirt. Your hair was plastered to your scalp as sweat seemed to gush from your pores, and your eyes stung from sweat and smoke as you tried to keep up with Sam. But your boyfriend had long legs and a clear eye on the exit, while the smoke billowed over your head and blocked out most of your vision. You could feel yourself getting lightheaded, and when the edge of your jacket caught aflame, the few seconds it took for you to stamp it out were enough for you to lose sight of the youngest Winchester amongst the chaos.

“Sam!” you cried, choking on the smoke that snaked into your lungs. You coughed hard enough that you fell to your knees and retched, blindly screaming for his help, for Dean’s, for anyone.

That was when the ghost appeared - she was burning up, but while the house still stood, so did she. Though her power was fading, her anger made up for it ten times over, and suddenly a beam from the roof was crashing to the ground - right on top of your leg.

You screamed as your calf snapped beneath you, collapsing to the ground as searing pain raged past your knee and up your thigh. The flames greedily licked up your surroundings as the smoke continued to clog your lungs. You couldn’t breathe - you were choking and retching and your throat and nose burned with the acidity of vomit, and you were trapped.

You felt a rush of cool air, and you looked up - there was a gaping hole in the flaming roof, and amidst the blaze, you caught sight of the night sky, a glimpse of navy amongst the orange inferno. The flames leapt into the blackness, and you half expected them to burn it away, to watch the sky fold in and crumple like a burning piece of paper. But it stood steady, and as your vision began to fade and your lungs relinquish their fight, you couldn’t help but think how beautiful the stars were tonight.

-----

Sam was already outside when he realised he was alone.

He collapsed onto the grass, pressing his hot, sweaty face against the cool as he panted, gulping lungfuls of fresh air.

“We made it!” he cried. “Y/N, we-”

He paused, forcing himself to turn around. “Y/N?”

His stomach dropped as he saw the empty space behind him, and watched the building go up in flames.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice rang through the air, and he appeared from the other side of the building, coughing and covered in ash. “Are you hurt? Where’s Y/N?”

“They-they were right behind me!” Sam stammered, and before Dean could stop him, he was back on his feet and sprinting into the burning building, Dean’s shouts echoing behind him. The smoke was worse up high now, but he still managed to pick his way through the burning debris, heart pounding against his ribcage as he held his shirt - drenched with sweat - over his face.

“Y/N!” he screamed, his heart almost giving out as he caught sight of you, unconscious and trapped under a fallen beam, leg splayed awkwardly beneath it. “Y/N!”

---

The stars were beautiful tonight. Beautiful, glimmering, free. You danced among them, enveloped in their warm glow as they swam playfully around you. They chased you, gleaming and laughing, and the more you ran, the warmer you became. You fell - you could feel yourself sweating, and suddenly you were gasping for air.

And then the stars were falling. You could feel them landing on your skin, like cool, tiny droplets that warmed too quickly in the thick air. Their laughter turned to screams and you felt them smother your face with something hot and damp. Your leg seared with pain, and as the stars fell away, your eyes fluttered open.

“Y/N!” Sam was screaming, voice rapidly coming into focus, and suddenly your whimsical imaginings were just that. The stars falling on your skin were none other than Sam’s tears, or sweat, or a combination of the two. You coughed, realising that Sam had ripped your sooty, sweaty shirt and was holding it over your mouth as he held up his own shirt with his free hand. “Y/N, thank god!” he yelled. “Come on, let’s get you out!”

You could see his muscles strain as he struggled to lift the heavy beam that had trapped you beneath its weight, but he could barely lift it a centimetre off the ground. Your head swam and your chest was tight, but it was a little easier to breathe lying down, close to the floor - probably the only reason you weren’t dead quite yet.

“Sam, it’s no use!” you managed to choke. “Get out of here!”

“No, nonono!” Sam yelled, grunting as he used all his weight to try and shove the beam away from you. It began to give, and you screamed as it’s movement tugged on your broken leg.

“Sammy, you have to go!” you cried, but your words were drowned out by his angry shouts and the roaring of the flames. The beam moved again, and suddenly Sam’s arms were looping around you and lifting you up against his chest. Your leg screamed in protest, and your eyes rolled back into your skull.

---

“They’ll be alright,” a gravelly voice murmured. “I’ve healed the worst of their wounds - but they must rest.”

“Thank you, Cas.” You recognised Sam’s voice, laced with stress and gratitude as it mellowed into a sigh. You felt a hand on your forehead, fingers brushing the hair from your face, and slowly, you blinked.

“Y/N!” Sam exclaimed, voice heavy with relief. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

You swallowed tentatively. Your throat was raw, and you weren’t sure your nose would ever be free of the stench of smoke, but you found yourself nodding.

“You-you idiot,” you managed to cough, forcing yourself into a sitting position despite Sam’s frantic protests. “You should’ve left me! You could’ve died!”

Sam chuckled dryly. “I’d never leave you - not to that,” he told you, his thumb running gently over your cheek. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes and holding his hand to your face.

“Yeah, well, you’re still an idiot,” you grumbled, and he laughed, genuinely this time, as he kissed your forehead.

“That’s fine by me,” he managed, and you found yourself smiling despite yourself. You pulled away and saw that your hands and clothes were covered in soot and ash, and still sticky with sweat. The motel bed beneath you creaked when you moved, and the blankets were hot over your legs. You kicked them off, marvelling as you realised your leg was healed. You knew of Castiel’s abilities, but when he used them to heal you, it was always disconcerting - injured one minute, completely fine the next.

“You shouldn’t have gone back,” you murmured again, wincing as you saw the traces of a burn peeking out beneath Sam’s sleeve. It was baby pink with tender new skin, still soft and delicate. Cas’s mojo wasn’t what it used to be - but even so, it had saved your life. And probably Sam’s, as well, if he’d inhaled half as much smoke as you had.

“Of course I went back,” Sam whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, licking his dry, cracking lips still covered in ash as he hesitated, his next words catching in his throat. “When I was in the cage… one of Lucifer’s favourite torture devices was fire. It was the worst- worst pain I’ve ever felt. I could never let that happen to you,” he said thickly. You managed a sympathetic half smile - even after all these years, Sam’s time in the cage still haunted him. He didn’t like to talk about it, so the fact that he did now was enough for you to drop your guard.

Your hand found his, and you squeezed it lightly.

“Well… you saved me,” you whispered, your lips grazing his cheek. He crawled in the bed next to you, his arms circling your waist and holding you close to his body. You nuzzled into his chest as he squeezed you almost uncomfortably close, but you didn’t dream of complaining.

When you finally pulled away, you found yourself distracted once more by the stars. Not the ones behind your closed eyes, nor the ones set into the night sky, still visible through the tiny window. No, not those, not this time.

Sam smiled, a breathless smile so full of relief and of love, and as your gaze met his…

You found the stars in his eyes.

__________

Forever Tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor  @stealingheartsswift13 @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme

Sam tags: @sammys-dimpless

If you want to be added to any of my tag lists just let me know!

[alreadybrcken]

Anonymous said: “ noticing the women that tommy seems to be getting close to. what does he think of them and what do you think? “

{♛ x Random Stuff in my Inbox || always accepting x}

First things first.. Getting close is a pretty relative thing. I wrote a little something that’s definitely relevant a little while ago here. Also, I am, without a doubt, a big Tommy and Grace shipper, so I’m not going to be entirely unbiased in this, but I’ll try to stick with facts that we get from the show. Though I know it all depends on interpretation and I’ve bumped heads with people about some of them before.

Okay, let’s get to the women in question. 

Tatjana Petrovna

That whole thing was just a total clusterfuck, to be honest. There’s no doubt that her little games were the perfect distraction for a grieving Tommy, but that’s all she ever was - a distraction. Plus, of course, a source of information, as well as some sort of twisted business partner. She was what he needed at that particular point in time, but that’s it.

Jessie Eden

There’s really nothing at all here, in my opinion. It’s pretty clear that Tommy’s intentions here are strictly selfish; information, and access to the communist party. That’s all he wants from her. The easiest way to get what he wants is by gaining her trust, and he does it by doing what he does best - using his charm, persuasion, and by exploiting her weaknesses. Absolutely nothing emotional there from his side whatsoever, other than perhaps a feeling of melancholy she brings along by reminding him of times past (which, of course, have nothing at all to do with her personally). 

May Carleton

Now this one heads a but more into an emotional gray area for Tommy. He was still trying to get over Grace when he met her, and he might’ve seen the perfect opportunity with May. Given her social status, as well as influence with the board of racing, getting involved with her also had several business advantages, though I don’t think that was his intention initially. Now, I sincerely think that, had Grace not made an appearance and Tommy and May would’ve had the opportunity to explore things for a while longer, he might’ve ended up developing feelings for her. However, I don’t think it would’ve had an actual substantial future. Why? Because I think May was mostly infatuated with whatever Tommy represented, not actually him as a person. Remember S2 EP6, the conversation between Grace and May?  G: "There's business, and then there's love." M: "Is there? With Thomas Shelby?" G: "What do you want from him?" M: "Same as you. I want to feel alive.", which definitely reinforces my opinion on that. Or, S4 EP4, Charlie’s “The man you’re waiting for doesn’t exist.” is a pretty good indication, too. And I think Tommy figured it out as well, given their conversation not too long after. M: “You’re a businessman, Tommy. A good one. If only you could..” T: “If only I could what? ‘If only you could change’. Go on, say it. If only you could change the bad.” And I think sooner or later, their entirely different social standings would’ve gotten in the way as well. All in all, I think they may have had a shot, but I don’t think it would’ve lasted.

Lizzie Stark

Ah, Lizzie.. I’m not going to lie, I sincerely feel bad for her. Tommy’s been treating her poorly ever since the very beginning, and it hasn’t changed with their marriage, either. I think all throughout the show, it’s an unrequited love from Lizzie’s side (yes, even S5). It’s always only been about the sex, about the relief for Tommy. She’s like a fall-back for him. Needs relief without emotional attachment after returning from the war? Lizzie. He’s on a rebound from Grace? Lizzie. Then there’s a pause in which he tells her she doesn’t have to do it anymore (him included) as he hires her and focuses on May. Then, of course, Grace is back in the picture and nothing happens for a couple of years. Then Grace dies, and he uses Lizzie as a relief again. Another brief pause in which he uses a whole different array of whores instead, but falls back on her again as soon as they’re cooped up in Small Heath and he’s reminded of his first love. I think most, if not all the time, he had someone else in mind whenever he was with Lizzie. Then, of course, she gets pregnant and he ends up marrying her. He’s always been big about the whole family thing, and since there was really no reason not to, it was probably the right thing to do at that point. But, I don’t think there’s much, if any, love involved from his side. I think he makes it pretty clear that he mainly sees her as property, and he mostly treats her like it, too. But! Again, I know. I think things changed after Lizzie tells him she talked to a solicitor, and made demands as well. It’s like something clicked in his mind, and while I don’t think things are going to change significantly, he does seem to try and make an effort in treating her better, and maybe giving the whole thing a try. Does it stand a chance? It might. If they both change the way they think and behave, but it’s never going to be as deep and profound as it had been with Grace.

Grace Burgess 

Last, but not least.. The one for him, without a doubt. There’s something about Grace that gets under his skin, and into his head. Something that allows him to let his guard down without being afraid of being judged. Because she’s seen what he’s capable of, the kind of monster he is when he loses control, but that didn’t deter her. And he saw that she was willing to kill to protect him, too (if that was her motive, or if her own anger towards the IRA took over is definitely open for interpretation here, though; but that’s definitely the way it looked to him at that point in time). Either way, they’ve seen each other at their worst, and it only brought them closer together. Now, I wouldn’t go as far as to say she gets him, because I don’t think anyone ever does, but she tries. She listens to him as much as he listens to her. And she knows what he is, what he does, but she doesn’t try to change him. The willingness to change comes from himself, and she makes it a point to encourage him, and support him. Does that work in her favour? Absolutely. But I don’t think she would've left him, even if he hadn’t pushed for going almost entirely legal. While Tommy doesn’t tell her everything, she’s by far the one he’s most open with (other than Polly, but that fluctuates, too) and he tries to let her in as much as he can. There’s probably a whole lot more I could write on this, but it’s mostly headcanons, thanks to the show making her a pretty shallow plot device meant to fuel Tommy’s ambition and decent into semi-madness in S2&3. Either way, in the end, their love is definitely deep and profound, and no matter how much time passes, or who else comes into his life, his love for Grace will never disappear. 

[christinesficrecs]

Do you know of any good fics where Derek and Stiles don’t hate each other when they meet, maybe they meet-cute, start to date, and fall in love? Kind of like, both are hit with love at first sight? Especially longer fics, if possible. I just want some warm cute stuff. 😊

This is not what you asked for. i honestly can’t think of any long fics that are love at first sight. Instead these are longer fluffy fics, slow burn if you squint really hard. 

The Right Book, in the Right Hands by TroubleIWant | 10.6K

Stiles loves his job. Mostly. Like, maybe sixty-seven percent loves. For right out of college that’s pretty good, right? And among people working in the Chicago O’Hare airport he’s positive he’s in the 99th percentile of job enjoyment.

When all is said and done, he really does love putting the right book into the right hands. Especially when those hands are as attractive as the ones attached to Hot Businessman Derek Hale.

only fools rush in by decideophobia | 13.5K

Is it an imaginary date?

No. I met him in a coffee shop.

When?

This morning. It was love on first sight.

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

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

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

First Impressions Are Overrated by Leslie_Knope | 14.6K

In Stiles’ defense, he didn’t deliberately ram his grocery cart into the (evidently precarious) pyramid of oranges.

Blind Date With A Book by thepsychicclam | 30.3K

Stiles thought the Blind Date With a Book trend was a great way to drum up business for his small bookshop. He definitely thought it was a great idea after the hot guy kept returning and buying more blind dates with books.

Derek didn’t know how he kept getting set up on blind dates by his family, or why he kept going on them. The highlight of his night was when the date was over and he could go to the little bookshop in town and buy something to read for the rest of the night. He wanted to read, not date.

petals in my pocket by Withpetals_withblood | 36K

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But then he meets Stiles.

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“Stiles, I’ll clear up your confusion about the position. Derek here needs someone to live with him. He’s a difficult person to live with, so I won’t sugarcoat that. But his responsibilities at the company right now make it impossible for him to actually take care of himself and his home. That would be your job,” Laura explained.

Both Stiles and Derek objected at the same time.

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Stiles is a forensic tech with the San Diego FBI. He thinks he’s been fairly lucky, since he’s never had his life threatened, sustained few injuries, and only has to work with his least favorite agent every once in a while.

And then all of that changes.

[mythicallore]

House in Haunted Hill: The Restless Spirit of the Sauer Castle

Perched atop a hill overlooking the Kansas River, on a winding street in an affluent residential neighborhood, Sauer Castle of Kansas City still looks like something ripped from a Gothic ghost story. Built between 1869 and 1871, the two-and-a-half story house with its soaring tower and widow’s walk is said to be the finest example of 19th-century Italianate architecture in the state of Kansas. It’s also said to be extremely haunted.

The Castle’s original occupant was Anton Sauer, a German-born businessman who moved to Kansas City from New York after the death of his first wife in 1868. Ill with tuberculosis, Sauer nevertheless survived his westward trek, where he met a 28-year-old widow named Mary Einhellig Messerschmidt. The two married in 1869, adding Mary’s two daughters to the family of five children Anton brought with him from New York.

The couple bore five additional daughters, one of whom died in infancy in the house itself, and was interred on the grounds. When Anton Sauer succumbed to tuberculosis in his bedroom only a month later, he was laid to rest in Union Hill Cemetery, with his infant daughter re-buried at his side—though rumors persist that every member of the Sauer family is buried somewhere on the property of the now-crumbling estate.

In fact, Sauer Castle seems to attract many strange tales and wild stories. Legends tell of a woman who hanged herself in the tall tower, of buried treasure and buried bodies and a secret tunnel that leads to the river. A deranged husband supposedly murdered his entire family in Sauer Castle, and buried them in the back yard before killing himself.

Neighbors claim to see floating lights in the tower and on the grounds, and to hear voices from within the house when no one is living there. The widow’s walk is said to be haunted by the apparition of a woman who paces it in black, while on Halloween a man and a woman can be seen dancing in the tower.

While the facts of the Castle’s history may be less salacious and spooky, there’s plenty of dark history behind the house to please ghost hunters and historians alike. Five generations of the Sauer family lived and died in the house, including a single suicide.

Over the years, several ghost hunters, psychics, and paranormal researchers have turned their attentions to the Castle. In the 1980s, several investigations concluded that the haunting was localized in the attic, while Maurice Schwalm, a “historian of supernatural happenings” and the author of the 1999 book Mo-Kan Ghosts: The Casebook of a Kansas City Psychic Investigator, reportedly took photographs during his investigation that showed evidence of spirits.

Not all investigators are convinced of Sauer Castle’s paranormal nature. After conducting a significant examination of the house and its owners, Becky Ray of Paranormal Activity Investigators seemed substantially less convinced of Sauer Castle’s spectral inhabitants, referring to it as “a beautiful empty house that seems to beg for ghost stories to be attached to it.”

The current owner, Carl Lopp, a descendant of Anton Sauer who bought the house in 1988 with the intention of restoring it, is even clearer, stating in a post to a closed Facebook group that, “There are no ghosts and no evil spirits inhabiting the Castle or the property.”

Nevertheless, ghost stories about Sauer Castle persist. Standing in the shadow of the ominous home, it’s easy to see why. So long as it sits empty and strange atop the hill in Kansas City, such tales will continue to gather in its vacant rooms like cobwebs.

Today, a massive chain link fence surrounds Sauer Castle in a futile attempt to keep out vandals, sightseers, and would-be ghost hunters. Plastic “Private Property” and “Beware of Dog” signs flap in the breeze. In spite of being listed on the National Register of History Places, Sauer Castle continues to deteriorate year after year.

Neighbors these days seem less concerned with phantoms than they are with the fate of the house itself, which may one day transform from an out-of-the-way Kansas City landmark, to just another lost piece of the city’s storied history.

[padawanlost]

Anakin Skywalker & Slavery

Continuation of this post (a question by @ask-the-almighty-google)

Anakin, as a Jedi, had a unique approach to slavery. I’m aware this is a divisive topic with opinions ranging from “Anakin was worse than Jabba” to “Anakin did nothing wrong”. Instead of doing a “opinion piece” I decided it would be more constructive if we could look at the facts. My personal opinion will still be a part of this but today I’ll try to show more and talk less.

Anakin, as a child born in slavery, was deeply traumatize by his experiences and that certainly influenced how he look at it. His reactions to slavery were personal because it was something deeply personal to him. Anakin was wrong in not fighting for the clones but to expect Anakin to passionately the cause is unrealistic because he spend the previous 10 years old his life behind constantly criticized for that exact same behavior. He did want to save all slaves but the Jedi “beat” that dream of out him.

“Worried about helping Jabba? Don’t worry, everyone else is, too.” Anakin could never answer her. He tried not to think about it, but the thought was like a corris weevil, eating away at his resolve. The Jedi had never tried to rescue his mother or buy her out of slavery. Instead, they had taken him, given him this new life, but left her behind on Tatooine. He had just accepted it at the time, but now … now he knew how much power Jedi had, and all he could wonder is why she hadn’t been worth their time and trouble, too, if only to keep him happy. Not even Qui-Gon Jinn had cast a backward glance at Shmi Skywalker. As the months and years wore on, the question would not leave Anakin alone. He didn’t want to let resentment eat away at his fond memories of his old Master, but he couldn’t stop it sometimes. […]The Jedi Council had credits. Real wealth. Would it really have been beyond them to buy his mother out of slavery? Anakin accepted that some things had to be learned from the cradle. He was already full of attachment and emotion, too set in his ways of being a messy, ordinary human to adopt the aloof serenity—the unloving detachment, the arm’s-length and measured compassion—a Jedi needed. He did his best. Why wasn’t my mother worth saving? [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

Why won’t they help me free my mother? It’s not fair! It’s not right! Countless times, Obi-Wan explained that every Jedi had to obey the directives of the Jedi Council, and could never use the Force for selfish purposes. He urged Anakin to consider how freeing one slave on Tatooine might lead to the deaths of others, as some slavers might prefer to destroy their “property” than release them from bondage. The Jedi also had to answer to the Galactic Senate, and for the time being, the Senate had little interest in anything that happened on Tatooine. Why do the Jedi have to answer to anybody? Anakin wondered. Despite Anakin’s desire to distance himself from the slave he had once been, he was unable, or unwilling, to shed the other aspects that had defined him on Tatooine. [Ryder Windham’s The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader]

This was a constant in Anakin’s years as a Jedi. every time he tried to bring up the subject he was told how wrong he was by these powerful and wise beings he so admired. Eventually he stopped asking. He buried his dreams.

When they'd met, Anakin had been a warm-hearted nine-year-old boy with an open nature. He was twelve and a half now, and the years had changed him. He had grown to be a boy who hid his heart. [Jude Watson’s Deceptions]

Slavery became a sore topic. Something he tried to hide at all costs. And, if possible, avoided thinking about at all costs.

Anakin regretted it as soon as he said it. He’d made it sound more as if he had some wild, dark past, and nothing was better guaranteed to keep Ahsoka asking questions than that. If he explained he’d been a Hutt’s slave, she’d dig away at it until all the bad stuff came out. It was hard enough telling Padmé, and she was his wife. [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

I think he internalized and eventually blamed it all on himself. He admitted to himself he had a part in  it too and that guilty ate away at him.

When the war was over he’d go back to Tatooine and see. When the war was over he’d buy any child he found enslaved to Watto and find them a home where they might live and love in safety. Belonging to no one but themselves. I should have done it before now. Wasn’t that my other childhood dream? Become a Jedi and free the slaves. Instead I became a Jedi and let myself forget. Let them convince me that it’s not our job to remake the Republic. The Jedi were keepers of the peace, not legal enforcers. That was the Senate’s job. How many times had he been told that? He’d lost count. But the Senate was falling down on the job, wasn’t it? What was the use of having anti-slavery laws if the barves who broke them never paid for their crimes? It was enough to shake his hard-won and harder-kept faith. If scum like Watto and Jabba and the other Hutts kept on making their fat profits on the backs of living property—and if the Senate continued to turn a blind eye—how could anyone believe in the Republic? How could he? [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Anakin wasn’t sure how he’d react when he saw Watto again. Although his former master had been kinder than other slave owners, Anakin had always resented the fact that Watto refused to free his mother. Watto isn’t entirely to blame, Anakin mused, wondering just how hard Qui-Gon had tried to liberate Shmi. Slavery is allowed here, and Watto is just a businessman. [Ryder Windham’s The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader]

There are credits in slavery—and credits trump justice. Always have. Always will. And the Jedi? They didn’t want to get involved. Even Qui-Gon … So I guess it’s up to me. I failed my mother. I didn’t go back for her and she died. But when the war is over I’ll make good on my word. I’ll fight slavery wherever I find it … and there’ll be no mercy for those who steal lives. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Jabba grew fat on the misery of beings like Anakin’s mother. He’d probably taken a percentage of the very transactions that had kept Shmi Skywalker in slavery. And still I have to save his son. Because we need his goodwill. His space lanes. The idea stuck in Anakin’s throat like a splintered nuna bone. The pain was palpable. [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

He buried it so deep he became a Jedi. on the surface, he was very much a Jedi (not as dismissive of slavery as the detached Jedi but still unwilling to face the full reality of the situation). However, it still hurt him.

 Anakin wondered whether it was expedience, simple logic—both he and Kenobi spoke Huttese and were experienced in covert missions—or some exercise in character building. Yoda knew Anakin’s past, that he and his mother had been slaves of a Hutt. Jabba raked off a cut from the slave trade, too, so he was personally connected to Anakin’s boyhood misery, and even his mother’s ultimate fate. Callous didn’t begin to cover it. Anakin’s instinctive reaction would have been to tell Jabba that it was too bad and that people you loved got killed all the time. [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

Again, he buried his feelings and thoughts because that’s what the Jedi taught him. when the Clone War begins, that’s what he does. He buries everything. It’s a result of his traumas and his jedi upbringing. But let me you, Anakin did care about the clones. No, he did not fight for his rights or recognized their status as slaves but this idea that Anakin didn’t care about the well being of his men is as fanon as fanon gets.

I know this is a contraction hard to grasp. I mean, how can’t some fail to notice someone is a slave, keep them enslaved and still care about their life and grief for them? sounds impossible, right? But it’s not. These kinds of contractions are what makes us humans, what makes great characters great. How can Obi-wan love Anakin and still cut of his limbs and leave him to burn? He is human. This is not a simple matter that can be summarized with a simple right or wrong answer.

It’s not darkness. I’m not dark. This isn’t anger— It was okay; they’d always told him so. He was fighting to save his men, and if he did terrible things out of compassion, out of love, then he wasn’t turning to the dark side. That was the Jedi way. For my mother. For my men. For Padmé. [The Clone Wars by Karen Traviss]

Impatience. Concern. Relief. Loneliness. Weariness. And grief, not yet healed. Such a muddle of emotions. Such a weight on [Anakin]’s shoulders. Months of brutal battle had left [Ahsoka] drained and nearly numb, but it was worse for Anakin. He was a Jedi general with countless lives entrusted to his care, and every life damaged or lost he counted as a personal failure. For other people he found forgiveness; for himself there was none. For himself there was only anger at not meeting his own exacting standards. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Under [Anakin]’s careless confidence, she sensed a hint of that unhealed grief. The loss of greenies Vere and Ince during the Jan-Fathal mission … the loss of other Torrent Company clones since then … his pain was like a kiplin-burr, burrowed deep in his flesh. Anakin had a bad habit of nursing those wounds, and no matter what she said, tactfully, no matter what Master Kenobi said without any tact at all, nothing made a difference. He hurt for them, and always would. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

[Anakin] looked at Ahsoka. “Fine. You can go. But I want to be kept informed of Torrent Company’s status. Don’t make me chase you for updates, is that clear?” She managed to smile. “Yes, Master. Thank you.” “And Ahsoka …” He felt his heart thud. “Tell Rex—tell all of them—that anything less than a full recovery is unacceptable. Tell Rex I—” He had to stop. Obi-Wan was in earshot, and they were not supposed to care so much. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

 [Anakin] hit the cockpit canopy switch, fast. “Obi-Wan’s fine, more or less,” he told the anxious droid, firing their fighter’s thrusters. “Ahsoka’s pretty banged up, though. So are Rex and Coric. They’re on their way to Kaliida Shoals.” R2’s mournful whistle said everything Anakin couldn’t … or didn’t want to. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Rex. Coric. Ahsoka. And fourteen dead pilots. Scores more dead and wounded ground troopers. Why can’t we stop this? Why can’t we catch Grievous? Dooku’s only one man. How can he defy the entire Jedi Order? Who is his Sith Master? Why can’t we find him? Day and night the questions ate at him. They ate at Obi-Wan, too, but somehow his former Master seemed able to live without knowing the answers. Or else he was just better at hiding his dismay. His fear. [Karen Miller’s Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Anakin did ask himself questions but over 10 years of being told he was wrong does take a toll. And we need to remember Anakin was 19 years old kid pushed into a war by his superiors. A lack of self-analysis, a narrow view of the world and political nativity comes with the package. Anakin *is* concern about slavery but he is a flawed person with his own blind spots. It’s the famous cognitive dissonance we all know so well.

I’m not saying Anakin is right but deference is an important part of the character. Anakin cannot be the sort of person who is too aware of what’s going on around him or else he wouldn’t turn into Vader. He had to be written this way to explain why Vader exists. If Anakin had questioned the Republic’s slave army he wouldn’t have become the Vader knew from the OT. He had to be kind of guy who blinds follows his superiors even against his own self-interest.  

[nagromava]

I’ve got another book out! Black Sails, Black Skies is an erotic lesbian romance between two interstellar pirate captains who also happen to be bitter rivals. It’s available on Amazon here, and it’s free with Kindle Unlimited!

(If you want a little sample there’s a snippet below the cut!)

The room on the other side of the door wasn’t especially large, but Dhalia couldn’t expect much else from a cheap inn at a shady spaceport like this one. Despite the small size it was still nice enough, and Terrence’s dedication to maintaining his property was part of the reason Dhalia favored this place over any of the other inns available to her. The main area of the room had a bed, a small desk with a chair beside it, and a tiny television (not that it was actually able to pick much up this far away from the rest of civilization). There was a bathroom attached to the room as well, and even as small as it was Dhalia still knew the shower here would be far preferable to the one on her ship. And then, of course, sitting front and center in the desk chair, swirling a drink about in her hand, there was Corene.

“There you are,” she said, smug expression already appearing on her face as Dhalia entered the room. “You took so long to get here I was worried you’d finally bit the bullet.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t. I could have died out there,” Dhalia replied, glaring at Corene from across the room as she dropped her bag down by her feet. Corene didn’t seem to think that much of the accusation, dismissing it with a wave of her hand and a roll of her eyes.

“You got out, didn’t you?” she asked, standing up from the chair and starting to approach Dhalia. “Come in, have a drink. Take some of that edge off.” As she reached Dhalia Corene lifted her glass to her rival’s lips, putting her fingers underneath Dhalia’s chin and gently tilting it back, encouraging the other woman to take a sip. Dhalia wasn’t much of a drinker, and she had never especially enjoyed the taste of alcohol. Still, she leaned her head back and parted her lips a bit as Corene guided her, letting some of the liquid in the glass slip onto her tongue and down her throat. It burned as it went, and Dhalia found herself wincing a bit, but Corene seemed quite delighted as she pulled the glass back away. “You see? You’re fine.”

“How did you know I would be here?” Dhalia demanded. “How did you know this was my room?”

“You keep underestimating me, my little flower,” Corene replied. “This is the only port within a reasonable distance from Aldun. It was easy enough to assume you would stop here. And as for finding this particular room… Money talks,” she chuckled. “Terrence is a businessman before he’s your friend.”

“And why go through all that trouble? Just to gloat? So you could rub your victory in my face yet again?”

“Oh sweet, innocent, naive Dhalia,” Corene replied, before tilting her head back and raising her glass to her lips again, finishing off the remnants of her drink in one fell swoop. After she’d done so she set the glass aside, clinking it down against the dresser  by the doorway, before locking her eyes onto Dhalia’s once more. “Don’t play dumb with me. You already know the answer to that question.” And then Corene stepped forward the rest of the way, pinning Dhalia between herself and the door, and she lifted herself up just enough for their lips to be able to press together.

Dhalia’s tongue still had the lingering taste of alcohol on it, but as soon as their lips met she was able to sense that taste coming much more strongly from Corene. Their lips didn’t stay together for long, but that was still enough time for Corene to push her tongue forward, pressing it into Dhalia’s mouth. Corene’s hand reached up to grab hold of the front of Dhalia’s shirt as well, keeping a tight grip just to make absolutely sure she wasn’t going anywhere. Even when Corene did eventually break away from that kiss she still kept her grip there, a sly smile spreading over her face.

[bountyofbeads]

How Donald Trump silenced the people who could expose his business failures

https://wapo.st/2F3H3rF

"As a businessman, Trump used threats & intimidation to keep his true financial situation from being accurately reported on, including efforts to stay on the Forbes list by threatening to out a closeted gay executive. Past is prologue." Joyce Vance

Jonathan Greenberg's latest Trump expose in today's Washington Post; how the deceiver in chief suppresses the truth and truth tellers. #DontheCon, #ImpeachTrump

How Donald Trump silenced the people who could expose his business failures

By Jonathan Greenberg | Published June 14 at 6:00 AM ET | Washington Post | Posted June 18, 2019 |

How did Donald Trump, a self-serving promoter who lost billions of dollars for his investors, convince the world that he is a financial genius? It wasn’t just by fabricating tales of his success. It was also by bullying and silencing people who could have stopped those deceits — particularly reporters and Wall Street analysts — forcing all but a very few into a conspiracy of silence.

These tactics, which form a core element of his politics, were something I saw him hone firsthand in the 1980s and 1990s as Trump’s company was imploding.

I was the lead real estate wealth estimator for the Forbes 400 list in its early years. Trump called me twice in 1984, posing as his fictional “VP of finance” John Barron and professing the kind of riches that ought to land him on the list, despite failing to document them. So when a New York Times exposé last month showed that Trump had lost $1.1 billion between 1985 and 1994, I looked back at my archives and began calling old colleagues to compare these figures with what Trump was telling journalists three decades ago.

First, I turned up three never-before-published letters from Trump to Forbes from 1989, in which he claimed to be worth $3.7 billion. We now know that he reported losses of about $100 million that year and that he was treading near insolvency. Then I started to contact other people who had collided with Trump in those years. Journalists told me how he’d tried to block their reporting on his empire — by making up ethical scandals about them, furnishing fake documents and, in one case, threatening to expose the private life of a closeted media executive. Wall Street analysts witnessed a campaign of intimidation that began when Trump got one of them fired for (correctly) doubting his casinos’ ability to pay off their debts.

Even while he was suffering tremendous financial setbacks — and precisely because he was suffering those setbacks — these efforts show Trump in the desperate act of spinning a mythology about himself (rich) that would sweep aside the facts (broke). And he did it by imperiling the livelihood of his doubters, silencing them and inducing a chilling effect both in the press and among the very people who are supposed to protect investors from terrible gambles like Trump’s businesses. If this self-promotion scheme had failed, Trump would never have become a reality-TV-starring symbol of business acumen. He would have skulked off into anonymity or ignominy, just another failed real estate developer and speculator.

Instead, he fooled the world. Although he’d struggle for the rest of his career to get most legitimate banks to extend credit, the gambit basically worked: It turned him, rather than his empire, into the product, enabling decades of tabloid coverage, countless eponymous goods from casinos to steaks to airlines, dozens of film and TV cameos, and ultimately his image-defining show, “The Apprentice.” It made a man with limited business savvy and less money than he claimed into someone famous for having a surfeit of both. These early (and shockingly impudent) fabrications built one of the greatest brands in American history — one that made Trump a household name and, eventually, president.

In mid-1989, as his real estate empire was secretly drowning in debt, Trump wrote three letters to Forbes Senior Editor Harold Seneker, who was responsible for overseeing the wealth list. The first, dated April 25, 1989, came with two deceptive documents: One was similar to the outrageously inflated listing of the value of his assets that Trump gave to Deutsche Bank as he sought a loan in 2014 to buy the NFL’s Buffalo Bills. The 1989 file noted that the sums listed were “NET OF MORTGAGES OR DEBT,” and it showed $3,734,000,000 for the total value of Trump’s empire. This figure included “cash and cash equivalents” of $693 million and marketable securities of $214 million.

The other attachment was a “review of the statement of financial condition” letter from Richard L. Robbins, an accountant and senior vice president at accounting firm Arthur Andersen & Co., dated April 10, 1989, attesting to the fact that, as of Nov. 30, 1988, Trump possessed $700,125,000 in “cash and cash equivalents, marketable securities . . . and the remaining cash proceeds from bond issuance and capital contributions.” In his signed letter accompanying these documents, Trump summed it up by writing: “I know that you would be the first to agree that anyone with in excess of $849 million in cash ($700 million plus $149 after paying off the St. Moritz mortgage) is not a person who is ‘highly leveraged.’ Additionally, being a student of financial history, I have relatively low amounts of financing on my assets and, more importantly, personally guarantee nothing.” Robbins declined to comment for this article.

Why was the Arthur Andersen “review” done five months before its Trump account executive sent the letter? Because, unbeknownst to Forbes, just eight days before Nov. 30, 1988, Trump received $675 million in cash proceeds from a junk bond that Merrill Lynch sold to unlucky investors, with all of the funds earmarked for acquiring and completing the Taj Mahal casino in Atlantic City. Trump shouldn’t have claimed this as his own cash, as he appeared to be doing. But that’s what he told Forbes, and anyone else who would listen.

Still, Seneker suspected that Trump’s cash position was overstated, so he wrote back, asking why Trump had listed only assets and not debts. Trump replied the next month with more lies. “My cash balances are high because I am fiscally conservative. The debt which I have is against individual assets and is not personally guaranteed.” He was claiming that the properties themselves and the Trump Organization were the collateral backing up his assets — that he had no personal liability. In truth, Trump was on the hook for $125 million at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, according to “Trump Revealed,” an investigative biography by Michael Kranish and Marc Fisher of The Washington Post. This was part of a package of personal guarantees totaling $900 million that would come crashing down around him as his Atlantic City projects imploded.

Knowing that the final estimates for the Forbes 400 list of America’s richest people were calculated in August, Trump sent a third letter in July 1989 bragging that the Plaza was worth double what he paid for it and that his Atlantic City casinos were worth more than $1.5 billion each. Forbes had spent several years radically overstating the value of Trump’s holdings, as recent reporting has shown; the magazine accepted too many of the mogul’s claims. That year, Forbes estimated his worth as $1.7 billion, even though Trump’s leaked tax returns show a $100 million loss, meaning any investor who could have seen them would have viewed Trump’s real estate empire as a money-losing liability, not a group of income-producing assets. (Trump now says these losses reflected depreciation, not the value of his holdings.)

The next year, 1990, would prove to be the year the facade collapsed. But with an eye toward salvaging his future reputation, Trump waged a startlingly effective campaign to suppress the truth about his failures as a businessman. That effort took several forms.

That spring, Forbes Senior Editor Richard Stern and contributor John Connolly prepared a cover story based on a document leaked from the New Jersey Casino Control Commission, which showed the debt load of all of Trump’s properties, as well as a Wall Street analyst’s calculation that the Taj Mahal needed to net $1.3 million every day just to stay afloat. The reporters estimated that Trump’s true net worth figure was less than zero.

On the Monday of the week the story was to be published, Stern met with Trump to seek a comment he could include in the article. The mogul exploded, threatening to sue Forbes. On Tuesday, “orders came from on high” to change the story’s estimate of Trump’s net worth to $500 million, Stern recalls. “I got into a shouting match with [Jim] Michaels,” Forbes’s powerful top editor, Stern says. “Forbes bent. We had to jigger the numbers to give Trump a positive net worth.” (Michaels died in 2007.) Connolly says the cover line was also changed, from “Is Trump Broke?” to “How Much Is Donald Really Worth Now?,” which is how it appeared on May 14, 1990.

Michaels told Connolly this was because Trump was threatening to embarrass the Forbes family by claiming that publisher Malcolm Forbes, who had died a few months earlier, ordered a hit piece because Trump had supposedly blocked the 70-year-old magazine owner from bringing two male companions under the legal drinking age into the Plaza Hotel bar. (A gay news magazine had outed Malcolm Forbes shortly after his death that February, though the claim was not widely circulated; Trump possessed a much louder megaphone with which to humiliate the Forbes family.) Stern does not recall this and believes that editors simply feared a Trump lawsuit.

Even then, Trump was not satisfied with his victory. Connolly and Stern’s story interrupted the mogul’s narrative around the opening of the world’s largest casino. Trump retaliated by making last-minute changes to the text of his August 1990 book, “Surviving at the Top,” to recount the alleged bar spat and say that Malcolm Forbes “lived openly as a homosexual . . . but expected the media and his famous friends to cover for him.” After editors removed him from the annual Forbes 400 in late September (estimating that his net worth by that time had fallen below the $260 million cut-off), Trump elaborated on his accusation in a Los Angeles Times op-ed headlined “Forbes Carried Out Personal Vendetta in Print.” Trump wrote that, after the supposed bar incident, Malcolm Forbes “called and screamed at me, saying that I’d treated him shabbily, embarrassed him publicly — and that he would get even with me,” Trump wrote. “It was only a few weeks later that I got word that Forbes magazine was planning a cover story on me.”

[coeurdewhale]

Benefits Of Crowdfunding For Cannabis Real Estate.

As an investor, there are a lot of reasons why you might want to add cannabis real estate assets to your investment portfolio. First and foremost is that there are barriers to entry to the cannabis business.

The major barrier is getting a local license, you have to have a real estate property in an appropriate zone for you to be able to get this local license. The property you possess must also meet some guidelines and restrictions based on the area it is located.

As a cannabis businessman, you need to possess real estate property, you can get this property by leasing or buying the very expensive property. You buy the real estate and then get someone who has the operator's license like 420 property to manage other aspects of the business.  

Risk Of Cannabis Real Estate Investment.

In every investment you make there is always a risk involved, and it is the same for the cannabis property.

In the cannabis business, the regulations are set up in a way that the license is attached to the property more than it is attached to the operator. This means you can change the operator but you can change the location of your property.

The biggest risk in the cannabis business is the non-unity between the state and federal law because at the federal level cannabis remains illegal.

How To Get Started As A Cannabis Real Estate Investor

There are different ways an investor can break into the cannabis real estate business. As an investor one of the primary things you should have in mind is how to fulfill all necessary details and information that would be required of you by the agency you hope to partner with. 

Generally, with the help of agencies like 420 property which have been in the cannabis real estate business for a long time, you would be able to understand all the dynamics of the business.

The inability of the banks, mortgage homes, and federal-controlled financial institutions to provide access to cannabis properties has created a huge vacuum in the business. More so, the vacuum is desperately needed to be filled with huge capital which is only possible if individuals are interested in cannabis real estate.

The first way to invest in cannabis real estate is to buy the traditional way of real estate lending. Cannabis business owners who are looking for properties to let, either for planting or selling marijuana products often pay a premium rate to their landlords. To easily get involved in the real estate property lending business a first trust deed is secured by the real estate owner.

Another method used by investors is that many people who are interested in lending out their property for cannabis business form a group where potential tenants can approach them and transact easily in a non-difficult way. Although there are a couple of risks involved in the cannabis real estate business if all due process isn't followed appropriately.

Besides, if you do not properly structure your cannabis property lending, you as the lender or the landlord can easily fall second in the portrait of the government regardless of the dynamics of your agreement on securing the facility.