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sparklingcid3r · 27 days

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wut did the convo between darry and child services go like? obvi was complicated but like genuinely how did he convince them he could b the guardian of 2 teenage boys? he genuinely must have nerves of steel.

also like must have been the worse adjustment if he always confided in paul or his dad when stressed, but now has no one. like his just isolation from any close relationship is soooo noticeable, esp compared to his brothers who actively lean on their best friends

just ignore that this might end up horribly inaccurate🙏 i’m here for a good time alr leave me alone😭 but fr darry was going through the traumas of odysseus on his voyage back to ithaca when he should have been getting lit at the club😔

Darry’s shell shock looks a whole lot like numbness. That’s how he feels, too, so when the same officers who just told him they’re very sorry, but his parents have been killed in an accident, he just stares and hears them iterate for him what exactly he needs to get done immediately. He forces himself to actually listen, because this isn’t about him, it’s about Pony and Soda and keeping a roof above their heads.

He needs to locate his ma and dad’s birth certificates and legal documents to have their wills probated and assets distributed, schedule an appointment with the funeral director, schedule a date for the funeral itself, meet with the court to be appointed Pony and Soda’s legal guardian, but that’s only after they deem him fit to be the sole caretaker of two teenagers. They’ll assign them a case manager. They’ll ask him what his salary is, they’ll call his old coaches to ask about his time management and self-discipline—what if he comes up short in some way? What if he makes a mistake and gets his brothers thrown in a home?

Fuck, then there’s the personal arrangements. He needs to call the college dean and tell him extraordinary circumstances have forced him to drop out, probably he’ll still have to pay for the rest of the semester he didn’t get to finish. When the case manager comes over for their meeting—the house is a mess from Darry’s birthday party, they’ll think Darry is okay with raising his brothers in filth. Something about bank statements too, he’s sure he’ll have to go over it, see what his parents have been paying for, what he’ll need to pay for and what he has to cut now that money’s about to be tighter. Bills, taxes, he needs to draw up a system to distribute those payments overdue or not. Groceries, do they need to go shopping soon? With what money? With Darry’s money, he needs to get a job now.

Darry gets to work.

Identifying the bodies is the first thing he does. He lets Steve and Johnny stay over to keep Pony and Soda company. Two-Bit offers to come with Darry to the hospital, but he refuses. When he gets to the hospital, he sees Dally standing at the entrance, cross-armed and stone-faced. He doesn’t even look at Darry when he arrives. Just pushes himself off the pillar and shrugs. “Your call.”

Darry says nothing, so Dally follows him in. The police lead him to the morgue. The sheets are carefully folded back to reveal their faces, and Darry’s stomach heaves and his eyes blur. His parents are shredded. They’re just bodies, sliced, crushed bodies. He doesn’t even realize he stumbling until a steeled hand grabs him and keeps him upright, and Dally’s saying “Easy, easy, man. Breathe, Darrel. That them?”

Darry nods. All he’s think is that it’s going to be a closed casket funeral.

The wills are the next thing he deals with. Once those are probated and the surrogate has deemed them official, Darry is free to pay the fees and obtain his inheritance, as well as transfer his parents’ money to his name in the bank.

Next, Darry searches for a job. Something physical, or something to do with numbers. He was going to be an accountant after all, might as well make some use of the few months he spent studying. After busting his ass hunting and applying, he lands a job at Fitzmorris Roofing and starts as soon as he can. The pay is decent, but not enough, so he keeps looking. Eventually he finds out about a firm at the edge of town looking for a bookkeeper, so Darry goes in for an interview and walks out with his second job.

Then are the bank statements. Darry gets issued a copy of his parents’ bank statements from the previous month and spends entire nights going through them. After crunching the numbers twice, he finds out that in two months from now, they’ll have to go without paying the electricity bill for a few weeks while Darry’s paychecks catch up with expenses. Better than going hungry. They’ll just have to deal with the dark.

So far, they’ve been feeding off the numerous donations from families around town. Lasagnas and casseroles and meatloafs, that’s what they’ve been pushing around their plates for the past two weeks. Darry surmises they have about one more week to make those last, then he’ll need to crack open a cookbook or two.

He meets with the funeral director. He advises Darry on what graveyard to pick, what kinds of caskets to hold the bodies in, how much of the burial will be covered by insurance. All Darry understands is that this is money he’ll need to cut from their budget. It eats at him.

Darry blinks and a week has gone by.

He doesn’t really remembering seeing Pony and Soda during it. Everything’s a blur. But he looks at a calendar and realizes with a seize of his heart that their case manager is supposed to meet them for the first time in—an hour and a half.

Shit, he hasn’t even gotten to cleaning the house yet. There’s laundry on the fucking couch, for Christ’s sake. Darry snatches it up and bangs down Soda and Pony’s door, dumping it on the bed. He sees a lump under the blanket and a jolt rocks him—that’s your brother, that’s Ponyboy, he’s grieving, he’s in pain, he needs help—but all he can do is kick the mattress and tell him, “On your feet, Ponyboy, Mrs. Mulligan’ll be here for dinner.” Pony doesn’t move, but there’s nothing else Darry can do, so he rips the blanket off Pony and leaves, slamming the door behind him because his own strength has become unfamiliar to him.

Soda’s in the backyard doing whatever the hell Soda’s been doing while Darry was out, and he’s called in but he comes trailing in like a wet dog. Darry doesn’t know what he’ll do if this meeting doesn’t go well, if Mulligan says Darry is not suited to provide for his brothers, how he’ll possible be able to live by himself knowing his brothers have been separated, so he snaps for Soda to stand up straight and fix his hair. Soda looks at him blankly, and again there’s a voice in Darry’s head—Sodapop’s not alright, he’s not talking, he’s not smiling, he’s not laughing, you have to fix this—but all he can say is “Now, dammit” and hits the countertop, spooking Soda enough to get him to flee, and Darry’s alone again, cleaning the table of the bills and documents, pushing them on top of the icebox and out of sight.

Darry’s prepped one of their last donated meals, macaroni salad, and set the table as nice as he can.

Fifteen minutes before Mrs. Mulligan arrives, he checks in on Pony and Soda. He stands outside their door, hand raised to knock, but he can hear them talking.

Talking about him.

“He’s gone crazy, Soda, I swear. When’s the last time you saw him stand still for two seconds? If you’ve seen him at all.”

“Dunno, Ponykid.”

“I miss Ma. I miss her and Dad. It’s like Darry hasn’t even noticed they’re gone.”

“Naw, baby, don’t say that. He’s trying, I think. He’s trying awful hard. We just don’t see it.”

“You don’t even know that. What if he’s making plans to shove us in a boys’ home?”

Darry can’t take it. His breath is lodged in his throat, but he can’t go falling apart right now, not when he’s come this far and still has a long way to go. He just knocks and calls them out to the living room.

Darry can’t meet their eyes when they sit in the living room. Pony’s lean on Soda’s shoulder but Darry can’t think about that, he’s got to put the macaroni salad in a bowl and clean off the utensils and “Pony, I told you to wash the dishes this morning.” With his back turned to his brothers, Darry winces. Anger never used to seep out this easily. But everything was enough of a threat to push him over the edge. Everything everyone said to him pierced him like a hook, made his tongue feel heavy and his blood feel hot. He needed to put a lid over it tonight.

Mrs. Mulligan’s eyes don’t rise to Darry’s when he opens the door for her. She looks behind him at their living room, at Soda and Pony on the couch, makes a funny noise in the back of her throat, then extends her hand out to Darry. Immediately Darry knows he’s going to be on the defensive the entire night. This woman does not approve of where Soda and Pony are being raised. Whether that means she doesn’t approve of the East side as a location or Darry as a guardian, he isn’t sure.

She drills him, but it’s disguised as gentle. Darry does everything slowly. Serving the food, making small talk, discussing Pony and Soda’s grades. Mulligan switches to speaking directly to the boys, and Darry’s not hungry, but he pretends to enjoy chewing the rubbery macaroni and keeps his head down.

Despite their reservations about life without their parents, Soda and Pony defend Darry to the case manager. It goes smoothly enough that she leaves Darry with a smile and a promise to stay in touch.

When the door clicks shut, Pony is gone in the blink of an eye back to his room. Soda just stalks into the kitchen and starts wrapping up leftovers, cleaning off the dishes. Darry tries to get Soda to sleep, but Soda turns to him.

“I’ll do the dishes, Darry. Just don’t get mad at Pony.”

“No, Soda, I’ll do it—“

“You’re tired, Darry. Let me be useful?”

Soda always knew how to spin the conversation in his favor. He was right. Darry was tired. He was just… tired.

But there’s a reason Darry hasn’t given himself a restful night yet. He doesn’t trust himself yet.

“Give me the sponge, Sodapop. Pony needs you.”

Darry’s had sixteen years to learn how to outmaneuver his kid brother. He’s not in the mood to fight fair.

Soda concedes and draws away from the sink, but he lingers in the doorway. “We need you, too, Darry.”

“I know. I’ll be here in the morning.”

He wouldn’t be. He’d be gone by the time they woke up, on top of a roof with bundles of roofing slung over his shoulder, but it wasn’t his physical presence that mattered. He was going to keep their heads above water, no matter what it took.

“When’s the funeral?” asks Soda.

“Friday.”

Two days. Two days until it was official and their parents were covered in dirt. Darry just needed to keep it together until then.

“G’night, Darry.”

“G’night.”

When the funeral comes, Darry’s quiet. Pony and Soda are weeping, unashamed by it, so Darry’s the one people feel comfortable giving their condolences to. He shakes a lot of hands, feels disgusted by it, like he’s collecting germs and other people’s bad luck. The gang is there, even Dally, but they hang in the back of the crowd, discounting Two-Bit, who’s up front with his ma and sister.

After Darry gives the eulogy he doesn’t remember writing, he watches twin caskets get sunk into the ground, dirt spilling on top of them, and Darry is officially alone. He leaves the ceremony, goes and sits down on a bench outside the fencing.

Not yet. Don’t break yet.

A shadow falls across his own. Dally’s taking drags from a cigarette at his side. He’s just as quiet as Darry, but offers the cancer stick. Darry accepts it, taking a few puffs. He’s out of practice and coughs the first time. Dally just pats his back and waits for him to try again. It feels good, but not the kind of good Darry knows he can depend on. He’s still got to stay healthy if he’s going to be trudging around in the sun for half his day and sitting around doing math for the other half.

“Do what you gotta do, as long as it’s nothing permanent,” Dally says.

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” Darry replies, handing back the cigarette. His eyes sting.

It’s like the world’s stopped rotating after his parents are put to rest. Not when Darry actually expected it to. He closes the door to his parents’ bedroom, the room he’s been sleeping in for the past… however long it’s been.

He doesn’t even make it to the bed. The moment the door’s locked behind him, Darry’s loosening his dad’s tie from his neck, yanking at his dad’s collar to untighten his airways, but it doesn’t work. He slumps against the door and slides down, messing up his hair and crying into his arms, only as hard as his silence will allow. Pony and Soda are in the next room over, still teary, consoling each other. Darry won’t steal their reprieve.

He falls apart alone, wondering how he’s meant to wake up tomorrow in a world he doesn’t want to live in. And when he picks himself up and puts himself back together, he’ll do that alone too. He doesn’t have a choice.

istg sometimes yall just gotta LET ME COOK 👩‍🍳 can u tell i got super into it the longer i went on for lmao

oh btw this doesn’t scratch the surface of everything darry prob needed to do. he would have had to choose what his parents wore in their caskets, dealt with the scrapping of the car, assumed responsibility of the real estate deed (the house), communicated with pony and soda’s high school, communicated with his parents’ former employers, etc etc. the break was uncatchable i fear

#the outsiders #the outsiders darry #darry curtis #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders musical #the outsiders ponyboy #the outsiders sodapop #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders dally #dallas winston #the outsiders johnny #johnny cade #the outsiders two bit #two bit mathews #steve randle #the outsiders steve

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exitrowiron · 6 months

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I am a low-key birthday person. Unlike those for whom their birthday is a VERY BIG DEAL, I never took the day off work and don’t have high expectations. I had a nice call with the kids and dinner at the town’s fancy restaurant with Beth. In honor of my birthday, my Togo charity received a few donations and I’m looking forward to using my new hiking poles. All in all, a very nice day.

Earlier in the week Beth and I addressed one of the tasks associated with advancing age: estate and healthcare planning. We’d done some of this years ago when we lived in Minnesota and the kids were young, but we needed to update it now that we live in Washington.

My parents did a good job with these tasks and I want us to do the same for our kids. We now have updated Healthcare Directives (Living Wills), Durable Power of Attorney (General and Healthcare), Wills and a Revocable Living Trust. The objectives of the trust are to avoid probate, protect assets for the benefit of heirs and minimize estate taxes.

We used an attorney to do the work but you could probably do it yourself with an online service. One benefit of using an attorney is that we now have this nice binder with all the information in one place. The only remaining step is to ‘fund’ the trust by transferring and retitling assets to the trust.

A lot of people get really worked up about estate taxes. Washington has high estate taxes, some states don’t have any. Washington doesn’t have income taxes so it only seems fair to have an estate tax we don’t mind paying our fair share.

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thegreenlizard · 7 months

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Not Obi-Wan’s first slave uprising (II)

This is a drabble for“Not Obi-Wan’s first slave uprising” AU. It’s three disjointed pieces of tell don’t show in a trench coat, but I was trying to organise my (and Obi-Wan’s) thoughts, so it served a purpose. It’s not quite the path that that would take Obi-Wan to the conclusion at the end yet, but it might be pieces of it.

“All a jedi must do, padawan, is follow the Light. The rest is window dressing.”

—patron saint by spqr

What would have happened if the republic hadn’t miraculously been given an army just when they needed one, Obi-Wan thought. Would the republic have been overrun? No, the separatists wanted to secede, not conquer. More likely, the senate would have been forced to issue a draft, which would have been immensely unpopular—as the Military Creation Act had been, before the discovery of the clone army—both among the wealthy and influential core worlds who feared their populations would not accept it, and the Rim worlds who feared the draft would draw from their populations disproportionately. It would have made war less popular, less supported, and protracted war doubly so. It would have lead to seceding worlds facing less opposition, and the republic having less brute strength to force them to stay. It… would have meant the republic would have had to make concessions, reforms even. It would have meant diplomacy and negotiations would have to be attempted if all our war wasn’t an option. It, in fact, was exactly what the Jedi were meant to do.

Not this: commanding an army of slave soldiers to fight a war to force worlds to stay in a republic they no longer felt served their needs. To keep power in the hands of those who already had it, but weren’t willing to compromise to keep it.

In the days following the Military Creation Act and the draft of the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan had kept thinking back to something he had been told years ago, while he was still a padawan. Obi-Wan had been some months out from Melidaan, still on a probation, still trying to reconcile his experiences with the expectations of the Jedi. He had been trying to repair his frayed relationship with his newly reinstated master and had been hesitant to bring up any of his doubts. They had taken an easy diplomatic mission to Alderaan where Obi-Wan had met Bail, then still Prestor.

Bail had been a few years older than Obi-Wan, still growing into himself, but already he had had that core of duty and integrity that Obi-Wan had never ceased to admire. And he had told Obi-Wan something then, that had stayed with him all these years. That it was the duty of any leader, to serve the people whom they lead.

It was not the teaching of the Jedi. The Jedi taught that their duty was to serve the entire galaxy, and all sentient life therein. The Jedi were not leaders, but diplomats and arbitrators, facilitators of a different kind. But service and duty were baked into them in the crèche all the same. And there was something about Bail’s wisdom, that had resonated with Obi-Wan as he kept getting missions that turned into firefights and sometimes all out wars.

Obi-Wan already lost his argument with the Jedi Council then. He had only been a lowly knight and had been in the position to argue in the first place due to his mission debrief after Kamino and his lineage relationship with his great-grandmaster Yoda. But in the end, he had been told in no uncertain terms that the Order was not in a position to refuse the draft or to fight the Military Creation Act.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow. To go from Kamino, where the lights of the clones had shone so brightly in the force, as unique and riotously colourful as any city despite the outward appearances, to Geonosis where the lights of both Jedi and clones had been snuffed out in troves. He had been feeling sore in the force, from all those deaths. As far as he knew, the campaign was still ongoing, but he had been recalled to Coruscant to give his mission report in person—and to accept his assignment as a general of the army.

Only to then realise that the newly passed Military Creation Act afforded the clones no civil rights, not even sentient status. To realise that the Jedi were just… going to accept it, because of politics and of the greater duty they could apparently serve.

Frankly, if the Jedi’s duty to all sentient life did not extend equally to the men under their command, then Obi-Wan no longer cared about following the Order’s rules. He would never stop being a Jedi, but as Qui-Gon had once put it, being a Jedi was about following the light—the rest was window dressing.

But now, his duties as a Jedi were to include direct command of soldiers. Men, whose wellbeing relied on his decisions. Men, who would live or die on his word. That was not the case with other sentients of the galaxy, who were free to make their own decisions. Didn’t that make his duty to his men greater, not lesser? Didn’t that make it primary?

Obi-Wan had always struggled with attachments. But he did not know how to fight with divided loyalties, how to split his heart and portion pieces of it carefully, calculatingly. There was no room in war for it. He had always given all of himself to the fights he chose. To Melidaan. To Mandalore. To their people. He did not know how to do any less now.

He felt like he was at the precipice of something, at a fork in the road before him where he could only choose to walk one path but not another. He had a choice: his men, the order, or the senate.

He had, he realised, had to make the same choice before: to be a Jedi, or a general. To serve the people, or his mission brief. He had already made his decision and had kept making it over the years. And he found that it was not so hard to make again, after all.

“It is the duty of any leader, to serve the people whom they lead,” Obi-Wan starts haltingly.

“My primary responsibility—my primary loyalty—is no longer to the Jedi Order, the senate, or even the republic and its people. It is to the men under my command.”

“If these duties conflict, I will put our men first.” Obi-Wan willed his commander to understand. “We will fight, and we will die. But only as long as it is in the pursuit of the common goal our men choose to make those sacrifices for.”

“Any man who wants out of the fight, I swear I will find them a way.” He would. It would be difficult to smuggle deserters out, but he would personally falsify death certificates for everyone who’d rather take their chances outside GAR.

“I will not force you to fight. I will not be your slave master. If you would rather strike out at the unknown regions, just give the word. If you’d rather dump my ass before you go, just give the word. If you’d rather I step down from the command and start fighting for your rights in the courts, I swear I will pull every favour and piece of blackmail I have accrued during my diplomatic career. And if you’d rather break your chains—Cody, it wouldn’t be my first slave rebellion.”

Obi-Wan rises from his chair and drops on a knee in front of his silent commander. He pulls his lightsaber from his belt and offers it to Cody.

“So you see, it is not you who are at my service. It is I who am at yours.”

Cody doesn’t know what to say to his general offering to commit treason for him and his men. The man has literally gone down on his knee to, what? Swear loyalty to Cody, a clone? This is so far outside the parameters of his training that Cody might just as well have been transported to another dimension entirely. And he does not know what to say.

The general, still kneeling at Cody’s feet, tries for a smile though it comes out more as a grimace.

“You don’t have to say anything, commander. We can pretend this conversation never happened. I know I haven’t earned your trust yet. You don’t have to decide anything now.”

Kenobi gets up, sits back in his chair and scrubs his face, looking a little lost. Then, to Cody’s horror, he starts undoing the plates of his armour and pulling open the body glove underneath.

“Did you know that there’s a word for a freed slave who enslaves others?” Kenobi asks conversationally and tilts his head until Cody can see his bared neck. It’s pale, like the rest of him, and there’s a band of twisting scar tissue around it. Cody must react somehow, because Kenobi nods and starts putting his armour back to rights.

“Depukrekta,” he says with disgust. “I wasn’t a slave for very long, in the grand scheme of things, but I…”

“I—to be frank, I considered resigning from the Order and refusing the draft entirely in protest. But I thought you and the men at least deserved a choice in how you wanted your battles fought.” Kenobi shrugs and adds ruefully “And the option of resigning publicly is still open, should you wish to be rid of me.”

Kenobi, having said his piece, slips quietly out. Cody states after him for a long time, thoughts whirling. Then he comms Fox.

#drabble #plot bunny #tcw au #blanket permission #codywan #or gen #space bunnies

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sitp-recs · 6 months

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hi, i read a lot of your recommendations and they are so good really and i recently liked this type of fics where draco has to do like community service as part of his sentence and harry is like his auror in charge or somehow he is in draco's way while doing it so i wonder if you know any fic like that, if not thanks althought

Hi anon! I’m so happy that you’ve been enjoying the recs. I love parole fics too, something about that subdued melancholy of post-war stories really gets me. Here are some recs for you, not all of these involve community work but I hope you enjoy them all the same!

Dear Mr. Anonymous by BelladonnaLee, TheLionessRoyal (T, 2k)

Assigned by Wizengamot to fulfil his community service hours in the Department for Unemployed Magical Persons (DUMP), Draco unknowingly becomes Harry's anonymous case manager and begins a letter exchange with him under the pseudonym "Darwin Marshbottom." But Draco isn't known for playing by the rules—and neither is Harry.

Bright Side by @floydig (T, 2k)

It’s been one year since the war, and Draco is on probation. He lives in a shitty muggle flat in the middle of nowhere in California and delivers pizza. Harry is Draco’s probation officer who visits far too often.

Let's Find a Way by agentmoppet (T, 2k)

Draco is a willing participant in his community service obligation. In fact, he even has some suggestions for it. He probably shouldn't be surprised that those suggestions lead him straight back to Potter.

One Dark and Stormy Night by @doubleappled (E, 5k)

When Hagrid’s animal sanctuary floods in a sudden freak storm, he needs all the help he can get. Harry and Ron are of course more than willing, and are prepared for anything ― except, of course, to see that Malfoy is assigned to help too, as part of his community service.

Nobody by @dorthyanndrarry (T, 12k)

Junior Auror Potter runs errands, takes witness interviews, does paperwork, and gets the coffee. Rarely, very rarely, he's sent out on the most routine calls, such as when Draco Malfoy misses a meeting with his parole officer.

Evolution by @potteresque-ire (M, 13k)

Draco Malfoy was condemned to live a Muggle’s life for his three-year probation. His wand was locked away, and he was forbidden to set foot in Wizarding Britain until Hermione Granger secured a job for him in the Aurors’ stock room. Junior Auror Harry Potter frequently visited Draco to check out supplies, take Spanish lessons, and witness Draco’s resolute—if painful—adaptation to a non-magical life … while falling in love with the man who might be too fragile to love him back.

Turn and Face the Strange (time may change me) by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 16k)

Draco and Harry and how their relationship—and themselves—change over the course of eleven years.

you've got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass (M, 20k) - Ron is the parole officer

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want. He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

(You’re a) Revolution by @stargazing-enby (M, 23k)

Eight years after the end of the war, Draco Malfoy stumbles into Harry’s shop in the middle of a storm—no wand, no backstory; no signs of having lived in the country since the Battle of Hogwarts. During their first encounter, Harry promises—and the words sound like an old mantra—that he'll figure out Draco's secrets eventually. And then he does. He does, except…it doesn't quite feel like a victory.

Stain of Silence by brummell (E, 28k)

After the war, Draco serves out his sentence in Harry Potter's house.

Make My Demons Run by lauren3210 (E, 28k)

After giving evidence in defence of Draco at his trial, suddenly Potter is everywhere he turns as he completes his community service. Draco hadn't expected any of it, nor had he expected those long buried feelings he'd once had to come rising back to the surface. He definitely didn't expect what happened next.

In the Company of a Rubber Duck by birdsofshore (E, 34k)

War makes for strange bedfellows. However that doesn't fully explain how Harry ended up sharing his bath with Draco Malfoy... nor why Malfoy was a rubber duck at the time.

The Voldemort Manor by @kedavranox (E, 40k)

The Malfoy Manor is a state run museum, renamed The Voldemort Manor by the Ministry for Magic. As part of his probation, Draco is assigned as sole caretaker. When the Manor hosts a series of high class events celebrating the Wizarding World’s fourth Yuletide season Post War, it brings with it a swathe of people Draco hasn’t seen in years; including one, Harry Potter.

The Vanishing Department by @dictacontrion (E, 47k)

The things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, even if that involves a lot more form-filling, bickering, covert glancing, miscommunication, and flying furniture than we might expect.

Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 76k)

Deep in the heart of the Ministry lies the Beast Division: a hidden room where ancient beasts roam, and winged creatures soar, and grumpy giant ferrets eat all your biscuits unless you keep them well hidden. Draco Malfoy would know – he’s been working there for five years now, after all. Meanwhile, on Level One, ex-Golden Boy Harry Potter is stuck in another interminable policy meeting, completely unaware of the mysterious comings and goings just three floors below. But when a giant snake emergency requires the assistance of a Parselmouth, Harry finds himself thrust, unprepared, into Draco’s weird and wonderful world – and naturally, he can’t keep away…

where all the veins meet by @saxamophone (E, 146k)

It's the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now?

Bonus: art rec!

Party Invitations and Falling in Love with Your Sworn Enemy: A Tactical Guide by dustmouth

Chronicling the trials and tribulations of one Draco Malfoy, employee of the Godric's Hollow Postal Office, and the events unfolding around the hottest local party in the calendar year. Featuring: Owlengitis, bingo-based plots, and Julie Bumble's questionable neighbourhood erotica.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #Draco on probation #parole fics

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ridenwithbiden · 11 months

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On Friday, Kenneth Chesebro pleaded guilty to one count of conspiracy to file false documents in the Fulton County 2020 election conspiracy case, becoming the second high-level Donald Trump co-defendant to become a state’s witness in two days. Chesebro received an especially lenient sentence of five years’ probation, a small financial penalty, and 100 hours of community service.

With the guilty plea and cooperation deal Georgia prosecutors struck on Thursday with Team Trump attorney Sidney Powell, Chesebro’s plea deal should be viewed as an earthquake in the case against Trump. Given Powell’s close proximity to the former president and his legal advisers at crucial times in his attempts to overturn the 2020 election, her testimony will be particularly devastating not only as to defendant Trump, but to co-defendants Rudy Giuliani and John Eastman.

Chesebro’s testimony, meanwhile, implicates one of the key portions of the conspiracy both in Georgia and in the federal Jan. 6 case against Trump, specifically the efforts to create a slate of “false electors” to use during the Jan. 6 electoral count to overturn the results of the 2020 election. Now that both Chesebro and Powell are cooperating witnesses, the pressure on Giuliani and Eastman to plead and cooperate is exponentially higher.

That the significant cooperation under discussion involves four of Trump’s attorneys underscores the reality that the former president’s regularly touted defense that he was relying on the good-faith guidance of his attorneys during the attempted coup was, and is, nothing more than self-serving fantasy. In the courtroom—as compared with on television or in social media—he has never had the ability to offer that defense.

In court, the advice of counsel “affirmative defense” requires a defendant to prove two things: First, that he relied in good faith on his lawyer’s advice that the conduct in question at trial was legal, and second, that he made a full disclosure of all relevant facts to the attorney before receiving that advice.

Based on my four decades in the courtroom as both federal prosecutor and defense attorney, I can report that the assertion of the attorney-client privilege by a criminal defendant at trial is a black swan event—effective only with the consistent, overlapping trial testimony of both the attorney and the defendant, and the admission into evidence of any documents reflecting the communications or advice they testified about.

Putting aside the substantial evidence that Trump was warned by numerous White House lawyers that his efforts to overturn the 2020 election were in violation of the law, how does Trump establish the advice of counsel defense at trial?

As I have observed in prior articles, he is certainly not able to testify on his own behalf. There are surely no memos to the file, emails, or letters to the client evidencing such advice in writing. Finally in this regard, what lawyer is willing to testify he or she advised Trump it was, for example, lawful for him to ask the Georgia secretary of state to “find” enough votes for him to win that state?

Long before the Powell and Chesebro deals were announced, the absurdity of expecting any Trump attorney’s testimony to be anything but harmful to his cause was made crystal clear by Michael Cohen. More recently, when Trump lawyer Evan Corcoran was forced to testify against the former president based on the “crime fraud” exception to the attorney-client privilege, the testimony he gave and the internal memos he was compelled to produce, proved not to be shields for the former president, but swords to be wielded against him—as it is with Powell and Chesebro, and so it will be with others.

After all, what can you expect when your standard for choosing at least some of your lawyers is their willingness to turn a blind eye to whatever your weak ego and malicious intentions require?

In sum, while Georgia and DOJ attorneys have each received great potential benefits from the Powell and Chesebro deals, it was in no way structured to protect against a defense they know Trump cannot employ.

Finally, speaking of structure, the great deals Powell and Chesebro struck, getting probation while facing up to 20 years in jail on a RICO conviction, are certainly a blessing for them—they even get to finally tell the truth.

But District Attorney Fani Willis’ seeming generosity is a sign of shrewd judgment, not weakness.

Prosecutors have both the carrot and the stick to get what they want, and the two deals Willis just made were large carrots, signaling to the other defendants that she is someone they can deal with, and that there are potentially acceptable pathways out of the mess they are in. At the same time, she has just made her case against other, more significant defendants meaningfully stronger and her stick that much larger.

Of course, Willis is a long way from where she needs to be, but those who had originally feared she had overindicted the 19-defendant RICO case might now be a little less concerned and a little more impressed.

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brehaaorgana · 19 days

Text

THIS WEEK, IN "MY ALCOHOLIC DAD DIED,":

I am really glad that I know just enough about how estate handling works to be dangerous.

While we did our best with cleaning the apartment, and I left my contact info as next-of-kin when I returned the apartment keys, the rental management company reached out to my Aunt in order to let her know they'd identified bio-material (ew) and will need to hire professional cleaners.

This is part of the email they sent:

At this time, bio-material has been identified in the unit. As this is the case, we will need to have the unit treated by a specialty team to complete. Once the service is complete, we can send you the final statement. As this service is costly, we are requesting quotes from multiple company to provide you the best end price. I wanted to make sure you all are aware where we are currently with his account. Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns I can help with.

Now, my dear followers, have you spotted the bullshit that even a specialty team couldn't treat?

I'll lay it out!

Once the company was advised that I am legally next of kin, they have no business emailing anyone else but me! I signed return keys paperwork in person, in their office, by writing "on behalf of the estate of (my dad's name)" then my name and then following it with "(Next of Kin, Acting Executor)." I probably didn't need to do any of that but I won't be caught signing anything that even remotely looks like I am taking personal legal liability lmfao. I provided my address and contact info as the next of kin. They demanded seeing MY legal id in order to let me into the apartment. Failure to update best contact info is a bad look.

"this service is costly," neat! You can start by applying his security deposit and making a claim with renters insurance if he notified you of any. You should file that claim before his rental insurance finds out he's dead. You cannot tell me your fucking expensive apartment didn't have a hefty security deposit.

"in order to give you the best end price" oh, really? Gee THAAAANKSS that's SOoOoOoOoo THOUGHTFUL!!! 🙄 This is a bullshit thing to say. You don't need to give me options lol. You should be choosing the most affordable option because —

Sweethearts, your final statement isn't being paid by ME. It's being paid by my father's estate. You are making the gamble there's any money in it. I'm not legally liable to pay any of my father's debts, including your final apartment bill. The liability is with the estate. You can choose the most expensive option and if the estate has no money, then you're the one left with the bill.

Basically what a stupid email to send. You should choose whatever price you're willing to lose entirely in case the estate is insolvent. Get in line with all his credit cards, this dude didn't own property, or his car, and declared bankruptcy at least once lmfao.

probate court will take months, my father was probably broke, and unluckily for you I EAGERLY look forwards to my dad's broke ass screwing over a greedy California landlord. ✌🏻

And I know I don't have to pay a single red cent from life insurance payout if I get anything.

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iwcprobateservices · 2 years

Text

https://www.iwcprobateservices.co.uk/blog/the-use-of-a-genealogist-for-a-legal-will/

#valuing a property for probate #best will writing service #solicitors dealing with wills #probate solicitors near me #application of probate

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space-mermaid-writing · 1 year

Text

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Epilogue

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous

Chapter’s Note: Check out the Witchling Art tag |Beta by @zaria-04

Chapter 32: Epilogue

Rays of sunlight fall through a slit in the curtain, which is not properly closed, and pull you out of your sleep. Not yet fully awake, you feel something move next to you and turn to it. Reaching out, you touch cool skin and hum something.

A chuckle sounds next to you. "Good morning, my love."

Loki’s voice is low and your favorite thing to hear in the morning. You open one eye, finally being awake enough to do so, and come face to face with your lover.

"Morning, dear."

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him to steal a lazy kiss from your lips. Happy to comply, you bury your head in the crook of Loki’s neck and surrender to the sweet moment between sleep and fully awake. You are both naked and your legs are tangled together under the sheets.

Your muscles ache, especially the ones in your thighs. But it's a good kind of ache and you smile as you remember where it came from.

“We have to get up,” you murmur into Loki’s skin, not really in the mood to leave the comfort of your bed. “Or else we’re going to be late.” You feel his slender fingers under your chin, as he tilts your head so he can look at you.

“We can reschedule.” He rolls you over so that he is leaning over you. His naked torso feels cool against your hot skin. He leans down to you, but before his lips touch yours he stops. “You look ravishing and I am a starving man.”

You can't help but nibble from his lips, pulling his face fully down to you.

Loki's intentions are clear and it is a very tempting idea. It wouldn't be the first time you two would get distracted. But the matter is important enough that you are willing to be the voice of reason.

"We already postponed it last time."

Pressing another quick kiss to Loki's lips, you wriggle out of his grip and off the bed. Without bothering to pick up your yesterday's clothes from the floor, you walk naked as the day you were born towards the bathroom.

Loki's eyes follow your every move and he licks his lips.

You throw him a glance over your shoulder. "Join me in the shower." It's not a question.

A light comes into Loki's face, a sparkle that is reserved only for you, and with a wide smirk he is on his feet. "Temptress."

Half an hour later you are standing in front of a house. It is cute, painted in red with white window frames – quite typical for this area in Norway.

The real estate agent greets the two of you in English, with an accent.

"It's a fifteen minute drive to the next town. They have everything you need for everyday use. For anything else you would need to go to the city that is about an hour away," the agent tells you as she leads you through the house. It's been empty for a while and needs a bit of work: some painting and minor repairs. Maybe a new kitchen, you think as you enter it.

But the house has the perfect size for a couple. And there’s quite a distance to any neighbors who would notice after a few years that you and Loki age differently.

"What do you think?" Loki asks you after the agent stepped aside for a moment to give you two some space.

"I like this more than the last one. But I still want to see the other two on the list."

One of them was located in Iceland. You agreed on a temperate climate, since Loki prefers it in the long run to the warmer areas of Earth.

"This one has a nice view," Loki agrees with you, looking out a window. The house is situated on a hill, giving a view of the town in the valley. On the south side of the property, there was enough space for a vegetable garden.

You don't have to make a decision right away, but you have a feeling this is the current favorite for both of you. Especially when the Asgardian adds, "How do you feel about brunch? There's a lovely restaurant in the town."

"Oh? Someone did his homework."

You say goodbye to the estate agent and Loki takes you to the promised brunch, which is more of a late lunch due to the time difference. The sun has already passed its zenith here.

But the both of you don't mind and take the time afterwards to explore the area until it's time for you to return to New York and get ready for the gala that will take place there in the late evening.

Pepper has organized the PR event for the Avengers. It’s the night where Loki will join the team officially.

In the media, of course, the Asgardian has already been seen alongside the heroes, but so far there has been no press conference about it. Just a few statements about his general stay on Earth.

This will change tonight.

Loki is quite popular on social media. There are numerous photos and short clips of him holding the flaming sword of 'Bloodweeper', saving the Sorcerer Supreme and fighting a demon from Hell.

Someone even looped a video of him wielding it and stabbing Mephisto. They added funny music to it and it went viral for a week.

"Midgardians are weird," was Loki's only comment on it when you showed the video to him. But he can't fool you. You know he saved it in his new phone Tony gifted him.

It will be good blackmail should he ever need a favor from Strange.

The Asgardian looks spotless as always for the event. He rocks a classic dark suit that shimmers green in the right light. A small brooch in the shape of a golden snake hangs from his lapel. No tie yet – it still lies over the back of a nearby chair, while Loki adjusts his cufflinks.

You take the tie – it's green and gold – and step up to him, placing it around his neck. With practiced movements, you form it into a classic knot.

You yourself are still in your dressing robe. Your hair and makeup are done but you haven't changed yet. With good reason, because you have a request for Loki.

"I couldn't decide on an outfit to match yours. Maybe you can help me out with your magic," you murmur against his lips, your fingers still gripping the tie so he can't move away.

As if he'd ever want to.

"With pleasure." Loki's eyes shine darkly, thinking about what exquisite things he could put you in. He slips the robe off your shoulders and kisses the exposed skin, up to your neck.

You allow it for a moment, basking in his affection before relenting. "We need to get ready or we will be late," you remind him for the second time today.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

You chuckle, but still prevent him from pulling you to the bed. Instead, you whisper in his ear what you have in store for him after the event, if he keeps his good behavior up during the gala.

"I'll get back to you on that." The Asgardian loves a good challenge. "Now step back and let me work."

He considers for a moment, his gaze wandering over your body, before casting his magic. For a moment a green shimmer curls around you, and then you are wearing a stunning and very dramatic dress. It's not a mere illusion but actual tangible matter, as you feel it when you run your fingers over the fabric.

You move in front of the mirror and take a look at yourself. It’s very much the counterpart to Loki's suit, with a plunging but tasteful neckline.

"Wow." Thrilled, you do a little spin to admire the dress from all sides. "I should let you do my wardrobe more often."

Pleased with the praise, Loki steps behind you, his hands on your waist. Your eyes meet in the mirror.

"It's an easy task if the canvas is beautiful like this. However, there's just one thing missing." He conjures a necklace with a small golden snake as a pendant, just like his brooch.

You look at him, unsure. He knows necklaces are not your type of jewelry. Nothing that is too close to your throat is. But the gaze he gives you reassures you and you trust him enough to allow him to continue.

Brushing your hair aside, he puts it on you before placing another kiss in the crook of your neck. It's so light you don't even feel it on your skin, like it's not even there.

"Now, it's perfect."

Your fingers find the pendant and you feel a touch of magic.

"It contains a little spell," the Asgardian explains.

You turn in his arms. Your gaze is soft as you place one hand against his cheek and run the other through his hair. "I love it." Truly happy about the small gift, you thank him with a kiss.

Little does Loki know that you have a gift for him yourself. It is a letter that you keep hidden in your drawer. A reply from the Queen of Asgard, whom you have invited to tea in the near future. Loki and you can't go to Asgard for a visit, but no one is stopping you all from meeting here on Earth.

You plan to tell Loki about it later tonight.

Loki breaks away from you and holds out his arm. "Shall we?"

“Do you plan on using the elevators?” you ask back.

"How boring. What do you take me for? I plan to make an entrance." Loki's grin is wide and you mirror his face, taking his arm.

"We shall."

The gala is already in full swing. Tony has provided a hall for it on one of the lower floors of the tower. There is a buffet, an open bar, and additional waiters passing champagne on their trays among the guests. In one corner, a string quartet provides unobtrusive music that blends into the conversations as a lovely background noise.

The guests consist of all the active members of the Avengers, some influential political figures and selected people from the press.

This last group of people ensures that everything feels a bit put on. People's smiles often show too many teeth to be honest. Controversial opinions are only expressed quietly.

People are aware that this is an event to present themselves to the public – even if the actual public won't read about it until the next day.

Tony is talking to the mayor. Smiling politely while listening to boring stories is like second nature to him. He wears it like some kind of PR skin.

But after some time he grabs a new drink from one of the waiters before he clasps the mayor on the shoulder and uses an excuse to leave and find Pepper.

Suddenly, the lights flicker, go out completely for a moment, while the music also falls silent, as does every single conversation.

Then suddenly Loki and you are standing in the spotlight of the room.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the Asgardian announces. His voice carries through the room without any effort.

The light and the music both go back to normal. A few seconds pass, during which the guests are too surprised, perhaps even too startled, to react.

Then a flurry of flashbulbs from the journalists goes off. Everyone is reaching for their cameras and phones to snatch a photo. Loki enjoys the attention and smiles at them, like the prince he is raised to be. He raises his hand and gives them a short wave before leaning to you and giving you a kiss on your temple. More photos are snapped.

You don't mind, because you know that their attempts to find out more about you will be fruitless.

When he thinks it's enough, Loki leads you by his arm to the side of the hall and conjures the two of you some drinks. Tony is at your side almost instantly.

"Cute entrance." His voice was noticeably neutral, as if he himself hasn’t been known for his notorious extravagance in the past. "We should have made this a Halloween theme party to fit with the spooky flicker of the lights"

His gaze shifts over to you and he smiles. "You look stunning as always, Sabrina."

Taking your hand, he spins you around once to look at you from all sides.

You giggle, flattered by his words. "You're not bad yourself." As you stand next to Loki again, you don't miss the Asgardian's possessive arm sneaking around your waist.

But his voice is leveled when he asks, "So, what's the plan for tonight?" He knows Stark is no real threat or competition for him, but, still, he doesn't appreciate anyone touching what's his.

"We have fun, mingle with the commoners," Tony explains with a wink. "Then there's a speech where you get up on stage and after that more fun, and booze."

That sounds easy enough. Pepper and the PR team would issue a few more official statements, but you two have nothing further to do than to make a good impression tonight. And personally you are quite happy about that.

You're no longer holed up in your little cottage somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but all this public relations work isn't really your thing. It's enough for you to stand by Loki's side as his support. For him, of course, such appearances are nothing unusual. As the prince of a whole realm, he was raised for this.

Maybe he and Tony aren't so dissimilar in that regard, but you'd never dare to say that out loud.

You briefly stop listening to the conversation between the two men when you catch a glimpse of Thor. His tall figure is clearly visible over the heads of the other people, even with super soldiers and enhanced humans attending.

He waves at you and grins, presumably a comment on the entrance of Loki and you.

You reply with a shrug like, 'well, what did you expect?'. You see him laugh as he turns back to his conversation partners, and you turn back to Loki as well.

As you do so, you notice that Tony has left and the Asgardian is watching you with amusement.

"Having silent conversations now, are we?" he observes, amused.

“Only within the family.”

His eyes soften, because despite all his prior conflicts with Thor, he is still his brother, and he is glad you two get along so easily. And Loki with your siblings too. It was only last weekend when the two of you met Elizabeth and Gabriel for lunch.

For Loki, family has always been a two-sided dagger. Something that was familiar, and yet something he never dared to open up to completely.

Frigga was the only one who saw him – like really saw him – but even in her company, Loki had never fully let his walls down. And that was not because she was not his mother by birth.

With Thor, he shared a camaraderie that could only be built by fighting side by side for centuries. And yet they got along better on the battlefield than in the palace that used to be their home. Perhaps because children can only develop truly and freely when they are not overshadowed by their parents.

The stay on Midgard really did their brotherly relationship good in this respect.

In the presence of your siblings, Loki has been initially reserved, always the observer first, studying dynamics in order to react to them. But both Bell and Gabe had welcomed him into their midst with open arms – probably not least because he had helped save Gabriel’s life.

Whenever you met now, which was only moderately between your various duties, lives and the time difference between the US and Europe, a lot of quips and teasing were thrown around between you siblings, and Loki didn't hold back either.

He didn't, however, tell you about the shovel talk he had received from Gabriel the other day when you briefly left the room to help Elizabeth prepare the dessert. Your brother is still recovering, but moving fast with all the healing potions you brewed for him. Only the fading cross on his forehead testifies to what happened to him – at least outwardly. The mental scars in the form of a haunted look that sometimes takes over his eyes will last way longer. But he doesn't talk about that. Not yet.

Loki has to admit that the young man – still older than any normal Midgardian – can look rather intimidating when he puts his mind to it. Not that he can do anything really harmful against a god, but the curses Gabe threatened him with, should it come to his ears that Loki is not treating you well, would be a real inconvenience, even for Loki.

It’s fortunate that he has no such intentions.

"Would you do me the honor of a dance?" Formally, Loki holds out his hand to you and you put yours in with a smile.

"I'd love to."

He leads you to a space near the string quartet, which has been unofficially claimed as the dance floor.

It's a simple dance, swaying slowly, and it gives a sense of intimacy between the two of you, though you're sure you're still being watched by more than one pair of eyes. After all, Loki is the main attraction of the event.

"They will be furious when they find out about the cloaking spell I put on you," Loki says, as if he had been reading your thoughts.

It has been a condition of yours to accompany him to this event. While you want to support him in all his steps with the Avengers, you don't want to be in the public eye yourself – even though you know this will inevitably happen. But for now the trauma of what happens to witches who are exposed as such still roots too deep within you. You are still hunted, even in these 'modern' and 'enlightened' times.

The solution Loki offered for the problem was ridiculously simple.

"I would love to see their faces when they notice the blurry spot on every single photo you are in." Loki chuckles at the notion.

You can't help but grin as well. "Maybe they'll think I'm Bigfoot," you muse, wondering if the origin of the cryptid creature had a similar explanation after all.

Loki knits his brows. "Your feet are not that big," he states as he leads you into a swirling spin.

You don't correct him. The one time you told Thor about the Loch Ness Monster, he was about to go hunt it down to take credit for slaying a legendary beast.

You're not taking chances. After all, they are still brothers.

After another spin, you put your hand back on his shoulder and look up at him. He is still leading the dance, but his mind seems to have drifted away.

Sometimes you still have a hard time figuring out what's going on in his mind. It is much easier when the two of you are alone, but in company he involuntarily pulls up these old walls around him. You are fine with it, because you know that he will let you through regardless, that they don't apply to you. Not truly.

But every now and then he needs a little nudge in the right direction.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask him softly.

“You would look gorgeous with a crown.” With this, the Asgardian prince reveals more than he actually wanted to, but neither does he give an explanation, nor does he take his words back.

"One day at a time," you remind him, taken off guard by this sudden change of subject and somewhat flustered by the hidden meaning of it.

The smile on Loki's lips remains a mystery to you. "Indeed, my little Witchling."

You both have enough time without having to rush things. More time than you would even know. It's a secret of his own for now, but Loki knows that the day will come when he will go and find Idunn to ask her for one of the golden apples. She owes him a favor anyway.

Until then he will stay at your side, dancing the night away.

FIN

______________________

And with that we reached the end of the story and I almost got my goal: writing something that is as long as The Hobbit (~95k words)

A big thank you to everyone who joined this ride and made it to this point. To everyone who, liked, commented and reblogged it. It brought me much joy to read your reactions and thoughts to every chapter ♥

Every reader-insert story I write is deeply personal. There’s part of me in the Witchling, part of my siblings in hers. So whenever I publish a new chapter it feels a little bit like putting a small piece of myself out there.

That's it, I have no more to say. Just this: be nice to people! You never know who might be a witch.

And to the Witches: don’t play with forces you can’t fully comprehend or understand. You never know what you might provoke. Be careful.

Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23 @ozymdias @huntress-artemiss @sofi786 @thedistractedagglomeration @rosaline-black @msrawog @moonlightreader649 @paetonnn @eldriidd @r4inlov3r @eleniblue @eleniblue @maeisonline @marvel-love24 @sinsandguilt @kalinaselennespeaks @ohtellmelove @eleniblue @hyojin-2579 @just-someone11 @marygoddessofmischief @fall-myriad @melavoris @baebeepeach

#loki x y/n #Loki x reader #loki layfeyson x you #loki laufesyon x reader #Loki x you #imagine loki #the witchling and the god #imagine marvel #mcu prompt #loki odison x reader #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #loki fanfction #slow burn #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

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laundrybiscuits · 2 years

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(purify our misfit ways tag | AO3)

It’s so, so strange to realize that this is probably the best summer Robin’s had since she was a kid, and it’s barely July.

Oh sure, there’s plenty she still has to worry about—she’s still dead set on escaping Hawkins’ gravitational pull and becoming someone worth being, someone who has adventures and eats fancy cheese in Paris and maybe maybe even kisses a girl under the stars someday, and that means she has to work her ass off.

If she wants even half a chance at any of that stuff, she’s got to pick up as many shifts as she can and work on her French for at least an hour every day and never ever lose sight of the goal. She can get out of here, and who knows, maybe she can even take Eddie with her. He’s bad at languages but she thinks he’d like Paris anyway, with her around to translate. She thinks it’d be fun, roaming the streets of Europe with someone who makes her laugh like Eddie does: someone she trusts more than she thought she’d ever trust anyone.

So she’s been working hard, definitely, but it wasn’t all that long ago that she’d been thinking of this chapter of her life as just something to get through with gritted teeth and grim determination. Now, she wakes up most days in the early summer sunshine and remembers that she’s scheduled with Steve, and that Eddie’ll swing by in the afternoon when he wakes up if he’s not too busy with his nerd shit, and she feels confusingly genuine happiness percolating through her. It feels like good things can exist in the present, not just the potential future. It feels soap-bubble iridescent and fragile.

A year ago, the thought of toiling in the Hawkins customer service trenches in the company of Steve “the Hair” Harrington and Eddie “the Freak” Munson would’ve sounded like a waking nightmare. Now, just the thought of Steve’s dumb jokes and Eddie’s wild dramatics is enough to tuck a smile into the corners of her mouth as she hurries to get ready, moving just a little faster to get her day started sooner.

Eddie’s managed to get over whatever weird homosexual paroxysm he was having, and acts mostly normal around Steve. Normal for Eddie, that is, which means that on one slow afternoon he sits cross-legged on a table and retells the story of Odysseus with the little red plastic sample spoons, doing progressively squeakier voices for each character; another time, he talks them into what he calls a Scoops Soup Showdown, where he mixes up three spoonfuls of ice cream until they’re basically one undifferentiated liquid and forces Steve and Robin to guess the original flavors.

Steve had been weirdly good at that one, and Robin’s still half-convinced he’d been cheating somehow despite his indignant denials. It had all ended when he’d guessed strawberry-butterscotch-vanilla before she’d even pulled the spoon out of her mouth, and she’d been forced to dip her finger in the gross goop and chase him around the back room, trying to give him a wet willy. Eddie had been cackling so hard he’d slid all the way under the table.

Robin’s not dumb, she knows high school friendships fall apart all the time, but god she hopes she gets to keep this.

That’s another thing: at this point, it’s getting kind of silly to pretend that Steve’s not actually sort of her friend too, bizarre as that would’ve seemed a few months ago. It’s a new and tentative thing, but she is provisionally willing to admit that it is in fact what scientists might classify as friendship, subcategory probational. Even when Eddie’s not around, she usually ends up having a pretty okay time just complaining about the mind-numbing drudgery with Steve.

It helps that Steve seems to have given up on the matchmaking, mostly. He hasn’t mentioned anything about Robin’s boyfriend-attracting qualities in at least a week now, though he still asks stuff about Eddie every so often in a way that makes Robin squint suspiciously.

“I think he might be, y’know, at a loose end,” is all Eddie says when she brings it up. “Harrington needs a hobby more than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s what happens when you eject the Hawkins jock from his natural habitat. He’ll find something new and shiny to distract him soon.”

Eddie’s usually right about this kind of thing, so Robin’s just been waiting it out, fielding all Eddie-related questions with the patience of a saint.

Today, when she rolls into Scoops, she feels about ready for canonization when Steve looks up and says, “Hey, Robin. Is Eddie coming by today?”

“Eddie is mysterious and unknowable,” Robin informs him. “His movements are like the flight of birds, or like the autumn wind through the trees.”

“Jesus christ, why are you guys so weird,” Steve sighs. “Is he gonna be here or not.”

Robin shrugs, pulling on her vest and donning the stupid sailor hat. “He said he’s gonna try to get his band together for a rehearsal or something. He’ll be here if that doesn’t work out.”

“Oh!” Steve points at her. “The, uh. Coffin guys, right? Do they even play in the summer?”

“Not normally, but the drummer guy knows someone who runs a bar in Indy or something like that, so Eddie wants to record a demo and try his luck. He’s been complaining non-stop about it, so maybe if he throws a big enough hissy fit, the boys will give in.”

Robin gets a secret little thrill at how cool and grown-up it sounds to say record a demo, like that’s just something she casually mentions all the time. Eddie is the biggest dork she knows and a total disaster of a human being, but whenever she talks about his life, it somehow ends up sounding amazing. There’s just something about him that’s too big and bright for Hawkins, and she loves how he’s just as hungry as she is to get out and start his life for real. She loves how when she says things like record a demo and bar in Indy, his future sounds close enough to touch, like maybe her own future’s not too far away either.

“Oh, that's kinda cool. What are the band guys like?” Steve asks. He hops up to perch on the counter in a way he definitely shouldn’t be, but it’s not like Robin’s going to rat him out to the Scoops Ahoy overlords.

She shrugs. “Quiet, I guess? Quieter than Eddie, anyway.” To be fair, she hasn’t spent a whole lot of time with them. She’s not a hundred percent sure she even remembers all their names. The impression she’s gotten is that they mostly just let Eddie boss them around because they don’t have anything better to do. They seem like basically okay people, but weirdly boring for being the crowd that Eddie spends the most time with aside from Robin. Even Steve is practically a gibbering eccentric in comparison.

Speaking of which—Steve’s eyes go wide at something behind Robin and he throws his arms in the air. “Henderson!” he yells, sounding happier than Robin’s maybe ever heard him. “He’s back!”

She’s not sure what she’s expecting to see when she turns around, but it’s not a curly-haired moppet grinning toothlessly at Steve and crowing, “I’m back!” She certainly isn’t expecting Steve to hop over the freaking counter and engage in some kind of elaborate handshake ritual complete with sound effects. The handshake goes on for a really, really long time.

It’s kind of hilarious seeing Steve act like a literal child, but that doesn’t mean Robin’s going to let him get away with this shit. Eddie would absolutely flip the fuck out if he were here to witness whatever this is.

“Exactly how many children are you friends with?” she drawls.

Steve just gives the moppet an exasperated look, gesturing to Robin like you see what I have to put up with?

“We’re gonna catch up, Robin. Can you handle the counter for a minute?”

Robin glances around at the total lack of mall denizens craving ice cream first thing in the morning. “I’ll try to survive the overwhelming pressure,” she says. “Don’t get into too much trouble, you wild and crazy kids.”

———

Gareth’s cousin’s roommate in Indianapolis is Eddie’s favorite person in the entire world, and the three numbskulls dithering over having one single solitary extended evening practice so they can actually record something worth hearing…well, they might be his least favorite people in the entire world right now.

“Hey!” he snaps. “Listen up, you goddamn malingering assholes. This, right here, is way more important than whatever you’re rushing home to jerk off to. This is our shot. This is our best chance at actually getting heard by someone who matters, someone who can get our stuff in front of other people.”

He prowls around, making eye contact with each one in turn. “I know you all wanna be rockstars. Well, gentlemen, this is where the rubber meets the road. This is where we get to see if we’re pathetic losers…or if we’ve got it in us to be heavy metal gods.”

Gareth’s the easiest to sway, Eddie can tell at a glance that he’s already hooked, but the other two still look hesitant.

Eddie isn’t completely delusional. Not about how this opportunity’s a long shot at best, and not about how none of the boys want it the way he does. None of them need it like he does. They’re smarter than he is, all of them, and they’re going places. Hell, Jeff’s already starting to look at colleges. His dad wants him to go somewhere in North Carolina, of all the damn states, and…yeah, he’s going places. Music isn’t the the beating heart of his world, the way it is for Eddie.

But there’s a reason they all came to Eddie in the first place: what they need is something to care about and somewhere to belong. If Eddie can just talk them into feeling like a part of this, getting swept up in all the hope and excitement, he just knows they’ll love it. They’ll look back on this as the best summer of their young lives, and he can make it all happen for them, for all of them, if they just fucking practice.

“Okay,” says Jeff. Fucking finally. “Sure. I guess we can stay late for the sake of being, you know…heavy metal gods.”

“That’s all I ask,” says Eddie. As he nods at Gareth to count them in, he sends a silent apology out to Robin and Steve, who must be almost closing up shop by now; they’ll understand that this was a way higher priority than Eddie swinging by to kill some time. It’s not like anything important ever really happens at Scoops Ahoy.

#fic: purify our misfit ways #I am disregarding stuff like the time of day that Dustin shows up bc I have zero dedication to canon #I've been rewatching the relevant bits of S3 and damn some of these storytelling choices do not spark joy #pls also note that both Robin and Eddie are unreliable narrators vis a vis the Corroded Coffin crew albeit to different extents #and that I am having a cool n fun time avoiding picking a name for the third CC minion #(and an unsarcastic cool n fun time writing Eddie's little hissy fit)#okay! this is probably the last snippet of Ch2 so that means EDIT TIME #I might not make a separate post for the AO3 upload so just subscribe on AO3 if you want to know when it finally goes up I guess

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