#The Mrs. Clause problem

[someheroescarryfloss]

In Which I Complain About The Series Some More

When I watched the movies, I was under the impression that Santa had to have a wife because the first Santa had had one, and as such Santa and Mrs. Claus were a package deal.  I still choose to believe this, because I really hate the alternative.

So, in the show, it’s revealed that The Mrs. Clause was created so that Santa would have children, who would grow up at the North Pole and end up with magic powers.  

Two problems there.

1.  The concept of Mrs. Claus existed long before that, and they even made a few jokes about it.  Carol holding up the cookie tin and pointing to a grandmotherly old woman who quite clearly wasn’t her.  It was just the ‘character’ that the human world knew and accepted.  Carol was even forgetting her own name, and was justifiably upset that she was reduced to a nameless, faceless role.  It doesn’t make much sense, and it’s disturbing that her own identity is being erased.

2.  But even more disturbing than that?  She was brought there to essentially be a brood mare.  When she complains about these things, she’s either contradicted or brushed off completely, as if she’d never spoken.  As if she has no personal agency of her own, and it’s played for laughs.  Who okayed this???

I’m not a militant feminist, but I’m not at the other end of the spectrum either.  I think I fall somewhere in the middle.  I think that men and women bring different things to the table, and are both equally important.  And there is a lot of overlap there as well.  Women can fix cars, men can knit, etc.  Here, it’s played for laughs, and it’s just insulting.  

Carol getting a fight scene was...well, hear me out.  As cool as it was to see her getting to kick some butt, it made ZERO sense that they would have kept those toy soldiers!  What were they saving them for?  There was no reason for them to be there at all, other than to let Carol have a ‘girl power’ moment, only to have Santa Scott make a Mrs. John Wick joke.

They made her a joke.  La Befana got very little screen time, and they had her stupidly lose the coat to Simon in probably the dumbest way possible.  This character could have been awesome, and she literally had nothing to do!  Her inclusion in the series was reduced to her and Carol lamenting the fact that they were secondary to the men they were surrounded by, and no one learned a thing.  It was just...icky.  I thought at first that they were pandering to feminists, but it ended up more like a message of, “It doesn’t matter what you do or how much butt you kick, you’ll always be second best.”  

Not cool.  Not cool at all.

#Ooc #The Santa Clauses #The Mrs. Clause problem #Feminism is a joke apparently #Feels bad man... #Finding it hard to pick out the positives in this series!

[zvaigzdelasas]

[The Economist is Private UK Media]

Making someone do porridge (or “eat rice and beans”, to use the Korean expression) for expressing their political views is [...] not generally associated with [South Korea]. Yet Lee Yoon-seop, a South Korean poet, is currently languishing in prison for just this. The 68-year-old was sentenced to 14 months in November for threatening South Korea’s “existence and security”. His crime? Writing a poem in praise of the North.

The law used to prosecute Mr Lee, the National Security Act (nsa), is designed to protect South Korea from spies and traitors. But it also bans South Koreans from visiting or making contact with the North, reading or watching North Korean media or saying anything good about Kim Jong Un’s [...] regime. Though South Korea replaced its former military dictatorship with a democracy in 1987, such restrictions on free speech show that some of the generals’ autocratic tendencies endure.[...]

The NSA was modelled on a law designed to quash pro-independence activities during Japan’s occupation of Korea from 1910 to 1945. Since 2003 there have on average been more than 60 NSA prosecutions a year, often for pretty clear espionage cases. A businessman and an army officer were arrested for allegedly selling military secrets to North Korea. Soldiers in the South have been prosecuted under the act for endangering morale by distributing pro-North propaganda.

But the NSA is too often used to prosecute satirists and raid the homes and offices of leftists. Some cases have been ridiculous. Kim Myeong-soo, a PhD student, received six months in prison and a two-year suspended sentence for selling books on North Korea that were widely available in public libraries. A South Korean woman was given a two-year sentence, suspended for four years, for owning recordings of 14 North Korean songs.

This is not Mr Lee’s first offence. But the claim that the sexagenarian posed a threat to South Korea is absurd. His ode was published on a North Korean website. Access to such sites is banned by the NSA and forbidden from a South Korean IP address. [...] It consists of a list of South Korean problems that Mr Kim, in the poet’s view, would instantly solve given the chance.

Mr Lee’s real offence appears to have been believing his own nonsense. By contrast, police decided not to investigate a man under the draconian law for selling shirts with a smiling Mr Kim and the slogan “Walk a flowery path, comrade”. That was OK, officials said, because he was selling them to make a buck.

Worse, the issue points to a broader authoritarian tendency in the South. Its president, Yoon Suk-yeol, often demonises his political opponents by calling them “anti-state forces”, a phrase lifted directly from the NSA. Unfavourable press coverage is routinely labelled “fake news” and the offices of offending outlets have been raided. The administration and its allies have sued more press outfits for defamation—which in South Korea can be a crime even when the offending words are manifestly true—in Mr Yoon’s first 18 months in office than any of its three predecessors did in total.

Yet even a more liberal government would be unlikely to remove the NSA’s illiberal clauses. No administration has made a serious attempt to address it in 20 years. There is no significant political support for scrapping the law [...]. The current administration at least flirted with allowing South Koreans access to North Korean media, but recently abandoned the idea. [...]

Mr Yoon talks often about South Korea’s democratic values. They are at the heart of his pitch for the country to be a strategic link between East and West, developed and developing countries. For that reason alone he should take them more seriously. South Korea is undoubtedly a democracy, but not a terribly liberal one so long as it locks up old men for their dotty opinions. Reforming the NSA would be a better rebuttal to the sentiment Mr Lee expressed than banning it.

22 Jan 24

[thecameronchronicles]

JJ Maybank MasterList

SERIES

JJ Maybank and Kook Reader MasterList

Incarceration: Part 1 / Part 2

Diversion: Part 1 / Part 2

The Price of Greed: Part 1 / Part 2

Loud: Part 1 / Part 2

The Grease Monkey: Part 1 / Part 2

Bloodied Knuckles: Part 1 / Part 2

Eggnog: Part 1 / Part 2

ONE SHOTS

Whatever It Takes

The Bartender

Stay

Helping Hands

Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Cuffed

Better Than Gold

Two Weeks

Crimson

Finish What You Started

Override

Sabotage

Never Really Over

Deny, Deny, Deny

An Adventure in the Twinkie

Worth A Thousand Words

Submission

Dirty

Restriction

Under Their Noses

Scrapper

Hired Help

Loud

The First Time

Catch and Release

Oblivious

Turning Tables

Because I Can

Blow My Mind

Ownership

Not So Innocent

Dress Up

Phone Sex

Sex Tape

Binds

The Importance of A Safe Word

Convince Me

Fingers

The Problem With PDA

Your Game, His Rules

Billy

Booty

Prioritize

No Nut November

Glasses

Don't Test Me

Quiet

Take Care

Breakdown

Cupcake

Just Another Reason

Sweet Dreams

The Effect of His Kiss

Steam

The Other Side

Sweetheart

Chest

Leave A Mark

Spite

Lace

Topper's Sister

Thighs

Tremble

Yours

All Mine

For Your Consideration

After School Special

Touch

All The Right Curves

What Do I Get Out of It

The 26 Letters of JJ Maybank

Grounded

5 Minutes Or Less

The Christmas List

Mrs. Clause

Cock Roach

Truant

The Effect of Mistletoe

The Nanny And The Pool Boy

Blizzard

Swimsuit

FLUFF/BLURBS

What's In A Name?

Guessing Game

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause

#jj maybank #outer banks #obx #outerbanks fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #rudy pankow

[hurricane-heatt]

i think you would really knock out of the park a fic featuring martian + politics, like something to do with a politician in campaign and the guy writing his speeches/polishing his image, like the dude that tells you what tie to wear because it would show your allegiance to x cause. (sending you much love, xoxo)

oh my god GOOSE ur a genius.

u may ask which political system is this to that i respond what political system! this is based off vibes. there are some uk references tho!

hope u like it!

Mark rests his glasses on the bridge of his nose, looks up from the latest clause he’s working through, to see Sebastian in the doorway. He sets his pen on the desk, the sound of it tapping reverberating against the rest of the room.

He tries not to laugh at Seb, leaning against the too-tall door in a picture of exasperation. He fails, and Sebastian scowls at him.

“It’s the stupid tie, you know, the one that’s a funny length.” Said tie is slung around his neck, wonky and crumpled, a stark contrast to the fitted and pressed shirt, tailored trousers, shiny shoes. Every single part of him is slick and presentable, bar tie and, as always, his hair. Ever unruly, curls poking out from the ponytail.

“I’m sure it’s the tie that’s the problem. Listen, I think the maroon one-“ Sebastian tuts.

“Come on, Mark. You’re no amateur.”

Seb’s got a point, and besides, years of doing this means Mark knows when to pick his battles. Ties aren’t one of them, hasn’t been since that first election attempt. Neither are professional titles - Mark hasn’t called Sebastian ‘sir’ in years, and Sebastian hasn’t called Mark ‘Mr Webber’ since the day they met.

“C’mere, then.” Mark stands from his chair, the legs scraping awkwardly along the floor. “Can’t wear the red one-“ Seb continues on, as Mark wraps an end of the tie around the other. Mark knows why, but lets him ramble on. Besides, the tie is maroon.

“-because the right honourable Ferrari fucks will get pissed about it.”

Mark raises his eyebrows, just a hint, enough for Sebastian to read it, wince and retract his statement, as practised over and over. “The Ferrari party and I reached an amicable agreement-“

Mark isn’t the press, or the other members of the house. “Don’t start, I wrote you that speech.”

He did. Sebastian blushes a colour nearly the rosso corsa of the opposition, and swats Mark on the arm. The tie is tied, sits snug and tight at his neck. He smiles. “Better?” It’s black, with a single silver bumblebee pin tacked to the tail of it. It’s Sebastian’s new thing, new passion project. It’s doing well with voters, particularly the young.

Mark’s fingers tug at the lapels of Sebastian’s blazer, puts a knee between his legs. Seb looks up at him with wide eyes, wanting, but then seems to remember himself.

“These are ironed, for once, so no.”

Fine, maybe later. He leans down slightly to instead kiss Sebastian on the cheek, where the embarrassed blush is fading to his usual pink tinge. “Handsome. Can we run over this?”

Another eye-roll, but he’s smiling at the compliment, lips spread wide and pulling at the corners. “I’m plenty good at reading through your boring stuff on my own.” But he still moves towards Mark’s desk either way.

#answered asks #scribbles #martian #sebmark #wish i could remember everything i learnt at a level sigh…. #(it was last year)

[player1064]

kate for someone reason thinking jamie is homophobic not sure why or how but she does (sara has me obsessed with the idea that they can’t stand each other now lol) and then him introducing her to gary and she’s like 🤯 ft. micah in the corner like you didn’t know he never shuts up about him???

god Kate and Jamie literally CANNOT STAND EACH OTHER!!! I'm OBSESSED with that dynamic tbh!!!!!!! As always. this one is much longer than intended...

Also, don't need to have read it but this is technically intended to tie in to my fic Happy wife, happy life (but tldr Jamie regularly calls Gary his wife partly to keep their relationship under wraps but mostly bc. he finds it funny to call Gary his wife.)

---

“Obviously we’re done for the season right before pride month kicks off,” one of the CBS producers is saying, eyes darting over something on an iPad. “And since you four have been pretty popular we were thinking of including you in some of those ad campaigns, so if I could just get some dates off of all of you –”

“No,” Jamie says immediately.

All three of his colleagues snap their heads up to him, but only Kate looks at him coolly and says “no?”

Micah, because he’s Micah, chuckles and slaps Jamie in the shoulder, trying to diffuse some of the new tension in the air. “Not like you to turn down extra cash, Carra.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, pretends not to notice the way Kate’s eyes are burning into him. “Check my contract. Wish I could, honest,” he says to the producer, feeling very very glad that he had a clause added to his contract specifically so that he doesn’t have to take part in things like this, “But it just wouldn’t be do-able. You lot ‘ave fun, though, with yer rainbows and yer glitter.”

Kate just looks at him incredulously. “This is one thing you decide to take a stand on, mister ‘I don’t care about politics’?”

Rainbows just don’t really suit Jamie, is the thing. Nor does the extra scrutiny that comes from wearing rainbows.

Doesn’t really matter to him what Kate thinks of him, though, so he just shrugs and continues packing up his stuff for the day.

*

“Jamie – Jamie, I finally got onto Raya, can you have a look at my profile?”

Jamie looks up at Micah with a frown. “What the fuck is a Raya?”

“It’s a dating app,” Kate says from her end of the desk, in that unimpressed tone of hers that makes Jamie wonder why she’s bothering to insert herself into the conversation at all.

“An exclusive dating app,” Micah corrects, wiggling his phone in front of Jamie.

“Weren’t you already seeing someone?” asks Jamie, but he accepts the phone with a sigh and puts his glasses on. “I don’t – I’ve never used one of these things, what am I meant to be lookin’ at?”

Micah shrugs. “Didn’t work out,” he says breezily. “How have you never used a dating app, you’ve not been married that long. And look at yourself, you can’t tell me you weren’t a player before Mrs Carra came along.”

Jamie had got around a bit, in his playing days. Not much, mind, because he’d had to be careful, but he’d done alright. Unfortunately – and this is not something he’ll ever admit to anyone, even under duress – any thoughts of that had gone out the window the moment he’d walked onto the Sky campus after retiring.

“You’re right,” he says with a wink, “look at me. As if I’d need an app to find myself a bird. Why’d you want me to look at this, I’m not exactly your target audience. ‘less there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ us,” he adds, elbowing Micah and waggling his eyebrows.

Kate looks on unimpressed as the two of them double over in laughter. “Not that any of us would have a problem if you were, right Jamie?” she says haughtily.

Jamie catches Micah’s eye and has to fight back another bout of laughter. “Dunno,” he says, “I can think of one or two problems I’d ‘ave if Big Meeks here suddenly tried hittin’ on me.”

Micah bursts out laughing again, his hand clapping to Jamie’s forearm, and Jamie can’t help but join in – it’s infectious, okay?

“God,” Micah says, wiping a tear from his eye, “can you imagine how your missus would react. I’d never be able to work in television again.”

“Nah, she’d prob’ly send you a fruit basket, thank you for taking me off ‘er hands.”

Kate clears her throat and the two of them sober immediately at the sight of her raised eyebrow. “Maybe cool it with the outdated banter,” she says, “or do I need to remind you boys that you’re not in a dressing room anymore?”

She storms off, he heels click-clicking away as Jamie and Micah look at each other and try (and fail) not to start laughing again.  

*

“You didn’t want to bring your wife to the end of season party, then?” Kate asks politely, looking slowly around the room.

“Huh?” Jamie says eloquently, because he’s had a couple of glasses of prosecco and he’s not thinking as quickly as he usually might. “Oh, the missus. Yeah, she’s here but  – I dunno, she’s a bit shy, like. You didn’t invite Malik?”

Kate rolls her eyes, the way she always does when Jamie mentions her boyfriend. “Well, he lives in America. So.”

“Carra,” an annoying voice calls from just behind him, “Carra, come over ‘n meet Schmeichel? I’ve not seen ‘im in years, d’you know, I think I’d forgot how tall he was.”

Jamie puts a hand on the small of Gary’s back to keep him from bouncing around too much (the man is such a lightweight, it’s embarrassing), and says “I’ve already met Peter, you dolt. I work with ‘im, remember?”

Gary squints at him for a second. “You drag me all the way down to London, and then y’can’t even be bothered to –” he finally seems to realise that Jamie had been talking to someone, because he quickly shakes his head around a bit and holds a hand out to Kate with a smile. “You’re Kate, right? I love what you do on the show, honest, I’m always sayin’ people need to be meaner to James here.”

Jamie thinks he sees Kate blush a bit, like she hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed her dislike of Jamie, but she takes Gary’s offered hand anyway. “And of course you’re the famous Gary Neville, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she greets. “But aren't you still with Sky? What brings you to our little operation here?”

“Scopin’ out the competition,” he says with a wink, then turns back to Jamie. “Carra – Peter?”

“I said no! I’ll talk to him later, stop badgerin’ me.”

“Did you two travel down from Manchester together?” asks Kate, “You know, Jamie seems so invested in my relationship but none of us have ever met his wife, do you know where she’s got to?”

“Ah, his fuckin’ wife,” Gary mutters, smirking up at Jamie. Jamie winks in reply and slips his hand down a bit to pinch him on the arse.

Micah comes over, his tuxedo strained against his biceps, and he pulls Gary away from Jamie to throw an arm around his shoulder in a half-hug.

(Gary squirms a bit at the unexpected contact, but he still gives Micah a friendly pat on the chest.)

“Big Nev! It’s been ages, man – Jamie told us you were coming, but he’s promised that before and not delivered.”

“Been pretty busy, up in Manchester,” Gary says with a shrug, carefully extracting himself from under Micah’s arm and returning to Jamie’s side. “But I’m obliged to do the plus one thing at least two –” (“Three,” Jamie corrects,) “—fine, three times a year, and I figure there’re worse places to be.”

“Aw, you love it really,” Micah says. “I’ve always kind of wondered what it’s like to be a WAG.”

Gary rolls his eyes. “It’s a thankless job, to be fair.” He pokes Jamie in the bicep and adds “I’m going back to talk t' Peter, you miserable old twat. Honest, I’m always talkin' to Scousers fer you.”

“I already know –” Jamie starts to protest, but Gary’s already wandered off. “Ugh. Sorry about ‘im. You can’t take Mancs anywhere, can ya?”

The two Mancs he’s talking to look at him, unimpressed.

“He seemed nice,” Kate says carefully.

“He’s not,” Jamie replies.

*

“Good summer?” Micah asks, their first show back after the break.

“Brilliant,” Jamie replies with a grin. “It were my turn to choose the destination, so –”

“Ibiza?”

He nods. “Ibiza. The house was done just in time, too.”

“You know, I can’t really imagine Gary in Ibiza.”

“Oh, he hates it. Complained the whole time, but he does that wherever we go.”

He becomes aware that Kate is watching them from across the desk, not trying to hide that she’s listening to their conversation with curiosity. Jamie nods to her, all polite like. “Hows about you, Kate, good summer?”

“It was fine, I –” she shakes her head. “Sorry, you’re saying you go on holiday with Gary Neville?”

Micah scoffs. “Who else would he go with?” he asks, and Jamie points to him in agreement.

“I dunno, his wife?”

Jamie blinks.

He thought he’d got all this out the way, dragging Gary along to the party a couple of months ago. Apparently not.

“Gary is my wife,” he says, then suddenly feels very stupid saying that to someone who’s not already in on the joke, so he corrects to “my husband, I mean. Obviously he’s not – he’s a man. Obviously.”

Kate’s eyes are wide, unblinking. She looks between Jamie and Micah, lips pressed together while her brain seems to be buffering.

“You’re married to a man?” she says eventually. “But you’re not gay, I mean – you’re –”

Jamie, who last time he checked definitely was gay, raises an eyebrow, amused. “I’m what?”

“You’re a footballer,” she attempts, and oh, this is far too easy.

“Bit ‘omophobic, that, sayin’ footballers can’t be gay,” he replies, holding back a smirk.

“Oh shut up, you know what I – you’re a lad! You’re always with the banter, and the…”

Thierry wanders over, freshly brewed cup of tea in hand. “What have you two done this time?” he asks, looking pointedly at Jamie and Micah.

Jamie raises his hands to protest his innocence.

“Thierry,” Kate asks, reaching a hand out towards him, “did you know Jamie’s married to a man?”

Thierry rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fucking Neville,” he replies, and goes to sit down.

#thank you for the prompt I LOVED this and also. I've been waiting for an excuse to write more for that fic so heheeee here we are #carraville #drabbles #also in this universe since i never got into it in the main fic or in this drabble. jamie and gary got together after valencia #except it was more like a weird situationship/fwb thing for years and then they spent lockdown together and when things opened up were like #'hey why dont we get married lol'. and now are very happy together (always insulting each other) #wife gary saga

[phoenixyfriend]

Is there. A solid cast to do "The Santa Clause" with. Accidental murder leads to taking on the role of a mythical figure from a religion you might not even belong to.

I feel like there's a way to get infinitely stupid about it with the "Modern AU Anakin isn't Catholic but did go to Catholic school" headcanon, so he's having all sorts of complicated emotions about this that start with commercialization and pass through anger at religious bias in reality's proof of Santa and ends somewhere around a sincere and heartfelt demand for a history lesson from the elves because Anakin learned about Saint Nicholas of Myra and he has QUESTIONS.

Which lends itself to either "Anakin is Santa now and very mad about it while either Ahsoka or Luke-and-Leia are cute in the background," OR "Shmi is Santa now and just doing her thing, because she wants to take advantage of an opportunity to help children around the world, while Anakin badgers the elves for information and tugs around his babiest sister Soka, who is four and keeps climbing danger things."

I guess it could also be Qui-Gon being suspiciously easygoing about having killed a man and taken over his highly religious but-not-Qui-Gon's-religion job, and being incredibly dedicated to ignoring Obi-Wan's many 'we aren't even Christian, we're Buddhist, find someone else to do this' problems while Anakin runs around trying to disassemble toymaking machines.

Shmi becomes Santa and Qui-Gon is her Mrs. Claus, and Obi-Wan is using Rhetoric with Anakin's Catholic School information to argue theology with whoever is willing to listen to him.

#anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #shmi skywalker #quishmi #crossovers #modern au #kinda #the santa clause #star wars #disaster lineage #phoenix posts

[oldshowbiz]

The president of the National Association of Broadcasters, Neville Miller, delivered a lecture on freedom of speech and broadcaster responsibility in 1938: 

“The particular problem which we confront today is that of preserving the precious right of freedom of speech. However ... in protecting one right we must not violate other rights … There is nothing in radio’s social responsibilities which requires it to contribute to an assault on the harmony of the nation…”

The Reading Times in California assessed:

“Mr. Miller has made an excellent point ... Freedom such as we Americans enjoy is a broad thing with no sharply-defined limits. Perhaps the simplest way to define it is to say that it gives every man the right to speak or act absolutely as he pleases, provided that in doing he does not infringe on the rights of others. That means that freedom is not quite unlimited... 

“Freedom of the press, for instance, does not give an editor the right to commit libel … Political freedom does not give any citizen the right to get down on the floor of Congress and disrupt business by yelling his head off. The citizen’s freedom does not permit him to erect a slaughterhouse in his backyard … And so it is with freedom of speech... “You may have the right to say what you please; but if you elect to stir up race hatred … you have no business trying to hide behind the freedom of speech clause.”

#historical context #censorship #america

[jimblejamblewritings]

i saw you were asking for hurt/comfort requests

Could you do a Sirius black x poc reader where they’re married and she finds out Bellatrix killed him and like Harry comforting her and her doing the same,maybe her even sharing story’s of their past.

thank you🫶🏾

Hi! So it's the way this isn't a one-shot once I started writing this lol. I'm warning you I'm a sucker for happy endings so this will kind of go off the rails a bit.

I'll Always Come Back

Summary: It doesn't matter what happens in life. Sirius always comes back.

Warnings for the Series: violence, character death

Pairing: sirius black x reader, sirius black x black!reader

Word Count: 3.8k

“Mrs. Black, we cann—”

“Like hell. I won’t allow my godson to be with them any longer!” you yelled at Fudge. “I agreed to not contact him until he was a wizard and the first thing I find out is he lives in an abusive household.”

“But Petunia is Lily’s family, the magic extends to her blood for Lily’s protection spell.” 

“No one has found Grimmauld in years. Moony and I have lived there with no problem.” 

Barty Crouch Sr. scoffed. “You still visit your husband.” 

“Because he’s innocent.” 

“Mrs. Bl—”

“He is. And if you want to argue with me, Mr. Crouch, you’ll use my proper title. The Black Household is still one of the most prestigious households to date.”

“Fine. Lady Black, You’ve been saying that for eleven years.” 

“We just need a case you can’t ignore. We’ll be ready for trial soon.”

“La—”

“Barty. You locked him up without a trial, I haven’t forgotten that. That’s enough to get him out of jail and get you fired. We want his name cleared too, that’s the only reason you still have a job. Don’t try me.” 

Barty turned and sat back down. The Ministry members looked at your custody papers and the clause where you agreed to give Harry to the Dursleys unless he turned out to be a wizard. They could only keep custody if you didn’t want him, they really wanted him, or you were in no position to take care of a child. 

Eleven years and you lived in the same house. Grimmauld never had an encounter with Death Eaters or Voldemort himself. You had all of Sirius’ money, not to mention your own job. A wizard bakery on a muggle street made a lot more money than people might think. Why wouldn’t it? After filling out an application, the Ministry approved of your business using magic in the presence of muggles. The Lady’s Bakery not only made the most delicious treats around but people felt literally sucked into books. Of course, muggles didn’t realize that they actually were. But every review that stated reading books just felt better in your bakery was an extra customer the next day.  

Plus you were in charge of managing Lily and James’ funds for Harry until he was of age. So you had the funds to take care of a child. You weren’t letting this go without a fight. The Ministry realized they weren’t going to win and reluctantly agreed to let you take Harry. You weren’t the problem. It was your connection to Sirius Black that was. You maintained your husband was innocent. That made them concerned about Harry being near you, Sirius might use your naivety to get to Harry and finish the job of killing the Potters. 

“Thank you,” you said with a sigh. “I won’t be informing the Dursleys, someone can do that on my behalf. I might hurt them if I see them. You said Harry was where again?”

~~

You coughed as you exited the fireplace. The Weasleys’ must use their fireplace quite a lot or you came before it had been cleaned for the week. Multiple redheads stared at you in surprise. The letter from Fudge came only moments after you in the form of a Howler.

Harry’s mouth slowly dropped open as the letter continued. You stood there awkwardly as Fudge tried to convince Harry to say no. He mentioned Sirius’ supposed crimes more than once. The boy thought. He remembered the photo album that Hagrid gave him towards the end of first year. There were lots of pictures of his parents. But, there were also pictures of the Potters’ friends. 

Harry already knew about Sirius when he asked Professor McGonagall if she had known all the people in one of the pictures. She told him rather reluctantly about Sirius and very enthusiastically about you. Sure, Harry didn’t understand how his godfather could be innocent— McGonagall’s story was good enough proof for him— but he didn’t think you were a bad person for thinking so. Wasn’t that what couples did anyway? See the best in each other until there’s absolute proof. 

He liked you. He liked hearing all the stories McGonagall had of you. You had taken care of Lily the entire time she was pregnant, after scolding James for not using protection. Honestly, everyone thought you and Sirius would be the accidental pregnancy of the group. James forgetting protection was expected. But Lily not remembering was an absolute shock. You took every opportunity up until her birth to make fun of her for it. Even after Harry was born, you were always around. You took your duties as godmother very seriously. 

You smiled when Harry agreed even after hearing Fudge’s letter. Mr. Weasley ushered you over to the table to have breakfast with the rest of them. While you enjoyed the food, you were all about business. Harry looked over the document folder you handed him. It held all the legal documents regarding your custody and what that entails. 

“Oh,” you said after taking another bite of bacon. “I have this for you.” 

“What is it?” Harry asked as he took the bundle of letters. 

“Lily got a little carried away with parenting books at the beginning. She made James write a bunch of letters with her throughout the pregnancy. Two letters for your birthday until you're an adult. She went with muggle age instead of wizard age so you’ll have eighteen sets of letters instead of seventeen.”

Harry stuttered through a thank you. His fingers ran over the ink on the envelope. The difference in his mom and dad’s handwriting was pretty obvious on the letters. He wasn’t ready to open them yet but he was just happy to have them. And now he had something to look forward to on his birthdays, more letters. 

“Have you bought your supplies yet?” 

“We were all going after breakfast,” Mrs. Weasley said. 

You nodded. “Perfect. Polaris is running the bakery for me all day so I can come with you… If that’s okay?” 

You weren’t sure what was pushy or not. Harry wanted to live with you but neither one of you really knew each other yet so you didn’t want to be overbearing. You went with everyone to the fireplace to head to Diagon Alley. Your mouth dropped open when it was Harry’s turn. Whatever he said, it definitely wasn’t Diagon Alley. A huff left your mouth when you finally found him being led out of Knockturn Alley by Hagrid. Your godson was going to be a handful. 

“Textbooks first,” Mrs. Weasley said. You agreed. 

Harry handed you the shopping list. You couldn’t help the eye roll when you saw who the books were by. Each one for Defense Against the Dark Arts was by Gilderoy Lockhart. You remembered him in school. You took a deep breath and braced yourself for entering the bookstore. Most of the women and some of the men were swooning over the blonde wizard in light blue robes.

The only people that weren’t entranced with him were the people not attracted to men and you. You shook your head as Harry’s friend, Hermione, was swooning with who you could only assume was another Hogwarts student. Oh, if only they knew the man. 

You watched Gilderoy smile at every single camera and talk about himself. The main photographer, who you could only assume was hired by Lockhart himself, kept shoving people out of the way. You looked down in annoyance when he pushed Ron into you. The children just wanted their textbooks. There was no need for him to be rude. 

“Out of the way. This is for the Daily Prophet!” 

Lockhart looked up from the book he was signing. A large smile broke out when his eyes locked on Harry. 

“Here we go,” you muttered under your breath. 

Gilderoy practically ran around the table to reach Harry. He shook your godson’s hand rather aggressively. He posed for pictures and reveled in the applause that got even louder in the bookstore. You watched with disinterest as he went on a speech about giving the textbooks to Harry for free and signed. You already knew that you would actually buy the books and give the free ones to the Weasleys. You didn’t know much about them but when you guys had gone to get Ginny’s wand, they had been concerned about the cost.  

“Enjoy those books, Potter. Have a gr— Y/N.” Lockhart dropped his hold on Harry’s hand. He slicked back his hair and got closer to you. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“Because you haven’t. Let’s go, Harry.” 

“Wait, wait.” Gilderoy grabbed your arm. “Let’s go on a date, this Saturday. I’ll le—”

“Gilderoy. I’m still married.” 

“Oh, please. You two didn’t even have a proper wedding and he’s a criminal.” 

You ripped your arm from his grasp. “Sirius is innocent. And may I remind you that you and I have been over for years. You broke up with me. Remember?” 

You guided Harry and the others out the store before Gilderoy could say another word. You were in such a rush that you didn’t even have a response to Lucius who sneered at you as you walked past. The rest of shopping went by smoothly. You stopped right in front of the Public Floo Network and turned to face your godson. 

“There’s only a few weeks of summer left. If you want to stay with your friends, you can,” You said, scratching the back of your head. 

“Can Ron and Hermione come over?” 

“Yeah, kid.” 

“Then I think I want to go with you.” 

“Okay. Let’s send your stuff home and then we can go.” 

Harry had no clue where he was going after you two left the Burrow. You could have taken the Floo right back to your house but you thought it was important for him to know how to get to it on the street. His mouth dropped open as the veiling charm disappeared and he saw a door appear between 11 and 13 Grimmauld. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

You remembered having that exact expression the very first time you showed up to Grimmauld. Both you and Harry held your ears as a portrait started screaming. You apologized while covering it back up. You had never figured out how to unstick Walburga’s painting from the foyer. All her moving sometimes opened the curtain that kept her covered up.  

“Moony!” You yelled into the house as you took off your shoes. “The kid’s here!” 

A lanky man that towered over literally everyone he met came downstairs. His slipper covered feet shuffled across the floor and met you just as you and Harry reached the living room. Cup of tea in one hand, he gave you a sideways hug before giving you a kiss on the cheek. Harry looked a bit confused while Remus just laughed. You and him were childhood friends. Cheek kisses meant absolutely nothing between the two of you. 

“Harry’s here?” a voice from upstairs called. 

Quick footsteps thudded down the stairs. Regulus was putting up his wet hair in a bun before giving you a hug. You and Regulus had grown to have a decent relationship. It took a while and a lot of yelling on Sirius’ end but the younger Black brother had changed into a good person. He even came over once a week to help clean the house, especially taking care of everything when it was a Moony Night.  

“Reg! When did you get here?” 

“Not too long ago. I’ve been clearing out my old room for Harry.” 

“Are you sta— Reg, is that cologne? Merlin, do you have a date?”

He rolled his eyes. “I figured it was time to try again. I got tired of being a pitiful divorcee.”  

Despite having his own flat, Regulus was over constantly. By that extension, Kreacher was over almost all the time. The little house elf appeared. Harry was very reluctant to take his hand, not enjoying house elves after his meeting with Dobby. Kreacher didn’t care and led him up to his new room. He had only been there for a few minutes but Harry already felt like Grimmauld was better than the Dursleys. He had his own room to start with… and it only had a lock on the inside. 

“Alright. Time to go.” 

Harry shoved his trunks into the fireplace and watched them disappear. While he was excited to go back to school, he was actually going to miss Grimmauld. The few weeks he had been there were amazing. You counted that he had all his trunks before continuing towards the platforms at King’s Cross Station. You, Remus, and Regulus gave Harry hugs before leaving him with the Weasleys so he could get on the train. 

The three of you went in your own directions. Regulus had his own job to get to. Beauxbatons was starting school on the same day that Hogwarts did so he could only spare so many minutes. He initially ran to France because he had to go into hiding after switching sides. Nowadays, he stayed because he liked it and had a nice job. 

Remus, stubborn as ever, refused to let you hire him and struggled to keep up various jobs. It was unfair. He was the most brilliant person you knew and being a werewolf never stopped him from working. While he was stubborn about jobs, at least he didn’t complain when you refused to let him live in a rundown house. Remus had saved enough money for a house a while ago but without Sirius around he decided to stay at Grimmauld for you. It felt wrong to leave you alone in the big house. 

You had to get in to open the bakery for the day. Your days were rather monotonous but you liked it. You would prep the bakery, then sit at the window counter and try to put together a waterproof case for Sirius, only getting up when you needed to serve customers. With a flick of your wand, the batters started stirring. You attached your buzzer— so you would know if a customer needed you— to your jeans and moved to sit at the counter.

It was a rather slow morning, only having a few customers come through. You set down the bacon and egg panini as well as a cup of Purple Lotus tea in front of the customer. He was the only one who hadn’t ordered to go, sitting down two seats away from you at the counter. He looked over when you sighed. 

“Tough morning?” 

“Sorry. I’m working on a case and it is seeming impossible.” 

The man sat up. “A case? Law?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m actually a lawyer.” 

You almost fell out of your chair. Not a single lawyer in the wizarding world had wanted to take Sirius’ case no matter how much money you offered them. You didn’t trust a Ministry assigned lawyer either. So you had gone back to school. No one in your grade got much of a higher education considering there was a war. But when you weren’t helping the Order, you did take culinary lessons because you always wanted to run a bakery. After your husband was arrested, you started studying law on your own. You had even gone to some classes for it but quickly left when none of them covered your situation. Sirius didn’t mind you studying when you came to visit him. As long as he could see someone, he didn’t care what they talked about. 

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you know who Sirius Black is, do you?”

“Who?” 

The man had to be a muggle. You sighed. “Nevermind. I don’t think I could possibly explain it to you.” 

“Try me.” 

You looked around. This was breaking the Statue of Secrecy on so many levels. At the same time, if it could help Sirius then you would do it. You locked the door to the bakery and put up the closed sign before pulling out your wand. The lawyer— Ben— looked in awe as you pulled out your wand and performed magic. It didn’t take very long to convince him. You tucked your wand back into your sleeve. 

“I am going to have to obliviate you when this is all over.” 

Ben shrugged. “This is still the coolest thing ever.” 

“Okay. I mean I won’t if you don’t consent to that.” You moved over to sit closer to him. “This is Sirius… my husband.” 

Ben took in a breath. 

“I know. He’s, uh, he’s in jail for murder. But he’s innocent,” you added quickly. 

“How many counts?” 

“Thirteen.” 

“Are you sure he’s innocent because this is an uphill battle?” 

“He is. I know it.” 

“Okay. Let me see the trial papers. We’ll start from there.” 

“There are none.” 

Ben was appalled to hear about the lack of trial. He became more invested as you told him everything. You had just given Harry back to Lily so she and James could leave for the night. Ever since they went into hiding, they only came to your house. You had never been to their place. Not once. Sirius had been gone the entire day on Order missions. Remus was gone too because it was a Moony Night. You gave a final wave to your friends and your godson before closing the door to Grimmauld. 

It was early in the morning when there was lots of knocking on your door. You had been so confused when Dumbledore shoved Harry into your arms. Sleep-deprived and scared was how you found out your best friends had just died. You had no clue what Dumbledore meant when he asked you to notify him as soon as Sirius got home. You never got the chance to find out. Three days later, Aurors stormed your bakery and took your godson away from you. 

“What you need is something to prove innocence. Even the smallest piece of information would clear him with a case this extreme,” Ben said as he packed up to head over to his office. “I’ll be by whenever I’m free to help you until it’s solved.” 

“Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem. Solving a wizard case is the peak of my career, even if no one else knows about it.” 

The man left without another word. You packed up the case file and went back to work. The entire time you were thinking about how you could find evidence. Sirius had told you about that night more times than you could count. There was no evidence that wasn’t anecdotal. It was all that was on your mind, even as you closed up the shop. You blinked as a letter hit you in the face when you got home. 

“Leave my child alone, Severus!” You said as you marched into his office. 

“Mr. Potter isn’t your child.” 

“I’m his legal guardian and you’re testing my patience.” 

You and Severus were cut off by McGonagall coming in. You took Harry’s face in your hands, looking at him and Ron with so much concern in your eyes. 

“Are you two okay?” 

They nodded. 

“Good. What were you possibly thinking? Why didn’t you come home? Send a letter?” 

Harry scratched at his face. “I guess we panicked. I didn’t really think of that.” 

You sighed and turned him over to McGonagall. So Harry wasn’t just similar to James in looks but also dumbass personality. While you were mortified, Sirius was laughing when you told him the story. Every Sunday, you were at Azkaban. You frowned as you looked at your husband. 

“You’re even thinner than last month.” 

“Love, I promise I’m eating everything they give me.” 

“It’s not enough.” 

“Stop worrying about me. How are you?” 

“The same as ever. I’m a very routine person you know.” 

He chuckled and nodded. The year was pleasant for Sirius but not for you. He got life from hearing you read the letters that Harry sent to you. You just got more upset at not finding a single bit of evidence to support your husband. Sirius clapped as you stood up after you told him why you had to leave early. 

“Always knew teaching suited Moons.” 

“He’s worried out of his mind. Harry kept offering all summer to be a practice student but that just made him more nervous.” 

“Tell them I said hi.” 

“I will. I love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

It broke your heart when it was time to leave. You never told the others that Sirius thought of them. They still thought he was guilty. Or they were unsure of his innocence and didn’t want to set themselves up to be disappointed. So you said nothing when you made it to Platform 9 and ¾ and found Harry and Remus. You gave them both hugs. 

“Rem, I put the first supply in your trunk. I’ll send more before your nights each month.” 

“Thank you, Y/N.” 

“Harry, dear, try not to get in trouble this year.” 

“It always finds me.” 

“Harry.” 

“Alright, alright. I promise I’ll try, Mum.” 

You both paused. It was the first time he ever called you by anything and you certainly weren’t expecting him to say that. It had taken Harry all of four weeks to call Remus ‘Uncle’ when he first came to live with you. He still hadn’t called you anything. Harry had been trying to process it on his own. He wanted to know how he felt about you. Mum just felt right. He gave you one final hug before boarding the train. 

Harry’s promise of keeping out of trouble lasted all of three seconds. You didn’t understand how it was possible to get detention before the second month was even over. It was supposed to be a calm year. Harry was supposed to go to Hogsmeade with his friends, do homework, and have fun. 

Remus came back home late one night. He shook his head as he exited the fireplace, holding up a piece of folded up parchment. 

“You won’t believe what I just busted your son for having.” 

You set down your book. “Rem, aren’t you on chaperone duties? It’s midnight. Merlin, it’s midnight. Was he out of bed?” 

“Yep,” Remus said, popping the ‘p’. He placed the parchment in your hand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” 

You scoffed as Remus left. James had hidden the map in a library book that was never checked out when you guys had graduated. There was no need for it since it only showed Hogwarts. How Harry managed to come across it was beyond you. For old times sake you laid out the entire map across the coffee table. You were shocked it still worked. You found Remus heading back to his room.

The map even had Harry’s name. So it did actually update itself. James and Sirius were brilliant at Charms but to create an enchantment like this was actually amazing. You started to fold the map back when a name caught your eye. You jumped off of the couch and pulled the map to your face. Peter Pettigrew’s name was staring right back at you.         

(part 2)

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#sirius black x reader #sirius black x black!reader #my asks #my requests

[simply-ivanka]

Hunter Biden’s Legal Collapse

Wall Street Journal April 5, 2024

By Kimberley A. Strassel

Here are two dates to add to those media timelines of upcoming courtroom drama: June 3 and 20. It won’t be Donald Trump in the dock on those days. It’ll be the other man whose legal woes are destined to feature in this election: Hunter Biden.

Those woes are serious, to read a federal judge’s ruling this week slapping down all eight of Hunter’s motions to dismiss the criminal tax charges against him. The ruling received minimal coverage, even though it began a countdown to two potential Hunter trials (the other for firearm offenses) as his father fights for re-election. Those trials will provide a counterpoint to Mr. Trump’s legal journey.

Joe Biden’s supporters will insist Hunter’s problems aren’t the president’s and are small potatoes next to allegations of conspiracy and obstruction against Mr. Trump. Yet voters like to equal out partisan scenarios, and Republicans have successfully nestled Hunter’s tax misbehavior in an unseemly tale of Joe’s influence peddling. Many Americans will simply view the coming judicial dramas as the Trump Trials on one hand, and the Biden Trials on the other.

If there is a notable difference, it’s that the Hunter cases contain no political upside, as the judge’s ruling clarified this week. Mr. Trump would surely prefer not to be under indictment, but he’s squeezing those lemons for all the lemonade he can make. Every courtroom appearance is a campaign event, every legal opinion a fundraising opportunity; every rally and social-media post contains dire warnings about witch hunts. Polls show a direct correlation between the intensity of the legal campaign against him and the support of his base. The left’s lawfare helped win him the nomination.

Where does Hunter stand, more than a year into his new, no-holds-barred legal approach? Until early 2023, the president’s son was pursuing a sober, below-the-radar legal defense. That changed with the hiring of the high-flying Abbe Lowell, who implemented a hyperpolitical strategy. The team fired off letters to law enforcement demanding investigations into Hunter’s critics, accused special counsel David Weiss of bringing a politically motivated prosecution, and embroiled Hunter in public standoffs with House committees investigating Biden family affairs. The clear goal was to present Hunter as victim of an unfair prosecution that was part of a GOP-inspired plot against the Bidens.

The media lapped it up, but there is no evidence that Hunter’s brassy PR campaign is changing any minds. Polls show little public sympathy for him, no doubt because the felony charges relate a story of a privileged political child who traded off his family name and blew loads of money on sports cars and adult entertainment. The evidence makes it difficult to suggest the prosecution is politically motivated. And a majority of Americans continue to believe Joe Biden was involved in Hunter’s affairs. Unlike Mr. Trump, Team Biden isn’t realizing any political benefit from the drama. If anything, the in-your-face strategy has backfired, serving mainly to elevate the Hunter story in a way that helps Republicans.

All the more so because it’s been a legal disaster. Hunter was on the verge of a wrist slap last summer, until his team questioned immunity provisions in a proposed plea deal and the agreement collapsed. He was subsequently charged with firearm offenses in Delaware and tax offenses in California.

Rather than plead guilty and negotiate, the Lowell legal team carried their flamboyant charges into a California courtroom, filing motions for dismissal on grounds of “selective and vindictive prosecution,” “appropriations clause” violations, “due process” and an argument that Mr. Weiss was unlawfully appointed.

Federal Judge Mark Scarsi this week used an 82-page opinion to remind the Hunter team that sound bites aren’t legal arguments. He efficiently dismantled and dismissed every motion. Yes, Mr. Weiss was duly appointed, and his office is lawfully funded. No, there is no evidence of animus against Hunter; the defense’s “motion is remarkable in that it fails to include a single declaration, exhibit, or request for judicial notice” that demonstrates vindictiveness, beyond media speculation. And there is certainly no reason to throw out the case on grounds that Republicans bragged about provoking the charges, since “politicians take credit for many things over which they have no power and have made no impact.” (Truer words were never written.)

The result: Barring surprises, Hunter begins his California trial on June 20. Judge Scarsi’s ruling could also serve as a template for Judge Maryellen Noreika, who will soon rule on a similar set of dismissal motions in her Delaware courtroom. Assuming she too throws them out, Hunter’s trial there begins June 3.

Mr. Trump’s trials could turn into a liability if he lands a felony conviction, which some of his supporters tell pollsters would be disqualifying. Meantime, Hunter’s indictments are cruising toward potentially messy ends come June—and with them a new GOP cudgel. Just one more reason Joe should have rethought that re-election bid.

#hunter biden #wall street journal

[novankenn]

Holding Back

Chapter Two (4/4)

/== Chapter List ===/

Everyone within the JNPR/RWBY circle was on edge, by the time combat class arrived. Everyone aside from Jaune, that was. He had formulated his plan of attack, and that was just what he planned to do. Attack and attack. Pyrrha's hands fidgeted as she held the short length of ribbon Ren had been able to get. Jaune had gone over the process to properly secure the bindings, several times; but she was still nervous. She was going to be in essence hindering Jaune's ability to defend himself, and even though she knew this Shadow Skill worked around that, she still had reservations.

Class started and Professor Goodwitch quickly took control with the announcement of the challenge. Pyrrha escorted Jaune to the combat ring. He was in his hoodie sneakers and a pair of night pants, while across the space was Cardin, standing alone decked out in his standard combat gear. His heavy mace balanced over his shoulder.

“Ready for a nap, Jauney-boy?” Cardin attempted to taunt, a sneer on his face. “I think I can give you a hand in taking one.”

“Enough!” Professor Goodwitch’s voice silenced the entire room. “Mr Winchester has enacted the Challenge Clause as per Beacon’s Student dispute clauses. Mr Arc, what is your decision?”

“I accept the challenge.” Glynda nodded.

 “As the one challenged, you have the right to dictate the victory conditions. Will you be using the standard Tournament Rules?”

“No.” Cardin just chuckled darkly, while Glynda, his teammates, friends and the rest of the class were shocked into silence. “Knock Out Only.”

“Fine by me.” Cardin responded, as he lifted his mace from his shoulder and stepped into the combat ring. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes, let's.” Jaune agreed, as he proceeded to flip off his sneakers, revealing his bare feet, and then much to the surprised delight of much of the female population, and some of the male’s as well, he removed his hoodie. Jaune was not a bulky mass of muscle like many huntsmen in-training. He was lithe, slim and muscular.  Jaune did not have a bodybuilder’s physique. He had more of a fighter’s build, or that of an athlete. Many would rightly assume that this was Pyrrha’s doing, and they would be right, at least to a point. 

“Jaune, are you sure?” Pyrrha asked as Jaune held his hands out towards her.

“It’s okay Pyr,” Jaune gave his teammate and partner a confident smile, “I can do this.”

“I’m still concerned.” Pyrrha countered as she began to wind and tie the ribbon about his wrists. “He’s going to try and hurt you.”

“And I’m going to do the same to him.” Jaune stated as he tested the bindings. “This is good. Thank you, Pyr.”

“Be careful out there.” Pyrrha instructed him, before biting her lip and then leaning forward to his and everyone else’s surprise and placing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you around.”

Jaune had to take more than a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down before stepping into the combat ring.  But once inside, he turned his full attention to Cardin. Jaune knew he was handicapped in more than one way. Obviously with his hands bound he was limiting his offensive options, and further compounding that issue with not having a weapon. But those were only the limitations others saw. Jaune saw more, Cardin was armed and armoured, not a huge deal. He had trained against his father under his mother’s watchful eye for just these types of situations. No, the real handicap for Jaune was the nature of his style. Already, he could see multiple ways he could end the match. Only one problem, each one was lethal.  His mother had told him to go all out, and he would, but he would still need to temper his attacks.

“Even assholes like you shouldn’t die needlessly.” Jaune muttered under his breath as he allowed his body to move into position.

“You brought this on yourself, Jauney-boy. You should have just taken those two bitches into your room, and let everyone else get some sleep.

#holding back #rwby #shadow skill - anime #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #yang xiao long #saphron cotta arc #jaune's got skills

[gatheringbones]

[“The rooms where we worked were often windowless, with drab green walls and hard chairs. Along with rotating teams of one or two other board members, there would be a court reporter and institutional staff who brought boxes of files from the local facilities and sat in on the interviews. Each file would be labeled, “Commissioner 1,” “Commissioner 2,” and so on. That’s how you knew which interviews you were responsible for leading that day.

I started to call what we were doing “conveyor belt justice,” because you’d be busy preparing to lead the next interview instead of watching and listening closely to the one taking place. Then you might be writing an opinion during the next interview.

And the paperwork was a huge challenge. There was a lot of it, and since it wasn’t digitized, you’d have to wade through dozens of pieces of paper. The files included prisoners’ COMPAS risk-analysis scores and the programs they completed. Then there might be letters from victims, judges and prosecutors. If the crime involved a police officer, the police union would gather hundreds of letters, saying, “Do not release this person.” We had to physically sign each victim impact statement. More paper.

The files for the most heinous offenses — the ones where the prisoner was denied parole umpteen times — were the worst. They were hundreds of pages, so you could end up relying on a top sheet that summed up how many years the person had been in prison, what their sentence was, and what the pre-sentence investigation said at the time. The problem is that these investigations were fixed in time; they could be from 30 some-odd years ago.

The purpose of parole is not to focus on a static event; that is the purpose of sentencing. Parole should consider primarily who the person is today. But New York parole laws have a “deprecation” clause, which basically means that the seriousness of the crime justifies keeping you in prison. This gives commissioners an easy out, even when someone has been before the board three, five or seven times, or they committed the crime at 17, and they’re now 70. If you can always have the seriousness of the crime as your hook to keep people in prison, that’s what you’ll do. This is particularly true if there’s political pressure from the governor, police commissioner or a mayor. It gets pretty ugly. And commissioners are really risk-averse if they are up for reappointment. If you need the job, why would you let somebody out who’s controversial?

My colleagues also heavily considered the role of the victims in their decisions. I did not think that was particularly appropriate. Our country just needs a better system to address the harms that victims and their families face. They have no other recourse besides retribution and punishment. They are angry and want to keep people in prison, but we need a process to help them heal.

My own mother was crushed by a drunk driver when I was 5, and she was 35. He was a U.S. sailor who was drunk on July 4. She lived, but had 96 bones broken. She was in the hospital for two years. That’s what got me interested in these labels we use — “victim,” “perpetrator,” “offender” — instead of “people.” I grew up with redemption and forgiveness.

So I tried to do things differently. Some of my colleagues were very terse with the people we were interviewing. These people were already nervous. Instead of starting my interviews with, “Name?” I would say something, like, “Hi, Mr. Smith, how are you feeling today? I’d understand if you’re nervous. Maybe we should take a deep breath.” I would lead with questions about what they felt positive about. The idea was to be asset-oriented as opposed to starting with the crime they committed.

We were given templates to frame our potential decisions in ways that would stand up in court if the prisoner appealed. But I hand-wrote mine with a pen and paper and gave them to the court reporter, who would type them up and have me sign them.

I also started to write dissents when my colleagues wouldn’t let people out of prison who I believed should receive parole. This was frowned upon because they didn’t want prisoners who appealed their cases to have a board member talking on record about how they’d changed their lives and deserved to go home.

After a while, I realized that I was dissenting more than agreeing with my colleagues. It's really hard when you’re always against everybody else. Even though they may have said, “I respect your values,” there was this idea that I should try and be a team player. Often I’d go into the bathroom to cry, upset because my colleagues didn’t recognize that a person had transformed and deserved to go home. I just couldn’t make a difference in the way I thought I could. Work was an uphill battle, and I was Sisyphus. This was just not a healthy place for me to be working anymore. I had a five-year term, but only made it through two.”]

#wasteland radio

[jackoshadows]

Germany lifts veto on Eurofighter sale to Saudi Arabia

Germany is willing for Saudi Arabia to buy Eurofighter warplanes, it said on Monday, in a change of heart prompted by developments in the Middle East. Officials said Saudi Arabia's “constructive stance” on the Israel-Gaza war, its role in intercepting Houthi missiles, and hopeful signs in Yemen's peace process, had contributed to lifting Berlin's veto. “The changed situation and the stabilising role that Saudi Arabia takes in the region must be taken into account,” an Economy Ministry spokeswoman said. Britain's BAE Systems revealed in 2018 it hoped to sell 48 of the jets to Saudi Arabia, but the deal has remained in limbo because of a German ban. The kingdom previously bought 72 Eurofighters up to 2017. Germany's three governing parties wrote in their 2021 coalition agreement that they would not approve arms sales to countries directly involved in the war in Yemen. Chancellor Olaf Scholz signalled last year that the “Yemen clause” could be dropped in respect of transport aircraft, but said Eurofighters would not be exported “any time soon”. However, Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock said on a visit to the region that Germany would not block a British sale and Mr Scholz's spokesman confirmed on Monday that the chancellor took the same view.

The change came in light of “the developments we have seen since October 7, in which Saudi Arabia has taken a very constructive stance towards Israel”, said the spokesman, Steffen Hebestreit. Hamas attacked Israel on that date, unleashing a conflict that is now more than three months old.

The ban of weapons to Saudi Arabia was put in place because of Saudi Arabia's bombing of civilians and infrastructure and blockades resulting in the world's biggest humanitarian crisis in Yemen.

All that is not a problem anymore as Europe joins the US in supporting Saudi's destruction of Yemen, since the Houthis are trying to help the Palestinians. To hell with the innocent civilians in Yemen trying to survive - according to the Germans they now deserve to die along with the Palestinians.

Saudi Arabia is now getting rewarded by Europe, for supporting the Palestinian genocide, with new weapons and war planes to bomb Yemen.

There should be a boycott of Saudi Arabia along with Israel.

#Palestine #Saudi Arabia #Gaza #Germany #Eurofighter war planes

[imyourbratzdoll]

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING

𝐀𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

 ♡ 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 ➳ 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕 ❥ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 ❦ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐦 ♡❥ 

summary - follow these two women as they try and figure out why their bull hybrids won’t mate with the cow hybrids, the two neighbours seem to have the same problem, not knowing they are the ones the bull hybrids have their eyes on - in bimbo and the bull, you will see my reader tending to bull hybrid Ari and in trust the herd, you will see @royalsweetteaa’s reader tending to bull hybrid Ransom Drysdale.

warning - this au will have inter-species relations if you are uncomfortable with that. please do not read.

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 ♡➳❥❦

summary - this is a darker twist to the loving fairytales you grew up with, you will read things you never thought you desired. beware— this may ruin your childhood if you wonder further.

warning - this au contains dark content— if you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read.

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 ♡➳❥❦

welcome to mrs clauses talk show! where you can ask her questions, request flashbacks or future memories, and ask for pictures of her life, the elves, her children, santa, etc. she’s been so excited to start her own show, feeling very appreciative of you guys sticking with her and being interested in her life that she wanted to share it with you all!

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐤 ♡➳❥❦

summary - join these dreamy men from all over as they take out their frustrations or just come to relax with our girls at our sweet shack.

warning - this au is a glory hole based masterlist, may contain dark content— if you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read.

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 ♡➳❥❦

summary - these are my guardians, join them as they find fun ways to destroy mrs claus. there will be special appearances by the elves and even some behind the scenes of the men’s lives.

warning - this au will contain mythical men (larger than reader), tiny elves and most likely dark content— if you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read.

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐭) ♡➳❥❦

summary - here you will become the princess of mushroom kingdom and find out how obsessed these men truely are.

warning - this au will contain inter-species relations, kidnapping, slut-shaming, age gaps, size difference, cheating, dubcon and may contain dark content— if you are uncomfortable with that, please do not read.

#imyourbratzdollwork #imyourbratzdollmasterlist #chris evans #sebastian stan #scott patterson #andrew lincoln #hugh jackman #jensen ackles #anthony mackie #our little farm #au masterlist #crossover #fandom #multifandom #multiverse #a whores fairytale #the strawberry shack #the mrs claus show #guardians of the moon #peaches world (and the men that just exist in it)

[darsynia]

Modern Mythology | Ch2

(Tony Stark/OC; soulmate AU pre-Ultron, in 3 parts)

image from peakpx.com | gif from @marveladdicts

Summary: Abigail Carson takes a chance on a second job as a courier in the hopes that it’ll help her find her soulmate, whose words on her skin imply that he’s signing for a package she delivers. When she hears the words spoken by Tony Stark, though, Abbi has second thoughts. She’s practically a nobody!

Length: 4,678

MY MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon, @starksbf

Excerpt:

Abbi wrote, ‘Waiting???’ and held it up.

Stark’s expression sobered. “Fair point. I fought it first too, you might say. I liked what I had, but it wasn’t right, you know? You know.”

She did know, and his arguments were persuasive. They were also frightening. The whole idea of entering this man’s world was intimidating. Overcome, Abbi turned toward the high counter of the receptionist’s welcome area, crossed her arms on the surface, and dropped her head onto them.

Stark took the pen out of her hand before she could stop him. She let out a frustrated noise.

“You’re acting like I’m going to drag you up to the penthouse and turn it into a sex dungeon when you finally do say something to me. That’s not how it works, you know that, right? You say them, we get to know each other.” Abbi felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and lifted her head to see that he was leaning beside her, less than an inch away. “I wouldn’t say no to the sex dungeon, mind you.”

Chapter Two: Seeds of Doubt and Hope

Abbi got another summons to Courier and Ives the following day. She was tempted not to go, certain that Stark was summoning her back like a liege lord whose chattel had not performed according to expectations. Somewhere deep down, though, she knew that assessment was unfair.

Soulmates were a fixture of human romantic life. Countless songs, movies, and television shows revolved around the drama of discovering one’s soulmate, sometimes resisting one’s soulmate, but finally, always, capitulating to fate. She had always really loved those kinds of stories, never realizing she’d be living one. The problem for Abbi was whether or not the words she’d heard were coincidentally the same as her soulmark or not. There were shows about that, too.

After dithering all morning about whether she ought to show up at the courier office, Abbi finally decided to go anyway. Her compromise was that she absolutely would not mention soulmates unless it came up because Stark did.

Mrs. Walsingham’s attitude was expansive and coy. “Your delivery was a hit, yesterday! You’ve got another package to drop off for Stark personally, and another box of illegal cigars-- I mean, excuse me,” the older woman coughed as if she’d swallowed a frog for ten whole seconds. “Another box of exotic tea for Mr. Michaels in the building across the street from the tower.”

“Is there a chance you would give these to Minthe?” Abbi asked with genuine hope in her voice.

“Young lady, the son of Howard Godblesshim Stark phoned me up personally, described you in very admiring terms, asked what your name was, and requested you and only you to deliver this item. If you don’t go I may have to exercise my ‘damaging the business’ clause in our contract!” The poor woman’s face was nearly as purple in the face as her favorite color, which today was streaked through her blouse and matching skirt as well as the jewelry.

“Yes ma’am,” Abbi said resignedly. “Can I have a second clipboard? Mine was… mislaid.”

“He said them, didn’t he?” Mrs. Walsingham asked shrewdly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Abbi told her, and fled as soon as she was given the replacement clipboard. One of the packages was moderately heavy, almost flat, and rectangular, and the other was lightweight and square.

The woman at the front desk did not let her leave the package, but directed her to the penthouse. Abbi flatly refused, saying it was inappropriate. She was directed to wait in the lobby.

Guessing that she might be waylaid, she pulled out her phone and called in to her paralegal job, notifying them that she might be back late. She had plenty of PTO hours, and both her boss and grand-boss knew about the side job (the magic of soulmarks, again). Something told her that Stark was going to try to wait her out, but he would be sorely mistaken if he thought she couldn’t sit quietly. After ten minutes of Abbi doing just that, her hands on top of the two packages in her lap, she saw that the front desk person was looking her way and speaking on the phone.

Two minutes later, she heard a now-familiar voice. “You really want to do this here, in front of witnesses?”

It was a shame she hadn’t opted for an elective procedure to wire her jaw shut, just to see the look on the man’s face, Abbi thought. She didn’t say that, though. She just stood up and held out the square package, sitting on the clipboard, on which she’d already written a note.

‘You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Sign the page, and we’ll both get on with our lives.’

Stark was wearing a suit today. He looked fantastic. Abbi resented herself for even thinking it, because liking him in any way was just going to make the whole situation harder. He held up the clipboard, facing her.

“I’m not the one preventing us from getting on with our lives. Our collective life.”

She snatched the clipboard away with a swift move he clearly hadn’t anticipated, backed away directly beside two tourists who were staring at both of them with wide eyes, and wrote out a new message under the first one.

‘Prove I’m your soulmate, then. Before I say anything.’

Abbi held up the clipboard for him to read. To her consternation, the words she’d written made Stark smile with an expression of absolute delight.

“You’re on,” he said. “One moment.”

He stepped away to use his phone, and Abbi frowned. She still had a second delivery! In frustration, she went back to her chair, where she’d left the second package, the ‘tea’ she had to deliver across the street. If Stark thought he could keep her waiting while he held a phone conversation, he was wrong. He might be a handsome billionaire, but she had to work for a living.

Her conscience pointed out that he’d probably designed enough patents to live off of the proceeds for the rest of his life, regardless of inheritance of business proceeds. Then her mother-conscience added that it seemed like Abbi was just scared of change. She agreed with both assessments.

Just as Abbi was about to grab the second package, though, Happy Hogan walked up from just a few feet away and blocked her movement.

“Fancy seeing you again,” he said with an easy grin.

“Your boss likes to throw his influence around to get what he wants, and I’m the low woman on the totem pole,” she said in irritation.

“Turns out that’s part of your job description. The promotional materials for Courier and Ives encourages clients to bond with their courier.”

“It says bond?” Abbi asked in surprise.

“It actually does, look,” Hogan said, holding up his phone. She walked closer to read what it said, and saw him look over her shoulder, nod, and then refocus on her.

“What was--” Abbi turned around and saw that Stark was standing there, off the phone, finally. He was holding the package she needed.

“Sorry to keep you,” he said. The words sounded sincere, but Abbi felt like there was absolutely something suspicious between the two men. With no proof, though, she was happy to get on her way. Pointedly turning her back on Stark, she spoke to Hogan.

“Mr. Hogan, it was nice to meet you twice. Have a lovely life.”

“I’ll wish you the very same thing,” Hogan said with a broad smile. There was an obvious double meaning to it, but she decided to let that slide now that she could be on her way.

She’d have to quit the courier job, but that was just the way it had to go. Even if it was just a bit tempting to wonder what a life as someone like Stark’s soulmate would be. He had clearly lived a full life without one, and with his wealth, he’d be able to do so again. In her mind, Abbi went over all of the reasons why inserting herself into Tony Stark’s life would be a bad idea. It was a long list, full of things like ‘mom would be pretty stressed out,’ ‘Stark’s well known for liking flashy, experienced women, which I am absolutely not,’ and one of the most important ones, ‘I hate the idea of acquiescing to ‘fate’ as if I didn’t have any choice in the matter!’

Her second delivery went as normal. The executive it was meant for accepted it graciously, his anticipation clear. She could hear him ripping open the white paper it was wrapped in even before her hand touched the doorknob of his office.

“Young lady?”

Abbi turned. “Yes, sir?”

“I’m sorry to say, this is not mine.” The executive held up a silk tie emblazoned with the Iron Man helmet.

“That absolute sneaky bastard!” she exclaimed. The next second, she was mortified . “Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry!”

“You came here after Stark? I tell you what, I’ll keep them. Go get the real one, tell him he can bill me for these.”

Abbi’s heart rate was still going strong. She knew her face had to be beet red. “Are you sure? This is the height of unprofessional, I--”

“I have a feeling it was on purpose. Not your fault he’s got a bit of the imp in him.”

Abbi’s feet hurt from how much force she’d put in every step by the time she walked back into the lobby of Stark’s building. Sure enough, he and Hogan were waiting in the pair of chairs she’d been seated at. The rest of the lobby was cleared of people, which also didn’t seem much of a coincidence.

“Hogan!” Abbi called out. She wanted to lay into Stark, but there was some part of her that was afraid of marking him with words she might regret. “You’ve been conscripted. A Mr. Michaels would very much like his box, please.”

Hogan held it up, and she glared at him. “For a good cause! I’ll head over.”

“Didn’t think that through, Abbi,” Stark said. His use of her name made her stop short and lay a hand on the nearest piece of furniture to steady herself. She saw him coming toward her, both hands casually resting in his pants pockets. “There’s no one else in here to address your comments to. You don’t happen to know ASL, do you? Now that would be an interesting soulmark.”

There was something so gentle in his eyes. It sparked a flurry of excitement in her chest, as if something inside her recognized it was Tony Stark fighting for their possible future. The problem was it was such an impossible future that she couldn’t understand how he couldn’t see that.

He’d also forgotten something. Abbi pulled the clipboard out of her inner jacket pocket and held it up. She wrote something on it so quickly that he didn’t get the chance to take it from her, even though he’d started walking over the second he saw it.

‘What will happen when I DO say something and they aren’t your words?’

“Not possible,” Stark said, confidence personified.

Abbi rolled her eyes and started to write something else, but Stark snatched the clipboard out of her hands and tucked it into his back pocket.

“Say them.”

She shook her head.

“Abigail Carson. Daughter of Demaria and Atticus Carson. Ambitious, fun-loving mother, practical, dutiful father. Honors student in high school, attended NYU for a pre-law degree, one year of law school Syracuse University before putting education on hold to care for your mother after the one-two punch of a cancer diagnosis and losing your father to a heart attack. Started work at a law firm in the interim, and moved in with your mother when the cancer recurred,” he recited, pacing in a tight circle in front of her. “Hardworking, dedicated, impulsive to a point, needs to let loose.” At this, he spread his arms out as if to suggest that a relationship with him might help with that.

Abbi wanted to ask what the point was of reciting some personal information he snooped around to find, but she wasn’t going to say something to him without thinking it through first, no matter how much he goaded her to do so.

“Anthony Stark. Son of Howard and Maria Stark. Ambitious, fun-loving father, practical, dutiful mother. Honors student in high school, multiple doctorates from MIT by his late teens, before I put more education on hold to care for my company at age 21, when my parents were killed in a car accident. Impulsive, dedicated, hardworking to a point, needs someone to ground him. That’s you,” he said, pointing at Abbi. “You wanted me to prove you’re my soulmate before you say anything? Who else would fight it this much?” He gestured to the lobby windows, where there was a small crowd speaking to the receptionist Abbi had seen earlier. “There are any number of women who would be desperate for this chance, not that I’m interested in any of them.”

He’d been walking in wider and wider circles, coming closer and closer to her. She took off her shoes, and when he turned to circle back around after saying that, Abbi pulled the clipboard free of his back pocket and ran to the other side of the free-standing arc of the receptionist’s welcome area in the lobby so she could write out another message.

“You little sneak! I love it,” Stark said, chasing after her.

All Abbi managed to write before he snatched it back was, ‘It’s been one whole day, chill.’

“When you’ve been waiting over ten years for someone, a whole day is a long time,” he said after reading it. He tucked the clipboard into his pants this time, waggling his eyebrows at her.

The pen worked on her hand, so Abbi wrote, ‘Waiting???’ and held it up.

Stark’s expression sobered. “Fair point. I fought it first too, you might say. I liked what I had, but it wasn’t right, you know? You know.”

She did know, and his arguments were persuasive. They were also frightening. The whole idea of entering this man’s world was intimidating. Overcome, Abbi turned toward the high counter of the receptionist’s welcome area, crossed her arms on the surface, and dropped her head onto them.

Stark took the pen out of her hand before she could stop him. She let out a frustrated noise.

“You’re acting like I’m going to drag you up to the penthouse and turn it into a sex dungeon when you finally do say something to me. That’s not how it works, you know that, right? You say them, we get to know each other.” Abbi felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and lifted her head to see that he was leaning beside her, less than an inch away. “I wouldn’t say no to the sex dungeon, mind you.”

She tried to glare at him, but his personal magnetism seemed to be perfectly attuned to attract her, and she smiled begrudgingly, shaking her head ‘no.’

“Worth a shot.” He pulled something out of his pocket and set it on the counter beside her arm. She had to shift positions to see what it was.

When she looked, Abbi glanced quickly up at Stark.

“I have a whole package of these, I didn’t, like, get some loose out of a vending machine and let them collect pocket lint before offering them to you,” he assured her, holding up a plastic package with the Runts logo on them. Stark pulled out a banana one and popped it in his mouth, crunching down on it immediately.

He’d made the same mistake with the pen as he had with the clipboard, and Abbi grabbed it from his breast pocket, writing ‘Chewing???? HEATHEN’ on an unmarked part of her hand.

This just made him grin at her, sticking a second banana one in his mouth and capturing it in his teeth to wag it at her a bit. They were standing so close that she could smell the banana flavoring on his breath. The intimacy of that was a bit stunning for Abbi. Was this really her life? Standing in a lobby that should be teeming with people, desperately resisting making a move that would change her life forever, while this man who should have no vested interest in her whatsoever gently coaxed her into doing it?

Was it working? She felt less certain about her convictions now than she had when she’d walked in there.

“Uh oh, you’re thinking again. Quick, eat one.”

Because she still had the pen, Abbi wrote on the back of her hand, near her thumb.

‘You called me Iris, not Persephone.’

Stark rolled his eyes in mock ecstasy and leaned over, his spicy aftershave and banana breath taking over her senses, stand-ins for the reasons to speak and the reasons to stay silent. Being his soulmate would be bananas. “Smart women are so hot. Eat them and say it, Abbi. Come down to hell with me, help keep me warm.”

It would serve this infuriating, ridiculous man if she said what she was thinking right now. Wasn’t hell already warm? She wouldn’t put it past him to say something like that just to get her to correct him, but he had said earlier that he wasn’t interested in being marked with Greek mythology soulmark words.

Just to show him that she wasn’t afraid to compare him with Hades, Abbi grabbed the three Runts (none of them were banana, her favorite, but she suspected they were his favorite too. They were everyone’s favorite) and popped them in her mouth.

“Tell you what. I don’t want to wait another day,” Stark said enigmatically. “Here. Write one more thing. Final argument.” He handed her back the clipboard, which was warm from his body heat. His rich brown eyes challenged her, and Abbi felt like it really was her last chance to persuade him and herself. She could feel the tingles of excitement that spread every time their eyes met, could sense that she was giving in.

‘A fish may love a bird, but where would they live? You deserve someone from your world.’

When Abbi held up the clipboard, the slow, triumphant smile that grew on Tony Stark’s face made her fall for him just a little. It was just so confident, the exact opposite of what she had expected, that she was completely helpless to defend against him.

“Do you know how many women try to catch my eye? And here you are, fighting fate with all your might. I don’t remember the last time I was faced with the idea of having to woo someone. It’s a truly unique experience. Thank you for that.” He leaned his elbow on the counter, plopped his head onto his hand, and asked, “So, do you like flowers? Chocolates? A robot of your very own?”

She picked up the pen to scrawl out that he had completely missed her point, but before she could write anything, he took the clipboard again.

Abbi was so frustrated she said everything she was thinking.

“Look, I was just trying to do my job, but then you stole my cab, you stole my next delivery, you stole my pen, and you stole my clipboard four separate times, all so I’d HAVE to speak to you, so fine, I give up, here are the words you’re so desperate for!”

“Yes!” he said, and before Abbi could process that she’d said that all out loud, Stark had leaned over and kissed her very lightly and gently, pulling back to gauge her reaction.

“What--” she said, her lips tingling from the contact. A warm feeling of anticipation and pleasure had flared up in her gut. His reaction confirmed her fear and perhaps secret hope: she was definitely Tony Stark’s soulmate.

“Your words were a schematic to follow. I was probably supposed to let that happen over the course of a couple of weeks, but I’m me,” he said, grinning.

“But that was a whole paragraph!” Abbi said, aghast.

“I did goad you,” he said.

“Stark--”

“Tony,” he corrected. “Nothing has to change right away, Persephone.”

“I only ate three, she ate six, it’s a flawed comparison,” Abbi said distractedly. “Do you really have that whole thing written on your body somewhere? Why on Earth would you try to get me to say that?”

“Oh yes, it’s the number of seeds in dispute, not the idea that I’m the God of the underworld,” Tony said with deep sarcasm. Abbi’s face flared with a blush as she recognized exactly how much she found that unexpectedly attractive. “And, are you kidding? I just had to follow your instructions and be myself. Your words were very helpful that way.”

Abbi looked at him and saw that the vulnerability she’d seen before was still present. She wondered if he thought she’d still reject him. It happened-- there were people whose soulmates were too deep into addiction or destructive behavior, and they’d left, rather than watch their other half tear themselves into smaller pieces that couldn’t be repaired. Pepper Potts had left Tony Stark for much the same reason, and she’d been with him in various capacities for over ten years. The fact that she wasn’t his actual soulmate probably hadn’t made their break-up any less excruciating.

Something at the back of her mind was pinging for her attention, and as Tony’s phone rang and he answered it, she tried to find out what it was. When she realized, Abbi gasped.

“What?”

“You let me hand you things! You let me hand you multiple things! You don’t even know me!”

“Yes, you can open it back up. We’re going to. Yeah,” Tony said on the phone. He took her hand, rested it on his arm, and led her over to the elevator. “I need to open my building back up.” She let him lead her inside a car, still focused on the thing she’d realized.

“You don’t like being handed things. It’s in all the articles.” Abbi couldn’t let it go.

“Would it make more sense if I told you that Violet Walsingham is a family friend?” Tony asked. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over his arm, and started to pull his dress shirt out from where it was tucked into his trousers.

She backed away from him up against the elevator wall, suddenly frightened. What if this was how he picked up women nowadays? Getting her boss to tell him what to tell each courier! “Did she tell you my soulmark? What are you doing?”

“My soulmark is on my back. Violet did not tell me yours.” He turned his back on her and pulled the shirt up. “You’ll have to tug it up, it’s a bit tight.”

“Whose fault is that,” she couldn’t help but say, but Abbi reached out and lifted the shirt, only because she could see the final few words. They were in her handwriting. The whole paragraph was there. She wanted to touch them. She wanted to run away and never come back. She wanted to figure out what to do. As excited as she was about finding her soulmate, and finding out it was someone like Tony, it was intimidating as hell.

The elevator opened, and Abbi dropped the shirt like it was on fire. Tony chuckled and ushered her out. It was a living room, but the outside walls were windows, with an amazing view of New York.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Violet found out I hadn’t discovered who my soulmate was, and once she got it out of me how specific my soulmark was, she decided to ‘help,’” Tony told her, gesturing for her to move farther into the room so she could see the view from up close. “She incorporated clipboards, only hired young, beautiful women from good backgrounds.”

“That’s sneaky. I shouldn’t reward either of you for that,” Abbi said, spinning around to look at him. He was unbuttoning his dress shirt, which made her widen her eyes even more, but she was mollified when he held up a t-shirt, implying he was just going to switch them.

“So how many employees of Courier and Ives have you met, then?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Thirty? Forty?” He shrugged.

“What?”

The elevator dinged, and Abbi looked over from Tony’s honest, direct expression to see that Happy Hogan was walking toward her, carrying her shoes.

“He let me hand him things,” she told Hogan.

“Yeah. He knew. So did I.”

“Your confidence is intimidating,” she griped, taking her shoes.

“That’s what makes you charming,” Hogan quipped, waving before heading back into the elevator.

Abbi noticed she was standing near a couch and let herself fall into it. “I don’t--”

“You want to go back to work? I can drive you,” Tony said. He came over and sat a respectful distance away. He looked less intimidating wearing the Iron Maiden shirt he’d changed into while she was talking to his buddy, but she was still barely coping. “As long as you come back.”

Then, another thought struck her. “Did you pay her?”

“Violet? No.” He scooted closer to her. “She got a successful, reputable business out of all of this. I doubt she’ll close up just because I found you.”

“You know all of this is insane, right?”

“So make it sane for me, Abigail,” Tony said. “What would do that?”

“Your phone number? A date, maybe? A primer on the uber rich?” she laughed. “I-- I think I could like you. I’m attracted. I don’t know if I feel some instant, powerful connection, but I don’t know how it’s supposed to work.”

“I can work with attracted,” Tony said warmly. “I can get you a phone--”

“Aht!” Abbi said, closing her fingers in on her thumb in a ‘stop’ gesture. “I have a phone. I want your number. I won’t share it with anyone.”

“Yes, Miss Granger,” Tony rolled his eyes. He put his phone number into her phone, and when she got it back, his contact was named ‘Soulron Man’ with emoji hearts surrounding the words.

“Does that mean I get to put myself into your phone?” she asked, wishing she could get used to the feeling that she was walking along a knife-edge ridge high in the Himalayas. At any moment something she said, did, or thought to herself could push her tumbling over into one valley or another.

“That’s a big step, honeybuns, are you sure you’re ready for it?” His eyes were practically begging her to object to the nickname.

“I-- can I go home? I took PTO for the rest of the day,” Abbi asked cautiously.

“Absolutely. Can I drive you?”

“To show off your restraint or your fancy cars?”

“Yes.”

The fancy car was a convertible, and Tony kept his hands to himself the entire ride. Abbi found herself relaxing just a bit around him, which was both a welcome relief and a trigger for more anxiety. Their conversation revolved around their parents, oddly enough, but when he pulled up to her apartment complex, he turned toward her with a serious expression on his face.

“Look, I’m a mess. It’s well documented. If you’re going to be a mess too, we’re going to have to work out some sort of custody arrangement.”

Despite herself, Abbi laughed. “Ironically, my mess is probably the polar opposite of yours? I feel deeply inadequate.”

“Having a paragraph of frustration etched into my back in your handwriting doesn’t encourage you even a little bit?” he asked. Abbi frowned. “No, wait--” he said, reaching out and grabbing her hand to squeeze it. “That made you feel anxious about what it says, didn’t it?”

She nodded.

“This is irony, that’s what this is. I have no experience with inadequacy.”

Abbi couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “Maybe we’re supposed to even each other out?”

“That… might actually make sense. So, dinner tomorrow? I pick you up here?” His thumb brushed across the top of her hand. It felt like a gentle knock on the door of her heart, and for the first time since she’d heard his first words to her, Abbi felt like she might be up for answering it.

Tony kissed her hand before she went inside. The sizzle of his lips against her skin made Abbi wonder how long their physical compromises would survive the tension that was starting to grow between them.

Her mother was asleep for an afternoon nap when she got inside. As carefully as she could, Abbi snuck into her room and spent the rest of the day completely unable to focus on anything. Taking PTO had been a really good idea.

She went to sleep that night with her heart full of possibilities and only a few concerns. They were big concerns, but they might not be as insurmountable as she’d initially thought.

Next chapter, Abbi goes on the most momentous first date anyone could possibly have, and the two of them bond through shared trauma.

#tony stark #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x oc #tony stark x original character #iron man fanfiction #iron man #iron man x oc #iron man x original character #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #tony stark imagine #ocfairygodmother #fyeahsuperverseocs

[humbletumblecrudi]

Synopsis: “ You didn't want the Fatui in your business―your legal, legitimate business―and you would have turned down their offer of shares. It may be generous, but the name will cause issues to see backing your company. That is, until they sent a man (sadly) your type―Regrator Pantalone. ”

Warning(s): GN!Reader | Reader is a business owner, Reader is not shown/said to have a vision (up to you), Reader does not seem to hate the Fatui (or is very professional), Reader is wearing formal wear for this meeting, and a kiss scene.

You drum your fingers across the desk of your business, and you knew your odds of turning down the man before you would diminish as he kept talking. It was winter in your nation so his clothes were not uncommon with dark colors and furs galore, but the jewels and fancier linens under his jacket just gave you a bad feeling as to why he was meeting you…

… His cool and tempered face gave way to handsome and lax features, even attractive lips you had stared at while he had been speaking… 

… And as you expected of anyone in the chair adjacent to you. His paperwork was in order and the parchment with clauses and demands for both sides was empty before you. The gentleman that was sitting prim and proper before you was dark, pale and handsome; and his smile was just as charming as his features. You didn't expect the Fatui to take such interest in your business and wanted shares into the production of your services.

You knew they were smart enough to know how you turn down people wanting to buy out more than 50% of your shares… and the cheeky 46% shares information were staring you right in the eyes, teasing you.

"Mr. Pantalone, I do enjoy your honesty and your nobility in giving me ample time to read and debate your demands for the next week…" You speak slowly and professionally to the other business-oriented man, and your formal suit feels tighter as you continue, "The amount you're striking for is a little high and might cause discourse amongst many holders. I warn you that your demands will be heavily scrutinized, and looked at from under a microscope."

The charming (and annoyingly caressible lipped) man bedazzled in silver jewelry and azure gems barely tilts his head as he sits fashionable still. "Thank you for the warning." He doesn't bother sounding thankful. "I know it can be hard for a business to let one such as ourselves into the mix, but I assure you we don't want ownership of your business in the end of all this."

Lies. You know the words coming out of him were all lies. Without even digging into the meat of the problem you know the words he's asking for are backwards: "stocks" are slices of ownership of a company with multiple others, and "shares" are a slice of the company itself. If they get that many shares, they'll have such a great day in business ventures….

You know your business would benefit from such a large donation, but the leadership would…

You sigh in exasperation, and Pantalone knew this was a negative sign for his proposition. "I know you're a very capable businessman, and I know you're doing the best for your company… but I must implore you to give us the proper time for consideration."

The room was getting tense from here, you can sense he was too. A swimming snake of cold air ran up your back as he finished his sentence: you know he's not leaving here without the answer of your consideration…

"Regrator Pantalone…" You stand up from your seat, and shockingly he mirrors you by a millisecond. "I must implore you to give me some time with this personally."

"Surely more heads are better than one, and your team leaders can help you make this harsh decision." He gently mocks you, and you know that wouldn't go well with them. Your leadership team might leak it to the shareholders in fear of the Fatui name and ties. "... I insist."

You closed your eyes as you thought about it. But you didn't need long to think of a response to this type of situation… much less this type of fellow businessman. "I must implore you to leave my office, I can not see―"

It was sudden and it was almost chilling how fast you could feel something on your person before you could hear him move. A man from such an organization like the Fatui wouldn't take a no to his business offer that could further his ever growing pockets: he'd pull every stop he could to get that stamp of approval. Or at the least, time to gather information behind your back. You would have expected a punch to your face for daring to deny his "simple" demands…

… but true to the sneaking suspicion of what you thought earlier, the connection you share now is a kiss. He had moved both of you as close as could be with the simple work desk and paperwork between you, and his stature helped him cover any distance left to your own lips. You noticed your neck was getting a bit of a squeeze, and you can see his gloves (covered in silver jewelry as it were) holding onto your lapels: it's how he must have pulled you in…

The press of the lips was warm and the connection between was as saccharine as any kiss you've had before, but this… the near absorbing and consuming cold that surrounds him; like he was leeching off your heat like he was leaching onto your company…

He only drew backwards as both of your lips started to quiver with the need to release each other for oxygen. The dark haired man actually gasped as he let you go, but a constrictor-like grip was still latched onto your clothes lapels. You are let go soon after, and you're standing there with an awestruck and confused expression, you're sure: because Pantalone laughs gently.

"I am deeply sorry, please… excuse my rudeness." The asshole doesn't even sound sorry, just winded and proud of something. "I'll be taking my leave so your guards don't have to do this for you. Throw my papers out if it'll never happen, but I'll be back after the due date for your opinion…"

He looks back at you and gently opens up one eye. You can't see the color of it, only the white's of his eyes. "Come by your local hotel if you want me personally, I'll be nearby for the next month. Do svidaniya." 

He sauntered out of your office―with a smug grin, the snake―and you sat back into your seat when he fully disappeared. You slowly slid in your chair as you know very… you'd consider his proposal, even if it doesn't get past your desk… 

#Genshin Impact #Genshin Impact Scenarios #Reader Insert #x Reader #Gender-Neutral Reader #GN Reader #Male Reader Insert #Fem Reader Insert #Pantalone #Pantalone Genshin #Genshin x Reader #Genshin Impact x Reader #Genshin x GN Reader #Genshin Impact x GN Reader #Pantalone x Reader #Pantalone x You #Pantalone GI #Genshin Impact Fic #Genshin Impact Headcanons

[neils-weenie-whistle]

As a writing request, it would be cool to see a Bernard and Carol interaction! Comfort or bonding over being Boss bitches. I just think they should talk more. Hope thats enough of an idea lol

First Christmas

Thanks for this request, even though it's short (I'm struggling a bit with writing right now so I'm using these as a sort of practice!). Your request actually sparked this idea from me that Carol and Bernard spend every Christmas Eve together waiting for Scott to come back, so here's their first one right after the events of The Santa Clause 2. Hope you enjoy!

Things were finally settling down around the North Pole, a huge relief for Bernard.

Even with all the stress and problems caused by Curtis’ ridiculous invention, not to mention the Mrs. Clause, Santa had managed once again to pull himself together and deliver toys to the children of the world. That left the elves with nothing to do but wait for their leader’s safe return to start planning for next year.

Well, most of the elves. Bernard himself was busy preparing everything for Santa’s return. As soon as he landed they’d only have 365 days to get themselves ready for next year.

“Do you never take a break?”

The question startled him, he was usually left to his prepping in peace. After seeing who it was though, it made sense.

Carol Newman-Claus had only been at the Pole for less than a few hours. He’d spoken to her briefly during their fight with the toy soldiers, and again in preparation for their makeshift wedding, but he hadn’t actually had the chance to meet her yet. Not that that mattered, he knew her from her childhood. She, however, knew nothing about him and his work ethic.

“Me? No. The others do though!” He smiled as he walked through the empty workshop. Everything lay where they had left it before rushing Santa to his sleigh. He bent down to pick some of the mess off the floor and was surprised when Mrs. Claus bent over to join him.

She placed the mess she’d picked up onto a nearby workshop table. “You look like you could really use a break though.”

It was true. He did work twice as hard as anyone else in the North Pole, but he’d just gotten off of forced house arrest for a day and a half. That was plenty of rest for him and he told her that as he continued his clean up.

“A day and a half?” She scoffed, unbelieving. “Alright, now you’re starting to sound like me!”

She stopped her tidying up, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him from the workshop. He tried to protest that work needed to be done but she wasn’t having it.

“It’s Christmas, my husband is out delivering toys, I could use the company. We can all clean the workshop when Scott gets back.”

So, that was how Bernard spent his first Christmas with their new Mrs. Claus, cozied up by a fire, cocoa in hand and listening to the very amusing story of how Santa had wooed his new wife. He was never going to hear the end of this one that’s for sure.

The sound of the sleigh returning shocked them both out of their cozy reminiscing mood.

“You know, I can see why you’re Head Elf. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you keep my husband out of trouble so that’s a bonus,” Carol hummed. “It’s nice to know I’ve got a friend up here besides him I know I can count on.”

And in all the thousands of years of working, Bernard had never received a higher compliment from any Santa or Mrs Claus. His ears tinted slightly red as they made their way to greet the man who had brought them together.

#the santa clause one shot #bernard the elf #carol newman #carol and bernard bonding #the santa clause 2 #the santa clause imagine #the santa clause #one shot