#I know I get paid a little above minimum wage but it’s still not enough

[doloresstarfish]

BROKE YOUR OWN HEART

(Can't Finish What You Start)

Remus Lupin & Original Male Character

tw: slight referenced abuse, angst, scars, drug mention

Summary

CHAPTER TWO

The day at the internship was fine, Remus thought. They made him walk around with paper coffee cups like that was going to make him a better interviewer, but it was fine. He got handed his schedule for the rest of the summer break by the sweet old secretary- Olga. And prayed it didn't clash with Elliot's shifts.

So he got out at six thirty and killed time at a public library until seven, when he had to meet Elliot at the factory. It was a short walk, ten minutes later his eyes found the relaxed figure of Elliot, who was leaning against a dirty wall, freshly lit cigarrette hanging from his lips and smoke spiraling above his head. He hugged himself, wanting to get rid of the chilly air this hour of the day seemed to bring. People were scattering around him, collegues that were also finishing their shift and going home for the day.

"Hey" Remus greeted him when he was close enough.

"Hey. Ready?" Elliot asked. They inmediately started walking shouder to shoulder to the bus station, engaging in some small talk until they got on the bus and aching for a soft bed.

"How was the internship?" Elliot asked him after they both found their way to the seats, tighs brushing lightly against each other.

"It was fine, I guess. Juggled coffee cups around all day" Elliot snickered. "Hey! Don't laugh at me"

"I'm not. That's a perfectely worthy task to do" Remus rolled his eyes playfully and shoved him. "What was it? Some newspaper company?" He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember exactly what Remus said. He hummed.

"Yes. I've been thinking I would like to be a journalist, so It's perfect. My mum got it for me. Said she had some 'contacts'. I still don't know what she meant by that, she works at a bakery" Remus answered with a smile.

"So no magic related things? After Hogwarts, I mean"

"Well, I dont know, actually. I suppose I could be a Wizarding World journalist, but I'm seeing where this goes. I still got time" Elliot nodded. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you know what will you do after Hogwarts?" Elliot seemed to grow uncomfortable, shifting slightly in his seat and getting his eyes off of Remus's. He shrugged.

"Keep bending car parts at the factory, I guess. Maybe I'll get promoted to getting paid full minimum wage, who knows? Sounds good to me" he said bitterly, yet attempting to make a joke out of it. But Remus didn't laugh.

Elliot knew how fucking lame he was. He spended all day pushing buttons and lifting compressing machines to arrive home with grease stained clothes and skin in an attempt to put a little more food on the table for his family. He never did good at school, in Howgarts it was even worse. He couldn't change a teacup into a frog if his life depended on it. The only reason he kept going every year was because it meant a mouth less to feed during the year and charging an unreasonable amount of money to wizards for lit assignments was easier. That way he could still send money to his mother while being away. There was also the fact that his father's anger seemed to decrease when he wasn't in the house, so that meant less trouble for everyone too.

When he saw Remus on his front door earlier that day, he thought he could kill him right there on the spot -he was sure he could find some sketchy neighbour to get rid of the body-, making him forget that he ever saw him. It's not that he was embarassed by the way his life was, but it would be easier if he had a nicer home to go back to evey day.

And Remus was the first person in six years he was a little more than aquaintances with. He would have liked it more if everything too personal was kept as far away as possible. He spended way too much time alone at Hogwarts for this absolute dork to break all the walls he had constructed over the years. He had let his guard down, that was his fault.

Friends were useless, it wasn't like they would ever see eachother after graduating. So who cared if Remus Lupin saw how messed up his life actually was? Who cared if he saw the scars that littered his body? As long as he didn't tried to kiss them better, the boy could keep all his teeth in his mouth. Maybe he'll get freaked out and not speak a single word to him next year. Maybe that's for the best.

"I think you could do better than that" Remus looked at Elliot like he could see right through all his bullshit. He scoffed.

"Like what? Average wage? I think that's hopeful thinking, even for yo-"

"I'm serious" Remus interrupted him firmly, as if he was convinced Elliot could be the fucking king of England if he wanted to.

"Yeah, me too, Remus" he said in such a tone Remus knew the conversation was over. Still, he opened his mouth to fight, but quickly closed it when the bus came to a halt at their stop.

They thanked the driver and walked through the streets under an uncomfortable silence, just like before. There were more people outside now, though, mostly drunks, but some normal people were headed to town, since it was friday night. Remus was so tired he couldn't even think about going out.

"Listen, Remus" Elliot stopped them before opening the door to his house. He looked at Remus straight in the eyes with that same stern face he saw him using with Eric earlier. "I don't mind that you are here, really, I don't" he shook his head when Remus went to say something "No. Listen. It's all good, but if I ever tell you to go to my room and close the door, you do it. You understand, right?"

"I don't-"

"Remus. You understand, right?" He repeated a little louder.

"Yeah. Yeah. I understand"

"Good" he took the key out of his pocket and opened the door, being welcomed by warm lights and the smell of a home cooked dinner. Finally closing it behind Remus "I'm home!"

"Hi, honey! Oh! You brought a friend?" said a small woman that was steering something in a big pot. She gave Remus a big smile before heading to kiss his son's cheek.

"Uh, yeah. Ma, this is Remus. He'll crash in my room for a couple days" as fast as it appeared, her smile dropped as she looked severely at Elliot, hands on her hips. Remus believed she and Euphemia Potter would get along well.

"Elio! I told you I didn't want more drug addicts "crashing" in my house!" She whispered at him even thought Remus could hear them perfectly. He also wondered why did she have to ask him that in the first place.

"He's not a drug addict! He's from school. Christ, he's dressed like a librarian, a drug addict doesn't dress like this" Elliot responded in a normal tone, signaling to Remus's lanky figure with his hand, making the boy laugh and his mothers smile return.

"Oh, it's okay, then. Nice to meet you, Remus" they shook hands.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Faye"

"What a polite boy. I really do hope you actually aren't a drug addict"

"I'm not, ma'am"

"Good. And call me Marian" she looked at her son "Elio, go say hi to Dom, he's with Lupe and Eric in their room. He's been screaming for you all day long"

"I'll take a shower first, I'm disgusting. Don't wanna dirty him" she nodded as both boys started heading to Elliot's room "You wanna go next? I'll save you hot water"

"No, it's okay. I prefer morning showers, either way" Elliot looked at him disgusted.

"So you're a masochist" Remus laughed.

Elliot grabbed some things from the bedroom and dissapeared in the hallway, leaving the sandy haired boy alone. He looked around. There were a couple posters on the walls, The Clash and T-Rex -of course-, a lot of baby stuff laying around, some toys on top of the messy dresser and an old faded black guitar in a corner. Elliot's bed was on the right side of the room and Dom's crane was at the feet of the bed.

A couple minutes later Elliot was back from the shower, curls dripping water and wearing only a pair of underwear. Remus quickly busied his eyes with Marc Bolan's guitar while the other boy got into some comfortable clothes. Long sleeves this time.

"Let's go" When they got out of the room Dominic's little figure was waiting for them on the floor next to the couch, playing with a sock that was laying around. Elliot crouched and opened his arms the instant he saw him with a big smile "Hello, my little munckin!" He said in a sing-songy, kinda creepy voice. Dominic instantly started laughing and crawling up to him. Elliot held him close to his chest and left kisses on his pudgy cheeks while they got closer to the table that was finishing being set by Eric and Lupe.

"He'll start walking pretty soon!" said Marian, starting to fill the empty plates with some kind of casserole while everyone took their sits, Remus on Elliot's right, who had his mother in front of him. Across from Remus was Eric and Lupe was next to him. There was no one on the end of the table.

"Good. I can start oredering him to make me sandwiches" said Lupe making them laugh.

"Not on my watch" Elliot told her, althought there was a smile on his face.

"So you are a wizard too, Remus?" Marian asked him.

"Yes. I've met Elliot at Hogwarts. We are in the same house"

"I wish I could do magic" pouted Eric, stabbing a carrot with his fork. "You never do" he recriminated to his older brother.

"That's because I'm shit at it"

"How can you be even be able to do magic and suck at it?" Lupe looked at him incredulous.

"Well, magic is quite hard, actually" said Remus softly, trying to defend his friend.

"Oh, come on! Mr. Top of the Class" Elliot made light fun of him.

"You're top of the class?" The girl asked him, eyebrows raised and mocking smile, laughing sterically when Remus shrugged, embarassed. Quickly Eric followed and that made Dominic laugh, wich made the rest of them smile.

Remus looked at Elliot, as to ask him why were they laughing so hard. "Down here in Jaywick being top of the class isn't a good thing" he explained "But don't mind her. She's a bully" he said, more to Lupe than to him.

"I'm not!" Her laugh dissipated.

"Stop. Don't fight" Marian said, smile still on her face.

"Mom! You're starting to sound like Elliot" said Lupe, looking at her brother with annoyed eyes. Remus could see something snap in the boy's dark eyes.

"You know, in normal families, I should be the one starting to sound like her" he leaned into the table, careful not to squash the baby still on his lap. A challenging look on his face.

The air felt heavy around them, only the sound of forks against the plastic dishes being heard. "Don't" was the only thing Eric said, looking between his siblings.

Elliot was so, so tired. He would never admit it but having to be like a parent on top of a provider, on top of a seventeen year old on top of student was fucking exhausting. And he was annoyed, because it wasn't rare that Lupe would say things just to hurt him. He got it, she was a kid about to go through puberty and he was the one having to boss her around. Hell, he was raising her. He was awful at that age too, probably even worse. But a little gratitude wouldn't hurt nobody.

And he couldn't get why their mother wouldn't just do the job herself, it was her's, after all. He absolutely loved his family, but sometimes he just wanted to crawl up on his bed and never have to get up again. If there was something keeping him from doing just that, it was the urge to give them something he never had: the opportunity to be a kid, to not having to find ways to make a little money at ten years old.

They finished the food in silence and Elliot quickly washed the dishes before heading to his room. He prepared Remus's bed next to his and left him alone so the boy could change to his pijamas in peace. When he came back he cradled Dominic in his arms and layed in his bed with the baby fast asleep between his body and the wall.

Elliot rubbed his eyes tiredly. "You okay?" Asked Remus from his own laying position, trying to play it cool. He nodded, but Remus wasn't convinced.

"Yeah"

"I saw your tattoos, earlier. Do they have any meanings?" That was another way of saying I saw you. I saw your way of ornamenting your body other than with scars and burns. But all he could do now was attempt to get a normal conversation out of Elliot. And then again, he wanted to know everything about him. He thought that could be a good start.

Elliot looked like he was trying to make up his mind about something, debating with himself "Uh... yeah. Yeah. Fuck it" He muttered the last part and slid his shirt above his head to let Remus see his torso.

There were more scars and a couple of healing bruises. But in Remus eyes, he looked absolutely mesmerizing. Elliot had never asked him about his own scars, wich were in more visible places than his, and he always felt grateful for that. So he wouldn't ask him about his, either. Elliot was relieved.

They both sat up on their matresses.

"Uh, some of them are stupid. I got the fawn on a night out, I was high out of my mind and me and a friend saw a deer in the middle of town. We thought it was crazy, so we inmediately got to the closest tattoo parlour" Remus laughed lightly at the story. He then pointed to the flower in his bicep "This was the logo of the record shop my mom worked at back in California. She used to always bring me the ones that didn't sell" he then pointed to the spike in his neck, looking up so Remus could see it "Got this for the year I spent in juvie. McGonagall let me take the 4th year exams all at once, barely passed the year" Remus suddenly remebered that he, in fact, hadn't seen Elliot for the entirety of 4th year. Back then he thought he would never catch a glimpse of him again, but showed up next year.

"What did you get in for?" He asked, fearing he got a little too confident with his question. But Elliot shrugged disdainfully, like he thought it was unfair they locked him in.

"I dealed for a while. Offered Xanax to a stressed looking lady on the street and the bitch ratted me out"

"You dealt at forteen? No wonder she did" said Remus, laughing lightly. Elliot smiled.

"Hey, am I here to talk about my tattoes or juvie?" Remus rolled his eyes playfully and waited for Elliot to continue the tour around his skin. Pointed to the shaky heart on his other bicep "I was dumb enough to let an eleven year old Gia do this one on me with a friends brand new tattoo gun" Remus vocifered his agreement with the boy's past statement "I was an angsty thirteen year old. Leave me alone" the blonde laughed and Elliot twisted his body to show him his back "Apple is Dom's middle name. Eric chose it. Self explanatory" he lastly pointed to the one on his chest. It was a drawing of a man with his arms crossed hanging upside down by one of his ankles "This signifies a waiting phase. Reminds me to slow down and take a step back before making a decision. God knows I've taken too many bad ones already" he finished, laying back on the bed and resting his forearms under his head. "Night" he said before Remus could mutter anything.

Elliot turned off the light and gave his back to Remus, huging the sleeping baby close to his chest.

"... Good night, Elliot"

Elliot fell asleep thinking about how much he wished everything could be different. Remus fell asleep grateful for being able to mutter Elliot's name the next day.

#remus lupin x male reader #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x you #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #the mauraders

[bibookdemon]

Finally posting my stupid shit! Please know that there's some sus stuff uwu (it's not too bad, nothing explicit, but still kinda...iffy I suppose.) Also there is a mention of sh!IM READING THROUGH AGAIN AND REALIZING WHAT I WROTE PLEASE CHECK TAGS FOR TRIGGERS

Ok so like smth smth this lab is testing people to see if they can like, contact people of the past. (OK HEAR ME OUT MAYBE ITS KAIBA TRYING TO FIND HIS LONG-DEAD LOVE, ATEM, AND IT WOULD BE GREAT FLARESHIPPING AND HERES WHY) There are multiple people who get tested because they're getting paid to do so, and they have this 'coach' kinda, it's basically just ai trying to get into their minds and use different methods to get them in touch with the past. I imagined smth along the lines of 'Let the lines of reality and fantasy blur together' because that's like. A thing™️. And the first part of it is really just putting them in a deep sleep and monitoring the brain waves + body functions. They only do it for a couple hours every day so as not to exhaust the mind, and there are little things that allow the scientists to see that they potentially have the ability to contact the past. Time + that ability decides how long they are in the program for. Enter Yugi. Kame Game is going through a rough time, so he wants to help out and make a little money on the side to keep the shop open. It's Gramps' dream, and he loves it and his Gramps, he can't just let it die. It helps that he knew Kaiba in passing at school, though he never talked to him beyond a quite hello. Kaiba was the only person who never bullied him, tbh. (The only person outside of his friend group, because Anzu also never bullied him) So he goes, and his potential is off the charts. Now, every person has to sign a contract before they enter the program. On the contract it states that they are required to participate for as long as KC needs up to 3 years. They get compensated by day at a bit above minimum wage, so they do make a pretty hefty amount, and would be making a lot for 3 years. Because of Yugi's potential, he is given a room at KC and isolated from the outside world - for the most part. He can call/text/etc, but he cannot see friends or family in-person unless they get approved to visit.

They only get approved for like, once a week, so Yugi is pretty lonely. He hasn't even been allowed to meet Kaiba yet, and that's because he'll only get to meet Kaiba when he starts to venture into Ancient Egypt (within his mind) and Kaiba will need to be there with his tech. He'll have Yugi talk to Atem and use his tech to translate the thoughts into words + videos. So, because Yugi is isolated, and thanks to the mind exercises, he actually starts to dive deeper into that part of his mind. The coach + the deep sleep have successfully blurred the lines between real and fantasy, so now all he really needs to do is explore and break them. Enter the millennium puzzle, which, instead of a huge-ass gold necklace, is actually a small, 3d charm. It's about the size of a pin. He keeps it with him because Gramps gave it to him, and yes, he actually did have to solve it, but it was more like a mind-bender than an actual puzzle because of how small it is. When he solved it, he felt something deep within him, something that buried itself within but did not emerge. IT WAS insert risque joke here because I'm immature It was a connection with Atem, but at the time his mind wasn't strong enough to hold that connection in a more physical way, which would be possession, and eventually Atem forming his own body using some of Yugi's life force. Yugi felt the connection grow as he did the coaching, and that's why his stats were off the charts. He starts to get flashes of life through someone else's eyes: towering pyramids, endless deserts, foreign clothes. From there, it only deepens, grows more personal. He starts to see people he doesn't know, and then he starts to know them as friends/family. Then he starts feeling things: happiness, sadness, anger, frustration, joy, excitement. He forgets about it as soon as he snaps out of the flashes, however, so he never reports them. Because they also aren't active at the time he does his tests, the readings don't spike.

They only grow steadily with each passing day, each flash of someone else's life. Finally, they reach a point that Yugi is ready to meet this person, ready for the next step. He meets Kaiba, and Kaiba is just. He sees that Yugi looks like his lover, and he is shocked. But he also finds himself drawn toward Yugi, and not because of the way he looks, just the way he smiles nervously and waves, and the way flitting memories jump in and out of his head from when they attended school together. He ignores the feelings, however. He has a lover. The point of Yugi is to establish communication with his lover. And so Yugi is shown the next step. It's very sci-fi-y. It's basically this cylindrical tube that will fill with gel around him. He'll be put into a sleep wherein all of his body functions will stop. He will literally be dead. Like, legally dead. For a few hours. Every day. There will be nodes attached to him that will monitor brain waves, and he gets a fucking \~\~sexy\~\~ cool suit. It's either skintight ( ;3 ) with some awesome design or more like thin armor. Obviously he's hesitant, but he did sign a contract and he does need the money - turns out, Kaiba is now paying him double the amount promised - so he goes through with it. He does have one condition, however: the charm stays with him. Kaiba says it's fine after scanning it - it won't interfere with his tech. Now, day of, Yugi has a major panic attack and they actually have to give him some meds so that his anxiety doesn't mess with the process. Other than that, everything goes smoothly, and Yugi is 'dead' before he gets put in the tube and it gets filled. They initiate the process by doing the coaching again, this time using things like images and videos, all from Kaiba's memory. And so Yugi is transported to Ancient Egypt. He stands in a large chamber, staring at a sleeping figure in bed. Sleeping figure is, obviously, Atem, and Yugi immediately knows his name + remembers the flitting life and knows it was his.

So, he explains to Atem who he is, and Atem ends up remembering stuff too cause he felt the connection as well AND saw Yugi's life. They hit it off, and kinda bring up details of their lives, and Atem asks, 'Why are you here?' Yugi answers he is there via KaibaCorp, and Atem is. Atem is shooketh. 'Kaibacorp? As in Seto Kaiba?!' He is frantic at that point, and when Yugi says yes, his eyes light up with joy. His lover is alive and well. He demands to hear more about Kaiba, and Yugi tells him everything he knows. Meanwhile, back at KC, unbeknownst to Yugi, Kaiba is crying. He can hear/see every part of the conversation, and his heart holds so much love for Atem, all he can see is Atem, all he wants is Atem. The union is over too soon, however, and Yugi must leave. He comes back to being pulled into a hug by a crying Kaiba. 'Thank you. You found him. You found him.'

Yugi is just like 'wut' and thatttt is when the drama starts. (good drama) Kaiba explains that he once came into a power, a great power. The power led him to Ancient Egypt, where he stayed for close to a year under the Pharaoh's watchful eye. Atem is actually very smart/clued in, and when Kaiba told him he was from the future, he knew the man was telling the truth. So he decided he wanted Kaiba at his side, wanted to learn about the future. He figured he would die young due to everything that happened and etc etc, so he wanted to know as much as possible, even at the risk of his safety. (That's part of the reason Kaiba was crying so much. Atem told him often during their time together that his time was coming and also mentioned that he was reckless thanks to guilt about what his father did. No sense of self-preservation. So Kaiba did worry that Atem would die in the time he'd been gone.) Anyway, they fell in love over time, Kaiba falling for Atem's passion and never-ending love for his people, Atem falling for Kaiba's straightforward mind. They both had complicated lives and pride over what they'd accomplished. It also helped that they played similar games ^^ Unfortunately, Kaiba felt himself fading one day, and he told Atem, and the next day he was gone. Both of them were heartbroken, especially when Kaiba found that he couldn't go back to Egypt. And then, of course, there was the tablet. The tablet arrived at Domino's museum, and Kaiba for some reason went to look at it and that's where he found himself and Atem, both etched into the stone. He was able to keep his expression calm when he left, but once in the privacy of his office, he sobbed and broke a lot of stuff. Including the coffee pot. Actually, the janitor was very concerned and thought someone had managed to break in then ransacked the place. Now, the one thing with Kaiba is that I don't see him harming himself, but he unconsciously digs his nails into his skin.

And it had happened before, but it happened more after he had to leave Atem. He also chews his nails. Big time. Like, yeah, his nails looks awesome in the show/movie, but I can tell you he is a nail biter. I can sense it. He just wears fake nails lol. (Damn bro how you make them look so good, teach me!) He started the program a year later after hearing about people who supposedly could see the past. Yugi came into the picture about half a year into the program.

Anyway, from there (Yugi's first meeting with Atem) he basically just had Yugi go back each day and meet with Atem. Yugi asked if he had any messages to relay, but Kaiba wasn't ready yet to say anything. He wanted to get a feel for Atem. He was hesitant because yeah, his heart had already been broken once, what if it broke twice? After all, he couldn't exactly get back there and physically be with Atem. It would kill him inside to have to have a relationship via Yugi. Now, Yugi also met Atem whenever he slept. And he was physically there, but also not. He could feel, he could taste, etc etc. He made it his mission to find out as much as possible about Atem for Kaiba, and to become friends. He found himself attracted to Atem, but did not act on anything, instead shoving it down because ya know. Kaiba. Atem also started to fall for Yugi, but because of what happened with Kaiba, he refused to act on those feelings. He couldn't stomach heartbreak again + he had a gut feeling he was going to die soon anyway. He didn't want to hurt someone.

Yugi, having gone to such lengths to try to help Kaiba with his broken heart, actually won over Kaiba. Like, the attraction Kaiba felt before? He felt it taking over and filling his heart with such a deep love. Yugi was sweet and gentle and kind, and he figured that he and Atem weren't possible, so he kinda let the love grow. Yugi didn't feel anything for Kaiba, not yet, but he definitely knew Kaiba was handsome AND he had this strong urge to always be there for Kaiba.

Over time, things stayed about the same, that affection between the three kinda growing but no one ever saying anything. And then, one day, everything snapped. TK blamed Atem for everything his father had done, and Atem knew something was going to happen to him, so he kinda blocked Yugi from joining him in Egypt. Both Yugi and Kaiba knew something was wrong, but it was Kaiba who went into a full-blown panic, and it was Kaiba who knew what was coming. He told Yugi that Atem was going to die. And he hadn't even asked Yugi to relay a message.

Indeed, Atem did die. He actually welcomed the death. He knew someone had been lurking in the shadows, and knew what their intent was. Obviously he didn't expect it to be someone who had survived the horrors of what his father did, but he actually felt glad that it would be one of them killing him. And so Atem fell to the blade of TK. He actually smiled and walked up to TK, kneelung before him and offering his throat. 'It's ok. Though I'm sure you don't need to hear that to kill me. Just...do not feel guilt. Someone must pay off the debt weighing on my bloodline, and that must be me.' So yeah, Atem died, TK was actually pretty shaken afterward - he'd never killed someone who was so...innocent. Yes, he'd killed guards and he'd killed townsfolk, but never anyone who hadn't done atrocious things. Atem was a peaceful pharaoh, and kind, and pure.

And thisssss is where things get interesting, ok. Very interesting. Yugi knew the moment Atem died because he felt a sharp pain across his throat, then a sudden crushing presence in his mind, as well as his connection swelling to envelop all of him. It was agony for him, but his body was ready to let the pharaoh inhabit it, or he pretty much would've died. He did, however, have to go to the hospital. Kaiba was with him every step of the way, even as he cried. Yugi couldn't speak, so he figured that was the death of Atem, that was the end of everything. He also feared for Yugi's life, then.

He begged Yugi not to die, even resorting to praying to every god he could think of. (I mean. I think Kaiba is basically atheist.) He was by Yugi's side every step of the way, he was crying every step of the way, he hated every second of hearing Yugi cry out and watching him shiver with each painful flinch that racked his body. And then Yugi stabilized. He was ok. The doctors said he was in a coma, though. Next day, despite what they'd said, he woke. Except it wasn't Yugi who woke up, it was Atem. And Kaiba knew. Kaiba knew by the ancient words that graced Yugi's lips, the way his voice suddenly became accentuated, the way those eyes seemed to turn a caring dark red, the way his hand came up to caress his cheek and he deepened Yugi's voice as he said, 'My love.' And Kaiba cried again, this time a happy cry as he let himself be pet. And then Atem told him he must go, and reassured him he was just retreating into Yugi's mind so that Yugi could be present. Yugi had watched the entire thing, and he had a blush as he pulled his hand gently back, as well as a broken heart. Though he'd shoved down his love for this exact reason, he still felt like shit when he was basically rejected.

Following that, Yugi and Atem worked together so that they had equal times controlling the body, and so that it was convenient for Yugi. Yugi remained isolated, this time with no visitors, until he could figure out how to explain the whole 'Hey I have a pharaoh sharing my body' thing. He also made sure that Atem blocked him out when he wanted private time with Kaiba, whether it was just talking or...them having a different sort of reunion. ;3

So that meant he was blocked out when Kaiba and Atem decided to have a talk about him. It was obvious they were both attracted to him, and it was obvious they both wanted him. So they talked about it, about the possibility of having another lover. Atem was also very aware of how Yugi felt about them both, and how he pushed down his feelings.

It was on a day that Yugi was in control and Atem had managed to make himself a sort of ghost that both of them could see that they told him. They said they both loved him, and they both would like very much for him to be their lover. Yugi was quick to say 'Oh no no, that's fine, I know you two are involved, and I'm really happy for you!' They both grabbed Yugi's hands and said 'We want you to be involved too. We want it to be all three of us. We love you, Yugi.' And that was the day Yugi snagged himself two lovers. It was a very good day. It was also the day he discovered exactly how fun it was to be in bed with two people at the same time. ;3 (He couldn't walk the next day hehehehehhehehe)

And then it was finally time for Atem to get his own body. Yugi had enough life force in him to keep himself alive and form Atem's body, thanks to the love both Kaiba and Atem gave him. So, Atem got his own body, but this time it wasn't painful and no one ended up in hospital. I mean, except when Yugi convinced Kaiba to sit on his face, he mayyyyy have broken his neck.

-Most things are canon, such as Yugi's history with Anzu, Jou, and Honda, but he only knew Kaiba in passing, and, as I mentioned, Kaiba would only wave or say hi to him -Kaiba is more lovey dovey. He smiles, he cares, he's pretty sweet beneath it all. -Kaiba's power was the cube from DSOD, he found it locked away in one of Gozaburo's rooms. (Basically the same shit happened with Gozaburo) -Mokuba is the same as usual, but most people don't know Kaiba has a brother, and he's also pretty shy despite being a complete gremlin -They're all in their 20s, and Yugi attends an online college (during the time of him doing the program, he was taking a break from college to help his Gramps with Kame Game) -Yugi has much the same personality, he's very quiet and very caring/loving, will literally do anything in his power to help people out, but he definitely has a side of him that likes to push him out of his comfort zone. (For example, he once did skydiving with Jou. He also vowed to never do it again LMFAO) Also, for the record, Yugi is a switch that tends toward a more dominant position. (Hear me out. Atem is such a fucking bottom. Ok. Like, it's funny, I started out like oh, psh, yeah, he's totallyyyyy a top. But like. 1) He's sensitive. Very sensitive. He would grow used to things, sure, but I just hc him as always being so sensitive hehe. I mean he could be a top, but I feel like he would need a power bottom if that's the case. 2) Atem would quite literally die for his partner(s) he would also wanna worship them, and ya know, be at the mercy of them. I do think he would also want to be someone who claims another, but he also has insecurities I feel like and wants someone to claim him in order to tell him he has a place. It's not just smut. It's emotional smut. 🥺 3) Tbh I just love to read about Atem getting railed -They all have the same outfits, but Yugi picked out matching pajamas for the three of them. -Kaiba I see as a top, but I can also see him as a hesitant switch. He likes to be in control, but he actually goes to Yugi and Atem one day saying he wants to bottom. He's so shyyyy about it, it's really cute. Of course his lovers can't refuse an expression like that. Also, out of all them, Kaiba is the fucking loudest. He will scream his throat raw. Also Yugi is so down bad for those long legs, it is a thing. Yugi x Long Legs, I ship it. wheeze

#flareshipping #ygo #yugioh #duel monsters #yugi mutou #yugioh atem #atem #kaiba seto #seto kaiba #puzzleshipping #prideshipping #rivalshipping #tw death #tw hospital #tw sh implied #tw panic attack #tw medicine #tw medical

[riverageleis]

You know how mental health personnel and 'Good vibes only' types talk about how negative self-talk isn't good for you. Well, I have a story about that. 😐

For nearly a year now, I have been (essentially) gaslighting myself financially without realizing it. I'm going to preface my next sentence with this: I'm part of the working poor. I'm above the poverty level, but hardly 'middle class'. I have a slightly better than average job (C+? B?), but not double the state minimum wage, which isn't saying much. I also live in one of the poorest parts of the US, so this is going to sound like I have more than I have (and probably that I'm ungrateful, which I'm not).

I have 4 bank accounts, 2 checking and 2 savings. Both savings combined have 1k in them, give or take on any one day. 1 checking account is JUST for my car payment, and 1 savings is JUST for vehicle insurance. (4 accounts probably make a little more sense now) I digress. 20% of my paycheck is direct deposited into my car account, so I never even see it. A little more than 20% more goes into my insurance account. That's more than 40% of my money JUST for 2 big monthly bills every 2 weeks. My insurance savings gets my insurance premium almost x2 monthly. I'm paying the rest of my bills on 60% of my check. 60%. I've had myself CONVINCED for MONTHS that I've suddenly become bad with money and I was overspending on bullshit i didn't need. (I assure you, I NEEDED Moonie the Squishmallow) It was a vicious cycle of berating myself because I sucked with money, and it was depressing af.

So, anyway, my partner bought me some 'prosperity' oil and a candle of the same (because we're witches and sure, why not, everyone needs more good juju). Two days into wearing this stupid oil, because it smells so good, I open my car checking account (because it's almost time to write that check). Here's what happened:

I have this fucking revelation. My goal is to have 2 extra payments in that account, just in case. I had more. I have it in my head that my part of the rent is the entire amount, not half that, which it is. The REST of my bills are paid, and groceries bought on that 60%. I have SOMETHING left over when i get paid, even if it's $10. Suddenly, my bullshit finances and money management make more sense. I'm not suddenly sucking at money. I have about half of what I'm used to. I've fallen into the generational gaslighting of '$5 coffee and avocado toast'. I don't buy coffee every day, either... but I'm still doing, essentially, the same thing to myself.

Am I saying the oil helped me have this revelation? 😄 IDK. What I DO know is that sometimes we only think there's not enough to go around. Sometimes, there's NOT enough to go around. Either way, you're doing the best you can. Good job.

#mental heath support #mental illness #mental health #gaslighting #negative self talk #late stage capitalism

[festeringfae]

HEY I just wanted to say, I was sick the last few days and my adhd not-medicated brain vaguely remembered some tumblr post about the secret history and a rabbit hole (no wait not that) later I ended up re-reading your whole 'idon'treadthesecrethistory' blog the last few days (I was the url heenrywinter then!) and wooow nostalgia boy did it take me back. it was such a good ride I just wanted to say thanks and also how was that so long ago? and I hope you're well and happy!

I remember your url!!! I hope you're feeling better! And you're so very welcome. I made idontreadthesecrethistory on a whim while procrastinating on homework in the library my last semester of college, because two of my online friends were constantly talking about the book and I wanted to stay in conversation with them, but had no time to read the book. It is possibly the best split-second decision I have ever made, and it means the world to me--genuinely-- that it had enough of an impact on my readers (!) that they have nostalgia about it (!!), because it had a huge, positive, and unexpected impact on my life. Like I said, I started The Blog my last semester of college. I had just turned 22. I had also just ended a 3 year relationship, which was, with a few very brief exceptions, my first relationship. I didn't know what I wanted to do outside of school, except maybe be a freelance writer, and I had no idea how to go about that. When I took a professional, non-college class about 4 years later in the hope of figuring it out, it was useful, but useful in that it made me realize "uuuum, yeah, it's not actually worth all this bullshit to me when ultimately less eyes and feedback are gonna be on it than if I just posted it for free on social media." But despite knowing it was not only the right choice for me, but the choice I wanted, it still felt a little bit like giving up on a dream. And a big help with me getting over that fallacy was knowing that I could have an online presence and a following and fans of my work-- because I'd already done it. My two friends were the only people I'd even seen talking about The Secret HIstory, and they mostly did it on Twitter. i already knew I could build something out of nothing with my own talent, so all I really had to decide was if i wanted to put all this extra energy into trying to get paid for it-- and i didn't want to. That extra level of security in my own abilities-- especially when it was boistered by people, 4 years after the original run of the blog, said they would still be interested in me doing another project when I proposed it to them. Like, that just means everything to me.

I turned 30 about 2 weeks ago. Life isn't perfect-- this ask cheered me up in the middle of having to hold back tears from a work-related anxiety attack-- but it's waaaaaaay better than I feared back when I was about to leave college. I'm still friends with both of the two friends whose Secret History talk inspired me to create the blog, and talk to one daily. I made two very, very close friends from the blog (I will always remember the feeling of basking in the warm sun in one friend's pool after I flew out to visit, and thinking to myself, my writing got me here.). We also talk near-daily. I have a job that lets me work from home, pays enough above minimum wage that I can afford a rundown apartment by myself, and allows me to get paid to help people-- which is really what I want to do to earn money, if we insist on this capitalism bullshit sticking around. I'm going to another friend's pool on Saturday for her babyshower, and I have an (outdoor, well-ventilated) date on Sunday. I'm not used to it, but: I think I am actually happy. I hope you are, too. I hope every reader of that blog is. And if they are not, remember: this is NOT the only story you will ever be able to tell. P.S.: While many people send/sent asks to idontreadthesecrethistory, I very literally would NOT have been able to keep the blog going if it weren't for then-tumblr-user sluttywidow. I don't know that person's current url, but as far as i'm concerned, they're a co-author (or at the very least, the equivalent of an executive producer, lol.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLlsmB1D4Q0

[ranaiki]

This may be a controversial opinion, but...

if you don’t like to tip, you shouldn’t utilize services that expect, require, or even suggest tipping.

Yes, tipping expectations have gone way up recently, and sometimes get out of hand. Yes, the responsibility of giving the employees enough money to live off of shouldn’t be placed on the customer. But the unfortunate reality is that minimum wage, even those way above it, don’t cut it for the costs of living, and there is more importance placed on the wealth of a select few than on the well-being of the many. 

I personally do not love to tip all the time, and I will admit that. I don’t have a ton of money to spare, so the idea of giving a little extra off the top “just because” hurts my soul a little bit. But I still always tip.

Do you know how I get around it? By not utilizing the services that require me to tip. I want some food, but it’ll cost me a lot extra to get it delivered? I’ll pick it up myself, or I’ll just make it at home.

The services that require us to tip, are not services we are required to use.

I think thats where a lot of the confusion comes into play. There’s a sense of entitlement that comes with using these services that leads people to not want to tip.

“I already paid for my food, why should I have to pay extra?”

Because you’re using an extra service. You’re using someone’s time, energy, brain power, kindness - you name it. And that deserves proper payment.

In an ideal world, servers, delivery drivers, and caterers (those who most definitely should be tipped every single time) would be paid enough money to where a tip is negligible, and just a little bonus off the top, like it was intended. But that’s not the world we live in.

In the case of servers at restaurants, they are paid hourly, but that hourly rate is often reduced because of the expectation that they will also be earning tips (same with bartenders). Meaning, quite literally, that most of their wages are made up of tips, and they rely on the goodness of people’s hearts to bring home the same amount of money as someone paid the standard minimum wage.

In the case of delivery drivers, oftentimes they’re not even paid at an hourly rate, only by the deliveries they take and, brace for it, tips! For localized delivery drivers (like for specific chains - think a domino’s delivery driver) this is not the case as far as I know, though I don’t know the idiosyncrasies of how their job works. But for delivery through the major apps (GrubHub, DoorDash, etc), this is how many of them work. You can get an hourly rate, but only if you block out a specific time you want to work well in advance. The blocks open up at a certain time of week, and all drivers block out the times they want at that moment. There are limited slots, and the longer you’ve been driving for them, the more preferential treatment you get (early access, etc). It doesn’t truly matter if you get it, you can still work whenever you want, it’s more insurance than anything. In the case that you don’t get any deliveries while on the clock, blocking out your time helps you get paid for the time you were waiting around. Not blocking it out means that even if you spent an hour waiting, you don’t get paid. But there’s a catch - the hourly is only meant to make up for missed wages, it’s not a base pay. I can’t remember the exact amount it makes up for, but I believe it is based on the minimum wage in that area. So say you deliver for 1 hour, and the min. wage in your area is $15/hr. Say you get one delivery, and earn $7. The company helps get you up to $15, but nothing more, as in, you don’t get $22 for working the hour and making that $7 delivery. If you didn’t get to block out a slot? Tough luck, $7 it is (and for the record, that is a lot for one delivery. Typical deliveries earn you around $5 or less).

Now I hope it’s a little more clear why tips are especially crucial for delivery drivers. They hop all over the city picking up and dropping off food for barely any money, and rely on tips to make up for their time, gas, and effort. They aren’t even truly paid for the job they do.

Before anyone hops to my comments or messages saying some bs about getting different jobs...

Take a moment to consider that maybe this is the other job. Maybe they have an inflexible schedule (student, parent, or have another job that can’t make ends meet) and do deliveries when they have time. Maybe they’re young, or have no prior job experience that could land them a “better paying” job. Maybe they’re an ex-con trying to get their life back together, someone trying to get out of a tough situation, or just generally trying to make ends meet by doing literally whatever job they can (and there are a lot of people like that out there).

And take another moment to consider what it would be like if everyone up and dropped these jobs you consider beneath you, that are apparently so worthless you can’t even tip a couple of bucks. Would you be able to sit back and get food delivered to your doorstep? Would you be able to enjoy a nice evening at a restaurant, waited on hand and foot?

I think you know the answer.

So, to bring it all back around full circle - just tip when you go out. Or, if you really don’t want to, or can’t afford it, simply don’t go out. Pretty easy. Until the system is fixed, and decent, hardworking people don’t rely on other decent hardworking people to allow them to live, tipping is going to be expected.

If you don’t like it?

Get out there and fix it.

#tipping #tipping in the u.s. #why we should always tip #controversial? #kinda political lols #please read #I think this is something everyone should read and understand #because tips #help people live #and corporations are too greedy #for anything else #unless policies change #and they're forced into it #dont like to tip? #find the root cause #and fix it

[dxrkdreamer]

Not So Bad

Modern Sukuna x Reader

Working late had been the bane of your existence, only getting worse when a certain man started showing up to your store’s parking lot to light his joints.

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: 18+ implied sex, mentions of weed.

(A/N: should I make a part 2? It seems pretty popular

Couldn’t come up with a name for the store so I used Anavrin from ‘YOU’)

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

“11:00 pm? Again?” you rubbed the back of your head trying to hide your frustration, the store manager nodded his head, sighing you agreed to stay late at work again since the closer frankly did not want to stay. So now here you are grumbling as you finish sweeping the floor and checking it off your log. You worked at a high end grocery store named Anavrin, a store that swore to sell organic produce and products to the best of quality. You took up a job here in your senior year of high school, planning on working for a few months to save up for college. And yet… 4 years later you’re still here grumbling at the extra hours you had taken. After your second year of working you had a promotion to supervisor… woo hoo!!... but it turned out it was more responsibility than expected. But it paid a little more and you could not argue with that.

‘I should be a little more optimistic, I’m graduating uni this year’ you’d tell yourself anytime you wanted to pull your hair out because of your measly job. You finished turning off the lights and locking the door, sighing as you felt the cold fall air hit your tired face, taking a deep breath of fresh air… wait a second “Who the fuck is smoking weed!” you yelled in a girly voice, as if this day was not long enough. Since you were in charge of a proper closing you marched off towards a tall man leaning against the back of the store, laughing and conversing on his phone. It was a little nostalgic, you remembered your highschool days, sneaking around and smoking pot in strange places. But he was not as young as a teenager, in fact his build made him look older than you.

“Hey! I’m going to ask you to leave, this is a smoke free property” You tried saying sternly gesturing to the sign right above them that read “no smoking” in bold letters. But your short stature compared to the man made you look like a kid waving your arms around attempting a snake dance.

“What on earth is this?” a man with pink hair and face tattoos said “I’m so scared, I should be so ashamed for not reading the sign” he cackled as he pressed the joint to his lips and inhaled again. “My apologies”

He did not look sorry at all.

“Look, I’ve had a long day. I’d like to go home so please go to a proper location or I’ll-” but you’re cut off with the joint stuffed to your pretty lips.

“You’ll what cutie?” he smirked as you stared at him dumbfounded, the joint stuck to your lip as you tried to figure out a reaction. But the man was already on his way towards his motorbike. Of course he had a motorbike. “First one’s always free darling, next time I’ll charge ya” he winked as he put his helmet on and sped off.

“Mother fucker” you swore and banged your head against the brick wall. ‘Never am I staying late again’ you groaned. You walked to your car, but not without tucking the joint safely in your pocket for when you got back home.

---

And that was your first of many nightly encounters with the pink haired man. You were not surprised to see him anymore in the parking lot, either smoking, laughing with friends or just sitting on his bike staring at his phone. You learned his name was Sukuna… you had asked for it during the nth time you threatened to call the cops. You also learned he sold weed to the store manager, so he pretty much had a free pass on smoking here.

“Working late again (name)? My, they must pay you a lot for you to stay here.” he smirked, watching you with grinning eyes. Your annoyance shot up at the mention of your little over minimum wage pay. They definitely were not paying you enough for the store, but giving you a delinquent like this guy… you had written your resignation letter a few times after his nightly visits. You ignored him as you walked to your car, heavy footsteps followed “I brought ya a little something” He grinned handing you a baggy with a cookie “It’s on the house, made ‘em myself”. Eyes narrowed as you tilted your head up to glare at him, but realized you were a lot closer than you expected. You could hear him breathe, feel the heat off his body and smell the spicy cologne he was wearing as you breathed a little too loudly trying to inhale the scent. “Not today darling, that package is for another date” he winked.

Oh my God.

What have you done? Sure he was hot and you didn’t mind the view, but his mouth made up for that. He was like an evil version of a talking cat. Opening his mouth to smite you, prideful like one and given the opportunity would sit on your face if you were lying down. Wait what?

“I’m not interested in you like that!” you squeeked.

He tilts his head to the side, resting his cheek in the palm of his hand “Then how are you interested in me?”

“I’m not interested unless you’re a customer, or an employee here or something!” Frustrated, you grabbed the zip loc with the cookie in it “And I’ll be confiscating this!”

“Sure thing, I made it just for you. It's a special recipe”

“I’ll let the cops know!” you yelled getting in your car, throwing the cookie on the passengers side as you sped home for the night.

“So if I was an employee…or something...” he wondered gazing at the stars, his thoughts frenzying around as his mind came up with the most brilliant idea. Cackling loudly “you’ve really outdone yourself this time me.” Laughing as he got on his bike, speeding towards his apartment.

---

“A new employee?” You mused, It was pretty hectic at work recently, one of your employee’s had quit and they finally found a replacement “I wonder what they’re like”. You asked yourself as you prepared a training checklist to go over, making sure to not make it too hard on the new guy- you heard it was his first job after all. “Hello! And welcome to the Anavrin family!” you say smiling with closed eyes, as you open them your mouth went agape. ‘What the….’ had the demon cat from the parking lot shrunk and gotten more youthful?

“Hi, I’m Yuji Itadori. You must be my brother Sukuna’s friend. He said to write your name down as someone who referred me to the job”

Chuckling nervously with the clipboard in hand you checked off the box for introductions “I’m (name) the grocery supervisor, and you would be working under me mostly.” Friends with Sukuna? Cutting your wrists open and watching them bleed sounded like the better option.

As the shift progressed Yuji showed you he was the complete opposite of his older brother. Always finishing his tasks, being kind and sweet. Everyone else loved him too, just on the first day. He was stocking milk and eggs the way you had shown him, one of the last tasks of the night. The crowd of customers thinned out as it got late and the store was closer to its closing time. You watched to make sure he was doing them correctly and if he needed any help. ‘This wasn’t so bad’ you thought, closing your eyes and leaning back.

“So how’s my little brother been (name)?”

Your eyes shot open at that voice God no please. “He’s been amazing, but you can’t just put my name as a referral without asking me-” There stood a tall Sukuna in a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled back, probably coming after finishing his day job. Majority of his tattoos were covered except the lines on his wrists that were exposed, making you gulp inaudibly. Suddenly feeling underdressed in your uniform’s polo shirt and measly work pants and sweater as you stared up at his glory.

“Sorry darling, I can’t do what?” he smirked. Mentally praising himself as his plan got into action. He couldn’t lie, (name) was interesting. Always yelling at him, cursing him and swearing that she would murder him if it was the purge. His usual charm not working gave him more of a challenge. Not to mention the way she was kind to younger brother made his heart swell a little.

The annoyance returned once you saw his shit eating grin “You can’t write my name down without asking me!”

As he opened his mouth to speak, the intercom went off, notifying everyone that the store was now closed and any remaining customers should bring their purchases to the front to pay for them.

“Yuji you can go home now, I’ll put this away and start heading out myself” you say massaging your temples with your fingers.

“See you soon (name).” Sukuna winked as he walked towards the exit, waving behind at you as he went outside to wait for his brother.

---

Unfortunately soon had never come… at least not for the last 3 weeks. Making you miss the tall man in more ways than one. Maybe he wasn't so bad now that you thought about it. The usual nightly teasing might make you seethe but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t laugh about it later in your car. Somehow his laid backness and mocking smile made your night light up a little. And the weed that you would “confiscate” really did help you unwind after a long shift.

“Maybe it was because he saw me in my uniform” you grumbled. That had to be it. You weren’t a sore look on the eyes. Right? But compared to him… you hissed as you felt your lower half heat up and tremble at the thought of the man. “Well it's only 11:00 pm… and my first class is at 9:30 am… and then I have work at the 4:00.” Debating your options…. ‘This is why I’m probably so grumpy all the time, I think too much’

“And probably need to get laid” you said aloud. Living alone did have its perks, no one could call you crazy for talking to yourself. Your friends always nagged you about your dry spell too, but one night stands weren’t really fun to you anymore. They were too shallow and you always found yourself feeling more frustrated by them than relaxed.

Quickly rummaging through your drawer, you found your lovely device and turned it on. The buzz filled the room as you fell on the bed and groaned. Your mind was wild as you thought dirty little things about the man. Your eyes rolled back and you felt little whines erupt from your throat as you imagined him on top of you with his signature smirk, choking you and teasing you, calling you terrible names and whispering dirty things in your ear.

But as quickly as you heated up, the device buzzed and suddenly stopped. Too hazy to think straight you tried turning it on and off again, soon realizing it was the battery that was dead. “For fucks sake” you threw the vibrator and it hit the wall and fell with a loud thud. Good. Pulling your covers up, scowling as you shut your eyes to sleep.

The next day only went further downhill. Your lecture was long and uneventful, you forgot there was a guest speaker instead of the usual prof, most of the class skipped anyways so you sat alone and pretended to be interested. And as you went home from campus, your car broke down on the way leaving you stranded in the heat as you waited for the tow truck. You really just wanted to buy some batteries and get some time to yourself before work. But life had another thing planned once you got home, you only left with half an hour before you had to leave for work. Which barely gave you enough time to shower, change into an excuse of an outfit, grab your uniform and run out the door. You heard a few whistles as you ran to the bus stop, most likely because of the skimpy outfit which was pretty much just a long t-shirt made into a dress with stockings. But this was not the time to be picking fights.

Work was more mundane as ever. Emptying, stocking, organizing and talking was all that seemed to happen. You frowned for the nth time in the day when you saw Yuji was not scheduled to work today and you remembered him mentioning that he was going somewhere with friends for the next two days. The boy could always turn a bad day around. He was a blessing to the department and the store as a whole. The long day finally came to an end and the weekend awaited. Stuffing your uniform in your bag as you walked out you saw a familiar motorbike and a man leaning against it getting ready to light a joint.

You didn’t think, all you could hear were your footsteps smacking against the pavement as you ran to the man. Blood rushed to your head as you slowed down, stopping barely an inch away from him. He was wearing jeans and a dress shirt and most important, that smirk.

“I didn’t realize you missed me this much darling, otherwise-” but he was cut short as your hands gripped his head and pulled him down to your lips for a not so innocent kiss. You had to admit, you liked the guy. But as he responded by deepening the kiss and sliding his wet tongue into your mouth to taste you, you realized you wanted more of him. And you found yourself in his apartment, stripped down with his face buried between your legs as you came down from your second orgasm. Him licking you clean and not missing a single bit.

“When” you panted “when is Yuuji-” but he shushed you by gagging his fingers deep in your throat.

“Not until Sunday at least” he smiled with a sinister look, your wetness coating his lips “we have the whole weekend darling” He had waited almost two months for this so he was definitely going to take his time and relish the next few days. How could he not? You were beautiful with a fiery personality, and that showed by the ways you disobeyed him on his bed to get a reaction. It seemed the roles were reversed, but this time there would be consequences. For you at least.

He was relentless but you were no pussy and would not back down either. Both of you with fire and heat taking over your bodies as you brought spark and life into the night, wanting to explore every bit of each other, not stopping until you noticed the sun starting to rise causing exhaustion to take over.

He had let you stay to sleep in, provided you with a clean shirt to wear and even made breakfast for you. Presented you with a “gourmet plate of eggo waffles with the finest Aunt Jemimah maple syrup” he said which earned him a giggle from your pretty lips.

“I can make pretty good waffles from scratch” you told him proudly, puffing out your chest in pride. But these were special to you, the whole moment was special.

“I intend on trying them,” he spoke after a moment. He thought it was out of character for him to ask for a relationship but he wanted to be with you more than just a few times. And wanted more of you in different ways. He wouldn’t get his brother involved if it was a casual fuck relationship that he wanted. Which reminded him he owed the brat 50 bucks.

“Maybe you should come over sometime” you smiled sweetly, blushing a bit.

“I’d like to see you more, take out and get to know you” he said, interrupting your invitation.

“I’d like that too.” you said smiling.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader inser #ryomen sukuna #yuuji itadori #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna fic #sukuna imagine

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Waffle House Pt. 1

You're a server at the south's greatest and best-loved institution: Waffle House. The graveyard shift can be tough, but you can usually find ways to entertain yourself. Turns out tonight's entertainment is named Bo, and he wants to know if you're on the menu.

I wrote this especially for my friend Zin! This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2 is NSFW (and in Bo's POV!)

Soundtrack: Diner Ambience ; Rain ; Faint Hard Rock

Words: 3,269

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

***

READER POV

It was raining when he came in, a light rain that tapped on the windows and made you want to leave your shift at Waffle House early to crawl into your warm bed. He was just some guy—average, white, brown hair, blue eyes. And yet you felt compelled to watch him as he tapped his dripping boots against the door and shook out his hat.

Wow.

You were new to the overnight shift. It was mostly truckers coming up and down the interstate, guys who just wanted to tuck into a warm meal and leave. They tipped well, too, so you didn't mind. It wasn't like your sleep schedule wasn't fucked anyway. May as well make some money while you were up all night.

This was the first time you'd had a physical reaction to any guy who'd walked in. You completely forgot about the orange juice you were in the process of putting away. You could feel your heart race as he gazed around the restaurant, and when his eyes found yours and he flashed you that grin?

Wow.

He took a seat at the breakfast bar, right in front of you, like he could sense your pulse quickening. "Evenin'."

Right, you were supposed to greet him. "Hi, there. Can I getcha some coffee?"

"That'd be real welcome, [miss / sir]." His crow's feet wrinkled, and he set his hat aside on the counter. His twang sounded so good mixing with the classic rock pouring from the speakers that you had to bite your lip to keep from sighing. "Sure is comin' down out there."

"Yeah," you agreed with a breathless laugh. God, did you sound stupid? You turned quickly, retrieving a mug and the fresh pot you'd just finished brewing. "How do you like it?"

"If you bring me the fixin's, I'll do it up," he said easily. When you turned and handed him the mug, his eyes found your chest, staring at your name tag for an extended moment. Then, his gaze crawled to yours. "Y/N."

Your face was so hot you wondered if he could see you blushing. Rather than say anything stupid, you practically shoved ramekins of creams and sugars at him, then mumbled some excuse or another before disappearing into the kitchen.

Pressed against the wall, you took a few deep breaths. You saw a hundred men every shift, some of them quite handsome, and yet this guy was standing out to you. Why, you had no idea, but you had a table of college kids to wait on and three other people at the counter ... you couldn't be fixated on this one person.

The cook glanced up at you, then did a double take, frowning. "You okay? Look like you're about to pass out."

Worried your Average Man had heard him, you cleared your throat and announced, "I was just getting some straws," before grabbing a handful and exiting.

You shoved the straws in your apron, trying to avoid eye contact with the man ... but as you poured refills and took orders, you found it hard not to glance over at him. He was just sitting, enjoying his coffee, but every so often, you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye.

You knew you couldn't put off talking to him for long. You had to take his order, after all, and he'd been patient. As you walked back to him, he looked up, smiling brightly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." Why were you thanking him? Jesus Christ, you sounded like an idiot. "Ready to order?"

He laughed a little, carding a hand through his slightly damp curls. "Once you give me a menu, darlin', I reckon I won't be long."

"Oh, sh— shoot." You scrambled to grab him a menu, slapping it down in front of him. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"No worries." As he flipped the menu open, he nodded to his coffee cup. "Can I get some more a that, sweetpea?"

"Of course." Man, you were really fucking up this serving thing tonight.

By the time you'd grabbed the pot and refilled him, he'd set the menu down and was ready with two white packets between his fingers. He tore them both open in one motion, then looked at you, smirking. "Extra sugar. Don't tell."

Shit, you can have all the sugar you want. But your mouth was not half as dirty as your mind, and so you just smiled back, trying so hard to keep from giggling. "So, what'll it be?"

"I'll get the, uh ... Texas bacon patty melt with hashbrowns."

"Sure. How you want those hashbrowns?"

"Just plain. Actually, make 'em smothered. Oh, an' a side of biscuits 'n' gravy, please."

"You got it." You jotted the order down quickly and passed it through the kitchen window, readying yourself to move on to the next customer for your own sanity.

But it was the man's voice that drew you back to the counter: "Hey..."

You turned. He was about to ask you a question, you could tell from the tone of his voice. "What's up?"

"I'm not really from around here." His smile was friendly enough, but his shocking blue eyes seemed almost calculating. "S'pretty late, an' I don't feel like sleepin' in the truck again. You know any good motels 'round here?"

It didn't even occur to you in the moment that he could be flirting. "Well, there's a Motel 6 not far from here ... a Red Roof a few miles down the interstate. Those'll probably be your best options in terms of good quality."

His expression shifted a bit, but then his smile widened, crow's feet wrinkling again. "All right. Thanks, sugar."

Sugar. You weren't new to being called that—you lived in the south, after all—but something about the way he said it...

You tried to get him off your mind the rest of the night, but it was kind of difficult. Even after he'd finished his food, he lingered, draining coffees and flipping through a newspaper someone had left on the stool next to him. He got up to go to the restroom a couple times, but besides that, he stayed planted right in front of you, where it was impossible to ignore him.

It was an hour and thirty minutes later that your shift ended. You gathered your things, and as you headed toward the door, you weren't surprised to find him still there.

For some reason, only then did his lingering presence give you pause. Why was he hanging around a Waffle House at 3 a.m., anyway? He'd said he wasn't from around here ... had he gotten kicked out or something? Chosen a direction on the interstate and just started going?

Poor guy. You bit your lip, going back and forth with yourself for a few moments before your pity won out. "Hey, sir."

He looked over his shoulder, forehead wrinkling.

"Um, you take care. Lindsey'll ring you up whenever you're ready."

He cracked a smile and waved. "Take care, darlin'."

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at those words.

The sky was just beginning to turn the color of dusk, but it was still raining as you exited the restaurant and headed to your car. Your keys jingled as you wrestled them out of the pocket of your jacket. It took you a moment to find the keyhole in the driver's side door, squinting through the rain like you were.

The inside of the car was blissfully dry, and as you slammed the door and blocked out the pounding rain, you closed your eyes and pushed out a long breath. It was time to go home—have some dinner of your own, maybe some tea, then collapse in bed.

That thought finally moved you to put the key in the ignition and turn.

And turn.

...And turn.

Well, you were the only one turning, because the engine certainly fucking wasn't.

Dread crawled up your spine and gripped the back of your neck. What? How could something like this happen? You'd just paid through the nose for a ton of repairs and an inspection. How could your engine just...

Anxiety floated you as you climbed out of the car, braving the rain to look under the hood. But hell, you barely knew which one was the engine, let alone how to fix it if it was broken. Your hands shook as you fumbled for the hood prop, heat climbing your face and stinging your eyes. How were you gonna get this fixed? How would you even afford it? Below minimum wage and tips from truckers wasn't going to cut it.

You turned, leaning against the side of the car and taking your cellphone from your other pocket. The tears finally fell once you realized that you didn't have anyone to call. You slammed the hood of the car and covered your face.

"Hey."

The voice, raised over the downpour, made you jump. You'd been standing in the rain for a few minutes, sobbing your eyes out, and you were completely soaked through. The rain and the heat of your tears fogged your glasses so bad, you couldn't see who was there no matter how you squinted.

"Hey," he said again, much closer now. You recognized the twang.

Quickly, you grabbed your glasses off, wiping them against your shirt before replacing them. You could see the Average Man much more clearly now, watching you but keeping his distance.

"Hi," you managed, sniffling hard.

His face fell. In a few seconds, he was beside you, offering you a hanky from his back pocket. With a little mumble of thanks, you wiped your face and blew your nose. The hanky smelled like motor oil and musk. He was close enough for you to smell him, too, feel the heat coming off his body.

For some reason, that made you cry harder.

He clicked his tongue above you. "Why you cryin', darlin'? It's pourin' out; you're gonna get soaked."

"My ... my car," you managed, gesturing helplessly.

"Oh? Somethin' wrong with your car?"

"Yeah. And I don't know jack shit except the model and year." You vented your frustration in a hard exhale, wringing his hanky. "I just got it inspected, too."

The man paused for a moment. "Well, hey, I'm a mechanic. I could take a look if ya like."

You raised your head, wiping your glasses again. "I— no, it's fine. It's raining out, you don't have to..."

"I don't mind," he said dismissively, opening the hood with one hand and propping it up. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't cry like that."

Again, you found yourself staring at him. This man definitely gave off an ... energy, calling you pretty while fixing your car. For a stranger, he was certainly taking control of a situation he hadn't even been aware of a minute ago. You'd been well aware he was attractive and compelling, but this was a whole new level. You were so taken off guard you couldn't think of a response.

"Go ahead and climb in front," the man said, waving you that way. "Try 'n' start it when I knock on the window."

"Okay." You slid into the front seat again, waiting for his command. He knocked once, and you turned the key.

No luck. You hesitated before knocking back.

Another knock. No luck. After the third, he rapped on the driver's side window instead, and you opened the door for him.

He was soaked. His clothes were drenched to his skin, his hair curling wildly around his ears and forehead. "No luck, darlin'. Think your engine's shot."

You felt your face crumple, any hope you'd had now crushed. It was four-something in the morning. Where were you going to get a ride home let alone a tow truck? And then how were you going to pay for it all?

"You gonna be okay?"

His words shook you out of your reverie. Your chest felt cold and numb ... the beginnings of a panic attack starting to take hold. "I just ... I don't know what I'm gonna..." You clenched your hands, freezing and trembling, and inhaled shakily.

"Listen," he said after a few moments, glancing up at the sky. "It's real shitty out, if you'll pardon my French, an' I don't feel right leavin' you all alone out here..." He sighed, almost grimacing. "You want a ride? I can getcha home, you can rest an' make your phone calls in the mornin'."

Getting into a stranger's car ... it was the most stereotypical thing in the world, but you didn't see any way you could turn down the offer. He seemed nice enough, and if it came down to it, you could run if not defend yourself...

At this point, you'd risk anything to be somewhere warm and cozy instead of in this stupid, freezing parking lot.

"I don't want to ... inconvenience you," you said weakly.

"It's no bother." His smile tightened a bit. "I'd rather you say yes or no so I can get out of this downpour."

You slipped out of your car, shutting and locking it behind you. Hopefully it would be alright for the night. "As long as you don't mind, mister."

The man simply smirked in response, slamming your hood and heading for his truck. It was a beat-up Chevy in dire need of a paint job, but it was running, which was more than you could say for your own vehicle. He opened the passenger side door, then shut it behind you, hurrying himself out of the rain. The pickup's vintage interior smelled faintly of cigarettes as you slid into place, buckling in.

He swore softly as he climbed in beside you and started the truck. Heat blasted through the air vents, and you relaxed a little. It smelled musty and old in here, but the engine sounded good, and whatever problems there were were easily smoothed over by the handsome company and the rock droning from the radio.

"Name's Bo, by the way." He spared you a smile as he backed out of his parking space. "Only fair you know mine since I know yours." When you balked, he laughed. "Your name tag, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Duh."

The man—Bo—took it in stride. "You must be beat as hell, shift like that. Betcha can't wait to get home and curl up in bed."

"Yeah," you replied, giggling awkwardly.

Bo smiled. God, he was so pretty. "Don't blame ya. I'm dog tired myself. Do just about anything for a drink and a soft bed right now." A chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to settle for a beer and a motel mattress."

Again, you giggled awkwardly.

On the other hand, he wasn't awkward at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable carrying the conversation, as if he'd gotten the script before you and rehearsed his lines a thousand times. "So where'm I headed?"

"Oh, uh, take the next exit..."

You continued to navigate for him, but you were working from memory, your eyes barely on the road. You couldn't help but watch his hands as he maneuvered the truck. They looked strong and warm, with fine hairs near his wrist, and on his right hand, a signet ring glistened in the low light. When he stroked and squeezed the steering wheel, his muscles and skin shifted beautifully over his knuckles.

You kinda wished you were that steering wheel.

Eventually, the truck pulled up to your apartment building, engine purring as it idled. "This the one?"

"Yeah." You clutched your things closer and smiled over at Bo. "Thank you for this. Really, I don't know what..."

You'd been about to say I don't know what I can do to repay you, but the state he was in, it wasn't hard to guess what he needed. Not only was he drenched, but he looked half-dead with exhaustion despite that easy smile of his.

Even as you opened your mouth, you knew this was a crazy idea.

"Do you ... want to come in for a minute? I can at least get you a towel, um, and maybe some cash for taking you out of your way."

Bo paused. He had an expressive face—you could see him weighing his options. "What the hell," he sighed, giving a tight white-guy smile before cutting the engine. "Sure."

Your heart leapt. You had half expected him to turn you down out of politeness, but you supposed you had inconvenienced him. Excitement mixed with terror at the thought of having this man—a stranger—in your apartment. Alone with you.

But it was a little too late to back out now. You slipped out of the truck and led him quickly up the front steps, then the interior stairs to your apartment. As always, your building smelled like Second Floor's cats and First Floor's cheap weed. Bo only stood behind you, hat in his hand, nice and polite as he waited for you to unlock your door.

"Home sweet home," you said, laughing awkwardly as you stepped in.

Bo gave a cursory glance around the place but didn't seem to feel one way or the other about your decor, simply smiling at you. He sure did know how to make people feel at ease. This almost didn't feel like an insanely stupid idea.

"Make yourself at home. I'll go get a towel. Um, and I can get you a drink. What do you like?"

"I'm not fussy, but I'll take whiskey if you have it."

Your place was so small, you were able to carry on the conversation while you hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh towel from the cabinet. "I think one of my friends left some behind the last time she was over. Wild Turkey? It's bourbon?"

"That'll do." When you brought him the towel, he gave you one of those dazzling grins in return. "Much obliged, darlin'."

God, you just wanted to stand there and take him in while he toweled himself off, but you forced yourself not to, instead going into the small kitchen and fetching the whiskey. You weren't much of a drinker yourself, but you'd seen your friends drink plenty, so you poured a couple fingers in a wide glass and brought it out. He had already made himself quite comfortable on your couch, leaned back, legs spread, arm across the back of it.

"I hope it's not irresponsible of me to give you a drink when you're gonna be driving," you said as you handed him the whiskey.

He chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I've pro'lly driven worse off a thousand times." He threw it back in one go, and you watched his slightly stubbly throat bob as he swallowed smoothly. He practically moaned, "That's it," before wiping his mouth. Looking you up and down, "None for you, sugar?"

It took you a moment to find your voice. "I don't really drink much. Tastes like paint thinner to me."

That drew a laugh from him. "Sacrilege." Then a hum. "You don't have to stand there, y'know. It is your house."

Sitting next to him would mean his arm was practically wrapped around your shoulder. An edge of wariness was beginning to press against your thundering heart. This was such a terrible idea, for so many different reasons.

You approached slowly, lingering before him. The way he looked up at you through his lashes, body sunk into your couch, nearly made your mouth water. He lifted his glass slightly. "Think I'm good for one more ... if ya don't mind."

***

Part 2

Masterlist

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher imagine #bo sinclair imagine #written

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

I’ve been sitting on this for a few days but I’m still pissed about it. The above post was written by my cousin about our grandmother. And it’s... 

This isn’t the first time I’ve mentioned these cousins regarding our grandmother 

Other than it having been her 100th birthday the other day...it’s mostly all a fucking lie. 

We had a huge surprise day planned out at the nursing home. 

There was absolutely no surprise day planned out at the nursing home. And if there was they didn’t run it by my father who needs to approve things like that nor did my cousins include us in this “surprise day”.  

But than ((THAN)) Covid struck her floor two days ago

Covid absolutely did not strike her floor a few days ago. Nope. Just...a straight up lie.

She has already gotten Covid for 5 weeks

She did have Covid...last year. She was asymptomatic and certainly did not have it for 5 weeks. Another straight up lie.   

We were all looking forward to seeing her since we have not been able to for over a year

These mofos...these...fucking assholes...

Sure, my grandmother has been in a home for a little over a year now. They took her in December 2019 because she fell and broke her wrist and doctors finally agreed that it was unsafe for her to continue living at home with us. 

That was almost a full three months before quarantine. They all had three months to visit her in the hospital and didn’t. 

We went almost everyday. Not all over us every time obviously, but one of us went to visit almost every single day. I went every weekend. I brought things from my kids. Videos. Cards. Grandma didn’t know us and sometimes ((most of the times)) she was mean but we were still going.

They never went.

Now, okay, one can argue that people with lives to live might have trouble finding time to go and meant to but never got to. 

Fine.

Let’s go with that.

But how about the near seven fucking years before that? The seven years that we were left on our own to care for an elderly grandmother who deteriorated more and more because of dementia every day? 

Did they come then? When she was home? When they could have stopped by literally anytime? 

Not once did they come to see her. Not once. Never. They never visited. And they do not live far from us. They’ve always made such a big show of how much they love their grandma, this spectacle, always saying “i love you, grandma!”, and yet not one of them made any efforts to help take care of her when she needed the help. 

And, according to them, we don’t have the right to be annoyed at them for not helping or to think that we did something commendable by caring for her because we got paid by the gov’t to do it. 

Yes, we did get paid, minimum wage, because it was a full time job and she required full time assistance. And the only reason we alternated between it being my brother’s job, my sister’s job, and my job for a few years was because in the beginning there was absolutely no fucking way she would have cooperated with a stranger. 

And the “paying” was from 9-5. After that? It was all on our own. 

But I guess getting paid to do a job that none of us were qualified to do somehow lessens the trauma of watching our grandmother disappear to the throes of dementia. Of seeing her throw herself on the ground like a child and refuse our help. Of her sobbing bc she was so confused and didn’t know what was going on. Of severe sundowning. Of cleaning her and changing her and feeding her and making sure she took her meds and being constantly on edge to make sure that she didn’t hurt herself.. 

Yes, obviously, some pocket change is enough to cure any PTSD/caretaker fatigue that we’re all being treated for. 

But, hey, sure. Look at how much they love their grandma! They were planning a fictional big day at the nursing home that they never visited her in but had to cancel because the floor got fake Covid and they get to brag about how great they are on FB. 

#i'm so fucking annoyed #it's so stupid to even care #but ffs #i'm so sick of them being able to do or say whatever they want #while they shit all over us #and they get all this recognition from other people #like they've done some great thing as grandkids #when they've not done shit #anyway whatever #negative #stfubucks #no one cares

[paintingwithdarkness]

"i run the night slot on campus radio and some jackass keeps calling in to insult my music taste and request high school musical songs instead” with BluePulse please!

“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes. Y’all just listened to ‘Today is the Day’ by Yo La Tengo. Next up we have ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes.” Jaime pressed a button on the console in front of him, starting the next song before adding on to his commentary. “If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to call in!”

Jaime switched off his microphone and let the song play, flopping back in his chair. Running the night segment of the Houston University campus radio was a pretty chill gig. It paid him above minimum wage for every hour he worked, he only had to work six hour shifts, and it was only five days a week. Besides that, it was a solo job, and no one was there to tell him what to do. Obviously there had been some ground rules when he’d been hired— no cursing on air, and he had to take call-ins from students— but other than that, he had free rein of the radio frequency and he could play whatever music he wanted from 6 pm to Midnight, Monday through Friday. All he had to do was press buttons on a control console, sit back, relax, and occasionally answer the phone.

Speaking of which... Jaime checked the time. 10:28 pm. Great, that meant it was almost time.

With a groan, he raised a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, eyes squeezing shut. Every night for the past two weeks at exactly 10:30 pm, without fail, the same jackass student had been calling in to insult his music taste and request High School Musical songs instead. The first time it had happened, Jaime had been shocked at the audacity of the student, but had granted the song request anyway. (He had to. It was part of his contract. If a person called in with a song request, Jaime had to grant it. The only exception was if someone requested a song that was inappropriate to air. As long as it had clean/sensored language, and was free from overly explicit themes, Jaime queued up the song).

He mentally prepared himself. ‘Seven Nation Army’ was just about over, and Jaime already had his next song selected. If he timed things right, he could take the annoying student’s call during the next song, and wouldn’t have to subject himself to humiliation where everyone who was listening to his station could hear. It had only taken Jaime three nights to catch onto the trend.

As the guitar faded out, Jaime switched back on his microphone and addressed his audience, “That one’s a classic. ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes. Hope y’all enjoyed that one. I’ve got a few more songs in store for y’all with the time we have left-”

The tell-tale ring of the phone interrupted him. Jaime had to bite his tongue to prevent the string of Spanish curses that wanted to fall from his lips from actually coming out. He had spent too long talking, and now he had to take the dreaded call on-air.

He took a deep breath, and had to layer on the enthusiasm thick as he ‘cheerily’ exclaimed, “It looks like we have our first caller of the night!” Jaime picked up the phone and gave the scripted greeting, “Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”

Like all the nights previous when Jaime had asked this question, he got the same response. “Nah. I think I’ll stay anonymous. Keep things interesting. Though if you want a clue, I’ll tell you; I’m on the track team.”

Jaime scrambled for his notebook. That was the biggest clue he’d gotten yet about this mysterious student caller. It was almost like some kind of game. So far, every night when this student had called in, they’d said they wanted to remain anonymous, yet would give a clue about their identity. So far, Jaime had a bulleted list of eight items, with ‘track team’ being number nine. The other clues he’d received were ‘hates Indie Rock’ (which was Jaime’s favorite genre of music, thank you very much), ‘favorite movie is High School Musical 2’ (which was blatantly obvious, based on the songs this jackass student always requested), ‘favorite color is red’ (which told Jaime squat about who this kid was), ‘favorite food is chicken whizzes’ (once again, jack shit), ‘red hair’ (which was the first major clue Jaime had gotten), ‘green eyes’ (now it was obvious the kid wanted Jaime to figure out who he was), ‘5’9”’ (somewhat helpful), ‘Freshman’ (which eliminated 3/4 of the students on campus this caller could be), ‘mechanical engineering major’ (another somewhat helpful clue), and ‘gay’ (which, wow, Jaime would never out himself live on the air. This guy had some balls...).

After the mad scramble for a pencil, Jaime flipped the notebook open and single-handedly jotted down the new piece of information, balancing the phone against his ear with the other hand. When he was finished, he leaned back in the big leather chair, kicking his feet up against the edge of the desk in front of himself, feeling satisfied. Jaime knew he had enough information now to track down this annoying student and put an end to these stupid calls interrupting his radio show every night. Tonight would be the last time ‘We’re All in This Together’, ‘Bop to the Top’, or ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ would play during his segment, and Jaime was RELIEVED.

“Is that why you feel the need to call into my show every night?” Jaime fired back at the student. “So you can rope all of your track mates into singing ‘We’re All in This Together’ while you run in circles?”

An airy laugh was the response. And there a slight second where Jaime thought to himself, ‘Wow. That’s actually kinda cute,’ before his brain rebooted and he realized how counterintuitive that was. This guy was an annoyance that had to be dealt with. So what if he had an attractive laugh? It didn’t erase all of the other judgements Jaime had already formed of this student. And they were that this guy had terrible music taste and needed to find another hobby besides calling in every night to bug the shit out of Jaime.

“What better song to commemorate mutual suffering?” The other man laughed again.

Jaime scowled. ‘Mutual suffering’? Sure, Jaime knew the vexing student was talking about his track mates, but he couldn’t help catching the irony in the choice of words. As far as Jaime was concerned, the only one doing any suffering was him.

“So is that your request for tonight?” Jaime just wanted to get this over with already.

A contemplative “hmmm” made its way down the line, before being followed with, “Well, I was originally gonna ask for ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ but ‘All in this Together’ works nicely, too.”

“Por Díos,” Jaime mumbled under his breath. “¿No puede este idiota tomar una decisión?”

“Woah, hey, is that Spanish?!” Apparently Jaime’s mumblings hadn’t been quiet enough. “Yo hablo español!”

Jaime cringed. The pronounciation was terrible, but the enthusiasm was endearing. And dammit! He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. His train of thought was off the tracks again.

Without saying anything else, Jaime turned to his computer, quickly punched ‘We’re All in this Together’ into the song search bar, and hit play. He switched over the audio connection so that the only thing his audience could hear was the music, took a deep breath, and then made his rebuttal to the annoying student.

“You might want to work on that pronounciation, ese.”

The response was whiny. “Aww, it’s not that bad!”

Jaime cringed. “It’s not great, either.”

The student on the other line sighed. “Fine. But at least I have good taste in music!”

“That’s debatable.” Jaime didn’t know why he was dragging out the conversation. Usually after he granted this annoying caller’s request each night, the student rattled off a final jab at Jaime, before just hanging up. Why was he staying on the line tonight? Maybe Jaime just had to direct the conversation in that direction?

“My music is better than what you play every night. I’m doing you and your radio station a favor!” And yep, there it was.

“I don’t think people are tuning into my station to listen to the one High School Musical song you insist I play every night.”

Jaime could practically hear the smirk through the line when the other student responded. “Even if people are tuning in to listen to your crappy music, my song is still the highlight.”

Jaime groaned. He was growing weary of this conversation. “Do you listen to anything besides terrible High School Musical songs?”

That cute laugh caught in Jaime’s ears again. “Doi. A guy needs to have a little variety in his music. I’ve also got ‘Can’t Stop Singing’, ‘Turn Up the Music’, ‘Determinate’-”

Jaime’s eyes rolled skyward. “I’m gonna stop you there. Does your playlist contain any songs that aren’t from Disney Channel movies?”

A horrified gasp marked the beginning of the indignant response. “What’s wrong with Disney movies? High School Musical is the crashest movie series in existence.”

Jaime didn’t have enough time to think over the choice of the word ‘crashest’ before the other student continued rambling on.

“What other kind of music do you need?! Disney movies have great numbers, teach you about life and friendship, and growing up, and you gotta be kidding me if you don’t think Zac Efron is hot playing Troy.”

Jaime snorted a laugh for the last amendment to the other student’s statement. He’d only watched High School Musical once, and that was enough for him. And despite occasionally finding other men attractive (being bisexual himself), Zac Efron had never really done it for Jaime.

“I wouldn’t exactly call those ‘musical numbers’ as you put it, any type of masterpiece, however, I suppose you earn a pass for the friendship and growing up part.” Jaime smartly decided to skip the Zac Efron comment altogether, “I would say I’m more of a fan of the Disney animated movies. At least I can tolerate the Lion King and Aladdin sound tracks.”

A little puff of a chuckle, and then, “You should really get a better hobby than bashing on Disney movies.”

Jaime scoffed and immediately fired back, “You’re the one who calls me every night to bash on my music.”

“Oooh.” The other student made a hissing sound, as if a flame were being extinguished. “Caught red handed. But—” And here, Jaime could sense something dangerous was about to be said— “how about we settle this once and for all. You obviously don’t get out of the radio studio enough. What say you come to the next Houston U track meeting? We can settle this music debate once and for all.” Yep. That was a challenge.

Jaime took a few seconds to deliberate. He was curious to see who this mysterious caller was. Besides, what harm could it do? Jaime was not the type to back down when he was challenged. He had his pride and dignity. He would not be bested by this asshole. He was going to go to that track meeting.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, ese.” If the other student were there in person, Jaime could imagine shaking his hand to seal the contract.

“Alright,” the other student said, and if Jaime wasn’t mistaken, he sounded rather gleeful that Jaime had taken the bait, “I’ll see you there.” And then the line went dead.

Jaime ran a hand through his hair as he hung up the phone with the other. What had he gotten himself into?

The next Houston U track meeting was a week and two days since the fated phone call. Since that night, the mysterious student caller hadn’t rung Jaime’s radio station. It was a power move, and a good one at that. He had put the ball in Jaime’s court (or passed him the baton? That was a track thing, right?), meaning all responsibility was on him. In all honesty, Jaime was tempted to skip out on their ‘deal’. Sure, he’d agreed, but only because Jaime’d thought it was the key to get the student to stop calling. Now that the calls had stopped, Jaime saw no reason to get involved and draw attention back to himself. Maybe if he didn’t go, the annoying student would just leave him alone.

On the other hand, if he didn’t go, wouldn’t that just give the other student more incentive to start calling him again? Not only would Jaime continue to get bashed for his music taste, but then the other student would also be able to expose him as a liar. That was definitely NOT the reputation Jaime wanted to have. He had no choice. He HAD to go to that stupid track meeting.

It didn’t mean he didn’t drag his feet the whole way to the field though. Even with his ticket and getting there five minutes early, it was near impossible to find a seat. Jaime had no idea a sporting event like track would be so popular. What was so special about a bunch of guys running around in a circle?

It took a little shoving and some mumbled “sorry”s and “excuse me”s before Jaime was finally able to plunk down next to a young couple, in one of the only empty seats left. They seemed like nice enough people; the man even tried making small talk with him once Jaime sat down; but Jaime’s shy demeanor prevented the conversation from launching into something deeper.

Once the couple was no longer paying him much attention, Jaime surreptitiously slipped his little pocket notebook out of his jeans and flipped it open to the page where he had noted all of the little clues his mystery caller had given him.

Unfortunately, only some of them were usable in this context. Clues about the other student’s personality and preferences wouldn’t help Jaime identify anyone. Only the clues the track star had given Jaime about his physical appearance would be of use. He was looking for a redheaded, green-eyed, 5’9” Freshman. Should be simple enough.

When Jaime glanced down to where the runners were stretching by the starting blocks, he immediately noticed three boys with red hair. Luckily, this track meet was only a Houston U event and other schools weren’t participating. That meant one of the three was his mysterious caller.

From this distance, Jaime couldn’t judge eye color, and height was difficult to gage. He supposed he would have to wait for the announcers to give the names and grades of the competitors. Hopefully only one of the redheads would be a Freshman, and Jaime could find his culprit.

Within a few minutes, a runner was at the blocks for every lane. The first event was the 100m sprint. Everyone on the team would be participating. Only six could go at a time, and the announcer said that there would be three heats. Unfortunately for Jaime, the announcer didn’t bother with the names of the competitors since everyone was running, but he hoped that at least the winners would be announced, in case his redhead happened to be one of them.

In the first heat, two of the three red-haired boys were lined up at the blocks. Jaime trained his eyes on them. The first boy was in the second lane, and the other in the sixth lane. Hopefully one of the two would win so that Jaime could narrow down his suspects.

When the starting gun fired, all six runners took off like rockets. The pure speed was quite a shock for Jaime to witness. Within fifteen seconds, all six runners crossed the finish line.

“Winner!” The announcer shouted, once first place for the heat had been determined. He held up the arm of one of the redheads Jaime had been watching. “Senior Wally West with a time of 10.8 seconds!”

An elderly couple three seats over from where Jaime was sitting sprang out of their seats cheering. “Yeah, Wally!” shouted the man. His wife was enthusiastically clapping.

When they sat down again, the couple next to Jaime (conveniently sandwiched between him and the cheering couple) turned to face them.

“Wow!” the blond man next to Jaime exclaimed. “That’s his fastest time yet!”

The other blond man laughed (and it was then that Jaime noticed the striking resemblance). “He’s been working hard. Of course, he’s no match for Bart, but just maybe Wally might have a shot at beating him in the 3200m.”

The brunette woman of the younger couple hummed, a smirk resting on her lips. “I don’t know about that one. Our Bart’s got Thawne blood, too. He’s got runners from both sides. Wests... not so much.”

“Mel!” the man next to Jaime gasped, scandalized. “I thought we said no family rivalry at track meets?”

Immediately the brunette woman, Mel, appologized. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s right,” the man from the elderly couple interjected. “You have to remember Donny’s got some West blood himself. Iris was a West before she married me.” He slung an arm around the graying red-haired woman sitting beside him.

It was then that Jaime was able to piece it together. The young blond man— Donny— sitting next to him, was the son of the elderly couple— Iris and her husband (unfortunately Jaime didn’t have his name yet). The younger brunette woman— Mel— was Donny’s wife, and one of the runners— Bart— was their son, and the grandson of the elderly couple. Wally— the runner who had just won the first heat was a relative (?) of the two couples.

By the time Jaime was done puzzling out the relations, the next heat of runners was already at the starting blocks. Unfortunately, the other redhead, whom Jaime guessed was Bart, was not in this heat.

The starting gun fired, and the race was over within fifteen seconds again. The winner was announced, and the runners of the third heat took their places.

Jaime’s gaze zeroed in on the redhead in the first lane. That must be Bart. Mel and Donny were balanced on the edges of their seats next to Jaime.

As soon as the gun fired, Bart was nearly a quarter of the way down the lane. He was insanely fast. Jaime wouldn’t be surprised if he hit an Olympic time. His teammates stood no chance.

When he was announced the winner, Jaime had to do a double take at the 9.63 second time blinking on the screen behind him. That was more than a second faster than Wally, who had won the first heat.

“‘Attaboy, Bart!” Donny yelled.

The exclamation caused Bart’s attention to be drawn towards them. He waved proudly at his parents, and then his gaze caught on Jaime. Even from this distance Jaime could see the electric green eyes trained on him. There was no mistaking it now. Even with the other redhead to consider (since Jaime hadn’t heard his name or grade announced yet), he was certain Bart was his mystery caller. There was something in his eyes— a knowing glint— that made Jaime nervous. Could Bart know who he was?

It wasn’t completely impossible. Because he ran the campus radio at night, Jaime had a page on the school website. His name and picture were plastered right along side Cassie and Gar’s. Cassie had the morning shift from 6 am to noon, and Gar’s comedy segment ran from noon to 6 pm, when Jaime started. All Bart had to do was look him up and he would know exactly who Jaime was.

In retrospect, Jaime easily could have done the same to figure out who his annoying caller was. Once he’d received the track team clue, he could have pulled up the roster and narrowed his suspects down. He could have ruled out Wally because he was a Senior, and possibly even the other redhead based on his year. The announcer had said that Bart was a Freshman when he’d announced him as a winner, so Jaime figured he was the most likely of the three to be the caller. He matched all of the physical descriptors.

There were two more sprinting events that followed, each doubling the distance of the previous. After witnessing the 100m event, Jaime wasn’t surprised when Bart came in first for the 200m and 400m. It was honestly impressive. Bart was talented both in the art of running and annoying Jaime over phone calls. Truly difficult feats.

Once the sprinting events were finished, the competitors moved onto the field. Unlike the sprinting events, some members of the team sat out. Jaime noticed only six members of the team were participating. Two for discus, two for shot put and two for javelin. Neither Bart nor Wally was one of the six. The other redhead on the other hand, was lined up at the javelin throwing line.

Jaime paid him little mind. As soon as the announcer introduced him as a Senior, Jaime tuned out completely. Now there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever. Bart was his mystery caller.

While the field events took place, Jaime watched Bart stretching out on the side of the track. He was surprisingly limber. And Jaime had nothing to blame but the part of his mind attracted to men when he watched Bart bend over in his running shorts to stretch out his hamstrings. He had really nice legs, among... other things.

Jaime shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. He’d come here to put Bart in his place because of the annoying phone calls. Not admire his amazing calves.

When the field events were over, some members of the team moved back onto the track for the hurdle events. Again, Bart was not amongst them.

“He doesn’t do hurdles either?” Jaime accidentally mused aloud.

Donny turned to look at him. “First track meeting?” he asked, kindly.

Jaime felt a blush crop up on his cheeks. He hadn’t meant for his comment to be out loud.

“Yeah,” he admitted, despite his embarrassment.

Donny gave him a smile. “They each only do one event plus the sprints. You’ve got the three field events, hurdles, and long distance.”

“Oh.” Jaime nodded to show he understood.

Donny outstretched his hand. “I’m Don.”

Jaime shook Bart’s father’s hand. “Jaime,” he returned.

When Don took his hand back, he used it to point to his wife. “This is my wife, Meloni.”

The brunette woman waved at him.

“And my parents, Barry and Iris.” He gestured at each member of the older couple as well.

Jaime ducked his head shyly. “Nice to meet you all.”

The pop of the starting gun drew their attention back to the track where the hurdlers had just taken off from the blocks. Jaime watched on in interest, amazed at the skill that had been displayed today. He’d never imagined a track meet being this entertaining.

After a few moments, Don turned back to him. “Who’re you here for?” He pointed down at the track members surrounding the edge of the rubberized circle, cheering on their participating teammates.

Jaime felt that blush bloom on his cheeks again. Should he be honest? He was sitting right next to Bart’s parents. What if they started asking questions he didn’t have the answers to?

“Uh, I-I’m here for Bart.” He didn’t really have any other options. He didn’t know the names of any of the other track members.

Donny’s green eyes suddenly lit up. “Bart didn’t tell us his boyfriend was coming! It’s quite a coincidence we ended up sitting next to one another!”

Jaime gave a hard blink, processing the sentences that had just exited the blond man’s mouth. “Uh, we’re not-”

Meloni cut him off. “Oh! You’re the one who runs the campus radio! I knew your name sounded familiar. Bart talks about you all the time!”

The first thought that went through Jaime’s mind was, ‘Does he now?’. There was no mistaking it. Bart was 100 percent the annoying student who called into his radio segment each night. And Bart knew who he was. As soon as this track meeting was over, Jaime was definitely going to have some words with him.

“It’s so nice to finally get to meet you!”

Jaime didn’t know whether he should burst their bubble. Don and Meloni seemed like genuinely good people, and they were happy for their son having seemingly found a relationship. Although their assumptions weren’t true, Jaime knew he would feel extremely bad telling them otherwise.

Luckily, there wasn’t much time for him to dwell on the subject. As soon as the winners for the hurdling events were determined, the obstacles were cleared off the track and the next set of runners were lining up at the starting blocks. Two heads of red hair immediately caught Jaime’s attention. Bart and Wally were lining up in lanes one and two, while a few more of their track mates joined them in the other lanes.

“Who do you think it’ll be this time?” Barry posed the question aloud.

“I think Bart’s got a running shot.”

Everyone groaned at Don’s poor-quality joke.

“I apologize on my husband’s behalf,” Meloni mostly addressed Jaime, “What he meant was that Bart’s been working on his pacing. He’s the fastest on the team, and has always taken first in all of the sprinting events, but Wally always gives him some good competition for the long distance stuff.”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully. Bart had definitely been fast; no doubt about that. But he was curious to see how he would do in an event that required more endurance. Apparently he would actually have some competition this time, unlike in the sprinting events where Bart had left all of his teammates in the dust.

When the starting gun fired, Jaime found himself actually holding his breath. This first distance was 1500m, just shy of a mile. Jaime could remember having to do the one mile run in P.E. back in high school and how much of a pain it had been. The best time Jaime had ever gotten was just over six minutes.

For the first lap or so, Wally and Bart were neck and neck. The rest of their teammates were about half a lap behind. Then, when they went into the second lap, Bart kicked it up a notch, pulling ahead. Wally kept his own even pace, a schooled look of determination set over his features, while Bart’s lips transformed into a confident smirk.

By the final lap, Bart and Wally were shoulder to shoulder again. It was clear that Wally had the superior skill when it came to pacing, as he had been able to keep the same speed the whole time, whereas Bart’s speed had varied in spurts, depending on his level of endurance. It was unclear which one of them was going to win.

When Jaime looked around at the stands, he could see fans eagerly debating which one of the redheads they thought was going to win. The general consensus seemed to be Wally, but Jaime had a feeling his High School Musical-song-loving caller had a trick up his sleeve.

When they reached the last 100m or so of the race, the stadium burst into cheering, each person of the audience shouting encouragement to their respective runner. Against all odds, and to the surprise of many, Bart burst into a full out sprint, easily overtaking Wally, and crossing the finish line with an enthusiastic whoop.

Jaime was absolutely shocked to say the least. After running three laps, how had Bart found the energy for that last burst of speed?

A time of 4.02 minutes flashed on the screen behind them as the announcer proclaimed Bart the winner. Meloni and Don broke into cheers beside Jaime, and Barry and Iris clapped as well to show their support. Even Jaime found a small smile working it’s way onto his lips as he clapped, in awe of the impressive speed Bart had just displayed.

There was a few minutes between events while the results of the race were recorded and the next set of runners lined up at the starting blocks. Again, both Bart and Wally were among the competitors. This time, the distance was more than double what they had just run at 3200m. Jaime was curious to see how Bart would hold up against the longer distance.

When the starting gun fired, all of the runners took off as a group, rather than Bart and Wally distinguishing themselves from the pack right away. With eight laps to go, Jaime supposed it made sense. No point in going all out during the first half of the race, only to burn out when it really mattered. Bart and Wally would probably wait until the final few laps to burst ahead of their teammates.

Around and around the track they went, keeping pace with one another until the sixth lap. As soon as they passed the starting line, all of the runners kicked it up a notch, and gaps between the competitors became more noticeable. As expected, Wally and Bart pulled ahead of everyone else, and chatter broke out amongst the crowd about which redhead it would be this time.

Barry and Iris seemed to have their money on their nephew (Jaime had finally pieced it together when Barry made the comment about Iris being a West before marriage), whereas Don and Meloni, being the proud parents they were, were betting on their son to come out on top. Jaime couldn’t help being biased, and was also rooting for Bart. After all, he was the whole reason Jaime was at this track meet to begin with.

Bart was giving his all. Halfway into the last lap, he was ahead of Wally by a few steps. It seemed like he had the win in the bag. Then out of nowhere, Wally pulled the same stunt Bart had last time.

Jaime could see Bart do a double take when his cousin passed him, but there was nothing he could do. Bart’s strength was his speed; not endurance. He was only able to give about 80 percent, whereas Wally had paced himself better, and could pour 100 percent of his speed into the last leg of the race.

While Jaime was disappointed to see Bart take second, he was still impressed overall. Wally had beat Bart by two seconds, but Bart had beat the rest of his team by nearly ten seconds, meaning he and Wally had had quite an impressive lead.

Barry, Iris, Don and Meloni were engaged in a chat about the outcome of the latest race, but Jaime found his eyes glued to his not-so-mysterious (anymore) caller. Despite losing the last event, Bart seemed to be a good sport. He and Wally were standing on the sidelines, getting a quick drink and catching their breaths before the final event was set to start. Between gulps of water, Jaime could see the cousins teasing one another, egging each other on, and hyping one another up for the competition of the next race.

When they were called over to the track for the last event, Bart elbowed Wally in the ribs with a cocky smirk on his face, and Wally retaliated by pulling the smaller man into a headlock to ruffle his hair. Jaime didn’t quite know what to make of it, other than that Bart seemed to have a cocky, playful personality. It explained why he had been so adamant about playing the stupid identity game he had roped Jaime into over the phone during his radio segments each night.

The last distance was 5000m, or approximately 12 laps. Just thinking about that much running made Jaime want to cry. Needless to say, he wasn’t a huge fan of running. Other sports, sure, but running was not something Jaime enjoyed for himself. He would have to give massive kudos to Bart for having enough dedication to running to put himself through the 12 lap race.

Again, all of the runners stayed in a pack for the majority of the race. By about lap eight, it was clear who the real endurance runners were. The six competitors had spread out, a few feet behind one another, with Wally leading. There was a black-haired guy on his heels, and following behind him were Bart and another black-haired runner, a little shorter than the man in front of him. Two more runners were taking up the rear.

Laps nine, ten and eleven passed without much change. It wasn’t until they got into the final lap that Bart mustered the energy to pull ahead of his two black-haired teammates and take up the trail behind his cousin.

Wally’s winning time of fourteen minutes and two seconds flashed up on the scoreboard, followed by Bart’s time of 14.08. Jaime almost had to do a double take. When he calculated the math, it meant Bart had averaged a time of approximately a minute and eleven seconds per lap, and Wally had been faster still!

While the judges and officials were confirming the results of all of the events that had taken place, the stadium around Jaime burst to life as audience members began to make their exit down to the track to meet with and congratulate the athletes they had come to support. Beside him, Don, Meloni, Barry and Iris stood from their seats and gathered up their belongings, preparing to go congratulate Bart and Wally on their wins in today’s events.

“You should come with us, Jaime,” Meloni suggested when Jaime didn’t stand up with the rest of them.

Immediately, a stone sank in the college student’s stomach. What would Bart think if he saw Jaime with his parents? He and Bart hadn’t even met yet. How would Jaime be able to explain if Bart’s parents brought up the boyfriend issue?

Reluctantly, Jaime got up to follow the two couples down to the track. He was sweat-dropping. He really hoped Bart’s parents wouldn’t make things awkward.

As soon as he was in range, Don slung an arm around his son’s shoulders, congratulating him on his multiple wins. Meloni also smothered Bart in a hug when she got her opportunity, cooing over how well he had done. Beside them, Barry and Iris were doing much of the same to their nephew, expressing their awe of Wally’s endurance in the long-distance events. Meanwhile, Jaime stood awkwardly by, waiting for a chance to hopefully have a chat with his not-so-mysterious caller.

When the Allens finally separated from their son, Jaime locked eyes with Bart. There was a glint in those green irises that Jaime couldn’t place. It wasn’t good or bad per say; Jaime could only describe it as making him feel on edge, ready to tip one way or the other.

As soon as Meloni noticed the stare between the two boys, she immediately turned on Bart, much to Jaime’s horror.

“Bart! Why haven’t you introduced us to your boyfriend? He’s such a handsome young man.” She used an insistant hand to push Jaime forward, so much so that he almost stumbled and fell into the chest of his supposed “boyfriend”. Luckily, Bart’s hands came up and caught him by the biceps before that could happen.

Both his and Bart’s eyes widened. Pink burned hot on each of their cheeks. Jaime took a quick step back. He felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Well?” Don goaded. “Don’t be shy! I’m glad to see my son’s finally been able to put the Allen-family charm to use! How long have you two been together?”

Jaime could feel the color in his cheeks getting darker by the second. Bart was still giving him this weird look, as if it weren’t his parents who had instigated this whole conversation in the first place. The prolonged awkward eye contact was making Jaime uneasy, and he was tempted to just speak up and shut down Bart’s parent’s idea about him and their son being in a relationship, but before he had the chance, Bart was clearing his throat to speak.

The track star raised a hand to the back of his neck, and Jaime had to do a double-take at the innocent “embarrassed” façade he was now putting on. “Well,” he said, playing bashful, “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, Babe.”

Jaime’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates upon hearing the pet name. Bart was just going to go along with this?!

Without preamble, the redhead slung his arm around Jaime’s shoulders, crushing him into his side in a display of “affection” for his parents’ benefit. “Jaime’s a little shy,” Bart said, when Jaime failed to fill in the silence. “He wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I’m actually a little surprised he came to the track meet today.”

Bart subtly bumped Jaime’s hip with his own, which was a cue for him to talk. It took a moment for the raven-haired boy to scramble for a response. He would play along... for now.

“I had to see if you were as good as you were making yourself out to be,” Jaime had noticed Bart’s encoded message; he hadn’t expected Jaime to take his phone call seriously and show up. Jaime was giving his own back in return (I had to discover who the annoying caller was).

Bart chuckled. “Would I ever lie to you?”

Jaime had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Now the guy was just laying it on thick.

“Of course not, Chiquito.” The pet name came out from behind clenched teeth.

Luckily, Mel and Donny seemed to buy their act. When it was clear they were in the clear, Bart asked, “Mom, Dad, is it okay if I have a few minutes alone with my boyfriend?”

Meloni and Don shared a look before Don said, “Okay. But no hankey-pankey behind the bleachers!” He waved a finger at them, teasing smile in place over his lips.

Jaime felt himself going pink. “Of course not, Sir,” he managed to get out, in spite of how mixed up this situation had gotten.

Bart grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him a little ways down the track so that they were out of Meloni and Don’s hearing range. As soon as he had the opportunity, Jaime whirled on him.

“What the hell was that back there, ese?” Jaime hissed.

Bart shrugged. “They bought it, didn’t they?”

Jaime felt his eyes narrow into a glare. “Why didn’t you correct them?”

Bart did another shrug, this time with a knowing expression on his face. “It’s not like you said anything either.”

Jaime’s glare fell apart under the truthful accusation. It was his fault for not immediately shutting down the idea when Don had first brought it up to him in the stands.

Bart placed his hands on his hips and began rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. “In all honesty, I’m actually surprised you showed up.”

Jaime emulated Bart’s pose, resting a fist against his hip and gesturing with the other. “Well, I couldn’t risk you calling back during my segment tonight and accusing me of being a liar in front of my entire audience, now could I?”

Bart tilted his head in such a way that Jaime had to repress the thought of ‘Oh, that’s cute,’ before it accidentally slipped out of his mouth.

A faint pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks. “I guess I did kind of back you into a corner, didn’t I?” He raised a hand to the back of his neck, and it was the moment that Jaime realized Bart was genuinely sorry for having done so. While he may have wanted Jaime to show up today, it was clear now that he wouldn’t have used Jaime’s absence as blackmail against him if he had decided not to show.

Not wanting Bart to feel guilty, Jaime shrugged it off. “No es gran cosa.”

A smile worked its way onto Bart’s mouth. “I have no idea what that means, but I’m guessing by the look on your face, you’re not actually all that bothered by it.”

Jaime sighed. “Well, besides inviting me here so I can tell you how much I hate granting your High School Musical requests every night, what exactly is the reason?”

Bart scoffed. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to say that to my face!” He was trying to deliver the line seriously, but the smile on his lips told Jaime that he wasn’t actually offended.

Jaime shrugged, a small smirk working its way onto his own lips. “What can I say? Disney Channel movies are cheesy, and their sound tracks are even worse.”

Bart chuckled. “Your music is too depressing. You need something more upbeat. Less lyrics about death, sad childhoods, and oppression. ‘We’re All in this Together’, right ah-me-go?”

Jaime cringed, both at Bart’s pronunciation and at the stereotypes. His music was more complex than what Bart was making it out to be. Besides, Jaime wasn’t here to argue anyway. Bart had invited him to this track meeting with ulterior motives, and Jaime was determined to figure out what they were.

“Not all of my music is depressing,” Jaime countered. “Besides, you ignored my question. Surely you had some kind of motive in inviting me here besides to just discuss your terrible music taste. I want to know what it is.” Jaime raised both eyebrows.

An unexpected pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks, covering up the freckles sprayed like paint across his Caucasian skin. “I wanted you to notice me.” Jaime nearly missed the words, for they came out of Bart’s mouth in a whisper.

“You wanted me to notice you?” He repeated the statement, hoping for a bit of an explanation.

Bart’s blush deepened, skin in competition with his hair for reddest feature. His green eyes were piercing the ground, seemingly in an effort to burn a hole big enough to burry himself in to avoid such embarrassment. His fingers twisted harshly against one another. His whole aura had changed from the confident runner he had been on the track to nervous schoolboy.

“We’re in the same physics class.” Bart’s sneaker kicked up a puff of dirt as he ground his toe into the sand.

Jaime blinked. He’d never seen anyone like Bart in his physics class. Was he that non-observant that he had missed him?

“I-I usually sit behind you.” It sounded like Bart was struggling to admit something difficult. Usually Jaime was the shyer one in conversations, so he completely understood what it felt like having to lead a difficult conversation. But he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Bart was on the edge of a confession, and Jaime had to know what it was.

“I noticed how a-attractive—” Bart’s blush deepened yet again— “you were pretty much as soon as I laid eyes on you. I-I wanted to get to know you better, so I asked around a little. Turns out Cassie’s a mutual friend of ours. She told me a little bit about you, from working with you at the radio station, and I did a little bit of research on my own. I looked you up on the school website. I started calling in to your station. I kept asking Cassie if she could find out more about you for me. Your favorite color, food, movie... Any hobbies, or things you like. I started piecing together this picture of you in my mind, using our conversations on the phone to confirm or deny my theories about you. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was desperate for you to notice me, so I started dropping hints on the phone, hoping you would take an interest. But you didn’t. And I-I can understand if-if you don’t feel the same way but IthinkIaccidentlyfellinlovewithyou.”

Jaime blinked hard. “¿Qué?” That last bit had left Bart’s mouth in an unintelligible jumble of sounds. Had Bart just admitted he was in love with him?

When Jaime snapped out of his confusion and looked back at Bart, he saw that the track star was struggling to hold back tears. A salty droplet fell from his chin and landed on the ground between them, creating a dark spot in the dirt. His shoulders were trembling with the effort to not let out a cry.

Guilt settled hard in Jaime’s stomach, like a boulder being dropped into a lake. The aftershocks were still rippling through his system. The pieces were slowly coming together.

Bart was in love with him, and wanted the feeling to be mutual. He had called in to Jaime’s radio station, hoping that he could get Jaime to take an interest in him. He wanted Jaime to pursue him, that way he would know for sure that Jaime felt the same way. And Jaime had taken an interest; he’d just done a poor job at showing it.

Hesitantly, Jaime reached a hand forward in an effort to get Bart to look up at him. “Por favor, no llores. Lo siento, I-”

Bart took a step back, angrily wiping his tears away with his fists. “No. I-it’s stupid. I built this idea of you up in my head, and it’s probably not who you are at all. I was just desperate and wanted you to like me back. And I know that me calling you every night was probably annoying and that you probably aren’t even into guys-”

Jaime surged forward, grabbing onto the other boy’s bicep with one hand and cupping his cheek with the other, and did something that surprised himself probably even more than it surprised Bart.

Bart froze, teary eyes wide in shock as Jaime’s lips smashed against his own. He was too surprised to react.

As soon as Jaime realized what he had done, he pulled back, blushing madly. Despite his embarrassment however, he couldn’t help the truth that fell from his lips.

“I am.” When Bart still looked confused, Jaime rushed to clarify. “Into guys. Into... you. I’m bisexual.” He raised a hand to nervously rub at the short raven hairs along the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly.

Bart seemed to snap out of his stupor. “You’re into me? I didn’t think you were interested. I thought you only came today because I was blackmailing you.”

Jaime’s awkward laugh turned amused. “If you think I showed up today because of your so-called ‘blackmail’, you need a new definition for the word.” He moved his hand from his neck, slipping it into his pocket to pull out his notebook. Jaime flipped it to the page where he had taken down all of the little clues Bart had given to him over the phone and turned the book around to show it to the track star. Bart’s green eyes widened slowly as he read over all of Jaime’s scrupulously written notes.

“I wrote down everything you told me about yourself.”

Bart’s gaze slowly ascended from the page, an awed look in his eyes. Hastily, Jaime closed the notebook and placed it back in his pocket. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in consideration before finally saying, “I’d like a chance to get to know you. I want to give us—” Jaime used a finger to gesture between himself and Bart— “a chance. If that’s... crash?” He tested out the word he’d heard Bart use during a few of their phone calls.

The redhead’s face lit up like a child’s after receiving a piece of candy. “Yeah! That’s totally crash! When are you free?”

“Uh-” Jaime pulled out his phone to check his calendar, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Time to get this show on the road, Kiddos.” When Jaime looked up to see who the hand belonged to, he saw Bart’s father standing between them, his other hand grasping onto his son’s shoulder. “Who knows what you two would get up to if Mel and I left you alone any longer.” Don playfully shook his head, before turning the eyes Bart had inherited from him on his son. “Your mother and I were college sweethearts, too. We know what kind of things kids your age get up to.”

Both Bart and Jaime blushed at the implications.

“Dad!” Bart groaned in embarrassment.

Don chuckled, as if it were all in a day’s work embarrassing his son. He turned to Jaime. “We usually go out as a family after track meets to celebrate. Everyone’ll be there. It’s a good opportunity for Bart to introduce you to the family. If you’re up for going, Jaime?”

The raven-haired student shared a look with his boyfriend? friend? person-he-thought-was-very-attractive-but-wanted-to-get-to-know-a-little-better-before-dating? Bart shrugged.

Jaime felt put on the spot. He and Bart had just discussed the possibility of beginning a relationship, and now he was supposed to meet the ‘rents? Not that he hadn’t already, but that was beside the point. Going out for a meal with Bart’s parents, grandparents, cousin and who-knows-who-else, and having to pretend that he’s madly in love with someone he was just meeting for the first time today? This had the potential to kill any chances he and Bart had at actually beginning a real relationship.

“I’m sorry, I already have plans,” was what Jaime wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Sure. I’d love to get to meet your family, Cariño.”

“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes-”

“-and his amazing boyfriend, Bart Allen-”

Jaime had to stifle an ‘oomph!’ as his boyfriend of three glorious months slung an arm around his neck and plopped down on his lap, leaning in close to the microphone so that he could be heard, too.

“-Next up we have ‘Flourescent Adolescence’ by Arctic Monkeys-”

“-And after that, ‘I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You’ from High School Musical!” Bart slammed a finger into the ‘play’ button, starting the next song in the queue, before swinging his leg around so he could straddle Jaime’s lap and drag him into a kiss.

When they pulled apart, Jaime had a pout on his lips. “Who let you in here?” Bart wasn’t supposed to be in the studio, especially when Jaime was live on the air.

The younger smirked deviously. “Cassie might have loned me her key so that I could pay my boyfriend a visit while he was working...”

Jaime shook his head. “Of course she did.”

Bart booped his nose with a fingertip. “Don’t act so put out. You know you looooove me.”

Jaime shook his head, trying to keep a poker face. “Nope. You just tainted my reputation by saying that we’re gonna play High School Musical songs voluntarily. How could I love someone who would pull such a slanderous act against me?”

Bart poked his nose again. “You looooove me.”

Jaime shook his head. His lips threatened to quirk up into a smile. His poker face was cracking. “Nope.”

Bart hovered his lips dangerously close to Jaime’s own. “Admit it, Babe. You love me more than anyone in the world.”

Jaime’s mask crumbled. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “Te amo con todo mi corazón.” He pulled Bart that little inch forward to kiss him again.

Unfortunately the phone cut their loving moment shorter than either boy wanted. Jaime picked it up.

“Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”

“Yeah, Jaime, it’s Gar. I’m glad to hear that you finally found yourself a good partner, but next time you might want to make sure your mic is off before making any declarations of love while you’re live.”

Crimson bloomed to life across the entirety of his face while Gar hung up on the other end of the line. Immediately, the radio host leaned forward and flicked off the switch to his microphone. Jaime buried his face in his hands.

“I hate you!” He directed at Bart in an embarrassed moan.

Bart chuckled. “Nah. You looooove me.”

Here it finally is @purple--waffles! I’m so sorry it took me so long! I’ve been slowly working on it since the day your request arrived in my asks. Life is crazy, and I haven’t had a whole lot of time to write recently, but I really wanted to finish this for you. My mind ran with the prompt, and even though it took me awhile, hopefully the length makes up for it??? Maybe? Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

#young justice #yj #bart allen #jaime reyes #kid flash #impulse #blue beetle #bluepulse #asks #answers #writing requests #sorry this took me a little while to finish

[orange-imagines]

Hi! If you don’t mind, it’s cool if not tho, could I request a Malicious Mickey x reader (romantic)? The reader is like a normal human working at the target of the Mud Dogz next robbery and Danny and Leonard get away but the reader ends up catching Mickey and attempts to keep him there till the police show up, but he is just super super flirty with them and they end up getting so flustered he gets away or they let him go, but he comes back another time, not to rob, but to see them again cause he genuinely likes them? Sorry if this is too much!! Thank you and you are so talented👏👏👏

A/N - Hello this is so cute??? I love it

(Did not expect it to get this long but I got really into this prompt so, beneath the cut) 

Working retail in the Hidden City isn’t as bad as working retail above ground. At least most Yōkai aren’t too rude and seem to genuinely understand that, hey man, you just work here. You don’t make the rules

Being a fairly big chain store that sells some pretty expensive items, you’ve had a couple incidents with robbery before, but they’ve never happened during your shift. Not until today 

It was getting late, so things were pretty slow. You were just attending your register, in the middle of checking out the last Yōkai in your lane when the alarms started going off, and immediately customers began booking it out of there. Your register was clear within seconds

It took you a moment to realize that the store was being robbed, then you saw the culprits in question gunning it straight toward your lane with three bags stuffed full of stolen merchandise 

You don’t get paid enough for this 

But, then again, they are heading straight for your register. And honestly...you could do with a promotion. Oh, and help keep your store from losing money. Yeah, that too

But Leonard and Danny have already sprinted past you by the time you’ve made up your mind, leaving only one more thief behind. So you reach over the counter and grab Mickey by the back of his shirt, pulling him to a startlingly fast stop that sends you slamming front-forward into the register as he drops his bag completely

“What the hell?!” 

Honestly, he didn’t see you. Leonard and Danny sure didn’t- and they’re currently sprinting out the front door, assuming Mickey’s right behind them

But you’ve still got his shirt in your grip, and he’s got the most confused look on his face that you’ve ever seen. He’s barely even trying to get away from you. He’s just so stunned! What the fuck is happening!

You so don’t get paid enough for this

Figuring that getting someone to take this guy off your hands is the next logical step, you get on the intercom to call your supervisor because the rest of your coworkers are just standing around watching. Come on, guys. He’s not even that dangerous 

“This is Y/N to manager. Wanted criminal at register six” 

That actually makes Mick laugh, and, believe it or not, that’s your ice breaker. He starts talking to you as soon as you hang up. You’ve still got him by the back of his shirt, and he’s talking you up. Wait- he’s actually talking you up. He’s flirting

This goes on for another minute or so while your coworkers try to figure out what to do, and your manager’s still trying to make their way across the store. No one else is brave enough to confront Mick right now, so you’re stuck with him hitting on you. Just until you’re flustered enough that your grip on him loosens and he manages to grab his bag and slip away

You almost grab him again out of disappointment, and that makes you retract and let him go. You can’t help but feel a little hurt as you watch him leave, honestly. But then again, what were you expecting? Obviously he was just buttering you so you’d let him get away 

You choose not to think too much about it, and conveniently forget to mention the whole “flirting” thing when you’re forced to make a police report 

The next week comes around and you’re working again. Your manager said you didn’t have to come in because of everything that happened, but, honestly, you’re fine. A little bitter, but you’re not mentioning that to anyone 

One long shift later, you finish ringing up the last Yōkai in your lane and are just about ready to close down and head out when someone else slides up in front of you

It’s Mick. He’s wearing a hoodie and sunglasses and, honestly, the Hidden City doesn’t have amazing security so you’re not that surprised he was able to sneak back in. You are surprised that he’s leaning over your register and giving you a huge smirk, though. He doesn’t seem worried about getting caught in the slightest. Like he knows you aren’t going to turn him in or something

You decide to hear him out, asking him what he wants and why he came back. Is this a stick up? You swear if it is, you’re gonna lose it. You’re making minimum wage here-

He cuts you off and explains he isn’t here to steal. And once you finally realize he’s just here to see you, your bitterness fades. That’s...kind of sweet, actually

You guys end up talking for a bit while you close up your register, and by the time you’re ready to head out, you’re a little sad you have to part ways

Then he asks you out. Mystic Pizza Place? This Friday? 

You say yes 

#rottmnt mud dogs #rottmnt imagines #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt mickey x reader

[writingat-night]

tagged by my lovely mutual @tauremornalome in the first line game!

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. choose your favourite opening line.

tagging: @plotdesigner @shuttymcshutfuck and anyone else who wants to! (feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged next time i do one of these writing tag games — i honestly just don’t know which of you write)

okay. so the thing about my writing is that i never fucking finish it, and a lot of my wips are just a jumble of unconnected scenes. technically, i have more than 20 (unfinished) stories, but i’ll only be posting the ones that a) actually Have A First Line, and b) i hope to finish at some point in the distant future.

1. blue seas to mulberry fields (the untamed, nhs-centric, the only half decent fic i’ve ever published)

Jin Guangyao is dead.

He’s dead, run through by Lan Xichen’s sword, crushed under a hundred tonnes of rubble and debris. He is gone.

Nie Huaisang knows this. He does. But one man’s death is nothing compared to a lifetime. Compared to years of shouting for Meng Yao when he needed help. Compared to years of calling him San-ge. Compared to a decade of planning revenge.

2. theon greyjoy and the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day(s) (working title) (game of thrones/asoiaf, theon-centric)

Theon doesn’t know when, exactly, his status in Winterfell changes from prisoner to ward.

The first time he is a prisoner is during the Siege of Pyke. He isn’t a prisoner of Winterfell, not yet. But a prisoner is a prisoner is a prisoner all the same, regardless of if he’s locked in a cell or trapped in his own home.

3. take a chance, remake the world (game of thrones/asoiaf, starks-centric)

Two years, four months, and seventeen days after his coronation, King Brandon Stark, Bran the Broken, first of his name, wakes with a purpose. His first true purpose in a long time. He must go today.

4. your place in the family of things (game of thrones/asoiaf, sansa and theon-centric)

Sansa has always prided herself on her composure. When she was a child, she had spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting her curtsy and her posture and her politest smile. She always says please and thank you and she knows her manners better than any of her siblings ever did. She does all her homework and raises her hand in class when she knows the answer (which is almost always) and earns A-stars in almost every test. She never loses her temper or complains about her workload. Her parents spent a lot of time and money to get her and her sister into this school. She knows that, and she’s grateful for it.

She’s certainly not the kind of girl who breaks down sobbing over her French notes. And yet.

5. untitled whisper of the heart au (the untamed, sangcheng and nie bros-centric)

Nie Huaisang would like to say, for the record, that he has the worst brother in the world.

Objectively, he is aware that worse people exist. Meng Yao, for one. Jin Guangshan definitely makes the cut. Jin Zixun– well, Huaisang hasn’t talked to him since the time he punched him in the face in junior middle school, but he’s sure he’s still an asshole. Maybe Jins just suck, like, as a rule. (Excluding Zixuan. Except, actually, he is kind of a dick. He’s working on it, though, so Huaisang will cut him some slack.)

But as a brother? Mingjue is the worst.

6. bastards anonymous (working title, obviously) (game of thrones/asoiaf, baratheon bastards-centric)

Gendry should have known that Secret Santa with Arya was a bad idea. It’s their first time including her in the present-giving, and they were very clear about the five pound limit. Not a one of them earns above minimum wage, except Arya. She doesn’t have a job, but her allowance is more than Gendry gets paid in a month.

7. the todorokis gtfo (working title) (bnha, todorokis and hawks-centric)

Fuyumi is not a good daughter.

She is not like Shouto. She is not the prodigy, the golden child, the future hero. She doesn’t have a quirk so strong it nearly burnt down the house when it first manifested, a quirk so perfectly balanced that even his appearance reflects it. She doesn’t have a destiny laid out in front of her, ready to be followed like a gold-paved road.

She isn’t a bad child, either, she hopes. Not like Natsuo. They might both be the middle children, in a way (although she’s technically tied for eldest with Touya, she is six minutes younger than him), both the failures, both invisible, but she’s content with that. Natsuo isn’t. She tries to balance out his anger at their father, to get him to just keep his head down and do as he’s told, but the more time he spends with Touya, the more rebellious he becomes.

But, then, she supposes it makes sense, given his circumstances. After all, Fuyumi might not have the unbeatable quirk their father dreamed of, but at least she has one.

8. show me where my armour ends (bnha, dabihawks, because i refuse to let go of this ship and i hate canon)

If there’s a better end to a day of hero work than a shower hot enough to turn his skin as bright red as his wings, Hawks hasn’t found it yet. Being a hero might be hard, but it’s damn worth it for the feeling of washing away grit and blood under scalding water, if for nothing else. After the day he’s had, he’s more than earned it.

9. untitled modern au (game of thrones/asoiaf, theon and the starks centric)

For all that his children seem to believe otherwise, Ned Stark is not an idiot. He has five kids, a sixth on the way, and he has learned something about being a parent in the past eight years.

He is not fooled when Robb comes down for dinner five minutes early, smiling brightly, and says, “Hi, Daddy! Do you want me to set the table?”

Robb had stopped calling him and Cat Mummy and Daddy at the start of the school year, because no-one calls their parents that anymore, Dad, come on, I’m in Primary Four now. He only uses it now when he wants something. And he never offers to set the table.

10. houses out of cardboard boxes (voltron (i know, i know, i’m sorry), adashi)

Adam isn’t nervous, per se. Adam Wadekar doesn’t do nervous. It’s just that this is his first time at a new school since he started teaching, so he may be a little out of practise

(Also, he’s back in California for the first time in years, after vowing to never return. But, whatever. Not the point.)

11. untitled character study (pjo, will solace-centric)

As a rule, Will is nonviolent. Between a staunchly pacifist mom, a complete lack of athletic ability, and a pathological urge to please people, he doesn’t think he could hurt another person if he tried.

But when you walk into your kitchen to see a man with goat legs and two teenagers holding swords, all common sense sort of goes out the window.

hmm. i feel like all of them have a similar.... vibe, but i can’t pin down a pattern, per se. i tend to open with a fact about a character and then some kind of contradiction, a lot of the time. i think my favourites are probably blue seas to mulberry fields, your place in the family of things, the todorokis gtfo, and the will solace one. (mainly blue seas, though. i will fucking finish that fic if it Kills Me)

#athena talks #tag game #my writing #the untamed #game of thrones #bnha #voltron #pjo #again: no pressure to do it if you don’t want to!

[thephantomofthe-internet]

And the World goes Soft

Steve Harrington x Reader (Future AU)

Words: 3,730

Warnings: Blood mention, injury mention, insecurities, general fluff

Author’s Note: I was inspired by a fanfiction that I can no longer find :( but it was a Steve as a bartender fic, I would tag the potential writers but I don’t want to bother them, but when I find it the world will know!

Masterlist

When Steve walked into your shared apartment, he looked like absolute shit. He’d worked a devil’s double-he closed the bar and then opened it only a few hours later. You couldn’t remember him coming to bed the night before, and you’d left before him to make it into Gary Garden Court mall’s Sears to open the makeup counter. You both had the opening shifts that morning and while you knew that your shift would pay you basic minimum wage to deal with stuffy older women all trying to buy orange lipstick and bringing in their young daughters to have mall makeovers before school dances. Steve, on the other hand, would get paid less than minimum wage to lift heavy cases of beer and liquor, prep the rail for the night shift, and still serve the saddest drunks in the world their three beer lunches.

By the way he threw down his gym bag, the shift was gruesome. The bags under his eyes were blotchy blue and purple and heavy, his eyes dull and lids sagging over his pupils. His hair was greasy and hidden under a blue baseball cap. His work bag stunk like grease. By the looks at him, he probably had to step into the kitchen as well. You dropped your thin paperback on the couch and swung your feet onto the floor.

“Did Anthony not show up again?” you asked, standing to meet him in the doorway. You pressed a kiss to his temple. He was sweaty. They must have been busy, mornings were usually pretty safe. That was the only reason Steve picked up the shift, his co-worker Hannah had practically begged him to cover for her.

“He was two hours late,” Steve sighed bitterly. Anthony was the worst guy in the kitchen, he was always either late or absent from work, but because he was the general manager’s nephew he never got fired. “I had to do the whole kitchen put away while Mike opened up everything.”

“I’m sorry baby,” you smiled sadly. He skin and hair smelt of fryer grease. It was a pungent odour that you were very used to. Steve shrugged half heartedly. He reached over his head and pulled off the olive crewneck sweatshirt he’d thrown over his uniform. The sweater was ancient; he’d had it since high school and was more than showing its wear and tear. Steve winced audibly, pulling an arm behind him to clutch at his lower back.

“Did you hurt yourself at work again?”You asked as he pulled off the other sleeve and dropped the sweatshirt on top of his bag.

“Yeah, heavy wing boxes, no help.” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Did you tell Mike?” you asked, taking the hat off his head so he didn’t have to lift his arms over his head again.

“Nah, no point, I won’t die.” You furrowed your brow. Steve always acted tougher than he actually was; years of putting other’s safety above his made him constantly put himself last on his own list. It made you sad to watch him wear himself down for shitty managers and co-workers who cared more about filling their own pockets than taking care of one another.

“You should go take a bath, soak your back.” You said, reaching down to pick up his work bag. Steve nodded, hobbling towards your shared bathroom. Once the door shut, you picked up his things. You felt terrible for him. He did so much for you to make life easier for the pair of you. You knew that he still didn’t think you should’ve left with him. He had all these ideas about who you could be, who you should be. But what he didn’t understand is that none of that really mattered to you. You didn’t care about big fancy college degrees or the Harrington family wealth or trust funds. You cared about Steve. Steve made you happy. You could be living in absolute shit with him and you’d still be happy. And your little studio apartment made you happy, with its cool teal glass brick pillars and the big windows facing out into the busy street. Living in downtown Gary wasn’t exactly the little haven you’d expected for your life, you’d selfishly imagined your own little box build house in the suburbs, with uniforms lawns and pastel doors. You wanted the life your parents had made you, a safe space for kids to grow up. But you knew in your heart that even the safest, quietest small towns in the world weren’t safe.

You heard the water start and you turned your attention to the mess Steve had left behind. You threw his work bag under the coffee table under the window, where it belonged, and turned your attention to Steve’s sweater. It was ancient, but you knew that it was Steve’s favourite. It comforted him when he was upset or had night terrors. He wore it whenever he wanted to feel a bit of security. You examined the fabric. It was beat-the neck had a chunk of fabric missing, showing the fleece underneath, the sleeve cuffs had holes and seams along the arms had holes in between the seams. You felt bad for the thing. Steve tried to take care of his clothes the best he could, but he couldn’t sew. Hemlines would fall and Steve would just throw the shirt into the back of his closet until he was desperate for clothes. He’d buy a whole new pair of jeans if he ripped the knee open. You found the piles of forgotten shirts when you moved in with him and had taken on the slow process of fixing them all. Steve never really seemed to notice. Every time he went for an old shirt do some work in and found it hemmed, he merely shrugged it off, blamed it on his memory. Get your head beat in enough times and you start to lose some things. Steve couldn’t remember most of elementary school and most of the fire at Star Court mall, the combination of drugs and the concussion he’d gotten fucked up his brain for a summer.

You were determined to fix the sweater. You wandered to your desk, pulling out the broken swivel chair and opening the drawer. You had a few spools of thread in your sewing kit; the basic black and white, along with a red and a navy blue. You kept the kit in the back of your desk, although a couple spools of pastel pink, purple, and green thread rolled around up front, leftovers from high school home economics. You didn’t have the exact colour to match Steve’s sweater, so the pastel green would have to do. You grabbed that, along with a needle and the pink scissors from the cup of pens on the top of your desk. You brought your supplies out into the space zoned out as your living room. There were three holes on the right cuff and one small hole on the right sleeve, and one hole on the left cuff and one hole on the right sleeve. The left sleeve was much for wear than the right, one wrong hook of the thumb and the whole cuff could be taken off the sleeve. You focused on that sleeve first.

You wouldn’t bother with pins to hold the material together; you’d simply do a free stitch. You cut off an arms length of thread and slid the needle through, knotting the ends together. You started with cuff, since it would be the easiest. You stabbed the needle into the fabric, bobbing through the material in a straight, basic stitch. It took you all of two minutes. You’d gotten quick at hand sewing from fixing up Steve’s wardrobe. You didn’t want to make a big deal of it, mainly because Steve would feel bad about you taking care of him. He liked to feel self-sufficient, and he was but everyone needed a bit of help once and awhile.

“Baby?” you heard Steve call from behind the closed bathroom door.

“Yeah?” you called, knotting off the green thread once, then twice. You snipped off the excess thread and stabbed the needle into the couch, the excess thread hanging off the eye. You knotted it off and started in on the sleeve, turning it inside out.

“Will you come and sit with me? I’m lonely.” Steve called. The bathtub you had barely held him, but he still tried to get you to join him in there every time he took a bath.

You sighed through your nose “Alright, baby.” You collected up your supplies, bundling them in your arms and padding your way into the bathroom. You kicked Steve’s work clothes into the hall as you opened the door, a silent reminder to wash that shit later. His clothes stunk. Steve looked like a poorly done piece of origami, crumpled up in the tiny white tub. It was barely five feet in length and Steve was a strong six two, his legs hung out of the tub in the open air, his torso pulled into the hot water. He’s steamed up the mirror and made the whole bathroom humid. You flipped down the toilet seat and dropped your supplies on the counter top.

“Baby, come sit with me…”Steve whined, his head low in the tub, only his hair visible.

“I am sitting with you,” you chuckled. You had taken to doing a ladder stitch up the open place in the sleeve. It wasn’t as though the seam had ripped, the sleeve had simply been surged shut and the surging had come up and pulled away. It was a cheap sweater. You struggled to pull the needle through the other side of the fabric; it was thick and the needle was hooked at the end, which meant that it hooked on every loose bit of fluff on the material. You stuck your hand through the cuff to grab the needle and push it back in to make the next stitch.

“You’re too far away…” Steve complained quietly.

“And our tub is too tiny,” you replied “When we can afford a bigger place, we’ll get one with a nice tub. Then we’ll take as many baths as you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep…” Steve chuckled. You sat in silence for awhile, long enough to finish off the left sleeve and start in on the right. Steve didn’t seem to notice the sounds of scissors snipping or the thread unwinding from the spool. He hummed quietly to himself. Sometimes he’d sing when he thought no one was listening. He had a nice voice; you wished he’d sing more. But his quiet humming was comforting. It reminded you of driving around with him on the nights he couldn’t sleep. He’d drive in silence for awhile, the radio playing softly, and whenever a song he liked came on he’d hum along. You’d fall asleep in the passenger seat some nights; you hand on his arm to remind him that you were still there. You’d wake up to hear him humming along to Chris de Burgh or Stevie Nicks as the station began to transition from the smoother songs to the morning zoo crew shtick. You remember waking up to the sunrise and forcing Steve into the passenger seat when you realized how long he’d been driving. There were mornings when you didn’t know where you were anymore and you’d have to figure out where the hell you were. Still, you’d let him sleep as you winded your way back into Hawkins. He only seemed to be able to sleep with someone there with him. Driving became his move after he got worried that calling you at two in the morning was upsetting you. It didn’t bother you at all, but the phone ringing early in the morning more than upset your parents. Sitting with Steve in the tub felt like those nights in the car, or on the phone, not so much talking so much as checking that you’re still there and that he was still okay.

“What’re you doing over there?” Steve asked. You heard the water slosh and watched as Steve’s legs slipped back into the tub and his head pop out from over the tub’s ledge. You smiled shyly, lifting the sleeve of his sweater. “What’re you doing with my sweater?” He seemed perplexed by you having it. Steve still wasn’t used to people wanting to take care of him. He was so used to being self sufficient that letting people take care of him was still foreign to him.

“I’m fixing it. It’s all ripped and worn to shit.” You turned your attention back to your sewing. You’d finished patching up the right cuff and had turned your attention to the last rip. You flipped the sleeve inside out and jabbed the needle into the fabric.

“You don’t have to do that, I can fix it.” Steve replied awkwardly, sinking low in the tub again.

“I know you can, but it’s no issue for me,” you said “Besides, I’ve been fixing your shirts for months now.” Steve frowned, looking down at his chest. He didn’t like to be care taken for, it made him feel small and useless. It reminded him of when his mother would burst into his room and start picking up after him, muttering over how ungrateful and lazy he was. He never asked for her to do that, he never expected it, but it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t good enough. That he was still too much of a child to take care of himself.

Steve was silent for too long. You knew in your heart that helping Steve wasn’t always easy. He didn’t accept help like other people did, he was too brave to ask for it and too cowardly to admit that he ever needed help. He wanted to be brave, to take care of himself without anyone else’s help. And he did that, every day without comment or complaint, but it hurt to watch him struggle sometimes. He struggled to hard to be the bigger breadwinner in your house. He was still on your ass to quit your job and go to school. In his mind, he could handle it on his own. But you both knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it, that extra shifts at the bar wouldn’t keep a roof over your head without you working too, it was just too expensive to live on minimum wage, even in a shitty neighbourhood in Indiana. You wouldn’t pretend that it wasn’t brave of him to declare that he could handle it, it was almost romantic, but you were just as brave as him and you wouldn’t watch him break himself apart to give you a life only marginally better than what you already had.

“Baby…you know that I don’t do things for you because I don’t think you can do them, right?” you asked. Steve was silent for a moment. You heard him shift in the tub. The room was starting to go cool, the fog on the mirror fading away. The water in the tub must be uncomfortably cool. You wished he’d turn on the water and add a bit more to the tub, to at least add some sound to the room and warm it up again. You were starting to get cold.

Steve sighed quietly “I know…”

“Do you?”

That was a hard question. Harder than Steve had expected. He wanted to believe you. He did trust you, more than anyone else in the world, and he almost always believed you. But he wasn’t so sure on that one. He still felt like such a child so much of the time. He was still so young, most of his coworkers were older than him, and the ones his age only worked part time and went to college. Half of them still lived at home with their parents too. Most people who he met either took pity on him or outright judged him. When he mentioned that he lived with his girlfriend out here, one of his coworkers asked if she was pregnant. If he’d gotten kicked out. He was still viewed as too young for the life he was trying to build for himself. His father still thought he was coming back. He’d get on the phone after Steve’s mother every couple months to ask when his little experiment was done. He didn’t understand that this wasn’t an experiment, this was life now. That he wasn’t coming back to take some entry position at the company, where he could get shit on by his father in a corporate scenario as well as at home. That he was going to make it on his own. And Steve was determined to make it, and to make it with you.

“Honestly?” you nodded, hoping to god that he’d actually admit a feeling. “I’m not used to people trying to help me without asking for something in return. People usually want something from me. And then there are my parents…”

“I understand,” you sighed softly, stabbing the needle into the material and setting it on the toilet seat. You stood and walked over to the tub, sitting down on the cold tile outside the tub. “All I want to do is help you. I know you can’t sew and I can, so I just wanted to do something for you. I know that this is your favourite sweater and it needed a bit of mending.”

“I can sew…” Steve muttered awkwardly. You looked behind you to see him pouting like a child, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was strangely adorable, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh yeah, I have the scar on my leg to prove it.” Your hand came to touch the jagged scar on your calf. You’d been hurt in an attack, the onetime Steve let you anywhere near the monsters he willingly threw himself at, and came away with a massive wound four inches long and deep. Steve had promised that he could patch you up and had done his best to clean and stitch the wound shut. It never got infected, thank god, but it didn’t heal even or flat. The scar was still lumpy and dark in spots. You were proud of the little scar, but you could tell that Steve was still a bit ashamed of what he’d done to you. You watched as his face changed, defeat flashing in his deep, warm eyes.

“Hey,” you reached out and took his hand “I like my little scar. You saved my life that day…” Steve gave you a small smile.

“I made a mess of it though…” he whispered to himself.

“No, Steve,” you squeezed his hand in yours, turning your full body to look at him, leaning your other arm on the ledge of the tub. It was a bit strange having such an earnest conversation while Steve was buck naked, you worried that he felt overexposed with you watching him. You held his gaze. “You didn’t mess anything up, you saved my life.”

“You would’ve done the same for me…”

“I would have, happily, and that’s because I love you.” Steve still smiled like a little kid whenever you said that you loved him, it was so sweet and earnest that you couldn’t help but smile back just as sweetly. “And when you love someone, you do stuff for them. And so me fixing things up for you isn’t me judging you or thinking that you can’t do it, I know you can, it’s just me trying to help you however I can.”

Steve nodded hard “Okay…” he replied softly. You watched him carefully, trying to find cracks in his expression. He seemed genuine in his acceptance, his smile stayed firmly in place.

“So will you let me finish the damn work without pouting?” you chuckled, reaching for your work. You’d left the needle end out too far. The second you grabbed the sweater, you jabbed your hand. “Ow!” you yelped, pulling the sweater in your lap and your hand up to your mouth. It was only a pinprick, but the bit of blood seeping from the wound made your stomach churn to look at. You didn’t like blood, you’d seen too much blood in your life to last you a lifetime. You’d seen Steve bloody and battered too many times to last a lifetime. Steve grabbed your hand away from you, pressing a firm kiss to the wound and held it there.

“Be careful,” he soothed “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“It’s just a flesh wound, Steve, I’m fine.” You tried to push yourself up again, but Steve pulled you back down. “Lemme get a Band-Aid, I’m not gonna leave I-”

Steve pulled you down to his level. You stumbled, but caught yourself on the mildew stained tile. “Thank you, baby,” he craned his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You smiled, running a hand through his hair.

“Anytime, baby,” you mused “Now, finish off your bath I wanna eat and I won’t wait around for you to stop playing princess.” Steve let go of your hand and you turned your attention to your tiny bathroom mirror. You pulled it open, pulling out the box of bandages. You pulled one out and pulled off the thin, wispy paper, wrapping the latex around your fingertip. You heard the tub begin to drain and felt damp, pruney hands wrap around your middle.

“I like your hair…” he pressed a kiss onto the side of your head. You pulled his hands away, reaching for an old towel off the rack and shoving it into his chest.

“You’re soaked, Casanova, dry off before you ruin the whole bathroom.” You chuckled, turning on your heel and pushing out the door. His hands had left two marks on your stomach, cold on your skin.

“Save me some of that pizza from last night!” Steve called, turning his attention to the door to watch you go. You laughed, pulling the door shut behind you. “I love you!”

You stopped in your tracks. Hearing him say that could still make your heart speed up. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head slightly. “I love you too, doofus.”

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #stranger things 3 #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve x y/n #steve x you #steve x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader insert #steve x reader insert #steve harrington aus #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington au

[pebblysand]

[writing rant - on the monetisation of fanfiction]

a couple of months ago, when i updated my long fic, one of the people on the comments wrote to me the nicest possible review (one of the ones that you keep in your feel-good 'saved' emails - you know the ones), which, amongst other things also said: 'If I could pay you for this...believe me, I would.'

in the moment, i kind of smiled and laughed, and thanked the person for their kind words before moving on with my life. yet, since then, i have to admit that this sentence has kind of been living rent-free in my head. i think it is also because since diving back into fandom a few months ago, i've noticed something that kind of shocked me at first: more and more fanfiction writers seem to be monetising (or attempting to monetise) their craft.

now, back when i started writing fanfic, we wrote fanfic on ffnet and livejournal. it was accepted that thou shalt never (ever) charge money for your writing or else the author and their mean, angry lawyers will come after you for damages and you will die a slow and painful death. we wrote disclaimers at the start of all of our posts and thanked the gods every day when we did not get sued.

i have seen this change gradually over the years. first, in the mid 2010s, the disclaimers went. then, i noticed that people were getting 'tipped' for fanart, sometimes even charging commission. from what i understand (though, don't quote me on this, i'm not an ip lawyer and this post is not intended as legal advice), this is because the way the concept of fair use is framed under us law makes it easier to monetise fanart than it does fanfiction. maybe this is why visual artists came first on this trend. later still (and more recently) i've noticed fanfic writers, doing the same thing.

to be fully honest, the first thought i had when i saw this trend, considering the fear of god (and his lawyers) that was instilled in me in the past, was: how on earth is this even possible? (i'll come back to that in a bit). the second, though, was: fuck, i wish i had the guts to do that, lol.

because, yeah, i will admit, the idea of getting paid for writing what i love to write does appeal, to a certain extent. i won't lie. dear fanfiction writers who've tried to do that recently: i one hundred per cent get it.

looking back at the last fifteen years, i would say that for me, writing fanfiction has been (in terms of time commitment and energy consumed) the equivalent of having an on-and-off part time job. a job that i have held for one or two years at a time, then quit for a while, before coming back to it when i needed (wanted) it again. i obviously can't realistically give you a number re:the actual total of hours i have spent at this since i started out, but i can give you an idea. recently, i started clocking my hours out of interest and calculated that a chapter of my current long fic takes roughly between one hundred to two hundred hours to produce (and they're around 10,000 words). at that rate, i'm probably working 20 hours a week-ish? sometimes more, sometimes less? something as small as a three-sentence fic (like this for instance), takes roughly two/three hours. i'll be honest, i have cancelled plans to write fic. when i'm working on a long project, i do tend to organise my life to give myself the time to write, so i opt for socialising after work during the week rather than on weekends, as i've found this is when i write best. i won't lie: it is - for me (i know some people write quicker, bless them) - a huge time suck.

so, yeah, i understand, in the capitalist society we live in, wanting to make that time count. our world has unfortunately, repeatedly taught us that time is money and getting more does seem like a nice bonus (as long as you have an audience for your art that's willing to pay, obviously). after all, year after year, i've seen a lot of my friends try and monetise their passions as side hustles, with varying success. at first, glance, i look at the time i spend on writing fanfiction and think: man, i wish i could get a bit back from that too. i couldn't even draw a stick figure to save my life but i assume that the time commitment and energy put into that kind of work is roughly similar for visual fanartists as well. i thus very much understand the sentiment, both with fanart and fanfiction.

additionally, though i appreciate this is a bit tangential, the fact that fanfiction is free, i would argue, hinders its potential to be as representative as it could be. it's a bit sad because on the one hand, the fact that it is free makes it completely accessible to the masses but on the other, it makes fanfiction quite exclusive to rich, privileged people who can afford to spend the time and energy putting content out for free. if i spend this much time writing fanfiction, just because i like it and it makes me happy, it's because my full time job pays me enough to cover my bills. if it didn't, i probably would have to forgo writing and get a proper side gig. if you look at my periods of inactivity on ao3, those also kind of coincide with the times in my life when i had to have more things going on to put food on the table.

so, now, assuming that monetisation is a thing that, as a fic writer, one might want to look at, the next question is: how do you go about monetising it? obviously, the law hasn't changed since the days where we were all terrified of getting sued (although enforcement has been quite lax over the years) so it's more about finding workarounds around the law as it is, rather than actively seeking payment for fanart.

from what i've seen: two main solutions seem to exist.

first, there's the tipping/buy-me-coffee technique. as i understand it, this involves either setting up a page on one of the dedicated websites or just putting up your paypal account link on your tumblr posts. with these links, people can then send you however much money they want (however much money they can afford/think you deserve?) on a one-off basis. they're not actually paying for fanfic because there is no actual exchange of services, it's basically like them giving money to charity, except that charity is a fanfic writer/ fan artist whose work they enjoy.

there are two main issues i see with this: one, legally, i'm not sure how much ground this actually holds. assuming you're quite prolific/successful, if every time you're producing new content, you receive dozens of tips, although you're not actively charging for your fanart, making the argument that your content isn't what these people are actively paying for seems hard. imo, the fact that this method sort of holds is that realistically, you're going to make very little out of this. even if you're really good, you might make what? a couple hundred dollars. now, sure, that's a lot of money for a lot of people but in the grand scheme of things, no one sues anyone for such a low amount. as long as you're not making 'proper' money from it, it is highly unlikely that anyone would come after you.

this being said, the second issue, from my perspective, is that this is not in any way, shape or form, a reliable income. it also does not represent, at all, the cost of the time and investment actually put into said fanfiction (or fanart, i assume). for example: if you're going to tip someone who's worked on something for, say, fifty hours, ten dollars, that's very good of you, but that isn't going to be 'worth' their time. it is only worth their time if tipping is done at as scale, which imo is quite unlikely considering you're putting your content out for free anyway. there are kind souls who will tip you, but not that many, meaning that ultimately, you're not working for free anymore, but you're still working at a huge loss.

additionally, because this income is not even reliable on a monthly/weekly basis, it isn't something that anyone can actually rely on, even if only to fund their coffee habit. it's nice to have, don't get me wrong, but from my perspective, is the legal risk outlined above worth the trouble for the $20/30 tips i'd get every once in a while - not really. such low amounts also don't help diminish the class issue that i talked about earlier. again, if you're going to spend fifty hours on something, you might as well work a minimum wage job - even that will pay you more and will be dependable.

second, there's patreon (and patreon-like sites). here, the income is monthly, people pledge on a subscription basis, which does solve the last point above. it might not be much, but at least it's regular.

the main issue i see with patreon is that it is contingent on the author providing more services on top of what they already provide. in most cases, the author will keep putting their usual content out for free + provide their patreons (depending on tiers) with more content, specifically for them. this, to me, makes this scheme even less appealing than the previous one because a) if i can't provide fanfic to potential patreons (again, you can't sell fanfic), i'm not sure what on earth i could give them (original content? that's not really the same market) and b) that's even more work on my plate. honestly, considering the amount of time i already spend writing fanfic, i have neither the energy nor the willpower to provide extra content for an amount that, regardless, will probably pay me less than a part-time job would. again, you'd have to scale this (i.e. have enough patreons) to make it all worth your while, and even in very big fandoms, even for someone waaaaay more successful than me, i doubt it would be likely.

lastly, as a side note, both of these "methods" are solely accepted if they occur on tumblr/writer's own website, rather than on the writer's ao3 page/fic. there was a post going around explaining why that is (nutshell: it endangers ao3's status as a non-profit archive) but as with all things, i seem to have lost it. [if you do have the link to that post/know what i'm talking about, hit me up and i'll rectify this]. this, regardless, supposes driving traffic from wherever you post your fics towards tumblr/your own website which, again, decreases your chances of scaling this.

so, in the end, where does that leave us?

i think, at this point, we've kind of reached a crossroad. ultimately, i see two ways to look at this:

option one: if you believe that fanfiction writers should be paid for their art, you also probably agree that the methods outlined above, while they do offer some sort of solution, are less than ideal. the ideal solution (for this option) would obviously be to allow fanfiction authors to be properly paid for the publication of their work through 'normal' publishing/self-publishing deals, without the need for a licence from the author (bar - perhaps - the payment of royalties). that would create a proper 'market' for fanfiction, treating it as any other form of writing/art form. it would mean a complete overhaul of the laws currently in place, but why not? ultimately, in a democracy, laws are meant to be changeable.

this being said, though, while my personal knee jerk reaction would be to shout 'hurray!' at this solution, i do not actually think i want this. or, maybe, only part of me does. the part of me who has been writing fanfiction for free for fifteen years is like 'hey, yay, maybe i could get paid!'. but then, there is another part of me that would like, maybe, one day, to write more original fiction (i already do a bit, but not much). that part of me is feels frankly a bit icky about giving up her ip rights.

would i be comfortable with people writing fanfiction of my original work? hell yes. that would be the dream. imagine having your own ao3 fandom, omg. however, would i be comfortable with people profiting from writing fanfiction of my work? honestly, i'm not sure. to me, the answer to that is: it depends (how much time investment was put in? how original the concept is? etc.) which, in fact, kind of brings us back to the current concept of licensing. and yes, maybe the current frame imposed by copyright law has also shaped the way i view the concept of property, and maybe i should be more of a communist, free-for-all kind of person, but unfortunately, i'm not that revolutionary.

also, and slightly tangentially, i find it interesting how profiting from fanficition/fanart is seen as more acceptable i certain fandoms rather than in others. taking the hp fandom for instance, even prior to jkr expressing her views on transgender rights, i often read things like: 'ah, she's so rich anyway, she doesn't need the money.' now, that argument has not only gained traction but is also reinforced by: 'ah, she's the devil and i don't want to fund her. it'd rather give my money to fanfic authors/buy things on etsy.'

while i completely understand the sentiment and do not, in any way, shape or form, support jkr's views, i do find that argument quite problematic. if you set the precedent that because someone is too rich, or because they've expressed views you disagree with, you don't believe that they should be entitled to their own intellectual property rights, i do wonder: where does this stop? this being justified for jkr could lead to all sorts of small artists seeing other people stealing/profiting from their original work without authorisation. 'i don't pay you 'cause i disagree with you,' would then act as a justification, with i find highly unfair. the fact of the matter is: jkr created hp. knowing that, the choice of buying hp products, regardless of her opinions is completely and entirely yours, but buying the same stuff unlicensed, from people who are infringing on her copyrights seems, to me, very problematic as this could potentially be scaled to all artists. either we overhaul the entire copyright system or we don't, but making special cases is dangerous, in my humble opinion.

option two: we choose to preserve copyright law as it is, for the reasons outlined above. this means that most people will not get paid for the content they put out and that the few that do will operate on a very tight, legal rope, and work for tips that are a 'nice bonus' but not a proper pay. this sort of perpetuates the idea that fanfiction is 'less than' other art forms, because in our capitalist society, things that don't generate money (things often made by women, may i add) are not seen as being as valuable as things that do.

for me, personally, while getting paid to write fanfiction sounds lovely (and makes my bank account purr) in theory, i think i side to preserve the current system. as an artist, i think that intellectual property protects us and our concepts from being ripped off by others, including by big companies who might find it handy to steal a design, a quote, anything, without proper remuneration. this is even more important for smaller artists who wouldn't necessarily have the means to defend their craft otherwise.

this being said, i do appreciate that it depends on why you're writing fanfiction. i think that topic probably deserves a whole different post in its own right but ultimately, most people write fanfic because it's fun. we know it's for fun, and not for profit. and if that's the case, then we're okay to receive compliments, reblogs and sometimes, for some people a little bit of an awkward tip for our work. for me, fanfic has been a space to make friends, to get feedback, to learn and to experiment without the pressure of money being involved. that's why i don't particularly mind doing it for free, and wouldn't even bother setting up a patreon or tip-me jar. i love being able to do it just for the enjoyment of myself and my five followers (lol), without worrying about scaling it, or making it profitable. not every part of our lives, not every passion has to be profitable. as we say in ireland, you do it 'for the craic' and nothing else.

this, though, as i already said, also depends on your means and level of privilege. to me, writing for free is fantastic and a bloody relief - it means being able to do exactly what i want. original fiction writing is full of rules, and editors, and publishers. in fanfic, i can write whatever i feel like, and i'm willing to forgo a salary in exchange of that freedom. again, i have a full time job that covers my bills. this does mean, though, that i don't have as much time to dedicate to writing as i would like to.

and also, the thing is: i'm a small author. i happily write in my own little niche. bar that one comment, it is highly unlikely that anyone would actually want to pay me (or even tip me) for my content. but when you look at very successful people, like the author of all the young dudes, i could see how they'd want to get paid for their art, and why they'd feel differently.

bottom line for me is: the flaws of the current systems of remuneration combined with my strong belief in copyright law as a means to protect small, original creators, means that i don't really think it would be right for me to get paid for fanfic, even if i was the kind of person who had the market for it. whilst it would be nice, this very long rant has, hopefully, explained why.

#fanfiction #writing #archive of our own #monetisation of fanfiction #fanfiction theory #this post is waaaay too long and the author regrets everything #pebblysand rants

[ohnoyoonoh]

PREVIEW of PHILIA & EROS

author -; @ohnoyoonoh​

genre. au -; highschool au, based on/inspired by the movie. the half of it. coming of age.

pairing -; lee jeno x oc, huang renjun x oc, jeno x oc x renjun, renjun x jeno (ish)

synopsis -; a story of where someone asks a writer to write them a love letter for the girl they like except the writer likes this girl, too. it's an adventure of lessons in friendship and first love with renjun, jeno, and hwayoung in the town of dalgleish, oregon.

author’s note -; sneak peek into my upcoming story with jeno and renjun. i was actually very passionate in this story. this is the first story in a while that will be tagged with networks, yayyy lol lmk if you wanna be part of the taglist

warnings -; love triangle, strong language, minor bullying, whole story includes touches on sexuality, touches on sex but not committed, underage drinking and drug use, mention of minor character death (renjun’s mom), kissing, long ass story lemme tell you that

word count -; (preview) 4.8k and it’s only the beginning

Love. Love certainly comes in different forms. According to C.S. Lewis, there are four types that people focus on: Storge, Philia, Eros, and Agape. Omitting agape as many do not believe in the Christian faith, the other three simply play a role in everyone’s upbringing whether they notice the existence of these loves in their life or not. Following the words of Lewis, we would be obliged to love every single day without a choice whether it’s to us or seeing it with others. We see love wherever we go. But in this society, do we really know what love is? Love is not as straightforward as we thought it would be unlike adding and subtracting in math. Love is strange but whatever the perspective by the person, it could also be the most beautiful thing in the world.

And that is not how you write a world-class essay to make you pass an honors class.

Huang Renjun began to press the backspace of the conclusion to the last essay he needed to write for the English class. It wasn’t his essay that he was writing but one that was in his queue of his homework services. The list was stacked with requests of the take on C.S. Lewis’s Four Loves for Mrs. Lee’s Junior English Honors class, but the teacher could care less that the students cheated in the class in the peewee town of Dalgleish in the state of Oregon.

Dalgleish didn’t have much except for the Pretty Douglas Fir trees decorated around the boundaries of the town. It was fitting as the Dalgleish basically meant green field. There weren’t many open fields but looking at the town from above, the amount of trees make it look like a green space. That was one of the things that Renjun enjoyed seeing, the nature that the town offered. It was calming, least to say. Losing himself into the natura was a good getaway from the extensive labor he needed to do to support him and his family. His family consisted of his father and younger sister, Mei. His mother passed away due to breast cancer when Renjun was thirteen and Mei was ten.

That was the reason why he started his business of the homework services, but it also extended into adding more part time jobs to continue a decent salary for a high school student. His father never asked him to do any of these jobs because he never wanted to overwork Rejnun and his sister during high school. He wanted to make sure that they could focus primarily on their school work and occasional side jobs to include in their résumés and transcripts. Though due to the passing of his wife, he wasn’t able to commit to his computer science career and waived off the successful path to enter a minimum wage job.

Renjun understood the reason for his father’s lack of working, which is why he stepped up a little more than a teenager should carry on their shoulders. He loved his family too much to not do so. Which is why, he was checking off the list of names on his queue for the homework that needed to be handed that day.

Zhong Chenle

Eleanor Lee

Amie Quill

Wong Yukhei

Eugene Mills and the list going on.

He calculated the amount that was due and the total, making sure that no one paid him less. He didn’t mind if someone paid more, as it would be beneficial to any extra expenses that needed to be paid off. “$20 per essay, mm.. $200. That should be enough to cover the water bill and the groceries.”

Mei nodded, writing the total on the sticky notes that littered all over the mirrored wall. The wall full of sticky notes for the week logging any needed tasks to be finished. Wherever there weren’t any sticky notes were old pictures of the family and memories in their upbringing or new polaroid pictures of Renjun and Mei. It was a nice reminder of the moments that were captured in the midst of the hard every days.

“Hey, uh, Renjun, I was wondering if I could go to homecoming?” Mei questioned, breaking the silence as Renjun revised the to-do lists while editing his own essay. He forgot to do so since the amount of requests to do their homework was unbelievable. The only downside of the homework service was that everyone requests last minute. “Renjun.”

“Sorry, I forgot to do my homework,” he snapped his head up, letting his sister know that she had his undivided attention. Mostly. “Uh, what did you ask?”

“I was just asking if I could go to homecoming, I’ll even work extra hours to pay for my dress. I’ll even pick up some of the homework in your requests,” Mei pleaded, not verbally but through her eyes. Renjun stared at her, wondering if she was serious. It wasn’t uncommon for freshmen to attend high school events, especially someone like his sister. Mei was and still is the type of person to enjoy the events that school offers. It was the perfect opportunity to spend time with her friends and escape the hours of working. That was what Renjun recalled during their late night talks as they pleated the dumplings for their lunches for the rest of the week.

“Renjun, stop spacing out,” Mei shook his shoulder, seeing if it would wake him up out of his trance.

“Uh, yeah yeah. You can help me with some of the homework and take over my shift for the next two days at the library, is that okay?” Renjun offered. He knew he would have felt bad if he said no. Knowing his sister, she would either give up on working and not get a new dress, or give up working and not going to homecoming all together.

Mei agreed, nodding her head profusely and quickly embracing her brother. Renjun stood there, reluctantly wrapping his arms around her. Mei rarely showed affection to him which is why he seemed so surprised at the actions. Nonetheless, he appreciated the love. God. Love. Love. Love. His essay. His eyes widened, releasing from the grasp of his sister, “Crap, I need to finish the last paragraph of my essay.”

The sound of the alarm ringing through the kitchen, notifying the Huang siblings that it was time for them to head to school. Renjun groaned, wanting to bang his head against the wall. He shoved the folder with the homeworks that he finished inside of his backpack while tossing Mei her lunch. He grabbed the pen that hung off of the wall, checking off the sticky note that was made a week before to remind him of the work to do. Renjun rechecked everything once more to be certain that he hadn’t skipped over anything. Assuring himself that he didn’t miss anything, he grabbed the keys of his dad’s car and made his way out the door. Before exiting the house, his dad seemed to be missing from his usual spot on the couch but knew he was home due to his shoes still at the door.

“Mei, is dad still home?” Renjun questioned as he sat on the floor to put his shoes on. Mei turned around to face her brother and nodded, “He’s taking a shower and already made his food.”

Renjun nodded, slinging his backpack over his shoulders to adjust the straps as he wore it, “Are you ready to go?”

“I’ve been ready, I don’t know about you,” Mei sarcastically retorted. Renjun scoffed, standing up and opening the door to allow his sister to go out first. As they walked outside to get to the car, Renjun playfully kicked her leg causing her to quickly turn around to punch him. He quickly ran to the car to escape her wrath.

“Alright, I’ll see you later. Don’t forget your shift at the library,” the male informed his sister as they both entered the school. Mei groaned but nodded, saying goodbye to her brother as she parted ways to join her friends. Now, Renjun was stuck to being a high class loner for the rest of the day. He never made any friends, well ones that didn’t last long. Though he was content with that. It was better than having ones that would backstab you or talk behind your back. For being a small town, Dalgleish didn’t have much to offer with people. So, people created their own drama. Luckily in all of the Huang siblings’ time in Dalgleish, they never had any mentions of being in drama. They only were the butt of the joke of their low-class dad, but Mei and Renjun never paid attention, so the joke died before it was even alive. That belonged to the top of the hierarchy in their school. But, Renjun could care less about them and rather focused on his studies and jobs.

“Here is yours and Chenle’s homework,” Renjun flipped through the countless essays in the folder, handing Lucas the needed homework.

“Ahh, thanks, let me send you the money now. I’m also paying for Chenle’s, just in case you wonder why there’s extra,” Lucas pulled his phone out to send the money through the Venmo app.

Feeling his phone buzz, Renjun took his phone out to check that the amount was correct. Confirming that it was right, well it was actually over. Chenle and Lucas were always kind enough to pay extra. They always said it was just for the hard work that he gives since they were his first customers and the growth of the services. “Thanks, Lucas.”

Lucas smiled before heading his way for his class. After he left, Renjun continued to make his way to all of the students that needed their work for the day. He scheduled different locations and times around the school to make sure that his contraband work wasn’t known to the faculty of the school. The only one who knew was their English and Physics teachers. Mrs. Lee and Dr. Jean.

Mrs. Lee immediately knew that the essays by the students in her class weren’t written that perfectly. The growth from one essay to another seemed to be developed overnight. Not trying to question her students, they were bright but most that had the perfect scored work weren’t the brightest. Knowing this, Mrs. Lee found out after give and take, she realized that the work was by Renjun. To let him know that she knew, she asked to conference with him after class. The only thing that Renjun grasped from the conversation is that she blatantly called her students stupid when it came to essays. Renjun agreed but defended them that they were smart in other areas and needed to strengthen their levels in the writing department.

And for Dr. Jean, he just didn’t care.

“So, who’d you write for this time? I just don’t wanna read the essays to waste my time to give them A’s,” Mrs. Lee sat in her chair, sipping on her cup of coffee as she watched Renjun pack his stuff up so he could attend his next class.

He dismissed his teacher’s comment, placing his essay on her desk, “I’ll give you a list later. Oh, I also need a recommendation from my favorite teacher.” He smiled, setting a blank recommendation letter for the college he’s applying to on her desk.

He watched her scan over the document, only for her face to scrunch up in disgust. He reflected her expression with his own face, confused as to why she looked repulsed, “What is it now?”

“I don’t know, you could have chosen a better school with your grades and get in,” she tossed the paper into her neat stack before grabbing the essays and shelving it.

Renjun shrugged, knowing that the reason is that he was afraid to leave his sister and dad. More so, his sister. He didn’t want to leave all of the responsibilities to his sister. To delve even farther, the responsibility of taking care of their father. He wasn’t sure if Mei was ready to do it. A lot of people may wonder why he even thinks of his father, but his dad was still family. Their dad may not be in the best state and not pulling his weight as the head of the family, but he still worked every so often. Their dad was lucky enough to be friends with the owner of his job, and the owner understood the hardships that he was going through. The consequence of his lack in effort fell on his children.

“I just think it would be better if you attend some other college, maybe, I don’t know,” Mrs. Lee retrieved another document on a clipboard, handing it to him.

He grabbed the clipboard, wondering what it was. An application to University of Oregon. He laughed, tearing his eyes away from it to look out the window. She’s still trying to do this. He gave the clipboard back, “I can’t go to this university. It’s not even that good.”

“It was good to me,” Mrs. Lee gave him a hall pass on a sticky note before waving him off to allow him to get to his next class.

“Well, I’m passing and staying in the best town in the world,” he waved as he walked out of the class.

Renjun pondered on the idea of leaving Dalgleish, but would it be the right decision. Everything he needed was right here. There could be a great job opportunity when he graduates from the community college. Well somewhere and that somewhere is not in Dalgleish. He was going to have to move out of the town one way or another if he wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a computer scientist. Maybe, he could find a way to come back to Dalgleish, opening a company would be beneficial. That was settled on a maybe. For now, all he needed to do was pass junior year and move onto senior year.

Making his way inside of the physics classroom, he showed the pass to Dr. Jean, only for it to be dismissed. He took his seat next to the window in the back. With the lack of care that his teacher had in the class, Renjun worked on the next requests of his services.

“Renjun, you’re working with Isabelle,” his teacher declared. Renjun picked up his head so fast, wondering as to why there’s suddenly a project. He was always informed beforehand in the beginning of the semester of what’s to come, but he came to realize Dr. Jean was the best teacher at coming up with random projects. Renjun just nodded, clearing his backpack from the chair next to him allowing Isabelle to sit it in.

Isabelle gave him a head bow, greeting him, “Hi. I’m Isabelle but you could just call me Hwayoung. You probably already knew that. I can’t believe Dr. Jean still calls me Isabelle, probably because he can’t pronounce half of our names.”

Renjun chuckled, shutting his computer off to place back in his backpack. He picked two of the copies of the paper before tossing the extra copies inside of the extra copy bucket that was behind him. He handed the paper to Hwayoung before reading the document. Seeing it was the project, his mouth contorted to a form of disappointment in finding the surprise assignment. The project didn’t even have anything to do with physics but basically getting to know your partner and put it in a PowerPoint. He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh. He glanced in Hwayoung’s direction: Pretty. Pretty. Popular.

Choi Hwayoung. The ideal girl that anyone could ask for. She was nice and smart. She was one of the pretty girls of the school, and everyone knew that. Renjun liked her when he joined the Model UN team, and she was also on it. He thought that she was also smart when she stood her ground during the time of Model UN. He wished he could have stayed longer as he enjoyed it, but his sister wasn’t all that capable when he had to leave for a competition once. Despite thinking the basic reasons for him liking her, he liked how she smiled and her dimples just protruded. Her eyes were full of life when debating. How she spun her pen between her fingers when she was in focus. Renjun, tone your feelings down.

Now, he wasn’t sure if he still liked her due to the lack of attention he gave his own feelings.

“Oh right, my name is Renjun,” he whispered as Dr. Jean ranted on another go of the conspiracy theories of the Illuminati and Beyoncé . His teacher always made the time in class go by faster or slower depending on how dedicated he is to the conspiracy topic. Some were more interesting than others. He looked over to her writing, “I think you knew that already.”

“Yeah, I did. You were on the Model UN team but left, you were really good at what you did,” Hwayoung complimented him. He smiled, nodding as his way of accepting the praise.

The small talk ceased as the bell rang for dismissal, he collected his items and shoved them into his backpack. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, “I’ll do the project and turn it in when it’s finished.”

“But this is a two person project. I am not asking for your homework service to come in play here,” Hwayoung turned to look at him. “Maybe, we could just actually do it together. Unless you don’t want to because you’re uncomfortable to do that which then do the project by yourself, just text me if you need anything.”

With that, she smiled and left. Renjun watched her leave the classroom. That was a first. Typically any project with partners left Renjun to do the work all by himself, which he didn’t mind. Most complain that they had to do it by themselves, but he enjoyed the easy A without the others messing it up.

The final school bell rang, but Renjun was already in the car, waiting for his sister. He hummed to the music, tapping to the tunes of Ariana Grande’s Dangerous Woman album. His head turned to the door opening, and his sister joined him in the car already singing the song. Renjun turned down the volume, “Ready?”

She nodded while buckling up her seatbelt. Renjun placed the car in reverse, only for a student to be waving a paper trying to get his attention. He wasn’t paying attention, trying to get Mei to work on time was his priority.

As he continued to reverse the car, he still hadn’t noticed the student until Mei tugged on his jacket. He slammed on the breaks, finally seeing the student waving the paper around in the rear-view mirror. He almost ran over him. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to come to a compromise in his head that he almost committed homicide by accident, “What the hell?”

The male student walked around from the rear of the car before going around to the driver’s side. He knocked on Renjun’s window before Renjun rolled the window, “Why were you in my way?”

“You almost killed me. Shouldn’t you feel a little empathetic?” The student smiled with a teasing tone in his voice.

“If you have nothing important, I will be going now,” Renjun put the car in drive, starting to press on the acceleration pedal. He still wanted to know what the student wanted, but it was probably just another order for homework help. “If you want me to do your homework, find my number and text me.”

“I want you to help me write a love letter. I read your essay for Lucas, and it was really good,” the student requested, holding the note out. Renjun slammed on the brakes once again, but this time, Mei slapped her brother in the shoulder for the discomfort of their backs hitting the seats so harshly. He looked at her with an apologetic expression before his gaze turned back to the student.

The student held the note at the window, which Renjun started to read.

Dear Choi Hwayoung.

The first three words were enough for Renjun to decide if he was going to help this fool or not. He shoved the letter back into the hands of the requester, “Nope, I’m not writing a love letter to Hwayo- to her.”

“Oh, to who?” Mei pitched in. Love always made people curious, well more nosy. Then, the ideas of who ends up with who just turned into a big mess. Renjun certainly didn’t want to help someone out that wanted to create a love letter. Plus if he was the recipient of a love letter, he hoped it wasn’t made by someone that didn’t have feelings for the person. Or in Renjun’s case, written by the person’s personal feelings. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be genuine. Artificial. Unauthentic. Fake. Love isn’t supposed to be any of those things if a person wants to make it work.

“No one, Mei.” Renjun answered before he turned back to the student, “Have a good day.” He rolled the windows back up and continued to drive away to his priority. He looked in the mirror once more to find the student sulking with his head down. He chuckled. That’s so pathetic.

“Hey, you could have totally picked that request up. That was Lee Jeno,” Mei tapped away on her phone as she informed him of who the student was. Renjun scoffed, but he also was unsure why the name of the student is relevant. Customers are customers. There’s no needed relationship as it’s based on monetary and satisfaction of getting work done. Mei looked at her brother who stayed silent, and she was sure that he had no clue who Jeno was. She raised her eyebrow, “Do you not know who Lee Jeno is?”

“Do I care? Mm.. Not really,” he didn’t really care about who Jeno was. He rarely cared about any of the people in the school, as they weren’t his business. He wanted to stay out of anyone’s mouths as much as possible. Renjun thought of who Jeno was because he did sound familiar. They lived in a small town, so everyone knew most of each other. Dalgleish compromised mostly of East Asians, but nonetheless it still had a good variety of other ethnicities. It shouldn’t be hard to think of who Jeno was. Ah, he’s the boy who used to live four houses down when they were younger before the downfall of the Huangs came about. Jeno would try to invite them to play often with the other kids in the neighborhood, but Renjun was shy at the time, and Mei wasn’t the one who enjoyed company. Though that did start to change as they grew older. Renjun wasn’t shy, just liked to keep to himself to stay out of trouble, and Mei enjoys the energy with people.

“Jeno is the star student of the school, more like the perfect Asian kid. He plays the violin, ping-pong captain, forward for soccer, and is part of A Honor Roll,” Mei listed all of the things that Jeno specialized in. Renjun listened but wasn’t in awe of the achievements that Jeno had. Most of the kids in the school participated in those activities, differing in sports and academics. Everyone had their own skill set to show off, which made Jeno not any different from the student body.

“Okay, what does that have to do with me?” Renjun questioned, stopping at the red light. He wasn’t sure what his sister was making in her brain. She was most likely going to lose track of where she was heading to prove a point.

“Plus, he banks and his parents have this IT company in California. So if you help him, he could probably get you to return in favor by getting you an internship,” Mei added onto her tracks. She sure did make a point. That was a first. Renjun surely could land a job if he gets an internship, but he didn’t want to use someone like that. He wanted to do it on his own.

“Yeah, no. I refuse to do that,” Renjun pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, accelerating the car as the light switched to green.

“How come? It’s a good opportunity, I’m just saying,” Mei said as she shuffled around in her seat, adjusting her jacket.

“Well, I don’t want to use someone like that. I want to get there on my own, no matter how hard it is. I have a plan to get there,” Renjun answered. He arranged his future’s timeline, coming up with the desired plan. He thought of Plan B, just in case the first one didn’t work. Then, he had his safety plans just in case nothing of his wants couldn’t come to reality.

Mei answered with a hum. Renjun was glad that she didn’t continue the conversation. He parked next to the curb in front of the library and turned off the engine. He decided to study at the library. He didn’t have much to do today other than making dinner and finishing the rest of the requests that he didn’t assign to his sister. Plus, the library offered free food and beverages to their workers. And, who doesn’t like free food?

“Your shift ends at 7, which is perfect. I’ll be in my usual section, working and studying if you need anything,” Renjun said as he left his sister as they entered the downtown library. He walked towards the Japanese literature section, quietly greeting some of the regular goers that he recognized. Living in Dalgleish, he picked up quite a few languages. He was surrounded by multiple ethnicities who differed in languages and to benefit the elderly who weren’t comfortable using English, he thought it would be nice to learn their native language. Plus, there were foreigners who came frequently to visit the town. It was like a tourist attraction, sometimes. Even if there wasn’t anything to see in the town.

Renjun was only fluent in Mandarin Chinese and Korean, but he was conversational in other languages like Cantonese and Japanese. He tried to make the effort, plus his world geography class had an extra credit opportunity to explore languages. Despite not seeming to be a people person at school, Renjun was able to converse easily with others when he was out and about. He often got teased by his sister for it because he always said he was not a people person.

He placed his belongings on the ground, unpacking his laptop, and plugging the charger in the outlet to refuel the laptop’s battery. Putting his earphones in to enjoy his music, he bopped his head a little to the beats. Renjun checked his list if he had any new requests. He wanted to know if Jeno asked for one with his love letter. That’s so stupid. Love letters are supposed to be personal. He’s such a dumbass.

“Hey.” came out of nowhere. Renjun jerked in his chair a little, even if he had earphones, he didn’t blast it just in case someone asked him about anything in the library. He still was a worker there, even if he wasn’t working. He thrived off of a busy schedule. He didn’t thrive off on being startled.

He whipped his head to the person who peeked over his shoulder, almost throwing his hands around if it wasn’t in a public place or at least a library. He saw the same boy from earlier, only this time in neater clothes. Jeno was wearing his athletic warm-ups when he was at the school. Renjun just blinked his eyes before shaking his head and getting back to his laptop, “You’re in a library, look through some books for inspiration for your love letter. Good luck to you and bye.”

“Oh come on, I’m not the best at words and expressing my feelings. Can you just at least read it and revise?” Jeno asked, moving a chair from another table to sit with Renjun. The ping-pong star received hushes from those around him, causing both Renjun and Jeno to have apologetic looks to them.

Renjun shook his head, “No. No way.”

“I’ll pay you extra from what your highest price is. I’ll pay you even more for authenticity,” Jeno pulled his phone out. Renjun peeked over at Jeno’s screen to see his website page with the costs of the homework papers. He thought about the extra costs. He possibly could buy his sister’s dress for homecoming, so she could keep her money from work and spend it on makeup and other necessities to get ready for school events. It was a good idea, but Renjun wasn’t the best at even expressing feelings and whatnot.

“I’ll give you $100 for this one letter,” Jeno offered.

“Alright, sold.”

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[transrightsjimin]

im behind on my administration nd freaking out abt medical bills nd just, the privatization of healthcar!! if anyone told you the netherlands has super socialized systems, they’re either a time traveller from the previous century or lying or like... think anything tht isn’t the US is socialist. it’s not. this country is capitalistic nd social programs have been deteriorating for decades bc of this dominant neoliberal as well as fascist mentality in politics, which enforces budget cuts that hurt the working class nd then punishes them for being poor or sick. yes there is insurance, but insurance companies (that you’re required to by law to make use of even if you can’t afford it fully) are a competitive market that keep increasing its prices every year, less and less is insured bc of the privatization of health, this country is a tax haven for multinationals who pay fucking zero or even get donations from the government and ex-students are stuck with loan debt of ten thousands of euros bc of student benefits being turned into loans by liberal parties in the chamber. if i have to see ppl from other countries share these fucking posts praising the NL for being so progressive for legized weed (it rly isn’t??? there are shops where it can be bought w a license but ppl can be stopped on the street for smoking it bc of racial profiling, and owning one weed plant is legal but not using it or cultivating more than one. like cops in helicopters looking for houses tht cultivate weed bc they got dragged in a scheme is everyday reality you know??).

like yes, this is by far not the worst place on earth, even the working class, esp white, are still far more privileged than the working class in other countries, e.g. not needing to fear for war and having access to water or healthcare at least somewhere. and the petit bourgeouis is quite large in this country which is why there might be a disconnect in ppl’s minds when not being able to apply class theory to a local context. but it is this romanticization of a country tht breaks down its social systems, copies a lot of pseudo-science and ‘free market‘ shit from the US, and deals w its own tradition of denying its colonial / racist past and PRESENT (it still has colonies but it isn’t addressed as such??) that gets to people’s heads and justifies any bad processes bc ‘hey, it at least isn’t [insert other country]!!‘.

more personal rants abt bureacuracy bs and healthcare bills under the readmore. im stressed

FUCKING HELL i just found out that the ‘eigen bijdrage‘ (own financial contribution) that comes with this new ADHD medicine (lisdexfetamine) isn’t around €20-25 like the person who prescribed it stated it was (which already is a lot to me considering the first medicine is fully insured) but €105,37 of which i would need to pay €76,80 (i think bc the previous medication of methylfenidaat was affirmed as not effective) for just 30 MEDICINES so ONE MONTH??

the pharmacist i spoke to, sounded like they too found it an absurdly high price nd i asked if the amount would eventually not be needed to be paid anymore after a certain amount of times (which was for example the case with antacids i picked up for my mom nd myself) and they said it didn’t. i was adviced to seek contact with my insurance company so i did and they said p much the same thing about fees being constant, maybe at the most fluctuating a little bit to lower fees in some months but not much. the only good thing is that eigen bijdrage fees can “only” run up to €250 per year bc anything above that is covered by insurance (which is already so?? to me bc you also have eigen risico amount of €385 per year which works p much the same).

so i looked at the website of the ADHD diagnostic / therapy center i’m a patient at and there’s a page about fees for medication and it links to a web page with statement of the brand / pharmaceutical company that makes this lisdexfentamine and it turns out that you CAN send it a request to get payed back the (i think full??) amount that you paid for the medication. my fucking god the fact that the insurance company workers nor pharmacists couldn’t even access that information bc it isn’t communicated is so vile. i considered not taking this medication despite it possibly being one that actually works for me unlike methylfenidaat. i really hope i can get the full amount paid back and that it’s not actually so that there’s more to this the brand won’t tell people who need medication. i’m also just frustrated this shit isn’t covered bc

i have supposedly the best type of insurance at this company nd my parents help me pay for it and all and this medicine nd a bunch of other things STILL aren’t covered by insurance bc the pharmaceutical industry has become so privatized and the ADHD institution i am a patient at has no contract w insurance companies so that’ll be another €250 in 2021.

ALSO i still have this invoice of €91 from my orthodontist bc my splint was broken nd replaced a few months ago, and i want to send the invoice to my insurance to see if they could at least cover part of it. but for that i need a PDF and to download that, i need to enter a code which they would send to my ‘phone number‘ but that one belongs to my parents’ landline(?) phone and to change it, i need to log in but i don’t have an online account bc when i first joined that ortho center i didn’t have all that and so far that was just fine. so now i first need to find a way to make an account or change my phone number to be able to download the invoice PDF and send that to the insurance. goddd.

like i am blessed enough to have parents who keep offering to help me pay my bills but i feel guilty towards them whenever i accept that bc it’s not like they’re rich or anything nd my mom will lose 1 form of income (or already has) nd isn’t at pension age yet bc that’s 67 and she’s 65 so they’re dependant on mainly my dad who overworks on wage barely above minimum, though i do think my mom gets a little bit so that’s a bit of a relief. but urgh i rly don’t want them to pay for so much for me, nd though the municipality doesn’t check my bank account regularly, it can if it suspects fraud nd they do that for the most random reasons so i’m always afraid they will check and see my parents send money and end up witholding welfare benefits for us.

#rambles