#requirement is to make enough money to cover living expenses and my bills

[threadmonster]

Who wants to marry me so I can be a house spouse because God am I productive when I don't have to go to bed by 8:30pm so I can wake up at 6:00am and go suffer for 8 hours.

[notaplaceofhonour]

URGENT ! PLEASE HELP A TRANS PERSON IN NEED !

If you can��t donate, please still share!

I hate to have to ask for money but I really need help.

I’m a trans non-binary person currently living out of my car after fleeing Florida, and my car is in dire need of repair.

I’ve already used up all my savings on leaving Florida & other repairs. My car is my only steady source of income atm (I have a delivery app gig job) & my current living situation requires staying mobile.

The rear shocks are direly in need of replacement, and I don’t have the money to cover the whole repair (I’ve tried applying for shop credit but was denied). It’s possible that I could save up enough to get it repaired in the next week, but driving that much before getting it fixed risks causing far more extreme & expensive damage, that would strand me.

I need about $650 in total to cover the absolutely essential repairs, but if you can contribute even like $50 or $100 that would help get me closer. Anything helps!

Venmo: https://venmo.com/u/branlukeblackwood

CashApp: https://cash.app/$karibud

EDIT: I was able to collect enough to afford the repair! Thank you to everyone who donated! I could still use assistance as I’m still a Floridian gender refugee living out of my car until I can afford a more permanent living situation, but the immediate crisis has been averted

[amnotaqueen]

More Signs Of Financial Distress

I have been looking into finding a gig job for the time being. A lot of gig jobs require that you use your own vehicle. Well, over the weekend, I was going to apply for something that required me to upload a Pic of my Driver's License and proof of vehicle insurance. I get the proof of insurance out of my car's glove compartment and I look at it. It's expired. Our car insurance expired in late October 2024. We have been driving around with no car insurance for over a month and my husband did not even tell me.

When I told him, he acted like he wasn't aware. He claimed that he didn't know. I cant read minds, but I'm almost certain that he knew it had expired. Just like he knows he has not gotten a Driver's License for the state we now live in, even though we have been here for almost a year. When I asked him why he hasn't gotten a Driver's License for the state we live in, he said he just hasn't had time. He said he didn't know he had to get one for the state we moved to. Nonsense. When we moved from Florida to Georgia, he knew we had to get Georgia drivers licenses, and we did.

I don't know what is up his sleeve. So, now, we are driving around illegally without insurance. For all I know, he has car insurance on his own vehicle, but did not renew car insurance on the vehicle I drive (although he drives us in my car to meetings, in the ministry, and whenever we used to go places in my car.)

I still have not gone grocery shopping. He is trying to make us skip buying groceries so he can punish and control, as well as spend money to cover expenses he has because he has mismanaged his finances. He is telling me I need to work. He says, "You need to pay your bills." He says the bills should be 50/50. I always hear this 50/50 stuff when it's related to financial responsibility. I never hear him say, however, that we go 50/50 on making decisions for our household. I never hear him suggest that we go 50/50 on cleaning, washing clothes, or cooking.

So I don't feel comfortable driving my car. He, of course, won't tell me when we could get car insurance. It's interesting that this morning, my husband did not get up to tend to our son and get him breakfast before school like he told me he would do. He doesn't keep his word. He left me to get my son breakfast and to drive him to school. So now I can interfere? After he has thrown away my food and left me unable to buy groceries, he leaves it up to me to figure out how to feed our son so he doesn't go to school hungry. After I reveal to him that he let our car insurance lapse, because he was the one handling that, he decides that I should take our son to school.

He is not a man. He truly is a damaged little boy. He is not a protector. He does want to be a provider, he just wants to amass wealth for himself. He is not concerned with providing security for his family. He is the one assigned by God according to the Bible to be the head of his family and exercise headship over it. His idea of exercising headship is controlling EVERYTHING, being served, forcing people to do labor, bullying, threatening, overpowering, intimidating them, forcing them to do whatever he says, and demanding he be shown the honor he feels he deserves. A real man will receive honor and respect without having to demand it from others. A real man does not put his wife (and son) in a dire situation, blame her for the situation when she had no control over anything because he won't relinquish any control whatsoever to her, then just abandon her to scramble to figure out what to do to minimize the impact on my son especially.

My son still needs to eat enough. He needs to get to school. I reached out to a neighbor who sometimes drops by food that is about to expire. She hooked us up with some produce and meats. I did not express a need to my congregation elders because I am treated like whatever I say has to be ignored, not responded to. The elders have not been comforting to me. They have not been supportive, understanding, nor compassionate toward me. I feel like because I communicate the abuse I suffer (not even close to all of it), they avoid me. I can't speak for everyone's experience, as I have said before. But my own experience with the elders has been very discouraging for me, for years. They leave me wondering if Jehovah cares for me at all. In word, they will say they care, but talk is cheap. To be honest, I dont even get any cheap talk from the elders that remotely resembles any personal care. The care is not demonstrated by appropriate action, at least, not in my case. If I were to say to an elder, "I don't think the elders care about my situation," the elder would respond, "We care." I can't tell.

Some things are not going to happen appropriately even in Christ's congregation. In the first century, after gentiles came into the congregation, the Bible says that the brothers would feed the Jewish widows, but neglected to feed the Greek widows. It was neglect of congregation members based on racism. That had to be corrected, and it was. In the book of Revelation, Jesus (as head of the congregation) was speaking about various congregations, giving commendation and also critical counsel. For one congregation, he criticized them because they were tolerating "that woman Jezebel". Even the apostle Paul noticed things occurring in the congregation that was not right. Just the same, I personally notice things that do not seem right. One way or another, things will be corrected, either in this system or the next.

Anyway,I was able to get some food from a neighbor. I also contacted the school to see about getting my son on the route to be picked up and dropped off for school. That way, I can minimize how much I drive my car. I'm not supposed to drive at all, but I don't have money for Uber. I have not found work yet. My husband won't give me money for anything, not even food. I can't pay extra to have food delivered to my home. That's mostly where I go anyway when I drive; to drop off and pick up my son from school and shopping. I was going out in field service (our ministry) one day during the week, but I will have to put that on hold.

There are two UPS envelopes laying on the console in our living room, addressed to my husband. They have been there since Saturday. I feel like they may contain new credit cards. I feel like my husband has not opened them yet because he is trying to continue depriving me of purchasing power.

[nickersonageney99]

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[creations-by-chaosfay]

We don't qualify for the grant because of the payment my husband receives every month as my caregiver. Oregon has what's called the Independence Choice Program, or ICP. It's a monthly oayment for me to give tonwhomwver I choose as my private caregiver, making it possible for people like me to not live in nursing homes. The amount he receives covers mortgage, and used to cover all our bills, bit greed-flation made prices for everything go up (especially food), so now it's not enough. Then there's my SSDI (once monthly tiny payment that makes it impossible to be independent) and my husband's job as well. We need at least $6k because the one company that accepts monthly payments for plumbing work (in this case it's new plumbing) require 50% upfront, and we were quoted $11k two years ago, which means it's likely more expensive now.

I have commissions open, quilts and watercolor paintings listed, and selling all those paintings will cover the current goal of paying off debt. When that's paid off, it's fewer bills to pay and makes it possible to save money for new plumbing.

The commission us set up like it is in order to prevent burnout. I'll be making stacks of coasters and mug rugs in the meantime. Keep an eye on the shop for those. The listings will go up a week from Monday because everything needs to be washed before listing.

If my current goal is met by November 1st, I'm giving away a quilt. Then I'll set uo the next goal both on ko-fi and GFM because it's gonna be a lot of money, and I'll be aiming at $11k so we won't have to sign up for an Ally loan, which is what that plumbing company offers for monthly payments. When that goal is met, I'm giving away two quilts, up to queen size each, and everyone who contributes to meeting the goal will be entered unless folks donate anonymously. Anonymous can't be entered, sorry.

We have our regular bills mostly covered now. I called around for plumbers because we still can't get tub to drain.

First plumber: $159/hour, $5 fuel feed, not sure how long the work will take, obviously, so budget for three hours minimum.

Second plumber: $149 for the trip, no hourly fee, but won't know how much it'll cost until they get here and examine everything. I'll need to cover materials and the cost of the job. The fee for the trip here will be waived if we accept their quote and have them work on it. Could be a $500 job for all we know.

Third plumber: $189 to make the trip here, $149/hour, minimum one hour, trip fee is waived if we hire them. Suggested to budget three hours for this.

I'll be finished with the dining set I'm presently working on. There are loads of scraps, so I'm opening "pay what you want" with a minimum amount.

I'm applying for a grant through a city program here to have the plumbing replaced, but they cover up to $10k. We were quoted $11k two years ago. There's likely a waiting list, and I'm not certain if we'll be approved or not. If we are, yay! If not...well, who wants to pay ahead for some quilts? When I have a machine for my quilting frame that will allow me to quilt items larger than 30x30 inches, your quilt(s) will be first on the list after I practice. With a lot of luck, I'll have a machine by the end of the year.

Here are examples of my work:

[shera-dnd]

For the past three years I've been lucky enough to be able to live off of your generous donations and fic requests. Not only was able to live off of it, for a while I've been kinda thriving. A lot of the best things that happened to me in these past few years happened because of your generosity

But things are getting a lot more difficult on my end. The dollar value is dropping, Paypal is taking a bigger cut, the power bill went up by 50 fucking percent this month, not to mention the extra expenses with therapy and my anti depressants

Last year I made a post about how I could easily cover most of my expenses with little more than pocket change from a few of the people who follow me, and well that hasn't changed, it requires a few more people but it's still doable.

Last year the goal was 60 dollars a month, now I'm gonna be needing upwards of 180 to 200 dollars a month...which is a lot when I put it like that, but that doesn't mean it can't be done

And I'm not just gonna beg for y'all's money. I'm giving you guys an incentive here. Because every month we do reach those 200 dollars a cut will be going to my good friend @midnightechoes who will be making illustrations for the 3k poll winner for that month

That's right you're not gonna just get a full 3k words for just 6 dollars, you'll be getting art for that fic. If we do reach our goal and I can still pay the power bill that month.

I'm not gonna link my ko-fi here because goodness knows tumblr doesn't seem to like links, but it's on my pinned post, so it shouldn't be too hard to find.

Anyways, thank you to all the people who helped me live this dream of living off my writing, and an even bigger thank you for those who continue to help me through those rougher times

[yusuke-of-valla]

(Reply to this post)

@sparkofsummer Oh yeah Yusuke’s specific dorm situation is confusing because he SAYS he’s allowed to stay there free of charge because of his scholarship but then in PQ2 he mentions almost fainting when he saw his electricity bill and the fact that Dancing in Starlight implies he takes cold baths to save money so it seems like he is paying for utilities.

My experience with dorms is American colleges so I don’t know if it’ll be an exact one to one, but there they usually make you pay a flat fee for the semester but you’re not getting a recurring bill for utilities unless you’re living in an apartment off campus, and if your scholarship pays for room and board, you don’t have to even pay that. You have to get a meal plan but you’re definitely not paying for utilities.

(Although then again all the dorms I’ve stayed in have had communal bathrooms so maybe it doesn’t make sense to charge for utility in that case idk)

But honestly I’m just at a loss as to how Yusuke is paying for utilities. Like not even in the sense that he’s a bad impulse buyer, he doesn’t have any consistent source of income except for an allowance from the school he mentions at one point, and I can’t imagine that’s enough to cover for utilities AND art supplies, AND a phone bill which thanks to Strikers we can also add to the list of Yusuke’s recurrent expenses. Even knowing that Yusuke skips meals and is pretty cheap when it comes to getting food the bills alone seem like they should add up. And then, you know, the impulse buying doesn’t help either.

So TLDR my two main questions are “why does a scholarship that covers staying in the dorms require the student to still pay utilities?” And “where does Yusuke get the money to afford said utilities”

[phroyd]

I’m not going to pretend that I know how to interpret the jobs and inflation data of the past few months. My view is that this is still an economy warped by the pandemic, and that the dynamics are so strange and so unstable that it will be some time before we know its true state. But the reaction to the early numbers and anecdotes has revealed something deeper and more constant in our politics.

The American economy runs on poverty, or at least the constant threat of it. Americans like their goods cheap and their services plentiful and the two of them, together, require a sprawling labor force willing to work tough jobs at crummy wages. On the right, the barest glimmer of worker power is treated as a policy emergency, and the whip of poverty, not the lure of higher wages, is the appropriate response.Reports that low-wage employers were having trouble filling open jobs sent Republican policymakers into a tizzy and led at least 25 Republican governors — and one Democratic governor — to announce plans to cut off expanded unemployment benefits early. Chipotle said that it would increase prices by about 4 percent to cover the cost of higher wages, prompting the National Republican Congressional Committee to issue a blistering response: “Democrats’ socialist stimulus bill caused a labor shortage, and now burrito lovers everywhere are footing the bill.” The Trumpist outlet The Federalist complained, “Restaurants have had to bribe current and prospective workers with fatter paychecks to lure them off their backsides and back to work.”But it’s not just the right. The financial press, the cable news squawkers and even many on the center-left greet news of labor shortages and price increases with an alarm they rarely bring to the ongoing agonies of poverty or low-wage toil.

As it happened, just as I was watching Republican governors try to immiserate low-wage workers who weren’t yet jumping at the chance to return to poorly ventilated kitchens for $9 an hour, I was sent “A Guaranteed Income for the 21st Century,” a plan that seeks to make poverty a thing of the past. The proposal, developed by Naomi Zewde, Kyle Strickland, Kelly Capatosto, Ari Glogower and Darrick Hamilton for the New School’s Institute on Race and Political Economy, would guarantee a $12,500 annual income for every adult and a $4,500 allowance for every child. It’s what wonks call a “negative income tax” plan — unlike a universal basic income, it phases out as households rise into the middle class.

“With poverty, to address it, you just eliminate it,” Hamilton told me. “You give people enough resources so they’re not poor.” Simple, but not cheap. The team estimates that its proposal would cost $876 billion annually. To give a sense of scale, total federal spending in 2019 was about $4.4 trillion, with $1 trillion of that financing Social Security payments and another $1.1 trillion support Medicaid, Medicare, the Affordable Care Act and the Children’s Health Insurance Program.

Beyond writing that the plan “would require new sources of revenue, additional borrowing or trade-offs with other government funding priorities,” Hamilton and his co-authors don’t say how they’d pay for it, and in our conversation, Hamilton was cagey. “There are many ways in which it can be paid for and deficit spending itself is not bad unless there are certain conditions,” he said. I’m less blasé about financing a program that would increase federal spending by almost 20 percent, but at the same time, it’s clearly possible. Even if the entire thing was funded by taxes, it would only bring America’s tax burden to roughly the average of our peer nations.

I suspect the real political problem for a guaranteed income isn’t the costs, but the benefits. A policy like this would give workers the power to make real choices. They could say no to a job they didn’t want, or quit one that exploited them. They could, and would, demand better wages, or take time off to attend school or simply to rest. When we spoke, Hamilton tried to sell it to me as a truer form of capitalism. “People can’t reap the returns of their effort without some baseline level of resources,” he said. “If you lack basic necessities with regards to economic well-being, you have no agency. You’re dictated to by others or live in a miserable state.”

But those in the economy with the power to do the dictating profit from the desperation of low-wage workers. One man’s misery is another man’s quick and affordable at-home lunch delivery. “It is a fact that when we pay workers less and don’t have social insurance programs that, say, cover Uber and Lyft drivers, we are able to consume goods and services at lower prices,” Hilary Hoynes, an economist at the University of California at Berkeley, where she also co-directs the Opportunity Lab, told me.

This is the conversation about poverty that we don’t like to have: We discuss the poor as a pity or a blight, but we rarely admit that America’s high rate of poverty is a policy choice, and there are reasons we choose it over and over again. We typically frame those reasons as questions of fairness (“Why should I have to pay for someone else’s laziness?”) or tough-minded paternalism (“Work is good for people, and if they can live on the dole, they would”). But there’s more to it than that.

It is true, of course, that some might use a guaranteed income to play video games or melt into Netflix. But why are they the center of this conversation? We know full well that America is full of hardworking people who are kept poor by very low wages and harsh circumstance. We know many who want a job can’t find one, and many of the jobs people can find are cruel in ways that would appall anyone sitting comfortably behind a desk. We know the absence of child care and affordable housing and decent public transit makes work, to say nothing of advancement, impossible for many. We know people lose jobs they value because of mental illness or physical disability or other factors beyond their control. We are not so naïve as to believe near-poverty and joblessness to be a comfortable condition or an attractive choice.

Most Americans don’t think of themselves as benefiting from the poverty of others, and I don’t think objections to a guaranteed income would manifest as arguments in favor of impoverishment. Instead, we would see much of what we’re seeing now, only magnified: Fears of inflation, lectures about how the government is subsidizing indolence, paeans to the character-building qualities of low-wage labor, worries that the economy will be strangled by taxes or deficits, anger that Uber and Lyft rides have gotten more expensive, sympathy for the struggling employers who can’t fill open roles rather than for the workers who had good reason not to take those jobs. These would reflect not America’s love of poverty but opposition to the inconveniences that would accompany its elimination.

Nor would these costs be merely imagined. Inflation would be a real risk, as prices often rise when wages rise, and some small businesses would shutter if they had to pay their workers more. There are services many of us enjoy now that would become rarer or costlier if workers had more bargaining power. We’d see more investments in automation and possibly in outsourcing. The truth of our politics lies in the risks we refuse to accept, and it is rising worker power, not continued poverty, that we treat as intolerable. You can see it happening right now, driven by policies far smaller and with effects far more modest than a guaranteed income.

Hamilton, to his credit, was honest about these trade-offs. “Progressives don’t like to talk about this,” he told me. “They want this kumbaya moment. They want to say equity is great for everyone when it’s not. We need to shift our values. The capitalist class stands to lose from this policy, that’s unambiguous. They will have better resourced workers they can’t exploit through wages. Their consumer products and services would be more expensive.”

For the most part, America finds the money to pay for the things it values. In recent decades, and despite deep gridlock in Washington, we have spent trillions of dollars on wars in the Middle East and tax cuts for the wealthy. We have also spent trillions of dollars on health insurance subsidies and coronavirus relief. It is in our power to wipe out poverty. It simply isn’t among our priorities.

“Ultimately, it’s about us as a society saying these privileges and luxuries and comforts that folks in the middle class — or however we describe these economic classes — have, how much are they worth to us?” Jamila Michener, co-director of the Cornell Center for Health Equity, told me. “And are they worth certain levels of deprivation or suffering or even just inequality among people who are living often very different lives from us? That’s a question we often don’t even ask ourselves.”

But we should.

Phroyd

[theunapologeticallygaypirate]

This may seem astonishingly familiar, but please, let me explain.

My name is James. I'm a freelance writer and artist presently making ends meet on welfare. I have posted about this before, but unfortunately circumstances have prompted me to post again. 

In April of 2021, I was diagnosed with IBS.

For those who don't know, IBS affects your digestive system, and eating the wrong foods isn't just uncomfortable, it's painful. Maintaining any sort of conventional diet with IBS is very difficult, and unfortunately has suddenly gotten very expensive. Though for some their symptoms can be mild and not require anything to be done about it, in my case the list of foods I cannot have is quite extensive, and it has ballooned my food budget almost beyond my means.

Last month, I started a GFM fundraiser for food, and it's been an enormous help. Unfortunately food is not the only thing I am struggling with during this pandemic, and now I have been slapped with a final warning bill, and I need some help paying it off when family has point-blank refused to help, not because they can't, but because they won't—according to my family, I need to learn my lesson by drowning in late fees.

Unfortunately, my probiotics and supplements aren't covered either, so on top of my new and highly restrictive diet, I need to shell out money for this medication that helps me feel a little better. While I qualify for disability where I live, I won't be able to see my doctor until July. Initially it had been mid-June, but she recently moved my appointment back, and hasn't answered my calls on signing my disability paperwork, so I have no idea if I will be approved or not.

What I am asking for is enough to tide me over between now and whenever I finally get in touch with my doctor. If you have a dollar or two to spare, that would be greatly appreciated. This is all very new to me, and my Mental Health issues have made it twice as hard to vocalise that I do need help and deserve that help. If you can't afford to donate, please share this with your friends. Thank you for reading!

[ocdhuacheng]

For the disability thing you reblogged, in the US it's that they can't have $2,000+ in savings or assets (things like cars for example.) The minute you hit 2000 you lose your benefits and have to pay the government back whatever money they sent you that month.

Most people have a limit of getting a max of about $800 a month, and aren't allowed to receive help from relatives or friends with expenses without that being taken out of the $800. You can't even receive donations for emergencies.

In order to get the type of disability where you can earn more (still well below poverty. Like think $1,200 a month) you have to become disabled after working for years at a middle class paying job.

Otherwise it's the $800 a month type. That's often less than that.

Often that $800 isn't even enough to cover medication and doctor visits. Let alone rent. The type of insurance disabled people qualify for still requires them to pay 20% of medical costs, and they often have conditions that cost hundreds or thousands a month.

If they get married or even live with a partner sometimes they lose all benefits. Which means they don't have marriage equality.

Housing programs, which take years to get access to, still expect them to pay like 20/30% of that 800 on rent. Food assistance for often doesn't cover enough, and if you get help with rent or bills can end up being only like $15 a month.

So it's way, way worse than if they only got $2000. People are forced to live well below poverty while most have medical conditions that make living more expensive on its own.

And disability takes years and years to get on because the government policy is to deny *all* claims the first time to discourage people from applying. Which means you have to wait for forever to appeal the decision.

I've known several people who the government denied their claims long enough that they passed from their medical condition before ever getting even a penny.

I can never marry my partner, even after gay marriage became legal, because if I do they'll lose insurance and their income and be unable to afford the medication they need to live.

It's not good.

That’s literally so vile I’m sorry to everyone who has to go through that

[sanktaleksander]

What about, the prompt number three for Brank? *Puppy eyes*

I’m sorry this took forever but I really loved writing this even when I wasn’t making much progress. I hope you enjoy it!

Brank + 3. touching foreheads

Read on ao3

Billy hated hospitals. He hated everything about them, from all the people always coming and going, the oppressive and glaring fluorescent lights overhead to the constant lack of quiet, be it from the sounds of beeping machines or humming equipment or just the constant sound of conversation. Even the smell, so bracingly potent in its cleanliness seemed to put him on edge. It probably didn’t bother most people, but everything about this place made Billy uncomfortable and ill at ease from the moment he knew he’d have to go inside. Places like this, any clinical setting really, reminded him too much of his past, especially around the time he’d found his mother, practically on life support after she’d nearly drugged herself into oblivion one too many times. The place she was in now still made him uncomfortable, as though he could smell the scent of people’s suffering just from entering the building. Just one more reason he preferred not to see her.

Today though, today he was here for a different reason and if it had been for any other reason, he probably wouldn’t have come simply to avoid stepping foot in another hospital. But he wasn’t here for a friend or even a family member, he was here for someone far more important than either of those designations. 

Billy had taken care of everything personally as soon as he’d been given word. He’d made sure the room was the biggest and best available, had only the best staff on duty with more just a call away if need be and he was sure he could have a jet waiting and ready in under 30 minutes if shit suddenly decided to hit the fan, which Billy always assumed it would even if it never really did. It was the soldier in him he supposed, always having to be prepared for the worst case scenario. He’d learned a long time ago that it paid to have all your bases covered and he was definitely a man with the means to do exactly that.

The ride in the elevator was excruciating, both because of such an enclosed space and the length of time it took to move up several floors even though in actuality it probably wasn’t any time at all. Mostly though, it was because of the series of knots that had formed in the pit of Billy’s stomach, starting the second he got the call. After that, he’d started ringing contact after contact to get everything in place here before ultimately making the trip here himself.

Finally, Billy reached the correct floor and found it blessedly less crowded and a bit quieter, mostly because Billy had demanded the best and was willing to fork over the cash for a bit of privacy. Still, his heart sped up as he made his way down the hall, his expensive Louis Vuitton’s echoing against the tile with every step. 

There was a rather broad man in a black suit standing in front of the door at the end of the hall. His arms were crossed over his chest and his gaze steely. If he was listening to the chatter he was surely hearing from his earpiece, it registered no change in his expression. Billy didn’t have to say a word, the man knew who he was just from sight alone and immediately stepped aside, opening the door and allowing Billy to enter before closing it once he was inside. 

The room was silent except for the steady sounds of the machines that were inescapable in a hospital. It was a rather large space for a hospital room, with an oversized couch and several chairs, some decent wallpaper, and windows that overlooked the city. 

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

Billy had avoided looking at the man sitting in the hospital bed until then, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he finally managed a look. His eyes landed on the other man’s face, saw the myriad of cuts on his body, some deep enough to require stitches while others were simply bandaged. Not that Billy could see most of his body, just his face, and arms, the rest covered by a gown and the thin blanket that had been placed over him. Still, Billy could see the beginnings of bruises along with other abrasions. He worried about the injuries that he knew he couldn’t see.

It took a moment for him to find his voice as he took everything in. “It’s you. For anyone else, I wouldn’t have but you’re not anyone else.” 

“So I’m royalty now, huh?” Frank’s voice sounded rough and more than a bit tired, but just the sound of it made Billy’s heart beat faster, even as he remained rooted to the spot, still taking in the state of the other man. Leave it to Frank to try and make light of his current situation.

Billy sighed softly then, taking a step toward the bed. “You act like I should’ve done nothing.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, Bill. Whatever happens to me isn’t your fault.”

“But you could’ve died!” Billy burst out, drawing back a second later, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. “We’re all going to die sooner or later. You’re still making more out of this than you should be.” Frank insisted. Billy let out a noise of disgust. “Oh spare me that bullshit. Just because we’re all going to kick it one day doesn’t mean we should just act like we have no control over our lives. We shouldn’t just let shit happen as it may, paying no mind to our own safety, just asking for the universe to come and off us.” He shook his head before meeting Frank’s gaze. “Is that what you want? Do you have some sort of fucking death wish that you haven’t told me about?”

Frank scoffed. “You know it’s not like that. I do what I do because I have to, because nobody else will. You know it’s a little more dangerous than some office job.”

“I do but you’re not an untrained idiot who decided to do this for his own jollies either! Would it really be so hard to be a little more careful? Every day I wake up and wonder if this is the day I’m gonna get a call that someone found your maimed corpse in some burnt out warehouse!” Billy was trying so hard to rein in his feelings but this was Frank and nobody else got to him quite like he did and it didn’t help that Frank didn’t seem to understand why Billy would go to such lengths just to make sure he was okay. 

“And so what if I end up dead, Bill? You’d be fine, you’ve got everything anyone could possibly want and if you don’t, you’re more than capable of paying someone to get what you want. The whole fucking world is in the palm of your hand. Compared to all that, why do I even matter?” Frank asked him, watching Billy with almost curious eyes, unused to seeing the other man this way. For a long moment Billy stood silent. His gaze had moved from Frank to somewhere on the floor, but it soon returned to his face and Frank wasn’t sure he quite understood the emotion he saw playing in Billy’s eyes when everything about him was normally so guarded. 

“Don’t you get it?” Billy finally asked him. “Don’t you understand that without you, I’ve got nothing? No family, no friends, or at least none that matter anyway. I’ve got the money and the high powered job and everything that comes with that but none of that matters if you’re not here. How am I just supposed to fucking go on without you, huh? How am I supposed to move on and act like everything is okay knowing damn well I’m never gonna see you again?!” Billy demanded, his voice rising as he began to pace, not knowing what else to do with himself. 

Frank found himself unsure of what to say. It hurt him to see Billy like this, to see him so clearly unhappy when he was usually so calm and practically unflappable in any situation. When they’d been overseas, he’d been a lethal sniper because of his ability to remain in control at all times besides having a perfect shot. He was even like that when they were deep in a firefight. Billy could handle anything. Frank couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen him like this. 

“Bill...I-I don’t…” He couldn’t seem to find the right words.

Billy had crossed to the other side of the room where the windows were, now leaning his hands against the ledge beneath the glass, his eyes trained on the view of the city outside.

“Sometimes...Sometimes I think about trying to convince you to go away with me, to give up all of this, this life you’ve chosen. I think about convincing you to let me take you away from here, off to anywhere in the world that we could want to go as long as it got us out of here and I’d never have to worry about losing you again. We could just disappear, never have to worry about anything anymore. I don’t care about where we’d end up, as long as we’re together.” Billy sighed heavily then, shoulders sagging. “But I know there’s no point in asking. I know I could never get you to agree to it. I may not be able to live without you, but that doesn’t mean you feel the same way about me.”

Frank had never heard Billy speak like that, never understood just how much he cared, not really. He’d always done such a good job of hiding his emotions, but perhaps this time had been one close call too many for Billy. 

“Bill, fuck, I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t realize how you felt. I’m so used to not caring too much about my own survival that I assumed if I was gone, maybe you would be sad, but that it wouldn’t mean nearly as much as it clearly would.” He swallowed, finding a lump had formed in his throat. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be lost without you.” Frank managed, his voice much softer now. “I know how important you are to me but I don’t think I’ve been showing it, not nearly enough. I didn’t realize how my own disregard for myself would affect you.” 

Frank’s eyes stayed on the other man as he remained in place by the window, not saying a word. He couldn’t help worrying that Billy wouldn’t say anything else and that he would simply walk out. Frank didn’t want that, didn’t want there to be this tension between them. 

“Bill? Will you come over here? Please? So I can stop looking at your back?” 

For a long moment, Billy still didn’t move. But eventually, he straightened and turned, approaching the bed. Frank recognized the expression on Billy’s face, one he was very much familiar with, the calm, cold look of detachment Billy kept up around nearly everyone and almost all the time. Frank was one of the few people around which he could let that mask disappear and allowed himself to really feel things, but usually only if they were alone. Frank didn’t take offense to Billy refusing to do that now, knowing that the coldness was just his response to his control slipping earlier. It was a defense mechanism for Billy, one he relied on, a sort of self-preservation against rejection or unwanted pain, something he’d been forced to learn from years of being used and having his wants disregarded by people he thought he could trust. He didn’t know how else to handle emotionally charged situations where feelings mattered more than anything else. For Billy, he’d much rather storm a fortified bunker than try to navigate his own feelings. 

Frank wasn’t quite like that, but he understood well enough and he honestly wasn’t much better considering the emotion of his that he was most familiar with was rage. 

But the good thing was that he was also one of the few people who could coax Billy into letting his guard down after he’d thrown every wall back up. It wasn’t always easy, but it seemed Billy responded to him in ways he just didn’t with other people. 

Frank pushed himself up in the bed so he was sitting better, so he could try and get Billy to meet his gaze. “You mean everything to me, you know that?” It wasn’t easy for him to say these things out loud, but they needed to be said and at least they were alone. “I never say it and I clearly don’t show it enough but you’re all I’ve got, Bill. I know I’d never make it if you were gone but I never realized that you would feel the same way about me.” He exhaled a deep sigh, looking down at his hands, the knuckles wrapped up as they’d been split and bloody when he came in. “You’re the only one who even remotely understands the shit that goes on in my head. I don’t have to act like I’m something I’m not with you. You don’t look at me the way some people do, like I’m a ticking bomb they don’t know how to defuse. You’re the only person I know that won’t let me down…” He looked up, surprised when he found Billy’s eyes on him. 

The look in Billy’s eyes was unreadable, those dark eyes revealing little though Frank felt like Billy was studying every bit of him, as though he were peering into Frank himself, picking up on all the things the other man had left unsaid. 

Frank didn’t move when Billy stepped closer, didn’t shy away when the other man carefully reached to touch his cheek despite having several cuts on that part of his face. He didn’t care honestly, he wasn’t afraid of Billy in any sense, but he definitely wasn’t going to pull away now, not when he saw the way Billy’s expression changed. Those eyes were no longer distant, instead, they were now watching Frank in a way he couldn’t quite describe, though he found this look familiar. He’d seen glimpses of it when Billy thought Frank hadn’t been paying attention, only for it to disappear as soon as he realized that Frank had noticed. Frank wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but he didn’t look away, leaning into Billy’s hand as the man’s thumb brushed over his cheek. Billy so rarely gave out affection, not that Frank was much different, but it was even rarer that Frank received affection nowadays from anyone so he relished it while he could, the look in Billy’s eyes making him feel things he thought he’d long since left behind.

Frank had been so caught up in trying to piece together the thoughts going on behind Billy’s expression that he didn’t even register when the other man moved, not until Billy was already kissing him, almost hesitant at first. For a moment Frank froze, his surprise immobilizing him until his brain came back online and he registered just how good all this felt, from the warmth of Bill’s lips against his own, how unbelievably soft those lips were, to the hands that were now framing his face, cradling his cheeks with the utmost care. 

Frank hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, enough that he couldn’t even pinpoint the last time in his mind, but he couldn’t recall any of his past experiences making him feel like this, that despite his multitude of injuries, all he could feel was how good kissing Billy felt. 

His bandaged hands reached forward, grabbing handfuls of Billy’s suit to try and tug him closer as he leaned in, kissing Billy back, not expecting the swell of emotion that rose up inside. It felt this was something he’d been waiting to happen for years, like Frank’s whole world suddenly made sense in a way it never had before. 

When they parted, Billy didn’t go far, resting their heads together as his thumbs continued to stroke over Frank’s cheeks. “You’re it for me, Frankie. If you’re gone, then I might as well go with you. If you’re not here, then nothing else really matters.” 

Those words hit Frank especially hard, the look on Billy’s face that he’d been trying to understand beginning to make a lot more sense. “I’m not going anywhere.” He promised softly, reaching up to gather Billy’s hands in his own, pressing his lips to the other man’s knuckles. “I won’t do that to you, Bill, I’m not gonna leave you.” He leaned up and Billy didn’t hesitate, meeting him in the middle to kiss him again as Frank squeezed his hands. 

For a moment they remained that way, neither in much hurry to move. But when they did separate, Frank briefly worried that Billy would change his mind and act as though none of that had just happened. But much the opposite happened.

Billy slipped out of his suit jacket and for a second Frank didn’t understand why, not until the other man returned to the side of the bed and Frank quickly understood what he was silently asking for, even if Billy couldn’t bring himself to voice the words. This wasn’t unusual either, they always seemed to be on the same page about almost everything. 

Frank carefully shifted himself on the bed, moving his body to one side in order to leave enough room for the other man’s long frame. It wasn’t easy and it took a good bit for both of them to get comfortable, minding the wires and tubes attached to Frank as well as his numerous injuries. But soon Billy was tucked under Frank’s chin, a careful arm secured across his torso, his head resting so he could hear the other man’s heart beat. 

Frank wrapped an arm around Billy, nuzzling his nose into the softness of his hair before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Billy responded by lifting his head to press a kiss beneath the curve of Frank’s jaw. 

“You don’t ever have to be without me if you don’t want to be, okay?” Frank’s fingers traced down over Billy’s arm. “I’m yours if you’ll have me.” 

“Yeah?” Billy responded, “You sure about that?” 

“More sure than I’ve been about anything in quite a long time.” Frank tightened his hold on Billy, tugging him impossibly closer. “I know what I’m asking for, Bill. I know you and I know everything that comes along with you. But you know me too and you know all the bullshit I’ve got hanging on me, always going on inside my head. If you can accept all that and take me anyway, then I know I can do the same for you. I just wish I’d made this decision a long time ago.” 

Billy said nothing for several minutes, listening to Frank’s heart and the steady sound of his breathing. He’d avoided shit like this for years, refusing to let anyone get close enough to be with him like this unless it was some sort of fling and those never lasted long. He’d always moved on eventually. But Frank was different. Frank had been his one constant since they’d met and he was the only person to look every horrible thing about Billy straight in the face and not flinch, not even a little. And if they were going to get to have more moments like this, then wasn’t that all he’d ever wanted all along? No one had ever touched him like this, wanted him like this. If Frank wanted him, would it really be so bad to let Frank have him when he wanted Frank just the same?

This time when Billy lifted his head, he made sure he met Frank’s gaze, looking into those brown eyes that he had always found so welcoming whenever they were on him. “You and me, huh? This mean you’re gonna propose too?”

Frank’s face broke out in a smile at that, one that made his laugh lines come out and his eyes light up. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’d be content to spend the rest of my life making you happy.” 

Billy had to kiss him again when he said that, sure this would be just one of many more to come. And as he once again made himself comfortable in Frank’s arms, Billy found himself at ease inside a hospital for the first time in his life. Funny how being with that right person could change things completely.

[yutaya]

Iron Fist Week Day 7: minor character/missing scene

Albert is a man. A man... with a van.

He's proud of his van. Sure it was a bitch and a half to get certified and sometimes trying to drive three freaking blocks in this city when he's having a bad enough day can threaten to put his blood pressure through the roof, but he's ground out an honest living for himself with it. That's no mean feat, in this neighborhood.

Plus, Al likes his job. It involves a lot of visiting every nook and cranny of the area, meeting loads of people at varying levels of talkative - it's a job that requires someone personable, and Al doesn't think it's too immodest to say that he fits the bill.

Staring down a fully loaded armoire, though, Al can admit to himself that there are times he's less fond of this job than others.

By the time he's got the thing down on the sidewalk, doors and drawers bound shut and with an initial layer of wrapping to protect it from pedestrian traffic while he sets up the loader, Al has mentally added two upticks to his pain-in-the-ass fee.

"Woah, can I help you with that?"

Al pauses in his transferring long enough to take a look at who's spoken. It's a white guy, 20s, a little scruffy but looks comfortable, and, most importantly, seems genuine.

Al smiles at him. "I appreciate the offer, but these need to be moved in a specific way to prevent scuffing."

"Oh." Al goes back to loading the armoire. "...Would you show me?" Al pauses again. Looks back at the guy. "I'm Danny, by the way," he adds, and smiles beatifically.

Al blinks up at the sky. Had the sun shone more brightly for a second, there? He turns back to wrapping the furniture with blankets and bungee cords. "You need to move a lot of furniture, Danny?" he asks while he works. Engaging in friendly conversation with strangers is second nature to him, at this point.

Danny, who has the courtesy to remain standing out on the street behind the van as they talk, bounces a little as he replies. "Yes, actually! My girlfriend and I have been redoing her apartment."

"Wow, big project. Hey, if you guys need stuff moved around, I've got you covered. Back and forth from the storage unit, delivering your new stuff from the store, bringing your old stuff wherever it's going... My rates are fair and, as you can see, I'd actually take care of your things." He pats the carefully cushioned furniture from his current job in indication.

Danny laughs a little, looking at it. "At least that isn't a piano, right?"

"Hey man, pianos have wheels. I can walk them right up the ramp."

Danny eyes the ramp Al uses with the handtrucks. "Isn't it too skinny?"

Al laughs again. "What kind of piano are you picturing, a grand?" As if anyone who owned one of those would be hiring Al to move it. As if anyone who owned one of those would be living in this area at all.

Danny shrugs, unbothered. "I haven't seen one since I was a kid. Maybe it seemed bigger back then." A beat passes, and then Danny continues talking, the oversharing sort of babble symptomatic of the sleep-deprived. "Anyway, we'll definitely call you for help with our stuff. And you can show me all the right ways to handle everything! I'm probably going to be doing a lot of rearranging furniture and stuff since Colleen is out at Bayard all the time now; she keeps talking about helping the community during the daytime - Colleen's my girlfriend, she's the best - and, I mean, she's right, of course, plus, we just got back to the city and I am not used to not having to do something -" he cuts himself off, lighting up. "Hey, could I get a job with you?"

Al startles. He can usually recognize when someone's coming at that angle. Granted, they usually don't seem to stumble into it by mistake.

"The shop down the street is hiring," he offers. "On the corner."

"Thanks! I'd like to work for this business, though."

Al pauses. Revaluates "Danny". There are only so many reasons someone would be looking for a moving job specifically, and in this neighborhood, the most likely scenario is one that Al has been very carefully steering clear of for 30 years.

"I appreciate the interest," he repeats cautiously, "but we're a small business. I'm afraid we don't really have the means to hire right now." It's a bit of a risk, revealing a vulnerability like that. Luckily, Albert is overstating it a bit; it won't be that easy for any of the triads to put financial pressure on him, and, well. He's stubborn. He swore a long time ago that he wouldn't go there.

"Oh, that's not a problem!" Danny says brightly. "You wouldn't need to pay me. I'm more looking for the experience, you know? I've never had a normal job, and Colleen thinks it'll be good for us to start over."

The alarm bell clanging in Al's head rises to a shriek, then falters. If this is a ploy, it is astoundingly poorly executed. If this guy is in with any sort of organized crime, he can't be more than a fledgling recruit. Al feels a moral obligation to try and steer him better, even if his self preservation instincts disagree.

"Look," Al says, watching Danny's face carefully. "I'm running an honest business, here. I'm not interested in having our name attached to anything. And, if I could offer you a word of advice?" Danny, who mostly just looks confused, nods. "Don't go saying that stuff about working for free. Depending who hears it, that's a good way to end up either severely taken advantage of, or in a coffin. Anyone you might be trying that hard to get a resource for won't be happy about you overplaying your hand."

Danny still looks confused. Al mimes swinging a hatchet. Danny's eyes go wide with clarity.

"I'm not with the triads," he says disconcertingly earnestly. "I'm the Iron Fist. I'm sworn to defend the city from people like them."

...Ok.

Well, at least this is an interesting conversation.

"If you're not with the triads, why do you want this job?"

"I guess I'm looking for something new. For fifteen years, I had one purpose. Now, it's done. Now, I need to build a new life, and..." His voice dips in a certain way with the next words, a way that makes Al's stomach sink with the familiarity of it. "...keep a promise to a friend."

Al looks at Danny, a pit in his stomach and memories in his heart. Resignation settles underneath his skin.

"You have a résumé?" he asks. At least Danny doesn't seem inclined to just throw things around, like some other shipping companies that Al could name. Royal Al Moving provides quality for its clients, thank you very much.

"I don't think so. What is that, equipment? I could buy some."

Al stares at him. He'd been expecting either an agreement to email or bring by a copy later, or a conversation along the lines of 'do I really need one?' followed by a verbal listing off of previous work or even just ability.

"Do you have any previous experience?" Al tries again. "Had any jobs before?"

"Yeah, I have," Danny says, and doesn't elaborate.

White people.

"What about ID?" Al asks, despite knowing full well he'll probably pretend not to notice if anything seems off about it.

Danny laughs a bit, seemingly unphased by his own complete lack of knowledge regarding ordinary job application/interview etiquette whatsoever. "Oh, I definitely have that. Had to fight really hard for it, too. It was almost all gone, but once everything got sorted out, we made, like, 10 new copies of everything." Danny pats around at his pockets, not appearing to notice Al's incredulous expression. "I don't have any of those with me right now, but... Ah ha!" He pulls something out triumphantly. "Business cards! I'm pretty sure my brother thought I was just going to destroy them, but my friend Jeri said it's important to always have one. It might have gone through the laundry, though, sorry."

Assuming this day can't get any weirder, like a fool, Al takes the card.

Even worn and slightly crumpled, the obnoxiously expensive quality of the original card is still clear. There's embossing and gold foil, for god's sake. The Rand Enterprises logo glints up at him almost mockingly even as the three dimensional lines of the border rise and fall under his thumb. Either seems unnecessary and frankly tone deaf for a Humanitarian Aid company, let alone both. Then again, maybe they reserve this version of the card for the executive level, those who hobnob among the elite, who need to make a certain type of impression on the too rich in order to convince them to donate well.

Because that's another thing this card reads, right there in plain English: a 9pt bold 'Daniel Rand', and under that, 'CEO'.

'What,' a little voice in Al's head wails semi-hysterically, 'the fuck?'

"Is this a joke?" Al asks out loud, vaguely surprised by how calm he sounds given the way the voice inside his head might be having a meltdown. "Am I on Candid Camera?"

But, no, wasn't he just thinking that this card is way too expensive - and thus definitely too expensive to be a prop?

"Hey, I know that one!" Danny Rand says cheerfully. "Joy and I used to watch it together!"

'Joy,' the voice in Al's head supplies. 'Joy Meachum.

'Well, at least this explains why he said he doesn't need money.

'Wait, why is he looking for a job in the first place? Is he not CEO? Did they kick him out or something? Did they disown him for wearing a hoodie with holes in it? Is that what he meant earlier when he said the thing he was doing before is over now?'

Al has never felt more rueful that he doesn't pay much attention to celebrity news.

"So," Al tries to find a way to word this that isn't 'have you been cut off or what?' "Why is Danny Rand looking for a job here?"

By "here", Al means a lot of things. This type of neighborhood, in general. Chinatown, out of all of them. At a low-wage position in a manual labor business with very little room for growth, if they're really getting into it.

"I like your name," Danny replies. It's far from the kind of answer that Al was expecting, but he finds himself unperturbed. Maybe he's hit a point where nothing is surprising anymore. "It reminds me of a friend. He was more of a Big Al than a Royal one, but I saw your logo and it seemed right."

-

(Al still pays Danny, because he refuses to be a shady business and because if he's finally getting around to setting up an employee system, he's needs to make it one that will work for anyone he might hire in the future, too. They won't all be Danny Rand. Danny keeps finding ways to immediately give it back, because he's literally a billionaire.)

[chi-chi-mcroberts]

I wanted to make an updated version of my wheelchair fundraising post! The original is here:

I am in need of a wheelchair. I found one that would suit all of my needs, but it’s $1899.00 and there is no way I can get that kind of money without help. This is the wheelchair:

Since last fall, my health has been deteriorating rapidly. I have great difficulty standing, walking, or doing any amount of physical activity, even as simple as walking to the kitchen to feed myself is extremely painful and exhausting, and frequently impossible. I have a rollator walker but it is often not enough and I have to sit in it and scoot myself around, which is explicitly against manufacturer warnings as it is very unsafe. I have fallen out of my walker doing this and risk injuring myself.

There are cheaper wheelchairs but none that suit as many of my needs as this one, as it is lightweight, foldable, and doesn’t require physical strength to move/steer it.

Because of my health, I am unable to work. Even sitting upright for long periods of time or typing for more than an hour or so can cause excruciating pain. I live with my sister and my girlfriend. My sister cannot afford to pay for the wheelchair herself but she will pay for the taxes and shipping costs. My girlfriend recently got her first job since COVID, but we are catching up on bills and things currently. Once things have settled down, we will be putting some of her money toward the chair, but we can’t afford much, so we still need your help!

I strongly suspect my health condition is ME/CFS. However, because of my great difficulty in getting around, I haven’t been able to see doctors regularly or run many tests to rule out other possibilities. A wheelchair would definitely help me during times when I have to leave the house so I could get to these appointments and figure out what exactly is going on.

If you’d like to donate, you can send to my gf’s CashApp:

Or to her Ko-Fi:

For transparency since we are not using a public crowdsourcing website, this spreadsheet is tracking our donations so y’all know how much we get and when:

And the best part is, we’re nearly halfway there!

Please consider donating if you can, and please signal-boost! Every little thing helps!

P.S.: I am selling fanfic commissions to help cover life-expenses outside of the fundraiser. If you are interested, check me out here:

[asleepypisces]

A friend of mine recently shared how loud silence can be, specifically from her white friends following the murder of George Floyd. We might feel inclined to offer sympathy with statements like “I can’t believe this happened” or “this doesn’t feel real,” but it is the very privilege of being white that is causing us to feel shocked while this is an every day reality for black Americans. My heart, thoughts, and prayers go out to the victims of police brutality and racism as well as all black Americans, but that is not enough. Thoughts and prayers are never enough. Now is the time for white Americans to reflect on our privilege and use it. Teach other white people about the barriers in society that exist for black Americans and call them out (this includes friends and family) if they are being racist, even when it’s uncomfortable to do so. Listen to and amplify the voices of black Americans - share their words, posts, work, businesses, art, etc during this time and ALL of the time. Lastly, learn! This is a result of a history of racism in the United States, the oppressive system that is the police, and an unjust justice system. What you shouldn’t do is share videos of these murders (share the graphics of artists instead), photographs of protestors (it can put them at risk), speak over black Americans, or be ignorant for the sake of blocking out negativity. You cannot and should not ignore this reality. What can you do, besides attending a protest (which you should if you are able)? See below!

There is a lot of information about contacting government officials and legislators, places to donate, and petitions to sign. I compiled the information I found. Know the words below are not all my own, with information gathered from a Medium article titled 75 Things White People Can Do for Racial Justice and a USA Today article titled Resources, ways to donate: How you can take action from home after the death of George Floyd as well as information I found on my own.

Contacting legislators, lawmakers, and other officials:

* Google whether your local police department currently requires all on-duty police officers to wear a body camera turned on immediately whenever they respond to a call. If they don’t, email your city or town representative and police chief to advocate for it.

* Google whether your city or town uses evidence-based police de-escalation trainings. If not, again email your city or town representative and police chief to advocate for it.

* Call or email your federal legislators in support of the bipartisan (sponsored by Sen Lee (R-UT)) Smarter Sentencing Act (S. 2850) which reduces the length of federal mandatory minimum drug sentences by half, makes the Fair Sentencing Act’s crack sentencing reforms retroactive, and expands the “safety valve” exception to mandatory drug sentences. This is would reduce mandatory minimum sentences on a federal level! Obviously decriminalization is the goal, but supporting this legislation is a start.

* Call or email your federal legislators in support of the bipartisan(sponsored by Sen Rand (R-KY)) Justice Safety Valve Act (S. 399, H.R. 1097), which would allow judges to give sentences other than the mandatory minimum sentence for any federal crime which should again reduce mandatory minimum sentences! Again, a start.

* Call or email your federal legislators in support of another criminal justice reform bill, the Second Look Act, which would make reduced sentences for crack convictions from the previously passed Fair Sentencing Act retroactive, reduce mandatory minimums for people convicted more than three times for drug crimes from life without parole after the third offense to 25 years, reduce mandatory sentences for drug crimes from 15 to 10 years, limit the use of solitary confinement on juvenile prisoners, etc. Again, it’s a start.

* Call or email your your state legislators and governor to support state-wide criminal justice reform! This includes reducing mandatory minimum sentences, reducing sentences for non-violent drug crimes, passing “safety valve” law to allow judges to depart below a mandatory minimum sentence under certain conditions, passing alternatives to incarceration, etc.

* Call or write to state legislators, federal legislators, and your governor to decriminalize weed.

* Call or write to state legislators to require racial impact statements be required for all criminal justice bills. Most states already require fiscal and environmental impact statements for certain legislation. Racial impact statements evaluate if a bill may create or exacerbate racial disparities should the bill become law. Check out the status of your state’s legislation surrounding these statements here.

* Call or write to state legislators, federal legislators, and your governor to end solitary confinement in excess of 15 days. It is considered torture by the UN, and it is used more frequently on black and Hispanic prisoners.

* Write to the US Sentencing Commission (PubAffairs@ussc.gov) and ask them to:

* reform the career offender guideline to lessen the length of sentences

* change the guidelines so that more people get probation

* change the criminal history guidelines so that a person’s criminal record counts against them less

* change guidelines to reduce mandatory minimum sentences for non-violent crimes

* conduct a study to review the impact of parental incarceration on minor children. With more data, the Commission could modify the Sentencing Guidelines and allow judges to take this factor into account when sentencing individuals for non-violent crimes.

* conduct a study to review whether the Bureau of Prisons is following the Commission’s encouragement to file a motion for compassionate release whenever “extraordinary and compelling reasons” exist.

* consider amending the guidelines to reduce sentences for first offenders.

* Write to your state legislators to end cash bail. Your wealth should not determine your freedom. Legally innocent people are in jail not because they’re guilty, but because they cannot afford the price of their freedom.

Petitions:

(If you need postal code for non-US people who sign 90015 is Los Angeles, CA; 10001 is New York City, NY; and 75001 is Dallas, TX.)

* Sign the petition here that aims to “reach the attention of Mayor Jacob Frey and DA Mike Freeman to beg to have the officers involved in this disgusting situation fired and for charges to be filed immediately.“ https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd

* Sign the petition here to “demand the officers who killed George Floyd are charged with murder." So far, the petitions has garnered more than 1 million signatures. You can also sign by texting "Floyd" to 55156. https://act.colorofchange.org/sign/justiceforfloyd_george_floyd_minneapolis

* Sign the petition here “demanding justice for George Floyd and his family by adding your name to our super petition. When you sign, our platform will automatically send your message to County Attorney Michael Freeman, who has the power to arrest and charge these police officers.” All officers must be held responsible. https://www.justiceforbigfloyd.com/#petition

Text:

* Text “Justice” to 668366.

* Text “Floyd to 55156 to sign the petition mentioned above.

Donate money:

* GoFundMe: Organized by Philonise Floyd, George's brother, the fund was created to cover funeral and burial expenses, mental and grief counseling, lodging and travel for all court proceedings and to assist the family in the days to come as they “continue to seek justice for George,” according to the description. A portion of these funds will also go to the Estate of George Floyd, which benefits his children and their educational fund.” https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd

* NAACP: Donations to the NAACP go toward: helping “win landmark legal battles, protect voters across the nation, and advance the cause of racial justice, equality, and an inclusive society.” https://org2.salsalabs.com/o/6857/p/salsa/donation/common/public/?donate_page_KEY=15780&_ga=2.209233111.496632409.1590767838-1184367471.1590767838

* Black Lives Matter: You can become a "Global Member" by donating $5 to support their campaigns. https://secure.actblue.com/donate/ms_blm_homepage_2019

* Communities United Against Police Brutality: A Minneapolis organization who accepts donations via mail or PayPal for “office costs, copwatch equipment, court filing fees and other expenses." https://www.cuapb.org/

* Minnesota Freedom Fund: An organization that helps pay jail bonds for those who cannot afford to fight discriminatory and coercive jailing. "Every dollar of financial donations to Minnesota Freedom Fund helps us help free people," the website states. https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/

* Reclaim the Block: A grassroots, Minneapolis organization that demands “that Minneapolis invest in real safety solutions like violence prevention, housing, responses to mental health and opioid crises, and protections for workers instead of 14 more cops.” They are focused on building community-led safety solutions. https://www.reclaimtheblock.org/home

* Black Visions Collective: Aims “to shape a political home for Black people across Minnesota.” They are recommenced by the Minnesota Freedom Fund as they are out on the field right now. https://secure.everyaction.com/4omQDAR0oUiUagTu0EG-Ig2

Donate Supplies:

* North Star Health Collective: Recommended by the Minnesota Freedom Fund as they are also out in the field right now. Accepts first-aid supplies. The link will take you to the website for information on what they need and where to send it. https://www.northstarhealthcollective.org/support-north-star-health

Where to shop:

* If you are looking for clothes, I linked Maya Rigby’s (aka @lovlae) Depop. 100% of her proceeds for the next week will be going to Reclaim the Block. If you don’t need clothes, she has cute scrunchies available! https://www.depop.com/mayarigby/

* Philadelphia Printworks “supports local and national organizations doing work in the areas of food security, police brutality, immigrant rights, tlgbq+ rights, mass incarceration, and more. Support is determined by the needs of the organization and may be financial and/or resource based.” For example, 100% of the profits from the National Bail Out shirts goes to the NBO. https://www.philadelphiaprintworks.com/

* @ghosttownusa is donating 100% of Depop proceeds (@ablesistersvillage) to North Star Health Collective.

*Phenomenal Woman Action Campaign is inspired by Maya Angelou’s poem and supports a variety of organizations including Essie Justice Group, Black Futures Lab, and Higher Heights (as well as many others.) https://phenomenalwoman.us/pages/about

Lastly, be politically active and vote in all elections! Following the recent twitter response of Trump towards people protesting police brutality and considering the future of The Supreme Court, this presidential election matters. Local elections matter too and directly impact our community in our everyday lives. They are the ones who can change policing in our communities. Stay informed on candidates and if you want to do more, canvassing and volunteering at the polls on Election Day are two ways you can volunteer. However, remember that the solution to end police brutality is not a simple matter of voting Trump out of office - consider the victims of police brutality before this presidency. This requires supporting the campaigns of black candidates, specifically women, through organizations like Higher Heights which is “the only national organization providing Black women with a political home exclusively dedicated to harnessing their power to expand Black women’s elected representation and voting participation, and advance progressive policies.”

Please feel free to add on or send me any suggestions/corrections, and may George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and all victims of police brutality and racism rest in peace and power. 💕🖤

[buckys-little-hoe]

Petrichor | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You and James Buchanan Barnes are enemies. Both of your mobs deal with weapons and the world just isn’t wide enough for both of you. While dealing with each other, something else is going on in the background. Will your entire business be destroyed or can you save it?

Warnings: mentions of death, death, blood, alcohol, mobs, rivalry, smut, cursing, mentions of drugs (maybe usage in future), human trafficking, angst

A/N: Here it is! The first chapter of my series! I hope you like it!

—

The ballroom floor glitters brilliantly under the glowing light of the chandelier. The dancing figures of men and women dressed in elegant, expensive clothing cloud your vision as you lean against the wall utterly alone. A sad sigh tumbles past your lips. All of your friends seem to have a dancing partner but you don’t. A lot of men fancy you, they had asked you to dance but everytime you declined. Tonight you should focus on your business, not on some strange guy. Suddenly you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder. With furrowed brows you turn to see who had suddenly required your attention and lock eyes with none other than James Buchanan Barnes. The people in your industry call him Lucifer and the name really suits him. Not only because his nightclub is named Hell, or because he has a cute dog named Cerberus. No, the main reason is his face. His whole appearance is tempting. Bucky Barnes could probably talk you into doing something really stupid. Striking cheekbones, a well-groomed three-day stubble, plump lips and piercing blue-grey eyes. Don’t get even started over his abs. He is literally an adonis. That guy is so charming, it takes a lot of self-control. If you would be weak you would probably throw yourself at him.

But even Lucifer himself has to admit that you look like a whole meal tonight. Your tight ball gown compliments your body. The slit in the front shows your leg and your cleavage leaves little to imagine. No wonder they call you Lilith. You look so hot, you could be straight outta hell. “Good evening, Doll. Care to share a little dance with me?”, Bucky asks in a low voice. Annoyed you roll your eyes at him. “I should’ve stayed home.”, you simply reply without even answering his question. You hate him with a lot of passion. How many times did he already steal your clients? Can’t even count them. Both of you deal with weapons but hide in your clubs. Bucky is the boss of his nightclub Hell, you are the boss of Petrichor, which is a Burlesque club. Your gang and his gang rule over New York, just not together. When you first moved to New York, Hell had already existed. It has been passed over for generations. Mobs are a big secret but not here. Everybody knows about it, still nobody dares to speak openly about it. You started to make connections, meeting important people and thus you started your business. Everyone warned you of Hell, Lucifer and his best friend Steve, who is also his partner. You already knew you would be big one day, you even had Nick Fury on your side, an important CIA boss. So you decided to go and ask Bucky if he wanted to make a deal. You didn’t even get to him, someone called Natasha Romanoff stopped you from entering. When you told her about your plans, she just laughed in your face and someone called Sam Wilson carried you far away from the club. It made you furious, still, you never thought it again. Instead you just built your own club. You partnered with Tony Stark, a billionaire and an old friend of your dead father.

Years passed and you’re still competitive. Bucky Barnes just gets your blood to boil. Sometimes you have the big urge just to punch him right in the face, which you did once. It really brought you satisfaction. “You’d rather go home than dance with me, sweetheart?” His dark tone makes you shiver slightly but you play it off, because you are the coolest girl you know. No, that’s a lie. Natasha is the coolest woman you know. “Who wouldn’t, Buckaroo?”, you respond with a little smirk. He chuckles lightly and grabs you by your waist. “If I were you, I would let go off her.”, someone says behind you. You already know who it is by his strong accent, which by the way is really hot. “I’m sure Y/N can speak for herself.”, Bucky answers and glares at the blonde. “I can only repeat what he said, darling.”, you reply and put your hand on his. You give him a warning look. “Well, if you say so, doll.”, he mumbles and takes his hand away, visibly annoyed of your rejection. You don’t exactly know what’s wrong with him. Some days he calls you a brat and would like to kill. On other days he just wants to make you scream of pleasure. On these days you actually scream, just not of pleasure. Bucky makes his way across the room to Steve Rogers, probably to make nasty remarks about you.

“Everything alright, prințesă?”, Pietro checks up on you. You just nod, impressed with his accent as always. The good thing about Pietro Maximoff is that there is a female version of him. That is his twin sister Wanda Maximoff, one of your dancers. And let’s be honest, you’re a bisexual queen. Pietro is one of your barkeepers and also one of your security workers. You just want your girls to be save, even though they could probably handle some drunk guys by themself. Everyone that works in Petrichor is automatically a member of your mob. At the end of the day, the club is just a cover. “Yeah, I’m good, thanks Pietro.” You smile gently and squeeze his hand. He nods understandingly and points to the bar. “Well, I’m going back to my position. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”, he speaks and you assure him that you’ll be just fine. After you convince him, he makes his way back to his colleagues. Scott Lang and Wade Wilson, two idiots but you still love them. That doesn’t mean they’re good at their jobs, they really needed a job and you couldn’t say no. Especially since Scott is Hope Van Dynes boyfriend. She’s also a dancer of yours, one of your best. She takes care of the inventory because she is really good with numbers. Wade Wilson is your ex lover and unfortunately also your best friend. How does that even work? You saw his schlong and he saw your cookie and the sex was great! Somehow you both don’t care though. Suddenly your Stark Phone beeps. You take it out of your bra and unlock it.

Thank god Peter developed a program so you all could communicate openly about the packages without having to fear that someone could spy on your texts. Peter Parker came to you so he could make money to pay his aunts bills. You couldn’t decline that, so you came up with a new job, that way he doesn’t have to face the dangerous stuff. He basically just has to hack someones phone sometimes and stuff like that. Tony could’ve done that without any problems, but Peter needed the job. You took Peter under your wing and also his girlfriend Michelle. She lives in an apartment with him so she noticed his weird action pretty quickly. To be fair, you made him do dumb things, like hacking phones that Tony prepared. You just didn’t want him to feel useless! After she found it out, you got her a job as a burlesque dancer at your club. Now nobody has to worry about paying bills. The one person who never even worried about bills is Carol Danvers. She is the most carefree person you know, and you definitely have the most fun with her.

You met her on your first night in New York. New York is pretty big and you didn’t know anyone. How could you probably pass your first night in the city that never sleeps? Right, you go drinking. You just happened to choose a karaoke bar. When they asked for your name at the entrance and wrote it down, you didn’t think anything about it. But after a hour passed and you only had two drinks, they called your name on the stage. If you didn’t sing, you had to pay the next round for the whole bar. Shit, you just moved New York, of course you were broke and there were a lot of people present. But you also didn’t have enough alcohol in your blood. Carol offered to sing a duet if that would make you feel better. She was the first nice person that you met in New York. You accepted her offer and both of you sang your lungs out to bohemian rhapsody. It was good night. A couple of days later you met on the street again, this time you offered her a job at your new club, that you were going to build. You trusted her and she was the first member of your mob. Without her you wouldn’t be even here today.

After some time spent together, you already moved in together. You created a little family. Carol introduced you to Wade who also moved in with you - he still does live with you. You phone buzzes again. Now you’re really annoyed. Can’t even enjoy your drink - wait. Where’s your cocktail? Doesn’t matter now.

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

DRACO’S WISH [PT 5/14]

<< | < | > | >>

WORD COUNT: 3128

PAIRING: Drarry

TAGS:

hidden identity

Down and Out Draco Malfoy

Pretty Draco Malfoy

Talented Draco Malfoy

Auror Harry Potter

Smitten Harry Potter

Harry Potter Being an Asshole (just for a while)

Angst

Fluff

Angst with a Happy Ending

Falling In Love

Torture

Skipping Meals/Hunger

Cold Weather

Libraries

Hot Chocolate

Veritaserum

SUMMARY: Draco does a good deed and is granted a wish - 12 days of anonymity in a world that hates him CHAPTER SUMMARY:   Potter shows up at the library again, and he and Draco talk more

on FF.net

on AO3

STORY:

December 12th , 2007

It’s almost warm when Draco wakes, and the sun is bright through his ragged curtains. A smile crosses his face, unbidden, as he recalls the previous day. It’s almost unbelievable that Potter, with whom he had spent so long in a miserable rivalry, is the one to provide such a pleasant afternoon to him. Then again, it’s probably the human conversation and good food responsible for his mood – no need to attribute it to Potter. He stretches luxuriously and spends some time just basking in the warm sun and his own happiness.

Eventually, he needs to piss so he rolls out of bed and pads to the bathroom. He relieves himself quickly and returns to the main room, where he sits on the bed and draws back the curtain, just because he can. The street is busy, for Knockturn standards, and the sun is already high in the sky – it must be nearing noon.

That’s a surprise – he’s slept in. It’s not something he normally does; usually he wakes with the sun or sometimes, in winter, before it if the cold wakes him first. He hasn’t a wand to provide an alarm, so his internal clock has had to step up to the plate to prevent him from missing work. He can’t deny that it’s nice, though, and he feels incredibly well rested.

He decides to wash his hair again today – it’s a warmer day, which means less effort to dry it, and he’s not about to waste that. He is quick and efficient in the shower, as usual, and he dresses first before sitting on the bed and holding his hands up to his head. He concentrates, feeling for his magic and pulling it to his will, and he could swear that the charm comes easier to him today as it leaps to his instruction and surrounds his head with warm air.

As he’d eaten more yesterday than he has in recent memory (thank you Potter), he decides to skip breakfast today. With no more reason to dawdle, Draco cheerfully lets himself out of his apartment. He’s in high spirits as he makes his way up Knockturn and into Diagon, and he twirls happily in the light snow that’s started up. He’s sure to be attracting some strange looks, acting like an overgrown child as he is, but he can’t bring himself to care. The festive décor festooning Diagon Alley lifts his spirits further, and he takes his time walking along the street, gazing around him and joyfully taking in the holiday spirit on display. By the time he reaches the library, it’s nearing noon.

“Hullo!” He chirps to the librarian, stopping just inside the door to brush the snow out of his hair.

“Hello dear,” she returns, giving him a warm smile. Draco returns the smile and then makes his way to his usual corner, humming his favourite traditional carol, Winter Warlocks, as he goes. He settles into the same armchair with his book, ready continue where he’d left off yesterday – applying the control he’d learnt in the previous section to simple spells.

It is a harder task than one might anticipate. Wand movements are meant to replicate the runic base of spells, so casting without them means one must use the magic itself to shape the spell, and then control and guide the magic to form the effect as well. Draco considers himself fortunate for his upbringing – his parents had taught him much about wandlore, and he doesn’t think he will have managed to muddle through figuring out wandless heating charms on his own without that knowledge. The book has more techniques and suggestions for doing this, though, and Draco is excited to practice.

A couple of hours go in which Draco remains deeply engrossed in his study. The library is busy, but overall quiet, and nobody disturbs him in his little corner of the world. Then, he hears that unforgettable voice.

“Emory! Hi,” it says. Draco’s eyes dart up from sheer force of habit – he’s never been able to ignore Potter – and he jumps slightly when he finds the other man standing right there, looking directly at him.

“Hey Emory,” he says again, and it takes Draco another beat to remember the false name he’d given to the other man.

“Oh – Potter!” He sputters eloquently.

“It’s Harry,” Potter laughs, stepping closer. “You were really into that huh? Took you a moment there.”

“Right…yes, I was rather immersed,” Draco agrees, closing the book around one finger. He looks at Potter expectantly, wondering what the man wants.

Potter peers at his book and raises an eyebrow. “Wandless magic?” He asks, sounding impressed. Draco wonders if he’d be impressed if he knew the reason that Draco is learning wandless magic, that he’s too pathetic to have either a wand or a heated apartment. His cheeks flush pink with embarrassment, and he looks down at his book to avoid meeting Potter’s eyes.

“Yes, well…” he mutters, flustered. He covers the book with his other hand, and then lifts his chin and looks back up at Potter defiantly. “It’s an interest, nothing more.” He quickly changes the subject. “What are you doing back at the library today Potter? Granger on a research kick?”

For some reason, Potter goes red. “Something like that,” he replies shiftily, not meeting Draco’s eyes. Draco raises an eyebrow, but Potter doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he whips out his wand and summons another armchair from somewhere in the library.

Draco bites his lip as Potter slumps lazily into the chair and stretches out his attractively muscled legs for Draco’s gaze to trace. He forces his eyes back up to Potter’s face with some difficulty, and finds him smirking at him.

Face heating further, Draco rushes to deflect the attention. He huffs. “Oh yes, by all means Potter, do sit down. Thank you for asking, no I’m not doing anything, I’d love the company, et cetera et cetera.”

“It’s Harry,” corrects Potter with a grin, “and you should be honoured. My company is in high demand,” His tone is teasing and not at all the bragging Draco would have once expected from him. It’s oddly charming.

“In that case, thank you for your charity,” he replies primly. “Truly. I’ll remember it to the day I die.” And okay, that might be a little more on the nose than he’s comfortable with, but it’s not as if Potter knows how much his company actually means to Draco.

Potter laughs. “Sod off, you!” He says. Draco smirks.

“But then how will I reap the benefits of your highly-demanded company?” he asks, and Potter groans.

They fall into a comfortable silence then, and Draco reopens his book and tries to go back to reading. It’s impossible – he’s too aware of where Potter is shifting restlessly in his armchair.

“What is the noble cause this time then?” He asks when Potter’s antsiness becomes too much. He doesn’t lift his eyes from his book.

“What?” says Potter blankly. Draco does look up then, and finds Potter staring at him.

“You and Granger,” he clarifies. “She was in the magical law section yesterday. I know that the house-elf bill is passed. What is it now?”

“Oh,” says Potter, face clearing. He relaxes back into his chair with a grin. “Something about vampires, I’m not too sure about the specifics.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. Vampires are not discriminated upon by laws, but Draco’s learnt well enough that laws are not needed to make life harder on someone. “She’ll have an uphill battle then,” he sighs. “The Ministry has never been interested in helping anyone out. Just look at how we treat Squibs.”

Potter looks at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Draco runs his finger along the top of the book, pursing his lips as he thinks of how to explain what he means. “Our society is entirely built upon the assumption of magic,” he answers eventually. “Think of housing. At minimum, you’d want heating charms for the winter, wards, or even just magical locks. A Squib can’t do any of that. So, they either must rent somewhere that all of this is provided by the landlord, which is at extra cost mind you, or they must pay a third party to provide it for them. Heating charms and wards are not just a one-time thing either – they are a yearly expense at least. And it’s not cheap to have them done well.

And then add to that that Squibs have a harder time getting well-paying jobs. Even for a position like caretaker, most employers would sooner hire someone able to use magic, since they’d be more efficient. It’s not impossible for a Squib to get a well-paid job, of course, but it’s much harder.

It’s not injudicious that most Squibs choose to live among Muggles, even though they are of magical folk. At home they have a harder time making money, yet it costs them more to live.

Consider even transportation – an Apparition licence is the cheapest option, but it requires magic. Floo powder is not expensive in and off itself, but you’d need a hearth, which is not always an option on a budget. Brooms are expensive. Portkeys need a license and have to be charmed. Knight Bus fare adds up when you have to pay twice a day every day…”

He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “I’ve become carried away. Forgive me Potter. I simply meant to say that even if there are no laws making Squibs lives harder, that doesn’t mean that they’re treated well by society. It’s the same for vampires.”

“That’s terrible,” Potter says. He looks guilty. “I never realised-”

“Most people don’t,” Draco cuts him off. He himself likely would never have given it a thought were it not for his own circumstances. Worse, his younger self wouldn’t have cared. A lot has changed for Draco, but Potter has never been that selfish.

“Don’t go feeling guilty over it, Potter,” he tells him. “You and Granger have been doing more than most to right such injustices.”

Potter looks at him, determined. “I want to help though,” he says. “Hermione will too. She’s brilliant you know. I’m sure there’s something she can do.”

Draco looks at him surprised. Just like that, Potter’s ready to try and change wizarding society? Then again, if anyone can do so it will be the beloved war heroes. They had managed to change house-elf laws, after all, bringing them pay and working standards. Draco had never thought that such a thing could be possible until they’d done it.

“She and you both, surely.” Draco says finally, because Potter seems to be downplaying his role in all this.

Potter chuckles. “Hermione does most of the work,” he admits. “I’m usually kept pretty busy with the Auror stuff, and I don’t have her patience for research. I’m just a mouthpiece really. People listen to me.” He shrugs, a self-deprecating smile pulling at his lips. Draco snorts. No kidding.

“Yes, I did hear the elf campaign on the Wireless,” he says drily.

Potter gives a self-conscious little smile. “I was almost pissing myself giving all those speeches,” he confesses. “Hermione kept giving me these massive packages of information – nearly seventy inches once, double sided! And I was supposed to include it all in my speeches. Most of the time I went up in front of the Wizengamot and completely blanked.”

Draco laughs disbelievingly. “You are serious?” He asks when Potter doesn’t laugh along with him. Potter nods, and Draco boggles. “Well, you’ve sounded very confident,” he says.

“The Wizengamot thought so,” Potter agrees. He looks pleased with himself as he crosses his arms behind his head and leans back in his chair. The move reveals a tantalizing strip of golden skin at his belly that draws Draco’s attention.

He swallows, and forces himself to look away, back down at his book. Potter is quiet for a while, and Draco feels the weight of his gaze heavy upon his skin.

“So,” Potter says at length, finally breaking the silence, “enough about me. Tell me about yourself Emory.”

Draco stiffens. What can he say? He doesn’t know what might trigger Potter into remembering him. “There isn’t much to tell,” he says eventually, staring unseeingly at his book.

Potter laughs at him. “So mysterious,” he says, and Draco scowls. It doesn’t deter him in the slightest. “Come on, give me something?” He presses. At Draco’s continued silence, he prompts. “What about the job. What do you do?”

Draco stares stubbornly at his book for a moment, then sighs. This, at least, is harmless. “I work in a shop.” He says shortly. “I’m really not very interesting Potter.”

“Harry,” corrects Potter, “and I find you plenty interesting.”

“You don’t even know me!” Protests Draco, rolling his eyes. Potter leans forward again.

“Then tell me,” he says earnestly. “Tell me something about you. A story from your childhood maybe?”

Draco bites his lip, rubbing his thumb against the letters on the spine of his book. What could he tell that won’t give too much away? He reckons that there is plenty that Potter doesn’t know about his childhood that would be safe to tell, but all it would take is one detail to slip and this whole thing is blown.

He remains silent a moment too long, or else Potter senses his hesitance, and he backs off a little. “Okay, don’t worry about the childhood stories then,” he says. “How about… your favourite winter activity?”

He can tell Potter is trying, but this isn’t much easier. Winter has been the worst part of the year for the past eight years for Draco. With neither a heated apartment nor a wand, it is always a struggle just to stay warm. There have been years when it was so bad that Draco was sure he would die.

“Emory?” Potter asks softly. He grasps one of Draco’s hands between his strong ones, his green eyes bright with worry. “Are you okay?”

Draco shakes himself out of his memories and manages a wan smile. “Sure Potter, I’m fine,” he reassures him. Potter still looks dubious, so Draco decides to indulge him. He casts his mind back to before, back when he still had a happy home, when winter and Christmas were eagerly anticipated all year.

“Ice skating,” he says finally.

Potter cocks his head. “That’s your favourite winter activity?” He determines. Draco nods.

“It was a family tradition,” he offers. “On Christmas we – it was always a big deal at home. We’d throw grand parties, every year. I’m not actually certain that my parents liked all of their guests.” He shakes his head. “I think they were just people invited for…work.” Merlin, he’d almost mentioned the Death Eaters. Why is he telling Potter this?

But Potter is watching him and listening intently, and it’s the attention Draco had always craved from him. He continues. “The adults were all busy entertaining” – competing against one another, rather – “and us children were left to our own devices. We got up to a lot of mischief.” He allows for a nostalgic smile here. They really had been his friends, until they’d gotten old enough that they were drawn into their parents’ politics. He misses such easy times.

He shakes off the sudden sadness briskly. “But my favourite part of the day was always after the party, when all the guests had gone home. Mother and Father would take me down to an old pond in the…behind our house. We’d skate until I fell over from exhaustion! Then Father would carry me up to the house, and Mother would make hot chocolate and we’d sit in front of the fire and make up stories until I fell asleep. I…I miss those times.”

He breaks off abruptly and shakes his head, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s not a very interesting story. Ice skating of all things…”

“No, no,” says Potter. “It sounds wonderful. I – er – I never had any Christmas traditions.”

Draco looks up at him, surprised. No traditions – none at all? Catching the look, Potter expounds, “The muggles”, which was no clearer.

“Sorry, I don’t follow,” he says, tilting his head in confusion. “What muggles?”

Potter stares at him. “You never… really?” He says. Draco meets his gaze, baffled.

“You’re not making any sense Potter,” he says.

“Huh,” answers Potter, which also doesn’t make sense. He stares at Draco like he’s never seen him before.

Draco squirms. Has he given something away? “What?” he asks uncomfortably.

“Nothing,” Potter replies. He smiles suddenly. “Come ice skating with me tomorrow?”

“What?” Draco repeats. He stares at Potter incredulously.

“Come ice skating tomorrow,” Potter reiterates, more surely. “And then we can go get hot chocolate.”

Draco stares at him, and Potter looks back, unrepentant. “Potter you-” Draco cuts himself off and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Potter is tilting his head and giving Draco those beseeching kicked-Crup eyes. This is a terrible idea. “Fine,” he sighs. “Just for a little while.”

“Brilliant!” Potter says, and beams at him. Draco’s stomach does a silly flip. He bites his lip and looks down at his book, trying to quell the warm emotion rising in him.

“How does 2 o’clock tomorrow sound?” Asks Potter. “I can pick you up?”

Draco flushes. No way is Potter seeing his hovel. “We can meet here,” he replies. Potter wilts a little but smiles anyway.

“It’s a date,” he says, and Draco’s face burns even further at the wording. He knows that Potter doesn’t mean anything by it, and it’s better that he doesn’t, but his stupid heart is still doing somersaults.

“Yes, very good,” he says, holding up his book and hiding his burning face behind it. “Now if you’ve quite finished interrupting my reading Potter…”

Potter laughs at him and waves his hand. “Oh go on then, continue your mastery of the wandless arts,” he says. Draco lowers the book slightly to glower at him, but it only makes Potter laugh more. Which, in turn, only makes his blush worse really, because Potter is unfairly attractive – especially so when he laughs.

He thankfully takes mercy on Draco then, getting up to go get something to read from the shelves and giving him time to pull his façade back together. By the time Potter returns with some book about Quidditch, Draco’s cheeks are no longer heated, and he’s managed to compose himself.

The pair of them sit in comfortable companionship for the rest of the day, reading silently and occasionally interrupting the quiet to chat about something small and inane. By the time the library closes, and the librarian kicks them out, Draco is feeling unreasonably warm, inside and out.