Hey everyone. This was a thought I had in the car one time. What if Jaune was a streamer and had to deal with another streamer's antics because of external circumstances or… gasp! Blackmail? The horror. Don't expect too much from me, I just wanted this out as proof of concept. I can't guarantee I'll focus on writing it.
Fair warning, this does take place in a semi-realistic version of Earth that's modelled vaguely after Remnant. No huntsmen or Grimm and is, for simplicity's sake, a *shudder* highschool AU.
Said highschool takes after both Japanese and Western conventions because I did not watch enough highschool drama on TV and most of my highschool media consumption is through anime and manga. Whoopsies. If it's a little jarring, sorry.
Oh, and if anyone is wondering about my other fic (Under the Wing), I'll have a chapter up explaining a bit more there soon.
Anyway, here you go. Enjoy it for what it is.
Enjoy the start of Thank You for The Tips.
The chime of the bell rang out like a saving grace. At least that's how most of the class took it, groaning and slumping at their desks as the large bell tower in the courtyard knolled its ever-familiar tune.
"And make sure that you revise the content, so you do not be surprised when it shows up during your midterms. Which it will." Professor Goodwitch dotted the moss green chalkboard with a sense of finality, moving away and back to her desk so that the slower students may take the needed notes before taking off for the day.
Clubs would be in session after school hours, and people were already packed and ready to go. The sporty ones hung around one another and left as a pack while the more reserved slunk off by their lonesome hoping not to catch too many eyes. Some were undoubtedly part of less prestigious clubs—or so was considered by the dreaded hierarchy of teenage society—such the anime and manga club. Others?
Well, some others forsook the act of social interaction and were part of the ever infamous "going home" club. Whether it be because of a classic case of anxiety, a chronic laziness, or just having better things to do.
Jaune Arc wondered where people thought he fit on the spectrum.
The legs of his chair scaped against the polished flooring as Jaune hummed to himself, piling his books and stationery atop one another and stuffing them into his backpack haphazardly. With a pull of the zip the bag closed, and he found himself smiling at the dark grey bunny keyring attached to it.
Speaking of…
"Pyrrha, what do you say we head out to karaoke today?"
"Oh, I'm afraid I can't…"
"Eh~?" Another voice interjected. "If karaoke sounds like a hassle, what about a café? A new one opened up downtown and they're selling the cutest parfaits!" The first girl shot the second a harrowing look, who placed a hand on her hip and smiled smugly.
Waving a hand in front of her, a girl with crimson hair looked as apologetic as humanly possible. "Unfortunately, I have to watch my nutritional intake. You know how it is, Pasifica," she sighed. "Coach will have my head if I put on even an extra pound before the big race."
The dynamic between the two other girls shifted, and it was now the first who looked as though she went through a week's worth of satisfaction.
Pasifica tried saving face, stuttering, "O-Of course! Right. You're super busy with regionals coming up, so we'll leave you to it."
"Yeah, good luck, Pyrrha!"
"Do your best!"
With that, the corsage of coloured hair sauntered away, chatting amongst themselves, and quietly nudging each other in the ribs for reasons Jaune couldn't even begin to guess. But if you had a loaded gun to his head, he may have been able to come up with one or two things.
From the desk over, Jaune smiled knowingly, half sat on the flat of his table and backpack slung over his shoulder. "There really isn't enough to go around, is there?"
Pyrrha Nikos packed her things, eyes closed and sighing with a grin. "Hush, you."
"As your friend, I'd like you to know that enjoying yourself isn't somehow a bad thing. Despite what you may think."
His sarcasm hit like a wet wipe, and Pyrrha rolled her bright green eyes across the floor of her eyelids. "I enjoy myself well enough, thank you, Jaune."
"Would one or two pastries really kill you?"
"What do you think, Jaune?"
"I think it wouldn't," he started. When Pyrrha continued to serenely order her belongings into her maroon-coloured backpack, Jaune tilted his head. "So what? Is it the company?"
"No, no." Pyrrha quickly dismissed, softly shaking her head. She hooked an arm around her backpack and smoothed the folds of her checkered skirt when she stood. She wore it to uniform standard, even if their school were quite lassiez-faire with things like that. As long as you weren't strutting around half-naked, the professors generally let you wear your uniform how you want. "Those girls are nice enough, but it's just a feeling I have."
Ah. Jaune pursed his lips and nodded vacantly. She didn't say it, but she didn't have to.
You see, Pyrrha Nikos was what some may call a big freaking deal.
First off, she was tall. Almost as tall as Jaune, and he was over six-foot. Long, blood-red crimson locks fell past her shoulders and down near her waist like a scarlet waterfall. In conjunction with the fact that she was quite tall, it made her stand out like an autumn tree in the spring. Piercing emerald eyes, a figure that most would die for, and a saint-esque demeanour that earned her the moniker of East Vale High's "Royal Highness".
Jaune would never let her be aware of the fact, but he was partly responsible for propagating that one around a little.
Oh, and she was also something of a celebrity. Jaune supposed that part was pretty important.
She was even an ambassador for Pumpkin Pete! The bunny keyring on his backpack would forever be a reminder.
"Right, right. I get it."
Pyrrha let out a tired breath. "I know I said that I'm supposed to be training for the regional track meet, but I have no idea how I'll make time with all these photoshoots and talk shows I have to prepare for…" She stared at a specific grain her wooden desk before snapping herself back to the present, looking at him like she had done something wrong. "Sorry. I didn't mean to ramble on about my problems."
Jaune found himself chuckling, looking almost offended. "Hey. Come on. What do I always say? When times get dark-"
"-I've always got an Arc. How could I ever forget?" Pyrrha locked eyes with him fondly. At least that's what it looked like at first. Eventually, Jaune came to realise it was embarrassment slowly morphing into pity. "Seriously. I can't believe you said that to me with a straight face."
Not his brightest flash of inspiration. Not bright at all. Actually quite dark. Such were the days of his freshman year. He could have used an Arc himself back then. Alas, new city, new school, new people. Time to make an impression! Fat lot that did for him. There was bullying and lots of disappointment. He got through it, though.
But hey, he met Pyrrha. So that had to count for something, right?
"So, I guess we aren't on for Saturday?"
His red-haired friend seemed to physically jerk at his words like a prodded cat. "Huh? What? No! Saturday is on. Very on. I'd love to have you—we'd love to have you. Mom is always asking when you're coming for dinner again." Pyrrha began to laugh, her body slightly stiff. "It's important that we go over class content. With so much time allocated elsewhere, its hard for me to revise it all myself. It's better with you." She blinked. "Us. The two of us." Pink dusted her cheeks, perhaps from the embarrassment of not being as perfect as people so desperately claimed.
"Message received," he mock saluted with two fingers. Pushing off the desk, Jaune began to walk backward out the class giving a small wave. "Saturday is very on. See you then, Pyr!"
"Bye-bye. I'll see you then!" she called out after him.
Jaune did not perceive the multiple death glares sent his way as the door shut behind him.
/-/
East Vale High, colloquially known as Beacon as per the massive lighthouse turned office that landmarked the academy. It was the premier highschool that effortlessly bridges teenagers to adulthood with a varied curriculum, the country's leading minds in faculty and a location brimming with history and prestige. Or at least that's what it liked to market itself as.
But there was no lie saying that EV High had a plethora of optional courses and extra-curricular activities to get stuck into. Ever heard of cabbage-knocking? Jaune sure hadn't. But if you ever wanted to grow and raise your own cabbage head, and then proceed to enter it into a tournament where you tied it to a string and then whacked it into other cabbages—East Vale High had a circle for it. Also, with a dedicated advisor. Professor Lettuce had his work cut out for him.
Cabbage-knocking was an extreme example, sure, but it illustrated the point that there was lots to do at EV High. So much so that if you weren't actively throwing yourself at the wall to see what stuck, you would simply peel away and get lost in the wind. That was just the kind of atmosphere that was bred here.
If you weren't good at something, you weren't at all good. A stupid saying, but one unspoken and learned in your first year as something to keep in the back of your head.
For some, it was academics. For others, maybe art. For the rest, cabbage-knocking.
Yes, Jaune was still hung up on cabbage-knocking. What even constituted as a win? Did one cabbage go down for a ten-count while the referee cabbage started banging itself onto the floor?
Jaune wasn't part of a club. He took his place among the ranks of those who heard the bell and took it as their exit to stage left. In Beacon's case, stage left referred to the large ornamental gates connected to the courtyard. As well as history, there was also money at this academy, and they definitely liked to show it.
When he had entered in his first year, it was safe to say that the pure aura of such a renowned school had overwhelmed him. One step through those gates, and you were treated to the olden architecture mixed with modern ergonomics and technology. A vast open courtyard that acted like a circulatory system of stone and grass. The beautiful water fountain feature served as the heart, and the students were the lifeblood. Jaune was afraid he'd seem like a country bumpkin. That didn't matter much in the end.
Because whether he was afraid or not, people would have taken notice anyway.
It was inevitable. Jaune was a small-town boy growing up, living in the kind of place where most people knew most others. You'd wake up, stretch in your bed, and see Ricky from the street over throwing papers at doors to pay for his girlfriend's three-month anniversary. Then, Anna the single mother would come out kicking and screaming when he hit one of her yard vases, which would inevitably lead to it being docked out of his pay. Looks like Neliah is being treated to McWonald's again this month.
That's why when he moved to the big city, Jaune had been nothing short of a nervous wreck with a stupid accent and an even stupider sense of the common variety.
He had been bullied. He had been outcast. He had been shunned.
So as Jaune Arc walked through the long hallways of East Vale High, he kept his head down with a one-track mind inside of it.
"Oh, Jaune~!"
Jaune pretended he hadn't heard his name being called out, shuffling between a pair talking with a quiet apology and walked just a smidge faster.
"Oi. Where do you think you're going?"
"Get your ass over here, you punk."
Stopping in his tracks, he closed his eyes and took a breath when they couldn't see his face. Oh, boy, he thought. Here we go.
Steeled, Jaune turned on his heel and prepared for the worst. "Hey-!"
"Bring it in, you lovable bastard!"
"We never got to thank you for fixing the boiler in the locker room. The guys will never forget the hot showers you gave back."
"Hey Jaune, thanks for fixing my little sister's uniform the other day. Say, you ever going to join a club? The dance club would love you for the next recital, your moves were crazy last year!"
Not one word left his mouth and he had already been swamped. There was an arm around his free shoulder as the small group cornered him. "Haha. It's nothing, really. Mine does the same at home sometimes," Jaune told the one in the middle of them all. Boogle and ingenuity solved most things. Turning his head to the last, he nodded, "And my sisters used to tear theirs all the time—I learnt from my eldest."
One snaked to his other side and gave him a nudge of his elbow. He was in the same year, the class over, but Jaune didn't think he caught his name at all. "I didn't hear a no for dance club."
"Sorry," Jaune apologised, putting on his best Pyrrha expression. "Gotta get dinner ready for myself. I haven't done any shopping for the past week and the fridge is looking sort of sad."
"Ah," he backed away. "I almost forgot. You live by yourself, don't you? Explains why he's so reliable, eh?" The dark-haired boy asked his friend, who laughed dryly and rolled his eyes.
Unwrapping his arm from around Jaune, the first boy urged the others away. "Alright, leave the guy be. He's obviously got better things to do than talk to you losers." As they walked, he looked over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Jaune."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow."
Jaune watched them turn a corner, and then affixed his backpack further onto his shoulder.
I guess that's what they think.
He had come a long way.
/-/
His bus came to a halt, and across the street was the supermarket he liked to frequent. A combination of regular bargains and knowing a few people who worked there made it quite attractive to a student like Jaune. It also helped it was within walking distance from his place.
"Oop, this is my stop. See ya, Ren." Jaune popped up out of his seat and punched the raven-haired boy sat next to in the shoulder. In response, Ren looked up from his phone and raised his other hand minutely and bowed his head. He was cool like that. His lowkey style was always appreciated.
Taking two steps down at a time, the seventeen-year-old second year made his way down from the second deck of the bus and thanked the driver as he left. Jaune's feet hit the pavement, and as the wave of heat and smog from the bus exhaust washed over his body, he crossed the road in a jog and swiped a trolley for his food haul.
The memory of his explosive motion sickness came to mind, but Jaune brushed it under a mental rug. His nerves had always acted up on car journeys and the like, but the monotony of taking the bus every day had calmed his sickness to a quiet unease. Barely noticeable on most days.
Vale itself was a mirror of its flagship academy. A land rife with historical events—wars, industrial booms, and revolutions—but lifted by modern technology. Cars replaced horse-drawn carriages and streetlamps replaced candlelight. Even so, the architecture of some of the more business-centric districts of the city just oozed ye olden, if that made sense.
This wasn't one of those places. A nice, but busy suburb that served as a nice residential spot and made itself home to a few quaint businesses that were mostly run by family or by the richer folk who liked doing things in their spare time. It reminded Jaune of home.
Strolling into the supermarket, the air conditioning hit his skin and idle pop tunes filled his ears. It was some girl group from overseas. The name escaped him, but it was a fun song, and Jaune remembered dancing to it once or twice before. Lanes upon lanes of shelves and people who milled through, browsing, and checking. Big brands, store brands, unlabelled goods that Jaune thought someone needed check before a customer got hurt; Garyson's had all you could need.
"Hey, Mark." Jaune nodded, wheeling his half-full cart down the interconnecting lane.
"Hey, Jaune." Mark nodded back. He turned from his inventory check briefly to greet him, and then swiftly went back to work.
Apart from a manager named Gary, he supposed.
Even while counting product, his cheek remained intact. "You ever going to introduce me to one of your sisters?" he asked, still turned around.
"In your dreams, maybe," Jaune sniped, earning a bark of laughter.
The only ones in his ballpark were the three eldest: Sapphire, Saphron, and Coral. One was to the chin with work, one didn't even swing for that team, and the other was crazy. Jaune loved Mark, but he knew the guy well enough to know he didn't do crazy. In all senses of that word.
Eventually, Jaune found himself in the sauces aisle with a jar of pasta sauce in hand. The cool glass was evident in his palm as he examined the brand, nutritional value, and—most importantly—price. Even with enough lien in his bank account, it was just good practise to budget where he could. It always left with him with extra money to treat himself with when it counted.
Something bumped into his back sharply, causing the glass jar to slip out of his loose grip and crash onto the floor. The sound pierced whatever vapid pop song was playing through the speaker system at the moment like a record scratch, and chunky sauce painted the floor. Janue shifted his foot in the mess, trying to move it away, only to then notice some had splashed up onto his uniform trousers.
When he looked up from the carnage, she saw a girl with ginger hair tied into big, fluffy twin tails with her mouth covered in shock. "Wawawa—I'm so sorry! I totally didn't see you there!" she squeaked. He got a better look at her face, noting the tiny heart sticker under one of her eyes.
What drew his eye more was her friend holding her phone up, looking as though her hand had also been caught in the metaphorical cookie jar.
Jaune gave her the benefit of the doubt, tilting his head, "Filming a TikTak or something?"
For some reason, she looked even more shocked. "Y-Yeah… sorry." Pointing to the shards of pointed glass and tomato chunks, she meekly added, "I can pay for that if you want…"
Holding a hand up, he smiled, "Don't worry about it. I always thought my uniform could do with a little more red, anyhow," joked Jaune. The smile he was was good-natured, one might say even silly. The girl appeared somewhat confused at his lackadaisical tone and attitude, but he pushed on. "Just be more careful in the future, alright? You could have gotten yourself hurt."
She stared at him for a second, and then quickly turned away with a flush to her cheeks. "R-Right! Sorry again! So sorry!"
When she had left a trail of dust, her friend who was filming looked to where the bubbly girl had disappeared to, then Jaune, then back to the end of the aisle. Bowing quickly in an apology, she had also made herself scarce in a matter of seconds.
Other shoppers in the aisle cringed at the display and wheeled their trolleys away slowly. Suddenly, buying sauce became a pipedream for the common consumer as when they tried to enter the alleyway, they saw a lone blond student with his hands on his hips and pasta sauce on his feet.
When everyone was finally gone, he lifted his once clean shoe again and took a good look at the pasty disaster before sighing deeply.
"Hey, Mark?"
Mark peered around the corner, clipboard in hand. "Hey, Jaune- oh…" He winced, then looked Jaune in the eye.
Jaune met it.
"You got a mop lying around?"
/-/
His apartment complex was two streets over. A good enough walk to make a late-night trip seem uninviting, but not so far as to dismay a walk entirely. The area was decently safe, but there was sometimes the odd hooligan drunkenly yipping or yaying in the empty streets when nobody was there to see it. No different to any other place in the city, Jaune would say.
The actual complex was nothing special. He'd scan his little fob into the receiver and push into door where the on-site receptionist greeted him by name. From there, it was an elevator ride or staircase to his floor. There were maybe twenty or so tenants spready between three floors, so there was a lot of space to go around.
An olive green coated most of the walls, with a brick-ish texture going up to around his hip. It wasn't actual brick, more like some kind of polished ceramic material, but it was ridged like it was. The lights were hung onto the walls, with one in the reception coming down and over guests and residents alike like a chandelier. There was an undeniable cosiness to it.
Honestly, thinking about it, this place did seem pretty nice. Jaune would have probably gotten scammed into a horrid housing situation if not for a specific set of circumstances. The fact Jaune lived in an apartment at all was a blessing.
"Sorry, Jaune," the receptionist, Jenny, looked up and over the desk raised desk between them. In one of his hands was a plastic bag filled with various foodstuffs, and the other held his keys. Thankfully, she couldn't see the sauce stains on his trousers from her position, so she continued, "The elevator isn't working. I've already told the landlord, so Courage will probably have someone over by tomorrow. "
Jaune shrugged. "Stairs never hurt anyone. In fact, I think they do more good than harm," he said while walking on, swiping his mail from the box, and sticking it in his mouth. "…Unless you fall down them, I guess." The thought came out muffled, on account of the paper lodged in his lips, and quiet as he turned the corner.
Jenny scoffed and shook her head as Jaune was already hiking it up the first flight of stairs.
He had been renting his flat out for his entire first year. Apart from a pretty hefty deposit that his parents helped pay, the rent was manageable for him, and it was just a case of measuring his water and electric usage. Even then, Jaune's parents were extremely supportive of him moving to Vale for his education and would cover anything he couldn't during a desperate time. There hadn't been one of those yet, and Jaune was grateful for it. Living by himself had scared him out of using anything at first, but he eased into being able to live reasonably after maybe a month of cold showers and bowls of cereal for dinner.
While he was walking up the second flight of stairs, he saw an older lady with two shopping bags fit to burst with veggies and… toilet roll, he thought.
Without hesitation, Jaune jogged up. Swapping his plastic bag over, he tossed his mail in and reached over. "Here, lemme get that."
"Oh-!" Her eyes widened, and then did so further when she saw him. "Jaune! School over already?" As the lady's fingers loosening on the bag, Jaune took it upon himself to pull it toward him. He still hand his keys in the same hand and was only using the first two of his fingers to hold it steady.
"Yep. Just came back from Garyson's."
"And what're you having?"
"I'm thinking spaghetti and meatballs," Jaune answered with a nod. His blue eyes rolled back, thinking of the recipe. It was simple enough. One of the first his mother taught him. People did always enjoy it, and sometimes even took it upon themselves to try making it for themselves. "What about you, Aunt Pearl? No takeaway tonight?"
"Cheeky," Aunt Pearl grinned. She relented a sigh when they came to their floor and stood in front of their respective doors—right next to one another. "Unfortunately, Rosalyn keeps saying that just because she's busy at cram school doesn't mean I should suddenly start eating crap. It's hard!" The lady huffed, her free hand gesturing out. "When that girl's not around to cook for, I just lose motivation, you know?"
Jaune let out a sharp laugh. He did. Cooking for others was more motivating. Fulfilling. Fun, even.
Her door opened as she pushed the key in, silently irking when she couldn't seem to fiddle with the keyring correctly. The smell of her apartment spread out and into the hallway, and Jaune walked in after her, placing the bag of groceries onto the countertop. After, he took a moment to check out the living room and note the small differences.
More clothes strewn about. Weird, considering Lyn was here less these days. Maybe it was motivation, like Pearl had said.
Not overstaying a welcome, he waved back to the brown-haired lady. She wasn't actually an aunt by blood, rather by circumstance. The same circumstance that led him becoming a tenant here in the first place.
"I'll see you, Aunt Pearl," Jaune said, foot already out the door. "Tell Lyn I said hi."
A scoff left the single guardian's mouth. "Tell her yourself. Med school prospective or not, Rosalyn adores you. I'll make her make time one of these days."
Jaune scratched his cheek and smiled goofily. With a final goodbye, he shut the door and worked into his own. He wasn't in any rush and took his time sifting through his—admittedly—small amount of keys. At the end of the day, he was just a teenager.
He and Lyn had actually met as soon as he made it to Vale. She had found him beat half to death in an alleyway (not the greatest first impression, Jaune readily admit) after stumbling across a wrong section of the large city. She fashioned him a makeshift splint for his arm with nothing more than a shoelace and two rusty pipes.
Hygienic? Hell no. But the actual doctors did say that it helped to prevent any permanent damage after the fact when she and her aunt, Pearl, brought him to hospital. Those two were actually related by blood. Worried for his safety, they told him about a tenant moving out for work at their apartment block and the rest is history.
The door unlocked with a cachunk, and Jaune didn't even give the apartment another glance before locking it again. He didn't have to. It was his apartment, and everything was familiar. The couch was where the couch was, and the plants hadn't dared to move an inch.
It was actually a quite big place for a seventeen-year-old to be living in. The fact he was seventeen and got this place was something of a lucky break, but Jaune's life had been filled with those thus far. The landlord, Courage, was apprehensive, but when a longtime tenant like Pearl spoke on his behalf and offered to be a guarantor on the off-chance his parents failed to provide, a good-natured guy like him couldn't say no.
Jaune walked into an open kitchen with a gas stove and sink that connected to the living room with an L-shaped couch. His bedroom and bathroom were connected from there, and there was enough space for himself and more.
"Okay…" Jaune muttered to himself, placing the bag of ingredients onto the countertop, then his backpack onto the couch. It was to psyche himself up a little.
He kicked his shoes off at the door and took his uniform off piece by piece—stringing the components across his bed and making a mental pin to send his trousers into the washing machine later. Taking out a fresh, new set of clothes, Jaune began to re-dress himself.
Sleek black trousers, black suit shirt, blue tie. Looking himself in the mirror, Jaune stuck his tongue out as he mucked about with his tie and made a slight "ahah" when he got it just the right length. Smoothing down his collar, he buckled his trousers with his shirt tucked under and turned himself around in the mirror. Slipping a belt on, Jaune skipped out of his bedroom, only to then quickly stumble back in and dig through his drawers.
When he found what he was looking for, he smiled in relief. "Can't forget you, can I?"
Pushing his golden hair back, Jaune settled the black wig onto his head and fixed it just right in the mirror. While his regular blond hair was bright, this wig had hair so dark that lines of white seemed to streak across is in wide strokes, like comets had soared past in the oblivion of night. The back was long but folded into the kind of bun that layered and allowed itself to be pinned into place. It made his normally somewhat unruly look into one something resembling class and control.
There. Now I'm ready. Jaune jumped back into the open kitchen, fishing for his laptop from the backpack in the living room and set it next to the groceries. His face was suddenly touched with light, a more concentrated and intense one than the ones installed into his apartment. He then heard the beep of something across the countertop.
Jaune didn't blink or give them a second glance. Like he said, everything was familiar.
That included his camera and ring light.
Moving his finger across the touchpad, Jaune clicked and tapped. He checked one thing, opened something else, and entered where appropriate. When always said and done, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Jaune Arc was a very normal teenage boy.
He went to a nice highschool, lived in a nice apartment, and had nice friends. Some would call him something of a social butterfly, but he wouldn't have agreed. A bit goofy, but ultimately kind-hearted. He had a facet of skills that made him reliable to others, and a dotted experience in Vale—he once ended him up in the hospital! That had been a funny story to tell.
He reached over to the corner of the kitchen, bringing a face mask out. Jaune pulled one string over his ear and did the same for the opposite before centring it perfectly over his mouth and nose.
"Okay…" the now completely different man breathed. One might have said it was to psyche himself up for something. Bringing a finger back down to his laptop, his finger dipped when the mechanism kicked, and his invisible counter started. A sapphire gaze locked onto the camera lens, wide and inviting.
Three…
But Jaune Arc had something of a secret.
Two…
What was that secret?
One…
Well… you see…
Alright. Showtime, darclight.
"Hey, everyone! Sorry for being late tonight, I got a little held up. How's your evening been? Mine's been sort of hectic…" A sound notification chimed like a bell. It was almost like a saving grace. His expression went wide. "Woah, already? We just started!"
The man in front of the camera shook his head in faux dismay, eyes perked up from a smile underneath the mask.
"Thank you for the bits!"
Jaune Arc was something of a streamer.
And that's the setup! Phew.
You know, I did have a conundrum of naming this fic. Something of a Streamer? Thanks for a Hundred (I liked this one but the slang might have been lost to non native speakers)? Thank You for The Bits? Thank You for the Tips? Is calling bits tips less ingenuous?! I went with the last one despite it. You'll see why.
It's quite apparent that Jaune is more capable in this setting. My headcanon says that he's talented at most things that aren't related to becoming a huntsman, skills relating to handywork and household jobs with an odd hobby or two. As such, in a regular setting he'd be quite OP in his own right.
Furthermore, since the school system I'm taking after starts HS at 16 and ends at 18, he's done his due diligence as the goofy noodle boy from the boonies already. At 17, he's more settled and has become more reliable.
We'll get into the meat next chapter.
Ruby Rose was a normal teenage girl.
…At least that's what her dad and sister kept telling her.
It wasn't their fault, she knew. They loved her for who she was—loved every little bit of her, from the most angelic virtues to the grimiest and grungiest secrets tucked away. Ruby appreciated that from them. She really did. There wasn't another family on this planet she would rather have.
Even with that being the case, she knew her faults, and she knew how much she hated them.
"It's fine," her sister had said with a grin. "You're still a kid. You'll grow out of it when you're older."
She wouldn't have known. Her older sister was always surrounded by friends. There was an almost natural warmth around her, beaming towards people like a little sun.
"Ruby, just talk to them. They'll love you when they get to know you," her dad urged softly.
Maybe. Maybe that was the case. Maybe if she could just open her mouth and speak, she would make friends. Maybe all it took was a step forward. "Keep moving forward", like her mom used to say. It was written on an old family photo on the living room, under the TV. Her writing was wavy and pretty. When she was younger, Ruby didn't even know what it was supposed to say.
If her mom could see her now, would she be disappointed?
Nah. Going by her sister, she might have broken down the doors to other parents' houses and chucked her in to go play when she was younger. Ruby wished she could have gotten to know her.
Ruby pushed the covers off her body, hauling herself out of bed like a pyjama-clad sloth. I'll make my bed later, the girl thought to herself drearily. She was still half asleep, and her dark hair was a mess. The red tips stuck up like tiny crayons. Faded crayons. There had been a time where she thought highlighting her hair would get people to talk to her. In any case, Ruby kept them because she thought they were pretty cool-looking despite so.
She hustled past the curtains without opening them. It was pretty late in the evening, so it's not like it would have even mattered.
Coming to her desk, the girl slumped into her chair and let the motion swivel her down the carpeted floor and stop in front of her monitor. As if an automatic action, her arm reached down and clicked the power button of her PC. It whirled to life, proof of its existence being the rainbow neon pulse of light that streamed down the edges. Cold air tickled her bare feet as the fans spun mechanically. Ruby was eyeing a water-cooling system when she built it, but she didn't have the money for it. While her dad loved her to bits, she was raised better than to take advantage of that.
Her desktop wallpaper greeted her—a moon imprinted on a starless night. It was broken through, like it was made of glass and shot, and lost fragments wandered from its shattered edge. The cursor slid across the screen, smooth and crisp. All thanks to that refresh rate.
Click. Click, click. Tap, tap, tap.
Ruby had her fingers ghosting across the keyboard, opening applications with efficiency, and checking everything was set.
"Okay…" she muttered. "Let's try this again. Showtime, Ruby. Normal knees."
Ruby Rose took a breath.
She clicked a button that read: Start Streaming.
Think of it like a post-credit scene.
Thanks for reading.