#repaying debt

[elianas-cozycorner]

𝓞𝓷 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼 | 𝓢𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓰𝓮 (2022)

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘖𝘯𝘦 | 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘋𝘦𝘣𝘵𝘴

Dedicated to @the-house-of-auditore-frye

Summary: In a world where single mothers and working, low-class women are shunned, how can an unwed seamstress survive? With piling debts and the Christmas season underway, there's nothing worse than adding hopeless, one-sided love to your troubles. Pining after your lender and local miser, Ebenezer Scrooge, can only lead you to ruin. Right?

Author's Note: Hello, all!

This little project came to be because of Frye's post requesting a Scrooge fiction. Please be aware that, as much as I absolutely adore this man and the film, this is my first time writing for Ebenezer. Because I wanted this to be as enjoyable as possible, I spent about a week researching the Victorian Era (everything from coinage to etiquette). That being said, I will try my best to make this historically accurate while also being canon compliant. There is also a jump from past tense to present tense in this chapter, denoted by a cut.

Because the story's plot is mostly fleshed out, I will be trying my best to give you all weekly updates. I have kept or changed a manner of things I saw fit to, but largely kept to the user's storyline. I did give the reader a last name to save my sanity (I also do not use Y/N)! If anyone is interested in the parts of Victorian culture I reference, I'll start leaving notes at the end of chapters.

Word Count: 1558

Ao3 - Mature Rating

Warnings: Period Typical Attitudes/Sexism, Victorian Era

The smell of pine and freshly baked goods swirled in the otherwise polluted London air. A soft breeze tussled ladies’ bonnets and ruffled the cravats of refined gentlemen, the perfect reprise from the muggy smog. With the workhouses and factories tucked just beyond view, prevented from covering the shopping district in coal dust, the street was filled with last minute shoppers and happy couples. Christmas was naught but a short eve away and the holiday cheer was perfectly contagious. Women, accompanied by their mothers and sisters, walked along the newly cleaned sidewalks. Occasionally they would break out in conversation among themselves, whether over a charming gentleman across the way or a new shipment of ribbons advertised on a storefront. Poormen and servants wandered about the stalls in the street, collecting food from the grocers or mead from the brewers. The steady clopping of hooves and the calls of pauper boys selling their papers only added to the busy atmosphere of the shopping district. 

The noise was close to overwhelming for some. One such gentleman walked alone, steel tipped cane clicking loudly against the cobblestone. Occasionally the man would pull his top hat further down his temple, adjust his upturned collar closer to his face, or grumble under his breath at the ineffectiveness of his overcoat. If one were to watch him long enough, they might see him pull a watch from his pocket and check its time against the clock tower’s. He avoided every sign of cheer, failed to acknowledge any gentlewoman he crossed paths with, and refused to return the Christmas wishes thrown his way. 

So bothered by the joyous atmosphere was he that, at his next convenience, he ducked into an alley. There he took a moment to sigh deeply and adjust his evening wear. The permanent scowl across his face was not dissuaded by the huff of breath against his knee.

The man looked down, “Prudence.”

The large, wrinkly mastiff at his feet looked up at the mention of her name. She focused on him, waiting for the graying man to continue. But she did not receive further acknowledgement. Instead, her human took up a brisk pace and exited the alleyway. Set on reaching his destination, the man did not expect to run into a pair of caroling urchins. Nor his nephew shortly after. 

“Uncle Ebenezer, is that you?”

“And to think,” The man growled under his breath, ducking behind a vendor’s stall. “That I should be granted any semblance of peace on such a wretched eve.”

There was a moment of silence and the grouch did not see his nephew’s figure again. “That was close–”

“Uncle! It is you, I knew it!” The cheerful gentleman appeared before him as if teleported by God himself.

Ebenezer Scrooge, cold hearted and lacking patience toward his relative as he was, couldn’t help the obvious annoyance that overtook his features. “Harry–”

“Merry Christmas!” Harry smiled broadly and extended his hat forward in greeting. It was a gesture that Scrooge did not return, favoring instead a scowl and exaggerated eye roll. 

Unfazed by his uncle’s uncouth manner and blatant disrespect, Harry continued on to greet the giant hound at Scrooge’s hip. They engaged in a rather splendid moment, Prudence preening under the kind affections Harry offered. The men exchanged a few short words until the clocktower sounded out, catching their attention. Scrooge smiled gleefully then, a truly cruel and unashamed sort of glee. 

“Out of time, Jenkins,” He turned to face his nephew. “As unpleasant as this encounter has been, Harry, I must bid my goodbyes. I have much to do before the clock strikes the sixth hour of the eve, many debts to collect. Be ye well, God bless you.” He extended his hat, bowing slightly at the waist. 

“Oh, but Uncle–” Harry was cut off as the gray haired man turned down the way. He shared a puzzled look with their canine companion before following suit.

“Uncle, wait! Perhaps, if it will not inconvenience you, I may join you for your final collection.” The request is polite enough, if not a bit hesitant. 

“I suppose you are about to tell me that it would be mutually beneficial to engage in such an excursion together,” Ebenezer Scrooge sighed deeply. “However noble the intention, my good boy, I am about on business –”

“As am I,” The response came from his left. “I have several gifts to acquire before the shops close for Christmas Eve, and I set out with the intent to meet you in the office. Your office.”

“Yes, you said as much.” The ebony cane tapped rhythmically against the cobbles underfoot. “If it is your will, I will not dissuade you. However, I will dismiss you immediately should you encroach upon my time.”

“Of course, as to be expected.”

“Expected?” A large, well maintained eyebrow shot up.

Harry floundered for a moment, unsure if he had crossed a line or poked a nerve. “I only meant that this excursion is as much about business for me as it is for you. ”

“Hmm. Christmas gifts. A pointless waste of coin and effort. Say,” Scrooge turned to face the other man then, halting in the middle of the walkway. “Should not your servant fetch these things?”

“They are preparing Christmas Eve Dinner! It is only right that they spend some time with their families come the morn, so the house will be hosting–” 

-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷

With his cane tucked under his arm, Ebenezer Scrooge adjusts his gloves in the doorway of Jenkin’s Toy Shoppe. His newly edited ledger sits heavily in his vest pocket: 50 pound – Jenkins, due Boxing Day. It gives him great pleasure to know that he will collect double the expected sum of Jenkin’s dues. So much so, the man does not register the fact that he is leaving Prudence in the care of his nephew as he exits the store. He is already tired of the social scenes and obligations placed upon him by society; what with enduring a continued human presence and being accosted by some unlicensed charity band.

‘The nerve,’ He thinks, once again checking his watch. ‘ Twenty past the hour already?"

He lets the cane drop back into his hand, using it for stability in the ice and snow. He has one last destination before he can retreat to his office: Louwermon’s Tailor and Dress Shoppe. A quaint little place on an industrial corner, hidden amongst the poorest rabble and unkempt developments. Originally owned by a stately old man, the clothing store often employed the lowest-class women and occasional middle-class seamstress. Now, after his passing and with shirts going for 7 pence a dozen, only one woman was left. The store and all of Louwermon’s earthly debts left unto her. 

Scrooge cringes slightly at the thought, bringing his gloved hand to cover a breast pocket. Louwermon hadn’t even been her father. How a woman with so little prospects and devastatingly meager income had been allowed, by the courts no less , to keep the shop was beyond him. He knew she worked day and night, nearly twelve hours each day, to pay her late employer’s debts. That much he approved of, her timeliness and portly manner. But lately, come the winter season, such timeliness had given away to shortchanged dues and even missed payments. That, to the old miser, was the most unacceptable thing about her. 

Lost in thought as he is, Scrooge is surprised when muscle memory encourages him to grip a familiar knob. The door handle, when he looks up to confirm, does indeed belong to the storefront of Louwermon’s Tailor and Dress Shoppe . With his right hand occupied with the door, he reaches for his ledger with the left. He wants nothing more than to make this trip quick. 

When he finally steps across the threshold, a warm gust of air and the chime of a bell greet him. A fire roars in a hearth to the back of the front room, keeping it warm for customers. In the furthermost right corner there is an area sectioned off for fittings, more an alcove than a proper room. Several dresses sit on the till counter and a rack of men’s shirts line the most immediate wall. A couple mannequins to his left host unfinished coats and suits, while the store windows are arranged to display seasonal accessories. However, despite all the garments, he does not spot the store’s owner.

He stands alone for several long moments, watching the time tick by on his pocket watch. He strains his ears to hear the clicking of the hands, taps his cane a couple times, and tries to tame his impatience by looking around the room. He waits, and waits. Eventually, Scrooge’s patience runs out. Indignant at being left to loiter, he clears his throat as loudly as the dry air will allow. 

“I’ll say, Ms. Blackwood, this is certainly no way to run an establishment!” 

From some room in the very back, Scrooge hears a clattering sound and the rushing of footsteps. The creaking of the door is accompanied by a small murmur of pain. Well worn hands brace themselves against the doorframe and gentle eyes meet stern ones. In her eyes there is a hint of fear and he knows then that she will ask for another extension. 

‘Will I give it?’ He wonders. 

[kittykatninja321]

fics that villainize Talia are obsessed with having Jason bad mouth her. I think Jason should be the #1 Talia apologist actually. To a toxic degree even. You tell Jason about the weird cloning shit and he’s like “well I’m sure she had her reasons 🤷🏻‍♂️”

[alliswyattonthewesternfront]

since i'm once again on a TOS binge, here are some of my favorite Bill Thiess creations. truly the best to ever do it. the pink number from "Who Mourns for Adonias" that is only held up by the weight of the train??? sensational

after his death, Thiess's estate auctioned off a lot of these pieces and donated the money to charity. if you ever want to feel insane read the prices some of it sold for. that metallic halter top + cape fit??? $173. are. you. kidding. me.

[daily-odile]

ow

[zzztlk]

Your designs and story are so well thought I wanted to know if with the forbidden fruit being figs you were aware of fig wasps.. they go in the fig and lay eggs so they hatch all in the fig and then they leave make more figs or die… idk but just like your themes..

Ty! And yeah that's the main motivation behind why I chose figs over the more common interpretation of an apple muahaha

[ninyard]

Jeremy’s deep dark past is that he plagiarized an essay in high school

Jeremy’s deepest darkest secret is that he shoplifted once as a twelve year old and still wakes up in a cold sweat thinking about it

[thus-it-is-proclaimed]

Do you ever think Beanix has panic attacks?

I think about it. We know Miles does, or at least flashbacks/nightmares characteristic of PTSD but I imagine that anxiety attacks are a familiar phenomenon to him.

[Speculation of a possible fic scene I’m working on]

And what if Phoenix has a hard night at the Borcht Bowl? What if someone takes losing to him badly, and it gets physical? What if he’s on the other end of a gun, a weapon, a threatening hand, and it’s not even the first time. But now he has a daughter.

Sure, before he had Maya and Pearls and they are very much his family. But now he has Trucy, who relies on him for everything. She has no where else to go, he is her legal guardian, he is her father. What if Phoenix goes through something without his armor of the badge and blue, in a much more murky world of morals, and he’s triggered into an attack.

He comes home late enough he assumes Trucy is asleep, locks himself in his room, and breaks.

But she isn’t asleep. Or she was, and wakes to the sound of him collapsing to the ground.

What if she calls the first person she thinks of? Because he brought them lunch the weekend before and pulled her aside to quietly request she keep him “updated about how things are, if you would?”

And when he appears, tires screeching and feet thundering up the stairs and the spare key rattling in the lock. Miles knows what he has to do.

He gets to Phoenix, and makes him breathe, and coaxes him to calm down. Promises he is here. Promises Trucy is safe, Phoenix is safe, that he is not alone.

Phoenix sobs because when has he ever had this? Someone to hold him and tell him it will be okay? Someone he doesn’t have to smile in the darkest times for? When has anyone seen, and reached out, and told him: “No, no you’re not okay. And you are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to be fractured. You are allowed to feel this because I am here. I am here to be strong for you.”

Miles, a man who knows these attacks well, the feeling of doom and tight chest and shaking limbs. Being there for Phoenix, a man who has always been the fighter.

I wonder..

[foxx-queen]

i keep thinking about the datamined conversation between halsin and minthara and what gets me about it is that if you side with halsin and turn minthara away, thats objectively the bad choice.

like at this point, you've rescued minthara from moonrise. you know now that she was being controlled to act against her will. you've gone to the trouble of rescuing her from her tormentors, and you've experienced what it felt like as they tried to destroy her mind. you know what will happen to her if you turn her away. and if you do, you're willingly condemning her to that fate. you've essentially allowed her to experience freedom, to regain her sense of self, only to tear that away from her again.

whereas if you side with minthara, and halsin leaves, that's the only consequence he experiences. that he's not a companion anymore. at this point, we've saved the grove, we've saved him, and we've lifted the shadow curse. we've helped him achieve what hes been hoping to do for over a century. leaving your party won't see him lose his free will. he can return to the grove and live his life.

the choice is essentially either condemn someone to a fate worse than death, knowing exactly what that entails vs not letting someone travel with you anymore. its pretty clear cut to me.

its just interesting to me that they've switched the morality of it around given that minthara is considered the 'evil' companion by so many.

[travalerray]

the kink got out of hand, sorry

then what ARE the words you want to say

I can't believe they really went with "antagonist gets amnesia, vaguely recognises the protagonist and decides that they are besties actually" trope

[leifyposting]

Rosaria is not usually this transparent.

She isn’t Barbara, who wears her heart on her sleeve, or Jean, who does not count lying among her many talents. She isn’t even Kaeya, whose intricate masks and careful dissembling only hold up as long as the wind doesn’t blow too hard.

Rosaria is impassive, unreadable, barely even there. She’s spent enough years learning how to let people’s eyes slide right off her. It turns out that you can wear fishnets and claw rings and people will still let themselves ignore you if you give them the right excuse.

But she has been drinking, tonight — not quite to the edge of tipsy, but close, right on the line where the lights are warmer and the wine is sweeter and the chatter of the bar patrons tips from grating to almost melodic.

And so maybe she lets her eyes linger, just a little, on the broad back and flaming hair of tonight’s bartender. 

No one would blame her if they caught the way her gaze flits over to him and away, one stolen glance every couple of minutes. Diluc cuts a dashing figure in his bartender’s uniform: all straight lines and stark contrasts, his red hair bright against the white of his vest. He carries himself with a quiet composure born of physical power and a bank vault full of cash. Half the people in this tavern have been ogling him all evening; she’s still not sure if he’s truly oblivious or willfully blind. 

As she watches, he slides a drink over to the Traveler at the end of the bar, waving away the offer of payment. He wipes down the counter with a practiced hand before tossing the cloth over his shoulder once more. Then he turns back, and Rosaria doesn’t look away quite quick enough to stop their gazes from catching and holding. 

Diluc’s gaze burns like the embers of a campfire, low and controlled, but with the promise of destruction unleashed. For a long second, he watches her watching him. 

Then he smiles. 

It’s a different smile from the confident one he gives her in the middle of the night when they’re on a manhunt, or the rueful shouldn’t-have-let-my-guard-down grin he sports when he’s taken an injury he should have been able to dodge. 

This smile is small, meant just for her: the corner of his mouth quirks up, boyish and almost shy, and for a moment Rosaria catches a glimpse of the young man who’d brought Mondstadt to its knees. 

He’s so godsdamned pretty it makes her throat tight. Despite her better judgement, Rosaria finds herself smiling back. 

She suppresses her smile as soon as she registers it — but Kaeya has always been too perceptive for his own good. 

“Playing with fire there, Rosaria,” he murmurs once Diluc turns away. He leans an elbow on the bar counter and fixes her with an unreadable smile. 

“What do you mean?” she asks evenly, taking a swig of her wine.

Kaeya looks unimpressed by her attempt at deflection. “Falling in love with him is a bad idea.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Rosaria says. She realizes too late that this too is a confession. She ought to have asked who he meant; she’s shown her hand too early.

“Sure,” Kaeya says, serious for once. “But you’re getting there.”

“Am not.”

He shakes his head at her. “I wouldn’t get too close, if I were you. He burns everything he touches.”

Kaeya was her first real friend in Mondstadt. She knows what Diluc did — in broad strokes, if not in detail. It definitely makes her a bad friend that she likes him anyway. 

Kaeya’s lone visible eye tracks Diluc’s movement as he weaves his way through the bar, clearing tables. “The thing is, he doesn’t mean to,” he says, his voice low and almost affectionate. “He tries so hard, you know? He’d try, if you asked him to.”

“I’m not asking him shit. There’s nothing going on between us.”

“He just always ends up destroying things anyways,” he continues as if she hadn’t spoken, his fingers tracing lines of frost on the condensation of his glass, his eye still fixed on the back of Diluc’s head. “It tears him apart, but good intentions don’t restore what’s been broken.”

He looks back at her. For a moment she thinks she sees wildfire flames licking at the deep blue of his visible eye, before they resolve into the gentle glow of the lamps that light the Angel’s Share. “I know you’re not going to listen to me,” he says, and smiles mirthlessly. “You can make your own decisions, of course. But be careful, alright? I’d hate to see you hurt in the course of protecting Mondstadt.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Rosaria knows it as soon as it leaves his lips. 

Because no matter how bad Diluc is, Rosaria is worse. Kaeya has forgotten that frost burns too. 

Diluc is a fine, upstanding citizen, the uncrowned king of Mondstadt. Rosaria is a scrappy orphan at the mercy of the Church. Diluc has a bent for justice and a mission to take care of the weak. Rosaria only knows revenge.

Kaeya forgets — or ignores, because he is a good friend, and he cares for her in his own way — that Rosaria deserves nothing but destruction and pain. Everything she has received from Mondstadt has been at the cost of its citizens. She owes a debt she can never repay; if she takes some injury in the course of protecting this country, it will simply be what she deserves. 

She lays a hand on Kaeya’s arm and watches him jolt. “Getting burned is part of the job.”

“Of protecting Mondstadt?” He sounds skeptical. “The nation has never asked that of you.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Someone’s gotta do it. Don’t act like you haven’t sacrificed for Mondstadt too.”

“Oh, I won’t pretend I haven’t,” he says lightly. “But I’m a hedonist, you know — I’ll always pick pleasure over pain.”

She laughs, opting not to call him on this obvious lie. “I guess that makes me a masochist, because I don’t care if I get hurt.” 

“I care,” he mutters, then sighs. “Look, you’re a grown-up. If you want to flirt with the sun, I won’t stop you. I just reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ when your wax wings go up in smoke.”

“I’ll be careful,” Rosaria promises. 

(Across the tavern, Diluc laughs at something Venti says, low and rolling and resonant. The eyes of half of Mondstadt follow the sound, and Rosaria has never been one to go with the crowd, but in this and this only—)

Kaeya rolls his eyes, shrugging her hand off his arm. “No, you won’t.”

“No,” she agrees, and grins. “I won’t.”

[nebulathunderwave-art]

"JGY looks prettier without his hat" this, "No JGY looks better with the hat" that. Actually we're all wrong. All A-Yaos are the best A-Yao, according to local specialist LXC.

[phantomfoxart]

"There are two phrases a man must learn to say, or else one day he'll say them in tears."

More in the tags

[hotvampireadjacent]

LMFAO Americans are always fear mongering China’s actions in Africa.

1. The people of Africa aren’t fucking stupid and don’t need you worrying over them like that.

2. Even if China was trying to debt trap Africa that’s nowhere near as bad as America does everywhere

3. Above all ask the people of Africa what they fucking think they don’t need white people thinking and acting for them! Africa isn’t dumb!!! The people of Africa aren’t stupid!

[oorangesoda]

May I offer, 🙇‍♂️🤲 Jas? In these trying times?

[thewormsdontstop]

law looks so dumb here with his hood pulled up over his big ass hat

[silversailormoan]

Imagine an au where instead of breaking his leg, hyj went into a coma instead for a few years (and for the sake of this au, there's none of the saving the world plot)

There's a lot of potential here; would he be crushed at finding out when he wakes up? it hitting yoojin that he truly had to leave his brother alone for so many years and he's still doing fine? yoojin thinking that it's proof that he was holding down yoohyun after all? would that prompt him to abandon his tries at being a hunter when he finds that it was yoohyun footing the hospital bills? the crushing guilt at being the one supported by his younger brother instead of the other way round?