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curioushappenstance · 4 days ago

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fic title: do you like my dress? it's got pockets [chapter 3]

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Summary: 9:19 Dragon – Varric Tethras loses his virginity to a pretty dwarf girl at the bar. 9:41 Dragon - The consequence walks through the gates of Skyhold. - In my childish fantasies, I used to dream of being the Champion; going places, meeting people, loving them and being loved in return, never discarded nor kicked nor beaten; love, in perpetuity, the likes of which a girl under the heavy and forceful hand of a mother could not begin to dream of, because she could not dream at all. - aka, the fic where varric has a daughter that he didn't know about until five minutes ago.

It was early morning when the gates of Skyhold opened and soldiers poured into the courtyard.

I watched them from my window, my arm on the windowsill and bleary from waking, only barely able to make out the vague silhouettes of their glinting metal uniforms through the dense, grainy fog that had descended upon Skyhold overnight. Groggily, I dressed, gathered my pack, and descended the tower to watch them alongside everyone else.

The normally still and peaceful courtyard was overcome by shouts, cries, and the clanking of metal. Horses, hounds, the grinding of chains as the elevators ascended to the bridge, all coalesced together into one cacophony that drowned out my thoughts.

A widow collapsed to her knees in the mud. A father swung his child into the air. Outside the infirmary, the bald elf, with blood on his hands and a rag over his shoulder, shook his head and turned away. A sihadow fell over me, and I looked and saw Harding, her lips pressed thin line as, through the fog, she gazed upon the soldiers with one sweeping movement.

I shuffled up next to her. She acknowledged me with a tired smile. Twigs and bits of snow stuck to frazzled, unkempt hair, and the bags under her eyes made them look somehow wider.

“Who are you looking for?” I asked.

“Oh. No one. I was just––” She rubbed at some dirt on her chin. “Just thinking, you know.”

A tall blond human with a fur mantle and a booming voice issued commands to his soldiers, his lieutenants, and the few healers who rushed in for aid on the field.

“What happened?”

Harding patted down her hair. “A lot of us just got back from the Western Approach. The soldiers have been trickling in for weeks, but I think this is the last of them.”

It wasn’t an answer. “How do you know?”

“There, see?” She gestured into the crowd. I followed her hand until I found who she was pointing at. “The Inquisitor. She’s always the last one to get back.”

Gossip travelled quickly among the dwarven families of Kirkwall. When word got out that the eldest daughter of the Cadash family fell through a hole in the Fade, I shook my head and rolled my eyes. But by the Ancestors, to truly see her now, her dark skin plastered with mud and dried blood, innocuous and unremarkable if not for the bright green glowing mark that branded her left hand…

“And in the Approach,” I tried again, “what happened there?”

“...I guess word didn’t reach far, huh?” She visibly hesitated. “Maybe you should ask Varric.”

“What are we asking me?”

I yelped. Varric smiled an apology as Harding faced him, her back to the sunrise, the light shining through wisps of her hair.

“Oh, nothing! We were just––”

“The soldiers in the Approach,” I interrupted.

Harding’s hard look told me what she’d really meant; ask Varric away from me, because I don’t want to be anywhere near him when you do. But whatever she was fearing didn’t happen, and he dismissed me.

“You don’t wanna hear about it, kid. Trust me.”

Harding cut me off. “How you feeling, Varric?”

“Hm?” The question was redundant. His hair, falling out of a haphazard bun, was just as much a mess as hers. A fresh dressing had replaced the old one. “Oh, you know. Just barely escaped Chuckles in the infirmary. It’s a miracle he still has the time to sigh at me between all the limbs he’s amputating.”

Two soldiers raced past us, each carrying one end of an unconscious friend. “It’s that bad?” I asked.

“...Eh. Probably not, but I––I tried not to look too hard.” He poked at the dressing. “Anyway. Got time, kid?”

“For what?”

He shrugged, a little half-heartedly. “A walk. I gotta talk to you.”

Harding looked between us and said nothing.

“No more stairs,” I told him. He chuckled, and said he wouldn’t make any promises he couldn’t keep.

“...Sleep okay?”

Varric’s legs dangled pathetically off the edge of the battlements that overlooked the gardens. They’d been done up for some kind of event, and were mostly empty, save for some Chantry Sisters who gathered large quantities of elfroot into baskets. Varric kicked his heels against the wall.

I didn’t have the energy for this.

“I slept fine,” I said, and it was true. In fact, I’d never slept better. “What did you want to talk about?”

He raised his chin and breathed deep through his nose. The outward sigh made a small cloud that dissipated on the wind. His brow and the corner of his mouth twitched downward before he spoke. “I sent a letter to one of my Carta contacts. Should get a reply in about a week, maybe.”

A week. That wasn’t too long, but how much could I afford to wait? I needed to be home in time for mother to be returned to the Stone. “They must be close by.”

“Eh.”

“You can’t tell me?”

“Yeah. Listen, kid…” He pivoted and faced me full-on, one leg propped on the wall, the other still off the edge. For a dwarf, he wasn’t very afraid of falling. “Shit like this doesn’t get solved over a few letters. He’s gonna wanna meet up.”

I wrung my hands. The back of my neck itched now he was facing me properly. I wished I’d brought my blanket. “Is he dangerous?”

“He won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Varric looked into my eyes. “He won’t hurt you.”

I tore myself from his gaze and peered over the edge of the wall. “Fine.”

Satisfied, he leaned away. “Also, I’ve got a thing going on tonight. So, if you need anything, uh, find Harding.”

“A ‘thing’.”

He cleared his throat. It sounded dry and painful. “A thing.”

“Alright. Is that it, then?”

“Mm?”

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

He was quiet. In that moment, his tapping stopped.

“Yep.”

It was a lie. It was always a lie.

I asked Varric where I could find work. In a grumbly, quiet voice, he told me he could just give me the coin, then backed off when I scowled at him. To that end, he directed me to the tavern.

(“Cabot’s gonna have his hands full with the soldiers. Shit’ll be overrun tonight. But, uh, kid, you don’t have to…”)

I was still scowling when I shoved open that door again, and struggled to smooth it over in time to meet Cabot at the counter. Also a dwarf, I realised, now that he wasn’t standing on a crate behind the bar, and I was actually paying attention. A few quiet, contemplative soldiers already occupied the space, and I imagined they would leave before their rowdy, drunken brethren arrived.

“I’m looking for work,” I said.

Cabot raised an eyebrow. “Good for you.”

“...I was told you’re hiring.”

“Could be. Could not be.”

For a bartender, he wasn’t very talkative. For a dwarf… just the right amount. I could work with that.

“I’ll clean the tables,” I declared. “The glasses. The floors. The walls.”

He squinted. “Didn’t you clock Tethras with a mug?”

My cheeks warmed. The scrutiny of his stare reminded me more of a librarian than a bartender; he was only lacking in little round spectacles, by which he would pass his judgement over. A funny thing, to imagine for a bald, rough-and-tumble dwarf.

“...Yes?” I squeaked.

“Hm.”

“He startled me, I––I would never attack ––”

“Three silvers an hour.”

“Huh?”

I stared. He stared back, and shrugged. “Keep the soldiers in line and I’ll pay double.”

I fumbled a half-formed sentence which fell pathetically into gibberish. I could only just comprehend three silvers all on their own, let alone in multiples, and the prospect of double that wage had my knees weak.

Three silvers an hour, twenty-one a day––by the end of the month, six sovereigns with a bit on a side. I could buy warm clothes, a chemise, new boots!

Cabot squinted again. “You look like someone shat in your meal.”

“Oh, I––” had never worked a day in my life. Mind, not for lack of trying, but when you couldn’t reach the high shelves, most employers turned a blind eye to you. It didn’t matter how smart or talented you were. “I’m fine. I’m fine. When do I start?”

Cabot ran most of the tavern all on his own after the previous owner died. I had heard of what happened in Haven, and I wanted to ask more, but he didn’t seem interested in talking about it, so I didn’t.

He introduced me to the other barmaid, a skittish young elf––Iowen––with a wide face and wider ears. Needed someone with more backbone, Cabot said, and Iowen blushed, but said nothing. He assigned me alongside her; delivering drinks, hauling small crates, and cleaning messes. Everything else, he said, he would handle.

It was something to do. More than that, it was a schedule, something worthwhile, something with a purpose.

Harding found me again when the tavern started to fill.

“Arms aching yet?” she teased, leaning against the table I’d just wiped down.

“More my legs,” I admitted. “I’m not used to standing around like this.”

“Aha, you get used to it. I’ve had to spend hours in the same spot when I’m out scouting, and Maker, my legs…”

I moved on to the next table, not because it was dirty, but because I needed something to do. A soldier told a raunchy joke that had a nearby table burst into raucous laughter. “Is that what you were doing this morning?” I asked over the noise.

“Huh? Oh!” She laughed. “Yeah. I was out really late clearing the path on the road. I think I got less sleep than Cullen did!”

“Cullen?”

“Our Commander.”

I remembered the blond human yelling at the gate, and resolved to avoid him. I adjusted a chair and moved on again; Harding followed like a lost puppy, narrowly avoiding tripping over the outstretched leg of an oblivious human.

“So… how do you know Varric?”

“Oh. Um…”

“I guess I thought you didn’t know him. It’s a small world, huh?”

A woman waved me over and ordered a beer, which I fetched from a low shelf in the back. Harding was still waiting for me when I emerged.

“I only met him yesterday,” I said. The woman took the bottle from me with a cheers.

“But…” Harding sat against the bar. “You talk like you’ve known each other forever. ”

I shrugged.

“He knew your name,” she said. “Was he the one you were delivering that message to?” When I turned away, she chased me around a table. Iowen looked at us strangely from across the room. “He was! He was, wasn’t he?”

I pulled out a chair, stared at it, and pushed it back in again. My head felt light. “It’s not very interesting.”

“Now I want to know even more. ”

Her expectant gaze bore into my skull. So happy, so excited, so full of energy, light, and warmth. She waited, and I hesitated again, and again, and again.

“He’s––”

A soldier banged his mug against a table, and silence fell upon the tavern. He clambered upon the table, and stood on it with a wooden prosthetic carved with dozens upon dozens of names and dates.

I'd never been to an Andrastian funeral, but I had seen Kirkwall. There were mourners on the streets, in bars, or hidden away in the darkest dark of Darktown. There were more bodies in alleys than in the graveyards, and more funerals in the streets than in the Chantry.

I knew mourners, the way their eyes shimmered whether they cried or not. The eyes of the soldiers glinted in the torchlight as they watched their brother raise his mug to the ceiling, his legs shaking but his arms steady, as he spoke.

To those we have lost, and those we will lose.

Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker’s right hand, and be forgiven.

I left in the late evening with a heavier purse. Before the market closed, I bought a chemise, a woollen kirtle, and a pair of snow boots. The relief of coin and clothes didn’t lift the heaviness in my legs or from my eyes––nor the memory of the soldier’s bloodshot eyes in the torchlight.

It was bad luck that I ran headlong into Varric. It was funny that he fell ass-first into the mud, and the mockery of nearby recruits echoed off the stone walls.

“Andraste’s––fucking––” He cradled his head with his eyes scrunched tight. You have a real fucking knack––!”

“I’m not sorry.”

He glared. “Kid, you wound me, literally and metaphorically.”

“Apparently I can’t help it.”

“You’re in a good mood.” He stumbled to his feet, and groaned at the mud splattered all over his coat and trousers. A deep black shirt replaced his vibrant red one. “I just washed these damn things.”

“I’m in a mood. Not sure if it’s good or not.”

“You have a sense of humour after all, maybe you really are my––” He hissed and pressed a palm to his forehead. “Shit. That hurt more than the mug.”

“I have a thick skull.”

“Take after me, I guess.” Swaying, he blinked away watery eyes. “Uh, went fine at the tavern?”

I didn’t tell him about the impromptu funeral. “None of the soldiers groped me.”

He blinked, squinted, then frowned. “Huh?”

“I said none of the––”

“That’s a really low bar. You were worried about that?”

I stared.

He was still, at the core of it all, a sheltered silverspoon rich boy.

“I’m very small,” I said.

“You’re taller than me.”

“I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you’re also very small.”

He shook off his coat and draped it over one arm. “No need to rub it in, kid. Damnit, I have to go change…”

“Where were you going?”

“Oh, you know.”

I waited. And I waited. Varric kicked a stray rock and watched it splat into the mud.

“You know, my thing. The thing. There’s––in the gardens.”

“For a writer, I expected you to be better with words.”

He looked up at me with a flat, placid face, his true thoughts betrayed only by the smallest flinch in the corner of his mouth. His voice was even.

“Inquisitor’s holding a funeral.”

“Oh.” I shuffled my feet. For the soldiers? “Is everyone going?”

“Just the inner circle.”

“Ah.” That didn’t seem fair.

“Yeah. So. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Which was code for no, sorry, you’re not invited either, which didn’t surprise me after I’d just insulted him. And it was fine, of course––but watching him leave, muddy, lumbering, and shivering…

I retired to my quarters and packed away my new clothes. It was ten minutes I sat at the edge of my bed, draped in my chemise, staring out the window and watching the clouds cross the sky as the sun set behind the mountains. A further ten I spent meticulously plaiting my hair, and when I was done, I gathered my blanket into my arms.

Hawke’s blanket. Hawke’s quarters. Hawke in the air that I breathed, as warm and comforting as his smile when I was a child.

I gazed into the mirror. The shattered reflection marred my tired face.

Where was Hawke?

I climbed under my sheets. The weight of my blanket, like the weight of the ocean, pulled me down into a restless unconscious.

Loud swearing and a heavy thud woke me again with a jolt. All was dark, except for the light of the moon, which bathed the otherwise warm room in a dull greyness. I listened, one ear to my pillow, to another series of thuds getting progressively louder, and louder, as someone stumbled up the stairs.

Unsteady footfalls approached then stopped outside my door.

I waited, wide-eyed, for the rattle of the handle that never came. Instead, there was a thump, then a slide, and, in the softest of tones, the unmistakable sound of weeping.

My blanket around my shoulders, I tiptoed from my bed and pressed my ear to the door. I held my breath, waiting for them to stop, or leave, but soon my legs started to ache again, and I sat with my back to the wall.

“You’re very loud,” I said.

There was a cold silence. Then the shuffle of fabric.

“Sorry,” Varric rasped, muffled by the door.

“It’s very late.”

“Sorry.”

I pulled my blanket closer around my shoulders, like a warm hug from behind. The shattered mirror glimmered in the moonlight.

“It was for Hawke, wasn’t it? The funeral?”

There was no answer, and I didn’t need one.

“I met him once,” I said. “I was much younger, um, twelve, I think.”

Varric sniffled. “Yeah?”

“He was very kind. He––” I didn’t know him, he was never my friend, so Maker, why was my throat so tight? “He gave me a blanket. I remember thinking he was very pretty.”

A chuckle, then a low hum. “Yeah.”

“What happened?”

I heard a heavy sigh. At least he wasn’t crying anymore. “It was him or me.”

I remembered the torn parchment on Varric’s desk, his ink-stained hands, and his bloodshot eyes as he looked at me for the first time.

“In the Western Approach?”

“Yeah. I thought… I thought he was gonna come through. I waited for him.”

“And then he didn’t?”

“Don’t even have a damn body to burn.” His voice cracked. “He’d like you.”

“I’m not very likeable.”

He grunted. “Me neither.”

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #dragon age the veilguard #veilguard #dragon age veilguard #varric tethras #garrett hawke #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanart #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #archive of our own #dragon age varric #da varric #da fanart

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whirligig-girl · 2 years ago

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Isabel Guz! In the 22nd-And-A-Half Century!

Image ID: Digital drawing of a Eaurp Guz and Hoshi Sato in the NX-01 starship Enterprise mess hall. Guz is a green slimegirl, Hoshi Sato is a japanese human woman. They are both wearing navy-blue united earth starfleet jumpsuits. Hoshi's uniform has blue lining and Guz's uniform has red lining. They both have ensign's pips. Guz looks a little flustered and melty, while Hoshi just looks happy. Guz is eating soup. Hoshi has a sandwich and some beans. There is a purple and blue nebula visible out the window. End ID.

pre-ent-season-1 Introduction to Isabel Guz under the cut:

Ensign Guz was in the 602 club, enjoying a fruity beverage and talking to Ensign Reed about Titan V missiles. Guz was in uniform--her navy-blue jumpsuit with red stripes, but Reed was wearing a polo shirt and shorts. Reed spotted his crewmates from across the room and waived them over to the booth.

"Uh, Isabel, this is, ahem, Lieutenant Tucker and Commander Archer, from Project Enterprise."

"Please, call me Trip."

Guz's eyes went wide. "Wow! Howdy, I'm, uh, Ensign Isabel Guz, nice to meetchy'all."

Trip cocked his head to the side. "Ensign, where you from?"

"No clue sir, but I was raised in Greensboro."

"Ah, one of them reclaimation project towns?" Trip said.

Guz nodded. "There weren't much uh the city left after the 2nd civil war, but that meant it wasn't one of the targets during world war three."

Commander Archer chuckled to himself, then cleared his throat. "I think you and Trip have a lot in common. He was raised in Panama City."

"A real life Florida man...," Guz marvelled.

"In the flesh," Trip said.

"Have you ever made it out to Cape Canaveral? I know it's mostly a crater reclaimed by swamp at this point but I've heard the historical society opened the ruins of the VAB to visitors! I've always wanted to go, but I never found the time, and--"

"Calm down Ensign. I've done better than that. I've seen the preserved Saturn Five booster in Huntsville, Alabama."

"No... way..." Guz said.

"Forgive me for prying but, what's with the, uhh..." Archer said, gesturing vaguely at Guz's whole deal.

“The slime? The Vulcan scientists said I came to them as a cylinder of biomimetic compound salvaged from a Zaldan Empire ship. They didn't get any records, so I dunno what planet I'm from. Ain't like it matters; as far as I'm concerned, I'm from North Carolina."

"Zaldans?" Archer said

"They're at a similar level of development to Earth, but with much wider infrastructure. That's all the Vulcans told me about them.”

“So are you like, some kinda shapeshifter?” Trip said.

“If you want to learn all about me, feel free to read the Vulcan paper, Development and Maturation of a Biomimetic Mold Organism. If you can read Vulcan, that is. You’ll learn all about my shapeshifting abilities, or lackthereof; my fluidity, material structure, sentience profile… pain response.”

The table went silent. Guz looked down awkwardly, more upset that she’d made things awkward than about what the Vulcans did to her all those years ago.

“Hey, ma’am, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Guz feigned cheering up. “It’s ok. We all know how Vulcans can be!”

The waitress came up to the table. “The usuals, gentlemen?”

“Thanks, Ruby,” Archer said.

“How ‘bout Isabel?” Trip said.

“You’ve already guessed that one,” Ruby said.

“Damn,” Trip said, snapping his fingers.

“Wh-what was that about?” Guz said.

“Ruby said she’ll marry the first guy who guesses what she wants to name her kids.”

Guz muttered under her breath, “or maybe the first slimegirl…”

Archer furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, a little surprised.

Ruby came back with some drinks, and Archer continued in his small talk. “So, Ensign, where are you assigned?”

“I’m on Captain Jeffries’ engineering team.”

“Oh, damn, is he overworking you?” Trip said.

“I can handle the workload,” Guz said. “But I’m hoping to actually get… you know, out there some day. I’m hoping to get on one of those Freedoms, or maybe an Intrepid--”

#Eaurp Guz #Slimegirl #Star Trek #ENT #Enterprise #Star Trek Enterprise #Star Trek Fanart #Original Character #Hoshi #Hoshi Sato

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whoneedsapublisher · 1 year ago

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Tune Up

I've had this unfinished HK-47 centric story sitting around for ages and I finally went back to clean it up and work a conclusion into it.

Words: ~700

Summary: The Exile is starting to get a little frustrated with just how esoteric HK-47's construction is. Prideful as he is, HK-47 obviously has a justification.

Also on Ao3

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“Hey, HK?”

“Query: What is it, master?” HK-47 glanced down at the exile with what she perhaps too charitably interpreted as mild interest. That was the problem with droids whose heads were too face-like. She always tried to read expressions into them, even if she knew that there was no actual actuators there to react to what the droid was thinking.

“Why did Revan design you so... “ she made a vague gesture, and then settled on the diplomatic option. “..strangely?”

She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She’d probably gotten oil on it from doing that, but she’d deal with it later. She was going to need a shower after this anyway. What did a little more oil matter?

“Resigned statement: Come now, master. Surely you must be able to figure that out.

Alright, now she was sure he was making a face at her. Although maybe that was just his extremely expressive tone doing all the work.

“No, I’m serious,” the exile said, frowning. “Look, even aside from the all the memory core issues, a lot these systems are- sorry if you take offence, but like, you have to know that this stuff is really inefficient for combat, right?”

“Patient reminder: Master, I am not a combat droid. I am an assassin droid.”

“So?” the exile said. “That still means shooting people.”

“Disappointed correction: Master, an assassin droid’s combat capacity is only half of its functionality. An vital part of assassination is target access.” HK-47 raised a finger as if delivering a lecture. “Suspiciously specific hypothetical: Imagine I needed to infiltrate a civilian cruiser, owned by a paranoid crime boss, who demanded that all droids who entered his vessel be examined by his personal mechanic. If my design was overtly designed for combat efficiency, my target would be immediately suspicious. However, as my chassis and many of my features are designed to mimic a sophisticated protocol droid, any cursory examination of my functions by a mechanic, either for inspection or maintenance reasons, would not immediately reveal my true purpose. Amusing anecdote: In fact, when Revan lost his memory, he reacquired me due to needing my translation functionality, not the raw might of my assassination protocols.”

“I guess that makes sense,” the exile said, peering back into the labyrinth mess that comprised the inside of HK-47’s chest chassis. “It would be pretty hard to tell that you’re an assassination droid if you didn’t find the protocols for it. Almost none of your assassation stuff is in the hardware, after all. No onboard weapons, no obvious interfaces with weaponry… just sophisticated enough motor control of your hands to operate a weapon the way a human would.”

“Pleased agreement: Exactly, master. And such precise motor control is quite typical of high-end civilian droids without any combat programming.” HK-47 flexed his fingers. “Speculation: I believe that the problems with my memory core come from it being designed to easily obfuscate information until certain conditions were met so that memory scans would not reveal my missions, while also being resistant to core wipes. That way, if my core was wiped while in service to a target, I would not forget my original purpose. Extrapolation: This may lead to unintentional cases of certain portions of my memory being encrypted when my core is tampered with in any way, such as when Revan deleted any knowledge of his destination and his recent locations.”

The exile nodded, rubbing her chin in thought. It did make a certain kind of sense. If you were designing a droid that was going to be fully at the mercy of maintenance techs mid-mission, you’d have to put a lot of effort towards dealing with core wipes.

“Prideful assertation: Master, I believe that while my design is unusual, it is the single best implementation of the core concept available in this galaxy. Supporting evidence: Look at how successful those distasteful knock-offs of my model were, despite their obvious inferiority.”

“Well, I guess you’re right,” the exile said, closing HK-47’s front panel. “Still, sometimes I wish you were little easier to tune up.”

“Mollifying reassurance: Do not worry, master. I am sure that your skills are up to the task.”

The exile frowned.

Next time, she was going to open up his faceplate. Just to make doubly sure that it was impossible that he was smirking at her.

#star wars #kotor 2 #hk-47

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mortemoppetere · 1 year ago

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TIMING: last night (06/12) LOCATION: a mean old lady's house PARTIES: @itzbridiebitch & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: emilio and bridie track down the owner of the cursed necklace. it doesn't go how they might have hoped. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Once Teddy suggested the presence of a curse, it became painfully obvious. Of course a curse would explain the voices in his head. Emilio had been so prepared to accept his own mind failing him that he’d allowed himself to forget the way there were often other things at play… especially in a town like Wicked’s Rest.

After that, it had just been a matter of tracking down the cause. Something harder than it normally would have been, thanks to the voices in his head. He retraced his steps with a clenched jaw, trying to go back through old cases. And it was hard. It felt impossible, at moments. Did the jilted ex-husband who’d lost everything in the divorce thanks to Axis Investigations know a good spellcaster? Was the mourning mother whose son Emilio had only been able to find in pieces taking her grief out on the most convenient target she could find? Everyone was a suspect, and Emilio’s addled mind could hardly separate one from the other.

Until the news story came across his proverbial desk. Local Pawn Shop Owner Dies. He recognized the man only vaguely, but vaguely was enough. He’d made a note that the guy was squirrelly when he’d asked him about the necklace, but he’d assumed it had just been due to the shady nature of most of the items in his shop. Looking back now, he recognized it a little easier. The way his eyes darted around without settling on anything, the way his voice was an octave louder than it should have been. Of course the stupid necklace was cursed. Of course.

So, he’d reached out to the club owner. If the shop owner was cursed, odds were that the club owner was, too. And what he’d found was hardly surprising. She was experiencing the same shit he was, and she wanted answers just as badly.

But apparently, she wasn’t willing to trust him to find them on his own.

He glanced over at her in the seat next to him, the car ‘borrowed’ from a street corner in Worm Row. “You sure you can handle this? I’ll do the talking. You just have to stand there.” Really, she could wait in the car… but he knew what she’d say if he brought that up, and he was too tired to argue. Sleep was even harder to come by now than it usually was, and that was saying something.

—

There were six voices in her brain other than her own now. Bridie’d lost track of who was saying what after the fourth voice had joined the fray. It was a jabbering, maddening mess, and she hadn’t been able to hear herself think in so long.

Of course it had been that stupid fucking gaudy necklace.

A curse made sense. It certainly felt ‘curse-y’. It felt like a living hell, actually. Her nerves were shot, and shadows rimmed her usually bright eyes from a lack of sleep.

A voice outside her head cut through the cacophony in her brain and she looked over at Emilio. As if she was going to let him square this away alone. She had scoffed at the suggestion. She’d had far too much go wrong since his little sob story about his momma’s long lost necklace. She should have smelled that bullshit a mile away. Of course, now the necklace’s curse had made both their lives waking nightmares, so he’d probably been punished enough.

“I’m not a delicate little daisy who can’t listen to a normal conversation. I’ve had a mass murderer calling me lamb chop for I don’t even know how long now, and no one else can hear it. I think I can handle a conversation about getting a stupid curse broken.” Bridie grumbled. “Sorry, I’m not usually this… this.” She gestured vaguely. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

_____

She didn’t look like she was faring any better than he was, which didn’t make this a very promising trip. How long could the two of them keep this up? Emilio wished he had more of a timeline on the pawn shop owner, wished he’d asked the man exactly what day the necklace had first come to him. But why would he have? He’d been wholly focused on finding the damn thing then. If he’d known it was cursed, he never would have taken the case at all.

Bridie still would be, though. So maybe she was lucky he’d taken the case, even if he wasn’t.

“Never said you were,” he said gruffly, the response a little belated. It took a moment for him to register what she said, took a moment for him to realize that it was her speaking and not the voices in his head. You’re slipping fast, Cortez. Won’t be long now. He hoped the woman who’d hired him had some answers. If they went in and found her just as cursed as they were… Well. That’d be a bad sign. “Don’t have to apologize. Think I’ve got a good idea why you’re like this.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before steeling himself and opening the car door. “Let’s go, then.”

Trusting that Bridie would follow, he made his way up the long walkway and towards the impressive house stretched out in front of them. The woman had money; that had never been in question. But money wouldn’t break a curse. Emilio just hoped she’d have some idea what would.

—-

“I know you didn’t,” she sighed, rubbing at her eyes. One of the voices decided to start screaming. The blood curdling sound rattled it’s way around the faun’s head, and she couldn’t keep the soft distressed whimper the whined out of her at bay. “Let’s hope you do, because this is a circle of hell I never wanted to be in.”

It was a big house. Bridie probably would have thought about it more if the voice wasn’t still shrieking and jabbering. It was almost as though the voices were acting out their own little lives up there in their brain. Perhaps they were tormenting one another just as much as they were tormenting her.

They walked up to the front door, and it took all the faun’s will power to ensure her glamour stayed firmly in place. She tucked a rogue cotton-candy curl behind her ear as she reached out and pressed the doorbell once, twice, three times for good measure. She glanced over at her companion and shrugged. “Her hearing an annoying doorbell is nothing comparatively.”

_____

“Tell me about it.” The words were muttered under his breath, probably too quiet for her to hear over the shit going on in her head. Emilio probably wouldn’t have heard it himself if not for the fact that it was him who said it.

Bridie rung the doorbell and said… something. Emilio couldn’t quite register her words, but he nodded anyway. He figured they’d know as soon as the woman answered the door whether she was suffering the same curse they were or not. Emilio knew he looked haggard, and Bridie didn’t look much better. She’d been cursed longer than he had, but maybe she was better at hiding it. Or… maybe it affected hunters differently than other humans. (Was Bridie human? All Emilio could determine for certain was that she wasn’t undead.)

The door swung open and Emilio’s client stood in the entry, looking… fine. Normal, cheery, unbothered. Unsurprised. She took in the pair of houseguests with a quirk of her brow, a hint of amusement sparking in her eyes. “Ah,” she greeted, “the detective. I did wonder if you might come sniffing back around here.”

“You knew.” It wasn’t a question; it came out flat and unamused, with the barest hint of anger behind it, because how could he be anything but? This woman let him get cursed, and she did it knowingly. He was allowed to be pissed.

“Well, I didn’t know about her.” The woman glanced to Bridie. “Is she the thief? Did you break into my home?” There was an almost teasing lilt to her tone, infuriatingly pleased as if Emilio and Bridie weren’t half insane on her doorstep.

—

The homeowner (or at least Bridie assumed she was the owner) opened the door practically smirking. The faun didn’t get angry frequently. Most of the time she was too busy having a good time to bother getting angry. And if someone did something to wrong her or irk her, it was usually all too easy to make them spiral into euphoria, giving in to her desire, usually to their detriment.

She didn’t quite hear what the woman said to Emilio, as the voices picked that time to launch into a monologue on the best ways to dispose of a body. But she did manage to gauge the look on Emilio’s face, the tone of his voice. Good. Bridie wasn’t the only one who was pissed.

The voices shut up long enough so Bridie could hear herself slandered as a thief. “Excuse you?” she said, pushing past the woman so she now stood on the opposite side of the threshold. “This is the first time I’ve stepped foot in your house. So I think you should be nice, and show us further inside so we can have a nice chat.” Her voice was far too sweet, and was in stark contrast to the rage that started to simmer in her eyes. “By the way, I don’t believe I heard it. Can I have your name?”

________

Bridie was offended, and Emilio couldn’t quite blame her. He liked her, he decided, far more than he had on that first meeting. Back then, she’d been an inconvenience. A person standing in his way, feet planted firmly between him and his payday. But now? She was on his side. And she wasn’t a bad person to have onside.

He followed her in as she shoved her way into the house, shuffling a little as the voices in his mind distracted him. The woman looked a little irritated at the invasion, but that infuriating smirk didn’t fall from her lips. Emilio thought he might like to remove it for her, but he couldn’t quite muster the energy to say so.

Bridie was speaking again, and Emilio tuned in to a familiar phrase. Can I have your name? Rhett had warned him about that, a thousand times. Another way fae stole from people, he’d said, another dirty trick. So Bridie was fae. It didn’t bother him the way he knew Rhett would think it should have, and as much as he might like to chalk that up to the curse, he knew it wasn’t accurate. He’d made plenty of friends who weren’t human, plenty of friends his brother wouldn’t approve of. What was one more?

The woman’s smile tightened. “Ooh, you’re one of those, are you? Never seen it on one of you before. You can’t have my name. I don’t think I have much of anything for you.” Savvy, then. Enough to know what not to do with a fae. A shame; if Bridie had gotten her name, they could have used that. Leverage, a bargaining chip, whatever you wanted to call it, it would have been nice to have. Instead, they were stuck with…

“Tell us how to undo it.” He blurted it out without meaning to, the words jumbled as they left his mouth. The woman turned back to him, smile softening again.

“Oh, you poor things. You both look terrible. I’d offer you some tea, but I don’t want to waste it. It’s not like it’ll make much of a difference, will it?” She laughed the empty, airy laugh that wealthy people so often used.

—

The tiny flame of hope in her chest guttered out at that sentence. One of those. “Those what, you’ll have to be more specific. One of those people that is in your house now? Yes I am.” Bridie said testily. “And you are the sort of person who gets off on not helping other people, apparently. I’m betting you won the guess who’s going to the retirement home contest with your family.” At least now her exhaustion had a target.

She glanced at Emilio as his demand tumbled out. Bridie pointed at him as if to say ‘what he said,’ before rubbing at her eyes. She could almost smell the woman’s delight as the woman started talking again. Bridie couldn’t quite hear the words- not as the cacophony in her head swelled again like the world’s worst orchestra- but the all to pleased tone was accompanied with a faint scent that Bridie often latched onto as the promise of a good meal. Delight. Unfortunately, this woman’s smelled like a powdery lily fragrance that the faun associated with boring old women with horrible taste. Funny how people always reflected a bit of themselves in their emotions.

She realized the woman had said something, and based on the stupid smug look on her face, it wasn’t good. “Can you like. Cut the shit? For five fucking minutes, you depressing old hag?” The faun grumbled under her breath. She looked at Emilio, at a loss.

____

Even without a curse putting him on edge, Emilio had little patience for people like this. He’d never been much good at conversation and, as a result, he didn’t like beating around the bush. Whether Bridie felt similarly or the curse simply had her sharing in the sentiment today, he wasn’t sure. In any case, though, he was glad for it. He nodded as she spoke, glaring at the woman sullenly and trying to push the voices in his head aside long enough to maintain a presence in the conversation.

The woman sighed, shaking her head at the rudeness from her guests. “The necklace I sent you to retrieve was cursed, yes,” she said, addressing Emilio. Glancing back to Bridie, she added, “And I suppose you had some contact with it as well. It spreads through extended physical contact.”

“You’re not cursed,” Emilio pointed out in a low mumble. The woman smiled.

“You really are a detective, aren’t you?” She cooed, and he glared at her until she continued. “Yes, a keen observation. I’m not cursed. It was placed on the necklace by an ancestor some centuries ago. She used her blood in the ritual. Anyone of the same bloodline is immune to the effects. Call it an anti-theft system. An effective one, mind you. I suppose if the two of you are this bad off, the thief’s already gotten what was coming to them. Good riddance.”

“Stop,” Emilio ground out. “Just — Just stop talking. Tell us how to fix it.” She must have a failsafe, right? Some way of keeping people from succumbing to it? But as he smile tightened, he realized he knew what she was going to say well before she said it.

“I’m afraid I can’t fix it. Not without damaging the heirloom and, well, I did just go through an awful lot of trouble getting it back, didn’t I? It’d be a waste to let you damage it now.”

—

Bridie dead panned at the woman’s comment about her contact with the necklace. “No shit, Sherlock.” Based on Emilio’s reaction, he was probably just about as fed up with the woman’s bullshit as she was.

A blood curse? Alarm bells clanged through the faun’s mind. Mortals and their goddamn need to play with magic. She knew enough to know that stumbling into a blood curse was bad. She was grateful when the woman was cut off by her cursed compatriot. The woman’s voice was just as painful to listen to as the myriad of voices fighting over each other in her brain. She wanted to yell at all of them to shut up shut up shut up, but then she’d have to listen to herself too. If she got out of this, she wouldn’t think a single thing and would simply relish in the silence.

I can’t fix it.

“No you won’t fix it. You can fix it because you know how. You won’t fix it because you’re a terrible person with shitty taste in gaudy things that hurt people.” She snapped over the roar of voices in her head, every muscle in her body dreaming of nothing more than doing a happy little jig on the woman to trample her. Bridie looked at Emilio, silently pleading with the man to let her strangle the old bat.

______

Looking to Bridie, the woman considered her for a moment before shrugging. “I suppose you’re at least partially right. I could fix it. But I’m not going to.” Her smile was wry and unamused and cruel, and Emilio wanted so badly to wipe it off her face any way he could. But where there was one curse, there could be more. Killing her might start more problems than it solved.

(And there was another reason, too. The way his own voice had joined in with the awful, awful people speaking in his head, the way it sounded like it belonged with them. He was just as bad as the rest of them, he knew. He wanted to be better.)

“You’re not very good houseguests, are you? Rude, quiet. I think it’d be better if you were off now.” Still smiling that terrible, fake smile, she waved a hand towards the door. “Go on, then. I’d say you’ve still got a few days left in you. Well…” Her eyes slid over to Emilio, whose jaw was tightly clenched. “Maybe a little less. I’d suggest making the most of them.”

Emilio swallowed, the lump in his throat making it seem a Herculean task. Reaching out, he gripped Bridie’s upper arm perhaps a little too tightly. Half a warning for her, half a lifeline for him. “There is nothing for us here.” He spoke slowly, trying to fit his tongue around the words. His accent was heavier than it usually was, all the effort he usually put into lessening it shifted just to make sure he’d be heard. This was getting them nowhere. They needed to leave so they could come up with a new plan. If this woman wouldn’t help them, they’d find another way. They had to.

—

Bridie wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Wanted to make this woman dance until she exhausted herself, and then make her keep dancing as Bridie slowly slipped away from sanity as the curse demanded. Or until death claimed her. Whichever came first.

A low keening noise was the only indication that she gave. She wouldn’t sob. Not in front of that miserable old bitch. And crying would be a waste of whatever time she had left. The faun flinched at the feeling of a hand on her arm. Had phantom hands come to join the phantom voices? But she saw a hand on her arm. Saw where the hand connected to a wrist, that connected to an arm, that connected to Emilio. And she let him tow her away.

It was over.

It was all over.

But it couldn’t be over. It couldn’t- she was only twenty-eight! So young, with so much more to do, to celebrate, to taste, to experience, why- why should she have to slip into madness and then oblivion now-

Her thoughts joined the screaming masses inside her head. Some laughed. Some screamed. Some sang. Some whispered. She wasn’t sure which was hers. Her glamour wavered as her thoughts got lost and her focus slipped.

But then she remembered the hand on her arm, and covered it with her own. She reinforced her glamour and gritted her teeth. “All of you, just shut the fuck up.” She hissed to the voices, who seemed surprised to be addressed at last, and gave momentary pause. She looked to Emilio once they were far away, her hand still holding tightly to the one on her arm. “Let’s get in the car. We need to talk.”

_______

There was a moment, a fraction of a second where her form seemed to shimmer. From a relatively normal looking woman to something else — curling horns, strange legs, fur. It was gone so quickly that Emilio could almost believe it had been a part of the curse… but he remembered her words inside. Can I have your name? Turning his head to the side, he pretended he hadn’t seen it just as he’d pretended not to see Teddy’s face shift when their glasses slipped down their face in their boathouse months ago, just like he pretended not to notice the way Perro loved Ren the way he only ever loved people who weren’t entirely human. He was getting good at pretending. He’d never been able to tell if that was a good thing or a bad one.

Nodding as Bridie spoke, he pulled her towards the car, half leading her and half leaning on her. He opened the passenger's side door to let her in, then moved over to the driver’s side to climb in himself. For a moment, he just sat there. He made no move to start the car, but his hands gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white with the force of it. Closing his eyes, he sighed.

“It’s the necklace,” he said, though that was obvious. “I mean, it’s — We have to get the necklace. Break it. That’s the only thing I can think of.” If it were something simpler, the woman probably wouldn’t have been so adamantly against it. No matter how cruel she might be, she wouldn’t deny them relief if relief cost her nothing to give. Emilio had to believe that much. Opening his eyes, he turned back to Bridie. “We’re gonna need to steal it.”

—

Bridie nodded in agreement. “Steal it, burn her house to the ground in an attempt to melt it- I don’t give a fuck, it needs to go. Now. Blood curses are so bad.” Her hands opened and closed into fists as her gaze drifted back up toward the house where the one thing that could cure them both was hidden.

“But she’s going to know that we’re coming.” She was talking quickly, as if she had to get her thoughts out before the voices interrupted her again. “I mean, look at you. Big bad detective man. Why the fuck would you take it. Just giving up doesn’t look like it’s in your vocabulary. And I think she may have caught on that I wanted nothing more than to stomp her smug face in.”

The voices started cackling and jabbering again. “I said shut the fuck up-” She hissed again. Bridie was answered with grumbles, but another momentary reprieve. “How the fuck are we going to do this. What is the play. Because my answer is usually to try and seduce her, but there is no way in fucking hell I’m kissing that lady.”

____

He couldn’t find it in him to disagree with her sentiment; burning the woman’s house down was a tempting proposal. But… “We need to be sure it’s broken all the way. So we need to get our hands on it. Probably break it with the both of us there.”

Bridie had a point, of course. They’d tried asking nicely, and that was going to be a point against them. She’d suspect that they would come back for the necklace. Maybe she even wanted them to. She’d certainly seemed to enjoy their misery well enough that Emilio wouldn’t have been surprised if she wanted another taste. “Yes, I think she might know you don’t like her,” he replied dryly.

She snapped at someone not present, someone in her head, and Emilio understood the urge. He’d tried the same thing a few times, but he found it brought him little relief. Maybe it worked better for her. The curse had to work differently for a fae than it did for a human, even if the human was a hunter. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to push past the voices in his own head well enough to think. Luckily, the answer was obvious enough. “I know someone. Nora. She’s my…” He struggled to find the word, giving up with a shrug. “She works for me. She knows how to break into places. Talks about doing it a lot. She’ll help if I ask her to.”

—

“So what?” She asked, grimacing slightly as one solitary voice started wailing, pleading for its life as though it were replaying its final moments in her head. Those were the voices she hated listening to the most. Bridie shook her head again, trying to shake the voice out her ear like water. “We steal it and then like… hit it with a hammer?”

The faun snorted. “If she’s still not sure if I like her, I’d love to get my point further across.” It was a grumble, but she managed a hint of a smile. Somehow having the answer to what was wrong with her and knowing the solution brought a little bit of clarity. She wasn’t going crazy- or at least not of her own accord. This was magic, plain and simple. Just not any kind of magic she was practiced in. But magic could be undone for the most part, and that fact was something to hold on to.

Nora. That was a nice name. One of the voices in her head picked it up and started chattering the name over and over and over- nevermind. It was not so nice after hearing it seventy times in a minute. “Where is Nora, and how much time will she need to prepare? What do you even need for breaking and entering?”

____

“Something like that. We can worry about how we’re breaking it after we have it.” One thing at a time was the only way Emilio was going to be able to get through this. Even on a good day, he wasn’t the best at planning. His ideas always tended to be spur of the moment things that didn’t much focus on the long term effects. Hunters, after all, had little reason to worry about the long term; most of them didn’t live to see thirty. He was already an unwilling exception to that rule.

Though maybe not for much longer. Not for the first time, he thought of the pawn shop owner. How long had he lasted? The newspaper article on his death had been published only a few days after Emilio saw him. Had he been towards the beginning of the curse when Emilio went to his shop, or already nearing the end? He heard Bridie talking, something about a point, but it was hard to focus. And Bridie talked a lot. Better to make sure he heard the important things and let the smaller ones slide, wasn’t it?

Like this. Questions about the plan. Belatedly, he realized he’d said Nora’s name. He probably shouldn’t have. She didn’t seem to like people knowing it. But it was a little late to take it back now, and so, so hard to control what came out of his mouth. “She’s at her place,” he mumbled, leaving out the fact that ‘her place’ was a crypt. “Don’t think she needs much time. Don’t think she needs much stuff, either. She’ll know how to do it. Just need to make sure she knows what the necklace looks like.” He rubbed at his eyes, finally starting the car and putting it into drive. “I’m going to drop you off at your club and then get with Nora. I’ll let you know when we’re doing it. We can meet at my place before.” He paused a moment, his grip on the steering wheel the only thing keeping his hands from shaking. “It’ll be soon.” It had to be. Otherwise, there’d be nothing left to save.

_____

Her mind was getting crowded again. Jabbering and cackling and talking all began clashing over one another in her mind, and she buried her face in her hands with a groan. Bridie leaned forward to rest against the dashboard. Screaming back at the voices in her head worked a bit, but she was so damn tired she didn’t know how long she could do it for. And if she had to steal a jewel, she needed as much energy as she could.

She heard bits and pieces of the plan. Mostly she heard ‘your club,’ and ‘I’ll let you know’, and ‘meet at my place’. She figured that was enough to piece together what was happening. The faun watched the man grip the steering wheel. She didn’t say anything, but Bridie understood.

Bridie rarely ever sounded serious. She was too busy having a good time for that. But she placed a hand on the dashboard near the steering wheel. She didn’t touch him, since she knew they were both too ok edge for that. “Then let’s get ourselves out of this mess.” She said slowly. “And when we do, I owe you a drink for giving you a hard time over a stupid ugly necklace.”

#itzbridiebitch #bridie: cursed and furious #wickedswriting #s1 writing #season 1

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sommer-girl · 2 years ago

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Fremover, Part I | Self Para

Date: 12 March 2023 Warnings: Discussion of the destruction of the Norway Pixie Hollow, vague reference to Anna's drama with Ashleigh

Anna arrives in Norway.

Anna’s world had fallen apart overnight. It turned out that her best friend was never her friend to begin with; that her best friend actually wasn’t a nice person at all; and that Anna was in the wrong in all the conflicts, big and small, that had begun over Ashleigh. When I go, Ashleigh had said, you’re not going to have a single friend left.

That wasn’t entirely true. Anna still had Elsa. And she still had Danny, who was here despite how distant and weird he had been lately (honestly, Anna was a little surprised). She had Peri, whom she was really looking forward to seeing. But she still couldn’t shake this awful cloud that had descended over her, this sense that everyone could see exactly what she was and everyone was judging her. So she’d even pulled away from the few people who were still on her team, burying herself in a book on Norwegian fairy history even though she sat next to Danny on the plane.

She knew she had to talk to all of those people she’d fallen out with over Ashleigh. She had to apologize to them. The thought was as mortifying as it was inevitable; especially when it came to Nemo, who was on this trip. Anna couldn’t avoid eye contact with him forever.

But weren’t people always telling Anna to think less about herself? To focus on the people, the issues that she was so passionate about? That sounded like a pretty attractive plan to her, now. So she was silent, eyes focused forward, as the group made their way to the Fremover offices for orientation.

“Anna?”

Anna’s head whipped around. Somehow, deep in thought, Anna hadn’t even noticed the familiar waves of frosty blonde hair. The person who was a huge part of the reason she was here to begin with!

Somewhere, despite all her heartache and confusion, Anna felt a little twinge of hope.

“Peri!” She peeled off from the group that was starting to make their way into the meeting room— she wouldn’t be long, really!— and ran to give Peri a hug.

“Anna! It’s so good to see you! Welcome to Fremover!” Peri greeted in Norwegian. She looked happier than Anna had seen her in a long time. Maybe Anna was projecting a little bit, but she looked like she had this sense of purpose about her. Anna envied that. All she wanted was to know what her purpose was. Especially after realizing she had no idea, after all, who she really was.

“Thanks!” Anna said breathlessly. “I’m, uh, really excited.”

“That’s great. You should be. I think Mari is leading your orientation today. You’ll be in good hands,” Peri assured her. “But I won’t hold you up any longer. Get in there!” Peri smiled and gestured toward the door. “See you later!”

Anna followed behind the last person to go on and grabbed an open seat at the table in the center of the room, still riding the high of running into Peri. It didn’t quell the nervous energy that was still bubbling up in her. She just… didn’t want to mess this up. Especially because of who her dad was. And at least that was a familiar anxiety, instead of the unfamiliar territory Ashleigh’s words had led her into…

There wasn’t much time to go down that particular spiral, though.

“Hey everyone!” Anna sat up straighter to see a small, stocky woman with silver-blonde hair pulled back to show pointed ears enter through the front end of the meeting room. Her face was weather-beaten, with deep lines around her eyes, but her smile seemed to warm the whole room. “Welcome to Arendelle! My name is Mari, and I’m the volunteer coordinator here at Fremover. First off, I just want to thank you all for being here. You could have done a lot of different things with your spring break, but you’re here with us!”

With that, Mari launched into a detailed explanation of Fremover’s mission. The word, she explained (though Anna already knew this) meant “Forward” in Norwegian, And that summed it up, what they were doing: bringing the fairies of the Norsjø Hollow forward. Into life beyond the hollow.

The organization had started as a way to connect displaced fairies with new hollows that could take them in. Everyone wanted to stay together, but it simply wasn’t possible in all cases, and so the volunteers kept detailed records of who had gone where. When lost fairies came to them looking for their families, Fremover helped them find the people they were looking for, and gave them food and a place to stay while they waited or planned their next moves.

Now, most of the fairies were settled in their new homes, but lost fairies still came by all the time. And Mari knew her work wasn’t done yet. Her new focus was to petition the government to give back the land that had been destroyed by developers, and to dedicate it as a monument to the ruined hollow.

“It’s slow-going, but we push forward,” Mari said, smiling gamely. Anna hung on her every word. This was someone who was doing something. Making a difference. She wasn’t a politician or a celebrity, she was just a person. And she was maybe doing more for fairies than the entirety of the Arendelle government. “Any questions?”

Anna’s hand shot up in the air. She was about to put her entire heart into this thing.

#self para #fremover

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eclvpses · 24 days ago

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The nice thing about Dilara was that things didn’t always have to be said. She was smart, and she’d known his family long enough to read them like a book by now - not that any of them were traditionally textbook, but she seemed to speak their language. When Leo struggled with his words, most of the time she could pick up on them, almost expertly. Usually, Leo would tease her about it, but it’d come in handy more and more often. Now, he was just grateful. It was a comfort, knowing his aunt had a friend that wasn’t related to her by blood. It was good to have an outside third party, Leo always thought, a friend to fall back on - Dee had seemed to step up one day and refused to back down, even after she’d witnessed the deepest caverns of what they were all like.

Happy that they didn’t delve on the more serious, Leo rolled his eyes cartoonishly. It was a major tonal change, but he appreciated it - those that knew him well knew he’d never been good when it came to expressing how he felt, how he really felt when things got significant. It was worse when it came to his family, something he tried not to open up about if he could help it. “You expect me to clean? After you give me your poison fluids?” About a dozen dirty jokes immediately came to mind - Leo’s restraint truly showed no bounds. Side-stepping around the mess he’d very clearly made, Leo made a vague gesture towards it, clearly stating he’d get to it when he got to it. There was no clear indication of when this would be - if he did. His mindset immediately leapt to someone else would have to get to it eventually if he didn’t.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” He mumbled, chuckling lightly as he buried his face in his hands. “That’s not fair - it’s a bad day for me! I’m usually plenty polite, totally accommodating, even when people are being really fuckin’ annoying. Y’know, I had to talk to this little old lady for, like… an hour yesterday.” It’d actually been the better part of his shift. Even for the older clientele, Leo struggled with biting his tongue, refraining from all but giving them heart attacks, but she’d been a refreshing change. He’d never admit it, but she’d probably been funnier than he was. “It made me actually jealous of you for a second. Then I thought about working with only kids and almost tore all my hair out. You have the patience of a saint. Babies are cool and all, but once they can talk - yeesh. They’re all dribbling assholes.”

“I wouldn’t get too carried away believing such things.” she teased as he entered her arms then squealed when he lifted her off the ground. It was sweet, she though, how excited he always seemed to get whenever she came around. It lightened her mood without fail, even if she hadn’t been down before. Everything just seems to shine from then on. Dee held on tight so she wouldn’t go flying - though she doubted he’d just lounge her - but you could never be too careful. “You’re a real charlatan, you know? Cheeky nugget.” she scolded him playfully scrunching up her nose to let him know she wasn’t buying a single word he’d just uttered. Bringing her hand up towards his hair, she gave him a good ruffle messing up his previously laid strands. As he went on, Dee found herself anxiously biting at her lower lip. There was no stopping the worry that marched its way in her thoughts as she thought of her dear friend suffering. It was hard enough knowing that she hurt still, but even worse not being able to help ease her pain in any way. Her doctorate nothing but a pile of papers when it came to matters of the heart. Finn’s death was something Dilara tried to not bring up with Marj, doing her best to find distractions and things for them to explore in order to give her sweet friend some much needed emotional disconnect. They had shared plenty of evenings discussing the matter and how she felt, but over time Dee found that it didn’t help her all that much. She was so ready to be a shoulder to cry on, but also felt the need to ensure Marj didn’t waste away due to it. Leo didn’t need to finish his sentence for her to understand, so she nodded her head and made a mental note to pass by the house after she left the flower shop. Without missing a beat, she angled the coffee in his direction for easier reach, pushing aside all previous thoughts and conversation. She liked to follow Leo’s lead whenever conversation got too serious, not wanting to over step or make him think she was prying too much. Dilara would ensure to come around more often and organize activities for both the women to dive into over some much needed wine. “It’s good to know your heart’s loyaly.” she grinned at his display of affection. Dee knew him too well to think it went beyond a simple jest so she didn’t attempt to put a stop to his flirtatious nature when it came to her. He was no longer a child, so their conversations could stand to be a little more mature. All within reason. “Watch your mouth!” she exclaimed, smacking the side of his arm over the coffee outburst, “If you don’t like it then don’t drink it, Leopold but I will not have you talking bad about my locally crafted coffee.” Her eyes darted around them to the splatter of coffee and spit that adorned the previously dry floor. “You better be getting a bucket for that.” she said, chuckling and rolling her eyes. “But I have some free time to spare. What have you been up to? I heard you on the phone when I first walked in. Does Marj know how you treat her customers?”

#leo fowler | dilara kaplan #leo fowler | interactions

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mercy-burning · 3 years ago

Text

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh, Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Note

Fic were both JZX and Jiang Yanli are trans? I imagine the engagement would get complicated.

The More Things Change - ao3

“My lady,” the midwife said. “Congratulations. You have a daughter.”

Madame Jin shook her head. “I need a son,” she said.

“My lady –”

“I’m not doing that again,” Madame Jin said, her voice getting stronger. “I need a son.”

“But –”

She looked at her loyal maid, who inclined her head.

A knife flashed.

“Congratulations, my lady,” her maid said, pushing aside the midwife’s body with her foot. “You have a son.”

Madame Jin smiled.

“I’m glad you survived the birth of your child,” Madame Yu said to her old childhood friend, wondering why she’d been invited over to visit Lanling City quite so quickly – it hadn’t even been a month. “Were you thinking –”

“I have a son,” her friend said.

“Congratulations.”

“You don’t understand,” her friend said. “There’s a problem.”

“A-Li,” Jiang Yanli’s mother said in a strange tone. “Do you like wearing dresses?”

“Uh-huh,” Jiang Yanli said, trying to see if she could stick her fist into her mouth. She’d always worn frocks, the way all children her age did, but at some point soon her mother had been warning her that she’d need to switch over to wearing proper robes for boys. Jiang Yanli had burst into tears, saying she didn’t want to be a boy at all – that she didn’t want to leave her mother’s side, that she didn’t want to join the world of men, she didn’t, she didn’t.

“And you really don’t want to go be a boy? Really, you’re sure?”

Jiang Yanli nodded.

“What if I said you didn’t have to be? You could be a girl, just the way you like.”

“Really?”

“Mm. But you’d have to be a girl forever.”

“Okay,” Jiang Yanli said happily. “I wanna be a girl forever.”

“Good,” her mother said, and picked her up. “Just keep saying that.”

“What do you think we are,” Jiang Fengmian asked his wife blankly. “Qinghe Nie?”

His wife glared daggers at him.

“Attempt the impossible,” she said stiffly. “A-Li has been claiming to be a girl consistently for a year. Would you deny her the chance to follow her dreams?”

Well, when she put it that way…

Jiang Fengmian hesitated.

“It does create a problem,” his wife said, and he looked at her. She smiled faintly and leaned forward, showing her curves to their best advantage. “If she’s a girl, she’ll marry out, won’t she? We need a boy.”

Jiang Fengmian swallowed. A boy sounded – nice, he thought vaguely, eyes caught on what he was being offered. A little boy, lively and bright, with a happy smile always on his face…yes, that sounded rather nice.

Wei Changze’s letter upstairs said that his wife had announced that they had conceived, and that she had divined that it would be a son – it was frightfully early to make such predictions, less than a month in, but apparently disciples of the immortal mountain were able to determine such things early. A boy like that, who could be friends with their boy, a reason for them to come to visit and maybe even to stay…

Yes, he thought. That sounded rather good.

“All right,” he said. “A-Li can be a girl, I guess.”

Madame Yu and Madame Jin let news of the engagement seep out as rumor for months before telling their husbands. When they did, they took different approaches: Madame Jin pointed out the strategic benefits of an alliance with Yunmeng Jiang and the unlikelihood of Jin Guangshan finding a match for their son that would give him so much more influence in the cultivation world, which had made her husband stop his grumbling and look upon the match with a favorable eye.

Madame Yu stared at her husband, for whom she had just born a son three weeks premature and very nearly died in the process, and said, “What’s your problem?”

“A-Li can’t marry the Jin sect heir! She’s not –” He waved his hands. “The possibility of children –”

“I would have thought that would be a selling point,” Madame Yu said, and he blinked at her. “He’s Guangshan’s son. There will be children enough.”

After some further arguing, Jiang Fengmian begrudgingly backed down.

Madame Yu smiled to herself, and thought of grandchildren.

Everyone said that Jin Zixuan was a spoiled brat and incredibly lucky, but he didn’t think he was. Sure, he was rich and legitimate; his father valued him, while his mother loved him and would defend him against any challengers to his position as heir, but privately…

“Why do I have to work so hard?” Jin Zixuan asked, panting. “I’m already cultivating, and my teachers say I’m not bad with the sword –”

“Not bad isn’t good enough,” his mother said sharply. “You have to keep up with all the rest of them, and that means getting ahead now.”

“The rest of who?” he asked. “Do you mean…”

He hesitated, not knowing if he was also included in his mother’s taboo against mentioning the results of his father’s philandering.

“All of the cultivation world’s young gentlemen,” she said, to his surprise. “You have to keep up with them. No, you need to exceed them. You must!”

“But – why?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Mother,” Jiang Yanli said. She was clutching a book in her hands. “Mother, can we talk?”

Her mother frowned at her, looking disapproving – and then she saw the book.

Jiang Yanli thought she would yell at her, but she didn’t; her mother only gestured for her to come into her room, ordering her maids to close the doors and windows.

“Mother,” Jiang Yanli said. “Mother, the book –”

“How did you get a spring book?” her mother asked. She looked tired. “Surely you’re still too young?”

Jiang Yanli bowed her head.

It was true, she was too young. And yet…

“Mother, the pictures in the book…”

“I know.” Her mother sighed. “All right. Let me explain.”

Jin Zixuan stared at his mother. He felt sick.

“But,” he said, and swallowed. “But what about…?”

“I’ve handled it,” she said harshly. “But that is why you must not allow your father to take you to a brothel. Is that understood?”

“Who do you think is the best girl? Zixuan-xiong?”

“Oh, don’t ask him! He has a fiancée, so his answer will be her!”

“A fiancée? Really? What sect is she from? She must be extremely talented!”

“Forget it,” Jin Zixuan said.

“What do you mean by that?” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, and suddenly he was getting into his face. “Say that again if you dare!”

Jin Zixuan opened his mouth, hating him – hating the whole situation, being stuck not making any decisions for himself, his whole life mapped out for him by others – but then hesitated.

Jiang Yanli is the only one fit for you, his mother said. Do you understand? The only one.

“I haven’t met her since I was five,” he said instead of what he wanted, rolling his eyes. “So how could I dare to boast about her in your presence? You all want to know about her, ask Jiang-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him, the wind suddenly taken out of his sails.

Jin Zixuan escaped.

He felt like shit, thought. She was his fiancée, and he didn’t know anything about her – he didn’t want to hear about her, think about her. And yet…

The only one.

He went back to his room and wrote her a letter. It was a mess, the worst thing he’d ever written, nothing at all like the polite and careful phrasing, elegant and beautiful, that he’d been trying to put together, something worthy of his name.

He sent it before he could think better of it.

Jiang Yanli held the letter to her chest and smiled.

They’d exchanged a few dozen letters. Jin Zixuan knew that his intended was smart and witty, empathetic and kind, observant and well-meaning, but he didn’t know that she was beautiful until after they escaped from the indoctrination camp and the cave with the Xuanwu of Slaughter.

He’d just accompanied Jiang Cheng for the entire seven days it took to get to the Lotus Pier, collapsing right alongside him, and while Jiang Cheng had – somehow – gotten back on his feet and immediately led his father and mother out the door to go rescue Wei Wuxian, he’d stayed down on the floor until someone knelt down in front of him and smiled.

“Can I get you something to eat, Jin-gongzi?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“Uh,” Jin Zixuan said, and turned bright red. He could sure think of some things he’d like to eat – living as his father’s son had certainly given him an education (however theoretical) about that.

“Food,” Jiang Yanli clarified, giggling into her sleeve. “Let me get you some food.”

This was probably a bad idea, Jiang Yanli thought, looking down at the head tucked against her chest. I probably should’ve just stuck to food. What if he gets with child? What will we do then?

She couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it, though.

“A-Xuan,” she whispered, and Jin Ziuxan stirred a little. “Can we do it again?”

“You’re insatiable.”

That wasn’t a refusal.

“A-Li!” Jin Zixuan shouted, rushing forward. “A-Li, A-Li…!”

She collapsed into his arms.

He looked at the retainers from Meishan Yu, stubborn but pale. “It’s all right,” he said. “She’s my fiancée. I can take care of her.”

“The Jin sect walks in the center path,” one of the retainers said. “Never quite committing to the Sunshot Campaign. How do we know this isn’t a trick to get into the Wen sect’s good books?”

Jin Zixuan bit his lip. He’d pushed his father time and time again, and even that had only gotten them to participate half-heartedly in the fight against the Wen sect. What could he say? What worth was his word?

“It’s all right,” Jiang Yanli said. “I trust him.”

“You could do so much better, you know,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s not too late!”

Jiang Yanli smiled down at her wedding outfit, but thinking instead of the panicked expression on Jin Zixuan’s face a week before when he’d unexpectedly thrown up in the morning when he was supposed to be preparing for the Phoenix Mountain hunt.

“Oh, it’s too late,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “On that note, you pick the name.”

“The name…?”

“For our upcoming nephew.”

“Shijie! You didn’t!”

Jiang Yanli’s grin widened.

“Wei Wuxian has committed a crime in attacking our camp and taking the Wen remnants,” Jin Zixuan’s father announced. “We should –”

“Let it go, Father.”

“…what?!”

“I’m getting married, and he’s A-Li’s shidi,” Jin Zixuan reminded his father. “It would be inauspicious to start a marriage by breaking such a relationship.”

His father looked like he was planning on ignoring that, so Jin Zixuan used his trump card.

“We can’t afford anything inauspicious right now,” he said. “Not when there’s a child on the way.”

His mother dropped her cup.

“I have to go,” Jin Zixuan said. “You don’t understand. I have to.”

Jiang Yanli rubbed his hair. “You’re supposed to be in seclusion,” she reminded him. “As am I.”

“I’ve been throwing up every morning for two months, A-Li,” Jin Zixuan pleaded. “I can order them to clear the kitchen. No one would know we were there!”

Jiang Yanli laughed a little. “The craving’s that bad, huh?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, all right. We’ll give it a shot…”

It would have worked, too, if Jin Guangyao hadn’t noticed that too many people were in the wrong place and taken it upon himself to investigate.

“…Jiang-guniang?” He stared at her flat waist, then turned his eyes slowly towards the roundness at Jin Zixuan’s. “Jin-gongzi…?!”

“It’s all right, it’s A-Yao,” Jin Zixuan said to Jiang Yanli. “He won’t tell anyone. Right?”

Jin Guangyao shook his head mutely.

“Seclusion,” he muttered. “No wonder…everyone said it was bad timing that you went into seclusion right before Mistress Jiang announced her pregnancy. But it wasn’t, was it..?” He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

“We’re in your debt,” Jin Zixuan said, and thought Jin Guangyao’s eyes upon him were softer than they’d ever been before. “You’ll be a good uncle.”

Jin Guangyao smiled. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “One question, if I may. Who’s the father?”

Jiang Yanli wrapped an arm around Jin Zixuan’s shoulders and beamed.

Jin Guangyao’s jaw dropped again.

“Your son needs you,” Jiang Yanli said to Madame Jin. “Go.”

“Jin Ling,” Madame Jin said, looking down at the baby in her arms. A son, her grandson…a miracle. “Well. You’re – not what I expected.”

If her husband ever found out…

Well.

She’d just have to make sure he wouldn’t, now, wouldn’t she?

#mdzs #jin zixuan #jiang yanli #madame jin #yu ziyuan #my fic #my fics #the more things change #misaligned

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theforgottenmcrmy · 3 years ago

Text

After All (Part 9/?)

Pairing: Riff X OC Jet Girl

Warnings: Explicit Language, Racism

Summary: After all, he had to have misinterpreted the time they’d spent together over the past few weeks. Her smiles and occasional laughter meant nothing. She must’ve been reminiscing on old times, was all. She was saving his neck, nothing less, nothing more. She didn’t owe him anything. If anything, he owed her.

Word Count: 8500 ish.

DISCLAIMER

Please note that this is a reimagining of the film West Side Story (2021) and as a result is slightly AU.

Masterlist /// Part 1 /// Part 8 /// Part 9 /// Part 10

A/N: As usual, thank you everyone for the comments, like, support, etc. :) It’s really been helping me stay motivated to continue this, which I really want to do. I’m starting to get crazy with my chapter lengths here, so I’ll try to keep it around 6000 for the future if possible. I was too excited to cut anything from this one- it gets the ball rolling a lot of different plot points in my opinion. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and have a good weekend! :)

Part 9: A Business Proposal

“Never again.”

“Never ever.” Riff promised, holding up his hand in a vague swearing gesture. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never in the scouts,” Roxie reminded him, rolling her eyes.

Riff shrugged. “Point still stands.”

“I mean it, Riff,” Roxie insisted seriously.

The pair, along with Action and Ice, made it back to the auto shop in record time. Ice and Action had split for the night once they reached the shop, but not before being thanked several times. Riff and Roxie would have gone directly back to her apartment, as they had the previous two nights, but Roxie insisted on getting the money to Riff’s apartment instead. She didn’t want to take any more chances and wanted to ensure that Riff had the full amount he’d need to pay Asim.

As if Asim wasn’t enough of a threat, the more immediate threat, the man they’d seen at the gambling house who they were pretty sure wanted to hurt both of them, was still at large. Thankfully, the goon he’d sent to follow them home ended up getting carted away by the cops for one reason or another. Maybe he’d get locked up for a while, and would be unable to relay what he’d seen to his boss. Even if he got cut loose, he only knew that they had headed to the West Side. He didn’t know where either of them lived, and as a result, neither would his boss.

As long as they stayed out of the gambling houses- which they mutually agreed to- what were the chances of seeing either of those men ever again?

Roxie let Riff count the money, and for the second time, she slowly walked around the bedroom that used to be his uncle’s, taking in the room as she did.

The small, single bed along the far wall had a metal frame. The bed was not made. The sheets were wrinkled and thrown about, suggesting that either Riff had difficulty sleeping the previous night, or they had been disheveled as a result of another activity. If only to avoid feeling awkward, Roxie found herself hoping that the sheets were a mess as a result of the first possibility.

Besides the bed, and the desk, which was still just as cluttered with paperwork as it had been the last time she’d seen it, the room was remarkably bare. Whether it was by choice was unclear. She knew Riff had never been particularly materialistic- the only things he seemed to carry with him year after year had been his mother’s bracelet and the pendant he currently wore- but she would have thought he would take some initiative to really make the room his own.

Riff had always avoided talking about what life was like before he lived with his uncle like it was the plague, so Roxie wasn’t sure if he had his own room before. But when Riff did live with his uncle, she knew that he didn’t. Riff slept on cot on the floor in the living room, much like Diesel, Snowboy, and Gee-Tar currently were.

If it was one of the only times in Riff’s life that he had his own room, his own personal space to call his own, why hadn’t he made it feel more… personal? It was almost like he wasn’t expecting to be there for long at all, and that thought bothered her.

“Four hundred sixty,” Riff announced suddenly, breaking Roxie from her thoughts.

She quickly turned on her heels. “Really?”

They’d actually done it.

Riff had enough money to get Asim off his back, and Roxie had enough money to give her landlord to satisfy the debt her aunt had with him.

“Math was never my strong suit,” Riff admitted with a smirk, “But when it comes to money, I may as well be Einstein.”

Explain that mess of books over there, then. “That’s great,” Roxie replied quietly. Her eyes fell to the floor as Riff divided the cash evenly. When he held out her half to her, she took it and wordlessly put it in her purse.

“I guess that’s it, then?” Roxie asked after a moment, meeting his eyes once again.

Riff tilted his head ever so slightly. “Guess so,” he muttered, his eyes not leaving hers. There was a strange look on his face, almost a strange combination of emotions that she couldn’t begin to decipher.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as the pair began to ponder the bigger implications of their successful venture.

They had no reason to see each other anymore.

What would happen after their trips to the gambling houses ceased and after Asim was paid had only crossed Roxie’s mind a few times beforehand. Now that the moment had arrived, she found herself wishing she had given it more thought.

When Riff had proposed the solution to their mutual problem, he had promised to leave her alone afterwards, if that’s what she wanted. Did she really want that, though? Riff fulfilling that promise would be easier said than done, if not moot entirely.

Unless Velma provided a reason for her to change her mind, Roxie was not planning on ending their friendship, even if she was able to go back to school at the end of the summer. And since she still had at least a few months in the neighborhood, how reasonable was it to believe that she’d never run into another Jet again?

Still, Roxie believed Riff’s word well enough; he had sworn on his ma’s grave. She knew she could walk out the apartment right then and there, and so long as it was in Riff’s power to do so, she’d have a Riff-free, Jet-free, arguably problem-free life from there on out.

At least Riff was giving her a choice this time.

…

Years later, Roxie would look back at that moment. The few minutes of silence in Riff’s apartment as he watched her with guarded yet somewhat hopeful eyes would replay in her mind time and time again.

How could she have known then that her decision sealed both of their fates?

————————————————————————————

Riff tried not to make his apprehension outwardly visible as he watched Roxie carefully. She was deep in thought, and he was as well.

The entire evening, and for the better part of the last two weeks, he had been mentally preparing himself to embrace the fact that once they had won the money they needed, Roxie would take him up on his offer to leave her alone and never see her again.

Why wouldn’t she?

After all, he had to have misinterpreted the time they’d spent together over the past few weeks. Her smiles and occasional laughter meant nothing. She must’ve been reminiscing on old times, was all. She was saving his neck, nothing less, nothing more. She didn’t owe him anything. If anything, he owed her.

Riff had enough self-awareness to know that he was trouble. The Jets, as much as he loved them, were trouble. The whole West Side was trouble. Roxie knew all of these things. To him, it made no sense that she would take the risk of getting caught up in trouble at all if she was planning to leave the neighborhood again at the end of the summer.

As she should. At least he wouldn’t have to force her hand this time.

“I guess I should be walkin’ ya home now?” Riff prompted, not wanting the conversation to drag on for any longer than necessary. It was already after 4 AM. Hopefully her roommate was a sound sleeper and hadn’t noticed her absence, or else they’d have the cops about the neighborhood for a whole other problem.

“I’ve got a proposal for you.”

… What? “What?”

“A business proposal,” Roxie clarified, walking over to his desk. Her eyes scanned over the heaps of paperwork that littered the surface. She looked as though she tried to keep her composure, but he noticed the slight disapproval in the way her eyes raked over everything. “These are the books for the shop, right?”

Riff wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but he nodded nonetheless. He crossed the room with a few slow steps, coming to stand beside her as her focus remained on the desk.

He watched with interest as she picked up a stack of various papers and moved them around. Every now and then, she’d take an interest in a specific paper, and take a few moments to scan its contents. Eventually, she uncovered a notice of default for one of the several loans his uncle had agreed to.

Riff, intrigued by her bold actions, continued to watch as Roxie read the notice with a contemplative look on her face. “Courtesy of your uncle, huh?” she asked when she was finished, and then she put the piece of paper back on the desk once more. “Do you know how much he owes?”

She took his silence as his answer. “Do you know how much money the shop has right now?”

It wasn’t much money at all, and he didn’t know the exact amount, but he didn’t have to answer that question- the disarray of accounting she had just glanced over would’ve given her the answer anyways.

“I’m going to help you,” Roxie asserted, looking up at him once again.

“Help with what?” Riff asked, still unsure of what she meant.

“This… mess,” Roxie answered carefully, vaguely gesturing to the desk. “Your uncle shouldn’t just get to leave town and dump all the problems he made on you.”

“Well, he did,” Riff answered simply, already feeling his frustration starting to rise. Talking about his uncle tended to make him feel that way.

“That doesn’t make it right,” she insisted, looking down at the desk once more. “I never thought you’d be one to do him any favors- not after everything he did.”

“Like hell I am!” Riff snapped. “Do you really think Tony’s folks let me crash with them after what happened to him?”

Roxie remained silent, her eyes still focused on the desk.

“Of course not,” Riff continued, answering his own redundant question. “I needed a place to live,” he sighed, and now his voice was significantly more quiet. “This… all this just came with it.”

Roxie looked up at him once again, and Riff looked at her as well. He thought his snap would have made her upset, or at least a little bit concerned, but to his surprise, she seemed even more determined than she had been.

“I’m going to help you clear this up,” she asserted once again.

Riff was beginning to feel like their conversation was going in circles. “There’s no point.”

“Do you have somewhere else to go?” Roxie asked him, waiting for an answer. When she didn’t get one, she continued. “I’m not naive, Riff- I know what’s happening here, I’ve been reading the papers. And maybe fixing up the books will just delay the inevitable,” she admitted. “But you know you’d have a better shot against the Slum Clearance Committee if the shop wasn’t neck deep in its own debts.”

Though she had taken a while to get to the point, Riff couldn’t deny that he agreed with her. If he knew exactly where the shop stood financially- something he truly hadn’t been able to get an accurate picture of since he had taken over the shop- he’d be able to figure out how feasible it’d be to make some headway on paying back his uncle’s loans, not to mention the past due taxes. And if he were to find a way to pay the taxes, the New York Committee for Slum Clearance would suddenly have a lot less grounds to foreclose on the place and tear it down.

“Say I take your offer,” Riff posed hypothetically. “I already told ya, I don’t do charity.”

“It won’t be,” Roxie quickly assured him.

“Yeah?” Riff challenged half-seriously, his head tilting slightly. “What do ya want, then? Name your price.”

“I get to be friends with who I want, especially Velma,” she told him. “And you can’t do or say anything about it.”

“That all?”

“No. I want to be able to come and go in this neighborhood as I please without any grief from you or the other Jets,” Roxie informed him. “And for god’s sake- tell them to stop gawking at me every time I’m around. I feel like a damn zoo exhibit.”

Riff knew the other Jets had only ever stared at her when he was present because they were interested in his reaction, but perhaps she had a point. “If we make this arrangement,” he began, “what do I tell the guys?”

Roxie shrugged. “Tell them the truth- or not. Handle it however you want. Just don’t make it my problem anymore.”

Riff’s eyes narrowed slightly as he pondered her requests for a few moments. There was no doubt that this could be a mistake. Regardless of any old or new feelings that he was or was not beginning to feel for her, he still felt confident in his belief that he was not the best thing for her, and neither was the West Side. Wouldn’t this arrangement just make things harder on both of them when the inevitable happened?

On the other hand, Roxie would be equally responsible for any negative consequences that could result… and if she was offering to help on her own accord, why shouldn’t he take her up on the offer? This could be the best thing for Riff and the Jets, if the plan worked. He had plenty to benefit from it, and Riff could admit that selfless was hardly an adjective used to describe him.

Any emotional drawbacks weren’t really worth considering in the grand scheme, were they?

“Alright,” he said finally, holding out a hand to her. “Ms. Thomas, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Roxie rolled her eyes, but shook his hand a single time anyways. “Are we using formal names, Riff?” she asked then. “Or should I say Mr.-”

“-Nope, Roxie’s just fine,” he interrupted her with a slightly nervous smile. “Riff’s just fine, too.”

There was a moment of silence before both of them laughed from the tension.

Maybe this decision would come back to haunt Riff, like so many others had, especially the ones he had made about her. But it was worth the risk if it meant some of the guilt he carried with him would disappear.

————————————————————————————

Given the night’s events, sleep had eluded Ice.

By the time he made it back to his temporary living situation- which was crashing in the spare bedroom of his sister and her husband’s apartment- it was already almost 4 AM. He had tried to settle in and at least get a few hours of sleep, but he quickly realized that his brother-in-law would be getting up soon in order to get ready for work. Ice knew the man meant well, really, but for someone who couldn’t have weighed more than 150 pounds, he sure sounded like an elephant stomping around the tiny apartment in the early mornings.

By 5 AM, Ice had left the apartment once again.

The streets were pretty bare in the early mornings. By 6 AM, many folks would be on their way to work, but just before then, when the sky was just starting to lighten up, though the sun was still a ways away from rising, the neighborhood seemed almost peaceful.

It was a good time to be alone with one’s thoughts. Ice didn’t have much thinking to do those days, but alone time was still nice. No PRs, no Schrank, no Krupke… no Jets, except him. It was hard to believe any neighborhood in New York could ever be quiet, but at that time, it was just about the closest thing.

Of course, the occasional cab passed. Most of them never stopped, they were just passing through.

But as Ice made his way down a certain block, one of the cabs did. When it parked, one of the back doors of the cab opened, and three people hopped out.

“¿Es este el apartamento?” one of them, a woman, asked.

Ice couldn’t understand it, but he knew Spanish when he heard it. Great, more PRs.

At first, Ice continued walking down the sidewalk, but the voice he heard next made him stop in his tracks.

“Sí, María.”

Bernardo?

Instinctively, Ice slipped into the alleyway to his right. He stayed close to the wall, and peeked his head around the corner just enough so that he could still see the cab and its former passengers.

Sure enough, standing on the sidewalk next to the cab, was Bernardo. What was he doing out so early?

He handed something to one of the women next to him. Ice didn’t know her name, but he recognized her as Bernado’s girl. “¿Puedes pagar al conductor?” Bernardo asked her.

The woman sighed, and it was so loud that Ice could hear it even from his distanced vantage point. “Sí,” she huffed. “But you could do it yourself if you practiced your English.”

Bernardo said nothing in response. Instead, he turned to the other young woman. Ice didn’t recognize her. “Sacaré tus maletas del maletero,” Bernardo told her.

Ice watched as Bernardo moved to the back of the cab. Once the trunk was opened, he began to take out several suitcases and various bags and set them on the sidewalk. As he did, Ice looked at the young woman again, trying to place her. She wasn’t Bernardo’s girl, and she looked far too young to be his mother. But perhaps she was still family?

Riff’s gonna wanna hear ‘bout this.

————————————————————————————

Eventually, the sun had risen, and enough people were out and about that Ice figured the auto shop would be up and running for the day. His hunch was proven correct as he rounded the street corner and noticed one of the shop’s garage doors was wide open.

Once Ice entered the shop, he was greeted by Gee-Tar, Snowboy, and Diesel, who were already working on a truck that had been brought in. Mouthpiece was there too, but he was preoccupied with something over on the toolbench that Ice couldn’t quite see.

Riff was nowhere to be found.

As if Snowboy read his mind, he said to him, “Riff’s still upstairs.”

Ice didn’t find that hard to believe, and didn’t blame Riff at all. After everything that had happened the previous night and early morning, he’d still be getting some sleep too, if it had been possible. “Still sleepin’, huh?”

“Nope,” Gee-Tar responded, popping the second part of the word. “He’s got a girl with him.”

Ice felt his eyes widen with surprise. “What?”

“They’ve been in his room talkin’ for hours,” Snowboy confirmed.

Ice had a feeling that the girl was not Grazi. “You’re kidding.”

————————————————————————————

“There,” Roxie said, sounding decently pleased with herself.

Riff took in the sight of the desk, which was now nearly unrecognizable.

Once they had reached an agreement, Riff had offered to walk Roxie home for the second time. At that point, it was nearing 5 AM. But the idea seemed pointless; both knew that they would be unable to sleep for quite some time, and by then, it would already be daybreak, and it’d be safe for Roxie to walk home by herself.

Instead, they spent the better part of the last three hours or so going through and organizing the documents that had been cluttering Riff’s desk. It had taken them both some time, since Roxie was not familiar with the documents, and Riff had gotten so many invoices, receipts, and notices that it was hard to recall them all.

After those few hours, all the papers had been organized into specific piles. There were a few piles for the default notices, which were separated by the creditor. There was another pile for anything related to the outstanding local and state taxes, and another pile for all the receipts, invoices, and anything else pertaining to the shop that would need to be accounted for in the monthly books.

“Next time I stop by, we’ll organize it all by date,” Roxie said. “But hopefully this is less of a headache to look at until then.”

“Ya have no idea,” Riff agreed sincerely. He wasn’t looking forward to actually going through the stacks of papers by any means, but he wouldn’t hate seeing them in the current, organized state nearly as much as he had when they had been in complete disarray. “The shop is normally closed on Sundays, and the other occasional odd day,” he said, “but let me know when you have time to come in, and I’ll make it work.”

“I’ll have to think about that,” Roxie replied thoughtfully. “I’ve got to work some extra shifts to make up for the ones I traded for, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Of course. He’d almost forgotten that she had to get out of work a few nights to take care of their problem. “You work tonight?”

She nodded.

“I’ll just ask ya about it then,” Riff reasoned nonchalantly.

Roxie sighed. “That’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” she confessed. “I don’t need an escort home anymore.”

“Asim isn’t paid yet,” Riff reminded her. “And it still ain’t safe for a girl to be walkin’ home that late at night-”

“Why not?” she questioned. “The Sharks?”

“Yes, the Sharks.”

“They don’t know who I am,” Roxie insisted. “And I’m not worried about them.”

“Well I am,” Riff countered. “As ya know, things have changed ‘round here, Roxie. The PRs and Sharks are everywhere- it’s only a matter of time before one of them sees you hangin’ ‘round us and pieces it together.”

“What if they do?” she challenged him. “For all they know, we’re acquaintances, friends at best. There’s no reason that they’d even think of targeting me, is there?”

Riff narrowed his eyes, understanding what she was hinting at. Still, he would not take the bait. “I’m gonna walk you home tonight,” he told her. “I’m meetin’ with Asim tomorrow, so I’ll get one of the guys to do it instead.”

“Not Action,” she demanded.

“Fine, not Action,” Riff relented tiredly. “After that… we’ll discuss it.”

“You bet we will,” Roxie vowed, grabbing her purse from where it had been laying on the desk chair. She walked around him and headed towards the bedroom door.

Riff fought the urge to roll his eyes as he watched her pass him.

A deep part of him hated to admit it, but even though she could be so frustrating, he liked that she never failed to challenge him.

————————————————————————————

Diesel’s head snapped up to the landing as the apartment door opened, and Roxie, followed by Riff, stepped out onto the landing.

The whole crew watched as the pair descended the stairs. Unlike last time, Roxie spared everyone present a brief glance, and even gave Ice a brief nod, before walking out the open garage door.

All eyes then turned to Riff, who remained by the bottom of the stairs.

“Mornin’ boss,” Diesel greeted him, not bothering to hide his knowing smile.

Riff chose to ignore him. “I’m only gonna tell yous this once, so listen good, and spread the word,” he announced to the group, even though everyone’s attention was already on him. “Roxie is goin’ to be ‘round a bit more; she’s helpin’ with the books and the shop.”

This was an interesting turn of events, but Diesel could hardly say he was surprised. The two had been up to something recently, Diesel was sure of it… he just didn’t know what it was. Velma had mentioned that Roxie told her that she had spoken to Riff. Velma had her suspicions too. But even though Riff had asked for both of their help to speak to Roxie initially, Riff hadn’t approached either of them about the subject again.

“So… she’s cool?” Gee-Tar asked the question on everyone’s minds.

“She’s cool,” Riff confirmed. “No more starin’, either. She’s gonna be doin’ us all a favor, so all of yous are to treat her with nothin’ but respect. And if anyone, and I mean anyone-” he looked at Ice, as if communicating something silently to him, “-treats her with anythin’ less, I want to know.”

No one dared to say anything, but a few of the guys nodded.

“Ice, can I see ya upstairs for a minute?” Riff asked then, immediately turning to head up the stairs.

As Ice moved to follow Riff, Mouthpiece jogged past him, already heading out to spread the word.

“Oh, I can’t wait ‘til Grazi gets word ‘bout this,” Diesel commented quietly, earning a smik from Snowboy and a laugh from Gee-Tar.

————————————————————————————

Ice was still processing the information Riff had dropped when he entered the apartment. Riff gestured for him to follow him to his room. Ice had only been in the apartment above the shop a few times, but when he entered the bedroom, even he noticed the unusually organized desk almost immediately.

Riff said nothing at first.

“So…” Ice began, unsure of what to say. “Roxie stay here, then?”

Riff rolled his eyes, though it was playful rather than out of irritation. “Wasn’t like that,” he answered, moving a few stacks of papers around on the desk. “It was already late enough, and it just made more sense for her to hang here a bit ‘til she could walk home alone.”

Riff’s explanation made sense, but Ice still wondered what Grazi would think about it, even though it wasn’t any of his business. Riff had mentioned before that his relationship with Grazi was casual, but if she heard about Roxie’s visit to Riff’s apartment early in the morning, and didn’t get the full story… well, that’d make just about any girl jealous, he imagined.

Ice didn’t dare to wonder what the guys downstairs thought. They didn’t have the knowledge that Ice had about Riff and Roxie’s dealings over the past few weeks, and they would have no idea why Roxie had been at the apartment in the first place. He could only hope that they would take Riff’s threat seriously and not tarnish anyone’s good name.

Ice knew Riff, and if Riff said nothing happened between him and Roxie, he believed him.

Ice watched as Riff pulled open one of the desk drawers and revealed some stacks of cash that had been shoved into it. It wasn’t the most secure spot, but he doubted any of the guys crashing at the apartment had the guts to go through Riff’s personal belongings, considering they were living there at his mercy. Besides, just because some of the guys had sticky fingers, that didn’t mean the Jets ever stole from each other.

Riff pulled a few bills out of the drawer. “Here,” he offered, holding them out to Ice to take. “We had some extra. Wanted to give you and Action a cut for your help.”

Ice’s eyes flashed between the money and Riff. “You sure?” he asked.

Riff nodded. “You two saved our necks. Least you deserve.”

Ice hesitated. He glanced down at the desk, noting some of the papers had large, bold, red lettering printed across them. He couldn’t make out what any of it said specifically, but he had a pretty good idea- bold red lettering on papers rarely meant anything good, right?

Ice had figured the shop wasn’t doing too well. Riff didn’t discuss the specifics of it to anyone, at least not to his knowledge, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Business wasn’t consistent, and Ice knew Riff’s uncle was a piece of work. Ice thought it was suspicious when he let Riff run the shop when he moved upstate.

Eventually, Ice shook his head, declining Riff’s offer. “Give it to the shop.”

Riff’s face fell. “Really?”

Ice shrugged. “Does the shop need money, or not?”

“We all need money, but-”

“-Give it to the shop, then,” Ice repeated.

Riff stared at him for a moment, but when he realized that Ice was not going to change his mind, he sighed. “Doesn’t feel right, ya know,” Riff admitted, throwing the bills into the drawer and shutting it once again.

“If the shop goes under, we all lose,” Ice told him blankly. “A few dollars I never had to begin with don’t mean nothin’ to me, anyways.”

Riff nodded understandingly. “Well, thanks,” he replied quietly. “And, thank you again for your help last night… and last week.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ice dismissed him. “You still meetin’ Asim tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” Riff confirmed. “Do you mind taggin’ along this time? Action’s comin’ too, but with this much cash on me walkin’ over there… I’d rather not take any chances.”

“Understood,” Ice replied quickly.

It was quiet for a moment, before Ice suddenly recalled what he had seen earlier in the morning. “Hey, Krazy Kat, I’ve got some news for ya.”

Riff looked at him, suddenly intrigued.

————————————————————————————

Though she was incredibly tired, Roxie’s first move as soon as she arrived back at her apartment complex was to head to her bedroom and withdraw the small shoebox she kept stashed under her bed.

She opened the box and moved the few family photos that rested on top out of the way gingerly, revealing her stash of cash.

When she had counted out the amount needed to pay for her aunt’s owed rent, she noted that most of the five hundred dollar stash would be depleted. She briefly contemplated if it was worth paying the full amount owed outright, but quickly dismissed the idea when she figured it wasn’t wise to run the risk of getting on her landlord’s bad side by delaying payment.

Roxie headed downstairs immediately after. She knocked on her landlord’s first floor apartment door, and when the man answered, he seemed shocked to see her there. He probably questioned the source of the money, but since he was getting paid, and he was, Roxie doubted he’d have the nerve to say anything about it.

When she made it back to her apartment upstairs, she realized Betty had already left for work. She hoped that since she had left her bedroom door closed, Betty hadn’t noticed her absence the night before. If she did, Roxie had idea what explanation she could give her.

Maybe she could joke about being out with a fella all night, but Roxie didn’t know Betty too well yet, and didn’t know how’d she react to that.

Roxie entered her bedroom once again and began to go through the motions of getting changed out of her clothes and putting on something more comfortable. As she did, she glanced at her alarm clock beside the bed and realized with immense relief could still get a few hours of sleep before she’d need to get ready for work.

Just as she was about to quite literally flop onto the bed, the phone rang from the living room.

Ugh.

There was a chance the call was for Betty, but from what Roxie had been able to gather from their prior conversations, it sounded like Betty had been working at her job for a while. Anyone who wanted to reach her would know that she was usually unavailable during weekday mornings.

Roxie left the bedroom quickly, and scurried over to the kitchen in an effort to get the call. When it was within reach, she swiftly picked up from the line, and answered it breathlessly.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end confirmed that the call was for her. She smiled as she listened to the caller.

“Sunday?” Roxie repeated after a few moments. “I have to work that night...” As she continued to listen, she took a few steps away from the device, twirling the cord around her finger absentmindedly.

Suddenly, she nodded, though she knew her gesture would not be seen. “Sunday morning would be perfect,” she said with a smile. “Yes, you’ll want to take the subway… and get off at that station… Sounds great, I’ll see you then.”

The smile was still on her face as she hung up the phone and made her way back to her bedroom, where her bed was nearly calling her name.

————————————————————————————

The following night, the midnight bells of a nearby church rang throughout the air.

As Riff entered the highway underpass, he noticed that Asim was already waiting for him. He wore a smug smile on his face that Riff would have absolutely loved to knock off. If he had the upper hand, he probably would’ve.

When he stood just a few feet across from Asim, Riff stopped, and made no move to withdraw the cash from his jacket pocket. He stared at Asim for a few moments, daring him to make the first move instead.

“Am I correct to assume you’ve decided to pay up?” Asim asked him. His eyes glanced up the block behind Riff, and Riff hoped he couldn’t spot Action or Ice lingering nearby. “Considering you’ve come alone.”

Without taking his eyes off of Asim, Riff reached into his jacket pocket and grab the stack of bills. “You can count it, if ya want,” he stated coolly, reaching out to hand the money over to Asim begrudgingly.

Asim took a single step toward Riff, not getting any closer than what was necessary, and quickly swiped the bills from Riff’s hand. He eyed Riff for a brief moment before proceeding to count the bills.

As Asim counted, Riff took a moment to look around the underpass himself. He wasn’t expecting it, but the last thing Riff wanted was to pay Asim five hundred dollars and get his ass kicked by some Egyptian Kings that may have been hiding in the shadows if Asim was feeling particularly spiteful.

“It’s all here,” Asim admitted, sounding somewhat surprised.

“Do you think I’d bother showin’ up if it wasn’t?” Riff snapped rhetorically, his patience already wearing thin.

Asim pocketed the cash, and as he did so, Riff briefly contemplated whether he had made a mistake. “I’m surprised, you know,” Asim informed him off-handedly. “I didn’t think your pride would allow you to consider anything but the violent option.”

Riff half-smiled. Asim must have thought he knew all there was to know about him- but if he had seriously believed that Riff would willingly allow the Jets to take on the Egyptian Kings and the Sharks at once, Asim didn’t know anything about him at all.

“We’re cool now, right?” Riff asked Asim then, eager to be done with the conversation and go their separate ways.

Asim nodded. “The Egyptian Kings will not be a problem for you or the Jets ever again,” he confirmed. “But, your Tony on the other hand-”

“-Yeah, yeah,” Riff interjected, waving him off dismissively. “I’ll make sure he keeps his nose clean.”

“I can’t guarantee any of them won’t try anything if they catch Tony alone,” Asim admitted. “You best keep an eye on him, Riff.”

“Who knows?” Riff pondered, choosing to humor him. “Maybe we’ll all turn over a new leaf.”

Asim narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure I believe that,” he decided after a moment. “But, having done so myself… I think you might like it.”

Riff would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t slightly taken aback by Asim’s advice. He sounded pretty sincere about it, but why Asim would care about what happened to Riff was beyond his understanding.

Riff watched as Asim turned and disappeared into the shadows. Despite knowing that he would likely never see him again, Riff couldn’t shake a nagging feeling that something felt unresolved.

————————————————————————————

Action and Ice hung back on the street corner and watched as Riff headed down to the highway underpass alone.

Action was looking forward to being done with this whole mess. The fact that Asim had the guts to threaten them with an Egyptian Kings return made his blood boil. Where did he get off? The Jets had beaten the Kings fair and square. Honor didn’t mean much to guys like them, but if it did, where was the honor in refusing to accept defeat?

The sooner Riff could be done with Asim, and Roxie, the better. Then Riff could fully focus on the Sharks, who were getting far too bold for Action’s liking. More than a few run-ins with them already had him itching for a proper rumble. He’d love to watch that smirk fall from Bernardo’s face. But Action knew how it would look if he were the one to bring up the idea of a rumble to Riff.

Riff needed to be the one to call the shots. Action respected that, and the rest of the guys did too. But Riff was also capable of listening to the guys’ ideas once in a while- Ice practically had Riff’s ear whenever he wanted it. Didn’t mean Riff always did what he suggested, but he listened. And Action was starting to get mighty tired of being dismissed outright because he was too “hot-headed.”

Action swallowed his rising frustration quickly. Riff would come around to the idea of a rumble on his own, he was sure of it. And the sooner he did, the sooner Action’s problems would be solved.

The pair watched in silence for a few moments, diligently keeping an eye on Riff as he approached Asim in the distance.

Action glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes scanned the block up and down for any signs of trouble. “The sooner things get back to normal, the better,” he told Ice in a hushed tone, turning to look at the underpass once again.

Ice nodded curtly. “Agreed.” He looked at him, hesitated for a moment, and added carefully, “Well, the new normal.”

Action scoffed jokingly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ice gave him a look as if he knew what he was referring too, but Action was- quite literally- in the dark.

“If you still have a problem, you ought to squish it before Riff catches on,” Ice advised him, looking back towards the underpass, his eyes focusing on Riff once again. “Seems his mind is made up.”

Action looked to Ice, waiting for him to elaborate. When Ice did not, he demanded, unable to hide the frustration in his voice, “What are ya goin’ on ‘bout?”

Ice gave him an odd look. Despite the darkness, Action could tell that he was looking him over, as if analyzing him. “You… you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“I thought Mouthpiece would’ve gotten the word around by now.” Ice looked away from him once again. “Riff asked Roxie to stick ‘round for a bit… help out with the shop.”

Action’s eyes were on Riff once again as he processed the news. “Oh, yeah?” he replied quietly.

Ice said nothing.

Action’s mind began to race. His first reaction was surprise, but that was quickly replaced with the anger that may as well have been his usual resting state. Why couldn’t Riff see what he did about Roxie?

She had been a liability back in the day, and she was likely to be a liability now. Riff, and the Jets in general, didn’t need another liability. She was a distraction. Riff needed to focus, and he needed to focus on two things only- getting one up on Sharks, and keeping the Jets on top.

Distractions would be the death of Riff, if he wasn’t careful. If it was the last thing Action did, he’d see to it that that wouldn’t happen.

————————————————————————————

Riff couldn’t believe it.

He was about the furthest thing from an optimist one could get, but he could’ve sworn that things were starting to look up. The doubt he felt after his last meeting with Asim quickly vanished.

The next morning, Riff had received a letter from Tony, letting him know that he was expecting to get released within the next week or so. They hadn’t discussed the details of his living situation afterwards, or who all would be going to the Bronx to meet him when he got cut loose, but those were minor details that would work themselves out in time.

The fact was, his brother was coming home, and Riff couldn’t be happier about it.

To only sweeten the good mood he was in, Roxie had managed to come over to the shop a few times after their initial agreement. She was only able to swing by during the day time due to her work, but Riff had meant it when he told her he would make time for her.

He had some initial feelings of dread when they first began to go through everything, but, intentionally or not, Roxie dismissed those feelings in him. The first time she came over, they spent the whole time organizing everything by date. The task itself was more boring to him than watching paint dry, but since she was with him, he found himself able to tolerate it surprisingly well.

The second time she came over, Roxie had started to walk him through the specifics of keeping track of the ins and outs going through the shop on a day to day basis. It all came down to the invoices for parts they ordered, when they couldn’t find them in the scrap yard that was, and payments they received from the few customers they managed to draw in.

Part of him thought Roxie would have taken the easy jab and insisted that his failure to keep track of everything thus far was simply due to his lack of responsibility, but she proved him wrong, and it was with slight shame that he had realized he should have known better. She had attempted to tutor him back in the day, and when she worked with him now, she was just as patient. Riff hadn’t been a good student then, but that didn’t mean he’d never been capable of it. He was paying far more attention than he had when he’d been in school, largely due to the fact that there seemed to be far more at stake.

By the following Sunday, Riff was practically over the moon.

He smoked a cigarette and leaned back against the large wall in the park as he watched most of the crew engage in a game of basketball. It was practically becoming a new Sunday morning tradition.

As he took a drag of his cigarette, Riff decided to humor his good mood and daydream a bit. It was hard for him to truly believe that things were turning up in his favor, but there were many obvious signs that indicated such.

The Sharks hadn’t been a problem over the last few days. Whether it had anything to do with what Ice had told Riff he had seen the other morning, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t really care. Whenever they tried to start trouble again, which was inevitable, it wouldn’t matter- Tony would be back soon enough, and what more could Riff ask for in terms of support? If Tony was by his side, it would only be a matter of time before the Jets could put the Sharks in their place once in for all.

If the Jets came out on top, there’d still be the New York Committee for Slum Clearance to contend with. It was a long shot, Riff wasn’t stupid, but maybe, just maybe, they’d be able to save the shop. He’d love the opportunity to stick it to those fat cats in city hall.

Not to mention the possibility that some of his guilt he’d been keeping inside about Roxie could be alleviated in the process.

If all those things came true, well… Riff hadn’t given much thought to what he would do with his life after that. Up until recently, it never seemed to be a possibility.

Riff smiled contently to himself, feeling particularly satisfied. As he took another drag of his cigarette, the game of basketball some of the guys were playing ended. As the victorious team remained on the court and the defeated team sauntered off, five others who had been watching headed over to take their turn.

Baby John came to stand beside him, and Riff nodded at him.

Baby John, like many of the other Jets, hadn’t failed to notice Riff’s lightened spirits over the past few days. “Everything cool, Riff?”

Riff exhaled smoke, and smiled at the younger man. “You betcha, buddy boy,” he replied pleasantly. “I’m peachy keen.”

“Say, you got any plans for later?” Baby John asked him then, lowering his voice and glancing at the Tiger and Balkan, who were standing nearby. “A-Rab’s been gettin’ on my nerves lately…”

Baby John’s eyes trailed over to the basketball court. Riff looked over as well, and the two watched in silence as A-Rab made a particularly aggressive move to swipe the ball from Big Deal.

“Diesel mentioned ya had a knack for putting him in his place when it comes to basketball,” Baby John said. “I was wonderin’, if ya weren’t busy later, that is, if you’d be willin’ to show me some tricks and whatnot.”

Riff had a soft spot for Baby John, and he wouldn’t be surprised if all the guys had noticed. Any other time, he would’ve granted his request in a heartbeat. If only he didn’t already have plans for the evening. With everything that had been going on, he’d almost forgotten.

Riff’s smile faltered a bit. “I’m sorry kid, I’m supposed to be seein’ Grazi later tonight,” Riff told him regretfully.

Baby John’s face fell. “No worries.”

Riff extinguished the remainder of his cigarette on the wall behind him, and flicked it away. “How ‘bout I cut out from the shop early one day this week?” he offered. “I’ll show ya then- just you and me.”

At this, Baby John smiled. “Deal.”

Riff watched as A-Rab shoulder checked Diesel on the court. If Diesel was a twig, which he wasn’t, A-Rab’s force would’ve sent him tumbling down to the concrete. As it was, Diesel stopped in his tracks for a moment to shoot A-Rab a glare. A-Rab was too focused on shooting the ball to notice.

Riff loved all the Jets like brothers, he really did, but the thought of Baby John showing A-Rab up for once in basketball was far too enticing.

Riff sighed in contentment, and slowly looked across the park and towards the apartment complex across the street from the park entrance. He’d never admit it, but he’d glanced over there a few times throughout the morning. He wondered if Roxie was going to be out and about, like she had been the previous Sunday.

Riff’s luck seemingly continued, and at that moment, he saw Roxie heading out the lobby of the apartment complex. He continued to watch as she descended down the stairs and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Riff was so lost in his thoughts as he watched Roxie, he failed to see the three people walking towards her until they were right before her.

He watched them curiously, feeling a bit apprehensive as well. The two men and one woman didn’t look like PRs from here, or anyone he’d seen from the gambling houses, but one could never be sure.

Abruptly and harshly, Riff’s good mood he had maintained for the fast few days cracked as he watched one of the men present Roxie with flowers. His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched her accept them graciously. He was quite a bit away, but he swore Roxie was smiling at the man in response to his gesture.

Who the hell is that?!

————————————————————————————

The six by eight foot cell hadn’t retained any heat during the winter, so Tony shouldn’t have been surprised when the cell was almost as hot as an oven in the height of summer.

He laid on the top bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The state issued wool blanket, which he was highly considering throwing off to the side, was the only thing between him and the cool steel of the bed.

It was night time, or at least he thought it was, since he and the rest of the inmates had been locked up in their cells for the night, and there were no windows in his cell to confirm his theory. His cellmate snored like a boar from the bunk underneath him. Some guys in the wing would talk and bang on stuff all night, so it was rare that he got sleep anyways.

His own thoughts, specifically the memory of what he’d done over a year ago, usually wouldn’t allow him much sleep either. However, there was something else keeping him awake that night.

Tony had met his parole officer earlier in the day. Tony was pulled from rec time and shoved into a small room, where the man introduced himself.

He’d be the guy Tony would have to report to if he didn’t want to get thrown back in Riker’s, and Tony definitely didn’t want that. One year of hell was plenty enough convincing that Tony needed to clean his act up and turn his life around.

The parole officer had been pleased that Tony recognized that fact, and asked him who'd he be staying with once he was released.

His parents were completely out of the question. Tony’s father had all but disowned him, and his mother couldn’t look at him without crying after what he did. He had written to them several times during the course of his sentence though, and his mother had returned a few of his letters. He learned that his parents had to move out of their building when the owner sold it. The building was supposed to be torn down and replaced with a whole new structure. Tony’s parents had moved to another apartment a few neighborhoods over, but they were still not willing to take him in.

Tony’s next thought had drifted to Riff. Riff apparently was running his uncle’s shop now, and Tony knew that if he asked, Riff would let him crash with him until he got on his feet.

When he mentioned the idea to his parole officer, the man laughed. There was no way he’d sign off on Tony moving in with Riff, one of the guys who had helped create the hostile environment that led to Tony’s crime in the first place.

Tony knew he probably had a point. There was a fat chance that Riff and the rest of the Jets had had a catharsis like Tony had over the past year. They’d still be the same, up to their usual mischief and getting into trouble.

But that left Tony with very limited options. The meeting was adjourned, and his parole officer told him to think about a few alternatives before their next meeting in a few days.

Who else could Tony turn to for help? Who’d be willing to give himself a second chance?

Those thoughts left him there, staring at the ceiling of the cell once again, wishing desperately for the ceiling to disappear and reveal the starry night sky.

A/N: Any feedback is welcome and appreciated. I hope you enjoyed! :) If you’d like to be added to the taglist, please send me a message, comment, or otherwise let me know. :)

After All Taglist: @whisperofsong @disguisedbassethound @lingerasthesmokeoncedid

Part 10

Masterlist

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